#and anyway i just came across a reel of someone who works at a national park and lives there and also. answered my question

[good--merits-accumulated]

I LOVE IT WHEN I HAVE WIP QUESTIONS AND THEY GET ANSWERED THROUGH RANDOM INSTAGRAM REELS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[inthemaelstrom]

ART ISN'T SUPPOSED TO MAKE YOU COMFORTABLE

By Jen Silverman (NY Times)

(Mx. Silverman is a playwright and the author, most recently, of the novel “There’s Going to Be Trouble.”)

When I was in college, I came across “The Sea and Poison,” a 1950s novel by Shusaku Endo. It tells the story of a doctor in postwar Japan who, as an intern years earlier, participated in a vivisection experiment on an American prisoner. Endo’s lens on the story is not the easiest one, ethically speaking; he doesn’t dwell on the suffering of the victim. Instead, he chooses to explore a more unsettling element: the humanity of the perpetrators.

When I say “humanity” I mean their confusion, self-justifications and willingness to lie to themselves. Atrocity doesn’t just come out of evil, Endo was saying, it emerges from self-interest, timidity, apathy and the desire for status. His novel showed me how, in the right crucible of social pressures, I, too, might delude myself into making a choice from which an atrocity results. Perhaps this is why the book has haunted me for nearly two decades, such that I’ve read it multiple times.

I was reminded of that novel at 2 o’clock in the morning recently as I scrolled through a social media account dedicated to collecting angry reader reviews. My attention was caught by someone named Nathan, whose take on “Paradise Lost” was: “Milton was a fascist turd.” But it was another reader, Ryan, who reeled me in with his response to John Updike’s “Rabbit, Run”: “This book made me oppose free speech.” From there, I hit the bank of “Lolita” reviews: Readers were appalled, frustrated, infuriated. What a disgusting man! How could Vladimir Nabokov have been permitted to write this book? Who let authors write such immoral, perverse characters anyway?

I was cackling as I scrolled but soon a realization struck me. Here on my screen was the distillation of a peculiar American illness: namely, that we have a profound and dangerous inclination to confuse art with moral instruction, and vice versa.

As someone who was born in the States but partially raised in a series of other countries, I’ve always found the sheer uncompromising force of American morality to be mesmerizing and terrifying. Despite our plurality of influences and beliefs, our national character seems inescapably informed by an Old Testament relationship to the notions of good and evil. This powerful construct infuses everything from our advertising campaigns to our political ones — and has now filtered into, and shifted, the function of our artistic works.

Maybe it’s because our political discourse swings between deranged and abhorrent on a daily basis and we would like to combat our feelings of powerlessness by insisting on moral simplicity in the stories we tell and receive. Or maybe it’s because many of the transgressions that flew under the radar in previous generations — acts of misogyny, racism and homophobia; abuses of power both macro and micro — are now being called out directly. We’re so intoxicated by openly naming these ills that we have begun operating under the misconception that to acknowledge each other’s complexity, in our communities as well as in our art, is to condone each other’s cruelties.

When I work with younger writers, I am frequently amazed by how quickly peer feedback sessions turn into a process of identifying which characters did or said insensitive things. Sometimes the writers rush to defend the character, but often they apologize shamefacedly for their own blind spot, and the discussion swerves into how to fix the morals of the piece. The suggestion that the values of a character can be neither the values of the writer nor the entire point of the piece seems more and more surprising — and apt to trigger discomfort.

While I typically share the progressive political views of my students, I’m troubled by their concern for righteousness over complexity. They do not want to be seen representing any values they do not personally hold. The result is that, in a moment in which our world has never felt so fast-changing and bewildering, our stories are getting simpler, less nuanced and less able to engage with the realities through which we’re living.

I can’t blame younger writers for believing that it is their job to convey a strenuously correct public morality. This same expectation filters into all the modes in which I work: novels, theater, TV and film. The demands of Internet Nathan and Internet Ryan — and the anxieties of my mentees — are not so different from those of the industry gatekeepers who work in the no-man’s land between art and money and whose job it is to strip stories of anything that could be ethically murky.

I have worked in TV writers’ rooms where “likability notes” came from on high as soon as a complex character was on the page — particularly when the character was female. Concern about her likability was most often a concern about her morals: Could she be perceived as promiscuous? Selfish? Aggressive? Was she a bad girlfriend or a bad wife? How quickly could she be rehabilitated into a model citizen for the viewers?

TV is not alone in this. A director I’m working with recently pitched our screenplay to a studio. When the executives passed, they told our team it was because the characters were too morally ambiguous and they’d been tasked with seeking material wherein the lesson was clear, so as not to unsettle their customer base. What they did not say, but did not need to, is that in the absence of adequate federal arts funding, American art is tied to the marketplace. Money is tight, and many corporations do not want to pay for stories that viewers might object to if they can buy something that plays blandly in the background of our lives.

But what art offers us is crucial precisely because it is not a bland backdrop or a platform for simple directives. Our books, plays, films and TV shows can do the most for us when they don’t serve as moral instruction manuals but allow us to glimpse our own hidden capacities, the slippery social contracts inside which we function, and the contradictions we all contain.

We need more narratives that tell us the truth about how complex our world is. We need stories that help us name and accept paradoxes, not ones that erase or ignore them. After all, our experience of living in communities with one another is often much more fluid and changeable than it is rigidly black and white. We have the audiences that we cultivate, and the more we cultivate audiences who believe that the job of art is to instruct instead of investigate, to judge instead of question, to seek easy clarity instead of holding multiple uncertainties, the more we will find ourselves inside a culture defined by rigidity, knee-jerk judgments and incuriosity. In our hair-trigger world of condemnation, division and isolation, art — not moralizing — has never been more crucial.

[lenbryant]

(Times) Art Isn’t Supposed to Make You Comfortable

By Jen Silverman

Mx. Silverman is a playwright and the author, most recently, of the novel “There’s Going to Be Trouble.”

When I was in college, I came across “The Sea and Poison,” a 1950s novel by Shusaku Endo. It tells the story of a doctor in postwar Japan who, as an intern years earlier, participated in a vivisection experiment on an American prisoner. Endo’s lens on the story is not the easiest one, ethically speaking; he doesn’t dwell on the suffering of the victim. Instead, he chooses to explore a more unsettling element: the humanity of the perpetrators.

When I say “humanity” I mean their confusion, self-justifications and willingness to lie to themselves. Atrocity doesn’t just come out of evil, Endo was saying, it emerges from self-interest, timidity, apathy and the desire for status. His novel showed me how, in the right crucible of social pressures, I, too, might delude myself into making a choice from which an atrocity results. Perhaps this is why the book has haunted me for nearly two decades, such that I’ve read it multiple times.

I was reminded of that novel at 2 o’clock in the morning recently as I scrolled through a social media account dedicated to collecting angry reader reviews. My attention was caught by someone named Nathan, whose take on “Paradise Lost” was: “Milton was a fascist turd.” But it was another reader, Ryan, who reeled me in with his response to John Updike’s “Rabbit, Run”: “This book made me oppose free speech.” From there, I hit the bank of “Lolita” reviews: Readers were appalled, frustrated, infuriated. What a disgusting man! How could Vladimir Nabokov have been permitted to write this book? Who let authors write such immoral, perverse characters anyway?

I was cackling as I scrolled but soon a realization struck me. Here on my screen was the distillation of a peculiar American illness: namely, that we have a profound and dangerous inclination to confuse art with moral instruction, and vice versa.

As someone who was born in the States but partially raised in a series of other countries, I’ve always found the sheer uncompromising force of American morality to be mesmerizing and terrifying. Despite our plurality of influences and beliefs, our national character seems inescapably informed by an Old Testament relationship to the notions of good and evil. This powerful construct infuses everything from our advertising campaigns to our political ones — and has now filtered into, and shifted, the function of our artistic works.

Sign up for the Opinion Today newsletter  Get expert analysis of the news and a guide to the big ideas shaping the world every weekday morning. 

Maybe it’s because our political discourse swings between deranged and abhorrent on a daily basis and we would like to combat our feelings of powerlessness by insisting on moral simplicity in the stories we tell and receive. Or maybe it’s because many of the transgressions that flew under the radar in previous generations — acts of misogyny, racism and homophobia; abuses of power both macro and micro — are now being called out directly. We’re so intoxicated by openly naming these ills that we have begun operating under the misconception that to acknowledge each other’s complexity, in our communities as well as in our art, is to condone each other’s cruelties.

When I work with younger writers, I am frequently amazed by how quickly peer feedback sessions turn into a process of identifying which characters did or said insensitive things. Sometimes the writers rush to defend the character, but often they apologize shamefacedly for their own blind spot, and the discussion swerves into how to fix the morals of the piece. The suggestion that the values of a character can be neither the values of the writer nor the entire point of the piece seems more and more surprising — and apt to trigger discomfort.

While I typically share the progressive political views of my students, I’m troubled by their concern for righteousness over complexity. They do not want to be seen representing any values they do not personally hold. The result is that, in a moment in which our world has never felt so fast-changing and bewildering, our stories are getting simpler, less nuanced and less able to engage with the realities through which we’re living.

I can’t blame younger writers for believing that it is their job to convey a strenuously correct public morality. This same expectation filters into all the modes in which I work: novels, theater, TV and film. The demands of Internet Nathan and Internet Ryan — and the anxieties of my mentees — are not so different from those of the industry gatekeepers who work in the no-man’s land between art and money and whose job it is to strip stories of anything that could be ethically murky.

I have worked in TV writers’ rooms where “likability notes” came from on high as soon as a complex character was on the page — particularly when the character was female. Concern about her likability was most often a concern about her morals: Could she be perceived as promiscuous? Selfish? Aggressive? Was she a bad girlfriend or a bad wife? How quickly could she be rehabilitated into a model citizen for the viewers?

TV is not alone in this. A director I’m working with recently pitched our screenplay to a studio. When the executives passed, they told our team it was because the characters were too morally ambiguous and they’d been tasked with seeking material wherein the lesson was clear, so as not to unsettle their customer base. What they did not say, but did not need to, is that in the absence of adequate federal arts funding, American art is tied to the marketplace. Money is tight, and many corporations do not want to pay for stories that viewers might object to if they can buy something that plays blandly in the background of our lives.

But what art offers us is crucial precisely because it is not a bland backdrop or a platform for simple directives. Our books, plays, films and TV shows can do the most for us when they don’t serve as moral instruction manuals but allow us to glimpse our own hidden capacities, the slippery social contracts inside which we function, and the contradictions we all contain.

We need more narratives that tell us the truth about how complex our world is. We need stories that help us name and accept paradoxes, not ones that erase or ignore them. After all, our experience of living in communities with one another is often much more fluid and changeable than it is rigidly black and white. We have the audiences that we cultivate, and the more we cultivate audiences who believe that the job of art is to instruct instead of investigate, to judge instead of question, to seek easy clarity instead of holding multiple uncertainties, the more we will find ourselves inside a culture defined by rigidity, knee-jerk judgments and incuriosity. In our hair-trigger world of condemnation, division and isolation, art — not moralizing — has never been more crucial.

[grotto-esque]

Art Isn’t Supposed to Make You Comfortable

By Jen Silverman

When I was in college, I came across “The Sea and Poison,” a 1950s novel by Shusaku Endo. It tells the story of a doctor in postwar Japan who, as an intern years earlier, participated in a vivisection experiment on an American prisoner. Endo’s lens on the story is not the easiest one, ethically speaking; he doesn’t dwell on the suffering of the victim. Instead, he chooses to explore a more unsettling element: the humanity of the perpetrators.

When I say “humanity” I mean their confusion, self-justifications and willingness to lie to themselves. Atrocity doesn’t just come out of evil, Endo was saying, it emerges from self-interest, timidity, apathy and the desire for status. His novel showed me how, in the right crucible of social pressures, I, too, might delude myself into making a choice from which an atrocity results. Perhaps this is why the book has haunted me for nearly two decades, such that I’ve read it multiple times.

I was reminded of that novel at 2 o’clock in the morning recently as I scrolled through a social media account dedicated to collecting angry reader reviews. My attention was caught by someone named Nathan, whose take on “Paradise Lost” was: “Milton was a fascist turd.” But it was another reader, Ryan, who reeled me in with his response to John Updike’s “Rabbit, Run”: “This book made me oppose free speech.” From there, I hit the bank of “Lolita” reviews: Readers were appalled, frustrated, infuriated. What a disgusting man! How could Vladimir Nabokov have been permitted to write this book? Who let authors write such immoral, perverse characters anyway?

I was cackling as I scrolled but soon a realization struck me. Here on my screen was the distillation of a peculiar American illness: namely, that we have a profound and dangerous inclination to confuse art with moral instruction, and vice versa.

As someone who was born in the States but partially raised in a series of other countries, I’ve always found the sheer uncompromising force of American morality to be mesmerizing and terrifying. Despite our plurality of influences and beliefs, our national character seems inescapably informed by an Old Testament relationship to the notions of good and evil. This powerful construct infuses everything from our advertising campaigns to our political ones — and has now filtered into, and shifted, the function of our artistic works.

Maybe it’s because our political discourse swings between deranged and abhorrent on a daily basis and we would like to combat our feelings of powerlessness by insisting on moral simplicity in the stories we tell and receive. Or maybe it’s because many of the transgressions that flew under the radar in previous generations — acts of misogyny, racism and homophobia; abuses of power both macro and micro — are now being called out directly. We’re so intoxicated by openly naming these ills that we have begun operating under the misconception that to acknowledge each other’s complexity, in our communities as well as in our art, is to condone each other’s cruelties.

When I work with younger writers, I am frequently amazed by how quickly peer feedback sessions turn into a process of identifying which characters did or said insensitive things. Sometimes the writers rush to defend the character, but often they apologize shamefacedly for their own blind spot, and the discussion swerves into how to fix the morals of the piece. The suggestion that the values of a character can be neither the values of the writer nor the entire point of the piece seems more and more surprising — and apt to trigger discomfort.

While I typically share the progressive political views of my students, I’m troubled by their concern for righteousness over complexity. They do not want to be seen representing any values they do not personally hold. The result is that, in a moment in which our world has never felt so fast-changing and bewildering, our stories are getting simpler, less nuanced and less able to engage with the realities through which we’re living.

I can’t blame younger writers for believing that it is their job to convey a strenuously correct public morality. This same expectation filters into all the modes in which I work: novels, theater, TV and film. The demands of Internet Nathan and Internet Ryan — and the anxieties of my mentees — are not so different from those of the industry gatekeepers who work in the no-man’s land between art and money and whose job it is to strip stories of anything that could be ethically murky.

I have worked in TV writers’ rooms where “likability notes” came from on high as soon as a complex character was on the page — particularly when the character was female. Concern about her likability was most often a concern about her morals: Could she be perceived as promiscuous? Selfish? Aggressive? Was she a bad girlfriend or a bad wife? How quickly could she be rehabilitated into a model citizen for the viewers?

TV is not alone in this. A director I’m working with recently pitched our screenplay to a studio. When the executives passed, they told our team it was because the characters were too morally ambiguous and they’d been tasked with seeking material wherein the lesson was clear, so as not to unsettle their customer base. What they did not say, but did not need to, is that in the absence of adequate federal arts funding, American art is tied to the marketplace. Money is tight, and many corporations do not want to pay for stories that viewers might object to if they can buy something that plays blandly in the background of our lives.

But what art offers us is crucial precisely because it is not a bland backdrop or a platform for simple directives. Our books, plays, films and TV shows can do the most for us when they don’t serve as moral instruction manuals but allow us to glimpse our own hidden capacities, the slippery social contracts inside which we function, and the contradictions we all contain.

We need more narratives that tell us the truth about how complex our world is. We need stories that help us name and accept paradoxes, not ones that erase or ignore them. After all, our experience of living in communities with one another is often much more fluid and changeable than it is rigidly black and white. We have the audiences that we cultivate, and the more we cultivate audiences who believe that the job of art is to instruct instead of investigate, to judge instead of question, to seek easy clarity instead of holding multiple uncertainties, the more we will find ourselves inside a culture defined by rigidity, knee-jerk judgments and incuriosity. In our hair-trigger world of condemnation, division and isolation, art — not moralizing — has never been more crucial.

source

[helliontherapscallion]

Why Couldn’t it Have Been Me?

Part 2

Paring: Wilbur Soot x reader (past), Ghostbur x reader

Disclaimer: This contains major spoilers for Tommyinnit’s 4/29 lore stream

Warnings: swearing, violence, death, near death, cheating, 4/29 lore stream, grief, blood, injury, panic attack

Word count: 6,737

(A/N): So in this, you’re Schlatt’s twin and Puffy’s your older sister. Also, sorry for any mistakes, I typed a good 2/3 of this on my phone

This was your own personal hell: being trapped within cement walls with your ex fiance, your asshole of a brother, and a Dream wannabe that seemed to never lose any energy. Your life was like a trope in a novel alive you would’ve liked, however being cursed to live in it made you absolutely loathe any and all mention of it. 

Alive you would’ve killed to hang out with your brother again, not the one that turned to the bottle. Alive you would’ve craved the sweet melodies that streamed from Wilbur’s mouth. You would’ve swooned and maybe, just maybe, you would’ve forgiven him. Alive you would’ve perhaps liked this ‘Mexican Dream’ guy, you would’ve perhaps become the best of friends. 

However you despised the three locked up with you with your whole heart. 

Your ex fiance was someone you adored. Hell, you even idolized him when you were alive. The Wilbur you knew was sweet, loving, attentive, and just all around someone that you swooned over. You could still remember how your heart exploded when he first asked you out under the setting sun by the ocean. You remembered every song he's written for you, every word and rhythm by heart, even after all these years. 

You remembered how you felt your heart completely shatter when you found the songs he had in his drafts for someone that wasn't you. Someone by the name of 'Sally'. After a heated argument you had broken up with him, taking the engagement ring off from your finger and throwing it deep into the ocean. You stayed on L'Manberg's side even after all that, too loyal and proud towards the country you helped forge to drop it. You wouldn't let some stupid boy or rabid tyrants prevent you from raising your beautiful nation up from the ashes.

That had been your downfall. You should've listened to Puffy and left the country behind when you had the chance, now you paid the ultimate price for your deep rooted loyalty and devotion towards independence. And your sacrifice didn't even matter in the end! Your deranged ex blew it all to smithereens. If you didn't despise him before, you absolutely did after your dumbass twin told you about his little 'escapades' while you were gone.

Every little thing Wilbur did, no matter how small it was, made you hate him even more. Every time he would shuffle those damned cards, it made you want to rip them to shreds and throw them across the train tracks. Every time he would sing or even breathe, you wanted to strangle him. You were absolutely certain that Schlatt felt the same. 

Oh, your twin was a real card. Always boasting about how his horns were bigger than yours (who even cares anymore? Yours grew in first anyways), telling the others about your shortcomings through crude jokes, even going as far as fighting you through headbutting; you could still feel the pain of being beaten to death before respawning immediately. Schlatt hadn’t known that you respawn even in the afterlife, so you knew he was serious about killing you. You just wanted Puffy, she was far more tolerable than your twin. 

The rustling of his suit jacket and his small grunts and pants resonated within the walls as he did various forms of exercising. You now knew about all of the differing variations of a pushup and you hated yourself for listening to his explanations. He would beg you, Mexican Dream, and Wilbur to stand on his back while he did his endless routines. The only one to readily take him up on that offer was Mexican Dream.

That man was arguably the only one you slightly tolerated, and you said that very lightly. He was still annoying as all hell, but he was a new face. Well, one that you didn’t know well enough to have a grudge against while you were alive. It was slightly refreshing, in a sense. When he first got here, his songs, stories, and humor gave you a nice break away from Wilbur’s depressing songs and Schlatt’s crude jokes. However when you spend eleven years trapped in a cage with one person, everything they do becomes the bane of your existence. 

You were running out of things that kept you sane in this dump. You've read the same novel, counted the same ceiling and floor tiles (32 ceiling tiles and 57 floor tiles exactly), traced the same cracks in the walls, temporarily killing the same cellmates, you've done anything and everything that this cesspool had to offer. You've done everything billions of times over, a never ending cycle of monotony. 

Tommy joining your group of miserable has-beens was perhaps the highlight of your fifteen, almost sixteen, years spent in this shithole. Though he finally dropped the brave facade and showed just how broken down he was after everything he’s been through, having him around was the saving grace to your sanity. He told you how your sister was, how your nephews were, and most importantly what you missed. You knew about all of the events leading up to Mexican Dream's death, but you were left in the dark with everything past that. Ender, you missed so much since you died; It baffled you how much you missed. 

When the train actually stopped at your cell instead of just passing by and it's doors opened, you were just expecting another poor soul to be dropped off here. You could imagine everybody's surprise when none other than Dream stepped out of those doors. The nephew that had betrayed you without a second thought, that had murdered you, that had your severed head displayed on his mantle (you weren't sure the truth of that last statement, Tommy has a habit of over exaggerating. Though, Schlatt did say that your body was found with a missing head when you first forced him to tell you what you missed). Tommy talked to you about how he died only once, so you knew just what your nephew has been up to. It infuriated you knowing that your adult nephew was manipulating and abusing this young teenager.

While you were releasing your pent up frustrations on the masked man, he merely brushed past you and drug Tommy into the train by the arm. You could remember Wilbur banging on the doors begging for Dream to return his little brother and his angered screams echoing down the railways as the train sped off back towards the land of the living. 

Lucky Tommy, he got to live out the rest of his life and actually age. You and your crew of intolerable jesters were stuck together once again. 

Everybody was silent for a few months, reeling at the newly discovered fact that Dream could actually resurrect people. During those three months, they were quiet and tolerable. In a way, the talks that came out of it was like one of those family therapy sessions your older sister would hold in the living room (you remembered how she would grab you and Schlatt by the horns if either one of you refused to go). You would kill to attend one of those therapy sessions again, and this is the closest you were going to get to it. 

You all talked about the things you regretted most while you were alive. Mexican Dream's was that he didn't protect his girlfriend Mamacita well enough. Schlatt's was choosing alcohol and power over his family (tears were especially shed over Tubbo, he really did regret abandoning him to be raised by you). Yours was that you were too loyal to a cause that would be absolutely decimated a short while after you sacrificed everything for it. Surprisingly, Wilbur's was that he had hurt you.

He had begged and groveled for forgiveness, telling you that he just didn't feel that special connection with you anymore. That didn't take away from the fact that he was seeing another while you two were still dating and that he blew up your life's work. He had stolen everything from you, and you would never forgive him for that. 

After you made your thoughts on him completely clear, he had started treating you like you treated him in the last few months. Tension was building up between you two that had laid dormant for thirteen and a half years like a rope pulled taut about to snap.

Everybody had slowly returned to their annoying selves slowly but surely. Schlatt resumed his workout routine, Mexican Dream had started loudly singing and ranting about Mamacita's everlasting beauty again, and Wilbur eventually started up his solitaire and songwriting once again.

The three of them made you want to rip off your twisting horns and shove them in your ears in hopes of muffling them, but you knew that whomever put you here would restore your hearing and make your horns regrow. You knew that first hand after you spent a couple of years alone in this hellhole; breaking your horns off by repeatedly banging your head against the dull stone walls in a manic state was never fun. The regeneration of the keratin only slightly stung, it was like you were a kid and they were growing in for the first time again. 

You felt your eye twitch as Wilbur sang about that damned train for the umpteenth time since he arrived. It’s always ‘train this' and ‘train that' and quite frankly you were sick of it. You were sick of him. 

“Shut the fuck up about that damned train,” Schlatt seethed. You never once thought you would ever agree with your twin, but here you were nodding in agreement and shooting a glare at Wilbur’s direction. The brunet merely stopped his singing and reshuffled his cards, the sound making an ugly cacophony and grating at your ears. 

“Not my fault you two don’t want to talk to me. I’m just making due with what I’ve been given.” He dealt the cards out in piles and started yet another game of solitaire. Seriously, how many games of solitaire can one play before they lose it? You supposed that you’d find out soon, Wilbur has been playing that monotonous card game nonstop for thirteen and a half years.

“Yeah, let the hombre chill! I like his music.” The masked man reached up to stroke his goatee, the scratching sound further penetrating your focus on your book. 

Everything was quiet before Mexican Dream's voice pierced it, "hey, did I ever tell you guys how beautiful my Mamacita was?"

"You told us millions of times, fuckface. You narrate entire love letters daily, so how could we not know how 'beautiful' she was?" You complained, not once looking up from your book. Schlatt snorted to himself and returned to his workout. Mexican Dream crossed his arms in anger, cursing you out under his breath. Wilbur merely glanced at you and rolled his eyes. "You know, I'm tired of your bitchy attitude. Let him talk about Mamacita, it's not his fault every time you think you love someone it fails." 

Your grip on your book tightened impossibly. If it were physically possible, the book would be crumbling to dust in your voice grip. You practically see red as you slowly dog-eared the worn page you were on and put your book down. 

"Oh shit," you heard Schlatt mumble and move away from you, Mexican Dream following suit. When you both were alive, your anger was always something you knew Schlatt feared. However, you knew that he's never seen you this angry; nobody has. The majority of what you've been holding in for almost fourteen years is about to be unleashed. 

"You know what I'm sick of, Wilbur?"

"Oh, do enlighten us."

"I'm sick of each and every single one of you. You three have been absolutely intolerable ever since you arrived. I was doing just fine alone and the universe just had to fuck everything up for me, just like it always does."

"There you go again," Wilbur laughed sardonically, "making everything about yourself." He gathered his cards and shuffled them repeatedly. 

"I make everything about myself?! Do you even hear yourself? Mr. Oh-I'm-such-a-disappointment-to-Philza, you wallow in self pity twenty-four seven! You fucking write every single song about yourself!”

"I didn't want to come here, okay?! I didn't think it was gonna be like this! God, I might as well be in hell with you here." 

"Believe me, my hell started fourteen years ago when you guys started showing up," you growled out, your ears flattening to the sides of your skull.

"Have you ever stopped to think that you're our hell? All you've done since we came here was complain and be a massive douche to all of us." He fluttered through the deck more and more as the argument escalated, the noise making you want to scream until you tasted blood.

"I'm the one that's in the wrong here? You fucked up my entire life. He," you pointed at Schlatt, "keeps beating me to death. And he," you jutted your chin towards Mexican Dream, "never shuts the hell up… Would you stop with that damn deck?! You're literally so fucking annoying." 

He narrowed his eyes, "make me."

A mixture of an animalistic growl and a guttural scream left your lips as you charged at him, your head tilted downwards so he could feel the brunt of your horns. He moved out of the way just in time, the side of your horn brushing against his arm. You crashed head first into the stone wall before you stabilized yourself and looked at the brunet with seething hatred. 

He was staring at you in shock, "how're you-" You used his shock to your advantage, throwing a right hook at his face. His head whipped to the side and his body followed, sending him to the ground in a heap.

"How am I still conscious? I'm a ram hybrid, dumbass. What'd you expect?" You huffed angrily before you pried the cards out of his hand and stalked over to the tracks. 

He scrambled up to stop you, but before he could even reach you, you held the deck over the tracks and looked down at him. You could just imagine how your horizontal pupils were blazing with fury. 

You reveled in the betrayal and animosity gleaming in his eyes as you dangled the thing he held dearest in this hell over the railroads. If you were to drop them, he'd never be able to see them again.

"We promised not to touch belongings on our first day here!" He yelled at you, his hands wrung in front of him nervously hiding the slight tremor. "Our first day here?" You scoffed, "the last time I checked, I was here for two years before any of you showed up." You gestured around the room in one angry swipe, the cards slipping slightly with how sweaty your hands were. It was then that you saw the fear in Schlatt's eyes. Good, that bastard should be scared of you. "If anything, you all are in my domain."

Wilbur flinched at the sight of the cards slowly slipping out of your hand, his breath hitching and panic stricken across his features. Mexican Dream stood up from his place and put his hands up. He was slowly approaching you like you were a cornered wild animal, making sure that you saw his every move. 

He nervously chuckled, "let's just put the cards down and have a nice talk. Doesn't that sound better than this, mi amigo?"

You shook the cards once again, taking in Wilbur's silent anguish with glee. "I'm not your friend, I'm anything but. Don't tell me what to fucking do or else that picture of Mamacita is the next to go."

"...Okay, you're in charge, man. Do what you want." He reluctantly sat back down next to Schlatt. The ram was watching in fear, yet it looked like he was entertained with what was happening. You couldn't blame him, the last interesting thing that happened was three full months ago when Tommy was taken. That and you probably looked feral at the moment.

"You understand that if you drop those, they're lost forever right?"

You threw your head back and laughed, "of course I know, why do you think I only have one sock? I already tried that shit out before you came." You hummed to yourself in thought, then grinned. Wilbur was going to love this.

While you shuffled the deck, you kept a close eye on the movement happening inside the cell. Another perk to being a ram hybrid was that you had a nearly 360 degree scope of everything around you. The only movement happening was the panicked breaths from Wilbur, good. You huffed in amusement, "alright Wilbur, let's do a card trick. I'd ask you to pick a card, any card, but I don't want to risk you fucking shit up again. So, I'm just going to draw for you." You drew a card from the middle of the deck and showed it to him. "The eight of clubs, how fitting." 

"(Y/n), I don't know what you're getting at, but if you don't give me those cards right now-"

"Shut it, I'm not done. I'm going to shuffle this back into the deck, watch the hands." You kept eye contact with him as you shuffled the cards rigorously, the card you pulled long since hidden with the slight of a hand. After a bit of shuffling and reshuffling, you had sneakily put the card between the two halves and bridged them until the cards were in one pile with the eight of clubs on top. 

You chuckled and pulled the top card, once again showing it to him. "Is this your card?"

He nodded slightly, never once taking his eyes off from the deck. "Yes, now give it back to me!" The angry and anxious undertones were like music to your ears.

You tapped your chin in thought, "hm, I don't think I will. You've taken so much from me, it's only fair that I get some revenge." Without another word, you threw the cards behind your head and smiled widely at the sound of the fluttering down to the tracks. 

Wilbur launched himself forward with a frantic yell, his hands flailing to catch all of the cards before they were lost forever. He only succeeded in catching a few. 

His breath shuddered as he stared at the three cards in his hand: the five of diamonds, the four of spades, and the seven of hearts. The fate of the universe was on your side for once, perhaps preternaturally so. 

"You- do you realize what you just did?!" He spun around to face you. If humans could froth at the mouth, a full waterfall would be streaming through his gritted teeth. His eyes held the rage of a man that had just lost everything in one singular instant, the resentment swirling in his dark brown orbs. Several veins were bulging in his face and neck, painting the skin in a red hue.

You walked over to your book and plopped yourself down. "Yeah," you said with a nonchalant shrug of your shoulders. You opened up your book and started reading it again, leaving the man to his grief. 

Everything was quiet once more much to your delight. Though you read this book from cover to cover thousands of times, enough to know most of the words by heart, you were never able to fully enjoy and immerse yourself in it with them around. You took this time to reclaim your designated corner and spend some quality time reading. 

You spent hours with your nose buried deep in your book, savoring the peace. That was until it was snatched out of your hands and ripped away from you. You looked up in slight shock at the sight of Wilbur snapping it shut and walking over to the tracks. 

No. No. Nononono he can’t. That was the only thing keeping you sane. He can't just get rid of it when he's done so much towards you when you were alive. 

A wail left your mouth as you tackled him to the ground, your arms wrapped around his midsection. He crashed to the ground with a grunt, his forehead smacking against the painted yellow stone. You straddled his back and ripped the book away from him, throwing it across the room and away from the tracks. 

You grabbed a fist full of his hair after yanking off his beanie and tossing it into oblivion with his precious cards. You pulled his head up and leaned close to his ear, "you try that shit again and your hat and cards won't be the only things lost to the void." Venom was seeping through your every word, "do you understand me?" 

He merely jerked his head to the side, colliding it with your nose and mouth. You shouted in surprise and let him go in favor of holding your aching nose. You could feel the warmth of the blood pouring from it. Through teary eyes, you looked up at Wilbur as he grabbed your book and flung it against the wall of the opposite side of the tracks. You scampered to the edge and watched in horror as it disappeared into the void. 

Without warning, you were forced to the ground, a hand holding you by a horn and a knee between your shoulder blades. You struggled before a dark chuckle was heard, "if you keep moving, you'll slip! Do you really want that?" You begrudgingly stopped, realizing that he had all the power in this situation. If he wanted to, he could just slide you off from the platform and toss you away like throwing a piece of paper into the trash.

"Good, you're not as stupid as you were earlier today." He slid you forward, holding your upper body over the tracks by the horn. You came face to face with the swirling abyss that was the void, small shapes appearing from your eyes adjusting to the sudden lack of visual stimulant. Your breathing picked up as he lowered you slightly, "you don't wanna do this." 

"No, I do. Thirteen and a half years of having to be around you was hell, but the shit you pulled today just put the icing on the cake. Do you have any last words before you go?"

You grunted as he shook your head slightly, a slight pain coming from the base of your horn. "Fuck you." 

"How appropriate, now let's see if you'll come back this time. It'll be our fun little science experiment!"

He dropped your horn without a care in the world, sending you plummeting to your demise. A terrified scream ripped it's way out of your throat and you screwed your eyes tightly shut in preparation for the void. Your body came to a jerking halt as you held your breath, preparing for… whatever awaited you. However, nothing came.

You cracked open an eye only to be met with the uncanny inkyness, the invisible mist freezing your face and its frostbitten arms opened wide for you. But you never fell into its embrace. 

Instead, you were pulled back onto the platform. You laid on your stomach with your horn supporting your head staring at the wall, tracing every single nook and cranny of the bricks. Your chest heaved as you greedily gasped for air. You never thought you'd be so relieved to see the cement walls you've been trapped in for over a decade and a half.

You were once again pulled up into a now sitting position and leaned against the wall, your back touching the cool cement. Across from you, you saw Mexican Dream pinning a struggling Wilbur down to the floor. Wilbur's crazed eyes met you, piercing through your very being. However, that didn't affect you in the slightest; you almost were just wiped from existence completely, you stared into the abyss and it stared back at you.

You felt… strange, to say the least. While icy fear and adrenaline coursed through your veins, you felt warmth blossoming in you at the same time. It was like the void was an actual person, politely giving you some form of relief from the hell you've been subjected to for over a decade and a half. It was so welcoming, not terrifying like you initially thought it was. When your fingertips grazed its surface it felt freezing to the touch, yet you felt the staticky power it was showing you. In that split moment of touching it, you had already accepted the power it held over you. 

A hand softly slapped your cheek, "c'mon, (y/n). Talk to me." Your eyes drifted lazily to your twin. He was extremely pale, his eyes frantically searching your face for any sign of responsiveness. When you looked at him, he visibly relaxed. "It was so… so beautiful, Schlatt."

"Yeah, what the actual fuck did you just say? You almost just- just died for good dumbass." He looked at you incredulously, you could just see the cogs in his brain working hard to process what the hell he was seeing. 

You looked back at Wilbur, he had stopped struggling slightly and was instead looking at you with a hint of confusion shining through the crazed daze. Mexican Dream tilted his head, the mask skewing slightly to the side of his face. "Thank you, Wilbur. You've shown me that there's… there's more to this hellhole than suffering. There's beauty in the darkness." His struggling had come to a complete halt, now staring at you with the most confusion you've ever seen from him. You also saw a very small hint of fear from deep within his irises.

A calloused hand gripped your chin and forced you to look back at your twin. "What are you on," he hissed lowly, "the stuff that's comin outta your mouth right now is actually batshit insane. He almost just permanently murked you and you're fucking thanking him." 

"I haven't felt this at ease in nearly two decades. I feel ethereal, Schlatt, and it's all thanks to him." You let your eyes drift over to Wilbur. Giving him a content smile, you nodded your thanks at him.

The next few days went by tensely for the others, eyeing your every move and keeping you away from the ledge. You had only peered over the ledge once since then, it was just so alluring to you. It was nothing, yet everything at the same time. Mexican Dream had pulled you back to the opposite end of the room by your horns. The part that disturbed the three men was that you said absolutely nothing about it. You didn't even struggle against it, you just laid limp and let it happen. 

With each passing second you spent away from the void, the feeling of utter peace was rapidly draining from your body; instead being replaced by icy fear, paranoia, and the realization that you were almost completely swallowed whole by the void. 

After coming back to your senses, you didn't allow anybody near you. Your instincts going haywire and screaming that they were going to hurt you if they came close. The last time Schlatt tried touching you, you damn near took his finger off. They didn't bother trying to approach you anymore, instead glancing at you from the corners of their eyes. Wilbur was perhaps the one you feared the most, you knew that if he didn't hesitate to toss you away the first time, he would surely do it a second time. He spent most of his time staring at you, you didn't know if he was zoned out or not.

Everybody was against you, you knew it. You just knew it. They were plotting to toss you back into the void. That thing- or was it an entity? Whatever it was held a power over you that you didn't know was possible. That trance that it put you in, the craving you felt, was something that was repeating like a broken record in your mind. You could still feel the void calling out to you, it was terrifying. 

You spent most of the time huddled in your corner staring at the fingers that had grazed the textured nothingness. You could still feel the buzzing and popping of the power on your fingertips, that inky residue staining your skin wouldn't come off. No matter how hard you scrubbed, scratched, or scraped, it would not leave your body. It was freezing.

The oncoming train screeching to a gradual stop was perhaps the only thing you fully acknowledged outside of your safety bubble in days. You watched in shock as it stopped at the platform. The doors opened with a fwoosh, fog pouring out onto the smooth stone floors. 

Out stepped Dream, the smile etched into his cracked mask sent chills to your core. Next to him was… was another Wilbur? How in the name of Ender was that even possible? 

This Wilbur was different though. This one was desaturated. This one didn't have an insane glint in his eyes, this one had grief shimmering in the tears that steamed on his cheeks. This one was broken compared to the well established man against the wall. This one was defenseless. 

Dream shoved him to the center of the room, the man falling to his hands and knees. Sobs escaped his mouth as steam left his skin and drifted along the sides of his face before dissolving into the air. 

"Got a new plaything for you guys, this one isn't as… fun as Wilbur is though." Dream's head turned towards you before it tilted. "What happened there? Did our dear little (y/n) get too close to the void?" 

"They are none of your concern, pandejo," Mexican Dream seethed at his counterpart from his position next to the train. "Why are you even here, man?"

"Oh, I'm just here to make a trade. I'm afraid that I'll have to give you guys Ghostbur here in exchange for Wilbur."

Wilbur stared at him with pure hope and glee springing up in his eye for the first time in over a decade. "Really?" 

Dream chuckled, "yes, really. What, do you really think I'd lie to you?" 

"I don't know, ya smiley freak. You've been known to fuck people over." Schlatt scoffed, his ear flicking in annoyance. 

"I'm telling the truth this time. Wilbur, come with me." 

Stars shone in his eyes as he reveled in the sight of the open train doors. He followed the masked man with a skip in his step, ecstatic giggles leaving his mouth as he boarded. 

Anger flooded you as you purse your lips together and you darted towards the train. The doors were closing already, if you could just- 

The door shut with a clank, blocking you from freedom. Your clenched fists banged against the window, glowering at the sight of Wilbur's happiness and Dream looking at you with a wave.

"You fucking bastard! Take me, he doesn't deserve it! He threw his goddamned life away, you're wasting your time with him!" Your angry shouts were ignored by the two however as the train once again started moving with a small hiss. 

A frustrated scream left your mouth as you pummeled the iron with your fists as it moved. If only you could find a train car to jump onto- 

Now. You leapt from the platform towards the junction between two of the train cars. However, your leap of faith was set to a halt midair by Schlatt holding your upper arms. You thrashed against him, desperate to get back to the land of the living, desperate to leave this godforsaken hell called the afterlife, but once again, you were torn away from what you were trying to achieve. 

You fell limp as you watched the last train car pass the platform and disappear down the tracks and into the void. The next possible time it would show it’s face would be in a few months if you were lucky. You let him take you back to your corner, your feet limply being drug against the floor. After you were plopped back down, you stared at the clone of your ex. You were pretty sure Dream said that his name was ‘Ghostbur’. What a strange name, yet you supposed that it was fitting for Wilbur’s apparition. 

“Are ya done with your little ‘moment’, (y/n)?” Schlatt was kneeling in front of you, his hands prepared to grab you if you made a run for it. Though his tone was annoyed, you could detect the very small worried undertone of his voice. 

You nodded and watched as he took a seat next to you, also staring at the newcomer. This is the closest he’s sat next to you in years. 

“...What do you think of the clone over there?” You hummed to yourself, “he looks pathetic, but I think that might be the only thing he and Wilbur share.” 

Mexican Dream took a seat next to you, slinging an arm over your shoulders. Normally, you would’ve shrugged him off, but you were too emotionally drained to do so. “Si, he does look kinda weak. But I think our new hombre here has promise.” 

“Promise for what?” Schlatt snorted. Mexican Dream hesitated, “...I don’t know. This is gonna be interesting, mis amigos.” 

“The party’s just begun, boys. Buckle up, this is gonna be a wild fucking ride.” You mused to them, unsure of what the future would hold with the newcomer. Though after a couple of years, you were sure you were going to hate him; that is if he’s nothing like his clone. Ender help you if he’s anything like Wilbur. 

As you stared at the broken man, you couldn’t help but wonder: why did he get to go back? As far as you were concerned, psychopaths like him do not deserve a second chance at life. If anything, it should be you boarding that train. It should be you getting a second chance. He was the one that so readily threw his life away while you had yours ripped away from you.

One continuous thought was circling in your mind: why couldn’t it have been me?

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

You wrung your hands together as you anxiously waited for Tommy, Ghostbur, and Friend outside of Pandora’s Vault. Ranboo and Tubbo sat next to you in the grass, giving you silent comfort with their presence. You were mainly worried for your boyfriend, his worst fear was Dream using the resurrection book on him. You had calmed him down from a panic attack prior to meeting up with the teenagers, begging him to let you go in his place. Of course, Ghostbur being the caring and brave soul he was, wove you off and ensured that he’d be okay. 

When you saw someone emerging from the portal, you leapt to your feet and steadied your head on your shoulders before you examined the people emerging. Except you only saw a human and a sheep, no ghost. 

Tommy looked pale and on the verge of tears as he led Friend towards you. Before he spoke, he used his sleeve to wipe at his tears. 

“Hey, Tommy! How did it- where’s Ghostbur?” The enderman hybrid stretched his usually slouched back to peer at the portal, keen eyes searching for any sign of movement. 

“I think he’s dead… He’s dead!” 

Tubbo tilted his head and looked up at the blond in confusion, “well, yeah. He’s a ghost. Of course he’s dead.” Ranboo nodded in agreement, “yeah, he can’t die again. That just isn’t possible.”

You said nothing (not like you could in the first place, your head wasn’t connected to your body), looking into Tommy’s eyes inquisitively. They were chock full of panic, grief, and fear, staring down at the lead in his clenched hands. 

“No, no you don’t understand, it’s not that he’s dead… it’s that Wilbur’s back.”

“Hold on, the Wilbur that blew up L’Manberg? That Wilbur?” Ranboo peered down at him incredulously. “Yes! C’mon, he- we gotta get to L’Manberg.” 

He spun around and led Friend towards L’Manberg, walking quickly with a purpose. You, Ranboo, and Tubbo followed. You hugged your head close to your chest, your eyes peeking over your arms. It was always something you’ve done whenever you were scared or worried about something. You heard stories about Wilbur from your nephew, if the stories of his insanity terrified you, you’d hate to see the man in person. 

“I was about to kill Dream, and- and Ghostbur died. Dream revived Wilbur… Fuck!” Tommy walked faster, L’Manberg far off in the distance. With one hand, you grabbed the blond’s attention and finger spelled, ‘are you serious? He’s actually gone?’

“Yes! How many times do I have to explain this?! Ghostbur isn’t with us anymore and Wilbur’s back. Wilbur’s back and we’re absolutely fucked.” He turned on his heel and resumed his beeline towards the crater in the wall. No, he couldn’t be gone. This was just a cruel prank they were pulling on you, right? 

Tubbo put a comforting hand on your shoulder, giving you a small sympathetic smile. You leaned into his touch slightly and carried on, stepping into the makeshift staircase behind Tommy. 

You moved your arms to cover your eyes as you stepped aside to make room for the other two teenagers. You heard a voice; it sounded exactly like Ghostbur’s voice, yet it sounded... off. You however remained hopeful and uncovered your eyes. 

The man that stood there certainly wasn’t your boyfriend. Everything about him was just so wrong. The emotion in his eyes, his clothing, his smile, his stance, his hair, everything. This was a completely different person. This was Wilbur Soot. 

“Hello again.” His eyes flicked around your group, his gaze lingering on you for longer than the rest. You noticed that he was staring at your neck, but that was okay. You were used to it; everybody did that. What you weren’t used to was the revulsion that flashed in his eyes. The eyes that once lovingly stared at you and reassured you that he’d love you even with your… condition were now filled with disgust. 

That was what broke you, the tears that you tried to hold in came streaming out like a waterfall. Stinging pain hit you as the water worked its way through the cloth of your uniform onto your arms, leaving steam floating upwards towards the cave ceiling. You phased through Ranboo’s body and made a mad dash towards your sister’s house. You needed her, you could feel a panic attack brewing inside you. Usually you would hate to be a bother to your older sister and Ghostbur would always calm you down, but now he’s…

You pushed that thought aside and focused completely on getting to Puffy’s house in the distance. You phased through the door without a thought to knock, frantically beginning your search for Puffy. 

You looked everywhere, but you couldn’t find her. Unable to cope any longer, you fell to your knees in the middle of the living room and hugged your head to your chest, your face being pushed against your uniform. Your shoulders shook with silent painful sobs, the only sound in the room being the sizzling of your skin. 

Why couldn’t it have been you? It should be Ghostbur standing there in that cavern, not Wilbur. This was completely your fault, you should’ve gone instead of him. You should’ve volunteered quicker than he did, you shouldn’t have let him talk you into it with his soothing words. Now because of your complete and utter cowardice, he was stuck in the afterlife once again. You were never going to see him any time soon. Your other half was ripped away from you because of your inaction. 

Between sobs, your lips repeatedly formed the same phrase: why couldn’t it have been me?

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[kozumekenza]

on my mind :: seven

:: suna rintarou x f!reader :: playlist :: masterlist ::

:: taglist: open :: wc: 1.8k ::

After a drunken one-night stand with your ex, you thought you could get him out of your life for good. Unfortunately, the two of you can’t seem to keep away from each other. Why can’t you leave each other alone? And more importantly, why is he still on your mind?

tw: alcohol, profanity, gets a bit nsfw at the beginning, implications of sex

“Do you wanna come inside?”

Your voice may have been slightly pleading, but you didn’t care. You wanted to have this conversation with Suna, wanted to tell him how you felt, wanted to wake up next to him tomorrow morning and all the mornings after. 

“Are you sure?” Suna seemed hesitant, and you knew why. He knew that by inviting him in, you were inviting him to a conversation about your relationship.

You nodded your head and unlocked the door to your apartment. You poured two glasses of wine and then found yourself in a familiar position; you sitting at one end of the couch, Suna on the other.

“You probably know why I asked you to come in,” you said, sliding one of the glasses down the coffee table towards Suna. He nodded, and you continued. “I really wanted to wait until after the Olympics, so I wouldn’t be distracting you, but I just can’t wait any longer.” You looked him in the eye before continuing. “I love you, Rintarou, and I can’t wait any longer to tell you. I want to be with you, I want to go with you back to EJP, if you’ll have-”

Your words were cut off by a very enthusiastic Suna who had dove across the couch to capture your lips with his. You kissed him back passionately, until he pulled away to whisper to you. 

“Of course I want you to come to EJP with me. I want it to be you.” You giggled somewhat childishly, allowing yourself to be caught up in the sheer happiness of the moment. You could feel Suna’s smile against your lips, his hands roaming across your body. 

“Do you wanna stay the night?”

Suna nodded enthusiastically, pulling you up from the couch. You led the way to the bedroom, tugging Suna’s hand and leaving the half-empty wine glasses on the table. 

As soon as you crossed the threshold of your bedroom, Suna was pushing you up against the wall, hands holding your face with such reverence that you thought you might cry. You could feel his lips ghosting across your jaw, neck, and collarbone as you carefully tugged off his shirt. You put your hands against his chest, reveling in the smooth, hard muscle there. As you started working on the button of Suna’s jeans, he still hadn’t made a move to undress you.

“Rin, please,” you whispered, voice feather-light and absolutely pleading.

You could feel the sinister grin that spread across Suna’s face against your neck, and you knew you were in trouble. “Already begging for me, babe?”

You scoffed and pushed him back until his thighs hit your bed, watching as he fell backwards into the mattress. “Fine, I’ll do it myself.” You took your clothes off rather unceremoniously, Suna smirking at your own impatience. Standing in front of him in just your bra and underwear, you slid his jeans off. He continued smirking until you straddled his waist, only two layers of cloth separating you two. His hands found your hips as you leaned down to kiss him. Suna’s lips were soft, perfectly distracting you as his hands drifted. 

You allowed yourself to be caught up in the heat of the moment, your mind completely drifting as Suna took control. Whispered words in the dark made your heart beat faster, soft confessions of love and Suna’s deep voice praising you. You savored the feeling of him, strong arms wrapping around you, a hand grabbing both of your wrists, back muscles rippling underneath your fingertips. 

When you fell asleep later that night, you were tucked into Suna’s chest, his arms wrapped around your body.

---

The sunlight streaming in through the windows woke you the next morning. You found yourself stifling a laugh at the familiarity of waking up with Suna, only this time, it was under much better circumstances. You didn’t make a move to disentangle yourself from his arms, instead sinking farther in and allowing yourself to close your eyes and listen to his heartbeat. 

He stirred, leaving a gentle kiss on your forehead as he rolled to face you completely. A hand came up to rest on the side of your face. Suna’s eyes were soft, a sleepy smile on his lips. 

“I’m not dreaming, right?”

You giggled a little at his question.”No, this is real.”

“Good.”

“Why do you ask?”

He gave you a long blink before answering. “‘Cause it’s everything I’ve been dreaming of for the past eight years.”

You swatted at his arm, laughing. “You are so soft for someone who has chronic resting bitch face and never answers personal questions in interviews.”

“You watch my interviews?”

Blushing, you nodded. “Every single one. And every highlight reel. Every game. Anything to do with you.”

“Who’s the soft one now?”

His knowing grin made you groan, lifting yourself off the bed. Suna clung to your arm like a sloth. “Where do you think you’re going?”

You rolled your eyes. “Breakfast, I’m hungry.”

He released you and flopped back into the bed, burrowing into your blankets. You smiled at his antics, then got up to make coffee and something to eat. 

---

The weekend passed in much of the same fashion, you and Suna staying in bed much longer than you should, watching replays of EJP games (Suna needed your opinion, apparently) and talking. 

On Sunday afternoon, you pulled out your laptop to email a resume to EJP’s coach, but Suna stopped you.

“I already called coach, the job’s yours if you want it.”

You snapped your head up to look at him, laptop sliding off your lap. “Huh?”

“You got the job, it’s yours.”

“What do you mean? I haven’t even applied or sent a resume.”

Suna just looked at you. “You don’t need to, you’re hired already. I called coach and gave him your credentials, and he wants you to be our trainer.”

You gave Suna an incredulous look. “When did you do that?”

He smiled, “Two weeks ago.”

Your jaw dropped. “You were that confident that I would get back together with you?”

“I call it hopeful. And yes.” You rolled your eyes before pulling him in for a kiss.

“Thank you, Rin. And let me guess, I already have somewhere to live?”

“Of course, with me.” You grinned. “My apartment’s pretty big, more of a penthouse, anyway. We can move back together after the Games.”

Your smile became even wider. You liked the idea of “together”.

---

When you and Suna walked hand-in-hand into Monday’s morning practice, Atsumu laughed. 

“I fucking knew it. You two can’t keep away from each other.”

Suna punched Atsumu in the shoulder before dropping you off at your office with a kiss on the cheek. 

Practice was much better now that you and Suna were actually together. With two weeks until the move into the Olympic Village, training was picking up. The hardest would be over at the end of the week, with the week before the move-in full of easier drills and low-impact exercises. You enjoyed being able to watch Suna without restraint, taking in every move, every muscle. 

You spent your evenings with Suna, taking extra care of sore muscles and aching joints. He laughed at your fussing, but you didn’t stop. You wanted him to play at top form in the upcoming Games, and you were going to do everything you could to make sure he got there. 

Atsumu was petty about you “playing favorites”, as he put it, but his jealousy was quickly dismissed when you threw an ice pack at him. 

On the last practice before you left the National Team training center, the atmosphere was electric. Training was minimal, focusing on stretching and keeping muscles warm rather than drills and practice matches. You even watched tapes from the most recent world championship, taking notes on opposing teams and players. 

When practice was finally over, you helped Iwaizumi pack all of the training gear.

“Thank you for doing such a good job this season, y/n. I know the team will be in good hands with you.”

You smiled bright at his praise. “Thank you. I hope you enjoy Argentina, although I and everyone else will miss you.”

Iwaizumi shrugged. “It’s about time I left anyway. My fiance’s been waiting for me for quite some time.”

You laughed a little bit. “That’s quite romantic.”

“Just wait ‘til you meet him. He’s the opposite of romantic. In fact, he’s quite annoying.”

“I’m going to meet him?”

“Yeah, he plays for the Argentina volleyball team. He’s gonna be all ‘Iwa-chan, how dare you be on Japan’s side. How dare you be their trainer. I can’t believe you.’ Just wait, it’s obnoxious. You’ll wish you didn’t meet him.”

Stifling your laughter, you replied, “I’m sure that’s not true.”

Without missing a beat, Iwaizumi said, “It is, trust me.” He looked over his shoulder at you. “Anyway, I should be the one congratulating you. It seems you and Suna finally figured everything out.”

Your cheeks flared red. “How’d you know about that?”

Iwaizumi chuckled. “Atsumu, of course. The whole team’s been making bets on how long it would take for you two to get back together, for Suna to realize who took his jersey, pretty much everything.”

You paused, one of your hands still in a box of athletic tape. “He told you everything?”

Iwaizumi nodded, watching as you stomped towards the locker rooms. “Excuse me.”

Iwaizumi proceeded with his packing, only pausing slightly when he heard a very loud, very agitated, “Miya Atsumu!”

---

You dropped the heavy box you were carrying, wiping the sweat from your forehead. Suna dropped his box next to yours, then flopped on your bed. 

“Get off, Rin. This isn’t your room. And we have more boxes.”

He groaned, looking up at you. “C’mon, y/n. It’s hot, and I need to rest. Big games coming up, y’know?”

You grabbed his hands, dragging him off the small bed. “A few more boxes, Rin, I promise.”

Later that night, after unpacking the boxes of training supplies and going over schedules with the coach and Iwaizumi, you were finally settled in your tiny room in the Olympic Village. You were rooming alone, with team supplies taking up half of the space. Just as you were about to drift to sleep, your door opened, a tiny sliver of light from the hallway slipping in.

You didn’t even roll over. “Rin, there is not enough room for you in here. This bed is tiny as fuck.”

“C’mon, y/n. I can’t sleep when I’m not next to you.”

You tried to ignore the pleading tone in his voice, but you could picture the puppy dog eyes he was probably giving you. “Fine,” you sighed, lifting the blankets for him to join you.

���Thank you, babe.”

You hummed, relishing in the warmth of Suna’s chest, just about to fall asleep when-

“Hey, do you think it’s true that these beds break if you have sex on them?”

---

The bed broke. 

taglist:  @sunasexual @call-me-lulu​ @ntimacy​ @circleglasses​ @porcolie​ @keikotaro @rintarovibes​ @kenmaslov3r​ ​

[mrs-nara-shikamaru]

Monthly collabs-Angst [Shikamaru]

Prompt: "You did what?"

Words: 1564

@bakubabes-hatake

A/n: I can’t write Angst to save my life. I really tried y’all.

Light pattering tapped against the roof above. Through the window, black clouds sprawl across the sky. The air was heavy and suffocating. Heated gazes were exchanged as words which could not be taken back were tossed in the air, like they would mean nothing.  Unsure if it was 'cause you were angry or hurt by the words lingering in the open or maybe it was both that causes the prickling sensation in your eyes.  You would be damned if you were going to cry in front of him. Especially now.  Maybe he was right. Women are troublesome.

"You know, I don't understand how you could think I'm not jealous, Shika! Fuck, do you understand the pleasure I took that other women weren't interested in you! I have to second doubt everything that I do now with two blondes after your attention. For gods sake-"

"You're overreacting [Y/n]. We work together because it’s the hokage's orders." an unbelieving look flushes across you face.  Shikamaru pinches the bridge of his nose. "You're being a drag, [Y/n]."

Your face burnt hot while grinding your teeth. "Everything is a drag to you. Isn't this relationship a drag too?" The sarcasm at the end should have been noted, but with the tension in the air and the argument, Shikamaru didn’t grasp it when giving his abrupt answer.  A moment of silence fell upon both of you. A moment that was used to process what he said. Words that he didn’t mean but fell out anyways. With a sharp intake of air, you toss your hands up and spun on the heels of your feet. Shikamaru didn’t attempt to follow, unable to swallow his proud in the heat of the moment. The front door slams closed, echoing around the empty, dark house.

You curse under your breath, forgetting the umbrella inside. It wasn’t worth it to turn back. Not with the hot tears running down your face, mixing in with the cold kisses of the rain that seems to angrily come down, almost reflecting the emotions you felt.

 The villagers ran around like mice trying to get out of the rain as you absent mindedly walk home. “[Y/n]!” You stop, looking around, thinking it was just a trick of your mind. In hopes that it was a certain someone. “[Y/n]!” Glancing above, someone drops down. “Are you a thousand miles away, [Y/n]?” Ino huffs, catching her breath, giving you a slight glare. “I’ve been trying to get your attention for the last three minutes. Lady hokage- Are you okay?” You could feel the tears getting ready to burst out again.

“Ino,” You throw yourself at her. The girl backs up in surprising, catching you with ease. The Yamanaka begins question what happened out of worry while trying to sooth her friend. “We fight! Shika thinks we should break up!”

“You did what?” Ino reels back, pushing you away with a look held on her face. “No way.” In a short moment, you explain what happened. Everything from the start of the fight to the end with you walking out. Ino sighs, ‘even the most compatible couples fight’ she thought to herself. “Maybe you guys just need a cool down time. Which bring up why I was looking for you. Lady Hokage has a mission for us.” Perhaps it was best to take a few days of breathing room. A mission would get things off your mind.

When arriving to the Hokage office, you figured Lee was your other teammate in the mission. “Good evening, [Y/n]-Chan!” Lee gave you a radiating look. Thankfully not commenting on the redness around the eyes or the fact that you were soaked. The mission was simple: grab a document from a neighboring nation and bring it back safely. Easy enough.

The mission starts simply in the early morning, the smell of rain was fresh, and mist was covering the ground as the team walks away from the village. Lee ended up hearing about the couple fight you had with Shikamaru as he does his early morning exercises towards the next nation, shouting something about how the “power of youth” was necessary with arguing. You knew he was just trying to make you feel better, saying it will pass as all couples go into fights.

“[Y/n]-Chan, everyone knows how Shikamaru looks at you with adoration, there is no way he would go for anyone else. There was no need to be jealous.”

“Lee, you don’t understand women. I can totally relate where [Y/n] comes from. It’s an insecurity for us.”

“Why? If he asked them out why would Shikamaru every look at another. It would be too much of a drag as he would say.” You laughed nervously as Ino and Lee kept bouncing back at each other. It took another half a day to get them onto a different topic that didn’t involve anything about your relationship. Both parties had made valuable points that the other didn’t understand. It was when the sun was setting you gave yourself a boost of confidence. Everyone says thing when they are mad. You had said some nasty things to Shikamaru without taking his points into consideration. Everything would just have to wait till you got home.

Everything was just a drag, Shikamaru thought to himself. Guilty and regret was eating at him after last night. He promised himself he would put aside his pride for you, to apologize for words he didn’t mean. It took him all night to figure out how you must have felt and now you were gone for a mission. With a sigh, Shikamaru concluded that argument were just a drag. He shouldn’t have gotten that mad. Both of you needed space to cool your heads but the next few days would eat him alive, waiting to make things right with his S/o. It didn’t help that a bad feeling was lingering at the back on his mind. Choji did his best to keep Shikamaru mind from running into overdrive with worry. “[Y/n] is strong, they have Ino and Lee with them. Besides, I’m sure she wants to come home as soon as possible to make things right with you.”

On the fifth day, Shikamaru woke up in a cold sweat. It was raining again. Just like it did on the day of the fight. The somber grey cloud were crying this time instead of angrily pouring. It wasn’t till later on in the morning that there was a knock at the front and an injured Ino came in, like she was at the edge of tears. It didn’t take a genius to guess why she was here.

It had honestly felt like a horse had hit you and dragged you through the rocky dirt road. You scrunched your eyes at the bright light that was sipping through.  Nothing felt worse than feeling powerless and heavy. You slowly start blinking to come to an understanding of where you were. As blinding light slowly subsided you could take a look around the surroundings. Pearl white walls decorate the room as the pattering sounds tap against the window, tear drops gliding down it and disappearing at the edge. The trees rocking outside against a sorrowful wind it seems.

Your head was pounding like someone banging on a set of drums. It took a brief second to process the figure next to the bed. Asleep with their hand tightly clenching yours, as though they were afraid. A few blinks, you could put together who it was. “Shika…” Your other hand hovers just above his head, determining your opinions. If Shikamaru was still upset, he wouldn’t be here, right?

Faith seemed to have made the choice for you, waking the young man. Your eyes meet and the room is at a standstill. It must have been his groggy mind that took him a minute to react. The love of his life finally awakes. “[Y/n].” He says in a small voice. “[Y/n]!” You couldn’t help but chuckle as he jumps up stopping himself from completely engulfing you, remembering your injuries. “How do you feel? Are you in pain? Do you remember what happened?” You briefly shack your head.

“My head feels like it’s on fire but other than that I just feel heavy. I think we got surprised attacked on our way back.” Shikamaru confirmed your thought. The room fell silent again other than the heart monitor beeping next to the bed. If anything, this was the best time as any.

“So, I don’t know if this is the best moment with me being out of it but I’m sorry for being a total bitch. I can see how this relationship could be a drag.” You whisper, afraid of letting the words slip out like you were committing the biggest crime. The man besides you scratches his cheek with a mutter of his famous words ‘what a drag.’

“I wasn’t going to bring it up until you felt better, but I can’t say I’m not at fault either.”

“So, you aren’t going to leave me…?”

“Did you honest expect me too, it would be too much of a drag to find someone else. God [Y/n], you’re a troublesome woman. You told Ino that.”

“Not my best move, however I was panicking, and I needed comfort.” Shikamaru shakes her head with a subtle smile. Man, arguing was such a drag.

[ronninoir]

Can I Steal You for a Second? CH2

Summary: Adrien is forced to participate in a new dating show, but becomes more excited when Ladybug says she’ll participate as her civilian self. AKA: AU where Adrien doesn’t know Marinette, the superheroes are 22 and Gabriel is mean and ruthless but not Hawkmoth.

Read on AO3

Chapter 2

As predicted, Tikki wasn’t for it. “Marinette! You can’t leave Paris unattended and just chase after your prince charming! Being Ladybug doesn’t work like that.”

 “But Tikki, I have to. I’ve been in love with Chat for 5 years and haven’t said anything! I was too nervous because he flirts with everyone and” a little bit of excitement sped through Marinette as she remembered something to help her argument. “he already knows. How do you expect him to trust me if I break his heart by backing out now?” The grin on Marinette’s face was devilish.

 She walked away from Tikki and took a seat on her chaise. Pulling two cookies from a box on the desk, Tikki flew over and handed one to Marinette before she began to munch on the other.

 “Just because you two are yin and yang doesn’t mean that you’re meant to be together romantically. Not every Ladybug and Chat Noir pair end up married. You shouldn’t use that as an excuse to do something crazy!” Tikki argued after she had swallowed her first bite.

 “That’s the thing though, Tikki! I love him. I’ve loved him for so long and I just want to get his attention in a different way! What if this is the way I’m supposed to complete him? What if this is our fate? By doing this show?” Tikki didn’t look convinced, so Marinette tried a different approach.

 “I’m also supposed to protect the black cat superheroes, correct?” Tikki gave a slight sigh and a nod. “How am I supposed to protect him if I let 30 girls throw themselves at him without keeping an eye on them and him. He needs me to be there.”

 Marinette finished her cookie as Tikki processed what she had said. After about 30 seconds of Tikki not looking up from her cookie, Marinette continued, “Look, I’ll put in my application. If they reject it, then it wasn’t meant to be and I’ll just keep an eye on Paris while Chat is away. He can’t be mad if the producers were the ones to make me break my promise. But if I’m accepted, then I get to fight for him. I get to be there for my other half. I promise, I’ll find a way to be Ladybug and a contestant. I’ll stay on super high alert for akumas, scope out all of the best transformation shots, and even see if I can get one night off a week to do patrol. Ladybug won’t fall to the sidelines.” Marinette paused, making direct eye contact with her kwami so she’d know how serious she was. “Deal?”

Reluctantly, Tikki looked up into Marinette’s eyes. “You’re not going to let this go until I agree, aren’t you?” Tikki responded with a sigh, “Fine, we have a deal.” 

Marinette couldn’t wait to begin.

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

 The next day, Marinette had already enlisted the help of her best friend Alya for her mission. Alya didn’t know the real reason she was interested in auditioning for the dating show, as that would involve revealing both her and Adrien’s identities, but Alya did know about her huge obsession with Gabriel Fashions, and by extension, Adrien, and so she was fully supportive of Marinette following her odd dreams by participating in the show.

 “Girl, I cannot believe you’re doing this!” Alya squealed as she dug around in Marinette’s closet.

 “Yeah me neither,” Tikki muttered in Marinette’s purse. She was loud enough that Marinette heard the sly comment, but Alya, who was too distracted editing the video anyway, could not.

 Becoming a contestant on a reality TV show was a lot more than Marinette had expected. She had to fill out a 6-page questionnaire, answering questions such as, “What is your current annual salary?” “Do you drink alcoholic beverages?” and “Why would you want to find your spouse on our TV show?” It was oddly a lot of work and some of the questions really made Marinette think.

 After the paper application was done, she needed to record a video of herself answering a series of questions and then pick anywhere from 5-15 pictures of herself. Then she would pack them all up and mail them to the studio.

 Alya had been called as soon as the paper application was done. She helped Marinette pick out the perfect photos (there were 8 of them, all of them showed off Marinette in a very good light and also showed her being a good person) and directed the video.

 As it turns out, the hardest part of the video was finding the perfect outfit. After 10 minutes of digging, Alya found the perfect dress, one that Marinette had designed, that made her look beautiful and professional without too much stiff-ness. Once the lighting was adjusted and everything was perfect, Alya began asking her questions.

 These questions were similar to the ones on the paper application, which helped because she already had her answers ready to go. She started off with a summary of herself, then moved on to her dating history (none, except for Juleka’s brother, but that was one date), then with her ultimate fantasy date (traveling to see the different fashion shows around the world), what her family was like, her traveling dreams, what she would do on a date in her hometown (obviously stroll around the Eiffel tower and all the sights, as well as baking with her parents), some of her special talents (thankfully she had some finished designs lying around and it gave her an excuse to talk about her dress), and finished up the video with a tour of her house. That part was fun because she got to show off her room and the bakery, where her parents were hard at work.

 Once the whole thing was done, Alya began editing on her computer. Marinette began cleaning up her closet and was only half listening to Alya’s comments, most of which were very sarcastic.

 “I should make a blooper reel to add to the end of the interview, this stuff is comedy gold!” Alya called to her with a laugh. Marinette pinked remembering how many times she had to do some of the questions before she got it sounding okay.

 “Honestly, Alya, they want to see my personality. As long as it’s not too embarrassing, I won’t say anything.” Alya’s squeal of delight made Marinette roll her eyes.

 “When you make it, you’re going to have to keep me updated on what it’s like to date none other than Adrien Agreste!” At that comment, Marinette couldn’t help but giggle.

 “You sound really cocky for someone who was just joking about my blooper reel!”

“Confident, not cocky, sweetheart!” Marinette smiled, despite herself. Alya’s confidence and excitement was contagious. She was also hoping her Ladybug luck would carry her most of the way through this process, even if Tikki didn’t think that was fair.

 “Anyway, Alya, you know they take the contestants phones from them once they arrive! No cell phones, no social media, no communication with the outside world. I even heard that there is no internet.”

 “Ugh, I couldn’t survive without internet! That’s why I didn’t audition! I couldn’t imagine being in a situation like that and NOT blogging the whole thing!”

 “But what about Nino?” Marinette asked with a raised eyebrow. Alya had been dating Nino, Marinette’s other best friend, since she moved to Paris in high school. The thought that Alya would ditch Nino to go on a dating show seems kind of extreme.

 “Nino would get over it. He knows I love him and would only go on the show to promote my blog. Can you imagine how many more followers I would have if I could promote the Ladyblog on National Television! It would be amazing!” Another squeal from Alya although Marinette didn’t smile.

“But, Alya, girls aren’t supposed to go on the show to promote their own things. They do it to find love. You can’t go on the show for the wrong reasons!” The rising anger in Marinette’s voice became very obvious, as well as very uncalled for, and it startled Alya a little. The thought of Alya, or anyone for that matter, using her kitty to promote themselves made Marinette fume with fury and she couldn’t stand the thought of him being used like that.

Thankfully, a smile broke across Alya’s face, “Relax girl, that’s why I didn’t audition! I couldn’t imagine using a person like that!” Alya then turned to Marinette with a smirk on her face, “Plus I knew that Nino wouldn’t know what to do without me while I was gone!” Alya began to laugh, and not long after, Marinette joined in, although her laugh was a little forced. She still couldn’t get over the fact that some of the girls could be there for the wrong reasons. At least Marinette will be there to help steer Adrien in the right direction. AKA: her.

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

About a week later, one of the producers of the show was sitting in a dark office, stifling a yawn. The office was small and boring, only holding a cramped desk, a computer, a chair, and an over-flowing pile of packages. He had been the unlucky one assigned to sorting through all of the potential contestants. The deadline for applications was yesterday and they had to wait for the mail to come in today before he was to start going through it all.

 He swiveled in his chair bitterly. Come and work on this new reality show, they said, it’ll be fun, they said. He rolled his eyes and began grabbing packages and ripping them open. He began downloading all of the videos onto the computer and labeling them with the girl’s name. After that was all done, he began flipping through the applications while watching, or rather ignoring, the same girl’s video, which he played on the computer.

 The hardest part of the job was finding 30 girls who fit both Adrien’s list of things he’s looking for in a girl, as well as Gabriel’s things. And when it came to it, all of the girls HAD to be Gabriel-approved, or it was going to be his head.

 Truthfully, he felt like a creeper looking through all of these pictures of the potential contestants. All of them included at least one swimsuit pick and they were all between the age of 21 and 25. That was all good for Adrien, but for him, a married guy... not so much.

 After a few more hours of work, he was going bleary-eyed and was ready to go home and give his wife a big hug and not tell her about this. The last video/application he looked at caught his eye. It was this pretty, petite girl with blue-black hair and a very nice smile. He thought he recognized her, but that couldn’t be possible. He checked her application again and noticed she was from Paris too. Her last name, Dupain-Cheng rang a bell as well.

 As he continued watching her video, during the house-tour, she showed the camera into a bakery. Yes! That was it! She was the daughter of the owners of the Dupain-Cheng bakery! Man, they made the best pastries. He had even considered stopping by on his way home tonight, to get his wife something sweet.

 Well, that settles it. She just has to be on the show. Completely ignoring the two requirement lists he had been religiously using, he moved her application into the “Casting Interview” pile, shut off his computer and headed out for the night. The Dupain-Cheng bakery wasn’t too far out of his way, and if he hurried, he could make it home right as dinner hit the table.

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

Weeks went by and Marinette had almost forgotten about the show and her application. Everything was normal: working in the bakery with her parents, going to classes and completing projects for University, and even her patrols with Chat were normal. He hadn’t brought up the topic of the show, except to confirm that she had applied. Life was normal.

That is, until she received a phone call from a producer saying that they would like for her to come in for an interview, a photoshoot, and some medical testing. She was thrilled, called Alya right away, and was able to clear the weekend in her calendar. The next night, on patrol, she told Chat just because she couldn’t contain her excitement.

“They said that just because I was called doesn’t mean I’m guaranteed a spot, but that I’ve made it to the top 50!” She let out a small squeal as Chat wrapped her in a hug and spun her around.

“Oh, Bug, this is wonderful! You are going to have a great time! They told me that this is the easy part! In fact, since most of you are going to be on the show with me, I’m not allowed to even leave my house during that weekend, for fear that I’ll see one of you.” Chat let out a short laugh at that, “Not that I’m normally allowed to leave the house, but now I’ll be under a heavier lock and key.”

 “Don’t worry, kitty, after the whole weekend is done, I’ll come and get you and we can run around the city so you don’t feel too trapped.” She leaned forward and flicked his bell, giving him a seductive smile.

 Chat gulped a little before responding with a choked, “Sounds good.” Ladybug couldn’t help but laugh. It was easy to make him flustered when she directly flirted with him, and it would provide better ammo once she was on the show. How he was going to survive 29 other girls flirting with him though, she had no idea.

Before Marinette knew it, the weekend of her interview came. She was pushed into a hotel room with 9 other girls and was forced to interact and bond with them. They started out with the interviews, where the girls were escorted one-by-one into another hotel room and interviewed by 3 of the producers. They asked simple questions and Marinette felt really good about it.

Then, once all 50 girls were done, they were served dinner and sent to bed. Early Saturday morning, they were escorted to the nearest hospital, where they would be getting some medical tests done. They did it in groups and rotated through. Some went to get a physical, some went to get the psych exam, some went to a drug test, some went to get fitted (the producers thought it would be easier this way and therefore could have the seamstresses working on clothes for the girls who get cast) and some went to get tested for STDs (what they thought Marinette would be doing on this show, she had no idea).

 Then came the part that Marinette had been most nervous for, the photoshoot. She was never super comfortable in front of the camera, as she was usually the designer behind it. Thankfully, they were photographing them as a group first, then breaking them up for their solo shots. Marinette’s group was in the middle, and it allowed plenty of time to watch and get tips from other girls. One of the girls in Marinette’s group named Sasha was a model and she was more than willing to give everyone some helpful tips.

 Once it was all over, the girls were forced to go to a pool party at the hotel and mingle. Marinette met lots of really nice girls there, and even had a little fun. She almost forgot what they were doing all of this for. She did notice that some of the girls didn’t get-along with everyone and one particular girl named Lila, seemed to be collecting a cult-following of other potential contestants.

Marinette wasn’t impressed with Lila and elected to steer clear of her while she could. She reminded her too much of her high school bully Chloe Bourgeois, and she’d rather not go down that road.

Finally, it was time for bed and almost time for her to go home. She enjoyed being with some of these girls, but she couldn’t wait to sleep in her own bed, as well as see Chat Noir tonight. The superheroes had been a popular topic among the potential contestants. Some had never been to Paris before and were hoping to see a glimpse of the super-heroes. Even though Marinette knew that wouldn’t be happening, she couldn’t help but enjoy the excitement that her presence could potential cause.

 Sunday morning came with breakfast and a meeting. Something super formal that told the girls that they would be receiving a phone call from a producer whether they are cast or not. They were also reminded to not tell anyone about the beginning of the journey, as it would spoil the fun for some of the viewers. Although Marinette knew Alya wouldn’t let her get away without ALL of the details, she agreed to their rules anyway.

Before she knew it, she was back in her room, hugging her parents and waiting for the sun to set so she could meet up with Chat. She passed the time by helping in the bakery and as soon as dinner was eaten and cleaned up, she excused herself for the night and ran upstairs.

She had barely come close to the Agreste Mansion when she saw someone standing at the window staring at her. Adrien was waiting for her. The thought made her heart soar, and his facial expression when he spotted her helped a ton. He quickly transformed and jumped out to meet her.

 “How was your weekend, milady?” He asked as they ran towards the Eiffel Tower.

 “Oh, it was so much fun,” the sarcasm was clearly heard and it made Chat laugh. “There was so much testing done and so many questions, and so. many. girls.” Ladybug let out a groan as they both touched down at the bottom of the tower. “Race you to the top and I’ll tell you what I can.”

“You’re on.”

 Once at the top (Ladybug won by one second), Ladybug told him everything that had happened, only leaving out the STD test (he was going to be super awkward about that and she didn’t want to be the one to tell him) and any specific girls she had met. She didn’t want to spoil his thoughts on any of the girls just yet. Although she did mention one girl, if not by name.

 “She was just horrible, Chat. I couldn’t exactly put my finger on it, but the other girls were flocking to her like she was their queen. It just didn’t sit right with me.”

“Hopefully she won’t make it past this level. If she does though, I’ll be able to spot her and eliminate her night one.” Chat said confidently while Ladybug played with his hair.

“We are just going to have to wait and see though.”

“Speaking of spotting people...” Chat trailed off and Ladybug looked around, wondering who he could have seen from this high up. “Are you going to reveal your identity once you’re officially cast or should you just get it over with now?”

 Ladybug’s hands froze in his hair. She had been waiting for him to ask this, so thankfully, she had discussed and rehearsed this moment with Tikki.

“Neither,” she replied as nonchalant as she could.

 Chat sat up fast and turned to look her in the eye. “What?”

“I’ve been thinking, and I don’t think it would be fair to the other girls if you already knew who I was. How are you going to convince the cameras, as well as all of France, that you are seriously looking for a wife out of these 30 girls if you already know one of them super well? It would show favoritism and I can’t support that.” The dumbfounded look on his face made her smile.

 “B-but, I need to know! You have to tell me! It’s only fair!” She rolled her eyes at his whine. He could be such a baby sometimes.

“Yes, it is fair for the other contestants. Plus, it’ll be more fun if you can pick me out of a crowd. It’ll make the game on your end more exciting.” He groaned and laid back down to where she could continue scratching his head.

 “I hate when you’re right,” was all he said.

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

A couple more weeks came by and Marinette was starting to get nervous. Because of Chat, she knew that they started filming in 3 weeks, and yet she still hadn’t received a phone call. Thankfully, Alya understood her stress and swore to not call her until she found out.

“Maybe they are just running behind?” She suggested helpfully as she spun in Marinette’s desk chair. “Maybe they want you freaking out so you’ll act more desperate on the show.”

 Marinette let out a strained laugh and then fell silent as she stared intently at her phone.

“Have you ever heard the saying, ‘A watched phone never rings?’” Alya asked, stopping her spinning to eye Marinette in her desperate position.

“That’s not a real saying,” She replied without looking away from her phone.

“Even so, it’s true,”

 The days went by so slowly, Marinette was sure an akuma was responsible. By the time Friday rolled around, Marinette felt as though she’s lived through a whole month. Tikki tried to talk some sense into her, but Marinette wouldn’t hear it.

 She ended up working the whole day in the bakery, which helped take her mind off of things. When she took her lunch break, she quickly escaped upstairs to the apartment before her Maman could ask her to do something else. She quickly made her lunch and began eating.

 “Could I have that strawberry?” Tikki was sitting by her plate, staring hungrily at the very sweet-looking strawberry.

“Sure, Tikki,” Marinette responded with a smile. How lucky she got to have a kwami with a sweet tooth. She didn’t know what she would do if she had been stuck with someone like Plagg, who’s constant need for cheese, and expensive cheese at that, was hard to maintain.

 She heard a ringing and a vibrating from the counter that jerked her out of her thoughts. When she looked at her phone, it was an unknown number. Marinette’s heart sped up as she reached to answer.

“Hello?”

“Hi, this is Pierre from the TV studio. I’m calling to talk to Marinette Dupain-Cheng?”

“This is she.” She had to take a sip of water because her mouth had suddenly gone dry.

“Hi, Marinette. I just wanted to call and let you know that you’ve been cast on this season of The Bachelor! I am currently sending you an email with your packing list, everything you need to know pre-filming, as well as when the car will be at your house to pick you up. If you have any questions, feel free to email us. Congratulations and we will be seeing you in two weeks!”

Marinette was staring at her plate with her mouth gaping. Tikki gave her a quick nudge and she started, suddenly realizing that she needed to say something to the man.

“Thank you so much! I’ll see you in two weeks!” She quickly hung up so as to not say anything stupid.

“Congratulations, Marinette! You’re going to have your work cut out for you, but I know you’ll be able to pull it off!”

Marinette couldn’t believe it. She’d made it. She’d be able to go on a proper date with Adrien and possibly get him to fall in love with her! She didn’t realize she was screaming until her mom ran up the stairs, a worried look on her face.

“Marinette, what’s wrong?”

“Maman! I made it! I got cast on the show!”

Sabine engulfed her in a hug and dragged her downstairs to tell her Papa. He was so excited, he told the whole storefront, which resulted in spattered applause and a very red-faced Marinette. Numbly, she moved back upstairs to finish her lunch. 

“What an exciting day, Marinette!” Tikki said, resuming her work on her strawberry.

“And it’s only lunch! Wait until I tell Alya!” A wonderful thought then crossed her mind and a slightly manic grin spread across her face. “Oh man, wait until I tell Chat!”

~~

Let me know if you wanna be tagged for updates! 

@legendaryneckjudgestudent

@discoveringmiraculouswriters

[carnistcervine]

Parasitic Raava AU

F-it. Everyone is posting their awesomeness. I’m just gonna go out and post this. I’ve been sitting on this AU for months. Only having the courage to write a one-shot for it for Halloween. And that was for an off-shoot of this AU! Yeah, the main AU actually isn’t about Zuko and Azula at all. That was just from a random idea I got listening to a song. xD I am working on an outline for an expansion of that idea called “Cain and Abel” but it’s heavily in the rough stages for now. ewe

The main AU just follows off canon Avatar lineage, and Vaatu doesn’t get to have any fun at all. D’: Poor Vaatu, rest in rigatoni.

Okay so the inspiration for this idea originally came from when I was listening to the song Control by halsey, and I started thinking about the avatar state. It made me start thinking about a darker interpretation of the relationship between Avatar and Avatar Spirit. Then I was looking at a TvTropes page about animalistic abominations, and I started thinking about ATLA, cause some of the spirits look like animals and then the thing mentioned that Raava and Vaatu look like flatworms and oh god the mental image, it burns! ;n; I liked it better when I thought they were carpets... But anyway, after that horrifying revelation, my brain came up with this idea- What if Raava(and by extension Vaatu) was a parasite? Like she's still (mostly) good, but it's a pretty heavy case of good is not nice.

-If I had to describe this AU badly, it would be ATLA meets Venom.

-Big note: I have not seen Korra yet, so this is almost all based on what is established as canon in ATLA. Not that it really matters, since I'm not exactly trying to be accurate to canon anyway. :'D

-One note I should make right here is that for Wan's story at least, since it takes place in an era around the beginning of bending and benders, there is no four nations yet. There are four definitive elements, and four main divisions of people. Also because this is basically before/at the very beginning of the bending age, people aren't really benders, they have been gifted with the power to control the elements, but they're still learning to properly use said powers. So instead of benders, they are known as tide-pushers, earth-shifters, fire-makers, and cloud-sitters. The water tribes are broken up along many islands, swamps and the north and south poles. Instead of an Earth Kingdom, there's the Earth Continent which is made up of many cities and kingdoms and tribes; The Mountain Kingdom, the Sand Tribes, The Great City of the Steppe, etc... What will be known in the future as the Fire Nation is known as the Volcanic Archipelago, which contains many cities and tribes. The biggest and most prosperous city is Dragon City, this is where Wan is originally from. The people of the air are a majority nomadic people, but they do have a temple up in the clouds known as the Cloud Sanctuary.

-So Raava is still the spirit of light and peace, but I'm thinking that either she and Vaatu are two halves of a whole who cannot exist independently, or something happens to her and Vaatu that causes them to be unable to exist independently of a mortal form. But either way, Vaatu has been sealed away, and only Raava roams free.

-Another idea that I got is that both Raava and Vaatu were originally sealed away due to being parasitic spirits, but Raava's seal was broken and she was released into the world. This idea would play into why no one lives in the lost wilds, as it's said that a "dangerous being" lurks there.

-Wan is an ordinary fire-maker who lives out in the lost wilds after being exiled from his home. He lives a fairly quiet life, mostly trying to avoid the creepy spirits and monsters that lurk in the lands around him. His time is peaceful until he starts to come across the withered carcasses of animals.

-The corpses are all rail thin, ribs showing, eyes milky white and sunken in, bleeding from the nose and mouth. Other than that, there is no clear cause of death, no mortal injury, or even bite wounds to indicate infection, they all just look like they withered away and died. Like something had come and drained the vitality from them.

-Wan is gathering tinder one day when he comes across a strange sight. A polarbear dog wandering about. His first thought is wondering how one of those got this far north, then he noticed just how thin the creature was. The beast was facing away from him, it looked horribly thin and gave ghastly groans, like it was in horrible pain. As much as Wan was curious as to the cause of the mysterious deaths, at the same time he didn't want to suffer the same fate. He prepares to back away when the creature senses his presence. It stops and looks over it's shoulder, blazing white eyes gazing into his soul.

-Officially freaked out, Wan makes a run for it. He can hear the labored breathing of the creature bounding behind him. He briefly wonders if some kind of animal jiang shi is chasing him down. His thoughts are interrupted when the beast tackles him. Wan tries to push the beast off of him, but as soon as he hits the ground he feels a horrible stabbing pain. Not physical pain however, a strange spiritual pain, like something is drilling it's way into his very soul. Something seems to be worming it's way into his mind. The beast flips him onto his back and gazes deep into his eyes. Under the blank, burning gaze the bear-dog seems to be begging for Wan to help it. As he makes this revelation he starts to hear a faint feminine voice in his head.

-The voice attempts to soothe Wan. It tells him to relax, that it will all be over soon. The presence invading him had a strangely peaceful aura, like it was a graceful and soothing presence, but at the same time it was forcing it's way into his body. And he quickly figured that this thing was likely what was causing all those animals to die.

-Not wanting to suffer such a fate himself, Wan fights back against the spirit invading him. However, he realizes very quickly that this is a loosing battle. The deeper the spirit digs into him, the more Wan feels his thoughts loose clarity, like a warm blanket is enveloping his mind.

-Suddenly a harsh blast of air forces the bear-dog off of him. Someone rushes in to wrangle or fight the polarbear dog, despite the fact that he's still reeling from the feeling of something worming it's way deeper and deeper into his very being, Wan attempts to stand and warn the stranger of the situation. He weakly calls out to them to beware, but soon passes out from the pain.

-When Wan comes to, he's burning up with a fever. His spirit feels heavy and there's a soft feminine voice in his head cooing soothing things at him. Trying to lull him into a sense of security and comfort so that she or it can take over. Or so he assumes at least. Outside of his head, he can hear two people talking about him.

-When Ami and Onu went out to look for Ami's beloved polarbear dog, Taki, they did not expect to find the ursine-canine in such a state, and they expected to find a sickly fire-maker even less.

-Seeing Taki assaulting someone, Onu took immediate action and sent a blast of wind to knock the beast off of the man. Onu rushed in an attempt to calm Taki, he paused when he saw just how bad Taki looked. The polarbear-dog was starved thin, eyes milky-white and sunken in, and bleeding heavily from the mouth and nose despite no apparent injuries. He could only utter her name softly as the bear-dog fell to the ground, having reached the end of her strength.

-With Onu going after Taki, Ami rushed over the felled man's side. He attempted to sit up, moaning something about danger before immediately collapsing back onto the ground. He's very pale and burning up with fever. Her worries are only compounded when she cannot get the man to open his eyes or respond in any coherent manor.

-Of course Ami's day was only about to get much worse. She glaces over at Onu and sees the state Taki is in. Ami's heart shatters into thousands of pieces seeing her beloved companion in such a state.

-Using the moisture of her tears, Ami examine Taki's chi paths. Unfortunately Taki's chi had been drained, and her chi paths had been withered and burned through. There was no saving her. Despite this, Ami insists on trying to save Taki. Onu helps her drag both Taki and the strange man back to their base camp.

-Taki passes away soon before the man starts to regain consciousness. As heartbroken as Ami is, she focuses her energies on reading the chi of the mysterious man. She isn't sure what's causing the fever, as he lacks any signs of infection. She realizes that he's a fire-maker, and his inner fire is blazing out of control which is causing the fever. But why?

-The man, Wan, as Ami soon learns, weakly cries out about something draining the life out of the living, and how it's infested him. Ami assumes that it's just the fever talking, as by all means he should be fine. Aside from the fever, there's nothing wrong with Wan.

-Neither Ami, nor Onu know why Wan is ill, nor can they explain the mysterious death of not only Taki, but the other mysterious corpses they found in the Lost Wilds. However, they figure it best to take him away from this place. They opt to take him to the Southern Island Tribe to see a proper healer.

-They do eventually make it to the Southern Island Tribe and see a healer. The healer, a grizzled elder, tells Ami and Onu that Wan's fever is not natural, it is a spirit fever caused by the battle between his own spirit and one invading his being. Wan is deeply concerned, remembering the bodies he found back in the Lost Wilds, but the elder healer tells him that she can find no evidence of his chi being stolen or damaged.

-Wan wishes to purge Raava from his being, so Onu takes the group to see the elder monks at the Cloud Sanctuary.

-On the way there, the trio is attacked by a group of dangerous rogues. Seeing his new friends in danger, and being too weak to do anything about it, Wan reluctantly gives Raava control. Using Wan's body, Raava wipes the floor with the goons. Wan collapses afterwords because channeling that much energy is exhausting. It's at this point that Ami finally believes that Wan is actually possessed and not just loopy from fever. Both Onu and Ami are very impressed by the show of strength however.

-Continuing on the journey to the Cloud Sanctuary, the trio comes across a village that has been ransacked by pirates and subsequently torn apart by seemingly malevolent spirits. Ami and Onu want to move on, but Wan insists that they help the people. He tries to help, but he doesn't really know what to do. Reluctantly, he asks Raava to help him.

Okay so some more generalized notes about the AU~ -At first Wan is completely opposed to sharing his body with Raava. However, after some time he starts to work with her and learns to live with her.

-Not that Raava has any intention of giving up her host.

-After Raava infests him, Wan starts to manipulate all of the elements. At first it's just while Raava is in control, but slowly he starts to use other elements without Raava's influence. Also, he does notice a connection to all four elements right away, he just isn't sure what to think of it until it manifests into manipulation of all four elements.

-At first Raava is only motivated by the need to sustain herself. Being one of the greater spirits, she doesn't concern herself with mortal matters. However, the more time she spends with Wan, the more she learns to see the forest for the trees and empathize with the struggles of mortal beings.

-Dragon City is ruled by a gang of ruthless thugs who hoard wealth, food, resources, and rule the populace with an iron fist. The leader of this gang is the Dragon King, Ryuusei. Sure enough, Wan and Raava eventually take this asshole out.

-There needs to be a pirates arc where someone is kidnapped and Wan has to work with Raava to save them. If I don't write this, then what's the fucking point?

-Ami is a caring, but skeptical tide-pusher, and Onu is basically the stoner friend cloud-sitter.

-Raava calls Wan her Avatar, and eventually the name sticks.

-As time goes on, Wan and Raava's spirits become fully fused together. This makes Wan part spirit, and Raava part human. Of course, Wan is mortal and eventually dies a natural death, but because Raava is eternal, she is reborn into another body and such starts the avatar cycle.

-By the time that Wan passes away, the whole Raava is a parasitic spirit and the Avatar is actually possessed fades from the public consciousness and even the Avatars eventually forget that Raava is actually a parasite. Hell they soon forget her name and identity entirely, only knowing her as the "Avatar Spirit".

-In this AU, Raava is an incomplete being. As such she cannot sustain herself, she must attach to a mortal being to live among the mortal realm. And being half of the world's spirit, if she were to leave the mortal realm, the world would fall into chaos and eventually die. So she initially tries to sustain herself by fusing with plants and animals. Neither work, as her spirit is too strong for them, which causes their own spirits to burn up and their bodies to wither away. Wan is the first human and compatible being Raava attempts to fuse with. His human spirit is strong enough to withstand Raava's own spirit without being destroyed.

-As for Raava's characterization, I'd probably describe her as being a combo of good is not nice and well-intentioned extremist. Being a spirit of light and peace, she radiates a peaceful aura that she uses to soothe her host to make them reject her less. Or before she started possessing people, she'd use it so that her potential victims would be lulled into a false sense of security so she can latch onto them. She acts nice, again using her peaceful aura and gentle voice to soothe her victims. I'd hesitate to actually call her nice because she does casually ignore the independence and self-determination of her host. Well-intentioned or not, she is a parasite after all. And no, she doesn't feel bad about it. Bigger picture- Raava fades, the world dies. Raava's host dies, nothing particularly bad happens.

-Raava can be pretty vicious too tho. If kind words and manipulation, err I mean, gentle persuasion don't work, she's gets to be mean as hell. :D Even to the point of forcibly taking control and asking her host if they really think they're in control.

-Vaatu? He's just a straight up dick. Okay, fine, he pretends to be on your side while poisoning your mind and turning you against everyone that cares about you. Why? He thinks it's funny. And yeah, he's pretty much just straight up evil. He isn't above driving his host into madness and using them as a means to cause as much mayhem as possible. But he does so subtly, and works as insidiously as possible. I also kind of picture him as being the type that messes with your head by making you re-examine the very definitions of good and evil.

-Or maybe he does have some good in him. But you'd have better luck getting a polarbear-dog to speak perfect common tongue than getting any good out of Vaatu.

[rebiirthday-archived]

Letter .01 ———

@makishou

          The letter is written on several informal scraps of notebook paper. The frilly edges have been methodically shed  --  When Beyond had originally finished the first copy of this letter, he had forgotten to rip those annoying bits off;   as he went to, a tear had formed in the margins causing him to copy the pages over onto papers he tore the edges from before writing. For as casual as the envelop   &   parchments seemed to be, the calligraphy displayed between the lines was a stark contrast, yet an imperative clue as to who the author was, exactly.

          Not the man with insanity behind his eyes, nor the one who skittered across the floor like an animal  --  That man would have awful penmanship   &   anyone who received a letter from Rue Ryuzaki would expect illegibility. But this was not a letter from the unprivate detective. These words belonged to Beyond Birthday;   a distinction with more declarative boundaries than the faint, thin blue notebook lines.

          14.10.03

          Naomi Misora ———

          You must think yourself incredibly clever for your testimony. I hope it was satisfying at least, getting to call Ryuzaki all those horrific names, getting to explore the vastness of your derogatory lexicon to call forth exactly what feelings he elicited in you; yet among none of them did you name fear. I found that incredibly interesting ... Didn’t you, as well? Looking back on it all, were you not very afraid to have realized who had been working aside you all that time?

          No, of course not  --  & I assure you, you shouldn’t have if you did. In truth I’m not a very violent man which may have you surprised. I never did intend to harm you, the least unjustly. Yet about that time you attacked me in the alleyway, I can hear you counter. Yes, well, for reasons I can’t divulge this early in my narrative, I knew no harm would come to you & as I said, I never intended it to.

          But I’ve forgotten -- A year has passed now, just about, & you most likely do not dwell on these details as I do. You, along with my predecessor, have most likely forgotten the key-points, the justification, the meaning, the action, the brazen ardor of it all. It eats at me, I’ll have you know. I’ve been consumed by many things in this relatively short life of mine  --  Fire being the least painful of it all.

          But you don’t care about any of it, of course; why would you? I’m just another criminal you’ve put away, yes? So, why is it I write to you ...

          Well, mostly because my dear friend, L, hasn’t returned any of my calls to his private line which leaves only you as the remaining attestor to my most recent ruination. Though even if that brilliant detective did indulge me with a response, his knowledge would not compare to yours, I think. You were there &, as with many things in life, there is only so much frequent monotonous check-ins & a clinical FBI report can convey. You would agree, I’d imagine, with the fact that there exists something between us that lacks definition  --  yet most importantly it lacks witness.

          What shall we call this, Naomi? Even if you are so predictably unwilling to admit its presence, especially in the quiet ambiance of your own mind, you are aware of it in a way I wish I had been aware of you. 

          You had undone me, which is quite the victory. You & I have succeeded where our darling detective did not. That is something to revel in, isn’t it? But you’re too kindhearted of a soul to imagine a world where you could be proud of something that involved the harm of others, isn’t that true? You put the world’s best criminal away when the world’s best detective could not & yet you haven’t celebrated that fact because three people died  --  & to you, that is failure.

          Do you see what I mean, Naomi, when I say there exists something between us? Aside from all those ghastly words you used to describe me, there are other, more pleasant things you could say which would have been inadmissible in a court of law.

          Even though their blood was on my hands, as you see it, you enjoyed it  --  The case. You had fun, Naomi, with me; solving the clues I left behind, catching such a crafty killer. I will celebrate it all enough for the both of us, this intangible thing, your victory. I am not a sore loser, as you can see. At least not when I have justly lost to someone I can stand.

          But enough scene setting for this part, yes? You see, I’m privy to the fact that your eyes will glaze over while reading this. My words will be discarded in a junk drawer somewhere  --  You won’t throw these papers in the trash, but they’ll lack significance. I’m counting on that, in a way; your lack of response, your lack of reply. Despite the thing between us you will remain distant & uncaring, as is your way & valid right. I won’t strive for more than perhaps the chance at self justification  --  If that is what I’m truly after here. A priest could ask me to confess why I’ve channeled my energy into this pursuit & even if I did fear God I’d have no answer for him. So let’s go with the pretty statement; I only wish to explain myself to someone who will read these words without attachment. 

          If I start at the beginning, however, none of this will make sense. A funny fact but I can imagine you understand why someone like me cannot tell stories linearly. Instead I’ll tell you first about someone you most likely, & justifiably, have a library of questions for.

          L. 

          I won’t feign intimacy where there isn’t  --  You can trust every word on these papers & each page that follows. Only in my young adulthood can I now look back on my childhood & adolescence with the realization that my delusions created intimacy where there could never have been. To be intimate on any level with a soul like his was a privilege I only came so close to. I’m sure in the same way you will never admit to such a thing, neither would he; but all the same, something more intense did exist between him & I.

          L had been just a boy at one time; a concept you’ll have difficulty grasping, I’m sure. He had always been brilliant, of course, but a boy nonetheless. 

          He was nine years old when I first met him. He’s two years my senior  --  Does that surprise you, as well? Did you expect him to be older? He’s only twenty-three right now. His birthday is at the end of this month.

          I’m sure your mind is reeling with the details you’ve just learned  --  Or perhaps the realization that I know these details. I knew him, once. What feels like an eternity ago, though that sounds a bit too dramatic for my taste. We grew up together, so to say, in that house I keep blathering on about. No one believes such a place exists, where gifted children are everything but kidnapped into a lifestyle so dreadful, it drove the first boy taken into this home to suicide & the second to kill others. But again, you don’t care about that yet.

          L likes his coffee strong  --  Brewed with an extra scoop if he’s having instant. He never counts the sugar cubes he places in the brew but he always takes a sip once beforehand; the immediate regret is always visible yet he does it anyway. Every time. The highest number of cubes I ever observed him dropping in was eighteen. He often sits with his knees clung to his chest; only when he’s in private company do his arms actually wrap around the frail bones. When he is intrigued or thinking, he will lean forward in such a way that lifts his bottom from the chair; his toes will clutch the edge of whatever he is sitting on & his thumb will compulsively migrate between his lips. The nails on every other hand are neglected & often overgrown, but his right thumbnail is cracked & abused; even when he tastes blood, he will not stop.

          The sugar in his coffee isn’t the only sweet he craves. His  --  Our adoptive father prepares & orders a vast amount of treats to curb his cravings. Despite it, he’s never gained a pound of fat in his life. He boasts frequently that it is because he uses his brain so much, but he & I both know it is because we play tennis together regularly on the makeshift court in the parking lot outside the home. Briefly, he played competitively. If you search thoroughly his alias, Hideki Ryuga, you will see that he was the UK national champion at one point.

          I’ve deviated from what I aimed to convey in my nostalgia, however I’ll leave those last words in. I wanted you to conclude something  --  Did you see what I was leading you towards, Naomi? Any similarities to someone, perhaps?

          I will write again soon, though I’m sure that is negligible to you.           ——— B.

[coeurdastronaute]

Either/Or: Single 4

Previously on Single

Beep.

“Ms. Luthor, your car is here.”

The voice from the intercom cut through the office, but did nothing to stop the two on the couch in the office at the top of the Luthor Building. The announcement earned a growl of complaint that soon turned into a purr.

For the past two months, the makeouts had been occurring with increased fervency and frequency. They were cropping up at very inopportune times, or rather, they were happening and there weren’t any inopportune times to continue or escalate them.

“Kara, darling,” Lena whispered as a hand slid up her side. Lips moved to her neck and her hips moved against a thigh, pushing her dress up dangerously higher on her own.

Nothing really deterred Kara though, and Lena was grateful for that. She wanted to stretch every minute as long as possible. They’d been doing this dance for the past few weeks, of leaving each other breathless and eager, and with no way to fix it. There were dinners, though Kara had a curfew, and when they couldn’t see each other, there were emails and phone calls until late at night.

It left other times for making out, which was something they excelled at, Lena realized when her intercom buzzed yet again.

Nothing stopped her from kissing Kara back though before they lost the breath and had to separate, eyes dilated and chests fighting for air. She was almost certain she’d run a few miles, or at least that what she sounded like. Her poor couch had now seen its fair share of pretty dirty make out sessions, and she had to put it out of its misery.

“I have to go,” Lena sighed.

“Yeah, I know. I should too,” Kara smiled, though neither moved. Instead, Kara kissed her back harder, taking her breath away one last time. “No, I really should.”

“You’ve turned me into a teenager, Danvers.”

With a sheepish smile, Kara leaned back and surveyed the mussed mess that was now the CEO of the largest tech company on the planet. She wanted to kiss her more, but knew that she wouldn’t stop if she started again.

“I’m going to have to start allocating more time for my lunches.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t even let you finish telling me about your trip,” Kara shook her head and began to adjust her own clothe as Lena stood and fixed her dress. “I got kind of happy to see you.”

“Believe me, this was much better than regaling you with stories of meetings and dinners. For future reference, I’m not saying that being a teenager is a bad thing.”

“Still. I don’t know what came over me.”

“It’s almost like you like me,” she teased, adjusting her lipstick in a mirror.

Re-tucking her shirt in, Kara watched Lena fix herself, make herself presentable, all power and might and previously completely filthy on the couch. It made her mouth dry and it made her want to kiss her again, just to ruin the pretty red lipstick. Kara had dreams about that pretty red lipstick.

“I wanted to hear about your trip, too. I didn’t come over just to mess up your couch.”

“It doesn’t mind, and neither do I,” Lena promised. “But you could make it up to me with dinner maybe?”

Beep.

“Miss Luthor, I would cancel, but the lawyers always get so anxious.”

The two shared a look and almost sighed in unison with the imposition of the real world. Kara watched Lena saunter toward her desk and press the button before telling her assistant that she was on her way.

“You look really pretty,” Kara offered. “I wanted to tell you that when I first came in, but I got distracted.”

“You’re the sweetest.”

“I’d love to take you to dinner. But it’s a school night. Unless you want to come over?”

“To your house?”

“Yes.”

Nervously, Kara was started, and it took her brain a second to catch up to her mouth and what she’d just said. It’d be a big step, for Lena to come over, or for Lena to spend an extended amount of time in the same place as her daughter, even if it was after bedtime.

“Are you sure?” Lena waited, feeling out the invitation.

“Yes, of course. Yeah, I want to see you, and we’re doing this slowly, so it should be fine, right?” she convinced herself. “Katie will be asleep the whole time, so you don’t have to look so scared.”

“Me? No. I’m not scared,” she shook her head. “I’m very cool with it all.”

“Cool with it, huh?” Kara cocked an eyebrow and smiled slightly.

“I am, thank you,” Lena challenged, hand on her hip. “And I would love to because I will take any time I can get to see you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

Tickled at the thought of it and still oddly wound up from the session on the couch, Kara moved toward Lena and let arms be wrapped around her neck. Lena always smelled so good, and she always felt so good. It was becoming a problem.

“Come over around eight?” Kara grinned.

She earned a kiss and another buzzing of the speaker and another growl.

“It’s a date.”

It was a complete and total lie, Lena realized as she stood outside of Kara’s apartment and tried to work up some courage to actually knock. Halfway through her two o’clock meeting, the CEO found herself struck by the notion of going to Kara’s and having dinner there. She reminded herself that Lena had a kid and they were going slow. She remembered that she was falling madly in love with a mom.

Sometimes, it was easy to forget, and Lena didn’t get too in her head about what it all meant. Sometimes, they just necked on a couch or had dinner and smiled at each other and talked about things that they didn’t want to tell anyone else. Kara was sweet and kind and funny and oddly innocent and her kisses left Lena reeling. She was someone that anyone would fall in love with, and so she couldn’t ignore it.

That was how she ended up at the door, nervously wringing her hands and trying to muster some courage.

“Nǐ hǎo,” a little voice answered the door, earning a smile from the CEO.

“Wǎnshang hǎo,” Lena nodded with a slight bow. “That’s very impressive.”

“My mom said you went to China and they speak different languages there,” she explained, quite seriously. “I added more pages to my book. Do you want to see?”

“I would love to!”

Even though she was nervous and talked herself out of seeing Kara’s daughter, Lena used the same philosophy she’d used for every part of her business meetings and empire building-- absolutely faking confidence.

“Hey, Lena, I’m sorry,” Kara greeted her from the kitchen as she closed the door behind her. “I was just finishing up and I lost track of time. Can you believe China took a lot of googling?”

“I can imagine.”

“Mommy said you get to go all over the place for your work,” Katie interrupted, not bothered at all that she was awake still. “Where else do you go?”

“Oh, well, I go pretty much everywhere at some point. A few weeks ago I was in Japan, and then before that, Berlin, Peru, Egypt, Australia--”

“Wow,” she whispered, wide eyed as the list continued. “Can you show me on the map?”

“You have a map?” Lena asked as pages were flipped in the notebook.

Sure enough, a printed map of the world was glued and haphazardly colored across two pages, with a little star marking where they currently lived, and another with Lena’s last trip. She took a seat on the couch, already forgetting Kara’s work in the kitchen. So quickly the little girl was able to take and keep her attention without her even noticing it. If she had, she might have caught Kara’s look and softness, or she might have even realized how good she was at having it. But instead, she marvelled at the map.

“One day, I’ll be able to go to all of the places,” Katie explained. “The earth is full of lots of different people. Where is your favorite place?”

“Well, you already have it on your map,” Lena explained, pointing to National City. “There’s no place like home.”

“But where else?”

“I liked every place for different reasons. Each one has a special moment in it. Which reminds me,” she recalled before moving to grab her bag from the chair. “I hope your mom isn’t too mad, but I saw this and thought you might like something. It’s a good thing you’re up past bedtime.”

“You brought me a thing?” the little girl asked, her excitement growing.

Blonde hair, slicked back from the bath, fuzzy princess pyjamas firmly in place, smile full of baby teeth, and bright blue eyes shined at Lena eagerly, too excited by the prospect of the world and the present and everything else.

“I did bring you a thing. I’m not usually someone go buys things at gift shops, but I had some time, and I used to like them.”

With a big tug, Lena pulled the ill-wrapped present from her bag and presented it to the little girl who held it tenderly. It seemed so much bigger than it actually was when it was in tiny hands. It was at that moment, that Lena got a little nervous, because she’d never actually given a child a gift.

“What is it?”

“It’s a snow globe,” Lena explained as Katie stared and shook and smiled. “Inside is some of the things I saw when I was there.”

“Wow,” the little girl whispered, staring intently inside, memorizing every detail from every angle. “Mommy! Look what I got!”

Superspeed and she was already in the kitchen, eagerly showing her new toy. Before Lena could even turn around, she was back on the couch.

“I love it so much. Thank you, Lena.”

“You are very--”

Tiny arms tossed themselves around her neck before she could finish, but Lena tried anyway. FOr a moment, a little body stood on the couch and hugged her, wiggling with excitement. Lena didn’t know what to do with the excitement or the feeling of being thanked by a little girl, and so she just sat there and took it.

“Well now I’m jealous. I didn’t even get anything,” Kara pretended to sulk as she made her way around the kitchen toward the living room. “Lena must like you then.”

“I can share you mine if you want,” Katie offered, smiling happily as she shook up the snow globe, making it snow over the Great Wall.

“I have something I will give you later,” Lena promised, giving her girlfriend a little wink, earning a blush.

“See, Mommy? Lena likes you too.”

“Thank goodness. Now what do you say?”

“Thank you so much, Lena. I am very happy you are back in your favorite place. Mom is too. She is more happy now then yesterday when you were not here.”

“Okay, enough of that,” Kara piped up as she earned a cocky glance from Lena. “I let you stay up too late. Let’s go. Time for bed.”

“But it’s dinner,” Katie argued, looking frantically for reasons.

“For adults. You’ve already eaten and had a bath. Say goodnight to Lena.”

“But or I could stay up and be quiet for a little bit longer?” she countered.

“Try again.”

There was a battle of wills happening, though Lena wasn’t sure how to win it. Instead, she just watched it all happen until one side cracked.

“Goodnight, Lena. Thank you for my present. I am going to put it beside my bed,” she informed the CEO. “Is that okay, Mommy?”

“That sounds great.”

Lena got another hug and thought she was having a dream.

“You are very welcome,” Lena patted the little girl’s back.

“I’ll be right back. Please help yourself to some wine while I put this one to bed,” Kara whispered, finally leaning down to kiss Lena’s cheek as her daughter climbed around the couch toward her room.

“Take your time.”

“You’re spectacular, did you know that?”

“Nope, but please don’t stop saying such cute things.”

With another kiss, Kara pulled herself away and kissed Lena before retreating towards the little girl’s bedroom. Still not quite believing what happened or how well it went, or how weird she'd felt giving out a gift, Lena made a beeline for the wine and poured herself a glass while she listened to Kara read some silly story about a goose.

As weird as Lena still felt, and as hard as she was trying to avoid that feeling, there was a certain sense of relief that came as she washed a few dishes after dinner, and Kara appeared after checking on Katie to tell her that she was out like a light.

“You didn’t have to get her something, you know,” Kara offered as she took a seat and watched Lena dry her hands.

“My dad used to bring me something every time he went on a trip. I never thought of it until I saw that,” she shrugged and topped of their wine. “Do you think she liked it?”

“She loved it. But I’m sorry she was awake. I just got kind of set back and I didn’t realize the time.”

“This was just slow enough,” Lena promised, joining her on the couch. “I like you. I want to get to know you, and that means getting to know Katie.”

“You’re spectacular, you know that?”

“I’ve been told this already today,” she grinned and sipped her wine. “Thank you for dinner.”

“Thanks for just… for being you…” Kara managed, unable to say much else. “I never really got to date or experience anything like this. You’ve been the best. And I just. I like you a lot.”

“We’re figuring this out. Lots of baggage between us, but not so bad so far, right?”

“Nope.”

Kara gulped slightly as Lena sat down her glass and moved toward her.

“Should we pick up where we left off this afternoon?”

There was a bit of a spark in her eyes. The warmth of the wine mixed with the feeling of climbing into Kara’s lap made her feel at ease.

“She should,” the former hero nodded eagerly.

“And um, the littlest set of ears won’t hear?”

“She sleeps like a bear in winter,” Kara explained, finally kissing Lena as she’d wanted to for the entire night.  “Her room is soundproof.”

“Did you plan on this then?”

“No! She just couldn’t sleep--”

“I’m kidding, Kara. I knew what coming over meant. Or at least I hoped.”

“Hoped, huh?” she grinned, hands moving toward her neck and hair, holding her there as a body pressed into her.

“Keep kissing my neck and pulling up my dress on the couch, and I’ll die of hoping.”

It was right there, with Lena straddling her on the couch, tasting like wine and everything distinctly her, looking down on her with such happiness and excitement, that Kara felt her breath physically knocked out of her lungs. She held onto Lena’s hips and she kissed her sternly before carrying her to the bedroom.

“Mmmm,” the spine reverberated with the satisfied hum.

Fingertips moved along the protrusions of bone beneath pale skin as shoulders and ribs expanded with a contented sigh. The bed smelled of two people now, different than it’d been before, but Kara didn’t mind at all. In fact, she very much appreciated it.

She kissed Lena’s shoulder and back once again before letting her arm wind around her hips. Kara found herself burrowing into the loose black hair that covered the pillow.

“That was perfect,” Kara whispered, pushing close, as close as she could get. “All of it.”

“I agree. I quite liked that.”

“Is that what you hoped for?”

“I didn’t even know to hope for some of that,” Lena chuckled and turned over, settling her leg over Kara’s hip and smiling in the low light of the city outside. “Not only is your mouth very pretty and distracting, it is incredibly talented.”

“I’m thinking of having it insured like famous soccer players get their legs.”

“I’d help cover it.”

Kara just smiled and shook her head before pushing hair from Lena’s face. She let her hand drift along her cheeks and chin, settling there. She was very smitten with the girl in her bed, and she couldn’t help it, not that she’d want to at all.

With a yawn, Lena knit her eyes shut and burrowed into the pillows slightly.

“I should get going.”

“The bed’em and leave’em type?”

“I think you did the bedding,” Lena corrected, earning a cocky smile. “Plus, I have to keep you wanting more, so you won’t get sick of me.”

“I don’t see that happening anytime soon. I always want more.”

“See? It works.”

With a sweet kiss, Lena pulled herself from the warmth and the embrace as she began to scan for her clothes on the floor. Kara sat up and watched her move, watched her slip back on the clothes that made her Lena Luthor. Hair a mess, lips puffy, tiny bruises on her chest, she was still so beautiful, caught between being two different people.

“Was tonight too much?” Kara worried as Lena slipped on her bra.

“Tonight was perfect.”

“Katie likes you.”

“She learned how to greet me in Chinese. That was pretty cool. She’s a smart kid. You should be very proud.”

“I am. I’m also very surprised by you,” Kara realized as she accepted the shirt Lena tossed her and began to slip it over her head. “You might actually really like my daughter.”

“I never said I didn’t like her. I’m more worried about the opposite. I’ve never been around kids.”

“You’re a natural then.”

“You’re just saying that,” Lena shook her head and smiled as Kara slipped on pants and stood before her.

“I mean it,” she promised. “You’re too hard on yourself.”

“That’s the Luthor way.”

With a smile, Kara wrapped her arms around Lena once again, uneager to let her go or leave. She knew they had to, and she knew that it would be a long while before they felt comfortable waking up together, however that was all that she desired more than anything at the current moment. She would settle for these little victories of the night though, and how Lena looked sneaking out after midnight.

“Thanks for cooking me dinner. Can I return the favor sometime?”

“Maybe next week?”

“Sounds perfect. I’m not too busy,” Lena earned another kiss. “Just some tech conference for digital advancements.”

“Maybe you’ll run into someone you know.”

“That wouldn’t be the worst way to spend one of those. You know how Jess worries about me at those kinds of things.”

With a smile and complete amazement, Kara hugged Lena to her. Lena softened, relaxing into the hug, still quite new to feeling such things as physical intimacy in the most honest form. But it was quickly becoming something she wanted more than anything else. Kara ruined her quite completely.

“Just a few more seconds before we have to go back to the real world,” Kara mumbled, inhaling Lena’s shoulder.

“Yeah, just a few,” Lena nodded, gripping back at her just as tightly.

NEXT

[iliketowrite1996]

The Other Ross

TRIGGER WARNING: Violence, mentions of being shot.

SPOILERS FOR BLACK PANTHER

Inspired by the scene in the Black Panther 2018 movie where Agent Ross is shot and taken to Wakanda. I have never written anything like this before, so please any constructive feedback is necessary! Requests are open. I also do song inspired ones.

For @starsshines-blog

Everett Ross

T’Challa sees him as a colleague. Sort of.

Ulysses Klaue sees him as the man who is interrogating him.

Okoye sees him as a nuisance.

You see him as dad.

Everett Ross adopted you, Y/N, when you were only eleven months old. So you don’t really remember a life without him, and you can’t imagine it now. There where, of course, those times growing up where he’d disappear for weeks at a time, you leaving you with your nanny to take care of you in the New York City apartment he's so painstakingly baby-proofing when he first got approved to adopt you.

You followed in your dad’s footsteps, and now are a member of the CIA.

You’ve accompanied him now on his mission, where he must stop Ulysses Klaue, also known as Klaw.

You watch through the two way mirror with T’Challa and Okoye as your dad interrogates the man, wishing you could hear what they are saying. The way T’Challa amd Okoye are glancing at each other every so often makes you wonder what they are thinking.

Last night, you were undercover with your dad. You had on a ruby red, floor length, long sleeve dress. When the fight broke out in the casino, he ordered you to leave and get back up.

Unfortunately, you’d lost both Ulysses Klaue, your dad, and T’Challa and the women that  he’d arrived with.

Now, you’re trying to understand what exactly you missed as you sip your own coffee, clad in your gray business suit.

You’re tired, you’re cranky, you’re confused.

But you have to say you don’t mind the view.

That view being T’Challa.

‘’So. Miss Y/N Ross,’’ king T’Challa turns to you, ‘’You are the daughter of Everett Ross.’’

Is he really trying to make conversation with you right now?

    ‘’I am,’’ you nod, ‘’I think this gives a whole new meaning to ‘Bring your Daughter to Work Day’, though.’’

    He chuckles then, placing a hand on your shoulder, ‘’Well, if you are anything like your dad, then you will do an amazing job.’’

    You glance at his hand on your shoulder, ‘’So, is your bodyguard going to impale me to that table over there?’’

    She looks at you out of the corner of her eye before looking back through the two way mirror with a smirk.

    ‘’I highly doubt it. For one thing, I am touching your shoulder. For another thing, she appreciates beauty and intelligence just as much as I do.’’

    Oh brother.

    ‘’Oh brother,’’ Okoye mutters under her breath.

    ‘’Well, your highness,’’ you cross your arms over your chest, ‘’I think I can appreciate intelligence and good looks as well.’’

    And what are you doing? Flirting on the job? You just watched your dad interrogate a man who tried to sell him an ax head made from vibranium that he pulled out of his pants.

    So, on the scale of weirdness, this isn’t that weird, you guess.

    Nothing about your life has ever really been ‘’normal’’ anyway.

    Your normal is far different than most other people’s. Why should it surprise you that you are flirting with a prince?

    ‘’T’Challa, a word?,’’ your dad exits then, sending you a weary glance before speaking to the prince.

    ‘’Duty calls,’’ T’Challa tells

    You only catch bits and pieces, such as the words ‘’Vibranium’’, ‘’Thief’’’, and ‘’Lies’’.

    Just then a woman, you think her name is Nakia, comes in, speaking in Xhosa.

    You barely have any time to react before there is a loud crash is heard,  you’re grabbing Nakia as your dad yells, ‘’Everybody get down!’’. You know something’s happened, though, and you find yourself on the floor.

There is a sharp pain that feels like it is slicing through your shoulder, but you can feel it  radiating through your body as you hit the cold, hard ground. You’re not entirely sure what’s going on next. You hear loud noises and you are vaguely aware of people rushing around. Your vision is slipping in and out though- one moment things are clear, the next minute they’re not.

    Your vaguely aware of your dad kneeling next to you in the aftermath of all of this, saying, ‘’She’s been shot! We have to get her out of here.’’

    You feel cold even as a light layer of sweat covers your body

    ‘’Shh, relax, Y/N, you’re going to be fine.’’

    ‘’Not if we don’t get her out of here,’’ Nakia says.

    ‘’She won’t survive here. Give… give her to us,’’ T’Challa says as he places a kimoyo bead inside of the wound, ‘’We can save her.’’

    Then, everything goes black.

    You wake up, and you’re not sure how long it’s been. All you see are bright lights, and a young girl who can’t be older than sixteen.You look down at your clothes, noticing that you are now dressed in black pants and a black shirt, a stark difference from your gray business suit.

The strangest difference of all?

You feel no pain.

‘’Excuse me,’’ you speak up, causing the young girl to jump.

‘’Don’t scare me like that,’’ she breathes out, looking at you cautiously.

‘’My… my name is, Y/N Ross.’’

‘’I know. Your dad has been worried sick about you,’’ the young woman you now recognize as Shuri states, ‘’He will be happy to now that you are okay.’’

    ‘’Where am I,’’ you look around the lab, ‘’Is… is this Wakanda?’’

    ‘’No, it’s an amusement park. What do you think,’’ she raises an eyebrow ,’’Of course this is Wakanda.’’

    ‘’Okay,’’ you ignore her snark, because you’re kind of hurt, kind of impressed, ‘’I guess the question I should be asking is ‘Why am I here?’, I guess.’’

    ‘’To heal you. My brother, your dad and Nakia knew that you would not make it otherwise. So, they brought you here.’’

    ‘’How long have I been here?’’

    ‘’A day,’’ she answers, placing a stack of papers on the table, ‘’Give or take a couple of hours?’’

    ‘’A day? No. No, no, no, no. I remember being shot after dad interrogated Klaw. There’s not way that this healed in a day.’’

    You lift up your shirt to see the spot where you clearly remember the bullet hit you. It’s completely healed, not even a scratch is there. There’s no way. Unless…

‘’Vibranium. I healed you in my lab. Everything you see around you uses some vibranium in some way. We are the most technologically advanced nation for a reason,’’ Shuri states, ‘’A lot of these are my own designs.’’

You look at her again.

She’s sixteen, give or take a year or two. And she designed all of this and healed you perfectly overnight.

‘’You’re a genius,’’ you say in awe, even as she throws her head back laughing.

‘’Yes, I know. Shuri Udaku: meme lover, prankster, and genius. Oh, and princess of Wakanda.’’

‘’It is nice to see that you are back on your feet, Agent Ross,’’ T’Challa’s sudden entrance makes you jump, and you turn towards him.

‘’King T’Challa. You scared me,’’ you admit.

‘’My brother is wearing my latest invention- shoes that are     completely sound absorbent. They’re called… sneakers.’’

T’Challa looks at you and rolls his eyes, shaking his head fondly at his little sister’s puns, ‘’She’s creative, just not in all areas.’’

‘’Oh, okay, brother. I see how it is,’’ she shakes her head, ‘’You’re just acting like this because you have a crush on Ms. Y/N Ross. Don’t worry, I won’t tell her dad.’’

She smirks, and he looks at her in shock.

Knowing she has had the last word, she stalks away, taking the winding stair/ramp of her lab, exiting just as fluently and gracefully as her brother entered.

‘’What is she talking about?’’

‘’Who knows? My sister has such an active imagination,’’ T’Challa excuses her.

‘’Oh, okay, so I just imagined you flirting with me?’’

‘’Please, do not act like the attraction was not mutual. You were definitely flirting with me,’’ he tells you, a smug look on his face.

‘’You flirt with all of your sister’s patients?’’

‘’Just the cute ones.’’

‘’Just kiss already!,’’ Shuri yells from upstairs, and you’re shaking with laughter when T’Challa facepalms.

‘’I’m sorry about her. Discretion is not exactly her strong point,’’ T’Challa explains.

‘’We can’t all be the Black Panther,’’ you place a hand on his shoulder, ‘’I hope that this touch will not get me impaled onto that lab table.’’

‘’No, it will not,’’ he raises an eyebrow, ‘’I know that you are a skilled fighter as well. Intelligence, skills, and beauty?’’

‘‘Sounds like someone else I know,’‘ you retort.

Because you’re in Wakanda of all places, flirting with the king of Wakanda of all people. 

But also because you’re still reeling from everything that Shuri has told you, and distracting yourself from your real questions.

‘‘Did I really get shot,’‘ you ask quietly, wondering how it could have healed so quickly.’’

‘‘You did. you are okay, though. You may be a bit sore for a few days, but you will be just fine. And I have notified your dad. He is happy that you are okay.’‘

‘‘My dad? Is he alright?’‘

‘‘He is just fine. He escaped with a few minor cuts and scrapes but nothing serious.’‘

‘‘But why did you choose to bring me here? Isn’t Wakanda closed to outsiders?’‘

That throws him a bit. He blinks rapidly, looking at you as he mulls over what to say.

‘‘It was my duty.’‘

His words carry more meaning thank you know, but you don’t have time to question him further.

He is getting a message on his beads, the woman you recognize as Okoye calling him.

‘‘My king, your presence is needed in the throne room immediately.’‘

‘‘Is this something that can wait just a while longer? I’m checking on Agent Ross. The other Agent Ross- Y/N.’‘

‘‘I am afraid not, my king. There is a man that came to our borders. A Wakandan, though neither born nor raised here. He claims to have killed Ulysses Klaue.’‘

T’Challa looks at you with wide eyes, and you can see fear, hesitation, and something you can’t quite pinpoint flicker across his face.

Well.

It looks like your adventure is just beginning.

    DISCLAIMER- I own no Marvel Characters or their fictional universes, they belong to their rightful owners.

[brainstatic]

I was initially going to skip over this because who the hell cares, but this whole thing is gold. It’s an amazing descent into desperation and self-justification. I have so many thoughts.

Two days after the election, I crumpled over in yoga class, reeling from chest pain. After Googling the symptoms — soreness around my heart, difficulty breathing, numbness in my left arm — I took myself to the emergency room. There I was diagnosed with costochondritis, which sounded (and seemed) like a fancy form of hypochondria, but is in fact a swelling of the cartilage around the sternum brought on by anxiety.

“Anything stressful happening?” the doctor asked.

Was she kidding? Anything stressful? How about this election equaling the end of my personhood as a woman? A shove into cement for all women who’ve experienced sexual abuse? The horror of an inarticulate man with a microphone? Who wasn’t feeling stressed out?  

Alright, so we’ve established she’s aware of the stakes.

Then again, this was Florida, a red state I’d never planned to call home.

Florida is the most famous swing state. Trump won it by 1.2%. 

It mattered little that the dating scene was disastrous; I’d been single for most of the decade since my ex ended our marriage over the phone.

This could have been the end of the article. No one would really need an explanation past this. Nevertheless, it persists.

And just then — yes, while logged in for the purpose of deactivating my profile — came the most intriguing message I’d ever gotten in 10 years of online dating.

Wow, the guy you fell in love with just happens to be the last one to send you a message right before you gave up completely, isn’t it crazy how fate works?

His opening line was, “Nice use of the parenthetical.”

NICE USE OF THE PARENTHETICAL?

This guy Paul not only knew what such a thing was, he’d actually read my profile closely enough to find the parentheses. I had to write this guy back.

I am physically sad.

After a few witty back-and-forths, we moved to text messages. The conversation kept rolling, until he mentioned something about Pinot and pizza.

“Could be a dealbreaker,” I wrote. “I haven’t had a drink since college.”

I’ve learned it’s best to get deal-breakers out of the way immediately. He said it wasn’t, so I asked what was. He wrote:

“Not really sure ... getting shit for not texting/calling every 5 minutes. Trying to make me find Jesus. No physical, emotional, or intellectual attraction. Extremism. Putting toilet paper on the roll backwards. That’s all that comes to mind. You?”

I was already a little bit in love.

This is really a story about how the most boring human beings on earth found each other to be boring with.

Again, I couldn’t end the conversation because he hadn’t said the magic words, “I hate Hillary.” In my book, that’s usually not-so-secret code for, “I hate women.” Then he told me he wasn’t sure he’d have voted for Trump if he’d actually thought he had a chance of winning. That gave me pause.

This is in Florida. He did a joke vote in the state Bush won by 537 votes. One could argue this is as bad as being a sincere Trump supporter. But he’s almost certainly lying.

I desperately did not want to talk about politics — my chest pains had eased considerably since the news drought. And I did want to meet this guy. I’d come to trust myself enough in the dating world to know that if we went out, I’d spot a misogynist quickly. Nothing about him said “classist woman-hating racist,” so what was my objection? Legislation I wasn’t going to talk about?

You’ll remember at the beginning of the article, she was well aware of the stakes. Just a few paragraphs prior, she knew that Trump’s presidency would affect her personally. Now it’s all a bunch of silly tax mumbo jumbo.

Our first date was furniture shopping.

As it was for Nancy O’Dell.

If he was cheap, had bad taste, or was rude to the salespeople, I was ready to bail.

Say what you will about National Socialism, at least it’s an ethos.

We are very different, but Paul has shown me time and again how much he respects and values women

Neil Gorsuch Neil Gorsuch Neil Gorsuch.

My news block did not shield me entirely from world events, or my friends. If I was a person of color, someone with DACA status, or of different sexual preferences, I wouldn’t have the privilege of working through my feelings to reach for Paul across the aisle, and I have no intention of forgetting that.

That’s...startlingly self aware. Alright.

But I’ve seen too many families torn apart because of a lack of willingness to listen and engage, when the fact is that whatever differences surfaced after the election had been there all along.

I’ve seen families torn apart by ICE.

I never would have believed I could’ve fallen in love with someone who voted for Donald Trump, but by learning to put love above all else, the pains in my heart — physical and emotional — have finally disappeared.

The pains will of course come back.

Anyway, this is a story about how anyone can find love, once you realize you’re not getting any younger and maybe it’s time to abandon all your core values because your values aren’t going to stave away the crippling loneliness. Hurray for dating!

[darling-cas]

Whatever It Takes: Chapter 8

ACOTAR Figure Skating AU

Summary: Nesta firmly believes that if you want something, you have to work your ass off for it. And she wants a National title attached to her name. But when her coach decides that a change in discipline is what Nesta needs, she’s far from impressed. Now, instead of training as a ladies single skater, she has to switch gears and skate as a pairs skater. And her partner? Someone she can’t stand. Non other than cocky, flirtatious, former Men’s skater Cassian. Edited by: @ilikebigbooks-and-icannotlie

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

——————–

Elain absentmindedly picked at her salad, deep brown eyes bouncing around the room. Her gaze moved between couples gazing into eachothers eyes and teenage friends laughing too loudly on yet another Saturday night.

She took all of it in, but didn’t actually see any of it.

“Talk to me.”

Elain’s attention turned towards Nesta. Her sister was sitting across from her, fork stabbed in her own salad. Her grey eyes were hard and unyielding, brows pinched together as her sleek hair fell across her shoulder.

She raised a single eyebrow, and Elain knew that Nesta wasn’t about to back down. Not when she had that look on her face, not when she wanted something. It was only because of luck and lack of time that Elain had been able to avoid her for that long. And in the moment, as Elain took a slow bite of her food, she wished that she’d had even more time.

Nesta had known about her break up with Lucien for a while, as did Feyre. There was no way Elain would have been able to keep it from the both of them. And for the first few days - weeks, really - it hurt. It was hard. She’d just ended a years long relationship, so of course all she felt for a while was sorrow. All she wanted to do was lock herself in her room and eat ice cream while she watched awful romantic comedies. It was as if someone had taken her heart out and squeezed it before placing it back in her chest. And the hurt lingered. She wasn’t sure it would ever completely go away. Not for a long while at least.

But none of that was why she wanted more time.

The break up wasn’t the only thing on her mind every hour of every day. It wasn’t the only thing she was having trouble talking to her sisters - to Nesta - about.

Elain picked at her salad some more, unable to meet her sister's eyes.

“What do you want me to talk to you about?”

“How about what’s been on your mind these past few weeks?”

Elain lifted her gaze for the briefest moment. She found Nesta leaning back in her chair. Her expression was softer than normal, but still firm. It was clear that she wanted Elain to talk, and they would stay in the restaurant all night if they had to.

But how was she going to tell her? Elain couldn't help but panic slightly as she lowered her gaze once more, bringing her glass of water to her lips. How was she to tell her sister that she wasn’t going back to skating - not just for the year, but ever?

Skating was who they were, it always had been. It was the one constant thing in the Archeron sisters’ lives. It was there before and after their mother had passed and had been there ever since. If anything, it was probably one of the only things all three sisters had in common. It was something they all cherished, they all loved.

And it wasn’t that Elain didn’t love the sport anymore, she truly still did. She always would, it was a part of her. But she couldn’t do it for the rest of her life. She didn’t want to. She wanted to set herself apart, she wanted to do something for herself. She always had - the desire had always been in the back of her mind. And maybe it was her break up with Lucien that made her realize how strong that desire really was. Maybe that was why it had been on her mind a lot the past few weeks. Maybe that was the reason she’d started looking into different colleges and universities.

Whatever it was, it didn’t really matter. All that mattered was it was something she really wanted to do.

She didn’t want to go back to skating. She wanted to go to school.

But she just didn’t know how to tell her sisters yet. No one knew, aside from Azriel.

Elain’s hand froze as she dug her fork into her salad, her heart skipping a beat.

Az.

Thinking about him broke her heart almost as much as breaking up with Lucien had. She’d hardly seen him over the last month, let alone talked to him. The last time they’d actually had a conversation was when Elain left Azriel standing in the parking lot of the coffee shop in the rain.

She couldn't help but notice how much she truly missed him. It was as if half her heart ached because of her break up with Lucien while the other half felt empty because of Az. In all the years they’d known each other, they had never gone so long without talking.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to patch things up with Azriel - she wanted it more than anything. But after everything with Lucien and figuring out school, life had just gotten out of control. But not having her best friend by her side through it all - it was killing her. It was just another layer of hurt and confusion.

Best friend. Was that even what they were at the moment? Elain wasn’t sure. She didn’t know what was between them, what one would call it. The line between friends and more always seemed blurred between them. But what she did know, what she was sure of, was that Azriel deserved the world. He deserved everything and more. Was she the one to give that to him? Elain did not know.

A few more moments of silence passed by. Nesta tapped her fingers on the table one, two, three times. When it became clear that Elain wasn’t going to say anything, she spoke up once more.

“Is this still about Lucien?”

Nesta’s voice was soft, comforting almost. A tone she only used around Elain.

Yet, Elain still didn’t know how to reply. Because yes, it was about Lucien still. But no, it wasn’t just about him. And if she said the wrong thing, or didn’t say enough, Nesta would keep prodding her with questions.

Elain stabbed her food once more, letting out a deep sigh through her nose.

Nesta locked her gaze with Elain’s for a moment before leaning forward in her chair, eating a breadstick.

“It’ll get better,” she said in between bites. Her face was calm, reassuring. “I’ll help you through it.”

Elain smiled a small genuine smile. Because that was as close to comfort Nesta was going to give, when it came to relationships anyways. Besides, Nesta wasn’t Lucien’s biggest fan to begin with. She’d simply tolerated him for Elain.

Silence stretched between them for a moment, and Elain realized that if she didn’t take the opportunity right then, the conversation may go back to what was on her mind, and she didn’t want that.

“What about Cassian?”

Elain watched as Nesta’s icy gaze snapped towards her. But it was a loaded enough question to distract her. Plus, Elain was genuinely curious about what was going on between those two. Especially after Cassian had dropped Nesta off last weekend, both of them drunk and leaning on the other for support.

Nesta carefully put down her fork, hard gaze never leaving Elain’s.

“What about him?”

Elain couldn't stop the slightest smile from forming in the corner of her lips. “You two seem cozy lately.”

It wasn’t a lie. Elain had picked up on that little fact when she had stopped by the rink in the past few days. She couldn't help but notice how close her sister and Cassian seemed all of a sudden. There were more secret glances and less hurtful words. Even a few small smiles here and there. The tension was still present, though unnoticed by them, but it was a different kind a tension. The kind that had Elain smiling as she watched Cassian gaze upon Nesta with such a cherishing look. And how Nesta may have given him the same look once or twice.

Elain knew her sister would never admit her feelings, however. And the fact was only confirmed when Nesta shrugged her shoulders after asking for their check.

“I have to skate with him,” Nesta said, her words careful. “May as well get used to it, I guess.”

Elain raised an eyebrow at her, not believing the words but also keeping her mouth shut as they stood up to put on their coats.

As bad as she wanted answers from her sister, she wasn’t going to push her. She didn’t want Nesta doing it to her, so she wasn’t about to do it to Nesta. Elain remained silent as the two sisters paid for their meal and made their way outside in silence.

The quiet dragged on as they walked down the street, heading home. Elain’s mind was reeling, drifting between everything she’d had on her plate lately. And by the look on Nesta’s face, she was doing the same thing. Most likely thinking about Cassian.

As Elain glanced over at her sister's face, she realized how much Nesta truly was going through. How much was weighing her down. And her worry for Elain just added weight Nesta did not need to carry right then.

It didn’t matter if Elain told Nesta not to worry, because Nesta always worried about Elain. As long as Elain kept school and skating a secret, Nesta would fret. How could Elain do that to her?

Breathing in the cold and bitter autumn air around them, Elain decided that she needed to tell Nesta.

She looked down at her feet as they walked, just for a moment, before she finally sighed and started to speak.

“Nesta, listen-”

Elain stopped when she turned and found that Nesta wasn’t next to her anymore. No, she was a few steps behind, completely frozen. Her eyes were wide, lips parted slightly as she stared straight ahead.

“Nesta?” Elain walked to her sister's side, but Nesta didn’t seem to hear her, for she didn’t move.

Confused, Elain followed Nesta’s gaze, and even she couldn’t stop the small gasp from leaving her lips as she took in the sight before her.

There, against the wall of one of the bars on the street, was Cassian. Cassian, with his lips pressed firmly against another woman’s mouth.

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

Cassian running his hands down her back.

Cassian kissing along her jaw.

Cassian kissing her neck.

Cassian grinding his hips against hers.

Cassian kissing that woman.

Nesta couldn't get the image out of her head. No matter what she did, it was forever engraved in her mind. Hell, even the two shots she’d had after she got home the night before hadn’t helped. She may as well have had water. And if she hadn’t had skating practice in the morning, she wouldn't have let Elain cut her off.

Skating practice. With Cassian.

Nesta didn’t know if she wanted to cry at the sight of him or drive her blade between his legs.

She was leaning towards the latter.

In the week following that night in the bar, Nesta couldn't help but feel connected to Cassian in some way. There was a mutual understanding between them after that. He was still a pain in her ass, and she still wanted to slap him upside the head, but they were more relaxed with each other, more careful. Even Coach Carver had something to say about the change in them, for they were slowly starting to form a connection on the ice. Their routine was getting better each and every day.

But then, as Nesta gripped Cassian’s hand in hers, she could feel that connection slowly slipping away again.

She couldn't even look at him without seeing that blonde from the bar.

Seeing him with her had hurt more then she wanted to admit, more than she was willing to admit. And she couldn't help but kick herself.

She knew there was something between her and Cassian, something stronger, though she told herself it was only a stupid little crush so it would go away. She didn’t have time for feelings.

Skating was her life, she had to remember that. She couldn't let a guy get in the way. Even if she was skating with said guy and couldn't so much as make eye contact with him as he threw her in the air. Because it hurt.

She was hurt. She was pissed. She was a storm of rage just waiting to unleash.

Practice ended and Nesta didn’t waste another second before racing off the ice. She slammed the dressing room door behind her before sitting on the bench and aggressively started untying her skates.

She was beyond glad it was just her and Cassian on the ice. She was not in the mood to deal with Feyre.

She should have known better. What was she thinking, developing feelings for Cassian Guerrero. She truly was an idiot. Thankfully, it was just that - a crush. The hurt would fade in a day or so and things could go back to the way they were before. She could go back to simply wanting her National title and giving Cassian no more than a second glance.

With her skates off and put away, Nesta paused. She rested her hands on her knees and closed her eyes. After taking a deep breath to calm herself, she stood up and grabbed her bag.

However, when she was just steps from the door, it flew open, and Nesta froze

Cassian stood before her, his broad shoulders almost the width of the doorway. His dark, wavy hair was pulled back, but a number of pieces were loose from the hours of skating. Dressed in all black, his shirt and pants did little to conceal the muscles underneath. Nesta felt her heart skip a beat. And she hated herself for it.

Just a crush. You’re a storm.

“Hey.” Cassian’s eyes traveled over her, and it took everything in Nesta not to shiver at his gaze as his hazel eyes met hers. “Are you okay? You seemed… occupied out there today.”

“I’m fine.” Her voice was clipped, eyes frosty.

She could tell by the way that Cassian’s eye narrowed that he didn’t believe her.

“No you’re not.”

Nesta could feel the storm starting to brew in her veins. “It’s none of your business anyways.”

Confusion flashed across Cassian’s face for a brief moment, as his eyes locked with Nesta’s. That time, she did shiver, for it was as if he were looking into her soul. And whatever he saw caused the confusion to break, a bitter laugh leaving his lips.

“And here I thought we were actually friends now.”

“Well you thought wrong,” Nesta snapped, unable to keep the razor sharp edge out of her voice.

She marched towards the door, but Cassian stepped towards her. The door closed shut behind him as he rested his hands on her shoulders, letting his skating bag fell to his feet.

“Hey.” His eyes were open and sincere as they gazed upon her. And Nesta hated it - hated that it made her feel something. “Talk to me.”

“Don’t touch me,” Nesta bit out, shoving his hands off her. Cassian’s gaze went wide. But Nesta couldn't think over the roaring in her head, her heart pounding in her ears. She took one look at his face, his eyes, and she lost it. “I’m not some blonde fucking bimbo from the bar that you can just charm and trap, okay? So leave me alone and let me fucking go.”

She knew she shouldn’t have said it. She knew she’d regret it later. But she was too worked up, too far gone to even think clearly.

There was a pause as Cassian took in what she’d said. Confusion was the first emotion to flash across his face, followed by understanding, and then - to Nesta’s utter surprise - a smug smile started to form on his lips.

“So that's what this is about.”

“It is not,” Nesta shot back, but her voice wavered just the slightest bit. “I couldn’t care less about who you take to bed.”

“Is that so?” Cassian raised an eyebrow at her, the smile on his lips growing. “Cause you seem pretty upset right now.”

“I am not upset.”

“Jealous then?”

Cassian took a step closer to her. Blood was rushing through her ears. Her jaw clenched. Her heart was pounding, chest heaving, as she formed a tight fist. Nesta could feel his breath on her cheeks as he spoke, the sensation causing her mind to fog up. Their eyes locked as his chest brushed up against hers. His hazel eyes bored into her, filled with lust, something softer, something she couldn't place, and - was that amusement?

He was enjoying it. He thought it was fucking hilarious. But whatever rage she should have been feeling couldn’t even form through the haze of something she didn’t want to admit to.

Desire.

She was moments away from doing something she knew she would regret.

“Definitely not,” she murmured, breath hitching slightly as her eyes locked on his smirking lips.

“Really? Because you seem kind of jealous to-”

Nesta couldn’t stop herself as she stepped up on her toes, suddenly closing the distance between them. His lips had been so close - so tempting and inviting and barely out of reach. She couldn't help but capture them with her own.

It didn’t even click in her head until a few short moments later that she was kissing him

She was kissing Cassian.

Her body felt like it was on fire. Her blood was singing. But even still, after a fleeting moment, she somehow managed to come to her senses. She realized what she was doing, what was happening, and despite the warmth of his lips on hers, despite every nerve in her body telling her not to, she started to pull away.

But Cassian wouldn’t let her.

The shock of her lips against his seemed to wear off. Nesta felt Cassian relax as he grabbed her roughly by her hips, pulling her closer to him as a low growl sounded from the back of his throat.

Just that sound caused Nesta’s toes to curl.

Cassian pressed his lips harder against hers. And just like that, the innocent, little kiss from moments ago quickly turned anything but. It was not gentle, but demanding, and wanting, and Nesta could feel it deep within her icy soul.

Her skating bag dropped to the floor with a faint thump as Nesta ran her arms up Cassian’s, over the cords of muscle, draping them around his neck. In response, his arms made their way around her waist, under her shirt. The feeling of his hands touching her skin caused something wild to stir within Nesta, even more so as he pulled her flush against him.

And as Cassian licked her bottom lip, as he took it between his teeth hard enough for her to whimper and moan into his mouth, all coherent thoughts left Nesta’s head.

She pushed him back against the closed door, hard enough for it to echo within the dressing room. But neither of them cared. Not as Cassian’s tongue slipped into her mouth and Nesta moved her hips against his.

She couldn't help but moan, a wave of pleasure washing over her as she felt Cassian’s hard length.

She wanted him to devour her. And she wanted to devour him in return.

Nesta rolled her hips against him, desperately in need of friction as Cassian kissed her harder. Nesta simply accepted the challenge and kissed him back twice as hard, her hand gripping his hair tightly so she could pull him closer.

Cassian’s hands roamed over her body, down the curves of her waist, her hips, and up again. Down the muscles of her back, stopping on her round ass. His hands stayed there, grabbing her, guiding her as she grinded against him once more. And as she rubbed against his length, a deep moan left Cassian’s lips.

Nesta took that moment to bite down on his lower lip, hard. As Cassian growled into her lips, Nesta allowed her tongue to enter his mouth again, brushing against the roof of his mouth as they both moaned in pleasure.

They were both all need. All want. All heat and passion as their hands, lips, and tongues explored each other’s bodies.

Cassian pulled his lips away from hers only to move them across her jaw, down her throat. Nesta threw her head back to allow him better access. Her eyes fell closed as he kissed and licked his way down her neck.

She couldn't remember the last time she’d felt like that, felt that good, as Cassian stopped where her neck and shoulder met. She couldn't remember the last time she’d allowed someone to touch her in that way. She couldn't remember-

Nesta’s eyes flew open as Cassian’s teeth grazed her skin.

Because suddenly she could remember. And then she remembered where they were, what they were doing. She remembered why they were in that situation.

She remembered who she was.

Roughly, Nesta pushed Cassian back as she stepped out of his embrace.

They both stood there, staring at each other for a long moment, their breathing ragged and in sync as they tried to catch their breath.

Cassian’s confused and lust filled eyes met hers. His lips were swollen and red. His hair was completely out of its elastic and an utter mess. To Nesta, he’d never looked so good.

And it was that thought, that realization, that had Nesta taking another step back. Had her grabbing her skating bag off the floor. Had her walking towards the door, towards Cassian.

She kept her gaze low, not meeting his eyes. He didn’t move right away, but he didn’t say anything either. He simply watched her. And after a moment, Nesta lifted her gaze to his.

She wasn’t sure what he saw in her eyes, on her face, but after a pause, he stepped away, allowing her to leave.

Nesta ripped her gaze from Cassian. She pulled open the dressing room door and stepped outside, the bitter air of the rink hitting her flushed face.

And as the slam of the door echoed behind her, as she walked out of the rink, her heart was tight in her chest. Nesta touched her kiss-swollen lips, and a single tear rolled down her cheek.

Because it was so much more than just a crush.

[londonspirit]

My Hamilton Adventure Part 2

It’s a week later, and I’m still reeling from the experience (the honour, really) to have seen Hamilton in London!!! And every day I read more praise, more love and more joy all over social media for the show, and the cast, and I couldn’t be happier (or prouder) for everyone involved - and us that we are allowed to witness this!!! 

Okay, I wanted to tell ya a bit about how this all happened, and what else I did in these three days! 

As I said before, this was NOT planned at all (R has tix for us next March; she’s amazing like that) and the show was sold out for ages anyways.  BUT there was a tweet with a link (from the re-sales to those relocated due to the delay in opening) and I clicked it. Mind you, I was exhausted, tired and fresh out from a long hot bath after the amazing Sherlocked Con weekend! I probably wasn’t coherent.  Anyhow, I clicked that link, picked a random Monday in December (as that would’ve been the only day doable for me (being it my day off) and checked for tickets. (Simultaneously I checked flights, and hostels - which were available. I also could’ve taken the very first flight back to Germany on Tuesday morning to be at work by noon (my start time) So it was doable; bit stressful but I knew it would’ve been worth it)  And as luck would have it, there were a few tickets, suitable for me. None of my girls could’ve joined so I messaged another friend of mine (who lives in London) and asked what to do. (She was in New York that time, and once again, her wonderful karma made sure she read my message immediately (which is a tiny miracle in itself as she doesn’t have a mobile plan, and only relies on wi--fi when there so yeah...) and instantly said: DO IT! And get me one as well!!! O_O  And as she’s usually my conscience when it comes to doing insane things, I was “okay, let’s do this then”. 

I’ve picked two reasonably priced ones (I’ve just spent a shitload on Sherlocked, I’m insane but I’m not totally reckless!), and booked them!  After that I immediately booked the flight to London, and a new hostel (as our old one doesn’t take bookings anymore [another long story for another time].  Then I messaged my boss and asked VERY VERY nicely if it’s possible to take the Tuesday after off. The waiting for a reply drove me crazy. When she replied, she said, usually not (we have a no vacation policy in December), but she’d ask a colleague if she was willing to cover for me!!! (She knows my insanity already, and is quietly supportive of it for some weird reason!)  So I had to wait another day!! 24 hours have never been this long!  In the meantime I squealed and flailed, trying to regain SOME sanity back - but with the knowledge that I would be seeing it in the very FIRST (full) WEEK?!?! NOT AN OPTION!!! *hehe* 

I was going crazy, literally, and when boss told me I could take that day off... well, you can imagine my reaction!!! (Colleague got a little pressie for her generosity!)  And I was ready to lose my mind!! I was going to London to see Hamilton!!!  Nothing else mattered anymore!!! 

And Sunday morning I left for London, sleepy as always but super excited!!! I had a full day to either lose my shit or try to regain it until Monday evening!!!  I met up with a friend after dropping of my suitcase at the new hostel (Southwark this time, which is lovely, even though it’s the total opposite of what I’m used to with the Battersea hostel) and we had a three hour walk around Hampstead Heath (which is very pretty in the snow!) before going back into London. I had us booked for a late afternoon in the Skygarden - beautiful London in the dark. Sadly it had started raining again; nevertheless it was lovely. 

And for the very first time I did NOT have any plans for the evening, so we wandered around London, had dinner, chatted away the evening until 8′ish or so. N left for home, and as I was still damp and uber tired I went to my hostel as well. I’ve NEVER been in bed this early (mind you, didn’t sleep until 11 but still *hehe*)  [Slept like a baby until 3 am when an alarm right over my head went of - and the bloody owner of said alarm wasn’t even IN THE FUCKING BED!!!! I had to get up TWICE to switch off their phone - they came back TWENTY minutes later. Seriously WHO DOES THAT??? *grumbles*]

The next morning was HAMILTON DAY!!!! And it was raining!!! I had a wander around London (which is still very pretty) but the rain kept me from really enjoying it as much as I should’ve.  I ended up at Victoria around 1 pm or so, and set up camp in the Pret just across the theatre to dry off. 

What a lovely place - the view is amazing *hehe* And despite it being early, it was busy across the street: people coming, people going, and still working on several bits and pieces.  But I got restless after a while - still too many hours till showtime so I went for stroll around the area - St. James’s Park isn’t too far away, and it had stopped raining... Well, London def made up with a lovely evening after that rainy morning. 

Eventually I wandered back, and just as I was taking one more picture (and tweet that somebody should stop me from taking anymore), my friend showed up with the words “Stop taking so many pictures”! 

We queued up, were insides superquickly (they really know what they’re doing there!) and joined the merch queue where I spent a shitload of money before we took our seats!  I was surprisingly calm by then (probably just exhausted from the excitement and the walking around for so long) but as they lights went out, it hit me:  I WAS ABOUT TO SEE THE MOST AMAZING THING EVER CREATED!!! 

[My squee about the entire show is here]

Afterwards... gosh, I’m still not sure HOW we made it outside (manly because L was leading me *hehe*) We found the stage door and waited a bit around because L wanted to quickly talk to one of the cast who she knows.  Some of the cast came out but I was too blown away to get anything signed or ask for a picture! That was how OUTSTANDING that show and that cast is!!  (I still sneaked a few pics but only because we were waiting for quite a bit) 

That cast is soo fucking generous with their time - it was FREEZING cold and yet they stayed until everyone got what they wanted!!! They’re all very very good people!!! 

Eventually we were done and said good night and good bye and I floated back to my hostel. If you’ve met a woman, grinning madly to herself on the tube - that was probably me (or someone also coming from seeing it) 

Tuesday morning was freezing but there was a clear blue sky and it was sunny. My flight didn’t leave until the evening so I spent the morning with another stroll around the Tower, Tower Bridge and headed down to the National (because I always do). I walked over a Christmas market, had Dutch pancakes and too much coffee. It was a beautiful day to say goodbye until next year. 

Work the next day was torture as I’ve walked myself a blister on my foot, everything hurt and I was equally high on Hamilton and sad about leaving my lovely London.  But it was worth it - as always!!! 

And now I can’t wait to go back, squee and flail with my girls and do it all over again (Fingers crossed it all works out like we planned - right now I’m not too sure but I’ll do anything to make it all happen again!) 

So yeah, you wanna beg, steal, borrow or barter to get your hands on a ticket - it’ll be worth EVERYTHING legally possible!!! (There’s ALWAYS a few scattered tickets available - returns, day tickets, the lottery, and if you’re willing to pay for it, even still some premiums! (Not yet willing to pay THAT much - especially since there’s still some less expensive!) 

JUST DO IT!!!! It really is THAT fucking epic!!! 

[atwaba]

The Legacy You Leave [Ch 5]

From the bloody stains down his shirt, to the possibly-broken arm held carefully in his lap, and the sprawling bruise slowly darkening across his cheek, the poor teenager looked like he’d been hit by a truck.

If Canada didn’t know any better, he probably would have guessed that he had.

“What’s your name, kid?” The nation asked as he placed his hands on either side of the teenager’s head. Blue eyes focused blearily on his own, and he hummed quietly. They weren’t one of his citizens, he could tell, but they felt...familiar, somehow. He wasn’t sure why. “Can you tell me how old you are?”

“Nathan Cameron...17.” Canada bobbed his head in a nod, and gently prodded at the first signs of bruising. The name wasn’t familiar...but maybe this kid just had one of those faces? He did look a bit like America, now that he thought about it...same blue eyes, same blond hair…

What a coincidence, eh?

“Do you know what city we’re in?” Canada asked as he gently probed the extent of the bruising. By Nathan’s wincing, it ran all the way from his jaw up to his temple, and nearly from ear to nose. Ouch.

“Yeah. Alicante, Spain.” The teen replied stiffly. Pulling his hands back, Canada turned his attention to the arm Nathan had so gingerly draped across his lap. The skin wasn’t broken, but the limb was definitely swollen, and - from how still Nathan held it - probably broken.

“Do you remember what happened?” He asked, leaving the arm be, for now. “Any blank spots or confusion?”

“No, no...I remember pretty well.” Nathan laughed nervously, and raised his good arm to rub sheepishly at the back of his neck. ”I ran you over and got my face mashed into the ground. Twice.” He frowned. “I’m, um. Sorry about that, by the way-”

“Hey, no worries.” Canada interrupted with a reassuring smile. “There was no harm done, see?” He leaned back on his heels and waved a hand toward his face, and - true to his word - there was barely even had a bruise from the collision. Nathan sighed in relief, and moved to take off his glasses, and Canada used the distraction to glance over his shoulder. America, returning from the other end of the alley, shook his head with a short-lived scowl.

They got away. The look said. I’ll give you the details later.

“Aw, man…” Nathan lamented when he got a good look at the cracks in his lenses. He’d been hoping the damage wouldn’t have been as it appeared looking through them, but there went that hope. “And me without my spares….” He frowned, put the glasses back on his face. Broken was better than none, after all. “Gramps is gonna kill me.”

“Considering the circumstances, I’m sure he’d go easy on you.” America came to stand beside his brother, and offered Nathan another bright, reassuring smile (one that, Canada knew, he practiced in the mirror). “Let’s get you back on your feet, for starters.” He suggested, already reaching down to grab Nathan’s good hand.

The moment skin met skin, however, a jolt of a feeling raced up America’s arm.

He disguised his tensing with the motion of hauling Nathan up to his feet, and took advantage of Canada stepping back in to let his head reel, for a moment. The strange feeling was still zipping through his veins, though it had faded somewhat once he’d let go of the teen’s hand. It was something akin to what he felt around his own citizens, except, not exactly. It was a feeling of warmth and familiarity - of knowing something belonged as if it always had - except far, far stronger than he could remember feeling for a very long time.

The only memory that came close was centuries old; from when he was just a boy, all alone in a wide-open world, and reaching up at a man who called himself his ‘big brother’...

“...-our sure you’re not dizzy?” Canada’s voice suddenly filtered back in, and America snapped out of his thoughts. “You look a little dazed-”

“No, no, I’m fine! Really!” Nathan was insisting. He did look a little disoriented...ah, geez. America winced. Had he pulled the kid up too quickly? Sometimes he forgot, around humans, to reign in his superstrength.

“Hmm.” Canada’s raised eyebrow turned his affirmative hum into something more sarcastic in nature, but Nathan didn’t seem to catch on to it. “Alright...well, let’s get going. I think there’s a clinic nearby that can at least get you a sling for your arm.” At the mention of a clinic, however, Nathan started to look a little queasy, and shook his head.

“Uh, n-no, no, that’s okay. I don’t need to go” He protested. “My arm’s not even that bad, see?” Holding up his injured arm, Nathan flexed his fingers and rotated the limb. “It just needs some ice and-. And maybe an ACE bandage. It’ll be fine!” His pained smile did not go unnoticed by either nation, and they traded quiet looks. Though suspicious, Canada could only shrug slightly.

Maybe he had misdiagnosed a sprain as a break, given how gingerly Nathan himself had been about the limb?

“Okay, no clinic, then.” America conceded. “But at least let us make sure you get back to wherever you’re staying safely.” He offered. “You mentioned your grandad before, right? I’m guessing you’re here on vacation with him?”

“Um, yeah.” Nathan visibly relaxed as the topic of the clinic was dropped, and America made a quiet note of that. “I was supposed to meet him at the Basilica of Santa Maria with a few other friends, but I, uh…” The teen laughed nervously, and scratched the back of his neck again. “I got distracted by the market stalls on the Promenade when we went by them, and fell behind.” He admitted.

“I was trying to catch up to them when those two guys started after me, and-...oh!” Nathan’s eyes widened in realization. “Oh, I should-. I should call them, shouldn’t I?” He started to dig through his pockets with his good hand - finding the device in his jacket on the third try - but when he pulled it out, his face fell.

“Bloody hell…” Nathan cursed as he beheld the cracks spiraling across his phone’s screen. It was still on, sure, but that touch screen was never going to work again. “So much for calling…”

“Ouch.” America made a sympathetic face at the sight, and slung an arm around the teen’s shoulders. “Hey, don’t worry about it, kid. We can walk you over there, can’t we Mattie?” He looked to his brother for (already assumed) confirmation.

Something about this scenario (the assault, the strange language the men spoke, the weird feeling he’d felt when he’d touched Nathan, etc.) didn’t add up, and America wasn’t about to just leave it be. Walking this mysterious kid to his destination, as opposed to offering him one of their phones to use, was a good excuse to get some extra time to figure out just what felt so...off...about all this.

Canada, for his part, did not share all of his brother’s suspicions, but he nodded along anyway. It wasn’t like they - two strangers who just happened to be in the wrong place at the right time - could force the teen to get medical treatment for his injuries. At the very least, they could make sure Nathan got back to his group, and someone there might convince him to go get his wounds looked at.

“Sure thing.” The northern nation agreed. “The Basilica isn’t too far off, from here, yeah? I saw a few signs pointing towards it when we were getting lunch.” He remarked out loud. America kept his arm slung around Nathan’s shoulders, and steered them back out of the alley, and onto the sidewalk. Nathan tugged his jacket closer to hide the bloodstains down his shirt.

“You guys really don’t have to do this,” He tried. “It’s more than enough that you came to my rescue in the first place-”

“Kid, don’t even worry about it.” America interrupted with his usual heroic grin as they made for more populated streets. Canada followed behind the two, feeling as though they’d forgotten something. He glanced around the street, but couldn’t think of anything they’d missed...until he spotted a familiar scowl a streetlight over, staring their small trio down as they rejoined the crowds. Canada quietly sidled up to his brother’s side, and whispered.

“Keep your eyes ahead, eh? We’re being followed.”