#and remind myself that i wanted to live. i will never be able to sum up what it means to me.

[potatoesandsunshine]

tearing up thinking about the friends at the table ten year anniversary.... happy birthday friends at the table

[jiecomic]

Chapter 2- That’s him?

Previous|Table of contents|Next

"Perfect for what?" MK asked the Monkey King with confusion

"To be... MY SUCCESSOR!" Sun Wukong answered in the most dramatic way possible

" Uh... Are you sure you are the Monkey King? You've been cooked up in here for way too long…" MK was checking the monkey's condition as if he was sick " I think your brain went moshed up..."

At that moment Monkey King put MK on the ground with his tail "Listen Kid" Suddenly he started searching for something in the stock of garbage behind him " You fought demons- and you didn't die and you made it here!" He opened a back of dry peaches " Not anyone can lift my staff, but you did" and started eating them.

MK looked at him with even bigger confusion.

"But what about the DBK?!"

"Pff..!" Wukong laughed "You can handle it!" He said while still eating peaches on his cloud "Consider it's a trial!"

"But I-" MK looked down

With that Wukong had no other choice but to give a kid some words.

" Look, if you can lift my staff you can use it" He came to MK and put a hand on his shoulder "Just believe in yourself- even a snitch makes all the difference"

MK looked at his idol with much more relief in his eyes.

AAAND... just when Wukong was about to finish...

Chomp!

A little friend came for a visit.

" Em... Monkey King?" MK looked behind Sun Wukong "I think something is trying to eat your tail"

Wukong didn't even have to look behind him. He knew this pair of little sharp fangs and a sound of wagging tail.

"You...." He looked at Gou all pissed for ruining his moment

Gou on the other hand let go of his tail to bark, probably for him it was a hello.

In no more than 5 second Wukong had summoned his cloud, put Gou on it and gave him a ride to his home.

" IF YOUR OWNER WILL LEAVE YOU HERE AGAIN I SWEAR TO HEAVEN I'M GONNA...- he thought for a while- "LOSE HER WAGES!!"- "though I don't remember paying her anyway..." he muttered the last part to himself

After a while he remembered about MK.

"Ah right!- Sorry, can you remind me when we have finished?"

Hello I don't know if you remember but my name is Jie! In case you wonder who I am let me introduce myself...

You see, once I was a pretty powerful fox demon- Buuuuut for some reason the Jade emperor said that I'm a little bit too powerful and dangerous or something like that, anyway after that the not so good Jade emperor took away half of my power and e.t.c, I had some boring depression after that when suddenly I decided that it would be nice to start a second life!

I was doing pretty great!

Till I realised that I was not fully able to protect myself anymore... after a long, long journey I found myself a perfect place to call home, I spent hundreds years peacefully till the evil lady and her angry son said 'Let's summon the angry bull demon and destroy the city! “Hahahaha”

And I didn't like their plan since lately I too live in the city!

So, brave me asked Monkey King, my old enemy (not really an enemy though) to help me fight the evil guys! He agreed and took me in as his servant (which is really a great honour to me) just before telling me...

That instead of lifting a finger he is going to send some human boy with no experience at all, so to sum it up kids...

"I was scammed..."

"Jie, You're being delusional again" Said Monkey King after the demoness finished her monologue, it was hard to hear his words since he still didn't finish his pack of peaches "I had never deceived you, if anything you should be grateful!

After saying that, he looked at Jie's face which was wearing a suspicious expression mixed with all her complaints.

'What the heck am I supposed to be grateful for?!'- was what she wanted to say

"Think about it this way!" Wukong tried to ease the mood "You practically won't need to intervene in anything since MK will take care of it, after I'll teach him of cou-

He stopped when he noticed that Jie's face didn't fix itself but rather the opposite, now it was screaming 'What a bullshit!'

"A-anyway..." Wukong continued not so confident anymore "Can't you at least wait till you meet him?"

"I'm sure you'll change your mind once you see him! I'm telling you, this boy is a true diamond in the rough!"

"And what if he isn't?" Suddenly Jie spoke with a serious look on her face "What if he's not a diamond but just a normal stone?"

Wukong fell silent for a while but sent her a dissatisfied look to show that she's going too far, yet Jie ignored it and continued.

" Think again master, after spending thousands years with humans you should know it already but humans are wicked creatures, they tend to be greedy and unlike other species they have a changing nature"

"... You're right, but demons also tend to be evil and unlike humans- they rarely change"

This time it was Jie who became silent, she actually didn't have anything more to say so she just clenched her teeth and looked away admitting defeat. Seeing this Monkey King let out a long sigh.

"Listen, we know each other for long enough-

"One month"

"Let me finish!*ahem* Okay, since we already know each other for those long, tiring 4 weeks... Why won't you just trust my judgment for now. I believe in that kid!"

Jie calculated everything they've been saying a while ago

"Alright Master"Her voice was much calmer "When will I get the chance to meet that precious successor of yours?

BOOM!

Within a second a loud sound reached their ears

"How about now?"

Everything was turned into ruins.

Jie wasn't sure who caused more damage- DBK or this black haired boy who wielded Monkey King's stuff

She and her master were standing on the head of a robot watching the group of those new "heroes"

"Soo... what do you think?" Wukong asked as if he was waiting for an applause from the fox demoness

"Master, do you want my opinion?"Jie looked at him kindly

Monkey King didn't respond, but there were more stars shining around him, so Jie treated it as an approval.

"I think you're not in your right mind" Jie spoke without hesitation in a cold tone

"Wha-WHY?!"- Wukong was really shocked by her reaction

" Is that him?" Unlike him, Jie stayed as calm as at the beginning

" Yes"

"THAT'S HIM?!" There was this one tiny blaze of fury in her voice

"...yes?" Wukong felt that blaze on the back of his neck

" So you- ahem..!- Master, you want to tell me that your successor, the new Monkey King, is this mortal? And my peace lays in his hands?!" She pointed at a boy who was swirling the staff around him and making some 'hero' poses

The great sage for some reason started escaping the red, piercing gaze of a fox demoness. But then he remembered his position as her master.

" Well~ if you want to know, I've been keeping a close eye on him from a very long time- AND LOOK"- he started pointing at the boy,  who was going somewhere with his friends "You see what he holds in his hands- MY STUFF!"

" Wow, the chosen of a stick" Jie didn't even care about her attitude towards her master "Beware of his power demons and builders" at the last word she looked around the ruins of the city

Monkey King was at the end of his patience. The times when Jie would use sarcasm where rare, but honestly's she was acting a hell of arrogant while using them. It can be said that it was her tricky fox nature switching on.

" Just give kid some time and you'll see for yourself"

Jie didn't expect such a calm answer.

Sigh

"Your right"

"Of course!- now go, make yourself some tea, feed your... pet and-

"I need to check for myself"

"W-What?!"

With that Jie disappeared leaving poor Monkey King with tons of unanswered questions.

"I wonder if I should worry about it?"

Previous|Table of contents|Next

[someonexsomeone]

Fragile

Title: Fragile

Author: SomeonexSomeone

Word Count: 3.5k

Pairing: George Weasley x Reader

Summary: The Triwizard Tournament is a stupid idea...until it brings George something he didn't know he was looking for.

Authors Note: Day 6!!! Wel...okay I know this didn't go up last week. I had to take a week off because, in true fanfic author fashion, my landlord sold the house I was living in and we needed to find living asap lest we go homeless. But!! We did it!! I haven't slept and I'm so stressed I cried when we got approved for a new house, so I wrote this as a reward for myself! I hope you guys like it! I plan to get the one for this week out tomorrow so next Thursday will be back on schedule!

Dumbledore had made many confusing choices throughout the years George went to school with him as the headmaster. Allowing teachers to pick on students was the first to come to mind, followed quickly by random last-minute points to change the winners of the house cup (Fred told him several times to let it go since they won, but there was something that always nagged George about it), but this year’s TwiWizard Tournament was, he had to admit, quickly climbing the list. His brothers never mentioned anything about it, and neither had their parents, so why suddenly bring back a death tournament when everything around them was already a reminder of the death awaiting them outside the castle walls?

“A way to bond us all together!” Dumbledore happily explained, a twinkle in his eye that George knew only from the same look Fred got when he thought he was doing something brilliant, and since Fred was typically a coin toss on whether was would be true or not, George wiggled his nose in distrust. “I want everyone to remember this is a friendly competition, no matter how serious it may get, so intermingling is highly recommended. Now, how about we give a warm welcome to the two new schools joining us this year!”

It was as full of bravado as George expected, each school expecting to out-perform the other with shows of magic and flips and who knows what else, with Hogwarts left to do nothing but a jovial karaoke of their school's anthem. And, who was George to deny the crowd the twin’s spectacular singing voices? The giggles from the people around them were expected, but some coming from the other two schools was a welcome surprise. George couldn’t help giving it that much more of a performance, just to please his adoring audience, eyeing some of the lovely students in pale blue as they huddled closer to hide their laughter from a disapproving headmistress. 

Then came the announcement of how to apply to the tournament. Fred only needed to spare his twin a glance before they nodded, each imagining the large treasure at the top of the podium. After years of selling products, snatching things here and there from Snape and Sprout and pretty much salvaging anything from anyone, there was a lump sum hiding at the bottom of Fred’s trunk, hidden cleverly in a bag disguised as a dirty pair of underwear, that would help improve their operation tenfold, but this? This would do more than they would ever imagine. How many products would they be able to make? How many ingredients they could buy to refine plans they only dared to dream of? Dare say, even turn their production into something so much more than a traveling trunk of wonder? George hadn’t hoped to dream so boldly so quickly, but this would be worth so much more than they could make for the rest of their time in school! This brain was whirling with the plans they already made, and how quickly they could be made real. And then…heartbreak.

“It’s for your safety!” he heard Fudge say, though it was nearly incomprehensible over the shouting throughout the Grand Hall, the twins louder than anyone else. Outrage! They were near enough to the age restriction, and who was some new old wizard to come in and make these decisions for them? Thus, the scheming began.

Even though he believed Dumbledore to be a bigger ditz than not, he did know his magic was stronger and more refined than the average wizard. Alright, the above-average wizard. But this was worth so much more than a little scolding, and he had seen the hint of a smile on the headmaster's face whenever the twins were on the verge of getting in trouble for their pranks. He had a soft spot for troublemakers, Fred decided early on, and it allowed them to be bolder than they would have under a more watchful eye. Jokes on him, George concluded many years later, that his more lenient attitude made him and Fred nearly overly confident in their abilities, especially their abilities to get away with things that a normal person couldn’t even think of. 

A mountain of ingredients was needed for an age-altering potion, even one as temporary as they were planning on making. Illegal? Maybe. But there were no laws against age-altering potions so long as they didn’t get in trouble while under its influence or force someone against their will to drink it. A short 5 minutes, and only a few months of aging? They had made pranks much more elaborate, and they had spent more than their fair share of time over a bubbling cauldron. All they needed was to get the ingredients and everything was as good as set, right?

Wrong.

The first few ingredients were the easiest. George, ever the good student, volunteered to help Professor Sprout water the plants the first years were studying. She was so frazzled, bless her, that she didn’t notice George take clippings from a select bunch of herbs on the opposite side of the greenhouse from where he was supposed to be. Fred was able to sneak a little here and there from their shared potions classroom, and they had just enough money saved up for an innocuous visit to the potion shop down in Hogsmeade. They had more than enough flasks and bottles saved up over the years to dry the needed things appropriately, and the house elves were more than happy to allow them use of a burner to bring everything to a rolling boil. Everything was set for the brewing, needing to happen on a waxing moon to ensure they wouldn’t age too much too quickly, but there was still one, tiny, pesky problem left…

“How in the bloody hell are we going to find a Lightsparrow’s Talon!” Fred was beyond frustrated, pacing the room in front of his brother. The two had commandeered their dorm room, their roommates besides Lee Jordan knowing well enough now that being around the twins while they planned would inevitably cause them to get caught in the crossfire, with papers strewn all around the room. Theories, replacements, and possible combinations filled each page, all with nearly illegible scribbles confirming their uselessness. “I should have just snuck into Snape’s cupboard during detention when I had the chance!”

“And risk trouble not even McGonnogal could talk you out of? You know he’s only locked down even more since someone else started stealing from him.” Fred huffed, finally plopping down on his bed. “Besides, we don’t even know if he has any. None of the upper-level classes are brewing potions with them, and the Matron doesn’t have any potions that require them.”

“So, what? We just give up?” George rolled his eyes. After years of failed experiments, Fred’s grouchy attitude was more than easy to ignore.

“You know that’s not what I’m saying. I just think we need to get a little more creative.”

“But we’ve tried everything! That stupid library never has anything we actually need.” George just chuckled, walking over to his brother to give him a playful pat on the shoulder.

“Why don’t I go take another look before we give up all hope?” Fred huffed again, crossing his arms and slumping his shoulders like a child. “I haven’t reached the end of the Herbology section yet, and we have enough Swindlebrine powder for another go before the final product.” Fred looked at his twin once, before huffing again. A quick flop, and he was more or less laying across his bed.

“...fine. But, after dinner, we formulate a plan to take a look around Snape’s cupboard just in case.”

“Deal.” They shared a smile, George patting Fred’s leg this time, before ducking out the door. The easiest way to deal with Fred, before food was served, was either to distract him with a problem or let him rest. Sleeping, George found, was always the easier option.

Since the new students infiltrated the school, every time of day was absolutely bustling with activity. Between the end of classes and dinner, most students preferred to hang out with friends, meaning the hallways were empty besides the random groups that walked to and fro their destinations, and teachers were either tucked away in their offices to grade work or in their private studies doing their personal projects. It was the time of day that Fred and George found it easiest to scout out prank spots, and sometimes got as lucky as setting up the bulk of it to finish after curfew. Now though? George had to spin his body in every direction to avoid the constant stream of people. His height allowed him an advantage of seeing over most heads, but it also meant people were able to get extremely close and bump into him without any warning. After years of getting away with pranking people in plain sight with the help of a crowd, he was more alert than ever.

Just up ahead, a group of Hogwarts students were loudly arguing with a group from Durmstrang. About what, George didn’t even want to know, but it was making it incredibly difficult to get past. With a huff, one that would impress even Fred, he slipped into a nearby hallway, not nearly as bad as the main corridor, but he didn’t waste much time before making a few more turns. The good part of sneaking out past curfew was the ability to explore every part of the castle without getting distracted. He and Fred nearly had the layout memorized, but the secret passages granted them much easier access. The way he was walking would take him the long way to the Library, but it was filled with empty hallways courtesy of the tens of abandoned classrooms. The further he walked, the fewer people he could see and hear around him, until he came to a pocket with absolutely no one. On either side, the roar of students was ongoing, but the reprieve did George a moment to breathe. 

If this was your school, George thought bitterly, you wouldn’t be treating everything so disrespectfully. Honestly! Who even told them that wandering around the school was a good idea?

“I’ve already told you no, Dennel.” George stopped still. Just around the corner, he could hear the shuffle of feet, almost like they were walking in circles. Vaguely, he thought he recognized the voice, but no face came to mind immediately.

“My Darling, don’t you know that saying no now will do nothing to help you later?” That voice he did know. George groaned internally. The other bad part of all the new students was the absolute influx of activity in the classroom, namely from a group of Beauxbatons boys that thought it was so fun to flaunt their power and wealth and knowledge, even if they were wrong more often than not. It was almost like having the worst combination of Hermione and Draco, multiplied by 5. The leader of their stupid clique? Luc Dennel, a prat in every meaning of the word. “My Mother has already sent the robes. Do you want to break her heart?”

“That’s why I’m giving it back. You have no right to speak for me or dictate what I wear.”

“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong.” George leaned around the corner, peaking out just far enough to witness the conversation. With a start, he recognized you immediately. Although you only shared a few classes, George remembered you were skilled in the subjects you did share, and even went as far as helping those around you in spite of their magical school. At one point, you had even helped with some of his wand movement. His hand tingled in reminder.

“Get your hands off of me.” Dennel had you cornered in the hallway, positioning you so your back was to the wall with little room for escape. In your white-knuckled hand was a bag, no doubt the robes his Mother supposedly sent you, but above that, Dannel had his fingers gripping your wrist so tightly there was no debate on whether it hurt or not.

“Just submit to me already.” Dennel’s words were honey, but his tone sent a shiver down George’s spine. Not from fear, no, but from disgust. “It will happen sooner than you think. Why not just do it now?”

You were shaking. George could see even from his vantage point that your legs were on the brink of giving out, the grip on the bag the only thing keeping you from collapsing. A troubling burn whirled in his chest, the unmistakable feeling of needing to help someone bubbling to the surface. He could hardly remember the last time he felt this, though vaguely the image of Ginny shivering against him when people were accusing her all throughout her First Year of being strange for being so protective of her journal. His hand gripped his wand fiercely. He could hardly watch the way Dennel’s hand raised to touch your face.

“Surely the product in your hair didn’t make you deaf, eh, Dennel?” George rounded the corner then. Both you and Dennel jumped, whipping your heads to look at the unknown spectator to your conversation. George watched your shoulders deflate, from relief or embarrassment he couldn’t tell. George didn’t even flinch at the glare Dennel sent him. “Don’t you know it’s not very polite to corner unsuspecting people in a corridor?”

“This is none of your business, Weasley.”

“Oh? Apologies, I wasn’t aware you owned the hallway.”

“No, but I do own them. So, butt out.” In a single moment, before George could even wave his wand, your fist collided with Dennel’s face, sending you both flying with the grip he still had on your arm. George rushed over, pulling you from the floor and away before Dennel could recover. Your glare was fierce, but George could feel your shaking now as your body was pressed against his.

“No one owns me,” you growled out, laughing the bag at the body on the floor. Dennel recoiled as George flinched. Sympathy pains in this case, he hated to admit, always existed man to man, no matter who they were. “Not even you.”

George hurriedly pulled you along the corridor, away from his original target of the Library, to a hidden corridor. He winced once as the magical door closed behind him, hoping that after escaping that disaster you wouldn’t mind being alone in another low-lit corridor with a man just for a few moments in order to get you to safety.

“I’m sorry, I know you probably don’t want to be in this enclosed space. Just through here, though, will take you to the courtyard. We’ll be out quick, promise.” He tried to gently guide you, mindful of the painful bruise he could see already forming around your wrist, but you only managed one step before your legs gave out. George joined you on the floor quickly. “Woah! Hey, are you okay?”

He hardly knew what to do when you burst into tears, your entire body quaking with your silent sobs. His arms hovered awkwardly, too afraid to touch you but too worried to give you space. All it took was a gentle pat on your back before you turned, throwing yourself into his arms, seeking any comfort you could.

“I’m sorry…I’m sorry…” George could barely make out the whispers between your chattering teeth.

“Oh, no, you have nothing to apologize for,” he reassured quietly. He took another moment, before wrapping his arms entirely around you, squeezing as tightly as he could to his chest. His back was aching with the effort to keep you both upright, but he tried to focus instead on quietly murmuring affirming words to you, watching as the candlelight flickered across the dirt walls in order to keep his breath deep and calming. Who knew that having a little sister that was terrified of everything would make him an expert in handling people? 

The two of you sat there until your breathing slowed to a gentle rhythm, your body almost completely still, and then some. George continued his work, moving from reassurances to mindless chatter, just filling the quiet room with something other than your stuttering gasps of air, not letting you go for a moment. He worried you fell asleep for a second, before you gingerly sat up, rubbing your red eyes to get rid of any cloudy vision.

“I don’t normally do that, I promise.” George let out a startled laugh at your admittance, breaking the gentle atmosphere. You gave him a weak smile.

“I always knew Dennel was an ass.” This time you laughed, offering your hand to help George off the floor. Without needing the words, you looked each other over, whipping a smudge of dirt and a fleck of dust to ensure you both were clean. Well, clean as you could be after proactively cuddling on the floor. Your cheeks flared when you came to the realization of what you must look like to an outsider. You met George’s eyes again when he reached over and gently pat your hair down.

“Thank you.” George just gave you a smile.

“It was no problem at all.”

“Even if it means Dennel is going to be an insufferable ass to you now?”

“He already was.” That made you laugh again. George realized he really liked making you laugh. “What’s his problem, anyway?” At this, your smile fell. George felt like kicking himself. There was an awkward beat of silence. “You don’t have to-”

“He wants my hand in marriage,” you said at the same time. That made George gape. “Well, he wants my family’s business in order to save his, so marriage is what he’s set on now.”

“But…but he’s a Seventh Year! And you’re a Fifth Year! That can’t be allowed.” You rolled your eyes.

“Weasley. Surely you know of the old pureblood traditions. Fifth Year is hardly too young to arrange a marriage.” George just continued to gape at you. “Don’t worry, I don’t want to marry him.”

“Good!” Even George winced at how loud that came out. “I mean, good. He’s a prick.”

“A massive one.” Your smile was back. “So, is there anything I can offer my knight in shining armor for the rescue?”

“Rescue?” George huffed, taken aback. “You hardly needed the help with an arm like that.”

“Yes, I will admit, the punch was all my doing.” George laughed. “But most people would just drop me off somewhere near people and hope I was okay. You’re a special breed, Weasely, to sit with someone on the floor of a dirty corridor while they went through hysterics.” You cut him off before he could rebuke. “So, anything I can help the King of Pranksters with? I am in your debt.”

“That is a dangerous thing to say to me, lovey.” George’s mischievous smirk sent a chill down your spine. “But I’m afraid I’ll have to raincheck that favor. Unless, of course, you could get me a Lightsparrow’s Talon,” George laughed.

Despite the obvious sarcasm in his voice, you still responded, “Would a liquid form work?” That stopped his humor immediately.

“What?”

“Would a liquid form work? It’s the only type I have on me.” You rummaged through your pocket, producing a small bottle of…something that glimmered lightly against the candlelight. George wondered if he was going to have a jaw ache from the way it kept falling open.

“Where did you get that?!” Even as you held it out to him, he was frozen solid.

“It’s not in its purest form, but you wouldn’t need it to be anyway if you’re making a potion. If you mix in some snail secretion it should become tacky again without compromising the effects.” When he still didn’t take it from you, you waved it gently. “Well? Will it work?”

“You haven’t answered my question.”

“What? Oh, I brought it from home.” George gave you a funny look. “Liquid Lightsparrow Talon? Don’t you use it here as a cure for muscle and mental fatigue?”

“Lightsparrow Talon is extremely hard to get here!” It was your turn to look confused.

“The Talon is, yes. But if you gain their trust you can start a farm where they drop nearly all the time. The liquid form is a portion of the Talon ground down and liquified to make over a hundred doses per talon.”

“Is this common knowledge? How do you even know this?”

“The method is new, yes, but it’s been published hundreds of times over the years. The research team is based in France.” George smacked his hand against his forehead. Of course you would stop at E in the Herbology section, he thought miserably. If I had just continued for another row I would have answers for Fred by name. Your laugh pulled him from his thoughts.

“You’re pretty funny, you know that.” In a quick motion, you leaned over, tucking the bottle into his front pocket. His face flared red. “Let me know if you need anything else. The exit was this way, right…” Your voice trailed off as you made your way down the dirt path. 

George felt his heart thumping loudly in his chest. 

“Thank you, Dumbledore…”

______________________________________________________________

masterlist  l What is Laufeyfest? l Laufeyfest masterlist

[ceruleanwhore]

Since I’ve seen so much Silvio hate since his route release, I wanted to take a minute to talk about why all 3 of the visiting foreign princes make me uncomfortable because I believe in equality. Please keep in mind that I am on a break from the ikepri app rn so I have not actually played Silvio’s route, though I did read a translation of it on here previously, but I’m going to try to avoid using stuff from that.

Starting with the man of the hour, first to be released, I’d sum up my feelings about his character as “eat the rich — literally not sexually ya numpty.” He is the embodiment of everything I’ve ever hated about capitalism and the 1% and genuinely, from the bottom of my heart, it would delight me to watch him die because of how he represents that. His jangling, the way he throws his money around (the fact he has, what, 10 billion for Rio to waste on a gem at auction in Rio’s route), and, most importantly, the complete lack of any apparent morality or humanity. He demands everyone respect him because of that money (respect as in deference that comes with authority) while he throws around his bullshit bootstrap rhetoric and refuses to treat anyone at all with respect (respect as in the basic human decency kind). There’s also a seriously sadistic streak in him and so it’s not enough to be a billionaire prince, he also has to take this random woman as his indentured servant and constantly upset her on purpose and demean her to punish her for someone else’s accident.

Next up is Gilbert who, to me, is just plain annoying more than anything else. He and Chev never really scared me or anything with all the violence since it’s super predictable with them, so that doesn’t really bother me, per se, but the way he’s a pushy little dick in social situations pisses me off and if I were Emma I’d be dead because I would’ve yelled at him within like 5 seconds of meeting him. The hell of it’s that he’s supposed to be this master manipulator but he doesn’t seem to even be all that good at manipulation since his is so ham-fisted, he’s just a pushy asshole. My thing with both him and Silvio is that I fucking hate money and I fucking hate authority and I believe that no one, including myself, should have it the way they do, and it makes me immensely angry to watch them use those things to abuse others.

Now, I saved Keith for last because he’s actually the worst of the three in my opinion and he genuinely scares the shit out of me, and not because he happens to have DID, but because of what sort of people main!Keith and alter!Keith are. 

WARNING! MENTIONS OF VIOLENCE AND TRUE CRIME

Main!Keith just strikes me as being the kind of guy who would beat his gf and eventually kill her and, every time I see him, he reminds me of the Yellow Dress assembly my high school did about domestic abuse. He seems like the shy, insecure nerd who, in the early days, would worship the ground his gf walks on and just be so grateful that she decided to give him a chance, etc., until that turns into possessive jealousy over time, which then would feed into him isolating her, turning more violent, and then maybe killing her and hiding her body in the woods. Genuinely, the last event story I read with Keith made me INTENSELY uncomfortable from the very beginning because he had these vibes and I don’t know if I’ll be able to read his story because, in my head, Emma will already be dead, basically.

As for alter!Keith, he seems like the kind of guy who would literally be a serial killer, just going off the event stuff I’ve read, plus the second prologue and other act II routes. I could genuinely see him killing with no real rhyme or reason, unlike Chev and Gilbert who are so completely predictable. If main!Keith gives me true crime vibes in a OJ Simpson way, alter!Keith is more like a David Parker-Ray sort of true crime, and they both scare the living shit out of me. I can’t tell you how uncomfortable it is seeing so many people in the fandom talk about how much they love Keith and how nice and cute they think he is when, to me, he’s one of the scariest fictional characters I’ve ever encountered, mainly because I know he’s supposed to be a romantic lead in spite of everything I just said. Silvio and Gilbert would annoy me to death but Keith would do arts and crafts with my skin and hide my chopped-up body in the woods.

[nevercured]

I have a darling I care for very much, and we've been together for a while now. The two of us are soulmates, and I adore everything about him. He's so sweet and cute, just like a puppy, I want to keep him as a pet and not let anyone else even see him because I'm afraid someone will try to steal him from me.

The issue is we live in different states, and we decided to wait to move until we're both more financially stable, but I so badly want to speed things up. I'm getting so desperate I've thought of all sorts of ways to do it: kidnap him, threaten to hurt him or myself, anything to make him move in with me sooner.

I've been doing subtle things so far, like encouraging him to talk bad about his family and reminding him of how well I take care of him whenever I can, but I'm so impatient. I want my beloved with me now so I can make sure he's safe and that no one else is able to take him from me.

My fellow Yandere,

If money is your main problem here, there's a few simple solutions:

1. If you're a Sadistic type of Yandere, stage an "accident". Arrange for your darling to be injured, then sue your chosen perpetrator for an enormous sum of money. That's two people you get to hurt! Then, you can spend all your time taking care of your darling while he recovers. He'll be totally reliant on you. (This is slightly illegal, so I'll give you a few other options.)

2. Scare him. You've got the right idea-- kidnapping, threatening, that's all fun and games. But occasionally talking shit about his family and doting on him isn't going to get you anywhere. Maybe you're anxious. Maybe you think if you take it that far he'll be freaked out and leave, or decide not to move. Just remind him he doesn't have a choice. You'll be together no matter what, so it doesn't matter how long it takes for him to accept that.

3. Move to him. Right next door. That way you don't have to be afraid anyone will steal your cute little puppy. You can always be watching. Some darlings like to feel they have their own "space"-- and that might be the case for yours. He might be hesitant to move in with you because he wants to maintain a certain level of "independency". This option, best suited for Silent Yanderes, lets him continue to believe he's in control. Heh. We both know that isn't true.

-Never🗡️

[missacidburn928s-heathenhideaway]

Left you by the road with the crows in the dust...

Summary:

Lucien “Luci” Greco, you’re piece of shit ex, has come to NY looking for you. He's the reason you had to leave everything behind in the first place. Didn't stop him from searching for you though. The long lost mafia princess. He needs you if he is ever to rightfully take over the family from your father Declan. Little does he know you're doing mercenary work for the highest bidder. He still thinks you're some wilting damsel, a spoiled little princess. Your daddy didn't raise you that way though. You've been primed to take over since birth. Too bad he beat the shit out of you so badly you had to run for your safety. Somehow, even trying to stay under the radar you've befriended the damn Avengers family. A misfit mafia if you’ve ever seen one. You’re all after the same enemy afterall. Maybe, it's time to finally let someone or several someones in, so you can live life without constantly looking over your shoulder. Question is, do you even want the crown anymore?

Warnings: 18+ Only. Dark Themes ahead. Read at your own risk.

Angst and Fluff and Smut, Smut, Gratuitous Smut, Angst, Blood and Violence, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Abuse. Past Sexual Abuse, Past Relationship(s)Past Violence, Mafia Avengers, Mafia AU, Reader-Insert, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Fingering, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, Woman on Top, Just a lot of dirty smut ok.

Notes:

Warning: This chapter gets pretty dark. Please heed the tags. Banner @cafekitsune Divider @firefly-graphics

“So…let me get this straight. My favorite little merc, with a body as deadly as the daggers she wields, and the mouth of a sailor, is secretly a mafia princess. Oh and not just any mafia princess. But the heir to the whole damn San Francisco Bay Empire. The only family around in the US that I even count as equal to my status.” Tony expresses as he pours himself a Scotch from the bar while you casually peruse the books lining the study walls.

“That about sums it up. I was trying to heal in peace and help my father, as well as myself, seek some revenge. I just so happen to have acquired a taste for blood and mayhem in my renewed life. I couldn't pass up the opportunity to make some green while painting the town red.” You succinctly reply. “But, seeing as how my little secret is out, I guess I owe you some kind of explanation. The floor is all yours. Just for tonight, I will answer any questions you have as honestly as I am able to.”

“I’ve got one. Why?” Bucky swaggers into the study, looking very much the Winter Soldier he is known for being. “Why was he able to do such horrendous things to you and he is still breathing?”

“Aw. The million dollar question.” You nod your head. “It’s simple really. I was young and naive back then. I trusted a man that I grew up with who knew our lifestyle because he grew up in it as well. That Lucien is one smooth talking snake in the grass, I’ll tell you. He charmed the pants off of me literally. My father too. Treated me like a princess at first and then over time his true colors began to shine through as he started climbing the ranks within the family.” 

You take a deep breath. “Everything I did was scrutinized down to the color of my pedicure. I was to be seen and never heard when my father was not around. A difference of opinion, no matter how small, earned me a back hand to the face at minimum.” 

You shake your head, knocking lose the memories. “Goddess forbid I ever fought back. He’d just overpower me and leave me with marks as reminders to obey. He threatened to kill my father in his sleep more times than I could count knowing I would never play with that man’s life.”

You turn towards the three men leaning against the bar. “It got to a point where it was just easier to let him have his way while I thought of a way safely out of things. Unfortunately for me, the way I finally got away from him was far from safe.”

“And how exactly did you get away? I’m gonna need to know the story attached to that lovely little scar you have.” Tony chimes in.

“I’m gonna need a stiff drink before I dive into those sordid details.”

You approach the bar as Bucky places a glass of whiskey in your hand. You shoot it back and prepare yourself to relive the worst night of your life.

The bass is vibrating through the floor beneath you in the VIP section, as it fills the club. You watch from up above, the mass of gyrating bodies out for a good time. You wish you could be one of those lost souls right now, under the spell of liquor and sin. But alas, here you stand, amongst made men, as nothing more than something pretty to look at while your boyfriend conducts business. Your typical Saturday for the last two years, unfortunately. 

Knowing the Boss's daughter will be in attendance when you have a meeting, makes things far easier for the young Capo trying to continue his trajectory through the ranks. Lucien didn't give a shit about anything other than his business. You were to be seen and not heard on these nights, anything else would result in lessons that left marks behind. 

Tonight, you just didn't have it in you to play the part of the dutiful, sweet, mafia princess fiancee. Maybe there was something in the air, or you’ve had enough of his philandering antics and arrogant narcissism. No matter the cause, you were full of the ‘fuck it’s’ and it showed. 

“She is very beautiful, Lucien. You are one lucky man to have landed such a catch. Tell me, is she worth all the hoopla? I imagine you have others to keep your kinks in check.” Nero, the pompous ass your fiance is meeting with, inquires.

Before Lucien can get a word out to most likely placate this low-life, you pipe up. “I’m right here asshole. And you’d do best to remember who you’re speaking of. I am far more than some trophy. You’d be blessed to have the chance to lick the dirt off my heels.”

Nero looks taken aback for a moment before a smile splits his face. “Feisty. I like em with some bite in em. My apologies. I’d be more than happy to rectify the situation privately. I’m sure Luci here wouldn’t mind.”

“In your wettest dreams Nero.” You say behind a saccharine sweet smile. 

Quietly seething and tense, Lucien attempts to get this meeting back on track. “Sunshine.” He says through gritted teeth. “That’ll be all for now. Connor, take her down to the car. As soon as my meeting is finished, we will be heading home.” 

His eyes narrow at you as a hand grips around your bicep and you're being pulled toward the back exit. Your eyes never leave his, until the door is firmly closed, removing him from your sight. Your actions will not go unpunished. Of this you are certain. But it is of no matter to you at this moment. It was worth it to put that scumbag in his place. Goddess knows Luci would not have. 

Too anxious to sit still, you decide to pace along the car, while you wait in the garage for the meeting to conclude. Connor follows you with his eyes like a predator watching his prey. Your fiance’s right hand always gave you the creeps. He was the one person who knew first hand all the horrible things Lucien has done to you. He was often present for them and seemed to find some kind of sick joy out of your torment. He would be of no help, once Luci arrived. 

Just as you were about to turn and start another trek around the car, the door to the garage from inside the club slams open. Out walks your fiance, looking anything but calm. He makes a beeline straight to where you had halted in your tracks. 

“Lucie-” was the only word you were able to utter before his meaty hand was clamped around your throat, cutting off your air supply, as he slammed you into the passenger door.

“Oh no. You’ve run your mouth enough tonight Sunshine. Could have cost me a pretty penny too if I wasn’t the great business man that I am.” He only squeezes harder as your hands claw at his wrist. 

“Here’s what’s gonna happen now. We’re gonna get into the car. Connor is gonna drive us home. Along the way I’m going to remind you of the only thing that mouth is good for. Then I’m going to do whatever I want with this sexy little body because I can.”

Your vision was getting blurry and just as you thought you might pass out, he releases you and throws you into the back of the car. Your lungs burn, trying to take in as much air as they can. He climbs in behind you and nods his head to Connor to head out. 

Before you can really get your bearings, he entangles his fingers in your hair and pulls you over his turgid length, standing proud from his unzipped pants. “Open wide and relax your throat Sunshine. This is going to be rough.” 

You’ve barely opened your mouth before your head is pulled down, taking him to the root, making you gag and tears form in your eyes. Your airflow is once again cut off as you choke on the dick lodged in your throat. That’s when he begins to bob your head along his length as he thrusts up each time he pulls you down. Saliva and tears are making a mess of your face as well as his lap.

But he just doesn’t care. This is your punishment for not being a step-ford princess tonight. You only deserve the breaths he allows you to take. Your head is throbbing from the death grip on your hair and the lack of oxygen being supplied to your brain. You’re trying your hardest to not pass out. You can only imagine what he’d do to your body if that happened with him in this state.

With a growl he pulls you off his lap and throws you back against the door so you're sprawled out along the bench. Trying to catch your breath you eyes follow his hand as it retrieves his Stiletto Switchblade from his slacks pocket and he flicks it open. 

“It’s a shame I have to cut this off you. I really do love you in this dress.” He shifts his body in between your thighs and begins to cut your dress right up the middle. Leaning further over your body as he goes. A sadistic smile spreads across his face as he reaches the bottom of your ribs.

You have no idea what comes over you, but you can not let him get this dress off you. With a quickness you were unaware you had, you reach into his undone pants, grip his balls tightly, twist and pull down with all of your might, eliciting a shocked yell from your fiance. 

“You fucking bitch! You really are stupid tonight. I warned you. Remember that.” With those final words he spins the blade in his hand and plunges it into your sternum. As you gaze down to the knife protruding from your chest you hear Lucien instruct Connor to pull over. 

“I really wish you would have just behaved Sunshine.” As the car comes to a stop he exits the car. The door behind your head opens and arms are shoved under yours, pulling you out onto the dusty embankment. It must be Connor because Lucien is crouched above your semi prone form. “I’m gonna need my knife back baby. You understand.” He then proceeds to yank it out of your chest, wipe it off on his still open slacks and turn back to the car. 

The next thing you know your rolling down a ditch until you land on your side, slowly bleeding out as you hear two car doors shut and the sound of the engine taking off and headlights leading away, leaving you in total darkness surrounded by the cold night air.

“What Lucien failed to remember that night; was the tracker in the locket that my father made me wear since I was little.” You stated. A little too calmly for someone who just told the story of their near death at the hands of their partner. “It not only tracks my coordinates but my health status as well. When my heart rate drops below a certain level it sends an SOS to my father along with my location.” 

“So daddy came in to save the day.” Tony states.

You nod your head. “More or less. He showed up with my uncle Teddy and our most trusted medic. They took me to a safe house, equipped with a hospital grade exam room. I got patched up and rested for a couple days while my father played the part of a distraught parent searching for his lost child.” 

You tap your fingers against your empty glass as Steve refills it for you. “Let me guess? Lucien acted as if he had no idea what happened to you. Playing his dutiful fiance role.”

“You would be correct, Captain. At least that’s what I heard in my isolation. Once I was healthy enough to travel my father made some calls and moved some money around. He set me up with the funds to head out and not come back until he was ready for me.” You downed your whiskey. “That’s how I ended up in New York. As far away as physically possible but close enough that when the time came I could end Lucien myself.” 

“And the mercenary work?” Bucky inquired.

“Right.” You push your tongue into your cheek. “Honestly. I wanted to keep my skills sharp and form new ones. Why not do that while making some coins in the process. Win/Win in my book.” You shrug. “Plus what better way to slate my bloodlust.”

“Well you’ve definitely filled in some gaps for us with that information. Now we just need to figure out what we’re going to do about this Hydra situation.” Tony informs you all. 

“I’m not going to be comfortable sending you home knowing that jackass is aware you’re alive and well now.” States the brunette enforcer.

“Aww. You worried about little ole me Wolfie?” You bite on the tip of your pointer finger. 

“He’s not the only one, Doll.” Steve chimes in.

“I’d feel better having you here at the compound myself. Once Pep hears about what went down tonight and in the past, she’s not letting you leave.” Now it was Tony’s turn to express his concerns.

You let out a sigh. “Do I really have a choice in the matter?”

“I’d say you do but that would be a lie.” Steve answers for the group.

“Alright. Under one condition. My room needs to be able to accommodate not only me but Hades as well. Where I go, my hell-hound goes. No exceptions.”

“Deal.” Tony places his hand out for you to shake. You promptly do.

“Now about this Hydra business.” Your eyes light with mischief and mayhem. “I have some ideas.” 

[dropintomanga]

You Don’t Have to Destroy to Be Great

When I heard that Terrible Tornado, a huge favorite character from ONE’s One-Punch Man, got some good development in the web-comic after the Monster Association storyline, I was happy to see for myself in the Yusuke Murata version of the story.

Our super-strong hero, Saitama, is associated with the younger sister of Tornado, Blizzard, despite the former being a higher rank than her. When Tornado wonders why someone like Saitama is hanging around Blizzard, she decides to test him via combat. Saitama has no choice to comply and the two fight it out across various areas. Although both are official heroes, both have different philosophies in how to behave. Tornado will wreck everything in her path to get what she wants, while Saitama tries to be mindful about getting innocent people hurt as collateral damage during battles.

When Tornado starts to realize how strong Saitama truly is, she starts to think back about the one hero that inspired her on her path to becoming a superhero, Blast (who is arguably very close to Saitama in terms of strength). Tornado is overprotective about Blizzard and wants her to be strong enough to be able to protect herself without relying on others. What complicates matters is that Tornado is insecure about her own psyche. She’s reliant on others for approval and there’s a flashback where she asks Blast on what to do as she worked hard enough to be strong, but is still feared by many. Yet Tornado wants people to fear her because she feels no one will appreciate her otherwise. Blast never gave her an answer before he disappeared from her life.

Strength is everything, the weak can protect nothing. You sometimes hear this bunch from people who really struggle with relationships. This seems more common with men due to cultural standards.

Saitama thankfully gives Tornado new perspective and a different kind of praise as you can see above. Live however you want, but don’t destroy people’s stuff. It reminds me of advice that I often hear a lot - “You should do what makes you happy.” I find that advice problematic in some ways.

For starters, when you tell someone to do what makes them happy, do you even know what makes them happy? Of course not. What if whatever makes them happy involves hurting people and being a dick? I see this a lot with men who get caught up with the whole “you should be happy/you deserve happiness” mantra and then get frustrated to the point that they take it out on other people. I sometimes wonder if the mass shootings in my country happen because of this.

Also, there’s too much focus on immediate pleasure. Sure, you will feel good for getting out of something that’s bad and it’s sometimes warranted. But there’s a good chance that you will start to feel insecure about whether it’s okay to do what you did when reality does not turn out what you expected. Life can end up going in a terrible direction. Plus pleasure does go away and an addiction to it can develop if you become dependent on it. We also have to realize the bad feelings/discomfort can go away as much as pleasure does.

Finally, we’re terrible at predicting our happiness. We often underestimate situations where we might fail (i.e. talking to a friendly stranger) and ignore those. We don’t take chances at meeting new and important people that can benefit our lives more because our minds are being commodified to chase after arbitrary things like status.

The concerns I have with promoting happiness sums up Tornado’s personality at times. Thankfully, Tornado starts to become more receptive of Saitama’s presence in Blizzard’s life and the need of the Blizzard Group as well despite being weaklings.

If you destroy everything, then there’s nothing to protect and/or cherish. If flourishing requires others, then so does happiness. Happiness is not an emotional state so much as it is the excellence of the relations we cultivate with other people.

[findusinaweek]

Tag Game! Rules: list eight shows for your followers to get to know you better.

I was tagged by @aeide​! Thanks! I was thrilled for this tag and then I realized I suddenly couldn’t remember anything so it took a moment.

Under cut because I added gifs/don’t want to cause extra eyestrain for the strolling folks

1) La Casa de las Flores

OH the DRAMA! All of my classmates in LACS were talking about it when it came out and I thought they were over-hyping it but I was so wrong. I love Paulina de la Mora and would die for her. 2) Attack on Titan

Whatever you say, Erwin. Before I was losing my mind over Brasidas this was my pixelated commander. Probably the reason I was on ao3. I hate 80% of the characters though, never finished it...My irl friends were genuinely concerned for my mental well being when chap 84 released. 

3) Killing Eve

Yeah, that sums it up. If I never finish the series I can never be heartbroken, right?

4) The Magicians

I love the friendships in this show, especially Margo and Eliot’s.  Eliot’s speech about “Becoming me was the greatest creative project of my life” lives rent free in my head. I think seeing Quentin realize that magic doesn’t cure depression was really mindblowing to me.  It’s a cheesy mess but it’s probably my favorite show.

5) Our Flag Means Death

I went WILD for them. Talking about your feelings? Showing me a queer love story that’s not baiting me? Also I think it helped me visualize being older and queer. I don’t think I’ve seen any other show that gave me what this gave me. Especially Jim.

6) Snowpiercer

It’s a trash show. BUT! There is a very cool train and a lesbian wields an ax so there wasn’t any way I was going to be able to say no to loving it. 7) What We Do In The Shadows

This show makes me laugh more than most.

8) Derry Girls

Really, anything anyone says in this show will make me laugh. Orla reminds me of myself sometimes and that worries me. Ok so now for taggin people. Okie dokie @luvjiro​ @cataliinaa​ @whereforartthoumisthios​ @stressfulsloth​ uhhhh hello I have never tagged you folks but we are mutuals now so yeah.  Also anyone else who would like to do this!

[avesseloflanguage]

I want there to be a soundtrack to my life. I want there to be a song there for me when I need it. 

I listen to a lot of sad music. A lot of poetic lyrics about breaking and healing and hoping and not knowing. That’s what I need a lot of the time. I wish it wasn’t.

But I fall in love so easily. I don’t know if I am capable of just liking someone; the second I get anything to work with my heart goes running with a little bit of love and with each passing moment there’s a little bit little bit little bit more until suddenly it’s more than I know what to do with.

That’s not entirely true. That’s only what happened with him. With her, it was slow and confusing and painful. Stumbling into love, I guess. Then falling out. 

Maybe there’s something wrong with me. It’s silly to base my understanding of my own sanity on whether there’s a song to accompany any given moment in the imaginary — and incredibly mundane and boring and poorly written — biopic about my life. 

I could read off a nightmarishly long list of songs that I loved because they were written with love about the same love that I loved her with. I still have the playlists. I don’t think I’ll ever delete them. I don’t listen to them, but last summer I was able to listen to the Looking For Alaska soundtrack again without thinking of her. 

When I broke her heart — twice, twice, cruelly and horribly again — I found every song I could about being left behind, every lyric about a lover not loving enough, every melody that ached of being broken up with, and listened to it, knowing that I was the one the song was about. I was the one who drew blood and left something broken behind. I don’t know why I collected the songs like that. Maybe it was a twisted sort of comfort, knowing that I wasn’t the only cruel person in the world, or maybe I just needed the reminder that I had done what I’d done. 

Loving her and unloving her was scored to perfection. Every moment had a melody and something to perfectly and poetically and pristinely sum up all the emotions and feelings we had and shared and lived in. But that was also the problem. When you only have poetry, how do you say anything ugly? How do you go through the hard conversations and uncomfortable questions and angry or sad or frustrated thoughts when every moment was supposed to be perfect and poetic and pristine?

With him it was different. It was so different, and I was certain that meant it was the right way, the real way, to fall in love. It was awkward, and funny, and simple. I made a playlist before our first date, one full of every song about a crush or new relationships I could find — at least, all the happy and fun ones. The ones that sounded like joy and bright sunshiney beauty. I made it so I could dance around while I got ready, because I was so, so nervous. But none of them felt like they were capturing how I felt. They all felt silly and disconnected and I loved that. I loved that what I was feeling was real and my own, not something that was so easily packaged into a song.

After two weeks I wanted to make a new playlist, one that sounded like my feelings for him then. Soft and gentle and not love but something I could see — I wanted to see — turning into it someday. I couldn’t find almost anything. It was all about silly little crushes or this deep profound love and it didn’t make sense to me. I felt like I finally got it right. A boyfriend who was kind, who told me honestly how he felt and what he thought, one who I didn’t feel like I had to lie to or bury anger around. That’s what I wanted. But they don’t write songs about the easy things, I guess.

It was comforting to me. At least, I told myself it was. It was so far from her that it had to be better, because I was so awful with her. 

But now I know that they don’t make songs about being let down gently, either. They don’t make songs about the boy who wasn’t falling in love back, who would never fall in love back with you. At least, not ones where the boy is still kind and gentle and a good boyfriend, where he’s not using you or manipulating you. Because he was still honest and that was why it ended, because I was choosing to be blind and would have let myself become in love with him while he watched. But he didn’t do that to me. He didn’t want to hurt me and now I can see just how much careful calculation went into it, the moment he told me that he didn’t think he liked me, not like that, that he might never like me like that and that he wished he could and that it wasn’t my fault. Two months and a few weeks. Not a short match that burned you at the fingertips and not a flame that lasted so long I wouldn’t be able to recover from the cold of its absence. A successful relationship. A kind goodbye.

It's okay, it's okay, it's okay. He is still my friend. I am still holding on to that little bit of love but I am trying to learn to lose that. I am finding songs but they're all about betrayal and cruelty and that's not what it was, I listen to them and I cry but I know that’s not what it was.

I don’t know if I want the songs anymore. Maybe the soundtrack is holding me back, restricting me to a path I don’t know how to escape from. Is it really comfort, is it really loving that somebody you will never know seems to know you anyway, seems to capture every ache in your heart? I am afraid of what else it might be but I think it’s time to say goodbye. Listen to something new. Heal. Sleep. Cry and laugh or laugh and cry. Move on.

[thenomadinside]

The Great Escape: On Taking Chances, Learning and Adapting

https://i0.wp.com/www.thenomadinside.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/09/BD5929A7-6D64-45D4-87F8-511C5D36E195-9779AE0B-CD9F-40FE-9EBC-A422857023D2.png?w=4032&ssl=1

今天就是我在全球疫情的時候跑到世界另一端的一週年。感覺就像是昨天我才有點感傷地，剛搭了一趟單程的飛機到台灣，前往一個未定的未來。

你能相信這個疫情已經在我們的人生裡過了兩年了嗎？在這段時間，全世界也繼續發展、人們也適應了新的環境，我自己的人生也變了很多。之前疫情變嚴重的時候，我正在思考我人生的【下一步】可是不確定那步到底會這麼顯現。幸運的事，有一個出現的時候我就快速利用那些機會。從那以後，我沒有往回看、或者有什麼後悔。

Today officially marks a full year since I officially made my great escape journey to the other side of the world in the midst of a global pandemic. It still feels like only yesterday when I was hit with a flood of sentimental feelings and underlying guilt boarding a one-way flight to Taiwan towards an undetermined future.

Can you believe that the pandemic has been present in our lives for nearly two years already? Not only has the world evolved during this time but my own life has changed monumentally. Just before the pandemic escalated in the States, I remember speculating next “big move” but was uncertain of how it would manifest. Fortunately, an opportunity presented itself and I seized it and ran without looking back.

去年全世界還在隔離的時候，從國外跑回來台灣的朋友們應該會同意，這兩年是很特別、也很難忘的時光。如果我能表達出去年的感覺，就有點像是大一那年，因為新的環境，有很多冒險、自我探索，還會遇到不同的人。我剛來的時候沒有什麼計畫，只有一個目標，就是要利用我在台灣的這段時間，還有不要有期望，我會見到誰還有我的路上會有什麼計畫—我覺得我成功了。

回顧這年，我��的很得意我完成今年的目標。搬來一個完全不一樣的環境真的不容易。我剛來的時候我中文不太流利，認識很少人，還有不太理解台灣的文化。雖然，我還是覺得我還可以在進步不同方面，我很幸運這年有見到很多不錯的人，交到新朋友，我的中文聽力還有寫的能力有進步，還有現在很了解台灣的文化和地理【我現在可以當導遊了】。

Anybody that found their way to Taiwan while the rest of the world was in lockdown will probably agree that this past year will go down in the books as the most memorable year ever. If I could best sum up what this past year felt like, it was a bit déjà vu and reminiscent of my freshman year in college where everyday was filled with new adventures, exploration and new groups of people. I arrived in Taiwan with only a single objective to leverage my time and not have any expectations on who I’d meet, what journeys would lie down the road and its potential impact on my future decision making — and I feel I did just that.

I’m honestly proud of what I’ve accomplished this year. Moving to foreign country with a limited language proficiency and adapting in an unfamiliar environment is no easy feat. Even though there is still much to accomplish and improve on, there have definitely been some wins: my Mandarin has improved a ton, I’ve met and made some amazing friends, and can confidently say that I know enough about Taiwan where I can be a tour guide.

今年我對我的人生的看法變得很多。我很興奮我的未來會有什麼 – 有時後好像需要一個全球疫情會推你去跳還有那個機會變你的人生。我真的很幸運，能有這個機會搬到這世界的另一端。當大家在世界的另一端不能出門、還得在房間裡過得不開心的時候，我還能有彈性、到台灣交到新朋友。有時候我性情不太好的時候，我會提醒自己別人不一定有這個機會像我一樣，所以我不會把這件事當作理所當然。我很興奮我的未來會長得像什麼 好像有時候需要一個全球疫情才能推你去信仰的飛躍。

This past year has been eye-opening in that I have have a clearer vision of what’s important to me, the type of lifestyle I want to lead and what concrete steps I need to take to get there. I feel incredibly fortunate to be in a position where I can move halfway across the world without any burdens, work remotely and be able to experience as much as I did this past year while the rest of the world was confined to their apartments. Sometimes when I have the occasional rough day, I remind myself that not everybody is in the position or has the flexibility to have this sort of lifestyle and I should never take that for granted. I’m so incredibly excited for what the future lies in store for me – I guess sometimes it takes a global pandemic to push you into taking that leap for faith and making a change.

[jace-hero]

Looking Back on 2022

1:What did you do in 2022 that you’d never done before? I started working at a theater in Hollywood, that's pretty fun. I bought a new car for the first time. Saw a Broadway quality show in a real big theater. I'm sure I did more that I can't remember right now.

2:Did you keep your new year’s resolutions, and will you make more for next year? I don't believe I did, and I don't think I will this year either. I never keep them.

3:Did anyone close to you give birth? My brother! I'm an uncle for the first time!

4:Did anyone close to you die? My dog, Sadie. Still makes me sad :(

5:What countries did you visit? Ain't nobody got the time or the money.

6:What would you like to have in 2023 that you lacked in 2022? TIME AND MONEY.

7:What dates from 2022 will remain etched upon your memory, and why? May 12th. Was a fun day driving my new car around LA.

8:What was your biggest achievement of the year? Buying my car and not having a mental breakdown.

9:What was your biggest failure? Not putting myself first and being able to build for my future.

10:Did you suffer illness or injury? Covid for a 2nd time. Wasn't as bad this time, just annoying.

11:What was the best thing you bought? Broken record, but my car.

12:Whose behavior merited celebration? Idk, mine? Good for me.

13:Whose behavior made you appalled? Putin, Amber Heard, and my bosses.

14:Where did most of your money go? Surviving. Food, rent, car, bills.

15:What did you get really, really, really excited about? Quitting my job. I didn't quit though.

16:What song will always remind you of 2022? That awful "Unholy" song.

17:Compared to this time last year, are you: (a) happier or sadder? (b) thinner or fatter? ( c) richer or poorer? Happier? Fatter. Poorer.

18:What do you wish you’d done more of? Travelled. I want to travel so bad.

19:What do you wish you’d done less of? Eat and work. It's all I seem to do.

20:How did you spend Christmas? With my besties watching movies.

21:Did you fall in love in 2022? Nah.

22:What was your favorite TV program? So many good ones. House of the Dragon, Stranger Things, Peacemaker, Wednesday, and Search Party.

23:Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year? Elon Musk?

24:What was the best book you read? Didn't read anything this year. I should remove this question next year lol.

25:What was your greatest musical discovery? Purity Ring.

26:What did you want and get? My car.

27:What did you want and not get? To travel. WrestleMania tickets. Disneyland tickets. A PS5.

28:What was your favorite film of this year? The Batman. Hands down. Absolutely amazing. Matt Reeves got it so right. A perfect Batman film. Shout out to Bullet Train and Halloween Ends.

29:What one thing made your year immeasurably more satisfying? My car. Theme of the year tbh.

30:How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2022? Scrubs and whatever wasn't dirty on my days off. Also my one single Armani shirt for when I needed to be fancy.

31:What kept you sane? My friends. As much as they also drove me absolutely nuts.

32:Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most? Always Justin, but Shawn Mendes and Ross Lynch were lookin mighty fine this year.

33:What political issue stirred you the most? I don't know man, I'm exhausted. All of them. I'm so sick of politics.

34:Who did you miss? My grandma, my friends, my dogs.

35:Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2022: Value yourself. Prioritize yourself. No one else is going to put you first. YOU put you first.

36:Quote a song lyric that sums up your year. "Here in my car, I feel safest of all, I can lock all my doors, it's the only way to live.. in cars." - Gary Numan (Cars)

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The doctrine of dynastic wealth

The biggest news story of the moment Propublica's reporting on the Secret IRS Files, a trove of leaked tax data on the wealthiest people in America that show that they pay effectively no tax, through perfectly legal means.

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/15/guillotines-and-taxes/#carried-interest

The Bootlicker-Industrial Complex has completely missed the point of this reporting and its followup, like the revelation that an ultrarich candidate for Manhattan DA was able to pay no tax in many years where her family booked millions in revenue.

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/17/quis-custodiet-irs/#trumps-taxes

The apologists for super-rich tax-evaders lean heavily on the fact that America has a tax-code that substantially reduces the spending power (and thus political power) of people who work for a living, while enhancing the wealth of those who own things for a living.

The rich are obeying the law, so there is nothing wrong here. But what Propublica documented is that America has a different set of laws for the super-rich than for the merely rich, and that these laws are in a wholly different universe from the laws for the rest of us.

It's another example of America's unequal justice system - a subject that includes long prison sentences for crack possession and wrist-slaps for powder cocaine, long jail terms created by the cash bail system, and a host of other race- and class-based inequities.

It's more proof, in other words, that America isn't a republic where we are all equal before the law, but rather a caste system where inherited privileges determine how the law binds you, how it punishes you and how it protects you.

One person well-poised to describe how this system perpetuates itself is Abigail Disney, granddaughter of Roy Disney and great-niece of Walt Disney, inheritor of a vast family fortune shielded from tax by a generation-skipping trust contrived solely to avoid taxation.

Writing in The Atlantic, the heiress describes how she was inducted and indoctrinated into the system of American dynastic wealth, surrounded by brilliant accountants who treated their exotic financial vehicles as completely ordinary.

https://www.theatlantic.com/ideas/archive/2021/06/abigail-disney-rich-protect-dynastic-wealth-propublica-tax/619212/

Personally, these financial enablers were "decent, good, kind men," and they gave Disney 40 years' worth of gospel about protecting the capital, growing it, and passing it on to the next generation.

As a credible 21 year old, Disney had no frame of reference. The creation of a dynastic, ever-growing fortune through legal but frankly bizarre accounting fictions was treated as normal.

To the extent that these tactics raised any doubts, they were addressed through doctrine: the idea that government bureaucrats can't be trusted to spend money wisely.

Disney doesn't say this, but a common trope in these discussions is that the government is ever tempted to give money to poor people, and must be protected from this impulse.

This racism and classism are dressed up as "meritocracy" - the tautology that the rich are worthy, the worthy are rich, and anyone who isn't rich is therefore unworthy.

In the first generation, this doctrine is merely sociopathic, but when passed on to a new generation, it is eugenic. Walt and Roy demonstrated their worth by founding a studio and navigating it through the challenges of the market, and that is why the market made them rich.

But their children - and grandchildren - didn't get their wealth by founding or running a studio. They got their wealth by emerging from the correct orifice. If their wealth is deserved, those deserts are a matter of blood, not toil.

In other words, they were born to be rich, not just as a matter of sound tax planning, but as a matter of genetic destiny. They are part of a hereditary meritocracy.

https://pluralistic.net/2021/02/13/data-protection-without-monopoly/#inequality

Disney describes what it's like to be indoctrinated into the hereditary meritocracy: her family told her that the appearance of philanthropy is good, but actually giving money to poor people is a foolish enterprise, "unseemly and performative."

And they urged her to marry her own class, "to save yourself from the complexity and conflict that come with a broad gulf in income, assets, and, therefore, power." Power should be in the hands of "successful" people, because they know how to wield it.

Accept this ideology and you will be showered with wonderful gifts: like private jet trips, which quickly become necessities ("once you’ve flown private, wild horses will never drag you through a public airport terminal again").

It's a subject that is well-documented in Mike Mechanic's 2021 book JACKPOT, on the daily lives, dysfunctions, and above all, ideology of the super-rich:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/13/public-interest-pharma/#affluenza

As to the seductiveness of the ideology, I had my own experience with the "decent, good, kind" professionals of the finance sector. When I moved to London in 2003, I opened a checking account at Barclays, a giant high-street bank.

I quickly discovered that part of Barclays' legendary profitability came from understaffing its branches; when I had to see a teller, I could end up waiting in line for an hour.

When I complained about this, a teller told me that for a nominal annual sum, I could get a "premier" account that came with a host of benefits, including priority tellers. I signed up and was inducted into the premiership by my branch manager.

He asked me if I needed any help with tax preparation, and boy did I ever. I was filing tax returns in Canada, the US, California, and the UK - it was a mess: not just expensive but confusing, and I couldn't make heads or tails of the paperwork.

A week later, a very smartly turned out Barclays "tax specialist" came by the academic research center where I'd borrowed a desk to meet with me. She was wildly excited to discover that I was on a work visa and not a UK citizen.

She told me that this made me eligible to become a "non-dom" - someone living in the UK, but not "domiciled" there - and therefore not subject to any tax at all.

She laid out a whole plan for me: I could establish residence in one of the Channel Islands (Jersey, I think?), incorporate a shell company there, and continue to get free health care from the NHS, use the public roads, etc - all without paying a penny to HM Exchequer.

And when I was ready to buy a house, the whole thing would only get better: I could buy it through the shell company, reverse-mortgage it, rent it to myself, take fabulous deductions on the way, and pass it on tax-free by transfering the shell company rather than the house.

It was dizzying, and I kept asking her to go back and explain it again. She assured me that it was legal and normal, what every non-Briton living in the UK should do, and really poured the pressure on.

It was weirdly spellbinding, like a wizard was demonstrating an interdimensional portal to me and asking if I wanted to go through it to a magical land - a magical land that "everyone else" was already visiting on the reg.

I told her I'd think about it. Five minutes after she left the office, I snapped out of the trance. I never called her back. I figured out my UK taxes.

But today, reading Disney's account of having reasonable-seeming, friendly experts tell you something bizarre and indefensible is normal, I was powerfully reminded of my own brush with the dynasty-creation industry.

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

late night calls

Summary: It all started with a phone call to the DEA office to tell Javier about the surgery of his father. You had insisted to take care of him after Chucho told you about the surgery. That you would fall in love with his son you had never met before? Just as surprising to you as it was to Javier.

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Plus size reader

Wordcount: 4.1k+

Warnings: fluff, phone sex, mentions of bomb attacks, sexism, self doubt, yearning?

A/N: I know that probably more time passed between the bombing and Javier being send back to the states but I chose to ignore it. For the plot. Hope you enjoy it :)

Masterlist

*taglist in reblog

You still weren’t used to the heat. Yes, you did move to Texas because you wanted a fresh start. But the fucking heat would take some time to get used to. Nothing was holding you back in Maine. You had spent the last years taking care of your sick mother. She had died just before Christmas and with her all the family you had left. 

So coming with the new year you took a leap of faith, packed your things, and moved to a little town close to the Mexican border. You got a job at the local police station as a secretary that made a decent sum of money each month. Life was good. At least you told yourself so. 

You had made a couple of friends. Mostly the older generation of the town. You weren’t big on going out, nor had the town a big nightlife in the first place. That’s why you insisted on taking care of Chucho after he told you one day at the diner that he had to get a hip replacement. His wife had died a long time ago and his son wasn’t able to leave work.

“Don’t you have some better stuff to do cariño?” He had asked.

“What better way to start your day than on your Farm, Senior Peña.” You had winked at him.

Chucho might have been a stubborn old man, but once he got out of surgery and was in pain he was thankful that he accepted your help. That was also the first time you heard him talk about his son. Javier.

“Be a dear and call him to tell him I’m okay?” He had mumbled before he dozed off again. You had chuckled, kissed his cheek before you left him for the day to went over to his farm. Once you had taken care of everything for the day you sat down on his kitchen island and grabbed the phone, dialing the first number he had written down.

You had suggested moving into his place in his recovery time. It was a beautiful place. Mexico was just on the other side of the river down the property. But the best part about this place was the air conditioning. Okay… You really loved this place and it definitely was an upgrade to the small apartment you were renting in the city. 

Waiting for his son to pick up the phone you wondered what kind of job he would have that he wasn’t able to take care of his father. You didn’t judge him, okay maybe a little, you were more curious. You had seen some pictures of him spread through the house. But you had never asked about him.

“DEA Office, how may I help you?” A woman answered your call.

“Uhm… Is Javier Peña available? It’s about his father,” you tried.

“Oh of course. Agent Peña just got in. Please hold.”

Agent Peña? DEA? You had so many questions but they died on your tongue when the call connected again.

“This is Peña.” A deep voice said. He reminded you of his father.

“Hello Mr. Peña. I’m only calling to let you know that your father’s surgery went fine. He wanted me to forward this to you.”

“Javier, please. Not even my father likes to be called Mr. Peña.” 

“Oh I noticed that,” you chuckled.

“He’s fine yeah?” You heard something shuffle on the other end of the line. 

“Yeah. Already made some jokes and told me to make sure I feed the horses in the right order.”

“You’re taking care of the horses?”

“Yeah. I’m temporarily moving in to help your father.”

“That’s very nice of you. He never told me about you.”

“There’s not much to tell.” You got up and took out a bottle of water from the fridge. “I’m only here for the air conditioning.” You joked. He laughed.

“Fuck I miss air conditioning. Hold on.” You sat down again, hearing only damp voices.

“Fuck. I need to go. Please call me if something comes up. Dad has my home number too, right?” He was speaking quickly and you wondered what was happening. 

“Yes, he wrote it down for me. Everything okay?”

“Yeah hopefully. Just some work stuff. Keep in touch, yeah?”

“Will do Javier.”

Chucho got home a week later and he was the worst at listening to doctors’ orders. You still had to go into the station to work, but you spend your whole time worrying about him. It was funny to you how he seemingly had become a father figure to you in less than a couple of weeks. 

Of course you found him standing at the kitchen counter when you got to the ranch, the phone tugged between his shoulder and his ear, making himself a sandwich.

“Shouldn’t you be resting?” You asked, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

“I was. Then Javi called and I got hungry.” 

“Stubborn old man,” you grumbled and he rolled his eyes.

“Come on, I brought dinner.”

“Fine. Here. Javi wants to say Hello,” he handed you the phone before he slowly trotted towards the couch. Shaking your head you put the phone to your ear.

“You are really strict with him,” Javier said.

“Someone has to. Are all you Peña men this stubborn?” 

He chuckled. “You have no idea. How is he doing?”

“Overall good. Not complaining as much as in the beginning but then again I am bribing him with my delicious cooking.”

Javier and you had spoken to each other at least two times per week since the first time you called to tell him about his father’s surgery. You learned that he was a DEA agent on the hunt for Pablo Escobar. You learned that he was feeling guilty about not being there for his father and to take care of the ranch. You learned lots of things about Javier Peña. 

“Ah... Delicious cooking. Maybe one day you get to cook for me?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You teased, hearing him take a sip of his drink. Whiskey probably. 

“Just that my father is praising your cooking so much I wonder if it really is that good.”

“Oh, it is, Peña.” You found yourself smiling. You heard him sigh.

“Everything’s okay over there?” You asked.

“Yeah,” he said too quickly. Definitely a lie. You nodded.

“You wanna stay on the phone while I prepare dinner?” you asked.

“Yeah,” he whispered.

The better Chucho got, the longer the phone calls between Javier and you seem to get. It was mostly at night after he got home from whatever he had been doing at work that day intending to check in on his father. But after a few sentences, he asked about your day. About how you felt. What your plans for the coming weekend were. 

“You sound exhausted Hermosa,” he sighed. It had been a long day at work and all you wanted was to grab a pint of ice cream and drown your sorrows.

“Just the usual sexist bullshit at the PD,” you groaned.

“Want me to kill them?” Javier joked.

“You take care of your nemesis, I take care of mine. But I appreciate the help.” You sat down on your bed, knowing that this was usually the room he occupied when he was here to visit his father. 

“Noted. But if it’s any help, I had a shit day too. They seem to get more frequent the longer I stay in this shithole.”

“Maybe you have to focus on the good things of being in this country. There have to be some. The food probably. I always enjoy new food. Maybe go to a museum? I don’t want to intrude but you don’t seem like you do anything besides work and well…”

It was pure accident that you had heard the voice of a woman one night when you had called him for a change. You knew that he looked good, you had seen the pictures, so it shouldn’t be a surprise to you, that he did have a girlfriend. He clarified that he didn’t, that this was just a woman he got intel from. You didn’t ask any more questions, it wasn’t your right. That it hurt to think of him and another woman was something you chose to ignore.

“I never thanked you,” Javier said. You let yourself fall back into bed, staring at the stars outside the window.

“What for?” you asked quietly.

“Thanking care of Dad and the ranch. Listening to my drunken ramblings. You’re a good friend,” he said. You smiled, a warm feeling spreading in your chest.

“You’re a good friend too, Javi.”

Chucho didn’t need anyone to take care of him. Not when he was back to his old health after a couple of months. But he had asked you to move in with him anyway. And you loved to live with the old man. Enjoying not being on your own all the time. And you loved helping him out at the ranch. The PD was still getting on your nerves and you were seriously considering just quitting.

“I hate it. I fucking hate it. I get one dumb line after another, just because I’m a woman. That I helped to get together the evidence to put that fucker away that killed all those women last year is not even of interest. FUCK!” you complained to Chucho. He knew about all of this already. Yet he jumped from his seat when he saw that you did cut yourself while making dinner.

“Careful.” He took your hand in his, leading you over to the sink to look at your wound. It didn’t hurt that much. 

“What about if I take care of dinner today, and you go and take a bath? Javier is probably gonna call in a bit…” Chucho winked, putting a bandaid on your finger.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you frowned.

“Just that I see the way you smile every time my son calls.”

“Two whole days off? What are you gonna do with yourself?” You joked. You were laying in the bathtub, the phone in your hand as you talked to Javier.

“Don’t know. I feel like I need a home-cooked meal so I’m gonna nag Connie to cook one.”

You chuckled, crossing your legs.

“Is that water I hear?” he asked and you blushed. Why? You didn’t know. You had undressed numerous times while on the phone with him, but being completely naked and him knowing about it…

“I’m in the bathtub. Chucho’s orders. He’s making dinner before I kill myself doing it.”

You were met with silence.

“You okay, Javi?” You sucked your bottom lip in. “I did only cut my finger,” you joked.

“Just trying to get the picture of you naked in the bathtub out of my head.”

“You don’t even know what I look like.”

“Doesn’t matter. All I need is to hear your voice and I’m hard…”

“Javi…” you whispered, feeling hot all of the sudden.

“Will you tell me?” he asked.

“Tell you what?”

“If you think about me? Because you are on my mind all the time. I keep picturing how you look. If you have long hair or short hair. What color your eyes have. If your smile is only half as beautiful as your laugh. Fuck… I just wanna see you. I wanna feel you. I wanna taste you Hermosa.” 

Unintentionally your unoccupied hand had made its way down your body, your breath coming in short pants.

“Keep talking Javier…” you whispered, your hand slipping in between your legs.

“I want to touch you. Fuck I bet your skin is so soft. I’d worship you. I stay up at night wondering if I could fit your boobs in my hands. What sound you would make when I close my mouth around your nipple…”

“Shit Javi…” You moaned.

“I wonder how you taste. Are you wet for me baby?” he asked and you heard a zipper being undone on his end of the line.

“So wet. You always make me wet. I touch myself when we get off the phone, wondering how it would feel to have you here…” you whimpered.

“I would have fucked you on every flat surface in the house if I was there. The thought of you sleeping in my bed is making me lose my mind.”

You circled your clit with your fingers, a low moan coming from your lips.

“I wonder how you feel wrapped around my cock. I wonder how you sound when I make you cum. I want to hear it so badly…” You were sure he was fucking his hand and you whimpered at the thought.

“I wish it was my hand wrapped around your big cock right now. God, I wish it was your hand between my legs and not mine…” You bit your lips, keeping yourself quiet.

“Put two fingers into that cunt and make yourself cum. I wanna hear you…” he groaned on the phone. 

“Fuck Javi…” you cried quietly, two fingers inside your cunt. “I wish it was your cock and not my fingers.”

“Me too… Me too babe.” he moaned. “Circle that clit for me. Cum for me.”

Circling your clit you almost let the phone fall into the tub when you came with a low moan. You heard him cry out your name on the other end of the line before all that was heard was both of your heavy breathing. 

“Javi…?” you asked after a while, still high from one of the best orgasms you ever had. You heard the familiar sound of him lighting a cigarette.

“I meant every single word Hermosa. I want you.” You never thought you would hear these words from him or any man for that matter. You weren’t a typical beauty. You weren’t skinny, you loved food and your curves showed it. On most days you were happy with the way you looked. But you also knew how Javier looked. He was an attractive man and you knew he did indeed have a new woman every other night if he felt like it. He might be interested now, but once he would meet you, there was no way he would make true to all the things he said.

“You’re quiet.” he noticed.

“Yeah. Just coming down from the best orgasm I’ve had in a while,” you joked and he sighed.

“I might not see you, but I know that you’re lying.”

“Okay, it was the best orgasm I ever had.”

“Hermosa…”

“I don’t want to talk about it. Just let me enjoy the illusion of a handsome DEA Agent being interested in little ol’ me.”

“I’ll make sure you believe that it isn’t an illusion until we do see each other.”

Months went by and by now you were pretty sure you were in love with Javier Peña. The phone bill was taking dimensions you were almost guilty about, but Chucho only smiled not taking your money, telling you to make his boy happy. Safe to say he approved.

You had told him about your insecurities and Javier made sure to tell you every time you talked to each other that it didn’t matter how you looked. He told you that you could be green and he’d still go down on you the first time he would meet you.

And you wanted to believe him, you really did. You had told him how you looked after he tried to talk you into sending pictures of yourself “with or without clothes, I don’t care. Though you can guess what I prefer.” he had teased. Javier never made a secret about how much he liked you. Enjoyed talking to you. He told you he had stopped sleeping around for god’s sake. 

He was supposed to visit his father in a couple of weeks and the more time passed, the more nervous you became. You didn’t doubt that he meant every single word he said to you. It was years of being on the receiving end of jokes and being the ugly friend that automatically let you feel like you weren’t good enough.

The worst part was that you knew, deep down, that you were beautiful. You loved how you looked. But there still was this voice inside your head, telling you that you would never be good enough for anyone. That there was no way someone would ever fall in love with you.

It was a typical morning at work. You had your coffee and all the files you had to update. Javier had talked to you until you fell asleep, telling you that he felt like he was failing in taking Escobar down. He didn’t tell you much, not wanting you to worry or to risk someone listening, but you could tell that he was exhausted. “I fucked up, Hermosa. I really fucked up and I have no idea how to fix this,” were the words that he had whispered to you in the middle of the night. 

You didn’t ask what he meant, just telling him that you’d be there for him, no matter what.

Typing as usual you stopped as the song on the radio was, interrupted by a news report of a bombing in Bogota, Colombia. You knew that there were bombings all the time over there, and Javier always assured you that he was perfectly fine. But with how he was last night, you had a bad feeling.

“Fuck. When are they going to stop that shit over there? If I was there I’d caught Escobar years ago,” one of the officers said. You closed your eyes, breathing in deeply.

“Isn’t Chucho’s son over there pretty face?” The officer stopped in front of your desk and you opened your eyes.

“Yeah he is,” you said.

“Maybe if he would know how to do his job, shit like that wouldn’t go down like that,” he grinned and you wanted to stop, but your hand was faster. Slapping his cheek you got off your seat.

“And maybe if you would know how to use your dick your wife wouldn’t fuck your colleague over there, but you’ll never know, right?” You grinned, picking your purse and walking out.

“I’m taking today off.” You yelled over your shoulder as you walked to your car.

Javier didn’t pick up the phone. Which wasn’t what concerned you on the first day. He would have to deal with the shit that had happened over there. But when three days passed and you could see Chucho getting nervous as well you became restless. The ranch had never been so spotless. The horses had been fed in record time, and you took long rides along the river. If something had happened to him someone would have called, right? You couldn’t even reach his partner Murphy who you had talked to occasionally when Javier wasn’t at his desk. 

When a week passed and you hadn’t heard anything you were close to making your way to the airport to just fly down there. What if he died? What if he was gone and you hadn’t told him that you loved him? That you fell in love with a man you had never met before? Getting off the horse you sat down at the tree closest to the river. It was quiet here. This was the outer area of Chucho’s ranch, your favorite spot. You had joked about building a house here once when you were out with the old man and he had agreed that it would be the perfect spot. Sighing you drank from the bottle of water you brought.

Where the fuck are you Javier?

Another week went by without any sign of life from him. You had called the DEA office again but no one seemed to be able to give you an answer. You were growing restless. Working seemed to be the only thing that could get you off the spiraling thoughts of what if? You really had it bad for the man. Shaking your head to yourself you sighed as you parked your car on the usual spot in front of the ranch. Chucho’s truck was gone, he had a doctor's appointment to check on his hip and would meet his lady friend for dinner afterward. You had met her, Estella, once. She was a beautiful woman and Chucho seemed very happy with her. With a sad smile you killed the engine, getting out of the car. On your way to the house you groaned, turning around because you forgot your take out. You weren’t in the mood to cook and the pizza from that place that Javier had told you about was the best you had ever had. While you opened the passenger door of your car you heard the front door of the house open.

Shit. Burglars? You didn’t have anything on you, you could use as a gun. You knew you could probably make it to the horse stable to find something, but not in these fucking heels. Why did you wear these fucking heels? Maybe you could make them choke on the pizza? But then again you were looking forward to eating it. 

“Just take what you want, I won’t look.” You called over your shoulder, hoping to just be spared for the day. Closing your eyes you sighed when you were met with no reaction. You heard footsteps on the porch that stopped.

“Look, I’m really not in the mood for this bullshit today. So either take whatever the fuck you want or kill me….” you turned around and all the words died on your lips.

Standing there, leaning against the porch was no other than Javier fucking Peña. Alive. And looking even better than on the various pictures hanging in the house. He was bare feet, wearing tight jeans and a green shirt that was half undone. Opening your mouth to talk, all that came out was a gasp. He looked at you, his eyes mirroring the million emotions inside of you. Looking down at yourself you felt shy all of the sudden. This isn’t how you imagined meeting him for the first time. You wanted to be pretty. To wear some spanx. To have some make-up on. Closing your eyes you breathed in deep. You were happy to see him, you really were. But the ride of emotions you had gone through in the last couple of days took hold of you. Walking quickly towards him, you pushed against his chest, the air leaving his lungs in a puff.

“You fucking idiot. I thought you died.” You pushed him again.

“Do you have any idea how awful I felt since I heard the news of the bombing? You…” You pushed against his chest again, but this time he was faster, grabbing your wrists as he looked down at you. You felt the tears in your eyes as you finally looked up at him. Almost a year of phone calls and now he was standing here in front of you. Alive and warm. And smelling so fucking good.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, holding both of your wrists against his chest as he looked at you. 

“I should have called but I told you I fucked up. Badly. And I had to fix it and…” he shook his head. “It doesn’t matter now. I’m here and fuck… you’re even more beautiful than I pictured you,” he smiled a little.

“Flattery will get you nowhere.” You huffed, still annoyed.

“No?” he asked teasingly, smirking at you as he leaned down. You shook your head, biting your lip. God, you wanted to kiss him. 

“Can I at least try?” he asked, his lips brushing over your temple. You swallowed, shivering when you felt his cheek against yours. Fuck. Why did he smell so good?

“You may try, but I’m really, really mad at you Javier.”

You closed your eyes when he released your wrists and put one of his hands on your back to push you closer against him. He kissed your cheek before he straightened to his full height and looked down at you, his other hand coming to rest on your cheek.

“You’re really sexy when you’re angry,” he teased before he leaned down to kiss you. You melted against him, your hands running up his chest, holding on to the back of his neck as one hand ran through his hair, to pull him down. Kissing him didn’t come close to anything you could have imagined, his tongue parting your lips and you couldn’t help the moan against his lips. 

“Still angry?” he whispered out of breath against your lips.

“Slightly less angry,” you whispered back before you found yourself in his arms as he carried you into the house.

[aerinsfables]

Never Have I Ever

The Fablehaven gang plays Never Have I Ever. Not really shippy, but will tag for relevant ships.

---

“Never have I ever become an albino courtesy of a revenant,” Seth announced. His face expressed glee as Warren and Tanu each lowered one finger in response. He was down to three fingers left, himself, and Kendra thought he seemed determined to remain in the game.

“Well, never have I ever held Vasilis,” Tanu retorted. The smile dropped off of Seth’s face as he lowered one of his remaining fingers with a quiet ‘nooo’, and Kendra laughed a little as she also lowered one of hers.

“Never have I ever broken my leg by jumping off a roof,” Dale said, which prompted Warren to roll his eyes and lower another finger. 

“It’s hard to play this game with people you actually know,” Warren protested. “I was nine at the time, yes it was a stupid choice, thank you for reminding me, now let me think for a minute.” He tapped his chin with the side of his hand and seemed to think for a moment. “Never have I ever… had a body double,” he said as he winked at Kendra, who stuck her tongue out at him and lowered one of her fingers. She had the most points left in the group thus far, so she’d been expecting some targeted statements, but still.

“That’s a cheap shot,” she said as she clicked her tongue in disapproval.

He shrugged. “Hey. There’ve been three of you. It’s not my fault that you’re the only one here who’s experienced that.”

“It’s not as fun as you’d think it is,” she replied.

“My turn,” Vanessa said. “Never have I ever spoken with the Fairy Queen.”

Seth let out a loud, “HA!” and gave Vanessa a high five. Warren applauded. Kendra sighed as she placed another finger down. Bracken followed suit as well. “Clever,” he said, sarcasm laced in his tone.

“Always,” Vanessa responded. “It’s your turn, Kendra.”

Well. Two can play at this game, Kendra thought. And, really, she’d meant for her next statement to be a jibe at Warren and Vanessa anyway.

“Never have I ever been engaged to marry anyone,” she said with confidence.

She’d expected the narrowed eyes from Warren and Vanessa as they each lowered a finger. She’d expected Seth’s guffaws and Tanu and Dale’s smiling eyes.

She had not expected for Bracken to lower one of his fingers, too.

Kendra turned her attention to the young man to her immediate left, who cleared his throat in an obvious - and vain - attempt to move the conversation forward, his face a lovely shade of pink. “Excuse me?” she asked, probably sounding about as shocked as she actually was. She wasn’t the only surprised one, though. Seth shouted, “What?!” at the same time that Warren announced it was story time while positively everyone’s eyes turned to Bracken, whose face flushed a darker shade of pink.

Bracken opened and closed his mouth a few times, unsuccessful at producing any words. “I… it was a long time ago, and an accident,” he said. “I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

“How do you accidentally get engaged to someone?” Dale asked. One eyebrow was pointed upward, and he appeared to be rethinking his entire opinion of the young man in question.

Kendra, for her part, was speechless. She didn’t know what to think. It was most definitely story time indeed.

“I… there was… it was…” Bracken cleared his throat again and scratched the back of his head, his gaze firmly fixed upon the table in front of him. “I was younger then. Still getting used to human socialization, still wandering between the wilderness and civilization. I’d decided to spend some time closer to towns, was low on human currency, and desired to reside inside an inn for a time. There were people in the street who advertised a sword-fighting competition, which offered a cash reward, so I decided I’d participate.”

Still unsure of what to think, Kendra furrowed her eyebrows. Where was this going? 

“I’ve… I’m good with swords. The competition wasn’t particularly difficult to win, although the last human I faced that specific day was quite skilled. I digress. I won the contest, was given a large sum of money in a very nice bag, and was also told at that moment that I’d won the hand of the local princess.” 

His face burned red. Kendra didn’t know whether to laugh or smack him upside the head. Maybe both? She refrained from reacting for the moment.

Seth, however, was not so well-controlled. He laughed heartily.

“‘The local princess’? When was this?” Warren asked.

“Shhh, he’s still telling the story,” Tanu said. “I want to hear this. Wish we had some popcorn.”

Bracken looked like he was marching toward his death. “A long, long time ago,” he said, “Somewhere in Ireland. Her name was Aoife MacMurrough.”

“So… did you marry her?” Dale asked.

His eyes grew large. “No!” he nearly shouted. He made eye contact with Kendra, who found it awkward to look at him right at that moment, so she diverted her attention to her hands, which still displayed the five points she’d managed to maintain.

“I tried to tell them that I thought this was a competition solely for money, and that I wasn’t interested in marriage, but the king and his vassals wouldn’t take no for an answer. The rules were apparently clear, although they’d somehow flown over my head. I snuck out of town that night and stayed far away from humans for quite a long time after that. I never found out what happened. Of course, I’d also fled to Greece and other countries and did not return to Ireland for a couple hundred years, but that’s a different story.” He reached toward Kendra and lightly touched her shoulder. “I don’t even know what Princess Aoife looked like.”

“How did you not know that you would wind up promised in marriage to a princess?” Vanessa asked, disbelief and disapproval very much evident in her statement. “Did you not listen to the rules? Did the people announcing the competition not make that clear? How is it possible to enter into a contest like that and not know what you’re fighting for?” 

Kendra didn’t entirely appreciate the tone of voice Vanessa used, but she was incredibly grateful that her friend had been able to voice even just some of the questions she had on her own mind.

Bracken narrowed his eyes. “I was new to Gaelic, and it was mostly still a spoken language at that point in time,” he replied. “I still don’t know how I missed that bit of information. I blame my empty stomach and longing for a soft bed to sleep in for the night.”

“He was - he was hangry,” Seth said, then rolled off into laughter again. Warren and Tanu joined in a bit as well, the earlier looking up something on his phone.

“It was a poor decision. I know. Go ahead and laugh,” Bracken stated. He once again reached for Kendra. “I’m sorry,” he said in a quiet voice.

Sorry for what? Why should he be sorry? Should she be upset? Did she have a right to be upset? Was she upset? All of those questions and more buzzed about in Kendra’s brain, but she refrained from voicing any of them. 

“Wait. Aoife MacMurrough?” Warren asked, his eyes practically bulging out of his head.

“Yes…?” Bracken responded.

Warren chuckled as he read from his phone. “Red Aoife. Married off by Saint Patrick himself. Warrior princess. That Aoife?”

“I don’t know!” Bracken insisted at the same time that Tanu said, “Saint Patrick, huh?” 

“Bracken almost married a leprechaun?!” Seth cried out before yet more raucous laughter escaped from his body.

Dale spoke next, after a brief pause to allow for excess joviality from the company who sat around the table.

“Well. That is an odd circumstance,” he said. “I’ve bailed Warren out of quite a few odd circumstances over the years, but never anything like that. Right, Warren?”

Warren laughed. “Nope.”

“Alright then. I think my next move is to say, never have I ever been accidentally engaged to marry someone,” Dale continued. He innocently blinked at Bracken a few times, who looked dumbfounded and then lowered another finger.

“I’m never going to live this down, am I?” he asked.

Everyone shook their heads while Kendra finally reacted in laughter. The rest of the table followed after her example.

“Are you upset with me?” he asked her.

Kendra let laughter take over her body for a minute, then wiped a tear from one of her eyes. “Upset?” she asked as more giggles escaped from her lips. “Bracken. You are the only person I know who could have done that.” Giggles. Somehow, this didn’t seem out of character for him. The poor, oblivious unicorn. 

“What other secrets are you hiding?!” Seth demanded.

Bracken folded his arms across his chest and refused to entertain that particular train of thought. “Nope. One story is enough for tonight,” he said. “Come on. Surely all of you have made poor decisions in your young lives as well.”

“Sure, but I never wound up promising myself to someone else by accident,” Vanessa shot back.

Bracken only rolled his eyes at that comment. “I believe it was my turn, next, before Dale stole it from me,” he said as he leveled Vanessa with a cool glare. “Never have I ever controlled someone in their sleep.”

Vanessa ran out of fingers at that one. “Very funny.”

“Always,” he retorted, copying her tone of voice from earlier on in the evening.

Kendra opened her mouth to interrupt them before they could launch into one of their infamous arguments, but Tanu beat her to the punch.

“Never have I ever been near Zzyzx,” he said.

Everyone else at the table groaned and lowered a finger, except Dale, who simply smiled. Warren ran out of points, Seth only had one left, Bracken had two, Tanu and Dale were each down to three, and Kendra still held onto four.

“Your turn again, Seth,” Tanu said once the damage had been assessed.

“Never have I ever… um…” he looked at his sister. “Never have I ever written letters to a dragon prince.”

Kendra could feel her face grow warm as she lowered a finger. “Warren and Vanessa are out, so it’s my turn,” she announced.

“A dragon prince?” Bracken asked. This time, his eyebrows were raised in surprise.

“I knew him as Gavin in his human form,” she said with a sigh. “He was actually Navarog.”

If Bracken’s eyes could have grown larger, Kendra was sure that they would have at that statement. “Excuse me?” he asked, in much the same tone as she’d asked him earlier. “I feel that another story time is in order.”

“Nah, we all know that story already,” Warren announced. “You two talk about that one between yourselves later. It’s Kendra’s turn now.”

“But-“

“Never have I ever drank an enlargement potion,” Kendra interrupted.

Bracken narrowed his gaze at her, but dropped the subject. For the moment.

Tanu lowered one finger. “Ouch, Kendra. I feel like I’ve been singled out.”

“Sorry, Tanu,” she replied with a smile.

Bracken huffed. “Never have I ever been duped by a demon dragon,” he stated.

He was astonished to find that everyone except Dale put their fingers down. Seth ran out of points, Tanu had one left, Kendra was down to three, and Dale and Bracken were still at two.

“All of you?!” he asked.

Dale shrugged his shoulders. “I never met the guy,” he said. “They all went adventuring with him.”

“Except me,” Vanessa elaborated. “I probably would’ve caught on if I had been there, though.”

“Let’s not start this up,” Warren said at the same time that Dale announced, “Never have I ever been in prison.”

Just like that, Tanu was out of points, Kendra had two, and Bracken had only one left.

“Never have I ever been trapped in a barn,” Kendra said. Dale laughed and lowered a finger. One left.

“Never have I ever had coffee,” Bracken said. 

“Really?” Dale asked as he ran out of points. “Never?”

“Not once,” Bracken replied. 

“How-?”

“You were in prison when coffee as a drink was invented, weren’t you?” Kendra laughed.

Bracken’s ears turned pink. “Maybe,” he admitted.

“You’re getting a cup in the morning,” Dale vowed. “I’ll make it for you.”

“Thanks…?” Bracken asked, sounding unsure whether or not he even cared. He turned toward Kendra, who still had two points left. “No coffee for you?”

She shook her head. “I don’t like the smell.”

“Who doesn’t like the smell of coffee?” Dale asked, sounding utterly flabbergasted.

“Kendra,” Seth, Warren, Tanu and Vanessa all replied in unison.

Dale stared straight at Kendra, who laughed when he whispered with so much melodrama that he could only be Warren’s brother, “But. You were my favorite.”

“Hey!” Warren protested. “I’m your favorite!”

“Well, you might be now,” Dale said. His gaze turned back toward Kendra. “How can you not like coffee? Coffee is life.”

“I… I didn’t realize you liked it so much,” Kendra replied.

“The way into Dale’s heart is a healthy serving of coffee every morning,” Vanessa said.

“She makes the best coffee ever,” Dale confirmed. “No other woman will ever take her place.”

Kendra wasn’t sure what was happening. This game was getting ridiculous. Whose turn was it, anyway? She recounted the latest movies and realized that this game was down to just her and Bracken, he only had one point, and it was her turn. 

She smirked. “Bracken,” she began.

“Yes?” he asked.

“Never have I ever won a sword-fighting competition,” she announced.

Bracken lowered his pinky, while Kendra waved her two remaining fingers in his face. “I win!” she taunted.

“That’s not fair,” he playfully complained.

“Totally fair,” Warren insisted.

“I lost three points from one story!” he exclaimed.

Seth shrugged. “It be like that sometimes.”

“Kendra survives the night,” Tanu stated. “Now we all know who to target in the next round.”

Vanessa raised her eyebrows in a somewhat threatening manner which made Kendra wonder what other embarrassing material was going to be paraded about that evening. She looked around to find similar expressions on most everyone else’s faces, too, and laughed when she realized that she would be running out of points very quickly. “No repeats from this round,” she said.

“That’s fine with me,” Tanu said. Everyone else nodded and voiced their agreement.

“Great! I’ll go first!” Seth announced. “Never have I ever run away from a fiancée!”

Bracken planted his face into the palm of his hand while everyone at the table enjoyed a solid laugh.

[stopeatingwhales]

second chance x damon albarn

i'm surprised i haven't written anything about dilf damon yet bc i've been so obsessed with him recently wtf. anyways enjoy x

i might do a second part to this, idk yet tho

Pairing: dilf damon x reader

Warnings: none :)

Word count: 2.786

Requested by anon <3

༉‧₊˚✧

“Do you want to come over?” I abruptly asked, the silence pouring through the line deafening my ears as my fingers toyed with the hem of my shirt. The desperation and moment that led to me ringing my ex-boyfriend at what was nearing eight in the evening seemed as though it was a fever dream, the words rolling off my tongue so delicately out of apprehension only a fragment of that trance. In all honesty, I had no idea as to why I rang Damon, or to what extent the string of thoughts guided me towards the action of calling - we had been broken up for around a year, and it came as a much larger shock that I was able to muster the amount of courage to tap his contact on my phone and attentively listen to the thunderous rings as the landlines attempted to connect, instead of quickly shutting the phone off before he was able to receive a missed call alert.

“Uh, um - are you sure?” he questioned, the stutter escaping his mouth insinuated that he was just as dazed at my sudden offer as me, the demeanour of his voice accentuating the idea that he was entirely finished with the ephemeral chapter of his life which had me intertwined inside as his partner; that he had gotten over me quicker than the momentary period our relationship lasted. My heart sank, realising how indigent I sounded, as if I had never gotten over him throughout our time apart - which I did, learning to live with myself was easier than I had thought it was going to be; the weeks leading up to the breakup stemming from the distance we shared apart due to Damon consistently being on tour and never providing enough time for me, for us, to consider one another as more than romantically acquainted, though that didn’t mean the gap in my heart had been sealed shut, it was simply brimmed with other, unspecial fragments of things which could only distract the thought of him for so long, until I’d discover myself adventuring for something else to hyperfixate my thoughts upon, though he always returned.

“Yeah…” My voice trailed off, so quiet that I struggled to sustain the volume. Though we had only just spoken, the trance that he had obtained over me for all those months we were with one accord, returned in an instant, having the same rush that a recollection of memories, pastimes that were once forgotten, crumbled to dust, had been reborn; ignited into a new bloom in the height of a harvest, resulting in the scolding of yourself upon how you granted the ability to forget such a thing. It seemed as if all those thoughts, ideations convinced to the point that I had gotten over him, were myriads of masks attempting to say it enough to believe it. Without a doubt, I had never overcome the strains of the acquaintance we shared - and I could only hope he felt the same way.

I heard his throat clear itself before his voice echoed through the telephone speakers once again. “Alright… I’ll be there in a bit.” he mumbled, those words bringing a soft, yet apprehensive grin to my lips. I had no idea what I was doing, or why, but it felt right.

It felt as if only the sum of a few minutes passed when I heard a distinguishable knock on the door; one that had not rang through my ears for an interminable amount of time, one that was able to send me months back in time to a period where he had significantly been a figurehead dictating the story. As I jolted up to answer the door, it felt as if things were normal again, back to how they used to be so many nights previous; me waiting for him to come home after he spent a long day at the recording studio, crafting what could only be assumed was the pure essence of talent, unlocking the door to allow my arms to envelop into an embrace cherished with affection and warmth, proving he longed to have my presence just as much as I craved his. Once my eyes met the sight of him, my heart dropped at the overwhelming feeling of my reminiscing about what once was, the nostalgia for a moment so authentically shaped with what could only be described as true love, my body yearning to relish in the sensation of his arms protectively wrapped around my body, a feeling which could only fulfill one’s heart with all that it desires. "Hi..." I trailed off, stunned by how similar, yet different his appearance was from when we last saw one another. His hair had the same shape, though it seemed a little shorter, his eyebags still prominent on his features, though it seemed as if they had sagged down slightly, posing the idea of whether he had been sleeping alright. His torso still adorned shirts with dark colours, amplified with one of his leather jackets which only made me more attracted to him. Widening the door, he set foot into the apartment, nodding his head lightly as a greeting. Although I was very elated to the fact that he was in my apartment, it felt eerie having him back here after so long, stepping foot into the space that was once served merely as a homely and secure space where we both could simply live and enjoy our time together, no distractions included.

Once I had followed him into the living space, he took a seat onto the couch facing the television. I attempted to make my footsteps omit as little noise as possible, as if to avoid damaging the awkward silence that had been shared between the pair of us. It went without saying that neither of us knew how to break the ice, or where this was going to head. One could only hope that the outcome of this meeting was positive. “Do you want something to drink?” I asked, ushering over to the cabinet adjacent to the television, supplied with all sorts of alcoholic beverages in which I had not touched, simply there as a point of manners to offer when somebody had come over. “White?” I offered, pulling out an almost-full bottle of white wine. I knew he hated it.

"You know I’ve always hated white." he mumbled, a small smile playing upon his lips. Something about that little grin plastered on his lips made my stomach flip and turn, welcoming a swarm of butterflies to accentuate the nervous pit that had formed within myself. The intense feelings reminded me of the same bewilderment your body undergoes during the first date; there is such a raw attraction to somebody that you know far too little about, but you are so hypnotised by their presence it is as if they’re the only thing in the world that matters, to the point that they obnoxiously overtake your mind, every little thought occupied with their name, wondering whether they may like such and such, like an infection spreading without you knowing such cure for it. The atmosphere was intense, carrying the same ambience of two strangers meeting for the first time in an isolated space, though there was also a refreshing element of familiarity that neither of us wanted to admit that we appreciated so deeply.

"Red?" I asked, snatching the half empty bottle as I placed the other wine bottle back in its designated place, turning my head back to fix my gaze onto Damon, raising my eyebrows as a form of derise for the drink. Nodding his head in response, I quickly took two glasses from the cabinet, brimming them both with the alcoholic liquid before slowly making my way to sit next to him on the sofa, handing him one of the glasses as he thanked me in response. The same devilish silence echoed in the room once again as we granted the situation to truly sink in - thankfully alcohol was present. As I took a sip of the beverage, I tried to gulp down as much liquid as possible before I spoke once again. "So... how have you been?"

"Good... Just came off tour actually. Was a really successful one." he replied, his voice laced with a slight tone of doubt, edging the regret of so eagerly returning back into a place that was once so attached to his occupancy. He carried on talking about how the tour had been, my head subconsciously nodding, attentive to what he was talking about. Each time he had told me about something new they had added, or something they had changed surrounding the live performance set-up, it never failed to blow me away. Him and Jamie together, working on such a creative idea and putting it to life on stage was truly something out of rare virtuosity, disregarding the lengthy old ramblings from Damon almost every night he had returned home about how much Jamie had pissed him off, having a petty argument as if it was a be or end all in their friendship. It was actually a good form of entertainment, seeing how riled up Damon had gotten simply because of something that Jamie joked in an interview.

Once he had finished talking, our eyes connected, uncertainty clouded in his eyes as he searched for the reason behind him needing to come over. "Y/N, why did you ask me to come over?" He said, abrupt, almost as if those words had been lingering at the back of his mind the entire time we had been in one another’s acquaintance; the ease of the sting of words rolling off his tongue softly implied that, perhaps a try to prevent the harshness of the asking from offending me in the slightest. "We haven't seen each other for a year, why now?"

Both gazes never dared to break contact as if we had attempted to communicate telepathically - the ideation of instigating a conversation as awkward as how this had become, the two of us simply wanting the ground to swallow us whole. His gaze had the ability to put me into a trance upon which I wouldn’t be able to think of anything else except for the utter magnificence that was birthed into his loving eyes. Inhaling sharply, I tried to collect the thoughts in my brain that had been travelling in all directions, searching for all sorts of different possibilities that the conversation could reach. "Can we give it a second chance?" I asked absentmindedly, the realisation of what had just rolled off my tongue not settling in my mind until his eyes widened, speechless and shocked at my sudden questioning.

Sighing, he cocked his head to the side. “Love, we didn't work out the first time..." he began, my heart dropping to my stomach as the thought of him breaking my heart again entered my mind. His expression quickly softened once he saw my face drain colour, explaining all that he needed to know about how I had coped since he had left the picture. "I don't want to hurt you again."

Breaking away from the stare, I gawked at the dark shades of red that had adorned the transparent glass clasped in my palm. Holding in my emotions wasn’t going to do me any justice, and since he was here, it would not make sense for me to stupidly avoid the whole reasoning behind me needing him inside my apartment after so long. “It’s been so hard trying to get over you,” I mumbled, my voice almost inaudible out of embarrassment, though I knew he could hear me. “I need you.”

What I didn’t see from my shameful gaze at the ground, was the miniscule beam that broke out across Damon’s features. What I was unaware of, my body encompassed in such a impotent state of pure isolation, was that Damon had been as dependent on hearing those words escaping my mouth before he could admit the same to himself. Though it had all been answered to me as he softly brought his arm to caress my arm, gently squeezing the skin as a form of reassurance, implying the notion that he understood, that he felt the same way, after all this time. We broke up not because we lost feelings, but because the emotions we carried for one another were too strong to handle, too intense to progress with, that when he was gone for those long hours it had left me in such a stupor of helplessness and melancholy that it was unbearable to handle without it tarnishing my health. Unsurprisingly, at this point we knew where the conversation was headed; my desires to be swathed in his arms once again that I had tried so hard to banish to the back of my mind, to the depths of my distant memories in which by reliving such a hug came flooding back, my body leaned into his touch almost instantaneously, a subconscious reflex that I had craved, such an embrace that no other person could give, the mere side hug from him was able to banish all the pain that I had tried so diligently to mask away for the past few months.

We sat there for a short while, taking in the moment as it had played throughout, our breathing syncing together as comfort relished in the atmosphere, our minds now finally at peace while all the conflict that had battled our minds over the time we weren’t together. "Let me come on tour with you." I said, my head resting against his shoulder.

A chuckle erupted out of his throat. “It’s not that easy love.”

"Why can't it be? You're literally the frontman!" I exclaimed, lifting my head off his shoulder to connect eyes with him. "Damon, it would be so fun!" I exclaimed, attempting to encourage him.

It was as if things had mended back together, all the cracks in the pavements had been glued together to mend the time lost, as if it had never occurred. Through all the hardship I had faced trying to find the remedy to my heartache, I was dumbfounded to realise that it had been sitting in front of me, at the top of my phone’s contact list, right in front of my eyes this entire time. His eyes were calling out to me, enveloping my heart in comfort and warmth, the hunger radiating out eager to the ideation of starting anew and preserving the time in which we had lost, building new memories, unfastening the lock on the clock dictating the length of the relationship, allowing it to elongate, carry on as long as we could. My heart brimmed with homeliness - the house I was inside finally feeling normal to me once again.

"I'll see what I can do," he grins, the beautiful sight causing a small smile to erupt on my face as my body melted back into his arms once again. "No promises though."

It felt nice to wake up next to someone again the next morning, on the mattress that once was a carcass of many tears of sadness and melancholy, authentically conveyed by the essence of nihilism embodied from isolation, the kind of philosophical beliefs one could only develop an understanding towards subsequent to irrational thinking as the hours fell still, leaving you sat there, reliving the last moments from your memory bank with the significant other you had soiled ends with, a person who had supported you from the very beginning, even when things formed a bitter congestion to the relationship devoured by both participants, perhaps from the acceleration of argumentation shared, or the distance that had started to weave its way between, leaving you both stranded to conclude, as if you were both on separate, desolate islands fighting against the starvation of progressing through your lives and starting anew, departing from the old knots and attachments formed once epitomising pure adoration and love, though over time spawning to be the offspring of the devil. A person whom you knew would make your bed every morning, cradle you in his arms at the darkest hours to baptise the negativity coiled in your brain, whispering what seems like sweet nothings, merely sounding like soft raspy groans due to them being exhausted out of their mind, but you knew they were saying something to you, you could hear it, acknowledge it in a language that nobody else was able to understand. I relished in concession that he who lay beside me was the one that bestowed and epitomised all the things that I once lacked a night before. A lover.

[nopefun]

Interview #494: Ryan Frigillana

Ryan Frigillana is a Philippine-born lens-based artist living and working in New York. His work focuses on the fluidity of memory, intimacy, family identity, and visual culture, largely filtered through the lens of race and immigration. Embracing its plasticity, Frigillana explores photography’s relationship to context as a catalyst for thematic dialogue.

His first monograph, Visions of Eden, was published as two editions in 2020, and is held in the library collections of the MoMA, Getty Research Institute, and Smithsonian among others.

We spoke to find out more about Visions of Eden, his love for photobooks, and photography as a medium for introspection.

Lee Chang Ming Ryan Frigillana

Thanks for agreeing to do this! As we’ve just arrived into the new year, I want to start by asking: how did you arrive at photography and how has your practice evolved so far? Your earlier work was anything from still life to street photography, but your recent work seems to deal with more personal themes.

It’s my pleasure; thank you for having this conversation with me! Wow, looking back at how I’ve arrived at this point makes me feel so grateful for this medium, and excited to think of where it will lead me from here. I came to photography somewhat late. I was initially studying to become a nurse and was set to start a career in that field, but I found myself unhappy with where I was going. My mother was a nurse and I know what goes into being one; it’s not an easy job, and I respect those who do it, but my heart wasn’t in it. I found photography as a creative outlet during that stage of my life, and I’ve clung onto it ever since.

My first exposure to photography (no pun intended) came in the form of street and photojournalism. I would borrow books from the library a lot, consuming works by Magnum and other photographers working in that tradition. At the time, it was all I knew so that’s what I tried to emulate. Even early on in my undergrad career, these modes of creation were reinforced by curriculum and by what I saw from my own peers. My still-life work branches off of that same sentiment: the only names that were ever thrown around by professors were Penn and Mapplethorpe, so that’s who I studied. Thankfully over the years, I’ve been able to broaden that perspective through my own research. Though I don’t necessarily pursue street or constructed still-lifes anymore for my personal work, I’d like to think my technical skills (in regard to timing, composition, light) owe a debt to those past experiences.

I suppose now I’m starting to explore how photography can be used as language, to communicate ideas and internal conflicts. I’m thinking more about the power of imagery, its authorship, its implications, and how photographs have shaped, and continue to shape, our reality. That’s where my work is headed at the moment.

I liked how you mentioned photography as a language, which calls into question who we are speaking to when we make images and what kind of narrative we construct by putting photographs together.

In your work “Visions of Eden”, you trace your family’s journey as first-generation Filipino immigrants in America. I was quite struck by how you managed to link together original photography, archived materials and video stills. To me, with the original photography there was a sense of calm and clarity, perhaps in the composition. But with the archived material it was like peering through tinted glass, and the video stills felt like an unsteady memory. What was the editing process like for you and how did you decide what to include or exclude?

For me, editing is the hardest part about photography. Shooting is the enjoyable part of course because it can feel so cathartic. Sometimes when I shoot it feels almost like muscle memory in the sense that you see the world and you just react to it in a trained way. But with editing, it’s more of a cerebral exercise. More thought is involved when you have to deal with visual relationships, sequence, rhythm, and spacing, etc. The real creation of my work takes place in the editing process. That’s where the ingredients come together to form an identity.

When creating this identity, I not only have to think about what I want to say, but also how I want to say it. It’s like speaking; there are numerous ways you can communicate a single sentence. How are images placed in relation to one another? How large are they printed, or how much white space surrounds it? Are the images repeated? What’s on the following page? The preceding page? Is there text? How are they positioned on the spread? All of these little choices impact the tone of your work. And that’s not even mentioning tactile factors like paper stock or cover material. I think that’s why I have such a deep love for photobooks because 1) they’re physical objects and 2) someone has obsessed over every aspect of that object.

I’m aware that my photographs lately have a quiet, detached, somewhat stripped-down quality to them. I think that’s just a subconscious rejection of my earlier days shooting a lot of street where I was constantly seeking crowded frames and complexity in my compositions. As I’ve grown older, I realize less is more and if I can do more by saying less, that’s even better. Now, the complexity I seek lies in the work as a whole and how all these little parts can form something fluid and layered, and not easily definable.

For Visions of Eden, I wanted the work to feel somewhat syncopated and wandering in thought. That meant finding a balance between my quiet static photographs and the movement and energy of the video stills, or balancing the coldness of the illustrations with the warmth of the family snapshots. The work needed to be cohesive but have enough ambiguity for it to take life in someone else’s imagination. Peoples’ lived experiences in regard to immigration and religion are so complex that they can’t be narrated in any one definitive way. Visions of Eden, hopefully, is a rejection of that singularity.

Yes, there’s definitely something special and intimate about flipping through a photobook! For your monograph, you recently released a second edition which is different from your first (redesigned, added images, etc.). Why did you decide to make it different? Was the editing mainly a solitary process?

The first edition was a partially hand-made object. Illustrations were printed on translucent vellum paper and then tipped into the gutter of the book. When you flip through the pages, those vellum sheets would overlap over certain images, creating a collage-like effect. That was my original concept for this book. Doing this, however, was so laborious and time consuming, and not to mention expensive! Regretfully, I wound up making only twenty copies of that first edition. I wanted the work shared with a wider audience so that’s why I decided to publish a second run.

The latest edition is more of a straight-forward production without the vellum paper. With this change in design, I had to reconfigure the layout. I took liberties in swapping out some images or adding new ones altogether. Also, a beautiful afterword was contributed by my friend, artist, writer, and curator Efrem Zelony-Mindell. I still feel so fortunate and grateful to have had my work seen and elevated by their words in my book.

For the most part, yes editing is quite a solitary process for me. But there does come a point when I feel it’s ready, where I share the work with a few trusted people. It’s always nice to have that outer support system. Much of Visions of Eden was created during my time in undergrad school so I had all sorts of feedback from peers and professors which I’m grateful for. But in the end, as the author, you ultimately have the final say in your work.

Given that Eden is a starting point and metaphor in the work, I was thinking about ideas of gardens, (forbidden) fruit, and movement of people.

How do you view yourself in relation to your place of birth? In your series, I see the most direct links in the letters, old photos where tropical foliage is present in the background, and the photo of the jackfruit (perhaps the only tropical fruit in this series).

I came to America when I was very young, about five years old. For my family and for many other families still living in the Philippines, America is seen as a sort of ideological Eden: a land of milk and honey, of wealth and excess. We all know that’s far from the truth. Every Eden has a caveat, a forbidden tree. Which leads me to ask: as an immigrant living in this country, what fruits were never intended for me?

I honestly don’t remember much about my childhood in the Philippines aside from fleeting memories of my relatives, the sounds of animals, the smell of rain and earth, the taste of my grandmother’s cooking. The identity that I carry with me now as a Filipino is not so much tied to the physical geography of a place but rather it is derived from a way of life, from shared stories, in the values we hold dear, passed on from generation to generation. This is a warm flame that lives on in me to this day as I write these words thousands of miles away from where I came.

Photographs have a way of shaping our memory and our relationship to the past, which in turn affects how we engage with the present. The family photographs and letters used in my book act as anchors in a meandering journey. They serve as landmarks that I can return to whenever I feel lost or need assurance so far away from “home”. They give me the comfort and affirmation that I need to navigate a space where I never really felt I belonged. The spread in my book­­ that you mentioned—the jackfruit on one side, and the Saran-wrapped apple on the preceding page—was a reference to my duality as both Filipino and American. It’s a reminder and an acknowledgment that I am a sum of many things, of many people who have shaped me. If I flourish in life, it’s because my roots were nourished by love.

I like how you mentioned photos as anchors or landmarks. Isn’t that why we create and photograph? To mark certain points in our lives and to envision possible futures, like a cartographer mapping an inner journey. Do you feel like you and your relationships with those you photographed changed through the process of making your works?

When my parents took pictures of our family, it wasn’t done solely in the name of remembrance; it also served as an affirmation of ourselves and our journey—a celebration. Every birthday, vacation, school ceremony, or even the seemingly insignificant events of daily life were all photographed or video-taped as a way of saying to ourselves, “Here we are. Look how far we’ve come. Look at the life we’ve made. And here’s the proof”.

Now, holding a camera and photographing my family through my own lens still carries all of that celebratory joy, but with so much more possibility. Before I really took photography seriously, I never realized its potential as a medium for introspection, but that’s ultimately what it has become for me. In taking pictures of my family, I not only clarify my own feelings about them, but the act of photography itself informs and builds on my relationship with each person. The camera is not a mere recording device, but a tool for understanding, processing, and even expressing love...or resentment. Though I may not be visible in my pictures, my presence is there: in my proximity, my gaze, my focus.

Does all of this impact my relationships? Absolutely. Photographing another person willingly always demands some degree of trust and vulnerability from both sides. There’s a silent dialogue that occurs which feels like an exchange of secrets. I think that’s why I often don’t feel comfortable photographing other people unless we’re very close. Usually my family is open enough to reveal themselves to me, other times what they give can feel quite guarded. That’s a constant negotiation. After the photograph is made though, nobody ever emerges the same person because each of us has relinquished something, no matter how small.

Being self-reflexive in photography is so important. I agree it should be a constant negotiation, but it’s something that bothers me these days – the power dynamic between the photographer and photograph, particularly for personal and documentary projects. More significantly, after the photograph has been made, who is really benefiting. But I guess if we are sensitive to that then perhaps we can navigate that tricky path and find a balance. 

Right, finding that balance is key and sometimes there are no clear-cut answers. That power dynamic is something I always have to be mindful of. As the photographer, you are exercising a certain role and position. At the end of the day, you’re the one essentially “taking” what you need and walking away. There’s an inherent violence or aggression in the act of taking someone’s picture, no matter how well-intended it may be. This aggression carries even greater weight when working, as you say, in a genre like documentary where representation is everything.

I remember an undergrad professor of mine, Nadia Sablin, introducing me to the work of Shelby Lee Adams—particularly his Appalachian Legacy series. Adams spent twenty-five years documenting the disadvantaged Appalachian communities in his home state of Kentucky, visiting the same families over a long period of time. Though the photographs are beautifully crafted, they pose many questions in regard to exploitation, representation, and the aestheticization of suffering. He is or was, after all, an artist thriving and profiting off of these photographs. Salgado is another that comes to mind. This was the first time I really stopped to think about the ethics of image-making. Who is benefitting from it all?

I think the search for this balance is something each photographer has to reckon with personally. Though each situation may vary with different factors that have to be weighed, and context that must be applied, you can always ask yourself these same ever-pertinent questions: am I representing people in a dignified way, and what are my intentions with these images? Communication (listening), building relationships, acknowledging your power, and respecting the people you photograph are all foundational things to consider when exercising your privilege with the camera.

Well said! The process of making photographs can be tricky to navigate yet rewarding. Any upcoming projects or ideas? What’s keeping you busy these days?

Oh, let’s just say I’m constantly juggling 3-4 ideas in my head at any given time, but ninety percent of the time they don’t ever lead to anything finished haha. This past year has been tough on everyone I’m sure. I’ve been dealing a lot with personal loss and grief and the compounded isolation brought on by the pandemic, so for months I’ve been making photographs organically as a subconscious response to these internal struggles. It’s more of an exploration of grief itself as a natural phenomenon and force—like time or gravity. Grief is something everyone will experience in life and each of us deals with it differently, but in the end we have to let it run its course. I see these photographs as a potential body of work that could materialize as a zine or book one day, so we’ll see where that goes.

Other than that, I’ve been working on an upcoming collaboration project with Cumulus Photo. Speaking of which, I saw your photograph featured in their latest zine, running to the edge of the world. Congrats on that! It’s beautiful. But yeah, just trying my best to keep busy and sane, and improving myself any way I can.

Thanks! Looking forward to your upcoming projects! Last question: any music to recommend?

I feel like my answer to this question can vary by the week. I go through phases where I exhaust whole albums on repeat until I get tired of them. So I’ll leave you with the two currently on my rotation: Angles by The Strokes, and Screamadelica by Primal Scream.

Thank you for your time!

Thank you for a lovely discourse. I had a lot of fun!

his website and Instagram.

Get more updates on our Facebook page and Instagram.