#anyways. in spite of the state of my current writing style i have and always will hate writing stand-alone descriptions. hell! i'd probably

[vinyls-and-valentines]

I know I'd hate it, but I kind of wish I still had my old notebooks so I could go through my creative writing assignments. They were for the most part incredibly thought-less and finished in 20 minutes while I was eating lunch or some shit, but they are still my writing. They are still a reflection of everything I've loved and hated, including the generic and repetitive topics of the assignments

[lollypopsx]

Flatmate!Harry: I'll Make It Up To You - Part 2

Please like if it’s not too shabby, reblog for anyone who may enjoy this and follow if you want to see more! Any suggestions are happily taken for future writing! I love you all! be safe and be kind x

Warnings: Hints of depression and anxiety

Part 1 - Part 3

—————————

Days had passed since the audition, and while you were sat on your laptop every hour searching for new jobs, new projects, more auditions and pure hope of some miracle, you couldn't help but starting to feel like you were failing slightly.

You liked to write happy songs and create stories using your music, but you were finding it harder to find the inspiration. Usually you and Harry would sit and talk ideas for hours, but since he made you miss your audition, you were distant from him, it was only the last day or two that you had been getting slowly back to normal.

Every day since the incident when Harry came home after working at the studio, he would open the curtains to make sure you had fresh air and daylight after cooping yourself up on the sofa all day, in the dimly lit living room. Not only that, he would check the cupboards, fridge and the sink to check that you were eating enough. He had seen you stressed and upset before. He had been there through some difficult moments in your life, and had always been your rock throughout the years, especially when your mental health was struggling during these times. But this time was worse. He couldn't help being concerned for someone he loved and cared for.

"Hey pumpkin..." He whispers softly, settling himself down beside you after completing his daily routine "Have you done much today?" he gently combs his fingers through your hair before dropping his arm round your shoulders.

You just sigh softly, looking ahead blankly at the quiet TV, simply shaking your head. If only he could see what was going on in that pretty mind of yours then maybe he could make everything better.

"I see you used the piano and the guitar today though..." he states, although it came out more like a question.

Minutes of silence filled the room until out of the blue, some words left your lips. "...Adam came to get the ring today" you whisper, feeling the tears brim your eyes once again, for what felt like the millionth time today.

"Oh darling" He frowns, pulling you into his chest tightly, just like he did the night you found out your (now ex-) boyfriend, Adam, was cheating on you. Unfortunately, you happened to find out minutes before he proposed to you, in front of all of your friends, including Harry. You didn't know what to do, so you took the ring, said you'd think about it and you left him standing alone. This all happened months ago, and you really thought that you was totally over it.

"Everything that's happened this week...I-I just...I feel like such a failure Haz. It just feels like I...I-I'm falling...falling apart and nothings going right! Why isn’t anything going right! I can’t even write one stupid song that makes sense" you let out hard sobs as your hands fisted his clean white t-shirt.

"No...no, no, no don't say that...please don't ever say that." He frowns, pulling away from you, but still staying close. His warm hands press against your cheeks as he lifts your face gently "hey, hey look at me" he whispers, begging you to look at him.

Your sad wide eyes flickered up into his, gentle tears falling down your face. "I know...I know it's hard at the moment. But everything happens for a reason. And everything will get better...I know it will. Do you trust me?" He whispers, his eyes gazing deep into yours, almost like if he looked hard enough, he could read your mind.

You give a hesitant nod as he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead before wiping the tears dampening your cheeks. Being affectionate together wasn't anything unusual for the two of you, you really were the best of friends.

"I'll go make some dinner okay? Pasta sound good?" You just nod your head gently at him as he leaves your side. You let out a deep sigh and head over to the living room window, watching the sunrise beginning to set over the busy London town. "So...how's the studio going?" You ask him curiously, your gaze still at the window.

"I erm..." He clutters around in the kitchen. His job was a topic he had been avoiding for the last few days. He didn't want to rub it in that he was busy writing an album for millions of fans, who would be screaming his lyrics back to him all over the world in years to come. "It's...good. I mean, its tiring but I...yeah. It's good" He nods.

"H, you don't have to avoid it. I forgive you for what happened. I know you would never have done it out of spite...and you deserve your life style, you work hard!" You say as you head into the kitchen, re-filling the water in the vase on the table, your vibrant roses and lilies still looking as beautiful as the first day Harry bought them for you.

"You work hard too!" He frowns softly "Harry I don't think moping around on the sofa, drowning in my sorrows, is the definition of working hard" You let out a gentle chuckle.

"So...how's it really going?" You hop up onto the stool beside the kitchen counter.

"Well, we have 4 songs so far...and they are...different to the last album. I mean they reckon three of them will be on the pop charts...maybe even a number one slot there" He sighs softly.

"Oh wow, that does sound different to before...and you...don't want that?" You ask curiously, judging by the lack of excitement. "Well...it's not that. I just...it's hard to write another album when the last one did well, and you have to make sure it's better than the last one." He sighs softly as he cooks. "They want me to write some slower, more emotional songs. I just can't...well the words don't fit right. I'm just not feeling emotional about anything, so I don't know where to get the emotion from"

"Well you can't put a price on emotion Haz, you can't just go and buy it in Gucci. You have to really feel it. Even if you aren't thinking about something specific or direct to you. I used to find that sometimes when I was trying to write, I'd create these characters in my head, and I'd give them all these different stories and personalities. And I...I used that to really help me write music. It's not easy." You explain while getting two of the plates from the cupboard and pouring two drinks for the table.

"You used to? You mean you don't use that method anymore?" He asks curiously, while giving the pasta one final stir.

"I...I think I've decided that I'm not going to write music anymore" You shrug softly, your eyes unable to life to his. "I need a proper job. And things aren't going well with auditions lately and I make a total fool out of myself every time I go into a meeting. It's time I looked for a proper job. Besides, the price of bills in this house keeps going up and up."

"What?! Y/N you're so good at writing songs and music! You can't throw it all away now! That is your proper job. And I love hearing what you write, it inspires my own stuff!" He frowns, his brow furrowing, trying to understand you. "Think of all the songs no one will get to hear"

"No one hears them anyway...It's different now. The entertainment industry is changing more and more by the day. Maybe the stuff I write just isn't as trendy anymore." It was difficult for you to admit, but you knew you had to accept it.

"There's a fine line between us Styles, because the difference is, you're already there. You have the whole world in your hands Haz, you can go anywhere and do anything. You could sing a song to a fish and the whole world would be adored by you still! If I did something like that...I'd be laughed out of every interview, audition and meeting for the rest of my life. But we’ll be alright" You smile and shrug, your mood had certainly been hit and miss the last few days, but you knew you had to carry on with your life.

—————————

“Hey Y/N come here!” Harry calls from the living room. You were currently in your room, scrolling through your Instagram, while in a pasta coma after dinner. You rush over to the living room “What’s up?” You ask, seeing him sat at the gleaming white piano, which as always was sat under the window.

“What do you think?” He starts to play a few notes on the piano, looking between the scruffy paper notes cluttering the top of the piano and his hands. 

“Can’t put a price on emotion...it’s something that you just can’t buy...you...you’ve got my devotion...but....but” He sighs softly, playing around with the notes and the wording on his notes. 

You smile softly as you recognise his acknowledgment of your earlier conversation “...but man, I can hate you sometimes” you sing gently, testing to see how it could fit.

“Hey that’s mean! Why would you say that!” He fakes a pout up at you “I thought we- hey actually...you’re right! That really fits!” He chuckles, pulling you onto the stool beside him. “Can you try a G chord, B chord and....lets try a C...” You nod and smile as your fingers gloss over the keys effortlessly, while Harry fits the verse together and tries to find the right tempo.

“Wait...it doesn’t sound right. Maybe lets try a D instead of C?” You suggest as you re-try, playing those three chords over and over again.

“You...are...a genius!” He grins and wraps his arms around your waist. ”Keep going!” He smirks, pushing more lyrics in front of you. Sometimes having a fresh pair of eyes really helped...or perhaps he just wanted to prove that you had talent.

You peer down at the pages upon pages of words flooding your view. “...I don’t want to fight with you....and I...and I don’t like to sleep in the dark...we’ll get the drinks in...I...I can’t stop thinking of her...” 

Harrys fingers join yours at the piano “We’ll be a fine line....We’ll be a fine line...”He smiles softly as he taps on a few random keys. 

You pull your fingers away gently “It...your song sounds...really good H. It’s beautiful actually.”

 “You mean our song...” He whispers.

“Harry no, it’s your song, all the pieces, I just put your jigsaw together” You smile. “I know how it is writing songs and the first draft is never the same as the final version. You might decide to change it all completely” You whisper.

“Not with your lyrical genius ability and words of wisdom...your name will be all over this track” You felt a shock of electricity ripple through your veins as you felt his eyes burning into yours. His lips pressed gently against your forehead, lingering against your skin longer than usual. That sort of affection was normal from your best friend...so why did it just feel like something completely different? And what did he mean about my name being all over the track?

—————————

Tag List: @harryhoney-bee - @sunandherflores - @sad-capuccino

[letsasoiaftogether]

Targaryen #7

Word Count: 1,147

Warning: NONE

A/N: My first piece of writing for Aegon II, definitely took me a bit to get some idea of how to write him in my own style without making him a complete copy of another Targaryen (still not sure i completely accomplished that! I personally feel like GRRM gave so much information about pre-asoiaf Targs while also not giving an accurate depiction of a lot of them - so they come off like others, but maybe that’s just a personal writing short coming of mine lol). Did my best to show a side of him that was both confident in his goal to reign over Westeros while not making him a complete hero or villain. He's definitely a character I need more practice writing for and that maybe I need to do a sort of character study/development for! Anyways, I hope you all enjoy never the less!

(GIF ISN'T MINE)

"War? Are you mad?" You couldn't bring yourself to immediately believe what you were hearing.

Did you believe your husband (and brother) had a right to be King? That he had the better claim? Yes and no, honestly.

Aegon had the right to be considered for the crown, but to have the better claim? No. He and your older sister, Rhaenyra, both had legitimate claims. She was the oldest child. He was the eldest son. They were both quick to anger and slow to forgive. They were far too similar, when it came down to it 

And you had always suspected that was one of the reasons they had always disliked each other so much.

"It's my duty to the realm." Aegon stated as he watched you from across the room, currently seated on the edge of the King's bed.

"Your duty is to protect and serve the realm. The two of you will kill so many people - our people. The people our House is supposed to look after." Crossing the room you grabbed his hands, trying to get him to see where you were coming from.

Aegon didn't seem to for he just kissed your head and whispered, "Calm down, Y/n, there's no reason to be so worried."

Oh Aegon….

You would support his claim. He was your husband after all and you took your duty as his wife very seriously. But also...Rhaenyra was married to your uncle Daemon and no one in their right mind would want him as King. There was no doubt that he would grasp any power he was given and do great damage to anyone who so much as looked at him the wrong way.

Uncle has never been nice and he's always wanted the Iron Throne for himself.

"I worry for you, our children, and our brothers." You explained, softly, as you leaned into him.

You thanked the gods that your children were still so young and wouldn't have to fight in battle. The thought of losing any of them on top of the possibility of losing their father and uncles was simply too much!

"Everything will be as it should. I promise." His confidence was reassuring for a moment, at the least.

It wasn't often that Aegon put his mind to things so completely. He enjoyed the finer things in life, as nobles do, and was always quick to laugh. That wasn't necessarily a bad thing; it made many underestimate him and that was a good thing.

"You must do this because it's the right thing to do, not out of spite or anger." You counseled, finally releasing his hands to anxiously play with your dress sleeves, "Show the people why you deserve to be king. Show them that you are just and capable."

You understood where Rhaenyra was coming from, and if things were different, you'd gladly support her claim to the throne. But Aegon was your husband and had always been gentle with you (even if he had other beds he slept in) while Rhaenyra had been distant and cold. You had no way of knowing what she would do with you and your children so you would support your husband and the side you and always been associated with simply because of who your mother was.

Aegon is my brother, friend, husband, and now King. Despite his flaws, I will love him and support him.

Your name softly whispered pulled you from your thoughts, your gaze lifting to meet Aegon's once more.

He smiled, gently, and cupped your cheeks. "You're so beautiful and a gift to my reign. Protect my children and I will protect you." He kissed you fiercely, a little rougher than you preferred, but it was a small bit of comfort so he didn't mind.

You whispered his name, but otherwise said nothing further. Anything else you had to say could only lead to an argument you didn't feel up to having with him.

Besides, in such times, you didn't want to say something that had the potential of making you seem like a traitor.

It was just...the thought of war was awful enough. But warring with your own sister?

Would it be so bad for Rhaenyra to rule? If Uncle Daemon's power was limited, would it be that bad?

He must have known what you weren't saying. There was irritation in his voice as he sighed, "You're not comforted by my words? Do you not trust me? Or do you not believe I have the right to rule?" He was defensive immediately, begging for a fight.

You hesitated in giving a response. All of you were stressed and had concerns. And no one could be more so than Aegon (and Rhaenyra). After all, they were the claimants. They were the ones who would be held responsible for all the deaths. You didn't want to make Aegon more stressed by voicing your thoughts.

Finally, after several quick minutes, you whispered, "No. I have faith in you, Aegon, I only wish things could be solved more peacefully." And offered him a smile.

Aegon smiled in return after a moment, and moved to sit out on the balcony. He waited for you to sit down on the bench beside him before taking your hand in his.

"I am our father's oldest son. You are my wife. The throne has always fallen to sons.The Great Council deemed it so with our grandfather and father. Kings Landing, the throne, the crown...it's mine by birthright. By law that is how it has always been. Rhaenyra was named father's heir before there were male heirs. It made sense then but now with me and my sons existing."

That was his justification and it was legitimate if looked at from a traditional standpoint.

But even Aegon seemed nervous about it. His grip on your hand tightened, and you responded with a pat to his arm with your free hand - silently reassuring that you were there at his side to stay.

 Aegon had to know there was nearly a complete tie in the number of supporters both sides of the war had; that would make the fighting more even and more battles than if one side was extremely out numbered. Plus, with the inclusion of dragons the war wouldn't be without complete destruction and fiery chaos.

He's clueless like father sometimes, but Aegon isn't stupid enough to believe this will be easy.

"Long may you reign, Your Majesty." You whispered after a moment of silence, your gaze moving to look out over the city below.

Aegon laughed, "Yes. Firstly, however, I must win the throne I already sit." There was no true humor in his eyes and his voice was far too right to be truly amused.

Yes, bring a swift end to this conflict. Just...try not to shatter the realm while you're at it.

[heyitsyn]

Complicated

Shirabu x Reader

a/n: im not very familiar with shirabu on a spiritual level like i am w the other characters but ill try my best!! 

request:  okok haikyuu hcs: shirabu is reader’s childhood best friend and messed up their last game in middle school because he changed his setting style to accommodate ushijima,,, and reader, as the manager is very very pissed and they get into a huge fight,,, so once they get to stz they’re academic rivals, reader became the vbc manager just to spite him (oh yea they definitely still have crushes on each other but it’s hard with the current situation) only if it’s ok!! not a lot of ppl write for him :

this is kinda the best friends-to-rivals-to-friends again-to-lovers

requests open!!

lets get our inhalers bc this finna be a wild one luvs

so, basically,

you and him were actually childhood friends since he lived next door to you

lets say you met when you were 5 and you just stuck on to this slightly cold and dismissive boy who was the shy type

idk bout you but i actually like that type

ppl dont really understand how yall got along bc you were the extrovert and the laughing type of girl

he only stuck around bc you were actually a smart person who helped him occassionally w your organized notes

but he still appreciates your time and efforts to be his friend despite his personality

plus, you also liked volleyball and together you both would watch volleyball matches in his house where you would see him with a smile that he unconsciously wears

like when yall were 8, you gave him a volleyball for his birthday since he lost his old one when he was playing by the river

at first, he was like, ‘oh, thanks, i needed this’

but then as he started tossing it up and down, you could see that bashful smile starting to surface

you shrieked, 

bc you rarely see it and you think its super cute,

and just wrap him up in a hug and he turns all shy again but with a soft smile and a soft blush

‘thanks, n/n-chan’

uh oh, feelings

stinky

since he mainly focused on doing homework or studying, not a whole lot of kids really approached him to hang out since they thought he only lived to study and play volleyball

but you didnt care bc youve been friends w this bun for a long time and you know hes not really like that

he has fun moments too

since you were the manager of the volleyball team, you always try to showcase how fun he was by trying to take the team to bonding places 

the team does think that shirabu has fun but only if its w you

anyways

one afternoon, you naturally just go to his house w him since your mothers know youre practically best friends and so you basically live in each others houses

yall were about halfway through middle school so shirabu has been studying more to get scholarships for schools

he was studying on the little table while leaning against his bed while you were just lounging on his bed after studying

‘ken-channnnn’

oikawa 2.0

‘hm’

you pouted at the distracted reply before sitting up and wrapping your arms around his shoulder from behind him and placing your chin on his shoulder

‘lets do something fun!!!! im boredddd’

he wasnt really fazed by the skinship bc youve been like that to him since day 1

but thats going to change soon

‘i have a new sudoku book over there that you could do’

omg what

‘ken-chan!’

you shrieked in betrayal before leaping off the bed and grabbing his arm to stand him up

shirabu was actually annoyed that you were distracting his studying but seeing a wide grin on your face made him double stop

am i,,,, catching feelings?

nah, he just going through puberty

‘lets go to the fall market! yuki-chan told me theres a new food place that opened and theyre handing out free samples!’

you excitedly told him and continued shaking his arm to persuade him in going

‘n/n-chan, this is my only free day from volleyball to study. i need to pass the test on friday’

you rolled your eyes at that lame excuse

‘i know. i set up the schedule differently bc you have a big test on friday! but you would still have time to study!’

‘but im still unfamilair with the topic-’

‘cmon, ken-chan! youre so smart you could rival buddha!’

‘i dont think,,,,, thats a right comparison’

‘either way, we’re going to hang out and have fun!’

he honestly didnt know why he was at this crowded market w you

shirabu is a whole simp

‘omg ken-chan! look! takoyaki!’

you dragged him to the stall and the nice old lady smiled before taking your order

‘1 box please. ken-chan, you want?’

he shook his head no and started taking out his wallet to pay

but you stopped him

‘no, you dont have to pay since youre not eating’

‘but i want to’

‘ken-chan! you need to save up for college!’

‘no its fine im pay-’

‘here ya go, dear. free of charge’

you both stopped at the nice lady’s sentence

‘b-but’

‘no it’s okay. its cute to find a boy who’s willing to pay for his girl since that doesnt really happen nowadays. i hope you have a great rest of your date!’

‘it’s not a da-’

‘thank you, maam’

shirabu takes the box and leads you out of there

you smirk and poke his tummy

‘you want to go on a date with me, ken-chan~?’

he turns red and looks away

‘no. it wouldve taken longer to fully explain the situation so just go along with it to make it faster’

you giggled

‘hm sounds fake but okay’

you both continue to walk around the market and even buy a few things like a mini buddha statue or a pair of cat ears for both of you

with everything you bought, shirabu payed with it all

you were pouting as you walked and he noticed so he nudged you with his elbow

‘oi, what’s wrong?’

you crossed your arms

‘hm.. i dont like that ken-chan is buying and spending money for me on things that symbolize our fun. i want to give ken-chan something to remember this day too!’

shirabu grows flustered but hes really confused

youve always been a thoughtful person who tries to be independent but unconsciously ends up depending on others like him

but your thoughts of wanting to do something in return for him just sounds like heaven right now

lmao what a simp

he looks around for a place that could have something that sparked his interest but nothing caught his eye

until he caught a photo booth by the corner

‘oi, n/n-chan, let’s go there’

you followed his finger and you gasped

‘thats perfect, ken-chan! let’s go!’

you drag him to the booth and you giddily enter the coins for the machine to start

but he was starting to think this wasnt a good idea

he was in a cramp space with you pressed against him

but youve always been glomped to his side since yall were kids so what was the difference now?

bc you catching feelings, fool!

‘ken-chan! its starting!’

he finally snaps out of his flustered state and he raises a peace sign with a smile

with all the pictures, there were funny pictures of you and him,

well mainly you

but he was happy to have them w you

‘ken-chan, you know i love you, but when will you fix your hair?’

he glared at you

‘i like it so its staying that way’

you giggled at his attitude

‘okay, ken-chan. at least it would make you stand out in the crowd so i dont have to look for you!’

you hugged his waist and he froze up, suddenly feeling awkward with this familiar position

its okay, shes naturally like this so calm down

dontcrydontcrydontcrydontcry

after your hang out, he didnt even bother going back to studying

he just laid on his bed, looking at the strip of pictures with a fond smile

he was happy that you only showed that true, bright, happy grin to him

it was only for him

and he only showed his to you

bc you were you and you were the greatest thing, next to his parents, that he has in his life

omg that thought

he freezes and the picture falls on his face at that realization

omg, does he like you?

youre a great friend and his best friend and he wants to be your friend forever

but then, he realizes

youd separate one day and youd have a boyfriend and get married and have a family without him

no, he wasnt going to let that happen

he didnt like that thought

and thus, began his crush for you

and you were the same thing too but you noticed it later than him

oof, when this one girl confessed to him at the back of the school, you cried to him when yall got home

‘when ken-chan has a girlfriend, he wont hang out with me anymore! hes not going to be my friend anymore!’

it took some reassurance from him and more from your mom, when you got home, to realize that you liked your best friend

and thus began the skinny love stage

the whole volley team knew of your pining and tbh, they thought yall were dating but you were just like, nah, we friends

if anyone were to look at you, they would think the same thing

but ofc, yall are insecure hormonal teenagers who think that the other doesnt like them and if they confess, they would be rejected and that would ruin their friendship and they would not be friends anymore and they dont think they could handle that so its better to keep the feelings hidden and remain friends bc if theyre happy, theyre happy

oml my entire love life

this continued on until the last year of middle school

bc not only do you suddenly stop being friends, you became rivals

so as volleyball manager, you helped the team with whatever they needed in return of them doing their absolute best and winning the game

the last game of the year, you were slightly confused at the way shirabu was playing bc it wasnt the normal way he sets

before, his sets were so good that he could give it to any player and they would spike perfectly

but now, it was so different due to the simple, almost lazy, and very high tosses

the team was slightly irritated bc they couldnt keep up with the high tosses so they couldnt hit it

in between the sets, during break, you pulled him aside as you wiped off his sweat

‘ken-chan, youre not setting properly to the others. theyre getting angry because it doesnt allow them to spike right.’

he glares at you, with almost manic eyes

‘its their fault for not being able to jump high enough. in order to get a point, the ace must get a high toss to aim a quick spike’

‘but theyre not able to jump that high, ken-chan!’

you whispered, worried that he was going too intense and they would lose the game

all the hard-work the others put in, all to waste

‘i dont care. i must start early and change early so ushijima could hit my sets in the future’

‘but they’re not ushijima, kenjiro!’

you whisper-yelled

‘right now, theres no ushijima, no oikawa, its just you and the team. your team’

he was shook that you used his first name and the way you were actually telling him off

youve never been like that before

but he was blinded by his goal in the future

‘why is he our ace if he couldnt even hit tosses meant for an ace?’

‘because hes not the ace you’re hoping him to be!’

‘kenjiro, listen to me, these boys have worked their asses off for years to even come close to playing against seijoh or shiratorizawa. im going to do everything i can to make that happen and im not going to let them lose just bc you are too busy focusing on the future rather than the present’

with the way he looked at you, you really thought he would listen to you and play the way his team needs him to play

but no, he played the way he thought ushijima needed him to play

in the end, due to the foreign and unfamiliar tosses, they were unable to hit as much points causing them to lose

you could never forget the looks on your fellow classmates, who were also going to graduate this year, as they watched the ball that shirabu tossed, hit the floor right next to them

to say you were pissed was an understatement

you were F U R I O U S ™

you held the hands of the first years as they were devastated at their first loss

but you caught the eye of your ‘friend’ and he was biting his lip in irritation and anger

as your team was walking to their locker room to get changed, you pulled shirabu aside

‘what the hell’

he stared at you

‘we lost. we lost bc they couldnt keep up’

‘kenjiro! are you not listening to yourself?! you lost because you couldnt accept the fact that your teammates arent ushijima wakatoshi! you couldnt accept the fact that they’re not tall enough! strong enough! ace-like enough! and for what?! for the future?! the future where you’re going to set for someone like ushijima?!’

‘i vowed to set for a player like him, y/n! i want to toss a ball to someone as powerful and as talented as him! thats a promise i intend to keep’

you were dumbfounded 

he was acting on his own reasons and selfish intent, even costing them a game, for his preparation in the future

‘i cannot believe you right now. i didnt know you were so selfish, shirabu. of all the years i knew you, you were never like this. so what changed?’

at the almost betrayed look on your face hurt him bc weren’t you always there to help him? to support him? wasnt that the reason you became a manager in the first place? 

‘you dont understand, y/n. i need to change the way i play now because it will greatly benefit me in the future’

honestly, you didnt even know why you were so angry about this

sure, it was volleyball and it was just a game

you had high school to win it again

but maybe it was the fact that he wasn’t being the shirabu you knew

the ken-chan you grew up with and harbored feelings for for years

he was turning to someone that worked not for himself, but for some guy he has never even spoken to

you blinked away the tears and looked off the side, away from his face

‘right. the future. yanno, if youre already like this, i dread to think about how you would act once you get that goal of yours. but i know one thing. im not going to be there to see it happen’

god that last sentence

he felt a piece of his world crumble bc were you saying goodbye? were you leaving him?

‘i cant see you torture yourself into changing into a new person, kenjiro. so good luck finding someone who can’

‘oh yea? well, i dont need you! i’ll be perfectly fine on my own and find someone better than you! youre easily replacable!’

that was a big booboo love

that fight costed him more than a decade of friendship and a few years of love

despite living so closely together, you refused to even acknowledge him and when your parents got together, you’d find some way to be out ofthe house or you’d lock yourself in your room

he tried many times to get to you and even cried to you, begging to not leave him

but you willed strong and you left him alone

omg she handled this so bad and i cant w puberting teenagers

eventually, he got tired of chasing you and was now angry at you for picking a team of people youve only met for a few years over him who’s been there for you since you were 5

he was betrayed, cold, and sad

however,

without each other to be there, you both studied even harder and eventually, you were both able to get into shiratorizawa

initially, you wanted nothing to do w that school since you knew kenjiro was going to be in it and that bastard ushijima wakatoshi was too

um,,, babygurl ushi did nothing to you

but your mother really wanted you to go to a nice school since she wanted you to go to a nice college

since yall werent friends anymore, he didnt know you wouldn’t be in shiratorizawa

so imagine his surprise when he saw you entering his class with the girls uniform on and a completely new hairstyle and hair color and were you wearing makeup?!

lmao she acting like they broke up

anyways, all he knows, is that boys were already looking at you and vying for attention and dear god, he didnt know how to handle that

for the first month of school, youd think you would just be ignoring each other like you did back in middle school

but nope!

somehow, yall were now talking again!

except it was a mean type of talking

you see, shirabu studied as much as he breathed and you were just a naturally smart sister who didnt study as much

but you still were able to make it to the top and currently, you were the 1st in your entire class

‘ara ara? 1st again? better luck next time, shirabu-kun~’

he glared at you from his seat as you passed by with a smug grin

this fueding is giving me vertigo

‘shut up. at least some of us work for our grades’

that was so weak lmao

but you turned around to blink your eyelashes, slightly mocking him

‘eh? are you saying that i’m naturally gifted? yanno, shirabu-kun, naturally gifted people are much better than those who have to work for it. you play with ushijima-senpai, right? so you’d know the difference between you two.’

bringing up ushijima always pained him but he kept repeating it to himself that he was doing it so that he could go to nationals

sensing his silence as defeat, you waved your hand and went back to conversing w your other friends

this continued on again for a while and he was already sick and tired of it

not only was it beginning to get annoying, it was beginning to hurt

he cornered you at your locker

aaaaa kabedon!!!!!!!

‘listen to me and listen well, y/n’

yessir im listening

‘whatever the hell youre doing, cut it out. youre not going to rile me up anymore and im not going to give you the reactions you want. i dont understand why youre doing this to me but you need to stop before i make you’

ohgodyessir

ngl, that tone of his voice was the lowest youve heard and it made you so red bc that was just hot

but you gulped before grinning wolfishly, hand pressed against his chest and the other snaking around his neck

you pulled him down to your level so you could lean close to his ear

‘now you listen to me and listen well, ken-chan, youre not my best friend anymore so you can no longer tell me what to do, kay?’

shirabu was just flustered at the close proximity between your lips and his ears that he completely missed your warning

he only snapped out of it when you walked away, heading towards your next class

you sat in class that day, wondering how to tease him more

clearly, just words wouldnt make him irritated

gurl why you doing this

and you were stumped until you saw a red-haired looking guy accompanied by a gray-haired looking guy coming up to you

ofc you recognized them from the volley team since you’ve,,,,,,maybe seen a few practices

you thought theyd just pass by but they stopped in front of you and you looked up w wide eyes

‘can,,,, i help you?’

‘wow shes cute!’

the red head shouted and you shrunk under the gazes of these tall men

‘sorry about him. im semi eita, second year’

you shook his hand and you introduced yourself before soon finding out this other guy was tendo satori

‘so what do you need me for?’

‘you see, we’re kinda in need of a manager. and i think its better to have a manager who is close to a player in the team. i apologize to say this but i saw you and shirabu-san by the lockers the other day and i think its best to have his girlfriend as our manager’

‘g-girlfriend?!’

you shrieked, shocked that they thought you were

at this mention, you got a flashback from the festival and you soon turned bright red at the label of you being kenjiro’s girlfriend

‘and youre so cute y/n-chan! i can see what our darling kouhai sees in you!’

‘no, you got it all wrong its-’

then you stopped

omg this was the perfect opportunity

no gurl stop jesus take the wheel

shirabu would hate it if you were a manager bc that would give you more room to tease him

holy

then you smiled

‘i accept, senpais. i want to see my baby in action after all’

they were ecstatic since it was a hassle to find a manager who wasnt infatuated w ushijima

you exchanged contacts and soon, you were brought to meet the team

oh boy when kenjiro saw you at the door, he dropped the ball on his head

what in the hell were you doing here

‘guys, this is our new manager!’

you peeked out from tendo and waved at them

‘hello, my name is l/n y/n, first year. and im glad to be your manager’

noticing shirabu’s shocked form, tendo and semi shared a look and interpreted as, hes so happy that his senpais chose his girlfriend for him so now he could show off and play better and that could hopefully turn his attitude to be more grateful and respectful rather than this dismissive and disrespectful behavior

but shirabu was dying inside

oh god, youre totally going to tease him during practice and hes not going to be at his best and hes not going to be able to prove himself to ushijima

‘oi! shirabu-kun! come be grateful to your senpais for letting your darling girlfriend as our manager!’

‘hey baby!’

omg, what

again, you have a loud and expressive personality so you were kinda shameless so you just ran up and hugged him

aaaaa this is so embarassing wth

‘didnt you miss me? oh, youre so cute!’

god, he knows youre only here to spite him

right on point, good sir

ugh you were practically teasing him as the manager and you were having so much fun making him all flustered

but he was also spiteful 

sometimes, he would stick his foot out whenever youd run towards a player and hed laugh at you embarassing yourself in front of them

youd return the favor by accidentally throwing his water bottle at his face

‘oh, gomen, ken-chan’

the entire time, the team was baffled to see the usual stoic and dismissive shirabu so freely laughing and actually teasing you

they think its just for good fun and not the aim of hurting each other since yall are dating and youre just flirting

combined w being academic rivals and now rivals during the team, you both were unintentionally becoming close again

the brutality was slowly simmering to a low heat

and turn the over on at 350 degrees

now, it was just to make each other flustered

the crush that you thought was gone, was slowly digging itself out like the zombies in plants vs zombies

and my god you were annoyed

from now on, you were nothing but rivals and a parasite on his side

him feeling the same

dating would cause too much and the hurtful words would eventually come back up and you concluded that you were just too different

you didnt conclude shit

one time, the team was walking from practice to a nearby convenience store to pick up food

ofc you were picking out a billion foods and you just shoved them all to his arms

‘my darling boyfriend would pay for it because he loves me. ya know what they say, make his pockets hurt’

he glared at you 

‘as far as i remember, i wasnt dating a pig’

ngl, that hurt a little bc hes calling you a fattie

but he still went up to pay for it and you intentionally bumped him with your hips to annoy him but it caused him to drop his wallet to fall

and out came his money and that picture

the picture from nearly 3 years ago

you bent down to pick it up before he could even move 

god, yall were so happy and young back then

it was awkward silent since you didnt give it back and yall walked out of the store and the team was sensing the weird vibe around you two

‘oi, what happened? its so tense!’

‘did you fight?’

‘did you get caught making out by the aisles?’

‘ong shut up, kai!’

yall kai is a third year senpai that i completely made up since we dont get insight on the senpais before ushijima

but the team noticed the weird aura around you two and decided to walk away to give yall some space

‘can-will you hand it over now?’

shirabu mumbled

you nodded and pushed it in his hands

‘why,,,, why do you still have it?’

‘you gave it to me. of course id still have it’

you were silent before coughing

‘can we talk?’

‘its about time we do’

yall walked away from the team towards your home but were taking weird turns and corners to prolong the walk

you looked up to see him and you laughed

‘this is ridiculous. its not fair’

‘what are you talking about?’

he whispered

‘i was so angry at you for saying that you dont need me and that you could easily find someone better because i knew that and i didnt like it. but i was so hurt that it came from your mouth. out of everyone, i would rather die than hear you say that to me. i think thats why ive been like this. i dont know, im being stupid. i was being stupid.’

he stopped walking and clenched his fist while glaring at the ground

‘you told me you were going to leave me. you were telling me that you wouldnt be friends with me anymore. i had to choose between you or volleyball and i wasnt at the right state of mind at that time so i chose incorrectly’

you noticed him not beside you anymore so you went behind him to rest your forehead on his back so he would see you since he preferred to be honest while not looking at you

‘ken-chan, we messed up big time, didnt we?’

his body shook as he laughed

‘i guess we did’

‘it was only over a game. i was so mean and dramatic and ive called you names and said bad stuff about you and im sorry’

‘im not innocent either. i said those words to you and im sorry’

despite slightly making up now, you both knew those feelings would have to wait because you were only getting each other back

‘can we start over, ken-chan?’

‘you want to?’

‘yes’

‘then we will’

omg the whiplash this is giving me

so yall are finally becoming friends and your families are relieved yall made up again bc wowza those dinners were torturous

‘now that they made up, we can go back to planning their wedding’

‘MOM NO!’

slowly but surely, everything has been going steady and your friendship was getting better

but you didnt admit to the club about everything bc again, shirabu was like, ‘i dont feel like explaining everything’

you both still kept a rivalry but it was friendly this time with cute wagers like treat me to milk bread or banana milk

tOOrU oIKaWA’s fAvoRiTE fOod iS MiLK bREaD

he came over often and studied w you and yall would end up actually just watching a movie or watching brain games, unconsciously cuddled up on the couch

however,

this new closeness was doing damage to your heart bc you were again reminded of how much you liked this boy

initially, you thought it would just go away and never be seen again but it said

sIKe biH!

every time you saw him, youd unconsciously sweep away a stray hair and fix it to his weird crooked style

but whenever you do that, shirabu would get a close view of your face and omg you were freaking beautiful

and thats saying something from a guy who saw you through your awkward phase

hes unconsciously touching you more and showing more affection, even more than when yall were young

just being w you was emotionally exhausting as he holds himself back from doing drastic things but he was over it

he was done with all the years of pining for you so finally found the balls to do something about it

you were over at his place to study for exams and he was coming back up with juice

you were slumped over your calculus textbook with your hair in a bun and glasses on wearing his clothes

god theyre practically dating already

‘ken-chan, come help me with this’

he nods and goes to sit behind you

with his tall height, he was able to look over your shoulder and place his chin on it and tbh, you were so frustrated w the problem you didnt care about the closeness

‘you misplaced a decimal so everything got all wrong’

he mumbled

you gasped and made a noise of agreement before changing your answer

he didnt move though, instead wrapping his arms around yourwaist

‘oi, n/n’

‘hm’

this is a familiar scene

‘wanna go to the market tomorrow?’

at the mention of the market you stopped and leaned back

oh god your heart leapt at the feeling of his chest behind you but you composed quickly

‘should we?’

you turned to gauge his reaction at your closeness but he gently smiled

‘yea’

‘okay’

you havent been back to the market together since that day and it was so nostalgic as you both did the things you did back then

from the takoyaki to the stalls

it was so fun

but your heart was beating so fast

his smiling face and thoroughly enjoyed face was doing palpations in your heart

you looked away to stop staring at him and found the photo booth

‘look, ken-chan! the photo booth!’

he chuckled at the thought

‘should we go get another one?’

‘yes! come on!’

you quickly inserted the money and shirabu had flashbacks

but this time it was going to be different

‘okay lets start!’

the first picture, it was a peace sign

the second one was a wacky one

but the next one, was different

‘oi y/n’

‘what?’

the shutter went off just in time of him kissing you

the bright light caused you to close your eyes and you soon forgot what was happening

all you knew you were kissing ken-chan

your best friend

turned enemy

turned friend again

and now,,, were you lovers?

this rollercoaster is quite loopy

he pulled away and rested his forehead against yours

‘im sorry if-’

‘no balls, do it again’

and this time you lunged back for another

and again, this time, not only did you give him another photo, but you also gave him your heart

la fin.

yall what did i just write

[urmomsstuntdouble]

Can you do one for america

Since I received this about an hour or two after posting my lithuania analysis, I assume you’re asking for an america character analysis. I was debating whether or not to go through with writing this or not for a while, but i’ve decided that I’ll try. I hope you enjoy it!

Idealism

The first thing that sticks out to me when thinking about america is that he’s super idealistic, and I think this has its roots in his birth. Everything in his life has been about hope and being better than others, even down to the decision to colonise north america. England needs to be the most powerful country in europe. Better set up a colony in america so that it can save us. It’s that sort of logic that i think gives america the idea that he needs to be perfect, or that he can be the ideal person. And though a lot of what we consider to be the “american” identity (intense patriotism, nativism, idealism, etc) took recognizable shape in the 19th century, i think this way of thinking was nothing new to alfred. He’d been raised on it, with the desire to please arthur sort of in his blood? Anyway i feel like the idea that the colonies would be so so prosperous really put the idea into america’s head early on that he was perfect and that he was destined to be such a great person, even if that wasn't true. I often see his daddy issues presented as solely abandonment issues, but my interpretation of america is more of a combination of abandonment issues and the pressure, some of it self inflicted, to be a perfect country. Basically, his idealism is deeply rooted in unhealthy places. 

Also, a religion headcanon i have is that while he was more raised to be a puritan, freddie prefers quakerism. Though he’s not the most compatible with quakerism, as it rejects violence and quakers often refer to themselves as the society of friends, and are very welcoming, i think it gives him some hope. One of freddie’s biggest problems is that he wants people to be better than they are, and quakerism helps a little with that, because it’s a way that he can help himself become better than he currently is. I feel like he’s been a quaker for a very long time, so he’s not a very good quaker, but this is still something that’s very important to him. 

Hero complex and other mental bullshit

America having a hero complex and also being physically 19 is something i think really highly of. First of all, it very much fits with the mythology of america being a sort of world savior. Secondly, a lot of american media focuses on heroism, whether its on the behalf of average people, like the hunger games, or on the behalf of superheroes, like the mcu- especially over the past 20 years. Though i think it’s a good thing to promote heroism, the hero-martyr complex that gen z has is. Oof. And i think alfred fits very well into that toxic sort of “heroism” that most gen z kids have. He thinks he’s somehow able to fix everything wrong with the world, just because he really wants to. Though that desire is genuine, it’s not always something that’s his place to fix or something that even needed fixing. There’s also a selfish component to that- He needs to prove himself, and heroism is the only way he thinks he can do that. It’s why he works out constantly and cares so much, on a personal rather than country-avatar-thing level, about being #1 at everything. He has to be better than everyone else because he has to be the perfect hero. 

I also think it’s interesting how america seems to have more pronounced daddy issues than canada, and i think this is something that harkens back to the 13 colonies (side note i hate the term ‘colonial times’ when referring to the time before the revolutionary war or canadian independence. These are settler states, its always colonial times.) and american independence. Canada sort of only exists because of british loyalists, as they made up the majority of the population around the turn of the 19th century. They saw themselves as being The Better Colonists. Real daddy’s boy types, and I think this is something that contributes to the hero complex. Because matthew refused to rebel so openly, that made arthur favor him as a son, so alfred felt the need to be even better than matthew- even though, of course, alfred was a bit more favored. 

Fighting Style

Freddie is very good at violence, but not in the same way that a lot of other nations are. Where they tend to be more well trained in specific styles of fighting, freddie just sort of has all of them? His mind is very crowded, i think. Also, the way that he would have learned to fight is different from the other super powerful countries by virtue of his youth, and by virtue of the different regional fighting styles in america. One that’s haunted me is a trend in the ability to rip off ears and noses- Particularly by white gangs in the antebellum south, this was seen as being like. A real badass. I think alfred was something of a feral child. If you know the saying “it takes a village to raise a child,” i think it really did with him. He had so many parents, just like a lot of the western hemisphere countries. But anyway because of all his many many parents, there was never any strong parental force in his life, so it’s more like he didn’t have any at all, and because of that, alfred was a very strange child. And because violence is so ingrained in american society, alfred is very good at fighting, both in order to be fun and flashy and for his own self defense. Though he doesn't really like to fight unless he feels like he has to (and other people are very good at convincing him that he does have to)

Sports

Though america is definitely super athletic and could probably naturally be good at most sports, i think there’s a few that he’d more gravitate towards. Those are basketball, track and field, and olympic lifting. I would include american football but it’s a stupid sport that doesn’t make any sense, so it will not be included for spite reasons. In basketball I think he’s sort of an every-man. I think he’s around six feet tall, so he really could play any position on offense, and as for defense, I think he’d play his best defense against the point guard, bc i feel like Alfred is really fast and good at getting up in your face. He’d have a ton of steals whenever defending against the point guard. I think he’d be a good center on offense, because he’s a bit aggressive and that would be useful for getting rebounds and put-backs, though i wouldn’t discount point-guard freddie, because he does like to be very inspiring. He’s pretty energetic as well, and a point guard can really carry the entire team in terms of energy and spirit. As for track and field, he’d also be an every man- I feel like he’d gravitate more towards sprinting events by personality, but his coach would stick him in wherever. Where olympic lifts are concerned, he’s absolutely a snatch specialist. 

Empire and contradictions

America is an empire. No way of getting around that. I think imperialism in hetalia is an interesting subject, especially where america is concerned. @mysticalmusicwhispers did a good job running that down here, but basically my thoughts on the matter are that alfred doesn't really like being an empire. There’s many angles to that. It’s lonely at the top, for one. There’s no one who relates to being a 21st century empire in quite the same way as him. Then you have the fact that a lot of people living in america have suffered under imperialism as well. Because of that, there’s a lot of self hatred and anxiety and a not knowing if he can fully trust himself. Theres also the obsession that many americans have with people from other cultures being able to assimilate to american wasp culture. Because of all the people who live in the states who are very much not wasps and who can never be, it’s really hard on alfred, though he refuses to admit that things are anything but fine. 

Extras/Fun stuff

A book that reminds me of him is The Things They Carried by Tim O’Brien. It’s a collection of short stories about O’Brien’s time serving in the military during the Vietnam War. It’s a very haunting book and I think about it at least once a week, but it is very violent and there’s a lot of fucked up stuff in it.

giveme chubby alfred or give me death

i feel like this shouldn’t have to be said, but sometimes there’s people who depict him as being pro-trump or pro-right wing bullshit, which. absolutely not. just because of all the political turmoil that exists within alfred, and because of all the pain he goes through because of all the hate that exists within his borders- hate that the entire world is forced to pay attention to. even though he might not have all the best sympathies or motivations, he’s just so tired of all the pain he personally goes through because of domestic political unrest, and would like it to end in the way that’s the least painful for him as a person. 

Bi king of my heart 

not a natural blond

I hc him as being mixed, though i’m not sure what exactly he’d look like? But i do enjoy alfred but not white, as poc are the driving force behind a lot of american life, right down to the languages we speak. Like. something like half the states names are the words of their indigenous peoples, and even more toponyms are indigenous across the country. Then of course i feel he’s very protective of aave and will always pronounce words in Not English correctly. (if u want to hear more about my language thoughts they’re linked below. Not gonna rehash it here cause those posts are Long™) 

My playlist for him!

Other analyses (age, linguistics) 

writing requests

[welllpthisishappening]

Catching the Highlights

It wasn’t like she was nervous, not really. Or jealous, even. Honestly, the entire story was more than a little hysterical and very nearly distracted Belle from the obviously frustrated way Will kept moving his hands at the end of the second period. Still, there was something about sitting in the stands that felt different and maybe hearing about how her maybe-boyfriend made out with Anna Vankald one time was just the push she needed. To make things a bit more real.

———

Word Count: Nearly 4.5K AN: This is a thing I do now, apparently. Write Blue Line! Will and Belle. And poorly photoshop eights into sixes on jerseys. Although I draw the line at making the girl that same photo wear a skirt. Anyway, this continues to be real fun, I hope the five people enjoying it continue to enjoy it and I think I’ve got at least one more idea for these dweebs. So, that’ll probably happen sooner rather than later. Possibly with more badly executed photoshops.

———

It had something to do with his eyes. 

With the way they narrowed ever so slightly, able to thin without causing any sort of furrow between his brow or lines of frustration on his forehead. They’d pinch. His eyes, that was. Make it so it was difficult for Belle to see the brown there or the bits of gold that she was at least ninety-six percent positive she wasn’t imagining and only slightly less confident had something to do with her. 

She’d never really been one for details, like that. 

Strange as it might have been. 

Details were the lifeblood of research. Tiny bits of information that could sway a doctoral defense or prove an argument, but Belle had always been far more interested in the sweeping potential of a very good story, and research had that too, she supposed. To some degree, at least. Although, that was getting existential. Her work was good. She was good. Fine, even. Definitely fine. Nothing to see here. Nothing to worry about. No reason to compare the strange and not entirely unfamiliar sensation of fluttering in the pit of her stomach whenever Will glanced her way to the decidedly still nature of all her internal organs while she spent eight to ten hours uptown five days a week. 

Sitting at her desk, she regularly tried to fit into the mold, everything everyone expected her to be with the title she had, and that required her to think less about the bigger picture. That sounded negative. It wasn’t. Probably. Hopefully. Just required further research. More details and specific examples.

All of them regarding the nature of Will’s eyes.

Even so, she—

Part of her missed it. The sweep. The really good stories. Ones that were less clinical and more fantastical. And the deep breath that always came just seconds before being overwhelmed. By the current and the wave and those were rather similar, as far as analogies went, but all the best stories always left her a little overwhelmed, and Belle’s cheeks were starting to ache as something bubbled out of her. Laughter, in its purest form. Bouncing and bounding and echoing off otherwise abandoned walls, the pair of them tucked into a corner of the Garden concourse because they hadn’t actually decided this was a secret, but Anna Vankald was apparently living her life under some sort of blood oath, all sworn secrecy, and poorly executed winks in the second period.

Like this was hidden. A tiny detail tucked away. Never debated. Never highlighted in the opening paragraphs of a twenty-six-page dissertation. With Chicago-style formatting. 

No one ever knew how to property do Chicago-style formatting. 

Belle might have hated Chicago-style formatting. 

She’d never been to Chicago.

Had never been—

Will’s eyes were barely slits on his face. 

Twisted lips loomed above her, not quite frustration, but inching closer the longer she kept laughing, and she refused to linger on what that meant. The laughing. The happiness. Joy, maybe. She looked up, instead. Let her head bump the wall her shoulders already had, appreciating the soft scrape of what might have been concrete against her hair, like that would ground her or slow her overactive imagination, and his hair was still wet. 

“She wasn’t supposed to tell you that.” Belle bit the side of her tongue. Didn’t help, really. With her laughter problem. “Keeping state secrets?” “It happened once.” “Yes, she mentioned that, too.” He might have growled. Some strange part of her wanted him to, relished whatever the technical term was for the sound that eked out between his bared teeth, rolling his whole head in the process. Their noses nearly collided. 

Belle pushed up on her toes. 

To kiss the tip of Will’s nose. 

“That’s distracting,” he grumbled, but his hand had inched under the hem of her shirt, and that meant he’d managed to get the hem of her shirt out of the skirt she was wearing. 

“Should I have worn your jersey or something?”

His eyes snapped. Open. Brown and gold, and that wasn’t a particularly swoon-like combination in any of the stories Belle had memorized while she was growing up. Heroes with royal titles and broadswords quite literally made to challenge dragons and hordes of villains always came with blonde hair and a slight curl, flashing blue eyes that twinkled in sunlight and starlight, and Belle’s hand didn’t shake. When she brushed the few drops of water clinging to Will’s temple away. 

Her calves were starting to ache, too. Made sense. She was still pushed up on her toes. 

And the Rangers had lost. Not—well, not badly. By two goals, and one of those was an empty-net goal, which was a term Belle figured out all on her own. Well before Anna mumbled explanations under her breath, glaring daggers any time the Islanders fan two rows in front of them dared to open his mouth. 

Honestly, that was part of the problem. He kept yelling, and Anna looked dangerously close to staging some sort of public execution in section 204 and Belle had asked. For details. Wanted a good story, or possibly a distraction because she’d noticed the way Will’s hands moved at the end of the second period, staging a rather enthusiastic conversation with a man she’d never met, but his jersey said LOCKSLEY, and she didn’t think the jersey would lie to her. 

She was going to blame the Islanders fan. 

“If you did that,” Will mumbled, in response to a question she’d legitimately almost forgotten about, “I’m not sure I would have been able to get out on the ice.” “Oh, compliment or—” “Definite compliment. Was that not obvious?” “Well, you’re making out with so many other girls.”

Her laugh clung to the letters, pulling her lips behind her teeth to keep from smiling like a total idiot. Something was happening. With the flutters and the overall ability of her nasal passages to get oxygen back to her lungs, and it must have been a trick of the light. The way Will’s eyes flashed, gaze flicking up beneath eyelashes and just above the half curve of his mouth, and Belle’s knees felt a little unsteady beneath her. Fighting against the force of a wholly imaginary, even more staggering wave. 

“One time,” he said, straining on every letter, “it happened one time, and—seriously, why was she talking about this with you?” “Asked for a fun and interesting story about her.” Will’s eyes bugged, another shift in his voice that was much more like a crack as he nearly shouted, “And that’s what she came up with?”

“Said anything she had to tell me about her childhood was boring. Mostly because a lot of it would focus on KJ, because—”

“That’s Cap.” Belle clicked her tongue. “Wow, thank you for that. What would I do without you?” “If you wore my jersey, I think my head would explode.” “Not the compliment you think it is, either. That’d be a lot of blood. Who would even clean that up? Couldn’t make someone here do it; that’d be mean. Cruel and unusual, probably.” “I like your skirt.” “Better,” Belle laughed, in spite of her best efforts. Which were really lackluster, quite frankly. “Anyway, the childhood was apparently super boring, and there were shenanigans of rookie season to discuss.”

“She grew up in a mansion!” “Yeah, we got to that part eventually, although technically, I think it was just a brownstone.” “Rich kid description.” “You can tell her that if you want, I’m sure,” Belle reasoned, but his lips were back to twisted, and she was already on her toes. Made sense to use that to her advantage. Pressing kisses against the edges of his mouth, alternating back and forth until it felt a little like a rhythm she could time the rest of her vaguely unsteady breathing to, and she certainly did try. Didn’t work, but something about effort and attempts and those were—

Details, really. 

“I like her,” Belle added lightly, mouth moving across a stubble-covered cheek. Part of her felt ridiculous. Always did with things like this. She wasn’t the story. Will wasn’t the hero. He and his teammate had gotten into a fight at the end of the second period, for God’s sake. And this wasn’t—well, it wasn’t a fairy tale. No matter how much sweeping there might have been. With its butterfly wings and salt-filled waves, all of which existed solely in Belle’s subconscious. 

But there was this other part. 

Part of her that didn’t always linger behind her desk. Flitted through imaginary scenarios and stories stored in the back corner of her brain, the same one that could still smell salt air with startling clarity, and remembered the precise taste of freshly-made taffy from that one restaurant on the beach. Details. She remembered those details. Held them fast, afraid they’d disappear otherwise, and made sure they played prominent roles in every daydream. 

For fear of what would happen if she didn’t. 

How they’d fade. Grow grey and thin, and it was a contradiction. Right in the middle of her. And that scared her just a little bit, because whatever was happening now, right at that moment, with a hand flat on the curve of her hip and her heart doing its abject best to beat its way out of her chest, she felt the same exact way. Sweeping and detailed and not the least bit jealous. 

There was no need to be, really. Not when she was fairly certain she could drown in the golden flecks of Will’s eyes. Constantly staring at her as they were apt to do. 

“Do you want to hear the gist of the story?”

Will’s lips pursed. Stayed that way even as Belle’s lips continued their path across his face, spending at least two seconds at the side of his left eye and the still slightly damp area surrounding his right temple. She started picking up speed. Quick kisses that she could only hope felt as strongly as the prickle of her lips suggested. But then Will’s fingers tightened. Not much. Just enough to be obvious, and Belle grinned against his cheek. 

“I lived it,” Will argued, but there wasn’t much fight in it. He’d done that already, anyway. They’d get to that part, eventually. 

“As the story goes, though, there was some less than savory libations involved, and—” “I’m still not convinced that vodka was legal in the continental United States.” “Suggests it’d be fair game in Hawaii and Alaska, though. Possibly Puerto Rico. I’m not sure what the rules on that are. Maybe the US Virgin Islands. What about Guam? You think your alcohol would be fair game in Guam?” “I’d have to check the label.” “You still have it?” Belle balked, almost fully and entirely prepared for the flash of amusement and the precise angle of eyebrow jump. Almost being the key word, there. Another burst of laughter tumbled out of her, lips on her cheeks that time, all blazing and prickling, and that one wasn’t inherently positive, but she was slightly worried her hair was going to get caught in the concrete of the wall and she could not possibly be expected to think when Will’s hand kept doing whatever it was it was doing. 

“No, no, we did a very good job of drinking that entire thing, but I’d know that bottle anywhere.” “Where were you buying illegal alcohol? Also, how did you not die drinking hundred-proof vodka?” “Pure force of will.”

“And bad hockey games.” “Those too,” Will admitted grudgingly. An edge crept into his voice. Likely born in the second period of this game. She kissed the bridge of his nose. The tip. Between his eyebrows. Waiting for some of the tension to leave his shoulder blades, and that was all she got. Some. It was enough, for now. 

“You want to talk about that?” “Losing a playoff game my rookie season? That happened a bunch of times, babe, this was just—” “Don’t be an idiot,” Belle interrupted. 

He grinned. Tension kept pulling taut between his shoulders and the slope of his cheekbones, the second of which was really starting to offend Belle on an almost fundamental level, but his smile looked legitimate, and that was enough. 

“Should I go defend your honor in the locker room, darling?” The grin widened. “Trying to get a rise out of me, but gender is a social construct, so I don’t think it affects nicknames, and I’m a real big fan of that one, actually.” “No rise,” Belle promised, fingers hovering above his shoulders, and they both flinched when he winced. “Going to be honest, the hitting sort of freaked me out.” “Locksley wasn’t going to hit me.” “Well, yeah, then I’d have to punch him in the locker room.” “Keep your thumb inside your fist,” Will suggested, “that way you won’t break it.” “Right, right, naturally,” Belle mumbled, and she didn’t know how they managed it. Stayed upright while his hand shifted further up the back of her shirt and her teeth grazed the curve of his jaw. She was on something of a mission, now. To cover every inch of his face. With her lips. “Anyway, as Anna told this wholly fascinating story, there was a lot of vodka involved, a very bad loss, some card game—” “—Kings.” “That’s a drinking game.” “Well, now you’re getting into unnecessary specifics.” Her body shook. Against Will’s. Who almost immediately groaned. Presumably at the location and exact angle of her hips. “Ok, so there were cards involved in your drinking game. Pizza was eaten, alcohol was downed in alarmingly large gulps.” “Editorializing a bit, mon bonheur.”

“What’s that one?” “Happiness.” “Oh, that one’s nice.” Will huffed. “They’re all super nice; I have a very large crush on you; I don’t want to talk about making out with Anna Vanklad anymore.”

He said it quickly, rushing over the words. Some might even say sweepingly. Where Belle was the some. In that instance, specifically. Someone, more like. She didn’t care. Was not spending even a second on proper sentence structure or appropriate internal grammar, was far too preoccupied with the circumference of Will’s eyes. And that one muscle in his jaw. Jumping with startling regularity, really. Totally different from her heart and her pulse and it was difficult to catch her breath. 

Felt a bit like she’d played a hockey game. 

A walking contradiction. 

Where she also wasn’t walking anywhere. At all. Had absolutely no intention of walking away. From this.

“Was it not a good make-out?” “I honestly don’t remember a lot of it,” Will sighed, another roll of his neck. Something cracked. “That’s not game-related,” he added, and she could only imagine it had to do with the look on her face, “anyway, it was just...there was that vodka involved, and Vankald spent a ton of time at our apartment. She wasn’t Cap’s sister-in-law yet, but they’d grown up together, was my friend, and he’d fallen asleep, so…” “Figured you just make out?” “Not a lot of thought involved in it. She was a fixture, y’know? Shit, that sounds shitty. Does that sound super shitty?

“Drifting toward shitty, yeah.”

“Anna came to visit a lot because no matter what she may claim, she worries about Cap as much as anyone. Even El and Leader, and that’s—” “Wait, you have an Alien Leader you all report to?” “You’re ruining this story.” Her laugh got caught. Directly between them, all mouths and that goddamn hand, Belle’s neck tilting back on what might have been instinct and need, and she’d gasped more in the last four hours than she had in her entire life. “Tell me more about your Alien Leader, please.” “He only acts like an alien.” “Huh, that cleared up absolutely nothing.” “You should keep kissing me.” “Compare and contrast, huh?” Will groaned. Again. Part two. Let his mouth drag down the side of her throat, and Belle couldn’t stop laughing. Happiness poured out of her, new and a little strange in its quantity. As if she was made of the stuff, even worried as she was through all three periods. She’d kept wringing her fingers together. At one point, Anna had to hold her hand. 

“Ruining,” another kiss, “this,” teeth on her collar bone, “baby girl.”

Suggesting that she lit up in a way that reminded her of a Christmas tree was—

Farcical, maybe. 

Nothing inhuman happened. There were no bells. No whistles. No flashing neon lights suggesting this was the moment and a conversation regarding the man with his hand currently inching towards her right boob drunkenly making out with someone who wasn’t Belle should not have been so—

Fun. 

God, it was fun. She was having fun. With him and because of him. Hockey nonsense aside. 

Because, since coming to New York with her invisible tail tucked between her legs and the near-desperate desire to get away from that seaside town with its ghosts and its demands and its plan for a future that simply did not fit her anymore, Belle had tried. Really. To shed that persona. To be someone new. Hard as she tried, though, there were ties. Those lingering memories. Ones that dug in their heels, while she gripped others with both hands. She was, and she wasn’t. Small town and big town, a librarian who couldn’t care less about details while focusing on  specifics with everything in her. 

And none of it ever really made much sense. 

Hurt her head to think about, everything she tried to contain and the worry that ate away at her sometimes. That she’d messed up, ruined all of it and—

She didn’t kiss Will’s mouth. 

Peppered his face, instead. With her lips and the feelings behind them, mapping the space until she was certain she knew it as well as her own, and she wanted to. Wanted to learn everything about this guy who felt as jagged as she did, made up of right and wrong and mistakes and possibility and she knew it was only a matter of time before he got impatient. 

She liked that about him. 

That he didn’t always wait for her to catch up. Just knew that she would. 

Plus, his tongue in her mouth was really something Belle was starting to appreciate. In an obsessive sort of way. 

She might have groaned that time. 

Fingers scrambled against the front of his shirt — team-branded, again, and that shouldn’t have been charming, but it was and likely would continue to be, and there were goosebumps on her skin. They were really very good at kissing. Each other, specifically. 

“I like you, too,” Belle said, and it was a strange thing not to be embarrassed by the breathless nature of her voice. 

Will’s chest was practically heaving, though. So that put them on even ground. Common ground, at least. 

“You’re not mad?” “Give me some credit, sweetheart.” He chuckled, warm air against the top of her shoulder. “Was a very long time ago, for whatever that might be worth.” “Twelve galleons.” “I don’t know the conversion rate of that.” “No one does, so I think we’re all in the same boat.” “You don’t think Jo knows the conversion rate of her own fictional monetary system?” Belle shook her head. “I absolutely do not, because she was a shit world-builder and also a fairly terrible person now, so—” She shrugged. Will beamed. Some joke about a Christmas tree.

“So,” he echoed, “the thought of making out with Little Vankald has never once again crossed my mind.”

Someone scoffed. With entirely false indignation.

Using Will’s shoulder as leverage — the non-bruised one, naturally — Belle got enough height beneath her toes to see Anna cross her arms. And scowl at the pair of them. Badly. The scowl lasted all of five seconds before it evolved into its own rather uproarious laughter, another echo that filled the empty space of a concourse Belle could not imagine they were supposed to be standing on. Only a matter of time until someone else found them. 

She wasn’t sure that was a bad thing, actually. 

“That’s super rude, Scarlet,” Anna hissed, muffled footsteps that only lost their volume because of the overall status of Belle’s heart. Still trying to fly out of her. “But I want it noted, for the record and all that, that I don’t want to make out with you ever again, either.”

“Do you remember it being way wetter than it should have been?” “You problem, absolutely.” “I haven’t had that issue,” Belle argued, mostly to guarantee the quirk of Will’s lips. Worked like a charm. Or something less lame sounding. In her head. Most of this commentary was in her head. 

“Lucky you,” Anna drawled. 

“C’mon,” Will whined, “no one told you to start with this story.” “Start with, huh?” His eyes. Were becoming a serious problem and a growing majority in the basis for most of Belle’s heart-related issues, but she forced herself to meet his gaze and tilt her chin up and she didn’t think she imagined the way his tongue pushed against the inside of his cheek. In an appraising sort of way. 

“I really would have told you. Eventually” “I know.” “I’m serious.” “I know,” Belle repeated, “and I’m really not threatened by someone who you still regularly refer to as Little Vankald.” Anna flipped him off. Or them, maybe. As a collective unit. Belle wanted them to be a collective unit. “I could order a jersey online, right?” “Nah, I know people, don’t waste your money.” “Could probably get Kris to help,” Anna added, “as the physical form of my apology.” Belle waved her off. “It was a good story. Highs, lows, drama, does your—do we call him your brother-in-law? He’s not the Alien Leader, right?” “You mean Liam?” Will’s laugh was more like a barely-contained snort of humor and shoulders that were tight for a reason that did not involve pessimistic emotions. Belle’s lips twitched. “Just knew that off the top of your head, did you?” she asked. 

“If you knew Liam, you’d understand. Was Scarlet suggesting we’re all aliens?” “Nah, just him.” “I did no such thing,” Will objected, another glance in Anna’s direction, “Cap looking for us?” She nodded. “Locksley too. Should I be worried Mom and Dad are getting a divorce?” “You’re the most dramatic person alive.” “Lots of hand moving between the two of you, your girlfriend was worried.”

It was Belle’s turn to tense. With what, she wasn’t entirely sure. Some sort of emotion, she assumed. Adrenaline, maybe. Hope, possibly. And it wasn’t like she was waiting for labels, but she’d come to pretty good terms with her ability to counter herself in the midst of her own silent monologue, and Will was staring again. Straight through her, it seemed. 

Or maybe directly into her. 

That was sentimental, though. 

“Does Killian know that you two made out once?” Anna hissed. “If you tell KJ about this, I will actually have to strangle you, no matter how much I like you and how much Scarlet wants to date you.” “Aren’t we dating already?” Anna opened her mouth, what Belle knew would be more sarcasm and the teasing nature of her and Will’s relationship, but she had more pressing issues, and he answered, anyway. “Yeah, we totally are, plus I like you way more than I hate Ariel’s inevitable victory lap, so I mean, that’s—” Cutting him off was rude. Not nice. Inevitable. 

Based solely on the size of his eyes and their gold-like nature. 

“I, uh—” Belle started, “I know we’re not supposed to accept the set-up, and Ariel’s going to be so annoying, but maybe we could…” She shrugged. Tried to stay focused. And upright. Continued standing seemed important in a moment like this. “We’re both kinda messed up, don’t you think?” “Little,” Will murmured. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know, and I know that we’re...I mean, this is good, and I’m mostly good with it, but also, I was super nervous during the game, and what were you guys fighting about?” “Fighting is a strong word. More like discussing how Locksley should learn to keep his stick on the ice so he can get that tip from my slap.” “Weird turn of phrase.” “Slap shot.” “No time for full terminology, huh?” “How goes the understanding icing battle?” She was going to sprain her cheeks. Maybe Ariel could help with that. After gloating. Ariel was absolutely going to gloat. “Getting there,” Belle promised, and it was not about hockey, “don’t you think?” “Mmhm.” “So, uh—I don’t know what you do after games, but…” “Little Vankald is totally here to drag us uptown because Cap regularly challenges her in the dramatics, and I bet he’s hungry.” “You eat after games?” “Ariel’s husband owns that restaurant.” “Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah, that’s how I met her actually. Good onion rings. Weird we didn’t ever see each other there at the same time, though.” Will hummed. Stuck out his lower lip. Challenged her without saying anything, and Anna was still standing there, and security had to be aware of them, but Belle was in the middle of something, and it was good and great and made absolutely no sense because she was not a pro sports girlfriend, but the labels really weren’t important, and it was all—

She gasped. For, like, the four-thousandth time that night. 

Saved the best for last, though. 

Will’s mouth found hers in a crashing sort of way that altered the cosmos, or at least Belle’s perception of the world around her. Particularly when her hands were suddenly more like barnacles, gripping his shirt as if she was afraid he’d disappear otherwise. Knuckles cracked and breath caught, everything spinning and staying frustratingly still, and one of her heels popped out of her shoe. Pressing back up on her toes didn’t do her calves any favors, but she wasn’t bruised and they were both a disaster, and the tongue thing really was pretty fantastic. 

Tracing the inside of her mouth and the seam of her lips, Will’s rumble of pleasure echoed between her ribs, enough to spur Belle’s arm up as she slung it around his neck. Her fingers found skin and short hair, nails scratching so she could hear that sound again. 

She closed her eyes. 

Let the details seep in, and settle into her soul. 

Until Anna coughed, and there was a security guard standing next to her, and Will’s head dropped to Belle’s collar bone again. He kissed there, too. Before spinning on his sandals, all confidence, and bravado, a reasonable excuse that someone, somewhere, would probably believe. Not this security guard, but that probably wasn’t important, and Belle had helped Will make an Instagram account. 

So, something about a cat and a bag and—

His fingers laced through hers. 

“Wanna challenge Locksley to a fight for my honor?” She scrunched her nose. Pretended to grimace when his lips pressed against her cheek. Anna gagged. “Yeah,” Belle said, “that’s exactly what I want to do.”

[mirahuyooo]

Set The Night Alight | pjm

Set The Night Alight

— Shining through the city with a little funk and soul, Park Jimin sets your night alight.

Word Count: 2,159 Contents: flUFF, a pinch of AnGST, having fun, y/n be stressin’ but still hustlin’, jimin be sweet af uwu, mention of Hobi, Yoongs, n Kookie, non-idol au, best friends to lovers! au Pairing: Park Jimin x Reader

A/N: I planned on posting earlier but uhm... I didn’t eheh This one is heavily inspired by Dynamite! My sister got a great screenshot of Jimin so I made used it for an edit and write this little blurb skskksksks Hope you enjoyed!

[masterlist]

A grimace resurfaced on your face for the umpteenth time as you swerve away from yet another couple eating each other’s face before your very eyes. A frustrated huff left your lips at the inconvenience adding to the ever-growing misfortune you’ve had for the night. Just to your left earlier you had witnessed a crummy-looking drunk getting slapped by a woman for grinding on another girl.

You fled to a less distasteful area of the club, all by your lonesome. This has got to be the worst night out you’ve ever been to—and at the worst day of your life to date, too!

After waking up with nerves raging over test results in anticipation, you forced yourself to be ignorant of the looming sense of disaster you’ve felt since the night before. You wanted to start the day with a positive mental attitude—try to, at the very least. However, you were further tested.

When you arrived late to class after missing the bus, the professor looked at you with a disappointed stare that could rival that of your overbearing parents’. It was then announced to the class the news that you’ve been waiting for since you woke up. As it had turned out, you did fail the test. You didn’t cry, of course—even though part of you wanted to—but it definitely took a toll on you.  

For the rest of the day, anyone who would’ve laid eyes on you could sense the despair lingering in your aura. Your body sagged at the figurative weight you carried on you, as though you were Atlas holding the world on your very back. Your (e/c) eyes blinked as slowly as you responded to the world around you—your mind stuck in a haze that dipped your heart into more emotional baggage.  

Work came after class, as you, of course, had to support yourself for the goals and dreams you had in life. Alas, even the haven you found in the small diner was short-lived. Your ex-boyfriend enters the premises with his monthly new plaything, effectively souring your mood even more. Being the bastard that he is, he reveled at the contrast of your lives and though you didn’t bother to care about aspects, his general presence still irked you.  

“I thought I told you to get rid of that frown, hm?”

Pulled out of your stupor, you lightly jumped with a gasp as you were rendered startled and alarmed by the unannounced presence, until you realized that it was only Park Jimin—resident wild child, fellow diner worker, and best friend of six years. He had the audacity to giggle at your despair, while you recover from the slight scare with a hint of relief.

Your eyebrows furrowed with yet another frown. "I thought I told not to sneak up on me like that, hm?" You snippily countered, landing a smack on his arm to which he let out a yelp at.  

Still, Jimin grins brightly, a little woozy and clearly enjoying himself—a stark contrast to your still sober and still fuming state. He had two glasses of soju with him, setting them down before the two of you and leaning against the tall table on his elbows. "Come on, (Y/N). The night is young. We're young," he urges you, "You should really learn to loosen up."

If you had a dollar for every single time he's told you this phrase, you would have enough money to not be such a sour puss. It's not like you didn't have conception of fun. You, too, can be wild, go party, and dance the night away—albeit not as stunningly as your best friend—but with the fire in you that you're desperately trying to keep alive to spite the world, you found it difficult to easily do so.

Agitated, you ran your hands through the (h/c) hair that you've barely even brushed throughout the day. "A man almost vomited on me while I was out there," you cursed, not really at him, but it still stung nonetheless. You bring the bottle to your lips, wincing a bit at the taste but still gulping. Jimin does the same.

After a moment, you break the silence, fiddling with your fingers. You knew the irritable state you were in wasn’t easy on Jimin—or anyone else really. "I'm sorry, Chim," you sigh, "but you know I really can't be in the mood right now. We should’ve stuck with binging night."

Something about standing in the local pub right now made you feel out of place. Though you know you shouldn't be, you were irking to get going and do something else—something productive. Not that you would’ve been that productive with binging night, but at the very least you would’ve caught up on your current favorite series. Then, you would’ve had more time to do actual fruitful activities.  

You paused for a moment, frowning at your own way of thinking.

For the majority of your life, all you did was hustle. You were uptight, determined with proving yourself and the rest of those who've wronged you that you could be the thriving woman of your dreams, living the life goals you're working ends meat to achieve. The fire in you longed to see the people who abandoned you on their knees, kissing your feet at your success. And so, you move on after moping a little—this day will be yet another testament to such a fighting spirit.

At times you applauded your resilience. You were proud of the things you've managed to move yourself on from. Alas, this meant that you often starve yourself of care and leisure. Jimin knows this brilliant yet damning mindset of yours and constantly tries to ease you into the carefree lands of self-love.

When Jimin had offered you this night out after your shifts, you instantly rejected the offer, like you almost always do. He didn't like the way you held back on having fun, because you thought your mother would find out and her accusations of you going astray in life would spark into yet another rant of you wAsTinG yoUr PotEntiAL.

He does convince you somehow, thus this current situation. You were, however, beginning to regret going out instead of your tradition of breaking down in the confines of your apartment before switching yourself into an auto pilot mode where you work on projects and whatnot for God knows how long.

Your best friend, however, would never want you to feel such a way, especially if he could do something about it. He clapped his hands together. "Come on then," Jimin encourages, catching you off guard as he secured a hold on you by lacing your fingers together.

"What?"

The man before you downs a few swigs of the alcohol and smiles, eyes disappearing into crescents. "Let's go somewhere else," he tells you, matter-of-factly. "The night is young. There are lots of things to do."

You gawked at the sight before you as Jimin danced to the beat, his body moving effortlessly with the street dancer. Instinctively, you, yourself, were swaying to the beat. The crowd that had gathered around you had done the same.

Exiting the club, as it turned out, had been a notable move from the both of you, drastically mending your mood as your night was suddenly set alight by the bustling streets you wandered with your favorite person in the world. This predicament, however, landed before the two of you when you saw a performance going on. Jimin knew the performer—Hoseok, if you recalled correctly—and, in spite of not preparing beforehand, began dancing along to the music. He was doing brilliantly for someone who, about thirty minutes ago, was giggly from slight intoxication.

As the beat came to a drop and Jimin flips his body like it was nothing, cheers erupted from around you. Vigorously clapping along with the crowd, you couldn't care less if your cheeks were starting to hurt.

"Great work!" You beam at your best friend as he shyly walks back towards you with yet another charming grin that wills his eyes to close. "You've improved so much," you say, eliciting a blush from him. Both of you have aching cheeks now, but that didn't matter.

As the crowd began to disperse and he waved goodbye to his friend, Jimin offers an arm to you. “Let’s go?” he muses, still slightly out of breath.

“Go where?” you asked, but linking your arms together anyways.

Jimin says nothing, seemingly pleased with his plans. Butterflies ran amok within you, as his smile promises you more of these spontaneous adventures.  

As the night bled into later hours, the both of you sat in the very diner that you two worked at only hours earlier. Jungkook, who had gotten night shift this day, disappeared into the kitchen after getting your orders.

Feeling better than ever before, you allowed yourself to savor the serenity. Your hands drummed to the beat of the music flowing from the jukebox resting on one corner of the diner with your head swaying along too. Jimin, in front of you, was also lightly dancing in his seat.

Eventually, Jimin stands up to his feet, dancing as he reached out a hand. He comically wiggled his brows, inviting you to dance with him—and you let him.

There were no other customers in the diner, and Yoongi, who had manned the cashier, didn’t really care to be bothered about the shenanigans the two of you were up to. You let out a giggle as Jimin twirls you around.  

At this time, you took it to yourself to look at your best friend. As he often does, he had styled his brown hair back to expose his forehead, causing him to look attractive enough to fool anyone into thinking he's a reckless party animal when reality states that he's a soft gentleman at heart—and you support such a statement.

Park Jimin, with his massive golden heart, has stuck by your side far longer than anyone else in your life. In all of the years you’ve known him, he’s always been one to drop anything to help you with your plights. A sensation fluttered within you, rendering you frozen for a moment as you were confused by said feeling. Jimin, however, continues to goofily dance around you without a care in the world and elicits a snicker from you.

There was a whimsical sense in the air. Dynamite’s retro décor really had the ability to make you feel as though you had travelled back a few decades earlier. With Jimin’s own choice of outfit, the nostalgic effect multiplied tenfold. Could the butterflies in your belly be from the atmosphere of the moment?

“You look beautiful when you’re happy, y’know?”

Jimin’s words knock the air out of your lungs, sending you crashing back to reality. Before you, your best friend stood only a few inches away from your dancing dooming you into such a close position. Your heart once again picks up the pace.

You managed to let out a scoff but fail to counter his statement any further and simply shyly averted your gaze, leaning away to give the two of you some distance. To your shock, Jimin’s hands clutched yours in his hold, his eyes shining like diamonds as he stared into you.

“Chim—”

With the words you planned to say being stolen from you by the lips that captured yours, you couldn’t help but melt. As if on cue, the music’s beat picked up, encouraging your heartbeat to do the same. The emotions within you whirled wildly, setting your body on fire as Jimin pulls you closer. As you had felt his hold loosen, you took the chance to slide your hands up his shoulders and wrapped your arms around his neck, letting yourself get lost into a kiss you never thought to anticipate so much.

Eventually, the two of you pulled away for air, with Jimin grinning like the love-struck fool he was, while you were still in a haze from the kiss. You felt lips on your forehead as he soon pulled you in an embrace.

“(Y/N)?”

Your heart squealed at his voice, prompting you to hug him back tighter. “Hm?”

“I like you.”

With your head buried into his neck, your eyes fluttered to a close as his words bloom an ease in your heart—as if you had reached home after a long exhausting journey. There still existed a sense of surprise in you. You never expected to feel this way towards your best friend.  

Jimin, in spite of his worries from your silence, proceeds to murmur into your hair. “I want you to be happy,” he tells you, “I’d be happy if you let me be the one to make you smile.”

You pull away with a soft smile, eyes glistening with tears.

“You already are.”

[jackdawyt]

One of the most alarming statements made by anonymous BioWare employees currently working on the next Dragon Age has been the remark that the next game is “planned with a live service component, built for long-term gameplay and revenue.”

Like me, I suspect you have questions regarding what exactly a live-service Dragon Age 4 may entail. While we don’t have all the answers currently, thanks to Jason Schreier’s article on “The Past and Present of Dragon Age”, we certainly have an idea on what the next Dragon Age may look like.  

Regardless, I feel like it’s even more necessary to have this conversation on BioWare’s live service future having watched the debacle of Anthem’s post-launch content, and what BioWare hopefully learned from Anthem’s experience going forward with Dragon Age 4.  

You see, Anthem’s live service model was originally going to follow story-based content after the base game launched. The content would forward the main narrative in many different directions with new areas, bosses, dungeons, characters, stories, and of course, cosmetics.  

In pre-production, Anthem's story had been produced with live service in mind, so the developers could easily write, change and create many different plot points and narratives in future content to come.  

“They had a really strong belief in the live service,” said one developer. “Issues that were coming up, they’d say, ‘We’re a live service. We’ll be supporting this for years to come. We’ll fix that later on.’” (How BioWare's Anthem Went Wrong, Kotaku).

The game was originally planned to follow a deep content road map, that would have players still engaged with Anthem ten years after launch.  

"Anthem is a social game where you and your friends go on quests and journeys. It’s a game that we’ve been working on for almost four years now, and once we launch it next year I think it’ll be the start of a ten-year journey for us." (Patrick Soderlund)

However, Anthem’s original ‘idealistic’ live-service model didn’t come to fruition due to only 18 months of development time. The content road map we did eventually get for Anthem, didn’t prove to be successful.  

[Anthem] was in development for nearly seven years but didn’t enter production until the final 18 months, thanks to big narrative reboots, major design overhauls, and a leadership team said to be unable to provide a consistent vision and unwilling to listen to feedback. (How BioWare's Anthem Went Wrong, Kotaku).

The post-launch content was staged in acts. The first act was called “Echoes of Reality” and would last around three months, providing constant new missions, strongholds and world dynamics. The act would end on a huge update called “The Cataclysm”.  

Unfortunately, this road map was too idealistic, and was cancelled after heavy delays of “The Cataclysm” event.  

With BioWare’s first live service model not going according to plan, hopefully, the unsuccessful launch of Anthem’s live service-model speaks volume for future BioWare’s titles, and the developers have learned from that experience.

It's worth stating that Anthem isn’t dead and BioWare haven’t abandoned ship. They’ve remained adamant on working out how the game can stay afloat, as a small production team at BioWare Austin work on the preliminary design of Anthem 2.0.  

BioWare and parent company EA have been planning an overhaul of the online shooter, according to three people familiar with those plans. Some call it “Anthem 2.0” or “Anthem Next.” (Sources: BioWare Plans A Complete Overhaul For Anthem, Kotaku).

In spite of that, I know for a fact, every Dragon Age fan can look at Anthem’s style of a live-service model and say that this model wouldn't cross-over into a Dragon Age game.  

Anthem is a multiplayer game with a heavy emphasis on gameplay as opposed to story. While the game does have a main narrative with all the BioWare trimmings of lore and a codex, the general reason you play Anthem is to kill, loot and customise your javelin suit.  

This gameplay loop can be easily continued with a live service model adding new content like levels, enemies, worlds, cosmetics, etc.  

Whereas for Dragon Age, the player’s experience is deeper than the gameplay - there are many reasons we play Dragon Age - for instance my experiences have been driven by the story as I, solely, make impacting choices and consequences throughout the world.  

Anthem’s live service model reflects a very different perspective, so, what could a Dragon Age live service-model entail?  

Well, according to Jason Schreier: “we not sure about the details, and in fact they’re likely still being decided, as the game is still very early in development and could evolve based on the negative reception to Anthem. If it does turn out to be an online game, which seems likely, it would be shocking if you couldn’t play the bulk of it by yourself."

"One person close to the game told [Jason] that Morrison’s critical path, or main story, would be designed for single-player and that goal of the multiplayer elements would be to keep people engaged so that they would actually stick with post-launch content."

"Some ideas [Jason] heard floated for Morrison’s multiplayer include companions that can be controlled by multiple players via drop-in/drop-out co-op, similar to old-school BioWare RPGs like Baldur’s Gate, and quests that could change based not just on one player’s decisions, but on the choices of players across the globe."

“They have a lot of unanswered questions. Plus, I know it’s going to change like five times in the next two years.”

The trouble with Dragon Age 4 being live service is that the game is predominantly single-player, and while there is a multiplayer mode in Inquisition, no one plays Dragon Age for multiplayer. As I said before, there are many personal reasons each of us play the series from escapism to fantasy fulfilment and everything in-between.  

Diversification of a live service model or multiplayer in the fourth entry of a single-player RPG just sounds like a recipe for disaster in my opinion.  

While in theory, the idea of a drop-in/drop-out coop system in Dragon Age 4 sounds somewhat okay, everything else that multiplayer implicates is not okay.  

If this sort of coop system is embedded into the game, then Dragon Age 4 could be an always online game running on servers. If Anthem serves as an example, that means no offline play, long loading screens, and an almost unplayable launch day.

How can Dragon Age 4 follow a live service model, and at the same time appeal to the majority of the single-player fans? That’s not a rhetorical question because I have three approach's BioWare could likely follow:  

The Andromeda Approach

In Mass Effect: Andromeda, Ryder has a small unit called Strike Teams, they act like Inquisition’s war table mechanic where you can send out groups into the world for rewards. However, in Andromeda as a secondary option, the player can actually take over these missions themselves in the multiplayer mode to assume full security over the mission’s succession.  

Dragon Age 4 could have a new war table that enacts live service content. Perhaps you’re given an incentivise to take on side-missions in multiplayer with other people, however, like Andromeda’s method, if you’d rather not, you can just send NPC’s to do the task with a longer time limit.  

The multiplayer mode while connected to the single-player would be a dispatched component. This sounds like the most okay approach for the majority of fans.  

The Anthem Approach

Anthem’s approach follows a single-player hub-based world where many key choices and story scenes can play out. Then once you enter the world, or choose a quest, the player is automatically put into a lobby. While you can play the missions and explore the world solo, you can’t play offline, it’s always online play on servers.  

Hypothetically, if Dragon Age 4 followed this exact approach, the player would have a single-player based hub, like a castle, fort or camp where we could engage with our allies and further the plot. However, when continuing the main missions, or exploring the world, we’d then have to go through a lobby to continue the adventure solo or with friends on always online servers, with no offline play.  

This wouldn’t be a good experience in my opinion.  

The “Ideal” Approach  

My ideal approach to live service is, of course, way too optimistic, but I’m throwing it out there anyways because Ubisoft did it, so that means anyone can do it. I’d love Dragon Age 4’s live service model to follow many post-launch story-based DLC’s adding to the narrative post-launch.  

Perhaps smaller content added monthly like new enemies, quests, areas, etc.  

And larger, story-based content perhaps 3-4 months after launch, and onwards.  

This is exactly what live service should be, the game is kept alive with more quests and story DLC’s giving the game breathe. If done successfully, this could be a live service RPG done right, with more content coming for months.  

Final Thoughts  

I may sound cavalier about the whole live service Dragon Age 4 ordeal, but I trust in the developers and their knowledge of their games and more importantly, their fans.  

This is something I haven’t stopped talking about, but it’s worth reiterating that the BioWare developers are looking with an eye to what the fans love about Dragon Age. The main team working on Dragon Age 4 created the Trespasser DLC, that’s John Epler’s narrative direction, with Patrick Weekes as the Lead Writer.  

Yes, I do get worried when I hear the terms “live service Dragon Age 4”, and “Anthem with Dragons”, but ultimately that’s just unplaced fear. In reality, the BioWare developers know their fanbase more than anyone, and will most certainly cater to our needs for the next Dragon Age game.  

I know this topic is rather baren at the moment, we don’t have a clearer picture of what Dragon Age 4 will look like. We’ve just got to trust the epic developers who’ve been at the studio since Dragon Age: Origins and are working on the next instalment to the best of their ability.

I’m sure we’ll touch on this topic in the future, but for now, let’s just focus on supporting the people creating the next Dragon Age, rather than fear what may or may not transpire in the next game. When we know more about live service, I’ll be sure to have another chat about it with you all then.  

Let me know your thoughts on how BioWare can handle Dragon Age 4’s live service model.  

[scandeniall]

dive deep //ch.1

pairing:  Akaashi Keiji x reader

Chapter 1: New Editor Needed | prologue | next | masterlist |

summary: yes this is a writer!reader and editor!akaashi. not much more to say. Based off of this piece i wrote and lets just tell the story of how we ended up there. I will say, that due to this actually having plot akaashi isnt in this part but is in ch 2. Author’s notes (which are impt) always at the end. 

warnings: profanity, manga spoilers (with careers), will add more but im sure its gonna be alcohol because thats my personal brand

wc: 925 (its short but i figured it was a good place 2 stop.

“God, how many editors have you gone through.” The writer had seen better days, not as of late, but better nonetheless. It was obvious through displayed behaviors as of late. From the hostility laced in every word, to the unusually messy apartment. Not that a writer’s apartment was ever pristine, but if the several empty bottles of wine littering the house were anything to go by, the writer was having a rough time.

“Now is not the time Kenma,” the writer said. The wording came out muffled through the comforter covering the writer’s body. There was no doubt she had also buried themself under pillows as well. Glancing around the messy room he noted the mini garbage can filled to the brim with crumbled balls of paper. He’d have to get Kuroo to help him clean up.

“I can’t hear you, would you come out before I call Kuroo.” That was a lie. He’d heard the sentence, and despite protest he knew his friend was already enroute over. He was always better at handling these slumps. 

“You probably already called him. I don’t care.” He hated times like these. The crash after the stress, and in this case anger. 

“Now (Y/N). People who don’t tell people that they don’t care.” A third voice joined in the room and suddenly the cover shielding the writer from the world had been removed. Kuroo ignored the glare before taking his own look at the writer’s bedroom. “Did a hurricane come through here,” the man stated rather than asked before turning to greet the other man. 

“Remind me to change my locks,” (Y/N) said, eyes rolling at the two men who are currently acting as offenders of invasion of privacy. Neither men acknowledged the quip, as they turned to themselves. “How long has our hermit been like this,” Kuroo questioned. He didn’t even flinch at the sock that had been thrown at him. Not that it had hit him anyways.

“(Y/N) fired another editor.”

“What is that, the third one now.”

“The fourth.” Kenma shrugged, before finishing. “I have a meeting to go to. It's a new game proposal. Handle this would you.” With that your friend promised he’d check in later, before making his exit. And then there were two. Once you’d pulled the cover back over, Kuroo took it upon himself to open the blinds, lightening the dreary room. 

He contemplated the approach he wanted to take, to try and get his dear friend out of their slump. The forceful one, where he’d carry the writer out of bed if he had two and forced her to get fresh air, which he knew definitely hadn’t happened lately. Or the compassionate friend tactic. The once he’d mostly saved for heartbreaks, and other dire situations. However, considering the state of the apartment being the worst he’s seen in years of knowing the writer, he figured he’d go with the latter tactic for now.

Settling onto the bed, he heard the grunt of pain as he sprawled himself over the writer. A silence settled among the two before Kuroo felt himself being shoved off with a huff, and then his dear friend emerged.

“Wanna tell me what happened.”

“Saito is an unbearable controlling jerk, so I fired him.” The sentence had been filled with spite. Remembering how the old editor acted and treated the craft, filled (Y/N) with anger.

“And”

“He kept comparing me to other writers. Kept trying to get me to completely change the manuscript. Jerk is supposed to help me, not trash every word I give him. Then there's Suzuki and the agency who are demanding the book by the end of the year.”

Kuroo nodded along. While he didn’t have personal experience in the agency, he’d been friend’s with her for the past few years. Meeting in the first year of university, the two hit it off in a general ed literature class. He’d seen the writer be awarded several writing awards throughout their collegiate journey, even self publishing their second year.

The end of their third year, had resulted in his friend's official joining with HatchWorks Publishing Agency, publishing a professional book just over a year later. Now three years post university, the writer has only published short stories. They’d mostly been pieces written years prior and just edited to perfection. However, the agency wanted another full length work, and had cracked down and given it to the end of the year for a final manuscript. Little did they know about the loss of another editor, who also acted as the writer’s agent. “So, what are you planning on doing” Kuroo adjusted to accommodate the shift of his friend now leaning against him. 

“Dying. Drowning my misery in alcohol and tears. I don't know Kuroo.” The two sat in silence each in their own heads. She is contemplating how she's going to survive without a job, if she can’t get the book together. Afterall, royalties and sales just decrease as the years pass. She’d have to consider a real career and admit to everyone who set writing wasn’t a real job that maybe they were right.

Kuroo on the other hand, was taking a mental note on everyone he knew. There had to be someone in the industry. Not Yaku, nor Kai. Kenma is obviously in gaming. Not Bokuto, but wait. Shooting up Kuroo disturbed the woman who had previously been resting on his shoulder only to look at him funny.

“I’m the best best friend in the whole wide world.”

A/N: ok so this is my first time trying out this writer style (im dumb and tipsy and cant think of which POV this is) also, im posting a band au either sometime in the middle of tonight or early tmw, yes that piece is also my new kid. i guess if anyone wants 2 be on a taglist i can make one???

[survivingthejungle]

Little Lies; tommy shelby

or; tommy shelby gets new neighbors from America. they have a pretty daughter.

“And on Christmas Day it’ll be just you and Charlie.”

“And the horse. And the neighbors, I’m sure.”

“The neighbors?”

“New family. Americans. moved into the little cottage down the road; I’m sure they’ll like to spend their first Christmas away from home with others.”

“Alright, fine. So you invite the Americans. You invite a bunch of Yankee strangers and not your own family.”

“Yes, Lizzie, it seems so.”

—

Dear Mr. and Mrs. (Y/L/N),

I’d like to formally invite you and your family to spend Christmas with us just down the road. I’m sure spending the holidays in a brand new country for the first time isn’t a simple transition, so you’re all more than welcome to spend it with us Shelbys.

-Thomas Shelby

The handwriting was strikingly elegant in spite of the fact that it was written by a man—men so often have messy or illegible handwriting. “Mama,” you called to the kitchen while you were standing in the doorway. ”You know the Shelbys?”

“The who, hun?”

“Shelbys. Down the road. They invited us to Christmas with them.”

“Oh, how sweet!” your mother exclaimed, coming to the doorway to meet you. “I ought to bring something.”

“I doubt you’ll have to, mom, have you seen that house? Something tells me they’ll have plenty of food.”

Your mother scoffed at your blatant assumption of their wealth. “It’s called being courteous, (Y/N), something I clearly failed to instill in you.”

You shrugged it off. “Should I write back? Say we’ll go?”

“Yeah; why don’t you go ahead and do that.”

Dear Mr. Shelby,

Thank you so much for inviting my family and I to spend Christmas with you! We are flattered by your warm invitation and are much looking forward to meeting you and your family.

-(Y/N) (Y/L/N)

With a quick swipe of your tongue and an address promptly scribbled on, the RSVP was sent back.

—

The fated day finally rolled around and you couldn’t help but feel a pit of dread in your stomach. What if the Shelbys actually end up hating us? What if it’s just a bunch of old people and no one my age? Will they judge us for not having as much money as them? As the thoughts all ran through your brain like the stream in your backyard, you continued your routine of getting dressed and brushing your hair. It was significantly longer that the current fashion demanded, but you were never one to follow societal norms. It rested at about back-length, whereas any other woman of the day would be more likely to be sporting something close to her chin. Not caring much about the style of your hair, you turned to your closet to discern what you were going to wear. After a few bits of input from your mother and father, you decided on a simple blue dress you had bought a few months prior. It was casual, but not too casual; elegant, but not too lavish.

It was nearly 2 o’clock in the afternoon when someone came knocking on your door. Your mother was busy making a trayful of baked goods in the kitchen and your father was out back feeding the hens and collecting eggs. “(Y/N), dear, would you get that?” you mother called.

“Yes, mom,” you yelled back, barreling down the steps and down the short entryway until you reached the front door.

And nearly the moment you had opened it up you saw the most beautiful man you’d ever laid eyes on in your entire life. Please, God, don’t tell me that’s our neighbor, you prayed.

The man smiled politely down at you. “Ah, so you’re our new neighbors,” the man spoke, his thick Birmingham accent (the one you’d been most exposed to since your move) hovering over every word. “Pleasure to meet you, love, I’m Tommy Shelby.” He stuck out his hand to you and shook it. In the short amount time it took you to become absolutely starstruck, your mother had left the kitchen—hands clean— and your father had just come back inside and the four of you gathered in the hallway, Tommy still standing outside.

“Please, Mr. Shelby, come inside! It’s freezing out there.” He obliged and stepped through the threshold, and you shut the door behind him.

“Mr. Shelby, we’re so honored that you thought to invite us to dinner tonight,” your mother gushed, shaking his hand emphatically. “Really, when we got your letter I told my family how lucky we were to have moved in down the street from such welcoming people.” Mr. Shelby gave your mother a small smile and you felt your heart stop. Oh, no. This is bad.

“We’re glad to have you all the way from across the pond,” he responded. “Hope you’ve found Warwickshire to your liking.”

“Oh, it’s great,” your father piped up, putting a hand on your mother’s shoulder. “Nice to meet ya, sir,” he said, shaking Mr. Shelby’s hand as well.

“Please, call me Tommy,” he responded warmly.

It was obvious that this man was a significant number of years older than you, being only 19. While the thought of having a relationship with a 40-something year-old man had certainly never been a goal of yours before, you couldn’t help but wonder about it now. “Well,” he began, addressing the three of you, “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I’m afraid we’ve had to cancel Christmas dinner. A problem’s come up in the family; I hope you can forgive me.”

Your mother and father were less concerned about not having dinner and more about the state of your mysterious neighbor’s family. “Oh, dear, I’m so sorry to hear that! Really, Mr. Shelby, no need to apologize. Family always comes first; of course we understand.” Your father nodded his head in agreement. “I only hope we can manage to have you over for dinner some other night, to repay you for your hospitality.”

Mr. Shelby politely declined your mother’s offer. “Really, Mrs. (Y/L/N), it won’t be necessary. You don’t want me burdening you with another mouth to feed.”

“Mr. Shelby, we insist,” your father pushed. “Bring your family, too; the more the merrier. It’ll be good for us to meet some new faces, anyways. You name a date and we’ll get it all set up.”

Before you knew it, the issue of dinner rescheduling was resolved and Mr. Shelby was on his way. “Merry Christmas, Mr. Shelby-”

“Please, I insist, you can call me Tommy. We are neighbors, after all,” he assured your mother.

“Tommy,” she smiled, correcting herself, “We really can't thank you enough for your hospitality. We’re looking forward to meeting the rest of the clan.”

With your mother satiated, he moved on to bid farewell to your father. “You’ve got a lovely family, Mr. (Y/L/N).”

“Thank you much, sir,” he responded, firmly shaking Tommy’s hand. Your mother and father left the hallway to return to their previous activities, leaving the two of you all alone.

And then it was down to you. “Merry Christmas, Ms. (Y/L/N),” he stated.

“Merry Christmas, Mr. Shelby. It was wonderful meeting you.”

“Please, really, no need for formality. Call me Tommy, I’m your neighbor.”

“Alright,” you agreed, “But only if you call me (Y/N). Deal?” you stuck your hand out.

He shook it. “Deal.”

“You get home safe,” you reminded him. Taking your hand in his, he brought it to his lips and softly kissed it. Holy shit, you panicked, but managed to keep your true reaction hidden. Bidding him goodbye once more you turned on your heel after shutting the door behind him, sprinting back upstairs to your room.

—

Charlotte,

I never thought that moving across the ocean to another country could be so terrible.

Don’t misunderstand- it’s beautiful here, and so quiet and peaceful, and the people are all so obliging.

But I think I’m in love with our neighbor, and I also think he’s at least a 40 year old man. He has a son and everything, although I’m pretty sure his wife died.

On Christmas day, he stopped by the house to talk to my parents and I and welcome us to the country. When he left, he kissed my hand.

Is that weird? Or did I just misunderstand some British custom?

Send help! I miss you dearly and look forward to seeing you again soon.

-(Y/N)

Three days had passed since the ‘incident’. You sealed the letter to your best friend back in the States and threw on your coat, making your way down to the nearest post office. About halfway down the dirt road that led into the more populated village, you heard a car coming behind you. You stepped off onto the patch of grass on the side of the road, careful to not be in the way of the oncoming vehicle; but it never passed you. Instead, it caught up to you and stopped, so you stopped as well to look at who was driving it.

And, of course, it was the one and only Tommy Shelby. “(Y/N),” he called to you, “Where are you headed? You’ll freeze out there, do you need me to drive you somewhere?”

“Oh, I’m fine Mr. Shelby—”

“Tommy, (Y/N), please.”

“Tommy. Sorry. I don’t need a ride, but thank you for the offer! I’m just headed down to the post office.”

“Nonsense, that’s too far away for you to be walking. Get in, I’ll take you there. I’m headed into town meself.” Suddenly acutely aware of the sharp cold pricking at your face and hands, you obliged and stepped up into his car. He held a hand out to help balance you as you got yourself settled and shut the door. He was smoking, as you’d assumed was his habit. Once he began driving again, he was the first to break the silence. “How ‘ave you and your family been?”

“We’re just alright,” you smiled, “My mom’s so happy here. She loves all the people; says they’re the nicest she’s ever met.”

“I’m sure she doesn’t mean me,” he chuckled. “I’m just the mean old man down the road.”

“No, not at all!” you exclaimed. “She thinks you’re wonderful.”

“Ah, is that so? And what about you?” he asked.

“What about me?” you responded, not sure you understood his question.

“How are you liking it here? Any new friends, any boyfriends?”

“No, not at all,” you giggled, blushing slightly. “I haven’t really met anyone new yet.”

“Well, you’re a pretty girl,” he said offhandedly. If you were paying closer attention you would’ve caught the slight sigh that passed his lips. “You’ll have all the boys chasing after you in no time.”

“I hope not,” you scoffed. “Boys are silly and immature. I’m perfectly content all by myself.”

He took his eyes off of the road for just a moment to glance at you, an unreadable expression on his soft features. “You’re a smart girl,” he praised, “Got a good head on your shoulders. Don’t let anyone change that.” Thankfully, before you had to muster up a half-hearted reply, the car came to a stop. You had reached the post office. “Go on,” he prompted, “I’ll wait up for you.”

“Really, Mr. Sh—Tommy,” you caught yourself, “You don’t have to wait for me, I know you’re a busy man.”

“(Y/N), if it had been a problem, I wouldn’t have given you a ride, would I?” He gave you a knowing look.

“I..I guess not. I’ll be quick,” you promised, rushing inside. You dropped off your letter to Charlotte without having to wait in too unbearable a line, and scurried back outside to where Tommy was waiting for you to return. “Thank you again for doing this; I don’t know how to pay you back.”

“No need, sweetheart,” he nearly crooned, and you felt your heart swell and your throat close up. “Although I will have to take up your mum’s dinner offer soon.”

“Sounds perfect; we’re looking forward to it,” you smiled.

The car fell into a comfortable silence for a moment before Tommy spoke up again. “(Y/N), your family—you wouldn’t happen to be Italian, would you?”

An odd question, you thought, but nonetheless one you could easily answer. “Not to my knowledge, no,” you told him. “How come?”

“What business is your family in?”

“Business?” you questioned. “Uh, nothing, really. We had a farm back home; sold eggs, and milk, and livestock every once in awhile to make money. My parents have been saving up to move over here for years.”

“I see,” he mumbled, nodding and pondering your answers. “‘Ave you got any plans for the next hour or so?”

“Uh, no, I don’t,” you responded shyly. You weren’t going back in the direction of your house, but deeper into a town that you were unfamiliar with. Regardless of how attractive a man was, that didn’t mean you wouldn’t be uncomfortable with him kidnapping you.

“I’ve got someone to check on at the hospital. Would you like to meet ‘em? It’ll only take a moment,” he assured you.

“Oh, sure!” you responded. “I’d love to go.”

—

It turned out that the person being checked on at the hospital was Tommy’s cousin, Michael; and he was in bad shape. “He got shot. Christmas day. Been waiting on ‘im to wake up ever since.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Tommy; that’s terrible. He got shot? How?”

Tommy took a deep breath and turned to face you. You were both back in the car now; not much use to sit at a comatic person’s bedside and wait God knows how long for them to wake up. The car was parked and the two of you were just having a heartfelt conversation with one another. “Listen, my family and I… we’ve gotten ourselves into a bit of trouble here and there. We managed to piss off an American and now he’s after us.”

You nodded. “That’s why you wanted to know if my family was Italian. If we were with them.” He agreed.

“Your- your mum and dad, they’re good country folks. I take it they’ve been farming their whole lives?” You nodded again. “I don’t think you’re the same as them,” he mused.

“I’m not,” you confirmed. “My parents are content living in that cottage for the rest of their lives… But that seems so boring to me. I want to go do something, I want to travel somewhere. Or at least do something different. I don’t want to be just another farm girl.”

“The world has plenty of those,” he agreed, taking a drag of his cigarette.

“What about you?” you wondered aloud. He glanced at you, urging you to continue. “I mean, do you want to keep ‘getting into trouble’?”

He scoffed. “Fuck, if only I could keep meself out of trouble. It seems to come looking for me nowadays.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“So am I, (Y/N); so am I.” He’d started the car and was about to put it into gear when all of a sudden a couple of sharply dressed men came out from behind a corner, guns pointed directly at the car—directly at you and Tommy. He noticed them in the rearview mirror and immediately shoved you from your seat to the floor. “Fuck!” he yelled, at the same time the men began to shoot. You let out a scream, covering your head with your arms and curling yourself closer to the ground. You could hear Tommy grab something from the glove compartment, a gun, and begin shooting back at the men. There was a rapid exchange of gunfire for a moment, then suddenly—silence. Tommy let out a sigh of relief. His hand found its way to your head and brushed your hair back out of your face. “(Y/N), look at me— are you hurt?”

His face was stone cold and serious. You shook your head, and the rest of your body followed suit. You couldn’t stop shaking and your breathing was short and rapid. “Oh my God… Oh my God,” you whispered to yourself. He helped you back up on to your seat before pulling you close to him, head on his chest as he stroked your hair and spoke softly in your ear.

“Listen to me, you’re alright. Yeah? I’m not gonna let anyone hurt you.” You couldn’t restrain it anymore; you let out a broken sob as the weight of what had just happened crashed into you like a freight train.

“What the fuck, Tommy!” you cried.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’ll never let that happen again, alright? I won’t let ‘em come after you because of me. Look at me.” You obeyed, tears in your eyes, and his heart broke once again. “That will never happen again. Do you understand me?” You nodded. He pulled you back to him and let you cry it out, smoothing down your hair while you held onto his jacket with white knuckles. If you had cared, you would have noticed him press a few kisses to the top of your head; having just been nearly killed, however, you didn’t care all that much.

You were out of tears in the next few moments, pulling yourself away and trying to regain every shred of dignity you had left. His hand stayed resting on your shoulder comfortingly while you wiped your tears away with your fingertips. “Oh my God,” you nearly chuckled, “This is not how I expected living in a new country would be.” He smiled at that, comforting you. He lifted a hand to wipe away a few remaining tears on your lashes, and lifted your chin with his knuckle.

“You gonna be alright?” he asked with piercing eyes.

“Yes. Yeah, I’ll be fine. I never want to get shot at again,” you said, more to yourself than to him, but he still chuckled lightly.

“You won’t, little bird, I promise.” He drove you back to your house in relative silence, suddenly hyper-aware of the surroundings. You made it back in one piece with only a shattered back windshield as proof of what had happened. Before you got out of the car, he stopped you. “I’ll come and check on you soon, yeah?” You accepted the offer. “Good girl. Be careful.”

With that you slid out through the passenger side door and opened the door to your house, Tommy only driving away after the door was shut and you were safe inside. “Hello, my darling,” you mother greeted you. She and your father were sitting in the living room, fireplace roaring. “Where have you been?”

“I sent a letter to Charlotte at the post office,” you explained hanging up your coat. “Mr. Shelby was headed somewhere in his car; he gave me a ride there and back.”

“Oh, what a nice man!” your mother gushed. “He really is a great guy. I hope he comes for dinner soon.”

“I think he will,” you assured her, “I mentioned it to him. He says he’s looking forward to it and we’ll get something worked out soon.” Your father hadn’t spoken a word yet, too busy reading the paper to listen to your conversation. “I’m gonna go upstairs and take a nap, mom; this weather has exhausted me.” With a swift farewell you tucked your shoes by the staircase and headed up to bed. Rather than sleeping in your day clothes, you threw on your pajamas and snuggled up under the covers, burying your head in the pillow and taking a deep breath.

As much as you tried to forget what had happened just half an hour before, you couldn’t; the more you tried, the more you remembered, and the more upset you became. A few uncontrollable tears slipped past your eyes as you cried quietly into the pillow; soon becoming too tired to keep your eyes open, you drifted off into a peaceful slumber.

[nobszone]

A midterm night’s dream

So as my American followers know, we have an election tomorrow. Rather exciting isn’t it? I can say I’ve thoroughly enjoyed the run up to this one, though it took a while to really get going.

Anyway, before we all go to the polls, I’d like to share a rather...interesting experience I had last week.

(Also a thousand apologies to Jonathan Pie, whose writings this story is ripping off inspired by).

The story begins last week, November the 1st. It had been a busy day. It was the day after Halloween which meant everyone was rushing to put away the pumpkins and deck the halls, gamers everywhere were getting ready for the start of Blizzcon the next day (only to be inevitably disappointed when Blizzard pulled a Konami) and the entire internet had learned what I had known for years; the most powerful Smasher was The Pink Nightmare.

But it had also been a very busy few months. The Midterm Elections had been circled on many an American’s calendar ever since January 20, 2017. A lot of things had been happening in the American political sphere this year, and there was a palpable sense of anticipation for the Midterms, and for good reason. This was, in many ways, the first major referendum on the job performance of Donald Trump. 

So as you can imagine, this particular election was being framed as “The Most Important Election Ever.” But seeing as how the same thing had been said about the last several elections, I knew that for better or worse it would most likely be back to business as usual once it was over (for what passes as “usual” these days).

So on that day I had returned home from work, and when I opened my mailbox I was delighted to see my absentee ballot inside. Truth be told, I don’t really care much for standing in line at the polls and given that my ballot this year had quite a lot of things on it to consider, I really didn’t feel like standing in a voting booth for a good 30 minutes. 

Even so, ever since I turned 18 I’ve never missed a chance to participate in our democratic process, and I wasn’t going to start now.

Now I know what you’re all thinking. How did I intend to vote? Well, this was a bit of a tricky proposition for me. I try my best to be an informed voter, reading up on the candidates and their stances on the issues and deciding for myself who’s platform I agree with more.

But this time I was going purely on instinct, and my instinct was to vote straight-ticket Democrat. Which really felt strange because, historically, my instinct has always been to do the opposite of whatever Michael Moore tells me to do.

I parked my car and opened the door to my house, with a spring in my step and my ballot in my hand. I was confident in my conviction that, despite some reservations, voting for the Dems in this election was the only sensible choice to make. And I knew it was the right choice, because my Facebook, Twitter and Tumblr feeds had been saying the same for months. Anyone who was anyone was telling me that only a racist, idiot or Russian spy would vote for the GOP in this election, so it must be true.

And besides, I had conjured up a fantasy in my head of Trump being so irate at a Democratic controlled house that he instantly resigned the Presidency out of spite.

This was going to be easy.

Well, it had been a long day at work, and it’s not a good idea to vote when your mind is fatigued. So I decided a quick nap was in order; and afterwards I would be refreshed and rejuvenated and ready to do my civic duty as a citizen of the Republic.

I set the ballot down on the counter and sprawled out on the couch and closed my eyes. I was home alone, and thus I felt no particular reservations about napping in the living room.

And then, something happened.

A voice began to speak to me. I became apprehensive and frightened. Who was it that was speaking? Was it my conscience? Was it God? Was it the first signs of schizophrenia?

Either way, I instantly knew who was addressing me. 

It was the voice...of Princess Luna.

Now, don’t be alarmed. As long time followers know, I am an OG Brony. And as such, I occasionally experience visitations from the denizens of Equestria during times of emotional distress. Whether it’s Twilight Sparkle giving me encouragement before finals, Rainbow Dash assuring me that neither the last launch of the Space Shuttle nor the 2017 Solar Eclipse will be clouded out, or Vinyl Scratch giving me some companionship on those cold Winter nights, I’ve just gotten used to it.

But this was the first time I’d been visited by Princess Luna. The lunar regent herself! The only pony who’s presence in a dream actually made sense!

Time slowed, I sat up on the couch, rubbing my eyes blearily. But Luna remained standing in front of me, having adopted a humanoid form for a variety of Freudian reasons. Once again she began to speak.

“My friend, what troubles you?”

I sighed.

“I’m confused.”

An expression of sympathy crossed her face as she put a hand on her chest.

“Of course you’re confused. How can you not be? Everyone is confused. Because the only thing the media is talking about is what this means for Donald Trump.

“But there’s something missing. Information. How can you possibly make a decision if you’re not properly informed?”

She sat down beside me, taking my hand in hers.

“You and your fellow citizens have a tough choice to make. The GOP’s stance on immigration has been reprehensible, and Trump’s wish to mobilize troops is practically a Kent State-style situation waiting to happen. But despite his overtones, those migrants are not turning around. What happens to them when they get to the border? What happens if Trump ends birthright citizenship? And what about legal immigrants?  If you sustain immigration at its current levels, what will happen to public services? Will Medicaid be able to cope?

“The economy is doing rather nice. Historically speaking, a good economy bodes well for the ruling party. But what about Trump’s trade war with China? Or the tax bill? Trump has often used the stock market as an indicator of how the economy is doing, but it lost nearly $2 trillion last month alone!

“And there’s so many other issues to consider as well. Will LGBT rights continue to be protected? Will your foreign policy change? Will gun rights be protected? There’s a lot to consider here.”

I held up a hand. “I know all these things, Luna. Why are you telling me this?”

“Because, you know the Republicans plans for these things. But, tell me my friend, have you heard anything from the Democrats about how they plan to handle issues?”

I paused. I thought about her question and realized she was right. I’ve heard how my local candidates would approach those issues, but in terms of a unified strategy from the Democrats? 

I’d heard nothing. 

Other than-

“All you’ve heard from the Democrats is that you need to vote for them so they can stop Trump. And yes, that very well could happen, but to what end?” Luna asked, finishing my thought.

She stood up and faced me.

“The real problem is nobody wants to admit that they don’t know what will happen if things stay as they are for two more years, let alone what will happen if there’s significant opposition to the President. Your country has never had a President like this before.

“The GOP says that they’ll advocate for Conservative views and values instead of constantly kissing Trump’s ring. But recent history tells us that’s not going to happen. Furthermore, the GOP has traditionally been in favor of a smaller government and a weaker executive branch, and now you’re in a position where the traditional Republican argument is being made by Democrats. And because everyone thinks that the GOP is a bunch of racists, Libertarians like yourself are scared of being labeled Pro-Trump by default!”

Luna began to pace around the room as she started to talk of fear. “This whole debate, if you can call it a debate, has been about causing fear!” she cried. And every time she said the word “fear”, she spoke in her Royal Canterlot Voice.

“The Democrats say that your democracy will be undermined by Trump’s authoritarian tendencies. Fear. 

“Trump says that America will be overrun by caravans of migrants and masses of illegal aliens if the Republicans lose. Fear.

“Barack Obama says the character of your country is on the ballot. Fear.

“The GOP is not only ramping up the threat of illegals, but that a Democratic majority would wreck the economy. Fear or fear? Would you like some fear with your fear?!”

Luna paused. I sat upright, riveted to my seat.

“The level of debate during this process has been terrifying! It has exposed everything that is wrong with modern political discourse. Jane Fonda compared Trump to Hitler, as if that comparison has never been made about any politician since 1945, yet Fox News claims that liberal donors would rather the Democrats start a nuclear war, if that was the case then why would anyone vote for a party who could potentially destroy the planet? 

“Emma Gonzalez says that the lives of high school students depend on who is elected, and Trump says a vote for Democrats is a vote for MS-13 to run wild. I always thought school shootings and MS-13′s criminal activities would happen regardless of who was in office, but no, silly me, apparently the GOP is allowing people to gun down kids, while paradoxically MS-13 supports more gun control legislation! Once again, a national political debate has descended into FARCE! ”

Luna’s voice reached a fever pitch. It felt like the entire world shook with the reverberation of each syllable.

“The right has completely abandoned its principles in favor of supporting a man with an ego the size of a planet and the intelligence of a gnat! And the left has made it all about personality over politics, emotion over logic, which is a laugh seeing as their candidate in the last election lacked both of those things!”

“This is the choice your country faces!” Luna exclaimed, her eyes burrowing into my soul and her voice shattering every molecule of air around me. “Vote for Democrats and you’re supporting Identity Politics! Vote for Republicans and you’re supporting Statism! IDENTITY POLITICS OR STATISM! FUCK ME, WHAT A CHOICE! YOU MIGHT AS WELL BE STUCK BETWEEN THE WEHRMACHT AND THE RED ARMY!”

The silence was nearly as deafening as the voice it succeeded. I sat there, looking Luna square in the eye, her face seemingly frozen in an intense glare.

And then I could look no more. I put my face into my hands and I wept.

She was correct. For all my enthusiasm and patriotism, we were at a morton’s fork yet again. My hope was that once the 2016 election was over, the polarization would die down as both parties sought to get on with the job. Instead it never ended. The GOP sold out to Trump and the Dems learned nothing from Clinton’s defeat.

“What do I do?” I managed to choke out. “What can I do?”

It was at this point that I felt Luna embrace me. Her arms wrapping around my back, gently rubbing like a mother soothing an upset child. Her head rested on my shoulder, her snout buried in the crook of my neck as she did her best to bring my emotions back to a more reasonable level.

“It’s alright, my friend.” She whispered to me. “You know what you must do...you always have.”

And then I opened my eyes. I was awake, and she was gone.

Even now, nearly a week later, I still can’t get my head around what happened. Sure enough when I woke up, I felt refreshed and in the correct mindset to cast my ballot.

But following the advice of the lunar regent, I abandoned my original plan and instead I took some time to brush up on the candidates and their platforms once more. Then I voted for the candidates that I felt would do the best job.

And I honestly can’t work out how I would’ve voted if I hadn’t taken that nap.

And now it’s your turn. Despite all the polls and predictions, we still have no idea how today is going to turn out. This time however, both sides share blame for the uncertainty. 

What it comes down to is this. We’re nearly 2 years into Donald Trump’s attempt to “Make America Great Again”, but we still don’t know what that means. Maybe I’m being factitious though, because Trump and his hardcore base seems to know what it means. It means an America with walls on the borders and divisions among the populace, an America where you can’t trust anyone (especially any TV channel that isn’t Fox News), an America where potential interference from a hostile power is not only tolerated, but perhaps encouraged.

Doesn’t sound that great to me, but of course you’re free to disagree with that.

But the Democrats aren’t much better. What the hell is their plan for America? Have they thought of anything besides “Impeach Trump?” And what if the Mueller probe comes back and it turns out that even if Russia was running an operation to harm our country and people Trump knew were involved but Trump himself wasn’t, what happens then? Hope he invites a porn star to the Oval Office and do re-enactment the Lewinsky affair?

The problem is no one knows what the Democrat’s plans are, because they have no plan after “Impeach Trump.” In a related story, no one knows what “Make America Great Again” means because no one ever knew what it meant.

And, like it or not, this all falls at the feet of Donald Trump.

We were never supposed to vote for Donald Trump.

You know it, I know it, we all know it. No one thought we would vote for Trump. Even people that voted for Trump didn’t think we’d vote for Trump. That’s why the Democrats were so eager for him to get the nomination and didn’t particularly care that they screwed over Bernie Sanders for an utterly unelectable candidate in Hillary Clinton; they assumed an election against Trump wouldn’t mean a Trump win, but it did and instead we got the single biggest embarrassment of the Democrats since 1968.

Fast forward two years later, and really nothing has changed.

For the last two years, the level of debate has been appalling from both sides of the aisle. Both sides have to take responsibility for this. There haven’t been any facts. There’s been no debate about policy, proposals, nothing. It’s all been about who can say the most alarmist thing or pull off the sneakiest trick and get away with it.

Nothing that has happened over the last two years has been reasonable political debate. It’s more like a dream you have after you’ve done a fifth of Vodka and a No Mercy run on Undertale.

One involving Princess Luna perhaps?

[kalliejupiter]

Some LEWKS from fashion illustration, or rather a fall capsule collection that I would wear myself if I were an intergalactic space provocateur (thus the inclusion of pants and a sensible heel). My partner and I debated the practicality of a drop-crotch pant I. The cockpit of a spacecraft—I and my instructor agree that the drop-crotch is totally fine, and fabulous. Besides, I’m not taking design advice from a guy who still dresses like he’s in junior high (JK, I ❤️ my partner). I tend to write long posts, and I like talking about and documenting ideation. So, I headlined each segment for easier navigation. Just some details on concepts, design process, and such. I will post more sketches, line drawings, fabric swatches, and maybe color comps later. The Assignment: Create a ten piece collection. Decide the season, demographic, include at least five different types of garments (trousers, dresses, at least one coat, etc. I also had to draw out the flats and include swatches and stuff. In the end I had to edit down from at least 20 initial sketches. Designing wearable sci-fi LEWKS comes easy to me, but self-editing does not. Take note toxic masculinity in geek culture, a girl can still be sexy in pants and a sensible heel and drawing something from the female gaze doesn’t mean a dude can’t appreciate it... I used my sensibilities as a starting point—although, in the end the collection skews a little younger than my demographic (I can get away with it as a woman of color because a WOC could be anywhere between the ages of 25 and 45 without a stranger being able to tell the difference. I’m still a little punk rock at my age, but if I had more time, I would create a companion collection that’s a little more stately and tailored for a more professional lady in my demographic (while maintaining the visual cohesion with the collection I eventually made). The instructor initially thought I was joking, because I actually submitted a market plan that said my target demographic was an intergalactic space nomad, political double-agent, listed the median income in space credits, and made several references to lasers and cyborgs. Spoiler alert, I got an ‘A’ on the final. I prefer fall to any other season, so too is my collection for fall. Fall, as a whole, has a wide range of potential garments, mostly because fall weather is so drastically varied (in spite of this, it is usually the BEST weather of any given place, IMHO). I also like fall color palettes best (as a suburban teen I spent my adolescence wearing all black, listening to Morresey, and writing really terrible poetry, like every other suburbanite teenager). Dark colors are slimming and hide a myriad of sins, accidents, and the bloodstains of your slain enemies. I wanted to include both a short and long coat/jacket, day wear, one formal piece, a jumpsuit of some kind, a mini and maxi silhouette, a work outfit, something to work as loungewear, something to work as activewear, and something that would look cool on a robot. I also wanted to strike a balance between bodycon silhouettes and easy to wear volume—which is probably why the collection ballooned into something as large as this one did—there were so many variations of single pieces that it was hard to choose which of them to include. The piece variations themselves were compelling on their own and also in comparison to its counterpart that it became more interesting to present looks as side-by-side options. Each look was multilayered, highly detailed, and designed to be physically adaptable/changeable anyway, so assigning a single croquis to a look seemed like a wasted opportunity. References and Ideation: I got the ideas for the collection from real life. One of the weird things I picked up from the military was from Basic, and it’s the idea that you are issued all of these pieces with utilitarian properties at first that encapsulates everything you’d ever need, apparel-wise (from underwear to formal wear, and for all weather and situations) and all of it can fit in a single seabag. It was fun trying to imagine what shenanigans one could experience as an intergalactic scene-girl, and what kind of clothes she might want. The concept of a sea bag (or “space bag,” in this case) jives with the idea of a capsule collection (stylish staple pieces that can be worn over many seasons with smaller, less expensive pieces that can be altered or replaced by trendier items as the seasons progress). All the pieces can be mix-and-matched and are adaptable in many ways—there is something gender neutral about a lot of it (I wish I designed the bodysuits with more variation in the briefs: make some with compression shorts, leggings, and such—I didn’t really consider these separate LEWKS, per se, but layering pieces, because some part of my underpants are always showing under my garments, and if you are going to have exposed bra straps, make it look like you did it on purpose). Also, the tailored structure and details of military clothing are really are really cool design elements to explore. I also used Middle Eastern references to balance out the designs—mostly because I thought it would be thematically appropriate/ironic to combine the two style sensibilities (non-Western cultures have so many more interesting silhouettes in any case—it might be appropriation, but in the neutral sense of the term). The concept of armor and utility informs every piece. Those concepts also the reason I referenced (or resurrected) less common clothing items and styles. For example, the quilted leather snood, a pleated leather bolero, spats over the boots, and a molded, hooded, cuirass (leather is a good material, it adapts to the wearer like a second skin and because of that, the material plays into the theme of personalizing a basic uniform to make it one’s own—90% of the swatches for the collection are organic or natural fibers because I would think the artificial environments and materials of space might make one long for something more “natural,” especially with something as intimate as the clothing that separates a persons skin from everything else. It’s also luxe and sometime more durable). Aesthetically, details like cording, high waisted pants, draped tops, high necklines, and asymmetrical hemlines reoccur as a design through line in the collection. Utilitarian features, like zippers and velcro closures, do double duty as both functional and aesthetic elements. A practical zipper on a detachable long sleeve becomes the decorative beam on the short sleeved version. Velcro tans on an exaggerated drop-crotch pant transform the garment from a maxi silhouette into short and leggings combo. I admit, this comes from my unironic love of those weird convertible bridesmaids dresses that people always end up lazily tying around their neck. Look Details (the Coverall): That’s why there is a “fashion coverall” in this collection—I know from experience that those are the comfiest work pajamas, ever, and even though this collection is supposed to exist a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away, I did want to reference some contemporary trends and needed a non-catsuit jumpsuit, and tailored coveralls seem very classic in a way that could be stylish beyond the current moment. I wanted to use design to solve actual practical problems. For example, instead of the traditional buttoned cuffs and collar, I chose to use a ribbed knit on both the neck and 3/4 sleeves. It is more comfortable and easy to wear, works just as well in a hot engineering space or in the colder climate controlled server spaces and Officer decks of a ship, and prevents the clothing from getting caught on equipment and becoming a liability on trouble calls or planet-side laser melee. The knees have built-in padding, and Velcro patch details, so our girl can switch allegiances fairly easily. The only thing is the lack of pockets. A cargo short is an amazing idea. In the abstract. I have never seen one in public that did not look like an Eldrich Abomination. If someone needs to Cary so much stuff in their pockets that their pants look like they are hiding the legs of Yogsheggoth, perhaps it’s time to consider carrying a bag. I’m looking at you, Dudes. Also, the belts and harnesses of the collection were designed with detachable pockets and specialized equipment in mind. I kind of wish I designed the piece with a jodhpur or cigarette leg silhouette instead of a boot cut. Both the jodhpurs and cigarette leg would have been more interesting, especially if I had also designed a short, romper version of the piece. Final Thoughts (for now...): I don’t expect anyone to have read all the way through this, and if you have, thanks! Feel free to contact me with any questions, requests, random musings, like, share and follow. I’ll try to be less wordy in the future. A Word of Thanks to the Fashion Illustration Class: I really enjoyed that class. Everyone of my classmates had different skills, experience, and came from a lot of different disciplines (for example, I make comics and work in advertising, some were animators, some fashion students, and one was an editorial photographer who didn’t draw well in the conventional sense of it, but drew croquis that had the character of a Mondiglioni and could convey not only the sense of the garments, but the personality of the girl who wore them). We talked about everything, asked a lot of good questions, and hyped each other up for fashion in general. I will say that out of the many years of studying various art disciplines in various classrooms and open critiques, this was the first time I experienced colleagues as open and giving as these classmates were. I’m used to a lot of pushback and blank stares during critiques (especially when I give them—I obviously talk a lot, and connect ideas to a lot of obscure references—“consider the jodhpurs,” “you seem really into minimal geometric patterning—write down ‘Ainu’ and look up their textiles and mouth tattoos,” “there is something very vaporwave about this non-binary collection, I see a lot of pastels and navy,” “I know exactly who the girl is that wears this collection—she converted an Arizona ranch into a minimal art gallery in the middle of nowhere, collects antiques from the late 1950’s and Kieth Harring prints, and makes excellent margheritas...”—and then they would use my suggestions by the next critique! WHAT!!?!), but people really listened and we all tried to understand each others point of view and encourage one another. I loved that class.

[simkjrs]

chapter 6 asks that are people in distress about shinsou

SPOILERS FOR THE FIC, so it’s all under the readmore 

** before i start, i just want to say, the sheer number of people who have guessed that it’s himiko impersonating shinsou is frankly alarming and equally hilarious. thanks yall 

Anonymous said: OH MY GOD SHINSOU MY SON, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO HIM??? HE DOESNT DESERVE THIS????? (for real, tho, that chapter was?? So good??? I'm so happy to have read this)

you’re absolutely right he doesn’t deserve this and im doing it to him anyways, which objectively proves that as an author i am not and never have been trustworthy. im sorry if i ever tricked you into thinking otherwise. im crying as well

Anonymous said: holy crap that chapter. where do i even start. i knew the kidnapping was coming up but that scene still managed to punch me in the gut. shinsou doesn't deserve this he just wanted to be a hero you guys. also the scene where izuku brought mitoki flowers was really great and i'm so happy that conversation happened. and the paintball fight? best thing i've ever laid my eyes upon. sorry this wasn't very coherent, i'm gonna go fling myself into the sun. thank you for this amazing chapter.

thank YOU for the feedback, i’m really glad you enjoyed the mitoki conversation & the paintball fight because those two scenes were the ones i was most nervous about. as for shinsou, you are very right. he doesn’t deserve this and im sorry 

Anonymous said: WHAT THE FUCK!!!!! that was so intense!!!!!!!!!!!! that chapter was amazing you lied sorry ://// (izuku has a crush on shinsou and i couldnt be happier. sweethearts, the both of them.) SO MUCH HAPPENED AT ONCE IM FU KCIFNSICIAJX!!!! WHAT HAPPENED WITH SHINSOU??? MY BOY WHO THREATENED HIM. WHO HURT HIM??!?!?!!?!??!!??!?! i got so emotional all throughout this chapter i almost cried like 26 times that was wild af!!! NOW HOW DO I RECOVER FROM THIS!!!! (im so worried about shinsou. about everyone.)

hfjldksf thanks!! glad you enjoyed it!! im sorry for making you emotional. its the unintended side effects of tryin to convey izuku’s state of mind 

i know this won’t ease your suffering much but for a while i intended for chapter 7 to be from shinsou’s point of view, and it was quite literally just titled “what happened to shinsou.” this may still happen. im not sure yet. stay tuned next for,

Anonymous said: *twitch twitch twitchy twich* omg suddenly i understand those comments from your betas. like. i'm legit speechless???? why. why would you do this, you evil writer from awesome land. like i just. im in like. the all caps state of shock. that FREAKING LAST LINE AKDJKLADSLKAJDSKLJLKJ. like. *squeezes air* i dont even know where to begin???? I MEAN CLEARLY I STARTED AT THE END BUT LIKE. so much. to talk about. like. the smile bits of gaming and cats and pics then THAT KAST KUUSJDFHSKJDHFSKJDHSJDF

i bait in readers with cute fun shenanigans and then i go in for the kill 

(thank you for writing in, i’m glad you enjoyed the chapter <3 )

Anonymous said: no, but like, ur saying that chapter 6 is the worst one YET (which is a HORRIBLE LIE. this chapter was great. even if it let us all devastated afterwards. but whats a good fanfiction if it doesnt affect the reader tho heh(and your certainly is a great fanfiction. one of the greatest)) is it because of the giant clusterfuck that 7 and/or 8 is gonna be? (kamino ward, all might reveal, kidnappings+ SHINSOU) im legit worried haha ( btw "(accidental) dad might: Stealth Style" is my favorite tag now)

i cultivate my tags with pride. im glad you enjoyed that one in particular :3c and also... thank you... i was super insecure abt ch6 so it’s really nice hearing ppl liked it! i really appreciate it <3 

the next chapter(s?) are going to be a clusterfuck so you are probably wise to be legit worried. preemptive apologies. i don’t know why im doing this and im sorry also 

Anonymous said: I don't actually believe that Shinsou did it, naturally. Maybe the villains pin the blame on him cause it's easier to do it to someone that everyone is already wary about? I honestly have no idea, you're too unpredictable with some of these things

u have a good nose anon... but also when have i EVER been unpredictable about anything. my taste and storytelling is incredibly predictable in that it is always The Worst and Incredibly Self Indulgent. all you have to do to pick out the path im taking is think “what path allows simk to pander to their own interests the most?” and thats the path i’ll take. this is exactly what is happening with the entirety of this fic and especially with this next arc 

Anonymous said: is shinsou being blackmailed?? controlled by someone else?? someone stole his face?? was he used as a hostage bc he interacted with class I-A more? or is someone threatening izuku again or.. ahhh idk what it is but I really feel he is not a traitor so: my current theories about shinsou. am I close?? 

yes to all of the above 

Anonymous said: Pretty sure you didn't get many theories yet cause we are still in shock. Send help pls. (Loved the chapter btw that chapter was legit a roller-coaster of feels.)

theres no help to be found. i did this irrevocably and now theres nothing we can do about it 

(thank you! i’m really glad to hear that, and hope that you have recovered from your shock :p )

Anonymous said: thoughts on shinsou's reasons: bakugou is a abusive shit who is undeserving of being a hero and made him lose all faith in heroes, blackmail, threats, brainwashing, some other type of convincing, he has been the traitor the whole time and you just want to kill us with angst, the LoV is threatening deku and if he doesn't help them they kill him, rage against society has reached its peak (same tho), or he wants to get back at bakugou, or the Cat Cafe is being threatened. please stop killing me.

this is a really impressive laundry list of unconventional reasons for shinsou to join the villain alliance. i love it. i too would become a villain in order to save my favorite cat cafe and spite a person i don’t like 

@armcontrolnerve said: it was himiko in the study with the candlestick 

d...does this make shinsou the murder victim 

Anonymous said: I JUST READ THE NEW CHAPTER AND JUST WANTED TO DROP BY AND SAY YOU'VE UTTERLY WRECKED ME. I have tears in my eyes, I am currently flailing about like a fish while my brain goes into overdrive trying to dodge the reality of that ending. Shinsou was helping Izuku not two scenes ago, he was probably kidnapped and forced to do it against his will via torture or something. I refuse to believe that Shinsou is a villain and you cannot tell me oTHERWISE

good instincts. hold onto that feeling 

Anonymous said: My guess: shinsou was kidnapped by Villain Alliance. Himiko Toga is using her quirk to impersonate him. But...why

bad pr image for yuuei 

Anonymous said: all im thinking is that girl with the quirk that lets her shapeshift into people if she gets their blood and im just. oh no. shinsou. how could u do this to the poor sweet gay boy. meet me in the pit for a fight, and also a round of compliments for ur fucking writing skills. u made me cry. i love this fic so much but unfortunately i still have to challenge u to a duel, for the sake of these poor children, and their mental health,,, (ps i love ur writing and ur fantastic!! byeee)

if you kill me youll never get these children back alive

(thank u though... this made me laugh. rest assured that i will promptly apply all my writing skills to elucidating the mystery of what happened to shinsou) 

Anonymous said: Shinsou probably got his quirk stolen by Sensei or someone is impersonating him I guess. Or his classmates are jerks and framing him or something. Smh

his classmates threw him under the bus

@sunslammerdown​ said: hi i am a person who reads your very extremely good fanfiction... thanks very much and also Wow Rude How Dare You. you said you were surprised at not getting more shinsou theories so heres my two: 1) It Was Toga, shinsou is kidnapped its not good 2) It Was All For One who can take quirks and use them on people and shinsou has a mind control quirk, its very not good still

what if its... 3) both, for maximum suffering, and the ultimate very not good happenstance 

@viperofsand​ said: I am sure I had something in mind when giving my review while I was reading chap 6, but after the final part my mind was all 'WHAT THE HELLLLLL', so, there is that. Also, I am inaugurating #ShinsouIsNotAVillain2017 for this fic starting now.

this is a good hashtag. i’m behind it. i have no right to be but i am 

Anonymous said: ok i'm trying not to panic bc of the cliffhanger but just tell me, will we know /why/ shinso is doing what he's doing ?? i'm trying not to spoil for ppl 

no worries! we will find out exactly what happened to shinsou...

@auspiciouswhiskers​ said: How much do I have to pay for a Shinsou redemption and/or Shindeku endgame because pleeease you have responsibilities

you don’t even have to ask. its already under way...

(more specifically: you just don’t even need to ask. there just isnt a need. hold that thought for a shindeku endgame though bc who KNOWS where im headed with that) 

Anonymous said: Izuku's gonna lure Shinsou with cats and everything will be just fine. Izuku holding up fuku, taka and isao: you know u can't harm them Shinsou: defeated

this is the ultimate villain shinsou ask. nothing is ever going to top this. you dont even need to fight shinsou you just have to appeal to him with cats and he’ll crumble instantly 

Anonymous said: Eh, I don't know if I'm angry, but I am a tad disappointed if it actually is "what it looks like" with Shinsou. I mean his whole deal is that while his power seems like one that a villain would have, he doesn't actually want to use it that way. If he really is a villain in your story, that sorta defeats the purpose of his character, you know? But I guess I'll just wait and see what you plan to do with it.

that aspect of his character is probably what makes what im doing 100% more awful so i guess what im trying to say is: don’t worry it’s not what it seems, but also, i should not be allowed to touch a computer 

Anonymous said: ok ok i have an idea about why shinsou provided inside help(i hope im at least a little right or im going to cry): he was threatened by the league? they saw him hanging out with deku and probably knew that he didnt know he was Hella Strong or smth and were like "look, if u dont want ur friend to die ur gonna have to Cooperate" and shinsou being an amazing friend was like "U LEAVE HIM ALONE U COCKROACH" and he did That. it probably happened in That One Stupid Horrible Month (please. PLEASE)

shinsou became a villain for deku confirmed. be gay, turn to the dark side 

Anonymous said: honestly while i'm still Actually Dead over the latest chapter Izuku having his Gay Awakening over someone who stabs him in the back is Relatable lol

h...hold that thought... 

also. i’m really sorry to hear that, and i hope you’re in a better place now. may your future gay relationships be blessed

Anonymous said: It's Mamoru. The ending to your new chapter is definitely a twist that I didn't expect at all. But oddly I'm not angry. Is Shinsou really going to be a villain? Because it kinda goes against he is fighting for. Or is he threatened?

spoiler alert...

@chocowl said: holy fuck simk

A theory: was Shinsou kidnapped by the VA and Himiko used her Quirk to look like him? That would explain the silence towards Izuku and would heal our tormented souls Q-Q

the truth is, the entire villain alliance is conspiring to fuck over shinsou, specifically

[nicolawritesnovels]

Like, if I’m going to actually write this story the right way I’m going to have to actually go through all my material because it’s been so long since I tried to write this story

I mean, I write in the universe all the time but it’s so much of just like Alex and her life, and this... this is the story I intended to tell

all the things that led up to Ally-Cassie’s existence and then also the causes of Cippie leaving and what that meant for the whole situation

I’m not sure where it would end, but it means telling all the stories that get them there which is like a lot of stories

because that’s the overall theme of this, the domino effect of stories

so I need to tell Alex’s story, and to do that I need to tell Ally’s story, and Tina’s story, and Jonathan’s story, and I need to tell Cippie’s story and to do that I also need to tell Alonzo’s story which means going into Terry’s story too (which I would have to do too) and the story of Ellie and Nettie, I think. And also Ian’s story which means Mini’s story which means also a bit more of Alex’s story and Andi’s story and back to Jonathan and their parents, and Tae’s story, which means Mae’s story, and JH’s story, and her parents and all that, and I need to tell Tristain and Julie’s story which gets back into Andi’s story too, and I’m sure there’s more of that

and Lexi

Lexi’s story will have to be there too, and Jinx. Of course Jinx’s story because it’s one of the things that allows this to get as far as it does. It’ll have to address all of the adults, and all their fucking lax bullshit. And Lani’s story. 

The point is that all the stories are so interwoven, which is why there is currently 768,000 words of material on what was originally just me spite writing a story where I got a teacher I didn’t like fired. 

But like, we’re way beyond that. The last time I wrote for this story, in like an official capacity and not just like scenes thrown together to form small stories and just like... explore concepts was... novel #15. The next one will be 45. It was like 2012, I think? Maybe January of 2013? So you know, it’s been like 6 years. 

And I’d have to decide narration style. Do I continue the fact that it’s Ally-Cassie, years later telling the story? 

I’m not entirely sure. But I suppose I have one whole day to think about it, if I even decide to do this. 

I might just end up going with the one-shot lesbians. Because like, this story is one of the straightest stories I’ve got and that’s weird. I mean, yeah it’s got a bisexual polyam relationship. And also, most of my main characters are not straight. But there’s straight sex that is central to the plot.  

I’ve got to go read all the info I have compiled on Ally-Cassie’s birth, the relationship between Mini/Tae/Ian and the timeline of that, the mindset of Alex in mid-Winter of 2010/2011, which means the events of the semester before which means the escape of Jonathan, the relationship between Lexi and Alex, the way that effected the relationship between Terry and Alex, and also the relationship between them in general and how to portray it in the least problematic way possible (which you know, is not entirely possible, it’s a teacher/student relationship, it’s inherently problematic but this whole bullshit is a teenage fantasy so whatever man). And the entire mental state of Cippie, and I need to do a lot of study on that because I’ve never been able to nail her down perfectly, which is why I shifted the main character focus onto Alex to begin with. And I think it will still remain with Alex, but  I need to focus more on her relationship with Cippie, and her failing Cippie. 

Yeah. Anyway, the point was, there’s a shitload of material to go through to get to the right place on this. But I think I know where my starting point is. Where it always is. With the soul of a story. 

[ramrodd]

What Does Jesus' Weird Coin Miracle Mean? | Matthew 17:24-27

COMMENTARY:

First of all, let me stipulate that Jesus put on a dog-and-pony show to wrap His teachings in just like you. Jesus was the original Dr. John and his Traveling Medicine Show if Cat Stevens was playing Dr. John. You are a teacher like Jesus and I associate the number 11 with the kind of teacher Jesus was. This is where reason, logic and analysis enter into the creative process, beginning with the number 2, which is reflection of divine purpose in the individual and collective unconsciousness, the number 1. This is easy to illustrate with the elegance of the Arabic numbers we use, currently, but I don't have any idea how some of these concepts conveyed with the numeric symbols before they existed. This is why I say you can't really do Kabbalah unless you can do mathematics using the Hebrew alphabet. You can sort of do it with Roman numerals, but they are a 10 base system and designed to translate more or less directly from an abacus.

Jesus just didn't have the internet. He was a fisher of men and He caught them one at a time and taught them how to be fishers of men until they were able to catch them with nets and fill up  stadiums like Cat Stevens or Taylor Swift. At one point, 5,000 men run 20 miles from Capernaum to Bathsadea just to catch his show. Unlike the 4,000, it wasn't a family picnic: these were hard-core Galilean jihadists. That's why the episode is in the Gospel of Mark: it captured the imagination of the Roman military intelligence in Caesarea and mobilized their indigenous spy net work. 5,000 men is a Roman legion and a modern infantry division.

Anyway, I'm just adding context to your understanding of the Gospels from the perspective of a soldier who recognizes a military intelligence narrative for what it is.

Just for the record, the Finger of God touched the US-Tailand Women World Cup test with the 13 – 0 score. Yawah, Queen of Battle, wants men, universally, to get their heads out of their collective asses and repent of our collective oppression of women since Moses adulterated the 7th Commandment with his second tablet, beginning with paying women soccer pros on the same scale as the men. People are complaining that US women ran up the score, but what were they supposed to do stop playing at a test level? That Tailan side is immortal: I'm not going to place a bet on the podium, but the US honored Tailand by playing as if it was the finals and it was US behind by 13. This is the fucking World Cup: you don't pull your punches in the fucking World Cup.  

Chapter 17 is intended to be understood as a complete narrative and not deconstructed by your post-Hegalian dialectical. I don't have an issue with post Hegelian deconstruction as a tool of literary analysis, but you conclusion isn't what the author of Matthew is going for. This is an illustration of how Jesus maintained cohesion, his leadership style and personnel management techniques. Jesus understands that that He is a means to an end for everybody around Him: Peter, in particular, sees the day when it all pays off in victory and the sort of triumph even an Roman general would envy. Jesus is Fidel and Peter sees himself as Raul, while Judas Iscariot is in the role of Che Guevara as played by John Wilkes Boothe.

And Peter is running a little hot and cold. They are on the road for at least 3 years: the Gospel of John gets this correct because of the Passovers: John Mark is probably the author of the Gospel of John and he knew Jesus at the same age when Passover would have been as important to him as Christmas is to your kids.

The Transfiguration is the last thing Jesus does once He is able to reliably fill a stadium for His Cat Stevens Traveling Medicine Show, with Taylor Swift the front band, which means He has created a critical mass for a general revolution, or something that will deliver the visions of ginger bread dancing in Peter's head.

Jesus has sold them a pig in the poke and He knows it and continually confesses to His necessary treachery, They expect to sweep into Jerusalem like El Cid and the rout of Granada, but we know better.

In the mean time, the enemies of Jesus are constantly picking at Him and this seemingly unremarkable inquiry ““Doesn’t your teacher pay the temple tax?” sounds like another snare set out by the Pharisees determined to trap and destroy Jesus.

There is a lot left out of Matthew's version of the Demon-Possessed Boy, including “I believe, Lord: help me with my unbelief!”  (this happens to be my constant petition in prayer: knowing God is no proof against doubt).  

Jesus is dealing with Peter's unbelief. His first comment to Peter “From whom do the kings of the earth collect duty and taxes—from their own children or from others?” , reflects Peter's state of mind and pushes his buttons none too subtly with the Big Picture and Peter's role in it. Jesus is descended from David on both sides  and, as you say, His mission is to reclaim that crown. That's the hook for Peter, that's how he is being played by Jesus, fisher of men.. This  of discussion is a lot like Hebrews, a mini-pep talk to get Peter's mind right, again.

What Peter doesn't understand, along with everybody but possibly Mary, Lazarus's sister, is that He is on a Kama-Kazi mission, suicide by centurion. Jesus isn't trying to avoid offending anyone by not paying the Temple Tax, which was not required but a tradition, like korban, when He says:  “But so that we might not cause offense... “.  like Socrates, He is picking his battle which is to be fought on Golgotha and not Capernaum., but then He conjures a miracle involving money to re-set the hook in Peter. The fact that Matthew chooses “money” to close the deal reflects Matthews value system far more than it does Peter's.

The Gospel of Matthew is a polemic written to support the Judaizers in conflict with Paul.  Cornelius, the author of Mark, surfaces all the dots of Jewish theology coincidental to the journalism of his method, but he, Cornelius, lacks the perspective of the Jew in the 1st Century Temple Judaism N.T. Wright has devoted his career to explicating, so he, Cornelius, just calls'em like he sees'em. Matthew connects all the dots and provides the context Theophilus requires to consider the legal argument Paul presents in Romans. Peter is really wishy-washy over this whole kicking kosher to the curb thing, in spite of his relationship with Cornelius (as Galatians reflects: Peter still has to live with these people and their Haredim like ultra-orthodoxy and just wants things to stay the same). This particular episode reflects the centrifugal forces among the Disciples BEFORE Pentacost that Jesus had to contend with and I, personally, can't decide if Matthew is simpatico with Peter or taking a little dig, just to keep him in line.

Jesus is about a cold-blooded a creature as you can be and not be reptile. You don't need all that Jewish shit you bring up to understand that about Jesus. “Sweet Jesus, meek and mild” is pure Sunday school pablum. Jesus isn't trying to teach Peter anything: Matthew is selling the Jewish Christian version of Jesus in the composition of his version of Mark's narrative. Jesus is trying to maintain mission focus and illustrates that leadership is always a one on one dynamic, while management is organizing the 5000 into groups of 50 and 100.

Taylor Swift's career, from writing songs in her bedroom to filling up stadiums, is very similar to Jesus after He came out of the closet after going into the Jordan. The difference is, He was a whole lot more like Cat Stevens and your little TMBH, just cause you're guys.

Visualize Whirled Peas

[clubofinfo]

Expert: When I think about North Korea, what first comes to my mind is a mist over the calm and majestic surface of the Taedong River near Pyongyang. Next I always recall two lovers, locked in a tender and almost desperate embrace, sitting side by side on the shore. I saw them every day, while taking brisk walks at dawn. Now I don’t know for sure whether they were real or just a product of my fantasy; a sad and gentle reminder of all that has been already lost, as well as of all that should have happened but never really materialized. Currently, as Donald Trump’s “armada” is speeding towards China and DPRK, I keep recalling those moments: the cliff, the lovers and a lone fisherman with his long rod at the other side of the river. Everything in my memory connected to those dawns is now motionless, serene. Sometimes I wonder whether words still have the power they once used to have. In the past, a beautiful poem, a confession, or a declaration of love, were capable of changing one’s entire life, and sometimes even the entire destiny of a nation. But is this still the case, in this time and age? As a writer I often feel futility, even despair. Still, as an internationalist, I refuse to succumb to pessimism, and I try to use words as my weapons, again and again. I have already said a lot about North Korea. I have shown images. I have spoken about the unimaginable pain this country has had to endure. I have spoken broadly about its tremendous gesture – of helping to liberate and then to educate so many parts of the world, including the enormous and devastated continent of Africa. Me in DPRK, Ramsey Clark Delegation, DPRK copy. Still the propaganda against the people of DPRK rules. Let me try again; let me try again and again and again: Countryside women greeting your correspondent and other delegates. North Korea is a beautiful country, inhabited by human beings, with blood circulating through their veins. Despite what you are directly and indirectly told, these people feel pain and they are capable of experiencing great joy. Like others, they often dream, fall in love, and suffer when being insulted or betrayed or abandoned. They laugh and cry, they hold hands, get angry, even desperate. They have great hopes for a better life and they work very hard trying to build their future. ****** So listen well, manager, or supervisor of what you yourself call the “free world”. Or how should I call you, President? Ok, fine, President… If you shoot your Tomahawk missiles at them, at DPRK, (as you recently did at Syria), or if you drop your bloody “Mother of All Bombs” on them (as you just did on some god-forsaken hamlet in Afghanistan, just in order to demonstrate your spite and destructive force), their bodies will be torn to pieces, people will die in tremendous agony; wives will be howling in despair burying their husbands, grandparents will be forced to cover the dead bodies of their tiny grandchildren with white sheets, entire neighborhoods and villages will cease to exist. Of course, you people do it everywhere; you think that you are the masters of the world, so used to spreading agony and desolation all over the world, but let me remind you one more time and put it on the record: it may all look like some fun-to-play computer game or a TV show, but it is not; it is all real, when your shit hits the targets, it’s damn real! I have seen plenty of it, and I have had really enough! DPRK free public housing – is it what the West hates about DPRK?. I know this is not what you have been told, and this is not what you tell the others. North Koreans are supposed to look and behave like a nation of brainless robots, lacking all basic emotions and individuality, staring forward without seeing much, unable to feel pain, compassion or love. You don’t want to see the truth, the reality, and you want others to be blind as well. The way the West portrays DPRK Even if you’ll blow the entire DPRK to pieces, you’ll actually not see much anyway, you’ll see almost nothing: just your own missiles shooting from battleships and submarines, your own airplanes taking-off from aircraft carriers, as well as some computer-generated images of powerful explosions. No pain, no reality, and no agony: nothing will get to you; nothing will reach you and your citizens. North Korea Country Road It is you who is blind; it is not they. You actually like it, don’t you? Admit you do. Let’s have it all in the open. And many citizens in the West like it as well – new titillating experiences, free ‘entertainment’, and a welcome break from the dire and empty, grey, loveless and meaningless routine of daily life in both North America and Europe. Hundreds of millions glued to their TV screens. Your popularity is going down, lately, isn’t it? The more missiles you shoot, the more bombs you drop, and the more countries you intimidate and confront, the broader your ‘support base’ gets. You are a businessman, after all. The trade, the deal is simple, easy to grasp: you give to the majority of your people what they desire, and they give you support and admiration. True, isn’t it, if stripped of all that ‘political correctness’. The psychologist Jung called this culture ‘pathological’. It has already destroyed basically all continents on Earth. It is now, perhaps, attempting to finish what is left of the world. Public Pool Still, you ought to know and understand and should be fully aware of the following: you might now get some generous endorsement from your fellow mentally ill citizens, but if you blow up the DPRK or any other country on Earth, sky-high, and if we as the planet Earth still somehow manage to survive, you and your ‘culture’ will be cursed for centuries and millennia to come! Think about it. Is it really worth it? Perhaps you don’t give a damn. Most likely you don’t. Still, give it a try, try to think, and try to imagine: you will go down in history as a degenerate mass murderer and a bigot! ***** Three years ago, this is how I described the 60th anniversary of the Victory Day in the DPRK: The brass band begins to play yet another military tune. I zoom on an old lady, her chest decorated with medals. As I get ready to press the shutter, two large tears begin rolling down her cheeks. And suddenly I realize that I cannot photograph her. I really cannot. Her face is all wrinkled, and yet it is both youthful and endlessly tender. Here is my face, I think, the face I was looking for all those days. And yet I cannot even press the shutter of my Leica. Then something squeezes my throat and I have to search in my equipment bag for some tissue, as my glasses get foggy, and for a short time I cannot see anything at all. I sob loudly, just once. Nobody can hear, because of the loud playing of the band. Later I get closer to her, and I bow, and she reciprocates. We make our separate peace in the middle of the boiling-hot main square. I am suddenly happy to be here. We have both lost something. She lost more. I was certain she lost at least half of her loved-ones in the carnage of those bygone years. I lost something too, and now I also lost all respect and belonging, to the culture that is still ruling the world; the culture that was once mine, but a culture that is still robbing people of their faces, and then burns their bodies with napalm and flames. It is the 60th Anniversary of Victory Day in the DPRK. An anniversary marked by tears, grey hair, tremendous fireworks, parades, and by the ‘memories of fire’. That evening, after returning to the capital, I finally made it to the river. It was covered by a gentle but impenetrable fog. There were two lovers sitting by the shore, motionless, in silent embrace. The woman’s hair was gently falling on her lover’s shoulder. He was holding her hand, reverently. I was going to lift my big professional camera, but then I stopped, abruptly, all of a sudden too afraid that what my eyes were seeing or my brain imagining, would not be reflected in the viewfinder. This is how I still remember the event. The West has already killed millions of North Koreans. How many more have to vanish, just for not surrendering? What is the price of not agreeing to serve the Empire? Would it be one million more, or ten million? The number, please: you are a businessman; so do define the price truthfully! ***** The DPRK has never attacked anybody. The United States which claims it now ‘feels threatened’, has attacked dozens and dozens of countries, robbed millions of people of life, and raped freedom, democracy and cultures all over the world. There is one image inside my head, which I want to share with all my readers, even if I will be risking that this time my writing will be bordering on sentimentality. I don’t give a fuck, for once; this is no time for ‘polished and elegant style’. So here it is: At one point I managed to break free from our delegation. It was in the capital, Pyongyang. I just walked and walked, along the mighty river, through an enormous park alongside ancient fortifications. I spotted a girl, tiny, with a big ribbon in her hair. She was wearing white shoes. It was sunset. Her mother, a simple but beautiful lady, was talking to her. It was so obvious how much she loved and cherished her daughter. The two of them could not see me; I was observing them from some distance. There was so much tenderness, so much serenity between these two human beings. The mother was caressing her daughter’s face, explaining something, pointing at the trees. Their faces were totally relaxed, no fear, no tension, just love. I walked further, and still in the park, I saw a couple surrounded by a group of people. It was a family photo session. A man and a woman were obviously getting married; he was wearing a formal suit, she was dressed in a wedding gown. Then I noticed that large black sunglasses were hiding a large part of the man’s face. He was blind. Most likely, he was badly burned behind the dark spectacles. His future wife was younger, and she was attractive. She was happy! She kept chatting, laughing cheerfully. I was stunned. In the West, people have been betraying each other, abandoning one another over the tiniest inconveniences or doubts, for the most egotistic reasons. And here, a young attractive woman was joining, happily, her badly injured man, so they could walk together, side-by-side, for the rest of their life journey. ***** I saw a lot of North Korea after those few hours in the park. I was faced with the most fortified border on Earth. I met and discussed philosophy and how the West tries to de-humanize its enemies, with Yang Hyong Sob, the Vice President of the Standing Committee of the Supreme People’s Committee. I discussed philosophy and existentialism with the great theologian and philosopher John Cobb, on board a bus that was taking us from Pyongyang to the borderline. There were ‘big moments’ during that trip, great celebrations all around me. There were elaborate performances and speeches, marches and music. Yet, nothing touched me so deeply as those moments in the park. There, I observed enormous tenderness given to a child by her mother. And I witnessed that natural and beautiful, simplicity and joy of love, mixed with serenity and dignity radiating from a young woman marrying her blind and injured partner. On one of the river banks That is North Korea, which I have been privileged enough to have observed with my own eyes. That is North Korea which the manager wants to ‘take care of’, which means ‘to destroy’. And that is North Korea where I realized, as on so many other occasions, in so many countries, that there is still so much love that resides on this Earth, and that no barbarity, no cruelty, would ever be able to defeat it. ***** This essay is not my ‘usual stuff’. It is not a philosophy, or reportage. I don’t know what it is. I don’t care what it is. I just wanted to share something with my readers: something that is inside me right now, something that is breaking and shouting and rebelling against the state of things. What I am certain of is that at this moment, I want to be there, in Pyongyang. I want to go back, although no one has invited me to return, yet. If the supervisor, the manager, decides to attack, I want to be on my feet and alert and ready, facing his ships and missiles. Just like that, as always, without any cover or bulletproof vest, just with my cameras, and a pen and a simple notepad, as well as a tiny Asian dragon – a good luck charm – in my pocket. I will not be afraid. I don’t think most of the people of North Korea would be afraid. Only those who are ready to commit mass murder, over and over again, in all corners of the world, are now most likely scared; at least subconsciously, at least in their own essence as well as of their own insanity. http://clubof.info/