#art shouldn’t only be about the heartbreaking things. if all we had was a million baby birches we’d all die.

[femmeterypolka]

new joanna song’s got me feeling like a mean lesbian

[mintsuke]

Second Chance (k.s.)

In which; Kita Shinsuke falls for his daughter’s f!kindergarten teacher.

WC: 6.6K

A/N; 200 follower special!! 😳 ty all again and I hope you enjoy and lmk what you think <3

*Slight reference to Clannad :’)

Warnings!: mentions of death, miscarriage, cheating

First day of school jitters weren’t a thing in Kita’s book. There was no such thing when he was always prepared with all his supplies in his satchel and knowledge of where and what class he was in. Why was there a need to be nervous as long as you studied and prepared like usual?

It hadn’t even registered in his mind that he was nervous until he had to let go of the tiny hand curled around his index finger. There was only three times he’d ever felt nervous, his chest twisting crudely and his stomach fluttering uncomfortably with butterflies. One of which, he’d like to never have to relive. 

And currently. It was scarily coming back to him like a pick up truck hurling towards him at dangerous speeds. 

He almost forgot how to breathe as other parents kiss the bubbly cheeks of their own children and watch as the students stand in line as best as they can in front of their classroom. 

“Papa?” the little girl asked, her large hazel eyes blinked at his strained chestnut own, cheeks full and pinch-able, and mouth wide in excitement. His grandmother had helped pull her dark hair into cute little pig tails, not taking a no for an answer when the little one threw a fit about being a big girl now. 

“Kita Erina-chan?” 

A breath. Then all oxygen once again left his lungs as he snapped his head up to greet his daughter’s teacher. 

You stand there with a warm smile, eyes crinkled and nose slightly scrunched. A striped apron had been tied over your clothes. 

He’s not even quite sure of his own reaction as he watches with deaf ears as your lips move, but all he can hear is his heart thrumming loudly in his ears. He doesn’t snap out of his stupor until he realizes you’re calling out his family name in confusion.

“Oh... I apologize...” He mutters in a fluster, scratching the back of his neck nervously. Looking around now, he’s probably one of the last parents to let go of their child, and he can’t help the heat that crawls over his cheeks. 

It was unlike him to act shy like this as well.

“No worries. A lot of parents have a little reluctance on the first day of school. I mean who wouldn’t when you look at these cute little ones,” You smile down at Erina, who mirrors your expression as you hold out your hand, “Shall we go? I have a lot of fun things planned for you, Erina-chan!” 

The heartbreak is unbearable when the little girl releases her hold on his index finger after a brief kiss on his forehead. 

“Tell Papa see you later!” You instruct jovially to Erina, who parrots the phrase cutely, as you and the girl lead the line of kindergartners into the classroom.

Kita’s attention is divided between the absolute adorableness of his own child, and the comfortable way you had just referred to him as papa. It doesn’t even kick in that he’s so smitten with your mere appearance until he’s halfway home and realizes he didn’t catch your introduction and name during his stupor.

He forgets, however, that work needs to be done in the field, and regretfully relinquishes picking up his daughter to his grandmother - who claims the walk is nothing for her strong bones. He’d beg to differ, but kept his thoughts to himself and waited until he returned home to Erina and his granny welcoming him home with dinner. 

“How was school?” He asked as he opened his arm wide to beckon her onto his lap. Bouncing, she nearly cannonballs onto his crossed legs, briefly hugging her father before kissing his cheek happily.

“It was fun!” She exclaimed, going on to excitedly recount her day. He smiled and listened carefully to her story of playing tag with the other kids, her new favorite book being the one you had read during story time, and the drawing she had made during art - which she ran all the way to her room to grab to show him.

“Oh who’s this?” Kita asks curiously as he places his pointer over what he presumed to be a woman holding the child’s hand, the other being held by a man. At least from what he could out of her block-y crayon shapes and mitten-hands and waves to indicate long hair. 

“(L/n)-sensei!” Erina grins toothily.

“You really like your teacher?” A question to which she nods mirthfully to. 

Yumie smiles in adoration at the child of her grandson, “She’s a very nice woman, very pretty and young... A perfect match.” 

Kita’s eyes narrowed for a half second at the glint in his grandmother’s eyes. What was she trying to hint at? 

In all honesty though...

You were pretty.

Ah. 

Pushing aside the thought, he made a sound of mild appraisal as he distracts himself with his glass of water. His cheeks flushing in mild embarrassment.

As much as he’d hate to admit it, his grandmother was sharp and sly, she loved teasing when the moment warranted it. 

She took every chance she got.

Especially after another day of work for Kita and school for Erina.

“Say Eri-chan, is (L/n)-sensei married?”

Kita choked on his water. Faking a cough to hide the mishap, before dabbing his mouth with a napkin. 

“Nope!”

The look of knowing crosses his grandmother’s face, and he can only silently continue to eat his meal. 

“Goodnight Eri-chan,” Kita smiles softly down at his daughter, stroking the back of his fingertips over her plump and rosy cheeks. Just like her’s. Those hazel irises that reflected her similar ones, glimmering with curiosity and mischief. 

“I love you, Papa,” the young girl yawns in a sluggish manner, eyelids falling close and open as she struggles to stay awake. 

Settling down beside her, he turns on his side to allow his daughter to curl against his body. Arms wrapping around her much smaller form securely. 

“I love you too.”

He thought that maybe he was just attracted to you. You were a single and beautiful woman, that much was clear. That was just it though, right? 

Right?

No. 

He couldn’t. 

He couldn’t dare to love another woman.

Yet, why did he feel so empty? Why was he looking at another woman the way he was? 

He had no answer. 

Why did he tend to watch as you corralled the children in a somewhat single-file line into the school building? What were these fleeting glances you both shared, a timid smile from your part, and a blush burning on his cheeks as he nods firmly to greet you silently. 

Your smile was gentle. Tender and soft, just like her’s. 

Crap.. 

This was fine. 

Besides, Erina never expressed a curiosity for her absence of a mother. Why should she, when she had a mother figure like his granny? 

It was fine like this. Kita didn’t need to date. He shouldn’t. 

At least that was what he kept telling himself. Mother’s day had come and passed, Kita and Erina had spent the night making a mess out of the kitchen in an effort to make dinner and a cake for Yumie. He’d thought everything was fine. 

“How was the mother’s day breakfast?” He asked her when he helped her set up their futon for the night.

Her smile was a little more somber this time around, unlike her usual bubbly and wild grin that lit up the world. This one felt sad and he wanted to know why. 

“It was good!”

“Want to tell me about it? Why do you look so sad?”

Her gaze fell to her hands, just as her smile did. 

“Well, we ate onigiri and sandwiches and desserts that (L/n)-sensei made for us!”

“But?” He pressed slightly.

The girl clasped her fingers over the bedding. Her head tilt downward, her dark hair falling over her head like a curtain that hid her sad expression from his gaze.

“Everyone else had their mamas...”

His smile never faltered, although the pain in his chest grew. 

“You don’t like granny accompanying you?”

“No!” She exclaims abruptly, “I... the other boys and girls noticed that I had only brought granny... and I felt sad. Where’s Mama? How come I’m the only one without one?”

She never did have a reason to ask. Now that she does, he’s not sure how to answer. He doesn’t want to upset her with the truth, but lying to her was no good. 

“She’s not with us anymore.”

He thought that answer would suffice. Erina looked dejected at the answer but slept on it. 

Perhaps a day to the park, when she doesn’t have school and he’s got a day off from working away in the farm, will mend the pieces he’s broken from revealing half the truth of her mother’s whereabouts. She didn’t deserve that kind of pain at this age. It just didn’t help her desire for a mother figure, a real one that she would call Mama.

“Oh! Kita-san?”

His heart nearly skips a beat before increasing exponentially in rhythm. 

You’re standing above him, Kita sitting on the bench while watching his daughter play with the neighborhood children, grocery bags hanging from your forearms. His eyes make a mistake to examine your figure as a whole. 

No apron. Just casual clothing on your day off with no need to look nice for your students. Yet, he couldn’t help but admire your natural beauty. Simply effortless.

Erina immediately notices you and comes racing over, calling your name out brightly before greeting you with a tight hug around your hips. You smile warmly at the girl, greeting her politely as she rejoins the children again.

Kita is in awe. He’d imagined this scene millions of times. Erina running into open arms, two pairs of hazel eyes gazing at one another with affection, kisses pressed to the girl’s forehead with whispered praises of her cuteness. 

“Mama!” he imagined her say it dozens of times. Not out of sadness that she was different from her classmates who had mothers, but out of love for the woman who had given birth to her. 

“Kita-san?”

He blinks, eyes widening a fraction before he bows his head in your direction.

“Sorry, I was very deep in my thoughts.”

Taking a seat on the bench beside him, you laugh slightly, and he can’t help but adore the sound. It brings a fluffy feeling in his chest and he can’t remember the last time he’d felt such a way, or heard her laugh. 

“You’re thinking a little too hard, don’tcha think?” You say with a soft chuckle following your teasing. He doesn’t answer, but you take this into stride and direct your attention to the adorable mini Kita playing on the monkey bars. 

“Eri-chan, is so cute and lovable,” You say after a brief moment passes, “You’re a lucky father, Kita-san.”

His lips quirk and you can’t help but stare, his expression nostalgic and sad.

“I am, she reminds me a lot of my wife.”

“Her mother must be a kind and gentle woman.” You comment good-naturedly.

“She was.” He says with that same, fond expression.

“A lucky woman indeed,” You chuckle, slightly envious of the woman who captured his heart. “Pardon me if I’m intruding, but does your wife work often? Eri-chan looked a little sad after our mother’s day activities.”

“Oh. I...” he trails off.

He looks slightly uncomfortable, his smile falling and you feel like you had in fact crossed a line. He’s unsure how to put the words together, but you stop him with a hand held up.

“Don’t worry about it, I apologize for pressing too far.”

Blinking, he opens his mouth, but you grant him that gentle smile of yours. He hates that it reminds him so much of her. Everything about you felt serene and soothing to be around, that darned smile of yours made him feel weak and vulnerable. He always was around her. 

“Not at all, but thank you.”

You cast him a sidelong glance before standing up, looping your wrists through the loops of the plastic bags.

“Well, I suppose I should be heading home now, it was nice seeing you both outside of school.”

He’s not sure what compels him to, but he stands abruptly. The action causes you to stop and wait for him to say something, and he’s not even sure why he reacted the way he did. Warmth spreads across his cheeks, the hue noticeable to your amusement.

“Um would you like some help with your groceries?”

The question shocks both you and himself. Your eyes widen a fraction before crinkling, accompanied by that beautiful smile. 

“How gentlemanly of you Kita-san,” You chuckle, “I’m okay though, the sentiment is appreciated.”

He doesn’t argue, almost feeling embarrassed by his own rashness. Erina seems to notice that you’re preparing to leave and comes running over to hug you goodbye. His stomach is turning, chest twisting, but his expression keeps a small smile as you bid your farewells.

“Thinking about (L/n)-sensei?”

A few hours later and he still can’t seem to stop thinking about you. He stiffens as his grandmother chuckles wholeheartedly. Was it really written all over his face?

The elder takes a seat beside him on the engawa, Erina already tucked away into bed in their shared room. Her warm, chocolate eyes observe the dazed look that remains on her grand son’s expression. 

“It’s been five years already Shin-chan.”

He glances at her, unsure of where she was getting at suddenly. 

“It has,” He agrees wearily.

“You don’t think Eri-chan asks me all the time where her mama is?”

Oh.

His jaw clenches. 

“Why don’t you move on and let her go already?”

An image of her and now, you, appears in his mind. He’s far too aware of his attraction towards you. It just...

“It doesn’t feel right.”

The elder snorts at his answer. 

“And why does it not? Like you’re betraying Reina’s love? For moving forward in your life? You don’t even notice how much you’re suffering by living in the past.”

He doesn’t answer and her eyes soften, placing a gentle hand over his shoulder.

“At best, Eri-chan is your living reminder of yours and Reina’s love.”

A moment. Then a sigh.

“I want you to be happy Shin-chan.”

He bites the inside of his cheek, “That doesn’t exactly entail that I have to date again Granny.”

The woman snickers, “I never said anything about dating, Shin-chan.”

The man flushes.

“No. I— Well...”

“Just admit it, you stubborn grandson of mine,” The woman jabs lightly at his arm.

“I admit nothing,” He says with a hand raking slowly over his face to hide the darkening blush.

“Then why do you get so flustered around Eri-chan’s cute teacher?”

He stands abruptly, pressing his mouth firmly into a straight line as he takes a deep breath.

“I... I’m going to get some rest, don’t stay up too late granny.”

The elder watches as he retreats back to his room and chuckles.

“What a stubborn boy. How unlike you.”

.

He never realized how much Erina really wished to have a mother of her own. He never thought it’d get to the point of Erina throwing a tantrum at dinner, tears welling up in her large hazel eyes. 

“I hate you Papa! I wish I had Mama!” 

“Erina-chan!” Yumie starts, but the young girl stands and races out of the room. Sniffling, she throws the sliding doors open and disappears into the night. 

“Stay here granny, I’ll go look for her,” Kita says as he gets up, “It’s my fault for never telling her the whole truth.”

Hurriedly, he slips on his shoes and leaves the house in a rush. He’s not even sure where she’d run to, but the fear is bubbling in his chest and reaching his throat. Sweat is falling in beads over his forehead. The anxiety is growing and growing like a flame, making his breath shortened.

He couldn’t lose Erina too. 

Frustration and stress is starting to overwhelm him. Two emotions he’s never had to deal with until Erina’s birth. 

To his relief, however, he passes by the park where you had sat with him while he watched Erina play. He spots your crouched form underneath the flickering lights of the park lamps. The breath stuck in his constricting throat finally relents as he hurries over. 

“(L/n)-san!” 

You look up with a flinch, eyes wide before relaxing at his appearance as you raise a finger to your lips. He nods as you turn slightly to reveal his daughter. The girl clutches close to your front, her cheeks still moist from crying minutes prior. Her breathing has calmed and she sleeps soundly in your arms. 

“Thank you,” he whispers as you adjust your hold on her to carry her properly as you walk with Kita back to his home. 

“Don’t mention it, I was luckily on my way to the local conbini when I saw her run into the park.”

You glance down at the girl, those same kind eyes, and that same motherly smile. They were the same.

The journey back to his home comes to an end and you attempt to pass the child onto her father, but she stirs from her sleep and complains. He wonders if she might’ve been a mama’s girl if she was here. The thought makes his chest tighten briefly. Although, it is quite endearing to see his daughter cling to you like so.

“Sensei has to go back home, be a good girl for your papa okay?” You say as she continues to make it difficult for you to leave. The two of you share a look before she finally relents and allows Yumie to take her, still refusing to face her father. 

“Just let her cool down, she’ll come around,” You say when you catch his downhearted expression. 

“I suppose...” He sighs before glancing at you, “Thank you again, I couldn’t have found her if it wasn’t for you.”

“It’s no problem Kita-san,” You chuckle, “Please, I don’t mind so don’t worry about thanking me.”

Scratching the back of his neck meekly, he decides to press his luck and offers to take you home.

“O-oh no, that would be too much of a hassle, you’re home already and all...” You wave your hands in front of you but he shakes his head.

“No, I’m the one offering, how could I let a woman walk home by herself at this time of night too?”

You pout to his surprise, the expression way too cute for his heart.

“You’re a rather sly man, Kita-san.”

You finally allow him to walk you home, falling into stride alongside one another. The pace is neither too slow or hurried. One question leads to a passionate talk, on your part, about teaching children and how you adore them. There’s an unfamiliar glint in your eyes, a falter in your expression that he notices as you talk, but he chooses not to interrupt. 

In turn, he talks about volleyball, but any story that had to do with high school always led back to her.

“I met my wife in high school,” He admitted meekly, gauging your expression briefly for any signs of discomfort or whatnot, but you smile at him encouragingly. “I was actually a first year when I met her, she had been a second year. She wasn’t the manager for the team or anything romantic like that, really... In fact, she was part of the home economics club.

“She loved cooking. We didn’t start dating until the year after, but she would make me bento boxes every day. It wasn’t until half a year into our relationship did I learn about her weak immune system. She constantly fell ill, and even missed much of third year that she had to be held back. 

“Even then... she still managed to watch my games, although she was never able to come watch us when we went to nationals.”

You listen intently to his stories of his wife, adoring the way his face brightens at times and turns somber the next, his expression a whirlwind of nostalgia. He really loves his wife, and you feel a little jealous and guilty for feeling the way you do. It doesn’t even hit you that you’ve reached your apartment until he stops and motions to your door. 

“O-oh, sorry, I... would you like to come in for some tea? As thanks for walking me home of course!” You stammer as he chuckles heartily at your fluster.

“If I’m not intruding.”

Your heart is pounding in your ears, your cheeks burning as you prep the kettle on the stove and search for two mugs. It doesn’t even feel real that he’s in your home, but he’s there when you look over your shoulder to see him seated on the floor cushion at the low table. 

When the tea is ready, you settle down adjacent to him. He receives the mug gratefully, sniffing the hot liquid with an exhale of bliss at the calming aroma. 

“Your wife sounds like an amazing woman,” You say after you take a sip from your own mug.

“She was,” he says cryptically, and before you question it, he beats you to the punch, “How about you? Do you have a lucky man in your life?”

You laugh. Gazing down at your ring finger dreamily.

“I did. Before at least.”

He felt a twist in his chest. Was it because you looked so sad and lonely, or the fact that there was once a man in your life. 

Why should the latter even matter to him?

“Puppy love, straight out of high school. He was any girl’s dream. Intelligent and handsome. We were engaged a little ways through my studies to be an elementary teacher.” The look on your face is one of bliss, remembering your younger days, “We always talked of having a family together, we would move into a nice house with a cute pup and surrounded by our children. 

“At least until I found out, I was infertile. I’d gotten pregnant finally and the baby never made it. It was a deal breaker for our relationship, he’d ended up cheating on me and lashing out on me for being the way I am.

“I spent a very long time mourning for the loss of my child and my relationship. I’d lost everything and blamed it on myself for being like this. 

“I guess after a while, I was teaching and looking after these children as if they were my own, and it had healed me in its own way. I guess I finally accepted where I was, who I was. It still hurts even now, wanting nothing more than my own family, my own child, but teaching them like this makes me happy nonetheless. A lot of my old students often come visit from time to time, it makes me very happy.

“I guess even now... I don’t try to look for a partner out of fear that I won’t be enough due to my condition.”

Your eyes gloss over and he wants to reach over and wipe your tears away, but he keeps himself seated as you smile down at your left hand.

“That’s not true,” he says, “Any man would be lucky to love and be loved by you (L/n)-san.”

Your cheeks grow warm at the comforting words.

Maybe, just maybe, you thought, he could’ve been referring to himself as someone possibly capable of loving you.

“Truthfully... my wife isn’t around because she passed away. The birth had taken a toll on her weak body,” he reveals finally, eyes downcast at the liquid in his mug.

The birth of their daughter had been one of the most happiest and yet saddest moments of his life. It left him a widow and a single parent. 

“I’m so sorry...” You begin but he shakes his head.

“No don’t be...”

“...So does Erina-chan...?”

“I never told her to the whole truth... I didn’t want to make her sad, but she’s constantly asking for her mother and wondering why she is different from the rest of her classmates who do. I only ever explain that mama’s not with us anymore... but I was too afraid to face the truth myself. I see much of Reina in my daughter and I’m so afraid losing her and letting go of her. I don’t want to let go of her hand too.”

He remembered that day like it was yesterday. They had been expecting the arrival of their daughter with excitement. His wife’s immune system had always been poor and he knew that very well. He just never expected the amount of strain child birth had put on her until her hand that was once holding his very firmly, let go.

“I can’t let her go, Reina... Moving on would be leaving her in the past and betraying her love.”

He bites his lip. His emotions were starting to flare at the thought of losing Erina and remembering the loss of his wife. Moving on felt too selfish. He didn’t deserve that. Moving on would be a luxury and almost felt wrong. Like he was choosing to forget Reina.

“Someone as important as Reina-san is very hard to forget, and shouldn’t be forgotten at all,” You start, choosing your words carefully while glancing at his expression every so often, in case you step on a sore spot, “In fact, it is her love that keeps you going, it is her legacy that lives within both yours and Erina-chan’s hearts. Erina-chan is the living proof of both of your love. A beautiful daughter, indeed. She must be very happy watching over you both. And I’m sure she wouldn’t want you beating yourself up over this, she’d want you to be happy Kita-san. What’s holding you back?”

 “I’m afraid.”

Admittedly, Kita Shinsuke is very afraid.

You empathize with him, seeing a little bit of yourself, when you were at your lowest, in the way he slumps in his seat and glares down at his tea to keep his emotions in check.

“It’s okay to be afraid. It’s natural for us human beings. You just don’t need to rush yourself, Kita-san. Don’t let yourself bottle those kind of feelings. Acknowledge them and respect those emotions, or else you’d be ignoring the feelings that Reina-san has given you. Take all the time you need to make peace with yourself and live on for her.”

Your words are heartfelt and he appreciates it very much.

“Thank you and I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, but I think you owe Erina-chan an apology.”

He still lingers though, despite preparing to leave to head back home. 

You still smile, although sadly this time. “Actually, Kita-san... I know this is sudden... but I need to get this off of my chest... I quite like you, romantically to be more precise.”

His eyes widen. The breath catching in his throat, almost as if he suddenly forgot how to breathe. 

You scratch the back of your neck meekly, looking anywhere but at him, “To be honest with you, I was under the impression that you were a single father but under different circumstances... 

“I was prepared to face the fact that you still loved your wife whether it be separation through divorce but never had I considered her passing; I apologize for my rudeness and over-zealousness.

“I guess what I’m trying to say, in simpler terms, is that I kind of like you Kita-san, and I.. trust me when I say that I never hoped to ever replace Reina-san’s place in your heart, because she is a very special person to both you and Erina-chan... but I cannot just overlook the way I can’t stop thinking about the charming man that comes every morning to see his, just as beautiful, daughter off to school.”

His heart skips a beat, stomach fluttering. Then it twists and he has to bite his lip. You’re looking up at him with tenderness, neither expecting him to share or reject your feelings. You look up at him with those similar eyes that hold so much kindness and patience for him. You don’t expect anything from him, if not a rejection. You had prepared yourself for it when you had realized you were starting to stare far too long at the man when he came in the mornings. 

Your fellow teachers teased you for your crush, asking what you’d do if he was married. He never did have a ring on his finger so you did have some sort of hope. Perhaps you were just a little too ambitious. 

He finally takes a shaky breath, unsure what to say anymore. He didn’t want to hurt you or your feelings. The conflict was evident in the swirl of emotions in his chestnut hues. Brows knitted together and teeth worrying into the plush of his bottom lip. 

If it were your place, you would have kissed him and told him it was okay, there was nothing to worry over. It, however, was not your place to. 

“I’m sorry... I...” He starts, unsure how to answer, but you stop him.

“I know. I didn’t tell you this to force you into anything or rush you into moving on, maybe it was just me after all, falling for you without so much as a date or a proper talk like we just had.”

“(L/n)-san...”

You shake your head, placing your hand over his mouth to quiet him. At the realization of your bold action, you retract your hand with a timid smile. Looking at him finally from under your lashes.

“You should go see your daughter Kita-san.”

How was it, that you were still able to look at him like that? Like he deserved your affections?

He leaves reluctantly. There was no arguing that, not when he’d in-explicitly rejected your feelings, but even so, his chest ached for you. 

The walk back is long. He’s drowning in his own thoughts and worries, regretting his own indecisiveness and fears. This was not like him, where was the confident captain of the strong Inarizaki volleyball club? 

Atsumu would definitely think the world was ending if he saw him distraught like this. One time was enough, the setter being present along with Aran at the birth of his daughter and the death of his wife. 

He slips off his shoes in the foyer, greeting his grandmother who waits for him outside of his bedroom. The elder casts him a meaningful smile before opening the door for him, and closing it once he’s inside. 

The miniature lump under the covers is enough to tell him of his daughter’s whereabouts. She’s wide awake as she immediately turns her back to him upon noticing his presence.

Settling into bed, he releases a soft breath.

“I’m sorry Eri-chan. Papa made you mad. Please forgive me.” 

His arms reach out carefully, slipping around her middle to pull her close cradle her smaller body close to him. The hold is firm and unyielding despite her silence, afraid that she’ll let go just like Reina. 

“Mama... she... she’s an angel now. She watches over us, you, me, and even granny. I’m sorry for keeping this from you.”

A moment passes before he feels her body tremble, sniffles that turn into quiet sobs. The girl turns over to clutch her father close.

“I love you Papa, no matter what!”

“I love you too,” He replies with a soft smile, relief and adoration swimming in his eyes.

Like this, they fall asleep, tired from the events of the day. 

It’s the weekend the next morning and he allows the girl to sleep a little longer as he slips out of the room. Dawn has just barely broken through the night and he stretches his limbs before taking a seat on the engawa in a daze. He can’t stop thinking about you. He never could. 

It had unsettled him however, that he might’ve been deluding himself into thinking he liked you. There was always the possibility that he only was attracted to you for your similarities with his wife. He didn’t want to take advantage of your feelings because of that. It wasn’t fair to you. 

“Ahhh I messed up,” he mutters exasperatedly

“Messed up? I never thought I’d see the day you say such a thing, Shin-chan. You finally made up with Eri-chan though, what’s troubling you so?” Yumie asks as she takes a seat beside him.

“(L/n)-san confessed to me.”

The woman continues to watch the sun rise without waver. She must’ve expected it after all. 

“And? What are you planning on doing? Does it still feel wrong? Is it something you don’t want? Shin-chan, you just need to choose what’s best for you. Both Eri-chan and I want you to be happy. Trust yourself as you always do. Where is that unwavering confidence I always saw in you back in your volleyball days?”

His eyes glimmer. 

“Granny...”

“What is it that you want?” She asks again, “Why not be selfish just this once, you deserve happiness, Shin-chan.”

His grandmother’s right, and he knows it. The same thoughts continue to boggle his conscience even as a few days pass and he continues to walk Erina to school. You both steal glances at one another, but he’s still unsure of what to do. 

“How’s my cute 'lil God-daughter?” Atsumu asks heartily when he comes home for the week, inviting Kita for lunch at Onigiri Miya. 

“Our God-daughter,” Osamu corrects as he sets down a platter of their favorites. He smiles at their ex-captain, gesturing towards the onigiri with his hand, “Made fresh only from the best rice around of course.”

Kita chuckles and nods his head in thanks. Truthfully, there had been a whole entire chaos when word had broke out among his old volleyball club members that he was having a daughter. The boys were ecstatic about being uncles to Erina and made a whole fuss about who was to be her God-fathers. In the end, Aran and the twins had been chosen.

“No need to be salty when yer clearly not the cool uncle,” Atsumu sticks his tongue out at his brother. 

“I’m sorry? Who almost broke ‘er arm when...” Osamu trails off immediately, sweat dropping down his temple at Kita’s tight-lipped smile.

“When what?”

“Nothing!” The blonde interjects with a shaky laugh, “How’ve ya been Kita-san? How’s Eri-chan and Yumie-san?”

He’d almost forgotten about his whole dilemma until then, his expression faltering as he glances down at the onigiri in his hands. 

“It’s been... okay... I guess.”

The two blink at him in unison. 

“You guess? Who are ya, and what have ya done with Kita-san?”

The elder shoots them a hardened look, unamused by the question. 

“What’s botherin’ ya? It’s not everyday we see ya this unsure,” Osamu asks thoughtfully, remembering the days of their ever robotic captain. Robust and always confident, they had never thought they’d ever see their ex-captain downtrodden like this. At least not since Reina. 

Just like in high school, when he surprised the team in a sudden spurt of emotion and teared up at being offered the title of captain, they were still never used to the sudden burst of emotions he was capable of at the birth of his daughter and the passing of his wife. The same shock remains as he lets his sadness cross over expression.

He finally relents under their pressing stares, explaining the situation revolving his attraction towards Erina’s teacher... and well, your reciprocated affections. He expressed his fears, his feelings, anything and everything that held him back.

“Is she pretty?” Atsumu grins, raising his eyebrows suggestively before yelping when Osamu smacks him upside his head. 

Kita casts him a blank look, biting his lip to hold back the fond smile that crosses his expression. 

“She’s very pretty.”

Osamu elbows his brother before he can open his mouth. “Kita-san, from what you said just now, she sounds like a very kind woman and honestly I believe you deserve happiness. You’re not at fault for anything, you’ve done nothing wrong, but you need to trust yourself, trust (L/n)-san, and decide what it is you want.

“I can see where you’re coming from, comparing (L/n)-san to Reina, but you need to look at her as her own person. She also deserves that much.”

The older twin nods in agreement, “It’s not everyday I get to give you advice Kita-san, but I agree with Yumie-san, you should let yourself be selfish just this once.” 

“You both deserve a second chance at love.”

.

It’s a lazy night after finishing all of your grading for the weekend. You order takeout instead of cooking and cozy up in your sleeping clothes with a blanket and plush pillow. Perhaps a romance movie to quell the ache of your rejection. 

You were just about ready to watch your selected flick when the doorbell rang. Blinking, you hadn’t expected company, other than the delivery man at least. With not much effort put into your appearance, you shrug at your unkempt hair and lack of professional clothing and answer the door.

“Hey.”

Your eyes nearly bulge out of your sockets. Kita stands tall and confident at your apartment door step, and yet there was something timid about the way his eyes glanced down at you shyly, his fingers clasped at his sides. 

“Hi,” You reply immediately before feeling the heat creep up your neck. To your horror, his eyes glance down your sleeping attire and you hold out your hand to stop him. “S-sorry, I apologize for coming out looking like this... I wasn’t necessarily expecting visitors at this time.”

He blinks once, then twice, before chuckling softly. The sound is warm and fluffy, making your heart flutter effortlessly. It almost hurts knowing he didn’t reciprocate your feelings.

“No, I should apologize for showing up unannounced... but I never did quite get your number.”

Huh?

Your jaw nearly hits the floor. 

“Kita-san... are you...”

“Asking for your number? Yes. I am.” He says firmly and confidently, eyes sparkling as he gazes at you with that beautiful and charming smile of his, “Maybe a date to go with it as well?”

“But... I thought... you rejected me...?”

He shook his head, “I never said I didn’t like you back, (L/n)-san. To be quite honest with you, I think you look very adorable like this.” Your fluster is a treat to his eyes as he reaches forward to take your hand in his. It’s warm and soft, and yet strong and calloused from working in the fields. “Thank you for opening my eyes. I thought about it and my own feelings and I want to stop running away and being afraid of the present and accepting my past.”

“If it’s okay with you. I’d really like to try this.”

You look genuinely surprised and touched by his sincere words, his eyes full of determination and adoration as they bore into yours.

“And by this you mean...”

The sly quirk of your glossy lips is tell-tale of your knowing of his intentions, but you like to tease him nonetheless. 

He might never stop seeing her in his everyday life, but he’d come to the acceptance that you were two individual women and he would continue to love and be grateful to his late wife, but he decided he would move forward for his daughter’s sake. 

There was no stopping the way he was falling hard for you. He adored you for who you were and that was what mattered.

“Please grant me the honor of going on a date with you.”

[snlhostharry]

to be determined / one

harry styles x reader friends with benefits au

soon after moving to new york, you meet harry styles at a party. you convince yourself that there’s nothing between the two of you until it becomes too intense to ignore. if you keep telling yourself that he doesn’t mean anything to you, does that make it true?

a/n: hi everyone! welcome to my first harry styles series. This originally started as a challenge for myself to try and write a harry fic inspired by taylor swift songs so that’s where the chapter titles come from, it’s kind of become something bigger than that but I figured I would keep the theme anyway 

chapter 1: welcome to new york

The story starts in New York City. 

A place written about in countless stories, about love, about heartbreak, about giving up, about standing tall, and about putting broken hearts into drawers and slamming them shut. It’s easy to say that writing another story about New York is beating a dead horse, throwing characters into the same tired old setting and letting them live out the writer's wildest daydream. But it’s never been about the city itself, it’s always been about the people. Something about the city always manages to be the perfect stomping ground for people, for characters to find each other in a  whirlwind of A list parties and harsh billboard lights. 

Speaking of which you are suddenly very sick of said harsh billboard lights in the middle of times square. As someone who has read (and written) countless articles describing times square as a flurry of activity but also with some kind of inherent magical appeal, the center of everything it’s own small utopia, you know that everyone who wrote that had to be aware of their own bullshit. It’s a nuanced way of tourist trapping, smart, albeit annoying on a variety of levels. A gimmick to get wide eyed little girls to stand in the middle of chaos and think that maybe they could carve out a place for themselves here. 

You’re not trying to carve out a place for yourself, you’re trying to get to a stupid party. That and manage to not get any mud or other stains on this very nice dress you’re wearing. After what seems like forever of looking around and then suddenly looking back down at your phone just in case anyone wanted to even try to make eye contact with you, familiar faces appear out of the sea of people. 

You greet them with a look of disappointment, “Two questions: why did you want to meet here-” a tourist elbows there way past you mid sentence, inadvertently proving your point, “-and why aren’t we just taking an uber?” 

Molly, a tall black woman with objectively perfect hair (which is somehow gorgeous at all times), smiles and pats your shoulder like a kindergarten teacher, “I thought you would want to see Times Square.”

“I’ve seen it,” You shoot back, squinting again at the bright light coming from directly behind her head, and adjusting your jacket over your shoulders. 

She squeezes your shoulder quickly, “And also to teach you that any time someone asks you to meet them in Times Square  they’re fucking with you.”

“I figured you were fucking with me,” You tell her, “But thank you, god forbid the midwestern girl gets lost in Times Square waiting for someone to meet her who is obviously not coming.” 

Molly laughs, and so do you. She looks down at her phone briefly, and then back at you, “To answer your question, why would anyone ever try to get an uber in the city at seven?” 

You shrug, “What kind of self respecting party starts at eight?” 

Fletcher, who’s name admittedly sounds like it should belong to anyone but him, finally stops staring at the large elmo mascot a few feet away and jumps into the conversation. “The kind with an age range, twenty somethings to late thirty somethings, who no longer have the energy to go from nine to six am.” 

You sigh, “So boring then or-?”

“It’s about networking,” Molly says, “And also drinking, but mostly networking.” 

“One of those unique business opportunities where you get free food, and possibly run into celebrities, singers mostly.” 

You roll your eyes, “Wow you had me at various singers.” 

“Says the woman who did an interview series with Tik Tok kids who all live in the same house,” Molly snips, half joking. 

You shiver, half from the memories of that objectively terrible experience and half from a sudden breeze. Needless to say a significant portion of the reason why you’d left LA, was because their entertainment section was suddenly drifting away from profiles on actors and towards compilations of one minute videos made by sun tanned twenty somethings that somehow made them millions a year. That and after you’d spent two weeks semi living with ten of said twenty somethings for a story that had gotten a lot of buzz you never wanted to see anyone connected to the app ever again. 

You give Molly your best ‘I’ll kill you’ smile, “You have to decide what you’re going to make fun of me for, is it the midwestern thing or is it the Tik Tok thing because one of those involves you admitting that I lived in Los Angeles for a year which means I’m perfectly capable of handling Times Square in all of it’s elmo public urinating glory.” 

Fletcher looks again at the mascot who is not in fact publicly urinating, but honestly if it did suddenly start none of you would be surprised. 

Molly looks at you for a second and says, “Both,” She looks at Fletcher. 

He looks at you then back and Molly and nods, “Yeah. Both.” 

You roll your eyes, “So can we get going now or-?” 

The ride to the location Molly had all but refused to tell you was filled with talks of the impending deadlines on Monday for pieces that were anywhere from fifty to seventy percent finished. (your’s is at the lower end of the spectrum because there is only so much one person can write about an art installation that you found less insightful and more literal in the sense that the sculpture was literally just large amounts of clay pressed together in something that shouldn’t even be considered a shape with no metaphor or meaning behind it). 

Soon enough you’re standing in what looks like mostly a residential neighborhood, with one precariously nice building in the middle of the block. You turn to Molly, “What the-?” 

“Don’t finish that, just be patient,“ She interrupts as a response. “You are very impatient, you know that?”

“I’m a journalist,” You say, “I need to know all of the facts, including what the-” You take a breath, “-heck we’re doing in the middle of a nice little neighborhood, I was expecting something more Gossip Girland Brooklyn Nine-Nine.” 

“You’re definition of journalist is a lot looser than mine,” Molly says.

“Have you ever watched Gossip Girl? And isn’t Brooklyn Nine-Nine set in a precinct?” Fletcher adds. 

“No, and Jake and Amy live in an apartment.” 

“Beyond the fact that you’re a TV writer who has never watched Gossip Girl-” Fletcher sighs, even though you know he hasn’t watched it either beyond random snippets for a hit piece he wrote on it a few months back (not received well by the way), “The top floor of that building-” He points to the precariously nice building, “isn’t apartments its a loft, the floor is huge and only one house.” 

You squint your eyes, “You’re kidding.”

“And the rest are offices?” 

“How did they get zoning for that?” 

They both shrug at the same time. 

“Guys I want to know that if the police bust up this party, speaking of loose terms, I’m going to say that you dragged me here against my will.” 

“I always knew you had good survival instincts.” 

Molly turns to you, “Look when you’re getting special press access to the inside of the met gala you will be saying thank you Molly for bringing me here to catapult my career.” 

“I have catapulted my own career thank you, the Tik Tok thing-” You shake your head, “Nevermind can we go in and stop loitering, then we’ll really get arrested.” 

Party is a loose term but you learn that's not necessarily a bad thing. It’s not a rager with strobe lights and pumping bass but there is music playing albeit classical. People mill around at tables talking to one another, both twenty somethings and thirty somethings, you recognize a few faces from the media mostly. Fletcher was right about the food, and Molly was right about the drinks. You talk to a few people just to introduce yourself, a couple of them have heard of you, if only because your sudden cross country move to newspapers that aren’t necessarily competitors but might have a bit of a rivalry was something that people talked about. You’d made a couple thirty under thirty lists (no not the Forbes one) while in LA, which meant nothing to you if you were being completely honest but apparently meant things to other people which is fine.

When you’re finally exhausted at putting on a smile and nodding like you’re actively engaged in conversation and not thinking about something completely you hang out by the bar, not even drinking, just watching the room and all of the people there. You never wanted to get a reputation for being the quiet girl in the corner who just watched and listened because those kinds of people are always seen as weird or doormats or both but if you’re being honest this is where you’re the most comfortable. Making small talk just to get some opportunity down the road has never quite been your style. 

You turn to go and find Molly when you suddenly come face to face with someone you recognise right away. 

In that moment you realize that Taylor Swift was in fact onto something when she said, “Didn’t you flash your green eyes at me?” As weird as it is, the first thing you think when you meet Harry Styles is how that song is definitely about him, because those green eyes are striking and they are staring right at you. 

“Hi,” He says, quick to the draw. 

You take a step back just because of how close you are and say, “Hello.” 

He looks at you like he’s thinking about something, and then holds out his hand, “Harry.” 

“y/n,” You shake his hand. You recover from your initial shock quickly, and plaster on that fake conversation smile again, ready for whatever it is he wants to say, if anything. You came here to ‘network’ and you’re not sure what kind of advantage talking to Harry Styles could possibly give you, but for some reason you want to talk to him. 

“What brings you here?” He asks you. 

“My co-workers,” You shrug, “I would much rather be at home watching Succession on HBO and listening to the Beatles on my record player, like true people of culture would.”

He looks at you for a second, as you try to keep a straight face. Then he laughs, “Seriously?”

“Fuck no,” You say, “That’s my impression of the girl who meets Harry Styles at a party and has to convince him that she is not like all the other girls, she is the one for him.” You smile, “Was that good? Or should I try again?” 

He thinks about it, “I think you should try again.” 

“Because you think it’s wrong or because you think I’m funny?”

“What do you think?”

“Well if you think I’m funny, then I’ve already won, I’ve tricked you into thinking that I’m not like all the other girls with reverse psychology .”

“Are you screwing with me?”

“Of course I’m screwing with you,” You take a sip of your drink. “If I were home right now I would be playing Lizzo on my record player, and drinking something with a medically unsafe level of caffeine.” You pause, “What brings you here?” 

“Honestly,” He looks out over the room, “I thought that this was going to be a much cooler party. Instead it’s just a bunch of reporters, and editors and media people.” 

“Who are inherent mood killers?” You ask. 

He narrows his eyes at you, “Am I allowed to say yes to that?” 

“You can do whatever you want,” You tease him, “You’re Harry Styles, who am I to tell you what to say?” 

“I feel like it was a trick question, which means that you are also a reporter.” 

You laugh again, “That was funny, I’m going to write that down for my story. ‘Harry is genuinely funny which he tries to use to make up for the lack of small talk abilities’.”

“You’re screwing with me again.” 

“Of course I am,” You say, “I work in the arts section of the Times, well not the actual art anymore but the movies and television.” 

“TV critic?” He says, “So you’re harsh.” 

“TV critics are just harsh for attention, I don’t need to be because no movie snob or well meaning director is going to go to the Times to see what we thought of any given movie. I write honestly, sometimes under the influence of caffeine and try to contain my excitement at narratively unnecessary plot twists.” You explain, “That and I get paid to watch TV, and usually private screenings of movies.” 

He leans against the bar a sign that he doesn’t plan on moving anytime soon. You’re not going to say that you’re so awestruck by a celebrity that you have no idea what to say, or that he’s intimidating you but your hand shakes just a little as you clutch your fingers around the glass because he’s objectively attractive. Objectively attractive in the way that if he were on a dating app you would swipe yes and then put a lot of pressure on yourself to be funny and relatable even though you know that you don’t need him. 

“What did you think of Dunkirk?” 

“Oh!” You forgot that he acted, “That was before my time. I was working at the LA Times doing the music section then I think.” You know what he’s going to say next, “And before you ask yes there is a piece still posted of me reviewing your debut album. I think I reached out to get an interview with you, but I was suspiciously declined.” He looks embarrassed, “I was like under five years out of college I would’ve declined me too. They only gave me the story because it was the time where people weren’t sure that ex boyband members could make objectively good albums that meant something.” 

He tilts his head to the side for a second, “And? Can they?”

“I’m in no place to make a generalization,” You say, “But I think you did. Admittedly that album was something, very intimate.” 

“I don’t know if I should be taking that as a compliment.”

“I don’t want to give you a compliment because some people have a hard time with them, and this will get very awkward very fast. No shame, personally I have no mechanism to take compliments on my writing.” 

He laughs, “I think I can take it.” 

“Hmm.. okay,” You take another step back, “Okay are you sure you're ready?” 

“Yes.” 

“I think the entire album was very good, very unexpectedly good or at least I didn’t expect it to be. It was very open in that way that songs are vulnerable but still leave enough mystery that your fans don’t think you're a shitty person and I really like meet me in the hallway,” You say quickly, “In fact I listened to it just yesterday when I was working.” 

He doesn’t say anything for a minute, and then fake sighs, “See I don’t think that counts because it was more of a backhanded compliment.” 

“What?”

“You said you didn’t expect it to be good, that’s not really a compliment then-”

“I was saying it pleasantly surprised me,” You say, throwing your hands in the air in mock annoyance. “You surprise me, Harry.” He doesn’t say anything, and for a minute neither do you, but you snap back to life just in time to say, “Is that compliment enough to embarrass you?” 

He shrugs, but you know he’s messing with you. “It’s something but I don’t know if it’s really doing it for me.” 

“You are impossible, just another out of touch celebrity, is nothing ever good enough for you people?” It’s by now that you realize that you inadvertently closed the gap between the two of you, and you’re standing very close. 

He seems to realize this at the same time as you, “I-”

“Are you going to ask me to have sex with you?” You deadpan. 

“What?” He looks offended for a second, “No.” 

“I had to ask,” You tell him, “It’s happened before.” 

“I was going to ask you for your number.”

“See usually when a guy asks me that they’re asking so-” 

“It’s not for that.” 

“Then what’s it for?” 

He looks at you with something in his eyes that you don’t know the meaning of, “In case you want to do an interview, so that they don’t reject you this time.” 

You know that’s not it, but you give it to him anyway because he’s Harry Styles (which yes is not a valid reason but this ‘party’ is very boring and this is the most interesting thing to happen to you in at least the past week). It takes you a minute to remember which one is your real number and which one is the fake number you give off if a guy is asking because he wants a booty call, but you eventually give it to him. Then you scurry off with a quick goodbye when you realize how late it is, and how you do have work to do. There’s a new episode of Big Little Lies out tomorrow and you don’t understand why but people are very into the show, and very into your episode recaps. 

You corner Molly away from some guy you think might have actually been able to get her press access to the Met Gala and remind her that she also has a deadline tomorrow. The two of you go off to look for Fletcher and find him very close to sealing the deal with an objectively pretty girl, but you politely remind him that he has work to do and is very busy. The girl looks sad but let’s him go without much whining. You would’ve understood if she tried to get him to stay with her, he’s a little bit shorter than Molly but to be fair Molly is above averagely tall, and is nice and fit and has brown curly hair which you know from personal experience is sometimes just kryptonite. (you’ve kissed Fletcher before, long story, and can also say he’s on your top list of good kissers as well right up there with a guy you hooked up with in LA only to realize later that he was Robert Pattinson). 

Somehow the three of you are only able to make it back to your apartment. So the night ends with Molly and Fletcher in the living room on the couch and in a sleeping bag respectively, and you are comfortably in your bed. Your phone sits on your nightstand, suspiciously silent. You’re not waiting for Harry Styles to call you, nope, definitely not. 

[bytheangell]

You Can’t Keep Safe What Wants to Break - Chapter One, Magnus

(AO3) (Prologue)  Chapter One - Magnus Bane Magnus probably shouldn’t be here for this conversation, but Jace is already waiting for them when he portals Alec back to the Institute from Idris. Jace is eagerly anticipating the response from the Council meeting, nervously pacing back and forth along the rooftop where they thought they’d have a bit more time to figure out how to break the news to him before going inside. Alec planned on doing it alone, with Magnus at home preparing the strongest cocktails he can manage short of inducing alcohol poisoning to deal with the aftermath. Instead, Alec shoots Magnus a quick, pleading glance - a silent request to stay - and Magnus doesn’t have the heart to try and make an obvious exit with them both in front of him like this.

None of them are ready for the conversation that’s about to happen.

The look of immediate defeat on Jace’s face is so heartbreaking that Magnus actually looks away for a moment. He knows it isn’t his fault, that the real blame lies with the Clave, but he can’t help but feel like he failed Jace just the same.

“There was nothing we could do,” Magnus tries. “We pulled every favor we had.” It’s true - they really did try everything short of actual bribery to get the discussion and the votes to go their way… and, okay, maybe a little actual bribery Alec doesn’t need to know about, but even that wasn’t enough to get the votes they needed.

“They wouldn’t let go of the fact that the Angels took her memories and her abilities, and essentially kicked her out of the Shadow World. They don’t want to risk the Angels’ anger by letting her back in. They’re scared,” Alec says, not that Jace needs to hear it. The poor boy’s heard that argument time and time again ever since Clary remembered him at her art show that night… ever since Jace started seeing her regularly, and reforming a relationship with her.

Ever since Jace decided he wanted Clary to be part of his life - part of all of their lives - again, and started this mission to get Clary reinstated.

Magnus tried to warn him at the start to keep his hopes low and his expectations even lower, but it’s difficult to dissuade a heart so lost in love. The Nephilim have strict rules about mundanes being intimately involved with Shadowhunters, rules that have to be followed to keep them out of the Shadow World. And without her abilities, without everything that once made her one of them, that’s all Clary is to them. A mundane.

A liability.

Magnus knows the look in Jace’s eyes, though. Jace isn’t letting this go. Magnus had hoped, perhaps naively, to stay as far removed from all of this as possible. He did his best to stay out of the previous discussions between Alec and Jace and Izzy and members of the Council; because despite his personal investment in both Clary and Jace’s well being this isn’t a personal matter, not to the Shadowhunters - it’s a political one. Magnus always knew how this would play out, despite their best efforts: duty before all else, the law is hard but it is the law, and all that nonsense.

Magnus wanted to stay out of this, but now he finds himself in the thick of it, staring into the blue and brown eyes of a Shadowhunter pushed to the breaking point between heart and duty.

For a moment, Jace turns away from the two of them. Magnus thinks that Jace almost sounds determined when he finally speaks again. Is he even holding himself a little straighter? Definitely more resolved, but not in a defeated way - in a defiant one. It doesn’t sit well with Magnus but he doesn’t pry.

He also makes no attempt to stop Jace when he leaves. Instead, he watches Alec take one step forward, pause, then fall still beside Magnus.

“That went better than I expected,” Alec admits once Jace is gone.

Magnus gives a distracted nod, but he doesn’t think the matter is over, not by a longshot. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to let Alec feel a bit of peace in thinking that the worst is over, even if he has a sinking suspicion that the worst is yet to come.

“It certainly could’ve gone a lot worse,” Magnus agrees. “Let’s go home, shall we? I think we could both use that drink now.”

---

There’s no warning from his wards before the knock on the door sounds, so Magnus knows the person is a friend before he checks through the eyehole. Unexpected visits in Idris are few and far between these days, and he’s particularly surprised to find Jace Herondale standing in the hallway when he opens the door.

“Alec isn’t back from his meeting yet, is he?” Jace asks, in a tone that implies he not only knows the answer but fully planned on arriving while his parabatai is still out.

“No,” Magnus confirms. “He’ll likely be another hour or so. Come in,” Magnus says, stepping aside for the Shadowhunter to enter. Jace shrugs his coat off and hangs it on the rack by the door, then toes off his boots to leave at the base of the rack. It’s a habit of Alec’s that carries over to all visiting Nephilim, despite the fact that Magnus can easily magic away any dirt stains. It’s an endearing courtesy, and if Jace takes longer than usual to stall by the doorway Magnus doesn’t comment on it.

Instead of prompting Jace, Magnus remains silent, reading the blond’s body language, allowing the tension held in every muscle and the strain of every movement, to let him know that there’s something wrong. Something Jace doesn’t want to tell Alec if he’s here talking with Magnus first.

“I need you to be honest with me,” Jace says. “Because I already know how Alec and Izzy are going to react, and it isn’t going to be good. And I just--” Jace breaks off there, pacing back and forth. “I need someone impartial to tell me I’m not crazy.”

“I’d hardly say I’m impartial,” Magnus points out.

“But you can be. At least, you can be brutally honest when you need to be, and I need you to be. I need to talk to you as Magnus right now, not my parabatai’s husband.” Jace is pleading

“Alright,” Magnus agrees, ignoring the urge to make a joke about Jace’s ego not being able to handle Magnus’ honesty. Something tells him this isn’t the time. “What’s on your mind?”

“I want to be with Clary,” Jace says.

The words on their own aren’t surprising. Of course, Jace wants to be with Clary. Magnus knows that Jace loves her more than he’s ever loved anyone - save his parabatai - in his entire life. But Clary cannot be part of their world as a mundane, it’d never be recognized or allowed by the Clave. They could see each other in secret, but not seriously, not when Clary could never live at the Institute or in Idris. The only way for Jace to be with her now is--

Oh.

The realization dawns on Magnus and sits like a leaden weight in his stomach. His expression must give away what he pieced together because Jace notes the look on his face and continues quickly.

“I’ve thought about it. By the Angel, all I can do is think about it. She never leaves my mind, Magnus. She hasn’t since the day she left and she’s never going to, especially not now that we’ve reconnected. I can’t live without her. And I don’t have to. I just have to…” but Jace trails off there as if saying it might make it too real. So Magnus finishes for him.

“You just have to be deruned, and leave behind the only family you’ve ever known and the only life you’ve ever known.” Magnus manages to say the words with minimal infliction; no judgment, just facts.

Jace winces. “I did ask for brutal honesty, didn’t I?” he says, though the laugh he gives is forced.

“This isn’t a decision to be made lightly, Jace. I know that you know that, but do you truly understand the gravity of that decision? There’s a reason de-runing is the most severe of punishments for crimes against the Clave,” Magnus points out.

“I know,” Jace says. To Magnus’ surprise, he looks like he really does know. There’s none of Jace’s usual nonchalance or dismissive sarcasm. “But living without Clary for the rest of my life… at least the pain of a de-runing is temporary.”

“But the effects are far from temporary,” Magnus reminds him. At the look on Jace’s face, Magnus adds quickly, “I’m simply presenting all of the angles, I’m not trying to talk you out of it.”

When Magnus imagined what Jace might do in retaliation of the Council’s decision, he pictured more of a fit of rage, a ‘fuck the system’ rebellion of finding a way around their ruling to bring Clary back anyway. Magnus would’ve bet his savings on Jace using magic to hide Clary with a glamour or build her a secret rooftop room to live in at the Institute or something equally ridiculous. This option crossed his mind, of course, but never in a million years would he imagine Jace pursuing it.

Jace is quiet for a moment after that. Magnus takes some small comfort in knowing his words aren’t falling on deaf ears. Jace wouldn’t have come here if he didn’t want to talk this through, after all, but Jace is… well, he’s still Jace. It’s rare to see this serious side of him.

“I know losing the parabatai bond will hurt Alec,” Jace says quietly. “It’s the part I keep coming back to. The rest… I know Alec and Isabelle won’t abandon me if I go through with it, no matter what the laws are. I won’t lose them, not entirely. But the bond…” Jace actually looks close to tears simply speaking of it, and Magnus moves forward to take him gently by the hand and lead him over to the sofa.

“It isn’t a bond broken easily,” Magnus agrees. “You will both suffer greatly for the loss of it.”

Jace hangs his head. “I don’t want to put Alec through that, but… but he will someday anyway, right? One of us will, in the end. It isn’t like it’s inevitable. I’m just… moving up the timeline.”

Magnus can practically hear the number of times Jace must’ve repeated that to himself before now, over and over in his head until he was nearly convinced it’s enough justification. He isn’t wrong, Magnus will give him that. But it’s one thing to lose the bond through an inevitable death, and another entirely to know that you’ve caused that pain and loss intentionally.

The guilty expression on Jace’s face as he avoids Magnus’ gaze tells him that Jace knows that, too.

“And I assume you’ve talked to Clary about this?” Magnus asks.

Jace nods. “She said we could get an apartment together. I can’t tell her everything, obviously, but I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t think we had a real chance, you know I wouldn’t.” Jace shakes his head. “I don’t want to have to choose. This… being a Shadowhunter, this is what I’m good at. It’s what I was raised to be. But Clary… she’s my future, Magnus. I was trained to be a weapon, but I was born to love Clary Fray.”

Magnus is struck suddenly by the memory of another Shadowhunter he knew who was willing to give up everything for the love of a mundane girl. ‘I was born to be a warrior, and I was born to be with her. Tell me how to reconcile the two because I cannot.’ The words of one Edmund Herondale ring clear in Magnus’ mind, bringing a slow, sad smile to his face. For a boy who only learned of his true lineage a year ago, Magnus wonders how no one pieced it together before then. Jace is a Herondale, through and through, and never more apparent than in moments like this.

“You Herondales certainly have a penchant for sacrificial love,” Magnus observes, not unkindly. Edmund gave up his runes, James his sanity and stability, Will was ready to give up love itself, and now Jace...

“I can give up Shadowhunting. There are plenty of others who can take over for me now, and plenty more to follow after me,” Jace insists.

It’s a strange thing, to witness the blind faith the Nephilim place in their Angels from birth begin to crumble and crack - to question outdated laws and revert back to something more basic, more simply human. Life. Love. Happiness. Desire.

“I’m not concerned about the Shadowhunter’s loss of a soldier,” Magnus points out. “And you don’t have to convince me. I know better than to think there will be any talking you out of this once your mind is made up… and it does appear to be entirely made up. You wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

Jace nods. “I haven’t told anyone yet, but I think Maryse might have an idea. I’ve been asking a lot of questions lately about her de-runing, and what happens afterward.”

Magnus nods slowly. Maryse probably knows, or at least suspects. It says a lot about her growth as a person in the past few years that she hasn’t called Jace out on his plan yet. It also says a lot that Jace risked her piecing things together just to get a few vague answers out of her. If he’s willing to risk that, then he’s sold on the idea, no matter how hesitant he claims to be.

“You won’t be allowed back in Idris again. If the full extent of standard procedure were followed you wouldn’t be able to see any of your family or friends again, but something tells me Alexander won’t let that bit stand.”

He knows that Maryse showed up once or twice to the Institute and that Luke and the rest of the Lightwoods visit her regularly, either at the bookshop or at her home. All of which is highly irregular, but then again, not much about Alexander’s influence over the Clave’s rules and standards hasn’t fought back against their antiquated ways in one way or another. If there’s one silver lining in all of this it’s that Jace won’t be isolated from his past entirely if he doesn’t want to be, and he clearly doesn’t want to be.

Jace sounds uncertain when he replies, “I don’t know, there’s a very good chance that Alec won’t speak to me again after this, law or not.”

“If you think there’s any chance of Alexander abandoning you for this decision-”

“And why shouldn’t he?” Jace cuts Magnus off. “After I abandon him first.”

The harshness of Jace’s tone causes Magnus to wince. This is what it comes down to. Everything else aside, this is why Jace is really here talking to Magnus before his parabatai - before his brother, the person he’s closest to in this world.

“This isn’t a matter of marrying someone and moving away. This isn’t even only about losing my runes. If it was just my own sacrifice there wouldn’t be a doubt in my mind, but…”

“But it isn’t just your own life this choice affects,” Magnus supplies for him, finally realizing why Jace came to speak with him first. These are complicated, deep emotions. Alexander and Jace, when confronted with issues as personal as this, could be a volatile force. Magnus is glad Jace had the presence of mind to try and sort through his own first instead of charging directly into a conversation with Alec all hot-headed and stubborn force of will.

“I took an oath. Entreat me not to leave thee,” Jace huffs out with a broken laugh. Magnus knows the oath. He’s familiar with it enough to know that by doing what he’s planning now Jace is breaking every line of it, every promise. “‘The Angel do so to me, and more also,

If aught but death part thee and me.’” Jace’s eyes leave Magnus’ and fixate on a point beyond him, growing distant. Despite the honesty of their conversation, Magnus can’t begin to imagine exactly what he’s feeling in this moment. “How can I choose? Why do I have to choose? It isn’t fair.”

“Life very rarely is,” Magnus says sadly. He isn’t sure when he shifted from the role of devil’s advocate to a comforting friend - when this turned from discussing a hypothetical to comforting an inevitable loss.

“What would you do, if you were me?” Jace asks.

Magnus considers the question, not taking it lightly. He thinks back to all of the loves he had and lost over the centuries, of the love he has now with Alec. He tries to picture what it might be like if he and Catarina were bonded like Jace and Alec, to have to sever that bond to keep Camille in their prime, or Etta, or Alexander, and thinks that for those few he might have. But in the end, he can only shake his head.

“I can only begin to imagine the intricacies of the bond the two of you share,” Magnus admits finally. “I’ve sacrificed everything for love, more times than many would consider wise, and I’ve been burned every time but one.” It probably isn’t what Jace wants to hear, but it’s the truth. And what follows is also the truth. “But every time was worth the possibility of true love.”

That gives Jace a bit of hope, which is what he needs. It’s what he’s searching for, behind his call for honesty and council.

“If I were you? I’d probably risk what you’re planning now. It’s foolish and reckless, a gamble beyond measure, but isn’t love always?” Magnus smiles softly at that. “And if I were Alexander, and my dearest friend came to me in your situation, I can promise you that any anger or betrayal I felt would be temporary, eventually eclipsed by the joy of knowing they found all the happiness they were looking for in life.”

“You think?” Jace asks, daring to sound optimistic at the mere suggestion that there’s a possibility of Alec being alright with this in the end. Not right away, but someday. That might be more than Jace has allowed himself to hope for before now, but Magnus doesn’t think it’s a stretch to imagine.

“But I’m not either of you, and this is not my decision to make.”

Magnus feels the gentle ripple in his warding that alerts him to his husband’s arrival downstairs.

“Alec’s back,” Magnus says. “I can portal you to the Institute if you’d like to keep this between us for now.” It’s a simple offer, no judgment if Jace wants more time to consider his options, or simply to stall before talking this out with Alec. As difficult as keeping something like this from Alec will be he wouldn’t betray Jace’s trust in coming to him for advice. Magnus watches Jace closely, able to see the flash of panic on Jace’s face and the hesitation as he debates accepting the offer of a portal.

“No,” Jace says with a determined shake of his head. When Magnus thinks back to his similar encounter with Edmund nearly a century ago, he distinctly recalls the feeling of witnessing a disaster, something reminiscent of wreckage. But this is different: Jace Herondale isn’t ruining himself, he’s rebuilding.

“I’ll make myself scarce, then,” Magnus says, standing up to make his way toward the door.

“Thank you, Magnus.” Jace rushes the words just as the sound of the lock turns in the door.

“Magnus, hey,” Alec greets, leaning in to give him a kiss in greeting after he opens the door to find Magnus standing next to it, grabbing his coat off the rack. Alec catches sight of Jace behind Magnus and his brows furrow. “Jace? Is everything alright?”

“I’m heading out for a bit. Give me a call if you need anything,” Magnus says instead of answering Alec. The question isn’t meant for him, after all.

Magnus looks over at Jace one last time before leaving the two of them alone to speak, still surrounded by the ghosts of his past. He sees so much of Edmund’s determination to follow his heart, no matter the personal cost. He sees Will’s enthusiasm and desperate need for the potential of love. He sees James’s consuming passion.

Magnus sees enough of Jace’s ancestors in him to know without a doubt that Jace will be just fine in the end; and if he isn’t, then Magnus imagines he has enough experience assisting lovestruck Herondales to help him through.

[captainscanadian]

Star Crossed | Chris Beck x Reader (Fly Away)

My Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Summary: Just when you had thought that you were ready to move on, you were reminded that your heart would always belong to a certain flight surgeon. 

Word Count: 2100+

Pairing: OMC Tudor Hartland x Reader, Chris Beck x Reader (not much of him in this part, but it’s still relevant to the series...) 

Warnings: Heartbreak, Angst (just a little). 

A/N: The concept was inspired by @baezen​‘s It’s Time (seriously, go read it!). Dedicated to my darlings @nasabeck​ and @dramadreamer14​! This one shot came to be when I found myself thirsting over another man (who shall remain nameless) and felt as though I was cheating on Seb (who will always have a special place in my heart). I DON’T DO TAGLISTS! 

Your hands were clammy as you clutched tightly onto the steering wheel, feeling the brisk New England breeze that slipped through the rolled down windows of your car, trying but failing at calming your nerves. 

A part of you wanted to turn the car around and drive back to your apartment, but you knew that you would be in for a rather stern lecture from Amy. After all, she had spent the last two hours helping you get ready for this date when she could have been doing something much more worthwhile of her time. 

Besides, she would certainly give you a piece of her mind for having wasted her time like that, along with blatantly expressing how much you had disappointed her by not making it to your date on purpose. Even she had lost faith that a certain someone would ever return from his travels in space, and she hated to see you wallowing in your own loneliness. She believed that you deserved a second chance at love, even if it meant that it wouldn’t be with her brother. 

You owed it to her for going through with it. 

Not to mention having to face your own conscience for having texted this man for a few weeks before agreeing to meet him, only to stand him up at the very last minute. You could never forgive yourself for leading him on and not even having the common decency to go on one date. 

What the hell were you supposed to do anyways? Your mind was telling you that you were ready to move on, but your heart was telling you to keep waiting for the man whom you knew was never coming back. He was too far gone, a few million miles to be exact. 

Christopher Beck was the star crossed love of your life, the one that got away; you were never meant to be. He was definitely not the right one for you, and you knew that by now. You both wanted different things in life; you wanted to be confined in a lab and fight against deadly diseases, while he wanted to fly away. 

Sometimes things end up not working out for a reason, and you had to accept that. Or so, you had convinced yourself as you arrived at the Yale Center for British Art. 

You had met Dr. Tudor Hartland at a medical conference in Boston a few months ago. While you had taken the stage to present your research, he had watched you from the front row and approached you for what was meant to be a purely academic discussion - but it had turned out to be anything but. 

The conversation had started with you butchering one of his recent articles on neuroimmunology, but it had somehow ended with him recommending what kind of artisan chilli jam from Britain could go well with the vegan cashew cheese that they were serving at the conference. While your fellow medical scientists from Yale had claimed that there were sparks flying all around the two of you during that wine and cheese event, you had begged to differ. There was no such thing, right?

Okay, maybe that was a lie. You had found his British dialect and his keen intellect rather attractive. By the time the conference had come to an end, you had exchanged numbers and promised to keep in touch - a promise that had been kept since then. 

You had agreed to meet when he would be moving to New Haven in the near future - which happened to be last week. As his sixteen year old sister, apparently a prodigy of some sort, had been pursuing a Master’s Degree at Yale’s Graduate School of Art, he had ditched his position as Head of Neurosurgery at Massachusetts General Hospital to purchase a private practice in New Haven so that he could keep an eye on her. 

If the intelligence or the accent wasn’t as attractive as it was, the protective older brother part was definitely a selling point. 

“I almost thought you would stand me up.” Tudor remarked as he walked over to greet you with a soft kiss on your cheek, his hand resting at the small of your back before he pulled you into an embrace. “But I’m glad you made it, love.”

You felt your cheeks heat up at the way he spoke, his deep voice soothing your nerves and letting you accept his arm and enter the venue. “I could have let you chase me around for another month or two, but I couldn’t resist saying no to a night at the gallery.” 

“I’m sure Eleanor really appreciates that you could come.” He admitted, referring to his younger sister who was having her work featured in tonight’s exhibit. 

You knew that his sister had most of his attention for the night, but you could not complain about it at all. You adored the kind of relationship that he had with her, which certainly made you find him much more attractive. You liked a man who had strong ties with his family.

Once the exhibition had ended, Eleanor had requested that her brother take her home for the night. The rest of the artists who had been featured that night were going out for drinks to celebrate, but since she was only sixteen years old, she couldn’t really join them. Perhaps that was the downside of being a graduate student at her age, you had no idea how you would have coped if you had been in her place when you were sixteen. 

After a whole night of chatting about what art really meant for the two of you - which came as an interesting debate as you were both medical scientists by profession, Tudor had walked you back to your car to bid you farewell for the night. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to join Eleanor and I for our little movie night?” He asked you for the umpteenth time that night. “My place is not far from here and I hate to cut our date short like this.” 

You chuckled softly and shook your head. “No, it’s fine. I had a wonderful time tonight.” You admitted, leaning against your car as you crossed your arms against your chest. “Tudor, I really don’t mind. Your sister needs you for tonight, and you are going to be in town for a while, right? I’m sure we’ll see each other some other time.” 

“So… does that mean that I have a shot at scoring a second date?” He asked you, his lips curling into a smirk. “Or are you going to have me chasing after you for six more months again?” 

“I’ll call you.” You replied, grinning widely at him. “And maybe even visit you at work during your lunch hour, bring you some clam chowder to beat the cold.” 

“Hm… I do like the idea of that.” He whispered, leaning towards you. 

“Oh do you now?” You teased, your hand making its way to run your fingers through his curly hair. 

“Kiss her, you idiot!” You heard a rather high pitched English girl exclaim, causing you to laugh softly as you looked over the man’s head to see Eleanor groaning from his car on the other side of the parking lot. 

“I’m so sorry…” He apologized, looking over at his sister and shaking his head. “She may be an artistic genius, but she’s still a teenager.” 

“No need to apologize.” You reached down to grab his jaw and gently pressed your lips against his. “She’s not wrong.” 

Tudor looked a bit surprised that you had kissed him like that, but he chuckled softly as he leaned in for another kiss. “No, she’s not.” 

You felt your cheeks heat up once again as you pulled back. You had to cut it short, even though you did not want to. Damn this man and his British charm. “I should get going. I have an 8 am lecture in the morning.” 

“Oh that’s right, Professor. I shouldn’t keep you here too long.” He grinned, cheekily. 

“Goodnight, Tudor.” 

“Goodnight, Y/N.” 

You had been smiling from ear to ear during the car ride home, blasting an old Taylor Swift song from your college days in your car and singing along as though you were still that twenty-two year old girl. You could not wait to get home and tell Amy all about your date with Dr. Hartland, and you felt giddy just thinking about everything. 

But when you got home that night, you had been greeted by the aroma of Amy’s famous one pot pasta and her startled reaction to your return. 

“Uh… I wasn’t expecting you to be coming home tonight?” She kept her eyes on the pot, which she was stirring constantly. 

“Tudor had to take his sister home, so we decided to call it a night.” You responded with a shrug of your shoulders, slipping into one of the stools by the breakfast bar. “What’s got you cooking up a storm at this time of the night?” 

“Uh… no reason.” She replied, quickly, but it was way too obvious that she was lying. 

It took you a moment to hear the sound of running water, making you raise your eyebrow at your best friend. “Wait, I didn’t know you had company tonight. You know, I could get out of your hair if you want me to. I don’t want to be a bother.” 

“Oh no, it’s… not a bother at all.” She shook her head before biting down on her bottom lip. “Y/N, I’m… I’m so sorry.” 

Just then you heard the sound of running water come to a stop, and you looked over at Amy with a rather confused look on your face. “Amy, it’s fine… really, I can go if you want me to.” 

But it was too late, as it was Chris Beck who had gotten out of the shower and made his way towards the kitchen. 

“Man, I missed your cooking so much!” He called out to his sister as he dried his hair off with a towel, stopping suddenly as he came across you once he entered the kitchen. 

Your eyes glazed over at the sound of his voice that echoed through the corridor to reach your ears, and you found yourself looking over at Amy in utter shock. 

You knew that he had been back on earth after his second mission to space and was currently preparing for his third one - this one was to Mars as part of the Ares III crew. 

But you hadn’t been made aware of his sudden return to New Haven, which you had assumed was because he wanted to see his family before he left on this incredibly time-consuming mission. 

A part of you wanted to scold Amy for not telling you that Chris was here, but the look on her face had been enough for you to know that she didn’t know beforehand either. If she did, she would have at least warned you before you had left for your date with another man. 

Chris hadn’t seen you since that dreadful day, when he had bid you farewell the way that he had before he had left Hartford for good. He wondered if you remembered his last words to you, for you had been unconscious in a hospital room, barely aware of your own surroundings let alone his presence. 

He remembered Amy telling him that you hadn’t wanted him there, yet he had showed up because he had loved you as much as he loved the stars. But you would never know. 

Unbeknownst to him though, you had loved him just as much. You knew that you loved him, which was why being in his presence had now tugged at your heartstrings. A part of you felt guilty for ever convincing yourself to move on, for all it took was just the mere reminder of his existence to bring you back to the harsh reality. You could never move on from Christopher Beck, as your heart would always belong to him. 

That was probably why you wanted to curse the stars for playing with your heart like this. For a moment, you had been the happiest you could ever be since your break up with Chris. You had felt as though you could finally have a second chance at love. You were willing to take the chance on Tudor. You really did take a chance on. 

But your heart, it was still longing for Chris. It was longing for him to eventually return to earth for good, in hopes that the two of you could someday have the happy ending you so rightfully deserved. Perhaps that was why you never called Tudor back; you just knew that it would be unfair to him if you dated him, all the while still being in love with your beloved flight surgeon. 

[nocturnals-anonymous]

The absolute rage expressed in this piece borders on the righteously murderous. I would wager it’s a sentiment shared by at least 70,000,000 Americans. This mom is angry and tells it like it is:

I was born at the end of Gen X and the beginning of the Millennial Generation, and grew up in a middle class town. Life was good. Our home was modest but birthdays and Christmas were always generous, we went on yearly vacations, had 2 cars, and there was enough money for me to take dance classes and art lessons and be in Girl Scouts.

My 1940s born Dad raised me to be patriotic and proud, to love the war bird airplanes of his era as much as he does, and to respect our flag and our country as a sacred thing. I grew up thinking that being an American was the greatest gift a person could have. I grew up thinking that our country was as strong, and honest and true as my Dad. I grew up thinking I was free.

As an adult, I have witnessed the world I grew up in fall to ruin. I have watched as our currency and our economy have been shamelessly corrupted beyond redemption. Since we’ve been married, my husband and I TWICE had our meager investment savings gutted by the market that we were told to invest in, now that pensions no longer exist and we working stiffs are on our own. We will be working until we die, because the Social Security we’ve been forced to pay into has also been robbed from under us.

I have watched as our elected officials enter Congress as ordinary folks and leaves as multi millionaires. I have watched my blue collar husband get up at an ungodly hour every day and come home with an aching back that we pray will hold out long enough to get him to old age in one piece. Outside of shoes, socks and underwear, almost everything my family wears was bought used. We’ve been on one vacation in 12 years.

We don’t have cell phones, or cable, or any sort of streaming services, just a landline and internet. We hardly ever eat out. Our house is 1400 square feet, no air conditioning. I cook from scratch and I can and I garden and I raise chickens for eggs and meat and I moonlight selling things on Etsy. Still it is barely enough to pay the bills that go up every year while service quality and the longevity of goods goes down. What I just described is the life you can live on 60K a year without going into debt.

At last calculation, when you consider all of the federal, state and local taxes plus registration and user fees, Medicare and SS payroll taxes, almost a third of what my family earns is stolen by the govt each year. What’s left doesn’t go far, just enough to cover the basics and save a little for when the wolf howls at the door.

I watched as my family’s health insurance was gutted and destroyed. Our private market insurance, which we had to have because my husband’s employer is too small to have a group plan, was made illegal. We were left with the option of either buying an Obamacare plan with unaffordable deductibles and insanely ridiculous out of pocket maxes, or paying the very gov’t that destroyed our healthcare a fine for not buying the gov’t mandated plan that we cannot afford. We now have short term insurance that isn’t really insurance at all, and I live in fear of one of us getting injured or sick with anything I can’t fix from the medicine cabinet.

I have watched as education, which was already sketchy when I was a kid, became an all out joke of wholly unmathematical math, gold stars for all, and self-loathing anti-Americanism. My family has taken an enormous financial hit as I stay home to home school our child. At least she’ll be able to do old-fashioned math well enough to see how much they are screwing her. A silver lining to every cloud, I guess.

I’ve sat by and held my tongue as I was called deplorable and a bitter clinger and told that I didn’t build that. I’ve been called a racist and a xenophobe and a chump and even an “ugly folk.” I’ve been told that I have privilege, and that I have inherent bias because of my skin color, and that my beloved husband and father are part of a horrible patriarchy. Not one goddamn bit of that is true, but if I dare say anything about it, it will be used as evidence of my racism and white fragility.

Raised to be a Republican, I held my nose and voted for Bush, the Texas-talking blue blood from Connecticut who lied us into 2 wars and gave us the unpatriotic Patriot Act. I voted for McCain, the sociopathic neocon songbird “hero” that torpedoed the attempt to kill the Obamacare that’s killing my family financially. I held it again and voted for Romney, the vulture capitalist skunk that masquerades as a Republican while slithering over to the Democrat camp as often as they’ll tolerate his oily, loathsome presence.

And I voted for Trump, who, if he did nothing else, at least gave a resounding Bronx cheer to the richly deserving smug hypocrites of DC. Thank you for that Mr. President, on behalf of all of us nobodies. God bless you for it.

And now I have watched as people who hate me and mine and call for our destruction blatantly and openly stole the election and then gaslighted us and told us that it was honest and fair. I am watching as the GOP does NOTHING about it. They’re probably relieved that upstart Trump is gone so they can get back to their real jobs of lining their pockets and running interference for their corporate masters. I am watching as the media, in a manner that would make Stalin blush, is silencing anyone who dares question the legitimacy of this farce they call democracy. I know, it’s a republic, but I am so tired of explaining that to people I might as well give in and join them in ignorance.

I will not vote again; they’ve made it abundantly clear that my voice doesn’t matter. Whatever irrational, suicidal lunacy the nanny states thinks is best is what I’ll get. What it decided I need is a geriatric pedophile who shouldn’t be charged with anything more rigorous than choosing between tapioca and rice pudding at the old folks home, and a casting couch skank who rails against racism while being a descendant of slave owners.

I’m free to dismember a baby in my womb and kill it because “my body my choice”, but God help me if I won’t cover my face with a germ laden Linus-worthy security blanket or refuse let them inject genetically altering chemicals into my body or my child’s. I can be doxed, fired, shunned and destroyed for daring to venture that there are only 2 genders as proven by DNA, but a disease with a 99+% survival rate for most humans is a deadly pandemic worth murdering an economy over. Because science. Idiocracy is real, and we are living it. Dr. Lexus would be an improvement over Fauci.

I am done. Don’t ask me to pledge to the flag, or salute the troops, or shoot fireworks on the 4th. It’s a sick, twisted, heartbreaking joke, this bloated, unrecognizable corpse of a republic that once was ours.

I am not alone. Not sure how things continue to function when millions of citizens no longer feel any loyalty to or from the society they live in.

I was raised to be a lady, and ladies don’t curse, but fuck these motherfuckers to hell and back for what they’ve done to me, and mine, and my country. All we Joe Blow Americans ever wanted was a little patch of land to raise a family, a job to pay the bills, and at least some illusion of freedom, and even that was too much for these human parasites. They want it all, mind, body and soul. Damn them. Damn them all.

[koiandjelly]

So Fila’s actual past isn’t very detailed, because she’s not a main OC, and I haven’t spent a ton of time actually thinking about her as a character lol. 98% of my Creativity goes to my original content characters, cuz someday when I finish actually crafting my worlds, I’m gonna write a book. I’m aiming for the lofty goals of making a full, fleshed out, intricate— just fuckin’... a whole ass Multiverse system comparable to the Lore content of Tolkien’s works, or The Elder Scrolls— gah fuck y’know what, I’m changing this post from being about my Fantasy Life OC to being about my creation baby, the effort of about 6 years (I am 20 years old, and although I didn’t know it at the time I started, I was 14 when I made the shitty Fire Emblem Manakete rip-off race that I’m gonna actually now talk about, because holy fuck this ain’t gonna fit in a parenthesis “btw have some info” bubble)

A’ight so I have a hard time keeping track of time, especially in a large scale across years. Apparently it’s related to being severely depressed without medication (communication error on my part, my parents are very lovely and helped me ASAP when I spilled the beans) while also having moderate to severe ADD. So, ya know, keep in mind that I was yet another terribly depressed 8th grader when I talk about my creation’s early days. I wouldn’t experience that time of my life for any sort of payment ever. It was goddamn miserable, because when I was midway through the age of 14, not only did the aforementioned depression spring up, but I also realized I was bisexual (And I live in the infamous state of Alabama, for reference. Don’t fear for me though, I was too unnoticeable to be bullied if anyone did know, and my wonderful mother, whom I love and cherish with all of my heart, is one of the few Christians that actually... like... do what their own God tells em to. That is, Jesus. I’m an atheist and have a general discomfort about the idea of super powerful entities actually existing irl, but I do agree with the stuff I’ve heard and remember from a decade ago in Church about Jesus. Good guy. But yeah my mom not only accepted me and reassured me when I came out, but she’s gone even further and is of the opinion/fact that lgbt folks are, really, good and normal and that God created them, so she really genuinely just... loves and accepts me. There’s no “I love you despite of this” in the equation and I am so grateful. But again. I digress)

Pause after that sidetrack, to recap, all of my medical issues began to emerge about 6 months before I turned 15. Including what I hate most, the emergence of my Fibromyalgia and Sjogren’s Syndrome, and for an added kick to the flesh, an undifferentiated connective tissue disorder. Meaning, as what I understand it to be, a nameless chimaera of many symptoms in a way that the disorder either is it’s own thing, or just can’t easily be recognized as any one disorder. And I had anxiety. If I recall correctly on *that*, forgive me cuz it’s been a while since it’s been diagnosed/brought up in a significant way, I have or had either general anxiety *and* social anxiety, or just lightweight versions of both, or something, but at the time I was horribly shy and I couldn’t even talk to the teacher after class about schoolwork, even though I tried rationalizing it to hell and back that I shouldn’t be scared— as you’ll guess, shit didn’t work out til I got medicine for it, because no amount of logic and rational thought will change the fact that I was struggling because of a literal disorder, an error of the brain, and as with that walking with two shattered femurs ain’t gonna work, trying to talk when the talk machine broke... ain’t going to goddamn work.

God. I am rambling a lot. But anyway, shit fucking sucked as a teen for me, because I got that wombo combo, prepare for trouble, make it double, precision strike at my existence as a person during fucking already difficult puberty— I am rambling. It’s 4:55am as of this sentence lmao. I had a nasty cocktail of both mental illness and physical disorders pop up once puberty hit me, so I, through many events starting from loving to draw as a toddler, to play pretend stories of heartbreak, betrayal, and death as best an 8 year old could understand via playing with Polly Pockets, and all the creative power I inherited from my Dad, plus the motivation borne through a need to escape, I started making my own characters.

So, to return to the present state of my creations, which will now be referred to as Bounding Beyond the Stars, or BBtS, I’m gonna get some things out of the way. Just to clarify, yeah? I have created my worlds in a way that is specifically meant to stand apart from the irl universe as we know it. I’m certainly not a knowledgeable researcher with any level of comprehension on Spacial law and quantum physics and shit like that. So hey, if something ever seems... like, off, or wrong? Unless it’s pretty obviously wrong in the “hey you just googled how a thing works, and misunderstood it, and made a detail based on a failure to understand stuff and that’s dumb in a catastrophic way that even a high school level viewer would notice...” kind of mistake, then hey, shoot me a message. But if some sort of universal rule seems fucky in the way that it doesn’t make sense, but isn’t a catastrophic structural error... well, Imma use that sentence to start a better one. For an example of a catastrophic error, perhaps... this: “This planet has no seasons cuz of its shape and axis! And it is also like twice as big as Earth!” That would be catastrophic alone because anyone with a grasp on planetary gravity or something, may go and think “if it’s that big, gravity’s gonna be way more intense”. And you’d be right! Which is why I usually account for those things with... *Magic*.

Before I split this post for Length reasons, and I’m sorry the majority of this was me rambling about how my general experience with life sucked from ages 14-17, I’mma state something very important about all my creations.

Magic, which will be explained in depth at a later point, is a fundamental, essential, and omnipresent force of not just any one universe in my Multiversal Trio. It is a key piece of Reality itself, as magic is the flow of many multiples of millions of unique and mysterious energies, concepts, and laws existing anywhere that Is.

To end this post, I’m going to put a quick summary and explanation why I’m rambling about any of this: The rant about my age and circumstances at the start are relevant because it’s necessary context for the tone and type of writing my creations are built upon. The foundations of BBtS are borne from a sometimes angsty, sometimes genuinely upset 14 year old who found escape in the art of Creation. There have been many, many, many heavy edits, rewrites, scrapped info and ideas, and even more info built upon it. It used to be pretty pointlessly edgy in a lot of ways, and redundant in grimdark, morphing into *grimderp* plot devices and character traits. The way it’s written today, I like to think the lore of my many high fantasy-alien societies, and all its denizens and creators and whatever else, are still written to be dark, be dangerous, even angsty... but more skillfully so, with the sort of nuance a 14 year old wouldn’t really even begin to understand. Cuz I still like high stakes stories with real consequences and character deaths when appropriate. And I enjoy characters who have tragic pasts, but now that I’m older and I’ve seen and read about and done so much more— I can write that stuff *better*. And more over, what I’m most satisfied with, is that I’m more in touch with myself as a person, and I’ve evolved many of my personal beliefs and ideals and all the things of the world I can have opinions on. But most of all, I’ve reached a point where I have consumed enough content from others to where I have figured out how to write something that should be interesting, and maybe a bit new, because I put a looot of Damn focus on identifying, and understanding, writing structure, cliches, plot holes to avoid, character traits to handle differently, and just generally making something that’ll appeal to both me, and my audience, should I get that far.

[aaronmaurer]

TV I Liked In 2019

Every year I reflect on the pop culture I enjoyed and put it in some sort of order.

The era of “peak TV” has never been more apparent to me than the past year. I am very aware of the many shows I have not seen (don’t have Amazon Prime, for example), and yet I expanded my list from a top 10 to top 15 and still had to leave out A LOT of stuff I really liked! These picks include my legitimate favorites, ranging from truly important looks at the criminal justice system to ensemble comedies that I couldn’t wait to return to. In another year I may have been able to include the latest seasons of Barry, Stranger Things, Queer Eye, Bojack Horseman, Glow, or the finale seasons of Legion, A Series of Unfortunate Events, Veep, Silicon Valley and The Deuce, all of which I’d still recommend. But these stood out even more.

14 (tie). Chernobyl (HBO) / The Hot Zone (National Geographic)

Two limited series focusing on real-life disasters in the 1980s: the meltdown of the Chernobyl nuclear power plant and an Ebola outbreak outside of Washington DC. Chernobyl is an incredibly harrowing account of humanity’s inability to believe things that don’t mesh with their interpretations of reality and the destructive power of lies and cover-ups. The Hot Zone adapts the non-fiction Richard Preston book, a revealing look at pandemics, the power of fear and human resolve. Taken together, they raise interesting questions about governmental gatekeeping, professional competence and personal sacrifice.

13. Mindhunter: Season 2 (Netflix)

Joe Penhall and David Fincher’s look at the early days of the FBI’s criminal profiling department goes broader and deeper in its second season. There are still chilling interviews with incarcerated serial killers and criminal minds (including Charles Manson this time out), but the season really revolves around the Atlanta child murders. This focus provides a compelling look at who the justice system helps and who it ignores, and the investigative – and bureaucratic – work it takes to put together a case.

10 (tie). A.P. Bio: Season 2 (NBC) / The Last O.G.: Season 2 (TBS) / Schitt’s Creek: Season 5 (Pop)

Three great hangout comedies that really came into their own in their most recent seasons. A.P. Bio transcended its first-season preoccupation with revenge and leaned into its fantastic supporting cast – one of the best comedic ensembles around – to become a show I loved spending time with each week. (Thank goodness it’s coming back via NBC’s upcoming “Peacock” service.) The Last O.G. has had a lot on its mind since it began, but its second season covers privilege and the opportunity gap among other issues, ending with a note-perfect homage to Spike Lee’s Do The Right Thing, making it an unexpectedly resonant comedy. Schitt’s Creek is obviously having a moment right now, and Season 5 (the first season I watched as it aired) was perhaps its best yet. While the whole cast is great, as a big fan of Best In Show and A Mighty Wind, I love seeing Eugene Levy and Catherine O’Hara share the screen again.

9. Crashing: Season 3 (HBO)

The first two seasons of Pete Holmes’ show made my list in previous years so I’d be remiss not to include the final one, which may be its finest. Pete spends the season making a lot of mistakes – saying yes to things (gigs, relationships) that he probably shouldn’t – and although they provide growth, he doesn’t come across as the “good guy” in how he deals with all of them. This adds additional nuance to the show, questioning its straight white male protagonist’s actions rather than merely rewarding him for following his passions, while still leading to an uplifting and fitting finale.

8. Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt: Season 4 (Netflix)

Netflix split the final season of Kimmy Schmidt into two parts, so technically only the final six episodes premiered in 2019. Those alone warrant a spot on the list, as the show concluded by following its idiosyncratic bliss to the end. The final group of episodes includes a (pre-movie) takedown of Cats, a Sliding Doors homage and an unexpectedly moving series finale. If this one fell off your radar a few years ago, it’s worth revisiting and seeing through.  

7. What We Do In The Shadows: Season 1 (FX)

Based on the horror-comedy film of the same name, this series follows a different crew of vampires who live together on Staten Island. I was initially skeptical because I love the movie and couldn’t see how a television version could do anything but dilute its charms. On the contrary, the show broadens the universe in hilarious ways by introducing characters like “energy vampire” Colin Robinson and the incredible Vampiric Council (with so many incredible cameos!). The core actors are all wonderful, but the MVP has to be Matt Berry’s louche and libidinous Laszlo whose line readings are simply hysterical.

6. Les Misérables (BBC/PBS)

Although it aired in the UK in 2018, the BBC/PBS production of Victor Hugo’s epic didn’t grace American screens until early 2019 so I’m including it here. I am a big fan of the musical adaptation and find it quite successful at cramming so much story into a three-hour runtime, though it obviously has limits to how much of the source material it can explore. This (non-musical) adaptation’s six episodes allow for more of Hugo’s tale of forgiveness versus retribution to live and breathe. The terrific cast includes Dominic West as Jean Valjean and David Oyelowo as Inspector Javert, as well as Lily Collins as Fantine whose backstory is more fully realized here than the format of the stage show allows.

5. Our Planet (Netflix)

Essentially a sequel to the Planet Earth documentaries, with the same production team and David Attenborough narration, this Netflix series presents another stunning collection of nature footage that showcases the incredible diversity and beauty of animal life on Earth. Each episode includes a haunting reminder of man’s impact on the featured habitats and serves as a rallying cry in the fight against climate change.

4. The Good Place: Seasons 3-4 (NBC)

The Good Place has been high on my list since its first season and shows no signs of dropping in quality or esteem as it enters its final stretch of episodes. 2019 encompassed the end of Season 3 (including the hilariously imaginative visit to the Interdimensional Hole of Pancakes) and the beginning of Season 4 (with its crew of new characters and just as many reversals and rug-pulls as you’d expect). The final episode before its winter break was “The Answer,” a touching spotlight on William Matthew Harper’s Chidi, which might have been enough to make this list all on its own. (And given the surprise cameo/quasi-crossover in its first episode of 2020, I wouldn’t be surprised if it shows up here again next year too.)

3. Unbelievable (Netflix)

The true story of a serial rape case adapted from journalism by ProPublica, The Marshall Project and This American Life, Unbelievable is one of the most simultaneously heartbreaking and satisfying procedurals I have ever seen. As crushing as it is to watch the initial investigation completely mishandled and devolve to gaslighting, it is powerful and inspiring to watch compassionate public servants and actual good detective work be carried out as the series progresses. Kaitlyn Dever, Merritt Wever and Toni Collette are uniformly excellent here (as they also were in their respective film roles in Booksmart, Marriage Story and Knives Out this year).

2. Watchmen (HBO)

Showrunner Damon Lindelof (LOST, The Leftovers) takes some incredibly bold swings in his limited-run sequel to the groundbreaking 80s graphic novel that deconstructed the ideas of vigilantism and superheroics. Picking up in the same alternate reality as that story but in present day, the main action is shifted to Tulsa, Oklahoma, and the central theme is race relations. It could have gone way off the rails in a million different ways, but I found it to be incredibly successful. Each episode is a captivating work of art and it somehow seems to top itself with each subsequent installment. While I appreciate the book, I don’t love it; this series takes that source material seriously and, to me, completely transcends it.

1. When They See Us (Netflix)

As compelling as it is devastating, this miniseries from Ava DuVernay (who directed and co-wrote all 4 parts) dramatizes the lives of the wrongly convicted children the media dubbed “the Central Park Five.” Even with some familiarity of the story from watching Ken Burns’ documentary years ago, I was utterly gutted by the depiction of the injustices and systemic racism that stole these childhoods. Everyone in the cast shines, but Jharrel Jerome’s portrayal of Korey Wise (the only one of the group played by the same actor as a child and adult – and so convincingly) is truly phenomenal. Not a comfortable watch but an essential one. 

Bonus! Musical Comedy Specials:

The Unauthorized Bash Bros. Experience (Netflix) – This “visual poem” from the Lonely Island presents “an album of raps” recorded by Jose Canseco (Andy Samberg) and Mark McGwire (Akiva Schaffer) at their steroid-fueled 80s peak with the Oakland A’s. Your likely enjoyment is probably about equal to your reaction to that description. The songs are great, catchy and hysterical on their own, but the videos take it to another level, parodying everything from 80s infomercials to Enya to Beyonce’s Lemonade. There is no 30 minutes of TV I rewatched more in 2019.

John Mulaney and the Sack Lunch Bunch (Netflix) – Debuting on Christmas Eve, this children’s television homage/parody snuck in just under the wire. The words of the day could be fear and mortality, as the group of kids Mulaney interacts with reveal their personal phobias and several skits revolve around existential angst. By the end of the first musical number I was sold, by the time David Byrne showed up I was committed, and by “Mr. Music’s” madcap finale I wished it could last forever.

[tracyinpolaroids]

Danger Days

I think discovering the fact that I love My Chemical Romance will come as a surprise to no one. Like a lot of angsty teenagers in the early 2000s, I got hooked when Helena came out. I had just discovered my love for music and my affinity for rock and roll in those years and because I was an Angsty Teenager™, I too went through that phase we all loved to hate—emo.

And how couldn’t I? On top of being, well, highly emotional (Scorpio sun and Cancer moon? Why, yes) the aesthetic was something that appealed to me greatly. I already had the all-black wardrobe down, always putting on black nail polish whenever school would allow it, and I just discovered eyeliner, too. I was even fascinated with dark themes which translated in my art, writing, and general preferences at the time. (Black roses were my flowers of choice at the time, not that I got any from anyone.) It was like I was the template for emo.

Of course that was more than 10 years ago (holy shit), and I had since outgrown the whole emo thing. Or so I thought.

Ever since 2016, I’ve been labelling myself with Sad Girl™, which I think is just another form of Emo Tracy from way back when. Just more grown up and with more grown up problems—yes, heartbreak included. How apt. It wasn’t until sometime late last year that I fully embraced the return of Emo Tracy™, my friends referring to me as such for varied reasons. They even changed my nickname on Messenger to “Emu Girl”, the inside story of which is too stupid to type out and really was just a you-had-to-be-there moment to fully appreciate. But anyway.

Recently, I’ve been listening to single bands on my Spotify for weeks on end. As in I’d only listen to one band. Despite the millions of available music on Spotify and my many playlists, I for some reason felt like listening to just one band at a time. A couple weeks ago, it was Taking Back Sunday. Go figure. But ever since maybe last week, I shifted to MCR, rediscovering my love for the band even though they are no longer. I’m pretty sure it was brought on by my watching Umbrella Academy (which is a fantastic series, by the way), thinking all through out, “Wow, this is so Gerard Way/MCR”.

For the past few days, I’ve had their last album, Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (what a mouthful, right?) on loop and I feel slightly bad that I hadn’t appreciated it more when it first came out in...2010? But then again, it seems to be the type of album that requires a few listens before you get into it. Understandable; the sound is very different from their first two albums, Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge and The Black Parade. When I first listened to Danger Days, I suppose it was just all too unfamiliar to me. I always turned to MCR for when I was feeling those emo feels, and this album was not exactly what I was looking for. It just didn’t help me get those feelings of hurt and pain out the way The Black Parade did, my go-to and favorite MCR album since time immemorial.

But now, I think Danger Days might just be my new favorite. An interesting thought to ponder on: Danger Days is the “happier” MCR album, compared to the themes of Three Cheers and The Black Parade. The transition from album to album is wonderful—from themes of death and sorrow in Three Cheers, struggling and/or dealing with that pain in The Black Parade, to better get-up-and-go feelings in Danger Days, we also have the visual nuances in how Gerard changes with each “phase”. Dark and the epitome of emo (hello, high school Tracy), suddenly with platinum blonde hair and marching band uniforms come The Black Parade, to bright red hair and colorful outfits in Danger Days.

In a way, it’s almost perfect how I got into their last album only recently. Not because of the red hair, haha, but for how it seems a little paralleled with how life has been for me. For a long time, there’s been that struggle with accepting the little “deaths” I’ve had to endure. The difficult thing about being the kind of person I am is I sometimes wallow in my own pain and suffering, which doesn’t really help me or anyone. But I think I’ve finally arrived at a place where I’ve come to terms with a lot of the things I regret and have lost.

One of the things I absolutely loved about Gerard Way was that I learned to accept myself for who I was, in all my strangeness, and that I shouldn’t be afraid to express myself in whatever way I felt I should. That meant being brave enough to be myself even if it meant being weird or unconventional—whether it’s wearing mismatched Chucks, behaving unlike how a 30-year-old lady “should”, or taking inspiration from Mr. Way circa Three Cheers in terms of how I do my makeup.

I can’t believe it took me this long to get here, with my full appreciation of Danger Days and maybe what it represents. But I’m just glad MCR is still here for me, even as a 30-year-old who still likes to belt out Welcome to the Black Parade on karaoke.

If my velocity starts to make you sweat Then just don’t let got And if their heaven ain’t got no vacancy Then we just, then we just, then we just Then we just get up and go!

Planetary [GO!], My Chemical Romance

[starwarsnonsense]

Top 10 Best Films of 2017 - End of Year List

I did a mid-year ‘best of’ list, so it was only fitting that I returned to the format at the end of the year to run down my top 10 favourite films of the year. Only three films from my mid-year list remain here, which is a testament to what an incredible year it has been for film. As far as I’m concerned, 2017 has been a real banner year for cinema and it has seen the release of several all-time greats that I look forward to enjoying for many years to come. 

Since I’m based in the UK there will be several notable omissions here (I still eagerly await films like Phantom Thread, I, Tonya and The Post), purely by dint of the fact that they have yet to be released in this country. Do look out for them in my forthcoming most-anticipated of 2018 list!

Honourable mentions: Custody, Brimstone, The Disaster Artist, Professor Marston & the Wonder Women, Call Me By Your Name

1. Star Wars: The Last Jedi, dir. Rian Johnson

While the placement of this film on my list may be resoundingly predictable (check out the total lack of bias signalled by my username!), the thrilling thing is that the film itself is anything but. The Last Jedi shatters the Star Wars mould to entertain new forms of storytelling and question long-held assumptions. It’s a shockingly meta story in how it questions the conventions of Star Wars - particularly those concerning lineage and its implications - but it is never meta in an ironic sense. There are no wink, wink moments, and while the past is investigated and questioned it is never mocked. Instead of descending into irreverence, The Last Jedi is meta in a way that feels absolutely necessary and justified if Star Wars is to remain fresh and vital as it moves forward. Bloodline and history do not have to dictate destiny in this new version of Star Wars - the heroes are those who understand this, and the villains are the ones who fail to grasp the same lesson. It’s a beautiful and intellectually rigorous movie, and I’m thrilled by how it elevates and re-contextualises the stories that came before it while pushing the characters and their relationships forward. I have no idea of where Episode IX will take this story, and that is incredibly exciting to me. Bring it on.

2. Blade Runner 2049, dir. Denis Villeneuve

There are a million and one reasons why this movie shouldn’t have worked, but Villeneueve proved his genius by making a sublime sci-fi picture that actually surpasses its predecessor. I have always admired the original Blade Runner more than I’ve enjoyed it, and that’s because I have always found it emotionally distant. Deckard struck me as a mumbling arse and his romance with Rachael always felt obligatory, not organic. The genius of Blade Runner 2049 lies in how it made me care - it made me care about the love between Deckard and Rachael (which was something of a miracle in itself), and it made me care about the love between K and his holographic girlfriend Joi. With these emotional hooks in place, everything worked as a thrilling symphony. The cinematography is easily the best of any film in 2017 (sorry, Dunkirk - I still love you) and this film has an astonishing number of scenes that still linger in my mind after many months - the very modern threesome, the shootout in the gaudy pleasure palace, the fight in the rain, the father seeing his child for the first time. It’s a breathtaking film and I couldn’t be more excited to see what Villeneuve does next.

3. Dunkirk, dir. Christopher Nolan

Dunkirk is such a striking and effective piece of cinema that it actually made me overcome my innate bias against war movies (I blame too many tedious Sunday afternoons wasted on mandatory viewings of The Great Escape at my grandparents’ house). With Dunkirk, Nolan has probably made his most accomplished and sophisticated movie - it starts off unbearably tense and doesn’t release its grip on your pulse until the final scene, when its hero finally drops off to the blessed peace of sleep. Nolan employs a tricksy converging structure with multiple plot strands to ramp up the tension and provide different perspectives on the evacuation, masterfully playing them off each other to assemble the big picture. While criticised by some for its apparent lack of character, I can���t really agree with that assessment - Dunkirk is probably the most powerfully humanistic war film I’ve ever seen, and by stripping its characters down to their rawest selves it reveals some uncomfortable yet powerful truths about all of us. The characters are somewhat distant from us - we never hear them pine for lovers or miss their mothers - but the removal of these storytelling shorthands leaves us with soldiers who behave exactly as you would expect frightened, stranded children to. And there’s something terrifyingly poignant about that.

4. mother!, dir. Darren Aronofsky

mother! is the work of a madman with no fucks to give, and it is what I choose to refer to as ‘peak Aronofsky’. He made what is clearly an allegory, and while he had his own intentions with said allegory (which he has been very loud about declaring) the film is so cleverly constructed that it can simultaneously be about the entire history of the world and the plight of the tortured artist’s muse - either reading is perfectly correct and supported by the text. mother! is a piece of art that has provoked a lively and frequently heated debate, and while it needs to be read as an allegory to make any kind of sense as a narrative I also don’t want to undersell this movie as an emotional experience. If you go into mother! willing to be challenged and content to be swept up in a bold artistic vision, it has the potential to be a really absorbing and engrossing film - it is anchored by Jennifer Lawrence’s remarkably brave and unrestrained performance. She is not playing a grounded character, but her performance is palpably real and frequently painful to witness - she portrays the whole spectrum of emotions, from mild bemusement to shrieking horror, and the whole film soars on the strength of her efforts. This is a uniquely strength and esoteric film, and I am incredibly happy that it exists.

5. Get Out, dir. Jordan Peele

This film really knocked me for six, to such an extent that I simply had to see it twice in the cinema. It got even better upon a re-watch, when I was able to watch it with full knowledge of the characters’ underlying motives and the things to come. It’s a terrifying concept (the racism of an all-white suburb is taken to a horrifying extreme) executed with incredible panache, and you feel every emotion that Chris goes through thanks to Daniel Kaluuya’s excellent performance. Get Out also represents one of the most brilliantly communal experiences I’ve ever had at the cinema - I won’t spoil it, but let’s just say that the audience erupted into spontaneous applause at a key moment in the climax. Simply fantastic. 

6. The Handmaiden, dir. Park Chan-wook

This film is exquisite - it’s first and foremost a beautiful boundary-smashing love story, and an absolutely marvellous tale of female defiance. It transplants Sarah Waters’ novel Fingersmith to 1930s Korea, and the story is effortlessly adapted to become intrinsically interwoven with its new setting. Sookee is a talented pickpocket plucked from a thieves den and sent as a handmaiden to trick a rich heiress into falling for a conman. To say any more would spoil the twists, but this film is just a masterwork of suspense, keeping you guessing throughout a series of interlocking pieces that take their time to reveal their secrets. I’ve seen the theatrical cut and the extended version, and they’re both great - you’re in for a treat with either.

7. The Florida Project, dir. Sean Baker

This is one of the best screen depictions of childhood I’ve ever seen. Our hero here is Moonee, a smart-tongued and cheeky six-year-old. Moonee lives in a motel room with her abrasive but loving mother, but since she’s a child she doesn’t mope or lament her poverty - she takes her surroundings for granted and makes the tacky shops and hotels that form her world her very own theme park. The Florida Project is firmly committed to adopting a child’s eye perspective, and while it can feel a bit meandering to begin with it gradually accumulates pace and purpose, building to an utterly heartbreaking and unforgettable climax. The performances here are extraordinary, and Brooklynn Prince is so palpably real as Moonee that she’ll own your heart by the end of the movie (having squeezed it to bursting point on several occasions).

8. The Shape of Water, dir. Guillermo del Toro

I’ve long been a huge del Toro cheerleader, and this movie is perhaps best described as ‘peak del Toro’ - it has the mannered, detail-oriented set design, the charming quirkiness, the subverted horror, and the woozily strange romance that he has employed again and again in his films. This story, however, is unusual for del Toro in that it is ultimately optimistic and hopeful - it’s the daddy of all supernatural romances in that it is a full-blown love story between a mute human woman and a fishman, and it is characterised by total commitment and self-belief. Think Creature from the Black Lagoon done with the creature as the romantic hero. The Shape of Water has a certain playfulness that means it never feels ponderous or silly, but it affords its characters real respect and dignity and makes you care for them deeply. This movie makes me excited to see where genre filmmaking can go next (hint: I hope it only gets weirder).

9. Thelma, dir. Joachim Trier

Who knew something like this could come out of Norway? This was probably my biggest pleasant surprise of 2017 in terms of film - I went in with no expectations at all, and came out wowed. This is an intensely strange and effective supernatural horror that follows a girl with strange repressed powers that manifest whenever she experiences desire. It could be a hackneyed or exploitative premise in the hands of a lesser filmmaker, but Trier shows a deft hand and a remarkable talent for building tension and creating a sense of heightened reality. There is one scene set to ‘Mountaineers’ by Susanne Sundfor that is one of the most transporting experiences I have ever had in the cinema - the combination of the ethereal music and the mounting suspense makes for real film magic. This was a great reminder of how important it is to take chances and try out films outside your comfort zone.

10. Jackie, dir. Pablo Larrain

This is a film that soars on the strength of Natalie Portman’s incredible performance, which is complemented by Mica Levi’s haunting score. Portman’s performance is painfully vivid, with her agony and wretchedness coming through so intensely that it’s often uncomfortable to watch. Jackie is probably the best portrait of grief I’ve ever seen, and it sucks you into a famous historic event by providing an incredibly intimate perspective on it. This is great cinema, but be prepared for suffering.

[writing-yj]

Robin x Reader: The Bird Tattoo~Part Eight (Soulmate AU)

A/n: Not as much angst in this one. The worst is a short confrontation and getting in trouble. Kind of all over the place, but I haven’t updated in a couple days. But.. the moment we’ve all been waiting for is finally here.

“If it makes you feel any better, I liked it.” You said awkwardly and you scratched the back of your neck. “But you seem to regret it.”

He didn’t mean what he said, and he didn’t mean to sound so cold. “That’s because I do.”

You cried that night, after Robin left. For several different reasons, but what he said hit home. You thought he started to care for you like you started to care for him; it wasn’t just a normal holding of hands, it felt like more than that. The only heartbreak you ever experienced was losing someone because they died, not like this. It didn’t feel as bad, but it was different and it sure as hell hurt like a bitch.

     Fortunately, you got some sleep. Unfortunately, it wasn’t very much. For one thing, it hurt to breathe so you kept waking up. For another thing, you had nightmares about The Doctor. You expected that much; you’d ask for another medical examination if you didn’t. Simply because who wouldn’t have nightmares after confronting someone who kidnapped and killed your family and dozens of other people?

     Your eyes shot open for what felt like the one hundredth time that night and you groaned. It was 4:38 AM; much too early for you. When you wake up (if you had a good night’s sleep, that is), it’s never earlier than 6:30 AM. The chances of being grumpy for the rest of the day were high. 

     You stayed in bed, staring at various things around your room for another twenty minutes before slowly sitting up. Before Robin said anything, you had no idea that you had a fractured sternum. “It would have been great to know that beforehand, but whatever…” You grumbled as you gradually got out of bed. The stings and aches didn’t stop you, but you made sure to change the bandages later. You dug through your drawers and pulled out your favorite pair of sunglasses and put them on the replace your mask. You carefully took off your button up to put a blank tank top on underneath it, and you put the button up back on as soon as possible. 

     With your Romanian textbook, notes, worksheets, and a classic novel written in Romanian, you quietly stalked down the hallway and into the kitchen. It was quiet the armful of stuff, so you had to go slow. The dim light over the kitchen sink was on, but the rest of the area was dark and uninhabited. Deciding against sitting at the hard table, you moved to the dark lounge and sat on the plush and comfortable couch. You turned on the small lamp next to it, and you got to work.

You were on the last three Romanian worksheets when you finally heard commotion in the Cave. A quick glance to your watch let you know that it was almost ten, and you completely lost track of time. What felt like half an hour turned out to be not much more than five hours.

     The entire kitchen lit up as Wally, Artemis, and Robin came in with a couple yawns. You yawned, too, but quietly. They didn’t seem to notice your presence as you minded your own business, continuing your work.

     However, the smell of coffee was tempting. You hoped Robin was making it again, but you shoved that cursed boy out of your head. ‘I’ll act civil, but not friendly. If he expects me to forgive him just like that, I swear…’

     You saw the boy in question out the corner of your eye, but, like everyone else, he didn’t see you. You took up very little room on the couch, and they were all concentrated on breakfast anyway.

     The smells of cooked food and increasingly amazing coffee almost convinced you to get up, but you wanted to see how long you could go unnoticed, and you intended on avoiding Robin. You had a slight feeling that you weren’t supposed to be out of bed, but you weren’t told to actually stay in bed. Just to not go on missions with the team.

     At this point, you were furiously writing to distract yourself. The led on your mechanical pencil kept getting used up, so you had to press the end of it every other minute or so. Even the clinking of forks on plates was putting you on edge. 

     “I wonder if M’s up yet.” You heard Wally ask. “Oh, by the way, what’s her name?”

     Oh, you forgot he didn’t know it. Only Robin and Artemis did, at the moment. 

     Artemis shrugged. “Not for us to tell. And she shouldn’t be up at all, she has a fractured sternum.”

‘I’m already up, good luck trying to get me to go back.’

     “What do you mean, us!?” Wally exclaimed. “Who else knows!?”

     Robin raised his hand while drinking some orange juice. “She goes to my school.”

     “Yeah, but how long have you known?”

     Robin looked at them all for a moment, but sipped his drink again. 

     It looked like Wally was having a mental breakdown. “You found out before us? How did you find out before us? Did she tell you willingly, or did you finally invade her privacy by breaking into her files?” Ouch. The last question nearly made you giggle.

     “When we were playing hide-and-seek, she told me to catch her when she jumped from her hiding spot and her sunglasses fell off. I recognized her, and that’s about it.” After saying what he said to you last night, he didn’t want to talk about you. It hurt him to say it, but he thought he was doing what was best. Apparently, the best was being an idiot who thinks pushing someone away when they have feelings for them actually works.

     This was news to Artemis. You never told her about that. You weren’t obligated to, but she was still surprised. “You do realize she could have gotten down herself, right?”

     “Probably, but she insisted.”

‘I didn’t insist anything! I asked, and he answered!’

     Artemis wasn’t convinced, but she let it go. “Mhm. Sure.”

     Wally rambled on and on about how much he wanted to know a name to match your face. He admitted how much he liked your striking eyes, and he and Artemis agreed that you looked stunning overall. It made you feel warm and fuzzy inside as they praised your appearance; an unexpected start to your day, but one that made you feel confident and brilliant. Such great friends, they were.

     “What do you think about her appearance, Rob? Hmm?” Wally batted his eyelashes. “You haven’t really said anything until we started talking about her.” He wore a smug grin. “Why is that?”

     If looks could kill, the lightning-fast Kid Flash would be laying dead on the floor with bacon still in his mouth. Robin’s glare was sharper than a tack and he gritted his teeth for a few long seconds. He was jealous because of how much he was saying about your looks. He was practically steaming. If only he had his sunglasses off; Wally probably would have run in terror.

     “Didn’t hear that; speak up, Boy Wonder.”

     You were completely focused on the conversation at this point. You felt a little guilty for eavesdropping, but it was pretty much the only thing you could hear anyway. 

     “I don’t think she looks half-bad…” Robin muttered into his cup. A downright lie, that was.

     “Doesn’t look half-bad, huh?” Wally chuckled and rolled his eyes. He and Artemis were doing this to rile him up, and it was starting to work. “Not beautiful, gorgeous, charming, radiant, hot, dazzling, exquisite? She any of those?”

     Even you were starting to blush. They were up to something, you could sense it now. But wow. Not in a million years did you think Robin was going to be asked that question about you. You usually never associated any of those words with how you looked; it was touching that your friends did.

     “Well yeah bu- Wai-, no!” Robin spluttered and he almost dropped his cup of of orange juice. “I said not half-bad!”

     Artemis snorted. “Come on, even Mockingbird can lie better than that.” Now you were riled up.

     That comment got you to get up and reveal your position. “I don’t know what you’re talking about; you know I’m the most skilled in the art of deception! What drug are you on!?” You mimicked noises and fooled people all the time. That’s pretty deceptive.

     Wally shrieked and jumped so hard that he knocked his plate and glass to the ground, both of them shattering to bits. He nearly flipped the table. It was like you came out of nowhere. It was just silence and then a loud shout.

     Robin also dropped and broke his glass and choked on orange juice. When did you get there? How did no one notice you? With a morbid look on his face he realized something. You heard everything.

     Meanwhile, Artemis was just smirking. “I was wondering when you would say something.” The boys didn’t see you at all. Artemis saw you the moment she turned on the kitchen light. But if you weren’t going to say anything, neither was she.

     “And I was wondering when you guys would notice, but it looks like you were the only one who did.” You carefully stood up and walked into the kitchen. You glanced at Wally and said, “I thought you guys were supposed to be a observant heroes. The least you can do is be more careful with the dishes.” You slid on over to the coffee maker and poured yourself a cup. All you wanted to do was chug it, but it was never a good idea to chug hot coffee.

     “How long have you been there!? When did you get out here!?” Cue another mental breakdown. Robin was still coughing a little to avoid getting orange juice in his lungs. He didn’t want to face you.

     You and Artemis chuckled. You eyes briefly went to Robin, but not for long. Your dark shades hid that, though. “I’ve been out here for at least five hours. You were too focused on food and your,” your smirk was wicked. “Interesting conversation. I’m flattered, I truly am.” You wore a smug grin as you sipped your coffee.

     Wally barely blushed and he laughed it off with Artemis, but Robin was beet red. “It’s all true, babe.” He leaned back in his chair and winked, but you shoved the chair farther back to make him fall off. “Again!? Man, you girls are just brutal!” 

     “So you heard all of that?” Robin blurted out. Artemis and Wally turned and looked at him, but you didn’t.

     “Oh I heard all of it. Not sure which part you were lying about, though. Judging from how ticked off you’ve been, it could be either one.” You rolled your eyes. “I couldn’t sleep, so I came out here to work on Romanian.”

     Robin was taken aback. At least, until he realized he deserved that. He hated himself for doing this; he didn’t know how long he would be able to keep it up.

     “Speaking of working, you shouldn’t be out of bed. You have a fractured sternum, M.” Artemis crossed her arms. “And a nasty bruise to match, from what I heard.”

     “I usually wouldn’t say this, but I agree with her.” Wally pulled himself off the floor. “You need to kick back and relax, or go back to bed.”

     “If any of you try to get me back in bed, someone is going to get hurt and it won’t be just me.” You threatened. “I am not going to sit on my ass all day, bored out of my mind. You guys are lucky that I haven’t tried to get out and go to school yet.”

     Wally studied your face to see if you were serious or not. “You enjoy school? You want to be there right now?” He couldn’t imagine why anyone would like going to school. 

    “Well yeah, I have things to do, people to see, hearts to break, the usual.” You said casually before giggling.

     Artemis put a hand over her eyes. “You don’t have any hearts to break, M. You might be pretty, but they’re too intimidated by you.”

     “That’s right, no hearts have been broken as of late.” You nodded and laughed. Intimidating you were. “Except my own.” You added bitterly with a small laugh to cover it up.

     “Aw, you poor thing, what happened to you?” Wally held out his arms. “Tell me your woes and I will heal them.” He was being dramatic on purpose, but he could tell that there was some sort of truth to your words. 

     You looked at him with a convincing smile. “I’m kidding, this heart is intact. My sternum? Not so much.”

     “It is just a fracture.” Robin added. In his opinion, he had to do this. “So I’d say it’s pretty intact. I’m sure you’ll be fine, Mockingbird.” His tone was harsh and unforgiving.

     Artemis’ eye twitched and her fists clenched and un-clenched. Wally was stunned at Robin’s behavior. You had the worst injuries out of the team, and he was saying things like that?

     You slammed the mug down on the counter, sending a crack all up on the side of it. The borderline scalding coffee splashed on to your hand, but that was the least of your worries. “What is your problem!?” You shouted. “I don’t what the hell has gotten into you, but I’d be a little more grateful if I was in your shoes!”

     Robin backed up a couple steps, and you followed him. Wally turned to Artemis and asked if they should intervene, but she shook her head and said that he deserved this. You ripped your button up shirt open and buttons flew everywhere and hit the floor. One hit Artemis in the nose, and Wally teased her about having a “button nose”.

     Your tank top went low enough to reveal a good portion of your horrendous bruise. It made Robin’s stomach churn. Artemis and Wally caught a glimpse of it, and their faces fell. “I got this for you. I don’t know if you forgot, but I stepped in front of you before- don’t you look away!” Robin tried to avert his eyes, but you needed to get your point across and he needed to realize how bad it was. “I stepped in front of you before The Doctor could cut you open, to protect you. I was literally kicked out of a window for you. My damn sternum is fractured because I decided to defend you.” You gritted your teeth; you didn’t notice how utterly guilty he looked. 

     Robin wanted to take it all back. He wanted to erase every horrible thing he did to you. How was he going to make it up to you? How could he earn your forgiveness? 

     “And this is how you repay me? By talking to me in my room, saying you were concerned for my safety, but then telling me that you regret holding my hand?” You were in his face now. Artemis’ jaw dropped. Robin held your hand willingly? However, Wally already knew. He was the only one who noticed Robin holding your hand, but he never said anything.

     Robin opened his mouth to say he didn’t regret it and why he was acting like this, but you stopped him.

     “’It is just a fracture.’” You mocked his voice perfectly. “’So I’d say it’s pretty intact. I’m sure you’ll be fine, Mockingbird.’ To be honest, you telling me those things hurts me worse than all this.” You gestured to the injuries on your torso.

     Robin was mad at himself. He showed that he cared for you, and he pushed you away. And harder than necessary. He was falling in love with you for God’s sake, and he desperately wanted to fix it. “I’m sorry, Mockingbird.”

     You snorted and stormed into the lounge. “Let me know when you mean it.”

Artemis led you to your room while helping you carry your stuff. She gave Wally a look, and he sat Robin down to have a quick chat.

     “You’re acting like this because you’re trying to push her away,” Wally inferred. “And that’s because your emotionally stunted mentor taught you that feeling too much emotion is dangerous and not okay. Am I right?” Wally was in his serious mode right now. He knew his best friend like the back of his hand, and he was spot on.

     Robin looked down at his hands and nodded. “I just… I’ve never felt this way before and I used to hate her and she doesn’t want a soulmate who probably won’t be me anyway and-”

     Wally grabbed Robin’s shoulders and shook them a little. “I’m willing to bet all the food in my house that you guys are soulmates! Just because you used to hate her doesn’t mean that you still have to, and did Batman never tell you that it’s pretty much impossible to reject your soulmate?” Wally couldn’t believe Robin, of call people, didn’t know this. “If someone says they don’t want a soulmate, they will when they find theirs.” Like most people, Wally was very enthusiastic about getting his tattoo. He was a loving boy at heart. “We’ll find out tomorrow for sure.”

     Robin sighed and buried his face in his hands. Getting tattoo tomorrow would make or break his chance with you, and he was nervous anyway. “I really like her Wally, but I don’t know how to make this up to her. I’ve been a total jerk to her, on and off since day one. How do you suggest I fix this?”

     The smirk on Wally’s face was almost scary. “I have a few ideas.”

Since no one was going to allow you to leave the Cave, you hung out with Artemis and M’gann in your room. It became a girl’s night, and you enjoyed it greatly. After a few different and short activities. You suggested doing a costume change. The one you had was the same one you started with, and you wanted to switch things up a little.

     “I’m not saying the one you have now is terrible, I actually really like it,” M’gann said. “But designing a new costume sounds like fun!”

     “What material are you thinking of, and how much skin will it cover?” Artemis asked and she started coming up with different ideas. “Would it be like Black Canary’s or-” she stopped when you wiggled around under your bed.

     You grunted multiple times because getting under your bed was rather painful and your two friends were ready to help and stop you from doing so, but you got completely under there and you started sliding things back out. The first two items were rolls of stretchy and strong fabric, one black and the other white. 

     “You’ve been planning this for a while, haven’t you?”

     “Yup.” Your voice was muffled from being under the bed and they didn’t see your smile. 

     You slid out a sketchbook and they started flipping through it. There were several different designs and ideas that you sketched out before hand, and they were really good. “Did you do these?” M’gann asked. She loved all of them. 

     “With my own two hands.”

     Artemis scoffed playfully. “Who else’s hands would you do it with?”

     “I don’t know, let’s go to the morgue and pick some out.”

     M’gann was slightly alarmed, but it took her only a second to realize it was a joke. She laughed along with you and Artemis as they pointed out their favorite sketches.

     Artemis did a double take when you slid out a ton of black Kevlar material. “Pardon my language, but where the hell did you get all this Kevlar?”

     “’Hell’ is hardly a swear word, sweetie!” You used an old woman’s voice before switching back to your own. “I bought some of it.”

     M’gann asked curiously, “And the rest of it?”

     “Oh, there was this arms dealer in Star City that Red Arrow and I- Speedy, at the time -went to put a stop to and there was a literal truckload of Kevlar. So when we succeeded, we split the load evenly. As in, 75/25. He was fine with it, though.” You remembered that mission as if it was yesterday. “By the way, we were told not to do it, but we did it anyway. That’s how it normally was before I came here. I was really upset when he left, but I still hang out with him sometimes.”

     “How much trouble did you get in to?” M’gann heard some stories about you and Roy’s shenanigans before the team was formed. Some of them were insane and unsurprising, but she couldn’t believe how rebellious and how often you went against orders as a young protege. Nonetheless, they were some hilarious stories.

     They heard you snort from under the bed before laughing really hard. “You should have seen Green Arrow’s face, holy shit! He was so mad!” Your chest started to hurt from laughing. “Black Canary didn’t even want to deal with me at the moment, so she just kind of handed me over to him and went to take a nap. The funny thing is that we used to get into more trouble than that. Ah, fun times.”

     You shoved out a few more materials and tools, and then you asked Artemis to drag you back out. “How did you fit all of this under there?!” She asked as she pulled you out so fast that you almost got rug burn.

     “I can practically fit my body into anywhere, so doing the same with objects isn’t a hassle.” You shrugged while laying on your back, looking up at her. “So which design do you guys like the most? The fourth is one of my personal favorites.” You smoothly flipped onto your stomach; you kept hurting yourself with every other movement, but you were going to get used to it no matter who said no.

     Artemis flipped back to that one and nodded. She slid it over to M’gann, and she agreed enthusiastically. It was a black full-body unitard with a fully white silhouette of a Mockingbird, mid-flight spanning across your chest. “Let’s do this, ladies.”

     “You couldn’t have said anything less stereotypical?” Artemis rolled her eyes and sighed.

     You rolled your eyes right back. “Oh well excuse me, you’re highness.” You then took on the voice of Superman. “Let’s make this costume look hot and fresh, my gal pals.”

     “Mockingbird, no.”

It took a very long time to finish your new outfit, but it was so worth it. It fit you perfectly in all the right places, and let you move and stretch more than your previous one; you didn’t think it was possible. Your new domino mask was black and outlined in white, but still with the white parts that hid your (e/c) eyes from view. Your fingerless gloves looked similar. The entire outfit made your whole body look absolutely stunning and bad ass at the same time. It was almost midnight, and your comrades were sound asleep. You could blend in perfectly in the dark of the night, a great advantage.

     Artemis, Robin, Wally, and Kaldur were cleared to go home that night, since their injuries were well on their way to being healed already. They were all allowed to go to school, except you. You were jealous; they could still go out and take down criminals and the like, while you were apparently at physical risk and banned from going on missions.

     Missions by yourself and with the team, that is. Batman never said anything about going on missions with Roy. Earlier that day, Roy heard about how you were pretty much on house arrest. It was like when you got grounded by Dinah and Oliver; you almost went insane. You were aggressive, attempted and succeeded in breaking out multiple times, and you hid somewhere in your room when you didn’t feel like being angry or breaking out. 

     Just like a wild bird, you hated being caged.

     You grabbed a sticky note and wrote, “Getting groceries; I’ll be back soon :)” and you stuck it on your pillow. You agreed to not leaving until it’s after 12:00 PM, since you were supposed to stay in bed. But in the moment, it was past 12:00 PM (Artemis never said which day), and Conner and M’gann wouldn’t be checking on you until after they got back from school. So you had plenty of time to get the mission done, and you didn’t expect it to take a long time.

Roy: I’m outside. We need to act fast, the sensors won’t stay off for much longer.

You: I’ll be there in two minutes, at the most.

     You sprinted down the hallways as fast but as quiet as you could. Conner had super hearing, but he was on the other side of the Cave. You didn’t want to take any risks.

     In no time, you slid through the door, not a zeta tube, and right into Roy. He grunted in surprise, but he was glad to see you. “New look?” He asked and gestured for you to follow him. 

     “Just made it today,” You smiled and added, “Out of Kevlar.”

     Roy let out a snort, remembering that very mission. “You’re kidding. You still have some of that?”

     “Yeah, a ton of it. It’s good protection, looks great, and can really absorb blunt force trauma.” You saw the motorcycle Roy brought, and you looked up at him with pleading eyes.

     “I am not going to wrap my arms around your waist to hold on. Have you noticed how short you are?”

     “Don’t call me short, Harper.”

     He just chuckled, breaking his usual stoic expression. “You haven’t changed much.” He got on the motorcycle and started it. “Just like old times?”

     You jumped on the motorcycle and grinned. You went back to the good old days, when you didn’t have to worry about how you got the mission done. Since then, you were disciplined and conditioned to use logic and common sense in the field. Roy was the same way, but you were long-time friends and brought out the worst best in each other. This was going to be fun.

     “Just like old times.”

The mission with Roy went a lot longer than you both planned. You two were out until 3:45 in the afternoon the next day, and you convinced Roy to let you get groceries to keep your cover. However, explaining why you were wearing your new uniform was going to be difficult. You carried the dark grey duffel bag that you stuffed with a few boxes of snacks, coffee grounds, and shredded cheese.

Recognized: Mockingbird B27

     Luckily, the team didn’t hear it. They congregated in the kitchen, talking excitedly about how Robin’s tattoo would be appearing any moment now. But Wally brought up how you weren’t back from the store yet. “Tell your tattoo to wait for Mockingbird to come back, she has to be here for this, too.”

     “She’s didn’t go to the store, I can sense it.” Artemis grumbled. “And her new costume is gone. Why would she wear it if she’s just going to the store?” She was on to you, and it made you nervous.

     You carried the duffel bag and made light, quiet steps to avoid being detected. But Artemis was so on edge and unhappy that she might see you. More like worried, but she just knew that you didn’t just get food. 

     As you slowly crept past the kitchen, going mostly unnoticed, you didn’t see Kaldur spot you. He made eye contact with her, and secretly nodded in your direction. 

     Artemis turned and saw you immediately. “Mockingbird!” She yelled and you dropped the duffel bag out of surprise. 

     You turned around and held your hands up defensively. “I left a note!” You exclaimed, but you were caught red handed. “I’ll make more than one next time, okay?”

     Wally butted in and stopped Artemis from arguing back. “I love the new look, M, you look absolutely stunning.” He winked at you, and elbowed Robin in the ribs. 

     That was his cue to start being friendly. Flirty just wasn’t possible for him at the moment. “What’s it made out of?” Robin asked, and you were surprised that his sour mood towards you was gone. Maybe he just needed a day away from you to cool off.

     “Kevlar. It’s good for absorbing hits and makes relatively nice armor.” You answered simply.

     Artemis cleared her throat and started interrogating you again. “We both know that you weren’t just getting food at the store.” She crossed her arms. You tossed her the duffel bag and she opened it, and it indeed had a variety of food in it. But she wasn’t convinced. “If you only went to the store for food, why are you wearing that?” She gestured to your uniform.

     You opened your mouth, ready to whip out an excuse, but you remembered you didn’t have one. The one thing you didn’t plan for was the only thing to save you from Artemis’ protective wrath. You broke eye contact through your mask. You turned to look at Kaldur, and he looked right back at you. “Snitch.”

     “Batman told you to not go on missions!” Robin exclaimed, but it was in a scolding and anxious manner. It was against the rules and for your own good.

     “Yeah, with you guys!”

     “You aren’t supposed to go alone, either!”

     You raised an eyebrow. “Who said I went alone?”

     The kitchen was silent as they all pondered. Who could have gone on a mission with you who isn’t on the team, a friend, and not part of the Justice League.

     Kaldur got it before anyone else did. “You went with Red Arrow.”

     Artemis growled with frustration. Of course Roy would help you sneak out. He knew you the longest and knew you better than most. Robin slowly felt jealousy take over and his face was as serious as ever. Wally noticed immediately and snickered.

     “Maybe.” You said nonchalantly as you took the duffel bag back from Artemis. You tossed the cheese into the fridge, the coffee in the cupboard, and you briskly walked down the hall to your room. 

     “This isn’t over!”

     “Yes mom.”

     Another silence ensued, but was broken by Wally’s laughter. “Rob, dude, jealousy is not a good color on you.” 

     The kitchen echoed with laughter and if you looked up the word ‘embarrassed’, Robin would be the definition. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You slid back out to the kitchen in your civilian clothes. Your spare and not-as-cool pair of sunglasses hung loosely on your face, but you took them off instead of leaving them on. You got more and more comfortable with the team, and they wouldn’t hurt you willingly. So you took them off and hooked them on the collar of your shirt, but still felt a little anxious.

     The team had since moved to the lounge and you hoped Artemis cooled off a little. When you walked in, she looked up at you. She didn’t glare, but she didn’t smile. That was good progress. 

     “It feels so good to see those eyes of yours again. I just might swoon.” Wally said dramatically and slumped over on the couch, landing on Robin’s shoulder. “Say something about her face!” Wally discreetly whispered in Robin’s ear, and no one else heard.

     Robin scrambled to find a compliment that wouldn’t sound weird. “Yeah, I’ve never seen an eye color like that before.” Robin said softly, and the room was stunned into silence. You were pleasantly surprised at his compliment, and you felt the room heat up a little

   Wally swooped in to save the day, poking at Robin’s ribs. “Maybe if I poke your tattoo date enough, it’ll appear.”

     “Wally, we’ve been over this. It doesn’t work like that.”

     “But are you sure?”

You sat next to Artemis as the others sat close to Robin, waiting impatiently for his tattoo to appear. “I’m sorry for leaving. I just,” you apologized quietly and your hands fidgeted. “I felt like I was being caged. I hate being locked up. I guess that’s the bird in me, huh?”

     Artemis slightly turned away from you, not saying anything.

     You held in a giggle; Artemis was pouting. “But really, I’m truly sorry. You told me to stay here, not because you didn’t trust me, but because you wanted me to stay safe. And I left anyway.” You told her, and you sighed when she still didn’t say anything. Usually, when she was mad, she would yell and snap and sometimes toss out an insult. But when it came to being mad at you, she ignored you. It drove you insane, knowing that your best friend was mad at you.

     You heard some grumbling before Artemis turned to look at you. “Please tell me you didn’t get kicked or hit in the chest?” Your apology made her come around after a couple minutes.

     You gave her a goofy smile. “Only once or twice, but this Kevlar is a blessing. I hardly felt it.” During your mission with Roy, you got into a couple scuffles. But you felt little to no pain. “But I’m a little dehydrated, want some water?” You stood up and Artemis came with you.

     “Me too, the halls are so crowded at school that I can’t get to the water fountains.”

     The moment she mentioned school, you let out a small sad wail. All eyes were on you, but you didn’t care. “Oh God, what’d I miss at school? Did we get homework? No one asked about me, did they?” You pleaded as you and Artemis went into the kitchen.

     “I told them you got into a minor car crash and that you’ll be back on Monday, and you already know what we went over, anyway.”

     “M really likes school, doesn’t she?” M’gann observed and chuckled. “I wonder why she’s so worried about her grades?”

     Robin was learning to get used to Wally poking his ribs over and over. “I heard that she has at least a 4.5 GPA. I guess she just wants to make sure that she has a successful future.”

     Their conversation was in the background as you dug around the fridge for two bottles of water. Artemis nudged your leg with her foot multiple times in a row until you looked back at her in annoyance. “Can I help you? I’m trying to get water for the both of us.”

     “Aren’t you excited?”

     “For what?” You went back into the fridge and snagged to water bottles in the back. “Enlighten me.”

     Artemis wanted to kick you, but she didn’t. “He’s getting his tattoo any minute now! Can’t you wait to see if it’s yours?” She said quietly with a grin. “I bet my bow on it.”

     “That’s a pretty risky bet you have there,” You tossed her a water bottle. “Are you sure you want to go through with it?”

     Suddenly, Robin hissed and clutched his side, right over his tattoo date. It was happening. The moment he’d been waiting for since he learned what soulmates were. Sure, it was hurting like hell, but he didn’t care.

     “I knew it would work!” Wally cried out after he poked him for about the hundredth time. “Pull up your shirt so we can see!”

     You and Artemis watched from a distance as the outline slowly came in to view. You couldn’t quite make it out, but it started to look familiar. It was familiar enough to Artemis; the smirk on her face was downright wicked.

     “It’s so cool!” M’gann exclaimed as she saw the life-changing event take place. You couldn’t watch as the color started to fill in, so you put your focus on drinking your water.

     There were more exclamations of interest and surprise, and you almost regretted not letting anyone be there to see yours show. It struck you how important a soulmate tattoo was, and it made you sad that you didn’t have anyone special around you when you got yours. 

     “That’s remarkable,” Kaldur said in awe. “The colors are so vibrant and vivid. You must be interacting with them every day.”

     Wally started cackling. “It’s a freaking bird and it looks like a Robin!”

     You reluctantly looked over at them to see Robin’s tattoo, and your heart stuttered before it came to a stop.

     It was perfectly identical to yours.

[dafuqqqqqqq]

"Thelma" is worth the watch but hoo boy get ready for some feelings

The pace of the movie starts off agonizingly slow. I was thinking to myself that it felt less like a thriller and more like a looming marathon of anxiety working its way through molasses. Except the molasses is depression. And listen, I'm all for a young woman leaving her clingy Christian family to find herself (inside and out), but it's like twenty-five minutes into the movie and I'm just sitting here like "well does she have super powers or not?!"

And this is when I think I've fallen into this trap. Again. What I wanted was a sort of action thriller that happened to star some queer ladies. But what I got was art. Fuck that, man. I get it. It's deep, it's meaningful, there's allegory and metaphors and a deeper meaning. Snooze.

But like five minutes after that thought crosses my mind, I have to take it all back because I think her super power *might* be calling lesbians to her vagine. Which like, WOW. Is this gonna be like if the movie Teeth and Melissa Etheridge's Come to my window have a baby? You. Have. My. Attention. Let's go.

Also, Thelma's seizures are like the physical embodiment of being too gay to function.

The lady who plays Anja is quite the cutie. To be honest, the scenes where they're together are just so sweet. Thelma is at her liveliest brightest, versus the really underwhelming presence she has in the other scenes. So kudos to both actresses for being able to pull that off. And now I really take back what I said about the pacing. There's this scene where Anja and Thelma are on a balcony and they're not saying anything, there's just wind and silence and comfort and honestly I almost cried. It was perfect. It's like when you're in a moment that you know is gonna stay with you for a long time. They know they're in that moment, you know they're in that moment, you know that they know that they're in that moment. And then suddenly, without even being intrusive, that moment is yours, too. You could make a whole other movie about that moment. So, it's jarring to come out of that moment to go to the next scene but we got shit to do And by shit I mean dates to the ballet with Anja's mom. Do you remember that time Bette Porter finger fucked Alice Pieszecki at the opera? 'Cause I do and so did Anja. Lemme tell you something: you think you know what's gonna happen here. You don't! And then once you're caught off guard the first time, you're like, "alright, I see you. I'm good now." You're not! I feel like these two scenes were nothing but my brain trying to keep up with my heart and falling short every fucking time. I am having palpations as I write this. But also my heart is shattering into a million pieces and everything is fine and nothing matters even a little bit. Also, Anja? Boundaries girl, damn! If someone runs away from you after you finger fuck them, your go-to shouldn't be a kiss. Yike. It all worked out, but yeesh.   One thing I liked about this movie, similar to what I enjoyed about Disobedience is that it tackles the nuances associated with faith and gayness. I feel like when most movies talk about religion, they focus on how the institutions are detrimental to the queer community, which I get. But now we're getting this story of someone who is having a crisis of faith. We get this scene of Thelma praying and, I mean for fuck's sake, me figuring out I was gay was easily one of the top five moments in my life when I prayed most fervently. I appreciated getting to see that sort of holy gay panic on screen. Also tremendously heartbreaking, so there's that. That said, let's talk about Thelma's dad, shall we? Mr. I'm-glad-you-told-me. God. This guy. Alright, so there's the opening scene. He and Thelma are walking across a frozen lake and there's this shot where he looks at her and his face is just filled with fear? Maybe. Disgust? Definitely. Two minutes later, he considers shooting her right in the head. And you think to yourself "okay, so that first look kind of makes sense. This kid trusts whomever this dude is, but he clearly doesn't love her." Then we fast forward ten years and it's only then that you realize he's her dad. Awk. ward. The thing that threw me for a loop about their relationship is that he definitely seems to have grown to love his daughter. And it's clear that she still fully trusts him. Tells him everything. This is so key to the story. We know that he knows something about his daughter and so the impression we get is that he's decided to monitor it closely. I was beginning to think that perhaps he's not a religious man, he just needed a way to control his supernatural daughter's actions and minimize the effect she'll have on the world around her. So, he's built up this false sense of trust between him and Thelma that's kept her under his thumb so I was glad to see that erode as the story unfolded. Anyway, cut to obligatory Christian-girl-at-her-first-college-party scene. We're drinking, we're getting high, we all think very little of Christopher, we're fucking Anja on the couch in front of everyone, we're- WAIT. Wait wait wait wait. Are...are we really fucking on the couch in front of everyone? Does it matter? Also, the symbolism with the snake again. Jesus. This scene is...sigh. Also they didn't. My thoughts and emotions are all over this place and I'm a mess. A mess! Moving on. I had suspected from the moment we saw Thelma's mom's wheelchair that her daughter's powers had something to do with her condition. (Probably also why her dad wanted to kill her that one time, but it's neither here nor there.) But now we find out she had a brother once upon a time. Well, great. Bring on the sads! Also, kudos to the writers for having the professors' lectures be clues to the movie. The first professor talking about how things can be both waves and particles, similar to how Thelma's powers can be both a blessing and a curse. I forget what the second one said, but the third one mentioning that we exist in both two and three dimensions, just as Anja has disappeared into an unknown dimension. And the director slips in commentary about the way we see women's bodily autonomy (e.g. walking mom) and purity (e.g. milk and blood after exams), which was really subtle.

There was also a moment when I thought I'd come around on her dad, but you know what? Nah. Once Thelma realizes that her powers don't have to be a curse, that she can bring things back to people, she becomes unstoppable and it's a beautiful way to end that story. The only thing sexier than personal growth is self love and acceptance and that's why she's glowing in that final scene, looking like a cocky babe in her girlfriend's jacket. What a transformation.

Last note: don't see this movie if you're epileptic. Lots of strobe lights.

[electric-sugar-darling]

Entertainer’s turmoil

It’s a conflicting thing being an entertainer in the time of COVID.

Before the lockdown, I had the fortunate opportunity of not only having a singing/performing job as my main money-making job, but also to be able to local theatre as well. In fact, before lockdown, I was experiencing a bout of burnout because my schedule then had been “if I wasn’t performing at work, I was running straight to a rehearsal or show,” and before lockdown, my life had been exactly that for nearly 16 months straight. I was on the verge of stepping away from it all temporarily, to take a breather and focus my energy into an entirely different direction because everything I was doing was more out of necessity and obligation. There is certainly such a thing as too much of a good thing, and my love for it was very dangerously waning as a result.

Then COVID.

It happened gradually at first, but looking back on it now as if it were in the distant past (at least, that's how this entire year has felt like so far) it feels like it was all pulled out from under me (and many other performers) in one fell swoop. My rehearsals were cancelled. Then my gigs were cancelled. Then entire shows were being cancelled. And then my place of work where I performed (along with the rest of the casinos on the Las Vegas Strip) were shut down. And suddenly, the entire country was put on standstill. Frontline workers and essential workers still worked, but the rest of us were put on pause. And initially, it did bum me out. Mostly because it was such a breakneck shift from all my waking hours being filled with some sort of activity, to suddenly nothing there at all, and just nervously twiddling my thumbs, waiting for the next day, because day by day is really the only way to live currently. No movie or media about a pandemic could ever prepare us for a real-life pandemic. Especially with the way the current administration is handling it. But eventually, I saw it as some cosmic message to the entire world that our current way of life was too busy, too hectic, too obsessive with hustle mentality. And I decided to take the universe's hint and to take the break I was given, and reassess how I channeled my energy.

It's been a little over 3 months since then. And boy, have I reassessed.

I could go further into what all those things that I've reassessed are, but instead I'm going to just focus on one: being a performer in a time where large crowds are highly discouraged, or straight up not allowed at the moment.

I'm a singer, a performer, a musician, a theatre kid, all wrapped up in one. All of those things require an outlet. And an audience. I identify greatly as an introvert and as someone with severe social anxiety. But there is no amount of words that describe the transformation I instantly go through when audience lights go down, when stage lights go up, when curtains rise, when the overture begins, when I'm making my first entrance in a show, and I essentially come alive on a stage for the entire world to see. The filter is gone. The overthinking is (mostly) gone. It's a moment of do-or-die, when all the people’s eyes are on you, demanding to be entertained, yet also scrutinizing you all at once. Yet still, with a musical phrase, with a choreographed scene, with a line of dialogue that I've repeated to myself 1,000 times in different inflections through countless evenings studying and rehearsing, with a flourish and a smile, I am alive and fearless in the moment where your eyes are fixated on me, and on my colleagues, wondering what's going to happen next. There is no other feeling quite like it. And I miss it immensely.

However, there lies the conflict.

As much as I do miss my stage, my outlet, my performance, I can't deny the existence of this pandemic. A virus that's literally killing hundreds of thousands of people this year alone, and severely weakening so many others. Millions of cases, asymptomatic or not, with such a high chance of spreading it to others if you're one if the irresponsible ones (oh yes, and mini PSA: WEAR A FUCKING MASK.)

But it's especially heartbreaking for me as a singer and performer, because our craft not only requires being in a room with hundreds, thousands of people, crowded into one place. But I read an article stating that singers are one of the biggest spreaders COVID due to the extent that we use our voices to literally carry over entire rooms, and that we have the most potential to spread COVID particles to not only our colleagues, but to audience members as well.

Workers going back to work now that cities are opening up again (which is wildly absurd and irresponsible to me), and they can at least wear a mask to protect themselves. But as singers and performers, we can't wear masks, as it would inhibit nearly everything we're doing on stage. Speaking, singing, facial expressions, properly breathing during dance numbers. And so myself, and many other entertainers in this business, are faced with the harsh reality of our industry possibly being one of the last, if not the very last thing that would return to a "normal" state.

And therein, another conflict lies within the conflict. Because the casino I work in has recently attempted to open up again, and without giving too much away about what exactly I do, part of the jobs that have returned are certain singer-entertainer jobs that require us to be in close proximity of guests. We are required to masks around guests, but we are to remove them when we are singing. But guests are not required to wear masks, for fear of facing backlash of inhibiting on their "rights." We can protect ourselves for as much as it's worth, but guests get the reign to be as careless as they want, to not only increase the chances of possibly spreading the virus to themselves and others, but to us as well (even with masks and new casino safety guidelines which are ALSO being ignored by many tourists), who are being REQUIRED to return and serve these people who'd rather shirk good health and moral responsibility for a chance to go on vacation again? OH, the absolute privilege of it all!

I want to eventually return to performing. Perhaps not to the same all-hours-full capacity that I once was at before the lockdown began, but I do miss putting a show together. A lot of my performer friends do as well. And thank goodness for things like virtual shows, socially distanced livestream shows. And the prospect of people finding new and/or safer ways to express themselves as artists have blossomed, mostly out of necessity, of having an outlet to express. I have had a few alternative options myself in lieu of live performance, for which I am grateful.

But I can't in good conscience be fully supportive of opening theaters and performing spaces or anything of that capacity again at the moment, when Las Vegas, and other cities around the country, are already being the perfect test sites of what we SHOULDN'T have done, letting people run amok with the option of being unmasked, and thus, the sudden rise of COVID cases.

I miss my art. I miss sharing my art with my colleagues. I miss showing the world my art. But to try and bring it back to any in-person capacity with the current state of things, of administrations and businesses making morally reprehensible decisions for the sake of monetary gain, meanwhile willingly putting millions of lives at risk every single day that they won't at least make a ruling to make masks mandatory, doesn’t feel the least bit right. I say with a heavy and conflicted heart that this art will have to wait a little longer.

[lopithecusfanfiction]

The End of the Star: Chapter One

Author: Lopithecus Pairing: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne Rating: Explicit Word Count: 3061 Alternate: AO3, fanfiction.net Summary: Bruce Wayne, is attacked and kidnapped on his way home from a charity event. Mysterious men whisk the billionaire away to a remote planet, light years away from Earth. A star system in peril needs his help. He must act to save the people of this strange new world. Things are not always as they seem, and what awaits on this alien odyssey will challenge even the Batman's resolve. Warnings: 

Homophobia

Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent

Kidnapping

Alien Abduction

Non-consensual drug use

Prison

Lex trolling

World Destruction

General Death

Minor Character Death

Genocide

It’s Brainiac’s fault

Ruffles

Boys in dresses

Cross Dressing

Plot

Porn with plot

Porn with feelings

Heartbreak

Resolved sexual tension

Author's Note: So, since the SB BB is now over, I figured I should finally start posting the chapters to this here. Some announcements first: See the wonderful art to this fic by VaticanSaint here! I would like to thank my beta bscao3 for beta reading this story. I wouldn't have been able to do this without her help and her encouragement. She worked so hard and I appreciate it so much! I would also like to thank VaticanSaint for making the wonderful art. His pieces are absolutely beautiful and I love them so much! Please enjoy!!

Chapter One:

“I would like to thank all of you for coming today and for your generous donations to the Worldwide Orphans Foundation. Your money will be used to give these children better lives and to help them have a brighter future. Thank you.” Bruce continues to stand up on the stage for a few seconds longer as applause erupts throughout the room, before he makes his way back to his seat. He is throwing a party in order to raise not only awareness for children that have been orphaned, but to also raise money for the Worldwide Orphans Foundation. The turnout has been immense, to Bruce’s pleasure, and he wouldn’t be all that surprised if it was because he was throwing it in Metropolis. Metropolis is a bit safer than Gotham after all.

He walks back to his table where Dick and Jason are currently sitting. Bruce had goaded Dick into coming. He might not be Robin anymore but he is still part of this family, and it is important that he show up to these things every once in awhile. Plus, he’s there when Jason gets bored and starts to act up. Dick can entertain him a lot better than Bruce can.

As he sits back down in his seat, Dick holds up his champagne glass. Bruce picks up his own, and Jason picks up the flute that currently has sparkling water in it. He had put up a fight about not having alcohol, claiming that he has had it before, but Bruce refused to allow a minor any sort of alcohol. “Congrats on being successful in this endeavor. A lot of people showed up,” Dick says, clinking their glasses together.

“Thank you Dick.” Bruce brings his glass to his mouth and takes a small sip. Dick does the same while Jason chugs his water.

“So does this mean we can go home now?” Jason asks, leaning back in his chair. His tux is all rumpled from when he carelessly slouched in his seat earlier. Alfred will be displeased.

Before Bruce can answer, a hand is placed on Jason’s shoulder. “I do hope you won’t be leaving us so soon Brucie.”

Bruce stands and offers his hand. “Lexie.”

He relishes the small grimace that Lex Luthor gives him. “Please, just Lex.”

“Whatever you say, Lexie.” Lex’s eyebrow twitches. “Have you donated yet?”

“Of course I have. I’ve donated half a million dollars.” Lex wipes the hand that he had shaken Bruce’s hand with on a napkin.

“Wow, Lexie! That almost rivals my million-dollar donation.” This time Lex’s whole face seems to twitch uncontrollably. He can see Jason laughing from the corner of his eyes and Dick isn’t doing much better.

Lex frowns. “Yes, well, we all can’t just throw our money at things Brucie.” He clears his throat, looking from Dick to Jason and then back to Bruce. He looks displeased. “Have a good evening.” He walks away and the three of them watch him leave in amusement.

“You know,” Dick starts. “You getting under Lex Luthor’s skin will never get old. It’s just so priceless.”

“Did you see his face?” Jason all but chokes out, he’s laughing so hard. “I thought he was having an aneurism or something.”

“Now, now boys, settle down. We really shouldn’t tease the competition.” Bruce smirks and the two boys erupt in more laughter. When they finally calm down, Bruce answers Jason’s initial question. “We’ll leave in another hour. It’s important to show our faces at these things, and it would be rude of me to leave so soon after the speech.” Jason groans. “Don’t worry Jason, the hour will go by before you know it. Then we’ll go back to Gotham and do our regular patrol.”

“Yeah. I’ll head back to Bludhaven. It was nice seeing you and the squirt, but my city needs me” Dick shrugs. Bruce nods in understanding. It had hurt when Dick decided to leave, but they didn’t part on bad terms. Dick just grew up, something Bruce had a hard time accepting at first. Then he met Jason, and it made it a little bit easier to accept that Dick was no longer the little boy from the circus.

The hour passed quickly. Bruce mingled with other socialites and Dick kept Jason out of trouble. He’s thankful for that. Soon he’s ushering his boys away from a throng of young women, who were flirting with Dick and gushing over Jason. He leads them to the exit, and to the limousine.

Barely ten minutes down the road, Alfred stops the car unexpectedly. Bruce knows there isn’t a streetlight or stop sign here. There’s no reason for Alfred to stop the vehicle. Bruce leans forward and presses the button for the speaker. “Alfred, what’s going on?”

“There is someone standing in the middle of the road Sir, blocking our way,” Alfred answers. “He won’t move no matter how much I honk.”

Bruce looks towards the boys, exchanging confused glances. “Don’t worry about it Alfred. I’ll take care of it.” He then says to Dick and Jason, “Stay here. Dick, make sure Jason stays here.”

Jason crosses his arms. “Hey, I don’t need a babysitter!”

Bruce just gives him a stern look, and exits the limo. The first thing he sees when he looks over at the person who is blocking their way, is how the person is dressed. They’re male, and wearing a black, one piece bodysuit. Frilly sequins adorn the seams, with a long black cape, and some kind of symbol on his chest.

Bruce approaches cautiously, glancing back at the limousine. This person looks like they belong in Arkham. “Can I help you?”

“Bruce Wayne?”

“Yes?”

The man holds up a gun and Bruce stops walking immediately, holding up his hands with his palms facing out. The man says something in a language Bruce has never heard, and two more similarly clad men walk out of the shadows. One wears a green version of the black ensemble, the other man is in all red. The stranger in black barks orders at the two colorfully dressed men

Bruce can only watch in worry as the one in red approaches the driver’s side of the limousine and smashes the window. A small sphere is shoved in past the broken glass of the window, and the man presses a button. Smoke comes out of the device, and Bruce can see through the windshield that Alfred falls unconscious. “What did you do?” he demands of the guy in black but there is no response. The man in green walks to the back of the limo, and opens the door with strength Bruce has only seen from Bane. He repeats the action of the man in red, and smoke fills the back, knocking Dick and Jason unconscious as they fight to get out. Bruce turns back to the one in black. “If you hurt them-”

“We did not Bruce Wayne” Before Bruce can comprehend what’s going on, the man in green approaches him from behind and shoots some of the smoke onto his face. Bruce flinches backwards and tries to hold his breath, too late. He was caught off guard and Bruce can feel his eyelids getting heavy. “Don’t fight it Bruce Wayne. It’ll be easier if you just go along with it.”

“F-fuck you.” He doesn’t even remember hitting the ground.

*~~~*

Bruce opens his eyes groggily and blinks his heavy eyelids. He’s restrained to the wall by his wrists and ankles. He also has some kind of breathing mask on his face, it appears to be pumping, what he can only guess, is oxygen, into him. Bruce doesn’t know where he is or what is happening. A low humming sound, accompanied by a jostling that seems to indicate movement, can be heard. He can’t quite imagine what he’s in because nothing looks familiar.

Bruce looks around the room, trying to blink the fogginess from his vision. Beside him, another person is restrained, and it takes a few seconds for his mind to catch up. His fellow prisoner is none other than a knocked out Lex Luthor himself. This only makes Bruce more confused. Maybe they are being held for ransom. This conclusion didn’t fit with the indicators from the man who had stopped the limousine. No, there was something more going on here.

He pulls on the restraints. There is not even a rattle due to the lack of give. Under normal circumstances, he has the skills to escape, but he has no tools. The belt he wears with his BatSuit is not with him. He can’t just sit there and do nothing, so Bruce uses his clever brain and begins to think. How is he going to get out of this?

Bruce deliberates for a good minute until the door opens with a swish. Bruce looks in the direction of the sound and watches as two people enter the room. It’s two of the three people who had stopped the limousine earlier; the one in black and the one in red.

“Who are you?” He asks, his voice thick and muffled from the mask. They ignore him, and begin to speak in that strange language Bruce heard earlier. They are gesturing to him and Lex along with the restraints. One of them appears angry.

They turn to him and the one in black starts to talk in English. “Hello, we mean you no harm.”

“Who are you?” Bruce tries again.

“That is of no concern of yours. What matters is, we need your help.”

“I’m not helping you until you tell me if my family is okay, and what the hell is going on,” Bruce grits out.

The one who was talking to Bruce turns to his partner, says something in that strange language, and turns back to Bruce. “You will know everything once we return.”

“Return?” Bruce says in alarm. “Return where?” But neither answer, they simply ignore him and leave the room. Bruce sags in his restraints, not knowing what to really do. He can’t get out of his restraints, or the situation as a whole, he doesn’t know what’s happening. He hates it.

Alarm shoots through Bruce when he hears a hissing sound. His mask begins to fill with a green gas. He holds his breath, being able to hold it for up to four minutes, but the gas keeps coming and he can’t help but breathe it in. His vision starts to go blurry once more and the room starts spinning. Bruce tries to fight it, but the drug that they are giving him is too strong, and he ends up passing out.

*~~~*

When Bruce wakes again, he’s in a room that looks a lot like a bedroom. Bruce is lying on a bed, dressed in some kind of white gown and with purple frill. Bruce runs a hand down the gown, feeling the texture. He’s not sure what material it’s made from, it’s silky, soft and very comfortable.

Bruce sits up and looks around the room carefully. It’s spacious, with white walls and dark grey carpet. The walls are bare, with the exception of a window that seems to be letting in an unusual red glow. It gives everything in the room a crimson hue. The only other furnishing appears to be a wooden desk. At least Bruce is no longer restrained.

He gets up off the bed and walks cautiously towards the window. It’s open and letting in a cool breeze. The air smells different. As if it is somehow cleaner, but without the sense of home. Bruce doesn’t appear to be on Earth anymore. There are tall buildings looking nothing like the cities he’s seen before. Bruce knows he is at the top of one of those buildings because his view drops down steeply. He can see patches of purple on the ground, and grey rocky paths. The most striking thing is the sky. Instead of blue refracting from a yellow sun, there is a red horizon accompanied by a glowing, fiery, crimson star.

Bruce backs away from the window and takes a deep calming breath. Admittedly, he’s starting to get extremely worried. All he knows for sure is that he’s not on Earth anymore, which means whoever his kidnappers are, they are extraterrestrial. Human looking aliens, but aliens nonetheless. Bruce didn’t know such things existed, let alone ones that looked just like him. He’s also concerned to know if Alfred, Dick and Jason are all right.

When he hears a click from behind him, he twists around, getting into a defensive stance. Bruce calms, however, when instead of seeing an aggressor, he sees a wide-eyed man poking his head into the room. The man looks curious but wary, looking Bruce up and down.

Bruce takes a hesitant step towards him and the man flinches back. Bruce holds up his hands, palms out. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.” The man looks Bruce up and down again and then hesitantly moves a little further past the door, until his shoulders can be seen. “Do you know English?” The man looks at Bruce in confusion. “Okay, do you know any language that is on Earth? French? Spanish maybe? Hell, even Russian or Japanese? Mandarin?”

Half a minute passes without a response and Bruce sighs in defeat. Then the man asks, “Earth?”

Bruce perks up. “Yes, Earth. Any language from there?”

The man warily enters the room completely. He’s tall, about an inch or two taller than Bruce, black hair and bright blue eyes. He, too, is wearing a black one piece with white frills. He also has a red cape that drapes in the back and the front of the outfit. Bruce becomes hyper aware of the gown he wears. Why is he the only one clothed in such an outfit? “Know little English.”

“Good!” Bruce takes another step and the man backs up again. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. My name is Bruce. What’s yours?”

“Kal-El.”

“Kal-El, it’s nice to meet you. Can I call you Kal?”

“That not right, name sounds different from you, ok?”

Bruce raises an eyebrow at the broken English. He did say he only knew a little. Bruce clears his throat and gets to the point. “Do you know what I’m doing here?”

Kal shakes his head. “No, father not tell me.”

Bruce is starting to feel frustrated. He can’t seem to get answers from anyone and his worry is eating away at him. In frustration, Bruce glances to the window. Maybe he can get a few other answers to some different questions then. “Okay, how about this? Where am I?”

Kal’s head tilts. “Do not know?”

“No one has told me anything.”

“Father not tell you?” He looks confused now, as if he doesn’t believe Bruce. “Not father.”

“Well he didn’t,” Bruce says, hoping that one of those men that he interacted with on what he assumes was a spaceship really was Kal’s father. “Can you tell me?”

Kal moves around the door to close it quietly behind him. Bruce starts getting more apprehensive now. He doesn’t like that Kal just shut the door and not knowing what he is going to do to him. Except Kal just stands there, still looking a bit scared of Bruce but curious at the same time. Bruce stays where he is standing, not wanting to scare him. “You on planet called Krypton.”

“Krypton?” Bruce has never heard of it. “And how far away from Earth is it?”

“Your measures?” Bruce nods and Kal looks up in thought, calculating in his head. “Twenty-seven point one light years.”

Bruce balks. “What?”

“Twenty-seven point-”

Bruce waves his hand to stop Kal from talking. “No no, I didn’t actually want you to repeat what you said I’m just… surprised, that’s all.”

“Surprised?”

“As in, not expecting that answer. That’s… that’s a long way away from Earth, Kal.”

“Is it?”

Bruce nods. “Yes, it is.” He then pinches the bridge of his nose. He and Lex are in deep trouble. “And you are?”

Kal looks confused again. “I tell you. I Kal-El.”

Bruce, with his teeth clenched and eyes shut in frustration, says as calmly as possible. “I meant species. What species are you?” He looks up at Kal. “For example, I’m a human.”

Kal perks. “You human? Me wanting to meet human.” He then smiles warily, looking down as if he’s shy. “Me, no not right, I Kryptahnium or as English, Kryptonian”

“From Krypton… right. And the language?”

“Kryptahniuo or Kryptonian,” Kal says with another shy smile.

The way Kal says the words catches Bruce’s attention and he comments on it. “Why is it two different ways of saying it in Kryptonian but not English?” Kal just shrugs, still smiling. “Okay, and the red sun?”

“What about?”

“I come from a planet that has a yellow sun. Why isn’t your red sun affecting me?”

Kal shrugs again. “Put you process, aba… arda.. adapt to sun, and.. atmosphere?”

Bruce nods, realizing that must have happened when he was still knocked out. He doesn’t exactly like that fact, but at least he doesn’t have to wear some type of protected suit. He then notices Kal is still smiling. “Why are you smiling?”

“Question you arks, mm ask, amusing.” Kal chuckles. “me is, I is, I find amusing”

Bruce nods again, not really finding any of this amusing whatsoever. Annoyance quickly rises in him. “I’m glad you find this so funny and entertaining. Me, on the other hand, doesn’t find it particularly amusing considering I was the one kidnapped and brought twenty-seven point one light years away from my home planet.”

By now Kal’s smile has disappeared. “Kidnapped?”

“Taken against my will.”

Kal straightens, shaking his head. “No, father would take with, with permission. Never against will.”

“Well he did, Kal.”

“No,” Kal says sharply, looking hurt. “You lie.”

Before Bruce can tell him otherwise, Kal is through the door and gone. Bruce, taking the opportunity, walks up to the door and tries to open it. It’s not locked but as he steps out, a big man steps in front of him. Speaking in that alien language, Bruce is shoved back into the room. The door shuts with a slam and he can hear the click of a lock.

Bruce sighs.

A/N: Thanks for reading!

[thehungrythinker-blog]

Food Before Humans

Preface: This essay/study/thought was presented me as my final assignment for graduating with my associates degree in culinary arts at Johnson & Wales University. I beg this piece inspires you to think of where regional food and cuisine truly comes from. 

I find myself for the first time being told to stick to a specified region of cuisine. I don’t follow suit well in any aspect of life, much less cooking. Which perhaps isn’t the best, considering I have years of practice before I master the ‘now’ of cooking. If I had the knowledge and tech of today, but only the animals/produce/spices/herbs of indigenous India, what would I do? What would I make? If I ignored religious restrictions and the impact of traditional Indian dishes, how would it change what I create? And I think of India, because I believe it to be, in its modern state, a hodgepodge of a million different timelines. It is history in the flesh, written into the food and etched along its people’s interactions.

To Illustrate, there are parts of India still stuck in slavery. In the year 2016 there were 18.3 million people living in modern slavery in India. For the majority of the US, slavery is something only taught out of history books. The type of poverty India sees is almost unfathomable to us. Infant mortality rates in India are 40:1000 live births. In America, we assume our child makes it into adulthood, and even our homeless have access to clean drinking water. 12.5% of the Indian population has no access to clean drinking water. To put it in perspective that’s roughly 163 million people, or 1,690 Flint Michigan’s.

But, there are also centers of great wealth and technological advancement in India. Take Bollywood for example, Shah Rukh Kahn, Bollywood’s richest actor’s net worth is $600 million, that’s $30 million more than Hollywood’s Tom Cruise, who’s net worth is $570 million. In America the top 1% earners own 40% of the nation’s wealth, but in India the top 1% owns approximately 73% of the country’s wealth. Being born and raised as a privileged-white American, it is almost impossible to imagine living in a world like India.

There are polarities greater than the ones in our own backyard, more war than we’d see in a lifetime, drought & famine, natural disasters, and cruel government. And all of this, is a screenshot of what built Indian cuisine. That timeline is what makes Indian cuisine. That timeline is what made India vastly vegetarian, the biggest supplier of spice in the world. That timeline introduces potato and mustard to Indian cuisine and builds ground for curries, naan, vindaloo, and tandoori. And what if we ignored all that? What would India be, then? Without the history & religions, and cultures & beliefs, what would India be? Without trade routes, and slavery, and British rule, what would India be? What is left of India, then?

All that would remain is the natural environment. Just the land and its garnishes. The animals, and plants, herbs and spices. So what are they?

     anise

     areca nuts

     fennel

     bananas & plantains

     cinnamon

     cloves

     coconuts

     cucumbers

     coriander

     eggplants

     grapefruit

     mangoes & mangosteens

     melons

     millets

     nutmeg and mace

     okra

     pears

     plums

     rice

     sugarcane

     taro

     tea

     turmeric

     yams

The first domesticated animals in India include; cattle, water buffalo, sheep, goat, pig (rarely eaten in India due to the Islamic and Hindu/Buddhist religion), horse and donkey. As far as fish go, the Arabian Sea is responsible for tuna, sardine and billfish. What’s left of India after you remove the people and their history and their cultures, is this grocery list of uninspired ingredients. What makes Indian cuisine, Indian cuisine is the innovation of these ingredients and the history and culture that molds them into staples over centuries of slow and steady evolution. It isn’t just recipes handed down from generation to generation. These dishes were made on the backs of slaves and heavily impoverished citizens. So where does the cuisine go next? How does it evolve from here? As the rich get richer and poor get poorer in modern India, will we begin to see a divide in the way we think about Indian food? I don’t think so.

I believe it to be very difficult to change what people view as home cooking. Home cooking is what your mom made you every day for the first 18 years of your life, and your moms home cooking was just your grandmas home cooking, and before that, her mom’s cooking. Its nostalgic and heartwarming, and things like that don’t change, and they shouldn’t. It’s what makes culture and community.

But there’s no stopping what happens next in restaurant and recipe innovation. The world is begging for diversity and innovation in food, we’re sick of trying to be inspired by the kitchen of Auguste Escoffier. It’s time to open new ideas from regions that otherwise don’t hold a big voice in the culinary industry. For a place that supplies the world with its spices, it’s heartbreaking to see Indian cuisine being over shadowed throughout the world, especially the western world. The western world, or America rather, prides itself on being a melting pot of cultures, but it’s not. While we use spices and ingredients native to India on a daily basis, we’re the last ones to suggest going out for curry. So the next step for Indian cuisine probably isn’t how to innovate the food. But how to change the rest of the world to find a home inside Indian cuisine. The cuisine will marry to its new home’s history and through that exchange, it will naturally evolve. The food is the people and the people are the food.

Works Cited:

“Brand India.” IBEF, www.ibef.org/exports/spice-industry-indias.aspx.

Chandran, Rina. “Forced to Walk Miles, India Water Crisis Hits Rural Women Hardest.” Reuters, Thomson Reuters, 13 July 2018, www.reuters.com/article/us-india-water-women/forced-to-walk-miles-india-water-crisis-hits-rural-women-hardest-idUSKBN1K318B.

“COUNTRY COMPARISON: INFANT MORTALITY RATE.” Central Intelligence Agency, Central Intelligence Agency, www.cia.gov/library/publications/the-world-factbook/rankorder/2091rank.html.

“Detroit, Michigan Population 2019.” Detroit, Michigan Population 2019 (Demographics, Maps, Graphs), worldpopulationreview.com/us-cities/detroit-population/.

“Income Inequality Gets Worse; India's Top 1% Bag 73% of the Country's Wealth, Says Oxfam.” Business Today, 30 Jan. 2019, www.businesstoday.in/current/economy-politics/oxfam-india-wealth-report-income-inequality-richests-poor/story/268541.html.

“India.” Global Slavery Index, www.globalslaveryindex.org/2018/findings/country-studies/india/.

“India, How Indigenous Farmers Are Developing Climate Resilient Agriculture.” LifeGate, 27 Mar. 2018, www.lifegate.com/people/news/india-indigenous-communities-climate-resilient-agriculture.

“INDIGENOUS VEGETABLES OF INDIA WITH POTENTIALS FOR IMPROVING LIVELIHOOD.” INDIGENOUS VEGETABLES OF INDIA WITH POTENTIALS FOR IMPROVING LIVELIHOOD | International Society for Horticultural Science, www.ishs.org/ishs-article/806_72.

Ingraham, Christopher. “The Richest 1 Percent Now Owns More of the Country's Wealth than at Any Time in the Past 50 Years.” The Washington Post, WP Company, 6 Dec. 2017, www.washingtonpost.com/news/wonk/wp/2017/12/06/the-richest-1-percent-now-owns-more-of-the-countrys-wealth-than-at-any-time-in-the-past-50-years/?noredirect=on&utm_term=.f31d2a6b792d.

Staff, Wealthy Gorilla. “The 20 Richest Actors in the World 2019.” Wealthy Gorilla, 1 May 2019, wealthygorilla.com/richest-actors-world/.

Varma, Subodh. “1/3rd Of What We Eat Today Is Foreign - Times of India.” The Times of India, Home, 25 June 2016, timesofindia.indiatimes.com/home/sunday-times/deep-focus/1/3rd-of-what-we-eat-today-is-foreign/articleshow/52919858.cms.

“Where Our Food Crops Come From.” CIAT Blog, blog.ciat.cgiar.org/origin-of-crops/.

[elliotjaywritesstuff]

I've given up on myself For you, my darling, kept me going My sun, my moon My happiness Without you, life seems pointless. An endless painful game Full of ups and downs on this rollercoaster One rollercoaster I could have ridden forever Forever with you, but this ride has shut down And I’m stuck in this nightmare of a carnival Wishing I was with you I've resorted to getting high and drunk off my ass Just to forget the taste of your lips on mine The burning of your name in my memory And your eyes staring into my own Without you, I don't have a reason to continue on Or to look forward to my future Because I imagined my future with you. Every thing from our first apartment To traveling and working together. Without you I have no plans. I imagined my future, with you only But you have different plans And my heart is the one suffering from it Your arms were my home, when my home Was less than roomy But now I sleep alone, cold and broken While my heart burns Yearning for your touch Your blue eyes, the color of A sunny sky, on a clear day Made me feel warm and welcomed Small flecks of gray scattered throughout The bright, beautiful color that I fell in love with Now can’t even look at me The color I once couldn’t get enough of Now haunts my dreams The taste of sweet, yet careless lips Was one I could never get tired of But my love You grew tired of the taste Of sadness and pain So now I’m left kissing The skeletons in my closet None of them taste as sweet as you ever could Your strong hands once protected me I felt safe like nothing Not even the world could hurt me But your hands now wander Away from my tear stained cheek Onto something new Something better The whole world is against me now And I have no safety But would you hold my hand One more time To save me? Your laugh is the most beautiful song My ears have ever heard Yet now it’s a heartbreak song One I can’t bring myself to put on repeat Unlike all the others That make me think of your name That have been on replay since the day You left me in the dark I see you in everyday things Things I can’t even look at Without my heart breaking into two Things we did and liked Things you said God because of you I can’t even listen to my favorite music For it brings you to mind And tears any happiness I might have Right out of me Your smile is absolutely perfect Like the most priceless piece of art I have ever Seen Yet if I were to see it With someone else causing it I think I’d break I’d hurt myself Knowing she’ll make you as happy As I once made you And you won’t look my way again For she will capture all your attention Something I once begged for Something I never received So why will she deserve it more than me? I’ll tell you lovely Nobody wants to deal with a sad girl I know we’re both in this mess So tell me, my dear Why I seem to be the only one hurting The only one who cares Do I not come to mind, despite you Living in my mind? Do you not even think my name When I repeat yours so it’ll lose All of it’s meaning? I write down how I feel, my fingertips bleeding As I try to write your name down in my Heartbreak letter It shouldn’t be hard, but everything about it Stings. Burns. Cuts to my heart. Yet you don’t shown a sign of emotion. It’s as if I meant Nothing To you in the whole time we were together My everything, I don’t want to make you feel bad I don’t want to guilt you into returning For I’d rather suffer a million years alone Than have you suffer for one day with me You mean the world to me I’m so madly in love with you That your happiness Is more important than my own I may wake up every morning, wishing I hadn’t But I hope you’re doing better I may never cross your mind You may have forgotten what we had But I never will And I will never Ever forget You

A poem about someone I'll be in love with until my last breath - @alexjaywriting