#because you were a child (and therefore blissfully unaware)

[avesseloflanguage]

"Triple Dog Dare" by Lucy Dacus + I Saw the TV Glow (2024) by Jane Schoenbrun

[irrfahrer]

Assumption: You want Cal for yourself thats why you keep cockblocking him

Make a assumption about my muse and see how they react! Anything goes!

Ziv listened to the question and took a very deep, very tiered breath. Massaging her temples with her thick fingers the Tynnan started ti talkslowly like a very exhausted teacher infront of a very annoying class:

"I could now start a whole kriffing rant about the different kind of attractions to the different kind of alien genitals and pheromones findable in the whole krififng galaxy and how I can only be sexually attracted to people who throw their sexual pheromones at me first. And obviously the cubs is not throwing anything at me but kriffing Oxytocine. Or also how beeing only two kriffing years older than the cub means that I probably have seen him hopping around in the temple since he was a kriffing toddler and therefor have a kriffing familial relationship with him like to a younger sibling and also that you can genuinly love someone dearly without beeing romantically or physically attracted to someone in the slightest and still wishing for them to have the best, safe and most kriffing wonderful life even if that means you are not a kriffing part of that yet you are still trying to make that possible for them because you love them as your family. And maybe you are also kind of overcompensating to keep him safe and happy because you are both survivors of a kriffing genocide with no other family left, Like yeh, I love that kriffing pup, but its definitive not in a krifing romantic way. I do not know, do not kriffing psychoanalyse me, I am happy to be kriffing blissfully unaware and my mind is already full of the cryptid thoughts of a highly telepathic flower knocking on my mindshield with the telepathic equivalent of someone throwing screaming frantically a kriffing trashcan against a groceryshops front rapidly and repeatedly. But since you are kriffing stupid enough to ask I need to tune down my words to be just as kriffing stupid, so-" The young woman took a deep breath and than started to talk slowly, rolling every single word on her tounge and stretching those words as if she was talking to a very small child trying to explaing to them that the grass and earth they were stuffing their mouth with would give them tummyache:

"Sorry to break it down to your very dirty mind hoping desperately for me making out with the cub, but buddy, sweet little thing, dear kriffing idiot, listen-", she made a small pause, emphasizing every single word strongly:

"- that cub's 🌈 g a y 🌈."

[project-ohagi]

Dabi x Reader

Buy me a coffee!! <3

His fractured, starless life had one beacon of hope and solace - one thing that he longed to return to every night; one thing that fuelled the raging fire within him. You, a quirkless woman, gorgeous in appearance as well as soul, illuminated the labyrinthine void in which he had become lost. His dull world turned on its head. You loved him for all his little habits, all his sweet, genuine words, and all his imperfections. You had remained blissfully unaware of his chequered past, and although he wished to be more open with you, he refused to reveal who he really was. You didn't watch a lot of television, instead electing to read at every given opportunity. He memorised the titles of your favourite books, and the names of your favourite authors, so he knew exactly what to get for you come special occasions.

He knew which movies and fandoms fascinated you, and the names of all your co-workers (you know, just in case). Your perfect visage was scorched into his brain, embezzled with sparkles and flowery symbolism. If he ever cried, it was because of you, and just how emotional you were able to make him. Regret was swirling around his system, lurking in the darkest crevices imaginable. He wanted to remove himself from the veil he was tangled up in, but something compelled him to stay. The League of Villains had no knowledge of you, obviously, since Dabi didn't feel like being blackmailed, and he certainly didn't want you harmed because of a few stupid mistakes on his part.

What he didn't know, however, was that a small bundle of flesh and nerves was swimming in the confides of your womb. You were with child - his child - and absolutely elated. Your hairs stood on edge, while you paced around the compact apartment you shared with your long-time lover, Touya. Telling him would be no easy task - you revelled in apprehension. You weren't completely certain what your child's surname would be, considering Touya had never actually graced you with his. Regardless, you adored him, and doted on him whenever possible (you were exceptional at massages). Being without a superpower, yet more than content, you led quite a normal, average life. You attended university, pursuing a subject with which you were spellbound. Your life now was far better than that of your childhood, mostly because you now had Touya to love and comfort. There wasn't much room to dwell on the past, and you weren't particularly bothered about hounding your boyfriend for answers, and possibly pushing him away in the process.

He must have been a compulsive liar towards those whom he regarded as pawns or simply insignificant, but he never managed to fool you. This fact always made him smile; he was very proud of you. However, it was impossible to see through that which he hadn't even mentioned. His surname was a complete mystery to you, and he hadn't bothered to provide your intelligent head with a false one. Another piece of the shattered jigsaw was his background - you had never met his parents, and you were forever unaware of his siblings. He always seemed really touchy-feely about this topic. You also had no idea of his affiliation with the villains, despite his mugshot being plastered all over the news and billboards around town. Somehow, you bypassed every single one of the posters and brightly-coloured images on blinding, high-quality screens in shop windows. For this, he was extremely glad, and counted himself lucky.

If only the entire Earth was a figment of his twisted imagination, then perhaps Dabi could mould it into something new - a utopia in which the two of you were free to live and be happy, maybe even raise a few children. He wondered what it would be like to have mini pyromaniacs running around the place. Or arsonists. Whichever worked. In a heartbeat, though, he would revoke any association with the League, whisk you away and settle down with a cup of coffee. He would never permit you to comprehend his true nature, or all the unhelpful thought that wormed their way into his brain. He would keep you safe. His intentions were nothing but pure, but he was definitely willing to use the necessary force if you voiced the urge to abdicate the relationship.

You were a rare soul of amaranthine loveliness, blended with determination to excel and the perfect amount of maternal interest. It was as if he had struck the single, golden chord on a harp, and lured you out of hiding. You weren't exactly dependent on him, but you didn't deal well without him, either. The two of you would have been inseparable, if only you went out together in public. The villains never pressed for his biggest secret - the scars, and so they didn't realise that it was just a disguise. They were removable, and you had never seen him with them. He was a little embarrassed of them, in all honesty, and didn't wish for you to show disgust. They made him seem abused and broken. It was the optimal way to hide his true identity from his father, and therefore the general populace.

One day, however, everything changed for the worse.

Usually, Dabi was more cautious when returning home, so as not to put you in danger. This time, he was too excited, although that didn't show on his face. He could just feel that something good was about to happen. He didn't quite know what, but he felt that unfamiliar surge of excitement. This impeded his normal alertness, however. He failed to notice the heroes tailing him. He reached the apartment, walked up the stairs and into your awaiting arms. You almost cried with happiness. Finally, he was back, and you could tell him the wonderful news!

That was when the heroes chose to appear. Having utilised Edgeshot's quirk to evade the door, three of them soon stood in the hallway. Immediately, Dabi pushed you backwards, sensing that someone was about to use their ability. He was right. Your legs were shaking, and you wanted to fall to the ground, but you stayed strong. Your beautiful (e/c) eyes had widened, and you watched, transfixed, as your lover remained motionless. He met your eyes, and that was when you understood - he wouldn't use his quirk while you were in the vicinity. He refused, simply to keep you safe. You sobbed. What had he done to deserve such cruel treatment? All the man-handling seemed draconian and unnecessary. Suddenly, you felt a kick in your stomach. Whimpering, but trying not to further alarm your boyfriend, you covered your mouth with one hand.

The heroes apologised for the disturbance, and were about to leave, when you cried, "Wait! I need to tell him something! It's really important! I swear it won't take a second!"

Alas, they would not let you. Without a proper interrogation, they went off the assumption that the man you now knew as Dabi had drugged and kidnapped you for his own personal enjoyment, and you may have developed Stockholm Syndrome somewhere down the line. You tried as hard as possible to clear the air, but they weren't having any of it. They kept muttering things like "Poor thing" and "She must have had one hell of a time" behind your back. You cried and cried, for hours on end. You refused to eat or sleep. You wanted nothing more than to be back in your small apartment with your lover, Touya. The heroes had exposed you to the news reports on the villains, specifically the Vanguard Action Squad, of which Touya was the central focus. Through this, they hoped that your 'programming' would be reversed, but instead, you cried out for him every single day, pleading with police and heroes alike for his release.

When his unscarred visage was released into the calloused hands of the media, they instantly made the connection to the current number one hero, Enji Todoroki, and vehemently stated that Dabi must be his eldest son, Touya Todoroki. You supposed it made sense, but you honestly just wanted him back. You didn't care about his past, and you vowed not to question him. He could tell you in his own time, when he felt comfortable.

No more than a few months could have passed, but you were a dishevelled rag of hair and junk food. Wrappers and the like were scattered around your apartment, as you had taken to the complete opposite side of the spectrum - you had gone from eating nothing at all to eating anything and everything to fill the hole in your heart.

"Touya...Touya..." You bawled. "Just come back to me....p-please. You d-don't have to tell me anything...! I just want y-you back..."

You cuddled with his favourite pillow.

When you heard his voice, you thought you were hallucinating.

"Well, I'm back, and I'll tell you anything you want to know." The pleasant sound reverberated in your ears, causing you to look with a jolt.

Sure enough, he was home.

Touya Todoroki had returned to you, and this time, you would not let him leave again. Not when you were pregnant with his child.

[Word Count: 1536]

[crystalwillow]

When It Rains, It Pours

Pairing: Bryce Lahela x Casey Valentine (F!MC)

Word Count: 3K

Taglist: @kiteplayschoices @brycelahelalover @obsessedheehee @eleanorbloom @fuseboxmusebox @rookie-ramsey @princesslahela @deansmyapplepie

⚠️ Disclaimer: This fiction deals with themes of miscarriage/baby loss. If this is a sensitive topic for you please do not read any further. I would hate to trigger something within you that sends you into a spiral of negative emotions. I care for each and every one of you guys and would never want to negatively affect any of you so please. Is this is a sensitive topic. DO NOT read any further and I will be posting another fiction soon that is much lighter and happier in nature that you can hopefully enjoy. ⚠️

==========

The halls of Edenbrook Hospital didn’t look nor feel the same, as Bryce Lahela, normally a confident and flirtatious young man walked through them on the way to retrieve a patient for surgery. Normally, he would head towards the room with optimism, whistling a little tune and greeting others with cheerful hello’s. But today was different. He wasn’t just retrieving any patient, he was retrieving his girlfriend and fellow medical colleague, Casey Valentine. As he entered the room, the sight was enough to make him close the door and lock it behind him. Upon hearing the sound, Casey turned her head to the door and gave him a saddened smile as tears ran silently down her cheeks. He didn’t say anything as he placed the piece of paper he was carrying on the side and sat next to her. Sweeping her into his arms in a massive bear hug as she broke down sobbing violently into his shoulder.

“I’m so sc-scared B-Bryce.”

He wanted to respond to her so desperately, but the words died in his throat, because the words he wanted to say weren’t going to help. Not him. Not her. Nothing about the current situation was going to be okay. So instead he squeezed her extra tight. It was only a few hours earlier that they met up and happily made their way to their next ultrasound appointment together. Laughing and joking. Discussing if they wanted to know the gender of their little one or wanted to keep it a secret until the birth, blissfully unaware that in just a few moments their world would come crashing down at the news their baby had passed away in the womb. As he pulled back from the hug, Bryce pushed a few strands of hair from Casey’s face. Both of their eyes were red-rimmed and sore. They sniffed as they looked at each other, trying not to break down again. Casey took Bryce’s hand and squeezed it tightly, bringing it to her lips and kissing it. He bit his bottom lip between his teeth to stop anymore sobs escaping his throat, swallowing them with difficulty. Just then, a knock sounded at the door.

“Casey? Bryce? It’s Sienna. I’m here with Rafael and Aurora. Can we come in?”

Bryce looked to Casey for confirmation, giving her a quick hug before moving to unlock the door when she nodded her okay. He opened the door slowly, wiping tears from his eyes on his scrubs top, the three of their friends entering sorrowfully. Bryce sat back on the bed beside Casey, Sienna and Aurora took the chairs and Rafael remained standing. 

“Guys we..” Sienna said

“There are... no words that could make this easier Si.” Aurora cut in, sounding almost like a robot.

The five of them were talking and sobbing when a figure blocked the light from the hallway.

“What’s going on here?”

“Dr. Ramsey.” Sienna acknowledged sadly, nodding to the bed.

Ethan looked passed her and felt a pang in his chest when he saw Casey and Bryce. Their eyes the reddest out of everyone’s.

“Wh-what’s happened?”

Casey sniffled and pointed to her chart at the foot of her bed. Ethan moved, swiftly snatching it up, his whole demeanor changing as he read it.

“Casey. Bryce. I-”

His gaze moved between them as his own words became caught in the back of his throat. He knew how much this had meant to them. Especially Bryce, he was so happy and determined to be the best dad he could be to this kid. And now that had been ripped from them. From him. Bryce, stood with a sigh as he wiped his eyes and binned the tissues he had been holding.

“We should get you to surgery Cassie.”

“Wait.” Ethan commanded, everyone turning to look at him. “They’re making you work this surgery?”

“Nobody’s making me Dr. Ramsey. I want to do this. For myself. For Casey. For our child. I-”

“Bryce. That is absurd. You need to take the rest of the day. No, week off. Clearly.”

“Ethan. Some things aren’t that simple. You should know that more than anyone.” Casey squeaked before breaking down again.

Ethan looked at her. “You have 4 months off. Don’t even bother trying to dispute it. It’s paid leave. I suggest you do the same Dr. Lahela and try to get some time off to be with her. She’s going to need you as much as you’re going to need her.” With a gentle pat on Bryce’s shoulder, Ethan replaced Casey’s chart before turning on his heel and exiting the room. Aurora, Rafael and Sienna stood to one side as Bryce wheeled Casey out of her room and down the hallways. They followed behind closely in silent support, stopping outside the O.R.  

Bryce turned to their friends and they all surrounded him as they engulfed him into a massive hug, quietly giving him words of encouragement. Just then, Dr. Tanaka came out of the O.R.

“Dr. Lahela?”

“Sorry, Dr. Tanaka. I was just coming in, my friends were jus-”

“I’m taking you off of this surgery. You can observe but I will not allow you to operate.”

“But Dr. T-”

“No buts Dr. Lahela. It’s clear the distress you’re in that has recently been brought to attention is real. Therefore, you will not operate this surgery.”

“But I-”

“Bryce.” Casey said from the bed, he went round and looked into her eyes as he took her hand. “Listen to him. Please.” Casey pleaded, desperation for him to do so in her eyes.

Bryce looked from Casey’s gaze to Dr. Tanaka’s. When he looked back at Casey, he sighed. “Fine. I’ll observe.”  He said with a sniffle, Casey squeezing his hand and giving him a small and grateful smile. He nodded at her and watched as she was wheeled in to be prepped. Aurora and sienna gave Bryce one last hug before heading off back to work, leaving Bryce alone with Rafael. Once he was sure they were gone, Bryce broke down again. Only this time worse. He cried in pain uncontrollably at the situation he and Casey were in. Rafael’s heart ached as he pulled the broken surgeon close to his chest.

“Shhh. I’ve got you man. I’m here.”

Bryce could only nod as he limply wrapped his arms around his friend’s torso, soaking his shirt with tears. The pain-filled guttural sound he made as he sobbed echoed in the hallway. But he didn’t care anymore. He was hurting too much to do so. It felt like someone had come along with a bulldozer and aimed it at his chest.

“Why did this have to happen to us?” Bryce asked out loud as his sobs started to subside.

Rafael opened his mouth to give an answer, but shut it again immediately as he realized he didn’t have one. Instead he just consoled the usually confident surfer dude until he was called into the O.R.

--- several hours later ---

Bryce sat beside Casey’s bedside, zoned out listening to the monitors beep. It was about the only thing keeping him together right now. Knowing that she was okay. He had been sitting there for ages. His shift finished 4 hours ago, and he’d been sitting there for 3 of them. The first hour he used to get her favourite flavored water and soft drinks. Even her favourites from both Taco Bell and Burger King. He arrived and waited by her side for her to wake up. If he didn’t have 2 other surgeries that day he would have clocked out and stayed with her all day. But it wasn’t that simple. He had his little sister back at home that he had to take care of. Of course he loved her to death and if home was really as bad as she said it was, then there was no way he was going to send her back. He needed this money to help support both of them. He was deep in thought about how they would tell Keiki when he heard groaning beside him.

“nnnnngh...”

His attention came back into focus as he turned his head towards the bed, seeing Casey opening her eyes and blinking blearily around the room.

“What? Where? ... Oh.” A sadness washed over her as she seemed to realize where she was in turn answering her own question. Bryce sadly reached out and laced their fingers together.

“Hey gorgeous.” Bryce whispered with a soft smile as he brushed his more callous thumb delicately across Casey’s knuckles. Sadness still in his eyes.

“H-hey.” Casey croaked, throat dry and raw from sleeping for so long. Bryce brought a glass of chilled water to her lips with a straw.

“Slowly now. You don’t want to hurt your throat.”

“I know. I’m a doctor, Bryce.” Casey smiled gently as he placed the cup back on the side.

“I just want to take care of you, baby.” Bryce replied, taking Casey’s hand in both of his.

“Bryce. When can I go home?”

“When the doctors clear you to.”

“B-but... I.. I need to get home and lay in my bed. I-” Casey choked up. “It’s real isn’t it? We lost our b-baby. Our-Our...” tears fell again as she trailed off the end of her sentence. Bryce hugged her, sharing her sorrow. They spent the night comforting each other and listening to the gentle beeping of Casey’s monitors.

A few days later, Casey was chilling with Keiki and Bryce on the couch at his apartment watching television when there was a knock on the door.

“Are you expecting someone babe? Keiki?”

Both girls shook their heads no. “Are you?” Keiki asked her older brother, but he shook his head too. Sighing, Bryce got up and walked to the door, looking through the spyhole. Frowning when he saw who it was, he decided to ignore it and rejoin the girls in lounging watching TV.

“Who is it?” Casey asked as she tangled her fingers in his honey blonde highlighted locks.

“Our parents.” He whispered and Keiki froze before joining Casey and Bryce on the couch. Cuddling into Bryce’s chest as he snuggled into Casey’s. They all stayed snuggled under Bryce’s king sized duvet for hours before Keiki checked the spyhole to see if they had gone. She came back shaking her head and Bryce rolled his eyes.

“Maybe... you should let them in or tell them to shove it. Both of you, together.” Casey said before heading to the bathroom. The siblings looked at each other and set their faces in a stern expression, pressing their lips in matching thin lines. Bryce looked at Keiki waiting for a nod and when she gave the signal he opened the door, facing his parents for the first time in years.

“Keiki!” their mom exclaimed and moved to hug her daughter, but Keiki took a step back with a scowl on her face, causing her mom to look at her in confusion before turning an accusatory look at her son. “You’ve poisoned her!”

“I’ve done nothing of the sort you crazy woman.”

“Bryce Lahela! You speak to your mother with respect!” their father boomed

“...No. Thank you.”

Keiki gave her elder brother a subtle smirk before turning her focus back to their parents.

“Why are you two here now? It’s been 5 years. I’m 20 now, and... and a lot happier.”

“Keiki baby..”

Bryce winced as he heard that word. It stung like a deep flesh wound that was unable to be put back together. Their parents noticed, yet only spared a look of disgust towards him before turning back to focus on Keiki.

“No mom. Dad. If I can even call you that. It took you 5 years to care about coming to find me, yet you can’t apologize to your son who has been hurting so much longer from what you done and is going through so much more.”

“Why would we care to fix things with him? He’s a surgeon.” Their father replied, saying the last word like it was pure filth.

“As apposed to what father? A lawyer who does shady dealings to keep you out of jail for something you should still be serving time for? If anyone or anything here is pure filth... it’s you two. Call yourself parents? You’re pathetic. Now get away from my apartment and never come here again. If you want to see Keiki, swap mobile numbers or emails now and contact to meet elsewhere.” Bryce responded coldly before turning around and storming back inside the apartment, finding Casey on the couch nursing her mug of lemon and ginger tea. She gave him a small, kind smile as she placed her mug on the table and opened her arms to him. Sighing he fell into her arms as shouting continued at the door before it slammed shut.

“AND NEVER COME NEAR ME AGAIN OR I’LL GET A RESTRAINING ORDER!”

Keiki huffed and stomped through the living room and into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her. Casey sighed into Bryce’s hair as she played with it, soothing his hurt and worries. She felt his breathing pattern change and tapped him hard enough to wake him.

“Honey.”

“Mmmm?” he murmured as he sat up looking around sleepily.

“Let’s get to bed. We won’t be very comfortable on the couch.”

Bryce mumbled his agreement, standing up and swaying slightly as he wasn’t fully awake but Casey caught him, holding his hand and leading him to the bedroom. Bryce laid in bed then looked up at Casey.

“Where’s our duvet?”

“On the couch. I’m just going to get it okay?” she whispered, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

She settled in next to him after covering him with the warm duvet, his arm wrapping gently around her waist.

--- Two Weeks Later ---

Bryce had successfully gotten 2 months off of work to spend with Casey, but she was missing her friends and the team she worked with so left a note for Bryce in the kitchen saying she’d pooped in for a visit and would be back for dinner. As he woke up and found the note, he also found one from Keiki in the bathroom as he walked in to use the toilet. When he read it, it was like a bomb went off inside of him. He slammed his fists on the marbled side before swiping his products on the floor with a scream of anger. Keiki’s note had told him that their parents had forced her to go home. She had promised to find a way back but... Bryce had just lost not only his sister, but his best friend. Who was he going to make sibling jokes with now. Who was he going to tease. What was he going to tell her boyfriend? Had she already let the guy know? It was all too much. Bryce stormed into his bedroom and threw open his closet, throwing on whatever he laid his hands on first then left the apartment slamming the door behind him, grabbing his keys on the way out.

He got in his car and drove to a park over 2 hours away. He needed to be alone, even though he knew he would be home for dinner and Casey would be alone. Of course deep down he felt awful for that, they had just lost their child and things were tough for them both, but in the moment he didn’t care. He needed to get away. He parked his car, then sat in it. Just as if the world knew his emotions inside, it started to rained really hard. The heavy droplets popping on the roof of his car as they bounced off, and along with them. He cried. He had so much hurt, anger, confusion... so many emotions swirling inside of him that he felt as though he was suffocating. Eventually, his phone starting lighting up as it rang and vibrated in the center console. Yet he ignored it, even when it read “My Wife 🥰” and he didn’t really care because all he felt was numbness. Eventually when he returned home, it was 3am the next day. As he entered the apartment, he heard the TV talking and found Casey asleep in his clothes, under his duvet, head on his pillow as the light illuminated her features softly. He knelt beside her, kissing her cheek.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, voice almost breaking. “I didn’t mean to worry you. It’s just... when it rains, it really does pour.” 

Casey didn’t open her eyes, but she acknowledged his presence with a small smile and taking his hand in hers. “You’re dinner is in the kitchen.” She whispered. “Dinner isn’t what I want right now.” He replied as he lifted her in his arms bridal style. “Let’s go to bed. I want to cuddle.”

As they wrapped themselves in the comfy duvet, snuggling into each other, Casey opened her eyes and looked up into his forest brown orbs as he looked back at her. “I love you Bryce. And I’m always going to be there for you, whenever you need me.” She said barely above a whisper, bringing her hand up to cup his face. Stroking his strong, soft to the touch cheekbone with her the pad of delicate thumb. He smiled sweetly at her as he placed his hand over hers, melting into her touch. “I know. I love you too Case. More than I’ll ever be able to let you know.”

He placed a soft kiss on her forehead, Casey placing one on his toned chest. And for the first time, Bryce knew he had something he didn’t want to lose.

[saeyoungs-sunflower]

A Piece of You: Chapter 4

Pairing: Zen x MC

Synopsis: After the death of his sister, Zen is entrusted with raising her daughter. Six years later and MC has settled into RFA, but she just wants to be back on the roof with the love of her life like she was two years before. But dealing with teenage years, dragged out engagements and a lot of unsaid feelings, you start to lose a piece of you. Or, perhaps, find a piece you had that had been missing the whole time.

Warnings: None!

Song: Things You’ve Never Done - Passenger

⇦ Previous Chapter

***

To be honest, Zen was not having a good day.

Although, he wasn’t having a particularly bad one either, it was just…a day. He aimlessly wandered through the convenience store, idly picking things off the shelves and chucking them into his basket, a gaping emptiness inside him that he couldn’t label as anything other than boredom, and he wasn’t even sure it was that. He had done this routine enough times that he didn’t even need to think about what he was buying anymore, his muscle-memory guiding him to each isle and each section.

On second thought, perhaps he really was just bored. He had the week off work and Gi was at school during the day, and to top it all off, the RFA chatroom had been dry as hell lately. Not even Saeyoung was logging in that often to start drama or blabber on about physics for half an hour. Zen was in desperate need of something, anything to do.

“Hyun, sweetie! How are you doing today?” the older lady at the counter beamed.

The creases of her face were enhanced at the sight of Zen approaching, a kind glint in her eye and a gentle spirit to her. Zen couldn’t help but return her warm smile as he lifted his basket onto the counter, “I’m well, thank you, So-yi. And yourself?”

“Same as ever,” she winked, making Zen chuckle, “How’s our little Gi? Still a little terror?”

“Oh, don’t even get me started. You know she got in trouble last week for hiding her teacher’s keys in the fish tank?”

She guffawed, and Zen chortled despite himself, “That’s a smart little girl right there. Sounds just like her daddy.”

“More like her mother, actually…” Zen’s voice trailed off, his smile faltering a little as the light behind his eyes diminished ever so slightly, but enough for the woman to detect.

So-yi had been the owner of the local convenience store since Zen had moved into the area, and from the moment she laid her eyes on the broken man, the broken child, she knew she would have to look out to for him. When he stumbled in at three in the morning requesting liquor and cigarettes, she would sneak a packet of aspirin and a sandwich into the bag as well. Then when he came in to buy diapers and baby wipes, she would slip some cookies in. Little by little, she started to see some colour in his cheeks and a honesty in his smile as he wished her a good day. She was the only person in his life who knew him when he was Hyun, and stayed to witness him become Zen. She was the closest thing to a mother that he had, and he the closest thing she had to a son. It was perfect timing, for the both of them.

So-yi promptly changed the subject, “Have you seen this?” she said, handing him a flyer from the stack that stood proudly next to her. It appeared to be advertising some jazz band playing at a nearby bar, for one night only. “I’ve seen them before, real good music, I’ll tell ya. Came in last week asking if I’d be willing to sell some tickets here, and you know I’m a sucker for jazz. They’re playing tomorrow night, I think you’d enjoy it.”

Zen considered it for a moment. Gi was going to be with Jaehee tomorrow night - by her request - so he’d just be home alone anyway. And maybe…if he asked…

“Sure, sounds like a fun evening,” he looked down to his feet, his shoelaces suddenly very intriguing to him, “Can I get two, please?”

So-yi’s smirk widened, and she didn’t even bother to hide it, “Planning to take someone special?”

He returned the grin in amusement, “Calm down, So-yi. It’s not like that.”

She handed Zen the tickets along with his bag, shooting him a mischievous look, “Mmhmm, okay then. Well, I can’t wait to hear all about it.”

Zen rolled his eyes playfully, “There’ll be nothing to hear about. She’s just a good friend,” he called over his shoulder, waving her goodbye as he left the store. Her smile grew wider.

Oh to be young, So-yi thought to herself. Oh to be so naive.

***

Zen pulled up to the school just as kids in tutus started to filter out the doors, darting towards open arms and stumbling into their parent’s embrace. He smiled fondly, getting out of the car and making his way to find his own little monster.

“Daddy!”

Zen didn’t even have time to turn around when Gi threw herself at him, almost toppling him over, though he managed to save himself with an outstretched arm before he smacked against the concrete. He clutched his chest in feign defeat, crying out dramatically as Gi clambered off, “Oh, the beast has slain me. I will never recover, I am mortally wounded!”

“Dad, stop, you’re not at work right now,’ she tutted, crossing her arms, “Such a drama queen.”

“You’re no fun,” he teased, and she stuck out her tongue in response. “How was ballet?” he asked, grabbing her hand as he started to lead her back to the car, only to be stopped by a tap on his shoulder.

“Excuse me, are you Gi’s guardian?”

Zen’s mouth twitched as he swivelled around, carefully watching Gi in the corner of his eye. She seemed unfazed. Good. “I’m Gi’s father, yes. Is there something I can help you with?”

“Oh yes, of course. My mistake,” she said flatly and turned to the young girl, “Gi, why don’t you go and play whilst I have a quick chat with your dad? It’ll only take a moment.”

Gi looked to Zen and he gave her a subtle nod, an indication for her to go. She ran off excitedly, and Zen started to feel a tad defensive about the situation, “So, what did you need to talk to me about?”

They sat down on a nearby bench in the playground, the teacher crossing her legs and her chin stuck out. She eyed him, almost scrutinisingly as she began to talk, “I wanted to talk to you regarding some…concerns I have about Gi’s progress and behaviour.”

“Right,” Zen began, attempting to keep his expression neutral, “What are these concerns exactly?”

“Well, whilst we always value enthusiasm and freedom of expression, her energy could be considered as, how should I phrase this…uncivilised at times. Of course, we want to encourage our students to embrace their passions, and we want her to continue to dance.

He clenched his jaw and counted to ten, trying with all his might to stay calm. It wasn’t working, “Okay. With all do respect, if you feel that her dancing is, as you say, ‘uncivilised’, then isn’t your job to teach her the ‘correct’ way of ballet?”

If she was caught off-guard by Zen’s bluntness, then she did a brilliant job of hiding it, “There’s only so much we can teach her, Mr Ryu. And any how, we believe that the problems are rooted further than just her lessons.”

“I want to know exactly what you mean by that.”

“Ballet is about grace and precision, there is a femininity to it, whereas Gi currently demonstrates a rather wild and boisterous approach. Gi is at an age where her behaviour is heavily effected by her environment, and therefore we feel that this behaviour may have something to do with her slightly wilder upbringing and life at home-“

Zen had stood up now, fists clenched and breaths staggered, “This is ridiculous, Gi is six years old. If she enjoys to dance, then for Christ’s sake just let her dance her way. This isn’t the Royal Ballet. She is a child.”

“A child with incredible potential, Mr Ryu,” she explained evenly, which did nothing to calm Zen’s vexation, “I wouldn’t have said anything if I didn’t think it mattered. Gi is not like any student I’ve taught before. She has an immense athleticism, and with some discipline, I have faith that she will go far with her ballet. She is capable of great things.”

“I’ve heard enough, you lost me when you brought her home-life into this. You have no right to make comments on her ‘wild’ upbringing. Does she have a typical upbringing? No. Because guess what, it’s pretty damn hard to achieve ‘normal’ when her mother is dead and her biological father is nowhere to be found. Mind your own damn business,” he spat, already walking towards Gi, picking her up and storming to the car.

The drive was eerily quiet, only the sound of Zen’s heavy breaths could be heard as Gi silently watched out the window, blissfully unaware of the event from just before. Zen’s hands were gripping the steering wheel so tight that his knuckles were white, and his teeth were gnawing on his bottom lip in an attempt to prevent himself from shouting his anger at the top of his lungs. He was absolutely fuming.

It had gone from ‘just a day’ to a bad day real quick. He needed to calm down.

He needed to call her.

***

The coffee shop was bustling when MC joined Zen, relief instantly washing over him as he caught a glimpse of her through the glass door. They ordered their drinks, and they settled down at a little table in the corner, Zen’s hands still shaking slightly as he placed his cup down.

For the first few minutes, MC remained quiet. She knew by now that when Zen needed to talk, he really needed to think. So she sipped on her coffee whilst she patiently waited for him to gather his thoughts, and prepared herself to give him her undivided attention. He needed to be heard, so she needed to listen.

As soon as he opened his mouth, the words came tumbling out in an exasperated mess. MC was pretty experienced with Zen’s emotions at this point, but today she could tell that something had really hit a nerve with him. He was passionate with his explanation, but MC also clocked a despair in his voice, an ache in his eyes. Zen wasn’t just angry, he was hurt.

“She just…like what does that have to do with anything? Who has a meeting about a student’s home-life when the child seems perfectly happy at school?” he asked defeatedly, his fingers fiddling with the handle of his cup, “Why can’t they just let her do ballet her way if that’s what she wants.”

MC nodded along, reviewing the situation as she took another sip of her drink, “Well, is it what she wants?” Zen eyed her curiously, so she continued, “You said that the problem was that she is incapable of being elegant and graceful when dancing, but is she incapable or is she unwilling?”

Zen looked down into his now empty cup as he considered MC’s words. He had sat in on many of Gi’s classes, and whilst she always seemed satisfied after class ended, she seemed…frustrated during it. Zen always thought it was because she couldn’t get the moves right, but now he wondered if there was something else at play, “I guess she does always appear discouraged during her lessons, like she’s being held back. But she adores dance, it’s all she talks about. She always says that she likes to move with the music, but ballet just seems too restricting. She’s tried other kinds of dance but she likes how ‘pretty’ ballet is…”

“Has she ever considered figure skating?”

Zen quirked an eyebrow. MC chuckled, “Figure skating. She’ll get to use her power and athleticism so she won’t feel held back, but then she can still incorporate the elegance and ‘prettiness’ of ballet. There’s an ice rink that just opened nearby, you should let her give it a go.”

“I don’t know…I don’t know if it’s best to just stop it all together.” MC gave him a glare. “I just don’t want her to end up like her teacher, MC. She’s so..odd!”

MC placed down her cup and leaned forward on the table, waiting for Zen to focus on her, “Zen, I think it was odd that she brought that up as well, but don’t you think she did it because  she was desperate? Because she knew that Gi was special? Can you not at least let her try it? You never know, she might surprise you.”

Zen sighed, recognising that MC was right. She very well might be a natural, and even if she wasn’t, as least she tried. “Okay, I’ll bring it up with her. Thank you, MC.”

MC merely smiled and dipped her head, clearly not understanding how loaded that ‘thank you’ was.

They continued to chat casually for a while, when Zen quickly had a realisation, “Oh! I meant to ask you, are you free tomorrow night?”

MC’s face dropped a little, a response that was small enough to go unnoticed anyone, but not small enough to go unnoticed by Zen, “I’m sorry, I have plans with Chul tomorrow night.”

Of course, how could he forget? Obviously he couldn’t just assume that she would available any night of the week anymore. She was in a relationship. She was busy.

The dull ache he felt in his chest surprised him, a disappointment that he couldn’t have anticipated. This was the first time that she had other plans, that she didn’t have time for him. Had he taken her company for granted? Had he taken her for granted? Was this, after all they had, the beginning of the end?

But, the end of what, exactly?

“Ah, no worries,” Zen replied easily, his acting skills being put to good use, “It was nothing, just wanted to hang out. How are things going with Chul anyway?”

“Good,” she responded, a smile playing on her lips and her eyes regaining a bit of their usual glimmer, “Really good.”

“I’m glad,” he said and felt a pang of guilt, because Zen didn’t like to lie, and he certainly didn’t like to lie to MC. But he was going to have to get used to it.

The following evening Zen went back to the convenience store, his best shirt on and the two tickets in hand. So-yi watched him curiously, a melancholic expression on her face. Zen walked up to the counter, “Would you like to come with me?”

She smiled sympathetically at him as she mentally connected the dots, “Of course, sweetie. I get off my shift in five minutes. I’ll meet you outside.”

And so they strolled to the bar together, So-yi holding onto Zen’s arm as they laughed and sang through the street. Not many men his age wanted to spend their Friday night with a little old lady like her, but Zen wasn’t most men, which made So-yi’s heart ache a little more for him. He deserved the world.

She didn’t ask about the girl, because she knew that, even if he hadn’t realised it yet, she was someone special, and she had said no.

She’ll come around, So-yi thought.

They always do in the end.

***

“Saeran, come look at this.”

Saeran strolled over to the couch, milkshake in one hand and a soda in the other. Chucking the can to Saeyoung he sat next to him to get a good view of the laptop that was balanced on his twin’s knees, examining the screen as his eyebrows furrowed, “What is this?”

“I-uh…may have done a background check on Chul.”

Saeran sighed, giving his brother a pointed look, “You know MC told you not to. She’s gonna kill you.”

“I know. I know I wasn’t meant to but I just wanted to be sure and-“

“Wait, is this a criminal record?”

Saeran studied the document, taking in every detail, and his heart dropped when a certain set of words caught his eye.

REASON FOR ARREST: Assault

“It says in his notes that he got into a fight at a bar,” Saeyoung added gently, cautious of Saeran’s reaction, “In his statement he said that it was self-defence-“

“They’re together right now, correct?” Saeran said smoothly.

“Um, yeah. MC said they were going ice-skating, but why do you-“

“I’m going out. I’ll be back in an hour.”

“Saeran, you can’t just go and interrogate or beat up the guy. We don’t even know what happened.”

“I’m not going to, I just need to see for myself that he’s okay for MC.”

Saeran didn’t wait for Saeyoung’s reply, instead he just put his hood over his head and marched out the door, missing the look of pure defeat on his brother’s face.

It took him less than half the time it usually took to reach his destination, but as soon as Saeran walked through the automatic doors of the ice-rink, he started his search.

They weren’t in the lobby, and they weren’t in the cafe, so they must still be on the ice. He managed to sneak his way onto the rink without going to the front desk, because of course he could. Saeran had no idea how much longer MC and Chul were going to be there, and he definitely didn’t want them to catch him in the foyer. So, sneaking in it was.

Which, though he would never admit, he found more fun anyway.

After only a few seconds of glancing over the other skaters, his eyes landed on the couple. He was moments away from marching over to them to have a little chat with Chul, but was halted by one thing.

MC’s face.

Saeran had never seen her face so bright, so glowing. Not even when she bought her new apartment, not even on her birthday. Not even when she was with Zen.

Her smile met her eyes, free of restraint and absolutely beaming. And Chul looked the same way, but he was completely enraptured by her, as if he was hanging on to her every word like she was a lifeline to him. They looked happy. They looked in love.

And nobody, especially not Saeran, would ever make that look on MC’s face disappear when it was as rare as rubies. Who was he to judge a man based on his past, anyway? Saeran didn’t know Chul’s story, nor did he know the Chul in front of him particularly well, but he would give him a chance, just like MC had given Saeran a chance.

He’d tell Saeyoung not to worry, but to keep a watchful eye. Because yes, Chul gave MC a spark that had nearly died out, but when there is a spark sometimes it’s hard to see the smoke; and when there’s smoke, there’s fire.

***

Masterlist || Next Chapter

[diyunho]

The Joker x Reader - “John Wick” Part 3

Y/N left The Organization 3 years ago for the one reason strong enough to make her settle down: love. But after tragedy crushed her to pieces, she decided to leave The Joker and seek refuge with an old friend and mentor - John Wick. Needless to say The King of Gotham can’t accept his wife running away without a word, especially since he didn’t have a chance to tell her things she might want to hear.

Part 1     Part 2

The Joker listens at the bedroom’s door, impatient to have a conversation with you. It seems you are engaged into a fervent phone call with Winston and figured he shouldn’t interrupt.

“Please, anything you can discover would be a great help! U-hum… U-hum… Thank you,” and you hang up, which queues your husband to walk into the room.

You completely ignore him, scrolling through the numerous text messages you sent to your connections; several are already answering back and hopefully you can get some news soon. The more people are involved into the project, the more chances to find Kase and untangle the mystery of what happened to him after he was removed from the car.

“You left me there,” The Joker sneaks in and closes the door behind him. “Luckily we had Wick with us so he gave me a ride.”

No reaction. He takes a deep breath, trying to get your awareness.

“I didn’t sleep with Evelyn; sex wasn’t the reason why I kept visiting her. I know how that asshole made it sound and he was totally out of line!”

You quickly glance at him, busy replying to Ares since you feel you’re going to explode soon.

“The only skill I was interested in is the fact that she is an excellent painter and a popular art smuggler, OK?” J raises his voice, sort of annoyed you neglect to participate into his monologue. “I did not cheat, alright?” he approaches his wife. “First of all: I’m VERY picky! Second of all: why would I want a woman everyone else had?! I don’t like used toys. Third: nobody’s been polishing my gun as you tastefully addressed the issue! I have one Queen and I married her!!”

A little bit of doubt in your eyes and he utilizes the opportunity.

“You said you saw me going to her house? I did! The Bowery King asked if it was for the last 6 months? Yeah, I did! You know why?!”

At least now The Joker got your attention: you play it cool but he guesses you’re torn apart by his confession.

Many unfortunate events crammed in lately and hating the man you love made life infinitely more unbearable.

“Why…?” you barely muster the strength to inquire and he sees it as a possibility to mend a few broken pieces; although you can hide your emotions well, J can still read between the lines.

Maybe that’s why he answers with another question:

“Do you realize there are just three Monet paintings in circulation on the black market in the entire world? You admire his work and it took a lot of effort and a substantial fortune to acquire The Water Lily Pond painting. Evelyn Black helped with the transaction, then I had her make some modifications to the original masterpiece.”

You keep staring at The King of Gotham, uncertain about the stuff being tossed your way: is he lying or telling the truth?... In your line of work translating feelings is a huge part of the job; ultimately you had the best mentor to teach you the ropes when you started with the organization: none other than the legendary Baba Yaga. Despite his reputation and to your own amazement, John was one of the few hitmen with integrity and perfectly mastered the aptitude of not being a jerk. Such a rare gem… And blissfully unaware of it himself.

On the opposite end, The Joker is a jerk and flawlessly acquainted with his own “captivating” personality that made you fall in love with him anyway.

Also, doesn’t appear to be deceitful for the moment.

And you despise yourself even more for wanting to believe him.

“What… modifications?...” you throw him a bone and J is definitely not going to pass on the alternative of explaining his actions.

“I wanted to surprise you so I took advantage of Miss Black’s capabilities in the art field; I had her add small images to the authentic canvas: an evolution of you being pregnant, the nine frames culminating with a tenth: the new mother holding our son. Similar to a timeline,” he emphasize and you look intrigued, which might be a positive sign. “Needless to say it was tedious, difficult work, especially because she had to apply special pigments you can’t find at every corner of the street. Apparently you can’t mix old paint with contemporary shades, thus I had to order aged, special colors from Italy, Spain and France. That’s why I went to her place so often: I had to supervise the long process and make sure it turns out astonishing. Then…” and The Joker pauses,”…Kase was gone and I didn’t know what to do with my gift: bring it home or not? Would you have loved it? Would it make you sadder? I continued to drive to Evelyn’s and glare at the stupid painting for hours, undecided on what to do…”

J watches you bite on your cheek, then straightens his shoulders as you utter the words:

“… … … You ruined a genuine Monet?”

Your spouse might be a smooth talker when needed, yet he’s not wasting his versatility on this statement:

“I didn’t ruin it; I made it better!”

Silence from both parties. A good or bad omen? Hard to decipher the riddle with two individuals tangled into a relationship that somehow worked despite countless peculiarities meant to keep them apart.

“I have to talk to Jonathan,” you finally mutter and The Joker steps in front of you.

“Talk to me!”

“Unless you know the exact location of the suitcase full of gold coins he’s been safekeeping for me, I really have to speak to him. Or do you want to hammer the whole basement searching for it?”

Y/N walks out of the bedroom and J lingers inside, evesdropping on the conversation happening downstairs. He can’t understand the chat, but you are probably notifying John about the details your husband left out.

Might as well join the party, therefore The Clown pops up in the living room with a plea impossible to refuse:

“Hey Wick, can I stay here? I don’t care if you say no, I’m not going to leave.”

Your friend crosses his arms on his chest, focusing on the random topic:

“How could I deny such a polite request? Of course you can stay Mister Joker; my house is your house.”

You’re watching the free show unamused; usually it would make you smile…now you lack the depth for such connotations.

“Don’t get smart with me, Wick!” J growls and Jonathan pushes for a tiny, unnecessary quarrel.

“I’m not; although generally speaking, I fancy considering myself a smart guy.”

The Joker opens his mouth and you’re not in the mood for whatever the heck they’re initiating:

“I’m going to pump, then after you dig out the suitcase I’ll take half to the Bowery King,” you announce your plans to them.

“You can do that and rest; I’ll deliver the coins,” John immediately offers. “I can stop by Aurelio’s car shop and ask for his collaboration: he has a lot of associates, doesn’t hurt to get him involved. You have plenty of gold.”

“I have two more suitcases in the Continental’s safe and two more at The Penthouse. It doesn’t matter if it’s all gone as long as I can find my son.”

“I know gold coins are preferred; don’t forget we have a lot of money too,” J reckons with spite.

Is he reminding you or Jonathan?...

*************

Your husband spent the last hour in the garden, talking and texting with a lot of people; needless to mention he’s capitalizing on his network also. Winston disclosed Stonneberg’s contract is still opened, meaning the son of a bitch is out there; you have to scoop him before anybody else does.

“Y/N…” The Joker tiptoes in your quarters. “I thought you were taking a nap,” he huffs when he sees you at the edge of the bed.

You glare at the vial on the nightstand, sharing your idea for a future you wish will come true:

“I didn’t have my medicine in two days; I won’t take it anymore because if we get Kase back… I will nurse him. It all goes in the milk and I want to be able to feed my baby… Do you think his little heart is still beating?...” you sniffle and J is currently debating on a clever response since his mind is blank; one could deduce messing up is encoded in his DNA, but on such a huge scale… well, it gives new interpretations to the term even for him.

The grieving woman seeking reassurance for their loss is trying to make sense of the pointless occurrences that lead to Kase being an innocent victim and The Joker can’t render clarification: he has no clue why he asked her to marry him and why she said yes, it’s not that he’s husband material or a family man. Perhaps Y/N thought he could be… just enough to get by, that’s why she accepted his proposal.

Most women would have cringed at the concept. Most women. Not Y/N.

Most women would have flinched at the notion of having his baby. Most women. Not his wife.

Above all, she trusted J with their son and he treated the three weeks old like a trinket: didn’t drive him home because he had an important meeting, didn’t bother to assign escorting cars nor extra security. The King of Gotham took his child’s safety lightly and it definitely had severe consequences. Too late now to fix past mistakes... but he can attempt.

“You’ll be able to nurse him, OK?” he sits by you and hands over his cell. “Can you enter your phone number in here? Or am I not allowed to have the present digits?”

You’re hesitant and he slides the screen while you hold the gadget.

“Lemme help you,” The Joker sarcastically mumbles. “It should be the first on my list, right where the old number you canceled was.”

You exhale and fulfill his demand out of pure frustration when he squeezes in a second innocent petition.

“Chose my avatar.”

You grunt at his rubbish, scrolling through his folders for a picture anyway; J hopes the largest file will get your attention and that’s the point. How could Y/N miss it?!

Entitled “Baby”, the humongous cluster of pics contains 5,723 items. You open it quite absorbed by its size; what’s more puzzling is the collection depicting Kase’s ultrasounds, hundreds of frames with you being pregnant taken without you knowing: there’s a few when your ankles were so swollen you had to sleep with your feet up on 4 pillows, others with you munching on strange food you craved, more with you in the shower focused on your bump, a decent amount of couple selfies when you were sleeping and J had to immortalize the moment without waking you up and approximately 1,500 images of the newborn.

“You didn’t gross me out when you were pregnant,” The Joker reminds a teary Y/N. “Not sure why you would believe such aberration...” he pulls you on his knees and yanks the phone away, tossing it on the nightstand. “I would also like to underline I didn’t have an affair with Miss Black, alright?”

J lifts your chin up, forcing to look at him.

“Let’s put it this way: why would I fuck around with another woman when I have a wife at home that wants to kill me on a regular basis, hm? Where would the fun be? I mean, she didn’t pull the trigger yet but it’s exciting to hope she might. You know me: I’m a sucker for thrills!”

“Do I?”

“Huh?” J steals a kiss and you frown at his sleekness.

“Know you?”

“Yeah,” the green haired Clown acts composed while in fact his feathers are ruffled. Before you catch onto it he has to ultimately admit: “I’m sorry I didn’t drive the car… I should have…”

The Joker holds in his breath when your arms go around his neck very tight.

“I’m suffocating…” he grumbles. “I can’t tell if you’re trying to hug me or choke me to death,” J keeps on caressing your hair, prepared to block your attack in case you’re actually in killing mode.

This is the excitement he was speaking about: with you, one could never know until it’s a done deal.

“I bumped into Magnus at the Continental,” you give him a bit of space to inhale much needed air and The Joker is surprised at your revelation. “I had no idea about his scheme, otherwise I would have skinned him alive right on the hotel grounds! I wouldn’t have cared about the consequences!”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” J cuts you off and he can tell you’re getting mad; maybe you think he doesn’t give a damn but the reason is simple. “You would’ve been declared excommunicado for murder on neutral ground and I don’t want my wife to be the target of such punishment from the company she so proudly retired from. I need my partner!”

The King of Gotham touches your forehead with his as you whisper:

“I hate you!”

“Mmm, regarding this true love affirmation, I’m gonna need you to take a break from detesting me until we have Kase, then you can despise me full throttle again. Deal?” he extends the palm of his hand and you reluctantly shake it, not realizing you’re reacting to his nonsense. “Is that a smile?” J returns the favor with one of his creepy silver grins.

“No.”

“Liar,” he pecks your lips and can’t explain the weird feeling in his heart when you kiss him back.

*************

Jonathan enters the house and becomes suspicious after a few minutes: too much silence.

Omg! Did you and The Joker engaged into a brawling that ended up badly? Did you end each other?!

John frantically runs to the garage, nervous to see your car and J’s are still parked inside. Shit!

“Y/N?” he shouts, concerned about your fate; The Joker’s… irrelevant. Nobody in the garden, patio is empty also. Downstairs is deserted thus he rushes upstairs to your room. The door is not completely shut and he slowly pushes it, knocking.

“Y/N? Can I come in?”

The first thing he notices are clothes scattered on the floor, then he halts his movement at the sight of Y/N and her husband dozing off on the bed sideways: the naked bodies are covered with a blanket, but he can tell you’re snuggled in J’s arms.

Jonathan steps backwards, guilty of invading his guests’ privacy; he certainly didn’t expect to intrude in such a manner and softly closes the door, grateful it’s not what he feared.  

You and The Joker are so worn out the sound of your phones vibrating on the nightstand doesn’t wake you from the deep sleep. Your numerous contacts keep replying back to the text messages, the most important one showing up on his cell: one of the people J reached to is Evelyn Black and the two sentence conversation lights up the screen.

“Let me know if you see Stonnenberg.”

“He’s here.”

 Also read: MASTERLIST

You can follow me on Ao3 and Wattpad under the same blog name: DiYunho.

[vino-and-doggos]

Time Enough at Last, chapter 3

Read full text on AO3 and FFN

Chapter Length: 4081 words (story total 8712)

Rated: T

Status: Complete (3/3)

Summary: Submitted for your approval: one wants money, women, status, fame, and everything else in the world. The other just wants more time alive, to see his daughter grow, to love his wife for a little longer. Two seemingly different personalities must learn to coexist so that they both can have it all.

The final chapter is here! I know I’ve said it before, but I’ll keep saying it: @flourchildwrites is the best beta in existence. Without further ado... the final chapter (but not necessarily the end) of Time Enough at Last.

For the second time in his life, Hughes was a prisoner inside his own body, confined by walls of tissue and bones like iron bars. He had felt this way after returning from Ishval. Witnessing everything happening around him, yet numb to any sensations.

Food had tasted like nothing, and the texture had always felt wrong. The smells of a friendly neighborhood cookout would leave him feeling queasy. When hearing a child scream in laughter, Maes’s spine would stiffen. He had seen a man with skin darker than his own, and his guard had risen involuntarily, pulse quickening and adrenaline pumping.

It was eerily similar being attached to Greed. Or was Greed attached to him? It was all very confusing, and Maes’s metaphorical head spun every time he tried to think about it.

And what a conundrum that was, seeing as spinning was off the table unless Greed chose to do so.

Regardless, the level of consciousness was similar. Hughes was awake and aware but unable to interact with the world around him. He felt neither the slick leather pants nor the sinfully tight black tank top that Greed chose as clothing. He couldn’t smell the dankness of the underground tunnels.

Nevertheless, he could hear everything that Greed could hear, but it was tinny, almost as if Maes was listening to a radio broadcast. He could see whatever it was that Greed chose to look at, but sometimes the edges weren’t as sharp and crisp as they should have been. It reminded Maes of when he had first recognized that he needed glasses, but the fuzziness around the peripherals of Maes’ vision didn’t seem to affect the homunculus whatsoever. No doubt, Maes was a backseat driver in this equation, craning his neck to see what was crisp and clear to his body’s avaricious master.

Interestingly, Hughes’s body didn’t appear to need glasses at all, actually. And the occasional twinge that had existed in the lieutenant colonel’s lower back after a minor injury in Ishval didn’t seem to exist anymore either, or at least not that the homunculus had let on. Greed had yet to eat or drink – it didn’t seem like homunculi needed to – but Hughes was sure that it would have no taste, no texture. Not to mention Maes felt like he had energy for days, which was a good thing, because the unlikely pair hadn’t slept a wink.

There were plenty of things that Maes couldn’t do since he was no longer in direct control of his own body. The one thing Hughes could do, however, was something that he had always excelled at. He could talk. And it appeared that Greed had to listen to, or at least hear, every single thing that the family man said. So Hughes decided to capitalize on it.

For a few days, Greed ignored him. Maes asked questions.

“So, where are we going?”

“Oh, Avaricious One, what exactly did Father mean when he mentioned sacrifices?”

“Hey, buddy, are we gonna go get lunch? I’m starving.”

“What are your opinions on the current state of Amestris?”

“Have you ever gotten a little freaky with Lust?”

He tried everything he could to get a rise. Greed remained silent.

Maes offered commentary and his opinions on every single thing that Greed did.

“Really, we’re going to go this way to visit Father today? Going to the right is significantly faster.”

“I don’t know, man; do you really think leather looks okay on this body? I’ve let myself go a bit after Elicia was born.”

“Oh for the love of… Please make sure that one section of hair in the front is artfully styled. It looks ridiculous right now!”

“You should really carry a satchel or something. I think it would really pull your whole ensemble together.”

There was no response.

Maes sang, hummed, and whistled the same song on repeat for an entire day. And still no acknowledgment.

But, in between all of his questioning and commenting and musical numbers, Hughes was listening and learning. It didn’t seem that Maes and Greed shared knowledge; the human was still blissfully unaware of a few things that were common knowledge - and therefore went without saying - amongst Father’s inner circle. However, he was able to gather a few morsels of understanding along the way.

If Maes was honest, Greed didn’t seem nearly as bad as his “siblings” or the one who gave the avarice the lieutenant colonel’s body. Greed just went along with the others, did what he was told, answered questions that he was asked. Nowhere along the lines of all the planning the duo attended did Hughes ever get a straight-up bad vibe from his pilot. And there was a lot of planning going on.

There was something coming, a rather big something, called The Promised Day. However, a veil of mystery clouded the big picture. Maes hadn’t been able to gather much information apart from the name and approximate date of the big to-do, but his mind was acutely aware that something sinister lurked beneath the whole of Amestris. On The Promised Day, the nationwide transmutation circle would be activated; Maes was almost sure of it. Still, he was confused about what exactly the sacrifices were needed for.

The lieutenant colonel also pieced together why they needed his body, specifically. At first, he thought he was convenient, a host to replace the insolent avarice before him. He quickly realized, though, that wasn’t the case at all. Maes was needed because he was a military officer.

He was of a decent rank, sure, but he was relatively unknown outside of his immediate circle of friends and coworkers. Hughes tended to keep his head down, playing only the cards required and keeping the rest of his hand close to his chest. Maes had the cunning of a magician and the presence of a pickpocket. He had manipulated the system much in the same way that Roy did. Where Roy put on a playboy persona, Maes doubled down in the opposite direction, painting himself as a family man who did nothing but brag about his darling Elicia and his beautiful wife.

That fact alone would make it significantly easier for Greed to act as Hughes. If anyone started down a line of questioning that the homunculus didn’t know or didn’t want to answer, all he had to do was pull out the flip-book of pictures that Maes kept on his person. It usually made his audience eager to get away as quickly as possible.

It was a pretty good plan, the lieutenant colonel had to admit. However, he wasn’t sure that they had taken Maes keeping his consciousness into account. The most interesting thing about that was Greed hadn’t said a damn thing to anyone about Hughes being cognizant.

Maes knew that Greed could hear him. While Hughes might not be able to make physical contact with the outside world, he could sense Greed’s feelings. And Greed was heavily annoyed that his uninvited houseguest wouldn’t shut up. Naturally, Hughes kept picking.

One afternoon, about a week after the transformation, Greed snapped.

“CUT IT OUT!” he roared, and Maes took a moment to be thankful that they weren’t with the others. This was a secret both parties seemed keen on keeping.

“Oh, sorry, am I bothering you?” Hughes questioned innocently. “This is all so new; I wasn’t sure if you could even hear me.”

“Truth Almighty, you have to be the most persistent asshole in all of Amestris,” Greed grumbled.

“And now you’re stuck with me,” Maes said smugly. “Can we talk a bit? Maybe reach some sort of accord?”

Greed grumbled, and Hughes felt the homunculus’ reluctance crumble into begrudging acceptance.

“Fine,” Greed conceded. “But let’s get one thing straight, family man. I lead this operation, understand?”

Testing the limits of their supposed bond, Hughes allowed a feeling of compliance to fill him. Greed must have understood because he chuckled.

“Good,” the homunculus said.

“Out of curiosity,” Maes started, “if you’re so hell-bent on being in charge, why do you follow Father?”

Greed’s entire being seemed to stutter. Despite being so rattled, the homunculus’ voice was steady and confident.

“I don’t want to be sucked into the philosopher’s stone with the rest of you short-sighted mortals in this sad, circular country.”

Hughes nodded. “Hmm. And what makes you think that Father’s word will hold true? That he’ll save you? I gotta say, this guy just doesn’t seem all that trustworthy. And we have to take his word that you’re standing in just the right spot to not be swallowed up? Seems questionable to me.”

“Well, what do you suppose we do instead?” Greed growled, and Maes could feel a small spike of panic course through the body that was technically his. However, he couldn’t help but feel a small sense of accomplishment at the homunculus’ use of the word “we.”

“Let’s get out of here. I have some friends who are trying to stop all this madness. If we tell them everything that we know, they might be able to put a stop to it sooner.” Longingly, Maes thought of Gracia and Elicia. Was there any chance at convincing Greed to stay permanently with his family?

“Tell you what,” Greed said, startling Hughes out of his thoughts. “If you really think these mere mortals will be able to stop Father, I’ll give it a shot. This whole Father-knows-best routine isn’t exactly my style, and there’s no status if civilization is destroyed.”

Hughes could still feel a shred of reluctance hiding behind the words but decided to capitalize on the positive.

“Greed?” he questioned.

“Huh?”

“I still haven’t forgotten my promise to you. Family is the most important thing. With them, you really do feel like you have everything, the world at your fingertips, a richness you never knew before. Give me a chance to show you.”

Greed just chuckled. Hughes was still filled with yearning, wistful for his wife, for his daughter, for Roy. A different want began to edge in; a wish to return to his old life. He wasn’t sure if this feeling was his or the homunculus’.

“So, can you get us out of here?” Maes added slowly and cautiously. He chose his words wisely, careful not to disturb the uneasy truce.

“Oh absolutely,” Greed responded, a devious grin splitting the face of Maes Hughes.

“Bido!” the young blonde girl called out. “It’s you!”

The lizard chimera spun around, recognizing the voice instantly, tail following him. The short wiry blonde’s face cracked a small smile at seeing the lizard - her friend, her family - advance towards her, his gait smooth but still lopsided due to the unnaturalness of a tail on a bipedal creature. “Martel! I can’t believe you’re here!”

How serendipitous it was for the two of them to meet in the sewers under the hustle and bustle of Central City. For Bido, it was too similar to how they departed, and a chill ran down his spine as he eyed the girl’s tattooed neck and shoulder.

“How did you get away? I thought you would still be with the armored brat and the dog of the military he calls a brother!”

“As soon as he carried me to the surface, I made a break for it,” Martel answered. “I couldn’t stay with them! They weren’t even planning to come this way for a few more months! How did you know to come to Central?”

“I didn’t,” Bido answered honestly. “It was pure guesswork. The head of the military is housed in Central, and we were attacked by soldiers. So, I decided to start there, find some clues, and work my way out. You ask that like you did know, though…” he said, an air of suspicion in his voice.

“Stop that,” Martel warned. “I was there, still in the armor, when Bradley said that Greed had to stay alive and make it back to Central. I came here as quickly as I could.”

Bido spoke frantically, “Did he say anything else? Like where specifically they were going?”

“I couldn’t get that lucky,” said the snake chimera.

Bido frowned. “So where do you think we should start? I can’t exactly travel above ground without attracting unwanted attention. But we need to find Greed.”

“Quiet!” hissed Martel suddenly. “Do you hear that?”

The low light of the sewer shrouded the mismatched pair, and they strained their ears and silenced their tongues to better hear a distant disturbance. Echoing footsteps, louder with each stride, were punctuating the quiet babble of water. Looking up, Martel noticed that the pipes along the ceiling were getting more congested. Unfortunately, that meant that it was more difficult for her to hide away in them, though she decided to try if push came to shove; after all, no one ever looks up.

Before another thought of escape could cross her mind, a voice rang out through the tunnel.

“Yes, I know where we’re going, Truth Almighty. Have I told you how annoying you are yet today?”

Something sounded familiar, but Martel wasn’t quite able to place what it was. Bido, however, seemed to notice it instantly. The lizard breathed, “Greed?”

In that moment, a body came in to view, one that walked with the cocky confidence that the avarice she once knew walked with. But this body was unfamiliar. The hair color was the same, he had the ouroboros tattoo in the same spot on his hand, but it was still not the same body.

“Greed!” Bido cried, running towards the new man. Martel scoffed but followed quickly anyway. The two stopped short of plowing into the new Greed.

“Huh? Do I know you?”

Martel’s mouth dropped open. How could Greed forget her? They were a team. Not just her and Greed; all of the chimeras. The ragtag group of misfits bonded over not being able to go back to their families, over being the few that managed to survive. The homunculus had called the chimeras possessions, but Martel always knew better. They were a family. How could he forget his own family?

“Greed, it’s Bido! Bido and Martel! Don’t you remember us?” the lizard chimera pleaded, tears welling up in his eyes.

“Oh, you must have known a different Greed. I’m the newest incarnation,” he purred. The light of Greed’s lantern hit the unfamiliar angles of his newest mask, but there was a familiar glint in his eyes which befit his devil-may-care smirk. “I want fame, money -”

“Status, women, yeah, yeah, we know.” Martel rolled her eyes. “What’s the plan?”

“Plan?” Greed asked.

“The plan!” Bido emphasized.

“The plan to get everything? The plan do have it all?” Martel prompted.

“Right, right,” the homunculus said casually. “The plan! The plan is to stop this allegedly evil thing from happening. I’m going to lead everyone to safety. Then, they’ll all be my minions.”

There was a pause. “What do you mean ‘no minions’? You said there would be minions!”

Another pause. “No, I’m pretty sure you promised me people to rule over.”

Martel and Bido shared a look. What the hell was happening?

“Whatever. I’m allowing you to bring in your people, family man. The least you can do is let me rebuild my collection.” Greed’s eyes shifted to the two in front of him. “Say, you wouldn’t want to be my new underlings, would you?”

The two chimeras glanced swiftly at each other before both smiled broadly. World domination was a new one, a much larger goal than the old Greed had ever attempted. Still, the chimeras were content to follow their leader through hell and high sewer water.

“Count us in,” Martel said, with a thumbs up, Bido nodding enthusiastically beside her.

“I just don’t understand it, Roy,” Gracia muttered as she placed a teacup on the table in front of him. The delicate porcelain had rattled precariously in Gracia’s shaking hands; now placed on the table, the cup was still and silent. “What enemies did he make that would injure him and then kidnap him?”

For about the seventh time since Roy arrived five minutes ago, Gracia popped her head into the den to ensure Elicia was still there, playing quietly as she had been every time before. Roy always suspected the youngster was smart; it was almost as if she knew that any noise louder than what she was currently making would put her mother over the edge.

“I wish I knew,” Mustang reported, watching his best friend’s wife putter around the kitchen, gathering cookies and other snacks on a plate and depositing them in front of Roy. She began to walk towards the den when Roy called out to her. “Gracia, please come and sit down.” Mustang watched the conflict in the woman’s eyes as she glanced towards the other room. A meaningful look and a small tilt of his head in the direction of the open chair beside his own caused Gracia to relent and drop down into the seat.

Sitting down didn’t quell her nervous energy, though, and Roy was able to see her leg bouncing slightly. He understood. He was also filled with the same nervous energy; it had been almost two and a half weeks since his best friend, since Gracia’s husband, had mysteriously vanished.

“There was a good amount of blood, but not so much that he was mortally wounded. The really strange part was that there was no blood trail leading from the phone booth in any direction. No matter which way we fanned out to search, there wasn’t a drop - not a single drop.”

Gracia sighed, the exhalation coming out shaky. “Do you think someone kidnapped him?” A hopeful note dared to invade her tone.

“The thought crossed my mind,” Roy replied, before continuing gravely. “Look, Gracia, I’m not going to sugar coat this. I’ve known you for too many years to do you a disservice like that. But why? Why take him? If he knew too much, why wouldn’t they just kill him?”

Gracia flinched at his words, and Roy instantly felt worse than he already did. “I think they needed him for something, and he wasn’t going to go without a fight,” he attempted to reassure her. He wasn’t sure that the sympathetic epithet reached her.

“That still leaves who and why, though,” the housewife said frustratedly. “What else have you been able to find out?” There was a hesitation in her question, almost as if she didn’t want to know, but felt as though she needed to ask.

“A map was reported missing from the archive room; Lieutenant Focker, who was the last one to see him, said he was headed there. From the archive room to the phone booth we were able to follow a small blood trail, so he must have already been injured. But that injury definitely wasn’t causing the amount of blood we found in the phone booth.” Roy paused, gathering his thoughts.

Gracia nodded, tentatively encouraging him to continue. A handkerchief was pressed to her mouth, muffling the quiet, shaky whimpers that began throughout Roy’s description of her husband’s injuries. She was told there was blood. She was not told that there was a lot of blood. Fears of her husband not coming back to her magnified. She fought the urge to run into the den to check on Elicia just one more time. But her daughter couldn’t see her with tears running down her face. Gracia knew she had to be strong.

Mustang raised an eyebrow, making sure she was okay to hear more. Her expectant look told him to proceed. “We know it was actually him and not a prank due to the picture at the scene. I wasn’t able to hear anything but muffled voices on the other end of the phone line,” Roy lamented. “Maybe if I had heard something more…”

“Roy, this is not your fault,” Gracia chided. “You’ve already done so much to help. I don’t blame you.” Gracia couldn’t even fault Maes for calling Roy and not her. What was she supposed to do? Drag their three-year-old to some random phone booth in the dark? At least Roy was able to get the bureaucratic wheels turning, and quickly at that.

“Tell me; what else do you know?” She was surer in her question this time.

“Major Armstrong found a piece of paper in the bushes along the way to the phone booth during the preliminary investigation, before I arrived. He recognized it as Maes’s handwriting.”

Gracia leaned forward, eyes searching Roy’s face frantically for any clue. “What did it say?” she prompted.

“Cameron, Liore, Ishval, Fotset, Fisk, and South City.”

“Town names?” Gracia questioned, confused.

“I don’t know either,” Roy surrendered. “It spells ‘CLIFFS’ in the code that he, Riza, and I share. But there really aren’t any cliffs here in Amestris. Creta is the closest place to us that has actual cliffs. I would assume if he were trying to talk about something in the North, he would have said mountains instead of cliffs. I just don’t know, Gracia.” He set his teacup on the table with a little more intensity than intended, rattling the dishes on the table. Apologetically, he looked at his best friend’s wife.

Gently, she took his hand. “I understand Roy. We both want him back. You’ll figure it out. You always do.”

A knock at the door interrupted the tender moment. A questioning glance between the two quickly told the other that no one was expected. Roy’s gloves were already on, but as Gracia stood to answer the door, he tugged at them, ensuring they fit snugly and were ready to attack if need be.

Gracia moved hurriedly toward the door, unable to heed the sound of the deadbolt on the other side as it was quickly unlocked. She turned the handle and just as the mechanism unlatched, the door was flung open by the uninvited guest. Roy’s hand rose instantly, ready to snap, but he faltered.

In the doorway stood Maes Hughes, flanked by a blonde and a bald man. Sans glasses, in clothes that Maes would never willingly choose to put on his body, but Maes Hughes nonetheless. A smile unlike any before seen on the face of Maes Hughes leered at them, his arms crossed cockily across his chest. This obviously wasn’t Maes Hughes; the imposing posture alone told both Roy and Gracia that this was not their missing man. And yet, somehow it was.

Gracia pressed her palm against her lips as as fresh tears welled in her eyes. Roy’s mouth still hung open in shock. Suddenly, a voice that wasn’t Maes’s, yet still emanated from his mouth, spoke.

“Hey, guys. What’s up? Did you miss us?”

“Us?” Roy echoed, quickly eyeing up the two that Maes-but-not-Maes brought home with him. “Maes, what is going on?”

Gracia, snapping out of her shocked fugue. “Yes Maes, what is going on? Where have you been?”

Before Gracia had finished her sentence, rapid footfalls sounded against the hardwood floor of the hallway.

“Daddy!” Elicia cried excitedly, as she leapt towards the man in the doorway. Reflex kicked in, and the man that looked like Maes Hughes caught the toddler.

He chuckled, holding her in front of him.

“Not quite, kiddo.”

Seven consciousnesses in six bodies stood in awkward silence, scattered around the apartment’s small foyer. Martel and Bido had questions. Gracia and Roy were hopelessly confused, rendered silent by shock. Only little Elicia seized the moment for what it was worth: an answered prayer. Her beloved father had returned home.

The green-eyed girl threw her arms around Greed’s neck, and at Maes’s fervent behest, the homunculus reluctantly returned the affection. It was torture enough that Maes didn’t get to hug his daughter himself; she shouldn’t be hurt by not receiving a hug from the one she recognized as her father in return.

There would be time, Greed rationalized, to make them all understand the intricacies of this peculiar melding of minds and body. Time to plot and wrestle the nation from the grasp of Father and his stupidly loyal siblings. There might even be a moment or two to explore this notion of family that Hughes kept blathering on about. At last, Greed would have the opportunity to claw his way to the top of the food chain using his brand new Maes Hughes suit. He only hoped that he’d enjoy the destination as much as the ride.

[roads-like-roses]

Just Give Me A Smile (18)

Pairing: Jimin x Jungkook Summary:  Jungkook sucked at human relationships. There were many things he ignored: how to talk to people, what to say, what not to say. Therefore, he was inclined to believe that being alone was his destiny. Oh, how unaware he was of how much a smile with a crooked tooth would mean to him. He didn’t know he could express himself and release his emotions through dancing either. But all it took was a flash of pink hair for that so called destiny to change. Masterlist

The next time Jungkook managed to get a hold of Jimin was almost two weeks later. Jimin chose the place, a warm, little cabin located in the outskirts of the city. It wasn’t a cabin perse, but it made Jungkook feel like it belonged into a forest instead of the grey boring city.

It was cozy, furniture obviously chosen carefully and big windows letting the sun light in. To Jungkook’s surprise, it was deserted and he wondered if Jimin had pick that place for that reason. Jungkook had followed him inside and was inspecting his surroundings without pronouncing a word, when a middle age lady appeared from behind the counter. To say that her smile splitted her face in two was an understatement, she was clearly happy that Jimin was there and Jungkook immediately understood that they knew each other.

-Mina! I didn’t know you would be here today. - Jimin exclaimed, skipping, without noticing, into her arms.

-Oh, but I sensed you would be coming today, dear. With someone new, for what I can see. - The last sentence was added with a spiteful tilt in her tone, one that Jungkook did his best to ignore.

-Well, last time I let him choose, we ended up drinking green coffee.

The lady furrowed her brow comically and dedicated a glance to the younger, for the first time since she had appeared. Jungkook immediately stiffened, but it wasn’t long until Jimin grabbed him by the elbow and carry him to a table near a window. While sitting down, he barely registered Jimin saying something about ‘the usual’. He probably had visited that place with other men before and that’s why Jungkook’s presence had elicited such a… cold reaction from the lady. Still, he was nervous, though not for the woman who had disappeared behind a wooden door.

The sweet smile plastered on the ravenette’s face was similar to the one Jungkook had seen when he had met the boy for the first time, they were so alike that, for a second, a flash of pink overlapped the black tresses surrounding Jimin’s face.

-What’s wrong? - Jimin inquiered, noticing the undisturbed silence. Jungkook shook his head imperceptibly, trying to get a hold of himself.

-Do you come here often? - He asked instead of replying. Jimin leaned his head and Jungkook realized all too late that he didn’t want to know. He wanted to blissfully ignore what Jimin did when they weren’t together, what he’d done all the time they haven’t seen each other.

-Define often. - Was his vague reply, but the sheepish grin he displayed gave him away. - The place is never crowded, Mina is really nice… why wouldn’t I come here?

Jungkook wished he could avoid the topic, he doubted anyone ever brought it up whenever Jimin was with them; the whole point was believing in a happy lie, escaping for a while. But to Jungkook it was more than that, so he couldn’t refrain himself.

-She doesn’t seem to be fond of those who accompany you. - He mentioned, eyes drifting to the last place the woman had occupied.

-If you were in her place, how would you react to the situation? - Jimin rested his head on his hand, left cheek flattened against it, making him look like a pouty child. - But everyone seems to adore this place so I always bring them here. Mina just deals with it.

He shrugged as if it didn’t matter and he glanced towards one of the windows. Deep in thought, Jimin didn’t notice the way Jungkook was staring at his profile, but Mina did. The woman interrupted him by loudly placing his food in front of him. In contrast, she slid Jimin’s dish carefully and showing a warm beam in his direction. Jimin snorted and grabbed her hand, squeezing it for a brief moment, before redirecting his attention to the younger.

-How’s the dancing going?

Mina had left from their side, though Jungkook could feel her eyes boring into the back of his head from where she stood, possibly next to the counter.

-I wouldn’t know, there’s not many opportunities for me to dance, at least yet.

It was weird, talking about their everyday life like normal friends would. He would take it, whatever Jimin offered to him, he would take it. He wanted to know about the elder too, if he had the chance. It was the only little lie he would allow himself to believe: that, maybe, Jimin cared about him somehow, like the old Jimin had in the past. So he talked, despite the deep discomfort that blossomed on his stomach whenever he remembered their current situation.

-The classes are interesting, but I can’t wait to be able to move. - Jimin giggled, half hiding his mouth behind his hand by shifting his head a little. It was too cute, but Jungkook couldn’t bring it up. - Don’t laugh at me!

-You still have Hoseok’s studio, though. Your younger self would’ve been ecstatic by that opportunity alone.

-What do you mean? - He inquired, inspecting his food, which would get cold if he kept ignoring it. He grabbed the spoon next to the plate and sipped tentatively. The soup was delicious.

-You were always kind of… restless, from what I recall. You would only calm down when Hoseok made you practise for several days nonstop. You were like a child high on sugar.

-I was not! - He protested, scowling after resting his spoon on the table. - I did nothing on my free time, so I was excited to experience Hobi’s dance lessons. That‘s all.

Another short laugh from the dark haired man made Jungkook’s stomach twist gleefully. Was he enjoying the company? Jungkook certainly hoped he did. His lips turned into a light smile, barely noticeable, since he didn’t fancy the idea of the elder knowing the effect that a simple laugh from him could evoque.

-Whatever you say, Kookie.

He gasped, hopefully not loudly, though he held no hope.

That nickname. Jimin had used it multiple times before, but it’d been years since he last pronounced it with such… fondness. Jungkook played his astonishment off by forcefully trying to make his doe eyes -that had clearly widened unnaturally- smaller and running his fingers through his hair, dishevelling his previously tidy locks.

-Is that good? - With his chin he pointed to his dish, now abandoned in front of Jungkook. He cleared his throat before replying.

-Yeah, it reminds me of my grandma’s cooking. - Jimin’s eyes crinkled to half moons at the time he nodded, and he stretched his arm across the table.

-Then hold my hand. I deserve it, don’t I?

Jungkook’s hand, tucked under the table, resting on his lap, twitched with the need to fulfill the request from the handsome man, who was unfazed through it all. His cheek was now red after spending so much time under the pressure of his hand; his meal remained untouched.

-Maybe. But please, eat your food first.

Jimin’s eyebrows lifted if only a little, showing his surprise. Jungkook knew that he couldn’t care less about eating, everything revolved around Jungkook and what would make him feel good. That was his self imposed task.

-I remember, you know? - He mentioned as he resumed eating. - In highschool, you usually lacked energy and sometimes passed out. Jin told me it was because you never ate enough.

Abashedly, Jimin averted his glance and a light blush bathed his cheeks, that were round and soft; Jungkook hoped that Jimin took more care of his eating schedule now that he was an adult.

-We all did stupid stuff when we were kids. I thought being skinnier will make me more likeable. -He shrugged. - Won’t you hold my hand? - A fake whine escaped from his mouth as he popped out his bottom lip, a pour attempt of a pout to support his insistence.  

Jungkook hesitantly reached across the table to grab it. Feeling the smooth skin of the back of Jimin’s hand against his fingertips was enough to send shivers down his spine, but he did his best to not show it.

-Everybody liked you a lot, and they would’ve liked you even if you didn’t diet so recklessly. That was the Park Jimin effect. - He whispered, not sure why his voice suddenly seemed so loud in that empty room.

He clasped Jimin’s fingers and ran his thumb over the tan skin a couple of times, before turning it around. With his free hand he picked Jimin’s spoon and carefully located it on his palm, manually wrapping the elder’s fingers around it. Shyly, he gestured towards the bowl of soup before letting go.

-It’s tastier if it’s warm. - He stated, before returning to his own dish one more time.

Jimin seemed dumbstruck for a second, but he recovered pretty soon and started sipping at his soup, while every now and then he picked something from each of the platters Mina had brought with his chopsticks.

They ate mostly in silence and Jungkook found himself surprised that it wasn’t uncomfortable. Maybe for Jimin it was, but judging by his expression he was actually thinking about something instead of dwelling on their lack of conversation.

When Jimin lifted his eyes and fixed them on Jungkook, he smiled by reflex. Not the bunny teeth one that all of his friends adored, just… a little one that he usually displayed for Jimin, even if none of them knew.

-Why do you keep rejecting my advances? - He questioned, not minding to sugar coat his words. Jungkook’s brain short circuited for a moment.- Do you not like me enough?

-I literally just told you that everybody likes you. - He forced himself to say, at loss at how to explain any of this to him.

-Yeah. Yeah, you are right. I know for a fact that you like me. Then what’s your excuse? - He pressed on, little wrinkles forming between his brows.

-I like to take things slow. - He punctuated, trying to make sense with what he replied. - You cannot expect me to-to... to just kiss you.

Jimin tilted his head like kids did when they didn’t understand a concept. Inwardly, Jungkook cooed at the man in front of him, whose eyes were now partially covered by his fringe.

-Jimin. We haven’t spoken in years and the first times we did, we fought. - Jimin sucked his bottom lip between his teeth. - I need to feel comfortable around someone and I’m trying. You have to help me.

-I am doing my best. - He murmured, sounding slightly remorseful, maybe for not thinking about it before.

-I know, but offering skinship and the sort won’t do. I… I feel like I don’t know you, I wanna get know who you’ve become, Jimin.

And Jimin understood.

It wasn’t a privilege he had with each of the guys he dated and he was usually tagged as “old fashioned” by them if they got to know, but he too prefered getting to know the person he was going to be spending time with, no matter the kind of relationship they shared. He owed that to Jungkook, somehow. Maybe Jungkook owed it to him. 

Jungkook’s smile, though… it hurt.

-That’s not… what I do. - He mumbled, trying to understand the currents of thoughts that circled in his head and made him dizzy. - I am...

-Supposed to be a safe haven for this dudes. I got the memo.

This time, he did reach out and grabbed Jimin’s hand. His warmth creeped through Jimin’s arm and he felt himself blush, but not from embarrassment this time. Each and every action from Jungkook proved how sweet the younger could be, how kind his soul was and if Jimin had to describe how being with him felt, he would have to say that it was similar to jumping to a pool filled with flower petals: soothing, tender against his aching body, kind to his aching soul. It felt like a once in a lifetime experience, one that he wished would repeat endlessly because it made his skin tingle and his heart flutter.

He was greedy, so very greedy.

-You know…

Jungkook’s voice seep through his confused mind until it was all he could hear.

-It’s been bothering me what you said that time. - His round eyes were focused on the napkin but Jimin’s couldn’t move from the young man who had captivated him so long ago. He wondered which of his words had annoyed him and wished he could take them back. - You said that you willingly became a place for them to be themselves.

-What’s wrong with that? - He asked, for he could not see why it would bother Jungkook. The younger’s lips were pressed into a line while he considered what he could answer.

-You’re not a place. - He claimed, firmly. He barely opened his mouth, but his words were crystal clear.

A couple of seconds ticked by and no one spoke again. Jimin could hear Mina moving at the back of the shop, cleaning or just moving around as he contemplated whether what Jungkook had said made any sense.

-I… I mean. - It was the first time Jungkook stuttered while speaking, and he wondered what had caused such a reaction, but decided to keep on listening instead of commenting on it. - You are not a place, you are a person, Jiminie. - The nickname slipped away before he could avoid it, so he kept talking to try and make its echo disappear from his ears.

-You are a person and you deserve a safe haven too.

He was displaying a stern expression - one that didn’t fit his soft features at all, in Jimin’s opinion, - letting him know that he would not accept to be contradicted. Inside of Jimin’s chest, something blossomed and he had to physically contain it, rubbing his free hand over the spot that felt so warm and yet so cold, if such sensation was even possible. He instinctively tried to squeeze Jungkook’s hand, the one he was still holding, but he refrained himself at the last second.

-You’re too kind, Jungkook. - He murmured, a light smile dancing on his lips.

-I’m just the normal type of kind. - He clarified. -The others are just assholes.

Jimin chuckled and the brightness in his face came as a breath of fresh air to the younger who, from the very first day, had doubted that his plan would work. He was not sure how he could help Jimin, but making him smile, letting him laugh, felt like a step in the right direction. He could only hope that it was real, that it wasn’t part of the act he put up.

Someone clearing their throat interrupted their exchange, and they both turned around at the same time to find Mina holding two bowls with ice cream on her tray. She placed one in front on Jimin - the one with the biggest amount - and then slided the other to Jungkook.

-It’s on the house.

She left as fast as she’d appeared and Jungkook couldn’t help the dumbfounded expression from expanding on his face.

-That means she likes you. - Jimin translated, excitedly eyeing the desert like he couldn’t pick which flavour to eat first.

-Who wouldn’t like me? - He mumbled around the spoon that was already in his mouth, full of chocolate ice cream.

Who wouldn’t like you? Jimin wondered silently, knowing fairly well that everybody adored the younger. Who wouldn’t, when his fluffy brown hair was long enough to fall over his eyes; when his huge and bright smile -the one that showed all his teeth, Jimin’s favourite- was constantly on display; when wrinkles formed around his eyes whenever his beam was too big to be contained within the limits of his face. He was open now, he participated in people’s conversations and followed the dialogues with big eyes filled with curiosity and interest. He did sometimes become shy and try to shrink into himself a little, but he…

Jimin stopped himself before his dumb mind enunciated any more qualities of the young man in front of him. He couldn't do that to himself.

He couldn’t do that to Jungkook.

Jimin plastered the casual expression he showed all of his dates, the one that made them feel important, as if they had his entire attention. Jungkook eyed him suspiciously, like he could tell the exact moment he switched his demeanour. Jimin doubted he could, but for a slight moment he could feel himself hesitate. Unders his stare, Jimin felt ugly.

-You’re indeed charming.- He lifted his arm and used his thumb to gently rub some smeared strawberry ice cream off from above his upper lip. His finger lingered in the corner of his mouth and slowly he brought it back to his own mouth to lick the melted ice cream. Jungkook stared at him in awe, but Jimin couldn’t tell if it was the good kind of awe. If things were different, he would’ve teased him, told him how charming it was to have an ice cream mostacho and laughed at Jungkook’s -probably- offended expression. He couldn’t, though, it was dangerous and Jimin was weak, in every sense of the word.

He raised an eyebrow, defiantly, daring Jungkook to bring it up. His reply was a mere scoff. - Eat yours and lemme eat mine. By the time we’re done, we’ll see if there’s anything left for you to clean.

He was taunting him, Jungkook was acting as if he wasn’t affected by what Jimin had done, when he knew for a fact that it had. Jungkook was better at concealing his emotions now and Jimin understood that maybe they did need to get to know each other again. In Jimin’s case, it was a necessity if he wanted to please the younger; he had to discover his limits and what was expected of him.

-Focus on eating like a goddamned adult then.- He whispered, face turned towards his own bowl, spoon already filled with the dessert.

-What did you say? - Jungkook opened his mouth at mid-bite, which caused some of the food to slip from it and land onto the tablecloth. Jimin rolled his eyes.

-Nothing.

And they shared the silence while they enjoyed their dessert. It was notoriously different from the first encounter, in which everything had been awkward. Now, they were just… there, coexisting, not minding if there wasn’t anything to say; the words would come when they had to.

-I don’t know if it’s my place. - Jungkook mentioned once he was done. -But I’m curious… are all your dates like this?

Jimin let his hand surround the cup with the remaining of his ice cream; it was still cold and through his palm, the sensation travelled along his forearm. His glace fell to Jungkook’s lips, now tinted a deep pink due to the constant contact with the cold.

Jimin yearned to kiss them.

He wet his own mouth with his tongue to erase the tingles that suddenly attacked him at the sight and tightened his hold on the cup in his grip. He would not usually speak about that with whoever accompanied him, but it was Jungkook, it wasn’t just someone and he had to admit that. They’d known each other for a while after all. Plus, he couldn’t stop thinking about his damned lips…

-Not at all, most of them are far more interesting than you. - He found himself informing without noticing.

-’M sorry. - Jimin rolled his eyes and used his almost frozen hand to flick Jungkook in the forehead. - What was that for?

-I would expect you to know me better than that, Kook. I was kidding, jesus. Cannot believe I have to actually explain that to you.

Jungkook snorted humorlessly and brought his fingertips to the now red spot on his forehead, to massage it soothingly, as he pouted. Jimin was beginning to smile when his phone buzzed and he was brutally reminded of  who he had to meet next. His smile fell off instantaneously, but to discover how much time he had actually spent with Jungkook calmed his anxiety a little bit.

-I have to go. But if you want, I can answer all your questions next time.

He tried to sound flirty, but it probably came as the exact opposite. He was tired, so, so tired and he wanted to stay. To stay with Jungkook who had eased his restless brain and allowed his soul to breath. It was a revelation, really, that the younger could have that effect on him. Jimin might get something out of their meetings after all.

If Jungkook was disappointed, he didn’t show it, instead beaming dazzlingly. Jungkook could be Apollo's son, for right then it seemed like the sun was hidden within his chest and its light overflowed through his smile. Jimin’s energy was instantly recharged and he inwardly thanked the younger for it.

He returned the gesture, entirely sure that he was not even close to making Jungkook feel an ounce of what his smile had.

Letting his eyes wander to the other’s pink lips, he imagine how sweet they would taste after so much ice cream, but had to push those thoughts to the back of his brain. He didn’t want to make him uncomfortable and Jungkook had been clear enough. Jimin wanted to kiss him, but he wouldn't. Not until he explicitly allowed it.

He settled for ruffling his hair when he stood up and making sure the younger would call him again -soon, if it was possible- before walking away.

As he crossed the door, Jungkook’s eyes met with Mina’s.

[worseandworser]

Chaos (Royal Silence P2)

Summary: It was not good. But it was not evil either.

'Chaos' did not mean 'end'.

And sometimes, Edward needed to remind himself of that.

Rating: Teen and Up

Warnings: none

Words: 892

A/N: I had two chapters written for this, but for some unknown reason they got deleted. I was so pissed off that I thought of completely abandoning this AU, then today I had an epiphany and wrote this in 20 minutes. Guess I'm back to it now haha.

part one

read on ao3

In the beginning, there was only chaos.

Edward was accustomed to reading that in books, many books. They all talked about some force, or maybe energy; something above the idea of ‘thing’ and ‘no-thing’, beyond being and nihil and human comprehension. It sounds like God to him, but God has a name, therefore, it couldn’t be. Edward was never one to believe in God, or religion or primal principles. But he did believe that everything tended to chaos.

For a good portion of his life, he thought that chaos was aligned to death. Everything tends to death—or better yet, every living thing tends to death. He thought chaos was a different way to speak of post-mortem. However, that was years ago, when he was a small kid trying to learn alchemy by watching the court’s alchemists.

Chaos did not mean end.

Van Hohenheim was reading his correspondence. Ed knew that he knew – and he probably knew that Ed knew about that – but there were no efforts on his Father’s part to change anything. The duke threw him glances from time to time, long and dripping pity: the eyes of an outsider on a funeral. Alphonse knew too because Ed told him right from the beginning. Mother was left blissfully unaware until her very last moment and few were the moments the boy regretted it.

Edward clutched the sealed envelope to his chest as if his life depended on it. In the end, it kind of did. Father knows, Father knows and Alphonse was looking at him with a worried expression at the overly large dinner table and no one had said a thing. Van Hohenheim was eating his main meal when the elder son fled dinner and kept doing so even as Alphonse screamed ‘Brother!’ and ran as well.

Edward slumped against the bathroom door, letting himself fall with his legs stretched over the cold tiles. It was the smallest space on the royal dependencies and yet Ed felt as if the universe was staring back at him through the mirror across the room. The four marble walls were laughing at him, saying mean words while the stupid stubborn tears welled up on his eyes and just spilled.

My dear Edward—

He’d read the letter. It was short, half-page kind of short, and so short for Roy who writes a fucking sonnet only to say he wants to thread his fingers through blond hair and Ed could guess what was written there just by the length. He’d read it once, twice, read it until it hurt to read, and then read more.

—called up for service—

He couldn’t cry. Not like he just did. He couldn’t read a letter and start weeping in front of people that would whisper. He couldn’t have run away. Van Hohenheim hadn’t said anything but that didn’t change the fact that he knew and he had trusted Ed to keep it low and Ed had failed.

—State Alchemists—

The servants were starting to notice. He waited for the mail like it would bring rain to the desert, he spent his money on music records like jazz lover, he daydreamed like a thirteen-year-old girl. Edward Elric was actually writing letters and that was definitely the first clue that something had happened back in Amestris.

—the Ishvalan rebellion—

Edward wanted to scream. At someone or something or maybe at himself, he couldn’t decide. He wanted it to rip his throat and lungs, to make him bleed inside out until his body was empty of all things that kept it alive. He wanted to scream at Roy even though it wasn’t his fault, at Alphonse for being so recklessly supportive, at Father who knew and could’ve stopped the whole thing before it could destroy him like this.

—won’t be able to read your—

Fuck Roy and his romance. Fuck his nice words, and nice face and stupid fucking nice way of treating Edward as if they were equals. Fuck his music records, fuck waltzing around the room at midnight, fuck Billie Holiday and I’m a Fool to Want You. Fuck this feeling, this parasite that made him suffer so much and made him care.

—Forever yours,

He opened the door. Only for Alphonse, obviously. His younger brother could drag him out of this Hell; or at least out of the bathroom and to a proper bed.

Al petted his head – not like Roy or Mother, thank God, but close enough to bring a hurtful sort of comfort. If he closed his eyes he could see nothing, and he wondered how long it would take for him to feel nothing as well.

The next day another suitor was stepped on. Before, Ed felt sorry for the hearts he broke and ambitions he crushed, and then it stopped hurting altogether. He began to enjoy it, the shattered look on the patriarch’s face when his Father shrugged and denied the marriage offer. He’d made a vow with Mother, one to never marry a child without the child’s consent. And Edward said no and would keep saying no until they gave up, until people wished him a good morning just like they did when he was a kid.

Chaos was not good. But it was not evil either.

Chaos did not mean end.

And sometimes, Edward needed to remind himself of that.

[darling-cas]

All Is Well: Chaorene

TOG/ACOTAR Christmas Fic Co-written with @paperbacktrash

Summary: Chaol isn’t a fan of the holidays whatsoever. Therefore it’s up to Yrene to try and show him the magic of the season. MODERN AU

Note: Becca girl, can I just say, if you picked anyone other then Chaorene I would have been shocked, LOL! But seriously, it was such an honour to work with you. I can’t believe, after fangirling for hours when we first started talking, that we actually got to write a one-shot together! What is this?! Thank you thank you thank you. You are such a doll and I would work with you again in an instant. Love you tons, XX

All Is Well Masterlist

——————–

If there was one thing Chaol Westfall hated more than the holiday season it was crowded places.

The Christmas market was bustling with shoppers and drunk revelers. Children were running around, squealing as their parents tried to reel them in, threats that Santa is watching flying from their lips.

The chilled winter air bit at Chaols face as he watched the chaos around him.

Smells of roasting chestnuts and cinnamon floated to his nose. Chiming bells mixed with faint Christmas music and laughter filled the air around them. Yrene, who walked next to him, hand locked tightly in his, was in her glee. Chaol could tell by the way her eyes lit up and the ever present smile that graced her lips. The sight alone warmed his heart, not the Christmas cheer around them.

As much as he hated the forced happiness that surrounded him he would pretend to enjoy it. He would do anything to see that joyous light in those beautiful golden eyes. He would force a smile, fake a laugh, pretend to feel the “magic in the air”, just for her.

Yrene loved this time of year. She loved to see strangers pleasantly smiling to one another, offering good wishes for the holidays. It reminded her of time spent with her family, back when she was a little girl. Therefore, despite his own hateful feelings about the holidays, Chaol would pretend to be joyful all season long. Just for Yrene, for the women he loved. Just to make her happy.

Even if she didn’t believe him for one moment.

“That smile is so fake it looks painful.”

“I’m trying" he replied, attempting to make his smile a little more genuine.

“Seriously,” she glanced up at him, eyes sparkling. “I think you’re scaring the kids.”

Chaol chuckled, a poof of air floating in front of him. He didn’t comment as he brought an arm to rest around Yrene’s shoulders, pulling her closer.

“I know you aren’t a fan of the holidays,” she spoke up after a moment. “But you’re honestly going to tell me that all the Christmas smells and music aren’t making you feel anything?”

“The music is the worst part,” he squeezed her a little bit tighter. “I could get used to this though.”

“Mhmm,” Yrene came to a stop in front of a booth selling Christmas candles. She took her time smelling them as Chaol stood with his hands in his pockets. Clearly, she didn’t believe him.

“It’s not just the music. Or the smells,” Chaol said in an attempt to make her see he wasn’t a completely Scrooge. Even if he was. “I’m not a fan of the holiday crowds.”

“You’re not a fan of anything lately.” Yrene didn’t so much as glance his way, placing a candle back on the table.

A sly smile formed on Chaol’s face. He stepped up behind Yrene, bringing his lips close to her ears. “I’m a fan of you.”

Her cheeks heated despite herself. Purposefully ignoring him, she returned to the candles.

“There must be something you like about Christmas?” Her voice sounded exasperated.

Chaol thought of a moment, digging through his memories to see if there truly was anything he liked about Christmas. But he came up short. It wasn’t like his father went out of his way to make Christmas enjoyable as Chaol was growing up. At a young age, he realized that there really was no magic around Christmas time.

“I’m sorry.”

The words ebbed any anger Yrene was feeling. There was a deep sadness in those two words she wished she could heal.

Yrene put down the candle in her hand. Turning around, her golden eyes shined with love and promise as they locked with Chaol’s, her arms snaking around his neck.

“I vow to you Chaol, when I’m done you’re going to love this holiday more than I do.”

——————–

Yrene really had gone overboard. Every surface was covered in tinsel, baubles and other knickknacks she had planned to decorate with. To Chaol the scene looked more like a horror story. Garland, small twinkling lights, wreaths - why did she have so many wreaths? Was she putting one on every damn door? - had taken over the living area. Everywhere Chaol turned, all he saw was Christmas decorations.

But today, right now, Yrene’s main focus was on the tree.

She sang senseless songs about snow and joy as she merrily went about her work, blissfully unaware of Chaol’s worsening mood. Even their gold couch was overflowing with sparkling shiny things.

Seeing Yrene so happy, so relaxed, it was a sight Chaol lived for. Something he hoped to see each and every day. Seeing her so content was what brought Chaol joy. But in that moment, Chaol couldn’t get past the fact that his home now looked like Santa’s workshop to even try and hide the look of annoyance on his face.

“Instead of standing there and scowling you could help you know.”

With as much Christmas cheer as he could muster, Chaol set about untangling the ridiculous lights. He could do this, he would do this for her.

Yrene watched him, face sullen as his fingers working the mass of cables. Her heart ached to think that at such a young age the magic of Christmas had been eradicated from his life. She wracked her brain trying to think of a way to make this holiday mean something to him.

“Do you want to help decorate the tree? I’ll let you put the angel on top?”

Chaol, in fact, did not want to decorate the tree, but he obliged Yrene anyway. If only to keep that breathtaking smile on her face.

Grouchily he set about placing all of the ridiculous little knick-knacks on the tree. Despite his best effort Yrene still followed behind him rearranging his work.

“Why have you asked me to help if you just change everything?” He huffed at her.

“Because it looks like you don’t care.”

The haughty tone in her voice made Chaol bristle slightly. She was right though, he didn’t care. He watched as her fingers deftly and artistically placed each bauble in its place. A pang of sadness overcame him, he was ruining this for her he realized.

With a sigh Chaol went back to the tree, carefully placing bits and bobs in symmetrical correlation to Yrene’s decorations. Out of the corner of his eye he could see a smile spread across her face. A part of him, an incredibly small part of him, warmed to this stupid holiday. He couldn’t truly hate something that made that look shine on her.

Chaol hadn’t realized but he had been smiling too.

“Enjoying yourself?” Yrene asked playfully.

“I’m enjoying being with you.” He admitted.

Yrene bridged the small distance between them, lacing her arms around his back. She looked up to him, those golden eyes sparkling with love and humour.

“Thank you,” she began. “For indulging me in this.”

The sincerity made his heart swell. He would do anything for this woman. Anything.

“You said I could put the angel on top?”

She laughed, the sound like wind chimes. She retrieved the old angel, an antique Chaol realized, and put it in his hands. With great care, he placed it on the top of the tree and took a step back to admire his work. Yrene turned the lights and the tree lit up. It looked festively beautiful.

Yrene beamed at him as she placed her arms around his waist, her head nestling into his chest.

If this is what the holidays could give him, he wondered if you could grow to love them after all.

Until there was a noisy spark and the small fairy lights went out entirely.

Yrene let out a low sigh.

“I guess you’re going to have to check every light to see which one broke.”

“Wait, what?” Chaol’s voice was incredulous.

Every single light, he thought as Yrene left the room, a faint chuckle drifting from her.

This holiday was certainly more hassle than it was worth.

——————–

Chaol stood in the kitchen, every inch of the place, of him, covered in flour. Surveying the mess he remembered why he hated this time of year. It was an excessive amount of fuss. energy and money for something that lasted for only a few days.

Singing merrily, Yrene threw dough around the countertops, clouds of flour puffed up with every flick of her wrist. No thought for the chaos she was inflicting on their innocent kitchen. Of course, it had been her idea to make a gingerbread house. She had told him it would be fun, however she didn’t say it would take them a month to clean the kitchen.

“I don’t even know if I like gingerbread.” He told her pointedly.

“Another reason we’re doing this,” even covered in flour her smile was dazzling. “You were clearly deprived has a child and have no clue about what you’ve missed out on.”

He couldn’t argue with her. His parents had never taken time to do anything with him that could have been considered frivolous. For a moment he wondered what her childhood must have been like but an obnoxious beeping pulled him from his revery.

With more excitement that he had ever witnessed, Yrene ran to the oven. The overwhelming scent of ginger wafted toward him and his nose crinkled at the invasion. Yet he couldn’t help but be warmed by the pride that was emanating from Yrene.

“It’s perfect.” She announced.

“You’re perfect.” Chaol breathed.

Yrene rolled her eyes at him and went back to examining her baking. Once the initial stench of ginger had subsided Chaol had to admit that the smell was quite pleasant, delicious even.

He reached out to break a piece of the gingerbread off and Yrene smacked the back of his hand dramatically with a rolling pin.

“That’s the wall.” She warned.

“I thought it was for eating.”

“Yes, once it’s assembled.” She said voice sounded exasperated.

Chaol couldn’t understand this tradition. Why would somebody want to build a house out of food just to eat it once it was finished?

“And what’s the purpose of this?” He was genuinely confused now.

“To create something together.” She replied as if the answer were obvious. “Now come and help me assemble it.”

Not having a clue as to what he was supposed to do, Chaol fumbled around trying to stick chunks of fragile gingerbread together with icing. He had become so accustomed to being good at things that he was growing impatient with the tedious task. It had taken several broken pieces and some colourful language from him before Yrene intervened. He stared at her gentle and calm hands as they swiftly fixed everything he had destroyed. He admired the beauty in her movements, the sureness of her. She was elegant and graceful and undeniably exquisite.

“If you’re just going to watch me the least you could do is help clear this mess up.” She waved at the havoc she had singlehandedly wreaked on their kitchen.

Without saying anything Chaol started washing the surfaces, growing frustrated as Yrene made more mess around her. Her curls bounced joyously as her head bobbed in time with her tuneless singing. Whilst it filled him with happiness to see her so at ease and content, he didn’t understand why she couldn’t be happy and tidy.

“Done.” Yrene had announced after a while.

Chaol was speechless. She had made a replica of their home, every detail decorated on with frosting and candy. It was spectacular, the intricacy of it was flawless.

“How?” He asked, the mess of the kitchen fading from his thoughts.

“Practice.” She said smugly.

His eyes trailed from her back to the house. It really was incredible.

“You can eat it now.”

Why would he want to eat this? She had spent so long creating it, and it was art, not food. Once again Chaol was utterly baffled by this tradition. Why would somebody create something like this just for it to be consumed moments later?

Yrene walked to him and wrapped her arms around his neck. He stared down into those fixating golden eyes. She placed a soft kiss on his lips before going back to her perfect sculpture, snapping a piece off and ruining it.

Chaol looked at her, eyes wide as he watched her pop the gingerbread into her mouth. Barbaric. This holiday is barbaric he thought.

“That’s it? We build this house only to eat it?

Yrene rolled her eyes, pop another piece of gingerbread in her mouth. “Yes, Chaol. It’s called having fun. I assume you know what fun is.”

“Oh I do,” Chaol took a step closer to Yrene, placing his hands on her hips. A squeal of laughter flew past her lips as he lifted her onto the counter, right next to the gingerbread house.

“I just think my definition of fun is a bit different than yours,” he mumbled before pressing his lips firmly against hers.

“I’m listening,” Yrene whispered against his lips.

A small growl escaped Chaol as he deepened the kiss. Laying her further back on the counter, the two crushed their gingerbread house entirely.  

——————–

Chaol let out a heavy sigh, closing the front door behind him. He kicked off his wet boots, shaking the snow out of his hair as he made his way down the hallway.

He had spent the morning at the market, trying to find the perfect gift for Yrene for Christmas. But he had no luck, which was beyond frustrating, and with Christmas approaching very quickly he was running out of time.

With another sigh, Chaol ran his hand through his damp hair. He was just a few steps away from the kitchen when he noticed it for the first time, the jolly tune and dainty bells filling the air that could only be Christmas music.

He couldn’t help the irritation that started to grow within. He loved Yrene, he loved her with all his heart, and he truly was trying to make this holiday season as enjoyable for her as possible. Even if he hated every minute of it. But the closer they actually got to Christmas, the more easily annoyed Chaol got.

The shopping, the decorating, the baking and the music, it was all too much.

Chaol closed his eyes, walking around the corner into the kitchen. He threw his keys on the counter, maybe a bit too forcefully. And as the song changed from a jazzy Christmas tune to something slower, Chaol turned towards the sitting room. He was just about to tell Yrene to turn it off, that he couldn’t take it anymore, but the words faded on his lips.

Sitting on the floor, surrounded by different colored wrapping paper, bows, stickers, twine, robbins and more, was Yrene. Her rich brown hair was pulled back in its typical half-up style, golden eyes on the gift she was currently wrapping. She was humming along softly to the music, too consumed by her work to notice he was there.

Chaol took her in, from her fuzzy knee-high socks, passed her baggy sweater, up to the Christmas headband in her hair, and he swore his heart stopped completely.

She was the most beautiful woman he had ever beheld with his eyes. And as the Christmas lights caught the gold in her hair, he realized what a complete and utter ass he was.

He thought back on these past few days, these past few weeks. He thought of everything Yrene had done to make him enjoy the holiday season, how much she tried to get him to see the magic of this time of year. When they were walking through the market, decorating the tree, baking cookies, in those moments Chaol allowed himself to have the tiniest bit of fun. But by the next day, his sour mood was back.

And Yrene put up with it, all of it, never once complaining.

He couldn’t change his horrible past, but the amazingly beautiful and fierce woman in front of him was doing everything in her power to make him enjoy his future. Their future. And he had acted like a child.

Like he said, a complete and utter ass.

The soft Christmas music continued to play as Chaol walked into the sitting room. Yrene lifted her honey gaze, a breathtaking smile appearing on her lips as she met his gaze.

“Hey,” she said, her eyes falling back to the gift she was wrapping. “I didn’t hear you come in. How was the market?”

Chaol didn’t answer, didn’t respond as he held his hand out for her.

“Dance with me.”

Yrene looked up at her, confusion on her face. “What?”

“Dance with me.” He repeated, voice rough as he spoke.

Yrene’s gaze traveled from his outstretched hand to his face. A beat of silence passed by before she put down the scissors was she holding, placing her hand in his.

Chaol helped her to her feet before pulling her into his arms. He held her close, breathing in her scent as she rested her cheek on his chest. Her hair tickled his chin as he closed his eyes, Christmas music washing over him.

“Thank you,” he breathed after a moment of silence.

Yrene pulled back slightly, enough so she could look up at his face.

“For what?” She asked, her voice equally as soft.

Chaol gave her a lopsided smile. “For just being you.”

The most stunning smile pulled on Yrene’s lips. She stood on her tiptoes, placing the most loving kiss on Chaol’s lips.

“I love you,” she mumbled into his lips before pulling back. “No matter what.”

Chaol hugged her closer, placing his own kiss on her forehead. “No matter the oceans, or mountains, or forests in the way.”

Yrene wrapped her arms tighter around Chaol’s waist, resting her head right above his beating heart.

And as the Christmas music continued to play, as they swayed back and forth, tightly wrapped in each other’s arms, Chaol realized as long as he had Yrene with him, he could possibly, actually learn to love the holidays once more. Because here, with her, he was home.

[nasiruddingazi]

Teach English Through Story Telling

As a child, I loved sitting on my grandmother’s lap while she read me stories. I remember most of them even though I am now a father! As a child, I was blissfully unaware that, as I listened to the stories, I was also learning new words and ways in which those new words combined to communicate ideas and life lessons.

A good story encourages us to turn the next page and read more. We want to find out what happens next and what the main characters do and what they say to each other. We may feel excited, sad, afraid, angry, or happy. This is because the experience of reading or listening to a story is much more likely to make us ‘feel’ that we are part of the story, too. Just like in our ‘real lives, we might love or hate different characters in the story. Perhaps we recognize ourselves or others in some of them. Perhaps we have similar problems.

Because of this natural empathy with the characters, our brains process the reading of stories differently from the way we read factual information. Our brains don’t always recognize the difference between an imagined situation and a real one so the characters become ‘alive’ to us. What they say and do is, therefore, more meaningful. This is why the words and structures that relate a story’s events, descriptions, and conversations are processed in this deeper way.

In fact, Cultures all around the world have always used storytelling to pass knowledge from one generation to another. Our ancestors understood very well that this was the best way to make sure our histories and information about how to relate to others and our world were not only understood but remembered too. (Notice that the word ‘history’ contains the word ‘story’ – More accurately, the word ‘story’ derives from ‘history’.)

Encouraging our children to read or listen to stories should therefore help them to learn a second language in a way that is not only fun but memorable.

Let’s take a quick look at learning vocabulary within a factual text or a story. Imagine the readers are eight-year-olds interested in animals. In your opinion, are they more likely to remember AND want to continue reading the first or second text?

Many birds and animals live in the world, for example, parrots, pandas, lions, leopards, and rabbits. In the sea, we can find whales, dolphins, sharks, and octopuses.

My younger brother is called Riz. Riz’s very interested in animals. He talks and asks questions about animals all the time! Fred’s interested in parrots and pandas and lions and leopards and rabbits. But Riz’s favorite animals live in the sea. He has pictures of whales, dolphins, sharks, and octopuses on all the walls of his bedroom.

From: Do whales have stomach aches? (Storyful for Movers, Cambridge University Press, 2011). When choosing second language storybooks, you might consider questions like·

Will your child easily identify with the central characters? Are they of similar ages for example?

Will the events interest and excite, scare or amuse your child enough to motivate them to continue reading?  

Is the story an appropriate length – not too short, not too long?  

Will the layout – the font, the titles, the amount of text on each page – appeal to your child?  

Is it supported by illustrations that your young reader will enjoy looking at?

For our child to gain the maximum benefit and language learning from reading stories, consider the story’s language level carefully, too. Are the grammar and vocabulary not too easy but still accessible to the reader? Would the language be similar to that which your child might use in their first language? Would it support school work and help prepare for tests? Useful EFL publications such as Storyful for Starters, Movers, and Flyers, and other graded readers are carefully written with these important considerations in mind.

But, of course, stories don’t only offer the young reader a chance to read. The experience also creates an opportunity to talk about the story. As a parent, you can encourage your child to describe their favorite person, part of the story, or picture. Their creativity might be developed by drawing new story pictures or even by writing their own short stories as a result. If your child is reluctant to read or has little confidence in their ability to read in another language, you might help them by reading the story to them, stopping were necessary to interact, and ask questions like ‘What do you think will happen next?’ If you read to your children in a relaxed and fun way, they will subconsciously relate to the reading and language learning process more confidently and positively. Of course, being read to by a parent, for whatever reason, is also simply a lovely way to share quiet and close time.

The experience of reading or listening to a story allows us to escape our own lives for a moment and live in another one in a fun and safe way. In the same magical experience, a goldmine of language may be learned, so do encourage your child to read stories in their second language as well as their first!

https://nativespeak.net/teaching-method/

[babybluebanshee]

Dream Daddy Headcanons: Parents Edition

Because I was randomly thinking about it! Includes what the daddys’ parents think of your Dadsona. Yay :D

Joseph: Jacob and Rachel Christiansen were major Stepford Smilers, and are the reason Joseph knows how to pretend to be happy so well. They never really cared for Mary, who’s known Joseph since they were in high school, because Joseph went through a major rebellious phase and his parents blame her for most of it (even though he would have without her; I could write a whole essay about what I think Joseph was like before he found Jesus). Joseph says he inherited his yacht from his dad, so Jacob probably died before he and Joseph could make amends. Rachel wants to be closer to Joseph, but he’s not sure about that because she’s so judgemental about his life and choices. If you picked Joseph, his marriage ends up falling apart for good, and you meet Rachel. She’s got very mixed feelings about you. On the one hand, you broke up her son’s marriage and she’s all about keeping up appearances. On the other, you seem way more stable than Mary, and she’s never really seen Joseph...at ease. She’ll decide to give you a chance.

Robert: Daniel and Sophia Small are two blue-collar Brooklyn folks, and from them is where Robert inherited both his toughness and his sensitivity. Daniel was a mechanic, a large and scary-looking guy who was mixed white and Seneca, and truly a man’s man. He taught Robert to whittle, and took him camping every summer. He also cried when they killed Bambi’s mom. Sophia was a hard-boiled Italian Catholic that took no guff and didn’t hesitate to smack Robert the first time she caught him smoking when he was fourteen. She also had a soft spot for stray cats and often left out food for them. They weren’t generally outwardly affectionate people, but they loved deeply. Robert looks at their example and wonders why he screwed up so badly with his own family, and it honestly makes him feel a bit like a huge ass. Sophia died a while before Marilyn did, and Daniel has just recently moved on, as mentioned by Robert. If you picked Robert, Daniel will come visit at some point, which stirs up some accidental tension between him and Robert when Daniel accidentally brings up what cause Robert and Val’s estrangement (that being Robert not being the best dad), which smarts extra hard given how much Robert has been trying to fix things with Val. It’s up to the player to get them to reconcile, after which Daniel will thank you for helping his son, something Daniel himself could never seem to do.

Craig: Matthew and Mina Cahn are still hopelessly convinced Craig is straight, and after the break-up with Smashley, they’re constantly trying to get him back in the dating game. They’re very indulgent grandparents, and spoil their granddaughters rotten with affection and gifts. Not that they aren’t affectionate with Craig. They will pinch his cheeks and call him pet names from when he was three in front of his adult friends. They are also blissfully unaware of some of the shenanigans Craig pulled in college, because he’s a good boy and good boys don’t steal fish and keep illegal dogs. If you picked Craig, his parents will not realize at first that you’re together in that way and keep trying to push him, with poor Craig having no clue how to break it to them. It’s up to your dad to give him the confidence boost to finally stand up for himself. Matthew and Mina are shocked that Craig was bi and they never noticed. It’ll take some getting used to, but they’re not about to deny that you make Craig happy, and they’re all for things that make their little boy happy. If you show off how good you are with Craig’s kids, they’ll warm up to you even faster.

Brian: Steven and Nancy Harding are tubs of fun. They’re all about family, friends, and a good game of lawn darts. However, they’re also just as competitive as their son, possibly moreso since Brian at least seems to understand when the friendly competition stops being friendly. For Steve and Nan, it really is about being the best, and if you picked Brian, that includes their son’s love life. I have the theory that Brian was already married once, and things didn’t work out, so they’re not about to settle from Brian having anything less than a perfect partner. You spend a lot of time trying to win them over, only for them to passive aggressively point out how you could have done something better. There are no real options to please them. No matter what you do, they aren’t satisfied. The harder you try and the more dismissively they treat you, the madder Brian gets, until he finally lays into them about how they have no right to treat you that way, and they need to understand that yes, they can want what’s best for him, but he cares about you and they need to respect that and respect you. This makes them evaluate their lives a little, and they apologize to you.

Hugo: Hector and Maria Vega are parents with high expectations. Ever since Hugo was a kid, they’ve always been trying to push him to better himself. Unfortunately, that means finding fault in everything he does. Hector generally focuses on education and career. A middle and high school teacher? Couldn’t he have gotten his masters and taught college? He’d make better money that way. Maria was all about his family and his social life. All the people he even thinks about dating have some glaring flaw that makes Maria encourage him to keep looking. He could have done this, this, and this to make his previous marriage more stable. And don’t even get her started on that child of his (incidentally, Ernest can’t stand his grandparents either). All of it has left Hugo with major self-worth issues, especially when it comes to his hobbies. He’s so used to having everything he likes criticized that he’s reluctant to share it with anyone. If you picked Hugo, you and Ernest team up (and subsequently bond) to encourage Hugo to finally stand up to his parents. Because no one is allowed to make Ernest’s dad feel bad except Ernest!

Mat: Arthur and Gabrielle Sella are the exact opposite of their son in terms of personality. Both are second-generation Americans (Arthur’s family is from Honduras and Gabrielle’s is from Trinidad) and they are both exuberant, gregarious people that love throwing parties and having a good time. Mat loves them dearly, and they love him and have always been very supportive, but he can’t help but feel kind of...uncomfortable around them. They mean well, but they don’t always understand that Mat gets nervous in social situations, and sometimes they speak just a little too loudly for the poor guy. Really, they’re just typical extroverts, and Mat feels guilty that he doesn’t spend as much time with them as he ought to. If you picked Mat, his parents will instantly love you because that’s just how they roll, not to mention how much you helped Mat “come out of his shell”. You also get the opportunity to encourage them to dial back that “forcing Mat into socializing” thing, so they can have a much more easy-going relationship with him.

Damien/Mary: John and Carol Bloodmarch are what a lot of people (their children included) would describe as “boring”. They prefer “down to earth”. But the most honest way to describe them is “110% done”. While they’d be perfectly content to live their quiet, uneventful lives, that’s hard to do when you’ve raised the kids they did. A trans son with a passion for taxidermy and Victorian fashion? A party animal, probably-ace daughter who definitely has some form of depression that she hides behind a wine glass? They’ve both lived through it, and are just not fazed anymore. Unfortunately, Damien and Mary both have a tendency of reading their nonplussed attitudes as resentment, because honestly? They’re both mature enough to admit they weren’t always easy to raise. If you picked Damien, you find out that that isn’t the case at all however. John and Carol only want their children to be happy. They don’t mean to come off as aloof or uninterested, it’s just that their own parents were incredibly restrictive, and it’s affected them their entire lives. They’d never want to do that to their own children, and want them to be comfortable however they chose to be. They decide to make an effort to be more involved with their kids, and therefore more encouraging.

BONUS: When Robert’s dad comes to visit, he’s broken up with his new girlfriend. He ends up meeting Joseph’s widowed mother. They go out a few times, and decide they really like each other. Joseph and Robert both feel sick. Mary cackles in the background.

[tryingfeminism2019]

Beyoncé’s feminism comes from her actions and her lyrics. “She is a part of a long lineage of Black women who use their voices to describe their feelings about being Black women and, through this process, give other Black women power from their messages” (Trier-Bieniek 124). By Beyoncé empowering other women through her lyrics, I believe she is a feminist.  Due to her embrace of feminism, Beyoncé begins to assimilate feminism. She opens the idea to feminism including more than just white women who are man haters. Beyoncé is married and therefore cannot be a man hater and she shows us that anyone can be feminist. One does not have to be in academia to claim to be part of the feminist movement. She has taken the word: FEMINIST and changed its negative connotation. She made it powerful, beautiful, and trendy, just as she changes the meaning of other words in her lyrics.

Beyoncé allows her lyrics to spark conversation and show insight into her views of “societal values, including soul music that is an expression of Black culture and descriptive of listeners’ experiences” (Trier-Bieniek 125-126). Beyoncé’s constant contradictions allows all to listen and be okay with her music because there are a variety of narratives within her songs, most of which conform to white standards or the standards of hip-hop. As her brand ages, she can embrace other meaning and become her own agent. Hip-hop has now become a “site of expression for Black girls and women [to be] used to develop a critique of “gender politics within communities of color” (Trier-Bieniek 129). Beyoncé and her predecessors have made it possible to explore gender politics through music and retake over the hypersexuality of the African American female body. According to a study done to look at the lyrics of Beyoncé’s first five albums, 38% of her music was labeled empowering meaning she portrayed women as being “treated properly in a relationship, preferably as an equal partner" (Trier-Bieniek 132). She also portrayed financial freedom from her lover when she glorified the power of being able to afford one’s own materialistic items. Beyoncé’s music has many mixed messages which is what makes studying her lyrics a challenge in identify who she is.

Her lyrics begin to reflect the different stage of her life and it is interesting to see this comparison in the study. For instance, her most empowering songs came from her B'Day album, which came out when she was starting Beyond Productions LLC to make her fashion line and increase her fame. Within this album Beyoncé is solely a business woman and has 10 out of 11 of the songs portray solely male traits. This album is her most empowering one, and it is sad she must take on a male narrative to be empowering. This relates back to post-feminism and how modern-day feminist are conforming to patriarchy norms and calling it feminism. The comparison of Beyoncé’s life and her lyrics was the most well executed part of the study, because the rest of it came up with no conclusion about how Beyoncé represents herself in lyrics. First off, Beyoncé is more than her lyrics and her songs also are more than just lyrics. She releases poignant music videos, which cause a lot of turmoil that her lyrics alone cannot. Beyoncé is queen Bey, but I would not say her lyrics are cultural artifacts which is what this study was planning to look at. Also, this study was flawed because in Beyoncé's lyrics she is often mocking how women are portrayed in hip-hop with the utilization of similar verbiage in a satirical way. Beyoncé's music has evolved throughout her career to reflect how she has grown up since her days in Destiny's Child, became a wife, and became a mom. She has changed and so has her music. For example, “Beyoncé’s fifth album, heralded by many as her most feminist, returned to having more songs categorized with male traits than female traits at 13–12, respectively. Yet, the album had the most couplings of male-female traits at nine songs, perhaps neutralizing the impression" (Trier-Bieniek 137). As Beyoncé grows she realizes there needs to be a mixing of female and male traits instead of one dominating to be feminist. While her music has evolved, "love, relationships and sex were the most dominant themes, with love being the most prominent" throughout all her albums (Trier-Bieniek 131). While the themes remain the same the context of love changes. Also, these themes remain the same because everyone can relate to them or wants them.  

Beyoncé must start somewhere as a solo artist which why her first album plays into the stereotypes of African American women within Hip-Hop. In the album, she defines herself as freak, earth mother, gangsta bitch, Black lady, diva, hood rat, and angry Black woman in 12 of the 15 songs on the album. She plays up these stereotypes because she and her agency think that is what people want to hear and she must get her name out there and be what her fans want. As time passes with the release of her next three albums only 14 songs on the next three albums include herself representation of hip-hop stereotypes. She changes her ways and can be who she wants to be, which differs from past female hip-hop artists. Not only does she break down female stereotypes in hip-hop, she also breaks down feminist stereotypes. She talks about women liking sex to break down the stereotypical man hating lesbian feminist. Also, Beyoncé sings about the power of sisterhood and the resistance of gender roles plays into the power dynamics between men and women. She makes many feminist and non-feminist statements in her lyrics, which is why this study concludes with no conclusion of her lyrics pointing to her as a feminist or not.

Beyoncé is unafraid to go against the status quo in “Listen”, she refuses to allow her dreams to be sidelines by her lovers, which is different than the typical behavior of destruction “to Black females emotions and self-esteem” (Trier-Bieniek 135). Unfortunately, while she breaks down the patriarchy she utilizes a man’s narrative and the master’s tools; however, she is in control.  But she portrays her control through gender role reversals, which enforces the notion that men have the power and it takes a woman acting like a man to be perceived as powerful. Beyoncé has male traits in 50% of her songs, which is why Queen Bey is accepted as forceful. "When Beyoncé’s lyrics were solely exhibiting female traits, she was overwhelmingly portrayed as dependent followed by dependent-submissive” (Trier-Bieniek 136). By portraying herself as dependent when in feministic tones, she perpetuates the stereotype of women relying on men for success. While she perpetuates a stereotype, she breaks down another barrier. "Beyoncé’s ability to be in this metaphorical space within pop culture is a powerful expression to the world" because typically the metaphorical space is only for white men to invade. (Trier-Bieniek 138).  Beyoncé opens yet another door in her lyrics for African American women by being able to be metaphorical. It is important to be able to enter the metaphorical space because to be metaphorical you must be able to define what the metaphor is. Beyoncé allows women to define themselves.

“Not everyone is feminist, not everything is feminist, not every comment or decision that a woman makes or takes is a feminist comment or a feminist choice.” In the case of Beyoncé, she self-identifies as a feminist" (Trier-Bieniek 139).  Not everyone can accept her personal self-labeling as a feminist due to the contradictions in her lyrics. While contradictions exist, they are mostly due to her growing into her role as a popstar. She relied on playing into what people wanted and the status quo of what an African American woman was supposed to be in hip-hop music, but she continues to evolve into a feminist mother as she ages. Her current music still has some hip-hop stereotypes in it but most of them are presented in a mocking way that feminists can pick up on and sexists can blissfully enjoy. Bell Hooks and other critiques would argue that because she labels herself as a feminist she needs to more blatantly reject the respectability politics, but I say let her appeal to whoever she wants, because she is empowering more women to see themselves as feminists.

Original Source: Trier-Bieniek, Adrienne. The Beyoncé Effect: Essays on Sexuality, Race and Feminism (p. 124-139). McFarland & Company, Inc., Publishers. Kindle Edition.

[anautisticdragon-blog]

Why Neurotypicals Shouldn't Have Power

I've long studied the neurotypical spectrum in order to understand it and those chained to its inherent, though toxic ideologies and problematic systems. For those new to the concept of the neurotypical spectrum, it merely suggests that neurotypical extraverts exist on the same spectrum as sociopaths. Mild NT traits result in affiliative extraversion; Moderate NT traits result in agentic extraversion; And pronounced NT traits result in sociopathy. There are many spectrums out there which are like this. The autistic spectrum is similar. Mild ASD traits result in introversion; Moderate ASD traits result in Asperger's; Pronounced ASD traits result in fully-fledged autism. The real tell for me was how there are two kinds of extravert (both affiliative and agentic), and that extraverts commonly show Dark Tetrad (undesirable psychopathic and/or sociopathic traits) qualities. It's a thoroughly cited position I have that you can read back over if you so desire. The crux of this is, though, is to exemplify NT behaviour and put it on display so that it becomes obvious to everyone. Why did the incredibly toxic alpha-beta ideology become so prevalent amongst neurotypicals? Why is it still heralded by so many of them as the only way to look at reality? These questions are the most important when digging into the complexities of what makes up the neurotypical spectrum. At the end of the day, I continue to posit that NT exists out of evolved tribalism which is evident in the NT's belief of their state being the default. If an NT is white, then white is the default (superior) state; If an NT is black, then that is the default (superior state); If an NT is male, then that is the default (superior) state; If an NT is female, then that is the default (superior) state; If an NT is straight, then that is the default (superior) state; If an NT is gay, then that is the default (superior) state. This all implies that there is an inferior state, and there always is, it is what the NT mind perceives as direct opposition to whatever symbolic tribe they believe they're a part of. So if the NT is straight, then gay people are innately inferior. The NT can be magnanimous to gay people, even accepting, but they'll always view them as an inferior state of being. Due to evolved tribalism, the NT mind is hinged on dualistic perceptions. This is the birthplace of all prejudice and bigotry as whenever any instance is superior, there must therefore be an inferior to accompany it. A slave to the master, so to speak. A pet to the owner. This is how NTs see the world, whether consciously or subconsciously, sometimes even blissfully unaware of their own innate beliefs. In my research, non-NT minds are much more rooted in more egalitarian and individually-focused views. Where the non-NT mind can perceive an individual, the smallest unit the NT mind can perceive is family. So where non-NT minds can parse individual instances, to the NT mind there are only groups, the NT's place in those groups, and other groups which exist in opposition to their own. Every war that's ever been fought has been due to NTs in control who couldn't see past this perspective. National pride is commonplace in the NT mind, versus non-NT minds which don't so easily fall prey to toxic tribalism. It's an insult to tell an NT that they aren't, for example, patriotic. Where the non-NT mind will try to parse the intent behind that and understand that any nationalist ideologies can be toxic, the NT is incapable of thinking this way because the systemic focus on groups is so ingrained. In the NT mind, there absolutely must be groups which function like this. Including groups which are superior, or inferior. In speaking with an NT on the topic of their homeland versus others -- and this is especially easy to recognise with American citizens -- the NT will always see other countries as nothing more than a weak mirror image of their own, usually trying to be like the NT's home nation. The NT's home nation will be setting the superior example; So all scientific discoveries and inventions must have originated there. The NT experiences cognitive dissonance when introduced to evidence which is contrary to this belief, and out of cognitive dissonance will often dismiss this evidence in favour of blind faith. I've spoken before of how blind faith has infected the scientific community with something rather ill, but I won't get hung up on that, here. Just the desperate attempt to brainwash people into buying that dark matter exists when our estimates of mass in our galaxy could be wrong, that theories like emergent gravity could be right? The mere possibility of these so rapidly shut down by dark matter proponents that it comes over more as a religious zeal not unlike the desire to 'find God' than it does any science. Science is becoming more and more like religion and politics every day thanks tot he NT mindset. Anyway, due to tribalism, the NT must view any group opposed to their own allegiances as inferior to their own. Either in direct opposition or meant to be kept under heel. These oppositional groups are alien organisms who must praise the NT for tolerating them or be crushed underfoot, that any charity deigned worthy to be offered by the NT should be accepted graciously and humbly by others. This is a very prevalent viewpoint in alt-right circles, who're regularly opposed to Socialist systems of support for all. You see, this doesn't allow the NT to experience the superior position that they instinctively desire. Of course, sometimes there's the debate where NTs will try to think of themselves as better people. They'll offer charity from that perspective, wanting to be seen as magnanimous rather than out of any sense of ethics. Ethical people support Socialist systems of equality for all, whereas the NT tribal mindset prefers charity as it allows them to feel better about themselves for being the 'Godly, holy superior being who sees the suffering of the unclean troglodytes and offers a caring, nurturing hand to help them.' It fosters the comfortable aura of superiority for the NT that they desire, which is what motivates an NT to do 'good.' Of course, this 'good' can lead to the NT believing that their 'kinder compromise' is just as valid. Let's paint a picture as a thought exercise: On the right you have a group of NTs ready to proclaim war to justify genocide against the black people on the left. They call for the blood of the black people who're supposedly trying to steal their land, women, jobs, resources, or what have you. The black people on the left are asking reasonably for equal rights, calmly positing that equality benefits everyone, including the whites who'd kill them. And then, in the middle, you have the 'reasonable voice.' The one speaking 'compromise.' This person belieeves themself to be the moderate, reasonable, rational voice in promoting the slavery of black people. It's a 'kindness,' after all. A 'compromise' that keeps them alive. The NT, with their tribal perspective, believes this to be 'reasonable' as at least the black people will continue to live, even if in slavery. The person offering the 'compromise' here doesn't understand that the black people don't need to exist in an inferior position, or a superior one. This is because I suggest the NT mind is incapable of grasping equality. It cannot see that two individuals can be equal to one another, and then extend that out to encompass the entire world. The NT sees only two groups, of which they are a part of one, and that group must be superior to the other. The NT mind cannot escape this way of thinking, no matter how much one tries to raise their awareness to it as it's genetically ingrained, it's wired into their cognitive function. They will always try to create systems of dominance and submission, superior and inferior, there is nothing else. This is why World War 2 came about, and why Jews were gassed; This is why black people were enslaved; This is why Christianity had to eradicate Paganism; This is why the Cold War happened with propaganda on both sides; And this is the explanation for every act of utter atrocity in human history. The NT mind will always create these scenarios as they cannot accept that two individuals can be equal because they cannot see two individuals. The NT doesn't understand how the person is harmed by war, whether it's the veteran with PTSD or the woman who watched her child clubbed to death by enemy combatants. They perceive only the war itself, and the two sides of it. This isn't out of 'evil,' but rather it's simply a matter of it being how the neurotypical brain functions. This is why I find it dangerous to have NTs in power. The NT will always want to cause excesses of suffering to those in an 'inferior' position to them, with the only reprieve to that being hte 'charity' offered out of 'kindness' by the NT. This is a crystalised understanding of the alt-right world view. The only way to progress into a better future for humanity is to ensure that neurotypical minds cannot have power. Allow them to have everything else they could desire -- except for power. As when the NT has power, it results in world wars, class gaps, poverty, exploitation of the vulnerable and disabled, exploitative racism (Brexit)... and so, so much worse. It's dangerous to give the NT power as it will always result in the NT attempting to create a better world for their group at the expense of others.

[sophiasbox-blog1]

Sophia Navabi Things had been moving so fast as of late, and yet for the first time in her life, she felt comfortable with it all.  There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that she was exactly where she was meant to be with who she was meant to be with.  In the span of six months, a man named Judas James had become her absolute world.  In a time in her life that had been so transitional, she found something she didn’t know she was looking for all because of another man who didn’t understand that no meant no.  It was when Judas rose above Vincent that she’d see what a man was supposed to be.  Although Judas didn’t know her for shit, it didn’t matter.  He’d stepped up and done what no other man dared to do.  Others had always watched on with sadness in their eyes as they’d watch the man demand her obedience, but Judas wouldn’t stand for it.  From that night forth, she couldn’t help but see him as her own salvation, never seeing that she might potentially be his as well.

When they found out they were pregnant, Soph was thrilled.  It wasn’t anything she’d ever thought she’d have in this lifetime, yet the tiny photographs on the refrigerator proved that she was meant to have it, and so was he.  She’d never thought in that moment that he’d soon propose to her, and yet that had been the next step for the two and after an elaborate proposal, she knew she had absolutely everything this world had to offer her.  In a space where previously her professional life had been of the most importance to her, she found out just why it all had to crumble the way it did.  The accusations.  The embarrassment.  It all made sense to her now as she laid in bed beside the man who she knew she’d marry in three week’s time.  For some time, she just laid beside him, remaining completely still as to not chance waking him.  Sleep was hard for him to come by, as she well knew, so in the rare moment that the man was asleep, she’d stop the entire world to allow the man to get some rest.

Eventually, the baby would demand something else from her and his or her needs would come forth so strongly that she’d have no choice but to slip from the bed, as slowly and carefully as possible.  The night before had been one of those nights where the man was restless as usual.  Although he constantly encouraged her to take care of herself, she couldn’t stop herself from wanting to take care of him.  To be there for him, even if it was just to keep him company.  He claimed he was a full time job and yet she never had seen him as that as a job was supposed to be work.  This was just what love was.  It wasn’t about the money or fame or traveling the world with him.  It wasn’t about what he could do for her or about a lavish lifestyle.  In truth, the two rarely went out, far preferring the quiet seclusion they achieved within the walls of a home they now shared.  It was about not seeing others and truly just being with one another at all times.  They were there for the good times with one another all the way to the bad times.  It didn’t matter as long as they were facing them together.  Soph didn’t need anyone else.  She needed him and he would forever be enough for her without any doubt within her.

Once she had satisfied the ache from the baby pressing to her bladder, she went into the kitchen, preparing her own breakfast as well as Judas’ shake.  From that point forward, the day was rather text book for the two until sometime after lunch when she’d find him sitting on the sofa with two pups on his lap, fighting for their father’s attention.  Coming out of the bedroom, she was fully dressed which was honestly a rarity anymore.  “Hey, so, I was thinking… we could maybe go out for a while?  A little shopping for a certain little person to get their room started?” she asked, a slow smile sweeping her lips as her true excitement for the upcoming birth of their child seeped through.  July 24 had remained as her consistent due date throughout all of the doctor’s appointments.  It was marked on the calendar on the kitchen and in their phones.  Though she was currently eyeing the date of February 28 as the date that they would have given themselves a month before getting married, she’d not lose track of the July 24 date that would leave them both staring into the face of the perfect combination of the two of them.  

J Edward Khrist This was a weekend in particular in that cloud-high loft that the television would be remaining off. Superbowl Weekend. The press had been alight about the event for weeks now but his world had been disturbed unnecessarily because of the half-time performer. His ex had come out with a new album identifying many, many of the themes regarding their break-up. His hesitation at the altar, outgrowing their bonds and generally a hope for redemption. The last part would be closed in a few weeks time which the two were keeping behind the scenes yet it would erupt. Yet, that was the nature of the beast with musicians and entertainers. Their art imitated their life and while Judas was never inspired by the themes of heartbreak, it wasn’t his cross to bare or decide. He still respected her enough as a person and an artist to turn a blind eye to it all. It wasn’t his business even if his management team was having a hell of a time with it and her fanbase. The radical nature leaving the man open to privacy invasions left and right. Death threats, social media attacks. Security was heightened and he was all finding it laughable up in his ivory tower as he laid across the couch with one bulldog on his chest and the other at his side as they relaxed.

As he looked up towards the woman as she entered the living room, he’d note her dress immediately as it wasn’t exactly common for the two. Hearing her mention going out to look for something to get that back room a little fuller, he’d nod simply. Ready to paint the room and get the floors redone without much concern to the sex as a good theme meant that gender wasn’t an issue. “Yeah, we can definitely do that.” He stated honestly. “Decide on a theme yet?” he asked, knowing he himself wanted them both to choose their favorite colors and see if it worked yet the rest seemed debatable.

Sophia Navabi If Soph was asked who was playing in the Superbowl, she couldn’t have answered the question.  All she knew was that Judas’ Birds weren’t in it and therefore it was safe to assume that it wasn’t a big deal.  She stared at him as she came before him, seeing the pups surrounding him, all too relaxed to be disturbed.  For a moment she’d consider retracting her suggestion and offering to do it another time instead, but his quick agreement had a smile on her face that could not be denied.  She shook her head no, not knowing what they should do for a theme, but thinking they could at least start with the furniture that would be needed and start looking at what was available in the theme department.  This was certainly not something she was well versed in.  She’d never been around small children, nor had she ever cared for one.  The closest thing she’d gotten to any of it was the little bit of hands on she had the prior weekend with Judas’ brother’s two boys.  Aside from that, it just wasn’t something she held any knowledge on.  Yet she knew one thing.  The man on that sofa had a knack for it.

“I haven’t,” she confessed, coming to the edge of the sofa where she’d pick up Bartholomew from Judas’ side and bring him against her chest, holding him there as she gently scratched his neck, feeling the tension in the mid-section of her dress that wasn’t there when she was standing.  It was happening.  First it was the little bump against her stomach and now the more form fitting items in her closet were going to stop fitting.  She rose to her feet, alleviating that tension she’d felt from the draw of her dress around her waist, her smile never quite fading.  “Think I’d just like to look in person.  Never really know with the pictures online if the colors are what they say they are or what they look like.  Did you have any that you had in mind?” she asked, forever interested in his thoughts and opinions on absolutely everything.

J Edward Khrist Knowing the woman was blissfully unaware, it would unfortunately contradict the promise he had made to her almost a week before about informing her about things. Keeping her in the loop about his life. This was one he’d need to warn her about as the media attention would be worse than usual as for the most part, he was left alone. Even more so before the news about his relationship falling by the wayside but now? People were looking for signs. Ways he was spiting his ex or being mean about something or whether he pined for her. Yet, the woman did not hide her disappointment or sadness well and he hated to see it. It was what made him wonder whether he could manage. It just seemed too good to fuck up. Was it wrong that he just wanted this woman in this moment for what it was?

Watching her pick up the smaller dog as Spanky stayed to his chest, unwilling to be moved and seeming to burrow in deeper. Judas was kissing his head as he scratched behind his ears. Hearing her question about his thoughts, he shook his head. “Not really. Looking is probably going to be better. To say it or read it is one thing.” He reminded her, not to mention the creative mind might just run away on him as it so often did as he stood up. Cradling his Spanky like the baby he was as he snuck a kiss on the dog who seemed content enough in that moment. Knowing he had to get dressed but unable to help himself as he looked up at her and pouted his bottom lip. Not wanting to put him down.

Sophia Navabi As Judas rose from the sofa, cradling his dog, she only wondered who was going to hold the pups when the baby was born.  A thought that would sweep her features for what it was as she was rather transparent when something had taken her mind in the way it had, perhaps appearing to be disappointment that he wasn’t racing off to get dressed, though in all actuality it was just a small dose of reality that they would both have to come to realize soon enough.  A baby was coming.  Perhaps getting the baby’s room ready and buying some baby things might make that more real to them both, but in the moment, she wore the proof against her stomach in the dress that would need to be changed before she’d feel comfortable sitting in the car in it.  

“Then we’ll look,” she seemed to agree as the online browsing had not done much for her aside from proving to her that she had no idea what a baby would want to stare at all of the time.  As a certain look stole Judas’ features, she knew it the moment she saw it.  “Is this an ‘I don’t want to put on clothes’ pout or a ‘I don’t want to leave my baby Spanky’ pout?” she asked for clarification, though the woman was already leaning towards the second option there.  Lowering her own pup to the floor, tiny feet found the surface before he was nudging against her leg to pick him up again, showing just how often those puppy feet touched the ground which wasn’t often at all.

J Edward Khrist Much to the woman’s surprise, he wasn’t hesitating or stopping what he was doing. Just looking over his baby before he put him down. Shaking his head. “I’m fine.” He stated simply as he placed him on his feet next to his brother so the two could keep one another company. Slipping past her down the hallway where he was hitting their bedroom and that infamous closet where the shoes and hat got picked out first. Clothes coming later as he opted for an old school Flyers jersey and a pair of dark jeans as well as a black Flyers hat and matching Jordans as was expected. Laying it all out on the bed as he began the process of getting dressed.

Re-emerging a few minutes later as he was running his fingers through messy and hair he had wet in the sink. A bit of cologne before he was finding his way to the living room. Turning to look towards her as he pressed the hat over his head. Showing that it really did not take much.

Sophia Navabi Hearing him confirm that he was fine, she nodded her head as he walked past, waiting for that reach of his hand or call of her name, yet it didn’t come.  Tugging against her dress to see if she could make it work, she sat down on the sofa again, finding that if she’d lift up on the dress just a bit when she sat, it would be mostly alright as long as the car rides weren’t too long.  As she stood up, she saw the man coming around into the living room, stealing her full attention as she looked at him.  Seeing him with clothes on was rare enough on its own, but there was something about seeing him clothed that got to her just as much as seeing him naked did.  Drawing a short breath, she stood up from the sofa, making her way over towards him with puppies on her feet.

“You are the sexiest man alive,” she promised him as she knew and was the authority on all such things.  Bringing one hand to the back of his neck, she lifted to her toes even in those heels, pressing her lips briefly to his before the back of her heels were finding the floor once more.  “You ready?” she asked, the smile never fading from her lips as they were about to set off on something they’d hopefully not soon forget, the joy of purchasing things for the arrival of their son or daughter.  

J Edward Khrist “You’re fucking insane.” The man had to laugh at the suggestion of what he was and who he was looking anywhere remote to such a label. Not even able to repeat it out loud as it sounded utterly ridiculous to him. His confidence as well as his weight at an all time low from this constant stomach condition threatening to eat him from the inside out. Still, he kept it all together for the most part as he went towards the door where their jackets would sit or at least a few of them as the man definitely had a tendency to overdo it. Finding his leather jacket as he located hers as well, slipping his own on before he’d hold it out for her to slide her arms through.

“I’m ready.”

Sophia Navabi “I’m not though,” she argued as no part of that fact was insane.  In that first night she’d met him, she couldn’t appreciate the looks of the man as she was far more concerned with what was happening, but in the next day and weeks to come, it had been there for her throughout and he got the added benefits of such a thing.   Watching as he put on his own jacket, holding hers out for her, it was then that he’d hear the clicking of her heels against the flooring as she walked over to him, turning around as she let him help her with her own jacket, finding him to be a perfect gentleman at the very core when it came to the way he cared for her.  From what she came from to him, she didn’t know just quite how she got there, yet she’d remain forever grateful that they had gotten there in the first place.

Turning back around, she zipped the zipper of the coat up, her eyes directed up at his as she kept the same thought she had just spoken out loud, this time within her own mind as she wouldn’t allow it to be rejected again.  “You do realize that when we get back, if we buy anything, I’m going to be going crazy to get started in there?” she asked, just making sure the man knew what he was getting himself into here as the desire to see it all put together would overwhelm her entirely.

-February 3, 2017