#but during out first day today being told we have to 'earn the privilege'

[eccentriccryptid]

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[inspirehealthandspirit]

7 Ways to Get Your Children Off the Phone

Are you in the middle of figuring out when the right time for your kid(s) to have their phone? I know I am; I've told my daughter not until she's 13. That seems like forever to her, but that was the number I came up with for now. She's ten now and counting down the years. What parent isn't worried about cyberbullying, screen addiction, and the dangers of being online in general? As a gen-Xer, I'm navigating territory I did not have to handle growing up. I was already in my early twenties when I had my first cell phone. Texting wasn't even an option on the Primeco wood-grain phone, or was it? I can't remember it's been too long. 😆. And there wasn't any social media yet. What We Are Facing Today I'm faced with, as many of you are today, when and how to handle phone usage & social media usage. We've already dealt with tween drama last year and things viewed on youtube. It was a whole thing that made us see that I had to further crackdown on device usage and secure parental restrictions. Youtube was removed from her Ipad and t.v. She's managed to survive without it for the last seven months. My daughter does not have a phone but an old IPad that she uses for games, facetime with her friends and family. No social media is on the device. Device Usage in Our Home I'm pretty strict when it comes to device usage. I only allow 1 hour of usage per day Friday-Sunday. No devices at all during the school week. My oldest can get an extra hour to use on a day she chooses on the weekend. This is only increased because she has gotten a little older. Her younger sister does not get the extra hour and was barely allowed to get on a device this last year. She's in second grade, if you are wondering. From speaking with other parents, my rules seem more strict than many others. I stand by what works for my family and children. My priority is school and ensuring their focus is on just that. It is explained that devices are a privilege, not a requirement. Devices are earned and can easily be taken away. I've also heard from other parents of older high school kids to delay, delay, delay the phone. Just because they're older doesn't mean there won't be incidents to deal with on social. I hope this article from David Magee helps anyone seeking guidance on this issue. I've already pre-orderd his book Things Have Changed: What Every Parent (and Educator) Should Know About the Student Mental Health and Substance Misuse Crisis It’s Official, Social Media Is Toxic for Our Youth. A Student Wellbeing Activist Shares What Parents Can Do to Protect Their Children. A new advisory from the Surgeon General warns that children should not have unfettered access to social media. (It really is as dangerous as we’ve thought all along!) Student wellbeing activist David Magee offers some advice for worried parents. Oxford, MS (June 2023)—The U.S. Surgeon General just confirmed what we’ve all long suspected: Social media is harmful to young people. In a recent public advisory warning of the risks social media use poses to children and teens, Dr. Vivek H. Murthy says while we don’t yet know the full impact on our young people, there are “ample indicators that social media can also have a profound risk of harm to the mental health and wellbeing of children and adolescents.”            Student wellbeing activist David Magee couldn’t agree more.           “Too much social media is outright toxic for young people,” asserts Magee, author of the upcoming book Things Have Changed: What Every Parent (and Educator) Should Know About the Student Mental Health and Substance Misuse Crisis(Matt Holt, August 2023, ISBN: 978-1-6377439-6-6, $22.00) and award-winning book Dear William: A Father’s Memoir of Addiction, Recovery, Love, and Loss. “At a time when children and teens should be building social skills, deepening relationships with friends and loved ones, and pursuing their interests, they are feeding an addiction to apps like TikTok and Snapchat. And it’s not even giving them the joy and happiness they are seeking. In fact, it’s making them sick and miserable.”            Social media is a “joy thief” in many ways, says Magee, who travels the country speaking with parents and children about substance misuse and mental health. Social media apps fuel rising levels of stress, depression, and anxiety. They contribute to sleep disturbances, which cause a domino effect of symptoms mimicking ADHD, along with roller-coaster emotions and impulses. They lead to body image issues and dangerous eating disorders. They expose children to bullying, destroy their self-esteem, and even target them with messages from drug pushers.           Echoing Dr. Murthy, Magee insists that adolescents, whose brains are still developing, are not yet equipped to deal with these risks and dangers. That’s why it’s up to parents to intervene and help them develop healthier habits around their social media use. A few tips: Here’s the mantra on smartphone ownership: Delay, delay, delay. It’s no secret that adolescents often use smartphones to access social media apps, so be mindful of how early you give them their first phone. There is no “right” age recommendation for this. Only you know your child’s maturity level, what they can handle, and what’s right for them. But Magee and other experts recommend holding off as long as possible. For example, the non-profit Wait Until 8th urges parents to wait until children are in the eighth grade before giving them a smartphone. Don’t preach. But do talk to your children about the dangers of social media. “Have age-appropriate conversations with your children about the risks, such as cyberbullying, mental health disorders, and solicitations from online drug dealers,” advises Magee. “Let them know they should come to you if they are struggling. But also, teach them to be smart about how they use social media. Help them check their privacy settings so their information is not public. Remind them about what is and isn’t appropriate to post. And do make sure they are treating their peers with respect and kindness when they are online.” Set reasonable limits on social media use. Have a talk with your children and work together to make rules about how much social media time is allowed each day. Also, decide on times when the entire family will “unplug” to enjoy time together. Find time every day to put the devices away and create fun and lasting memories you can all cherish forever. Banish phones from the bedside. Children and teens who don’t sleep are more at risk for symptoms of ADHD, roller-coaster emotions and impulses, increased anxiety and depression, and angry outbursts. And yet, most adolescents miss out on the sleep they desperately need so they can scroll away on social media. (In fact, more than one-third of all teens get only 5 to 6 hours of sleep a night, according to a 2010 study in the Journal of Adolescent Health, while the optimal sleep amount for teens is 9.25 hours nightly.) “Instead of preaching and pressuring your child to ‘get off the phone and go to sleep,’ engage them in a conversation about the importance of sleep and its benefits,” suggests Magee. “Help them recognize that smartphone use is an obstacle to a good night’s rest, and that bed is not for homework or social time, but for sleeping.” Curb your own phone time. Yes, many parents love getting on social media themselves. If you’re one of them, remember that your children are watching and taking cues from you to learn how much scrolling and posting is healthy or appropriate. Check your own usage. If you are spending all your free time on Facebook or Instagram, put yourself on a social media diet and hold yourself accountable to the limits you set. Silence nonessential notifications. No one can focus near a smartphone that’s constantly beeping or vibrating. Remind your children to silence the notifications on their social media apps so incoming messages are less distracting while they are doing other activities.  Help your child embrace their life in the “real world.” When your child’s life is full of healthy activities and strong relationships, they will be less tempted to escape into their social media apps. Encourage them to invite friends over to hang out. Help them get involved in an extracurricular activity or with a volunteer organization so they can meet new people and have in-person interactions. If they are old enough, encourage them to get a part-time job.            The Surgeon General’s warning is no surprise to anyone who’s paying attention. Parents and educators see the damaging effects of social media up close every day. It’s all too easy for children—at shockingly younger ages—to get sucked into a world of bullying, drama, and online gossip; absorb unhealthy messages on body image; or even buy dangerous and deadly drugs. Change is long overdue, and Magee says it starts with real conversations with our children.               “We need to explain that real, sustainable joy goes far beyond the instant gratification that social media brings,” says Magee. “No number of followers or ‘likes’ can compete with the lasting satisfaction that comes from pursuing your own passions and following your own path. “Parents can steer children away from sources that deplete their joy and threaten their lives, like social media can,” he adds. “The sooner you help them see that there’s much more to their life, their worth, and their future than their online profiles and interactions, the sooner you can get them on the road to lasting wellbeing.” I believe that our kids learn more by watching and listening to us than most any other means. So for us to put down the phone without being completely enthralled with it shows them the best example. Of course, we must teach online safety and so much more. As a mom of girls, I want them to know that almost all pictures on social are unrealistic, false, filtered body images. Not real. Spending time with them is a priority, so we have these talks. There is much more to discuss, but I'll end it here. I wish you and your kids peace and guidance on this topic. Take care and be well. What are your phone rules for your kids? Do you have any? I'd love to hear other parents' guidelines. I hope you all find what works best for your family. I've also read and used the 5 Love Languages of Children to improve communication with my girls. Read the full article

[taesspark]

A Normal Friday Afternoon

drabble #1 from the Spellbound series

pairing: Jungkook x reader

genre: enemies to lovers (but mostly enemies so far oops), hogwarts au

word count: 2.2k 

warnings: violence (oc punches jungkook in the face), swearing

It’s a normal Friday afternoon at Hogwarts, meaning everyone is going insane. You wonder why Professor Snape even bothers teaching Potions right now since it doesn’t look like anyone is paying the slightest bit of attention. He even chose a hard potion for the class to make, individually this time. As if making it an individual assignment could stop a group of annoying 17-year-olds from wreaking havoc. 

You flicker your eyes in annoyance at Jeon Jungkook and his rowdy group of friends. They had created a game where they launch the ingredients into each others’ cauldrons, giving each other points based on how close it got. Usually you try to get along with your classmates, especially fellow Gryffindors, but Jungkook has always been the sole exception. There’s something about him that grates all of your nerves like a carrot. Maybe it’s the way he’s good at all the same things you are, but he makes it seem more effortless. Maybe it’s the way everyone thinks he’s so innocent and kind, when he’s been metaphorically (and literally) pulling on your hair since first year. 

It started with the little things. You were friendly to him, like you are to everyone, and as an 11-year-old, you had nothing to complain about. Something changed one day when you were walking past him in the hallway to class and he hit you with a hex that he hadn’t mastered yet. You remember falling to the ground in pain, watching your stinging flesh go boneless. And Jungkook? He was laughing.

You’re no less of a witch or a Gryffindor though. With your limp arm, you cast the strongest dancing hex you could muster. It worked, of course, and Jungkook was known as “Happy Feet” for at least another year for the way he danced around Hogwarts that day. 

It’s a memory you keep close, as a reminder to never trust the sweet smile and starry eyes of Jeon Jungkook. 

If you looked at all of the detentions you’ve served in your 6 years of being a Hogwarts student (and there are plenty), you’re sure 99% would have been from fighting with Jungkook, whether it’s yelling at him, cursing him, or swatting him with your broomstick in midair during Quidditch practice. Because of course he would join the Quidditch team at the same time you did. 

You’re not in the mood for fighting today, though. You’re exhausted from a frankly awful week, and you just want to finish your stupid potion, get your stupid grade, and go to your stupid dorm so you can sleep. 

Your only good friend in this potions class is a Ravenclaw girl named Nina. For a Ravenclaw, she’s chatty, and she flits around you while you grind up asphodel root for your potion. With a quick slide of your knife, you dump the crushed root into your potion. It bubbled. Beside you, Nina bubbled even more, her personality like soda that had been shaken too hard. 

“-and then Emilia told me that she asked Irene if she would go with her to Hogsmeade next weekend, but Irene said she’s already going with Jieun, but Sam told me that Jieun is going alone, so what’s even the truth? You’d think that she’d at least-” 

“Maybe you should mind your business.” You give her a sour look, and you hope it isn’t too harsh. “Just a thought.” 

Nina’s mouth curls into a rueful smile. “You’re spending too much time with Yoongi lately.” 

You crack a smile at the thought of your best friend and his (only partly true) reputation. No one dares cross Min Yoongi, a 7th year Slytherin with a killer poker face. As one of his best friends, you can see right through it. 

“There’s no such thing as too much time with Yoongi,” you grumble. 

Nina leaves you alone after that, thank god. You usually have a higher tolerance for her chattiness and gossip, but today your patience is running thin. Luckily, she knows you well enough to not seem upset at your attitude. 

You sprinkle a serum into the potion before stirring it clockwise ten times. It’s the last step of the potion, and yours is already turning the perfect shade of mint green. You count to yourself as you stir: One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight-

You don’t make it to ten. You were so goddamn close. 

“Oh, shit-”

You don’t register who curses. All you can see is a bottle of serum—someone else’s bottle of serum— being launched straight into your cauldron, and your entire potion splattering onto your front. Your robes sizzle where the potion hit them. 

“Oops.” 

You recognize that voice. How could you not? You almost want to laugh. 

Fucking Jeon Jungkook. 

The leech lumbers up to you sheepishly, scratching at the back of his head. “My bad. We were playing a game, and I missed pretty bad.” 

He chuckles a little, surveying the green ooze all over you. “Green is your color, Y/N. Maybe they should’ve put you in Slytherin.” 

You’re seething. 

A temper is not one of the traits associated with Gryffindor, but at that moment, you think maybe it should be. Lions do roar, after all. 

And roar is exactly what you do. Roar and knock Jungkook the fuck out. 

The room is in chaos: Professor Snape is yelling, Nina is telling you to calm down, Jungkook is on the ground in front of you, more shocked than hurt, and half the class is chanting “Fight!” because the adolescent urge to create violence never truly dies. 

“Take this outside!” Snape shouts at the two of you, grabbing you both by the collar of your robes. “Fight in the hallways, I don’t care, but this is not going to happen in my classroom. When you’re done, head to McGonagall’s office. I’m sure she’d like to have a word with you two delinquents.” 

Jungkook stares at you, rubbing at the bruise blooming on his cheek. 

The door swings closed, slamming in your face. With a huff, you turn around and vanish the potion residue still left on your clothes with a quick spell. You barely spare a glance for Jungkook. He stands several feet away, opening and closing his mouth like a fish. 

“Do you have something to say?” You snap. 

He opens his mouth. Then closes it. 

You roll your eyes. “Listen, Jeon. I know you did that on purpose. Very funny prank, absolutely hilarious. Truly, I’m rolling on the floor laughing right now.” 

Jungkook’s eyes drop to the floor as if he expected to see you there, laughing. 

“Let’s just go to McGonagall’s already,” you say, posture slumping at the thought of being yelled at by the intimidating professor.  

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” he says. Jungkook rolls his shoulders, and you see him gain some of his usual bravado. “We were playing a game, I already explained this to you.” 

You bark out a laugh, just one. “I’m not stupid.” 

He cocks a brow. “Are you sure? I bet my potion was better than yours even though I was dicking around for the entire class.” 

“Fuck off.” 

“Hit a nerve?” 

“No.” 

It’s like this, for the long, long, long trek from the dungeons to Gryffindor tower where McGonagall’s office is. 

“You know, you don’t have to be such an asshole all the time,” you say, turning the corner. Jungkook jogs after you to keep up. 

“I don’t? No way, all this time I thought it was mandatory.” 

He sounds more upset than snarky, and in your present state of blind rage, you don’t have a single clue why he would be upset. He’s the one who ruined your potion and got you sent to McGonagall’s office. He’s the one who has been a splinter the size of Greenland in your thumb for five years and counting. 

“Besides,” he adds, as if you wanted to have a conversation with him, “you’re the one who fucking punched me in the face. It’s kinda hypocritical to call me an asshole in this situation.” 

“That’s a really big word, Jungkook. Did you finally learn how to read?” 

Jungkook’s face crumples into a frown. “Shut up.” 

“Hit a nerve?” You mock. 

You think getting to McGonagall’s office is a relief until you’re finally there. McGonagall is all but screeching at the two of you. You’ve heard the same lecture several hundred times, but never in such a high pitch. You offer to make her some herbal tea for her throat, and she only gives you the evil eye. Jungkook snorts beside you. You ignore him, nudging him in the ribs with your elbow. 

“Never in my days…”

“...Such stupidity from my own students!”

You fade in and out of consciousness during the lecture, and one look at Jungkook tells you he’s doing the same. 

“Detention for both of you. I will see the two of you here at 9 pm sharp every day for the rest of the week,” McGonagall finally says. 

Jungkook groans. 

“I’m being generous,” McGonagall says. “If I see the two of you acting like violent animals again, I can and will suspend you both from the Gryffindor Quidditch team.” 

You and Jungkook both make sounds of protest, only to be drowned out by McGonagall. 

“I hate to see my own team lose, but it has been five years of your childish fights. You two will learn to be civil to each other, and I will make sure of it.” 

The tone of her voice makes you uneasy. Jungkook beats you to the question that’s on both of your minds. “What are you going to do to us?” 

The fear in his voice would make you smile if you weren’t practically shaking in your boots yourself. 

“As you know, in Transfiguration, I am going to be having everyone work in teams this year. I was going to let you choose your partners, but you two have not earned that privilege.” 

You turn to face Jungkook. He’s staring back at you in wide-eyed horror. 

“You both are now partners in Transfiguration. Sit by each other and complete the projects together. I will not tolerate any misbehaving in my class, and if you don’t work as a team, you will be risking your own grades.” McGonagall stares at the two of you with the smallest of smiles, disgustingly smug. She’s enjoying this, and you hate her for it. 

“But-”

“Professor!” 

“I won’t hear it!” She shouts. Jungkook recoils. “This is final. If you have a problem, you should’ve thought about that before brawling like wrestlers in Potions.” 

You hang your head, staring at how the end of your robes skims your shoes. You don’t like to be dramatic, but this sure feels like the end of the world. The rest of your year is probably ruined, thanks to McGonagall essentially sentencing you to Jungkook duty. Not to mention Transfiguration is your hardest class, even without having to compete with Jungkook. You don’t doubt that this would make everything so much harder. 

“That’s all I have to say to you. Please leave,” McGonagall says, pressing a thumb and index finger into her forehead. 

The two of you file out of her office, stumbling down the empty hallway. You walk in silence, thankful that classes aren’t out yet. You stop a few corridors down, and Jungkook stops next to you.

You look at him, really look at him. Other than the bruise on his face a la you, he has a sweet face and kind eyes. You remind yourself that it’s fake. 

You take a step closer to him, and he tilts his head at you, nonplussed. 

“Y/N?” 

You brush a hand on his cheekbone, where you hit him. 

“Does it hurt?” You ask. 

The hallway is empty, but Jungkook still looks both ways before responding to you, as if you were a car hurtling towards him on the street. He gulps at your proximity to him, how he can feel your breath mingling with his own and your fingertips’ gentle pressure on his face. 

“A little,” he says, quieter than you. “You really know how to use your fists, huh?” 

He laughs. To your ears, it sounds forced. You smile. Checkmate. 

Without warning, you grab his tie and jerk his face down to yours, leaving just a breath of space between your noses. You lean even closer to Jungkook, and a smile ghosts your lips when you feel him moving closer to you at the same time. You wait for one more moment, letting your warm breath hit his skin. The moment he closes his eyes, you whisper, “Good.” 

His eyes flutter back open, confused, and you take your foot and slam it down on his. He all but howls in pain, nearly knocking his head into yours as he hops away. 

"What was that for?"

"If you still don't know, then maybe I need to step on you again." You narrow your eyes at him, still close enough to register the clean linen smell of his clothes. “Do not cross me again. I need a good grade in Transfiguration this year, and I won’t let you ruin that for me.” 

"McGonagall is right there. I could go tell her," he threatens. His eyes are wide, and you pick up on the slightest fear under his façade of arrogance. 

"Okay, do it. See if I care, asshole." 

You spin on your heel and storm down the corridor, leaving a stunned Jungkook in your wake. 

[yesimwriting]

Solace (part 2)

SOLACE (part 2)

A part two but kinda works as a stand alone!!

A/n y’all seemed to like the first one so I thought I’d make a part two :)) This was NOT meant to be a series but now I kind of have an idea to make this a mini series where each part is kind of a blurb that connects to the last part and I think I might do that. 

Pairing: General Kirigan/the Darkling x Heartrender! reader

Summary: The day after you go visit General Kirigan at night is also the day he decides he can become more honest about his intentions for you. The softness of it all is starting to get to you but you have a good friend to remind you that it’s okay to feel happy. 

-- 

The sunlight peers into the room shyly. It stirs me awake into a soft bliss. Warmth. When was the last time I woke up feeling so warm? So rested? I squint my eyes open, still calm. But when my vision finally adjusts, I feel like ice all over again. This is not where I’m supposed to be. 

Memories of sneaking here in the darkness of night, speaking to Kirigan so freely, and then letting him convince me to stay. He had seemed to want me here then, in the night when loneliness finds easy prey in even the most hardened individuals...but now, in the morning sunlight--he’ll regret it. We made it clear I’d stay only that night--and that night is now gone. Maybe he expects me to be gone before he rises. I know that’s what most men expect after taking company for the night, but we didn’t exactly partake in activities like that. I think what we did is worse. 

Relations like that are about desire, falling asleep with someone else borders on intimacy. One misstep and who knows what I’ll invoke? I shift my gaze upwards, careful to not move in hopes of not disturbing the arms he’s draped across my back, holding me to him. Kirigan seems different in sleep, softer. His features are still sharp, but there’s something gentle about seeing him vulnerable. Something about the way his lashes brush against his cheeks and his lips stay parted just slightly. This moment can never repeat itself. It can never happen again, so I’ll have to hold onto this. 

Cautiously, I prepare to slip out of his grasp even though it feels like its the only thing tethering me to this world. I touch his first hand, moving it off of me slowly. I wait a second, and when he remains unstirring I move his other hand. 

“What are you so eager for, little wolf?” The raspy, tired quality of his voice leaves my stomach fluttering. His words jar me so much I find myself frozen. 

He reaches lazily, placing an arm on the center of my back, trying to ease me back into place. “It’s morning now.” 

His thumb brushes up and down my back in a way meant to lull me. “I’m the Shadow Summoner, the night lasts as long as I want it to.” He lets out an easy breath, “And I’m prolonging it.” 

Ignoring the warmth the implications of his words bring, I decide to focus on how dramatic he is. “Dramatic even so early in the morning.” 

Kirigan’s eyes flutter open, the slightest smile playing at the edge of his lips. “Watch yourself, little wolf.” There is no malice in his voice, only something hinting at teasing too humane for me to trust. 

I roll my eyes, letting his fingers brush wherever he wants them to--up and down my back, down the arms I am too aware of. The desire to touch him easily, casually, just to prove that I have that privilege. I stretch, pushing down thoughts of rejection as I place a hand on his chest. He pauses, one hand frozen in place on my back. Slowly, he moves his hand away from me. I tense, preparing to retract my hand. He catches my hand before I can pull it away, moving it towards him easily until my hand is against his cheek. 

“Y/n.” He’s called me my name so few times, and the restraint in his voice leaves me unnerved. “Will you wear a black kefta today?” 

His color. Perhaps he meant the promise of solace more literally than I thought. Anyone who sees me will think I’ve been claimed by him in one way or another. Perhaps I have been. The thought stirs my chest, moving me in a way I can’t distinguish as a positive or negative. I feel myself being ensnared in a lovely trap, but when I look at him, at the honesty burning in his gaze, it’s almost as if he’s asking me to claim him. 

“Yes.” Again the word leaves me as if willed by some outside force. 

Kirigan’s intensity dwindles slightly. His hand drops from over mine, but I keep mine on his cheek, running my thumb across his skin. “You’ll do good for me today, little wolf.” His words leave no room for argument. I think speaking like that is a talent of his. “You always do so good for me.” The admiration in his words melt something in me, my entire body warmed in a way I don’t understand. Kirigan brushes his knuckles across my cheek again. 

I’ve been silent for too long, each second I waste inflating his ego. “You’re suspiciously nice in the mornings.” 

“You’re only skeptical because you never let anyone take care of you.” His words are chiding and the implication of them leaves my face warm. “So much promise,” he muses, hand trailing down my jawline, “So much power,” his fingers skim down my neck and across my collarbone. “I wonder what someone like you could do with an amplifier.”

An amplifier. I’ve seen them in use, and knowing what I could do with something that strengthens my already abrasive abilities. I could be a monster so easily. Kirigan must see some of my concern because he’s quick to sit up a little more in order to close the distance between us the way he did last night. He brushes his lips against my collarbone in a way that leaves me distracted by wanting. A wanting for what, I’m not sure. I ease into his touch. 

“Today everyone will know what you are.” His voice is gentle against the base of my neck. “And they will know that we are meant to be equals.” 

I feel the need to panic rise in my chest, but it’s dulled by the warmth his lips leave against my skin. “I’m only a Heartrender, I can’t be your equal.” 

“You are,” he whispers, so assured, “With a heart as good as yours you may even be more.”

His words are too weighted for so early in the morning, but there is always tension with him. Shadows are meant to be weightless but I think they’re like anything else--carry enough of them and eventually you’ll break. 

When he straightens I move to follow him, pressing a quick kiss against his cheek. “You’re good, too.” There has to be goodness in him. No one capable of such warmth and gentleness can be made up entirely of wicked things. 

“You claimed I was a villain.” 

Did my words really impact him so? “My opinion isn’t law.” 

Something strange flickers across his features. “It might as well be.” 

I swallow back a bundle of nerves. “Sometimes I’m wrong.” 

The words crack something vulnerable in me. A part of me thinks he can feel the part of me that’s breaking in hopes of offering him something. 

“You really are my solace.” I don’t know how to reciprocate such a gilded sentiment. 

I rest my head against his shoulder, taking his hand. “I’m glad to be that.” 

He squeezes my hand. “We should go get ready before people start to notice our absence.” 

I consider reminding him what he told me last night, but he has a point. There’s a difference between a rumor of me pacing in the night and both of us showing up late at the same time. Still though, a part of me is already grieving this version of Kirigan. Outside of this room his coldness will return. ‘Just for tonight’. We had agreed on that. But when the night ended, and the morning sun colored us both sane again, he had asked me to wear his color. 

“I’ll go get dressed,” I stay still. 

Kirigan runs his thumb over my knuckles. “I’ll have a black kefta sent to you.”

That has to mean something. Wait--do I want it to mean something? I pull my hand away from his stiffly, standing because I know the longer I’ll wait the worse it will be. “I’ll see you during training.” 

“My door will be unlocked after.” 

At that, my chest swells. He’s offered me an opening. “Good to know.” 

His eyes narrow slightly at my coyness. “Find me after?” 

“Only because you’re nicer in here.” He wants me to come back. 

--

The black kefta does not feel like my own. The color is too alluring, too dark and enthralling. It is not meant for someone like me. It feels borrowed, but I’m not entirely uncomfortable. It’s almost like he’s still with me, keeping me from being alone. 

When I walk down the halls, I feel the stares of the others sticking to me like tar. They barely tolerated me before--the grisha plucked from the slums after a fateful night in which Kirigan saw the extent of my abilities. 

“New clothes, l/n?” 

Julian’s words coax an easy smile from me. Always so open, so accepting. Even now he doesn’t pester me about the black kefta. “I barely noticed.” 

My lack of real response earns me a playful glare. “Is that the only explanation I get? Moving up the ranks without me?” 

I roll my eyes. He’s joking, but he’s drawing more eyes to me. “I’m not leaving you, Julian.” He’s been too good a friend for me to leave. “Nothing’s changed except the color of my clothing.” 

“Good.” Julian’s lips twitch upwards, offering me the kind of smile that’s earned him many trysts with many women. “I’d miss you too much.” 

And while I doubt that my disappearance would do anything else than up his popularity, I appreciate the sentiment. “Oh I’m sure you’d find a way to find company.” 

He half laughs, “What are you implying of my virtue?”

Laughing, I roll my eyes as we continue to walk down the halls. “You’re not as funny as you think you are.” 

Julian reaches for me, touching my forearm. I stall. “In all seriousness, y/n, I really appreciate your friendship.” 

Aw. Never did I think I’d have so many people to appreciate here. I think of Kirigan, of the vulnerability in his words and the new facet of him I saw last night that I somehow always knew he had in him. He may be a villain, or just one in the making, but he is more than a dark shadow. I find myself releasing I appreciate Kirigan too. It’s different than the way I care about Julian, more fragile, but it’s still a relationship I’ve created here. 

I look down at the space where his hand touches my forearm. “I really appreciate your friendship, too. You’ve gotten me through a lot.”

“You need to give yourself some credit.” He releases my arm, turning to continue to walk forward. 

I turn as well, “You should too.”

 I look forward, and there, in the near distance is Kirigan. He’s staring at me, eyes lacking everything he had earlier. I offer him a small smile. He does not return it, his drops slowly to the ground. Weird. I guess he’s just turning on his indifference for a day of training. He asked me to wear his color, he asked me to come back. 

Does he regret it? Maybe it was a premature request for me to wear his color so publicly. His gaze finds mine again, and with a tilt of his head he gestures for me to follow him.

--

General taglist: @theincredibledeadlyviper

[nctsjiho]

King of Hearts

warnings: none

era: July 2021

❀ Lucas decides it’s time to take JiHo out for her first date

Leaned over the kitchen counter, rolling an orange from hand to hand, JiHo was deeply invested in the conversation she was having with her manager. Not Yebin, but her Esteem manager she was currently living with. The poor piece of fruit had suffered bruises from the few times the young girl had dropped it or tossed it too hard, but JiHo paid no mind as she listened to Sihyun – the manager – talk about the latest gossip in the model and acting industry. Yes, JiHo had the ‘privilege’, or whatever you wanted to call it, to get the insider-scoop about that industry before stuff got public, if it ever went public anyway.

Mid-conversation the two women heard the keypad of their front door beep, indicating that someone was trying to get inside. Usually this would concern the residents, definitely because they were the only ones living in the apartment, but Sihyun knew. She knew JiHo had practically given the password to their house to all her groupmates.

And even though Sihyun wasn’t initially comfortable with 23 men being able to walk inside her house at any given moment, she quickly came to terms with it when all the boys had been nothing but respectful of her privacy and 99% of the time would announce their arrival. The only times they did not announce it was during the early afternoon hours when they knew JiHo would be home alone, or on the occasional moment they would just forget. This time seemed like one of those moments.

“Hello princess!” A loud voice boomed through the apartment from the small corridor. Sihyun who stood on the other side of the counter had a clear visual of the surprise visitor and smiled watching his goofy stance. JiHo however didn’t need to take a look at him to know who the visitor was. “Took you long enough, how many days have you been in Korea already? And you hadn’t visited.” JiHo continued to play with the abused piece of fruit earning a scowl from Sihyun – she knew the girl wasn’t going to eat that orange afterwards and it would be headed straight for the bin.

Soon enough two long, strong arms slithered around the girl’s waist. “I’m sorry, but I’m here now.” JiHo felt her bar stool turn – it wasn’t even a swivel chair – until she was met with a bright smile. She couldn’t help herself but smile back, yet her smile quickly turned into a confused frown when she saw the bag in Lucas’ outstretched hand. “What’s this? A house warming gift? You know it’s a little late for that now.” Lucas just smiled as he shook his head. “We’re going on a date! Now go change.” He pushed the bag into JiHo’s lap.

The girl’s confused expression quickly turned into one of shock, while Sihyun just tried to contain her excited shrieks behind her hands. The 26 year old woman felt like she was watching some sort of K-drama and no one would blame her, since Lucas looked like a handsome main-lead with his hair styled back and wearing a nice pair of jeans along with a crisp looking white button up. Oh how Sihyun wished she could get him to agree to work under Esteem, but he was already successful enough getting modelling jobs without having to look for any. Every clothing brand and fashion magazine in Korea and China had their eyes on him already. Esteem had nothing more to offer to him.

“A date?” The boy – man might be a more appropriate title for him – nodded his head wildly, messing his hair up a bit in the meantime. “Why?” “Because I heard you’ve had a stressful time these past months and so I want you to relax. Plus! I missed you and I want to hang out.” JiHo’s face softened at the confession, but she couldn’t help but feel the nerves flutter in her stomach. “But we can hang out inside and just order some food or something-“ The feigned disappointed shake of Lucas’ head cut JiHo off mid-sentence. “Chenle told me you’ve been playing Valorant every day after your schedules, practise and recordings. It’s time for you to get your butt outside.” Before JiHo could protest a sigh from behind the kitchen counter caught their attention.

Sihyun’s eyes widened as she saw the two young idols look at her, but she quickly regained her composure. “I agree with Lucas. You seriously need to leave this house more.” “I have been! I literally went skateboarding all the time with Yangyang this month.” JiHo defended, yet Lucas faked a cough to grab her attention. “What?” “I’ve heard you haven’t went since that last time when you invited He-“ “Okay! I’ll get dressed, I’ll be back in a few minutes.” JiHo pushed herself of the chair and ran towards her room. Lucas and Sihyun both just smiled knowingly before engaging in a conversation together.

Dresses weren’t completely foreign territory for JiHo, she had worn a handful now for work and she was well aware that her taste in fashion had changed over the past few months. She now wasn’t completely opposed to wearing a dress casually, even though this had not yet happened so far. However, as she looked at the dress she felt her hands get a bit sweaty.

It wasn’t that the dress was ugly, or too revealing. Not at all. It was just that JiHo actually really liked it, she didn’t know how to react. Slipping the yellow fabric over her head, she noticed how the dress fit like a glove, as if it was made for her. It was a silly thought, but somehow JiHo felt like she was having her princess moment right now – which was fitting because this was all thanks to Lucas who liked to call her princess. For once JiHo felt super feminine in a comfortable way and she wouldn’t like to admit it, but she really loved the feeling.

JiHo quickly put on one of the necklaces Lucas had bought her months, maybe even years ago, did her makeup in record time – well the makeup really only consisted of mascara and a lip tint – and made sure her hair looked acceptable to go out. Once finished she walked back to Lucas who was still talking to Sihyun.

“Oh you look so cute!” Sihyun almost squealed causing JiHo to roll her eyes. “I’m ready to go.” The young girl said to catch Lucas attention. He turned his body so he could see JiHo standing beside him. It took a few seconds before Lucas could form the right words to say, taken aback by how different JiHo looked right then. “Wow~ You look even prettier right now.”

The bright smile and breathy words coming from Lucas didn’t fail to make JiHo flustered. She’d already gotten used to Lucas calling her ‘pretty’ and ‘beautiful’ a lot of times and she knew that he meant it every time, but right now the words just seemed to register differently and catch her off guard.

An open hand “harshly” made contact with Lucas’ arm to which he winced. “Let’s just go.” JiHo mumbled going to the corridor where her shoes and bags were located.

Lucas couldn’t stop himself from helping to choose a bag and a pair of shoes for JiHo which he thought would fit best with her outfit. “Where are we even going?” She asked curiously after slipping on a pair of low, cream, sandal-like heels. “It’s a surprise, but we’re definitely getting some food as well and we won’t have to walk too much. So don’t worry.” He teased, but JiHo couldn’t help but smile. “You know me too well.”

To say that JiHo needed this “date” was an understatement; with how she was beaming and laughing nonstop, Lucas could’ve sworn that if JiHo was locked up in her apartment one more day she would’ve completely lost it. He could visibly see how the tension in JiHo’s muscles melted away. The twinkle her eyes held looked so innocent and childlike, as if she was experiencing things for the first time. And as the duo now sat across each other at a table in one of the nicest rooftop restaurants in the area, Lucas couldn’t move his gaze from the everlasting smile on JiHo’s face boosting his pride.

“I didn’t know there was a butterfly garden in Seoul.” JiHo deeply exhaled, thinking back at how beautiful all the butterflies looked up close. “Did you like it?” Lucas asked, awaiting a positive answer. When JiHo’s eyes widened, Lucas started to get slightly worried, but the girl’s passionate answer quickly eased his nerves. “What do you think? I loved it! Every part. The butterfly garden, the café, and now this restaurant.” She then shoved the piece of steak that was on her fork into her mouth, not waiting until she had swallowed it she continued, “I think this is the best food I’ve ever eaten.”

A low chuckle left Lucas’ lips as he watched JiHo chew and swallow the rest of her food. “I should take you out more often then.” He smiled, mostly to himself, but JiHo perked up at his words. “Hm? Why?” Lucas looked up to meet JiHo’s eyes. “I mean, today was great, so yeah I’d definitely wouldn’t mind doing this again. But why would you want to?” “Because I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile this beautifully before.”

At his words JiHo couldn’t help but blush, the comment completely catching her of guard. She wondered how after those years of compliments Lucas managed to make her blush like that, but somehow, today, Lucas had found a way so that any- and everything he said or did would make her feel like a young teenage girl going on a date with her crush.

“You always try to be so professional and even if you have fun and play around sometimes, it’s like you’re always on your toes. Seeing you let go and genuinely be happy, being able to forget about your worries, it looks absolutely stunning on you JiHo.” JiHo looked down at her now empty plate before mumbling, “Did China turn you into a cheesy heartthrob or what’s up with you?” It was barely a question and definitely a coping mechanism – JiHo didn’t know how to react to Lucas sincerity – but Lucas was all for it, laughing at how adorable JiHo looked.

“What? Are you falling in love with me princess?” JiHo looked up with a gasp. “Don’t call me that in public! If someone hears you and recognises us, dating rumours are definitely going to spread and SM won’t be happy.” JiHo scolded, but Lucas could only laugh. She was clearly just trying to avoid the question because she was already very aware that Lucas rented out the whole rooftop for the two of them, no one would be able to hear them. And even if she did forget, with just one glance it would’ve been obvious it was only the two of them there, besides the 2 waiters who were enjoying their own conversation at the bar.

Once the duo had finished their dinner and after they continued talking for about 2 hours afterwards, they headed back to JiHo’s apartment. Luckily all the boys’ dorms weren’t too far away from the apartment, so Lucas wasn’t rushing to get her home or to leave after she arrived safely.

“You really didn’t have to walk all the way up here. You’re acting like we’re in some teenage chick flick.” JiHo smiled as she pushed in the code into her door’s keylock. With that Lucas leaned against the wall next to her – in the most cliché way – while sending her a smile of his own. “Do you not like it?” The keylock dinged at the correct input and JiHo began to push open the door with one hand, the other hand pushing at Lucas’ chest. “Careful or I’ll tell Yuta oppa about this and I don’t think he’d be too happy.” For a second Lucas smile faded as he felt the tiniest bit of fear arise at the though of his hyung’s possible reaction, but his smile returned just as quickly. “I’m sure he won’t after he sees all the pretty pictures I took of you today.”

Again JiHo felt her cheeks flare up just the slightest, but this time purely out of embarrassment. “Don’t show those pictures to anyone.” “But you looked pretty today. And it’s not as if the boys haven’t see you wearing a dress before.” JiHo just shook her head and sent him a warning glare. “But I don’t mind being the only one who’s allowed to see you look this pretty- Ouch! What was that for?” The boy held his arm where he just got pinched.  “For being annoying.”

A pout formed on Lucas’ lips but it quickly got wiped away once JiHo pulled him into a quick hug, making sure the front door didn’t fall back into the lock with her foot keeping it open. “Thanks for today. Thanks for being my prince and taking me out on my first date.” Normally JiHo would cringe at her own words, but somehow every ounce of shame was thrown out of the window now that she was around Lucas. “It really was your first date huh?” He smirked, cocking one brow. “Yeah yeah, now don’t go ‘bragging’ about it to the others, okay?” However Lucas just smirked again as he began making his way to the elevator. “No promises princess!” JiHo hushed him, but he was already inside the elevator, doors closing behind him. “Oh God, Doyoung, Yuta and Kun are all going to kill him.” She mumbled to herself walking into her apartment.

Just as the door closed behind her she heard her phone vibrate. And then vibrate again. Until it just became one constant buzz. Looking at her phone she saw the notifications of the NCT group chat along with the words ‘Lucas and JiHo’ as well as ‘date’ and ‘princess’. Shaking her head in disbelief and deciding to ignore the messages until tomorrow, JiHo mumbled to herself again. “At least if I don’t get to him and kill him first.”

---

Side Note: The only reason that this writing is called ‘King of Hearts’ is for me to tell you that you should listen to that song. Winwin’s vocals 👌 Yangyang’s last verse 👌 Hendery during that live performance of this song in Bangkok (he’s so hot and talented, please stan him)👌 How this song was literally made for Lucas 👌 Yes I’ve listened to it 10+ times on repeat one day and I’d gladly do it again!

Also someone tell me to stop posting every other day, why am I doing this to myself also me feeling writing/creative withdrawal when I don’t post😅 

Have a nice day/evening/night loves 🤍💚🤍

[winterscaptain]

the pitch.

Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

a/n: this one is just a fun lil ajf fic! takes place in au!february 2016, during the spring soccer season

words: 1.3k warnings: soccer moms, light language

summary: aaron’s a known challenge for the moms on the soccer pitch. a newcomer finds out why. 

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | requests closed!

“Let’s go Jack! C’mon!” Aaron’s shout carries across the soccer pitch, and Jack delivers - scoring a goal for his second hat trick of the season. At twelve, he is by far the strongest player on the team, as well as the happiest. 

He flies to the sidelines for a moment and meets his dad for a high-five, sprinting back onto the pitch. 

Two moms watch the exchange on the opposite sideline, the younger of the two observing Aaron with particular interest. “Do you think he’s single?” She, unlike her new friend, doesn't know the Hotchners and has never met you.

As it happens, you’re home with Isaac, almost ready to leave for the end of the game. The games are always a little loud for Isaac, but you’ve learned he can tolerate (and sometimes actually enjoy) them for about twenty minutes at a time. Thus, you always started or ended the game without him, spending the rest of the time running errands or hanging out at home. 

While you’re not quite sure what his differences are, you know your little one has a unique relationship to the environment. Derek had the idea to put headphones on him when he was just over a year old, and they’ve been a lifesaver. You usually put them on him to dampen environmental noise, but the ability to play music comes in handy, too. 

Among the more seasoned soccer parents, you’re a bit of a legend. Stepmom to the Stars, and wife of the infamously handsome and competent Aaron Hotchner. You beautifully manage a soon-to-be teenager (who adores you), while carting around an almost-two-year-old (with sensory processing issues), while pregnant (with twins). 

It would be infuriating if it wasn’t so impressive.

The older woman snorts. “Far from it. In fact, he’s more in love with his wife than any man I’ve ever met. If I hadn’t seen him together, I would think he was full of shit, but they really are something else. They work at the Justice Department together.”

“First marriage?” She’s clearly determined. 

“Second. He’s a widower.” 

The younger woman tosses her hair over her shoulder, gathering it up into a ponytail. “I can work with that. It’s been a minute since I flirted with the Justice Department.”

She crosses the pitch, coming to rest by Aaron’s side. 

“So,” she starts, “which one’s yours?”

With a proud, if reserved, smile, Aaron picks Jack out of the players. He’s an easy find, almost a streak on the pitch as he runs across the field. “Jack’s there. He’s my oldest.” After answering her question, he directs all of his focus back to the game, pointedly bringing his left hand to scratch at something on his neck, his wedding ring glinting in the sunlight. 

“Oldest? So you have more kids?”

Absently, he replies, crossing his arms. “I do. Another son and two girls on the way.” He’s had her intentions on lock since he’s spotted her eyeing him across the way. His polite disinterest does nothing to deter her.

“So sweet!” Her voice just about gives him a cavity. “How old is your other son?”

She’s cute enough - a type he would have probably gone after in college - but young and singularly focused. He runs a quick mental profile (have to keep the skills sharp, you know) and sees a woman who married early, divorced soon after having one child - given the wedding band she wears on her right hand and the mother’s ring she wears on her left - and given her pursuit of him, likely something to prove to an older man in her life. 

Thankfully, he knows you’re on your way, ready to save him from this suburban hell. 

“He’ll be two next month.”

She smiles, flicking her ponytail back over her shoulder. “That’s such a sweet age. My daughter is just over a year old, now. My ex is bringing her by tonight, so I’ve got the house to myself all afternoon.” 

Got that profile locked down, didn’t he?

Still got it, Hotchner. 

The woman sighs like a house to herself is the greatest tragedy she’s ever encountered. 

His eyes wander to the parking lot, where you’re walking from the car with Isaac up on your hip, his little headphones already over his ears. You raise an arm to wave and Aaron’s face breaks out into a grin. 

He barely acknowledges the other woman as he says, “Excuse me,” and trots toward you. Jack’s been benched for the time being, recovering from his high-scoring first half. 

“Hi, sweetheart.” 

You’re greeted with a quick, sweet kiss when Aaron reaches you, and you run a casual hand from his shoulder to his pec, tapping twice. “Hey, my love. How’s he doin’ out there today?”

“Hat trick, we’re up by five and he’s on the bench until next quarter.”

“Excellent.” She shifts Isaac on her hip, and Aaron reaches for him. Much to everyone’s surprise, Isaac reaches out for Aaron and allows his father to tuck him against his chest with one arm. You and Aaron exchange a little smile. 

Your belly has decidedly become an obstacle as the twins get closer to arriving. You’re nearly seven months in, and they’re just about killing you. You will, however, suffer a great many trials for one of Aaron’s back massages, though, carrying his daughters included. 

The three of you (or five, depending on who you count) walk back to the sideline of Jack’s game, your hand tucked into the crook of Aaron‘s elbow. 

“So,” you say. “How many this morning?”

He laughs, a sound that brings a wide smile to your face. “Just the one. I’m a known challenge and I guess she was feeling ambitious.”

“What, babe? Is twenty and unattached not doing it for you anymore?” Your tone is cheeky in the extreme as you rest your hand on your belly. 

You earn an eye roll. “I’ve done twenty and unattached. It got me far enough the second time, and I don’t think ‘third time’s the charm’ will apply to this situation very well.” 

“In fairness, you did twenty-nine and unattached last time, if my memory serves.” You keep your tone light - it’s all play. 

“Ah, yes. That’s right. I’m glad you’re here to keep me honest.” He kisses your temple and you lean into him. “I am an old man, after all. My memory’s going.”

You snort. “Not too far, I hope.” 

A smile plays at the corner of his mouth, and you know he’s thinking of last night. “Nope. Not too far, at all.” 

The running attempts for Aaron’s attention on the soccer field was weekly entertainment at this point. As annoying as it was at the start, he regularly reminds you that only one woman has his ring on her finger and gets to bear his children and receive all the finer things that come with those privileges.

You felt much better after that. 

He stoops to place Isaac in the folding chair he brought specifically for you and his younger son. Under no circumstances can Aaron himself sit still at one of Jack’s games - a habit from his coaching days.

When he straightens, he kisses you again. You can feel his smile against your lips and you’re sure he can feel yours. When you pull back, your eyes track to the side of the pitch. “We have an audience.”

He follows your gaze for just a moment before covering it with a cursory search for Jack, who’s right where he was before. “What’s so interesting about a man who loves his wife?”

You shrug. “I wouldn’t know. It’s not a novelty to me.”

The two soccer moms have reconvened, and the smugness has switched faces. 

“You’re kidding. They’re like a goddamn Hallmark card.”

“I told you.”

+++

tagging: @arganfics @quillvine @stxrryspencer @agenthotchner @wandaswitxh @hurricanejjareau @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @shrimpyblog @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @good-heavens-chris-evans @angelsbabey @gublergirls @writefasttalkevenfaster @venusbarnes @hotchsflower @ogmilkis @marvels-agents100 @hotchslatte @risenfox @mrs-dr-reid @captain-christopher-pike @dwellingsofrosie @pinkdiamond1016 @pan-pride-12 @sunshine-em @word-scribbless @jdougl-love @sageellsworth05 @nohalohoseok @giveusbackourbucky @bauslut @dreila03 @forgottenword @aaronhotchnerr @ssa-morgan @hotchnersgoddess @buckybau @tegggeeee @abschaffer2 @ssacandice-ray @ellyhotchner @lotties-journey-abroad @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @laneygthememequeen @ahopelessromantic @violentvulgarvolatile @mooneylupinblack @ssareidbby @violet-amxthyst @zizzlekwum @lcvischmitt @qvid-pro-qvo @mandylove1000 @simsiddy @jeor @synonymforlame @roses-and-grasses @bwbatta @capricorngf @missdowntonabbey @averyhotchner @garcia-reid-lovechild @cevanswhre@joanofarkansass @infinity1321 @popped-weasels @evee87 @nuvoleincielo @spencerelds @ssahotchnerr @this-broken-band-girl @reidtomestyles @hotch-meeeeeuppppp

[inkandpen22]

Young Hearts Divided (3/?)

Pairing: Sirius Black x Female!Reader / James Potter x Female!Reader 

Warnings: none 

Word Count: 2.3k 

Part Summary: As James and Sirius continue to act strangely, Y/N struggles to figure out the reason. When James asks her to do something, the pieces start to fall into place, leaving her even more confused than before. 

Masterlist

James and I study for History of Magic all afternoon following copying Lily’s notes. James is lucky I actually understand History, otherwise, we’d both be in trouble. As I go over the chapter with him, he takes notes for the first time on this portion of the book. During class, he’s usually sleeping or doodling. It’s rather distracting being his seat partner, especially when he asks me to play Tic-Tac-Toe with him. One of us has to pay attention because we can depend on Lily to cover us. 

“What led to the Goblin Rebellion of 1612?” I quiz James. 

He taps his chin with a quill, thinking up an answer. After it takes longer than it should, I lean back in my chair with a raised brow. Unable to withhold my amusement, I snicker at my struggling friend. He’s toast, this exam is going to wreck his marks. 

He whines, reaching across the table to gently grab my arm pleadingly. “Help me!” 

I giggle, sliding my book toward him. “Read up. You’re going to need it!” 

He whines some more, childishly pouting. “But I hate reading,” he groans, tossing his head back. As an idea pops into his head, he perks up, “summarize it for me?” 

I open my mouth to protest, unsure if I’ll do it justice, but James cuts me off eagerly. 

“I’ll make it up to you!” He insists. “I’ll… I’ll…” he struggles to think up compensation. Then, he snaps his fingers, pointing at me as another apparently brilliant thought crosses his mind. “I’ll take you to Hogsmeade this weekend!” 

“See! You already got a part of it,” I point out, ignoring his silly offer as I bring my textbook back to me considering he’s clearly not going to use it. “Hogsmeade is where the rebellion occurred! Tell me more.” 

He rolls his eyes at my seriousness, a hint of a smirk on the edge of his lips. Leaning forward, he crosses his arms on the table between us. “I’m serious Y/N,” he whispers so Professor Pince doesn’t shush us. “Let’s go to Hogsmeade this weekend.” 

Our group has never missed a Hogsmeade weekend. Any excuse to mess around drunk off firewhiskey and butterbeer is our preferred free time activity. Except for Lily and Remus, they play the parents. 

“James… everyone is going there this weekend…” I state a matter-of-factly with amusement before turning to write down in my notebook. 

“No, I mean….” he pauses, licking his lips nervously as he avoids my eyes. Evidently, he’s unsure of his words. 

I place my quill down, his hesitation earning my attention. It’s not like James to sound so anxious. What is wrong with everyone today? Did someone pour a spell in their pumpkin juice at breakfast today? It was probably a short term spell from Malfoy or Snape, a payback prank. I guess it’s a good thing I slept in. 

“James,” I place my hand on his comfortingly. His eyes break away from the space between us and meet mine with amazement. “It’s okay,” I laugh softly. “You can say anything to me, safe space here.” I wave my finger in a circle to gesture to our table. 

He laughs, nodding his head in understanding. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right…. I know. You’ve always been really easy to talk to Y/N. Uh, which is somewhat why I wanted to… um… ask you to Hogsmeade… You know, to go to Hogsmeade with me,” he stammers nervously, combing his fingers through his hair with his free hand. 

“Go with you as you go on your date?” I seek to clarify, still kind of lost in translation. 

He narrows his eyes, somewhat confused himself. “Yes…” he answers, making it sound more like a question. 

I nod at a steady pace, processing his words. Okay, well, this day has been anything but average. It’s not even supper time and already two Marauders have suddenly expressed interest in me. One minute, we’re all just friends and the next two of the most infamous playboys at Hogwarts are claiming to have feelings for me. I swear to Godrick Gryffindor if Peter or Remus stop me in the hall to confess their love I’m packing my things and going into hiding. Plus, I could’ve sworn James was head over heels in love with Lily? He told me so multiple times. Whenever he gets drunk we have a heart-to-heart about it. He asks me for advice and I assure him to be himself. Could his feelings have changed without me noticing? It’s hard to believe, but not impossible I suppose. 

Not wanting to hurt him, I accept the offer, “Yeah, yeah sounds good.” 

He smiles brightly, enthused by my answer. “Okay, um yeah, cool!” 

What harm could it do? I’m sure nothing will come from it anyway, James is pretty filthy with his affections. He’s been claiming to be in love with Lily since First Year but has dated girls since them. I’m sure I would even call it dating, they were more like flings here and there. I suspect James might just be confused or annoyed with Lily not reciprocating his affections, so he’s looking to me for some guidance. I don’t mind helping my friend figure out what he wants, as long as he doesn’t act irrationally. 

One problem though, how is Sirius going to react? We aren’t exactly together, but we can’t ignore what occurred at the lake today. He’ll be with us at Hogsmeade, we always go together as a group. I hold the necklace that Sirius gave me between my fingers without James noticing. What a confusing chain of events. I’m not sure what to think. I’m not sure what either of their intentions is. I never thought any of this would ever happen. I wonder if Sirius’s outburst during lunch has something to do with James’s offer? The two seemed rather harsh with each other. James clearly knew that Sirius and I were down at the lake considering he was next to Sirius in Potions and likely read the correspondence as Marlene did. My next thoughts are: how much does he know? Does he know what Sirius said? Does he know what he gave me? If so, does that have anything to do with him asking me to Hogsmeade? Is it all a competition with him? I’m utterly lost and all I can do is see how it pans out. I don’t want to shout accusations and end up hurting someone by accident. It’s odd, I’m both looking forward to this weekend and somewhat dreading it.

James and I decide to skip dinner, staying at the library to cram for History after James gets a sudden urge to study. James finishes telling me a humorous story about his family’s vacation many years ago when we returned to the tower after sundown. 

“My dad was soaked-” He describes with amusement. 

“Password?” The Fat Lady interrupts as we approach. 

“magia enim quisque est,” James answers, not missing a beat. He doesn’t even glance at the portrait. The Fat Lady swings open, revealing the passageway as James continues his story. “I thought my mom was going to topple over, she was laughing so hard!” 

I cover my mouth, laughing at James’s words. I’ve never had the privilege of meeting the Potters like some of the others. They sound like really fun from what I’ve heard from James and Sirius. 

Our friends are gathered in front of the fire. The fire is the main source of light in the room other than some weak candlesticks on the walls. Peter and Remus in opposite armchairs, with Lily sitting on the floor resting against Remus’s seat. Marlene is sitting on the floor directly in front of the fireplace, playing cards with Lily on the coffee table. Sirius sits at the far end of the couch, appearing to be venting to Remus. Everyone’s attention turns us when they hear us appearing in the Common Room. James and I stop, our shared laughter settling down as we peer at our friends. 

“You two were busy,” Marlene remarks with a smirk as she lays down a card on the table. 

“Yeah, you missed dinner,” Peter reminds us, sounding rather distressed by the idea. 

“Eh,” James shrugs, not too fazed by the matter. He presses his hand to my back, guiding me to sit on the couch with him. 

I follow his lead, not physically reacting to the presence of his hand through my mind is racing.

 “We can go grab something from the kitchens later,” he adds with a wink as grabs my waist to cross in front of me and sit in the middle, between me and Sirius. 

I blush, not used to receiving so much attention from James. I mean, I’ve known him since we were eleven so I’ve been the receiver of his relentless flirtatious personality, but now I’m starting to think it’s not unintentional. I ease down on the cushion, crisscrossing my legs comfortably. 

“You’re not allowed to do that,” Remus warns, knowing well enough that James won’t listen. “Unless you want another months’ detention.” 

James casually rests his arm on my leg as if he’s done it a thousand times before. Lily and Marlene silently look up from their cards, taking note of the action. They look between me and James’s arm as his thumb rubs against my knee. I share their looks of astonishment without the boys noticing as they’re too distracted by James and Remus going back and forth. I have no doubt this will be the hot topic when we head to bed. I exhale deeply, subconsciously picking at my nails, a nervous habit. 

“Did you hear what happened to that First Year in Herbology?” Lily is quick to change the subject. “Apparently a Slytherin boy fainted!” 

“Isn’t there a kid who faints every year on Mandrake day?” Marlene laughs, returning to their card game. 

“Not surprised it was a Slytherin,” James remarks mockingly with a chuckle. “They’re such pansies.” 

I frown at James’s words, my eyes focused on my lap. I have friends in Slytherin, they’re decent people. Granted, their house has a bad reputation, but that doesn’t mean they’re all bad. I have family members who were in Slytherin, they’re not evil or anything. Shoot, I could’ve been a Slytherin, the Sorting Hat debated on it. It saw motivation and cunningness in me, in fact, it nearly outweighed my Gryffindor qualities. 

“Forget that!” Peter nearly bursts with excitement in his chair next to me. “Did you hear about Snape?!” 

“Peter!” Lily snaps uncharacteristically at the boy. 

James and I jump slightly at the rudeness of Lily’s outburst, my hand gripping his on my knee instinctively. James glances down at my hand and I swiftly remove it. Peter cowers into his chair as though he was just reprimanded by a parent. My eyes flicker between the two, brows high like everyone else’s, except for James who continues to look at me admiringly. 

“What happened?” Sirius finally speaks, grumbling disinterestedly. Did he just miss Lily snapping? After that, he still has the guts to ask what happened? That’s bold. 

Lily glares at the jet black-haired boy. I lean forward peering in front of James to see Sirius’s reaction. He appears unfazed, slouching into the cushion beside James. His features are sharp, covered with evident frustration and annoyance. 

On that note, I think I’m going to excuse myself before things get too heated. Frankly, I don’t really care what happened with Snape. The boys obsess over picking on him and Lily worries for her childhood friend. Though I don’t condone bullying, I don’t care to get involved. I’m civil with both parties. 

“I’m going to head to bed,” I announce, already moving to stand up. 

Protests erupt amongst the group, each of them talking over each other. The only silent parties are James and Sirius. Sirius hadn’t reacted, starring ahead at the fire with a frown. 

James peers up at me with disappointed eyes, waiting for silence. “But I thought we were going to sneak down to the kitchens?” He pouts, holding my hand loosely. 

“And risk getting a detention?” I chuckle at the boy. 

“That didn’t seem to stop you this afternoon,” Sirius mumbles bitterly under his breath, not having the decency to look at me in the eye as does. 

James looks over his shoulder at his best friend. In unison, our friends begin to talk over each other again, this time exchanging their farewells and excuses for heading to bed. I’ve never seen Lily shove cards into their box so urgently before. I thought Remus was going to trip over himself, he leaped up so quickly from his seat. Now, the three of us are left alone in the Common Room. Sirius hasn’t even flinched once despite the chaos that just occurred around him. His eyes remain in narrow slits as they focus ahead on the burning fire. James burns holes into his friend, waiting for some sort of reaction. His hand continues to hold mine, it’s the only reason I’m still here. I would’ve safely run off with the others given the chance. I sort of feel like I’m rudely watching a private moment between best friends. Do I say something? In my defense, I wanted to leave before everyone else did. 

Building up the courage to break the silence, I slip my hand from James’s and stutter, “I’m gonna… I’m gonna go.” Hopefully, that won’t make either of them burst or something. Urgently, I pick up my books off the side table next to the couch. 

James and Sirius both snap their heads in my direction. Okay, not what I had hoped. I freeze, unsure of what to do or say. I have two pairs of eyes pouring into me. One pair black, the other hazel. I press my books to my chest nervously. 

Suddenly, the sound of the Fat Lady opening interrupts us. Professor McGonagall appears from the dark archway in her robe and cap. Her distraught expression makes my heart sink. James and Sirius both fly up from their seated positions behind me, sharing in my worry. Already predicting what this may be about, I’m too afraid to move.

__________________________________

Tags: @hannah220506​ @devilstradegy

Masterlist

[pedropascalunofficial]

My Cousin, Pedro Pascal

Ximena Riquelme

16 NOV 2017 12:53 PM

Before being the protagonist of Narcos or filming with Colin Firth, José Pedro Balmaceda Pascal (42) was a child whom I knew very well because we are from the same family. A man who today looks with nostalgia and some perplexity at his place of origin and his history and who still does not answer what would have happened if he had stayed here.

The first memory I have of Pedro is in the arms of my mother during his baptism, in the garden of my house. She was a weeping bus and had huge black eyes. I was 9 years old. It was cloudy. Years later I learned that the priest was Gerardo Whelan, the legendary rector of Saint George's College. Pedro's parents were not at his baptism: my uncle, José Balmaceda, my mother's only male brother, and his wife Verónica Pascal were asylees at the Venezuelan embassy, which was on Bustos street, near my house. Pepe, as we used to say to my uncle, who years later would become a famous gynecologist, an expert in fertilization, was then a 27-year-old young doctor, in those days wanted by Dina. Some time before they had hidden Andrés Pascal Allende, Mirista and his wife's uncle. One day they came to take him to the José Joaquín Aguirre Hospital and he managed to escape by jumping through the roofs. It was October 1975.

Like most of the Chilean families, there were supporters of both sides in mine: for and against Pinochet. Trying to help Pedro's parents, my dad called a relative who held a high position in the Army. "Tell the children to get asylum, because I cannot guarantee their lives or that nothing happens to Veronica," was his reply. She was 22 years old. Then began the journey of my uncles and with them that of my cousin José Pedro Balmaceda Pascal. Pepe and Verónica had to start living secretly in different houses. Pedro, who was only 6 months old at the time, and his 3-year-old sister Javiera were left in charge of my mother's older sister, "Aunt Juani."

The second memory I have of Pedro is when I accompanied my parents, who carried him and his sister in their arms, to stand on the sidewalk in front of the Venezuelan embassy so that their parents could see them through the window.

My uncles left the Venezuelan embassy for the airport in January 1976, Pedro was 9 months old and obviously does not remember anything. I just remember that they didn't let me go. Pedro could not record the image, which I could not see, of his grandfather Luis Pascal Vigil - a very prominent lawyer - singing the National Anthem on the balcony of Pudahuel. A memory that is not mine but that I adopted, for cute.

As the people of the International Red Cross advised our family on time, Pedro and his sister did not leave the embassy with their parents, but arrived directly at the airport: this allowed their passports not to be stamped with the "L" for " limited to circulate "that stamped on the exiles who left. Therefore, the years that Pedro and Javiera came could come to Chile without problems. And for that reason, the choclón of cousins, we were able to share long summers in Pucón and some winters in Santiago.

The Balmaceda Pascal first arrived in Aarhus, Denmark, in October 1976. A year later they left for San Antonio, Texas, where Pedro's father was able to continue improving himself thanks to a grant from the Rockefeller Foundation. Veronica earned a PhD in Child Psychology.

________________________________________

"But Denmark is invisible to me," Pedro writes me by email. A while ago I proposed to interview him at a distance to travel a little about his history, and here we are, in front of the computer, sharing memories. "It is invisible to me, like everything that happened before. Although once, after telling him about my childhood, a doctor told me that the temporary separation with my mother was trapped in the memory of my body and that I could remember it through the senses".

My cousin, far away

The third memory I have of Pedro is a summer in Pucón. It must have been in 1978. "Pepelo", as we said, was no longer a guagua but a restless, very blond boy, who was so impacted by poverty in Chile that when he went out on the street with his gringo accent, he asked any person: "Are you poor?" He took food out of the pantry and gave it away. With my cousins we rented a warm wooden house, colorful, with the door frames out of square. It was summers with trips to those black sand beaches that burned the feet and picnics in Caburgua with lamb on the stick. They took us to mass and Pedro sang very inspired.

"This is where the memories become more vivid, like dreams," he writes. "I remember so many details: my older cousins, children my age who were like family. The beach seemed endless. I also remember running down the hallways and stairs of Aunt Juani's house looking for Santa Claus at Christmas."

XR: What was it like leaving your parents in the United States?

PP: "I think the trauma was going back to the States, although I obviously wanted to be with my parents. But childhood in Chile, with the Balmaceda and Pascal, was a dream, a world where nothing was missing, pure adventure and love."

Now that he tells me that, I remember that image of Pedro hanging on the neck of our aunt Juani, crying in Pudahuel because she did not want to return. At that time going to the airport was a panorama: we were going en masse to leave him and his sister, who traveled in charge of the stewardesses.

In 1981 I went with my parents and my two sisters to see the Balmaceda Pascal in Texas. I remember an eternal road trip from Miami, I remember Pedro's house, in a middle-class neighborhood, comfortable, beautiful, lovingly arranged by his mother. I remember the tears of my mother and Pedro's mother when we said goodbye to return to Chile. We still didn't know when they could return. Although Pedro never fully returned.

In December 1983, Pepe and Verónica were able to enter Chile. The whole family was packed on the terrace of Pudahuel, waiting for them. I remember the Balmaceda Pascal walking from the stairs of the plane to the International Police. I remember them happy, triumphant. Pedro was 8 years old and chose to stay in my house, in love with my girl sister.

We all went to Quintero, to the house of our grandfather Pepe, a great smoker, tennis player, and fanatic fanatic who took us to the town cinema to see double Tora! Programs, Tora !, Tora! More Bridges on the River Kwai and other old movies. Surely Pedro had to see several. Since he was a boy he said he wanted to be a "director". He liked horror movies and was a big movie consumer, like his dad.

PP: "I remember going to the movies with the cousins and the grandfather to see anything with Clint Eastwood, Sylvester Stallone. They leased me VHS movies to see alone and happy."

XR: You once recited Hamlet on the beach with Grandpa.

PP: "No, it was Death of a Salesman, by Arthur Miller. I was about 14 years old. I videotaped it and lost the fucking camera on the trip back to the United States."

After that summer, Pedro began to come more sporadically. He was already grown up, at school and then at university. They had moved to Newport Beach, California. His father was doing very well. But Pedro, not so much.

PP: "I think that the way the family supported me in Chile was the opposite of what I experienced in Newport Beach. I started well in California but at 13 years old, very involved in the cinema, reading plays, books, TV, TV, TV, obsessed with these things, I had the bad luck to find few like me. It was a world very attached to conservatism and its privileges where not fitting was punished. There was a group of shitty goats who were my friends the first year and became my terrors thereafter. I don't enjoy remembering that time, but there are deep connections from back then. Friends of my parents who are like parents until today."

Pedro's mom soon found a performance arts program at a high school in another district. A more inclusive school compared to Corona del Mar, the neighborhood where they lived in Newport.

PP: "My mom and my driver's license were my salvation. There I was able to unleash my appetite for movies and theater without limits."

As time went by Pedro became a fun, provocative teenager with character. He said he was "lazy", but he went to study Theater at NYU in 1993 and he loved it. I started to see it less. When he came to Chile he went out with his friends, I was already married and having children.

XR: Did you find that our way of life was very boring?

PP: "Bored, no. But overwhelming regarding life's permanent decisions. I didn't have the Catholic structure, and I felt there was no room for a young guy like me. Like suddenly, from one trip of mine to another, you had lives that included marriages and children, and pleasing the visits of the gringo cousin was no longer an option for all of you. I had to duel, because I was jealous of his inattention."

XR: Do you find us very conservative?

PP: "Yes, but it is a major contradiction for me. I come from the perspective that no one can decide how someone else should live their life. And well, in our family there are social rules that are very firm. I think that a person has the right to live his life conservatively or wildly as long as he does not negatively impact anyone or tries to embarrass others by his lifestyle. I don't touch these issues very much with our family for fear of hearing their perspective, but what I do know is that if I ever needed help I could ask any member of our family by the name of Balmaceda, and I would get it."

In 1995, Pedro's parents returned to Chile with their two youngest children, Nicolás and Lucas, who had been born in California. Javiera also came for a couple of years. Pedro stayed in the United States.

PP: "It was a very scary period. I grew up with my family in the United States and from one day to the next there was no home to return to. Suddenly the idea of the safe nest was gone. It was shocking because in previous years I took for granted the privileged life we had in California. I never thought that this could change as suddenly as happened to my parents when they became exiles. Everything felt fragile. Also, I knew that my parents' marriage was wrong and that the tension of those circumstances was hardly going to end. My mother's life felt in danger and the line between needing her, being there for her and finishing my studies and pursuing a career was a horrible conflict. I knew that my mom wanted me to continue doing mine, she never would have wanted me to sacrifice it."

XR: Did you really resent the failure of your parents' marriage?

PP: "For me it was the hardest time. I have not been able, and I do not know if someday I will be able to reconcile completely how my parents separated and the tragedy that came after that separation. The circumstances of my mother's death made it very hard for us to keep her memory of who she was. It hurts so much ... Sometimes I feel distressed and try to face it in the best possible way, because I know that my mother would not like me to do it in any other way."

Pedro lost his mother when he was 24 years old.

PP: "It's hard to say what I remember most about her. You met her, so it is easy for you to understand that she was the love of my life. I think of her every day. Since I don't pray, I can't say that I have a practice to feel her close, but I live for her even though she's gone, and that makes sense to me."

From Alexander to Pedro

XR: Do you believe that pain makes us stronger or does it seem like a horrible cliché?

PP: "I don't think it's a terrible cliche but a profound reality. In some way, losing the most important person in your life, discovering that something like this is possible and that what you fear most in life can happen is an identifiable and permanent moment. There is a before and after after his death. I think, yes, that old age would not have been for my mother, there would have been no footwear with her. Of course, no one wants to grow old, but others can handle it better. I would not have liked to see my mom struggling with it, but at the same time, I wish I had her every day still with me."

It may have been the summer of 2012. Pedro said to our aunt Juani: "I am 37 years old and I still can't get what I want. And it's the only thing I know how to do." It had been a long time since the death of his mother in the summer of 2000 that Pedro had changed his name. From Pedro Balmaceda to Pedro Pascal. He had been searching for years, years of casting where, by being called Pedro Balmaceda in the studios, they hoped to find a Latin or classic Mexican phenotype. He had only made minor appearances in some series.

XR: Although you did not regret it, you did wear Alexander at some point. Why?

PP: "That was a desperate period and directly related to having lost my mother. I was desperate to work, to fill my days with something more to suffer. To eliminate the confusion that casting directors had with this guy named Pedro with European or Caucasian traits, I changed my first name to Alexander and took my mom's last name, Pascal. That only lasted a year, until I was able to find a job and be selected for an Ibsen theatrical classic. But it was too late for people to identify me as "Alex". Also, my mom named me Pedro. So the decision was to call me Pedro Pascal, a name that fits with me more than any other."

Soon after that came Brothers and Sisters, other small roles, and later more important ones in The Good Wife, The Law and Order, The Mentalist, until Game of Thrones, Narcos in 2015 and now, filming Muralla china with Matt Damon and William Dafoe - last year we all went to see his cousins together - and then Kingsman 2 with Colin Firth, Julianne Moore, Jeff Bridges, Halle Berry and Channing Tatum.

XR : Have you ever been excited acting with such powerful actors?

PP: "I have been thrilled with everyone."

With fame have come the new meetings of the cousins with Pedro Pascal. We all want to see him, take pictures of us, we ask him for greetings-chub for friends, we inflate ourselves by saying that he is our cousin. That Peña, the protagonist of Narcos and the sexiest guy in the world, is my cousin-brother. He laughs and humorously calls us "scoundrels" because now we remember him. In fact, that's what our cousin chat on Whastapp is called.

But there is also the modesty to disturb him. Know that you are busy. That while I'm sending you these questions, you're filming in Boston with Denzel Washington. And to feel that there is always a lack of time to speak to him calmly, a space to ask him questions like the ones that occur to me now:

XR: Exile changed your life. Can you imagine growing up in Chile?

PP: "I don't know, because I haven't thought much about it. I have been asked this question all my life and have never been able to come up with an answer. Perhaps my life would have been more complete and solid. What I am used to is that the past disappears as if it had been lived by someone else, in another time."

XR: Do you miss something from when you were Pedro Balmaceda?

PP: "You know? There is very little difference between Pedro Balmaceda and Pedro Pascal. As it is all part of José Pedro Balmaceda Pascal, I feel the same person. But with back problems and more money."

XR: Would you like to start a family?

PP: "Being a dad? I don't know. I have no fucking idea. I love being an uncle. It may just end there. But anything is possible."

XR: Marialy Rivas said something very nice about you on Saturday: that when you play a character, you pretend that this character brought a whole previous story, much bigger than what they are telling. And it's true: you carry a bigger story than you tell it.

PP: "I don't know, cousin. I am very confused trying to organize the past and see what turns out. It helps me understand the pain or be grateful for what I have. Sometimes I feel like I'm a fraud, living between waiting for fame and attention and completely embarrassed by these wishes.

In reference to what Marialy said, I think she means that I put all my confusion, joy and sorrow, ambivalence, hostility, rage, love, lust, greed, compassion, ignorance, knowledge either to indicate a map with the finger on Narcos, throwing an arrow in Game of Thrones, lashing out at Kingsman. Cool! But I think my experience in theater taught me that."

XR: Would you someday like your life to be a script?

PP: "No way." (in english)

XR: Do you still want to be a "director", as you used to say when you were a kid?

PP: "Yes! That will be my way of being a father. Father of a production."

XR: Is dreaming about an Oscar the dream of every actor, even if you don't confess it?

PP: "I confess that possibly… yes."

[jerardeusebio]

When I say “workout,” I really do mean all physical exercises other than running. Before this coronavirus pandemic, I’ve mostly worked out at home. Yes, I’ve availed of a gym membership and found enjoyment in going to one, but this has happened only twice. And these two occasions, they were brief and far between. To illustrate: the first time I had ever set foot in a gym was right after college, around 2009. I went to that gym for about five months and then stopped. The next time would be nine years later, when I moved back home to begin my life as a UPLB academic. But this time, I’d only go to the same gym for three months.

While I did and still do appreciate the equipment variety and quality, the cool temperature, and the very idea of carving out time and headspace to exercise, which most gyms are able to offer its clients, I’ve always found it difficult to buy into the lifestyle. And over the course of the last ten years, I’ve wondered long and hard as to why. Today, I’m attempting to narrow it down to three things:

Running. I often tell my friends that running has saved my life. I don’t mean to be hyperbolic about it. This, on a biological level, is accurate. As someone who’s had to manage anxiety disorders since childhood, I know this to be a fair statement. Running regularly has allowed me to traverse the high wire that life is. And sure, it was on a treadmill that I started running (and liking it), but it was never going to be where I’d stay running. It’s like how cyclers don’t reinstall their training wheels. The whole point of getting them in the first place is to be able do without them later on. The treadmill acted as my training wheels. I hopped on determined to eventually be off of it. Since running became my exercise, the one sport that I had, with great purpose, weaved into the fabric of my identity, the gym and all its other equipment soon felt peripheral. And I wasn’t going to keep paying money for something that I’d, time and again, view as peripheral. 

Money. My 2009 gym membership was paid for by mother as a college graduation gift. I was grateful, but I knew it wasn’t going to be forever. There was some expectation, as I was fresh out of college at this point, that I would eventually earn to pay my keep. And while I knew good physical health was necessary and important, I quickly realized that gyms weren’t. Not necessarily. They were means to an end, and costly means they were. So, when I could no longer swallow my pride, I stopped going. I shifted my focus on running, which at that point I was already falling in love with. I made UPLB campus my gym. I landed a job, eventually. And gym fees would never again fit into my budget. As I invested some money, little by little, on things like dumbbells, jumping ropes, and running clothes and shoes, it became crystal clear that I could do without gym access because (1) I really don’t need it and (2) I couldn’t afford it. Even when I found myself working in the Metro, many years later, and would pass all these posh gyms on my way home, I never ended up seriously considering them. Other things would always come up as more important.

Philosophy. On the first night that I got to hang with Dylan’s friends in Manila, we walked past this construction site on the way to SaGuijo. It was after dinnertime and the construction workers were preparing to retire. One of them had his shirt off and was displaying his chiseled body, cuts illumined by the fluorescent bulb above him. I remember being tagged by Dylan, cued by the sight of this hot construction worker, to share with his friends my ideas about gym-going. I told them what I had told Dylan earlier, that I found it quite ironic that many construction workers get paid to do manual labor and, as a consequence, get to exercise and develop a nice physique, while white collar workers (who go to the gym) have to pay to exercise and be healthy, and, if they’re really determined, develop a nice physique. This was something that I had thought about in my first few months, that time already half a decade ago, at my gym. It hadn’t taken long for me to begin wondering about what I was doing, and why only rich (and/or connected) people went to the gym with me. The more I thought about it, the more I found it ridiculous that I had to pay in order to be healthy and physically active. While for laborers, the work was to lift sacks of cement to build something, the office workers pay to lift iron discs to use what would otherwise be unused muscles. If my job, diet, and lifestyle were so great, then why was I overweight? Why was I struggling? Why was it a good job if it kept me glued to a chair seven hours a day? This to me said so much about how we’ve evolved to define “work” the way we do today, and why manual and physical labor is often frowned upon as menial and low-paying. This also makes sense when I think about physical education classes being excluded from grades computations. Why? Are cerebral tasks necessarily more important than being physically fit? Aren’t those things tied? It also says so much about how we’ve capitalized on these gaps. Again, it seems absurd—if one were to sit down and really think about it—to be working so hard to be able to pay for gym fees and medical care once our health deteriorates because of the kind of inert work that most of us are taught to value and have to do. It is with this philosophy that I decide, each time I get the opportunity to, to not to be part of this culture and commit to making the most of home workouts.

To my friends, I advocate working out at home. I do feel it’s the most compatible for many, if not all of them. But I would understand if they find going to the gym the best choice that they have. I’m sure some of them have thought about it as much as I have, maybe even more. Still, in general, the incentive system to be healthy in our current setup is not that great. Those who have more means, who enjoy more privileges are more likely to be fitter. Even I, just by having ample space for home workouts, already outprivilege so many. Unfortunately, the incentive system is similar for food. Eating more healthy (organic, vegan, whole) is seen as more expensive. Less healthy choices like highly processed foods are relatively cheaper and more accessible. Not to mention education, which allows us to make better food choices. This is were some of our healthy construction workers would lose. In this scenario, as in too many others, it is those with less that are disadvantaged. I digress, I know. I’m afraid more of this must be for another sad and sobering blog entry.

I’ll maintain, though, that if one wants to be fit, going to the gym is not the only option and certainly not the cheapest. The first few months of the pandemic have proven this, as most of my friends went on to do their exercises at home. 

I can’t speak for them, but me—I’m relieved I no longer have to shower before working out, to commute, to find a nearby parking space, to wait for an equipment to free up, to suffer feeling looked at and judged. Mostly, though, I'm glad I don't have to pay to be motivated to move about. And I guess this setup has been working out well for me because exercise has always been a solitary thing for me, like how I prefer running by myself because it gives me a chance to hear my own thoughts, count my own breath, and communicate with my body.

Over the years—and there have been many—the equipment count at home has steadily increased. Just a few months ago, a stationary bike and a pull-up bar were added to my arsenal, thanks to my brother’s efforts. Last week, I purchased the very first pair of training shoes I’ve ever owned. They’re sure to give my running shoes (the wrong pair for lateral movements during HIIT) a nice break from indoor exercises. And these new kicks have been so far great, and I’m looking forward to working out with them for years, in the comfort of my own home.

[qvid-pro-qvo]

a southern education

rafael barba x female!reader. a series of moments during cases leads barba to learn a common turn of phrase from you, a detective on the squad.

word count: 4559

rating: teen, for endless teasing and the kind of contempt only the south can offer (canon-typical mentions of rape and violence, but frankly a whole lot of fluff, too, as well as an additional warning for the author knowing nothing about how law work besides what law and order tells me). 

-

It was like a different world, when you and Rollins got to chatting.

It was the way your accents got thicker, the way your laughter seemed to echo. There was always an inside joke, always a tease before you got paired off with Fin and Rollins inevitably found Sonny once again, words dripping with something sugary sweet as the two of you parted ways. The others didn’t get it, what you two would get so riled up about, but with you and her, it was like two peas in a pod.

It was just the South in the two of you. And yes, the capital ‘S’ was justified.

The South. Muggy nights and wretched summers and air thick with humidity and the mosquitoes that didn’t even give you a chance. Cicadas yelling as soon as the sun set and sitting out on porches drinking your beer or tooth-achingly sweet tea. Tipping hats and holding doors open and taking your sweet time. It made New York feel that much smaller, just two Southern girls trying to make it.

There were the shitty parts, too. There were the parts that make you and Rollins come to New York in the first place – the realization that women would never make it like men do, the suffocation of trying to fit into a box not made for you. So New York was far from home, but for good reason, and sometimes all of the South you need was hearing Rollins say y’all just as much as you.

Like now, for instance.

The newest case was a weird one, for sure, but at the center of it all was a young boy in the crossfire. Caught between his adoptive parents and the criminal enterprises his biological father was involved with. The squad was waiting for some food, and you, Barba, Carisi, and Amanda were all sitting around the wooden table, using the chairs to move from section of evidence to section of evidence.

“Poor guy just wanted a good home,” you said, looking at one of the pictures of him. It was a sweet photo, and you sighed before pushing the folder away from you. You moved to stand from the table. “Bless his heart.”

It came out of you without thinking, your voice somber, solemn. Rollins just nodded, because she got the gist, but Carisi just turned to look at you like you just grew devil’s horns.

“What does that mean?”

You looked up from the picture and met Carisi’s eyes. His brows were furrowed, and there seemed to be something tense in his shoulders.

“What do you mean?” you asked, looking amongst them. Barba was raising his brow, but his gaze was fixated on his notepad, his pen in his fingers as he scribbled something. “It’s just a saying.”

“Well, because Amanda says it to me sometimes,” Carisi said, and there was a twist to his lips, one you wanted to chuckle at. He looked so… solemn. “And usually she’s being sarcastic. I just don’t think what they did to this little boy is funny, that’s all.”

You glanced back at Amanda, and the two of you shared a look, smiling in that way you shared. She was hiding it behind her hand, and you turned back to the two men, ready to placate.

“Neither do I.” When I was saying that, I meant… that’s really sad, for him, and… y’know. Poor thing. Poor guy.” You lifted your hands, pointing to the picture. “I wasn’t being sarcastic, this kid is… he’s in a shitty situation. It’s kind of a catch-all. It’s about the intention behind it.”

“It’s a Southern thing,” Amanda finished, shrugging a bit. “It just means what you want it to mean.”

That seemed to soothe Carisi’s troubled soul enough, and you smiled at him before lifting completely from your chair, moving to get some more coffee. You asked the table if they wanted anything, and the only response was Barba lifting with you, and the two of you walked towards the coffee maker.

You didn’t mind the lawyer. Sure, the ADA wasn’t always your thing – after all, working with him could feel like you just ran a marathon – but Barba was good at his job and treated you all well.

Plus, if you happened to know your favorite combination of suit, tie, and pocket square that he wore, that was between you and God.

“I could’ve just gotten you something if you wanted, Barba,” you told him. “I know you like your coffee, even the bad stuff here.”

His smile was small, but it felt real enough, and you gave him a returning one, trying to ignore the thrill you got from the way he looked at you.

“You always add too much sugar,” he admitted, and you just rolled your eyes, smirking.

“And you always add too little, so. Maybe one day we’ll meet in the middle.” His little chuckle was cute, and you leaned against the little bar, glancing out the breakroom to where Carisi and Rollins were. “Today I won’t touch it, how ‘bout that?”

“I appreciate it.” He too glanced over to the other room, and you watched as Amanda seemed to explain something to Sonny, her hands circling a little as Sonny just shook his head at her. “So, blessing your heart? A common thing?”

“Oh, you have no idea,” you laughed, pouring a couple of cups and sliding one over to him to do as he wished. He just picked it up and sipped at it, the monster, but you added three sugars and stirred it plenty. “Trust me, sympathy isn’t always its message, but like I said. It can mean a little bit of everything.”

Barba just laughed again, shaking his head. “It seems innocuous enough. You’re telling me old women can weaponize blessing someone?”

That made your mouth twitch up, and you finished stirring your coffee with a flick of the plastic straw. With a little smile at him, you reached forward, turning him, getting close. You narrowed your eyes, pursing your lips a little. A once-over, eyes calculating, and he just stared, wide-eyed and brows creeping towards his hairline as you let out a little sound, putting all the condescension into it. And if your accent was a bit strong, well. You let it play.

“Oh, bless your heart. You just don’t understand. The South doesn’t pull punches.”

Your eyes didn’t break from his for a moment, and then you let out a little snort, shaking your head, moving past him. He seemed more than a little confused, and when you looked back he was just watching you, watching the way you walked toward the roundtable once more. You chuckled a little again, gesturing with your head towards Amanda and Carisi. 

“Oh, Northerners. Come on, Mr. Barba. No more blessing hearts today. I have a feeling this’ll be continuing education.”

-

You stood in Liv’s office a few weeks later, the two interrogation rooms on either side of you. In one, the victim, the other, the perp. A classic he-said, she-said, and you found yourself lingering on the perp’s side, watching as Carisi and Fin interrogated him. Their voices came through a little staticky, but you caught every word, your mouth twisting into disgust as you watched him spin a tale of woe.

“I did not do it,” he cried out, and his entire being reeked privilege. It was so easy to watch him pull every card out of the book, and watch the two detectives stand by, unimpressed. If he thought his charm and his smile would woo them, he was sorely mistaken.

“Look, you wanna know the truth, kid?” Carisi said, leaning back in his seat as Fin leaned against the window. Almost as if he knew you were standing by, watching. “We don’t give a rat’s ass who your father is, we don’t give a damn about your GPA. All we care about is what happened that night. So tell us what really happened now, and we won’t have to drag you out of your classes with our lights going.”

You huffed out a laugh at Carisi’s statement, which earned you a fellow lurker. Barba, there next to you. He normally didn’t get the cases this early, but with something like this he liked to hear everything from the beginning.

“Anything of value from him?” he asked, and you shook your head, turning to face him, one eye still on the interrogation.

“Nah, he’s just spinning his wheels. He thinks Daddy’s money can get him out of this bind, like every other one. Hasn’t caught the memo that we’re not that easy.”

Barba smirked, shaking his head. He turned to you, and his gaze lingered on your face, making you straighten a bit as he glanced back to the glass. “We certainly aren’t, detective. You’ll let me know the details later?”

Your brow raised. “Yeah, I can come by, if this isn’t something you’re gonna pass off to Callier. Course, I can fill her in, too.” It’d become an unofficial part of your job description, relaying the updates of the investigations to the D.A.s office when needed, trading off with Carisi. Mainly because the two of you liked going to see the counselor the most, for… different reasons.

Barba’s nod was short, and then he started migrating to the other side, where Liv and Rollins were in talking with the girl.

Suddenly, the whiny voice of the perp caught your attention.

“You can’t do this! My father won’t stand for it, do you hear me?”

Your nose wrinkled, and your little scoff was sharp enough to make Barba turn back, stop in his tracks. “Oh, bless his heart. He just doesn’t get it, does he?”

There was a warm chuckle from the other side of the room that made it your turn to look over, and you watched as Rafael Barba ducked his head, a hand lifting to cover his mouth as he did his best to look innocent.

“What’s so funny, Barba?”

When he glanced your way, the hand on his mouth lifted in surrender, the other sliding into his pocket. “Nothing. I just… think this is part of that continuing education you were talking about, detective.”

Your previous conversation came back to you, all of a sudden, and you watched as he chuckled again and pushed towards the interview room to watch Amanda and Liv.

“Trust me, you haven’t heard the last of it, yet,” you told him, and when he glanced over his shoulder he was smirking.

“I hope not.”

It was your eyes on him now, and you found yourself grinning and ducking your head before it became full-on staring, a warm feeling on your cheeks as Carisi and Fin came back into Liv’s office. You found yourself chuckling to yourself for the rest of the day, thinking about the way he looked while he smiled, at the way he laughed.

You wouldn’t mind seeing that smile more often, you decided.

Wouldn’t mind one bit.

-

The SVU squad room didn’t always leave you with smiles, of course. It was a lot of heartbreak, a lot of pain that circulated through interrogation rooms and interview sessions. A lot of sorrow, sitting in courtrooms and watching strong, powerful victims testify against their assailants.

A lot of pain. But… friends were a bright spot.

And slowly, Barba was becoming that, too.

Your role as the inbetweener was essentially official. More often than not you were accompanying Liv to One Hogan Place, the two of you in his office and trying to talk him into something (and him usually trying to talk the two of you out). A lot of times, you went on your own, making it just you and him standing on either side of his desk, discussing what could and could not be done in the eyes of the law.

It was still work, at that point, too. Because you could give him the details without skipping the important facts, could give it to him straight without hemming and hawing. You could defend your fellow detectives without taking it personally, knowing when wrongs were wrong and when to push.

And if those conversations started stretching longer, and if you found yourself lingering in his offices more and more, well. Amanda had permission to tease you about it in private.

But only in private.

In public, she could only send sly looks, looks you stubbornly avoided by meeting others’ gazes or looking down at your laptop.

Like in that moment, when Barba’s gaze met yours in his office, and the little nod he offered seemed enough to make your heart pound. A glance at Amanda, with her laugh behind her hand and head shaking, told you all you needed to know about how gone you were.

“Detective?”

Your gaze shot back to Rafael. This time his gaze wasn’t one of equals, but one of concern, his head tilted almost a little. And in that moment, you realized that he was asking you a question, that he had been nodding at you to answer…

“Sorry, sorry,” you scrambled, blinking a few times, trying to ignore the way Amanda kicked you under the small round table. “What was the question?”

“You’re the one who visited Miss Stevens last,” he said, pushing from his desk to stand up tall, walk towards you and your friend. “What’s your take?”

The interaction with your witness came back to you, and you grimaced a little at the thought of her taking the stand.

“Bless her heart,” you said, on instinct, shaking your head as you thought about her answers to the simple questions you asked her.

“That bad, huh?” the blonde said with a wince, and you nodded, sighing.

“Unfortunately.”

“What?” Barba’s brow raised with his question, and you realized that while Amanda got the gist, you were leaving the counselor in the dust for once.

Well. How to explain… politely…

You bit your lower lip a moment before speaking. “Miss Stevens is very… kind,” you offered, shrugging, “but her attention span is not the… greatest. A little… naïve, is the word I’d use, I guess.”

After a moment, Barba looked to Amanda, who just smiled sweetly. “I think what Y/N is implying is that, after talking with her, she realized that… uh.”

Nothing from Barba, who just looked between the two of you.

“Is what?”

It wasn’t worth the games anymore, even though the confusion on Barba’s face was hilarious. You turned to nod at Amanda, before leaning back in your chair, sighing.

“She’s, frankly, as dumb as a doornail.” When Southern politeness didn’t work, the next step was brutal honesty. “Which shouldn’t matter, but you put her up there –”

“And any defense attorney worth their salt would have her saying whatever they wanted her to,” Amanda finished. You reached over to pat her hand in thanks, and she just grinned at you, the two of you turning to the lawyer simultaneously. He didn’t answer immediately, eyes flicking back and forth between the two of you. 

“If you prep her really well,” you offered to him, “there’s a chance. But it has to be… really well.” You and your fellow detective stood, and as she moved to the door you just shrugged at the attorney.

“And you have doubt in my abilities to prep well?” Barba shot back, and you grinned at him. For the moment, Amanda was gone, just you and him and some verbal flirting to finish off the day.

You lingered in the doorway, and ignored the sound of Amanda’s foot tapping on the carpet. “I have doubt in her abilities to listen well.”

He just chuckled, shaking his head and letting out a breath. Whatever it took to finish a case. “All right. Well. I’ll figure it out. Thank you, for the extra lesson today. Three ways to use a phrase is… more than I was expecting.”

You chuckled, shaking your head at him, before an idea sprung to mind that made you pause before you turned out of the room.  

“Want me to call her in tomorrow? Bring her down to the precinct?” When he seemed to hestitate, you pushed a little. “She might be more comfortable with me there, and she’s already been to the precinct in one of our interview rooms. Might be best to introduce you at someplace she’s… familiar?”

Maybe you were hallucinating, but Amanda might as well have been on Mars. Because the smile Barba gave? It had to be all for you.

The case ended up finishing strong. Or, almost finishing. The tail end of the case found the two of you jogging out of the courthouse into a rush of cool fall winds, your noses going numb at the feeling as the sun started to set over the skyline.

“She did well,” you praised, hunching your shoulders against the cold. “Should never have doubted you.”

“Couldn’t have done it without New York’s finest,” he admitted, and when you glanced at him the only way to describe it was… mirth.

“Damn straight, counselor.”

Your steps were in time. No other detectives, no other lawyers, just the two of you making your way down to the street and relishing in the feeling of a well-fought battle.

“All that’s left is the jury,” you hummed. “Waiting’s always the hardest part.” 

“We could go grab a drink,” he offered with a little shrug. “Kill some of that time?” 

It was sudden, out of the blue. A moment that you were sure you imagined. “What?” you asked, turning to face him. You expected him to be staring out to the street, or up at the sky, but he was just staring at you, smirk ever-present and adding some sweet seduction to the offer.

“A drink. You, and me.”  

You tried to ignore that butterflies that suddenly took roost in your stomach, and the way your hand hastily went to your hair to make sure the wind wasn’t messing with it too much. “The case isn’t over yet, Barba. Are you sure you want to risk it?”

After a glance around the front steps, he stepped closer to you, smiling. He was wearing that bronze-colored wool coat, and you resisted the urge to reach a hand out, brush off imaginary lint. When he smiled, it was like his eyes lit up, the browns in the coat making the greens shine bright. 

“Then after the case,” he amended. “Once it’s over. Nothing to risk.”

He was serious. He wanted a drink. With you. You had to blink a few times, ducking your gaze to laugh. Amanda would get a kick out of this. Would probably also say that she told you so. “Hope you didn’t just push our luck saying that out loud,” you teased, but his smile didn’t waver when you met his eyes once more. 

“I mean it.”

It was that moment, you supposed. That moment when you looked at him and realized the counselor was looking at you the same way you knew you looked at him.

He was looking at you, and he was smiling, and you couldn’t get enough.

When you nodded, it was short, a little shy, your head ducking again as you pulled your own coat tighter around yourself, your hand tucking your scarf in to keep out the chill.

“Yeah, counselor,” you said. “I’d like that a lot, actually.” 

Then, because you couldn’t help it, you reached forward anyway, let your hand brush something off of his shoulder, flattened out the collar and let your fingers catch on the material. Smiled, as you looked at him.

“It’s a date.” 

-

You loved watching your boyfriend in his element. Because before almost anything else, Rafael Barba was a lawyer. And a damn good one.

The victims, plural, shared some vicious horror stories when they came into the squad room, some stories that they were brave enough to repeat on the stand. Rafael walked them through it, led them to places where they could share all of the details, and prepped them well for the defense’s return volley.

And considering that it was Buchanan, the victory was all the sweeter, especially since the perp was a scumbag who hadn’t wiped the smug look off of his face the whole trial.

Until today, of course. Rafael did his job, and you got the joy of catching his wink as he moved back to his seat, the perp’s words fumbling in his throat as Rafael trapped him in one lie after another. It was like music to your ears, and the sight of Buchanan putting his head in one had was visually just as sweet. 

“It isn’t over yet,” Rafael told you, meeting you at the doors once the jurors filed away, but you just shook your head.

“Not like you to be humble,” you laughed. “Come on, handsome. You know it was a good day.”

You relished in the way his eyes scanned you, the sight of the smirk on his face, the relaxed set of his shoulders.

“Let’s not jinx it. Just. Enjoy it while it lasts.”

You just chuckled, offered a brush of your shoulders to tide the two of you over, and together you started moving out of the courtroom. Only to be stopped by Buchanan, of course, whose voice made your spine stiffen.

“Just a moment, counselor.”

The two of you turned in sync, Buchanan meeting up with you right outside before the hallway. As the three of you stepped out of court, the tension you always felt between the two lawyers seemed heightened. Buchanan’s usual relaxed attitude was gone, replaced by a furrowed brow hestitation as he stepped towards the representative of the people.

“Well, that was quick,” Rafael sighed, and you bit your lip to keep from laughing.

“I want to discuss your offer. Rape Three, on both counts.” 

Rafael’s scoff was sharp.

“After what happened in that courtroom, I think we both know the deal has changed,” Barba shot back, raising a brow at the man in front of him. You couldn’t help the smirk on your face, glancing down to your shoes as Rafael talked to him. “Both counts of Rape Two, served consecutively, and I’ll consider only adding sexual misconduct for the Queens cases if he pleads guilty.”

“You call that a deal?” Buchanan scoffed, and your man just shrugged. “That’s barely a discount.”

Rafael didn’t back down, though, glancing towards the empty pews. “It’s better than two counts of Rape One, which we both know that jury is going to heavily consider. You had your chance for a better deal. It’s my final offer.”

The aghast look on Buchanan’s face was priceless. “Kicking me while I’m down,” Buchanan sneered, and you glanced up in time to see him direct his words at you. “Can you believe this guy? Punishing me for having an off day once in a while.”

It made your skin crawl. You hated the way he looked at you, and you found yourself lifting your chin to meet his gaze head-on.

“Well, bless your heart, Mr. Buchanan,” you told him, oozing fake saccharine from every pore. “Lord knows we all have bad days.” Your smile was tight, and he had the gall to return it.

“Look at that, Barba,” Buchanan said, nodding at you like your words actually meant something. “I think you should take a lesson from the detective here. No one likes a sore winner. Show a little courtesy, for me and my client.”

“My offer is final. Take it or leave it.”

Buchanan’s smile was tight, and he shook his head at the A.D.A. before turning away. “We’ll discuss it later today.”

“Is that a yes?” Barba called after him, and Buchanan visibly sighed, dropping his chin.

“I need to confer with my client,” he called back, and he turned a corner, vanishing in the maze that was the courthouse.

You shivered as he turned the corner, hating that you even thought about smiling at him.

“Suddenly decide to play nice with defense attorneys, cariño?” Rafael asked, his tone light as he watched all of your hatred finally show. You could tell he was teasing, that he knew the taste of your tone as well as any other.

“That, darlin’, was a good ol’ Southern fuck you,” you ground out, and Rafael’s hand lifted to rest on your back, turning you towards the elevator. You glanced toward him, as the two of you walked, and there was something like admiration on his face, a little smile that nowadays made you warm because you knew it was all for you.

“I don’t think anyone else gets you this riled up,” he teased lightly, and your eyes rolled even as your chin lifted. The doors opened, and the two of you were the only ones who got on. “And believe it or not, I could tell just what sentiment you were trying to get across.” When the elevator door closed his hands went to your shoulders, squeezing a little, fingers rubbing into the junction at your neck to work the muscle there.

“But I don’t think Buchanan did,” you laughed, the tension Buchanan always put in your shoulders leaking away as he continued to touch you, pulling you close for a kiss on your cheek before the doors slid open again.

“Eres una bendición,” he whispered to you, walking behind you as the two of you got off, and you turned to smile at him, raising a brow when he used a word you didn’t recognize. He just shook his head, threw a wink your way. “Meet me at my office?”

You chuckled a little, waving your hand, already missing the feeling of his fingers on your skin. “After work, of course.”

“Of course, counselor.”

-

(The sign of a good education was always that the student could put the lessons into practice. And Rafael was nothing but a good student. So in the end, it was meant to happen, and you were just lucky enough to witness it.

A night late night in his office, different paperwork wars being waged. An occasional tease from his desk thrown to your position on his couch, where you had set up shop.

Eventually though, the night wound down as it always did. The two of you sharing the couch, shoes off and feet tangled in the middle as he scribbled where he needed you, and your fingers typed away on your laptop.

The exhaustion was starting to get to you both though, and after your eyes crossed and blurred for the third time, you had to click save and close your laptop.

“I think I’m tapping out,” you groaned, leaning back against the arm of the couch. “Any longer and I’ll go blind from the blue light.”

“Not even midnight, cariño. Don’t tell me you’re giving up now,” Rafael teased, and you kicked his calf at the comment, eyes closing as you settled in, feeling the warmth of him on your legs.

“Unlike someone, I was sitting in a car to watch an apartment at dawn, so I think I have a good excuse.”

“Well, bless your heart,” he returned with a little verve, and your eyes shot open. Widened, as you sat up to stare.

It didn’t sound right in his mouth. His own New Yorker tone, his quick lawyer beat, it made it feel all jumbled up. Not enough oomph to really get the point across. But even as painfully wrong as it was, he said it, and that was what made your mouth stretch into a grin, made you scoot a little closer to him as he flipped through his own file, your laptop set (perhaps a little precariously) on the arm.

“What did you just say, counselor?”

It hit him the moment after you asked. Confusion washing over his features, and then realization, followed by something that looked a little like astonishment.

Maybe horror, but you didn’t hold that against him.

“Rafael,” you laughed. “I think your lessons in the South have ended, and I am the best teacher.”)

[houndin-around]

Cozenage | Maul’s Padawan pt.2

Warnings: nsfw, 18+, master/padawan relationship(she’s of age), smut, some angst

Wc: 4,496

Author notes; so it seems the first part I did was really well liked so he’s part II! I’m glad you guys liked the first one and I hope like this one too! This is my first ever smut writing..so uh please be gentle 🥺 I was really considering not doing this but here it is!!

“I just don’t understand why we haven’t found her yet!” the voice echoed throughout the council meeting, frustration visible.

“We’ve used all the resources we have at the moment, to find (y/n) Feles. Remember Coruscant is a very large city. The security forces can only do so much. We know two gangsters approached her, perhaps other members of the group took her. The two won’t give up any more information.” Mace Windu informed, his tone lacking any sort of sympathy.

“They must be hiding something. What if the separatists got a hold of her?”

The Jedi council took a deep breath, connecting with the force to figure out where in the galaxy you could be. As the days drag on, your old master is filled with vexation. There was more going on though then he let on, something far more suspicious than the others could read. He needed you, he needed your power even though it hasn’t reached it’s full potential yet. However, he knew you’d soon have the proper training that would be satisfactory enough.

“Clouded by the dark side, her future is. Something hiding her, no something protecting her. A dangerous force, I feel.” worry presented itself in Master Yoda’s voice. His body soon becoming rigid at the thought of you possibly choosing the path on your own accord.

After the confirmation that darkness has surrounded you, the meeting was adjourned but some masters remained behind. Some understood the complex relationship you had with your master, and his feelings toward you so to them they couldn’t calculate as to why Feles was acting the way he was.

“It just doesn’t add up. Even Ahsoka has shared some privileged information regarding the treatment (y/n) has received. I think Master Feles has some secrets of his own. An apprentice could be in severe danger, we have to do something! We can’t just sit around and wait for more information to be given up!”

Heads turned to the brash Jedi knight who was now on his feet filled with emotions. Of course, Obi-wan Kenobi was used to these types of behaviors from his previous padawan so the effect was little to none at this point. Quite frankly, Obi-wan agreed with Anakin for something did feel out of place.

“And what do you expect to be done, young Skywalker? Compel Feles to give up information he doesn’t even have? How do you expect that to look on the council’s part?” Windu’s glare could cut right through any other Jedi, yet for Skywalker it did absolutely nothing.

“As shocking as it may be, I agree with Anakin. It’s out of character for Feles to even show such emotion for another being, let alone an apprentice he’s never gotten along with. It couldn’t hurt to investigate a little more without him knowing?” Obi-wan’s voice was soft, though his point was persuasive as he gained some nods from his fellow Jedi.

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

“Fix your posture. Tighten up your right arm too. You’re all over the place today. Is something bothering you?” Maul inquired, soft eyes roaming your body.

“I’m sorry...I just can’t get it right. I’m failing you..” your voice was barely audible, shame running hot in your cheeks.

Shaking his head, the zabrak mosied over to you with narrowed eyes. “That is far from the truth and you know it (y/n)” his tone earnest, though deeper than normal. “The only way to vanquish the seventh form is by silencing your mind. Your apprehension, inner turmoil, is what’s stopping you. Feel the force flow through your body, let it guide you.” his tone was gentle, coaxing you to continue trying.

Standing adjacent to you, Maul activated his double-bladed saber and began moving through the positions of form seven. The fluidity was breathtaking, his saber cutting the air erratically yet he managed to remain in full control. As he demonstrated the form for you, his breathing became heavy and sweat glazed over his forehead. He managed to show no indication of fatigue, finishing off with one last throw in the air and a force push. Watching him sent a fiery sensation throughout your body and resting in your core, causing you to bite your lower lip. The sweat began dripping down his neck only intensifying the ache within. He was your master and nothing more, however, your body reacted otherwise anytime you looked at him the desire growing each moment.

“You make it look easy” you pouted, clipping your lightsaber to your belt followed by crossing your arms across your chest.

“Because I trust in the force and have a tranquil mind my apprentice.” his brow cocked as he noticed the heat settling in your cheeks. “Let me help you.”

Sheathing his saber, Maul shifted closer to you placing his hilt in your hands. Feeling the uncertainty bubbling within you, he placed his hands over yours guiding you through the movements breath hot on your neck. There were quite a few times your Master had touched you but this was unconventional, it had a different meaning behind it, so much so butterflies whirled in the pit of your stomach encouraging you to act on impulse. Pretending to adjust your stance, you play off accidentally backing into the crimson zabrak a little more, earning a faint groan. Making contact with him, his hands instantly grasp your hips, causing your core to burn in arousal. The tension was building between you both, so full of desire, except none of you made the next move. Without hesitation, Maul spun you around to face him, the space between you growing smaller. His amber eyes searched yours, slowly moving in closer pressing his forehead against yours and closing his eyes. It was as if he was holding back, resisting the urge of something you couldn’t read.

Opening his eyes and licking his lips Maul began to speak, “I...I think it’s time we finish up here. This form takes a lot of energy out of you and it is imperative you rest.” just as he finishes you catch him glancing over your body once more.

You gave a small nod before he broke the connection and taking his lightsaber back. A defeated sigh escaped your lips, you were so close to discovering if your assumptions were true and yet you were afraid to make the final move. Frustration boiled inside as you followed Maul to the shared room you have. He was possessive and protective resulting in you both sharing a room and bed as a precaution. The idea of someone taking you in the middle of the night haunted him and so his solution was being with him the majority of the time. Despite sharing a bed, boundaries were set in place by pillows placed down the middle of the bed to avoid any accidental contact. Entering the room, you went straight toward your drawers grabbing a clean pair of robes to take with you into the refresher. You wanted some time alone, time to process what just happened, and to figure out what it was you were truly feeling. Not even saying a word to Maul, you padded to the ‘fresher, placing your dark-colored robes on the marble sink, you undressed and turned on the sanisteam adjusting it to the temperature you enjoyed.

Stepping inside, you crossed your arms, hands on your shoulders taking in the warmth of the water washing away the weight of the day. After today’s events, you just wanted to stay within the transparisteel walls that protected you from the embarrassment of your actions. How could you be so rash? What if Maul didn’t even feel the same way you did and was simply holding back anger from you? Maybe you’re just confusing your emotions and don’t even want him like that? The doubts your Master had told you to rid of, came back with a vengeance with more to ponder on. Going to sleep tonight especially in the same bed as Maul seemed impossible.

--

The crackling of the fire filled your ears along with the smell of burning wood. Your mind buzzing with thoughts still confused about your feelings and actions. It wasn’t just the actions of today, your thoughts grew more intense focusing on the new path laid ahead. How did you end up here in such a position? What made you choose him and why Mandalore? During your first encounter, Maul had forgotten to mention that he was the new ruler of Mandalore. Despite having asked, it was something he did not want to discuss at least not yet. He also kept you hidden from the public eye of Mandalore citizens, those that were very close to Maul, like Death Watch, were able to meet you but that was it.

He didn’t lie though when he promised to train you. Much like earlier, he was so keen on helping you improve your technique and answer any question you had even if it didn’t pertain to the current lesson. You learned more from him than your previous master but even if the zabrack wasn’t like Feles, you still feared the inevitable errors. No matter how much you try to convince yourself otherwise, Maul intimidated you. You’ve witnessed his temper when it came to Death Watch. Metal lightly clinking against the marble flooring of the Sundari Royal Palace caused you to jump out of your skin.

“Do you fail to recall the ability I have when it comes to hearing your thoughts?” his voice was thick with sleep, brows furrowed.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you, Master. I just couldn’t sleep.” More like you didn’t want too. Rubbing the back of your neck, you noticed Maul inching closer to you out of your peripheral.

“You know, I’m more aware than you think. I know you have been coming out here the past few nights. I disregarded it with the expectations of it passing, but now. Now it seems it’s becoming a pattern. The only exception being, something seems to be troubling you a lot more than the previous nights.” eyes narrowing, his gaze fixated on you as he kept inching closer until there was about two inches worth of space between the both of you once more.

It baffled you how over the short period, things started to get a little different compared to when you first met. There was a type of tension between you both, though you couldn’t exactly put your finger on what it was. Today you tested those waters but instead of helping you, it only confused you more. The way he touched you though was unexpected, however, in certain circumstances, he would wrap his arm around your waist to pull you in closer to him if members from Death Watch were present.

“Hmm and yet again, the white noise is back. Care to enlighten me?” a sly grin presented itself on his face exposing his incisors.

“I don’t know. I’m confused about some things and there’s just a lot on my mind. I’m terrified Feles will find me and what would happen if he did...” sucking in a breath, lip quivering “I don’t want to live in constant fear of..”

Maul’s gaze soon became soft as he realized how much damage has been done to his apprentice. The apprentice he cares so deeply for that words alone could never express it all. His eyes searched yours, knowing you seek solace from him but he was unable to formulate a sentence.

“Just the thought about what happens if the Jedi find me? And when they see..”

“When they see you with me.” Maul interjected, his mouth forming into a frown.

“That’s not what I meant,” you mumbled, “I meant, will they take me? And what about you? What would they do to you? Surely they wouldn’t just slap you on the wrist…I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if something were to happen to...” trailing off, the mere thought of Feles coming for you made you nauseous. Not because of what he’d do to you no, but what he was capable of doing to Maul. The only being in this galaxy that cared for you so much, could be in danger due to the choice you made.

“(y/n) I made an oath to train you, but that also included protecting you as you’re my apprentice. My dear fret not, for we’d be made well aware of the Jedi’s presence in advance. Besides, you think he’d be able to take me on?” Pressing his forehead against yours, you can tell there was an abundance of words being withheld from you, but how could you get it out of him?

“Now little one, it’s time you get some rest.” his voice honeyed, flashing memories from when you first met. This zabrack was so forbearing with you, no matter how pissed off he’d get he’d turn to you and it would diminish instantly something you still needed to adjust to. Without any hesitation, Maul scooped you up in his arms carrying you toward the bedroom. The thought of going to sleep sounded delightful until you remembered the wall of pillows that separated your bodies. On occasions where you’ve woken from night-terrors, the boundaries were forgotten, the safety of his arms bringing you back to reality. Tonight seemed like one of those nights at least you hoped.

Placing you delicately on the soft mattress, he folded the sheets over you before shuffling over to his side of the bed. Swiftly he removed the top portion of his robes exposing his bare skin, the red skin, and black tattoos perfectly intertwined with one another creating breathtaking patterns. It was moments like these, especially during lessons, that increased your heart rate, the desire eating away at you making your body do, and feel things it’s not used to. Maker was he handsome. Slipping into bed, he started to arrange the extra pillows in the usual barrier causing you to look at him with pleading eyes. A small grin enveloped his features as he threw the extra pillows aside, waiting for you to move the rest of the way.

“You could have just asked.” maul smirked while wrapping his arms around you, chin resting on the crown of your head, your face buried in his neck.

“I’m..s-” his arm briskly unraveled, bringing the pad of his index finger to your lips.

“No. No more of that.” he hushed, his hand slowly dipping underneath your chin to lift it encouraging your eyes to meet.

Being so close to you, holding you, was enough to rile up the zabrak his mind being engulfed by lust. His breathing becoming ragged the thought of withholding himself anymore was too painful. He needs to let go and show you just how badly he wants you, and for you to be his. After your little stunt from training, the sinful thoughts wouldn’t leave his mind. His eyes met yours, luring you into his trap. This time it was inevitable, there was no escape but you didn’t run, you wanted to this, to be his.

Leaning in, your lips collide together, the kiss rough but full of passion, leaving you both ravenous for more. His hands slowly begin to wander your body, molding to your form, savoring how your skin feels. Pulling apart, Maul lowers his mouth on the soft flesh of your neck, open-mouthed kisses that leave you feeling light-headed. Soft whimpers filled the zabrak's ears, as you crave his mouth all over your body. Slowly he begins climbing on top of you, his kisses slowly turning into nips. A small gasp escapes your mouth as his hands find their placement on your hips, his grip growing more intense by the second just like earlier.

“Is this okay..?” he brought his lips back to yours for a chaste kiss.

Inhaling sharply, you nod, cheeks beginning to flush from the eye contact.

“Good. Did you think I’d let you get away with that tease during training?” the low guttural growl from him was enough to send you over the edge.

Your skin was prickling, pressure building up between your folds. You wanted him badly, you ached for him, he even knew that except he was going to tease you until you couldn’t handle it anymore. His hands traveled to the hem of your robes, glancing at you for permission. Once you give him the go, Maul wasted no time getting the fabric off your body casting it aside. Your heart now pounding you were exposed in front of him, the chilled air making your nipples harden. The zabrak’s pupils were dilated, his amber eyes glowing with passion. A low growl emerged from him as he brushes his lips against yours. His touch was intoxicating, leaving you dizzy and breathless.

“I can no longer hold back. Now that I know what you want,” he whispered. “Let me take care of you..” he pleaded, breath hot against your neck.

Hands splayed across your chest, he grabs your breasts, nipples between his index finger and thumb tugging lightly. You let out another soft whimper, only to be muffled by his lips begging for another taste. The tip of his tongue traced the outline of your bottom lip waiting to gain entrance. Opening your mouth, tongues were rolling together in the passionate fiery kiss while his hand began to slide down toward your heated core very slowly. Mouth trailing down once more, his teeth connected with your neck nipping hungrily. The need to wanting to mark you as his, now in full control. Reaching your breasts Maul couldn’t help but nip and suck the flesh leaving several glowing marks that added to the collection he created.

“Gods have I craved you..” he groaned.

“If only you knew what went through my mind….” your voice quivering as his tongue swirled around your nipple, sending a wave of ecstasy through your body.

A smirk enveloped his features hearing the words leave your mouth, only for it to be replaced with an arched brow as his hand reaches your folds.

"Seems like someone is a bit eager?" Maul teased, his middle finger gliding up and down your slit, barely touching your entrance.

Pleasure consumed your body causing you to buck your hips into the digit. A sly grin plastered itself on his face as he pulls away, his torturous teasing making you beg.

"Please..maul.." you cried out, grabbing his wrist and placing his hand over your pussy.

"Tsk tsk," he growled, leaving his hand on your heated core but eyes burning into you. "You're still being punished."

His teasing was driving you insane, you couldn't control yourself anymore. The warning that left his lips was so seductive, giving you the confidence to wrap your arms around the zabrak's neck.

"Two can play this game.." you muttered in his ear. Placing feathery kisses along his throat, earning several moans from Maul.

His thumb began circling your swollen bud in retaliation along with his middle finger brushing against your entrance. Seeing the relief wash over your face, he grinned as he began to insert his digit inside you. Just feeling of how wet you were because of him was enough to make him lose all inhibition. Breaking free from your grip around him, he slid down your body spreading your thighs farther apart. The need to taste you was overwhelming. Placing delicate kisses on the inside of your thighs followed by several on the lips of your pussy, Maul then delved his tongue deep inside. The sensation was one you've never even thought to experience, toes curling and moans ringing throughout the room. The sheets bundled up in your hands weren't enough, you needed something rigid. Your hands made their way to his horns latching on as he kept lapping away at your pussy.

"Maker are you delicious (y/n).." he murmured, still deep between your folds.

The ability to speak was taken away from you, the only things you were able to let out were moans and whimpers from the satisfaction. Maul gave you one last tongue swirl around your clit before breaking away to pull off his bottom robes. His body was stunning, intricate patterns woven all over even around his cock. Speechless, you reach out and slide your hand down his chest, abdomen, until your hand wraps around his hard, ribbed cock. Precum glazed his tip, however, your attention was soon taken to his size. He was larger than you expected, hesitation filling you at the thought of him tearing into you. Sensing your apprehension, he places a warm hand on your cheek.

"I'll take it slow at first okay just relax..?" he cooed, leaning in for a kiss.

Seconds later, Maul was guiding himself in, your walls stretching around his cock. Judging by the minor grimace on your face, he pauses so you could adjust to his length while whispering praises in your ear.

Trying to push past the minor discomfort, you locked eyes with Maul, "Go ahead. Fuck me. I need it...I need you inside me" you whined.

"As you wish darling...but don't forget. You asked for it." he grinned, planting a kiss on your lips.

Soon enough he was beginning to thrust into you rhythmically, the pain being replaced by ecstasy. Curses rolled off your tongue while he growled and grunted back, his breathing ragged and muscles rippling. Intertwining his fingers with yours, he pinned your hands against the bed, sinking deeper into your core. His warm skin against yours was even better than you had imagined it. A sheen of sweat began to cover his body, glistening in the low light.

Throwing your head back against the mattress, jaw-slacked, Maul began leaving another trail of open-mouthed kisses down your neck as well as a wandering hand toward your clit. Pleasure scorched through your entire body, the pressure building in your stomach making your walls tighten around his member.

"Gods...Maul...I'm so..cl-" you whimpered, a gasp leaving your lips as his thumb began brushing against your clit.

"No, I'm not done with you yet." he growled, pulling his thumb away and placing his hands on your hips.

"Kriff!" with his thumb retreating from your swollen bud, you needed something to replace the euphoric sensation. "Fuck me harder then.."

His hands made their way to your hips, grasp tightening as his thrusts increase. The room was filled with skin slapping against skin and the musky smell of sex. Your nails found their way into Maul's sweaty flesh on his shoulder blades causing him to release a guttural growl.

"That's my good girl." he rasped, licking his lips. "Look at you are taking this zabraki cock." his praise was so alluring, that you'd do anything to hear more.

You could tell by the way he was breathing that he was nearing the edge causing him to lose himself completely. Maul was absolutely feral, hearts pounding, lost to the pleasure that devoured his body. Despite his strokes becoming sloppy they still managed to hit your g-spot each time, bliss traveling throughout your body. Your pussy was soaking wet. Him being balls deep, cock swelling and pulsating left you breathless. You couldn't hold back anymore you needed to let go.

"Please..please Maul I can't hold back anymore...I need to cum...please..." you implored, your nails digging even deeper into his flesh.

"Go...ahead. Cum for me..." he groaned barely able to catch his breath.

He pressed his forehead against yours, eyes squeezed shut. Your orgasm struck you like lightning, vision going black and thighs trembling. Amid yours, Maul then came, the feeling of him pulsating stronger than before. Pleasure rippled through his body making him buckle on top of you breathing roughly. Coming down from your high, you wrap your arms around the zabrak giving him a moment to recover.

"Well..." he inhaled still laying on top of you. "That was...unexpected."

"yeah.." you mumbled trying to come up with more words, though your mind was blanking as exhaustion was washing over.

"At least you now know what happens when you pull something like that," he teased. He shifted slightly pulling himself out of your cum filled pussy.

"Guess that means I'll have to do it again huh?" you blurted out before realizing what you had just said.

"So the apprentice still hasn't learned her lesson hmm?" his brow arched, amusement in his tone. "Next time I won't hold back then."

"You were holding back?" you sucked in a breath, feeling the tingling sensation between your thighs. Maker was your body going to be sore in the morning.

Maul swung his legs over you and sat at the edge of the mattress before standing up. He chuckled at your question, giving a curt nod. “I may have made a mess out of you…” he grinned, looking at the marks he left behind. “Come now, let’s get you in the refresher.”

Taking your hand, he helped you up and walked you over to the refresher, hand resting on the small off your back. Once he got you situated, he walked back out to grab his robes and slipped into the bottom half.

“Sir you have an urgent holocall!" a Death Watch member frantically barging into the bedroom.

Hearing a voice erupting from the bedroom, you turned the shower on but walked over to the closed door trying to eavesdrop. Who was coming in so late at night?

"Lower your voice!" Maul hissed, meeting the Mandalorian half-way.

"I'm sorry sir...it's just extremely urgent. It's Fele-,"

Maul interjected him, "Don't finish that sentence."

The Mandalorian shut his mouth quickly fear washing over him. Taking a deep breath he started again. "He's asking if you have her..." his voice in a hushed tone.

A wave of nausea hit you. There were only several ways that sentence could have ended. You walked over to the shower not wanting to hear any more in fear of the truth. Stepping in, the warm water provided you comfort as sobs wracked your body. You slowly slid your back down the transparisteel not wanting to ever leave the shower. Was his offer just a deception? How could he pretend just like everyone else? How could he be so vulnerable with you and seal the bond he claimed existed? None of it made sense to you and that made the anxieties worse. You needed to leave, to escape.

"Tell him I don't," Maul uttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Uh..well he requests your presence.." the young Mandalorian shifted uncomfortably.

Maul had enough. His frustration peaked causing him to use the force grip. The young mando dropped his helmet as he was grabbing at his throat, struggling to breathe. His eyes wide and beginning to tear, he truly felt as if he was about to die right then and there. Releasing the grip, Maul dropped the young man to the ground before walking right over him.

"Since you're incompetent, I will deal with this." he spat, anger fueling him.

[littlemixnet]

Little Mix on what it takes to survive being the most bullied band in pop

Still teenagers when they were catapulted to fame, superstardom came at a price for Little Mix. They open up to Francesca Babb about the soaring highs and crashing lows of the past nine years. It is the end of our YOU cover shoot, and I am facing the lesser-spotted sight of a barefaced Little Mix. Wet wipes swipe back and forth across their faces and, as the foundation departs in a deluge of coffee-coloured tissues, Jesy Nelson and Leigh-Anne Pinnock, both 29, and Jade Thirlwall and Perrie Edwards, both 27, visibly relax into their tracksuits and boyfriend jeans, shoulders dropping as they settle into themselves. I’m so used to seeing them contoured and camera ready that I assumed full glamour was their happy place. But perhaps the real Little Mix are not the war-paint-and-leotard-clad pop stars we’ve spent almost ten years watching grow up, but rather the four women they have become behind the glare of the spotlight. It’s those four women that I’m intrigued to meet. Since winning The X Factor nine years ago, there have been highs – selling over 50 million records globally, a significant percentage of which were self-penned, and creating enough accompanying make-up lines and merchandise to keep them and their families comfortable for the foreseeable future (recent reports suggest they have earned a combined £28.5 million to date). But there have also been lows – perpetual picking apart by both the public and the press, bullying and vitriol from online trolls. The most extreme cases of which led Jesy to attempt suicide during Little Mix’s early days in 2013 (she regards a tweet from the controversial Katie Hopkins – ‘Packet Mix have still got a chubber in their ranks. Less Little Mix. More Pick n Mix’ – as the ‘pinnacle point’ for her depression) and pushed Perrie into an ongoing struggle with anxiety. Fame has changed them. In some ways they are still youthful and silly – dropping phrases into conversation that wouldn’t be out of place in a playground – yet, in others, they are wise beyond their years, diving headfirst into battles on feminism, race and mental health. They’re fun enough to be light relief, smart enough to inspire a generation struggling with the pressures of youth and social media even before a pandemic was thrown at them, and ballsy enough to leave Simon Cowell’s record label because they didn’t feel he had their best interests at heart. ‘It’s never really been a cruise, has it?’ Jade ponders, a copy of social activist Bell Hooks’ 2002 feminist theory Communion: The Female Search For Love in her hand (not for show, I might add; when I ask her about it, she is well versed in its content). ‘It’s either been a really big high, or a really big low.’ Jesy, who has found herself the target of some of the cruelest contempt from the world outside Little Mix, agrees: ‘Some of the best times, some of the worst times.’ Comments on her weight, her looks, her place in the band, comments that she should take her own life, all led her into a deep depression and the aforementioned suicide attempt. Her documentary last year, Jesy Nelson: Odd One Out, revealed her journey through it all and, while harrowing, it is essential viewing on the realities of growing up in a world dominated by social media. ‘Before we got in the group, I never looked at myself and thought, “I don’t like that” – I don’t think any of us did. I never thought, “Oh god, I’m fat”, and then we got in the industry, and we all started wanting to change things about ourselves. It’s so sad. There are things [in the past] I definitely wish I hadn’t done,’ she says, referring to the suicide attempt, in which she took an overdose after a two-year battle with depression and an eating disorder. ‘But would I be the person I am today if I hadn’t gone through all of that?’ ‘There was a time when it was worse than it is now,’ adds Leigh-Anne, who has increasingly used her own Instagram channel to vocalise her experience of racism, both overt and underlying, throughout her time in the band. ‘I guess we’re taking steps forward, but I fear for my [future] daughters…’ ‘It makes me not want to have a kid,’ agrees Jesy. ‘Those insecurities that we all have now because of social media, imagine having that embedded in you as a child?’ Before you write them off as four very lucky girls ungratefully complaining about a lifestyle so many dream of, I should point out that they are fully aware of the paradox of their privilege. I suppose the point is, it’s not too much to ask to not be bullied to the point of hospitalisation as a by-product, is it? ‘Little Mix has changed our lives for the better, and our families’ lives, and we have achieved so much,’ says Perrie. ‘Don’t get me wrong,’ agrees Jesy (a warning I will hear repeatedly throughout our hour together, perhaps thanks to almost a decade of their quotes being blasted out of context for click-bait). ‘I’m not going to sit here and say we’ve got a terrible life, because we haven’t, but I do think our innocence was taken from us.’ It’s a while since the girls last did any press. Lockdown saw a halt to any activity they had planned, including the launch of their new talent show, BBC1’s Little Mix: The Search (in which they, well, search for a new band to mentor and join them on tour). But the time apart has not diminished their ability to finish each other’s sentences and jump to each other’s aid. It has, it seems, been really rather good for them and allowed them to come back fired up for the release of their sixth album, Confetti, which came out this week. ‘It was needed,’ agrees Jesy. ‘We’re never not with each other and we’re always busy. Our mornings start early, we finish really late.’ Being at home has meant more time spent with their families, with Jade even starting her own show on MTV with her mum Norma. Called Served!, the self-filmed series saw the pair interview celebrity drag queens and challenge each other to cooking competitions. ‘I love drag culture,’ she says, ‘and me mam was by herself in lockdown, so I thought it’d be something nice to keep her entertained.’ ‘Your mum could be on Loose Women,’ Leigh-Anne muses. ‘Imagine our mams on a show!’ shrieks Jade. ‘Nobody else would get a word in edgeways with my mam,’ laughs Perrie. ‘Ooh, when Debbie goes off on Twitter,’ says Jade, of Perrie’s mum’s habit of weighing in on comments from haters. ‘My mam will text me, have you seen Debbie’s been going off on someone!’ It is interesting that all four talk frequently about their mums throughout our chat, and yet there is no mention of fathers. While their mums often appear on Instagram, a sighting of Perrie’s dad on her 23rd birthday was extremely rare. Perhaps the Little Mix dads’ absence in the narrative is because the four girls were predominantly raised by their mothers (all of their parents separated when they were younger), and another reason the group’s bond is so tight. Little Mix are each other’s wall of arms, their own personal bodyguards. Jesy, they unanimously agree, is Scary Mix (although I find her a delight), which is interesting given her own inability to bat off other people’s words. ‘When it’s you on your own dealing with something personally,’ Jesy says, ‘It’s completely different. You feel so vulnerable alone, but we are a force when we’re together.’ It’s not hard to see, in today’s social-media obsessed society where there is little retribution for cruelty, why four attractive, successful young women, with attractive, successful young boyfriends (two footballers – Perrie dates Liverpool’s Alex Oxlade-Chamberlain, Leigh-Anne is engaged to Watford’s Andre Gray – while Jade is with Rizzle Kicks singer Jordan Stephens and Jesy is going out with Our Girl actor Sean Sagar), who seem to be living a dream life have found themselves at the heart of a whirlwind of vitriol. There was the infamous spat with Piers Morgan, in which he mocked them for posing naked but for the insults that have been hurled at them painted on their bodies. He accused them of using sex to sell records and called them ‘foul-mouthed, talentless, clothes-allergic little dimwits’, which is not how I find them to be. ‘I take Piers with a pinch of salt,’ Jesy says, rolling her eyes. ‘He does it to cause drama, so I take no notice. When we won The X Factor, we didn’t look like a generic girl band: we’re all different shapes and sizes, we didn’t dress sexy, so immediately everyone was, “What’s this?”’ ‘Usually, when you see a girl band, they’re perfection, they have six-packs – and we didn’t,’ continues Jesy. ‘People saw us as kids, so even though we’re now women, people still think of us that way, so when we come out on stage in leotards, they think, “That’s disgusting!”’ ‘One Direction didn’t get the s**t we get, because they’re men,’ states Leigh-Anne. ‘It’s like, “They’re four girls, let’s come at them”. As soon as it’s girls, they think, “Oh you slag.”’ ‘When it’s men, it’s celebrated, but the minute women sexualise themselves and feel powerful doing it, we’re told to rein it in,’ adds Jade. ‘We’re conditioned to think that women are there to be these innocent and pure beings and the minute you step out of that, it’s carnage.’ Little Mix, however, are not scared of embracing that carnage and of sparking a debate. For their show The Search, Jade describes how it was important for them to set the tone on respect when each new person auditioned. ‘Because we are small women, it’s important to show people that they need to respect us, that we know what we’re talking about and we need to be listened to,’ she says. ‘There’s no nastiness,’ continues Jesy about the show, which has been praised for modernising and freshening up the age-old TV format. ‘There’s no making anyone feel uncomfortable for entertainment.’ They also insisted a large part of their budget be dedicated to looking after the contestants’ mental health, understanding, first hand, the pitfalls of talent shows. The Search is not their first attempt at diversifying their talent. As a group, they have LMX make-up line and also a perfume, Style By Little Mix. Subsequently, they have become expert businesswomen, refusing to make the mistakes of pop groups past, so often left completely penniless at the end of their careers. ‘I remember walking into an early label meeting and saying, “This is who we want to be, this is the campaign we want, this is the imagery we want,”’ says Jade. ‘We knew our brand from the get go and we very much steered that ship.’ It’s a long way from their (as Jesy puts it) ‘working-class backgrounds’. Since joining the band, each one has bought their mum a house and, while their tale is not entirely rags to riches, the jump from Primark to Prada in recent years has certainly been significant. When it comes to business, Perrie describes herself and Leigh-Anne as the ones who will often seek a compromise in difficult situations, while they send Jesy and Jade in when deals need to be made. ‘Jesy’s the badass,’ Perrie laughs. ‘Whenever I’m scared, I’ll stand behind her. She’s the one who puts her foot down in a boardroom full of men and says, “It’s going to be this way.” But we pick our battles. We don’t just argue about every decision – it’s when we feel we have to.’ ‘Nobody could say that we are difficult, and if they do, they’re lying,’ says Leigh-Anne adamantly. Adds Jesy: ‘We know what we want, and we know what kids want.’ Little Mix have lived over a third of their lives in the spotlight. They’ve seen how things work, how things don’t, and they’ve learnt how to cope with it all. The lows may have been spectacularly low, but the highs have surpassed any of their expectations. Their story is not your classic fairytale, but it’s one they have learnt they can write their own ending for. If the Little Mix I meet today is anything to go by, I wouldn’t expect that ending to come any time soon. Little Mix’s new album Confetti is out now. Their movie LM5: The Tour Film will be in cinemas nationwide on 21 and 22 November.

[penwieldingdreamer]

Caring Makes You Weak

So, as there are too few Harvey Specter Stories and inspiration finally striked again while rewatching Suits I decided to rework an old story of mine and post it on here, too.

Hope you guys will like it. Let me know what you think. If you want to be tagged, just let me know.

Also shout out to my beta @fortheloveoffanfic​

Summary: Harvey Specter, best closer in New York City and Senior Partner at Pearson Hardman, the man most females in the city want, yet he himself doesn't want commitment, because caring makes one weak. Enter Elle Howard, a woman he met a long time ago. Will she be the one to break down his walls and make him care?

Words: 1704

(Coverart still pending)

"Mommy? Can we see daddy today?" the three-year old's question sounded from the back of the car as the young mother was on her way to drop her two children off at daycare and school. 

A deep sigh left Elle's lips when she stopped at a red light. "I don't think he's got time today." she said, keeping her mouth shut about her ex-husband's questioning ability to spend more than five minutes with his kids. 

"He doesn't have time because he doesn't want us anymore, Izzy, he's got a new family." her son ranted angrily. Ever since Travis and her had split up, the seven year old pulled away from her. He was easily irritated and his grades were suffering. Elle wasn't able to spend as much time with her children as she used to when she was still married to Travis Tanner. During that time she used to be a stay-at-home-mom, but now she had to work odd jobs to keep her kids in the same facilities as they were right now. She didn't want to take that away from them when they already had so much on their plate. 

"Charles Henry Tanner, stop it. Don't talk like that to your sister." she called, only just taking her eyes off the road for the fraction of a second. It was enough time for the light to change again and another car speeding towards them. 

Mike raced towards Harvey's office, the files tightly gripped in his hand. His heart was racing, reading through the Pro Bono. Donna looked up from her desk, her eyes widening when she saw the associate come running down the hallway. 

"Mike!" she called, getting up from her chair. "What's going on?" 

He held up his hand and stormed into the office. "Harvey, I need your help." 

Looking up, the closer opened his mouth but closed it again when he saw the wild look in Mike's eyes. "What the hell are you doing storming in here?" Ever since the younger man had lost his beloved Grammy and the problems with Daniel Hardman, Harvey had been irritated to no end, not even Donna being reinstated had helped lighten his mood. 

"Louis gave me that case. I can't take it." he answered, putting the folder onto his boss' desk. He raked his hands through his hair, pacing in the office, his long strides taking him from the corner window to the door and back again. 

Harvey took the files, reading through the case notes, cursing on the inside, while not showing his own reaction to his associate. "So? What do you want me to do about this?" 

"This is a custody case. I never did that and it's Tanner's ex-wife." the younger man argued. "He's going to rip this case apart. There's no chance I can beat him." 

Leaning back in his chair, Harvey Specter watched his associate. He knew what he was capable of, but Travis was a pitbull in court. "How about you talk to his ex-wife and get started, I'll look into the rest of the case." 

"Elle's my neighbor, Harvey." Mike told him, falling down into the chair in front of the desk. "When I lose that case, she's going to lose her kids. Tanner doesn't even want to spend time with his kids anymore, he's got a new family now. They might as well end up with a foster family." 

Rubbing his chin, the lawyer turned around and looked out of the window. "What exactly happened?" 

"Actually I would have loved to have you come with me to ask that question." 

"Mike, I can't" 

"I cleared your schedule, Harvey. You should go with the puppy." Donna's voice sounded over the intercom, the smile on her lips clear as a day. 

Harvey turned to the glass wall of his office, seeing his secretary looking at him. He raised his eyebrow, giving her a warning look. "I thought we had an agreement about you listening in." The redhead just shrugged her shoulders and gave him her typical 'Donna' look. "Right, let's go ask some questions." 

Together, the lawyer and his associate stood in front of Elle Howard's apartment, the one just down the hall from Mike's. 

"Harvey, please be gentle this time. They took the kids from her as soon as they were checked out from the hospital." he told his boss, fidgeting with his tie. 

Rolling his eyes, the closer hit him in the chest. "Stop it, Mike. You know her, what are you nervous about?" He raised his hand and knocked on the door. 

"I just don't want to let her down, you know." he answered, looking at his boss and friend. 

Before he could answer, the door opened and Harvey felt his breath catch. It wasn't that he was shocked by the beauty of the woman leaning in the doorway watching them closely, not that she wasn't beautiful even with the cuts and bruises on her face and body, but he remembered those eight years ago. "Elle." 

"Harvey." 

Swallowing, the closer and his rookie entered the apartment after the redhead. Mike gave his friend a questioning look before he shook his head. "You know her?" he angrily whispered, pointing his thumb at Elle. Harvey just shook his head and walked over to the couch where the younger woman was already seated. 

"So, Tanner and you?" he opened his questioning, leaning back on the couch next to his associate. 

Chuckling softly, Elle looked over at the lawyer. "That's what your first question is going to be? I thought you'd at least have the nerve to ask me how I am doing." 

"Elle, listen, I'm sorry that we showed up like this, can you tell us what happened the day of the accident?" Mike intervened, sending his boss and mentor a dark look. 

Brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the mother-of-two sighed. "I don't know what you want me to say? I'm just happy that my kids are fine and didn't get hurt. Do you have any idea when I can see them again?" 

Clearing his throat, Harvey watched her closely. "Your ex-husband has filed for custody, Mrs Tanner, also banned you from seeing the children until trial is over."

"I'm going by Howard now, already done that for the last two years." Elle bit back, fidgeting in her seat, when she felt tears spring to her eyes. "I didn't do anything wrong for that jerk to deny me my kids. He didn't even want them in the first place, Travis gave me sole custody but no money for Izzy and Charlie." 

Getting up from the plush couch she moved over towards the window, looking down at the numerous picture frames showing her wonderful children. They were her life and not having them here with her was tearing her up inside.  "It was only a second." she started, crossing her arms in front of her chest. Harvey watched her closely, remembering the weekend they had spent together, while his associate rested his eyes on him. Never in his life would Mike have believed that the notorious Harvey Specter would show emotion, besides that one time they were smoking pot in his apartment. "Izzy wanted to see Travis, I told her that he didn't have time, like always and Charlie, he's been so angry ever since we split up. I just, the light was green when we drove off and it, I only just turned my head to look at Charlie. Next thing I know both my kids are standing outside, next to the car with the EMTs while the FDNY is pulling apart my car."

"Okay, please don't think I'm being rude but I have to ask." the associate started, earning raised eyebrows from his boss. "Were you drinking or taking medication that would lead to any failure of sight or control of your body." 

Shaking her head, Elle turned back to the lawyer and his protégé. "There were no drugs and no alcohol, the only thing I took was some mild medication for my headache."

"That, that's good. We can work with that. We'll have to check the traffic cameras, there might be something there that police missed in the beginning." Mike told her, adjusting his shoulder bag before both Harvey and he stood up. "We'll get back to you as soon as we got something for the case." 

The lawyer buttoned up his jacket and nodded at his associate to wait outside. "I'll be right there, Mike." 

"I'm glad he finally got his life together." Elle said, looking over at the closed front door. 

Clearing his throat, Harvey watched the mother-of-two. "How have you been doing?" It had been a while since he saw her but she hadn't changed one bit. "It's been a while, Elle."

"I got married to a dick head, he screwed me over with his secretary and now he took my kids away. I'd say I'm doing quite good." she pointed out, crossing her arms in front of her chest. 

He shoved his hands into his pants pockets, knowing if he'd move just one muscle he'd compromise everything they'd need to work for. "I'm sorry about Tanner, I had the privilege to meet him twice now and the last time I decked him." 

"Good for you, Harvey, he probably deserved it." Elle whispered, not knowing how to act around him. "So - uhm - do you think I got a chance to get my kids back?" 

"We're going to try everything in our power to win this." 

She raised her eyebrows at the dark haired lawyer. "Try?" 

"Do." he corrected, "We'll do everything to win. Mike is the best and brightest associate Pearson Hardman ever had." 

Giving him a small smile. "I'm glad you took my case. I trust Mike, and I trust you. All I want you to do is give it your best, I don't want my kids ending up with a foster family." 

"I promise." Harvey said moving toward the door, opening it and watching his associate fidget in the hallway. "Ready to tackle Tanner?" 

Mike turned to his boss, already seeing the determination written across his face. "We're tackling him?" 

"He ain't gonna know what hit him." 

[thepapercutpost]

Women’s Gymnastics Reminds Me of Marvel's Black Widow. That's Not Okay.

July 2021 saw both the long-awaited release of Black Widow and the return of these young women to the Olympics.

“Scarlett Johansson by Gage Skidmore 2 (cropped)“ by Gage Skidmore is licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0 (left). "Nadia Comaneci #1" by eye2eye is licensed under CC BY-ND 2.0 (right).

Last summer, the worldwide COVID-19 pandemic seemed to put everything on hold. With movie theaters shut down, the Marvel Cinematic Universe, in the midst of its longest pause in between theatrical releases, experienced the first of three eventual delays to the release of the film Black Widow, which was originally scheduled for May 2020.

Delays also found one of the biggest sporting events in the world. The 2020 Tokyo Olympic Games had to be postponed. Thousands of athletes who had spent their lives preparing to represent their countries at the Games were forced to put their plans on hold. Among them were several Team USA hopefuls for women’s gymnastics.

July 2021 saw both the long-awaited release of Black Widow and the return of these young women to the Olympics.

In 2016, the Larry Nassar scandal, in which Nassar, a doctor affiliated with USA Gymnastics, was accused and convicted of sexually abusing over 250 women and girls, pulled the curtain back on the realities of elite gymnastics. Soon after Nassar’s abuse came to light, it was revealed that USAG had covered up complaints of sex abuse from hundreds of gymnasts against coaches, gym owners, and staff.

When asked how they thought this behavior was allowed to occur for so long, gymnasts cited the culture of fear and toxicity that permeated the gymnastics community.

From one angle, Nassar was a friendly and trustworthy face in a sea of strict training and harsh discipline. When Béla and Márta Károlyi, husband and wife coaches who defected to the U.S. from Romania in 1981, took over USA Gymnastics, they brought with them a controlling and abusive method of training. In Athlete A, a Netflix documentary centered on the sex abuse scandal, Olympic gymnast Jamie Dantzscher recalls Nassar being “the only nice adult” and that he gave the girls food and candy in secret. Naturally, the gymnasts trusted him and his methods.

And from another angle, the athletes had been conditioned from a young age, in most cases, to doubt their own instincts about their bodies.

You think you’re hungry, you think your ankle hurts, you think that you’re working really hard. But you’re told and you’re screamed at that you’re lazy and you’re fat and there’s nothing wrong with your ankle. So, when a man puts his un-gloved hand into your vagina without asking you, I can only imagine that what you feel is, ‘He’s this great doctor, and I’m lucky to be here, so I’m not going to say anything.’

—Jennifer Sey, USA Gymnastics National Champion, 1986 (Athlete A)

Letting alone the ramifications of coming forward as a gymnast against a well-respected member of the community such as Nassar, many of his victims didn’t speak out because, as a result of being raised in an already abusive system, they were unable to identify his actions as abuse.

In a similar sense, Black Widow depicts a group of women and girls who have undergone rigorous training and have been brainwashed into carrying out the KGB’s missions. The fictional Red Room provides a mirror to the very real world of competitive Gymnastics.

Even before the recent film, Marvel fans were familiar with the Red Room as the program that trained Natasha Romanoff (Scarlett Johansson) and other Russian girls as Black Widows, an elite class of spies and assassins. In Avengers: Age of Ultron, we see a flashback of Natasha’s time as a trainee. One memory is of an intensive ballet lesson, and the scene shows her looking on with her instructor at the studio of young women.

“You’ll break them,” Natasha says to the teacher.

“Only the breakable ones,” is her response.

Other allusions are made to the cruelty of the Widow program. When telling Natasha about the reincarnation of the Red Room, Yelena, her sister (Florence Pugh), says that only about one in twenty girls who Dreykov takes survives the initial stages. To Alexei, the girls’ father (David Harbour), Yelena elaborates on the “involuntary hysterectomy” given to them by the Red Room, a process which removes a woman’s reproductive organs and, as Natasha had mentioned in Age of Ultron, makes her unable to have children.

The brutal training process and forced assault upon women’s bodies, which they were made to believe was normal, should sound familiar.

Johansson said in an interview that the story for Black Widow began to take shape in 2017, when the #MeToo movement was rising to prominence, and is essentially a story about women supporting other women. She wasn’t shy to say the film was inspired by that moment in history, a movement that provided support to and was benefited by the USA Gymnastics scandal.

For Red Room graduates, training is followed by executing missions. The character of Dreykov (Ray Winstone) provides a face to the dark and secretive organization who gives the Widows orders. Although they are highly trained and skilled, they still face danger during these operations.

The same is true of gymnasts at their competitions. Gymnastics is one of the most dangerous sports, especially for girls and young women. Gymnasts experience both acute injuries, which occur after a single landing or other impact, and chronic injuries, which develops over time, usually during the course of frequent practice. They are often expected to compete with their injuries. In the 1996 Olympics, Kerri Strug, part of the American team known as the Magnificent Seven, won the gold for her team in the all-around by landing the final vault on one foot, as she had severely injured the other during her first attempt. The Peacock docuseries Golden: The Journey of USA's Elite Gymnasts reveals that gymnasts continue to compete with injuries today. Team USA’s 2021 all-around women’s gold medalist Suni Lee began the competition season with a broken foot while MyKayla Skinner, silver medalist on vault, began the season still fighting lingering COVID symptoms months after contracting the virus.

Injuries are one of several reasons elite gymnasts today are younger than they were 50 years ago. When Nadia Comaneci from Romania became the first gymnast to earn a perfect score at the Olympics in 1976, she was fourteen years old. From that point on, the standard for Olympic gymnasts became younger and younger. One advantage to training a younger gymnast is that the body is more resilient, and the part of the brain that recognizes the danger in the more difficult moves is not yet fully developed, which results in less of the hesitation that causes some injuries.

But with more malleability comes more potential for abuse. The younger a girl begins to learn gymnastics, the more susceptible she is to mental health issues such as anxiety and eating disorders, both common in athletes across the board, as we are learning during these 2021 Games. There is more opportunity to shape her thinking, and if she is told by coaches that she is not injured or should perform anyway when she is in severe pain, she will be less inclined to get help when something is severely wrong. Dominique Moceanu, Kerri Strug’s teammate in the 1996 Olympics, told BBC in a recent interview regarding being forced to compete with injuries, “I didn't even care about my well-being, to be honest, because no one cared about it ever.”

In Black Widow, Yelena is taken to the Red Room at only six years old, and it is later revealed that Natasha was identified and taken from her birth parents by a KGB program that measured the genetic potential in infants. Like the Károlyis, the Red Room discovered that getting to the girls at an early age made it easier to exploit and mistreat them without raising questions.

In 2016, when the film is set, Natasha and Yelena kill Dreykov and bring an end to the Black Widow program. Although the real-world events of 2016 in USA Gymnastics, and even the conviction of Larry Nassar, didn’t end with the toxic culture of U.S. gymnastics falling from the sky in flames, things are getting better. The 2021 Olympics are coming to a conclusion in Tokyo today, but if we are to learn and grow from recent horrifying history, we must not forget what these Games and decades of competitive gymnastics have taught us.

Among all the abominable similarities elite gymnastics and the Red Room share, there is one beautiful thing they have in common: sisterhood.

Natasha and Yelena set out to protect the young women and girls who have been captured and free them of Dreykov's mind control, having experienced that trauma themselves. In doing so, they revisit and repair their own relationship as sisters.

By all accounts, gymnasts feel a similar kinship with their peers. They bond over their shared experience: the stress of competing, the aches of injuries, long days and nights spent practicing their sport. They support each other, cheering each other on and celebrating each other's accomplishments. The women who came forward about their abuse did so not for themselves but for the sake of other gymnasts. The vulnerablities women face in this world mean that we are also tasked with the responsibility and the privilege of protecting each other.

[captainseaweedbrains]

The Dance of the Color Guard, Op. 64: Chapter 2

Katniss and Peeta used to be best friends when they were kids, but now in high school, they're barely on speaking terms. It isn't until they are forced together as the titular star-crossed lovers for their marching band's field show that they will have to face their past mistakes and try to get along if they ever hope of defeating the notorious Capitol Height's Imperial Marching Crusaders in competition.

It's all about winning and if that means pretending to be in love with Peeta Mellark, so be it.

But a lot can happen in six months.

Tumblr: x x

Ao3: x x x

May

Tryouts came and went with an excellent turnout, the best Katniss had seen ever. And in true Miss Trinket fashion, the assistant director had sought out the theatre and dance kids with the promise of getting to perform such an iconic story on the biggest stage they’ll ever have the privilege to perform on. Miss Trinket wanted the drama, the flair, and she didn’t have to go far to get it.

Even more surprising was that they actually showed up and were actually pretty good. Katniss had had her doubts when seeing the likes of musical star extraordinaire Finnick Odair saunter into the gym where auditions were being held, wearing that arrogant smile she always saw on him, but after seeing what he and the other theatre and dance kids could do with a flag, she admitted she was wrong and focused her energy on earning her place as captain.

Between her and Miss Trinket’s determination, Athens Ridge Marching Gladiators might have a good chance of finally beating Capitol Heights this year at PSU!

“We’re looking promising,” she told Leevy as they put together their instruments. It was the day after final rounds of auditions and she couldn’t stop thinking how at the end of today, Miss Trinket would post who was on the team and Katniss would finally know if she was made captain or not. She had done her best, she kept telling herself, and now it was out of her hands. The wait was killing her, though, and her poor bladder was taking most of the brunt, the constant need to pee every two minutes distracting her in all her classes today.

Had she proven to Miss Trinket that she was enough to be captain?

Her legs twitched closed, the need to pee returning.

“You should have seen Finnick Odair twirl a rifle,” Katniss said to distract herself. “It was insane how good he is! I always thought he was a bit full of himself, but maybe he has a right to brag. I’m pretty sure Miss Trinket’s going to use him as one of the spotlight guards.”

Leevy’s eyes widened, her thick-rimmed glasses sliding down her nose a bit. Her crush on the performer was not an unknown fact to Katniss. “Oh, do you think she’d have him play Romeo? I bet he’ll be Romeo. He’d make an incredible Romeo.”

Katniss snorted. “I’m sure he’d be up to the challenge.” Finnick Odair not wanting the titular role would come as more of a shock to her. Miss Trinket hadn’t revealed much about how she wanted to choreograph the show, but if last season’s Cirque du Soleil and Alice Through the Looking Glass the season before were any indications of how she envisioned next season’s show, she would be using color guard to visually tell the story of the star-crossed lovers. Miss Trinket always had “big big big plans” for them all. There was no way she’d pass up on someone talented like Finnick.

Mr. Abernathy gave the two minute warning before rehearsal started up and the girls leaned toward each other to tune their flutes. As they made adjustments, Katniss wondered who would play Finnick’s Juliet. Madge, maybe? She was a good height and her years of ballet served her well, being the lead spotlight guard two years in a row. Or Glimmer? She grimaced at the thought of Glimmer Macklemore being the lead spotlight, believing it would go straight to her head. Glimmer was by far one of the worst human beings Katniss has had the misfortune of knowing all these years, but the girl was graceful. “Like a swan on water,” Miss Trinket was known for saying about Glimmer’s talent.

I hope it’s Madge, Katniss thought, glancing slightly over at her friend who sat further down the row from her, Madge’s cheeks slightly puffed as she tuned her oboe. Yes, Madge would make an incredible Juliet.

*******

All her thoughts and worry over color guard went away during what ended up being a long and brutal rehearsal. It was hard worrying over who’d play Juliet to Finnick’s Romeo when Mr. Abernathy was out for blood. He was yelling at everyone today, not pleased that they had a concert in another week and sounded like a beginning band. What made the rehearsal even worse was much of his agitation was directed at her and the two solos she had. Over and over he made her play in front of the whole band, walking her through the notes, asking her snidely who controlled the tempo. By the time he threw up his arms in defeat, her face was a completely different shade.

“Sign up for a practice room, Everdeen,” Mr. Abernathy told her after her sixth attempt at a difficult run. “And maybe work on your fingerings instead of drooling over Finnick Odair, huh?” He moved his attention to his next victims and was just as merciless.

Slumping low in her seat, her throat tight with choked back tears, Katniss focused hard on her music, pretending she was just practicing when really it took all her strength not to cry. Snickers from the brass section could be heard, or maybe she was just paranoid that the whole band was laughing at her. Either way, no matter how hard she kept her attention on her music, forcing back tears from spilling over, she couldn’t hide how dark her face must look right now. Mr. Abernathy’s words played over in her head, causing her cheeks to warm even more. From embarrassment or anger, she wasn’t sure. The man was never one to mince words and was known for his sour temper, but this was the first time he’d ever taken it out on her. And he thought her, one of his most dedicated players, as nothing more than a teenage girl drooling over boys. 

She’d never hated the man more than in this moment.

“Hey,” Leevy nudged her, face sympathetic. “You okay?” 

Katniss stiffly nodded, afraid if she said anything, she’d break and start to cry, and that was definitely something she didn’t want to do in front of the whole band. 

“He’s being an ass today,” her friend whispered in comfort, playfully bumping their knees together. “You’re his best player and he knows it. He’s probably just mad because Coin took away the pizza buffet in the cafeteria.” Katniss gave a halfhearted smile, knowing her friend was just trying to make her feel better, but Mr. Abernathy was at least right about her playing. She really did need to practice more.

“Okay, we’re calling it today,” Mr. Abernathy sighed, slamming his scorebook closed. “It’s clear no one’s practiced since yesterday and it’s wasting my time. I better hear improvement tomorrow, or I’m going to have everyone play their part and have your whole semester grade be based off that.” 

“Practice, practice, practice!” Miss Trinket trilled from the back of the room, typing at the computer. “We want to be the best, don’t we?” Mr. Abernathy gave her the stink eye, like he wanted to argue her statement, but waved his hand, reminding everyone not to leave the band room until the bell rang.

“Well that was brutal,” Leevy joked halfheartedly, her eyes still looking at Katniss with pity. Katniss looked away, unable to stomach her friend’s obvious sympathies. She’d received enough of  that look to last an entire lifetime.

“Can’t wait until he starts threatening laps,” Katniss mumbled, her throat still tight. She just wanted to leave. Run to a bathroom stall to collect herself, but it’d be too obvious and the likes of Cato and Marvel calling her a crybaby kept her seated.

*******

They didn’t often have so much time to lounge around, especially before a concert, but Katniss took the opportunity to catch up on homework she’d been neglecting, too stressed about tryouts to bother with algebra and chemistry. Feeling like everyone was still watching her, waiting for her to crack, she tucked herself in the back locker room, between two instrument lockers, out of sight from her classmates. The space was tight and not the most ideal of places to hide, but it blocked out a lot of the noise from out front and let her take a few deep breaths in. She couldn’t cry until she got home, but at least it didn’t feel like her tears were strangling her any more. 

Taking out the beat up copy of A Tale of Two Cities from her bag, Katniss began scouring the chapters they were assigned to read (or sparknoted, in her case) for political symbolisms Mr. Heavensbee, her English teacher, was always quizzing them on during his infamous rapid fire quizzes. English had never been a strong subject for her, finding the books they read incredibly dull and full of nothing but tales about old white guys bemoaning about their manhoods, but grades was the one thing her mom actually paid attention to and hers were slipping in Heavensbee’s class due to these stupid quizzes. Her pencil circled another example, not feeling confident about it, but if her index card wasn’t pulled early on, all the obvious examples would be taken and this would be all she had to argue. 

“Good book?” She jumped, her head hitting the wall behind her, pencil stabbing her in the gums. Peeta Mellark stood in front of her, looking all casual in his dark denim jeans and grey shirt, his hands stuffed in his back pockets. He smiled at her scowl. “Sorry,” he said, and to her astonishment, it sounded like he actually meant it. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” 

“You didn’t,” she quickly informed, tucking her pencil in the book as a bookmark. “Just preparing to be publicly humiliated in English, that’s all. ”

“Heavensbee’s quizzes are brutal,” he agreed, still standing there, trying to be nonchalant, but his shoulders were way too tight to pull it off. It looked like it was taking all he had to be standing in front of her like this. Her hackles rose. Why should he look uncomfortable?  He sought her out. If anything, she should be the one uncomfortable, caged in a corner like this. “I think I almost cried during one last week,” he continued, not even looking at her now but at the locker next to her head. “Marvel wouldn’t stop making fun of me after that.” That didn’t surprise her, but it felt rude to point out what a shit person she thought Marvel Baxter was to Peeta’s face. 

“Yeah.” Katniss tapped her book, unsure what else to say. “Listen, I’m kind of busy trying not to fail and all, Peeta, so unless you have a question…?”

Peeta rubbed the back of his neck and looked down at his Converse, taking a deep breath in. It was a little unsettling seeing him like this, she realized, still confused why he was talking to her to begin with. Normally he knew exactly what to say, in any given situation she’d ever seen him in. 

“Okay, seriously,” she said at last, a bit more snappish than she meant. “What do you want? I don’t have time watching you sputter like a dead fish.” 

“I want to see how you’re doing,” he said in one breath. It was a totally innocent question to ask, but it felt more like a punch to the stomach, sending her back to when she was 11 years old and standing next to her mother and Prim as strangers she barely knew came up and smothered her in tight, smelly hugs. They cried over how young Sage was, still in his prime, and poor Cary, having to raise those two young girls on her own. The funeral had felt so surreal, her movements stiff and disjointed. Her voice hollow as she thanked the strangers for coming, trying not to cry in front of them as they passed. Her father’s death still hadn’t fully hit her yet and the only thing she wanted was to crawl into the casket with him and shake him awake, tell him this joke wasn’t funny any more.  Ha ha. He got her. Now could he please get up so they could go home?

 Katniss’ throat tightened at the sudden memory and she shoved her book in her bag, really needing to go before she did something stupid, like cry in front of Peeta Mellark.

“I’m fine,” she said, trying to push past him. Peeta wasn’t only tall, but his wide frame stopped her from escaping as easily as she’d like. “Really.” 

“Katniss.” He grabbed her hand to stop her, but pulled away instantly, realizing he had no right to touch her. “You looked like you were about to cry out there and then you bolted—I wanted to see if you’re okay.” 

“I  wasn’t going to cry!” she snapped, her vision red now. There were only so many punches she could take in one class period, but it seemed the universe kept wanting to come for more. “I was doing homework, Peeta, and then you waltzed in, wanting to rub it in my face that I’m a terrible player. Were you hoping I’d cry? Is Cato secretly filming this?” She looked around the small room for Golden Ass’ burley frame. 

“Cato isn’t in here, Katniss,” he snapped back, then winced, realizing his mistake. “I didn’t mean for it to come out like that. What I meant was: Abernathy is a complete asshole and he shouldn’t have said those things to you. Katniss, you’re the best player in the band and he knows it.” Any other day, hearing the sweet sentiment twice in one period would have been a real confidence booster for her, but today, it just felt like pity. Leevy felt sorry for her and now freaking Peeta Mellark felt sorry for her, too. What a blow  that felt, looking into his sad blue eyes right now. 

“I don’t want your pity,” she sneered, not knowing what else to say, but if he kept looking at her like that, she was definitely going to break down crying. Then he’d just look at her with that pathetic sad expression, feeling even more sorry for her.  “Abernathy was right about my runs and I can handle his criticism like I do with everything else in my life: alone. So if you don’t mind.” And she tried to push past him. 

In typical Peeta fashion, he blocked her only exit. “I wasn’t pitying you, Katniss.” His tone sounded as sharp and annoyed as hers now. “I was being nice. I know you don’t know what that is because you think the whole world is out to get you, but it means caring about other people and being there for them.” She looked down at her feet at the sudden weight of his accusation, her hand tightening around the strap of her backpack.

They were so engrossed in their argument, neither heard the familiar clap clap clap of Miss Trinket’s heels before the small woman announced herself, causing them both to jump and turn to the small woman. 

“There you are!” the assistant director smiled. “Peeta, I have been calling your name. Didn’t you hear me?” 

Peeta glanced down at Katniss, his eyes still hard, before looking over at his teacher. “Sorry, Miss Trinket. Katniss and I were just...talking.” Why did he say it like that? He made it sound like they weren’t talking and by the twinkle of amusement in Miss Trinket’s eyes, she suspected nothing else from two teenagers hiding in a back room. 

“I’m so sorry to interrupt your... talking” —Katniss’ cheeks darkened again, wondering how fast it’d take for the rumors to start going around that she and Peeta were caught making out in the instrument locker room by Miss Trinket—“but I need to speak with you for a moment, Peeta. If you don’t mind?” She motioned for him to proceed ahead. 

Peeta’s eyebrows scrunched together. “Am I in trouble, ma’am?” 

“No, no!” their teacher assured. “Mr. Abernathy and I need to discuss something with you about this upcoming season. Nothing scary, I promise.” He went ahead with no further comment, his hands stuffed in his front pockets, as Miss Trinket hurried ahead to unlock the band office door. He didn’t look back at her as she stood there, hand still gripping her backpack, and somehow, that felt worse than his pity. 

Katniss, I’m so sorry about your dad. It’s so not fair. How are you doing? 

Katniss? 

Katniss? 

Are you there, Katniss? Hey, how are you doing?

[lunnanunna]

Talk it Out

iKON Extra Member AU

Summary: {Requested} [Takes place a few months before debut.] Bao and Ju-ne work though an argument.

Warning: Swearing

Taglist: @hyunmijung​ @changbinnieslaugh​ @galacticstxrdust​

A/N: This came out longer than I had intended, and I don’t even know if this matched the request. Hopefully, you guys still enjoy it.

Requests are open! Please let me know what you think.

Heavy breathing could be heard throughout the practice room. The members of YG’s new group, iKON, were practicing for their debut. They still had a few more months until their big day, but that didn’t mean that they could just sit back and relax. If anything it meant that they had to work even harder. If you ended up with an IV drip then you were doing it right. (Not really, but that was everyone’s mentality at the time.)

Bao braced her hands on her knees, then dropped to the ground, taking in rapid breaths to fill her lungs with much needed air. They had been practicing since early this morning, and Bao didn’t even want to know what time it was.

All eight of them were in various states of exhaustion, spread out around the room. Their dance instructor had gone out to take a phone call, and had told them that they could rest until he came back. Bao prayed that he’d be out there for a few hours.

She took a look around the room, and saw the fatigue that she felt reflected off of each of the boys’ faces. Breathing heavily through her nose, then letting it out through her mouth, she threw her head back, her baseball cap falling off. It landed on the ground with a soft thud.

Bao leaned back, holding herself up with her hands behind her. She bounced her knee slightly, groaning at the same time as Bobby had. The younger looked up to her right to see Bobby giving her a small, tired smile. She returned it.

She liked Bobby. Bobby was cool. He was real. And he had talent. She also felt like they had similar likes and interests, along with personal views on life. Basically having a western mindset in such a closed minded country. 

Bao closed her eyes again, turning her head slightly to the left. When she opened her eyes, she caught Junhoe looking at her. Or maybe the right word was glaring? Either way, Bao bristled at the sight.

She’s stayed mostly to herself, ever since she came to the company, and during Mix & Match, so much so that many believed that either she was super shy or just couldn’t speak Korean. Which is why she surprised everyone with how clear her rap was. (She was crap at reading and formulating sentences, but she had impeccable pronunciation.)

Bao, not one to ever stand down, had actually tried her hardest not to step on anyone’s toes. She had seen the anger on Hanbin’s face when she and Chanwoo, along with the others were introduced. She knew how hard they had worked. She got that, so she did her part to prove that she deserved to debut as well, (Something told her this may have been her only chance to debut.) all while taking a step back, and not angering anyone, which was hard for her. Bao, by nature, angered many people without even trying.

But now sitting here, exhausted beyond anything she’s ever felt before, was Junhoe. Junhoe glaring at her, like she was to blame for the world ending. And while Bao knew that one day she may be the reason, today was not the day. She was too tired for this shit.

“Have something you want to say?” Bao tilted her head to the side, still leaning on her hands. She spoke slowly, making sure that her Korean was understandable. Everyone looked up to see Bao raising a challenging brow at the younger who seemed surprised that she had even spoken up.

Junhoe chewed on the inside of his cheek, staying quiet. The first time Bao had ever actually seen him this quiet. The dude was fucking loud, and Bao really hated it, but since she had been trying to play nice and not make enemies, she never said anything about it.

Bao tilted her chin down, looking at him, waiting. He looked around the room as if wondering if it was even worth it, but with Bao’s challenging stare, he cracked. “Yeah, actually. I do.”

The girl nodded her head, telling him to speak. She could feel the air around them tense, and knew that Hanbin and the older members were getting ready to jump in if needed.

“You’re holding us back.” Okay, straight to the point. Bao appreciated that.

“And how’s that?” Bao asked. She knew what he meant. Bao was confident in her rapping skills. Dancing? Not so much.

“You can’t keep up. You’re off beat, and it throws the rest of us off,” Junhoe folded his arms over his chest, challenging her to rebut.

“Are you sure you’re not just talking about yourself?” Bao sat up, smirking at him. Junhoe, who has been wearing a triumphant smile when he first attacked, now frowned.

He glared at her. “I’m doing better than you,” he countered.

Bao grinned even wider at the answer. “Is that it? Is that your next move?” She shook her head, copying his position, and folded her arms. “You know, out of everyone here, you’re the one that has never talked to me?” Bao’s smile dropped as she spoke.

“What?” The vocalist asked, confused with the change in subject.

Bao continued, “Even Hanbin, who hated me at first-”

“I never hated you.”

“Sure,” Bao rolled her eyes at the leader who sheepishly looked away. It wasn’t a secret that most of them either hated her or felt uncomfortable with her when she first joined. But now all of them (Except for Junhoe.) finally were starting to warm up to her.

“Even he has finally accepted me, whether it was his own choice or not,” Bao continued.

“It was my own choice.”

“I see. Thank you,” Bao smiled at the rapper who smiled back. “Basically what I’m trying to say is that everyone here has come to terms with me being a part of this group. It's your turn.” Junhoe looked at her if she’d grown a second head. 

“It’s not that easy,” Junhoe said, his voice rising a bit. Bao could sense an argument and she was ready. She was actually in need of one. (Burn off steam and what not.)

“Well the others did it,” Bao shrugged, motioning to each of them with her head.

“Faking,” was all he said. He searched her face, furrowing his eyebrows when he couldn’t find a crack in her mask. Bao had dealt with enough haters in her life to be able to take blows.

“Jun,” Jinhwan spoke up in a warning tone.

Junhoe rolled his eyes at the same time Bao said, “No. It’s fine. Let him get it out of his system. We’re gonna be in the same group for God knows how long. We gotta clear the air.”

“Maybe not now, Bao. We’re all kind of tired. This probably won’t end well,” Bobby said, placing a hand onto her knee. She ignored him and the awkward looks of each of the members as they sat and listened.

“Go on. Say whatever you need to say,” Bao waved her hand towards Junhoe.

He looked at her suspiciously and paused, seeming to debate on whether he should say something. After a few more seconds, he spoke up. “I don’t like the fact that we have a girl in the group. You can barely speak the language, and you fall behind with the dance. Why YG let you be in the group is beyond me.”

Bao nodded her head, jutting her bottom lip out slightly as she took in his words. She huffed out a sarcastic laugh, then looked at him. “Is that it? ‘Cause I’ll tell you now, YG hadn’t expected me to make it. That’s how good I am.”

Junhoe’s jaw went slack, eyebrows raising as he barked a laugh. “You’re full of shit. You have no talent. Okay, so yeah. You can ‘rap’, but that’s not enough. YG definitely has plans for you, which is why you made it,”

“Okay, Junhoe. No,” Hanbin spoke up, not liking where this was going. He was slightly nervous with how calm Bao was. He hadn’t known her for that long, so he didn’t know her limit or what she’d do if she reached that limit. “Bao’s good. She’s perfect for the group, just like the rest of us.”

“She earned her spot,” Yunhyeong added. Bao internally smiled as the boys spoke up. She hadn’t expected them to.

“I admit I still struggle with Korean, and I’m definitely not the best dancer, but don’t shit on my rap skills. It sucks when groundless criticism comes from someone who isn’t in that field. You don’t see me saying crap about your singing skills, now do you?” Bao said a bit of frustration seeping into her voice. She hated dancing, but music was her passion. No one got to shit on her and her skills and expect her to stay quiet.

“That’s because I can actually sing,” Junhoe sneered.

“Well, I can actually rap,” Bao said in the same tone he used. “And when it comes to dancing. You’re absolute shit.”

“Fuck you,” Junhoe grumbled, then yelled the next part, “Just go back to Japan! I’m telling you no one wants you here!”

“Junhoe!” Bobby exclaimed.

“It’s true!” Junhoe said, throwing his hands up in the air.

Bao looked off to the side, chewing on the inside of her lip, smirking. “Oh yeah? Think I should go back?” She stood up, staring down at him. Challenging him.

Junhoe stood up and like her folded his arms over his chest, glaring. “I do think so. Learn Korean and dance then come back. Or just stay in Japan. Enjoy whatever perfect, privileged life you had back there, ” Junhoe said. His head snapped to the side, as Bao smacked him.

“Shit, Bao. What the fuck?” Hanbin said, standing up, already holding her back as she raised her hand again, seething. She really wanted to hit him again. She had been wanting to do so ever since she first met him.

“What? Are you rebelling against your parents? Are you not allowed to go home ‘cause you came here?” Junhoe asked, seeming unfazed by the hit, though his cheek was quickly reddening.

“Fuck you. You don’t know anything,” Bao hissed, shaking Hanbin’s hands off her. She should leave now before she says or does anything she’ll regret.

“Oh, yeah?” Junhoe kept going. He saw that he had hit a sore spot and decided to keep prodding. Bao made to leave for the door, but paused when he spoke again, “I’m sure you’ll still be accepted back home. Your parents will take you in with open arms.”

She didn’t really have the right to get at him for what he said. He didn’t know. Bao had made it near impossible for anyone to know.

With her back still facing the boys, she straightened herself then said, “My parents died when I was three.”  Silence enveloped the room, and Bao took that as her cue to leave.

~

Bao sat in an empty practice room, scrolling through her phone. She had been sitting in there for about two hours. No one had come looking for her, but she had received texts from both Hanbin and Bobby, asking her where she was and if she was okay. She sent them both a thumbs up.

While what Junhoe had said pissed her off, she wasn’t really sad. She had had years to deal and process her emotions on that matter. It was the fact that it was brought up that annoyed her. No one had ever brought up her parents except her grandparents (Though that was more of her fault, seeing as she barely told anyone her life story.)

She also knew that while Junhoe still didn’t accept her into the group, exhaustion was what was speaking earlier. She honestly held no grudges (She normally didn’t.)

A knock broke her chain of thought and she turned to see the doorknob turn. She hadn’t locked it. Bao sat in the corner watching as Junhoe popped his head in.

When his eyes landed on Bao, she could see the shame in his eyes. He hesitated by the door, then walked in, closing it behind him. Awkwardly standing there, Junhoe looked at Bao, but looked away quickly.

Bao sighed. There was no point in keeping this up. She had cooled down and was ready to have a civil conversion with the younger. She patted the spot next to her on the floor. “Come on.”

Junhoe looked at her nervously, but slowly sat down next to her. There was at least three feet in between them, and Bao snorted. The younger looked at her, and smiled shyly.

“Okay, so obviously we said some shit,” Bao smirked, leaning her head back on the wall, looking at Junhoe.

“That’s an understatement,” Junhoe huffed a laugh then said, “I’m sorry.”

“No worries,” Bao waved at him dismissively, “How could you have known?”

Junhoe nodded his head. “But I still crapped on your skills,” he said, looking at his hands.

“Yeah, you kinda did,” Bao said, looking at the wall in front of her. She smiled as she felt the vocalist look at her.

“Bao, I actually think you have a lot of talent. And your Korean is really good,” Junhoe said and Bao nodded (She figured that much.) “I just said what I knew could possibly hurt you.”

“Yeah, I  know. Though I don’t feel much,” Bao chuckled.

“Yeah I saw that. No emotion until that smack,” Junhoe laughed. Bao did too, turning to look at him and seeing the still red hand mark on his cheek.

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine. I deserved it,” Junhoe said. “Listen. I actually accepted you a while ago, okay. I just- I don’t know. It’s hard to explain. I guess I just get annoyed easily and I’ve been super stressed lately, and I just took it out on you,” Junhoe said, turning to look at Bao who continued to look ahead.

“I get it,” she said, nodding. And she did. These were stressful times, and sometimes it was easier to be angry at someone else than yourself. “I get like that a lot too.”

“Yeah, but you barely show it,” Junhoe said.

“I’m trying not to scare people off. I’ve been told I do that,” Bao joked and Junhoe laughed.

“You’re not too bad,” he smiled.

“Thanks. Neither are you, but you’re still loud as fuck,” she smiled back. The two laughed then quieted down, sitting in silence, looking at the wall. Then Bao spoke up.

“Let’s promise to be civil, and try to talk things out, not pent them up? Also cool down before confronting,” Bao said chuckling.

Junhoe laughed as well, holding out his hand, “Deal.” Bao took it and shook his hand.

“Should we get back?” Bao asked.

Junhoe rested his head on the wall, eyes closing. “Let’s ‘work’ things out a bit more,” he said, sighing, relaxed.

“Sounds good to me,” Bao nodded, then did the same.

Bao’s Masterlist