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#but i'm Finally at the point where i'm running low on threads which means i can do starter calls again!
lcstpaths · 6 months
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INCORRECT QUOTE STARTER CALL for alex claremont-diaz. full disclosure that these will entirely be from rwrb memes. please know, he is 100% book based, because i haven't seen the show, so i have zero context for anything on that end. multis please specify who for.
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hanzaikyou · 1 year
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Ikkei Yamamoto Range Analysis
I'm back with another installment of this absolute rabbithole, this time focusing on Ikkei. Now, noone's made any massive claims about the range of his vocals yet, so let's figure this out before anyone does, shall we?
The Verdict
Based on what we've seen through various stages and musicals, Ikkei has a range of C3-Ab4, roughly one and a half octaves. The upper end is more rarely heard though, with most of his songs landing at a high of F#4-G4.
The Evidence
Again, I used every possible musical I had featuring the man to analyse this, and as such there's a large concentration of Morimyu, as well as his Tenimyu run as part of the 7th Seigaku. It was a little interesting, as many of his songs in Tenimyu are group songs, so I didn't have all that many to go off there. I also had a copy of ENStars Track to Miracle, which I didn't realise until looking it up that he was in. The more you know. Instead of looking for an upper or lower in specific areas, I simply collected the highest and lowest notes in each song I analysed this time.
Lower Limit (C3)
So, I did start with Tenimyu, but the two I'd narrowed down for him (Unseen Thread and Fight&Win) both seemed on the high end of what I've heard him do, so I focused my efforts towards Morimyu.
This turned out to be a good idea, presenting me with lovely examples of his lower register. The songs were consistently hitting lows of D3 (Emotion and his duet with Fred in OP4) and Eb3 (Devotion and the Three Brothers' Secret), so I knew I was close.
But there was one final solo I wanted to look through, being OP1's A Hero's Qualification. Turned out to be a great idea - Ikkei hits his lowest note in there, at C3. Very impressed. 10/10.
Higher Limit (Ab4)
Okay, this one I was able to use the Tenimyu songs as a guide of how high to look for - Unseen Thread came in at an E4, and Fight&Win at an F#4, both of which aligned with what I had heard from him previously.
This was the point that I figured out his ENStars appearance, and managed to track down at least one of his songs - his first, which I believe was called Heartbeat by Trick Star (starting at 7 minutes in) came in at an F4, supporting my previous theories. Also the silver ponytail guy has me in a chokehold, if anyone cares to educate?
It was then I turned back to Morimyu, which gave us some higher ones. First to exceed it was Devotion (which was first because please let's be honest That's My Favourite), where he hits a G4 as part of his higher harmony at the end.
The next to exceed it was The Three Brothers' Secret, giving us our highest note at Ab4, hit as they commit arson basically ehe. It is beautifully done, and rather strong, and I'm kind of curious as to whether he could go further, given the opportunity. But that's all I have evidence for as yet, so Ab4 is to be considered the highest proven limit of Ikkei's range.
What did surprise me is the sheer similarity between Shogo and Ikkei's possible ranges - Ikkei often seems just that much lower, and he's... not? That being said, he has a very rich lower register, and as he's often paired with people who can take the higher harmony (Eiji in the Tenimyu's, Shogo... always) he gets a lot of chances to show it - I also think Ikkei's lower tone kicks in earlier than Shogo's, though I'd have to check for that specifically to back it up. Was interesting in Kokoro wo Daite, though, because by putting his solo part between Hide and Izawa, he sounds rather high pitched; same thing happened in Devotion, where he took the high harmony against Hide's lower harmony... perception really is everything with this, and I mean, he sounds lovely either way slkdf.
With two of three brothers down, I kind of want to do Kubohide next - again, I'll have a fair bit to draw on between Morimyu and Tenimyu, and I could have sworn I had something else with him in there. We'll see I guess ehe. But thankyou for reading, and see you next time~
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addycorcoran · 15 hours
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i'll keep you company at night, and baby, i'm here to make this right ➝ ameline.
TAGGING ➝ Addy Corcoran, Amy Duval (@amyduval).
LOCATION ➝ Addy and Amy's bedroom.
TIME FRAME ➝ 9/16, late evening.
WARNINGS ➝ Does fluff count?
SUMMARY ➝ After their fight, Addy pouts and they make up. Short and sweet thread. Very good, very healthy, very not worrisome behavior.
AMY DUVAL
Before Amy had gone off to their room, she grabbed her laptop so she could continue working on the emails that she had to go through. She had ventured out at sometime (thankfully, not running into Addy just yet) to pour herself another drink. Now in pajamas, she was curled up in bed and slowly sipping on her drink as she scrolled through the emails. They were never ending and gave her an absolute headache. Amy sighed, not able to pay attention to what was actually in the emails, due to her mind wandering to where Addy possibly could be. Sure, she'd walked away in the middle of an argument, but she still wanted to sleep in the same bed as her. Amy put something from Netflix on, and just laid back and stared at it, not really paying attention. The anger from earlier had completely ebbed away, and had turned into sadness. She had really been looking forward to tonight, and at this point, she'd figured they'd be in bed together completely naked.
ADDY CORCORAN
Addy hadn’t wanted to just let Amy walk away, but she knew when to give up, when fighting further was pointless, so she’d sat in the living room for a while, doing nothing productive and simply worrying about their rapidly worsening relationship. Eventually, not wanting to disturb Amy who she figured needed some space, she’d taken herself off to Emmy’s bathroom, where she’d showered then changed into a pair of Emmy’s pajamas. She’d momentarily considered sleeping in Emmy’s bed, but ultimately decided she didn’t want to not be with Amy, so long hair still wet, she made her way to her and Amy’s bedroom, cautiously and quietly letting herself in in case Amy was asleep. Seeing that she was, in fact, awake, Addy quietly closed the door, then offered Amy a small smile as she approached the bed. “Hey,” she greeted softly, cautiously. “I thought you’d be asleep.” Opting for Amy’s side of the bed rather than her own, she perched on the edge of the mattress right beside her. “I’m sorry for being an asshole. Can I still sleep in here with you?”
AMY DUVAL
Amy’s eyes flickered up towards the door when Addy finally strolled in, albeit quietly. Her girlfriend’s soft smile tugged at her heartstrings, and the anger she had felt earlier nearly disippated. As Addy set on the bed next to her, Amy shut her laptop and moved it to her bedside table. “Hi,” Amy murmured as she reached out to cup Addy’s face in her palm. Even in the low light of her bedside lamp, she was heartbreakingly gorgeous. “Of course you can. You’d have to do something really awful for me to say no to you sleeping in the same bed as me.” Amy dropped her hand, and then motioned for Addy to come closer.
ADDY CORCORAN
This probably wasn't a healthy way of working through things, but as Amy's hand touched her cheek and Addy tilted her face into the warmth of her palm, she hoped this could be it, that they could be okay again and sweep the rest of the evening under the rug the way they often did. "I mean, it was pretty awful," she mumbled, scooting closer with Amy's direction. "I really am sorry, Amy. Even more so because you don't feel like you're a priority. You are. You're my biggest priority."
AMY DUVAL
Amy sighed and nodded. She genuinely didn't feel like Addy's number one priority. A part of her wanted to tell her that perhaps she wasn't, but Addy was coming to her and apologizing. "I really missed you tonight," she told Addy, reaching out and grabbing her girlfriend's hand, intertwining their fingers. "And I felt stupid and embarrassed. Which one of my least favorite things to feel, as you know. But..." She sighed again, and then chewed on her lip. With Addy, she'd admit she was wrong. Only with Addy. "I should've texted you or called you to see what was going on. It's a two way street, and I just sat here. I should have communicated with you."
ADDY CORCORAN
“I missed you too,” Addy responded with a slight pout, her fingers easily lacing through Amy’s. Sure, things were kind of shitty between them lately, but there was no denying that, like their intertwined fingers, they just fit. The thought had crossed her mind, while stewing alone in the living room, that Amy hadn’t called or texted, and that something could’ve been wrong and Amy hadn’t even cared to find out, but she pushed it down with the realization that it was selfish, that it was her who had messed up today, so she quickly shook her head. “No. You did nothing wrong, okay? It was on me.” Keeping her hand in Amy’s, Addy eyed her for a moment, before shifting her body until she was sitting on top of Amy, straddling her lower stomach. With her free hand, she reached out to cup Amy’s cheek the way Amy had with hers only moments before, then leaned in until she could press a soft kiss to her lips. “Let’s just be okay again, okay?” She murmured against her mouth. “I miss you.”
AMY DUVAL
Amy sighed happily against Addy's mouth, all the thoughts from earlier a distant thought. "I miss you.." She whispered, wrapping one arm around Addy's neck and settling her free hand on her hip. She could get lost in Addy - the feel of her, the taste of her, just... her. Amy kissed her then, letting it linger for a moment before she started to move her lips against Addy's. Even after all of this time, her kisses left her light headed. She pulled away, pressing her forehead against Addy's. "I love you, Addy." The words were soft and a way of saying I forgive you without actually saying the words.
ADDY CORCORAN
Again, it really wasn’t healthy, but in moments like this, all of the bad in their relationship just melted away, and Addy found herself all consumed by Amy, by her lips and her hands, the feeling of her skin beneath her fingertips, which Addy stroked soothingly where they rested against Amy’s cheek. She moved with Amy, losing herself in their kiss, so much that once they parted she felt a little breathless. Forehead pressing back against Amy’s, Addy’s eyes closed as she allowed the moment to sweep around them, and a small, contented smile painted itself across her lips at the weight those three little words held. “I love you too, Amy. More than you know.”
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dishchan · 2 years
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Rudimentary study of how language relates to colors? 👀 (Several of my uni classes have addressed how language is tied to cultural nuances, so my curiosity is piqued.)
Right, so [crack knuckles and stretches] - this story goes in all different directions but OMG I'm so excited to tell it soooooo, sorry not sorry.
I'm big into color, like my favorite task at my part-time job in high school was organizing the thread towers or being let loose on the wall of broadcloth solids to make sure everything is in rainbow order. So needless to say I have a fair obsession with paint chips and the paint/color displays at home improvement stores. Which was a large foundational reason I chose this project.
My major in undergrad was Japanese and all language majors had to take a few basic linguistic courses, which was unfortunately, a class I did not enjoy because the International Phonetic Alphabet is so confusing to me and probably the TA teaching it didn't explain it well. (That said, etymology and language evolution FASCINATES ME. Ask me about words, any day, any time, any place.)
So we had our year end project and we had to conduct our own language experiment. None of this class (or any undergraduate class) has gone over how to read, conduct, or run research projects so we're all flying fairly blind in this and approaching it with the brain of an undergraduate but the scientific method of a sixth grader submitting something to the science fair.
One thing we . . . read? discussed? (I dunno how I stumbled across it in this class) that we touched on at some point was how researchers were starting to really look into how different language speakers categorized color. So I, of course, immediately decided something about THAT was going to be my final project. Because color! Because paint chips!
I wheedled someone with a car to drive me to the local Lowe's (or Home Depot or whatever), and just went CRAZY on collecting paint chips. And when I got back to my dorm, I randomly labeled them all with numbers. Then, I started reaching out to friends to ask around to ask for participation from people whose first language wasn't English. When I got about five or six people who weren't native English speakers and like three who were, I'd meet them and have them sort the colors into categories. No pressure on what they wanted to sort them into, but just to sort them, like colors with like colors.
After I’d note their grouping with the number on the back (i.e. group 1 had paint chips 2, 5, 19, 27, and so on) with the person’s native language and it’s language family. And then wrote it all up in a paper (mind you, see above about research not being taught so it was definitely an ESSAY over any attempt at a research paper).
And honestly, I mean, there were like ten people MAX I asked to do this, the results seemed to be very heavily skewed towards languages really having an effect on how one groups color or mentally categorizes it.
It's like the idea of orange, you know. Orange the color is supposedly named after the fruit, so until English speakers encountered the fruit, the color was categorized within the red or yellow family. But it could be that a language that developed in places where orange natively grew, orange might be it's own category within color.
There is a book called "Color Language and Color Categorization" edited by Geda Paulsen that I'd really like to read at some point.
But yeah, that's my long form answer!
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adamsvanrhijn · 4 years
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@thismoleculeisacomedian
wait what is your opinion? Do you think he hated himself for being gay? (I disagree w/ that viewpoint, but would like to understand what it is & where it comes from.)
I definitely don't think Thomas hates himself for being gay — at any point in the series. I also don't think he ever moves away, internally, from "I am not the same as you, but I am not foul". I have seen people say that what happens in S5 is an indication of that and I completely disagree.
However.
I do think Thomas has low self-esteem for essentially the duration of the series, and I think he experiences self-hatred that is complicated by the fact that he is gay, surrounded by homophobia, and almost certainly a victim of complex trauma (also related to homophobia).
Thomas is confident in one thing over the course of the entire series, and this is his exceptional competence at work. He recognizes his own worth and takes pride in his actual value, which I think he actually sees very objectively. (Facebook moms, etc, do not agree with me here.) Wherever possible he makes himself indispensable, and it is in my opinion literally something he clings to as a reason to live.
(I also think he cares deeply about and, until S2/S3, has confidence in, his physical appearance. But that is a different piece.)
One of his most basic psychological needs is to be needed, and as part of this, to be contributing to something larger than him and to be essential to its functioning.
Literally in the very first episode of the entire series, we see that he is recognizing he may not have a place at Downton at all, and if he does, it isn't a place where he is valued and appreciated. This is a psychological threat—time and time again after this, we see him start to lose his head at the idea of instability.
How does he react?
By trying to make himself necessary elsewhere.
The amount of birds he is trying to get with one stone—
Give something that is necessary & desired to a man he loves
Resolve an issue at his workplace (I don't think he thought about this much but I do think it would have crossed his mind)
Escape a place he is not valued
Move upward in his current social hierarchy (domestic service)
To a job he is skilled at and enjoys
The job itself is providing essential service to the life & functioning of another human person
That human person is his lover, thereby fulfilling a different emotional need (his and said lover's)
And even when he is almost certainly set on running off into the sunset with the Duke, he still jumps at the chance to prove his worth when Bates goes, because that's just how he functions.
Like, in terms of the relationship specifically, he is trying to solve the financial problems of the Duke's estate AND become the person responsible for his daily care & keeping AND establish a safe way for them to be lovers For Ever And Ever—where he can then emotionally & sexually fulfill him on top of the physical, mental, financial and societal (having a valet as social status but also as the person who arranges pretty much everything for you and keeps you up with appearances) and needs he would be meeting.
CLINGY MUCH?
And then as soon as it starts going south his tactic is:
Look at how bad I want it
Look at how good of a valet I am
(You promised!)
Look at how good of a lover I am
Look at how much I know & care about you
Except then—
{clear internal chaos}
I do not care about this in terms of you at all, your needs never meant anything to me, this was just about me and I'm not the vulnerable one here, you are
But what is blackmail?
Blackmail is when you threaten another person with exposure of private/secret information to get something out of them.
The idea is that the victim will fear losing social standing or facing legal consequences enough to provide whatever that something is—and it can leave long-lasting damage regardless of the length of the extortion itself, because the victim has a psychological, and it follows, social & physical need, to maintain their current life sans embarrassment or like, a criminal record. Even a threat itself that cannot be carried out is damaging, because it makes the victim aware of the possibility.
The victim has to rely on and trust the blackmailer (that they will keep their word) while also fulfilling their own demands. Indefinitely, or even like, forever. Control freak much? Etc.
"smithensy when the fuck are you answering the actual question" PROBABLY NEVER
It's also a common event with relationships resembling theirs, so it's bound to be the first thing to come to mind! And he came up with it in the moment and clearly regretted it like, immediately!
Absolutely! Agree!
...except that he does it again.
And then again.
The second time, he is actually reluctant! He knows in what way he has been trusted and he knows what need he is fulfiing! And he really doesn't want to break that trust and stop fulfilling that need, even though his own needs have been intentionally torn to shreds!
But the next time he does it it is intentional. It is not split second and it is not against someone who has severely harmed him and brought the threat of ruin over his head. He takes it really fucking seriously, to the point of neuroticism, and he constantly reminds that person that she needs him—and although Baxter has to be liked for his requirement to stay in the know, I think there is also a vicarious element. He is giving her everything she needs to become indispensable. He's doing it while also holding the one thing that could ruin it over her head, yes, but he is also using her as like, a way of validating his own understanding of the house and who lives in it and what they require.
Anyway.
There are many points in his arc in the series where someone prone to depression and suicidality could be driven to attempt suicide. I can think of like, five off the top of my head.
But when he does, the breaking point is that he sees himself as unvalued and unnecessary—in essentially every area of his life, but especially his job and industry, which as above is really the only thing he never wavers in.
And he still doesn't waver in the work itself, necessarily. His problem is not that he is no longer skilled at his work, or that he can't meet his own expectations. It's that the job itself is surplus. It doesn't matter how good he is anymore; it doesn't matter how perfect he is. He has no control over it and it is the final straw for someone who has been fighting for scraps of agency for his entire life and only managing to have them through self-harm (see series 2).
I do not think Thomas sees himself as Enough. That is why he strives for perfection—if he is Good, and Skilled, and Talented, and he is needed, that is almost like being loved.
And by working his ass off and keeping the expectations of others around him low, forcing a poor opinion of himself, he is putting himself in a position where even if he isn't able to give it his all, his 70% or 60% or 40% is still better than what all these other people are capable of at 110%, so even if he is disliked and looked down upon and nobody wants him around, well, they have to keep him anyway because he is That Good and things will fall apart without him—
—and if it doesn't work and he has to go well then at least they'll be sorry when everything is ruined and he is irreplacable!
Aaaaaand he's thrusting himself into isolation and shooting himself in the foot.
The self-hatred piece is knowing that no matter what he does he will not be Enough, that there is just something missing. One piece is out of his control but he can never successfully work around it, so he can never have what he wants. The lack of success is what is driving the inward resentment. He has a lot of regret and guilt and he blames himself for every single action he takes that results even slightly in a loss of dignity. Again we see this in the first episode but also, like, the entirety of series 2, 3, 5 and 6 have this thread weaving in and out. When being mean and externalizing his blame doesn't work or make him feel better he turns it around.
The S5 plotline is more to do with having something than getting rid of something. If he can just have this one thing it will make everything else go away; it is the key to Being Enough.
And then in the cottage hospital he is immediately lashing out at and blaming himself for bothering to want that, let alone to try it.
Baxter is right, though! His tolerance for pain and suffering in the pursuit of fulfilling his own needs is extremely high and he seems determined to push it.
People who have lots of self-love and self-respect do not constantly punish themselves.
I have been writing this post for two hours and I don't think it makes much sense. I am going to make dinner now.
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estrxlar · 3 years
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The Ghost Of You
01 - You’re Familiar
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This chapters songs:
Daughter Of A Cop; TV Girl
I Hope To Be Around; Men I Trust
Weird Fishes/Arpeggi; Radiohead
— Y. L. Perspective
My breath got louder and louder each second I ran. With my bento box hitting my hips, bag tossing around, and my skirt flying up, there was no way things could get any worse.
But luckily just around the corner, I spotted students climbing onto it, which made my feet run even faster.
Near late on my first day? Damn, Y/n, way to start your year.
   Just then, I heard the sharp hiss of the engine, sending me faster towards the vehicle than I had been pacing myself before. But still, the driver was ignorant, obviously not caring how much I needed this. It wasn't like my parents would take me anyways.
"WAIT..! PLEASE WAIT!" I started on the side of the bus, running side to side with the wheels. After a few seconds of loud disruption, it finally stopped. The break was hard, and students inside were heard making remarks of protest.
Sure, I felt bad for the people who had to get a brake check, but I on the other hand was completely out of breath and near dead. Couldn't they spare me?
"I'm, I'm so.. I'm so sorry I.." My breath is short, and loud while I breathe in and out, trying my best to try and explain my tardiness to the driver. He simply sighs, gesturing for me to seat myself already.
While I stumbled down the aisle, I received a few weird glances from fellow students. Some familiar and some new. I couldn't tell if it was because of my reputation, or because I looked like a hot mess. Either way, it was too early in the morning for one to give a damn. And so, I seat myself next to another student, finally resting from the marathon I had just run.
I sighed, rolling my head back, and placed my fingers on my temples. 'I probably look like a mess right now.' I thought, letting out a huge sigh. Once I sat my fingers back down onto my lap, I observed more of the people I was surrounded by.
Some third years I was familiar with, a few that wouldn't dare speak to me, and some that were strangers. Other second and first years I didn't know at all; throughout high school, I thought it'd be best to stay hidden and introverted, especially if I were to become popular in the music industry. Lots of young stars still went to school, and usually got dirt easily thrown onto their title and that's exactly what I would avoid this year.
Bringing me back to reality, I capture a peek coming from the boy I was seated next to. He had fluffy gray hair and seemed just as tired as me. But the bus was so dark, I couldn't completely make out his features.
"Something wrong?" I said to him.
He jumped a little, adjusting his eyes back down to his phone. "S-sorry, I didn't mean to stare. I just- I think I know you from somewhere."
"Lots of people know me, buddy—" I lifted my head, facing him. 'Hey, this guy does pretty familiar. But there's no way I'd forget a face like his. Then again, I have the memory of an 80-year-old woman.' I think to myself, examining his features in an awkward mood.
"Wow, it is you. (Y/n), it's been quite a while!" He smiled widely, reaching a hand out to me. I only froze, too confused to comprehend the situation. "You have no idea how glad I am to see you're doing well!"
"I-Im sorry?" I question, wondering why a stranger would confront me this way. But something was off— I knew him, I just couldn't remember where from. Maybe from previous classes, or from a concert?
He turns slightly, growing a smile on his pale face. "I was trying to figure out if it was you or not, but it is! It's great to see you're better. How are you?"
"Who are you?" I ask back, a bit frightened.
"Uhm, well, I sat next to you in math class during my first year. Remember? I was a little ditzy, kind of annoying, I never shut up about volleyball..?" He asks, hoping to get a hint of nostalgia. "Come on, you've gotta recognize me, right?"
"Wait, Sugawara!" My finger jumps out, pointing to his sitting figure. "I'm sorry I couldn't recognize you! It sure has been quite a while. But I definitely remember you, now! You were one of the people who talked to me during my first year.. thanks for that. Anyways, how've you been?"
"I think that's my line, L/n." Suga pats my shoulder, then places his hand onto his lap. "You've changed so much! I've gotta know how you're doing!"
"I-I'm not sure if that's a good or bad thing in your perspective, but thanks anyway. I've been doing just fine." I explain before a yawn escapes my mouth. Sure, this conversation was energetic, but I certainly wasn't.
"Again, so very sorry for being so forgetful. I don't remember much from first year, especially not anything in math, but I sure do recognize you now." I say, hoping my rudeness from before wouldn't have any effect on how he viewed me. Not that I cared, of course.
Luckily, Sugawara was forgiving that day. With a wide grin, he replies, "No need to apologize. People change drastically during high school; we're no exceptions. Although, I would've enjoyed being mutuals with you throughout most of it! I wonder why I haven't seen you around until today... I believe the last time we had talked was around the last day of first year."
"Yeah, we didn't have any classes together. If we had, I'm sure we would have stirred up a discussion. You seem very kind. " I gently smile, rubbing the nape of my neck. I tend to forget any bad memories, and the beginning of high school sure was a fat one.
"What a shame, you too seem wonderful.." He comments, gazing towards me for a split second, before reverting his focus. "A-anyways, it's a bit of a surprise I saw you here. Have you always ridden the bus? I usually take it in the mornings as well."
"I've actually just moved into this neighborhood. My parents work more hours than ever, so they decided it's best if I'm closer to school so that I can get to school and back quickly." I explain, tapping the sage green bento in my lap, before setting it on my side.
Sugawara nods, understanding the circumstances. "That makes sense. I'm sure you'll enjoy it now that you've got a friend in the neighborhood. Although, a girl like you must be quite familiar, right?"
'Is that intended to be disrespectful, or am I just tripping?' I think to myself, asking him to spell out the meaning of that remark. "I'm sorry, what? A girl like me?"
"Oh, crap! I didn't mean that to sound rude— I meant because of your band! I understand you guys are the talk around school, considering you're getting pretty popular in the field."
A sigh of relief leaves my lips, preparatory to my correction. "Oh, my band. I'm not sure I necessarily make friends, more like connections and acquaintances. Only a couple of students know about the band, and usually just the down-low ones. But enough about me, what about you, hm? I assume still volleyball obsessed."
I had obviously steered in the wrong direction with our conversation, for Suga's aura quickly altered at the mention of the sport. "Eh, I'm not as excited about it as I used to be." He says, along with a hint of dissatisfaction in his raspy voice.
"No way. What happened to cheerful Sugawara who asked me, the lamest, to join the girls' team?" I ask, hoping a bit of that childish personality was still inside the older version of Suga. The one which was taller, more masculine, more of a man than before.
"Honestly, can't tell you. 'Teams has been a mess ever since I've joined." He leans back in his seat, stretching his arms out, before placing them around his neck from behind. "We're hanging on my a very thin thread."
"Dang, that really sucks. You never know, things can always turn out better." I say, doing as he did, and resting against the leather seats.
"Yeah, of course. I guess it's pretty hard to keep going after so many fails, haha." A sad chuckle leaves his mouth, as he sighs.
"Anyway, nice talking. I'm outta take a quick power nap; I barely got sleep last night. Mind waking me up when we get to school?"
"Yeah, of course," Sugawara replies. With that, I'm left with laying music in my ears like always, and nodded off to slumber.
"Hey, sleepyhead. We're at school," I hear someone say, feeling a tap of a cold finger on my nose. Almost immediately, I shoot up from my position, standing directly above Sugawara while students leave the bus with their bags, having loud discussions of excitement. Was there anything more embarrassing than falling asleep on someone who ghosted you as a friend?
"Dear God, I'm terribly sorry." I panic, brushing down my blue skirt. "That happens on rides, it was a mistake."
"Oh, it's no big deal! Don't worry—" Suga chuckles, standing up from sitting. But before I could let him talk anymore, I started making my way towards the exit of the bus.
"Uhm, I've gotta go! Great talking, though. I'll catch you later, have a good day," I mumble, before frantically leaving the vehicle. 'What a morning.'
— K. S. Perspective
Before I could grant Y/n a polite goodbye, she'd disappeared in just a few seconds. But even so, the measly to,e I'd discussed with her was quite enjoyable. I couldn't believe how much she'd changed.
Long ago, the beginning of high school, Y/n was the type of girl you could barely see, as if she were invisible. I think the only reason I ever even noticed her was because we were seated next to each other in math class, and she immediately caught my attention. But thank goodness I had at least tried making an effort to talk to her, or else we wouldn't have had our conversation this morning. But it wasn't her fault she was so gloomy; supposedly she had lost someone close to her the year before.
Although our talk was brief, it still meant a lot to me. Especially since I was informed that she was finally happy. Looking down at the seat she used, there was a small box with a handle at the top, and a few anime stickers covering it.
'Is this what was making that loud tapping noise on the way here?' I asked myself, examining the box more. Small initials marked 'Y.L.' We're at the bottom, informing me it was Y/n's. At first, I considered handing it to our bus driver, but for the few years I've known him I learned he doesn't return lost things. And so, I leave the bus with it in my hands, ready to start my morning.
"Suga!" I hear a familiar voice call out to me. Looking up, I see my friend, Daichi, and another fellow behind him, Tanaka. The two of them jog towards me, with their scarfs unfolding in the wind. Both I had met in volleyball, and they've been my buddies ever since.
"Hey, Sugawara!" Tanaka exclaims, roughly slapping my back. The bento tosses in my hands, thankfully not spilling onto the floor. Unfortunately, he notices the box and snatches it right out of my hold. "Wow, feeling a bit girly, are we?"
I laugh in response, quickly taking it back. "It's not mine, it belongs to the person who sat next to me today. Hopefully, if I see her again I can give return it."
"Hopefully?" Daichi teases, as we all begin our walk towards the school doors. "Do you know her name?"
"Yeah, her name's Y/n. Know her?"
He lights up at the mention of their name, replying "Oh, I know her! That girl you never shut up about I in first year, correct?"
"Ha, yeah."
Tanaka doesn't understand, digging deeper into the situation. "What?! I've never known good ole' Suga to genuinely have feelings for a girl, unless it was some fling."
"I don't! I used to. There's a difference." I say, as we enter the building.
"If she rides your bus, then why don't you just give it to the driver? She'll probably go looking for it later at the end of the day. That is unless you wanna see her again.." Daichi teases me.
"You see, I would. But the bus driver is sort of a thief, and this girl has had a rough morning as it is. I just wanna be nice." I explain to him. Though a part of me did want to see her again and hope that we could talk longer than we did before.
"Sure you do," Tanaka says, patting our backs. "Listen, this is my stop. I'll catch you guys at practice?"
"Sure thing, bye." We say our farewells, and make our way towards the third-year halls. "What about you, Daichi? Got anything exciting happening this hour?"
"If stressing about volleyball counts, then yes! Most definitely.." He says, clearing his throat. "Watch, like, two people show up."
"Actually, Kiyoko informed us in the group chat that we've got at least four! That's better than last year, right?" I try my best to cheer him up, but it only made him even more nervous. I couldn't blame him. Too much was even more of a burden, but too little was a disappointment and would leave us exactly where we left off.
"It's okay, Suga. I have a lot of faith in our team. I know it's been rough lately, but as long as we try our best, we'll work this out." Daichi smiles, turning towards a separate hallway than mine. "I'm off to homeroom. See you later!"
"Yeah, see ya!" I'm left by myself, giving me more time to focus on what should happen today. - 1st, I have to go through each class and say hi to a couple of familiars, and hopefully not see anyone I've had a conflict with.
- 2nd, I had to give Y/ns bento back to them, but that could only happen if we happened to have a class with each other before, or if we had the same lunch.
- 3rd, volleyball tryouts were this afternoon. I had to make sure and represent myself as a role model, and make it clear I was vice-captain. I wanted nothing more than for the new players to feel safe.
But internally, I knew none of those plans would work out. Especially if I wasn't focused on them. Currently, all I could think about was Y/n, and how refreshing it felt to be around her again. When I was first around her was at the same time when things in my life started to fall apart, and my little crush on her made me feel better about it all. I guess you could say she was my comfort corner, even if she talked to me only once or twice during the week. And sometimes on her bad days, I would be able to at least get a laugh out of her, even if it meant making a complete fool out of myself.
All I wanted was for her not to harm herself or feel lonely, which took a quick turn towards me once the year had ended. Not only had my thing for her end, but my family soon fell apart after my mother had passed away. Of course, I still had my responsibilities like volleyball club and helping my younger sister and my father get through it. But it seemed that everyone would do their own thing, so I did the same. And for a while, I was lonely and didn't cope with the loss very well. Just like Y/n, I distanced myself.
This went on throughout my entire second year of high school, while she on the other hand started to get her life together. She started her band, made and covered a couple of songs, and finally healed from her hard year. Honestly, I didn't even really believe that she was in such a good state, but I was proven wrong today. Ultimately, she truly inspired me to pick myself up and start fresh. And now that she popped up so suddenly, I was back to square one.
'It's been a while, Y/n'
HEYYY SHAWTYYYS.
Give me notes.
SO, I've finally rewritten the first chapter of my fanfiction!! It took a while, but I did it. If you didn't know, I started this story about eight months ago, and I had no writing experience. Now that I'm reaching the climax of this story, I decided I should edit the chapter, especially since they sucked ass! Nothing much was changed, just far more detailing and extra feelings.
Overall, thanks so much for reading the first chapter. Please vote if you enjoyed it!! It helps others know that it's worth reading. And if not, no worries. Thanks anyways. I love you all so much!
- your friendly Suga simp
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jeonjeonggukenergy · 5 years
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Anti-Hero
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summary ~ in search of wine at a party that’s so not your scene, you run into jungkook, the weeb from your film class, and become determined to learn just how much he lives up to his big reputation.
pairing ~ jungkook x reader
genre ~ fluff, light smut w/ more to come - college!au
wordcount ~ 1.7k
warnings ~ light smut, drinking/partying, mentions of dick?, basically just making out, feat. long hair jk :)))))
a/n ~ this is my first time posting a fic!!! costume idea inspired by @ddaenggtan‘s iconic weeb-ass jk in chasing butterflies lol, and I got the idea to write this in general from wondering what a scenario like @joonbird​‘s literally flawless fic passionfruit would be like from the opposite perspective bc I kept reading it (and rereading it...and rereading it...) and loving the connection but I’m much more like joon in that au than the reader oooop. anyway thank you to all the writers on here whose work i have loved and my friends who have encouraged me and made me bold enough to embrace such a fun new creative outlet xxx u know who u are :’)
next: chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4 (coming soon!) 
~ read on ao3 ~
CHAPTER 1 ~ dress up
You never intended to end up at this Halloween party. You didn't even know who to expect to see here, other than your roommate's friend from high school, the host, who had invited y'all as a package deal even though she knew you didn't really do parties. At least not ones like hers, where every bedroom ended up occupied by the end of the night and nearly no one went home alone. Thrilled to break out of your lame group of friends for a taste of flirtation and fun, you tried to relax into the scene but the unspoken expectation of casual sex intimidated you the tiniest bit.
Speaking of casual sex, there was Jungkook.
Used to admiring him from afar in your "14 Films To See Before You Graduate" class, you paused to take in the sight of him in what you supposed was a more natural habitat. Everyone knew Jungkook got girls, thanks to the rumor his first freshman-year hookup had started about his seriously impressive dick. He had a beautiful body too, carefully crafted muscles obvious even beneath his usual baggy black clothes, so as the more intimate rumors spread and various co-signers confirmed every detail from length to curve to (you had always hated this word, but...) girth, getting a piece of all that became a badge of honor among the girls in your grade. You had never really understood how the awkward boy who hid manga under his desk in class could supposedly be such a sex symbol, but you almost felt bad for him. That kind of reputation following you around everywhere couldn't be all fun and games. If anything, though, it had intrigued you even more about the rest of him, all his little weeb quirks and the way he debated your points in the discussion boards like he actually cared. He wasn't exactly studious in general, but he clearly loved film and you enjoyed speaking up in class just to see how he would jump off of your observations. You hadn't really talked to him other than that, but he didn't seem to be talking to anyone else tonight either. From the corner, you let yourself appreciate the way his nervous hands tugged at the skinny black tie of his costume, freeing more of his throat from a thin yellow button-down shirt.
At least you no longer felt overdressed in your Nancy Drew outfit. The retro headband, brown loafers, and bookish plaid knee-length skirt set a much more sophisticated tone than most other ensembles you'd seen, but Jungkook's weeb ass had basically worn a full suit to channel Spike Spiegel from Cowboy Bebop. With his grown-out hair tousled and a navy pinstripe jacket cinched tight with two strips of electrical tape over his tiny waist, you couldn't deny that he rocked it. He leaned against a long plastic table left in the hallway, bobbing his head to the music in the next room and adjusting the too-slim suit pants around his thick thighs. His translucent cup stayed hidden behind a hip until he raised it quickly to his face for another sip of...red wine? Probably Franzia, knowing tonight's crowd, but anything was better than beer. You made a beeline for the one boy with taste at this party, your sole mission now to get wine drunk, sneak some Usher throwbacks on this playlist, and drop it low enough to leave some dude hard on the dance floor. #wastehistime2019, yknow.
"Hey!" You got his attention, grabbing the hand with the cup before he could lower it out of view again. His eyes grew comically wide and his mouth formed an "o" in shock before you demanded "Where is the wine?" and he pressed his lips back into a line, stuttering.
"I-I-I'm sorry, I just brought a bottle because the beer here sucks but I think it's all gone by now, I tried to hide it but yeah anyway you can have the rest of this one if you want though." Wincing at his own ramble, he ruffled the retro pouf of his hair with one hand and proffered the plastic cup in another. Both actions highlighted how pretty his hands were and you were just slightly tipsy enough to thread your fingers over his in the also-pretty black waves falling over his yep-still-just-as-pretty cheekbones.
"Aw, it's okay, I don't want to take your wine. No more liquid courage for me," you grinned, dotting the lightest kiss on his nose. It was an innocent gesture, but as your face naturally lowered so your noses touched, leaving your lips centimeters away from each other, something snapped—in him.
His wine discarded on the table, a hand curled around to clutch your ass and you practically felt his tongue before you felt his lips. Slamming your body abruptly into his, he nudged a thigh between your legs to grind it up on your center and as your arm got caught between your bodies, the tension you sensed filling his frame gave you pause. You pushed him away gently but firmly with the hand already flattened against his rock-solid abs. Looking down at the slight space restored between y'all, you removed his hands from his hair and your ass and laced them in yours to guide him back against the wall.
"I...what was that?" you almost giggled. You definitely weren't trying to laugh at him, but you couldn't hide your surprise at this first potential proof of his fuckboy reputation.
"I'm—" his whole face crumpled, both from the simple sting of your seeming rejection and the possibility that he had broken a boundary or forced himself on you against your wishes, which made him so sick he could barely face you. Squirming under your light hold but not quite resisting, he rambled again: "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to force myself on you or anything, don't worry I would never try anything if you didn't want to, I just figured we might as well get to the point if you did because, uh...when girls touch me like that or even talk to me at these things it's pretty much always just because they...want to."
"Jungkook," you breathed, pulsing your hands over his in reassurance. He squeezed his eyes shut, still distraught, and when they opened, you had craned your neck to meet his averted gaze.
"I never said I didn't want to."
His eyes widened again. "Uh...uh...then..." he trailed off, never having needed to directly proposition a girl like this before. He really had been inexperienced before the rapid escalation of college, and was at a loss for how to get to the good stuff from here via anything more eloquent than a rushed "Wanna fuck?" You shook your head silently, nose grazing his again, and let go of one hand to cup his face with care, like he was something precious you were scared of breaking.
"What? You want to get right to fucking me?" you murmured into his ear. He shivered at hearing you curse for the first time, freed from the constraints of class discussions and closer than he ever guessed you'd get to him. "Is that really what you want? Or is it what you think I do? Because if it's alright, I think I want something better. For you."
You pressed a new kiss to his nose, only slightly stronger than the one that had started all this. He held his breath and his untouched, open mouth trembled as you scattered soft introductions of your lips across his forehead, to his temples, over the scar that sliced his cheekbone. Finally inhaling a skittery heave of your shared air as you passed closer to his lips, he forced it back out in frustration when you ducked away to nudge under his jaw instead. Returning your hand to his hair, you grinned, enjoying the spike in his pulse under your thumb and skipping the tip of your tongue lightly over his neck right up to the earlobe. You lifted the choppy ends of his waves away from the dangly silver hoop they hid, tensing the strands just slightly between your fingers in an inability to hide your glee. Something told you this was going to drive him crazy.
Taking a slight detour to suck his pierced lobe between your lips, you responded to Jungkook’s low moan of surprise by wedging your tongue through the first oversized hole and letting your teeth clatter over multiple rings of metal. He was trying so hard to stay pliant under you, but the tease of slight pain in a new and unusual spot made him want your mouth more, anywhere he could get it. No one had ever spent this much time tracing so few inches of skin.
And so many girls had buried his face in their necks, craving evidence of an encounter with the Jeon Jungkook, that a strange kind of empathy caught him off guard when you showed him how good it could feel to receive. You connected your lips to the hollow right under his ear, feeling the tendons stretch as his head lolled away from you. Working him through a cascade of light gasps, you stepped away satisfied once you had sucked a dark bloom to the surface. He watched you leave with his mouth agape and chest heaving, unable to believe you could just walk away with a wave and a "See you in class!"
But you did, and he would.
"Shit!" he swore, a shaky hand darting straight to the spot. Now he had to keep his hair long for at least another two or three days. If he showed up to discussion on Monday and had to watch you admiring your work on his skin, he would probably just die on the spot. And that would not be very Spike Spiegel of him.
next chapter
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misterghostfrog · 4 years
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Forgiveness Is Divine But I'm An Earthly Thing
Did someone say ‘more scottish safehouse grieving fics’?
Based off my idea of Jon getting Big Sad over Daisy from this ficlet. And ended up with a bit of exploring Martins feelings abt his mum. With a bonus Big Soft at the end. Enjoy!
(Content warnings: Grief and discussions of grieving, vague discussions about past child abuse.)
Jon stares vacantly at the scrap of fabric that might once have been called a curtain resting haphazardly on the coffee table. He feels exhausted. Like someone took all the emotions he had left, scooped them out and dumped them somewhere. Leaving him weighted and hollow.
It had taken him off guard, just how hard the realization had hit him. Sure he’d known she was gone, from the moment he’d heard Basira’s voice over the phone. But there hadn’t been a moment where he’d really considered it. Not until he pulled that blasted curtain out from the knot of sheets that had formed in the linen closet and began running his thumb over the shoddy Daisy patterning lining the bottom.
It had thrown him back to a conversation he and Daisy had had barely a month ago. He’s not sure how it happened, but they had stumbled onto the topic of the worst gifts they had ever received, and Daisy admitted she wasn’t actually a fan of Daisies. She liked the idea of them, the sweet sunshiny association, but the flower itself was sort of underwhelming, not enough color, she’d said. That never stopped people from getting her things with Daisies on them though. She’d told him about how the gifts usually ended up shoved in cupboards or stuck in storage. Only pulled out when she needed to make a show of using the them for the giver, or used as a backup when something else breaks or is ruined until she can replace the item in question with something with a different pattern.
The thought had been something of a fond memory, a quiet respite amid the louder chaos of the archives. And looking at that curtain the thought had suddenly hit him that it would never happen again. 
 He knows he scared Martin when he’d curled over that little piece of scrap fabric, clinging to it like a child. But once he’d started the tears he found he just couldn’t stop. Like a dam had finally broken and he was drowning in the feelings stuck behind it. Unable to so much as speak between the choked gasping sobs.
 Martins arms are wrapped solidly around him now as he leans back against the arm of the couch. His legs are draped across the cushions, he’d positioned the two of them so Jon was curled up in his lap, leaning against his chest. He’d sat with him this whole time, while Jon cried. Patiently waiting until he’d gathered himself.
For what feels like the hundredth time since they’ve settled in the safehouse, Jon wonders how he could ever have not appreciated Martin for everything he does- and is.
 “I’m sorry.” He murmurs hoarsely. Turning his head slightly, breaking his staring contest with the scrap fabric on the coffee table to bury his face in Martin's chest. 
 “Jon- Don’t be. it’s fine. We’ve sort-of been through a lot lately, I think you’ve earned a good cry.” Martin says, carding his fingers through Jons hair. 
 “Thank you... I just-” Jon takes a shaky breath “I suppose the fact that she’s gone didn’t really... hit me. Until now.”
 Martin pauses.
 “Who- you mean Daisy?” He asks
 “I- yes. She was- we were-” Friends he trips on the word. They’d never really said it, that they were friends. But that’s what they were. As much as they could be considering the circumstances. “-close. After- after the buried.”
 There’s a pause, and Jon glances upwards at Martins face. His eyebrows are knit close and his lips pressed together in an expression Jon doesn’t quite have the energy to decipher.
 “What?”
 “Didn’t she, y’know, kidnap you? Throw you in a trunk with-”
 “Yes.” Jon cuts him off, the memory of Daisy throwing him into the back of her car alongside a corpse sits at the back of his mind like a threat “She did.”
 “Sorry- sorry. I just... I guess I know you two were friends but... I guess I find it hard to believe you just... forgave her? Just like that?” Jon can hear the way his voice pitches up in offence at the end of the sentence, always quick to defend Jons honour. He huffs.
 “I didn’t, actually.”
 Martin pauses.
 “I thought you said you were close.”
 “Yes, well. That doesn’t mean I forgave her for what she did- if I had to forgive everyone who's ever hurt me to care about them my life would have been significantly lonelier I think- And she... she didn’t expect me to.” He runs his finger idly over a loose thread of Martins Jumper “I don’t think we could have been friends if she had. And- I think she knew that. And besides that I know she knew that she- she didn't have the right to expect- or even ask me to forgive her.” 
 “Oh”
 “And it doesn’t mean I cared about her any less. It just- it just meant our relationship was more... complicated. And despite that I think...” He chuckles wryly “I think I could probably say with reasonable confidence that she was my best friend.” he tries for another laugh, but it comes out wobbly and far too close to a sob as tears he didn’t even know he had left in him threaten to fall.
 “I’m sorry, Jon” Martin says softly. Squeezing his shoulder gently with the hand that isn’t still running through his hair. “But... I mean- she’s not completely gone, is she? I mean you said yourself she’s still alive so-”
 “No.” Jon says softly. “I mean, she is alive. That much is true, but... She gave into the hunt. She had been fighting it for a long time and... she had to make a choice. The hunt or her humanity, and she chose the hunt. She- she chose it to keep us safe but- well. Intent doesn’t really translate that well when it comes to eldritch fear monsters. So technically she is alive. But... what’s left of her- its not Daisy. Not anymore. She’s gone.”
 “Oh.” Martin's voice sounds terribly small. Jon feels awful for dashing his hopes- even though they weren’t even his hopes to begin with. He’d only said that to make Jon feel better. “I’m sorry.”
 “Don’t be. It’s-” It’s not fine, so he doesn’t let himself say it is “It is what it is, I suppose.”
 “Yeah.”
 There’s a silence then, as both their eyes drift to the curtain. Jon knows Martin likely doesn’t have many- if any, pleasant memories of Daisy. But the mere act of trying to understand her importance to Jon is far more significant than he knows.
 In the absence of tears and memories he finds his eyelids drifting shut without his permission. There’s more to be said of course, more to talk about and more to feel. But the consequences of such an exhausting exercise in emotion weighs heavily on him, and for once, he thinks he can indulge in the luxury of rest. So he allows himself to just be wrapped up there for a moment. Exhausted but nonetheless safe. 
 Neither of them sleep well in the safehouse. It’s hardly a surprise, between the cacophony of horrors they’ve both faced over the past few years it’s really a shock they sleep at all. But that doesn’t make the long silent hours of the night when they’re both pretending to sleep for the others benefit any less grueling.
Martin isn’t sure if Jon knows just how little he sleeps, he lies still and quiet well enough. Partly in hopes that Jon will get some rest himself, and partly because he thinks that maybe if he acts like he’s asleep his brain will get the message.
It’s easy to tell when Jon is awake though, he thinks he’s being subtle. But he’s a terrible liar, and a worse actor. And he doesn't know that when he's really asleep he's still as the dead unless you try to move him, at which point he’ll cling as tight as he can to whatevers closest. Which is usually Martin nowadays. So Martin knows he’s not waking him when he speaks quietly into the darkness.
 “Have I ever told you about my mum?” His voice is low, just above a whisper even though it’s just the two of them.
 Jon tenses in his arms, he likely hadn’t even realized Martin was awake. 
 He knows in theory this is hardly the best time for the conversation, but it’s harder to sort good choices from bad so late at night. When it’s practically morning and his head is so fogged with sleeplessness someone could tell him he’s dreaming and he’d believe them.
 “I- no. You haven’t” Jons voice is quietly bewildered, the volume matching Martin’s own tone. “I mean, I know you dropped out to take care of her, but that’s it.”
 Martin humms vacantly, resting his forehead against the crown of Jon's head. Jon has both legs wrapped around one of Martins own, one arm slung over his middle and the other pressed between them. It’s nice, he’s not sure he would be able to deal with the sleepless nights if it wasn’t for Jon curled around him like some sort of affectionate snake. And now the warm contact gives him the courage to continue speaking, to let the words jumble out as they may.
 “She... she never liked me y’know. I tried. I really did but- she got... it wasn’t her fault. My dad- he left, when she got diagnosed. And a-apparently I look just like him. And she... she didn’t like the reminder. A-and it made her say- say things. I suppose.” He takes a shaky breath “But I keep- I keep thinking about what you said about Daisy, h-how you don’t have to forgive someone to care about them...“
 He pauses, Jon doesn’t respond. Running his thumb over Martins shoulder blade, waiting. 
 “is it- is it bad if I can’t forgive my mum?” His voice sounds so small in his own ears. Jon pushes his head further into Martins chest, and sighs.
 “You do realize i’d be something of a hypocrite if I said it was” He says quietly.
 “Yea but, I mean... Daisy was different, wasn’t she? I-I mean- it wasn’t her fault what she did, all that stuff she said. She was- she was hurting. She didn’t-” He stops as Jon shifts, pulling his head back and unwrapping his arms from Martins chest, bringing his hands up to cup Martins face. Gently guiding his head until he’s looking Jon in the eye.
 “Martin- that’s not...you could probably make the same arguments for Daisy. That she didn’t know what she was doing, she didn’t mean to hurt people. But that doesn’t change the fact that she did.” He says seriously.“You don’t owe her your forgiveness. Not if she hurt you.”
 “But... she was my mum, Jon.”
 There’s a pause, Jon runs his thumb over Martins jawline. Martin can barely make out his expression in the faint moonlight. But he can tell he’s thinking.
 “Did I ever tell you I was raised by my grandmother?” He says softly after a long pause.
 “No, you didn’t”
 “Yes, well. My parents died... when I was very young. And she was the only living relative I had left. And while she did her best... well, it was clear she didn’t exactly- she was done raising children. And having one dropped in her lap wasn’t really in her retirement plan. She tried to hide it of course, but... I knew I wasn’t wanted.” He sighs “and that... was damaging. I think. And led to some things that... that weren’t her fault, but I still- it still hurts. I did love her, though. But I can’t forgive her for some of the mistakes she made in raising me. Intentional or not.”
 “Oh, Jon...”
 “You don’t owe your Mother your forgiveness, Martin. It doesn’t make you- ungrateful or bad to not forgive her. It just means she did things you can’t just, let go of. I-if that makes sense.”
 “I... Yeah. I think- it does. Yeah.” 
 There’s a silence, and Martin takes a moment to process the words. He’s not sure if he can use them yet, he never realized how much time he’s spent trying to force himself to forgive his mother for... everything. He knows it’ll be a hard habit to break. But for now, he lets them sit  comfortably in his chest. Curling back around Jon, who sighs into his shirt.
 “Thank you, Jon.” He says softly.
 “Of course.”
 He wishes he could say they both drifted off into an easy sleep after that, but the sleeplessness holds fast until the sun is nearly up. And they find themselves stumbling around the kitchen like every morning, sleep deprived and clumsy. The night's conversation not entirely forgotten, but unimportant in the face of breakfast. 
There’s more to talk about of course, there always will be. He thinks. But for now it’s enough to just be there, together in that cramped barely-functional kitchen. Simply enjoying each others presence.
Always. It’s a thought that hasn’t occurred to him before, but now. Even as sleep deprived and clumsy and miserable as they are in the cramped house. They’re together. And it feels like something they could have. An always. Maybe not here, but together all the same.
Martin watches Jon curse as the milk he pours into his cereal hits the spoon and ricochets onto his shirt. Soaking through even as he tries to wipe it off with his sleeve.
  Always has never seemed so promising.
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damienthepious · 4 years
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idk idk idk i’m just doing my best
Going Through Changes, Ripping Out Pages (chapter 5)
[ch 1] [ch 2] [ch 3] [ch 4] [ao3] [ch 6] [ch 7] [ch 8] [ch 9] [ch 10] [???]
Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast
Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla
Characters: Lord Arum, Sir Damien, Rilla, The Keep
Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday, Established Relationship, (uhhhhh sorta), Amnesia, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, (WE WILL GET THERE…… EVENTUALLY)
Summary: Lord Arum wakes to discover that some things have changed while he slept. Namely, there is a human in his bed.
Chapter Summary: Just a moment to breathe together.
Chapter Notes: happy LKT! it's finally not death-grip hot today. i hope you're doing well <3
~
The Keep brings the pair of them to a familiar room, though not one that they would have expected. There are a lot of spaces in the Keep that don't have particular functions, exactly, since Arum isn't keen on categorization or organization, but this room he and Rilla have mostly taken to calling the study. It has a few books (far fewer than the scroll room), a couple soft seats (fewer than the dining room) and a window shaded by a thin, wide-leafed curtain of vines, and as they enter, the Keep drops another set of vines, lifting Rilla's instrument from beside the window and pressing it into her hands.
Rilla stares down, and Damien watches her swallow roughly as her hand wraps around the neck. It's a homemade thing, the same instrument that she engineered during her first stay within these walls, though it has been structurally bolstered and restrung and better tuned and painted with playful florals since that time. Rilla laughs, and it sounds nearly hollow, and the Keep's vines press the instrument more firmly into her grip.
"Keep," she says, her tone uncertain and worried, and the Keep warbles an urgent set of tones, pushing the instrument again before it releases it into her hands. "I'm… I'm not sure if-"
The Keep sings, then. Sings in words, the first line of a familiar song, and Rilla clutches the neck of the instrument tight enough that one of the strings makes a tight high noise against her fingernail.
"Oh," Damien says, catching the Keep's meaning, and it is so strange, he thinks, that such a sound can fill him with such warm memory and such sadness at the same moment. "Oh," he repeats breathlessly. "I see. You believe that he might… if he hears- you think the familiarity of the song, the association between it and us-"
"No. No, that's not going to work," Rilla says firmly, her eyes upturned vaguely in the direction of the Keep.
Damien sighs as the Keep exhales a wilted sort of song, but he can't deny that he agrees with his flower. Rilla winces, though, raising a hand to pat at the air consolingly.
"I mean- Keep, it's a really sweet idea, and the theory that he'll remember the song-" her voice goes strange and wobbly for a moment, and then she inhales and continues, "the theory that it would help him remember isn't without merit. Music has a lot of connection to memory, between repeated patterns of things like rhyme and rhythm and leitmotifs- but- but I don't think he's gonna take it very well if we try to like, perform a little three-creature concert for him, y'know?"
The Keep sings again, tentative but hopeful, and Rilla sighs.
"He'll think we're trying to manipulate him," she says quietly. "Technically, we would be. And- and he won't buy it if he can tell I'm not fully into it. I'm an awful liar- he can always tell if I'm putting on a face, and- and honestly? I just-" she folds her arms over her chest, looking down and to the side. "I just … I really don't feel like singing, right now."
Damien's heart pulls, caught in the tide of Rilla's ill-hidden sorrow. For its part, the Keep sings again, an understanding descent of notes, an obvious concession to Rilla's points.
"Why don't you play, just a little, my love?" Damien's keeps his voice low, and he brushes his hand over hers on the neck of her instrument. "And I will do the singing myself."
"Damien," she says, sounding tired and uncertain. "It isn't going to w-"
"Not," he clarifies, "for the sake of a solution, I mean. Simply for us. You have sung for my own comfort more times than I could possibly count. If it would bring you more distress, you need not play, but at least let me sing for you. Our Keep has made a lovely suggestion, and I should like, I think, to take some small measure of comfort where I can, and share it."
"Oh," Rilla says, blinking, and then she breathes a weak sort of laugh. "Oh, I mean… if you- if you want?"
Damien smiles, and it feels mostly genuine. They still have not come to any solutions, but surprising Rilla is delightful enough to warm him regardless. "I believe you are correct," he says, "that any attempts at artifice will only cause our lily to mistrust our intentions further. Perhaps we should attempt to show him your recordings, next. That seems an appropriate step. But currently, while he is… cooling off, as you put it, I think we should take a moment of our own. Settle our minds, comfort our souls." He squeezes her hand, ducking his head. "Will you let me sing for you?"
"Damien," she says, and her cheeks are dark as her lips tilt into a fond smile. She glances down to her instrument, and then she sighs, and sits, and lifts it to a proper playing position as she meets Damien's again. "I'll play. You can sing, if you really want to. But- but you don't have to sing for me, okay?"
"I know," he says, settling to sit beside her as her fingers dance across the frets, lazily adjusting the tuning. "But surely you know that I want to."
Her smile grows, and she plucks out a few unconnected chords. "Alright, alright," she says, voice warm, and then she bites her lip for a moment as her fingers move, as she strums through a few more experimental notes before she decides on something he can sing along with.
Another folk song, one without quite such a fraught connection to the four of them, this time. A song about warm rains and bolting for shelter, about closeness and laughter, about staying together in the hidden places, even after the storm passes by.
She is always so beautiful when she plays. She laughs, even, when the Keep begins to hum wordlessly along with Damien, and he nearly loses his thread when the combination of her talent and her joy threatens to overwhelm his heart. Eventually, on the final verse, she lets her own voice raise to join theirs, harmonizing until she strums the last chord.
Her smile tilts her lips, and her eyes sparkle between rueful and mischievous.
"Tactical and romantic," she murmurs, and Damien attempts to look innocent. "Okay, okay, I'm actually feeling a little better now. Happy?"
At the admission, Damien's shoulders relax, and he cannot help his own smile. "Absolutely delighted, my flower," he says, and then he leans closer, and Rilla breathes another small laugh as she lifts one hand away from the frets to cup his cheek, to pull him more decisively into the kiss.
Damien freezes when he hears the sharp inhale from the doorway, and he can feel the too-small reserves of comfort and warmth shrink within him. He can feel Rilla's frame stiffen beneath his hands as well, and he forces himself to pull back, to glance aside, to look where he knows he will see-
Arum leans on the doorframe, two hands clinging to the wood, his thin lips parted and his expression confused and open and raw. A moment after Damien looks towards him, though, he snaps his jaw shut again, forcing himself to look nearly blank.
Nearly. Damien knows him too well to be entirely fooled.
"How- how long were you-"
Rilla cuts herself off before she finishes the question, and Arum looks away with a throaty rumble, his tail flicking behind him.
"Long enough to know you were including my Keep in your little moment of bonding, which I do not appreciate in the-"
Arum cuts himself off as well, and Damien wonders for a strange moment if this is a very convoluted attempt at mocking, but the lizard's mouth twists into an uncomfortable line as he visibly struggles through some decision, his hands clenching and unclenching from tense fists as the rattle in his throat grows again.
Arum inhales, glances back behind himself for a moment, and then he seems to shake whatever thoughts he had been grappling, and he narrows his eyes at Rilla.
"You," he says, and Damien can see the way he is layering suspicion over his confusion now. "Rilla. You mentioned the Senate, when discussing how you claim we first came to… to know one another. What do you know of them?"
Rilla bites her lip, confused over this sudden return to interrogation. She furrows her brow as she meets Damien's eye for a moment, and he gives the shadow of a shrug, exactly as unsure about the monster's intent as Rilla herself is.
"Uh, only what you've told me?" she tilts her head, setting her instrument gingerly to the side of their seat and then crossing her arms over her chest as she thinks. "Which honestly isn't all that much. I don't think you really like talking about them? And as far as I know they haven't been much of a factor since the mess at Fort Terminus. They kinda-sorta run the show with the monsters in general, yeah? Mostly because they're powerful enough to just… do what they want, even if it infringes on what other monsters want."
Arum frowns, but despite his clear displeasure he nods. "That is not entirely inaccurate." He pauses, tension in his jaw before he continues, "and you are certain that I am… no longer in communication, then, with these beasts?"
Rilla's eyebrows shoot up, and Damien answers, "You have certainly not mentioned any correspondence, no. May I ask why this is a concern, currently?"
"Do you think they're involved?" Rilla asks, eager, and Arum's snout wrinkles.
"I cannot say for certain," he mutters, and then he bares his teeth uncomfortably, "and if I do not discuss them with you, I do not know how I could find out."
Damien turns that phrasing over in his head, and he is sure that he must have misheard for a moment, because he seems to be implying-
"Wait." Rilla shifts at his side, sitting straighter. "Wait. You're talking like- do you believe us?"
Arum stares at her for a moment, brow furrowed, and then he blinks quickly, hissing sharp and low.
Damien watches him hunch his shoulders, duck his head, hands flexing, and Damien does not know if his heart should swell or plummet. Arum did not even realize his own implication.
"I-" the monster stammers. "That is not-" he shakes his head, his frill fluttering with distress. "I do not-"
Damien stands, and Rilla stands a moment after, her hand at his elbow.
"Arum," Damien tries, and the monster snaps his jaw shut, glaring between the both of them for a long moment.
"… I do not know what to believe," he says slowly, eventually, and then he drops his eyes. "So … so perhaps you should continue attempting to prove your point. If- if you are so terribly certain that you are correct, if you believe you have some so-called evidence that may be so utterly compelling…" he trails off, exhales a slow sigh, and then gestures with a hand, prompting the Keep to form a doorway at his back. "I may have found some evidence of my own. Come. Convince me, and perhaps I will show you what I've found."
[->]
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“A long thread about my personal experiences during this election dealing with my Labour voting family deciding to out themselves as casual racists by voting Tory / Brexit Party in traditional Labour "Red Wall" heartlands
I come from a genuine working class family .
Grandparents were miners and domestic cleaning staff
Dad was butcher , mum was a cleaner and when she remarried after their divorce she married a miner .
I grew up in a two up two down terrace house that my parents rented from the local Co-op society and then moved into a council house in Kendray (Barnsley) when my mum remarried .
One grandad was a NUM union rep ( at Woolley Colliery alongside Scargill )
Other grandad was a NUPE union rep .
Mum and her sister were both UNISON union reps .
I guess what I'm trying to get across is that we were a proper Labour supporting family , cut us in half and we would have Labour running through us like a stick of Blackpool rock .
And yet in this election I was the only one still voting Labour, in traditional "Red Wall" Lab areas.
I'm in Sheffield but my family is split across the Barnsley area, some in Dan Jarvis' constituency, some in Steph Peacocks and some in the Penistone area that's just turned Tory.
How the hell did this happen ?
Why did my mum and step-dad and my Dad and step-mum all vote Brexit Party ?
Why did my brother and his wife and my aunt and uncle both vote Tory ?
They're not stupid people , my step-mum is a nurse and educated to degree level , my brother an accountant and educated to degree level and my sister-in-law a teacher educated to degree level .
We all lived through Thatchers annihilation of our communities when she went after the unions and destroyed Barnsley after and during the Miners strike .
My step-dad lost his job when Woolley Colliery was closed and never worked again .
So how the hell did they all come to abandon Labour and vote for parties whose policies are the complete antithesis of their own needs and aspirations ??
To answer that you've got to look further back than just this last few weeks or months or the last couple of years .
You've got to look a lot further back .
Before the Miners strike everyone I knew lived and worked in Barnsley , my grandparents jobs were in Barnsley , my parents jobs were in Barnsley , my aunt's and uncle's all worked in Barnsley as it seemed did all my friends families.
The aftermath of the strike changed that .
Most people were employed at the Pits or in industry connected to the Pits or in the service industries like retail , pubs etc where the Miners spent their wages.
When those wages went then so did the local economy.
New Labour in 1997 gave people hope of a change but all they brought to the area were low paid minimum wage jobs to replace high paid skilled industrial jobs .
People thought that New Labour when they got in would regenerate and revitalize these traditional working class Lab heartlands.
They didn't.
Yes we got a far better funded NHS and Sure Start etc.
But areas like Barnsley just got left behind , their Labour votes taken for granted.
Life had changed .
Only my mum still worked in Barnsley .
I moved to Sheffield because of work . My dad ended up in Stoke were he met my step-mum before they returned to Barnsley .
My brother , his wife and most other family members worked in other nearby towns and cities , even though they still lived in Barnsley .
Some like my Step-dad and aunt and uncle relied on the benefits system to see them through to retirement age .
Then along came the banking crisis , followed by the high street crisis that saw the likes of Woolworths bite the dust .
Quickly followed by a Tory & Lib Dem government pushing their disastrous Austerity policies.
Areas like Barnsley took another hammering .
Jobs lost in the local economy which had never recovered from Thatcher thanks to New Labours indifference.
Cuts to essential council services and cuts to the NHS locally meaning longer waiting lists and crowded doctors waiting rooms .
And in amongst all this comes Nigel Farage and Boris Johnson .
The poisonous bastards gave everyone in areas like Barnsley exactly what the needed , exactly what they wanted .......
Someone to blame.
Immigrants .
Immigrants let into this country by the EU.
Immigrants taking our jobs .
Immigrants using our NHS
Immigrants taking our council houses
Immigrants filling up our doctors waiting rooms
You see it couldn't just be the Tory's fault that things were rough because it hadn't gotten any better whilst Labour was in power.
So it has to be someone else's fault .
So Farage and Johnson must be correct when they blame immigrants and tells us all politicians are the same
Both narratives that have been pushed relentlessly by Farage , Vote Leave and Johnson
Farage and Johnson must be correct if the news on the telly says the same thing and asks them to come on all the time to talk about it .
Farage and Johnson must be correct if the newspapers all print the same stories blaming immigrants for taking our jobs and our houses and clogging up our NHS .
And Farage and Johnson must be correct if everyone on Facebook is posting the same Memes especially if greasy Brenda from the local chippy is posting it cos she obviously knows here stuff !!!!
Under Thatcher we knew who to blame , the Tory's.
But under Blair who did you blame for life getting no better because of New Labours indifference ??
The politicians , both sides because they are all the same , none of them give a stuff about us .
Under austerity who do we blame ?
Not the Tory's cos they've told us that we are all in this together and there is no other way , we have to all make sacrifices .
So we blame the immigrants , the ones that the EU are forcing us to take .
And by default because we tend to class anyone who's different to us as a potential immigrant then we blame any and all ethnic minorities
All of this whipped up to a frenzy since 2016 by the likes of Farage , Vote Leave , Tommy Robinson , Katie Hopkins , Hartley-Brewer , Rod Liddle and Boris Johnson and his Tory cohorts.
Aided and abetted by the usual cast of idiots at the BBC , ITV and Sky .
Sadly I watched this unfold with my own family over the last 3-4 years and didn't do anything like enough to try and counter it
I ignored the initial flurry of anti EU comments and social media posts partly because I was voting leave too, albeit for completely different reasons
I spent far too long just telling them to stop spouting racist bollocks when they moaned about immigrants instead of actually sitting down and explaining why the stuff they were reading , watching and sharing was wrong and factually false .
I ignored the anti Corbyn comments because I just assumed that when it came around to election time they would just hold their noses and vote Labour as we had all done for years before regardless of the leaders popularity , just as they all had in 2017
I finally realised I hadn't done enough when the election campaign kicked in .
I only work part time now and that's from home so I'd decided to get fully involved in the campaign both on the ground locally and on social media .
Boy did I get the shock of my life when I started posting stuff about Labours plans and manifesto on Facebook .
I got absolutely frigging mullered ...........
by my own family members and friends.
My posts were full of comments from them with arguments and rhetoric that had been drummed into them by Farage and Johnson over the last few years .
My timeline was full of anti Labour Memes .
It got that bad that I ended up deleting my Facebook account .
Most of the family aren't speaking to me and Boxing day this year when we traditionally all meet up at my mum's is going to be an absolute nightmare .
Then you realise it's not just yourself and your own family thats experiencing this .
You speak to a friend in Rotherham and find they've had the exact same experiences.
You get a call from your oldest son in the armed forces to tell you that he's up on a charge after getting into a scuffle with some of his colleagues after being called a muslim loving terrorist supporting traitor just for sharing some Labour stuff on social media
Living in Sheffield possibly led to me being a little insulated from Labours problems .
It's a multi cultural city and apart from the usual quota of nobheads and Tommy Robinson types we all live side by side with few serious problems.
Brexit didn't seem to be as big an issue inside the city as it did in the out-laying towns .
But in fairness things never got as desperate or demoralizing in the cities as they did in the town's and old industrial area's
We weren't looking quite as hard for someone to blame
Corbyn had a definite image problem on the doorsteps .
He had a massive target on his back and there's no denying that the media were able to hit it's bullseye with alarming regularity
But this hadn't been insurmountable during the 2017 election even in areas like Barnsley and Rotherham.
And I genuinely believe that had Jeremy Corbyn been just as intolerant towards immigrants and ethnic minorities as the Tory's were we would have had a very different result.
After all the country happily elected an absolute racist bigot instead of Corbyn
That's an absolutely disgraceful situation to find ourselves in especially when you also come to the realisation that members of your own family voted this way .
How do Labour get voters like my family back ???
More to the point do we actually want them back ???
I'm not sure I want to be related to my own family members at the moment because of their willingness to blame immigration and ethnic minorities for all our ills .
And yes we may have had the policies that would have addressed the problems that led to them voting for the Tory's / Brexit Party but you can't enact those policies if you don't get into government in the first place .
Would a different leader have made a difference to these voters ??
Yes to some of them .
Would a different Brexit policy have made a difference .
Definitely , to most of them
Did they vote this way because they're racist ???
Who genuinely can say ???
I hope that for the ones related to myself that it isn't a deep seated racism , rather just a reaction to a constant and unrelenting malign influence of the mainstream media , targeted Facebook memes and snake oil salesmen like Farage , Johnson and Cummings .
But I guess we won't know that until 2024 when we go to the polls once more , with a different leader , with Brexit no longer an issue and with the realisation that even outside of the EU nothing has changed in Barnsley and similar towns under this bastard of a Tory government”
Link below:
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gayspock · 5 years
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(tma anon here!) i just started season 3! the main trouble i'm having is remembering the names/connecting early dots with later ones and such. i know there's something about different concepts or beings or something like that being powerful and linking stuff? but also i just. Don't get what's going on in the archive like. what is jon doing. who is daisy. what do the books do with anything. my tiny gay brain can't piece things together rip esp cuz i haven't listened in awhile...
READ MORE TIME BC... FRANKLY THIS IS LONG IM SO SORRY ANON F
1
NAMES ARE ALWAYS REALLY DIFFICULT!!!! like, i dont blame u at all & i had a lot of the same issues - bc there REALLY IS a lot of them and they don’t get repeated enough.  i would suggest, if theyre talking in depth about someone who only sounds vaaaguely familiar, to perhaps check them out on the wiki?? it’s probably your best bet, for a small refresher that u can access whenever u can.
moreover. this is obviously HARD bc ur not up to date, but? sometimes engaging with the fandom helps process things (it did for me) bc ppl’s discussions help connect things together.  perhaps... try digging up old reddit threads, of when the actual episodes first aired? i suggest reddit specifically bc u can actually restrict ewhat u see to be only discussion about a specific episode in its specific thread (something u cant do on tumblr). seeing ppl discuss what happened in an episode, and what is/isnt important rlly can . do wonders if ur like me and things all kind of blur together.
AS FOR YOUR SPECIFIC QUESTIONS.. (first of all. might i suggest u go over the season 2 finale? JUST BECAUSE that explains most of what you’re asking, i think!? and has a lot of the important info, in terms of immediate plot. however... that being said, maybe if ure still struggling after that u could relisten to more episdoes? it wouldnt hurt, and if u want i could point u to all the relevant (relevant meaning: ones that will have follow up in the future) ones but- but to be honest, even then, there are a LOT of relevant episodes. so u gotta prepare uraself for that.)but i can answer the things u asked, to my own ability !! which?? i HOPE HELPS
1. what is jon doing
good question. mans gone wild!! im not entirely sure what u SPECIFICALLY mean by: what is he doing, but if u mean in GENERAL? at the very end of the s2 finale, he was framed for the murders of both Leitner and Gertrude by elias (who is the one who actually killed them both) after the former’s body was found in his office and he ran away. consequently, he is on the run from the law and is staying low at his ex-girlfriend’s (georgie) house, who doesn’t know what has happened (just that something is clearly . wrong with him). 
in episode 1 he’s just recounting one of his own childhood experiences (essentially giving his own statement) which explains why he 1. hates the name leitner and 2. pursued a job at the magnus institute despite his cynicism.  if you’ve made it to episode 3, yet, he basically starts getting statements sent through the mail to him (which is weird, because no one is supposed to know where he is) and he interprets this as someone sending him clues. THAT’S BASICALLY WHAT HE’S DOING IN THE BEGINNING, ANYWAYS! 
2. who is daisy
she’s first mentioned in episode 43, and gives an actual statement firsthand in episode 61. do you remember basira? she’s the police officer jon was in contact with, and who gave him certain tapes that had been taken in as “evidence” by the police after gertrude’s murder. she is sectioned, which as explained in episode 43, basically means: she saw some weird supernatural shit once, had to sign a section 31 form, and is now assigned to any case which entails supernatural shit. daisy is essentially her partner on the force. she is also a sectioned and therefore also works on any and all supernatural cases. given the institute’s reputation, all cases concerning it are automatically given to section 31 officers - including gertrudes murder. which is actually why basira and daisy showed up in the first place, and why basira gave him so many tapes despite them being evidence: because they already suspected that he had killed her at that point, and were banking on the fact he’d expose himself.ANYWAY. therefore when jon was framed for murdering his predecessor, daisy steps in. she’s currently trying to find him, so she can “deal with him”. 
3. what do the books do with anything. https://the-magnus-archives.fandom.com/wiki/List_of_booksthis might. explain a little bit??anyways the books were also something i was like “whahththeusdhisdhgd” about too, so big mood with that one. BASICALLY: the books have an unknown origin, and we still don’t know how they exist, or their original source. all we specifically know is that 1. they all correspond with at least one entity 2. they are especially powerful artefacts, even more so than most  and 3. interacting with them has bad consequences that are variable.  within the show,  most people (and we ourselves are led to) believe that they were the work of someone called jurgen leitner - including jon, himself - hence why they’re referred to as leitners. however leitner turns out to be nothing but Just a Self-Absorbed Prick, who simply collected them, and added them to his library - branding them, as if they were his own, in the process. he believed that he could “protect” people from them, by keeping them in this fashion. instead this ... did not exactly work out, and instead given the fact he’d slapped his name on, like, all of them most people instead think he’s the one who put them all into the world. which, given their abhorrent nature, kind of put a big target on his back (which is why he went into hiding)
otherwise..... the books, unless something else is revealed later on, aren’t IMPORTANT-important? with regards to plot, at least. they appear every now and then, causing Situations(tm) but it was more like... a misdirection, i guess? might be the best word. as in, they were presented as the cause for a lot of shit, and thats true, but ACTUALLY: there’s a much bigger picture going on, and the books are less the root of the problem, and moreso a  consequence of the problem if that makes any sense?
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5hfanfiction · 7 years
Text
Yeah, I'm Gonna Regret It
Based on Quit by Cashmere Cat (feat. Ariana Grande)
(A homophobic slur is used, fair warning)
((If you’re on a laptop, play thunderstorm sounds while listening to Quit while you read this for the full effect))
-
The incessant cracks of thunder and lightning that waged war with the sky outside had nothing against the storm brewing within the four walls of the room where Lauren and Camila resided. Tears rolled down their faces like rain against the windowpane, their words flying faster than the wind that tore at the trees. Their resolves were shaking like the foundations of the building and one of them was bound to crumble to the ground.
“You’re a fucking bitch, you know that Jauregui?” Camila bellowed, her finger pointing at Lauren accusatorially.
“Says the one who keeps running off and fucking guys to fix her problems!” Lauren countered, her hands flung in the air in disbelief that the brunette was trying to come at her like this.
“The only problem I have is you!” The brown eyed girl yelled, stepping closer to Lauren to exude some kind of dominance, considering she was shorter than the other girl. “You think that you’re all high and mighty, that everyone is in love with you. Well newsflash! I’m not!”
“Then stop coming to me every night begging me to fuck you!” Lauren nearly screamed, her chest heaving and her body gravitated towards Camila, their breath mingling as their eyes bore into each others.
“Like I would ever beg for sex from a fucking dyke,” Camila spat, her voice low. She knew her words had the desired effect when she watched as Lauren’s eyes changed to a dull grey, even if she knew she’d regret the words she spoke later.
Lauren glared down at the shorter brunette, making sure she knew how much her words had hurt her, before speaking, “Fuck you, Camila.” With that, the green eyed girl stormed out of the apartment, slamming the door so hard a picture frame fell off of the wall. And much like the aftermath of the storm, Camila was left to pick up the pieces of what she destroyed.
-
Camila pushed through the crowd at the over capacitated club. Sweaty bodies meshing together under the flashing lights with the bass pulsating through their bodies was not Camila’s thing, but she needed to find her next conquest. After Lauren ran from Camila, the brunette hadn’t had any contact with her. It had been a week and Lauren had basically removed herself from Camila’s life, and though she would never admit it, it was killing her inside. She missed Lauren’s eyes, her raspy voice, her soft skin, her gentle touch..
‘Stop, Camila. She’s gone, and it’s your fault,’ Camila chastised herself. She continued to weave her way through the mass of people, determined to find a guy that can actually fuck her. She’s been doing it for months, but no one ever seems to compare to a certain green eyed cuban, which absolutely terrified Camila to no end. Because up until the moment she met Lauren, she was straight, and guys had satisfied her in every way. One accidental drunken hookup between two best friends later, and Camila’s entire life was in shambles. So she started sleeping around with guys, hoping nothing had changed within her. But no one could ever satisfy her, not like Lauren. She would always crawl back.
Spotting a good looking guy at the bar, Camila smirked as she made her way toward him. Leaning over his shoulder, she husked into his ear, “You look like just the kind of guy I need.” She made her way around him, her hand trailing across his shoulders, and sat down on the bar stool by him. She glanced at his features; black pompadour styled hair, neatly trimmed stubble, bushy eyebrows, jawline chiseled to perfection, covered in tattoos, etc. He was pretty much perfect. The only complaint Camila had was that his eyes weren’t green.
“And what exactly is it that you need?” The man asked, his accent thick and his voice low but raspy. Camila leaned forward, invading his space, her eyes flickering between his lips and his eyes. She looked up at him seductively, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth, as she spoke.
“To be fucked.”
The man chuckled, swallowing thickly due to his obvious desire. “I believe that can be arranged.”
-
Lauren groaned when she heard her phone vibrating on the night stand. Rolling over, she mumbled incoherent complaints as she grabbed her phone, seeing Camila’s name light up her phone. Instantly, Lauren was wide awake. They hadn’t talked in a week, on account of the Latina completely destroying Lauren with her words, but seeing her name on the screen in front of her still made her heart race.
She hated it, she absolutely hated the feelings she had for her friend. They made her forgive her for treating her like shit. They made her answer her every beck and call. She had no regard for her own self when it came to Camila because of these stupid feelings she had. 
They also made her pick up the phone.
“It’s three in the morning, what the fuck do you want,” Lauren asked coldly.
“Lauren I-I’m s-s-sorry I’m so s-sorry," Camila said, her voice shaky most likely due to crying. Lauren felt her heart clench for the girl but reminded herself to stay cold, for her own sake.
"Sorry doesn’t make what you said to me hurt any less.”
“I-I know and I h-hate myself for sa-aying it,” Camila spoke through her sobs.
“Why are you calling me now anyways?” Lauren asked curiously as she laid her head back onto her pillows.
“I- We need to t-talk.”
“What, now?”
“Can I come over? I need to get this off my chest,” Camila asked, finally calming down enough to speak a complete sentence without stuttering.
Lauren looked at the clock and sighed. She knew she wouldn’t be getting more sleep after this call either way, and she would feel awful for not letting Camila talk to her (even though she didn’t want to talk to her).
“Fine, hurry up,” Lauren huffed defeatedly.
-
Lauren opened her door and was immediately flooded with everything that was Camila. The Latina threw herself at the green eyed girl the moment she saw her, wrapping her arms around her waist and burying her face into her shoulder. Lauren felt like all the air was knocked from her lungs, but it wasn’t just from the impact. Just being in Camila’s proximity made her weak, and she craved this feeling, of being in her arms. Whenever the brunette was close to her, the voice in Lauren’s head that kept telling her to leave Camila would cease to exist. Or maybe she just couldn’t hear it.
“Come on, let’s go to bed and we can talk,” Lauren mumbled, her hand rubbing Camila’s back soothingly as she led her to her room.
“Do you need some clothes to sleep in?” Lauren asked Camila, who only nodded. Lauren threw her a pair of shorts and one of her band shirts before crawling back into bed, Camila immediately following once she was changed. They laid on their backs, staring at the ceiling, until Lauren broke the silence.
“You’re never this quiet,” Lauren stated, “what’s on your mind?”
Lauren could hear the shake in Camila’s breath. “How can you just.. let me in like this after what I said?”
“I don’t know,” Lauren answered honestly, and she really didn’t know. Camila was just her weakness.
“I don’t deserve this, I don’t deserve you,” Camila spoke, her face buried in her hands.
“You’re right, you don’t,” Lauren started. Camila seemed taken aback at Lauren’s honesty, even though she knew she was right. Camila didn’t deserve Lauren at all, and she hated that it was her own fault.
“But it’s my fault I keep letting you back in,” she finished with a sigh, grabbing Camila’s hand and pulling her body into her own, wrapping her arms around Camila’s shoulders while the Latina laid against her chest. Lauren felt hot tears fall against her skin as Camila began to shake with silent tears.
“What’s going on, Camz?” Lauren asked as she held the girl tighter, knowing it calmed her down when she was upset.
“Y-you were.. you were r-right,” Camila whispered between cries.
“About what?”
“Me, sleeping around with guys, it.. it does nothing to solve my problem,” Camila spoke with a small shrug, the green eyed girl noticing her singular use of problem.
“What problem?” Lauren asked curiously.
A very tense second passed as Lauren waited for Camila’s answer with bated breath. She could tell that the brunette was on the verge of saying something but was probably too scared to say it.
“The meaningless sex.. I was trying to change something, something in me, but I just.. it never works.. I-I’m not-” Camila was cut off by a loud sob at the end of her sentence.
 "You can tell me, you know that right?“ Lauren whispered, trying to calm down the girl in her arms as she threaded her fingers through long brown hair.
"That’s the thing; I can’t. You would judge me, call me a hypocrite, leave me..” Camila trailed off.
“You know I’d do none of those things,” Lauren spoke soothingly.
Camila balled Lauren’s shirt into her fist as she tried to get the courage to say what she was feeling, but she couldn’t get the words to come out of her mouth. It was like they were stuck to her throat like peanut butter and she hated feeling like this.
“Camila.. are you gay?” Lauren asked timidly, trying her best not to scare her friend away. Instead, Camila began crying heavily, sobs wracking through her entire body while Lauren just held her, whispering sweet nothings in Camila’s ear as her shirt became soaked with tears.
“That’s why you lashed out on me, isn’t it?” Lauren asked, to which Camila just nodded as she continued crying against Lauren’s chest. Lauren understood now. Their hookup, the one that made Lauren realize her feelings for the brunette, made the brunette realize she was into women. The fucking guys was to try and “fix” herself, which apparently never worked since Camila always crawled back to Lauren. And Camila calling Lauren a “dyke” was her aiming her own repressed feelings at the green eyed girl.
“Just because I understand where you’re coming from doesn’t mean I forgive you for how you treated me,” Lauren spoke once Camila stopped crying. The brunette sniffled but nodded solemnly.
“I know you don’t but.. maybe.. I can make it up to you?” Camila asked, finally looking Lauren in the eyes for the first time that night. Lauren looked at her expectantly and before she knew it, Camila’s lips were on her own. Against her better judgement, she kissed back. She felt like she was on fire, and they were barely moving their lips against each other’s. Camila tilted her head, effectively deepening the kiss, and Lauren groaned greedily into her mouth before grasping at the back of the brunette’s head, pulling in her deeper. Camila’s mouth made it’s way down Lauren’s jawline, kissing down to her neck, and whispered into her ear, “Let me make you feel good.”
Lauren could feel her heart pounding in her chest as Camila’s lips attacked her neck. The voice in her head long forgotten, she let Camila have her way like always. She knew she was going to regret it, but Camila was her drug, and she couldn’t quit her.
-
CAN Y'ALL TELL I’VE BEEN DEPRESSED LATELY CUZ I CAN
ALSO I BARELY PROOFREAD THIS SO OOPS
I love you guys 💕
-Katie
 (As always, you can read my works on wattpad here)
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