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charlotteswriting · 4 years ago

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hi! i saw that your requests are open and i came running. do you think you could write shuichi, rantaro, hajime, kaede, and mahiru (if you write for them) with the ultimate actress who uses her talent in more way than one, like covering up her emotions. for example, she always seem happy, calm, and willing to help anyone, but really a kind of broken person because she's been through a lot. thanks 💜

welcome, anon (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧ it’s been a while since you sent me this request but i’m only writing now, i’m so sorry 🥺

w/n: i used they/them pronouns because i didn’t want to exclude anyone!! also this might have slight angst i’m not sure

Shuichi Saihara

okay but you melt his heart with your kindess. always helping those who around you, showing so much kindness and love to them, being caring with them, always offering help and constantly checking on them,, he thinks you are an angel

of course you are no different to him, and he’s very grateful

after spending more time with you and getting to know you better, he’s able to read you well

he could see how sad you actually are, always putting yourself aside and taking care of others, but getting nothing in return

it’s not like you asked something in return. nobody could ask you how are you feeling, and that felt kind of lonely to him.

you deserved love, too, even if you’re the ultimate actress/actor

so just like you did it with him, he’ll try to break your shell

he’s a bit nervous and shy about offering his help, but he wants to solve this. he wants to see you happy, in a real way

if you feel like avoiding him, he will leave you alone for that second, because he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable

but after seeing how much this means to him, you invite him over and you two talk a bit about you

you can see how much interested he is and it feels?? kind of weird?? ugh

don’t cry.

“it’s okay, Y/n, you don’t need to hide your emotions, w...we are all cheering for you and willing to see you happy, so don’t you feel like a burden when talking about yourself.”

you didn’t expect that coming from him but you can see how much he can relate to you and how much he means this

it melts your heart tbh, the fact that he’s trying is enough to make you cry

Rantaro Amami

to be honest he knew it for a while but didn’t know how to approach you

he might have tried to get you talk about it but you always managed to dodge the question

so he let it slide.

you looked so nice and caring when offering your help, listening to your friends’ problems and giving them advice, always being there for them,, you were truly an angel

the one who anyone needed

but also the one who didn’t have anyone

people told you your acting skills were really something

but who could have guessed you weren’t acting at all?

him.

he could see how lonely you are

and mostly how desperate you are to have someone listen to you

it was breaking his heart, you were the reason of everyone’s smile but you had no one. so you just predicted. predicted like a happy person

because you didn’t want to become a burden or pressure anyone

you just wanted someone. someone that could walk up to you and ask you that question you haven’t heard in so long

“Y/n, do you want to walk together?” it was Rantaro who offered you this time

your eyes sparkled in joy as he waited for your response, you immediately nodded

as you two take a walk, he tried to start a conversation, he didn’t want to talk about himself at all. he wanted you to let it all out, and relax

it was hard for you, but when you did, he smiled and gave you a hug

“you matter, Y/n. your feelings matter no matter what, you don’t have to hide them or anything, nor you have to help everyone... we care for you, always.”

he patted your back kindly, showing you the affection nobody has ever done.

“you don’t have to hide anything, okay?”

your lips curl up to a smile as you return his hug

“...okay,”

Hajime Hinata

he basically admired you for being such a warmhearted person

you were ready to do anything for the ones in need without hesitating, and you always carried a smile!!

it was like you are an iron wall, nothing could ruin your day and your hope, that’s what he admired the most about you

“Y/n, aside from your talent, you’re such a kind person,” Hajime told you

“do you think so? thanks, Hajime...” you’d say and leave immediately

has he said something wrong...?

after spending more time with you, something started bothering him

it was you

the way you actually never smiled

yes, you were kind and the best friend someone can ever have, and many people liked this about you

but was this the real you?

he wanted to talk to you. unlike others, he wanted to talk to you about you, not for a problem of his for you to solve

he wanted to fix if there’s anything troubling you

“Hajime? welcome,” you let him in, “did you need anything?”

“Y/n, aren’t you using your talent more than you should?”

e h h ?

so you were found out. don’t you dare playing dumb, Y/n

you were so surprised that someone actually suspected this side of yours, but aside from that, you were so happy. so happy that someone finally noticed

after realising he sounded rude, he awkwardly apologized and asked the same question,, in a kinder way? yeah, that’s it

and you started sniffing. eyes getting watery and your hands go up to wipe your tears away

he thought he did something wrong until you smiled. you were thankful.

“it-it’s okay, Y/n, i got you, you can tell me,... it’s fine, i won’t judge or pressure you, i just want you to be yourself,” he calms you down

seeing how he was willing to listen to you reminded you of yourself. you always did this with others but you were never shown affection, you can’t help but feel like crying to the thought of he’s willing to listen to you

“it’s not only me, i’m sure everyone here would appreciate if you opened up. we’re willing to help you because that’s what you always do, right? so... don’t predict anymore, please.”

but it’s just like he said, he got you.

Kaede Akamatsu

you were everyone’s joy, everyone could trust you in the blink of an eye and you’d always make their day

Kaede adored this side of you, you were so soft and a nice person

whenever you and her talked, she could tell you about her day and would play piano to you, it kind of relaxed you and she knew it

you were smiling to the sound of everyone having fun, but you were standing there alone

her eyes met yours, and you quickly turned your head

she thought you were just shy and invited you to hangout with others

but you said it was fine, and left

the thought of you didn’t leave her head ever since then

you were down to listen to anyone having troubles and find them solutions, giving them best advice and helping them in the slightest things. but you were never letting people approach you, avoiding them with a smile, making it seem like you’re okay with it

but she knew it wasn’t

she wanted to ask if anything’s wrong, she knew that might be because of your talent but still you looked so lonely to her and if anything’s bothering you, be there for you

when she said she’s willing to talk to you, you were touched so deeply that your heart skipped a beat. but you just couldn’t let her worry about you

“it’s ok! no need to worry for me!” you let out a giggle

“but... is it really okay, Y/n?”

no matter how hard you tried to convince her everything is alright... your eyes said otherwise.

“hey... we’re friends, you know? i care for you... you’re always hiding your true self behind your talent but the truth is you’re just torturing yourself. so don’t hide your true feelings, if we are really your friends, let us get to know you.”

you wanted to cry right there, but you held back instead

but this time, you didn’t refuse her words, which she knew were right already

“okay, but don’t judge, okay? you asked for it.” you let her inside, hesitating a little.

“never!” she said determinatedly. she won’t let that go to waste. because she cares for you and she’s willing to do anything for you, just like you with everyone.

Mahiru Koizumi

you were one of the nicest people she knew!

everything that comes from you would lighten up everyone’s day

if everyone is having a bad day... bam! you fix it.

she thought you were really a nice person for helping anyone at anything.

“Mahiru? mind if i carry your camera for you?”

yeah, you were like that.

but for some reason, you didn’t like to be on the spot light at all, you always came up with excuses and left when you were asked questions

which Mahiru found indeed weird, seeing you like this got her worried

she asked Hiyoko about it, but Hiyoko was really chill about it, she said she didn’t think there’s anything wrong with you

but Mahiru could say by looking in your eyes, you were kind of a lonely person who seeked some love? yes.

making her way to your cottage, she thought everything she wanted to talk to you, but she forgot as soon as she saw you standing beside the door

“Mahiru? did you need anything?”

then everything comes back to her mind and she remembers it. but she kind of messes up telling you because of how nervous she is asking you that.

“i think your talent is amazing, Y/n, but i think you m-mustn’t use it all the time...” ah, god, she sounded so wrong

you were confused

so was she

“i didn’t mean it in a bad way! i mean... do you really smile when you smile? do you mean it?”

that’s when she got you

she said she was worried that the person in front of her was actually not you and some stranger

you let her in since it’s dark and cold outside and talk to her, telling her you’ve been through a lot. you can tell how sorry she feels for you from the look on her face

“Y/n, i’m... i’m so sorry,” she puts her hand on yours, “but that’s all in the past now, isn’t it? nobody here is going to judge you for that... so feel free to open up to me or your friends any time, okay? i care for you and i don’t want to like you for your talent, i want to like you for who you really are.”

Mahiru, you are so sweet, i am gonna cry-

hey, everyone! i’m back writing my requests and i’m willing to finish them ASAP... soo, uhh, i know it’s hard talking about your feelings but if you’re having a hard time, i’m willing to listen to you so feel free to text me anytime :) i might not reply fast but i’ll reply no matter what... you matter and it’s all true, i love you all 💗

also as a writer (i’ve been writing since 9 but my writing still sucks-) i’ve been writing whole weekend since my step siblings are gone lol also i was exercising and studying,, my schedule was full. 😩 anyways it feels nice to get back even though i was gone for 2 days-

#danganronpa #danganronpa headcanons #danganronpa imagines #danganronpa x reader #drv2 #danganronpa goodbye despair #anime x reader #drv3 #shuichi x reader #rantaro x reader #shuichi saihara #rantaro amami #hajime hinata #hajime hinata x reader #kaede akamatsu #kaede x reader #mahiru koizumi #mahiru x reader

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raevenlywrites · 4 years ago

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The Ties That Bind 19 of ???

I couldn’t sleep this night, and there was little point in trying. So I stayed among my people, hoping my presence would reassure them where my words might have failed. I had never been more grateful for my people’s habit of holding our emotions close; it kept my fury with my mother’s milquetoast words at a manageable distance.

She was better than this. I’d heard her give inspiring speeches all my life, words that inspired hope where it was waning, fervor where it was lost. I could only view tonight as an act of sabotage, and I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why. What would she have to gain from undermining me, and the peace I was trying to build? Was it not what we all were working towards?

On the one hand, I wanted very much to speak with her, to demand an explanation. But on the other... well, I had sort of given up. From the moment the Disa suggested marriage, my mother had been shut down. There was more at work here than the surface negotiations of peace. My mother seemed deeply disturbed at the notion of my life deviating from her plan for it--and that was just too bad. It was my life, my reign, my people. Her ways and her mother’s ways and her mother’s mother’s ways had not led to any resolution. I was willing to try something new.

But I was never alone with my thoughts for too very long. It was rare for the Shardae to mingle nowdays outside of festivals and holy days, so many were eager for my attention. Many offered wishes for my continued good health, simple excuses to engage and be near. More than I wished expressed their condolences for our “wasted trip” out to the Mistari, which I politely redirected back towards the news of Irene’s expectancy. Those that topic did not turn away expressed interest in my singing in the birth, and did that mean that I would be returned to my work with the midwives, now that I would no longer be needed on the battlefields? It was an excellent question, and one I hadn’t considered, but found that my answer was an eager yes. It did much to buoy my spirits to think my family gifts returned to acts of growth rather than simply easing the pain of loss. Perhaps even my mother--

I didn’t care to think on my mother overly much this night.

So I stayed among my people until well after moonset, making note of those faces that stayed, those that seemed cautiously hopeful, and those who’s distrust and disdain I’d had to redirect. There weren’t many who lived directly in and around the Keep; I knew most by family name at least, from the Lyssia tailors to the jewelers who ran the Aurita, to the Silvermead blacksmiths and soldiers.

One I did know by first name, Jeanne Kejamarl, approached me much later in the evening. I remembered her from our shared school days, when I was still learning to shape my letters and reading only the simple sentences chalked on the board. The children of the Keep were all raised and educated together, because there were so few. So while I had little cause to interact with the Kejamarl tanneries directly, I knew Jeanne by name, though I wouldn’t call her a friend now, the way I did Elanor. Which I only considered because of how utterly forward her question was.

“Forgive my asking, Shardae, but why wasn’t Captain Andreios by your side this evening?”

I blinked, long and slow and foolish. My brain felt like thick mud, unwilling to allow my thoughts to rotate and pivot this conversation change with any speed.

“I know it’s not my place to question, but if you’re not going to announce him your alastair....”

Jeanne’s cheeks colored, and I realized with shock and horror the direction this conversation was headed, too late to head it off. She was interested in Rei, and I had dragged my feet so long that others were wondering if they might court him.

It wasn’t entirely uncommon for young adults to pursue one another. Yes, alastairs were often chosen for children in their infancy, but tragically all too often, those alastairs and pairbonds did not live to see adulthood. And while it was traditional for men to take the role of alastair--chivalrous protectors--it wasn’t unheard of for a would be pairbond to express her interest in being pursued. And Rei was handsome, and highly ranked, and courteous and thoughtful and dependable--

The thought of his lips against mine came surging back, filling my own cheeks with heat. Luckily, Jeanne misinterpreted my reaction for embarrassment at the topic--or maybe not so much a misinterpretation--and quickly backed off.

“I’m so sorry, m’lady, I shouldn’t have asked.” She ducked her head, chin all but tucked to her chest as she tried to make herself small. “It’s just after all the rumors of the Arami’s proposal, and with Rei’s absence--“

“He didn’t propose!”

I snapped a too rapid answer in a furious whisper, too caught up in my own snarl of emotions to keep my usual decorum.

“I don’t know who started that stupid rumor but I would really appreciate it if people stopped speculating about my private life!”

Jeanne looked up, horror warring with curiosity. It was utterly unlike me to be so emotional--and if she was a lover of gossip, this was too good to miss. I cursed inwardly and did my best to regain my composure.

“Jeanne, please. It has been an excruciatingly long day, week, all of it, and I am tired of my love life being the topic of so much discussion. It’s unseemly, don’t you think?”

“Yes, m’lady, of course. I shouldn’t--“ “No, you shouldn’t. And I would ask you please to keep others from discussing it as well? I have enough to deal with right now.” I sighed, hoping to use the show of emotion to my advantage. “I hope to start my own family under the light of peace, not in the shadow of my brother’s funeral.”

“Yes, m’lady. Gods above, yes of course. I’m so sorry.”

I reached out, laying the lightest touch on her arm. “Please. I don’t need your apologies, just your consideration. You knew me when I still couldn’t form my S’s front ways.” She smiled at the shared memory, and how ridiculous it was that I couldn’t write out “Shardae”. “Please give me the room to be just Danica where I can. There are so many places where that won’t be possible.”

“Of course, my--Danica.”

I smiled, trying to positively reinforce the behavior. My mother had become distant from our people, and by extension, me. So many of them had expressed a desire to see us out and among them again. If I could befriend my people again, help them see this shift as a positive one, become their darling, golden young queen, perhaps it could help me regain the power our family had lost to the generals. I could sell them an idealistic young family, a vision of the future that was shiny and bright.

Maybe, if I sold it hard enough, I might believe it myself.

“Rei is back with the serpiente, helping keep the Arami safe.” Jeanne’s eyes widen, and I nod, leaning closer as if in confidence. “There’s no one else I would trust with so high a priority. Here among my people, I could not possibly be safer. But I worry for Zane--as my mother said, this is an extremely brave thing for him to be doing. I hope my people will greet him with courtesy and dignity, but I am too pragmatic to trust his safety to anyone less than Rei.”

There. Maybe using his nickname twice will drive the point home. Of course, a part of me whispers that if I just declare my intentions on him here and now that would end all of it. I have no reason not to. Everyone assumes I’m as good as his pairbond. But for some reason I don’t--probably because I worry the story will grow in the telling, much like my “proposal” from Arami Zane. No, when I’m ready for word to spread, it will be through an official announcement, not from wildfire gossip from an old schoolmate. I release her arm and take a step back, letting some of my weariness show on my face.

“Now I think its time I take my leave. We all have a big day tomorrow. I should try to sleep while I can.”

I take another step back and melt into my golden hawk’s form, trusting whoever is on my most personal guard duty to peel off and follow as they always do. Only I don’t fly up to my balcony on the far side of the Keep. Instead, I turn my flight towards the east, and the waiting encampment of serpiente. - I am not so foolish as to have not considered this to be a potential invasion. I have let a score of serpiente warriors within an hour’s flight of the heart of my kingdom. But as I have said, more times than I care to, I refuse to behave as if Zane will betray me. It will either happen or it won’t. If a cobra is destined to slay a hawk again, then I have made peace with it being me. Our people began with one golden queen, if they are to end with simply one, then Fate will have her way no matter what we design. And honestly, they could do worse with a conquering monarch than Zane Cobriana. From what I have seen, he is fair, just, considerate, and generally in favor of art, self-expression, the well-being of his people--

I bank and circle back, realizing my mental wandering has allowed my wings to wander as well. I am too tired to think, but thinking is all I seem to be able to do. I want to see Rei, to wrap myself in the warmth and comfort of his arms to maybe try another few kisses, softer and gentler this time, to reassure myself that my life has not turned completely upside down. Instead I am circling around the encampment, having flown right over it while thinking of Zane Cobriana’s qualities as a king.

I realize as I circle in to land that partially my mistake was due to the sheer size of the gathering. I don’t know what my distracted mind must have made of the numerous campfires now dotting the fields, a small village perhaps, but it is certainly too many for the two score of soldiers or so that should be out here. This gathering is nearly twice that, centered around a ring of figures--

Dancing.

Zane and Adelina are dancing, with six other serpents besides. They weave in and out of each others’ steps, intricate rings within rings, scales flashing in every color of the rainbow.

Serpiente warriors can grow a scaled demi form, much like the large, angelic wings we avians sprout. While ours are used to give us an aerial advantage in battle, theirs provides a natural amrour that only the keenest arrow can pierce. And much like our wings can be used as an expression of beauty, an elegant backdrop to fine garments and jewelry, so are the serpiente before us using their scales now. Lines of color sparkle like living veins of gemstones, from the iridescent white of Adelina’s viper, to rich reds and greens of dancers I do not know, to the shimmering obsidian of Zane’s cobra.

They are a perfect complement to each other, his dark hair and scales reflecting red in the firelight, hers glinting gold like a low harvest moon. They sway and swirl, moving around each other and through their fellow dancers as if bound by an invisible chord. It is heartbreakingly beautiful, and I understand why every one of my subjects simply stands and stares. It is like nothing any of us have ever seen before, except maybe the soldiers.

I remember the ready pose Zane and Adelina fall into so easily, and thinking how perfectly it would transition to either dance or combat. I am mesmerized by the dance; I can only imagine how impossible they might seem to fight. I am struck with the sudden realizaiton that our survival til now seems nothing short of miraculous. Without the falcon’s am haj to allow us to fight with such lethality from the skies--

I want nothing more to do with this line of thought, so I land, picking a spot far enough away from the dancing serpents so as not to startle anyone. The avians in the crowd all know the silhouette of my hawk’s form, but it is late, and I am trying to be discrete. Still, several soldiers peel away, bowing swiftly as they make a report.

“No trouble yet, your majesty. As you suggested, the serpiente are well able to sense intent. None were allowed past the outer perimeter that were anything other than curious.” Curious. I should have thought of that. Raymond steps up at my side, and I realize he was one of the ravens flanking me. “Erica flew in during your mother’s speech, m’lady, with a message from Zane and Andreios. Neither one of them say any harm in letting a few come and see, but--well, I wished they’d said it was more than just a few. I never would have fielded such a decision for you if I’d thought--“

“It’s alright,” I say, holding up a hand. “If Zane allowed it, and Andreios cleared it, then I trust their judgement. I didn’t even think folks would venture out, so they’re steps ahead of me.” I gave Raymond a tired smile. “In all things security, I don’t mind letting Rei make decisions. It’s matters of battle and war I wish to be consulted on. Allowing a few--okay, more than a few--curious folk out to meet our guests...”

I trailed off, feeling sick at the idea of how poorly this could have gone. We were treading the most precarious line, and I’d barely thought any of it out. And Zane had simply come, trusting.

I should have worked something else out. I never should have asked him to come here--

“Dani.”

Rei was suddenly before me, undoubtedly alerted to my presence here. Too tired to care anymore who saw or what they thought, I let myself fall into his arms. This was all I’d been seeking. I hadn’t meant to stumble onto more trouble, more problems--I just wanted to be held, and get some sleep.

“Do you have a tent sent up?” I asked, trying at least to keep my voice between just the pair of us.

“For you? No, but we can--“

I shook my head. “Yours is fine. I’m exhausted, we’re in the field. There’s no where safer for my than by your side, right?”

Rei sighed, but I could see him caving in. “I mean, ostensibly you were safer back at the Keep, but yes.” He tucked his arm over my shoulder, with all the familiarity of an alastair in private. “Come on. Let’s get you to bed.”

The Ties That Bind Tag list: @thehellinsideyourhead @therecouldbecolorsandlove @adventuresofacreesty @writing-with-melon @rainydaydarling @faithfire

Raev’s Gen Tag List (should I tag you guys in this? It IS a thing I wrote. I’m gonna say yes unless you guys are like “no of course not we’re sick of hearing about your stupid fic for a twenty year old book XD)

No one has complained yet so yall gonna keep getting tagged :P

List is currently: @lordkingsmith @writinglyra @drbibliophile @mperialscribe @adie-dee @lexiklecksi @theramwrites @writinginslowmotion @raenawrites @apollon-arium @anika-writes @faithfire @thehellinsideyourhead @adventuresofacreesty

#raev does fic #hawksong fic #the ties that bind fic #hawksong #danica shardae #zane cobriana #the kiesha'ra #kiesha'ra fic #My writing

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prettywordsyouleft · 4 years ago

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To Be Continued - Part 10

Summary: As an author, you had created Brian Kang for your current trilogy series to represent the ultimate man that everyone would love, along with Charli Evers - your female protagonist. What you hadn’t expected was for him to find a way out of the story and begin shaping up your world instead

Pairing: Brian Kang x female writer (ft. Park Sungjin)

Genre: writer au / romance / fantasy

Warnings: fictional characters coming to life / a bit of angst here and there / Sungjin as a cop (or does that only affect me?) >_>

Word count: 2487

Preview | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | Epilogue

The broken laptop was taken by Sungjin that night, and he returned it to you a fortnight later with a new screen on it. Despite being grateful, you were still hopeless. “Brian’s gone for good, isn’t he?”

“Maybe it’s time for you to move on from him, Y/N. I hate seeing you this stuck. Don’t you want to write other stories and start living again?”

Staring up at the man, you nodded numbly. “I hoped I’d be living with him. I guess dreaming up the perfect guy isn’t a healthy thing to do.”

“It did happen, and your grief is validated,” he told you, giving your upper arm a gentle squeeze. “Everyone faces a loss of someone in their life at one point or another. And we have to learn how to continue on after they’re gone.”

“You’re right,” you murmured, smiling gently at Sungjin. “Thank you for being a good friend to me.”

“Officially friend-zoned,” Sungjin teased, dramatically grappling at his heart. You giggled, and this made him stop and smile. “And officially hearing a good sound come from you. I hope you can feel comfortable to laugh more often, Y/N.”

“Thank you for everything you’ve done.”

“Now that you have your device back, how about you go and write something? I’m sure it’s been a long two weeks.”

You grinned at his statement, nodding along. “My desktop is so ancient. I was close to spending a lot of money on a new one.”

“Well, now you don’t have to. Off you go and write, Miss Writer.”

Your smile fell as soon as you shut the door, the friendly term Sungjin just called you only bringing up the moments where Brian had called you that time and time again. Counting to ten, you avoided crying for the first time over your loss and smiled.

“All I have to do is keep counting and writing,” you instructed, marching down to your office and plugged in the laptop. It fired up immediately, and the new screen was pristine. Thankfully, all of your work was backed up to an external so you didn’t have to worry about losing your work. It surprised you, however, that the computer remembered where it last was in your session, the end of the Eternity document appearing in front of you.

Reading over the paragraph you had sent Brian, you wrapped your arms around yourself for comfort. “You did well, Y/N. You waited for love, and you loved him like no other. This story’s over now, though. Let’s move on.”

Slowly, you deleted your message, making sure the document said The End and closed out of it, moving it to another storage space on your external hard-drive before opening a new document.

It was time to step out of the limbo you had endured for too long.

“Lily, did you get my first submission?” you asked as you continued to tap furiously at your keyboard, not bothering to check the expression of your editor on the small window in the corner of your screen.

“I did, and it’s fabulous.”

“Just fabulous?” you asked, scrunching your up face in annoyance. “I don’t think fabulous is enough.”

“Ooh, someone is feeling good about her work lately,” Lily crooned, and you grinned. “It’s good to see you working this happily again, Y/N.

“Well, the Encounter series is done now, and I need to have a follow-up story.”

“Does your favourite constable know about this?” she wondered dreamily, and you stopped typing to shoot Lily a look. “What? I distinctively remember you swooning over your protector. There’s no hope for you two to have a romance behind the scenes too?”

“Lily, I might be a writer who enjoys a good love story, but that’s all it remains as for me, a story. Sungjin is my friend, and I’ll surprise him with the final manuscript when this is done.”

“Yes boss!” she cheered and then gasped. “Oh, by the way! I heard that pre-order sales for Eternity have surpassed Captivated! When it launches in two week’s time, I’m certain you’re going to rank well!”

“And then that world will finally be at a close,” you murmured to yourself, Lily straining to hear what your lips had expressed. When you noticed her confusion, you smiled brightly. “Thanks for all your hard work over the past three years on this project, Lil.”

“You wrote them, Y/N. That world, especially Eternity, is a masterpiece.”

“Well, I hope the next story will be even better. More than fabulous, even.”

“You never let a single thing slide. I’ll sing your praises further when you send me the chapter you’re working on right now!”

“Onto it!” you said with a wave of goodbye, and the video call ended.

Slumping in your chair, your eyes shifted towards the wall calendar where the date had been circled for Eternity’s release.

You had taken Sungjin’s advice and picked yourself up out of the dumps. Of course, it hadn’t been easy, and still to this day you had moments where you yearned for Brian. However, you had remained strong since your initial resolve and left Eternity where it belonged – in your completed archive. You hadn’t sent messages, you didn’t open the document, and aside from when obligated to, you didn’t speak of that world to anyone. It still hurt too much, and you were looking forward to a time where this was all just a fond memory in your writing career.

Right now, with the impending sales and then signing tour that was booked, however, you were doing your best to distract yourself from anything that might make you cave.

Writing your police officer au was definitely helping with that, and you launched into typing again about Sungjin and Ella, you two protagonists.

You knew you probably should change his name, but the story made the most sense to you when you imagined your friend. Although you did wonder how you could separate the two when it came to the more romantic parts in the novel, you were having a lot of fun, remembering those juvenile feelings you once had for Sungjin before Brian stepped out of the laptop and changed your life entirely.

Sigh. You had thought of Brian again.

“When will I stop doing that?” you wondered in a sing-song voice, trying to keep upbeat. It was then that a new document popped up on the screen, and you groaned loudly. “And when will you stop glitching?”

It wasn’t the first time the new document tab would appear, now and then when you were in the midst of typing. You assumed you kept hitting the keyboard shortcut for opening it somehow and mentally wrote yourself a note to check if it could be disabled when you were done with this chapter.

Paying it no mind, you continued writing your story, not thinking once about all the mysterious happenings that preluded Brian’s appearance in the first place.

“Wow, I can’t believe I’m meeting you today!” a young voice announced, and you smiled brightly at the teen before you. “I’m a big fan of Brian and Charli!”

“Aren’t we all?” you mentioned happily back, reaching for the copy of Eternity she had placed down to sign. “What’s your name?”

“It’s Jennie! With an i-e.”

“Well, Jennie, with an i-e, I’m so glad you came today. I hope to see you at my next book signing in a couple of year’s time.”

“You can count on it, Y/N!”

The day continued much in the same, and whilst you were overwhelmed by the support of your fans, when you entered your hotel for the evening, you were more than emotionally exhausted.

“Stupid Charli. She’s living the dream,” you muttered and then caught yourself, sighing heavily with your unexpected negativity.

It was foolish to be jealous, and yet after listening to everyone say how perfect Brian and Charli were for each other all day long, you understood your reaction. Even if you were moving on, you wanted to be the one who was perfect for Brian Kang.

“Let’s count to ten, shall we?” you told yourself, breathing deeply and following through with your mantra. After ordering room service for dinner, you settled into the plush bed with your laptop, ready to stream a crime show you had been watching for research.

When the screen appeared though, it was opened on Microsoft Word with a new document waiting for you. You groaned and looked into the settings to make sure you had in fact disabled the keyboard shortcut. It was as you had left it and you let out a small huff at the program before hovering your cursor over the exit button.

Something in you made you pause, however, and you peered at the empty document with some interest. “Why are you following me around?”

Thinking of how Brian would always open a new document to converse with you, a glimmer of hope surged through, and you hit the keys with a rapid pace.

Are you there, Brian Kang?

Nothing came, and your words didn’t dissolve either. Rolling your eyes at your rash reaction, you closed the document and opened Netflix.

You were well into the throes of the show when your room service knocked on the door, casting you out of bed and over to the door. Once you returned with the tray of food you had been given, you noticed the document was back on the screen again.

“What is going on?” you wondered, staring at it for some time. Placing a hand on the screen, you closed your eyes and willed Brian to come out. It had been so long since you had done this, and yet your fervour was stronger than ever. You prayed so hard that when you opened your eyes and saw nothing there, your tears were immediately at the surface, cascading down your cheeks.

“I’m so over pining for you. Either come back or leave me alone!” you wailed, pushing the laptop aside and curling up into a ball.

You didn’t see it then, but the cursor started to move as if someone was holding down the space button, creating ten pages before it stopped.

The tour ended, and you were all too grateful to wake up back home with Binks curled up beside you. Kissing your furbaby until he made it apparent that your affection was unwanted, you climbed out of bed to brew yourself some coffee.

Today, you felt free. The saga of Eternity was over and whilst you knew you would still have to do a couple more interviews here and there in the future where you would be asked about the series, and your Discord would still be hit up regularly about reviews over the final story in the trilogy, today you were at least free from the contractual sides of the story. You wouldn’t have to actively talk about Charli Evers and Brian Kang ever again.

You also hoped that one day, once your pain resolved enough, that you could reread the series and remember why you had loved it all along, instead of the jealousy and burden you felt towards it right now.

With coffee and toast held in either hand, you bounced off to your office and sat down at your desk, blinking when you found your laptop on your desk already.

Had you pulled it out of its bag last night when you got home?

Shrugging, you hit the power button and were surprised when it immediately loaded up your home screen. “I did turn you off, you finicky device.”

Lots of little things had happened since getting the screen fixed, and you had left it down to that incident messing with it. You didn’t have it in you to believe otherwise.

Opening your emails, you went through the important correspondence, threw out the spam, and moved the replied ones to their relevant folders. Once your inbox was empty, you moved onto your other admin tasks for the day, ensuring you were all caught up before you stepped back into your police officer au.

When ready, you clicked on the file, and instead of it appearing, it was a blank document. “Oh no, you don’t! There were words in this file!”

Looking at the title of the word document, you were relieved to see it untitled and not that of your current story. Clicking again on the file from your writing folder, another blank document appeared instead.

“Open it! I have to write about Sungjin and Ella!” you exclaimed, hitting the file repeatedly. Tens of blank documents appeared with your efforts until you were panting with the annoyance. Sitting back, you shook your head. “That’s it! I’m buying a new laptop! I’m done with you!”

Before you could close the screen down, however, you noticed that one document appeared and had words in it. But it wasn’t your current one. Instead, Encounter appeared on the screen, scrolling at a rapid rate to the bottom. Then it changed tabs, moving through Captivated just as fast. Finally, Eternity finished it off, the words The End simply staring back at you.

“…Brian?”

Leaning forward towards the screen, you waited to see what would happen next. Annoyed that your hopes were raised yet again, you started to close the empty tabs, leaving the three stories up. A final tab appeared, and you burst into tears as words started to appear on the screen.

It’s time to start writing our story now.

Standing up shakily, you pointed at the screen. “Hurry up then, I’ve waited far too long to write this story with you.”

The screen went blank as your heart began to thud erratically in your chest, your eyes widened whilst waiting for what would happen next. Reaching for the power button, you watched as the screen lit up.

And then you felt arms embrace you immediately. “I’m sorry I’m so late.”

“I don’t care right now,” you managed to say despite your emotions running down your face. Pulling back just enough so you could see Brian’s handsome face, you shook your head in disbelief. “As long as you’re here.”

“For good,” he assured, leaning in for a passionate kiss. “That world is closed and done with. Whilst ours is only beginning.”

You knew with time, you would want to know why it took so long for Brian to return and to scold him for hurting you so much. You also knew Brian would placate you in every way, and you would hear all about his equal longing and struggle without you at his side.

But for now, this was all you needed. Dream men were hard to find existing in real life. You had found yours again, and this time you wouldn’t write him in one way or another. You’d let your life together pen the journey you had at each other’s side.

Your story was about to be continued.

_________________

Epilogue

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eleanorbloom · 4 years ago

Text

When You’re Ready Ch. 21

Pairing: Bryce Lahela x f! MC (Eleanor Bloom) x Ethan Ramsey.

Word Count: 5.7k

Warnings: Angst, mentions of anxiety and guilt, smut, mentions of child neglect (medical). Rated E

Taglist @utterlyinevitable @binny1985 @shanzay44 @choicesficwriterscreations @starrystarrytrouble @lahellacute @lucy-268 @cinnamonspongecake @romewritingshop @freckles-spangledvampire@mercury84choices @curiousconch @thegreentwin

_______

Chapter 21: Keep On Loving You

And I meant every word that I said

When I said that I love you

I meant that I love you forever

For the first time in days, she’d had a blank dream.

When Eleanor opened her eyes, there was no knot on her chest, no exhausting sensation of being pulled, no maddening sensation of wanting to die. No. This time she simply woke up.

She woke up well-rested and with a warm sensation enveloping her: his arms around her waist, his breath on her neck.

Home.

She turned around and found Bryce still asleep. It was a rare experience waking up before him and have the chance to see him sleeping. So she just observed him.

Couldn’t he be any more gorgeous while he was sleeping? Even with his open mouth, his lower lip slightly separated from the upper, his oblivious look, his hair a mess; he was beautiful, and Eleanor still couldn’t believe she was lucky enough to have him.

She bit her lower lip. The temptation of touching him was too irresistible, so she just surrendered and brought a hand to his cheek and stroked it. He was soft. Even with the incipient stubble, he was so soft.

These are the perks of being alive, she thought.

Tenderness invaded her remembering the conversation they had the night before.

The way he looked at her. The vulnerability, the candor. The pain, the rawness.

The truth about him. About his love. About his heart.

Bryce had opened his heart and her, without hesitation, dived in. And without hesitation, she would dive in a thousand times more.

That’s why she fell in love with him in the first place. That’s what made all the difference to make her fall for him. Knowing what no one else did and wanting to stay no matter what.

“Like what you see?” He muttered, with his eyes still close.

Eleanor chuckled, then pinched his cheek softly and playfully with her fingers, “Very much.”

His eyes smiled instantly the moment they reached hers, “How are you, princess?”

“Right now, grateful for being with you. I can’t promise how I’ll feel in the next minutes or hours, but I feel the progress.”

“That’s amazing, babe.”

She beamed and then leaned to kiss him, a soft caress on his lips, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For pulling me back and talk me into my senses. I know there’ll be times I won’t be thankful, that I’ll relapse, but last night you made me see there are a lot of reasons to keep living for. Being with you is one of the most important.”

“Babe…” He frowned, looking somewhat ashamed.

“What is it?”

“I feel like an ass.”

“What? Why?”

“Because last night, at the end I made it all about me, when you were the one who needed comfort, not me. But at that moment I just couldn’t…”

She shook her head softly, “No, no, don’t say that. This whole thing is not just about me. You suffered too. My family, our friends suffered too. You made me realize that. I was the selfish one just focusing on my pain, on my guilt, on my mistakes, and I didn’t realize that this was bigger than me. So… thank you for that. Thank you for opening up to me.”

He nodded, “I’m glad you can see it now. And please, whenever you feel like you don’t deserve to live just remember all the good you’ve done. All the lives you’ve enlightened with your presence, with your kindness, with your give. As a person and as a doctor. Not just mine, but your friends, your family, Keiki. Everyone around you. You do more good than any bad or any mistake you thought you made.”

She shook her head, amazed, “I’m so lucky to have you,” she whispered, looking adoringly at him, lost in his eyes.

“But I’m luckier to have you,” he clarified.

She arched a brow, defiantly, “Oh, now it’s a competition?”

“Nah, that’s a fact.”

Eleanor rolled her eyes, “I don’t wanna argue, but I strongly disagree.”

Bryce smirked and pulled her into a deep, searing kiss. She sighed the moment he pulled apart, “And you just keep proving my point.”

He kissed her again, but this time he pushed her against the mattress, “Yep, you’re not helping your case at all,” she giggled.

“I disagree, this just points how lucky I am of being able to do this,” he looked down at her with a bright smile, relishing in the sight of her smile, of her happiness.

“I love you,” she whispered, caressing his cheek softly, her eyes glimmering with adoration.

“And I love you,” he replied, brushing her lower lip with his thumb before leaning down to her lips.

A warm sensation started to build inside her. Euphoria. An almost irrational feeling of happiness for being alive. And want and need, as never before. After feeling dead inside for so many days, this felt like an awakening.

She locked her arms around his neck to stop him from parting from her. At the evident gesture, he deepened the kiss, opening his mouth to grasp her lips with his teeth and then softly suck them with his own lips. The warmth kept building, now raising her heartbeat and breath.

Then he continued down her neck, leaving a trail of kisses while a hand sunk under her pajama. She couldn’t help but gasping at the feeling of his warm fingers caressing the contour of her waist, and her breasts. At the hearing of her own sound, she pulled apart, “Wait, what about Keiki?”

“She’s not here,” he replied instantly, his lips now against the skin of her clavicle.

“Uh?”

Bryce parted from her and propped in one arm by her side, “She’s at the hospital with Kyra. She doesn’t want to be here when I… When I call my parents.”

“Oh, okay,”

"You want me to stop?"

Eleanor shook her head, staring deeply at the hungriness of his eyes, and hearing attentively his want with every breath, “No. I want you,” she sighed.

Bryce smiled and then kissed her hard again, this time cupping her breast fully with his hand, while the other was roaming over her hips and tights, “if you want me to stop, just tell me, okay, babe?” he muttered, tenderness in his voice, looking for her approval.

She nodded, and at that moment, that warmth, that want melt into something else. Something new. What she wanted, what she needed was like never before.

Why he was always so considerate towards her? How could he be so gentle with things that she would never expect?

As her heart was swelling with this new sensation, she pushed him against the bed and straddled him, tenderness still set on her features. Bryce looked up at her with curiosity, but the moment he read the way she was looking at him, inquisitive, but sweet, and almost melancholic, that curiosity faded. It was replaced with vulnerability and yearning.

The door was still open.

Her thumb caressed his cheek, down his jaw, and up to his cheekbones, every inch inspected with earnest adoration.

How could she not be the luckiest woman on the planet?

Bryce lifted a hand and placed it on her cheek. Eleanor nuzzled in it closing her eyes for a brief moment, softly brushing the back of his hand with her lips.

He gulped at the feeling of her touch, at her eyes piercing him completely, studying his eyes, his nose, his cheeks, his lips like never before. Discovering. Relishing.

She was exploring beyond that desire and that want, beyond the surface. She wanted to dive in deeper and decipher his vulnerability as if she knew she would find the most beautiful pearl at the bottom of all those layers incessantly built with the years.

Drove by instinct, she cupped his cheeks gently, and leaned down to kiss his forehead and temples, slowly and delicately; each peck as a precious promise, a gentle introduction to something he’d been missing all those years. Then placed a kiss at the tip of his nose, then over his lips, Bryce returning the peck with equal softness. When she parted from him, he was with his eyes closed, and a dreamy smile on his lips, lost in the sensation.

But when he opened his eyes and found her staring, a glint of fear crossed his face. This was new to him. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t use to show this side to anyone. He had never shown this side to anyone before.

She brushed her knuckles over his cheeks, and he closed his eyes instantly, the ghost of a smile creasing in his lips.

That’s when she knew. She had found him at last.

What she was seeing, wasn’t the Bryce that everybody knew, his persona. No. She finally was seeing him under the surface, diving deeper and deeper, past his self-assurance and cockiness, past under his warmth, and niceness. Even under his caring nature.

At the bottom, all that was left was the desire to be loved, loved unconditionally and with no bounds.

That was Bryce Lahela. Raw and real.

The only thing his heart wanted, was to be loved.

And Eleanor couldn’t help but wonder: How is it possible that no one had loved him like this before? How? How no one kneeled to his kindness, to his generosity, his selflessness? To his loving nature? How could no one see him? How could people be so blind? How no one had been willing to give him the world?

Her eyes glimmered at the sight of him vulnerable, opening completely to her for the first time in his life. Imagining all those years by himself, dealing alone with his traumas and lacks. Convincing himself that he’d always be by himself, that no one could love him.

And Bryce looked at her scarer than before, panicking. As if he was sure that Eleanor couldn’t give it to him, as if it was too much, as if she doesn’t love him enough as she thought.

He trembled. She felt his stomach quivering down her tights.

For Bryce, it was so easy to love, but so difficult to accept being loved. He never thought he would be worthy of being loved. Especially not this way.

He had been so broken. He had been so unloved. Rejected. Bullied. Ignored. Abandoned, even. And yet. And yet he was the most wonderful man she’d ever met. The most loving and caring. The man who gave her his heart expecting nothing in return.

Of course he deserved to be loved. Of course she would give everything in her to love him as he always should’ve been loved.

A tear streamed down her face before she could find the strength to talk, “You’re so beautiful. So kind. So generous. And loving. And caring. And cute, and tender. And compassionate. And clever. And I love you so, so, so much Bryce. So much.”

His eyes glistened. His lip quivered. His breath sped up. He was unrecognizable. There was no even a shade of the Bryce she’d know for more than a year.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I promise you I’ll spend my whole life showing how much I love you.”

He gulped. His eyes were full of tears. It was like her words broke him somehow. His past self. Or maybe broke something inside him. Something old and damaged. A shield.

Eleanor wiped the tears off his face and kissed him sweetly, trying to dissolve the pain in his heart, trying to fill that void with the love that was bursting inside her again.

Perhaps that’s why she was so full of love. It was never too much love. It was just that the void to fill was too big. For too many years of waiting.

And she kissed him again and again until the desire was stronger than the pain. Until the lump in his throat dissolved into a groan of pleasure.

Until the desire grew stronger enough to make Bryce pinning her against the bed. He wasn’t back yet, the overconfident and expert Bryce, his features still showed vulnerability, but his eyes were studying her. As if looking for a hint of betrayal, of a lie, of faking. God, no. How? She could never. “Te amo. Te amo, Bryce. I love you so much” she reassured, staring deeply into his amber eyes. There weren't more certain words than those.

That was fuel. Because a second later he’s frantically kissing down her neck, while his hands were trying to get rid of her pajama. Her skin tickled and burned with every kiss, with every touch.

The sensations were intoxicating.

But there’s no hurry once he had her skin. He savored her, and she savored his touch. She and he got lost in the other, none of them craving for more touch or release. They’re loving every second. They’re happy with the connection. With the unspoken.

Some things happened in a blur. A golden haze numbed them from everything. Love was intoxicating enough to make them miss the track of time, but not to miss a single bit of the sensations. Of how the other made them feel. How the love is so palpable with every caress and kiss, with every look, with every moan and sigh.

When their bodies connected, the haze simply turned into a warm bliss. As if what they’d been living was the best thing, the pleasure building inside proved them wrong. This was.

Bryce looked up at her, beautiful and powerful like a goddess, establishing a pace, panting, her body shaking with every thrust. “Oh my god, you feel incredible”, he groaned, and then sat up to envelope her in his arms and kiss her because he couldn’t get enough of her.

With his hands on her hips, he pushed her even deeper into him, “Bryce…” she purred, looking at him with a mock of desperation on her face, her cheeks flushed and her whole face glistening in sweat. She is glowing.

“Eleanor…” he gasped, losing himself in the honey of her irises. In the pomegranate scent of her shampoo, in the sweet scent of her skin. There, at that moment, he realized. He finally had what he always wanted, “You’re mine, you’re… Mine.”

“Yes," she sighed, her hot breath against his mouth, "I’m yours, and you are mine. You’re mine and I’m yours, love.”

“Say it again”

“I’m yours, Bryce, I’m completely yours," she promised.

Bryce had never been possessive. He was very far from that. But there was something about the fact that she was finally his. His girlfriend, his partner, his lover. That she had chosen him. That their love was mutual and reciprocated, and probably everlasting.

And Bryce never had anyone. No one who could hold him, who could love him, and now he had her. Those words were a simple sense of belonging.

He kissed her hard and a groan crashed against her mouth. The shared moment electrified her body from head to toes, making her feel how her brain was slowly melting, shutting her down from any coherent thought. There was just one thought. She needed release.

As if he’d read her, he started moving senselessly.

“Bryce” His name was sugar on her lips. The most exquisite elixir causing the most beautiful feeling inside her.

The pain. Sadness. Distress. Fear. Guilt. Everything was gone at that moment. It was only him and his touch, and his love. And everything him.

“And I’m yours. Damn, I’m yours, Eleanor, all yours” he groaned. It was only her and her touch, and her love. Everything about her. It had always been about her. It had always been her. It would always be her.

The way he spoke. His voice. Like a plead. Desperation. Like it was beyond him.

It was so intimate, pure. But at the same time so sensual. Carnal.

Eleanor pulled his hair on the back of his head, purring for the last time, “Bryce, love!” as her back arched, her whole body shuddering with the most divine sensation she’d ever felt. Buzzing, pure, sweet, warm. A few tears had escaped her eyes, the sensation was overwhelming and healing.

A few moments later, one last grunt escaped his mouth. Visceral. Primal.

He remained with his forehead against hers for a few seconds before hurling himself over the bed with Eleanor on top of him. Then she rolled to the side to regain some coolness, their bodies were almost unbearably hot and sweated.

After a while, Bryce turned to her, smiling contently, and slid an arm under her neck and pulled her against him, her face barely inches apart from his. “Thank you,” he said, a hand cupping her cheek.

She frowned, “for what?”

“For loving me.”

The look he gave her broke her again. Open doors. But somehow… the void didn’t look empty. Not as empty as it was before.

It was glowing.

The moment shared that morning worked like a destressing charm for what was coming. Even if momentarily.

As if he hadn’t dealt with enough that week, now he needed to do something unpostponable. Call his parents.

He had planned to call them on Monday, after Kyra’s surgery, but with Eleanor’s accident, he prioritized other things, and Keiki was honestly grateful for that. Even if she agreed that Bryce had to call their parents, she was scared of what could happen. That’s why she preferred not being there when Bryce called them, and instead, decided to spend the day with Kyra, with whom had found a good friend despite the age difference.

After lunch, Bryce and Eleanor were sitting on the couch, waiting for Bryce’s mother to pick up the phone. After a few seconds, a feminine voice was heard at the other side of the line, “Hello?”

"Hi, mom."

“Bryce? What a surprise! How are you doing? How is Keiki?”

“She’s fine.”

“Is she there?”

“No, she’s with a friend.”

“A friend?”

Bryce rolled his eyes before continuing, “Mom, I called you because we need to discuss something important.”

“What would that be?”

“You really don’t know? Or you just simply prefer not to give a damn about your daughter?”

“Oh. You want me to go for her? Did you get bored already? You two lasted more than I thought.”

Bryce breathed deeply, containing his anger, “No, that’s not what I meant. I… I want to be Keiki’s legal guardian.”

A laugh was heard on the other side of the line, “You got to be kidding me, you, in charge of Keiki?”

“What’s the joke here? What I’ve been doing this time, then?”

“I guess just keep with your life with the only difference that there’s a teenager in your house when you come home.”

“Oh, are you talking about when Keiki was with you? Or when I lived there too?”

“What do you want, Bryce? Money? A ticket flight so you can send her back?”

Bryce's ears turned red in anger, “I want to be her legal guardianship, mother. School started here, I can’t enroll her in any place without your and dad’s authorization. I’m sure you don't want me to be annoying you every five seconds to make a decision that affects her, so that's why being her legal guardian would simplify things."

“Absolutely not.”

“Why not? You seem pretty comfortable with her being here, you didn’t even bother to come here to talk. You give a shit about Keiki, mom.”

Silence, but Bryce would tell she was resisting a snarl, “You really want to take care of her?”

“Yes. I want her to live with me, she’s not happy there.”

"Oh, Bryce, you should know better. You yourself were a teenager and everything seemed bad to you. We were monsters.”

“I’m 28 and that hasn’t changed.”

“You haven’t changed a thing, have you? Always with your drama and victimization. Now I understand why Keiki doesn’t want to come back, I can only imagine the things you’ve said to her.”

“Not very much different from what she’s shared with me.”

“And she wants to stay with you? She’s okay with being alone all day? You’re a doctor Bryce, you barely have time for yourself.”

“Well, I’ll make the time. I’ve made the time to be with her. That’s what we do for the people we love.”

Silence again, then, she stated, “I need to discuss this with your father, we can’t just let you take care of her.”

“I think you already did it.”

“I’ll call you in a couple of days.”

“Okay.”

The woman ended the call.

Eleanor stared at him. His face was unreadable, but it didn’t feel right.

“This doesn’t look good,” he said after a few seconds contemplating his cellphone.

“Do you think?”

“Yes. She feels… threatened. I guess they never expected that I’d ask to be in charge of her, they thought I’d give up after a month and I’ll send her back. But I won’t do it. Now more than ever, hearing all the shit mom said with just a call.”

“It’s like she doesn’t care about it, like she never did anything wrong with you, or with her. Like this is all a tantrum.”

“She’d always been like this, blaming me for the things they did, never take any responsibility with anything. Apparently they've been doing the same with Keiki.”

Eleanor saw the fear in his eyes and couldn’t help but reach out his hands and held them between hers. “You’re doing this for Keiki, love. And I know you’ll do whatever it takes to have her with you for good.”

“Yes, but what if it’s not enough? If for some reason, life keeps protecting them, keeps helping them and they get away with everything?”

“Let’s hope things with children are different than with insider trading criminals.”

“The lawyer with whom I spoke told me they had to be really miserable and negligent to lose Keiki’s custody, that my best option, in this case, was to obtain an agreement. But if they won’t agree with it, I will go to court if that's what it takes to protect Keiki from them."

That evening, when Keiki returned, Bryce told her about the conversation. Anxiety grew in both of them. In the three of them, actually, Eleanor was concerned too.

This situation felt like an escape from her own mind, something new to think about, something worthy to spend neurons in, instead of sulking all day in guilt.

The following days were odd. Eleanor and Keiki spend most of the day together, watching movies, silly videos, or just talking about life. Some other times they'd been on their own, dealing with their problems in peace. Eleanor didn't want to contaminate Keiki with her bad mood when the guilt was coming for her again.

Four days since the call, Eleanor was still sleeping when heated voices in the living room woke her up.

“You what? No!”

Eleanor got up and dressed up in a matter of seconds before sprinting to the bedroom door.

When she opened the door, she found an elegant woman standing in the center of the living room. She had black hair styled in an updo, sharp cheekbones, and pristine makeup, making her look younger than the age Eleanor knew she had, a couple years older than her mother. She was wearing an emerald green jacket over a black dress and matched heels. What she was wearing probably costed more than her intern salary, probably even more.

A few feet from her was Keiki, who gave her a pleading look when she noticed her presence. She was panicking.

“What’s happening here?” she asked, walking towards the woman.

“Oh, I thought you were alone, Keiki. And you are?”

“Eleanor Bloom, I’m Bryce’s girlfriend.”

“I’m Rebecca Lahela, nice to meet you, Eleanor. And Bryce?”

“He’s at work.”

“Oh. So he lets you in charge of Keiki when he’s not here?”

“No, I’m not in charge of her, I’m staying a couple of days so I can recover from an accident.”

“Oh, sorry to hear about that. So Bryce has you as her carer, Keiki? That’s why he doesn’t want you to leave?”

“Mom…”

“Excuse me, how do you speak to your daughter like this?”

“This is not your business, Eleanor, so stay out of this” She replied, dryly. “Get your things done, Keiki, we are leaving at 3 pm.”

“I’m not going anywhere. Does Bryce know about this?”

“Of course, he called me to take you home.”

“No, he called to ask if he could be my guardian, he wants to enroll me in school here in Boston.”

“What he really meant, is that he wants you back in Hawaii.”

“Don’t lie to her” Eleanor snapped, serious.

“Pardon me?”

“I was there when he called you. I heard everything you said, everything he said, and Bryce said loud and clear that he wants to be Keiki’s legal guardian, that he doesn’t want to send Keiki back.

“Well, I won’t let that happen, so it doesn't matter what he actually said. I won’t let you keep this rebellious behavior another second, Keiki.”

“I said I’m not going anywhere, and I’m not going anywhere.” Keiki insisted in a mir voice.

“You have no opinion in this. I’m your mother, I know what’s best for you.”

“Oh, so now you’re my mother. After two months of giving a crap about me, now I’m your daughter and now you remember your obligations as a mother? A little bit late, don’t you think?

“Don’t talk to me like that, Keiki.”

“But it’s the truth! I left almost eight weeks ago. You could’ve come seven weeks and a half ago, even just the day after I left Hawaii. But no. You just assumed I was with my brother and that I’d come back soon, and gave a shit about me. You did nothing but call me a couple of times and then you did like I didn’t exist.”

Rebecca’s eyes widened before giving her a guilty look, as she noticed Eleanor was observing the whole exchange, “We let you do your thing, darling. You wanted to reconnect with your brother, that’s okay but we thought you wouldn’t last two days. You wouldn’t tolerate the loneliness because your brother is working all day and you wouldn’t connect, since you haven’t seen him since you’re six.”

“Loneliness.” She repeated, her voice trembling. “Do you think I don’t know anything about loneliness?”

“Do you?”

“Do you even notice when I’m home? Like, really notice me? Not to dictate my life or ask about my accomplishments, my grades, or with who I hang out at school. Do you know who I am, what I like? What do I want in life? No, you don’t. I’m alone in that house all day. I’ve spent the last three years locked in my room for holidays because I have no friends while you do your life and pretend that I don’t exist, so, mom, I think I know a thing or two about loneliness.”

Rebecca snorted, ignoring the tears that were streaming down her duaghter’s cheeks, “You’re exaggerating things, Keiki, we do care for you, but you just don’t like whatever we say.”

“You almost let me die. You do not care about me.” Her voice was enraged.

Eleanor froze in her place, unsure of what she’d heard, “Keiki, what are you talking about?”

Keiki turned to her, her eyes full of tears, looking somewhat ashamed of what she had just admitted in front of her. She cleared her throat before speaking, “a month before coming here I had some stomach pain, it didn’t stop with anything. My beloved mother didn’t even bother to take me to the hospital, she thought it would pass with some Bentyl. One afternoon the housekeeper found me drenched in sweat, almost unconscious, and took me to the hospital because none of them were at home. At the hospital, they had to make me an emergency operation. I had appendicitis that turned into peritonitis. They should’ve done the appendectomy two days before, and if I had taken one more day, I might have died, or at least had major organ failure.”

Eleanor’s heart sunk at her words, and probably then it just broke, “oh my god, Keiki.”

“We didn’t know it was that severe. She just downplayed her pain, she was going to school as normal.”

“Because you forced me! Because you minimized my pain and thought I was just trying to get your attention and have an excuse to not go to your shitty dinner...”

“Watch out your tongue, Keiki”

“You see? You care more about my vocabulary than what happened to me.”

At that moment, Eleanor ran to the room to pick up her phone, hands trembling and her eyes blurry with the tears. She called Bryce but he didn’t respond. He texted him. Left voice messages. Nothing. Then she sent a message to the group chat. "Please, if you see Bryce tell him to call me ASAP”

A minute later her phone rang, it was Sienna, “Ellie, are you okay? I saw your text.”

“I’m okay, but I’m in a situation with Keiki and I need him to come home. It’s urgent.”

“Heavens. Okay, I’ll check the board. Did you know if he had surgeries today?”

“He told me about one at 2 PM, he had only preops in the morning.”

“Okay, I’ll tell a nurse in case he’s at the OR”

"Thank you, Si."

When she came back to the living room Keiki was still arguing with Rebecca, “Keiki, I apologized for what happened, but that doesn't justify this behavior of yours."

“Why did you come now? Why now that Bryce called you, why you suddenly care? If he hadn’t called you, you would’ve not given a fuck, would you?”

Rebecca didn’t respond.

“Now, leave, because I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“I’ll give you the afternoon, Keiki. I’ll wait for Bryce’s call. If he doesn’t reach out at 7PM, and you don’t come into your senses, I’ll bring the police if it’s necessary, you hear me?”

Rebecca shouldered her bag and got out of the apartment.

The moment she closed the door, Keiki burst into tears. Eleanor ran to catch her in her arms, “Keiki, oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

The girl just sobbed, and sobbed, and sobbed. Incessantly. Like everything she had inside was flowing like an avalanche. All that she had kept for how many years, and all she had to repress after such horrible experience, “I don’t wanna go, Ella, I… I can’t go back there, now you understand why… why I can’ go back there?”

“Of course, but… why you never told us? Keiki, this is terrible.”

“I don’t know, I always tried to tell Bryce, but I knew I would start crying, and I’d lose it and I don’t like to feel like that.”

That story seemed familiar. Eleven years apart but they were cut from the same cloth. The same scars. The same behavior.

Eleanor couldn’t say anything. She couldn’t blame her. Keiki, like Bryce, had no one. She didn’t trust anyone, she barely trusted them. Saying something like that was too much for her.

“I’m tired of being strong, Eleanor,” she confessed after a while.

“You don’t have to be, not with us. We’re here for you, Keiki. Bryce will do whatever it takes to keep you with him.”

She didn’t know how much time passed, but Keiki had fallen asleep on her lap when Bryce arrived home. He knew his mother had been home but didn’t know any details.

As Keiki didn't wake up with Bryce's arrival, Elanor took a pillow and put it under her head, and covered her with a blanket before leading Bryce to the room, where she told him everything. The fact that her mom came to take her back to Maui, what she heard in the conversation, and all the things Keiki had told her after Rebecca left. The real reason why she decided to ran away and why she didn’t want to come back.

“I… I can’t believe it. She… could’ve died, Elle.”

Bryce was devastated. For her sister, for all she’d lived, and also because he was seeing the consequences, new unknown consequences, of having left Keiki in the past. If he’d been more present, she wouldn’t have lived that. “Do you realize that… that if I’d been closer to her, if we had spoken daily, or frequently, none of this would’ve happened? I would’ve told her to go to the hospital? She wouldn’t have been in danger. The fucking irony.”

“Love, you can’t blame yourself for this. It was your parents' responsibility.”

“But I know perfectly well how irresponsible they are. I should’ve at least doubted that they would treat her the way they did with me. But I assumed that things would be different with her, that they’d take care of her, that they’d care for her. But I’m realizing she’d been a ghost like I was.”

Bryce was livid with himself. Even if Eleanor tried to calm him down, there was just so much anger, so much guilt, that simple words or reassurance weren’t enough. Even if he’d been dealing with the guilt since Keiki was with him, there was still a lot more to unfold. And it’d be so much more after the bomb he received that morning. This was much worse than he thought.

“Babe, I’m sorry, I need to be alone now. I… I need to deal with this on my own.”

Eleanor gave him a sad smile before standing up from the bed, “okay, but if you need to talk, if you need anything, please tell me, you’re not alone in this, okay?”

Bryce nodded, his face emotionless, “I know. I just need some space to think.”

“Of course,” she whispered, stroking his hair before leaving the room.

Bryce knew he wasn’t alone. Not anymore.

______

A/N: Keiki, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for doing this to you. I don’t know if Bryce’s parents are this crappy in the game, maybe we’ll never know, but they’ve been totally been neglectful with Keiki when she was at home, and after she left and they didn’t even bother to come to talk to her. So I think they’re not very far from being that shitty.

(This is just rambling, you can skip it)

Also, I’ve never been more nervous about posting a chapter as this one, and that’s thanks to the first part. (that’s why I moved it from ch. 20 to ch. 21, trying to delay “the inevitable”). Even if I loved writing it, I’m afraid you’ll find it too much? Like, too intense, like Bryce wouldn’t reach those levels? Personally I think he would. Well, the Bryce I’ve been writing all these months would, I don’t know if the game Bryce, because PB hasn’t gave him so much deepness unfortunately.

I’ve been meditating this scene for months, deliberating if it’s something he would do, if it’s too much, and most of the time my instinct told me he would react that way but under very specific circumstances, as it is to be feeling emotionally vulnerable (the conversation they had the night before, when he opened up to Eleanor like never before), and being in the presence of a very loving and passionate partner as Eleanor. I mean, people who had been alone, unloved, have a strange reaction to intimacy. Bryce doesn’t have problems with intimacy per se, but certainly it shocked him the way he was receiving love, that’s why he was scared. If he wasn’t that emotionally vulnerable he wouldn’t have shed some tears, but he had been very passionate, just as he was after that brief moment of heartbreaking vulnerability.

I don’t know. If I’m honest, I’m really proud of what I did there, I even cried, but I also know that not everyone has to agree with my interpretation of Bryce. I know I made him unrecognizable, and I explained why. This was just for that moment, it’s not that he’s gonna cry all the time now, or every time they have intimacy.

Maybe this explanation wasn’t necessary but I’m gonna leave it just in case :)

Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Thank you so much for reading! ❤

#bryce lahela #bryce lahela x mc #bryce x mc #bryce x casey #open heart #open heart choices #open heart fanfiction #choices #oh choices #choices stories you play #playchoices #pixelberry

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stovetuna · 5 years ago

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would you ever consider,,,,,,writing a fix it fic,,,,,,for endgame,,,,,,,pls im starved but also I love you so fuckin much your writing brings me joy

HEART EYES oh my gosh, thank you, anon. I hope this is sufficient.

full disclosure, I’m absolutely useless when it comes to the “logic�� of time travel, so a lot of liberties are being taken here for the sake of story.

- - -

Moments after the bright blue light of Tony’s arc reactor goes dark, Steve knows what he has to do.

He grieves, at first. He could hardly do anything else. Hell, it’s everything he can do not to let a howl out, the one clutching at his throat right now that’s equal parts devastation and rage. He swallows the raw, unholy sound and he weeps instead, like he’s never wept before—not for Bucky, or Peggy, or the Commandos, or Natasha, or Sam, or anyone—and then he falls to his knees in the ash and mud, everything that’s left of Tony’s last act of defiance.

The words echo across the years like the worst kind of phantom pain as Steve looks and looks and looks at Tony, Tony’s corpse, Tony’s unnaturally lifeless body that doesn’t make sense to see, I think I would just cut the wire.

Always a way out.

Steve wishes he could go back in time and punch himself in the teeth, just like Tony said.

Around him, heroes kneel, silent. No one talks about what has to be done, what the world will be like without Tony Stark, how they’re supposed to go on—for the moment, everything is still, and just as the blue light of the arc reactor had flickered out moments ago (wrong wrong wrong it should be shining like a solar flare he should have lived it should be him against that rock) Steve feels something flicker to life inside his own chest. It’s faint, but glows steady. Only he can see it, feel it; only he knows what it means.

It’s a choice, an easy one, that Steve’s already made.

After the funeral, Bruce sends him back with the stones. Clipping branches takes time, but it’s hardly tedious: First he returns to Morag, walks past Quill’s prone, snoring figure, and returns the Power stone to its place in the timeline. Like something out of Indiana Jones, Steve thinks to himself as he does it, but it’s not his voice he hears. It’s Tony’s, because only Tony would see a dangerous, precarious situation like this and make a pop culture reference.

They watched that one together. Just him and Tony, early on, when things were still good. Tense, maybe—brittle, but good. Before Steve knew about Bucky, or HYDRA, or Tony’s parents; before Steve realized he did in fact know how to lie, but only when it came to Tony Stark. They’d drank good beer and talked gingerly around the subject of Steve’s adjustment to the 21st century; Steve couldn’t help but think of Tony when Indiana shot the swordsman, remembering what Tony had said on the helicarrier with startling clarity, the opposite of how he’d been thinking in the moment: I think I would just cut the wire.

Now, Steve pushes the orb back through the energy barrier, mouth pressed in a firm line. The burns will heal, in time. He has plenty of it, after all, and the pain is a cheap price compared to what he felt watching Tony die, and it’s a price he’s more than willing to pay if this works.

•

The Soul Stone is hard, not because of the climb, or the Red Skull (although, in fairness, it does throw Steve for a moment), but because he has to watch the soul stone plummet to the earth knowing it won’t bring Natasha back. There are only so many things he can fix, and this isn’t one of them.

“What’s done is done,” Schmidt says, sadder than Steve ever heard him in life. Turning around, Steve looks at the cloaked figure floating, weightless, a few inches above the ground. He doesn’t feel pity, per se, but there’s a misery to Schmidt’s expression that looks deeply carved. Earned. Painful. He looks the way Steve feels, standing there in the place where Nat died.

“What was it like?” Steve asks, meaning the moment when Schmidt held the cube and disappeared. It doesn’t even register that he’s spoken until Schmidt is looking at him and speaking back.

“Death would have been preferable,” comes the reply. Steve doesn’t have to go far to remember Tony’s slack, expressionless face, how sickeningly wrong it felt to see death in a place it didn’t belong. It would be unbearable to even imagine that moment for more than a second if Steve didn’t have an extra vial of Pym particles tucked away in his belt.

“Yeah,” Steve mutters. “I know what you mean.”

Natasha would be proud of him, the way he punches Skull clean through the side of the mountain on his way out.

Returning the Reality stone is…complicated.

Rocket and Thor had conveniently forgotten to mention how they got the stuff out of Dr. Foster—maybe Thor didn’t even know, since he’d been having a conversation with his mother at the time, according to Rocket’s later recounting of events—which means Steve is left standing over a sleeping stranger with a syringe filled with dangerous miasma with no clue what to do.

He can hear Tony in his head again, a welcome rupturing of the tension that’s making it hard for Steve to even breathe, let alone think his own thoughts: stick ‘er with the pointy end.

It’s solid advice, actually. But for a moment, all Steve can think about is how dearly he misses that voice in his ear, his head, his life, even though he’s lived less than seventy-two hours without it, but that’s seventy-two hours (plus/minus seven years and change) too long. He’s getting impatient, putting things back the way they were just to get to where he should have been all along, and he doesn’t want to waste a minute watching Dr. Foster sleep when he knows he could be spending that precious time getting back to Tony.

Life, Steve’s learned too many times in too many devastating ways, is too goddamn short. Tony didn’t hesitate, in the end, so Steve won’t either. Not now.

Holding his breath, Steve sticks Dr. Foster with the pointy end and then runs like hell.

The Sanctum Sanctorum is remarkably unscathed despite being surrounded on all sides by Chitauri carcasses and broken alien tech. Dust from the rubble and ash permeates the air so thickly it’s like trying to breathe plaster of Paris without a mask. Steve coughs as he knocks on the front door, grateful all over again to be cured of his asthma.

The person who opens the door is far from expected, but like Nat told Scott that fateful day back at the compound, nothing’s crazy anymore.

“You’re not who I was expecting,” they say, lackadaisical like they’re not surrounded by dead aliens that just fell out of the sky. Bruce and Stephen had told him the Ancient One was a bit, well, strange, but Steve certainly wasn’t expecting this much archness wrapped up in sunflower yellow.

What, did Big Bird suddenly decide to take up transcendental meditation? Tony’s voice snarks. Steve bites his tongue for a second to hold off the snort threatening to escape him. The Ancient One raises an eyebrow (or lack thereof) at him with a smirk.

“Is he close, still?”

Steve’s thoughts go silent so fast his head spins. “I’m sorry?”

The Ancient One steps forward. “I’m sure you are,” they say. It feels dangerous, standing out here on the front steps like this, but if the Ancient One doesn’t flinch at being exposed, then neither will Steve. They hold out their hand with a beatific smile.

“I won’t ask how it all went,” they whisper conspiratorially, “but do tell me one thing: is Bruce alright?”

The Time stone flashes a vivid green from the safety of its cradle of dense foam inside the carbon steel suitcase, which Steve holds out to the Ancient One like one would a box with an engagement ring inside.

“Bruce is fine,” he says. The but goes unspoken. One look at Steve and the Ancient One knew exactly what his plan was, apparently. He’s still reeling from their earlier comment. He watches the stone float up from the suitcase and drift toward the amulet resting against the Ancient One’s stomach; their hands flicker and move as it opens with a whisper of metal and gears that reminds Steve poignantly, painfully, of Tony.

There had been a couple of years there, the good ones, when he’d spent a lot of time watching Tony in his workshop, learning the ways in which Tony’s genius applied itself to the world. Everything from DUM-E to JARVIS to the suits to their comms to the reactor powering the tower to proprietary satellites to pasta carbonara, Tony’s mind was capable of it all, and then some. And it all lived inside a man who drove Steve crazy with anger and frustration and awe and lust and who gave Steve so unbelievably much without asking for anything, anything in return except Steve’s friendship and trust and instead Steve had given Tony the awful truth about his parents two years too late.

After Siberia, Steve spent most nights awake, standing on balconies and rooftops just holding the flip phone and thinking back to those earlier days with the kind of bitterly pitiful regret of the truly stupid: of course he’d been infatuated, back then. Of course he’d run away from the very thought. There’d been Pepper, obviously, and it was Tony. More to the point, it was them: Steve and Tony, oil and water, north and south, futurist and idealist, stubborn and stubborner still, always opposite in all the ways that mattered.

Of course he’d used that as an excuse. God forbid Steve Rogers ever admit to being afraid.

The Ancient One closes the amulet with a slow, gentle glide of their pale, steady hands. Tony’s were darker, bigger, stronger, more. Not capable of this kind of magic, but to Steve, Tony’s mind was magic. And his heart was made of pure light. He’d placed it in Steve’s hand. Steve never told anyone how it burned him to hold it, or that he’d prayed for the wound not to heal.

He’d cried the next morning—for their losses, yes, but mostly because he had healed. It was torture, feeling one way but appearing the opposite. It was one of the ways he and Tony had come to understand each other, over the years prior: sometimes what appears on the outside isn’t the truth of what lives on the inside.

Looking up into the Ancient One’s eyes feels like falling headfirst into time, itself.

“I would caution you against your choice,” they say, wise and mischievous at the same time, somehow, “but I know you will set things right, when the time comes.”

Steve closes the suitcase and nods. He tries not to think about Tony’s funeral. The way the first arc reactor Tony had ever built floated off on a wreath of flowers across the surface of the lake, quiet and all heart, the way Tony had been at the last.

He has to go back there, one day.

But not yet.

His past self is still lying unconscious on the glass walkway where Steve left him when he returns. Arms and legs akimbo, that charmingly ridiculous uniform stretching to compensate for the awkward splaying of limbs, Steve Rogers of 2012 looks like a child who went down for a nap, hard. In so many ways, he was a kid, back then, and yet so old. Too old, too soon.

You’re just a little unstuck, Billy, Tony had said to him once when he’d found Steve awake in the communal kitchen at 4 AM, too riled by a nightmare to go back to sleep. At Steve’s confused look, he’d smiled—kind, soft, caring—and two days later gave him a first edition signed copy of a novel by someone named Kurt Vonnegut.

Listen: Billy Pilgrim has come unstuck in time.

He read it cover-to-cover twice before he went looking for Tony in the workshop to thank him with a hug. One of the few they’d ever shared, and all the more precious for it.

Steve Rogers of 2023 knows this kid won’t hesitate to seize the opportunity he’s about to be presented with.

“Look alive, soldier,” he barks. Rogers coughs and splutters and springs to his feet like something stung him right on the ass. As soon as he registers Steve, his copy, standing in front of him, he falls back on his heels into a fighting stance. It’s wobbly around the knees, but Steve doesn’t bother correcting his stance. This isn’t what he’s come to do.

“Listen to me, and listen carefully,” he says, and then he tells him everything he needs to know.

Bucky is alive. You can save him.

Peggy, too. You can be with her.

The war is over. You can live without it.

You can go home. You get to have one.

Imagine it.

Rogers looks at the time-space GPS with a degree of skepticism Steve forgot that face was capable of. After talking trees and raccoons and living Norse gods and alien armies from outer space and Titans and time travel—after Tony Stark—nothing seems impossible anymore.

Finally, finally, Rogers holds out his hand, palm to heaven. Steve’s stomach tightens painfully to remove the device from his hand, but he thinks of what’s waiting for him downstairs, and letting go has never been so easy. Rogers holds it like a bomb waiting to go off, wary and fearful, but excited, too.

Then, he looks at Steve, lit up the way a child whose parent has just given them a whole dollar to spend might be.

“Are you sure?”

“More than I’ve ever been.”

Rogers’ face tightens. “What about—” he glances down through the glass. “The others? Will they know? Will they be alright?”

“I’ll handle it,” he says. He’s taking a page out of Tony’s book here, winging it where he’s used to planning. Bucky was proud when Steve told him his half-cocked idea to go back in time to be with Tony Stark, however Tony would have him.

How’re you gonna figure out being both Steves at once?

I’ll handle it.

And if they figure it out?

They’ll handle it.

Rogers is hesitating. He doesn’t want to be selfish—that’s not in his nature. Steve smiles and reaches out, cups his hands around the one with the device and closes Rogers’ fingers around it.

“It’s okay,” he says. You’re allowed to be selfish, when it’s the right thing to do.

Looking at his younger self is dizzying, like vertigo. Tony once mentioned having a huge crush on Jimmy Stewart when they watched that movie as a team, which is how Steve learned Tony Stark liked men, too. That was the night his world really turned upside-down.

Steve reaches into his belt and hands Rogers the extra vial. Enough for one trip. He’ll never get his dance with Peggy, but she’ll get hers.

Steve will just have to dance with Tony, instead. What a hardship.

He’s smiling, looking vaguely downwards where he knows Tony is, when Rogers looks at him and asks, “Why?”

Steve dials the date and time and coordinates from memory.

A week from Saturday.

The Stork Club.

Eight o’ clock, on the dot.

The past is past, except when it’s not. Rogers is unstuck, but Steve isn’t. Not anymore. He hasn’t been for a long, long time.

He shrugs. Smiles, easy, the way he couldn’t when he was Rogers’ age, fresh out of the ice and soul-broken, hopeless.

“I’m home.”

The last test is the hardest. Steve goes down to the lobby via the elevator, carrying the scepter in one hand and the suitcase containing the space stone in the other. He’s dressed in his 2012 uniform again, and he didn’t miss the way it rides up his ass, but he’s got more important things to think about.

There’s still a commotion happening in the lobby, the fallout of Tony’s self-inflicted heart attack diversion, but Steve manages to force himself away from where he knows Tony is to walk right up to Alexander Pierce. He would dearly love to drop the man right here and now in this lobby, audience be damned, but he has a part to play, yet.

Steve tamps down the urge and rage long enough to present Pierce with the last stone. The look that flickers behind Pierce’s shrewd blue eyes is telling enough—Steve could punch himself, it’s so obvious. Glee, hunger, intent, all there, malicious and toxic. HYDRA, right out there in the open.

He’ll deal with it later. With extreme prejudice.

“The cube was just a housing unit,” Steve explains, slipping back into his old by-the-book tone of voice like one slips on a pair of well-worn leather shoes. Pierce takes it with an eerie smile.

“Very good, Captain.” At Pierce’s nod, Steve straightens, looks back with a knowing smirk, and nods in return. Rumlow would have already updated him about Steve’s words in the elevator; now the rest of it—rescuing Bucky, infiltrating SHIELD, destroying HYDRA and Pierce with it—is up to Steve.

But first.

“If you’ll excuse me, sir,” Steve says deferentially, already moving away from Pierce toward the circle of black suits hovering around Tony and Thor like expectant vultures at the feast. His heart is in his throat, racing.

“Get your hands off me!”

Tony.

Thor is running interference on the suits, pushing and holding them back, Mjolnir in hand. He clears a space for Steve to walk through with a nod. Steve nods back, but his eyes are elsewhere.

Tony.

“I said let go of me, Mall Cop! I’m fine, I don’t need your help.”

Pepper always says I’m the best at taking care of others at the expense of myself, Tony had told him once. They’d been sitting on the edge of the landing pad near the top of the tower at sunset, going over what went wrong with whatever battle had happened that day. Steve had spent the entire conversation with one hand shoved under his thigh to stop himself from reaching out to hold Tony’s, who’d put himself in the line of fire—unnecessarily—and had nearly given Steve a panic attack.

A panic attack. How quaint, compared to a shattered heart.

She’s right, Steve had replied, but then Pepper’s right about everything.

Most things, Tony said. I’m still not sure if she’s right about me.

Steve still remembers the way his hand had clenched under his thigh at those words. What do you mean?

Tony had looked out over the city, not gloating or smug the way Steve had assumed he would be when they first met and Steve learned billionaires were a thing that existed—quite prevalently—in the 21st century, but wistfully, like he couldn’t believe he had the view at all.

Most days I wake up expecting her to be standing by the bed fully dressed, waiting for me to open my eyes so she can tell me it’s over, he’d said, quiet so only Steve could hear, like the whole city was listening in and Tony wanted to keep this moment between them. I don’t think she’s right about choosing me.

Steve could have painted Tony in that moment: vulnerable, eyes and skin and hair glowing like fire and honey and whiskey in the light of the setting sun as it glinted off the cityscape. He was handsome, small but strong, nervous but brave, and so unbelievably worth choosing it took every ounce of Steve’s strength to keep his hand under his thigh. To not reach out and take Tony’s face in his hands and just—

Tony, he’d said softly, urgently but without force, waiting until Tony looked him in the eye to say what he’d been holding back for years and even then it was only the tip of the tip of the iceberg: You are worth choosing.

The way Tony had stared back at Steve then is not unlike the way he looks up at him now: from the floor of the lobby of Stark Tower, roughed up and shellshocked from the battle and his brief introduction to outer space and a minor cardiac episode, but relieved and inarticulately happy to see Steve there among the suits.

“O Captain, my captain!” Tony crows, wheezing slightly on the last syllable in a way that is far too endearing for Steve to handle, especially given his own fragile state. When Tony reaches a hand up, Steve doesn’t hesitate to take it and haul him to his feet.

Tony is alive. Standing there, in front of Steve, alive. Younger, smoother around some edges and sharper in others, beautiful like a sunset and a sunrise rolled into one—an astronomical anomaly of the rarest kind. The Black Sabbath t-shirt is singed but mostly whole, and Steve wants to linger on that detail, except he can’t.

“You alright there, Cap? You’re looking a little blue around the gills…”

Blue. Blueblueblueblueblueblue.

The burning light at the center of Tony Stark is so blue, a glowing circle shining out from behind that silly threadbare band t-shirt like a beacon in the night, guiding Steve home. How is no one else marveling at this? At Tony Stark, alive?

He’s staring. At Tony’s chest. He knows he is, but there’s no helping it. Just like there’s no helping the way he reaches out and pulls Tony into a hug like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. It wasn’t long ago he’d carried this same body, suit and all, off the battlefield, crying himself hoarse even as he laid Tony out on a patch of grass in the sun away from the smoke and desolation. He’d watched this man die not seventy-two hours ago, and here was Tony, in his arms the way Steve should have held him years and years and years ago, alive.

It shouldn’t be possible. But as he’s learned ten times over, when it comes to Tony Stark, impossible is only a matter of perspective (and a little bit of elbow grease).

Steve muffles his hitching breaths against Tony’s shoulder, trying desperately to compose himself even as he falls apart. He’s failing, but can’t bring himself to care. Tony returns his embrace haltingly, like he can’t believe it’s happening, but then neither can Steve.

“It’s alright, big guy. Party’s over,” Tony chuckles into his ear, nervous, patting Steve on the shoulder from under his arm in an awkward bend. “I’m fine, I promise.“ He does the unthinkable, then, Tony: he steps back and takes Steve’s hand and lays it flat against his chest so Steve can feel the strong thud of his heartbeat and the low, steady hum of the arc reactor at the same time. “See?” Tony says with a quicksilver smile, “alive and well.”

Steve knows his eyes are wet. His hair is a mess and he’s still grieving his Tony, and that grief is a ten-ton weight in his stomach. And yet, standing here looking into this Tony’s big brown eyes, faced with that benevolent (if teasing) smile and generous heart, Steve feels young and limitless, weightless, like he’d float off the floor if it weren’t for Tony, who’s still holding his hand against his chest.

Steve knows this is selfish and reckless and his staying here could break the fabric of reality itself, but he would choose this—he’d choose Tony, warm and alive and smiling at him—every time. There are battles to be fought and truths to be told and lives to save, and he may never get to have Tony in all the ways he wants him in this or any timeline, but he’s willing to wing it and see.

Who knows—they could very well end up married.

Crazier and more impossible things have happened.

“Alive is good,” Steve says, locking a sob away behind a smile so big it strains his cheeks. “It means you can still pay for shawarma.”

Tony’s face goes slack with surprise, and then he’s laughing so hard he’s cackling, leaning into Steve’s steady hand for support. Steve can feel Tony’s laugh as much as he can hear it: it feels like home and sounds like rock music and looks like sunlight spilling out between his fingers, bright blue.

- - -

also on AO3! https://archiveofourown.org/works/22299358

#steve rogers #tony stark #stevetony #superhusbands #stony #rachel writes fic #yes I did pull the title from the most cliché death cab song out there #SHRUUUUG #endgame fix it #I'm riding this pining!steve wave for as long as possible lol #responses #prompt fic

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slingsendarrows · 4 years ago

Text

To His Coy Master

“I have often reflected on upon the new vistas that reading opened to me. I knew right there in prison that reading had changed the course of my life. As I see it today, the ability to read awoke inside me some long dormant craving to be mentally alive…My homemade education gave me, with every additional book I read, a little bit more sensitivity to the deafness, dumbness, and blindness that was afflicting the black race in America.” — Malcolm X “The Autobiography of Malcolm X”

Photo by Will Small

It never ceases to amaze the length, and breadth white people will go to willfully deny history in as much as it tells them the truth about themselves. I don’t blame them. It is a bitter pill to swallow owning up as a member of a people that has wreaked such havoc and extended so much unmitigated violence. Your domination in pursuit of betterment for your people and racial superiority was at the unquantifiable expense of others.

Now, before we get bogged down in the mire of wilfully confusing terms, let me resentfully explain what I mean by the words I am using. I say resentfully because expounding upon the injustices heaped upon my people requires I justify my position and take care not to offend the sensibilities of those I am addressing. It is dormant trauma indicative of the master/slave dichotomy I still have yet to shed. For it is only the oppressor that necessitates the oppressed exercise restraint and caution in stating and expressing his grievances, however vile and repulsive, adjusting for nuances and individual circumstances as if his subjugation wasn’t abrupt, violent, and complete. What is the virtue of incremental progress if the oppressor committed the original sin with absolute expediency? But, I digress.

“White people” or “white men,” refers to the collective white man, woman, and child as befits the ideologies of white supremacy, meaning those originating from Europe and the inheritors of their ancestors’ misdeeds. I will not deign to account for individual acts or attitudes of “good” white people because it is irrelevant. It is a tactic the oppressor uses to detract from the larger truth about himself.

Also, in speaking collectively, I will use the masculine pronouns, reflexive and otherwise, in an umbrella fashion similar to holy writ, signifying patriarchy as the apex of privilege and tyranny. Occasionally, I may address collective “white people” as women and men, specifically. “Master” is not restricted to those who owned slaves in actuality but those who propagated ideas of white superiority and black subjection.

Finally, and for what I hope will be the last time, privilege is a Russian doll ladder in that some have more than others in the broader context of the hierarchical structure as well as within each rung. Privilege is the exemption from specific experiences due to the inherent characteristics of race, ability, sexuality, gender identity, sex, socioeconomic status, etc. I have privilege within my rung as educated, able-bodied, cis-gender, and heterosexual. I shall leave it there.

I know you are, but what am I?

There are things you can’t unsee. I can neither unsee injustice nor abide civility for civility’s sake. Living as a black woman person is a burden, but one I am learning to carry with pride. You live in the depths of a valley with a clear perspective of the surrounding landscape. I look about me these days, and I yearn to be free. Natural freedom, not granted, but inborn and awakened through the conscious effort. Freedom rising from truth and understanding, painful though it may be. But master, I must tell you the truth about yourself, for I see now, as Malcolm X stated, you love yourself so much you’re often surprised to discover we do not share your “vainglorious self-opinion.”

Bettmann Archives/Getty Images

The cyclical nature of oppression angers me: outcries and marches, cosmetic salves for change, and disingenuous support that lasts just long enough for us to return to business, as usual. I don’t want to mince words anymore. It no longer serves to be palatable. You must swallow whole my incredulous raging despair and dubious hope for change. You will taste every unpleasant bite as I tell you the unflavored truth about yourself. I will not be distracted by dog-whistle racist dismissals of reverse-racism and black supremacy. Pipe down! You know I do not have the power to alter a fraction of your daily existence fundamentally.

For all your talk of progress, history shows very little of significance and import has materially changed. Individual achievement is pointless if institutionalized racism persists, unimpeded since the advent of colonial conquest when you left your lands to “discover” ours. It matters little that some of us make it if most of us continue to suffer the same injustices bereft of reprieve through education, wealth, and status. In short, your surface efforts at woke-ness and allyship are of little use if, in your white homes and white spaces, you propagate or remain silent in the face of racist sentiments and ideologies.

I reason real change calls for radical action. The how eludes me. Real change requires rooting out the problem in its entirety, a problem so deeply ingrained and pervasive it infects every facet of our daily existence. It is institutionalized. But our subjugation was so final we forgot our names. We have been in the wilderness far too long, thirsting for understanding and starving for identity. You hope we never figure out our freedom was never a matter for your consent.

In the midst of my hungering, I have awakened to two fundamental realizations: 1) we are and have only ever been as free as you have allowed us to be, 2) truth comes through knowledge of self, and knowledge of self comes through self-education.

It’s been a long, long time coming, but I know change is gonna come.

During moments of considerable racial unrest, you remind us to be grateful for the crumbs that fall from your feasting tables and make it into our mouths. With each protesting hamster-wheel cycle for change, you erroneously juxtapose our grievances against your apparent signs of progress, as if the two are analogous. You caution against violent reactions when your institutions murder us, and you selectively misquote our advocates out of context to suit your purposes and invalidate our rage. The conversation inevitably becomes about how we are not decent people, and our behavior courted death; therefore, we deserve to die. There is no need to mourn, much less to protest. Still, during our tear-gassed and rubber-bulleted peaceful protestations, you implore us, once again, to be patient. Someday we’ll all be free. Incrementalism over expediency!

Photo by Charles Moore

You ask us to remember Abraham Lincoln and his hundreds of thousands of Union soldiers. Do we not recall the numerous, albeit contradictory, supreme court decisions that have brought us thus far? Lyndon B. Johnson and his predecessors awarded us civil rights, benefitting the electorate with the sacrifice of black bodies. The matter of reparations is a non-starter — sins of the father, and all that; it’s in the past. See our constitutional amendments, white abolitionists, James Meredith, northern white liberalism, and lest we forget, the progressive black achievement permitted in your industries and society.

But the fact that we’re still witnessing black firsts 400 years later is not a sign of progress; it is the opposite.

Our schools teach the efforts and white generosity of Abraham Lincoln liberated black people in America. However, a cursory glance at your records will show this is factually incorrect. I am tired of being reminded to pay homage to the “Great Emancipator,” whom we remember, in large part, due to this astounding act of condescending deference. Master Lincoln is an excellent example of your self-conceit that our freedom is yours to grant or deny. And to add insult to injury, you congratulate yourselves for it. The overarching white supremacist belief you can deign to give us freedom is a glaring reminder we are only as free as you enable us to be. Your love for this lie is so profound; you pull it out each time issues of race arise. But Lincoln, a white man, freed you! He might have been black too.

So let’s set the record straight.

Lincoln did not free slaves out of moral imperative but political expediency. A cursory study of his papers and thinking at the time show he was willing to maintain slavery if it meant keeping the Union intact because “a house divided against itself cannot stand.”

Before the Missouri Compromise of 1820, a carefully maintained 1:1 ratio determined the slavery status of newly admitted states. This balancing act was codified when Maine and Missouri sought admittance; the former was free, and the latter legally permit slavery. The law also prohibited slavery north of the Mason-Dixon line.

At the onset of the Civil War, Missouri demographically split between confederate and union allies. In 1861, witnessing Missouri’s descent into chaos, Union Major Generals Fremont and Hunter issued emancipation proclamations calling for the execution of those found guilty of taking up arms against Union and the confiscation of their property, including freeing their slaves. Shortly after that, Lincoln fired the generals and annulled the proclamation. He issued a Second Confiscation Act in July 1862, allowing for the confiscation of slaves owned by the rebels, freeing them at the discretion of the court.

District of Columbia. Company E, 4th U.S. Colored Infantry, at Fort Lincoln

Slaves were commodities of considerable economic value. Slaves were mortgaged collateral and settled debts. Losing slaves would result in a substantial financial loss for southern masters. The Union knew that, so they exploited it. Freeing slaves robed the Confederacy of its free and disposable labor, eliminating the possibility of slaves fighting against the Union army at the behest of their rebel masters. Lincoln did not issue the Proclamation of 1863 because he thought black people were inherently equal and deserving of justice under the law. Asked about his decision-making process, he stated, “…if I could save the Union without freeing any slave, I would do it, and if I could save it by freeing all the slaves, I would do it; and if I could save it by freeing some and leaving others alone, I would also do that…” The Civil War did not end slavery in acknowledgment of black equality. Slave emancipation crippled the Confederate economies and, in so doing, weakened the southern rebellion. Emancipation was a means to an end.

Lincoln could not conceive of a nation with black people as equal if not, primary stakeholders. Nevermind their backs built the wealth of the country. Now that the problematic part of nation-building over, he could simply return them from whence they came and be done with it. He thought it better to return black Americans to Africa and failing that, create a whole separate nation unto themselves.

Reportedly the only known photo of a black American Union soldier and his family. (Library of Congress)

In 1854, before the Civil War, Lincoln stated, at a speech in Illinois, his “…first impulse would be to free all the slaves, and send them back to Liberia.” It was the only foreseeable solution to the race issue. He considered the coal-mining prospects of the Chiriqui region in modern-day Panama an option for deportation and resettlement. Still, the idea met fierce abolitionist opposition when he tested it on a sample slave population in Delaware. He supported a congressional bill that would “…aid in the colonization and settlement of such free persons of African descent […] as may desire to emigrate to the Republic of Haiti or Liberia or such other country beyond the limits of the United States as the President may determine.” After signing the Second Confiscation Act, in August 1862, Lincoln invited a delegation of five prominent black men to the White House to clarify that white and black people cannot coexist; therefore, separation was the most direct path to peace. He wanted their support for a mass black exodus.

Liberia presented a logistical nightmare. The Chiquiri coal was worthless, and the land in dispute with Costa Rica. Approximately 450 black people moved to an island off the coast of Haiti, of which almost 25% died of poor nutrition and illness before the remainder returned to the U.S. Defeated, Lincoln, considered deporting “the whole colored race of the slave states into Texas.” Days before his death, he stressed, “I can hardly believe that the South and North can live peace unless we can get rid of the negroes…I believe it would be better [for the whites] to export them to some fertile country…”

Getty/Library of Congress

In conclusion, asking me to celebrate a white master for granting me what is rightfully mine is ludicrous — honoring him for a decision that only benefitted me as a secondary consequence of his primary purpose is the height of white arrogance. It merely cements you don’t believe freedom is ours by right; it is yours to give in the manner befitting your white sensibility stretched out over the expanse of time. Time to legitimize the numbing effect of revisionist history and position us in gratitude toward master’s acquiesce and tolerance, however slow. Master is doing his best. After all, his wife, at a time, condescended to teach Frederick Douglass to read and write.

And yet, here we remain, yearning for crumbs off of master’s table. Asking, begging, pleading, for what is ours.

The real nightmare scenario for white supremacy is an actualized black mind, educated and conscious of its pervasive and pernicious effects. Global black unity jellies the white man’s spine in fear of retribution for his crimes. It is why you champion incremental progress and hail peaceful protest as the height of moral discourse. You only understand violence for violence is what it took to achieve your dominance. You cannot conceive of any other possible outcome, and you cannot revise history with enough “good” white people committing “good” white acts to cover the rancid stench. You know it stinks, and since you cannot find a solution outside your oppressive playbook, you must deny, obfuscate, distract, appease and roll the ball down the road of historical replay.

To that, I now turn a deaf ear. We must educate ourselves about our people and history if we are to be truly free. We cannot depend upon you to what is right. You have made it abundantly clear.

#black lives matter #malcolm x #carter godwin woodson #abraham lincoln #deportation #black unity #miseducation of the negro #revisionist history #white supremacy #white people

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bugaboosandbees · 5 years ago

Text

Reine Ruse Part 2

Hello all!

I'm sorry that this second chapter took so long to write. I'm a bit of a recovering perfectionist, so it's still strange to share my writing with others and I ended up putting it off quite a bit...

As a result, it's not been closely proofread so as to avoid giving me time to second guess myself.

(This chapter is quite a bit saltier than I'd planned it to be... oops! I discovered how difficult it is to make it reasonable for Mari to want to spend her time with Chloe if everyone else isn’t being kind of pretty awful.)

Please let me know if you have any comments or suggestions on how I can improve. Seeing what you all think really makes my day. :)

Also, feel free to let me know if you’d like me to add you to the tag list! (Or remind me if I’ve forgotten... computers are hard sometimes.)

Tikki

Tikki was worried about her bug. Of course, she loved all of her chosen deeply, but Marinette was so young. She was also the first in such a long time to have such unbridled joy in creation. Tikki could feel her powers sing in harmony with Marinette’s soul as the girl drew and sewed, knitted and baked, and tended the steadily growing garden on her rooftop balcony. And then there were the days when her young chosen would do something so reckless or chaotic and it would strike Tikki like a bolt to the chest how much Marinette could remind her of Plagg.

She knew that it was stupid and illogical, but sometimes when she slept at night, she selfishly dreamt that the girl was really theirs. Beyond loving Marinette as a partner and a friend and a mentor, Tikki loved her as a mother. And it was tearing her apart inside to see her chosen, hers, so distraught. She tried to be there for Marinette as best as she could, pressing into her side from inside her purse and offering encouraging words. She had never wanted quite so badly to be human, to have arms to hug the child of her spirit with. She knew she was being selfish, she would never dream of taking Marinette away from her human mother who had those arms, ready for hugging, if only she could persuade her chosen to make use of them!

She cursed everything that she’d said to Marinette in the beginning. Lessons to make her into a better Ladybug be damned, she’d somehow managed to convince her chosen that the weight of the entire world rested on her small shoulders and that she didn’t deserve to ask for help in carrying her burdens and nothing she said now could convince the girl otherwise. Plagg’s wayward chosen certainly wasn’t helping either! The next time she saw her other half, she was going to have words with him about disciplining his kit.

She had to admit that she was actually grateful for Chloe Bourgeois. That wasn’t something she thought she’d ever say. She’d disliked the girl from the moment that she’d first heard her belittling her chosen from her hiding place in Marinette’s bag. That being said, for some reason, she was the only rock that Marinette seemed willing to cling to in the storm she was fighting through. It had been a week since she’d first seen her bug fall into the Bourgeois girl’s arms through Marinette’s transformed eyes. She’d found herself accompanying her chosen to Chloe’s balcony every night since seeing a new side of the blonde as she treated her chosen as the treasure she was.

She was relieved that Marinette was allowing someone to pick up her broken pieces. She wished she could do more to help, but she would be there, right by her chosen’s side until the very end, and that would have to be enough.

Marinette

Walking into class the morning after she had fallen apart in the comforting arms of the girl who’d bullied her for years was easier than Marinette expected. She looked up as she crossed the threshold of the room. It wasn’t unusual to see the entire class gathered around Lila and Adrien’s desk, or, unfortunately, the death glares the group sent toward her as soon as she’d come through the door.

“Good morning.” She hated how her greeting was quieter than it had been since the previous year, since before she’d met her first real friends. Now she was back to wondering what awful things would happen if she spoke too loudly or took up too much space in this room. She couldn’t afford to be further targeted by Lila, she couldn’t afford to be akumatized. If that meant returning herself to the sidelines, that was what she was going to have to do.

“Marinette!” It was Alya, voice strong with the righteous anger that used to fill Marinette with awe and pride in her friend. “How could you?!”

Marinette wasn’t quite sure what exactly she was supposed to have done, but she shrank back from Alya’s anger nonetheless. She must have looked confused because the class bristled.

“I’m sure there’s some explanation,” Lila simpered tearfully from the middle of the group.

“Explanation?!” It was a wonder Alya’s screech didn’t deafen her. “She convinced Gabriel Agreste that you stole your designs for the contest from her because she was jealous you won the internship! There is no explanation or excuse to defend what a bitch she’s being!”

E tu, Alya? Marinette’s jaw dropped. Lila had been discovered? But, she never talked to Mr. Agreste. She’d cried and given it up as a lost cause. Even if she could somehow get in contact with Mr. Agreste, she’d die before letting her idol know the trouble she was facing or how weak she was. But if she hadn’t told Mr. Agreste that Lila had stolen her designs, who had?

Chloe

It had been a week since Chloe returned from vacation with her mother to find that everything had somehow gone wrong at school in her absence, the entire class fawning over the shady Italian exchange student who was obviously lying through her teeth and glaring daggers at the little-miss-too-perfect-for-words Marinette Dupain-Cheng as they’d rarely even dared glare at her in the past. When Cesaire of all people had led the charge in tearing down Marin--- Dupain-Cheng for claiming that Liar-la’s contest-winning designs were actually hers, Chole found herself breaking into the conversation (not to be nice or anything) out of sheer shock. She left the class alone for two weeks to spend some (admittedly disappointing) time with her mother, and they apparently no longer had two brain cells gathered between them.

After the disastrous Monday of her return, Chloe had initially planned not to do anything about the strange situation at school. She had no interest in Lila’s plans, whatever they were, and it was frankly amusing to see her holier-than-thou classmates fawning over the liar. Then, after Ladybug had left that first night, Chloe had found herself, quite against her will, thinking of Marinette Dupain-Cheng, running out of the classroom, tears streaming down her face. Something about Ladybug’s story had reminded her of the sudden changes in the class’ attitude toward the blue-haired designer and, even if she’d never been and would likely never be friends with the baker’s daughter, she could certainly appreciate the appeal of working out her frustrations with Ladybug’s traitor friends on the class full of turncoats she did have sway over. Besides, it had become significantly more fun to irritate Dupain-Cheng since she’d begin to grow a backbone and it irked her to see her rival losing the confidence she’d somehow obtained over something so stupid.

It had been easy to get her father to request a word with Gabriel Agreste who, though a recluse, wasn’t stupid enough to ignore a request to talk to the mayor of the city his fashion empire was based in. It was almost physically painful for Chloe to tell her father to inform Mr. Agreste that Lila had stolen her designs from Marinette, but she admitted that it would look like a repeat of the derby hat competition if she didn’t have proof that Lila was lying, and she’d learned the hard way about the lengths her classmate went to to prevent the theft of her designs. She told her father to suggest that Mr. Agreste should turn the designs upside down and inspect the stitching that Marinette was sure to have hidden somewhere in her images.

She’d expected to go to class the next day and wade through a sea of satisfying guilt and self-deprecation as her classmates groveled at Marinette’s feet, but it appeared that she’d underestimated either how good a liar Lila was how utterly ridiculous her classmates could be. Lila had somehow managed to convince them that Marinette had tricked Gabriel-fucking-Agreste into believing that Lila was a liar because she was jealous. Chloe was well aware (and somewhat disappointed) that there did not appear to be a vindictive bone in Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s body. She’d seen Marinette’s perfect parents and home long ago and had terrorized her for years, hoping that at some point she’d snap and show that she wasn’t so perfect after all, but no matter what she did Marinette never rose to the bait. She’d even thrown Chloe a fucking party when she’d become Queen Bee. It was thus completely un-fucking-believable to her that the entire class was buying this shit. She was half certain at this point that if Jagged Stone himself came to class and said that he’d never had a kitten, Lila would be able to pass it off as a weirdly specific case of amnesia. Chloe would clearly need to rethink her approach to taking on the interloper, but for now, she had more important things to focus on.

It had been a week since the first day that Ladybug had appeared on her balcony at the beginning of a rainstorm crying and six days since Chloe had discreetly slipped a note to Jean Baptiste, requesting a collection of books -- five since she had returned from school to find them stacked on her desk. She started reading immediately. Ladybug seemed determined to come to her of all people, and she was going to do her level best not to let her hero down. For the rest of the week, Chloe filled the hours between school and Ladybug’s visits with books on imposter syndrome, on dealing with trauma, and on learning how to move on from broken relationships. (If some of those had hit rather too close to home, well, she’d never admit it.) She’d practiced what advice to give and how to respond in front of her bathroom mirror and strategically placed even more pillows than usual on the couch that Ladybug favored. After all, she was a Bourgeois, and when a Bourgeois wanted something done, it was done right. (If she was a bit obsessive about preparing, that could simply be chalked up to never actually having been the one to do any of the aforementioned somethings previously.)

What she lacked in experience of these matters, she made up for in enthusiasm, as evidenced by the cup of hot milk and plate of cookies ready in the room at precisely 8:55 on Thursday night, exactly 5 minutes ahead of Ladybug’s arrival. The heroine had taken to arriving at 9:00 and staying until around midnight, clearly wishing to spend as much time as she could in an environment where she didn’t feel the weight of others’ judgments and expectations. (And didn’t that just make Chloe cringe with regret at the memories of her first several interactions with the spotted hero.)

It did appear that miracle of miracles, the visits were actually helping Ladybug. She hadn’t yet been as distraught as she’d been the first night, and for that Chloe was grateful. They’d mostly chatted about lighter topics or watched movies. Once, Ladybug had actually painted Chloe’s nails, as if that hadn’t given her a minor heart attack. Sometime during the evening, if she’d been on patrol or dealing with akumas, or if it had just been a bad day and she’d stayed out too long, Ladybug would take the plate of cookies and head for Chloe’s bathroom, emerging several minutes after she’d gone in. Neither girl verbalized how much trust was in that action, but Chloe knew it down to her bones and she sure as hell wasn’t going to make Ladybug regret it.

She looked down at her watch. 8:59. Any moment now… Her head shot up at the loud noise from her balcony. What the? Ladybug burst into the room like a dervish, panting and shaking. She ran for the hallway and as she passed Chloe, her panicked eyes locked with the blonde’s.

“I’m not here. If he asks, I’m not here. Please, Chloe.”

Shocked, Chloe nodded and Ladybug darted inside Chloe’s bedroom and shut the door.

Warily, Chloe walked over to the open balcony doors and looked outside. What was going on?

Tag list:

@demydreamer-otaku-and-book-lover @anastasian-dreamer @donegonewrong @twinkletoes-rp @asandygraves @fatimaabbasrizvi

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug au #ml au #ml salt #marinette dupain cheng #ladybug #chloe bourgeois #queen bee #chloenette #Fox!chloe #reine ruse #reine ruse au #this ended up being so much saltier than i planned yikes #the dangers of writing without a firm outline i guess #oof

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kaisooconnection · 6 years ago

Text

Happy birthday, Jagiya ❤❤❤

“A necklace? Maybe a bracelet??? Are you sure that you want jewelry, Jongin?” E*XO’s manager asked as he perused the case filled to the brim with shiny, diamond trinkets that were so bright that he needed sunglasses to even look at them.

“I don’t know....hyung-nim. I want it to be special but...I don’t know what,” he replied in a panicked state.

“Ok. Stay calm, how about a watch? He never wears a watch. Wouldn’t that work?” the manager asked, trying to soothe the main dancer so that he would make a decision and he could finally get out of that suffocating shopping mall.

“Noooooo, hyung! I got him a watch last year. I can’t buy him the same thing again. I don’t know what to do! Help me!” Jongin begged at his wits end.

“Jongin-ah, I have been doing this for four hours already. I have to go and pick up Junmyeon, I don’t have anymore time for this,” the elder said exasperated.

“But....but!” Jongin replied, fear crawling up under his skin.

“I know that you can’t buy the gift yourself because of everything that’s happened and we don’t want to raise any suspicion but since you don’t know what you want, Jongin-ah, maybe order something online or ask one of the other staff members to grab something tomorrow,” their manager said before hanging up the phone. He was worried that if he let Jongin talk, that the younger would be able to guilt trip him into spending another four hours looking for a gift.

Jongin sighed, throwing the phone onto his bed. What was he going to do now? There is no way he had enough time to think of a gift and buy it before Kyungsoo’s birthday the following day.

“Think, Jongin. Think,” he said to himself hoping that inspiration would strike him.

He had already exhausted all of his gift options, spending an exorbitant amount on couple items like converse and clothing with bears on it, in the hopes of marking Kyungsoo as his and only his. But last year the watch was definitely his crescendo. The best gift he had ever bought Kyungsoo. He knew he had done well when Kyungsoo read the inscription and started crying immediately.

The words “My love, my life. Now and forever,” inscribed on the back of the clock face.

While it wasn’t humble, Jongin had to admit that he had done really well with that gift. He knew he had especially with the way Kyungsoo had “rewarded” him afterwards. Kyungsoo’s reward was so generous that Jongin felt like it was his birthday already.

There was no way that he could compete with that gift. He knew that. He knew it then and he definitely knew it now. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he held his head in his hands, trying to think of something,

“Think, think, what does Kyungsoo love most in the world? Other than me....” he asked himself. Then it struck him, “acting!”

A huge grin formed across his face as inspiration hit. He grabbed the phone that he had tossed on the bed earlier and began doing all of the necessary research for his gift.

An hour later, when he was sure Kyungsoo wouldn’t be home, he lay down in his bed with his back against the head board and his laptop resting on his legs. He took a deep breath and hit record on his phone.

“Hey, hyung! I bet your surprised! Happy Birthday, Jagiya! I thought long and hard about what to get you to show you how much I love you, especially this year when things aren’t exactly....easy. But we aren’t going to talk about that. Today is about you! And I plan to spend the day pampering you but this is my gift to you and I really hope you enjoy it,” he said enthusiastically, blowing a kiss at the phone screen and smiling into the camera.

“So here goes. Welcome hyung, to my ‘reaction to Do Kyungsoo’s movies’ video! Yaaaaaay! And before you say that I’ve never seen your movies and dramas, I have! But I never watch them with you. It’s embarrassing... to watch them in front of you. So, I want you to see how proud of you I am through this video. So let’s begin with Cart!” he announced, loading the movie on his laptop.

Cart: “Nooooooo, hyung! Why do you keep getting slapped?! If I was there, no one would dare touch you. My poor baby! You did nothing wrong! You don’t need that girl to save you. I would never let those things happen to you,” he shouted at the screen, tears streaming down his face as he felt wronged on behalf of the character that his boyfriend played to perfection.

My Annoying Brother: “Hyung! Your eyes. Not your eyes! My poor baby. I can’t watch...”

“No....nooooooooooo. Not now. Not after you just resolved all of your issues. Why did he have to die??? Nooooooo. Oh baby! I would have held you tight. You wouldn’t need her. I would kiss you until the pain goes away,” he cried hysterically. He leaned forward, stroking the face of his boyfriend on the screen as he screamed “hyuuuuuuuung,” in the climax of the movie.

Pure love: “I don’t like her...she is not...I mean...she doesn’t look that good next to you. I mean she’s cute but I don’t like it. Stop touching her! Stop!”

“Noooooooo. How could this happen to her?! You were so perfect together! Your love was so....pure. Huhu, hyuuuuuung! Don’t cry!” he wailed, caressing the screen in the hopes of comforting the character through the screen. The tears had not stopped rolling down his face since the first movie and Jongin was surprised that he even had tears left to shed.

Along with God parts I and II: “Ugh! Why aren’t you in more of this movie? Why have I only seen your face once so far?! I demand more Won Dong-yeon!!!”

“Oh no, hyung! It wasn’t your fault. You are so cute here. I’ve never seen you like this...you are so...beautiful. How do you do this? How do you act like...wow...this is....you’re amazing. You are so good at this. I am so lucky to have you. You are exceptional, my love,” he confessed. He stared at the screen in awe, stroking Kyungsoo’s face like he was something ethereal, too perfect for this tainted world. He managed to peel his eyes from the screen and directed his attention to the phone camera as he whispered, “You’re perfect,” smiling shyly before returning his attention back to the laptop screen.

Room number 7: “Hahahahahahaha. Hyung, you are sooooo cute. Look at you trying to play a tough guy! It’s so precious. This is so good. I’ve never seen you try to play it so cool,” Jongin said while chuckling.

“Omo, you are smoking!!! This is hilarious. You hate cigarette smoke. You always say that it’s bad for your health. You are such a good actor. And that tattoo....you look hot. We may need to try some...roleplay with this character. He is totally turning me on right now. I just want to devour you when you look like this, mmmmmm,” he whispered seductively, winking at the camera.

“You found the body. I never saw this coming!!!! You are really turning me on! Stop, hyung! I can’t resist you like this. I want to have you now. I can’t believe that there are thirsty fans that get to see you like this! I need to ban this movie. I need to stop people from buying this. No one should get to see you be this cute and hot at the same time! Let me have a word with the movie makers. Maybe I should buy every DVD. Only I should get to see this,” he shouted shamelessly undressing his boyfriend with his eyes.

“Annnnnnd that’s a wrap. I wanted to watch some of a hundred day husband but....erm after what I heard about it and you with her, there is NO WAY. You can’t make me watch that. If I do, I’ll probably ban you from ever leaving the house again. So, this marks the end of my reaction to Do Kyungsoo’s amazing and extraordinary acting!!!! Yaaaaaaay. Hyung, I love you. You are phenomenal at what you do. You give 100% to singing, dancing and acting and it really show. I’m so lucky to get to watch you shine brightly on so many different stages. You amaze the world with your talent and we are so lucky to have you. I am lucky to have you. On your birthday, my love, once again I feel like I’m the one who is receiving the gift because you are my gift, the one that keeps on giving. Every time I think that my heart is full and I can’t love you any more than I already do, you surprise me by increasing that capacity even more. I hope my love for you never ceases to grow and that I always make you feel as loved as you deserve. Happy Birthday, jagiya. Let there be many more for us to share together,” Jongin said, trying his best not to cry. He blew a kiss at the screen and then waved before turning off the video recording.

Jongin took a deep breath as he transferred the video that he recorded onto the laptop. He labelled it “for my one and only on your special day” and then wrote instructions on the birthday card before closing the laptop and placing the card on top. He then went to sleep, totally wiped out.

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Kyungsoo came home from an evening of celebrations with his actor hyungs to a sleeping boyfriend. He was hoping to see the start of his birthday in Jongin’s arms after they had made love but given how deeply his boyfriend was breathing, Kyungsoo knew that there was no chance of that happening. Turning his attention to the desk, he saw the card placed on top of the laptop. He read it with a huge smile on his face before opening the laptop and plugging some headphones into the device.

After hours spent laughing at his dorky partner reacting to his major works, Kyungsoo closed the lid of the laptop and took off his pants before climbing into bed alongside Jongin.

“You really outdid yourself, Nini. I didn’t think it was possible. You are perfect and I love you more with each passing day. May we share all of our birthday’s together,” he whispered as a prayer before kissing Jongin on the forehead and snuggling up next to him. He couldn’t wait for Jongin to wake up so that he could reward him. It may result in him not being able to walk properly for the next couple of days but Kyungsoo thought that it was a price he was willing to pay. He was suddenly very grateful that he saved the flannel hoodie and some of the fake tattoos from filming Room Number 7. They were really going to have a lot of fun with those ;)

#kaisoo #kadi #happy soo day #fic #short #i wanted to do something for soo's bday #i'm not sure if it is any good but i wanted to try #i haven't proofread any of it #i wanted it to just be exactly how i was feeling in the moment #i love cute kaisoo

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enchantedbride · 6 years ago

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335 with Lukas!

Prompts: “I didn’t think love existed until I started loving you.”

Tagging: @blackquills-wife

It was nice when The Deliverance could take refuge somewhere other than in tents out in the wilderness. This time the local temple had taken them in and given them what rooms they could spare. They had of course had fussed over giving Satu better accommodation than the rest on account of what she was, but as always she had refused. Luckily, at this one they didn’t seem inclined to press the issue. The high priestess here seemed a sort with common sense, and she was kind as well as helpful.

The dragon took up a chair in the living space near the rooms, watching the embers of the fireplace flicker as she heard the chants of evening vespers drifting down from above. She blinked sleepily, turning her head at the soft sound of footsteps and the creek of the door. At this hour, she expected perhaps Alm, Mathilda, or Clive to be entering if it wasn’t one of the priests. She’d need to make herself more alert if that was the case.

“You look like you’re about to fall asleep in that chair,” a familiarly soothing voice greeted her, “Hopefully that means you’re comfortable?”

A tired, haphazard smile curled her lips. “Quite,” she replied, “You might also be right about me falling asleep. The atmosphere is so calming right now I hardly want to move. Although I probably should go back to my room is that’s the case, shouldn’t I? Unless you’re here to fetch me?”She was grateful it was Lukas who entered. At this point, she wasn’t sure she had the mental energy and will to put towards discussing the group’s next move. Though if one of the people she’d suspected had entered at first had sent him, she’d try.

“Not in this case,” he answered, the slightest of smiles tugging at a corner of his mouth, “Unless it’s to take you to bed so you can sleep. Although if you can hardly move, I might have to carry you there.”Briefly Satu’s eyebrows raised in alarm at the suggestion, her cheeks tinting a soft shade of pink. She turned away from him, slumping further back into the chair.

“I’m too heavy for that.”

“In your true form, perhaps,” Lukas remarked in a dry tone of voice, “But, I think I could manage it as you are now.”

“Lukas, no…!” She heard his hand come to rest against the top of the chair, watching his shadow cast over her and disappear into the embers. “You don’t need to do that. I can get out of this chair, e-eventually.”

“My apologies, I was merely teasing you,” he clarified, a soft laugh escaping him. “It seems I succeeded in flustering you.”“Was that your intent?” She sighed, shaking her head. “Well, you did. Congratulations.” Not that it was that hard to fluster her, she thought, and he knew it.

“Indeed,” he answered, “But I was being serious about escorting you to bed. I think you’ll find yourself much more comfortable in the morning.”

After a moment, she willed herself to look back up, hardly concealing the smile she had. “Probably so,” she admitted, deciding to tease him back a little. “But it would cut this conversation a little short to take me there straight away.”

“Not necessarily. Taking you to your room doesn’t mean I’d leave right away,” said Lukas, seemingly unfazed, “And we could continue with a little more privacy. It would be an necessity in my opinion, especially if we decided to do more than just talk.”

Damn, should have known that wouldn’t work. “You have a point,” she relented, “We wouldn’t want anyone walking in in the middle of us engaging in certain… activities.”

Satu definitely had lived long enough to experience the awkwardness of walking in on two people in the midst of passionate kissing, or worse. Although at this stage in their relationship, that probably would be the worst of it. But as time went on, there was interest in going further than that.

Not just yet, though. For now they were still getting used to the idea of being like this. Of all the things to happen when Lukas had come looking for Sir Mycen, Satu had not expected to fall in love with him or anyone else. There was something almost romantic about it though in retrospect.

He was the first member of The Deliverance she met before she became one.

“Just so.” His voice broke her train of thought. “But I think I can get away with one thing, if you’d allow me?”

Lukas rested his other hand on the chair, reaching over to tip her face towards him as he leaned a little closer. Satu closed her eyes, a silent affirmation of consent. With that, he brought her face a little closer as he leaned in further to press his lips to hers. It was a kiss with a playful tenderness behind it, perhaps more than expected, and it was over all too briefly.

But considering what was being said before, it came as no surprise. It didn’t stop Satu from feeling a sense of being bereft however.

Lukas withdrew only slightly, looking into face as much as he could without causing her discomfort. His thumb drew a soft circle on her cheek, and his expression for a moment shifted. For an instant, his features betrayed a level or reverence and devotion he seldom if ever expressed.

The teasing subsided for a moment, and his voice grew quiet.

“I didn’t think love existed before I started loving you,” he said. “Not for me, at any rate. I still wonder sometimes how it happened after so long.”

“Everyone is different,” Satu replied, “But I admit, I share a similar thought. I couldn’t have predicted any of the things that happened to me after the terrible storm that separated me from my sister and sunk our ship.I have my sister back, and many now I call my family and friends. And I have you.” She reached out a hand to cup his cheek. “I love you, Lukas.”

His hand withdrew to cover hers, taking her hand away to place a kiss upon her fingers.

“I love you, too. More deeply than I can express.”

#thekingaboo #blackquills-wife #subtle passions (lutu)#verse (echoes au: winter comes to valentia)#fragments of memory (drabbles)

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ohn1m · 6 years ago

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The Art of Being Mino

The South Korean hip-hop star wowed critics and fans alike with his solo album ‘XX’; but is he any closer to discovering who the ‘real’ Mino is?

Mino's journey is an ongoing one and 'XX' is a chapter that marks an artistic coming-of-age on this wild ride.

Understanding Song Minho is kind of like catching lightening in a bottle; impossible to do but the idea itself is so dazzling, you need to give it a shot anyway. Tall and blonde with bleached eyebrows and sharp features, Song–better known mononymously as Mino–cuts quite the intimidating figure. He’s intelligent, polite and forthcoming on every answer and there’s an elegance to him that’s instantly appealing. There’s one little thing that proves to be more charming than any of this, however, and it comes in the form of a little note he sends on email after the interview; “Thank you for your interest!” it reads cheerfully, accompanied by a smiley emoji. “I hope we do it again when Winner’s back!” It’s simple but sweet and suddenly there’s yet another dimension to the chic, fierce rapper we’re used to seeing onscreen.

Before sitting down with Rolling Stone India for a conversation in December, the 25-year old musician’s schedule through 2018 included the release and promotion of a full LP with his band Winner, a Japan tour, a more extensive Asia tour, a series of performances across his home country South Korea, starring roles in several variety shows and a feature on YG Entertainment labelmate and his senior Seungri’s viral hit track “Where R U From.” November was busiest for him with the release of his first solo LP XX, a 12-track feast of hip-hop, tradition, emotion and culture. December finally closed with yet another single with Winner and a series of year-end performances in Korea.

While a bit of a break is warranted after the whirlwind of activity, Mino confirms he has no plans to take it easy in 2019. “Winner will release a full album this year,” he reveals cheerfully. “I cannot talk about our plan in advance, but we are preparing a surprise gift with a great musician!” The four-member K-pop band are working on their upcoming third LP and have already begun their tour schedules in full force– they’re currently on a six-city run of the United States with stops in Seattle, San Francisco, Los Angeles, Dallas, Chicago and New York.

Over the past year Mino has embraced the avant-garde with ease, stepping away from his swag-heavy hip-hop image and slipping into a more elegant avatar.

As an artist, Mino is full of surprises with an evolution that’s been thrilling to map. He started his career as a rapper in South Korea’s vibrant underground hip-hop scene back in 2010 (when he was just 16) but success took a while to come along. He debuted briefly in 2011 with a group called BoM before its premature disbandment in 2013, and then finally signed with leading music label YG Entertainment as a trainee. In 2014 he got his big break after participating in TV channel Mnet’s reality-survival program Win: Who Is Next and ending up as a member of the winning Team A–which would go on to form Winner and debut that same year. He shot to fame quickly this time around, gaining attention as a solo artist after finishing as runner-up on the fourth season of South Korean hip-hop survival competition Show Me The Money in 2015. With several eyes on him, he wowed with a more bluesy, melancholic persona on Winner’s 2016 EP EXIT: E. That same year he and YG Entertainment labelmate Bobby announced a duo project titled MOBB, which showed off a completely different, swag-heavy, fun-loving attitude, but in that EP he included “Body,” a solo single that blended sex and passion with angst and regret. Winner’s discography as of late has been bright, tropical and electronic-pop and he’s able to adapt to it effortlessly as well. His career trajectory spells ‘chameleon’ and even in times of trial there’s a sense of chill around him, as though deep inside he knows everything’s going to work out.

Over the past year Mino has embraced a life of avant-garde with ease, stepping away from his swag-heavy hip-hop image and slipping into a more elegant avatar. He seems more comfortable and willing to express himself in ways outside of music. He’s always had fondness for art but now seems to revel in it, regularly posting images of artwork he’s created on Instagram, participating in media projects, exhibitions and editorials. Last year, he displayed some of his own artwork at an exhibit titled ‘Burning Planet.’ The pieces were a combination of installation art with media and performance art which explored the idea of burnouts, stress and humanity’s exhausting pace of birth, work, death. It’s morbid, futuristic and almost prophetical in its warnings about the pressure society puts on young people and quickly gained critical acclaim. Mino remains modest in the wake of all the praise, saying, “I do not know if I have had any talent when I was young, but I painted as a hobby since I was a kid. So I have become interested in art naturally. It was a very good opportunity to exhibit ‘Burning Planet’ with [eye wear brand and collaborator] Gentle Monster. It was a good time to learn and experience many things.”

It’s this artistic and emotional evolution which seems to have had the biggest hand in the creation of XX. “I wanted to give a tweak to my existing image, which I guess has been heavy with hip-hop and rap. I wanted to start afresh,” he stated at a press conference in November, according to a report by the Korea Herald. XX is an extension of his performance art–dramatic, creative with an ambiguous title to boot (he’s explained he wanted his listeners to have their own interpretations of it.) The video for the lead single “Fiancé” features imagery around birds, dreams, fantastical landscapes and more. In addition to being involved in the entire concept, Mino also contributed to the set design–there’s a giant mural of a bluebird featured in the video which he painted himself. Several fans as well as popular YouTube channels like DKDKTV have attempted to decipher the meanings behind it and he’s thrilled to see all the various discussions. “It is one of the things I enjoy the most,” he says when I ask if he ever watches these theories. “Making parts that can be interpreted in various ways… I love watching them in various interpretations.” Could he tell us which theory got closest to deciphering his work? “I will never tell which one is correct or incorrect for more diverse guesses!” he teases.

“Fiancé” has also been appreciated for its unconventional combination of trot, a form of Korean folk music, and trap. To do this, the track samples Korean veteran singer Kim Taehee’s 1969 track “Soyanggang River Maiden” and blends it with bass-heavy, rolling trap and Mino’s drawling rap. “There was no intention to use ‘Soyanggang River Maiden’ from the beginning,” Mino says. “When the song was almost 80 percent complete, [YG Entertainment CEO and music producer] Yang Hyun Suk gave me an idea of putting a part of ‘Soyanggang River Maiden’ as a sample source, and it fit perfectly into the message and vibe of this song.” The haunting sample had younger fans enthralled and searching through YouTube to listen to the original track while applauding Mino for putting a limelight on Korean pop culture and history. Because in addition to the retro sound, the music video for “Fiancé” is a fever-dream blend inspired by the Korean Joseon dynasty and modern-day angst. In the clip the rapper wanders between fantasy and reality, dressed as an emperor as he searches the past, present and future for his one true love.

“I was getting to love myself, and everything [about that experience] is in this album.”

Is it possible that with younger artists like him using older genres like trot or paying homage to their history in music videos, it can help young listeners appreciate tradition a little bit more? Mino reveals that wasn’t really his intention at all. “In fact, I considered this song for older people than younger people,” he says, adding his plan was to erase misconceptions about hip-hop and ‘young’ music in the minds of older generations. “Even if the genre of hip-hop is popularized, it is still hard to catch up with higher age. So it seems like sampling of ‘Soyanggang River Maiden’ was a good plan for this song.” “Fiancé” has indeed added to the buzz around rappers defying expectations and stepping into traditional musical and visual territories. Hip-hop no longer has one definition and inspiration can come from anywhere. For Mino, the ideas for “Fiance” and XX came from several fragments of art. “I have so many things inspiring me, so I do not know which one to say first,” Mino says. “Among them, some works of (Italian painter) Piero Fornasetti, various plants–especially blue roses– and the Japanese anime Devilman were in my mind. However, it’s my inner self that affected it the most. I stayed alone in the studio every time so I could be deeply involved in my work and I looked back upon myself.”

XX as a whole has been well-received thanks to its use of complex metaphors, puns and double meanings in its lyricism, but for Mino, making this record was about finding his true self. “I got down to work in earnest in the beginning of 2018 for this album,” he says. “It contains various songs ranging from a song written two-three years ago to a song written two weeks before the album came out.” The rapper has written and composed each and every track, taking a dive into his own psyche to unleash several different sides of himself. In a video teaser right before XX‘s release, Mino explained he’d made the album by “grating [his] soul into it” and the result is an LP that is diverse, clever, saucy and undoubtedly one of the best hip-hop albums of 2018. Lyrically, he tackles everything from waiting for a lost love (“Fiancé”) to calling out obsessive fans (“Agree”) and bold eroticism (“Hope”). He gets emotional on “Alarm” and “Her,” exploring heartbreak, his relationship with his fans and self discovery. “I was getting to love myself, and everything [about that experience] is in this album,” Mino tells me. “I got a lot of thoughts and experiences from it and I am so proud of the production process.”

It’s clear from the get-go that wordplay is key; in the vicious introductory track “Trigger,” Mino uses syllables in its Korean title to play on the curse word ‘shibal,’ blazing through verses of self-praise with swagger, while on “Rocket” he drops references to art, Korean mythology and more. It’s the realest taste of what he’s truly capable of and it surprises and delights in equal measure. The impressive roster of collaborators on the record include YG Entertainment’s biggest in-house producers Choice37 and Millennium, comedian and actor Yoo Byung-jae and up-and-coming vocalist Blue.D, among others. There was one artist, however, that Mino was particularly excited to work with. “It was all fun, but working with YDG was extremely impressive,” he says proudly of his collaboration with the Korean hip-hop veteran on “Bow Wow.” “It was one of my dreams from my childhood.”

Mino at a press event for ‘XX’ in November 2018.

With XX being his first massive solo effort, Mino confesses there were hurdles along the way that he hadn’t expected. “The toughest part was familiarity,” he says, adding, “When I listened to songs hundreds of times to make a song, I always got confused. That’s the hardest thing to me.” Working alone means more pressure and he says he finds it more peaceful when he’s working with the members of Winner– Hoony, Yoon and Jinu. “When I work alone… I get sensitive because I am dissatisfied with any result. When I work with Winner, it’s really a load off my mind. Each member has their own roles, and I think we fit in nicely with each other.”

Mino’s journey has been wild, difficult, rewarding and a little messy–we’ve covered a lot of it over the course of the interview, but it still feels like we’re scratching the surface. He seems to agree; there’s a lot more he wants to consume and learn and a lot more he wants to show all his fans, old and new. “I am always thankful to fans who have supported me from the beginning and everyone who has known me since yesterday,” he says. “I will try to put a little more of my own personality and style on next album, and I also want to challenge something that no one expected.” While the search for the ‘real’ Mino continues, XX is a chapter in his story that marks a significant turn; he’s found a balance between the sexy rapper we see with Winner, the exuberant hip-hop dudebro he turns into with MOBB and the expressive poet he is as a soloist. It might not be lightening in a bottle just yet, but it’s pretty damn close.

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#⟨ ✕ « info »▕ ▏ʏ'ᴀʟʟ ʜᴇᴀʀᴅ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴇᴡꜱ? ⟩#/ it's so damn long.#a l e!!! musiałam bo to ważny wywiad.

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snowgall · 7 years ago

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HDconsentfest Recs

So many great fics were posted for @hdconsentfest 2018 that I could hardly keep up - there were something like 50 fics in all!

It’s always hard to narrow it down, but here are some particular fics that stayed with me:

Orbit by @henrymercury ( E | 52K ) quote rec here

They don't like each other. They're not friends. There's not even a ceasefire of any sort because they're fighting as much as ever—but there's definitely something different about it. An added layer of self-awareness they don't dare identify, but which colours every Scared, Potter? and Do your worst; each You wouldn't dare and Then prove it.

It’s Been Draco For Awhile by @oceaxereturns ( E | 15.5K ) quote rec here

What harm can a love potion do if you're already in love? In which Harry finds out that it's not a love potion but it can do quite a lot of harm, and Draco finds out how fiendishly difficult it is to fend off his flatmate's advances when all he wants is to give in to them.

That's What You Get For Waking Up by @alpha-exodus ( E | 8K ) quote rec here

Draco wakes up in the morning hungover and with someone in his bed. He never could've dreamed it would be Harry Potter.

Cold Like Fire by @queenofthyme ( M | 12K ) quote rec here

Head Auror Harry Potter had no problem with mandatory consent training for his team. He’d actually been looking forward to it, that is, until he discovered who the teacher was. Now, he had no idea how he was going to get through the training without throwing a hex at Draco Malfoy. Or a punch.

Mixed Drinks and Crossed Wires by @korlaena ( E | 16.5K ) quote rec here

Draco is a handsy drunk. Harry is okay with it, really. They’re friends, so it doesn’t mean anything.

A Hag, a Hex, a Tale of Redemption by @aibidil ( E | 43K ) quote rec here

A fuck-or-die fairytale in which Draco Malfoy lives a despicable and unapologetic life — that is, until he's cursed to die unless he can fall in love with and fuck Harry Potter.

A Gift for Draco by @squadofcats ( E | 33.5K ) quote rec here

Though their new relationship is going well, both Harry and Draco have trouble communicating and are holding back from taking things to the next level--both emotionally and sexually. When Harry decides he is ready for more, he stumbles over how to start the conversation, but figures out a plan with the help of his friends. He comes up with the perfect Valentine's Day gift to show Draco trust, commitment, and desire: sexy pictures of his naked arse. Thankfully, Pansy Parkinson has a camera and is willing to help...

Purity Control by @frnklymrshnkly ( T | 28.5K ) quote rec here

In which Harry tries to ignore his trauma with fantasy Quidditch but Malfoy's Thereness™ is distracting and all his classmates want to talk about are unicorns, virginity, and Muggle music.

Come Inside by @vaguedisclaimer-ao3 ( E | 4.5K ) quote rec here

“Can I come inside you?" Harry asks, his voice a breathy whisper. And Draco nods, just once, ever so slightly, biting his plump bottom lip and looking deeply into Harry's eyes. At least, that’s how Harry imagined it going.

Treat Your Body Like A Temple by @rose-grangerweasleyisbae ( M | 1.7K ) quote rec here

It hadn't been easy, and it hadn't been fast, but after many years Harry had finally gained Draco's trust. Now he woke up next to him every day, and he knew just the way to show the Slytherin how grateful he was for that.

Arseholes by @postjentacular ( E | 1.4K )

In which words and actions don't mean the same thing.

#harry potter fandom #drarry fic recs #drarry fests #drarry rec list #rec list #hdconsentfest #henrymercury #oceaxe #alpha exodus #queenofthyme #korlaena #aibidil #squadofcats #frnklymrshnkly #vaguedisclaimer #donnarafiki #postjentacular

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castielrip · 7 years ago

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I Miss You (Jack Kline x Reader)

Request: “Could I request a jackxreader where reader has been out hunting on their own for a week or so and returns to the bunker to jack who missed them a lot and is very glad to see them.”

Title: I Miss You

Pairing: Jack Kline x Reader

Warnings: angsty, mentions of blood and an injury, grief, mentions of emotional pain

A/N: i was in an angsty kind of mood hehe, hope y’all enjoy!

Being away from home had become sort of a blessing and a curse. It had become a relief.

You were sick of all the fighting between Sam and Dean. You were tired of Dean lashing out on Jack. You were all mourning, but he had no reason to treat the kid like he was a piece of trash.

Unlike either of your brothers, you really did try to connect with the nephilim. And you did, you developed an incredibly strong bond with Jack. You knew Sam was trying as well, but he was also clinging onto the hope that your mom might still be alive and that Jack controlling his powers might somehow enable him to open the portable again.

You knew it could work, but Sam was really the only optimistic one in the family. He was the only Winchester willing to really hope. So your relationship with Jack wasn’t built around the hope that he could save your mother, which made it different.

Some weeks, you just couldn’t stand being in the bunker. It felt like the walls were suffocating you. So you did what you do best, you hunted. Finding a case wasn’t too hard and despite your brothers attempts to keep you from leaving, you always did find a way to sneak out.

You always wished you could bring the nephilim along. He was much better company than either of your brothers in these moments and he could also be quite helpful in some cases. Though you knew the risks of bringing him out the bunker. Heaven and Hell were on the lookout and you knew that you wouldn’t be able to take them on alone if they did find you.

Luckily, this case only took some days to solve. It carried out your stay for at least a week.

Of course, Dean called you almost every hour, occasionally sending the ‘you’re so dead when you get home’ text. Though it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. You kept in touch with Sam, knowing that he was the most reasonable out both your brothers.

Soon enough, you were right back outside the bunker. You didn’t have any desire to go back inside but you knew it was probably the wisest decision for now. Especially since you were certainly missing a certain nephilim.

Right when you walked in, Dean was waiting. You stormed past him, hoping he’d just leave you alone. Of course, he didn’t.

“Where the hell have you been?” Dean barked after you, keeping up with your pace.

“On a case.” You answered him blandly, not even bothering to turn to him.

This wasn’t the first ‘lecture’ you were going to receive from your oldest brother. Especially since you took after him the most, it seemed to be the most common conversation between the both of you recently, seeing how you had been spending a lot of time out and alone.

“I thought you were done with these little rendezvous, Y/N.” He stressed angrily. “We hunt together. You are not the only one here.”

“It sure feels like it!” You yelled to him, stopping in tracks to face him. “You’ve become a total asshole ever since Mom and Cas died. Well guess what Dean, you aren’t the only one who’s fucking grieving.”

“Mom and Cas have nothing to do with this.” Dean snapped spitefully. “You’re the one who seems to have a death wish. You keep going out alone and without any backup.”

“Me?” You laughed incredulously, giving him a look of disbelief. “I’m not the one who purposely killed themselves during a case. If anybody has a death wish, it’s you Dean!”

“Don’t walk away from me. This conversation is not over.” The hunter called out after you as you began to walk down the hall again. You bumped into Sam, the younger Winchester looking in distress as he looked between you and Dean.

“Control your brother.” You hissed up to the hunter, giving Dean one last glare before you slipped past Sam. You walked straight towards your room, slamming the door so hard, you were sure you could’ve almost broken it.

Blinded by your fury, you didn’t notice Jack, who sat on the edge of your bed watching you with worry. He watched as you punched the mirror that hung on your door, flinching as he saw your fist begin gushing blood.

You jumped once you realized he was there, watching you with wide eyes. You didn’t even know what to say or do. You grimaced when he stood up off the bed and walked slowly towards you.

“He makes me so mad.” You mumbled softly, blinking back the tears that were forming. Jack’s frown deepened once he stood in front of you. He grabbed your hand gently, glancing up at you to make sure it was okay. You just watched him silently.

Your hand was stained red with blood, though it almost looked black as it pooled down the side.

You didn’t even notice the tears streaming down your face as he began to heel your hand. The pain got duller with each second that passed, though it didn’t seem to ease the sting in your chest. You sighed deeply as he led you over to the sink that was in the room, beginning to rise the blood away from your now unharmed skin.

“I missed you.” Jack spoke softly, his thumb wiping away the few tears running down your cheek. “I’m happy you made it back okay, Y/N.”

You quickly wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a hug. The nephilim seemed surprised with the sudden show of affection but didn’t hesitate to wrap his own arms around your torso.

“I miss you.” You whispered into his ear, your voice noticeably breaking.

“I’m here now. You don’t have to miss me anymore.” He replied softly as he rubbed your sides gently, pulling you if it were even possible.

“I’ll always miss you. Even if you are here with me.” You murmured as you pulled back slightly, embarrassed by the confession.

His green eyes bored down into your Y/E/C ones, making you shiver. He wasn’t even looking at you with much intensity, it was just a simple, innocent gaze.

You can’t quite explain your relationship with the nephilim. He wasn’t exactly a lover, but yet again he wasn’t a lover either. You had just grown dependent of him, whether it was emotionally or physically. Though you couldn’t quite explain how you were still willing to run away. Guess old habitats are hard to die.

“Well you’ll just have to miss me less for right now.” He told you simply, kissing your cheek sweetly before he pulled you back into a tight hug.

You relaxed in his arms, breathing in his scent deeply. You nuzzled your head in the crook of his neck, grateful that he was a bit taller than you. And you both just stood there, for what seemed forever.

Missing each other less with each second that passed.

#jack kline x reader #jack kline angst #jack kline fluff #jack kline #jack the nephilim #supernatural #supernatural family #supernatural fandom #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural reader insert #supernatural request #castielrip

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newstfionline · 6 years ago

Text

Man of Letters

Stephen Meyers, City Lab, July 24, 2018

My fourth day delivering mail for the U.S. Postal Service, it snowed-one of those heavy, wet, spring-in-Colorado snows that knocks down tree branches and crushes newly-bloomed tulips. I was training with a veteran letter carrier on a walk-out route, the type where the carrier pushes a blue buggy full of mail and small packages. It’s a lot harder, I discovered, to push that thing through slush.

I schlepped my disheveled, wet self into downtown businesses where concerned secretaries took pity on me as I handed them their soaked mail.

Welcome to the Postal Service.

“Neither snow nor rain, nor heat, nor gloom of night ...” that’s how the saying goes right?

The rude welcome to the Postal Service quickly taught me mail delivery is no leisurely stroll through the neighborhood, dismantling the idyllic image of a smiling Mr. McFeeley handing out birthday cards in “Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood.” My first week on the job, I lost 5 pounds.

Being a mail carrier is hard.

I’d eventually get used to the physical rigors of the job and learn the rhythms, tricks and routines of delivering mail, but what surprised me the most over the next 15 months working on the front lines of this vast, imperfect, but essential big-government institution is how the Postal Service delivers much more than just letters, magazines and Amazon packages to a neighborhood.

I met elderly residents who lived alone and just wanted someone to talk to for a couple minutes a day. I saw how critical the Postal Service is for local businesses, like the one that ships dozens of Priority Mail boxes of custom-made zippers for wedding gowns across the country every day. I met strangers willing to donate grocery bags full of food during the long-running Letter Carriers’ Stamp Out Hunger Food Drive, which tallied 71.6 million pounds of found collected nationwide. I learned the value of a powerful union and experienced the most diverse workplace I’ve ever encountered. And most importantly, what I found while roving from house to house on foot was an intimate insight into my community and fellow Americans.

Like many who come to work for the Postal Service, I didn’t find my way into the USPS because I had a burning desire to deliver mail; I just needed a job. A laid-off journalist, I’d spent six months striking out on landing a writing gig and grew tired of the soul-sucking grind that is job searching. An old college friend was working happily delivering mail, and making more than I ever did in newspapering: The benefits are good, you don’t take the job home with you, and there’s lots of overtime if you want it.

And the USPS is nearly always hiring, especially in metro areas in advance of the holiday shopping season. Colorado’s Front Range, which includes Denver, Boulder, and Fort Collins, is currently short more than 500 positions. The hiring process is long--I applied in mid-February and didn’t start until May--and includes two exams, a personality assessment, and the 473 Postal Exam, which tests your ability to check addresses for errors, accurately fill out forms, and memorize and recall lists of street addresses. I had to also pass a drug test (that’s the biggest hurdle to hiring in weed-legal Colorado, the Fort Collins Postmaster told me) and an exhaustive background check. Then it was off to city carrier academy, where veteran carriers taught my fellow classmates and me the tricks of organizing and carrying mail and how to drive the postal vehicles. We each got a navy blue USPS hat and T-shirt and were sent to our respective post offices to begin our postal careers; I was now a USPS employee, working as a city carrier assistant.

In the evenings I’d continue my search for a Plan B career after journalism, but for the other 8-to-10 hours a day (and up to 12 during holiday season) I’d deliver mail and packages to residents of Fort Collins, Colorado.

A lot of packages.

Receive an Instant Pot for Christmas? Yeah, so did your neighbor. My record was 18 delivered in one day--we saw that craze coming on well before Black Friday.

The old-timers at my office remember the days they’d deliver, five, maybe, 10 packages a day. Now it’s more like 50 or 60 a day, from 40-pound bags of dog food to furniture and food-in-a-box meal kits. The Postal Service wasn’t really built for the Amazon era: Our (badly outdated) vehicles don’t have enough space to house them, and few have shelves, leaving carriers to play an Amazon box-sized game of Jenga every day.

(Sidenote on those trucks, called LLVs, or Long Life Vehicles: Most are about 30 years old, with that many years of cigarette smoke soaked into the seats; they lack airbags or air conditioning, and the heaters are less than effective. The USPS is facing a major budget challenge because it needs to replace up to 180,000 of these elderly machines over the next several years, which is going to cost more than $6 billion.)

Every Sunday we’d fill our LLVs with 100 to 175 Amazon packages, thanks to USPS’ exclusive contract with the e-commerce giant--that’s the one that the president keeps objecting to, though it’s been a revenue source for the cash-strapped service. And, no fail, every Sunday, customers would ask why I was working and I’d jokingly (is it a joke, though?) tell them “Because Amazon is taking over the world.”

Other comments I’d hear almost every day:

“You bringing me a check today?”

“You can keep the bills.”

“This one better be a winner!” (I had no idea Publisher’s Clearing House was still a thing, but it is, especially in low-income and senior-living communities.)

“You staying cool out there?” (The answer is always “No, but I’m trying!”).

No one is ever upset to see their mail carrier, you know? This was so foreign to me, as a journalist who was used to being less warmly received. And while predictable and routine and mostly about the weather, I loved these little conversations with residents along my route.

When kids saw me driving around the corner, they’d drop their ballgame and race me down the sidewalk. Others were excited to see me because I was about to be a lucky customer at their lemonade stand. At the retirement home, residents greeted me every day at the wall of mailboxes; if I’d show up five minutes early or five minutes late, they’d jokingly let me have it. “You know, Sue is usually here by 3:30!”

Residents learned my name, and more importantly I learned the intricacies of their neighborhoods. A fellow carrier, a Fort Collins native and Mexican American, proudly showed me his home that’s part of the historically Hispanic neighborhood that I had never taken the time to properly explore and experience on foot. I learned from longtime residents how they felt about the gentrification happening in pockets of Fort Collins. This booming college town has outgrown its farming and ranching roots and is transforming into a progressive tech hub, known for its breweries and affinity for bike lanes, coffee shops, and high-priced boutiques.

Delivering the mail gives you a granular insight into America’s growing cultural, political, and wealth divide. North of town, there’s a senior-living mobile home community sitting in the shadow of newly-built eco-friendly condos that sell for half a million dollars. Residents at the condos subscribe to The Atlantic and New Yorker; residents in the trailer park a few hundred feet away get People and National Enquirer.

After several months, the rhythms of carrying mail became second nature; I’d successfully carried nearly every one of the office’s 50 routes around the city. I also became familiar with the downsides of the job. As one might expect at a financially beleaguered organization that’s been losing money for more than a decade, office morale was often low: Nearly every week, there’d be a shouting match between carriers complaining about mail arriving late to the office, thus delaying and extending their day, and management only shrugging their shoulders and saying that’s an issue out of their control. Clerks, whose duties include working the front desk helping customers and sorting mail and packages (sometimes overnight), were brutally overworked, often clocking 60- to 70-hour weeks. Many of my coworkers felt trapped: Sure, the job sucked sometimes, but where else can you find a secure job that pays as well?

It was my relationships with fellow carriers and clerks--a diverse group, from first-generation Americans to military veterans--that made the job bearable most days. But once I landed a long-sought communications gig, I made the decision to move on from the USPS.

After I shared my Postal Service experience in a thread on Twitter that went semi-viral, I received dozens of comments from readers who shared their nostalgia and affection for this beloved and embattled American institution. One told me about a mail carrier who heard a smoke alarm going off in an empty house and alerted a neighbor. Others were children of postal workers, grateful for the livelihoods that the jobs provided. “Both my parents retired from the post office,” one reader told me. “My mom started when she was just 19 years old. It’s not what it used to be…. They work the new folks into the ground, so I hear. I try to tip my carrier well for dealing with the BS.”

The response made me even more proud of my time wearing the blue uniform; I’m more deeply connected to my community and have a better understanding of my fellow Americans. From now on, I’ll tip my mail carrier well. You should, too.

#U.S. Postal Service #mail carriers #mailmen #USPS

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jkl-fff · 7 years ago

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OOOHHH!!! GET READY!! 40 questions: 1 2 3 5 9 10 20 24 26 27 30 31 32 33 34 38 and 39!! 💚

Yama, as always, you are a never-endingsource of delight for me. Thanks for the asks!

1. Describe your comfort zone—atypical you-fic.

Well, based off of what I’vewritten up this point, my comfort zone appears to include: A) one-sided pining from a character who isn’t exactly closeted but isn’texactly out, either … and/or a character who isn’t comfortable with their queersexuality; either way, some existential and romantic angst ensues as a resultB) supernatural shenanigans are a major plot point (magic or curses, ghosts orspirits, monsters, etc.)C) occasional philosophical ramblings and messages about friendship and helpingothersD) attempts to think outside the box in terms of plot pointsE) Lots of bantering repartee

2. Is there a trope you’ve yet totry your hand at, but really want to?

Not that I can think of … Maybe something like “enemies to friends” or “friendsto enemies”, and possibly also “enemies to lovers”.I could also enjoy doing some more “friends to lovers” for Dipper and Norman …

3. Is there a trope you wouldn’ttouch with a ten foot pole?

Given the sheer volume of tropes which exist, probably. Though I can’t say Ireally know what any of them are called. But, basically, anything that hingesupon homophobia, sexism, racism, etc. I absolutely loathe, and therefore try toavoid. Heck, I do my best to subvert and supplant such ideas where I can.

Apropos, if anyone feels I’ve failed in that—feels I’ve written or said somethingthat marginalizes a group of people as a whole—*please* let me now when, where,and how; I try not to be complacent about such things, and want to correct themwhen they happen.

5. Share one of your strengths.I believe myself to be quite adept at consistent characterization. Certainlynearly all of my reviewers have mentioned this specifically in my fanfics.

9. Which fic has been the hardestto write?

Hands down, it’s “Through a Slender Opening”. In part because of its length andcomplexity; in part because of various personal and professional issues that I’vehad to combat while writing it.

But I’m almost done! I’ve written the climaxes, and am now working through thedenouements to tie up the loose ends and give conclusions and closures to allof plots and subplots! With any luck, I’ll be able to resume uninterruptedposting in April until all the story is online for any and all to read and enjoy.

10. Which fic has been the easiestto write?Already answered this one here: http://jkl-fff.tumblr.com/post/172058768464/for-the-fic-meme-10-13-14-15-and-19

20. Describe your perfect writingconditions.

For creative writing, I *must* havenear absolute silence. Like, any background noise at all (TV, conversations,etc.) is incredibly distracting for me. It’s less of an issue for writingthings that I’m not obsessively trying to make artistic (answering asks or emails,for example, or proofreading someone else’s work), but for my own stories, itis a prerequisite that I have quiet. Also, a comfy chair with straight and firmback support definitely helps, as does having a cold drink (diet coke on ice) for sipping on hand.

24. Have you ever deleted one ofyour published fics?

Nope, and I doubt I ever shall. The fics ought to remain out there, faults andall, for any and all to see.

26. Do you beta yourself? If so,what kind of beta are you?

Assuming that “beta” is synonymous with “proofread”, then yes, I do betamyself. Obsessively and perhaps even excessively. Like, I reread sentences as Iwrite them, paragraphs when I finish them, then whole scenes after I’vefinished them to make sure *everything* feels/sounds right from start to finish. To make sure everything is cohesive, etc.

When I beta for others, it depends on what kind of input they desire of me, howmuch and how deeply. But generally, I try to be an encouraging and supportivebeta—someone who comes up with constructive and concrete comments which helppeople tell their stories more engagingly,and feel good about themselves while doing it.

27. How do you feel aboutcollaborations?

Depends on the collaborator in question. If they have an entertaining or movingidea, and I feel they can be counted on to actually partner with someone (listento ideas which aren’t their own, contribute ideas to someone else,establishand respect creative boundaries when necessary, and do their share of thecollaboration), then I’m usually gung-ho for it!

I’ve actually been doing that with @tysonoffire and @reynaruina for some timenow, and both are a ton of fun to work with!

30. Do you accept prompts?

On occasion, yeah, but not very frequently. Since I’ve got plenty of my ownideas to keep me busy as is, I seldom need to solicit additional ones.

But they’re always welcome. Never know when something will tickle my fancy, oreven spark my fervor.

31. Do you take liberties withcanon or are you very strict about your fic being canon compliant?

Generally, I try to remain true to the canon’s broad strokes (settings, forexample, and *especially* characterizations), and even true to canon’s lightertouches. Mostly because I feel that enhances the richness of the fic itself. However, I will diverge from it when necessary (kinda can’t avoid diverging itwhen you primarily write a crossover), but ONLY after having provided a reasonablebuild up to the changes. Y’know, something that accounts for the characters orplotlines acting otherwise than they would in canon.

32. How do you feel about smut?

If well written and gay as balls touching, I’m all for reading it! And even notopposed to writing it. Though, personally, I prefer it serve a purpose in theplot, and *not* just be something that’s gratuitously added for tits and goggles—somethingthat shows how much the characters’ relationship has developed, for example.

Though I will admit I am also startingto get a little bored with writing smut.Mostly because there are only so manyways you can describe sex before it starts to feel repetitive, and even kinda tedious. (I wonder if this is, in part, because writing something sexualalways takesso long that the sexual rush of smut ebbs long before the scene is complete?)

33. How do you feel about crack?

Don’t smoke it, kids.

Seriously, though, I don’t see any problems with crack ships. If they maketheir shippers happy, then what could be more important or wonderful than that? That being said, they’re unlikely to appeal to me simply because I won’t beable to see a “realistic” possibility for their relationship dynamics. Theiruniverses would have to be fairly similar for me to get into one (likeParaPines and PinesCone are, I reckon).

34. What are your thoughts onnon-con and dub-con?

They are not at all my thing. I see them as inherently being acts of violence—ofone person taking from another by force.So the idea of that combining with sex, whichI see as inherently being an act of mutual affection and mutual gratification—of two people giving to each other by choice … Well, it rather offputs me, to say theleast.

Now, I confess that I do have kinks that involve power play (bondage, dom andsub, pet play, and especially hypnosis/mind control), but for me, they *always*involve either roles willing played, or (in the case of hypno/m.c.) acts ofseduction which convince a person they want it so that they do consent andenjoy it.For me, those are extremely crucial differences.

38. Talk about a review that madeyour day?

Heh. So that they can always brighten my mood whenever I’m feeling down, I’vekept 13 of them in my tumblr inbox and 8 more in my deviantart inbox.They’reso kind, so motivating, and I’m eternally grateful to the people who sent themto me!

39. Do you ever get rude reviewsand how do you deal with them?

Luck is with me, for I’ve only evergotten, like, two or three rude reviews. They were swiftly deleted, as therewas nothing to be gained from wasting time on them.

Thanks again, Yama! This was fun!

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