#hes gonna have sook much to process

[racingliners]

tagged by @hungriestheidi, thank you!!!

rules: post the last line that you wrote and tag someone for every word in the line.

excerpt from The Rules of Strategy, Chapter 12 - Race 10: Great Britain

Right on cue Lewis held out one of the black open face helmets towards Sebastian, still grinning away like a child who just got their first go-kart. “So, Seb,” Lewis briefly clapped Sebastian on the shoulder when he was within arm’s reach. “Since you’ve never driven around here before, instead of you doing a track walk with the rest of the engineers – I’m taking you on a hot lap.” “Are you going to leave me in one piece?” Seb asked quietly as he pulled the helmet on over his head and tightly fastened the chin strap. Somehow the process was still muscle memory to him. “Because we have our pre-race briefing after this.” Lewis briefly laughed so much that his eyes crinkled at the corners and his shoulders sook, before he clapped him on the shoulder again grinning from ear to ear. “You’re gonna love it!” He said over his shoulder before the hopped into the driver’s seat. From behind Cameron’s shoulder, Rosa gave Sebastian a bright smile and a thumbs up, and he let that small burst of optimism power him to open the front passenger door and land in the specialised seat. He didn’t protest when someone from Pirelli leaned in out of nowhere to secure his harness.

[depressedacadamia]

A kiss would be nice

Summary: Magnus develops feelings for his roomate and has no idea what to do; when theres' some serious miscommunication, Alex and Magnus have to solve an obvious problem.

Pairing:  Fierrochase

A/N: THIS WAS MY FIRST EVER REQUEST!!!!  I swear I'm gonna organise my Masterlist on tumblr coz its a hot mess rn and then I will get a prompt list up. Anyway, I hope this lives up to the expectations of the request- enjoy and comment!

Read on A03        M;List

Magnus liked Alex.

How exactly was he meant to process this?

Yes. Alex was sometimes a girl and other times a boy but what did it make him?

He could remember the moment Alex came floundering into his life, confident about who she was and Magnus could only think about how much he didn't know about himself. It was ridiculous, in his opinion, to think that he fundamentally changed as a person just because he liked someone.

So why did he feel so scared to come to that conclusion that he did in fact like Alex?

“What are you thinking so hard about over there, pretty boy?” Alex asked dryly as he scrolled through his phone while he dangled off the top bunk of their dormitory. Startled, Magnus snapped his head towards Alex and with no game whatsoever stuttered a terrible lie.

“Uh- Uh, nothing.”

“Uhu,” Alex emphasised. “ So that totally wasn't a lie.”

“Yes, Wait, I mean no- wait,” Magnus stuttered out again, his hands beginning to fidget and his palms becoming sweaty.

Alex simply raised an eyebrow before softly sighing and returning to his phone scrolling. He knew that Magnus wasn't the kind to keep secrets in a malicious manner- if he wasn't spilling something, it was because he didn't feel comfortable and Alex knew as well as anyone else that if Magnus was uncomfortable, nothing was spilling from his lips.

Clenching his fists in finality, Magnus got up, accidentally banging the top of his head on the top bunk above him where Alex was elegantly dangling off, his hair defying the laws of gravity by maintaining its rightful position on his head. He rubbed his head, swore under his breath and continued to make a bashful exit from the dorm room.

Alex could tell that something was definitely up.

Sure, Magnus was weird- he sometimes came back home at incredibly odd hours, always seemed relatively silent when one were to ask him where he had been and he almost always wore his lengthy blonde hair in a way that covered the majority of his face; in fact, Alex had thought about tilting his chin up just so he could get a better view of his elegant features.

So what exactly was it causing his roommate to act so oddly?

Magnus was in the bathroom. In fact he was hiding out in one of the stalls, trying his best to avud Alex at all costs. What had started out as a way to skip the horribly boring parts of his classes, now became a full blown ritual in which he would run away to his favourite bathroom stall- the one by the very end, next to the hand blow dryers, were his favourite but also alarmed him because it was there where he could hear whether anybody really washed their hands and there was an alarming amount of evidence which contradicted so.

He would take a book or sometimes just plug in his earphones to listen to music as he essentially hid out in the stall. Sometimes, when he felt a bit more confident- and knew Alex would be off campus- Magnus would hide out in the library; a much more comfortable and all round better smelling place to read, study and or listen to music.

But now as he slowly emerged from the stall after hours of sitting, heading back towards his room, Magnus could only feel this inevitable feeling of impending doom. He had managed to distract himself from the Alex situation for so long and now, he was about to crumble.

It was only a matter of time.

“Magnus?” A familiar and - dare I even say- dreaded voice asked him.

Glancing through the blonde locks of hair which curtained his face, he caught a glimpse of familiar green hair which he had been avoiding.

“Huh?” He managed to mumble.

Alex frowned. “Don’t ‘huh’ me. Where have you been? I’ve been calling you all day.”

Magnus’s eyes widened- he had left his phone on silent as he didnt want to deal with others. “I-you did? Sorry.”

“That doesn't matter now. Where have you bee- actually nevermind that as well, come on, we need to get back, it’s already late and I know you have an early class tomorrow.”

Magnus hesitated.

Alex noticed. He refused to stay silent about the matter any longer.

“Okay. Spit it out. “

“What!” Magnus stammered. “ Spi- spit what? Spit wh- what out exactly?”

“The reason you’ve been avoiding me? Did I forget to do my chores or something? Or did I accidentally make some sort of mess of your stuff?”

“No- No, of course not!”

“So?”

Magnus found himself too enamoured with Alex’s features to respond. He could feel the bubble bath slowly overflowing inside his mind. What did it mean if he liked Alex? Was he now a completely different person? What did it matter if he liked Alex?

Wasn't he just like everybody else?

But Magnus’ mind told him that it was so obvious that Alex was in fact not like everybody else, otherwise why was it Alex whom he couldn’t keep his eyes off of? If Alex was so like everyone else, why was it his eyes that Magnus always wanted to stare at, why was it Alex’s hair that Magnus always wanted to ruffle or Alex’s hand that he always wanted to hold?

Why was it always Alex whom he wanted to hug when he was having a bad day?

So when he looked back at Alex, he felt the overwhelming need to throw himself and wrap his arms around Alex so tightly that Alex would have trouble breathing and then - in Magnus’s perfect world- Alex would also wrap his arms around Magnus and they would hold each other in their arms and stand their leaning on each other.

“Nothing,” Magnmus mumbled as he came back to reality.

He walked past Alex, eager to get back to their dorm and just sleep his feelings away- something he was used to doing thanks to his years of being homeless. He wasn’t about to escape when a slender hand wrapped itself around his wrist and dragged him backwards.

“No.” Alex huffed almost angrily. “You’re not running away from me,not again.”

Magnus could have sworn- looking back- that he may have let out a squeak.

“You are avoiding me Mister and I’d like to know why. It’s bad enough that you spend all your time hiding in the bathroom stalls, it’s even worse that you're doing it to avoid someone as fabulous as myself. So if we could quickly get this over with, It would be greatly appreciated and I’m sure it would relieve your nostrils as well.”

“I-”

“You…?”Alex prompted.

“Ilikeyou.”

Alex paused, scrunched up his nose before raising an eyebrow in ridicule and letting out a laugh. And while Magnus truly believed there was nothing more beautiful than Alex’s smile, right now, it was the most damning thing he had ever seen.

Of course Alex would be laughing! Who wouldn't be laughing if some weedy, shady blond kid confessed their feelings for them in the most pathetic way possible!

Magnus had no other choice but to clench his fists to resist the burning sensation gathering in his eyes as he turned on his heel and hurried back to his dorm.

He was curled up on his bed, binging criminal minds on his laptop because what else was meant to comfort you after getting rejected if it wasn’t watching people getting brutally murdered by psychopaths and sadists?

He was wrapped with this specific episode- involving a bunch of very explicit murder- when Alex snatched his headphones right off his head plopped himself in the computer chair that rested right next to the bottom bunk where Magnus had been hiding out.

He could feel himself paling as he remembered that he lived with Alex.

“We need to talk.”

What? He was so sick of Alex making every decision, afterall- it was Alex who chose to laugh at him.

“We have nothing to talk about,” Magnus managed to snap back.

“Why do you keep avoiding me? First in our own dorm, then in public and now you don't even want to look at me.”

“I’m sorry,” He retorted, his words coated with so much sarcasm, had there been anymore, he may have become Samirah at that very moment. “Was I expected to hang around after being ridiculed?”

“Ridiculed? What do you mea-”

“-What do I mean? I guess you wouldnt understand what it feels like for someone whom you really really like to outright just laugh at you after confessing. I guess you don't know how- how nerve racking and horrible it is to not feel comfortable and safe wherever you go. I guess you were privileged enough to not deal with doubting yourself with every decision you make and every thought you have!”

Alex started. “I-”

“-No. I’m not finished. Do you know how that made me feel?” Magnus was on a roll. “ Like shit. I felt shitty. I felt like shit and I was curled up like a bratty 5 year old and do you know what I’ve realised? I’ve realised that I have nob reason to feel shitty because I'm not the one who was so insecure in myself that I laughed at someone else who was struggling, esepcially when I rejected a hot piece of ass such as myself!” He finished his ramble with a shout, his chest heaving, cheeks flushed and somehow, his hair messy.

“So,” Alex drawled causally. “ Am I allowed to speak now?”

“No.”

Rolling his eyes, Alex sooke anyway. “ I’m sorry that you feel this way and I guess I can't change that I was the person who made you feel like- well, shit, but I have to say Beantown, you really shouldn't assume things so quickly.”

Magnus frowned, turning his shiny, glossy eyes towards Alex finally. “Huh?”

“Well. If you were to give me a chance to explain, I’d be able to tell you that I laughed because I thought you looked adorable. I would be able to tell you that I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings in any way and I’m very sorry if I did and…”

Alex held Magnus’ chin, pulling his head a bit down so he was able to fully look him in the eye rather than just looking away under Magnus’ chin, forcing him to look him in the eye.

“And…?” Magnus whispered hesitantly, almost afraid of the answer.

“And, I would be able to tell you that I like you.” Alex smiled dopily.

Did Magnus hear that correctly? Did Alex Fierro- the most confident, and in Magnus’s eyes, the most attractive person out there just admit to liking the scraggly kid who used to live on the streets?

“Excuse me?”

Aex sighed. “I said that I like you and your … What was it you said?” He paused for dramatic effect because lighting up his eyes. “ Oh yes and your ‘hot piece of ass’ I believe it was.”

Magnus cringed at his previous words as he started at Alex. Alex fierro liked him!

“What?” Alex smirked on noticing Magnus’s innocent stare.

“Can I try something?” Magnus tilted his head to the side innocently. Alex nodded.

Yes, please do try something, A kiss would be nice.

But to Alex’s surprise, he felt Magnus’s arms being wrapped around his body. It was an odd sensation that at first made Alex want to reel backwards.

But then this familiar ignition in his stomach tugged him back to wrap his arms back around Magnus and bury his face in Magnus’s chest, just about reaching his collarbone.

The hug was brief. Perhaps not even longer than 15 seconds at a maximum, but it was enough for Magnus to feel better.

Alex decided that perhaps next time Magnus would kiss him.

Super cool people Taglist: @wisegirl773 @ddepressedbookworm

[cait-with-luv]

J.JK Soul Ink - Chapter 09

Previous | Next

WARNINGS: Abuse, Death of Characters, Child PTSD.

Please don't read this if you're sensitive to any of these, this is just a flashback chapter.

------

"Beom-Seok?"

"Yes?"

Park Mi-Sook stared nervously at her husband in front of her. She knew what he did for a living. She knew what would happen if she were to leave him. If he were to find out she was pregnant with another's child. The man that she was having an affair with made her feel safe. Normal. He didn't have much. He wasn't rich, he wasn't a CEO of a business, just a hard working man who want to provide and love his family.

His marriage wasn't based on love, it was arranged. Even though his son was made not out of love like he had wished, he was his world and wanted the best for him. His mother was a different story. Park Mi-Sook was who the boy considered his mother, he may be a few months old but he feels safe in the woman's arms and his eyes light up when he saw her. He had no connection with his own mother, she was always out, getting drunk, sleeping with every man she could. But alas they were to divorce and everyone could be happy. Everyone except Mi-Sook of course.  She had no escape from her own husband. She what she was doing behind his back was wrong but what other choice did she have?

"Mi-Sook."

Her head snaps up to her husband as he cuts her thoughts off. She gives him a small smile and he came to stand in front of her placing his hands on her shoulders.

"What is wrong with you today? You look like you've seen a ghost." Beom-Seok chuckles.

"I-I'm pregnant." She stutters looking down. His hands slip off her shoulders in shock and he leans against the kitchen counter as he allows himself to process the news.

"Are you sure?" He asks. She nods,

"100% sure Beom-Seok."

But it's not yours, she thought to herself. Tell him, just tell him, it won't be as bad now but worse when he finds later on. She opens her mouth to talk but is cut off by Beom-Seok.

"This is amazing! I must tell Jeon! He would be so pleased! I have a successor for the company!" He says running out the room and upstairs to phone his co-partner. Mi-Sook stands in shock before tears begin to well up in her eyes. She grabs her keys and yells to her husband,

"Beom-Seok, I'm just going to get groceries!"

"Okay!"

And with that she ran out the house.

-------

"Mi-Sook? Honey? What's happened?"

Mi-Sook falls into the arms of her love and he pulls her close, closing the door. She begins to fall to the ground and he slowly helps her, holding her close until she was calm enough to talk. Patters of hands hitting the floor make Mi-Sook look up and she sees the infant boy crawling over quickly squealing happily when he sees her.

"Ma ma ma ma ma ma" He babbles and crawls into her lap and rests his head on her chest, making her sniffle then giggle slightly.

"Hi Jiminie." She giggles running a hand over the infants head gently making him giggle. Mi-Sook looks up to meet the eyes of her lover's concerned eyes and frowns.

"What's wrong?" He asks.

"I'm pregnant, I tried t-to tell Beom-Seok that I want a divorce and that the child isn't his b-but he ran to tell the Jeon's before I could even tell him. What do I do? He'll hurt you, Jimin, maybe even this child, I can't let that happen." She whispers as tears fall. He holds his love and son close and sways side to side with them.

"We'll figure this out sweetheart I promise...I'm gonna be a dad again." He says happily, placing his hand on Mi-Sook's stomach making her giggle.

"Little dumpling, you're gonna be a big brother." Mi-Sook whispers to the boy in her arms pointing to her tummy. His eyes stare at her stomach in confusion and points too. He then places his hand on top of his fathers and smiles before leaning down and kissing the clothed stomach making a 'mwah' noise before doing it again before giggling and clapping his hands together making the two forbidden lovers coo.

This was the start to a happy family...If only they knew what the future held for them.

----

Year: 1999

"Y/Nieeeeeee, come pway." A 4 year old Jimin pouted to the 3 year old who just giggled shaking her head and ran away with the boy hot on her trail.

"Be careful you two!" Mi-Sook yelled as they ran around the house squealing and giggling.

"I hate that we have to confine them to the house."

Mi-Sook spins around to face her lover and nods sadly.

"I do too...but if we were to go outside he'd-"

"Find out I know. I want them safe too but Mi-Sook it breaks my heart knowing Y/N calls another man dad instead of me. My own daughter doesn't know I'm her father and that Jimin is her brother. I just want my own child to call me appa Mi-Sook is that so hard to ask?"

Mi-Sook looks down in shame and shakes her head.

"I hate it too my love, I want nothing more to live with you happily, but I don't know how to escape, he's one of the biggest mafia's, I can't just divorce him, there's a cost and that cost is my life, our lives, I can't risk that. What about Jimin's mother, you still yet to divorce her too." She says raising an eyebrow. He sighs and massages his temples.

"It's not that easy trying to leave a marriage you've been arranged into Mi-Sook."

"Then you must understand that it's easy trying to leave a mafia leader, he doesn't even know I know about his lifestyle." Mi-Sook whispers. Before the desperate man can reply a scream and then cries of a child echos from the back garden and their hearts stop. They rush outside in panic but stop when they notice the young boy  who had pulled the young girl on his lap and rubbed her back kissing her 'boo boo' on her elbow.

"Shhh, it's okay my Butterfly, I know it hurts but kisses will make it better! Appa always kisses my boo boo's. He tells me that kisses from loved ones make the pain go away! I promise to protect you from boo boo's for the rest of our lives no matter how big or small it is." The boy comforts.

"I'll keep you s-safe to Mochi, thanks for taking the pain away."  The little girl sniffles.

"It's okay lil sis. I wuv you." Jimin giggles.

"I wuv you too big bro."

The two parents stare warmth filling their hearts as they watched the two interact. They began to realize that these two kids were beginning to realize they were siblings and that only meant it was matter of time when Y/N would realize who her father really is.

They need to figure way out. And fast.

------

Year: 2003

"Mi-Sook."

"Yes?"

"Is Y/N my child?"

Mi-Sook's blood runs cold and she turns to face the stern face of her husband. This was it. It's over. She had been caught.

"W-What?" She stutters making the mans face darken.

"I asked...Is Y/N mine?"

Mi-Sook shivered at the coldness in his voice and slowly shook her head, looking down and he chuckles darkly, shaking his head in disbelief.

"H-How did you find out?" Mi-Sook asks in fear.

"Two reasons my dear wife. Reason number one, you're both never home, reason number two she won't even call me father and when she does she gets nervous and reason number three and this is my favourite, the wife. She told me about the affair you are having with her husband. She was so desperate for money, it was quiet funny actually." He chuckles. But it wasn't full of humor. It was filled with rage.

"Beom-Seok please-"

"Please what Mi-Sook? Give mercy? Calm down? Was I such a poor excuse of a husband that you had to find comfort from another man?!" He yells making her flinch.

"YOU'RE A MAFIA LEADER! I DIDN'T WANT THAT FOR ME! FOR Y/N! I WANTED TO LEAVE BUT I COULDN'T BECAUSE OF YOU KANG BEOM-SEOK! HE MAKES ME FEEL SAFE!" She screamed. His face contorts in shock then back to anger.

"How did you know? How long have you known?" He snaps.

"Years Beom-Seok, I've known for years. I overheard you and Jeon talking in your office one night." She hisses

"Don't mention that fuckers name. Ties have been cut from him." He growls.

"Why? Because he realized how sick in the head you are? Because he refused your proposal of arranging Y/N and Jungkook together? Because he's more powerful than you?" Mi-Sook snaps.

"They should of been arranged together! The company would of benefited from it!" Beom-Seok yells angrily.

"You mean you would of benefited! They're kids Beom-Seok! She's only 6! He's only 5! They hardly know each other! They met once and they were only 1 and 2 years old! I will not allow my daughter to be wedded off to a man she probably wouldn't love! You're deluded!" Mi-Sook screams back and a loud smack echoes through the house and a throbbing pain from her left cheek suddenly appeared and the she realized what just happened.

He smacked her.

"I want you and that bastard child of yours out of here." He growls before walking out the door of the bedroom. Mi-Sook immediately took action and began packing for herself and her daughter, grabbing the passports and fleeing out the house to the house where her lover, daughter and step-son were awaiting for her.

But little did she know what was coming.

" I want them dead. I'm going to kill the man myself. The children will live and pay the price of their parent's mistakes."

-----

"Oh, it's you." The woman snarls in disgust as she opens the door for Mi-Sook. She pushes past her and into the living room where the kids and the man she loved were. When he looked up and saw the look on his lovers face, he knew.

"Eomma!" The two kids scream happily making the woman smile slightly.

"Kids, why don't you go play in Jimin's room? Jimin, start packing some stuff for yourself okay buddy?"

The 7 year old frowns but nods without questioning and grabs his sisters hand and pulls her upstairs.

"Hey Butterfly, you wanna help me pack so it's quicker?"

"Of course Mochi."

As the kids disappear, Mi-Sook begins to panick.

"He knows! Beom-Seok knows and it's all because of her, she told him!"  Mi-Sook snaps pointing to the very intoxicated woman who stands unbothered.

"Why would you do that?! He'll kill us! Even you!"  The man yelled at his soon to be ex-wife. She just shrugs still not caring.

"Guess I'll just have to pack my bags too." She grumbles and walks away.

"We have to leave now! He's going to be after us." Mi-Sook whimpers.

"Okay, okay, I'm gonna go pack, you and Y/N leave for the airport right now, I'll take the drunk to her mothers and I'll take Jimin so he can say goodbye to her. He may not see her as his mother but she still gave birth to him." The man said hurriedly and Mi-Sook nods. The man pulls her into a hug and then gives her a kiss on the lips.

"I love you." He mumbles making her nod,

"I love you too." Mi-Sook replies back giving him one last kiss.

"Kids! Have you packed?" Mi-Sook yell, getting a yes back and they both run down the stairs, Jimin carrying his small suitcase as well as he possibly could.

"Jiminie, you're gonna go with your father to say goodbye to your mother-"

"She isn't my mom."  Jimin interrupts. Mi-Sook nods and continues,

" and then you're gonna meet me and Y/N at the airport okay?"

He nods and you gasp in excitement,

"Oh! Are we going on vacation eomma? Appa?"

"Yes! But it's permanent okay muffin?" The man says giving the oblivious girl a smile.

Mi-Sook pulls Jimin into a hug and holds him tightly and he holds tighter just as his father pulls his sister into a hug too. They felt like a goodbye hugs. Jimin knew. He knew something wasn't right.

Jimin then turns to his sister and holds her close to him and kisses the top of her head.

"I love you little Butterfly okay?" He mumbles into her hair making her nod,

"I love you too Mochi."

When they pull away Jimin roots through his bag and pulls out a small teddy that he owns and hands it to the little girl.

"I want you to keep this safe for me okay?" He asks her making her nod eagerly and cuddle the teddy close.

"Come on Y/N otherwise we're gonna be late sweetheart." Mi-Sook says and she grabs her daughters hand and walks to the door and looks at the two boys.

"We love you."

The two boys smile and nod,

"We love you too."

Little did they know that was the last interaction they would before they're little family was ripped apart.

-----

"Eomma behind you! Eomma! Leave Eomma alone! Eomma wake up..."

-----

"Appa no! They're drowning save them! Someone help! Please..."

-----

The two children sat shaking in fear, tears streaming down their faces in two different places but in the exact same position. They began to slip into unconsciousness only remembering one voice echo in their heads,

"I'm going to be the last face you see for sweet death takes you away."

And then nothing. All memories of each other wiped from the trauma.

They wouldn't even remember they were siblings the next time they would meet.

------

Year: 2019

"I have a little sister?"

------

[davidmann95]

Thoughts on this week's comics?

Once & Future #1: On the final day of my local comic book store’s operation (don’t worry, I’ve I think found a new place close to where I work) they finally got the sixth and last printing of this baby, and what an odd comic. I absolutely dig it, but just in terms of pacing and the rhythms of the dialogue, this feels much more to me like a Morrison joint than Gillen? Maybe it’s just because I associate Dan Mora with Klaus. Anyway, I’m late to the party on this one but yeah, it’s good.

No One Left To Fight #4: It hasn’t been as good as the first issue got me to hope, and I don’t think it’s going to change that with apparently just one issue left, but this is still solid and definitely worth a look once it drops in trade for DBZ fans.

DIE #8: Gillen’s always been a guy who works best for me on reread, but between this and Peter Cannon he’s working overtime lately to jump a few notches even further upward in my estimation. And I cannot believe a monthly comic, even one with breaks built in, can look this gorgeous.

Marvel Comics #1001: God what a shitshow! I repeatedly referred to Marvel Comics #1000 as nothing short of a minor miracle, and I’ll stand by that. But while that was an exceptional if by no means perfect realization of its intent as a celebration of Marvel’s history, this is a truly shameless dumping ground, with only two teasing story-lite bookending Ewing pages to lure in chumps like me. I think there’s something like 3-4 notably at least *okay* other stories in here, with everything else ranging from empty calories to bizarre to total crap. Worst I’ve spent about dropping my money on a book in some time.

Fantastic Four #15: I’ll admit to being a little perplexed about the strength of the negative reaction to the title right now. I’d be the first to admit it’s a complete embarrassment in the context of being the Richards families’ grand return, but it’s perfectly fine superhero comics, even if I’ll likely drop it after this arc.

Absolute Carnage: Immortal Hulk #1: The gold standard of event tie-ins - it fits well with the event, with the main book (even if Ewing’s assured nothing plotwise here is going to feed back into the main title...though honestly, I’m a touch skeptical depending on how Absolute Carnage proper goes, I could see something in here playing out in Immortal while requiring fairly minimal explanation), and it hits us with an extra little dose of seeing how the current status quo plays with Marvel at large since it’s typically in isolation without diluting the flavor of either side. A+.

Bizarre Adventures #1: Actually really good but it should be a federal crime that the initial solicit promised a Chris Onstad story and this didn’t deliver, without even at least some sort of formal apology.

Daredevil #12: Oh, Willie. WhatEVER are we going to do with you?

House of X #6: Okay, I’ve tried to avoid blanket “anyone who doesn’t like these books just doesn’t GET IT, MAN” statements, but I haven’t been subtle in finding a lot of the criticisms of how the X-Men are changing up how they operate/express themselves as a minority metaphor...charged. I’ve already had reason recently to think I was being too broad even with that though, but with this issue? The idea that Professor X was psychically manipulating people into going along with this seemed like a dumb, boring as shit way of reckoning with the new status quo, but maybe that merits a rethink, because holy shit. Anyway this is still fire and I can’t believe I give a fuck about the X-Men now, one issue left until this run properly starts. Jesus.

The Immortal Hulk #24: I’ll admit I’ve been finding the conclusion of the General Fortean story merely excellent rather than mind-blowingly transcendent recently, and while I wasn’t disappointed I was ready for things to properly kick back into high gear. THAT IS CERTAINLY NOT A PROBLEM ANYMORE, TRUE BELIEVERS.

Batman #80: I’m still down for it, both this bit in isolation as the triumphant comeback lead in to the finale, and the run as a whole. And while I think he’s been doing his best work in a VERY long time recently and I’m glad to see he’ll be joining Tynion, I’m glad Daniel is taking a backseat to Mann, Romita Jr., and soon Janin for concluding City of Bane, given it’s now also the ending of King’s time on Batman proper even if he’s still finishing his story elsewhere.

Lois Lane #4: It’s extremely weird that this is a Renee Montoya book co-starring Lois Lane but if Greg Rucka wants to write a Gotham Central/52 followup I’m not gonna...question it.

Legion of Super-Heroes: Millennium #2: DANG! Taken as a whole with the first issue given it clearly should have been a big one-shot, this is easily the best thing Bendis has done since the DC jump outside the Superman books, and I’m properly pumped for Legion now. Jeff Dekal and Ryan Sook in particular take my breath away once apiece in here.

The Green Lantern #12: With the season finale on the stands, I’d say it’s now more than fair to call Green Lantern Morrison’s weakest superhero output of the 21st century. Which doesn’t mean it’s not a hoot, it’s still Morrison, but again, I’ve yet to see anything at all that convinces me Morrison isn’t doing this on autopilot in-between his TV commitments. Admittedly Morrison on autopilot has its own unique charms, just spraying odd archetypal superhero concepts and sci-fi jargon at you to fill up space; this feels like one of his ad-hoc superhero teams such as the Status Quorum or the Cometeers or one of the throwaway Multiversity Earth ideas slouching to a sort of independent pseudo-life and throwing off neat ideas like an isotope bursting radiation, not fully-formed but perhaps in its own way all the more beautifully off-kilter and primally iconic in the process. Not enough to make up for the absence of him actually trying, you understand, but certainly unique and still an experience I enjoy every month. Please god though, don’t let this and Wonder Woman: Earth One Vol. 3 whenever that happens be his last major superhero works. One last Justice League story, Arkham Asylum 2 like he said, Superman Squad, something.

Doom Patrol: Weight of the Worlds #4: Venom exists in the DCU and it’s an evil speedo, this is objectively a perfect comic book. I liked the original Way run a lot even if I could never remember what was going on, but I’m stunned with every issue what a level-up this second volume has been, at least for my money.

Justice League #33: I think the book’s sagging a bit at the moment, since Justice/Doom War is clearly a feint for whatever the real finale is going to be in 2020 and I don’t think Snyder/Tynion work quite as well as an apparently full-on writing team as they do when simply trading off issues and letting their individual strengths shine. Still the best straight-take capeshit on the stands though, make no mistake.

Young Justice #9: If Namoi was the return of the Bendis who tried writing sincere stuff near the end of his time at Marvel but was too burned out at that point to make it work anymore, this is the Avengers guy who’s freewheeling and kinda screwing around where he should be getting to brass tacks but still has his moments. I might end up dropping this book, but it’s still at least got me through the end of this arc.

DCeased #5: This book’s been disappointing me more than a bit the last couple issues given how good it SHOULD be with how much it plays into Tom Taylor’s greatest strengths. The ending on this one, however? Is one I’m going to remember forever, and Trevor Hairsine sells the absolute hell out of it. Propelled to my favorite of the week just on the back of that.

[get-a-new-lease-on-life]

A New Lease on Life - #59

         WELL. It's been about a donkey's age since I've been able to update this. Normally I'd apologize for the wait…but…well, honestly, I've been beating myself up enough as it is and it's not like it happened out of the blue. Kinda-brief update for anyone wondering:            I've warned about an impending grief hiatus since my uncle Bob's cancer diagnosis, and the hiatus came to pass in December. Uncle Bob finally lost his fight to cancer after two years of treatment and fading. The end came on rather suddenly but after the deathwatch he went peacefully and without pain. His death really messed me up, especially since I was already suffering from depression. Our first Christmas without Bob was also our last Christmas with Granny Chance, his mother and my grandmother…she suffered a massive stroke in January and died soon afterward. In the space of a month, my family and I lost two members, one right after the other. In a word, the whole situation has been FUCKED and it's still not completely over. There are good days, and bad days…and, to quote a certain Del Toro film, "Then there are the really bad days." Between those, we're all slowly working our way through the fallout and healing process.            This chapter is the first I've been able to finish since SEPTEMBER, largely because all of my stories are currently in plot-required angsty-dramatic phases and I CANNOT WRITE SAD SCENES when I'm depressed. It's entirely IMPOSSIBLE, they always come out farcical or they just don't flow. It SUCKS. TBH, I don't know for certain if I'm going to be able to catch up to my previous writing abilities or pace anytime soon but I'm certainly going to try. Also, quick note if you're reading this on Tumblr – they recently enacted a WORDBLOCK LIMIT on text posts of 100 blocks. Yeah. We're now limited to 100 paragraphs including the title. If the chapter's low dialogue and has no notes, that's fine, but if not? Well, we're just screwed because THIS ONE ran 86 ¶s WITHOUT the notes, glossary, and pre-story stuffs. I'm not sure yet how I'll be handling that limit for good, whether that means posting links to sites without the bullshit limits, posting long chapters in pieces, or linking to the separate posts with the notes and glossary, but I'll figure it out in time. For now, I’ll be including the NOTES at the end and you can find the GLOSSARY at FFnet or AO3.  Check out Spotify for a playlist centered on this arc - features suggested listening for this chapter and the next few, and much, much more.         Lastly, I'd like to take a moment to thank everyone for their patience and understanding, and give a shout-out to some wonderful people who've made this new chapter possible. This chapter is dedicated to Wolf, Newt, and Ihlni for their invaluable support and kind words – to my hubby Cold for letting me ugly-cry on him without complaint and never failing to remind me that life has to go on – to my ma-in-law for teasing me about earning a nasty hangover instead of acknowledging that I looked like death-on-the-rocks and was obviously crying before I answered the door – to my mother for being a bloody SAINT and to my father for intentionally being an asshole when someone to fight with was just what I needed – to Wanda Farmer on AO3 and vbt22220 on FFnet for their encouragement in reviews, the folks on Tumblr who offered kind words when I needed them most, and to all you wonderful people who've stuck by me, read my stories, and are still reading after all this time. Above all, though, this chapter is dedicated to the memory of Granny Chance and Uncle Bob – may they ever rest in peace.

Suggested Listening: Fuel "Hemorrhage [In My Hands]," Paramore "The Only Exception," Prince "Purple Rain," Survivor "I Never Stopped Loving You" 

 59: A Matter of Honor

The Lair, November 19th - around noon

Donatello wasn't known for being a fool; regardless, he felt rather foolish anytime the obvious failed to register until it was staring him in the face. This was just such a time. He didn't recall sequestering himself in the lab much less falling asleep at his workbench, but the proof was self-evident: a crick in his neck, a strand of insulated wire still stuck to his drool-sticky cheek, and sweat-smeared glasses half off his face. It took a moment of tired lip-smacking and searching to comprehend the facts—ah, right, he pulled an all-nighter to complete the vital signs monitor for Kimber's visit. From what he could see, the device was, indeed, completed. Too tired to consider the absurd picture he must make, he peeled the wire trimming off his cheek and set it aside.

What woke him? He searched his memory, found nothing, then turned to more closely examine his surroundings. A plate of now-cold PopTarts and a cup of coffee (helpfully covered with a cracked saucer) waited a safe distance from his elbow. Right - it was Saturday. This time last year he easily lost track of the days between all-nighters and the sleeping-binges that always followed them. Now he had a weekly reminder in the form of too-sweet coffee and half-burned pastries, courtesy of the confusing woman whose scent still clung to his skin. How blessed he felt in this moment…

The moment ended with a familiar sound—a sleep-slurred phrase he could recognize anywhere but never quite understood. Ya been away too long he got, and he recognized the terms sook, e'en, and nip though he wasn't fully certain of their context.* Beyond that the half-Celt tucked into the cot may as well have been speaking Greek for all he knew. The oft-repeated tease fell short in a particularly nasal snore. Donnie hoisted himself out of his chair with a chorus of protesting joints and slowly rounded the workbench. Silently, he regarded his sleeping woman, soaking in all the silly little details that caught his eyes—the freckles spattered across her skin, the flash of faded ink peeking up over her drooping neckline, the stubborn silver cowlicks sticking up at odd angles from her loosely bound hair—anything to remind himself she was still alive.

He shook his head in weary defeat. A full week after their desperate flight from Willsdale and every time he woke he still half-expected to find Amber cold to the touch, lifeless and painted in blood. Perhaps, he considered as he gathered her in his arms and made his way to their bedroom, this was one scar which would only be healed with time. Perhaps, he considered as he lay her across the neatly tucked quilt and curled up behind her, he could only conquer his fear of Amber's death by focusing on her life. Even as he tugged her flush against his plastron and groin and nuzzled into her neck, he couldn't erase the memory of her: bruised, bloody, and broken, and rapidly fading in his arms. He shuddered and sucked in a steadying breath of her scent.

She wasn't dead, she was alive now…it was enough…right?

Red Fern Florist, Noon

Normally, Red Fern Florist was a calm place – a quiet and classy establishment that just so happened to be run by people who didn't care about being quiet or classy. This, alas, was not a normal day, not even in the slightest.

Abilene Whitaker manned the register, eyes focused somewhere beyond the neon-streaked pages of her textbook and not registering a word. The backroom echoed with near-constant racket—crashes, curses, objects falling or being thrown… Abby sighed, pinched the bridge of her nose, and dragged herself off of the barstool to investigate. Sure enough, Mercy was stocking the shelves a tad too roughly…if by roughly one meant throwing the bags of supplies around like a spandex-clad steroid junkie at a WWE grudge-match smackdown.

"Alright, that's enough," Abby snapped at her blonde subordinate; Mercy froze, embarrassed grey-blue eyes meeting Abby's over a lean, hunched shoulder. "You've been stomping around and slamming things all afternoon. What on earth could be so horrible you've gotta torture the mulch?" Mercy cringed, fixing guilty eyes on the bag of mulch in her grip. Caught. "Well?" The blonde uttered a sound halfway between a groan and a growl, snorted, then slid the bag onto its shelf with more care than necessary.

"My man's ex is comin' by tonight," she admitted under her breath. "She's stayin' a few days."~

"WHAT?!" Abby squawked in protest. "He's bringing his ex over?! Aw, Hell naw! Girl, you drop that boy before I find him and punch him in the man-fritters!" Man-fritters?** Mercy couldn't help it – she sniggered at the visual – but her laughter faded into regret when she registered the rest of Abby's threat.

"No can do," she sighed, "it's kinda unavoidable." Abby crossed her arms, scrunched her lips into an almost exact replica of Leo's 'pissy leader pout,' and waited for an explanation. Mercy rolled her eyes, spearing her fingers into her hair and yanking. "Kimber…well, she's like me an' Amber," she explained under her breath. "Remember I told ya Amber…uh…went home for a few days? Well, she almost…um…didn't come back. Bitch-nipple's comin' over to see how long any of us can stay home without that happening. She invited herself, we voted, Raph lost, she won." Abby took a moment to let that sink in.

"Your guy tried to vote her off the island?" A grim nod from Mercy. "They broke up before she left, right?"

"…and she left before he an' I met," Mercy added even as she rolled her eyes.~ All the code-talk really got on her nerves but they had to be mindful of the security cameras. Abby leaned against the doorframe, lean shoulders at a sharp slant, and hazel eyes puzzled behind her fuchsia-streaked hair.

"You think she wants him back?" she asked quietly. "He won't…" She sucked in a nervous breath. "What if she tries to win him back?"

"You're kiddin', right?" Mercy scoffed. "He dumped her! He's been angsty as fuck over breakin' her heart, yeah, but I know'im—she could make all the moves she wants, he ain't gonna budge."~ Not to mention Kimber's still dead she added in her own head then shook it. After all, she was dead, too. The whole situation stank like a crappy soap opera. "I trust'im, Abbs," she added under her breath. "Raph chose me, not the Jersey-Devil-wannabe…jealousy's pointless when I already know the end result, an' that end result is he's with me."

Abby watched her a moment, scrutinizing and studying; just as suddenly as she issued the threat against Raph's genitals, she smiled. "You're a strong woman," the neon-haired clerk remarked lightly. "I ever heard one of Cherie's exes asking to stay, I'd bash the twat's teeth in. You need anything, you give me a call, alright?" Mercy nodded, halfway between a cringe and a grateful smile, and went back to the stocking. "So how are things going between you two, anyway?" Abby added taking up her share of the lifting. "You never bring him by, you never tell me much about him…how's he treating you?"

Mercy paused, brow furrowed, and scrambled for an answer that didn't make her sound like an absolute sap. She couldn't find one. "He makes me wanna listen to Faith Hill, watch him sleep, an' punch his ex in the teeth," she grumbled. The heat in her cheeks went nuclear at Abby's excited squeal.

"Oh-em-GEE!" the younger practically shrieked. "You love him!" Mercy shot her a sour glare.

"Woman," she groused, "shut yer ass – the bullshit's leakin' out."

The Lair, shortly after dusk   -   00:00:00  

Two weeks ago, Kimber Bryant faced down Leonardo and demanded the opportunity to make right the trouble she caused his family. Now she stood in the hallway, practically quaking in her mud-stained canvas sneakers, unsure how to proceed. It didn't exactly help that Leo was still glaring at her from behind and her other escort, Donatello, kept fiddling with the tablet strapped to his left forearm.

"Now remember, you've gotta keep the leads from getting tangled," the genius rambled without ever once looking at her. "A little perspiration shouldn't cause any unwanted interference—I insulated the outer casing well to deter any outside condensation or humidity finding its way into the monitor's internal components but there are limits." Kimber rolled her bottle green eyes over at Leo in hope of rescue from Donnie's babbling but received only a glare. "It's not fully water-tight," the genius continued with a shrug and 'meh' expression, still without even glancing her way, "so we'll need to cover it with a water-resistant dressing when it comes to bathing but other than that it—"

"Today, Donnie," Leo grumbled. The younger startled out of his thoughts, fingertips still poised on the holographic chart projected over his tech-tab. He blinked a few times in rapid succession as though refreshing his memory then turned to Kimber in question. From the looks of it, she seemed ready to chew her ankle off to escape the lecture. She really was so very different from Amber…how could they possibly be the same person underneath it all? Could a person's history and past choices really have that big an impact on their personality and attitude?

"Uh…right," he uttered with a wince. "Anyway, it's natural for your core temperature to fluctuate a certain amount over the day but if it drops too low, I'll get an alert. We may not have much time to get you back…so…" he trailed off in hopes she'd pick up the slack.

"Don't get comfy," she finished sourly. "Yeah, I got it. Git lawst."~ He crinkled his nose at her demand but said nothing; instead, he rolled his eyes in defeat and took off toward the lab.

"Remember our agreement," the eldest warned under his breath as he shouldered past her. "You have one chance, and you're to stay—"

"I got it, I got it," Kimber snapped in response. "Go dig t'at stick out'a ya ass before it gets stuck up t'ere."~ Other than a deep-chested growl of warning, Leonardo said nothing—he just stormed past her to some destination she didn't care to know. Rolling her eyes at his attitude, she made her way toward the light at the end of the hallway. The closer she came the more clearly she heard a familiar voice—a voice that still haunted her fondest dreams and worst nightmares.

Familiar laughter led her into the living area where two people were cuddled up on a lumpy sofa. The larger wore a familiar boyish grin that stole the breath right from her lungs. In her grip, the duffle-bag strap slid loose—sweaty palms, she realized. A fluttering, weightless sensation filled her veins—oh, no… 'Gawd dammit…why've I gotta still love'im?'~ She choked around the damned butterflies doing barrel-rolls in her gullet. Steeling her nerves, she shook off her mushy thoughts and turned the corner. 'It don't change nothin'—dead's dead, an' he never chose me anyway. It's better t'is way.'

Raphael…he looked so much the same and yet so different. His eyes shone with laughter where they once burned with distrust; his posture was relaxed where he always kept up a front before. Tucked into his side and 'narrating' the boxing match with absurd faked voice-overs was a tall, lean woman with short messy blonde hair. Kimber's lip ached to curl in a sneer as the blonde loosed a raucous laugh but she fought it back—Raph wasn't hers. If this…this woman in his arms was enough for him…well, she'd respect that. She only ever wanted to see him happy and by God, she'd do so, no matter how much it hurt.

One moment, everything in Mercy's world was perfect. There was a decent match on TV, Raph had 'bullied her' into not-cuddling with him, and for the moment they had no other obligations. As it always seemed to, though, everything fell apart in a single breath…a breath that carried a perfume of vanilla, sugar, and musk. The smell wasn't entirely unpleasant but it was strong enough to make her sinuses burn and her head hurt. Why must so many people marinate themselves in perfume and cologne?

As Mercy and Raphael turned to greet the newcomer in unison the arm around her waist slackened—bright golden hazel eyes widened—full, scarred lips fell slack in dismay. Those lips formed a single word—a name Mercy spent hours cursing that afternoon—but no sound came forth. Torn, she held her silence, eyes darting from Raphael to the stranger and back again almost desperately. She knew this moment would come, she just didn't realize how much she'd want to scream obscenities when it did.

The stranger broke the stare first, bottle-green eyes flustered behind their impeccable smoky eyeliner. She reached up to her modest neckline, grabbed at the pair of worn metal dog-tags at her chest, took a deep breath, then looked up again with a weak smile. "'ey, Raphie," she murmured in a voice still thick with smog. "Long time no see, huh?" The hulking mutant couldn't even get out a single word; he just nodded, his chin and lips unnaturally stiff. Even as he stared down Kimber Bryant he clenched his fingers even tighter to Mercy's waistband. Mercy glanced down at the sight of his three-fingered hand anchoring her in place by a belt-loop. Just that morning, she woke up with that hand tangled in the hem of her nightgown anchoring it at mid-thigh. She had nothing to fear.

She pried Raph's fingers loose, stretched an imaginary crick from her neck, and rolled off the sofa to her feet. "I'll catch up later," Mercy remarked with an entirely faked smile and made her way to the side door. "Compost prob'ly needs a turnin' 'bout now."~ On the way past, she silently took in what details she could, mentally comparing them. The other woman was her height but beyond thin and into skinny. Her hair was coarse—naturally red from the looks of it but with a texture similar to unraveled jute twine. A sharp glance told Mercy the other had practically no ass; no competition there. She rolled her eyes, punched in the security code to pass through, then let the door drift shut behind her.

Before she could get anywhere a pair of large, powerful hands snatched her by the shoulders, spun her about, and pinned her to the tunnel wall. "Why you leavin'?" Raph demanded sharply. His voice was barely below a shout but as so often before, Mercy saw underneath that posturing—she saw the suspicious shimmering in his eyes, the nervous tic in his jaw, the vulnerable hunching of his shoulders, and the lurching of his throat and plastron from frantic heaving breaths. Fear was the one thing he really had no reason to feel in this case but it was written all over him. She cupped his squared jaw, thumb tracing the scar splitting his lip.

"I ain't leavin', ya meathead," she corrected as he covered her hand with his in a frantic grip. "You were friends, right? Ya never got to say goodbye. I've seen how this's been tearin' you apart an' I'm sick of watchin' it."~ Her lips curled in a tease but it was entirely true—she was beyond sick of having another woman in their relationship, even a dead one. "Ya need closure, I get that—I'm backin' off so you can get it. Got it?" Raphael said nothing—he just stared back, visibly searching her words for subtext. When he finally spoke, what he asked made no sense.

"Why?" he demanded in a near-deadpan. Mercy wrinkled her nose but before she could speak, he continued. "Why're ya testin' me like dis? What've I done ta deserve dat?"~

"Testin' you?" Mercy shook her head and scoffed. "I'm not testin' ya, Red," she promised. "I know you and I trust you—you're not about to cheat on me with anyone, much less a dead chick, right?" He shook his head in agreement and his eyes softened; he belatedly released her hand, choosing instead to cup her cheek.

"I wouldn't do dat to ya," he confirmed gruffly. "I'd never…I promised not ta hurt ya an' I meant it…but…" He faltered, flustered and struggling to find the right words. "Dis ain't right…ya ought'a be pissed at me fer even lettin' 'er come here…heck, if dis happened to any other guy, he'd get slapped fer lettin' it happen!"

"You're not any other guy," Mercy reminded shortly, "an' I'm not any other gal. Jealousy won't help anything, it ain't healthy, and you weren't too keen on her comin' over, to begin with. I've got no reason to be mad at'cha, an' especially no reason to hit ya."~ Her eyes drifted back toward the side door, now closed, and she sighed. "I don't like it," she admitted as her hand drifted down to his thick neck, "but I know you need closure an' I trust you enough to not interfere."

Raphael said nothing—what could he possibly say?—instead, he took a step back, eyes wide. This wasn't the first time she professed her trust in him, nor would it be the last, but this utterance seemed the most improbable of all. Wait…no, there was one other moment even more unexpected—a recent moment, the moment he first witnessed Mercy Ross fall apart at the seams, right there in his arms.#

Tousled blonde hair spilled across his pillow like scattered straw. Unpainted lips, swollen from friction, panted around gasping breaths. Work-roughened fingertips clawed at the equally tough skin of his bare scalp and shoulders as he unleashed all his pent-up frustration on her finally bared skin.

   "I trust you," she'd promised only moments before. "When are ya gonna start trustin' yourself?"  

   "Ya shouldn't trust me," he'd blustered, but despite his denials, he caved to her temptation. He knew from the first breath it would take weeks to clear her pheromones from his lungs; he'd never forget the taste of her or her keening cries of completion. When the madness left her eyes and the fire dulled in his blood, Raphael knew he'd never be able to see his Mercy the same, nor would he ever cease to be humbled by her seemingly unshakable faith in him—trust he couldn't recall doing a damn thing to earn.  

That July, Raphael took a chance on happiness in the middle of an open rooftop—a single kiss followed by countless more, all sound-tracked with heavy metal. Ever since then, anytime he fell to the temptation of Mercy's lips, he lost himself completely. He wanted her—he needed her—he craved her—she was the air he breathed, vital to his very survival and responsible for every beat of his heart. Far below the filthy streets, in a dark passage forgotten by the world in general, he stole her lips and breathed her in reverence.

He loved her—loved her beyond the limits of his fears and follies—and that was why she knew he wouldn't let her down.

"So you two, huh?" Raphael ducked his head to avoid Kimber's eyes, hoping she couldn't see the traces of stickiness at his lips or the tenting of his patched trousers. She said nothing, choosing instead to examine the worn red tweed of the sofa arm she perched on.

"What of it?" he retorted slumping onto the seat at the opposite end of the couch.

"Looks like ya found a good one, 'at's all," she shrugged. He studied her silently a moment, searching for signs of deceit. In his heart, he knew this stranger was Kimber—his Kimber, the friend he threw away over his insecurities and fears—but her appearance was largely unfamiliar. Kimber was always on the chunky side of curvaceous but with an undeniable sex appeal. This new body was built like a scarecrow - all long limbs and frizzy hair - but underneath he could see the same sensual confidence Kimber had before she died. That sensuality was all Kimber - Amber lacked it completely, always coming across somewhere between odd and awkward. This woman, though visually unfamiliar, was definitely Kimber. Something in her eyes spoke of mischief…and regret. "Fer Gawd's sake," she swore under her breath and turned an acidic glare on him. He refused to meet it, locking his eyes on one padded and splayed knee. "I know t'a drill—I'm dead, not stoopid."

"Ya were never stupid, Kim, jus' stubborn an' naive," he protested but she waved him off.

"T'en quit lookin' at me like t'at." After a moment of resistance, he finally bit the bullet—he met her eyes. "Yeah, like t'at," the redhead grumbled, "like I'm gonna jump ya if ya take yer eyes off'a me or somethin'. I may be livin' in a homewrecker but t'at don't make me a homewrecker." This time, she was the one to hide her eyes.

A long, tense silence filled the room, broken only by the occasional sound from the Lab or utility room. In this unexpected but overdue moment, despite the drastically different appearance, Raphael saw Kimber as she was when they first met—not the over-confident temptress with the venomous smile and devil-may-care attitude but the lost, lonely, frightened runaway searching for her place in the world. Her new body was thirty-five if it was a year old, but she'd never looked more like a child to him than she did now. The night she turned Lefty and Northpaw over to the police and fell apart, Raph let the wrong head do the thinking and her heart suffered for it. So much heartache came from that one bad call—Kimber's death, too, was a result���how could he ever make it right?

"Rah-fay-el." The quiet – almost reverent – utterance of his name startled him from his brooding. Kimber faced the far wall but her eyes were locked on his askance. "Tell me t'a truth…did ya ever love me?" He blanched; she scoffed and picked at the faded red tweed covering the sofa. "I know we was close," she clarified in a soft tone void of accusation, "friends to be sure, but did ya ever love me like I loved you?"

He didn't answer—he couldn't answer, not around the painful lump in his throat. For so long, he wondered the very same. Loving Kimber, after all, would have made his betrayal a crime of passion rather than a bad move made in paranoid self-defense. Despite all his brooding introspection, though, he always came up with the same answer: he could have loved her, but he didn't…if he'd kept his head, maybe, someday, he could have loved her, but he didn't. "Exactly." Kimber's near-whisper broke his train of thought. "I knew ya didn't love me," she admitted even as her shoulders drew tight and her painted lips stretched in a sort of sneer. "I always knew it, I just t'ought…eh, no matter. I'm not gonna fuck up yer life again."

"I think ya got dat backwards," Raph pointed out dryly. "I fucked up yer life—I'm why yer…" He faltered, his throat clenching around the word as though to prevent him from voicing it. "Ya know," he settled for with a weak half-shrug, "like dis." Kimber watched him silently, eyes sharp enough to cut away his protective façade.

"Say it," she challenged. He flinched; she slid off the armrest and stalked over to face him, arms crossed in defiance. "Say it, Raph," she ordered, "ya know what I am—ya know t'a word, so use it. I'm…" She trailed off, one eyebrow cocked in expectance.

Raphael cringed. Of all the times he wished it was possible to completely withdraw into his shell, this was one of the worst so far. Weary hazel eyes drifted from Kimber's dirty canvas sneakers up her faded jeans and cotton blouse, up to her unimpressed eyes. "Yer…dead," he whispered as if confessing some great sin.

"Exactly," Kimber harrumphed and jabbed him between the eyes with one clear-lacquered fingernail. "Dead folks an' live folks jus' don't mix, ya muck-brained mawron.~ It wouldn't work an' I ain't about to waste my time tryin' ta make it work. Capiche?" He nodded, glaring up at her retreating back.

"Den why'd ya come back?" he asked, letting his hand fall back to his knee. "Dere had to be anutha way to test Don's theory, so why'd ya volunteer?"~ Kimber stilled in her pacing, carefully arranging her words before they could all spill out without concern for her feelings.

"I never got ta say goodbye," she admitted in a near-whisper, "not ta you, not ta Daron or Lefty, not ta anyone who mattered…but I've neva been t'at big on goodbyes anyhow, ya know?" Her voice cracked on the last words and she took a moment to compose herself. When she spoke again, she turned to the side as though watching him over her shoulder but her eyes remained hidden. "I made a lotta mistakes, Red—a lotta stoopid decisions t'at hurt a lotta people—an' much as I wanted to just stay dead, I lived ta regret every one'a t'ose decisions. T'at's why I came back…t'a fix t'a shit I broke an' atone for my sins. If t'at means stayin' here fer t'ree days while you an' Blondie play suck-face, so be it."

"Ya know you're puttin' yer life at risk, right?" Raph reminded, ignoring the suck-face comment. "Donnie ain't sure about da timing on dis thing, ya know. He an' the braided nutcase passed five days in her world but they weren't gone a whole three days, here. Who's to say ya'll have a full three days here? Who's ta say ya won't drop dead in an hour, or three hours, or even a minute from now?" He shuddered at the thought, his mind helpfully supplying several months' worth of nightmares to choose from, most of which ended with Kimber dying in his arms. "Ya froze, Kim, an' dat ain't an easy way to go; are ya really willing to risk goin' through it all over again?"

"It's my choice," she reminded with a stern expression reminiscent of an unimpressed schoolmarm. "No one asked me ta make t'at choice. Besides, see t'is?" She tugged her neckline aside to show him the small plastic device hung from her neck and the line of wire trailing down to her armpit. "T'is lil' t'ing's monitoring my core temp—we've got t'is covered. Trust me?"

Raph considered the plea a moment—for it was, indeed, a plea in every sense of the word—then gave a slow, reluctant nod. "I don't like it," he admitted in a throaty rumble, "but it ain't my job ta like it." There was much more to say, but for the moment, he hadn't words.

"Nope," Kimber agreed with a sly grin. "It's yer job ta help me give Daron a heart attack. What say we give'im a visit from t'a Livin' Dead Girl?" It was just a tease—just another excuse to ignore the elephant in the room—but for the moment, Kimber didn't care. She had more important tasks to focus on—messes to clean up, mistakes to correct, sins to atone for, and honor to regain. For now, the rest could wait.

  The Lair   -   00:35:00 and counting

Time stops for no man, people often said, and the same could be said for women. Never mind that Amber's cantankerous counterpart was staying in the Lair for the weekend…lurking around every corner…stinking up the place with her perfume…just waiting for a chance to bitch-slap Amber back into her place at the bottom of the food chain…

Amber shuddered at the thought and firmly shoved it into the back of her mind. Kimber Bryant made Amber all kinds of nervous but her presence didn't excuse Amber from her chores. There was too much to do—laundry to put away, studying to do, dinner to prepare— Something soft and furry brushed against her calf, startling her from her thoughts. "Right," she muttered as Kirk bypassed the laundry basket at her feet and hopped up onto Donnie's bed. "Gotta clean the litterboxes an' feed Kirkland too." After a mrrruhl of warning and a superfluous butt-wiggle said feline launched himself right into a pile of folded undergarments and began viciously mauling a sock big enough to double as an oven mitt. As he lay on his side, wrapped around the sock and kicking like a homicidal kangaroo, Amber sighed and shook her head in whimsical defeat. After how much she'd missed him she couldn't really be upset with the little murder-machine; cats, after all, would be cats, and socks could be darned.

"It's inevitable, Kirk," she teased as she hung a pair of patched canvas trousers in the frame-and-fabric 'closet.' "You're just gonna have to get used to sharing me with Donnie. I know I'm Mom but he's mine - you can't resent him forever." With an adorable cotton-muffled urrrr, Kirk glared at her over a mouthful of beige knit as if to say watch me. Ah, the jealousy of spoiled cats.

"Honestly, I'm lucky to have Donnie," she added to herself, doubts and worries filling her thoughts between wire hangers. Back before the dream connection was confirmed—before Donatello confronted her with his old Tonfa and confessed the name of her dead classmate—Amber could fool herself he wasn't the same Donnie she grew up with. She could tell herself that he didn't know all her dirty little secrets. He didn't watch her fall apart over the last few years of her life, partly from illness and her and partly from depression and apathy. He never heard how her poor choices in college may have led to the death of a classmate. He never knew she routinely slaked her carnal needs in impersonal encounters so her time with him in dreams could be focused on more important things than her hormones. If this Donnie wasn't her Donnie, then the mistakes of her past were only a secret to keep.

The problem was…now she knew this was her Donnie…and by the sounds of it, he remembered everything. Amber paused, fondling a strip of worn purple fabric. Even after countless washings, every one of those masks smelled strongly of his oddly comforting blend of coffee, machinery, musky exertion, and spice. "How can he even look at me, Kirk?" Amber murmured into the sweet-smelling fabric. "I screwed up with him so many times…I gave up on him, I – I gave myself up to other guys…how doesn't he hate me by now?"

This last question seemed the most perplexing. Sure, the purpose of those impersonal booty-calls was to shut up her hormones so her scant time with Donnie could be put to better use, but she always regretted them afterward. Regret, though, didn't count if a person intentionally committed the same crime over and over again, and she was guilty—guilty of closing her eyes, mentally replacing the other men with Donnie, and crying herself to sleep after they left. Regret was a weak word, really; what she felt wasn't weak. After all the time she spent hating herself for the infidelity, the idea that Donnie didn't hate her for it made no sense.

The dead silence tore her from her ruminations; odd, considering Kirk had a habit of 'answering' her every time she spoke.## After a quick glance at the bed, it was all she could do to keep from laughing. The little furball was out cold, wrapped around her favorite bra and snoring into one generous cup. The battered sock sprawled on the floor half under the bed—the enemy was vanquished. Chuckling at the absurdity, Amber crouched to retrieve the sock but paused when she noticed something wedged between the mattress and box spring. A warped silver wire binding, traces of green beyond the rings…surely she was mistaken, but it wouldn't hurt to check…right?

Amber tugged the notebook loose and promptly cringed in recognition. It was her journal, the one she hadn't written in for months then misplaced. Why was it jammed under the mattress like a nudie magazine? Curiosity drove her to investigate and she quickly discovered the litany of notes scribbled upside-down in the back. She quickly lost herself in the writing—questions and memories, hopes and fears Donatello couldn't bring himself to share with her, all centered around their years apart. Though she didn't dig too deeply, there wasn't a single word of blame or judgment anywhere—nothing that indicated resentment or disgust. Amber almost missed the sheet of loose-leaf that slipped out and fluttered to the floor—almost. The pencil-scribbled contents might have made her stumble if she hadn't already seated herself before. "I met my lover in a dream," she whispered in recognition.^ "That poem…I thought I lost it...I guess Donnie found it?" Soon enough, she hit the final lines:

Mibbe someday he will see –     Someday the truth I'll tell. For now, I've only memories,     And dreams I shot tae Hell.

Or, rather, those should have been the final lines—they were the last she wrote. Someone, however, clearly thought the poem wasn't finished and added their own verse…in pen…neatly printed by a familiar hand straddling the border between calculating and persnickety. "No way," Amber muttered thickly as she scanned the added verse, wide-eyed and breathless. "Naw fookin' way!"~ No matter how she protested, the words remained clear, impossible yet obvious. Still marveling at their presence—and at the subtext—she never heard the soft ticking of a distant clock, or the even softer inhale accompanying.

Dreams can sometimes fall apart,     And memories can fade. The truth you shared can't change my heart…     Your lover-friend I've stayed…

I'll see you in our dreams.  

There was no stopping it, no holding back: Amber crushed the paper to her pounding heart in elation. He remembered. He understood. He loved. Perhaps, even…he forgave?

Sometimes emotions are too powerful for words; fortunately for Amber, squealing unintelligibly required none.

UP NEXT: (Currently in-progress)

Chapter List

- The vital signs monitor – At first I wasn't quite sure if such a device was on the public market, at least aside from 'smart' devices like FitBit and such, so I did what I do best: I researched the fuck out of it for funzies. Turns out there are more varieties out there than I expected, each monitoring different signs in different fashions and to different accuracy levels. Since Donnie's never been the sort to simply COPY others' ideas, we can safely assume he's combined the best of several devices. The result is a small electronic monitor [about the size of a 9-volt battery] hung from the neck by a lanyard, which measures core body temp by way of leads attached to an adhesive-backed electrode stuck in the armpit. We can also assume fitting the device on Kimber was incredibly awkward because she intentionally MADE IT awkward.

* Full statement including what Amber's snoring cut off: "Ya be'n 'way too long 'gain, ya sook—nae be'n by fer a nip'er a bosie. Wha's a lass ta think?" – This little bit of Scotchness is a routine in-dream tease from Amber. You've been gone [from our dreams] too long again, you old softy—you haven't even come by for a kiss or cuddle. What's a woman to think?

** Man-Fritters – Alas, I cannot claim authorship of this little snigger-inducing euphemism. That honor belongs to author Mimi Jean Pampfiloff in her Accidentally Yours series. While the first two books were pretty recipe [if you know what I mean] they were HILARIOUS recipes. I'm not ashamed to admit that the scene in the first one where the heroine belts out 80's pop hits to keep sane made me laugh so hard I spewed my tea, CHOKED ON IT, then spent the rest of the day CROAKING. It was WORTH IT. (That said, the author also used a lovely little nonsense-word coined by my IRL friend Autumn back when we were in high school but didn't notate it. I'd encourage Autumn to stop starting word trends without first seeking a copyright but that'd mean I'd have to pay her every time I stole her stuff, heh.)

Also: Abby has no accent. She's intentionally warping the Oh, Hell no! in hopes of showing Mercy just how upset the news makes her.

# Implied smut – The encounter referenced here didn't make it to in-story occurrence BUT it took place during the Absolutes arc, which took up too much time-and-space for the intended back-and-forth between worlds. It's written up and included in the "Gallery of Memories" as The Blonde and the Beefcake and it can be found HERE.) It's almost entirely lemon, BTW. ;P

## Kirk tends to 'answer' Amber every time she talks to him – I am SO not basing this on our cat Heiferlump. Nope, not at all! …fine. Yes. Heifer responds to EVERYTHING she hears, no matter who says it, and it's rare to find someone she can't bait into answering back. She's particularly adept at getting my father to argue with her and routinely tries to argue with the microwave beeper. O_o It's awesome.

^ The Poem, "Dream Lovers" – I've not posted the entirety of the poem in any chapters or even the GoM installment of the same name. NOW, however, you can find the entire poem in comic format HERE, on this story's Here on Tumblr, OR on DeviantArt. The comic includes Donnie's additions and a small blurb of backstory leading to this scene, and the Tumblr/AO3 posts include a glossary for the many odd words used in the poem. For convenience's sake, I've included the translation of the included verse below.

Again, since Tumblr’s decided to be an ass about wordblock limits, see FFnet or AO3 for the glossary if anything throws you off.

[megbonney]

✃ 02/02/23

dance in your bleeding passion / dance in the violet passion

first week of school - it's not as bad as i thought it would be. i feel dumb, like i'm behind in my work and that none of it makes sense, but i just think i'm not alert/ready enough for my brain to process any information. it wasn't that bad, then there's him. calling him..him, feels so gross to me. he's not the one, he's not my 'when he.. <3' he's not any of that. simply put, i'll say it this way; i was into him for the last term of last year. i never made any moves; he was too far out of my league, i was told he didn't date, and he's christian. i think religion means a lot in a relationship. christians get picky about hellenism, other practices that aren't theirs. it irks me, so many of those hardcore cunts are so selfish. it sounds insane, i know, but in a way, i'd kill to date him. he's gorgeous, i worry that no one would be able to appreciate him properly. he's sweet, at the peak of my interest in him i'd find ourselves meeting eyes and it being all dorky-like. like something was there, but i know there wasn't. it can't be. never. we messaged for a bit over the break. it was fine til he suddenly went dry in conversation. i asked about it, he got oddly defensive, saying "wdym" as if i was making it up, i decided to not bother. i went to bed. if he's gonna go all dry then be a sook when i ask it's not worth my time. i'm not the kind of person who's gonna sit there for 30 minutes trying to figure out why you're upset when you don't even have interest in me, nor would the chance of you doing the same for me being next to impossible. i messaged him for christmas, he left me on seen, unfollowed me soon after. i didn't care. i still don't care, but now he acts like i'm not real. he gives my friends and i these almost disgusted looks and makes sure to really barge their arms when they walk past one another. they're asking me if i think it's personal, i don't know. he hasn't done it to me. the only time he acknowledged me as a human being was when he wanted a laptop charger, which i didn't have. i was quick to brush him off, same way he had been these past 3 days. it's odd, really. he got on really well with my friends before this. it's not my business, i'm not gonna pretend like it's my place to pry. c says he doesn't want to talk because it's awkward now. but that doesn't make sense. he made it awkward. he doesn't even look uncomfortable or awkward about anything, he just looks bothered by my presence. it's not the hair, is it? and if it was, why would i change it for him? his friends whom i was friends with previously (some dating back to primary school) won't speak to me either. part of me thinks it's related to whats-his-face and that chick breaking up, in which i think they're back together. it feels like everyone outside of my friends just cannot stand me, like i'm shunned. it doesn't bother me as much as i expected it to, which is good. he's really been an ick recently though. having to take off the rose tinted glasses sucks, especially when it feels like he'll be the one i 'can't get over'. i keep seeing shitty tiktoks acting as signs for love, that 'the one i'm thinking of is avoiding me because he wants me so bad,' but i'm not thinking of anyone. nor do i care. right now, love is a distraction. real love, i mean. fictional men solo.

happy febraury! valentines day is soon.

[the-masked-barona]

AkaYona 138 Talk/Speculation

Who’s ready for the next installment of “Masky loves to talk!” This week’s topic: AkaYona 138! Shocker! Well strap in folks, cause this may get a bit rambly as I’m not good with putting my thoughts down and also a bit long, but HOLY CRAP THIS CHAPTER WAS THAT GOOD! 

The main thing I want to talk about from this week’s chapter is not only Soo-Won’s inner monologue, but also the contrasts that you can see in this story right now. For starters, THE MONOLOGUE. This is one of the only times we actually get insight on Soo-Won’s inner thoughts and of course it had to be angsty. I’ve always been under the impression that Soo-Won probably won’t be living by the end of this series, and after this monologue the flags have been raised a bit higher. 

“I have no intention of living peacefully, and slowly wilting away towards a happy death.” (translation by @pandaflavouredcookies; thank you so much)

Oh, Soo-Won. It’s interesting that we finally got insight on what he’s thinking but the fact that this was touched upon in this way was especially intriguing because we got dialogue with him facing what he did. I can’t really say that he regrets what he did, but he is at least aware that he must live with the guilt of his actions. 

Afterwards, Soo-Won gets notice of the signal flair that’s set off a la Yona. Did Soo-Won fall for it, though? We actually don’t see him give an answer to Kye-Sook about the next action to take. It would make sense if he took action as he has no real reason to believe that it’s fake but also, I guess we shouldn’t underestimate Soo-Won. That being said, I hope that he’s not 2 steps ahead cause I would really like to see Soo-Won’s face after something didn’t go as he planned. 

Though, I’m both really excited and also completely terrified of the consequences of Yona setting this plan in action. I mean this is... like... a really serious plan, Yona. Like, you may avoid (or at least delay) war with Xing but you might just be causing another war to happen in the process. And on top of it, Tae-Jun is going traitor for it (completely willingly, of course). But this leads me to what I want to talk about next, which is the different viewpoints and values that Yona holds versus Soo-Won. So alike, yet so different. 

One or two chapters ago, Soo-Won said that he would go through with whatever needed to be done, even if it meant hurting Yona again; otherwise, there’d be no point in him being on the throne. He values the many over the individual. Yona, on the other hand, fights for herself and her loved ones. To protect her family from the Xing war, she is potentially starting a DIFFERENT war. She may not realize that’s a potential consequence of her actions and rather just sees it as a way to buy time, but it’s certainly a possibility in the long-run nonetheless. I’m not saying that Yona doesn’t care about the collective, but she at least prioritizes the ones she loves first (even though, yes, stopping the Xing war is protecting the soldiers and lives of Kouka as well). Now before someone comes at me for this, I’m not saying that one way of thinking is right and one is wrong. This is a very gray area, but I think the contrasting ideals are at least evident and interesting. But Yona, my girl.... you might have gotten yourself into a real mess. Good thing the heavens are on your side ;) 

Extra random thoughts on this chapter:

Tae-Jun..... boy you are so good and so precious, wow you have grown well, and THAT HUG ;___; 

Zeno is not taking any crap, he is about to move the heavens; the dragons are gonna show Kouren what’s what 

WIND TRIBE GIRL GOT A NAME; let’s see her kick ass now 

Other things I want to see:

How Yona deals with possibly creating another threat after rescuing the dragons/Yoon 

How Kyo-Ga is going to deal with Tae-Jun and the Fire Tribe being in a compromising position again; it might be on Kyo-Ga’s head 

Soo-Won and Co.’s reaction to getting duped

Excited to see Hak+Wind Tribe happenings again 

THERES SOMETHING MORE TO THIS BIRD I’M TELLING YOU; GULFAN KNOWS SOMETHING

Good Guy Kye-Sook ©

Anyways, that’s my jumbled bundle of thoughts right now. Now we have to wait a month but until then~ 

[mastcomm]

Oscar Triumph for ‘Parasite’ Reflects Academy’s Evolving Identity

LOS ANGELES — Song Kang Ho, one of the stars of “Parasite,” cried on the Oscar stage. The film’s director, Bong Joon Ho, smiled and giggled.

“Parasite” made Academy Award history on Sunday night by become the first foreign-language movie to win best picture. Its victory was a testament to the near universal praise for the film — a sharp contrast with last year’s winner, “Green Book” — and for Bong, who became a beloved figure as he enjoyed all the trappings of the awards season.

“I feel like something will hit me, and I will wake up from this dream,” he said backstage, with two of the four Oscar statuettes won by the film grasped in his hands like barbells.

For the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, Bong’s dream is something it has been working to make a reality for several years, ever since being stung by the humiliation of the #OscarsSoWhite outcry.

“We are so proud of the academy,” Cheryl Boone Isaacs, the former president of the organization, said during an interview at the Governor’s Ball, the academy’s official after-party. “We have talked for a couple of years now about acknowledging the brilliance of filmmakers from all around the world and paying attention to their storytelling, to their visions, to their creativity. Tonight we saw it happen.”

Since 2016, following two straight years in which no actors of color were nominated for Oscars, the academy has been working to diversify its voting base: by race, gender and nationality. According to an analysis by The Hollywood Reporter, 39 percent of the organization’s new members hail from outside the United States.

Last summer, the academy invited 842 people from 59 countries to become members, including the Korean New Wave director Yim Soon-Rye (“Little Forest”), the “Parasite” cinematographer Hong Kyung-Pyo and the South Korean documentarian Hong Hyung-Sook (“Reclaiming Our Names”).

The academy invited 928 people from 59 countries to become members the previous year, and 774 people from 57 countries a year earlier.

In contrast, at the start of the decade the academy was inviting fewer than 180 people annually to become members, with most of the invites going to people already working in Hollywood. The academy only invited 105 people to join in 2008.

Yet the effect on Oscar voting had not been all that pronounced. The academy was criticized this year for yet again not nominating any women in the best director category. The majority of the best picture nominees skewed heavily male and heavily white. And of the 20 individuals nominated in the four acting categories, only one, Cynthia Erivo, was black. No one from the “Parasite” cast was nominated.

Then came the big night for “Parasite,” which triumphed over more traditional films — like “1917” and “Once Upon a Time … in Hollywood” — with its distinctive examination of class relations as seen through the lens of two intricately linked families.

“We’re not only celebrating ‘Parasite,’ but how a foreign movie just won best picture, the biggest award,” said Choi Woo Shik, who played the son of the central family in the genre-defying film. “It opens up the windows for foreign cinema lovers, and this means a lot to us.”

Last year, the Netflix film “Roma,” a family drama set in Mexico, was nominated for best picture and won best director for Alfonso Cuarón. On Sunday night, some observers were giving it credit for paving the way for “Parasite.”

“Five years ago, ‘Parasite’ would have never won best picture,” said the producer Mark Johnson, who is an academy governor and ran the foreign-language committee for close to two decades. “The idea that a foreign-language film was seen by enough people to win is extraordinary.”

Still, there was something special about “Parasite” from its initial debut at the Cannes Film Festival back in May, where it nabbed the coveted Palme d’Or. That helped propel the film to its $130 million international box office, before it came to the United States and collected an additional $35 million.

Miky Lee, the heiress-turned-media mogul who financed and distributed “Parasite” through her role as vice chairwoman of the Korean media conglomerate CJ Group, has seen the film 18 times. “The first time I watched it, I thought the low-income people are parasitic to the high-income people,” she said in an interview at the Governor’s Ball. “I watch it a second time and realize that they are parasitic to each other. This is something that affects everybody, how to coexist with respect and without crossing the line.”

Also contributing to the movie’s success was Neon, the indie film company that distributed “Parasite,” and its spirited campaign, academy governors said. The studio, led by Tom Quinn, turned awards journalists into evangelists by opening its doors wide to them, in contrast to the more controlling larger studios. On the trail, “Parasite” became draped in an almost irresistible narrative: the little engine that could.

What Neon lacked in resources — Netflix, for instance, has 60 people in its awards and talent department campaigning for films like “The Irishman” and “Marriage Story” — it made up for with buoyancy and heart.

Bong wandered through the season with his camera in tow, documenting his unlikely journey and returning some joy and excitement to a process that has been overrun with cynicism and commercialism. He became pals with the “Jojo Rabbit” writer-director Taika Waititi, and showed reverence to the filmmakers who came before him, like his competitors Martin Scorsese (“The Irishman”) and Quentin Tarantino (“Once Upon a Time”). He was a perfect character for voters to get behind.

“Bong is fresh and new in town,” Boone Isaacs said. “Though we’ve all known about his talent for quite awhile.”

The internet, Bong said, also helped make voters, and audiences in general, open to a wider range of content. “There are streaming services, YouTube, social media,” he said backstage. “We will come to a day when a foreign-language film winning this won’t be much of an issue, hopefully.”

Yet those who have seen the academy embrace inclusion at times, only to seemingly reverse course, remain skeptical. Spike Lee, who last year nabbed his first Oscar for his adapted screenplay for “BlacKkKlansman,” one of a record seven black Oscar winners that year, told The New York Times earlier this year: “After last year’s ceremony, I said, ‘It ain’t gonna be like this next year!’ It’s always feast or famine with us.”

When asked Sunday night at the Governor’s Ball if he thought the victories by “Parasite” made up for the lack of diversity in other parts of this year’s Oscar race, Lee wouldn’t bite.

“The struggle continues,” he said.

Kyle Buchanan contributed to this report.

from WordPress https://mastcomm.com/oscar-triumph-for-parasite-reflects-academys-evolving-identity/

[moetanwrites-blog]

My precious precious daughter...

It hurts, I know, but let me tell you one thing about the process you are going through. Its discipline. Youve strayed too far away from me that when you finally came back there were things deeply rooted in you that I had to take away. 

Dont ever think I delight in seeing you cry.

In fact it breaks my heart more that you dont cry like that for me. But its okay, I know youre still learning. And I knew long before you were birthed into this world that you will come back to me. 

You have a purpose. 

But you have to understand, that the things youve brought back with you dont belong in my kingdom. I cant dwell peacefully in you if you still have thorns growing in your heart.

Do you understand?

I cant dwell peacefully in you if you still have thorns growing in your heart.

For a long time, I have seen you allow these things to come easily and sit inside you. For a long time I have seen you self-destruct. And although I really did want to intervene and stop you. I knew that would be taking away your free will. I can’t force myself upon you.

Do you understand?

I can’t force myself upon you.

But don’t ever think for once that I left you. As a matter of fact even when you were going through the toughest of times ive given you signs or people to show you that I care.

My precious precious daughter. How many people have told you that you are fearfully and wonderfully made? Yet you don’t believe it? Don’t you see that was me working in them? My precious precious daughter. How many people do you think have prayed for you? More than you can imagine? Don’t you see it was me working through them?

I can’t dwell peacefully in you if you still have thorns

I know you feel like everything is too much right now, that this process im putting you through hurts too much, but it only hurts because you don’t trust me enough to do my will.

I understand you. More than you ever know. But have you once tried to understand me? Have you once thought that maybe this process is because of how much I love you?

Don’t you see?

Wherever your heart lies, that is where your treasure is. And if you are hurting right now, then check your heart. Is it with me? Fully? Because if it is then your treasure should never hurt because it is Kingdom. But if you are still hurting over the process- check your heart. Am i an addition or submission?

You plead and you cry to me, you have your tantrums and sooks about how this is hard – my daughter I KNOW this is hard, I want to take the pain away, but why do I need to fight you in order for you to get this? Why do I have to prove to you how much you are loved when your heart is lost in something else?

You test me rather than trust me.

And i know its because the enemy has lied to you for too long. But since you said yes to me, since I came into your life its been an ongoing battle and we can either do this together or you can push me away - you choose. BUT DON’T TEST ME.

That is an insult to me. You know what its saying? Its saying that my son wasn’t enough for you. Its saying that I sacrificed him for nothing. Do you know how much that hurts?  You try giving up your son and watch him sweat blood, You try giving up your son to those people who embarrassed him, who mocked him who condemned him, You try giving your son up to the violent slashes that hit his back constantly and then make him walk miles with that cross. Can you honestly say youl be able to do that for the greater good?

My daughter, whats it going to take?

My son was crucified so you wont have to go through that, and in no way am i asking you to do it. All im asking for is your submission. All im asking for is your trust. And to give me everything that you have so that you can complete my purpose. What I asked of Jesus was far more then what im asking of you….so tell me again, why is this hard?

I know. It hurts. But lift your perspective and see your finish. Try and see it from my eyes. You are a product of heaven. Can you honestly say right now where youre at is the best depiction of my perspective? Because until you do then well, we have work to do.

Cry your tears, shout your anger and bitterness out. The greatest lie the enemy can do is to make you think everything is okay. Is to make you think hes not there. The greatest lie the enemy can do is to make you forget.

But since you said yes to me, I need to show you these things that the enemy has hidden from you. Why? Because I cant take you to your finish if its still in you.

You are fearfully and wonderfully made. Those are not empty words. You are a product of me. Those are not empty words. Don’t treat it like some kind of line in a script or take it lightly. Because i need you to believe it. You have to believe it, because I see you as my daughter. Daughter of the king. One who is meant for my purpose. I need you to believe it. I love you. Please don’t ever question my love for you again. I love you, and I cant leave you like that.

Do you understand?

I cant leave you like that.

Check your heart.

Addition or Submission?

Let me dwell peacefully in you, this process can’t end until the day you do.  

Im not gonna fight this on my own, not because I can’t because I can. Trust me I can. But you have the power and authority to do it. You have the power and authority to choose. You have me in you. Do you know what that means? It means that you are saved, that you are favoured, and that you are anointed. Don’t underestimate that salvation. Don’t underestimate your God given purpose despite how unworthy you may feel.  

I did it with Paul,

I did it with David,

I can do it with you.

I love you, beyond human understanding…

Your one and only Father, the Holy spirit. Xo

�¹M@�P[̲�

[socksandbuttons]

I feel bad but also good lord Lunar. Were we surprised no

But was it very Convenient??? Incredibly

AnywayGIVE IT UP FOR ANOTHER SIBLING ON THE KILLING LIST YAYA

Waiting for the Sun and Lunar conversation cause all it reminded me of was that episode Lunar called Sun out.