#i actually think the roles have permanently shifted now to make way for the future :')

[marxistluffy]

I think about the relationship between the Strawhats and the Marines a lot, because despite what we'd all like to think, despite what dialogue DIRECTLY from the show might say, they are not completely enemies.

Are there a lot of figures within the marines that Luffy would personally like to beat up and detests? Absolutely. Does that mean he sees all the marines as his enemies? No.

Luffy and co. have help guided quite a few marines to a correct path. Some of them even have friends, family, or odd relations with some people in the marines. When Luffy shot down the World Government flag, I think some of us forget that A) He was doing it to show how little he cared about the power system, especially if it was to save a friend. And B) The World Government = / = the Marines. The Marines are the government's lap dogs, they work with them, take their orders, etc, but at the end of the day, they're meant to stand for something different, to stand for justice, and a lot of them DO try to help civilians and be heroes to those around them.

They are just very limited in how they can do that.

Luffy has no limits. He has no superiors. Piracy lets him do whatever he wants, and he uses that freedom to save lives. So when I see arcs like Dressrosa, where the marines are fighting desperately to keep people from getting hurt, or Alabasta, when the Marines actually sided directly with the Strawhats, I think... No, the marines are not the Strawhat's enemies, they are often, in fact, quite his reluctant supporters.

Marines don't like pirates. No one is supposed to like pirates. But for a man like Luffy, who is using the title of pirate to change the world, any marine or figure that really wants to bring about justice would look up to him. Coby looks up to him, Fujitora, who is much stronger than all of them, looks up to him. And even small-time marines that barely know him, in some way, realize that he's doing what they can't. Because none of them have the bravery to step outside the limelight, to be called "evil," while actually saving the day. And I think it's oddly poetic that the only ones who can see the hero mantle he wears are the ones forced to don that mantle every day, for a society they often fail to protect. That the ones who truly know how great Monkey D. Luffy is feel indebted, frustrated, and second-best to him, to (who they believe is) their enemy.

In an odd, roundabout sort of way, a lot of the greater marines and the Strawhats are rivals, because even though they antagonize each other, they're often working toward the same goal. They always strive to fight the good fight and save the same people, and at the end of the day, Luffy and many of the marines have a similar arc: to reform the system that's hurting people.

The only difference is Luffy is doing it from the outside, and he does a much better job of it because of that freedom.

[likes-words-and-shrimp]

Chapters: 7/7 Fandom: Tales of Symphonia Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Colette Brunel/Lloyd Irving Characters: Lloyd Irving, Colette Brunel, Genis Sage, Raine Sage, Zelos Wilder, Sheena Fujibayashi, Regal Bryant, Presea Combatir, Kratos Aurion, Yuan Ka-Fai, Dirk (Tales of Symphonia), Frank Brunel Additional Tags: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Post-Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Wingfic, Eventual Romance, Mutual Pining, Self-Acceptance, Happy Ending, POV Multiple, Body Horror, Transformation Words: 36,180 Summary:

Lloyd had never been too fond of his wings. But they were still useful, and convenient when they needed to be. It only made sense to use what he had. Until his wings changed one night, and became permanent, with real feathers attached to bone. And they were heavy.

Looking back on 2023, I think one fic I'm really proud of writing is this one, a multichapter Symphonia fic I was able to complete, with a focus on Lloyd and his wings taking on a different transformation. It's seven chapters of Lloyd and Colette dealing with the painful and difficult changes, but also the rest of the party helping them on this new shift in their journey. If you decide to read it, I hope you enjoy!

Just have some more additional thoughts for this fic under the cut:

Since this year for Colloyd Week was going to be its 5th year running, and it was also Symphonia's 20th anniversary, me and @frayed-symphony wanted to do something a bit more special with the prompts this time. We decided to bring back some prompts from previous weeks while still using a new quote day and the usual free day. (Here's the prompt list with her art which everyone should see) With that in mind, I also wanted to do something a bit different for myself writing-wise, and tell a story over the course of each of the prompts!

The tidbit about mana wings eventually becoming more feathered versions is actually a bit of lore taken from the Kratos novel. Essentially, if an angel uses it for too long, the wings will become a permanent part of the body, the mana solidifying into feathers. That's why we see a lot of angels in Welgaia floating about with feathered wings, and explains why Kratos, Yuan and Mithos don't keep theirs out consistently. And the reason for the title, it's from the Lloyd's Thoughts on Angels skit because I thought it would be fun to make all those angelic issues relevant for this fic.

I really wanted to use this bit of canon lore for Lloyd, and whether it's an effect of his unique Exsphere, or anything else, his wings succumb to the same transformation. But, well, it's more than just the wings changing here.

I also wanted to play more with Lloyd's self-consciousness here and the guilt he probably still carries with him when he failed to notice Colette suffering in time. Lloyd is also the unifying force for the party where he helps inspire and lift them up from each member's own troubles, but I also wanted to see this reversed while Lloyd is going through his own baggage and past traumas. It was also more interesting to write about Lloyd going through physical changes the way Colette did in the game and have that comfort role-reversed.

A lot of this fic was a learning process! The wings in Symphonia are just a favorite aesthetic for me, and learning about how they can change was really intriguing, so much of this fic centered around the Wings prompt. I was also planning on having everyone play a part with the Soulmates prompt, which I felt was fitting for Symphonia's anniversary year. Much of the later half of the story came as it went, like with the focus on Dirk, and the very last chapter that's a few years in the future, where Lloyd has a better handle on who he is now.

Change itself is also something I just wanted to focus on overall; how we change as people, or how our loved ones change over time. And sometimes change is frightening, but it can also be exciting and learning to accept and welcome it can also feel rewarding in the end. I think I wanted to show that in this fic, though how well I succeeded kinda depends on the reading, and maybe I was heavy-handed with the wings metaphor haha.

But also, I just wanted to write a longer cute ship fic of my OTP. That's another reason. :D

Compared to most chaptered fics, this isn't very long, but I like that it's contained enough at just over 36k. I still have other Symphonia WIPs I want to finish, but I'm really proud of completing this one, and a big thank you to those who've read and commented on this fic! Symphonia has always been special to me and I'm glad I could celebrate both the game and my favorite ship this way.

Around the new year, I'll probably make a Symphonic fic recs list for stories I've read this year. If you read this far, hope you'll look forward to it!

[vyuntspakhkite-l-darling]

So far I think my draft is pretty strong so far but I'm noticing some big flaws and I'm gonna ramble about it

I mentioned in a post yesterday(?) kind of that when I shift perspective, I like to shape the narration style to really help the reader understand how each character thinks. But as I'm going into chapter four and the first actual chapter from Arsioly's perspective, I'm realizing that his style is far more distinct from everyone else's than the other three are from each other.

Because my guy is like a fuckin psycho and he's all like 'will death hold me like water' and reminiscing about killing a guy and barkbarkbark

As of right now the way I'm planning to make Virava's voice more distinct is by making her see things more artistically because she really wants to be an artist even though she doesn't have the materials

For Sibatol I'm not quite sure but I think I'm just going to give him more internal monologue? Because this bitch doesn't say anything he means. He's just a traumatized kid inside but his survival has depended on being appealing to others for so long that he just can't turn the persona off

But I'm concerned about Visralion kind of? I dunno I guess part of me wants to make one of his characteristics be that he thinks far more of other people than he does himself and then part of his arc can be when Ari confesses to him and he's like wait.. i don't really want to be with him right now Will it be too late if I do that? Will people already have written him off as like just a boring love interest for Arsioly to obsess over or will they realize once that scene happens that I did that intentionally?

Spoilers under the cut and also me trying to ffigure out if i have some internal bias I don't see or if I'm just overanalyzing

I'm also worried about Virava and Visralion's agency in the story. Arsioly has the most agency because he's hugely ambitious and just wants more. Among other things he plans the attack on Nyazhchau which literally tips the scale of the war and cements both his fame/legacy and the future of the Rahaithian Army (I finally found a permanent name for the rebels). I genuinely think that if he did not exist then the RA wouldn't win and Kristalya would remain whole for longer.

Sibatol also has a fair bit of agency, he's the one that saves Arsioly from Nyazhchau, and he's also the one that recovers the negotions when Arsioly starts fucking up

Now something I've noticed is that the two characters that have the most agency are the two white characters out of the four MCs. I didn't do this on purpose obviously but I'm wondering if it's an internal bias thing.

I do have my reasons for most of their designs. Arsioly and Visralion are quite different in color for character design reasons and I do really like that character design trope where it's like opposites and they're gay for eahc other idk. I could theoretically switch them and give Arsioly the darker color scheme and Visralion the lighter one but idk then that makes the two POCs the two more violently inclined characters in the group and I don't like that either.

Virava is black as a reference to the black trans women that were part of the stonewall riots, and if I make Sibatol black as well, that makes the three MCs that came from poverty all black and the one character that came from a rich family white. I could switch Virava's and Sibatol's role but I have weird feelings about making the only trans character the one that's very promiscuous.

Idk that's not the point I just need more agency for Visralion and Virava. I can make it so Visralion has a more subtle sort of agency where he supports his friends and is kind of the 'glue' of the team, plus he's the only one of them that's good at comfort. He also has his moment where he makes the call that they're keeping Estera and his moment where he rejects Arsioly because he sees that man is not ready for a relationship.

For Virava though I'm really not sure? I'm pretty sure that when the Nyazhchau situation happens she's going to be the one that goes, "no, we're going to try again, Arsioly could still be alive and we could rescue him and even if he's no he wouldn't just want us to give up." I think she's also gonna have some nice moments with Estera but I just feel like there needs to be more.... I'm going to look for opportunities while I'm writing to give her some more agency I just needed to talk about this and get the words out there

[bludhavents]

things that each greaser struggles with:

these are mostly headcanons i came up with. also, this gets pretty angsty.

content warning: alcoholism, addiction, anxiety.

darry:

- maturity. he thinks everybody looks at him like the “dad” of the group instead of just another friend, and he loathes it. he misses whenever he was able to skip work to catch a movie at the drive-in or take ponyboy and sodapop up to the dingo for lunch.

- accidental intimidation. his build is very large and strong, which is good for his job and for when he’s actually trying to, well, intimidate people, but other than that it just makes him feel guilty for being so unapproachable.

- relationships. specifically, darry is very insecure in his relationship with pony. he especially hates it whenever pony dogs on him for forgetting things or accusing him of not caring.

- emotional intelligence. he knows he comes across as cold. and he hates it. he has lots of emotions and he doesn’t air them out in a healthy way, so he tries his best to cut all the emotions off altogether in hopes that the negativity will stop, but it just makes him feel even more insecure.

- social skills. in high school, it was all much easier for him, but now that he’s working full-time and running the household, he’s fallen majorly behind in the social scene. he never goes out to the drive-in or to the dingo, and at first it was because he was too busy, but now, even if he doesn’t have a shift, he’ll make up some excuse because he’s too nervous to go and have to talk to people again since he feels like he’s gonna mess up.

- identity. darry was just starting to feel comfortable in himself and in his role in the world right before his parents died, and when they did, he stopped trying to figure out what made him happy. it has made him insecure of the emotional stint that is centered around his ego and sense of self.

sodapop:

- smarts. it’s canon that he’s insecure about this.

- growing up. while everybody else moves on to new things and grows up, he feels like he’s stuck in the same place watching everybody else progress while he stays behind. this was especially true after sandy left, because marrying her was going to be this huge exciting step in his life and when she left, he didn’t have that fulfillment anymore.

- reassurance. he feels a constant need for approval, and he will take it wherever he can get it. there’s a sort of pride he gets whenever he sees a girl checking him out, but there’s a deeper feeling telling him that she’s gonna run away once she finds out about how ‘stupid’ he is.

- authority. soda has a really hard time talking to people who are in a position of power. he gets all nervous and his hands get sweaty and his face goes sheet white in panic. his charm and social skill is enough to satisfy a conversation with a person his age, but he feels silly trying to be confident in front of an adult. he feels like they look down on him and will laugh.

- fatherhood. he’s very insecure about having a family in the future. he feels like he never appreciated his dad’s skilled parenting while he could, and since then darry has been a sort of fatherly figure in the house, but it’s hard for soda to see it that way. he grew up for 16 years with darry as a big brother and for him to suddenly be forced into a father role is troubling for soda. because of this complicated dynamic between soda and fatherhood, he feels like he won’t be able to be the best father possible for his children.

- legs. he hates his legs. you will never see soda in a pair of shorts, not even when he’s swimming. he doesn’t like the way they’re shaped and thinks that they make the rest of his body look odd, so he wears loose jeans to hide them. he’s also embarrassed of being embarrassed about them, so nobody knows, not even steve.

dallas:

- emotional intelligence. his lack of emotional intelligence is something he battles with a lot. he understands what people are feeling, but he has a hard time understanding why they feel that way. he says it’s because he’s too tuff to deal with emotions, but deep down he knows it’s because he was thrust into a traumatic childhood so early on that he never had time to build emotional bonds with people that would strengthen his empathy and understanding.

- his past, another canon take. he hates talking about it, even the good stuff, because when he thinks about new york all he can picture is 10 year old dallas watching a man being covered in a white sheet by the paramedics on the side of the road. he thinks about his friends from there and knows they’re all either locked up or dead, and it ruins any enjoyment he gets from reminiscing on the good times.

- health. he definitely has crohn’s or IBS or something else that makes his stomach hurt whenever he eats, and it embarrasses him to no end. he’s always anxious that his stomach is going to start hurting when he’s with the gang and is going to have to find some excuse to leave. he smokes so much while he’s out with them to keep from getting hungry until he gets back to buck’s place.

- his friendships. the shepherd gang is close-knit. then, the curtis’ are brothers, steve has known them forever, and two-bit is outgoing enough to make himself fit in to the group. johnny is the closest person dallas relates to, and it’s the friendship hes the most secure in.

- his smile. he knows smoking ruins his teeth, and he knows they’re crooked all over, and he knows that when he smiles his lips crack and stretch out.

johnny:

- his appearance, canon insecurity. he looks young for his age, and when the gang found him in the lot after he was beaten by Socs, they all started treating him like he was young too. he didn’t think the scar on his face was tuff, it just reminded him of being attacked.

- his voice. this is less about how it sounds and more about him not being able to speak over the shouting at home. he hates yelling, and he won’t stand in to speak up for him cause he’s too afraid of being told to “stop yelling”.

- being average. johnny feels painfully average in everything he does. he’s tried to find a skill that he truly loves and wants to take time to be good at, but he always gets frustrated and quits before he can improve.

- romance. almost every aspect of it terrifies johnny. he doesn’t know what a healthy marriage looks like, what he does know was from Mr and Mrs Curtis, but seeing them die together warped his sense of love. he doesn’t understand why you would want to love somebody so much if you didn’t have to. he doesn’t like the “til death do us part” aspect of marriage, because it makes him feel trapped. he’s not afraid of commitment, he’s afraid that he will end up in a marriage like his parents’ and not be able to leave.

two-bit:

- alcoholism. he’s an alcoholic and he knows it, but he’s been stuck in the vicious cycle of addiction for such a long time that the only way he knows how to cope with the emotional baggage of addiction is to drink more.

- social awareness. as of now, he’s very self-aware and extremely skilled in reading a room, but he didn’t used to be. he used to crack jokes at the wrong time and get scolded for it, and it made him feel horrible. like he wasn’t able to experience all the same sad feelings as everybody else because they reacted differently to the sadness than he did. they wanted to process the sadness while he wanted to ignore it.

- being absent at home. he knows he spends the majority of time at the curtis house, and he also knows that his mother spends the majority of her time at work, which leaves his little sister at home alone. he has a good relationship with her, but he doesn’t like for her to see him drunk, and as his alcoholism progresses, that gets to be more and more often. he knows this, and it’s one of the main reasons he’s so insecure about his addiction, because she’s the one who let him know that it wasn’t a one-way street. his problem affected him and her.

- commitment. two-bit is young, but he feels old enough to know how relationships work. he saw his dad walk out on them, and he was never able to process how you could go from marrying someone to leaving and never looking back. at first, he thought that his dad was just a selfish jerk, but when he met johnny and saw that his parents were also married and simultaneously abusive, he convinced himself that all marriages were bound to end up that way. he believes that if the curtis’ lived longer, they would have eventually gotten bitter and tired of each other, because in his mind, that’s just what couples do.

ponyboy:

- confidence. he has a lot of insecurities, and they’re shared pretty evenly between physical and non physical. he doesn’t like his body or his eyes. he doesn’t like how impulsive and dramatic he is.

- security. not in himself, but in life. he’s permanently on edge, feeling anxious about who’s going to be around the corner and what would happen if he got jumped and how many Socs he’d be able to fight off in case anything happened. his parents’ sudden deaths did not help this. he feels like life is constantly tossing him around, and he never feels completely safe.

- emotional outbursts. this isn’t exclusive to ponyboy, but he struggles with it the most. he hates getting upset with people, and he hates hurting other people’s feelings. when he’s feeling too many things, he starts to speak without a filter and gets mad at the littlest things, and he knows that it makes everybody around him feel bad.

- fitting in. in contrast to johnny’s insecurity, ponyboy wants nothing more than to fit in. he’s tired of being the only greaser in his classes, he’s tired of his isolated taste in movies and theatre, he’s tired of being a track star, and he’s tired of all the pressure put on him since he isn’t average.

steve

- masculinity. his dad always enforces an unrealistic standard of being strong, independent, and logical. steve is inherently all of these things, but the pressure he feels to keep it up weighs him down.

- comparing himself to others. it started in middle school when he noticed all of the people liked sodapop more. from then on he couldn’t help but feel like soda was more attractive and charming, darry was stronger and smarter, two-bit was funnier and cooler, dallas was tougher and unbothered, johnny was more likeable and down-to-earth, and ponyboy was more creative and well spoken.

- addiction. there was a time in steve’s life where he was getting high every day. at first it was fun, but then he had to quit track because he wasn’t as athletic as he used to be. it ruined his health and motivation. he started working on cars more to keep himself busy, and it helped a lot, even got him a job.

- hyperindependence. steve’s biggest character flaw is that he can’t ask for help. whether it’s asking for help in school or asking for soda to hand him a tool in the garage, steve can’t bring himself to do ask. it makes him feel like he’s not good enough to do it on his own.

[multimetaverse]

HSMTMTS 2x09 Review

Spring Break was a bit of an odd ep but helped move some key plots forward. Let’s dig in!

Well people can no longer claim that Portwell is one sided. We finally got Gina’s pov and she starts off the ep uncertain whether the shift in their relationship means that EJ likes her but by the end of the ep she seems sure of herself and that EJ likes her back. I liked that she didn’t try to pretend that nothing had changed or that she hadn’t noticed potential signs that EJ might like her; it always sucks when tv characters act like idiots. 

Perhaps the most important reveal of this ep was that Gina has a much older estranged brother who left her and her mom many years ago. That certainly makes her backstory more tragic and is definite set up for her brother to eventually return.

The writers continue to give Portwell great tropes, capping this ep off with an airport rom-com trope that also calls back to EJ getting Gina the place ticket so she could come back in S1. Not only did Gina keep EJ’s Duke sweatshirt but she altered it to fit her better which is both sweet and bold in the assumption that it was hers to keep. Gina got her sign when not only did EJ show up to drive Gina home and take her luggage but he brought her the granola bar that she had wanted but forgot to pack. I wonder if her posting on her story that she was ubering home after her flight was cancelled was intended to see if EJ would show up since the camera focused on her posting it. Also sweet that she’s taken to calling EJ, ‘ Eej’. 

EJ’s opening was good, shows a lot of his character growth from the selfish guy he was in S1 and how he’s learned to value other people which of course leads into his feelings for Gina. We got another great use of the camera as character tonight when Gina was laughing after her facetime call with EJ until she realized that the camera was on her. 

Jack was a lot of fun. Though he didn’t really change Gina’s mind over anything like the ep description said he would.  Seemed like Gina was largely over Ricky and wondering about EJ at the beginning and the end solidified her feelings for EJ but Jack didn’t really play a role in that, it’s not like he encouraged Gina to reach out to EJ or anything. There’s a vague sense in which Jack being nomadic linked him to Ricky’s unreliability in Gina’s eyes with her craving stability but that’s a stretch. Jack mentioned that the second most dangerous part of a plane ride is when the plane takes off, a hint to the blossoming Portwell relationship where in order to take off one or both of them has to risk a confession even though they could be turned down.

This ep might seem a bit weird in hindsight. The zoom parts probably won’t age well and five years from now people might be wondering why they had Gina hang out with a manic pixie dream boy of sorts for an ep.

The path is clear for canon Portwell in the finale with EJ being Gina’s second chance at romance and her first kiss since they clearly telegraphed it out of nowhere. I’ve been impressed with the great work the writers have been doing since 2x05 to build up Portwell as a ship but also work on Gina and EJ as individual characters; they’ve been the highlight of the season so far. 

There was discourse this past week over how well or poorly Portwell has been set up. Objectively very few ships on this show get much in the way of set up or consistent writing. Redlyn and Kowie had barely any set up before getting together. Seblos had none (though in fairness that was due to Disney restrictions) and Miss Jenn and Mike Bowen didn’t have much set up either. Rini did get lots of development in S1 but that’s because they had already dated and were the main ship of the show. The show’s not really about slow burns, if Jenzzara canons in the finale they’ll count and if Rina ever got together they’d also count but neither of those ships have gotten consistent development with Mazzara not being in several eps and Gina and Ricky not even interacting for the past 3 eps. 

Is Portwell a slowburn? In a sense since they did feature quite a bit in each other’s S1 plot lines and even had a fake dating plot but it is true that they were platonic and not that close in S1 so it’s a wash. There was clear set up for romantic Portwell in 1x10 with team wonderstudies and Gina staring at EJ (which interestingly enough looked more like set up for Gina to pine over EJ). I think the main problem is that even though we saw Gina and EJ hanging out in the background we didn’t get any scenes of substance between them until 2x05. It was a mistake and there should have been some scene, like EJ and Gina commiserating in 2x03 over being single on Valentine’s Day or something like that. Hell there was even that still from 2x01 of EJ and Gina looking at each other at the piano while they were in the frame between Ricky and Nini singing and having a moment  which would have been good foreshadowing but that shot wasn’t in the ep.

Whether Tim just really wanted Portwell to be a surprise in 2x05 as a mid-season twist to throw the audience off of what looked like a Rini/Rina triangle or he was unsure as to whether he wanted to go with Portwell or if he just planned it out poorly we may never know. Regardless they’ve had great writing for 4 eps in a row now which puts them slightly ahead of the 3 eps in a row of development Rina got in S1. I’m sure if someone added up their screen time they’d find that Portwell has more screen time this season than Kowie and more screen time than Redlyn or Seblos  got in S1. 

Caswell cousins was fun and Ashlyn did in fact paint EJ’s nails. 

Set up for Seblos drama next week, it’s refreshing to see Seb being jealous over Carlos flirting with other boys that’s definitely not something you see on Disney shows.

Ricky got some healing done with his mom. Enough to cover their issues? No but this is probably the best this show is capable of. There was a brief mention of therapy sandwiched between other options which sounds more like checking off a box then setting up Ricky actually going to therapy. I noticed Lynne was smiling at odd times like when she told Ricky she knew about his breakup with Nini; whether that was poor directing or acting I don’t know. Who knows if we’ll see Lynne again. As an aside still so wild that Tim named Lynne who’s been a kinda shitty mom after his own mom who he seems to be fairly close with.

Really liked You ain’t seen nothin as a song but not a fan of the Tiktok style vid. I’ll level with you wildcats, I’m too old to really get Tiktok, it just seems like a crappy version of Vine to me. Let you go was good, seemed better fitted for Joshua Bassett’s voice than some of his previous songs. A big sign that they’re not circling back to Rini for a long time for sure. Though on that note we got a bit of a hint that Ricky was Nini’s muse which may one day come back as a way to help bring them back together. 

Looking Ahead:

If there’s only 3 weeks left till the Menkies, with only 2 weeks left for rehearsal due to spring break, it’s hard to see East High winning unless North High is disqualified or has to withdraw. 

Lily is in a promo photo so she’s likely the unexpected facetime Ricky gets which is what I had theorized. Also makes it much more likely that she’s the party crasher Ricky re-evaluates in the finale though what Tim actually wants to do with those two I do not know.

There’s little point in bringing back the Valentine’s chocolate since there’s no real stakes. Rini are already broken up, Gina hasn’t spoken to Ricky since 2x06, and it’s not like Nini and Gina were ever close so even if they stopped talking to each other it wouldn’t really affect the show in any way. 

Seems pretty likely that Second Chances refers to Gina realizing that her first try with Ricky failed but her second chance with EJ won’t and that leads to her sharing her truth and cue the Portwell confession and kiss, perhaps with an assist on EJ’s end from Mazzara. We’ve gone well past the point where Portwell can be brushed off as just a plot device to help Rina but Tim is playing with fire by getting the audience so on board with Portwell if he’s once again going to have EJ lose a girl he likes to Ricky in S3.

Gina certainly needs to talk with Ricky and I do think that happens in ep 11 or 12 and leaves them on better terms. As I mentioned last week, if Tim was smart he’d slam the door on Rina if he’s going with canon Portwell or vice versa. If he wants Rina to be a slow burn he’s really botched the writing this season, it’s been too one sided and too angsty to sustain any kind of momentum or audience interest. They haven’t even interacted for 3 eps now and not only has it not affected the show but it’s inarguably made Gina’s story line much better.  Again I don’t think he’s smart enough to not try and do Portwell and then later Rina but he’s accidentally set up the Rina story line to quite easily slam the door permanently on them by having their conversation be closure for Gina who’s moved on and an apology from Ricky who never liked her back as much as Gina liked him.

Not looking forward to seeing Nini basically live out Olivia Rodrigo’s life in future seasons

Curious to see Carlos’ apology song to Seb. Ricky helping him with it is a great way to help start redeeming Ricky’s character in the audiences eye’s. According to Matt there is a bit of a Ricky/EJ rivalry this season and if it’s really happening the sleepover would be a good place to do it though I hope it’s not about Gina. 

Until next week wildcats.

[dinner-djarin]

Next To You (Bucky x reader)

Just a little one shot I wrote after watching FATWS on repeat. (I tried to make it gender neutral but I may have missed something so I'm sorry if it's not!)

Rating: Mature

No use of Y/N

Word Count: 2.6k

Summary: Bucky is having nightmares, and you're there to comfort him. Based on the Julia Michaels song If You Need Me. (so if the ending sounds dumb go listen to the song you'll understand why lol)

Warnings: Fluff & angst I guess idk, kinda dark themes, because well it's Bucky. Just two people who have definitely been through some shit. Oh ya that reminds me swearing. Suggested that intercourse has happened but nothing descriptive. A little (a lot) about trauma but mostly about nightmares. If I missed something pls lemme know, I don't want anyone to feel triggered reading. But if you can watch the show and be fine, you'll probably be okay with this.

Also just letting you know if I put ~ its cause I switch the focus from Bucky to reader, but I'm not switching POV completely its all written in reader POV.

Every night brought pieces of the past. He never knew which memory would be dragged to the surface once he let his subconscious take over - clawing and scrapping against the walls he put up, begging to be let out; to be confronted.

Some nights were worse than others of course.

He wasn’t sure how he was ever going to out run the monsters of his past. For a while he just stopped sleeping. It may not have been a permanent fix, but he thought some relief was better than none at all. He used to go days, even weeks, without sleep during the war, so he figured it might be the best way to silence the past.

Dr. Raynor, however, caught on quick.

A lot of her methods seemed like bullshit to Bucky. He could tell she was genuinely trying to help him, but he doubted anything she had anything to offer him that would prove to be effective.

But at the end of the day she was definitely no fool. He had a tough time lying to her. She didn’t take anyone's crap, and that might have been the only reason he trusted her, even a little. It may have been the only reason he actually gave it a sincere try (besides the fact he’d be arrested if he didn’t).

So he probably shouldn’t have been surprised when she caught on to his sleep strike. In fact she called him out on it only three days in. He thought he’d get longer than that. Even so, he was almost relieved. After only 72 hours he already felt the nightmares slowly creeping into the day. Every time a door slammed or a car horn blared his body tensed. Every time he turned a corner he’d reach for a knife he no longer carried. So maybe it was better to let his past haunt his nightmares. That way he’d be alone when the memories took over. That way he wouldn’t hurt anyone else.

But he made a mistake. He did what he told himself he could never do. He let you get too close.

Falling asleep in your arms felt better than any therapy session he could ever imagine. It was the first time in forever he could remember what it was like to be his younger self. The version of him that marvelled at the idea of flying cars; who thought he could save the world by enlisting. The dreamy eyed boy who was hopeful for the future, who thought he had a future.

Lying next to you made him feel in control, like his problems didn’t matter. He was there to keep you safe, and warm, and comfortable. He never thought he’d feel like that with anyone. He didn’t think he was allowed.

You didn’t question his metal arm for starters. When Bucky took off his jacket, after the hundredth time you insisted - “It’s like 100 degrees in here Bucky, please take it off, you’re gonna melt” - he thought he’d instantly regret it. But you simply looked at it with wonder for only a moment, before returning your eyes up to his own. Staring back at you, he saw the wheels in your brain click into place. He could almost hear your thoughts as you decided what your next move would be.

In the blink of his eyes you tore your shirt off and stood completely still in front of him. For a moment his emotions were mixed, and he worried where your sudden advancement came from, but then he saw it. A thick white mark slashed across your torso.

You took only one step forward before speaking. “It’s not exactly… I know it’s not the same thing at all. But the scars - the marks we carry - they’ll be with us forever, whether we like it or not. Even if they remind us of the worst pieces of ourselves, or the worst moments of our lives, it reminds us that we can move forward. And it reminds me that there’s something to move forward to. I don’t know…it doesn’t really make any sense but somehow it’s almost comforting.  To know that something will always be with us, till the end”

His mouth was on yours in an instant.

He had been hesitant to let anyone in. After coming back - after going through everything he’d been through - he felt like damaged goods. He worried that the minute he let himself be happy, everything would come crashing down again, and he had good reason to believe it. It just kept happening over and over. It seemed like every time he found even a small amount of peace, the battle made its way back to him.

But when he found you, when he felt you, he felt peace. The softness of your skin, the gentle wave of your hair, the light scrape of your fingernails against his back and chest, your quiet moans muffled by his own mouth on yours. Being with you made the horrors of his past melt away. Even when you clamped down around him and bit into his shoulder muscle, even when he knew you’d left marks all over his skin. Knowing they came from you made all the difference. They didn’t remind him of the wars he fought, or lives he took, or the atrocities he committed. The sting of your nails and teeth weren’t pains from his past, they were reminders of his present, of the possibility of a life he could have. With you.

But in the end he knew that it was all wishful thinking. He knew he wasn’t cut out for that type of future. He knew you deserved better.

So he decided to let you off easy, to disappear from your life, leaving your shared experience to the confines of your bedroom. A memory, nothing more. He knew he’d have to sneak away once you fell asleep, because that way it might not feel real. Everything that happened between you might disappear with him.

But then he fucked up.

He was waiting for your breath to even out, a sign he would take to mean you had fallen asleep, but after listening to the air rush out of your body, and watching your bare chest rise and fall, your hypnotic essence overpowered his will, and he fell asleep alongside you.

Only he wasn’t asleep for long.

Eventually the past caught up, as it always had a way of doing. Images, and sounds, and smells all came flooding back to his uninhibited brain - sleep made him an easy target. He was vulnerable to every torment he caused, and every mission he was forced to carry out. Tonight was no exception. His brain managed to sift through every wall he thought he had up, and trudge yet another painful memory to the surface. The image of himself taking life after life, cruelly and viciously. There was no remorse, no stopping him. He saw every crime lord and politician he was made to terminate. Until his brain moved away to a new idea. The image of a young woman. Innocent and pure. But in the way of his mission. The Winter Soldier spared none.

He woke up in a blind panic. His surroundings were unfamiliar. Something was wrong. Was he being held captive or-

~

“Hey,” you made yourself known to him, and he twisted his head back to see you sit up beside him. You were quiet, and a worried expression blanketed your face.

Is he angry, you thought for a moment? No. Your brain was tired, and it was slow to process. Not angry, scared.

You knew from the minute you saw his arm that there was more going on. You already had some suspicions, nevertheless you expected there to be something like this.

For a moment, the two of you stared at each other in silence. You watched him regain his breath, and you carefully shifted your legs to sit crossed underneath you.

His steel blue eyes cut through the darkness, pinning you down. You wondered what was going on in his mind, what he might be doing to regain his grip on reality. You knew this moment too well. The quiet. The darkness. The fear. Not sure of how to move forward.

You were scared too, but not of him - more like you were scared for him. You knew he must be going through something, and you wanted to be there to help, but you also knew that was easier said than done. “Being there to help” was a nice concept, but in reality - well things were generally more complicated. You didn’t know if it’d be alright to approach him, mainly because you were unsure of your role in all this. Were you really someone he wanted around when he was so obviously vulnerable? You’d never seen him so raw and exposed, like a wound you wished you could tend to, while also fearing that your interference could make things worse.

You knew he wasn’t going to ask for your help, you could see he wasn’t that kind of man, but maybe if you made the first step, and let him choose - maybe he’d let you in. So, you held out your hand and waited. After a moment, you saw him move, only slightly though. His eyes darted down towards your hand and he subtly lifted his fingers off the bed. But it only lasted a second. He froze again, hand hovering near yours, and that’s when you realized he had been reaching for you with his left hand. You had been wary to touch it before, you thought it was probably a sensitive subject. Something about the idea of touching his metal arm seemed more personal, if that was possible. Like only the most trusted people in his life might be allowed to… and maybe not even then.

You felt your own eyes drop to your lap, an almost nervous energy now emanating in the space between you. But just before you could drop your hand too, his fingers hesitantly entwine with yours.

You shot your eyes up to see his right hand grazing the palm of your left. As your gaze slowly elevated, you found your way to meet his own eyes, only to notice the very sudden change in them. Whatever fear or darkness hid their before had now melted away. You couldn’t place it, but whatever emotion he now held sent a chill from your core to your fingertips. A lump in your throat formed and for a moment, you thought you might never be able to breath again. The look in his eyes was almost soft, but with a hint of yearning. Fire was blazing through every nerve in your body, while a chill kissed your skin, making every hair stand on edge.

Feeling outrageously brave, you took your free hand up to his jaw and held him there, gently swiping your thumb over his cheek, and allowing your fingers to reach slightly past his hairline and to the back of his neck. You wondered if he could feel the raging storm of your emotions through your touch.

“You okay?” you managed to whisper to him.

“Nothing I haven’t dealt with before” his answer pierced your ears with a hard tone, refusing to let any vulnerability resonate in his voice.

You shake your head at him, wishing he wouldn’t play pretend. “Okay then,” you mumble, letting your hand drop from his face. But as it fell, Bucky was quick to grab it, and hold it with a gentle squeeze. When you looked at him again, you knew he meant it as a reassurance, trying to tell you that he was okay.

~

He couldn’t handle the way you looked at him. Like you could see every thought in his head. A knowing gleam in your eyes told him that you didn’t believe him, and you’d be right not to. He wasn’t okay. He never really was. There was so much darkness surrounding him, poisoning every inch of his life. But you. Your touch was gentle and your voice was kind, and even though he had just seen your scar, he couldn’t help but think your world must have been so much brighter than his own. Looking in your eyes, he almost wished he’d never met you. He was so afraid that his pain might infect you too, the only good thing he had left. He wouldn’t ever be able to forgive himself if he let that happen; if he let his past ruin your future.

He wanted to leave, he needed to get out, before any of that could happen.

He slid off the bed quickly, and made his way to grab his clothes, but before he could you grabbed his hand - his left hand.

“Please Bucky don’t.” was all you could say. But the way your voice broke, on the verge of tears, fear of being rejected, of being left alone in the dark by the only man you ever wanted to let in - it was enough to stop his heart. He stood there, frozen from your touch. You kept his hand in yours, and for a second you worried it was too much. You worried you betrayed whatever trust you had built with him. Just holding his bare metal hand felt more violating and revealing than the fact that both of you remained completely naked. But you didn’t want to pull away. You didn’t want him to think you were afraid of him, afraid of the fact his hand could pulverize yours in a second - because you weren’t. You’d felt his touch. You knew how gentle and caring he could be. And you wanted him to see it too. That he wasn’t defined by his worst fears.

You pulled your body towards him, kneeling at the edge and facing him, “You don’t have to leave.” you spoke softly, as if he might be spooked and run off if you were any louder. “You don’t have to push everyone away. Please don’t push me away… I-”

Before you could finish, he was crashing into you. His tongue invading your mouth, like he was trying to soak up your unsaid words. His hands held your waist in place against his, steady and strong, but there was still resistance in his fingers; a hesitance to use too much force with you. You could feel how he feared he might hurt you.

Slowly you leaned back, feathering your fingers over his shoulders to guide him with you, and when he hovered over you, you let them slide into his hair, grabbing what you could and leading his head down…

~~~~

You lay there in the dark with your head on his chest, listening to his steady heart, feeling the crisp sting of metal graze your back. And even though you knew it was ridiculous, all you could think about was how you wanted to keep him safe. The man was stronger than any other human being, and probably thought you were fragile and helpless, and needed his protection more than anything. But still, you wanted him to be okay. You wanted him to know he could be safe.

“I’ll fight them for you.” you whimper quietly, suddenly worried that Bucky may have already fallen back to sleep.

“Huh? Who- what do you mean?” his words stuttered and tripped over his tongue. His half sleeping brain was suddenly running a mile a minute trying to decipher your statement. Who were you fighting? Why would you need to fight them for him? Surely he was more capable of fighting anyone off. He should be protecting you-

“The monsters” you said a little louder. The words feel childish and awkward in your mouth, and once you said them, you wished to take them back. But you decided to push forward, “if you want me to… if you need me… I’m here”

[shimmershae]

My thoughts on Caryl canon--as if you lovelies actually asked, lol, go a little something like this.

We’re getting a spin-off.  

I know the antis and the haters are doing whatever is in their limited, petty ass power to sink said spin-off and who knows?  Maybe they will somehow succeed (highly doubtful).  But they can piss and moan about it all they want and they still will not be able to change the fact that a spin-off is and has been planned. 

To hear Kang and Norman and Melissa talk, it’s been in the planning stages for quite awhile.  

Coincidentally (I think not), Carol’s story (Daryl’s too but I’m going to focus more on Carol here) started to become a little more defined around the time that this spin-off idea was born.  It might not have been obvious at the time, maybe it still isn’t quite yet--we’ve been burned so much over the years--but Kang pumped the brakes and reversed course on a storyline that has seen Carol sentenced to continually rolling a stone up a steep hill for what has felt like all eternity.  She started dismantling the relationship between Carol and EZ really before it found its feet and not only that?  She cut the anchor of Henry from around Carol’s ankle.  

Now at first, the deconstruction of the Kingdom family unit seemed like more of the same, essentially another misery arc for Carol, and to a certain extent it was.  But the thing is?  

Kang might have shoved Carol harshly to the ground and given her a kick for good measure, several in fact, but something that might be lost a bit in the shuffle of everybody crying this is nothing but rinse and repeat of the same old, same old, is the fact that Carol has clawed her way out of yet another abyss and whether she’s wanted to or not, she’s starting to feel it.  All the losses she’s endured along the way, and she’s learning how to stand on her feet and rise in spite of them.  

All those little boxes she’s shoved her past traumas into are popping open one by one and the ghosts are spilling out and she’s having to face them head on and that’s just as much thanks to Daryl as anything else because he’s been right there with her.  

Daryl, who she sees. Daryl, who she can’t lose.  

The above statements have always been true, but Kang’s added another little wrinkle to this relationship.  

Daryl, who Carol dreams about a life of domestic peace with.  

It’s a shift in Carol’s perception of Daryl’s role/potential role in her life that’s perhaps too subtle for some.  Or maybe, just maybe, it was the first warning shot to them.  The one that made them sit up and take notice.  

I know which one I think it was.  Do you?  

Remember.  The spin-off had already been conceived at this point.  The groundwork to lead these two out of their status quo had already been started.  That’s important.  That nugget informs everything that’s unfolded onscreen since.  

Leadership was thrust upon Daryl in the latter part of Season 9 and the whole of Season 10 and he rose to meet that mantle, but through all of that?  Carol and her mental, emotional, and physical well-being remained a priority to him.  

What’s more, Daryl Dixon ‘manned up’ and stepped outside of his comfort zone.  He found his words and used them to tell Carol all the different ways that he could without shoving them both off of a precipice they weren’t completely ready for how he felt.  

Seriously.  How much more explicit can you get than “we have a future?”  Than offering multiple times to run away together?  

Those weren’t just aimless shots in the dark, although many took them to be.  We all know who they are.  

Again, we’re getting a spin-off.  It’s in the planning stages at least.  Kang might not have all the pit stops mapped out but I do think she’s got a general destination in mind.  She’s just making a few stops to fuel up and get supplies first. 

Let me ask ya’ll something.  To any outsider, anybody that might live underneath a rock and might not have seen an actual episode of TWD, how do you think this plot might read to them?  Without any physical descriptors, without knowing these two characters’ history as longtime friends and even with knowing it, what do you think they might glean from the fact that Kang has chosen to lead them back to each other? That she has chosen to emphasize the strength of their bond before pushing at its limits until it is so strained it has no choice but to either break permanently or weave itself tighter together with a new type of thread?  

Once again, I am going to remind anybody reading this that there is a spin-off in the works.  A spin-off featuring Carol AND Daryl.  

Carol and Daryl’s relationship over the years and seasons has evolved from strangers to friends to best friends and now?  Now they seem to be standing at the edge of a cliff staring into the unknown because seemingly Kang has decided to deconstruct their relationship.  She’s in the process of breaking it down into its base parts right now and causing Carol in particular to really examine what it is that she wants.  

She’s already given us all, Carol included, hints along the way.  

She’s paralleled these two characters’ separate journeys to each others’ sides.  

We’re ten years in.  With a spin-off impending and a bit of a been there, done that aspect hovering over the whole Carol and Daryl friendship, does anybody other than the antis and haters really and truly believe that Kang is deconstructing Carol and Daryl’s relationship only to return it to its original state?  

Does anybody really believe that there aren’t various romantic tropes being employed here?  That this story is being framed in anything other than an unabashedly shippy way?  Seriously.  How many fucking times has the sheer LONGING between these two jumped literally out of the screen and attacked us with its intensity?  

Pining has taken on a whole new meaning and yet, there are so many still (willfully) blind.  

Or maybe they’re not as blind as they claim.  Maybe they see the writing on the wall that so many that have actually longed for Carol and Daryl to take this step are afraid to really hope for and that’s why they are big time mad and ramping up their efforts to delegitimize romantic Carol and Daryl before it can be an undeniable reality.  Maybe that’s why so many of them are having hissy tizzy fits over a spin-off that was born in spite of what they claim is their majority.  

My personal opinion is too many exposed nerves are being hit and hit rather forcefully with a narrative that is becoming more overtly romantic all the time.  

Kang is bright-lighting us all with Caryl canon and because of past events some of fandom is still too stunned to see it coming.  

The rest sees it but some of them are still in big time denial.  They think they can keep speeding ahead and force it to swerve completely off the road.  

I don’t know about ya’ll but I’m going to respectfully pull over to the side of the road, do a U-turn, and follow these two to New Mexico and beyond. 

[ramblings-of-a-mad-cat]

What do you think of Camila? Do you think she’s a good mom to Luz? I’ve seen her getting a lot of hate recently especially after Yesterday’s lie’

Ah, an Owl House ask! Thank you so much for this, anon!

Camila is an absolute sweetheart. Anyone who works in Veterinary medicine earns my respect for the intelligence and hard work that takes, as well as the kindness in their heart. Speaking as the kind of person who would also set animals free from traps, I relate to Camila and respect her considerably. However, being a good person and being a good parent are two different conversations. I can understand why people may have been critical of her during Season 1, what with her seemingly trying to make Luz change herself and forcing her to attend that camp. Still, even in S1, I thought to myself that she was an imperfect parent but that she was truly trying her best, just that she was going about things the wrong way. I never got the sense that she felt anything but love for her daughter. Still, my theory after the finale was that Luz was never going to return to the human realm, simply because the Boiling Isles understood her better and accepted her so quickly. But the inclusion of those letters and of "Creepy Luz" made it clear that we weren't finished with Camila, that she would appear in the future. Hey, come to think of it...the letters never got explained, did they? Based on the flashbacks we saw, Vee's impersonation began as an accident, but the letters from "Luz" would suggest that this was more premeditated. So either Vee is lying about what happened, which she would have no reason to do anymore...or there's something else going on here, another player in this game. This could be unrelated and unimportant, but did anyone notice how the second parent in that family photo had their face obscured? I wonder...

Never mind that for now. As of the most recent episode? I don't see how anyone can hate Camila People are entitled to feel however they do about the characters, but I've seen how swift the turnaround was about Vee, and I was the same way. She is baby and must be protected. But you know who's agreed to protect her and take her in, and been generally wonderful about having her entire life and worldview upended? Camila. She's such a human character and she's not perfect, but she's kind. Even in the beginning of this episode, it was shown that the stark shift in "Luz's" personality was troubling her, and when she thought everything was a trick, she was relieved to see that Luz was "being creative again." So she never wanted to squash her daughter's imagination, just make sure she would be able to function in society. Whether she went about it the right way is open for debate, but it is clearer than ever that she was just trying to look out for her. I have to commend Camila for how she handled everything that she learned. Saw a literal monster and her response was perfect. She recognized, as a mother and as a veterinarian, that this was a vulnerable child who needed rescuing, who needed acceptance. And that's exactly what she gave. She didn't recoil in fear or disgust. She didn't act betrayed or hold Vee accountable for the deception. All of which, Vee was probably expecting. But no, Camila was a damn hero, saving and then adopting her.

Through all this, she's grappling with the understanding that demons and other worlds are real. But that's not even the biggest bomb that's been dropped on her. The child that she thought was Luz for these past few months was actually an impostor, a different child. And Luz herself has for all intents and purposes, been missing. Trapped in another world full of magic and demons. I'd imagine that Camila's feeling a fair bit of guilt right now. Any parent in her position would be wondering why they failed to recognize the disguise, how their own daughter could have gone missing for months without her noticing. She's probably going to beat herself up for all this, for a while yet to come. And that's not even getting into the reveal that the end. That Luz came to the Boiling Isles deliberately. I wonder if there are fans who took issue with the line "Was living with me so terrible?" Because it guilts Luz, a kid who's known for her imagination, for simply wanting to see a fantasy land. I'm sure Luz feels even worse about all this now. And I agree, Camila shouldn't have said that. But it was her kneejerk reaction, her immediate question. She shouldn't have said it, but I don't blame her for feeling that way, for wondering that very question. For feeling a little abandoned. She probably feels like she drove Luz away by limiting her creative impulses. But it's far from being that simple. Luz didn't feel accepted in the human realm, and Camila was basically the one thing she even had that tied her there. Camila was the reason that Luz was even bothering to try and go home.

This is a tragic situation that's unfolding and it breaks my heart, but I don't think anyone is at fault here. Luz and Camila are both so very human. They're good people with weaknesses and flaws, suffering from an impossible situation. I am glad, more than anything, that Camila knows the truth now. And that she's supportive of Luz, even if she was hurt by the knowledge that Luz left on purpose. (Seriously, I think the way she handled the Vee situation tells us everything we need to know about her.) I suppose something else that people might take issue with is her extracting that promise from Luz that when she makes it home, that she'll stay. That's one hell of a position to put Luz in, considering the life that she's build in the Boiling Isles. But here's the thing. Camila doesn't really know about all that. We don't see most of the exposition relay that Luz gives her. So there's no reason to assume that Camila knows about Luz attending school and training to become a witch. That she has best friends, that she has a girlfriend now. And honestly, even if she does know about this...it's still her daughter, who's only led this life for a few months. Wouldn't you have done the same? Wouldn't any parent in that situation just want their child back? Camila is responding to emotion in this scene and I don't blame her for asking what she asked of Luz, though again, it's still a problem. In fact, I once again worry what this will mean for the future, because I'm willing to bet that this promise will come up again. And play a role in how the series ends. Luz might have to say a permanent farewell to her friends in the Boiling Isles because she feels obligated to keep this promise. Or, she might elect not to return to the human realm or to stop trying...because she knows that if she succeeds, she'll have to stay there. Technically, she only promised to stay if she made it back, after all. Either way, I foresee heartbreak.

[werezmastarbucks]

columbus

honeymoon masterlist

word count: 2608

music: little death by +44, violence violence violence by tuff turf, inspiration by red 7

Every day he asked, what do you wanna do today?

After you finally allowed to leave the little, boring, flat island, Kai was so greatful he was down almost to anything. It was also the time when your chaotic, time wasting, unpredictable movements across the surface of the earth started dying down and turning into something more systematic. Although all the places you visited up to that moment were somehow connected with searching for a way out, once you started giving up you suddenly had a plan.

Not for breaking out fo the prison though.

The day (you still felt weird thinking it: the day. Every day was the same day. It was all today. It was all Kai’s birthday) you realized there was nothing much more you could do actively you had one of those moments when your brain suddenly feels like it has had enough. Like in the old times, when you were a teenager and had regular panic attacks after the Katherine accident. Not that you needed a specific reason to justify breaking here and there, with the style of life you were leading.

It happened when you were high, in a literal meaning. On the top of the bridge, where you two climbed up to watch the sun go down. Dublin was a city with lots of low roofs, incredibly cute; neat streets drowning in flowers, and all. Standing there, as you realized the panic is climbing at your throat, there was one question in your head: so, we’re staying here?

Although it’s nice, and everything is so easy, and traveling is quick, we’re staying here?

Although he is good, and he likes me, and I start trusting him, and he clearly tries to be nice, we’re staying here?

Although deep down inside I am starting to think this was exactly what I needed, in a twisted way, to get my head straight, to have an opportunity to dig something up in Kai, we’re staying here for good? Because you didn’t know if you could handle this. You had no idea how he handled this. It wasn’t about the general horror of being completely alone without seeing birds. It was looking at the empty sky and feeling the incredible weight of it, all on top of the head. It was the sound of the wind flying across the land uninterrupted, the quiet of the night undisturbed. It was more than you could describe. It was almost like drowning in space.

Kai had to get you down using magic, and you didn’t have enough breath to tell him not to waste it. Saving magic was a kind of a ritual as well, something that kept you on your feet because it gave you hope for once we get out.

You screamed into the face of green late spring lawn under the violet sky. Kai stood by, watching you without pity in his eyes for he never seemed to exhibit much compassion for you; he showed his presence in a different way. It actually helped; you never felt better if someone held you as you broke down. He then tried to console you, standing shoulder by shoulder, and pointing at the sky,

“Consider this. Nothing like that back in Maldives, right?”

The colors changed and drifted across the sky because here, in Ohio, there were clouds.

You sniffed busily.

“You like being home, don’t you?”

Kai nodded.

“Yeah. I feel connected. You know?”

“Did you feel as connected in the future?”

He shrugged.

“There’s been too much commotion. And before that, none at all. I exist in the past. I exist in the future. I stopped feeling time, you know? I’m a time lord”, he concluded, satisfied, and his eye glinted at you. You chuckled, and the chuckle turned into a deep sigh full of sweet evening air.

“We’re not going back, are we?” you asked weakly. Kai looked at you almost flabbergasted.

“We are. One day. Maybe even today”.

You smiled, tiredly.

“You’re giving up now? Hey, you think I wanna be here? I’ll think of something, don’t be upset”.

That was about the most warm words he uttered to you in the whole time. You felt there’d be more to come.

Truth was, you really started believing he was now better off than before.

“So, what do you want to do tomorrow?”

Once you got relieved from the permanent worry about the time wasting, about finding the loopholes you haven’t thought of, you finally could just... enjoy.

You looked at him and wondered if he knew everything there was to know. Whether he looked like a guy who could skateboard. He certainly did to you, but hey, the beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

“Can you teach me how to skateboard?”

His brows went up.

“I’m sorry. You can’t skateboard?”

“Nope”.

“You made me listen to your five hundred sixty one song playlist named ‘skate pop punk’“, he reminded you.

“Yeah, I compiled it out of sad nostalgia for the times I missed on, while I, you know, was preoccupied with vampires swarming my town”.

“I can’t believe I have an eye for you, and you can’t skate. You know you’re in ‘94, right?”

“That’s exactly why I’m asking”.

“Jesus”.

“Come on now”, you chanted, your voice a little hoarse, “you spent eighteen years here with all the time on your hands and haven’t learnt to swim”.

“That’s because water is scary”.

“So is the asphalt hitting you in the face”.

Kai clicked his tongue.

“Okay, I’m on it. But for that, we have to go to Columbus”.

“Of course we do”, you nodded, having no idea why Columbus. You loved the city, though, so you had no objections.

You asked yourself, if he has been pretending with the Mystic Falls people, too. He kept on going about how you, in his mind, for sure, hid your feelings for him, wanting to expose you for your hypocrisy. But this place had its effect on him, too. He clang on you. He was different. He was more than tolerable. He made you laugh and he cared about what you thought about his cooking. You wondered if he realized he’d been pretending, too.

Kai never missed a chance to place his hands on your waist. Pushing you in the back, he was enjoyin the role of the teacher, but he was trying to grow into it even more. It seemed he was missing role playing, the social kind to which all the adults are subjected, like mad.

Two minutes after you asked him, as you hopped into the car (family Toyota of mediocre grey color), excited, he started talking about every little detail there was to skating. Turned out, he knew absolutely everything about it. Every last trick had been rehearsed by him a thousand times, and though he wasn’t a natural born athlete, he demonstrated pretty damn good knowledge of all the physical aspects. He talked, and talked, and talked, about which board to choose, and the kind of sneakers you’re going to need, and what street will be the best, and the time for practice, and the way he’ll teach you, and no matter how many times you turned up the music, he wouldn’t take a hint.

Not that you ever grew annoyed with him more than, like, 6 out of 10. It seemed you clicked just fine.

“Put your foot here”, he muttered, pushing your heel a little onto the board. You nearly fell over, leaning back on him and feeling his firm hold having your back.

“That’s the trickiest part. How am I supposed to...” falling backwards and colliding with him, you let the board shoot away from under you, and you two watched it roll a little forwards, “keep it under me if it has wheels?”

“Please, stop talking”, Parker moaned.

“Whatever happened to me ending on your dick sooner or later”, you grumbled, going to pick it up. Kai chuckled,

“It’s still on. Who knew fooling around with you would be just as fun”.

How does one love?

You observed him, stunned a little, and his impatiently outstretched hand. He rarely let you fall, but you managed anyway. Your left elbow was burning, and your knee was bleeding a little, blood forming a beautiful snowflake-like (his words) stain in the big hole cut through your jeans. People are only supposed to skate in torn pants, or in shorts, Kai hammered in a very important, responsible voice. You didn’t ask any questions. It was lore, and that was it. Skateboarding lore, like bird swimming.

“Not to lose it, you have to lean forwards, and shift your weight forward, too, a little”, he suggested.

“Here’s the question”, you held your elbow and tried to get a proper look at it, “if we heal, and nothing changes, if our organisms are stuck in this twenty-four hours circle, does the muscular memory still apply?”

“Oh, it does”.

“So, it’s me being terrible at skating”.

“Yeah. If you think of it, the people”, he spat that word like it was poison, “standing behind the whole prison world speck of spells haven’t thought it out too well. Like, your body doesn’t change. It makes very little sense to me”.

“Well, they wanted you to be here forever, without letting you die”.

“You come back at different time after you die”, he said, as if he hasn’t heard you, “every time. It seems like it depends on the way you die. I can’t grow a beard, but you can still learn how to do a cart wheel, because your body doesn’t lose the habit of automatical movements. Same with the brain”.

“Yeah, sounds like hell for a perfectionist”, you concluded, fidgeting with the board. There was connection between Malachai Parker loving it the most in America, of all places, and the fact he looked like he was born on this street. There were friendly looking family houses left and right, standing above smooth ground.

You liked it the most when he pushed you in the back, running beside you, and you tried to balance as you shot along the street. The wind in your hair, and the harsh sound of the polyurethane wheels on the road, and you screaming as the turn manifested itself. Kai didn’t notice the remains of a hole in the asphalt that’s been filled with cement. The little bump stood out like a tiny turtle, and, as one of the wheels stumbled upon it, the board jumped away from you. You felt the muscles of his arms tense as Kai tried to lift you up above the earth, but he was running too, and the acceleration did not let either of you stop in time.

You both leaped through the air about a meter, before crashing onto the sand ground. Kai nearly hit his head on the pole of the road sign indicating kids running somewhere around.

Groaning and ouching, you crawled out from underneath him and lay on your back. You panted and laughed, hissing with pain. It felt like you rubbed your tigh really hard against the curb, and it felt red.

“Once again”, you said.

“You’re pretty much hopeless”, Kai replied, without malice.

“More encouragement, please”.

“You’re pretty! Hopeless. By the way, I just got it. You know, I’ve been thinking a lot about why I jumped after you there in Koureménos. And realized you jumped with me the same way, right? You knew you were going down, and jumped anyway”.

You recalled Damon’s eyes for a second. Something you tried not to think about too much.

Truth was, you really thought he would stop. You didn’t expect Damon to send you away, too. You thought you’d be a wall between him and Kai.

The board shuffled on the ground and stopped there somewhere. All fell quiet.

“We both did a stupid thing, and it felt right”, he mused slowly, as if he was surprised his own mouth was saying it. You pulled yourself half way up, balanced yourself on one elbow (the unharmed one) and leaned over his face, kissing him.

You stayed in Columbus for a while, until you could finally master the skateboard. The board you chose, by the way, was very cool. It had a green a purple zombie face gritting its rotting teeth, and its faded pale yellowish eyes on a roll out. You kept it close to the door of the bedroom, zombie face to bed so that you could look at it. You really liked the design.

The bed heaved under Kai’s weight as he rolled on his back. You were listening to music, waiting for midnight. You never went to sleep before twelve o’clock, when the new today began, because it distorted sleep anyway. As your bodies returned back to default, it always woke you up.

“It makes no sense”, he complained. “It sounds just like the old ones”.

“That’s the point of the whole genre of the retrowave”, you sighed. In the twilight, with no street lights on (you personally broke half of them, practicing your aim with the stones), the zombie head seemed more vicious than it really was.

“Why not just listen to synth wave then?”

“Because the quality is different, and the melodies are still different. It’s fake retro. It reminds me of my youth”.

“You know what reminds me of my youth?” he said crossly, “listening to actually old music. I don’t understand this”.

You found his hair, getting your fingers in it and squeezing lightly. It calmed him down at once, all the time.

“You exist outside the time, you have no youth”, you reminded him.

“Right”, Kai was almost dozing off. “What do you want to do tomorrow?”

“You know what I was thinking?”

It was hard to keep your eyes open against the darkness of the room in this cute family house, on the Washington Street in Columbus, when Kai breathed right into your ear, nesting his face against the side of yours to distract you from his hand sliding down your belly.

He hummed. You had to catch his wrist to stop him from getting into your pants. Not to this song.

“We need to survive a zombie apocalypse. Shaun here gave me an idea”.

The skateboard zombie’s name was Shaun.

“Oh, that would be so cool!” Kai woke up at once. Your pants and what’s inside of them was forgotten. His eyes glowed in the dark like he was about to lash out on you with rage no less than a brain eater himself.

“We could get a really heavy car, and put up mannequins everywhere in the city, and shoot them”, you said. “We will get post-apocalyptic clothes and make a den somewhere in a high-high building that looks like a tower, and live without electricity. I’ll read you Stephen King at nights. You can reinvent radio”.

“Maybe I’ll bite your arm off”, he whispered, already jumping away into the fantasy, “and you’ll have to mercy shoot me until I turn into a complete animal”.

He crashed back onto bed and stared into the ceiling.

“If you bite my arm off, don’t you think you’re already too far gone? May as well eat me whole then. I don’t wanna go around without an arm”.

“Fair enough”.

You both sighed, thinking.

“But what place looks like it’s been ravaged by zombies?”

“Something like Escape from L.A., but not LA”, he muttered.

“Some city that has a lot of industrial districts and factories...”

Another pause, and then you looked at each other and shrieked at the same time,

“Boston!”

[maskved]

hello, besties ! this is ami (she/her) and i’m probably late with this intro ! first i’m sorry for mass-liking every post but i’m already in love with all your lovely muses. also i must confess that i’ve only read the first book ( years ago ) and watched the show because i have an attention span of - 10 seconds.  but at least i’m a soc hoe, so we can scream about that ... please ... !!! so if i get anything wrong pls let me know or you can also not let me know and i’ll continue being embarrassing 😔. anyway, if you are interested in some juicy plotting pls LIKE this post or message me ( if you want to plot on discord we can also do that 💖). I’M EXCITED.

PINTEREST  . discor*d     six of hoes🔪#7888  //  YEVA

[ viktoriya zobova ], an [ twenty six ] year old grisha in the little palace. she is  a [ tailor ] and are known in the little palace as the [ viscerotonic ]. they are known to be [ resilient ] and [ elusive ] and vaguely resemble [ kristine froseth ]. 

death tw

- viktoriya zobova ( however, prefers to be called vika because every time one calls her by her full name she might as well be in trouble ) had never been more than average. born to average parents ( although grisha their powers pale compared to others ) into an average family and of course as the middle child, vika strived for more than simply being overlooked.

- truth to be told, she dreaded to be tested. to her it seemed like the final reminder that she was nothing special, average, merely an extra to someone other’s story. she even wished, she wouldn’t be a grisha, fearing that like her parents she’d belong to the lower ranks. however, if she turned out to be a simple human without any power, at least she’d be special within her family or could even try to make a story up that she was adopted or something ( i hate her -- ).

- however, the moment she found out about being able to alter people’s appearances with her ability *atla vc* everything changed - 

- truth to be told she knew she was considered to be lower rank among others but what really fueled her arrogance and the sudden feeling of self importance was her knowing that she possessed a rare ability. she didn’t care others treating her badly for her rank because “hey i can alter appearances and that is lit ( she probably didn’t say it that way - )

- ALSO ( here comes the moment i throw in my found family trope bcs i’m a soc hoe and this actually plays a big role in her story ) she’d found comfort in the friends she met.

- (lemme add my childhood friends trope bcs why not ) as vika was never close to her parents ( to be fair her being taken away for the training at such a young age did not really gave her the time to really bond with her family ) her little group of friends became her second family. they called themselves “blood is thicker water” ( gang ???) bcs 1) vika really thought the saying was blood is thicker water and not blood is thicker than water 2) they thought they were incredibly funny.

- they were pretty much known as troublemakers, especially with vika being a tailor it was easy to sometimes shift the blame on others. truth to be told, it only caused vika to be more frivolous. all the fun they had blinded her judgment and she viewed her ability as harmless.

- well, lets say vika becoming more reckless did not end up being the best character development (lmao). as usual , everything started out as a harmless joke. her friend asked her to change his appearance. however, this time they wanted her to change their whole face. not just the colour of their hair or eyes. vika was reluctant at first, she’d never done it before but in the end she agreed to it and much to her surprise she succeeded. she even bragged about it and told her friends ( of the bloody “blood is thicker water” gang (???) ) .

-  to cut a long story short, their friend ended up dying because of it. i have two versions for their death ( i haven’t decided on it yet *clown emoji*)

1) the person they changed their appearance into apparantly was involed in some shady stuff and had some pretty morally questionable people around him. they thought vika’s friends was that person they were looking for (bcs of the changed appearance) and killed them for some reason.

2) vika’s friend was supposed to be part of some mission they didn’t want to go to, thus changed their appearance to escape from it. however, ended up having to do another mission and ended up being killed. 

RIP nameless but vital character to vika’s bio 

- vika pretty much blamed herself for it and maybe her friends of their friend group as well. this incident also ‘humbled’ vika and now instead of being proud of it she hates it.

- right now, she doesn’t really know what to do with her future. she has this ‘oh so grand’ plan that one day she might be able to change her appearance (permanently) and then leave the little palace and live under a new name and lead a life where she wouldn’t need to use her abilities anymore.

personality ( i’m trying to keep it short i swear, i’m just adding a bunch of sentence here bcs i’m throwing all my ideas into this paragraph)

- she’s known to be pretty social. she loves to talk and honestly doesn’t know when to shut up. she can’t deal with silence because it forces her to think about things she doesn’t want to think about. although, her tongue is sharp and trouble seems to follow her, she also loves to dance around the issue, pushing her feelings away and replacing it with a witty joke instead. as if everyone does it the same way, as if everyone is supposed to understand. 

headcanons

- although she was tempted to change her own appearance many times. she never did because she is a coward and doesn’t trust her skills as much others might think she does.

- she views her ability as a form of art, perhaps that is also the reason she used to love to paint. honestly, she was never really good at it. average and above average with practice. her friend ( the dead one lmao ) used to paint with her whenever they could sneak away but with them gone, she doesn’t see a point in it anymore.

- she secretly envies the other grisha’s who can use their ability to fight. recently, she’d find herself trying to practice some punches so she doesn’t feel that useless in case of a dangerous situation. she also sucks at that so she’s probably in need of a training patner aka someone who is willing to train her or she has annoyed that much that they were willing to help her out ( wc ???)

- being personally trained by the darkling, one might assume that she’s loyal or even thankful towards the darkling. however, contrary is the case and she wouldn’t even grant him a dust particle of her trust. she doesn’t believe that he has the best interest of anyone in his heart and if she could, she’d probably spread rumors about him and telling others that he has some serious case of stanky breath.

wanted connections ( just some ideas, which can be changed ofc ! or some wcs can be connected ) 

(0/3) “blood is thicker water” friend group  : they pretty much grew up together. the death of their friend ( the friend needs a name - i swear...) caused tension within the group. while, one might have blamed vika for their death the other doesn’t and just wants them to be how they used to be. nevertheless, no one can deny that nothing was what it used to be). (( honestly these are just some ideas and we can plot wtv sddm )

training partner ( can be more than one ): connection mentioned in the hcs ! they help her a little out to become physically fit and level up her combat skills of -10. maybe they want something in return for it. help her out bcs they’re just nice or bcs vika annoyed the heck out of them etc.

person vika changed their friend’s appearance into: honestly we can do wtv with it. i just thought it’d be fun to play with the idea and having the person running around when they actually “died” and everyone belieed them to be dead until they found out that it was vika’s friend. might be angsty bcs it might remind vika of their friend.

angsty exes: listen, i love some angsty shit and i love to blame vika for all the problems. they might have dated before the whole dead friend fiasco happened. although, viktoriya acted as if she was fine after the incident ( which she wasn’t ),it only made muse a realize that vika and them weren’t as close as they believed and how much vika tied to hide from them.  BUT tbh anything would work i love a good angsty ex connection djddnd

random idea but i just liked the thought that this person once went to vika for some enhancing stuff. however, this day vika was not really herself, distracted, head in the clouds. so she accidenally might have gotten rid of some important scar or something.

enemies : lbr, vika might prbly be the type who has some enemies. she has no filter and might has stepped on someone toes because of it. (Also maybe gimme some enemies to lovers trope , adding this here quietly to not expose myself as a hoe for that trope )

HONESTLY GIVE ME EVERYTHING, gimme angst, fluff, tropes !!??? more friends, unusual friends, shippy stuff, platonic stuff, family connections djdsd GIMME 

[mugasofer]

[cross-posted from my blog]

Thinking spooky thoughts about GPT (I almost said GPT-3, but GPT-2 as well.)

GPT does something that, at first glance, you’d think pretty much no-one really wants to do - guess what comes next in a block of text. Some people have used it to complete poems & stories & articles they were part-way done, doing what it’s “for”. But generally you have to awkwardly hack it into doing what you really want.

To hold conversations with GPT-3, for example, people (especially Gwern) often start dialogue with “This is a conversation between a human and an AI with X property”, then they write the “human” role and have GPT-3 complete the “AI” sections. Sometimes they’ll just use a human name instead, especially when using AI Dungeon which is geared toward “roleplay” in unknown-to-the-public ways.

And one frustrating thing is, this can result in GPT predicting that the AI character wouldn’t know an answer even though, on some deeper level, GPT knows (”knows”?) it. @yudkowsky​ has been freaking out about this on Twitter a little (e.g. here); there’s a sense in which the AI is “tricking” us into thinking it’s stupider than it is sometimes, because it doesn’t care about appearing smart or being truthful, it just wants to write stories (more formally, it’s predicting what would come next in a human-generated text.) A great example of it that someone posted:

GPT-3 “knows” that 20 is the right answer, but the character it’s playing (”Holo”) doesn’t! Here’s another Twitter person experimenting to see which AI Dungeon characters know what a monotreme is.

But maybe this is ... kind of how people work too?

If I understand it correctly, this is sort of how the “predictive processing” model suggests the human brain works, at the deepest level. @slatestarscratchpad​ has written a bit about this. Basically, the idea seems to be that the brain simulates the sense-impressions and muscle-movements it expects to recieve; but tweaked toward a simulation where desired things happen; then it performs the next action from the simulation, with a feedback loop where any difference between the simulation and reality is treated as “bad”. So either your prediction ends up changing or reality does or (most often) a bit of both. e.g. you get hungry, your brain starts to predict you’re going to get food, notices that it predicted you would have moved certain muscles and gone over to the fridge but you haven’t, so it moves those muscles ... or it notices that the prediction is wildly implausible (you don’t have a fridge) and abandons it, but there’s still an ever-growing tendency toward predicting futures where you end up with food until one gets close enough. Or something. Maybe this is why I end up checking the fridge, even when I just checked it five minutes ago and know there’s nothing I want?

I’ve often thought that my “inner monolog” is basically just me mentally rehearsing and teasing out stuff I might want to say/write later. Note, not all humans have an “inner monolog”; I wonder if I have one because I read a lot of fiction, and so subconsciously expect people to narrate their thoughts all the time, the way you would if you were recounting a story? And the conscious part of myself, including the inner monolog I’m currently putting down in text, doesn’t seem to have access to everything my brain “knows”. In some cases of brain damage etc. this can produce extremely weird results, like “blind” people who can’t consciously see anything but can still subconsciously react to things, amnesiac people who can learn new skills and habits but not form consciously-accessible memories, and so on, but this is kind of the case all the time - we often seem not to know why we do things, only to construct plausible reasons why we must have done things, creating weird biases where e.g. paying a person a small amount to do something they wouldn’t otherwise have done results in them concluding they “must have” wanted to do it all along (since why would they change their behaviour for something so small?)

People sometimes talk about playing a role in order to deliberately (or accidentally) change your own personality (”fake it till you make it”/”becoming the mask”). I have a small amount of experience with this myself; as a child, I deliberately tried to play a role in order to fit in better at school, and then was somewhat creeped out to realise how much my personality and habits had permanently changed.

Perhaps evolution just stumbled upon a generic architecture for “predicting what will happen next”, then hacked it into being an agent that (sort of, imperfectly) carries out actions in pursuit of goals. Evolution, being itself mindless, doesn’t care if it can produce legible read-outs of it’s internal state or any of the stuff we would want when aligning an AI ... except eventually for social situations where it needs to communicate it’s internal state to other friendly brains, in which case evolution invents another hack for the brain to ... predict what must be going on inside itself and then say that?

And now we’ve stumbled onto a similar architecture, and are making similar hacks in order to turn it into similarly person-like things. (Humans are also merely person-like-things; we don’t match up to the simplified ideal of what a person should be in our heads, with free will and stuff.)

But it’s still not a person, right? It’s just a toy, it doesn’t pass the Turing Test.

Well ... no, it doesn’t. And yet GPT has been getting closer and closer to being able to pass for human as model size increased, with the largest current version being nearly indistinguishable from chance (?!)

So maybe what we have is ... not human-level, but a part of something human-level (or greater, balancing out superhuman pseudo-intelligence with it’s other deficiencies?) There are other parts which are still missing (like the ability to better remember what it was saying), but maybe the core is actually legitimately there.

Or maybe that result only applies for news stories because journalists aren’t really people :P

Should we be worried about it’s suffering? Well, one of the missing parts is desires, so maybe not? It can say that it wants things, but only the same way that a human playing a part would; it’ll fluidly shift between playing the role of the AI role in a dialogue and the human role without caring, because it isn’t actually the AI in the story it’s writing. We don’t consider the desires a human gives to a fictional character for actual morally-relevant desires, and the same should go for the arbitrary desires GPT-3 can pretend to have, right? But at what point does that change, when our own consciously-expressed desires are in part just a role we play? (Do we care about the desires a person expresses except insofar as they hint at “real” desires? What is a desire really?)

Should we be worried about whether human+ AI is actually really, really close? It’s been said that there’s no fire-alarm for general artificial intelligence, but GPT-3 kind of is acting as a fire alarm, at least insofar as it’s got people pretty freaked out by how capable it is. Should we be responding to this fire alarm?

[missfluffywriter]

Purple Irises I Mafia Park Jimin x Reader

Author’s note: Ooof it’s finally out. That took way longer than I expected. And I’ll be breaking this chapter into two pieces. I hope you don’t mind. I have to say   I did a lot more research than I thought I would, just to say but everything I’ve written are pretty accurate, emphasis on pretty. Of course not everything, and I can never really be sure of the medical stuff, cuz you know I’m not a doctor. lolol. Well, that’s it for me. Happy readings!

Word count: 10.9k

Genre: Mafia AU, (slight) Doctor au, (slight) Florist au

Pairing: Park Jimin x Reader

(Series) Summary: You were supposed to be delivering flowers, how did you end up in an operation room digging out a bullet from a mafia boss’ shoulder?

Purple Irises: Royalty and wisdom

Warnings: Guns, language, mention of drugs, inconsistant grammar lol

Previous chapter I Next chapter I Masterlist I Requests are open!

“If I hadn’t sent (Y/n) when I did, your boss would be six feet under right now,”

Nearly three days had passed since the ball and yet Soomin’s toneless voice continued echoing through your head. Ricocheting from one corner of your mind to another, there were instances where the voice would dull to a soft whisper but never was it gone, not for an instant. Her words ring in your head yet you don’t know why. You were not angry with her, not at all; as a matter of fact, you felt no such anger or animosity towards your former boss. Neither did you feel betrayal or despair.

Originally you thought you felt nothing towards the situation, but that wasn’t exactly correct. What you had truly felt was apprehension, you did not understand a situation you were brought into or the reason behind your arrival. Was there a reason as to why you were forced into this world? Was there a role you were meant to play in Ji-Eun Duri’s game? Were you brought into this to serve a purpose? And if you were, then what about after that purpose has been fulfilled? What then? And if you weren’t, then why were you here?

There were more questions than answers, and every time you thought you were close to an answer, more questions arose. You weren’t used to this, more questions than answers; usually, you would at least have some semblance of understanding of what you were getting into, but this? You had nothing. You didn’t like the feeling of being left in the dark, and you absolutely despised the episodes of hopelessness that seared through your chest. Like you couldn’t do anything, you didn’t have enough information to take either defensive or offensive action.

However, the negatives aside, you also couldn’t deny the buzz in your system. A low hum of excitement, like expecting the unexpected, similar to a game of tag played in a sea of darkness. And though you had your bouts of helplessness and self-doubt, those thoughts only worked to fuel your imagination, your instinct for survival, and your drive to win. When you felt helpless your mind would create a thousand different scenarios, predicting the flow and outcome of each one. Thus, creating a skeleton of a plan so if the scenario should occur, you had some idea of your future movements.

And when you felt self-doubt you would think up back-up plans to any what-ifs that came to mind. If you were feeling uncertain of any of your plans or ideas you would test as many scenarios that would come to mind, asking others for their input regularly; what would they have done? Why would they have done what they did? Was there a better way to achieve what they were planning or warning for?

You would spend the time restlessness took hold to prepare for whatever future that may come. Because that was all you could do, prepare, and prepare the best you could. Besides, you felt a bizarre sense of gratitude towards the female responsible for your current predicament. If it weren’t for her you would have never been involved in this dangerous world, but above that, you would have never met Jimin or Jin, or Jeongguk, or any of these wonderful people. Apart from that, what Soomin had said was correct, if you hadn’t shown up when you did, Jimin wouldn’t be alive today. And thinking of a world where Jimin didn’t exist wasn’t at the top of your to-think list.

So while you didn’t appreciate the negative feelings brought on by the situation, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Okay, but, what’s the difference between sutures, stitches, and staples?” Jin questioned; his ebony locks slipping onto his chestnut orbs as his head tilted in a query. His voice, sharpened by confusion, breaks you from thoughts.

“Technically speaking, all three are used for the same purpose, to close wounds or surgical incisions, but they aren’t the same,” You explain; setting the silver needle forceps onto the medical tray while smoothly covering that fact that you had barely caught the words of the ravenette.

“For sutures, doctors use a thread or strand of material to perform wound closure. The term "stitches" refers to the surgical procedure or process of closing a wound with sutures. Staples on the other hand are another material that doctors sometimes use to make sutures or stitches.”

“Hm, I think I get it,” He did not get it. The confusion muddling his expression was as clear as day. This was a tricky subject, even you had trouble completely grasping the concept correctly. But he had barely begun learning of sutures and stitches, he had ample time to understand the material. Although he had progressed much faster than you had imagined, granted you weren’t exactly going in order by chapter.  

You decided it would be best to teach him things he was more likely to need once he had a basic understanding of bacteria, pathogens, and such. You could move to the actual medicinal and chemical aspects once he has the basic skills he could need out on the job. Though symptom recognition and diagnosis are a part of the current lesson plan, for the moment it is a lesser matter.  

“Do you know the different kinds of threads for status and stitches?” You ask the older male, testing the knowledge he was supposed to have studied the night before.

“There’s absorbable and nonabsorbable,” Thoughtfully he recites the information he had learned. “Absorbable sutures are intended to be broken down by the body over time and eventually dissolve completely. Some materials used to make absorbable sutures are derived from animal products that have been specially processed. Other absorbable sutures are made from synthetic polymer materials such as polylactic acid to make Vicryl, polyglycolic acid for Dexon, polyglyconate makes Maxon, and polydioxanone for PDS. And then there are non-absorbable sutures that are permanent and have to be removed. These sutures can be made from nylon, polypropylene which makes the prolene thread, or silk.”

“Good一very good,” You praise, eyes fluttering as you listen to the older male recite the passage from your old textbook word for word. Had he really memorized all that in a single night? If he had legitimately chosen this as a career path, you were sure he certainly would have gone far.

“So, do you have any questions before we move on?” You ask, a pleased smile curved onto your lips as you move to lay the ground world for the next lesson.

“Yeah,” Bobbing his head, the chestnut eyed male continued, “Why do doctors still use permanent threads if we already have dissolvable threads? Wouldn’t it just be easier to use the adorable ones? Since then the patient wouldn’t have to return to get the sutures removed,”

“Ah, that’s a really good question,” You exalted, hands coming together in a prayer position. “Well you see, permanent or nonabsorbable sutures are sometimes preferred because they are resistant to the body’s chemicals that might otherwise dissolve the sutures too early in the healing process. Non-absorbable sutures are useful for maintaining long-term tissue wound closure and healing,” You explain, reaching for the text-book that had been forgotten at the end of the surgery table.

“Oh, I see,” Seokjin hums, his forefinger and thumb on his chin as his thumb rubs the underside of his chin. “So permanent threads are still very useful too,”

“Yes very much so,” Nodding, you affirmed.

“So any other questions?” Flipping through the smooth pages of the text-book, you pause on the pages lesson twenty-four, “Sutures and Stitches”.

Shaking his head side to side, he signals for you to continue with the lecture.

“Okay, so today we learned the Mattress stitch and the continuous stitch,” You listed the day’s practice. “With that, you should be able to handle minor lacerations or cuts,”

“But,” You continue, “I want you to keep practicing on the suturing pad and study about those stitches, you may know how to do them, you still don’t know how to do them correctly,”

“And tomorrow we’ll get into the subcuticular stitch and look over some other stitches too, but一 yeah, that's it. And we’ll get more into staples in a few days. Tonight’s homework is just to study about the sutures,” You concluded, your gaze lifting to the brand new clock hanging on the wall. ‘Good, right on time,’

“(Y/n)?” Came the familiar low yet soft voice. Turning your body to face the white-blond leaning against the agape door frame.

“Yeah, let’s go,” You call, easing away from the operating table, you make your way to the other mafioso. But your attention is paged back in towards the room.

“Wait, (Y/n),” Humming in response you briefly angle yourself to the ravanette standing by the table, “Can I write in your book?” Shifting from one foot to another, he asks, his hand rubbing the nape of his neck. “It just gets a lot when I have to copy everything down,”

“Sure! Go ahead,” Beaming at the male you answer his silly question. It was his book now, he could do whatever he wanted on it. “That book is yours now, you can mark and write on it as much as you want,” Giving him a gentle smile, you reassure him.

“Thank you, and good luck in training” A sheepish grin curling onto his lips, Jin gives you a double thumbs up.

“You’re gonna need it,” The white-blond behind you scoffs as you make your way to the door.

“Oh hush you,” Half-heartedly slapping the mafioso on the chest, you bustle out the medical room - a compromise you came to between the doctor's office and operation room. As it turned out Jeongguk was not very fond or aware of the new name for the tiled room. He argued it be called what it had been called for as long as it had existed. Which was the “Doctor’s room” and though it was a very endearing term, it wasn’t exactly correct, nor was it very professional. Besides, OR sounded cooler.

And so you compromised, the name would have aspects you both had wanted, and thus the operation room was newly dubbed as the medical room. The new name contained factors you both liked, all in all, it was a happy arrangement.

“Alright, which one do you think we should do today?” Yoongi’s voice brings you back from your flashback of the great compromise.  

“You’re asking me?” Pressing your hand to your hips, sarcasm bleeds from your words as your (e/c) orbs scan over the cloud-grey wall decked out with every gun or rifle one could imagine. Then drifting to the black metal drawers that were about waist height sitting under the gun mounts.  

His eyes move in a semi-roll, before humming thoughtfully he picks up a solid black handgun from the wall adjacent to the one your sight had been fixed on.

Since the days after the gala fiasco, Hoseok had given the clear for you to begin your firearms training. You still had daily hand-to-hand combat training with either Hoseok or Jeongguk

“We practiced with a single-action for the past two days,” He speaks his thoughts as he examines the weapon in his hand before his slender digits trace a silver-black gun resting on the metal holders. “Yeah, maybe we’ll have you practice with a double-action today,”

“A double-action?” You parroted, forehead scrunching at the foreign vocabulary terms.  

“Well, maybe not. It would probably be safer for a beginner to use a double-action until you’re used to all safety procedures,” Yoongi continues, oblivious to the query lacing your words.

“Wait, wait, what do you mean double-action一single action?” Voicing your question, you head involuntarily leaning to your right as you did.  

Moments pass as he blankly stares at you, his eyelids fluttering open and close as he processes your words. “Didn’t we go over that when we started?” He asks, frown lines setting on his pale face folds in confusion.

“No,” Shaking your head side to side as his own expression transforms into one of surprise.

“Did we talk about how a gun works or anything like that?” Emphasizing the ‘anything’ he asked.

“Nope,” You return popping the ‘p’ as your shoulders rise into a shrug. “You kinda just gave me a gun, showed me how to use it, then we fired a buncha times,” Thoughtfully you review the events of the last two training sessions.

Yoongi’s face contorts in disbelief before his eyebrows lifted, his mouth opening as his own memories of the last sessions. “I should explain all that shouldn’t I?” Sheepishly rubbing the scruff of his neck, he jested.  

“Probably,” You return with a soft chuckle.

“Right,” He grinned, beginning his explanation, “Well you see when you pull the slide of the handgun back, it allows for the magazine spring to push a bullet into the chamber. It also cocks the hammer of the gun back,”

His statement only caused your expression to rumple further as he once again used terms you were not familiar with. What did the word hammer have to do with guns? “What’s a hammer?”

“The hammer is a part of a gun that is used to strike the percussion cap or primer, or a separate firing pin, to light the propellant and fire the projectile. It is so-called that because it looks like a hammer and kinda works like one too, here, look,” Waving you closer he showed you the tail of the gun, pointing to the little lever-like bump that sat at the end of the gun.  

“A cap?” You question; did he not understand that you were a beginner and that you hadn’t even seen let alone touched a gun before you had met them, or did he assume you knew your way around firearms after the way you spoke in the Matsuuru deal. It may have sounded like you knew what you were talking about, but you really didn’t, you were simply reciting the list of words Namjoon had shown you.  

“It’s called a percussion cap or just cap for short, and some people even call it a primer. It’s basically a thin metal cup that contains a small amount of pressure-sensitive explosive, often mercury fulminate. And when crushed, the explosive detonates, sending a stream of hot gas down through a hole in the nipple and into the touchhole of the gun to ignite the powder charge.” He tried his hardest to settle his annoyance at your thousand questions

“Powder charge?” Another query falls from your lips.

“Gunpowder,” He curtly simplifies.

“Then, when you pull the trigger of the gun, it causes the hammer to snap forward, which pushes the firing pin inside the gun into the primer of the bullet cartridge. When the firing pin strikes the primer, it ignites the propellant or gunpowder that will send the bullet flying down the barrel at a high rate of speed,” He finally finishes without your interruptions. “That is basically how a hammer-fired gun works,”

“I think I get it,” Thoughtfully, you hum, stepping through the door at the end of the room, into the actual gun range. Then realizing he Yoongi had just used another term you did not understand. “Wait, hammer-fired?”

A deep exhale leaves his lips, he does not have the patience nor energy to explain hammer-fired and striker-fired on top of double-action and single-action. “Ah, well you see there are hammer-fired guns or striker-fired guns, a Glock is a striker-fired gun, but we’ll get into all that stuff some other time. For now, how about we just focus on the actions,”

“Okay so, the gun you were using yesterday was a single action, meaning you pull back the handle slide of the gun to cock it, then you pull the trigger to fire the bullet,” Alluding you with the simplest words he could think of, making sure to avoid any other firearms-related terms and words. “A double-action is when the cocking of the hammer and the firing of the gun both happen as you pull the trigger,”

“So we’re working with a double-action today?”

“Yeah, let’s get you used to double-actions. In the long run, I think it’d be safer for you to have a double,” He concluded, pulling out the magazine of the charcoal-colored gun in his grasp. Before cruising back to the room with the guns, walking to the farthest drawers sitting underneath the gun mounts, replacing the magazine with a new one.  

“Do you have your earplugs?” The white-blond asked, his eyes flickering to you from the weapon in his hand.  

Nodding, you wordlessly respond to the male’s question. Digging through the pockets of your hoodie, you hold out a sable-black box that was about the size of your palm.    

“Good, always keep them on you,” His head bobs in approval as he hands you the newly loaded gun along with a set of large headphones. “But for now, use these”

The weapon sits heavy on your free palm. Saliva pooled in your mouth as you carefully held the gun - forefinger away from the trigger - you daintily pocketed the black box. “What gun is this?” You questioned, feeling a tingling sensation run underneath the skin of your palms, sweat gathering on them as your fingers tentatively brushed the body of the firearm.  

“It’s a double-action Tanfoglio EAA Witness,” A swift reply leaves his lips “Alright, now what are the rules I gave you?”

“Trigger finger off at all times unless I’m ready to shoot,” Your answer is immediate, having had the core rule drilled into you for two consecutive days.

“Good, next,”

Your mouth moved to sound the correct answer, but you pause, instead deciding to reply with the lesson you had learned the hard way. “Don’t touch the barrel or muzzle after it fires,” Grumbling out the words, you grimace as your brain replays the incident that occurred a day prior.

Being the novice to weapons that you were, you didn’t realize just how hot the gun could get. Normally one would think it common sense that the temperature of the gun’s barrel and muzzle exponential rise, seeing as a mini-explosion takes place within the barrel for the bullet to exit the weapon. But at that instant, all rhyme or reason had left you, and you had the magnificent idea to hold the gun by the head. Which ended with you accidentally touching the muzzle area, a minor burn, and a life lesson.

“I see someone’s learned her lesson,” Yoongi chuckles, exhorting you to continue. “Next,”

“Never point the gun at anything unless I intend to destroy it,” You list.

“Good, now do you have a lock on your target?”

“Uh-huh,”

“Put on your headphones and shoot whenever you’re ready, take your time to aim each turn,” The mafioso instructs, gesturing to the noise-canceling headphones in your hand.

Following his directions, you place the cushions of the large headphone over your ears, adjusting them to fit your skull, then taking your stance.

Your heart heavily thudding in your chest, you take deep breaths, trying to calm the throbbing of your pulse that translated into your hand, making them shaky. Your first breath comes out ragged and choppy, but the exhales that follow pacify the palpitation ringing through your body, smoothing the flow or circulation.

Once your body had steadied, you moved into the weaver stance. Feet planted slightly wider than shoulder-width apart, placing the foot correlating with your dominant hand a half-step behind your non-dominant foot. A soft bend in your knees, leaning slightly forward, bracing yourself for the backlash of the shot.

Continuing your focused breathing you aim the point of the gun at the paper human target, you intently watch as the gun bobbed up and down with the cadence of your breaths. Your expression relaxes as your vision focuses on the target nearly twenty yards from where you stood. ‘Never aim for the head, the target’s too small. Always aim for the chest,’ Yoongi’s words echo in your head as you shift to aim for the center of the chest, where the heart would have been.

On your next inhale you solidify your aim, tightening your grip on the weapon, squeezing the trigger as you exhaled. Slowly, centimeter by centimeter you inch closer to the end of the pull, increasing the pressure on the trigger. And at the trough of your exhale the curve of the trigger meets its end.

The powerful push of the gun drives your body backwards, your bent knees, and the forward lean absorbing the shock, keeping you in place. The impact of the bullet firing rippling throughout your body. You felt a slight tremble in your hands, a hum of the aftershock. You hold on the grip constricts, eyes narrowing on the result of the shot as you bite back the disappointment of missing your mark. The bullet had landed below the right shoulder, much farther than your marked target.

Keeping your breathing as stagnant as you could, you refocus your aim. The same spot as earlier, this time you adjusted your aim, a touch lower, and a smudged to the left. Then squeeze the trigger again. And though the bullet doesn’t land on the intended destination, it is just a tad closer, the bullet having ended on the mid-chest area, right on the line of your designated mark.

The process of shooting and adjustment continued as you build experience and feel for the weapon. The cycle continued for the entirety of the time Yoongi trained you, pausing only to give you pointers or to reload the magazine - which you did on your own - Yoongi had shown you how to replace a magazine the day before and you had been replacing the cartridge on your own ever since.

And as the operation flowed you noticed that the gun you were working with today was much smoother and easier to use than the one you had been training with previously. The elongated trigger time caused by the heaviness of the pull gave you a chance to readjust your aim or even reconsider your decision to shoot altogether. You liked that added time frame to think about your decision and finalize your aim. But that also may have been a drawback as the longer fire time may give the other person to counter or even shoot before you had the chance to.  

Nonetheless, if you were able to choose the gun you would have, then you would most certainly ask for this one. The body was sleek and clean, the modern designs pleasing to the eye, and above that, the feel of the gun was marvelous. Not that you knew many guns or their feels, but this one just felt right. It fit perfectly in your palm, and the grip was comfortable, almost natural.

By the time Yoongi had called the end of this session, you had burned through three fourteen plus one magazines. For a total of forty-five bullets used.

Huffing out an exhausted exhale, you place the gun on the table-like area that was separated into a booth-like space by walls of wood. You jerk your hands in a flicking motion in an attempt to ease away the pounding in palms. Your hands flushed a vibrant red and a little numb from the continuous shooting. You remove the headphones protecting your hearing before stretching your limbs, easing them into a more relaxed state.

“Good job today, you’re improving really fast,” Yoongi praises, taking the gun you had put down, returning it to its mount on the grey wall. Humming a soft ‘thank you’, you lean against the table-like space in between the separators.

“Hey, so does this mean I get my own gun or something?” You ask the older male, curious as to whether you were actually getting a weapon or if this was just training to prepare for a situation.

“You will,” The white-blond cruises into the shooting range, hands in the pockets of his slacks. “But first you need to try a bunch of them to see what you are comfortable with and can actually use outside of practice.”

“Can I have that one?” You head tilts upward to gesture to the gun he had just put away.

“The one you were using?” You nod at his question. Sure it was true you needed to build more experience and try out more guns to see what worked best with you, but you just felt a pull towards the one you were using.

“Yeah,”

“A tanfoglio witness, huh?” A familiar silvery voice resounded throughout the room. “I think it suits you, beautiful and efficient,” Jimin muses, coasted over to where you stood, wrapping his arms around your waist when close enough.

Giggling at his corny statement, you nuzzle into Jimin’s neck, arms coming to rest around his thin waist, purring at the warmth of his delicately comforting embrace.

“What’re you doing here?” You mumble into the exposed skin of his neck, basking in the sunny feeling of his grasp around your body.

“Getting the two of you for the meeting,” Answering softly, he places a caste kiss on your forehead.

“You’re here to get us?” Scoffing a laugh, you part from the silver-blond just enough to meet his eyes.

“And?” A questioning brow raises on his face as eyes you, a smile curling onto his lips. “You gotta problem?”

“You guys are sickening,” Yoongi wretches at the disturbingly cute moment unfolding before him. However, despite his outward expression, he was truly happy for his boss. The white-blond couldn’t properly recall the last time the don had laughed so freely, enjoyed the minor things in life, like a cup of tea or just a slow day. For the longest time, the young mafioso had been focused solely on the jobs neglecting even himself and his own health, on top of that Jimin was fierce一 short-tempered, denying any help or counseling the other core members provided. So having you hound him for skipping meals or being careless with his health and Jimin actually being rendered completely helpless to your care and affection, was a delightful change of pace. Besides, Jimin was Yoongi’s brother just as much as he was the white-blond’s boss.

“Sickeningly adorable,” You correct the older mafioso with a blinding grin as Jimin chuckles into your locks.

“But seriously, the meeting’s about to start,” The mafia don tugs you by your waist. Leading you out of the shooting range and back into the lavish mansion. Yoongi exited before the two of you, not intending on being trapped behind two mush balls, especially with one of them Jimin melting by the minute.

“How’s Shelty doing?” You question, falling into an easy pace with Jimin beside you, still holding onto your hip. Having not seen your precious puppy since morning as you had left her with Jimin.

“Guk may be having a bit too much fun with her,” The silver-blond answers, a sigh following his statement. He was forced to leave the wolf-dog in the care of the younger as you had forbidden your puppy from being anywhere near the gun range while guns were firing as the loud sounds would hurt her sensitive hearing. But, Jimin had wanted to personally fetch you for the meeting. And Namjoon and Jin were busy preparing for the meeting; Hoseok and Taegyung were out for a minor deal meeting; Yoongi was with you, so he had no choice but to leave the pupper with the youngest.

Which, now that he had a chance to really consider his decision, may not have been the best, Joengguk was responsible and mature most of the time, but most of the time there wasn’t an equally excited ball of floof jumping at him. It was like leaving two overzealous golden retrievers together… in a small room… alone.  

“You know what? I think we should hurry up,” Jimin grumbles, increasing his pace to a brisk walk.

“What? Why?” Your eyelids flutter in confusion as you match his pace, dashed down the west wing corridors, and up the winding staircase of the main building.

“I left Shelty with Guk,” He groans, hoping all was intact in the cramped meeting room. You let out a joyful laugh as you realized the thoughts running through Jimin’s head.

His eyes playfully narrow as the silver-blond pulls into his grasp, tickling your sides as you a shrill of laughter and pleas from him to stop floods from your lips.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, sheesh,” Wiping away the tears that had gathered on the edges of your eyes, you chuckle. “I’m sure they’ll be fine. Besides its Jeongguk he’ll take great care of Shelty,”

“It’s not Shelty I’m worried about,” A sigh escapes his plump, cherry-pink lips and you couldn’t help but give those plush pillows a soft peck.

“Shelt’s housebroken, she won’t jump or chew on any furniture,” You reassure the male with another chaste kiss on the cheek.

“See,” Your gaze gesturing to a placid Shelty, contentful snuggled into the youngest brunette on the floor as the elevator doors opened. And Jimin heaves a breath, stepping towards his seat then lowering into the armchair, relieved that nothing was destroyed or damaged.

“Shelty, I’m here,” You call the seventy-pound puppy. Her ears immediately alert when he hears the voice of her favorite human. She bounds over to you as you take your seat on the velvet armchair to the left of Jimin. “Heyya girl,” Cooing at the wolf-dog, you kiss her head, massaging her scruff and running your fingers through her silky fur. “Did you miss me?”

Even though he had an absolute blast with Jimin and then the chocolate brunette, she missed you very much.

“Jin, Taehyung, and Hoseok will be here soon,” Namjoon declared, coming to stand beside Jimin’s right with a touch screen tablet in his hand. Jimin nods to the tall, syrup-brown haired mafioso.

“Hey, (Y/n) wasn’t late today,” Jin walks into the room, Taehyung and Hoseok on his tail. You throw the elder a sheepish grin, which he returns as each man takes their respective seat.  

“Alright, let’s begin the meeting,” Once everyone is settled, Namjoon’s voice resounds as he took his place in Jimin’s right.

“First thing’s first, how did the deal with the Myo’s go?” Yoongi asks, eyeing the pair that had entered with Jin.

“They were able to get five mill together but they don’t have enough for the nine-millimeter parabellum magazines,” Taehyung says, leaning his weight onto the armrest.

“What was their order,” Jimin questions, his right leg crossing over his left.

“A thousand units of M4 carbines, two-thousand units of Glock 20s, two-thousand units of Glock 43s, and four thousand units of nine-millimeter parabellum cartridges,” Namjoon answers his gaze, flickering to the don, examining his docile expression.

“I’m assuming the M4 carbines and the Glock 20s are the most expensive out of the bunch,” You say thoughtfully, eyes shifting to Yoongi and Jimin to confirm your belief. The pair affirm your words with a nod of their head. “Okay, do we know why they need the guns?”

“They were caught in a turf war, so they’re stocking up on weapons,” The tallest is once again to answer the question. Did Namjoon know everything?

“Well if they’re running short on budget, I would suggest they cut down on the guns and instead stock up on bullets,” Patting Shelty’s soft head, you bring your feet up to your chest as you speak. “It’s not like they’re just going to throw away the gun once they use them, they’re gonna need way more bullets than actual guns. Besides guns become as useful as your tailbone if there are no bullets for them to fire,”  

Confusion floods the expression on the beautiful faces of the men, aside from Jin, who chortled at your medical analogy. The faces of the six contorting further, not understanding what their elder found so funny.

“It’s a medical thing don’t worry about it,” Waving off the query in the faces of the men, you dismiss the situation.  

“ I’ll make sure to pass that along to the Myo’s,” Taehyung breaks the very, very short silence that had fallen after your unsuccessful analogy.

“Alright next,” Nodding at the chestnut-haired male, Jimin carries on the meeting. “The meeting with Ji-Eun Duri,” His expression hardens as the men sit up straighter, some toying with their suit cuffs.

“The meeting will take place tomorrow at one of her safe houses, we were told to come with minimal personale just,”

“Come with minimal personale? Does she want this to be like a ceasefire signing or something?” Ji-Eun Duri was truly an enigma to you. Every time you think you felt as though you were close to figuring her out, she does something like this. Why not meet at the safety of her own space, her own territory? It wasn’t as though the location of her home was a mystery to you, to Bangtan to be more accurate. But still, what was she doing? What was she really up to?

“Tell me,” You call. “Ji-Eun Dure, what is she like? What’s her business? What does she do?” Firing a barrage of questions, you try to piece together the puzzle that was Ji-Eun Duri.  

“She’s sharp and cunning,” Yoongi speaks, his gaze hardening into a glare. ‘Well duh,’ That much was clear, by the way, she held herself, the way she addressed others, her smarts and wit were as clear as the crystal-like turquoise waters of the Maldives.

“She runs one of the largest drug rings in Seoul, and she holds power over many of the mafia families,”

“Where does she get her drugs from?”

“She has her own farms around the world,” Namjoon answers. “But, Peru and Colombia are the main producers,”

��Peru and Colombia, huh?’ Two of the countries largely responsible for cocaine cultivation. However, it was surprising Bolivia hadn’t made the list of main producers, especially considering the abundance of coca plants in the region. Unless…

“Tell me, does she have anything in Bolivia?” You ask, acting on the bubbling in your stomach.  

“Bolivia?” The tallest echos. “I’m not sure, I’d have to look into that. Why?” syrup haired male looks to you.

“Just wondering,” Humming, you mumble, leaning your head against the back of the armchair.  

“What about guns? Weapons? Does she deal with weapons?” Twisting your head to the right you ask the man over Jimin.

“She doesn’t deal with weapons, no. She buys weapons frequently, but she’s never been known to sell them” Namjoon faithfully answers. She didn’t deal with weapons? Why?

“Then where does she get her weapons from?” If she has a running drug ring then she must need weapons. And the larger the operation the more weapons and supplies she requires.  

“Ji-Eun gets all her firearms and ammo from the dealers and families under her and only from the people he has control over,”

“Yeah, she rarely makes deals with those who aren’t under her,” Taehyung adds.

Duri may have appeared to be arrogant or brash, but her actions spoke otherwise. She trusted no one other than the ones she had a firm grasp on. Those she could manipulate, those who couldn’t betray her. That level of caution was the making of a dangerous woman. You finally understood why the group might have been eager to align Bangtan ti Duri.

Aligning with Duri would mean not only her support but also the support of the families and groups beneath her.

“So it really surprised us when she wanted to make a deal with us,” Hoseok’s calm voice brings you back from the depth of your thoughts.  

“If it were just us, we would have jumped at her offer,” Jin says, his hand coming up to brush the back of his neck. “So I’m glad you were there,”

“Yeah, you really saved us back there,” Yoongi chuckles as a sheepish grin forms on his lips

“I was so focused on what we could gain from the alliance, I forgot to think about what we would be giving in return, and just what exactly “loyalty” included,” Jimin sighs, his eyes shifting to your form.

“We all were,” Jeongguk quips. “Well, aside from (Y/n) I guess,” A smile playing at his lips, he gestures to you.

“How’d you catch it so quickly?” Taehyung asks.

“Well, you guys were so tense around her, I knew she was dangerous. And besides, I was already on guard because of the whole Soomin thing. So as soon as she presented her deal, I thought of every way she could benefit from having our “loyalty”. And the biggest one was that if she used her words right she could possibly have almost full control over our networks,” You explain, toying with the furs on Shelty’s head. “Which would mean she would have the most powerful weapon in existence,”

“Most powerful weapons in existence?” Taehyung parrots, an eyebrow raised in question.

“Accurate information,” Letting your feet down, you answer the male. “If used right it could bring the most powerful people to their knees,”

“But, you need to have reliable information to use it,” Adding to your previous statement, you make your point.

“Man I wasn’t even thinking of that,” The youngest grumbles, throwing his arms behind his head.

“That’s why words are so dangerous,” You hum. “If you don’t listen carefully, you might just end up understanding what you want to understand, and not what the speaker is actually meaning to say,”

“So you have to listen properly,” Chuckling you send Shelty over to the younger male, in an effort to heal his wounded pride. How could someone who has barely known the mafia world outwit him, someone who had been at this for years longer than you?

“Well then, we’re gonna need that kind of listening tomorrow,” Jimin concludes, coming to a stand. A sign the meeting was coming to an end.

“Tomorrow, we’ll be taking a unit of fifteen,” He instructs. “Jin, Jeongguk, and Yoongi, you will stay behind,”

A gentle smile curves on your lips at Jimin's decision. A smart choice on his part, he was leaving back-up just in case something were to happen while he was away. And if something were to happen to him, there would be people to look after the gang.

The mouths of the men called opened and closed, the words of protest dying on their tongue when faced with the hard glare of the mafia don.

“Tomorrow, the people I didn’t call the names of are to meet at the front of the house at 1 p.m. sharp,” He commands, his gaze landing on you as he leaves for the door. A silent demand for you to follow him.  

“For now, the meeting is adjourned,” He calls, his back to the group.

~

Light currents of cool spring air wash through the front gardens. A gentle glimmer of sunlight shining past the few clouds that dotted the vast skies warmed the air, creating a comfortable temperature. The coolness of the wind soothingly caresses your body, crashing and receding like the fluid waves of the oceans as you wait for everyone to arrive at the front doors. If only you were able to properly enjoy this beautiful day.

A strange tightness had taken hold in your chest, forming a sort of a ball in the center of your chest cavity. It would have been easier to ignore if that was all it had been, but that metaphorical ball had been constantly exuding just a surge of nervous energy, almost like the winds that were blowing through the vicinity. It wasn’t that you were nervous about meeting Duri, you had already done that once, you could certainly do it again. And it wasn’t that not all of the core members would be with you, as long as one of them were with you, you would have been fine. Besides, Jimin would be with you.

And you knew it wasn’t because Shelty wasn’t going to be tagging along this time around. Seeing as before the mafia incident, you had rarely ever taken Shelty everywhere you went, aside from the flower shop and on her daily walks, she was usually home.

But perhaps the agitation you were feeling was somehow tied to the weights hanging from your thighs. You swallowed the saliva that had pooled in your mouth, gingerly brushing your fingertips across the bump jutting from the leather holster, skin making contact with the exposed grip of the steel gun.

All your training sessions for the day had been canceled in favor of letting you rest and mentally prepare for the meeting that was to come. And as you were doing just that, cuddled up in your many blankets and pillows when an unexpected visitor showed up at your door bearing even more unexpected gifts.

Yoongi was at your door, holding the leather holster you had currently donned, two guns - a charcoal-black Tanfoglio Witness and a similarly colored Glock 20 to be exact - and several magazines of ten-millimeter bullets.

At first, you had denied the need for the wraps as you would be with Jimin, Taehyung, Hoseok, and not to mention the other fifteen men that would be attending the meeting with you. But he immediately countered with a “They won’t always be there to protect you”, which was true though you were still reluctant considering you hadn’t had adequate training in firearm handling yet. You had only been working with guns for three days for god's sake! That was when he mentioned that the weapons could be entirely for show and that if Jimin were with you probably wouldn’t even have to draw.

And you finally caved, allowing Yoongi to fit the double thigh holster around your thighs. Which was thankfully not as awkward as you had thought it would be. You had slipped on the belt portion of the holster on your own, and Yoongi simply adjusted the straps to sit comfortably around your clothed flesh.

Heaving another breath lean your weight on your left leg, trying to acknowledge then move on from the heaviness on your thighs.

“Are you nervous, love?” A soft voice interrupts your thoughts.

“Mm, a little,” You grumble, pressing your face against Jimin’s chest as warm arms encompass your waist.

“Don’t be,” He mumbles, placing a chaste kiss on the crown of your head. “You’ll do fine,”

Your cheeks puff at his words. He was talking as though you would be the only one carrying this deal. He was going to be there too.

“What?” He says, squishing your puffed out cheeks with his forefingers and his thumb.

The don chuckles as he watches you struggle to get out of his old. Groaning you twist out of the grasp around your cheeks. Then stepping away from him, an amused eyebrow-raising when he takes in your full form.

“What’s this?” He asks, gently tugging you back to him and facing you towards him. “Did Yoongi give you a gift?” His eyes travel the length of your physique, honey-brown orbs running over every curve.

“Yeah,” You murmur quietly, gaze falling to your feet. A sudden shyness blooming in your chest, the original anxiousness now forgotten. ‘This man,’ He always had an effect on you. No matter the situation or the circumstance - somehow every time he had either a calming effect or a flustering one. Personally, you preferred the calming one.

“You look hot," Jimin marveled, drinking in the image of you with leather holsters wrapped around your waist and thighs.

“Shush you,” You hiss, blood rushing to your face, a pretty pink settling on your cheeks. To which the silver-blond replies with a series of chuckles. But the moment is cut short when a loud ring of his cell-phone.

“Hold on,” He fumbled with his suit pocket, fishing out his phone and answering it.

“Hell一”

“Duir! She’s gone! She’s not there anymore!” Soomin rambles, her voice is urgent, almost frantic as she yells out unfinished sentences.  

“Soomin, calm down. What are you talking about?” He calmly questions the girl on the other end. And although Jimin’s voice was as steady as a rock you could hear the slight worry leaving his tone.

“The safe house was attacked, they took Ji-Eun Duri,” Jimin’s expression changes to one of surprise, then to one of irritation.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Your head twists to meet the owner of the voice to land on a confused Taehyung and Namjoon with an equally perplexed Hoseok on their tail. The trio comes to stand beside you.

“What?” The male spat. “Do you know who?”

“Yeong!” Jimin’s eyes widened hearing the name of the culprit. Yeong, but how could that be? He was supposed to be injured, not to mention he had lost a sizable number of men, could he have called for this?

“Are you sure?” He asks the female,

“Yes, now, get over here! And quickly!” Frustrated by his many questions, Soomin curtly reaffirms.  

“We’ll be there soon,” Jimin growls out a reply before ending the call and running a foul expression taking hold of his handsome face.

“What’s going on?” Tenderly taking hold of Jimin’s free hand, you question softly.

“Ji-Eun Duri was kidnapped,” Your eyes blew apart hearing the silver-blond’s words, and though you had a thousand questions, for the moment, you kept them to yourself. You would get all the answers you wanted once you met up with Soomin.

“Should I get everyone else together?” Namjoon inquired, his cell-phone already on hand.

“No, just us,” Jimin rebuffs. “Now, let’s head out,” He commanded, nudging you into the limousine that had been waiting for the group.

“You sure took your time,” Soomin grunts, leading your group into the safe house - which was more of a luxurious villa - with a bitter scowl etched onto her face. And the interior was in utter disarray; the furniture was displaced, fragments of glass and other materials littered the ground. Dull russet splotches of different sizes decorated the walls and floor. ‘Bloodstains,’ There was a fight, and a big one at that. The mayhem that began at the main entrance continued throughout the hallways you walked.

‘But why is she here?’ You eyed the female as you followed her through the grand corridors of the lavish home. A pressing question resonating in your skull of her current behavior, her actions. Why was she still here? From what you inferred from the encounter three days prior, the pair seemed close. And going by the agitated demeanor she was presenting, she was distressed. She was worried about her ally’s safety yet she was still here, why? Unless… ‘I see,’ There was a reason she wasn’t out there looking for her friend.  

“Shouldn’t you be looking for her too?” A peeved scoff leaves Taehyung plush lips, articulating the question that you had been mulling over. Her corners twitch at the male’s words, her expression morphing into one of suppressed rage.

“She can’t,” Soomin's jaw opens to answer the chestnut-haired mafioso, but you cut her off before the situation had a chance to escalate.

“Well, it’s more of she’s already tried,” You clarify your words. “I’m guessing you only called for us because you couldn’t find Ji-Eun Duri on your own,”

“I’d forgotten how nice it was to have someone with a brain around,” Soomin sneers, banking left at the interaction between two hallways. Taehyung snarls at the female’s off-handed remark. “It’s as (Y/n) says,” She gestures to you with a nod. “I’ve put my best of the best at work they still haven’t found her,”  

“I tried calling Duri this morning, but she wouldn’t pick up. But that's nothing new, so I didn't think much of it,” A deep sigh escaping her painted lips as she pushes open one of the double doors of the room at the end of the hallway you had been trekking down.

Once within the confines of the large office room, your eyes widened as you took in the condition of the space. It was pristine; not a single furniture out of place, only the rug had been muddied. But the rest of the room was clean, spotless even. It was almost as if this room was left untouched or…

“This place… ” Taehyung lets his gaze drift throughout the room, his hands stuffed into the pocket of his suit pants as Soomin leads the group towards the desk.  

“Later when I showed up for today’s meeting,” Her hands spread to gesture to the interior of the house. “I came to this.”

“Then you couldn’t find her on your own and now you want our help, is that about right?” A questioning brow raises on the chestnut-haired mafioso.

“Yes,” Soomin’s jaw clenched at Taehyung’s brash words, before looking to Jimin, her gaze silently pleading for Bangtan’s aide.

“But,” She pauses. “There’s another reason I needed you, well specifically speaking, why I needed (Y/n),”

“Me?” You point to yourself. What did she need you for?

“That,” She gestured to the rectangular letter paper situated on a book. There was a table printed on the paper; eight rows with five columns. Each row of the first column held a single number, from one to eight with rows eight, six, five, three, and one being highlighted.

Each row of the second column held numbers one through fifteen with numbers highlighted on rows eight, six, five, three, and one.

Each row of the third column held numbers one to thirty with multiple numbers highlighted in two different colors on the same rows as the column before.

The fourth column was similarly organized, only these rows had numbers going from one to thirty-five, once again with some of the numbers highlighted, the colors corresponding with the ones on the third column.

But the fifth column was entirely different; it was handwritten rather than highlighted print. And what was even stranger was that only the first and the sixth row had numbers written in.

“What is that?” You question, gaze flickering back to the female that had brought you here.

“I don’t know,” Soomin’s shoulders rise into a shrug. “This was there when I came in,”

“I knew it was some sort of clue Duri left,” She heaves another sigh. “But I couldn’t figure it out,”  

“You couldn’t figure it out so you wanted (Y/n)’s help?” Jimin reiterates Soomin’s words.

“Yes,” She affirms, her arms folding defensively over her chest. “Will you take a look?” Her pleading eyes meet yours. She talked as though you had a choice, if you wanted to keep the alliance then you had no choice to help find the older woman. But knowing that exactly didn’t do you any good, it certainly wasn’t going to help you find Duri any faster.

Exhaling a deep breath you focus your mind. There’s a very good chance she wasn’t even in this room while the abduction happened. But going by the mud on the rug and the way it is positioned, you could tell that whoever brought in all that mud stood on the spot, right in the middle of that expensive rug and chatted with someone. Someone sitting behind that desk.

Plus, seeing as there were no other footprints on the floor, no signs of people searching around the room. Duri must’ve been in here. Easing away from the group you carefully wandered the room. The answer to the clue was in this room. The way she highlighted those numbers, it wasn’t haphazardly done, the highlighter strokes were precise and clear. Not to mention the paper itself, most of the columns and numbers were printed out for god's sake. So this clue had been preplanned, she expected something like this may happen and had already taken precautions. Now the question was where was the answer?  

Your intent gaze brushed over every nook, every cranny, every detail of this room. ‘It has to be in here,’ The sofas, the coffee table, the cupboards, the bookshelf一 the bookshelf. You briskly walked over to the tall bookshelf up against the wall behind the desk.

‘Are those numbers?’ Your eyebrows knit together as you delicately run your finger down the spines of a book before you. Examining the books, all of these books were in English, and each of them had numbers at the end of their spines.

‘One, two, three, four…’ Counting out the number of books in each row there were exactly fifteen books, all numbered. ‘Eight rows,’ Your eyes widened as you registered your own words, the pieces of the puzzle started to come together.

The carnage outside, and the lack of carnage in here, the footprints, the clue, it was all falling in place.

“She was in here when it happened,” You mused, your thoughts flowing straight from your head to your mouth. “There wasn’t a fight or struggle. Ji-Eun Duri left with them,”

“What are you talking about?!” Soomin is quick to defend the older woman. “My mother would never leave with the enemy!”

“She didn’t leave by choice, no. But she did cooperate with them. Oh yeah, she left with them, alright,” Hurrying back to the desk, you pick up the paper sitting on the book before your brain finally processing Soomin’s words. “Ji-Eun Duri is your mother?” You blanch at the other female.  

“N一no, well, yes. She’s my adoptive mother,” The girl clarifies her hands creating round gestures as she did. “But that’s not the point,” Shaking off the question she speaks.

“Duri would never leave with the enemy,”

“Oh, but she did,” Your head tilts as you rush back to the bookshelf, pulling out the five books highlighted on the first column of the table. “But there’s a reason why she left,”

“Why are you getting books?” Taehyung asks, confusion muddling his already sour expression as he watches you gather book after book in your arms.

Once you retrieved the five books from the shelf back to the desk, you organized them by order of the rows they were in, believing that would be the order of the message.

“You mean the books?” Soomin’s voice quiets as the revelation dawns on her. “The numbers! The shelves! How did I not see that before?!” She exclaims, rushing to the desk, determined to lend you a hand. And to be useful to the search.

“If the first column means bookshelf and the second column means book number. Then the third column must mean page number,” The female mafiosos babbles, catching onto the pattern. “So the fourth column would be the word, but what’s the fifth column?” Frown lines set on her forehead as he faces another dead end.

“If we follow the progression, then the fifth should mean letter,” You chuckle when Soomin was unable to understand the last column even though the answer was right before her.

While you and Soomin were occupied with deciphering the message of the code, turning to the page the paper dictated, then to the word and letter. Another figure entered the chaos which was Ji-Eun’s office.

“Namjoon-ssi, I came here as soon as I could,” A smooth voice, comparable to softest silk spoke from beyond the agape double doors.

“Ah yes, Hyuk, come in,” Namjoon invited the owner of the voice into the room.

Even you couldn’t resist the urge to peek at the holder of such a honeyed voice. Your curious gaze landed on the figure of a beautiful man talking to the don’s right-hand man.

He had porcelain pale skin with a pair of the brightest hazel orbs you had ever laid eyes on. A sharp, defined jawline with pitch-black locks gracefully resting against his forehead. He was truly beautiful, of course to you no one could compare to Jimin, but the specimen standing before you was quite fine as well.

“Oh? Should I be worried?” Jimin chuckles, a deep fuschia dusts your cheeks, having been caught ogling admiring another man.

“Of course not,” You huff, pout puffing onto your cheeks.

“You’re adorable,” The silver-blond whispers, pressing a soft kiss against your plush lips, pulling you into him.

“Oh, hush you,” Mumbling into his pillowy lips, you place once last chaste kiss on them before returning to your code-cracking. A quiet chuckle leaves his cherry-pink lips as he eases away from the desk to the sofas where Taehyung had found himself a seat.

“So when did that happen?” Soomin goads as she flipped the first book of the list open.

“When did what happen?” You return cooly, taking the paper with the message, and rereading over the contents. The sly woman gives you a shit-eating grin, her eyes possessing an incredibly entertained glint.

“Whatever, just turn to page twenty-one,” You commanded. Soomin lets out a soft chortle before turning the page you had instructed to. “There are more than one numbers highlighter on this row, so I’m guessing two different pages,”

“And the highlighter colors must coincide with the which number is for what page,” Soomin adds.

“First is word number three, letters one and five,”

Craning your neck to look into the book, you count the words from the top line to the left, landing on “Jadeites”. What did that even mean?

“Jadeites, so a ‘j’ and an ‘i’,” Soomin noted down the two letters.

“Keep the capitals,” You instruct, a woman cunning enough to create such a message would know to keep those minor details in check.

“Alright, next page,” Soomin looks to you expectantly.

“Twenty-three; word five; letters one, two, three, and four,”

Turning to the commanded page, Soomin counts down the words before reciting her findings. “The word is “during”. So, “d”, “u”, “r”, and “i”,”

“Duri?” Combining together the letters you said aloud the word that came as a result. Your expression hardened at the outcome of the search - it was a sign - you were on the right track.

“Next book,” Sharply you call for the search to continues.

“Right,” Soomin sets down the book in her hold, lifting the next book in sequence.

“Page fifteen; words twelve and twenty,”

“It’s “thirty” and “eight”, any letters?” She asks. With a shake of your head, you reply a silent ‘no’.

“Okay next,” Picking up the next novel, she asks for directions.

“Page ten; words seven, twenty-eight, and thirty,’’

“So, “at”, “i” and “cloud”,” The peach-blonde woman read out her findings.  

‘At I cloud,’ Wasn’t that... Your eyes wide as you finally understood Drui’s plan. And if your hunch was correct then this would certainly lead you directly to her.

“Soomin, what kind of phone does Ji-Eun carry?” You ask, urgency lacing your voice.

“An apple, why?” She answers, and the realization is immediate “Oh!”

“I’ll go get a laptop,” Soomin calls, scurrying out of the room.

“What happened?” Taehyung straightens in his seat when Soomin abruptly dashes out of the office. “What’s going on? Where is she going?” A slew of questions falls from the brunette's lips as he slowly lowers himself onto the sofa.

“What’s wrong, love? Did you two find something?” Jimin inquires, cruising over to where you furiously turned pages of a thick book.

“If this is what I think it is then it’ll only be minutes until we find her,” You say as you run your fingers across the page of the book, eyes scanning over the many words before taking a shaky step back. A wide grin curling on your lips.

“Oh, you sneaky woman,” Chuckling with a shake of your head you scribble down words onto a piece of paper.

“Alright, I got it,” Soomin returns with a slender silver laptop computer.

“I thought Ji-Eun didn’t have a tracker on her,” Hoseok said, eyebrows knitted in confusion.

“That’s what I thought too,” Soomin admitted, taking long and unjustifiably confident strides towards the desk.  

“Wait, so she does have a tracker?” Taehyung's statement sounds more of a question as he tries to piece together what the two crazy women were spouting.  

“Not exactly,” The peach-blonde female purs.

“I am thoroughly confused,” The crimson-haired mafioso mumbles, arms folded over his chest, Hoseok stands beside Namjoon at the desk.

“You see she carries an Apple phone,” You begin, your excited gaze meeting their befuddled ones.

“And?” Taehyung grunts. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“You see, most to all smart-phones these days come with a built-in GPS tracker, and that is especially for Apple,” The peach-haired female continues your explanation.

“All Apple devices come in with a “Find My Phone” feature where you can track your lost phone from an Apple computer or any other IOS device by using your Apple ID and signing into iCloud,” Piggybacking on Soomin’s continuation you fully expound the group in your findings.

“So you intend to track Duri’s location from her phone,” Jimin restates your intentions in clear terms, shuffling closer to better see the computer screen.

“Okay, settings, and here’s the Apple ID,” You instruct, shuffling the piece of paper the peach-blonde had jotted down the fragments of the encoded message.

As directed, she opens the settings of the computer, typing the email of the apple ID into the text bar before clicking the next option.

“The password?” Her questioning gaze lifts to meet yours.

“Come find me, no space,” You answer with a knowing grin.

“No, she didn’t,” Soomin crowed, pressing both her palms on the desk, her faze holding an oddly amused yet annoyed expression.

Scoffing, the blonde enters the password, immediately scouring the settings for the “Find My Phone” feature once the program accepted the password.

“And there she is,” Airily, Soomin breaths out. The tracking feature promptly displayed the image of the phone’s location. A smile erupts on your face as you see all your hard work pay off. Your chest blooming with pride at your achievement, in such a short time frame no less.

However, the sense of victory is short-lived when you realize that someone could have easily taken Duri’s cell-phone and planted it in another location, possibly a trap. It wouldn’t be too difficult to do so. Not to mention it would make an incredibly effective trap as you would have no choice but to fall for the trap, that is if you wanted to retrieve Duri.  

“(Y/n)?” Jimin calls your name, quickly noting your now crestfallen expression.

“The phone could have been planted,” You mumble. “This could be a trap,”

The energy of the room falls, just as yours had, before a honeyed voice chime in.

“Then why don’t we have people scout the area from afar?” The charcoal-haired man that had later entered the scene suggests.  

“And you are?” You ask the male standing across from you, beyond the desk. That was the man you had been caught ogling, his pitch-black locks falling to the side with the slight tilt of his head.  

“Ri Hyuk, but please call me Hyuk (L/n)-ssi” He introduces himself with a soft bow.

“Oh, and you already know me?” Surprise lacing your tone, unaware that word about yourself had spread in the mafia community.

“With my line of work it would be strange for me to not know,” Chuckling softly, Hyuk pushes his fists into the pockets of his slacks.

“Right,” An awkward replay leaves your lips, unsure of how to react as the male stared daggers into you. His gaze was sharp, plush lips curling into a foxy smile. The more you interacted with the male the more he disconcerted you, you could feel his eyes appraising you, analyzing you. That man may have been handsome; he did not exude the warmth Jimin did, in fact, Hyuk’s presence brought a certain chill to the room.    

“Okay so why don’t you give me the location you found and I’ll send out a team to scope out the place?” Namjoon offers, his voice bringing you back from your thoughts.  

“Uh, yeah,” Your head turns to Soomin expectantly, your brain having ceased all function at the moment.  

“Here, just take the computer,” She lifts the slender body of the laptop, handing the computer to the tall mafioso.

The room settles into a stifling silence as the group waits to hear back from the team Namjoon had sent out. You quietly sat on the sofas beside Jimin, toying with the straps of the holsters around your thighs.  

“I have to say (L/n)-ssi, the way you solved the case was quite impressive,” Hyuk speaks, breaking the long quiet.

“Oh, uh, thank you,” Sheepishly grinning, you accept the praise before falling back into the silence. Only for the same male to break it once again with an interesting observation.

“I must say, Ji-Eun Duri has quite the taste in flowers,” Humming, Hyuk gestures to the vibrant yellow blossoms decorating the cylindrical lavender flower vase sitting on Duri’s desk.

“Huh?” With all that had been happening you had completely overlooked the beautiful blooms that gracefully sat on the older woman’s desk. You hadn’t realized the onyx haired woman had an interest in flowers.

“Tansies?” Out of sheer habit, your mind had automatically identified the vivid bloom. Your eyes widen, hearing your own words.

“(Y/n), what's wrong?!” Jimin exclaims when you spring out of your seat, your eyes trained on the seemingly harmless flora.

‘Tansies’

––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Tansy: Hostiliy; “I declare war against you,” 

[dishonoredrpg]

Congratulations, PAYTON! You’ve been accepted for the role of THE TOWER with the faceclaim of RODRIGO SANTORO. What poetry could I write about Feivel? He is, at his core, a worldly man, has seen much, knows plenty, and still finds himself entrapped in a world which he feels he cannot possibly belong to. There is such a human quality to him in the way he shifts and turns just to keep himself alive; your concept with the mirror was especially fascinating -- he has a charm to him, but is it a charm that he’ll be able to stomach later on down the line? I also vastly appreciate your willingness to step out of the box and explore a character you’re not as familiar with; I can really see your affection for him here, and I’m excited to see what you bring to us with him!

Please review the CHECKLIST and send your blog in within 24 hours.

NAME: Payton or Paypay

PRONOUNS: She/her/hers

AGE: 27

TIMEZONE, ACTIVITY LEVEL: My timezone is GMT-7. I anticipate being active on the dash (as in posting starters/writing responses) typically between 4-6 days a week, with 4 being more typical. Writing is a pretty big component of my self-care and allows me a creative outlet to use some of my energy, so I will be on frequently. 

ANYTHING ELSE?: I know this is a second application picked from a small handful of skeletons that still remained, but I wouldn’t be applying for another skeleton if I wasn’t just as excited and dedicated to what I could bring to the group with this skeleton as I was with my first application. At first I was pretty bummed and told myself if I couldn’t get back into a very excited state I would just kind of let it be, but the more I worked on this application the more excited I got about the skeleton and the character I was building out from it.

IN CHARACTER

SKELETON: The Tower

NAME: Feivel Asturias

FACECLAIM: Rodrigo Santoro, Chris Hemsworth,  Joel Kinnaman

AGE: 42

DETAILS: What about this character interested you? Who are they to you? This can be as long or short as you want it to be, in whatever format you prefer.

I suggested this to you during our conversation during which you gave me feedback for my previous application, but The Tower’s skeleton is a big old jump away from characters I’m used to playing. Out of the skeleton’s that were left, I found The Tower’s to be quite compelling and likely the most challenging role to play for me. But I like challenges! Challenging is fun. I think in terms of my own development as a writer, playing a character that feels like such a departure from what I’m used to is a great way to stretch my creative muscles and really push myself to think deeper into the choices I’m making for my character.

Another component I like about The Tower is their history as an explorer. I would like to see story-telling be a strong component of their characterization because they have so many lived experiences. Given the setting, it’s likely he would be one of the most if not the most well-travelled roles in the group. His lived experiences would take him to the ends of the earth that his contemporaries only dreamed of, and I imagine he would be all too eager to recount the stories of his youth (only slightly editorialized… okay, fine, with some pretty significant embellishments). I imagine his life has led him to present as rough around the edges, as a survival tactic, as a leadership strategy, and as a mode of self-preservation… but when he gets to talking, when someone really gets him in his lane of story-telling he takes on an air of slight warmth and overwhelming nostalgia. He also absolutely adores young people, which is discussed a little further elsewhere in the application (one of the plot points if I’m not mistaken).

I am also very interested in toying around with his current role as an antiquarian--because who doesn’t want to make up a whole bunch of mythical items and historical artifacts and lore? I feel like not only would I be able to use him as a method to contribute to the general story line, but it would be a great way to explore some world building within the parameters you’ve set for the group.

I also think that the skeleton suggests that The Tower would be willing to take some risks, which would be interesting to play out. The fact that they were willing to play dumb in front of the king until it was clear playing dumb meant certain death, they take a chance: they try to bargain for their life, and it works. As an unofficial advisor, they view their stakes as being slightly less high than someone officially in the post, so they take risks: they combine a healthy amount of tact with speaking their mind. They see a monarch unhappy in her marriage and desperate for release, so they take a risk: they stand a little too close, brush the back of their hand against hers as they pass in the hallway, and find themselves in a full blown affair. I think taking risks would be an inevitable character trait of The Tower, who likely feels lonely for adventure and too big for their body now that they find themselves land-locked.

The actual card of The Tower also relates strongly to the history I imagine for Feivel and what I would assume could be a turbulent future given his affair with the queen and potential shifting alignments. I see “Tower upright: Sudden change, upheaval, chaos, revelation, awakening” relating to his arrival in Tyrholm and the killing of his men and consequential end to his way of life/loss of freedom. “Tower reversed: Personal transformation, fear of change, averting disaster” makes me think of his need to navigate the court and avoid what could be certain disaster if the affair with the queen became known to the wrong people as well as his perceived need to tiptoe around The Sun.

Something of interest to me regarding the typical depiction of this card is the image of the card itself. One website’s information on the card stated: “A stone tower is struck with lighting and lit in flames, two people jump from the tower presumably to their deaths. An image of chaos and destruction is painted.This lightning/subsequent fire enters in through the top of the tower and knocks off the crown. The people jumping accept that they do not know what awaits them when they fall - but it is certainly better than burning in the rubble of the tower.” I find this really compelling because I think that if Feivel was present for the event Mini wrote for Kithri’s para sample (and Mini makes that headcanon) or if Feivel sees or perceives Septimus mistreats his wife or perceives King Septimus as cruel in other ways it would be relatively easy to radicalize Feivel. Feivel knows he’s coming in hot on his expiration date, and even if he isn’t on the brink of death and he’s just feeling a little run down, I think he would really struggle to accept a land-locked existence where he’s essentially prisoner in Castle Tyrholm, and might, as the card depicts, run headlong into certain doom rather than accept the alternative if he found a cause worth self-destructing for.

BACKGROUND:

You are born on high seas, the ocean so ingrained in your identity that you could scarcely tell the difference between the waves of a storm battering your ship and the untamed beating of your own heart. Your childhood is composed of tangled memories of stern looks, rope burn, aching muscles, calluses, stolen goods, and the sound of splintering wood. The smell of gunpowder from the cannons found a permanent home in your nostrils and you lived with a constant sensation of breathlessness between the battles and seascapes that colored your days.  Your early years are like the ocean itself; ever-moving, unforgiving, and constantly threatening to pull you under in its cruelty if you so much as dare to be still for even a moment.

As you enter your teenage years, the treatment you receive only becomes harsher. You are no longer only responsible for chores around the deck, but you are brought into roles of responsibility where a misstep can be the difference between life and death of a crew member. You participate in your first ambush, and it terrifies you how easy it is to drive a blade into another body and how hard it feels to draw it back out. But letting that deter you is not an option. The stakes are high, and the sting of every slap and lashing’s meaning is two-fold. Corporal punishment is a daily reality of your life, the best way a motley crew of pirates knows how to instill discipline. And beyond discipline, you know you’re the next in line for leadership and as a leader you must be unyielding. Your father is preparing you, and the way you see it the crack of his leather strap against your back is the only way he knows how to say he loves you.

You are seventeen when you inherit your father’s ship, his death a sudden and brutal blight that stains a corner of your mind you avoid with vermillion and a mix of pain and resentment. Your mother died long before, when you were no older than six or seven. The closest thing you have to any memory of her face is the memory of her running her fingers through your hair to soothe you to sleep. every time the sea breeze rustles through your hair it evokes her memory. You keep it long and unkempt for that reason alone, though if anyone asks it’s a matter of convenience. It is unbecoming of a captain to display such vulnerabilities as sentiment and weakness—or at least that’s what your father before you conditions you to believe. You quickly realize you see leadership fundamentally differently than your father. Where he asserted authority by means of dominance and violence, your approach values brotherhood.

You find yourself establishing a Brotherhood of Asturias. You name your clan in honor of your ship. Later in your life, you will name yourself in honor of your clan—not as a badge of honor, but as a reminder of your shame. No one would accuse your clan of reformation. To anyone outside of your fold, you’re just as ruthless as your father. You’d still burn the world to the ground for the promise of glory when the flames died down. But within your kinship, you develop a sort of honor code. Your commandments are as such: honor those who honor you, betray no other lest your life be on the line, help the needy if it helps yourself, to kill an innocent is the most mortal of sins, and you shall not advance yourself at the harm of others. Your reputation does shift, but only slightly. Rather than pillagers and barbarians, you are seen as a ruthless treasure hunter.  

For the next fifteen years, your reputation precedes you. You travel to the ends of the earth in search of the relics of the old gods and to reclaim the wonders of the world. It isn’t easy work, but the payoff makes it worth it. You accumulate wealth with nowhere to spend it, but the sense of power of merely possessing the rarities and finery you have is enough. And you love the camaraderie and catharsis. By your mid-thirties, you are grizzled and scarred. Your body aches from the strain of your journeys, but your mind is somehow light under the sheer weight of the stories you have to tell. Your life is spent fast, but if anybody asks it is spent well.

Finally, aware of your limitations and content with your life of misdeeds, you select your successor and one final mission. You view it as a training exercise to cement your decision: both to lay down your arms once and for all and that you’ve chosen the best and brightest to take your place. You set sail to the remote island of Calamity in search of an item of lore, so simple that the common man would pass it over without a second glance: the Mirror of Ouroboros. The mirror is a small, handheld curio of impossible value. The reflector itself is a small, obsidian mirror that upon first consideration seems harmless if not impractical. However, upon looking in the mirror its magical virtue presents itself by revealing three truths about the user, each of them as destructive as the next if the user is without fortitude of mind. You recover the mirror with little consequence along the way, and you are reassured that your decision making was sound. You are resolved to your fate and wary from travel, you drift off to sleep easily after your final ransacking.

You are dragged from your bed by a pair of hands as cold and harsh as death itself. The mere touch is enough to pull the breath from your lungs. You don’t recognize her at first, but The Sun will haunt your nightmares for the next several years, and in a much more present way haunt your days as well. You are thrown before the king, your crew not far behind. But it is toward you who the king directs his ire. He demands the mirror, and you bite back at his entitlement. You tell him you don’t have any such item, and he knows you are lying. You tell him the mirror is no creation of his god, the Undying One, and as a result it shouldn’t be any interest of his. It’s the wrong answer. You realize it’s the wrong answer when you hear a squelch from behind you, and the sound of a body drop to the floor. The groaning is easily recognizable as your second in command, slaughtered as result of your folly before they even had their real chance to carry on your legacy. The world mutes, but you’ve seen this scene before. There is nothing but a loud ringing in your ears, but you know The Sun is working down the line of your men behind you.

Your hands shake as you pull the mirror from your breast pocket, and you consider looking into it. Surely the madness is a better fate to resign yourself to than to live with your indirect responsibility for your brotherhood’s death. For another moment, you consider allowing the king to look into it, to exact your revenge without needing to so much as lift a finger. Instead, you slide the mirror across the floor, still safely contained in its cloth shroud. You hear your voice warning the king of the mirror’s power, that with patience and research it could be the key to turning his kingdom into an empire. You tell him that more relics exist across the span of the globe, some of them here on the continent of Markholm. You’re bargaining for your life, despite the fact that according to your very own honor code you no longer deserve it.

For some reason, the king lets you stay. You know this is more a strategic move on Septimus’ part than an act of mercy. You are hardly a free man. You yourself know that not all prisons have bars. Yours doesn’t, but you’re locked in a cage all the same. Your wild heart rails against your fate at first, but your tired body cannot keep up. You slowly resign yourself to your circumstances. You spend your day lamenting and licking wounds for months, giving Septimus advice through gritted teeth and refusing to recognize kindness from anyone around you. You are like a cornered dog, but you damn well know better than to bite the hand that feeds.

Slowly, the dagger in your heart loosens and you move through the stages of mourning your freedom, your crew, and your former life.  This doesn’t mean that your life in Tyrholm is easy, but you start to recognize areas of comfort. The Empress shows you a modicum of kindness, and you cling to it. The way you see it, the pair of you mean little more to each other than a pair of warm bodies at first, but it’s a momentary distraction the both of you welcome. The way your rough, calloused hands catch on the silk she seems herself to be spun from reminds you of your place, it stops you from being careless enough to leave fingerprints. You stop yourself from getting emotionally attached--no one ever accuses you of being a wise man, but you know better than to shit where you eat. The Moon gravitates in the perimeter of your attention, and you wonder what she wants from you, though she never seems to ask for much. The Sun also exists within your gravitational pull, though you wish she wouldn’t. You have nothing but enmity for her, an emotion you know is futile but that you can’t seem to put away.

The one thing you take seriously is your role as advisor. Septimus strikes you as mad and simple, a ruler grounded in dualism and individualism. Your belief in brotherhood and the collective clashes with Septimus’ harsh reign, but you can stomach it given your years spent under your father’s thumb. You yourself are never treated with particular cruelness after you are added as a member of the court. A part of you cares how everything shakes out, even though your body tells you it might give out before you see things through. Another part of you only cares about slowly convincing Septimus to give you a longer leash to try to convince him to dispatch you for one last adventure or two.

PLOT IDEAS:

You’ve Got Your Reputation and Your Good Intent (The Emperor): Feivel was not exactly a willing addition to the court. With death as the only alternative, joining up with Septimus looked like a good choice, but in the skeleton it doesn’t suggest that The Tower ever develops any sense of loyalty or admiration for King Septimus. In fact, in the connection section with Judgement, it suggests that The Tower finds the world they find themselves stuck within to be “horrible”. Given I want to incorporate captaining a ship as part of Feivel’s past, he would chalk up the state of the world to mediocre leadership. Further, The Tower is smack in the middle of the triangle depicting attitudes and loyalties. He doesn’t have much skin in the game, but he kind of gives a shit. I have to imagine that given their travels, The Tower would have a stronger concept than Septimus of how the other side lives, how people perceive things, of even surface level diplomacy, who seems to make decrees and decisions at a whim. Knowing that The Emperor is the next in line for the throne, I imagine The Tower would want to see the heir equipped with more of a holistic outlook rather than a self-interested, dualistic approach. While it sounds like Septimus is the one who likes to be regaled with stories of adventure and daring, I imagine Feivel might try to impart some sort of wisdom about different perspectives, universal truths, and interest in the plight of fellow man. The Emperor has probably never experienced life outside of the castle walls, certainly never outside of Tyrholm where many valuable lessons for a future ruler wait to be learned. But Feivel struggles with putting his meaning into words, he isn’t some educated member of the court, he’s a rogue in nice clothing. There is no underlying agenda aside from expanding the young heir’s worldview--but the danger of saying the wrong thing, of the slightest slip up in the tone of voice being read as a criticism of King Septimus makes the line between good intent and treason a tricky one to walk.

Suffer the Fools (The Moon): Feivel enjoys young people tremendously. Youth tends to couple with ambition and vigor. This is also part of why he even wants to bother trying to impress some of his lived experiences on The Emperor. Based on the connection written in The Moon’s bio, it seems like The Moon would be eager to listen to those very same stories. The Tower is depicted as a cache of information regarding other civilizations, the old gods, history, antiquities, magic, and tales of their own youth. I think in talking to The Moon about these stories and being listened to, a friendship would be forged and from that friendship, trust. Feivel understands thieves' code, he can pick up the dynamic in most any room he walks into, he knows history, he recognizes value when he sees it, navigation and survival in the wild is a given… but all of this was learned through oral tradition. Books were of little value on a ship, education wasn’t valued in his lifestyle. In his previous station, Feivel couldn’t have cared less, but now it’s developed into a soft spot. What does it say of a king if their antiquarian and unofficial advisor is illiterate? I think that if Feivel developed trust with The Moon, he would be willing to share this vulnerability asking them to write correspondence for him in a pinch and potentially how to read and write. I think this vulnerability might help lead The Moon to ask the questions they have about magic as discussed in The Moon’s connections.

All’s Fair in Love and War (The Empress): I am interested in exploring the connection listed in The Empress’ bio depicting the affair between The Empress and The Tower. It is not really mentioned in The Tower’s bio or in the main body of The Empress’ bio. I am interested in exploring Feivel’s motivations in this affair. Is there genuine affection that Feivel feels for The Empress, or does he see her as a pretty treasure of the king’s that makes for an interesting conquest? If there is genuine affection, how does he deal with the jealousy or perceived mistreatment of The Empress as a wife? Additionally, there could be a number of interesting consequences for the affair to deal with as far as jealousy, not being able to bit his tongue regarding Septimus’ attitude about his wife, or even the secret of the affair becoming more widespread. I think the affair could also complicate the way that some members of the court and group see Feivel. They could potentially misread the affair, whether it’s a matter of the convenience of the two just acting as warm bodies for one another or if it develops into a full blown emotional affair, as Feivel tries to step into a role of power or exploitation. It’s also some pretty damaging ammunition against him if he crosses the wrong person.

Mirror of Ouroborus (The Sun/The High Priestess): One of the things I would look forward to adding to Feivel’s character and the group as a whole is sort of building out the world with some mystical items. In this case, I think it could be fun to toy around with the item that landed Feivel on King Septimus’ agenda in the first place. This is a plot I would build out with either of the two more experienced necromancers. The item I have in mind for this plot point in particular would be called the Mirror of Ouroborus, an ancient, magical artifact the most of the world either doesn’t believe exists or has already forgotten. The mirror itself is a small, obsidian mirror that upon first consideration seems harmless if not impractical. However, upon looking in the mirror things begin to complicate. When looking in the mirror, it shows its user three truths. The first truth is easy to swallow: the reflection morphs into the user at the epitome of their potential, in their greatest state of glory. The second, the reflection morphs into what it is that stands in the way of those accomplishments, whether its an internal or external force. And third, it shows the essence of the user as they really are. Each of these reflections manifest as a simultaneous, momentary vision, but the mirror itself is dangerous. The lore surrounding the mirror depicts the third reflection driving everyone bold enough to stare into the mirror mad, incapable of swallowing the truth about themselves and the inherent flaws of humanity. However, who better to look into the mirror than someone numbed to even the most base emotion? Though it’s unlikely Septimus would put something as valuable as a master necromancer on the line for anything less than a guarantee. I would imagine in this plot, Feivel and either The Sun or the High Priestess would be tasked with unraveling the mystery of the Ouroborus Mirror for its eventual use.  

If You Stand For Nothing, What Will You Fall For (General): Check out the triangle of alignment and who is smack in the middle but The Tower? I think this presents a few interesting concepts. There are so many different components of the skeleton that could suggest many different ways for his allegiance to be pushed and pulled. If he has a personal rather than transactional relationship with The Empress, her alignment of general tolerance of King Septimus might pull him toward anxiously waiting out the king. Then again, it might have the opposite effect if Feivel ends up having very spiteful feelings about the Empress being stuck in the marriage. I envision most of the connections listed on the bio slowly dragging Feivel’s alignment toward the bottom left of the chart. I want to explore Feivel’s character with a moral alignment of true neutral as well, which I think would create a lot of interesting dynamics given Feivel seems to be starting from a place of general neutrality as well. I would be very interested in seeing what, if anything, could radicalize Feivel given his starting point.

Through Terra Incognita: Feivel is not exactly a member of the court by choice, but rather quick wit and Septimus’ whim. I would argue that Feivel sees himself more as a prisoner of the court than actually free. He was brought to the court by force, and he’s essentially kept there out of fear of the Sun. Sure, there are perks. He probably is all about that food, a nice bed, fancy clothes, and a comfortable place to rest his tired bones… but just because he wanted a rest doesn’t mean he isn’t restless. It might be interesting to have Feivel be dispatched by Septimus to retrieve some sort of treasure or antiquity with another character or maybe even two. This item could potentially be central to the plot if it interests you to invest in the plot in that way. I think this could be an interesting way to interact with Judgement (religious relic?), or potentially The Hermit or Strength. However, I’d be happy to make this plot work with whoever might be interested even if they aren’t listed there. Fievel is probably incredibly eager to go on any sort of adventure and get out of the city, so he would jump at the chance to go on such a quest, even if he clashed with his travel companion every step of the way.

Brave, Intrepid, and Then Some: If you do not recognize the lyrics used as titles (here and the plot point above), the song “The Trail We Blaze” from Dreamwork’s masterpiece The Road to El Dorado is big inspiration vibes for Feivel and his adventurous side. He knows he is never going to be the marauder he was before his years in Tyrholm, but there’s a spark in him that can’t quite go out. I think something to feed into this, and his general world knowledge, would be to develop a sort of “wonders of the world” for Markholm. Something I think that might be interesting to do is to pick a few characters and try to create artifacts, locations, etc. that are sort of drawn from or inspired by these characters. Perhaps they would not be significant to the plot, but I think it could be a fun concept to build out Feivel’s experiences.

CHARACTER DEATH: I think given some of the pies he’s stuck/will stick his finger in there’s a pretty real chance he might piss off the wrong people eventually (Septimus, Reynaud, Naenia given his fear of her) whether that be by him making a false move or his affair moving from a bit of an open secret to a full blown scandal. Also, he’s lived a rugged life, which I’m sure has taken a toll. Given the parameters you’ve set up to support players if there’s a character death and the context of this character I’m comfortable with it.

WRITING SAMPLE

Another restless night, and Feivel found himself roaming the halls of Castle Tyrholm with the company of his faithful hound, Gunport, at his side. It was the sound of the wind whistling outside his sleeping chamber’s window that kept a good night’s sleep at bay, the sound reminding him of those wind whipped days out at sea that built him into the man he was now.  He lobbed a ball down the corridor lazily and got some mild entertainment watching the hairy beast chase after it with gusto before bounding back to its master’s side and pushing the slobbery toy into his hand. But even the momentary distraction couldn’t hold back the feelings that he was now more a ruin than a man.

His father had died valiantly in battle, though the skirmish itself could have been avoided by better planning. Even so, his father had died with his reputation intact, ruthless to the end. Feivel himself had quickly built his own mythos around himself, even if it was not as cruel as his father’s. He knew the Clan Asturias had gained a measure of renown, enough for King Septimus to know of their accomplishments, and as the captain of the ship Feivel himself was the figurehead of the legend. On nights like this, he would retract his steps and try to pinpoint the exact moment he had gotten too far ahead of himself or too comfortable. He knew what his father would say, that his downfall was the direct result of trusting anyone but himself. Some nights, Feivel felt that conclusion was correct. On other nights, he surmised that his fate was inevitable. For years, he had wondered how legends were brought to their knees. Now he knew he was little more himself than some exotic game King Septimus had cornered and would eventually mount on his wall like the other trophy animals in Castle Tyrholm’s gun room.

The candlelight flickered from further down the hall, and both Feivel and Gunport stood aware, their two sets of wild eyes pointing in the direction of the disturbance. He wondered vaguely if someone else was being kept awake by the ghosts of their past, or if perhaps it might have been the growing sense of restlessness that had been building behind closed doors and in whispered conversations throughout the castle. He had only been a member of the court for a handful of months, but he knew what the early stages of insurrection looked like. This was something he altogether aimed to avoid, more than convinced that the king would be able to put an end to any treason before it truly started.

It surprised him to see the queen passing through the hall, and for a moment he felt his presence was inappropriate. Life in Tyrholm had come with a healthy dose of culture shock, to say the least. He had cleaned up well, this was true, but he knew he was far from noble. His manners had provided ample fodder to mock him in his first months in the court, and the stiff clothing he had been given felt like it choked him. Perhaps it was his station in his office that made him feel most like the butt of a cruel joke, the books that lined the shelves and his pot of ink and paper virtually useless. He had wondered for a while how long King Septimus would humor him after he realized his master of antiquities couldn’t so much as write his own name. Luckily enough, he had proven himself entertaining enough to listen to that when he was called upon it was almost exclusively in person. Whenever the need to write was unavoidable, it was no trouble to intimidate a servant or page into writing it for him. It took little more than a menacing glare and the simple lie that he preferred to dictate his response rather than be saddled with the chore of writing his message himself.

As The Empress approached, Feivel bowed. It was practiced to look natural, as if he’d been bowing to monarchy all his life rather than copying the other members of court over the past few months. He also took grain pains to make the motion as fluid as possible despite the strain it caused his lower back. “Your Majesty,” he greeted, “I apologize for disturbing you this evening.” He tossed the ball away again, figuring someone of her stature had little interest in being near such a creature. The dog took off again after the ball, springing clumsily down the long hall.

“It’s quite alright,” Queen Calliope responded in a muted voice. She lifted a slim, graceful hand that caught the moonlight as she gestured before them. “Perhaps you would walk with me?”

Before Feivel had much opportunity to respond, Gunport had asserted himself into the situation. The dog pressed the ball into the palm of the queen’s hand, wet nose, slobber, and all. It was the habit of a well trained dog to return whatever it was fetching directly into the hand of it’s master, but Gunport was friendly and apparently wanted to extend the invitation to play to the queen herself. Embarrassed by what he assumed was poor manners, Feivel became somewhat nervous and hoped to escape the interaction without insulting Queen Calliope. He turned his attention from her hand to her face to respond, but his answer was delayed slightly as he observed her unassuming beauty; the smoothness of her skin, her piercing dark eyes, the way her silk-like dark hair framed her face and swept against her shoulders, and the delicate shape and hue of her lips. He was a man who recognized finery when he saw it, and what held more value than the wife of a king?

“Another night,” he mumbled, staring at the toe of his boot rather than in her eye. His voice was gruff, a bit terse as a force of habit. “When I don’t have the hound with me.”

Accepting his answer, the queen lifted her hand to pass the ball back to Feivel. He extended his hand, accepting it from her, unintentionally brushing his fingers against the back of her hand. The contrast between the two did not escape him, his own hand rough with work next to her unmarred skin. Her skin was smooth and cool compared to the warmth and calluses of his own hand. He let the touch linger for a moment before his eyes met her own. She didn’t seem disturbed by the touch, which even if unintentional was an insult to her station. Queen Calliope placed the ball in his open hand before bidding him goodnight with a soft, amused smile. “Another time then, Feivel. May the Undying One bring you safely to another day.”

“Another time then,” Feivel repeated, holding the ball up as if it were some secret known only to the pair as he walked backward toward his quarter. He tossed the ball over his shoulder with a roguish grin, his eyes trained on Queen Calliope. Only when she turned his back on him to continue on her way did he turn away from her.

EXTRAS

I want to plot out what the affair looked like, from start to current state, with The Empress’ player, so I’m not taking my writing sample as gospel. It just seemed like the most natural thing to write because I think the connection with another person in Tyrholm he established with The Empress was probably a turning point in his mourning process/ability to accept his current station as basically a glorified prisoner in Castle Tyrholm and to engage more with others.

Inspiration Blog (There are three pages, you gotta click the last little dot with a sort of square to get to the next page)

[habibialkaysani]

Of Canaries and Milkshakes (Earth-2 Laurel/Dinah; G)

Ships: Earth-2 Laurel/Dinah

Summary: Missing scene from the end of 8x04. Over fries and milkshakes, Dinah and Laurel talk about their future.

A/N: Many thanks to @laurielance​ for the encouragement, and for the title. You rock my socks!

Read at AO3

"Captain, am I interrupting anything important?"

Dinah didn't even realise she was smiling at the sound of a now familiar voice, until she looked up, and her smile only widened when she saw Laurel was there with two bags of Big Belly Burger.

"Not when there's burgers involved."

"And milkshakes," Laurel added. "Figured you'd have your hands full with this whole -" She gestured randomly, and Dinah sat back in her chair and folded her arms.

"Time travelling, supervillains, Oliver having a daughter -"

"I mean," Laurel said as she set the bags on Dinah's desk and pulled up a chair opposite her, "I knew about that part. I just expected her to be more baby-faced, I guess."

At this, Dinah did a double take. "You knew Felicity was pregnant?"

"She actually told me before she told Oliver," Laurel admitted. "But no one was supposed to know. And this kid who was literally just a foetus to me is now a fully grown woman capable of kicking her dad's ass. It's a lot. Even for me."

She went quiet for a minute and Dinah didn't push her, instead holding out her hand so Laurel could pass her one of the bags. It was only when she was midway through her burger that Dinah spoke.

"So why are you here?"

Instantly she regretted her words - she expected to see a flash of anger in the eyes she had grown to know so well, or annoyance or exasperation. But instead, all Dinah could see was hurt, in the way Laurel tore her gaze away.

"I already told you -"

"I'm sorry, Laurel," Dinah said softly.

Laurel shifted uncomfortably in her chair. "For what?"

"You know what. And I know there's nothing I can do or say to make things any easier - but I want you to know that I'm here for you."

"Thank you," Laurel said, still staring determinedly at her fries.

"So," Dinah said, a tad hurriedly now in an effort to paper over the awkwardness, "what did you think of what Mia said? About us in the future?"

At this, Laurel looked up, and between them passed an understanding - of wounds too raw to attend to, of words that for right now were better left unsaid. And sure enough, when Laurel spoke, it was with no acknowledgement of the direction their conversation had been teetering into.

"Don't get me wrong," Laurel said slowly, laying out a napkin and then unearthing the fries, which fell into a small heap of greasy potato as she tipped the paper bag upside down. "I love the idea of a network of Canaries. I just - sometimes, when I put that mask on, I feel a bit like -"

"- a fraud?"

"You think that too?" Laurel said, and her tone wasn't incredulity, more resigned acceptance. Another thing that Dinah didn't see coming.

"About you? Not in the slightest," Dinah said firmly.

"I'm pretty sure you would have had a different answer to that question a couple years ago."

"But like I kept telling John and Rene - it's not about the past or the future. All you've got is what you have right now. And right now, on the front lines in Star City? There's no one I'd rather protect it with than you."

"God, stop being so nice to me - it's weirding me out," Laurel said, but it was with a smile, and Dinah smiled too. "What did you mean, about me?"

"What?"

"You said you didn't think that I was a fraud. Are you saying you have some doppelganger who's more of a do-gooder than you? Because, uh, I think that's hard to top."

Dinah laughed. "No, not like that. But I remember when Oliver first asked me to step into Laurel's shoes - this earth's Laurel. You probably don't know how much of a bad place I was in at the time."

"I'm pretty sure I can get a vague idea," Laurel said guiltily, and with a pang Dinah remembered the loss that had driven her was one Laurel herself had made permanent. Dinah knew Laurel was about to apologise, again, but Dinah shook her head.

"Don't. Please."

Again - a moment of quiet understanding, as they agreed not to talk about what would probably always be between them. Laurel looked away to take a sip of her milkshake. After a moment, Dinah did the same.

Laurel coughed. "Uh, so you were saying?"

Sighing, Dinah continued, "Yeah. Well, it took me a long time before I felt okay using Laurel's code name… taking on this mantle of hers. And all that time I wondered if maybe I was a fake. That I couldn't live up to who that Laurel was. I had dropped bodies before. Collateral damage. And I - I didn't feel like I was a hero the way she was. Not at first. So I do get it."

"I thought I was done with that too," Laurel said. "But those kids coming here and telling us this from the future - it made me think about… if I'm worthy. Like it's one thing to put on a mask and a bit of leather and kick someone's ass - it's another to put together a group. I mean - we must have trained them. The two of us. Been their role models. Mentors.”

"And you don't think that's you?"

"I know it isn't," Laurel said simply. "You, you're - different. You care. You act from the heart. Me -"

"Sweetie, you're not fooling anyone if you still expect everyone to think you're heartless."

To her surprise Laurel laughed. "No. I know I have one. You reminded me of that, actually. But it's not Laurel's. Not this earth's, anyway. And I was finally beginning to accept that - on my earth, I was the Black Canary. That was it. I had a place where I belonged for the first time. Now I'm back here and I wonder… if that's who I'm supposed to be. That world - it was my world. It needed me. And I couldn't save it."

In silence Dinah took this in, and for several moments there was quiet, except for the sound of rustling and the two of them eating their fries.

"Wanna know how I got over the whole fraud thing?" Dinah said eventually. Laurel looked up, raising her eyebrows in question. "It was when Oliver passed the hood to John. Right around the time I was getting used to a new suit, new codename, new team."

Laurel's forehead creased a little in confusion. "I don't follow."

For the first time Dinah hesitated. Then, taking a deep breath, she reached over and covered Laurel's hand with her own. Dinah expected Laurel to flinch at her touch, to slap her hand away, to break eye contact in embarrassment.

But Laurel did none of those things. Instead she held Dinah's gaze steadily, unsurprised, expectant, so Dinah soldiered on.

"No two people are interchangeable. Just because they have something in common - a name, or a face, or some metahuman ability - none of that makes you someone who can just be replaced. Laurel Lance, this earth's Laurel, wasn't someone who wanted another Canary to replace her."

"Isn't that what I've done, though? I've impersonated her, had what would have been her dream job, and now I'm wearing her mask. What about that screams 'hero' to you?"

"Okay. Let me try that again. No two heroes are interchangeable. And certainly no two women. And we're not meant to be. I think what Laurel wanted was for others to find strength in the Canary mantle the way she did. And that's what we've done. Both of us - we've loved and lost. And we're stronger for it."

Laurel didn't say anything. For a few moments she was completely silent - and then she squeezed Dinah's hand, ever so briefly, before reaching for her fries.

"Okay, so if we're going to do this whole - Canary network thing, you gotta do the speeches. Clearly you’re better at those. Deal?"

Dinah didn't hesitate. "Deal," she said with a smile, stuffing several fries in her mouth at once. "God. I'm gonna have to work out extra hard after this." Laurel rolled her eyes at that, and Dinah held up a fry to inspect it. "This is so oily. Why do I love this shit so much?"

"Dip it in your milkshake," Laurel said before taking a sip of her own.

Dinah wrinkled her nose. "Then I'll have an oily milkshake."

"Fine," Laurel said, putting down her own shake. "Dip it in mine."

"What?"

Laurel gestured at her shake, then Dinah's fries, then back at her shake. "Come on. Be adventurous for once, Dinah. I'm even heroically sacrificing my milkshake for you."

Dinah shook her head, unable to shake off her smile for the life of her. "Fine. But just know I'm never gonna be nice to you again, okay?"

"Good. I need some normalcy right now. God knows I can’t hold on to much right now."

"You've always got me," Dinah said quietly, and Laurel got that look on her face, the one she had when she didn't know what to say after a few words of kindness. Thankfully though, they were distracted as Dinah popped the fry in her mouth. "Oh my god."

"Good, huh?"

"Gross. How could you voluntarily eat that?"

"You're just saying that because you wouldn't know good food if it screamed in your face."

And after that their collective worries dissolved, at least temporarily, lost in their now good-natured bickering as they finished their food. It wasn't going to last, but Dinah was at ease, and with a start she realised it was the first time she felt that way since Laurel left for earth-2.

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, ROSEY! You’ve been accepted for the role of FLORIZEL with an approved FC change to Kenta Sakurai. Admin Minnie: This application was like a special treat made especially for me, with everything I love in one place. You captured what makes Felipe both human and god, man and monster, poison and antidote. My absolute favorite part of this application was the way you likened Felipe to a human drug, I just about dropped everything and started screaming at that line — because that’s exactly what he is, and it captures his spirit so well. And that interview? Wow, you captured every layer and every complexity to his character with just a few questions. I’ve read this application six times now, and I don’t know when I’ll be able to stop; Felipe is a drug, indeed and so are you! Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Rosey !

Age | 22

Preferred Pronouns | She/Her

Activity Level | Please describe how active you think you’ll be in a few sentences.

Timezone | PST

How did you find the rp?  |  Uh...I made it.

Current/Past RP Accounts | Here you go!

IN CHARACTER

Character | Felipe Antonio Castro / Florizel

• An FC change to Kenta Sakurai would be greatly appreciated -- I changed his last name to reflect his change of ethnicity as well!

What drew you to this character? | There’s something about the volatility of Felipe that I think I fell in love with. There’s a heavy theme of drugs that is interwoven into his biography, and I think it is very fitting to say that the worst drug is Felipe himself. He makes you fall in love with him, gives you that taste of playfulness and fun, the little trip that you need to get hooked, but then slowly and surely something rotten begins to set into you. When you slip your hand into his, there’s a thrill of trepidation that follows the action. At the edge of his smile, you begin to notice a dark curl to his lips that whispers of something a little more foul. You catch him watching you in the odd glances here and there, as though he’s waiting for something to unfold -- and it’s then and only then that you realize you’re obsessed with him. That you can’t let go of him. The problem is though, that you’re chasing after a ghost. And there is nothing -- nothing -- that will drive you more insane than chasing after someone you can never truly capture. Felipe is always slipping through your fingers, dancing at the edge of your grasp, intangible and driving you half-crazed with the inability to have him.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

1. REVELATION -- He has hidden in the shadows for so long he has forgotten what it feels like to have his face shine in the sun. Sitting still has never settled well within him, especially with a soul so restless and the first step to shedding the shackles of his many sins. I think, true to character, the revelation of his life will be an impulsive, spur of the moment revelation. However, there are a couple of things he would make sure he has up his sleeve before announcing his resurrection: a passport, enough money to live comfortably (he has his eyes on some place like Greece), and a quick means of escape secured. He does not quite like the thought of Valentina upstaging him and stealing his thunder, but wouldn’t it be fitting, after such a melodramatic death he’d have a resurrection that would rival Jesus’ himself?

2. REDEMPTION -- Falling in love is no small thing to scoff at and for Felipe it was pivotal. It awakened something that was eclipsed for the majority of his life, this inkling of kindness and nobility that was forsaken in his quest for obsessive adoration. It’s hanging there at the very end of his biography, an opportunity for him to redefine himself  as a man that is more than a collection of his worst decisions. I see a path that is laid out before him that will be tedious, heart-wrenching, and hard but the end is ever-looming and always in his sights. He will need to do the unthinkable and earn the place that he had long-occupied in her heart, become worthy of it so that the memory of the dead man she had loved is  not something she thinks about only in shades of blue. The way I see this happening is for him first to cement a connection with one of the mob’s high-ups (likely Genevieve since he would want to be close to Paola).  He would have to reconcile for his many, many sins and this would be a long term plot that would involve Felipe having to unlearn many of his natural inclinations but...it would be worth it.

3. RECOMPENSE -- I took a lot of inspiration from the character Frenchie for this -- but since he has habitually consumed a lot of drugs, I think he has learned a lot about them. It would be an interesting study if the Montagues tried to test their drugs on him, to see what they could do to prolong the effects of the ambrosia and make it more potent while figuring out ways to curb the come down, but also maybe give him an opportunity to study the drugs that undo him, to learn about them and maybe with the proper tutelage come up with something new for the Montagues. He is a sharp, wickedly cunning man - he has to be in order to slip through the once-thought iron-clad grip of the mobs, so who is to say that he wouldn’t use his talents in such a self-serving manner that could prove profitable to the Montagues? Or the Capulets if things happen to pan out in another fashion. He has to atone for his sins somehow, doesn’t he?

4. RECKONING -- In the case of NEITHER of the mobs accepting him, it’s clear that he has become a rather formidable force himself. He knows how to work around the mobs, knows their ins and outs, their secrets, their weaknesses, their weak links. Should neither of them serve his needs the way that he wants them to, Felipe has in mind to make himself the go-to person if people need information, a smuggler, or a hitman. He’s a jack-of-all-trades and master of -- well, all of them, if he does say so himself. Though killing people makes his hands tremble and bile rise in his throat, he does what must be done. He rather enjoys the thrill of smuggling things in and out of the city, though, and cannot help but feel like a cat with a canary caught in its mouth whenever he learns new, invaluable information. Perhaps this is an eventuality or maybe it’s a lofty dream. Regardless, he knows he has the capacity to stir the city into a frenzy if he so wishes. It would require a great amount of effort, though...so here’s to hoping, he won’t.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Just try and stop me! >:(

IN DEPTH

His leg is slung over the arm of the chair, cigarette in hand as he waits for the girl to set herself up. His eyes flickered over her face subtly -- if he looked at her too openly she might think that he was interested in her, which would only make her feel as though she were worth his time and energy. And he didn’t want her to think that, not quite yet. She was cute, with a little button nose and wide eyes that gave one the impression that she was a bit younger than she actually was. It was the way that she handled herself, though, that gave her age away. The woman’s posture was impeccable, she carried an over-the-shoulder bag rather than a backpack and pens, a recorder, and a journal rather than a notebook. Details, details, details. His gaze caught for a half-second on her hand as she set her items onto the table. There was a band around her finger, a strip of skin that was paler than the rest.

Either she was recently divorced or didn’t care for people to know she was married.

Felipe -- no, what name was he using right now? Marco.

Okay, well, Felipe thought that Paola was much more preferable company -- and frankly, Marco had eyes, so his opinion was the same -- but she was working right now and he needed a way to pass the time while her shift was ending. Students tended to frequent the place and this Graduate Student had asked him to help her with a journalism exercise -- nothing more than a profile on no one. He had been assured that this project would mean nothing and she’d probably get an A regardless, but still. Having his name penned into a book with black ink was a type of permanency that he didn’t care to have haunting his thoughts.

He took another drag and tilted his head back as he expelled the smoke from his lungs. The waning sun shined in his face and he basked in the warmth.

“Marco?”

“Hm?”

“What’s your favorite place in Verona?”

Sighing, he combed a finger through his hair, contemplating on what kind of answer Marco would give. If it were Felipe who were answering, he would say that he had rather enjoyed the Roman Baths -- getting high there while listening to music was an experience that brought him nearly as much peace as waking up to Paola in the morning. Marco, however, was a little bit more basic than Felipe was. Marco enjoyed historical sites, books, things that would make girls like the one sitting across from him swoon.

She probably fantasized about one of her professors. Maybe he could give her a taste of that fantasy -- as a gift, from him to her.

“Think I would have to say the Roman arena,” he answered with an apologetic grin, as though it were embarrassing to admit such a thing. “A bit nerdy, but it’s a historical site that I don’t think gets enough recognition. At night it can be haunting, when the mist settles low and the moonlight shines overhead. You could even imagine that the mist takes shapes and the souls of the gladiators are there, waving their gladius’ and throwing their spears.” There it was, that bit of testosterone that she was probably craving, to reassure her that he was a man of books, but he knew how to handle her in bed.

Her lashes fluttered, as though she were a little taken aback by that -- although, from the flush of her cheeks, it was in a manner that leaned weighed in Felipe’s -- Marco’s -- favor. A slow, lazy smile dragged along his lips at that, but she was too busy taking notes to notice. He shifted, foot propped up on the seat, elbow resting on his knee.

“Uh huh, and what does your day typically look like?”

“Well, I used to wake up to my wife, but then circumstances changed,” -- he was careful not to look at her, head bowed as Marco suddenly becomes interested in a well-worn groove on the wooden table -- “and now I wake up, go for a run, brew some coffee, shower, and go to work. Then I  go to a bar across from the Castelvecchio, read and people watch for a bit, then call it a night and head home. Nothing too wild or interesting -- those days are far behind me.” Marco had answered the question genuinely, but Felipe was interested to see if she’d take note of the trail of breadcrumbs he had left her. It was evident that Marco was a man of routine, maintained healthy habits, and liked the quieter aspects of life, but dealt well with change. Also, he was quite comfortable in the bustle of a bar, but preferred to watch from a distance rather than openly engage.

When he looked at her, she was leaning forward, pen still against the notebook. There was a curl to her lips that hinted at a smile, as though she were charmed, but sympathetic to the new routine that he had to learn. He wondered if he should mention that Marco had adopted a dog recently, but maybe he would pull that one from his sleeve later.

“That sounds lovely,” she chirped, suddenly realizing that maybe she had been staring for a little too long. He didn’t mind at all, but Marco did. So he smiled bashfully, looking down and fiddling with the ring on his thumb as though he needed to distract himself.

“It’s a slower pace for things, but it was needed. A little peace and tranquility is underappreciated, I think. And when I want a change of pace, I like to take trips here, to Rome. Different, more interesting people are out here. Like you.”

Ah, she seemed to like that a lot. A shining, bright laughter flew from her lips and he let his own mingle with hers.

“Sorry,” he demurred, grinning. “Couldn’t help it, couldn’t help it. Continue on.”

That was a little too assertive. But maybe it would work, he thought. She should know that Marco isn’t one to shy away from someone he’s interested in. After putting up with her significant other for so long, she might need someone to chase after her for a bit and maybe this could hint that he was more than willing to do the work necessary to hold her attention. He had to play this carefully, though, he didn’t want to seem overeager. Most women didn’t find that attractive.

“Right -- cosi, this is a more intrusive one, apologies --  what has been your biggest mistake thus far?”

“You don’t think you can be kinder to me?”

“Unfortunately not.”

“Damn,” he murmured ruefully, shaking his head. He quieted, as though contemplating the question.  Felipe didn’t like to think that he made mistakes. Sometimes the decisions he made had unfortunate consequences, but was anything really ever a mistake if it was predetermined? Not that he believed there was a holy order to anything -- it was simply more convenient to think that when things didn’t quite go the way that he had planned. But sometimes, when he woke up with a thick tongue and a storm raging in his head, muscles aching and cramping, his skin sticky, and coated  with a light film of sweat as Paola stared at him anxiously...sometimes, he did think that his lifestyle, as a whole, as a mistake.

Marco’s answer was easier, though, and far more romantic.

“Letting my heart get carried away,” he said softly, melancholy twisting his tone. Marco/Felipe rubbed at the back of his neck, eyes downcast. “Not letting my head reason with it more.” There was more truth in it than he cared to admit. His heart was what had guided him for so long, ravenous and relentless. Demanding, demanding, demanding. If he had let his head wrestle with it more, perhaps, then he wouldn’t have the cravings that he did, have the inexplicable penchant for a life of brutality and crime. Sighing, he shrugged, making it clear that his thoughts began and ended here.

Gently, she continued on with her questions, ducking her head a bit to meet his gaze. She wanted to engage him in eye contact so that he could know that she was listening, that she cared.

God, Paola’s shift couldn’t be over soon enough.

“So, then, what has been the most difficult task asked of you?”

“Learning to recognize what was best for me and act on it.” Long-winded lies were easier to swallow when they were peppered with the truth, and the sincerity of his tone surprised even him. He wasn’t going to elaborate on it, but he would let the woman draw whatever conclusions she wanted. “You’d think that once you realized that someone -- or something -- was bad for you, you’d immediately try to quit it, but…” Felipe/Marco let it end there. His gaze drifted away from his interrogator’s watching the people that walked here to and fro, living their quiet, mundane lives. Content with living in a tepid existence. Never knowing a taste of revelry, worship, and glory. Truthfully, though, he should have recognized after his first kill that maybe this life wasn’t always meant for him. The thought had been buried six feet under, because it meant that he would be able to live the life he wanted -- adored and whispered about as though he were a legend in the making.

Then he had met Paola.

And fallen in love with her.

Ah, fuck, maybe that was his mistake.

...Marco?

“...Sorry! Sorry, apologies, got caught in my own head.”

“I just wanted to know, since you’re from Verona, what are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues?”

“I don’t think you should ever ask someone from Verona that.”

“Oh! Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize it was a sensitive --”

“No, it’s alright, I might actually be one of the few people that you could ask this question. The war is a waste. The people of the city are terrified and tired of fighting for a cause they can’t even remember. There needs to be some sort of definitive change because, eventually, there’s not going to be any blood left to spill.” Huh. Odd. He didn’t have to lie as much as he thought he would have with this question. The city was tired, as were the people, as was the cadence of the war. They needed someone to go in and shake things up a bit, maybe spice things up with a little intrigue and mystery. He’d see if he was bored enough to do it -- but for now, he was more than happy to bask in this little paradise he had found for himself in the arms of a delicate woman he would easily go on a bended knee for. Not now though, he wanted to wait a bit. But eventually.

The woman handed him her number as the interview began to draw to a close, idle conversation clearly something that she thought Marco would enjoy. Felipe didn’t much care for it, but he continued with the niceties until she began to look at her watch. The moment she turned away, he crumpled up the paper and tossed it into a planter, covering his mouth with a lazy fist as he yawned, standing up and stretching himself out as he made his way over to the bookshop.

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he frowned.

Only Paola had his number, except for one other person in Verona --

“Fucking hell.”

EXTRAS:

THINGS TO KNOW ABOUT FELIPE CASTRO

1. For years he has perfected the following accents: British (posh), Australian, Spanish, French, German, and American (Southern). For years he regularly went with the Spanish accent to make himself seem more enticing to people and when he met Paola he said he was born in Italy but raised in Spain. He was rather proud of himself for that one and would have kept the accept for the rest of his life if it meant that she would take his name.

2. When fighting, he tries to knock people out rather than kill them. Though it makes things slightly more difficult, he loathes robbing anyone of their life. One would think it would get easier each time, but he has found that it gets more difficult every time he does it. There is a routine that typically follows the act: his hands begin to shake uncontrollably and the next day he finds himself incapable of leaving his bed. After the 24 hour period he buys a rose and throws it into the Adige. So far he has bought 6 red roses and 1 white rose.

3. Felipe is a natural at chemistry. He enjoys it and probably would have gotten a career as a chemist if he had continued his education instead of teaching himself, but he finds the structure of academia boring and tedious. Learning topics at his own rate is far more preferable and allows him to consume things at his own rate -- although he does find himself writing what he learns in journals. In these same journals he practices different styles of penmanship so that, should anyone read the books, they’d think it was passed between multiple people.

4. His bambinaia was from Germany and sometimes he would slip up and accidentally call her mama. He keeps a picture of her in his wallet. A stupid, sentimental thing to do that will probably get him in toruble, but Felipe can’t seem to bear the idea of parting with it. The only person he had shown her picture to was Paola, and even then he couldn’t bring himself to elaborate on their relationship. He acts like she’s dead. It’s easier that way.

5. He prefers reading poems over books. They give much more insight to a person than a five hundred page book ever could.

CHARACTERS SIMILAR TO FELIPE CASTRO

1. Jet -- Avatar the Last Airbender

2. Frenchie -- The Boys

3. Flynn Rider -- Tangled

4. Luke Castellan -- The Percy Jackson Series

5. Theon Greyjoy -- Game of Thrones

[maverixcollective]

DUAL PURPOSE

David Adjaye and A-Cold-Wall’s Samuel Ross on architecture, fashion, Covid-19, anti-racism, and the future of the creative industries

‘Architecture and fashion move away from each other, and then come really close, and then move away again,’ says Sir David Adjaye, on a video call from Accra. He is in conversation with Samuel Ross, stationed in London. It’s mid-summer and the world is in the grips of the Covid-19 pandemic and anti-racism protests. This is a transformative moment for both industries.

The architect behind the Smithsonian National Museum of African American History and Culture, Adjaye was recently commissioned to create Brixton’s Cherry Groce Memorial and Abu Dhabi’s Abrahamic Family House. He continues to work on the landmark Ghana National Cathedral, and champion new African architecture and architects.

Ross, who founded A-Cold-Wall* in 2015, is a rising star of the fashion industry. A natural master of cross-disciplinary collaboration, he has partnered with brands as wide-ranging as Nike (to create emergency blankets upcycled from plastic bottles, with aspirations to make them freely available in parks), Apple, Converse, Diesel, Oakley and Dr Martens, as well as recently establishing a grant fund for Black creatives.

Their discussion covered the impact of technology, localised production, the politicisation of architecture and fashion, anti-racism, the effects of pandemic, and the future of creative industries. Right after, they were photographed – Ross in person and Adjaye via video call – by Liz Johnson Artur, who has dedicated her three-decade career to documenting people of African descent.

Adjaye Associates’ design for the Abrahamic Family House on Abu Dhabi’s Saadiyat Island, comprising a mosque, a synagogue and a church.

Collaboration has long been key to Adjaye’s work. Artist Chris Ofili’s Within Reach, the British Pavilion at the 2003 Venice Biennale, designed with Adjaye and engineered by Charles Walker, Arup, featuring a glass sculpture titled Afro Kaleidoscope above the main gallery space.

Wallpaper*: How does the responsibility of creating lasting works – as opposed to ephemeral ideas –influence your designs and process?

DA: There’s a bit of a myth with this idea of permanence, because nothing is really permanent, not even architecture. It all ends up disappearing. Architecture [just] has a larger duration.

SR: It all comes down to having the ability to quantify if a product should exist, which goes back to functionality and use.

W*: As a discipline, architecture can be really slow, whereas fashion feels faster – but that’s not always the case as the after-effects can last a long time.

DA: Fashion seems to be absolutely immediate, but [its] impact might be in the way we look at the bodies of males and females. [Take] for example the work of Yves Saint Laurent: it’s profound, it changes and resonates through generations.

SR: Totally. I kind of look at fashion like a moving slipstream. This idea of [how garments can serve] changes from generation to generation, as times move forwards and as social movements move forwards.

‘I kind of look at fashion like a moving slipstream. This idea of [how garments can serve] changes from generation to generation, as times move forwards and as social movements move forwards.’  — Samuel Ross

W*: How do the materials you use embody the ideas that you want to portray in your work? Does sustainability play into your material choices?

SR: I’ve dabbled with technical and synthetic materials, although I’m moving into more sustainable materials. There is a movement happening within big tech that needs to be integrated into fabrication, which can then define fashion as a whole for the 21st century. Fashion should mean smart materials and patented weaves that are antibacterial, that cling and mould to the body, versus just being about a point of expression.

DA: In the built environment, we spent the 20th century industrialising, making very efficient materials that will get things done fast. With speed came excess and pollution and degradation and destruction. Now we are asking, how do we build responsibly? In architecture, we are talking about microbial issues and creating healthy environments. That’s become much more heightened with Covid-19. We have to look at the things that destroy the planet – pandemics and ecological collapses – and really be responsive. I’m working with communities here [in Accra] and discovering that compressed mud has incredible properties that we totally underestimated. We just assumed that it was primitive, but actually it’s one of the best performing and most abundant materials on the planet.

W*: How much of your work is about educating people in your respective professions, to push your industries forwards?

DA: With all design there is a kind of public role, especially if you’re interested in pushing the limits of your industry. You deliver things to the public, so the public needs to be able to hold you accountable. I taught for about a decade and then I stopped, because I was teaching in elite schools to kids who are already very privileged. Instead, now I mentor and I’m interested in finding emerging voices that are not getting attention, trying to support them or to help them think about their businesses in the early stages.

‘I chose architecture because it was part of a language that I felt was very much under-represented from the position of a person of colour within the global discourse. I felt that I had a lot to say and I wanted to be part of that conversation about how we make the contemporary world.’ — David Adjaye

A look from A-Cold-Wall’s pre-S/S21 collection.

Ross’ Beacon 1, presented at Serpentine Galleries as part of the 2019 Hublot Design Prize exhibition.

W*: How important has the role of mentor or mentee been in your career? When you started out, could you identify Black creatives you related to?

DA: A real hero for me when I started was Joe Casely-Hayford. He was simply a man of colour doing really excellent work. And I thought, ‘Why don’t we have that in other places?’ It actually drove me to want to do it. I have a stubborn disposition. To be faced with ‘You can’t do this because…’, well, the ‘because’ better be damn good! It made me angry when I was younger. I’m much more chilled out these days.

SR: Mentors have been seminal to my journey. I shifted my direction [from product and graphic design] towards fashion to be a little more expressive. At that time, Virgil [Abloh] and Kanye West happened to come across my work, and I started working underneath the two of them. They were great mentors, able to articulate between Western European and North American ideologies, whilst having an intrinsically Black imprint on the work they were producing. They took these references to an industry, cross-referenced them through channels of mass communication, and built a new language and discourse that a lot of designers of my generation now operate within. From these two mentors, I learned how to communicate ideas and to have this ‘scatter diagram’ approach to zig-zagging across industries.

‘For me, the act, the statement, the building, is always political, it’s always making a statement about the world that we are in, it’s always positioning an ideal of some sort. The building isn’t mute, it speaks volumes about a certain world value and morality.’ — David Adjaye

W*: In terms of communication, is fashion more inherently attuned to marketing, whereas architecture is built on letting the work speak for itself?

DA: Absolutely. There’s a desire to depoliticise architecture continually, and I fight against that all the time. For me, the act, the statement, the building, is always political, it’s always making a statement about the world that we are in, it’s always positioning an ideal of some sort. The building isn’t mute, it speaks volumes about a certain world value and morality.

SR: The work I showed at Serpentine Galleries [Ross won the 2019 Hublot Design Prize], and the work I’m soon to do with Marc Benda from Friedman Benda gallery, is about that. I’m pivoting towards the long form conversation, and how we stabilise and re-chisel the playing field for the next generation.

W*: How does collaboration enrich your work?

DA: When I left the Royal College of Art I missed not being in a campus environment. I would collaborate across disciplines, with a scientist or a musician. When I did the Venice Biennale with Chris Ofili in 2003, we flipped roles – I said, ‘you design and I’ll do the visuals’. It was amazing to see my now dear friend talking about architecture, to learn what was interesting to him. It teaches you different ways of seeing the world.

SR: I’m a moderately sized brand, so collaboration offers access to tooling and technology. It’s also about having an opportunity to push forwards a social consciousness. I’m thinking how I can carry as much information through a macro partner, let’s say Nike, without being too cumbersome: can I hijack a community to a certain degree and fix the attention?

Moving forward, the idea of showing collections needs to be completely rearticulated.’ — Samuel Ross

W*: Practically, has Covid-19 affected your business?

DA: I moved to Accra as I’m doing a lot of work in West Africa right now. This decade feels like the decade of Africa to me. This pandemic has unleashed this new connectivity that I’m very grateful for. I have three offices on different continents, and most of my time was spent moving between those. And now it’s become very technologically based. What’s kind of amazing is that it all works! Apart from the amazing aromas that you miss, I love the aroma of construction sites!

SR: We’ve decided not to do two shows a year any more. This idea of a continuous critique to an open market every six months when you’re building and growing didn’t necessarily sit right with me in the first place, but I was willing to participate and spar and win in that arena to show a more intellectual Black approach within fashion design. But moving forward, the idea of showing collections needs to be completely rearticulated. We are looking at more personable presentations, which almost feeds back into the early days, when counter-cultural movements actually began to swirl and churn around fashion brands. I’m becoming a bit more hands on with discourse with consumers. We’ve been able to compress and condense down the modelling of the company. And be more emotive and sensitive to market needs. And take a lot more risk. I’m hoping that it will kick start a few other contemporaries in a similar situation to ourselves.