#i cannot count on one hand the number of times i had a moot be chased out of this platform bc of the lack on interaction

[gumasantan]

hemorrhage: a yaeyato oneshot

about: a yakuza AU with yae miko of the grand narukami shrine and kamisato ayato of the kamisato clan.

word count: ~4.5k words (istg these oneshots just keep getting longer and longer).

author's note: requested by one of my moots, had real fun writing this one! next fic would be ~10k words long now HAHAHAHA anyway, please enjoy!

Bang!

…

…

…

A loud thud resounded within the room, immediately followed by a deafening silence.

Sounds of footsteps shortly filled the quiet space, heading towards the source of the noise.

The pink-haired woman stares keenly at what’s laying in front of her before looking to the fabric that has been fully stained with red through and through.

This is gonna be such a mess for the poor bastard that’s going to tidy this up.

Appearing unimpressed, she sighs as she walks over the lifeless corpse beneath her and towards the window. The rain that’s slowly but quickly dripping over the glass hazes the lively glows of the cityscape over on the other side. She gazes wistfully at the sight that cannot be absorbed.

Expressing slight disappointment with a frown, she turns around and sits down on the office chair.  With the same unamused look, she puts her weapon down, reached inside both of her pockets and grabbed a cigarette in her left and a lighter in the right. Like a match made in heaven.

Flick!

“It’s so damn cold here.” She grumbles to no one.

As she attempts to conceal her shivering as if she’s hiding her anxiety while negotiating for a juicy deal in front of three businessmen— Oh.

She inhales the rough flavor of tobacco and blows the smoke outwards carelessly.

At least here no one will fucking complain.

She flicks the burning cigarette once more before putting it again in her mouth, withering it to crisp in one go and throwing its butt to the wall. Giving herself time to soak some warmth back to her chilly form, she puts down her sunglasses to the table and forcefully takes her phone from her pocket.

Letting her back fall onto the chair, she sets her foot aside on the wooden furniture.

She looks up to the ceiling and closes her eyes, allowing some of that fatigue to melt just so she could recover some of that lost energy in this day that seems to go on without end. Not her first time, but she could just never get used to it. God help her if she ever did.

A few seconds have passed by and she finally let herself enter back into consciousness.

She opens her phone that she has tightly held in front of her, and is greeted by the ever-familiar sight of a young man with a hair that reflects the color of the sky, magnificently contrasting with his maroon tuxedo, tightest as it can get to reveal some form of his true build.

Unbeknownst to her, whether by impulse or conscious choice, she purred at the sight.

Her look became that of a miner who had just struck gold, or rather, diamond for that matter. Tantalized by the figure her eyes had seen, she swayed her fingers towards her phone, gently caressing the screen, with the desire of someone that wants them to just morph out of their pixelated form right there, right then.

“Oh…how badly I just want to be with you.” His enchantment has seemed to work once more.

“I promise you. I would never have anyone have their way with you. Only me, and me only.” With a teasing tone in her voice.

She giggled slightly as she tried to wear off that fleeting moment of temptation which have been recurrently disrupting her otherwise serious approach to her work, but it had never bothered her in the slightest.

Oh…you’re going to be the death of me. And I’m gonna make myself your death too.

As quick as she became roused in that instant, she swiftly managed to switch her attention back to her task at hand. She finally opened her phone and worked her way to her contacts list, scrolling past what seemed like thousands of numbers, looking for the right one to message. Tapping on the number, she typed:

=

“I got the right guy. Expect no more disturbance from him.” 

=

-

She sent the message seconds before hearing a sound that confirmed its delivery. She turned her phone off as she let her mind wander over to one of the million things she constantly think about every day.

Life here is definitely difficult, but she had no choice, because this could lead to a better outcome she is hoping for, unlike her other dead-end jobs. They weren’t cutting it at all. She had, and to an extent, still has love for her passion works nevertheless. Inside that scope of limitless satisfaction, any competition present would be effortlessly defeated, they could have made her live forever.

Only if the environment wasn’t so demanding, only if the people weren’t that toxic: Only if she didn’t constantly feel like something was missing, then maybe she wouldn’t have turned to a life full of violence, torture, conflict, and revenge. She is cruel enough to keep working like this, but…

She wasn’t soulless.

Her concern for her own safety, financial stability, or even legacy, fails in comparison when it comes to her concern of what’s left of her own purity, desperately clinging onto the last unstained fragments of her character.

For her, the only thing that sets her apart from her peers is her unparalleled ability for romance. Yet her growing numbness has made her ignorant of what makes her, her. Years of being in the same business has molded her into being an unrecognizable part of the whole, slowly breaking down her own identity. It’s a miracle that it hasn’t completely destroyed her.

She only recently realized what it was doing to her, but it didn’t come from any life-changing occurrences nor any attempts at self-reflection. Her true self-esteem, unperceived by the people who think who knows her, cannot allow that to happen anymore.

No.

It was like an outside force that just barged her doors down. It was entirely unexpected.

“That guy—“

Her thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a sound vibrating from her phone.

She quickly grabbed her phone, appearing frustrated that her time for contemplating was disturbed. She opens it, and sees the message on the notification tab:

=

“An order from the oyabun himself: Eliminate shatei Kamisato, guilty of colluding with rival clan Aritoshi-kai. He will be there soon, you’ll have only this night to carry this out.”

=

She looks with widened eyes as she reads the message again.

-

The bad dream.

“Ah.” She utters.

Truly the perfect model of composure, she calmly sets her phone down and gently spins his chair to face the window again. From an outside look, she seemed unfazed as she always does whenever any hit mission is to be carried out, but this was the first time she had been ordered to kill one of their own. And that person, really had to be him.

“My, my. It just had to be you, pretty boy. Hm?” She says with a luscious voice, forming a smile on her lips as she looks towards the window, noticing the same sight of the moist glass.

She grabs her phone away from the table to her soft palms. She opens it and quickly went to her gallery. Pictures amounted to thousands, she scrolls down as if she’s desperately looking for something: Fancy shots of her fine-dining quality sets of meals, close-ups of red foxes, selfies of herself trying out multiple clothes and dresses, images of jewelries, screenshots of texts and book covers, and an old picture of her in a white robe and a scarlet skirt-like clothing.

Scrolling past these photos caused her to smile pensively as she reminisces within her mind.

She really have lived a life.

Though they were great memories, they will never compare to the relevance of what’s just now presented on her screen.

“Oh, look at you.” She mutters with that same tone in her voice.

Several pictures of her subordinate clothed in different suits, taken by her in multiple occasions when they are in the same room together or when they boss had to call in a meeting. She couldn’t just resist taking candid photos of him when she had the chance.

He wore formal suits in most of his pictures, only varying in color. One in complete black, another in a floral cyan tuxedo with black pants, and another one in white tuxedo and red pants. She definitely could have completed the entire color wheel just with his clothing style. Sometimes, she could get a picture of him in his casuals, especially when he’s off his job. There’s a picture of him in blue sweaters and black tights and another in a simple blue t-shirt and white shorts.

Seeing all of those with a thirsty gaze, she scrolled a bit before finding and tapping on another photo of his:

It was a picture of him during the initiation ritual when he officially joined the clan. He was only wearing an underwear that time while having a tattoo of a mishmash of dragons, suns, and flowers on the right upper half of his body, covering his entire right arm. During the capture of the photo, the rites were finished, he was drinking a bubble tea while resting on a chair.

“Shame, you look so handsome in these photos. In fact, this one is my favorite.” As she continues to stare at the semi-naked photo of his, swallowing the dryness she’s feeling in her throat.

She didn’t know what to feel in carrying out her mission. She knew that she was definitely in love with him, but she also knows that she couldn’t go against the boss. Let it be anyone, a middleman or whatnot, just not the boss. She had seen the consequences firsthand of continuing with such an act.

Courageousness? Stupidity?

Either way, the outcome was always the same.

She could have let a battle rage on in his mind about what she should do. She could have let the dilemma go on for a bit longer like what back then when she received her very first orders. But no, she had learned. She knows where to set her mind to. After all, this is her job, isn’t it?

���Alright.” She firmly says, with no more traces of hesitation.

-

A notification sound was heard from her phone again. It was a message from an unknown number:

=

“This is Ryuma. Oyabun messaged me of your task. Kamisato and I are about to enter the room in a couple of minutes. This is your chance, ane-san Yae. Your call, I’ll be prepared.”

=

She returns her phone back to the pocket.

This needs to end quickly. Someone might’ve called the police once the gunshot possibly echoed through the walls.

Alright, I’ll take him out with one bullet, and this will soon blow over.

As the glass reflects a nod, she returns the chair back behind the table and settled herself down. She stood up, putting her sunglasses back on and grabbing the gun, putting it behind in the back of her pants, a snatch away from being able to arm herself.

She arranges herself to look as pretty as she can get, especially in front of his crush target. Brushing her hair so that it falls down as straightest as it can get on his back. Adjusting her bangs back to the correct position towards the middle so that it may not block her sight.

Beautiful, but efficient.

Now, comes the worst part: The unpredictable wait.

But she will have to endure, even if it gets a little insufferable.

All of this fucking tension for what?

…

…

…

“So, what am I to do with this body? It feels so…out of place for a room that’s intricately designed as this one.”

She complements the room as she tries to entertain herself while waiting, tapping her heels on the floor.

To be all alone, even with a corpse, in anticipation for someone and standing, not doing anything but to maintain that form, is a little bit awkward…and a bit creepy.

…

…

…

A sound was heard as the door unlocks.

-

Footsteps resonated within the dead space as they entered the room, encountering a pink-haired woman sitting by the table.

“Ane-san Yae!” A black-haired man spoke and bowed in front of her.

She immediately identified him as Ryuma, her companion.

His greeting was followed by another:

“Ane-san Yae.” The familiar blue-haired man spoke and smoothly bowed in front of her.

This man’s gentle voice reverberated along her bones, causing slight goosebumps arising on her skin. Somehow, his voice creates an aura of comfort that follows him wherever he goes, and she wants to be within that distance, and much closer.

She notices that he had worn a combination of colors he had never used before. He paired his white tuxedo and pants with a light purple t-shirt and a golden tie. He has never managed to look this as elegant as this before.

Taken aback by his appearance, she returns back their greetings.

“Shatei Ryuma, and shatei Kamisato. Good evening, let’s have a talk, shall we? And oh, sorry for the body here, please let it not bother us.” Her sultry tone has returned, the fault of one Kamisato.

Yes, keep looking at me.

“Oh, and before I continue, Mister Kamisato, would you be so kind to allow me to refer to you by your own name?” She curiously but excitedly inquires.

“Ayato, you mean, Ma’am Yae?” He clarifies with a smile.

She nods back with a smile, childishly letting those butterflies float in her stomach.

Your smile is enough to paint more than a million stars.

“Yes, you may. You need not to ask me about that, ma’am.” He jokingly replies back with a soft smile within the corner of his lips.

She gestures to Ryuma to close and lock the door behind them, signifying that she still hasn’t forgotten their intentions with him here.

“Alright. Mister Ayato, I’m going straight to the point. Our oyabun called us here to…settle some differences.” With a bossy voice, she starts explaining the situation to her subordinates.

“There are rumors going around in the clan of someone being dishonest and treacherous to us all. That someone was collaborating with one of our rival clans, exposing all of the clan’s details to them.”

She continues to explain, creating that controlling aura over them.

She looks towards Ayato, observing that he keeps that same serious look as she talks. Sometimes, she often confuses Ayato’s attentiveness with his indifference. If he is able to maintain this same look every damn time, then it is no wonder why he can get away with anything, including this one.

Listen to me, sweetheart. Listen carefully.

“Since our oyabun deeply cares about the integrity and trustworthiness of the clan, he wanted to know if there was any substance to the rumor. Unfortunately, with the help of our superiors, they managed to confirm that the rumor is indeed true.” She sighs disappointingly at the end of her little summary.

Both of her juniors remained quiet, listening to their senior.

One, responsively listening and looking to her.

And the other, responsively listening but looking away from her.

“Did they manage to track down the culprit, Ma’am?” Ryuma questioned with a startled look, playing into Yae’s little ruse.

“Yes, they did. With the greatest efforts of the administrators of our clan, they managed to pluck out a name.” She assured Ryuma.

“Mister Ayato, how do you feel?” She gazes back at him, trying to suggest something.

He seemed to nonchalantly quiver after she asked him, looking straight back at her. A man that looked like he was tranced by something off the distance.

“I…I must say, Ma’am, I find all of that saddening, but most angering. I never would have thought that one of us will have the brass neck to betray the clan, after everything that the clan has done to them. Although I’m the most recent one that have joined, I am very appreciative of the assistance that each member, and above all, the boss, have given us.” He finally answered, though, with some hesitation present in his tone.

And she caught onto that.

Good boy.

“As you might’ve known, we have always strived to expand our reach but if there is one thing that this clan values above all, then it would be our utmost royalty. We may be few as compared to our rivals, but each and every one of their members have never had such a close relationship like ours.” She loudly proclaims while looking suspiciously at both Ryuma and Ayato.

Ayato may be good at playing dumb, but Yae is a master at playing the part.

Regardless if it represents much of her morals or not.

“And as one of its seniors, might I say that I quite simply had enough…”

A hushed snarl was heard as she trailed off her little speech. Something that was uncharacteristic of her.

“Let’s cut the bullshit. This traitor is present in this room.”

She had never been quite the angry type that would lash at people from out of the blue. She could be angry but still have that same attitude as if she wasn’t. There is something calculated in the manner of how she unleashes some of that irritation.

I had fucking enough of playing this little game and having to do it over and over again!

Her subordinates were startled at her, but understood of some her annoyance.  

Well, at least one of them does.

The other seemed to be a little on edge.

“Let’s play a little game: At the count of three, whoever’s alive after is clean, while the person with a hole in his skull is the traitor that I’ve been talking about, got it?” Those words slipped past her tongue like a knife cutting through a butter, intimidating them both, even Ryuma.

Effortlessly, her hands danced towards the gun, cocks it, and then points it towards their general direction.  

“One.”

She starts the countdown.

Ryuma remained still in his posture. He knows that he isn’t the target.

Ayato looked threatened but retained that confidence in the way he presents himself.

“Two.”

Ryuma stayed still as he stares towards Yae, and switching his attention to the would-be victim.

Ayato bit his lip, staring at the floor while putting his hands behind his back.

Oh?

“Three.”

She finishes the countdown.

Bang! Bang!

-

A loud thud resounded within the room, immediately followed by a deafening silence.

Sounds of hitched breaths shortly filled the quiet space.

Two succeeding gunshots were heard, instead of just one.

The figures still standing held their form, arms outwards after shooting at the other, all while staring at each other intently at the eyes.

Yae realizes she’s still alive, in relief.

Ayato realizes he’s still alive, in disbelief.

He peeks beside at where Yae is looking.

The poor Ryuma has been rendered lifeless by a gunshot in the head.

Ayato looks back at Yae.

He realizes that he had missed her by a few inches, and had shot at the window behind her.

Damn it, I need to bear the weight better!

The two of them still gaze at each other in silence, waiting for the other to start speaking.

…

…

…

“I…I was torn between killing you and letting you live. I suppose you had already known since the beginning that I was referring to you?”

She muttered between held but disjoint breaths, either from nervousness or the fatigue of letting it all out.

“Yes…yes, Ma’am Yae.” As he confirms her suspicion.

Oh, you beautiful thing.  

“Stop it now with the ‘ma’am’ now, shall we? I am no longer your superior.” She quietly admits.

He looks at her suspiciously.

“Yeah, haven’t you had the clue of what I’m trying to say here? I no longer want to be a part of this clan. When I said that I’ve had enough before, I really meant it, not just with this thing but with everything.”

She drops her weapon, letting herself be defenseless in front of him.

A dangerous move.

“Do you realize what you have just done?” He wants to make sure if Yae’s acting like herself, and not possessed by some otherworldly force.

She lets her body fall on the table, still sitting straight as drips of sweat trickled off her forehead.

“To be completely honest with you, I don’t know what had just happened. I was assigned the task of eliminating you. At first, I accepted the assignment, but when you and Ryuma came here, and I saw you in person, something clicked inside of me. I don’t understand if it’s the frustration of senseless killing or is it the frustration of having to kill you that got to me, but it made me aim my gun towards Ryuma instead of you.”

She confesses in an honest but distressed tone.

She wasn’t the type of person to tell anyone what’s she’s been feeling. The social isolation created by his work has trained her to be used to the stoic but confident approach to life, only letting some of her honesty from time to time when the situation truly required it.

This...this was something foreign to her. She didn’t act like this before in any of her previous hits, what’s so different about this one? It was easy to do, the setup was great, and all she had to do was point towards the target, and not to someone or something else.

Don’t you realize?

“Yae, I appreciate your honesty, but I’m a rookie with a gun and you could’ve just simply ended me there and then. Why didn’t you? It would’ve been less hassle for you. And now, they will hunt you down too.” Ayato spoke.

You have such a thick skull. Is this what chronic consumption of bubble tea does to you?

Ayato’s ignorance of the situation hit Yae like a truck, and it prompted her to shoot out of the table, consuming any of the energy she has left just to walk towards him and grab her by his collar, facing him just inches away.

“You want to know why I did it? Well, I’ll fucking tell you why. It’s you, you are the reason why I shot that poor idiot beside us, and not you. Here’s what you need to know about me: I am Yae, and I am utterly tired living like this. With all of our previous meetings you might’ve thought that I’m living lavishly and happily, but I am not. I live in constant fear being here. And so, when you came here, I thought of you as a way to break out of this shell, because I fucking fell for you at first sight and I loved you then, and I love you now, and I want to live with you, without bother from these assholes we’re working for. I do not know much about you except that you are fucking hot, and I want to witness this art handcrafted and chiseled by the gods themselves, every single, living, day, of my life. But you know what made me grab your collar and speak to you aggressively like this? It’s because I realized that you are not a shallow man. When you asked me why I didn’t kill you, it confirms to me that you are thoughtful, unlike the past good-for-nothing suitors I’ve encountered. I want to live with a person like that because that’s the way I’ve been living my entire life. Now, I am presenting you with two choices: Either you can render me and everything I’ve said meaningless by not returning my feelings for you, or you can just say to me straight that you love me as well and I’m inviting you, as your would-be girlfriend, to run away with me, living like hunted rats, but at least…at least…I’m with you.”

Yae ended her little rant breathlessly, yet unmoving with the way he handles Ayato by her hands. Still inches away from his face, letting his sweet scent enter her nostrils and her desperate breaths enter his.

The smell of those who are out of luck.

She awaits for his reply, knowing that she will allow herself to be forceful enough to only accept one decision.

“Alright, Yae.”

Ayato answered with conviction written all over his voice.

“Alright what?! Ayato?”

She presses the issue to leave no doubts.

Yet found herself stunned when she felt something wet on her lips.

Ah, yes please.

His lips briefly met with hers.

Both of them immediately snatched onto the other.

In that short amount of time, Yae managed to melt into the kiss enough to savor his taste. She could definitely taste some traces of the bubble tea, but overall, it was unlike any other that her mouth had the pleasure of receiving. She wanted this taste to be hers, and hers only.

He pulls away from her, seeing her half-lidded eyes return to normal.

She liked what she received.

"Mmmm~"

Sirens were heard from outside the room.

Hearing the noise, they both stood up at the same time, supporting each other as they gaze at one another.

“Yae, I do not know much about you too, but what I do know is that you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever laid my eyes upon, and yes, I would agree with everything you’ve said about this way of living. Even after betraying the clan, when I thought that having more would satisfy me, it still didn’t.”

Ayato pensively speaks as he shamelessly confesses his own reasons for betraying the clan, hoping that she could just brush it all off. And lucky for him, it’s easy for Yae to find things that don’t matter to her and not give a single shit about it.

“People do not need more, they just need a single thing, the correct one.” She replies.

She hopes that Ayato would see what she’s hinting at.

“I’m still not sure about my feelings for you…but I want to figure it out.”

Was that a yes, or a no?

“Ayato, you’ll only have a few moments to choose before the police fucking catch us and lock us out like dogs. Do you want to be hunted alone? Or be hunted together with me?”

She gave him the ultimatum of her life.

-

The police would soon arrive at the scene.

The detectives note the dried messiness of the blood splattered all over the floor and walls.

This time, the window would be clear.

The corpses covered with body sheets, number markings present everywhere, from the table to the chair so they can be used as evidences in the court.

Besides the crime scene, an interview was occurring.

“Can you give us any details about the way they look? Anything that stands out that can help our forensic artists create a more accurate sketch of the appearance of our suspects here?”

“Well, the thing was, I was flat-out drunk that night, so I wouldn’t be able to give you anything regarding their faces. Although, I can remember that I saw them escape on the rooftop: One with pink hair, and one with a blue one.”

[i23kazu]

guys please its rly not that hard to remember :,)

reblogs > likes

please read the tags

i don’t know how many more times we need to say this in order for people to listen — but simply put, NO INTERACTION, NO MORE CONTENT. my friends are literally being driven out of tumblr bc of the lack of interaction.

free content for you, but what left for us?

[drivelings]

Night Raven College had strange rules like house sorting and wearing ceremonial robes for specific occasions.

One of the most inane rules was, "All ceremonial robes must be meticulously kept in its original form with no damaged thread, fabric, or other defects."

It was a moot rule because those robes were 'indestructible'.

They never got dirty even when the rowdier students ran through the rain and mud in them. They never seemed to get wet either. All attempts (especially by Savanaclaw) to cut holes in them for their ears ended up in chipped claws or damaged scissors.

People continued to try, much to the chagrin of the Headmage and Crewel.

And yours.

"I can't believe that Jack Howl grew again," you grumble as you squint at the newly updated numbers on the mirror. Upon admission to Night Raven College, all students are measured and meticulous records are kept constantly, discreetly to ensure the robe is properly adjusted for the wearer.

"It's the growth period for these little puppies," Crewel would say to you as he slaps the end of his crop against his hand. "We must maintain constant measurements. Fashion does not forgive cutting corners."

You tighten your fist around a stream of luxurious purple threads that were getting pulled through the air with magic. Damn that Divus Crewel. Who the hell does he think supplies him with all the fabric for his clothes?

From spool to spinning wheel, from spinning wheel to loom: magic is woven into the fabric in an ever encompassing shroud. The golden threads form magic circles and runes hidden in plain sight amidst an intricate design.

Cleaning magic, anti-cutting magic, consistent softness magic, anti-allergen magic--the number of magic circles embedded in just one of these robes would make any great magician's head spin. Not to mention maintaining homeostasis between each and every single spell to make sure none of them cancelled each other out, every spell has to be intricately and purposefully laid. Not to mention, it had to fulfill its main function of redistributing the wearer's power evenly across their body and suppress blot so it cannot affect any ceremony.

The robe was your magnum opus.

Every design had a purpose. Every detail was deliberate. From thread count to color to symbol--everything. Needless to say, alterations were few and far in between. Whenever there was an order for one, it was always an ordeal.

Like Malleus Draconia, for example.

Not only did Malleus have horns which necessitated the holes, but additional measures were needed to ensure excessive magic didn't leak out. One of 5 most powerful magicians--how were you supposed to contain and redistribute his power?

His enrollment into Night Raven College took you by surprise. You spent several months prior to his enrollment completely revamping his robe, nearly tearing out your hair several times as you consulted magician after magician after magician. Magic circles had to be relinked and replaced and rewritten, the design had to be slightly altered, and the addition of the horn holes meant you needed to compensate for the fact the fabric was cut and circuits were disconnected.

It was a miracle you even had it ready for the welcoming ceremony along with every new student's robes.

And Crowley had the nerve to tell you, "Your work is impressive as ever. I was right to ask for your help, and I even gave you half a year's notice. Aren't I so kind?"

It was a shame Vargas found you strangling Crowley with his own tie. He should’ve waited two more minutes. It earned you three months of leave, however, so it was all worth it.

---

reader who is the creator of the robes. I was like: these damn robes are way too detailed to not think about them. and so I was like what if there was someone who makes these and the embroidery are magic circles or something. look i just want to overthink this.

i also want to do one where we incorporate urban and guerilla warfare in a fight between the dorms. but that’s actually getting too real because seeing what’s happening with current events i’m like: yeah, yeah, that’s really smart strategy. but it’s also really tasteless to write about that. we’ll see where my morals go.

[salvejoon]

Lost - kth | M

⇒ Summary: Getting lost in the wilderness of Norway wasn’t exactly a good idea. Getting lost with Kim Taehyung, the biggest fuckboy of them all, was an even worse idea... Or so you thought.

⇒ Pairing: Taehyung x female reader

⇒ Genre: A bit of fluff, angst and smut.

⇒ Rating: 18+

⇒ Word count: 4.7k

⇒ Warnings: mentions of loss of parents, Taehyung is an asshole in one bit of the story, reader has a potty mouth, otherwise it’s just filth containing grinding, fingering, unprotected sex (remember to wrap it up, folks) and creampie.

⇒ A/N: Hello my precious beans! I wrote this piece as a celebration for hitting another milestone a couple of weeks ago. I cannot express the happiness I feel nor the amount of love I have for all of you, followers and moots alike! I hope you enjoy this smol gift of my appreciation! xoxo

“Go away.” 

You heard a deep chuckle behind you, followed with, “I really have no where else to go.” 

“You can go back to that cliff and jump off it.” You sneered, taking a step further up the steep hill, your hand reaching out for a tree thrunk to stabilize yourself, “That, in fact, would make me very happy.” 

Another chuckle, “But then who will protect you from the wolves, Y/N?” 

“There’s no wolves in these parts of the forest, idiot. If you’d done your research you would’ve known that.” Just as you took another step, your foot slipped and you tilted backward, only to fall into a strong body, arms going around your shoulders. You looked up at the smirking face above you and you narrowed your eyes.

“I had an inkling feeling that you did all this just to get me alone.” He said, one of his brows shooting upward provocatively as his hands shifted and ended up at your hips, “But all you had to do was ask, baby.” 

“Get your hands off me!” You exclaimed and twisted your body in his hold, “As if I would ever do that just to be alone with you.” You growled and glared at him as you created some distance between you, “God! Do you ever think about anything else than fucking?” 

The smirk vanished from his lips and he gave you a one-shouldered shrug, “Not really.” 

“Ugh!” You shuddered as you continued up the hill, cursing your luck to be lost in the midst of Norway’s forests with the Kim Taehyung. 

You’ve had the ‘pleasure’ of knowing him for almost 5 years now. The two of you met in College when your best friend, Denise, started dating his best friend Jimin. Already from the beginning you could tell Taehyung was what you classified as a Grade A Fuckboy. You had a ranking system and he was at the top of the list. There was nothing and no one he wouldn’t have sex with as long as it was humanoid, had a heartbeat and a pussy. You and Denise had kept number of how many women he’d played throughout College and the final number was something you needed four pairs of hands to count, when you graduated. 

And in his wake, he left broken hearts. 

God, the amount of women you’d seen show up at his door, crying, begging him to take them back, that they’d change for him, they would do anything, just as long as he took them back. Most times he would dismiss them coldly but other times, he would take them back, only to use them a bit more until he got bored and they’d be back to square one. 

You couldn’t really blame them. Taehyung was taken out of a model magazine. His hair looked soft and well kept, his skin was clearer and brighter than your future with no pimple in sight. His eyes were this deep brown, almost black in the right lighting and they were sharp, so sharp in fact that you sometimes feared he could look straight into your eyes and see all your secrets. He could intimidate even the smartest of smartasses with a simple leveled stare. 

His nose were sculpted by the Gods themselves, fuck the whole man was, but it just had the perfect proportions, the soft bridge, the sharp tip. God, you hated his nose.  

And his lips, ugh, they just looked so soft and pliable. Not that you had fantasized about kissing them or anything, nope. 

His body stood tall and lean. The man’s S shape was to kill for. You hadn’t imagined what he looked like underneath his designer clothes, ever. You were a proper woman, after all. 

You were also a big fat liar. The amount of hours, days, month, years you had crushed on the motherfucker was something you didn’t want to say out loud. But you told yourself that it was alright. You were single, hadn’t felt the touch of a man in so long you were pretty sure there was cobwebs down there and it didn’t help that Taehyung was the epitome of perfection. 

You wanted to be selfish and hope your best friend’s relationship with Jimin would end quickly but no, luck wasn’t on your side because here you were, 5 years later, lost in the woods with the man you secretly wanted to fuck you stupid. 

You have problems, girlie. You are lost in the middle of nowhere, no town in the near vicinity, the sun is setting, your phone is dead and the only thing you can think about is dick. Holy fuck, I need a therapist. 

“Woman, slow down.” You heard Taehyung call out behind you and you glanced over your shoulder. He had fallen behind as you had been lost in your thoughts. 

“Keep up, idiot. We need to find somewhere to rest before the sun goes down.” You yelled back, a smirk tugging on your lips as you saw how his chest was heaving, “Perhaps you should work on your stamina when we get back home.” You told him as he reached you, leaning against a tree with a hand. 

Despite his heavy breathing, he raised his head to look at you, a teasing grin on his lips, “Oh, I have plenty of stamina.” 

You sighed and continued upwards. 

“Let’s keep going. We only have an hour or so before the daylight is gone.” 

“You’re kinda sexy when bossy, Y/N.”

“Shut the fuck up and keep walking.” 

You sat down with a sigh, leaning against a tree as Taehyung lit a small campfire he’d made. The man wasn’t as useless as you’d first thought, this being his first hike and all. You slid the straps of your bag off your shoulders and placed it between your legs. 

“I’m hungry.” Taehyung said, poking the fire with a stick. 

“I have something, just give me a second.” You rummaged around your bag, smiling a little when you found what you were looking for and pulled out the items. 

Taehyung frowned upon seeing what was in your hand, “You can’t be serious.” 

“That’s all I have because Jimin is the one with the bag full of food.” You told him coldly and threw the Snickers bar at him, “I have a couple more but I reckon you also want some food tomorrow since it’s a good 15 kilometer walk from here to the nearest town.” 

He didn’t answer but he pouted and for a second you were about to coo at how cute he looked but you fought the sound back. 

None of you uttered a word as you ate the chocolate bars. It had been a hellish day and you couldn’t wait to just put up your one-man tent and get some sleep. 

It didn’t occur to you right away but when it did, you stiffened. 

“Alright, should we set up the tent?” He asked, standing up, looking at you expectantly. 

Your eyes snapped to his and you opened your mouth, only to close it again. 

“Y/N?” 

Okay, calm down. The tent isn’t that small. There’s plenty of space for the two of you. Also it’s not like he has to share your sleeping bag, you dumb hoe.

“Oh fuck.” You heard him murmur as he fiddled with his own bag.

“What?” You asked, slowly standing up.

“I think I lost my sleeping bag when I fell earlier.” 

“YOU WHAT?!” 

Taehyung shushed you, “Don’t scream like that. The wolves might hear you.” 

You groaned loudly and grabbed your bag, loosening the straps that held your tent, “I can’t believe you’ve lost your sleeping bag. Just how stupid are you?” 

“I didn’t do it on purpose, y’know. I’m not that much of a degenerate.” He huffed and folded his arms across his chest. 

You mumbled curses under your breath as you began to assemble the tent, snarling at Taehyung to just leave you alone. 

It was just your luck. Nights out here were cold, especially in the altitude you were at and the thin walls of the tent wasn’t going to be enough to keep a person warm. 

You could just let him freeze to death… Or you could give in and share that delicious body heat with him. 

The first thing you planned on doing when you got back home was to call a therapist. 

With the tent finally assembled, you crawled inside and laid out your sleeping bag and pillow. You felt his presence behind you, in the opening and you glanced back. His eyes were watching whatever it was you were doing and his eyes widened as he saw only one sleeping bag and one pillow. 

“Where am I supposed to sleep?” He asked, eyes rising to meet yours. 

You shrugged and tried to look stoic, “On the ground, I guess.” 

“But it’s getting colder, Y/N. Surely you can’t mean that.” He said, his tone soft and confused. You rolled your eyes and patted your pillow for good measure before taking off your cap, throwing it in the corner. 

“Y/N.” He whined. 

“Shouldn’t have lost your sleeping bag.” 

You moved and sat down on your sleeping bag and took off your jacket as Taehyung crawled into the tent and sat down next to you on the sleeping bag. 

“We’re gonna have to share.” He said, glancing at you. 

“No, we are not.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because,” You began as you crawled to the entrance to zip up the entrance, closing it, “You can’t keep your hands to yourself.” 

Taehyung snorted and shook his head, “What? You think I would touch you like that? Tch, you aren’t exactly my type.” 

You pretended that his words didn’t hurt you, “You’d fuck anything with a pulse and a hole, Taehyung.” 

“Except you.” 

It wasn’t the words themselves that hurt you the most, it was the way he said them: with utter disgust. You ignored how your heart sped up, hammering in your chest and you felt the stingy feeling of tears threatening to appear as you roughly shoved him off your sleeping bag and laid down with your back to him. 

“So that’s it? You’re not gonna-”

“Fuck you, asshole.”

He didn’t say a word after that. Thankfully, you had your back to him, so he didn’t see the few stray tears that fell and you angrily wiped them away. You closed your eyes and tried to fall asleep but your heart just kept hammering in your chest, almost painfully. 

Did he find you that unattractive? Why would he flirt with you then? Did you read too much into it? What did he mean with ‘not his type’ considering he isn’t particularly picky? All those questions kept being repeated over and over for what felt like an eternity. You sighed heavily and moved to enter the sleeping bag, zipping it close without even sparing a glance at Taehyung. 

Outside the winds picked up and soon the sound of pitter-patter on the tent lulled you to sleep. 

You were jolted awake by Taehyung roughly shaking your shoulder, “Wake up!” 

“Wha-” You paused when a flash of light lit up the tent and you saw his panicked expression, soon the familiar rumbling of thunder sounded above you. 

“There’s a storm.” 

“Obviously. Now can I go back to sleep?” You snarled, glaring at him just as another flash of light happened and you saw him freeze up in the second it happened. 

Was he scared of lightning?

Then you heard him draw a shaky breath and you finally noticed how his hand, which was still on your shoulder, were trembling. 

He really was scared of lightning. 

“Are you scared?” You asked him, sitting up in the sleeping back. Taehyung averted his eyes to the roof of the tent where the rain was pouring. He swallowed thickly and nodded. 

You couldn’t help to chuckle when he flinched at another flash. 

“It’s not funny.” He murmured, glaring weakly at you. 

“Just a little.” 

The wind picked up speed and jostled the tent, making him scoot closer to you until his hands brushed against yours on the ground. That’s when you felt how cold he was and the regret immediately took a hold of your stomach, churning it into knots and a lump formed in your throat. 

You really are a bitch, huh? Look at him. Shivering and scared and you actually laugh at him. 

He yelped and that brought your attention to his face. He was trembling so bad and you couldn’t decipher if it was from fear or being cold. He looked so out of it, a look you’ve never seen on him before. 

Without thinking, you zipped open the bag and held it open, “Crawl in.” You told him. 

Taehyung whipped his head around to look at you so fast, muttering, “What?” 

“I said, crawl in.”

“B-But I thought you-”

“Taehyung, shut up and get in the sleeping bag.” 

He nodded and crawled into the bag quickly, mumbling an apology as he hit your stomach with his elbow. You laid back down and heard the zipper as he closed the bag. It was a tight fit, alright. He was laying half-way on top of you and you could barely move. 

“It might be easier if we lay on our sides.” You said and rolled over with a bit of a struggle, “Roll over.” 

“Alright, alright.” 

You expected him to roll the opposite way so you would lie back to back but nope, he rolled over so he was spooning you. You stiffened when you felt him put an arm over your midsection, his loud exhale tickling the baby hairs on your neck.

“W-What are you doing?” You asked, having to swallow thickly as you felt him get more comfortable by wiggling his hips, scooting ever closer to you.

“Getting comfortable.” He answered casually. 

“Don’t get any ideas.” You mumbled. 

“I won’t. Promise.” 

Another flash of lightning struck close to the tent and you felt the earth tremble at the sheer force. Taehyung tensed up immediately, his arm drawing you closer to his chest in response. You maneuvered your arm so that you could place it over his, your fingers drawing circles on his forearm and that seemed to help him calm down a little. 

“Since when have you been scared of thunderstorms?” You asked him, trying to get him to distracted to the storm outside. 

“Since I was eight.” You wondered if that was all he would say about it but he continued, “I lost my parents in a car crash. We crashed during a thunderstorm… Since then I haven’t been the biggest fan of them.” 

Another lightning struck and he tensed up again. You kept on drawing circles on his skin. 

“I’m sorry.” 

He let out a breathy chuckle, “It’s okay. My grandparents raised me after that and I am grateful to them.” You had met his grandparents a handful of times and while his grandfather was very reserved, his grandmother on the other hand was the sweetest elderly woman you had ever met, always caring and giving Taehyung too much food so he has to share it with Jimin.

“I like your grandmother’s bibimbap.” You said, “I tried it once when I was visiting Jimin.” While you couldn’t see it, you could almost feel him smile. 

“Yeah, she makes killer bibimbap.” 

“She does.” 

“I’m sure she’d love to cook some for you, Y/N. She likes you.” 

“She does?” You turned your head to look at him, straining your neck, “I mean you always tell me I’m a bitch but-”

“That’s because you are a bitch but my grandma happens to like you, so…” He raised his head, resting it on his other arm, his eyes looking down at you and then he grinned.

You rolled your eyes but you couldn’t help but smile, “Good to know.” 

The rain was slowing down and the thunder seemed to slowly move away as the two of you looked at each other. You had never seen him so up close and you hated to admit but he was even more beautiful. 

Taehyung stared down at you when his arm moved slightly on your midsection, “Can I ask you something?” He whispered, biting his lip nervously. 

You shrugged but nodded. 

“Do you hate me?” 

Did you hate him? No. “It’s just you keep on saying that you hate me, so I’ve always wondered if you really do hate me, y’know?” 

You bit your lip as well, before wetting them, “I don’t hate you, Taehyung.” His eyes lit up at your words, “But you’re a pain in the ass and have been since the day we met. You’re self-centered, arrogant and a fuckboy but I don’t hate you.” 

You felt his arm move and then his hand grasped yours, interlocking your fingers, “I’m sorry for what I said earlier.” 

“You’ve said many things that pissed me off, idiot. Be more specific.” You knew what he was talking about but you weren’t going to let him off that easily. 

“When I said you weren’t my type…” He trailed off as you hummed, waiting, “I lied.” His hand clenched yours as he slowly descended to graze your lips with his. 

Your eyes went wide and you moved your head, “What are you doing?” 

“Kissing you?” 

“No, what are you doing? I am not to be another check-off on your list, Taehyung.” You tried to move but his arm simply tightened around you, “Fuck off with that shit or you can sleep on the cold ground.” 

“What if I told you that I like you?” At his words, you scoffed and rolled your eyes, “I mean it, Y/N.” 

“Then I’d say I don’t believe you. I’ve heard you say that one too many times to other women to let that fool me. Now stop talking and go to sleep. Let’s pretend this never happened.” You laid your head back down.

“But I don’t want to pretend-”

“But I do!” You snapped, head turning up to look at him, “I do! I am not dealing with your bullshit. I don’t want a single night or maybe a handful of nights with you. I will not let myself get hurt simply because I allowed my stupid crush to grow into to something bigger, you got it?” 

“What crush?” 

You shook your head and let it fall to the pillow, extracting your hand from his, “I am going to sleep now.” You announced. 

Taehyung shook his head, “No, you’re not! What were you talking about?” 

“I find you attractive, you dumbass, and thus are attracted to you, now shut the hell up and sleep.” 

That seemed to shut him up and you closed your eyes, trying to get comfortable in the sleeping bag but all this talking has gotten your blood pumping way to fast to fall asleep, “Fuck.” You muttered under your breath. 

Then you felt him move, wiggling his hips and you were about to tell him to cut that shit when you felt it. Eyes snapping open, you gaped as he pressed his crotch against your ass. 

“Are you…” You swallowed thickly, “Are you fucking kidding me?” 

“What?” 

“Your dick is hard.”

“And?” 

“And… And?!” You grit your teeth, “You’re unbelievable.” 

He grumbled something you didn’t quite catch, “I’m sorry but all the talk about you finding me attractive made him all excited. I can’t exactly control it.” 

“Stop pressing your dick against my ass.” You tried to move away from him but the sleeping bag just wasn’t big enough. 

“Stop wiggling your ass then if you don’t want to get poked, Y/N.” His voice came out as a huff, voice laced with desire but you kept on moving until he moved his hand to your hips and grasped it hard, “I said stop.” 

The bolt of desire that shot through you and pooled between your legs at his commanding tone and the way his fingers dug into your hip was undeniably hard to ignore. You bit your lips trying to contain a whine when his fingers loosened but you couldn’t stop your body from pressing against his crotch. It seemed to have a mind of it’s own while you struggled. You felt his eyes bore into your face as you bit your lip, pressing your thighs together, hoping he wouldn’t notice. 

But he did notice. How could he not for the hand on your hip moved to the apex of your thighs and this time, you whined softly. 

“Do you have something you want to say?” He leaned down to whisper in your ear as his hand moved slowly further down between your legs, “Maybe you do want me.” 

“N-No.” Was your weak response. 

He huffed behind you and you felt him nose the skin behind your ear, “Then why are you squirming?” He whispered before planting a soft kiss there. 

“I…” You trailed off as his hand moved to cup your mound, “Tae.” You sighed as you moved your hair, giving him better access to your neck, goosebumps spreading as he kissed his way down your neck until he reached your shoulder where he nipped your skin. 

He ground his hard cock against your ass and you returned the movement with pushing back against him, causing him to growl. He snaked his other arm around your shoulders, his hand grabbing your throat gently without squeezing. 

You grinded against each other, filling the tent with whimpers and growls, the rain and storm long forgotten as it rolled by. You moved an arm behind you, delving your fingers into his hair and tugged, causing him to groan out. 

“Fuck, you like that?” You asked, trying to steal a glance at him. 

He hummed, his chest vibrating against your back at the sound, “Tease.” He growled as he moved his hand from your center to the hem of your t-shirt, yanking it up and you moaned when you finally felt his fingers on your bare skin, “So soft.” 

Taehyung rolled his hips faster, grinding his cock against you and slid his hands down your loose pants, his finger seaking out your soaked pussy and he muttered a soft ‘fuck’ as he felt how drenched you were. 

“You’re so wet, babe. All this, just for me?” 

“Shut up and fuck me.” 

“But I want to taste you.” 

“Another time, now hurry up before I get bored.” 

“What about a condom?”

“It’s fine, I have an IUD. Go ham.” 

He moved the hand on your throat and grasped your chin with his long fingers, tilting your head upwards and kissed you gently. Your mind was hazy from the lust and pleasure and all you could do was moan as his tongue seeked out yours as you opened your mouth to him. He swallowed the sounds you made as he sunk one finger into you whilst his thumb drew lazy circles around your clit. You began riding his hand as he inserted a second finger, making you keen. 

“Enough.” You mumbled against his lips, “I want you inside me.”

He withdrew his hand from your pants and quickly got to work on his own whilst you wriggled to pull your pants down with one hand, curling in on yourself to slide them off your legs. You were pushed as he struggled to get his pants down and once he did, he sighed in relief as his cock sprang free. 

“That good?” You asked with a small smile, one which he returned as he adjusted himself to lay beside you more comfortably. 

“You try wearing jeans when your dick is hard.” 

“No thanks.” 

Taehyung chuckled and gave you a quick pick on the lips before you felt him line up with your entrance, “You good?” 

You grabbed his forearm and nodded. You hadn’t seen his dick but it felt big when the tip brushed against your sobbing hole and you had to bite your lip to contain a whimper when he finally sunk into you. 

“Jesus fucking, ah.” You cursed and he let out a breathless chuckle. 

“Does it hurt?” 

“It stings a little but I don’t mind it.” 

He raised a brow, “So you’re into pain?” 

You elbowed him in his chest, causing him to grunt, “Just fuck me already, dumbass.” Another hum came from him and he snapped his hips, bottoming out in one movement, causing you to choke on a breath as he quickly set a punishing pace. His cock split open your walls with ease as your wetness gushed around him, creating the most lewd sounds barely muffled by the sleeping bag. 

Your one hand found purchase in his hair again, tugging and pulling with each thrust of his hips and you let out breathy moans as he fucked you. 

“Ah, shit.” Taehyung threw his head back when you clenched around him as his cock hit a particularly spot inside you, “Fuck, you’re tight.” 

“Don’t you dare stop until I cum, Tae.” You managed to say as his pace didn’t let up. His hand moved your leg to lie above his as his other hand that was around your shoulders moved up under your t-shirt, seeking out your bouncing breasts. You cried out as he pinched a nipple harshly, clawing at his forearm. 

“You really like pain, huh?” His statement went unanswered as you didn’t have the brainpower to form words. All you could think about was his cock drilling into you over and over and over until drool began to run from your mouth and onto the pillow. 

“F-fuh-fuck, I’m gonna - Ah!” A loud cry erupted from you as you felt him rub your clit with his thumb. Taehyung growled as your walls clenched around his cock, your entire body going rigid in his arms as the band in your belly finally snapped. He let out a huff and grabbed your throat, clenching slightly as he chased down his own high. 

You could only hold on for the ride as he jackhammered you into next week, fucking you stupid, just like you had dreamt of. 

“Can I - Fuck - Inside?” He kissed your jaw, “Please.” 

“Christ, yes, do it.” You whined in response and twisted your neck to kiss him as he gave you one last thrust, burying himself deeply and he groaned into the kiss as he painted your inner walls with his cum. The kiss ended as his cock slowly softened inside you. 

You stayed there, both of you catching your breaths. 

“I do like you, Y/N.” 

“Show me, Tae. I need to see if you really mean it.” 

“Great idea, how about we go for another round and then I can ask you out for dinner?” 

Around 4 PM, you and Taehyung finally arrived in the town, immediately seeking out the hotel you were going to stay at, hoping to find Jimin and Denise there. 

You found your friends in the bar and once they spotted you, they ran to the two of you, engulfing you in hugs. 

“Are you okay?” Denise asked as she checked you over for any injuries, “I am so sorry. You must have been so scared.” 

You snorted and patted her cheek, “I’m alright, Deni. I had the dumbass to watch over me.” 

“You didn’t happen to see or hear any wolves, did you?” Jimin asked, gesturing to the TV, “It was just on the news that wolves were spotted in that particular area.” 

You didn’t need to look at Taehyung to know that he was wearing a smug grin, instead opting to brush past your friends and over to the bar, in dire need of a drink. 

“Hey Y/N, I’m going to head up and take a shower. Don’t be late!” Taeyung called out as he left the area. Denise raised a brow as she sat down next to you, looking at you expectantly. 

“Don’t be late for what?” She asked. 

You shrugged and waved the bartender over, “Our date.” 

“Date? The Kim Taehyung asked you out on a date?” 

“Yeah, after we fucked, what, three? Four times? Something like that.” 

“You WHAT?!” 

“Right. Time to go.” You quickly kissed her cheek and dashed towards the elevators. You didn’t even try to hide your smile as the doors opened to the elevator. 

You were really looking forward to said date.

[jovialyouthmusic]

Silver Service

Anton has been poisoned - who is guilty?

Word Count 2767

A/N No warnings - but there is a wee bit of a cliffhanger, sorry!

20 Whodunnit?

Liam looked haggard as he sat behind his desk in his office at the Palace in a meeting with Bastien and Lewis, head in his hands.

‘So it seems the only person who could have delivered the poison was Lucretia?’

‘I’m afraid that we can’t rule out Olivia’ said Bastien. ‘After all, how could Lucretia deliver the poison? We’re scouring High Castle for security breaches and interviewing all the staff, even though they’ve all already been vetted.’ Liam’s face clouded with anger

‘If you’re going to accuse Olivia of doing something so terrible, I have to question whether your men were blameless too’ he said in a low tone. Bastien held his ground.

‘Of course all the members of the Guard have regular performance reviews and assessments. I’m sorry your Majesty, I only mention Lady Olivia because if I don’t someone else will, and we won’t be prepared to refute the accusation. We have to be one step ahead if any of these details come up – and they may very well end up being brought to light in a court of law in the near future.’ Liam sat back, deflated, rubbing his hand over his forehead

‘Of course you’re right Bastien. It will be a moot point if Anton doesn’t survive’ Liam said grimly ‘If he dies, the Crown is safe, but someone will be guilty of murder or assassination. Do we have an update on his condition?’

‘He’s unresponsive.’ Lewis cut in ‘There’s a possibility he’s suffered brain damage from lack of oxygen and swelling, and until we find out what that powder in the envelope was they’re unsure how to treat him.’

‘Of course we’re liaising closely with Olivia’s head of security’ Bastien pointed out ‘and an expert in Lythican poisons and methods of execution and assassination. The awkward thing is, everything Lucretia has access to, so does Olivia. I think on balance I’d better make for Lythikos as soon as possible. I need to call Olivia first though – I’ll let you know what she says’ He tapped his phone, making it clear that he was going to use it as soon as Bastien was out of the room. He got up carefully, taking his cane in hand and left the King alone. Liam tapped Olivia’s number and waited.

‘Good morning your Majesty’ Her voice was clipped and cool.

‘Are you alone?’

‘Not just now – give me a moment’ He heard muffled voices and then she spoke again. ‘I am now. Tell me - how’s my so called husband?’ Now she sounded weary, and his heart went out to her.

‘Not good’

‘I’m delighted to hear it’

‘Livvy, Bastien pointed out to me that to an outsider it might seem that you could be seen as a suspect in his attempted murder’ He heard her suck her breath in, and there was a pause before she spoke.

‘I can see that. Much as I’d like to see him dead, I can assure you I had nothing to do with it. I’ve been hard at work here making sure the Court is properly housed and entertained’

‘I’m very glad to hear you say that, Livvy. That leaves Lucretia as the main suspect - not personally - but she must have found a way to get a message out. Bastien’s at a loss as to how the envelope got past security. All the staff are vetted, but they can’t find a gap in the perimeter’

‘That’s vexing’ Olivia said ‘Do we know who last occupied the property?’

‘The last person to actually live in it passed away ten years ago. That part of the coast was reputably used by smugglers, so there may very well be some sort of network of passages or a hidden cave nearby, but Bastien’s men didn’t find anything.’

‘The old smugglers were very wily and anti establishment, and they may well have passed their knowledge on to the Sons of the Earth, or they had means of finding out’ Olivia mused

‘I’ll mention it to Bastien, though I expect he’s already thought of that.’ He paused for a moment before going on thoughtfully ‘Livvy, I’m going to join you as soon as I can. We were scheduled to leave tomorrow to give us a couple of days before it all kicks off, but I’ll bring that forward. I’ll let you know when I’m on my way’

‘Liam, you don’t have to’ she said wearily

‘Forgive me for disagreeing with you, Livvy’ he said softly ‘Even if you don’t want to see me, I most certainly want to be near you’ There was a short silence.

‘Thankyou Liam’ her tone was soft for a moment, then changed ‘I have a better idea - I’ll come to you. I’d like to see that bastard husband of mine suffering.’ He could picture her determined expression and the hard line of her lips.

‘Okay Livvy. Tell me when you set off, and we’ll pay him a visit together’

------

The news of Anton’s admittance to hospital set tongues wagging. It was like casting a stone into a clear pool and watching the ripples spread out. Thanks to Bastien’s quick thinking and Sophia’s help on a press release, when Olivia arrived in the capital she was ready for the accusations that she had arranged for her betrothed’s murder, making a brief statement from the Palace.

Bastien and Lewis arranged to have Lucretia brought to the security suite in the Palace along with her lawyer. She was surprisingly co-operative, and when the meeting started, she was ahead of the game. She and her lawyer sat on one side of the table in the interrogation room, and the two men sat facing her. Liam and Olivia sat in the adjoining room behind the one way security screen. Lewis started off the recording equipment, and Bastien spoke, giving the date and stating the participants in the interview. Before he had a chance to say anything else, Lucretia spoke.

‘Mr Lykel, I understand that there is speculation regarding the poisoning of Anton Severus. That  speculation concerns my niece Lady Olivia, am I correct?’

‘You are, your grace’ Bastien’s mind worked swiftly So she wants to play it this way. Let’s see where she’s leading. She sat up straight and drew a deep breath.

‘I wish to make a statement to you and my lawyer, and I wish it to be made public. I would prefer that statement be witnessed by a representative of the Cordonian Press and TV news channel, but understand that would be unlikely to be granted’

‘I would have to know the nature of the statement, your grace’ he replied, his face passive. She sniffed

‘No matter then. This interview and a written and signed statement to you and my lawyer will have to do initially as I feel time is pressing. After that, you can decide whether to involve the media.’

‘Please go on, your grace’

‘Very well’ She drew a deep breath ‘I understand that speculation has been made that my niece, Lady Olivia Vanderbilt Nevrakis, was implicit in the poisoning of her betrothed, Anton Severus. I would like to make it clear that she had no part in the matter. That is because I am responsible for that act and she had no knowledge of it.’ At last Bastien reacted – but only by raising an eyebrow.

‘Can you prove that, your grace? How did you manage that when you are under house arrest?’

‘I got a message out to my housekeeper in a coded letter, handed over unwittingly by my lawyer.’ she said ‘She passed on that message to an operative in Portaviera who accessed the house where Anton was kept via a smuggler’s passage. I have written details down in a letter which I have given to my lawyer’ Bastien frowned and sat back in his chair while the lawyer shifted uncomfortably.

‘May I ask why you thought it appropriate to poison Lord Severus, your grace?’

‘I deemed that he was not worthy of the privilege of my niece’s hand in marriage and thought it best to terminate his claim to the throne.’

‘I was under the impression that you supported Anton’s claim, your grace’ Bastien pointed out.

‘It was an arrangement that went back centuries’ Lucretia replied ‘I was obliged to uphold it, but it became evident to me that Severus and his organisation were ineffectual. When I realised my niece was unwilling to cooperate, my allegiance to the arrangement was undermined’

‘So you decided, entirely independently, to terminate Anton Severus’ Bastien asked

‘I did.’ She said briefly, and Bastien feared that she might, as in the past, stop talking altogether. Luckily Lewis had the same thought and cut in.

‘What type of poison did you use, Lucretia?’ He asked ‘Tell us the antidote – co-operate and it may mitigate any penalty you are subjected to.’ Lucretia laughed

‘Mr Lewis, I am no longer young. I only wish to see my niece on the throne, I don’t care for my own comfort.’ She sneered ‘The poison cannot be neutralised, and would only harm a handful of people. I knew that Lord Severus was allergic to shellfish, and part of the poison was an extract of mussel shells. The other part is a closely guarded secret – a herb that only grows in Lythikos and which will only work on someone whose immune system is already compromised by something such as an allergic reaction. It was almost tailor made for Anton’ She leaned forward over the table.

‘Let me say this, Mr Lykel. I know that Olivia is pregnant with Liam’s child.’ Bastien fought to keep his expression passive and heard Lewis take a sharp intake of breath.

‘That is something I can’t comment on, your grace’ Bastien replied.

‘No matter, I know what I know’ she said ‘I feel that an alliance between the bloodlines of Rys and Nevrakis would be very beneficial to Cordonia. If there had been such an arrangement when Olivia was born, I would be a different woman. I have spent my life plotting for House Nevrakis to come into power with the Severus line, and I deeply regret it. I don’t need to be told whether I’m right or wrong - I saw my niece and I’m certain of it. I know she is fond of the King and I doubt if she would take up with anyone else – she certainly wasn’t receptive to her husband’s charms. I think you’ll find that I have solved any problems the King might have’

‘What exactly did you mean by solving the King’s problems?’ Bastien asked.

‘I think you’ll find that out for yourself by the end of the week’ she said, and clamped her mouth tight shut.

-------

Anton lay pale and unresponsive in a private room at the capital’s hospital, hooked up to a heart monitor, now able to breathe unaided, but showing no signs for regaining full consciousness. The room was guarded round the clock, and no visitors were allowed without written permission from the King, Bastien or Lewis. Liam and Olivia went to see the doctor in charge of the case.

‘Your Majesty, even though we know that Lord Severus’s condition was triggered by a reaction to an allergen, the poison administered had a second unknown active ingredient.’ The doctor informed him, confirming what Lucretia had told Bastien. ‘There has been some swelling in the brain, and until that goes down, we won’t know if there is any damage’

‘I see. I want him to receive the best care – I don’t want anyone saying that I neglected him in the hope that he dies as a result of this unfortunate incident’ Olivia fought to keep her expression neutral.

‘Very well, your grace. All we can do now is keep him comfortable and wait to see what happens.’

‘I’d like to speak to him – do you think he would be able to hear and understand me?’

‘I really can’t say, your grace. These cases vary a lot, and as many in a similar condition pass away without regaining full consciousness, we aren’t in a position to predict what he might be feeling or what mental faculties he might have’ The Doctor sighed ‘But you are welcome to try. Who knows, it may spur him on to recovery. Please, go ahead. If you notice any change, let the nurses know.’ Liam inclined his head and motioned to Olivia to follow him to Anton’s room, where the guard stood aside for them.

‘Thankyou Parker. I’ll call if I need anything’ He said as he was ushered into the room. Anton lay in the bed, his face pale and slack, a steady beep emitting from the heart monitor. His breath was shallow and quiet, and Liam drew close, gazing at his face. Olivia stood behind him, scowling.

‘Well Severus, I don’t know if you can hear me’ he said ‘There’s no love lost between us, and you have much on your conscience.’ There was no response from him, and Liam went on as Olivia watched.

‘The doctors tell us that you may have suffered brain damage. Perhaps you can’t hear or understand me, but for my own conscience it’s only fair to update you on what we know about recent events.’ He pulled the chair closer to the bed.

‘We know who hired the assassin in the cathedral’ he said, and watched for a flicker of interest. None came.  ‘We know it wasn’t your doing – Lucretia confessed that it was she who arranged it. She didn’t seem to have a lot of faith in your abilities after the kidnap attempt’ Was there the slightest change in the rhythm of the heart monitor? His gaze flicked to the monitor and back to Anton’s face. ‘I expect you find that quite a shock’ he said ‘We also know that you arranged for the murder of Lady Adelaide, as her efforts to make Madeleine queen went against your plot to gain the throne. You might like to know that a colleague of mine from Interpol intervened, and Adelaide is alive and well, and willing to testify to your organisation’s crimes’ He sat back in his chair. He wasn’t in a hurry. Whether he was in a state to comprehend or not, Anton wasn’t going anywhere.

‘Lucretia has been most cooperative since you fell ill.’ He continued ‘Some speculated that it was Lady Olivia who arranged for your demise, but her Aunt made a statement that is was she who had the envelope delivered to your room using old smuggling passages into the Manor.’ The monitor was most definitely changing rhythm, picking up speed.

‘The poison Lucretia used was unlikely to affect anyone else unless they had an allergy to shellfish, like yourself.’ He paused ‘I have one last piece of information to share with you’ he said ‘But there is someone here who is more suited to tell you’ He stood back, and Olivia took his place. She shuddered as she gazed down on his prone form.

‘Hello husband’ She said, her voice expressing the disgust she felt. ‘You’ve been asking to see me, so here I am. Am I not worth a glance? A word?’ There was no response; the monitor carried on its elevated rhythm but no alarms went off, so she continued.

‘You had the gall to uphold the outdated concept of an arranged marriage’ she snarled ‘Even when you knew I wouldn’t honour it, you continued to expect me to capitulate. But Nevrakis never give in. You never had a chance of me being your wife or your Queen.’ She leant closer

‘Know this, Anton. Liam is ten times the man you are, and he and I will secure the future of Cordonia. I carry his heir, and I will never be yours. I’ll fight that to the last breath in my body, and Liam will stay by my side, whether he is King or not’ The monitors picked up the pace again, speeding up until an alarm blared out. Olivia stepped away from the bed, but not before Anton’s eyes opened wide and he reached out to grab her wrist, his lips moving soundlessly as he strained to sit up.

‘Livvy!’ Liam cried, and stepped forward to pry Anton’s fingers from her wrist as a team of medics rushed in. The two of them were ushered out of the room as they gathered around his bedside. Liam put his arm around Olivia’s shoulders and lead her to the private lounge they had been allocated, to await news of Anton’s apparent recovery.

@emceesynonymroll @sirbeepsalot @cora-nova @stopforamoment @drakeandcamilleofvaltoria

@drakesensworld @katedrakeohd @pedudley @indiacater @texaskitten30

@be-still-my-aching-heart @hopefulmoonobject @dcbbw @classylady1234 @ladyangel70

@rainbowsinthestorm @nomadics-stuff @gardeningourmet @furiousherringoperatortoad @kimmiedoo5

@bascmve01  @ibldw-main @addictedtodrakefanfic @trappedinfandoms @princess-geek

[alcego-writes]

Word Count: 2.4k

I got it into my head today to write a little story about a hero and a villain during a situation that’s TOTALLY not based around current events or anything, that’s ludicrous (and also totally what happened). Not much by way of plot. Just a hero and a villain coming to terms with life during a pandemic. You know. The usual.

Tag List: @maxgraybooks​ @ladywithalamp​ (I feel like a few others wanted to be tagged whenever I post writing, but I’ve misplaced my list and I cannot remember anyone else for the life of me. If that’s you and I’ve forgotten please let me know!)

          It was a warm day, humid and uncomfortable, and the hero of the town had nowhere to go. Couldn’t leave their home, on account of the plague that would kill them more surely than most of the people they protected. The irony of having steel bones and a shitty immune system.

          They sat behind a desk, a wide transparent computer sitting before them. There was only so much to do during this social distancing bullshit, only so much they were willing to process while under quarantine, so they did the one thing they knew how to do. “Show me a villain.”

          The screen came to life, and the AI chirped and began throwing images up on the screen. Little villains, like those buying thirty packages of soap and toilet paper; smaller villains, the ordinary man complying with corporate’s demand to keep the workforce operational; and the white-collar villains who had decided to hold the nation hostage to pursue their political goals.

          The hero scowled. If they had wanted this, they would have turned on the news.

          Still, it was something to watch. Something to think about as they wasted away in their fortress, their prison of fucking solitude, watching as the people they loved—the people they regularly put their life on the line for—struggled and wept and wished they did not have to live through such interesting times.

          They saw it all, in short clips from surveillance cameras, laptop cameras, phones; they saw it in fragments of emails, in public service announcements proclaiming nothing at all, in screenshots of hospital bills that charged too much for nothing at all. It was enough to dull their heart, to pain them in a way that they had not hurt in ages. They had put all of this behind them; they had grown used to the pain of the common man. Only there was one, small difference. A small change that mattered more than anything in the world: the hero could not help them. Could not leave a note firmly citing the law, let alone a note politely suggesting that to act with a little bit of common decency would be in their best interests. They were here, and they could do nothing.

          “Show me a villain who cares,” they said, staring blankly at the transparent screen.

           The AI hummed its acknowledgement, and images flashed across the screen, splattered against the walls in another strange display of holographic achievement.

           The hero blinked.

           Stared at the images of all one man.

           A man they knew well, for they knew his mask, his suit, the crook of his fingers. Half the time they weren’t sure if they wanted to break those stupidly broad hands or kiss them—mostly the choice was already made for them, by way of robbery or theft or any other number of crimes the man engaged in.

           But this?

           This was a crime, surely, the way the man slipped into a two-story house, made a beeline for the garage. It was a crime as he carted out boxes of Purell, of toilet paper, of fruit. It was theft, a crime just like any other—

           But there was a difference here. The hero couldn’t quite place it, couldn’t quite figure it out. Not until they tore their gaze from the screen and turned to the wall, to the grainy images of the man leaving boxes of food and toiletries on an old man’s porch, of the man placing a mask on a sick woman’s desk so she could care for her children without fear, of the man stopping to return a cat whose owner was too frightened to leave their house.

           They watched as the man, whose crimes had always been so nebulous and uncertain—even as he manufactured a laser under the pretense of taking over the world—they watched this man act with more care and grace than everyone who should have helped and chose not to.

           Like them.

           “That’s enough,” the hero said. “Thank you.”

           The AI chirped again, almost seeming concerned. It was odd, how attached they had gotten to the fascinating piece of machinery over the past few days. There were moments where they regretted living such an isolated life, out in the middle of nowhere, but it always worked out in their benefit. It was always worth it. They’d never had cause to regret it—until now, that was.

           Stalking out of the room, the hero tried not to feel guilt for being here and not there, tried to remind themself that they were of no use to anyone if they were sick—and they succeeded, in a way. They didn’t feel guilt, and they understood why they were here on a rational level. They just couldn’t shake the shame that came with this decision.

           They could leave, go out and do some good before the man—the villain, their rival—had cause to spread doubt about their abilities, about their devotion to doing good. The PR nightmare would be enough to undo them, to render all of their effort in gaining the public’s trust moot. They could do it. They could go out. They just might never come back, was all.

           The AI boomed.

           There was someone at their door.

           The hero froze, wide-eyed, wondering how anyone had found this place, and why they had decided to visit. None of their ideas were pleasant, and many were far worse than they were willing to deal with right then. A mob, maybe. Someone coming to demand their help. A crying mother demanding they do something for her ailing child.

           And what would they be able to say? What could they do? Nothing.

           Just as they did nothing then, frozen to the floor of their living room.

           The AI buzzed. It was a question, somehow, although there were no words.

           “Who is it?” the hero asked softly.

           An image flashed onto the wall before them. More holograms; the AI seemed to enjoy this new branch of technology. But what it was showing them had to be wrong, because there was no way the man, their rival, was waiting outside their door, hands shoved deep within his jacket pockets. He wore no mask, only a hoodie and jeans and leather gloves on his hands.

           “How long’s he been here?”

           Text flashed on the image: Just got here.

           “Okay,” the hero said. “Thank you. I’ll deal with him.”

           The AI chirped. The hero opened the door.

           The man stared at them, jaw slack, expression unguarded. They stared back, unaccustomed to seeing him so vulnerable, so easy. It had to be a trick, they knew that well enough, but they didn’t know how. The villain cleared his throat, shuffled his feet.

           “What do you want?” the hero asked, energy draining from their limbs faster with each second this interaction dragged on.

           The villain shrugged. “I just wanted to check up on you.”

           “Right,” they said. “Making sure the competition’s not up to something.”

           The villain scoffed. “If that makes you feel better.”

           Beat. Awkward silence. Then: “I saw what you did.”

           The villain stiffened, slouched as if that were enough to render his good deeds meaningless. “It’s nothing.”

           “It’s something,” the hero said. “It’s more than most people are doing.”

           And there—that flicker in his eyes. The hero knew that look, knew they had taken a wrong turn, stepped onto a trap. Inadvertently they had opened the door to this conversation, and they regretted it immediately.

           “Why aren’t you out there?” the villain asked.

           It was a reasonable question. They had no doubt that many people were asking it, wondering why they hadn’t swept into town and saved everyone from the virus. After all, they’d made a name for themself by swooping in to save the day; why stop now?

           So, the hero just shrugged, unwilling to offer an explanation to the villain who had—on more than one occasion—tried to kill them. It was important not to forget that, even if the attempts on their life had felt more and more half-hearted as the years went on, as they established a routine, a give and take to their balance of heroics and villainy.

           “Oh, come on,” the villain snapped. “Don’t give me that—you’ve always got something to say! This can’t possibly be the moment when you run out of words.”

           “I can’t be out there right now, okay?” the hero snapped. They hated the rasp to their voice, hated the way their throat burned. It was just a cold, really. They hadn’t been around anyone infected with the virus for long enough to have caught it. They told themself this every time they coughed, every time they doubted. There was a reason they did not go out to save the day.

           “Are you sick?” the villain asked, brow furrowing. “For how long?”

           He stepped inside, hand finding its way to their face. “You’re warm,” he murmured.

           “It just means I’m alive.”

           The villain fixed them with a look. “That’s not how that works at all.”

           “Fine, I’m sick. Does that make you happy?”

           “It certainly explains a few things.” The villain looked at them for a moment longer, then asked again, softly, “How long?”

           The hero glanced away. “A few days.”

           He nodded. “You’ve been gone ever since this thing started popping up, so it seems unlikely you’ve caught the virus. Any trips to the outside world I ought to know about?”

           “No,” the hero spluttered. “Because you don’t need to know anything about me.”

           “If it means making sure you’re not seriously ill and hiding away like an injured fucking cat, I sure do.”

           The hero blinked. “Why’d you say you were here again?”

           “Does it matter?” the villain snapped. “I’m here, you’re here, and the world’s not ending.”

           The hero shrugged. “Not yet, anyway. We normally find a way to make that almost happen…”

           The villain sighed. He looked as if he wanted to say something, share a secret, but he didn’t. Just rubbed the back of his neck and looked around the living room. It was sparsely decorated, with an armchair by the window and a small table that they ate at whenever they had to stay here. They usually didn’t; they were usually busy with bigger, more important things. That was why this room looked so artificial, so unlived in.

           The hero shuffled awkwardly, painfully aware of the situation and having exactly no idea of how to deal with it. The villain appeared to be in a similar state, except that he was making a beeline for their kitchen and oh, the hero didn’t want to see what villainy he could get up to in there.

           But there was no villainy. He just opened the fridge and stared at its contents (a mostly empty bottle of mustard, that godawful plastic yellow cheese, and a bag of bread that had been unceremoniously shoved inside) before turning to the hero.

           “You live like this?”

           The hero shrugged. “I’m not usually here.”

           “It wouldn’t kill you to get groceries every now and then.

           The hero couldn’t help it—they laughed.

           “What?” the villain asked. “How is that in any way funny?”

           “Nothing,” the hero said, still snickering. “Just an inside joke.”

           “Well it’s a shit joke if you’re the only one laughing.”

           “Look,” the hero grabbed the cheese and the bottle of mustard from the fridge, “let’s just say I got a rough go at the genetic lottery.”

           “It’s not like you’ve got a glass heart and paper skin,” the villain said, watching in awestruck horror as the hero squirted mustard on the cheese, wrapped it up, and proceeded to eat it.

           “Nah, I’m good on that front,” the hero said, mouth full. “It’s the other thing.”

           “What other thing? I’ve seen you get tossed ass over teakettle into a concrete wall and get up without a fuss, don’t tell me there’s something that can fuck you up that I haven’t found—because believe me, I’ve tried! You’re no Superman; so far as I can tell, you haven’t got a kryptonite.”

           “You just haven’t looked in the right places, then,” the hero said. “You’re plenty smart. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

           The villain stared at them. “You’re sick?” he guessed.

           The hero shrugged.

           Eyes narrowing, the villain stepped closer, until he was barely an arm’s length away. The hero couldn’t help but want to step back; there was a virus on the loose, and this was not conducive to proper hygiene. But the villain stood, and stared, and said, “You’re one of those folks with a crappy immune system.”

           “Ding ding ding,” the hero said. “And believe me, it pains me every day that I can’t be out there doing anything to help. It does. There’s so many things I want to do, so many people I want to help…” they trailed off, took another bite of their unconventional sandwich. “I just can’t.”

           “Sure,” the villain said. “Yeah. I get it.”

           He was the last person the hero had expected to ‘get it.’ They narrowed their eyes. “You never did say why you were here.”

           “Because I was worried about you,” the villain said, snatching the cheese sandwich from the hero’s hand and tossing it in the trash. “Which I clearly needed to be. Seriously, that’s the only stuff you keep in your fridge?”

           “It keeps well.”

           The villain gagged. “Sure, fine, whatever. It’s not my problem.” And then he sighed, and amended, “Except that it is, because you’re gonna die of malnutrition before the virus even gets a chance.”

           “I’m sorry, are you suggesting you’re going to get my groceries?”

           “I’m doing a lot more than suggesting it, you disgusting little cheese gremlin. Hold up shop; I’ll be back in an hour.”

           The hero watched as the villain stalked out of the house, hands once again finding their ways into his pocket. They watched, befuddled, before their mind caught up to them. “Just don’t steal it!”

           The last thing the hero saw before the villain closed the door was his right hand held up high in a crude, time-saving gesture. Shaking their head, the hero asked the AI to keep tabs on the villain, and to let them know if he got up to any… less than savory behavior.

           He didn’t, and the hero realized that they weren’t surprised to hear it. He might be a villain, sure, but he was a villain who cared.

           The hero might just have to re-evaluate their opinion of him, after all.

[hazelandglasz]

Oh my, oh my, "I’m calling to cancel our date because I’m actually in the ER right now, sorry. …I mean, sure, I guess you can come down here, but… okay…" with Klaiiiine, pretty pretty please ? (I think this is the first time I've ever prompted you and I don't know why)

On  AO3

Blaine could cry.

Out of pain, sure, but also out of sheer frustration.

After months of sighing after Kurt Hummel, Blaine finally pulled his head out of his ass and asked him out--and was rewarded with a loud and clear “yes”--only to have to cancel because of his stupidity.

As in, got so excited about getting ready for his date that he tripped on his scarf and fell.

And now, Blaine’s wrist is hurting very badly, and oh God it’s an odd angle too.

Shit, shit, shit.

At least it’s his right one--silver lining of being a lefty.

While he waits and tries not to cry--not that there's anything wrong with a man crying, it’s just that Blaine didn’t pack any tissue and crying always makes him sneezy--Blaine sends a message to Kurt.

B: I’m so sorry I have to cancel our date but I’m in the E.R. Long story.

B: Raincheck?

K: Oh no! Are you okay?

K: Stupid question, nvm

K: Which hospital?

That gives Blaine pause. Why would Kurt want to know the name of the hospital?

B: Brooklyn Hospital Center

B: Why?

K: On my way.

B: What? No, no, Kurt, it’s fine! Don’t come down here I’m a mess

K: Blaine.

K: I’m not going to leave you alone while you’re in pain

K: I’ll keep you company, bring you smthing to eat, and we’ll see ok?

Blaine considers his options.

He can allow Kurt to come down to the hospital, see him be a pathetic, hurt mess, but they will be together and who knows, maybe he’ll get a sympathy first kiss.

(No, he does not have a nurse kink--but now that the image of Kurt in a doctor’s outfit presents itself, oy.)

Or.

He insists Kurt does not come, Kurt’s feelings are hurt while Blaine’s body is hurt, they never speak to each other and Blaine has to move back to Ohio.

Door number one, then please.

B: I suppose it won’t hurt, but no comment on how I look or no deal.

K: Scout’s honor.

Blaine smiles at that, barely suppressing a laugh at the next message.

K: I never was a scout, to be transparent and honest, but being a cheerleader counts, right?

Well now that opens a whole can of conversation, doesn’t it?

B: Cheerleader uh? I guess I can admit that if you have photographic evidence that it happened

K: Deal. See you in a few!

Blaine smiles at his phone before slowly but surely descending into a panic.

Kurt is coming.

Kurt, whom he has crushed on for the better portion of this semester; Kurt, who is always effortlessly stylish and remarkable; Kurt, who is probably the most interesting man in the school, if not the entire city.

This Kurt.

Is coming to, what, hang out with him in the E.R. while Blaine looks like a trainwreck smashed by a bulldozer? 

Before slipping on his scarf, Blaine was getting ready for his date with Kurt.

The keyword here is clearly the “getting” part, because he is nowhere near ready.

Not even taking into consideration the broken wrist and the puffy eyes from crying, which would be more than enough, Blaine knows that he is objectively a mess.

No product in his hair, an old t-shirt--the only thing he has going for him is his pants, because they are his Pants, capital P required.

But he’s sitting, so even that is a moot point.

With his free hand, Blaine tries to tame his hair but with no mirror and no product, he probably messes it up even further.

“Mr Anderson?”

A nurse appears in front of him. Nurse Pavarotti, it reads on her tag.

“Yes?”

“I’m going to take you down for a X-Ray in about twenty minutes, if that’s alright with you. Sorry about the wait.”

Blaine nods. “I just--there is a, um, a friend coming to keep me company. Is it okay if we …”

The nurse gives him a long, searching look before giving him a small nod.

Twenty-one minutes later, Kurt makes an appearance. He is short of breath, slightly dishevelled, and his cheeks are a dark shade of pink.

Not a bad look on him, all things considered, but not one Blaine has ever seen on him.

“Blaine!” Kurt exclaims, making his way to the chair next to him.

“There you are,” Blaine says, unable to keep himself from smiling.

Kurt smiles back, unbuttoning his coat before taking a look at Blaine’s hand, wrapped from the tip of his fingers to his elbow in a dish towel with melted ice cubes. “Does it hurt?”

“Oh, yes. A lot.” Blaine chuckles darkly. “I’m considering gnawing it off to stop the pain.”

Kurt coos before looking from Blaine’s hand to his hair. Something sparks up in his eyes.

“That’s a new look?”

Blaine can feel his face heating up. “N-no, oh gosh no, I was just, just, um, getting ready for our date when my scarf attacked me from the floor.”

“Traitor.”

“Exactly.”

They look into each other’s eyes and Blaine really has no self-control over his zygomatics when it comes to Kurt, does he?

“Mr Anderson? Are you ready?”

Blaine shakes himself from his Kurt-induced trance and nods to the nurse.

“Give me your coat, I’ll wait here,” Kurt offers, already settling in his chair.

“I’ll be right back,” Blaine replies, groaning when the towel slightly moves over his wrist.

“Don’t worry,” Kurt says, “I’m not going anywhere. You won’t get rid of me so easily.”

A weight is lifted from Blaine’s chest, a weight he didn’t even know had found its spot there.

“It won’t take much time,” Nurse Pavarotti says as she guides Blaine toward the examination room. “And you two lovebirds will be back together in no time.”

Blaine’s blush is back at full volume. “We’re not, I--”

“Tutt-tutt-tutt,” the nurse stops him. “I can tell. Now we will X-ray you and in the best case scenario, put you in a cast before sending you both on your merry little way.”

Blaine sighs. “Okay.”

“Oh, don’t be so gloomy, dear. I’m sure we can find a color that will enhance those eyes.”

“Okay.” This time around, Blaine puts a little more energy and enthusiasm in his voice. After all, if there is one thing he knows how, it’s to accessorize.

---

Kurt is keeping busy with Candy Crush when Blaine returns, arm in a cast.

He doesn’t know why he went to the hospital--it can be because he waited for so long to either get the courage to ask Blaine out or for Blaine to cut through his obliviousness.

It can be because he cares about Blaine already.

It can be because Blaine made the first move and it was his turn.

--but right this moment, he doesn’t regret it.

Because Blaine has a cast on and he looks so shy and vulnerable. All Kurt wants to do is wrap him in a blanket and take care of him.

… Come to think of it, Blaine may need some help in the days to come. Even if he’s left-handed--and Kurt knows that tidbit of information, thank you very much--, it cannot be easy to navigate his daily tasks one-handed, can it?

“We had to give him a strong painkiller,” the nurse explains as she guides Blaine back to his seat. “Will you be able to take him home?”

“Oh! I’m not--we’re not--that is, not yet. I mean …”

The nurse frowns at him. “You are Kurt, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

“I thought so. Mr Anderson here mentioned you a couple of times while we were putting on the cast.”

“He--he did?”

“Only good things. So good, in fact, that I assumed you two were already an item.” The nurse cocks her head to the side. “I’m telling you this because we need to make sure Mr Anderson won’t stay alone for the next 24 hours. And if you’re not in a capacity to be here for him, we need to contact his emergency contact, which appears to be a Mr Anderson …?”

“That must be his brother. But he recently moved to Los Angeles so that’s a moot point.” Kurt takes a deep breath--it’s a no-brainer. “Don’t worry, Miss, I will stay with Blaine.”

I would stay with Blaine forever, but that’s perhaps a tad too soon to say it out loud.

“Fantastic! Well, all you need to know is that the cast needs to stay dry, and here is a prescription for painkillers. Otherwise, just check with him how his fingers feel. If he starts losing sensation in them--”

“Bring him back?”

“Bring him back.”

“Alright.” Kurt gives the nurse an approximation of a military salute before turning back to Blaine.

Who is wearing his jacket like a cape and smiling adoringly at him.

“Blaine? You okay buddy?”

“‘m fine,” Blaine replies, getting on wobbly legs. “Not as fine as you, though.”

Kurt flushes deeply but cannot help the pang of satisfaction at hearing this. Really, after months of being either oblivious or afraid of his feelings, Blaine is now going to let them all out, just because of a painkiller?

As little as he put into his thought process in coming to the E.R., Kurt can only pat himself on the back for the best decision made tonight.

“You flatterer,” he simply says, steadying Blaine with one hand around his waist. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

“On the first date?” Blaine snorts before giggling. “Oh, Mr Hummel!”

Behind them, Kurt could swear he hears the nurse huffing a laugh. “No, not like that, Blaine. I’m just taking you home so you can rest and get better.”

Blaine pauses and Kurt has to stop. His eyes are a bit unfocused, sure, but there is a seriousness in them all the same. “You’re going to take care of me.” It’s not even phrased as a question.

Kurt swallows hard on the unexpected lump in his throat. “I will,” he replies, and he finds that he doesn’t mean just for the period of healing ahead.

He wants to date Blaine, sure, he wants to kiss him and “dot dot dot”, sure, but he wants …

Kurt wants the nitty gritty too.

He wants to figure out if Blaine is tidy or messy, he wants to find him drinking milk out of the bottle, he wants to see him under all the colors of the emotional rainbow.

He wants the passionate nights of lust and the quiet nights of comfort.

He wants everything Blaine has to offer and he wants to give Blaine everything in return.

That’s how far gone he is.

But for now, a helping hand to get clean and into another t-shirt and maybe some help heating up some soup will have to do.

“I know you will,” Blaine says, leaning his head on Kurt’s shoulder. “‘m sorry for our date.”

“It’s only a delay, don’t worry,” Kurt says with a smile as they start walking.

“I had this whole plan, you know.”

“Oh? Care to tell me about it.”

Blaine opens his mouth before glaring at Kurt.

(Well, “glaring”. An attempt is made, and Kurt really shouldn’t be laughing.)

“No, no, no. I’ll keep my surprise for you, Kurt. I’m going to woo the shizzle out of you.”

“The shizzle? Consider me swept off my feet already.”

“Good. But you ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” Blaine says with a smile and a wink, the insufferable …

The adorable, insufferable idiot.

God, Kurt loves him so much already.

“Kurt?”

“Hm?”

“I really am sorry it took me so long to ask you out.”

Kurt smiles crookedly at Blaine. “It’s fine. I could have asked you out too, but I was--”

“--scared?”

“Terrified.”

Blaine huffs. “We truly make a pair.”

“As long as we get it right in the end.”

A short nod and a happy sigh. “As long as we get it right, yeah.”

[otp-armada]

I am not looking forward to these flashbacks. 

To date, we’ve had four onscreen kisses shared between Bellamy and Echo with additional, smaller moments of other forms of intimacy. I’d rather the show refrain from adding more tally marks to the count. 

If humans were gifted with the capacity for purging unwanted memories, then all this discomfort would be a moot point. I suppose there’s always alcohol as a fallback option, but not even the prospect of temporary amnesia is worth destroying my liver. Turning to alcohol to drown my B/E-related sorrows would probably qualify more as self-harm than self-help.

I’d much prefer to cut directly to an imminent breakup scene without the pomp and circumstance of an agonized Echo’s trip down memory lane. 

If anything, supplying us with visual evidence on how happy they were together is an even sadder remark on the state of B/E’s fragility, knowing it took 0.001 seconds for the mere mention of Clarke’s name to bring it all to ruin. No collection of past happy moments shared on the Ring erases the fractures in their relationship that occur between them afterward, originating with the revelation of a still-living Clarke. I'd be an absolute fool to believe otherwise. 

But if Jason deems a tour of their greatest hits as necessary to the story, I trust his judgment. Showing us B/E's origins as their romantic relationship begins to fall apart in real-time brings it full circle, and it lends gravitas to the story he's telling with Echo. With this particular arc, the bigger picture is still Echo's evolution. It's not about B/E.  

Once season 7 started, there was a visible shift in how Jason utilized B/E.  Whereas seasons 5 and 6 primarily used B/E as the third leg in a love triangle designed to keep a pining Bellarke apart, season 7 uses their master-spy dynamic to bolster Echo's development almost exclusively. Post-season 6, Bellarke is so primed to get together, one honest admission of mutual feelings without Echo as an obstacle and BOOM. Canon couple. 

Echo has a more extensive role than girl-to-be-dumped, and I'm not upset over it. She gets to stand up as a character after the majority of her life has been marked by slavery for her crown, and I'm not upset over it. As indemnification for the loss of her relationship, this orphan-turned-soldier is finding her place in a supportive, loving family while developing a sense of identity and independence, and I'm not upset over it.

I would’ve preferred Jason found a way to take her on this path without B/E remaining intact this far into the final season and theoretically for the foreseeable episodes. I would always choose to end them sooner rather than later, given a choice. But I understand why Jason didn't. 

Echo can’t very well outgrow a master-spy complex if there is no master to her spy. And as much as I hate it, the romantic aspect of B/E is a believable, convenient tool to keep this complex in place until her story comes to fruition. Would Echo act so extremely in service to a recent ex-boyfriend who left her for another woman? Probably not. As far as I can tell, the pinnacle of her arc is the moment she realizes she has to break free from Bellamy. So narrative structure demands B/E stay together, however technically, long enough for her to break those chains. 

I was initially excited about the flashbacks, if only because I took them as a sign of an impending breakup. But the timing doesn't pan out. Aside from the logistics of Echo and Bellamy presumably on separate worlds, and with her thinking him dead, we've only just reached the point where Echo might start to ask herself those hard questions she's been avoiding. She must have noticed a change in her relationship. Between Psychosis!Emori, B/E's 6x04 fight, and Anomaly!Roan, she's had enough cause for doubt. But I think she's suppressed any urge to reflect upon it for a number of reasons. Love. Continued hope they'll last. War. A mission to save him. It took a lot of meticulous maneuvering to corner Echo to this point. Now that we're here, I don't think Jason would pull a reverse Uno card in a 40-minute episode. It seems more likely that he will let her continue to stew in her emotions. Either she'll keep sinking until she hits rock bottom, or she'll start learning how to swim. 

Jason could always prove me wrong. And if I am, I'd never be happier for him to do so. If I'm not? It's at times like this when I am reminded of the resolution I made at the end of season 6- rest easy in the comfort of knowing B/E will meet its inevitable end but do not try to speculate when that might be. Attempting to discern the specifics of "when" brings one only misery. 

Jason’s signature sometimes-too-fast, other-times-too-slow pacing, is often liable to tempt one into ripping their own hair out. That being said, I’ve seen enough of this show to trust in his ability to tell a damn good story. Faith in his competency for the craft just requires on our part, the patience of a saint. 

If nothing else, it isn’t my story to tell, so I’ll just have to suck it up and find a way to deal with any disappointments I may feel. Or I can try to find the value within the story told. It's a better alternative than to be left bitter. No promises, though.

Maybe Echo’s actions against the Disciples aren’t reprehensible, considering the people she’s killing are those complicit in kidnapping and torturing her people. But Orlando was a good, honorable man whose naïveté convinced him to play for the wrong team, yet helped our heroes when he didn’t have to. Not unlike Shaw, whom Echo sold to Diyoza to fulfill her mission. But I assume “We are not his people” is residual mistrust leftover from Ryker’s betrayal of her. She miscalculated the feelings of one possible defector before, she won’t make the same mistake twice. 

If she was able to save Bellamy in the end, I’m sure she’d be able to justify the spilled blood it took to get there. But Orlando suffered at her hands for nothing, and she may not be overly concerned with morality, but she cares for the people she grows close to. Unless the episode proves otherwise, I’d like to think Orlando’s fate will weigh heavily on her. 

They may not have been close. But five years in close quarters with only a few people akin to friends for comfort, it'd be hard not to feel the slightest bit attached.

Those of us who believe in Bellarke know Echo is the third-party obstacle in a love triangle. But what is far more interesting is the role she played in the seasons-long Blake siblings struggle. 

Echo was persona non grata to both siblings following her and Octavia's mountaintop fight. Six years later, she highlights the difference in the siblings' maturities. Whereas Bellamy has learned to embrace empathy and forgiveness with open arms, Octavia is cold and unyielding. On a more personal note, B/E represents Octavia's persistent unwillingness to respect Bellamy as his own person, with needs and wants independent of her. 

After her soul searching on Skyring, I thought she had buried the hatchet, as per her lack of vitriol in her 6x12 conversation with Bellamy, and enthusiastically joining forces with Echo in 6x13. Maybe she did. But Octavia has also proven herself an unreliable narrator, and Hope feels indignation on her aunt's behalf. Whatever the case, there's a reason why the dialogue keeps referencing Echo and Octavia's hostile history. And I think it's building to a head in 7x07. 

I think mutual love for Bellamy is healing the divide between them when Echo is at her most fractured. She's isolated from Bellamy and the rest of Spacekru. Left in pain and seeking retribution as Octavia did, which, as we know, is where it all went wrong for the latter. Octavia, more than most, is in the best position to empathize with what Echo is currently feeling and how pain can destroy her if she lets it consume her. 

If Octavia can remind Echo she's not alone, if a former enemy can convince her she belongs and welcome her with open arms- as her brother did before her- it might do well in healing some broken piece inside of her. And it would be a roundabout display of Octavia's newfound maturity. This is good for both of them. This spiral she is in will require her to look inward. Since her fixation with Bellamy is partly what landed her in this mess, absolution cannot come from him. She can only find it in herself if she wants it. But I'd be glad if Octavia can help see her through it. This is what I mean about seeking value in the story told. We're so concerned about Octavia calling Echo family, about the possibility of it legitimizing B/E, it doesn't occur to us that it's about the characters themselves. And B/E is only a vehicle used to bring us there. It's easier to see when not consumed by automatic seething rage, as typical of our fellow Bellarke compatriots, for anything remotely associated with Echo.

If my heart and mind weren’t chanting “BELLARKEBELLARKEBELLARKE,” there’s a good chance I’d be able to better appreciate the complexities B/E gives to the development of the four characters it directly impacts. 

Our side of fandom has made lots of accusations about B/E since 5x01. It’s a forgettable, physical relationship worth little to Bellamy. B/E is unhealthy for reasons x, y, and z. We generate a different example in every episode. Click slideshow for more details. But the fact of the matter is, much of this isn't true. Until Echo went postal, B/E wasn’t unhealthy. Bellamy just had a greater love for Clarke. Up until their ending scene in 6x04, there was nothing they couldn’t come back from together, if both committed themselves fully, no more walls. It's not a particularly popular train of thought among us, but Jason absolutely could've written B/E as an endgame pairing. And all it would take to deliver a final killing blow is the inclusion of a single damning scene.

We can gripe over the length of time they've stayed together. But, in spite of what most people think about every new B/E development and Bellarke separation, Jason has never actually dropped an ax on Bellarke. Hope persists.

Jason is responsible for the development of dozens of characters, major plots, and dozens of smaller subplots. But our fandom reduced the story chiefly to Bellarke's romance. Our villains are those who stand in their way. Namely Echo, the only outside love interest to be an official obstacle. We fashioned Echo as our enemy. In lieu of removing her from the narrative (which is not in our power to do), we've done everything within our purview to diminish her. If Jason won't treat B/E and Echo as the jokes we know they are, we'll do it ourselves. Minimizing her role in the story makes it a hell of a lot easier to erase a character we'd rather didn't exist for our preferred ship to advance.

Lord knows how many times we've claimed she has no story. That absent relevance or substantial bearing, she's there simply because Jason is partial to her for some elusive reason. But the reality is, we never looked for her story because we wanted to be able to claim its inexistence. We wanted to be able to say she's frivolous to the story, and by extension, to Bellamy. We want to be able to dismantle B/E when it appears Jason doesn't. Except he is and has been doing so since day one. 

Months ago, on a whim, when I was feeling benevolent towards Echo, I wrote a long post HERE giving her the benefit of the doubt, and I said:

In the grand scheme of the story, I think this is the purpose Echo serves, to represent the part that says, “We’re all human. No matter what tribe we belong to, we fight for the same reasons. We love the same way. When you leave allegiances aside, when you see someone for who they are at their core, an enemy today can become a friend tomorrow.”

True peace, a series-long running theme for our heroes, begins with embracing former outsiders like Echo and Emori. Easy to lose sight of this when focused on ship wars. 

It is perfectly acceptable not to love all the components of a story. It is understandable to focus your attention on those select segments you find appealing. But a tunnel-visioned mindset lands you in trouble when you become resentful at the reminders that a story is a composite of more moving pieces than just the parts you like. And when you forget that screentime allotted to developing those pieces ahead of what you favor is permissible. Everything on a show has its time, all in due course. 

On the other hand, B/E shippers overinflate their ship's significance. They take canon and twist it to say, "Look at how strong B/E is, Bellarke could never. B/E is endgame, and Blorkes are delusional." Their conclusion of an epic love is another bias-based fandom interpretation that doesn’t hold water, either. 

I think the reality of B/E lies somewhere in a muddled middle of these two extremes. 

One last point, and I'll get off my soapbox. Despite what the melodramatic diatribe in my opening paragraph suggests, B/E is never as atrocious as fandom makes them out to be. Greater fandom treats anything remotely associated with B/E as the next great catastrophe. And as it turns out, it never really is.  

 Tagging @sometimesrosy, because I think, after years of combating opinions you don’t agree with, it might be a refreshing change of pace to know some of us do have more balanced views regarding B/E. If I do say so myself.

[dontcallmecarrie]

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe

Warnings: Canon-typical mental health issues, unhealthy coping mechanisms [there’s a hopeful ending to this mess, though].

.

Inch by inch.

Inch by ragged inch, Tony Stark clawed himself back to some semblance of normalcy. 

Or, well, tried to, anyway.

Fought hard against the monster, the ragged, yawning void that thrummed under his skin— with nothing but his AI and sheer willpower.

He’d been tempted to turn to the alcohol— but he refused to become Howard, [if only out of spite] so that was right out. 

Inch by inch. 

Tony spent more time in his private labs than he did with people, nowadays. It was probably unhealthy, but then again nobody noticed so the point was probably moot.

Just— buried himself in a safe cocoon of metal and numbers and let loose, trusting JARVIS to watch his back the way very few humans had proven to be capable of doing [the few times he’d tried—never mind]. Finally lowered his guard, and went over the cracks with duct tape and JARVIS’ snark and coffee and gentle amusement at Butterfinger’s antics. It wasn’t healthy. But it was the best he could do.

Inch by inch.

Last time he’d been reforged, it’d been in a nameless cave in Afghanistan. For some reason, though, that time had felt simpler than now, when he was trying to put the shattered pieces of his life back together in the comfort of his own home.

But he did it. He cut himself sometimes, on the more jagged fragments, and it was the single most uphill battle he’d ever fought— but he pulled through. When he finally emerged from his haven, he was closer to an even keel than ever before.

Nobody noticed.

For the longest time, and sometimes Tony didn’t know if he felt proud that he’d managed to hide it so well, or resentful of the fact that some people seemed to think he was just being melodramatic when he’d been drowning— but it didn’t matter in the long run, now, did it? 

.

...Except for when it did, apparently.

The Avengers had been getting to know the newer members of the team, what with the potential for roster changes— and nobody’s quite sure who brings it up. The PTSD thing, that is.

Sam Wilson’s demeanor is very open, very willing to listen. Kicker is, that’s the thing that raises Tony’s defenses; he would’ve been more amenable to talking about some of his experiences in another setting, but Wilson’s ability to turn the conversation into emotions when they’d been sharing a laugh over a drink about the last battle that has him clamming up.

The others noticed, too. Some of them needled him, probably thinking he was like his old man, all ‘Stark men are made of iron’ and ‘mental illness? Bah, you’re just weak’ bullshit Howard liked to spew as he poured out another few fingers of whiskey into his glass. So Tony just shrugged it off.

And he keeps shrugging it off, until Sam waits until the rest of the team’s headed off to do their own thing, and with a knowing yet understanding gaze, asked, “When’s the last time you got help?”

In retrospect, it wasn’t funny. Even if it was hilarious at the time, and Tony hadn’t been able to help but laugh so hard he’d had to put his drink down to avoid making a carbonated mess. 

“You use humor as a coping mechanism, even if the others can’t tell. I can respect that.” Sam continued, and Tony was probably going to run out of air, he was laughing so hard. [And if he was maybe tearing up, so what? No one’d be able to tell if it was because he was laughing or crying.]

“Oh, man.” Tony finally managed, after a few minutes. Sam was kind enough to ignore his quietly wiping his eyes. “Sorry, but you have no idea.”

Then again, maybe he did— that sympathetic smile certainly had Tony leaning that way, anyway.

“But really, when’s the last time you’ve talked to someone about it? Any of it?”

Tony knew it was incredibly unfunny, but he couldn’t help but crack up again anyway at Sam’s face when he finally let someone else in on the joke. “Try ‘sometime before Afghanistan’, and that’s a very rough ballpark. Things only really went to hell a few months back, though.”

“No one?”

“Does JARVIS count?” Tony asked, and fought to keep a straight face at Sam’s look of horror. 

“No offense, JARVIS,” Sam said as he pinched the bridge of his nose, “but no, Tony, your AI doesn’t count. What about the others? Didn’t you mention this Rhodes guy? How about Pepper?”

Tony shrugged. “Rhodey’s got a busy life, I’m not about to burden him with more bullshit than what he already has to deal with. Pepper’s the same way, only she also had her own issues what with the Extremis fiasco a while back, and Happy was hospitalized because of it. Either way, don't worry about it, I’m fine.”

Sam’s cool was slowly being chipped away, now, and Tony cast about for a way to bring the humor back because no one deserved to be stressed out over old news. “Sorry, man. You’re just looking at a rich kid with out-of-this-world problems.”

Apparently, though, Sam wasn’t having it. Especially since his expression steadily grew less and less amused, as he came to a conclusion that Tony could only scratch his head at. “So what I’m hearing is, you never received treatment for your textbook case of PTSD.”

“Oh, is that what it was?” Tony blinked, and Sam threw his hands up with a groan. 

“And here I thought the rest of the team had issues. Okay, you now what? That’s it, next time I’m headed to the VA, you’re invited. Don’t know how that’ll look like, but you are.”

Tony couldn’t help but scoff, at that. “C’mon, those are for the people who actually need the help. A) I’m a civilian who’s closest thing to a combat zone was...well, you know, and B) I’m fine. Besides, I can afford it even if I did need it.”

Sam leveled him an unusually serious look, before burying his face with his hands, letting out a distressed groan. “How has nobody noticed it before?”

Tony shrugged, and started to reach for his drink again. “You’re the one who said it, not me.”

“I’m not qualified, yet— seriously, how? Does everyone just take your sense of humor at face value?”

Tony aimed fingerguns at him with a only slightly bitter smirk. “Got it in one. Besides— you gotta admit, it’s kinda funny. Like that one time I got shrapnel from a missile that literally had my name on it, you cannot beat the irony of that.”

Sam took a deep breath, and his answering smile was only slightly pained as he shook his head once more. “Again, please come with next time. You’d fit right in, I swear— Forrest has your same exact sense of humor, it’d be great.”

Tony paused for a moment, and his smile faded for the first time since Sam had broached the subject. It felt...disrespectful, to even think about comparing his experiences with those of actual veterans, but...if Sam was really insisting on it so much...

“I’ll think about it.” Tony finally said.

It couldn’t be that bad, could it? 

[sol1056]

I've just read that word of god post you've reblogged and i agree that if it's not in the canon then it's not in the story. but what is the canon exactly? if we take vld as an example, can the extra materials like the guide books or interviews be considered canon when they give us information that is never talked about in the source material, that is in the show itself?

Canon, at its simplest, is “what the community consider the official record.” Its ‘things recognized as authentic,’ and by extension also ‘a standard by which something is judged [as genuine]’. Frex, to say ‘this album is modern jazz’ requires comparing the music to the modern jazz canon. 

For fiction, canon applies the idea of an ‘official record’ to the story itself. The purpose is to delineate the ‘actual’ (genuine) story, and the standards by which new stories (sequels, spin-offs, etc) become canon. The common standards tend to be: who created it and/or was involved, form of distribution (ie official channels), and how widespread it was. Frex, a song played once in a small club in Chicago and never recorded would probably not be considered part of the ‘canon’ of modern jazz (that is, would not be used as the ‘standard’ by which newer works could be judged, because the work is too obscure). 

That brings us to the next level (and often the most fiercely debated): which texts are deuterocanonical. It’s a fifty-cent word but it’s exactly the word we need, here. It means ‘secondary canon’ and it’s texts that could be canon but fell short by some measure. Different author (or ghostwritten), written years later or years earlier, retcons everything, completely different story but with cameo of canon character, and so on. 

Adaptations are often deuterocanonical: a book to a movie, a movie to a TV series, a TV series to graphic novels. Each media has different storytelling conventions, so the story changes, and if you were a fan of the ‘real’ story, you might see the adaptation as just a shade too different. Plenty of fans of the Fullmetal Alchemist manga see the first anime (which diverged wildly) as a secondary canon — interesting, but not crucial; fewer say the same of the second anime, which was much more faithful.  

Continuations also tend to be deuterocanonical, especially when the media changes. If your intro to a fandom includes the warning that everyone ignores a certain continuation, sequel, or spin-off, the community may have decided the later works are a secondary canon. This dismissal comes with the usual flamewars, at least until the fandom agrees to disagree.  

Best criteria is whether parallel or subsequent stories impact or develop the ‘main’ story. Agents of SHIELD is a spin-off of the Avengers movie series, and it pivots mid-story due to movie events. The TV show may be deuterocanonical for movie fans, but the movies are canonical for TV show fans, because those stories have significant impact on the events in the TV show’s storyline.

And then we get to words about the story: meta. Tolkien’s estate has published his drafts and notes; these books satisfy canon per authenticity (written by Tolkien), and stamped as official by the estate. You don’t have to read every rough draft to get the final version, so Tolkien’s notes aren’t really primary canon, but they probably would be considered deuterocanonical. 

The same doesn’t apply when it’s just anyone writing meta, even a published Field Guide or Annotated Glossary — a fancier and footnoted version of the same kind of meta fans have always written on their favorite works. No matter how well-researched, that third-party meta is not canon, no matter who wrote it or where it was published.  

And then we get to word-of-god, however it’s relayed (panel quotes, interviews, tweets, blog posts, etc). Word-of-god, like handbooks and marketing material, are not the story; it’s talk about the story. It’s meta, and as such it can never be more than – at best – secondary canon, and even then under limited circumstances. 

The next thing to consider in word-of-god is: who’s the god, here? It’s easy enough with Tolkien, Rowling, Kipling, Austin, any one-author work where one voice did the bulk of shaping the ideas and words and story. It’s another matter when we get into multi-creator, collaborative stories like movies, television shows, even stage plays or dance where the work passes through multiple hands on the way to becoming a final product. 

If the actor chose to read those lines as though the character were in love, that has an impact on your experience of the story. Is it enough of an impact? Does that make the actor right to say, “this character is in love”? Does the actor have that authority? Or an executive producer who didn’t write the script, direct the episode, voice any of the lines, storyboard any scenes, or animate any frames? How do we measure the contribution of ‘enabling others to create’ to determine whether word-of-god applies? What about a story editor whose outline was informed entirely by exec notes? Can we say the writer of a particular episode even has word-of-god authority, if every line was altered by the actors to a smaller or larger degree? 

Beyond that — and this applies from one-author texts up to multi-season series with a production staff in the hundreds — we cannot assume the author (if there is a single identifiable hand in the story) actually knows the story they’ve written. We writers can tell you what we meant to write, and what we wanted to write, but what we ended up with isn’t always where we’d planned to be. Hell, sometimes we don’t see the themes until a long time after the work is written, the same way we don’t always see where the story’s failed on other counts (representation, gender, cliches, plot holes, etc). 

I could add a lot of words, but here I’m just going to quote some of TV Tropes at you, since the entry does a good job of covering all the bases. 

A number of people reject [word-of-god]… If the creator had wanted a certain fact to be canon, the thinking goes, they should have included it in the work to begin with. [Others] go even further, considering the uncertainty and ambiguity of canon to be a good thing… Wimsatt and Beardsley’s “The Intentional Fallacy” and Barthes’ Death of the Author essay both argue that the interpretation of a work cannot be limited to attempts to discern the “author’s intentions.”

Another thorny issue is … collaborators may not actually agree with interpretations of their story that weren’t made explicit in the work. This is especially likely if they no longer work together, and particularly if they had a real-life falling out. In this case, there are multiple “Gods” given potentially contradictory explanations, so whose word is to be considered correct?

If a story requires the author pop up to explain each scene in some nightmarish reverse-MST3K scenario, then the story has failed. Point blank, full stop, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars. The story has failed. 

But let’s pretend the story is fine, and you just can’t take lying awake at night wondering about that damn watermelon. There’s a place and time for creator explanations; easter eggs (like in-jokes and homages) definitely count, and can be a lot of fun. There’s nothing wrong with word-of-god, after all, so long as it’s taken in moderation. In the end, it’s just a slightly more knowledgeable voice, but never let it drown out your voice or your experience. 

Ultimately, this incessant emphasis on word-of-god has two sources. 

One is the current penchant for throwing wild swerves as a way to combat audience boredom. These get called ‘plot twists’ but in the hands of less-skilled creators, they’re just cheap shocks. Pushed too far, they’ll break the story. Groundwork and foreshadowing are left off the page or screen for fear the audience will ‘figure it out’ too soon, and the result is an audience struggling to make sense of the quagmire. Word-of-god doesn’t fix the story, but it can at least provide closure. You know why the watermelon was there, and you can move on to obsess about something else. 

The other source is our immediate and seeming direct access to a lot of creators: writers, directors, storyboard artists, voice actors, producers, all up and down the line. We could sit down and think hard about the story (if the story isn’t so broken that’s moot, at least), or we could just tweet or blog or tag a creator and ask. Or hope someone asks our question at a panel, or a podcast, or some other interview. Why bother with meta, when you can get a slightly more-informed meta from someone who looks like an authority? 

Hey, authors have been getting questions from readers since Lady Murasaki sat down to write. No, the real issue are creators who’ve come to crave (and encourage) the audience asking how to interpret the story. It’s a pretty heady thing, getting that kind of attention, and it can get away from you really fast. What began as a simple question about indestructible fruit becomes an ongoing interpretative dance by the author on behalf of the work. 

It’s flattering to have the audience clamoring for your words, but… it’s not about you, as the creator. It’s about the story. A creator needs to step back and let the story do the talking. The sooner some creators remember that, the sooner some fandoms will calm the fsck down. 

Primary or secondary canon, word-of-god or radio silence; in the end, the story’s got to stand on its own. If it can’t do that, no amount of explanation in the world will prop the story back up again. 

[saturatedpages-blog]

Suburban Ennui

In the winter, we cannot recognize ourselves dressed in our mother's lace. Shrouded in gold, and you in pearls, we’re whisked away by our fathers cinching, leather grips to the old fishing district. With its nose turned up high on the hill, looking down at the rest our desolate, iced-over tourist town, sits the yacht club. A setting as lively in the summer as it is in winter, where the events held to keep the ennui at bay are disguised as something more-something meaningful. Every wine tasting night, every father-daughter dance, every Christmas dinner all just excuses keeping the townsfolk from their own perilous restlessness until the sun shines over our brimming little beach town again. It’s a place where you and I have to play pretend just to survive. Exploited and used by our families like props and trophies, we’re paraded around like cattle, forced to carve out our widest smiles for the wolves dressed in bow ties and boat shoes. I swear I can still feel the sting, well into the warmer months, from where the old widows slap our hands and hiss “stupid girls! Not like that, smile with your teeth!” Our cheeks would burn, abashed and sore. Nevertheless, we’d comply, too afraid of the consequences that would ensue had we not. With our bare bones exposed, the wolves could carry on gawking, our fathers bragging, and our mothers could breathe poised sighs of relief knowing their daughters were safe for another season.

“There’s something unsettling about their eyes,” You declared one night at a dinner dance, cookie swap, fundraising event or whatever it was at the time. Sometimes we found refuge, hugging our knees underneath tables devoid of any place cards or centerpiece. “It’s like staring into the very nights that claimed their lovers.”

“The widows?”

“If you catch a close enough look, you can see them capsize.”

In spring, we shed our skin between the trees and wash away girlhood in the creek. The world around us is still aside from the trembling in our knees, scraped and laced with diamond pavement and concrete. We’d welcome the season's respite with offerings carried away on the backs of bugs. We’d feast on blood oranges, rip them apart with our nails and wince at the metallic taste. Still, we couldn’t get enough. The entire town couldn’t get enough. The widows thaw back into witches, the wolves suspiciously retreat. Spring was a renaissance, and from high up in the trees-our kingdoms away from home-we had front row seats. I wore mud smeared cheeks well, you wore grass stains better. We used the threads from the tears in the knees on our jeans to reinforce our own loose threads, we used our t-shirts as tourniquets. Naked and raw, running in the woods like infants who just discovered their legs capabilities, all we had to fear then were our mothers. Still numb from the winter, the wolves would run off with their rabbits, leaving them empty nesting, scathing and bitter. They wouldn't like what we got up to in the forests.

“My mom is gonna kill me,” you’d say, with dirty hands mimicking a knife to your throat.

“Don’t joke like that.”

The response to my demand did not pass through your lips. It was not your voice who carried the question, nor was it one that you and I recognized. But we could recognize the feeling it had brought with it, and the butterflies who made their cocoons in the pits of our stomachs began to beat against our insides.

“Who’s joking?”

Come summer, our town becomes overrun like the invasive plants down by the marshes, the ones that swallow you whole lest you got too close. We could never see the tourists coming. It would start with the faint footsteps in late May, only to be heard in symphony with the night owl’s cries. Never bring it up at breakfast, the point would be moot. Even when they get closer and the footsteps began to sound like a stampede, nobody else seemed to notice. Or if they did, they’d never admit to it. We could never see the tourists coming, all we could do was fall asleep to sound of their deafening march and wake up on June first to crowded beaches and congested streets. The mosquitos came with them, moving through the heavy humidity in thick sheets. Bug spray was never enough, but you and I were smart enough to even bother with that stuff, and the witches in the lighthouses were too wise to. We’d make our way through the crowded streets-hiding from more than just the sun underneath the wide brims of our hats-to find them. We’d find them, only after ascending the rusty lighthouse stairs for what seemed like an eternity, concocting spells in the same, casual way that old ladies like to bake. Mud and moss, moth wings and cicada shells, crushed berries that looked less like berries and more like blood. Things we couldn’t quite explain.

“It’s protection,” explained one witch.

“Keep it close, and cherish it like your youth,” said another.

They only ever spoke in metaphors, riddles, or in abstract language that only elicited quizzical expressions from you and me. We’d thank them all the same.

On our way back to town, we’d take the detour route to test out our new protection spells. Far off underneath the canopies of the red cedar swamp where they gathered to store the blood they collect, the mosquitoes avoided us like a plague, disgusted by the vials that hung around our necks.

“If you listen, I mean if you really listen closely and if you stay quiet enough…” You grabbed my hand, trying to quiet me and at the very moment our skin made contact, a blinding thread of heat lightning weaved its way across the sky. Followed by a clap of thunder with all too perfect timing. You simply carried on with what you were trying to say and to this day, you’ve never said a word about the electric hum that followed us home that evening.

“...you can hear the mosquitos whispering.”

I heard them cursing the witches, telling secrets...and I could’ve sworn I heard something about love.

Then came fall, when we’d sit in the graveyards at sunset. There, we’d count the number of new names and unmarked graves, taken by the bugs or the masses. We could never see them coming, but from the graveyards, we had a perfect view of the bridge that guided away the tourists. Oh, how we loved to watch them leave.

“They’re the lucky ones” you’d say.

“Sure are...” I’d solemnly agree, and we’d carry on watching and living vicariously.

You’d inform me of the brightness in my eyes quickly fading, and I’d inform you of the sorry state of your sun-kissed cheeks. As the sun went down over our little beach town, I’d study you closely, thinking in blueprints and escape plans. The trees would shed their own skin, and bend to the will of the wind like skeletons. While the wolves would reemerge, well rested and mean, the witches snuck goodbye letters into our hiding spots by the creek. Ignoring the weather reports that kept our fathers glued to the TV, we’d judge how bad the winter would be by how hungry the wolves were. Our mothers were always far too busy to even think of winter, blind to any impending doom ahead. They frantically packed and prepped our oldest siblings for university, getting ready to send them off, over the bridge with the last of the tourists.

“They’re the lucky ones…” I’d whisper, waving goodbye at the edge of my driveway.

“Sure are…” you mouthed from across the street.

As soon as the minivans were out of sight, as soon as our mothers retreated and our fathers were back inside glued to their TVs, we’d make our way to the creek one last time. Before the ice came to claim it, before our mothers could catch on to where we disappear to in the spring, we retrieved the letters-left by witches and signed by widows, apologizing for what they might do come winter-and left in haste, without any trace to ever tie us to having been there. Come the fall, we fall asleep clutching letters left by witches and signed by widows, holding on to empty vials of what was once protection spell and gripping the notion that one day, we’ll escape ourselves.

“Such imaginations those girls have…”I heard my mother whisper into the telephone one night as she poked her head into my bedroom.

“Isn’t it something?” your mother asked and answered into the receiver.

Pretending to be asleep was both a natural talent and a survival tactic.

[gaykimjisoo]

ease

rating: g

pairings: seowon, harom (fromis_9)

word count: 1421

summary: seoyeon works at a coffee shop on black friday.

read on ao3

seoyeon has never seen a coffee shop do deals for black friday. the drinks are already all worth less than anything that should be on sale, so it’s a moot point unless the company wants to go bankrupt.

unfortunately, there’s a first time for everything. the problem is she’s caught in the middle of it.

she waves the latest customer away and sinks a little when she sees the line is even longer since she last saw it a minute before, stretching out the door. seoyeon resigns herself to staying at least an hour after her shift; at least she’ll get overtime. $10 more in her bank.

the next customer steps up to the counter, and seoyeon is almost too tired to register how her hair slides across her neck and her eyes shine with something she hasn’t seen in awhile. she needs more than a few moments to compose herself for this pretty stranger, time she doesn’t have.

seoyeon has always had a weakness for pretty girls, and the way her lips shine like cherries is a bit too much for her.

so she stares. and she’s hitting herself in her head, because her physical functions aren’t currently adept enough to do it.

then the girl’s eyes crinkle into half moons as she smiles and seoyeon knows she’s totally fucked.

“aren’t you supposed to greet me?” the pretty stranger asks.

seoyeon blinks once slowly, then again, and her instincts catch up to her. “welcome to haven coffee. what would you like?” she thanks whatever higher power there is that her voice doesn’t crack.

“good job,” the girl muses, and looks up at the menu like she hadn’t had all the time in the world when she was in line.

seoyeon would usually be annoyed by this, but it gave her more time to study her, so she can’t complain with a clear conscience.

and the way she tilts her head back and her neck becomes exposed, christ. it has to be illegal.

“i like the caramel macchiato,” seoyeon blurts, because, hey, she’s a normal person who can totally hold a conversation. “it’s. it’s really good. i think.”

maybe not that normal of a person.

but the stranger giggles, and casts her gaze back to seoyeon. “you have a sweet tooth?”

she blushes. “yeah… sorry.” she doesn’t know exactly what she’s apologizing for, but she feels like she should anyway.

“it’s okay,” she says. “so do i.”

having one thing in common with a stranger, even a pretty one, shouldn’t make her heart skip a beat.

“i’ll get one of those,” she finishes, slipping a dollar bill (yes, the deals were that atrocious) across the counter. “small.”

seoyeon types it into the cash register, regretfully tearing her eyes away. “and that’s all?”

“yep.”

“name?” seoyeon asks.

“jiwon,” she tells her, and seoyeon’s heart fucking flutters. it’s perfect.

she scribbles her name on the cup and sets it aside for one of her coworkers to take care of. “that’ll just take a few minutes,” she finishes.

“thank you,” jiwon says, and as seoyeon looks back up, she winks. if seoyeon’s heart had skipped a beat before, it flatlines then.

the entire conversation only took a couple minutes, but it felt like seconds and a lifetime all at once. seoyeon wistfully watches jiwon walk to a table in the back, sighing.

“oh my god,” she hears from behind her, two voices whispering in perfect unison.

“they’re soulmates. it’s meant to be.”

“romsae, we just watched our BABY fall in love. we should’ve filmed it.”

“why didn’t you?”

“i was too busy swooning on seoyeon’s behalf. why didn’t you?”

“i was recording it in my memory. we can make them redo it when they’re married with five kids, anyway.”

“true, but it won’t be the same. we’re failiures as mothers.”

hayoung and saerom were two things to seoyeon; firstly they were the dorky, in love parental figures she never had. secondly, they were both pains in the ass in their own ways. she supposed, in retrospect, they go hand in hand.

still, she doesn’t have to respect them like parents. for that, she’s very thankful.

“you two are impossible,” seoyeon says without turning around, beginning to take care of the next customer in line.

they were also scarily in sync at least 100% of the time.

“i got this!” hayoung announces, bumping seoyeon’s hip so hard she stumbles and almost falls over.

saerom snatches the cup off the counter before anyone else can get to it. “go to her, seoyeon,” she coos. “get it, baby.”

seoyeon will never admit it, but she appreciates that sentiment just as much as she hates it.

without anything else to do, the shop already overstaffed, she shuffles over to jiwon. she apologizes when she bumps into people because she really cannot keep her eyes off this girl, but she doesn’t actually feel all that bad about it.

when she arrived at the table, for at least a few seconds, she just stares at the back of jiwon’s head and panics. she’s so pretty what the fuck do i SAY how can i impress her also why did she wink at me??? does that mean she’s interested or was she just making fun of me for being a mess i think it’s the latter this was a mistake i’m an idiot FUCK YOU SAEROM-

“what’s your name?” jiwon asks without turning around. seoyeon has a mini heart attack.

“seoyeon,” she responds. “can i, uh, sit down?”

jiwon giggles again. “yeah, uh, i guess,” she mocks. seoyeon doesn’t that mind all that much, either.

she sits across from jiwon, crosses her legs, and makes eye contact with her. it’s silent for a minute or two as jiwon scrutinizes her and seoyeon absentmindedly noted that she can feel the blood leaving her fingers from how tight she’s gripping her chair. that’s probably not healthy.

“seoyeon’s a good name.” she nods along dumbly.

“you like anime?”

i’ve fallen for a weeb.

“naruto’s nice.”

jiwon snorts. “typical. watch madoka magica. that’s real shit.”

“... okay?”

jiwon nods in satisfaction and goes back to scrutinizing, and saerom has to scream “caramel macchiato for jiwon” at least 3 times for her to snap out of it.

jiwon gets up to get her drink, and seoyeon finally has time to think about the ridiculous situation.

fact number one: she’s whipped.

fact number two: jiwon is, at least a little bit, interested.

fact number three: this is really cliché.

fact number four: jiwon’s smile is really pretty and she never wants to go another shitty morning without it.

fact number five: after reviewing fact number four, seoyeon falls a little bit more. not in love, but in the possibility of love, butterflies and first dates and all that.

“well, not to insult a pretty girl,” jiwon says, returning to her seat, “but you’re not that smooth. to make up for it, though, your friends are.” she shows seoyeon her cup, and she dies inside.

saerom wrote, in her pristine as fuck handwriting, her number and a list of rules if she wants to date “my baby who has never done anything wrong.” she’s suddenly reminded of her earlier exhaustion and deigns not to read all of them, but it’s… extensive. she wants to yell.

“i wouldn’t call that smooth,” she croaks out instead.

“it gets the job done,” jiwon said with a shrug, sipping her coffee. she grimaces, then glares at seoyeon. “fuck. you said this was good.”

“best thing on the menu. this place is shit.”

jiwon waves her hand. “still a lie. i usually don’t go out with people who lie.”

badump badump badump.

“for you, though, i’ll make an exception. you should thank your cute personality and your friends.”

seoyeon balks at her, jaw dropped, eyes wide.

“god, i wanna take a picture. you’re so adorable,” jiwon tells her, giggling. she stands up, coffee in hand. “i’ll text you, yeah?”

“y-yeah,” is all seoyeon can say in response.

seoyeon watches her walk out, dumping her coffee into the trash along the way, but keeping the cup.

hayoung slides into the seat jiwon was sitting in while seoyeon continues to gaze at the door. “that was somehow embarrassing and heartwarming all at once.”

seoyeon doesn’t answer.

“whatever,” hayoung mutters. “someday you’ll thank us for being the best mothers you could’ve ever asked for.”

(and if later, she feels her phone buzz in her pocket and her heart does a little jump, she’ll keep that to herself.)

[knightofbalance-13]

Boss Battle: Vs. Sokumotaka 2

https://sokumotanaka.tumblr.com/post/161038682374/it-becomes-clear-just-how-far-the-white-fang-have

Oh god look it’s clear to me you people who keep sending these either can’t read or lack the ability to understand the situation going on in this show and how fucked up it is from a writing and social perspective.

Actually as we go on, we’ll see this is more of a case of you being incapable of understanding that one’s crimes does not justify another’s actions.

The whole “We’re not working with the evil side of the white fang would have been good cause RT is trying to emulate freedom fighting organizations and spitting on them. Literally did the underground railroad (Yeah remember how many innocent black people died to even get to that place to free themselves?) But ignore that miles and kerry can spit all over harriet tubman’s legacy. okay maybe I’m a bit annoyed about that but making the entire minority organization that originally wanted equality evil? Is a bad idea! http://glyndathegoodwitchofbeacon.tumblr.com/post/138657005354/the-white-fang

Mind showing us the connection between using a system of connections to lead freed slaves to freedom to a group that goes around killing innocent people and breaking up peaceful protests to attack humans for being humans? Because all I see is you trying to drag the writer’s through the mud and instead doing that to yourself.

And let’s take a look at that link shall we? The justification given for the White Fang’s actions is that they are treated like dirt by every human in Remnant. Not only is that not  a reason to kill people in the first lace (I should know, having gone through a  personal version of that before), not every human treats them that way. In fact, judging by how disdainfully Cardin is regarded, racism in current day Remnant is much like how racism is treated today: Prevalent but looked down upon. So that doesn’t excuse the White Fang’s actions against humans, let alone their actions of breaking up peaceful Fanaus protests like they did in Episode 1 of Volume 1 which cannot be excused by that. SO they have plenty of crimes that cannot be excused by what you give them.

So let’s talk about renegades: Adam torchwich a man who falsified a faunus white fang rally one where looking at it the faunus there weren’t bloodthirsty at all, in fact during his speech he talked about equality and overthrowing the government (remember the government that’s oppressing them.) and possibly replacing them with people who would actually give a damn about faunus rights and he tricked them into thinking a train/bomb was going to do it , not that it was below an inhabited city. So you wanna talk about lies then let’s bring him up too humans did their fair share. (Let’s not forget how he talked trash on the faunus race not the white fang but the *FAUNUS* during him and ruby’s last encounter. But I’m sure you’ll brush that off too.

... Who? IS it Adam or Roman? Because if it’s Roman than I can saw about how does this connect seeing as Adam was willing to blow up a train full of innocent humans in the first lace and agreed to work with Cinder when it benefited him. And if it’s Roman, the white Fang had to know what they were gonna do seeing as they had a train of explosives, a bunch of Grimm and tracks leading to Vale. And even then, I can point out that Roman never demanded the genocide of Fanaus, unlike Adam AKA a leader of the White Fang. And then there’s the fact that Roman is a villain and is supposed to represent the worst of humanity, not the majority so it’s not even justified that way.

Okay so we’re gonna base the entire white fang past present and future on a dumb “twirl my mustache oooh so evil.” scene? That’s asinine! Let us not forget again the white fang held peaceful protest (again which I support but you heathens only hear “Blah blah Racist.” again which I also stated the first time I brought up the white fang and even linked to post like this but ha who’s counting?) for “Despite being promised keyword PROMISED equality, the faunus were subjected to discrimination and hate.” -Blake belladonna

No one here is saying that. In fact, the very quote you have at the top talks about how the White Fang has fallen, showing that they were good once before. You’re the only person saying that they were bad past, present and future. We just acknowledged they have soured. And the White Fang ONCE held peaceful protest, they now actively BREAK up peaceful protest, meaning they now longer do that so the point is moot.

And yes, they were promised equality and they didn't get it. So the fuck what? You think that justifies the deaths of innocent people, numbering possibly in the hundreds if not thousands? A single innocent death is inexcusable and the White Fang has caused so much more than that with the attempted Train bombing and the fall of Beacon. Blake (that person you’re quoting) outright left them BECAUSE they were so murder happy. One of the most devoute members jumped ship because they got too radical. Says a lot.

And despite this (usually violating the terms of a treaty was to the writers justified to start all out wars and there has been wars on this that were *ahem* justified.) The faunus met this injustice with peaceful protesting for many many years so they reacted to this injustice for several years (double digits from what the show tells us) before retaliation.

Doesn’t matter how long they’ve suffered. The jewish people were enslaved by the egyphtans for centuries, the Christians were hunted and killed for centuries as well, the African Americans were enslaved for decades and discriminated against for decades more. It doesn’t matter how long your people has suffered: The killing of innocent life is never justified. And if I hear they deserved to die because they were human: That’s racist you asshole.

Way less than real life peaceful protesting last.

I can feel Martin Luther King Jr. rolling in his grave.

Think about this the white fang had justification for reigniting a full scale war for 20+ years but held back in favor of peaceful protesting, not to mention the literal murder of them because as the WOR stated “they looked different or threatening” so humans would hunt them down with NO again retaliation from the faunus until they stated “No we had enough.” and in the end what? got a small cramped island that’s mostly desert and lacking in resources? Yes what a gift for the murder of our loved one’s in which none of these people pay any consequences.

War is never justified because inevitably, innocent blood is spilled. Terrorism is never justified. Especially against a race of people which is what you are demanding. You are demanding that the human race pay for what they did to the Fanaus, even if said humans never did such a thing and even disagree with such a disgusting action. Those people who are all but on your side must pay because of their race correct? Sounds pretty racist to me.

So I mean if you want to say the white fang’s actions aren’t justified because they’re sadistic murderers, causing genocide well so we’re humans in that regard and no one reined them in when they shed so much blood so I think you sound like a hypocrite.  The humans aren’t justified for their actions either.

No one ever said that they were. Ever heard of the concept of “Black and Black morality?” Where neither side is right and it ends u as two assholes punching each other? That’s what this is you idiot. The world isn’t some squeaky clean Black and white place.

In the end I just think making a splinter group that wasn’t 100% twirl my mustache evil would have been realistic, smart and a good call especially since so many people can relate to the white fang’s want of peace and equality, it makes them more sympathetic than the humans who lied to them about equality, oh did you gloss over that too?

But there IS members of the Fanaus race fighting for peace and equality instead of genocide and oppression. Blake, Sun, Ghira and Kali: They want TRUE equality and REAL peace but you ignore that and think that the White Fang should have been this handsome group of freedom fighters right? Well, time for a life lesson: Fight an enemy long enough and you BECOME that enemy. You adapt their style, their attitude and their ways. It happens in real life: Deal with it.

Lastly let’s squash the idea right now that you can’t like villains (Let’s just call them that in case your thick skull doesn’t register that.) I’m sorry but after several of this same message from the same person? I think you’re kinda pigheaded. Anyway let’s squash the idea that you can’t like villainous characters, people like frieza from dbz who’s racist, people like S.U villains who view humans as trash and you jerks like cinder who attacked and is now using the white fanus for murder and stuff because before she took over there wasn’t a single murder only dust stealing but hey let’s not give cinder any blame she’s too sexy.

Ah yes but the White Fang were hurting people long before Cinder came around: She just gave them better guns. Before Cinder, Adam tried blowing a train full of innocent humans. Who forced his hand there? It had to be forced since Blake outright asked about the humans. It’s not like Adam wanted to kill every human he could find because he’s a genocidal bastrad who deserves to be put down like a rapid dog. It was never said that the WHite Fang didn’t kill people before Cinder and Adam tried to before Cinder so no excuses there.

But hey, let’s not blame Adam. He’s oppressed uwu

Christ! Do yourself a favor and just do what I do: Just say everyone on remnant is a little bit of an asshole. And again for the last time leave me out of it, I already debunked this same argument like 3 times come up with some new material.

Really? Because from where I am sitting, sick and in the middle of the night, I just tore your debunk apart in a matter of minutes. Kind of shows how shit your argument is at it’s very basis.

Considering the fact that people like Ruby and Jaune exist on Renment, people who have done nothing but try to help others, I refuse to say that. I will not hold them accountable for the actions of people they don’t know or agree with just because they share the same race. That’s stupid and wrong. Just like you.

[iblogwithgrace]

Quote of the day: A goal should scare you a little and excite you A LOT. - Joe Vitale

Hi guys! If you're at the home page come on in, feel free to click on this post. You can catch up on last week's post or episode here. In case you're wondering how else we can be friends asides you coming here every Monday, you can follow me in Instagram here and if you have an open Facebook account go and like my page here. I have a snapchat account, but it's lowkey. Old blog readers have it, so I won't be sharing it in this post (although, if you search my old posts carefully you will find it).

I hope you enjoy today's post.

The Day that Changed Everything It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon. Externship had come to an end and we were ready to get on with it. By the dates on the calendar, we were to start our bar final exams on the 28th of August and end on the 1st of September, 2017. My study calendar had factored in those days. I was prepared to be done with everything a week before the bar exams started. Then I heard what seemed to be the worst news I had heard all year round. Our bar exams had been moved forward. Yes my dear, forward. The MCQs had been moved from the 24th of July to the 29th of July and the main exams had been moved to the 15th to the 19th of August. My chest was tight, my body was weak and my head was splitting. A few days before, when I was preparing my last study timetable, I kept having this nudge to plan as though the time was shorter since we knew that Sallah was on the 1st of September but I said no, that my head already felt like it was splitting with the amount of work that I had to do. We heard this on the 14th of July. I remember because it was Xtrim’s birthday. That evening, to calm my nerves, I went out to buy a few things to take my mind off things. I am one of those who suffer from ‘’see and buy’’ sometimes.  I had been contemplating moving to an executive room. If you had between four hundred and twenty five thousand naira (N425000) to eight hundred and fifty thousand naira (N850000), you could get yourself a fairly decent room with privacy to stay in. With this news, I was sure. I didn’t want a clash of nerves. I didn’t want to look for where to study. Lagos campus is very small and as much as possible, I wanted to avoid people.

Portfolio assessment timetable also came out that day. Portfolio assessment is when you face a panel and give an account of your externship experience. The panel would open the confidential letters given to you by law firm, your attendance, your ethical dilemma and your slideshow. Don’t play with this process. People of God, it is possible not be called to the Nigerian Bar even if you pass the exam if you do not pass this assessment. It was starting on Monday. That first week, it was just portfolio assessment. But cruelty is first nature to Lagos campus so they made sure we came to thumbprint twice a day that whole week in our regulation wear. They weren’t going to leave us with all that time to study.  Everyone was preparing as much as they could. Some human beings are so sold out to the work of God and to His word and true to it, they put others before themselves. One of these people is my dear friend and brother, Ikenna Okoli. People like him were busy encouraging others and helping them revise as much as they could. The week after was revision week and the Saturday after that was the day of MCQs. Incase you think we were getting ready only physically, you’re wrong. During externship, we had started praying on the roof top from 10pm till 11pm every Saturday night. The closer the date to the exam got, the larger the crowd. People were afraid. That’s what law school does. The environment was tense and people found solace in praying with other people. We had fasted and prayed from the 17th of July. We met in the chapel behind class and prayed and on the day of MCQ, I can testify that God came through for us. A whole essay for about four questions was missing in criminal litigation. Because of this, we were given extra time. Extra time for them to read out the question and ten minutes extra to enable us finish our work. I heard that in some places, they had more than ten minutes. Ten minutes in that exam is as good as sharing bars of gold. I’m sure you can imagine the way we thanked and celebrated God after the exam. Some people are bold and guess what? I am not one of them. These people actually went back to calculate their scores in the different courses. I left that life behind in university. One was down, the main hurdle remained.

Closer to the Day The days went by really fast. We continued to revise. We had the compulsory mooting session for two days. We had to dine as well. All these things activities, the week before the bar finals. I can only attribute it to God that I finished almost every topic more than once. I crammed a few cases but I still wasn’t done learning my drafts. I even solved some past questions based on the emphasis made during revision. I couldn’t read every single day, we were doing so much at the same time and my brain was reaching its full capacity sooner than I expected daily. Sometimes, I couldn’t sleep. It was probably because I was tensed so I watched cartoons to help me calm down. Sometimes, it worked, other times, I just had a headache. I could tell that my body was trying to go down but I settled it by praying and taking communion and I was rejuvenated. I had summaries of everything that I had read. That’s what I read the morning before every paper and some of the laws too.

The first paper was property law. I wasn’t afraid at all. Just the usual exam jitters but I was fine. The exam was generally good. I had said that I would win an award in property law and criminal litigation. During the exam, one question didn’t make any sense at all. It seemed like it should have been the question for a different scenario. Towards the end of the exam, my suspicions were confirmed and the question was corrected. They didn’t give us any extra time but I had a few extra minutes and I had premeditated that this was an error so thankfully, I was able to cancel and re-answer in good time. We gathered in the chapel to thank God for the success of the paper and went on to prepare for the next.

I loved criminal litigation. Sincerely, I did. Maybe it had to do with the lecturers who taught it or the fact that it was straightforward. The exam on the other hand was tricky. Question one  was the length of my whole body. I spent a total of one hour two minutes on question one alone. There was 1a which was on charges. They had told us the court to draft in. The confusion was in how many counts to draft and whether to or not to add the people together. I ended up with twelve counts. Each count is repetitive so you’ll find yourself repeating the same words over and over again. I kept praying to the Holy Spirit to give me speed and help me finish all the other questions and finish them well and God came through for me. I finished and I was grateful. I was very unsure of a lot of my answers so after the exam and we were well out of the hall, I asked my friend and seat partner, Tobi Babalola what he wrote just to check if I was correct or not. I don’t think Tobi likes revising after the exam because he always said very little. Thursday morning, I had corporate law exam, that morning while I prayed and read my bible, God have me a word. With God, nothing shall be impossible- Luke 1:37. The day before, I had sown a seed in someone’s life and she prayed so much for me. Also, a friend of mine had called me to tell me that God told him to tell me to be anxious for nothing. For me, these were all good signs. My new roommate Folake and our adjoining roommate Lisa had prayed that afternoon as we stepped out. I was ready to go and then I opened my Companies and Allied Matters Act (CAMA) just to confirm the section for auditors. This I think, was the greatest mistake I made in law school. When I entered the hall and saw some questions, all I have to say was don’t mess with your revision classes. As in, at all. Then the confusion started. It was number three, an optional question. It was about auditors. As soon as I saw it, I jumped for joy since it was the last thing I had just looked at right. Number two was obviously easier but because I saw auditors I went straight into it. As soon as I started writing the answers, I became confused and started cancelling. I don’t know why I didn’t just stop in my tracks and go through all the questions in that number to be sure that they were what I could tackle. Maybe I would have realized on time and stopped and started answering number two but I didn’t. By the time I was done with the question, I was demoralized because I knew my best bet was to answer the other optional question but it was too late. Time was already gone and there was nothing I could do about it.

I prayed hard after this. I tried to exercise my faith. I wasn’t aware that a greater confusion was waiting for me in Civil litigation. To a great extent, civil litigation exam was easy. There was just this confusion about whether question four was representative action or class action. A lot of questions followed later under that number that were truly dicey. This was a compulsory question so my only option was to attempt it. I was close to the end but I was weak. The combination of corporate and civil litigation in my head made me kiss the First class goodbye even though I struggled to believe that it was still a possibility.

Professional ethics was long. We were asked literally everything. But it was the end and we were done. We prayed and prayed over our exams. There is absolutely nothing that God cannot do. I am still a strong believer of that. Then we rejoiced. Our time with each other was cut short because the NBA conference was starting that weekend and some lawyers had paid to use our hostels and not hotels. Does this make sense now? That exams were moved two weeks forward and suddenly, there was money to renovate old facilities. The hostels were even fumigated while we were in class writing one of our papers. Suddenly, everything made sense to us. It was the worst type of realization to have. The insensitivity of it all.

Results were scheduled to come out on the 7th of October. It was later moved to the 21st of October. It came out in the early hours of the 22nd. I couldn’t check so my friend Chukwuemeka checked for me. It was a 2.2 people. I was hoping that if I didn’t make the first, at least, a 2.1. I had called my friend Bond, he made a 2.2. I didn’t know what to say. I called Nosa, same thing. Nonso? The same thing. When I heard mine, I was weak. The first thing I did was to get down from my bed, kneel down and thank God. I told my parents and sent them a screen shot of the result. I couldn’t believe it oh. God? Na me be this? Chai! Law school has finished me. These were my thoughts. A few of my friends were disappointed too. Marcus for one. I was sure he would make a first but he didn’t. Ikenna was my biggest fear. He was the one helping everyone. Praying for others and leading the prayers. I was afraid that he would be mocked. That God will be mocked. People called me and I laughed about it all. I had so much to say. Everyone simply thought I had taken it well but I hadn’t. I was bleeding badly inside and putting up an appearance for everyone to see. I was glad that some of my friends had made it. Viola Echebima, Cyril-Okafor Jennifer and the baby girl herself Faith Onimiya made the first. This gave me comfort and joy. Especially Faith. Faith and I had become good friends just before the exams through Tolu Ajiboye who I met during my law firm placement and absolutely loved.

Searching for a Job

I didn’t realize the intensity of the grade I had made until I started attending job interviews and it was a question to be asked. A particular law firm that I had done so well with actually told me that it was the reason they couldn’t take me. For months I bled and laughed. My sisters Chisom and Ijeoma tried to encourage me. Ugo said it didn’t stop anything. I had heard their words but kai! Do you understand that I made a first class in my University. I am smart. It was like my worst fear (the stories they told in class) had just happened to me.

I didn’t pray anymore. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to, I just didn’t have the strength to. I lived through the days. I started going through a healing process with my friend Soma. She had been dealt an even heavier blow. Finally, a day to my call to bar, I got into an argument with my mum about my attitude towards my call to bar. I told her I didn’t want any serious celebration. I kept emphasizing it. When she confronted me about my attitude, I decided to explain why to her and that’s when I burst into uncontrollable tears. Chiderah wept. Actually wept. It was nothing small at all. I knew what I had worked for and the disappointment was huge. I wept and I wept hard from the debt of my heart. My mum held me and encouraged me. Then she prayed for me in that way that only a mother can. I knew she understood. After that, I started feeling better. I went out and bought two dresses. One of which was going to be my reception dress. I started inviting people to my reception and all. I had had a flicker of hope. I still didn’t have a job but life was looking brighter and livable.

Where I am Now The truth is, getting a job was very difficult. One, because I actually wasn’t applying anywhere initially. I wasn’t interested in getting a job in a law firm. I had no particular plans. I was simply exhausted by the educational system, by life as a whole or what my life seemed to be like. When all my friends started going to job interviews and getting offers, I realized that I should actually be looking for something. I had several disappointments. I failed an LSAT test. I was told that I did well during my interview but that they couldn’t take me because of my law school result. From some firms, it was just silence. Deafening silence.

Thank God for a good family and a great support system, after what seemed like the longest time, I got a job in the best firm in the country to start my  NYSC. By God’s grace, I was retained. This is my story. But I know people who never got good places or the expected results for their efforts. I’ll tell you something, you have to take life one day at a time where you are. If you don’t have a job, keep applying to different places. If you can, pursue your other interests while applying. One thing you need to understand is that your time is your greatest asset. So if you still have control of it because you don’t have a job yet, try your hands on interesting things. You may find that your other interests may become very profitable and help you discover a new path. Whatever the case is, use your time well. It is the one thing I currently desire most, to have control over my time.

I’ll leave you dear reader with this advice- you could be a law student, a lawyer, or simply a human being reading this. While my analogies will be in relation to the bar exams, I believe you can apply it to whatever area of your life. LIVE: Live your life. Let your imaginations of your life while you’re in law school outlive law school. Plan your future so much and don’t hinge it on your law school result. Invest in yourself.

Plan to pass the bar exam. While living, know that the strength of your law school result does open crucial doors for you. My friend Viola didn’t attend one job interview. The law firms were requesting for her and not her for them.

Shut out the doors and windows of fear. No matter the stories they tell, that it happened to someone does not mean that it would happen to you. Remind yourself daily about the grade you want and confess it till everything in you agrees with it.

Study: no knowledge gained is wasted. Look at it as building your knowledge base and not just reading to pass. It may become fun to you amidst the stress.

Find your strength. If discussions are your strong areas then discuss. Whatever is your strength, find it and build it.

Pray. This story does not sound like the story of God coming through for someone, so why should you pray. I may not have gotten the grade that I wanted but I’m definitely getting a life that is greater than what I desired. It hurts to wait for it all to pan out but patience is actually a virtue. Through it all, some diehard fans have stuck through with arsenal, why won’t you wait it out with God?

I hope you enjoyed reading this story. I hope you learned a lesson or two reading it. I did.

Thank you for coming back. If you would love to contribute to this series, send an email to 1ladynigeria@gmail.com

Please subscribe to my YouTube channel. I'll do a giveaway when I hit 130 subscribers.

Video of the week: https://youtu.be/vABYvE83y3w

See you soon. Lily of Nigeria.

[blue-opossum]

Miscounting in our Backyard

        Morning of December 28, 2017. Thursday.

        My dream takes place in the backyard of our present home, except that the lawn is very unusual. There is an elaborate wall in the west area of the backyard that is not all the way to the fence. It is about four feet high and meets the back wall of our house to the left of the back door. There is another wall perpendicular to it, though lower and with the west end serving as a high step to the larger wall. There is also a stage-like structure at the far south, facing north. Everything seems made of dirt and lawn. The grass is even growing down the side of the walls. There are nice flowers here and there as well. I am aware that Zsuzsanna had been working on this. People on the public footpath could not get into our yard as it is here.

        I see that I need to mow. I mow over the top of the wall, which is about the same width as the lawn mower. I do not have any difficulty. I mow the other wall as well. Other features, such as the floor of the stage and the sides of the walls, have short green grass of healthy appearance. The imagery is of a very pleasing appearance. It makes me feel happy and content.

        Later, I notice a couple structures on the stage that are not complete, as if from some sort of model kit, though with small branches and plant parts. They seem to be birds.

        Zsuzsanna and our children are sitting in the backyard on the east side. There are cubic areas that are elevated so that one person can sit in each boxlike recess, though each has one open side. I am at the northernmost area, above the others. The feature runs north to south, is two squares wide, and meets the stage (though the feature is about a foot lower than the stage).

        For some reason, I start counting everyone, from the south end and towards me. I end up at eleven, and realize that is incorrect. I then end up at nine, then eight. Our oldest daughter seems amused by my miscounts. I say, “That’s not right” with each miscount. I start to feel amused (rather than frustrated) by my inability to work out how many of us are present. I consider that there may be visitors present, though I remain unsure. I notice that three children seem about the same age. (I can mostly only see the top parts of their heads.) My dream fades, as I remain uncertain of the exact number of people present.

        Absence of mathematical skills, even a simple focus on counting (or any other skill requiring a focusing of thought), are the natural result of being unconscious, so this scenario probably has no relevance or meaning as is (other than the threads linked to Zsuzsanna’s unconscious mind which I will explain below). The nature of dream characters and how many are present is also often ambiguous when there is a focus on number, in a similar way that words or phrases that are otherwise clearly read often distort when attempting to read the same writing again, or attempting to type on a computer keyboard, or dial a telephone number. Many scenarios and features in the dream state are simply the result of being unconscious and have no life-relevant “interpretation” as so many people bizarrely pretend. Curiously though, there are also unexplainable aspects of dreams that have occurred with me continuously since earliest memory that most people cannot accept (or for that matter, are even capable of believing - if the capacity for belief does not exist, then acceptance is very well moot and pointless).

        This atypical dream (I have hardly ever counted or attempted to count anything in my dreams since childhood) inexplicably tied in with what Zsuzsanna dreamt around the same time (which also involved the counting of children and a stage but with different dynamics), without the possibility to be coincidence, yet with no possible precursor (or cue) prior to sleep. This has happened on a regular basis since childhood, validated to have been occurring long before we met. However, there are other factors of the unexplained. Zsuzsanna also “sends” when conscious, which also reaches and affects my dream content, though sometimes a few hours later (even so, I could not have known what she was saying to someone else, thinking about, or looking at for a time). This has happened with other people now and then, such as with my older sister Marilyn and in several instances where the person died shortly thereafter (my dreams being literal and correct in detail in such cases). However, Zsuzsanna is now the only one with the left-side-oriented “blue flame” presence when “sending”. (The only other one to have had this was a female classmate of years ago.) As I know this is a real phenomenon, which has occurred continuously on a regular basis all my life, I perceive so-called normal people, especially religious zealots, in a way most people are probably not capable of believing. Humanity, as it exists now, simply has no credibility. Even so, I do not fully understand the mechanism behind this, but I do not need "faith" to know it exists. It simply is.

        Perceiving or receiving patterns from someone else’s mind (in detail too specific to be anything but unexplainable by what people claim to know about the human mind) on a regular basis is one thing. On another level, where specific events and imagery occur before seeing them in waking life, this seems very different from the other mechanism, or so I must assume. On the one hand, there is the common factor of dreaming where everything is simply wrong (a result of being unconscious and having no viable conscious self memory or correct identity in many cases) (I used to joke, although it is true, that my dreams about a movie I have not yet seen are more accurate than they are after seeing it). Common dream errors include how every setting is erroneously and anachronistically combined with other settings (as well as ambiguity such as dream setting bilocation or concurrent thoughts or features that would not be possible to resolve when awake, even size and distance orientation). On the other hand, there are the prescient, telepathic (for lack of a better word), and apparent remote-viewing threads. None of these common dream factors have anything to do with “interpretation”. More so, the recurring waking symbolism of dreams (such as my very common return flight waking symbolism) is often more about the biological nature of being unconscious, and waking, than inherently relating to waking life.

[the-telegraph-sport-yahoopa-blog]

Serena Williams beats sister Venus to claim Australian Open title and record 23rd grand slam

Serena Williams’ 23rd major title, catapulting her beyond Steffi Graf as the most decorated champion of the Open era, can be depicted either as a stirring affirmation or a chilling warning.

It is easy enough to subscribe to the first school of thought, given the serenity with which she swept aside sister Venus for a 6-4, 6-4 victory and a seventh Australian Open title, itself another record in a career creaking under the weight of its own history.

What tennis struggles to accept, though, is the counter-argument that Serena’s sustained pre-eminence casts her would-be rivals in a deeply unflattering light. For all that the sport bathed in a soothing all-our-yesterdays feel at Melbourne Park, as Venus and Serena met in a Grand Slam final 16 years after their first, it needed also to come to terms with the pitiful lack of depth among the chasing pack.

The reality is that Serena, at the age of 35 – Graf, let it be noted, retired at 30 – has won her latest major without dropping a single set and despite playing nowhere close to her best. Just listen to the verdict of her coach, Patrick Mouratoglou. “She played well enough to win, but she can play much better,” said the Frenchman, doing little to enthuse about a match where, yet again, sport’s most celebrated sister act seldom caught light.

In nine major finals between this pair, only two have gone to a third set. The love and respect that Venus and Serena never tire of expressing for one another equates on court to an inescapable lack of intensity, to a feeling that, even after 28 meetings on tour, they have never quite become used to facing across the net for such heightened stakes.

The sisters had kind words to say about each other after the match Credit: getty images

It was different when they were little girls on the rutted public courts of Compton, Los Angeles, where one-upmanship could prevail, but few of their encounters with a championship on the line have touched the realm of classics. For both of them, this was a familiar replay of treasured memories but seldom a compelling contest, as Serena made a decisive break late in the first set and never took another backward step.

Today, only Australia’s Margaret Court stands ahead of her in the compendium of all-time greatness, with 24 titles to her 23, but it is largely an incidental detail. Court belonged to an amateur era when the main draw comprised 16 players, not 128, and when she could juggle the stresses of the tennis circuit with the demands of being a mother-of-four. Already, Serena stands alone.

Australian Open 2017 prize money: Men and Womens singles

A gesture yesterday by her sponsors, Nike, illustrated as much by fitting her out with boots emblazoned with ’23’, evoking not just her colossal haul of silverware but the number once famously worn by Michael Jordan.

She has long since acquired Jordan-esque stature, establishing a standard that none in her peer group can even hope to emulate. Having amassed her titles under four different US presidents, she has reached a stage where she can afford to enjoy herself more openly. “We’re thirty-fun!” she said, at a trophy ceremony where neither she nor Venus could stop smiling.

Serena has won the Australian Open seven times Credit: getty images

About the only frontier left for her to conquer is the calendar Grand Slam, which Graf accomplished in 1988. She came agonisingly close in 2015, ticking off the season’s first three majors before falling in the US Open semi-finals to Roberta Vinci, and there is little reason to suspect she cannot make another serious tilt at it this year. For where, exactly, is the competition?

Viktoria Azarenka is taking time away from tennis with a new baby, while Maria Sharapova is still to return from a 15-month doping ban. As for Germany’s Angelique Kerber, who briefly usurped her as world No 1? Well, heavy is the head that wears the crown. Kerber has won not a single tour event in her 20-week reign at the summit.

Venus was unable to match her sister when Serena landed her first serves Credit: epa

For all that Serena likes to project a certain humility, not least in a touching embrace with her sister once the match was done, she is clearly aware of her own claims on immortality. Asked whether she and Martina Navratilova deserved to be placed ahead of Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal, Sunday's men’s finalists, in the debate about the greatest players of all, she was unambiguous. “I definitely think so,” she replied. “Martina, myself, Steffi – hands down we are leading that conversation.”

Serena smashed her racket early in the first set Credit: ap

That is a moot point. The titanic battles waged by Federer and Nadal will be remembered far longer than any final in which Serena has been involved. The fault is less her own than the unsatisfying best-of-three format that the women’s tour insists on preserving for these occasions. The typical gap between the entertainment levels of men’s and women’s finals at slams is now so vast that the time has surely come, as Judy Murray argued recently, for at least the semi-final and final to be made best-of-five.

Serena, though, can only express her alpha-female qualities within the constraints of the format allowed. And there is every sign, after an impeccable fortnight in which she won 14 sets out of 14 for the sixth time, that her legend is likely to keep growing.

10:35AM

One down, one to go

So we have our 2017 Australian Open women's champion: for the seventh time in Melbourne (and the 23rd time in any grand slam) it is Serena Williams.

Attention now turns to Sunday's men's final between Roger Federer and Rafa Nadal. If you aren't excited by that then you need to have a stern word with yourself.

10:19AM

Never too late

To @Venuseswilliams: Thanks for showing us it's never too late. What an amazing run and what an amazing life. #championforever

— Billie Jean King (@BillieJeanKing) January 28, 2017

10:17AM

Coming to an end?

Working backwards, Serena's last 10 Majors, this in the alleged twilight of her career: W SF W F F SF W W W W

— Jon Wertheim (@jon_wertheim) January 28, 2017

10:16AM

Serena speaks

I would like to congratulate Venus. She's an amazing person. There's no way I would at 23 without her. There's no way I would have anything without her and she is the only reason I'm standing here today. She's the only reason that the Williams sisters exist. Thank you so much.

She deserves an incredible round of applause. She's had an amazing comeback and I definitely think she'll be standing here next year. I don't like the world comeback - she never left.

10:13AM

Venus speaks

I'm so happy to play in front of you all tonight. Thank you to my team. I love you guys. Serena Williams... that's my little sister guys.

Congratulations on No 23. I've been there right with you. Some of them I lost against you. That's weird but it's true. Your wins have always been my wins. Every time I couldn't be there or didn't get there, you were there. I'm enormously proud of you and you mean the world to me.

God-willing I'd love to come back. Thank you for all the love.

10:09AM

Presentation time

I won't bother giving you the words from the men in suits. Suffice to say it's mainly this: "Thanks to the sponsors". And repeat. And repeat. And repeat.

10:07AM

The stats

It wasn't a classic by any stretch of the imagination, but it looks as though Serena is back on track to become the undisputed greatest female tennis player of all time (just in case anyone had any doubts). Court's record could disappear this year.

10:04AM

The magic number

So that's 23 grand slam titles for Serena Williams, one more than Steffi Graf (for an Open era record) and one away from Margaret Court's 24 claimed in the 1960s and 70s.

A lovely moment as the sisters embrace.

10:01AM

Venus 4-6 4-6 Serena - Serena Williams is Australian Open champion

Serena Williams is serving for her 23rd grand slam title. But Venus takes a quick 0-15 lead to send the crowd into whoops and cheers. That becomes 15-15, but Venus comes out on top of an epic 24-shot rally to increase the decibel count in Melbourne once again. Neither sister was willing to risk anything during that rally and it was Venus who won the battle of the defence. Serena continues to play percentage tennis and it comes off this time as Venus hits the net for 30-30. Her second serve then comes up trumps right when it matters to bring up championship point... and she wins it! Serena comes to the net, Venus sends her attempted backhand lob wide and Serena is the Australian Open champion.

9:54AM

Venus 4-6 4-5 Serena* (*denotes next server)

Here is Venus serving to stay in the match after just an hour and 13 minutes. Venus takes a 15-0 lead with an overhead smash at the net, but she appears to have tweaked something in her upper arm in the process. How much will that affect her? Serena levels, before sending a backhand long for 30-15. Who needs power when you have placement like this, asks Venus as she aces her sister out wide to the backhand side. One more point won keeps this match alive. And she gets it. A hold to 15.

9:51AM

Venus* 4-6 3-5 Serena (*denotes next server)

Can Venus somehow wrestle this back from her sister? Not if Serena keeps on landing her first serve. Unreturnable serve precedes ace, which precedes unreturnable serve and that is 40-0. Another unreturnable serve and the game is gone with Venus even hitting a ball into play.

9:48AM

Venus 4-6 3-4 Serena* (*denotes next server)

Great play from Serena at the start of this game, powering her opening return and then charging to the net to kill the point. She then piles into a backhand down the line, giving her sister no chance for 15-30. The younger sister comes out on top of a 16-shot rally (the longest of the match) to gain the first break point of this set at 30-40... but Venus's second serve comes up trumps and Serena cannot return it. Deuce, which quickly become advantage Serena. A big first serve restores parity, but Venus hits her forehand into the net to give her sister a third break point. And she takes it on second serve. That may be the crucial break.

9:43AM

Venus* 4-6 3-3 Serena (*denotes next server)

It hasn't been a vintage performance from either sister so far today, but you get the sense that Serena has enough behind her first serve to do the requisite damage. She is being helped by plenty of unforced errors from Venus, who twice fails to put her forehand in the intended location and allows Serena to hold to 15.

Sisters in sync #AusOpen#Venus#Serena �� pic.twitter.com/yXWudqSNps

— #AusOpen (@AustralianOpen) January 28, 2017

9:38AM

Venus 4-6 3-2 Serena* (*denotes next server)

Great serving from Venus. Power and precision. A hold to 15. That was simple enough.

9:37AM

Venus* 4-6 2-2 Serena (*denotes next server)

There is no doubt about it, the Melbourne crowd is on Venus's side. They have been from the outset and they don't want this match to end in straight sets. Serena's first/second serve joy/woes continue as she eases into a 40-15 lead before double faulting to give Venus a sniff. It's a chance wasted though with the older sister failing to put away the simplest of forehands when advancing into the middle of the court and Serena holds.

9:33AM

Venus 4-6 2-1 Serena* (*denotes next server)

A wonderful forehand winner down the line from Serena puts her 0-30 up and, perhaps starting to feel the pressure, Venus double faults to give her sister three break points. The first is saved as Serena fails to return serve. The second is saved in the same fashion. Can she land her first serve again when it matters? Yes she can and Serena has no answer to it! Thrilling stuff. And that is the stark difference between the first and second serve. Venus then shows great defence to take the advantage and the first serve comes up trumps again! Back from 0-40 down to hold and take a 2-1 lead in this set. You get the sense that Venus may have just saved the match.

If Venus somehow makes this an epic, that hold from 0-40 was key

— Christopher Clarey (@christophclarey) January 28, 2017

9:27AM

Venus* 4-6 1-1 Serena (*denotes next server)

Both sisters have been so reliant on landing their first serve today. They are both winning the overwhelming majority of points when they land it... and losing the overwhelming majority when they don't. As if to prove that point, Serena flies into a 40-0 leave with unreturned first serve after unreturned first serve, before Venus gets herself into the game by capitalising on a fault to pull it back to 40-30. Ace, bang and the game is held.

9:24AM

Venus 4-6 1-0 Serena* (*denotes next server)

Serena is 20-0 in grand slam singles finals after winning the first set, which doesn't bode well for her sister. Venus is determined not to let this one go though and ups her serving game, tucking Serena up with a serve to the body for 40-15 and sealing the opening game of this set by sending her sister out wide and putting her backhand away into the open court.

9:22AM

How old?

She may be 36, but those limbs have more movement in them than 99.9 per cent of people younger than Venus.

Credit: reuters

9:20AM

Venus 4-6 Serena

So here is Serena, serving for the opening set. Venus hangs her head as she sends her backhand wide for 30-0 and Serena then nails two rapid aces to wrap up the game in a flash to love and seal the set 6-4. Have Serena's problems disappeared? It seems that way.

9:17AM

Venus 4-5 Serena* (*denotes next server)

Can Venus keep this set alive? Serena is starting to assert herself right when it matters, taking control of these points now and moving into a 15-30 lead, only for Venus to nail a bullet of a crosscourt backhand and then land a demon serve for 40-30. Another powerful serve out wide to Serena's backhand leaves the younger sister unable to return and the first set continues.

Venus holds for 4-5* in first set. V steady, if not perfect, while Serena's level dips in and out. Serena to serve for the set now. #ausopen

— Ben Rothenberg (@BenRothenberg) January 28, 2017

9:14AM

*Venus 3-5 Serena (*denotes next server)

Oh yes. What a shot from Venus. The older sister looks in real trouble on the first point of the game, but uses every inch of those long levers to hook her way round a forehand on the run, pumping it across court and leaving Serena applauding in acknowledgement. Serena's serving troubles continue as Venus takes a 0-30 lead, but the deficit is quickly reduced with another timely ace and Venus is furious with herself when she sends a forehand wide for 40-30. Serena lands her first serve, piles into her forehand off the return and holds.

9:10AM

Venus 3-4 Serena* (*denotes next server)

A lovely change of pace sees Venus ace her sister out wide to Serena's forehand, deploying spin that would make Shane Warne proud, but she is also struggling on second serve and Serena capitalises. The world No 2 brings up break point, coming to the net and killing her volley dead... and she takes it! That could prove crucial at this stage of the set.

9:07AM

Venus* 3-3 Serena (*denotes next server)

Can Serena solve her serving troubles? Not at the moment. Her timing is all over the place and as Venus takes a 0-30 lead, although another Serena ace levels for 30-30. It's a tight battle between Serena's ace count versus her double fault count. Venus helps her sister out by looping a rank backhand long when it was right there for the taking and another unforced error allows Serena to hold to 30.

9:02AM

Venus 3-2 Serena* (*denotes next server)

What is going on in Melbourne? Neither player can win a game on serve, with Serena experiencing real struggles. In fact, the 22-time grand slam champion looks far less comfortable than her sister, with Venus dominating the exchanges and displaying more fluidity at the moment. Venus continues to fire deep into the baseline to take a 40-15 lead here and Serena - lacking any rhythm - floats her forehand long to give her sister a simple hold. Finally.

9:00AM

Venus* 2-2 Serena (*denotes next server)

Are we going to have yet another break? Serena flies into a 30-0 lead, but a sumptuous Venus backhand down the line as she stands right on the tip of her toes leaves her younger sister for dead and she levels at 30-30. Serena then double faults for deuce to continue both players' second-serve struggles. Another double fault gives Venus advantage and break point... only for Serena to whip out the timeliest of aces! That's ludicrous. Venus gains a second break point though and Serena double faults again. A fourth break of serve.

Here's that racket break from the previous game in slow motion:

Court = 1, Racquet = 0 #Serena vs #Venus#AusOpenpic.twitter.com/If59ZX0bYD

— #AusOpen (@AustralianOpen) January 28, 2017

8:53AM

Venus 1-2 Serena* (*denotes next server)

When Serena piles into her forehand return off serve, she is borderline unstoppable. The younger sister does so with crunching power here, forcing Venus to double fault for 15-30. Venus then hits back with a millimetre-perfect inside-out forehand onto that just kisses the right sideline and she saves break point by coming to the net and putting away her forehand volley for deuce. Ooh, what a time to get a net cord break like that! The ball is killed dead off Venus's forehand as it just rolls over the top of the net, prompting Serena to scream with anger, destroy her racket and pick up a court violation for her troubles. Advantage Venus... saved. Advantage Serena (and another break point)... saved. Advantage Serena (for a third break point)...and Venus duffs her forehand into the net for a third successive break of serve.

8:45AM

Venus* 1-1 Serena (*denotes next server)

Is this going to be one of those totally one-sided affairs? Perhaps not. A double fault helps Venus out when 0-30 down and the older sister asserts herself to push Serena beyond the baseline to level at 30-30. A wayward backhand into the tramlines from Serena takes the game to deuce and the world No 2 then sticks her forehand wide to give Venus the break point. And Serena goes long with no pressure at all on the forehand! Venus breaks back instantly!

8:41AM

Venus 0-1 Serena* (*denotes next server)

Venus will kick things off and she does so with a fault. Hmmm, not great omens there and things rapidly worsen as Serena wins the opening two points of the match, prompting groans from a Melbourne crowd eager to see a close match today. An ace gets Venus off the mark, but that's as good as it gets, Serena first crunching a forehand return off the serve and then correctly guessing the placement of Venus's smash to drill it past her sister and break in the opening game.

8:35AM

Clothes-watch

Should you be at all interested in what the two players are wearing as they have a pre-match hit, here is your answer. One distinctly more flairy than the other:

8:30AM

What does it all mean?

Have a look at their respective records in Melbourne over the past week (not to mention their results over the past few years) and it's difficult to see anything but a comfortable Serena win today. But who would have predicted this as the final? And who would have called Fed v Rafa on the men's side? Can Venus do what appears to be so unlikely?

Should Venus triumph today, she will set a record for the biggest gap between grand slam victories in the Open era - Nine years.

Should Serena win today, she will surpass Steffi Graf at the top of the leaderboard of grand slam champions in the Open Era with 23 titles.

Either way, history is about to be made. The players have just come out on court and we are almost ready.

8:22AM

How did we get here?

Serena's 2017 Aussie Open timeline

Round 1: 6-4 6-3 v Bencic  Round 2: 6-3 6-4 v Safarova Round 3: 6-1 6-3 v Gibbs Round 4: 7-5 6-4 v Strycova Quarter-final: 6-2 6-3 v Konta Semi-final: 6-2 6-1 v Lucic-Baroni

Credit: getty images

Venus's 2017 Aussie Open timeline

Round 1: 7-6 7-5 v Kozlova Round 2: 6-3 6-2 v Voegele Round 3: 6-1 6-0 v Duan Round 4: 6-3 7-5 v Barthel Quarter-final: 6-4 7-6 v Pavlyuchenkova Semi-final: 7-6 2-6 3-6 v Vandeweghe

Credit: rex

  8:12AM

Career stats

Serena Williams

Age: 35 Grand slam singles titles: 22 Best Australian Open result: Winner 2003, 2005, 2007, 2009, 2010, 2015 First slam title: US Open 1999 Singles titles: 71 Weeks spent as world No 1: 309 Prize money: £65.1m Wins against Venus: 16 Turned pro: 1995

Credit: paul grover

Venus Williams

Age: 36 Grand slam singles titles: 7 Best Australian Open result: Runner-up 2003 First slam title: Wimbledon 2000 Singles titles: 49 Weeks spent as world No 1: 11 Prize money: £27.4m Wins against Serena: 11 Turned pro: 1994

8:00AM

The greatest

The tennis world has never experienced anything like the Williams sisters before and the chances are it never will again. But do we appreciate what the pair have given us?

This piece was written by my colleague Charlie Eccleshare a couple of years ago, but it is just as relevant - if not more so - today.

The achievement is even more remarkable given that Serena is still the No 1 ranked player in the world so getting to this stage is simply business as usual, while Venus has had to deal with the auto-immune disease Sjögren’s syndrome as she has fought back to the upper echelons of the game.

But in spite of this, their achievements continue to be met largely with indifference.

And it’s an indifference that is so strikingly at odds with the seemingly endless praise lavished on Roger Federer, who is just one month older than Serena and as such a useful comparison.

7:47AM

Oiling the wheels

The Williams sisters do everything together, but not today.

.@Venuseswilliams limbers up ahead of her first #ausopen final since '03. #AusOpenpic.twitter.com/ManTQA7lBC

— #AusOpen (@AustralianOpen) January 28, 2017

And right next door... sister @serenawilliams is firing up for her 8th #ausopen finals appearance pic.twitter.com/uMw8upFEM1

— #AusOpen (@AustralianOpen) January 28, 2017

7:42AM

Turning back time

Between 2001 and 2009, the indomitable Williams sisters met eight times in grand slam finals. Together they swept through the women's game, brushing aside the establishment as on their way. And then it stopped.

Serena carried on winning but, hampered by illness, injury and the seemingly natural effects of ageing, Venus' star began to wane. Until now.

Eight years after they met in the 2009 Wimbledon final, the sisters are once again the last two women standing in a slam. The achievement of both incredible athletes is quite simply phenomenal and today in Melbourne, aged 35 and 36, one of them will be crowned the 2017 Australian Open champion.

Williams v Williams grand slam finals 7:35AM

Match preview

When and where is it?

The women's final is on Saturday, January 28, on the Rod Laver Arena in Melbourne.

What time does it start?

Despite being in Australia, it's not as bad as you might think. The final will start at 8.30am GMT.

What TV channel is it on?

Eurosport 1 from 8am. Or you can follow all the action with us when this very page turns into our live blog.

Scene setter

An Australian Open electrified by the revivals of seasoned champions will bathe in the warm glow of nostalgia on Saturday when the Williams sisters contest the women's final at Rod Laver Arena.

Melbourne Park was where Venus and Serena Williams first clashed in a tour match in 1998 and nearly 20 years on, the Americans will add another chapter to tennis's greatest sibling rivalry.

In 1998, they were teenagers with cornrows and coloured beads in their hair sharing in an awkward second round encounter that 17-year-old Venus won in two sets.

Williams v Williams grand slam finals

Venus hugged her sister, younger by a year, at the net and apologised for having to "take (her) out".

On Saturday, 35-year-old Serena will bid for a record 23rd Grand Slam title in the professional era while Venus will strive for her eighth, and first in almost nine years.

Serena drew level with Germany's Steffi Graff on 22 when she claimed her seventh Wimbledon title last year but her crowning moment was delayed when, as top seed, she was upset in the US Open semi-finals by Czech Karolina Pliskova.

Serena no longer cares to talk about the record and stiffened when asked about it after her semi-final victory over Mirjana Lucic-Baroni, as if the weight of such an achievement might prove too heavy.

Serena Williams is the clear favourite Credit: GETTY IMAGES

But a seventh title at Melbourne Park would add further credit to Serena's claim as the greatest of all time, despite being one short of Australia's Margaret Court, whose 24 major titles were split between the amateur and professional eras.

For 13th seed Venus, her first grand slam final in eight years is already a stunning victory of perseverance in the face of her struggles to manage Sjogren's syndrome, an auto-immune disease that causes fatigue and joint pain.

How did they get here?

Both players stormed into the semi-finals without a set dropped.

However, where Serena romped into the final with a 50-minute demolition of Lucic-Baroni, Venus needed to summon her peerless experience to fend off feisty fellow American Coco Vandeweghe in three sets.

Saturday's final will be the Williams sisters ninth at a grand slam and their first since Wimbledon in 2009, where Serena won in two sets.

What are they saying?

Serena Williams

"We definitely talk. I think now more so than anything. Nothing can break our family. If anything, this will definitely bring us closer together, knowing that I want to see her do the best that she can possibly do. I know that she definitely wants to see me do the best that I can do.

"This is a story. This is something that I couldn't write a better ending. This is a great opportunity for us to start our new beginning.

"I just really feel fortunate to have been there for the highs and the lows and everything. I never lost hope of us being able to play each other in a final. This probably is the moment of our careers so far. For me, I can definitely say for me.

"After everything that Venus has been through with her illness and stuff, I just can't help but feel like it's a win-win situation.

"It's the one time that I really genuinely feel like no matter what happens, I can't lose, she can't lose. It is definitely 100 percent the best-case scenario that I could have ever dreamt of." 

Venus Williams

"I don't think there's necessarily anything to exploit. She doesn't have too many weaknesses.

"It would be beautiful (to win). I have to earn it, so... It's not a given. I'm going to do what I can to earn it. I'm not thinking about, 'Oh, what would it be like to win?' I'm thinking about, 'What do I have to do to earn that?' That's my mentality right now."

What are the odds?

Serena Williams to win 1/5

Venus Williams to win 4/1