#i was upset but this ended up being quite fortuitous for me

[theconfusedartist]

Hm

Somehow, despite my meticulous research and information retaining skills, I've been writing Desmond’s DOB as 1984 instead of 1987

I've been using this date and Alex's DoB to figure out when things happen in the timeline. I already got screwed over once when I found out Alex was born in 1979 and Dana was 9 years younger, and had to change a bunch of things around to make them fit the original canon, but this?? this might be (strained squeaky voice) a small problem

[catty-words]

jatp women appreciation week - day 4 - favorite scene: the season’s emotional climax

julie’s relationship with rose is the emotional center of the show — because julie’s grappling with the loss of it, sure, but more importantly because rose is the person who brought music into julie’s life. for these reasons, rose is never far from julie’s mind. there are, however, episodes that focus more heavily on the influence rose exerts on julie even in death. namely, wake up, finally free, stand tall, and unsaid emily. during the latter, mothers are so present in julie’s mind, she folds luke’s relationship with emily into her preoccupation. but where she’s able to effectively open a channel of communication between luke and his mom — with the language she and all the people she cares about most speak most fluently: music — julie doesn’t feel the same closeness with rose. (“i know how hard it is when you want to speak to someone you love and can’t. i feel that way every day.”)

so when she hears that the boys’ only available paths all lead them away from her forever, naturally she feels bomb-that-obliterates-everything upset.

here she was, already feeling sensitive about reaching for someone who can’t be there. of course the likely loss of her phantoms exacerbates her fear that she’s somehow responsible for the fact that no one can fully offer themselves back to her.

or maybe, as the fortuitous entrance of rose’s sunset curve t-shirt suggests, julie’s just been looking for that connection in the wrong places, with too many preconceptions about what it should look like.

take this exchange:  

we know from episode 1.04 that julie’s attached to the idea that rose and her boys have some kind of divine connection since she’s disappointed to find out that they’re tethered to carrie’s dad instead. but here she is, hardly jumping for joy at the prospect that rose could still have had some kind of relationship with the phantoms because she’d been hoping for something more profound than a t-shirt.

flynn, being the supportive friend and insightful person that she is, points out that something as simple as rose being familiar with sunset curve’s music doesn’t have to lack meaning.

this beat in the scene is one of my favorite flynn moments because flynn’s main source of strife for the season was that she wasn’t able to get through julie’s grief to julie’s love of music and inspire her to play again. her enthusiastically giving credit to the phantoms may be an understated act of selflessness, but it’s an act of selflessness nonetheless.

julie’s not quite able to accept the sentiment at face value, though.

she sounds so matter-of-fact, so certain, that if rose wanted her to play music she would have found a way to let julie know. except we can look back at the events of the season and see that rose did leave behind a pretty clear message in the form of “wake up” that sticking with music even after her death was exactly what she wanted for julie. so why does julie feel so strongly that her mom didn’t reach out to her? well, although she’s taken huge steps in dealing with her grief, julie hasn’t fully accepted that her mom cannot be there for her the way she was when she was alive. she’s still looking for the comforts she’s used to (see her alleyway speech in 1.09, “why can’t you just come pick me up and hold me in your arms” etc.) instead of opening herself up to the possibility flynn’s talking about: signs.

that is, until flynn puts julie in her place about mocking such things as absurd.

and we get to see clearly that julie takes the point.

which is what allows flynn to drop her theory and get to the heart of matters:

in the end, whether or not rose has a hand in the phantoms’ presence in julie’s life has no bearing on how julie handles the news that she’s losing them. the choice on how to act from here is up to julie and only julie. does she continue reaching for a connection that’ll slip through her fingers or does she close herself up again and reject that renewed spark for life she’s only just started to feel comfortable with? there’s precedence for her choosing the latter, but like julie helped luke heal old wounds by offering an unexpected way to connect with his mom, flynn is here to help julie find rose though signs. not as straightforward a comfort as a hug, to be sure, but sometimes you have to accept that love doesn’t come to you in the ways you’re expecting. and opening herself to the hope that reaching for something intangible doesn’t necessarily leave her empty-handed is what drives julie out into the studio, nervous for the future but determined to give back to the phantoms the chance at peace they gave her.

[utopianvoices]

fortuite | k.hongjoong

∞ genre: roommates au; fluff

∞ word count: 5.36k

∞ description: Something had been bugging you for quite some time now—and no, it wasn’t the bug infestation in your room.

∞ a/n: happy birthday to the sweetest, prettiest and bestest friend, @curanonemu​! i’m sorry for being a lazy ass and not posting this earlier but i hope you like it, darling :’) i love u so much hehe! x

∞ warnings: explicit language

i.

There were very few things that could ruin your day; you believed that patience and endurance was the key to living a happy life. So other than the occasional bad grade or last minute assignments, you were sure nothing else would upset you. 

That’s what you thought; until you walked into your shared apartment, just to see half the things missing. More specifically, your roommate’s things. 

With confusion taking over your mind, you walk around your apartment slowly, trying to find for any explanation of what was going on when you reach your fridge, noticing a bright pink post-it that definitely was not there when you grabbed your breakfast that morning.

Peeling it off the cold surface, your eyes scan over the piece of paper in your hand, covered in a messy scribble that definitely belonged to your roommate. You’re not sure why, but your heartbeat picks up its pace as you take in a deep breath before reading. 

You’re not sure what was happening, but you sure were smart enough to figure out that it was nothing good.

Dear Y/n, 

I’m sorry for leaving without a word, but my parents have called me back to stay with them during the semester break. I would have waited for you to get back, but my flight was in the morning and you weren’t in so I had to leave. Sorry, love! Hope you aren’t too surprised >< I’ve left my share for this month’s rent in the envelope on the counter, so don’t worry about that! Hope you aren’t too upset with me <3

Love, Haeun

Staring blankly at the piece of paper in your hands, your mind tries to process what you just read, when it all comes crashing down on you in three mere seconds.

You had just been abandoned by your roommate for the next few months or so, without any prior notice. 

Firstly, you hated living alone. Everyone knew this. Even the cat a few blocks down knew this. Secondly, and most importantly, you were definitely not going to be able to afford your weekly rent alone.

Thoughts of being homeless flashes through your mind as you stare at the paper in your hands, when you notice something written at the back of your post-it. Just as you turn over the post-it in your hand to read what was written, your doorbell rings, causing you to whip your head up towards the door.

Maybe it’s your roommate, coming back to say that this was all the end-of-semester prank and that you’re not going to be stranded all alone.

Opening the door with high expectations, you feel your world crashing down around you when you’re met with an unfamiliar face. 

“Sorry, I’m not interested in buying your products,” you recite monotonously, shutting the door before the boy could finish his sentence. You aren’t usually this rude; most of the time you throw them a sweet smile and say that you’re broke and can’t afford their products. But this wasn’t any other day. 

Taking a few steps away from the door, you finally read the little extra note at the back of the post-it, horror filling you up as the words register in your brain. 

P.S. I know you can’t live alone and the rent is too expensive, so I’ve found a replacement roommate for you for the time being! His name’s Kim Hongjoong and he studies in the music department. He’ll be coming around 3 to move in!

Great. So now, on top of your roommate moving out, you’re going to have to deal with a whole new dude that you’ve never even seen, who’s supposedly coming at 3pm, who’s not here even though it’s 3:05pm- Wait a moment.

You slowly look up towards the door that you had just shut a few moments ago, deeming the guy on the other side of it to be a poor salesman, and take slow steps towards it. 

Grabbing the handle with shaking hands, you slowly open the door to reveal the same guy you had shut the door on. Except now, he was scrolling through his phone seated on one of the many boxes you had failed to notice earlier.

At the sound of the door opening, he looks up from his phone, immediately scrambling up and rushing towards the door.

“H-hey don’t close the door on me, I’m not here to sell anything! My friend, Haeun, told me that I would be moving in here since my roommate was leaving during the break and I couldn’t afford the whole rent!” he went on rambling, not even stopping for a breath in fear that you would shut the door on him again and he’d be left stranded.

You feel the embarrassment rise up to your cheeks as you fight the urge to run into your room and never come out, but you will yourself to say something to the poor boy you had just shut out a few minutes ago. 

“Are you Kim Hongjoong?” your voice comes out hoarse and barely above a whisper, and you feel the embarrassment reaching the top of your head. Clearing your throat, you repeat the question again, somewhat glad that you didn’t sound like a dying frog anymore. 

He nods his head at your question and throws you a sheepish smile, scratching the back of his head as he looks around the corridor in embarrassment, allowing you some time to take in the boy in front of you—who happened to be very cute, to your horror.

Your brain was never going to let you live this down—the fact that you had just slammed the door in this extremely cute boy’s face. Another thing to add to your ever-growing list of “Embarrassing moments that make you want to kill yourself”.

“Do you need help with the boxes?” you ask, wanting to do anything that would distract you from the very cute face in front of you.

“Huh? Oh, yeah sure! Thanks!” he says, seemingly snapping out of his own reverie as he shifts around to get to the first box. 

Both of you work in silence, walking in and out of the apartment till all his boxes were in his room, as the awkward tensions remains. You stand around the kitchen counter fiddling with your thumbs while he sits on the sofa looking around the apartment for the tenth time. Anything to keep you occupied. 

Letting out a sigh, you finally decide to be the first one to break the silence. 

“I’m sorry for slamming the door on you earlier,” you start, feeling the need to apologise. “Haeun left without telling me and I started freaking out about what I was going to do without a roommate because I’m broke.”

As if he was waiting for you to initiate a conversation, Hongjoong looks up almost immediately, shaking his head before starting to speak.

“No, no it’s fine! I can understand how stressful it must have been,” is what he says, laughing slightly at the end of his sentence, thinking of the shit he’d been through when his roommate left. “I was a mess when my roommate left too. I started calling around to check if anyone was willing to be my roommate when I heard from Haeun that she needed someone to move in with you. Of course, I accepted right away.”

You giggle at his words, unconsciously nodding along as the conversation starts flowing between the two of you. It was like someone had flipped a switch, and now you weren’t two awkward strangers. Instead, you were two potential friends (and roommates), having a conversation. 

“Well, I hope that we can make the most out of being roommates!” you say, clapping your hands together, content with the fact that you wouldn’t have to live for the next few months alone. “Need a hand unpacking your things?”

And you’re sure the sun would pale in comparison to the smile you just received from the boy sitting across you, perfect teeth in full display as he shoots you the most breathtaking smile you’ve ever seen. 

“I would love that, roommate.”

ii.

“Joong, we’re going to be late!” you shout out into the apartment, hopping around on one foot trying to keep your balance as you put on your shoes. “Get your ass out right this instant!”

“I’m coming!” you hear faintly from Hongjoong’s room, and soon after you see your roommate rushing out in one of his many reformed shirts, looking handsome as ever. “What time’s the movie starting?” 

“Six.”

“It’s only four right now.”

He looks at you incredulously, unable to understand why you had to be two hours early for a movie that was playing just a few blocks down. 

You, on the other hand, had very different views. 

“Look here, it takes us 20 minutes to get there. And then we’d have to queue to get tickets and snacks, which might take us long considering the fact that it’s semester break and all the dumbasses that go to our college will want to go to that one specific theatre. And then of course, we have to take some mandatory time playing at the arcade before the movie starts because that’s what you’re supposed to do.”

“I’m going to make you rap over one of my tracks one day.” He stares at you in awe, wondering how you can ramble on without even stopping for a breath. “I can’t believe I’ve heard you do that almost everyday for exactly three months.”

“Shut up and let’s get moving.” You threaten him, trying to hold in your own laughter as you point your fingers at him in a makeshift gun, triggering a chuckle from him as he plays along and puts up his hands in surrender .

“Okay Ma’am.”

He’s known you for three months and he should be used to your antics—but it still never ceases to surprise him. In a very good way, of course.

When you slammed the door on him three months ago, there were many things running through your mind. The murder of your roommate, how you were going to manage without a roommate, the murder of your roommate, how you hated being alone, and the murder of your roommate. 

But never would you, in a million years, have thought that you’d find one of your closest friends through that little mishap. Thinking back on it, even though your introductions weren’t through the best, most ideal way, it was natural—almost as natural as the flow of time. Never stopping for anyone, but at the same time filling you up with memories you would forever be grateful for. 

It was the perfect weather outside, you note, as you walk along the stone pavement.

The sun was shining brightly, but not too brightly that it made you want to turn back home and down a few ice cubes to neutralise the heat. The cool breeze that accompanied the sun made it the kind of weather people would kill for when on a date.

And you were the lucky few who got to experience that weather. With the guy you had a humongous crush on. 

It was all too cliché, actually. Falling for your roommate who was handsome, kind, caring, thoughtful and smart? Absolutely unoriginal. 

But it’s completely different when you’re in that position. You really can’t help the few beats your heart skips when he made you breakfast because you stayed up late finishing assignments the night before. Or that one time when you fell asleep on the couch watching How To Train Your Dragon and you woke up with a comfortable pillow under your head that saved you a lot of pain and a fluffy blanket that protected you from the cold—both of which were not there before.

It also definitely didn’t help your poor heart when Haeun announced that she had decided to move in with her boyfriend, after years of being together (and of course, after confirming that you and Hongjoong didn’t hate each other).

So here you are, stuck with an annoyingly handsome and sweet roommate, who didn’t do much to help the not so little crush you were harbouring. In fact, you’re sure that it grows bigger significantly every single day.

“What do you think about love?” Hongjoong asks, finally breaking the comfortable silence and putting a stop to your inner ramblings. 

It might’ve been weird to anybody else—if he were to suddenly ask that question—but you were used to these random questions, because that’s how he found inspiration for his songs. 

“Hm, I don’t really know,” you start, pondering over his question as you both take slow, matching steps beside one another, a sweet scent gracing your noses as you walk past a flower shop. “I guess it’s something that everyone needs. Whatever kind of love it may be. It shapes us as humans and helps us live a better and more content life, I guess. Love can save lives, and maybe that’s why I think it’s the strongest emotion anyone can feel.”

“You’re really wise, you know?” he states, giving you a soft smile as he stares at you, eyes twinkling under the brightest star. “I still can’t believe how lucky I am to score a friend and roommate like you.”

Your cheeks welcome the heat rushing into your cheeks as you hit your friend lightly on the arm, mouth agape as your mind blanks out and you’re unsure of what to say to his sudden confession. 

Through the months of knowing him, you’ve never heard Hongjoong say anything as direct as this. He had his moments of sweetness, always helping you out when you were having problems and listening to you rant no matter how late. But never once did he express his thoughts as explicitly as this. And you had no idea how to react. 

So you settle for your usual comeback, crossing your arms and avoiding his eyes, consequently missing the way he looked at you, eyes filled with love.

“Shut up, fucker.”

iii.

“I can’t believe you made me watch that stupid movie,” you say, kicking off your shoes as you hear your favourite laugh ring in your ears. “You know I don’t like horror movies and yet to choose one. I couldn’t even get rid of the mental images during dinner!”

“I’m sorry but I just love to see your reactions every time we watch one.” He guffaws at your annoyance, clutching the table for support as tears escape his eyes. 

“Good night.”

You huff, walking into your room and slamming the door with a frown on your face, but not genuinely feeling the annoyance you were portraying. You knew you could never be mad at him. 

You hear a faint ‘good night’ from outside your door followed by a door shutting, indicating that it was the end of the day for the both of you. 

With a smile on your face, the day replays in your head and you settle in bed, laying wide awake as memories of you and Hongjoong plays in your mind one after another, like a self-directed movie. 

Everything’s fine, till you feel something crawling up your leg, triggering an immediate reaction from you as you jump out of bed flicking whatever it was, off your leg.

If you thought the horror movie you watched earlier was bad, this was a hundred times worse. 

Because right there, on your bed, you see three small cockroaches crawling around freely, claiming your bed as free real estate as they make themselves comfortable. 

Your first instinct is to walk a few metres down and bang on Hongjoong’s door to get him to help you, but you remember that he has an early class the next day and decide that you will deal with this issue on your own. 

You may be a coward, but you still were a good friend, and good friends don’t spoil their friend’s precious sleep. 

Grabbing the insecticide that you kept under the sink in your bathroom, you walk back to your bed to gas those little demons when you feel your heart drop.

The pests were nowhere to be found. 

Going through the ten stages of grief, you open your closet to grab the extra blanket you kept in there for emergencies, ready to spend your night on the couch when you feel your soul leaving your body for the third time that night. 

You’re not what people would call a hopeless coward. You definitely could kill the occasional cockroach without too much of a fuss. But there was no way you could handle the whole colony of cockroaches in front of you, because trying to gas them would just results in them crawling all over the place. 

So with not much choice, you rush towards Hongjoong’s room, knocking incessantly because there’s no way you were dealing with those satans alone.

iv.

“One week? ONE WEEK?!” you shriek, clutching the ends of your hair as Hongjoong gets off the phone with the pest control centre. “I have to be out of my room for a week because some idiots couldn’t find anywhere else to lay their eggs?”

Stifling a laugh at your words, your roommate pats your shoulder trying to comfort you. “I can help you get your things out of your room if you want. And you can take my bed, and I’ll take the couch?”

You feel a bit better at his suggestion, thankful that you were not in this alone, but nevertheless tell him that you can handle yourself. 

“I can take the couch it’s fine. I’m not picky with where I sleep anyway.”

“We both know that’s a lie,” he deadpans, shooting you a knowing look. “You can’t fall asleep on the couch unless you’re dead tired because you’re so used to the bed.”

“Shut up.”

“Wow it’s almost like I’ve heard that a million times!”

“Shut up.”

“Million and one!”

You throw him a glare as he doesn’t bother controlling his laughter—something he seemed to be doing very often around you. 

“Here, I’ll make you some tea while you set up the couch properly so that you don’t sprain something while sleeping.” With that, he moves to the kitchen and takes out the necessary ingredients to make you your favourite cup of tea.

You felt guilty, of course you did. You felt guilty for every nice thing people did for you. 

But you couldn’t stop the way your heart swelled whenever he did these things for you. He had an early class tomorrow, and yet here he was, making your dumb ass a cup of tea at two in the morning.

If you knew better, you would’ve thought that he likes you. But you didn’t know better. 

Because Kim Hongjoong was head over heels in love with you.

v.

Tossing and turning, all you feel is the dull ache all over your body because of the couch’s hard and uncomfortable surface, and you know you’re in for a long night. The fact that you had an early class the next day didn’t help your desperation to fall asleep too. 

Maybe taking the couch wasn’t the brightest idea you’ve had. 

Snatching your phone from the table, you scroll through your music playlist, finding for songs to play to help set the mood for your sleep, when you remember something. Immediately, you exit the music app and press a few buttons, opening up a page with a single file. 

 Aurora_Sample_KimHongjoong.mp3

It was the first ever track Hongjoong had shared with you, coinciding perfectly with the day you realised your feelings for him. 

“Please please pleaseeeeee!” You whine, following your roommate around, hot on his heels as he continuously shakes his head, indicating a strong ‘no’. “Just one song!”

“No way!” 

“Fine! I’ll just sulk here until you show me a song,” you say, plopping down on the couch with crossed arms and a pout. 

“Sure. I don’t care.” 

His indifference lasted for a total of two minutes before he let out a defeated sigh, kneeling down in front of you, placing his hands on your knees.

“It’s not that I don’t want to show it to you. I’m just not confident enough…” he trails off, looking down at his hands. “What if you don’t like it?”

The frown on your face dissipates as you look at the boy in front of you, looking completely beat because of his worries, and you instinctively take his face in your hands, heart hammering against your ribcage the moment you make contact. 

“I won’t like it,” you start, seeing the hurt seep into his face, but you continue anyway. “I’ll love it—because whatever you put so much time and effort into will definitely turn out amazing. Plus you’re Kim Hongjoong. Producer of the century.”

He blinks at your kind expression, before slowly breaking into a small smile of his own. You stare at each other for what seems like eternity, before he puts out his hand, palm up. 

“Give me your phone.”

You look at him confused, but hand over your phone anyway, watching him almost run into the room.

A few minutes later, he returns with your phone and some headphones. Your eyes follow his figure as he returns to his original position of kneeling in front of you, as he places the headphones over your ears and taps play on your phone.

A subtle, soft tune surrounds you, goosebumps erupting all over your body as his voice embraces your ears. Before you know it, you’re closing your eyes and swaying slightly on your body’s own accord as the music takes over your mind. You’ve never felt this at peace before. 

And it was all because of his song. 

The last note plays, and you slowly take off the headphones, meeting Hongjoong’s expectant eyes. “How was it?”

You let out a slight chuckle, shaking your head slightly as you stare at your roommate. Something warm takes over your heart as you look upon him, making you shudder slightly at the sudden change in temperature. You feel the heat creeping up your body, but not finding it in you to break the eye contact. It was like a magnet—the way his eyes drew you in. 

“It was amazing.” You say gently, and the way his face lights up makes you realise two things. 

Kim Hongjoong was a fantastic producer. 

And you were in love with him.

The couch suddenly feels less burdensome as your favourite tune fills the empty living room, immediately relaxing your body as the song acts as a relaxant. Your eyes droop as you feel sleep welcome you, and you’re about to give in to it when something catches your subconscious mind’s attention. 

With your eyes closed, you hear the faint sound of footsteps growing louder every second, till you feel it stop right in front of you. The couch dips with the weight of someone’s elbows, but you still keep your eyes closed.

And you’re glad you did, because there was no way you could have handled what came next. 

“I really hope you’re sleeping.” Hongjoong’s voice is the last thing that fills your ears before you feel your hammering heart come to a complete stop. 

Something, a pair of lips to be exact, lands on your forehead, pressing against it in a soft kiss, and you feel your whole body on fire, which doesn’t extinguish even after he moves away from you. 

Waiting until you hear the sound of his door closing, you open your eyes wide and stare at the white ceiling above as you try to slow down your breathing. Yelping in pain, you confirm that you were not dreaming after pinching yourself. 

What just happened?

Safe to say, you didn’t sleep a wink that night.

vi.

The next morning, you sit at the kitchen counter, stirring your tea lifelessly as you stare ahead, the previous night’s events playing over and over in your head like a broken cassette. 

“I hate to say this, but I told you so.” You jump at the very familiar voice, heart going wild as your mind controls start to fail. How were you going to face him without exposing the fact that he was all you were thinking about?

No, get your shit together. There’s no way he can find out. 

With some new conviction, you manage to look up at Hongjoong, already feeling the conviction melt away because of how stunning he looked, even at ungodly hours.

“You look like someone bashed you in the eyes, Y/n. Why didn’t you come sleep in my room?” he enquired further, taking a seat on the bar stool opposite you, munching on his bowl of cereal. He freezes halfway, as if coming to a realisation. “W-wait are you uncomfortable? Oh my god, if you’re uncomfortable with me asking this you don’t have to sleep with me- I mean, sleep in my room! Wow, I can’t believe I didn’t pick up on the signs I’m so dumb what am I-”

“Kim Hongjoong, shut up.”

“...... Million and two.”

You burst out laughing at his reply, immediately lightening the atmosphere that was weighed down by Hongjoong’s dumb worries. 

“I’m not uncomfortable, you idiot. I just don’t want to intrude! Plus, there’s no way I can let you sleep on that rock of a couch when you already get so little sleep from producing,” you explain, patting the top of his hand for extra reassurance. 

“Then sleep with me,” Hongjoong finalises, immediately stuttering when he catches your wide eyes. “I-I mean like not with me, I mean we can share my bed, yeah, that’s what I mean.”

You giggle quietly as you take in his rosy cheeks and quivering eyes, as he fumbles over his words to make sure that he doesn’t sound like an idiot, although it was too late for that. Though, he was the cutest idiot you ever had the pleashure of meeting.

“Okay, dumbhead.” You amuse, ignoring the sirens wailing in your head. 

Sharing a bed with your crush? Fate, what are you playing at?

vii.

You’re very much surprised. 

Sharing a room with Hongjoong went way better than expected. But perhaps that was because you always fell asleep before him. He always stays up working on music till the sun rises, and there’s no way you have the strength to stay up. 

On your sixth night, however, things are a little bit different. 

You enter the room, calling out your roommate’s name when you cut yourself off as fast as you can as you take in the sight in front of you. 

Hongjoong was curled up on his side of the bed, his breathing even, indicating that he was fast asleep. Not wanting to wake him up, considering the fact that he must’ve been exhausted to fall asleep this early, you tiptoe around the room, grabbing whatever was necessary before slowly lowering yourself on your side of the bed. 

You plug your phone in before settling in, grabbing your side of the covers and pulling it over you. It was still pretty early, and you weren’t feeling tired enough to fall asleep, so you turn around in your spot to face Hongjoong, grabbing the opportunity to admire your friend without seeming like a creep. 

Your eyes travel from his hair, that looked like a bird’s nest with the number of times he had run his hands through it—a sign that he had been producing something before sleeping—to his lips that had landed on your forehead a few nights ago. 

Did he like you? Or was it seriously just a dream? Whatever the answer was, you knew there was no turning back with how strong your feelings were for him. He was imperfect, but in the most perfect way. He made up for his flaws with his beautiful heart, and you’re sure you must have saved a country in your previous life to be able to meet such a human. 

Looking at him, you’re filled with an overwhelming urge to do something. And you’re not sure what that something is, until your body moves on its own, getting closer to Hongjoong’s face, till your lips are barely a centimetre away from his cheek. 

But right before they make contact, Hongjoong turns his head, and your lips collide with his, causing your whole world to turn upside down.

You almost fall off the bed with how fast you move away from him, aghast at what just happened. There’s no way you’re going to be able to face him ever again. You’d rather sleep in that cockroach infested room than share a bed with your crush, whom you had just kissed on accident. 

Not even stopping to grab your phone, you’re almost off the bed when a hand wraps around your wrist and pulls you back onto the bed, your back flat against the bed as you look up and meet a certain pair of brown eyes. 

Uh oh. 

You’re sure your face is completely red as Hongjoong stares down at you, your hands pinned down by your head as he hovers above you, the intensity in his eyes making you look away at anything but him. 

“Y/n, look at me.” You hear him say, but you turn your head away even more, if even possible. “Please.” 

Maybe it’s the desperation in his voice, but your eyes slowly travel back to face him, not knowing what was going through his mind due to the blank look on his face.

This is it. This is how you lost your roommate. All because you couldn’t control your dumb crush. 

“I’ll move out tomorrow,” you offer, tears already welling up in your eyes at the thought of being away from Hongjoong. “I’m so sorry, I really didn’t mean to do it.” 

You’re about to pull your hands out of his loosened grip when his grip tightens again, and your vision is obstructed as he slowly leans in.

Your lips touch softly, before he presses against you a bit harder and you automatically respond, kissing him back. His lips mould against yours like it was meant to be there, perfect for each other, and you’re sure your soul was flying somewhere in the ninth cloud. 

You curse yourself for the disappointment you feel when he pulls away, unsure of what just happened. He rubs his nose against yours softly, before your eyes find each other, drinking in the image of the other. 

“Well, I definitely meant to do that,” he states matter-of-factly, before pecking your lips once more. “And I’ll mean it every single time I do it.”

You stare at him, shocked at the way things were unfolding. Never would you have expected this.

“You like me?”

“No, dumbhead, I love you.” He says it with such sincerity that you can’t help but look away, a smile finally gracing your features as his words ring in your head.

“Shut up.”

“Seriously, you’re going to hit two million at this rate.”

You both take one look at each other before bursting out in laughter, mostly in relief that the elephant in the room had been tackled. 

Hongjoong lets go of your hand before laying next to you, pulling you closer to him and wrapping his arms around your waist, as your head rests on his chest, enjoying the sound of his quickened heartbeat. 

“I love you, Y/n.”

“And I love you too.”

You get an idea; leaning upwards, you place a kiss on his forehead, lips lingering for longer than a second. 

“In return for the kiss you gave me the other night.”

And for the umpteenth time that night, you can’t help but laugh at the horrified expression on Hongjoong’s face, because he had just been caught.

“You were awake?!” 

“Of course! Who even falls asleep on that stupid couch?”

“Why didn’t you say anything?!”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

He shoots you a look, and you decide to stop teasing him, muttering a “Okay I’ll stop”, and snuggling closer to him as you thank your lucky stars mentally.

You really had the best roommate, crush, and now boyfriend.

[holdmecloseandfast]

Fin’amor

Here is the first chapter of my new shielshock fic that I needed to write because reasons. Featuring: courtly love, pining, peak medieval romantic tropes, heaving bosoms, dithering, SKINNY!STEVE, excessive razzing from Sam and Bucky, a motherfucking DRAGON, etc. I’ve posted on AO3 already but since tumblr is being shitty about posts that contain links, I’m posting the chapter straight to tumblr as well. 

~Chapter One~

The journey to the kingdom of Asgard had been a strenuous one. Traversing oceans and lands completely foreign was not for the faint hearted, so it was fortuitous that lady’s maid Darceline Lewis, Darcy to her companions, was hardy in both constitution and spirits. Leaning forward in her seat in the carriage, she flicked the heavy brocade curtains aside to catch a glimpse of the passing countryside. 

“I’ll give you this, dearest Jane, for a heathen, your betrothed’s kingdom is quite lovely.” 

Lady Jane Foster scratched the end of her nose, smearing a small blot of ink at the tip. “Hmm, yes, lovely,” she muttered vaguely as she continued penning into her ever present journal. “Darcy, would you mind checking over these numbers for me?” She proffered the small logbook with an expectant expression on her delicate features. Darcy raised a dark brow, but took the book without comment. As nimble and skilled as her fingers were with needlework, so too was her mind with figures. 

It was this particular ability that had won her freedom from her drunkard father’s home when she was a child. Her father had taken her with him to Earl Foster’s manor one tax day and had unintentionally caught the eye of the Earl when she’d corrected a small error in the calculation of their dues. Impressed, recently widowed, and entirely overwhelmed with the burgeoning genius of his own young daughter, the Earl had immediately offered to take Darcy on to the household staff as playmate and future lady’s maid to young Jane Foster. Her father had taken one look at the sack of coin Earl Foster had offered and never looked back. Neither had Darcy, who was pleased to find herself with a friend who was as intelligent and curious as she. Having a full belly and a warm bed every night was rather nice as well. 

Her eyes slid over the page, absorbing the string of complex formulas with ease. She may not understand the reason for all the calculations, star nonsense that only Jane seemed to comprehend, but she could sort the formulas out beautifully, if she said so herself. She handed the book back as it was and Jane grinned rather smugly. Though highly intelligent herself, Jane often wrote too quickly and ended up making a mess of errors. Or perhaps it was better to say, she wrote too slowly for how quickly her mind worked and thus what she wrote down often left holes in her formulas that Darcy would have to correct. In either case, Jane could be impossibly impatient, a factor that made her needlework completely intolerable to anyone with sight. Thankfully, she had Darcy to help her sort out the knots in her life. 

It was one such tangled knot that had led to Jane’s betrothal to the Crown Prince of Asgard, the kingdom across the Nordic Sea. Several months prior, the two women had stumbled upon Prince Thor as they rode their mares across the beach. It had been a fine evening for stargazing, the moon absent from the sky so that the stars shone all the brighter over the endless sea. It had taken them completely by surprise when a sudden summer squall had arisen, as if by magic, sending the ocean into chaos and blotting out any light. It was this lack of light that led Jane to slightly trample Thor. Being rather disoriented from his ship going down in the storm and then washed ashore only to be run over by a horse, it was understandable that he reacted fairly poorly, frightening the two women significantly. Darcy, ever efficient, pulled the falchion she always kept on her person and bludgeoned the back of his head with the flat of her blade. He’d fallen quite tidily, like a very large, very handsome sack of potatoes. Of course, there was the small matter of him developing a mild case of amnesia for several months. Darcy swore that the shipwreck was just as likely to have caused the memory loss as the blow to the back of the head and rejected all culpability. She did, however, take complete credit for inadvertently finding Jane a suitable husband, both in position and compatibility. It was as he was nursed back to health in the Fosters’ castle, that a profound love grew between the two. When Thor regained his memory, it was a happy realization indeed that he was both a prince of a wealthy, if dreadfully foreign, realm and in need of a bride. 

He had returned to his home some months ago to clear up some distressing business with his father and brother and had sent for Jane shortly thereafter, thus bringing them to the carriage that carried them now. 

“You know, I’ve heard tales of this land being full of magic. Dwarves and giants and even dragons,” Darcy said in a hushed, reverent voice. A shiver of delicious anticipation ran up her spine. 

Jane rolled her eyes and made a very unladylike snort. “You mustn't listen to the Bards. Or Thor. It’s all a bunch of stories to entertain children. Magic doesn’t exist. It’s scientifically impossible.” 

“Says the woman who believes that the miracles of Our Lord Christ Jesus are a load of horse dung.” Darcy made the sign of the cross over herself. No sense in upsetting the Lord even if her lady was a heretic. 

“Tell me how exactly a bit of mud and spittle is supposed to bring back a man’s sight, Darcy.” 

Darcy sighed but did not answer. It was an argument that they’d had many times over the years of their friendship. Jane, for all her brilliance, had a difficult time believing in things that she could not see for herself or reproduce in her alchemical laboratory. Darcy, whose grandmother had been a renowned seer in their village, was more open to the impossibilities of the world. If her grandmother could predict to the hour the births and deaths of every person in their village, then she didn’t see why Jesus wouldn’t be able to heal the blind with a touch or for dragons to roam the earth. 

***

Darcy did not remember her own mother very well. She had died in childbirth with a stillborn son shortly after Darcy turned four. The only maternal presence she remembered was her grandmother, who was rather distant, perhaps by nature of her ability. If Darcy had her choice, she would have wanted a mother exactly like Frigga, the radiantly beautiful Queen of Asgard and Thor’s mother. She was as warm and gentle as a summer shower, and just as refreshing. 

Odin, the Allfather, as they called their king in this realm, was Frigga’s complete opposite. Cold and hard, a bitter wind that cuts through clothes and freezes innards. He watched them all with a single stern, reproachful eye, as the other was covered with an eyepatch, lost in some long ago battle. Darcy was thankful when Frigga ushered them swiftly away from the throne room after their formal introductions to the court of Odin. 

The two women now rested, somewhat uneasily, far beneath the castle in what Frigga had called a hot spring. Indeed, great swells of heated water roiled in pools naturally hewn into the rock beneath their new home. It was blissful to have their bodies completely submerged, the heat working the soreness from their travel-abused bodies. However, it was rather strange to be seated completely naked in a cavernous space where anybody could walk in on them, though Frigga had assured them that this particular cavern was exclusive to the royal family. She did not specify if it were only for the female members of the family, so Jane and Darcy were rather horrified of the thought that Odin might join them at some point. Their only saving grace would likely be the fact that the cavern was nearly completely dark, only lit by dimly glowing sconces along the rock walls. 

They bathed in the waters until their hands and feet were quite pruny and Darcy’s already curly hair had become a riotous mess from the steam sifting up through the strands. Jane, who was uncomfortable with nudity in general, left before Darcy, patting her on the shoulder with a warning not to drown. Darcy murmured something not quite coherent, already half asleep with her head resting against the lip of the pool. She dozed heavily for a good long while but woke with a start when she heard a voice clear. She blinked her eyes, wondering at the haze until she remembered where she was and that the milky blurring of her sight was not blindness but merely great billows of steam. The steam whirled and shifted enough for her to finally see who had joined her in the pool. 

Her first thought was that it was a young boy who had joined her, but the deep voice that carried to her across the suddenly entirely too small pool was certainly that of a man. 

“I’m sorry Lady Darcy, I didn’t mean to startle you. I did not see you there. Well, I saw you, but it was only as I was half in the water and I thought it might be uncomfortable if you woke while I was...uncovered. So I sat down. So that I wouldn’t be, well…” he cleared his throat again, flushing from both the heat of the water and the predicament he’d placed them in. 

He was unusually small for a man, his body fragile and narrow, which excused her initial assumption that he was a child. He had the face of a grown man, however, and not the youth whose voice has only recently deepened and will likely grow taller and heavier in the coming months. He was pale, with the purest pair of blue eyes she’d ever seen. His hair was a soft gold, like spun sunshine and it hung limply against his forehead where he was nervously pushing it aside. A strong, well-shaped nose, high cheekbones, and a mouth that was almost too full and dark for such a narrow, pale face finished out his facial features. He was beautiful, exquisitely so, despite his delicate build. She stared at him and only found her voice when she saw him flush deeper and continue to spout apologies at her. 

“I’m not a lady,” she declared. “Merely Lady Jane’s lady-in-waiting.” 

“Oh.” He seemed unable to respond to that. 

Darcy blinked at him, still a bit addled by sleep, then prompted him. “And you are…?”

He seemed to flounder, as if he’d forgotten. “Yes. Right. I’m Jarl Steven Rogerson.” 

“Yarl? What an odd name.”

“It’s not my name, it’s my title. I suppose the equivalent to your kingdom would be Sir.” 

“Oh,” Darcy extended the word with realization. “So you’re a knight?” 

Steven flashed a brief, shy smile, though there was a sadness to his eyes that confused her. “Something like that,” he replied. He sunk deeper into the water, letting it rise to his ears, hiding himself. 

Ah, she realized, his size must cause him grief, especially if he is supposed to be a warrior. She could see it in his posture, the careful way he held himself, waiting for the cruel line of questioning. How can you be a knight if you are so small? Surely you are too weak to fight? A stiff wind could knock you down, how could you possibly stand a chance against a true Norse warrior? A tenderness unfurled softly in her breast for the man, but was halted by the realization that they were both naked and in a bath together and by no choice of her own. 

“I thought this bathing chamber was only for the royal family?” she asked, somewhat sourly. 

Steven hemmed and hawed a bit at that. “I am Prince Thor’s brother-in-arms and one of his close friends and was given permission to use the chamber so that...well, the public chamber can be…” here he flushed rather brilliantly, shame clear on his face, “too public, I suppose.” He shrugged, a sad little arching of his boney shoulders. “And I have trouble breathing. Sometimes. The air down here helps.” 

“Be that as it may, you have quite efficiently trapped me in this pool until you see fit to leave.” 

“You may go at any time. I will not stop you.” 

“And let you ogle me in my nakedness? I think not, Sir,” she replied, indignant, crossing her arms tightly over her ample chest, though it was well below the churning water and already obscured. 

Steven sputtered so hard he went into a brief coughing fit. “No, no, you misunderstand me, miss! I would never look at you! Not that there’s anything wrong with you,” he continued frantically at her look of affront. “I mean to say, I would love to look at you because you are,“ he gestured at her face, his own nearly glowing in the dim light.

“I’m what, exactly?” she arched a brow. 

“Well, you know, a gorgeous girl. Woman! But I wouldn’t. Look at you, that is. I’d close my eyes,” which he did immediately, though out of chagrin more than any deference to her modesty. “To be respectful,” he finished rather dejectedly with a blind flap of his hand in her general direction. 

“I see.” 

Steven sighed and opened his eyes again, the blue ringed by thick, dark lashes. “I’m sorry,” he said earnestly. She wasn’t sure if he was apologizing for the predicament he’d put her in, the stumbling of his speech, or himself as a whole or some dismal combination of the three. The tenderness started blossoming again. 

She narrowed her eyes at him and then softened the expression, letting a conspiratorial smile slide across her mouth. “Forgiven. But just this once. Now, if you would please turn around and close your eyes, I would greatly appreciate it.”

He nodded emphatically, turning swiftly in his seat. She could see every knob of his spine, each curve of his ribs. Was the man not being fed? What kind of friend was Thor if he couldn’t keep his friends well fed? She pursed her lips. She’d need to talk to Jane about this. She slipped from the pool on legs gone loose and wobbly from abuse and hot water, gingerly making her way to where she’d stored her clothes on a shelf of rock. She dressed quickly, the fabric clinging to her wet, heated skin, and cleared her throat when she was decent. True to his word, Steven had kept his back to her. “I am clothed now, Jarl Steven.” 

He turned slowly, his eyes drinking her in, in a way that should have been distressing but sent a shiver of heat over her scalp. “I apologize again for disturbing your rest.” 

Darcy nodded and gave a slight curtsy, suddenly tongue-tied, then turned abruptly and left.

***

The wedding was lovely, if a bit different than what Jane and Darcy were used to. For one, it was not a Christian ceremony at all, but done in the pagan style that was customary for Asgard. Jane, who was no great believer to begin with, found the ceremony to be fascinating and infinitely more efficient with a lot less stuffy, time consuming fuss. There was more emphasis on the feast after the wedding than the ceremony itself, which was a rowdy, joyful event that the entirety of Asgard seemed to have attended. During the feast, Thor had taken it upon himself to try and matchmake, introducing Darcy to his closest eligible friends in the hopes that one of his noblemen would be to her liking. She protested the introductions, feeling hopelessly inadequate as a marital prospect to men of nobility. She was a lady’s maid. To the ruling class of men she could only ever be a dalliance, perhaps even a mistress, but never a wife. And she had no desire to be mistress or dalliance. To any man. Thor had brushed her delicately stated concerns aside with a wave of his meaty paw, mumbling something about jarls and karls not being so insular with their courting, whatever that meant. 

She found his friends Hogun and Fandral to be polar opposites in demeanor, the first abysmally solemn and the second a born rake, if she was any judge, and so neither were particularly alluring to her. She did find Fandral to be a skilled and enthusiastic dancer...along with every other maid in Asgard. A few other men were presented to her, but all were the stalwart, warrior type and were entirely too dull. If she were to rap her knuckes against their skulls, it wouldn’t have surprised her in the slightest if she’d been met with a hollow clang. 

She was nearing the end of her patience when Thor introduced her to a final trio of companions. The first, James Barnesson, was notably missing his left arm, but it was clear by his muscle-bound body that he was still a capable warrior. He also happened to be a divine dancer, unerringly graceful, and had a dry, quiet humor to him. Dark headed, and blue eyed, he was incredibly handsome, but there was a wariness around his eyes that told Darcy he was a man who would not give his heart so easily, if at all. The second, Sam Wilson, was equally handsome, with the dark skin and eyes of the peoples of the distant southern continent. Wickedly funny and a kindred spirit, Darcy felt an immediate affinity for the man, though it edged loser to kinship than romance. The third man, she’d already met. 

“Good evening, Jarl Steven, it is good to see you again. And this time with the benefit of us both fully clothed.” She smiled impishly at him, inordinately pleased when he blushed from scalp to collar. He was looking especially handsome dressed in a tunic in brilliant shades of crimson and white, with dark blue knotwork embroidered at the collar and hems. He cleared his throat at the askance looks he received from Thor, James, and Sam, but Thor was the first to find his voice. 

“You sly dog, Steven,” he rumbled, clapping him on the shoulder so hard that he swayed under the weight. “Plundering the goods of my wife’s homeland already, are you?”

At the truly furious look that was dawning over Darcy’s face, Steven quickly shoved off Thor’s hand at his shoulder, shaking his head emphatically. “No! Nothing like that! It was an accident.” 

Sam and James exchanged a droll look and then James bent to make a low comment in Steven’s ear that sounded suspiciously like what, did you trip? Steven threw a sharp elbow at the other man’s middle--though it did about as much damage as throwing a pebble at a tree trunk--and then promptly began sputtering and choking on his words in his haste to get them out. 

Darcy, indignant to the point of blushing rather atrociously herself, had had enough and made a brief, ill-tempered account of her first meeting with Steven. Sam and James had merely shrugged at the explanation, and Thor seemed disappointed, if only for a brief moment, until his genial nature returned. 

“Ah well, perhaps later,” was his wholly inappropriate response. “My brothers, I fear I have left my wife for far too long and must return to her,” he continued, speaking my wife with a joyful reverence that Darcy found endearing, despite his heathen-like behavior. “I leave Darcy in your very good hands.” 

She found the wink he shot at the trio of friends to be significantly less endearing. 

She spent the rest of the festivities dancing with either Sam or James and carefully avoiding Fandral, who she most certainly saw groping the backside of a young woman, out in the middle of the great hall for all of Asgard to see. Actually, many of the revelers were quite deep in their cups at that point and there was a pandemic of groping by both male and female attendees that had Darcy thanking her blessed stars that her choices in dance partners appeared to be the only respectful, and sober, men left in the hall. Her feet were aching when she finally begged pardon from James and Sam and took a seat back at the high table. She located Steven easily enough, and finding him alone, decided to join him. He sat up straighter at her arrival, looking a bit as if he’d swallowed his tongue. 

“I am so sorry for earlier,” he spouted as she took her seat. 

She smiled gently at him, briefly laying her hand on his forearm with the lightest of touches. He stilled beneath her and her own heart reacted to the touch with a startling lurch. She quickly moved her hand away. “It’s alright. It was foolish of me to bring up the nakedness in the first place. I often speak before I have given enough thought to my words.” 

This caused Steven to smile quite brilliantly, his whole face lighting up in such a way that he looked like an illuminated painting of one of the saints. One of the handsomer ones that had not been brutally martyred, perhaps. Darcy took a steadying breath, willing the blood in her veins to cease its singing, her chest rising sharply to press precariously against the neckline of her cambric surcoat. Steven’s eyes dipped down for the briefest flicker and his smile wavered as another blush rode over his cheeks. “Gentle lady, I, too, struggle with speaking too quickly.” His smile twisted slightly. “As you have witnessed in our short acquaintance.” 

“Indeed,” she murmured, and then, “Your friends are both splendid dancers. Did you not desire to dance with me tonight?”

He sunk into his seat, shoulder rising. “It is not lack of desire, but merely lack of ability,” he grit out. “I don’t know how to dance.”

“Ah, I see. And why not? Do you not wish to learn?”

“Perhaps. Someday. Were I to find the right partner.” There was something wistful and far away to his gaze. 

“Oh I understand it now. You are dreadfully captious when it comes to finding a partner, then?” she teased, leaning close to him. 

He squirmed in his seat, rather like a small child who had been caught telling lies. “No, not particularly. It is usually the other way around. The women of our land tend to be singular in their tastes,” he said, nodding over to where a milk-pale young woman with honey-gold hair was stroking tenderly the bulging pectoral of one of the thick-headed warriors Darcy had met earlier. 

Darcy made an unhappy hum and dropped her eyes to her lap, not wanting Steven to see the pity that might be reflected there. Finally, she looked up to find him staring at her, studying her. She chewed at her lower lip. “The world is wide, Jarl Steven,” she said solemnly. “And it is full of wonders. You may find your partner yet.” 

***

Steven watched Darcy slip out of the Great Hall, her dark curls reflecting the wavering torchlight in whorls of earth and amber. He sighed, undeserved relief flooding him at her solitary exit. He had no right to be jealous of whoever she might choose to take to her bedchamber. He hardly knew the woman, but he was relieved all the same that she left alone. She was everything he could wish for in a woman: beautiful, clearly, but also kind and loyal, witty, brilliant...perfect. They’d spent several hours conversing as the wedding festivities continued on until the wee hours of the morning. It was stilted at first, for him anyway, as he was not used to or necessarily very good at talking to women, but she had *something* through with the conversation until he’d hit his stride. Then it had been like conversing with his oldest friends. She was so easy to talk to, funny and charismatic, her clear intelligence keeping him enthralled, a genuine smile always gracing her lush mouth.

Steven leaned his head back against the back of his chair with a low groan. That mouth and those luminous blue eyes and the endearing little gap between her front teeth. He couldn’t wait to paint her, promised himself he would do so soon, but other instincts had him rising from his chair and leaving the hall. He slunk out into the night, heading towards the forest. A hand extended from a wall of shadows beneath the nearest pine, stopping him. 

“You alright, Stevie?” James asked softly. 

He nodded curtly. “I’m fine. You needn’t worry.” 

“That woman get under your skin?”

Steven shook his head, glaring at James’ shadowed face. “It’s got nothing to do with her. I haven’t shifted in awhile...you know how it makes me antsy. I only need a couple hours. I’ll stick to the coast and be back before dawn.”

James nodded and abruptly dropped his arm, turning back toward the castle. “Try not to terrify any fishermen this time, hellion.” 

“I’ll do my best, stubby. Though, if they’ve seen your ugly face before, there’s little I can do to terrify them further.”

James did not reply other than to gesture crudely and slip further down the path to the palace. Steven didn’t linger either. His skin felt feverish and tight and his lungs twisted painfully in his chest. He staggered deeper into the forest, praying no one caught sight of the smoke beginning to spill over his lips and curl from his nostrils. The beast beneath his skin was impatient.

***

Steven Rogerson had been born with smoke in his lungs. He had also been born two months early and by all rights should have perished. Of course, he did not know these things, not until he was older and his mother, Sarah, had sat him down to tell him a story about a boy. A boy who was cursed. But it was no story, it was truth written onto the very bones of his own weak body. 

Sarah had told him that when she had been heavy with him in her belly, she’d run afoul of a witch, one who had cursed the child in her womb, a curse that could only be broken by the kiss of his true love. She told Steven of the moment of his birth, when he came too soon and she feared he would be dead before the midwife even placed him in her arms. She told him of the moment when his mouth popped open with a tiny, weak wail that shot wisps of smoke across the room. She told him of how the midwife nearly dropped him from shock and from the nigh unbearable heat emanating from his tiny body. She explained that he was cursed, but also blessed, because though he was fragile and his childhood had been filled with fevers and uneasy breathing, he would not always be so breakable. 

She told him that when he became a man, he would also become something else: a dragon. She told him that his frailty would break away, and the beast would reign, and he would finally be strong, if only for a few hours. She warned him that the beast within could not be suppressed, not forever, and if he did not make time to fly across the land in his dragon skin, it would burn him up and the change would happen without his control. She warned him that people would covet him. And fear him. 

And then she died. 

Steven was left orphaned, having never known his father, and burdened with a terrible secret. He lived in fear of himself, of what he became when the itch beneath his skin could no longer be ignored. And he hated the way he was feared by those unfortunate enough to find him in his altered state. Was it not curse enough that he was a pathetic weakling? He had to be twice cursed with fire in his veins? 

Very few knew his secret. James and Sam, of course, and the royal family. James he had known since infancy, had weathered all manner of childhood storms together. And it was James who was with him the first time he changed. He’d waited for fear and disgust to darken his friend’s eyes, but there had only been light in them. James had only ever found his dragon self to be fascinating. He’d called him beautiful once; his huge, scaled body a pure gold with a milky belly, his expansive wings like spun sugar. All Steven could see was the monster from fairy tales. 

It had only been a few years into his ability to make the change when Odin approached him. It was to be expected, he couldn’t keep out of sight entirely despite his best efforts, and it was inevitable that rumors of dragon sightings would make it back to the Allfather. With a Seer for a wife, it did not take much longer after that to track down Steven to assess him as a threat. Thankfully Thor had ridden with Odin, and had taken a liking to Steven almost instantly. It was perhaps Thor’s good graces that saved Steven from execution right then and there. With some convincing, he had eventually agreed to come to the Allfathers court, to be made a Jarl and fight beside the Crown Prince. There was nothing like having a dragon on your side when coming up against a horde of Jotnar. Of course, the majority of Odin’s court did not know that Steven fought as a dragon, and he was still seen as a laughing stock to most of the Asgardians. They all assumed his rise in rank and introduction into the court was because he was a bastard of Odin’s, or a charity case, or worst of all, as a cruel joke. It burned him still to hear the tittering laughter that followed him everywhere. 

No woman wanted him as he was. No woman would want him if they knew the truth. The only end to his curse would be death. 

Sam, already a seasoned warrior in Thor’s inner circle, found out by pure accident. Steven had waited too long to shift during one particularly long span of peacetime and was caught needing to change in the daylight hours. In his haste to disappear as deeply in the forest as he could get, he missed Sam entirely, who was minding his own business, practicing his falconry in a nearby clearing. Watching the massive body of a dragon burst forth from a tiny man was enough to make Sam lose his breakfast and had startled the falcon quite considerably as well, unbeknownst to Steven. Some hours later, when Steven had returned to his human form and was trudging exhaustedly through the halls of the palace, Sam had pulled him aside, discreetly relaying what he’d seen. Steven had blanched, his stomach twisting in knots, only to be met with affable acceptance from Sam. 

“Explains why you’re such a stubborn little shit all the time,” he’d commented with a shrug. “All that fire trapped in a little body has to come out somehow.”

Steven had thrown a punch at Sam, who could have easily dodged but let the blow land, earning himself a decent black eye. He had merely arched a brow at Steven’s reaction, vindicated in his assertion. They’d become fast friends shortly thereafter. 

***

It was a relief when his skin cracked open like dried earth, the shimmering gold of him unfurling rapidly until he filled the entirety of the well used clearing with his body. He huffed slowly through a snout grown long and wide, his massive lungs taking in air like bellows and releasing it with heated gusts that curled the leaves of the nearby trees. He drew his head back, stretching the kinks from his long, serpentine neck, and then flexed his wings to their extent blotting out the bright moon and stars. For all that he hated this part of himself, there was a wild, animal ecstasy that came with being strong and breathing easy. He always felt such guilt, that he could so thoroughly enjoy being a monster. Another reason why he was unworthy of true love. His thoughts turned unbidden to Darcy and the self hatred heightened. As sweetly as she’d smiled at him at the feast, it would not change how horrified she would be to see him like this. Shame burned though and swallowed up the joy. 

With a screaming roar, he launched himself into the sky, rising higher and higher until the land beneath him was merely a blur of shadows. He darted toward the sea, his wings carrying him faster than any horse, and reached the ocean with ample time to feast on sea creatures and breathe swaths of fire across the night sky. He would return easily before dawn, his belly and the beast fully sated. 

***

Darcy halted in her preparation for bed, setting her delicate, silk nightgown back into her trunk. She’d thought she’d heard something strange in the distance. The roar of some unfamiliar beast. She took to the window, peering out into the night but seeing nothing. Her eyes glanced at the stars, pausing when she thought she saw something glimmer in the sky a league away. She strained her eyes, then shook her head at her own inanity. Perhaps she should take Jane’s advice and stop listening to Thor’s stories after all. 

[talldarkandroguesome]

25th of Last Seed, Sundas

When I was returning from Heathre’s tent in the early hours, something unusual occurred. Well, perhaps not that unusual. Perhaps fortuitous is more correct.

Having spent so much time away from Tel, I had completely forgotten about their morning exercise regime.

Yet, as I was softly weaving between tents to return to mine, I saw Tel working out their muscles, a light sheen of sweet glistening upon their body. I thought to approach, but did not want to throw Tel off of their rhythm, so I took a seat upon a crate nearby and waited for them to catch sight of me naturally and bring their focus to me in time.

It was surprising how long it took for Tel to realize that anyone was even there. If I had meant them harm, Tel could have been dead countless times over without being caught awares.

Still, I will not pretend as though I minded the wait. Tel’s exercises, in only a light shirt and trousers were enough for me to see plenty of their body. Even more noticeable, the strength of their muscles as they worked each one, the raw power clear even at a casual glance.

It was not until Tel had decided to work on practice with their staff, that they had become aware of their surroundings enough to see me. We grinned at one another and they came over, inviting me to spar with them.

Unclear what sort of rules Tel followed in the sport, I inquired to the sort of sparring Tel intended. After all, it would likely be upsetting to Tel if I should practice as I was taught. There is so much sand about, it would be easy enough to throw or kick a spray into their eyes, come up behind them with a teleport strike, and have a knife or even a staff, at their throat.

Tel said they wished to spar with staves. Given the hungry look on Tel’s face, I began to unlace my trousers, ready for a battle with our respective staves. Tel laughed and threw me a wooden staff.

Not ready to let go of a jest, I asked them if the contest was where to put the staff, or how deep.

A shame Tel does not have nearly as much of a sense of humor as one might expect from and Armiger. Instead they rolled their eyes at me and, in an annoyed tone, asked if I was going to join them, or if they should just continue to train with their staff alone.

I refused to end my joke there and told Tel that it was truly their loss. And I was pleased to here Tel return with a quip that they thought I much preferred to practice with their spear. I agreed, particularly when it came to polishing said spear.

Tel was unable to carry on further with the jest, instead sighing and complaining to the Gods at large about how shameless I was. To which I reminded Tel that being shameless was one of my better traits, or at the lease, a highly paid trait.

I was ignored for my words, even though they were truth, and we began to spar.

It was difficult not to put my more instinctive reactions into play. I focused on parrying and dodging the strikes, waiting for an opening that showed a slower hand, or a weakness, or any sign of fatigue.

Of course, with my eyes trained upon Tel’s sweat-slicked body and the scent of them so close, I was quickly drawn to distraction. I managed to keep up for a while, but ultimately I was pinned beneath Tel’s smaller frame.

I thanked Tel for their show and a bit of exercise, then looked up at Tel, hoping that my expression would convey my needs.

Tel asked what I would like to do next. I glanced up at them and said I was ready to take my defeat.

I do not think Tel understood what I meant then either, for they began to list the various things we could do to fill our day with training and exercise. My body ached, just thinking of all of that without having yet slept from the night before.

I reiterated that I was ready to give tribute to the victor and that they should have their way with me as their right in defeating me.

Tel laughed and lightly said they were not yet done with all their daily exercises. I gave Tel the word to continue and I stayed laying on the ground for a while, letting Tel know which of his various exercises I was most interested in.

When Tel took a short break, he asked me my reason for being up so early, if I was trying to get ahead on some chores.

I replied that I was not up early, I was simply out late for a night of conversing and had been returning to my tent when I had seen Tel and decided to stop and watch.

Tel said nothing more for a longer pause than was usual in a conversation. So I returned their silence with my own.

Eventually Tel started to apologize for keeping me up later, not having realized I had yet to sleep. I waved off the concern.

Of course, then Tel has to go and be theirself, and starts asking me about how the meetings with the Clanmothers have been going.

I made a sour face at them and said I was in little mood to talk about it. Instead, I offered to share a morning nightcap with Tel, who decided that they were not in the mood for such a thing.

I offered to satiate any thirsts or hungers Tel might still have. They looked contemplative as they glanced down at the ground, not quite able to articulate anything to me.

I tried kneading Tel’s shoulders, down over their chest, pressing my body up to their back. I whispered in their ears that I was there to help with any tension that needed to be released.

Yet, no matter the tactics I chose, how low my hands slid, Tel just stood their looking constipated.

I gave up and started walking to Tel’s tent instead, letting Tel know that since they clearly wanted more exercises, they should finish and then come find me waiting.

Tel said they would find me if I was still up in an hour.

I stripped down and got into their bed. I let myself drift into a light sleep waking as Tel rustled the canvas on opening the door.

I greeted Tel, making sure that I was in an inviting position as they entered. Tel called me a crazy f’lah and said they did not expect me to actually wait for them.

When I told Tel that I rested my eyes while I waiting, they looked skeptically at me, so I asked if they were joining me or not. At least that got Tel to stop stalling and get out of their clothing. I came to help. A mer can only be so patient after being teased and then left to wait.

I started untying Tel’s undergarments as I offered to live up to my earlier promise of polishing their spear. But Tel shook his head and said they wished to be the one polishing after I had waited so patiently for them and they pushed me down upon the padded bedding to fellate me.

I could hardly leave Tel without a favor returned, so I pulled Tel towards me to do the same to them, making sure to pleasure both of their organs in tandem with fingers and tongue.

We spent the better part of the morning in such activities and more. It was invigorating. Having two partners so close together reminded me of the way things had been and of just how little pray I had been offering Mephala as of late. Neglecting such important duties!

I went back to find that Avon was just returning from having spent time with the children. He said he was feeling a bit restless of late and I proposed a solution.

So by the time the sun was overhead, I had found myself and three partners fully satisfied. And at last I was able to slip into a deep slumber and rest.

Avon came in just a moment ago to rouse me for dinner. I said I was not feeling hungry and even a bit in need of some rest. He turned to leave, telling me he would make some excuses on my behalf. 

I asked him to simply buy me a little time. I got myself cleaned up and perfumed so I would be presentable. I hope that dinner is not weird between all the interested parties.

[tirasiantrouper]

Soon

Soon.

Whoever came up with the word soon? It was timeless, yet used to give some measure of time. The very word now grated on Sarah's nerves as she had drawn on clothes and boots. She had 'borrowed' one of Merrick's sweaters. It was big and bulky enough to make Sarah look a bit frumpy. To help her blend in a bit.  She had opted to not paint on her usual eye-catching shade of ruby red lipstick. Whatever she could do to not draw attention to herself. As she stumbled and bumbled about the docks of Freehold, she'd ask here and there on if people had seen anything out of sorts.

Uncomfortable.

That was another word she cursed. She hated that it was accurate for her. She felt uncomfortable, exposed, standing out on the docks, trying to get some form of heading on where to begin looking for Merrick and Graham. After some time she had at least figured out which direction the nearest tavern was in. That would be a good place to check, she reasoned. And yet...

Taverns in Freehold were more like lamplights.

There was one, or more, for every street corner -- often stacked one upon the other. The nearest tavern to their particular dockhead was a rather boring affair named the ‘Colorful Carnation’. True to its name, the sign which swung in the sea-breeze was carved into the shape of a blooming flower. Outside stood a great-many manner of men and women, all seaside sorts who were drinking and smoking, even at the afternoon hour.

To misfortune perhaps, none appeared to be a gargantuan foreman nor finely-tailored director. The great expanse of the patrons visible were all rough-and-tumble, salty sorts who looked inquiring for a place to spend their voyage’s pay.

Sarah had her eyes peeled, looking for both of them, but mostly looking for Merrick as she was sure to notice him in a crowd before Graham. Something about his size, she figured, would make him stand out. She made her way towards the gathered group, trying to peer through the  crowd of them to see what the kerfuffle was. All the while, cursing and grumbling under her breath. It had been hours. Merrick knew she gave them two.

Kerfuffles were many and a-plenty, it seemed.

“Oooh -- ooh, I see what yer’ game is boy! You really gonna go ahead and try to swap-a-swindle on me? No, no -- no no. Come on, you really wanna have me chewin’ up your backside from here to fuckin’ Tel Abim? Gimme the doubloons, swabbie.”

“Okay -- I can see you are upset. I feel your energy, and I am putting good energy back. But … the thing is … these are my doubloons. See, you did bet them against my hand -- and now, see, I’ve won that hand. So under all the laws of Gods, Fortune and Men, these are my doubloons.”

There appeared to be a rather profound argument on the outer deck of the Colorful Carnation regarding a particular hand of cards. A brutish, thick-jawed sailor bearing a red-dyed tricorne was arguing his loss of wealth with a svelte, rather dapper -- and handsome, by some measure -- one-eyed man with a gilded eyepatch.

Freehold. It never changed.

As attractive as one might have been, those weren't her men. Therefore they weren't hers to mind about. Especially given she was certain at least one of them was unscrupulous in their sea-faring ways. Even if the argument reminded her of a certain illusionist. That reminder only served to make her frown, remembering why she was there.

Onto the next tavern! Slinking away as best she could, to avoid the crowd and the fight going on behind her, Sarah tugged her-- well, Merrick's-- sweater closer around herself.

The great expanse of Freehold’s ramshackle streets was vast.

There were no shortage of taverns, sea-side spitting houses, ‘breweries’, and pubs. Perhaps a few square feet of the entirety of Freehold was not built for the express intention of putting liquor into the bloodstreams of sailing sorts. It was that kind of a town.

With no defining marks, and a far -- far -- too big garment wrapped around her, Sarah did not poke out. Amongst the peoples of Freehold, cause for ‘catcalling’ was as broad as physiology could abide. Men, women, and all else got the side-eye and a hoot-and-holler from various sorts. The afternoon as it was did not hold so ripe a contest of maritime debauchery as surely would come about by nightfall. Fortuitous, as it were.

Beyond the din of many sailors cavorting, arguing, and fist-fighting with one another -- there came a sound. It was small, given the surrounding cries and yells, but it seemed to be coming from deeper down a corner alleyway.

“-- in good faith. And now? Look, look what you’ve done. -- Ah! Ah, no. No. That was all you, Cal. Do not try to assuage you and your boys embarrassment on account of my behavior. I was nothing but genial until they drew.”

That was a sense of familiarity. The voice and the confident attitude, and the 'genial' nature of it all.

Sarah crept closer, and turned to lean about at the end of the alleyway, within hearing distance, but around the corner so as to not be seen. She did her best to make it look like she was just another Freehold Free-person lingering about, wasting time outside of the building. She felt around inside of Merrick's pockets, trying to find something that could resemble a smoke. Not that she knew the foreman to smoke, but it would have been useful. Even just the gesture of searching for a smoke to discover she had 'forgotten' it elsewhere would do to any passerbys while she eavesdropped.

To her chagrin, there was no ‘smoke’. There was, however, a ringlet of measuring spoons. They still held the gentle dust of cinnamon from the last tray of muffins Merrick had baked at the estate. Indeed, there was also a bundled up tea-towel which retained the scent of whatever blend he had mixed together to help ease Graham’s hangovers. Curious man, their foreman.

Down the alleyway, there were a variety of peculiar shopfronts. Most were empty in the afternoon -- unsavory sorts, perhaps. But the end of the alleyway was a tavern. Or something approximating a tavern. There was a bar, and grog behind it, so -- tavern.

But in the briny expanse of ‘street’ ahead of that tavern, stood a man in quite a lovely charcoal suit. It was somewhat marred by apparent physicality. There was an imprint of dust on the rear, where a hand had apparently tried to take hold of him. He grasped a cane in his left hand, tip pointed downward at an angle befitting a fencing saber rather than a walking appendage. Five men lay prone around him.

A sixth man, quite unfortunate, was being held by his ankle by a mammoth of a man standing beside the well-tailored gentleman. He was stumbling over his words, bumbling and making some plea which amounted to, ’please, please-please put me down!’

Past the commotion, stood another man. Less well-dressed, but wearing the same sense of quiet confidence as the cane-wielder.

Sarah had to duck her head to hide her smirk as she heard something along the lines of someone pleading to be put down. She knew without looking-- that was Merrick's doing. Still, she listened, trying to gauge the rest of the scenario and whether or not she was needed or could even be of use. At least, she reasoned, it didn't sound as if either of them were harmed. Yet.

No one -- bar the five men unconscious, and the one held aloft -- appeared harmed.

“Now … is there a particular reason you decided to throw your goons at me, Cal? Or have you simply gotten so incredibly doughy in your old age that you rely on these upstart young gentleman to protect you from similarly ancient friends?” A quirk of a smile ate through the tone of Graham’s voice, loud enough to still be heard down the alley. He had lungs.

The man opposite him, ‘Cal’ apparently, spoke in a harsher tone. His voice was marred with the rasp common to habitual smokers. But in a handsome fashion, as if he had a long go at some back-room lounge singing. Not an untoward tone, all considered.

“Forgive me, Ellingham. When a ghost decides to come haunting on a sunny afternoon, you have to be sure its real -- you understand. My dearest apologies,” the man brought his hands up, fingers pinched together and wiggling in sincerity. “What can I do for you .. ?”

“Unfortunately my cause for visitation comes in two words, Cal. ‘Ignacio Mordrey’.”

That seemed to quirk the man’s brow.

“Oh. And here I thought I’d have a nice afternoon, enjoy a nap, slay a half-snifter of brandy. Alright -- come in. And I hope if that is your young man down the street, that you did not teach him to be so unsubtle.” From down the alleyway, ‘Cal’ threw a glance toward Sarah.

Young man?! Sarah had to bite on her tongue to keep from vocalizing that offense. Perhaps it was compliment that her attempt to be frumpy had succeeded so well.

Still-- young man?!

‘Thump!’

The man whom Merrick had been holding in precarious aeriality fell to earth. He scampered away quite quickly, seemingly afeared of the enormous man who once grasped him. At the mention of ‘young man’, the foreman peeked over to see -- Sarah.

A little frown colored his face, creasing them as he observed her. A mutter escaped, “.. Are’b that m’sweater? … “

Graham was not so unsubtle, merely casting a momentary glance over one shoulder. He beheld Sarah easily, well-accustomed to the glint of her eyes and the swell of her lips. As he came back around to look at ‘Cal’, he rolled his eyes.

“... Yes, unfortunately that is my young man. A ward of an old colleague, you understand. Have to take care of him. I promise he will not be a burden in your home. -- Please, lead on. You were just about to tell me about the recent state of affairs with the ‘Devil Ignacio’ .. ?”

As he spoke, Graham came forward with his cane finally utilized for its genuine purpose, rather than bludgeoning poor young men. ‘Cal’ and Graham went ahead and entered the tiny tavern at the end of the street, with Merrick hanging back and waving at Sarah.

“Young MAN?” Sarah mouthed to Merrick, her face scrunched up in offense.

@thegreatgrahamellingham

[singtheskyandfightlikehell]

Eurovision 2019 Opinions

Well, the 26 countries that will be participating in the final are official now, so here’s my in depth thoughts about each entry, ranked from least favorite to favorite along with explanations and a 10 pt rating system. honestly i thought this year was solidly mediocre. a few i really like, about 3 i can’t stand, and the rest are all smack dab in the middle of “decent”. of course, these are just my opinions and I totally get that people will disagree with them. i don’t really care. yeah there’s a few i’ll judge you for, but frankly my opinion shouldn’t matter to you. i’m just posting it for my own record and for anyone who might be curious

26. Slovenia (0/10) I know a lot of people like this entry, but frankly, I cannot stand it. It’s boring. It’s awkward. It’s uncomfortable. If I wanted to watch an m/f couple - or, you know what, any couple - stand really close to each other and mumble for three minutes, I - I don’t actually know where I’d go, because I can’t conceptualize myself ever wanting to see that.

25. Denmark (0/10) Again, why? This entry annoys me a lot, and the only reason I didn’t put it last was because I appreciate the use of more than one language. It’s my least favorite parts of all kids shows combined coupled with a message that honestly I disagree with. It feels a bit like she’s judging me for being upset at injustice in the world when I should just shut up and be happy about what I have. I’m sorry, but I don’t believe it’s acceptable to ignore atrocities just because my life is filled with good things. I could imagine this song being the welcoming number in a musical staged in one of those “everything is perfect on the outside but inside it’s the creepiest shit you’ve ever seen” towns that’s used to hypnotize the protagonist into not noticing the creepy shit

24. Estonia (1/10) I don’t honestly dislike this song, but it does bore me. He’s a mediocre singer with a mediocre song. Also I can’t get past the fact that he rhymes “this” with “this”. It distracts me and ruins the whole thing.

23. Czech Republic (2/10) I really didn’t like this one at first. It was irritating and the lyrics were weird. However, I surprisingly enjoyed the live performance. The lead singer has some charisma on stage. Good for him.

22. San Marino (3/10) No idea how he got to the final (I know it’s bc he’s a meme, but still), but I don’t hate the song. I don’t think it should win, but honestly, I think it’s fun. His voice is ridiculous, but I can stand it for three minutes.

21. UK (4/10) I definitely feel like this is the kind of generic song I’ve heard many times before, but he does a good job with it, and ultimately it’s alright. His hair makes me think of Finn Shelby from Peaky Blinders, but that’s neither here nor there.

20. North Macedonia (4/10) Honestly, I feel like I should like this song more than I do. She has a good voice, and the song has a good message. Unfortunately, it’s just never clicked with me, and I often find myself tuning out while listening to it.

19. Israel (5/10) I like his voice. He sells the emotion. Not a gripping song, by any means, but not bad. Some of the rhymes feel a little forced, like the lyrics were written specifically so that they would rhyme, rather than because they have meaning.

18. Germany (5/10) This one gets stuck in my head sometimes, but I’m okay with that. Tbh, I quite like it. Plus, the whole “sisters (but I’d say girls in general) are taught to tear each other down but need to build each other up instead” theme is one I wholeheartedly support. I spent too many years hating everything associated with girls because society told me to.

17. Malta (5/10) I go back and forth on this one a lot. Parts of it I like, parts of it I don’t. It feels a bit different to me, but not like, in a revolutionary way. The singer is strong, and it definitely gets the award for most colorful performance, literally!

16. Serbia (5/10) I feel like I’ve heard this entry before, too, but specifically at Eurovision. Still, she does a good job with it, and I like her armor-inspired jewelry. Plus, it’s not in English!

15. Belarus (5/10) Another one I go back and forth on. I find this is very good study music - energetic and repetitive enough not to be distracting. I don’t love it (I’m even hesitant to say I like it lmao), but people really ought to stop hating on her so much. She’s sixteen. Let her have her fun.

14. Albania (6/10) I really liked Albania’s entry this year tbh. I didn’t feel she sang as strong in the semi-final as she did in the music video, but otherwise I thought it was a very powerful song. The staging was pretty cool, too!

13. Azerbaijan (6/10) I loved everything about this except the refrain. The “shut up about it” bit starts to get on my nerves by about the second refrain. But the verses sounded cool and the staging was awesome!

12. Sweden (6/10) Not the most exciting song in the world, but he sounds good, the ladies sound great, and there’s nothing I dislike about the song or staging.

11. Cyprus (6/10) Not as good as the music video, sadly, but still catchy and fun. I didn’t really like it the first time I heard it, but it’s grown on me since. I felt bad for her being put on the spot with that one “are you mad about Cyprus losing last year” question.

10. Greece (6/10) Definitely grew on me. I tuned out of it the first time I heard it. Prior to the semi finals I thought it was alright. But she really gave us the lesbian dream, huh? Ladies with neat clothes and swords, plus a garden? What more can you ask for lmao

9. France (7/10) Feels kinda standard to me, but not in the worst way possible. Sometimes I get really into it, other times it’s just a nice song. I’ve been liking it a little bit more each time I hear it, though.

8. Netherlands (7/10) The favorite to win, and I’d be okay if it did. Not my favorite this year, but a solidly good song. I have to be in the right mood to want to listen to it, but when I am? Fucking amazing. Also, considering he never left the piano (and didn’t light it on fire), he gave a pretty good performance.

7. Spain (8/10) This song is so much fun, and it’s definitely going to end the competition on a high note. I’m also really curious to see the full version to know more about the life-size dollhouse and animatronic thing they’ve got going

6. Switzerland (8/10) I loved the music video more than the live performance, but regardless I thought this song was also really fun and, idk, snazzy? Love dancing to it while I fold laundry.

5. Australia (9/10) Australia’s staging was everything! I had them in the upper middle rankings until the semi-final, but honestly that looked cool as all fuck!! Her song is weird, but in a way that I can dig. Plus seeing her soar around like Glinda in space with two fellow witches is one of the highlights of Eurovision this year

4. Russia (10/10) Sergey is back and just like in 2016, I absolutely love him and his performance. I’ll admit, the shower thing was a bit weird, but the song sounded great live! Plus, he had a leg-up for me by going with fairy tale imagery in the music video.

3. Norway (10/10) Initially, I only liked the joiking. The other two singers have grown on me, though. This song is fun, the staging is cool, the singers are great, and then it gets quiet and the joik part comes in, and it’s so fucking cool!! Love it, love it, love it!

2. Italy (10/10) My favorite for a long time, only bumped out because I made the fortuitous mistake of watching Iceland’s interviews. I love the song. I love the message. The thing that impressed me most, though, was that this song is about something that isn’t even remotely close to anything that’s happened in my life. I do not relate to it at all. But despite having no personal connection to the topic, I could feel the emotion in it. For a brief three minutes, I could feel something that isn’t my reality but is the reality of many other people. And an artist who can do that is powerful indeed.

1. Iceland (10/10) If you couldn’t tell from the everything about my blog, I have firmly joined the camp of Hatari stans. It may surprise you, but I didn’t really like this song the first time I heard it. Then, I found out the meaning behind it and gave it another chance. Lo and behold, I liked it! It rose in my rankings from lower-middle to the number one spot between listening to it multiple times and watching all the Hatari content I could get my hands on. I totally understand the music being too far for some people, but as a metalhead during the not-Eurovision parts of the year, Hatari isn’t too far of a leap for me. I love the song. I love the staging. I love the costumes. I love the message. I love the band. I love how they interact with each other and everyone else. I love the bits on Iceland Music News. I love their trolling and sarcasm in the interviews. I love the anti-capitalism. I love their websites (seriously, check them out. they put a lot of effort into them). I love the way they approach issues that are important to them. I love the fact that they aren’t afraid of the tough subjects. I especially love that they aren’t trying to walk the popularity line (you see it all the time - for example, queerbaiting, where a tv show wants to appeal to all sides of an issue, so they make characters nearly lgbtqia+ but then throw in enough straightness to please conservatives). Hatari picks their side in each issue instead of trying to cater to everyone, and I respect that a lot. My reactions and emotions aren’t usually prominent or even necessarily visible, but there’s a chance I might actually cheer if they win.

Finally, the honorable mentions, aka countries that didn’t make it to the final but that I would’ve loved to see:

Hungary (in my original top 10) - loved him last time, loved him this time. Beautiful song, beautiful voice, beautiful staging

Georgia - my hopes weren’t high but that doesn’t mean I didn’t love it. There’s nothing quite like a good dramatic song, and this was as dramatic as they come

Portugal/Poland - the two most people were really miffed about in the first semi-final; I think they’d’ve been alright in the semi-final, but both depend entirely on my mood. sometimes I love, sometimes I hate

Croatia - the song was ‘meh’, the singer was fantastic, and the staging was Eurovision in all the right ways

Armenia - one of my early favorites. could’ve used some other people on stage, but otherwise I thought she did wonderfully

Romania - what can I say that hasn’t been said already? she brought everything! that was an experience and an amazing one at that. so disappointed she didn’t make it

and of course,

Ukraine - catchy, badass, wacky, and wlw? sign me the fuck up. So sad to hear what happened to her. I know people are saying this is why politics should be kept out of music, but that’s ridiculous. The real issue is when the issue/message isn’t coming from the artist. It should always be up to the artist’s discretion what they do or do not promote. Propaganda and censorship go hand in hand, which is why I am so bothered by the blanket statements I hear thrown around about Ukraine’s fiasco this year

And that’s all! I think I’ll be happy with anyone scoring a 7 or higher for me winning on Saturday. I wouldn’t be upset about a 6 winning either, I suppose.

Anyways, off to bed so I can make my snacks tomorrow lmao!

[kinetic-elaboration]

March 24: Thoughts on 4x07 Gimme Shelter

Okay, I finally watched 4x07... It’s hard to gather my thoughts on it, though. I feel like I have a lot and they’re all sort of jumbled up.

In general, I did like it. I thought it was way better than the last two episodes, both of which I kind of hated tbh, especially 4x05. There were some weak points and some things I didn’t quite get or would quibble over but my overall feeling is a positive one. I liked the two main story lines, I thought there were several really good moments, and I was impressed with the episode’s ability to actually have a coherent and clear theme.

The Arkadia/Bellamy Story:

One of my big complaints this season has been that story line after story line after story line lacks tension because the general structure of the episode and the season make the outcome of the alleged conundrum predictable. This time, for once, I actually felt the sort of tension I felt when watching season 2 (well, okay, a slightly weaker version of it)--I actually didn’t know what was going to happen. Maybe that’s weak of me and I should have known that Bellamy wouldn’t be able to save Mark and Peter but I was still hoping for a last minute solution (unlike previous story lines, saving the Coltons wouldn’t have made overall survival any more or less likely, so it wasn’t completely insane to think that Bellamy could have been successful). The last scene before he loses contact with them, stuck in the Rover, was like... honestly a nightmare scenario for me, I mean this literally, I have had nightmares on exactly this theme, searching for some solution to some problem and finding none, so I was definitely emotionally compromised by it.

I was also very pleased that--even though Bellamy’s obsession with the Coltons was obviously from start to finish a surrogate for his worry about Octavia--we finally got to hear someone mention a member of the 100. I really thought I’d have to give up on anyone caring about that particular affiliation ever again. Literally everyone other than the named members of the 100 (by my count...8 people?) has completely disappeared into the ether so I was really beyond excited to hear someone talk about someone else as “one of the 100″ again.

You know how before S3 there was this talk about Bellamy being acknowledged as a hero finally and then instead his character was totally assassinated? LOL I feel like that statement should have been prefaced with “IN SEASON 4″ so at least I could have known how long I’d have to wait for heroic Bellamy to come back from war. I’m not saying this is the first time we’ve seen him since season 2 because it’s obviously not, but still, I loved it, I loved seeing him intense and devoted and trying so very hard.

I also really liked the Bellamy and Kane conversation toward the end, over the Rover radio. This is probably bad of me, but I laughed when Bellamy said “You floated my mom” not because it’s funny but just how sudden it was, like, ‘I hear you trying to be my dad and you’re not my dad!!!’ Also because I like when characters’ pasts are things that like actually still exist since that’s pretty hit and miss with this show. Also because I personally head canon Kane as a prosecutor figure on the Ark and this semi-confirms this view (or we’re just supposed to read the line as being like ‘you, a council member, were generally responsible for my mom’s death’ which is also possible).

I still maintain that Harper has negligible personality but I did like her little mini theme-reinforcing story line here.

Oh also today’s story reinforces what I’ve thought this whole season, which was that Jasper’s little trick about committing suicide by standing out in the “black rain” was not as reprehensible as people think, in fact not reprehensible at all, because if it were black rain he would have felt it right away so like he was obviously not in danger--it’s not his fault that other people are dumb and fell for such fakery lol.

The Island Story Line

This one is more complicated for me. I liked a lot of things about it but I also had some...uncertainties about it and it’s hard to separate the two.

First, the moral issue of the day... Okay, yes, as an initial matter, I still have enough of a soul to be disgusted by the idea of forcibly experimenting on people, like I’m not a completely heartless bitch (even though I think a lot of my episode reactions make me seem that way). But because I have no idea who this Grounder fellow is, and because he really fortuitously just fell into their laps--more on my thoughts on this later--it’s hard for me to feel what I think the full impact of the moral conundrum is. Just as I didn’t really, viscerally, emotionally care about the 4x02 slaves because I didn’t know who they are, I don’t really care about Baylis or whoever he is because he’s pretty much the definition of a rando. I would much, much, much rather a character I didn’t even know existed 24 hours ago die and all my faves live than my faves take the moral high road and give themselves up to death to save some dude I know literally nothing about.

So what I’m trying to say is that I’m stuck between ‘this is really gross’ and ‘this isn’t gross enough.’ The arrival of Baylis is such an obvious narrative out, a having cake and eating it too scenario: you’ll see our heroes doing something bad, but not, like, REALLY bad, don’t worry. But can I really be upset about that? My revulsion is going to limited anyway because disgust at medical experiments is sort of a theme we’ve already traveled on this show so I’ve built up a tolerance and also... if Abby et. al. were really the new Mt. Weather and I felt the same way about them as I felt about,, say Dr. Tsing in S2, I couldn’t still continue to identify with them as the protagonists of the story. So the narrative is necessarily somewhat constrained in that way.

Speaking of Mt. Weather...have the Sky People learned nothing from their own past experiences?? Yes, today’s moral conundrum was about whether to do the experiment to see if bone marrow works as a treatment, but if it DOES, then the next moral conundrum seems incredibly obvious to me and I’m just wondering why no one has brought it up? Like Abby was literally tortured by the last people who thought using others’ bone marrow was a good idea? You’d think she’d remember that. Maybe I’m just missing something, in which case I’m going to feel very dumb, but it’s sort of hard not to associate bone marrow with Mt. Weather in the context of this show. From S2 I learned that one person’s bone marrow can supply something like 8 people with radiation inoculation--if you’re willing to kill the “donor.” So unless Luna’s bone marrow is going to be used in a very different way, for example as like the basis for a synthetic bone marrow style substance, which maybe is where they’re going but it wasn’t very clear to me at least on an initial watch, they can save 8 people if they’re willing to kill her which seems...not great. (Really, thinking about this, their plan HAS to be using something IN her marrow to make a magic solution substance, right? Like there’s no way that’s not the plot.)

That being said at least we’re not going into fucking space I mean WOW THAT WAS SO DUMB I’M STILL NOT OVER HOW DUMB IT WAS. Still a waste of like 2 episodes but I’ll forgive them as long as I never hear “let’s just fly away into space like nbd” ever again.

As I was saying about Baylis. I’m all over the place on my thoughts on this. In general, I do feel like his appearance is super convenient, as I said above, especially since prior to this we’ve literally never heard of anyone else being on the island, of “scavengers,” or of particular Bad People in Emori’s past (besides, you know, her whole family who kicked her out--but that’s fairly obviously not who Baylis allegedly is). We heard some talk about ‘worse things than drones’ on the island but nothing as specific as what we got in this episode. And if random Grounders really are the ‘worse things’ we were forewarned about, by the way, what a disappointment. I was waiting for genetically engineered monsters. Yet again, The 100 meta writers >> The 100′s actual writers. My problem with contrived narratives like this is that they take me out of the story. All I can think is ‘I see you writers, pulling the strings, constructing this narrative.’ That’s a fine thing to think AFTER watching or maybe on a second or third rewatch but a well constructed story shouldn’t feel like a narrative on the first viewing, imo. You should be feeling it too deeply to be analyzing it on the level of construction.

So I thought it was heavy-handed. And I also was sitting there wondering “when is someone FINALLY going to bring up that Baylis would be a great experimental subject???” Because I had come to that conclusion during his fight with Emori--back to the ‘this season is predictable’ theme I guess. I didn’t think the Dramatic Moment of Clarke suggesting experimenting on him was earned because, like, duh, why else was he even written into the show except to be a test subject? However, I will give this point a little bit of slack because of that final scene: finding out that Emori was acting the entire time--that, within the universe of the show, SHE was pulling the strings--made a lot of the earlier obviously-contrived-ness forgivable. Like, okay, it feels fake, but that’s because it IS.

And about Emori... Unpopular opinion time. I liked her, was intrigued by her, when she was introduced in S2. But I found her very lackluster (in terms of writing/conception, not in terms of performance) in S3. I didn’t think the writers really developed her in any way. I realize this could be disputed with textual evidence, for example, how she goes from trusting no one but her brother, to trusting and relying on Murphy, or how she learns to accept her deformity. But I’m talking more, I don’t know, emotionally, I just couldn’t see what difference she made to the story, I just couldn’t connect with her. I feel like she is largely a female Grounder version of Murphy, but less compelling because I know her less and see less of her. Her constant sole motivating factor is her own survival, which makes her very predictable and one-note. Similarly, her relationship with Murphy bores me because we never saw it develop, all of the getting together stuff happened off screen, and then once they were together they basically became like the same character twice over, interacting with itself.

BUT I really did like Emori in this episode. And I finally saw something in her that was compelling to me: how incredibly, incredibly sharp she is. Like that con she played, it wasn’t just on Clarke or on Murphy, it was on ME. I guess in a way I’m saying she earned my respect.

Also Luisa D’Oliviera’s voice is gorgeous, like why have I not noticed that before? When she and Clarke were walking in the woods in particular, ugh, beautiful.

I’m still not really on the Murphy/Emori ship but I will admit they were hella cute in this episode.

I don’t know how Murphy learned how to cook but I like that he does. I also like this “Murphy flirts with everyone” trait they’ve decided to give him these last couple of seasons. I definitely saw him as more ‘awkward boy trying to be cool’ in early Season 1 but I guess all of his experiences have just thrown him into the ‘I don’t give a fuck’ attitude, which frees him up to flirt with everyone for fun and without worry.

But...what the fuck is a randzi?

One (more?) complaint about this story line though: The impact of the Baylis story was lessened considerably as it was told, imo, in that I could never quite get a purchase on WHAT he had (allegedly) done to Emori--maybe this is just my prurient interest, but I thought they cut a lot of corners in just painting him as a generically abusive bad guy. Sometimes I was tempted to read him as an abusive ex-boyfriend...but he also abused her brother and then there’s that ‘scared little girl’ line. Was he one of the people who cast her out? She talks about that event but also says it happened when she was an infant, so this must be someone she met later...I suppose someone who took advantage of her and her brother’s vulnerability while they were on their own. I eventually settled on a non-literal Bad Uncle type. I’m not saying I need a play-by-play on the abuse, but it just...I was constantly trying to figure out exactly what they were talking about and it started to feel a little contrived (again), how generically he was painted as A Bad Person Just Trust Me He’s Bad. But then that last scene makes me think...was it contrived on purpose? Maybe. Still, Emori’s abuser is, apparently, a real person: Murphy’s line toward the end is “He’s not the guy?” not “The story was fake?” So if the story was real, Emori could have used real details if she’d wanted--the details weren’t hidden from the viewer because she was bullshitting the whole thing but because, I can only assume, the writers were too lazy to write them in, and that, I don’t respect.

Oh, also, that line about saving themselves first and then restoring their humanity, that Kane says, is another one of those faux-deep The 100 lines that I always have to roll my eyes at (like “I bear it so they don’t have to” when Clarke says it, or “No one is innocent” when divorced from its original context, or my personal favorite “You don’t ease pain you overcome it” or whatever that 3x16 nonsense was). Again, did Mt. Weather teach you nothing? Once you’ve done something SO BAD that it erases your humanity itself, it’s gone; you don’t get it back. Maybe if someone actually listened to Dante we wouldn’t still be having these problems lol.

Also also: I’m still on the fence about these Ultra Modern Aesthetics like in Becca’s lab and house, but it was nice seeing Clarke shower, look clean, and rest. And I liked the almost horror-movie scene where she first sees there’s been an intruder in the house. But...was there blood on the pillow of that bed or am I just totally imagining things??

Octavia and Ilian

Two hotties I don’t care about, basically.

I honestly cannot conceive of anything Ilian could do or say that would make me care about him ever so.

I get why Octavia is Annoyingly Dramatic: she’s sixteen. She’s sixteen with an added dose of stunted emotional growth from literally knowing only 2 human beings for most of her life. But that doesn’t make her dead inside emo child bit any less obnoxious to me. (I realize I am a semi-hypocrite about this given some things I DO like and even worse some things I’ve actually written myself but shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.)

I know everyone saw I/O coming from a million miles away and so did I but that doesn’t make it any less nonsense. That said...I wouldn’t mind seeing Octavia become a sheep herder. I mean I’m so tired of her current state of being that anything would be a nice change of pace but like a real 180 about-face might be kind of refreshing. It might be nonsense...but when was the last time O wasn’t nonsense? Like at least it would be relaxing nonsense.

And on the trailer: Yes Jasper. Yes Miller is finally back from his extended spa vacation or whatever he was doing.

[kerahlekung]

What if all Malay parties joined Bersatu?

What if all Malay parties joined Bersatu?.

Dr Mahathir Mohamad’s latest call for all Malay parties to unite under his party, Bersatu, is yet another attempt to undermine the dominant partner in the Pakatan Harapan coalition, Anwar Ibrahim’s multi-racial PKR, and again raises legitimate questions of whether Mahathir will eventually hand over the reins of power to his anointed successor. If indeed his aim is to pass power peaceably without any fuss, why is he proposing a deal with other Malay parties, which will change the complexion of the multi-racial Harapan coalition and replace it with one that will be dominated by Malay parties instead? Let’s see what happens in the extreme and unlikely case that all Malay or Malay-based parties join Bersatu, to illustrate the possible scenarios that could take place. And it’s not a very happy one, laced with all kinds of uncertainties and poisons. 

This table above shows the breakdown of government and opposition MPs according to parties. The two outright Malay parties in the ruling government are Bersatu and Amanah, with PKR, although being a multi-racial party, enjoying significant Malay support. The opposition Malay parties are Umno and PAS, and we could include Sarawak’s GPS which is dominated by PPB with 13 out of 18 seats. GPS is unlikely to join Bersatu, but is likely to support it.  If Amanah were to join Bersatu, together with Umno and PAS, then Bersatu will command 93 seats (26+11+38+18). If it gets support from GPS’ 18 MPs, then it will control 111 (93+18) seats, exactly half of the parliamentary seats.  With defections from Harapan and/or support from the remaining 10 opposition seats, which include independents, majority control is assured even if PKR and DAP were to leave the Harapan coalition. In the first scenario then, Mahathir’s Bersatu gets control of Parliament with help from GPS and others, leaving PKR and DAP out in the cold because their combined numbers are insufficient to form a majority. The two may well leave Harapan and become the main opposition. Mahathir’s aim - Malay dominance or ketuanan Melayu - is achieved with power totally in the hands of Malays, and with non-Malays having to depend entirely on the charity of Bersatu for anything they get. Also, that finally secures Mahathir’s position as PM for as long as he wants and is able, and the chance to choose his own successor, because PKR’s and DAP’s influence in the party is no more and the two multi-racial parties are more or less sidelined. The other scenario is that PKR and DAP choose to remain within the Harapan coalition, but they will be toothless. Considering that, as a minority PM who, at the end of GE14, had just 13 seats before Umno defections swelled it to 26, Mahathir did not give due representation to either PKR or DAP, that situation will worsen. More importantly, under that scenario, there will be hardly any opposition to speak of, giving the new government more or less unfettered rights to do almost anything, a very dangerous position to be in when you have Mahathir as prime minister.

The likely situation, however, could still be status quo, given the hostile response from Umno president Ahmad Zahid Hamidi (above), who pointed out that the biggest party is Umno-PAS. "The Malays do not have to go to PPBM (Bersatu). The biggest Malay party is Umno and PAS. The joint agenda for Umno-PAS is far more important for the unification of the ummah (faithful), and beyond political interests," Ahmad Zahid wrote in a Facebook post. It may still be possible for crossovers by individual MPs, more likely from Umno rather than PAS. PAS MPs have so far not shown any predilection to move to Bersatu. Such crossovers will help increase Mahathir’s grip within the coalition. But if PKR and DAP stay united within the coalition - an assumption at this stage given Mahathir’s ability to successfully drive wedges between strong allies, e.g. Azmin Ali and Anwar - they can successfully neutralise him, even if all Umno MPs were to cross over. In such an instance, Bersatu could have as many as 75 MPs (Bersatu 64, with Umno’s 38, and Amanah 11), but still smaller than the PKR-DAP total of 92 (50+42). If it comes to the crunch, the Harapan coalition could force Mahathir to step down, although the outcome is by no means certain. Of course, there are other permutations and combinations possible that are impossible to take into account, but the numbers illustrate some key possibilities.

If Mahathir is successful, what it will mean is a nullification of the GE14 results, which effectively brought a more multi-racial coalition into power, and therefore offered hope for reconciliation of differences among races instead of an antagonistic relationship previously, where parties such as Umno and PAS painted non-Malays as threats. If Mahathir is successful, it will be a major step backwards for Malaysia, notwithstanding the fact that we collectively kicked out a kleptocratic government. One wishes that Mahathir would now step away from the scene, since his publicly avowed aim of helping to remove the common enemy, Najib Abdul Razak, has been achieved. Knowing Mahathir, he won’t do that, which puts Harapan in quite a pickle as to what to do with this recalcitrant old fox who keeps pulling cards from his sleeves to upset the apple (durian?) cart with potentially disastrous consequences. At some point, Mahathir’s bluff may be called in this constant game of poker, which so far Mahathir is winning. It is difficult to say whether the ultimate results would be calamitous or fortuitous, but it is bound to cause some anxious moments for the rest of us. - P. Gunasegaram We voted Umno out, but Dr M wants them back in

Sungguh tak tau malu si Najib ni...

Terkilan dengan sindiran DS Najib Razak, Chef Wan tampil meluahkan rasa geram dengan kenyataan mantan perdana menteri itu yang memutarkan belitkan kenyataanya sebelum ini mengenai anak Felda. “How sad and stupid apa yang saya tegur disensasikan, disalah tafsir lalu difitnah kan balik supaya i look so bad in the eye of the public. Siapa pulak yg nak kena minta maaf balik kepada siapa ini?” “Kita jika bodoh sekali mana pun jangan sombong dan sakit hati pada apa yang Allah sudah anugerahkan kepada seseorang itu. They think they can kill my spirit just like that by memutar belit cerita saya? Cakap mcm tak pergi sekolah!” “Banyak bezanya bila saya katakan sebahagian orang Felda yang malas, suka kahwin isteri lebih dari satu dan tidak bertanggung jawab ke atas welfare and growing up of their kids as to saya kata “Semua orang Felda”!” “Bila saya kata “Beranak mcm kucing ini” is not to hina orang Felda cuma bahasa gurauan orang Melayu kita made references to “segelintir” lelaki yang kawin tak sudah-sudah tetapi welfare anak dan pelajaran anak tak di jaga”

“Saya nak tanya Najib jika saya ini manusia yang tak baik dan tidak berjaya di dalam kerjaya saya why sent me to assist him and his ministry?”. Menuduh saya Jilat Tun M to receive that anugerah padahal Tun M pun tak tahu saya akan menerima anugerah tu pun!” “Batu-batu api ni then viral them in social media supaya semua orang yang baca akan percaya bulat-bulat dengan tujuan nak jatuhkan credibility saya sebagai Ikon Felda! Mana yang baca IG saya dari awal akan faham cerita yang sebenarnya” “Saya pula dijadikan mangsa because they are not happy to see me terima anugerah itu. Macam la saya kebulur sangat nak anugerah itu. Sungguh muka tak tahu malu Najib ni. Kau jahanamkan FELDA sampai fail dah boleh pulak ada hati nak bersuara lagi?” “Panggil Isa Samad tu esok jugak saya nak serah kan Anugerah Icon FELDA itu kepada beliau dan Najib! Lepas tu boleh pulak solat 5 waktu mengadap Allah. How do all this hippocrite do it?,” tulisnya di Instagram. Bagaimanapun kenyataan Najib yang dimuat naik di twitter itu sudah dipadamkan. Menurut Chef Wan, tindakan Najib itu berpunca kerana tidak berpuas hati dengan gelaran Ikon Felda yang baru saja diperolehinya. (rtky/w)

Jabatan Agama Islam masih dikuasai oleh lebai2 bangang pro-pembangkang... 

Story kat SINI dan SINI

Perak exco accused of rape... Story kat SINI dan SINI  

Hasil dari DUIT haram BOLEH buat HATI jadi hitam.

cheers.

Sumber asal: What if all Malay parties joined Bersatu? Baca selebihnya di What if all Malay parties joined Bersatu?

[keaalu]

Drug Dealing

Although she appreciates the determination certain people have to cure her illness, Forceps wishes it didn’t leave her feeling like Starscream’s science project.

Reminder: Sepp has a type of motor imperfecta, or improper formation of motor control pathways. Symptom-wise it’s like Parkinson’s; origin-wise it’s more like a prion disease, which is why it’s so hard to find a cure for. But then some machines have a dogged tendency to treat definitions like “incurable” as a personal challenge.   

------------------------

Hardline hadn’t even been gone for a whole breem when the door to Forceps’ home clicked and admitted a familiar set of red wings.

Forceps set her journal down on the table, and watched her uninvited guest approach. “How long have you been lurking out there, waiting for Hack to leave?”

Starscream shrugged, in an artfully casual way, and tucked his wings in a little more neatly. “I do not lurk, thank you, doctor. Just a fortuitous coincidence.”

Her expression flattened. “Of course it was.”

“I find it very hurtful that you don’t believe me.” Not looking remotely upset, he fetched something out of his subspace. “But… I know the big lug doesn’t like me giving you these, so.” He dropped a small, surprisingly-heavy silver disc into her palm. “Convenient timing, really.”

She knew exactly what it was without having to devote many fractions of a second to studying it. “I don’t like you giving me these, particularly.”

Now the jet did look hurt, lips pulling into a little pout of displeasure. “Well any time you want me to stop researching a cure, just say so.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.” She smiled, sadly, and patted the seat beside her. “And I do appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”

Starscream settled primly on the edge of the couch. “There’s a ‘but’ coming.”

Forceps looked away. “You always get my hopes up that this time, it’ll be the final time we need to do it.”

But it never is. And I’m weary of the constant disappointment.

He remained silent for a few seconds. “It’s still improving, though?” he prompted. “The patches last longer each time?” He sounded… strangely deflated. As if wondering if she’d been lying, to save his feelings.

“Yes. Every time, it lasts a little longer. But it always wears off, eventually, and I can never predict when that’ll be. Then I have to trust that I’ll be able to get it to reinstall.” She glanced sidelong at him. “I can’t trust myself with someone else’s life while there’s too many variables for me to be able to predict anything with any accuracy. Until then, I can’t go back to work.”

He sat and digested her words, quietly. “And what’s the part you’re carefully leaving out, because apparently we’ve stopped being honest with each other?”

“When it wears off, and my tremor comes back, it…” She swallowed the rest of the sentence, and revised it a little; “It’s disappointing.”

It crushes me, all over again.

She drew a sigh of cool air through her core. “I’m not sure how many more times I want to go through this cycle, when there’s still no end in sight.”

“You never struck me as the sort to let slag like this beat you.” He nudged her a little with his wing. “It’s important we keep at it. Eventually it will be the last time.”

“Yes, doctor.” She glared at him, good-naturedly. “You’ll never get a job as a counsellor.”

Starscream tried very hard but couldn’t quite hide his smirk. “I want another full scan at some point, to see how this one takes.” He wagged a finger. “The more data we have, the more likely we’ll isolate the last few fragments of code that are causing the last of the problems.”

“You know they say it’s incurable for a reason.”

He blew a dismissive raspberry through pursed lips. “Don’t give me that. The fact nobody has bothered to put time and money into research doesn’t make it-”

“-it’s a rare disease! It stands to reason researchers would spend their limited budget on the things they can actually cure.”

Starscream elevated his voice and spoke over her; “If you had been a noble during the Golden Age, it wouldn’t be a rare, incurable disease. Some obsequious little sycophant would have crawled up to you, accepted your money, and found a cure. The fact altruism never had a big budget doesn’t make a thing impossible.”

They stared each other out for a second or two.

“And this is why I’m not a noble. Can’t stand that… self-serving… pitslag.” Her friend made an effort to look scandalised at her language; Forceps gave him a shove. “Not to mention, I’d be dead from something else. Quite possibly, at your hand.”

He wouldn’t look away. “It was war.”

“And I wouldn’t have blamed you.”

He quirked a brow.

She flapped a hand. “Well. You know what I mean.”

“I know you're trying to change the subject.”

“Perhaps. I can't say I particularly enjoy talking about my illness.”

“We'll never cure it if we pretend it doesn't exist, either.” He gave her a chastising finger-wag. “You can’t tell me you’re happy as a teacher, dealing with a gaggle of irresponsible youths that barely listen to a word you vocalise.”

Forceps remained silent for long enough that neither needed to hear her answer, but she spoke anyway; “Somebody has to teach them. They might be the ones that end up looking after us, when we get rusted and incapable.”

This time, Starscream's snort of horror was genuine.

She smiled, and elbowed him. “Besides. One of them is your niece, remember?”

“Like I said. Irresponsible youths. The idea of Footloose looking after me? Is frankly terrifying.” He offered a small glare. “I’m not sure what you hope to achieve by indulging her. She’s never going to have the brains to make it as a surgeon.”

“Maybe not – but she could be a pretty good paramedic, if she’s serious and she puts her mind to it. She’s enthusiastic, she’s fast, and she’s good at finding people.”

The silence stretched out a little too long for comfort.

Forceps corrected herself, quietly; “Most people. Sorry.”

Starscream made one of those uninterpretable little noises that could have meant anything, from frustration to sorrow to pain. “And what happens when she gets bored, and goes off to find something else to do?” he challenged, trying (but mostly failing) to divert attention from his friend’s faux pas. “Don’t forget I lived with her sire for far too many millennia; a mech with a shorter attention span would be hard to find. This is why we have to find you a cure.” He stabbed a finger in her direction, to emphasise the point. “So when Footloose decides she’s bored, and is going to be a cartographer instead, for… maybe a fraction of a vorn… you won’t feel like you’ve wasted quite so much of your life-”

“Scarlet?” She waited for him to go quiet. “I appreciate your determination, but I can’t be the science project you need to keep you from thinking about Skywarp.”

He stared at her for several more seconds, lips open but no words emerging, before folding his arms protectively across his chassis and directing his glare at the floor, instead. “I should appreciate having a little peace and quiet, at last. It was hard enough to do energon research in the first place, without someone eating all your supplies.”

She set her fingers against his shoulder, and felt his hand come up to cover them for the fleetingest instant before dropping back to his lap. In spite of his defensive manner, he felt strangely flat. No longer the terror of the skies – just a sad, lost mech, trying to figure out how to mourn the loss of the family he’d chosen.

“It’s quiet, without him,” he accepted, at length. He studied his palms. “I haven’t been as productive as I would have liked.”

“Have you spoken to Pan?”

“Thundercracker’s psychiatrist?” Another snort, and the flash of a little glare in her direction. “I don’t need to be diagnosed. I just need to know where he is.”

And that, Forceps recognised, silently, was the core of it.

Her disease was a puzzle, but it was something he could at least work at. Measure, improve, test and retest… even make some headway, even if it was only ever fractional.

Skywarp’s disappearance began and ended at the Rift. There was nothing to measure, nothing to quantify, nothing to tell them whether they were on the right track or even going the right way.

Just endless digging, with nothing to show for it.

Thundercracker had quietly moved into accepting the loss of their brother, apparently adopting his two deputies as surrogate trine, but Starscream lingered doggedly somewhere between denial and depression – not to mention, denial of his depression. (The idea he might be struggling to cope was apparently something he refused to even contemplate.)

It did seem particularly unkind that after somehow surviving an eternity on the frontlines of war, such a simple, avoidable mistake was what would finally break them.

“I just want to find him, Sepp. Finally get some closure. Try to move on. Is that really so much to ask?” He covered his face with both palms and blew out a sigh. “We should be able to grieve! Figure out how to let him go, and move on, and we can’t even do that. Not while there’s still that chance…”

“It’s been six vorns already,” Forceps reminded, gently. “There’s got to come a point-”

“I know! I know.” He sounded exasperated, but mostly at himself. “He’s buried himself so deep in the bedrock, we’ll be digging for an eternity. Pit – we could dig up half the planet, and still not be any the wiser as to where he went. The idea we’re going to find even a scrap of paint is a sparkling’s optimism.” He finally offered a tired smile, optics a dim maroon. “But the last time I stopped looking for someone, it might have changed the course of a war. And not for the better. So forgive me for not wanting to throw down my shovel just yet.”

“Well please don’t throw it in my direction when you do decide to stop. Even before I got ill, I wasn’t particularly spry when it came to dodging projectiles.”

He snorted a sour laugh and gave her a little thump. “I gave up on Skyfire, but I’m not giving up on Warp.” He puffed himself up, subtly, wings raised and jaw set in a look of steely determination. “Or you. So you better get used to it.”

She pursed her lips and glanced away, in an effort to hide the subtle embarrassed flush in her golden optics. “You just miss having a personal physician to put you back together after you blow up your lab, you winged nuisance.”

Thankfully he took it in the spirit it was intended. “You’re confusing me with Wheeljack.” He wafted a hand, airily. “That Autobot is insane. The only scientist I know who finds it entertaining to blow up his own lab, while he’s in it.”

“Really? The only scientist? Because that’s not how I heard it happened, when I last spoke to Thundercracker.”

Starscream’s optics visibly widened before his arms tightened back across his chassis, and his voice descended into a poisonous hiss; “Traitor.”

Forceps found a laugh, and leaned against him; she felt him lean back, subtly.

“This disease took away my life,” she said, softly. “Small consolation, maybe, but… mall consolation, maybe, but...Thank you for helping me try to get it back.”

[thingsiateingeneral]

No one gets married in January in Minnesota, but I did, and it ended up being 40° out. Ten days later, Tony and I left for two weeks in India. 

We received two general responses when we told people our honeymoon plans:

“Wow! India! That’s going to be amazing!” 

“Wow. India. Are you nervous?”

And truth be told, I was nervous. About one thing. 

Spending my entire honeymoon having diarrhea. 

Many, many people were quick to assure me that everyone gets traveler’s diarrhea in India (the Indian variety being so cutely nicknamed Delhi Belly). It’s simply unavoidable. Thanks to some fortuitous advice that was bestowed on Tony and a quick trip to a chemist for Rifaximin once we arrived in New Delhi, we had zero issues. Not one upset tummy the whole time. (I know we have a giant opioid epidemic in the US, but countries with pharmacies that sell everything OTC are really the best.)

Our New Delhi hotel was right off of Connaught Place, one of the largest commercial centers in the city. Strangely, we found the area friendlier and easier to walk around at night than we did during the day. We ventured out to Farzi Café, a molecular gastronomy restaurant, for our first dinner in India.

I seem to have photographed only some of the things we ate. We were slightly delirious from traveling halfway across the world, and couldn’t quite believe that we were actually in India. I do vividly remember that every dish was fantastic, and surprising.

Pictured, clockwise from left:

Chilly duck samosa with plum chutney

Some kind of frozen amuse bouche

Butter chicken buns

Tempura fried prawns

Not pictured but also memorable: chicken tikka masala presented in a miniature British red phone box (do you get it?), an homage to Gaggan Anand’s Yogurt Explosion (if you haven’t watched his Chef’s Table episode, you should), the $58 check (with gratuity).