#i will never take another philosophy class ever again it was my own version of hell

[tulsa24]

thank god my finals are done

[nevertheless-moving]

thanks again to @dykerory and @willowcrowned for this genius au. this is an incomplete collection of very specific set of headcanons/daydreams i had about a tangential version of your au that made me emotional in the middle of the woods. whenever you feel the time is right, i’m very eager to hear your og version on the ‘but obi-wan, tho!’, because i admittedly pushed this one’s resolution really far chronologically because i wanted batman to be involved.

continuation from here

note: my understanding of dcu is as sporadically informed as my understanding of the gffa. 

newly graduated clark kent gets his first journalism job and starts settling more and more into the superman thing. the rest of the justice league has been around but his entrance onto the scene is the one that really inspires the various heroes to actually start coordinating to deal with the weirdness magnet that is dcu Earth. Clark is in his early 20s. Anakin is in his late 30s.

He’s been living on Earth, without the force, for nearly 2/3rds of his life. He has a close knit circle of friends who were kind to him even when they thought he was just a weird and crazy emo cult victim (the gradual increase of public encounters with aliens and superpowers sparks some awkward apologies, Anakin at 38 just waves his friends off, smiling and changing the subject, neither confirming nor denying his high school ramblings of spaceships and magic. it doesn’t really change anything).

He lives an hour’s drive from smallville, and runs a successful auto shop. people travel from pretty far to check out some of his more wild and specialized motorcycle abominations. makes enough money selling them to rich idiots to fund his free auto-class and auto-repair programs for impoverished communities.

It took a while but he eventually came around to the idea of helping people without physical force (ironically, this is happening around the same time Clark is coming to the realization that he can help people with physical force). Generally respected as a pillar of the community. When people start to realize how profoundly weird he is as a person in a number of inexplicable ways, someone will generally pull them aside and quietly whisper that he was in a cult at a child, no one really knows much about it except that it’s what inspired his anti-modern-slavery work, which is a little telling. Not married. Was in a long-term relationship for like 9 years. It didn’t end well but no-one knows the details.

Has several cats. 

He’s- wistful but settled. He’s been through a lot of therapy. He meditates every morning and night, clearing his mind and examining his emotions in the way Obi-Wan taught him. He thinks Obi-Wan would be proud of him. He know his Mom would be.

Once he gets used to the idea, he never really stops loving the concept of learning just because. Duel bachelors degree in in african american history and american literature, masters in engineering, masters in astrophysics a phd in theoretical physics, another phd in medieval folklore. He’s worked a lot of jobs. 

He was already pretty well versed in astronavigation back at the temple. Over the course of his time on earth, he gets more educated in earth astronomy and physics. With is increased knowledge, his theory for ‘how did i get here’ shifts from slight hyperdrive miscalculation, to big hyperdrive miscalculation, to some sort of hyperlane incident. he realizes that none of the stars he knows are familiar in any NASA database. He must be beyond wildspace, which helps him let go of the last bit of hurt he felt that Obi-Wan never found him.

Then he really learns physics- and- light doesn’t exactly work like that right? He thought it was just primitive Earth understanding but... he gets a phd more or less accidentally, trying and failing to disprove that the speed of life is constant constant.

Get’s another even more accidentally, explaining how alternate universes might form if we assume slightly different universal constants. He publishes his thesis anonymously around the same time metas are becoming a household term, and at least one science journalist speculates on it and how alternate universes might explain the increasing prevalence of wildly different superpowers. He doesn’t claim credit for the honorary diploma awarded to the unknown theorist- he doesn’t want to risk drawing any attention to him and by extension Clark, who’s alien differences are far more of the ‘military experiment interesting’ variety then his.

He stops tinkering with Clark’s ship. He finally gets how it works. Now that he realizes how FTL travel has to work in this universe, tinkering with the mechanical generation and harnessing of the massive quantities of energy necessary to do is startlingly familiar. But it doesn’t matter. No matter how far and fast he travels, he’s never going to be able to get back to the life he used to know. 

Perhaps this is what being the chosen one actually means- he’s meant to live a life without the force, so that when he returns to it in death he’ll be able to somehow...educate? the force? maybe?

Ok, he’s not great at the metaphysical spiritual side of things, but he does accept that going back is out of his control, and he’s doing good here, even if it’s not galaxy altering.

Despite all the therapy, he never doubts that his early life was real. He has his saber and deep, deep down he can feel a spark in the kyber. He can’t do anything with it, but it’s there. There’s also pieces of the utter wreck that was his ship in the cellar, next to the sleek unblemished pod that Clark arrived in. Shortly before Clark becomes Superman, he asks for his help in melting down his old ship to make unearthly alloys. 

He’s not surprised when Clark tells him he met a ‘real’ ‘magic’ user- it stands to reason that considering how relatively easy it is to convert energy from one form to another in this universe (Clark can fly), at least one kind would bend to sentient willpower in a similar way as the force does.

It’s still a little nervewracking showing his lightsaber to someone new for the first time in a decade. Zantana scrutinizes, bewildered. 

“There is some sort of power locked within, but it’s unfamiliar to me,” she admits finally. “I could probably brute force it and force the energy to release itself, but it would likely destroy the container.” Anakin politely refuses. 

Later, after the justice league’s formation, Clark mentions to J’onn that he has a friend who might be able to work on his ship. J’onn is extremely doubtful when he’s brought to a bizarre autoshop in the midwest that looks half-like a roadside attraction. Anakin sighs and digs his hands into the guts of the craft, muttering incomprehensibly and yelling at clark to melt down some pieces from the special scrap pile. A few days later he explains the patches he’s done to an impressed J’onn. When he asks how a human came to learn such things, he’s absently informed that,

“I used to work in a junkshop in Tatooine. All sorts of ship parts came through.”

“I’m unfamiliar with this world.”

“Tell you what, if you ever meet anyone who’s heard it of it, send them my way, and I’ll make your next repair free.”

“Oh! I’m afraid I don’t have any earth money...”

“Ugh, of course you don’t. it’s cool, capitalism sucks anyway and everyone’s entitled to free transportation, regardless of the area they happen to live. I do ask that if you can’t pay for the repairs that you spend an equivalent number of hours either attending one of my free auto classes, or volunteer at a community-led charities of your choice, here I’ll get you a pamphlet-”

So the Martian Manhunter becomes a weekly volunteer at a Midwestern Food Waste Reclamation Facility. J’onn J’onzz ends up becoming Anakin Skywalker’s friend well before he becomes comes truly comfortable around Kal-El. For a telepath, 39 year old Anakin’s Jedi orderly mind is a soothing relief.

(again, Anakin has spent far more time meditating on Earth then he ever did at the temple. Before all this, spent five years dutifully memorizing the Jedi way even as he struggled to live up it’s basic practices. For the first few years on earth, religiously practicing every meditation technique Obi-Wan ever taught him, thinking obsessively about the philosophies he never had time to really process, is just a desperate attempt to reconnect with the force, prove himself worthy of it. But even after he gives up on ever touching the force again, he keeps up the practice, he can’t release his emotions exactly, but he does find peace. The tendency to stop mid-rant to earnestly pronounce made up zen bullshit and then sit quietly for an hour before picking up on his tirade again as though there was no interruption is one of the things many things people find profoundly weird about him)

Kal-El doesn’t stop asking new aliens and dimensional travelers if they’ve ever heard of Coruscant, or Hutts, or the Jedi Order. Anakin might have given up, but Superman remembers his older brother scrubbing away his own tears to focus on helping Clark calm down enough to touch the floor again. The more the Kryptonian’s powers developed in alarming ways, the more Anakin set aside talk of missing his home galaxy. Anakin might have claimed it wasn’t like that, but Clark was determined to take every chance his increasingly weird life threw at him, no matter how vanishingly small.

In the middle of his first battle with Braniac, Clark starts insulting his incomplete database. The world collector pauses, demanding a more precise explanation. Clark complies, giving his best technical description of Coruscant’s cityscape, Tatooine’s binary star system, and so on. Braniac is so distracted that Superman recovers completely from his kryptonite poisoning and easily saves the day.

Neither the lantern corp or the denizens of the neutral zone have the answers. Superman doesn’t mention it it Anakin, but he never stops looking and listening.

“How did you even meet that guy?” Flash asks curiously after stopping to say hello on one of their after work laps of the country. 

“Aliens among us support group,” Kal-El responds deadpan. 

“Oh. Wait, what? He’s an alien? I thought he was from the future or something! You’re messing with me. No way that’s a thing. How many people are in the support group? This is a joke, right?”

“Sorry, most of them aren’t out and I don’t want to violate their privacy- a lot of them have high profile jobs. How do you think I met J’onn?”

“SUPES I’M FREAKING OUT RIGHT NOW YOU’VE GOTTA STOP”

Anakin is just sort of vaguely known by a solid chunk of the super community as ‘that one midwestern zen space mechanic’ and no one really questions it because everyone’s life has just gotten so goddamn weird. A few of them know he used to be a space wizard of some kind. Space wizards now being a regular hazard of life on earth, no one has reason to doubt this, and it’s as good an explanation as any for Anakin’s general vibe.

well. almost no one doubts this. Batman does not simply accept Anakin’s general bullshittery without carefully investigating and drawing his own conclusions. He does not share these with anyone.

But one day Clark- this is well after Superman became Kal-El to him, and not long after Kal-El tells him to call him Clark- comes up to him and asks for his help finding about an alternate universe. Knowing and dreading where this is going, Batman stalls,

“Shouldn’t you be asking one of the league members who regularly travels between universes?”

“I have, over the years,” Clark admits, awkwardly scuffing a boot on the floor of the cave. “But no one’s familiar with the exact one I’m looking for, and I thought since you’re a detective, and also one of the smartest people I know, you might be able to help me...”

“You’re an investigator yourself, and you can survive the vacuum of space,” Bruce shoots back flatly. “I’ve told you before Gotham is my priority, and this has ‘personal project’ all over it.”

“Come on, B, please,” Superman pleads, trailing Batman around the cave like an overgrown puppy. “In a few months it will have been 30 years! He’s my brother! Just let me see the research you’ve already done!”

“Who says I’ve already done research on your brother?”

Clark shoots him a look. And Bruce concedes the point with a grunt.

“I’ll need need to talk with him first,” Bruce finally concedes. “Bring him by the cave. Take the-”

“Take the tunnel entrance, I know, I know,” Clark agrees with a grin. “This doesn’t mean he’s authorized to know your secret identity. Thanks Bruce, this means a lot. I’ll ask him tomorrow about his schedule.”

Superman flies off and Batman scrubs his face with a gloved hand. After a moment he pulls up Anakin’s file on the main monitor. Bruce honestly respects and likes the man, as much as he respects and likes anyone who’s not family. He admires his sense his style, appreciates his upgrades to the batmobile, and is impressed by both this civil rights work and his additions to the scientific community.

That doesn’t mean he’s not convinced that Anakin’s brother is a bit insane. Again, he’s not judging! He dresses like a bat to scare random henchmen and beat up actual demigods! He wishes his rogues gallery was as capable of directing their ptsd-inspired delusions and staggering intellects towards such productive pursuits!

Bruce was already in quiet awe of the Kent’s ability to raise an outrageously superpowered being without blowing up a chunk of the country; their success in derailing a supervillian origin story just puts him over the edge. He stares at the three most likely profiles he’s pulled together. Christen Jones, from a negligent family, death certificate filled out suspicously sloppily at age 3. Earl Lucas, went missing at age 9, both parents dead in a violent assault. And Jake Hayden, who at age 5 disappeared along with the rest of his family in a seismic accident later linked to Luthercorp.

Anyone of them could have suffered on the streets for years and coped by establishing an elaborate fantasy world, aided by self medication, only to eventually be picked up by the Kent’s and start healing. Certainly Anakin had the intellect to create worlds in his mind. All his rogues were smart enough to create their own little realities in their heads- it doesn’t mean they were actually reachable. 

Unfortunately Anakin had a Kryptonian younger brother who was determined to actually find the space wizard knight homeworld, even as the 'Jedi’ in question had slowly moved away his reliance on the delusion as an adult. Batman really didn’t see any way bringing up his conclusions to Anakin or Clark could possibly be helpful, and so many alien allies had a ‘If you find about the Jedi please contact Kal-El of Krypton on Earth’ pamphlet that it would be excruciatingly awkward to try and discretely correct anyone.

Bruce was not looking forward to this conversation.

[dontjudgemeimawriter]

Excerpt/Sketch Scene: Ardisci

I shared lines from this recently but in looking it over I remembered how much I love it so I decided to share. From Ardisci’s POV, Ardisci is the god of knowledge and is living sort of in-hiding on Earth.

---

Alright. So we’re here: Kaitlyn is lying on the couch, reading chapter 3 of her textbook on cultural anthropology. Netalia is lying on the floor, her book— a thick book with thin pages that’s a survey English literature— open above her. It’s open to Lines Written in Early Spring by William Wordsworth, but I’m not sure if she’s reading it— Buttercup, her golden retriever, is licking her face, and she’s laughing and pushing her away. I’m taking notes in my notebook. My reading, Plato’s Allegory of the Cave, is open as a pdf on my laptop, though that’s mostly for show, since Netalia is here. My notebook, which Kaitlyn insists is technically a journal (but it’s not my place to say it is or isn’t— language and labels aren’t my responsibility to determine), lies in front of me, and I’m scribbling in it with a recycled water bottle pen that I got at freshman orientation that Netalia always marvels that I haven’t lost and Kait and I then share a knowing look about. If Kait (and the collective’s) definition of “journal” is a place for writing out one’s own thoughts, rather than simply noting facts for studying purposes, then yes, it is a journal. I don’t have much need for notetaking— even without the constant stream of direct-and-all-encompassing knowledge, simple information—what’s part of the collective knowledge—is provided to me automatically. But that’s why I love philosophy classes. In the science class I took I did find it interesting what aspects they taught or what they knew, but still, so much of it was known information, simply a method by which to integrate that knowledge. It didn’t excite me the same way. But philosophy? No answer came to me automatically. I know how others have answered the question before, yes, but there’s no collective answer, and I can listen to classmate’s opinions and thoughts and I actually feel like I’m learning.

Focusing. I’m journaling on the allegory of the cave. I won’t be able to bring what I write up in class, but thoughts—my thoughts, my own!—are coming tumbling out. Because I know the outside world, the sun, all of it, I am the regular people in this metaphor when everyone around me are the prisoners who know only shadows and can but squint at the sun. Because not knowing and a limited perspective isn't something I was ever able to to really have. Because not that long ago I didn’t even have an “I” through which to narrate. Google doesn't have an “I” and never has a choice in knowing that these are shadows, not the extent of human existence, but maybe I could know only that. And who would feel jealousy of prisoners chained up in a cave with only a fire casting shadows to quantify as real— and since when has jealousy been a thing I feel?

Kaitlyn had been the one to suggest I write, to journal. She’d given me a look that she told me later was frustration (which I don’t feel bad about not recognizing— psychologically speaking, most people don’t recognize the facial expression “frustrated” as they do “happy” or “sad”—it’s not a basic emotion) and said in a very calm voice that as much as she loved listening to my rants, not everyone had the collective knowledge at their disposal—she actually had to study. And she later suggested writing out my thoughts, telling me that writing could be helpful in self-discovery, which got a green-light from the collective knowledge, so I agreed to try it. 

Netalia pushes Buttercup’s nose away. “Buttercup, go-lie-down. I gotta read this.” Buttercup harumphs and trots over to me, pushing her nose into the space between my arm and my waist. That’s something I never got to appreciate—the simple joy of an animal burrowing into you. Of loving you. I suspect that’s something few gods get to experience—at least, outside of the Nature domain. And to have that physical form in which an animal can burrow into.

I can’t write with Buttercup there, so I finish the sentence, put my pen down, and turn to Buttercup, taking her face in my hands and scratching behind her ears. Buttercup starts panting, her tail wagging loud enough to slam against the carpet.

“Did the good doggie get snubbed?” I coo to Buttercup. It’s lucky humans developed a way to communicate thoughts, or I may never have had access to even the concept of thoughts and emotions, just behavior and knowledge of consciousness. At least a person can tell me what they’re thinking and feeling, even if it’s not always true— or all I’d have is what I can tell about animals, what their behaviors indicate. 

“It was not a snub,” Netalia said. “I have to read this.”

I quiet, just smiling at Buttercup and scratching behind her ears. Kaitlyn’s looking at me. I know what face she’s making without looking up, but I look up anyway because sometimes using the human eyes helps me interpret it better. There’s a slight smile. I think it’s in reference to “Some of us need to actually read the assignment.” Just because that’s usually what Kaitlyn likes to tease me about. 

Kaitlyn closes her textbook and sets it down on the table. “Talia, can we take Buttercup outside and play with her a bit? I think Addie’s getting antsy.”

Addie’s not really my name—my god name is Ardisci, and before going into hiding, Kaitlyn called me Ardi, which I love—never had I been close enough with someone for them to need a shortened way to refer to me. It felt affectionate. But going into hiding I needed a name-name, something not quite my god name. Kaitlyn had actually said that Adelaide felt too close to Ardisci to her, but once I’d picked it it had felt comfortable and I couldn’t pick another one, so we went with it. Plus, “Addie” and “Ardi” sounded similar, which made the transition easier. 

“Sure,” Netalia sits up, folding the book over her finger for a moment. “Her toys are in the basket next to the porch.” She stood and sat down on the couch Kait had been lying on.

I stood, giving Buttercup a tug towards the door. Buttercup lept, realizing what we were doing, and ran to the door, barking when it didn’t open for her.

“Hold on, girl.” Kaitlyn followed us over to the front entrance and grabbed her jacket off the hook, then handed me mine. Now out of earshot from Netalia, she said to me, “The rest of us need to actually read the assignment.”

“I know,” I said. My jacket was thick, zippered, and knit, with cables curling up the sleeves. I wanted to try knitting sometime, to see if it was as easy as the information of “how to purl” came into my mind. Kaitlyn had said she’d knit when she was younger, had described how she’d learned to spot the difference between a knit stitch and a purl stitch and how to make a cable or bauble. When I look at it I know, but I have a feeling that that knowledge is different from recognizing it.

Kaitlyn takes a moment to adjust the collar of my jacket, which wasn’t folded properly. “I know you know,” she smiles—me saying “I know” is ironic, she’s said, just as anyone saying “do you know?” is to me. But “know” doesn’t, in my case, always mean knowing, it means understanding, and that (I know) is a different thing. 

Buttercup bolts out the door as soon as I turn the handle to leave—it’s into Netalia’s family’s backyard, where Buttercup has previously been allowed to roam freely, so I’m not concerned—and Kaitlyn shouts to Netalia’s mom that we’re taking Buttercup out. Her mom, Lynette, tells us alright, and that she’s heating up some hot apple cider for us. Lynette was horrified my first year living as a human that I’d never had hot apple cider, and had filled me up on it ever since. I’d told Kaitlyn how I knew what apple was used, the origins of the drink, different versions, what was considered the best mixture. 

“Alright,” Kaitlyn had said. “But the drink you’re drinking right now. Do you like it?”

I’d been confused at first. I’d taken another sip— not really familiar with the concept of myself liking things. I knew it was generally accepted as good, but then I really absorbed the flavor, the heat, the spice, the sweetness. “Yes,” I’d said finally. “I like it.”

I bound outside, running to the basket under the porch and grabbing a frisbee. “Wanna catch?” I ask Buttercup. Buttercup jumps side to side, ready. I swing my arm, try to snap my wrist, and let go. Buttercup runs after it, but the frisbee curves, making about a 60° angle away from where I thought I’d aimed. I laugh, and Buttercup, who started running straight, looks around in confusion.

“I gotta get better at that!” I shout to Kait, and run over to where the frisbee landed. Running is nice, a feeling I’ve gotten used to. The exertion, adrenaline, my lungs pulling in air, my heart beating, lactic acid starting to flow through my muscles (which’ll make them sore later). One of the things I can’t know, I have to feel. I get to feel. I scoop up the frisbee and toss it again. This time Buttercup knows to watch it, and runs after the very curved path it follows. I run back over to Kait, meeting Buttercup halfway as she trots back with it. Kait takes the frisbee.

“Here,” she holds it out, but instead of letting me take it, guides my hand to hold it. She takes me through the motion of throwing it, of the flick of the wrist. “And here you let go. Eyes on your target.” she says. 

I know how to on an instructional level, but when Kait releases my hand for me to try, this time I pay attention not to the collective knowledge, but her instruction. I follow through, and this time it goes straighter, only curving a bit at the end. Buttercup races after it, then picks it up from the ground.

“Better,” Kait observes. She’s staring at Buttercup at first, but her eyes don’t follow the return, so she seems to have spaced on the trees. “Russell never quite figured out how to throw one,” she said.

I take the frisbee from Buttercup, spinning it in my hand for a moment. I don't look at her, knowing she won’t notice me averting my eyes.

I still haven't told her. I should tell her. It’s my obligation really, to our friendship and to my role as god. But really, just because I am the god of knowledge, did that mean I have to tell her? I’m trying to escape that role.

She’ll find out eventually. And maybe I can say I just hadn’t thought of it— I’d been shutting down the constant stream of information, and one person's death isn’t collective knowledge. If I hadn’t wondered, I still wouldn’t know, not actively.

But I do know actively. I’d checked in and realized. And decided not to tell her.

Her brother had died two years ago. That’s why he’d never found her, never shown up. I hadn’t known him, not really, but I knew him somewhat through Kait, though her memories and relationship. 

Maybe it’s a bit selfish, too. I don’t know how she’d react, but I have a feeling (that was new too, having a feeling) that knowing might change things. It might lead her back to her family, and yes perhaps I can stay in hiding without her, but I don’t want to.

A part of me has always longed to do this. Live as a person, learn, experience. Not be the source of all knowledge for once. And part of why I finally had was the pressure had gotten worse—but really, a large part of it was meeting Kaitlyn. Kait, who never used me, who never asked questions I wouldn’t know if I wasn’t god of knowledge. Who actually got to know who I was, with enough patience to handle me. Who’d believed I even got the chance to be an I.

I throw the frisbee again. It arcs a bit, but Buttercup jumps up and catches it midair. “Whoo!” Kait cheers. 

I bend down, clapping and then petting Buttercup. “Good job!” I tell her.

“Good job to you,” Kait says, tousling my hair the same way I’m tousling Buttercup’s ears. I grin.

[gyllenhaalstories]

SOUTHPAW, PART 1: HEADCANONS.

notes: dear anon: thank you for making me appreciate jake the rapper! also i know nothing about rap, so i’m sorry if this is pure trash! i never finished watching southpaw because it was too dark for me, but i took some very loose inspiration from it. warnings: mentions of dark past, mentions of sexual content... this got really long (2k words). gifs credits: alphalewolf. extras: if you want more informations about rapper!jake, please scroll through my blog. i have edited some older posts with the tag: topic: rapper!jake, so check it out if you’re interested. i have taken some ideas and put them in this list. (at the end of the list i provided some goodies!)

PART TWO WILL BE UPLOADED SOON, KEEP AN EYE OUT FOR IT!

attention, attention! please note i know absolutely nothing about rap. i very rarely enjoy listening to rap music, it’s simply not for me. this might be inaccurate and off compared to the actual world of hip hop and other similar genres. i apologize for my lack of knowledge! this is an au in which jake is not an actor or a producer or anything of the sort. his fame, he built it with his music. you must keep that in mind while reading these headcanons or else it will get confusing. also, i’ve taken some loose inspiration from jake’s actual work, but that’s just for the sake of backstory. are you ready to dive in this twisted fantasy?

Jake Gyllenhaal. Known as Hall. He exploded the charts after being picked up by one of the biggest record companies for his first album: Hall of Fame. He was a rookie, yet he was older than most of the rappers you can think of today. He worked his way up undercover. He started participating in poetry and slam nights at local cafés. He became a songwriter, through connections. He sold some songs that are absolute classics today, but he does not care. He did not feel like they fit him anyway.

Growing up, Jake had it rough. There was a lot of fighting at home. His older sister was the perfect angel and him? The absolute disaster child. It was not like he ran after danger and trouble, he seemed to always be at the wrong place in the wrong time, he hung out with the wrong crowd. He managed to avoid juvie on some miracle. What was the miracle, you might ask? He was caught robbing some local bank with his “friends” and the cops, at first, did not believe he was innocent. While his friends were screaming and threatening the innocent clients of the bank, Jake actually tried to help them out of the building safely. The cops arrived at the same moment and thought he was keeping the strangers hostage. He was arrested on the spot. The other guys played the victims, blamed it all on Jake but it was only when Jake wrote the whole story, from the beginning where his friends manipulated him and made of him their puppet to when he felt this adrenaline rush telling him he needed to save the strangers that night. His writing was too sincere, too raw to be a web of lies. The police released him, but they kept an eye on him.

His escape were writing and music. He impressed all of his teachers at school. Talented, gifted, magical. That was how they described Jake at every parent and teacher meeting. Writing dumb sentences that made very little sense and playing with a guitar after school, that did not make his parents very proud compared to his sister who was on top of all of her classes and working hard for a future of wealth and success.

Music was his entire life. He would come home from school and blast music until he was called out for dinner. Led Zeppelin, Aerosmith, Black Sabbath, Heart, Pink Floyd, Metallica, name it. He liked it loud. He liked it weird. He liked it with a deeper message, with double meaning.

He worked all types of jobs, some legal and some not so much. He was saving money for college. He applied. He got in. He started his classes. He had big dreams, too, he had ambitions. Maybe he could his talent to good use? He wanted to study philosophy, literature, music, creative writing... Anything that required thought and depth. He made friends, there. He befriended the edgy punk guy, he had tattoos everywhere, he listened to the same bands, he was quiet but his essays spoke volumes.

Jake was disappointed, his illusions were broken. He hated the format of his classes, the feeling like his opinion and his inspiration did not matter, it was always about meeting some stupid requirements to please a rich professor who did not care about passion, about talent, about originality. Jake dropped out, soon followed by his friend. His friend was hired at a tattoo parlor and Jake hung out there all the time. He would stay up until 5 am, 6, 7, all night and all day long. He loved the clients there. He would write and read his writing out loud to the clients when they were tortured by the needle shooting the ink in their skin. Talented and gifted, they all the same thing.

He started to see the light at the end of the tunnel.

He wrote, not just stories and opinion pieces. He started writing songs, melody and lyrics. He started playing them, he started writing his own poetry too. He was introduced to freestyle battles. And as he fought against other talented thinkers, he noticed he spoke with a tempo, with a rhythm. He was rapping and he did not even realize it.

His career sky rocketed from the moment a music producer attended one of the rap battles. He was famous, he got quite the thick wallet and the connections. Jake was introduced to legends of hip hop. They all influenced him as his career grew to become something overwhelming and terrifying, yet thrilling and addictive.

Hall had a style of his own, though. It was romantic, yet absolutely disgusting and dark. It was aggressive, yet vulnerable and philosophical. He spoke of his trauma, of his hatred, of his envy, of his fears... He used his songs as an escape. He was becoming his own escape.

And his own prison. His family did not care about him, he was a shame, even. Aside from his old college friend, he never built strong friendships. They were all after him for fame and cash. He slept around, guys and gals, threesomes, foursomes... He did not care, anything for some genuine connection, even if it lasted for a very lazy and messy fifteen minutes in the trashy bathroom of a concert hall. Rumour had it he was a great lover, but he was so bad at loving.

Now it gets interesting...

Hall rapped alongsides Eminem, Drake, Kendrick Lamar, Travis Scott... The biggest pop stars were fighting just to get him to rap a line in their songs. Rihanna wishes he was the one singing Love the way you lie, does that give you an idea? He appeared on duets. He wrote more solo albums, sold them instantly. He never left the top of the billboard in weeks, months, if not years. It never really got to his head. He was still that sensitive boy writing about knights and princesses in his bedroom with walls covered by band posters. Fans did not care about this side of him, they loved him for his lyrics about snorting coke, drinking his pain away and fucking whoever wore the tiniest skirt around.

His latest album, Southpaw, was an even bigger hit. Pure filth. Pure gold. Imagine 13 tracks, Cardi’s and Megan’s WAP but reversed. He does not rap about how good he fucks people. He raps about how good they feel. That’s some real depth here, no pun intended.

You met him at one of his concerts. Your friend won VIP passes, so you were standing in the front and got to take a picture with him. You did not understand the hype around taking a photo with this guy, he just stood there and looked absolutely emotionless.

You hated rap, or perhaps you loved it. You did not care much for Jake, that was for sure. You thought he was just another lame rapper who thought he was the real deal because his lyrics were so explicit, even the clean versions made angels cry. The truth was, you did not know much a bout him. You found him too commercial, like he was scared of becoming irrelevant.

You saw right through him already.

But him? He already cared too much about you. You caught his attention as he rapped his songs. He could not take his eyes off you. You weighted heavy on his mind, caused him to stutter and forget lyricvs. Fans laughed, they said he was probably too drunk or too high too focus. Drunk in love, that’s what it was.

There was something about you. Maybe it was the Black Sabbath shirt you wore. Maybe it was the unimpressed look on your face. Maybe it was your plump lips he wanted to kiss. Maybe it was the sight of you laughing with your friend that made his heart skip a beat. Maybe it was the fact you treated him like a normal person even if you had not spoken to him first.

So, you met backstage.

Your friend was beaming from ear to ear, showering Jake in compliments.

“Did you enjoy the show?” Jake asked you.

“For someone who shows no emotion, sound dead inside and look like they wish they were doing anything but making dozens of thousands of dollars by singing a couple of semi mediocre tracks, yeah, it was not that horrible.”

He was up for a challenge.

You two exchanged insults like it was a boxing match. Each round was getting more and more intense. It was no longer insults, it was straight up flirting. You noticed when your bodies were so close you could smell the scent of watermelon chewing gum that escaped from his warm breath. You could hear the way his raced even faster than yours.

You were snapped out of this fantasy by his bodyguard, indicating other fans waited for him.

He remembered the name your friend called out, saying he needed to bring you home before something bad happened.

It was the most beautiful name he had ever heard.

He hung out around that concert hall for the next couple of days. At the bar nearby, at Starbucks, at McDonald’s, anything for the sake of seeing your face again.

And he did.

You were walking out of the record store with a vinyl of Heart squeezed under your arm. You looked so happy. You had paint stains all over your clothes. You were erasing the memories of a terrible relationship by decorating your tiny apartment, and you needed to set the right ambiance. You needed guidance, you found it in the strong minds of the ladies behind Heart, in Joan Jett, in Stevie Nicks. You found your silver lining in music.

Jake ran behind you, he pretended he was out jogging and he mysteriously bumped into you. He grabbed your vinyl before it could fall on the ground.

“Nice pick.”

“We finally agree on something.”

Another round of flirty insults...

... That ended in the two of you fucking like animals on the floor of your apartment.

And fucking on the couch the next day.

On the kitchen counter the morning after.

And finally, on the bed. That was a really special one. Jake was the first person to be on your bed since the departure of your ex. He could feel that you were not in the mood for a rough battle for dominance.

That night, he made love to you.

For, quite possibly, the first time in his life, he expressed his love directly to somebody. “Princess, baby girl, beautiful, gorgeous, amazing”, he showered you in compliments, and praises. The slow movement of his hips, the intense passion in his eyes and love in his heart spoke louder than the music you were playing in the background to set the mood.

You were not just another trophee to hang on the wall. You were special.

He was special too.

He bought you every record that reminded him of you. He bought you collector items of your favourite bands. From the silliest decoration to a new car to replace your crappy one, passing by tickets to exclusive and sold-out shows, Jake had never felt more famous in his life than when he was with you.

His fans noticed the change in his songs, in his lyrics. They were just as explicit, just as rotten and just as corrupted. However, they came from a place of light and love, not of darkness and rage.

He sang about how good your felt when you climaxed around him. How drenched he was whenever he made you squirt. How he loved to taste himnself on your lips. How he was full of love and of lust for you. How he would quit everything if it meant he would live a normal life, for once, and with you.

You inspired so many songs that became massive world-wide hits.

You travelled the world with him on tour. You helped him design his new merch and you wore his t-shirts with pride. You attended concerts in your freetime. You loved staying up all night, painting and drawing while he was writing about this mirage of a goddess, blessing his existence with a smile and a sparkle in her eyes.

He was addicted to you.

He was crazy for you.

And he went crazy on you.

for research purposes and not because i wasted my time hearing eminem talk about stuff i don’t understand so i could stare at jake’s thighs

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mP_cKP4OjsA

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=whV5oQDvVWE

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UGqC9URTJIQ

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5imXD1LPnwo

and finally, for good measure :

@gyll-yee-haw​ ily

[aislinswalsh]

AHHHH IS THIS REAL LIFE? I’M SO EXCITED TO BE HERE WOW ! hello friends !  i’m so pumped to get to know all of your children, and i hope you like my painfully irish angel bby aislin. her app did get a bit long so i tried to type up a tldr version, but shutting me up is practically impossible so forgive me if that’s long too. i do have a few wanted connections listed below as well, but if nothing tickles your fancy i’m super open to seeing where the cat drags us or plotting out something else entirely ! @opalsmedia​

            bio that’s just my app . pinterest . playlist .

[ HALEY LU RICHARDSON, CISWOMAN, SHE/HER ] shh ! AISLIN WALSH, the TWENTY-ONE  year old SECOND year FILM & PHILOSOPHY major from WATERFORD IRELAND, is known as a SAPPHIRE around here. SHE was invited to join because OF HER AWARD WINNING SHORT FILMS, and now, they’re here to stay. SHE reminds me of PICKING FLOWERS ON HER WAY TO CLASS, WRITING LOVE LETTERS IN FOREIGN LANGUAGES, THE ART OF SETTING YOURSELF ON FIRE TO KEEP OTHERS WARM.

A Very Brief History:

Aislin grew up a very wild child, which her parents did not like at all. They chose to pay more attention to her brother who muted himself for their approval, and followed them blindly. She took solace in books, and making her own little movies or music videos with her friends. Think of those cringey MVs made by seventh graders. Very imaginative as a child as she spent a lot of time alone. She learned how to entertain herself no matter the occasion, and played a lot with the nannies, maids, gardeners, and cooks on their estate. 

She comes from old money, as the Walsh’s own a long line of car manufacturers throughout the Republic of Ireland and the United Kingdom. Her family praises her older brother for being responsible for getting a deal to import their cars to the US and asia. He was also a member of the society, and her parents never expected Aislin to be invited to join. Especially her mother who doesn’t believe her interest in Film and Philosophy isn’t attractive for a “young elite”

“Talk less, smile more.” ( shoutout to hamilton ) a phrase she commonly heard as she always has a million thoughts running through her mind. Each one she deemed important. There was so much to the world she didn’t understand, and had yet to see. It’s what made her so passionate about exploring it through film. To insert her own philosophy and start discussions around whatever thought was plaguing her the most. But her mother wished she would just shut up and let important people feel important.

The lack of attention from her parents made her a strong people pleaser. Searching for the approval she didn’t get from home no matter how hard she tried. She’s always there to lend a helping hand no matter how late, will be the ear someone needs and offer her best advice. Believes that her loyalty and devotion will earn her the love she so often felt she didn’t receive from her parents. Aislin knows what it’s like to feel neglected and like she’s not being paid attention to and she never wants people to feel that way so she showers everyone in the love she wishes her parents will show to her.

Aislin has a mind for wonder, and an imagination that knows no bounds because she can’t do the things she watches the protagonists she writes do. It’s her only form of escape from her life and she wishes she could live freely as her protagonists do but watching them in films would have to be enough. A passion that shows through as she as three award winning short films she’s known around the film community for. Those films being: “For the Love of a Daughter”, “The Problem with a Promise”,  and “The Ways in Which Footprints Lie”.

Personality:

She puts others before herself always no matter the situation. She isn’t a prideful person, so she’s typically the first to apologize whenever any sign of conflict arises even if she wasn’t the reason the conflict started.

 It’s really hard for her to stand up for herself, and will usually just allow people to take advantage of her or walk all over her. She’s scared of disappointing people so she does her best to keep the peace at all times. 

Aislin wishes to be selfish, and put herself first but can’t bring herself to do it. So she takes out her wishes through her works. Her protagonists are always free spirited, strong willed, and openly opinionated because she feels like she can’t be.

She romanticizes every aspect of her life, and tries to find joy in the little things. She’s quick on her feet, and performs well under pressure.  Also tries her best to give everyone she meets the benefit of the doubt even if they come with their fair share of bad interactions. Even if they treat her poorly she tries to find the good in them.

Wanted Connections:

her muse. this person is someone she longs to be like. they inspire her most ambitious of characters because of how selfishly and carefree they’re able to live. she notices how they put their wants first without showing shame, and aislin tries to mimic their speech, and the way they interact with others but she always folds. she wants to be close to this person in hopes their habits will rub off on her. she’s afraid to ask how they got so assertive because she doesn’t want them to pity her or be annoyed but they’re remain a dream to her all the same.

the one that got away. it’s aislin’s fault these two didn’t work out. she couldn’t get out of her own head. they weren’t ever a couple but this muse was very sweet on her, and aislin wasn’t use to that. she was constantly thinking it was only a matter time before she disappointed them. she was hot then cold, clingy then distant and it made her feels seem like mixed signals. this muse could only take so much and eventually stopped pursuing her all together. something aislin knew was coming yet couldn’t bring herself to stop.

her comfort crowd. this could definitely be a few muses ! these people would be her group of don’t ask don’t tell. they’d have their own code, and hold each other secrets to their heart and take them to the grave. they all have access to each other’s places, know their favorite foods, and spend all night sharing secrets, reciting dreams, and being their most authentic selves. in the days that follow their stress relief they don’t speak of that night, pretending like it didn’t happen until they need another night like it again.

her midas touch. this person manages to always get her out of her comfort zone, and do things she normally wouldn’t for herself. they can see the way she struggles with doing for others and doing for herself and want them to choose herself. they sometimes get into arguments over it because no matter how many steps she takes forward she always ends right back treating others in the way she should treat herself.

her skeptic. this person thinks her treat people with kindness attitude is nothing but an act. they believe she’s working some kind of angle, whether it be within the society, her department, her inner circle, etc. they just don’t trust the way she acts. fully believing there’s more to her sweet persona than meets the eye.

[fictionplumis]

Fuck it, I’m writing more headcanons I have about Aiden and the Cat School witchers because fuck you, that’s why. 

It goes hand-in-hand with this post here where I first talked about how I see the mutagens affecting them, and I still stand by that but I’ve added more to my thoughts and made things a bit more complex. 

To start with, if I relate anything to a mental illness in a wrong way, please correct me. I am not neurotypical, neither is anyone I know, and I’ve taken a few psych classes, but I’m by no means an expert and the last thing I want to do is contribute to damaging stereotypes and spread misinformation. I also want to say that I’m not necessarily saying it’s any mental illness-like thing that makes Cat witchers the way that they are, but more the lack of knowledge/support/treatment/coping methods combined with the typical shit upbringing of a witcher that makes things so difficult for them. 

So there’s not much we actually do know about this school, not concretely anyway, and we’re also not sure how reliable the narrator is per se, because it’s very possible the stuff we do know about them is just rumors. My headcanon is that yes, most Cats are legitimately dangerous. Given that they act as assassins sometimes, I think their school teaches them to prioritize survival and money over all else, whereas I think School of the Wolf teaches their witchers that their duty is to protect. 

I was RPing with someone once who had this brilliant idea of Cats being taught to take contracts for monster nests, and then killing the monsters but leaving the nests so that when they passed through the next year, they would have another contract. In my version of the Cat School, that would absolutely be in line with their philosophy. In a lot of ways, they’re taught that humans are just another type of monster sometimes. They’re good when they’re paying you, but if they start doing the same shit monsters do, what’s the difference? With their heightened emotions, it means they’re capable of really deep empathy and connection to others, but their school teaches them to use that to manipulate people. Find out what motivates them, what words and phrasing you can use to convince an Alderman out of more coin, what emotions you need to appeal to in order to get a free room for the night, stuff like that. 

So let’s take a look at Karadin real quick. If we’re believing that Aiden is who Lambert says he is, then Karadin is obviously lying about why Aiden died. So what else is he lying about? 

Here’s a guy who was taught to survive above all else, to use his emotions and the emotions of others to manipulate them, who is good at gathering information. Him and his rag-tag group of assassins just took out this guy--reason doesn’t matter, it happened--and now they have a renegade Wolf after them. I doubt Lambert keeps quiet, you know? He wants information on what happened to Aiden, he’s going around pounding on doors and taking names, he’s making a scene. Karadin hears about it, we know that because he expected Lambert to show up. So how can he best protect himself? 

Firstly, cut all ties with his crew. Disband them. Become the guy who was into some bad shit but is now trying to clean up his life. Second, find out about the Wolf hunting them. Again, Lambert’s not exactly quiet. At the very least it wouldn’t be hard to find out that Lambert’s bitter about his life being a witcher, that he feels like his humanity was stolen was from. Why he feels that way doesn’t matter, it’s something Karadin can appeal to. Now he can become something that Lambert can sympathize with. Become the witcher that’s trying to leave the Path, start a family, and find his humanity again. You know about being a slaver, assassin, and wealthy merchant on the side, he has bank. So he pays a widowed mother to live with him, provides her and her kids food and shelter and safety, and all she has to do is pretend to be his lover for a little bit. After the heat cools down and he no longer has a Wolf looming over his shoulder, he can go back to his old life. What’s a couple years of laying low to a witcher, right?  Karadin’s mistake is not realizing that Lambert valued Aiden over any half-assed attempt to get his “humanity” back, and that he trusted and knew Aiden well enough to see through the lie. 

Anyway, that right there is the kind of shit the Cat school teaches. 

This, of course, makes Cats very hard to trust. And in turn, it makes Cats very suspicious of everyone else. If they can lie and manipulate like that, what’s stopping everyone else from doing it? It’s always possible. They don’t trust humans because humans have the tendency to be pretty shit (re: the attack on Stygga), they don’t trust the people in their school because all of those people know how to lie and manipulate just as easily as they do, and they don’t trust other schools look down on them. The one school they reluctantly get along with are the Vipers, because Vipers don’t look down on them. The others, especially the Wolves up in their mountain home? Oh, they’re up on their high horse, believing their way is the only moral way, banning anyone who doesn’t agree with them from the only safe place witchers have left, so fuck them. 

Then you pair this with the emotional instability. They have a hard time keeping their feelings consistent, which means they have a hard time keeping their opinions consistent. So maybe they set up camp somewhere they feel safe and an hour later they’re on edge and uncomfortable, and they can’t imagine how they ever felt safe there, and did they even feel safe there? They can remember they did, but they can’t emotionally connect to that memory now, maybe what they remember was back when they felt safe in a very similar camp, and not this one, they just mistook that memory to be this one. Or they take a contract and they decide, yeah, that’s a fair amount for this, this will be easy, even fun!. And then they do the contract and halfway through they’re like no, this is not fun, how the fuck did I think this would be fun, of course it’s not fun, and by the time they get to collect they’re reward, they’re demanding more but that was not worth the price they originally agreed on, I would never agree to do that for such a low amount. 

So essentially, the emotionally instability makes it very easy for them to gaslight themselves. 

Can’t trust others. Can’t trust themselves. Can’t trust their memories, or their feelings, or the decisions they make because they never know when all those things might change. 

Now let’s throw in paranoia, because the lack of trust is definitely a breeding ground for paranoia. It doesn’t help that people already whisper about and spit at witchers that pass by, but for a Cat on edge, everyone is doing that. That person laughing? Laughing at them. Those people talking? Plotting against them. Make eye contact with someone? What do they want? Is that a weapon? Are they planning something? 

And that right there is why so many Cats snap and go insane. It’s not just them lashing out because their emotions got the best of them, that’s would actually be a very small issue compared to this. This is why the rumor is a Cat that’s gone “feral” as to be killed. They work themselves into psychosis and even if you calm them down from the one instance, it’s nearly impossible to fix the way they now view the world. 

So enter Aiden. 

My headcanon is that he started out like any other Cat from his school. He did a lot of fucked up things because that’s what he was taught and he didn’t realize there was really anything wrong with it. He had no reason to question it, no reason to think his elders had taught him wrong, no reason to focus on anything but making money and staying alive. And then that changed. 

Why that changed is flexible, it could be anything, from something small that his ever-changing emotions conflated into something important that he fixated on, to something that is legitimately pretty life changing. I firmly believe that this thing doesn’t have anything to do with Lambert, though. This is before Lambert. Because the important part about Aiden being a good man, is that it’s something he decided to do on his own first. Then later, when he meets Lambert, Lambert helps him, helps him a lot, but the stuff that Aiden had already taught himself is the stuff that Lambert still needs to learn too, so they help each other. 

In my headcanon, the thing that sparked this for Aiden was the whole “leave the nest so you can come back next year” thing. He didn’t think much of doing it besides job security of sorts, and there was one town with a nekker problem that he popped through a few years straight to rid them of the nests that kept popping up. The people liked him because he was friendly and he took care of their problem every year. Aiden figured he could milk it until another witcher came along and destroyed the nests completely, but until then, their gratitude earned him a bit more coin than a monster nest usually would. And there was the carpenter’s son, who really liked him. Just a this spunky little kid who wasn’t afraid of a witcher, and who babbled to Aiden about being just like his dad when he got older, and who carved Aiden a little wooden sword one year as a thank you. And then Aiden came back through one year and the kid was gone. One of the first victims of the hatched nekkers that year. 

All at once it hit Aiden that his actions and nonactions had consequences. He had no kid babbling at him. The carpenter gave him a smile and a nod, but there was an emptiness to it. He had a mother sobbing into her hands thanking him for getting rid of the monsters that killed her son, unaware that it was his fault for leaving the nest in the first place. 

That gets Aiden to not only look at his own actions, but the actions of his school. At what motivates his brothers and sisters. How accountable they are for their actions. How aware they are of the damage it sometimes does. Whether or not they even care. And by looking at that, he sees the downward spiral that so many other Cats take, and he uses his high emotional intelligence and empathy to figure out why that happens, because he doesn’t want it to happen to him. So he has these coping mechanisms. Some are for the strong flashes of emotions that spark up and overwhelm him, but others are things for every day maintenance. He journals a lot. Writes down his circumstances, his feelings towards his circumstances, why he feels that way, the things he’s noticing, he writes down as much as he can so that if his feelings change and he has a hard time grasping how he felt differently before, he can go back and read it. It’s physical proof, right there, that his memories aren’t wrong. He did feel that way. Doesn’t now, but he did, and he can trust that he did because it’s right there. Then he can write down how his feelings have changed, and why they changed, and everything he can think of so he has another record of the situation if he needs to reference it. 

It helps a lot, especially when he reads back over everything from months ago. It helps him become more comfortable with just letting himself feel his emotions without getting as frustrated by all the changes, or stressed out at the idea that they will change. Because they always do, and it’s not always bad, he’s been through it before and he’s gotten on pretty well despite it. The fear he’s feeling at that time will change too, the frustration will change, he won’t always feel bad and yes, he’ll eventually stop feeling good but he’ll also always return to feeling good again eventually. 

Lambert helps him find some consistency, because out of everything, Lambert’s the one thing Aiden has never changed his mind about. Even when he’s angry and frustrated at Lambert, he still cares so fucking much. And the Wolf is always worth it. It’s this one point of consistency that Aiden doesn’t really need to function but holy fuck does it help. 

Meanwhile Lambert will start in about something, be keyed up and ranting while Aiden just calmly hums and watches him pace until Lambert tosses up his hands like, “I don’t even know why this pisses me off so much!” 

And Aiden blinks and goes, “Maybe it’s not just this issue that’s pissing you off. Maybe you’re also upset about other things. Does this remind you something similar that upset you, or has anything happened recently that this is adding to?” 

And Lambert doesn’t fucking know. How is he supposed to know what else he might be upset about? Lots of things upset him! And this is just like a million other situations, how is he supposed to know if one of those is similar enough to also be upsetting him right now?  “Well... Have you tried writing it down?”  “Have I tried what now?”  “Writing it down. You know. With a quill, in a book. A record of sorts, if you will. Of times you feel upset. So you can go back and read it to help you figure out what might be contributing to how upset you are currently.” 

The fact that Aiden says it with all the patience of someone talking to a child makes Lambert immediately dismiss the idea until the next time he gets pissed and he’s like fuck it, whatever, I’m buying a damn journal or whatever. And he does. And he writes down what he’s feeling, and is reluctant to admit that it makes him feel a little bit better, so maybe he does it a few more times, and then something else pisses him off and he writes that down too and then decides to flick back to the other pages and what do you fucking know, it’s kind of like that other time he was pissed. Not exactly, but he reads this one little detail that matches with his current situation that just agitates him to even read it and he’s like huh. I guess I really don’t like it when people say that. Yeah, you know what? I absolutely fucking hate it when people say that. The entire situation pisses me off, sure, but I wouldn’t be nearly as pissed if that guy didn’t say what he did!

Anyway. 

I don’t know a good way to end this but yeah there’s more of my thoughts on Aiden and the Cat School. Maybe I’ll write about headcanons regarding how I see school traits matching with the animal the school is based off of, because I see those headcanons often and while I agree with some, I’m picky and I do it differently.

[sol1056]

wuxia/xianxia: a loose and somewhat second-hand introduction to the genre, pt1

Sorry for the unconventional q, but i keep seeing Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation everywhere and I kinda want to get into it but a) don't know where to start (web series? live action adaptation?? wait how many are there!) and b) i don't really "get" wuxia / xianxia, that sorta stuff, i find it really hard to cross that cultural barrier and chinese mentality seems very alien. (it's not that i have no experience w different mentalities but chinese in particular is v hard to grasp w/o sources).

So if you have the time and patience, I'd love to hear a summary of it (like, a coherent summary bc all i get on the wikis is a shower of names and concepts that don't make sense to me) and perhaps some "intro for dummies" abt the relevant parts of chinese history and mentality tied to it? not just the cultivation / buddhist part but also re: familial relationships, philosophy and all that. (v brief and low effort of course) Thank you and sorry for bothering you!

("brief and low effort" referring to what I'm asking from you, not to what I need for me - as in i asked for it so i'm more than ready for a complicated essay, but you can write with as much detail as you like, I don't want to ask for some sort of comprehensive tome)

Okay first, you do realize that if you want “brief and low” for anything, you’re asking the wrong person? I was a philosophy major. brief got drilled out of me a long time ago. 

Second... well, explaining what makes The Untamed / Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation (mdzs for short, from the chinese title, Mo Dao Zu Shi) such a standout story does require understanding some of the wuxia conventions it subverts -- as well as some that it plays straight (so to speak) very, very well. 

I figure the best approach (again, sadly not brief) is to first get a handle on the genre of wuxia. Gonna break this post into two, so you’re not reading in a single three-hour stretch or something. I’ll do a follow-up about mdzs, to hopefully make it a bit more accessible for you. 

before I do that, let me first say: I didn’t grow up with this genre, so there’s going to be parts that I may miscast unintentionally. for an insider’s view, my go-to voices are @guzhuangheaven, @atthewaterside, @dramatic-gwynne, @the50-person and @drunkensword. if any of them are reading this and can point to more/other/better voices, please do.

I have three analogies -- like cultural doorways --  and like all analogies, they break down when you get into the finer details. In the broad strokes, though, they mostly work, and if nothing else, hopefully they’ll demonstrate that wuxia may be a chinese-specific version, but part of a storytelling tradition that’s nearly universal.

The three doorways are: the american wild west, the samurai era, and the british arthurian romances. And, in a tangential way, the regency period in the romance genre. 

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

The term ‘wuxia’ can be translated several ways, but I prefer ‘martial chivalry’. Most wuxia takes place in the jianghu, a harder term to unpack. Generally, though, ‘the jianghu’ has connotations not all that different from what americans mean when they reference the wild west. 

More of a concept than a physical place, the jianghu (like the ‘wild’ west) exists beyond the reach of the law and/or civilization. It’s occupied by a diverse cast of farmers, merchants, beggars, and so on, but also by outlaws, gangs, hermits, pretty much all those who don’t like the suffocating nature of the civilized world, for whatever reason. It’s not a lawless place (except to outsiders); it does have laws, but those are only unto itself. 

So, jianghu is a world to itself, for the most part -- which also makes it kind of timeless. Tang dynasty, Song dynasty, Ming dynasty, it could be any of them and all of them and none of them. Just as the heyday of the cowboys and the cattle drives was barely a decade long, a culture’s romanticized history stretches into lifetimes that exist separate from any date you could pin down on a calendar. 

The average wuxia protagonist would fit in reasonably well as knight errants in an arthurian romance, with one important detail in difference: they’re rarely aristocrats. Wuxia protagonists are just as likely (if not more so) to be lower-born, whether the child of farmers, or servants, some common caste. 

This is where wuxia diverges from the british and japanese traditions, which have a bit more noblesse oblige going on (knights and samurai both being upper-class types). Even ‘aristocratic’ characters tend to be so only within the jianghu -- sort of like the way a territory’s elected leader in the wild west would’ve had no pull in Washington, given they weren’t from a fully-recognized state. 

Wuxia does often have politics, between competing sects (think schools of learning), but that political infighting is independent of the capital’s rules or wishes. A lot of stories -- in the rare cases the topic even comes up -- tends to speak of ‘the capital’ in disparaging terms. 

That’s not to say wuxia is all about the flat social systems (it’s definitely not), but most commonly a rank implies some level of competence/study. The title of sect leader isn’t granted, it's earned. Children inherit, but it’s also a common storyline to have an heir with no skills (who then goes through all the trials and tribulations to finally level up and earn that position in turn).

What makes wuxia hard to grasp is its vernacular: the conventions that form the backbone that make something recognizably ‘wuxia’ and not just ‘historical drama set on a frontier in a loosely-defined time period’. 

Frex: in a Wild West story, convention is two gunfighters at opposite ends of the street, and at least one of them is wearing a holster tied to his leg with string in a way that no real gunfighter wore, ever, but Hollywood came up with the idea and now it’s a permanent part of our imagination. In the arthurian romances,  convention is carrying the token of one’s lady love (a distant, untouchable figure who rarely appears on-page), or meeting the unnamed knight in black on the jousting field. Convention are the samurai who’ll die for their lord’s honor, always touchy and prickly at the first sign of disrespect. 

These are things granted the most remarkable gravity, that to an outsider might seem ridiculous. (Why is there always tumbleweed?) 

Now, wuxia is the latest evolution in a long-lived literary tradition (and by ‘long’ I mean like 2000+ years) -- but like any living tradition, each subsequent generation reinvents it for their time. Part of that reinvention comes from particularly influential writers, who put their own spin on things, and their interpretation becomes the next generation’s standard for the genre -- “of course wuxia must have X” or “a protagonist never does Y”. (Like how Tolkien almost single-handedly changed western concepts of elves, in fiction.)

And here’s where I explain what regency romance has to do with it. Another short-lived period, in real history, but along came Georgette Heyer, who took bits and pieces of actual research, blended them with her reactionary politics, exaggerating some things and ignoring other things completely. The result is a time-that-never-was, but she cast (and still casts) a shadow so vast that I’ve seen multiple romance writers complain that readers will see a footnoted-and-researched version as wrong, if it contradicts one of Heyer’s made-up conventions. 

Modern wuxia has its own Heyer-sized influencers -- like Jin Yong (the Condor trilogy, Demi-Gods and Semi-Devils), Wen Rui'an (The Four), Gu Long (The Legend of Flying Daggers, The Proud Twins), to name a few of the biggest. If you have a chance or are inclined, the big names get remade on a pretty regular basis, and catching one will at least let you see some ur-tropes in action. 

But it also means that you can’t really extrapolate, in the sense of saying, “in wuxia, people do X, ergo, X is also a factor in Chinese culture.” It’s like... take any western made in the 50s, and the vernacular is simple. The bad guys wear black hats, the good guys wear white hats, the prostitutes wear bright-colored dresses with frills and the good women wear subdued colors buttoned up to their neck. It told an audience exactly what character filled what role, but that’d tell you zero about real people you might meet in Nebraska or Utah, let alone New York City. 

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

Almost forgot: xianxia is basically wuxia but with ‘immortal heroes’ -- so there’s gods, divine influences, non-human beings as characters (main or NPC), etc. (Btw, by ‘immortal’ I mean exactly that, like this character is six hundred years old, that one’s a thousand years old, etc.) You can think of xianxia as wuxia, but amped way up on the mystical scale. 

Xianxia will sometimes take place on earth (jianghu) but sometimes in the celestial realm (heaven). Or a mix of both, like stories where a character falls (or is banished, or defects) from heaven and has to go through various trials and tribulations as a mortal human in order to regain a power, rise in rank, fall in love, or whatever their goal is. 

A number of wuxia stories are driven by some sort of mcguffin, but in xianxia, the mcguffin is more likely to be a powerful spiritual weapon. But I can also think of a number of wuxia in which the mcguffin would fit right in, in xianxia (some near-mystical thing with significant positive, or negative, power independent of the wielder, which often amplifies or boosts the wielder to an inhuman degree, etc). 

Thing is, the mcguffin being divine/infernal supernatural isn’t enough alone to make the story xianxia. I’m pretty sure you need non-human or super-human immortals and/or creatures to be considered in the xianxia genre. 

part two

[realisationanddoubt]

Acting, Fate and the embers of creativity

You know I used to take acting classes? This was so long ago that I almost forgot about it. My claim to fame is that I was almost an extra in a period drama I can’t even remember the name of anymore. It was a pretentious little place nestled within the end of Ripley, ran by an aged actress. Whatever images this conjures, you’re right. I used to enjoy it until eventually I didn’t and I just stopped showing up. That’s the story of my passions I suppose. I use to act a lot when I was younger, all the way up until college where I dropped my drama course for sociology because my grades were better and I thought it’d look better on my resume. The idea of putting it on any kind of resume seems insane now, it truly doesn’t matter anymore. Sometimes I wonder what life I’d be living if I’d had continued to pursue acting. Probably a very different one. Had I dedicated myself to any of my college education I wouldn’t have known Anna or Nichola. My closest friend and my abusive ex. 

If I hadn’t known Nichola I may have never left Harriet and I’d be living some cozy suburban life with kids and a marriage by now. Though if I’d never known Nichola I probably wouldn’t have purusued Harriet in the first place, I wouldn’t have been spurned on by a broken heart. If I had never left the acting class I might have been on TV and thus pursued drama doggedly instead. A different uni course, a different life.

I almost took philosophy in Liverpool as my career path. It’s strange to think about because as most major decisions in my life, it was taken purely on a whim. Yet nursing is my entire life now. It has shaped my entire being. It’s taught me empathy, compromise, assertiveness, social skills. I owe a lot of who I am now to my career. I suppose that’s why those in the world of buisness can become callous and jaded. You’re shaped by the experiences you encounter everyday.

If I was a philosphy student would I be some stoner working in a coffee shop now? God knows I spent enough time high at Uni without being on a course that encourages thinking and opening your mind. I’d probably be living with my parents still. There are so many parallel lives running alongside our own and sometimes I feel like I could almost reach out and touch them, hold the hand of my parallel self and let them know it’s okay. There’s so much in the world, so many possibilities and it’s going to be okay. 

The strands of fate are a strange thing. Inexplicably inseperable, defining one another and feeding off of one another.

Sometimes, I mourn the death of a version of me that’s tinted with rose. I used to act, to write, to fence. All of those things seem so foreign now. I still write, I guess. I write personal pieces but it’s ultimately just masturbation. A reflection on my life, a coming to terms with everything. It’s not what I used to write. I used to create worlds and I miss that creativity.

It’s still there though isn’t it? My creativity. Your creativity. It’s a fire that sits within and sometimes it roars whilst other times it barely whimpers. You have to feed fires. You have to feed creativity. I’ve been bad at feeding my creativity. I think it’s something you can forget with age. I get my creativity from my mum. She writes poetry, or at least she did many years ago. She doesn’t anymore, as far as I know. Her old poems are a gut wrenching experience. They usually talk of a girl who’s lost herself, which speaks well to my mums heart.

That’s what art is, at least to me. It’s recycling pain. Putting a fresh coat of paint on something old and worn and making it into something beautiful, a relic of the past made into a shining landmark. I was here. This is how I felt. Listen to my story.

I’ve lost count of the amount of times I’ve written here, everywhere, that I’m about to start writing again. That once roaring fire is just embers now and kick starting it is harder than I ever imagined. I’ll do it one day. Maybe it’ll be today, maybe it’ll be ten years from now but one day I’ll drop something into that poor suffering, dying creativity and maybe from that single drop, I will create a spark that will light my way.

[reggierightsactivism]

4, 18, 22!

Share a sentence or paragraph from your writing that you’re really proud of (explain why, if you like)

I like both these parts from Like A Tough Guy Would: 

Sometimes, though, he starts talking again even before he’s aware that it’s happening.

“Hey Munroe,” he starts, catching a rogue black olive and piling it on a stray piece of sausage so he can eat both together. “Now are we even?”

“Hm?”

“You know…” Reggie glances over, sucking some salt and grease off his fingers. You know how I was a dick to you and never really apologized, probably never really intend to either (at least not in so many words), but then you kept quiet for me, and I bought you food at Pop’s and gave you a ride home, and you let me stay the weekend, and I helped you do yard work, and you gave me football tips, and I ordered us all pizza… “Like, in general.”

Munroe shrugs, which is not the answer Reggie was hoping for, but also one that doesn’t surprise him.

“I haven’t been keeping score,” he says. “But I’m good if you’re good.”

“Yeah,” says Reggie with a slow nod. “I’m good.”

& 

“NYU? Right,” laughs Marty derisively. “So you can major in Philosophy and Tap Dance? Or-- Lindy, what was that music class you said they had?”

“Music Therapy.”

”Music Therapy.”

“They’ve got a good--”

“Why don’t you just save us the tuition money and drop out of school now? Go down to the Southside and get fitted for a Serpents jacket so you can spend the rest of your life slinging sugar and blowing homos in parking lots to get your next fix. When did you become such a damn sissy, Reggie?”

Reggie says nothing, wrinkling his nose as his dad shakes his head and shovels more food into his mouth.

“And then answer me this, who’s going to run the dealership after I retire, huh? Maybe I should hire that Munroe kid, since clearly he gives a damn. Does that sound good to you?”

Reggie glowers silently, prodding at his food.

“Well? Does it?” Marty whacks the back of Reggie’s head with his palm. “I’m talking to you.”

“Ow-- no!”

God, he hates it here. The amount of times he’s seriously considered getting into his car and just driving until he gets to New York City is not insignificant.

“You know, when I was your age I had these dreams of moving out west and surfing all along the coast,” Marty goes on. “I didn’t have what you have, Reggie. Your problem is that you have it too good-- I didn’t go west, I invested in my future and built that damn dealership from scratch, you hear me? From the ground up. And do you think your grandfather just stroked my hair and gave me handouts? Hell no. This?”

He gestures around the dining room, but what he means is bigger than just this room; what he means is ‘the dealership, this house, this life.’

“This is all thanks to me and your mother.”

Reggie can’t stand this lecture no matter how many times he hears it. His parents are both assimilated to hell and back, especially his dad, but that never stops them from digging their heels into a good lesson on bootstraps whenever they think Reggie isn’t falling into line fast enough to their liking-- like it isn’t enough he’s already basically resigned himself to a lifetime of selling cars for the family business instead of figuring out his future for himself.

Not that he really knows what he’d do instead, though. Reggie has always told himself, and anyone else who would listen, that he is not going to peak in high school, but all the same he hasn’t given much thought to what his life could or should be like after graduation. He always figured college would help clear that up for him, because growing up in Riverdale makes it hard sometimes to imagine ever actually leaving, or growing out of whatever identity high school creates for you.

Who is Reggie Mantle without football, without Riverdale High, without his reputation in this town and the comfort of his family’s money? He doesn’t really know. If he takes over the family business, he doesn’t ever really need to.

“I don’t need an MBA just to sell some old cars,” he mutters, although he knows he won’t change their minds.

“He thinks he doesn’t need business skills to run a business, Lindy,” Marty quips. “A kid whose only A’s have been in gym class since he was in middle school.”

“Reggie, while you’re grounded I expect you to catch up on your music lessons,” Melinda says, looking at him sharply from across the table. “At least an hour per day. Honestly, when is the last time you’ve even touched your violin?”

“Mom, everyone plays violin! Do you know how basic that’s gonna look on my transcripts?” Reggie has to bite back a more inflammatory version of that comment, but then continues with: “I’d rather play guitar.”

“Everybody plays guitar,” Marty says dismissively, sipping his beer. Melinda makes a hum of agreement. Reggie can only imagine she’s thinking something like, ’Fred Andrews played guitar, and now he’s dead. What do you have to say about that, Reggie?’

Death would probably be preferable to this conversation, but Reggie soldiers on.

“Archie said he’d show me how. He could give me lessons,” Reggie says slowly, chewing a mouthful of noodles. “He has this bass he doesn’t use that I could--”

Neither of his parents are listening anymore. Reggie stops talking and just eats in increasingly sullen silence.

“Oh, some good news,” says Marty after about ten more minutes, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. “I talked to my insurance this afternoon, convinced them to cover at least a third of the repair cost. Maybe more. The guy I tore into on the phone said his higher ups wouldn’t be in until tomorrow.”

He looks at Reggie, who just flinches and nods.

“We’ll stick to half your allowance and every other weekend at the lot. After school I want you focused on improving your football game.”

“Yes sir.” Reggie resists the urge to roll his eyes. Like he doesn’t want to be doing his best out there? Please.

“Great.” Marty looks satisfied. “Good talk.”

Because 1) I just like working in things that canon should have digged into and finding a way to explore them, or even examine their lack of exploration, in an in-character way that helps paint a better picture of the characters and their dynamics. And 2) I weirdly enjoy fleshing out the Mantle family. 

Do any of your stories have alternative versions? (plotlines that you abandoned, AUs of your own work, different characterisations?) Tell us about them.

Yes and no...! I feel like I don’t diverge on my characterization very often, except in whatever minor ways are necessary to serve the differing plots of my stories (e.g. what ship I’m writing, what the character(s) do or don’t still need to work through, etc.) (though I did once receive a very lovely comment about how much my writing had improved between one fic and another), although I definitely have a lot of plot lines I’ve gone in very different directions from what I’d first intended. 

WRT Riverdale specifically I just haven’t written enough yet, I think, to have a lot of abandoned ideas of things I’ve actually published in some form, but in the case of When The Morning Comes I’ve already got a lot of competing ideas of how to do certain things, as well as discarded plans. I guess one thing I “abandoned” was a Joaqevin horror fic idea that involved Joaquin being brought back to life, but it’s only abandoned in so much as I decided to just fold it into this fic. 

Do you reread your old works? How do you feel about them?

Sometimes... I get so nervous about this because I’m so easily embarrassed by my old writing, I’m always afraid I’ll look back and notice how poorly written it is or how I went on and on about something that doesn’t actually fit the story. Which is why before I wrote Everybody’s Lonely I went back and edited out portions of Lightning in a Bottle 😭

✍🏽Ask me meta fic questions ✍🏽

[ladyreapermc]

Fic: This isn’t a rom-com 5/?

Author’s notes: I have a confession to make: I do show The Matrix whenever I have to explain Descartes to my students and it never fails to be hilarious! As usual, feedback and comments are welcomed and appreciated!

Wordcount: 2722

Warnings: dorks being adorably clueless!

 Part 1 Part 2  Part 3  Part 4

When Lilah arrived to teach her class on Wednesday and set her things at her desk, she had the biggest grin across her face because this was probably her favorite subject of the entire term. She moved to the center of the classroom, rubbing her hands together and making eye contact with the group of first-year students in front of her.

“Hope you all are ready to watch the best movie ever made,” she declared, making a few of them chuckle. “I’m talking action, I’m talking romance, I’m talking the best metaphor for Descartian dualism you’ve ever seen!”

Lilah glanced at her T.A. who already had everything cued up and gave her a quick nod. The younger woman turned on the projector, washing the semi-dark room with the green glow of the DVD's main menu.

“Welcome to the Matrix!” she said dragging yet another round of chuckles from her students before Lilah settled at one of the chairs at the front and the movie started rolling.

It turned out as a very productive morning of entertainment and philosophical discussion and when Lilah walked out of the classroom, still discussing the topic with a couple of students that had lingered and her TA, her grin hadn’t wavered. She waved them goodbye as they headed to the cafeteria while she made her way to the office she shared with three other Ph.D. candidates, finding the place empty.

As she set her backpack and books on her desk, her phone started vibrating in her pocket and if it was possible, her grin became even bigger. Lilah knew exactly who was calling.

The entire thing started when she jokingly texted Keanu a picture of herself and her brand-new copy of Scanner Darkly, which she got it as soon as he left. The perks of living above a bookstore. Lilah wasn’t expecting him to call or to spend the next hour chatting like they hadn’t just seen each other earlier that night.

And she certainly wasn’t expecting Keanu to do it again the next day when she texted a quick comment during her lunch break. From that, it just happened again and again and it was becoming a routine.

Could you call it a routine after just two days? Lilah wasn’t sure, but it was nice and her heart was starting to speed up everything her phone rang.

“Hi!” she greeted not even bothering to check caller ID. “I just spent the morning watching you.”

“You did?” Keanu asked, his voice half confused, half amused and Lilah winced.

“I mean, I watched The Matrix in class,” she explained dropping on her chair and squeezing the bridge of her nose. “I’m not stalking you or anything.”

“I didn’t think you were,” he replied with a chuckle. “So, were you discussing Descartes or Plato today?”

It was funny how a simple question could make Lilah so happy. Anyone else would ask her why she was showing sci-fi movies in a philosophy class. Not Keanu. He knew exactly what was behind his own movie.

“Descartes,” she replied pulling out her lunch from her backpack, along with her copy of Scanner Darkly. “It went great. Now I’m enjoying some peace and quiet with only Phil as my company. How about you?”

“Phil is a lucky guy,” Keanu said, and butterflies fluttered in her chest. That sounded a little flirty on his part. “I’m hanging out with Andy today, so we have good chemistry when we shoot together next week.”

“Oh! I need pictures!” she asked giddily. Keanu had told her yesterday about his dog co-star and Lilah made him promise to send pictures whenever Andy was in the set.

“Just a sec,” he said with a huff of laughter and Lilah heard noises in the background before her phone beeped with a new message.

She pulled away long enough to check it. Her cheeks hurt from smiling so hard at the sight of Keanu and the puppy beagle on his arms. The dog was licking his chin and he was laughing.

“Awww! Looks to me like you two have great chemistry already!”

“That’s what his trainer says,” Keanu commented with a chuckle. “So are you enjoying Scanner Darkly?”

“I’m loving it!” Lilah exclaimed unable to keep the excitement from her voice. “I can’t believe it took me so long to read anything by Phillip when two of my favorite sci-fi movies are based on his stories.”

“Blade Runner and what else?” Keanu asked and Lilah snorted.

“Total Recall and Minority Report. Blade Runner is boring!” Lilah could only imagine what she looked like grinning like an idiot and she was glad the office was empty.

“You obviously watched it wrong!” Keanu accused and she laughed. What did it say about the two of them the fact that they had inside jokes now?

“Did I? maybe you should show me the right way, then,” she challenged, her palms suddenly clammy because that was definitely flirty.

“Your place or mine?” Keanu asked not even missing a beat and Lilah froze, stunned.

Was Keanu inviting her to his apartment? For some reason that felt more intimate than hanging out in her living room. Maybe because there was no chance of someone walking in on them… Which shouldn’t matter because they were friends and there was nothing to walk in on.

“Yours,” Lilah finally replied, because now she was curious to see what his place looked like and also to prove to herself it wouldn’t matter. “Six’s ok?”

“Perfect,” he said, and she could picture him smiling. “I’m off this afternoon since we’re shooting some night scenes at midnight. I can get something ready by the time you get there if you don’t mind an early dinner. How do you feel about Italian?”

“You don’t have to,” she hurried to say because it was one thing meeting for coffee. Dinner felt too much like a date and that was dangerous territory.

“I want to,” Keanu said, his voice soft and breathy and a shivered ran down her spine. “Really.”

“Then I love Italian.”

“Good. See you at six.”

Lilah was still grinning when she hung up the phone, her hands shaking, and her heart seemed to be doing acrobatic flips. She really thought she had somehow ruined everything that day in the park, even if she didn’t know what had gone wrong exactly. But apparently, she had been mistaken. Keanu was happy to meet her again and they had so much fun together that it was getting harder for Lilah to remind herself that they were just friends and all the reasons why they could only be just friends.

For the rest of the day, Lilah had to fight to stay focused on her work, but her thoughts kept drifting to Keanu and their… meeting? Get together? Hangout? She just didn’t want to call it a date, even though she was mentally running through her wardrobe to decide for an outfit for the evening.

She had decided on the red dress she had been saving for Thanksgiving dinner, but when Lilah was about to head home, her advisor caught her on the way out, wanting to discuss new modifications on her paper before submission and it wasn’t like Lilah could say no to the other woman.

By the time her advisor finally finished asking for changes that had already been made – proving she had read the wrong version once again – it was after five and Lilah would have time to head home to change.

She stopped by the restroom to at least pull her hair out of the ponytail she usually wore, brush her teeth and check to see if her jeans and sweater were ok, before heading out, taking a train to the address Keanu had sent her.

She arrived at a restored pre-war apartment building at East Central Park. It was gorgeous and she couldn’t even imagine how much this place cost. She stepped into the entry hall, looking around and feeling out of place, catching sight of a doorman dressed in a perfectly ironed uniform.

“Hi,” she started as he looked her up and down, his an arched eyebrow.

“May I help you?”

“Yes. I’m visiting a friend,” Lilah said and before she could give the man the right apartment number, Keanu stepped inside the foyer helmet in one hand, takeout bag on the other, hair messy and falling over his eyes.

“Hey! Perfect timing!” he grinned at her. “I got stuck in a meeting with Chad and David and I’m running a little late.”

“No problem,” Lilah replied with a smile her heart doing that silly flip again.

For a moment, they just stood there, staring and smiling at each other, until the doorman cleared his throat and Keanu turned to look at him.

“Carl, could you please add Lilah to my list of visitors please?”

“Right away, Mr. Reeves,” the man replied. “ID please.”

Lilah stepped closer, handing her driver’s license and waiting for him to copy the information.

“All done Mrs. Bennett.”

“Thanks,” she took the document back, pocketing it before letting Keanu lead the way to the wall of elevators. He pushed his helmet up to his elbow and led Lilah with a hand on the small of her back. He wasn’t actually touching her, but she could feel the heat radiating from his skin.

The elevator opened into a small hall, which had only one door. Keanu unlocked, leading the way into his apartment and the lights must have been on sensors as they flickered to life as soon as they stepped in. Lilah was greeted by the sight of an ample space that was at the same time nothing like she expected, but exactly what she should’ve known. It was modern and elegant, designed for comfort and commodity, but not flashy or opulent.

What caught her attention the most though was the ceiling to floor window panels facing Central Park. The view was breathtaking and before Lilah could even realize it, her feet had already taken her closer so she could take a better look.

“This view is amazing,” she commented as Keanu came to stand behind her. She could see his smile reflected on the glass.

“It was one of the reasons I bought it,” he replied, gesturing at her coat and Lilah shrugged it off, handing it to him. “Remind me to show you the balcony later.”

She nodded distractedly, still fascinated by the view. Was that the MET to her left?

“Hope you hungry,” Keanu said at the kitchen unpacking their food and making Lilah look his way. “I didn’t have time to cook, but this is the best pasta in New York.”

“I told you didn’t have to,” Lilah said moving to the kitchen. “ I’m perfectly fine with takeout. Even if it isn’t the best in New York. But anyway, let me help. Where are the plates?”

“The second cabinet to your right,” he said over his shoulder, distracted.

Lilah opened the right cabinet and snorted as she noticed the pile of plates on the top shelf and out of her reach.

“Do you have a stool or something?”

Keanu glanced over his shoulder and chuckled. He set the wine bottle he had just picked up on the counter, before retrieving the plates himself and handing it to her with a smirk.

“I hate all tall people,” Lilah declared with a mock glare that had Keanu chuckling again and she smiled because this felt comfortable, almost domestic.

They settled at the kitchen counter to eat, talking about their day like they hadn’t spoken just a couple of hours ago. Keanu had been right; it was one of the best pasta Lilah had eaten in her life. Almost enough to cover the taste of the red wine which she hated but once again hadn’t had the heart to tell Keanu.

As Keanu described some fight scene he had to do that day, Lilah sipped her drink, too distracted to hide the small grimace of distaste. Keanu paused mid-sentence, giving her an amused smile that was a little too knowingly.

“You don’t like wine, do you?”

“Not red,” she replied with a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”

“It’s ok,” Keanu said, getting up to grab another bottle. “But I hope you know you don’t have to say yes to things you don’t like or aren’t comfortable with on my behalf.”

“I know, I know,” Lilah replied with a chagrin grimace. Sometimes she didn’t even realize she did it, say yes to certain things to avoid upsetting people or causing conflict. It was such an ingrained habit. “Sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize either,” he assured, bringing her a glass of white wine, his fingers brushing against hers and he settled the glass by her hand.

Lilah couldn’t help the bright smile that tugged her lips at the way he was so thoughtful. Her heart thundered in her chest as she met Keanu’s eyes and she might have seen something in them that she wasn’t quite sure how to name, but it made look away, warm affection spreading in her chest.

“Thank you,” she said instead, catching his hand and squeezing it. Keanu smiled at her, ducking his head until his hair fell over his face, but Lilah thought she saw a hint of a blush on his cheeks.

They settled into a comfortable silence as they finished their meal and despite Keanu’s protests, Lilah helped him clean up, before moving to the TV room, where Keanu had a huge flat screen and home theater system. Lilah took a seat on the comfortable leather couch with her refilled wine glass while Keanu got everything ready, dimmed the lights and joined her.

She sipped her drink as Harrison Ford hunted replicants on a dystopian future on the screen. Once in a while, Keanu would add a comment about how he interpreted this or that action from a character or how a certain scene was different from the short story the movie originated from.

It was nice and comfortable, and Lilah was really enjoying herself, but she had worked the entire day. She was tired and full and maybe slightly tipsy, so she took advantage of the way Keanu had his arm over the back of the couch to lean against his side, resting her head on his chest and letting her eyes drift shut. His warmth and the soft scent of cologne and cigarettes lulled her to sleep, probably dreaming the way his arm pulled her even closer or the soft brush of lips against her forehead that made her smile against his shirt.

Lilah woke up with a start when Keanu shook her shoulder gently. She looked around confused, noticing the film credits rolling on the screen and the way he was smiling indulgently at him.

“I fell asleep?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled, turning off the TV. “About 30 minutes in.”

“Sorry,” she gave him a sheepish smile and checked the time. It was late. Really, really late. “Guess we’re gonna have to try it another time when I’m not exhausted.”

“I guess so,” Keanu said, standing up and pulling her up with him. “I called for a car service to drive you home. I’d take you myself, but I gotta get to the set.”

“You didn’t have…”

“I’m not letting you take the subway home at this hour, Lilah,” he cut her off gently, but with a frown. “I want you home safe.”

“Thanks,” Lilah smiled, feeling her cheeks warm and there it was again, that warmth in her chest. “And thanks for dinner.”

“My pleasure.”

Keanu waited with her until a sleek black sedan parked on the curb. He greeted the driver with a quick nod before opening the door for her.

“When do I see you again?” he asked so suddenly that Lilah had to take a moment to reply.

“Well, I have to watch this movie for my dissertation tomorrow, so if you don’t mind me pausing it a couple of hundred times…” Lilah trailed off with a shrug, praying he would say yes.

“Let me just check my shooting schedule, but I think I can make it,” Keanu grinned and bent closer, pressing a kiss on her cheek. “Goodnight.”

“‘Night,” Lilah replied with a matching grin as she got into the car.

xxx (tbc)

Go to part 6

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[paradisobound]

Behind Hazel Eyes: Part 1

Summary: Dan’s known Lucas since college and he’s never been so convinced that two people are meant to be together. He loves Lucas more than anything. But when news report of a serial killer striking around the town, Dan begins to notice signs in Lucas that leave him nervous. With the help of his newfound friend Phil, Dan pieces together the parts of Lucas that he somehow missed before anyone else loses their lives--and before Dan loses his own. 

Warnings: serial killer, blood mentions, horror, disturbing content. Please heed all warnings

Word Count: 3.9k this part

**Read on Ao3**

A/N: Welcome to my version of Spookyweek where I’m posting a new installment of this fic every day until Halloween! First part is today, second is tomorrow, and third part is Halloween! This is a dark fic, and it takes some dark turns so please heed all warnings! I had a lot of fun writing this and it was something totally out of my comfort zone but I think I really executed it well. Hope you all enjoy if this is what you’re into!

“The News is sad to report tonight that the infamous Western Valley Serial Killer has appeared to strike again at an apartment complex in downtown Rockwell. 22 year old Ashton Johnson has been identified as the next victim in this horrific string of violence. We have no other details at this time. The police are still asking the public to help identify the killer by calling in any leads you may have. A sketch of the killer has been released the police are asking for anyone to come forward if you think you know who they are…” 

The sound of the news droned on in the background as Dan laid in bed, his body covered by the soft throw. It was a warmer early spring night, and while his apartment was cooled by an air conditioner, the air still held enough moisture to make his skin sticky and damp. If it wasn’t for his knack of only being able to fall asleep with a blanket on, he’d be well better off. 

He turns onto his side and reaches for the TV remote just in time to hear the front door open and shut with the distinctive creak that Dan has been asking his landlord to fix since he moved in. Footsteps become louder and louder and Dan looks up just in time to see his boyfriend stood in the doorway and his lips curl up in a smile. 

“You’re still awake?” 

Dan scoffs at Lucas and turns onto his back, reaching over and tugging at the chord of the bedside light and finding the switch to turn it on. The dull yellow light floods the room and Dan sees the way Lucas’s brown hair falls a bit flat on top, much different to how he styled it before he left to go out that night. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Dan asks, maneuvering himself so he’s not sitting up, the throw coiled on his lap. 

“Hm?” Lucas hums, walking over to the bed and sitting down. He places his hand on Dan’s arm and rubs up and down. “Well, it’s well after midnight and you have to work in the morning.” 

“I can still get up at eight.” Dan says. “You seem to forget that I used to be up until 4 in the morning pacing the floors of my dorm and I’d still make it to class at eight thirty.” 

“Barely.” Lucas says. He leans over and presses a soft and gentle kiss to Dan’s cheek. “I need to go and shower but try and fall asleep before I’m out?” 

Dan finds himself nodding and Lucas leans down and kisses his forehead. As he backs up off from the bed and stands up, he turns around and Dan sees the way he stops and watches the TV for a moment. 

“Police are now saying this is the work of the Western Valley Serial Killer. The victim tonight had the same carved inscription on the inside of their thigh as the other three young males who met the same fate. Police are continuing to ask the public…” 

“I can’t believe they haven’t caught him yet.” 

Dan looks up at Lucas. Lucas turns to him and pushes his brown leather jacket off from his arms, leaving just a white teeshirt underneath. “Who? That guy?” 

Lucas nods. “Sick fucking dude.” 

Dan nods and quickly reaches over and grabs the remote, turning off the TV. He didn’t like hearing about it and he didn’t feel like talking about it. The idea of someone being out there doing these heinous crimes made Dan feel a bit paranoid about his own safety. 

Lucas undresses the rest of the way and leaves his clothes in a pile at the end of their bed as he walks to their ensuite bathroom and closes the door behind him. Dan lays down in bed, pulling the soft throw over his body once more. 

When he reaches over and shuts the light off, the sound of the shower running in the bathroom keeps him a bit calmer. According to the news reports, the killer has been striking at apartment buildings and manipulating his way into young men’s apartments, only to sexually assault them and then kill them before they can get away. Every time the news reports that another victim was found, Dan feels a bit more sick inside. But he has Lucas to protect him. He knows that. But he still doesn’t fall asleep until long in the night, after Lucas has already climbed into bed and wrapped his body around his own. 

When he wakes up in the morning, his eyes have telltale dark circles underneath and he feels way too drowsy to drive. But he gets in his car and heads off to the library anyway to begin his shift. 

He’s greeted by Mary, the kind older woman who shouldn’t still be working at the library but Dan knows that she means well. It’s not her fault that sometimes she stamps the wrong part of their forms for library loans or she writes the date as something way off. He knows that she loves the library more than her own life and that’s okay with him to work with her. 

“We have a new applicant for the summer position.” Mary tells him, her voice a bit shaky as she moves a stack of books delicately from one end of the counter to the other. “He seems well and like he’d be a good fit while I’m out.” 

Dan has already been through probably thirty applications for Mary’s position while she’s out of work to visit her family in Florida for three months. But none of the applications were anything spectacular. Dan would read one after another and see the same candidate in each one: a young teenager who just wants a summer job to have a reason to make money. And although Dan isn’t opposed to actually hiring someone like that―he’d been a teenager once as well―he would still rather work with someone who is serious about the position. 

“What is their name?” He asks, already moving to the computer to look at the email for the library. 

“Philip, I believe.” She says. She picks up the stack of books she had just moved and sets them down on a cart on the other side of the counter. “I’m going to go and put these away now.” 

Dan nods in her direction and pulls up the email with the application. He looks it over and is immediately stricken at the fact the fact that this guy was 28 and applying for this position. Dan was 25 himself and he would much rather work with someone who was 28 than someone who was 16. As he read the application, he found that Phil, as his application asked him to be called, actually had a library science certification and was a recent employee for a public library downstate. The fact that the guy had experience and was also rightfully certified for the position was extremely intriguing to Dan and he quickly took note of his number by writing it on a sticky note. 

He minimized the application and walked down the counter to the phone that sat on the end. He picked up the receiver and dialed Phil’s number. It rang a few times and just as Dan thought someone was going to answer, the line cut off and Phil’s voicemail began. When it beeped, Dan let out a sigh and then began his message. 

“Hello, this is Daniel Howell calling from Western Valley Public Library. I have looked at your application and I would love for you to come in for an interview if possible. You can call me back at 347-222-9736. Thank you.” 

Dan puts the receiver down and sucks in a breath. He really hopes that Phil calls them back because even though he wouldn’t mind hiring 17 year old Heather, he’d much rather hire Phil who is actually qualified. 

Dan spends the rest of his morning looking through the list of loans that other libraries have requested from their collection and he spends most of his time taking note of each title and then finding it on their shelves, most containing a thin layer of dust. He’s busy dusting them off and sticking a label in the inside of what school or library it’s going to when the phone rings beside him and he quickly stands up from his stool and rushes over. 

“Western Valley Public Library, how may I help you?” 

“Hi. This is Phil. You called earlier about an interview but I was busy and didn’t make your call. Is it okay to still schedule an interview?” 

Dan feels his lips curl into a smile and he quickly rushes over and grabs a pad of sticky notes and a pen before he settles down, resting his elbows on the counter. 

“When can you come in?” 

They decide on an interview the end of this week and Dan finds it quite strange that he already cannot wait to conduct it. He doesn’t know if he’s excited because he gets to do it himself this time or that he’s just eager to meet someone new after just working with Mary these last three years with no one else around. 

When Dan was first hired here, it was by total accident. He was fresh out of college with nothing more than a philosophy degree and he felt lost. He didn’t know what to do or where to go but Lucas helped him. Lucas knew his great-aunt worked for the public library system and he managed to get Dan a job here a the library. There had been many other workers in the library years prior but budget cuts left them with just enough money to pay both Mary and himself. It was a miracle that this library is even open. Dan hardly sees anyone ever actually come here. 

By lunch time, the library is getting ready to close at two today and he’s gearing up to take his lunch to the meeting room and eat when he realizes he didn’t even have it with him. He must have never grabbed it from the fridge at home before he left. 

He’ll beat himself up for it later, but right now, he’s stood at the counter, looking at the empty library as Mary stands around and dusts off shelves, not even bothered. He’s pretty sure she didn’t even hear him when he told her Phil was coming in for an interview this week. 

Dan takes a seat on the stool and scribbles a bit on his sticky notes when the door to the library opens and he looks up to see that all too familiar brown leather jacket. His lips pull up in a big smile and he walks around the counter to meet Lucas half-way. 

“What are you doing here?” Dan asks. “Shouldn’t you be at college?” 

“You forgot your lunch so I thought I’d bring it to you here before I went to my seminar.” Lucas leans forwards and presses his lips lightly against Dan’s. “I would never get through my criminal offenses seminar knowing I never brought my hubby his food.” 

Dan feels his cheeks blush as he looks between them at the brown paper bag in Lucas’s hand that contains his half-assed made PB and J sandwich and a Tupperware container of fruit. It’s an embarrassing meal, but it’s all he has time to make and really, it’s all he can afford to make being the only one to make money between him and Lucas. 

But Lucas was studying to pass the Bar exam in just six months time and Dan didn’t want to impose on that. Not when Lucas has been studying for this moment for as long as Dan has known him. 

“You didn’t have to do this.” 

“But I wanted to.” Lucas pressed, his arm coming up and snaking it’s way around Dan’s waist. “I have to get going if I want to get a parking spot and make it to seminar in time but I’ll see you at home later. Love you.” 

“Love you too.” 

They kiss one last time as Dan takes hold of his paper bag lunch from Lucas and then waves goodbye as he walks back out the door. 

“Was that Frances, Dan?” Mary called from the counter as she set her cleaning supplies down. 

“His name is Lucas, Mary. Remember?” He asks with a laugh. 

Mary waves it off and Dan snickers a bit more as he tells her he’s going to take his lunch and he retreats to the meeting room. 

Dan gets home from the library at around three and he finds himself trying to tidy up some of the mess that Lucas had left behind that morning. There were random files and notes thrown all over their coffee table and Dan even found some torn out textbook pages under the couch. He puts them all into a neat little pile and puts them off to the side just in time to sit down and rest his feet. 

He grabs the remote for their TV in the living room and turns it on to see that the channel was on the news station. Dan rolled his eyes, because he didn’t feel like watching the news but the story caught his eye. 

The sketch of the Western Valley Serial Killer was on his screen and he was staring at it. Underneath the sketch was a description of them and Dan reads off the bullet points in his head. 

6 Foot tall

Roughly 200 pounds 

Dark brown hair and dark eyes 

Slight stubble around chin 

Athletic build 

Dan reaches for the remote and switches the channel as fast he can, trying to get the image out of his head of this guy walking around and preying on innocent people. His stomach tightens into a knot and he finds it hard to not think about anything but that as he eventually finds an episode of Fixer Upper to try and clear his thoughts. 

He watches a few episodes of Chip and Joanna before he hears the telltale signs of keys in the front door and the door pushes open to reveal Lucas on the other side. He has a plastic bag full of what looks like Chinese food and Dan’s stomach gives a hungry growl. 

“Hope you don’t mind that I picked up Chinese for dinner.” Lucas says, setting the bag on their kitchen counter. 

Dan stands up from the couch and walks over to him, leaning his hands onto the counter. “What did you get me?” 

“Sesame Chicken with Lo Mein.” Lucas says, pulling it out the bag and setting the foil container onto the counter. 

“You know me so well.” Dan comments with a laugh as he leans forward and kisses his cheek. Lucas stiffens for a second, and Dan pulled back a bit quicker than he wanted to. He tried to ignore it, but he couldn’t help but see the way Lucas’s demeanor shifted at the kiss. 

But he didn’t say anything about it. And neither did Lucas. 

“You’ve only ever ordered the same thing since freshman year.” Lucas says, pulling out his food next and crumbling the bag, throwing it into the garbage can. 

Dan nods curtly and forces a smile as he grabs the hot container and takes it to their table where he sits down with a plastic fork and opens up the top, digging into it. 

They eat mostly in silence but that’s more common than Dan would like to admit. Normally its because they’re both so busy eating, they just forget to speak. But other times it’s just because they have nothing to say to the other. Dan sadly feels like it’s the latter tonight. 

When they’re done, Dan helps Lucas pick up everything and then he goes to the living room and pulls out his laptop to scroll social media while Lucas grabs at the pile that Dan had picked up and begins to paw through it again. 

“How was your day?” Dan asks. 

“Stressful.” Lucas says without any hesitation. “I’m so ready to take this fucking exam and be done with it. At this point, I don’t even feel like I can pass it.” 

“You’ll do fine.” Dan says, turning himself to face Lucas. “You’re smart and more than capable of passing the exam.” 

Lucas lets out a breath. “Sometimes I wonder why I’m even doing this.” 

“You want to be a lawyer.” Dan says. “You told me that it’s something you’ve dreamed of doing since you knew what a lawyer was. Don’t give up on that dream just because times are getting rough.” 

Lucas sighs and runs his hands through his hair, brushing it back onto his head before it falls back to it’s normal quiff-like position. “I’m sorry if I’m being cynical.” He says. “I just never anticipated everything to be this difficult.” 

“But you got this.” Dan says, putting his laptop down onto the coffee table and moving closer to Lucas. “You’ve got it in you to pass this exam and you’re going to make the best damn defense attorney that has ever lived.” 

Lucas turns his head and his lips are curled up into a slight smirk. “You’re the most amazing person.” He says, his hand coming out and resting on Dan’s jaw. “I’ll never understand how I got so lucky.” 

“I can say the same for myself.” 

Lucas leans forward and kisses Dan, his lips drawing the breath from Dan’s lungs. Dan whimpers and reaches out, pressing his hand against Lucas’s bicep to steady himself as Lucas deepens the kiss. 

They take it to the bedroom and Dan is soon on his back with Lucas between his legs and he’ll never get over how amazing sex is with Lucas. How caring and gentle he is but also how rough he is when he wants to be. His fingertips leave bruises on Dan’s hips but the slight tingle left in their aftermath only makes Dan enjoy them more. 

When Lucas stands up to use the restroom, Dan notices red marks on his back and while he didn’t think he’d dug his nails into Lucas’s back, he still finds himself looking at the tops of his fingers for any burrs on them. 

Lucas climbs back into bed beside Dan a few moments later but Dan is far too tired to comment on the scratches so he doesn’t. He just closes his eyes and falls asleep for a short time before waking up at just before midnight and realizing he’s fucked his sleep schedule once again. 

Dan can’t fall back asleep and it burdens him as he gets up at just half past midnight and walks out of their bedroom, Lucas still asleep on the bed. He makes his way into the kitchen and opens their fridge thinking that maybe a midnight snack might make him feel a bit better. 

When nothing seems to grab his attention, he moves to their freezer and opens it up to search inside. He finds a half-empty pint of Ben and Jerry’s and pulls it out, opening the lid to make sure it wasn’t frost bit. He sets the lid off to the side on the counter and opens their silverware drawer and pulls out a spoon. 

He meanders his way back into the living room and plops down onto the couch again, reaching out to grab at the remote for the TV and turn it on. He presses the power button and just as the TV comes to life, the same local news station is highlighting the screen and Dan feels his heart race. 

“Western Valley Police will be holding a press conference this morning at 9am regarding the Western Valley Serial Killer. Police say that they have some new information that they are withholding from releasing until the press conference tomorrow. Police are still encouraging anyone to come forward with any…” 

“You’re still watching this shit?” 

Dan jumps, his shoulders rising up as he gasps and drops his unused spoon onto the floor by his feet. He quickly turns his head and sees Lucas standing behind him, a pair of tight boxer briefs covering his hips and his arms folded over his chest. His hair was slightly mussed up and Dan felt it hard to not feel a bit jolted at seeing him standing there. 

“It was just what was on when I turned the TV on.” Dan mumbles, reaching for the remote again. 

“It’s such a sad, pathetic thing.” Lucas comments, moving around the side of the couch and sitting down beside Dan. “Like what heartless fucking monster would do that?” 

Dan shrugs. “A pretty bad one.” 

Lucas scoffs. “Turn the channel, babe.” He says, his voice harsh. “I don’t want to watch this shit right now.” 

Dan turns the channel as fast as he can and they eventually end up on Adult Swim, watching some episode of Rick and Morty. His pint of Ben and Jerry’s remains long forgotten, melted on the coffee table next to the soiled spoon. Sometime about an hour later, he finds himself curled onto Lucas’s bare chest, his eyes falling closed. 

When he wakes up to Lucas leaving before the sun even comes up, he doesn’t question it. He just closes his eyes, and falls asleep again on the couch, curled up in a blanket that he didn’t put on himself. 

[flydotnet]

Hidden Guardians of Humanity

VRAINS Rarepair Weeks 2018 - Day 7: Other YGO series crossover/Other Fandom AU

Summary: Six teenagers regularly save the world from the misanthropic virus-like AI XANA on a virtual world. This is their story through one of these missions against humanity's greatest danger yet. 

Fandoms: Yu-Gi-Oh! VRAINS/Code Lyoko Ships: Hireshipping (Ema/Akira), Entrustshipping (Takeru/Kiku), Zinniashipping (Miyu/Aoi)

Wordcount: 3.8K words

Notes: "On ira, on saura, sauver notre existence, Se donner une chance de tout dépasser. On ira, on saura, sauver notre existence, Afin de faire, Un monde sans danger !"

I was stumbled at first with what to do for today. All the crossover ideas I had weren't very good... until I thought about Code Lyoko and how it was a perfect fit with VRAINS. A virtual world? Check. Keeping stuff secret from other people? Check. A recurring theme of AIs? Check. I rediscovered CL this year by watching the episodes now all up on YT (I think that's only for the original French dub, though). It's been a big part of my childhood and I surprised myself to like it even more as an adult. It was pretty messed up if you think about it: a bunch of teenagers ranging from 13 to 15 saving the world in secret on a daily basis while risking their lives to do so? That's dark for a kid's show dude. The series wasn't hiding it anyway: I can't count the exact number of ways XANA (a big bad virus-like AI) tried to kill the protagonists in. Anyway.

I changed a few settings. Kadic is supposed to be a middle school (collège), but since it's supposed to be a high school too (funny enough, the school it's based on, the Lycée Lakanal, is where I set a part of my original work), well why not. It fitted much better with the VRAINS cast too. I also took some liberties with the original 2003 run of the show to provide more modern technology like smartphones.

This story is, in short, a love letter to Code Lyoko and to my VRAINS OTPs. I may have forgotten to put the romance into that fic though.

PS. The quote in the beginning is the chorus to the Code Lyoko opening, "Un Monde Sans Danger" (A World Without Dangers). That song has been burnt into my soul ever since I was a kid. 

Event hosted by @vrainsrarepairweeks

AO3 version available here.

It was yet another day of class at Kadic High School, Boulogne-Billancourt, Hauts-de-Seine. Nothing out of the ordinary, for once: boring Physics lessons, typical teenage drama, rumours going through the school about teachers and students alike. In that, it made no difference to any other day before it and any other day that would come after it. However, the routine was only a façade in this school near Paris.

Very few knew about the shortcut in the heater room of the dormitory or the one in the school’s park leading the abandoned factory nearby, resting in an island in the Seine. Most people would have just assumed that place was, well, abandoned and empty. The fact was that: that was wrong. That fact was proven untrue by the presence of a bunch of teenagers going there to save the world on a daily basis.

 However, today was a tranquil day in class of rumours and drama. There was always Naoki Shima spreading some kind of rumour on his idol, an e-sport player named Playmaker, which was mostly talked about by fangirls of him around the campus. Meanwhile, a little group of six students was gathering in their usual spot: near the coffee machine, on a bench, waiting for bell never to ring the beginning of classes.

They had formed this little group of friends of theirs in unlikely circumstances. It all started when Ema, from the twelfth-grade class majoring in computer sciences, discovered a way to access the abandoned factory in the river easily after a boring day of school. She apparently had to drag with her Akira, her classmate and a friend since middle school, there. Afterwards, they accidentally dragged with them Aoi, Akira’s younger sister in tenth grade, when she followed them to the factory on one day and stuck with them ever since. With Aoi came her own classmates Takeru and Kiku, who followed suit after they themselves found out about the factory by being friendly to the otherwise isolated Aoi.

 “Hey, guys,” Takeru opened the conversation as he looked at the other students in the courtyard. “It’s been a while since XANA last attacked… You think he’s going to come back soon?”

“I hope not,” Kiku replied with the most honesty in the world. “He almost killed sent everyone to space last time… We were lucky you were competing in the martial arts tournament that time, Takeru!”

“XANA will always come back until the Supercomputer isn’t turned off, I’m afraid,” Akira stated as he came back with two cups of coffee in his hands.

“Then that means you need to find the program to materialize Miyu soon!” Ema enthusiastically added as she thanked Akira for the cup of coffee. “It’s on me next time.”

“I’m doing what I can, but it’s going to take longer than expected. Last night was a fluke again,” he sighed as he rubbed his eyes with the hand not busy holding a cup. The yawn would be for another day.

“It’s fine, big brother,” Aoi simply said as she looked at him with a tiny smile. “You’re already doing your best, and Miyu has told us that before.”

“Your sister is right, Akira, don’t overexert yourself for that! I don’t want to recover your unconscious body on the floor of your room again and almost get scolded by Jim again for sneaking into the boys’ dorm for that!”

Takeru and Kiku simply giggled at the anecdote despite how many times Ema had already told them about it.

During Maths class, as usual, Ema was on her phone during yet another boring lecture from the teacher. There had to be someone watching over Lyoko when nobody could be at the factory in case an activated tower, XANA’s gateway to their world and all the potential damage that would always bring with it, showed up in the virtual world. That was a nice way to spend time: instead of sitting through a painfully tedious session of mathematics, she could just chat with Miyu and whoever else was online. It was funnier to be there and occasionally see Akira stare at her to be serious during a class for once.

He only didn’t ask her to stop on the spot because she otherwise could refuse to lend him their philosophy lessons whenever he’d simply stop understanding most of it. The confusing words and concepts didn’t work very well with his arithmetic brain. It was a fine compromise, though.

 Right when she was about to point out something funny Aoi had said in the chatroom with Miyu, she heard a strange buzzing sound. The neon over their hands started flickering ever so slightly, before the infection spread to the entire ceiling of the classroom.

“You know what this means?” she asked Akira in a whisper.

“A XANA attack. Did Miyu tell you about an activated tower?”

Her eyes immediately darted to the screen, only for a message to confirm their fears. Akira didn’t add anything more.

“Then what excuse do we throw?” she asked again, eyeing the little app she had on her phone she had freshly finished programming in her spare time (or whatever was left of it these days).

 Before she could ask anything, the bell rang. Their eyes bolted in different directions, checking for two different parameters: hers to the teacher, his to the hour on his phone. The former didn’t have a watch, the second didn’t match the time class ended at. As everyone was packing their things together to change classrooms, another ring resonated through the corridors: the fire alarm.

“Okay, it’s definitely a XANA attack”, Akira stated the obvious. “Warn everyone to meet together at the factory before we can get spotted by teachers or monitors.”

“Roger that.”

  It always took some time to reach the factory and gather everyone. That was why they had this habit of only meeting in the main computer room instead of in front of the factory, giving them more time to fight against whatever XANA had to throw at them on Lyoko. Akira and Ema had arrived first and launched themselves in the elevator to the main rooms before getting joined by Aoi shortly thereafter.

“Takeru and Kiku will be a bit late,” she told them, “I think they had class on a higher floor and had more troubles exiting the school.”

 Moments after, the three had taken their respective spots: Akira at the main computer, Ema and Aoi in the cylindrical scans on the floor under the computer room. He had never been a man of actions and was the only one with a real knowledge of how to use the technical beast that was the Supercomputer. Meanwhile, Ema had always loved the thrill of action: fighting creatures on Lyoko was good way for her to exhort her thirst for a way to break away from the real world, even if it was just for a few minutes. Aoi was calmer, but still followed through when she learnt this could help both her brother and the friend she had found in Miyu.

“Are you ready to get virtualized?” he asked them as they set foot in the room, footsteps resonating on the iron floor.

“Of course!” Ema replied with thrill in her voice.

“I am,” Aoi responded more seriously.

“Then let’s get on with it.”

 Four scanners presented themselves to the two girls. Each climbing in one, the virtualization process didn’t take more than thirty seconds anymore. They were used to it: getting transferred inside a virtual world wasn’t painful, at best it was dizzying the first few times. Soon enough, Aoi and Ema found themselves in a forest-like environment, all changed up to battle attire. It wasn’t just for show: if Aoi had wings, it was because she could use them to fly. Ema, who hadn’t design herself in her subconscious mind to get those, was kind of envious.

“Miyu should be nearby waiting for backup,” Akira’s voice arrived from the sky of Lyoko’s Forest territory. “Be careful to monsters, XANA has been waiting for us.”

“As usual,” Ema sighed, amused. “Let’s do this, Aoi.”

 As they ran to their destination, a tower with a red halo, a girl with long pink hair in pigtails and blue eyes joined them. Aoi’s eyes started to shimmer as soon as they noticed her coming towards them, changing her sprinting direction to directly meet up with their friend. They had a habit of hugging each other as soon as they saw each other too. They had gotten more and more physical when meeting up in Lyoko, to the point of holding each other’s hands nowadays when seeing the others. Ema was certain that, would Miyu know about love like any other girl (despite being a sentient AI that was, frankly, more human than some actual humans she knew), they would already be dating. She remembered overhearing Aoi train herself to declare her love to her friend in her dorm room, after all.

“I’m glad to know you’re alright, Miyu!” Aoi told her as they went back to reaching the tower.

“Thank you for coming so quickly, Aoi, Ema! XANA has sent three Bloks who are guarding the tower, we need to be careful!”

 Turning her eyes away from the two friends, Ema noticed one of the Bloks shooting at them.

“Out of the way!!”

Pushing Aoi and Miyu out of the line of fire from the creature sent to them, she took a direct hit to the shoulder from a laser beam, falling to the ground. Trying to shoot back with her own laser arrows at the creature, she was at least relieved to see Aoi and Miyu had made it behind a tree to find a way to shelter themselves from the incoming attacks.

“Ema!!” Aoi’s scream was accompanied by the mirror of Miyu’s mirror reflecting the hit the older girl was about to take, which would have certainly devirtualized her. The Blok took the hit right in its eye, exploding shortly after.

 The commotion from this encounter passed, the three girls hid behind the very same tree. There were mock Bloks in the area, almost twice as much as they had first expected. As she watched from behind their little hiding spot, Ema could only notice this would be harder than expected with Miyu virtually unable to fight for herself and herself having taken a hit already.

“That was such a close call!” Miyu sighed in relief. “We really need to be more careful…”

She was holding onto Aoi’s hand as she said so, her sceptre in her other hand. Nobody knew where that weapon came from, really, but they had brushed it off as a mere way to self-defend against XANA’s monsters who, as it turned out, mostly used laser beams with long ranges to attempt ending her own life.

“Let’s be more careful until Takeru and Kiku can get here,” Aoi decided, with the two others nodding in agreement.

  “Sorry we’re late…!” Takeru said as he entered the main computer room, breathless.

Akira immediately turned around, his one-ear headphone-microphone still on, a smirk drawing on his face. Backup was finally here.

“Jim tried to prevent us from reaching the factory when we tried to go through the heater room shortcut,” Kiku further explained.

“I see. Ema and Aoi required backup, there’s apparently too many monsters for them to deal with.

She glanced at her childhood friend whose back was against the wall, still not recovering his breath.

“Are you okay, Takeru?” she asked with concern all over her tone, hands on her chest.

“I… I’ll be fine… Let’s get to the scanners quickly, I’m sure Aoi, Ema and Miyu need our help…”

 Even if nobody added anything, Akira turning back to the monitor to make sure this wasn’t a burning failure yet, Kiku remained worried. As the elevator went down another floor, she couldn’t get her eyes off Takeru and how flimsy his breathing was. He had never had a pristine health record, and that despite how good he was at martial arts, which made it so she was always concerned in some degree for his condition.

When the doors opened to reveal the scanner room, she handed her friend her help. He gave her a slight smile, a quiet way to tell her not to worry, as they climbed into their own cylinders to get virtualized. There was no time to lose and no time to get concerned for Takeru when there was a tower to deactivate and XANA going on a rampage to make everyone deaf by the end of the day through abusing ringing systems, ringtones and speakers.

 The two soon enough ended in the Forest territory of Lyoko, with instructions given by Akira to join back the others. Running on their legs, the virtualization keeping them away from whatever feeling of physical fatigue they’d have felt from that, they soon noticed the group of monsters blocking the way and their friends behind a big tree.

“Oh, looks like XANA did already send a party,” Takeru noticed. “Let’s be sneaky and see if we can end them without Miyu being targeted by them.”

“Agreed.”

 “Takeru! Kiku!”

Miyu seemed ecstatic to see them arrive, screaming their names in joy. Only then did she put her hand on her month, remembering XANA’s monsters could hear them. It was easy to make a diversion, but that was it.

“Akira!” Ema yelled to the sky to get their control tower’s attention. “How much enemies are they?”

No response.

“Oh God, that’s bad,” she then spoke to herself. “He must have been knocked away from the main panel.”

“Something happened to my brother?” Aoi panicked immediately thereafter, before clutching Miyu’s hand to keep her calm.

“It may have,” Kiku added as she joined them. “One of us needs to go check.”

 They stared at each other, before Ema decided to take the head of things.

“Okay, I’ve got a plan. Aoi, you stay with Miyu to make sure she arrives to the tower in one piece! I’m going with Takeru to face them directly, while Kiku shoots them from the back. I’ve already taken a hit and Takeru has a powerful long-range weapon. Everyone’s good with that?”

“Roger!” Everyone replied in unison as they split in groups.

 Ema had in her mind the secret hope of being devirtualized immediately. Takeru had less health point than she did, but she had already taken a hit and was the only one with any knowledge of the Supercomputer outside of Akira who seemed to spend a huge chunk of his nights on it. It was a perfect match for who had to go back to the real world to check on their friends.

She could see Kiku in her white kimono-like robe, braid flowing through the air as she ran and ran, in the corner of her eye running behind Bloks to stab them with her spear in their top eye, jumping on them, braid going up and down, causing their own self-destruction. She was clearly always going for those targeting Takeru, in a nice touch. The boy was himself with her throwing fire at the enemies, either to blind them or critically damage them.

In the corner of her other, Miyu and Aoi ran with their fingers intertwined, the latter with her own weapon out, ready to jump into action if needed. It was a safer solution for them than for Aoi to hold Miyu as she flew over the battlefield just in case she’d get shot in the wings: would that happen, they’d both take considerable fall damage and risk getting devirtualized. The possibility meaning the death of Miyu if it took place, they preferred to stay safe and go a bit slower. Good stuff there.

 Because she wasn’t paying all her attention to monsters, Ema quickly found herself to be devirtualized by a second hit in the chest, making her virtual body shatter in pixels before she could resurface in the factory.

  Exiting the scanner after getting forcefully devirtualized wasn’t the best feeling in the world, but Ema had no time for dizziness. She ran as fast as possible to the elevator and rushed her hands over the panel to go to the upper floor. They weren’t strangers to XANA using towers to gain access to the real world. In fact, they were even used to Akira getting attacked as to hinder the progress of those on Lyoko. The question was: what had it done to her friend while she was away in the virtual world?

As soon as the door opened, she realized two things: XANA had used a severed electric cable to do its deed, and Akira was unconscious the floor because of it. Her first thought was to rush to his side, to check if he was doing fine. A hand on his wrist, another on his forehead, and her eyes half-focused on the severed cable which now looked as inert as it should be, she let out a sigh of relief when she heard his pulse.

“You scared us again, you idiot,” she muttered under her breath. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to keep an eye on an important mission.”

 She gently half-sat Akira against a nearby wall and jumped into the chair facing the screens monitoring everything. Embracing the control tower nature of it all, she picked the headphone and put it on her ear.

“Anyone, you’re receiving me? It’s Ema!”

Everyone or so replied positively.

“Lemme see…” Her eyes deciphered as much information as they possibly could on the monitors. “Takeru, you’re down to 20HP, be careful! One hit and you’re sent back home! Kiku, there should be a Blok behind you! Aoi, Miyu, you’re near the tower, you may be able to fly there…”

 She interrupted herself when she saw the cable rise back to life, just as she heard everyone call out for Takeru’s voice. Getting down to her feet, taking a fighting stance, she hoped to be able to fight it back enough to have the time for the boy to reach her room. She knew how to activate the Return to the Past to fix all the damage the buildings around the school must have taken from the excessive sound, if the fact she was able to hear some low-quality rap music from the underground rooms of a factory was any indication, but Takeru didn’t.

Avoiding getting tripped by jumping over the cable’s feet, she was relieved to hear Takeru running towards her. He looked a bit out of breath from running so quickly in so little time, but he took his own fighting stance.

“Ema, get to the computer! I’m sure the others need you there!”

 Nodding to him as to confirm his decisions, she jumped back into the chair to see the information: Kiku was close to devritualization with a mere ten HP remaining while Miyu was just about to enter the tower. Trying her hardest to ignore how one-sided Takeru’s fight against the cable was becoming in favour of XANA, she focused on the screens. The boy’s pained scream when his back slammed against the wall didn’t help. Before she could entirely redirect her focus, Kiku had been defeated by a last laser beam.

“Aoi, be careful, Kiku just got eliminated!”

“We know,” the brown-haired girl replied from the other side of the screen. “Miyu is entering the tower now, I’ll try to keep back the last enemies until she can deactivate it!”

“Good, but please make it quick, Akira got stunned and Takeru may be injured from fighting a cable. I’m afraid I’ll be the next, not going to lie there.”

 Kiku soon joined the scene, judging from the elevator’s doors opening again and her little steps rushing to Takeru’s side.

“Ki… Kiku…” His weakened voice tried to warn his friend. “Don’t… Come here…”

Without a word, avoiding getting knocked back by the giant cable, she kneeled next to him, her gaze soon fixated on her friend rather than the incoming danger.

“Are you alright, Takeru?!”

“I… I think I’ve broken something against it… But it’s gonna be fine,  don’t worry… I’m sure Miyu is about to deactivate the tower…” He gave a timid but warm smile to her.

She gently held him against her, a half-felt one on her lips…

“It’s going to be fine. It’s always going to be fine.”

Judging from Takeru’s weak grip, she knew his hand had been broken in his fight against the machine.

  Entering the tower, Miyu made her way as fast as possible to the little panel presented in every tower. As soon as she put her hand on it, the system automatically recognized her, greeting her with the ever same and cold protocol.

MIYU

CODE: LYOKO

The entire tower progressively turned empty as it deactivated. From this little virtual pseudo-cocoon, she could only hope as she looked down everything was fine outside.

 Soon enough, the familiar energy wave of the Return to the Past resonated through the virtual world, making her smile as she thought that, once again, everything would be fine and that they had all saved the day.

  They were back in the same Maths class, which was still boring, still not interesting. A side effect of using the Return to the Past, obviously. At least, she could safely say that

“Hey, do you remember what happened to you before you got unconscious earlier?” she asked trying to hide her concern.

“I got electricized by a cable, that’s all I can remember. It doesn’t matter much anyway, the Return to the Past cancels every injury we could have sustained.”

“Well, that’s fortunate for Takeru, he broke his hand when fighting the cable.”

 Akira suddenly looked very pensive, before having a sort of epiphany flashing on his face.

“That makes me think… I should teach you how to use the Supercomputer, Ema, in case this ever happens again,” he whispered to her.

“I’m not against it. I already know how to use it, as you can see, but you could show me your… special tricks.”

The slight innuendo was enough to make him redden in a moment and look to the side.

“D-don’t phrase it like that…”

She grinned at his embarrassment. He was way too easy to tease, but it was always so much fun.

“Oh, by the way,” she added, “your sister is probably going to get a girlfriend soon, and she won’t even be material unless you come up with your program.”

“E… Excuse me?!”

“Miyu. She’s in love with Miyu and vice-versa. It’s just that you’re never here to see them flirt with each other knowingly or not.”

“Oh. That makes sense, when you precise it that way.”

“I know.”

 Now, if she had the same modesty as Aoi, maybe she would have the guts to tell him about her ever-growing crush on him…

[unactive-1d]

my favourite fics in ao3

Ziam

Ninety-Eight Percent

“This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Niall chokes out, actual tears welling in his eyes. Liam hates him. A lot.

“This website is bullshit,” Liam grumbles. “Niall this can’t be real. How am I ninety-eight percent compatible with Louis Tomlinson?”

--

In which Louis is Liam's soulmate and Liam is really not amused.

Ziam Twitcam

The fans want some real life Ziam action

As He Moves

Zayn thought he wanted to know where Liam worked. Apparently he thought wrong.

Only Place I Call Home

Liam works at a coffee shop; Zayn is a homeless street performer who plays just outside the shop. Sometimes Liam brings Zayn coffee and donuts and in exchange Zayn sings for him.

Wrong Side of Love

Zayn and Liam wake up in each other's bodies.

Burning Away From Inside

They're a little too dysfunctional to be considered superheroes, but they do their best.

Connected

Fed up with Zayn and Liam skirting around how they feel about each other, the rest of the band devise a plan to get them to own up to their feelings.

(Or, Zayn and Liam are oblivious and annoying, the rest of the band can't handle it anymore, and handcuffs were probably not intended to be used this way.)

What We Become

“Nervous?”

“No.”

“It’s okay if you are,” Harry says seriously. “I mean, I know I would be. Like, if there was ever a date that was destined to go bad, it’s probably this one. Werewolf goes on date with the son of a werewolf hunter, who’s also training to be a werewolf hunter when he’s older, while another pack of werewolves are practically massacring the town, and no one has no idea how to stop them. It's not a question of what could go wrong. It's a question of what could possibly go right, and I'm willing to bet the answer to that is nothing."

Floating On The Water

Liam just wants to get through his last summer working at Malik Resort before University without incident. Of course, life is never that easy, and he ends up getting roped into giving the bosses son, Zayn, swimming lessons. That wouldn't be so bad, if Zayn didn't happen to hate him so much.

Tunnel Vision

In which Zayn is an award-winning popstar with a knack for getting himself in trouble, and Liam is the bodyguard he didn’t want to hire who has a few problems with staying professional.

Not Happening

Zayn and Liam are roommates. They hate each other. (Most of the time.)

Lover Dearest

"First rule, babe," Zayn says, leaning down. His lips slide over Liam's jaw, barely there, just a soft pressure, fleeting and gone as soon as it came. "Never trust a vampire."

He's grinning as he climbs off Liam, heading for the door. Liam watches him go, thinking that he's wrong. The first rule should be to not fall in love with one.

Larry

Learning to Eat

Celebrity chef Louis Tomlinson has a problem. He’s opening his first restaurant in 9 weeks, and he has yet to hire a pastry chef- apparently people think he’s ‘standoffish’ and ‘rude’ and ‘quick to temper’. Whatever. He ends up saddled with an annoying, happy-go lucky rookie who also happens to be obnoxiously good looking. His tv presenter and pop star best friends only add to the drama, and for fucks sake would everyone please stop quoting Julia Child?!

Kitchen AU where Harry helps Louis re-learn how to eat. (METAPHORICALLY)

we are honey and the bee

It isn’t his fault though, it is entirely the fault of whichever gods thought it would be a good idea to taunt Louis by dangling a curly haired boy in front of him with a mouth that can’t possibly be as soft as it looks, a mouth that requires further inspection with Louis’ own mouth. Unfortunately, Louis absolutely cannot do that, because it would go against all rules and guidelines in the Golden Handbook of Nanny and Employee Etiquette that he’s pretty sure exists.

au where harry plays rugby at uni, louis needs to hire a nanny, and life is one big cliche.

Turning From Praise (Punk!Harry Christian!Louis)

Louis has had a strict Christian upbringing that he never realized he resented until he meets Harry Styles, a boy who lives to rebel and doesn’t give a damn what anyone else thinks. But the better he gets to know Harry, the more he begins to realize that maybe Harry does care. And maybe “the children who God forgot” are closer to God than the devout will ever be.

if you need a loving hand

Harry and Louis are just two friends who bought a coffee shop and went into business together. They definitely probably do not have feelings for each other.

Follow Me Down This Time

Harry first noticed Louis in his second term at Hogwarts, and despite three years of inventing ways to stumble across Louis, he's never managed to actually work up the courage to speak to him. Also known as, self-indulgent Hogwarts AU, because every fandom needs Hogwarts AUs.

if you'll be my star, i'll be your sky

Louis smiles in the smuggest, most infuriating way, like he knows every thought filtering through Harry’s mind. He probably does.

“I thought you were a student, yeah,” Louis says, voice quieter now, leaving Harry to lean over the baluster somewhat to hear. “But I hoped you weren't.”

(or, Harry Potter AU where Harry takes a teaching post at Hogwarts and gets a little more than he expected when he meets the fit Transfiguration professor, Louis, who looks oddly familiar... Featuring Messrs. Horan, Malik, and Payne as well, along with some familiar faces from the HPverse)

At Least We're Breathing

(Just another mental institution fic!)

Fairly quickly, it becomes obvious to Harry why almost all of them are there; Liam can't control how much he eats-and then can't keep it down-. Niall doesn't talk, Harry himself has tried to end his own life, and Zayn isn't always...Zayn.

Then there's Louis, who no one really knows what he's in for, and Harry isn't even sure he belongs, but maybe he's glad he's there anyway.

Take A Bite Outta Me

Louis truly resents the implication that he is basically Harry’s own version of Bella goddamn Swan, because seriously, no. Just no. But the issue is that even this stupid Meyeresque revelation has done absolutely nothing to dampen his attraction to this weirdly charming vampire man who dresses in 8000 pound coats and hangs around in dilapidated buildings with his merry band of ethical bloodsuckers.

Louis is a slightly inept vampire hunter. Harry is a slightly unique vampire. They meet

Lego House

Louis didn't know what to think when he woke up with a needle in his arm and an unconscious man across the room. He didn't know what to think when he could hear everything. He didn't know what to think when he picked up four boys on his way out. Maybe, just maybe, they could get away.

or where Louis has heightened senses, Harry is basically a shape shifter, Liam can manipulate the air, Zayn can influence people's emotions, and Niall has healing powers. And crazy stuff happens as they wander through the woods.

Title is "Lego House" by Ed Sheeran

Two To Rule

Prince Louis is an intellectual interested in philosophy and human interaction; Prince Harry feeds off of power and wealth because it's all he's been raised to yearn for. Their arranged marriage will be the downfall of them both.

In Dreams

AU. When Harry moves to a new city, his new flat come with a number of sweet, anonymous gifts and surprises that brighten his days. Could it be a friendly ghost? Another friendly presence in his new building is his tattooed neighbor, Louis, who seems determined to put a smile back on his face.

yellow lamps on blackened skies

Louis is the best baker in his apartment building until his new neighbour shows up and threatens his position (and his dignity). It turns out that actually, he might have a competitive streak.

Like Master, Like Pet

In which Louis's cat apparently wants to date Harry's frog, intense studying of eyebrows is a thing, pillows can turn into flamingos, and a lot of really lame-ass jokes are made.

feel the chemicals burn in my bloodstream

“Alright, alright. No need to bite,” Harry says, holding his hands above his head in a general gesture of surrender.

Louis quirks an eyebrow and his foot nudges Harry’s as he moves to sit straight. “If that’s what you think biting is, you’ve got another thing coming, Styles.”

Harry blinks at him before he feels his face flush and inside the marrows of his bones there’s pulses of heat, pulses of fire spreading through him. “Is that a threat, your Highness?”

“That’s a promise,” Louis answers just as the car halts to a stop. “One I intend to keep.”

Harry is a journalist with a lot of secrets and Louis is the future king of the United Kingdom; they live together for 60 days.

With the Rising Sun

This idea bloomed after seeing a post of 19-year-old Harry with a picture of younger Louis and I just really wanted to make something where Harry was older.

Louis had been living in NYC for two years now while studying at NYU, and was probably the least social 21-year-old ever. Somehow he got roped into his sister's brilliant idea of getting her college best friend to help him branch out and meet people. Only there was one problem — Harry Styles is like the hottest thing on two legs and Louis' not ready to see a much older version of the boy who filled his fantasies as a teenager.

the value of this moment lives in metaphor

Louis and Harry are best friends and absolutely nothing more. It’s a bit strange that, suddenly, everyone thinks they’re dating.

Or the one where they’re all teachers at a high school and students are more invested in their lives than normally expected.

Baby Heaven's in your Eyes

They couldn’t be more different if they tried. Louis Tomlinson is 17 years old and in his last year of the most prestigious private school in Doncaster. If there’s one thing that completely annoys him, it’s that there is a poor community college right across the street.

Harry Styles is 19 years old, and (once again) in his last year of college. He goes to community college in Doncaster. He never shows up to classes and if he actually bothers to, he’s either high or drunk; sometimes both. His skin is littered with tattoos and if there’s one thing he absolutely hates, it’s the snobby students attending the private school right across from his.

Or a sixth form!AU where Harry is the fucked up bad boy with too many problems, Louis is the perfect rich boy with too much money and their schools are right across from each other. They meet at a party and that’s the last (and maybe the only) thing they need.

put the stars in our eyes

Louis goes to bed having ordered a nineteen year-old husband.

Louis is set to inherit the family farm after the death of his father, but after finding out that he needs to be married in order to do so, purchasing a nineteen year-old, mail-order husband named Harry Styles seems to be the easiest answer.

Zouis

Bruised

Louis accidentally gives Zayn a black eye and it sets off the weirdest year of his life. Set in New Jersey.

Chéri

growing up AU: In which Louis lives far away, but visits every winter; and Zayn falls just a bit more in love each year.

like any real love it's ever-changing

"Do you think if I repeat 'this isn't happening' for long enough it'll make it true?" Louis asks.

The cat—Zayn—moves its tail. Louis doesn't know what that means.

"I have no idea what that means," Louis says.

Zayn turns into a cat. Louis figures some things out.

if not the happiest, surely the luckiest

AU. reform boarding school for the obscenely wealthy, essentially. zayn is new and louis is hot shit.

high hopes

i know it's crazy to believe in silly things, but it's not that easy

[ninequestions9]

Me, 26, Executive Assistant

*My uncle made the suggestion that I answer my own questions then a year from now, when my project is done, answer them again and see how my views have changed. Here we go.*

1)      What is the biggest frustration you’re facing now?

    I’m at a point in my life where I’m done with formal schooling and building my education, I have a good job so career-wise I’m in a good place, but I’m not yet building a relationship or marriage or family. So for the first time in my life I am in this weird gap of not knowing what to do with myself. There’s no plan to follow or goals to achieve. I’m just doing things as they come along and throwing down floorboards as I walk. Most people would kill to be in this situation. Absolute freedom. Plus I’m young and healthy and financially secure enough. I have innumerable blessings, I know.

    Yet, I am incredibly frustrated with my life. A very privileged frustration, I know. I LOVE having a plan. I love having steps to take and goals to work towards and having a vision of where I’m going. I love structure. I need find something to channel my energy into. I’m eager to jump into the next phase of life and build towards marriage and such, but unfortunately I can’t control when I meet “the one.” I feel a lot of pressure to be on 1,000 dating apps and go out more and join more activities and organizations and talk to everyone, but it’s exhausting and just makes me anxious. I want meeting someone to be fun and genuine. But I guess you can’t have your cake and eat it too. 

    I’m trying to see the positive in all this. God has a plan. I look for three things to be grateful for a day. That helps me stay focused on the present and not freaking out about the unknown future. God has a plan and I know he’s putting me through the exact thing that makes me the most uncomfortable in order to make me stronger. I’m waiting for it to end though and the waiting is frustrating.

2)      What trait do you wish you most had?

    I wish I had more faith. I chose that as my confirmation name when I was 13 because even then I knew I needed more faith. Of course my belief in Jesus and the truth of the Bible is firm, but I wish I had more faith in God’s plan for my life. If God is the ultimate source of goodness, joy, love, and peace then no matter how he orchestrates my life, it will be for the best; whether in my lifetime or within the greater narrative.

    I spend way too much time worrying that things won’t work out the way I want them to. But really if I think about it, all the wonderful things of my life occurred, not because of my own doing, but really because of the people who happen to be in my life, the foundation my parents laid out for us, where I happen to live, what media society happen to produce at that time. I wound up at the college I attended because of a terrible fight I had with my mom. She wanted me to meet with the various college recruiters who circulated through my high school so I could learn more about what schools were out there and get a better understanding of what I was looking for. Very wise, but I didn’t want to bother missing class so I stubbornly refused. Long story short, while driving me to school, we got into another argument about it which ended with my mom calling me a little bitch and me slamming the door in her face. I begrudgingly signed up to attend the info session for the college that was visiting that day, University of Delaware, and in the end, that’s the college I wound up going to. I had never heard of that college before then and probably would have completely ignored it otherwise.

    In high school, I failed my Spanish AP test which meant I HAD to take one Spanish class in college. I had wanted to leave Spanish behind because I made up my mind I just wasn’t good at it. But of course, that one Spanish class I took freshman year turned out to be taught by an amazing professor who really made me feel like I could learn Spanish. So I wound up declaring a Spanish minor, studying abroad in Spain and now I speak Spanish! Haha!

    So having faith in God’s timing and accepting that I really don’t have as much control as I think I do.

3)      What are 3 characteristics you look for in a friend?

    Sense of humor, being real / genuine, and responsible. Laughter is essential. Life has more joy when you’re with someone who can find the humor in the most uncomfortable or awkward situations. Genuine because I can’t be myself and be real if I know the other person is putting on some kind of front or persona. If they’re glossing over the truth or trying to sell me some polished version of themselves then I just don’t have time for that kind of lack of self awareness. Responsible because I need to feel I can trust you’re not going to get us into a reckless situation or that you’re going to be there when you say you are. You’re not rude or oblivious to how your actions affect others. Mature. I sound so harsh, but I guess I’m thinking in terms of a deeper friendship.

4)      What makes you feel brave?

    When I’m taking care of others. When I feel my skills, knowledge, strengths are being put to good use and helping another person, then I feel brave. As my parents are getting older, I feel brave when they need me to drive them somewhere, get medicine, or make food. I also feel brave when I’m being kind to strangers. It’s so much easier to ignore other people or think “Oh that’s not my problem. They probably don’t want to be bothered,” but I’ve learned that’s not true. Most people are looking for some kind of connection or enjoy being noticed. So when I get past my own pride and try to connect with other people, I feel brave because there’s always the chance they’ll respond with some kind of haughty attitude or just look at me like I’m strange, but it’s worth it for the times I can make someone feel cared about.

5)      What makes you feel vulnerable?

    Knowing that I care way more about another person than they care about me. Or thinking someone is just The Coolest and admiring them and then knowing they will never think that way about me. When I was in middle school, my best friend suddenly stopped making plans with me to hang out. She also stopped inviting me to group outings with other friends. Eventually we just stopped talking. Looking back, I’m sure she had her reasons. I used a lot of mean/mocking humor with my friends and I think she just got sick of it. Completely fair. But it hurt so much because she was still my best friend in my mind even though her own priorities changed and she couldn’t care less about our friendship. So yeah that still haunts me. Those situations make me feel worthless.

6)      What was your proudest moment?

     When I got a lead in my high school production of Grease. I was Rizzo. It still holds such weight with me because that was like the ultimate validation as a teenager. It told me I was talented, I was liked, I was trusted, and I got a lot of attention for getting a lead role haha! I looked up to my older brother for getting leads in high school plays and then I was able to live up to that “legacy,” if you will.

    I’m always pretty proud when I tell people I worked at Disney World or when I speak Spanish too.    

7)      Who is your role model / hero and why?

            My grandma. My dad’s mom. She’s how I try to model myself as a Christian woman. She gives so much and she’s always thinking of others. Her present circumstances are a testament to the way she lived her life. At 95, she has a ton of people who actively WANT to take care of her. All the people she’s taken care of all these years are now joyfully taking care of her; driving her places, getting her food, taking her out. She has a lot of people in her life who really love her and it’s because she gives so much love. She’s also incredibly wise. She’s lived through the Great Depression, World War II, losing her sister at a young age, a miscarriage, raising four kids in a low income area, she’s traveled Europe, etc. She’s seen a lot, but she found joy in the simple things. She worked in a bank as a teller most of her life, but she said it was the best job she ever had because of all the friends she made and getting to know the customers. She was happy with what she had and she made what she had stretch to the point where she was able to feed all her kids and also invite the neighbors over too. She’s who I admire.

8)      What is one life lesson you’d like to pass down to future generations?

    On a spiritual level: Don’t base your self worth on something you can lose. Don’t base it on your academic performance, job achievements, significant other, family, kids, socioeconomic status, etc. Your self worth needs to come from something greater than you and this world. Look into who God is. Do research on who he says he is, what other religions say he is, what science and philosophy have to say about a higher power and just seek out the truth in that regard. Find God and look to understand his purpose for your life and this world as a whole. That advice probably won’t resonate with a large audience, but there it is.

    Also, don’t be afraid to laugh at yourself and have fun. Nobody looks stupid when they’re having fun.

9)      What is your opinion of Jesus?

    Jesus is the son of God, the messiah, and he died for my sins. God himself paid the price for my mistakes and my selfishness so that I wouldn’t have to. He did that for everyone. That’s love.

    But also, Jesus was not the weak, mild, whitewashed, nice-guy that you see in stain glass windows. What he had to say angered A LOT of people. It angered the “holiest” of people, the Pharisees, the temple leaders, the ones who supposedly knew the most about the scriptures and God. So much so that they wanted him dead. They arranged for his arrest and execution.

    Jesus is hope, but what he had to say didn’t always make people feel hopeful. When the rich young man asked Jesus what he had to do to inherit the kingdom of God, Jesus told him to give up all his belongings (essentially his identity, his pride, his comfort) and follow him. The rich young man walked away discouraged and hopeless. Not because there wasn’t hope, but because he wasn’t willing to lose what he had. Really he wasn’t willing to put himself aside. So it shouldn’t surprise us that Jesus’s words still make people uncomfortable today.

    But also, because Jesus tells us to put our own lives, worries, desires aside and trust and follow him, it’s actually easing the burden. It doesn’t sound fun and it’s a daily struggle, but when you get there, there is a sense of peace and groundedness. You don’t need to focus on yourself as much. You are free to take care of others and focus on God’s plan. I’m on a soap box now because this is way easier said than done, but you take it day by day.

    Jesus is my God and my savior and he is fearless.

[emawinslow]

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damn go crazy thank you so much abby. this got long so

what are 3 things you’d say shaped you into who you are?

cop out answer but 1. my mom and my sister but like truly I do not think I would be anywhere near the person I am today without them. and when I had nobody (often) I always had them god bless 2. pinterest. just everything about it. it inspired me to join tumblr. It shaped my humor. it taught me to cook. it kept me busy. it raised me more than my father. no joke. 3. I didn’t want to have another person answer but my oldest and dearest friend [readcted] she’s like a year and a half older than me and we grew up three houses down from one another and hung out all the time and I cannot recall a time in my life when I didn’t look up to her. she was always such an inspiration to be the most confident and real version of myself. I don’t see her as much anymore bc college but to this day when I’m worried I said something horrible I always ask myself “what would [redacted] think if she heard I said that?” And it’s not even like I’m putting her up on a pedestal she really is just one of the most amazing human beings I’ve ever met in my life

3 films you could watch for the rest of your life and not get bored of?

HUSTLERS 2019 ocean’s 8 and the goonies 

what made you start your blog?

I was really into skam and pinterest wasn’t cutting it anymore so I started lurking then actually liking posts then reblogging then posting and. here we are.

what’s the best and worst part of being online/a creator?

best part is all the people I’ve met and the friends I’ve made I love you all so sincerely sometimes it feels as if my heart could explode. worst is having to block twenty million tags and phrases to avoid t*ylor sw*ft and h*rry styles. and having to see the most abysmal takes known to man from my own MUTAULS no less. love y’all regardless it’s okay when you do it

what scares you the most and why?

well. first of all getting shots because holy shit keep needles out of my body. and a more philosophical answer is being a bad person without even realizing it

would you say you’re an emotional person?

oh my god yeah. I used to consider myself a logical person in like middle school and I look back at that and I’m like what the hell were you talking about. I make every decision with my heart and honestly like half the time I feel like my emotions are so big they could explode out of my body. lol.

do you believe in ghosts and/or aliens?

aliens yes absolutely. they’re out there and they’re so real. they are the teeniest tiniest bacteria ever and little green men and beings as big as the moon i truly to believe that. ghosts? no unless I get literally thrown across a room.

what do you do when you’re sad?

take a shower listening to my silly little music. never fails. also helps to put on a fancy dress. idk.

any pet peeves?

girl where do I even start. obviously slow walkers I’m a fast bitch. chewing with your mouth open. pronouncing frustrating as “fustrating” men speaking in philosophy class. people looking at my phone over my shoulder. people not using their sleeves to open doors (this one is actually ridiculous but you don’t know who touched that fucking door handle what is wrong with you). saying jokes I literally saw online and claiming them as your own who do you think you’re fooling. off pitch singing just do not fucking sing #chiorkid. coughing into your hand like I bet you went and touched a door handle afterwards huh. when people pull out their phone (without a reason) when you’re in the middle of talking to them like okay. condescension. I could go on but I’ll stop.

hopefully I didn’t take any and this took a lot of time so sorry but I had fun so thank you again!!!

[words-writ-in-starlight]

I know you're a big x-men fan (possibly an understatement?), so do you mind me asking if you have any thoughts on the upcoming Jean Grey movie? I don't know enough about her in the comics to really know what to expect (though I do very much like Sophie Turner)

So, with the caveat that I actually did not know this movie was being made until you sent this ask and I cannot find even a teaser trailer for it (I strongly suspected that this was bullshit for a second, until I found some articles), here are Some Thoughts.

First off, Apocalypse was actually my favorite X-Men movie in a very long time--I liked First Class, and the very first Singer X-Men has some nostalgia value, but Apocalypse actually felt like a damn team movie, which was a thrilling change of pace.  That being said, every time they announce a new X-Men movie I live a few hours in existential despair about adaptations of my all-time favorite comics characters, and I usually set aside a few hours to have a crisis before I actually go see the thing, and a few more to watch X-Men Evolution afterward.  I was actually so frustrated I cried when they announced Logan.  I still went to see it!  I did!  But I spent a couple days fuming about how much damage the movies have done to my love for Wolverine, first.

That being said.

Things I am Tentatively Excited About

Clearly they have already figured out that Dark Phoenix needs to be the Whole Entire Plot.  None of this “Also let’s talk about the Cure” nonsense.  Don’t half-ass two huge plotlines, whole ass one huge plotline.

Apparently they’re taking extra time in post to do the effects, so hopefully it’ll be VISUALLY dazzling, regardless.

I LOVED Sophie Turner as Jean Grey in Apocalypse and I’m so, so glad they’re going to keep her going as the Star Of The Show.  She did a great balance of ‘I’m going to do what needs to be done because I’m the one who can do it’ and ‘oh BOY am I ever screamingly terrified of my powers’, which is really what I like to see in any character at all, but especially Jean Grey.  There’s a fine line to walk between ‘character with legitimate fears about what embracing their powers could turn them into’ and ‘Girl who is Afraid Of Herself and needs to be Encouraged’, and I think Ms Turner did an amazing job walking that line.

Speaking of being afraid of one’s powers, I actually also loved Scott in Apocalypse, he had a real personality and that’s depressingly rare in Scott Summers.  Please don’t be mean to him, he’s a great character, just because he’s not a delinquent doesn’t mean he’s this featureless Fun Ruiner.  I thought his dynamic with Jean had a lot of promise and I’m hopeful that they get some mileage out of that.

I think Hugh Jackman has gone into witness protection from the X-Men franchise, so probably no Logan/Jean/Scott love triangle, which--thank you God and also Jesus, I’m Over that love triangle and I have been since I was eight.

I don’t know if they’re planning to have Storm, Kurt, or Jubilee in the movie, but I also loved all of them and would really be thrilled to see them.  I have higher hopes about Storm than the others.

All I want out of this is a good Scott/Jean dynamic, everything else is second fiddle and lower.  Please, after all these fucking X-Men movies, give me a good Scott/Jean dynamic.

Things I am Already Dreading

Hoo boy, folks, as you may have deduced from my above comment about Jean Grey, the plot of “I’m afraid of my powers” can get into some distasteful areas preeeeeeeetty quick.  If they’re determined to go the route of ‘Jean has these abilities within her purview unassisted, but she’s unable to control them’ they’re going to be getting into territory that could go phenomenally well or astoundingly badly.

As mentioned above, if this is straight up and down issue of Jean having these powers as a natural part of her skill set, that’s fine, but please God if you’re doing that and you still want to delve into the fact that, hey, yeah, Jean Grey has some real issues, just don’t be a dick about it.  I’m not even asking for a sensitive take on PTSD and the idea of being traumatized by your own brain in the most literal sense, I’m just asking for not being an ass.

I just want a movie with some fucking aliens.  They don’t seem to have any fucking aliens.  The Phoenix Force is a fucking alien space thing.  Give me some fucking space shit, it has been so many movies and yet I have no space shit.

If this is a movie about how Charles Xavier is a bad person and/or an idiot, I’m going to have a stroke.  Listen.  He allowed a child to live her fucking life by closing off powers she was wildly unprepared to handle, and helped her adjust bit by bit.  That doesn’t make him a fucking monster and I am deeply over the take that Xavier is a hypocrite, a fool, and somehow the bad guy.  Just because Magneto’s philosophy isn’t strictly speaking wrong does not make Magneto right, and it does not make Xavier stupid for trying for a better outcome.  Believing that life is valuable is never the wrong call--which, incidentally, is a philosophy I learned from the fucking X-Men.

Things About Which I am Undecided

They’re planning to have Magneto in it which...look, y’all, I love Ian McKellan with a love that is true and pure, but having Mags in Last Stand was a questionable decision at best, tied into the frankly Bad decision to do the Cure plot as well as Dark Phoenix.  I enjoy Fassbender’s Magneto and like his dynamic with Xavier very much, and would normally be pleased to see them be Tense at each other some more.  However.  Last Stand has made me permanently skeptical of having Magneto in a Dark Phoenix narrative.

Like I said, they don’t have the Shi’ar or any space shit at all, as far as I can tell, which.  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯  I’ll be curious to see how they do the plot without that component, because, again, Last Stand went poorly.

The cast, particularly Sophie Turner, say that this film is “more emotionally-laden and grounded” and oh my God guys, that could go so well or it could be a train wreck.  You know what else was supposed to be emotionally laden?  Civil War.  I think we are all learning about my opinions on that subject.

It’s gonna have Mystique in it, which--listen.  I understand that she’s a good obvious parallel to Xavier, in that her powers are physically obvious and his are not, et cetera et cetera, but I never reeeeeeally cared that much about Mystique prior to First Class and I can’t say that Days of Future Past (FUCK DoFP) or Apocalypse really kept up my interest.  So.  Like.  I care a lot more about any of the other options for a focus character.  

I want some good Xavier and Magneto interactions, if Magneto’s going to be there anyway.  I do NOT want this to be another movie about Xavier and Magneto’s relationship delicately supported by another character undergoing a much more interesting plot.

Things You Can Expect Regardless of Actual Film Quality

I’m gonna write some posts.  It’s inevitable.  They will either be rhapsodies about my love for the film or wrathful breakdowns of all my complaints.

I’ll probably write some fic.  I’m still really happy with limitations of wax, which takes place after Apocalypse, and I have that long-ass post-canon Evo-verse fic in the works still (pushing 60 pages).  I like talking about the X-Men.

If Kitty Pryde and Piotr Rasputin are in this movie for 0.0001 seconds, I regret to inform you that you will all be hearing A Great Deal about them.  

I will continue to be Not Interested in Charles Xavier/Erik Lensherr.

So, uh...those are my thoughts.  

I love the Dark Phoenix arc, I think I should say that as a closer.  On a wider level, wildly overpowered characters are really interesting to me, largely because everyone’s terrified of writing them and therefore most versions feel very unique.  On a more specific level, I think the comic concept of the Phoenix Force becoming addicted to life, addicted to the experience of being alive, and shattering star systems just to see what the sparks of the planets taste like as they fade out--I think that’s a gorgeous story.  A tragedy, to be sure, the Trojan War against one woman, with casualties spent as carelessly as sand, but a gorgeous tragedy.  If they do a good job with Jean, I’m sure I’ll be just as game for it.

Y’all I’m gonna write a fic after this movie called “terahelen (serious inroads on the welfare of the galaxy)” and it’s going to be the most upsetting tragic shit about Scott and Jean that I can possibly pump out.