#it's really fucking long. maybe sixteen paragraphs.

[bloodyknucklesforme]

Dead Plate | Guest Check

Kyle and Nina break up

CW: hurt no comfort

"I feel like you're shutting me out," Kyle sighed. She was chewing on the inside of her lip, tearing little pieces of flesh off. He wasn't wrong. It wasn't just the denying of any physical intimacy. Her responses to his texts dwindled out, she rarely invited him over, they didn't talk when he was over. "I just want to help you, Nina."

"You're falling into a dark place again." He reached out to touch her cheek and she moved away.

That little book was a black hole, pulling her further and further into something she couldn't escape from. She'd read through her first year of life from her mother's point of view and it was devastating. She was always unhappy, regretted getting pregnant, regretted the affair, regretted getting married. Nina had held out a sliver of hope that there would be one line where her mother would write "at least I have my daughter" but it hadn't come.

She had colic, she wouldn't nurse, she wouldn't sleep, her mother had no help. She felt guilty for all the hardship she caused her mother. Long paragraphs describing postpartum depression. She wasn't a good baby as impossible as that is too control.

A punishment for feeling any joy in the idea that her father was not her father. That she wasn't made out of reluctance and sense of duty. She was made out of love, albeit during an affair but love none the less. These early writings her mother has no fondness for her husband and all the words she can muster for Price.

He disappears completely after the line "I think it might be John's." No other mention of him. Was he upset? Did he regret it all too? Did he even know?

He always seemed to pay special attention to her, even before her family's death. Let her stay with him when she didn't want to go home after her first year at Uni. Taught her how to cook, got her a job and a place to live. He was the one adult that always looked after her.

She wanted to bring it up to him or Kyle or really anyone. A nagging little thought scratched at the inside of her skull.

"What if you're not his daughter? Will he still love you? Does he even love you now? He might just be doing this out of obligation. He'd drop you the moment he found out he has no relation."

Her mother made no mention of her husband suspecting anything but what if he did? Was that why he always treated Nina with such indifference?

She felt denied a better life. A happier childhood. Her mother wrote about divorce and eloping. How much she loved John Price. Why did it all change with her? Maybe Price was angry... maybe he didn't want her either.

She was walking across a glass floor, any wrong step and the whole thing would fall out from underneath her.

"I've always looked out for you, Nina. Please just let me in." Kyle sat on the bed next to her, trying to catch her gaze.

She hadn't felt well in their relationship in a while. Whatever blockade was between them went up the day her family died. He seemed anxious to touch her sometimes or maybe it was all in her head. She'd always thought he was it. She didn't need anyone else.

They lost their virginities to each other at sixteen. Sneaking out of their respective houses for that specific purpose. The back of his car in the parking lot of the football pitch. It was awkward and she'd cried and he kissed her face and made her cum. She wanted to tell him she loved him.

They broke up for the first time when he went to basic at eighteen. Her choice. She was upset about him risking his life, not following her to uni and the prospect of seeing him wear the same uniform her father did.

A shitty boyfriend and a shittier university term later and he came back, looking stronger and more handsome. More grown up. He said he missed her. They fucked in the back of his car again.

He was deployed, their relationship remained in limbo. She waited for him. He came back, they fucked, he was deployed again.

October 2019 and he was shot trying to stop the Piccadilly attack. Medical discharge, no chance of returning to the service.

"Got shot and all I got was an amazing girlfriend." He chuckled, walking out of the hospital. "Think it evens it out.

She wasn't an amazing girlfriend. She was selfish and insecure and truthfully very sad. Kyle had ambitions and plans. Price had inspired him to get his Diplôme de Cuisine from Le Cordon Bleu in Paris. He just needed the 34k euros to do it.

He was almost there too. There was a school in London but Paris is Paris and he'd already knew French. It was nine months, very intensive. She was happy for him. Truly. He'd learned a lot from Price but wanted more and Price was encouraging. More than with her efforts in pastry.

He'd stay if she'd asked. He'd do a lot if she asked. She really didn't deserve that. She didn't have any plans or hopes for the future. She was stuck at this job, one she hated, with Price that she felt like she couldn't quit. She drank too much. She slept too much. She cried too much.

She'd kept too tight a grip on him for too long.

"I think you should go." She said softly.

"Nina..."

"I can't do this, Kyle. I can't do us anymore. I just need to be by myself." Her mouth tasted like blood.

His face fell, big brown eyes full of hurt and confusion.

"Nina...? Are you breaking up with me?"

She nodded, bottom lip shaking.

"Okay... I'll give you space." He rubbed his face and pinched his brow before getting up. He wasn't taking her seriously. She could tell from his body language that he was expecting to be back here tomorrow.

"Leave the key on the dining table."

"Nina. I'm not going-"

"It's over Kyle! It's over! I don't want to do this anymore! Just go!" She'd only yelled at him like this once before. Almost a decade prior when she thought he was in on the joke about her being a slut at school. "I want you to leave!"

He looked at her, mouth moving silently. He started to grab his things.

"I love you Nina. I always will. Just... text me please if you need anything."

She couldn't give him the decency of showing him the door. His keys jingled as he forced the one for her flat off the ring, leaving it on the table before shutting the door. The tell tale sound of him checking to make sure it locked behind him.

Her mother's diary ended just six months after she was born with the sentence "I don't know if I ever wanted to be a mother."

Tag List: @queen-ilmaree @macravishedbymactavish @gogh-with-the-flow @water-bearz @pvssytrux

[confessions-official]

old news because mother’s day was months ago but i earnestly cannot fucking believe that my father admitted to my mother that he didn’t get her anything for mother’s day because he was afraid of how she would react without her coming to any sort of realization. i cannot believe that she initiates frequent (monthly? biweekly?) screaming fits at him where she slams doors and stomps and throws things without an ounce of introspection. in fact, it’s always my father who’s the one to apologize after the fact, to which she always tells him to fuck off because she’s still simmering. what does it take? should i have told her that i was also scared of how she would react when i texted her the morning of mother’s day? when am i next going to have the chance to tell her that i am afraid of her? when does she get to know the extent of which i am hyper vigilant of her moods? i wake up moments before arguments break out, no matter when in my sleep cycle i am or how little sleep i’ve gotten, and i can only assume it’s because my body preempts that there’s something worth being alert about. i’ve had recurring dreams where i’ve had to grovel for her forgiveness while she laughed at me or refused to look at me. she gave me the silent treatment for a week when i was sixteen years old because i dared to send her an article saying that misgendering your transgender child is a way of disrespecting them. i still remember that her immediate response was that i have no idea what disrespect is, and that she was too tired to deal with this. there were more cruel texts following; i don’t remember the contents.

we’re both adults. adults communicate. they should be able to, anyway. (she once told me that humans reply in words, not grunts, because she was unhappy with how quiet i was. this was couched in a long text paragraph about how awful i make her feel, which i woke up to after i told her i would prefer to clean my room myself instead of having her help, a statement she took as me banning her from my room. often i wonder how much less confrontational i could have phrased it.) i don’t think that she understands that she makes it an unsafe environment to communicate.

i can’t understand it. i would feel better if i could at least understand her psychology. my running theory is that she is overcompensating for having been blamed for everything in her youth and now she cannot accept when she is actually at fault (even if she claims that she can). but then the truly baffling things, like not eating all day and then getting angry with my father for her having not eaten… it’s not like there’s not food in the house, and it’s not like she’s not being offered anything, or that there’s no variety… and whatever she asks for, she’ll get. i really don’t understand.

one of their arguments i overheard at maybe one or two in the morning had her arguing “if you saw a person bleeding out in the road, would you ask them what they wanted/how to help them or would you just get help?” or something to that effect. but she acts like it’s obvious what she wants. or needs. yet she’s been asked, point blank, what she wants, but never do i hear a concrete response to that. i’m really wracking my brain for what it is that she thinks is so obvious. i just feel like i’m fundamentally missing something that would fix or explain whatever is happening.

and it’s not like the other parties involved are entirely without fault, myself included. but this can’t be the way it’s supposed to be…

am i coming at this from the wrong angle, trying to make logical sense of it? is this just an extended stress response? untreated mental illness? i know she used to be medicated; i don’t know what happened with that. she used to be in therapy; don’t know what happened with that either.

there has to be something i’m missing. but if i haven’t clocked it after years of this, what is it? am i blinded by spite? is it me who lacks empathy?

i just can’t wrap my mind around any of it. as an addendum, i always think that it’s not that bad and that all of this can hardly be counted as traumatic, but then i was triggered by the dinner scene in hereditary and the christmas episode of the bear (with jamie lee curtis), so… maybe that counts for something.

 

[the-ellia-west]

Ok so this is regarding the post you made a little but ago. 

My WIP as you might already know is called Bolt Runers. 

There are technaiclly three main characters. Ray, Talia, and Micheal. (Rey and Talia are twins btw) But Micheal is the most main character. 

This is a superhero story where Micheal is the main hero of the story while Talia and Rey help from the sidelines. Rey as tech support who makes his suit and helps him control his powers and Talia who also gets a basic suit to sometimes help Micheal in battle. 

Micheal at first tries to get rid of the crime in the corrupt city he lives in but later has to fight villains with different powers like him. As well as an evil scientist/CEO. 

He has to try to balance his hero life with his normal life as a basic sixteen year old and also has to gamble around his father who is completely loyal to the main antagonist the CEO and wants Micheals hero persona gone without knowing its his son. Leaving Micheal to feel unsafe and unhappy in his own home. 

One of the most prevalent villains he has to fight is a boy named No One. he has the power to puppet the body of anyone he touches. He uses this power constantly to mess with Micheal to the point he has to hurt people who cant fight back or get hurt himself. Wich leaves him very drained.

No One is actually being compensated by the CEO to mess with Micheal and get his guard down so he can capture him and figure out why he has these powers. He claims he’s doing this so he can build a better future but deep down even he doesnt believe that. Micheal ends up being captured in the end of book one and basically tortured before his father finds out and basicly abandons him out of fear and guilt. But not before he tell Rey and Talia so they can go rescue his son.

Thats pretty much the VERY basic summary of book one. I would greatly appreciate some feedback on this. And also maybe some ideas for villains because I really only have three. The main antagonist, No One, and a girl named Serita whos just a tech wizz and has a rivalry with Rey. :]

Sorry for how long this is lol

I LOVE HOW LONG IT IS

And thank you so much for the Ask @urnumber1star , I want to hear you ramble more >:]

And I'd absolutely love to go through tons of stuff and discuss stuff with you!

But anyway

THIS IS A FUCKING FANTASTIC PREMISE

I especially love that there's a golden trio, and the thing about Michael's father and I'm extremely excited to see how you pull it off!

I also really love No One, and he has the potential to be a FANTASTIC villain.

(Also: I totally didn't misread the last paragraph in white as the CEO compensation nobody and I had to read it again)

ALSO THE ANGST POTENTIAL of Michael being tortured.

So this had the potential to be an absolutely wonderful story if you pull it off right, but also could go the other way.

Though I have no doubts you can do it :]]]

And I'm already seeing a LOT of really promising stuff. Keep it up!

Also... okay, okay, hear me out, Serita x Rey enemies to loversss???

But anyway, you could have a villain henchmen who is Talia's arch nemesis. You could also do a fake ally/traitor subplot if you wanted.

I personally REALLY LOVE hero on the run plotlines and confrontations with shitty parents.

And my all time favorite trope has got to be a well-executed redemption arc. So if you could put one in there, even for a minor villain, I would absolutely lose my shit.

Also, you could have a thing where a new villain pops up who's the perfect foil/counter to Michael's powers and he has to play it smart and brainstorm ways to defeat this new villain with the twins.

>:]

[blindrapture]

june 8th is up. this one also features a long Timestamp in it, which had to be broken up with a paragraph break for tumblr and is formatted as intended on The Website.

I'm just gonna idly note that this log, for some damn reason, feels the most like what the new act 2 is like. I didn't intend it that way in either direction, but it's probably just, like. this log has a clear structure to it with different Central Events and even different Narrative Styles for its sections, and as I got older I did actually want to try to do this kind of thing again But Better. act 2 is a lot of This But Better.

"so then why keep act 1 the way it is? why not remake act 1 to be Better? why leave it in a way that is apparently unsatisfying to you?"

that is a question I continue to have, yes. like, yes, of course, I had the temptation to rewrite all of act 1 from scratch. hell, I got an even stronger impulse to do that yesterday, because I just flat-out did not remember that damn graffiti, which I would not write the same way today. is it, like, completely out of the question? will I never rewrite act 1? I don't know. I can't answer that one. I would like rapture to be done. 13 years is a long damn time to sit with one damn story. if I ever do rewrite act 1, though, I can promise it won't be for a really long time. and in that time, I may come around again and decide act 1 is fine again.

because. if I did rewrite act 1, I can also promise it would lose something. my rewrite of act 2 has lost something, something of the Earliness, the Timeliness, the 16-year-old-ness, and I was okay with that because act 1 made up for it, and because the new act 2 is.... I mean, seriously, I keep hyping it up, but, it's a fucking glow-up.

and meanwhile, like, there is something to be said for having the story begin this way, spending a considerable length of time in this.. headspace. as an author, I wanted to immortalize that headspace, because it was an important time of my life and needed consideration. as a reader of other stories, I wanted to immortalize it because this was, like.. my generation??? and I wasn't seeing stories actually capture that time period. this was the era of crappypasta, and internet fic that couldn't really decide on how seriously to take itself, or even what genre it wanted to be. this was the era of cringe, when guitar hero was only recently obsolete, and britain wasn't yet a shambling mass coughing up its lungs and was instead still just a timid fucking country. crappypasta is the important thing here, though. I always liked crappypasta (like, y'know, "man car hook car door," or "then who was phone," or the one with the ice cream truck and poor mr. george, or the one with the ghosts where he calls 911 and the cop on the phone is like "I'll be there in 3... 2... 1..." and kicks the door down). I often liked to look past the "bad writing" part of it and just kinda imagine what the story was trying to convey, like, "what if this wasn't considered bad writing?" and that produced an intoxicating headspace. and that headspace has a whole lot to do with what rapture act 1 is playing with.

I dunno. maybe what I'm trying to say here is. rapture was where I wanted to pay respect to the things that raised me. act 1 does gain something from being still (90%) written by a sixteen-year-old. and it does also make the rest of the story a lot more fun for me to write, because I get to try and do more mature things with a basis that was set by a teenager.

but. but yeah. the june 8th log is very much like... jordan stumbles through two original crappypastas. I'm pretty sure I was trying to be serious, to a degree, but I fundamentally lacked some confidence in what I was doing, so I kept it still pretty silly. there will be a time when rapture gives you some more straightforward horror. I absolutely promise that. originally you would have had to have wait for, like... act 3? act 4? for any of that. but now you just have to wait for act 2. or maybe the end of act 1?

[myownwholewildworld]

okay i don't even know where to begin with this??? i read this chapter nice and slow because i just needed to soak it in being the finale - and it's now past my bedtime BUT no regrets. zilch. nil. zero. cero patatero.

excuse all my babbling but i need to take this all off my chest otherwise i am NOT sleeping tonight :D

i just love how the story was set up, how they kept coming close but never quite, so it got me on my tiptoes wondering "will this be the one?" but that's life really - full of surprises, of doubt, of fear, of missed chances, of unspoken words, of regret. and this story was so real, so believable, because of it. love is beautiful yet messy too, and this translated the realness of it all so well.

there were a few times where i died and then came back to life like mulan's mushu:

jokes aside, this, the whole series, is a masterpiece. the writing was impeccable and so were the world building, the characterisation, the dialogue, the internal turmoil.

i'm just so chuffed that they ended up together, because i was close to having an arrhythmia towards the end HAHAHA i'm a sucker for happy endings so this will most deffo be my comfort fic forever t.t

ANYWAYS i am leaving some more thoughts that i wrote down as i was reading because i just don't know any better c:

first, me when i read “infidelity” and “angst with a happy ending” in the tags:

“You have four years of chores to make up for.”

YOU TELL HIM BABE 😭

When you rush from the back, bag slung over one shoulder, his barstool sits empty. Nothing left in it but the ghost of a person you’re starting to worry might not even be your friend, not in the real way, the right way, but in that skin-splitting way where you call someone you haven't spoken to in years my friend from high school. Permanent, yes. But not current. Past.

i was punching the air here. WHAT THE FUCK JAVIER? COME BACK AND SIT YOUR ASS DOWN. this whole paragraph shattered me and was this close 🤏 to violence.

He’s moved to a small, square table by the clouded windows, a drink on top across from him, waiting for you. 

okay sorry i might have overreacted a little.

Or, not where you got it right, but got it differently, because it’s not that in this one you’ve gotten it wrong. But there must be worlds where you love each other in the same way at the same time.

my heart clenched so badly i almost dialled 999 thinking i was having a heart attack.

“No, baby, celebrating you.” […] “Gettin’ married.”

<proceeds to throw a rock at javi, then tackles reader to the floor> COME ON NOW.

“Mateo,” you say again, louder now. “What happened to not wantin’ a reunion?”

not the groomsman she fucked 😭 yeah girl what happened to that eh?

Only when you crawl in on Mateo’s side of the bed do you realize that for two years you’ve let your future spouse sleep on the side of the bed you’ve always favored. For as long as you’ve known Javier, he’s slept on the left and you the right. Or you always did before. Slipping back into your side after two years on the opposite doesn’t feel strange, to your surprise. It probably ought to. But this way, all it takes for Javier to have a place in your bed is for you to give yours up like you’ve merely been keeping it warm. Waiting for his return.

honestly this whole moment was so sweet but so heartbreaking because you can literally taste her yearning. never let mateo sleep on that side of the bed because it was javi’s side.

Maybe that’s some version of you, though you’re certain he never looked at you quite like that. Never with so much obvious meaning. Not that you remember, anyway.

he did 🥺 someone tell her he did! he does!

You swallow and push into the crowd. Just have to find your friends, get another drink in your hand and the ghosts will wipe away. You pass Javier at sixteen, at nineteen, at twenty-three. There he is on that lost New Year’s Eve, perfect in his blazer and stealing gold champagne. 

this? perfection. nothing to add, your honour.

“Javi,” you mumble. “But you’re good?”

SHUT UP JAVI, LET THE WOMAN TALK, SHE HAD SOMETHING IMPORTANT TO SAY, I KNOW IT

His forehead drops to yours, flushed and so fucking heavy as you cradle his cheeks, thumbs stroking his fallen face. “You sh’d hate me,” he sighs, close enough to hear him swallow. To feel his dread drumming in your own skull. To feel his ruin like it’s crumbling you, and you don’t know why.

i was crying actual tears at this point. you could feel the agony emanating from these two so raw, so fresh. AH, the angst, the lovely angst.

Neither of you are saying it. Neither of you will. But you both know what made you take a jackhammer to your fucking life—say goodbye to a good man, send him running three states off to get the hell away from you—and you both know it’s sitting on your bed like he belongs there, like it’s his and was never anyone else’s. In some other life, you’re angry. You hate him. You’re bitter for a while.

the way I SCREAMED???? OKAY I THINK MY HEART MIGHT NOT BE BROKEN AFTER ALL?

“Okay,” he says. Sounds strange, you think. Strained.

i know he was holding back tears here, imagining this dress could of been for him, marrying the love of his life c’:

This drought in the air. Either way, something ends the moment his mouth meets your stomach, however separated your skin.

probs unrelated but my mind jumped to "an end to drought" and i just melted away 🫠 don’t know if this was intentional or not but girl did i swoon!

There’s a kind of pride in his exhaustion—brought about by the effort of undoing you—he carries himself like a man who knows he’s done a good day’s work and earned his rest.

someone give this man his payslip because he has delivered. 🫡

“You need to go,” you tell him, hardly a whisper. Not strong enough to speak a full-volume lie.

okay false alarm my heart is INDEED broken. i leaned back so hard i almost fell backwards. EXCUSE ME? i get her because the fear of losing someone when you’ve just had them is suffocating, but ????? kill me now.

It’s where it always is, beside the scissors and matchbooks and knot of rubber bands saved for rainy days, the aged carton of stale cigarettes, but your eyes catch on something new as it shifts inside the moving drawer. 

SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP. SHE’S FOUND IT.

“She wanted it saved,” he says, eventually. “For you.”

Never with his head turned in your direction, never appearing to notice you, but here. 

i bet he’s noticed her every. single. fucking. time. they’ve crossed paths. i biblically need javi’s pov on this?? maybe? just sayin’ 👀

In an instant, time collapses. A single, brief anomaly. You and Javier are eleven again. Sixteen. Eighteen—trying for the first time—then twenty, then twenty-nine. You are thirty, in the same city. You are fifty-five. You are older than your parents are now. You are wrecked by age.

coming back to this analogy? genius. i just loved the brief reference to their future too.

And Javier does, like he too has waited your whole lives to tell you exactly where he belongs.

i wasn’t joking someone call 999 now. it’s urgent.

I LOVED THIS AND I LOVE YOU FREYA. if this was a book, i'd be snatching it off your hands. like, would really buy this in a heartbeat. i'll be writing letters, emailing, calling and pestering netflix from tomorrow so this whole story becomes canon.

okay bye i'm gonna be a walking corpse tomorrow with less than 5 hours of sleep but mate was it worth it 😃

I'LL CARRY YOU: part III

THE FINAL CHAPTER

RATING: Explicit (18+) | PAIRING: Javier Peña x f!Reader WORD COUNT: 16.4k Content Warnings under the cut in case you wanna avoid spoilers!

SUMMARY: When Javier returns home, for good this time, you must confront what you are to each other after all these years.

read from the beginning | series masterlist | main masterlist

He knows what he’s doing and you hate that it works. You hate that on this fucking day, he’s here. Cheering you up. Taking some of the weight without you having to ask. Trying to get you to smile. Face hidden in your hands, you shake your head again. “Not a fuckin’ chance.” But he knows you better than that, doesn’t he? So he rounds your wrists with his hands and pulls gently, dragging the shield from your expression with a hazing smirk. Morning light is gentler with him here—when you woke just an hour ago the sun through your bedroom curtains was javelin in both eyes, but now the room is rosy as a peach slice, almost kind. Javier, sitting on the foot of your bed that for three weeks you’ve slept in with one half empty, smirks up at you like he’s already won.

READ THE FINAL CHAPTER ON AO3.

dividers by @thecutestgrotto - tag list & some mutuals below!

CW: Drinking, mutual pining, lethal yearning. Allusion to canon-typical violence and death. Reference to the death of a parent. Infidelity. Smut (piv, f!oral, creampie).

@pedritosgfreal @thundermartini @guiltyasdave @jolapeno @reluctanthalfwayoptimism 

@myownwholewildworld @sunnytuliptime @indiegirlunited @anoverwhelmingdin @pedrospatch

@bergamote08 @harriedandharassed @casssiopeia @sweetpascal @half-moon16 

@noisynightmarepoetry @theoraekenslover @luxurychristmaspudding @kyberblade @toomanytookas 

@itsokbbygrl @wannab-urs @milla-frenchy @yopossum @beezusvreeland

@katw474 @bluesweaters15 @jessthebaker @encasedinobsidian @ppascalrain

@yxtkiwiyxt @schnarfer @bbyanarchist @amanitacowboy @iknowisoundcrazy

@whiskeyneat-coffeeblack @missladym1981 @ro-nahime-things @helenanell @for-a-longlongtime

[tropicalrpg]

viii. the other one between six and nine

i must admit, i'm tired.

yesterday took a lot out of me. so much that i couldn't even give, and i ended up taking it all back. i feel ashamed of some things, and even anonymity isn't enough for the burden to be off my shoulders. the worst part is how not talking about it only ensures it will be like this indefinitely. i won't bring it up during therapy, won't bring it up with friends, won't bring it up in the tumblr posts that have no readers at all—

i'm also tired of writing. it's been almost a year since i wrote every day for a week. i mentioned the novel i started writing, right? i have notes somewhere, probably, with how often i wrote on there. fictionwriting is easier than nonfiction, though. or maybe long-form writing is easier than this. finding something new within me every day to record and share, even if every day is a different wall i'm donowalling to, is tough. i have the things i want to talk about, sure, but i am absolutely too lazy to write. i have these big projects, these long essays or even short stories i would like to put here, but i miss the so-revered otium. is neil gaiman right when he talks about writing every day? every day, every day? even writing a little bit every day is kind of hard. i haven't been worrying about word count at all, which is good, which i've never done before, but i've been worrying about more abstract measures of length. how long i can slide my phone screen to reach the end of the post, or how many paragraphs i post. the worst part is the fact that i'm not just comparing myself with myself, but with the aforementioned other blog. the other person, the other writer. i should make a post on how treacherously i compare myself to other people, ever increasing my standards, never being enough for anyone, not even me. i just wanted to say that these bigger projects will probably never leave my mind and materialise because writing every day tires me, takes time, and makes it so this is a chore, not a hobby.

(i know i have to wait until it turns into a habit, which is why i'm not stopping. i've never been a consistent writer. i've always considered it a hobby, but it's mostly been something i never do, because it's always been a chore. it's always been boring and exhausting and unsatisfying, and god, does it take a long time. i'm never good enough for myself. that's a topic for another day.)

today, i wanted to go along with yesterday a little bit, but now i don't know how i'm supposed to do that. one, because i've cut out the segments from yesterday that would segue into today; two, because i have two things that i kind of want to talk about, and i'm not really qualified to talk about either; three, because i'm tired, and bored, and sleepy, and in driver's ed. i just want my damn license. i'm not sixteen, by the way, if an american finds their way to my blog. (if anyone does.)

i wanted to talk about sex a little bit more. but just a little. i thought about going on and on about those 1970s pornos, and i do want to talk about that and how they're not porn like modern-day porn is, they're gay history and avant-garde filmmaking, but i don't want to talk about that today. in part because i've only watched one—1980's loads, by (i believe) curt mcdonnell—and in part because it pains me to talk about this. sex is hard for me. sex is everything but simple and straightforward.

that is true for several reasons. that's probably true for everyone, and everything. living is complex. but i just mean i can't guiltlessly talk about it, and not because of some prudish taboo, but because i think i have issues with sex. many issues with sex.

my libido recently has been through the roof, and i fucking hate it. i've been trying for any relief within my reach, but everything feels like a vice, like a bad habit. like i'm doing something bad to the world, even though i know most if not all that i've done is something a lot, a lot of people do. i hate this sex drive of mine. and i hate all of the truths i snipped out of yesterday's confession, and i hate all of the truths that were never in it.

i feel like a pervert. that's it. i think about sex all the fucking time, and i hate it. i don't do it in a prejudiced way, nor do i do it in an immoral way, but the sheer fact that i spend a considerable chunk of my time letting my mind drift that way makes me hate my own fucking guts. i'm not a sex or porn or masturbation addict, not by a long shot, but i think about sex—i write and read smut, i read comics and manga (hentai? fucking hentai?), i watch porn—so often, so much. i'm tired, and i don't want to be like this. isn't admission the first step to recovery? do i have to shout it from the rooftops to stop being like this?

a big part of me thinks it'll go away if i get laid. i did talk about how long it's been since i've even kissed a person. maybe, i'm just this horny because it's things that i can't have—it's just pent-up energy, just longing. all i can do is hope that's true, and hope the solution comes my way. all i can do is wait.

2022.12.28

[sherwoodkiller-a]

                when    jason    dean    was    sixteen    ,        he    moved    to    gilbert    ,        arizona    .        it    was    hot    and    shitty    and    humid    as    fuck    ,        making    it    hard    to    wear    his    trench    coat    at    any    given    time    .        it’s    been    three    years    since    the    death    of    marissa    dean    ,        his    mother    ,        and    two    months    since    he    legally    changed    his    name    from    jaimie    dean    to    jason    dean    .

                by    the    time    big    bud    and    jason    moved    to    gilbert    ,        it    was    only    a    month    until    finals    before    summer    break    .        unfortunately    ,        jason    still    had    to    attend    classes    and    then    do    the    finals    ,        even    if    he    would    only    be    attending    the    school    for    this    time    .        after    all    ,        he    wouldn’t    be    returning    in    the    fall    .

                insert    chemistry    class    ,        and    one    benjamin    knott    .

                he’s    one    of    ,        if    not    the    most    ,        beautiful    boys    jason’s    ever    seen    .        untamed    light    brown    hair    ,        circular    glasses    that    are    a    little    bit    too    small    for    his    face    ,        brilliant    brown    eyes    .        he    wore    ridiculous    patterned    shirts    ,        too    bright    and    loud    for    jason’s    taste    ,        but    he    wore    them    well    .        right    off    the    bat    ,        he    offered    to    help    catch    jason    up    to    speed    .        and    ,        though    jason    knew    what    he    was    doing    ,        he    couldn’t    say    no    to    him    .

                everyday    after    school    was    spent    in    the    library    ,        benji    catching    him    up    on    pre    -    calculus    ,        with    jason    pretending    not    to    know    what    the    fuck    he    was    doing    so    they    could    spend    more    time    together    .        to    this    day    ,        he    has    no    idea    if    benji    knew    that    jason    was    bullshitting    about    being    bad    at    math        ––––        all    he    remembers    is    benji’s    face    lighting    up    when    jason    presents    him    with    a    97    on    the    final    ,        saying    it    was    all    because    he    learned    from    the    best    .        when    summer    eventually    came    ,        they’d    go    to    each    other’s    houses    .        well    ,        they    mostly    went    to    jason’s    .        big    bud    was    normally    out    on    site    during    the    day    ,        meaning    the    house    they    rented    was    mostly    empty    .        days    were    spent    playing    the    original    legend    of    zelda    and    castlevania    ,        fucking    around    arizona    ,        taking    day    trips    into    phoenix    and    fucking    around    metrocentre    .

                nights    were    just    as    killer    ,        though    .        most    of    the    day    trips    turned    to    crashing    there    ,        sneaking    into    long    wong’s    on    mill    with    fake    ids    that    barely    got    them    in    ,        letting    benji    convince    him    to    roller    skate    ,        and    when    jason    confessed    he    didn’t    know    how    ,        showing    him    by    holding    his    hands    and    keeping    him    steady    .        the    night    benji    taught    jason    how    to    roller    skate    ,        an    hour    outside    of    the    homes    they    were    supposed    to    be    at    ,        where    nobody    knew    who    they    were    ,        jason    kissed    him    for    the    first    time    ,        surrounded    by    neon    lights    and    horrible    disco    music    and    gaggles    of    people    .

                from    then    on    ,        they    weren’t    just    benji    and    jason    ,        they    were    benji    AND    jason    .        you    couldn’t    find    one    without    the    other    .        benji    was    there    when    jason    bought    his    motorcycle    ,        held    onto    him    tightly    from    the    back    of    it    as    jason    took    sharp    turns    and    laughed    so    loud    it    was    like    he    was    finally    free    .

                benji    was    jason’s    first    everything    .        first    kiss    ,        first    boyfriend    ,        first    panic    of    having    to    jump    out    of    a    window    at    seven    am    half    dressed    because    benji’s    father    was    approaching    the    door    and    jason    was    most    definitely    not    allowed    to    stay    the    night    .    and    ,        for    three    months    ,        that    was    what    benji    was    to    jason        ––––        everything    .

                but    ,        when    august    was    coming    to    an    end    ,        and    the    courts    had    finally    ,        finally    given    big    bud    dean    the    green    light    for    tearing    down    an    abandoned    warehouse    where    they    used    to    ship    out    hay    to    the    rest    of    the    country    ,        they    knew    there    wasn’t    a    way    to    keep    their    relationship    alive    .        it    wasn’t    to    say    that    they    didn’t    love    each    other    ,        because    they    did    .        they    were    young    and    in    love    .        but    keeping    a    gay    long    distance    relationship    steady    in    the    eighties    ,        when    one    person    moves    around    no    less    than    six    times    a    year        ?        it    wasn’t    salvageable    .        on    august    29th    ,        the    two    of    them    bought    castlevania    ii    :    simon’s    quest    ,        finished    it    the    same    day    .        they    went    to    phoenix    that    night    ,        got    high    and    went    rollerskating    ,        made    out    in    one    of    the    booths    where    no    one    could    see    them    ,        then    made    it    back    to    gilbert    at    two    am    .        benji    helped    him    finish    packing    his    clothes    .

                 well    ,        except    one    thing    .        a    trench    coat    ,        not    his    signature    black    one    ,        but    a    light    blue    one    ,        not    as    heavy    ,        very    lightweight    .        perfect    for    arizona    heat    .        jason    made    sure    he    left    that    one    behind    ,        snuck    it    into    benji’s    overnight    bag    with    a    smile    and    a    turquoise    necklace    in    the    left    pocket    .

                they    locked    eyes    as    the    car    pulled    away    from    the    rental    house    ,        jason’s    motorbike    in    the    trunk    ,        but    his    eyes    staring    out    the    passenger    mirror    ,        so    he    could    look    at    benji    as    they    drove    off    .        neither    of    them    cried    ,        no    ,        most    of    the    tears    were    saved    for    the    night    before    and    for    when    both    of    them    were    alone    .        it    was    an    amicable    break    up        ––––        a    breakup    that    let    them    still    have    a    piece    of    each    other’s    hearts    .        the    next    place    is    las    vegas    ,        for    a    little    while    ,        jason    debates    on    taking    his    bike    and    driving    the    five    hours    back    south    just    to    kiss    benji    one    last    time    .        but    the    day    he    decides    he’s    going    to    do    it    ,        big    bud    says    it’s    time    to    move    again    ,        and    then    they    go    to    boston    ,        then    miami    ,        seattle    ,        evansville    ,        sherwood    .

                it    would    take    four    years    for    the    two    of    them    to    be    reunited    again    .        veronica    and    jason    are    living    in    a    small    city    in    connecticut    called    meriden    .        it’s    the    perfect    halfway    point    between    their    schools        ––––        jason    was    going    to    columbia    university    for    music    ,        and    veronica    was    going    to    harvard    for    ancient    studies    and    an    education    degree    .        it    worked    out    nice    .        neither    of    you    necessarily    liked    connecticut        (    when    your    dad’s    business    was    stable    ,        you    lived    in    hartford    ,        so    it    wasn’t    horribly    unfamiliar    ,        but    it    brought    bad    memories    )    ,        and    you    both    decided    that    new    york    would    be    where    you    would    move    after    veronica    graduated    ,        since    she    would    be    doing    so    early    .

                but    the    point    is    ,        jason    went    to    college    in    new    york    ,        and    he    loved    it    .        for    the    first    time    in    his    life    ,        he    had    real    ,        genuine    friends    .        veronica    called    jason    ,        sebastian    ,        and    carey    the    terrible    trio    ,        because    they    were    just    that    .        always    fucking    around    ,        causing    chaos    because    why    not        ?        carey    was    fucking    batshit    ,        a    total    asshole    and    loud    as    fuck    ,        the    biggest    prankster    jason    had    ever    meant    .        sebastian    was    dry    humor    and    really    good    timing    ,        the    muscle    ,        an    absolute    giant    but    one    of    the    softest    people    he    had    ever    met    .        friends    ,        true    ,        genuine    friends    .

                columbia    is    where    jason    finds    benjamin    knott    again    ,        still    wearing    those    obnoxiously    loud    dress    shirts    ,        still    with    glasses    that    are    a    little    bit    too    bit    .        still    just    as    gorgeous    as    he    remembers    him    .        when    they    locked    eyes    ,        for    the    first    time    in    four    years    ,        they    both    cried    .        they    skipped    both    of    their    next    classes    ,        hanging    out    ,        hugging    each    other    so    fiercely    that    jason    was    afraid    one    of    them    might    get    hurt    .        against    all    odds    ,        they    were    in    each    others    lives    again    ,        and    this    time    ,        they    weren’t    going    to    let    each    other    go    .

                and    ,        really    ,        they    couldn’t    .        they    had    a    bond    that    couldn’t    be    broken    ,        and    it    only    grew    as    time    went    on    .        jason’s    friend    group    expanded    from    three    to    eight    in    a    matter    of    about    a    week    ,        including    himself    .        they    called    themselves    the    bachelor    party    ,        because    veronica    told    the    other    seven    about    how    sad    jason    was    at    the    idea    of    not    having    any    friends    so    he    couldn’t    have    his    own    bachelor    party    one    day    .        thus    ,        the    bachelor    party    was    born    .

                benji    is    jason’s    best    man    at    his    and    veronica’s    wedding    .        his    speech    brought    tears    to    everyone’s    eyes    ,        including    his    own    .        it    was    heart    wrenchingly    beautiful    ,        the    way    he    talked    about    the    boy    with    an    ash    covered    heart    ,        the    boy    he    knew    when    he    was    young    ,        and    who    that    boy    ended    up    becoming    .

                veronica    and    jason    couldn’t    have    children    naturally  �� .        as    a    trans    man    ,        it    would’ve    been    impossible    .        but    veronica    wasn’t    short    on    either    money    or    time    .        science    was    what    lead    them    to    have    their    first    born    daughter    ,        athena    celeste    sawyer    -    dean    .        the    day    that    she    was    born    ,        jason    got    two    new    members    into    his    family    .        his    daughter    ,        and    benji    ,        athena’s    god    father    .        the    two    of    them    were    linked    ,        forever    .        when    jason’s    son    ,        julian    gordon    sawyer    -    dean    ,        was    born    three    years    later    ,        benji    became    his    god    father    ,        too    .        and    when    benji    and    his    husband    ,        michael    bloomfield    ,        adopted    their    daughter    ,        bridget    ,        jason    became    her    god    father    .

                in    a    way    ,        benji    and    jason    are    definitely    soulmates    .        just    ,        maybe    not    in    a    traditional    way    .        everyone    can    have    multiple    .        veronica    is    the    love    of    jason’s    life    ,        the    reason    he    gets    out    of    bed    ,        his    holy    grail    .        but    benji    was    jason’s    first    love    .        and    without    him    ,        jason    wouldn’t    have    been    able    to    love    veronica    ,        or    anyone    .        he    put    the    foundation    down    for    jason    to    be    able    to    heal    ,        and    that’s    the    best    thing    he    could    have    ever    done    for    him    .

[keanureevesisbae]

Caught in a Blizzard - Part 4

Summary: Chris travels back to NYC to be with Luna. 

Pairing: Chris Evans x Luna Hwang (Asian OFC)

Warnings: Mentions of sex

Wordcount: 2.5k

A/N: Did 5 months pass when I last updated this story? Yes, it sure has. Do I have an epilogue planned after this? Yes, I do. Will I post that very soon (and not in five months)? Yes, i will. I’m really sorry for the wait, but thank you for your patience 🥰

Masterlist // Caught in a Blizzard Masterlist // Part 3 // 

Chris Evans had been single for so long now and he thoroughly enjoyed it. Sure he had dreams about settling down with someone, but for now, he felt as if being single was for him the best option.

But then Luna Hwang swooped into his life and (whether it was intentionally or unintentionally) turned his whole life upside down. He figured that meeting her would be fun, but not as life changing as this. He knew all about her, sure, and about her new album and no, he didn’t lie on the Graham Norton Show: he did buy it immediately. He was also fully aware she used to be in Brave Elegance and that performance at the Golden Globes, is engraved in his brain and he thinks about it often.

Luna started that performance with a dance solo and he kept thinking about the way her body moved in that purple skirt and white crop top. Though she was in a group, she was the woman that demanded every single bit of attention you had.

But then she went solo and all eyes were on her. Her single “Inside” came out, he caught himself watching that music video over and over again. While he was a mature adult, he still turned into a giddy teenager when he watched that video. He doesn’t know when the last time was he had a celebrity crush… The sexy and edgy concept of her solo stuff, it was a vibe that matches with her.

It just clicked.

Chris nearly was in a state of shock when he listened to all the songs on her album. Her sexy voice made everything a billion times better. In Brave Elegance, Luna was known for a deep and raspy voice. Her singing voice has an even deeper tone, almost as if dark chocolate had a voice.

And that Luna, that confident woman was the same Luna Chris was falling for. Though those three days were filled with sex and other bed room activities, he also got to know her on a deeper level. He got to know about her struggles, her life pre Brave Elegance, her life in Brave Elegance and her life post Brave Elegance. Her being a foster child was something that he knew, but he didn’t know that she went to sixteen different families. That must’ve been tough for a young girl like her. He never thought about not having a family of his own, mostly because he went to school with other privileged kids with families.

After these days, it made him realize he doesn’t want to spend apart from her again. After she shared about her fears, how she felt like it was her fault Brave Elegance broke up and what the public will think of her, all he wanted to do was to stay with her forever. Not going back to LA. Just wanted to get to know her a bit better. He knew he was falling for her way too hard, but after spending more than seventy two hours with her, he knew she was simply the one he wanted.

And now this happens. These pictures got leaked and he saw the shit that was already poured over her. People say all those things about her, but not about him and that makes him furious.

Maybe she does need to write another diss track.

He stares at the pictures they made, not the paparazzi—he looked at those enough. He looks at her smile and her beautiful eyes, the tattoos on her arms. Her soft cheek against his, her lips against his temple and her eyebrows full of expressions, almost like they are living a life of their own. Chris never felt like this before, but the attraction between them, it is unparalleled in comparison to what he and any other woman he dated ever shared. He thinks about her, about kissing her, watching her fall apart underneath him. She is such a wonderful woman, in all she does.

The way she would curl up against him as they went to sleep. The way she would sit on his lap as they were eating. The way she would run her fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp with her nails as they were watching a movie together.

Three days were filled with domestic relationship kinds of things. The things couples do. Established couples. The things he would see his friends do with their girlfriends.

As they sat on the couch, he couldn’t help but look at her. She is so beautiful, so precious and he hoped that this blizzard would go on for infinite time. Three days was all he got, but he wants that to last.

Though it’s not ideal, he can’t wait for them to be reunited again. When he heard her on the phone, his cracks appeared in his heart and every sob he heard, made another shard fall off..

His flight is almost going to board and he types a quick message for her.

Chris: I’m at your place in a few hours. Just hang in there, okay?

Luna: I’ll try.

Chris: Beautiful, it’ll all be okay. I guarantee.

✘ ✘ ✘

Chris can’t seem to agree with the statement his agent and Luna’s agent made. The words “legal action”, “invasion of privacy” and “consensual sex between to adults” are phrases he doesn’t want to see together, especially not when his name and Luna’s are in that same paragraph.

Chris has been on a plane non stop and he looks and feels like absolute shit. Despite all that and his fatigue, he rushes up to the sixteenth floor of Luna’s apartment building and knocks on her door.

When Luna opens the door, his heart breaks even more than it’s already been doing. Her eyes are swollen and red, her cheeks are flushed and she looks so tired. Chris drops his bag and suitcase on the floor and he whispers: ‘Come here.’ He engulfs her petite frame in his arms for a tight hug. She buries her face in the nape of his neck, before she lets out a cry.

‘I’m here, Luna, I’m here for you.’

Her breathing starts to become rapid, way too fast. Her fists clutch his shirt and he feels her tense up in his embrace. ‘Oh no, sweetheart,’ he says in a soft voice, holding her upper arms. ‘Careful now. Breath with me.’ He takes a deep breath and watches her trying to copy it, but it comes out shake and way too short. He recognizes it right away. ‘Focus on me,’ he tells her. He places her tiny hands on his chest, hoping that when she can feel him breathing, it makes it easier for her to copy. ‘Good girl,’ he whispers as her breathing is normalized. He presses a long kiss on her forehead. ‘Don’t you worry, we’ll get through this.’

‘That sounds like we’re a couple.’

‘Well,’ he says, ‘we’re in this mess together, you and I, so we have to figure this out together.’ He walks inside the apartment and he sees four pairs of eyes staring at him. He wraps his arm around Luna’s shoulders, before he introduces himself to her band members. He was already shocked to find out that they were all there, but that means they might’ve reconciled, right? They all have a loving smile as they look at Luna, almost as if their fall out never happened.

‘Okay, mister Captain America,’ Rosie says with a smile, ‘how about you and Luna go catch up a bit. We’ll take care of the rest.’

He nods, thankful that the members of Brave Elegance are giving them the privacy they need and want, before he pulls Luna with him, so the two of them can sit on the couch. ‘Tell me, sweetheart, what’s on your mind now. Don’t worry, you can tell me everything.’

‘I ruined your career,’ she tell him, her voice cracking mid sentence. ‘Like, you are you, a wonderful actor with a heart of gold and I am me, a singer who sings about sex and broke up her band. I’m a joke.’

He can’t believe she thinks that. ‘You are not a joke, sweetheart,’ he whispers., as he tangles his fingers through her hair, soothingly massaging her scalp. ‘And how on earth do you think you have ruined my career? What happened between us, Luna, you need two people for that. I’m an adult, you’re an adult and some pervert took pictures while we did what tons of people do.’

‘Chris,’ she whispers, but more than that doesn’t leave her lips. She starts to cry again and he pulls her on her lap. She curls up against his broad frame, while she shakes as the sobs leave her lips.

‘Remember,’ he whispers in her ear, hoping for her to calm down a bit, ‘that you are not a joke and you’ll never be one.’

‘How are you so sure?’

‘Because I’ve gotten to know you,’ he says. ‘You are kind, you are smart and you are a total bad ass for singing about certain topics. You’re quite the pioneer.’

She rolls her eyes, as she scoffs. ‘Shut up.’

‘I’m not and I never will,’ Chris says. ‘Come here.’ He carefully pulls her into a kiss, not wanting to scare her away, however, she instantly melts against his lips. ‘That this happened,’ he mumbles, ‘doesn’t change a thing how I feel about you.’

‘I’m so sorry to interrupt,’ Pixie says.

‘Don’t lie, you are totally not sorry,’ Faith says.

He looks up to see all the four other bandmates together. Luna places her temple against his and wraps her arms tightly around his shoulder.

‘What I wanted to say,’ Pixie continues, ‘was that maybe you guys shouldn’t release a statement after all.’

‘What?’ Chris and Luna ask in unison. ‘Why not?’

‘Maybe you should just let them talk, pretend like it didn’t happen.’ Pixie continues.

Luna rolls her eyes again. ‘But it did happen, Pixie,’ she scoffs. ‘People won’t just forget.’

‘I know,’ she says, ‘but what do you want them to know? You two had sex and bad paparazzi for making pictures? Your privacy was invaded?’ She shakes her head. ‘Maybe you two need to just ignore this all.’

Rosie nods. ‘And maybe you should write a killer diss track. You’re good at that.’

Daliah smiles. ‘Maybe as a big fuck you you two should post a picture together on both of your Instagrams.’

‘This is unbelievable,’ Luna chuckles and he is happy that she can laugh again. That she is still able to chuckle, to be cheerful. ‘What you are basically saying is that Chris and I, in the midst of a scandal that could possibly ruin both of our careers, should show the world pictures of us together. Oh you know what, we’ll go out on a date right now.’

Daliah nods with a giddy expression. ‘Remember what you did when the news of Rosie and Justin got out?’

Luna nods. ‘Yes, I do.’

Pixie notices the empty look in Chris’ eyes and fills in for him: ‘She forced us all to go out, sit in a cafe and when the paparazzi showed up, she told them what happened. Blaming it all on Justin.’

Faith crosses her arms. ‘In other words,’ she says, ‘why the fuck should you hide, when you can show the entire fucking world that you are the baddest bitch in town? I don’t understand what you two have, I really don’t, but this looks like it could work.’

Luna looks over at him, wrapping her arm around his shoulder. ‘Well, Chris Evans, are you ready for a date?’

✘ ✘ ✘

Luna’s hand is securely engulfed in his and he holds it so tightly, it almost seems as if he is afraid of losing her. They are out and about for coffee, sitting in a secluded booth, but he notices people taking pictures of them and they are not being subtle. He is used to people taking pictures, but this is next level rude and invasive.

However, Chris is able to ignore it, since he only has eyes for Luna. They sit next to each other, his thumb slowly and softly caressing her fingers.

‘I see you made up with your band members,’ he says, taking a sip of his cappuccino.

Luna nods, as her smile reappears on her face. ‘Yeah, we did.’

‘Well, I told you there were going to be other band members, but turns out it were the old and familiar ones all along.’

She nods again. ‘Chris, I want to thank you.’

‘For what, sweetheart?’

‘For coming back. I mean, I love that my members are here again, but you were right. We should go through this together, almost like a couple.’ She starts to chuckle. ‘And I think I need to write a diss track to TMZ, don’t you think’

Chris cannot hide the smile on his face, because he is just too happy with her. ‘Well Luna, how about we spice things up a bit and make a whole music video together?’

She starts to chuckle. ‘Chris, are you serious?’

‘Of course I’m serious. I have a good feeling about you, about us and I’m not going to throw that away. Besides, we should just put it out there.’

‘We totally should.’ Luna leans over to him, as she kisses him on his bearded cheek. ‘Despite being severely jet-lagged, you look really handsome, Chris,’ she whispers, placing her hand on his thigh. It slowly slides down to his inner thigh, giving the muscles a good squeeze. ‘You drive me crazy.’

‘If you continue to do this,’ he whispers, his voice dropping a few tones, ‘you’re going to be in big trouble.’

She cocks an eyebrow. ‘You honestly think that that is going to stop me?’ She places a kiss on his lips. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here.’

He quickly gulps down the last sip of his coffee, before they walk back outside and he wraps his arm around my shoulders. However, the paparazzo cannot be missed and Chris clears his throat. ‘Brace yourself, sweetheart,’ Chris says to hear, but he also tells himself this, because he is pretty nervous.

‘Chris, Luna, do you have anything to say about the pictures?’ the man asks, nearly shoving his camera into their faces.

‘Yeah,’ Luna mumbles, ‘this.’ She holds up her middle finger into the camera. ‘Leave us the fuck alone, will you?’

Chris can’t help but laugh and feel proud of the beautiful woman who has her arm wrapped around his waist, her body pressed closely against his. The man continues to bombard them with question. Whether or not they’ll take legal action of the photo’s are continued to be spread, if they’d known each other before the Graham Norton show and whether or not the two of them are dating.

‘Well,’ Chris says, ‘if you let us finish our first date now, you might know it in the future.’

✘ ✘ ✘

One month later

[a-duck-with-a-book]

REVIEW // Nevernight (The Nevernight Chronicle, #1) by Jay Kristoff

★☆☆☆☆

So I’m very late to the party, but I just finished reading Nevernight by Jay Kristoff I had such high hopes for this series based off of what people recommending it had told me and what I read about it before picking up. Dark fantasy? Check. Strong leading lady? I’m here for it. Gays? It’s literally my only personality trait. Sign me up. Unfortunately, this book fell flat in all those categories. It reminded me a lot of Sarah J. Maas’s Throne of Glass, which made me take one point off of to begin with simply for making me think of Maas’s writing. Overall, I just found the book to be too predictable, with bad writing, exposition, and pacing, and too many parts that just made me ~uncomfortable~.

In case you are not familiar with this novel, Nevernight tells the story of Mia Corvere, a girl who lost her family when she was a child after her father was convicted of treason. When the book begins, she is 16 years old and embarking on a journey to join the Red Church, a school for assassins, so that she may one day be able to avenge her father’s death. Along the way she meets a bunch of forgettable characters whose names I can’t be bothered to remember and is taught by the most fearsome killers in the Republic. Here she gains many valuable skills, like how to survive being poisoned, how to fight, and how to get big boobs.

+ Side note: by chapter 3 three I started picturing Mia as the crow guy from RWBY and I could not shake that for the rest of the book

I had many issues with this novel that I will try to summarize in some sort of coherent fashion, but to be honest this book sucked the will to live out of me so I don’t know how much energy I can put into this review.

// image: official cover art by Jason Chan //

FOOTNOTES

The footnotes were probably the most jarring element of the book for me, and, unfortunately, there’s a lot of them. Their function seems to be twofold:

they are the form of most of the world-building, explaining several customs, the history of the institutions and peoples Mia meets, and the mythology followed by the people of the Republic.

they allow for the narrator of our story to interrupt with comical one-liners or cryptic foreshadowing

In my humble opinion, both of these are unnecessary and stupid. The interruptions come off as crass and immature and make the other more textbook, boring exposition come off as a joke, especially when it is dealing with sensitive or serious topics. There is one that explains this brothel called the Seven Flavors, which the footnote explains refer to “Boy, Girl, Man, Woman, Pig, Horse, and, if sufficient notice and coin was given, Corpse.” Now, on its own, this passing mention of pedophilia, bestiality, and necrophilia could very well contribute to the world building and tone of the novel, but when placed side by side with the childish, joking tone of the “cue the violiiiiiiiins” or, regarding the acoustics of a room, “…they were, as it happens, exceptional. Falalalalalalaaaaaaaa”, come off as way too light-hearted for the topic at hand. Maybe I’m being way too sensitive, but I’m pretty tired of authors using serious topics as off-hand remarks as a lazy way to make their world daker and grittier. Plus, these footnotes were just so incredibly cringy that I would recoil from second-hand embarrassment every time. They resemble the things I wrote when I was 14 and trying (and miserably failing) to be funny. Also… there are way too many of them. While at first I appreciated the attempt to deepen the lore of the story (I’m a sucker for world-building), after a while it became evident that the author was just forcing information down our throats without taking the time to actually weave the lore and background into the story itself. It came off as a very lazy way to force exposition.

OVERLY FLOWERY LANGUAGE

This story is BRIMMING with similes and metaphors, like every other sentence is some overly complicated way to describe something that could have been presented in three words. When you include so many metaphors/similes/etc., they begin to lose power. They should allow the reader to extrapolate more meaning and emotion from a sentence, but if the book is bursting at the seams with them, they become increasingly ordinary, to the point of losing all of their luster. One prime example appears on page 30:

“It was a bucktoothed little shithole, and no mistake. Not the most miserable building in all creation. [here there is a footnote about some other inn/brothel] But if the inn were a man and you stumbled into him in a bar, you’d be forgiven for assuming he had—after agreeing enthusiastically to his wife’s request to bring another woman into their marriage bed—discovered his bride making up a pallet for him in the guest room.”

So first of all what the fuck is that supposed to mean? That whole paragraph is a fever dream. Let’s begin with “bucktoothed little shithole”. Bucktoothed? Really? What does that mean. Please, someone explain to be right now what a bucktoothed building is. Is it uneven? Is it awkward? Is it half-finished? Is one side longer than the other? Did they do a bad paint job that only covers on side? Are the windows askew? Is the door too big for its frame? We already know from the paragraph above that it is “disheveled” as well, so why the need for another weird phrasing of its appearance? We then move on to that whole JOURNEY of a sentence, where the inn is compared to a man being cuckolded. That is the most insane tale-can you imagine running into someone in a bar and that story being the VERY FIRST thing that runs through your mind??? I know I’m focusing way too much on this stupid paragraph, but basically what I am trying to get at is that even though we spend half a page talking about how bucktoothed and disheveled and cuckolded this building is, we get no actual physical description of it. Imagine if Kristoff had just written that it was a run-down, ill-kept building that looked as worse for wear as its owner did. Done, one sentence. Great. Let’s move on. Instead, we spend so long reading these absolutely batshit descriptions that ultimately tell us next to nothing. Flowery language is placed over actual context. You may think that a description this long and complex means that this inn is a significant or recurring setting in the novel. Nope. It’s not. Mia leaves and that’s that. The reason that I’m focusing so much on this objectively irrelevant paragraph is because it is so representative of the biggest issue I have with the writing in this book. There are so many unnecessary comparisons that function only to make the author feel clever rather than add anything to the story at all. It’s very à la 2010s Tumblr.

THE (IN MY OPINION, BAD) WRITING

For the first half of the book, we are constantly being TOLD things rather than being SHOWN things. With the exception of one of the teachers cutting off Mia’s arm, we rarely see the ruthlessness that the assassins are so feared for, but we hear about it in nearly every other sentence Where are the consequences? I think this book would have been way more enjoyable if there were actually consequences to the characters’ actions. The inclusion of the weaver and the weird vampire guy completely remove any tension regarding the fate of the central cast. When Mia had her arm chopped off, I was shocked, and pleasantly surprised. How was she going to overcome this unexpected obstacle in her training? Then a couple pages later, its reattached with absolutely no lasting consequences. All of the initial tension and shock value of the loss of Mia’s arm is entirely removed because of the two incest-y siblings. Their entire purpose for existing is just to undo all damage to the main characters. Then suddenly, out of the blue, Mia is willing to take on a ton of consequences and completely throw away her chance at becoming initiated in order to avenge her family just to save Tric from receiving like one punishment??? Like why?? As an aside, the only moment I truly enjoyed was when Ash fucking stabbed Tric to death. I assume that when the reader’s favorite moment is one of the central characters’ death, it does not bode well for their reception of the book.

THE THEMES

TW: rape-y subjects

The author seemed a little too keen to include rape and sexual assault in his story. Mia withdrew her consent in the sex scene in the very first chapter, and even if you read it as consensual (which I do not), it is described as incredibly unpleasant on her end. Tric is the result of a rape, which is brought up several times throughout the story. Further, Mia is constantly facing harassment from men. I understand that this is frames the idea that the world she lives in is misogynistic and ruthless, but there are other ways to push that idea through other than constantly putting in her in those situations. As in, this didn’t need to be the ONLY way we explored this subject. Beyond the uncomfortable propensity for sexual assault, I also very much disliked the sexualization of the 16-year-old main character. Oh. My. Gosh. Mia is CONSTANTLY sexualized. Every single damn character makes comments about her body, how hot she is, how much sex she potentially has. It is so weird and uncomfortable. I feel the need to reiterate that she is SIXTEEN. There is, however, a focus placed on the power Mia can gain from seducing her targets. Girl power? Not to me, really. The issue I have with this is the idea that a woman has to be overtly sexual in order to be considered powerful. This is something that we can see in many female assassins and supposedly powerful female characters in fiction (like Black Widow) especially those written by men. Now, there is nothing wrong with using one’s sexuality as a weapon, and I’m certainly not saying that a strong female character cannot be sexual, but the idea that a sixteen-year-old girl is shown having her body painfully modified tp be more desirable, and in a graphic sex scene with another character, in order to for the reader to read her as liberated and powerful does not sit well with me. I don’t really feel like this aspect of her training should be relevant to the overall story. I wish the time that Kristoff had dedicated to hammering into our heads that Mia is a femme fatale to developing her Darkin powers instead. The way she is written now feels more like she is a faux strong female character written for a male audience.

Secondly, Mia is fully written as “the plain-girl-who-is-actually-pretty”. This whole trope bothers me IMMENSELY. YA is full of girls who are described as plain, forgettable, or ugly while their physical descriptions are just the dictionary definition of conventionally attractive. It seems like a way to market off of girls’ self-consciousness while still being able to market the main character as a hot heroine in official art. And there is, of course, the issue of Mia’s boob job Readwithcindy (just “withcindy” now!) did a whole video about this so I won’t get into it much just to repeat what she already said, but I agree that the idea of a 30-something year old man including this completely unnecessary detail regarding the sexualization of teenage girl, who we have ALREADY seen in a rape and being sexualized by other men in the story, made me really, really, uncomfortable. I highly recommend you go watch her video, as she touches on this in way more detail. [Cindy's video

RATINGS

Worldbuilding: ★★☆☆☆

A lot of thought obviously went into the world-the mythology, society, and politics are well-thought out. But the way they are introduced is annoying and bland. It seems like the author put a lot of effort into constructing this world but realized a lot of it would be left out of the book, so he crammed it into footnotes instead.

Tone and writing style: ★☆☆☆☆ for first half, ★★★☆☆ for second half

The tone of the first half is all over the place, like it doesn’t know if it should be dark and gritty or comical and immature. Footnotes and character dialogue ranges from lighthearted and crass to seeped with themes of torture and sexual assault. It is jarring, to say the least, and often feels like the author doesn’t take these ideas of rape or violence seriously. There are so many instances where the scene is tense or gritty, and Kristoff is actually writing it pretty well, I’m enthralled and on the edge of my seat, and then Mia or some other character (or the footnotes) throw in some stupid comment or make the same “Mia is such an asshole lol” joke for the billionth time and completely ruin the mood of that scene. The second half of the book moved much faster and was helped with way better writing, but it really did not do enough to make up for the horrendous structure of the first half of the book.

Pacing and structure: ★☆☆☆☆

The first half of the book really drags on. Once we arrive at the school, there are constant jumps in timeline, marked with periods when a thousand things happen all at once and the plot moves forward at a dizzying rate, and others when the characters just seem to be going about their daily lessons.

Concept: ★★★☆☆

I found the overall idea of the books to be very interesting, even though it is certainly not the most original or unique concept for a YA fantasy book. The issue is that the potential is squandered with a poor execution.

Characters: ★☆☆☆☆

I truly did not care about any of the characters. The token mean girl, the bumbling nice-guy-who-is-definitely-the-love-interest. too many of the characters just sat nicely within their tropes, doing nothing much to pique my interests. I think my favorite overall was Mister Kindly.

[spiltscribbles]

Hey! I was bored today, and decided to load up Hamilton and thought about your fics. I read them all, they're so good. Any chance you'll bless the fandom with another Hamliza fic? You do such a good job modernizing their relationship. Please consider writing something new, I'll take a paragraph, hell a sentence! lol. Anyway, love your blog and it's always great to see a post from you!

~Notes: holy fuck baby!!! This is so fucking beautiful and kind and so sweet and I can’t even begin to deal😭😭 You are such a sugarplum fairy and I love u to bits!! And the idea that you like my version of them is so crazy!! Ur an angel! And I’m screaming! I just love Eliza so much😭😭 I hope that you like this even slightly!!!!💜💜😌

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A Reblog Is Worth A Galaxy!

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Occasionally— when Alexander is a bit tipsy and a bit lonely and feeling lightly poetic— he thinks of the cobble stoned pieces that patch together the mosaic of his life. He remembers his mother’s faint laughter, and he pictures Eliza’s iridescent grin on the day of their  wedding. He alternates reminiscing on the different nights at hospital after the birth of each of his children, how he’d count their tiny fingers and smaller toes while Eliza was slumped besides him— flushed and radiant and so, so miraculous. Though the latter half of that image wasn’t there eleven months ago, when she had given birth to baby Will three weeks after the editorial had been published— finally tipping the precarious state of his world to ruin with a brimstone sort of finality. Three weeks after the affair was made public and the light in her eyes that she had always glimmered with whenever gazing at Alexander, was scuffed away permanently, under the heel of his carelessness and his cruelty and his childish cravings to feel needed by someone— by absolutely anyone. 

And as he rocks in the ornate, elm carved chair that his in-laws had bought for Philip’s nursery over sixteen years ago now— with his youngest son in arms— Alexander thinks that it’s right— that it only makes sense that in the handful of memories that are the cornerstones of his existence, Eliza is in the vast majority of them. Eliza with her quiet but strong resilience. Eliza with her breathtaking, but unassuming beauty. Eliza in how she’s always been the beacon of light— a personified  essence of hope— in the center of the tempest that is his life.  A quiet haven that he’s always depended on like nothing else.

Eliza has always been, and will always be the most vital part of it all, the lifeline that pumps breath to his lungs and blood to his heart and makes Alexander feel like he’s finally standing on solid ground. But he doesn’t get to say that out loud anymore, shouldn’t even think it in the privacy of his own mind. Not after the shattered look in her eyes had been embedded permanently, not after the separation had been officialize, and especially not now, while he’s trying to recall that old, French lullaby that Eliza had always crooned to their children before bed while she’s graciously pretending he’s not here.

It had been a stipulation in the agreement that they scrounged up over half  a year ago now. Alexander has been relegated to the loft they keep in Murray Hill while Eliza and the children remain residing in the estate right outside the city limits— The Grange. But because she’s always been touched by an otherworldly kindness that Alexander has never witnessed in another soul, Eliza told him that mornings before school and dinners before bed are open for him to visit while she finishes the work she has for the non prophet she had helped build. “You don’t get to lose your kids just because it didn’t work out with us Alex— They’re your family and I won’t be the one to take them away from you, not ever.”

When she had said as much, quiet and precise and void of the warm inflections he would always lose himself inside of whenever she spoke— Alexander wanted to absolutely ball. He wanted to fall to his knees right then and beg her not to say that— not to toy with the idea that it was really and truly over between them. He wanted to tell her that he loves her, and he loves her and he’ll always love her no matter what.

But for perhaps the first time in his life, Alex had held his tongue and only thanked her for always being the best of the lot. He was afraid if he spoke his true thoughts out loud he’d make that torn, desperately pained look melt back into her features like those first few weeks after the Twitter trends and media frenzy and poisonous gossip spreading through the circle of blue bloods that Eliza had been the heiress of since birth, and where Alexander had fought tooth and nail to belong. But besides that, he thinks he was mostly terrified that she wouldn’t betray any emotion at all— That she’d stay still and frozen and detached— forever out of his reach all over again.

Alexander’s heart twists up in an ugly, painful sort of way at the memory of that tragic brunch between them, and he physically shakes his head— as if the pictures of that afternoon  could just fall out his ears and disappear into the powder blue curtains like dust.

Gingerly, Alexander kisses Will’s downy hair, and sets him into the crib with a final inhale to get him through the night before coming back tomorrow morning. And while he pads through the hall, he quietly peers into the bedroom of each of his kids. Listens to the hushed snoring from Jamie and Johnny’s room, before he looked into how Angie has swathed herself with pink blankets in her own, finally glancing into Philip and AJ’s at the end of the hall, bracing himself for how his eldest inevitably  tosses him a cursory glance from over his shoulder while he taps away on his new laptop. Philip’s stopped the sneers and the clipped replies after Eliza had scolded him for as much right after the pamphlet’s release, but the ice like overture between them hadn’t lessened, and no matter how much it breaks his heart that his pride and joy doesn’t ever look at him like Alexander is his hero— like he had when he was younger— he’s strangely proud. He’s proud that Philip is steadfast in his loyalty to his mother and has a moral code that Eliza had nurtured in each of them.

“You almost done with that civics paper?” He tries for broke, talking in a hush like he was afraid to spook him.

Philip’s jerky nod is all Alexander gets before he snaps his gaze back to the screen, and he takes it like a sacrament, gently shutting the door once again and shuffling downstairs to the main level of the house.

It feels like his heart lodges somewhere deep in his throat when he enters the living room only to be taunted with the sight of Eliza curled into the side of the sofa, nightgown loose on her shoulders, and dark hair piled into a messy topknot while she nibbles on the end of a pen that she’s most likely using to mark up the novel in her hands. It’s the same volume of Arthurian legends that she’s been paging through for the past few days, and he knows it’s something to do with a child at one of the group homes she visits on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, the one who is enthralled by the folklore of it all.

And it’s like an ache— a gnawing and crippling sort of yearning that he feels as he watches the image of her that he’s seen a hundred times before, wanting to thumb at the ink smattering her cheek and lips and chin. And if this was a year ago he would’ve done just that— Hell, he would’ve kissed them away with tender lips as he gathered her small form into his arms and he would’ve waxed poetic about her and her mind and her body all night long.

Or maybe not.

Maybe he would’ve simply teased her before dropping a kiss to her forehead and retreating to his study to finish the latest bill that the president wants on the house floor before the next congressional recess. Maybe Alexander never really deserved her and it took this— them split apart and tattered— for him to realize all the things he should’ve done. All the exaltations he should’ve whispered against her skin and all the caresses he should’ve massaged against her bones and all the ways he should’ve worshipped her all along. And when Eliza looks up— a strand of hair falling prettily over a large eye and the moonlight dancing atop her with a graceful sort of panache— he feels a sick sort of despair that maybe he’ll never get that chance again. Maybe she’ll leave it to Andre now.

The thought of John Andre makes Alexander’s insides pulse with a sort of anger he doesn’t think he’ has ever known, makes his fucking arteries clog with distain. But he hasn’t said anything about him to Eliza, even though he knows that ever since her ex-boyfriend has moved back into town, he’s been pursuing her non-stop, was regaled about the flowers and the letters and the diamond tennis bracelet by a peculiarly snide, but disappointed Angelica, and he knows that his sister-in-law, between her own children and her own job as the secretary of sate, has been silently rooting for Alexander to get his shit together, to prove himself worthy enough for a second chance with the sister she loves with all her heart. And he thinks that it’s almost funny that one of the most brilliant minds he’s ever known, isn’t perceptive enough to understand that Alexander had never been worthy enough for a chance with Eliza in the first place. So it’s fucking impossible now, with everything that has past and all the ghosts between them.

“Oh,” Eliza says once she finds him just standing their, gazing down at her like some sort of pathetic drifter trying to find respite from a prophet. “Will fell asleep then?”

“Erm, yeah. Yeah he was good.” Alexander replies, tries not to sputter. “Only one who’s up is Pip.”

“Not for long,” Eliza mutters mischievously, tapping a finger against her nose with an endearing sort of diffidence. “I switched the coffee out for decaf before dinner. I reckon he’s got another forty-five minutes in him.”

Alexander can’t help the choked out laughter that spills from his lips, and can’t help relishing in the helium like levity streaming through his extremities— the heady feeling that only Eliza’s ever been able to evoke. “You’re wicked.”

“I’m a concerned mother, and our son is a bit of a spaz if you hadn’t noticed?” She retorts mildly, single brow cocked as she returns to her novel. And no— God no, Alexander can’t refrain from delving back into the easy, life affirming bliss it has always felt when they talked with one another— whether it’s platitudes or past traumas or anything in-between. So like a man about to plunge into the churning ocean waves— ready for death or the best thrill of his life— Alexander eases besides her, three feet apart but close enough to smell Eliza’s  favorite jasmine shampoo wafting in the space between them.

“You enjoying the legends then?”

Eliza flickers her bright eyes back to him, uneasy and guarded. And it hurts like nothing else when he remembers how he was once able to read her open face like a favorite book that had been highlighted and underlined to hell. “Uh-huh, it’s an interesting set of stories. I think I understand why Dante enjoys them so much.”

“OH?”

“Mhmm. There’s this one myth, about one of Arthur’s knights, Sir Gawain, who was promised to this old crone and when he kisses her she becomes a fair maiden.”

Alexander isn’t sure what is going on here, knows that this is the most Eliza’s spoken to him outside the children’s schedules for months, but he’s not about to look a gift horse in the mouth, so he nods along eagerly, silently pleading for her to continue on with the summary.

“Yes, well. After she transforms, she gives him a ultimatum of sorts. Tells him that either she can stay beautiful in the daylight while they’re apart, or only at night while they’re together.” She meets his gaze head on— steadiness boring into his uncertainty. And even though he still hasn’t a clue what’s happening, he feels it in his bones that this is so very important, so he doesn’t falter, breathes in deep and doesn’t let his glance stray to her lips or her collarbone or where her hands are clutching tightly to the volume now.

“And what did he choose?”

Eliza purses her lips, like she’s not sure to tell him anymore, but something in his expression must’ve convinced her, because she shrugs a slight shoulder while standing and slapping the book shut. “He doesn’t. Tells her it’s her choice and her’s alone.”

And oh.

It’s like a punch in the gut when Alexander finally comprehends.

“Good,” he says, voice gone a bit haggard. “He should just wait until she makes up her mind.”

Remarkably, that seems to have been the right thing to have said, because the ends of Eliza’s plump lips actually quirk up into an etherial grin that’s not so threadbare like all the ones he’s seen for far too long.

“Good night, Alexander.”

“Good night, Eliza,” he replies,  feeling like sunlight is finally beginning to filter through the frost when her small hand dusts across his cheek for only a sparing moment. And while he watches her putter upstairs, Alexander knows with all his heart that he would wait for an eon just for Eliza to decide whether he’s worth letting back into her world.

.-

~My FIC Index~ 

Is where you can read my other Hamliza works!!!



[willowistic22]

Hey :)

For your post concerning Ikeshot - would you maybe consider writing an Ikeshot Soulmate AU during the canon era?

Thanks in advance

left this in my drafts for the whole month bcs i was doing no content november which was definitely not used as an excuse of me not wanting to fight off my writers block heheheheheheheh spoiler alert : it was. but i got around to write this one so i hope it suffice! i mean i hope so bcs it ended up being 2.5k words long lol! 

So pls enjoy my canon era ikeshot soulmate au! the concept is where soulmate marks are in the form of the first things your soulmate says to you when you guys meet. also ik this will kinda flop since it’s a rarepair but pls do your best to not let it flop :) 

Ike doesn’t like the thought of soulmates. Not one bit. Well, at first he liked the idea of having someone out there waiting for him. He doesn’t need a mark of any kind to tell him that. He knows it on his own terms. But there was a little bit of excitement that exploded in his stomach when his soulmate mark appeared on his forearm. And it was… weird to say the least. 

He got his mark a year earlier than his twin brother, right on their 13th birthday. A delicate black writing engraved in the skin of his forearm. The soulmate mark stories he has ever heard were about people with sweet sayings engraved in their skin. It was all romantic, innocent, and soft spoken words tread lightly by the lips of their lover to be. But Ike’s? It was downright strange. None of those sappy and sweet stuff people say when the subject is about soulmates. Which is why Ike never bothered showing it off. He has heard enough jokes from Mike about that text. 

And here’s the kicker for his situation: despite getting his soulmate mark a year earlier, Mike was somehow granted the gift of getting a sweet soulmate line and meeting his soulmate first! That really pissed Ike off. 

He’s left with his thoughts on that subject this evening, carefully holding up his forearm while he lies on the top bunk he and his brother call their own. The words on his forearm echoes inside of his brain as he strokes the ink on his skin, blocking out the loud Lower Manhattan lodging house. He’s bound to meet his soulmate eventually. He’s sixteen for crying out loud! Mike met his when they were fifteen. So this mysterious soulmate of his has to turn up any time now. They have to. Ike doesn’t know how much longer he can keep himself entertained with stringless flings and flirtings with random guys in secret. 

Ike sighs desperately, dropping both his arms above his head and onto his thin pillow. He wished he was tired enough to go to sleep already since he doesn’t have anything to do before the lights go out in the lodge. He peaks down towards the lower bunk. Ike sees his brother fast asleep, cuddled into his lover’s embrace. Two chests, rising and falling at their own different slow pace. 

It’s not that Ike ever had a problem with Mike’s soulmate, the only problem is that Ike hasn’t met his and constantly feels lonely with the presence of the couple. Ike didn’t believe his brother when he said his soulmate turned out to be Jo Jo. Not only is Jo Jo practically a total opposite of Mike, Jo Jo is also out of his league. There’s no way a kind hearted, properly brought up, bright smiled boy would end up with a scruffy idiot like his brother. But the more time he spends with the two, the more he sees how compatible they are with each other. 

Ike is happy that they found someone to make each other happy, even in their sleep. He’s just sad for himself that he hasn’t found the one for him yet. Third wheeling is the worst thing Ike has ever discovered in his life. 

He sits back up properly, letting both legs dangle freely down the bunk. Ike puts on his newsie cap and his vest that was left hanging on the bedpost before jumping down the bunk. 

Unfortunately he wasn’t being careful and accidentally woke someone below him from the loud thud his feet made when it came in contact with the old wooden floor of the lodge. 

“Where are you… going?” a voice groaned.

Ike turns his head towards the lower bunk to see Mike lifting his head up slightly from where it was resting, rubbing his eyes a little bit to enhance his vision. He’d sit up straight, but one of his hands is strapped down to the mattress by a certain head full of brown curls. 

“Not tired yet. Think I’ll get myself busy” Ike replied. Before turning back to his original direction, he catches his brother’s eyes before he lets himself fall back asleep again, “Got a pack?” 

Mike snorts to himself with an eye roll, but it ends with a low chuckle. He gestures his head towards his vest left hanging up high on the bedpost, “Check my vest. I’se think there’s still half in there” 

Untangling the vest from itself, Ike sees one of its pockets forming a rectangular shape through the fabric. He slips his hand in it and fishes out a pack of cigarettes. His hand doesn’t feel the usual light weight of the tiny box he usually feels after getting himself a fresh pack. This one feels so much lighter, like there’s a lot of room in it. But Ike could still feel a few stems moving inside. 

“Don’t finish the whole thing” Mike added. 

Ike simply smirks down at him, turning around with the pack in hand. He calls out, “No promises!” 

“Pay me back if you do finish it!” 

“Also no promises!” 

“Little shitter” 

Ike turns his head around, and an offended look on his face as the twins’ old inside joke has resurfaced from the past. In the calmest way possible, yet still obviously annoyed, Ike voices out, “Fuck off, alright?” 

“No promises!” 

Mike laughs at his brother’s obvious annoyance. At the same time, Jo Jo starts to stir in his sleep. He stops laughing, directing his full focus on the boy shifting in his arms. Jo Jo groans as he flips to face away from Mike, letting out a long and peaceful sigh once he gets comfortable. 

Ike watches as his brother lays back down, holding Jo Jo a little tighter than before. The couple is enveloped back by their slumber just like before. 

There’s that jealousy resurfacing in Ike’s heart as his eyes linger at the sight of the lower bunk. But despite it, he is actually happy to see Mike like this. Being happy with his soulmate doing whatever. It’s a different kind of happy. It’s the kind that Ike longs for. 

He pushes that thought away for a while, walking through the loud lodging house. Some newsies went to sleep earlier, somehow being able to ignore all the commotion caused by their friends. Some are also just hanging out with others while they wait for the lights to go out. 

Ike chooses to be alone this evening. Accompanied by a cigarette or two, and maybe his own thoughts he’d like to sort out. He’d walk out the front door downstairs to smoke in an alleyway, but he knows the downstairs are currently occupied. Jack had warned everyone to avoid going downstairs because the borough leaders are having a little meeting. 

So Ike decides on the fire escape, since it already leads directly to the alleyway. Ike slips out the window, instantly noticing the lovely evening air. His only view is a dull brick wall with trash scattered around the ground, but he doesn’t really mind as the street ambience makes him feel less lonely. 

He notes the fire escape being a little wet, since it previously did rain a bit. He nearly slipped when he first stepped on the metal bars, but was able to balance himself pretty quickly. 

But to no avail, his feet clumsily slips away from their grip on the fire escape. It sends him falling down with a loud yelp, passing through the little gap in the fencing reserved for the ladder and onto the concrete floor in the dirty alleyway. 

Ike was disoriented when he rose back up from his fall. One hand on the ground to help support his back as he recovers from the impact, and the other rubbing the pain on his head away. He realized the pack of cigarettes is long gone. What he doesn’t realize is why the fall isn’t as painful as he thought it would be. 

He glances over to his legs, which he realized just now that it was tangled with something else. Someone else. They were groaning in pain as they rose back up. He catches a glimpse of the face once it was finally lifted off the ground, smudge by a little bit of mud. 

Oh shit.

Ike fell on another boy who obviously looks like he’s twice his own size. Not that he thinks he can’t take him on in a fight if he asks for one, but right now he’s too disoriented to even figure out how to punch straight. He quickly gets up on his feet, giving the stranger some space so he can recollect himself. 

“Oh look, the universe has thrown me a little shitter from the sky to ruin the rest of my already shitty day! Is there anything you can possibly do to magically make it better?!”

The words were uttered as the stranger got back up on his feet, revealing himself to be a tall and muscled figure. The mud also got on a little strand of his dark brown hair and his eyes were squinted with fury. But Ike wasn’t focused on any physical features this stranger has. He’s more focused with the words that he uttered. Words that Ike knows by heart by now. 

“What?” The stranger growled, deep and raspy. He realized the boy was astonished by something, but was certain it isn’t in any form of fear. 

“Do you have any idea how much shit I get with that written on my hand?! It made me look like I’m a fuckin’ dumbass my whole life!” Ike started his little rant, a little bit of rage building up from the pits of his stomach, “Oh, but of course I’se stuck with a huge asshole that doesn’t know how to be a decent human being and give a guy a break!” 

The stranger stays completely still, lips slightly parted. 

“How do you think I feel with that?” 

He shows his soulmate mark on his right forearm to Ike. A smaller font size and a longer paragraph written on his skin. Ike almost wanted to laugh. 

“Hey!” 

The two boys turn their attention towards the sound. Just outside the alleyway, right on the sidewalk where the rest of the world is, three tall men stood. There isn’t enough light for either boys to identify who they are, but given from the vague shadow they can sense trouble. 

As the three men take a few steps closer, letting a little lamp stuck to the wall illuminate their figures, they reveal themselves as the bulls. 

The boys activated their flight instinct, running towards the other end of the alleyway. The bulls chased after them while telling them to stop. Ike, being the smaller one, runs ahead and leads the chase. Hopping from one sidewalk to the other, crossing the roads without looking. 

Jacobi’s deli came into view in the corner of the block, despite being unlit. Ike kept running towards that corner and took a sharp turn. He makes another sharp turn towards an alley, just next to the deli. He hides in a little corner the deli has created. He has gotten away from so many troubles by hiding in this ‘wall bump’ because people miss it easily. 

He was surprised to see a large figure stopping right next to where Ike was hiding, huffing out heavy breaths of exhaustion. Ike said nothing at first, thinking it’s one of the bulls. He simply watches the figure hunching over their knees, trying to recollect themselves from the chase. 

But after a few seconds, he realizes it was the same boy he just met at the alleyway. His soulmate. To that, he widens his eyes and gasps under his breath. 

Oh crap, if he keeps on standin’ there we’ll get caught! 

“Hey!” Ike whisper shouted. 

The boy was still disoriented from all that running, but he was still able to pick up the voice. 

He saw Ike hiding in the corner, but didn’t think much of it. To that, the smaller boy just rolled his eyes and grabbed him by his suspenders to pull him to the little corner to hide together. 

Ike peaked behind the little wall hiding them to see if the bulls that were chasing them had passed. Just as he suspected, they were clueless as to where they could be. The bulls went past the alleyway. Until Ike was sure that they’re gone, he lets out a relieved sigh and turns back to where he is.

He was surprised to be met by a chest, but soon remembered that he had another boy hiding with him. A very tall one. 

Ike looks up to his face. The details are much clearer now. Brown locks, strong jawline, brown eyes, ivory tinted face with a few smudges of ash and dirt. The face sculptured... so perfectly. 

Ike only realized this now. Staring up at it, taking in every detail before him. Cheeks a little heated up when his head realizes how close they’re being. Chest to chest and Ike is up against a wall. 

And the other boy… he stared back. Just as frozen and shocked as he is. 

“I-I didn’t catch your name earlier” Ike mustered up the last bit of concentration to get that out. 

“My friends call me Hotshot” 

“Hotshot…” Ike repeated, nodding along without getting his eyes off of him. 

“But… you can call me Tyler. Y-y’know if you… wanna use my real name” Hotshot said with a little awkward cough at the end. 

“Oh…”

Ike has no idea what’s happening right now. All he knows is there’s a cute guy right in front of his nose, who is his so called soulmate. They’re hiding in an alleyway, and neither seems to want to move away. They were both caught off guard by the beauty their eyes are being presented with in front of them. 

“I-I’m Ike, by the way…” Ike added on, realizing he hasn’t said his name yet, “It’s short for Isaac. Y’know, ‘cause my twin brother calls himself Mike and we wanted to-- y’know what? That’s too long to get into…” 

The two share a heartfelt laughter. Their hearts pumping faster than before, the other being able to feel it right through their chest. 

“So uhh… Ike…” Hotshot started, still staring down at the smaller boy, “About what I said earlier…” 

Ike started to laugh, remembering what he meant. 

“I’s want to apologize… is all” 

“Y-yeah, the same goes for me!” Ike added, “Well, I don’t know if we should even apologize. We were supposed to say that to each other anyways!” 

Another heartfelt laughter, sounding softer than the first one. It somehow made the moment even more serious as it slowly died down. Their gaze hasn’t left the other’s. Nor, does it seem like they want to in the first place. 

“Ike, can I… try somethin’?” Hotshot suddenly asked. 

Ike simply nods, not having any clue as to what he meant. The message behind that was soon cleared the moment Hotshot softly crashed his lips against his, pushing his head backwards and gently pinning it to the wall behind him. Ike moves his hands up to pull him by his suspenders. Hotshot brushes his finger on his jaw, angling him up for a better kiss. Their lips moved in sync perfectly and it felt good. Just like how they would picture a first kiss shared by a soulmate. 

[wizardcorez]

ask to be unbroken (hollice)

Jake and Hollis through the years. Canon compliant (before the events of Amnesty+why Jake left the Hornets and they hate him) Alternate title: three times Jake held back tears and one time he didn't 

Rated mature for a vaguely sexual paragraph but it isn’t explicit. Also available on ao3 @/idiottwizard, my twitter is the same handle

Jake was fourteen when he had fallen while trying a new skateboard trick, he had seen some cool looking people around his age on the other side of the street and he wanted to do something to impress them. Instead he ended up sitting on the edge of the sidewalk with a scraped knee and elbow.

He was about to cry before he saw who looked like the leader of the group of kids running across the street towards him with a worried look on their face. He blinked away tears and looked up at them.

“Shit, that was a pretty nasty fall buddy, you okay?” They asked and kneeled beside him, their friends watching from the other side of the street, they looked like a rowdy but friendly bunch, all wearing matching jackets.

Jake wouldn’t let himself cry, the coolest of the bunch was right there. He didn’t want to embarrass himself even more than he already had so he flashed them a shaky smile and a hang ten. “Radical, my man.” he said, even if he absolutely did not feel very radical.

They snorted and Jake found that he kind of liked the sound. “Radical? Didn’t know it was still the 80’s.” they teased.

Jake laughed softly, used to being teased like that by Dani, and reached into his fanny pack to grab two bandaids, one a bright blue and the other yellow, looking confused when they grabbed the bandaids from him. “What are y-”

“I’m helping” They interrupted, taking the back off of the bandaid as they spoke.

Jake looked at them quizzically, but ended up with a smile on his face, extending his leg so it would be easier for them to get the bandaid on, “Okay, what’s your name then?” he asked.

“Hollis” They answered, putting the yellow bandage on Jake's knee.

Jake liked the way that name sounded in his head, “My name’s Jake,” he said with a grin, still trying to pretend like his injuries didn’t hurt him even if tears were pricking at his eyes, “Jake Cool-Ice” he specified, since he liked the last name he had given himself when someone had asked him and he had to answer on the spot.

Well, he had liked it until Hollis started laughing. “What are you laughing at?” Jake asked quietly.

Hollis calmed down their laughter before getting the other bandage ready, “Here, give me your elbow.” they said, and Jake stuck out his elbow, “I’m laughing at your last name, dorkface.” They said like it was obvious.

Jake furrowed his brow “My last name isn’t funny.” he muttered, frowning a little.

He noticed Hollis glance across the street and followed their gaze, just to see their friends were still waiting for them, and they hurried to get the other bandage on him. “Whatever you say dude.” they said, their laughter dying down after a moment “D’you wanna hang out with me and my buds? We skateboard and do other stuff too, you’ll fit right in.”

Now that was how to get Jake to smile, looking over at them hopefully as they finished up with his arm. “For real? Even after I just, like, beefed it?” he asked.

Hollis laughed again and pointed to bruises and scrapes on their own legs, “We all beef it sometimes.” they said simply, standing and offering Jake a hand.

When he took their hand and finally stood, he realized he was a good few inches taller than Hollis which made him smile as he grabbed his board and ran across the street, still holding their hand, to introduce himself.

From then on, Jake was in the Kepler Stunt Club, he earned a black windbreaker with the letters ‘KSC’ shakily embroidered on the chest, he thinks that was Beavan that did that on all of their windbreakers, and he never takes the thing off, proud to finally belong to something. --- Jake was sixteen when he realized he’s liked his best friend for the two years they’ve known each other. To make his shit show worse, he realizes when Hollis tells him they’ve got a boyfriend now and he nearly throws up in his mouth when the jealousy takes over him like a fucking wave.

He holds back tears the way he did when they met, but this time Hollis isn’t putting bandages on him and making it better, they caused the pain. Jake couldn’t be mad about it, Hollis didn't mean to hurt his feelings and he knew that. Hollis didn't even know he liked them, hell, he didn’t even know he liked them until the moment, which was really fucking convenient for Jake.

Hollis was snapping their fingers in his face and he snapped back into reality, blinking away any tear that threatened to fall and flashing them a smile. “Radical.” he said, not sounding nearly as energetic as he knew he should,

He should be happy for Hollis, damnit, he knew that. Best friends are happy for each other when one of them gets a boyfriend or girlfriend but he felt nauseous when he thought of Hollis kissing someone.

A month later when Hollis broke up with their boyfriend Jake couldn’t help but be relieved, even if he felt guilty about it. He was still their best friend, though, and so he showed up at their place with their favorite ice cream flavor, a stuffed animal, and a sheepish smile.

Hollis greeted him with a smile and a few minutes later they were beside each other in Hollis’s bed, eating ice cream with one of their favorite movies playing, Jake trying not to think about how badly he wished he could sit in their lap and kiss their sadness away, pushing away those thoughts he deemed as selfish.

“You know that guy was a dick, right” Jake blurted randomly during the movie.

Hollis sighed “Yeah, that's why I dumped him.” they said simply

Jake paused before speaking again, “He’s lucky I don’t beat him up.”

They laughed, and maybe it’s a little embarrassing that that was what got Hollis to laugh for the first time, but Jake would take it.

“Jake, dude, you couldn’t beat anyone up if you tried.” Hollis snickered.

Jake gasped at that, “I could too!” he yelled, smacking them with a pillow.

Hollis was already grabbing another pillow, “Oh you're on.”

There was yelling and laughing as they fought each other with the pillows, at some point a pillow was thrown and there was a noise of something falling that was ignored in favor of more fighting. At some point all the pillows had fallen or been thrown off the bed, so they resorted to wrestling.

Before he knew it Jake had Hollis’ arms pinned above their head and he froze, looking at them with wide eyes. “Why're you lookin’ at me funny?” They asked with a laugh and flipped their positions, Jake finally snapping out of it but seemingly forgetting to struggle against them, his eyes looking between their eyes and lips before shoving them off of them and sitting up straight as a pole.

Jake felt Hollis’ eyes on him and he had a feeling they were looking at him with concern, glancing over at them just confirmed his suspicions. “Sorry, Hol, you just scared the shit out of me.” he said, forcing out a laugh. They didn’t seem convinced but they also didn’t ask any more questions so Jake considered himself in the clear.

The two spent the rest of the day just messing around, playing video games and laughing at each other’s stupid dick jokes, even as Jake’s mind raced, unable to stop thinking about how he had somehow managed to fall for his best friend.

He didn’t blame himself, when he thought about it once Hollis was passed out on their bed, Jake beside them. They were attractive, very much so, with piercing eyes and wild hair that never stayed the same color for very long. Not to mention their personality, they so fiercely cared for their friends, who were now called The Hornets and had more professionally made matching jackets. They were full of attitude and spunk, and far too good looking for their own good.

Yeah, Jake had definitely fallen hard for Hollis, but he didn't so much mind the way it felt. It was giddy and kind of made his heart ache this dull pain in his chest, but that was okay so long as he was still their best friend. --- Jake was eighteen when he decided to confess his love to Hollis. After realizing he liked them, he spent two years pining after them, resisting the urge to kiss them in those soft moments when laughing fits quieted down and they were both breathless, telling his heart to calm down when Hollis would interlock their fingers when walking places.

He was never sure if they liked him too, honestly. They never got another boyfriend after the first, no matter how many people were interested in them. They kissed his cheek sometimes, making jokes that they had to kiss the homies goodnight, and Jake would laugh and pretend his heart wasn't about to beat out of his chest. He sometimes saw them give him looks that he couldn’t quite name.

Jake had no idea how Hollis would react when he told them, but it was to the point that he couldn’t keep it a secret for any longer without feeling like he was going to explode. He hoped with his whole heart that their friendship wouldn’t change, at least. Of course it would hurt if they didn’t feel the same, but he knew he would be okay so long as he could still have Hollis in his life.

“I think I’m in love with you.” Jake said, an air of confidence to his voice. No, that wouldn’t do.

He groaned and looked in the mirror, he’d been at this for an hour now, practicing what to say to them in the mirror, running a hand through his already messy hair.

At this point, Jake decided to wing it once he saw Hollis, he didn’t want it to seem too rehearsed anyway. Quickly pulling on his sneakers and speeding out of Amnesty Lodge, greeted by his best friend of four years on their fixed up bike, wearing a grin in place of a helmet.

Hollis tossed Jake a helmet, they always did insist that he wear one even though they never did. It was another thing that he didn’t mind, though, it made it clear that Hollis cared, and even if he always knew they did the little reminders like that were much appreciated. He also knew better than to try and get them to wear a helmet themself, they were stubborn and that was one of the things he loved so much about them. They were skilled enough on their bike that he trusted them without it, even if he did worry.

“Sup’ Holly!” Jake called before he even reached the bike, catching the helmet when it was tossed.

Hollis was quick to roll their eyes at that, “You ever gonna stop calling me that?” they asked.

He shook his head, pulling on his helmet and fastening it under his chin as he seated himself on the back of their bike, not hesitating to wrap his arms around their waist before they could even tell him to do so. It made his heart race a little to be so close to them and he knew Hollis could feel it but they never commented on it.

“You ever gonna wear a helmet?” Jake shot back.

Hollis floored it in response, Jake yelping and holding onto them tighter as their hair whipped back in his face. They chuckled, and he felt it more so than heard it, their chest reverberating with laughter and it made his heart swell.

Before he knew it, after a ride of enjoying having an excuse to pull Hollis close, they were at the Hornet’s nest. He reluctantly climbed off, pulling off his headgear and shaking out his helmet hair.

Hollis climbed off at the same time, taking the helmet from him and resting it on the bike. “Your helmet hair is cute.” they said, seemingly not noticing the way it made Jake turn pink.

He paused for a moment, trying to form words. “Your hair after biking is cute.”

“Yeah?” Hollis raised an eyebrow slightly, looking amused.

“Yeah” Jake admitted.

The corner of their lip quirked up in a smile and they took Jake’s hand, “Little walk in the Monongahela fine with you?” Hollis asked.

Jake just nodded, and he couldn't help but wonder if they knew what he was planning. A peaceful walk in the woods was the perfect place for a love confession, he hadn’t even thought of where he was going to do it, assuming he would just blurt it while they made him mac and cheese or something.

The two of them walked along the edge of the forest with their fingers interlocked, the only noise between them the crunching of leaves and sticks under their feet until they found where one of the scarcely used trails ended.

“You’re a lot quieter than usual.” Hollis pointed out as they led him onto the trail, squeezing his hand softly, making Jake sure that they could feel how clammy his hand was.

Jake didn’t say anything for a moment, starting to overthink and panic about confessing. He knew he had to do it though, he had been putting it off for two years and it was a massive weight on his chest.

“So, uh, I actually wanted to hang out today so I could talk to you about something.” His voice was soft as he spoke, and when he saw Hollis nod out of the corner of his eye, he continued. “I’ve known you for like, four years now, and we’ve been best friends the whole time and stuff, and I’ve really only known about it for a little bit, or like, closer to two years.” Jake rambled, the hand not holding Hollis’ fiddling with the zipper on his jacket.

“Jake-” Hollis cut in before Jake could start another sentence.

He didn’t seem to notice, too wrapped up in his own anxieties, feeling tears prick at the corner of his eyes. “I never really wanted to tell you, but it wasn’t something I wanted to keep from you anymore since you are my best friend and all.”

“Jake-” They said again, louder this time.

He was using every atom of his body to keep himself from crying as he kept speaking. “I never wanted to make you uncomfortable at all, our friendship has always meant everything to me-”

“Jake!” Hollis nearly yelled now, making him stop in his tracks and turn to Hollis, finding that they were standing very close and looking up at him.

He blinked down at them, not sure why they were interrupting his long speech, even more confused as they put two hands on either side of his face. “Hollis, what are you-”

He was cut off by Hollis pressing their lips together for a few moments before pulling back, Jake’s face still in their hands. “I love you too, dork. Is that what you were rambling about?” they asked with a small laugh.

“Oh,” Jake said simply, suddenly finding it hard to talk despite how much he had been saying moments before, taking a moment to process before breaking out in a massive smile, “how did you know that's the point I was getting to?” was all he could think to ask.

“I’ve known you’ve liked me since I got my first boyfriend, Jake.” Hollis said, their hands still on his face.

The blonde blushed at that, “Am I that obvious with my feelings?” he asked quietly, a sheepish smile plastered on his face.

“Yeah,” Hollis laughed softly, “I was gonna let you keep talking for as long as you wanted but uh, I could tell you were about to cry and I didn’t want that.”

Jake smiled again, realizing that his heart didn’t feel like it was going to explode out of his chest anymore. “Can you kiss me again?”

Hollis responded by softly bringing their lips together again, Jake wrapping his arms around their waist and smiling into the kiss.

After that they practically ran back to the Hornet’s nest, laughing the whole way, Jake nearly tripping over mangled tree roots on the forest floor. They were happy to see they had the nest to themselves, falling on the couch and pulling each other into a deep kiss.

What happened after that was a lot of gentle touching and exploring each other after pining for years, quickly shedding clothes and soft moans and whines from each of them, falling asleep in a tangle of limbs with soft smiles on their faces.

He was so, so in love with Hollis, and he fell asleep knowing they’d felt the same this whole time. --- Jake was twenty when his relationship started falling apart. He knew he would never break things off with Hollis, he had loved them for too long and he still did, but he also wouldn’t be surprised when they ended up dumping him.

Things with the Hornets were getting way out of hand, it had been fun when the club was about doing cool stunts, but they started to do illegal things. He could understand why, the sheriff was on their asses when they were doing innocent kickflips and sweet stunts, even as Kepler Stunt Club, but when they adopted the new name the law really cracked down on them.

As a whole they were angry about it, Jake included, but he didn’t like that they were resorting to vandalism in retaliation. He couldn’t be caught doing something like that, if he got in legal trouble there was no telling how bad things would end up.

After coming through the gate from Sylvain at twelve years old, he had it burned into his brain: don’t get hurt enough that we can’t fix it at the lodge, don’t get arrested. Not only did his life depend on it, but everyone at the lodge depended on him, and his family back in Sylvain. He had been exiled at a young age, tried as an adult for a petty crime and promptly thrown through the gate into a world he didn’t know, given only vague directions to the lodge and a wrist cuff that could make him appear human.

For the first two years Mama didn’t let him leave the lodge much, scared of him accidentally revealing himself. When he was fourteen she gave him more freedom to explore, and that's how he ended up skateboarding down the sidewalks of Kepler, meeting Hollis on the third time he was allowed out on his own.

Cool tricks and stunts, Jake could do. The group might get a stern talking to when they grind down handrails, but it was no actual trouble. Graffiti and trespassing, Jake couldn't, for more reasons than one. Not only would it risk the fate of his family at the lodge and all of Sylvain, but it also reminded him far too much of what got him exiled from Sylvain.

Jake had tried talking to Hollis about it, but he couldn’t exactly explain his real reasons for not wanting to do things like that, and they passed it off as him being a pussy.

After a few months, Jake was tired of how much the group had changed, he loved them all dearly, they were his first friends on Earth, and of course he was still in love with Hollis. No matter how much he cared for them all he still had self-respect, though, and after asking repeatedly to shift back to doing more stunts and less crimes, they still weren't listening.

He decided to leave the Hornets and Jake was more nervous about telling Hollis he was leaving than he was when he admitted he liked them. He knew that that may be the final straw for Hollis, and that terrified him. Even so, Jake wasn’t going to risk everyone at the lodge and all of Sylvain to break laws with his friends and partner.

Jake was alone at the nest with Hollis one day, and he knew it was the perfect time to tell them, things were tense right now but he wasn’t going to wait any longer.

“Hollis?” He said, grabbing their attention as he sat on the opposite end of the couch from them.

They didn’t look up from their phone, “Hm?” they asked, not paying attention.

Jake sighed, “Hollis, I need to talk to you about something, it's serious.” his voice was uncharacteristically firm.

That made Hollis look up at him, shutting off their phone and setting it on the coffee table, a concerned look on their face. “Whats up babe?” they said, and it made Jake’s heart hurt, having a feeling that they might not ever call him that again after that, already feeling tears well in his eyes.

“I’m leaving the Hornets.” Jake blurted before he could convince himself to put this off for longer, looking away from Hollis so he wouldn’t have to see their reaction.

They were quick to react, he could see them stand out of the corner of his eye “You’re fucking doing what, Jake?” Hollis’s voice was quiet, and their tone made Jake wince.

He took a deep breath, already feeling the tears rolling down his cheeks as he stared at the floor, “I’m leaving the Hornets, Hollis” his voice broke saying their name, closing his arms around himself in an attempt to calm himself down.

“What, you’re leaving because you aren’t getting your way? Because we don’t all want to be-be pussies like you?” They started raising their voice, clearly upset.

“It’s not like I’m a little kid throwing a hissy fit because I didn’t get my way, Hollis.” Jake insisted, standing up so he could pace.

Hollis brought their finger to Jake’s chest, he finally looked down at them to see they were on the verge of tears, he took a step back but they only followed. “Really, Jake? Because that's how it seems to me. You’re too scared to do anything that we want to do, why should we let you hold us back?” they said, looking up at him, despite how short they were they truly did scare Jake when they were like this, though it had never been directed at him until now.

He could only cry harder, he couldn’t hold it back if he tried, “I’ve fucking told you, Hollis,” Jake’s voice was barely a whisper, “I’ve told you I have my reasons for not wanting to do that stuff.”

“But you won’t tell me the actual fucking reasons why, Jake! You haven’t told me shit in this relationship, actually!” Hollis yelled, taking a step further which forced Jake back. “I have told you everything, Jake, all of my trauma and shit that nobody else knows about, I have opened up endlessly, and you refuse to tell me anything, and now you’re leaving the Hornets-your fucking family, Jake, and you can’t even give me a real reason why?”

Hollis had backed Jake up to the wall, now, and he was shaking from how much he was crying, “Hollis I can’t tell you, it isn’t fucking up to me! I promise on my life I would tell you if I could, just trust that I can’t, okay?” Jake’s voice felt weak in his throat and he hated it.

“Why should I trust you when all you do is shut me out and give me vague answers to everything, Jake?” Their voice was quiet again and they wouldn’t meet his eyes.

Jake could practically feel his heart shatter inside his chest, the pieces stabbing into his lungs as he tried to speak, “You don’t trust me?” he asked quietly, closing his eyes to try to calm down. He knew there was a large chance of this going wrong but he didn’t know it would hurt like this.

Hollis didn’t say anything for what felt like forever, and if it weren't for the finger still pressing into the center of Jake’s chest he would think they had just walked away. “I don’t know anymore.” They finally said, their voice low.

He felt their hand drop from his chest and he didn’t open his eyes, quietly crying and trying to pretend he was okay despite it all. “Hollis, I-” he started, trying to find the words he wanted to say.

“No,” Hollis cut him off, shaking their head, “get out.” they said after a moment.

“What?” Jake opened his eyes and looked at them to see they were looking at the ground.

“I said get out, Jake. We’re over.” Hollis spat.

“Hollis, listen to me, don’t just throw away everything we have.” Jake pleaded, sobbing now, reaching out to touch their shoulder only for them to move away, shaking their head.

“It’s too late for that.” Hollis said, their voice shaky, Jake noticed their hands were balled into fists at their sides, a tear rolling down their face for the first time in the whole argument, silently falling to the floor “I told you to get out, Jake, so fucking leave.”

So Jake left, he bolted out the door, not thinking to grab any of what he kept at the Hornet’s nest for when he stayed the night, slamming the door behind him to find that it had started raining, seemingly just to spite him.

He ran along the edge of the Monongahela Forest, finding the end of the trail that Hollis had once led him onto, his mind flashing back to that fateful day as he ran down the trail. It had grown up even more since that day two years ago, twigs scratching his face as he ran, sobbing harder when he passed the spot that Hollis had kissed him, starting to shiver as his clothes soaked through from the onslaught of rain.

Jake has no idea how long he’s been running but his chest aches from overexertion and heartbreak, his legs burn and his face and arms sting from where every thorn and stick scratched him.

When he passed the gate to Sylvain all he could do was cry harder. It wasn’t enough for him to have been exiled eight years ago, never able to see his family again, but his origins had to ruin the best thing to happen to him on Earth too.

At the very least the gate meant that he was getting closer to the lodge, his whole body ached and he thought he might pass out if he kept himself going like this for much longer. At this point Jake didn’t quite mind the thought of passing out though, or just plain falling over dead.

He slowed down to a jog when he saw the back of Amnesty Lodge, his breath catching every time he inhaled and a sharp pain in his side as he came in through the back entrance. Rain water dripped on the floors that he knew had just been mopped earlier, not caring that Barclay would probably lecture him about it.

Dani came around the corner and froze at the sight of Jake, soaked to the bone and shivering, still sobbing, “Jake?” she asked, sounding worried.

He ignored her, moving directly past her with his arms wrapped around himself, making a beeline for his bedroom, flinching away when her hand tried to grab his wrist and locking the door behind him.

Jake pulled off his soaked clothes, grabbing his phone from the pocket of his jeans and, against his better judgement, pulled on one of Hollis’s hoodies that they had left in his room and one of their pairs of boxers. His wailing had died down to sniffles now but he was still shivering from the wet and cold as he climbed under his quilt. He pulled the quilt up over his head and realized a moment later that the hoodie still smelled of them and in that moment he let out a choked sob, having no more tears to cry.

Reaching blindly around his bed, he found the stuffed animal seal he’d gotten on a date with Hollis to Build-A-Bear and pulled it to his chest tightly, taking in a shaky breath. Jake picked his phone up, inputting his password and feeling a pang in his chest as his fingers pressed in his and Hollis’s anniversary.

There’s a knock on his door that makes him flinch but he ignores it in favor of pulling up the music app on his phone, looking between two playlists for a moment but ultimately clicking on the one Hollis had made for him. He knows that he shouldn’t, but he does anyway, setting his phone down beside him as the music played and curling into the fetal position, burying his face in the stuffed seal.

His body still ached, he was cold and wet still, shivering under the quilt. Jake Cool-Ice felt pathetic and he hated it, reminding him of when he had come through the gate, terrified and alone.

Jake’s mind flooded with memories of dancing with Hollis to this playlist, laughing and accidentally stepping on each other’s toes. He yearned to be back in one of those moments more than anything, he knew it wasn't good to be wearing their clothes and listening to the playlist after they broke up with him, but he did it nevertheless.

After some time Jake fell asleep, pretending Hollis’s arms were around him and their breath was on his shoulder like just a few nights ago, the sound of a Hozier song filling the empty space in the air where Hollis should be.

When someone leaves your life, those exits are not made equal. Some are beautiful and poetic and satisfying. Others are abrupt and unfair. But most are just unremarkable, unintentional, and clumsy.

[asteroiideae]

1, 4, and 7 for the meta writer ask!

1. Tell us about your current project(s)  – what’s it about, how’s progress, what do you love most about it?

Right now, I’m primarily writing on text-based rpg forums (specifically a Harry Potter one, at the moment, because I’m still a basic sixteen year old at heart I guess lol) but I’ve recently started writing a series of vignettes based on my Scum & Villainy TTRPG party, which has also been a lot of fun! It’s difficult to measure “progress” on my text-based rpg writing, but I’ve been on the same forum for about six months now, running 12 characters, and nearly all of them are heavily involved in the plot, which I consider an accomplishment! My S&V vignettes I’ve only just begun -- debating whether or not anyone would be interested in reading them/whether I should post them up anywhere. I think what I love most about both projects is that they’re purely collaborative! I’m working with other people, their concepts, their goals, and I have come to absolutely adore using my writing (and improv) to support other people’s creative pursuits. ** gonna go out of order so I can drop my writing under a read more, if I can lol 7. What do you think are the characteristics of your personal writing style? Would others agree? Oh man this is such a difficult one to answer???? I don’t really spend a lot of time thinking about my writing style, honestly. I tend to write from my gut -- I don’t pre-plan a lot, I just immerse myself into my character and then whatever gets written down is what’s happening? (pour one out for my writing partners who get a rough 20 minute response without my proof-reading or editing!) But I guess probably what I’d say I’m known for in my writing circles is my strong sense of character? I’m pretty good at shifting language/pacing/style to suit whatever character voice I’m attempting to convey, and I spend most of my focus on developing those voices. lol idk I don’t consider myself particularly gifted at, or known for, anything beyond that. (Maybe, negatively, I’m bad about utilizing setting. Where the fuck is this scene taking place???? I sure as shit don’t know. I’ve been trying to work on improving that, though.) 4. Share a sentence or paragraph from your writing that you’re really proud of (explain why, if you like) 

Jess, you really came in with the ones I knew I’d struggle with! lol I tend not to be shy about things I know I do well, but I always squirm a little when asked what I like about my writing, for some reason. But! I’ll share two recent pieces that I liked -- gonna drop them under a read more, but I’ll say what I like about them here. 1. The first is a post from my Harry Potter rpg? I really liked it because I don’t often write hardened/wearied characters in such long-standing relationships? So getting to do an entire thread between a mutually-battered couple cleaning each up after a fight is shockingly intimate, and heart-warming, and idk I really love the way this post in particular came out, as a result. 2. I wrote this literally last night as a warm-up! In my Scum & Villainy game I swap between playing twins, and I hadn’t gotten to play as Ditha for several months, so I wanted to get back into her headspace -- which I did by writing something not in her POV? It’s very short, but I love how neatly it captures and introduces who Ditha Thorn is as a woman, without being long or complicated. from this post, if anyone else wants to receive a novel about my writing I guess.

1. Csilla Voronin & Alastor Moody (from Lightning Struck Itself)  Csilla Voronin looks down at Alastor Moody, and raises her eyebrow just a fraction. "I'm in better shape than you are." It's probably true; she's still got all her parts attached, and only the one (admittedly larger and absolutely cursed) wound to contend with. What it isn't however, is entirely true. Csilla is good at lying to everyone but this man, which is why she usually deflects rather than tries to outright tell him an untruth. Her fingers gently run through Alastor's blood-matted hair. It's not worth pressing him to see someone tonight; not in the least, because she wants to tuck him into bed as badly as he wants her to. "Alright." "As if I've ever been paid a wage." The retort comes easier to her lips than the more honest answer: nothing about this relationship is above, or below, her. She draws her fingers from his hair, now safely pushed back from his ear, and studies the mess; sighs, a sound more empathetic than anything else. "It's going to hurt like a bitch." As she draws away, Csilla drops a brief kiss into the crease of Alastor's forehead, using her forearms against the tub to push herself upright. She picks up her wand in one hand, and disappears through the door into the hallway beyond - only to return a moment later with the first aid kit from the kitchen table. She drops the thing onto the sink, and begins to rummage through it. Alcohol wipes, and gauze, tumble out of the kit and into her hands, and she tucks a few between her palm and her wand. "Were you going to ask me something?" She reaches for the distraction, even as she pauses to shimmy out of her trousers, and drops them unceremoniously atop the messy sink. The first aid supplies go onto the toilet lid, while she toes out of her socks. "Or are you just tired?" Either is possible, but Csilla privately suspects the latter. Free of her socks, she balances one hand on the side of the tub, and carefully sets one foot in, nudging Alastor until she can lower herself into the water, knees trapping his thighs between them. She summons the first of the alcohol wipes into her hand with a lazy flick of her wand, and carefully tears it open. All the warning he gets is a steady, apologetic, glance -- and she presses the wipe to the soot-and-blood caked remains of his ear. Her free hand holds his shoulder back against the porcelain, and her legs pin him mercilessly down. Better to get it over with quickly, than to draw the affair out. 2. Ditha Thorn, Scoundrel (from Scum & Villainy; The Morning Glory) It’s just warm enough that the air carries the earthy aroma of cow dung; it’s hardly romantic, but that’s what spring smells like - the ground thaws, and with it, the excrement from innumerable livestock herds. The young woman sprawled on the faded plaid blanket doesn’t seem to notice it, though. She’s leaned back on her forearms, long hair brushing the blanket as she tips her head back to look at the stars. Beside her, a similarly aged boy traces a shape in the air. “Do you see it? Right there, that little blinking light.” He jabs his finger at the sky suddenly, a grin spilling out over his features. “That’s the place, I think. If they’ll take me, I’ll go there to train.” The girl’s expression cools as she narrows her eyes on that point; the youthful curves of her face going hard with disapproval. “What if they don’t?” He sighs, shrugging out of his jacket suddenly, and dropping it on the girl’s legs. For a while, the only sound is the rustling of the late winter breeze through the shorn stalks of corn in the field around them. Although the girl’s expression doesn’t change, she scoops up the leather jacket, slides her arms into the sleeves and wraps it around her shoulders. “Then I guess I’ll be stuck here, too.” He leans forward, wraps his arms around his knees. “I’m not stuck here,” the girl says suddenly. She sits up, drawing her knees to her chest in a mirror of his own posture. “I’m leaving after graduation, there’s nothing on this rock for me.” That uncomfortable silence returns, and the boy shifts back and forth, clearly trying to find a way to dispute her words - but unwilling to do so while sitting alone with her in the dark. The moons begin to creep towards the horizon, the light fades, before either of them speaks again. “Everyone’s stuck here, Ditha.” He drops his arms, pushes himself off the ground and onto his feet. “Maybe your sister’s smart enough to find a school or a job willing to take her, and maybe the Legion will take me, but what do you think you’re gonna do to get out of here?” The girl, Ditha, blinks several times - her eyes still fixed on the stars. “Sounds like a challenge.” A slight huff is the only response to her quiet statement; the boy has known Ditha long enough to know the worst thing to do is dare her to something. Instead he bends down to tug gently on the blanket. “Come on, Di. It’s time to go.” She stands up, lets him lift and shake the sandy dirt out of the blanket, watches him fold it with eyes that barely reflect the faint light in the dark. When he offers her his hand, after tucking the blanket under his arm, she shakes her head. “I’ll find my own way back to town,” she says, in a tone of voice he’s never heard before. He shrugs, turns toward his truck - she’ll probably follow, he thinks. Where else is she going to go? But when he reaches the vehicle, turns with his hand on the door, Ditha Thorn is nowhere to be seen.

[atypicalacademic]

Two years ago, I laughed too long, too loud at something, and somebody told me "People would like you a lot more if you didn't try so hard." It gutted me.

I try too hard. It stuck with me. Still does. I try too hard.

Is that such a bad thing?

When all my knee jerk reactions are anger and hurt and jealousy and lashing out, is it such a bad thing that I try so hard to rein them in, keep myself in wraps, keep myself safe?

I try too hard. I would again. I'd rather try too hard than not at all. When I know what not at all looks like, when I know how not at all goes. Not at all hurts, not just myself, but everyone around me. Not at all is "how dare you" and "why would you" and "who's taking you away from me" and "I don't want you, either."

Not at all is rage. It's broken things and slammed doors. It isn't "being myself" when there's no fucking self to begin with. Not at all is the ugliest things about my sickness left to run wild. Not at all is giving up.

Not at all is lonely.

I don't want to be not at all.

I'm not not at all.

I overdo it, as I always overdo things. When I say I love my friends, I write seven paragraphs of prose poetry comparing them to music and flowers and languages. When I love a song, I translate it into two languages and send them to everyone I know. When I fall in love, it sometimes feels like a leap of a precipice.

I try too hard. I double-text. I over-explain. I fixate. I offer too much. I hear more "I don't know what you're talking about" or "I don't know what's so funny" than I can take. I squash bugs without intending to. I move too much.

I try too hard. I walk up to strangers and compliment their hair, their outfits. I don't have an indoor voice. I push away the worst of my instincts, sometimes with more force than necessary.

I text a friend. And another. I apologize. I bite back the nasty retort on the tip of my tongue. I take a deep breath. I sleep away grudges. I take my medication. I talk to my friend's mother in her native language, and it makes her smile.

I watch the same movie, ten times in ten days, over and over again, so I could move on from someone I once loved.

A friend gave me a book to write a message in. I filled sixteen pages with words in four languages.

"I knew you'd go overboard."

I did, too.

I'm not for everyone.

"You're like the Sun." Another friend told me. "You go from warm to burning, so you're not for everyone, all the time."

"You can be loud, it's okay."

Two years ago, I stopped speaking for two weeks. My own voice felt like cacophony. What difference did it make? My heart is the thing that's screaming.

"You know, you don't have to be soft if you aren't."

It felt like a lie. Still does.

I remember every single time that my best friend told me she loved me. I pick flowers from outside of my lovers' home and press them in thick books to remember the day by. I relive everything. I text another friend. "Seeing the fireflies with you made me happy."

"....that's...good?"

I say I love you at least ten times a day.

I say you're beautiful.

"I'm just sitting here."

My heart still spills over.

I try too hard.

I only know extremes.

I still haven't found the balance. It always tips, one way or the other. I see no scales. Maybe I never will.

I try too hard. But is that really the worst I can do?

I try too hard.

("I miss the way you wrote song lyrics on my skin.")

And maybe that's okay.

[ddagent]

Love the podcast prompt fill! If you decide to continue on with this one, this reader would be happy!!

Thank you so much! I am overwhelmed by the response to the podcast verse, so much so that I had to write a sequel! Prompt #91, here we go!

B: You are listening to The Bear and the Poorly Written Maiden. This podcast contains strong language, violence, and explicit sexual content.

J: The complete opposite of Brienne’s undergraduate degree. 

(rustling sound)

B: Really? We’re barely ten seconds in and already you’re picking on me. 

J: Fine, fine, I’ll be nice. Good evening, everyone, and welcome to The Bear and the Poorly Written Maiden. And good evening to you, Bee. How’s your week been?

B: I saw you this morning for breakfast. 

J: I know, but the listeners don’t know that. Also, you should say that you saw me earlier today. Saying you saw me for breakfast will make people think we’re sleeping together. 

B: Oh please, like anyone would think we would be sleeping together. 

J: It’s a podcast, Bee, they don’t know what either of us look like. Not that there’s…not that there’s anything wrong with how you look. You look…fine. 

B: I’ll take that as a compliment, thank you. 

J: Aren’t you going to say something nice about me? 

B: You’re a lot less annoying than when we first met.

(laughter)

J: I honestly thought you were going to kill me that first week. 

B: Well Cat…I mean, Cee, our head of department and my doctoral adviser, told me I was better off waiting for you to drop out, or move to a less rigorous study program. 

J: Nice to know she had faith in me from the very first day. 

B: (shocked gasp) You…you…okay, listeners, Jay and I have known each other for five years now, and I have just managed to reach a point where we can have a conversation without him insulting me. The first week, nay the first day, he turned up in the lecture hall and every time I went to raise my hand he would jump in and answer the question first. He had to be the centre of attention. At one point, Cee actually told you to sit the fuck down. 

J: I’d had private tutors all my life; I didn’t know any better. 

B: That’s your answer for everything. (pause) We should probably get back to the podcast. Do you want to do all the housekeeping? I know you enjoy the sound of your own voice. 

J: You’re so rude to me. Everyone thinks you’re as pure as the Maiden, but you’re got a mean streak in you.

B: Because you’re rude to me first!

J: That’s your answer for everything. (Bee gasps) Anyway, as we’ve said, this is The Bear and the Poorly Written Maiden. We read bad historical fiction and analyse it against our considerable knowledge in the field. We are both descendants of Goldenhand the Just and The Blue Knight, a popular topic in historical fiction and the real focus of this podcast. You can catch up with previous episodes wherever you get your podcasts, and you can send us questions or topics for future episodes at thebearandthemaiden@ravenmail.com.

B: And we really do welcome your comments and questions. So far the only people who have emailed us are the Dornish restaurant down the road giving us coupons, and my Dad who wanted to say he overheard someone say he listens to the podcast, and wanted to congratulate us on our success. 

J: Thank you, Papa Bee, we appreciate the support. And the ginger biscuits you sent last week, they were delicious. 

B: I wouldn’t know, Dad, Jay ate them all. 

J: And in the worst segue way of all time—

B: —don’t you dare.

J: We’re currently reading Pools of Blue, by Alys Morrow. Last chapter involved Ser Blue going to Goldenhand’s chambers, where he proceeded to…go down on her, before Goldenhand made the historically inaccurate error of claiming Ser Blue’s maidenhead before their hands were tied by a septon. The following chapter is entitled The Rising Sun, which will be read today by Bee. 

B: Do I have to?

J: We agreed; we switch off chapters. Come on, Bee. I have faith in you. 

B: Fine. (clears throat) Goldenhand awoke beside his beloved. Creamy rays of sunlight sprung through the open window, bathing he and Blue in a halo of warmth. The cerulean sheets were crumpled and stained and kicked to the far foot of the bed. Both of them lay naked across the feather mattress, and Blue’s lithe form—right I’ve got to stop it there, because I think we’re heading into historical inaccuracy and we’re barely a paragraph in. 

J: Morrow’s describing Ser Blue as lithe. 

B: The complete opposite of every description there is of Ser Blue. 

J: Keep reading, maybe it’s a typo. We’ve found seven already in this book. 

B: Alright. Both of them lay naked across the feather mattress, and Blue’s lithe form was open to his heady gaze. Her legs were long and supple; her skin like the cream expressed from the teat of a cow. I really hate you for making me read this. 

J: Come on. Keep reading, let me get the colour chart. 

B: The blonde patch of hair between her legs was damp, as if covered by morning dew. Goldenhand was tempted to place his hand there, see if his sweetling was as wet as how she had gushed the night before. She had soaked the sheets, covered his golden fingers in her thick juices. 

(Jay sniggers)

B: Stop laughing. Her hips were slender, her waist so small he could wrap an entire arm around it. That’s not right. From all the reading I’ve done on my ancestor, she was my height, my build. She’s not some dainty little maiden. 

J: Even in the fight scene with the pirates, Goldenhand ultimately finished the job after her botched rescue attempt. And, canonically, Ser Blue was the better fighter after Goldenhand, well, lost his hand. 

B: Canonically the better fighter, you don’t need the caveat. 

(Jay laughs)

J: He was knighted at sixteen. Ser Blue wasn’t—

B: —you cannot compare the privilege of a teenage boy in one of the nine great houses to a teenage girl in a minor noble house! And she was a gifted fighter, better than he was. In the single fight—

J: —you always do this, you always bring up the bridge. He was in chains, he’d been a prisoner for years. And we have no corroboration of that fight other than the ramblings of one of Lord Bolton’s men, and as a story passed down through the generations. There is no physical proof. 

B: Well, is there anything we can agree on?

J: That this book is terrible, and honestly, I can’t listen to another word of it. 

B: Agreed. Put it on the list?

J: On the list.

B: Well, we’ve made the executive decision to put The Pools of Blue by Alys Morrow on our ‘Inaccurate and Awful’ list a full 227 pages earlier than planned. 

J: Thank the Gods. So, what’s next?

[reflectionsofacreator]

So I’ve been trying to articulate my thoughts on this for… days.

Desmond is dragged along by Juno’s control, unwilling and unable to move, save for his pleas for her to stop this. Hidden blade extended, and he can only watch as he’s forced to put it into Lucy’s gut.

Desmond collapses alongside her lifeless body, and the credits roll. 

This got long, so under the cut it goes. 

So like. I knew about this. I knew that she dies, I knew that she was a Templar, and I knew that Desmond was the one to kill her via mind control. I know that she was born an Assassin, but later defected to the Templars during her years long undercover mission. But other than that, I barely knew anything about her. Even still, I’m extremely upset and I don’t like this.

This is … a hell of a player punch. You’re told to press any button, and it’s you that stabs Lucy, via the Apple controlling Desmond. As for why this is happening:

Juno: There is one who would accompany you through the gate. She lies not within our sight. The cross darkens the horizon.

Lucy is a Templar. Was a Templar. Or would have betrayed Desmond and the others to the Templars. Pick one, it’s not very clear. The “cross” Juno speaks about is, in universe, a reference to the Templars – various characters have mentioned them this way, including Minerva in her message to Desmond at the end of ac2. Templar bases have a cross on them, and sections of Abstergo tech and buildings did as well. Hells, even Lucy’s shirt in ac2 had a cross pattern on it, though it’s rather cleverly hidden. She’s still wearing the same shirt in BH, just with a jacket over it.

This both does and doesn’t feel like it comes out of no where. I’m not sure if I’m not surprised because I got spoiled, or because I did all my paragraphs and paragraphs of analysis on Lucy specifically, and I could see some plot threads that were put down. Probably both. After all the analysis I put down though, I can very much see it.

I honestly can’t decide if it’s brilliant or just needlessly frustrating. If you put some thought into it, it’s done rather well – Lucy’s got the suspect motivations and long history inside the Templar base of Abstergo, even going so far as being a prisoner inside their facilities in ac1. She was saved from an attempt on her life by Warren Vidic a couple of years ago, and like. The wiki says she was 24, at the time of her death. Even if she’s been an Assassin from birth, it’s still jarring to be faced with death and impossible choices like that. And like– Rebecca says it’s been seven years since she last saw her? I think?

Not to mention her conversations with Desmond in ac1, about how she got picked up by Abstergo during her college program– presumably that means that she was 18 or so? Oh god the wiki says she was cut lose from the Assassins at seven-fucking-teen so she could infiltrate Abstergo. What the fuck. No fucking wonder she defected to the Templars? Who in their right fucking mind sends a fucking seventeen year old to infiltrate a company like that? And expect them to remain loyal and come out okay?

William Miles I have some fucking questions for you, you motherfucker.

On the other hand-- I feel like I’m giving the writers too much credit for being brilliant about this. Brotherhood suffers from a very big lack of character interactions, to where I feel like the characters in the modern day are more fleshed out than Ezio and his crew. I felt like Desmond had more meaningful conversations with the crew than Ezio did with his own sister, and that’s ... kinda saying something. 

But I also kinda want to believe that all these threads that were put down actually meant something. But I’m not really going to hold my breath for Lucy to be given the care and consideration that I feel like she deserves. Like -- double agent characters are tricky to handle, and a triple agent even more so. I really doubt we’ll get much in the terms of her motivations, or an explanation much at all. 

Ugh this sucks I like her. Why. Ugh. Why this. 

God and like. Why would Juno do this. What’s her angle. Is she allied with Minerva? It doesn’t sound like it, from how she went on and on about how bad humans were. But then again, we barely had one conversation with Minerva, so.... Seriously, what is her deal, why’d she do this? Like-- on the surface, the Templars are actually more in line with how the Precursors treated humanity, why would she get rid of a Templar agent? 

Fuck and then like. Jesus fuck what the hell is this gonna do to Desmond. This is. Huge. Watching a friend die is one thing. But being forced to commit the act yourself by a possibly malevolent entity that took over your damn body? God, this poor guy. A month ago he was a bar tender, and now he’s lived through the lives of two people via a device that will drive him insane, he’s seeing hallucinations and all kinds of shit, and like. Shit. 

Like. He thought he was a normal guy who escaped from a cult at the age of sixteen, and now this. 

I know Desmond and Lucy was/is a popular ship, and like, i can see it, I think. But even if you don’t ship them, out of all the modern day characters, they have the strongest bond and the most interesting dynamic. The dichotomy of being a jailer and a prisoner, but also the jailer is a prisoner too, and a very “we’re all in this together” kind of feel. The interactions they had with each other were genuine and felt full of real warmth, even if I never was quite sure what was going on in Lucy’s head. 

This is just. So upsetting. For a lot of reasons. Namely that I’m sure I won’t actually get the explanations and the story I want to come from this. Maybe I’m just a cynic, but... Sighs. 

On the other hand, even knowing the spoilers I did for this, this was such an impacting moment? Like-- I don’t think I could do anything after the credits came up, except stare and just. Holy fuck. I feel like it was really effective, if out of left field, and I haven’t gotten player punched like this in a while. Like, I legitimately did not want to touch the controller because I knew what was coming, but at the same time, I wanted to beat the game, and see the story resolution... Just. Damn. 

Questionable story decisions aside, it was executed so fucking well.