#its so funny i have to always calculate how much information this man knows whenever i talk one piece with him

[elles-home]

i was videocalling my one piece friend today (he paused reading as the god valley incident started) and i was telling him some of the things i noticed when i was doing my anime rewatch after i had caught up with the manga, namely that bonney was sad/crying in sabaody whenever kuma was shown or somehow involved

and he was like "and he was there!!" as in kuma was there! in sabaody! when bonney was there too!

and i had to be like yeah! isnt it crazy! the foreshadowing! all the while being like yeah i totally dont know kuma checked up on his daughter while she was at sabaody and made the decision to not check in with her

craaazy

[bandaged-writer]

a chance || dazai

➤ Pairing: Dazai x Reader

➤ Genre: fluff

➤ Warning: none

➤ Summary: To be held so closely and tightly by you, reminded him of the time you confessed to him one late afternoon. Now that Dazai thought about it, it was a lovely memory and wondered if it was okay for him to give in.

➤ Word count: 3.1k

➤ Note: This is my first time writing after nearly a year, but I hope you still enjoy it. Please, let me know what you think and feel free to drop a request in my inbox. ^.^

The sound of hurried footsteps were successfully drowned out by the hustle lingering within the busy streets of Yokohama. People chattered away either on their phone for business purposes or with their peers, laughing at jokes, pouting and enjoying themselves underneath the glowing sun of spring. The smell of food filled your nostrils as you passed them in a hurry and for a moment you contemplated getting a piece of that delicious piece of strawberry cake the bakery had on display. After all, your morning stopped you from having the slightest bit of breakfast in your system.

That train of thought, however, was interrupted by your colleague, Kunikida, picking up the phone. “Where are you? You’re already five minutes late and I doubt you’ll finish the reports you have to finish at this rate.” You couldn’t helpt the slight roll of your eyes, yet you knew that Kunikida only meant well - or so you’d like to believe. “I’m sorry, Kunikida,” you started with a heavy sigh, stopped at a traffic light and waited for the lights to turn green. “My car wouldn’t start this morning and the traffic is too horrible to take the bus. The next train would’ve arrived late so now I’m walking to work.” 

To anyone else, it could sound like an excuse, but Kunikida never saw you arriving late without a plausible reason and even that case was extremely rare. Whenever he entered the office, you’d arrive at the Agency only a few minutes after him, a treat from the local bakery in your hands and a grin on your face. Truth be told, it had become a part of Kunikida’s schedule: “Greet [Name] at 08:05 am”. That’s how consistent your presence was.  “That’s unfortunate,” Kunikida spoke and glanced over at your supposedly empty desk which Dazai was occupying, mumbling something about finding your Google search history and using it for blackmail while Atsushi was quite literally dragging his superior away from your desk. Luckily, all the chairs possessed the ability to roll. ‘‘How much longer will you take?“

One hand stuffed into the pocket of your jacket, you hastily crossed the street once the traffic lights turned green and skillfully avoided bumping into people, only stopping once because someone’s dog was sniffing your leg with a wagging tail. You stroked the pet’s head affectionately and cooed at the creature that possessed such button-like eyes. At least there was one good thing about your morning now. “Hmm..Maybe about ten minutes? Could be less, could be a few minutes more,” you spoke into the phone, unsure of how long you’d actually take. If the streets continued to be so lively, then you’d definitely need longer than usual. Why couldn’t those people choose a different day to go outside and meet up with their friends and business partners? Ah, not like you had any control over such a thing.

‘‘Dazai-san! I’m sure you won’t find anything on [Name]‘s computer!“ Atsushi argued loudly enough for you to catch it over the phone. ‘‘Isn’t this what people your age call ‘finding tea‘?“ Dazai whined in response, pouted his lips and acted like he had gotten seriously betrayed by the Internet and its slang language.

‘Oh, Dazai is back?” You asked Kunikida before he could ask you to hurry up so he wouldn’t end up wringing the brown-haired man’s neck who was currently going on Kunikida’s nerves with his usual antics. A smile cracked your lips at the thought of a sense of normality returning to the Agency. Well, as normal as it could be. “Unfortunately, yes. Please try to arrive as early as possible.”

With those words being said, the call ended and the small smile fell from your lips faster than it had found home on your face. Everyone was still on high alert after Atsushi was abducted by Akutagawa and fought the Port Mafia’s rabid dog. Then there was Dazai purposely getting himself caught by the mafia just so he could find out who had placed the bounty on the young boy’s head. He was successful as always, but usually it was a death sentence once you were within the wall’s of the Port Mafia.

Of course, you believed in Dazai. His calculations were awfully accurate and somehow, everything played right into his bandaged hands. A man of such intellect would be terrifying to anyone else, but it only made you wonder how sharp Dazai really was, how deep his thoughts truly went. You’d probably never find out.

Despite Dazai’s plans always working out one way or another, you couldn’t help but worry about the suicidal idiot while everyone else brushed it off, saying he was either drifting along the river or chatting up some pretty lady. Only Atsushi and you had voiced out your concerns at the time.

You’d barely made it through the door and shrugged off your jacket when your hand was suddenly held by an awfull familiar, bandaged one and chocolate orbs sparkled brightly upon your apparently long-awaited arrival. “What a blessing you are for my sore eyes!” Dazai exclaimed dramatically and pulled off his daily, overdramatical act, lips pulled into an anticipating and hopeful smile that this time you’d say yes to a double suicide with him. “Ah, [Name]! You won’t believe how dull and grey the morning is when you’re not here and all I see is Kunikida’s unflattering face.” Somewhere in the back, you could hear Kunikida call out his partner’s name in an offended and warning tone of voice, probably about to pop a vein, too.

Normally, you would’ve laughed at their antics, but this time, a frown slowly spread across your face as you looked at Dazai, his hand delicately holding yours. Only one mistake in his planned abduction could’ve sentenced him to death by the hands of some mafioso. He wouldn’t be here, holding your hand and fooling around with Atsushi, annoying Kunikida and receiving more paperwork as a result. That idiot wouldn’t ask you for a double suicide every morning or steal bite after bite of your food until it, according to Dazai, magically disappeared. He would be gone, erased, deleted. This was the first time Dazai had been at the office ever since his visit at the mafia. “A wonderful face such as yours would look absolutely stunning in a lover’s-”

Dazai cut himself off as you refused to even crack the ghost of a smile at his attempt of openly flirting with you. Usually, you’d hear him out and end up laughing at his rather serious suggestion, but this time, there wasn’t even a glimmer of amusement in your eyes. Instead, he found a layer of sudden sadness clouding your gaze, but it wasn’t enough for tears to spill. “Is everything okay?”

You lowered your gaze to the ground, bangs casting a shadow over your eyes while you slowly let your hand slip from Dazai’s gentle grasp and raised it up high. Suddenly, you smacked him upside down on the head - maybe a bit harder than you intended to, but it was deserved either way. “You idiot!,” you exclaimed loudly enough to catch the attention of your colleagues who were more than puzzled that you were upset with Dazai of all people. After all, they were convinced that the two of you were connected by the hip or siblings separated at birth. 

“Ah, didn’t I tell you that I’m not as fond of pain as I am of your face, [Name]?” Dazai whined after his chin collided with your shoulder pretty hard. A pout found home on his lips as he was about to rub the sore spot you had hit so mercilessly and out of the blue, as well. “Shut up,” you said and rested one hand on his back, the other one cradled the back of Dazai’s head, getting tangled in his messy, brown locks. It probably looked funny given that Dazai was taller than you and maybe you’d laugh about that later. “I was worried sick about you,” the grasp you had on his trenchcoat tightened like he was about to disappear, slip from your embrace like water through the gaps of your fingers. 

Chocolate-like orbs widened as he understood what the hit was for and he silently admitted that it was indeed deserved. He’d told you nothing about his plan to extract information directly from the mafia instead of receiving it through a third person. Of course, Dazai knew you’d be upset with him once he’d return to the Agency, knew about the feelings you held for him.

Dazai could feel your heart thumping against his chest in relief and allowed himself to bask in the warmth you radiated. He didn’t necessarily return the hug, but ended up patting the top of your head and gently messing up your styled hair which had probably frustrated you like every morning. To be held so closely and tightly by you, reminded him of the time you confessed to him one late afternoon. Now that Dazai thought about it, it was a lovely memory and wondered if it was okay for him to give in.

The sun was beginning to set and dipped the office of the Agency into an orange hue, giving the usually lively space a tranquil and warm aura that would be welcomed by anyone walking in. But the office was empty safe for Dazai and you who was typing away on the laptop in front of you, sending off important emails and bringing certain documents into chronological order to make it easier for Kunikida to skim through them whenever it’d be needed.

Dazai had ended up with more paperwork than necessary since he insisted on annoying Kunikida all day while you just had a lot to do. A case had caused a lot of material damage throughout Yokohama and now it was your duty to get everything organized and ready to be paid off by the insurance that had saved the Agency from bankruptcy more than once. That was why the two of you were currently stuck in the office, working overtime, unpaid.

Usually, you’d chat with the man sitting opposite of you about anything that came to mind, but that afternoon, you were nervously biting your bottom lip, chewing the sensitive flesh until it was reddened. The glances you stole of him were fleeting but you’d always look away whenever Dazai was about to make eye contact. Your cheeks were dusted in a pink hue as well and truth be told, it looked cute and suited you in a way. However, Dazai wasn’t too fond of your sudden silence. He was about to break the silence, but you cut him to it and closed the laptop shut a bit louder than necessary - you flinched at the sudden, strong sound bouncing off the walls of the Agency.

“I’ve got to tell you something,” your voice was full of conviction yet it was shaking with the insecurity of a child, your fingers couldn’t properly hold still. Interested in what you had to say, Dazai rested his chin on his palm, brown eyes attentive to your every move yet they held a soft glimmer in them and conjured a smile on his lips. “Hm? What is it?”

You took a deep breath - once, twice. It felt like your heart was trying to pound its way out of your ribcage, your pulse raced and you could hear the blood ringing in your ears. But this was no time to chicken out. If you didn’t do it now, God knew when the next best chance would be offered to you on a silver platter like this. “This might sound silly, but I think I might be developing feelings towards you,” you confessed in one breath and for a moment it felt like a burden had been lifted off your shoulders. It felt good to come clean. “You don’t have to return those feelings at all. I just..really needed to get this off my chest and I don’t want it to change anything between us,” and it was true. You didn’t mind being just friends with the suicide enthusiast as long as he remained by your side in some way. But unsaid feelings can be one’s downfall, so you took the risk.

The expression on Dazai’s face didn’t change, but it wasn’t quite readable, either. There was a certain depth to it that you’d never reach the end of, no matter how deep you swam, no matter how deep you’d cut. “I was wondering when you’d notice,” Dazai pretty much deadpanned. He had taken notice of your lingering gaze, the more frequent blushing when he’d compliment you or the fact that you always brought food with you, although you knew he’d eat it instead. The confusion on your face at that moment was quite amusing, too. Dazai chuckled, “you’re pretty much an open book for me to read, [Name].”

Of course, he’d know before you’d even notice your own feelings, you thought to yourself and let a gentle chuckle slip past your lips. It was really futile to hide anything from that man. “Promise it won’t change anything between us?”

“Promise,” he smiled in a heartfelt way.

“Yes, we’re all very happy you two get along,” Kunikida cut the moment without mercy and dumped a load of paperwork on your desk that contained things like finances, complaints, cancelled cases as well as successful ones. “But work comes first.” The blonde adjusted his glasses on his nose and then crossed the point of giving you your work for the day out of his schedule. Next was getting the discounted eggs and several other goods. No way he was going to miss out on that. “Come on, don’t be so harsh on them, Kunikida,” Yosano said, sitting on the edge of Ranpo’s desk who had been watching the scene with snacks between his fingers. “You know how they are,” the doctor tried to reason with the idealist and possibly lessen your paperwork. Kunikida shook his head no - as was expected but one could always hope, right? “That’s no excuse to be slacking.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you assured your colleagues and got to your desk only to find your Google search history opened. So that bandaged bastard really did want to find dirt on you. Luckily, this wasn’t your personal laptop but the one you explicitly used for work. “It has to be done sooner or later, anyway. I’d rather have it off the desk now than tomorrow,” getting comfortable, you opened up Excel and began typing in the different losses as well as profits the Agency had made, giving several documents your signature and the likes. 

“And what was that about my face being unflattering, you bandage wasting machine?!”

“Ouch, words hurt, Kunikida-kun!”

True to your words, all the paperwork was off your desk, every single data was saved on your laptop and the documents were stored away safely in a folder. When you looked out of the window, you saw that the large crowds from this morning were beginning to clear out, the sun was about to set soon. Considering the time, you doubted that anyone else would enter the Agency, today. 

Atsushi was out on a job with Kenji, Kunikida was getting those discounted eggs, Ranpo had finished a murder case and most likely went home with Tanizaki’s help. Yosano had given you a hand with some of your work but left early.

You closed the Agency’s door when your ears perked up at the sound of footsteps approaching you and sighed. “I’m sorry but we’re closed for today,” you spoke and locked the door properly, letting the key slide into the pocket of your jacket. But to your surprise, it was no possible client that wanted to give the Agency yet another case. “What? You can’t recognize me by the sound of my footsteps? I’m disappointed, [Name],” Dazai feigned hurt and put his hand right above his heart. The audacity you had to not recognize him after working together for so long! You couldn’t help the surprise adorning your face - Dazai never got back to his workplace unless he was dragged by Kunikida or it was a top priority. “Yeah, you must be incredibly hurt and will never get over it,” you laughed and cocked your hips to your side. “Now, what did you come back for?”

It was at that very moment that Dazai dropped the theatrical act that you had grown so fond of and replaced it what that damned tender face of his. You know, the face someone made when they could see their puppy grow up. “Let’s go on a date,” He spoke softly, not tripping over a syllable and remaining completely composed unlike you when you had confessed one or two months ago. Heat rose to your cheeks and suddenly, you grew oddly shy. Sure, Dazai was the epitome of a flirt and regularly asked women to commit a double suicide with him, but never quite asked them for a date with a look in his eyes that made the endless depths of them seem reachable. “Are you serious?” You double-checked, eyebrows raised in curiosity of his sincerity. Although you were pretty sure that Dazai wasn’t messing around in that moment, you feared that your ears might’ve played an ill trick on you. “As serious as a suicide enthusiast can be,” Dazai confirmed and offered for you to take his hand. Your eyes flickered from his hand and back to his face a few times, wondering what changed his mind about your feelings towards him and being a little bit cautious. “Why the sudden change of heart?”

“You trust me, don’t you?” You hated it whenever he pulled the trust card. Both of you knew you could never say no to that particular question, because it’d be a lie. And Dazai had a nose for lies. Sighing, you put your hand in his and watched his face light up in a pleased way, red staining your cheeks and your heart rate gradually picking up the more you realized that Dazai was seriously taking you out. In a date way. 

As the two of you strolled throughout Yokohama’s streets and ended up in a small restaurant where Dazai made up for all the times he’d eaten your food by treating you to dinner, he’d realized that maybe this was one of the few right decisions he’d ever made.

A friend of him once told him he could never fill the empty hole in his heart. But maybe you could.

[lemonietrinket]

Jae’s Divine Intervention ||| Wonpil x Reader, Jae & Reader

Summary: Jae finds out about your crush on Wonpil and naturally takes the mick out of you. And when you get to play detective, you find out he’s perhaps more supportive than you would normally imagine.  Genre: Humour, fluff [if you guys dont find this funny then i... its just me] Warning(s): Some cursing all done in jest (2x sh*t) Word Count: 7735  Theme Song: Tonight - The Solutions; Dive - iKON; Hold - Winner AN: A request from anon, hope you enjoy! I’m sorry it took a while, it’s a lot longer than I usually write tho so I hope that makes up for it gender neutral reader

~~~

“Wonpil?!”

“Jae, I swear to christ—”

“Wonpil?!” Jae’s voice was rising in pitch by the second, a look of astounded horror on his face.

“Yes, Wonpil, what’s so—”

“Our keys? The snake? Our snake that plays the keys?”

“Really, you’re still using that? That’s like, three years old Jae—”

“You—you took one look at the pink sweater and went hmmm, yes, this is the hot stuff, real sexy—”

“Jae!”

“—any man that wears this I will date him on the spot—!”

“Jae!” 

The man cackled, leaning right back into his gaming chair with his head tipped over the side. “Oh my god this is just...!”

You pressed your tongue to your cheek, waiting for the grown man to gather himself up. Though, knowing Jae, it could well take a while. “You finished?”

He swung back, elbows coming to his knees with his eyes incredulous. “Kim Wonpil?”

“Yes.”

“Not Brian?”

“Why would it be Brian?”

He inhaled through his teeth, tutting. “It’s always Brian. And then, of course, yours truly.”

You sighed, rolling your eyes. “I regret ever talking to you.”

He sat back, sending you a smirk. “Nahh, you would never regret me.”

“Can we just go back to discussing like, dinner tonight?” you glanced distastefully around at his room, taking note of the pile of laundry abandoned by his wardrobe. “Like I came into your lair for in the first place?” 

“Hey, easy there—!”

“Honestly Sungjin would have a fit if he comes in here,” you announced, a mischievous glint in your eye.

“Well it’s a good job he isn’t coming in here.” Jae easily met your stare, pursing his lips, knowing full well that starting a battle with him would be the hardest you could try to win in the dorm. You backed down, but didn’t shy away from his stare as he pressed his fingertips together, taking on the role of a faux mastermind, “But no, dinner can wait, because this—this—is much more intriguing.”

Taking in the nod of his head, and the smug grin on his features, you realised that you weren’t going to escape as you’d hoped. Might as well be comfortable.

“Now,” he began once you took a seat on his bed, flicking a rogue sock to the floor, “start from the beginning. When did you realise that you were hopelessly in love with this, Mr Kim.”

“Since when was this an interrogation?” you interjected. “Also I am not ‘hopelessly in love’!”

“Infatuated?”

“No!”

“Lovesick?”

“Not a bit!”

“Helplessly inclined on the edge of your seat to hang upon his every little word?”

You didn’t even answer him that time and merely glared at him. 

He nodded pensively, patting a finger against his chin as he murmured, “In denial, interesting...”

“What?!” 

He changed tact. “Do you not know the exact time for your realisation for your deep feelings?”

“Even if I did I wouldn’t tell you,” you sulked, folding your arms crossly. He let out a quiet ‘aww’, which you ignored to the best of your capacity. “What has gotten into you?”

“I’m just trying to work out if you are,” he cleared his throat, “fit for my closest colleague and good friend. After all, we’ve been through so much, I wouldn’t want any harm to come to him—”

There were many things wrong to his wistful, jesting sentence, but there was one thing that you had to refute: “Last week you told Sungjin you would sell Pillie out for half a churro.”

His smart mouth stopped for a few seconds, and you figured briefly that you’d perhaps won and could leave. Alas, you were mistaken.

“Refers to Mr Kim as ‘Pillie’, indicating a very special degree of endearment, interesting...”

You groaned, falling back onto the rest of the mattress, asking the world what you’d done to deserve this.

Truth be told, Jae wasn’t worried for his bandmate or you in the slightest. Hearing your accidental slip of your feelings, everything seemed to come together at once and fit like two missing jigsaw pieces. You both had traits that accentuated the other, and you got along so well. If you two got together, he discerned, there would be few power couples that could compete.

He didn’t understand shipping culture, but this was perhaps his one exception. It just made sense! His soft charms next to your harder ones, your sense next to his sunny optimism, the both of you still sharing much in common.

“Six months,” you suddenly admitted.

“Hmm?”

“My, you do delight in my torment,” you grumbled before shooting him a look that softened as you continued, the memory trickling to the surface and making it impossible for you to not smile. “I’ve liked him for six months. It hit me when he fell asleep on my shoulder on our trip up to Incheon.”

One of those shared things being bouts of shyness.

He decided in that moment that it was time for some divine intervention.

“That’s a long time ago,” he mentioned, “and you haven’t done anything about it?”

“How could I?” you countered, though it was more sad than feisty. “How do I confess to the gentlest, happiest soul? How am I supposed to even know if he likes me back? He’s cuddly with everyone, you know.”

One glance at your crestfallen eyes that shone through your little chuckle lit a spark in his head.

“Don’t you worry, Y/N. God works in mysterious ways,” he reassured, sending you a wink.

And so began the grand unravelling of The Great Jae’s plan. 

Step 1: Establish if the Feelings are Mutual

The first step, as Jae understood it, was crucial—nothing else could be done until he knew if the keyboardist also had a whopping crush on his friend. And they had made some fair points about how hard it would be to calculate whether Wonpil was just being friendly affectionate or more than that.  

So, to get the answer cleanly without collateral, Jae concocted a plan so cunning he could put a tail on it and call it a weasel.

The next day, Jae slipped into the practice room, after locating his whereabouts through a super secret and effective method dubbed as ‘asking Sungjin’. He strode up to the keyboard set where the younger was staring intently at one of the keys, swiftly adopting a confident stance—he would not be swayed by any sneak attacks, and especially not attempted deflections with puppy eyes: a weapon he knew his bandmate was highly proficient in.

Hearing him mumbling about whether they should invent a H note, Jae made the choice to enact Step 1, taking advantage of the possible surprise characteristic.

“Wonpil, do you like Y/N?” 

Peering up with his classic bright smile, Wonpil answered him swiftly, “Yeah!”

Jae frowned, the response seeming too quick. He had to comprehend it as a misunderstanding of his question. He pressed the charge. “Well, yeah, I figured you liked them, but I meant it as in more of a—”

“I know how you meant it, hyung,” he looked back at the keys, testing a C tentatively.

“Oh.” Jae was surprised to say the least. “How did you...?” 

“I’ve been waiting for one of you to ask me,” he explained poutily, “you always seemed to tease me about it when I didn’t have someone, and then as soon as I actually fell, not a peep.” 

Jae had to admit that the entire exchange had caught him off guard, as he became distinctly aware of how slowly the cogs were turning in his head. “You were... waiting?”

He nodded urgently at the sound board, twisting a dial as he held his ear closer to the instrument.

“You know the sound isn’t on right?”

“The key is squeaky.”

“Oh.”

“Of course I was waiting,” Wonpil replied simply, taking a simpering pause, “aren’t you going to ask me?” 

Jae watched as the younger suddenly sat up and swung himself to look at the legs of his keyboard stand, giving them a good wobble. There was no doubt a squeak then.

“Ask what, about what you like about them?” he suggested, not really sure himself. 

“Finally!” The younger threw himself back out from underneath the instrument. “Everything, hyung, I think I’m actually in love! Their laugh, their kindness, their eyes, their jokes—I feel like I’m going to burst whenever I see them, like into just, laughter, I can’t stop smiling, I just want to hug them and kiss their nose...” When he knocked his head back up to him, his smile was even brighter, his cheeks lightly blushed. “Is this what Younghyun-hyung means when he says that love hurts?”

Jae was more than happy to hear proof—it meant Step 1 was a success after all—but hearing the sap did mean he had to hide his grimace.  But now he was presented with a more severe problem, as he knew full well that wasn’t what the bassist, who could dip into the realms of emo territory, meant at all by that phrase.

It didn’t mean he was going to explain it. Especially seeing those eyes brimming with adoration for his closest friend—he cursed at himself giving into the puppy eyes after all. 

“Yeah, probably,” he answered vaguely, opting to change the subject, “well, I’d better be off, thanks!”

“Hey, hyung, where do you think you’re going?” Wonpil called after him as he attempted to make a tactical retreat, having gathered the information he needed. 

Jae turned around, lying through his teeth as his brain searched for an excuse. “I... well, I need to go and do...”

“Without wishing me good luck on fixing my keyboard stand?” he enquired, pouting childishly from the other side of the room.

“Good luck...?”

“Ok, you can go!” he announced, sending a wave. “Bye!”

And with that, Jae exited the practice room, frowning at his reflection in the glass of the window as he passed through. Wonpil was strange sometimes, that was for sure. 

It didn’t matter in the long run though, it was going to be your problem soon rather than his—a thought that elicited a snicker from him—and with Step 1 complete, he could proceed to Step 2. 

Step 2: Create the Confession Arrangement

Jae had figured that the third step would have required the most work, but he had be drastically wrong. He’d presumed coming up with the perfect scenario for a confession would have been easy, but once he’d sat down in the living room to think in peace, an hour later he found himself lying on the floor, staring up at the ceiling, without a single idea in his head. 

Chasing the tails of all the ideas that taunted him and skipped just out of reach every time in his head, he barely heard the sound of someone else entering the fray.  And he would have continued to have done, had the newcomer not come to stand beside him and peered over his sprawled body.

“Hyung, are you ok?”

The deep voice snapped his eyes from where they were transfixed on the ceiling to the cherubic face of Dowoon, currently in the process of devouring a pretzel.

Jae snorted, still barely comprehending his presence. “Of course.”

The younger tilted his head to see him somewhat the correct way up. “Are you sure? You’re laying on the floor.”

“I am aware, and yes, a hundred percent,” he answered, putting on a confident front as best he could, “this, young padawan, is the sight of a master at work.”

Dowoon hummed in an agreement of sorts, “Oh, right.”  He took a deep bite of the sweet dough. “What are you working on?”

Jae finally recognised the notable rustling of a paper packet, his eyes falling to the treat. “I am devising the most wondrous plan the world has seen to—is that my vanilla pretzel?”

“No.”

He said it so quick and devoid of emotion there was no way to tell whether it was a lie or not. Jae was left peering up at the man as he took another bite, who sent him a thumbs up as a form of endorsement.  “Right. Well... I am devising a plan that will get Wonpil and Y/N to admit their feelings for one another and finally unite as the planet’s best ship and sail off into the distance together!” A victorious grin on his lips, he looked like a man that had already found success. “I have already completed Step 1 with peak success, now I must move to Step 2 and—”

“What was Step 1?”

“Finding out whether their feelings were mutual, of course!” Jae guffawed, surprised that Dowoon could not connect the two dots.

He peered over to him again to see him frowning as he angled himself to take the final bite of the pretzel. Before he could ask what the matter was, he preempted him, stating, “You didn’t know?”

That caught the eldest off guard. “What?”

“You didn’t know that they both like each other?” he glanced towards him, eyes expectant as he shoved the dough past his lips. “I thought everyone knew.”

“Well, I...” Jae coughed, quickly covering his back, “...there’s a difference between assumption and ascertaining proof, maknae. Now that I have evidence I may move onto Step 2.”

“And that is?”

Jae caught the tone of curiosity this time in the intonation of the man’s deep voice, making note to take advantage of it as soon as possible. “Create the confession arrangement. I must make a scenario where the only possible eventuality is that the two confess to one another their true feelings.”

Dowoon nodded, licking his fingertips free of leftover sugar.

“You wanna help?” he enquired, angling his head to get a better view of his band mate’s features, waiting for the smile to arise.

“Sure.” Discarding the paper bag on the coffee table nearby, he lowered himself to the floor, laying on his back and mimicking his elder. 

“Good choice,” Jae clapped, turning his attention back to the ceiling.

“What ideas have you got so far, then?” Dowoon began, drumming his fingers against his stomach as he followed suit.

“Well...” Panic filtered through Jae’s system, as he suddenly realised he didn’t have even the tiniest beginnings of a thread to follow, let alone a part of a suggestion. “We could lock them in a room,” his mouth said before his brain could catch up. He cursed to himself in his head. No, that was stupid. It was so inhumane! 

“What, like an escape room scenario?”

Jae’s head immediately tilted towards the man lying beside him. Yoon Dowoon, as things turned out, was a secret genius. 

Without warning, he laughed, getting to his feet and grabbing the younger by his hand to pull him up after him. “Yes! Exactly like an escape room!” He held him by the shoulders and asked, “Do you have any ideas for any puzzles? Or riddles? Could be an anagram, or a pattern somehow, maybe general knowledge based?”

Dowoon thought long and hard for a moment, and it showed on his face, his dark eyes going wide as his jaw dropped. “No, but I know where to get the keys to the locks on the doors.”

Their eyes met for a good few seconds as Jae mulled over the decision of whether to bring up how he had obtained such knowledge. He finally rationalised he’d ask at another less frantic time. 

“Great!” he exclaimed, before ordering, “You go sort that. I’ll go get some pens and paper. Be quick!”

And so Step 2 was in motion.

Step 3: Organise the Confession Arrangement

“Ok, listen up soldiers,” Jae declared, “because here’s the plan.”

He was stood at the front of the work room beside a board that he’d stolen from the marketing block, proudly displaying a rudimentary plan of the dormitory and accompanied by several haphazard arrows drawn in a dying pen. He overlooked the rest of the room courageously, eyeing up his gang of abductees volunteers, who merely stared at him confusedly in return. 

“Why am I here, again?” Sungjin suddenly enquired, glancing around the room. “This surely is one of those Things-We-Don’t-Tell-Sungjin-About things, right? I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to know about this.”

“But none of us do...!” Jae uttered, rolling his palms to encourage the others to catch onto his meaning. They didn’t. “None of us know about it, yeah? Because none of us did it!”

“But that makes no sense,” Sungjin rationalised immediately, “because someone will have had to have set all the puzzles up?”

Jae didn’t have an answer to that. To both a blessing and a curse, however, he didn’t have to reply to that question. He just got another one in its place.

“I’m sorry, wait, what are we even doing?” Younghyun interjected, glaring at the hastily dictated plan with a curled lip. 

“Getting Wonpil and Y/N together, we’ve been over this, Brian.”

“Surely they can just... do it themselves though, right?” Sungjin countered, squinting at the header of the board. “It really doesn’t require an all-out, multi-step plan—is this Step 3?” 

“Good to see you’re checking the diagram,” Jae retorted.

Younghyun’s voice was incredulous, “How many steps are there?!” 

“Four.” It was Dowoon’s turn to interrupt, it seemed, and he piped up fluidly before Jae could try to regain any control upon the late night board meeting.

“What were steps 1 and 2?!”

“Step 2 was inventing this beautiful idea,” Jae started.

Only for Dowoon to finish, “Step 1 was him working out if Wonpil liked Y/N back.”

It was their turn to eye Jae up in disbelief, a chorus erupting:

“You didn’t know?!”

“How can you’ve not known?!”

“All he does is pine after them...!”

“Alright alright!” Jae called, pleading for the three to settle. To his fortune they did, but most likely only out of the prospective joy of him further making a fool of himself. “The past steps don’t matter, I need your help now to complete Step 3. You will all reap the benefits of Step 4, when this is all a success because—as you said—all Wonpil does is pine after Y/N. This,” he pointed assertively to the diagram, “will put a stop to all that!”

Silence settled over the room as the three all glanced at each other, all nodding in some form in agreement. 

Jae took the chance and continued, his hand laying out the directions on the board as he spoke, “So, all we have to is move Wonpil to Y/N’s room, and set up the puzzles in there. Sungjin, Dowoon, you’re on set-up, Brian you’re on lift duty. It is all objectively simple, but one wrong move could wake either of them up thus exposing the entire ploy and I’ve yet to come up with an excuse so you’ll be on your own.”

“Of course,” Younghyun muttered, not even bothering to look Jae in the eye to convey the sense of how done he was. 

“You’re not helping?” Dowoon piped up, his soft features portraying a slight hue of hurt.

“I can’t, Y/N already expects me. If I’m caught then there’s zero opportunity of a follow up plan—at least one that features me,” Jae explained, ignoring the mumbles of ‘perhaps it would be better that way’ that echoed around the room. He shot a look to the one he suspected the most of being the owner of said grumblings, watching as he leant back in his chair. 

“Can this not at least wait ‘til tomorrow?” Younghyun requested, emphasising his point with a yawn. 

“No! Y/N is out Saturday, and regardless we must strike while the iron is hot!”

This sent the energy of the room from benevolent boredom to startled flurry.

“It’s happening right now?!” The leader desperately looked to the eldest for reassurance that this was most certainly not the case, only to find none.

“Yep,” he stated, a shrug on his shoulders and a smirk on his lips. “Once you’re done, you make sure you leave no trace of yourselves and lock the door. Leave the key on the living room table and then you may return to your own rooms and do what you wish—as long as there is no noise. If their sleep is interrupted, the plan could quickly go south,” he finished with a clap, “now, positions everyone! And good luck!”

With only a few groans, the three practically sprung into action, much to Jae’s surprise. Dowoon piled up the props and prompts riddled with such in his arms, Sungjin holding the door for him and Younghyun who both head out in quick succession. 

“Thank you, Sungjin,” Jae called to the door. He received an expression of many emotions—disdain, disbelief, bemusement—all around a set of very bright eyes. He exhaled abruptly in what was a laugh that demonstrated that mixture, before leaving with the shake of his head.

It was showtime.

You awoke gradually to the sun streaming through the wide gap between the curtains. Groaning, you cursed to yourself about how you’d forgotten to close them the night before.

After admitting that if you wanted to go back to sleep or even just lay in your bed in peace for a bit longer the curtains would have to close, you sat up, only to swear you had shut them the night before.

Rolling out of the covers dozily, you hobbled over to the window, squinting against the light, where upon the curtain tie you found a piece of paper dictating a series of hand-drawn triangles in shades of pink, grey and white. Rubbing your eyes you tried to detach it, only to find it secured with string. 

Feeling confusion flush through your bones as quickly as the sleep left them, you looked across the room to see another sheet of thin card this time, roughly torn at the corner and branded with a giant, rounded, crimson splodge adorned with a malformed triangle of green. 

Both thoughtless and speechless in entirety, your eyes frantically searched the room for further signs of intrusion. To your disturbance you found your room littered with rudimentary placards, decorated with strange arrows directing to one another, or strange looped calligraphy. One was stuck crudely to a Star Wars shopping bag, and as much as you enjoyed The Rise of Skywalker, you definitely did not have a bag for it. Another was blatantly an anagram. Making the mistake of looking up you were confronted with a gigantic poster of a film with the title and cast heading covered by MS Paint swirls. The image depicted seemed familiar, but it didn’t make their staring faces any less intimidating as they glared at you from your ceiling.  It was as if you’d walked into a nightmare that was haunted by puzzless.

“What the actual, ever loving f—” Your voice cut off as soon as your gaze finally rested back upon your bed. Only to find someone else in it. 

Thoroughly creeped out, your brain ricocheting through thoughts and questions like they were caught in a hurricane—who is that, how long have they been there, they were sleeping right next to me, they snuck into my room, is it a sasaeng, did they do anything—you were ready to charge towards the door and yell your lungs out for help.

Until the figure shifted in their sleep, their arms thrown up cutely by their head which peaked out from behind the duvet. It was Wonpil.

Breath catching in your throat, your hand clasped itself to your mouth in an effort to not shriek in surprise more than anything. 

You’d shared your bed with Wonpil. He’d been right beside you, his beautiful face just inches from yours, sleeping peacefully with his hands sweetly gripping the covers and his adorable little snores—

Your heart lurched at the image your mind conjured, for it to then crash over the fact that he had the audacity to sneak into your room.  The conundrum before you left you in turmoil—you couldn’t believe that you’d fallen so hard for a man who would break into your room in the middle of the night and disregard your privacy so blazonly. 

It didn’t make any sense. You’d known Wonpil for a while, and he showed so much respect the entirety of that time. Yes, he was clingy, but you could think of multiple occasions where you had told him to back off and give you space, because you were stressed or angry with someone else or even just too hot to let him lay on your shoulder, and every time he did. You couldn’t think of a single time when he came into your room without knocking either. 

But was that enough to discount the ‘first time for everything’ rule?

Given the circumstances, perhaps it was.

Regarding the mess of your room again, it was plausible that Wonpil could have put up some of the weird pieces of card, but he couldn’t have done it all—not without help at least. Taking in the height of your ceiling, he was too short to reach it. Had someone stood on your bed you would have woken up, there was no doubt about it, and you didn’t have a desk in your room, so there was no chairs to stand on. The nearest ones were in the others’ rooms, but it seemed too far of a stretch—especially since you knew that there was one person that could reach.

Jae.

You glared in disdain at the corner of your room as if you were on The Office, until you remembered that you weren’t alone in the room. 

Taking a deep breath you silently made your way across your rug to the side of your bed. Kneeling in the soft cotton you took in the sight of Wonpil closer this time, resisting the urge to stroke his soft cheek that he’d puffed out as he pouted in his sleep. Perhaps it wouldn’t be long before he woke. 

“This wasn’t you, was it,” you murmured to him, taking gentle delight in how he wriggled towards you in his sleep at the distant sound of your voice. He looked so sweet, and the concept of being able to wake up to him beside you every morning made heat rush to your cheeks like a tsunami. 

He was so good at making you smile, he could do it without even trying. The thought reminded you of when he had gone out of his way to somewhat try to, making you his chosen target for the only ‘prank’ he’d ever performed. He’d decided that he would for his prank debut place  tiny plastic dinosaurs around the place for you to run into. You’d been bemused, but only for a day, quickly finding him out after catching him placing one in the fridge. 

It was fortunate that you’d been reminded of the memory—even if you were primarily focused on how angelically he’d giggled a threadbare excuse that neither of you believed for a second but only made you fall in love further—as it that had been a while ago, and filling your room with strange and distastefully carried out puzzles was not what you figured his prank comeback would be. He would at the very least make them look nice. 

“I’m sorry for doubting you,” you whispered, tucking the blanket further to his chin to keep him warm before getting to your feet again. You had to admit, you got a bit of a rush out of playing detective, and with a theory hot on your mind, you knew it wouldn’t be long before you found evidence that proved it.

First you checked the door it discover it locked as you had expected. Then you moved to the puzzles.  Staring intently at the placards, you found that they all pointed to someone who was either awful at editing and drawing alike, or had simply done it in haste and didn’t care for the visual outcome. However this was not as concrete as you’d imagined. You definitely couldn’t see it being anyone other than Jae but after checking several puzzles and not seeing a single bad joke or reference in sight, you were beginning to doubt your first impressions.

Hearing the bed creak and a groggy whine muffled by a yawn, you flicked your head away from your wardrobe. There you found Wonpil sat up in a nest of your duvets at his waist, with dishevelled hazel tresses endowing him with faux cat ears or sorts. He was barely awake and hardly functioning, blinking lethargically while he slowly returned to the world of the living.

“Morning,” you greeted with a stutter, clearing your throat sheepishly straight after.

His lips spread cutely into a grin. “Morning...!” he sang. 

It took several minutes of you trying to maintain your gaze on the messy art piece that was sleepy Wonpil, before giving up and disappointedly returning to the barely-legible riddle in your hands, for the man to finally speak with up with a frown.

“Wait, why are you in my room?” he enquired, rubbing his nose. “Did you sneak in...?”

“Actually you’re in mine,” you corrected, squinting at the calligraphy so as to let him come to terms with the situation.

His eyes opened in a flash, glancing around the room in astonishment. “Oh my god why am—I’m in yours?!” He gushed with apologies. “I’m sorry, Y/N, I didn’t sneak in I promise, I don’t remember coming in here! I don’t understand... did I sleepwalk...?”

“If you did it would be a first,” you stated, chucking the paper to the bin near your closet and staggering to your feet, “it’s ok, Pil, I’m not mad. Besides, I think you were carried.”

“Carried?”

“You always were a heavy sleeper. But that does mean that Younghyun or Dowoon are in on this, which means I don’t understand what this whole thing is,” you explained, glancing up at the ceiling and sighing exasperatedly, “do you recognise that movie?”

Following your line of sight, he jumped at the sudden pair of eyes that he found staring at him. He shook his head. “N-no. Y/N... what’s going on?”

“Apparently the guys decided that for their latest prank they were going to make an escape room of sorts, and then stuck you in here with me for double the fun.”

“But why?”

You shrugged. “I guess they’ll open the door if we figure out all the puzzles of something. Problem is these puzzles are like, stupidly hard.” You pointed over to his right. “Like, why is there a mutant tomato on my wall?”

“Ew,” Wonpil said with a grimace as he beheld the visage of the red splodge. 

“I know right. Whichever one of the did it should never consider art school. Like, ever.”

Silence fell over the two of you as your eyebrows knit together, once again thinking over the possible answers to any of the dozens of puzzles. Wonpil meanwhile slipped out of your blankets and headed towards the door.

You had half a mind to call out to him and say it was locked, but you figured he’d already worked that out, so instead you watched him out of curiosity. 

He came to the door with a stop, rattled on the door handle once, then twice, before pressing his face close to the wood. “Sungjin!” he wailed, before pressing his ear to it to listen.

For several moments there was complete utter quiet over the room and the dorm outside. The only sound that could be heard was the birds outside, and even they broke into quiet when they heard an unusual absence of chatter. 

Then out of the blue Wonpil stiffened in his place, before leaning in even further, his features alert. 

After a few seconds you enquired mimicking the quiet, “What is it?”

“I think I just heard someone tell Sungjin that he ‘needed to remain strong’,” Wonpil looked at you quizzically, “what does that mean?”

“Sungjin’s in on it too?” You were hugely surprised by that, so much so that you couldn’t hide it in your voice, the volume tipping out of the realms of a murmur. You’d thought it was a certainty that Sungjin was not aware of what was going on, because he was too mature to play along. But you’d clearly gotten him wrong this time around.  “Th-that must mean this is serious,” you continued, slipping into a slow pacing motion across to the window and back, “that it’s super funny, or that he goes to seriously gain something from this.”

“But how is this funny, I’m not laughing...!” Wonpil said with a pout audible on his lips. He wondered if there was a funnier side that he was missing out on due to his concern for you overpowering it. He didn’t like how you stepped back and forth, even if it was only slow and steady and hardly impulsive. He didn’t want you to be stressed, he wanted you to be happy.  It dawned on him that it was becoming increasingly harder for him to hold himself back from meeting you part-way and bring you to a stop, his hands brushing your shoulders and squeezing them gently in reassurance as he met your eyes— He shook his head, sending him hurtling out of his imagination just in time to hear you agree.

“Exactly, unless he wrote some of the riddles and his sense of humour was not what I thought it was—what we thought it was.”

“But Sungjin would never use stuff this bad!” he cried, hand motioning to the poorly executed diagrams while his eyes trailed away from you and onto the tomato on the wall. “He would be much more careful than... that—I don’t think he ever could make something that ugly!”

“Exactly!” you echoed his tone of urgency. “Which means he stands to gain! But what the hell does he get out of locking two people in a room with a bunch of evil puzzles?”

Watching your form become gradually tenser by the second, Wonpil’s resolve against his desires loosened before unravelling entirely.

He strode unusually powerfully across the floor, his body blocking you and your pacing in your tracks. His proximity startled you, but as his hands came to gently held your shoulders you realised how tense your body had accidentally become.  Taking a deep breath as best you could with the biggest crush you’d ever had standing right in front of you, you slowly began to calm down. It was just a stupid prank, there was really no reason to get worked up to that extent, or anywhere near it. 

Your thoughts drifted from the circumstances you were currently trapped in however, supplanted by the feel of Wonpil’s touch, and the way his eyes met yours. His eyes were so pretty you felt yourself sink head over heels in them whenever you accidentally made contact. And the emotion that filled them to the brim at that moment and let them glimmer even more than normal in the radiant sunlight caught you even further off guard. You’d seen it a lot, even in large doses, and how it made him look even softer, even more adorable, made you almost spill words from between your lips. However like this, you could barely handle it. 

“Sorry,” you said, willing your voice to remain stable unlike your heartbeat.

“No, don’t be sorry! We’ll get...” It felt like he didn’t want to end his sentence but forced himself to. “So, they’re all in on this?”

His hands fell away from you, just as you looked away from him, unable to catch your breath otherwise. As it turned out it was a lucky move at the right moment. “Yeah, it seems so. N-now why? That’s the question. I don’t know, but what I do know is—”

Having pulled away, you’d begun to walk back to the door, thinking up the words to perhaps call out and talk them into freeing the two of you. Though as you did, your peripheral caught the odd transformation your closet door had done.

After performing a ridiculously overplayed doubletake that would have appeared to any onlookers out of context as fake, you noticed that there was a nearly full-sized image of a deep chestnut archway with the poor illusion (due to the angle) of a small opening inside. Drawing nearer you were able to make out a speckled grate suspended in the right wall of the wooden box.

What the image printed over three sheets of paper was sprung to your head immediately, much alike the jigsaw pieces jumbled in your head slotted together. 

It was a confession chamber. 

You had to confess, but not to a priest.  To Wonpil.

“God works in mysterious ways...” you remembered from the previous day, uttering the words as you replayed them in your mind. “Jae, you shit.”

Wonpil came to your side, peering round to take in your features, searching for an explanation in the sheer beauty he always found there. “What’s wrong?”

“I know how to open the door!” you announced proudly, the sense of victory washing away as you came face to face with what you had to do however. 

Wonpil’s characteristic sunny smile rose to his cheeks, all while you sat there barely able to stomach your anxiety. “Yay! What do we have to do?”

You didn’t know how to go about it. You didn’t know whether to tell him, to ramble, to keep it simple, or to just kiss him like you wanted to for however long it had been. “Confess,” was all that tumbled from your mouth, and you immediately regretted speaking at all.

The subject of your affections stood as silently as you did before him. You could see the rush of thoughts in his head, his cheeks flushing as he finally spoke up, “Confess our... sins?”

“Not sins, no...”

It was at that moment you realised your feelings were mutual. He wouldn’t look you in the eye like he always did, he was skipping over the obvious conclusion,and he wasn’t drastically denying a single thing. He didn’t run, nor hide, in fact he leant towards you. It was only a fraction of an angle, but with a small bite of his lip the air fled your lungs.

“Do you...” you breathed, taking a tiniest step towards him—you’d been so close already, but now he was practically against you, just not quite—as your fingers twitched at your sides, “do you want me to do it?”

His nod was strong compared to his voice which was so delicate, as if he couldn’t believe what was unfurling before him. “Please!” 

With his encouragement you let those ready fingers ease up to the edge of his jaw, gracing the fine stubble there as you sank you palms against his cheeks and held your dreams in your hands. “Wonpil, I’ve liked you for so long... I fell for you, more than anyone I’ve ever met before. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“Don’t say sorry, I didn’t tell you either,” he reminded with a chuckle, his dark eyes bright and shining and wide at you coming ever closer, “and not being near you makes my heart ache so please, just kiss me and make it stop forever.”

You didn’t have to be asked twice.

His hands barely had enough time to snake around your neck as you bridged the gap and let your lips meet at last. And it was like the whole world sighed in relief. 

His lips were so warm, the softness etched with all his thoughts and his moments of anxiety and sadness. You wanted to kiss them all away, so that the only ones remained were the ones out of happiness, out of his smiles and playfulness. 

It had been so long since you’d began dreaming of this moment, and now it was at last happening you never wanted it to end. But it had to end, and though you felt more than ready to deepen it, there was a click from the door behind you. 

Springing away from each other in surprise, you immediately both looked over to the origin of the sound, your hands meeting in place of your lips.

“It worked?” Wonpil asked the air more so than you, his free fingers extending to the handle tentatively. 

You drew to him, letting go of his hand to place your own on his shoulders a you peered over them. “I think it did!”

Taking a quick glance at you, he twisted the brass and pulled gently, his jaw dropping as a gap formed.

You were free. Though a small part of you was disappointed, probably completely interested in staying in close proximity to your crush without disturbances for as long as possible.

Except he was no longer your crush! Your heart lurched as the awareness dawned on you. Completely disregarding the situation, you mumbled so only he could hear, “Does this mean you’re my boyfriend?”

Wonpil turned his attention back to you, giggling as he stroked your hair. “Of course dummy. Did I not convince you?” He squished your cheek. “We can do it again if it’ll help!”

You had to laugh, wanting to roll with his suggestion entirely, though seeing a shadow approach through the gap in the doorway you had to turn the offer down for now. “Real soon I promise!” After noting his pout that very nearly overwrote your decision in one fell swoop, you continued, “Not when the person who organised this is right outside.”

Your boyfriend threw his head over his shoulder to see a head duck out of sight. You watched as his eyes swept the room before falling intently on the bed—more specifically, the pillows. “Do you want revenge?”

Catching onto his idea and grinning at how childish and petty it would be—in context that the plan had actually worked—you didn’t hesitate, wanting to get a piece of that ‘divine intervention’ that had thrown your morning into disarray when he could have at least warned you.  Besides, it wasn’t like you could turn down a man so precious twice. It would be akin to heresy.

Grabbing both pillows you handed one to Wonpil and came to a halt by the ajar door. “Remember, play dirty when it comes to Jae. He deserves it.”

Sporting his characteristic sunny smile, your boyfriend let out what you had to discern was a cackle as he slipped through the door and led the charge. “You don’t have to tell me.”

A thwack resounded through the dorms from just outside your door and you had to stifle a laugh at the scream that followed.

Perhaps Wonpil didn’t need your help as you had admittedly first expected. 

But where was the fun in that.  

“I’m telling you we could’ve put the movie on the side of her wardrobe!” 

“And I’m telling you it wouldn’t have fit!”

“...You’re never lifting me again.”

You gathered your breath after your surprise revenge assault, sending Dowoon and Sungjin an incredulous look as you passed. Clearly not all your deductions had been correct. Oh well, things had still played out correctly, and catching sight of Younghyun bringing your boyfriend into a side hug as he gushed about how you managed to save them both—clearly playing up the drama but hey, who were you to stop him, you had no qualms with being a knight in shining armour—made a proud blush rise to your cheeks.

Coming further into the living room, you intercepted Jae who had returned from your room after clearing everything up all by himself as you’d ordered.

“I still have no idea why you made me do all that!” he protested as soon as he caught your eye. “This had nothing to do with me! It was, hundred percent, Dowoon. Just Dowoon. He got sick and tired of your pining and...”

You folded your arms, expression proving just how much you didn’t believe his bullshit. 

“You don’t believe me!” he exclaimed, hands flapping. “What have I done to deserve this! Am I not a good friend? Loyal? Like a brother—”

You sighed, shaking your head as you walked over to him, before slipping your arms quickly around his chest. He was startled by the sudden display of affection, but hugged you back nevertheless. “Of course I don’t,” you chuckled, “but we wouldn’t be friends if I did.”

He scoffed at your words, but tightened his arms around you with a smile. He couldn’t have felt prouder in that moment, especially with Younghyun being dragged by Wonpil out of the room [to head out and fetch groceries?] who was delightedly babbling about how soft his best friend felt to cuddle with for real this time. Sungjin meanwhile rolled his eyes at the exchange, padding away and back to the kitchen. 

“Ok this means I can ask what made you work it out.”

You sputtered, though immediately gave in. “The confession chamber on the closet.”

“Ahh that was a good one,” he sighed happily, only to change tact soon after as the realisation sunk in, “wait that wasn’t even mine!” You laughed against him, you head tipping back as he searched the room for the true culprit. “Dowoon was that yours?”

You didn’t hear an answer, though hearing the curse that fell from Jae’s mouth offered enough indication to know that the response was in some shape or form affirmative. 

Laughter bubbling away into the air, you slowly pulled yourself away from the friend that had practically become an older brother to you. He let you go smoothly, but before you parted from him fully, you stood on your toes and whispered, “Thank you,” a smile on your face that was almost as bright as the ones Wonpil always received.

He sent you a grin, followed by a wink, as you followed after your new boyfriend. Leaning so he could see round the corner, he laughed quietly at how you subtly shoved the other man out of the way so you could take Wonpil’s side. 

His heart swelled as your hands naturally found each other’s, linking as if you’d been together for years. It came with a side of a dull ache, as that was what he wanted for himself too.

He wasn’t dismayed for long however. You now owed him after all, and you were well aware of it.

He couldn’t wait to see what you’d come up with. 

~~~

AN: no one can stop me from referencing my own work lmao

also a blackadder reference for anyone who knows!

also in germany there is actually an H note apparently so... fun fact.

Masterlist

[eagesoldartblog]

Pay It Forward Chapter Two: Coming Home

Lewis’s foot taps slowly, glowering at a scalding hot chocolate decorated with the most tacky orange color he’s probably ever seen.

His name is Arthur Kingsmen.

Counting down from ten, he calculates each breath. Each puff giving away more of the bubbling anger threatening to explode.

He’s a mechanic, the head mechanics nephew.

Thick, sweet smells muse around him. Hands tightly laced together, shaking lightly.

A generous person, he paid off your car with the blink of an eye. Grinding his teeth, the tap tap taping quickens faster and faster, relentless and angry.

And I don’t have the cash or ability to pay him back. Chewing on his cheek, he finally lets out a strained sigh.

“Are you going to keep pouting, or what?” Vivi’s voice snaps Lewis from his trance, dampening his anger at once, “Or are you still pissy mcpisserton?”

Lewis blushes, shoulders sinking, “Is it that obvious..?”

Vivi slides the tray across the table and tears into her own croissant, shrugging, “Yeah, you’re brooding again.”  

Lewis glares at her, rolling his eyes and sipping from his hot chocolate, “A bit on the nose, don’t ya think?”

“On the nose is my middle name,” Vivi smirks, gulping back her own coffee, “But legit, what’s with the sour attitude? Arthurs chill, he would have done it anyway.”

He shoots her a look, scoffing, “He would have? Are you kidding me-?”

“Wow,” Vivi interrupts him, grinning, “Didn’t take you for a financial advisor, Lewis. Or better yet, you lookin’ for a sugar daddy to help pay off your loans?” Lewis- mid sip- chokes on his hot chocolates, face burning and eyes wide.

“No. That’s no-”

“Either way you’re out of luck, he owed me a favor,” Vivi smirks, “But its cute that you think that~”

Lewis huffs, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. Keeping it up for... who knows how long, Vivi wasn’t counting and wasn’t about to. She leans forward, a smirk twisting across her face.

“You’re blushing, Lew Lew~”

He was. The darkened warmth across his face made it entirely noticeable that he either drank too much of his drink too quickly, or was fixated on a certain someone. Vivi was willing to bet at this point.

“I’m- I- it’s cold outside.” He tries.

“It’s actually a Mild-day.”

“There was a draft breeze.”

“And we’re no where near a window, so that was probably you~” Vivi teases, wholly expecting the less than rough warning tap against her shin.

“I mean, if it is about Artie, who can blame ya? The guys a golden ticket in disguise of a man. Plus, he’s hot-“

Lewis could blows steam from his ears with how heated his face was, “Vivi, please. It’s not a crush, I wouldn’t have a crush on someone after one meeting.” He hisses, pointing his finger at her gruffly.

Vivi could only laugh, kicking her feet onto Lewis’s lap, “You did before.”

“That was different!” Lewis snaps back desperately, “Besides, Xavier was a one time thing. I know it was funny when I fancied them-”

That guy-! Vivi burst out laughing, “Oh man, I wonder how he’s going to feel when he catches wind of you falling for a different tradesmen~”

Lewis halts, frozen in place before slapping his palms against his face. ”I’ve had enough, let’s stop talking.”

“You should fill me in on why you’re still mad.”

Lewis pops up, frowning and glaring at her, “I am still aggravated, for a few reasons. But I’m still annoyed about Arthur if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Because-?”

”Because he paid all of it.”

“Well-?” Vivi shrugs, clearly confused as she takes an obnoxious bite from her hash brown, “At least you don’t have to worry about it. That was a blessing, and then…” she trials off, shrugging, “you can probably work and pay him back if you want? Hell i'm sure Uncle Lance will hire you if you want.”

Lewis blinks, confusion consuming his features as he stares at her, “I- I’m sorry? Lance?” He says, momentarily released from his out of emotional crisis.

Vivi nearly flicks her straw- just to watch his expression turn sour when he gets hit- but decides against it, “The boss? Short mechanic, Arthur's uncle, he was under the hood while we were there-“

“Okay, yes, but- why are you calling him uncle?”

Vivi crosses her arms and stares at him.

Clattering of other people eating fills Lewis’s ears uncomfortably, and he stares at Vivi quietly.

Sweat soon beads down his face from their staring contest.

Sighing, Vivi takes a long sip of her coffee, “I’m still astounded how you managed to know no one in this town despite living here.”

Lewis thumbs his fingertip harshly, considering her words carefully, “I lived on the other side of town. Besides, my mother homeschooled me and my sisters for a little while and I started working not too long after.”

“Didn’t you also join a few sports and clubs?”

Lewis nodded weakly, realizing he completely lied, “I- yes, I did. Mostly in the summer! Or... whenever I found time.”

That's right, they bonded over their affinity for going above and beyond in every field.

No wonder she remembers what information you’ve shared. His thoughts hiss and bite, giving him the faint throb of a headache. “Now it's your turn, you didn’t answer my question.”

Vivi waves him off, “Don’t get snippy it’s bad for your skin, I was getting there.” Back to a calmer state of mind, Vivi relaxes and continues, “I’ve known Arthur a good portion of my life, and he was the smart kid in high-school, so I obviously leeched off him for support.”

she takes a long sip, somehow emitting more steam than previously. As she pulls it from her lips, the haze drifts around her face like smoke, framing it well. “We hung out most days after school and I got into Lance's good graces, he’ll warm up to you after a bit.”

Interesting, they’re friends.... maybe that’s why he paid it all off? He may fancies her- but wait, didn’t she say he owed her?

“Will he take kindly to the fact that his nephew paid off the damages?”

Vivi shrugs, “I dunno, explain it to him. He might give you the bill, or not, who knows.” She says curtly, stretching her shoulders.

Lewis nods, taking more than a moment to consider the information. But he very quickly makes his judgement on his actions over the course of the coffee date. That was wildly inappropriate! Apologize this instant.

He shouldn’t ever let his emotions run wild like that, never let them take control when control wasn’t needed.

He needed to calm down.

Taking the cup, Lewis takes a sip of the remaining hot chocolate, and swallows it slowly. Focusing on the warm nutty base and the cream of the milk, how it all accentuate one another. The lingering smooth liquid soothes the burn in his throat and Lewis releases a heavy sigh, “Thank you Vivi, I appreciate it immensely.”

And yet, his mind is stuck in the meticulous fingers combing through, followed by the stench of car oil and caked in dirt.

Stop thinking of him.

A hand falls on his bicep, and Lewis jumps up in response, eyeing her suspiciously, “Don’t worry, Lew. Just let this go, because I promise you... you won’t ever be able to pay him back.” She smiles, an edge of sadism lacing her voice and Lewis can see the tempting claws trying to ensnare him.

Don’t take the bait! His mind warns, recognizing this challenging tone that always had him off and doing the strangest of things. And yet his curiosity fights against his and demands to know every secret she has hidden behind those pink glasses. You sure are getting a kick out of this, aren’t you Vivi? “I’m sorry?”

Vivi holds her hands in surrender, but her eyes speak legions if snakes, “Arthur's really difficult to pay back, I’ll have you know. So be careful with what you do for it.”

“I don’t see how this is necessary-“ he saw where she was going and he didn’t want to be the target of her tricks.

“It’s because of your thing,” she says, referring to it like it was something forbidden from speaking aloud but all so tempting, “I know how you feel about it, but it’s really a losing battle. I would suggest you just pay it forward to someone else.”

That... was not something he is capable of doing. Lewis wanted to argue. Wanted to explain that it would rip into his skull for days if he didn’t clear his debt the instant if had been set. This man would be the death of him. Lewis figures, mentally ringing his palms to release the stress.

Lewis, noticeably more agitated and determined, looks up at her starkly, “How?”

“How what?”

“How can I get back at him?” Lewis asks, owning every amount of bitterness laced in his voice. Quirking an eyebrow, Vivi sighs and rests back, “Yeesh...” she sighs, as if it only now just occurred to her that she was friends with someone who will have the best credit score no matter what. She lets out a sigh, relenting, “Okay fine. Maybe like.... invite him over to your house for dinner? That’s the only way I can really see you getting away with it. Arthurs a serious philanthropist.”

“Dinner?” Lewis considers it, going over it in his head about three times before he steels himself with a nod, “Ah! Okay, I can probably do that.”

He could do it, which is what really mattered there. It didn’t cost much and he knows how to cook, surely he can surprise and delight the pesky mechanic.

“Just a warning, though,” Vivi begins, smirking, “Don’t let him see what your making him, or let him know how much it would cost.”

This should be interesting... “Why?”

“Because, I’m ninety percent sure he will simply forward you the dollar amount of the meal.” She shrugs, knowingly however, a story must have been brewing in her stomach, and most likely about him.

Could anyone fault Lewis for thinking that?

“Such as...?”

“To put it simply,” Vivi starts, moving through her purse for her wallet, “I once brought him over and made him this typically really traditional but kinda expensive Japanese meal. He loved it, but he looked up how much it would cost and wound up giving back the cash.” Trailing off, she hums forlorning, “By the way, want me to pay...?”

”No.” Lewis says sternly, glaring almost in his response, switching to a sweet and gentler tone in the next, “I’ll pay for it, this time, okay?”

Vivi nods, standing up and stretching, “Alrighty~ try not to go bankrupt with your tip!” She jokes.

Just because she mentioned it, Lewis made sure the tip was double the amount of the bill. Walking down the street, Lewis kept his gaze glued to the pavement. Drifting from the cracks and weeds in the sidewalk and its progression into a finer and cleaner white concrete. Freshly cut grass tickles his nose, bringing his attention to the stained glass he spent most of his life peering through. 

Finally, Lewis hums, lips pulling into a wide smile as his steps quicken into a jog, and then a run, joyfully bounding down the sidewalk. Instead of rushing in through the front and through the restaurant- something his parents made explicitly clear- he side stepped into the ‘backyard’. The dumpster is a good distance away, and lacking the usual foul smell most other disposal units had. Strange the difference his home had to the inner city restaurants Lewis notes, scanning the area quickly for any active workers, or even employees on their break. No one else was present.

Anxiously excited, Lewis skips up the back porch, taking half a second to admire the freshly blooming flowers of the surrounding gardens. 

“Mama!” Lewis eagerly opens the door, ducking through the door frame and stepping inside, he examines the kitchen. Glancing over the familiar surfaces, decorated and covered with various objects- from the mail divider over the bin to the dishes drying in the rack, to the pictures taped to the fridge with sprawled crayon from Paprika. 

“How cute,” Lewis’s hums, fingertips drifting from surface to surface. Taking note of various new magnets mixed in with the old. Such as a new addition of star magnets- which Lewis can only assume was meant to encourage them. Along the walls was a new collection of scenic imagery, such as snowy lakes and spectacular sunsets. The girls had been showing an interest in painting before he left, hadn’t they? He’s only glad they decided to pursue it.

A bubbling draws his attention to the stove. Ah, someone must be here then, Lewis smiles, lifting the lid and peering into the boiling pot. 

A gasp, “Lewis?”

Papa flies into view, head jutting past the wall, a tired but excited look in his eye. A basket of ripe fruits and veggies is quickly discarded on the table, just before Lewis is pulled into a hug. Hard kisses pressed against his face all over, a squeal rupturing in his ear.

“Lewis! I’m so glad to see you!”

To say he didn’t expect this would have been a bold faced lie. Wrapping both arms around him, Lewis hoists his father up.

“I miss you too,” he says, gaze drifting to the basket of freshly picked veggies and back to the pot, “Is Mama here?”

Papa draws back, lips tight and panic drawing over his face, “She left a moment ago, to go see where you were-!”

Oh no. Its Lewis’s turn to panic, “Ah- is this about the car…?” he tries, wary.

And he was right to be, Papa’s expression shifts, a grimace etched into his face. He steps back, both hands on his hip, and stares at Lewis expectantly, “Not exactly, we were more concerned on why you had taken so long to come back.” Oh, yes that would explain the frequent calls the past few days, only received in remote parts of the area. Lewis stiffens, seeing more just on the brink of his fathers tongue, “But, while we’re on the subject, I would like you to explain yourself.

Lewis sighs, “Vivi and I were taking turns driving, and she fell asleep behind the wheel. We didn’t want to keep you all waiting another night…”

The grimace grows tenfold, “We could understand if you needed to stay the night somewhere, Lewis.” His tone is even more so irate, closer to exasperation. Before Lewis could apologize again, Papa fished his phone from his back pocket, “Give me on sec- Hello darling!”

Lewis watches him trail out of the kitchen, smiling cheerfully and speaking clearly to Mama- “Yes, he just arrived.. yes, it was a sleeping accident.”

Resigning to the night of scolding he will most likely receive, he sighs. Just as a smaller presence creeps up behind him.

“Hi Lewis,” shove, Lewis stumbles a small bit, head whipping back to see a slightly taller version of-

“Belle!” His arms open to scoop her up in a hug- but her arm waved him away.

“Give me a minute.” She hisses under her breath, “Mom’ll be home soon, I gotta make sure this gets done.” Coughing into her arm, she sends Lewis a look, “Uh.. how was school?”

The twinge of awkwardness that seems to completely surround him makes Lewis hesitate. His mouth opens for a short moment, but quickly closes, “It went well. I’ll elaborate more later, would you like some help?”

“No, I’m fine.” He’s shut down faster than he thought he would. Huh, since when did she become so irritable? Perhaps teenage hormones..? He remembered being bad when he was small, … for the most part.

Shifting away, Lewis shuffles out of the kitchen, not wanting to give himself a chance to dwell on the ambiguous and faulty memories he always had, “Alright, I’ll leave you to it then. If you need anything, I’ll be here.” Barely getting a mhm in response, Lewis sighs and slinks off to his room.

His room is clean, completely dusted and the bed made perfectly. Everything was in it’s perfect place - Surely his mother’s doing. Taking it in, Lewis could hardly tell that it was still his, considering the one he had in the dorm rooms- plain white walls with two crosses, while his desk took the brunt of his anxiety and stress.

But here? It seemed as if it was just as carefree as he was before he left. Leaving Lewis with a ball of awkwardness welling inside his stomach. That, or anxiety, considering his Mother will be home soon. With enough scoldings to boot.

Grimacing, Lewis falls against his bed, collapsing against the pillow. He missed them a lot.

In retrospect, driving like that was far from safe, and it would have been much better to stay the night somewhere. He would’ve come home the next day to hugs and kisses and an attempted pat on the head, and then he would be able to focus on what was truly important.

Not… Arthur.

Scowling, Lewis twists himself over and folds the pillow over his head. Squeezing wouldn’t do a thing at all, he knew that! Repeating to himself that he needs to pay more attention to his family, his studies, and not a mechanic who shamelessly paid off his entire car bill an-

Gosh… darnit. Sighing, Lewis shoves the pillow aside, biting his lip and sagging even more. He missed them, dearly even. A pang of guilt hitting him. How on earth did he forget about his parents, his family? He was thinking of them the entire way back and for a majority of the semester, and then they slip his mind from a single encounter with him-

Lewis physically cringes.

Perhaps he should make something, as an apology for them. At the very least his parents. That car was under their name, and yet he went and smashed it.

And yet, for one reason or another, he offered to help. And then did, with no input from him on the matter.

Who was he…?

There’s a tornado of thoughts swarming his brain, each one revolving around him. The one person he didn’t want to think about anymore.

Arthur Kingsmen, a mechanic working under the head- who in turn was his uncle. He has a reputation of extreme charitability and generosity, doing things that astounded others in how much it helped, with little self benefit. An admirable trait, he’d admit. A trait that grew increasingly more infuriating for Lewis. Even if that hardly made sense.

Even more nonsensical- Arthur claimed it was because he came from a good family. What did that mean? Was he well acquainted buddy of his parents that he missed? Someone new who spent a lot of time with them while Lewis was away? A stalke- No. That’s just ridiculous, Lewis. Don’t demonize him for helping you. The angel on Lewis’s shoulder yelled.

He’s just a nice guy.

Laying back, Lewis mindlessly stares at the ceiling. Going back and forth on what was wrong with him right now? He doesn’t normally get so fixated on people, and never really for anything that made him angry! Small crushes, fascinating professors- even Vivi was the apple of his eye when he first met her. So why Arthur? Because he essentially took a huge debt of his shoulders? …. Anyone would be thrilled for this, and yet it detested him. Preposterous!

Just be thankful that you’re home, Lewis. When mom comes home, you and her will have a talk, and then you can spend as much time as you want with your little sisters. Father and Belle must have missed him, and yet he’s holed up in his room.

Sliding off his bed, Lewis creeps closer to the door, hyper aware of the creaks of the floor, and even more aware of the small sounds outside of his bedroom door. You shouldn’t be this nervous. Lewis reminds himself again and again, resisting the urge to press his ear to the door to listen for anything out of the ordinary. Lacing his extraordinarily large fingers around the doorknob, he gently opens it and steps out, padding down the hall to the living room.

Belle is lounging on the couch, engrossed in the documentary on physics she was watching (How interesting!) whilst glancing to the kitchen every few seconds.

Furrowing his eyebrows, Lewis glances up to the clock, and back down at her. A thought bubbling suspiciously, “Belle, what are you doing home? Shouldn’t you be in school?”

Belle flinches at his voice, a similar attribute she kept over the year, and twists around to look at him. Hm, and he thought Cayenne was the only one with an attitude.

She responds bluntly, “I had a fever last week, so they haven’t let me leave the house.” With that, she stands up and stretches dramatically, adding, “I’m only cooking because I’m hungry. I managed to convince Papi to let me buy some ramen~ so I’m going to enjoy trashing my stomach.”

“Huh, and I thought I had a drop in diet quality.”

Belle spins on her heel, the smallest pout in her face as she walks in, “Ya, sure. Makes sense that the good and holy Lew- Lew only made sure to get the HEALTHIEST of food. And Horton hears a bitch-ass liar.” the last of it comes out in a flurry of a whisper.

Gasping, Lewis spins his head around to see if his Papa was standing over their shoulders, just in case. Although for her to be saying that, they had to be in the clear. “I could smack you, Belle.”

”Do it.”

There was no way he could simply go and smack his little sister.

But he can to a brat.

He follows after her, ducking under the archway, and quickly bops her cheek. Not enough to hurt badly, but similar enough time show that he isn’t accepting of those words out of her mouth. Belle, not turning away from her pot of instant garbage noodles, slams her elbow back into him- tries to at least.

“Hey-!”

Lewis smirks back at her, filling a glass with water and sipping lightly, “What? You earned it.”

Face twisted, Belle opens her mouth like she was about to retaliate, but slumps with a huff, “I was hoping college would eradicate your third parent syndrome. That’s suppose to be my thing.”

“The only reason it wasn’t was because I didn’t want you to grow up too quickly,” Lewis admitted, shrugging, “Besides, I still am your older sister.”

“Sometimes,” Belle points out, and it looked like she was ready to point something else out before Lewis patted her head in a completely patronizing way.

“On weekends and some Wednesdays,” Lewis chuckles, “regardless, I have a guilty conscious if I don’t ever help out.”

“Well you took away our jobs around the house.” Belle says, tearing open the packet of powdered broth, “You want bratty sisters, Lewis? That’s how you get em.”

“Well, Mama will be there to ensure that doesn’t happen.” Lewis takes another sip of his drink to hold up the air of “sophistication” as Belle rolls her eyes.

And right on cue, the door opens, familiar footsteps walking in and an air of dread slamming Lewis directly in the stomach. “Mama-!” He rushes past Belle, who he faintly heard mention that he’s in trouble~ as he went in and faced the beast.

The piercing gaze is the only that stops Lewis in his tracks, and any apology he had in his throat, now uncomfortably sitting in his throat.

“Good morning, Lewis,” She hangs up her purse, expression stony, only shifting to a soft smile as she wrapped his arms around him, “I missed you.”

Frozen, Lewis took a moment to adjust to the sweet gesture, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, “I missed you too, Mama.”

“Now sit down,” Her expression turns a silvery cold, and Lewis knew in the way she distances herself that he was in trouble. Complete with folded arms and a signature glare.

Any apology he had suddenly felt inadequate.

“Would you like to have this conversation in your room?” His mother asks coldly, and Lewis barely notices that her knuckles were almost bulging from how tense they were.

“Uh-“ he stumbles, more stiff than he has been in his entire life, meekly murmuring, “my room, please.”

“Follow me.”

Lewis could have sworn he was walking to his death bed. The walk was nearly a blur, and he could only imagine what she would say when they finally closed his bedroom door.

“Sit down, let me get a proper look at you.”

… That wasn’t exactly it, but close enough.

Lewis ungracefully plops down on his bed, ruffling the blankets and clenching his knees tightly together. Hands unsurely moving from squeezing the fabric or his own fingers. Eventually he settled for clasping his hands together. Slouched- until Mama gave him a look.

Hands press against his cheek, fingers drifting from his cheekbones to his forehead to his chin in a way that’s both intensive and gentle. One of her palms holds his jaw and face steady, while she scanned every part of him delicately.

He was expecting a stern talking to, not… not this. Surely he earned a punishment for his irresponsibility, and yet she’s looking him over like she looked over Cayenne and Belle whenever they took a tumble in their earlier years. The shock must have been evident when she began prodding his knee. Mama quirks an eyebrow.

“Yes, Lewis? Is something the matter?”

Lewis stumbles over his words, “A-.. I just- I didn’t think you..”

The corner of her mouth curls into a smirk, and she pays his hair, “One of my children got into an accident- a severe one at that. I’m only doing what is right,” Her face softens a tad, before taking a seat beside him, “Since you haven’t been escorted to the hospital, I wanted to make sure nothing else was wrong. No pulled nerves? Any sprains? I would like to know now so that way we can ensure you live happily.”

He shouldn’t be as moved (and confused) as he was. Of course. Of course she wanted to make sure he was okay! A twang of regret and guilt for doubting her twitches in his stomach, along with a plethora of unsavory emotions.

Then, with a sigh of what Lewis can only assume is relief, she continues, “Your father informed me what had happened. That you came home sleep deprived to see us faster. Is that correct?”

No matter what he said, the guilt burrowing in his stomach would worsen. He nods, haphazardly, “That’s partially true. Vivi was sleeping a majority of the way and she offered to drive home. But while I was asleep, she had fallen asleep behind the wheel.” The more and more he recounts this, it feels like he was accusing her more and more. With that in mind, he quickly tacks on, “Of course- she did suggest that we stop and sleep, but I figured it would have been easier to drive the final stretch-“

Mama nods solemnly, pressing her fingers against her lip- something she did when she was lost in thought- “I see. If that is the case then I’m glad to know that only that car was damaged and neither of you two.”

Gripping the sheets, he waits for her eventual added answer, there always was one. Something to reaffirm her suspicions or what Lewis could do as “punishment”.

Finally, she stands up, not before turning to him, and he faintly recognizes the glimmer in her eye, “I’d like to hear that this never happens again. And while it is being graciously handled by Arthur, I’d like you to extend your help to him for the remainder of your break.”

”What-?” he says breathlessly, shoving himself up. Wait- how did she-?

Mama quirks the smallest smile, “Well, considering he is going out of his way to ensure you will still have a vehicle before you return to school, I believe it is the least you can do to make it up to him.”

He stands there dumbfounded, hands hovering in front of him like he was about to grab something. Unamusedly, Mama watches him carefully.

“Yes? Is there an issue, Lewis? Offering your assistance for the summer is a suitable enough repayment, even more so now that he is helping you like this.”

“How-? How did you kn-“ she must have spoken to him, of course she would know that he is both paying off his car bill, as well as- “I mean.. you’re- you’re okay with him doing that?” He asks finally, tripping over his words.

“Of course I am,” she said matter of factly, flicking her finger to have him follow her out, “I figured he would have done something like this when he called. He’s always been this way.”

“Yes- but he’s a total str-“

“Speaking of Arthur,” she either didn’t catch what he was about to say, or elected to ignore it, turning to him pointedly, “You have thanked him for his generosity, correct?”

“Well- I-“ Lewis’s head swam with more thought than he could tread through, “Of course I did, but-“

She nods curtly, making her way to the kitchen, “Perhaps you can do so again when he comes over later.”

Coming over when? Lewis freezes, eyebrows knitting anxiously, “What?”

“Yes,” she responds smoothly, brushing a hand over Belles head and going into the kitchen, “I was going to bake him something for him. Have him over tonight. We were all planning for you to be home tomorrow, so nothing is fully prepared yet. However, it would be nice to have a friend over before that.”

A friend? Since when? He wanted to ask, but his words catch in his throat, and she’s already positioned in the kitchen beside the sink, clearing away the dirty dishes that had accumulated.

She glances over at him, nodding to the covers, “Please pull out the flour and eggs for me?”

Lewis did as he was told, blankly as he combs through his thoughts for an excuse- or anything that would soothe the anguish rushing over him in pounding torrents.

“... I’m still concerned on why he did it..” he admits, pulling out a large bowl to pour the necessary materials, “I don’t know why! He just- said he would pay it off..” he bites his lip, unsure if he had the mere right to say this after his mother sung the mans praises, “I’m honestly peeved over it.”

Mama straightens as he said that, pursing her lips, “Why is that?”

“I just.. I don’t know why he did! It was far from necessary.” Arthur wasn’t his friend. The two didn’t know each other. Although it was apparent his parents knew him, all the more startling. Mama didn’t respond, humming.

Glancing over his shoulder, Lewis chews on his lip, knowing fully well that she was aware of his peculiar issues.

“Perhaps prepare him something. Cake.”

“Cake?” Would he even like that..?

“In fact,” his mother continues, maybe having noticed his odd and troubled expression, “I’m sure he would appreciate anything from you, even if it was a rock.”

Lewis frowns, picking through his thoughts, “Then-.. what flavor do you think he’d like?” He asks, only to get a shrug in return- something his mother never did.

“It’s been a long while, so I’m unsure.” She said, turning to him with a faint smile decorating her face, with the smallest hint of mischief, “Would you like to take over preparations?”

Three seconds pass, but Lewis had to take one look at her face to know that she wanted him to make it. Sighing, he nods, “Sure. I can do that. Any idea what time he would arrive..?”

Mama smiles, and steps past him, pulling vanilla extract from the covers, “He gets off work at around six, so I wouldn’t doubt it that he’d arrive anywhere from half after until eight.”

Glancing at the clock, Lewis nods. He had plenty of time. At least he could make up for the damage.. in the little ways he could.

What sort of cake should he make then..? Lewis runs over the various types of cake, humming to himself. Vanilla, chocolate, banana, pumpkin, red velvet, carrot, marble, coffee..

Carrot, popping into his mind like the mechanic himself, Lewis could only frown at how the thought refused to settle. Imagining how well it seemed to match the pesky mechanic.

He better like it. Lewis nearly hisses, Or so help me god.

A laugh pulls Lewis out of his thoughts, drawing him back to his mother leaving the kitchen, “You’re lucky your father hadn’t begun preparing anything with the oven, Lewis. Now while you’re doing that, I’ll be leaving to pick up your sisters.” For barely a minute, he wondered if Vivi would taunt him for his apparent lie of his sisters needing to be picked up from “school.” But before he could think of an ‘excuse’, (more like explanation that his abuela was their teacher)

But with the shut of the front door, Mama was gone. Leaving him with his task.

Taking a deep breath, Lewis set off to work.

[itsmalachitenow]

Start of Darkness

From the testament of Jonathan Crane, regarding former student Wren Starling:

...she didn’t flinch when I fired the gun.

That was the first thing I noticed. It didn’t mean she wasn’t afraid of the gun. Oh, far from it--from the moment I took it out for my lecture on fear, her eyes were wide and her body language tense. Almost as if she’d expected the worst from the very start. Like a coiled spring, ready to snap...

Nothing else of note occurred for the rest of that lesson; every time I looked up from my lecture, she was bent down low over her notebook, scribbling feverishly. I must say, I was pleased the message had resonated so clearly with her. 

No, it wasn’t until after that lesson that I noticed anything wrong. 

Every professor in every subject gets a few ‘rotten apples’ every semester--young men and women who couldn’t give a tinker’s damn about your lessons or your teaching plans, who are only there for ‘easy credits’. For that course, it was a group of girls sitting in the back who seemed to think I wouldn’t notice them tapping away on their phones instead of paying attention. 

Gum-popping, ‘popular’ girls, giggling behind their hands whenever I said something ‘funny’. You know the type. I admit, I was pleased to see them jump when I shot the blank. They were paying attention then, I promise you that.

Hm? Ah. I digress. I bring them up only because they are relevant to Wren. 

When I finished the lesson for the day, I was putting my things in order, when I noticed something quite unusual. They had gathered around Wren and were talking brightly, to her and to one another. I hadn’t associated the two groups with one another--if they were friends, they would have sat together, surely.

...but when I noticed her posture and the malicious glint in their eyes, it all became quite clear to me. Wren was as tense in the middle of those girls as she was when she thought I had a loaded gun. 

It doesn’t take a doctorate to know bullying when I see it.

I won’t bother you with the details of what they said to her. But believe me when I say it was all vulgar, foul-mouthed, rotten--

...oh. Forgive me. I seem to have shattered my glass of water. No, I’m not hurt--but could you get me another?

Thank you. 

Needless to say, I put a stop to it immediately. I made it very clear that I would not tolerate that sort of behavior in my classroom, no matter how rich Mommy or Daddy might be. I think seeing me waving a gun around put the fear of God into them--they were quick to leave. 

Wren wasn’t crying. There was a weariness to her that suggested this had been going on for years, if not decades. She didn’t say anything about it, though. She just looked up at me with those dark brown eyes and stroked her chin. Thoughtful. The word eluded me at the time, but I would even say ‘calculating.’

“Professor,” she asked me, “The survey we filled out before class started. What did Katie put down for her biggest fear?”

I hesitated. That survey wasn’t really meant to be public information, it was more for me than anything--I wanted to incorporate some of the more common phobias into my lessons and go into the reasons people are afraid of those things. ...but I didn’t see any harm in sharing it. Arachnophobia, I told her. The fear of spiders. 

She smiled like I’d just given her a plate of peach cobbler. “I see,” was all she said. Then she wished me a pleasant evening and went on her way.

When I saw her a few days later in my next class, she had a drawing of a spider on her shirt. Very graphic, with venom drooling down its oversized fangs as it lunged at the viewer. I noticed she made a habit of saying a bright hello to the group of girls who had terrorized her previously--much to the horror of the leader, who I deduced was Katie. 

Katie didn’t stick around after class that time. The other girls tried half-heartedly, but Wren was smiling and chatting back like they weren’t trying to hurt her. 

It amazed me at the time--and it still does. Wren found a weakness in her opponent’s, and she weaponized it. She weaponized that girl’s fear and used it against her, wearing spider shirts and accessories to class and making sure Katie saw them. It was a beautiful self-defense, one poor Katie couldn’t stand against. 

...of course...it didn’t stop there. 

Wren began sitting next to Katie. Actively talking to her about spiders, about what interesting facts she learned that week about the deadliest spiders known to man before I began the day’s class. What began as self-defense turned into psychological warfare. Once, the poor girl looked to me, as if I might save her from the spidery Hell she’d brought upon herself, but I did nothing. It was all so fascinating.

....yes. Yes, I know I could have stopped it. If I’d wanted to. But my class was centered around fears, after all. What better than a hands-on lesson?

“Heartless??”

I see nothing wrong with letting a poor, frightened girl finally put a stop to the person tormenting her. I see nothing wrong with letting her strike back for what I can only assume were years of being driven into the dirt. There is so little the faculty can do to stop bullying when they see it--it was refreshing to see Wren find her wings, so to speak. 

Anyway.

Katie dropped out after a month. I thought that was the end of it, I really did. Wren seemed much happier, participating more and answering all my questions when I posed them to the class. I won’t lie that I’d taken quite a shine to her. We’d speak often after classes were finished. She’d even help me put my things away. She was flourishing under my tutelage, even if none of the others were nearly so enthusiastic. 

It wasn’t until finals week that I learned what she’d been doing outside of my classroom. 

Her thesis was on how exposure to fear over a long period of time could drastically change someone’s personality. She went into great detail about how one could, ‘hypothetically’, find reminders of your greatest fear all over the place. Your mailbox, for example. Your backpack. 

Your bed. 

She had continued her crusade even after Katie had dropped out--going to the girl’s house and leaving rubber spiders in places. Then real ones. She never called Katie by name in her paper, but she did in her case notes, detailing the mental decline of a once chatty and catty woman into a terrified, ha, recluse. She got an A on that paper. I believe I still have it somewhere. It was the only A+ I’d ever given anyone, did you know that?

I’d never felt such a perverse sense of pride before. Wren took in everything I’d taught and understood it perfectly. If I’d continued teaching, I’m sure she would have attended every course. 

...unfortunately, I was ‘let go’. I don’t think I ever saw her more distraught or emotional when I told her after our final class. The thank-you she gave me....it was so sincere, so heart-felt, I won’t deny it brought tears to my eyes. 

She only asked me for one thing before I left. She wanted the rest of the fear surveys I’d taken from the class at the very beginning of the year. 

Now...I admit, I probably shouldn’t have given them to her. Not after seeing what she did with the first one. But I did, and I would do it again. 

So I understand why you would think I’d be terrorizing my old class. But I’m here in Arkham, yes? I have no say in what happens out there. 

Wren Starling...clever, clever girl. 

I always knew she’d accomplish great things.

[eirlyssa]

Whumptober day 21 - Laced Drink

For the twenty-first fill for @whumptober2019, a pre-WinterIron college AU where the Avengers are all friends. Please be careful if the subject bothers you. Also available on Ao3.

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

Initially, they hadn't been too sure about Tony Stark.

They knew of him, of course - everyone on campus did. But the things they'd heard weren't generally good, and then there were the pictures...

But then he'd ended up taking one of the same business classes as Phil and Natasha's friend Pepper, and to their collective astonishment, a few weeks later she ended up bringing him to one of their gatherings.

As hesitant as they all were, they tried to keep an open mind - if Pepper liked him, then he couldn’t be too bad, right?

And he wasn’t. He really, really wasn’t. In contrast with everything they’d heard about him, he ended up being nice, and funny, and incredibly sweet. It was an effort to make sure he didn’t pay for everything, and every single time he responded as though they were some kind of saints for not making him pay. Even his intelligence, which had been rumored to be a lot thanks to his father’s money, was more than obvious.

All of them were somewhat disturbed with the difference between the rumors and the actual kind of person Tony was. It wasn’t hard to tell that the things that were said about him, both behind his back and to his face, affected Tony negatively.

Whenever people responded negatively to him, there was an almost imperceptible flinch. He acted like he brushed it off, but he was always quieter for the rest of the day, more withdrawn.

That, combined with the fact that he was actually a little younger than them despite working on his second doctorate, left the entire group rather protective of him. And it wasn’t even like they needed to do all that much - Bucky, Natasha and Pepper had glares that would chase even the most persistent idiots away, and the disappointed looks of Steve and Phil were legendary. Besides that, a lot of people were rather hesitant about messing with the combined muscle mass of Bucky, Steve, Thor, Sam and Clint, let alone the murderous vibes Natasha could give off.

No, most people had learned better than to mess with Tony, and it seemed to do him a world of good. His smiles were larger and more genuine, and the vibrant look in his eyes was honestly a reward on its own.

Which was why they weren’t prepared for the party.

Despite having grown closer, none of them had asked about the pictures. They guessed it might have to do with Tony being affectionate with those he cared about, and honestly desperate enough for kindness that he’d go a little further than he should. And perhaps that was part of it in some cases, but certainly not all of them.

They’d honestly been having a great time, dancing as a group and separately. Tony was practically bouncing between all of them, vibrant and smiling, and even Bruce was smiling, despite not usually being too comfortable in crowded places. Every once in a while, one of them would break off to dance with someone else for a bit before drifting back to the others. It was honestly one of the most fun parties any of them had ever been to.

And then Tony started acting weird.

Bucky was the first one to notice the way he seemed less energetic than before. His first thought was honestly that someone might have said something, since that tended to bring Tony down, but he’d been smiling not five minutes ago and had been dancing with Clint and Thor since then.

Natasha was the second to notice, if only because she became aware of Bucky focusing on Tony with a frown. The fact that she stopped dancing with her meant Pepper noticed as well, and now it was the three of them watching Tony.

Next to notice was Thor, which made sense, since it happened when Tony stumbled straight into him. “Sorry, sorry,” he mumbled, shaking his head a bit as if to wake himself up.

By now, they were all moving closer to him, either having noticed how unsteady he was or having noticed the others watching.

“Tony?” It was Pepper who spoke, Bucky moving right next to Tony in case his swaying led to him nearly falling over again. Looking into his eyes, they were duller than they should be, the usual spark of intelligence replaced with exhausted confusion.

“Pep?” He shook his head again, but his eyes wouldn’t quite focus. He swayed against Bucky, who wrapped an arm around his shoulders to steady him. “Wha’s wrong?”

Her face carefully neutral, Natasha moved to stand in front of him. She held up a hand. “Can you give me a high five? First left, then right, please.”

He tried, but his movements were sluggish and uncoordinated. Bucky could feel how much Tony was leaning into him by now, to the point where he wasn’t sure if Tony would be able to stay upright on his own.

Bucky shared a look with Natasha, but before they could decide on how to go about dealing with this, two people showed up next to them.

Both of them had brown hair, the man’s a little lighter than the woman’s. She was the one who spoke up, the smile on her face just the slightest bit off. “Is your friend alright? He looks rather tired, doesn’t he?” she asked sympathetically. “If you want, we can take him to one of the rooms to sleep it off - that way, you can go ahead and keep enjoying the party.”

The guy started moving before she was even finished talking, reaching out as if to grab Tony, and the glare Bucky sent him could have cracked a rock straight through the middle. “I’ve got him,” he stated, voice making it more than clear that he wasn’t letting go.

“Just trying to help.” He’d raised his hands upon seeing the glare on Bucky’s face. “Thought he might be more comfortable upstairs - give him some time to sleep off the alcohol, you know?”

Before Bucky could let his fist get acquainted with the guy’s face, Natasha spoke up. Her fake smile was far more realistic, though Bucky knew her well enough to notice the calculating glint in her eyes. “Thank you for your assistance,” she told them, her voice smooth. “And you are?”

The look the two of them shared was almost too quick to see - almost. “Sally and Tom,” the woman lied to their faces. “Are you sure you don’t want us to just take him somewhere? Wouldn’t want this to ruin your evening, after all, since you seemed to be having a great time out there, and it’s no problem for us to take him.”

Pepper cut in then, a smile on her face that was just a little too sharp. “Thank you, but it’s not nearly as much fun when we’re not all together, you see?”

They shared another quick look, before apparently coming to a decision. “Alright, just trying to be nice,” she told them, holding up her hands defensively. “No need to get all upset about it - not our fault your friend drank a little more than he could handle.”

“I just bet it isn’t,” Natasha told them kindly. By now, the others had more than gotten the implication of what was going on and had just about surrounded Tony and Bucky in a protective wall.

Although her eyes narrowed slightly, ‘Sally’ let the comment slide, walking off with a shrug. ‘Tom’ walked after her, though he did look back at them one more time - by then, Thor had maneuvered his impressive bulk in front of where Tony was leaning heavily into Bucky, so the guy turned back around soon enough, whispering furiously with ‘Sally’.

“I’m going to take them down,” Pepper informed them matter-of-factly. “I am going to find out who they are, and I will make their lives a living hell.”

“We,” Natasha corrected, face and voice both so neutral that it was scary.

“For now, we will be taking Tony back somewhere safe,” Bucky interrupted. The fact that Tony’s eyes were still open was the only indication that he wasn’t unconscious, and Bucky was honestly worried about him. “Where we will keep an eye on him to make sure he’s alright.”

Fortunately, all of them agreed. He honestly preferred for all of them to be there to keep Tony safe. And if it had the added benefit of not being overheard while planning someone’s downfall while also allowing Bucky to be there to plan right along with them, well…

No one hurt their friends.

[spamzineglasgow]

(REVIEW) All The Poems Contained Within Will Mean Everything To Everyone, by Joe Dunthorne

Is it fiction, is it poetry, is it truth — what are the rules here? Kirsty Dunlop tackles the difficult, yet illustrious art of the poet bio in this review of Joe Dunthorne’s All The Poems Contained Within Will Mean Everything To Everyone (Rough Trade Editions, 2018).

Whenever I read a poetry anthology - I hope I’m not the only one - I go to the bios at the back before I read the poems…it’s also a really strange thing when you publish a poem…you brag about yourself in a text that is supposed to sound distant and academic but is actually you carefully calculating how you’ll present yourself.

> It’s the middle of a night in 2019 and I’m listening to a podcast recording from Rough Trade Editions’ first birthday party at the London Review Bookshop, and this is Dunthorne’s intro to the reading from his pamphlet All The Poems Contained Within Will Mean Everything To Everyone (2018). As I lie there in that strange limbo space of my own insomnia, Dunthorne’s side-note to his work feels comfortingly intimate because it rings so true (the kind of thing you might admit to a friend over a drink after a poetry reading rather than in the performative space of the reading itself). Like Joe, and yes surely many others, I am also fascinated by bios - particularly because I find them so awkward to write/it makes me cringe writing my own/this is definitely the kind of thing you overthink late at night. Bios also function as this alternative narrative on the margins of the central creative work and they do tell a story: take any bio out of context and it can be read as a piece of flash fiction. When we are asked to write bios, there is this unspoken expectation that we follow certain rules in our use of language, tone and content. Side note: how weird would it be if we actually spoke about ourselves in this pompous third person perspective irl?! Bios themselves are limbo spaces (another kind of side note!) where there is much left unsaid and often the unsaid and the little that is said reveals a lot. Of course, some bios are also very, very long. Dunthorne’s pamphlet plays with this limbo space as a site of narrative and poetic potential: prior to All The Poems, I had never read a short story actually written through the framework of a list of poet bios. The result is an incredibly funny, honest and playful piece of meta poetic prose that teases out all the subtle aspects of the poet bio-sphere and ever since that first listen, I can’t stop myself re-reading.

> This work is an exciting example of how formal constraints in writing can actually create an exhilarating sense of narrative liberation. I see this really playful, fluid Oulipo quality to the writing, where the process of using the bio as constraint is what makes the rollercoaster reading experience so satisfying as well as revealing a theatrical stage for language to have its fun, where the reality of our own calculated self performance can be teased out bio by bio. The re-reading opens up a new level of comedy each time often at the level of wordplay. I’ll maybe reveal some more of that in a wee bit.

> It’s a winding road that Dunthorne takes us on in his narrative journey where the micro and the macro continually fall inside each other. So perhaps this review will also be quite winding. Here is another entry into the text: we begin reading about the protagonist Adam Lorral from the opening sentence, who we realise fairly quickly is struggling to put together a ground-breaking landmark poetry anthology. His bio crops up repeatedly in varying forms:

‘Adam Lorral, born 1985 is a playwright, translator and the editor-publisher of this anthology.’

‘Adam Lorral is a playwright, translator and the man who, morning after morning, stood barefoot on his front doorstep […]’

‘Adam Lorral is a playwright, translator and someone for whom the date Monday, October 14th, 2017 has enormous meaning. Firstly Adam’s son started smiling.’

The driving circularity of this repetition pushes the narrative onwards, whilst the language is never bogged down: it hopscotches along and we can’t help but join in the game. Amidst a growing list of other characters/poets- that Adam may or may not include in this collection he seems to be pouring/ draining his energy into, with just a little help from his wife’s family money- tension begins to build.  

> Although Adam is overtly the protagonist in the story, to my mind it is, in fact, Adam’s four-week-old son who is the real heroic figure. Of course this baby doesn’t have a bio of his own but he does continually creep into Adam’s (he’s another side note!). He comes off as the only genuine character: there is no performance, no judgement, he just is. Adam is continually amazed by his son’s mental and physical development which is far more impressive than the growth of this questionable anthology. The baby is this god-like figure, continually present during Adam’s struggles, with the seemingly small moments of its development taking on monumental significance. Adam might try to immerse himself fully in this creative work but the reality of his family surroundings will constantly interrupt. This self-deprecating, reflective tone led me to think about how Dunthorne expansively explores the idea of the contemporary poet and artist identity through metanarrative. In Ben Lerner’s The Hatred of Poetry (Fitzcarraldo Editions, 2016), he writes ‘There is embarrassment for the poet – couldn’t you get a real job and put your childish ways behind you?’ In a recent online interview with the poet Will Harris[1], when asked about his own development as a writer, he spoke about how the career trajectory of a poet is a confusing phenomenon and I’ve heard many other poets speak of this too: there are perhaps milestones to pass but they are not rigid or obvious and, of course, they are set apart from the milestones of more ‘adult’, professional pursuits. I think Dunthorne’s short story accurately captures this confusion around artistic, personal and intellectual growth and the navigation of the poetry community, through these minute, telling observations and the rejection of a simplistic narrative linearity. The story doesn’t make any hard or fast judgements: like the character of the baby, the observations just are. Sometimes, it feels like this project could be one of the most important aspects of Adam’s life (it might even make or break it) and we are there with him and at other moments it seems quite irrelevant to the bigger picture, particularly as the bios get more ridiculous. Here, I just have to highlight one of the bios which perfectly evokes this heightened sense of a poet’s importance:

Peter Daniels’ seventh collection The Animatronic Tyrannosaurus of Guadalajara, is forthcoming with Welt Press. He will not let anyone forget that he edited Unpersoned, a prize-winning book of creative transcriptions of immigration interviews obtained by the Freedom of Information Act, even though it was published nearly two decades ago. His poetry has been overlooked for all previous generational anthologies and it is only thanks to the fine-tuned sensibilities of this book’s editor that has he finally become one of the chosen. You would expect him to be grateful.

> Okay…so I said above that there weren’t hard or fast judgements; maybe I should retract that slightly. The text definitely doesn’t feel like a cruel critique of poets generally (its comedy is too clever for that) but, yes, there are a fair few judgements from Adam creeping into those bios. I am so impressed with the way in which Dunthorne is able to expertly navigate Adam’s perspective through all these fragments to create this growing humour, as the character can’t help inserting his own opinions into other poets’ bios. Of course, we are also able to make our own judgements about Adam and his endearing naivety: shout out here to my fave character in the story, Joy Goold (‘exhilaratingly Scottish’) who has submitted the poem, Fake Lake, to the anthology. Hopefully if you’re Scottish, you can appreciate the comedy of this title. Adam Googles her and cannot find any trace of her, which feels perfect…almost too good to be true.

> Dunthorne plays with cliché overtly throughout the text. You could say all the poets in this story are exaggerated clichés but that certainly doesn’t make them boring: it just adds to the knowing intimacy that, yes, feels slightly gossipy (which I can’t help but enjoy). For example, there is the poet who has:

[…] won every major UK poetry prize and long ago dispensed with modesty […] Though he does not need the money he teaches on the Iowa Writers’ Workshop. His latest collection is Internal Flight (Faber/FSG). He divides his time between London and New York because they are both lovely.

I am leaving out a fair bit of this bio because I don’t want to take away some of the joy of simply reading this text in its entirety but it is one of many tongue-in-cheek observations that feels very accurate and over-the-top at the same time (I feel like everyone in the poetry community knows this person). It is also even more knowing when you consider that Dunthorne actually has published a collection with Faber, O Positive (2019), a totally immersive read that also doesn’t shy away from poking fun at its speaker throughout. I always like seeing the ideas that repeatedly crop up in a writer’s work and explorations of calculation and cliché are at the forefront of this collection. I keep thinking of this line from the poem ‘Workshop Dream’:

We stepped onto the beach. The water made the sound: cliché, cliché, cliché.

Interestingly, there is this hypnotising dream-like quality to O Positive - with shape shifting figures, balloonists, owls-in-law – in contrast to the hyper realism I experienced in the Rough Trade pamphlet. However, like All the Poems, in O Positive, we’re always one step inside the writing, one step outside, watching the poem/short story being written. It’s this continual sensation of being very close to failure and embarrassment/cringe. (I can also draw parallels here between Dunthorne’s exploration of this theme and the poet Colin Herd who speaks so brilliantly about the relation between poetry and embarrassment- see our SPAM interview.) Failure is just inevitable in this narrative set up. It makes the turning point of the narrative- when it arrives- all the funnier:

As Adam typed, he hummed the chorus to the Avril Lavigne song–why d’you have to go and make things so complicated?–and smiled to himself because he was keeping things simple. Avril Lavigne. Adam Lorral. Their names were a bit similar. He was looking for a sign and here one was.

> If it isn’t clear already, this is a story that I could continually quote from but to truly appreciate the work, you should read it in its beautiful slim pamphlet format created by Rough Trade Editions. For me, the presentation of this work is as important as the form: this story would have a different effect and tone if it was nestled inside a short story collection. I think a lot of the most exciting creative writing right now is being published by the innovative small indie presses springing up around the UK. Recently I listened to a great podcast by Influx Press, featuring the writer Isabel Waidner: they spoke about both the value of small presses taking risks with writers and the importance of recognising prose as an experimental field, rightly recognising that experimental work often seems to begin with, or be connected to, the poetry community. Waidner’s observation felt like something I had been waiting to hear…and a change that I had noticed in writing being published in the last few years in the UK. I could mention so many examples alongside the work of Rough Trade Books: Waidners’s We are Made of Diamond Stuff (2019), published by Manchester-based Dostoyevsky Wannabe, Eley William’s brilliant Attrib. and Other Stories (Influx Press, 2017), the many exciting hybrid works put out by Prototype Publishing, to name just a few. There is also a growing interest in multimedia work, for example Visual Editions, who publish texts designed to be read on your phone through their series Editions at Play (Joe Dunthorne did a brilliant digital-born collaborative text with Sam Riviere in 2016, The Truth About Cats & Dogs, I would highly recommend!). But this concept of combining the short story with a pamphlet format, created by Rough Trade Books as part of their Rough Trade Editions’ twelve pamphlet series, feels particularly exciting to me and is a reminder of why I love the expansive possibilities of shorter prose pieces. Through its physical format, we are reminded that this is a prose work you can read like a series of poems without losing the narrative tension that is so central to fiction. The expansiveness of the reading possibilities of Dunthorne’s short story also reminds me of Lydia Davis’s short-short stories. Here’s one I love taken from The Collected Stories of Lydia Davis (Penguin Books, 2009):

They take turns using a word they like

“It’s extraordinary,” says one woman. “It is extraordinary,” says the other.

You could read this as a sound bite, an extract from an article, a writing exercise or a short story, the possibilities go on; there is a space created for the reader and consequently it encourages the unravelling of re-reading (which feels like a very poetic mode to me). Like Davis, Dunthorne’s work also highlights how seemingly simple language can be very powerful and take on many subtle faces and tones. I think short forms are so difficult to get right but when you encounter all the elements of language, tone, pacing, style, space, tension brought together effectively (or calculatingly as Dunthorne might say), it can create this immersive, highly intimate back-and-forth play with the reader.

> All The Poems Contained Within Will Mean Everything to Everyone. The title tells us there is a collection of poems here that are hidden: the central work has disappeared leaving behind the shadowy remains of the editor’s frustration and the marginalia of the bios. We feel the presence of the poems despite not actually reading them. The pamphlet’s blurb states that this: ‘is the story of the epiphanies that come with extreme tiredness; that maybe, just maybe the greatest poetry book of all is one that contains no poems.’ The narrative, as well as making fun of itself, also recognises that poetry exists beyond the containment of the poems themselves: it can be found in the readings, the performances, the politics, the drafts, the difficulties, the funding, the collaboration, the collectivity, the bios.

> A friend of mine recently asked me: Where are all the prose parties?…And what might a prose party look like? We were chatting about how a poetry party sounds much cooler (that’s maybe why there’s more of them). I think prose is often aligned with more conventional literary forms, maybe closed off in a way that poetry is seen to be able to liberate, but I think Dunthorne breaks down these preconceptions and binaries around form and modes of reading in All The Poems. I want to be at whatever prose party he’s throwing.

[1] University of Glasgow’s Creative Conversations, Sophie Collins interviewing Will Harris, Monday 4th May 2020 (via Zoom)

~

Text: Kirsty Dunlop Published: 10/7/20

[kiss-my-freckle]

3x13 Rewatch: The Wrath of the Lamb

They open the episode with Francis testing Reba. He gives her the house key and tells her to lock the front door. "Don't try to run. I can catch you." Like Will later in the episode. "Don't run. I'll catch you." She tries to escape. Will lying in season two, the wrong thing being the right thing to do was too ugly a thought. Francis leaves Reba to burn. Hannibal leaves Will to bleed. "I wish I could have trusted you. I wanted to trust you. You felt so good." Hannibal puts his broken heart on display. "Probably saved some lives." Like Will. Hannibal left everyone to live, then tried to keep the peace in Italy. "You didn't draw a freak. You drew a man with a freak on his back." Will understands. "I know there's nothing wrong with me." But he’s unable to differentiate. She drew Francis, he drew Hannibal, so she must feel what he feels. "In making friends, I try to be wary of people who foster dependency and feed on it." Something he spoke about before. "You're fostering co-dependency." Hannibal responded with a question. "Is that what I'm doing?" I think Will views it that way because he's unable to separate himself in his associations.

He informs Hannibal that Francis committed suicide. "Only consolation is Dr. Chilton. Congratulations for the job you did on him. I admired it enormously. What a cunning boy you are." I love it when he nibbles on Will’s ear. "Are you accusing me of something?" Like he did with Bedelia, Will tries to deny that part of himself. "Does the enemy inside you agree with the accusation? Even a little bit?" Hannibal knows the lion agrees. He can't even look at Alana without seeing shards of mirror. "When life becomes maddeningly polite, think about me. Think about me, Will. Don't worry about me." Worry about Molly, since Will imagines killing her over and over. Associating prior to understanding. "I love you, and I miss you, and you're doing the right thing." Let me just reiterate that line... the wrong thing being the right thing to do was too ugly a thought. "You turned yourself in so I would always know where you were. You'd only do that if I rejected you." He turned himself in because Will wouldn't run away with him. If Will ran away with him, he'd have no reason to surrender. That's why he hasn't tried to escape, “We’re waiting for Will.” He lies to Hannibal, it was good to see him, but he's ready to go home now... to do what he did three years ago.

He returns to his motel room, where Francis knocks him out cold, then wakes to water being splashed in his face. I love this scene between them because they both want from each other, that’s why Francis isn’t torturing him. He's gonna find out for himself who Will is. He tells him to sit up, wants him to see that he didn't break his back. "Your face is closed to me." Because Will is cut down the middle. Able to hide, he's been doing it for so long. He already got into a cat fight with Bedelia, now he's looking at a man who could very well replace him. If Will goes home without a word, it'll be over. Francis will have the man he loves, and he'll be stuck with Molly... the wife he imagines killing over and over. Tried to replace Will with Bedelia in Italy, now he’s back at it with Francis. I mean... the man has been waiting for him for three years. “Hannibal said those words... to me.” lol!!! You’re just a temporary fill, Francis. Feel the competition now. There will be no sharing Hannibal with anyone. Big brother hands little brother everything he needs. "I shared with Reba a little, in a way that she could survive." Reba and Molly, Reba and Will. What makes Will different from Reba and Molly is the lion within. "I chose not to change her. I'm stronger than the Dragon now." What Hannibal spoke of when he thought Francis committed suicide. "Then he wasn't as strong as the Dragon after all." If Francis is stronger than The Dragon, Will is capable of being stronger than The Lion. No need to fear becoming Hannibal. Bedelia is funny. That kind of strength for Will would allow him Godly powers as a righteous, merciful, loving, empathic, and compassionate being. Downright dangerous. Like Hannibal, killing and sparing whenever he chooses. "Saving lives is just as arousing as ending them. He likes to play God." That's why I love Hannibal's conversation with Jack. I could totally see Will baiting his enemies into a church and collapsing its roof just to impress his murder husband. "Hannibal Lecter is who you need to change." Will is ready to become. Like Reba, he shared with Molly enough.

Then Will shows his ability to manipulate. Doesn't tell them he met with Francis, but allows them to learn he's alive through the autopsy. "The Dragon could absorb him that way, engulf him, become more than he is." He’s not gonna tell him The Dragon wants to meet Hannibal because he's the one who put it in his head. He knows very well that Hannibal would draw The Dragon, and I wouldn't be surprised if Will kept in touch with him after their meeting to let him know when the escape would happen. He makes sure to tell Jack the same thing he plans to tell Hannibal because it's based on the Chinese symbol in the tree. 

With Jack, allows him to believe it's their best shot at Francis. "The character also appears on a mahjong tile. Marks the Red Dragon." With Hannibal, informs him Francis will be helping them escape. "You hit it. An expression sometimes used in gambling." This scene plays well off Hannibal's surrender.

Gamble everything for love, gamble everything.

"We assign a moment to decision. What you propose is so thoughtless, I find it difficult to imagine that moment exists." This ties in Will's previous conversation with Jack. "Not all of our choices are consciously calculated." Choices aren't, decisions are. "No. But our decisions are. You remember when you decided to call Hannibal?" Will tells Bedelia, "Decisions are made of kneaded feelings. They're more often a lump than a sum." Will's kneaded feelings because he never stopped wanting to run away with Hannibal. I love how he uses "lump" after talking about “kneaded” feelings. Sums can be separated by their individual parts unless they’re lumped together like dough. His feelings can't be separated individually, so he can't cut out that part of himself that will always want to run away with Hannibal. "I don't intend Hannibal to be caught a second time." He wasn't caught the first time. Will doesn't intend for Hannibal to surrender a second time. "What you are becoming is pathological." I swear she's talking about herself here. "Extreme acts of cruelty require a high degree of empathy." Will is hilaroius in this scene, I love it. "You've just found religion. Nothing more dangerous than that." Will found the best religion. Love. There’s nothing more dangerous than that. "I'd pack my bags if I were you, Bedelia. Meat's back on the menu." Foreshadowing what's to come, and Bedelia is pissed.

I love Chilton's scene, in the chamber like Georgia was. Fire in, fire out. He's able to confront them for what they did, even though he's just as much to blame. "What Hannibal is capable of. What Will Graham is capable of. What you are capable of. You were the roper. Too bad there was not enough rope for you to hang yourself with. Just enough to hang me." Chilton was the one trying to rope everyone while they were recovering in the hospital, wanting them to catch Hannibal so they could put him in his hospital. I love it because of what he says to Alana. “Your face did not change at all when you first looked at me. Shock, in seeing me, is usually delayed.” Like Will saying her face changed because she knew he was hearing things. Alana meets with Hannibal to propose their deal. "Was it Will's idea?" He already knows it was, but he doesn't know if Will plans to kill him. "Yes. That worked out so well for Frederick Chilton." He knows his wrath is coming, he already warned Jack. He and Alana seem blinded by those three years they spent apart, they don’t think Will has reason to run away with him. "Your wife... your child... they belong to me. We made a bargain for Will's life, and then I spun you gold." He's the one who milked Mason with a cattle prodder. I believe this storyline would've played out a little bit had the show continued. I think Hannibal would've wanted to give Will another non-biological child. All opposite from their first meeting in 3x9.

Cut to Will, Jack, and Alana. He uses the same concept from his conversation with Bedlia. He told her he put his hand on Chilton for authenticity. Chilton's face, now Jack's career. For authenticity. Because "Someone has to be close. When the Dragon comes." Such a fun episode, it's got everything. "We kill Dolarhyde. And then... we kill Hannibal." Laughing at Jack for being dumb enough to believe Will would allow them to kill Hannibal. He takes another trip through the chapel. So much change in his eyes, love in a lovely scene. He continues to cover up his meeting with Francis, being specific in front of the orderlies. He told you, not me. "He told you he wanted to meet you. Maybe that was a serious invitation." Hannibal has yet to learn he and Francis met, he thinks Will learned he’s alive through the autopsy. “You hit it.” Francis is coming to help us, Hannibal. 

A flash to the museum when they met on the elevator, the double symbolism. "You know, Will, you worry too much. You'd be much more comfortable if you relaxed with yourself." This is his last chance to walk away, his last moment of decision. He stays, he can claim they were ambushed and return to his life. Jack loses his lamb. Alana loses her Verger castle. The last family Francis killed was the transport team.

Cut to the cliff. "You and I are suspended over the roiling Atlantic. Soon, all of this will be lost to the sea." One could easily survive it so long as the water is deep enough for their speed. World record cliff jump is 192 feet. "You're playing games with yourself in the dark of the moon." It's after their conversation at the edge of the cliff when I believe the fisherman thinks about faking their deaths. "Wasn't surprising that I heard from the Great Red Dragon." He knew Jack put their faces in the paper and The Dragon would reach out to him instead of Will. Because Alana took his comfort, he didn't have access to TattleCrime. He only knows Will caught up with The Dragon because he helped them escape. "Was it surprising when you heard from him?" Will tells him yes and no. “And you... You wanted to surprise me.” This gives him reason to ask if Will plans to watch The Dragon kill him. "My compassion for you is inconvenient, Will." I like how he downplays his feelings when Bedelia already told Will how he feels about him. Will is super-cute. "If you're partial to beef products, it is inconvenient to be compassionate toward a cow." Quiet in comparison because he's sorting things out in his head. "I don't know if I can save myself. Maybe that's just fine." Hannibal doesn't want to think about Will not being able to save himself. He just spent three years without him. He thinks Will is about to lay down his life for Jack. This entire scene plays off their 2x13 scene. Hannibal said he gave him a rare gift, but he didn't want it. Will wanted it, and he wants it still. He's about to give Hannibal a rare gift...

“Bella used to say your face was all scars, if you knew how to look. There's always room for a few more. How much room does Will have, Jack?"

Let’s paint each other black. 

“If this pilgrim feels a special relationship with the moon, he might like to go outside and look at it, before he tidies himself up. If one were nude, say, it would be better to have outdoor privacy for that sort of thing. One must show some consideration for the neighbors.”

“Have you ever seen blood in the moonlight, Will? It appears quite black."

“Blake's Dragon stands over a pleading woman caught in the coil of its tail. Few images in Western art radiate such a unique and nightmarish charge of demonic sexuality.”

Let Molly and Walter have the dogs, Will. 

“I like my life there.”

“That life is an anchor streamed behind him in heavy weather."

Abigail and Miriam... you faked their deaths. 

“And the bluff is still eroding."

“Sometimes at night, I leave the lights on in my little house, and walk across the flat fields. And when I look back from a distance, the house is like a boat on the sea. It's really the only time I feel safe.”

The same unfortunate aftershave, Will. 

Hannibal, the only thing that smells good on me, is you. 

[calorieworkouts]

Fat, Sick and Nearly Dead

Meet Joe Cross, an extremely fascinating guy! I'll tell you why after I go on this tangent ...

So recently the only tv I have actually been enjoying is documentaries on Netflix. I enjoyed this YouTube video clip that utilized Jelly Beans to illustrate exactly how little of our life we get entrusted once we have actually cared for all our responsibilities. It really obtained me thinking of how much time I waste viewing TELEVISION programs that are enjoyable but don't really add anything to my life.

With that claimed, after I watched his video clip I spent an additional 15 minutes checking out this guys YouTube network as well as he is funny! Discuss an instant stop working though ...

Anyhow, that evening something did strike a cable within me when I was checking out Netflix as well as I determined to see a docudrama concerning worldwide warming (which we must actually be fretted about). As well as the next evening I saw "Fat, Sick and Virtually Dead". It's the trip of this unhealthy man named Joe that tests himself to do absolutely nothing yet juicing fruits/veggies and not eating for 60 days in an initiative to eliminate his illness and his "spare tire". Aside from the reality that I do not actually think it juicing it was outstanding! Don't feel like you require to watch the video so as to get something out of this blog site. Its worth the watch yet I'll spoil it for you by saying what you currently understand. An individual juices, after that he slims down as well as gets healthier, and also with the procedure fulfills intriguing individuals and also brings them along for the flight. Here's the docudrama trailer web link if your interested

The only point I really did not really get about the juicing is when you juice, you completely remove the fiber out of foods. Yes, you'll still be left with the nutrients yet ... you'll additionally be entrusted the sugar. If you understand anything regarding fiber, then you'll know that we require fiber on an "all fluid diet regimen" to keep our blood sugar from resembling a roller coaster.

Aside from that one little information I discovered a 3 points particularly motivating:

The power of one conversation

The major character Joe is going across the country simply talking with individuals about food. He obtains in these unbelievably prone conversations with people about their weight and how dissatisfied they are. He speaks to a substantial spectrum of individuals ranging from the "that cares if I pass away at 50" person, that's angered by anything that endangers his existing way of living to people who desire help but don't have anything besides food that brings comfort right into their lives. I really think that all the discussions he had actually made a difference.

The power of fasting

All of us have a hard time a little bit with dependency. Maybe we aren't cranking back 8 cheeseburgers a day but all of us have something that has a grip on us. The meaning of dependency is not reserved for drug addicts and problem drinkers its for anybody who consistently does things they do not want to do.

The shear amount of restriction Joe went through triggered his mind to do a full rewiring. Think about the mind like strolling via a bushy forest. If you go through a forest and also choose at the end that you appreciated the walk then you sculpted a little path in that woodland. The following time you stroll via it the course with become a bit a lot more noticable. Let's claim you liked doing that stroll a lot that you intend to do it 5 times each day! It would not take wish for there to be a full on course. As soon as the course is there you can extremely quickly stroll down it

Whenever we experience joy we have Serotonin to thank for that, its our pleased natural chemical. This is why most antidepressants are Serotonin based. In our modern 'quick passed' world having things that boost our serotonin is a need for keeping equilibrium as well as not really feeling like we are shedding it. Guess what food triggers among the quickest spikes in Serotonin ... Sugar ... surprise shock ... No surprise why we are so at risk to sugar addiction.

Doing some kind of quick entirely changes our brains internal organizations. Its like mosting likely to a new woodland. This coincides principle of why addicts gain from a rehab setting. We have actually learned that huge changes can trick the brain, with any luck long enough to re-wire our relationships with something addictive. I can discuss just how to calculated mind disassociation for days so I better keep going!

The power of video journaling

They didn't make a huge factor of this yet they certainly had to make video clip journals since they were making a documentary however there was something so raw about the video journals. I have actually not eaten before and you just go the entire day kind of hating the globe (especially the very first few days) yet there is something profound in the pain you feel. It simply sought to me that the video clip journals created a truly amazing system for them to arrange through every little thing they were feeling.

With all that said! I double pet dog dare your too ...

Start a conversation about health and wellness. Joe began a conversation with this random man at a vehicle quit named Phil and also through one discussion Phil shed 200lbs! We understand we need aid in life with a great deal of points ... but also for some reason all of us attempt to be healthy by ourselves. We are produced partnership and area so stop attempting to 'white knuckle' your way right into being healthy it doesn't function ...

Try doing a Blended Quick (not a juice fast ...). I did one for 10 days not as well lengthy ago but why not try blending a number of fruit and also veggies for a few days as well as see what you find out. If your mosting likely to go for a lengthy( emergency room) haul kind of like Joe did then try maintaining a video clip journal (or just a routine journal). Any kind of way you do it, I promise you'll find out something concerning yourself

Joe as well as your friends in the Sandbox desire this to be a good experience for you so we always recommend that any kind of major modification in fitness or nourishment be kept track of by a well qualified personal trainer or various other practical medicine practitioner!

If you require assistance discovering one decline us a line here

[mrmichaelchadler]

An American Hero Returns in Thrilling New Series, Tom Clancy's Jack Ryan

Those who tune into Amazon’s new series “Tom Clancy’s Jack Ryan” are in for a big surprise, in more ways than one. First, its vision of international espionage proves that thrilling action storytelling doesn’t require gun lust, motorcycle chases, or brashness with death to hold a tight grip. Even more, the series is packaged like the sharper version of a Paul Haggis movie, illustrating the various sides to its conflict, reckoning that terrorism is a tragedy more complicated than one-dimensional villainy. Expertly plotted by creators Carlton Cuse and Graham Roland, “Tom Clancy’s Jack Ryan” is all the more impactful for its restraint and scope, offering excellent character-based drama that’s concerned with much more than just its namesake.  

The poster boy for this exciting, sensitive take to worldly anxieties is John Krasinski, who continues to ascend as our current contemplating everyman, coming off the artistic rejuvenation of nervously glancing and not speaking in “A Quiet Place.” His take on Jack Ryan, very much his own after the character has been played by Alec Baldwin, Harrison Ford, Ben Affleck and Chris Pine, is a financial analyst with a military past, but a nervous rookie when it comes to preventing global terrorism. In the six episodes offered to critics (of the eight total available on Friday), I hardly saw him fire a gun, but I watched him do a whole lot of thinking. 

In a thrilling opening episode directed by Morten Tyldum ("The Intimidation Game"), Ryan is thrown into the mix when he starts tracking multimillion dollar payments abroad made to a suspicious account. Suddenly, the man with a doctorate in economics is now in Yemen to help interrogate a suspect named Suleiman, about money that could have leads to the next Bin Laden (“9/11” and “Bin Laden” are admittedly referenced with such weight in these moments that the button-pushing just becomes goofy.) Nevertheless, this pilot is a great display of how Krasinski can involve us in his characters’ quiet calculation of the information around him, but also in his anxiousness concerning the unpredictable. The series in turn doesn’t try to tell us that he’s not scared when dodging gunfire during the pilot’s explosive climax, or uncomfortable when negotiating with shady characters. It all does wonders for slowly, believably pushing his reinvented character out of the office, with Jack feeling as vulnerable as the story itself feels alive. It’s a steady build for this character, but for like much of this compulsively watchable series, proves to be incredibly rewarding. 

The closest that “Tom Clancy’s Jack Ryan” has to a “classic” macho hero is in Wendell Pierce’s James Greer, Ryan’s no-BS boss. And even then, he’s not a typical construct: Greer's a former key player in the CIA who was damned to a desk after an incident he won’t talk about, and he’s a Muslim. Leading with cutting wisdom and unblinking certainty, Pierce makes for a sturdy opposite to Ryan and a good companion; it’s very funny, too when Pierce rips on Ryan’s brainy aspect, irritatingly calling the titular hero “Peabody.” Together, the two are a formidable home base for the story’s American side. 

But the world is far bigger than its titular hero, the series reckons. In one of its most honorable narrative ambitions, “Tom Clancy’s Jack Ryan” takes a considerable amount of screen-time to explore how two brothers were radicalized, after surviving a bombing in Lebanon in the 1980s, and later facing racism in France. The now-middle-aged Suleiman (Ali Suliman) and Ali (Haaz Sleiman) are even introduced to us before we even see Jack Ryan in that first episode, and bookend the pilot with a delicate embrace after the Yemen battle. Beats like these are emotional and not menacing, and the emphasis on family is all the more immediate when the present day plot involves Suleiman’s wife Hanin (Dina Shihabi) trying to distance her children from Suleiman’s secret life. These parts of the story are emboldened by uniformly strong performances, and heartfelt character building that examines how both sides of good and evil think they are doing the right thing. It enables "Tom Clancy's Jack Ryan" to factor in various, difficult subjects like the state of Syria, the refugee crisis, cultural identity and more, without the exploitative nature of so many previous action stories that just want to look worldly. 

(Full disclosure: I read Omer Mozaffar’s incredible piece about consulting on “Tom Clancy's Jack Ryan” before I had finished episode four, which all the more confirmed my excitement that this show was actively working towards an understanding view of Muslims who choose terrorism.)

With a “cool kill” nowhere in sight, this action enterprise does not remove its various chess pieces lightly; there are consequences, and the act of killing is often accompanied with sadness, if not desperation. A third arc brings this home, involving a young American drone pilot living in Las Vegas, played with incredible focus by John Magary (“The Big Short”). Perhaps by no coincidence, he’s got a bit of “Krasinski Face” when dealing with the horror of his desk job, making for a haunting motif: these men are not emboldened by killing for justice, but hollowed out by it. In an excellent third episode directed by Patricia Riggen ("The 33"), we get a long look at the messiness of being an eye in the sky, and it has the face of a bruised pilot who begins to recognize the lives on the other side of the control panel.  

“Tom Clancy’s Jack Ryan” looks forward in a lot of aspects when it comes to the critical and entertainment purposes of a modern action story, particularly when handling post-9/11 politics. Which makes it all the more clear one improvement that can be made when “Tom Clancy’s Jack Ryan” returns for its second season—namely, Cuse & Roland put too much effort into making Jack smart. For a show that gets its highs from sharp storytelling and showing its characters' imperfections, it becomes tiresome to see them bend over backwards to present “self-righteous Boy Scout” Jack as the one who always has the right answer, whether he's challenging his superiors or enemies. Given that the show bares his name, we already know that he’s the capital-E Exception of a White American savior, that he’ll have impeccable timing when it comes to being at wrong place at the right time. But sometimes Jack’s luck is just too dumb.

Yet as a fan of the Jack Ryan movies ever since I was a pre-teen who pretended to understand all of their geopolitics, “Tom Clancy’s Jack Ryan” took me back to the battle of wits on the submarine of “The Hunt for the Red October,” or to the tense diplomatic stakes of “Clear and Present Danger.” This is the type of action series that invests a great deal of time in characters not directly related to Jack and trusts its audience; it’s not even concerned with laying clear the terrorists’ plot or clear motivations, it just tells us that they're up to something terrible. Instead, the show embeds you on both sides, which makes it all the more intense whenever they clash. A high-stakes chat-room interaction is one of the series’ best scenes, and it comes from another thoughtful, taut episode by Riggen. 

In a way, the ambition of “Tom Clancy’s Jack Ryan” reminds you of the clear divisiveness in our own homeland, and the ways to fight it: we need heroes who lead with intelligence, compassion, and maturity. People who understand good and evil is not just a simple decision of right and wrong. That we’re getting all of this food-for-thought within a blockbuster streaming event is all the more exhilarating, and I can’t wait to see more. Welcome back, Jack.

from All Content https://ift.tt/2N0OfKh

[rosalinehoffman]

eye for an eye; self

      Revenge —-Rose was familiar with the way it burned inside her when it demanded to be meted out. There were few things that set her guts on fire this way, and she was taken by surprise that Caleb’s wounds had managed such a feat so soon after deciding she cared about him. In fact, the rage she felt at the thought of someone laying a hand on him was part of what had told her just how much she cared, and how quickly it had snuck up on her. ‘He’s not worth it,’ he’d said, seeing the bloodlust in her before she even knew it was there. She couldn’t disagree more. Rose believed in taking matters into her own hands whenever possible ---Fuck justice, and fuck karma. They always took too long, and never satisfied her the way her own fists or fangs could. 

      She was a surprisingly violent woman, and filled to the brim with strength that came not just from age, but bottomless determination. It suited her, despite the elegance with which she often carried herself day-to-day. There were times too when she could be bratty and childlike, and other times when she was downright terrifying. Red was her colour, and blood had always looked perfectly at home splashed against her porcelain skin.

      She’d left Caleb’s place feeling warm and satisfied, pleasantly surprised by the way the night had turned out. With every step that took her further away from him, that warmth turned into a heat that boiled her blood. She didn’t go home, but made her way straight to Purgatory. The thought that she might run into Lukas didn’t even cross her mind.

      She slipped into a flirtatious smile and let her hips sway more freely than normal when she arrived, ready to play whatever game she might need to if it got her the information she wanted. It didn’t take much asking around, and she only had to bat her lashes at a handful of gruff looking men to get enough information to find the vampire she was looking for. None of them gave much up, but as she made the rounds, she put together enough tiny pieces to fill up the puzzle. He’d be fighting two nights from then, and she’d be there.

      When the night in question rolled around, Rose showed up in a pair of joggers and a grey sweatshirt she’d picked up at the mall. They were clothes she’d never wear in her daily life, and wouldn’t mind throwing them away once they were bloodied, hopefully with very little of her own. Her nerves were well controlled, though they were still there. She’d be stupid if she wasn’t worried at all, after seeing the state Caleb had been left in after one fight with the man. She had an advantage, though, in knowing what tricks he had up his sleeve. It was all she could do to hope Caleb wouldn’t be there that night, but if he was, she wouldn’t let him talk her out of it. Hell, he could watch for all she cared.

      When the time came, the vampire in question —whose name was Danny, it turned out— almost refused to fight her. This, if nothing else, gave away his stupidity. He thought she wouldn’t put up much of a fight because she looked young, and because she was a SHE. He must not have had too many encounters with older vampires, she’d taunted, and added another handful of money to her wager. That was enough to convince him she was worth his time.

      He was fast, but Rose was faster still, and she saw his first jab coming from a mile away. He didn’t start with the knives, and she had no trouble blocking his fists from connecting. He ended up on his back a couple of times, but she was taking it slow, letting his tension build until he was certain to resort to the vervain-laced weapons. When he did, she barely saw the tip of the blade poking from his sleeve, and it grazed her cheek. She hissed involuntarily at the burning it left behind, and Danny began to make a self-impressed sound. Before it got all the way out, he was on the floor. Still, there was a knife pointed at her side, and he fought to raise it to meet with her skin. She was thankful for the baggy clothes she’d chosen, then, and for her small frame. He had further to go than he’d planned, and wasted his energy trying to get his arm out from under her.

      The image of Caleb in his doorway, covered in open wounds, woozy and paler than normal even for a vampire, flashed behind her eyes. She made a guttural sound and adjusted herself until one knee pinned Danny’s chest and the other dug his wrist into the cement floor. She grabbed his armed hand with both of hers, turned it around to face him, and as she forced the knife closer to his own neck, something snapped in his arm. He let out a wail, and the crowd made a noise. She couldn’t tell if they were pleased or not, and was barely listening. There was blood in the air, and a wail of pain, and she realized she’d pushed the blade into the side of his neck. He’d let go of it moments ago, but she held it there with his hand forced up at an unnatural angle. He’d likely begun to heal already, and would have to have his arm re-broken so it would set properly.

      She sped into a standing position, and he looked at her warily before standing, too. His hesitation was evidently an act, for the most part, because he swung at her with his good arm. He missed, but it was too close for comfort. The difference in their fighting styles was clear as day; he swung often and wildly in the hopes that something might connect, while every movement Rose made was carefully calculated and efficient. It didn’t matter if he landed a few hits, as long as he got the message in the end.

      It had gone on long enough for her taste, and she took little pleasure in drawing out Danny’s punishment. His arm was still bent at a funny angle, so she thought she’d do him a favour by bending it back into place. She followed that by forcing it behind him and twisting it in the opposite direction than before, pressed up against his back. From here, she could see the blood spilling from the cut in his neck. He’d be alright if he drank soon after their fight, and she had no plans to kill him —that wouldn’t do well in this new town and all its RULES. But she wanted him to hurt. The thought of pulling the blade back against the same open wound and slicing through a vein crossed her mind. If Caleb had seen the darkness in her eyes in that moment and the curl of her lips, he might have had to reconfigure his entire idea of her. She looked like a completely different person, hardly a person at all really, but the monster so many people saw their kind as.

      In an instant, he was back on the cement, and something else was cracking —a rib, maybe. His discarded knife was close by, and she picked it up and held it to his hand she had splayed on the ground. Slowly, she pushed it into his palm until it couldn’t push any further, and then she twisted. He made a noise she hadn’t heard in a very long time, and his other hand tapped the floor in surrender. She either didn’t notice or didn’t care, and kept pushing the knife into the hard surface under his hand until the tip snapped off in his flesh, and he howled again. Suddenly, two sets of hands were pulling her off him and shoving a wad of cash towards her as they moved her to the exit. She left without resisting, but waited outside.

      She stood at the doors patiently until Danny left for the night much later, and though he looked worse for ware most of his wounds had healed up, save for his hand that was wrapped in bloodied gauze and a scar left on his neck. When he saw her, he nearly ran back inside, but she grabbed him by the shirt and shoved her winnings into his wounded palm. He winced and made a pathetic sound, but wrapped his fingers around it. When she didn’t appear to intend to do more than that, he looked from the money and back to her, clearly confused. Before he had the chance to ask, she answered, low and threatening, “If I hear you’re fighting again, with or without vervain...” She took a step closer to him, until his back was pressed against the wall. “You won’t have an arm to break, any more.” He looked smaller than he had inside, and all the cowardice it took to fight the way he did was clear on his face just then. She wondered if she should have done something worse, if her actions had got the message across, but his panicked nodding gave her all the answer she needed.

      Rose’s walk back home was taken slowly, and she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t pleased with herself. Mostly however, she remained upset that this was something she had to do at all, despite her results. She recalled the feeling that swelled inside her every time Danny had cried out, and didn’t blame Caleb one bit for involving himself in the fight club. She wouldn’t tell him how much she enjoyed herself, and in fact wouldn’t tell him she’d done anything at all. It was enough for her to know that it had been done. She only realized she was smiling when her cheek stung, and she felt a drop of blood fall down her chin. She’d almost forgotten she’d been hit, given the adrenaline still rushing through her. It only took a moment for her to decide to veer off into the woods near her hotel —there, she’d hunt something big and ditch her clothes. She could use the service entrance to get upstairs unnoticed in only her underwear, and finish the night with a long bath and a bag or two of o negative to wash it all away, and pretend it never happened.