#letter b blocks have the opposite problem as a

[onebizarrekai]

this took a stupid number of attempts to build. it turned out very wacky. b is for boat embedded halfway through a library (also backstreet boys)

[hogtiedwhorestories]

the ransom

warning - the following stories involves written scenes that include sexual violence that some people may be offended of and have a problem with. if you are sensitive to that kind of content, i do not recommend reading

this story was written by me and a ghost writer who wanted to stay anonymous.

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

Part 1

The morning started off like any other morning. me and my husband woke up, ate breakfast and got ready for the day. He had no idea what was planned for the day but he would find out later. With a kiss goodbye, we both left for our jobs in separate vehicles, but I didn't go to work. I drove across town to an address that my "kidnapper" had given me. An abandoned warehouse he said would be the perfect place to lie low. I make sure to pull my car around back, next to the backdoor. walking up to the door and I give 4 knocks on the door to let him know its me and I wait for him to let me in. He open the door to the dank dark warehouse abandoned a few years back. It’s musty smelling mostly filthy except for a 10ft square area where the kidnapper had cleaned off the dirt from the floor and put a few pieces of old furniture. A full size bed that screamed anything but comfortable , a couple of old worn lounge chairs and a wobbly table and two chairs. He invite me in as his “guest” for the next couple of days. As I walk past him to get inside I can see him checking me out in my work attire, but I pay no mind to it.

He leads me into the small cramped area and I look around in disgust. "really?? this whole warehouse and this where we have to stay? ugh…" I say rolling my eyes but I just got to get through this and it will be worth it. I'm hesitant to sit on the couch so I remain standing, "alright. we are all set, so like, what's the plan here?" I say looking at the man, crossing my arms. “I am going to have an envelope delivered to your husband telling him you have been kidnapped in order to get him to pay us the 40,000 he owes me. I’m demanding 100,000 interest and penalties ya know. He can get a 2nd mortgage on the house leave cash in a restroom at the park we split the money and our business is done, until then you stay out of sight here. He will see you didn’t show up for work believe the kidnap story and rush to get his trophy wife back under his roof. “ An evil smile comes across my face "perfect! I know he will get the money to get me back" I say, beginning to pace around the room. "ok you can go ahead and write the letter up, i have to do something with this room. I cant stay in a place like this for a few days…"

He begins to write the letter in block letters different sizes no way to eventually have any tracing done. About 30 minutes later there is a knock on the door. It turns out to be the mans nephew, who he had hired to deliver the letter for us. Unknown to me, he loses his focus when he sees me bending over to fill my dust pan, giving him a great view of my ass in my short skirt. "Can I get a little help here?! sheesh!" I say clearly annoyed, oblivious to them staring at me bend over. The place is looking a little better but still not the greatest. i notice the nephew still around "Well go! I want to get this over with. We are going to need to get some furniture or something. I can't…this place. ewww! what are we going to do here the next few days?"

“You bitch too much!!" He snaps back at me. "What did you expect an abandoned warehouse to look like? You really are going to hate the bathrooms then. Opposite side of the building no lights just a flashlight in that dark corner and no running water so the smell gets pretty offensive. Relax and think what you are going to do your money." I grudgingly sit in the lounge shinking low into it. I cross my legs, causing my skirt to ride up a little. The uncle notices this. I fold my arms and glare at him annoyed. Only a moment of silence before I can't hold it, "I'm so bored!" He glares back at me in silence, before looking back at his phone. His eyes shifting back and forth from his phone, to my soft smooth legs, glistening even in a low light place like this. I get no response, I just roll my eyes and shut up. My eyes are wandering around the place though. I can't help but talk "no tv…of course…" I say just as a passing comment to be heard. Again no response. My hand on my thigh, moves up the side of my leg and scratch an itch. Smooth skin against smooth skin, his eyes now eyes locked on it. The silence again broken up with a loud exhale from me, clearly bored and just making noise.

The uncle's phone goes off with a text message. “Your fucking husband wants to pay your ransom with winning bet money for crying out loud. You married a dumb shit. We have to take a picture to send him so come sit in this chair. Take your jacket off and mess up your hair to make it look good. I’m going to tie you up for the picture.“

"Are you kidding? Tied up?? You can't just take a picture of me looking like roughed up?? I don't want to be tied up!" I say aggravated and walking over to the chair and taking a seat in it. I run my hands through my hair and to make it all messy. My arms reaching up, pushing my chest out as he looks down at me. “Not believable enough…" He waits no time and shoves a rag into my mouth shutting me up. As quick as it went in, he uses a dirty scarf from the floor to seal it in. "Mmmmpphhhh!" I look up at him, yelling into the gag, smelling the stink of the rag, knowing its touching me. Right after that my hands taken behind me and tied up. I squeal into the gag, feeling the ropes digging into my skin. I grunt and groan, squirming in the chair. With every new length of rope, its more digging into my skin. I'm completely helpless to the ropes, squirming and fighting it. Soon enough, my ankles are bound together, and even more around my chest pushing my tits out further. I look up at him while he holds his phone out to me, still protesting behind my gag and flashes begin to go off, catching the real distraught in me. He gets the photos he needs, and sets his phone down, "ummiieee mmmmm!" I demand into the gag.

He smirks at me, but goes to undo the ropes on my legs. While he doess this, he isn't shy about groping them. Running his hands along my legs, telling me how sexy I look. "Mmmppphh!" I thrash in my ropes to the feeling him groping my legs. This doesn't deter him though, and doesn't stop. Eventually he does release the ropes around my ankles. He then moves to the rope around my chest and wrists. Just like my legs, his hands begin to roam, this time giving my boobs a squeeze. My face is turning red with anger. After a minute or two of groping, he finally unties all the ropes and undoes the gag in my mouth. I turn to him, with fire in my eyes, "you fucking asshole!" I scream out and slap him across the face. "Don't you dare touch me like that again! And what was that rag?! That was disgusting!!"

I can see him steaming from the slap, but he ends up not doing anything about it. Maybe he understood, and he got what he wanted to do anyway. After that we go back to our corners, and don't have much interaction. In the meantime the nephew returns. By this time, the uncle has fallen asleep, leaving just the two of us. We chat a little bit, he isn't too bad looking. I can't help but flirt with him a little. Nothing too much to look into, just innocent flirting. Before trying to sleep on that lumpy bed I take my flashlight and head to the bathroom. While in their, I do my business as fast as I can. The bathroom is not one I want to be in for very long. As I leave and open the door a bright light hit my eyes blinding me. I feel a shove and I fall back into the run down stall. A hand covers my mouth and I can finally see who is in front of me. The nephew. He aggressively talks to me in a low, menacing tone, warning me not to make noise or his uncle would come join. I slowly nod my head to him, slightly whimpering into his hand. He then grabs me by the hair, and forces me onto my knees. Within a few moments, his cock is pulled out and he shoves it into my mouth. The girth of his cock filling my mouth, blowing my cheeks out. He wastes no time, and pushes it further into my mouth, pushing into my throat. I have no time to react, except for choking. I'm struggling to take it all. His hands on my hair, forcefully holding me in place. My hands are flailing around, hitting against his legs. I'm desperately trying to get some air. He just keeps pounding deeper and deeper into my throat. My eyes begin to water. I can't take it. I think I may pass out. My vision at this point is a blur. My head is bouncing back and forth so fast, I don't know what's up or down. I try to push my hands into his thighs to push me away, but I am overpowered by him. Just when I think that's it for me, he grunts loading and I feel a large stream of cum shooting down my throat. It's too much for me to handle, and it begin's to overflow around his cock and out of my mouth. He finally pulls away from me, and I take a big gasp of air and fall back down against the wall.

I'm desperatly trying to catch my breath as he zips his pants back. He doesn't say a word to me. He walks out the door and leaves me there on the floor. My mascara is smeared from my waterying eyes. It happened so fast I couldn't truly process what happened while in the moment, but now I was. I now realize the situation that I am in. I thought I was in control but I'm not. I am in a very dangerous situation, with 2 dangerous men. I felt vulnerable. I got up from the floor, forced to look myself in the mirror while I cleaned up my makeup. I began t clean the cum off my chin and around my mouth when I looked down. I noticed a white stain on my black skirt. It was his cum. I tried to clean it, but it wasn't coming out. I had to walk back in that room, feeling completely humiliated. Now I had the bastard's cum on my skirt on display to see. Never before had I felt so used and abused. I walked by to the room, the nephew in his corner. I didn't bother to pay him any attention. I wanted to be strong. I went and sat down on the lumpy bed and laid down. I struggled to fall asleep, but eventually got some rest.

TO BE CONTINUED

[eros-sinclair]

OK I HAVE A CONCEPT!

okokokok so

bear with me i know this is going to be stupid as FUCK but just b e a r w i t h m e

Archangels and Demon lords are forced to play D&D together.

And the Nephalem is the DM running the whole thing, and its set in a semi modern world where their characters have to deal with shit like "they just got in a fight and now cant go to the hospital because they dont have insurance" and shit like that.

They are all forced to work together as a team to fight against a corrupt politician or something, but they are also dealing with weird modern problems like learning how to send an email or hotwire a fucking car.

here are some quotes from the initial conversation

"Ok Belial, roll Deception" "HA i have such a high modifier i couldnt possi-" "What did you get?" "… nat 1"

"You can't buy that, Diablo. You don't have any coin." "How do I get coin?" "Get a job, mate." "Like what?" "Idk, barista?"

"how do I send this message?" "you can try email, letters.." "what is email I want to do that one" "alright you spy a computer next to you" "I shove the message into the artifact" "you…. what?"

"I run up in front and block the attack" "Did… you just save me, Asmodan?" "Shut up, Tyreal"

"Tyrael you are our only healer and healthcare is unaffordable. if you die we are all fucked." "glad to see you care… kind of"

some other things:

Diablo's character would 100% die first and he would be mega salt about it, he always plays a Teifling (bc he wants to keep the horns)

Tyrael would play a Cleric, who the party relies on for healing bc none of their characters have Insurance to pay for hospital visits.

At the beginning of the campaign the DM has angels and demons on opposite sides of the table but by the end they are all mixed up and sitting together. He knows he did a good job when they beat a hard encounter and they all cheer and some of them even hug or highfive.

they're having a lot of fun but would never admit it outside of sessions.

And I did of course draw this.

in this senario half the party is fighting a mutant rat while the other is trying to figure out how to hotwire a car so they can run it over.

[wyrmfedgrave]

Pics:

1 & 2. Lovecraft, out getting some air.

3. Quinsnicket Park - or, as it's known today, the Lincoln Woods.

4. The Seekonk River today.

5. Hearthside Museum, celebrating some spooky holiday - it seems.

6. Okay, Howard. Now you've gone too far! Or, knowing you, this is just your 1st step... Beyond.

1913: Quinsnicket Park.

Intro: As a boy, HPL lived in the 'swanky' part of Providence.

This area was so new, that it was just a few blocks away from nearby farms & woods.

Which included a densely wooded bank alongside the Seekonk River.

But, even as a youth, Lovecraft recognized the beauty of the park - with its rugged, rocky features & the fine Olney Pond¹.

A Steven Smith² had planted many trees & put in goldfish ponds thruout the greenery.

It quickly became a favorite spot of Howard's. Being a tranquil place where he could enjoy nature & even write at.

HPL was actually a good hiker. In warm weather, he showed a good appreciation of landscapes, the quality of light & seasonal changes.

Quinsnicket is a Narragansett word meaning, "Place of the Big Rocks" or "Rock House."

It also has a Pawtucket version, that's spelled quinsniket & means, "hill."

Quotes: From Letters -

A. 1919, Lovecraft wrote to Reinhardt Kleiner saying "I celebrated Columbus Day³ (with a) solitary ramble thru (the) Park. I had the... companion(ship of) a pocket telescope &... Thomson's "Seasons⁴."

The letter continues with a touch of racism, "It was delightful (2) leave behind the alienated suburbs, where reign the Hebrew, Italian & French- Canadian (- all in) squalor⁵."

B. 1929, Howard wrote to August Derleth saying "On my right (lie) the picturesque ivied ruins of an ancient mill⁶, which I knew in (my) youth."

C. 1933, HPL wrote to Clark Ashton Smith saying "I am north of... town, in the... region which I have haunted all my life & whose beauty can't... be captured (by) words."

"I could kick myself... for my inability to draw & paint."

"The temperature is falling⁷ & I can't 'steer' my finger(s) when it's... under 70°..."

D. 1934, Lovecraft wrote to F.L. Bald- win saying "I get out to the country as often as I can... I take my work or reading (material) to the wooded riverbank... One (of my) favorite rustic spots."

E. 1935, Howard wrote to Robert Barlow saying, "This section of the woods (are) primeval. (Both) Indians &... colonists (stood under) these giant firs⁸."

Notes:

1. The pond is more man made rather than natural. The Olneys damned the Thread Mill Brook to create a water- fall. It was high enough to run a... Yes, you guessed it - a thread mill.

2. Sadly, I've found no other mention of Steven Smith nor why he beautified this particular park.

3. Sigh...

HPL suddenly has no problem with Columbus.

Yet, at 1st, Lovecraft couldn't stand the idea of Italians asking to change a street name to honor Columbus.

4. James Thomson was England's 1st & most popular nature poet.

It was James who also wrote "Rule, Britannica," an important musical anthem for the British Army & Navy!

"The Seasons", like Walt Whitman's "Leaves of Grass", was revised & added to until it reached epic length.

James died 2 years after finishing this cycle of poems.

Yet, "Seasons" was reprinted 50 times by the year 1800. And, the book was read well into the Romantic Era (1800 to 1850).

5. Once again, HPL shouts out his more tame message of hate. Nothing really new here.

6. Could this be the waterwheel that Howard lauded over the coal powered industrial mills?

7. Another mention of Lovecraft's low temperature 'allergy.' The opposite of Mister Freeze, who can't withstand any heat...

8. These are most likely Douglass firs, which grow up long & slender - with short crowns.

In old growth forests, these firs reach some 250 feet tall! But, the tallest Douglass firs is a record 330 feet!!

And, the oldest fir lived for some 1,400 years!

[life-rewritten]

START UP- DOSAN AND JIPYEONG AND THEIR RISK/STORM

SYMBOLISMS IN EPISODE 9 AND 10 OF START UP

So here we are, Dalmi has finally found out the truth this week in Start Up. Her reaction is understandable and it even hurts even more to see the people involved in her heartbreak and sadness. Dosan and Jipyeong. This episode was show casing their own emotions, as we’re about to get a change coming soon, something is about to push our characters away from each other so that they grow and mature and rediscover who they really want/love. But before we get to next week’s separation and Dalmi’s first choice, let’s look at the symbols for this episode. 

The title for episode 9 was Risk( Doing something with the possibility of loss)  and Episode 10 was Demoday (an event where business owners show case their achievements in hopes for investments/promotions)

So from these two titles you can already see how this revolves again around the love triangle. We have to look at how the guys connect to these two titles when it comes to Dalmi. So let’s look at all the symbolisms/ meta used this episode. 

Risk: The possibility of losing 

Both guys are both at risk of losing everything. In my previous analysis I talked about how Dosan percieves he’s at the losing end every time it comes to being percieved as someone worthy, but also Jipyeong showed in episode 9 that he felt it was unfair that he could lose everything he cares about and wants when he’s been involved from the beginning. For Dosan the main thing he was losing was Dalmi’s love and respect for him. He was in love with her, and he’d finally entered a relationship with her since their kiss. They’ve become intimate and close and she saw him as her life partner. (co owner of her 71% shares). For Dosan, Dalmi was everything to him, the only thing he didn’t want to give up on. But if you noticed apart from looking how he felt about Fate being in his way because of his guilt of cheating when he was young, he still was making progress slowly and had accepted that he had to tell her who he was. He now understood it was time despite how afraid he was (he was so scared he drank to run away from his problems) but he still chose to make that risk. In the show the sandbox CEO lady talks about risk to In Jae, she explains what it means to make a choice that has a possibility of loss, she understood and empathised with those who had lost something. 

It's the same with Dosan; it might seem like choosing with the possibility of losing can lead to him losing everything if this girl finds out who he is, but in business terms sometimes risks lead to reward/success, risks lead to something finally happening, and sometimes risks can be hurtful and can lead to a loss. Thing is Dosan thinks he's the one who will lose everything, but honestly the storm is the Risk that leads him to his success. Another sad point for Jipyeong who seems like he's not really at Risk because he's the original Nam do san, but he's ironically the Most at Risk of losing everything he wants; Dalmi and the grandmother by his side. Because you could see it when Dosan took them on that date that he'd been replaced and he'd been cast aside.  Jipyeong believed that by telling Dalmi how he felt; he’d have her open to finally choosing him and liking him the way she already did before. In fact it’s probably done the opposite it’s made Dalmi realise her fantasy with that letter and its made her compare it to the actual relationship and person Dosan has been to her. It might not seem like a risk for him for Dalmi to know about him but it ended up being one. This brings me to the next title

 Demo day

The person who Dalmi said she wanted to show up was Dosan, yes it was the version of her fantasy Dosan: the ideas she had about him; he'd still be a genius, rich. modest, successful etc. But it was still Dosan she wished for to show up when her world crumbled. With Jipyeong she realised he cared but she was bothered because she felt guilty and burdened by the fact that she was now into the other Dosan, that now she had her real Dosan revealed to her but he wasn’t the person she had started to invest her feelings in. Remember title is demo day, the boys are putting on a show for Dalmi’s investment, for her to promote them as her choice. Dosan feels like he has nothing to offer but his hands but he still shows her he cares, he advances (whilst people thought it was stalkery Jipyeong was doing the same but it isn’t about the stalking you need to focus on its about who’s showing up) he shows up when she’s drunk, he shows up in the morning straight away to see her after their fight, he shows up directly to her face,  at the end to tell her to let go of her fears and trust in the company. 

What he says about her being CEO is also about himself, its a metaphor, nothing about him was fake, she was right to trust and believe and be confident about their relationship. He was genuinely in love with her. JIpyeong also shows up sometimes, he shows up at the restaurant and admits to her how he feels but he still lags behind, he still avoids her directly, yeh he tried to be a mentor for the CEOs to see her and he did tell her to have her confidence and go on stage choose the right investors but it wasn’t showing up directly, it was again to everyone hidden as an advice, we might see what he’s doing but it wasn’t as obvious or direct and it didn’t have an effect on her sorry I just have to say it and  it doesn't still doesn’t do anything to help her confidence, he is helpful (the questions to help her feel confident but again its Dosan he gives that to not her directly do you see what I mean.) The only direct thing he did was tell her he likes her and that he went to see her in that far away town because he likes her. That’s nice and all but we saw more than one time when Dosan went to Dalmi directly. Jipyeong waited for opportunities to find a reason but Dosan forced opportunities to be there. And sadly the last time for him to show up (Plan B) is blocked by Dosans friends. And I feel bad for him because he’s waiting for an opportunity to show up for her, but he’s stopped and so he’s behind yet again.

 But for Demo day just remember the person Dalmi said she wanted to see a show from was Dosan, he’s one she wanted to invest her feelings in, he’s the one she wanted to return back to (the moments she spent with him that day he showed up in the suit), its also Dosan who tries to put on another show (by running to go wear the suit when she’s drunk) he misses the opportunity but again he’s the one who’s showing/demoing his feelings for her the most. But also the person who we learn about his achievements; the origin, his opinions, his feelings is Dosan. He’s the one who we just watched the previous episode talk about his winnings. He felt like he had none but we know thats wrong. Alex shows up to show him he’s worth investing in. He’s the one who is being invested in for his qualities/ achievements in an episode called Demoday. That’s how I saw the metaphor for demo day. Okay for symbols:

Gust of wind vs the storm:

It's a fascinating symbolism. In this episode it's linked to Dosan. But I can't help but remember it was also mentioned to Jipyeong by Yeongsil as his fortune in episode 1; Dalmi was the gust of wind that was entering his life again. I think this symbolism is another painful ironic metaphor for both Dosan and Jipyeong. Also I want to mention that it wasn't just a metaphor we also saw a physical image of this happening, its the rain towards the end of episode 9 (rain symbolises an impending storm /disaster is coming). Dosan was not hit by the rain, Jipyeong was. Let me explain further:

Dosan says that the wind is actually a storm to him, its causing harm and its always pushing him away and always leaving him with just devastation, but actually its Jipyeong who the wind is cruel to. Hear me out, the wind represents Fate, so we already know the wind is on Dosan's side, it provides him with the answers, it gives him Dalmi, it provides him all he wants but he thinks its by deceit. He is apprehensive and is always guilty waiting for the storm to hit because he believes its a punishment when he receives these rewards, but he doesn't see that the storm is not a problem to him.

It may seem like it because he's losing his family's love and respect (once they find out the truth,)  Dalmi's love and respect (once she finds out the truth), he feels used by the wind but discarded in the storm because he doesn't deserve anything. But the storm is there to actually to push him to get and keep all that he has been given: The storm leads him to finally opening up to his dad, but really his dad is going to realise he's still a genius, he's still going to have Samsan Tech be successful because of Dosans hard work and Noongil. Dosan is going to be forced to prove that he can be a genius; the storm moves him to achieve those rewards for real finally. It's on his side.

For  Dalmi; the storm finally eliminates that bug (remember that tiny issue that can ruin all they have, that he mentioned he wanted to eliminate) He's been wanting to remove that bug. So Fate did it for him, it may seem like its caused him to lose Dalmi but we all know it hasn't instead now she sees him, and she now realises who she likes, Dosan is closer to actually being with Dalmi because of this stupid storm. The storm is not there to hurt or discard Dosan; it's there to push him forcefully to the end goal of his desires, it's giving him what he wants forcefully he just doesn't realise it.

It’s Jipyeong who that gust of wind is actually hurting, it’s Jipyeong who is being discarded in the storm, he's the one who's even left behind, it's like great that Dalmi returns into his life, it leads him to back to wanting to fulfil his debt to the grandmother, that's his wants before Dalmi came about in his life, the wind provided him with a way to do so with Dosan, but then he crossed the line, he started to become an obstacle to Fates plans, and so it seems like the wind is pushing Dalmi to him. Still, it's not, its a storm, it's going to hurt, he's going to lose everything just like he was the one who was hit the rain, he's actually in the one in the storm, left behind and discarded. Dalmi had left to give Dosan the umbrella remember? Dalmi was already on her way to protect Dosan from the storm, Jipyeong only had the grandmother, and she had just told him that he was going to have to be left behind. Cruel right?  

Honestly writing this makes me hurt for him but the show has decided who's the main character, and who's the one for Dalmi, as much as Jipyeong is going to be hurt by all this, he's destined for something else, and whenever that person comes, he'll be shielded from the storm.

The road ends here/Taking a wrong turn

Like with the storm, Dosan and Dalmi drive for a while and reach a sign saying the road ends here, this is foreshadowing there is no other place Dosan can go now in their relationship. Fate has brought them together to manifest both their dreams. But now its time for them to separate for now. For their goals to be met, for them to be equal again to each other, or perfect for each other again, they need to end this saga. Whilst this seems like a storm again because they both lose each other for a while, I don't think it is. 

Dalmi is on her way now to realising she's the girl of Sandbox and now she's going to be on her way to becoming the very CEO she was destined to become, the very vision of Sandbox. She's destined to become great and fulfil her father's dreams, this is important because you can see that with Samsan Tech she's not fully reaching her potential (I wonder if she'll stop being CEO and start to make a new idea or if she'll become a better CEO of the company as Dosan is away) this is why her sister has a go at her and mocks her for really not living up to the image of the girl on the swings, she's still lagging a bit on her destiny. Dalmi needs to learn what she wants for her self, and not just rely on others anymore, its time for her to become the boss and find her voice and find her own choices. Dosan needs to be separated from her to refind her self again. But this is why Fate has set up a way for them to do that: Alex.  

For Dosan we all know he needs to become the fulfilled version of his potential, the suit guy, he needs to go now and learn, become experienced, become knowledgable but also become successful because of his own reputation. He needs to see how good he is. So he'll return and become the guy Dalmi begged him to show up as, that same guy that took her breath away, the same reputation she had of him before, and the ideal guy that he's meant to be. And he also needs Alex, a mentor who believes in him and knows his strengths to do so. So you the see the road does end here for Dalmi and Dosan. Maybe Fate has done what was needed for both of them for their destiny, now perhaps they won't be perfect for each other anymore, and now Jipyeong can show up and do something else. But I still think these two are meant for each other; I still see Dosan showing up three years later as someone who is Dalmi’s soulmate this time himself, no guilt, no lies, no luck involved, this time all just him. And I still see Dalmi seeing him as her partner no matter what growth/regressions they go through. However, this does mean there is a chance Dosan can finally not be endgame; it depends on how he changes.

Fixed star vs moon

But then we come back to this metaphor/symbolism that makes me change my mind and decide that no Dosan is the endgame. The fixed star, Dalmi calls Dosan as they look up at the stars. First of all the star metaphor points to all I've already been saying, Dosan feels insignificant to the moon (Jipyeong), feels smaller, not noticed, not as appreciated I guess. Still, then Dalmi tells him that no he's a fixed star, and he’s bigger than the moon even if it seems brighter and bigger on the surface/visually, the star is bigger to her and its more important that its fixed. It matters more to her if he sticks around and that those stars do have meaning and importance. The fixed star though foreshadows he won't be going anywhere in her heart; he'll stay fixed, he'll stick around no matter if they separate. 

Jipyeong vs Fate

Which brings me back to symbolisms used in this episode to show all these points further. The thing I can only mention is, it really does suck for Jipyeong because Fate has already decided on a winner; Fate has used him as a tool for these twos path. And that's why I keep repeating that he was destined to play a mentor/older brother to these two, each time he tries to cross that line, it's not useful, it's not important, and it's not needed. Although you can argue that his Plan B for being Dalmis savior/investor is necessary but now we have 2STO, so he's not needed again, you can say that all his advice is required in order to make Dalmi feel confident and secure, but it doesn't she's still worried and insecure until Dosan tells her to just trust her self. You can argue he's needed to make Dalmi happy but again he's replaced by someone who does that automatically. 

It's sweet all his efforts and energy towards trying to be useful and needed, but unfortunately, he comes too late. If he's not late there's an alternative, he's always there; he's the advice for the recording, he's the introduction to Dosan, the one he wrote the letters, the grandma's good boy by her side (yet he doesn't know about her blindness), he's the guy who went to get Dalmi from that far away town, the one who provided her with new shoes, he's the owner of Yeongsil,  but unfortunately he's just the tool not the solution/ he may be there and be of use but its not the final thing needed.

He's like a spark of an idea, he's important and useful and leads to things to happening but he's not the final product/final creation. He's the idea/spark for her ideal guy but Dosan is the fulfilment of it, Dosan is the actual version of it.

 It really sucks and this is why I would have a second lead syndrome for him, because whilst it's really obvious to everybody that he is there for Dalmi. Still, Dosan is the one Fate chose but Jipyeong is actually also appealing, needed and useful just not enough. It's ironic because just as Shaha said Jipyeong is the surface choice,  when really we all know he's suffering because he's been pushed from the beginning never to be the choice.

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

“ANGRY SCENE IN HOUSE OVER RELIEF,” The Province (Vancouver). March 10, 1932. Page 3. ----  Minister and Labor M. P. Are Disciplined By Speaker. ---- "WORKLESS LIVING ON DUMP HEAPS" ---- Woodsworth Speech Brings Chorus of Protest From Tories. ---- OTTAWA, March 10. - The House of Commons was thrown into a tumultuous scene yesterday by the three-letter word "lie." J. S. Woodsworth, Labor, Winnipeg North Centre, hurled the little word, and then refused to withdraw it. The Irish blood of R. J. Manion, minister of railways, was stung, and before the House realized it, a parliamentary hornet's nest was stirred. 

The Winnipeg Laborite first roused the ire of government supporters by referring to Premier B. B. Bennett as the "Millionaire Prime Minister," and picturing him  "surrounded by a heavy guard" and "undertaking to lecture" a deputation of unemployed men. This stirred government supporters to cries of "Shame!" and "Withdraw!" 

REFUSES TO WITHDRAW. But when he charged Conservatives with "implying that people who are out of work, today do not want to work which is a lie," a regular parliamentary battle began. 

"Withdraw!" shouted government supporters. 

"I refuse to withdraw." Insisted Mr. Woodsworth. A general hubbub arose In the House, and members trooped Into the Chamber from the adjoining lobbies. Mr. Speaker George Black ruled "the inference Is not parliamentary and should be withdrawn." 

Mr. Woodsworth again refused. Points of order and Interjections punctuated the next few minutes. Finally, the Winnipeg Laborite prefaced his statement with the two-letter word "if," making it hypothetical, rather than a statement of fact, and escaped the Speaker's ruling. 

MANION CALLED TO ORDER Then Dr. Manion entered the fray. But he, likewise, ran foul of parliamentary rules. First, he called Mr. Woodsworth a "demagogue" and was forced to withdraw. Next, he accused the Labor leader of making a "false statement" relating to the Prime Minister. This also was taken back. Then the sentence was changed to "a statement not in accordance with the facts" but this also was unparliamentary, ruled the Speaker. 

Another angle then was adopted by Dr. Manion. He said he knew "of only one country of which Mr. Woodsworth ever has a good word to say: Russia." The Labor leader "has stated in this House many times that he Is not a Communist - he has stated that - and I accept his statement, but I do say that If he were a Communist, he would talk exactly as he is talking."

SCORES SOVIET SYSTEM. Russia, proceeded the railway minister, "is the same country that murdered the royal family, it is the same Russia that has been endeavoring ever since the present group in power took charge, to wipe out the intelligentsia, to coerce the workers and in every way to compel them to labor practically as slaves." Reference was made to Russia's repudiation of International debts, its secret police, the spreading of Soviet propaganda, the abolition of religion and the treatment of peasant farmers.

Turning more specifically to unemployment questions, Dr. Manion made a plea for united parliamentary effort. "Instead of the captious criticism in which they (the opposition) have been Indulging, they should come forward and help us during these trying days. They should stand shoulder to shoulder with us In an endeavor to help us solve the problem Instead of doing everything they can to block us." 

The House was considering the government resolution to extend until May 1 the life of the Unemployment Relief Act of last session the "blank cheque legislation." The debate will continue. 

DEBATING SOCIETY. Mr. Woodsworth started off by saying Parliament was becoming a debating society. "Hear, hear," Conservative members interjected, and the House laughed. Dictatorship was not In the Interests of the common people, he said, in criticizing the "peace, order and good government" provisions of the bill. Certain firms had been allowed to get gold from the treasury and send it to the United States to pay their debts, giving only Dominion notes to the treasury. 

Dr. Manion objected. No special groups were so treated, the minister declared. "Any application for the obtaining of gold from the treasury had been dealt with on Its merits." 

"Some of my friends tried for it and were refused," said Mr. Woodsworth.

"Probably for a good reason," returned Dr. Manion. He declared the Prime Minister had objected to the "dole" to unemployment Insurance. The government had adopted a worse policy than that, in the "hand-out" system which was being followed. People were living on the "dump heaps" and going in and out of missions and other places and were being demoralized by "charity." 

Some people had wealth and others were out of work, but neither was due to virtue hut to social conditions or "arrangements of society." "NEW LINEUP COMING." "When the millionaire Prime Minister of this country," he began. 

"Soap box stuff" - "shame' - "order" were heard among the cries of protest which broke out at the remark of the Labor member. 

The country was reaching a state, Mr. Woodsworth said, where it could not pay the dividends which were being demanded by those with wealth and at the same time pay wages. 

"A new lineup la coming," declared the Labor member. "The old Liberal and Conservative parties will not amount to much; and do not amount to much now." It was going to be a lineup of the special interests and the masses of the people," said Mr. Woodsworth. 

Dr. Manion went on to say that the member for North Centre Winnipeg appeared to be anxious to get after those people who were drawing bond interest. He had taken the trouble to check up holders of Dominion of Canada bonds, and he found that 318,000 Canadians had bonds under $2000 In value. These were not wealthy people, they were thrifty people who have saved their money and invested it in a small way In bonds. Should they be condemned for their thrift and saving? They were not millionaires - they were poor people.

[vanaera]

𝐌𝐲 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞 | 𝟎𝟐 | 𝐣𝐣𝐤

Synopsis: A future technology allows cops to jump in the past and future to investigate crimes that have happened and prepare for those that are about to happen. A simple hit-and-run turns into something more when Captain Jeon Jungkook finds himself as the victim of a culprit who cannot be identified by the system. Especially when the culprit seems to be the same person behind the new case that’s threatening the order in the justice organization. All goes haywire when Jungkook gets involved with Y/N L/N, the clairvoyant sketch artist who may be his only help to solve the case.

Characters: Jungkook x Female Reader

Genre/AU: Sci-fi, romance, angst, mystery, action (cop!JK x artist!you), based on the movie Minority Report

Wordcount: 8.2k

Warnings: Dark themes and implied smut (in future chapters); heavy descriptions of a hit-and-run; mentions of blood from injuries (PG-16 Rating)

prev | next | series masterlist

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐭

              The skies were gray and the streets were damp and yet the air remains humid. The scorching heat on the pavement permeates the soles of his leather combat boots. It’s the familiar stench of Down Hill. Jungkook could already smell it when he’s just reaching the boundary between it and Middle Town.

              Jungkook looks down at the scrap of paper that’s been in his pocket since the day started. Namjoon had to write the address of this Y/N L/N, lest DOJ traces his electronic trail and take him in for unnecessary questioning. Jungkook himself had to make up some petty excuse of a “hurting arm” to file a day-off. He just hopes all of this spent effort will worth him something.

              Jungkook nears the 7-Eleven sitting in the fork of the streets. Namjoon wrote Y/N’s studio is cramped among the apartments around this area. He said she never really penned down a home to accommodate covert meet-ups like this. All she has is her studio. 

              In “Mini Palais, 23-B,” Jungkook mutters again, huffing in front of a door with cracking cadet blue paint. He finds the unit after climbing up a series of stairs at the end of the alleyway jammed between the decaying 7-Eleven and a battered motor shop. Jungkook raises his hand to knock when the door bursts open.

              In front of him is a girl. Namjoon already said so and although Jungkook thinks it’s accurate enough for the girl who’s looking up at him through chopped raven bangs, it also wasn’t really enough to describe her. Because the girl in front of him was an aberrant mix of a girl and a woman. Jungkook thinks she’s around her early thirties if he were to consider Namjoon’s history of working with her for about ten years in FJO. There are faint lines around her eyes to support that. However, her relatively small height, plump cheeks, and the natural rosy hue of her lips beg to decrease ten years off that supposed age.  With her youthful face, messy half-bun, and the white, floral off-shoulder dress flowing past her knees, no one will argue with Jungkook if he were to say she’s just 22. 

              “Who are you?”

              “Oh, um,” Jungkook flashes his badge, “I’m Jungkook Jeon, a captain in the Federal Justice Organization. Precrime, Murder sector. I’m here to um, avail your…services for a case.”

              The girl cocks her head to the side and gives him a once over. “I’m sorry, I don’t do services for the FJO anymore.” She moves to close the door but Jungkook was quick to block a foot between it and the wall.

              “I’m a contact of Namjoon’s!” Jungkook exclaims, “He’s Lieutenant Seokjin Kim’s close subordinate.” This is a card he didn’t want to use but it looks like he has no other choice left. Jungkook clears his throat. “Actually, I’m a very close contact of Namjoon. We’re best friends. I even live with him. He’s the one who told me to, um, consult you for the case I’m handling.” 

              The girl opens the door an inch. Jungkook hands a folded paper to her. She spreads it open and scans through the letter. Jungkook doesn’t know what it actually says. Namjoon just thrust it into his hands on his way out and told him not to open it. It must be an effective personal request because by the time the girl reaches the end, she’s pushing her door wide open, tilting her head to the side, beckoning him to come inside. However, her face remains grim.

              “I’m Y/N L/N. This is my studio. I know you already know I prefer to transact business here even for ones intended to be covert. So first off, I want to say I’m sorry you have to travel to such a place like this.”

              Jungkook shakes his head, “Oh no, it’s definitely alright—”

              “I kinda think it’s not when you grew up in a comfortable life. You must be quite shaken up.”

              Jungkook freezes. Y/N looks at him, “Oh, I didn’t look into you or something. It’s just a hypothetical guess, seeing your,” she motions to his silver watch. “That’s expensive. No one from here will be able to afford it anytime soon.”

              Jungkook’s shoulders turn lax. Y/N points to a chair next to a table in the corner. “Just wait there. I’m about to finish this piece in just a sec. Then I’m all yours.”

              Jungkook nods and makes himself comfortable on the seat. Unlike its appearance on the outside, Y/N’s unit is not much of a concrete wreck. It still looks a bit rough. The ceiling has cracks all over it.  A small white bulb precariously hangs on its center. It looks too weak to illuminate the whole room when the night comes. Jungkook thinks it’s a good thing that the unit has huge gaping rectangular windows to let in the natural light. The floor is cemented in gray but the work on it is unimpressive as there are numerous uneven layers, rough patches, and dents that could only be ascribed to poor mason work. The white wallpaper is torn around, some even wet at the edges—probably due to a leak during rains. 

              However, the flowers painted on them is vibrant enough to uplift the dreary unit. Paintings are littered around. Many are big, a few are small. Some were seated on easels, several are just laying around on the floor. Newspapers are strewn across the majority of the floor. Buckets and tin cans of paints line up the corners like a prayer circle. 

              All the colors present in the room can only be attributed to the paint that’s strewn across the newspapers, the paintings, and the 6’ tall canvas of an owl in flight Y/N is currently working on. The girl is standing on a small foldable ladder, painting the feathers of the bird at the top of the canvas. When the wind blows her hair to the side, Jungkook finds a mirage of colors on the scarlet spider lilies inked on her spine.

              After about two minutes, Y/N steps down and dumps her brush into a rusted bucket filled with water. She turns to the man on the chair and makes her way to the stool opposite his. She fixes down her dress and finally looks at Jungkook. “So, what case do you have for me?”

              “This,” Jungkook slides a couple of pictures toward her. They are the screen captures from the CCTV records that caught the black Jaguar. “There’s an unknown driver who’s doing an illegal time jump patterned to Precrime’s traveling agents. We tried to run in the license plate but it just turned to be ‘invalid.’ All we know is that the suspect is male, slim, and tall. He’s interested in the Winston Assassination, and has probably inside ties in FJO since he easily entered the Special Operations Building just ten days ago.”

              “None of the traveling agents has seen this man before? Precrime or Forecrime?”

              Jungkook shakes his head.

              Y/N licks a finger and flips to the next picture, “What about the car?”

              “None of the agents has seen a suspicious sedan sports Jaguar before. It’s the first time we have someone presumably well-to-do threatening the justice system.”

              Y/N nods. Jungkook inserts his hand into his pocket and retrieves a black USB. He hands it to the girl. “Here’s more of the screenshots from the CCTVs, taken in each second. I can’t give you the CCTVs because of the protocol. I can only give you these. Just imagine they’re moving,” Jungkook purses his lips as he looks at the girl. “I want you to identify this man for me.”

              Y/N tucks the USB into her dress’ pocket. She slides the pictures back to Jungkook. “This seems to be a heavy identification check then. Not that I couldn’t handle, of course. However, Namjoon must have told you that my rates are quite high—”

              “Money is not a problem.”

              Y/N cocks a brow, “So you did grow up a comfortable life.”

              Jungkook clenches his jaw.

              Y/N chuckles, “Okay, I’m not gonna dwell on it more. It’s settled then. Send your weekly payment to this account,” Y/N tears a piece from the rolls of paper by her side, scribbles on it, and hands it to him. “Every Friday, 10 AM sharp.” Jungkook looks at the paper before tucking it in the breast pocket of his leather jacket.

              Y/N crosses her arms, “We can start next week after you give me the downpayment.”

              Jungkook zips open a duffel bag and places a stack of bills on the table.

              “Eager, aren’t we?” Y/N smiles, “I like that.” She flips through the bills before deciding they’re legitimate and dumping it into a box by her feet. 

              Y/N turns to him. “Now, where are we? Oh—you must already know, but what I really do here is foreseeing the future for whatever cause you have. It’s not just trivial fortune-telling but a purposive one. I can accurately give you whatever you want to know.” 

              Jungkook nods. Y/N’s leans forward on the table. “I’ll be honest with you. I don’t really have terms and conditions with my clients. Or any contract to ensure them their protection, as what I do tend to…increase risks. Emotional security and mental stability on your part. Those two and physical toll on mine. It will be absurd to provide any contract as what I am doing is anything but guaranteeing protection. I can’t also be fully transparent about the mechanisms behind the things I will do for you. Otherwise, my gift won’t work. What I can only assure is I’ll never proceed on any memories you have set boundaries on. Should you decide to stop this negotiation anywhere in the future, I will automatically concede and keep the confidentiality of whatever that may happen. As long as on your part, you won’t consider asking for a refund.”

              “I understand.”

              “Good,” Y/N smiles, “Now first things first. Tell me any hurting point you have.”

              Jungkook goes stiff. “Is this actually necessary?”

              Y/N nods. “I know this is a tough question, but we’re talking about memories here.”

              “I know but I can’t just divulge them to a stranger—"

              “I think you don’t get what I’m saying.” Y/N lets out a humorless chuckle. “Look, Jungkook, when I attempt to see the future concerning this elusive driver you’re after, it is inevitable for the past to re-appear. There is no future without any past. Your past memories can clog up with the ones involved in the case because you are in the case. You’re heading it. Good or bad, memories will come up. That’s their thing.  They spring up at the most inconvenient times. No matter how old they already are. No matter how long you must have already moved on from them. Memories demand to be remembered and you cannot just disregard them even if you will it to because it never gave anyone a choice to do otherwise.  So, if you don’t set the boundaries on the memories you don’t want me to cross, I’ll just see everything in their utter unadulterated form.” Y/N leans forward, “And I can assure you, you don’t want that to happen.” 

              Jungkook prods his cheek with his tongue. “Fine. I’ll give you my hurting point and that’s that. No further questions.”

              “Okay.”

              Jungkook digs in his back pocket for his wallet and flips it open. There’s a tattered white edge of a picture peeking through the flaps. It’s been years since he pulled it out. Its replica, now tucked in his shelf, has prevented him from doing so for so many years. Jungkook closes his eyes and slides it toward the girl. “This boy. Anything that concerns him, I don’t want you to cross or even bring up. Understand?”

              “Okay.” Y/N hands back the photo to him. “We go to the second step then. You must already have your assumed suspects. Tell me their names.”

              Jungkook draws back. “I can’t tell you that, that’s highly classified information. FJO’s protocol doesn’t allow it and—”

              “Do you seeking my help part of the protocol?”

              Jungkook looks down, “No.”

              “Right. So, tell me their names. I need to know them to make a memory map.”

              Jungkook’s brows meet “A what?”

              “A memory map,” Y/N repeats, “It’s something I make to identify points of certain memories in time. It guides me to the memories I need to tread to reach what I’m really looking for. It’s like a demo version of Forecrime’s box trainings but except of a machine, I’m doing it manually by hand. For all we know, the real suspect must be close to these suspects.” 

              Jungkook’s brow quirks up.

              Y/N leans forward, “So, tell me their names?”

              Jungkook turns his face away from her, looking at his clasped hands. “Well, I…only have one.”

              “And that is?”

              “Leigh Anderson. Winston’s assassin. FJO has been after him for 17 years. He also has a number of sponsors who’s been sending him missions with promises of large sums of money. But most of all, he’s rumored to have access to time jumping technologies. Illegal of course. FJO is the only one licensed to be utilizing them.”

              “That’s good,” Y/N quips. “Do you have any pictures of him?”

              Jungkook turns to his duffel bag and retrieves a picture. It’s Anderson in the scene of Winston’s murder that FJO has pinned to their system. The one in the crime record Jungkook produced. He hands it to Y/N. “Is this enough?”

              “More than enough,” Y/N smiles. She stands up and walks to one of her cupboards, reaching for a ceramic bowl. She pours some tap water in it and turns back to the table, a short, white candle in hand. She places the candle on the water, letting it float. She retrieves a lighter from her dress pocket and lights up the wick of the candle.

              Y/N puts her palms open on the table. “Let’s start now. Do you have your clicker with you?”

              Jungkook’s brows meet. “What?”

              “Your time jumper,” Y/N grits.

              Jungkook looks at her incredulously. “I don’t see any reason why would you need it—”

              “We’re going to the past to have a tangible memory to start on my memory map.” Before Jungkook could tear himself away from the table, Y/N launches forward and snatches the small, black device hanging on the man’s belt loop. Jungkook shoots an arm out and grabs onto it.

              But it’s too late. Y/N’s already pushed the button.

              The air is knocked out of Jungkook’s windpipe. A numbing pain starts to settle on his chest, a migraine forming on his temple. His limbs also feel stone-heavy. Precrime traveling has always been like this and yet Jungkook can never get used to it. However, he’s not left wondering about it for long because in the next second, Jungkook’s standing in front of a dark road. Tall shrubs and trees shadowing the moon, CCTVs mounted on the lamp posts lining the concrete. It’s Somerset Road.  

              Jungkook’s eyes widen. Why is he here? He tries to move but his limbs are stuck by his side, unmoving as he grunts. He tries to take a step back but the effort is futile when his feet are seemingly glued onto the dark asphalt. Jungkook sighs and turns to the road in front of him again. And this time around, Jungkook’s mouth falls ajar.

              Y/N is standing idly at the other side of the road, opposite of him.

              “H-how did you travel here—”

              A car zooms past. Jungkook turns his head to the sound. The air is punched out from his esophagus. It’s his car—the silver-gray Ford. And there at the other end of the road emerges a black sedan sports Jaguar. The Jaguar speeds on and drives into the Ford, swerving it around, tires screeching loud on the pavement. It topples down, rolling around, then round, and round. Three times, Jungkook counted. Just like the CCTV Hoseok retrieved. The Ford stops, upside down. The black Jaguar zips past it. Like the CCTVs have shown, the Jaguar reaches the other end of the street and disappears. A second passes. The body of the driver in the car drops onto the cold pavement. It lolls his head to his side, bloodied face turned towards the man standing on the pavement. 

              Jungkook’s facing right into his past. He isn’t reliving the memory. He is living it. There’s no anger but pain. Fresh, unadulterated pain that cannot be accounted to the lacerations on his injured arm.

              The wind howls. Jungkook remains frozen in his position. Then suddenly, everything stops—the distant honking of the cars, the wind, the clatter of the crushed car pieces falling onto the ground. What the fuck is happening? Jungkook turns around, only to come face to face with the girl.

              Y/N’s arm shoots forward and fists the collar of his leather jacket, pulling him down to her level. “You didn’t say this business is personal!”

              “It’s not a big deal,” Jungkook spits, tearing her hand off him.

              “It is, Jungkook! You said you were involved. I didn’t think it was this level of involved!”

              “It doesn’t change any fact that I’m still going to be involved either way! I’m still going to head this case because it’s tied with Winston. What difference does it make if I am the victim of this fucking man?!”

              “A lot!” Y/N screams. Jungkook stops. Y/N sighs, “It does a lot of difference, Jungkook. We’re already risking a lot in this until it turns out you’re a focal point in this case! You’re a fucking victim of this culprit! A conflict of interest is highly possible. You will be unable disassociate yourself from this and objectively investigate this case—” 

              “I don’t need you telling me what I should do or not, Y/N.” Jungkook steps forward to the girl. “I know what I’m doing. And I know it when I say I can investigate this following all the legal protocols.”

              Y/N tilts her head. “How can you say that when you’ve just been face-to-face with your past self?” 

              Before Jungkook can say anything, Y/N closes her eyes and clicks her finger. In just one second, everything around Jungkook falls beneath his feet—the trees, Somerset Road, his bloodied self. It rips themselves off from his senses until all he could see again is the dilapidated atelier, the barren ceilings, and, Y/N.

              Jungkook hunches over, coughing as air fills his lungs again. “H-how could you do that?”

              Y/N blows off the candle. “My gift.” She glances at the man. “The accident is taking a serious toll on you. I have to take us out of the time jump.”

                Jungkook sits back and glowers at her. “N-no, what I’m asking about is—how could you snatch my clicker and make a jump without any remorse? You do know that’s illegal!”

              “I know. ‘FJO’s traveling agents and officials are the only ones allowed by the law to engage in time jumping activities’ yaddah yaddah bullshit.”  Y/N leans on the table, face hovering the Captain’s. “But involving a then-law practitioner, much more an outsider like me, into your case is also illegal. I have my gift, yes. But I can only see the future and I won’t be able to see it accurately if I don’t have some sense of the past. Plus, I have no other pragmatic choice to start this case on the right foot. I already saw the future of our negotiation before you sat down on that stool. There’s nothing else I could say other than it didn’t end favorably for any of us.” Y/N turns back to the table she’s clearing, “Not that it’s any different now. Especially when I just learned the case you’ve showed me is more personal than you presented it to be.”

              Jungkook purses his lips. He stands up, gathers his things, and wordlessly makes his way out of the atelier. He didn’t bid the girl any farewell.

              “Looks like you haven’t been sleeping.”

              Jungkook looks up at his friend before looking down at his crossed arms, turning his attention back to his mug of coffee.

              Namjoon takes a seat cross Jungkook. “Did something happen?” He twirls the tea bag around his own mug, “Care to tell why you’ve been sporting those dark eye bags since two days ago?”

              “It’s nothing.”

              “It’s not nothing when the doctor precisely told you to have a healthy lifestyle to help your wound heal faster.”

              Jungkook looks at Namjoon.

              Namjoon points to his bandaged arm, “It indeed doesn’t look it’s healing fast like it’s supposed to.”

              Jungkook sighs. “Fine, you caught me.” He purses his lips then looks at his friend, “I’ve been wondering. You know our clickers are designed to identify the agent it was assigned to before it could work. But, is it…possible for clickers to work on someone that doesn’t belong to FJO as long as someone from FJO is present?”

              Namjoon keeps his gaze on him. A look of surprise seems to wash over his face. But it soon gets replaced by a look of recognition. Namjoon places the tea bag onto the saucer on his left. “I see you already met Y/N.”

              “Y-you knew that about her?”

              “I do,” Namjoon mutters over his cup of tea. “I learned it when the Bureau looked into the Linton Park serial murders. Seokjin’s team, including me, followed the memory map she made for us—a trail of memories that specifically belongs to anything related to the murders. But then, we hit a dead-end for the supposed next victim. Can’t identify her. We only had images of flashing movement—blood splattering in a barn, people running on a green field. There are just cops and a woman.” 

              Namjoon places down his cup, “And so, Y/N told me she needed me to help her make a time jump in the past. I pressed on the clicker and,” Namjoon shrugs, “Y/N successfully made the jump. And also successfully return with the info of the victim—a girl working on a farm. Y/N tied it to the flashing images of the field and deduced the running was not about us chasing a murderer’s accomplice. But us running after a victim before Linton could. It was hard to tell at first why the victim is running away from us. Until we learned through Y/N she was an illegal immigrant.” 

              Namjoon pulls his lips into a tight smile. “I think it’s an additional gift. But at the same time, it’s also a setback. A rightful one at that. Y/N’s inability to time jump in the past unless with a clicker a meter radius within her balances the power of her future-seeing gift. She still needs to rely on the system even if her gift for the future is, hypothetically, unbound from any constraints.” Namjoon takes a sip of his tea. “How ‘bout you? How did you learn this…extra ability of hers?”

              “She snatched my clicker from me,” Jungkook leans back in his seat. “She said she needed a ‘tangible memory’ to start on her memory map. She ended up thrusting us back into the time of my car accident.”

              Namjoon freezes. “Excuse me? Did you say ‘us’?”

              Jungkook’s forehead furrows, “Yeah. We did the jump together, that’s why I’m asking you about this thing with the clickers.” 

              “Jungkook, she never did that before.”

              Jungkook’s brows shoot up. “What?”

              Namjoon scratches his nape, face scrunched up. “When she asked me to let her jump through my clicker, she didn’t take me along with the jump. It’s only her. Like it should always be as one clicker is only for one user. It’s always been like this in all the situations she asked me for a time jump in the past.” Namjoon looks at him, “I don’t know why you got in the same loop as her.”

              The night was quiet but devoid of peace. Like an ugly pause in a running film that’s just about to unwind the questions they laid at the start. Even after intaking his blue pills, Jungkook finds it difficult to close his eyes shut.

              “Big brother!”

              Jungkook turns around. The small boy stands on his tiptoes, small arms reaching for him. Jungkook smiles, “You want to climb on my back again, Daehyun?”

              “Yes!” Daehyun giggles.

              “Alright then,” Jungkook crouches in front of him and Daehyun’s squeals grow louder as he loops his stubby arms around Jungkook’s neck. Jungkook stands up, securing the boy’s short legs around his torso. “Ready for some wind, big boy?” He asks. Daehyun nods frantically and soon, Jungkook is zooming on the green field, turning the heads of the children and volunteers in the park. But all Jungkook could hear was Daehyun’s laughter filling the nice summer afternoon. It brings a huge smile on Jungkook’s face. 

              Then—flashing blue and red lights. Cold pavement. A lone school bus standing in the middle. Its yellowness highlighted by the police’s yellow tape surrounding the area. Reporters dot every possible space on the crossroad. “Shooter on the loose.” “Poor child.” “Blood splattered on the seats.” But all Jungkook could hear is the white noise of the chattering. And the call of “Big brother!” he’ll never hear anymore. 

              Jungkook jolts awake. He sighs, closing his eyes. “It’s all in the past,” he mutters repeatedly under his breath. But no matter how many times he repeats it, it doesn’t shake off the horror he’s reeling in. He’s had this dream again and again for eight years straight. He should be already accustomed to it. 

              Jungkook sits up straight. He turns back to his computer and sees a couple of pictures open on the desktop. It was the screenshots of the CCTVs Yoongi gave them. He looks at the top of his desk. His notes empty of anything new other than Leigh Anderson’s name webbed next to an un-filled space for sponsors. Jungkook covers his face with his palms and yawns. Just then a series of text messages come in.

              Unknown: This is Y/N. I know we left on bad terms three days ago. I’m the one to blame for that for overreacting. I’m sorry. It’s been a while since I’ve done a case for FJO. I’m still kinda hung up separating personal services from investigative ones. (2:13 P.M.)

              Unknown: Nevertheless, I hope you’re free this day. Meet me at Somerset Road. 3 P.M. I don’t want you to waste the money you gave me yesterday (2:13 P.M.)  

              Somerset Road is a thirty-minute drive from the FJO Main Headquarters. However, it didn’t feel like it when Jungkook parks his car on the side road. It seemed like hours have gone by when the sun is about to set in the alcove of trees in the distance. It’s just three in the afternoon. Jungkook steps outside and shuts the door. From his position, he could make out a girl in ripped black denim pants and black tank layered with a pink see-through mesh shirt. From the striking red of the spider lilies on the top of her spine, Jungkook could tell it was Y/N. He almost didn’t recognize her. He wouldn’t know she has an undercut had her high ponytail didn’t highlight it.

              The girl turns around and looks at him. “You’re late.”

              “I have to bribe the Maintenance Office first to give me this afternoon’s CCTVs when we’re done.” Jungkook strides toward her, “How did you get my number?”

              “Namjoon.”

              Jungkook cocks a brow.

              Y/N shrugs, “he wrote it in the letter you gave me. Should you, quote-unquote, be ‘difficult to deal with.’”

              Jungkook keeps his lips in a straight line.

              Y/N rocks on her toes, hands in her pocket. “Let’s get straight to it then. Take your clicker out and push it.”

              “What are you intending to do—”

              “A time jump.”

              “Of course, I know that. What other purpose do we use our time jumps for?” Jungkook spits. “What I want to know is what we’re supposed to be doing first before I follow whatever you want me to do because I cannot just blindly trust you with this—”

              Y/N turns her head to him, one brow cocked up, “Didn’t I tell you before I don’t fancy How-What-Why-Whatever questions to what I do or else my gift won’t work?”

              “Yes, but—”

              “Look, will you just push it or do you want me to snatch it from you again?” Y/N takes a step closer to him, leveling his eyes with hers. “I already did a read for today. I know its new hiding place.”

              Jungkook remains unmoving in his stance.

              Y/N crosses her arms. “If it would assure you, this session won’t end taxingly fruitless like the last time. I’m positive we’ll get something by the end of today.”

              “How did you know?”

              “I told you, I did a read for today. I saw you with an astounded face and me with a happy and proud smile. Obviously, we must have ended up finding something.”

              Jungkook is still unconvinced.

              Y/N sighs, “If you don’t want to do anything of what I can offer you, you know you can just terminate our connection anytime you want. Just so you know you can’t refund the 10,000 zials you gave me for the downpayment.”

              Jungkook keeps his gaze on her. A couple of seconds pass before he sighs and shakes his head as he takes out his issued clicker tucked in the breast pocket of his leather jacket.

              Y/N smirks. “See? You know you’re gonna need me in the end and you still try to put up an unnecessary fight.”

              Jungkook grunts. He turns the clicker’s indicator to “1-2 weeks” timeframe and pushes the button.

              It was just like their previous time jump—like any other Precrime time jump. It felt like nothing yet also everything at the same time. An amalgamation of sensations and perceptions flashing in front of him in the blink of an eye as he is transported back to the night of his accident. Jungkook looks down at his feet. He’s back to where he last stood at—the left side of the road next to the corner where his car will come from. Jungkook turns to his left and he almost jumps in shock. Unlike their last jump, Y/N is no longer on the opposite side of the road, but beside him, shoulders almost bumping his. Jungkook takes a staggering step away from her. 

              Even if Namjoon laid everything he knows about Y/N’s skills yesterday, Jungkook still finds it hard to accept that a clairvoyant is able to look into the past with such effortless access. Aren’t they only supposed to see the future?

              “What are you looking at?”

              Jungkook tears his gaze away from her. “Nothing.”

              “Thought so, too,” Y/N quips. “We’re here to work after all. Not ogle at each other.” 

              Jungkook tongues his cheek. He’s not left to his frustration for long as after a second, the burning of tires on the asphalt is heard on their side of the road. A silver-gray Ford appears and it zooms past them in a flash. A black Jaguar subsequently shows up on the other side, its form nearing them each millisecond that passes. It’s only time ‘til the two crashes and sends Jungkook’s car rolling three times on the road.

              But, it didn’t happen. The howls of the wind stop. The screeching of the tires halts in awkward silence. And the cars are frozen still. The Jaguar’s bumper and Ford’s right door are separated by a mere inch. It’s the second before the accident happens. Paused in a picture-like frame as if someone hit the pause icon on a video.

              Jungkook whips his head to his side. Y/N has her palm closed in a post-click of her thumb and middle fingers. Jungkook feels his throat clog up, “H-how did you do that?”

              Y/N rolls her eyes. “Told you before, it’s because of my gift. And it’s also just seconds ago I told you I don’t like questions about how my gift works.” Y/N steps away from him and onto the road. “Follow me.” 

              Jungkook silently follows behind. It’s only a matter of seconds that they reach the side of the door of the silver-gray Ford. Jungkook lets his fingers touch on the coated metal. It felt cold on his flesh. Solid. Real. Jungkook can’t help but be astonished. This is no regular time jump. Totally unlike the first one he did with the woman. For this time, Jungkook doesn’t feel he’s living the film of the scene, just like any of the standard Precrime time jumping. This time, Jungkook feels he’s in the scene. Not in a film, not like the virtual reality experienced by Forecrime agents. But in real-time.

              “Take your hands off your car.”

              Jungkook tears his hands away from his car. He looks at the girl. Y/N gives him a pointed look, “I know this time jump doesn’t feel like the standard time jumps of Precrime so you may be astounded with,” she motions around them, “all of this. But I prefer you not to get too overwhelmed. We’re here for work.”

              Jungkook nods, reluctant. Y/N walks further into the side of the road, now a foot away from the spot where the cars should crash. Jungkook quickly follows behind. When he’s by an arms-length away from her, he faces back to the scene in front of him. And then, Y/N clicks her hand.

              The trees sway again. The winds continue their violent gush on the road. And the cars collide. The film is playing again.

              But then, Y/N clicks her fingers. The scene stops, frozen yet again. The bumper of the Jaguar has dug into the Ford’s door, crushing the metal with its momentum. The side mirror is broken, glass shards shattering in mid-air.

              “Come here,” Y/N beckons. Jungkook walks close behind as Y/N stops by the point of intersection of the two cars.  From their position, Jungkook could see the past him hunched over on the wheel, seat belt digging into his torso. The window by his side is broken, a splotch of blood marring the clear glass. And on his right, Jungkook could see the driver of the black Jaguar. Non-existent.

              Y/N looks at him, “So we know the man you’re after is doing an illegal time jump similar to the pattern of Precrime’s traveling agents. But what you don’t know is: he’s a professional.”

              “W-what?” 

              “Look,” Y/N flicks her wrist and makes an anti-clockwise motion of her hand. The sound goes void again and the cars back away from each other in slow motion. Jungkook’s brows shoot up.  The scene is rewinding. Y/N is turning back the time before the Jaguar collided into the Ford. And then, Y/N moves her arm horizontally to her left and clicks her fingers. The Jaguar moves forward again, but slowly this time. Jungkook could see the silhouette of the driver with arms taut on the wheel disappearing into a cloud of smoke until it turns no more but a nonexistent person on the seat as it hits the door of the Ford. 

              Y/N clicks her fingers and the scene pauses. “As you saw, it only took the driver,” she glances at her watch, “ten seconds before completely disappearing into his time jump. From how fast he disappeared, we could say it only took him twenty seconds in total to make the entire jump. I can only deduce this as the memories we have are short of the time we could see him in his solid form. The same way goes for the CCTVs you gathered. It only captured the last ten seconds of the whole accident. The Jaguar nonexistent in the frame from 20:23:39 and anything beyond before that time mark. The CCTVs only showed the Jaguar from 20:23:40 to exactly 20:24. The last 10 seconds, devoid of any driver.” 

              The girl continues, “Now, to be able to completely vanish in just 20 seconds, you must be a professional in time jumping in the past. Which can only be done if you’ve undergone training under Precrime. However, this could also be just any other outsider that’s gotten lucky doing an illegal time jump. Considering Somerset Road has a strong electromagnetic field that can help anyone do their time jumps faster and more successfully—including the risky ones that involve a huge time frame of unbounded jumps into the past. But to know that about Somerset Road, much less know how to effectively take advantage of its field during a time jump—you should be a long-time agent of Precrime.” 

              Y/N faces Jungkook, “The man you’re after is either a professional Precrime traveling agent or an outsider who’s fed with all the necessary information only a Precrime agent could know. It’s an inside job.”

              Jungkook shakes his head, “No. It can’t be. Every time-jumping device has a permanent tracker that can never be taken out even by the best engineer. Allen McGregor designed it to be like that to ensure these devices will not be used for personal interest. Every agent is tracked of their traveling activities and logged straight into the Investigation Bureau’s files. They’re inputted in glass files similar to the crime records—void for editing, copying, and deleting. And should it be an outsider utilizing Precrime’s technology, a travel will still be tracked back to the agent whose device was used.” Jungkook looks at Y/N. “There have been no reports of anyone traveling on Somerset Road the night of my accident.”

              Y/N shrugs, “I’m just saying what I saw. Especially this.” Y/N makes an anti-clockwise motion of her hands and the scene rewinds again.  The Jaguar is frozen back into five seconds before it hits the silver-gray Ford. Y/N walks toward the car, Jungkook close behind. The girl motions to the passenger seat and Jungkook stills. There on the leather seat is a red file case. Unprecedented murder. Precrime Murder Sector. But this is not what rendered Jungkook immobile in shock. Rather, it’s the label on the file case. 

              “Jonathan Winston Assassination; August 15, 2047; 12:30:00.”

              “See?” Y/N smirks, “Told you we’ll find something today.”

              A click of the hand and soon, the dark night sky of Somerset Road bleeds into the burning colors of the sunset. There’s no longer the silver-gray Ford and the black Jaguar. It’s just Jungkook and Y/N alone in the road, back to where they were before.

              Jungkook hunches over, coughing as he beats his chest. When he finally stabilizes his breathing back to normal, he turns to the girl. “You…Ho-how can you be so sure with all of these vi-visions?”

              Y/N looks at Jungkook, an indecipherable look on her face. “This is what you paid for 10,000 zials. I’m handing you what your eyes missed on just the way they are.”

              Jungkook holds in his breath as he knocks on the glass door.

              “Come in.”

              Jungkook pushes the door open and salutes. “Chief Nathan Spencer.”

              “Captain Jeon,” the Chief of Precrime glances up at him before returning back to the stack of papers he’s signing. He motions to the chair in front of his desk, “Make yourself comfortable.”

              Jungkook pulls back the black chair and sits.

              “So, what brings you here?”

              “This week’s report, sir—the joint investigation with DOJ on the unidentified black Jaguar.” Jungkook places a brown folder on the Chief’s desk.

              The chief looks at the captain. “Still no progress in the identification?” 

              Jungkook shakes his head, face grim.

              “That can’t be helped,” Nathan sympathetically mutters. “It’s not the first time FJO has handled a difficult case.”

              “But it is the first time FJO can’t identify a suspect with its current system.”

              “You’re right,” Nathan nods. He flips open the brown folder and skims the report. “How’s the auditor doing?”

              Jungkook clenches his jaw. “Fine. Still…meddling with our processes.”

              Nathan lets out a light scoff. “As expected of someone who’s running for a promotion. Always been a know-it-all jerk, this Min Yoongi.”

              Jungkook makes a tight-lipped smile.

              Nathan chuckles. “Forgive me. I’ve always had a prejudice against DOJ’s auditors. Most, if not all of them, always give us a hard time more than what’s necessary. Anyway, what else do you have for me, Jungkook?”

              The captain sits up straight. “I would like to ask a favor, sir.”

              Nathan clasps his hand on his desk. He leans forward. “What is it?”

              “It’s for the investigation. DOJ has access to all of our files—Precrime, Forecrime, and even the Investigation Bureau. So I figured if I can also do the same since our sector seems to be their main target. If I have the same leverage on our own information as them, I can have control over this investigation and drive them away before they can even assume power over us.” Jungkook leans on the table, “We could see the problems first before they become visible to DOJ.”

              Nathan raises his brow. “So what do you mean?”

              “I would like to have unrestricted access in our archives. Everything that contains anything pertaining to FJO.” Jungkook leans forward, “Including the Memory Temple.” 

              The chief sighs, “That’s a big favor, Jungkook.”

              “I know. That’s why Chief General Andrews told me to go to you.”

              Nathan’s brows shoot up, “The Chief General?”

              “Yes, Chief General Matthew Andrews. He said you’re good friends with Chief of the Bureau, Natasha Ryde. Chief Andrews wants to ask if you could do a favor of a friend for a friend.” Jungkook slides a white envelope underneath the folder, “Of course, not without considerable credit.”

              Nathan purses his lips. A beat. He shakes his head, sighing. “Okay…I’ll try to put in a word for you. I can give you the entire archives tomorrow. But the Memory Temple could take a while. Two days or three.”

              “That’s fine with me.” Jungkook smiles. He stands up and heads to the end of the room. Before he could disappear behind the door, he salutes one more time, “Thank you for the kind accommodation, Chief.” 

              Jungkook heads to the main elevator and hits the second floor below the Superiors’ Hall. The metal doors ding open and soon, Jungkook’s looking at a wide expanse of glass wall reflecting hundreds of shelves on the glass panes.

              Jungkook heads to the entranceway and salutes at the guard, “Sally.” The guard returns the salute, smiling. Jungkook tilts his head, “Did the Bureau come by to retrieve Precrime files?”

              “Not yet, sir. The Bureau’s still busy in their matters with DOJ. They halted the synching of files for now.”

              “That’s good,” Jungkook quips and pushes the glass doors open.

              Tall metal bookshelves snake like an accordion around the floor. The spaces between them is occasionally filled up by wooden desks that mandatorily come along with a wooden bookstand and black study lamp. It looks like a hedge maze made of old books, monochrome papers, and multi-colored files.

              Jungkook heads to the leftmost aisle—Precrime’s archives. He weaves his way through the bookshelves until he stops in front of a separated room in the middle of the labyrinth. It’s made completely out of glass, just like FJO’s offices. The only difference is that this room contains five sets of desks and chairs, bookshelves, and the Archive Manager’s huge white station as the centerpiece.

              And before Jungkook could finish leveling his eyes to the scanner set by the door, he could already feel the growing stare of Emily Young.

              “Captain Jeon.”

              “Ms. Young,” Jungkook nods to the manager.

              Emily smiles, “To what do I owe your visit today?”

              “Jonathan Winston’s Assassination case file.” 

              “As usual,” The thirty-seven-year-old manager sing-songs as she stands up and disappears into the back room. It doesn’t take long for her to retrieve what the Precrime captain is looking for.

              A long expandable, red file with the label in Arial 12 print: “Jonathan Winston Assassination; August 15, 2047; 12:30:00.”

              Just like in Y/N’s time jump. Identically the same. Jungkook looks at the manager, “Do you have a log of anyone who looks into this file?”

              Emily chuckles, “I don’t think that will bring anything new to the table, captain.” She scans the numeric code of the file and turns the monitor of her computer towards him. “There’s no one who’s been looking at this file but you.”

              Jungkook peers in. Indeed, the log on Winston’s file contains nothing but his name. From August 15, 2047, the date of Winston’s assassination, to the most recent date, August 3, 2059. The day after Leigh Anderson’s suicide. The day after the Winston case was closed cold. There’s no other name in the log for 12 years other than his name.

              Jungkook looks back at Emily, “Are you sure this is the complete log on this file? No one borrowed the file earlier than July 12th?”

              “That’s the whole log, captain. There’s no record on August 1st because we’re closed to do an inventory check.” Emily leans back in her chair. “Everyone knows you’re busy on a case in Down Hill for the entirety of June. The Allison future murder is all over the news. Of course, with a Metropolis resident as a future victim. And with you busy on another case, this Winston’s file is devoid of any viewers.” Emily releases a chuckle. “Every cop has an obsession with a particular case. Everyone here knows Winston’s case is yours. I think I will remember if someone other than you looked into this file because I swear that day will be a miracle.”

              Jungkook purses his lips, face undecipherable. Right then, his phone rings loud. He turns to his back and picks it up. “Hello?”

              “Captain.” It’s Jimin.

              “What is it?”

              “You have to come to the sector now. There’s a file from Precrime. It’s…a blank.”

              “Okay, I’ll be there soon,” Jungkook ends the call. He faces Emily. “Thank you for today, Emily.” The archives manager nods with a playful salute at him. Jungkook quickly returns the salute and pushes the door open. Soon, he’s tearing past the labyrinth of shelves.

              It doesn’t take Jungkook longer than ten minutes to reach the left-wing of the 2nd floor. The cold sweat from the discovery in the archives is still clinging on his nape. 

              As soon as he steps into Murder Sector, everyone’s eyes are set on him. Including Yoongi. Jungkook prods his cheek with his tongue as he slides in the gloves over his hands. “Jimin, give me the run-over.”

              “Captain, Jeon. It’s a grayish-white file. Precrime, Property and Crime Scene Sector. Traveling agent in charge is Eric Williams. Crime record validated by traveling agents Hannah Peters and Ivan Park. Case number 3571, hit-and-run, destruction of property.  Suspect is unknown. Victim’s name is…Jeon Jungkook.”

              Jungkook whips his head towards the secretary, eyes wide.

              “It’s your case, sir.” Jimin confirms, “Eric accidentally time jumped into the night of your hit-and-run while he’s traveling for a T-Bone accident in Middle Town. Property and Crime Scene figured this blank is a crucial update on your case.” He walks to the end of the glass board and slides the disk into the middle slot.

              Jungkook turns to his front. The glass board lights up and a video starts playing. It’s Somerset Road and it’s almost pitch black in the grainy film. Eric stands frozen on the pavement for a second. But the seeming serenity of the scene soon dissipates as he looks down at his gear and frantically fumbles for his time jumper. Suddenly, hot blinding light fills his peripherals. Eric’s head shoots up. A car is speeding toward him. The headlights grow larger and finally, the car becomes visible. It’s the silver-gray Ford. Eric turns around and right then, a black Jaguar zooms past him, merely missing him by a hairsbreadth. But the Jaguar doesn’t stop and further increases its speed. It bulldozers right into the side of the Ford, sending it flying across the barren road. Eric picks up his feet and dashes to the cars. But his efforts are futile. The black Jaguar has already disappeared before he could even take his 12th step. And then, the record stops.

              Before Jimin could even state the protocol run-through, Jungkook frantically swipes through the blank record. He slides across the frames in reverse, back and backward until he reaches the first second of the blank.

              “Sir, I’m afraid we have to do the protocol first—"

              Jungkook’s hand stills on the board. The frame freezes. It’s a close-up of the black Jaguar as it barely grazes Eric’s body. Jungkook zooms in. There inside the passenger seat of the car is a long, red expandable file. “Jonathan Winston Assassination; August 15, 2047; 12:30:00.”

              Jungkook feels his blood run cold. It’s the same file he just had his hands on less than 15 minutes ago. It’s the same file he saw in his and Y/N’s jump. Y/N’s vision is true.  

              Jungkook feels his pocket vibrate and he quickly whips out his phone. However, he wasn’t able to dwell on it longer as a hard force pushes his shoulder backward, forcing Jungkook to tear his eyes off the screen.

              Yoongi glares at him, “Why are you indifferent about this? You know something about this, didn’t you? Captain Jeon!” 

              But even with his name called out loud, Jungkook couldn’t hear anything. All that registers in his mind is one single message.

              Y/N L/N:  Have you ever heard of a Sooah Kim before? (11:14 A.M.)

prev | next | series masterlist

Note: This story is based on Steven Spielberg’s film adaptation of Philip K. Dick’s short story, Minority Report (2002). That being said, this series may contain spoilers for the movie so if you want to watch the movie, please do so first before reading!

A/N | Hi hons! Thank you for reading the 2nd chapter! I hope I got you guys more curious about the story hehe. Anyway, I have some announcement: I have finals for a major coming up this week so I’ll spend the next whole week studying. So, I’ll try if I can update the next chap the week after next week, on Sunday, too. But nothing is certain yet as I still have some uni stuff to do. Don’t worry, I only have 3 projects left to do to finally finish this sem. So as soon as I’m done with them, expect more frequent updates from me! 

If you guys wanna get notified as soon as I post the next chapter, I’m gonna add you all in my taglist! Just hit me up down the comments of this series’ masterlist so I can better track you all! The search function of Tumblr is messing with me and my notifs in my inbox usually come late so it’s highly probable your asks and DMs may get lost ☹

Once again, thank you for reading and giving a chance to My Time! :”)

Notes: As you know, this is a mystery fic. So, it will be most appreciated if any theories pertaining to the story be kept down the comments so I can entertain them all without spoiling our future readers! Once again, thank you so much for reading this!

All Rights Reserved 2020 © Vanaera. Reposts, modifications, and translations of content are not allowed without direct permission.

[theaceandaroadvocacyproject]

TAAAP’s Response to an Open Letter

We welcome productive conversations between TAAAP and the communities we serve. We value honest critiques and will always strive to correct mistakes we make, and commit to doing good work. However, we do not engage in dishonest dialogue with those who refuse to address our actual stated and acted values, in favor of propping up a false and directly contradictory representation of our positions. We have written this response to address claims that concerns around our December Pride Chats topic were ignored, dismissed, or misunderstood.  This will be our final response to Coyote on this matter. 

Our first email responding to Coyote’s concerns was sent on November 30, and our last correspondence was sent on December 18. We made it clear that it was our last correspondence with: 

“The topic has been decided and it will not be edited further. Like everyone, you will be free to share your thoughts during the December Pride Chats, as long as you follow the guidelines. Since we do not plan on changing the topic from what it is now, we will not be continuing this conversation through email. We have also expressed the core tenets of our stance through previous emails and see no need in reiterating those points, as that would simply be tiresome for all parties involved. We suggest rereading our previous emails for answers already given to your questions on this matter.” - 5th and final email

As the claims in Coyote’s Open Letter make it clear that our emails were either ignored or disregarded, we have chosen to take the route of responding to specific points in Coyote’s Open Letter with quotes from our emails, and adding clarification and emphasis when needed. We also only include quotes from emails sent by us, as we are not interested in publicizing Coyote’s emails without its consent. The block quotes from Coyote are from Coyote’s Open Letter, which was publicly posted on its blog. 

Quotations from Coyote are labelled with an alphabet letter & indented with “blockquote” formatting. Quotations from our previous emails to Coyote, as well as the topic announcement from our website, are only italicized.

A) Because that’s the context from which the term “SAM” itself emerged. That itself is the birthplace of the phrase. You do not “use” “the SAM” any more than a bullseye “uses” an arrow.

In the first sentence, Coyote links to a post claiming this as the origin of the SAM (content warning for aphobia). The post speaks of the Split Attraction Model as a pre-existing concept and does not attempt to coin “SAM” in any way. Due to the difficulty of finding historical posts on Tumblr and forums, no one in the community has offered an earlier post that actually coins the term. Therefore, it cannot be determined what context the SAM actually emerged from. As of that post that is referenced, it was a pre-existing concept. It is a stretch to definitively claim this post as the “source” of the SAM.

We addressed that here:

“Several of us at TAAAP read through and adjusted the wording of this announcement prior to sharing it on the Discord server with the knowledge that while it is possible that the SAM may have been created by exclusionists, its exact origin is unknown and so it has been reclaimed and popularized by the ace and aro communities.” - 1st email

“Several of us at TAAAP read through and adjusted the wording of this announcement prior to sharing it on the Discord server with the knowledge that while it is possible that the SAM may have been created by exclusionists, its exact origin is unknown and so it has been reclaimed and popularized by the ace and aro communities.” - 1st email

We also addressed this in the blog post of our Official Topic Announcement on our website, which was posted on December 19th before the Open Letter was posted:

“If a term may violate our guidelines, due to being rooted in exclusionist or other harmful ideology, do not assume that everyone is aware of its harmful origins or that they espouse those ideas. Many terms have been reclaimed, used without bad intention, or simply used without knowledge of other people using them in harmful ways.”  - Official Topic Announcement on TAAAP Website, emphasis added

B) But you already know that, or so you say. You are comfortable with treating those issues as over and done with, and having personally acclimated yourself to the language, you believe no other issues with the phrase itself remain.

In nearly every email we sent, we described those issues as ongoing. 

“Several of us at TAAAP read through and adjusted the wording of this announcement prior to sharing it on the Discord server with the knowledge that while it is possible that the SAM may have been created by exclusionists, its exact origin is unknown and so it has been reclaimed and popularized by the ace and aro communities.” - 1st email, emphasis added

“The terminology 'the SAM' is popularly used enough that many people have their own varied personal understandings of it, and we recognize that this lack of continuity in what it means can open extra avenues of discussion.” - 3rd email, emphasis added

“While it may not always have a coherent or consistent meaning in these communities, it is still something that is widely referenced and that many people have at least a vague conceptualization of.” - 4th email, emphasis added

“Also, due to the prevalence and often-presumed universality of the SAM, we believe it is important to name it so as to specifically encourage conversation about it. We believe it will be worthwhile for discussion to include it, so that both positive and negative viewpoints of it can be shared, and alternatives can be offered. Many people are on distinctly one side of discussion about the SAM, and some do not even know of the existence of the other side, so engaging in discussion with people who hold different views can be useful in how individuals move forward with their own identities and participation in their communities. “ - 4th email

“The full sentence is ‘We also will require that all participants in the conversation respect others' personal choices and feelings surrounding any particular attraction and orientation model or lack thereof, including people who object to there being a binary of SAM and non-SAM.’ (Emphasis added) While some people do treat SAM and non-SAM as a binary, this is not a view we are interested in spreading.” - 4th email, quotes our prompt, emphasis was present in this email

Regarding the accusation of TAAAP members being personally acclimated to the language, we refer to this:

“These kinds of criticisms are necessary for communities to address issues within themselves, especially when those issues are so common. One motivation behind choosing this topic is to address the far too common issues with the SAM, and offer room to discuss diverse and inclusive perspectives, as many people, including members of TAAAP, have been harmed by those who use the SAM to identity police. Not discussing these topics at all, as we have previously stated, can leave people of the dominant perspective ignorant of other perspectives, allowing divisions to grow without any chances to understand and correct the issue. That being said, and as is written in the month’s topic, we also require respect for how people self identify, including seeing one’s own aromanticism as a subset of their asexuality, and using the SAM. “ -5th and last email, emphasis added

C) You have expressed an investment in opposing identity essentialism, which means the only part that’s missing for you is how one person’s own personal use of a term could be unfair to anybody else.

I will illustrate this with an example.

Hypothetically, say someone in the aro community decided to give a name to a completely legitimate type of aro identity or experience — nothing wrong with that. Hypothetically, say in order to express that identity, they start calling themselves a “pure aro.” Say the identity becomes a popular one, and say there’s also some aros who speak up with objections. Now imagine those aros get told, “That’s okay, you don’t have to use the purity model.”

That would be messed up.

This hypothetical is something I’m assuming we’re on the same page about. If you can recognize that this “pure aro” construct would be a problem, regardless of what “pure aro” was chosen to represent, then you can understand how the language we choose for ourselves — even to represent completely legitimate things — can in fact be unfair to other people. In the same way that it would be wrong to refer to certain aros as “pure aros” or “impure aros,” it is wrong to refer to completely legitimate things as “SAM” or “non-SAM.”

We agree that the language of “pure aro” is inherently bad, in part because it implies an “impure aro” and in part because it assigns a morality to a specific identity, which can also be true with “split” and “non-split”, although to a lesser extent. “Pure” invokes religious oppression and purity culture, with the opposite of “pure” generally being “sinful”. This degree of connotation does not exist for “split”.  We say this not to dismiss the real harm people experience in relation to the SAM, but to highlight the false equivalence in the hypothetical.

In fact, we did at one point address someone in the Pride Chats who used the term “complete aro” by pointing out the potential harm that does to other aro-spectrum people who are just as completely aro as someone who experiences no romantic attraction at all.

We do agree that another issue with the SAM is its perceived universality, which forces labels onto people without their consent. We stated our view of this issue here:

“[S]ome people do understand themselves through use of the SAM - [it does] not work for all, and when that isn’t understood is when identity policing, exclusion, and invalidation can occur. We are open to discussions of the harm done by universalizing identity models in the Pride Chats.” - 5th and final email, some words removed to account for privacy concerns and to avoid quoting Coyote.

Many terms used by LGBTQIA+ individuals were originally coined and used by their oppressors or were slurs. Some terms are sometimes used in harmful and exclusionary ways, and have different meanings for the different individuals that use them. Writing off a term or idea as completely bad and assigning moral value to it is harmful to those who are not aware of its history, have reclaimed it, or find positive aspects of the term with which to identify. We believe it is possible to recognize the harm that occurs from certain community practices while also not attacking people who do not intend to perpetuate that harm. Rather, we should focus on the harmful actions. We do not condone broad condemnation of all who identify with a term, simply because others weaponize or have weaponized that terminology to cause harm. People who have adopted widespread terminology to describe phenomena or identities should not be judged because others weaponize or weaponized that terminology, or for forgiving a potentially negative interpretation/aspect/connotation of said terminology for the comfort they find in using the positive aspects of it to describe themselves.

D) [...] it is wrong to refer to completely legitimate things as “SAM” or “non-SAM.”

This states that people are wrong to use the terms SAM and non-SAM. As shown by our message above, in multiple other messages, and in our Pride Chat guidelines, this is identity policing; it is not allowed in the chats and will not be espoused by TAAAP’s members. It’s not simply the experiences that are legitimate, but also identifying with the SAM or as non-SAM. This is not an acceptance of the SAM, or of a supposed binary of SAM and non-SAM, as a universal model that everyone must or should identify with, but rather an acceptance of some people’s personal identification with the term SAM or non-SAM. We conveyed this idea through email here:

“Also, we do not want to imply that we think using the SAM is not legitimate, as it is a model that many people use and relate to, and do so using that specific term.” - 4th email

E) 1) It’s not split. The word “split,” like the word pure, inherently sets up a contrast. It’s framing these things as only partial, splintered fragments of what they’re normally supposed to be. Categorizing my experiences of attraction as “split” attraction is like referring to me as a “split person” just because I’m not a conjoined twin. I wasn’t split off from anyone. I’m just like this. This is my own whole and natural way of being. “Split” language talks down to me as a lesser fragment of something else. Why should that be recognized as anything less than condescending?

If someone were to talk down to anyone in this way, that would go against our Discord guidelines and they would be warned, “timed out” if they continued, and banned if they continued after the time out, per our rules. Dictating how people can identify, whether by imposing labels on others or by demonizing others for identifying with certain labels, is identity policing. Different identities and conceptualizations of identities resonate for different people, and there is nothing wrong with this. This is also related to the issue of universalization, which we addressed above with the block quote C from Coyote. To be absolutely clear, people with the same or similar experiences are allowed to use different labels and models, likewise, people with differing experiences may resonate with the same labels and models. Additionally, people are never required to identify in opposition to or in relation to any label or model.  

This was addressed here:

“Everyone uses different methods, models, and terminology to understand their own orientations. Some of these may not be ones that you personally agree with or would use, but you must respect others’ right to use the model or method they want. Similarly, you can discuss what you don’t like about any given model, method, or term, but be careful to only apply it to yourself or use “I feel” statements so as not to say what methods others should or should not use. Focus on critiquing the models and not how people make use of them or identify with them. The only models, methods, or terms we do not support are those that are culturally appropriative or violate our guidelines in some other way.

“If a term may violate our guidelines, due to being rooted in exclusionist or other harmful ideology, do not assume that everyone is aware of its harmful origins or that they espouse those ideas. Many terms have been reclaimed, used without bad intention, or simply used without knowledge of other people using them in harmful ways.” - Official Topic Announcement on TAAAP Website, emphasis added

F) It’s not “attraction,” either. Too often I’ve seen people deploying “SAM” or “using the SAM” to misrepresent multi-orientation labeling, which is conflating “attraction” with “orientation.” 

Some people do identify with an orientation based on their attraction. The legitimacy of people who do base their orientation on attraction as well as the various other ways people do not, is recognized in our official topic announcement, the final version of which was sent to Coyote before posting it to our website.

“The topic will be models of attraction and orientation, including the SAM (Split-Attraction Model), as well as understandings and models of orientation that do not center attraction, and any other potential ways of understanding attraction and orientation. We at TAAAP support any person using any kind of model, or no model at all, to identify their attraction or orientation. We also will require that all participants in the conversation respect others' personal choices and feelings surrounding any particular attraction and orientation model or lack thereof, including people who object to there being a binary of SAM and non-SAM. This discussion will explore why people use the SAM, use something else entirely, or use none.” - 3rd email, emphasis added

There are also people who use the SAM to only identify their attractions, and do not use it for their orientation(s). More broadly, we do not agree that it is essentialist or harmful for someone to identify with their own orientation(s) based on their own attraction(s). The harms that are related to self-identifying have been covered above under Quote C. 

G) Frankly? It’s not even a model. It doesn’t model anything. It’s just an extra sticker over multiple preexisting models and concepts, chained together by conflation and essentialism.

The SAM does refer to multiple ideas. Many orientation models and identity terms have a level of ambiguity to them, and this is not unique to the SAM. We addressed the ambiguous nature of the term here:

“We do not strictly define the terms given in the topic, as the ambiguity can allow for segments of discussion that we cannot predict. The terminology 'the SAM' is popularly used enough that many people have their own varied personal understandings of it, and we recognize that this lack of continuity in what it means can open extra avenues of discussion. We know that many people identify with it or refer to it when speaking of their identities, and that others do not identify with it nor wish to use it as a reference point, and we want to leave room for people of all perspectives to talk about it (whatever they believe 'it' is) without correcting them for talking about the ‘wrong' thing.” - 3rd email, emphasis added

H) All this is why I recently had to gently shepherd an aro out of your “opting out of romantic orientation” channel. 

This is elaborated upon later:

I) The TSAMM encourages a conflation between “romantic orientation” and “distinguishing romantic from sexual,” and the popularity of that conflation has so thoroughly undermined conceptual space for folks like me that you can outright name a channel “opting out of romantic orientation” and you’ll get people in there talking about how much they definitely do identify with a romantic orientation. Even in space deliberately set aside for me, the TSAMM renders the distinction incoherent.

As mods, we should have noticed this when it happened and addressed it then. After reading through the exchange, it was clear that this person was questioning and trying to find what term(s) they felt comfortable identifying their orientation with. The channels for different identities are open to people who are questioning, as well as those of other identities who are willing to ask questions and listen respectfully. While in our Pride Chats, it is expected that questioning people are respected and given space to question without being “shepherded” away. 

J) I deserve better than this. Everyone deserves better than this. We deserve to get to have these conversations without the TSAMM getting in the way.

“TAAAP specifically does not feel comfortable avoiding discussing the term Split-Attraction Model, as it is common community terminology and many identify with it in a positive sense. We feel that it would be a greater disservice to beat around the bush than to allow people to discuss it, although we do understand that our wording can better reflect how we encourage discussion about various other orientation models/terminology, and to reflect the fact that participants will be welcome to share criticisms of the term 'SAM' as well.” -1st email, emphasis added

In this first email, we clarified the wording of the December topic to make it clear that the SAM was only one part of the topic, and to encourage discussion of more models and terminology.

“The terminology 'the SAM' is popularly used enough that many people have their own varied personal understandings of it, and we recognize that this lack of continuity in what it means can open extra avenues of discussion. We know that many people identify with it or refer to it when speaking of their identities, and that others do not identify with it nor wish to use it as a reference point, and we want to leave room for people of all perspectives to talk about it (whatever they believe 'it' is) without correcting them for talking about the 'wrong' thing.” - 3rd email, emphasis added

“We chose to name the SAM because of its wide use as an orientation model in the ace and aro communities, and regardless of personal use or opinion, the term contextualizes our topic for those generally unfamiliar with orientation models and theories.” - 4th email , emphasis added

“Not discussing these topics at all, as we have previously stated, can leave people of the dominant perspective ignorant of other perspectives, allowing divisions to grow without any chances to understand and correct the issue. That being said, and as is written in the month’s topic, we also require respect for how people self identify, [including] using the SAM.” - 5th and final email, some words removed to account for privacy concerns and to avoid quoting Coyote.

We would like to refer everyone to our guidelines for the Pride Chats. These will be updated with expectations around identity policing using parts of our Official Topic Announcement. 

Also, we feel it worthwhile to address the overall complications inherent in pushing certain terminology and attempting to erase other terminology. Demanding such specific, unambiguous language makes the conversation inaccessible to some neurodivergent people, some people who speak English as a secondary language, and some people with a more casual or limited understanding of this terminology and the nuances of this intra-community conversation. Ace and aro people already struggle to access knowledge about these identities, and this policing of nuanced terminology provides another barrier to aro and ace people who want to understand and express themselves.

When someone identifies with a term, or wants to discuss a term, in TAAAP’s Discord server or on TAAAP’s Dreamwidth page, a safe space, we require that no one identity polices, attacks, nor harasses this person under the assumption that they should “know better”. Discussion and critiques of terms can be brought forward without assigning a certain morality to the people who use them. Discussion and critique can happen without condemning a person.

To suggest an alternative term or to write the SAM out of discussions does not change that many people are exposed to that terminology, and it has impacted their personal identities. The comments on Coyote’s Open Letter are all part of the discussion we always intended to have, and still will have in our Pride Chats Discord and Dreamwidth. As a reminder, our December 2020 Pride Chats will take place on the 26th and 27th and the topic is “models of attraction and orientation, including the SAM (Split-Attraction Model), as well as understandings and models of orientation that do not center attraction, and any other potential ways of understanding attraction and orientation”. 

[thealogie]

what do you like about warren? i genuinely would like to know more about her

first and foremost i like that she held most of her progressive policy views before they were politically popular. she was basically the key architect of the consumer financial protection bureau  but obama picked someone else to head it after republicans said they would block her (for being too much of a scary liberal). when she ran for senate, massachusetts had never elected a female senator before and everyone thought her policies were too anti-business to win. in some ways (though, again, i don’t actually trust any politician to not play politics) i like her because i trust her more than the other candidates to not just cherrypick views from all parts of the political spectrum to be all things to all people (i think bernie sanders is kind of similar in this respect). i think in office she will do a combination of (a) trying to pick either the the most progressive policy that can feasibly win and (b) pushing policies that won’t win just to make them more mainstream.

more specifically here are some of her good policies: 

she wants to cancel nearly all student debt and make public colleges completely free 

people disagree as to whether federal-level solutions to housing are necessary or would create more problems. i happen to think we need national solutions to the housing crisis. she has the only robust housing reform right now. her proposed bill not only expands existing anti-discrimination provisions but also provides for 450 billion investment in affordable housing over 10 years. 

she was the first to call for breaking up big tech companies in an actually concrete, serious way

this should go without saying but surprisingly not everyone in the field has explicitly said mass incarceration is racist and she has.

she’s nominally on the right side of criminal justice reform but i think her pro Imprison CEOs stance can ultimately be dangerous in furthering the Prison Industrial Complex. 

oh also she’s explicitly addressed anti-black racism in health care.

her reading coretta scott king’s letter against jeff sessions unfortunately became more of a meme than a spotlight on opposition to sessions but it was still a good moment

anyway, i think it’s really unfair to count her out so early but i do also think her campaign is making big mistakes and run by too many men/white women (i mean this not in the way “i think they have so little diversity that they’re bad people” but like “white people from washington DC and MA desperately need young brown and black people to fucking tell them how to navigate digital communication”).

[shawnsorangeglasses]

The Opposition - Part 3.1

3.1k words

Shawn is a tightly wound, Type A law student in college. For the most part, he has his life figured out and planned to the minute. Then comes Caroline, a charming Type B and his unlikely equal.

thank you all for being so patient. ...

It's Wednesday. Shawn fears the closer he gets to Friday, the less motivated he is to crash the frat party. This morning, Caroline sent him a text riddled with lowercase letters and several typos to discuss the plan. He's meeting her in front of the library a few hours after his first class. On Mondays and Wednesdays, it's ethics and his third criminal law course in the afternoon. Tuesdays and Thursdays is legal writing and criminal behavior. He loves the work, but it’s nice to do something else, even if it is scheming.

He walks by a group of senior women on the way. They smile and wave flirtatiously, but he keeps his eyes low and walks faster. They laugh.

Caroline is waiting for Shawn on the back of the library's lion statue, conducting her hands to music only she can hear through her earbuds. Of course that's where she is, Shawn thinks to himself. Her sweater, the one from last night, is tied around her waist. She doesn't notice him at first because the song is up at full volume. Bright yellow socks are the only vibrant color she's chosen to wear today in an otherwise plain ensemble.

"You're not supposed to sit on those," he tells her.

Her head snaps around, "Oh, it's just you. Where's Harry?"

"Theater club until 6 PM."

Caroline grunts and groans, rolling rather ungracefully off the metal beast. "How the hell am I supposed to sit through this without him?"

"I'm sure you'll manage." Shawn leads towards the double doors, but a tiny hand latches onto his elbow, stopping him short.

"Can't you just tell me right here in the sun? It's freezing inside."

Shawn taps his heel on the pavement impatiently. "I suppose we can go to the old greenhouse out back."

Caroline cocks an eyebrow. "Oh, he's taking me out back. How scandalous."

"Relax, it's not in use anymore and half the windows are smashed. It's the furthest thing from romantic.

"She circles him, "Uh huh, sure it is."

"It is."

Shawn takes her down a path that’s gone undisturbed for a long time. The greenhouse is obscured by a wall of untamed trees and shrubbery. The only entrance is a gate overrun by vines and ivies. Shawn unlatches the lock and its rusty chain falls limp with a clang.

"After you," he says, permitting Caroline to enter first.

"Are we allowed back here, Mr. Rulebook?"

"This is the only rule you'll ever find me breaking."

Caroline gazes up at the quaint structure in all its decay and ruin. Branches extend in and out of broken windows. She can just make out a misty rainbow in the fog at the very top of the roof. Ironically, it’s probably the prettiest part of the campus she’s seen so far.

"How'd you find this place?"

"Ms. Attie brought me here my first semester. It used to be kind of panic room for me, but I haven't needed it lately."

She takes two steps forward. "Is it safe?"

"There's broken glass and exposed wires everywhere, but you're smart enough. I think you'll live."

“Aw, you think I’m smart?”

He has to smile at his slip up. “I think you’re adept. Don’t get a big head.”

Shawn pats her shoulder and moves ahead. Caroline jogs after him, trying to keep up with his long strides in the tall grass.Inside are only vague reminders of what the greenhouse may have looked like before the wilderness reclaimed it. All kinds of weeds have pushed through the ground floor. Unchecked foliage has made the once spacious house small and humid inside. Caroline picks up one of the few plants that are still in a solid pot, then sets it back in its dust ring.Shawn stops at the iron staircase leading to a platform above.

"This way. Attie said the steps are too corroded to be safe, so we have to use the ladder."

The ladder leans against the second floor ledge with cinder blocks at its feet to keep it in place. It goes straight up into a sunnier ledge, closest to the ceiling. It's the only part of the greenhouse with all the windows still intact. Caroline again goes ahead of him, but loses her footing on a loose rung. Shawn's quick to catch her, grabbing onto her hip. He doesn't let go until she's regained her balance, and even so his fingertips linger on her midriff.

"Any other surprises," she huffs.

"I don't know, maybe? It's been a while."

She smirks down at him, then continues to climb. Each step, she tests the rungs with a few taps before proceeding. Shawn is trying to keep from looking, but she's right there above his head, in shorts. He concentrates on his own steps.

Caroline's feet patter around the platform. "Hmm, I don't know Mendes. This looks pretty romantic to me."He's about to protest again until he makes the top of the ladder. A picnic is set up on one of the metal tables, but clearly abandoned. Shawn sighs.

"Harry must have been here recently with some guy or girl, most likely showing off." He can feel Caroline's eyes on him. "Which is not why we're here, for the last time."

"Alright. Did he leave any non-perishables?"

Shawn sifts through the picnic basket's contents. Every single bag is torn to shreds. "No, looks like the raccoons came through— oh wait, there's a jar of raw honey."

"I call dibs."

"You can have it," Shawn chuckles. "Harrison keeps our kitchen stocked with the stuff."

She takes the jar, holding it up to the sun. "Why did we come here, again?"

"Going over the plan."

"Oh yeah."

Caroline hops up onto a shelf in between two flower bushes, securing her jar of honey at the bottom of her bag. Sun spills shafts of light on her hair, making them a rich brown around the edges.

"The party's on Friday and I know I'm your plus one. We definitely shouldn't stay too long though. What's our out going to be?"

"I could get 'sick' or 'too drunk' and you have to take me home."

"That could work. I say we try to avoid attention altogether though. Kate knows I don't do parties and I won't know how to explain myself."

Caroline pokes a fern and its leaves retract. "Just say you're doing research on college party scenes and how they affect academic accomplishment or something."

"That's...actually a good idea."

She flips her hair and shrugs. "I know."

"Okay, don't get cocky." Shawn nibbles on his thumb. "I guess we're ready?"Caroline tilts her head at him. "You don't sound ready."

"I am very nervous, yes."

"Well don't worry. Just think of it as extreme eavesdropping."

"There's still so many margins of error," he mutters to himself. "Argh, this is why I hate parties. I have no way of actually preparing for this. What if something stupid happens? What if the cops show up? Cops always show up in the movies. Listen to me, comparing real life to the movies-”

"Hey," she slides down from the shelf and puts two hands on his shoulders. Her inky brown eyes penetrate his own. "Don’t spiral. That's why I'm coming with you. We can always improvise. It's gonna be fine. In the name of love, right?"

Shawn takes a deep, shaky breath. She'd been saying this to him since Monday. In the name of love. But Shawn isn't even positive he loves Kate, whatever that means. She just makes him tingly all over. All girls make him a little nervous once they show an interest in him. It isn't even all about love at this point. He just wants everything to go back to normal.

"Right," he says anyway. "In the name of love."

"Okay then," she gives him shake and lets go. "How much time do you have?"

Shawn checks his watch. "About two hours."

"Wanna go eat?" …

The dining hall is flowing with students coming and going. All the major groups have found their respective tables for the hour. Caroline seems to know at least a few people in every clan they pass by on the way to the kitchen, and every person is happy to see her or has some inside joke to share.

"Uh Caroline," Shawn taps her shoulder, "What exactly is your major?"

"I don’t know yet. I really like everything. Why?""

You just seem to know...well, everyone."

"Oh, I had psychology last year. Between surveys and case studies, you kind of meet people. And I made mine so they could be interesting and fun, so they’d come back."

Shawn gazes at a few of the people they passed. Music majors, science majors, even the business majors knew Caroline. A few are looking in his direction. Most people know Shawn from the mock trials because they get published in the school newspaper. His serious reputation has preceded him for quite some time. So naturally, they'd be curious as to why he's suddenly at breakfast with Caroline.

"Everybody's staring," he tells her in a hushed voice.

"Well yeah, it's me standing next to you," she said much louder, already having read the room.

Shawn has noticed the physical contrast of him Caroline before. His lean and broad figure just barely towering over her stocky, compact build is something to behold. They couldn't be more different.

"They might also be staring because of your face," she says as she makes a beeline for the pasta trays.

"What's wrong with my face?"

"Literally nothing. That's why they're staring, genius."

Shawn squints at her. "You have very interesting way of paying me compliments."

She gives him a tender pat on the shoulder. "What are friends for?"

He has to admit to himself, she is entertaining without trying. The honesty that comes with Caroline's words is refreshing. The few girls he's come across in the past hardly ever say what they mean or feel. Kate was one of them.

"Let's sit over there," Caroline nods at a small corner table well lit by a wall of windows. Empty booths are scarce in the cafe. A few feet away from that spot is Jared Price with a handful of law majors. Shawn grabs Caroline’s arm and pulls her behind a wall next to the vending machines. Without meaning to, he’s pinned her into a corner.

“What the hell’s your problem,” she snaps. “I almost dropped my pasta.”

“Shush,” he hisses.

It’s only been a few times that a guy has had Caroline on the wall in this fashion. Shawn’s approach is, of course, in no way romantic and definitely clumsy to say the least. Though she knows it’s probably not intentional, she can’t help but feel the tiniest impulse to misbehave right now.

Shawn’s still tensed up and peering around the corner. She takes a peek. There’s plenty of people to look at and her heart was kind of hoping to see Kate floating in between some of the tables. No one seems to fit the description Shawn’s given her in recent conversations. In fact, his panicked eyes are completed transfixed on a table surrounded by what look like carbon copies of him.

“Must be a law thing to dress like the dean,” she says. “Don’t you want to talk to your kin?”

“Not necessarily,” Shawn says with a shake of his head.

"Well, do you mind," she says looking him up and down. "I'm kind of stuck between a vending machine and a... well, a hard place."

A harsh blush seeps into Shawn's face and neck as he realizes the position he's put them in. Caroline holds her takeout box of food close to her chest in one hand and pushing back on his abs with the other. A wry, all-knowing smile pushes her dimple deeper into her cheek. Shawn bolts backwards.

"S-Sorry, I wasn't trying to-,” he pinches the bridge of his nose, hoping his thoughts would gather up easier that way. “I'm not- I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry."

"No worries Mendes," Caroline pats his chest. "If I have to pinned against a wall by anyone, I'm fine with it being you."

Shawn shields his face with his hand, which is already starting to get clammy and prickly. "Why do you have to make everything so weird?"

"It’s only weird in your head, Shawn. Come on.” She nods in the direction of the other exit, away from the law school table and the rest of the cafe. “We can go eat on the lawn.”

She trots over to the double doors. Her thick messy curls bounce on her shoulders in a manner that's almost teasing. With one backwards shove, she pushes the door open, making room for Shawn to follow after her. He unbuttons his collar, then trudges through the uncomfortable air he’s made for himself. It amazes him how nothing else in the room changes after an encounter so awkward.

The outdoors presents a hot and dry midday heat. As nice as it would be to sit in the air conditioning and eat, Shawn would rather sweat than be stuck arguing about the ethics of this assigned case with Jared Fucking Price.

“Right over here,” Caroline says.

She’s pointing towards one of the few crepe myrtles on campus in the middle of a green lawn. The tree is still young, so it’s shade is small and requires them to sit close if they want to cool off. She’s already made herself at home on the petals scattered at its roots. In any other setting, this whole picture would seem staged, but Caroline looks like she belongs there more than anyone. Shawn takes this brief moment waiting for her to sit down to observe again. Another nuisance of a sensation settles in his gut. He dismisses it as a hunger pain.

He crouches down at her side stiffly. Even in such limited space, he maintains the usual respectful distance. The shaded parts of the grass are soft and cool beneath his palms. Shawn expected to just eat in silence since that’s usually what happens when he’s out with someone other than Harrison. Every time he’s met with Caroline in the past few days, she’s allowed the silence to happen. Now, she’s practically itching to talk.

“So,” she sighs, “are we gonna talk about what that was?”

“I already said I was sorry. Please drop it.”

“Not that,” she sighs. “You totally ghosted your friends the law majors’ table. Why?”

It almost slips out, how much he hates Jared and his elitist herd of followers. Caroline has this way of talking that makes you forget you have secrets. It’s for this reason that he bites his lower lip and chooses his next words carefully. The law department is already a tough enough crowd without them knowing he doesn’t enjoy their miserable company.

“I didn’t ghost anybody worth calling a friend.”

“Oh,” she says, light and flippant in her tone.

“Oh what?”

“It’s just a little cold,” her eyes skirt around his face. “Even for you.”

“You don’t know them, Caroline.”

She throws her hands up. “Hey, I get it. That law department is quite the dickhead factory.”

He shakes his head, well aware that she was throwing him into that lot. “Touchè,” he mutters.

“You always this distant with peers?”

“Do we have to talk about it?”

“No. We don’t have to talk about it,” she eventually says, and she almost sounds sad when she does. “But Shawn, we’ve had these meetings for a few days now. I get that you don’t talk much, but it’s kind of weird not knowing you at all by now.”

"Funny. I believe I've said more about myself in the last four hours than I've told anyone in the last year."

It’s one of those jokes that Shawn thinks is funny at first until no one laughs. It’s even worse in a conversation with only one other person.

“How generous of you,” she deadpans. For the first time since they’ve met, she sounds genuinely irritated with him.

He looks around the environment as if he’ll find something to talk about there. Nothing appears of course and Caroline is still quietly pulling weeds from the grass. Quiet was the intention, but not if it meant her shutting down. He leans back on his hands in the mulch and dirt to stretch his legs out into the sun.

“I wanted to be a musician, you know.”

Caroline’s ears perk up. “That’s...random.”

“Guitar and piano was as far as I got. Long time ago.”

“Were you any good?”

“I was told I was good. I always thought I could’ve been better.”

She snorts, “Yeah sounds about right.”

“Obviously, I changed my mind. Got into debate and ethics in high school.”

“Is that what changed?”

He nods. “So many times the system gets it wrong and sends innocent people to prison. It’s insane, I mean, the amount of laws we have overlapping and changing everyday would surprise you. No scenario is ever so thought out. Not to mention ethics aren’t always in black and white. I could talk for hours about the-”

Shawn grinds to a halt when he finally notices the smile slowly breaking his face. Caroline’s given him her full attention. Somehow, he’s leaned in closer to her, like he does every time he goes on a tangent.

I’m getting carried away,” he sighs.

“No, it’s wonderful,” Caroline cooed. “I’ve never seen you so happy.”

He cocks his head to one side. “Nobody likes a rambler.”

“Guess that makes me the biggest nobody of all.”

She shoulders his arm, rocking him slightly. Shawn’s ears start to burn. He looks down. Caroline’s sweater sleeve has ended up in the mulch somehow. He carefully picks it up, pulling the wood chips gently from the threads before setting neatly onto her thigh. She doesn’t say a word while this is all happening. In fact, she watches his movements intently. He’s going to ask and she wants to be ready.

“I have a question,” he says. “The other night, when you came back to my room for your sweater, why were you— well I thought you were, I don’t know. Maybe I was seeing things-”

“Bawling my eyes out?”

A faint grimace flashes across Shawn’s face.

“I’m not touchy about it,” she assures him. “Short answer is that it belonged to my mom. Then Dad gave it to me when I graduated high school.”

Shawn steals a look at her and she’s smiling softly. “Can I have the long answer?”

Caroline leans back. “It’s a real sob story,” she says loftily. “I’d hate for you start feeling sorry for me.”

“Please, ‘sorry’ is the last thing I’ll ever feel for you, Caroline,” Shawn quips

“Shawn,” says a familiar voice. “Shawn Mendes?”

Shawn looks up and to his disappointment finds Jared Price standing over them casting a condescending shadow at their feet. The other law majors aren’t far behind, coming closer to their spot under the tree. ...

taglist:

@tnhmblive @rulerofnocountry @matchamendes @damselindistressanu @gxccicoffee @yoelleex @5-seconds-of-mendes @darling-shawn @imaginesofdreams @nervousaroundmendes @hiyabich @sinplisticshawn @peterbrokenparker @sauveteen @allaboutthatdrummer @particularnarry @shawnwyr @1am9root

[abbyfreemansmind]

An open letter to Akihasu-Senpai, who has rejoined Tumblr despite hating it.

I’m fine without you. I’m thriving without you. I’m more than just surviving without you. If you thought I would regret what I did, you’re wrong. If you thought I’d want you back, you’re wrong. If you thought I’d ever look back, you’re wrong. You can come back on Tumblr* all you want. I honestly don’t care. At all. I don’t know if you’re trying to get to me, what with your comments about disliking Tumblr making your appearance here suspicious in that regard, but if you are, I assure you it isn’t working. But if you try anything against me and mine, I won’t hold back. I stopped the callout not once, not twice, but three times, because I didn’t want you to get hurt - because even after what you did to me, I still cared about you. Then you pulled that nonsense with my close friend, who has now gone into hiding. Like it or not, I can very easily go back over that and bring it back, and if I do, I will show no mercy. I can make your time very painful for you. If you thought I was a b-word before, just try me. And to answer your questions: 1 - No, I don’t actually love you - in ANY WAY (not even platonically anymore!). After everything, it’s quite the opposite actually. 2 - No, I didn’t steal my username idea from you. I would never stoop as low as to bring back painful memories and such to myself. That being said, I did yoink the url springwormwood because it’s funny to me. 3 - I hadn’t actually thought about you since your little outburst thanks to a mutual stalker of ours. Then you joined here, for some reason. 4 - Thanks to friends, family and therapy, I’m doing quite well. I very highly suggest getting a therapist. One might be able to help you with your obvious problems you have with everyone who even remotely critiques/criticizes you, your work and your behaviour - although I’d feel sorry for the therapist, considering you can’t take critique or criticism like an adult. 5 - You can’t claim to be an ally to nonbinary people and also disrespect their pronouns. You can’t claim to be an ally to WLW (lesbians, bi women, pan women, etc.) and fetishize them the way you do. You can’t claim to be an ally to intersex people and fetishize them the way you do. 6 - Welcome to Tumblr, where being a yandere gets you on most of the website’s Do Not Interacts and blocklists! So does making triggered jokes! So does supporting lolicon! So does intentionally triggering people! So does being blatantly aphobic! So does so much of the other stuff you do!

I was being nice. I was being mature - and not just because if I acted the way you acted I’d be the laughingstock of the situation (like you!). I genuinely am a nice and mature person. But if you do one idiotic thing, one stupid thing, one thing against me and mine, the flood gates will open and I will release my own callout detailing everything you did to me, what you convinced other people to do, how you manipulate people, what you did to my friend and all of those problematic little things you enjoy drawing and supporting with your... “art”. I also know a lot of people who would be very interested in you. :) many more than just the ones Squid knows, although I know them, too. I could make it spread faster and further than Squid could. If messing with us is what you’re here for, you’d better think twice. I have my friends and fans on high alert about you, not to mention you’re on a few blocklists as it is. 

Yes. Yes, that WAS a threat. And yes, I’m very open about blocking and banning you and your little friends. No secret there, like you tried to say.

Oh, and what was it you said about things posted on the internet when I (rightfully) hated that you posted that bikini underwear drawing of me (and it got reblogged to someone who openly reblogged mostly porn)? That once something was on the internet, anybody could do anything they wanted with it? Yeah, if you do anything, you’re gonna find those words to be mighty horrible. Again, just try me. Again, if you thought I was an absolute b-word before, I’ll show you what I’m really like in b-word mode.

Also, somebody unfortunately showed me your porn. As someone with a vagina, they don’t work like that. As someone with a basic knowledge of human anatomy, neither penises now vaginas work like that. As someone who’s taken several sex ed classes, nothing works like that. It’s gross aff. Also, I feel sorry for the spines on your ladies. They must’ve had some kinda back surgery at some point to support those grossly deformed and elephantiasis-ridden breasts. Oh, and nipples don’t work like that either. not without causing a lot of pain for the person getting a penis shoved in it. I’m genuinely beginning to doubt your lack of virginity and sexual understanding. And I’m a sex-repulsed virgin.

~Sincerely, one of the people you abused and the dear friend of another person you allowed to be abused to the point where the only option was to go into hiding

* - This is in regards to you saying you didn’t want to be on here because of me and mine, the ban of NSFW content (which still hasn’t been lifted) and the SJWs who hate on anything they don’t like (like your paedophilic “age up” art, thoughts on simulated cp, usage of slurs when other words are available after learning about how it’s a slur and fetishization of WLW, trans women and intersex women). You really do look shady like this.

[clarketomylexa]

halley’s comet and other extenuating circumstances ch. 2

read on ao3

The diner is empty. 

The laminated sign in the window — decorated for the season with one, shiny, pumpkin sticker grinning jovially — reads ‘open’ in black, block letters but this early, people are still respecting what they think is common courtesy and staying away until a more agreeable hour. 

Which is fine by Lexa because she gets paid either way; whether she’s pouring coffee or finishing the Calculus B homework Clarke lured her away from last night — cheeks flushed and still in her uniform from practice—in a booth in the corner. She runs a finger over the mauve bruise on her jaw at the thought. 

(If Gus has noticed, he’s had the grace not to say anything). 

“Did you know Venus is the hottest planet in the solar system?” 

“No.” 

“It has the average surface temperature of four-hundred and fifty degrees Celsius.” 

“That makes sense,” Clarke says: “‘Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus’.”

“Are you saying that the temperature of a planet six-hundred and twelve miles away is dictated by your sexual preferences?” 

“Are you calling yourself hot?” 

Clarke grins — game set and match — and Lexa feels herself falling for her a little harder. 

In the month since Clarke invited her to the game, her life has become a John Huges cliché; they have graduated from car-pooling to holding hands to kissing beneath the bleachers after cheer-practice and it’s safe to say it has given Lexa whiplash. Not the bad kind though—if there is such a thing—but the kind that she imagines you would get if you got on a roller coaster without strapping in, or even expecting to get on a roller coaster in the first place. 

Clarke is her roller coaster and Lexa was so wholly unprepared for her to appear when she did, Lexa’s head hit the back of her seat and she hasn’t stopped feeling dizzy for it since. 

She watches Clarke rest her sneaker on the worn, laminate cushion of the booth, a windbreaker—turquoise and blue with the logo of a brand Anya drools over when they drive to the outlets two towns over on the sleeve—over her t-shirt and jeans and she looks prettier now, drenched in weak Fall sunlight, with syrup on her fingers, than Lexa has ever seen her. Which includes the moments she’s spent sitting on the end of Lexa’s bed with her arms crossed over her pale-pink bra and her lip gloss on her chin, flushing prettily while Anya berated them for going at it too loudly. 

It's game day today—Fridays still don’t agree with her but they have gotten more manageable now that she has a reason to partake in the festivities, even if her reason is more the half-time show than the game itself—but Clarke has forgone her uniform for the morning at lease. Instead, it sits beside her in her gym bag, waiting until after her morning student council meeting to be put on and Lexa thinks she’s relieved. Not because she doesn’t like Clarke’s uniform but just the opposite.

“It’s a joke that that book spent a hundred days on the bestseller list,” she clears her throat, copying a problem from her textbook into her spiral, worried she’s thinking too loudly. When she looks up, Clarke has her cheek in her hand and is grinning at her. 

“What?” Lexa asks. 

“Nothing.” 

“Clarke.” 

“Nuh-uh.” 

Lexa nudges her under the table and Clarke squints at her happily. Her chin slides off the bracket of her palm and she sits up, placing her hands on either side of her plate of hotcakes as she leans over the table to kiss her—a sticky-sweet kiss that tastes like syrup and toothpaste somewhere beyond that. It’s slow and sweet, filling Lexa up with liquid sunshine from the pit of her belly to the top of her ears until all she can feel is Clarke’s grin against her mouth. She can hear footsteps somewhere beyond their booth—Gus probably—and when she starts paying attention again, back from the faraway planet that the feeling of Clarke beneath her fingers always sends her to, their teeth knock. 

Clarke leans back on her hands and Lexa goes to apologise when she sees her lips curl under her teeth. She smiles down at her breakfast—the picture of a naughty bashful school girl—as Gus meanders past with a rack of dirty mugs, doing his best imitation of ignorance. 

It isn’t convincing in the slightest. 

“You’re coming tonight, right?” Clarke asks when he’s gone, lowering herself back to her seat. One foot sits propped up on the bench of the booth and the other remains under the table to play footsie with Lexa’s.   

“If you want me to,” Lexa says softly as if worried if she speaks too loudly the sunshine will drain away and she will have to wait the minutes until Clarke sees fit to kiss her again, cold and sunshine-less. The thought almost doesn’t bear thinking about. It reminds her of the excruciating minutes between AP English and Biology—the only passing period in the school day when she and Clarke don’t manage to find each other—and it’s excruciating.   

“‘Course,” Clarke says executively. “We have to plan our costumes.” 

“Costumes?” 

“Costumes.” Clarke quirks her brow cheekily. 

A phone alarm goes off before Lexa can ask anymore and Clarke rummages through her backpack to silence it, checking the time as she does. “Shoot. I need to go.” She swings her backpack over her shoulder, then her gym bag and pries two ten dollar notes out of her bi-fold, handing them to Lexa as she slides out of the booth. 

“I’ll see you at lunch?” she asks, kissing Lexa on the cheek. 

“Yeah,” Lexa nods, then looks down at the money in her hand. It’s too much for breakfast. “Clarke—” 

“The tip’s for my waitress,” she grins, waving to Gus who looks up from where he’s studiously stacking glasses by the counter as she goes. “Tell her I think she’s cute.” 

//

Lexa isn’t nervous about the pumpkin patch until she hears people talking about it. 

(Well, that’s a lie, because the day she isn’t nervous about spending time with Clarke is the day that the stars descend from the heavens). 

When Clarke first brought it up over lunch with Octavia and Lincoln, it didn’t seem like it would be any different from their breakfasts at the diner or their study dates that turn very quickly from English to Biology of the kind that probably won’t be tested on the SATs. In fact, when she was younger she loved Halloween for that very reason. She remembers Anya saving quarters their parents gave her for taking out the trash to buy them tickets for the kid’s haunted hayride the Greens put on every year, presenting Lexa with her ticket and paper bag of candy corn like she was bestowing her sister a great honour. 

Then, Anya started the sixth grade and suddenly, the thought of a kid’s anything was morally reprehensible, let alone sitting in a moving vehicle for any length of time longer than the eight-minute drive to school. Lexa made a habit of being busy on Halloween after that. 

She thought the function of it remained the same though, no matter how many years she missed sitting in her room streaming Scream one through four on her laptop. Or at least she did until her calculus substitute let the class dissolve into a rapturous discussion of who had invited who to the pumpkin patch and, suddenly, it seemed like the most important thing in the world — more important than Spanish homework or SAT prep. 

It makes her panic as she stands in her room after school, surrounded by the casualties of an uncharacteristic rampage through her closet. The white and green of her Polis High School debate team has been relegated to beneath her bed. So has her track uniform and instead, every dress, skirt, shirt and sweater she owns lies trampled beneath her socked feet.

Lexa never saw herself as someone who would participate in the trashy, teen-film cliche of changing thirty-two times before going out but she thinks she understands the necessity of it now. This is a date — an honest to God date. Since Clarke asked her to the football game they’ve been falling into things without thinking about them — falling into hanging out after cheer practice, falling into eating in the cafeteria together at lunch, falling into the routine of having breakfast together at the diner on Friday morning while Lexa works a shift — but this is premeditated and it makes her nervous. 

In the end, she goes to Anya for help, who looks at Lexa past her mascara wand when she asks to borrow her clothes in the same way she would if Lexa told her she was quitting model UN to join the prom committee. 

“I thought you didn’t go out on Halloween,” she says, returning the wand to its tube and setting it on her vanity between a mug of makeup brushes and a jewellery stand. She has a t-shirt on and a towel wrapped around her head — halfway to getting ready for a date with Raven — and Lexa squirms in the doorway, looking for familiarity among the gauzy curtains and framed prints on the wall. She thinks she can see the edges of a mural they painted in elementary school hidden beneath the edge of an Urban Outfitters tapestry. 

“Clarke invited me to the pumpkin patch.” 

Anya doesn’t seem to need any more explanation than that. Her lips curl into a smile and she rises from her desk, herding Lexa towards her closet where she pulls two hangers off the rack and holds them up to her. After a moment, she puts them back, sending Lexa to her room for a pair of jeans and when Lexa returns, a tight, white longs-sleeve and a cable-knit jacket sit on the bed. She hands them both to Lexa, nodding in approval once she’s changed. 

It’s the most sisterly thing Lexa thinks they’ve done in a long time. Anya pulls the wrinkles out of her shirt and tucks the hem into Lexa’s jeans, maneuvering her in front of the mirror like she would when Lexa was seven years old and being bribed with Birthday Cake Pop-Tarts to be her dress-up doll. 

She sits down obediently on Anya’s desk chair when she’s asked, parting her lips for Anya to apply a coat of lip gloss she isn’t sure she asked for and staring at the join in the ceiling Anya points out as she pulls out a tube of mascara and, by the time she’s done, Lexa feels even more nervous than she did to start off with. 

“We don’t do this very much,” Anya says once she's satisfied with her handiwork and miming rubbing her lips together to blot the lip gloss. Lexa follows suit, looking past her sister at her own reflection in the mirror atop Anya’s dresser. 

“You’re busy I guess,” she shrugs, which isn’t exactly a lie, but it’s also the favourite excuse for not doing things in their family, from Sunday night dinners to the summer vacations they took annually before their father got promoted. 

They are busy though, Lexa reasons — Anya with cheerleading and Lexa with everything else — it’s OK not to be living in each other's pockets. They were close when they were younger — inseparable actually as if Anya was trying to make up for the fact that they were half-sisters by being twice as involved — but school only seemed to exacerbate the distance between them. 

“Not too busy to be your sister though,” Anya challenges, stern-faced and Lexa smiles in spite of herself. “OK?”

“OK,” Lexa nods, rolling her eyes as Anya chucks her chin. Her phone vibrates in her pocket and she fishes it out, reading Clarke’s message — ‘I’ll meet u at the diner after your shift <3’ — and smiling. 

When she looks up, Anya is watching her with a mixture of fondness and exasperation. She hands her the tube of lip gloss she used and flicks Lexa’s hair behind her ears before shooing her out of her room with a shake of her head and a “go meet your girlfriend, Lexa” and this time, Lexa complies. 

//

“Could I get two ciders please?” Clarke asks, leaning on the toes of her sneakers to reach the vendor, the sleeve of her jacket falling down her arm as she hands a twenty dollar note over the lip of the trailer’s window. 

(Strike breakfast, Lexa thinks, thoroughly flustered beneath Anya’s jacket and the thin layer of makeup her sister had insisted on, this is the prettiest Clarke has ever been. Lexa would trade this morning’s syrup-stick kisses for Clarke’s chapped cheeks and the palm of her free hand pressed flush to Lexa’s own any day).  

“I’ll pay!” She says, lunging forward and replacing Clarke’s rolled up note with one from her bi-fold, flattening it against the side of the truck before handing it over. 

“You don’t have to—” Clarke tries to argue, mouth thinning into a pout when Lexa bats her away and accepts two take-out cups and a paper bag of apple cider doughnuts that feel warm in her hands. 

“I got a big tip from a pretty girl today,” Lexa explains, shrugging as the wander back towards the picnic table Octavia has saved for them along the fence-line. 

“A pretty girl? Should I be worried?” Clarke teases. 

“Probably not,” Lexa reasons slyly, watching as Clarke drops her jaw in faux-outrage. 

“Watch it, Woods,” she says. “Or this’ll be the last time I invite you out on a nice date.” 

There’s that word again, Lexa thinks — date — and it makes her stomach knot even more than it already had on the twenty-minute drive here. 

This is certainly the most date-like that hanging out with Clarke has ever felt, from the way Gus had acted like a proud father hanging his daughter off to her homecoming date when Clarke came in to pick her up at the end of her shift — ‘your face,’ he’d said, pointing to the mascara on Lexa’s lashes and the shine of gloss on her lips, ‘you look…very grown-up’ — to the way they had driven here with their fingers linked over the gear stick. 

Even paying for Clarke’s drink feels oddly official — so far they’ve stuck to paying for their own meals at breakfast or football games, or if they share a milkshake they split the bill down the middle — and it’s scary in a way Lexa hasn’t quite found anything scary before. 

(It makes her feel grown-up when she thinks about it. Strangely permanent like none of her extracurriculars, good grades on the fridge or compliments from her parents ever have. Like, if she looks back at this moment in ten years, she will see herself here holding hands with Clarke beneath the Jack-O-Lantern lights and it will be as clear as it is to her now). 

“So’re we doing the maze?” Octavia asks eagerly as they sit down — Clarke sliding onto the bench on the same side as Lexa instead of opposite her as she would in a booth at the diner. It makes heat bloom through her body despite the evening chill. 

It’s nearly six o’clock now, and the string lights threaded overhead paints the twilight yellow and gold and flickering orange. To their left, the fields of pumpkins have almost fallen into darkness while, to their right, the Green’s barn is lit up, the lopsided scarecrow Lexa remembers from her childhood Halloweens sitting atop a pumpkin pyramid outside. 

Every few minutes a shrill scream will come from the direction of the maze and a terrified teenager will come running out of the exit, laughing and gasping for breath, happy to be back amongst the relative safety of the throng of families and little girls in Elsa dresses milling about in the light. 

Lexa doesn’t think any part of it appeals to her. She hasn’t stepped foot inside a haunted attraction since she was eight years old and facing her first Halloween without Anya’s coat sleeve to cling to — the jump scares in Scream are thrill enough for her — but when Clarke nods, and Octavia and Lincoln do too, she doesn’t have any choice but to say yes. 

Grinning, Clarke takes a sip of her cider before she slides a cold hand beneath Lexa’s jacket and fastens her fingers in her belt loop, leaning her head against Lexa’s shoulder. When she leans up a moment later to kiss Lexa gratefully she tastes like hot cider and allspice and the fake strawberry flavour of her lip balm Lexa has come to know.  

Words roll around in her head — words like date and girlfriend — but the longer she finds Clarke pressed against her, warm and real and present in a way Lexa never could have imagined her to be when she watched her sip her root beer floats from behind the counter on game days, the more she finds her fear draining away. By the time their ciders are finished and their doughnuts have been eaten and Lexa is standing in front of the maze, staring at the gruesome party store prop poised over the entrance, she doesn’t think it even existed in the first place.

“Are we doing it together or separately?” Lincoln asks, handing out the slips of paper and plastic Bic pens for the scavenger hunt. 

“Separately,” Octavia says immediately, sliding under her boyfriend’s arm in a way that makes Lexa think she’s going to use the opportunity to find a quiet annex on the far side of the maze and make out. 

“Don’t worry,” Clarke whispers when Lexa blanches at the thought — every horror movie ever made says splitting up in a corn maze is begging to be hunted down by a masked psychopath. “I’ll protect you.”

(It occurs to Lexa as she’s being pulled through the darkness that she’ll never stop finding extenuating circumstances for Clarke).

[welllpthisishappening]

More Famous Than a Yankee Can

He knows it’s not a dream. He’s had this dream before. Finding her again and talking to her again and wearing pinstripes. They usually aren’t all the same dream. So this has to be real. But the last place Killian Jones ever expected to see Emma Swan was while he was wearing those pinstripes. With her standing on the bleachers in Yankee Stadium. 

Rating: Like...T’ish.  Word Count: I don’t know, a lot. Probably like 8K. I got sports emotions. AN: HAPPY OPENING DAY! THE YANKEES ARE GOING TO WIN THE WORLD SERIES. This has been sitting in my docs for several eons, but baseball season starts today and I’ve got baseball tickets on Sunday and, well...here are some words. This is a direct sequel to Start Spreading the News so it may help to read that, but if you’re like Laura, that is too many words, here’s what you need to know: Emma and Killian grew up together, haven’t seen each other in years, Emma’s at a Yankee game when she realizes Killian plays RF and the Bleacher Creatures play Cupid to get them back together. 

Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll. 

Also, also, if you are in the baseball mood, here’s some shameless self promo because I wrote a baseball book (two, in fact) with more kissing and more sports emotions and you can buy it and read it. 

She is impossibly warm.

It’s the first thing he thinks about, as soon as her fingers wrap around the front of his t-shirt and he’s certain he can feel every single inch of her, standing there on the stoop in front of her apartment building and it’s kind of like holding onto his own, personal sun.

The whole thing is a fairly ridiculous notion, mostly because Killian shouldn’t be thinking about suns or any other celestial being when Emma Swan is kissing him, but it’s been that kind of day and he’s going to have to deal with the consequences of that whole seventh-inning stretch thing eventually. He’s fairly certain Regina is going to yell at him.

There’s a joke about getting burned in there. He’s circled right back around to the sun.

And, really, Killian knows that the heat is probably a product of sunshine and walking several dozen blocks, which probably wasn’t a good idea after playing a goddamn baseball game and ignoring a goddamn baseball game, but his legs didn’t seem to care and he certainly didn’t seem to care and he can’t stop kissing Emma.

Or the other way around.

It absolutely did not matter.

The very first time, the only time, they’d done this, he’d been an eighteen-year-old brat and she’d been sixteen and possibly the center of the entire universe. It had always felt that way, something about tides and drawn together and no one knew more about Killian Jones than Emma Swan did. Even Liam. It was easy to talk to her, sitting on back steps with the possibility of possibility in front of them and nothing seemed very likely, but that was equal parts exciting and terrifying for two teenage kids who could only count on their own dreams.

Neither one of them was ever really very good at sleeping.

It was because the house didn’t have consistent air conditioning.

So they sat and they talked and admitted things that were easier to say under a few stars, and they told him he had to leave three days after he turned eighteen. Killian told Emma, approximately, two hours and twenty-two minutes after.

Once he worked up the courage.

And his voice had shook, and his heart hammered against his ribs and he knew he stared at his shoes instead of her, because he wasn't sure he’d be able to cope with watching her expression change as soon as she processed the words. Or he didn’t want her to see his expression change as soon as he processed he might not ever see her again.

So he looked at his feet and stumbled over the words and she’d kissed him first then too.

Figured.

It was probably something about control and the sun never had to ask permission to shine.  

God, that sounded weird even in his own head. He assumes it’s because his fingers have found their way under the edge of her shirt and his mind is already drifting towards team-branded merchandise and how consistently he’d be able to hit if Emma was wearing his number.

What a possessive weirdo.

She didn’t freak out about the number thing though, and Killian wouldn’t have blamed her if she had, honestly. He’d kind of freaked out about the number thing because it was weird and sentimental and he hadn’t been hung up on a girl he knew when he was eighteen, but that might have been a lie and...something about Icarus.

Too close to the sun or whatever.

He needs to breathe.

Killian does not breathe. He can’t be bothered. He’s going to keep kissing Emma until she punches him in the face or something equally violent and absurd, because it’s been that kind of day and Regina’s going to hit him with several different bats.

Someone whistles.

One of them laughs when they, finally, pull away, foreheads resting on each other and smiles on their faces and touching her skin is like being burned and branded and some other verb that probably starts with the letter ‘b’ and is exponentially better than both of those ones.

“So the number thing wasn’t a total deal breaker then?” Killian asks softly, and Emma swats at his shoulder. He moves on instinct, years of training and practice and her eyes widen slightly when he catches her around the wrist.

It’s distracting in a way getting hit by a pitch is distracting. Like a ninety-six mile per hour fastball has just slammed into his thigh and left a bruise that won’t disappear for weeks, at least, and he’ll probably walk with a slight limp for a few games.

Killian needs to stop thinking of such violent metaphors. He briefly considers ducking his head to kiss her again, or profess several things that are completely out of the realm of possibility, but Emma is talking again and his whole mind keeps short-circuiting when that happens.

“A little stalkery, but in a nice kind of way,” Emma says.

“That’s the line I was trying to walk, for sure.” “So, uh…” “So what do you think you’re doing after the next home game?” Killian asks, and it immediately feels as if his heart bursts. Emma grins.

“When is that?” “Tomorrow.” She laughs, and it’s perfect and wonderful and he’d give up his signing bonus and player option to hear it every day for the rest of his life because he might have missed it every day for the last twelve years and he wants her to come to every single game for, like, the rest of forever.

Emma presses back up on her toes, an arm slung around his neck and the whole world could burst into flames and Killian isn’t certain he would notice. She kisses him again.

“Was that the answer?” he ask. “Because it didn’t seem like--”

“--Oh my God, you are needy. Yes, that was the answer. What did you have in mind, exactly?” He grins, hope and happiness and a ten-game hit streak he’s certain will be sparked solely on the way her eyes get brighter when she looks at him. “Everything.”

They don’t get off the stoop for a few more moments, which is, honestly, really kind of nice in a normal way that doesn’t include tragic backstories or professional baseball careers. It just is – the way it always was and, maybe, always could be and Killian is certain there are several thousand missed calls on the phone he turned off in the car.

“You, uh….do you have to get back to the Stadium?” Emma asks, and Killian kind of hates how cautious she sounds.

She stares at her shoes.

“Do you want me to?” “Ah, that’s a stupid, loaded question.” “Better get back to media training.” “Did you have to do that?”

He nods, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth and it is impossible not to be hopelessly charmed by her. He may tell her that eventually. “On more than one occasion,” Killian admits. “Every team has different rules and expectations and--” “--And I’m going to go ahead and assume there’s nothing straighter than Pinstripes, right?” “I’m not sure your joke made a ton of sense, Swan, but, something like that.” She winces, gritting her teeth like she’s nervous she’s the root of this problem that is the exact opposite of that. “Can you get benched in baseball?” “Yes.” “Really?” “Why would you think that I can’t? It’s a sport.” “No, no, I know, but, like...it’s not like basketball or something.” Killian arches an eyebrow, mostly so Emma will click her tongue and roll her eyes and he’s only slightly worried if he does, actually go upstairs, he’ll never actually leave. That’s even more stalker-esque than the number thing. He hopes Elsa isn’t there.

He and Emma have never actually made out on a couch.

It might be a nice change of pace.

“Aw, c’mon,” Emma sighs, palms back on his chest and his fingers keep drifting back to the hem of her shirt. “You know what I mean.” “I promise, love, I absolutely have no idea what you mean.” “I’m mostly just….I don’t know, apologizing? For causing a scene and you’re probably going to end up on SportsCenter and like in The Times right?”

“The New York Times? ”

“That’s a newspaper.” “I’m aware it’s a newspaper, Swan, but I doubt The New York Times is going to care about me or anything I did in right field unless it was catch a ball.” “You did that today,” Emma points out, and Killian is dimly aware of several camera shutter snaps a few feet away. He probably shouldn’t have worn team-branded apparel out.

That will probably be points five through eight on Regina’s inevitable list of all the things he’s done wrong in the last twelve hours.

“I did,” Killian agrees. “Kind of goes with the positional territory and you don’t have anything to apologize for, Swan.” She shakes her head before he’s finished talking, which is only slightly troubling, threatening to move some clouds in front of his metaphorical sun or however it would work. “I mean that’s just objectively untrue. There was yelling and you kept looking over your shoulder and that popcorn guy was so hardcore.” “Did he not tell you his name?” “No, that’s weird right?”

“Eh, I mean he was a little preoccupied distracting that one security guard.” “You saw that?” “Swan, you’ve got to stop acting like I don’t have eyes,” Killian laughs. “Or wasn’t almost painfully aware of you standing in that section.” “You were supposed to be catching foul balls!” “We’re repeating ourselves now. I did that. I promise, The Times does not care about it, I probably won’t get benched, could get benched, will likely get fined and yelled at by my agent, but you’re not punching me for the number thing and I’d really like to come upstairs.” She blinks. That’s not the immediate reaction he was going for, but it’s still not punching, so Killian assumes he’s working with some kind of hitter’s count.

“Thoughts,” Killian presses, and Emma’s eyes widen. They are distractingly green. Something about the Oakland A’s and uniform colors.

“About The New York Times?” “The amount I want to talk about The New York Times or any New York City publication is negligible, Swan. I’d be happy never to mention the newspaper industry again.” “Dying anyway.” “Daily News fired half its staff.” “Really?” Killian nods, the muscles in his face starting to ache from overuse. He’s fairly positive his calves are going to be sore for the rest of the season. It is all worth it. “Did you not know that?” he asks. “That was major news.” “I’ve been kind of busy. Unpacking and filling out paperwork. You know the NYPD makes you fill out a shit ton of paperwork before they’ll give you a badge.” “Yeah, I’d imagine.” Emma hums, but there’s nothing nervous about it. It sounds a bit like flirting. Killian hopes it continues to be a lot like flirting. For the rest of the season.

And longer.

“If I ask you to come upstairs again is that going to be weird?” “Nah,” he promises. “Unnecessary, but I did recently go to media training and I’m more than willing to answer questions on some sort of perpetual loop.” She smiles.

His heart bursts into flames.

“An incredibly impressive athlete,” Emma mutters. Her fingers are back on the front of his shirt, tugging lightly on fabric as she keeps smiling at him and definitely flirting with him. “C’mon, I unpacked my coffee mugs like as soon as I got here.”

There isn’t an elevator in her building, which isn’t doing much to help the state of Killian’s calves, but at some point Emma’s fingers lace through his and nothing really matters after that.

And he’s not entirely sure what he expected from a two-bedroom apartment in Chelsea, but walking into the room is like walking into a memory and it’s soft and warm and there’s a woman sitting on the couch.

That may make it difficult to make out there.

“Oh my God,” the woman breathes, eyes going wide and mouth hanging open and Emma’s hand tightens a fraction of an inch. Killian glances at her, a flash of a smile and something that might be a wink, but he’s admittedly a bit out of flirting practice and possibly losing what little control he had on the day.

The couch creaks when, presumably, Elsa jumps off it, crossing the space in a few, quick steps and Emma hisses in a breath. “You’re Killian Jones,” Elsa says, and it sounds like an accusation. He nods, the words getting caught in his throat and the vice-like grip Emma has on his hand. “You’re Killian Jones and you’re here. In my apartment. Well, our apartment. That’s...that’s a thing that is happening. I thought Mary Margaret was kidding.” “Wait, what?” Emma asks sharply. “You talked to Mary Margaret?” “Hours ago. I was honestly getting ready to send out some kind of search party. Did you guys walk back from the Bronx?” “Like 86th Street.” “Yuh huh.” “Got food.” “Right.” “Talked.” “Naturally.” Killian does his best to take a deep breath, but he feels like he’s being judged and evaluated for his trade stock again and Emma hasn’t ever let go of his hand. He tries to focus on that. It feels important.

Elsa’s eyes flicker towards him, a wry smile on her face. “You guys have made the news already,” she says, easy as anything and Emma curses loudly.

“Already, huh?” Killian asks. HIs voice doesn’t actually shake, which is as nice as it is surprising, but he knew it was going to happen as soon as his feet moved towards the warning track in the seventh inning and he’d absolutely spent the rest of the game glancing over his shoulder to make sure Emma was really there.

“I think there was some talk during the game, actually. Michael Kay was scandalized. Paul O’Neill thought it was kind of nice, I guess, at least that’s what David said and--” “--You talked to David about this too?” Emma interrupts, voice rising on every syllable and, that time, it’s Killian’s turn to squeeze his hand lightly.

“Was he the one that was going to kill me?” he asks.

Emma groans, but Elsa laughs softly, nodding as if she fully expected the conversation to deviate to murder plans and Paul O’Neill’s romantic tendencies. “You should absolutely be worried about that,” Elsa says. “Because he’s a huge Yankees fan and he was super excited when you got traded her.” Emma’s eyes look dangerously close to falling out of her face.

“What?” Elsa asks.

“No one thought to mention that?” Emma yells. She still hasn’t let go of Killian’s hand. He’s probably not counting the seconds or anything.

“No one knew that you knew Killian Jones.”

“I didn’t realize that was a prerequisite for knowing things! And it’s not really...I mean--” “--It’s been awhile,” Killian finishes. “What do you think we should name the popcorn guy? He didn’t introduce himself apparently.” Elsa laughs and Emma’s whole body sags with the force of her exhale, head landing on Killian’s shoulder in a familiar kind of way that makes his whole soul ache. That may also have something to do with all those blocks they walked and Regina is going to rip him apart.

Literally.

He has no idea how he’s going to swing a baseball bat tomorrow.

“So you just want to name him yourself?” Elsa asks, laughter clinging to the words. Killian nods.

“Feels rude to just keep referring to him as popcorn guy.” “Right, right, naturally. Did you know it was Emma as soon as he turned around?” He nods. “Immediately.” “Oh that’s stupid,” Emma sighs, both Killian and Elsa gaping at her and he refuses to be blamed for whatever his pulse does at the dejected tone of her voice. “No, no, not like that,” she continues. “Just...I mean I grew up, right?” Killian nods again. “I’m fairly certain that’s how the world works, love.” “Right, right, but you knew it was me.” “You knew it was me,” he says. “And you don’t even get to blame the uniform. No last names on pinstripes.” “A tradition like no other.” “That’s the Master’s.”

She laughs, soft and easy and her smile has already worked its way into several different corners of his being, tiny pinpricks of light that are far too sentimental for one day, but Killian knew it was her as soon as he turned around and he figure that has to count for something.

Everything.

“Why do you know that?”

“Why are you quoting taglines for sports you’re not aware of?” “I think you just like arguing with me?” “Not like that,” Killian argues, almost forgetting about Elsa entirely and there are goosebumps on Emma’s arms when he brushes his fingers over her shoulders. “It’s just--” “--Yeah, it kind of felt that way, didn’t it?”

“Exactly.” They haven’t actually said anything, not really, but they’re only a few feet into a three-story walkup in Chelsea and there’s still a roommate standing there and some overpaid SportsCenter anchor detailing the craziest thing you’ll see in baseball this season, and everything feels heavy and light and it would be easier if they were making out on the couch.

Killian doesn’t know why he’s so obsessed with the goddamn couch.

“I think the popcorn guy’s name is Bryan,” Elsa announces.

“What?”

“Bryan.” Emma jerks back when she repeats the name, eyebrows pulled low and she’s close enough to Killian that he’s a little worried he’s going to step on her feet. He keeps trying to occupy the same space as her. “Bryan,” Emma echoes, and Elsa shrugs. “Bryan the popcorn guy?”

“You got a better name? Also, shouldn’t he get kicked out for throwing popcorn at the field?” “We weren’t actually right on field level. I don’t think he’s got that good an arm.” “Aw, poor Bryan.” “We’re going to start calling him that and it’s not going to wind up being his name and that’s just going to be weird.” “You think you’re going to run into Bryan the popcorn guy again?” Elsa asks pointedly. Killian wonders if she’s a lawyer. It feels like they’ve just admitted to something.

He really hopes so.

There’s a blush to Emma’s cheeks, teeth digging into her lower lip and Elsa smiles triumphantly. “Maybe Bryan could buy you some peanuts next game or something. He’s getting his fifteen minutes because of you guys. Or CrackerJacks. Do they make CrackerJacks anymore?”

“That’s how the song goes isn’t it?” Emma asks. “Yes, but you were pretty busy during the seventh-inning stretch.” The blush gets….blushier.

That’s not a word.

He absolutely does not care.

“Aw, that wasn’t even clever,” Emma mutters. Elsa shrugs again.

“And they definitely still make CrackerJacks,” Killian adds. “They sell them at the Stadium, although I’m more partial to sunflower seeds during the game.” “No bubble gum, huh?” Elsa asks.

Killian opens his mouth to say something about even the thought of bubble gum is the worst thing in the world, but Emma answers before he can. “He got drunk on bubble gum flavored vodka once,” she explains, Elsa’s expression unreadable.

She’s definitely a lawyer.

“Did I ever actually introduce myself?” Killian shakes his head. “Not officially, no.” “Ah, that’s rude isn’t it? I’m so sorry.” Elsa thrusts her hand out in the space between them, a strong grip that’s not quite intimidating, but she was sitting on the couch and very likely waiting for Emma to come home and Killian can’t stop the groan that falls out of him when he hears his name coming from the general area of the TV.

“I think you guys are the lead story,” Elsa continues.

“God, of course we are,” Emma mumbles. And, reasonably, Killian knows he shouldn’t be thrilled by all of this, but yesterday he was sure Emma Swan was a distant memory and possible what if, but now her hand is wrapped up in his and it’s a little sweaty and a little warm and he really can’t stop thinking of sun-type puns.

So, honestly, he couldn’t care less about what’s supposed to happen when he’s far too preoccupied with what he wants and he pulls his phone out of his back pocket, turning it back on and pointedly ignoring the notifications on his screen.

He turns, flipping his wrist and presenting Emma with the phone. She lifts her eyebrows. “Am I supposed to know what that means?” “Tomorrow?” Killian asks, and it’s a shit way to ask her out on a second date, but he might be asking a hell of a lot more and he suddenly realizes he’d used the word everything before.

And she hadn’t objected to it.

“Is it supposed to be doing that?” “What?”

Emma nods towards the phone, lit up like it’s goddamn Times Square and they’d successfully avoided that on their trek downtown. “I think you’re under attack. And being called and texted at the same time.” “God, she needs to relax,” Killian mumbles, but he knows that’s like hoping tourists don’t stop and take photos in the middle of Times Square. He all but slams his thumb into the ignore button and Emma can’t quite keep her laugh quiet, which does something entirely unfair to several of Killian’s body parts, but he was woefully bad at science in high school and he never went to college and he’s spent way too much time thinking about the sun.

“Agent?”

“You’re a genius, Swan.” “That sounds a little like you’re making fun.” “I’m trying very hard to ask you out again.”

The blush turns into something else entirely, her lips pressed together and it almost feels as if his ribs are expanding and contracting at the same time. It’s not entirely unpleasant. It’s kind of warm in the way that home is supposed to be warm.

Elsa mumbles something about telling David to stop the search, but it’s white noise and Emma’s fingers brush over the back of his palm when she pulls the phone out of his hand.

“Yeah?” she asks softly, and Killian’s going to do permanent damage to his neck from nodding. It’ll be worth it.

He’s a sentimental, emotional sap and only kind of disappointed he didn’t actually hit that home run into section 203.

He figures he’s got the rest of the season to do it.

“Yeah,” Killian says. “So, uh….I don’t know what you’re schedule is like, but if there’s a chance you want to be in the Bronx again tomorrow. I can probably--” He doesn’t finish. Again. She’s kissing him and he’s kissing her and the floorboards make noise when Elsa moves towards her room, and it might not be the best first impression in the history of the world, but Emma makes a noise that Killian is suddenly determined to hear every day for the rest of his life, so that kind of takes precedence.

“Does that mean this was a date?” Emma asks.

“I’m a little disappointed that wasn’t more obvious.”

“Guess you’ll have to work on it the second time through the lineup.”

“That’s the greatest joke you’ve ever made.” “Now you’re just trying to woo me.” “Is it working?” She looks up, meeting his gaze and it’s all even and green and easy and his phone is still ringing in her hand. “Absolutely,” Emma promises. “And I’m off again tomorrow so if you want to prove your baseball importance and get me tickets or something then--” She doesn’t finish.

They need to stop this.

They absolutely do not need to stop this.

They spend a few more moments kissing in the middle of her apartment, and Killian hardly notices when his phone clatters to the floor. Emma exhales against him, fingers carding through the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Deal,” Killian says, bigger than four letters or one phone number exchange and it takes a few prolonged minutes to actually get his legs to agree to leaving that apartment.

He does, eventually, answer Regina’s calls, letting her shout and scream and mutter what an idiot no less than forty-two consecutive times, and she huffs when he asks about getting tickets for tomorrow’s game, but there’s a shout in the background and Robin was always kind of romantic anyway.

“Let him do it,” Robin calls. “Think about the pub.” “That’s not why we’re doing this,” Killian argues. It’s a losing battle.

Regina makes a noise like she’s thinking or considering profit margins and how this could all translate into an endorsement deal and the couch in Killian’s apartment is incredibly uncomfortable. He ignores that realization.

“Can you do it Regina?” he asks impatiently.

“Are you kidding me?” “Well you’re just grunting into the phone and I’ve got some police officer out for my head and his wife is questionably intimidating--” “--Wait, you’re intimidated by the police officer or his wife?” Robin asks, and it sounds like Regina has put the call on speaker phone.

Killian rolls his eyes. “That’s an antiquated question, Locksley.” “That’s a genuine question because this is a confusing situation. Were you pining over this girl forever is that honestly what’s going on?” “She’s not a girl.” There’s an almost too loud silence on the other end of the phone and Killian practically growls when he slumps down. And then Regina laughs.

Loudly.

So, maybe, he’s just descended entirely into madness. He hopes not. It would be really disappointing if this whole day was just a byproduct of his subconsciousness desperate desire to find Emma Swan again.

“Do you love her?” Regina asks pointedly, and now Robin is laughing and Killian might be dying. It would probably be more comfortable than this conversation. “Is that really what’s going on?” “Ah, c’mon, Gina, that’s romantic,” Robin sighs.

“Jones. I asked you a question.” “He always sucked at media training.” “That is patently untrue,” Killian counters, and he’s walked himself right into this corner. He’s going to blame popcorn guy.

He should probably buy popcorn guy goddamn season tickets.

“So then answer the question,” Regina says.

“No comment.” “That’s a yes,” Robin crows, and Killian can’t actually slide any further down the couch without twisting his spine into a wholly unnatural position.

“That’s not a yes.” “Sounded like a yes!” “Mills, can you control your husband,” Killian seethes, but there’s not actually much venom in the words and that’s only marginally frustrating.

“Look who’s antiquated now,” Regina mutters. “And are we only referring to each other by last name now?” “You started it.” “You are a child.” “No, he’s not,” Robin argued. It sounded like he was jumping up and down. “He’s in love and he wants to barter for this lady’s affections with seats in the box. Is that a better word, Jones?” “What is with the last name thing?” Regina asks sharply, and Killian’s eyes hurt when he squeezes them closed.

He’s going to bite his lip in half.

“Can you do it, Regina or do I have to call someone from...I don’t know, guest services?”

“That’s not the department you’d call at all guest services is for, like, groups and making sure there are first aid kits available.”

“If I make a joke about the state of your heart and your current need for first aid regarding your romantic life are you going to hit me the next time you see me?” Robin asks. It’s difficult to understand the question when he laughs it out though.

“Yes,” Killian answers simply. “I need you both to stop being so goddamn weird about this.” More silence.

Deafening silence.

The kind of silence that also threatens to hurt his spine.

“We can be not weird about this,” Regina says eventually, and that’s only kind of weird because it is absolutely the first time she’s ever said the word weird in real life. Killian’s mouth twitches. “But I’m thinking the love of your life probably won’t actually want to sit in the team box. She didn’t seem the type.” “You got that from the spot on SportsCenter?” “And a detailed breakdown of her and her friends from Ariel. I’d be worried about the police officer’s wife though. Sounded determined.” “She should be.” “He’s totally in love with her,” Robin mumbles, and Killian can’t bring himself to object. It’d probably be a lie anyway.

That’s not nearly as weird as it should be.

And Regina is as good as her word, she gets tickets, plural, in section 203 and Killian turns during roll call to find himself face to face with the goddamn sun. There’s light shining off her hair, tucked under a hat that makes her ears look almost ridiculous, but in the best kind of way and he never knows how he knows, because there’s no number on the front of her shirt, but she doesn’t have to turn around.

He knows.

He’s probably been in love with her since he was eighteen.

He figures that has something to do with it.

And whatever happens to every single nerve ending in his body when he realizes Emma is wearing his number in right field and smiling at him and he’s not great at winking, but Killian certainly makes an effort. He can’t quite hear her laugh over the din of the crowd and the next name on roll call, but he knows exactly what it sounds like and the force of her smile when she meets his gaze is only a little staggering.

Killian jumps when he hears the crack of a bat on ball and he only has a few seconds to react, but that’s all he needs. He’s kind of fueled on the metaphorical fire of Emma’s eyes anyway and his legs ache when he runs.

He runs as fast as he ever has.

The ball lands in his glove and he hasn’t actually practiced his fundamentals in years, but the cheers sound louder than normal and his ears are ringing a bit and Killian’s shoulder hurts when he slams into the wall.

His head snaps around immediately, looking for something he’s, at least, seventy-two percent certain he’s going to find, and Emma’s still smiling.

She’s also jumping. On the bleacher.

And yelling.

“What?” Killian shouts, throwing the ball back to the second-baseman and Regina is going to kill him, bring him back to life and then kill him again. He still can’t hear her.

“Again, Jones?” Scarlet laughs. He jogs towards the wall, glove tucked under his arm and an expression that’s somewhere between amused and incredulous.

That’s fair.

“Oh is that her?” Scarlet continues, nodding towards Emma and she’s standing with a guy who is probably the police detective. The police detective looks a little stunned. He doesn’t appear to be handling this as well as Mary Margaret was.

Maybe Killian will mention that at some point. It might earn him some extra points with Mary Margaret.

Killian makes a noise he hopes is an agreement in the back of his throat. “I can’t understand what she’s saying.” “Ah, that’s because you made some crazy catch in the outfield. Fans will fan, y’know. And, hey, maybe now that’ll lead SportsCenter and they won’t talk about this. Whatever this is.” “I doubt that,” Eric, the center fielder married to Ariel who is probably only too aware of what this is, objects. “Is she yelling a name?”

“It looks like she’s trying to direct planes at LaGuardia.” “JFK is a far superior airport. There’s all that construction at LaGuardia.” “Jesus Christ,” Killian mumbles, working a laugh out of both of them, but Scarlet is kind of right and Emma is pointing at the popcorn guy. He waves. “Oh, damn, it is a name. Swan, you’ve got to enunciate!” She scowls, the eye roll barely visible. Scarlet rests his forearm on Killian’s shoulder, using him as leverage to take in the crowd that’s still screaming and they’re all going to get suspended. Rob Manfred’s going to walk to Yankee Stadium and give them forty-game bans personally.

“Anyone tell you it’s super adorable that you’ve got a nickname for her?” Scarlet asks.

“That’s her name,” Killian reasons.

“Mmhm, didn’t Ariel say it was a nickname?” Eric nods. “Was adamant about it. And how lovestruck Jones was while he was trying to stalk this lady, but I mean we were there for that too.” “You tell her you didn’t need that part of the update?” “You met my wife?” “Fair,” Scarlet chuckles.

“Both of you shut up,” Killian snaps. “I can’t hear her. Swan, we’ve got to stop doing this. I’ve got to go hit!” She rolls her whole head that time, shoulders sagging with the force of her huff and it’s difficult not to be attracted to that. “His name’s not Bryan,” Emma yells, and popcorn guy is still waving.

The police detective has not blinked in days. At least. David. The police detective’s name is David. Emma told Killian that in front of Columbus Circle the day before.

“It’s not Bryan the popcorn guy,” Emma continues. “It’s Miles the popcorn guy!”

“Miles,” Killian repeats, her smile getting wider at the stunned tone of his voice.

“Miles the popcorn guy.” “Hey, Jones,” Miles says. He’s going to dislocate his shoulder from waving so much. “Nice catch! We’re, uh...ignore those message boards. The real fans are psyched you’re finally in pinstripes. Long time coming, huh?” “Something like that.” Will is never going to stop laughing and there are footsteps moving towards them, an umpire or Rob Manfred coming to get them out of the outfield and actually playing the game they’re paid millions of dollars to play.

It’s probably not Manfred though. There’d be way more booing from the fans in section 203.

“Have we walked into the Twilight Zone?” Eric asks.

“That’s a fair question, actually,” Killian admits.

“Does Miles only eat popcorn? That can’t be healthy.” “I haven’t done a detailed study of his dietary habits, strange as that may seem.” “At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised. Shit, we’re all get going to get fined for your romance.”

“It’s nice though,” Will argues. “Makes our storied franchise more relatable to the public. Right? I bet Jones’ agent has figured out a way to spin it. She kind of terrifies me.” “I’m going to tell her that,” Killian warns.

Will ignores him, waving a hand through the air and Emma’s eyebrows jump when the words fly out of his mouth. “Hey, hey! Jones’ girlfriend! You got a name? It’s going to be weird if you come into the clubhouse and I don’t know what your name is.” David blanches. That’s fair too. The whole thing is a seemingly never-ending farce.

“Emma,” she answers, and her voice doesn’t shake. If anything, it gets louder. The umpire or league rep or whoever stops moving behind them. Killian isn’t sure he’s still breathing.

It’s still not all that uncomfortable.

“Ok,” Will says, as if that’s that. “Cool. Emma and Miles the popcorn guy and who do you think is going to play you when they make the movie of this?” “Excuse me?” “Oh my God, Scarlet, what did we just talk about?” Killian groans. “Shut up.” He grins, eyebrows jumping up his forehead and excitement practically palpable around him. “I'm thinking….like one of the Chris’s, y’know? What about the guy with you, Emma? You good with Chris Evans, police detective guy?” “How did you know that?” David asks.

“Word gets around a clubhouse quick. You going to duel Jones for Emma’s honor or, like, what are your thoughts on this?” “If he’s not an idiot and keeps making catches like that in right field.” “Shit,” Eric mumbles, but there’s a hint of humor to that too. “Lofty expectations.”

David shrugs. “The first one was more important.” Killian salutes. It’s ridiculous. He’s going to have to sign another extension to pay for all the fines he’s racking up.

“You going to guarantee a home run on back to back days or is that too much to ask?” Emma asks.

Killian tilts the brim of his hat up. “Are you asking?”

“Was that not obvious?” “Maybe we should work on that some more. Being more specific.” “At least a double. Against the shift.”

“You’ve got a deal, love.”

He would never say he did it on purpose. Not in front of all those fans and a police detective who couldn't seem to decide whether or not he wanted to glare at Killian or keep cheering for him and certainly not with two incredibly opinionated teammates standing next to him, but he might have done it on the hope that it would be alright and Emma hadn’t objected to girlfriend. So he didn’t do it on purpose, but he might have done it selfishly and needily and that second one isn’t a word.

Emma smiles.

“Alright, alright, c’mon Casanova,” Eric chuckles, yanking on the back of Killian’s jersey and the number that matches Emma’s.

He hits a single, and it’s absurd to be disappointed by that, particularly when it does beat the shift, but Killian had used the word everything and he meant it and means it and all incarnations of all tenses.

They make the backpage of The Post the next day.

Robin cackles when he shoves the entire paper into the phone screen, calling because they’re in Tampa now and Emma had come into the clubhouse after they beat the Orioles again.

Will shook her hand.

And it just kind of goes from there.

It’s chaotic and stressful and there is so much baseball during the regular season and then even more during the postseason because they win the Wild Card in the Bronx with Emma wearing her number in section 203 of the bleachers.

Regina had tried to get her to move into the team suite – ”It’s the playoffs, Ms. Swan, you shouldn’t have to be out there with all the normal fans.” “I’m sorry, what?” “Regina, are you suggesting there are levels of fans?” – but that had worked as well as Killian expected it to and he wasn't sure there was a bigger New York Yankees fan in the entire world than Emma.

Will and Robin had both laughed when she’d called after that Boston game, shouting about intent and should have charged him and nothing Killian had said got her to stop. Even after David promised she’d lost her mind during the broadcast.

Emma leads roll call when the Yankees come back home after the Boston series. It’s on SportsCenter again.

“We should be getting royalties from this,” Killian complains, but she kisses him silent and they really are very good at making out on a variety of couches.

And they keep winning.

There are more games and more series and then it’s the Series and the words are out of his mouth before he can really process what he’s saying.

“Do...do you,” Killian starts, tucked against Emma in a room with frames on the wall. She helped pick them out. And fill them.

“Do I what?” “I really want you to be there, Swan.” Her teeth find her lower lip, shoulders shifting when she takes a deep breath through her nose and Killian counts the seconds. Ten. Ten full seconds until she answers.

Or asks. “Yeah?”

He nods, the pillow rumpling underneath his cheek, and wills his heart not to beat out of his chest. It’s a close call. “More than anything.” “Should probably make Regina get tickets.” “Please don’t talk about Regina before I’m going to try and make out with you, love.” “Only try?” Killian grins and Emma laughs and they don’t get a ton of sleep before he has to get on a plane, but she gets on a different plane and when the ball lands in his glove in a right field that’s not his, he’s certain his whole body erupts into flames.

Of joy. Or happiness. Or perfection.

Because they won.

And Emma is there.

It just takes some time to find her.

There are cheers and Gatorade dumps and Killian’s uniform is plastered to him by the time he works his way towards home plate and a line of family and friends with credentials hanging around their neck and some FOX intern is already trying to get him back towards the mound.

He is, apparently, going to win some kind of award.

Oh shit, he might be the MVP of the World Series. Huh.

Killian doesn’t see her at first, but he hears her, shouts of his name and what might be his number and no one’s referred to by number only since his days in single-A, but it’s kind of endearing when Emma does it and he nearly knocks over the barricade.

She helps when she jumps towards him.

“Nice catch,” Emma whispers, but that’s as much as she says before he’s kissing her and she’s kissing him and it’s good and great and goddamn fantastic.

His lips slant over hers and her fingers find their way back into his hair, drifting to the drenched collar of his jersey, and Killian swears he can actually feel Emma’s laughter in the very middle of him when he tugs her closer. One of her shoes falls off.

“I love you,” Killian says, not the first time he’s told her or promised her, but this feels different and even more important and he has to blink when Emma leans back and beams at him.

Like the goddamn sun.

“I love you too.”

The barricade falls over with an impossibly loud crash and someone who is almost certainly Scarlet laughs, a phone in his hand and more laughter from New York and Regina shouts stop making out for two seconds, you’re ruining the TV schedule and she’s kind of got a point.

“I’ll be right back,” Killian mutters.

Emma nods. “I’m counting on it.”

There are more pictures and no one bothers to put the barricade back up and the kiss winds up on the cover of Sports Illustrated a headline about “New York State of Mind” that doesn’t entirely make sense, but they all buy a dozen copies and it looks good in a frame on the apartment Killian and Emma get together.

And there’s more to it all – a life and unexpected challenges and games that criss-cross the country, but Emma only ever sits in section 203 and Killian comes back home after every road swing and there are more questions and more answers and he changes his number eventually.

They’ve got a new birthday to celebrate and both Emma and Killian are positive he’s going to have one hell of an arm in right field.

[bountyofbeads]

Trump Admits He Spoke to Ukraine About Biden; Pressure to Impeach Builds https://www.nytimes.com/2019/09/22/us/politics/trump-impeachment-whistle-blower.html

Let’s be clear about terms here. Trump didn’t try to extort “opposition research” on Biden from Ukraine. He tried to extort Ukraine into *ginning up disinformation* about Biden, and cloaking it in the seeming legitimacy of a law enforcement investigation.

We had this same problem of terminology throughout the Russia investigation, too. Trump and his campaign didn’t solicit “opposition research” on Hillary Clinton. They solicited computer crimes and stolen documents. Opposition researchers don’t do that.

As Trump Confirms He Discussed Biden With Ukraine, Pressure to Impeach Builds

Speaker Nancy Pelosi warned of a “new chapter of lawlessness” and a turning point in the House investigation of President Trump.

By Nicholas Fandos, Jonathan Martin  and Maggie Haberman | Published Sept. 22, 2019 Updated Sept. 23, 2019, 9:21 a.m. ET | New York Times | Posted September 23, 10:00 AM ET |

WASHINGTON — President Trump acknowledged on Sunday that he raised corruption accusations against former Vice President Joseph R. Biden Jr. during a phone call with Ukraine’s leader, a stunning admission as pressure mounted on Democrats to impeach Mr. Trump over allegations he leaned on a foreign government to help damage a political rival.

In public and in private, many Democrats said the evidence that has emerged in recent days indicating that Mr. Trump pushed the Ukrainian government to investigate Mr. Biden, and his administration’s stonewalling of attempts by Congress to learn more, were changing their calculations about whether to charge him with articles of impeachment.

The influential chairman of the House Intelligence Committee, who has resisted such action, said the House might now have “crossed the Rubicon” in light of the new disclosures, and the administration’s withholding of a related whistle-blower complaint. A group of moderate freshman lawmakers who had been opposed to an impeachment inquiry said they were considering changing course, while other Democrats who had reluctantly supported one amplified their calls. Progressives, meanwhile, sharpened their criticisms of the party’s leadership for failing to act.

The fast-moving developments prompted Speaker Nancy Pelosi to level a warning of her own to the White House: Turn over the secret whistle-blower complaint by Thursday, or face a serious escalation from Congress.

In a letter to House Democrats, Ms. Pelosi never mentioned the word “impeachment,” but her message hinted at that possibility.

“If the administration persists in blocking this whistle-blower from disclosing to Congress a serious possible breach of constitutional duties by the president, they will be entering a grave new chapter of lawlessness which will take us into a whole new stage of investigation,” Ms. Pelosi, Democrat of California, wrote in the letter.

The allegations center on whether Mr. Trump pressured Ukraine’s newly elected leader, implicitly or explicitly, to take action to hurt Mr. Biden’s election bid at a vulnerable moment for the former Soviet republic, possibly using United States military aid as leverage. Ukraine has been fighting Russian-backed separatists, and the Trump administration had temporarily been withholding a $250 million package of military funding. There have been no indications to this point, however, that Mr. Trump mentioned the aid money on the call.

Mr. Trump showed no sign of contrition on Sunday, telling aides that Democrats were overplaying their hand on a matter voters would dismiss. Publicly, he worked to focus attention not on his own actions but on Mr. Biden’s.

Speaking to reporters, the president defended his July phone call with President Volodymyr Zelensky of Ukraine as entirely appropriate, and stopped short of directly confirming news reports about what was discussed. But he acknowledged that he had discussed Mr. Biden during the call and accused the former vice president of corruption tied to his son Hunter’s business activities in the former Soviet republic.

“The conversation I had was largely congratulatory, with largely corruption, all of the corruption taking place and largely the fact that we don’t want our people like Vice President Biden and his son creating to the corruption already in the Ukraine,” Mr. Trump told reporters before leaving for a trip to Texas and Ohio.

It is still far from clear that the latest scandal surrounding Mr. Trump’s conduct will lead Ms. Pelosi or other top Democrats to bless full impeachment proceedings and a vote. The House Judiciary Committee is already investigating whether to recommend articles of impeachment against Mr. Trump over other matters, but Ms. Pelosi has consistently questioned the strength of the case.

Proponents of impeachment have repeatedly pointed to damaging revelations — including several instances of possible obstruction of justice by Mr. Trump detailed by the special counsel investigating Russia’s interference in the 2016 election — that they believe warrant seeking Mr. Trump’s removal. But they have run into resistance or indifference from their colleagues and the general public, in part because any impeachment proceeding could end in an acquittal by the Republican-controlled Senate.

On Sunday, the pattern appeared to be holding, with the vast majority of Republican lawmakers refraining from comment about the latest allegations against Mr. Trump. A few prominent lawmakers suggested, however, that the White House should disclose the contents of the phone call with Mr. Zelensky.

“I’m hoping the president can share, in an appropriate way, information to deal with the drama around the phone call,” said Senator Lindsey Graham of South Carolina. “I think it would be good for the country if we could deal with it.”

Senator Mitt Romney of Utah, the Republican presidential nominee in 2012, was more critical, deeming it “critical for the facts to come out” and saying, “If the president asked or pressured Ukraine’s president to investigate his political rival, either directly or through his personal attorney, it would be troubling in the extreme.”

At the same time, interviews with more than a dozen Democratic lawmakers this weekend made clear that they believed the latest allegations had the potential to be singularly incriminating, with the potential to advance the impeachment drive just as it appeared to be losing steam. Not only do the allegations suggest that Mr. Trump was using the power of his office to extract political gains from a foreign power, they argued, but his administration is actively trying once again to prevent Congress from finding out what happened.

“I don’t want to do any more to contribute to the divisiveness in the country, but my biggest responsibility as an elected official is to protect our national security and Constitution,” said Representative Debbie Dingell of Michigan, adding that it is “becoming more and more difficult” for Democrats to avoid an all-out impeachment inquiry.

Several first-term lawmakers who had opposed impeachment conferred privately over the weekend to discuss announcing support for an inquiry, potentially jointly, after a hearing scheduled for Thursday with the acting national intelligence director, according to Democratic officials familiar with the conversations. A handful of them declined to speak on the record over the weekend, with some still reluctant to go public and others looking for cues from Ms. Pelosi and their freshman colleagues.

Representative Tom Malinowski, a New Jersey freshman who has supported an inquiry, said the fresh revelations made it clear that Congress must move more decisively.

“There are lines being crossed right now that I fear will be erased if the House does not take strong action to assert them, to defend them,” he said in an interview. “If all we do is leave it up to the American people to get rid of him, we have not upheld the rule of law, we have not set a precedent that this behavior is utterly out of bounds.”

The Intelligence Committee chairman, Representative Adam B. Schiff of California, said Sunday morning that the accumulating evidence of wrongdoing, and of a presidential cover-up unfolding in real time, left the House with few other options. Mr. Schiff spoke with Ms. Pelosi before making his remarks to coordinate their statements, two people familiar with their conversation said, a sign that the speaker may be more comfortable moving toward a direct discussion of impeachment.

“I have been very reluctant to go down the path of impeachment,” Mr. Schiff said on CNN. “But if the president is essentially withholding military aid at the same time he is trying to browbeat a foreign leader into doing something illicit, providing dirt on his opponent during a presidential campaign, then that may be the only remedy that is coequal to the evil that that conduct represents.”

Mr. Schiff first brought the existence of the whistle-blower complaint to light a little more than a week ago, and has been the party’s lead negotiator with the acting director of national intelligence, who has refused to turn it over to Congress.

Progressives in Congress have watched the stonewalling with seething frustration, and in recent days, they have begun to openly second-guess Ms. Pelosi’s go-slow approach.

“At this point, the bigger national scandal isn’t the president’s lawbreaking behavior — it is the Democratic Party’s refusal to impeach him for it,” Representative Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, Democrat of New York, who commands considerable influence among progressives, wrote on Twitter late Saturday night.

Representative Pramila Jayapal, Democrat of Washington and the co-chairwoman of the Progressive Caucus, said in an interview that she was now ready to vote outright to impeach Mr. Trump, rather than simply continuing the investigation, and that she planned to make her case in public.

“There is no congressional authority anymore that we are being allowed to exercise, except the one that we have not exercised yet,” Ms. Jayapal said.

But the more crucial issue is whether Democrats from the districts Mr. Trump won or nearly lost can stomach a push to expel him.

Representative Dina Titus of Nevada said once a transcript is made public of Mr. Trump pressuring Mr. Zelensky, she doubted that even Democrats from competitive seats could continue to resist impeachment.

“Once that comes out,” said Ms. Titus, an impeachment proponent, “I don’t see how they can fight it any longer.”

Strikingly, some traditionally cautious veteran Democrats said the party might have no choice but to move toward impeachment. They believe that Senate Republicans, who are clinging to their majority of 53 seats, would pay a political price for protecting Mr. Trump if they voted to exonerate him in the face of damning evidence of malfeasance and a House vote to impeach.

“They’ve got to take a second look” at impeachment, Terry McAuliffe, the former Virginia governor and national party chairman, who is an ally of Ms. Pelosi, said of fellow Democrats. He predicted that the latest revelations would “push some of our folks over.”

James Carville, the longtime Democratic strategist, said he had opposed impeachment, but now thinks the House should move “quick and clean” after obtaining a transcript of Mr. Trump’s phone call. “Let the Senate Republicans stew,” he said.

A cross-section of comments from readers across America on the latest scandal involving the Trump and his administration and impeachment:

"I'm seeing a lot of comments on here pointing blame at House Democrats for their handling of this. But Democrats aren't the problem here, and lashing out at them only plays right into trump's hands, creating the very divisiveness that helped him in 2016. We must not lose sight of where the true corruption lies. I agree that impeachment is more than warranted at this point. But with Barr's justice department now acting like Trump's personal lawyer, and trump's Republican lackeys trying to protect and enable trump at all costs to the country, Democrats are stuck between a rock and a hard place. House and Senate Democrats are the only ones trying to minimize and limit the damage that Trump's corruption is causing to our country. They're the only ones trying to keep a check on this out-of-control administration. But they face an uphill battle and need leverage. That's up to us. It's up to us to march, to make calls, to write letters, to protest, to boycott, to volunteer, to donate, etc. It'll be up to us to vote blue in 2020 (no matter who), up and down the ticket, in numbers too large to manipulate. If there was ever a time to unite and "walk the walk", this is it."

ROBERTA, KANSAS CITY

"It is time, Speaker Pelosi. We have been patient through the Mueller investigation and final report; we have been patient through Trump’s egregious actions, behavior, lies, bigotry, cruelty, human rights’ violations against desperate refugees, polluting our environment, denying us affordable and accessible health care, ad infinitum. You have your smoking gun, Ms. Pelosi and Chairmen Schiff and Nadler. How much longer are you going to sacrifice our democracy, our Constitution, justice, law, order, peace, and security for political expediency?"

KATHY LOLLOCK, SANTA ROSA CA

"I sided with Pelosi when she advised a thoughtful, patient approach the last time The Squad was clamoring for an impeachment inquiry, realizing that without any Republican support, impeachment would die in the Senate and fire up Trump’s base ahead of the 2020 elections. But enough is enough. Trump openly admits he obstructs justice and conspires with foreign powers, and he does it with sneering impunity. Sure, the GOP would block any of Pelosi’s attempts to hold Trump accountable, but we need to see SOME evidence that our leaders believe in their duty to enforce the rule of law and check the president’s clear abuses of power. The world is watching. Let’s try to save face just a little and show everyone that, although we who stand for the rule of law and the principles that this country were founded upon are down, we are NOT out. Even after winning back the Oval in 2020, it will take some time to restore the dignity the office presidency long held; but, we can start by sending a message that most of us do NOT accept this pretender in chief or his gang of cowardly enablers. It’s time for Pelosi et al to RESIST like the future of our nation depends on it!" FED UP, PA

“The administration is endangering our national security and having a chilling effect on any future whistle-blower who sees wrongdoing,” Speaker Nancy Pelosi wrote in a letter on Sunday. And apparently by their overwhelming silence, members of the GOP are just fine with "endangering our national security and having a chilling effect on any future whistle-blower who sees wrongdoing." Although Trump is their leader, these folks continue to support him by remaining mute. They are equally guilty and complicit in the actions he is allowed to do without consequences. There's so much blame to go around, it's mind boggling."

MARGE KELLER, MIDWEST

" What brought Nixon down was the grievous, unpardonable sin of using the instruments of state—legal and extra-legal—against the other party. Trump probably colluded with Russia to get elected. But he wasn’t yet President, wasn’t yet cloaked in the flag, and hadn’t been able to use the full weight of the nation state to carry out shenanigans and blackmail. This could be a game changer." Michael ROBIN'S, SOUTH DAKOTA

"The Rubicon has indeed been crossed. Speaker Pelosi in her letter’s ultimatum to Trump demands without equivocation that he turn over the whistleblower complaint to Congress instanter or face the immediate prospect of impeachment. She is right to do so. The time has come that it is no longer relevant to the integrity of our form of government whether Trump’s abettors in the Senate choose to share in his ignominy. An analogous question to pose might be whether the FBI and the Justice Department should have declined in the 60’s to go after racial terrorism in anticipation of what kind of verdicts white southern juries might return. There are some things so odious that whatever the immediate outcome may be does not relieve one’s duty to show who we are and what we stand for (and for what we will not). Trump and Barr’s unlawful concealment of the whistleblower complaint from full disclosure to Congress indicates consciousness of guilt." XANADU, FLORIDA

"Please impeach this odious criminal. Netanyahu is out. Boris Johnson is in serious trouble. Trump is on the ropes. Note to Congress: Do your Constitutional duty and began steps toward impeachment. There is no time like the present." SCOTTOPOTTUMAS

"Whether on not the public is paying attention has no bearing on impeachment. The president broke the law, repeatedly. Full stop. We are either a country of laws or a country of lies. It’s way past time for the Democrats to get up and stand for something. They look like a pack of spineless cowards."

SHAWN STEPPER, CA

"When the House of Representatives finally moves to initiate impeachment proceedings, there will be no guarantee of success. However, there will be evidence that surfaces on a daily basis that will both surprise and shock and may move the registration points of citizenry and senators alike. This will escalate what is an already erratic news cycle into one of unseen and perhaps unintended consequences. Not to impeach because you don't have the votes in the Senate is like not getting up in the morning because you are not absolutely certain what will happen that day. Let the adventure begin. Our democracy may well depend on it."

BURHAM HOLMES, VT

"I am afraid that Nancy Pelosi has become very much like Trump in two important respects. One, is that she has repeatedly shown that she is more concerned about the 2020 election and maintaining power than fulfilling her constitutional duty to remove Trump from office for many high crimes and misdemeanors. Secondly, she has threatened (huffed and puffed) far more times than she has acted-well, she hasn't yet-period. I realize that it is an uphill fight to get the Senate to convict. I will, however, point out that, although a different time and era, many thought the same thing applied with Richard Nixon. It is amazing how public pressure can build, as it is now, when the facts and details about wrong-doing in the Oval Office begin to emerge. Republicans are already running scared about 2020. Witness the increasing number of those choosing not to seek re-election. Putting themselves in the position of voting to keep Trump in office in the light of his many transgressions, including the latest, which one could confidently argue amounts to treason (putting personal interests above his oath of office), may be a "bridge too far" for some Republican Senators." SAVKS, ATLANTA

Every time DJT does something incredibly foolish and stupid, I tell myself, "Well, I guess we've hit rock-bottom". And, then he does something even more foolish and stupid. Wake up America! We elected a buffoon. And, it's time to end this colossal mistake. PHILO, ALBANY NY

Perhaps they are waiting to see if he actually does shoot someone on 5th Ave. before they decide to impeach. DR. TLS, AUSTIN TX

It’s important that we define the real problem here. Whether or not Trump promised an explicit quid pro quo regarding financial aid to Ukraine is not the point and may not be provable. We don’t need to prove a criminal act such as bribery. What we have here is proof that Trump is using the position and powers of the presidency to pressure a foreign government to intervene in our electoral process by investigating an opposing candidate. This is clear abuse of the office and the public trust. Speaker Pelosi, enforce the subpoenas with the inherent power of the Congress, force the facts to come out and then, impeach. It’s time." MICHELE, SEATTLE WA

"I think Trump genuinely doesn't understand the gravity of what this phone call evidence means. He is still trying to convince us that any president would do what he did, that it's perfectly acceptable to tell a foreign government to investigate a political opponent in return for payment of foreign aid to that country. Trump is so mired in corruption that I really don't think he understands what the big deal is. And, unfortunately many of his followers don't either. Many Americans still believe that "all politicians do this stuff," and don't want to accept how far off from even the normal quid pro quo in politics this is. Trump's corruption has so skewed what we view as acceptable behavior by presidents that many Americans are not in the least concerned. Trump doesn't seem to sense how far he's gone, and neither do his fans." MS. PEA, SEATTLE

"I think the existence of a tape changed some people's minds. The Zelensky transcript will undoubtedly become public in an impeachment inquiry. You'll have evidence straight from the horse's mouth. If Senate Republicans decline to convict, Democrats can hold it against them in 2020. The optics aren't going to look good for Republicans. Add to this the Inspector General's determination of urgent and serious misconduct. Michael Atkinson was a Trump appointee confirmed by a Republican Senate. Mitch McConnell's discomfiture will increase accordingly. That's before considering the legal process concerning an urgent complaint. You might not get to 60 votes but this matter is clear in a way that Mueller's obstruction claim was not. If the Zelensky transcript really is innocuous, the White House will fold by Thursday. If Trump digs-in, it doesn't matter what the whistleblower complaint ultimately reveals, Democrats will be absolved for beginning impeachment proceedings. Withholding the complaint is obstruction, plain and simple. Win-win. “Let the Senate Republicans stew.”" ANDY, SALT LAKE CITY, UT

If Trump is allowed to continue on like this, there won’t be any point in an election in 2020. He’s subverting democracy right before our eyes. We don’t need the senate to vote to convict. We need the evidence to come out so we know what it is. And congress has the power to get the evidence. They MUST do so. WORTHINGTON, HOUSTON

"How pathetic that Republicans continue to sit around and twiddle their thumbs while trump rips up our democracy and laughs in our faces about it. If Republicans can't work up the backbone to speak up for the U.S. and the Rule of Law, then democracy is already lost." DEJIKINS, ROCHESTER

" As someone who has been skeptical but mildly supportive of impeachment, for the sake of holding the administration accountable to the rule of law, this for me is a turning point. Even the mildest of observers will have no doubt trump is capable of doing what he is being accused of, but to have evidence of a phone call is extraordinary. If/when that comes to light he will say that the Democrats altered his voice and that it’s a fake tape. And 35% of Americans will actually believe him. This is not the same news cycle as when Nixon was impeached and having dualing realities between Fox News and everyone else is going to make this much harder. Darker times still ahead..." DANIEL, STOWE VT

"The media and the Democrats are being played. We’ve known for some time that Gulliani went to the Ukraine to employ them for dirt on Biden. Trump knows he can get away with this behavior, and why not? He’s publicly done it before and no one in this craven congress has held him accountable. He requested Russia’s aid for dirt in on Hillary on live television during a national debate! So I don’t buy this “whistleblower” story one bit. I think his team has leaked this story exactly when they meant to, in a way that would dominate the news as loudly and for as long as they could: by packaging it as a scandal. And the NYT, the Democrats, and everyone else are eating it up by are playing right into their hands. None of this will stick and they know it, but they get to revel in the story while the Democrats wring their hands and complain about how unprecedented it all is. Once again, the Dems are playing politics but the GOP is at war." MIKE F, WESTCHESTER

[justastraightupmess]

@snw-cnvs

<head> <style type="text/css"> /**PLEASE don't steal my stuff, friends. You're welcome to edit, but I'd really love it if it wasn't reposted or stolen. I don't ever post my themes on the chance that someone might steal them**/

body { background-color:#fff; font-size:9px; color:#000; overflow-y:hidden; } /**THIS CHANGES THE LOOK OF THE LINKS ON THE PAGE**/ a { color:#000; } /**THIS IS THE TITLES ON THE MUSE PAGES**/ h2 { font-size:15px; font-family:arial; text-align:center; color:#ccc; text-shadow:1px 1px 2px #000; } /** THIS CUSTOMIZES THE QUOTE **/ h3 { font-size:11px; font-family:arial; text-align:center; color:#000; text-shadow:1px 1px 2px #888; }

/** THIS IS THE BOX THAT EVERYTHING IS INSIDE**/ #container { width:500px; height:300px; background-color:#fff; margin-left:350px; margin-top:200px; border:1px solid #eee; overflow:scroll;

}

/**THIS IS THE TITLE BASICALLY**/ #bar{ width:490px; height:30px; background:#000; padding:5px; text-align:right; font-size:20px; text-decoration:underline; font-family:arial; color:#fff; position:fixed; }

#main {        padding:20px;        width: 240px;        margin: 200px auto;        background: #000;        border:1px solid #e2e2e2; }

.tab {    width:400px;    margin: 0 auto;

}

.tab label {    color: #999;    letter-spacing: 2px;    font-size: 8px;    line-height: 14px;    font-weight: bold;    background-color: #eee;    width:160px;    padding:10px;    text-transform: uppercase;    height: 15px;    text-align: center;    cursor: pointer;    display: block;    margin-bottom:-35px;    margin-top:42px;    margin-left:-50px;    }

.tab label:hover {  background: #333;  color:#eee;  }

[type=radio]:checked ~ label {  z-index: 2;  color: #fff;  background: #000; }

.tab [type=radio] {    display: none;  }

.content {    color: #000;    background-color: #fff;    width: 299px;    margin-top: 211px;    margin-left: 130px;    height: 240px;    padding: 10px;    overflow: scroll;    text-align: justify;    position: absolute;    top:30px;    border-left:1px solid #eee;    overflow:auto;    overflow-x:hidden; }

.content a {    color: #999;    padding: 3px;    font-size: 8px;    margin-bottom: 2px;    text-decoration: underline;    text-transform: uppercase; }

.content a:hover {    letter-spacing: 2px;    text-align:center;    color: #666;    font-weight: bold;    padding: 2px;

}

[type=radio]:checked ~ label ~ .content {  z-index: 1; }

/**CREDIT**/

#credit { position:fixed; font-family:'courier'; text-transform:uppercase; font-size:8px; right:9px; bottom:9px; padding:4px; background-color:{color:post background}; letter-spacing:1px; }

#credit a{ color:#eee; }

#credit a:hover{ color:#888; }

</style> </head>

<body>

<div id="container"> <div id="bar"><i>muses</i></div>

<div class="main">

  <div class="tab">   <input type="radio" id="tab-1" name="tab-group-1" checked>   <label for="tab-1">LUKE</label>   <div class="content">     <center><h2><i> —*&; Luke </i></h2></center>   <center><h3><i> active // shipping status: 1/3</i></h3></center><br> <img src="https://i.imgur.com/rcabdng.png"  style="border: 10px solid #ffffff; outline: 1px solid #f0f0f0; margin-left:30px;"> <img src="https://i.imgur.com/ZLFn3q1.png"  style="border: 10px solid #ffffff; outline: 1px solid #f0f0f0;"><br> <h2><i>—*&; General Information</i></h2><br> <b>—NAME.</b>  Luke <br> <b>—NICKNAME/S.</b>  Lou, Lulu <br> <b>—DOB.</b> 18th may (20 yrs old) <br> <b>—GENDER.</b> male <br> <b>—ORIENTATION.</b> bi-curious <br> <b>—ETHNICITY.</i> Adopted; unknown <br> <b>—SPOKEN LANGUES.</b> english, spanish, japanese. <br> <b>—OCCUPATION.</b> studying // part time mechanic. <br> <h2><i>—*&; Appearance & Personality</i></h2><br> <b>—HAIR COLOUR.</b> Black <br> <b>—EYE COLOUR</b> Blue <br> <b>—HEIGHT</b> 185cm 6'1 <br> <b>—BODY BUILD.</b> Fit well toned <br> <b>—TATTOOS + PIERCINGS.</b> none <br> <b>—INTELLIGENCE.</b> high <br> <b>—LIKES.</b> drinking, dogs, problem solving <br> <b>—DISLIKES.</b> bullies,  obnoxious people <br> <b>—PHOBIAS.</b>n/a <br> <b>—DISPOSITION.</b> Sarcasm. So much sarcasm. Usually he's pretty reserved and polite, gives the impression he was raised well. But the more you get to know him the more he'll loosen up. He's pretty kind and selfless, but because of his big size and typically nuetral expression he gets roped into fights a lot.<br>

<h2><i>—*&; Bio</i></h2><br> Luke was adopted by a loving family when he was 6 months old. He’d pretty much always known he wads adopted as his parents looked different to him. But he knew they loved him and never had an issue with it. <br><br>

Although his family was loving, he was put under a lot of pressure. They lived in a small town where everyone knew everyone and you couldn’t get away with anything. His parents were very religious and a little bigoted, which didn’t sit well with him but he never spoke out against them. He was expected to get good grades and behave himself. Which he did. He was always putting pressure on himself to be a good son, feeling like he owed it to his parents for choosing him. He was never top of the class or outstanding in any particular field, but he was always up there. <br><br>

As much as Luke loves his parents, when he turned 18 and it was time to start his next phase of life, he moved away, far away to study. He works part time as a mechanic, having learnt the skills from his father, and studies the rest of the time.

<br><br> MORE TBA

  </div>   </div>

  <div class="tab">   <input type="radio" id="tab-2" name="tab-group-1">   <label for="tab-2">ANDREW</label>   <div class="content"> <center><h2><i> —*&; ANDREW </i></h2></center>   <center><h3><i> active // shipping status: 1/2 </i></h3></center><br> <img src="https://i.imgur.com/uKtLeI0.png"  style="border: 10px solid #ffffff; outline: 1px solid #f0f0f0; margin-left:30px;"> <img src="https://i.imgur.com/FvioeVW.png"  style="border: 10px solid #ffffff; outline: 1px solid #f0f0f0;"><br> <h2><i>—*&; General Information</i></h2><br> <b>—NAME.</b> Andrew Svensson  <br> <b>—NICKNAME/S.</b> Andy, Drew<br> <b>—DOB.</b> 19 years old <br> <b>—GENDER.</b> male <br> <b>—ORIENTATION.</b> (closeted) homosexual <br> <b>—ETHNICITY.</i>English // Swedish // Spanish <br> <b>—SPOKEN LANGUES.</b>English // Swedish // Japenese (adequately) // Spanish (somewhat)  <br> <b>—OCCUPATION.</b> bass player in a band // convenience store // cafe  <br> <h2><i>—*&; Appearance & Personality</i></h2><br> <b>—HAIR COLOUR.</b>blonde.  <br> <b>—EYE COLOUR</b>green  <br> <b>—HEIGHT</b> 167cm. <br> <b>—BODY BUILD.</b>He's in shape, goes for runs to exercize, but is still a little on the lanky side. <br> <b>—TATTOOS + PIERCINGS.</b>N/A <br> <b>—INTELLIGENCE.</b>high <br> <b>—LIKES.</b>Music, coffee, books, quiet peaceful places, cats <br> <b>—DISLIKES.</b> Bullies/rude people, big dogs  <br> <b>—PHOBIAS.</b>n/a <br> <b>—DISPOSITION.</b>He's SUPER socially awkward, he doesn't really get sarcasm most of the time and takes things at face value. He struggles make friends. He's typically very honest, to the point of being blunt and sometimes unintentionally rude. Doesn't mean any harm deep down though. Just a bit of an awkward guy. <br>

<h2><i>—*&; Bio</i></h2><br> When Andrew was 6 years old his mother left him and his father. Andrew was of course sad because of this, but at the time was too young to properly realize what had happened. A few years later when he was 9 his father remarried. Then a year later, 10, his step-mother gave birth to his little sister and brother, twins. <br><br>

Andrew is welcome at his home, his step-mother has always treated him well, but when he turned 18 he chose to move out. His parents worked a lot, and even when they weren’t he was expected to take care of the twins a lot. His father works as a high up in a pretty well off company, and he expects good things from Andrew. So he always felt a bit pressured when it came to grades and the like. Andrew’s family is also very religious, because of this he never felt comfortable coming out to anyone, not even himself fully. All of these reason encouraged him to leave. He loves his family, but he needed some space and freedom.   </div>   </div>

    <div class="tab">   <input type="radio" id="tab-3" name="tab-group-1">   <label for="tab-3">LEVI</label>   <div class="content">   <center><h2><i> —*&; Levi </i></h2></center>   <center><h3><i> semi-active // shipping status: closed </i></h3></center><br> <img src="https://i.imgur.com/b004Pto.png"  style="border: 10px solid #ffffff; outline: 1px solid #f0f0f0; margin-left:30px;"> <img src="https://i.imgur.com/22VlJI6.png"  style="border: 10px solid #ffffff; outline: 1px solid #f0f0f0;"><br> <h2><i>—*&; General Information</i></h2><br> <b>—NAME.</b> Levi Fay <br> <b>—NICKNAME/S.</b> Levy, Lev<br> <b>—DOB.</b> 15th August (20 years old) <br> <b>—GENDER.</b> male <br> <b>—ORIENTATION.</b> Pansexual/romantic <br> <b>—ETHNICITY.</i>Demigod - half greek (god) // half american/english <br> <b>—SPOKEN LANGUES.</b>english, french  <br> <b>—OCCUPATION.</b> studying <br> <h2><i>—*&; Appearance & Personality</i></h2><br> <b>—HAIR COLOUR.</b> Sandy blonde <br> <b>—EYE COLOUR</b> Blue (changes a lot) <br> <b>—HEIGHT</b> 180cm <br> <b>—BODY BUILD.</b>Athletic <br> <b>—TATTOOS + PIERCINGS.</b>none <br> <b>—INTELLIGENCE.</b>fairly intelligent <br> <b>—LIKES.</b>Fashion, trends, flirting, love, styling himself & others <br> <b>—DISLIKES.</b> fighting, getting his hands dirty  <br> <b>—PHOBIAS.</b>n/a <br> <b>—DISPOSITION.</b>Sarcastic, blunt, affectionate, loving, short attention span, obnoxious, self-involved <br> <h2><i>—*&; Abilities</i></h2><br> <b>—LANGUAGE:</b> Ancient greek/latin & French <br> <b>—AMOKINESIS:</b> Has some control over many degrees of control over love, lust, beauty, etc. though on a much smaller scale than his mother. Can attract the opposite gender when he walks by, also has magical control over clothes, makeup, and jewelry, much like the other Aphrodite kids.<br> <b>—CHARMSPEAK:</b> Charmspeaking is a rare type of hypnotism ability that chosen children of Aphrodite possess. A type of hypnotism or persuasion in which it allows the speaker to convince someone else to do or get whatever they want. The strength of the command depends on the tone and the emotion of the charmspeaker's voice, as well as their skill with it. Charmspeak can be negated through a number of ways; people with strong wills or intentions are unaffected, if someone is aware of a persons ability to charmspeak, then it will have a reduced effect, and beings of the same gender tend to have some resistance to charmspeak.

<h2><i>—*&; Bio</i></h2><br> <br> Levi lived alone with his father in his early years. He seemed to always get himself into some sort of trouble, when teased for either his girlish looks or "girlish" likes (such as clothes, dolls, makeup etc) he wouldn't take it quietly and would fight back. Not to mention his ADHD meant it was very hard for him to sit still in class. All this time he never understood why he was so different, it didn't bother him that much but he did wonder why. Until he turned 7 years old and was found by a satyr, then after a long talk with his father, taken off to camp halfblood. He learnt who his mother was; Aphrodite, and everything seemed to now make sense. Levi loves staying at camp halfblood, and would stay there year round but he feels bad for his father. He was already abandoned by his lover (Aphrodite(, then dumped with a kid, he couldn't bare the thought of him being left alone. <br><br>

The more he grew and learnt about what is was to be an Aphrodite kid the more he came into himself. He felt more at home and more confident expressing his interests and likes, now with no shame.<br><br>

He somehow managed to make it through school (not with the best grades). His goal is to study fashion, though it's a little hard avoiding monsters. The older and more powerful he gets the more he attracts. And so he is spending more and more time at camp.   </div>   </div>

      <div class="tab">   <input type="radio" id="tab-4" name="tab-group-1">   <label for="tab-4">AKITO</label>   <div class="content">   <center><h2><i> —*&; Akito </i></h2></center>   <center><h3><i> semi-active // shipping status: multiship</i></h3></center><br> <img src="https://i.imgur.com/4CQS9E9.png"  style="border: 10px solid #ffffff; outline: 1px solid #f0f0f0; margin-left:30px;"> <img src="https://i.imgur.com/6GXex4l.png"  style="border: 10px solid #ffffff; outline: 1px solid #f0f0f0;"><br> <h2><i>—*&; General Information</i></h2><br> <b>—NAME.</b> Akito <br> <b>—NICKNAME/S.</b> Aki<br> <b>—DOB.</b> Unknown (350+) <br> <b>—GENDER.</b> Genderless (can assume whatever gender he pleases, typically male) <br> <b>—ORIENTATION.</b>demiromantic // pansexual  <br> <b>—ETHNICITY.</i>Kitsune <br> <b>—OCCUPATION.</b> >n/a wanders from place to place looking for fun and food <br> <h2><i>—*&; Appearance & Personality</i></h2><br> <b>—HAIR COLOUR.</b> white <br> <b>—EYE COLOUR</b> yellow  <br> <b>—HEIGHT</b> 168cm <br> <b>—BODY BUILD.</b>petite, but well toned muscles. <br> <b>—TATTOOS + PIERCINGS.</b>none <br> <b>—INTELLIGENCE.</b>high <br> <b>—LIKES.</b>having fun, playing tricks, foxes, forests, nature, food, worship, strong or powerful people, respect <br> <b>—DISLIKES.</b> dogs, cities, rude or offensive people, weak people  <br> <b>—PHOBIAS.</b>n/a <br> <b>—DISPOSITION.</b>on the surface he seems friendly and easy going, but it's only a facade. he wants to have fun and play around, being still young in kitsune terms, however he is prone to mood swings and if not shown respect he will lash out. he himself can be pretty disrespectful however, unless he sees you as stronger/more powerful than him. all in all a bit of a brat <br>

<h2><i>—*&; Abilities</i></h2><br> <br>

<b>SHAPESHIFTING:</b> He is able to tranform from his usal form, a (currently) two tailed fox into a human being, either male or female though he usually prefers male. <br> <b>TEETH & CLAWS:</b> He has sharp teeth and claws which he can use to inflict damadge if he wishes.<br> <b>FOXFIRE:</b> He is able to create flames, though as he is young they are not too large and he isn't as skilled at controlling them.<br> <b>ILLUSIONS:</b> A new ability of his, he doesn't have great control over it yet but he is able to create small illusions for a short period of time.

<h2><i>—*&; Bio</i></h2><br> <br>  When he was young he lived with his mother and father and siblings, growing up having the time of his life, playing around the forest with his family. However the happy times quickly came to an end when most of his forest was destroyed in a fire. He was separated from his family and never found them again, not knowing if they are alive or dead. <br><br>

From here he began wandering from place to place, searching for somewhere to settle down and call his own. He’s still rather immature and has a lot to learn, though with the passing years he grows in intelligence, strength and ability.   </div>   </div>

    <div class="tab">   <input type="radio" id="tab-5" name="tab-group-1">   <label for="tab-5">JAYLEN</label>   <div class="content">   <center><h2><i> —*&; Jaylen </i></h2></center>   <center><h3><i> semi-active // shipping status: 1/3</i></h3></center><br> <img src="https://i.imgur.com/Q8fScc2.png"  style="border: 10px solid #ffffff; outline: 1px solid #f0f0f0; margin-left:30px;"> <img src="https://i.imgur.com/0oeLusL.png"  style="border: 10px solid #ffffff; outline: 1px solid #f0f0f0;"><br> <h2><i>—*&; General Information</i></h2><br> <b>—NAME.</b> Jaylen  <br> <b>—NICKNAME/S.</b>Jay <br> <b>—DOB.</b> 22nd November (22 years old) <br> <b>—GENDER.</b> male <br> <b>—ORIENTATION.</b>Pansexual/romantic  <br> <b>—ETHNICITY.</b>(half-vampire) Irish//English mix <br> <b>—SPOKEN LANGUES.</b>english  <br> <b>—OCCUPATION.</b> Student - studying nursing <br> <h2><i>—*&; Appearance & Personality</i></h2><br> <b>—HAIR COLOUR.</b> Amber orange <br> <b>—EYE COLOUR</b> Light brown <br> <b>—HEIGHT</b> 183cm <br> <b>—BODY BUILD.</b>Fit, keeps in good shape. mesomorph. <br> <b>—OTHER.</b>Has very sharp canines. <br> <b>—TATTOOS + PIERCINGS.</b> none <br> <b>—INTELLIGENCE.</b> Average <br> <b>—LIKES.</b>Dogs, helping people, his job, socializing, meat <br> <b>—DISLIKES.</b> Vampires, rude obnoxious people, bullies  <br> <b>—PHOBIAS.</b>n/a <br> <b>—DISPOSITION.</b> Jaylen is super friendly and kind to everyone. He's a bit of a dudebro, he likes to have fun rather than be serious all the time. He's very empathetic and finds it easy to amkes friends<br> <b>MENTAL DISORDERS.</b> Mild depression  <br> <b> WHEN DIAGNOSED.</b> 19

<h2><i>—*&; Abilities</i></h2><br> <br>

<b>Strength/Speed:</b> He's stronger than the average human, though because he refuses to drink blood he isn't at full strength, if he was he'd be superhumanly strong. The same applies for his speed and jumping abilities.

<h2><i>—*&; Bio</i></h2><br> <br>   </div>   </div>

       <div class="tab">   <input type="radio" id="tab-6" name="tab-group-1">   <label for="tab-6">ADONIS</label>   <div class="content">   <center><h2><i> —*&; Adonis </i></h2></center>   <center><h3><i> active // shipping status: 1/??</i></h3></center><br> <img src="https://i.imgur.com/hNOtVZO.png"  style="border: 10px solid #ffffff; outline: 1px solid #f0f0f0; margin-left:30px;"> <img src="https://i.imgur.com/Jse5jY5.png"  style="border: 10px solid #ffffff; outline: 1px solid #f0f0f0;"><br> <h2><i>—*&; General Information</i></h2><br> <b>—NAME.</b> Adonis Kyknos Hinode <br> <b>—NICKNAME/S.</b> 21<br> <b>—DOB.</b> 23rd September (21 years old) <br> <b>—GENDER.</b> male <br> <b>—ORIENTATION.</b> bisexual <br> <b>—ETHNICITY.</i> greek demigod<br> <b>—SPOKEN LANGUES.</b> english, japaense, ancient greek/latin  <br> <b>—OCCUPATION.</b> studying to be a doctor // part-time model <br> <h2><i>—*&; Appearance & Personality</i></h2><br> <b>—HAIR COLOUR.</b> strawberry blonde <br> <b>—EYE COLOUR</b> amber/gold <br> <b>—HEIGHT</b> 5'8 <br> <b>—BODY BUILD.</b> athletic <br> <b>—TATTOOS + PIERCINGS.</b> none<br> <b>—INTELLIGENCE.</b> high <br> <b>—LIKES.</b>helping people/healing people, daylight, sunrise, archery, music <br> <b>—DISLIKES.</b>nighttime, violence   <br> <b>—PHOBIAS.</b>n/a <br> <b>—DISPOSITION.</b>He’s very dedicated, and diligent, a hard worker who takes his responsibility and commitments seriously. Generally a kind hearted person, he wants to help other's. He's pretty easily emabrrassed. Though kind he won't put up with mean or rude people. <br>

<h2><i>—*&; Abilities</i></h2><br> <br>

TBA- healing, singing, accurate shot, harnessing sunlight

<h2><i>—*&; Bio</i></h2><br> <br> TBA   </div>   </div>

       <div class="tab">   <input type="radio" id="tab-7" name="tab-group-1">   <label for="tab-7">INDIGO</label>   <div class="content">   <center><h2><i> —*&; Indigo </i></h2></center>   <center><h3><i> active // shipping status: ??</i></h3></center><br> <img src="https://i.imgur.com/O4UFgdk.png"  style="border: 10px solid #ffffff; outline: 1px solid #f0f0f0; margin-left:30px;"> <img src="https://i.imgur.com/UZPNvh9.png"  style="border: 10px solid #ffffff; outline: 1px solid #f0f0f0;"><br> <h2><i>—*&; General Information</i></h2><br> <b>—NAME.</b> Indigo <br> <b>—NICKNAME/S.</b> Indy <br> <b>—DOB.</b> 27 <br> <b>—GENDER.</b> male <br> <b>—ORIENTATION.</b> homo(demi)romantic // pansexual <br> <b>—ETHNICITY.</i> <br> <b>—SPOKEN LANGUES.</b>  <br> <b>—OCCUPATION.</b> Owns a bookshop // (verse dependent) <br> <h2><i>—*&; Appearance & Personality</i></h2><br> <b>—HAIR COLOUR.</b> Faded grey-blue <br> <b>—EYE COLOUR</b> Ahsy black <br> <b>—HEIGHT</b> tiny // 5'5 <br> <b>—BODY BUILD.</b> on the thin side<br> <b>—TATTOOS + PIERCINGS.</b> ear<br> <b>EXTRA.</b> mole on left cheek under eye <br> <b>—INTELLIGENCE.</b> average <br> <b>—LIKES.</b>books/reading, quiet <br> <b>—DISLIKES.</b> being touched without permisson, rich people, rude people  <br> <b>—PHOBIAS.</b>n/a <br> <b>—DISPOSITION.</b> A little sassy, has a bit of a temper, but once you're on his good side he's good to you. <br>

<h2><i>—*&; Bio</i></h2><br> <br> Looks super pretty and young, baby face af, but it actually 27 and is actually 80 yrs old at heart. Had 0 fucking time for any of you honestly. Just leave him along with his books and let him be happy. <br><br>

Highkey was the child of an affair with some kind of ?? important person?? royal/diplomat/politician??? who knows not fking me. Mama was sooooo pretty that papa just could not resist a quick fuck or two, or three, or a lot of fucks. Was kept a secret for the first few years of his life until mama died. Taken to rich whatever he is papa’s place and oh no he has a wife :/ Was Not Treated Well. Ended up being kicked out when he was 17. Highkey lived a very VERY shitty life from then on. But honestly he was kinda glad to be gone. Also lowkey sold himself to get by bc ya gotta do what ya gotta do sometimes when ur penniless and homeless :/ not like papa was in any contact with him or giving any mulla. Finally when he was abt 24 papa found him and was like, i rlly wanna see u, pls give me a chance etc etc. Honestly he was at the lowest point in his life, he didn’t expect anything, but he lowkey did and just hOPEd for once something would go right for him. Papa arrived and asked him to sign a non-disclosure agreement and never speak of who was his papa. Also offered him a lOT of money for it. <br><br> That one hurt. Hurt him deep. But he was like :))))) give me ur money, i’ll sign, and literally nEVER show ur face to me again bitch. Now he runs a lil book store bc he’s always loved reading and now he can read whatever he wants when he wants :’)   </div>   </div>

       <div class="tab">   <input type="radio" id="tab-8" name="tab-group-1">   <label for="tab-8">DANTE</label>   <div class="content">   <center><h2><i> —*&; Dante </i></h2></center>   <center><h3><i> ❝ quote or something can go here any kind of length looks ok!! but it depends on <b>you</b>❞</i></h3></center><br> <img src="https://i.imgur.com/uhI5OMB.png"  style="border: 10px solid #ffffff; outline: 1px solid #f0f0f0; margin-left:30px;"> <img src="https://i.imgur.com/lbBeWSS.png"  style="border: 10px solid #ffffff; outline: 1px solid #f0f0f0;"><br> <h2><i>—*&; General Information</i></h2><br> <b>—NAME.</b> Dante (goes by Dee mostly) <br> <b>—NICKNAME/S.</b> Dee, Dan<br> <b>—DOB.</b> 19 years old <br> <b>—GENDER.</b> male <br> <b>—ORIENTATION.</b> bisexual <br> <b>—ETHNICITY.</i> eh <br> <b>—SPOKEN LANGUES.</b> eh  <br> <b>—OCCUPATION.</b> basically just a rich boy  <br> <h2><i>—*&; Appearance & Personality</i></h2><br> <b>—HAIR COLOUR.</b>dyed platinum blonde  <br> <b>—EYE COLOUR</b>green, appears almost aqua <br> <b>—HEIGHT</b> 5'10 <br> <b>—BODY BUILD.</b>Very atheletic, well definied muscles <br> <b>—TATTOOS + PIERCINGS.</b>three silver rings on his left ear <br> <b>—INTELLIGENCE.</b>high <br> <b>—LIKES.</b> drinking, smoking, partying,having fun  <br> <b>—DISLIKES.</b> his dad, being at home <br> <b>—PHOBIAS.</b>n/a <br> <b>—DISPOSITION.</b>Pretty friendly and easy going, always joking around and rarely serious.  <br>

<h2><i>—*&; Bio</i></h2><br> TBA   </div>   </div>

       <div class="tab">   <input type="radio" id="tab-9" name="tab-group-1">   <label for="tab-9">Ezra</label>   <div class="content">   <center><h2><i> —*&; Ezra </i></h2></center>   <center><h3><i> ❝ quote or something can go here any kind of length looks ok!! but it depends on <b>you</b>❞</i></h3></center><br> <img src="https://64.media.tumblr.com/6bb1917ee668d58c2e888e7fe8f90641/tumblr_o4oiqnRA5l1u4r8r1o1_100.png"  style="border: 10px solid #ffffff; outline: 1px solid #f0f0f0; margin-left:30px;"> <img src="https://64.media.tumblr.com/6bb1917ee668d58c2e888e7fe8f90641/tumblr_o4oiqnRA5l1u4r8r1o1_100.png"  style="border: 10px solid #ffffff; outline: 1px solid #f0f0f0;"><br> <h2><i>—*&; General Information</i></h2><br> <b>—NAME.</b> Ezra Flynn<br> <b>—NICKNAME/S.</b> Ez <br> <b>—DOB.</b> 26 <br> <b>—GENDER.</b> male <br> <b>—ORIENTATION.</b> eh <br> <b>—ETHNICITY.</i> caucasian <br> <b>—SPOKEN LANGUES.</b> english <br> <b>—OCCUPATION.</b> high school teacher <br> <h2><i>—*&; Appearance & Personality</i></h2><br> <b>—HAIR COLOUR.</b> light brown <br> <b>—EYE COLOUR</b> amber <br> <b>—HEIGHT</b> 4′11 <br> <b>—BODY BUILD.</b> tiny, little muscle, thin <br> <b>—TATTOOS + PIERCINGS.</b> none <br> <b>—INTELLIGENCE.</b> average/high <br> <b>—LIKES.</b> teaching kids, an occasional drink,  <br> <b>—DISLIKES.</b> BULLIES he will fight every bully ever. some of this kids in his classes tbh. his height <br> <b>—PHOBIAS.</b>n/a <br> <b>—DISPOSITION.</b> friendly, welcoming, helpful. will scold you if you misbehave though. <br>

<h2><i>—*&; Bio</i></h2><br>

TBA   </div>   </div>

</div>

   </div>

<div id="credit"><a href="http://palsrph">palsrph</a></div> </body>

[salixj]

For those who don’t understand. Here are a few problems I have with the comics. Note they are not (save the last two points) connected to an Azula redemption arc. Note most aren’t even about Azula, except tangentially.  1. How Zuko attempts to get Azula’s help in finding Ursa. Does the scene where he speaks to her in the hospital come before or after his “how to be a ruler class” when he talks to Aang about his father being in prison, his mother lost, and his sister in a hospital.    a. If before, it is illogical that he wouldn’t say anything to Aang about attempting to get help from her.    b. If after he should, if he had understood the lesson even a little bit, not have approached her as he did. Okay, he shouldn’t have approached her that way period, but especially after a class such as he was given. So which is it? Does he illogically keep information from Aang that he has a solution to the above situation?  Or does he not understand the word dignity? I think it is the later because he also speaks disparagingly about her in front of her, to others, when explaining how he will treat her with dignity. Go figure.  Also, it terms of father in prison, sister in hospital, both of these are easily remedied. He could put his father in some form of house arrest. As far as his sister goes, has he thought of, oh I don’t know, visiting her? Telling her he loves her? Yeah okay.  See, that’s all really about Zuko. Azula is on the side, it is about how Zuko acts and behaves.  2. I can think of reasons why Jun couldn’t find Ursa. That should have been disclosed. The fact that she got a new face doesn’t necessarily mean she would have a new scent So explain it. Her pet died. Her scent ends here in the woods. It is too old. SOMETHING.

3. I can think of a lot of reasons why Zuko, once he learned of the town, could have told Azula, no... you already violated your promise. Back to the hospital. For her sake that would probably have been better. 3. The letter.    a. By simply calling Ozai “love”, Ursa manages to prevent Ikem from becoming shish kabob after he threatens the Firelord, which I imagine under the pen of any author of quality, would have been considered, treason. However, she can’t think of a better way to get Ozai to allow her to write to her parents other than by a letter which throws Zuko under a bus. Yeah, tell the abusive man his wife was either an adulteress, or already pregnant when brought in. Being a cuckold generally does bring a man’s temper down.     b. Even if she wanted to write a letter and trick him via a letter, there were better by a 1000 times letters to write.     c. But wait! He wasn’t a cuckold Ozai twirls his mustache (figuratively) and declares “I knew that! I had you watched!”  So nu, why was he so angry? And if he wanted to keep his letter thieving to himself and the maid, why did he even respond? Why wasn’t his reaction a hearty laugh at his wife’s expense and then toss the letter “in with the others”, and instruct the maid to let her know “letter has been sent.”     d. Why keep the letters? Was Ozai that short of good reading material?    e. Zuko was so close behind her that the door felt hot, yet Azula manages to open up and read all the letters so she find the right one just as he enters.     f.  Azula, really, hiding that letter in your sash and then in your shin guard and no one is going to notice? How stupid is Zuko? Nevermind. 4. Seriously, no one knew Ursa was from H’iria? Seriously? Because he told Ursa say goodbye you will never talk to them again and this caused nationwide forgetting? The parents didn’t mention their hometown to others sitting at the table? The people in H’iria didn’t know why she went? Why her parents went to court for a wedding? What, it was common in that town for the court to take a daughter and then the parents to leave and come back and never speak of where she went or why? SERIOUSLY? Iroh didn’t know? The servants who fetched them didn’t know? So that when Zuko went looking for mommy dearest none of them would have thought to say “Well maybe she returned home?” 5. a.Ikem finds the Mother of all Faces within a few months. So does Ursa. So do Aang and the gaang. The water siblings? decades. It never occurred to them I guess to pick a watering hole and WAIT. That would have been a year at most.     b. Also, why would Ikem return to the village? Imagine walking about trying to pretend to know no one. It is also quite probable that someone at some point would have made some comment about poor Ikem.  There was a much simpler solution to being the recipient of pity. Move somewhere else.   c. Also, really mom of all faces? You can’t imagine that someone who looks beautiful would want to trade in her face? Now I can imagine someone who was deformed, or who had become scarred would want a prettier face, but if someone with a pretty face came to you and wanted a change I’d figure it was because they wanted to hide. And how quickly you believe Ursa’s story. Also how quickly you believe the water siblings.  6. Ursa dear, if you don’t look like yourself you could have found your way into the palace and knocked off Ozai.  Did you really think the servants would kill the new Firelord or the new Firelords nephew? Ozai would be dead. He’d sort of lack in power there. At the very least you could have tried to get in touch with Iroh and gotten his help.

8. Oh btw that tried and true trophish undetectable poison,  you make a poison and give that poison to the man who had threatened to kill your so and tell him “do with it what you want.” Doesn’t sound smart. I’m kind of seeing a pattern here. What was to keep your dear ex from offing daddy then offing son?     And it still wouldn’t make him Firelord.      Also, being an herbalist means you know how to knock off people with an untraceable poison? Did mommy teach you that in between teaching you had to make a salve for rashes and a tincture for toothache? I really want to know how those lessons went down.  9. Ah yes. Ozai. Being in jail must have soften your head. Why would Ursa, who is standing outside your cell, have to grovel?

10. Why wasn’t Zuko killed with that blast? 11. How come Ty Lee can’t chi-block Azula? 12. How did Suki “secure” the palace. (not well) Does it really take a genius to figure out that she needed to look in Kiyi’s room for clues? 13. How did Kiyi hear Zuko through a thick door? How does Zuko hear Kiyi and neither Ursa nor Ikem wake up? And how did Zuko’s presence loosen Ursa’s grip? Was another room all made up and readied for Kiyi? How did Azula know which of those rooms Kiyi was in? (And no, knowing the palace like the back of her hand means she could negotiate it in the dark, not that she would know where Kiyi was sleeping. Same for all the other children. After all their costumes weren’t exactly low profile, and throwing smoke everything is also not very low profile.) 14. Ursa’s talk with Iroh over how he got over the death of his son. Her kids not even gone 24 hours, and there is no sign Kiyi’s death and she’s already planning on how to get over her mourning.  These final two are Azula centered, however they aren’t about how Azula got ripped of her redemption, or how her redemption was too slow. The opposite.

15. Ah yes, here’s a girl who has several psychotic episodes over the course of what? 24 hours? 48 hours? Yet a sojourn alone in the woods cures her. Medical breakthrough! 16. Speaking of that sojourn. She has no money, change of clothes, or even her purse. She’s hallucinating wildly. I’ll forget the lack of blankets and food. She’s smart enough to forage.  And in one or two months time she is able to:    a. get out of the woods.    b. get back to wherever the hospital was.    c. free six women from the hospital.    d. get back to the capital.    e. freak Ukando into helping her.    f. create a hideout complete with 7 or 8 bunk beds (at least), rugs, linens, a table, chairs, I’m guessing places for her friends and herself to sleep as well.    g. develop smoke bending.    h. obtain gas and some method of using that gas to knock kids out but not permanently.    i. figure out a way that that she and her fellow kidnappers don’t knock themselves out.    j. get costumes.  k. and there is a huge difference between the eye patches and the masks. They don’t have peripheral vision in those masks. Try it out yourself with a patch and a made up hard mask that covers the whole face save for a small hole for one eye. Yet they all negotiate just fine thank you. Without even turning their heads. Maybe the stone like masks were actually like one way mirrors, in which case, she scores again!   l. teleportation! via smoke. My fave. She invented teleportation.  m. kidnap 14 or so kids, and get them all to the cemetery. Did they all grown through the secret passageway or did they have to roll the dice? Either way, no one seems to have noticed three strangely dressed people rushing through the streets with a kid in their arms or at least have noticed and connected it to the kidnappings. There is actually so much more but I can’t think of them all right now. Why do I think the comics were poorly written? There you have it. It is not about how slow Azula’s redemption is taking, not at all. It is about poor writing.