#like when i’m on a roll i can get through at least 600 pages on a day i have to work

[justalittlebluetiefling]

There’s no frustration equal to starting a series that you think is complete only to find out that it ISN’T.

[waitimcomingtoo]

In Case You Don’t Live Forever

~chapter five rewritten~

Pairing: Peter Parker x Venom!reader

Synopsis: you are Peters greatest love and Spider-Man’s greatest enemy

Series Masterlist

“Why are you in such a mood?” Ned asked his best friend as they walked to their college campus. Peter had been grumpy all morning and Ned was quick to notice. He usually showed up at Ned’s door exhausted but eager to share the adventures from the night before, but he seemed defeated today.

“I got my ass beat last night.” Peter grumbled as he shouldered his backpack.

“By who?” Ned wondered.

“I don’t even know.” Peter sighed. “I think it was some kind of alien.”

“What’d it look like?” Ned asked. It wasn’t uncommon for Ned to ask a million questions after being told something Spider-Man related. After all, he was the guy in the chair.

“Like nothing I’ve ever seen before.” Peter said swallowed and tried to push the previous night from his mind. He’d rather focus on this morning, and the moment he had shared with you. Peter felt such a strong connection to you, and he would’ve stayed on that rooftop all day if he could.

“Describe it to me.” Ned pleaded, tearing Peter from his thoughts.

“I don’t know. It was like eight feet tall, black, and bald. And it was super veiny.” Peter grimaced while Ned’s eyes widened.

“Oh my God. You fought Shaquille O’Neal?” Ned gasped.

“Keep your voice down. I did not fight Shaquille O’Neal.” Peter whispered harshly. Ned always seemed one step away from blowing Peters cover. Peter gave bashful smiles to the passing students who gave him weird looks upon hearing Ned’s words.

“Terry Crews?” Ned continued. Peter rolled his eyes at his best friend and starting walking to class.

“No. This is serious.” Peter said, his voice heavy with annoyance.

“I know it’s serious. You got beat up by The Rock.” Ned remarked. Peter fidgeted with the strings on his backpack, still bothered knowing he was beaten so easily by Venom.

“The Rock is Samoan, not black.” Peter corrected.

“I know. But I heard “bald” and I just automatically envisioned The Rock.” Ned defended.

“There’s another thing. It had this huge, gaping mouth with rows and rows of teeth. I keep thinking about it.” Peter shivered. “It came so close to me. And its tongue was super long. It was like a cracked out frog.”

“So a ninja turtle? You got beat up by a ninja turtle?” Ned gawked.

“It wasn’t a ninja turtle.” Peter snapped. “ It was black, remember?”

“So an emo ninja turtle.” Ned deadpanned.

“It kept saying “we”. “ Peter remembered.

“What do you mean?”

“There was only one of them, but they only referred to themself as “we” as if there were multiple of them.” Peter explained.

“Do you think there could be more? Like an alien army or something?” Ned asked incredulously. Peter hadn’t even thought about that.

“Maybe. I remember something else, it’s name was Venom.” Peter recalled. He distinctly remembered those words coming out of the creatures mouth.

“Venom?” Ned repeated, clearly finding it cool.

“Yeah. And I told it my name. I used my regular voice too.” Peter realized. He usually disguised his voice when speaking, but he had been so scared that he forgot to. It haunted him knowing the creature now knew who he was and he wondered if it knew both of his identities.

“Wow. This is so cool. Not cool for you, because you might die. But this is super cool for me.” Ned smiled as he envisioned what Venom might look like.

“Thanks, ned. Actually, wait.” Peter stopped in his tracks. “One more thing happened.”

“What?” Ned whispered as they approached their class.

“Venom was about to eat me but then it started talking to itself. It sounded maybe like it was having a conversation with someone? I’m not sure, I could only hear one side of it.” Peter explained. “It put me down, well it threw me down, and let me go. But before it left, it said something about a girl. I don’t really remember. I was too focused on catching my breath.”

“Catching your breath? Were you running?”

“No. It choked me.” Peter told him as he lightly touched his neck.

“Kinky.” Ned smirked as he took a seat next to Peter in their class.

“That’s gross.” Peter stifled a laugh. “Did I tell you about this morning with Y/N?”

“No. Tell me.” Ned said. He wasn’t disappointed in the change of topic. He was glad Peter had moved on on from Liz, finally. Peter recounted the discussion he had with you that morning, barely getting through it without blushing and laughing at certain parts.

“I really like her, Ned. More than I’ve ever liked anyone. She’s so amazing. I barely know her, but I can tell already. I want to know everything about her. I want to hear her full story. And most of all, I want to be a part of that story.” Peter declared but frowned suddenly.

“What’s wrong?” Ned asked.

“After our talk, we just kinda sat there staring at each other for a while.” Peter began. “She kinda leaned in, and I did too, but then this seagull flew by and scared us half to death. We laughed about it but the moment was gone.”

“So you almost kissed her?” Ned smiled. “Why is that upsetting you?”

“Because what if that was our chance and I blew it?” Peter feared. “What if that seagull was a sign from above that I was in way over my head? Like God was asking me who I was to think I could just kiss the most perfect girl in the world? She’s so cool, Ned. Way too cool for me. She’s already had a boyfriend and I’ve never even kissed anyone.”

“If it’s meant to happen, it will happen.” Ned assured him.

“Or, the same thing that happened with Liz will happen.” Peter argued. “I won’t tell her how I feel and then she’ll be gone forever.”

“Then don’t let that happen.” Ned reasoned. “Tell Y/N how you feel. Do it tonight, before you go on patrol. And if she doesn’t feel the same, then at least you’ll know. Isn’t it better to know?”

“When did you become such a love expert?” Peter teased as the professor walked into the room.

“Since I started dating Betty. She’s opened my eyes to what love really is.” Ned shrugged. “Tell her tonight. Then tell me how it goes. I’m here for you either way.”

Peter nodded and gave Ned a thankful smile before turning his attention to the professor.

On his walk home from campus, Peter spotted you walking down the sideways. Ned’s words of encouragement rang in his ears and he made a brash decision.

“Hey, Y/N, wait up!” Peter called after you, making you turn around.

“Hey Parker. How was kindergarten?” You teased him.

“Alright alright. Majoring in chemical engineering is hardly kindergarten. And I’m only one year younger than you.” Peter reminded you. “I don’t want you to have a heart attack on me, grandma.”

“Watch it, sonny.” You kept with the joke. “I’ll hit you with my purse and then say something mildly racist.”

“Just like my grandma.” Peter laughed in amusement. “We’re gross. And not funny.”

“We really are.” You scrunched your nose. “Couple of gross ass orphans.”

Peter laughed again, feeling comfortable enough with you to joke about a tragic situation.

“Look, Y/N, I really enjoyed our talk this morning. I really enjoyed all our talks so far actually. I guess I just like talking to you. ” Peter began. He looked nervous all the sudden, like he lost his stamina. You raised your eyebrows hopefully, as there were only so many ways this conversation could go.

“I like talking to you too, Peter.” You said honestly, hoping he’d continue. Hoping he’d ask that question. Your answer seemed to give Peter the confidence he needed to go on.

“Really? Um, that’s great cause I really like talking to you too. I already said that. Oh god. I’m crashing. I-“ he began to flail and you calmed him down by taking a few steps closer. You were almost touching at that point. He stopped talking immediately and looked at you with wide eyes.

“Is there someone you wanted to ask me, Peter?” You asked slowly as you looked at him through your eyelashes.

Damn. He was tall too.

“Yes, actually. I, um, will you…would you maybe want to-“

“Hiya kids!” A gravely voice came from the front stairs of your apartment, completely cutting Peter off. Peter looked up and angrily rolled his eyes.

“Don’t look now. It’s Henry.” Peter grumbled. Henry was the creepy neighbor with the foot fetish.

“Oh Dear God.” Peter said in a low voice.

“What?” You panicked when you saw Peters expression change.

“You’re wearing flip flops.” He pointed at your black painted toes and you felt the color drain from your face.

“Run!” He whispered harshly. You bolted into your apartment and Peter ran into his. Once inside, Peter blew out an angry breath. He had been interrupted twice in one day when trying to talk to you, and he worried that it was a sign.

Back at the apartment, you sat on your bed with headphones in. You were prepping for your interview with Cletus Kasady by writing down some questions you wanted to ask him. It was hard figuring out what to ask a serial killer. You looked at your notepad and sighed. All you had written down was “but why tho?” in sloppy handwriting. You tore out the page, crumbled it up, and threw it at the trash can. When you went to write something else down, you noticed the paper ball still stuck to your hand. You shook your hand but it still wouldn’t come off.

“What the hell?” You grumbled as you shook your hand.

“Oh. This might be our fault.” Venom said suddenly.

“What might be your fault?” You asked as you continued to shake the paper off your hand, but to no avail.

“We sort of went inside Spider-Man when we were talking to him yesterday.” Venom said timidly and the paper ball dropped from your hand.

“What?” You demanded and Venom went silent.

“Come out here.” You said, like an owner to a dog.

“We’d rather stay inside.” Venom said softly.

“Get out here now. You need to explain yourself young lady.” You said sternly. Venom slowly manifested and looked at you with sad eyes.

“I’m 600 million years old, by the way.” Venom added. “You can’t call me young lady.”

“What do you mean you went inside Spider-Man?” You ignored her comment.

“When we were choking him we put one of our tendrils inside him and swirled around.” Venom explained. “He didn’t even feel it. We did though. He’s very squishy on the inside.”

“You…what?” You didn’t even know where to start. “How does that explain the paper sticking to me?”

“We think we absorbed his powers.” Venom said. “We used to watch videos of him on YouTube after you went to bed. He can stick to walls and stuff. We think that’s why the paper ball stuck to you.”

“Since when can we absorb powers?” You wondered as you looked at your hands.

“We never had a host before. We don’t really know how it works.” Venom reminded you. “But back on Klyntar, our home planet, the Grandmaster used to tell us we could absorb the powers of superhuman beings. Judging by your newfound stickiness, we think it worked.”

“What else can Spider-Man do?” You asked. “Since you’re such a big fan.”

“He can shoot webs out of his wrists. And he can return lost dogs.” Venom answered, sounding a little annoyed.

“Do you have something against Spider-Man?” You chuckled a little at her tone.

“We hate what he did last night. He thought we were the bad guy, and he let the real bad guy get away. He judged us before he had the full story. We’re not a bad guy.” Venom defended. You were surprised to hear how passionate she was about this and gave her a soft smile.

“Let’s not worry about Spider-Man right now. I want to test out our new abilities. Let’s rock and roll, baby.” You cheered, complete with rock and roll hands. The second you touched your middle finger and ring finger to your palm, a black, web-like tendril shot out from your wrist and stuck to the ceiling. You stared at the web with a gaping mouth, weakly shaking your wrist to see if it would stay attached.

It did.

“Maybe that’s one of our new abilities.” Venom said. You looked back and forth between her and the gooey web coming out of your wrist.

“Oh my God! What’s happening?” You screamed. You took your fingers off your palm and the web retracted back into your wrist. Looking at your wrist incredulously, you made the rock and roll hand again and the same web shot out from your wrist. This time, it grabbed the ceiling fan.

“V-Venom?” You asked. You didn’t know what to say.

“Try to aim it at something.” She suggested. You aimed your wrist and the lamp across the room and touched your fingers to your palm. The black web shot across the room and grabbed onto the lamp. You quickly yanked your arm back to pull the lamp towards yourself. The lamp flew across the room, smashed you in the face, and left you with a bloody nose.

“Ow.” You cried, gingerly touching your nose.

“We see this as a absolutely win.” Venom cheered. You shot her a look and went to get cleaned up.

After about a week of practice, and very little work on your questions for Cletus, you had a better handle on your webbing ability. Of course, the week also consisted of long talks with Peter on the roof, late patrols of New York, the occasional run in with a criminal, late night FaceTime calls with Peter, and beating the shit out of Spider-Man, twice. Venom eventually grew bored of using the new powers around the house, so it was time for the final test.

You stood at the rooftop ledge and looked down, talking a deep breath to calm your nerves.

“It’s a long way down.” You commented.

“Yep.” Venom replied in your head.

“We could die.” You added.

“Yep.”

“Ready?”

“We’re ready.” Venom grinned as you transformed. You stepped off the ledge and fell freely for a while, screaming the whole way down.

“Stop being a little bitch! Shoot a web!” Venom yelled. You aimed a web at a building and began to swing. You were too close to the ground and ended up knocking over a bunch of tables at an outdoor restaurant. People ran away in fear while others took out their cameras and recorded.

“We’re not here to hurt you! Peace and love!” Venom shouted as you continued to swing through the steers of New York. People began to cheer upon hearing your words.

“Do you hear that, Y/N? People are cheering. They love us.” Venom said happily.

“I love us too.” You replied. You were even happier than she was. You knew how much it hurt Venom to be seen as a monster, it was why she hated being called a parasite. You also knew it was why she hated Spider-Man. He was praised for stopping bad guys while Venom was seen as one of the bad guys he needed to stop.

“Hey, what is that thing?” A man called from the street. Venom stopped swinging and landed on the street. You proudly turned to the crowd of people, a massive grin on your face. There it was, our favorite question.

“We…are Venom.” Venom growled. People took pictures and videos of you from a distance.

“You can come closer. We won’t hurt you.” Venom assured the crowd.

“Are you like the anti Spider-Man?” Someone asked.

“Spider-Man is a joke. He can’t protect this city like we can. We are no Spider-Man. We are Venom.” Venom roared. A few people took a step back and you began to feel uneasy.

“Hey, King Kong. I want a word with you.” A sassy voice quipped from the crowd. A man in yellow sunglasses and a suit stepped forward, and you bet your ass you recognized him.

“My name is Tony Stark. Heard of me? Of course you have. Would you mind coming back to my tower with me?” He asked, but it felt more like a demand. The people in the crowd slowly dispersed and soon, you stood there alone with Tony.

“Be nice. Say yes.” You told Venom.

“Who is this guy?” She asked out loud.

“I just said my name.” Tony said, slightly annoyed.

“He’s a really famous inventor. I’ll explain later. Just follow him please.” You begged. Venom gave Tony a once over and followed him to a limo.

“Yea, you’re gonna ride up top big guy.” Tony said, patting the roof of the car.

“Girl.” Venom growled. Tony looked surprised.

“My apologies ma’am.” He raised surprised eyebrows. You rode on top of his car all the way to his tower, wondering what he could possibly want with you.

The inside of his tower was huge. Tony lead you to a lab that was bigger than yours and Peters apartments combined.

“I’ve seen videos of you on YouTube. Seems like you and Spider-Man aren’t the best of friends.” Tony remarked as he pulled out an iPad.

“We will crush his bones and snort them like cocaine.” Venom growled. Tony was just as surprised to hear that as you were.

“Now that’s a visual.” Tony smirked. “I’ll have you know, Spider-Man is a friend of mine. He’s not your biggest fan either but from what I’ve seen, you’ve done this city some good since you’ve been here. How long has that been?”

“Two weeks.” Venom answered.

“I thought so. I’d never seen you before then. And since your arrival, petty crime has dropped significantly in Queens. Criminals are too scared of getting eaten to do anything. Don’t get me wrong, I love Spider-Man and I’ll kill you if you tell him that, but no one fears him. He gets the job done, but there’s always another job to do. With you, on the other hand, your mere presence is preventing crime before it even happens.” Tony smiled to himself, like he was just given a new toy. “You’re scary, is what I’m trying to say. But you’re a good guy. It’s rare. I want it to stay that way. I want you on my team.”

“Team?”

“We’re called the Avengers. We had a bit of a falling out but the name still stands.” Tony waved his hand. “We fight bad guys together. Really, really bad guys. I think you could us some good. Plus, you’ll be taken care of for life and we’ll only call you in for serious threats. But I need a few things from you first.”

“Like what?”

“Your story.” He pointed a finger at you. “How does a giant, anthropomorphic alien wind up in New York City?”

“It’s a long story.” Venom answered.

“We can trust this man, Venom.” You told her telepathically. “I’m gonna come out okay?” Venom hesitated and Tony looked impatient to know more.

“Are you sure?” She asked you. Tony looked confused.

“Am I sure?” He pointed to himself.

“Not you.” She said. Tony looked around for who else Venom could be talking to and found no one.

“I’m sure.” You decided. “This guy is one of the good guys. We can trust him. I promise. I’m coming out.”

You slowly transformed back into yourself in front of Tonys wide eyes. Venom stayed in her snake-like form and rested on your neck.

“Hello, Mr. Stark. My name is Y/N L/N.” You shyly introduced yourself. “This is Venom. We want to help.”

Tony’s face shifted from shocked to impressed as he looked you over.

“I gotta say, I did not except someone like you to be inside that scary monster.” Tony chuckled.

“We’re not a monster, Mr. Stark. We want to help people.” You reminded him.

“I can see that.” Tony nodded. “That’s why I’ve been developing you a suit.”

“When did you do that?” You wondered. “We just met.”

“Oh, I know. I’ve been designing it while you talked. I want you to have it incase you and Venom get separated. That way, you’ll be protected until you’re back together.” Tony explained as he showed you his ipad. Sure enough, it had a drawing of a suit on it.

“I’ll get started right away. I just need a little piece of Venom. If I make the suit using her skin, you’ll have the total protection you need.” You looked at Venom for consent, who nodded and extended a tendril towards Tony. He quickly snipped a piece off and put it in a container.

“When will the suit be ready? A few months?” You asked as Tony tapped the container. Tony stopped looking at the container and laughed.

“Y/N, I’m a genius inventor. Go get lunch. It’ll be ready when you’re done.” He said.

And he wasn’t kidding. An hour and a half later, Tony presented you with a suit. You ran my fingers over it slowly, not wanted to disturb a single thing. You looked at it in awe, completely speechless at what he had created.

“Go on, try it on.” He shrugged casually. You grinned from ear to ear before rushing to the bathroom to put it on. You came out soon enough with tears in you eyes.

“You like it?” Tony asked. You looked at your covered hands in amazement. The suit was jet black, like Venom was, and hugged your body like a second skin. There was a big white spider symbol on the front, the complete opposite of Spider-Mans small black one. You figured it was a nod to being called the anti Spider-Man and it was perfect.

“Well?” Tony was still waiting for an answer. You looked up at him just as a few tears fell down you cheeks.

“We didn’t celebrate my birthday growing up because it was the anniversary of my moms death. I used to be so upset every year.” You blurted. Tony looked like he didn’t know what to say and you couldn’t blame him. That was something deeply personal and you had only just met him.

“What I’m trying to say is, I get it now.” You explained. “All those missed birthdays were for a reason. I didn’t get gifts those days because I’m getting the ultimate gift right now. This is the most amazing thing I could’ve asked for. I cannot thank you enough Mr. Stark. I’ll never take it off.”

“You can’t take it off anyway.” Tony told you. “When you don’t want to wear it, it absorbs back into your skin like Venom does. And it’s equipped with Venoms essential abilities. It’s bullet proof, knife proof, taser proof, spork proof and so on. And you can still shoot your webby things. You just won’t have super strength, super speed, or that Venus flytrap mouth of yours.”

You tested it out and shot a web towards his desk. You grabbed a pen and caught it with ease, then looked at Tony for approval.

“That’s the best I could do. It’s no Iron Man suit but it’ll suffice.” Tony said casually. You couldn’t take it anymore and rushed towards him to hug him tightly.

“Thank you.” You said into his chest. Tony patted your back awkwardly and you let go.

“It’s nothing. You can thank me by not eating Spider-Man. I know he’s annoying but he doesn’t mean any harm. Now go forth and do good.” Tony requested.

You swung back to the apartment and landed on the roof. You turned back into yourself and made your way down the steps to your floor. After this mornings conversation with Peter and the incredible suit from Mr. Stark, you were having a great day. For the first time in years, you couldn’t wait for tomorrow.

[scribble-blog]

So, as a prompt for your Birthday Bash, these lines: “You didn’t have to do that.” “I know, but you looked like you needed an out.” And I admit I had Timari on the brain when I thought of this but I think any ship would work. <3

I hope you have a good day and have fun writing!

Did I build an entire story in my head so I could write a 600 word resolution to it? Yes. Welcome to (the END of) the secret dating AU. Thank you @newdog14!!! And for those interested- I’m SURE I won’t get kidnapped this time. Let’s do this prompt thing again, shall we? If you’re interested- send me a prompt!

*****

“You didn’t have to do that,” Marinette leaned over the balcony railing, eyes trailing over the slow roll of people, the undulations of the crowd far below their feet.

“I know,” Tim said, holding out a flute of the champagne she’d been telling herself not to have all evening, and her annoyance melted away at the grin he gave her. “But you looked like you needed an out.”

She frowned, trying to deny that, but her feet were sore from being stepped on, and her back hurt from the boning in the bodice of her dress- and if another person asked her for her personal number instead of her professional contact, she was going to scream. She took the glass, tipping it in agreement. “Maybe so.” The first sip was sweet, crisp flavor bursting across her tongue.

It’s Tim who breaks first, leaning in and kissing her. It’s short, chaste, and she glares as he pulls away. “You’re insufferable.”

“You’re the one who wanted to keep me a secret,” He reminded her, teasing a carefully curl loose from her hair so he can wind it around his finger. “I get that you didn’t want anyone to accuse you of getting where you are through me, I do. But it’s been two years.”

She grinned back, only slightly abashed. It was fun to have a secret life that was her choice to keep secret, now that she only rarely needed to be a hero. And Tim had agreed, and he’d had as much fun as her sneaking around. And after a while, it was simply more fun to see how long it could go than to let the press know, and it’s not like they’d lied to anyone in their families about seeing each other, so they’d just let the game of it keep going.

But he was also right, and that there wasn’t a point to it anymore. So she pulls him back by the lapel of his jacket. “You’re right. I think we’ve been keeping ourselves to ourselves for long enough.”

He kissed her again, pulling her flush against him and almost holding her up, the way people got held in old movies and romance novel covers. Laughing into the kiss, she let him, one hand slipping around his neck to anchor herself, the other holding the champagne higher so as not to spill it. Down below, someone’s camera flashed toward them, and she ignored it, letting him dip her lower, as if making for a better photo. She broke away, still trying to stop giggling. “Trying to make the front page?”

“It would happen regardless. I’d rather this and a publicity statement than an interview where we have to explain ourselves in person.” He was right, but she also knew there would be some sort of bet between his brothers that he has stakes in that this is posturing for, so she keeps looking at him. Tim folds as expected. “We’ve got a challenge for how many of Bruce’s old paparazzi photos we can recreate. It seemed fitting.”

“I wish I could say I was surprised, but this is very on brand.” She kissed him again, pulling him forward as she maneuvered them both back away from the view of the public below. “At least the photos will be stunning. You want to run away and not deal with people again until we have to tomorrow?”

Tomorrow they’d have to tell the public they’d been together for two years, and they’d have to tell their families that they were no longer just dating, they’d been married for four months and hiding it, but tonight they’d escape out of an employee door and hide out at Marinette’s apartment she still hadn’t actually moved the rest of her stuff out of, and they’d ignore all of the texts from Dick and Adrien and the calls from Jason and Chloe and Bruce- though Marinette did answer the text she received on the way there from Alfred- and they’d enjoy it.

*****

Taglist! I'm sure there are a few that I've missed adding or forgotten to add but if you let me know I'll put you on my "always wants to see the new stuff" taglist! I still have to go through and fix my lists :(

@ash-amg @athena452 @lady-bee-fechin @dramatic-squirrel @dreamykitty25 @iloveitwhen @pr-y-sha @novaloptr @redscarlet95 @vixen-uchiha

[writer-k-pop]

Study Dates - Vocal

Description: It’s finals week and you drag them to the library for a study date. Warnings: Swearing Genre: Fluff

Seventeen Masterlist | Masterlists

Jeonghan

You’re just finishing up the first assignment of the day, all-be-it a small one, when Jeonghan shows up (late). Sweatpants and an oversized shirt hangs from his body and drips with his desire to be back in his bed.

“You are going to pay for this.” Jeonghan mumbles and drops his backpack onto the table, causing a few people nearby to look over at the loud noise. 

You give him the sweetest smile and slowly shut your textbook, “But you’re grades are going to call me a god when the week’s over.” You prepare to dive into it because not even his good looks can distract you from your grades goal.

Scoffing and rolling his eyes, Jeonghan unceremoniously drops himself in the chair opposite you. “I highly doubt that.” He says and grudgingly drags his backpack into the empty chair next to him.

You pull out a notebook and opened your laptop to find the practice test your professor graciously gave out. “Take this practice test with me. Come on, you’ll be grateful for it later.”

Jeonghan crosses his arms over his chest and pouts while just starting at me. After a few seconds, he tosses his arms into the air, sits up properly, and then opens his backpack to pull out his school supplies. “Don’t expect me to be super focused like you are.”

You smile in satisfaction that A) you got him out of his bed and B) you got him studying. But he isn’t going to make it easy. He never does. And today is no different.

Halfway through the practice test, he’s drawing doodles in the margins of his notebook and then asks for your opinion on the doodles. 20 minutes later, when you’ve moved onto a different subject, he’s scrolling through his phone. And 15 minutes after that, he’s using his eraser as a hockey puck and his pens as hockey sticks to play a game of hockey that occasionally has the eraser interrupting your studying. Jeonghan giggles when you flick the eraser back at him.

“Come on, let’s just go back to my room.” Jeonghan bargains, resting his chin on the table and looking at you with pouty eyes, “I can lay in bed and you can study at my desk. It’s a win-win!” 

Joshua

“Do we need anything else?” Joshua looks around the table. You’ve set up your laptops, notebooks, pencil cases, and drinks according to your personal studying style, reading for the study session that’s about to commence. 

You shake your head, “Might need sustenance later, but we can deal with that when we get there.”

Joshua nods in agreement before he dives deep into his textbook and you do the same. 

A handful of minutes later, you find yourself mindlessly twirling your pen in your hands and staring at Joshua as he scratches his head and tries to read his professors awful handwriting. He feels your eyes on him and glances at you, catching you red handed.

“Already giving up?” Joshua questions and peers down at your notes.

“Distracted.” You correct with a smirk before lowering your gaze again.

When you both reach the subject you’re in class together for, you decide to quiz each other to find out what you each need to work on. 

“Okay, this one’s tricky.” You peer at the flashcard in your hands before flicking your eyes up at him.

Joshua breathes out in preparation for the “difficult” question and you wait a couple more seconds to show him the flashcard to add to the suspense. 

“Oh, would you just show me the card already.” Joshua whines with a laugh mixed in.

You laugh along and give up on keeping him in suspense. Showing him the card he reads the card, squints and reads the card, then tilts his head to the side and just stares at the flashcard. 

“Do you know it?” You question him.

Joshua puckers his lips and shakes his head, “I have no idea what it is.” 

Woozi/Jihoon

“I’m stealing your highlighter again.” Woozi says, more mumbles, as he reaches across the table for your green highlighter. 

“Uh huh.” You answer without words as you scroll down to another TikTok video. You are taking a break from studying with a well earned 5-minute-turned-into-20-minutes break. 

Woozi rolls the highlighter back over to your side and you decide you should at least try to get some work done on a group project before you completely give up the efforts to study. 

“What’s another word for ‘change’?” You ask Woozi as you proofread another group member’s section of the project.

“Why?” Woozi looks up at you in confusion.

“Because this person used ‘change’ like 600 times and it feels very very redundant.” You explain, “Like I feel like we could make this a drinking game. Something like take a chug every time the word ‘change’ appears.”

“We’d get drunk.” Woozi states the obvious and raises an eyebrow at you.

You point a finger at him with a knowing smile, “Exactly.”

“Oh gosh.” Woozi squeezes his eyes shut and giggles. “You’re already thinking about drinking? Finals week hasn’t even started yet.”

“It feels like it started months ago.” You joke with an eye roll, “I’ve been prepared for the post semester drunkness for AGES.”

Woozi shakes his head and turns the page in his notebook, “Adjust, modify, switch, revise. Uh...” He trails off in thought.

“What?” You ask, wondering why he’s saying random words.

“Synonyms for change.” Woozi reiterates your earlier request. “Oh, differ. And that’s all I got.” 

“Oh, right. Thank you.” You quickly jot down the words in the margin of your notebook. “You still sure we can’t make this a drinking game?”

Dokyeom/Seokmin

The math problem staring up at you without giving you any hints at what the answer could be or how to solve for the answer. It’s like it’s mocking you with its numbers and letters gathered in that one particular spot on the screen. 

“Curse you math.” You grumble and open to a fresh page to restart your attempt at solving the problem. 

“What problem are you on?” Dokyeom asks and leans over the table to peer at your laptop.

“This one.” You turn the screen so he can get a better look. 

“Ooooh, yeahhhhh.” Dokyeom drags out the words as if he’s thinking about how he solved them. Then he pops his lips, “Yeah, I haven’t gotten to that one yet.”

You muffle a chuckle and turn the screen back to face you, “Thanks, Kyeomie.” 

“Did you try starting with the theorem we learned last week?” He offers a suggestion while you busy yourself with the nth attempt of solving it.

“Yeah, I did, but it just led me in a circle over and over again.” You tell him, “Didn’t work.”

“Hmm.” Dokyeom leans his chin in his hand in thought but you pay no attention to him. That is until he clears his throat to force your attention to him.

You flicker your eyes upwards for a second before double taking and a laugh bubbles in your throat. “What-?”

“I’ve got my thinking glasses on.” Dokyeom states seriously with three pairs of glasses sitting on his face. 

“Where’d you get all those anyway?” You ask, laughing at his simple antics.

“One of them is mine, one is Minghao’s that he left in my bag, and the last pair are yours.” He explains and your hands fly to your face. No wonder your eyes were starting to feel tired. You’d been staring at your screen without your blue light glasses on. And now they are on Dokyeom’s face, assisting him in thinking.

Seungkwan

“Pencils?” “Check. Laptop AND chargers?” “Check. Notebooks?” “Check.”

“Fuzzy noise canceling headphones?” Seungkwan lists off the next item and pulls just that out of his bag.

“Fuzzy noi- what?” You look up from your backpack and see the headphones in Seungkwan’s hands. “Why do you need those?”

“It’s finals week, and I need to focus.” He waves the headphones at you, “And since SOMEONE made me come to the library, I need these so I don’t get distracted from the noise.”

You widen your eyes and go back to organizing your study supplies, “Oh-kay.” You definitely didn’t find this weird... at all....

“Judge all you want.” Seungkwan says, a-matter-a-factly, “These babies work wonders.”

You give him a half hearted nod and start your studying. He follows suit and places his earbuds on before settling the fuzzy headphones over his ears. Throughout your study session, friends of yours come up to you two and have small chats. And each time, Seungkwan is forced to take off his fuzzy headphones to be apart of the conversations with his friends.

By the 20th time, Seungkwan is annoyed and you can read the annoyance on his face like it’s a kindergartener’s book. Your friend bids you goodbye before leaving the table side and then Seungkwan lets out a sighed groan.

“How are those headphones working out for you?” You ask, trying to stifle a laugh.

“They’re working fantastic when I have them on. I just wished people would stop coming up to me.” Seungkwan whines, “I mean what part of fuzzy pink noise cancelling headphones says ‘please come talk to me while my head in buried in my notes’?” 

You smirk and joke, “I’m guessing it’s the little eyelids and eyelashes stitched onto them.” You nod towards the sides and his lips twitch in distaste at your joke.

[lesbianchemicalplant]

Text of tweet thread by Anthony DellaRosa @ifeelthewind, Jan 4th 2020 [cw: Contrapoints, transphobia, biphobia, doxxing, abuse, harassment, K*w*f*rms, etc. etc. etc. etc.]

Well, it's been a solid two days of waking fucking nightmares, and also the regular kind.

So, let's talk about it. Contra's got me actively fearing for myself, and also for my family (and here's how). Alternate title:

Contra told a *million* people that I "might be" a Nazi who's "just pretending to be trans."

Now, keep in mind, Contra's a relatively wealthy woman with just over 800,000 YouTube subscribers and almost 11,000 paying patrons. Meanwhile, I have 662 Twitter followers and holes in my mouth where teeth used to be.

Anyway, in her video, at 33:35, she quotes a series of three consecutive tweets of mine, starting here.

So, um, I've actually had her blocked for a long, long time. Definitely at least a year. Maybe two.

So, the fact that she was able to see these tweets at all, to begin with, means that she was namesearching *around* my block, specifically trawling for content. Which is a hell of a thing.

Like, I blocked her because over the course of a couple years, her work became just incredibly fucking triggering for me. But she's so fucking omnipresent in pretty much *every* online trans space, it's basically impossible to fully escape her stuff. So, the block was there to give me at least *some* protection against being blindsided? For a while, I also actually muted her name.

But here we are.

Also, I feel like, after a certain point, she must have been watching *me*, very specifically, because, later in the video, she also quotes *this* tweet, which got literally *five* fucking retweets in its *entire* fucking lifetime, and also contains no big, hot, easily searchable keywords. 

I mean, unless she was fucking sitting here, combing through literally *every single fucking mention* of "Olly" or "Philosophytube" or "trans people." Put a pin in that. Anyway, Contra reads my tweets about Buck Angel's famously petty, spiteful act of transphobic violence against Lana Wachowski, which, yes, could have *easily* gotten her killed, and argues that we shouldn't care. In fact, not only should we not care -- we shouldn't even check to see if it's true.

Because that "reminds" her of what "creepy stalkers who hate trans people do." You know, digging through the archives, looking for dirt. But let me remind you, Buck's comments exist in the media because he *sold them to the media*. He deliberately went on a fucking tear through the entire fucking tabloid circuit, eventually reaching as high as Rolling fucking Stone. He "exposed" Lana, very, very publicly, specifically to punish her. *Doing* that is apparently fine, whatever. Be a guest on my fucking YouTube show. Let me gush and gush and *gush* about your fucking "decades" of "good trans activism" (with absolutely no specifics). But *talking* about the actual, historical fact that he *did* do that, a simple acknowledgement of the fucking harm, is abusive and stalker-ish? I'm sorry, *how* did you get to my tweets again? So, immediately after featuring and responding to three of my tweets, she asks the audience,

"How can you tell the difference between a trans anarcho socialist with an anime avatar, and a Nazi *pretending* to be a trans anarcho socialist with an anime avatar?" "Well," she says, "you can't. Anonymous is anonymous is anonymous, whether it's on 4chan or Twitter."

And I'm honestly not sure she's still talking about me at this point? Because literally none of those things apply to me?

1) I don't specifically identify as an anarcho socialist. I don't specifically identify as *any* particular political micro label. I just don't really find it useful.

2) This account has *never* been anonymous. It has *always* had my name on it.

3) This is not an anime avatar. This is something I drew in, like, 2015, when I was playing around with a bunch of different brushes in FireAlpaca.

4) Although I don't use them as my avatar, I *have* posted selfies here.

5) If I *did* use them as my avatar, well, you didn't fucking censor anyone's avatars in this video. Not even the ones that actually *are* real people's actual photos. So, if my face *was* my avatar, you would have just shown my face to a *million* people and counting, *immediately* before saying I might be a Nazi *and* a fake trans person.

You want to talk about abusive, TERF-y tactics? How about that?

How about stalking the tweets of an autistic trans person with 600 followers, screencapping them out of context, broadcasting them to a literal fucking *million* a *million* of your own fucking fans, and telling them all that the autistic trans person is the "real" Nazi and also maybe not even really trans? How about fucking that? Like, I'm not sure if you *are* talking about me, because, factually, all of this is fucking bullshit. But it certainly *sounds* like you're talking about me.

'Cause you haven't changed gears at all. I'm still the last person you quoted, you're still in the same "bit," and you're still responding to the thing I brought up. Like, really, this has two potential outcomes.

a) People take what you're saying at absolute face value and cheer you on as you take down the faceless fake trans person you've turned me into, or

b) They Google the tweets you so, *so* helpfully provided the *full* fucking text for, find my actual Twitter page, and then, whoops, all of a sudden, I have Contra stans on my Twitter page.

Like, let me lay this out. Those tweets in the video have all been up for two months already. They've been up. They've been out there. They've been seen. They're old news, more or less. And, yes, when they were new, I got hate. Yes, I got abuse. Yes, I even got other big YouTubers, reactionary dipshits like Peter Coffin and shoe0nhead, "liking" posts that talked shit about me. (That's why I went ahead and blocked as many of Peter's followers as it would let me).

But nothing like this.

I've been in protected mode for two days straight.

Nothing's ever done that before.

Nothing's ever been that bad.

Not till this.

Not till you.

Did being featured in Contra's video result in a noticeable uptick in abuse and harassment directed my way?

Unmistakably, yes.

And I was soon as I went protected on Twitter, it started flowing over into my Tumblr. And that put me in the position of wondering where it was going to stop. Were they going to get my phone number? My address? My work?

Fun thoughts.

Fun, fun things I have to live with now. She closes out this segment by telling me, or this hypothetical thing she's created adjacent to me,

"Shut up and go back to K*w*f*rms, where you belong."

So.

Let me tell you.

I've never checked, because I know I wouldn't be able to handle if it I did, but I wouldn't be surprised if K*w*f*rms actually *had* a page about me.

I don't *know*. I don't *want* to know. But I wouldn't be super fucking surprised. [cw: suicide]

I'm autistic. I'm trans. I've always been *very* online, growing up, and for pretty much my entire fucking life (at least for the chunk of it that I can actually remember), I've had groups of people trying to goad me into suicide. I've seen whole fucking group chats where they fucking plan it.

So, yeah. I wouldn't be surprised. If I didn't have one before, I probably fucking do now. Oh, and then she notes,

"I'm saying this in the c*ntiest way. And they deserve it! They deserve the c*ntiness!" Gosh, I wonder why my DMs across two sites are full of abuse right now. Anyway, I can feel myself fading fast.

I might come back and talk about that Olly thing we put a pin in later.

Or I might just go on protected again.

We'll see how this shakes out. 

The fucking disgusting hypocrisy of Natalie Wynn of all people saying “Shut up and go back to K*w*f*rms, where you belong” when she by her own admission was raised on 4chan’s /lgbt/

As the linked facebook post summarizes:

“You want to talk about cancel culture and online mobs and disposability?Then let's talk about how ContraPoints just sicced days of harassment and stalking on a low profile trans person with no power, no money, no fame, and said something that will only certainly result in them getting a dedicated KiwiF page. She's going to get someone fucking killed (if she hasn't already)”

[sneezefiction]

intoxicated

Akaashi x Reader - Scenario

event request: “Congrats on 600!!! maybe i request 8. intoxicated with akaashi pls??🥺🥺🥺💕”

a/n: i’ve always been one to admire strangers from afar. sooo, i thought Akaashi might enjoy seeing your sweet face in a uni/campus setting. fluffy sweetness right here <333

warnings: maybe slightly suggestive (but hardly??)

wc: 1720

---

It all started with a glimpse.

His speculative, grey-blue eyes catching yours from across a full lecture hall. They flickered over, soaking you in at every class period. At first, you couldn’t help but wonder if he’d been looking right past you, but at the tilt of his head, you were sure that his eyes were set on you. A connection formed instantly, sending shivers straight down your spine, giving pause to every mental function.

It got to the point that you had to remind yourself to breathe whenever the pretty boy sent you a modest smile, leaving you a flushed mess.

Because never have you seen someone that captivating.

How at the flick of his ember hair, brushing a too-long piece away from his eyes, you heart would be pounding and skipping. The way he spun his pencil around on his fingers or rested a studious hand on his chin, squishing his face slightly. How his eyes squinted thoughtfully at the prompt of a tricky question, focusing on a specific object to concentrate, only glancing back up when he came to a satisfying conclusion.

You were spell-bound...  and you didn’t even know his name.

But you could dream. And dream you would.

About what his voice would sound like whispering softly to you, his lips brushing against your ear and jawline. Or in the morning with a raspier tinge, waking you up with the gentlest of tones, a hint of coffee lacing with yesterday’s cologne.

How his arms would feel wrapped around your core on a lazy Saturday, soaking in his warmth and sinking back into his secure hold, adjusting accommodatingly for your comfort. To have his eyes drink in every inch of your face, analyzing you instead of his notes for a change.

But for now, you reluctantly settle for distant glances and curious expressions. Separated by a lecture hall and busy class schedules.

That is until you show up to class, finding someone in the usually empty seat next to yours. 

Their back is toward you for a moment, so you take it as a chance to scan their appearance. You quickly note the clean outfit, brown boots and simple colors complete with a long, grey cardigan. If you were forced to sit next to some mysterious person, you’re glad they at least knew how to dress well.

But your entire body runs cold as a familiar face shifts toward the tapping of your light footsteps.

Soft, navy glasses with thin frames. The gentle features made up of soft cheekbones and a sharp, slim jawline. Those bewitching eyes that could outshine the profound shimmering of a deep-blue sea.

It’s him. The one you’ve been fascinated by for weeks. And he’s sitting right there.

“Hi.” The tone is soft and pleasant… inviting even. And his eyes, so warm.

His voice is silk, skimming the surface of your skin giving you chills. Your current infatuation is speaking to you. And it’s definitely no longer a dream.

You should probably start responding now,

“Oh, uh, hello!” You stammer out, a flush dancing across your cheeks.

He just smiles at your dazed response, aware of your confusion but unfazed by your reaction.

Dammit, act like a normal human, y/n, you scold yourself for just standing there, your hands shoved in your pockets. 

“I’m y/n. it’s nice to meet you!” You return the smile, but it hardly begins to reveal the exhilaration of being so close to him.

“I’m Akaashi. Do you care if I sit with you?”

Oh, you could sit on me, you think to yourself but shake the thought from your head swiftly.

And Akaashi… a pretty name for such a pretty face. He’s polite too. Maybe a little formal, but friendly.

“Oh, sure! It’s not like I’m saving it for anyone or anything like that…” You let out a breathy laugh as you set your bag down next to his backpack.

The bustling of the room before class starts covers for the awkward silence between you two. You do your best to calm your nerves. This was the last thing you’d expected from your day and you sure as hell never planned to make a move on him. Your interest was supposed to fade as the semester closed out. It was going to be a lovely thought. Just a nostalgic, intangible tale of stolen glances or a story to tell about a beautiful stranger and what could’ve been.

But Akaashi had other plans.

He wanted to feel you out. To understand why your eyes rested on his figure whenever you thought he couldn’t see you. Because, to Akaashi, you’re the enigma. 

A puzzle in need of solving, determining, and piecing together until a full picture is resolved. And he hasn’t been this intrigued by an individual since high school… so who’s to say he shouldn’t pursue his curiosity?

He took a leap of faith, deciding that you were also potentially interested, which is how he’s found himself seated next to you. And you’re way more attractive up close than he could’ve imagined. 

As the professor begins to ramble through some odd topic, Akaashi’s side glances begin.

The way your lips part as you try to listen to the lecture, beautiful eyes scanning your notes, and then flickering back to the PowerPoint on the projector screen has him shifting around in his seat, wishing he could hear the song of your voice through them.  He can tell that there’s so much more under your surface. Behind your shy smiles and the way your tuck strands of hair behind your ear. That there was already a lifetime of morals, beliefs, habits, experiences, and stories that you could share with him. There is only so much he could examine in the span of an hour… and it’s not often that he’s drawn away from his studies. But in all honesty, he’d much rather listen to you, falling in love with your mind instead of just your body and entrancing facial features. 

Akaashi craves to discover it all.

You bite your lip, attempting to concentrate on anything but the boy next to you… but it’s hard because he’s close enough that you can smell his complex cologne mixed with the chai latte sitting on his desk. You even find yourself leaning toward him, your body urging you to break the distance between you two. Throughout the class you have to control yourself, sitting up straight, keeping comments and conversation to a minimum, because forget about learning anything… you’re barely able to think without being submerged in his presence. 

When his arm intentionally brushes against yours as he reaches for another sip of his tea, you almost lose it. Infatuation or not, he was doing something to you.

You barely register that Akaashi has leaned in to whisper something to you, but when it does, goosebumps race down your arms.

“Y/n…”

Your name feels so good rolling off his tongue.

Heat spreads across your face, “Y- yes?”

Very smooth, y/n. Nice stutter, you cringe at yourself.

“After class, would you want to go over notes?” His suggestion, though innocent in nature, sounds far more alluring… and you can’t tell if it’s just your brain making up the sultry tone or if Akaashi just sounds this good.

“Ah, actually I would love to… where to?” You recover, leaning back as a small smile plasters itself onto your lips, trying not to make your excitement too obvious.

“My dorm?” A fleeting smirk crosses his face, but ghosts away to conceal his feelings.

Oh.

---

“Keiji, you’re tickling me.” You squirm, trying to tug your self out of his grasp.

“No, I’m not, you just happen to be ticklish.” He counters sleepily. His fingers continue to dance down your back, running in soothing circles and tracing curves.

You huff, but you stop struggling to get out of his arms.

As terrible as the dilapidated campus dorms were, you’ve never felt safer than when you were buried in a blanket, tucked under your boyfriend’s arm, staring up at the old, cracked ceiling. The tired building was so close to falling apart that it was almost laughable.

But you don’t seem bothered.

It’s hard to worry about it when you’re constantly drowning in the pools of his eyes. Under the influence of his grazing touches and strings of thought flowing from his pretty mouth. An enrapturing blend of sophistication and authentic thought.

You shift in his hold, your back no longer pressing to his chest, choosing to lay face-to-face instead. For a moment, you are met with sloping features and the most peaceful of expressions. A sweeping wave of adoration flows through your body. It’s a warm tightening in your chest followed by a heavy, contented exhalation. He’s an angel.

But soon, Akaashi’s eyes softly blink open, making your heart do little flips. You would never be able to get rid of the butterflies that fluttered their way into your heart. He moves straight to reading your mind, analyzing every quirk of your eyebrow, what kind of smile you were wearing, how long you held his gaze for.

It’s funny how he’d assumed that you would only distract him from that one class. Instead, you have him in a dizzying spiral, taking up all of his attention. Filling his whole heart. His eyes naturally sought you out in noisy rooms full of people. His soul ached and burned for you and your pillowy-soft voice whenever you weren’t around.

It’s undeniable. 

You’re intoxicating.

Placing butterfly kisses on his cheeks, you earn a soft, closed-mouth smile. It’s easy to drown in his mesmerizing stare, taking it in, processing what he’s feeling and thinking, you lose track of time and forget about the dingy dorm room. 

Because it didn’t matter where you were. A classroom? A house party? A burning building? His artistry and perfection would outshine the most interesting of discussions and the brightest of flames. He’d bled through the pages of your life, leaving beautiful strokes of ink containing hues brighter than you could’ve ever imagined. Dipping into your past and pressing his way into your future. 

And it’s clear.

Akaashi is intoxicating.

The feeling is perfectly mutual… and to think it all started with a simple infatuation with the prettiest boy in your lecture hall.

With a beautiful stranger.

A mere glance.

---

tags: @cherryonigiri, @yams046, @miss-rin, @shou-kunn, @senkuwu-chan, @super-noya, @stcrryskies, @holaaaf, @sugacookiies, @starboybokuto

(comment or send an ask to be added to my general tag list) 

[mldrgrl]

prompt: Mulder and Scully being competitive with each other over silly things - Jeopardy? solving the case before the end of an episode of some sort of forensic crime show? how many slices of pizza they can eat? a board game? etc.

Loved this one, Anon, thank you so much.  And I was in the mood to whip up something humorous.  Went to sleep last night thinking about it.

Half and Half

by: mldrgrl Rating: PG

“I’m dying to get out of this suit,” Scully says.  “Give me ten minutes and then we can go through the report?”

“I’ll leave the connecting door unlocked,” Mulder says as they exit their rental car and head to the doors to their rooms.  “Come over when you’re done and we’ll order in.”

She sighs in relief as she kicks off her heels at the door.  She tosses her blazer to the side, unbuttons her shirt, and loosens her skirt.  She clips her hair back, washes her face, and changes into a pair of sweats and a t-shirt.

File folders under her arm, she taps lightly on the connecting door before she pushes it open.  Mulder is sitting at the edge of the bed, tie off and buttons undone at the neck.  His shirtsleeves are rolled up and he’s yelling at the TV.

“What is Mork & Mindy!” he yells.  “Mork and Mindy, you idiots.  Everyone knows ‘nanu nanu.’”

“We were looking for, ‘What is Mork & Mindy?’” Alex Trebeck says.

“Obviously,” Mulder says.  “How did you people even get on the show?”

“What are you doing?” Scully asks.

“Playing Jeopardy.”

“TV Catchphrases for $400, Alex.”

“Book ‘em, Danno.”

“What is Hawaii 5-0,” Mulder yells, just as Scully says, “Hawaii 5-0.”

Mulder makes the sound of a buzzer.  “You have to answer in the form of a question, Scully, or it doesn’t count.”

“I still knew the answer.”

“You mean, the question.”

“Do you want to debate the semantics of Jeopardy or go over the reports?”

“Sure, sure.”

“Let’s try Shakespeare Who Said it? for $200.”

“Double double, toil and trouble.”

“Who are the witches?” Mulder answers.

“Who are the three witches of Macbeth,” Scully says at the same time.

“Who is Macbeth?” answers the first contestant to ring in.

“Oh, come on,” Scully says.  “You can’t be that dumb.”

“Right?”

“Not quite what we’re looking for,” Alex answers.  Finally, the second contestant answers correctly.

“Shakespeare Who Said It for $300.”

“I prithee daughter do not make me mad.”

“Baptista, maybe,” Mulder answers.  “Who is Baptista?”

“No, who is King Lear?” Scully disagrees.

“Who is King Lear?”

“Who is, King Lear.  Act 2, scene 4, referring to Goneril.  And that will lead us to our first commercial break.  More to come after these words from our sponsors.”

“I should’ve known that one,” Mulder says, scooting over to make room for Scully on the bed.  “$600 to $500, I’m winning.”

“How do you figure that?”

“You lost Hawaii 5-0 to incorrect phrasing.”

“You didn’t establish the rules.  $600 to $900, I’m winning.”

“I didn’t have to establish anything, those are the inherent rules of Jeopardy.  Everybody knows that.”

“Mulder, I’m here to go over these reports,” Scully answers, holding up the file folders that have been tucked under her arm the whole time.  She is still standing.

“How about a little wager?”

“On what?”

“Winner orders the pizza of their choice, loser pays.”

“Come on, Mulder.”

“You don’t think you can beat me?”

“No, I know I can beat you.  I just want to get this review done so I can go to bed.”

“Scully, it’s 7 o’clock.  The review can wait.  Unless you’re just chicken.”

“Very mature.”

“Triple dog dare you?”

Scully held her hand out as though to shake Mulder’s.  “We start with a clean slate going in from the commercial and we make our own wagers on Double Jeopardy questions.”

“I’ll keep score!”  Mulder leaves Scully’s handshake hanging in the breeze and jumps up to grab the complimentary pad of paper and pen on the motel desk, which she snatches from him as soon as he comes back to sit down.

“I’ll keep score,” she says.

“You are the math geek.”

They sit through contestant bios and Alex Trebek’s vaguely sarcastic comments on the tidbits they’ve chosen to share with the audience.  When the game starts back up again, there are two answers left in Shakespeare Who Said It? and every answer available in Civil War Nicknames, The Old West, and American Folklore.

Unsurprisingly, Mulder dominates the folklore category, but they tie for two answers.  They both struggle with The Old West more than Civil War Nicknames, but the answers there are easier to decipher within the clues.  Mulder is up $700 when the first Daily Double comes up in The Old West.

“$200,” Scully says.  “I already don’t even want to know the answer.”

“$500,” Mulder answers.  

“Suffering from tuberculosis and alcoholism, this dentist turned gunslinger died in a sanitarium at the age of 36.”

“Who is Doc Holliday,” Scully answers.

“Who is Bat Master..dammit!” Mulder replies just a beat behind her.

“You should’ve known that one.”

“It was the first thing that popped into my head.  What’s the damage?”

“We’re tied.”

“All right, next round, it’s getting serious.”

“Prepare to pay for a large vegetarian with extra olives.”

“Ugh, vegetables on pizza is the antithesis to the point of pizza.”

“And what is the point of pizza?”

“All the pepperoni you can handle and then add in some sausage for good measure.”

“You’re a heart attack waiting to happen, Mulder.  When was the last time you had your cholesterol checked?”

“In May, actually.  Fit as a fiddle.  Here we go, round 2.”

“...categories are: Before & After, Science, Word Origins, Potpourri, The Body Human, and finally, Astronomy. ”

The contestants seem fixated on Potpourri and Before & After, to Mulder’s relief.  He isn’t ready for Scully to completely smoke him in the Science and The Body Human categories.  He figures if he can do well enough in the first two, he might be able to hold firm and maybe they might get to Astronomy where he can make a comeback.  Sure enough, she responds so quickly in the first two Science answers he can’t even get a word out.

“Born this year, a sheep named this introduced the world to cloning.”

“Dolly!” Mulder yells, too excited about knowing a Science question he forgets to phrase it properly.

“Who is Dolly,” Scully corrects.

“Dammit!”

“Your rules.”

“I know, I know.  Still, dammit.”

Blessedly, the contestants leave Science and migrate to Astronomy and since the first answer is the planet nicknamed The Red Planet, a Jeopardy equivalent of low-hanging fruit, they stick with it.  The first Daily Double of the 2nd round hits them at the $800 question in Astronomy.

“I’m up by $1,600,” Scully says.  “You have $3,900.”

“I’m going to make it a true Daily Double.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes.”

“$600,” Scully says, after a few moments hesitation.

Mulder worries his bottom lip with his teeth and waits for the answer to come.

“This spiral galaxy is named for an Ethiopian princess in Greek Mythology.”

“What is Andromeda!” They both yell.

Mulder realizes he’s sweating after the last question and even though it paid off, he vows not to make that kind of gamble again.  Scully berates herself for not being more confident in her astronomy knowledge as she now trails Mulder by $1,700, which may or may not be easy to recover from.

Time runs out before all the clues are revealed and the 2nd Daily Double is never found.  By final Jeopardy, they’re nearly neck and neck, with Mulder at $9,100 and Scully at $8,500.

“The final category is: Computers.”

“Good thing The Gunmen aren’t here,” Mulder says.  “Gimme one of those sheets of paper and we can write our wagers and guesses like the others.”

Scully rips off a piece of paper and they both take nearly all of the commercial break to come up with their wagers.  Scully folds her paper in half with the wager face down.  Mulder turns his over and places it on the bed.

“And here we go with the final answer.  Born in 1815, this daughter of a famous poet published an algorithm for a mechanical calculator and is believed by some to be the first ever computer programmer.”

Mulder writes his answer immediately and Scully taps her pen against her teeth as the final Jeopardy music winds down.  She finally picks up her paper and memorializes her guess before the final note.

“Whatcha got?” Mulder asks.

“I want to see their answers first,” Scully replies.

Mulder bounces his knee in anticipation.  The contestant in 3rd place answers incorrectly with Dora Wordsworth, but only wagered $1.

“I hate when they do that,” Scully says.  “It’s not The Price is Right.”

“Listen, if the category was Nuclear Physics, I might only be waging $1 as well.”

“Too bad it wasn’t.”

The contestant in 2nd place also answers incorrectly with “Who is ____?” and ends up with $4500.  Mulder shakes his head.

“At least put something,” he says.

“Seriously,” Scully agrees.

“And now Judith, our three day champion, currently in the lead with $13,800.  What did she guess?  Who is Ada Lovelace?  Daughter of Lord Byron, known for her work on Charles Babbage’s Analytical Engine, August Ada King, Countess of Lovelace, or Ada Lovelace.  And how much did Judith wager?  $7,000, bringing her three day total to $65,941.”

“Alright, Scully, moment of truth.”

“Count of three?” she asks.

“Is that one, two, reveal?  Or one, two, three, reveal?”

“One, two, reveal.”

“Okay.  One, two…”  

They both turn their papers around.  Both answered Who is Ada Lovelace?  They both grin.

“Frohike would be so tickled with your familiarity with the mother of computer programming,” Mulder says.  

“Yeah?  How does he feel about your familiarity with her?”

“Pretty jealous, actually.”

“What was your wager?”

Mulder turns over the paper again to show her.  “$3,000.  You?”

Scully bites her lip a little and then flips the fold of her paper for Mulder to see.  “$8,000.”

“$8,000!”

“Go big or go home, right?”

“Damn, Scully.  You’re a monster.  In a good way, obviously.  But, damn.  So, I guess that vegetarian is on me.”

“Extra olives.”

“With extra olives.”  He grimaces and gets up to grab the Yellow Pages in the nightstand.  

Scully opens up her file folders and begins sorting the reports for review across the end of Mulder’s bed as he searches for a pizza parlor.  He’s on the phone fairly quickly after browsing the phone book.

“Yes, I’d like to place an order for delivery,” Mulder says.  “A large.  Vegetarian.”

“Half vegetarian,” Scully interrupts without looking up.  “Half pepperoni and sausage.”

“Sorry, half vegetarian, half pepperoni and sausage.  Extra olives on the vegetarian side, please.  Yeah, I’ll hold.”  Mulder drops the phone to his shoulder while hold music plays and smiles slightly.  “Scully, you interested in a rematch tomorrow night?”

“Depends on how interested you are in buying another pizza.”

The End

[anystalker707]

Lights, camera and fuck off (2/4)

Pairing: Gerard Way x Fem Reader Word count: ~ 1 600 Genre: Fluff Requested on Wattpad Summary: Basically just a cute day between Gerard and Reader.

"It's fine here," I tell Gerard as seeing we're already near enough to the building, "it'll be difficult to park there. Also, you don't need to pick me up later. I know the guys are coming over and I need to do some other things, anyways, so it won't be a problem." I smile at him as the car finally comes to a stop.

Gerard turns to me with a smile, his grip around the steering wheel loosening, "are you sure? I can still do it, tho, if you want."

"No, it's fine," I reassure him - sometimes I feel like he'd do anything for me if he could or if I let him. "Anyways, do I look fine? Is my hair okay? The lipstick?" Holding my phone up, I observe myself through the reflex, taking a last check on myself.

"No," he answers, "something's missing." Before I'm able to ask what's it, Gerard's fingers grab my jaw, making me turn to him, and he places his lips over mine. A wordless way of reassuring me and certainly one of the most effective. He pulls away with a small smile, rubbing the corner of my bottom lip with his thumb, "now you are."

A blush takes over my cheeks as I smile, gazing at him adoringly. "'Love you," I say while leaving the car, hearing his faint love you too after I close the door.

.

"And do you have any goal? Would you like to work on something apart from Umbrella?" The interviewer asks with a wide smile and a good mood. Unlike most of the times, the interviewer is someone who actually understands the subject he's talking about and his eyes flash more admiration than ambition. Actually, the whole mood is more casual - the live interview happening in the headquarters of the news platform, with a small public who was notified about it a couple of days ago, but most of it certainly is watching through the internet.

"Practically pleading for a role in a BBC series or in a Marvel or DC movie. It'd be nice being the Doctor or some other superhero," I say sheepishly, earning some appreciative words from the people gathered around us with their phones in hands. "But I couldn't wish anything better than working in Umbrella, that's for sure," I grin proudly. "It's been my passion since it was firstly published."

"I understand," he raises his eyebrows briefly, nodding. "And," he takes a glance at the paper cards he's got in hand, "what are you doing now, until you start filming Umbrella's next season?"

"Though I've already been indicated for a few series and movies, but I'm going to spare some time so I can tag along with MCR for at least a part of the tour," there's certain smugness in my voice, but I can't help it, it's not everyone who has a chance like this.

"Oh, really?" The interviewer says; at the same time some muttering starts between the public. "You're doing it?"

"Hah," I breathe out, furrowing my eyebrows at him in certain disbelief, "I've been waiting for this for six years, of course I wouldn't lose the chance. The return concert was already amazing, I can't wait to see them on tour. Not to mention I never got to see them live before the break up, so... It'll certainly be a good experience." The mention of it makes anxiety start bubbling in my stomach once again, pretty much like every time I think about it. The thought makes me so happy.

"Ah, are you comfortable to talk about your relationship?" He asks carefully, still not seeming completely secure after I give a small nod - though he seems sweet until now, I'm mentally wishing he doesn't start with these repetitive or too intrusive questions. "Hows it dealing with all the repercussion?"

"Oh, well," I throw my head back, scratching my neck in thought. "It's annoying sometimes, but negative comments are common, aren't them?" I throw a hand in the air, shrugging, "we can't please everyone. And, about the ones who just want to annoy, I hope they grow empathy at some point."

With a smile, I turn to one of the cameras, internally wishing the shoes fit and people do stop it. "C'mon, I don't understand what's all the fuss about while people's always spreading about acceptance, but can't accept this. How much of hypocrites are y'all?" I chuckle, though really meaning it - my words receive another wave of appreciative comments from the people.

.

"Oh my God, do you fucking live here now? It looks like you own the place!" Frank says from the couch in a playfully indignant tone as seeing me closing the door behind me. Mikey cracks a chuckle, greeting me with a small nod.

Playing along, I roll my eyes dramatically, "yes, motherfucker, now I own everything, even the band and I'm kicking you out of it," I point a finger at Frank, narrowing my eyes - he gasps offended; all I do is to chuckle. I'm halfway up the stairs, about to question where's Gerard when he walks out of the kitchen. "Sup, king," I say, earning a reprehending look for him as he places a hand on his hip; he ends up giving up with a smile after I chuckle.

The guys are talking when I make my way back downstairs - having changed and left my bag upstairs - so I just greet Ray back with a wave when he sees me walking to the kitchen. Thankfully, the week hasn't been too busy for any one of us, so Gerard and I have been spending more time together.

It makes me smile a bit seeing they remembered of me since, even having four used cups of coffee inside the sink, there's still some coffee in the jar. A vapor comes from the drink as I pour it in my mug and bring it with me as I move to the counter. A couple of magazines rest over the marble surface, I them left there once walking in the room - one is mine and other Gerard's, since the publishing house always provides the editions when we give interviews like this.

There's a picture of Gerard and me on the cover, a very beautiful one. A few pages in the middle of the magazine are reserved to the other photos we took, along with the interview. Everyone shall be happy now, with all the so much wanted answers. At least there was someone who was nice enough to not simply throw repetitive rude questions at us.

"Hey, sugar," Gerard's voice is suddenly next to my ear while he wraps his arms around my waist - the silence coming from the other rooms lead me to believe the others left already. Exhaling, I lean back against him with a pleased hum, but it turns into a desperate one after he places a kiss on my neck, tickling me. He lets out the sweetest giggle ever and I can't help but to melt, pecking his cheek.

"Look," I say, placing my mug on the counter then taking the magazine in hand, "is it fine? I'm still thinking it looks a bit weird." Anyways, it's practically the exact same with every other picture, I guess. The more I look at it, the worse it gets.

"No, it's perfect," he says in that specific tone, signing I can't argue back because these are facts. It should be difficult to believe him - because he's the kind of person who is right even against googled info - but it's actually easy and feels like he's telling me the obvious. "You're perfect." He tells me and I blush, placing the magazine back down on the counter.

Smiling, I place a kiss on his lips and move away to finish drinking my coffee and put the mug in the sink. Gerard has his phone in hand when I turn around, probably taking a pic of the magazines to post it somewhere.

I gaze at him for a moment and decide to go to the back garden, sitting down on a bench. He's walking through the doorway not long later and, as soon as he sits down, I move to lay on the bench, in a way my head's on his lap - the concrete is warm against my back. He lets out a small hum at me, caressing my cheek with his knuckles.

Everything is so peaceful. I can't really define if everything is really that good or if it's due to me finally being able to rest after such a busy day. The day is warm, with a light breeze - sighing, I close my eyes, allowing myself to just enjoy it and Gerard's presence.

I'm able to sense him moving and, cracking an eye open, there's him holding his phone over me. "Gerard," I say in a playful warning tone, "you're not recording me to post it, are you? I'm tired of seeing random videos of me on your story whenever I get on Instagram." I breathe a chuckle, actually loving all the attention I receive, though I'm not really worthy of it.

"Art's made to be appreciated," he answers simply, cupping my face, rubbing his thumb over my cheek.

"And I guess I'll never appreciate you enough," I answer, smiling.

[haifengg]

The Dutch Room - Chapter 2

Find all chapters here!

“May I get you some tea?” Doyoung asked kindly but weirdly nervously as he held the door open for her.

“Err … sure. Thank you.” She answered taking a seat in the one guest office chair the room had to offer. She sat down at the very edge of it.

“Mr. Jung will be here shortly.” With those words he closed the door behind him and went to the small kitchen the entire office shared. He shoved away the half empty take-out boxes one of his nasty coworkers had left there from the night before and filled water into the electric kettle. By far the most used gadget in this kitchen.

On the way back to his boss’ office he ran into Johnny. A wide grin forming on his face the closer they got to each other.

“You’re making her tea?”

Doyoung huffed. “I was told to offer her tea.” Holding the fragile blue tea cup with both hands he tried to ignore the tall brunette and just walk past him.

“Who told you to? Jaehyun?” He asked excitedly and followed him, making sure not to be get rid of.

Doyoung sighed. Johnny was getting on his nerves a lot lately. It actually seemed to him as if making his time at work as unbearable as possible. The way he just walked around the office and never seemed to be working on anything was making Doyoung develop a certain type of headache that now always kicked in when he saw his coworker.

“Don’t you have work to do?” He asked grumpily, still trying to get rid of him.

“Nah, not right now. Besides this is much more interesting and she is sort of my work, no?”

Doyoung rolled his eyes at that question. “She is one of the candidates you selected after the incident.”

“She is the top candidate.” Johnny said proudly as if that was somehow his doing.

“That’s honestly something I can’t imagine.”

“Why not?”

They walked the last bits to the office together and Johnny now looked through the shutters, trying to get a glimpse of the woman inside.

“She is kind of missing the edge? Weirdly normal. It’s hard to imagine she is supposed to be the best in her field. And" Doyoung paused. "... so different from June.”

“You mean she’s not freaking scary?”

Doyoung shuddered. “Exactly. It’s weird.”

Johnny chuckled sneerily. “You should know not all women are as cray-cray as our dear June. Something you would have noticed by now if you would be interested in women.”

The headache got worse.

“Please just get lost already.”

“Just one more thing.”

Doyoung was close to tears. “What is it?”

“Where did you get that mug from?”

“Pardon me?”

“That cup you’re holding. It’s not one of the few I brought for everyone.”

“You mean the filthy ones you never wash up and that slowly start to reek of coffee?”

Johnny blinked offendedly. “They are supposed to do that! It’s a patina!”

“Coffee is not supposed to have a patina that’s just utter bullshit and besides, you never wash them or put them in the dishwasher so how or why are we going to use them even if we wanted to?”

“Are you saying no-one is using them?”

"Of course not! Everyone has their own."

"Their own cups??"

“Of course.” Doyoung knocked on the door to Jaehyun’s office. “We’re grown up people. We have our own mugs.”

***

The way this man looked at her gave her chills. For a few minutes he was sitting across the room behind the desk, monitoring her breath or god knows what.

To be honest: She had no idea what she was doing here. This was a job interview but she didn’t know what position for or how they heard of her. She just moved to the city a few months ago and since then she laid pretty low for quite a handful of reasons.

And then a few days ago there was this letter between the usual junk mail, inviting her for this interview.

A knock on the door teared her from her thoughts and the man didn’t even look up as he commanded: “Come in.”

The other employee from before walked in and handed her the tea he promised and left the room as quiet and quick as he entered it.

Now holding the cup in her hands she took a sip and nervously rubbed her thumb against the rim.

“Your name is Song, right? At least that is your alias if I am not mistaken.”

Song choked on her tea. How does he know? She coughed. “Excuse me?”

“It says here”, he pointed with an expensive looking pen at the open file in front of him. “your alias is Song. Is that not correct?”

“No.” Her voice was shaking just ever so slightly. “That’s correct.”

The man smiled softly. “Great. I am Jung Jaehyun. Nice to meet you.”

Song honestly doubted how nice it was to meet her but she kindly replied to the phrase.

Jaehyun relaxed a little in his chair and kept eyeing her. “What is the alias for? What do you do?”

She frowned confusedly. “You invited me for a job interview and don’t know what I do?”

He chuckled. “I know what you do. I just want to hear it from you. How you would describe it.”

Looking down at the cup and the tea’s surface she took two seconds to think. “I am an illustrator. After graduating from the Academy of Fine Arts I became a self-employed illustrator.”

“What are you drawing for?”

“Children’s books.”

“Righ, right. A decent occupation of a respectable young woman. How nice.” He had a look at the file in front of him and turned a few pages. Just now Song wondered why he had such a huge file with information about her.

She once again looked down at her reflection on the tea and noticed how striking the resemblance was between the cup she was holding in her hands right now and the one in the cupboard at home. “I have to say, excuse me for putting it this way, for a young lady of more or less stable income you have a quiet expensive taste.”

“Expensive taste?” What was he saying? Of course she did break out the formal wear for this occasion but the turtleneck and the checkered straight leg pants she was wearing were far away from being considered expensive. Yes, she had a certain wardrobe that would leave her dear late-parents shocked but what she did with their financial legacy was her very private business, right? So what the hell was he saying?

“In art. The apartment you’re living in isn't the highest in rent and not the best in location either but the paintings hanging on those very walls certainly have me wondering why you didn’t choose a better place? One who can collect such delicate pieces of art must be well off financially. Though I can’t see anything of it in your financial records.”

A small red light lit up inside of her head which let her know it was high time to leave. But something about this man and the way he was talking to her made her stay. Jaehyun obviously knew a shit ton about her but yet he asked her about her job as if he didn’t already know.

“I am sorry but, I’m a bit confused.” Song decided it was time to drop the mask of the young respectable illustrator. She sat up a bit straighter and leaned forward, putting the cup down on the small table beside her.

“I know what I do for a living and you know what I do for a living. You know my alias and you know where I live. So would you please just tell me why I am here? Is this about the national historic museum three months ago?”

Jaehyun smiled as if he finally got what he wanted. “I heard about that but no, I am not involved in it so it’s not the reason you’re here. If I understand correctly you paint commissions?”

“I do.”

“Wrong.” He said, now leaning forward as well, elbows on the table top. “You forge art and have people pay you to do it. And you’re good.”

Song looked him directly into the eyes.

“So good in fact, that you sometimes produce two copies. One with the purpose to replace the original in the museum. The other one with the purpose to fool your customers and make them pay your horrend commission fees.”

“So you ordered me here to … do what exactly? If you want me to forge something for you or paint you something nice for your office you could have contacted me in the official way. Well, as official as it gets.”

He laughed once again and by this time Song began to ask again what was so funny about her. Or did he just not take her seriously?

“To be quite frankly: I want you to work for me.”

“Fine.” She answered brusquely and got up. “I’m sure if you were able to find out so many things about me one could write a novel about it, you will be able to contact me the way my clients usually do.”

Before she made the first step towards the door he said just as calm as he has been the entire time: “I want you to work for me exclusively as part of the company. Not as a one time thing but permanently.”

She stopped.

“I have been looking for someone like you for quite some time now but you’re the first suitable candidate.”

It’s a lie. She thought to herself. That can’t be the truth.

“So your way of asking me to work for you is to order me here and serve me tea in my own cup you got as a souvenir from breaking into my apartment?”

“It’s very effective, is it not? Also, one can only imagine what it feels like to fool the feds instead of a wealthy dentist or lawyer. To forge a real old master instead of some small 600 bucks wannabe fine artist.”

Song walked up to the door and already had one hand on the handle but his next sentence made her stay.

“Maybe it’s just me but something like the heist we’re going for would certainly gain you a" He paused to choose his words wisely. "properreputation. What feeling must it be to have someone look at the pieces in your flat and not just think ‘this one must be financially well off’ but verywell off?”

She kept staring at the heavy wooden door, had him talking to her back.

“And just for the record: All of my employees have their own mugs.”

She took a deep breath and turned around. Her initial anger was gone.

“Well I guess then you can keep it right where it is.”

Navigation

[m0r1bund]

The river ghosts.

Foreword: This is part of an ongoing series of updates, and requires some context. If you're wondering why Ghost River went dark for half a year, you should start here first.

Some bittersweet news on Ghost River.

The hard stuff, first:

I've spent my summer emailing around, trying to get in touch with a co-conspirator / consultant to hammer out Ghost River's issues with. I eventually heard back from two individuals, both with professional backgrounds in Yavapai history and culture, and members of one of the nations themselves. They let me know that ghosts aren't to be made light of in a Yavapai context. Knowing this now, I have decided to take Ghost River offline.

I'll try to explain my reasoning.

While I was trying to remediate GR's original issues-- Kith and Val's pseudo-fridging-- I realized that I wasn't comfortable making their identities interchangeable with any other people or nation. I felt strongly that a story about the Agua Fria should be told from the perspective of one of its first peoples, and that any other way would be a disservice. K +V were written as Yavapai in my script from very early on, and I disliked the notion that any other nation could be swapped in or out to make them more “appropriate.” In the same vein, there is no other place this story can be told than on the Agua Fria river.

This, coupled with the knowledge that Ghost River was built on a faulty premise-- an Extremely Goofy webcomic about ghosts-- confirmed in my mind that it was out of my hands to tell.

I would apologize and say that I dislike taking the comic down without warning, but I think I need to make a much different apology. I made a fundamental error before I even drew the first page, which could have been fixed had I done my due diligence. I don't feel comfortable leaving the story up (even with disclaimers) knowing that it's a misrepresentation and faulty interaction with Yavapai culture. I think it's important that this is taken seriously, and I'm deeply sorry for my oversight.

If there's one thing I could hope for, it's that this serves as a teachable moment for others. I'd consider myself to be pretty darn familiar with things like the baleful polymorph trope, as well as taking care around restricted entities that should only be depicted in certain ways (if at all.) But you really cannot overestimate your dead spots when writing. I made assumptions from a culturally ~white background about how ghosts might be handled (which ultimately held no water), and compartmentalized “weird dog ghost” away from “this is basically the worst cross between fridging and getting transformed into an animal.” I couldn't see how fundamentally flawed the story was until it was staring me in the face, and I'm kicking myself in the shins for making such a rookie mistake. Two years late is a pretty bad time to start asking questions that should have been settled in draft one!

So-- If you're a writer or an artist, I hope you catch these things early. Better yet, I hope you've got the wherewithal to reach out to folks that can help you see things that you can't. And hey, if not? Better late than never to ask the hard questions. I promise it can only result in something greater.

With all that said...

The sweet stuff:

The folks I spoke with offered me these bits of advice free of charge-- a kindness I really can't articulate, because now I've got 600$ of what were previously consulting funds to donate, and I think that's pretty fucking cool. Most of them will go to the Yavapai Indian Foundation. A portion will also go to a LGBT+ advocacy group of some kind, because the bulk of these funds were raised via my Pride banner work. I will need to sit and think on who that might be, though. I will report back here when those contributions have been made.

Also? This whole process taught me a lot about storytelling, consulting, and sending some incredibly weird emails. One of my happiest takeaways is learning that... Hey, I had the commitment for this, and I really do enjoy making comics. I hope I can find a new story that I'm equally passionate about bringing to y'all.

8/28/20 Donations:

The donations have been made out : -) the final breakdown:

$94.34* to the Russian LGBT Network $125 to Lambda Legal $375 to the Yavapai Indian Foundation

*(due to a conversion error, the remaining $25 got rolled over onto the donation to the Yavapai Indian Foundation.)

Etc.:

I wish I could give some sort of grand closure to all of this, but, such is the nature of things sometimes. What will happen with Kith, Val, and Dia? I haven't the slightest. Dia, at least, will be sticking around-- she's my little friend-- but her story was heavily hinged on GR. Much will have to change. As for K + V... Well, it's inevitable I write lesbian schlock about scientists again. If not in name, I'm sure their essence will live on somewhere in my work.

Thank you, and thank you again for your kindness through this all. This one was a pretty huge bungle, but I hope to stick the landing next time around. Words can't articulate how grateful I am to have shared this experience with all of you. I hope it's been an ounce as instructive and inspired some, small kernel of love for the human and nonhuman communities of the Sonoran desert.

Here is a song that I often daydreamed about sharing at the end of the comic. Now that we're here, I guess I can do that now : -)

Nervous ft. Tim Bonvallet by Wolfgun

Dreamed I was in a desert without any luck Storm gray clouds hovering above Silence all around me, I was wandering alone And I realized there is nothing anyone can really own

- 1ore

[saiilorstars]

It Had To Be You

Ch.21: Being the Azalea // Story Masterlist

Fandom: The Flash

Pairings: Barry Allen x Female OC

Pronunciation of OC’s name: Bell-en. The last syllable has an emphasis so it’s not pronounced like ‘Helen’ would be.

~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~

Chapter Summary: Belén continues to struggle controlling her powers, even making the decision to hold back on being the Azalea for a while. That all gets put to the test when 'the Trickster' makes an appearance.

{Previous chapters}

Barry stood in front of his usual board in the precinct lab, while Joe sat behind. "Alright, this is everything that we know about Harrison Wells." Much like the case of his mother, he pulled down a secret board down to reveal a brand new case - Dr. Well's - on there. "Which is actually not a lot."

Joe thought it ironic despite the problem at hand. "Didn't you read a whole book about him?"

"Yeah, 600 pages, and the big takeaway is, he's enigmatic."

"Your mom was killed by a speedster. Wells' machine turned you into a speedster. That's way too many coincidences for this old cop."

Barry shook his head, at a complete loss. "Do you think that he wanted me to become the Flash?"

Joe shrugged. "Everything he's done since that night you got struck by lightning... bringing you to STAR Labs, giving you the suit, training you... it's all been to keep you safe."

"And to make me faster. Wells once said that he needed more speed from me. Why?"

"I don't know. But he wants something from you, Barry. We just need to figure out what it is."

Barry was feeling like patience should just be damned. "Well, let's go get him then. Let's get some answers!"

Joe stood up and walked up to the board to take a closer look. "We can't do that now as much as we might want to."

"Joe, you had your suspicions about Wells from the very beginning. You thought that he might be the man in yellow."

"Except the blood from your house didn't match him," Joe reminded.

"Alright, so maybe he's not the Reverse-Flash, but you think that he knows what happened that night. He may have the key to getting my dad out of prison."

Joe sighed and looked away from the board."Whatever Wells wants from you, it started 15 years ago. He's been patient. Scary patient. You gotta listen to me on this. We have to be just as patient."

"Hello?" came the familiar chirpy voice. Barry immediately pulled down the board's common - public - paper just as Belén walked in. Despite his quickness, Belén detected she had walked in on a moment she wasn't invited to. "I should have waited downstairs…" she apologetically chuckled.

"No, no, it's fine," Joe gave Barry a look on how close it had been. For the moment, it was decided no one would know about their investigation on Wells. "I was leaving anyways."

"I don't quite believe that," Belén stopped by a table full of what she considered interesting science things.

In an attempt to steer the conversation away from anything dangerous, Joe casually asked, "You guys made plans?"

It had worked.

Belén nodded and turned to the detective. "Barry's buying me the drink he promised me so that I wouldn't come with him to see Snart."

Joe made a face and glanced at Barry. "You bought her off with drinks?"

"Don't get used to it," warned Belén. "I'm much more expensive - first time it's a pass."

Barry playfully rolled his eyes. Joe said his goodbyes and left the two in the lab. "Ready to go?" Barry went for his jacket left on the chair by the computer.

"Mhm…" Belén discreetly looked around, hoping to find something of a clue of what was truly going on.

Barry turned back as he put his jacket on and of course noticed her behavior. "Something's wrong?"

"You tell me," she lightly sighed. "For the last couple of days you've been...distant." Barry immediately, almost instinctively looked anywhere else that wasn't her. "Like you don't want to tell me something. I don't know, maybe...maybe you're rethinking this whole dating thing-"

"No that's not it!"

Belén smirked. Tricking him into admitting that had been far too easy and he was supposed to be the scientist. "So there is something?"

Barry shook his head. He couldn't tell her anything, at least not now. He thought it was the best call. He just forgot the part where she was a reporter.

"Barry, you know you can tell me anything right?" Belén spoke earnestly, and softly.

Nodding his head, Barry assured her he knew of this. Nothing left to say meant it was time for the drinks. Once they were out on the street, Barry felt it was time to cut the silence he knew was meant to make him come clean. Unfortunately for Belén, when he did speak up it wasn't to confess.

"I was thinking maybe we should try your training again…"

Belén's eyes widened, at first surprised but soon the fear filled her eyes. "You know I've been struggling out in the field..."

"I know but I also know that you're fighting it," Barry stopped walking to face her. "And it's for that same reason that you owe yourself to train."

"I know you're right, I really do," Belén took his hands, needing to feel his warmth and support. "Everything you're saying is right but...it's just difficult to accept," she sighed.

"I get it, you're scared-"

"No you don't, Barry," she shook her head. "You're sweet, but you don't get it. You have your powers like this," she made a fist with one of her hands. "Mine are like this-" she released her fist and waved her hand above her face. "My powers are complex and they scare me. If I lose control in one part, I lose control with everything."

"That's not true-"

"Yes it is!"

"Okay so we know that's not going away until we train again," Barry kept himself calm despite Belén's growing agitation with him. She needed calmness, understanding, something he was more than capable of giving. "Let's just...try one session. One session, you and I, and we can take it slow. Sound good?"

Belén stared at him for a minute before sighing. "I...I guess..."

"You can kick my ass for free," he said, smiling when she laughed. While she laughed, he swooped down and stole a kiss from her. She looped her arms around his neck and hugged him tight. Words could not express how much better Barry made her feel at moments like these. She doubted words were ever going to be enough to describe it.

A loud explosion from a distance cut their moment short. As they pulled away from each other, a second explosion rocked the ground. They saw smoke billowing into the sky not too far from where they stood.

"Go, it'll be too long if I go get changed first," Belén urged him to go without her.

As the Flash he arrived at the city park to find a disturbing sight. Small gifts strapped to small parachutes were coming down to the park, exploding upon landing. Now everyone was running away with their children but Barry spotted one particular blonde boy that was still anxiously awaiting to grab one more falling gift. Barry sped over and snatched the kid in time, returning him to his father who'd been looking for him.

Not long after that, the culprit happily revealed himself through a video that went online fast. A young man dressed like a modern jester in class black and white leather declared himself the Trickster. "Tricked ya. Look who's back. My tricks. My treat. But I'll give you something good to eat. Today's special. A city in ashes. The Trickster proudly welcomes you all to the new disorder."

In the cortex, Cisco paused the video once it was finished and scowled. "Talking in the third person. That's never a good sign."

Caitlin threw him an amused smile. "You're just mad because he named himself."

"Actually, he didn't," Joe turned around, having been watching the video as well. "20 years ago, Central City was hit by a series of terrorist attacks. One man killed at least ten civilians, two cops. That guy called himself The Trickster."

"So he's a copycat?" Belén tilted her head but soon was captured by the news Cisco had found online about the original Trickster.

"Whoa. Someone was rocking the unitard," Cisco did his best not to laugh knowing the situation was serious.

"James Jesse?" Belén read part of the headline.

"Like Jesse James, only more twisted," Joe briefly explained.

"Where is this Mr. Jesse now?" Wells inquired.

"He's serving several life sentences at Iron Heights. He was just about the most dangerous thing Central City had ever seen."

"You mean until the Particle Accelerator blew up," Barry corrected, and rather coldly that someone had noticed.

"Um... Barry and I will go see this James Jesse at Iron Heights, see if he can give us something that can help us catch his groupie," Joe announced, instigating the rest to get to work.

"I'll analyze the video and see if I can figure out the source," Cisco straightened up and started on the computer.

"I'm heading to work too," Belén began getting out of her chair. "The news is hot today so...they'll be needing me."

"C'mon," Barry walked towards her, "We'll give you a lift." He didn't wait for her to openly agree. He took her hand and almost pulled her out of the room.

"Hey, Joe. Is Barry doing all right?" inquired Wells. "He seems cranky."

Joe tried playing it off as casualness, "Even The Flash wakes up on the wrong side of the bed some mornings. He's fine."

If he the same speed powers as Barry, he would've used them there and then.

~0~

CC Picture News was up and alive with the newest criminal town as Belén had said. She entered the building and had to dodge several of her co-workers before they crashed into her. When she reached her desk she plopped down with a heavy sigh of relief she made it without spills of any kind. Just as she was putting down her purse, Noah came up to the desk.

"Belén, did you hear about the new criminal?"

Scoffing - politely - Belén put her elbows on her desk, chin on her hands. "I think everyone's heard about him."

"He's calling himself the Trickster," it didn't appear like Noah had paid attention. He moved around the desk to be side-to-side with her, laying out a couple of papers he had brought with him.

"Is he now?" Belén tried her best to sound in the dark about the situation.

"Yeah, and the crazier thing is there was another guy - like twenty years ago - with the same name," Noah shuffled through the papers to find the very article that Cisco had pulled up earlier about James Jesse. He handed it to Belén for her to read. "So I was thinking that maybe it was connected some way."

Belén raised an eyebrow, genuinely bemused by him. "What are you? A reporter or a detective?"

"Don't those two kind of the same thing?" Noah smirked and shared a small laugh with her. "This guy - the new Trickster - is doing similar attacks as James Jessee did. Why would he do that?"

"Because he's a fan?" Belén tried the easiest answer she could.

"Obvious answers, Belén," Noah sarcastically looked at her. "Or maybe there's something deeper in there."

"But what?"

"That's what we need to find out," Noah declared, much to her further bemusement. "I asked Iris if she wanted to get in on the article but she's too immersed in Mason's disappearance."

"Right," Belén glanced over her shoulder to see Iris working at her desk, very quietly too. "There's been nothing on him yet?"

"Nothing," Noah was beginning to clear off his papers from her desk. "Boss has tried calling him and everything, but there's no response."

"It's weird," Belén leaned back on her chair, thinking about her annoying co-worker who, she did admit, she kind of missed. It had been a week since Mason mysteriously disappeared without a trace. And while on the first couple of days Belén joked and considered it their break from him, it was becoming a bit of a worry for her.

~ 0 ~

After a wild goose chase trying to find the newest Trickster, Barry and Joe returned to STAR Labs. They'd seen the newest video the young Trickster posted, all of which was just another warning for the city.

"Whoever this Trickster is, he's certainly not shy," Joe remarked after watching the video.

"Well, not every criminal likes to hide in the dark," Barry snidely commented, much to Joe's irritation. He'd been trying to get Barry to keep those types of comments to himself until they knew something concrete about Wells, but apparently it was too difficult for Barry.

"Cisco, can you trace where the video was posted from?" he asked Cisco, hoping for the conversation to keep moving and that Barry would no longer talk.

"I tried, but this guy is using some crazy Felicity-caliber scrambler like I've never seen. The origin of the upload's coming from hundreds of different locations. Until he uploads another video, it's gonna be tough."

"This psychopath has the capability to destroy the city," Barry frowned.

Cisco liked being optimistic and clarified, "Hey, I said tough, not impossible."

"Barry, we'll catch him," Caitlin tried to resassure, like the others sensing something was off with him.

"We always do. Mr. Allen, a word please?" asked Wells. He led Barry into one of the side rooms again, the training room, where they could talk freely. "I know what's going on with you. I know what you're thinking."

Barry found it incredibly hard not to make the face he was making right now, as Wells had his back to him. "Do you?"

"I know going up to Iron Heights prison and conversing with Mr. Jesse has brought about feelings of your father. How could it not?"

Barry forced himself to go with it and sighed. "Yeah, no, it's, uh, it's been really tough knowing that my mom's killer is still out there."

"Of course. But we'll find him, together. You have my word."

Barry wondered what fat good that was but on the outside politely said, "Thank you."

"For now, how about we focus on finding this Trickster before anybody else gets hurt?"

Silently, Barry gave a nod and forced himself to go at a normal pace outside the room. Right now, he just couldn't stand being near Dr. Wells.

~ 0 ~

"Hey, Bells?" Iris quietly approached Belén by the printer.

Belén pressed the printing button and glanced at her friend, immediately noticing the timid demeanor in Iris. "Hey girl, what's up?" Iris opened her mouth to say what she wanted but at the last moment closed it and plastered a little, fake smile. "Iris?" Belén tilted her head, gesturing her to say what she needed to.

Sighing, Iris took a discreet look around in case anyone would hear. When she spoke, it was still quiet. "Have you heard anything about Mason?"

"No, I'm just as lost as you are," Belén shrugged, glancing to see if her papers were printing out correctly.

"Yeah, well, I talked to Eddie about it at the CCPD but he's got a load of work because of that Trickster guy so Mason's case would be last priority," Iris then bit her lip while nervously smiling.

"I feel like there's a favor to be asked," Belén said after seeing Iris' face.

Iris stepped a little closer and spoke even quieter, a faint whisper merely. "Do you think you could ask the Flash and the Azalea to look into it?"

"I-I'm sorry?" Belén was caught off guard by this question that she nearly dropped her papers she'd been picking up from the printer.

"I know it's a humongous favor and I will owe you big time but I'm just really worried here," Iris tried her best to sound reasonable. "When Mason is on a story, nothing is getting in his way. I mean, he considers threats minor annoyances."

"I know that," Belén nodded her head, "But...to ask the Flash and the Azalea? I don't...I don't know…"

"It's the best idea considering where the police's attention is at the moment."

"I don't know...I mean, I don't know how to contact them," Belén tried to say but Iris gave her a 'really' expression that shut down that excuse.

"The Flash personally came to give you the story of the week - for sure he'll come if you ask. C'mon, Bells. Look if you don't wanna go then I guess I can just go back on my old blog and see if one of them answers-"

"No!" Belén said far too fast. At Iris' bemused face she tried correcting it in some way. "I mean, I guess I can look into it." She would prefer to keep this call on the down-low. The last thing they needed was for Iris to put herself in danger using that old blog of hers.

Iris' expression flipped like a switch after hearing that. "So then you'll do it!?"

Now Belén was caught back because she knew that was basically what she had said. "Well, um...I mean...I guess...I can give...one a call..?"

"You're such a good friend!" Iris threw her arms around Belén, giving her a ridiculous excited hug which made Belén laugh in the end.

~ 0 ~

"We have got a problem," Belén walked into STAR Labs later that day, surely enough finding Barry, Caitlin and Cisco there.

"You know-" Cisco turned on his chair to face her direction, "-most people say 'good afternoon'."

Belén rolled her eyes and plopped her bag over his lap, continuing her conversation. "Iris just asked me to get in contact with the Flash and the Azalea."

"Really?" Caitlin spoke before Barry could. "She hasn't done that in a long time. I actually thought she forgot about it completely."

"Yeah well, with Mason's disappearance she's up and active again," Belén sighed and now looked at Barry. "I don't know what to do but at that moment I had to tell her okay. I'm so sorry."

"It's fine, I know how Iris can get sometimes," Barry walked over and gave her a hug.

"I'm still sorry, I should have told her I would think about it so I could come talk to you about it," she looked up at him. "But my big mouth said I'd call you and I guess me."

"She's not gonna give up until one of us goes," Barry said, thinking about the possible ways this could go.

"So who goes?" asked Cisco curiously.

"Barry," Belén instantly said, earning herself a wide-eyed response from the man. "Can we get a moment guys?" she looked at the other two. "Just a minute, I promise."

"Sure," Caitlin got up first and motioned Cisco to follow her out.

Now Barry didn't need to think twice to know what Belén was going to tell him. And while it was frustrating to go through this again, he understood she was just scared to use her powers around Iris. "You don't want to go see Iris as the Azalea because you're scared you'll lose control, right?"

"That-" Belén pointed at him, "-is why I like you. You're incredibly smart."

Her forced smile didn't fool him. Swaying his head, he came up with an alternative way to approach the same subject. "Or, we could both go and I could keep an eye on you…"

"I wouldn't be comfortable," Belén quietly objected. Her expression wasn't one that was ready to argue the hell out of it. She had decided it already, and was just waiting for him to get on board with the idea.

"First you're scared of training and now you wanna pull back on your time being the Azalea? Bells, c'mon!"

"I don't know what I want to do, Barry, to be honest," Belén admitted for the first time. "I became the Azalea to find my brother but...now my brother's evil so what does it really matter if I stop being the Azalea?"

"Hey it matters," Barry was looking at her incredulously. "Because when you came to Central City wearing that mask you made a commitment to the people. And Bells, the people love you," Belén scoffed, "They do. You've become a part of the city and nobody wants to see her go."

Belén stared hard at the floor, truly thinking about his words and the meaning he put into them. Seconds later she felt his arms wrap around her from behind, actually making her think he gave a mean hug. "Can you just please go for tonight?" she whispered, tilting her head to look at him. "And then...we can continue discussing...I promise."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

"Okay," Barry said, although making it a conditional 'okay'. "What's the story?"

"Um…" Belén thought about it for a moment, "...I gave you a call?"

Barry laughed. "So you're just casually going to let it out that you have the Flash's number?"

"Fine - e-mail," Belén shrugged and turned around. "WhatsApp?"

"Now you're just playing with me!"

Belén nodded her head, chuckling. "Maybe a little," she admitted and draped her arms over his shoulders for another hug. "But we better get our stories straight because Iris West is no fool."

"No she is not," agreed Barry and both laughed again.

~ 0 ~

Needless to say that when Iris got a call from Belén telling her it was all set up, the reporter was up and thanking Belén up to who knew what Gods. It was so nice to hear someone happy that Belén didn't mind Iris picking the place for their meeting.

"You still have a key to this place?" Belén was cautious as they both walked into the closed Jitters' in the night.

Iris smiled deviously to herself as she closed the door behind them. "They don't quite know I still have it."

"Shouldn't you - I don't know - give it back to them?" The response Belén got was a loud laughter. "Okay, so, um...I don't suppose there's still coffee behind there?" Belén leaned towards the counter in case there was a random pot of coffee she knew was probably not going to be there.

At that moment, Barry sped in through the back door of the place and was careful to stay in the shadows. Iris was stunned to see him again, and while Belén walked away from the counter, the other reporter tried gathering her words so she didn't sound like an idiot.

"Mind my asking but why are we meeting here?" Barry genuinely asked them both while taking a look at the place.

"Ask my friend," Belén replied, chuckling.

"I still have a key," shrugged Iris, although her attempted casual demeanor was not going so well.

"So what's going on?" Barry asked.

"Iris has a problem…" Belén trailed off and glanced back at Iris who'd stayed a bit behind.

"U-um, my coworker, Mason Bridge is missing," Iris remembered the severity of her problem and got over her nervousness. "He's not at home. He's not answering his phone. I mean, it's not like him. I am really worried that something bad has happened."

"Truthfully so am I," admitted Belén after a moment, "I mean, yeah Mason was a bit of a prick but...his job was everything to him. He wouldn't leave it like that."

"I'm...sure he's fine," Barry tried sounding convincing but the look he was getting from Belén told him he was failing. Even in darkness her eyes were burning on him.

And now that he was avoiding her look, Belén detected there was something he wasn't telling her. Without thinking, she stepped towards him, closer, much to Iris' curiosity. "I know Mason - longer than Iris, and definitely more than you - and I know that he wouldn't do something like this.''

"Maybe he's-"

Belén sighed when she saw him going in another excuse attempt. "Will you look into it? ...for me?"

Even if he could show his face at her at that moment Barry knew he probably wouldn't. Those pleading eyes of her was stronger than she knew, and it was already a part of him - a part of the Flash - to help Belén Palayta. Of course he would do it for her.

"For you, anything," he responded in a soft voice.

Belén smiled at him. She couldn't help but remember their first meetings like this, where she hadn't known who he was, and the feelings that perhaps were there at the time. All those reprimands and denying with Nina made her laugh inside. If only she had known then where she would be now.

"Heads up," Cisco's voice in the suit's earpod startled Barry. "Trickster's broadcasting again."

Barry looked past Belén to Iris, the latter now with an unreadable face. "Can I borrow your laptop?"

Iris blinked away her stupor and nodded. "Um, sure. Help…" but Barry sped over in half a second to get her laptop. By the time Iris turned around he was already working at it. "...yourself…"

Belén hurriedly crossed the room to get a closer look at the screen. It was the young Trickster again, making a new recording. This time he stood in front of a wooden box with a drawn picture of a cartoon bomb.

"Get ready for the games to begin! I have...a bomb. It's a big bomb. It'll make a big bang and then a big hole and then a big drop in the pop-ulation. But never say The Trickster is not fair. The bomb is somewhere between 52nd Street and Avenue B."

"Oh my God," Iris covered her mouth in disgust at the new trick on them.

Belén wasn't surprised, much like Barry. He got up quickly and turned to her, both silently agreeing he should he going while she stayed with Iris.

"Be careful okay?" He couldn't leave without saying first.

She nodded her head, slightly smiling. "Of course. But you too."

With a smile of his own, Barry sped out of the building. Belén moved to the computer, barely closing its lid when Iris blurted, "Oh my God! He likes you!"

"What?" Belén tried keeping her widened eyes out of sight while picking up Iris' laptop from the table.

"The Flash - he likes you! Oh my God, that's why he kept coming to you with all the stories," Iris walked straight up to her, wearing a cross of amusement and surprise on her face. "Belén, what he did - all he did - was for you. He so likes you."

The laugh that came out of Belén was not one that clearly defended her proclaimed innocence. "Iris, you're just confused."

"Oh no I am not! I was watching you two, and it was...it was like I was intruding on some private meeting," she looked to the side, "Can you imagine what Barry would feel like if he knew this?"

Belén fought the urge to respond with the truth. She didn't want Iris thinking there was some kind of cheating going on. Because if that was the case then she would tell Iris everything right there.

"You gotta be careful, Belén," Iris continued, taking her laptop back. "I mean, he does know you're going out with someone right?"

A quirky smile spread across Belén's face. "Oh, he knows alright. Trust me."

"Good," Iris nodded.

"You're putting way too much thought into this," Belén laughed and made way for the door.

"I can't believe you hadn't noticed!" Iris went after her, still very much in shock. "The frikin Flash likes you! How does that feel!? To have the city's hero's heart?"

Belén shook her head, holding the door for Iris, while trying not to laugh again. "You're exaggerating. Have I mentioned you're crazy too?"

"No I am not!" Iris exclaimed, and she didn't give up on the topic as they headed home.

~0~

Like the police, Barry was doing his best to find the bomb before it went off. Speeding through, he went through every last building and corner through the streets the young Trickster had covered. At the end, he stopped for a moment to get in contact with the others.

"Guys, I can't find it. I need your help!"

"There's nothing on traffic cams or CCTV," Caitlin reported after an intensive search.

Cisco agreed. "I re-tasked the STAR Labs satellite to scan the area for incendiary devices. A bomb that large should be giving off some kind of thermal or chemical signature."

"Well, then why can't you find it?" Barry asked, rather impatient and frantic.

And then it clicked. "Because it's a trick. The bomb's not there," informed Wells.

"No, it has to be. I'm gonna keep looking."

Wells shook his head. "That is what he wants, for you and the police to keep running around in circles. There is something else going on, Barry. I can feel it. Now, trust me."

Barry thought about it for a short second and decided he really couldn't trust Wells anymore. "I'm gonna keep looking," he declared instead and continued to speed through the streets.

"Barry?" called Wells but the metahuman didn't answer anymore.

Cisco, confused like Caitlin, glanced at Wells. "Why doesn't he just listen to you?"

Barry continued ignoring the others as he went in search of the bomb. He eventually came across an old basement in one of the buildings that contained the familiar box.

"I found it!" He exclaimed and opened up the box. Unfortunately, he found the words 'Tricked you' on the lid inside, and he realized that the box was empty.

It was then that Cisco got a ping from the Iron Heights prison. Looking into it, he discovered it was far worse than usual.

"There's an explosion at Iron Heights!"

Well tried not to sound a know it all but he had been correct. "This was all a diversion. The prison was the real target. James Jesse. I guess he's tricked us all."

Hearing this, Barry quit the basement and got in contact with Joe through the earpod.

"Joe, there's no bomb in this city. It was a diversion so The Trickster could help James Jesse escape."

"I know," responded Joe, sounding grim. "We just got surveillance footage from Iron Heights. Jesse got away. Barry, look, they took a hostage."

Barry frowned, feeling even worse then. If he had listened earlier he would've been there. "Well, who did he take? A guard? The warden?"

"No. Your dad."

~0~

Night had turned into morning, and while everyone at STAR Labs and the CCPD worked long and hard, they were only able to solve one thing.

"We were able to identify the other Trickster," Joe told the rest of the team. "His name's Axel Walker, age 25. Apparently him and James have been corresponding through snail mail for over a decade."

"I should have been there," Barry kept repeating ever since he had entered the cortex. He was beyond furious...and beyond terrified.

"We're gonna find your dad, okay?" Caitlin assured, although she didn't know how her words would go on him.

Barry ignored them as he got up from his chair. "I guess I should have listened to you," he sourly aimed at Wells then left the place in a stalk.

No one blamed Barry for his mood, it was perfectly understandable. Still, there were decisions they didn't quite agree with but didn't voice it. And a while later, one of those decisions walked in.

"Please tell me we have more news on these maniac," Belén walked in holding a cup of Jitters coffee in one hand. As she drank, she noticed the uneasy glances the group was sharing. "What is it?"

"We wanted to call you…" Cisco resorted to an explanation she probably did deserve, "...but Barry said no…"

"To tell me what?" Belén frowned, lowering her coffee and bag.

"Last night we figured out the bomb was a diversion...and James Jesse escaped," Caitlin slowly explained, glancing at the others just to make sure they were all on board.

"Why do I get the feeling there's something worse?" Belén spoke her intuition she now felt at the pit of her stomach.

"He took a hostage with him," Joe said, and like a bandage he ripped it off with the truth. "It was Barry's dad."

Belén's eyes widened till they couldn't. The first few seconds displayed shock but then came the inevitable irritation from not being told right away. "How could nobody have told me about this!? It's mighty important!"

"Barry decided to hold it off for the night," Dr. Wells explained, not that it mattered for Belén was rightly angry now.

"Well, I'm gonna go tell him why that was wrong," she declared, hastily setting her things down at the desk. "Where the hell is he!?"

"You know, maybe it's not the best time…" Cisco began but was promptly silenced with a glare. "He's down in the pipeline,."

With a huff, Belén turned and marched out of the room. Everyone else turned on Cisco with disapproving looks for his easy answers.

"She scares me," Cisco said like it should've been a reasonable excuse.

~ 0 ~

The plan was to scold Barry for his stupid decision and then, ultimately, try and comfort him during the hard time Belén was sure he was going through. But then she found him in the pipeline sitting on the floor alone. She silently walked towards him, feeling her initial annoyance fading the more she looked at him. By the time she reached him, the idea of scolding him had been thrown out the window.

"Hey," she greeted softly, taking a seat on her knees right beside him.

He didn't seem surprised she was visiting him, but he did look nervous. "You know…?"

"Oh that you decided not to tell me your father had been kidnapped last night because in your deluded mind it was much better for me to be in the dark?"

He draped his arms over his knees he'd pulled up and leaned his head on them. "I just...thought you deserved to sleep well for tonight."

"While I appreciate that, I would much rather prefer to be in the know of what's happening in my boyfriend's life. Especially when it concerns his father's life."

"Are you mad?" Barry asked, truthfully a little worried he would now have to worry about that.

"I was annoyed," Belén rolled her eyes. "But I'm letting it slide because you're cute and you have a lot on your plate today."

"I am sorry though," he raised his head but couldn't afford to look at her at the moment. He felt all the fear inside mixing with anger and yet another layer of fear.

"It's okay," Belén rubbed his arm and scooted closer to him. "How are you?"

Barry truly did consider words to voice his feelings but...it became difficult to find the right words that would express them. "I don't...I don't know if my dad's still alive," came out of his mouth. He hadn't realized that his eyes were becoming teary.

"Of course he is," Belén quickly said. "James took your father as proper leverage and that only works as long as he's alive." A couple seconds later she wondered if those had been truly the best words she could come up with. "Plus," she then added, trying lift up the mood, "everyone upstairs is looking to find him."

That was supposed to reassure Barry but now all he thought of was the fact that the person who may have murdered his mother was now dealing with his father's fate. He closed his eyes, releasing a tiny, shaky sigh through his lips.

"I can't...I can't do this…" he struggled.

Belén took that as still regarding his father's situation and three her arms over him, forming a side hug. "We're gonna find him, I promise you. I will go out there as the Azalea if I have to but your dad is coming back. I swear." She planted a kiss on his cheek with a bright smile just for him.

Feeling her touch made him smile. He opened his eyes and turned his head to look at her. Belén saw sad, teary eyes before her and wanted nothing more than to make the pain go away. If roles were reversed, she was sure Barry would think the same way for her. She had so much she wanted to give to him - she wanted to see him happy - and she knew how she would start.

Leaning forwards, she pressed a short kiss to his lips. When she pulled away she sported a tint of pink on her cheeks, but a smile nonetheless was on her face. In that moment Barry had never felt so grateful to have something good - particularly this good - in his life. He reached with one hand to brush his fingers across her cheeks. Without warning, he shifted a bit on his side and kissed her again. While it had been a surprise for her, Belén fell into the moment and let it continue for as long as they could. If only breathing hadn't been an issue.

With a bright red face, Belén smiled sheepishly. "I think...you are definitely my best boyfriend."

Barry made a bemused face at her. "Really?"

"Definitely best kisser," she nodded, chuckling when she practically saw his ego swell.

"Well…" he began, making her laugh even more.

"Okay, I take that comment back," she said when she could talk without laughing. After a short minute she sobered up and took his nearest hand. "Look, no matter what, you are not alone in this. I am here, right beside you."

"Thank you, Bells," Barry said, interlacing his fingers with hers.

"I'm gonna go call work and tell them I can't do tonight's event so that I can stay here," Belén announced, already making a move to get up when Barry protested and pulled her down.

"What event?"

Belén rolled her eyes. "It's not important. The mayor's having a fundraiser and they wanted me, Noah and Iris to visit to get some info."

"That sounds important…"

"It's really not…"

"I don't want you to get into trouble because of me, okay? Please, just go to your event-"

Belén was already shaking her head in refusal. "I'm not leaving you."

"It really would make me feel better knowing you are doing your job that I know is important to you," Barry covered their interlocked hands with his other one. Belén seemed might unsure of this idea but Barry was persistent. "I promise if anything happens I'll call you."

"Barry…"

"I will speed you there myself if I have to," he resorted to warnings, much to her amusement.

"You don't even know where it is!"

"Power of Google, my dear, it's very helpful."

Belén sighed in resignation. "Fine. But there goes me trying to be a good girlfriend by sticking with you when you need me."

Barry scoffed. "What are you talking about? I think you are my best girlfriend that I've ever had."

A small giggle escaped through Belén's lips as she remarked, "You've only had two girlfriends before me, Barry, so I don't think it really counts."

Barry frowned. "No more hanging out with Iris."

Belén playfully rolled her eyes and got up, pulling him with her. "You let me know if anything happens okay? No matter what."

"I promise," Barry truthfully returned. Satisfied with his response, she gave him a quick - but meaningful - hug then hurried out.

Watching her go, Barry realized he had felt a little better after her visit. She just had that power on him.

~ 0 ~

In a nice pink, laced dress Belén attended the public mayor's fundraising along with Iris and Noah. The three walked up to the check in table where they showed their work identifications to the check-in people.

"You sure you're okay?" Iris asked her after they had left the check-in table.

"No, but I'm here anyways," Belén responded with nothing but the truth.

"Barry told you it was fine," Iris reminded, accepting a glass of champagne from a young man on the way. "This is your work, after all, and you don't play with it."

"Champagne, miss?" an older waiter man stopped beside with a tray of champagne glasses.

"Thanks," in her distraction she didn't see just who was the waiter offering her the drink. She took the glass and right away took a sip.

Noah took second glass and did the same thing. "Relax, Belén," he distractedly said, not really caring what was going on.

Iris walked over to the mayor she spotted near the platform and began a conversation. Noah remained beside Belén watching the procession, but discreetly noticed her constantly checking her phone. He was sure it had to do something with the Flash considering they still had the runaway prisoner, and more so considering they'd taken her boyfriend's father as a hostage.

Then it hit. An idea.

"You know Belén, this is sort of relating back to my initial thoughts about these metahumans," he began, turning to her. This time she didn't appear angry nor irritated at the least by his comment. "It's bad news - the lot of them. Look what they did to your boyfriend's father."

"Technically, James Jesse is not a metahuman," Belén corrected, still moaning a suave attitude. "He's a regular crazy criminal."

"But he's got the Flash after him and because of it he took some poor man to threaten him with."

"This isn't the Flash's fault, Noah. It was...an unfortunate event. And I am sure he is out there looking for Henry Allen."

"They're bad news, and they need to be eliminated at their core."

Now this struck Belén oddly, especially the determination in Noah's voice. She lowered her glass and looked to the side, considering what all this meant. "You mean...like...eliminate the leader? Who would that be exactly?" she chuckled then, shaking her head. "You better not think it's the Flash because that's ridiculous."

"Of course not," Noah responded, well aware he was letting more loose than he wanted. "But he's part of it. He's in league with them."

Belén really struggled not to sound so bias but it was difficult knowing how wrong Noah was. "And in your mind who the hell runs the strings with the metahumans?"

"STAR Labs," Noah wasn't afraid to answer. He looked Belén dead in the eyes, despite her mixture of emotions at the moment, and explained more. "Dr. Wells is responsible for all the metahumans in the first place, as well as all the causalities that followed. Everyone who works there is also at fault for creating the particle accelerator."

Surprise was gone, as well as confusion. All that filled Belén at that moment was nothing but anger. "I'm going to remind you that my boyfriend was saved by those people-"

"-because of guilt," Noah snapped, unable to keep his own biases away. "Need I remind you that it was because this stupid accelerator was created my mother - my last parent - died? Belén, even your own father was killed by a metahuman!"

"That had nothing to do with Wells nor STAR Labs!" Belén pointed out, her voice rising so that others were beginning to look at them. "Metahumans think for their selves - their thoughts are not run by STAR Labs. And the fact you think all this is possible really shows me the kind of person you are."

"Oh, really?" scoffed Noah.

"Yes, really," mimicked Belén. "You're not the type of friend I want to have nor work with." Giving him a narrowed look, she walked away before things escalated more.

"Hey-" Iris stopped her near the platform, one hand on Belén's arm, "-what was that all about?" she discreetly nodded towards Noah who'd remained far in the back.

"He's an idiot, that's what," Belén angrily rolled her eyes.

"What he do?" Iris asked in concern, truthfully rarely seeing her friend so worked up about something unless it was important.

"I'd rather not waste my breath on him," Belén answered and plastered a little smile to get by.

At that moment, someone took the stage and the podium. "Welcome, welcome," began the elder man - a James Jesse - who seemed delighted with the turn out of his plans, "Centrla City's finest. How about a toast to Mayor Anthony Bellows? He doesn't just yell at his staff, he bellows!" But hardly anyone in the crowd laughed to his joke. Belén squinted her eyes at the properly dressed waiter, trying to figure out who he was. "You see what I did there with the wordplay and the...tough crowd."

The Mayor had hastily made his way up to the stage to see it all stopped. "Excuse me," he said to James after placing a hand on the microphone, "Who are you?"

"How quickly they forget," James mumbled to his partner - and apparent son - Axel who stood beside him now. He cleared his throat, getting ready to make the presentation of his life. "James Jesse, your honor, aka-" he ruffled his hair and smirked as he faced the crowd, "-The Trickster. And I'm here to relieve you fine people from all your money. Because we know if you're in this room, you've got loads of it."

"Oh no," Belén's eyes widened.

"What makes you think that anyone in this room would give you a cent?" the Mayor seemed to want to laugh at what he thought was an utter hoax.

"Because that champagne they just slurped down like so much fruit punch... I added a little something special to it," James said to the crowd, and everyone began suspiciously looking at their glasses. "Trimethylmercury 32. Poison. Without the antidote, you'll begin to feel the effects in about, oh, um... One hour."

A couple seconds later one man started coughing loudly, and in his stumbles he came forwards to reveal he had some sort of foam slipping through his mouth.

"I remember you," James pointed at him with a widened smile. "You got to the party about an hour early. I offered you the very first glass of champagne."

The man continued to cough until the foam covered his throat. He collapsed on the ground dead minutes later.

James chuckled along with Axel. "An hour is plenty of time for all of you to call your bankers and transfer everything you have to the account number on the bottom of your glass," he gestured to the crowd to get started. "Once my young friend and I are rich, you'll get the antidote. If any of you decide to call 911 instead, well, then we switch to lead poisoning." As a show, he pulled out a gun and raised high in the air to issue the start of the blackmail.

"We'll see about that," Belén mumbled and pulled Iris towards the middle of the crowd where they would hopefully blend in.

"What are you doing!?" Iris whispered-yelled at her when she saw Belén pulling her phone out.

"Shhh," Belén put a finger on her lips as she hit a number. She shifted Iris so that both faced the front and Belén left her phone between them while Jesse continued to talk.

~ 0 ~

"Anything?" Joe asked the three STAR Labs employees who did, truthfully, worked at fast paced on the computers.

"I'm scanning all the traffic cams in the city. I got nothing," Cisco took a moment to look at Joe but quickly got back to the computer.

Barry was at the threshold of the cortex listening to everyone yet not really listening at the same time. The only reason he snapped out of his trance was because he felt his phone vibrating in his jean's pocket. He pulled it out to see Belén's name and answered it.

"Bells?" he answered but received a some indistinct talking from the other side. As he paid more attention, he realized he knew one of the voices that was speaking over everyone else's. "Guys?" he quickly leaned off the threshold and rushed for the desk. "It's Belén's phone but listen…"

Putting his phone on speaker they all heard James Jesse on the other line.

'How many of you feel the Trimethyline 32 coursing through your veins, hmm?'

"That's him. That's Jesse," Barry urgently said, realizing Belén was somehow with him and more people.

"Cisco, can you ping her phone?" Joe immediately asked.

"Just find out where the mayor's having a fundraiser," Barry said to Cisco. "She, Iris and Noah are there for their jobs."

"Iris is there!?" Joe nearly lost it.

"I'm on it," Cisco quickly searched for the location.

Meanwhile, Caitlin had been searching for the strange name James had mentioned and came to some bad results. "Trimethylmercury 32 is a relatively fast-acting poison."

"Is there a cure?" Barry panicked.

"Yes," Wells assured. "Yes. We can start synthesizing the antidote right now."

"Hurry - Belén is there and she's...not exactly herself," Barry left it at that for the moment. He knew why she had called him in the first place. She didn't feel confident enough to come out as the Azalea. She needed him. And he was going to help her.

~ 0 ~

Belén had long stuffed her phone inside her bag and kept Iris close to her while everyone called for their bank accounts to be drained. She couldn't find Noah anywhere though. Despite their argument she didn't want him to get hurt.

"I don't see him," Iris said quietly as they continued their search through the crowd.

"Just...keep looking, he has to be around here somewhere," Belén politely moved around a couple who were fervently talking on their respective cellphones.

"Maybe he's just drunk and doesn't even realize what's going on," Iris suggested.

They were now at the front and as they were moving down, James cut in front of them.

"Eugh, what do you want?" Belén took a step back with Iris.

"You know, I've been in prison for 20 years," he informed with a widened smirk, but neither woman was amused.

"Then you'll know the routine when you get sent back," Iris promptly replied, instigating a deep glare from the man in response.

"You're not getting away with it," Belén declared, much to the man's amusement. "The Flash is gonna get you."

"Oh really?" it was James' turn to scoff in disbelief.

"Yes and-"

But James was blasted with a shot of ice that pushed him against the wall across the room. Belén was so stunned that Iris had to pull her back as another blast shot past her.

"I'm gonna need that antidote now," Azul stood on the platform with his hands glowing blue, indicating there was to be a third blow coming.

"What is he doing here?" frowned Belén. Azul hopped off the stage with eyes trained on James - the latter being surprised of this new metahuman he hadn't been expecting. But as Azul got closer Belén noticed there was something off in his eyes - was he drunk?

"Oh my god he's drunk," Belén mumbled, stepping back with Iris.

"What!?" Iris gaped. What kind of metahuman was this!?

"I said: GIVE ME THE ANTIDOTE!" Azul made to hit again but this time Barry had come in - as the Flash - and blocked him.

"You reek of champagne," he frowned.

"Get the hell out of my way, speedy," Azul went to use his powers but Barry was far quicker and chucked him across the stage.

After making a quick glance to see if Belén was fine he went for the real problem. He grabbed James by the collars and pinned him on the wall again. "Where's Henry Allen?"

James was groggy but not that much to not know when to put the second part of his plan to action. "He's where you'll be soon. Heaven!"

Axel appeared and slapped something on Barry's wrist. When Barry looked down he saw some sort of contraption beginning to beep.

"Are you familiar with the movie Speed?" asked James with a wicked smile. "Keanu Reeves, Sandra Bullock? See, you're the bus, and that's the bomb. A kinetic bomb, actually, and if you go below 600 miles per hour, it'll explode. Same thing happens if you try to remove it."

"Here we go," Axel declared and flipped a switch on the contraption that lit it up.

"Ooh, it's active. Run, run, run, run, run!" laughed James.

Barry had only a second to think before he dashed out of the building. Belén swallowed hard as she saw her last help leave.

"Great, what happens now?" Iris looked around. "Where's the Azalea?"

The mere question made Belén shake a little. She bit her nail and happened to look down where she saw her phone lighting up inside her bag. She could clearly see the name 'Cisco' on it and panicked even more. She stuffed her things over the cellphone and tried to not to think about it. But as seconds ticked by, minutes ticked by, it was becoming a real struggle. Azul was getting up from the stage, looking ready to fight again. And drunk.

"Someone needs to stop him…" Iris was desperately looking about as if someone else was going to step in before anyone got hurt.

"He's coming back," Belén said as a means of comfort. But the moment Azul struck a bystander in the crowd all calmness went to hell.

"I WANT THE ANTIDOTE!" He shouted, actively searching for the two culprits that merged within the crowd. No one dared leave the building because of the poison, causing even more pandemonium. "If I don't get the antidote people will get hurt - fork it over!"

And to prove his point, he shot mystical ice bits that grazed some of the crowd and actually stabbed someone on the leg.

"Oh my God!" Iris clapped a hand to her mouth.

Belén was, also, horrified that Azul was going to these measures to get the antidote. He truly was out of his mind for the night.

"Where's the Azalea!?" Iris kept her hopes up that the MIA partner would show up.

Belén knew it was useless to reassure that the Flash was coming back to help them. Azul was making his way through, hurting those he passed by. She also kept hearing her phone vibrate amongst the things she carried in her bag, reminding that STAR Labs was still pushing her to be someone she was afraid of.

But even then, she didn't have her suit. If she wanted to keep her identity a secret she would have to...go green. That terrified her to the core.

"WHERE IS IT!?" screamed Azul as he came to a stop in the middle of the crowd. Everyone retracted several steps away but he yanked the nearest attendee, a suited man, by the collars. "I guess I'll have to shake it out of everyone until it appears."

From the corner, Belén was able to see James Jesse and Axel trying to sneak into another hiding spot. Due to that, she missed Azul throwing the innocent man back. Iris yelped when the man landed mere inches from her feet.

"How about you princess?" Azul turned on her. "Think we can get some answers if I come for you next?"

Iris felt her feet frozen at the floor from fear. But when she looked down she saw that it wasn't actually from fear. Azul had made ice creep up to her heels and tips.

"I-I don't have anything!" Iris exclaimed, dropping her bag instantly.

"Let's find out who does," Azul said with a warning blue hand.

But at the same time he was struck from the side, across the face, by a thick, green vine that knocked him to the floor. Iris gasped and quickly looked for the source she was already assuming who was the Azalea.

Sure enough, she stood at the other side, with her emerald green, scaly skin. Without her suit she had entrusted her vines and roots to cover it up and at least impersonate some new vine dress. Her pulled hair remained the same but covered in bits of vines.

"Woah, new look," Iris remarked while immediately moving around to return to the crowd.

Belén didn't waste time in talking to her, for she could feel the terrible turmoil inside her. She didn't want to lose control in the middle of so many people. Looking to her right, she thrust a hand forwards, barring James and Axel a clean hideout. "You better give these people their antidotes now."

"And what if we don't?" challenged Axel.

Belén raised an eyebrow. Using the same vine, she swatted them like bugs against a wall. "That gets to happen again...and again...and again."

"Watch out!" she heard Iris frantically call to her. She barely had time to process when she felt a blow to the stomach that sent her to the floor, flat on her back.

Azul had gotten up and was ready for some payback. "I am sick and tired of your stupid brother giving you freebies!" He struck her with shards of ice that pinned her to the floor. She hissed at their coldness, and grew even more concerned when she felt a growl trying to escape her lips. "You shouldn't even be allowed to join us," continued Azul, who was now walking for her, "No, you should die like everyone else in STAR Labs. Because you are and will always be in league with them instead of your own family!" During his words, he kept shooting at her, although now she was trying to defend herself.

Belén growled and swung a vine towards him, grabbing him by the waist and smacking him to the ground. She could feel her mind frazzling with so many different thoughts and emotions, most of them not in her control. Nearly screaming she entangled him with vines here and there, wrapping him like a cocoon till he couldn't move anymore. Then, wearily, she turned where she had left James and Axel across.

"Your turn," she whispered and made a step forwards when she felt a sharp jab at her arm. "Ow!" the pain she felt snapped her out of early trance, allowing her to see that Barry had returned with an antidote...and thankfully with no exploding contraption on his wrist.

Barry exchanged a look with her, showing he was overly worried and this time so was Belén. Because she remembered this time.

"It's okay. You've all been given an antidote," he addressed the stricken crowd who was left looking from one odd person to the next.

"Over there," Belén pointed Barry towards the two criminals on the floor.

He sped towards them and picked both up."Now where is Henry Allen? You're going to prison either way, James."

"Unless you want me to go all swatty again," warned Belén who was already conjuring up another vine.

Seeing that made James sing like a canary.

~0~

"Now I want you to take it easy alright?" Caitlin warned Belén after securing the last bandage on the side of Belén's stomach. "You don't heal fast like others-"

Belén made a loud, clearly annoyed, sigh. "Yeah, believe me, I've figured that out the hard way." She tilted her head upon remembering certain difficult memories. "Oliver's not very gentle when it comes to body injuries."

Caitlin laughed and returned all her tools to the metal table beside the bed Belén sat upon. When Belén lowered down her blouse, Caitlin called to the rest of the team outside. "She's decent!"

Belén made a face at her choice of words. "I'd like to clarify that I was always decent," she said as she got up.

"You know what I'd like some clarification on," Cisco said the moment he and Dr. Wells came into the room, "is how on earth you didn't get worst hits by Azul?"

"A little clarification on Mr. Allen's words wouldn't be bad either," Wells added, instigating a very nervous reaction from Belén.

"He-he said something?"

"He said you weren't exactly yourself," Caitlin looked down at her with a small smile.

"Let us remind you that you are here so that we can help you, Miss Palayta," Wells reminded with a pointed look her way.

"Um…" Belén scratched the side of her head.

Cisco walked to her side, swinging a comforting arm around her shoulders. "You know you can tell us anything."

Belén nodded her head. If course she knew that. It was practically embedded in her head. It just didn't mean it was easy for her. "So, um, when I first got my powers...there was this...this ability I could sort of do...that I actually hated. Hate."

"What kind of ability?" Wells leaned forwards on his chair to better hear.

"The kind where I go all green with scaly skin type," Belén answered at light speed, leaving Cisco and Caitlin to decipher what she had said.

Wells had grasped her words on the first try and was now experiencing a state of surprise. "You turn...all green?" he gestured with his hand to his face.

"Yes," Belén nodded. "But...but I didn't want anyone to know so I hid it. I hid it deep down and left it there."

"And now it's trying to break free with it controlling you," Wells concluded within the minute, getting a shameful nod from her in response.

"Why didn't you tell us about it?" Cisco asked her, forgetting his surprise to comfort her.

"Yeah," Caitlin put a hand on her arm, "We could have helped you."

"Barry was trying to help me," Belén explained. "But that's sorta when I lost control…"

"What happens exactly?" Wells pushed her to talk.

"I, uh, I lose myself, basically. I go fully aggressive when someone starts attacking me - it's like the trigger I think."

"Interesting," Wells leaned back on his chair, looking far more bemused than Belén would've liked, "A self-preservation trigger."

"A whatta-what now?" Belén blinked.

"Self-preservation - like every man for himself sort of thing," Cisco simplified it for her. "In your case, every metahuman for them self."

"Well, I'd like to get rid of it," she declared. "It's horrible not being in control of your own body and mind. It's worst knowing that I can hurt people with it."

"That's only because you've kept it buried," Wells clarified her. "If you want to control it then you have to be able to use it whenever you want to, not the other way around."

"It scares me. That's why I'm debating about being the Azalea. Every time I remotely become her, I can feel this other side creeping to the surface."

"Don't worry, we're going to help you control it," Wells promised. "Do you trust us?" He said, no one but him knowing the test laid out before her.

Without a doubt, Belén nodded. "Of course."

"In the meantime," Cisco began walking her out, letting Caitlin and Wells follow behind, "We've got Azul nicely locked down in the pipeline." Although that was bitter news in itself.

"Yeah, I can't believe I just imprisoned my co-worker," Belén shook her head. She felt like an idiot, honestly. Her brother had no doubt set Noah up at CC Pictures to keep an eye on her. She felt disgusted, frankly.

"Noah's not going anywhere, trust me," Cisco assured her.

"I always did say I'd lock them up if I ever got the chance," Belén quietly said. She felt momentary relief when she saw Barry walking into the cortex. She immediately rushed to go up and hug him. "I had to tell them everything," she said, clinging tightly to him.

"Everything?"

"That I'm a hideous green monster," Belén briefly explained and pulled away. She realized he hadn't come alone as there was Joe and the man she presumed to be Barry's father. "Is that your father?"

"Yes!" Barry quickly turned around to formally introduce them.

"Well there goes my first impression," Belén hung her head with a long sigh.

"You're fine," Barry rubbed her back affectionately. "Bells, this is my dad," he gestured to his father who was already looking amused by her.

"Henry Allen," the older man reached to shake her hand. "But I'm sure you already know that."

Belén sheepishly shook his hand with a tiny nervous smile. "Belén Palayta, but...I'm sure you already know that, well, I'm a hideous green monster."

"No, you are not," Barry scolded her playfully.

"You really are not," agreed Henry. "You're very pretty, actually."

"I can see where Barry got his good-natured compliments," Belén nudged the man in question beside her. "Are you taking notes for future situations?"

"I like her," Henry told Barry with a chuckle. "And let me tell you-" he now looked at Belén, "-that he-" he pointed at Barry, "-likes you as well."

"Dad," Barry stiffened, beginning to feel that embarrassment he was sure others experienced when their parents started talking too much around a girlfriend or boyfriend.

"He talks about you a lot," Henry said, more on purpose now.

"Dad!" Barry made a cutting motion across his neck. Belén just laughed and curled her arm around his waist, leaning her head on his arm.

"I like knowing this piece of information, thank you very much, Mr. Allen."

Henry nodded, and then, more soberly, said, "And I also heard about your father. I'm very sorry." He was sure this was another reason why his son found comfort with this woman. If it had been the same speedster that killed Nora, Belén was probably feeling the same way Barry had all those years ago.

"Thank you," Belén softly said. "I've been able to get through it thanks to everyone here, especially your son. He's very good at helping people."

Everyone agreed.

~ 0 ~

"Brazil?" Iris couldn't help make the face she was making after hearing what Eddie had come up with after searching for her co-worker, Mason. She shifted on the couch, both currently at her father's where they were to have dinner together. "Why...why would Mason move to Brazil?"

Eddie wanted to sell this story as best as possible, even though he hated the idea of lying to his girlfriend. But, it was what Joe wanted and - apparently - Barry as well. He was still in heavy shock from discovering the latter was the Flash, but now was not the time to freak out. "Apparently there was a girl involved, and he decided to go hike the Amazon with her for a year, you know, live off the grid, write his memoirs or something."

"Wow," Iris looked down for a moment. "I guess you really don't know anyone. Wait till Belén finds out."

And at that moment, her father walked in alone. "Hey, baby, everything good?"

"Yeah, yeah. Of course," she brushed off the Mason topic, deciding it was enough for now. She got up from couch. "Um, dinner will be ready in a jiff, okay? Is Barry not coming?"

"No, he had a date thing…"

"Okay," Iris shrugged and grabbed her phone from the coffee table before heading for the kitchen.

When Joe was sure she wasn't listening, he went directly for Eddie. "She buy it?"

Eddie sighed. "I think so."

"Keeping her in the dark, it's for her safety."

"That is debatable," Eddie sharply responded, "and we will have that debate. But for right now, what's our next move? How do we figure out what Wells is up to?"

"Right now, we're not sure," confessed Joe. "We need to wait until Barry gets back so we can talk."

Eddie gave a nod, but still openly displayed his disapproval of this plan of secrecy. A part of him wished he hadn't been told anything.

~0~

"Barry, I don't understand, what are we doing here?" Belén said as Barry held the door open for her to walk into the flower shop.

Since it was dark there weren't many people there, allowing almost a perfect glance at every plant being sold there. Barry took her hand and led her direct towards the side near the display window.

"I wanted you to see this," he explained upon stopping in front of a full display of colored Azaleas. Belén's eyes flickered from one flower to the next, bemused by their variety. "I know it's a bit weird to end the date at a flower shop but I promise there is a meaning behind this."

"They're Azaleas," Belén looked at him curiously.

"They're selling them now, all over the city," he began smiling, "And they're doing it in honor of you, Bells."

"...me?" she repeated quietly. "But I haven't done anything special…"

"Yes you have, Belén! And I am so tired of hearing you say otherwise. You don't see it because you're scared, and it's normal, but this city loves you. You are their hero too, no matter what you look like. And people want you here. I want you here too."

Belén looked at him a long time, processing his words and feelings. Of course she wanted to be there too, but it didn't take away her fears. Then again, it really wasn't just her in the equation anymore. There was the city who, apparently, yearned for her to continue being their hero. She didn't want to let anyone down. She didn't want to hurt anyone. She didn't want to be afraid of herself anymore.

"I guess...we have to practice first thing in the morning," she whispered, making Barry quickly smile.

"Absolutely-"

"And I'm talking serious practicing-"

"-sign me up-"

"-with no holding back-"

"Difficult," paused Barry, giving her a look, "But doable. For you."

And so, with a deep breath, Belén agreed to once again continue this new training session with the promise this time it would be effective. After all, this time everyone would be helping her.

[freetobeeyouandme]

At the Edge of the Forsaken Forrest - Chapter 1: The Envoy

Archive of our Own

So, I haven’t written proper fanfic in ages, but I’m gonna do whatever I want in 2020, and right now that is writing a multichapter van der Stoffels fanfic. I hope y’all like fantasy, because that’s what you’re getting. Also just a heads up, but I won’t post more than the first chapter here on Tumblr because I’m not sure how much sense crossposting makes, plus I’m not sure if the posts, which would include a link to Ao3 will show up in the tag. But I can (and will?) post about having posted so y’all’ll stay updated.

__________

Chapter 1 - The Envoy

Jens hated the Library. He didn't hate libraries per se, that was an important distinction to make. Libraries were awesome. They had vast collections of books that included historical accounts of the Kingdom of Amae that went further than current history books’s "Amaians hate magic, they would like to exterminate every single mage that has ever walked the earth, and they are basically very, very evil," which, while true, wasn’t exactly the nuanced take Jens needed. What he needed was not to accidentally offend the first Amaian envoy visiting Maers in centuries. And Libraries were quiet, ambient places, perfect for some last-minute cramming like this – usually at least.

No, Libraries were great. 

The problem with this particular library was that his study partner had decided that making out with his secret boyfriend was a far more valuable use of his time. Which would have been fine any other day, except 'secret' here meant that Robbe didn't want Jens to know about the guy, but utterly failed to really keep him a secret. For one, he made up excuses that were flimsier than the 600 year old history tome Jens was currently fighting his way through. Then there was the fact that Robbe was the worst when it came to finding secret places for hidden make-outs, so Jens had actually run into them before – Jens was just better at backtracking and disappearing quickly than Robbe was at keeping secrets. And lastly, to Jens's charging right now, Robbe seemed not to understand how the acoustics of the library worked. Which was why Jens could hear them kissing and whispering to each other, although, to his relief, without being able to understand what they were saying exactly. If he had, he wasn’t sure what he would have done. As it stood, he couldn’t say anything, because then Robbe would know that he knew, and neither Jens nor Robbe were ready for that conversation. The whole thing was a mess.

It also didn’t help that Jens wasn’t really interested in the text, just thought that he maybe shouldn’t spend the days before their guests arrived just lazing off. Joining Robbe in the library to read up some more on Amaian customs had seemed like a great idea, because that meant even if his studying didn’t go so well, he could at least have the satisfaction that he tried something. But he hadn’t taken into account how distracting a study partner could be.

Or, well, he had expected to get less done with Robbe by his side. What he hadn’t taken into account was the stupid portraitist’s apprentice to also choose the library to practice his sketching, giving him and Robbe the perfect excuse to disappear between the rows of shelves for some secret making out.

Jens didn’t begrudge Robbe his happiness, but as another loud giggle interrupted him mid paragraph, he got very close to just taking the book and throwing it into their general direction. Instead, he sighed, lay his head on his arms, and stared at the clock on the wall. It had been ten minutes. Was that enough time to finally call Robbe on his bullshit excuse? No, Robbe could have two more minutes. Then Jens would ask if he had found what he was looking for, and then they could, for a time, go back to studying. That was a good compromise. 

A thump made him jump. On the other side of the table Yasmina had appeared, throwing a couple of books and papers onto the table in her rush. 

"Sorry I'm late," she said. "I ran into my mother and Lady Alderliesten and they had matters of utmost importance to discuss." She sighed and started paging through the books without sitting down first. Finally, she seemed to realize that something was off. She surveyed the table and asked "Robbe?"

"Looking for a book," Jens told her, eyebrows raised to convey that that was not what Robbe was doing. 

Yasmina raised her eyebrows back, and then called into the depths of the library: "Robbe?"

There was a beat of silence before Robbe called back “Yeah?” followed by something hushed and quick directed at Sander.

“Have you found that book you were looking for?” Yasmina asked.

“Er, no,” Robbe said, stepping out from between the rows of shelves while straightening his clothes. He was only marginally red in the face, his hair was not exactly messier than usual, but his lips were definitely kiss-swollen. It took Jens everything he had not to bury his head in his hands with a loud groan. Who exactly was Robbe trying to fool?

“What were you looking for?”

Robbe sat back down, pulling at his sleeves. “Uh, just something about atmospheric energy. I found it in a footnote somewhere and I thought it might be helpful.”

Robbe could barely keep his face together during the lie, and Jens decided it was better for himself to stop looking at this train wreck of a situation. He couldn’t exactly concentrate on the words on the page, but it was easier than having to look Robbe in the eye and pretend he believed him.

Yasmina finally sat down too. “Have you read Claasen’s chapter on it yet?”

“Uh, no.”

Yasmina snapped her fingers, a large tome appearing in front of her and crashing down with an even louder thump. Whatever her mother and Lady Alderliesten had had to discuss with her must have really pissed her off, if she was willing to risk the ire of old Master Glas just to let off steam like this. She leafed expertly through the pages until she found what she was looking for and then shoved it in front of Robbe.

“Here. I found it really helpful, especially their idea that it’s all so fluid.”

“Thanks,” Robbe said, reluctantly pulling the book closer.

For a second they were all quiet, Robbe pretending to read Claasen, Jens trying and failing again to get into tome the old librarian had recommended to him, and Yasmina angrily sorting through the papers and books she’d brought.

“Alright,” Jens interrupted after a moment, closing his book. “What did Lady Alderliesten say that got you so pissed off?”

“I’m not pissed off,” Yasmina said.

“No, you are,” Robbe agreed with him.

Yasmina sighed, dropped her papers, and leaned back. “Fine. But it was nothing. My mother and her were just talking about how apparently the Amaians had reached Beg Eikon and would get here bright and early tomorrow, and how exciting that was. And then my mother started to lecture me about being careful around them, which is so useless because she probably won’t even let me leave the house alone with them in the castle.” Yasmina shook her head. “It’s so stupid. Sure, they’ll look at me differently because I’m a mage, but there’s very few people in Maers who can’t do magic, so it’s not like the Amaians will be able to avoid it. They decided to come here, so they’ll have to deal with that. I don’t see why we need to stop being ourselves just because they’ve decided to get back into contact with their oh-so-despised neighbors.”

“At least you have an excuse to avoid them if you want to,” Jens said. “You can just hole up at the Academy and pretend you have important studies to conduct. My mother is making me sit in on the negotiations, and she wants me to show them around when they arrive.”

“Poor you,” Robbe said.

“You’re welcome to come along if you want to.”

“I don’t think I want to.”

Jens pouted at Robbe for a moment, then failed to keep his face in check as he had an idea. “Come on, it would be fun. You could show them around the Academy. Can you imagine how uncomfortable that would make them?”

Yasmina shook her head, her anger breaking apart as she started to laugh. “Aren’t you supposed to be diplomatic and not offend our neighbors, your highness?”

“I’m being the most diplomatic and no one’s going to be offended by me showing them the castle thoroughly.” He winked. “Doesn’t mean I can’t also have my fun.”

Robbe rolled his eyes. “Do I have to?”

“Please,” Jens said.

“Oh, yes, please,” Yasmina chimed in. “I promise I’ll be there for you to run into. I’m not going to miss that.”

Robbe still didn’t look convinced.

“Please,” Jens begged again.

“Please,” Yasmina asked.

“Please,” they both repeated. “Please, please, please.”

“Fine!” Robbe said, loud enough to make Master Glas’s small, red-faced frame appear from between the shelves.

“Children!” he chastised.

“Sorry,” they all whispered without the least bit of repentance. When he was gone again, Yasmina couldn’t help but snort, and Robbe joined in, giggling quietly.

“So, tomorrow?” he whispered to Jens.

Jens simply widened his eyes and shook his head. He didn’t want tomorrow to come, ever. But Robbe seemed to have taken a liking to their plan, and only laughed harder.

-

The arrival of the Amaian envoy was a slow and excruciating affair. Early in the morning a runner arrived form Beg Eikon, declaring that the envoy had left the estate and would arrive in Sterrebeg soon. Nothing they hadn’t already known, but the runner made it official, which was why after getting dressed appropriately for such an occasion, everyone who was anyone at court collected in the throne room, waiting for their arrival.

The waiting part had been okay. Jens spent most of it talking with Robbe, Jana, and Amber, who were all there with their families. He caught a glimpse of Yasmina’s mothers, but she herself seemed to have taken the offered excuse and either stayed home or at the Academy. At the same time that another runner arrived, announcing that the envoy had reached the castle gates, Moyo rushed in through a side door with his two younger sisters, a worried look on his face. But Jens didn’t get the chance to ask if everything was alright, because his mother was ordering him up the dais.

Below, Robbe made a sarcastic Good Luck! face at him, until Jana elbowed him in the side. Lord IJzermans, Duke of Iliers, come to Sterrebeg solely for the Amaians and usually not really interested in his son’s doings at court, leaned over to reprimand him. Jens watched Robbe roll his eyes, then got pulled closer to the throne by his mother.

“Focus,” she whispered.

And just like that, the envoy and his party arrived.

There were 20 of them, about a dozen knights in light traveling armor led by a bunch of pompous looking courtiers. Jens only gave them a quick once over, because they were only decoration, much like the various noble families to the left of the dais and the knights and scholars to the right were just decoration to his mother. They even looked the same, all wearing similar outfits in the colors of their respective country – red and gold for Amae, yellow and black for Maers – and even the style was the same.

Truly relevant was only the person leading them all, dressed in the Maerian yellow and black for the occasion. Maybe the two people following directly after him too, considering that they were allowed individuality in their clothing choices. The one on Jens’s right was a boy about his own age, with short, dark hair and the “Look I can grow a mustache!” type of facial hair, wearing a grey so dark it was almost black. It made the sheathed, gleaming sword at his side only stand out more. The one on the right, slender, clean shaven, with unruly brown hair, was wearing blue with only a hint of red.

Jens had no idea who they were, but they didn’t matter, not in the grand scheme of things. There only the envoy mattered, and Jens would have recognized who he was even if he hadn’t known who the Queens of Amae had sent to represent them. The intricate golden circlet on his head gave him away, as it was meant to do. His Royal Highness, Prince Kes of Amae, Duke of Eilington, etc, etc. Like Jens, he had a lot of titles, and since Jens could barely keep his own straight, he hadn’t bothered to learn more than two of Kes’s. He was a prince, a duke, and of the magic-hating House de Beus, which had ruled Amae for eternity. That was all Jens needed to know.

Like most of his entourage the prince was dressed elegantly but simple, wearing a low-collared doublet that would have looked right at home in the Maerian court, if the Amaians weren’t still lacing their clothes. Unlike his attaché, he could grow an actual moustache and a small beard, which made him look older than he actually was – which was Jens’s age. It was a showiness that Jens neither understood nor felt impressed by. He hadn’t been the biggest fan of the idea of Prince Kes to begin with, and he liked the real-life version of him even less.

The prince’s party stopped halfway towards the dais, but the prince and his attachés only stopped a few meters before it, the appropriate distance, and bowed.

“Your majesty,” the prince said.

Jens’s mother rose and went to meet the prince on equal footing in front of the dais. She bowed too. “Your highness, I presume?”

“Kes of Amae,” he said. Smiled. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is wholly on Maers’s side,” his mother replied.

Jens wanted to gag. He for sure did not feel pleasure at this meeting, and he knew for a fact that the court and the people were equally divided on the issue. Maers had done well without Amae the last couple of centuries and when the newest Amaian monarch had written to the Queen of Maers, it had been more than a surprise. But apparently Queen Annelies and her wife had decided, upon taking the throne two years ago, that they would pursue a different kind of politics when it came to magic, and that involved working together with their neighboring countries again. There was not much Amae could offer Maers, but his mother had explained that it couldn’t hurt to listen.  

Jens was not sure he believed that, and so he simply let the empty pleasantries of his mother and the prince wash over him, zoning out as he so often did in these kinds of situations. His gaze inevitably drifted to the prince’s attachés. The one in black seemed uncomfortable standing where he was, his hand resting casually on his sword and his face a barely controlled mask of polite blankness. His unarmed friend stood rigid, his hands clasped behind his back like Jens, his eyes wandering everywhere. They met Jens’s briefly, icy and intense.

Jens swallowed hard and stood up even straighter, trying to look like he was paying attention while looking around, the same way the Amaian did. It was a futile effort, because the Amaian had somehow already caught him off guard.

He turned back to his mother and tried to pay attention again.

“-lunch,” his mother was saying. “You must be weary from your travels, so I’ll let my son show you to your apartments, where you can refresh yourselves. And maybe he’ll show you around the castle a little once you’ve done so, if you desire.”

“That is most gracious of you,” the Amaian prince replied.

"Jens," his mother beckoned him.

He stepped off the dais until he was a step above the prince and bowed courtly. "Your Highness."

The prince bowed back. "Your Highness."

The prince’s dark eyes held his, much less intense than his attachés, and this time Jens was prepared. Unlike the prince’s attaché, he wouldn’t let the prince get so much as a pinky underneath his mask of blank civility. If anything, he would get underneath the prince’s skin. He gestured at Robbe behind him and said, “I hope you won't mind that I have asked the Marquis of Nevas to join us?"

The prince took one look at Robbe's light-green, high collared doublet and the linen sleeves. "A mage?"

"Does that bother you?"

The prince’s face remained calm, telling Jens more about him than open disgust would have. Next to him, his mother inhaled sharply, clearly unhappy with his course of action. He'd get a lecture tonight about not immediately and aggressively provoking their hostile guests, but he'd known that would come the moment he had invited Robbe to come along. It was worth it not to have to spend two hours or so with the Amaians alone.

"Absolutely not," the prince said, having the audacity to smile. "In fact, we're most interested in learning more about the ways of our neighbors, and since magic is a big part of that, I’ll take it as a sign of friendship that you’re so willing to share this part with us."

Behind him, the attaché with the sword shifted, contrary to his prince's words clearly not looking forward to spending some hours with Robbe. The other one remained even stiller than the prince, his face a perfectly sculpted mask of polite blankness. His eyes now zeroed in on his companion, then the prince, then Robbe, briefly met Jens's own again, and then stared back at Robbe intensely. 

This one, Jens decided, was not only the most unnerving one of the Amaians, but also the most dangerous one. The one with the sword was easily predictable, and as to the prince’s thoughts he could at least guess at. But this one he could not read at all. He’d managed to get underneath Jens’s skin so easily, and yet he continued to slip out of Jens’s grasp. If asked, the only thing he would be able to tell them about this guy was that he was an asshole, based only on the fact that he was a mage murdering Amaian.

Jens couldn't wait for the day that this whole negotiation business was over, and he was rid of them again. 

"Well," he said, returning the prince’s smile, "Shall we, then?"

[harrietvane]

do you mind talking about why you dislike Love Actually and Richard Curtis's romcoms? I've seen you mention it in some of your tags and I'd love to hear your thoughts :)

Long post, so scroll now, ye who care not.

OK, so like better voices than mine have articulated Why Love Actually Sucks Balls, but you were kind enough to ask for my view, so strap in I’m gonna talk about Jane Eyre, and the 1990’s Fran Drescher sitcom The Nanny also. It’s coming up on western civilisations’ holiday season, so why not, it’s a good time to tell this movie to choke, because it’s about to be repeatedly thrust upon us once again. (Disclaimer: I acknowledge Richard Curtis is responsible for Blackadder and Vicar of Dibley, so whatever else, we’re still cool on that basis. But I have spite and to spare, so there’s plenty to go around).

My main beef is actually the context. Technically, if all of the below bullshit was in an offbeat movie from any other movie market (I’m thinking maybe a French, or Spanish movie from the 90′s boom, Almodovar style?), the focus would probably be a black humour take on ‘Lord What Fools These Mortals Be!’, sort of look at the inherent ridiculousness of mankind, and how we get in our own way, blah blah, might have been cute. I’d buy that. This movie? A british movie for the american market? It’s sold with a big holiday sticker on it saying ‘ROMANCE’, and specifically ‘ADORABLE ASPIRATIONAL ROMANCE THAT YOU SHOULD ADORE AND ASPIRE TO’. Also the context *inside* the movie itself (through a narration voiceover no less) is that all of these narratives is somehow proof that ‘Love, Actually is all around’, and specifically in a good, wholesome, happy way, overall at least. These stories are redeeming, even if they’re not all happy, they’re Good™ or whatever. The context outside the movie is the same: british TV advertising, hard copy packaging, holiday specials, outdoor gala screenings: they all say over and over: THIS IS SQUISHY HOT PINK NEON LOVE, wholesome, healing, and healthy. You should want this, aspire to this, think this is the cat’s pyjamas! It’s a wide and varied look at the beautiful power of love from all angles, comic, tragic, the lot. 

Is it fuck. The ‘positive’ romance stories range from Stage-5 Creeper to Crotch Puppet Afterthought, the ‘melancholy’, thwarted romance stories seem to say ‘if you’re a woman who’s not readily/immediately bangable to your allocated straight dude, romance is over for you I’m afraid’. Let’s recap, shall we:

Much has already been said about Andrew Lincoln’s character BLANTANTLY SHARKING ON HIS BEST MATE’S WIFE being uhhh, less than fresh. I don’t even feel like I need to justify this one, it’s so over-the-top. The main point is that movie itself maintains this as a tragic, swoony, thwarted, heart-string-tugging missed connection, rather than The Worst Friend Ever (meaning: it assumes we’ll be 100% onboard with Keira Knightley skipping secretly away from Chiwetel Eijiofor to grant his best mate one treasured kiss, as opposed to saying ‘what the FUCK Mark, why are you telling me this, this is super inappropriate?? and my only wedding video is just you zooming in on my face? Pls get help’.

We all love National Treasure Colin Firth and all, but like is Love, Actually fixating on a woman who literally can’t speak to you? Has said nothing understandable to you? About whose own life you’ve never yet, and could never have asked about? Whose main interactions with you have been to wordlessly clean your room, bring you food, and tidy it away after? Your ideal woman, who you meet immediately following a break up, is one who silently meets all your domestic needs, while making zero emotional or intellectual demands on you whatsoever? WOW, SHOCKER. (Oh but it’s cute or whatever, they have him propose, and there’s a mix up when her sister appears, but she’s Ugly™, so it’s funny that the sister is not getting romance. I mean, how could she, an uggo?? Classic joke. Good times.)

The Prime Minster and his tea lady: more on Curtis’ Domestic Servitude Kink below, whoo boy.

Laura Linney would really really like to sleep with Rodrigo Santoro, and god bless her who wouldn’t, but she is tragically unable to, because she has family commitments as being the sister – not even fulltime carer, just RELATED TO -  a brother living with disability. Sorry folks, romance is OFF THE CARDS, FOREVER for Laura here. How can she??? That’s the nature of love, actually. Can you have sex right now this moment? No? Whelp, sorry, thanks for playing, back to the Tragic Assisted Living facility for you. Gosh it’s unfortunate that’s a truth universally acknowledged that any whiff of disability = no romance for you ever. (Don’t start me on 4 Weddings* [edit: *it’s totally Notting Hill, not 4 Weddings, thank] and how that husband is like The Best because he continues to love his wife even though her legs don’t work. What a champ, honestly, do they have an award for that?) I have to stop now before I get sarcasm poisoning, but my eyes will continue to roll.

How could I say anything bad about the Liam Neeson widower and his adorable lovestruck son storyine? Lol, I’m gonna. Have you seen the Buffy episode The Zeppo? Xander is convinced the only way girls (as a concept, not in the specific) will like him enough to sleep with him is if he has A Thing. The Thing is posited as ‘being cool’ by having an object or skill that alone will be the magic bullet to romance. Musical instrument prowess is considered, and he ends up just getting a car to be his Thing. This just seems like a redux of that logic. This kid could get some genuine direction from the movie to get to know this girl, learn her interests and share his, see if she likes him as a person by being A PERSON, but the narrative just backs away from that and eventually DOES just say ‘play the drums in the show, she’ll like you’ and that’s …it. But it’s cool, teenagers don’t learn key interpersonal dynamics at this age or anything, she kisses him for some reason, whatever. (Bonus points for gifting his dad with a literal supermodel as a punchline, after making that an actual joke earlier about the shallow nature of attraction, and love is about filling a one-sided need.)

I could go on, but I have very little to say about Freeman falling for a girl whose tits he’s been holding for a week, the no-homo pop star Nighy plot, or the guy that goes and has sex in Wisconsin with Bond Girls, and can’t be bothered, which leads me to…

Richard Curtis’ Domestic Servitude Kink. Must I kinkshame Richard Curtis in his own home?? Nope, I’m kinkshaming him AT WORK in his narratives, surrounded by his nubile, pliant, adorable female employee characters. Oh Mr Curtis, I seem to have dropped a pencil!

OK, so like a M/F Domestic Servitude romance is an extremely old trope, and extremely common, and I’m not here to tear that up, because done well it’s amazing, lot of petrol in that King Cophetua narrative tank. I’m a fan. The most famous in-context historical example being Jane Eyre, for instance: he’s her boss, she’s his paid subordinate, they’re both 100% aware of that. It’s a great way to explore the real-life class and power dynamics of these 2 train wrecks of human beings, and they vomit their ridiculous drama llama feelings all over a 600 page novel. Super fun, they’re both awful humans, I love them. Mid-century you might have The Sound of Music, and in more modern times you get 1990s sitcom The Nanny, both extremely well-developed romances involving paid employees, and part of their value is that the shows KNOW THIS. They’re aware it’s the basis for their dynamic, that they have to directly play with that, and develop beyond to go anywhere. Watching Fran Fine in her runway-fresh Moschino minidresses jump on Maxwell Sheffield’s desk for the 800th time making him super uncomfortable (and not a little turned on) is always such a treat. It’s right out there on the label. The problem with Love, Actually, is Curtis doesn’t want to admit that naughty secretary seems to be a cornerstone of what gets him going, romantic-stylez. 

One (1) time in the movie would be ‘sure, why not’. Literally the highest political office in the land, making overtures to the woman who brings him tea, i guess might be a bit off, but let’s say it’s done well, and maybe Hugh Grant and Martine McCutcheon’s charisma gets us over the line (his behaviour is cute because her last man didn’t like her body, but the prime minister DOES like her body! so it’s cute!). Whatever, seen worse. Two (2) times however is making a point, and Colin Firth is driving his silent portuguese maid home - not a french maid but so close! - and deciding he’d like her to bring him tea and clean his toilet for as long as they both shall live, and that also seems to be her greatest joy. Ah, l’amour. OK, I guess you like the thing, everyone has a thing, but at least you’re done now. Wait, you mean there’s a third (3rd) one? Everyone’s Fave Alan Rickman drives the plot of his own marriage’s tragic romance because he’s having stiffening feelings about his own Naughty Secretary halloween costume, after all. All the beautiful speeches about Joni Mitchell give Thompson some nice things to do, but it still assumes the Nature of Romance is to want to plough the help. A man can’t help it! It’s how romantic attraction works! Once would be whatever. Three times and there’s a tag on Ao3 for that, so please just scratch that itch and stop selling it to me in a heartwarming christmas movie as the Universal Nature Of Romance, so varied, so vast, the full spectrum! Just 2 hours to tell a story: but 3 whole narratives and 7 actors devoted to the variants on the naughty maid story. My point is be upfront about it and I’d be all for it - pretend it’s not A Thing You’re Doing and my creep-meter goes ping. Steven Shainberg’s ‘Secretary’ has a scene where the boss literally puts a saddle on his employee, and I find it to be one of the most genuinely moving romances I’ve ever seen. Love Actually makes me feel like Curtis is sending me a ‘u up?’ late night text about his secretary fantasy.

Anyway, I fucking hate this film, and not necessarily because of the content, but because of the context. The movie tells me to love it as aspirational romance. My culture tells me to love it as aspirational romance. Everyone tells me to love it as a varied and full exploration of reasons to get up in the morning, because it’s an aspirational romance. It makes me want to claw my own face off.

[internetremix]

I was wondering... Do you any of you have tips for a rookie GM? I'm setting up a game night here soon and I'm stressing the heck out over it.

Alex: No matter what game system you play it's usually quite intimidating because there are like 600 pages of information to digest. At any given time you need to have memorized only, like, thirty. At the end of the day most tabletop games are just two things - math and improv. Admittedly things that, outside of tabletop games, people go out of their way to avoid, but still.

Stress can lead people to get things done fast but also get things done sloppy. You don't need to plan out every single detail of what the characters might encounter eventually in a session. You can flesh out a couple of interesting people, places, or things you want them to see and just keep a scratch card of notes and traits for if/when they go off the beaten path. Remember, no matter what you plan, there is no accounting for the actions of players, and rolling with them provides a far better experience than slamming your fist down and saying "NO" to every deviation.

And above all else, remember that tabletop games are a collaborative effort. People come together to play games, tell stories, and shoot the shit. If shooting the shit overtakes the game you can rein that in a little but at the end of the day everyone's there voluntarily to have fun, and no one is there to see anyone fail.So to recap -

1. You are the arbiter of rules no matter what the book says. You can double-check later and take notes for future games if it becomes an issue but generally you only need to have in mind rules that are actively going to be used in game. If you don't know the exact way to handle something just make up what the closest action would be and if the player rolls what you think is well enough to do it, they did it.

2. If you don't have time to take notes on every single thing the players might encounter, congratulations, you're an average person. You only need a few based on the following factors - what do you want the players to do, how do you think they're going to do it, and do you have something prepared for when they go off the beaten path.

3. Have fun! Seriously, it's called a tabletop GAME, not a tabletop dictatorship.

Kristen: All of my games are Tabletop Dictatorships, all of them. Unfortunately I'm a terrible, weak-willed dictator so this helps nothing.

Alex: Discord Murder Party is different. Mafia/Werewolf operates way differently than D&D and needs a GM SPECIFICALLY so that players don't go off the rails.

Kristen: You are 100% correct.

God my first tabletop I ever DMed for I made my own thing and wrote like... twenty pages for my first session. And then as soon as I started, my players were like HEY I WANNA EXPLORE THE SHOPS

"O-oh.... y-yeah, here's uh... heeeere's a list of shops..."

So then I had to improv like... five shops and make multiple NPCs on the fly and then I found out "it turns out writing an entire paragraph for every NPC is an awful idea because you can't fucking read those notes mid-session"

So my point is don't do that.

Juno: Oh yeah. Last night I had to make up a guy named Lucas on the spot because JoJo's character wanted to convince a guy not to kill them

Kristen: YEP I ran the generic 5e DnD starter for a group of friends and somehow it went from a generic "you all hunt down and kill a bunch of goblins and a bugbear in a cave, way to go" to "You spared a Goblin who has a ridiculous Brooklyn accent who hates his job and now you're starting a ridiculous worker's revolution and this has ended with you all enlisting every other goblin you were supposed to fight into swarming the bugbear boss. Okay."

Juno: I mean. That's a pretty bomb plot twist if you ask me.

Kristen: Oh yes, I enjoyed it immensely. Also really in the context of a DnD game I'm pretty sure that shouldn't be doable cause I don't think any of them were supposed to be able to speak common. If your players are setting themselves up for a more interesting story and you have to bend the rules a bit to make it happen, go for it. One of the most important things for GMing is making your players feel like they have agency- as Alex said, it's collaborative, it's not just you telling your players a story.

Another thing to keep in mind is what sort of players you have. I usually prefer to play with people who are more into the RP/story aspect, but some people are gonna be more into them fighty fights and mechanics and such. Which is fine and can work, it's just a matter of striking a balance in your game.  I usually try to tailor things in such a way that everyone's getting a chance to get what they want out of a game and their shot at the spotlight, in whatever manner that takes. For me it's helped to ask my players directly "hey, what do you want out of this game? Do you have any ideas or anything you're really into?"

Mostly what I'm saying is just try to keep in mind what your players are in this for, since that contributes a lot to how much fun you all have.

Atwas: Something that's helped me a lot is to not stress out or stop the game entirely to double check rules. It sort of kills momentum. In my experience, ruling a situation and then looking something up later is a lot less stressful than the pressure of putting something completely on pause while you flip through a book/google something.

If you're doing stuff in real life, I would recommend making a little cheat sheet of your PC's information. My DM screen has sticky notes with each party characters HP, AC, Passive Perception, and Spell Save DC to keep things streamlined.

Kristen: Oooo smurt

Alex: Hell yeah dude. Also there are custom DM screens you can get tailor-made to give you quick rules references. Fairly cheap on Amazon.

Atwas: Also your players don't know if you're winging stuff unless you tell them. ;^)

Also also don't be scared of bumping monster hp up or down depending on a fight or having monsters run away or call in reinforcements. If you go off script in an encounter--surprise! Nobody knows but you. I did that quite a bit when I was starting out because balancing encounters is a bit of an art and CR is a loose guideline at best.

Also also also the point of the game isn't to win. Don't fall into the trap of "beating your players" or stuff like that. Imo that kind of messes with the table dynamics unless 100% of everyone is on board with that type of game.

Kristen: Yeah, don't fall into that and also be careful not to go into the mindset of "punishing" your players if they do something dumb. Like if it's a silly "you did this thing and consequences have gone WILDLY outside of what you expect wheee", awesome, but I've had DMs who basically would act like if you didn't somehow read their minds and find their exact solution, welp you made a dumb choice and now everyone is penalized for it. Made for a pretty toxic atmosphere, do not recommend. Kind goes hand in hand with "don't be a tabletop dictator".

Atwas: oh gods i could go on and on about how punishing someone in game never works for out of game behaviour but i digress. also please don't feel afraid to talk to your players, even if having adult conversations is difficult.

Juno: Cause and effect is the biggest thing to think about I think, especially in a DMing situation.

Alex: For instance, siccing a Revenant on the party? Thavagath made a bad decision in character, that's the natural consequence, he gets a chance to save his ass. Someone makes a dick joke about your carefully crafted NPC? Don't be a dick right back.

Atwas: sweats, trying to think back to the last time a dick joke was made in Fallen Empires

Alex: Like I think the last major one was Phill pulling a muscle stretching so hard to make a joke for five minutes about the "Male Room" rather than the "Mail Room"

But then we - wait for it - ACTUALLY DISCUSSED THE ISSUE OUT OF GAME and stuff like that doesn't pop up any more.

Atwas: WHAT? SPEAKING LIKE REASONABLE ADULTS?!?! IN MY TABLETOP?!?!?! it's really useful. please have those conversations, even if they're uncomfortable. and if something is becoming an issue, bring it up sooner rather than later--turns out that people can't change stuff if they don't know about it! Most people want to stay friends after a campaign after all.

Jojo: Have your story planned, npcs, and what you want an end goal to be. Make sure it's all planned out BEFORE asking people to join it. And if you need a second DM to help you with Dice or story, then that's ok too! I'm still a beginner DM myself, so that's the best advice I can give

These guys are pros, so listen to them

Phill: Heheh... male room

Alex: Phill no you'll pull your hamstring again

Phill:

Atwas: what do you think is Phill's average Henderson rating?

Alex: Phill has at least One Henderson in him, he destroyed Underdark to the point of we can't go back to it ever now.

Phill: I mean. Yeah. Honestly, I could've very easily seen phresh reach a 1.75 hendersons eventually.

Atwas: I'd say 1.75 works. 2 is still out of reach, but one day...

Xander: Underdark is cursed content and deserved better

Atwas: How many of he players had that as their first campaign? 3/5?

Xander: I believe so

Alex: Uprising and I had played before, I don't think Jojo, Dawn, or Phill had.

Xander: I'm probably gonna reboot Underdark one day. Wipe the slate clean. Probably not gonna be done on IR

Alex: We did it! We reached two Hendersons!

Xander: Two full Hendersons.

Phill: time unveil my new original character. Blesh

Alex: Blerish

Xander: More like Blemish

[caiuscassiuss]

Well Played (basketball player au! NCT Johnny)

Genre: basketball player! au fluff

Member(s): Johnny ft. the rest of NCT as his basketball team

WC: 3.5k

Warnings: swearing

Description: In which you are a yearbook photographer in denial and 600% done with the basketball captain’s antics.

masterlist | requests | updates

_______________________________________________________________________

(A/N: I always wondered what it’d be like to go to American highschool with Johnny so here’s a hot basketball captain Johnny for you thirsty hoes)

You sighed as you look at the yearbook spread you helped edit. 

It was of the annual Fall Festival the Key Club put out, and there were many pictures filled with autumn amusement and merriment and it turned out fucking great but your unusually strict yearbook advisor demanded a complete redo of the pages. Apparently, it wasn’t “festive” enough, whatever the hell that meant. Because none of the yearbook staff actually do what they’re supposed to do, it looks like it’s Y/N to the rescue (for 28723847th time)!! Even though it wasn’t your job!!!

You quickly got back on a desktop in a quest to somehow make people picking pumpkins more “festive” when you suddenly heard a yell from the office.

“Y/N! Tonight is the Semi-Final State Basketball Championship and you have to shoot it at Deerfield!”

You made a sour face then walked over to your advisor’s, Mrs. Weather’s, office.

“Do I at least get free tickets?”

“No, but you have a yearbook pass which is just as good!”

“Ugh,” you murmured quietly as you went back to the desktop.

“C’mon, they chase away any photographer that isn’t you! The boys love you, especially that captain boy… what was his name again? Jake? Justin?”

“Johnny, Mrs. Weathers.”

“See! You even remember his name! Maybe his feelings are reciprocated, hm?”

“Mrs. Weathers,” you whined. We’re not all forgetful like you, you passive-aggressive old bat!

“If I were 40 years younger…” she chuckled.

Oh ewww. Like, double ewwww.

Glenbrook North’s Boys Basketball Team (the Spartans) is Chicago’s #1 basketball team in the city and state, winning both championships for the past 3 years. They’re even more funded than the football team, which basically never happens in American high school. They’re great and all but their captain…

Johnny Seo. A 6’1 senior sometimes called “Yao Ming Ming” for being Asian, tall, and really good at basketball. He was a rich kid, and incredibly popular for being funny and relatable. A lot of girls somehow found him and to be one of the hottest guys in school. And unfortunately, he was the son of your parents’ good friends.

You didn’t like taking pictures of the basketball team. Sure, some of the members like Mark or Sicheng were sweet and too pure for this world, but some members like Yuta and Johnny annoyed the hell out of you. It’s not as if like Johnny, or anything like that. You were always stuck with them because they always played tricks on other photographers so you were sent out in their stead.

The bell rang and you quickly packed up your stuff and saved your progress then walked out of the computer lab. You had a Socratic seminar in AP Lang next, and you had to be early so you could sit at the front. Normally, you would be in the middle, but your teacher had threatened to take points off of people not actively participating, and this bitch ain’t losing her GPA. You strode quickly through the crowded hallways.

“Hey! Y/N!!”

Your quick stride faltered as you froze at the voice. You turned around slowly to see Johnny in a Chicago Bulls windbreaker with some black skinny jeans and Vans. He had an easy gait as people parted for him like the goddamn red sea, his backpack casually slung over one of his broad shoulders.

“Yo broski,” he greeted as he caught up to you.

Sigh. “Hi, Johnny.”

“Can you at least sound excited to see me? I mean, we’ve known each other since we were 4.” Johnny huffed as he slung an arm around your shoulder.

You rolled your eyes.

“Exactly.”

“Oof, right in the gut!” Johnny dramatically pretended to bend over his injured gut as you walked.

“I’d give you real pain if it weren’t for your game,” you snarked.

“Aww worried about me? I’m flattered! Anyway, you know about the game? I thought you didn’t like sports.”

“I don’t. Mrs. Weathers ordered me to shoot the game for your inevitable state championship 4-page spread.”

“That passive-aggressive old-bat?”

“You got that right,” you barked out a laugh.

You turned towards him and looked up at his totally not handsome face. His cheekbones are totally not my aesthetic. Nope, that piece of brown hair flopping over his eye is not attractive. Noppity nope nope nope.

“Hey did your parents confirm that they’re going to dinner at Morton’s?” you asked as you turned left into the Lit hallway.

“Oh yeah, I think they did this morning.”

“Are you sure you can make it after your game?”

“When you’re involved? Totally, babe.” Johnny winked causing you to blush.

“Shut up-” you slapped him on his totally not hard biceps- “No, but really? I don’t want to be the only teen there to be interrogated about my life.”

“Yeah, I’ll be there. Hey, if you want a ride there you can just ride with me and I’ll stop at your house so you can get ready.” Johnny offered as you slowed down, seeing the entrance to your classroom in a few minutes.

“Oh, thanks! I’ll see you later Johnny.”

He smiled as you turned towards your classroom. The warning bell sounded, so he increased his pace to his AP Calc class which was 2 hallways down. He plopped down at his desk that was uncomfortably small for him next to Taeyong.

“Bro why are you so late?”

“Um, I just had to do… something,” Johnny fibbed.

“Liar,” Doyoung interjected from the back.

“He walked y/n to class in the Lit hallway,” Doyoung laughed as he spun his mechanical pencil around.

“The fuck bro? Are you stalking me?” Johnny leaned away from the dude who’s face looked like a rabbit and happened to be his point guard.

“Nah, I just saw you walking down the hallway with her.”

“He’s not the one doing the stalking here, Johnny, you are,” Taeyong said and Doyoung cackled and offered a high five.

“Like seriously Johnny boy, can you make your crush on her any less apparent than the past 4 years?” Doyoung wondered as Johnny was digging around for his graphing calculator.

“He’s whipped.” Taeyong laughed as he downed some water from his bottle.

“Shut up or I’ll bench you for the 2nd quarter.” Johnny threw an eraser at Taeyong who merely smiled innocently and opened his textbook.

_______________________________________________________________________

“Oh fuck!” you cursed as you looked through your bag while sitting in your Mom’s car. She was pulling into the roundabout of Deerfield High school where your school was playing against their hometeam.

“Language! Anyway, what’s wrong sweetie?”

You sighed as you turned to face her.

“I forgot my yearbook pass at school to get into the game.”

“Oh no! Well, that’s a problem. Hm… why don’t you ask Johnny to let you into the game? It’s his team playing after all.”

“That’s not how it works mom.”

“Don’t take that tone with me, young lady!”

“Sorry.”

Your mom put her hands on the driver's wheel in thought. “Ok, $10 dollars isn’t that bad.”

“Mmm-” not when you’re a brokeass teen “-kay, bye mom!”

“I love you! Make sure you go to Morton’s immediately after- wait, hold on, how are you getting there?”

“Johnny’s driving me,” you murmured absent-mindedly as you collected your camera equipment from the back seat.

As busy as you were, you didn’t see the secretive smile that crept up your mother’s face.

_______________________________________________________________________

“Aight team, warm-up on the court in five! Get your asses out there!” Johnny shouted at the locker room full of boys. They all murmured in consent as they quickly put on their notorious dark green and silver track pants and jacket for the warm-up. They all filed out of the locker room to the arena where the stands were already bursting with people.

A roar rose up when crowd favorite entered. Even though they were at an away game, more than half of the crowd were Spartan fans. Even some people who attended Deerfield liked the Spartans better, because a lot of them were supposedly attractive and skilled when they played. All you saw was a goddamn headache.

As per their pregame ritual, someone grabbed one ball and they all stood in a line. The first person bounced the basketball on the headboard, which bounced back and into the hands of the second person, who did the same thing and so on. From the sidelines next to the coach you took some pictures of the boys standing in line. Some of them caught sight of you and waved hi, while others pulled funny faces which made you giggle. You checked the screen of your camera to check the lighting. In a few minutes, the whole team dispersed to do their own thing and took advantage of the cart of basketballs available.

“Y/n!”

You looked up and some hair went in your face. You huffed the rebellious stand of your face.

“Hey, Johnny!”

He jogged over to your position right under the headboard, his usually defiant brown hair contained in a headband just imagine Johnny at the NBA photoshoot

“Um, at the end of the game, just meet me near the entrance. I promise I’ll be there quickly.” He smiled sheepishly at you as he scratched the back of his head.

“Yeah, sure.”

Your eyes suddenly narrowed as you pushed a finger to his chest.

“I had to spend 10 whole dollars to get into your game. 10. Whole. Dollars. Money I could’ve spent on fried chicken or food or whatever.”

“What happened to your yearbook pass?”

“I fucking forgot it at school,” you pouted, secretly embarrassed.

She looks fucking adorable, fuck. Johnny thought as he laughed, his normally booming laughter drowned out by the crowd.

“The only reason I was allowed onto the court was that your coach recognized me!” you lamented, shifting your weight on one foot. You had to crane your neck to look up to him because he was a good 1 and a half heads taller than you.

“Captain! Stop flirting with y/n and get on the court!” Johnny’s vice-captain, Kun, yelled out as he sunk a shot from the 3 point line.

“Fucking hell- I’ll see you later.”

“Sure,” You smiled at him.

As the toss-up began and the game progressed, you moved quickly over the court to take some epic action shots. You could use this for your portfolio for art club, so you were really focused on taking good quality photos.

When the players switched offense to defense or vice versa and ran across the court, they made weird faces at you. Taeyong stuck his tongue at you, Doyoung creep-smiled complete with a double chin, and many more antics that made you lament over the wasted pictures.

When a picture of Lucas completing a lay-up with a meme expression on his tanned face popped up on your viewfinder, you sighed. When you saw Johnny, you were going to make some sort of complaint because you could not use a shot of Mark dabbing on your yearbook spread, and certainly not in your art portfolio.

You came across a shot of Johnny setting up a screen. He certainly did not look hot. No, he was not attractive when sweat dripped down his face and body and made his muscles stand out mo- Fuck this, ugh.

The game ended and as usual, the Spartans beat the Deerfield warriors by a large margin, 100 to 76. You packed up your equipment into your bag and left the court as soon as the crowd left the arena and waited near the entrance, the cold autumn air permeating through your lined denim jacket.

Johnny exited the school, some of his team laughing with him with their arms slung around his shoulders.

“Johnny!” you called out when you saw him in his tracksuit.

The little group’s attention turned toward you as his face turned red in the dim lights. Yuta grinned and said something in Johnny’s ear that made Johnny slap him upside the head, Yuta still grinning the whole time.

Johnny walked over to you and you both walked to his mustang that his dad bought for him the previous year for winning the state championship. He opened your door for you and you both sped off into the streets of suburbia.

_______________________________________________________________________

When you both were led by the maitre’d to the private, reserved table and no one was there, you both groaned. Earlier, he had stopped at your house and you both got ready (he brought his clothes with him). You put on a nice white lace sundress with some nude heels complimented with light makeup. Johnny, on the other hand, wore a white oxford shirt with an unbuttoned, navy blazer. paired with khaki slacks underneath and some smart leather shoes. Nope, not hot at all. He didn’t look like a snack. y'all probably looked like some rich suburban couple lol

“Oh my god. My parents had like 4 hours to get ready and they’re still not ready? Ugh,” you curse.d.

“Rip. Well, we’ll just have to wait for them”

He pulled out your chair for you WHAT A GENTLEMAN and you both sat down to look over the menu. After you ordered water with lemon and he ordered Sprite, you two struck up easy conversation.

It was when he recounted the time when his underclassman friends, Jeno and Jaemin, got detention for duct-taping someone’s phone to the ceiling, he cracked up. You looked at his laughing face and blushed.

Honestly, you really didn’t know your feelings for Johnny. Yeah, he was annoying and kind of a smartass most of the time, but he was funny and always seemed to care about you. Not to mention you’ve known him since forever; your families always went on did stuff together so you kind of were forced to interact. You always saw him as Mr. and Mrs. Seo’s son who played piano really well but in freshman year it kind of all just… changed. He quickly became popular. Johnny shot up until he was a fucking tree and his facial features became more defined and chiseled, so whenever you saw him, whether it was at a restaurant or a gala or a game, your heart beat out of your chest.

You stirred your straw around in your drink and sighed. Your friends always had sworn up and down he had a crush on you, but you never believed them. Why would he like you, the girl that he’s known since she was in her awkward braces phase, the girl that always seemed annoyed by him, when he could probably hook up with anyone in the grade?

“Y/n! Johnny! We’re so sorry we’re late, but traffic was just so bad downtown!”

Mr. and Mrs. Seo walked towards your table with your parents in tow.

It was not like you were 30 minutes late and forced me to stay with Mr. my-hair-flops-a-lot-and-covers-my-eye-and-makes-me-look-really-attractive.

They all sat down and when you engaged in conversation with Mr. Seo about your photography competition, you didn’t notice the triplet of smirks passed around by your parents and Mrs. Seo when Johnny stared at you over the rim of his drink, an adoring look in his eye.

_______________________________________________________________________

“Y/n, you know what tonight is?” Mrs. Weathers voice warbled from the office.

“Yes, today is the Boys Basketball State championship,” you sighed.

How could you forget? With your dads’ passion for basketball, yours and Johnny’s parents were attending the state game tonight.

“Well, you know what you have to do!”

“Yes, Mrs. Weathers.”

Hopefully they didn’t joke around this time. It was the State Championship game, for god’s sake.

_______________________________________________________________________

Sike. They did. From pre-game warm-ups to the time they had scored their winning baskets, they had some really fucking weird faces in store for you.

Of course, the Spartans of Glenbrook North’s Boys Basketball team crushed their opposing team. I mean, you didn’t particularly have a lot of school pride, but you still felt something warm in your chest when you saw them hugging each other as the final buzzer rang out and the crowd went wild. Not to mention it was kinda funny watching the normally “manly man” team lowkey crying.

You were waiting for your friend to pick you up to attend Jaehyun’s post-game party at his ginormous house when you felt a hand on your shoulder.

It was the man of the hour, Johnny Seo.

“Oh hey, Johnny! Congrats man, I’m so proud of you!” You smiled as you pulled the man behind you into a hug.

“Thanks, y/n.”

You looked up at his face which was kind of… tense?

“I can’t believe your team put up with you for all these years. If I were Sicheng I would’ve skrt skrted the day you joined as center.”

His unusually tense facade broke for a minute as he flicked you in the forehead.

“Shut up!”

You both laughed and fell silent, hearing the loud chatterings of excited people near you. His face quickly grew tense again.

“Y/n… I… uh… this is going to sound weird, okay?”

“Well you were always weird in the first place, so no surprises there.”

He smiled slightly and took your hands in his. His calloused hands felt rough, but soothing at the same time. You blushed from the contact and looked down for a moment.

“So… I’ve kind of liked you for the past 4 years, y/n. And probably more than that.”

Your head snapped up quickly in shock. Johnny? Johnny Seo? Seo Youngho? Likes me? Plain old me? What the fuck.

“Um, I know it’s alright if you don’t share my feelings but I figured since it was the last game of my high school career, I’d thought I just get this off my chest-”

“Johnny, I like you too.” You smiled at him, and slight blush still adorning your cheeks.

His eyes widened and his mouth dropped open.

“Holy shit. Fuck. I did not expect this to happen, I thought you were going to reject me since you’ve always been annoyed with me, god-”

“Johnny I’ve always been annoyed with you because, well, I’ve liked you since freshman year too.” Your arms snaked around his corded neck and played with his slightly damp hair from his shower. You couldn’t even describe your feelings right now. You felt like you were high, and every nerve in your body tingled. Holy pigs on a stick Johnny likes meeeeee!

Johnny smirked as he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you close to his body, against the dim lights of the school lamps. The harsh light defined his features even more (if that was even possible), and made his eyes sparkle.

“Well, damn,” he whispered as he swooped down to capture your lips in his.

Yeah, there were no fireworks but there was definitely heat. The heat in his gaze you saw when he played on the court, the heat in his gaze when he played a particularly difficult run on the piano you could feel all around you when you closed your eyes and kissed him. Those longing looks you always sent towards each other and the shy brushes of your touches felt absolved as you kissed each other for quite some time.

“DAYUM JOHNNY BE GETTING SOME!!!”

Your make-out session was broken when both of your heads snapped in the direction of the noise. Johnny’s whole basketball team stood cheering in the parking lot, with a lot of girls giggling next to them.

“FUCKING FINALLY,” shouted Sicheng.

“JOHNNY GREW SOME BALLS!” Mark laughed as the whole team went wild over their captain, who they had known to crush on you for a long time and had to deal with his whole she-doesn’t-like-me-and-never-will deal.

“MARK!” Johnny shouted as his grip on you tightened.

You laughed and settled his head in his broad chest.

_______________________________________________________________________

The whole school basically rioted when they found out the next day. A bunch of people was congratulating you guys in the hallways because of his popularity, and he walked you to class and y’all held hands. His teammates kept on sending you guys sly glances throughout the whole day. Hell, even your teachers (including Mrs. Weathers) congratulated you. However, they weren’t as bad as your parents.

Your parents, when they found out, as you told them while holding hands, cried. They congratulated you like you had announced you were going to get married. Mr. Seo and your dad patted Johnny on the back and jokingly threatened to kill him if he hurt you, while Mrs. Seo and your mom hugged you tightly and cried into your shoulder.

“Oh, my sweet baby, I have been waiting for this for years!” your mum wiped a tear from her eyes.

Hold on… years? The pieces of the puzzle quickly clicked together in your mind and you gasped.

“Wait… were you deliberately late to the restaurant after the semi-final game?!”

_______________________________________________________________________

Later, when you were in Johnny’s arms and watching a movie you slapped him in the chest.

“Ow! Babe, what was that for!” Johnny laughed as he snuggled his face into the crook of your neck.

“I told you earlier I wanted game faces, not meme faces!”

[ciathyzareposts]

Game 334: Bokosuka Wars (1983)

           Bokosuka Wars

Japan

ASCII (developer and publisher)

Released in 1983 for Sharp X1; 1984 for MSX and PC-88; 1985 for FM-7, PC-6001, PC-98, and NES 

Date Started: 25 June 2019

Date Finished: 28 June 2019

Total Hours: 6 Difficulty: Hard (4/5), but would probably go down to 3/5 with more experience Final Rating: (to come later) Ranking at time of posting: (to come later)

Well, I did it. I downloaded a Nintendo Entertainment System (NES) emulator–Nestopia–and I gave it a shot. It was easier than I expected. I was the thinking that the NES had a directional pad and an analog stick, but I guess that came with later consoles. The original NES controller is little more than a joystick (albeit one that made it harder to move diagonally) with two buttons. Easy to emulate, easy to remember.

Bokosuka Wars was on no one’s list of “must play” console RPGs, but I figured I’d give it a try anyway. It’s the earliest Japanese game on my list that had a western release and the earliest Japanese console game, beating several 1986 titles by a month or so. That it’s not actually an RPG by my definitions (no inventory) shouldn’t bother us too much. It was an easy step into this sub-genre.             

A common screen, probably responsible for a lot of the hate the game receives.

          The game is an “afternoon RPG,” as any console must be until saving was possible. The setup is simple. You are King Suren, and your country has been overthrown by the evil King Ogreth of the Basam Empire (Ogreth is called “Dragonet” in the original Japanese versions). Ogreth has used his magic to turn all your knights and soldiers into rocks and trees and cacti. You embark on a mission to reclaim your throne. You start 600 meters to the east of King Ogreth’s throne room and slowly make your way left down the battlefield, fighting his forces as you go.           

The king starts alone, with 595 steps to his evil counterpart.

            You’re not alone in this endeavor. Along the way, you can rescue many of your knights and soldiers. (In the Japanese PC versions, Suren starts with many of his warriors already activated, but in the NES version, he starts alone.) Some are inanimate objects, but they’re revived if you touch them. Others are kept in stockades and must be rescued. Either way, you slowly build (and, just as fast, lose) an army. Eventually, if you survive, you reach Ogreth’s throne room and throw your remaining forces at him, including King Suren if necessary. If any of your units defeat Ogreth, you win the game.          

King Suren turns a tree into a knight.

           The problem is that you can revive and rescue only 50 warriors (about 15 knights and 35 soldiers), and opposing you are 180 enemies: guards, mages, warriors, and pages. Some of them can be avoided, but most must be fought. Characters move around the battlefield in real-time, but this is in no way an “action RPG.” As frenzied as the game looks, no part of your success depends on your speed with the controller, particularly since enemies cannot attack you and combats are resolved statistically.

The game’s strategy lies in who fights what enemies, and in what circumstances. Your one huge advantage is that enemies can never initiate combat. They can block your way, but combat only begins when you decide to move Suren or one of his warriors to the enemy’s square. Thus, you can almost always choose who fights.

Combat is a probability test that pits your character’s power against the enemy’s, but with a heavy random component. If the die rolls go in your favor, you win; if not, you die. If the character fighting on your side was King Suren, and he dies, the game is over. Winning and losing is completely binary; there are no hit points in the game, so one character can’t “weaken” an enemy for the next character.            

My king battles a “summoner” in the middle of his spirits. Since my king has 320 power and the summoner only has 50, I’m relatively confident. During battle , the tile flashes between crossed swords and “B.” I’m not sure what the “B” means, but it doesn’t have anything to do with the “B” button on the controller. Maybe it means “Bokosuka.”

        If you win, the winning unit gets an increase in power–sometimes substantial. For instance, soldiers start at a power of 30 and rise to 40 and 50 with their first two victories. But if they achieve a third victory, they change color and rise to 140. Knights do the same thing, with the progression going 150, 160, 170 and then jumping to 260 on the third victory.           

Note that one of my knights and one soldier have “gone gold,” making them more powerful than their counterparts. A knight is needed to bust through the shield around the stockade.

          King Suren himself starts at 220 and maxes at 320; soldiers and knights max at 310. Throughout the game, you have to keep making the decision about whether to throw your more powerful figures into combat, thus risking them, or try to build up weaker units. There’s no easy answer. And occasionally even the most disproportionate combats can go wrong. I saw plenty of knights at 310 power killed by enemies at 10 power.         

Enemy and ally unit powers. This is from the Sharp X1 version. NES players had to read the manual.

                      There are a few other tactical considerations. Regular soldiers (for some reason) knock enemy guards from 100 power to 10 power when they engage in combat. Knights are the only units that can break the walls of stockades, so you want to keep at least one around. You need soldiers to disarm traps (which don’t appear until after your first victory). Only the king can trigger special squares that remove the walls blocking “summoners,” who then summon a bunch of spirits (which don’t count against the enemy’s total) until you kill the summoners.            

Every once in a while, the king runs out of soldiers and stands alone.

           I suspect the game would be “easy” for those with a lot of patience. One key problem is the movement of your forces. By default everyone moves together when you press the directional pad; if they’re up against an obstacle, they just stay in place. You can toggle so that you’re only selecting one type of unit at a time (i.e., the king, all soldiers, or all knights), but it’s still tough to move them in unison, and I probably left more allies stuck on obstacles behind me than I lost in combat. This problem is the source of a lot of modern complaints about the game, I later found, but I think it added somewhat to the game’s strategy. When you have a lot of units in your army, you have to be careful about every move, noting who is going to end up in what square, and thus what units will find themselves in combat. A player who develops a huge army is handicapped by having to more carefully manage its movement. I can’t claim that I exactly “enjoyed” such a gameplay element, but that doesn’t make it inherently bad.           

Moving through terrain like this is easier when you only control one unit “type” at a time.

           You don’t have to fight every battle. In fact, there’s a good argument to be made in fighting as few as possible, thus reaching the end of the game with as many forces as possible. On the other hand, it helps if those forces have gained a lot of experience along the way, so you don’t want to eschew every combat. It’s a tough call.

            Having broken a bunch of soldiers out of a stockade, now approaching a phalanx of guards. To get the soldiers out of their building, I’m going to have to move everybody back and up a few spaces.

          You eventually reach a point where you have to thread a narrow hallway to get to the throne room, which features a number of unavoidable battles with “killers” with 250 power. Even though you might have more than 300 power at this point, the killers seem to win more than half the time. The same is true for King Ogreth himself, who only has 250 power but seems to beat 300+-power allies at least three-quarters of the time. So whether you win or lose upon reaching the end is largely a matter of whether you have enough allies to overwhelm the probabilities of losing individual combats. You definitely don’t want it to come down to King Ogreth vs. King Suren.

Reaching the final throne room. Looks like I’ll have to take out a summoner before engaging the king. I only have three (promoted) units with me, but there are 10 more somewhere behind me if I didn’t want to risk Suren in the final battle.

A good opening strategy is to have Suren fight all the combats until he gets to his maximum power of 320. If he’s going to die, better it happens in the opening few minutes than hundreds of meters down the battlefield. After that, I tended to prioritize building weaker units than risking more experienced ones. That had the effect of keeping my numbers small but my individual units powerful. However, I’m sure there are several strategies that would work. I’m sure it’s possible to have King Suren charge down the battlefield alone, fighting only the necessary combats (i.e., when an enemy is blocking you and there’s nowhere to go), and make it all the way to the end. I tried it and made it to about the 300-yard line–halfway through the game–before I was overwhelmed by a group of knights and ultimately killed. Some other player makes that strategy work in this video, winning the game in just under 5 minutes, but there’s a note that the session somehow “manipulates luck,” so I’m not sure if it’s an honest win.

A winning game takes about an hour, taking modest care, and perhaps two hours being extra careful. If you win you get a nice screen and then an invitation to try again. Small squares in the upper-right corner keep track of your victories. The only thing different about subsequent loops is that they feature traps that kill you instantly unless a soldier walks over them. Apparently, you face more traps the more previous victories you have under your belt.           

An angry King Suren chases his enemies off screen.

             The game scores poorly as an RPG, getting only 15 points on the GIMLET, nothing rating higher than a 2, with 0s in economy and equipment. Nonetheless, it was enjoyable for a few hours as I tried to figure out the right strategies, watched the odometer count down my distance to Ogreth, and held my breath every time Suren entered combat. I lost 8 times–twice in the last 100 meters–and I suppose I would feel differently about the game if that had continued much longer.            

The box captures the somewhat linear nature of the game.

            Given my generally positive feelings, I was surprised when I started doing my post-game research and saw Bokosuka Wars repeatedly referred to as the worst game ever made for the NES, with multiple sites calling it completely impossible. Granted, PC games were significantly ahead of the experience that Bokosuka Wars could provide, but even console-only players seem to love to trash this title. I suspect what’s happening here is that RPG-oriented players want their success determined by statistics that they can manage, and arcade-oriented players want their fate decided by their own dexterity. A game that’s so heavily based on random probability serves neither group. Nonetheless, I had fun with it. It showed me an approach to gameplay I haven’t experienced before. I wouldn’t want every game to take its mechanics from Bokosuka Wars, but as a one time experience, it was fine.

(Believe me, I appreciate the irony of me, who never heard of this game two weeks ago, who resisted the console sub-genre for a decade, suddenly mounting an impassioned defense of the first console RPG that I played.)                 

The Sharp XI version starts the king with a large army.

            As poorly as the game was apparently received, it is credited in many sources in laying the foundations for the tactical RPG genre in Japan. I’ll reserve judgement on that until I actual play more tactical RPGs. In a funny footnote, Bokosuka Wars II was released for the PlayStation 4 in 2017. (There’s a so-called sequel called New Bokosuka Wars for the Sharp X1 alone in 1984, but I really think it’s just another version of the original game.) That gap of 33 years must be one of the longest between an original game and its sequel in gaming history, although Bethesda seems determined to beat it.

I’m disappointed that the game didn’t explain what bokosuka meant. Does anyone know? Googling provides mostly this game and a VR game called Bokosuka Girls. I’m trying to think what adjective could apply to both wars and buxom women and I’m coming up short.

source http://reposts.ciathyza.com/game-334-bokosuka-wars-1983/