#listen. you can pry away that quote from me from my cold dead hands and not a minute earlier.

[lloydfrontera]

seeing as lloyd is exactly the kind of son who can't bring himself to correct his parents when they're legitimately excited about something because 'what if it hurts their feelings :(' imagine if one day arcos and marbella very sweetly tell him that they're so happy he and javier are together and that they support them wholeheartedly seriously they've been wondering for ages when they would finally get to it this is great news just give the word and they'll start planning the wedding

and lloyd is just sitting there like "yup :) that's us :)) me and javier :))) finally together yup totally :))))" while screaming on the inside and already planning on how to break to javier the news that they're now in a courtship and need to set the date for their impending wedding. because it's either that or javier has to find a way to let his parents down gently because there's no fucking way lloyd's gonna do it he's kept that pink teddy bear in his room for the past couple years to not hurt marbella marrying javier to keep them happy is nothing

cut to them fake dating because javier is just as much of a wimp as lloyd is when it comes to keeping arcos and marbella happy and really it can't be that hard to pretend to be in love with each other right?

no. no it really isn't that hard. in fact it comes very easily to both of them. almost naturally, without effort, much like breathing one might say.

[consoledacup]

I have spent so long trying to feel less, trying to be the kind of man society expects me to be. And for a moment, I thought I had succeeded. But these past few weeks have been full of confounding feelings. Feelings like a total inability to stop thinking about you. About that kiss. Feelings like dreaming of you when I'm asleep, and in fact, preferring sleep because that is where I might find you. A feeling that is like torture, but one which I cannot, will not, do not want to give up.

–Colin Bridgerton, "Old Friends," Bridgerton

So the fact that I just typed all of that out by memory means that this is the best romantic declaration. As tender as Colin and Penelope's speeches to each other are at the Dankworth-Finch Ball and the Bridgerton study respectively, Colin's desperate plea quoted above is the passionate sound bite of the season.

And it is so in line with Colin's character. For anyone that had any doubts about how he was playing a role earlier this season, he explains it plainly. He said, I've done everything unnatural within me to finally try and fit in, and wouldn't you know, it worked! God, the fact that he was aware that he was forcing himself to feel less??

He says, you may have forgotten about that kiss, but I sure haven't. You've asked me to stay away to avoid more scandal, but you've never escaped my thoughts.

I think the line about seeking sleep because he can always find Penelope in his dreams is probably the most romantic thing I've ever heard. To me, it harkens back to what Colin said about Leander to Daphne when he was desperately wanting to talk to Marina:

"Leander swam Abydos to Sestos every single night in complete darkness just to see his love."

He believed himself in love with Marina then, but he was merely posturing about it. His pride was wounded and his savior complex was ignited.

But saying that he welcomed the darkness of sleep because he knew every single time he'd see Penelope in his dreams? That is some next-level yearning. And we're privy to one of those dreams, so we know his words are true.

Then he concludes with, these feelings are driving me mad and making me sick, but you'll have to pry them from my cold dead hands because they are now a part of me. I may have been trying to feel less before, but I refuse to feel less in this. Because as painful as they are, they are also real, and for the first time in my life, I have found that sense of meaning that I had been feverishly searching for.

He says this all to simply share how he feels. He's hoping that she at least somewhat reciprocates, but it's been tearing him apart to keep his feelings for her hidden. He knows that he could love her so ardently and worship her so reverently if she'd just let him. He is on his knees, begging for her to listen to him. It's high time that they're finally honest with each other, and he takes the first step with this perfect speech.

[autisticempathydaemon]

For the Redacted match-up! ^_^

A song I’m currently fixated on: “the lakes” by Taylor Swift. The whole song is just so beautiful and wistful. 😭 And something about the melody of these lyrics just hits so right.

Specific lyrics: “I want auroras and sad prose/I want to watch wisteria grow right over my bare feet/Cause I haven’t moved in years/And I want you right here”

Enneagram type: 6w7. (And just for fun, I’m an ISFP as well)

YouTube essays: I don’t think I can focus my attention on a video for that long, tbh. It’s the same reason I can rarely get through movies in one siting. 😂

Imaginary childhood friend: I think her name was Amy? Don’t remember much else, though.

Falling asleep: I always sleep with my fan on, no matter the weather. I have to have the white noise, otherwise it’s just too damn quiet in my room. Usually I’m propped up by two pillows, cuddling one of my stuffed animals or something. If find that I can’t sleep, or just want something to fall asleep to, I’ll put on one of Redacted’s sleep-aids.

Name change: Cheesy as it sounds, if I didn’t have my current name, I’d love to be named Juliet. It just has such Main Character Energy™️ (and I mean that in a good way) and is freakin’ romantic as hell to me. (And yes, I’m aware that the play is a tragedy, not a romance. 😂)

Favorite Redacted audio: If I had to pick one, I think “Serenity Daemon Helps You Relax and Sleep”. That video is just so freaking comforting and sweet, and it’s knocked me out more times than I can count.

Redacted boi with no appeal: Regulus. Yanderes just aren’t my thing, and he legit scares me. 😅

Book/Movie/TV show you could quote entirely: I’ve watched The Breakfast Club so many times, I could quote it forwards, backwards, and sideways.

Redacted BFF: Elliott. Take away the “Lovers” aspect of his relationship with Sunshine, but keep all the playfulness, teasing, and banter that they have together, and I’d be perfectly happy. 😊

(It’s also a really perfect coincidence that Eli’s said he’s the “Protector” type, and I just so happen to like being protected. XD)

Go-to tired ramble: Most of the time when my any of my friends and I would have a sleepover and it was late at night, we’d just get really deep and start talking about life.

Go-to gas station combo: I try to avoid gas stations when I can, just because I hate the smell of gasoline. But I’d probably get a plain Hershey bar and a bottle of water. (I know, I’m boring. 😂)

Favorite playlist: Do you mean Redacted, or just in general? Because the answer depends.

For a general answer, Jacksepticeye’s play through of Night In The Woods. That game is honestly such a comfort one for me, and I can watch that playlist a million times over and never get tired of it.

In terms of Redacted, Ollie’s. If there’s angst abound on the channel, or I’ve just had a bad day at work or something, I can run to his playlist and feel like I’m getting a big, warm, metaphorical hug. 🥰

Guilty Pleasure: I still read, and love, young adult novels. I don’t care that they’re “predictable”, and that I’m “too old to be reading them”. You can pry those fluffy, romantic, cheesy-ass books from my cold dead hands. 😆

Anything else about me:

I seriously think I’m the biggest Swiftie I know. When I say I’m obsessed with her music, I am not kidding. 😂

I’m a huge musical nerd. And coupled with that, I love, love, love to sing. (Provided I know that no one’s listening, anyway.)

I’m a total introvert, and am pretty shy/quiet in general, unless I’m around my friends.

My love languages are quality time and physical touch.

I maaaaay or may not have a slight candle obsession. (Bath and Body Works ones, specifically.) Seriously, I have like, four unburned 3-wick candles sitting on my dresser, and I’m convinced I just like to collect/look at them as opposed to actually lighting the things. 😂

I’m a cat person through and through

This one’s random, but I felt like adding it anyway. I basically live in one beat up pair of combat boots. There are not a lot of shoes in my closet.

I have this thing where I either tear through a TV series in like, a few days, or I don’t touch it for months. The same with books. I don’t know why I do that. 😂

My favorite colors are blue and purple 💙💜

Well, if you’re a cat kind of guy (gn), you know that’s gonna make things easy for me! Though it might not be the boy you think, because I’ve got a case to make for you and Milo Greer.

What I really like about y’all is how the things y’all like (other than cats) contrast and how cute that contrast is. Like, I don’t think Milo’s a Swiftie but man shows up and shows out to take you to her Eras tour. The Breakfast Club isn’t his favorite movie, but he’s seen it with Marie; he’ll say the iconic lines with you when y’all watch it for the hundredth time. He doesn’t really love musicals but he can hum along to Alexander Hamilton with the best of them because that’s an ensemble piece and you need a backup singer.

Milo’s just a really great boyfriend who shows love with a combination of Quality Time and Acts of Service with little sprinkles of Gifts. It’s not just time spent with you, it’s time spent engaging in the things that interest you and make you happy. It’s the time thinking of you when you’re apart and bringing home fun, new candles he saw at the store. Although he is definitely not opposed to physical touch- y’all have a lot of cuddle nights, just you and him and Aggro.

Song:

However big, however small/ Let me be part of it all/ Share your dreams with me/ You may be right, you may be wrong/ But say that you'll bring me along/ To the world you see/ To the world I close my eyes to see

Now, I said Milo’s not really a musical man. You know what he is? A bisexual king with good taste, which means he loves you and a good Hugh Jackman flick especially since Zac Efron is involved. So I think he’s a big fan of The Greatest Showman and of singing the addictive, earworm-y songs with you. A Million Dreams is the sentimental choice, but y’all go fuckin hard to This is Me.

Runner-Ups:

Guy is absolutely a Swiftie and a musical theater kid, okay? Erik hasn’t confirmed it, but I know it in my spleen to be true, so he’s a fantastic runner-up for that reason. Vincent is a runner-up because he adores but despises that you stick to one pair of torn-up shoes and constantly showers you in luxury footwear. I think that’s cute.

note: I understand you completely candles are not just scent pieces they are decor

Read this post and send me an ask if you’d like a match-up of your own! 💌

[dourpeep]

Dumb things I've said in the past week as Genshin characters (crack):

It's now that I realize I say a lot of dumb things so this list is long

-

Kaeya: "No, no—I'm not just a simp, I'm an opportunistic simp. No one is safe."

Hu Tao: "Did I just eat a bone...?" (C answers yeah, probably) "Huh. Oh well."

Albedo: "You don't understand—! The lobsters have telomeres that can repair themselves. Can you imagine what it'd be like if I could do that?"

Venti: (strumming wildly on a ukulele that's not mine) "Well that's enough practice for today."

Xingqiu: (to a few friends) "Yes I do write and no you'll never figure out where and what—" "it's smut isn't it" "nO"

Klee: (spending a lot of time pulling my short hair over my face to make a mustache while also making the ugliest expression I can in C's direction) "hehe" (as soon as C looks over I immediately bust out laughing before C can even see)

Xiao: (in group chat) "I'll end up dying but it's fine that's just how it be sometimes mmhm"

Bennett: "Listen man, my brain doesn't do the thing where you can turn stuff in your mind." (a long moment of silence) "SPACIAL REASONING"

Diluc (to Kaeya): "your heart being calm isn't you calming down it's just the energy drink stopping it slowly mmhm"

Rosaria: "I asked a question and didn't stick around for the answer that's kinda lame ngl"

Yanfei: "I'm surprised that people were complaining lol but also not"

Donna: "Diluc in general...big strong"

Also Xingqiu: "You can pry my comma splices and runons and incomplete sentences from my cold dead hands"

Barbara: "dhfaieh nothing like trying to record singing and listening to it and immediately deleting it"

Xinyan: (quoting a tiktok) "HEY BITCHES AND BROS AND NONBINARY H OE S"

Lisa: "Oh to be a hot mom for the rest of my life"

Zhongli: "It’s an Italian dessert that uses espresso infused cookies (namely lady fingers) and is made by alternating layers of cookie + a light cream, often paired with chocolate as well because it enhances the flavor but not usually in the og dessert, sometimes in the form of shavings. Makes for a light, sweet cake with a hint of coffee"

Albedo again: "I can add insight but currently I'm actually working on some other stuff so I won't"

Childe: "understandable. who's going to be in pain and death?"

Chongyun (talking about Xingqiu and Hu Tao): "they've both said so many things that are easily taken out of context and it's only been 13 minutes"

Razor: "cheese....gravy....potato."

Noelle: "So it actually, in that sense, would make sense for the date to happen whether it's because genuine interest in the person or interest in the information"

Albedo: "electromagnetic wave manipulation through the creation of electric fields mingling with magnetic fields"

Probably Kaeya: "gotta take advantage of what I've been given"

Childe again: "my inner monologue says stuff and I'm so glad that I don't just flat out say everything"

Sucrose: (after a friend said something dumb) "if you throw a rock at a building you're bound to hit it once"

Yet another Kaeya: "I like being in the know without being a part of it"

Scaramouche, probably: "If you want some interesting dynamic gimme someone I can take down a peg or two"

Eula: "someone's saltier than me I see"

Notable contenders:

"Hey C, what's the dumbest thing I've said in the past few days? Everything. It was a trick question hehe."

"I just saw a funny French 4-panel but anyway razor saying je suis comme les loups"

"i chugged a whole 16oz can of monster back in hs (never having ever drank any energy drink) 10 minutes before my finals"

"I learn for the sake of learning rather than to do anything with the information"

"that wasn't a nap that was like passing away only to be violently thrown back into my body"

[ezrasarm]

For the requests 23. “Shh, it was just a bad dream. Just a dream, okay? None of it was real.” From the prompt list? Doesn't have to be the exact quote I just like the concept. Any character you want!

The Weight Of It All

Pairing: Din Djarin x Reader

Word count: 2.3K

Warnings: Angst (oops 🤭), mentions of violence and death, my failed attempt at redeeming it with fluff, severe lack of proofreading because I’m lazy

A/N: This was meant to be mindless fluff and cuddles and then whatever this is happened and I wound up accidentally incorporating @wille-zarr’s request too (I don’t know how this keeps happening). A huge thank you to @chaotic-noceur for beta reading most of this bad boy and of course for providing moral support, ideas and probably my favourite line in the whole damn thing and to @din-damn-djarin not only for providing the prompt (or at least one of them) but also for providing ideas for her own request cause I know that kinda takes the magic out of it.

gif by @lucy-sky

Din noticed something had shifted recently. You had been distant. More withdrawn. You thought you were being discrete but he had heard you rattling around the old ship in the early hours of the morning to quell your busy mind. You had been losing sleep, there was no question of that. But over what was still a mystery to him. He kept his inquiries to himself for the most part. Opting to observe your new habits and see what he could extrapolate on his own. He didn’t want to hit a nerve by asking you the wrong question.

Travelling alone for so long before he met you meant he wasn’t well versed in this kind of interaction. The kind that involved prying into another’s mind and picking apart their thought processes to try and understand their emotions. It all seemed too complicated. He knew how uncomfortable it could be when others tried to do it to him. Yet when you asked, it came so naturally. Like you could sense just when he was ready to broach those heavy topics that had been weighing on his mind for too long. 

As little as he expressed it, it always made him feel better once he got it out in the open. It was small things. A simple “You alright?” Or “What’s on your mind?”. Just a reminder that someone- you- were there. He wished he could do the same for you. Say a few words and make all your worries and problems disappear but he didn’t know how. The words never sounded right coming out of his mouth. And the longer he danced around the subject trying to figure it out, the longer you suffered on your own.

It was sudden when a jolt ran through the ship. Din had only excused himself for a few moments to go and check on the kid, leaving you at the controls. Lately, it was like the little green creature could sense your weariness and it was making him restless too. He kept acting up when you tried to put him to bed. Wailing when either of you left the room for more than ten seconds. It was as though he thought you were never going to come back. When a second jolt shuddered through the hull causing the entire ship to begin quaking violently Din was sure you were under siege or had entered some kind of asteroid field. He came scrambling up the ladder and into the cockpit as fast as he could but when he got there he found no such thing.

It was like muscle memory had taken over entirely as he flicked switches and pressed buttons frantically to get the craft back under control. His heart was pounding in his ears from the sudden kick of adrenaline when he turned to ask what the hell had just happened. There was actually a hint of anger that had swirled amongst his panic. He couldn’t believe you would be so irresponsible as to put all of you at risk- the child at risk- yourself at risk. But when his gaze fell on you, out cold in the captain’s seat, all those thoughts sublimated. There was a brief moment that he thought you had hurt yourself. That you’d hit your head in all the commotion and got a concussion. But when he was finally able to turn his full attention to you, he quickly came to the realization that that was not the case at all. You were asleep. For what he was sure was the first time in a long time. It suddenly dawned on him just how deprived you had to have been.

As mesmerizing as the view was, the Razor Crest’s cockpit was not a quiet place. He himself had troubles nodding off there if he willed it upon himself. He thought about how overwhelming the exhaustion must have been for you to fall asleep in the middle of all that and now all he could do was curse himself for not knowing what it was that kept you up at night. He considered moving you to his own bed where it was warmer and quiet and you could rest more comfortably but he also knew he couldn’t live with himself if he were the one to disturb your much-needed repose. Instead, he opted for tucking a spare blanket over your crumpled form and sitting himself down in the copilot’s seat to avoid a repeat offence of the crest’s most recent blunders.

Rolling his head against the headrest Din had just flicked the ship into autopilot and leaned back to try and get a moment of shut-eye for himself. He let his half-lidded gaze fall on your peaceful features, the soft curve of the junction between your neck and shoulder and the slight parting of your lips as your jaw hung open lazily. He focused on the subtle rise and fall to your chest as you breathed in and out each breath. He thought he was just on the edge of sleep when you shot upright. A sudden gasp escaped you as your eyes flung wide open. It was like your head had been held underwater for far too long by some invisible force and this was your first fighting breath for air. “Din,” you sputtered out in your terror, blinded by the sting of tears in your eyes. He didn’t have time to notice it was his name that slipped off your tongue subconsciously as you grasped for any semblance of safety you could get before he was kneeled in front of you, gloved hands gripping either side of your face, brushing the hair out of your line of sight so the only place your gaze could land was on him.

“Shh, it was just a bad dream.” He hushes in an attempt to soothe you despite his heart hammering against his ribcage. “Just a dream, okay? I’m right here.” He repeats quietly, raking his gloved fingers through your hair in an action that he wasn’t sure was more comforting to you or himself. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.” He hummed through the static of his modulator when your stuttering breaths finally began to settle, resting the cool beskar of his helmet against your worried brow in what he hoped was an act of reassurance. He was just getting ready to open his mouth and ask what was troubling you when you beat him to it.

“I can’t make it stop.” You whispered through a shuddering breath, still clutched to the fabric that was peeking out from beneath his beskar for dear life when he pulled back to study your face. It suddenly dawned on him that it wasn’t that you couldn’t sleep. It’s that you were avoiding it. “Every time I close my eyes I see him and I-” Another sob cuts you off but Din’s mind is already racing with the possibilities. Questions of who this man was- what he had done to you- when he had even gotten the chance, were all swirling around his head twisting into a blind rage he didn’t know how to exert.

“Who?” He asks, disliking the way the urgency in his voice made you flinch slightly as a glint of a tear breached your waterline.

“The man on Jakku.” His heart dropped at that. He hadn’t even considered it. Last month the two of you had been on the desert planet for what was meant to be a simple job. Things went south and before you knew it a man was dead at your feet, a blaster trembling in your hand. Din had admired you for it. He had sung you praise over the way you handled it with such composure. But that didn’t help the fact that every time you let your eyes slip shut you were met with the cold dead gaze of your victim staring back at you. It hadn’t even occurred to him the kind mental toll it would take on you.

“You did what you had to-”

“I’m a killer, Din.” He didn’t miss the disdain laced in your voice at the mention of the word and he couldn’t help but wonder if you held that same contempt for him given the way he made his living.

“He didn’t give you any options, cyare.” He tries to reason with you but you’re too caught up in your own flurry of emotions for his words to reach you.

“He could have had a life- a wife to go home to- a family who depended on him-”

“And he was trying to kill yours!” He pleaded. It was the loudest you had ever heard him raise his voice before. He had regretted it the moment the words passed his lips but he needed you to hear him, to listen, to understand you weren’t in the wrong.

“I know, Din!” You cried back, your volume matching his own before he can even stammer out an apology. “I know.” You whispered once again. “But I’m not… like you.” There were so many things you admired about the man you loved and the way his dedication to his religion had shaped him. You adored his selflessness to do what was right for his people and to carry their name with honor and dignity. You cherished his devotion to provide for you and protect you by any means necessary with a reverence you weren’t sure he truly grasped and you understood that killing was a part of that. You would never ask him to stop but you knew you could never justify ending someone’s life in the way he did with such ease. “I wasn’t taught how to take a life and treat it like it means nothing.” The words held no malice and rationally he knew you meant no offence in saying them but they stung him just the same.

“Is that how little you think of me?” A soft croak to his voice that contradicted the empty visor gazing up at you unshakably.

“Din, that’s not what I meant.” You sighed. You could see the hint of a nod in understanding but it did nothing to quell the guilt swirling in your stomach. “I just… how do you make it go away?” You ask after a few more moments of deafening silence, your words weak and tired as you looked as they left your mouth. At that he lets out a heavy breath, rolls back on his heels and pushes himself into a standing position. For a heartbeat you think he might leave you here, alone to the thoughts you’d been so frantically trying to avoid but instead he takes your hands in his and pulls you up before turning the two of you around and dragging you down by the hips to sit on his lap. You don’t say anything for a while, too scared you’ll screw up like you did just a minute ago.

“After my first kill, I threw up.” He speaks eventually, securing his arms a little tighter around your waist. He had never told anyone that before. While he had been embarrassed by it for so long and feared what it implied about him as a member of his faith now he looked back on it with a kind of pride he hadn’t taken the time to fully consider before. “It was a rabbit. I had to snap its neck.” He explained, his voice now even but not empty of emotion. “I can still hear the bones cracking to this day.” He says. “These things don’t just go away, cyare. They stay with us. They keep us grounded.” Din explains just as his buir had when he had asked a very similar question as a child. He hated that he didn’t know how to protect you from this. From your own mind. He wished he could have shielded you from the whole ordeal in the first place but he couldn’t deny how much mandokar he saw in you now despite it. Your worries now only proved as more evidence of that. “I wish I could tell you it gets easier.” He says, brushing a stray strand of hair out of your face. “But I don’t think you would like the person you had become if it did.” He says with a hint of certitude to his voice that manages to assuage your grief more than you had been able to in the months since the incident had occurred. If nothing else now you were sure you weren’t alone. That the very feeling you thought set you apart most from your mandalorian turned out to be the one that coalesced you the most.

“Din?” You murmur wrapping an arm over his shoulder as you nuzzle your face into his neck and inhale a heavy breath of a scent you can only define as him.

“Mhmm?” He hums in return, his fingertips running up and down your spine gently when he tilts his head down to look at you.

With the way you were being crushed under the weight of your own guilt you couldn’t believe the amount of strength it took for him to carry not only his own burden but some of yours too. You don’t even know how to begin thanking him. So that’s where you start. With a quiet whisper of a ‘thank you’ and a kiss pressed to his shoulder. “I don’t know how you live with this everyday.” You mumble against the thick fabric, your voice still fragile as your eyes slip shut and you grip onto him just a little bit tighter.

“It helps having you here with me.” He goes to say, dipping his forehead to press against yours only to realize your breaths had evened out to a gentle snore and you had finally drifted off to what he hoped was a restful sleep.

•••

Cyare - my love

Buir - parental figure

Mandokar - the *right stuff*, the epitome of Mando virtue - a blend of aggression, tenacity, loyalty and a lust for life

Masterlist

Taglist: @agirllovespasta @chaoticspaceidiot  @engineeredfiction  @pedropascalito  @dreamgirl-67  @wickedfrsgrl  @hillarymurray4  @din-damn-djarin  @yespolkadotkitty  @wille-zarr @chaotic-noceur @oloreaa @this-cat-is-dea @marydjarin @roxypeanut @opheliaelysia @cryptkeepersoul

[eyeslikefoxglove]

Episode 21 - The PTSD is strong with this one & we need more braincells

Hello hello! Welcome to the commentary. How’s everyone? I’m frozen solid because it’s mid-June in Spain and yet we had 11°C yesterday. Fucking awesome!

I AM NOT WEARING MASCARA SO I CAN CRY ALL I WANT. I DONT KNOW IF THATS GOOD OR BAD THO.

Can I just take a second to appreciate how much this big strong powerful men emote? I mean, I know this isn’t western media where the tough guy can’t show emotions, and I don’t know that eastern media has the same hangups about men emoting but just... it’s so refreshing.

Huaisang bb you’re so sweet.

Oh, oh the PTSD is strong with this one.

Also, bless both JC and NHS, they absolutely noticed WWX flinch and, in their own ways, went and steamrolled over it so WWX wouldn’t feel scrutinised.

WE INTERRUPT THIS BROADCAST TO INFORM YALL THAT I GOT A KITTEN ON MY LAP. (She’s kneading my boob, which, ow, but...)

*BICHEN GRIIIIIIIP*

How do y’all think the guards go deliver bad news to WRH? Like do they paper-rock-scissor it? Draw straws?

NMJ did you have to?

And once again I wonder what would’ve happened if JFM had let sect leader Yao kick it.

Ughvhfnevus it’s this clown. Same as with Su She, if you see a bunch of screaming it’s just me not wanting to listen to Jin ZiXun.

The Nies: let’s throw a banquet to honour WWX’s return

Every asshole there: *gossips about WWX while in the room with him*

Once again I wish I could transmigrate (and speak mandarin lol) and just start delivering tongue lashings.

Listen, I have no idea how to play Guqin, but I did play the guitar for years and even from here I can see how much YiBo’s hands don’t match the melody. Nothing against him but why does this always happen? I know they got classes, so was the music not written by that time or something? Because one thing is not hitting the correct notes, another is plucking slow notes when the tempo is much faster.

JC: Since yours and LWJ’s unhappy separation...

My dumbass: do you mean breakup? *eyebrow waggle*

You will pry my “JC knows his brother is pinning after LWJ, he probably doesn’t want to know anything else” hc out of my cold dead hands thankyouverymuch.

WWX: *spouts a bunch of misdirection to avoid giving JC a straight answer*

JC: Bull-fucking-shit.

Should I count how many times WWX PTSDs all over the place or would you like me to leave your hearts intact? That’s two so far.

Ok ok, I feel that, if someone with a bit less trauma and a bit of insight (NHS maybe?) had seen the bit where ChenQing fucking hurts Shijie thing would’ve gone differently. I mean, yes, LWJ keeps warning WWX that this shit is gonna fuck him up, but as I said in my previous commentary LWJ also has the communication skills of a hermit crab so that wouldn’t work, and JC would be too wound up and WWX too busy trying to conceal his lack of golden core for that conversation to go anywhere. But if someone who WWX knows is a good egg (I’m not gonna say trusts bc paranoia) had sat him down and told him “your new instrument that you use for your new form of cultivation just hurt the person you love most please be careful when you use it.” I think it would’ve worked wonders towards his health overall.

I know Shijie says it’s like Zidian, but she’s not working with the fact that this thing is made for and by the Dark Side of the Force and I’m sorry but I can’t help but see ChenQing as a bit of a horrocrux almost. Or like, if you like me think the Burial Mounds is an Entity, something that’s a bit more sentient that it lets on.

Speaking of reputations and NHS being a good egg, I have oh-so-many ideas (I won’t say plot bunnies because I can’t write for shit) in which NHS for Reasons (time-travel? Letter from the future? His massive brain?) realises just how much damage WWX is doing to his public image. And he might be a sheltered dandy, but he saw what being the son of a sex worker did to Meng Yao despite how hard he worked (I’m assuming he doesn’t know about the whole betrayal business). This is way fucking worse, like hell is he going to let one of his best friends paint a target on his back. So he pulls back his sleeves, engages his slytherin brain and proceeds to lay down a plan to throughly destroy WWX’s reputation as a powerful genius.

I’m guessing LWJ and JC protest, and maybe WWX, and NHS just hits them with “do you want him respected or alive?” And they shut tf up. He glues himself to WWX, and brings up as many instances in which their behaviour can be compared as he can (we got drunk and punished at cloud recesses, we slept in class, we skipped to go fishing, I don’t carry my sword either). And, because assholes be assholes, people like Sect Leader Yao or Clown Cousin are quick to start spouting their own derogatory bullshit and thus WWX the untamed powerful prodigy dies a fiery death. Now he’s just a mouthy kid with a quick mind that “does tricks instead of battle” (I’ll never get bored of using that Thor quote). I also like to think that people who personally know WWX and are not pieces of shit go give NHS a tongue lashing for messing with what they thought was his friend, NHS takes that as a test of good eggness and bring them into the plan. Soon the whole Cloud Recesses class is swearing up, down, left, right and centre that all the shit WWX has ever successfully pulled is just an insane amount of luck and quick thinking.

I don’t know how would they work him into the battlefield (disguise? Mask?) to unleash his demonic cultivation but that’s Plot and I don’t do that.

Also, because I’m a terrible human being I want to say that people assume LWJ is on “pretty but useless” WWX like white on rice because *insert derogatory comment about being good in bed and sexual favours*. Because y’all know the assholes here are Like That. And WWX is horrified because holy fucking shit he’s gonna drag LWJ’s reputation down, he can’t have people thinking HGJ is ok with having him as a concubine pretty much. But before he can act LWJ politely all but confirms that yeah, he’s tapping that, y’all wish you were but he doesn’t share and none of y’all are good enough for his Wei Ying anyway. CUE FAKE/PRETEND RELATIONSHIP BECAUSE I AM INDEED TRASH FOR THAT TROPE.

Muahahahaha y’all thought I was gonna devolve into my personal hcs and not include my fave trope? Shouldn’t y’all know me better by now?

(Btw I like this bit ^ so I might polish it a little and post it separately as well, just a warning if you find yourself reading an eerily similar post by me)

WuJi is playing and LWJ is pining so much. Also, if LWJ did not just realise that, just like Yu the Great, WWX had no other option but tame resentful energy I’ll eat my blanket.

I refuse to believe Jiang Yanli didn’t become the unofficial war camp therapist/sounding board/only sane person/everyone’s mum/I just need a hug and a corner to cry in peace. There are not enough fics about Shijie being her gentle BAMF self while in the camp and it’s a pity. My crops are dying y’all!

Also, I will fight anyone who scoffs at Shijie being the epitome of the “gentle woman who cooks and waits for the men to come back from war”. Look at her mum, do you think it is easy for a kid (she was a kid in the flashback when WWX ran away) to see that day in and day out, to have that as a “role model” and decide that she was not going to be like her mum? That she didn’t like what she saw in her so she was going to be kind and gentle? And do you think it is easy for a person barely in their twenties to deal with years of verbal and psychological abuse for again, being gentle and kind, and not grow a hard shell of bitterness to protect themselves? And to keep being gentle and kind while at war, with your parents dead and your siblings unraveling before your very eyes? Shijie is so fucking strong and I love her.

Hey look, the White Walkers!

“Resentful energy is just energy” ok, valid. But my dude, you’ve got black ghost smoke coming out of you and can hear people screaming in your head. I’m not saying it is evil, like someone’s uptight set in his ways arrogant uncle; but it sure as shit ain’t healthy.

AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH (that’s a Clown Cousin scream btw)

Ok ok, just one little thing: IF SOMEONE ELSE CALLS WWX WEI YING AS A SHOW OF DISRESPECT IMMA SCALP THEM.

...are those crows eating that man alive? Yikes on bikes.

(Assume my comment about YiBo’s Guqin playing also goes for Xiao Zhan and his flute. I can’t play the flute but the tempo doesn’t match his fingers)

I’m just gonna say it, I think 3zun (well, 2zun as of now) suspect shit went down badly for WWX, that’s two questions by both of them in a very soft conciliatory tone. They are genuinely interested/worried about the topic, and don’t seem to come off as chiding or judgemental. I mean WWX is a weirdo irreverent kid and they’re sect leaders, they outrank him so much it’s ridiculous. I’m also counting the fact that both their baby brothers like him towards them being so kind. But I also think WWX just triggers all their big brother instincts the second he walks in.

Oh there’s a thought, Shijie, Wen Qing, NMJ and LXC take a look at everyone’s shitty parents and just decide to adopt everyone.

What happened at Yiling was a traumatised teenager (is WWX even 20?) PTSDing all over the place with the Dark Side of the Force whispering in his ear and an all powerful trinket at his disposal. Not saying I approve of all the torture and murder but he clearly isn’t revelling in them.

That is some outstanding bit of big-brothering on LXC’s side and I love it. Also, my dumbass just realised LWJ probably wasn’t quoting WWX when he was being punished (what is white what is black?) I think he was quoting his big brother. Which is magnitudes deep too, but in a different direction and I might love that scene even more.

Ok fuck it, I’m gonna tangent. So I had a terrible boyfriend when I was 15-18. He alienated me from my friends, sunk my self-esteem to the molten core of the earth, tried to convince me my parents were abusive and encouraged (aka threatened manipulated and cajoled) the slow tanking of my high school marks. I have A Problem when I see media where someone latches onto their significant other and everything they are shifts towards that person. Now, love, true genuine love, is powerful, and I believe it can be the catalyst for shifting your world-view for the better. I don’t have a problem with that. I don’t have a problem with people sticking with their romantic partner if it is clear their previous “family” is so much shit. I don’t have a problem with LWJ coming out of his shell and defying corrupt precepts because his love for WWX made them see they were wrong, or getting sassy and unrepentant during his punishment (I have a problem with the punishment bc that’s abuse but...). But I do side-eye WangXian being the only thing in their orbit. People need people, and WangXian have other good people around them. So I kind of love that yes, WWX showed him the system was corrupt, but it is the words of his brother he is sticking by to the defy said system.

Let’s go back to our scheduled slew of held pinning glances shall we?

LXC after That awkward run-in: WangJi I wasn’t gone that long, what the fuck did you two oblivious pining idiots do?

(LXC has “bitching” tea sessions with Shijie and you can’t convince me otherwise)

LWJ: *is being dramatic and not knocking on WWX’s door*

Me: oh my god you fucking idiot

Shijie: *walks in*

Me: oh thank god someone with a braincell.

Ah yes, there we go triggering WWX’s paranoia again. Why would he get a break.

OH MY GOD YOU PAIR OF FUCKING IDIOTS. THATS IT, FUCK THIS SHIT IM OUT.

@ LWJ: bitch wtf was that? I know you’re shit at talking but have you thought about writing it down? Letters anyone? It worked for mr. Darcy.

(Yes LWJ is mr darcy and now I want an au where LWJ writes WWX letters and just pours everything in them, WWX finds them, any everything is sunshine and rainbows)

While this bullshit fight/misunderstanding is all on LWJ’s shoulders, I’m also going to scream at WWX. Because yes, he is in PTSD hell, but he trusted LWJ before, and yet he can’t get past his perceived notion of LWJ’s character (and his own inadequacies) to trust him again and ask for help. Plus, you know, he thinks he doesn’t deserve he’ll bc *waves hand at WWX’s trauma conga line*

These episodes can’t be good for my BP.

Thanks for reading!

[cheekaspbrak]

take me back to the night we met

I’ve posted the first chapter of the sequel to “little boy afraid” and I’m incredibly nervous because I am so incredibly proud of it. I want to note that while this is supposed to be a sequel, I will be trying my best to make it as “stand-alone” as possible. This first chapter feels like a brand new story, so feel free to read this first and consider if you would like to also read “little boy afraid”! I will link it below :)

Chapter 1 : your eyes were filled with tears

Summary:

These eyes never blink, they just stare. There’s so much emotion in those wide, brown eyes, and it stings. He doesn’t have to hear them speak to know what they’re saying. He knows them like the back of his hand. They’re his only weakness, the only thing that could pry him open. They’d pull at his ribs until his organs were revealed, but they can’t because they have no hands. He wants to stick his tongue out at the eyes and mock them for their lack of hands. They do have hands, though, just not here. Somewhere far away, somewhere like California. OR Richie and Eddie fell in love fifteen years ago, but it comes to an end, like all things do. They're both too stupid to realize that it's hanging over every minute of their lives, like an all-consuming shadow.

    “What are you thinking about, Eddie?”

   She asks him that question a lot and he’s never sure why. It’s a habit. The way some people push their glasses up their nose even when they’re not wearing them anymore.

   He still does that. Eddie has seen the interviews on YouTube.

    “Hello! This is Jessica Wilson here with Richard “Richie” Tozier and…”  

  Eddie never listens. He just watches him talk and press his fingers against his cheek, trying to adjust something that’s no longer there.  A phantom limb .

  What is Eddie thinking? His wife’s guess is as good as his own. What does she think he’s thinking about? Probably her. The question is rooted deep in her insecurities.  “You’re thinking about me, aren’t you?”

  He’s never thinking about her. Object permanence. She only exists when she’s standing in front of him. Conversations feel tired, like he’s saying the same thing to everybody. He learned a long time ago that they all pretend to hear the words, but nobody is listening. Especially his wife. He never has to think about what he’s saying to respond to her.

    “I’m fine, dear.”

      “I missed you today.”

      “I love you too, sweetheart.”

   His brain runs on autopilot. It sounds like the hum of an old computer,  hmmmmmm. He wishes the noise would go away. He wants to hear his ears ring in the silence. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard silence. Just once, many years ago.

    Hmmmmmmmm.

    “What are you thinking about, Eddie? Are you okay?”

      “I’m fine, dear.”

      “You’re thinking about me, aren’t you?”

      “No, Myra.”

      “I waited here at home for you all day. Why are you so cold to me?”

      “I missed you today. I promise.”

      “You missed me? I missed you too. Oh, I love you.”

      “I love you too, sweetheart.”

      Hmmmmmmmm.

    If someone he knew when he was a kid saw him now they might ask him what happened. He was a quiet kid, but not around his friends. Not around Richie. He was a fireball around Richie. He can’t let himself think about Richie too long. Now he’s tame, subdued. It’s easier this way.

  The pair of eyes watching him disagrees. Actually, they do agree. It is easier, but it’s not better. He’s learned to ignore the pair of eyes, unblinking, behind thick-rimmed glasses. They dig into his soul, like a rodent searching for food.  I am not something to be searched through, he’d like to say. It’s a lie, and the eyes know it. He’s a heap of dust and bone, crawling with maggots and roaches. He may have been a man once. He isn’t anymore. It reminds him of a quote he can’t recall, but he remembers the jist: everyone will be eaten by maggots, in the end. He’s not dead yet, but he’s crawling with them. The biggest one- an ugly, white thing- looks too much like Myra. Round and wrinkly with a pinched face.

   Richie would laugh at that. It sounds different now, quiet and hollow, but it’s still him.

   “Myra, turn that off.” The TV is taunting him but he won’t look at it and give it the satisfaction.

  “Did you know he lived in Derry? That’s where you’re from, dear. Did you know him?” He hates the way she says things, like he needs to be reminded. He doesn’t have dementia, not yet, as much as she might like him to.

   “No. I didn’t know him.” The keys in his hand are incredibly fascinating now. His cab key, his shed key, his house key. He counts them.  One, two, three. One, two, three.

   “I’ve always thought he seemed so crass. I’m glad you didn’t know him, I don’t think you two would get along.”

   He wants to laugh. He doesn’t.  One, two, three. He wants to cry. He can’t hear what he’s saying but the sound of his voice is pulling him in. The TV laughs at him, or maybe it’s just the talk show host. He feels like he’s drowning in memories that he promised himself he would never relive.

    I’m happy now.

  The eyes are watching him. He doesn’t know where they are, probably California. They’re watching him, though. They don’t make a sound. They can’t, but they want to. They want to tell him he’s lying.

    You can’t.

   They don’t blink. Myra makes a grunting sound as she turns off the television.  One, two, three. He sets down the keys and looks towards her. She puffs out air as she gets up from the couch and it makes him sick. It’s too familiar. He feels light headed.

    “Lookin’ good, Mrs. K!”

   His brain supplies the memory before he can stop it. His mother hated that boy so much. She never talks about him now. He wonders if she’s seen him on TV, too. Maybe she makes comments to herself about how crass he is.

  “Are you okay, baby? You look so pale.” He flinches at the pet name. She’s too far away to notice, “Lie down, I’ll get a thermometer.”

  “I’m fine, dear.” The frown that follows his words is repulsive, her lips look like they’re melting off of her face. His stomach lurches. He swears her eyelid is twitching, sweat gleaming on her forehead. The way it shines looks like a lighthouse beacon going back and forth. The light hits Eddie’s eyes, searing straight through his eyeball to his brain.

   If he keeps looking at her he’ll go blind.

      “Blind as a bat, Eds. But I can still see how pretty you are without them.”

   Everything burns. He’s on fire.

   “I’m going for a walk. Need some fresh air. Gotta stay active.”

  She doesn’t argue. If she does, he can’t hear her. When he’s outside the world spins a little less. People walk down the street like they have somewhere to be. They all probably do. The city that never sleeps. Horns honk and buses rumble. He doesn’t think, he can’t. If he lets himself think then it will hurt. He doesn’t want to hurt anymore.

  This is how he lives everyday. It’s time to move on. The people of the city wind around him, bumping into each other but never stopping. He’s a lot like them. He keeps moving so he doesn’t have to think. Nobody in this city wants to think either, their brains would bleed like a torn muscle. His brain is like a bicep that hasn’t been used in years. His heart is like that, too. They’re soft, malnourished. If he uses them it will open a vessel, bleed until it’s pouring out of his mouth. There’s too much to be thought about. He hasn’t thought in fifteen years. He’s thirty-three. If he had fifteen years of thoughts all at once he’d drown.

   The eyes look at him and they look mournful. They want to tell him that he’s already drowning.

    I’m not.

  He wants to yell that out loud, but if he did the bubbles from his throat would rise through the water and pop, giving way to the lie. He is drowning.

    So be it.

    These eyes never blink, they just stare. There’s so much emotion in those wide, brown eyes, and it stings. He doesn’t have to hear them speak to know what they’re saying. He knows them like the back of his hand. They’re his only weakness, the only thing that could pry him open. They’d pull at his ribs until his organs were revealed, but they can’t because they have no hands. He wants to stick his tongue out at the eyes and mock them for their lack of hands. They do have hands, though, just not here. Somewhere far away, somewhere like California. Eddie has never been to California.

      “It’s not safe to travel, Eddie, sweetie.”

   That’s not why, though. He hasn’t been there because the eyes would meet their hands, and then they could tear into him. They’d be gentle, carving out skin and muscle with soft fingers to see what’s inside. He’s afraid of what’s inside. He hasn’t seen it in fifteen years. He’s afraid the hands would hold it up and look at it like a rodent. They’d tap it against a rock and try to figure out what it is.

      “You’ve changed, Eds.”

      I didn’t want to.

   A lie. It was easier this way, remember? Easier, but not better. He doesn’t want to see what’s inside. He’d sooner die than see what’s inside. He’d leap off of a cliff, blood would pour through his mouth, maggots would eat him and he’d turn to dust and bone. Everyone will be eaten by maggots, in the end. Even him, even Myra, even Sonia, even Richie.

   There are lots of cliffs in California, probably. He doesn’t think there’s any in New York City. When he needs a cliff, he’ll find one. Maybe he’ll finally go to California. Maybe back to Maine. Maybe he’ll make his own cliff, cut out of the corner of the rooftop of an apartment building he’s never been to before.

    That should be tall enough. When he needs a cliff, he’ll find one. It will be pretty from up there, even with the sound of rushing water or car horns honking. It will be pretty, as long as it’s high enough. The lights might twinkle, or the stars, just for him. Maybe the brown eyes in his head will twinkle, too. Hiding behind glasses with thick lenses, they’ll twinkle with the lights, maybe from the tears, and then they’ll close. Finally.

   “Hellooooo! You can’t just run into people like that!” He’s never been stopped for running into someone before. This is  New York, after all. The woman standing in front of him must be a tourist, if she was a local she would have kept walking.

  “I’m sorry.” He tells her, but they both know he doesn’t mean it. She looks startled when she meets his eyes, and forgives his ingenuine apology. The tourist brushes by him like she can’t leave fast enough. He’s under a pillar of construction, shaded from the day. He turns to look at himself in the window to his right. The tourist was pitying him, he realizes. She had seen how bloodshot his eyes were. He forgets that most people don’t walk around looking like this, because this is how he always looks.

   The eyes pity him too. They look as startled as the tourist did when he looked at her. They stretch out round and wide, like the top of a foaming latte.

   He stupidly realizes all at once that they’re no longer wearing their glasses, and they’re not in his mind anymore. They’re staring at him through the window of a coffee shop on Lexington Avenue and 27th Street, unblinking, unmoving. They have no glasses, but they do have hands. They also have legs that are bolting for the door.

  He turns on his heel in the direction of his apartment. He won’t run, he can’t cause a scene. The tourist seems to think he’s following her and picks up the pace, but he doesn’t. The construction ends and the sun shines down on him, burning his eyes.

   “Eddie! Wait!” His heart quivers in his chest, it hasn’t been used in so long and now it can feel something calling out for it. It rolls over, like an engine about to start. A fifteen-year-old engine.

   “Eddie, please!” The voice is closer now, and he keeps walking even though it’s pointless. He’s already been caught.

  The eyes' newfound pair of hands thunder down onto his shoulders, hurting him. He’s being turned around like a Spinning Top, colors and lights and sounds all blending together.

   Eyes meet with no glasses to separate them from each other. Without the glasses, Eddie thinks their eyes may just meld with each other, fused together by a blowtorch. They still haven’t blinked.

   “You remember me, right?” Eddie could punch him. Why wouldn’t he remember him?

  “You’re a moron.” There’s no inflection in his voice, but something splits in his chest and splinters like wood. It feels good, like bones popping. His lips- lips that Eddie is just now remembering- curl into a smile. The beginnings of a laugh rumble in his chest, loud and open, much different than the quiet one Eddie had heard on the television. His lips crack when his own face stretches into a smile, like ligaments bending into a new yoga pose. He’s laughing on the sidewalk with Richie Tozier. Someone takes a picture, flushing red when the phone makes a noise.

   He looks over at them dazedly. He doesn’t know them. Neither does Richie, judging by the look on his face. Why did they take a picture? He looks behind him, but there’s nothing but a gray brick wall. He remembers the television.  Oh.  He’s laughing on the sidewalk with  World Famous Comedic Actor Richie Tozier.

  “I’m so sorry.” The person apologizing isn’t the one taking the picture- they’re already gone. The person apologizing is Richie. Eddie thinks he must be apologizing for the picture, but it sounds deeper than that.

   “It’s okay.”

   “I still can’t get used to that happening, and it’s been ten years.”

   “Does it happen a lot?”

   “Three, four times a day. If I only go outside for coffee and a trip to the grocery store.”

   “You still grocery shop for yourself?”

   “...Yeah? Eddie, I still cook for myself.”

   “Oh. Wait. Still? Richie, you set popcorn on fire three times.”

   “I’m a changed man, Eddie Spaghetti.”

   “Wow. You haven’t outgrown the whole ‘dumb nickname’ thing? Seriously?”

  “Let me take you out to dinner.” Another picture is taken of them, Richie doesn’t blink. He’s awaiting Eddie’s answer, like a gentleman. Eddie can’t breathe, he shifts from one foot to the other, “As friends.” Richie says, and Eddie realizes just then that his hands have been on his shoulders the entire time. His hold is tight, like he’s scared Eddie will run away. Eddie can’t say he blames him, considering.

   “Okay, let’s go out to dinner.”

   “Tonight?”

  “Tonight? Richie, I…” Without the glasses, Richie’s eyes are so open, so vulnerable. He can still read them so well. “I don’t think I have anything else to do tonight.”

   “Perfect. Where would you like to go?” He can only think of a handful of places he’s bothered to eat at since moving to New York. He knows so little about the city that he still tells people he’s new to town, fifteen years later.

   “I like Chinese. There’s a restaurant a few blocks away from here. We could probably walk.”

  When they’re seated in the restaurant, Eddie finally takes him in all at once. He’s changed, his freckles are faded and his hair is shorter with less of a curl to it. It’s still long, but falls more flat around his face. He thinks it must be from years of mismanaging it. He’s wearing an ugly colorblock sweater made up of atrocious oranges and blues, but it suits him the way that everything loud and obnoxious suits Richie. His face is just beginning to wrinkle, like all faces do at thirty-three, and his face is coated in a layer of stubble he wouldn’t have been able to grow fifteen years ago. His eyes haven’t aged a day.

  They move around each other like one moves through their home, like they know the way even with their eyes closed. All the furniture has been moved an inch to the left, though, so they occasionally stub their toe or knock something over. They move in sync, but clumsily.

   “You’re married.” Richie, who has been staring at him for as long as he has, inquires with the tilt of his head.

   “How did you know?”

  “Do people put rings on their left ring finger as a fashion statement now? All the tabloids say my style is horrifying, but I didn’t realize I was  that out of the loop.”

   “I  am married, asshole.”

   “Who’s the lucky guy?” Suddenly Eddie is incapable of making eye contact. His eyes slide down to the menu he was handed.

   “Her name is Myra.” There’s a beat of silence. The menu shakes in his hands.

   “Welcome to the Super Dragon!” Their waiter cuts in, looking between them both. He is very smiley,  too smiley. He recognizes Richie, “It is an honor to have you here, Mr. Tozier. What can I get you to drink?”

  They order. Richie smiles and thanks him, but Eddie knows where to look. The waiter thinks ‘Mr. Tozier’ is happy, but he doesn’t know to look at his eyes. It’s all in the eyes. Richie’s eyes are tired.

   “You’re married to a woman?” Eddie is tired too.

   “Yep, my beautiful Myra Kaspbrak.”

  “Wow.” Richie says, snorting out a laugh. Even in his annoyance he can tell that the laugh is more genuine than the one he had given the waiter.

   “Wow, what? ” Richie looks like a kid keeping a secret to himself. He’s forcing his lips to twist down but they don’t want to, careening up into a smile.

   “Nothing, Eddie, it’s just…” He laughs again, “You sound like a receptionist that’s been working for 34 years and has nine kids with her husband, Bob who hasn’t had sex with her since child number seven.”

   “I’m sorry, what?”

   “‘My beautiful-  ” Richie cuts himself off with laughter, still trying to be serious, “��My beautiful - it was Myra, right?- Myra Kaspbrak.”

  Giggles are flowing steadily out of his mouth, now. He seems to think his impression of Eddie was great. It wasn’t, considering he could barely say it without laughing. With the way Richie is laughing, though, with red cheeks and bright eyes, Eddie thinks it was pretty good.

   “Stop laughing, asshole, that’s my wife.”

    “My wife.” Richie mimics, putting his hands on his hips and looking stern. Their drinks are delivered and they have to order. He picks something on the menu at random, too distracted by the way Richie quiets back down when the waiter shows up. He pushes against his nonexistent glasses, hand covered by the oversized sweater sleeve. It’s a safety net, Eddie realizes. The glasses acted as a barrier between him and the rest of the world. He searches for them when he’s nervous.

   When the waiter leaves, Richie leans forward on his elbows. Eddie’s soul is bared. He won’t stop thinking about maggots.

   “You said you were gay, Eds.”

   “Don’t call me that.”

   “Don’t avoid the question.”

   “You didn’t ask a question, idiot.”

   “Oh, I’m sorry, I thought it was obvious. Why the fuck are you married to a woman?”

  The world spins again. He can’t think about these things. His brain is an unused muscle, it will tear in two. There’s no fixing an injury like that.

   A dish clatters somewhere in the restaurant. Richie’s hand is closer to Eddie’s than it was before.

   “You know why.” It’s all he can manage to say.

   “You still talk to her?” Richie really does know why. Eddie knows “her” is his mother. Richie knows that she was his only weakness. She still is.

   “I do. I don’t know why, but I do.”

   “I don’t talk to my mom anymore.”

   “Good. She was a piece of shit.” He knows Richie wants to say  “So is your mom” but he doesn’t. Instead he looks at him, long and hard. This is what Eddie was afraid of, eyes attached to hands. One of the hands wraps around his own.

    “Richie.” He says. He’s begging and he doesn’t even know why. Or maybe, he doesn’t want to know why, but he does. He’s begging because he knows he can’t stop himself from thinking again if Richie doesn’t let go of his hand.

  “It’s okay.” He doesn’t know why Richie said that, there are so many things it could mean. The warmth from his hand starts to sink into his own and he’s amazed at how familiar it feels. They’re rougher, the nails are painted a neon green, but they’re still safe.

   “Mr. Tozier, could we take your picture?” The manager of the restaurant has joined them, but they won’t even look at him. They’re talking to Richie, pointing at the wall and back at the digital camera in their hands. It’s a tradition at little hole-in-the-wall places like this, to put up pictures of famous people that have dined in their restaurant. Eddie’s never considered how violating it is until now. He’d nearly cried when he took a picture for his ID and it came out looking like a mugshot. Richie can’t go anywhere without his picture being plastered everywhere. Still, he agrees, smiling as the flash goes off. When the manager shows him how it turned out, he pushes the imaginary glasses against his face again, fingertips falling through the nonexistent frame and poking his cheek. The manager leaves, staring at his camera.

   “That’s a cute habit.” He hears himself saying before he even realizes he’s talking.

   “What?”

   “The- um, well, you push your glasses back, even though they’re not there.”

  “Oh.” Richie stews in this new information. He looks taken aback, “That’s weird. I didn’t know I do that. I haven’t worn them since I found my agent.”

   “Why? I always liked them.”

   “They were hideous.” It’s his turn to sound like sound like a receptionist that’s been working for 34 years and has nine kids with her husband, Bob who hasn’t had sex with her since child number seven. He looks down at his food.

   “I liked them.” He repeats. He can’t remember when their food showed up but he hasn’t touched it. He tries to swallow some of the rice.

   “I still wear them sometimes, I guess. When my manager isn’t around.” His voice is quiet, like they’re not in a city filled with screaming horns and buzzing voices. He sounds like he’s afraid someone might hear their conversation.

   “I always thought you looked like Buddy Holly.” He smiles at Richie and his face shakes like tired legs after running a marathon. He hasn’t smiled this much in years. Fifteen of them. Richie smiles back with a smile that brings memories of sneaking through windows and driving around town.

  “Woo-ee-ooh, I look just like Buddy Holly,” Richie sings quietly, eyes sinking into Eddie’s. Eddie joins in on the fun, setting down his fork and dancing with his hands.

   “And you’re Mary Tyler Moore!” He likes the way Richie points at him with a teasing finger. He can’t believe he was listening to Myra tell him how he would have never been friends with Richie Tozier mere hours ago.

   When dinner ends, they exchange numbers and tight hugs. He thinks Richie might be crying, but it could just be the city lights reflecting back at him. Richie tells him not to forget about him, this time. Eddie thinks it would be too romantic to tell him that he never did in the first place, so he says nothing and goes on his way. The eyes still follow him home.

Tag list: @girasol-eddie @violetreddie @thorn-harvester-ven @constantreaderfool

I’m tagging everyone who has asked to be tagged in the past, but if you want to continue to be tagged make sure you like this post so I know I won’t be bugging you by tagging you!

Also, if you want to be tagged in the rest of this story, message me or comment!

[itoldheraboutyou]

i feel different - chapter 3

you can read previous chapters here: ch 1, ch 2, ao3 link

notes: thank you so much for the love i’ve gotten on the past two chapters! it means a lot to hear feedback. so, trying this new weekly update thing lol. don’t hold me to it though because i do tend to burn out rather easily. anyway, more interaction as promised. enjoy, friendos. :)

chapter 3

i’m leaning up against the counter of judy’s bloom, quietly watching as cyrus puts together a bouquet of flowers. it’s late, so late we’re the only ones left in the store. it was the last day of school, so we were out with everyone earlier, that’s why i’m here now. but there’s an eery feel to the place when it’s empty, despite having all the lights on. its very apocalyptic in a scary way, but maybe that’s just because i’ve been watching the walking dead. cyrus is overseeing a myriad of flowers, taking his time in choosing the right ones. his fingers brush gently over a particular white flower, taking a quick pause to rub the velvety petals between his fingers.

“what kind of flower is that?” i ask, my gaze lingering on it as cyrus moves on. he picks up another kind of flower before returning to the counter, his calculating eyes running over his selections.

“that was a gardenia.” he replies without looking at me. instead he focuses his attention on the flowers in front of him, switching two that seem to have been in the wrong place. i smile slightly, observing him work so meticulously.

“i like that one,” i look back at the flower. “it’s pretty.” cyrus is so caught up in his work i doubt he heard me, but he speaks again after a second.

“i can’t put it in the bouquet, it won’t match.”

“doesn’t matter, just thought it was pretty.” i shrug, seeing cyrus gather up the flowers and hold them up, looking at them how they should be looked at. he sighs with uncertainty, setting them back down on the table. “when did you become interested in all this?” i wonder aloud, my eyes only leaving his working hands to see him determinedly biting his lip. “aren’t you like, allergic to everything in here?”

cyrus chuckles, “ya, probably. i spend half my time getting yelled at by bowie because i don’t want to touch anything and the other half running away from bees.”

“sounds fun.” i deadpan.

“very, actually. well, the bees are traumatizing,” he clarifies, and i grin. “but i’ve always been into flowers. another nerdy, uninteresting thing about me i guess.”

i roll my eyes, tempted to reach out and lightly shove his shoulder, but i don’t. “i mean, everyone has uninteresting shit about them. i don’t think that is though. nerdy? definitely-“

“okay, okay, we get it, i’m a nerd.” he mumbles, annoyed, and i smile at him teasingly. “i’m a nerd and i’m jewish, i’m a literal walking stereotype.”

i laugh, continuing to watch him. after a few more minutes of working and reworking the arrangement, he pulls out a ribbon from one of the drawers and ties it neatly around the middle. “there. azaleas, yellow tulips, and white carnations.”

“it took you that long to put together 3 kinds of flowers?”

“excuse me!” cyrus raises his voice in foe offense. “shut up jonah, artistry like this takes time!”

“oh, artistry,” i say in air quotes. “i’m sorry.”

“i’m talented!”

“they’re flowers, cyrus.”

“don’t let them hear you say that!” cyrus hisses, covering the flowers lightly with his hand.

i laugh, “jesus, i didn’t know they were capable of being offended!”

“very capable and very offended.” cyrus shakes his head with a grin.

“how much do i owe you?” i ask, reaching to get my wallet from my back pocket.

“nothing, these are for bex and bowie, right?”

i nod, suddenly remembering that’s why i’m here. damn, it’s so easy to get lost when i’m around him.

“take em, bowie won’t care.” cyrus shrugs, coming out from behind the counter and handing me the bouquet. we’re close now, the only thing between us are the flowers.

“he will with you giving flowers away for free like this!” i warn with a slight chuckle. cyrus shakes his head.

“no one else. just for you, jolamajama.” i smile at the old nickname. just me. “why are you going all out anyway? bex and bowie already know you, what’s so important about this dinner?” he asks, moving back behind the counter. there’s more than just curiosity in his voice, but i can’t quite pinpoint exactly what it is. the space in front of me feels too empty now, i want him where he was.

“wanna keep the image up, ya know?” i chuckle, trying to play it off as a joke. i get a sudden wash of déjà vu, having said that phrase to my brother last night too. cyrus just nods.

“of course. you better be on your way then.”

i frown, thinking about having to leave. i should want to go to andi’s, i should want to go impress bex and bowie because i’m dating their daughter. and i do, of course i want to do that, i’m gunna go do that. “you’re right, i’m gunna be late. see you?”

cyrus nods, giving me a wave. i walk up to the door with my bouquet, turning the doorknob and- i turn the doorknob and... okay the doors not opening. i start jiggling the knob, but it won’t budge. great.

“uh, cyrus, the door won’t open.” i inform him. his eyebrows knit together, coming over to the door. he tries the same thing, even pushes at it, but it still won’t budge.

“shit,” cyrus curses, running his hand through his hair nervously. “shit!” he says again, beginning to pace. “oh my god, jonah, we’re stuck in here!” he whines, grabbing my arm. i feel a sense of pride as cyrus grips my arm for comfort, like he feels safer when he touches me.

“cy, it’s okay,” i reassure him, lightly touching his arm with my other hand before pulling free. i walk over to the counter and set the flowers down. “let me just call bowie, okay, we’re gunna be fine.”

cyrus nods, walking closer to me as i pull out my phone. i try bowie a few times, but nothing. cyrus is really freaking out now.

i sigh, setting my phone down on the counter too. “no ones answering me.”

“jonah, i don’t want to die in a flower shop called judy’s bloom!” he starts pacing again.

“hey,” i walk over to him, getting into his space. “hey, you’re not going to die in here, okay? i promise. just- is there something in here i can open the door with? like, a screwdriver?”

cyrus nods, “in the back, i think. what’s that going to do, though?”

“just get the screwdriver?”

he goes into the back, coming out with a screwdriver. when he hands it to me, i suddenly realize that i genuinely have no idea what to do with it. okay, let’s just, uh, go to the door first. i walk over to the door and kneel in front of it, having an internal debate with myself about why i ever thought this was a good idea.

“be careful.” cyrus says in the background as i try and pry the door open. which is actually pretty ironic because instead of prying the door open, my hand slips and cuts itself on the exposed wood.

“fuck!” i hiss, the screwdriver clattering to the floor. i ignore it, too distracted with gripping my hand and biting my tongue so i don’t scream.

“jonah!” cyrus is immediately at my side, clutching my arm with both hands. “are you okay? what the hell did you do?”

“well, honestly i had no idea what i was doing and now my hands bleeding!” i smile sarcastically through clenched teeth.

“damnit jonah,” cyrus rolls his eyes, and i feel like a puppy being scolded. “you’re an actual idiot, come on.” he sighs, dragging me to the counter. he disappears into the back again, coming out with a med kit.

cyrus reaches out and grabs my hand, holding it tightly in his grasp. he walks me over to the sink in the bathroom, shoving my hand into the cold water.

relief washes over the wound, and i can breathe properly again. cyrus makes me sit with my hand under the running water for a minute or so, and when i say make i mean he makes me. when he finally does let me leave, he leads me back over to the counter and pulls out some disinfectant.

“cyrus, jesus, please not that shit!” i plead, but cyrus just smiles, amused at my discomfort.

“should i say the overused, innuendo line?” his smile turns into a smirk, and i groan.

“if you must.”

the brunette plays doctor, pouring some disinfectant into the bottles cap and dabbing some gaze into it. “this might sting a little.”

i make an attempt to groan again, but it turns into a genuine cry of pain.

“sorry, sorry, sorry!” cyrus repeats as he cringes, trying not to look at me as i writhe around like a wounded animal.

the sting finally subdues, and i yank my hand from cyrus’ grip. “alright, that’s enough of that demon water.”

“demon water?!” cyrus full on cackles, and i crack half a smile.

“there’s holy water, and then there’s that. it’s demon water!” i try and connect logic to it, but cyrus just shakes his head fondly.

“honestly, i’m jewish, so i can neither confirm nor or deny if that’s how holy water actually works.”

“is that not how it works? i’ve had limited experience with it.” cyrus reaches back in the med kit to get a bandaid.

“you’ve had experience with holy water? why am i thinking that probably ended terribly?

“because it did,” i watch as cyrus unwraps the bandaid and gently places it on my cut. “my moms been convinced our house has been haunted since we moved in, so a couple years ago she bought some holy water off of ebay and just covered our house with it.”

“seriously? my step mom just talks to the ghost in our house.” cyrus says as if that’s completely normal.

“she talks to it?”

“she’s a jewish woman jonah, they’ll complain to anything that’ll listen. must be where i get it from.” i open my mouth to reply, but before i can do that my phone rings.

“jonah? we’ve been waiting for you over here, why did you call me?” bowie answers.

i watch as cyrus starts closing the med kit. “we’re trapped in judy blooms, the door won’t open.”

“we?”

“cyrus is with me.”

“oh. well, all you have to do is tilt the doorknob up and then turn.” bowie gives me the directions.

“ever heard of fixing it?” i quip, and he laughs.

“i’m sorry, really. i’ll get someone to fix it tomorrow, okay? we’ll see you in a bit.”

i glance over at cyrus, who’s looking at me expectantly with his big brown eyes. “see you in a bit.” i decide, grabbing the bouquet from the counter and approaching the door. i follow bowie’s instructions, tilting the knob up and then turning. with a click, the door gives way and opens. cyrus races out before me, frolicking aimlessly on the sidewalk.

“freedom! oh, thank god i didn’t die in there! i was not wearing a good sweater for that.” he dramatically informs me.

“i think it would’ve been fine. the one you’re wearing right now is pretty docious.”

cyrus rolls his eyes. “jonah, we just escaped death. leave that phrase in the 8th grade where it belongs.”

laughing, my eyes look down at the sidewalk before flicking back up. it had to end sooner or later. “i better go. thanks for uh-“ i hold up the bouquet and my injured hand.

“no problem. feels good to be the one not getting hurt.”

i smile, “bye cyrus.”

•••

“hey, jonah!” bex greets me as she opens the door. “come in!”

i shuffle inside, handing the bouquet over to her with my signature jonah grin. “for you.”

“oh jonah, this is so sweet.” bex says just as bowie and andi approach. “andi, your boyfriend is so gentleman like. you found a good one!” she winks as i cringe at the word boyfriend.

andi hugs me, kissing me on the cheek. “hey.”

“hey.” i reply.

“you want me to take these?” bowie gestures to the bouquet and bex nods.

“please. to tell you the truth i don’t even know if we have vases.”

bowie chuckles, “i’ll find something.” the girls make their way into the kitchen, leaving bowie and i here.

“is this why you were at the shop?” he asks, and i nod. he inspects the arrangement, and suddenly his smile dissolves into a frown. “so cyrus put this together then?”

“mhm, it’s really pretty, isn’t it?”

“huh,” bowie’s eyes flicker between me and the flowers, a knowing look in them. “very pretty. you must be starving, huh? let’s eat!”

i follow him into the kitchen, the smell of food filling my senses. i shake off the uncomfortable feeling i got from that exchange, trying my best to get out of my head. i’m just not feeling like myself i guess? or maybe i’m feeling too much like myself.

we sit down and start eating dinner that thankfully, bowie cooked.

“you’re not picky, are you jonah? i made burgers and fries, figured you’d be chill.” i hear him explain, passing a plate to andi.

“oh, uh, ya no, definitely not picky.” i chuckle nervously, taking the plate as andi hands it to me.

“that’s good. so uh, i don’t know what to talk about at these things, this is my first one.” bex says bluntly, looking a little lost.

“mom, why don’t you ask jonah about frisbee?” andi offers. i can tell she’s trying to be helpful, but honestly there’s not really much for me to talk about.

bex takes a drink of water, setting her glass back down before responding. “oh ya, how’s that going?”

“well,” i mumble, running my tongue over my chapped lips. “it’s summer now, and the season doesn’t start till school does, so.”

“you must be practicing though?”

“i mean, when i find the time.” i shrug, taking a second bite of the fry i’ve been nursing this whole time.

andi kicks me under the table, sending me a nasty look when i turn to glare at her. i try and straighten up and force a smile, but i can’t stop thinking about if i were at cyrus’ instead. i wonder if his parents are as entertaining as he says.

i answer a few more superficial questions about senior year and my future and to tell you the truth i bullshit my way through every one. it’s not like they were pushy, bex and bowie never are. i just think they were at a loss for what to talk to me about, and it’s not like i was giving them any help. after awhile the two get into their own conversation that i haven’t been paying attention to, and andi stands up.

“jonah and i are done,” i ate half my burger and a single fry. “can we go set up the board games while you guys finish up?”

“sure, take your plates to the sink though.”

we both nod, picking up our plates and bringing them to the sink. i rinse them both off before andi physically pulls me into her bedroom.

“what’s going on?” she whirls around on me, looking upset.

“what do you mean?” i ask despite knowing exactly what she means.

andi huffs out a breath, sitting down on her made bed. “jonah if you didn’t want to come tonight you should’ve just told me-“

“i did want to come!” i say exasperatedly, sitting down next to her. did i though? no, i wanted to come and show bex and bowie how good of a boyfriend i am... oh.

“then why weren’t you there?” she throws her hands up, clearly frustrated. “they were trying to talk to you and were just- somewhere else.”

“i know, you’re- you’re right, i was, i just- i’m...” i trail off, licking over my lips as i glance down at the floor, and then back up to her. “sorry.”

she drops her shoulders, shifting uncomfortably. “jonah, what’s been going on with you? you’ve been acting so- weird lately,” she looks at a loss for words, not really knowing how to describe my behavior. i don’t either.

i fold my hands in between my legs, keeping my gaze on the floor. “what is me acting weird to you?”

“what?”

“you said i was acting weird.” i’m just curious, i don’t know. what does she really define as me not being me? do i even know? i’ve been wearing a mask for so long.

“look, jonah,” she says, and i take that as a hint to turn towards her. “we’ve been on and off the past couple years and i just thought, ya know, that this would be a turning point for us in wanting something more serious.”

“it was, it is.” i reply automatically, stumbling over myself.

“jonah you weren’t even mentally present-“

“i’m just tired, well, i’ve been tired. that’s it, alright? i’m okay.” i try and reassure her despite my breathing starting to get heavier. goddamnit, not now. “can i uh, call daniel and let him know i’ll be home late?”

andi smiles bitterly at me. “jonah i think you should just go home.”

“what? babe, i’m just tired-“ she stands up, opening the door for me.

“we’ll talk later, i just need some time.” she says, her mind made up. i can’t even argue with her, my breathing is getting uneven and i’d rather not be here when i start to panic. i nod, standing up and following her out the door.

“mom, dad, jonah isn’t feeling well. he’s gunna go home.” andi announces upon entering the room.

“aw, are you sure?” bex gives us a confused look from where she’s standing over the sink.

“very.” andi stares daggers at me. i guess i deserve that.

“well, i’m sorry, kid. hope you feel better.” bex says, looking over at bowie.

bowie smiles, coming over to clap me on the back. “ya, it was great having you.”

i thank them both before following andi to the door, struggling to keep myself under control. we say goodbye, and as soon as she shuts the door behind me i’m off to panic alone. i would call amber but it’s too late, she’d have my head if i woke her up right now. oh well.

[a-writers-block]

𝐈𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐏𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬

[10] What’s In the Name? / The Two Versions

The lost pages were stolen.

Sharma–no–all of the authors will kill me if they realize what I just did. But hell, before that happens, the whole Indian Literature will fall down!

Damn it. I’m stuck, alone, the thief got away… can this day get any worse?

The skies grumble. A little too loud. Streaks of lightning crack the dark hues of the clouds. Gio holds still and closes his eyes as tight as he can. One thing the Indian people taught him is that prayers always win. Good God. He wasn’t always that religious but… just this once, don’t rain. Don’t rain. He muttered the words under his breath as if they were a mantra.

But the Gods really are testing him.

At that moment, Gio fell into a pit of self-doubt. He laughed humorlessly, self-doubt had become his prison for like almost half of his life. He’d been putting all his life on others’ hands. Decisions, happiness, passion… all of it seemed to be unsuited with his life. Those were never his to make.

He thought getting out of the real world would be more of a place of freedom. A world where he makes the decisions, chooses his passion and happiness. But this world seemed to be another prison for him. A little tighter than before.

He’s responsible for every life that runs through all the kingdoms. And they will all face the worse things because of him.

Gio heaves a sigh.

The heavy pour of the skies was more than enough to feed that feeling Gio has right now. I’ve always come this far and yet; I feel like a failure. Why do I always have to stay in the middle? Between the start and the ending? Is it part of the crumbling fate that I have?

Gio felt weak. At this point, giving up will always be his last resort. Let me just…. stay like this for a moment…

—

Daybreak.

The sun peeks through the tallest mountains. Gio’s damp clothes felt heavy on him. With the cold breeze, it slightly woke him up. Where am I?

Gio stands up abruptly. The rope loosens up because of the cloudburst last night. The boulder moistened that it was easy for him to come undone. Flashbacks from the night before; an old woman, a child, and a Lion.

Those nightmares stir up something inside him. He sneers.

HA! that kid will pay, big time.

As he journeys along the unknown, Gio was all for the curses in the world. Put the blame on that kid. On that old woman. In the Book. He couldn’t have been here if it wasn’t because of that stupid Book.

He grunts. What’s the point of whining? He was insulted by a kid. A kid! And his dumb pet Lion. Who in their right mind would let their kid (take note: A dang kid!) own a Lion for a pet?! Gio’s parents never wanted a dog, and a Lion is domestic in this place? What kind of sick world/time is this?

Gio stops for a second. His hand drapes on his hips and sighs. “Find that kid, find that kid, find that dang kid.” He nods to himself.

—

The kid waves the pages into the air. What’s so valuable with these papers? It’s just a bunch of writings in it? The child thought.

“Stay here, Haidar, alright?” The child caresses the Lion’s mane and watches as it groans, signifying its satisfaction of being tamed. The child chuckles.

“Hiding is hard, isn’t it?” He said out of nowhere. 

The Lion sat and rested his head on its arms. The child sighs.

He’s always like that. Without family or even human friends, talking to the Lion seemed to become his outlet. Funny how he relates himself to the lone animal. No mum or dad, or friends. It’s just there, tamed by the life he’s been living into. Hiding from people who wouldn’t give him a chance to live a normal life.

The child stands up, smiles, “I’ll see you in a bit.” He bids goodbye.

He wraps his ragged scarf over his head. The blazing heat of the sun was up. A full crowd compressed on the roads and in the corners. This is a great chance to blend in.

The child finds himself at the pavements, lurking in the shadows of Indian people. There were numbers of gold, spices, fabrics; gifts—no—taxes for the kingdom. It is that time in the kingdom where people use raw materials and services to pay their taxes. Other tax collectors were forcing poor people to pay up which the child just rolled his eyes on.

They call themselves leaders and yet never had the compassion for the common people.

The child stops on his tracks, something caught his attention. A great distance from where he stood, a cackling bunch of armors hanging on the back of a drunk merchant. It was as if those armors were calling him. One armor stood out the most, dangling under the heat of the sun; reflecting its light.

That’s my armor!

He was about to follow the merchant when all of a sudden, a hand grips on his shoulder, “Oi, kid. You thought you could run away from me?” Gio huffs.

“Let go of me--”

“Where’s my book?”

“Let go--”

“The book!”

The child looks back, the merchant wasn’t there anymore. He clenches his hand into fists. He pushes Gio.

“That was my only chance! Now I’ll never see that man again!” The child said out of frustration and then glared at Gio, “YOU!”

“What’d I do?” Gio said in confusion, “Wait… wasn’t I supposed to be mad right now?” He gave the kid an equal glare, “Where’s my damn book?”

“Like I’d give it back now… no!” The crowd seemed to be so immersed in the parade of gold that no one noticed the kid and the reader arguing.

“That was my only one chance of getting back what’s mine and you… you just blew it off, you… stupid man!” The kid tries to curse at Gio.

Gio laughs at the kid’s attempt but… what the hell, he’s just a kid, “Look, kid. You happen to have something that is mine, I’m not taking any chances of letting you out of my sight. Not after what you did to me back in the forest.” He tried prying behind the kid and somewhere else. Well, at least his pet is nowhere to be found.

Gio grips on the child’s  arm and turns to an alley. The crowd’s volume turned down a bit, “Now, give it back.” He held out his hand, his eyebrows pulling up as if waiting for the kid to do something. 

But instead, the child bit on Gio’s arm. Gio yelps. The child tries to escape.

“Bharata.”

The child stops on his tracks.

Gio shows him a piece of paper. A funny caricature of the kid’s face and a shadow of a beast (seemed to be his Lion)  plastered on, “The son of Shakuntala and King Dushyanta. But,” Gio reads the poster, “An all around thief in the city. I’ve asked around about you and I happen to find these posters around the area. They seemed to be scared of you and your Lion.” He chuckles, humorlessly, “You’re like 13 or 14? You’re lucky you’re not 18.” Gio taunts him.

In a swift move, Bharata takes the paper and hides it in his satchel. He stares at Gio for a moment, trying to figure out how he got the idea of his parents. “How do you know me? Who are you?”

Gio steps forward, “Give the book and I’ll spill.”

Bharata clutches his bag and holds it close to him and looks at Gio suspiciously, “If I don’t?” The 14-year old kid asked. There is something in his eyes that blocks him from seeing his emotions. He’s resisting.

Gio was frustrated. God, why are teenagers resisting too much? He sighs. I hope the Child Dev Course really works.

Gain his trust. What else needs to be done but to tell the truth?

“I am The Collector.”

--

“You’re a tax collector?” Bharata didn’t understand what Gio meant with being the Collector. Even if Gio tried explaining it to him.

Gio rolled his eyes for the umpteenth time, “NO.” His voice raises a little bit. Bharata glares at him. Gio mutters an apology, “I collect pages not taxes. Those two different things.”

As they walk along the roads, Gio carefully explains how things work. The pages. The Book. Everything. The child listens but is still suspicious about the unbelievable things he’s hearing. A series more of bantering and they gradually had a silent understanding that they are not really compatible to be travel buddies.

Gio suddenly held out his hand, “Now… would you mind giving those papers back?”

The kid thought for a second and after a while he shook his head no and walked past Gio.

Gio was dumbfounded.

“I’m keeping it.”

Gio chases after him, “What?”

“I mean, yes. I believe you,” Bharata air quotes “believe” which made Gio glare at the kid, “But trusting you is another story.” He finishes with a tight smile.

“How can you say that? I already told you that you are the one who put their trust in me. The Book did. You’re not the one with the decision to make.”

“Oh I’m sorry, am I holding the book right now?” Bharata raises the papers on Gio’s face, “Oh, yeah. Which technically, it’s mine.”

Gio closed his eyes and let out a low groan, “It’s not mine. It’s not yours, either. NO one owns the Book.”

“Does that mean the Book owns himself? Are you saying that this Book is somewhat alive?” The kid looks at the reader innocently.

“Kid, you’re killing me.”

“Oh, you will be dead alright. After I let Haidar eat your flesh--hold on!” The kid stopped walking. Realization hit him as fast as lightning, “Where’s my Lion?”

“What do I know? He’s your responsibility, not mine.”

Bharata shoves Gio out of his way and walks back to the crowded market.

--

Just like in the scenes from a movie, they were back again in their journey to the unknown. But this time, a wide shadow looms over them. Low growling each step Gio takes.

“Okay, that’s it.” Gio surrenders, “Why do we need the animal?”

Bharata’s eyebrows knotted, confused, “Animal?” He gave Gio a once-over. 

Gio massages his temples, “Gods, hold my patience for this kid,” He pleaded, “Just give it back already.” Gio faces the kid.

Bharata chuckles and then grins, “No.”

“Why?”

“I told you. I don’t trust you.”

How can he turn the tables around? Gio was the one who got things stolen and yet here he is begging the thief to give those pages back. But then again, Gio’s last mission is already in his reach and besides, reading the kid’s story is what he needs to do.

At least before he kills himself with Bharata’s stubbornness.

Gio sighs and gives him a tight smile and continuously nods his head, “What do you want me to do then?”

---

“It was your fault after all.” Bharata said accusingly.

“Me? It was you who stole my stuff. What does that anything have to do with this?”

“Well, for the record, it was in my reach when you distracted me. So... “ Bharata pointed to Gio, “Your fault.”

“It’s because you stole--damn it.” Gio sighs.

In exchange for the book, Bharata asked Gio to get his armor for him. They walk along the  jagged roads of the woods, having a rally of banters about the plan on getting the armor. Gio asked Bharata all sorts of stuff.

“What do you need it for  anyway?”

“You’re just 13 and you own an armor already?”

“How important is an armor to a young adult like yourself? It’s not as if you’re off to war, right?” Gio mutters more under his breath about reading Bharata’s story, “That wouldn’t happen after…”

Bharata just glared at the reader and blamed him for distracting him in the city.

“If you don’t want to do it, fine with me. Go away.” There’s a ting of offense in between in his words. 

Gio walks faster and blocks Bharata from walking away. Bharata just shoves him on the side of the road. The Lion came after Bharata and glared at Gio as if threatening him.

“Wait… Wait, I didn’t say I won’t do it.” Gio said too quickly and cleared his throat.

That stopped Bharata from walking.

—

“So, why the armor?” Gio broke the silence after a long walk of quiet and tense atmosphere.

Did he hit something with his questions? Interesting fact: Gio wasn’t a conversation-type of a person. He never talked to anyone longer than a normal person could do. It just that coming into this realm kind of pushes him to ask questions. He’s a lost cause in this place, so there’s not much of a choice but to lay down those questions. Another thing is that he's kind of careless with his words. His mouth just won’t stop talking once he talks about something funny or interesting--well, just for him.

Bharata looked at him, dismissively.

Gio’s pace slows down and watches as the kid continues walking, his Lion walking beside him.

He knew that feeling. Someone who managed to build a high wall between himself and other people. He trusts no one but himself. His teenage self suddenly flashes before him. Alone, walking on eggshells. Even his parents do not have any idea what he’s thinking about. Was he that closed minded? Teenagers are prone to isolation, he knows that. It’s that age when acceptance and belongingness are the most important thing in their world.

But… all he wanted was genuine happiness.

Something that he owns. Just him, nobody else.

...Was talking to the young adult me this heavy, mum? I couldn’t get into the big wall he built. Trust… connection? It seemed like it was impossible to reach.

Gio sighs. The sun felt warm on his face. Hues of oranges and purples splattered on the skies. Another day passed.

—

Embers float from the burning logs piled in front of Gio and Bharata. The Lion yawns as he hides his face in his arms. The warm heat and cold breeze clashes between them. Gio tries to have a conversation but the kid seems to be immersed in his thoughts and just sighs there and now.

“I’m sorry,” Gio started, “I shouldn’t have mocked you…”

Bharata stared at him, slightly startled by the sudden apology. He nodded to himself but kept himself quiet.

“Life’s tough, isn’t it?” He almost choked a small laugh, “just living by yourself and,” He pointed at Bharata’s Lion. He smiled.

Life without a mum or a dad feels incomplete. Like a mother sea turtle who digs a hole and lays her eggs and just leaves them on their own. The hatchlings would just wake up one day, out of their shells and find themselves on a dangerous quest to search the sea. Interesting fact: baby turtles are prone to danger when they are left alone on the shore. They are mostly prey of big birds. It’s like drifting off from a deep slumber to waking up in a new world.

Imagine a kid who got nothing else but himself to rely on.

Bharata took a long breath of the cold air, “It isn’t if you’re used to it.”

A beat. Gio felt relieved that Bharata started talking to him.

A long night and whole deep conversation about things that concerns the summary of their lives. Little did they know that as they share thoughts about anything else, they discovered many things that they have in common. It feels like a breath of fresh air for them that they have someone to connect with. They used to have no one but themselves. Although silence is something that is fixed in the midst of their conversation, small laughs and responses are quite bearable to keep it coming. But the funny thing, they find each other in a world that only fiction exists.

It felt real, though. Like two friends catching up with their lives at different times.

“Just like you, I also had a memento,” Gio reaches for his pen, “From my dad. When I… I used to love to write stories. This always reminds me of myself who’s passionate about the things that he loved the most.”

Gio smiles as a wave of memories flashed before his eyes. His dad was a college professor at a university in Manila. He usually stays there for a week and comes home in Laoag over the weekends. He’s never been close to him but Gio got the inspiration of becoming a published writer someday.

His dad would pick him up on summer days and go for a writing summer class. His dad is one of the mentors and Gio would sit by the corner and watch his dad do his job. Aside from being a college prof, his dad loves to write. He made stories when he was a kid and told them over and over again. Those small details made his childhood awesome.

But he couldn’t live that life forever. He has to face other things in life. So does his parents.

“The only difference is… even when he or mum  sees this or what? They’d never know how those things mean so much to me.”

The blame game. Gio never knew why his parents were so against him for his passion. Gio was an idealistic kid ever since. He is more concerned with his emotions than anything in the world. But his parents are up for practicality. It feels like they don’t trust his instincts and decisions in life. That really pissed him off.

Gio brushes off the thoughts in his head.

“Except that they do.” Bharata says, “The whispers that guided me here told me that my mother and my father are waiting for me. They were hoping that I am still here, waiting for them to come. See, my dad doesn't actually know how I look now… but he’s still trying to look for me.”

Gio was silent, unable to come up with an argument. How can a child seem to know more than him of the things that clearly were already there but he just kept making excuses? Irony is that he felt small sitting beside a child.

“By the way, while I was searching for you in the city, I heard rumors that the king wasn’t home. His mentors should’ve been keeping it a secret, though,” Gio says, diverting Bharata’s attention, “You think he’s somewhere far? Looking for… you?” He said looking at the kid through his peripheral vision.

For the first time, the expressions in Bharata’s face are transparent.

A glint of hope dipped into his eyes, “I hope so…”

--

For days, they traveled far and somewhat formed an unlikely friendship where they constantly bantered around and then were nice seconds after. It’s funny how time wasn’t much of needed for them to have that kind of friendship. Little by little, Gio earns the trust of the child. But never did with the Lion (This is why your mother never gave you a dog. You’re somewhat an animal repellent. Bharata would tease him).

They’ve searched all the corners of the markets where clothes and armors are being sold. They’ve asked most of them if they have seen any armors that Bharata gave description to. Some of them recognized him in posters and shooed them off instantly. He tried to control himself from using his strength to hurt them thanks to Gio who had his grip on the child’s shoulders (Sheez, you boy needs a leash. Gio’s eyes dilated and almost laughed at the child’s attempt of self-control).

Finally, at the very end of the market in between the entrance to the palace and the rural life, Bharata recognized the face of the merchant who had his armor. But as they negotiate, the merchant’s demands are getting to Bharata’s nerves.

“Kid, let me do the talking.” Gio finally said when Bharata raised his fist. The loud argument between the merchant and Bharata caught a little attention from the crowd. 

“I told you, this kavach has been blessed by God, Vishnu. And nothing can ever weigh the price on it. I’m not selling it.”

“Sir, I believe the armor is a lost item and it already has an owner. This,” Gio shows Bharata’s frame behind him, “is its owner. What you’re doing right now can be considered as stealing.”

The wicked grin on the merchant’s lips tells Gio that he’s still resisting. Gio licks his bottom lip. Geezers.

“Compensate it then. How much have you got there, boy? I’d be out of business without this armor. See, this is my lucky charm in this business.”

Baharata glares at the old man. Gio holds him back that makes Bharata’s attention land on him.

Gio thought for a second and then sighs. He pulls out something out of his satchel.

--

They got the kavach in exchange for the pen Gio’s dad gave to him. The pen was actually considered antique which is considered as valuable. The merchant stared at it in awe and not even a single second that he gave up the kavach. The greedy old man seemed to be more of his love for money than anything else of the world that he went running to a curator after for appraisal.

“Why did you do that?” Bharata never understands those kinds of actions. The pen held a sentimental value for Gio and he gave that up for his material? He tried complaining and stopping Gio from giving it but Gio seemed to be the guy with nothing to risk. As if… Bharata’s life is more important than his feelings.

“I’m more on the affection than material things.” A sad smile rested on Gio’s face,“ And maybe the pen won’t be of help for me to understand my folks.” He assured him.

“B-But…”

“Don’t worry about it. Just think of what we do next,” He brushes of the concern in the child’s eyes. This is no time for a pity party. Searching for his dad should be the focus of the child not his pen, “Your father must be somewhere around pretty much anywhere... “ Gio fell into his thoughts. A contracted line drawn on his forehead.

The kid quietly sat down with his armor on his lap. Weirdly enough, the whispers seemed to abandon his head.  Was it him? Gio? Whom the whispers predicted to come to my aid? Does that mean he is really someone whom I need to put my trust on?

Meanwhile, Gio was still in his wave of thoughts.

Shakuntala fell in love with the King… Cursed by the gods… lost the ring in exchange of the King’s memories...bore King Dushyanta’s child… and then… Finds Bharata in the forest where Shakuntala lived…?

Then what was the armor needed for?

“Hey.” Bharata broke Gio’s line of thoughts.

In a quick response, Gio asks, “What is it?”

His eyes went down to the papers on the child’s hand. Bharata finally came to his decision to fully entrust Gio his ending.

“You can have it back.” He shoves the paper after Gio stares at it in disbelief.

Gio puts on a smile then ruffles the kid’s hair, “Thanks.”

A beat. “So where do you think my parents are?” Bhara asked.

“I’m not quite sure. I know the sequence of your story but…” Gio looked at the armor, “I have no clue about the armor.” Gio tries to wave the papers off but he can only think of nothing.

“The voices in my head told me the armor would determine who my parents are. I know for a fact that Shakuntala and King Dushyanta are my parents though…”

Determine? Could it be…?

“Can I take a look at your armor?” Bharata offered his armor and let Gio search for something.

An object of what the character truly desires… Family.

The words reflect with the blazing sun. It was then Gio realized something about the story of Shakuntala. There were two versions of its ending.

There is yet another version of this story. It goes on to narrate how Menaka took Shakuntala back to Heaven when Dushyanta refused to accept her as his wife. Shakuntala stayed there till she gave birth to Bharata. And that King Dushyanta waged a war against the Devas where he won and as a reward, he was reunited with his wife and son.

He saw a vision of Bharata who was wise and bold and when his armor fell off, the Devas told him only his parents could put them back on. The King did successfully as told to him. Afterwards, they got reunited in Heaven and eventually went back to Earth to rule for many years and more.

The second version is the one that's been written in the Book all along!

“We need to go back [to the forest.]” Gio held out a hand before Bharata and smiled, assuring him of a happy ending.

⥺ Chapter 9            Chapter List          Chapter 11 ⭄ 

[50cyg]

June 4th, 2002

OTP week 2017

Pairing: Taichi and Yamato Prompt: Freebie Summary: A short story in which Taichi really wants to go to a very special soccer match. It’s pretty ambiguous, so it can take place within 02′s canon. Taiyama, Taito. Author’s Notes at the end.

“I wanna go, I wanna go, I wanna go!”

Yamato heaved a heavy sigh. He was lying on the couch in his living room, bass guitar in hand, plucking away, while admittedly tuning out most of Taichi’s incessant whining.  

“I don’t get it,” Yamato finally addressed the pouting teenager after several minutes of hoping he would just drop it and shut up. “You weren’t this upset about not being able to go a few months ago.”

“I didn’t know then that Blue Impulse would be performing.” Taichi responded from where he was lying on the floor, stomping his foot as he did so.

Yamato paused his playing momentarily as he tried to place the name. He gave up when nothing immediately came to mind. “Who?”

“What do you mean who? Do you ever listen to me when I talk?” Taichi complained, as he turned his head slightly to look at him.

This caused Yamato to huff in annoyance before asking “What type of bass is this?”

Taichi looked taken aback by the question. He lifted himself up on his arms, presumably to get a better look at the instrument. After a few seconds of staring at it with his eyebrows furrowed he responded “A red one?”

“She’s a 1969 Fender Mustang” Yamato replied swiftly before asking “What song was I playing earlier on my harmonica before you went off on your tangent?”

“Wha? I… I don’t know, why are you asking?” Then his eyes widened and he slumped over in embarrassment. “Okay I get it,” he said begrudgingly. “Blue Impulse is the aerobatic demonstration team of the Japan Air Self-Defense Force.”

When Yamato raised his eyebrow Taichi spoke again, “They do tricks with their planes in the air” he made a looping motion above himself with his hand, “for show,” he added as an afterthought. “If you followed the Winter Olympics in Nagano you probably saw them, they performed that year. That was my first time seeing them. They were amazing!”

Yamato didn’t really follow sports, except baseball. He’d rather play the sport than watch someone else play it. He did enjoy sitting in on the occasional Olympic game though. He couldn’t deny it was quite the spectacle, but aerobatic aircrafts weren’t ringing any bells. Still, it was finally starting to click why Taichi wanted to go so badly. “So, they’ll be performing at the opening?” He had forgotten that these types of tournaments often had performances before the match.  

“Yeah, and it’s going to be unforgettable I just know it. The lineup this game is really good too. Suzuki’s style is so unique, I really want to see it in person, and…”

At this point Yamato chose to tune Taichi out once again, and return to his plucking. After letting him go on for what he felt was a sufficient amount of time he said frankly “You know you can’t afford the tickets. Just let it go.” It was true, the starting price was over 22,000 Yen, and Taichi didn’t have a job.

“I can’t believe my two passions are meeting up like this and I’m going to miss it!” he threw his hands over his face in frustration.

“You aren’t going to miss it, you can still watch it on TV.”

“It’s not the same.”

Yamato knew it was true. It was like the difference between being at a concert and seeing it on TV, but he couldn’t handle this amount of pouting from Taichi. It wasn’t even the cute pouting, it was just the annoying kind.

Taichi heaved a very heavy sigh and stilled in defeat.

No further words were spoken for a while as Taichi stared blankly up at the ceiling and Yamato continued to pluck his bass, unsure of what to say. He didn’t like seeing Taichi still upset, but was relieved that he had at least stopped whining. Though now, having nothing to focus on, Yamato’s mind began to wander. He thought of the way Taichi’s face lit up even while watching amateur games, and how euphoric he was when Yamato had gone with him to the Tokorozawa Aviation Museum. Tickets would cost more than all of Yamato’s savings he’d earned from his gigs thus far. He could borrow the remainder from his father, it wouldn’t be the first time, but it still seemed like too much to spend on a soccer match. Yet Yamato knew it would be completely worth it to see the look on Taichi’s face, not just when he gave him his ticket, but the whole way through the opening performance and the match.

“Piano Man” Taichi said suddenly.

“What?”

“The song you were playing earlier, it was ‘Piano Man’… I just remembered.”

“Oh… yeah, it was.”

“Sorry.”

Yamato smiled, “So, you want to fly with Blue Impulse one day? Or would you rather be one of the players on the field?”

“Dunno, I’m still thinking about it.”

“Me too”, Yamato responded, only to clarify a moment later, “about my future that is.”

The boys sat in silence for a few more minutes before Taichi spoke. “I like the one you were playing the other day. It was new… to me at least.”

“The other day?” Yamato had to think for a moment before he remembered. “Oh, right,” he said as a blush slowly formed on his cheeks.

“What’s that one called?”

“I don’t remember,” he lied.

“Huh? No way.” Taichi looked skeptical but didn’t pressure him further. “Can you play it again?”

Yamato didn’t respond with words but leaned his bass gently up against the side of the couch before picking up his harmonica and raising it to his lips. He blew into it and the cheerful tune of “Head Over Feet” filled the room.

Author’s Notes:

The title is a reference to the date of the match Taichi wants to go to. The match is Japan vs Belgium in the 2002 Fifa World Cup.

Takayuki Suzuki really was on the field that day. He is well known for his defensive pressure on other defenders to force them to make mistakes, that is what makes his style different from others. I actually looked up all the players that were on the field that day and chose him because I thought Taichi might single him out due to this trait.

Shout out to my friend (DeAlice)’s awesome bass playing boyfriend who tipped us off on the fact that Yamato has a 1969 Fender Mustang in 02. Due to how expensive this bass would be to purchase nowadays (and also in the early 2000s) we HC that the bass is a hand me down from his father. Unfortunately, in Tri he often has a Sting Signature bass instead of the 1969 Fender Mustang. Since the outer designs of the two are very similar, we think it’s likely an animation error on the part of the Tri animators, so we are sticking with the 1969 Fender Mustang. Plus, this fic does not take place in the Tri timeline so the 02 bass is the important one.

Also, DeAlice was the one who inspired me to make Yamato refer to his bass with female pronouns.

Blue Impulse performed at the Winter Olympics in 1998, which were held in Nagano.

Based on my research, I believe the pricing of the tickets is accurate, but don’t quote me.

I know it is never directly stated in the Adventure Universe that Taichi loves airplanes but he loves them in V-Tamer, and I choose to believe he loves them in Adventure as well. You can pry this HC from my cold dead hands! It is honestly one of my favourite things about Taichi. While we are on the subject, I also HC that Taichi’s goggles have the same backstory in Adventure as they do in V-tamer, and this is another HC you can pry from my cold dead hands.

[theeurekaproject]

Sex Gradus

"All right, Christ, I'm coming!" Athena begrudgingly got out of bed, though she took the topmost blanket with her, wrapping it around her shoulders like a cape. Whoever was at the door would just have to deal with seeing her in her pajamas; after about 22:00, she got dressed for nobody and nothing. The apocalypse could happen and she'd show up wearing a onesie; she simply couldn't be bothered.

She padded over to the door blearily, rubbing at sleep-clouded eyes. It was probably a package she'd ordered when she was drunk and decided to go on an online shopping spree. Those were always exciting, though they threatened to get her evicted for not paying rent when she spent her entire paycheck on whatever she thought looked good at 4 AM when she was wasted.

To her surprise, there was no package or envelope waiting for her. Another loud, frantic knock sounded, followed by a panicked voice. "Athena? Athena, let me in!"

"Carina?" Athena opened the door, blinking. "What the hell?" She looked like someone had decided to practice painting using her face as a canvas. Makeup swatches in very pale shades dotted her neck, and she wore foundation that was much too light to match her skin with fluorescent red lipstick that belonged on an underground meretrix more than it belonged on a Scientia. Somebody had tried to braid her hair, but her severe, shoulder-length haircut was too short for it to work, so the half-braided tendrils fell limply next to her ears. Her entire body, from head to toe, was covered in glitter.

Athena blinked. "You look like an eight year old's arts-and-craft project gone wrong."

"Yeah, I know. I know. I—" She cut herself off. "You know what? That doesn't matter. I have to talk to you. Right now."

Athena sucked in some air. "Are you in trouble? Wait, am I in trouble?"

"Maybe."

"Shit. If they ask who I am, you don't know me!" Athena didn't think they'd actually go after her for her comments, but that was foolish in retrospect—they could go after her for whatever they wanted. The Magistratum could be chasing her for any number of reasons, actually, ranging from underage drinking to movie pirating to saying things she wasn't supposed to about Alestra and her family.

"No, the police aren't after you or me or anyone, yet," Carina said, reading Athena's mind. She took a deep breath to calm herself and sat down at the edge of the messy, unmade bed, wearing an anxious expression.

"Okay." Athena felt a surge of relief, though her heart still pounded in her chest. If the police weren't involved, she was fine… probably. Now that she thought about it, Carina had a tendency to get like this. She'd done something similar last year when they took their calculus final; she came to Athena's room, panicking, at about two AM, stressing about how she'd fail and crash and burn. She took the test the next day and passed with a 98, while Athena, who hadn't even bothered to study, slid by with a 66 and a lot of notes written stealthily on her hand. Knowing Carina, this anxiety was probably because of something equally as dumb.

But she'd also just spoken with royalty earlier that day, so it was also not out of the question that she'd received bad news.

"What did Cipher want?" Athena asked, preparing herself for the worst, but expecting something mind-numbingly dull.

Carina bit her lip. "Not here. There could be bugs." "Bugs? Who would bug a Scientia's quarters?" Athena scoffed. "I'm definitely not that important." "We might be more important than you think we are."

Athena narrowed her eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just… don't trust this place. Don't trust any place where someone could possibly hide something."

"Okay, well, if there are cameras here, you're acting super shady and that's bound to raise some red flags," Athena said. "But if it'll make you feel better to go someplace else…" She was half-hoping that Carina would feel guilty about dragging her out of bed and rescind her plead to leave the apartment, but there was no such luck.

"Yes. Yes, it would." Beads of sweat rose around Carina's hairline.

Athena was surprised at that. Ordinarily, Carina was polite almost to a fault; if she was making someone get up in the middle of the night to go galavanting around all Eleutheria, there had to be a damn good reason for it. And if that reason involved the royal family—which it probably did, seeing as Carina spent all day at their oversized mansion—Athena didn't want to miss it.

"Hold on," she said, kicking off her slippers to put on more sensible sneakers. She could only find one sock, so she disregarded the thought of wearing them and figured that she'd just deal with the blisters later. "I know where we can go." "Do you, uh, want to change first?" Carina asked, eyeing Athena's stained pajamas. They were covered in the visages of the titular characters from Freep and Wuggle, a children's show featuring adorable talking aliens who taught young Scientias about the wonders and horrors of science. Athena had started watching it again semi-ironically, but she'd quickly found herself unable to stop quoting Freep's soliloquies about the nature of entropy, and her enjoyment of the show had gone from ironic to dead serious.

"You're the one who looks like a little kid who had way too much fun playing in Mommy's makeup bag, and you're asking me to change?" she asked, partially because Carina really did look that stupid, and partially she could pry Freep and Wuggle from Athena's cold, dead hands.

"Fair enough." Carina sighed. "Then let's go, quickly. It's important."

It was late enough that the lobby was almost deserted, save for occasional smatterings of nightshift workers and busied staff. A few young girls who'd clearly snuck out of the educational facility on level 361 stood in the corner, giggling and whispering; they scrambled off when Athena and Carina passed. Athena smiled at them, remembering how it felt to sneak away when she was that young—exciting, adventurous, bold. Now it was just routine.

"Okay," she said, "first, we gotta get to that creepy abandoned biologics lab a little ways down from the blood pharm on level 228 of the Trinity lab building. It's pretty dangerous there, so we're gonna have to go fast." Carina's eyes widened.

"Dangerous?"

"Yeah, there are all sorts of horrible diseases there that nobody ever thought to clean up. Don't worry too much about it, though—I've been there a bunch of times, and I only got anthrax twice."

"Anthrax?!"

"It's treatable with phage therapy, whatever that is," Athena shrugged. "Anyway, the cameras there don't work too great, since everyone's been too scared to go in and replace them since the Ebola breached containment. But I don't really want to stick around there, because bleeding out of my face holes doesn't sound fun." \

"I… I don't even want to know," Carina said, shaking her head.

"Then we have to take a different elevator all the way down to level…" She counted quickly on her fingers. "31, 30, 29, 28… 21. We have to go down to level 21. You'll see."

"That's really dangerous," Carina said shakily.

"We'll be fine. Kalyn showed me the way around."

"Okay, but do you trust Kalyn?"

"Listen, do you want to get someplace without cameras or not?" Athena asked. "Because you sure as hell won't find anywhere that's totally safe up here. Sure, the lower levels are risky, but isn't it riskier if we just stay up here and just hope and pray that nobody's watching?"

"Fine," Carina conceded. "Can't we at least wear, I don't know, masks or something? This seems—"

"Come on." Athena grabbed her arm and practically dragged her into the elevator. She stopped protesting momentarily, her features turning from irritated to worried again. Athena's heart skipped a beat. She knew she shouldn't be taking advantage of her friend's stress, but at the same time, the anticipation was impossible to ignore. If this turned out to be big, this could be her golden ticket into power and importance.

She barely breathed as she ran through the abandoned lab, primarily because she didn't want to catch super-anthrax, but also because she wanted to hear what Carina had to say so badly she found it difficult to focus on anything else. Seconds dragged on like minutes; running at top speed wasn't fast enough. By the time they piled into the dingy old elevator on the lowermost floor of the ancient complex and began plummeting down to the surface of the Earth, Athena felt like she'd burst at the seams from the stress of waiting. It took all her strength to put a finger to her lips and say "no, not yet!" when Carina opened her glittery, lip-glossy mouth.

The whole carriage shook as they sank towards the Underground, sending a rush of adrenaline through Athena's entire body and turning Carina's face a sickly green. They landed at an awkward angle in between two floors, exactly where Athena had expected. She kicked the door open—she wasn't very strong, but it was extremely corroded—and jumped out, a fall of about five feet. Carina followed hesitantly.

"This way." Athena pointed to a doorway half-covered by boxes and bright yellow tape. An illegible sign written in ancient English hung on the doorway, held to the wood with faded silvery-gray adhesive strips.

The interior of the building was a maze. It had been a functioning office once, then a historical display, then the decrepit mess it was now, a ruin smattered with crumbled walls and gaping holes where bombs had hit. It was a relic of a war that had happened a long time ago, something about the country of Arcadia; Athena hadn't paid enough attention in history class to remember the specifics. It was hallowed and hollow, burned down and burnt out, and that was all that mattered.

Through a passageway half-blocked by shards of broken glass and crushed metal pipes was the target. It was a tight squeeze, though both Scientias were short. Carina breathed sharp, claustrophobic breaths as she dodged sharp pieces of shrapnel that nobody had ever bothered to clear away after the facility was shut down. Athena remained steadfast, eyes on the reward of finally getting Carina to spill the beans.

"All right," she said, emerging from the capillary-sized passage into a larger, hollowed out space. "We're here."

"Where's here?" Carina demanded, looking afraid. She stared at the sparkling lights that surrounded them—they were cocooned in a swathe of blinking electrodes and exposed electronics, most of which were entirely nonfunctional.

"Kalyn and I found it one day when we were exploring," Athena explained. "These are the bombed-out remains of a supercomputer from like an eon ago. It was called Timotheus."

"The Timothy Davis supercomputer?" Carina asked, eyes wide. Of course she knows what that is, Athena thought. Nerd.

"Yeah, whatever you want to call it," Athena shrugged. "Anyway, Kalyn swears to me that it's totally safe in here. I don't think the government even knows this place still exists. They'd have torn it down years ago if they knew. So…." Carina opened her mouth and shut it again.

"Come on," Athena whined. "I'm dying!"

"Okay," she said, "but you have to swear not to tell anyone. It doesn't matter if what I tell you is right or not, it could get us both killed if someone found out that I knew and I told you."

"Damn, this must be pretty important." Athena tried to sound chill, but inside she was quivering.

"So all that elaborate stuff was just, well, Aleskynn being Aleskynn," Carina began. "You know how she is—well, you've never met her, but she acts exactly like how you'd expect a princess with all the money in the world and absolutely no responsibilities to act. Like–"

"Like a spoiled brat."

"Yeah. I mean, she has some redeeming qualities, but—okay, wait, I'm gonna ramble again." Carina took another steadying breath. "So, we were talking, and she kind of offhandedly mentioned that everyone in the royal court hates Acidalia. And apparently she's not exaggerating; they really, really, really dislike her, to the point where most if not all of them want her dead."

Athena was, admittedly, slightly surprised by that. "Really? Most people I know don't hate her, even if they don't love her, either. She's better than her mother, supposedly."

"Well, according to Aleskynn, they absolutely detest her. I don't know if you knew this, but she's not legitimate—at least not in the purest sense of the word. She has a claim to the throne under the Code, but it breaks tradition, and they do not like that. And she's also half-Martian."

"I did know that." Athena thought back to a few months ago when someone had called her a tinfoil hatter because she'd made a comment about it. Screw you, Maevyx from Biologics, she thought. I'll show you.

"But that's not all of it," Carina continued. "Aleskynn also said that nearly every noble house is planning to kill her at some point—"

"Aren't they always threatening to kill each other?"

"Yes, but this is different. Since when has Generalis gotten along with Vulgaris and Communia? Agrestis hates every other noble house in the court, yet somehow they're in agreement with everyone else about hating a Cipher, but just this one specific Cipher. That sounds weird, doesn't it?" Athena nodded, feeling gears turn in her head. Truth be told, she didn't know half as much about the intricacies of the court as Carina did; she always envisioned herself among the nouveau-riche rather than with the stuffy old-money aristocrats someday. But if any of the (admittedly terrible) fantasy films she'd seen were right, it was rare for every noble house to suddenly agree with each other. That just didn't happen when people were constantly grappling for power.

"That's very weird," Athena said. "And suspicious."

"So I sort of, kind of mentioned that to Aleskynn—how strange it is, I mean. And she all but admitted that nearly everyone with the court is working with the Novagenetica."

"What." Athena said it flatly, like it wasn't a question.

"And they're going to assassinate Acidalia sometime this week," Carina added, her voice dropping to a whisper. "House Generalis—the same house that pulled a gun on her at the coronation—says she'll be dead in two days."

"Wait, you mean there's an actual plot to assassinate her right now?" Athena asked, eyes wide. "And Aleskynn told you about this, like it was nothing?!"

"Not just a plot to kill her, a plot to do it and pin it on someone else, just like they did with that soldier boy. And I was very much not supposed to tell you about anything. I'm still questioning whether telling you was even a good idea, but I figured you're the only person I know who has some ability to help me."

"That's fair. For all my shortcomings, I am pretty well-connected." Athena smirked. She felt like a side character in a cyberpunk movie, like a badass hacker the protagonist would just happen to come across after receiving a tip from a shady guy in a bar. She knew absolutely nothing whatsoever about hacking—she could barely make her laptop run a simple word processor—but it was still a nice feeling, so she relished it as much as possible. "Did she tell you anything else?"

Carina shook her head. "I don't think she honestly knew much else. I mean, she's Aleskynn Cipher, she's not well-known for being perceptive and shady."

"Ain't that the truth." Athena recalled an interview of Aleskynn that she'd read in a gossip magazine once. They kept asking her about political issues and her sister's ascent to the throne, and she'd responded with nonsense every time. It was like when Athena was a little kid and she answered every science question with some bullshit about photosynthesis—she had no idea what it meant, but it sounded like sufficiently big word. The whole interview was like that, but Aleskynn used words like "antidisestablishmentarialism" instead.

"She did, however, tell me that she'd make me a royal advisor if—when—she took the throne, though," Carina added. "I'm not sure if she'd ever actually do that, or if her mother would let her."

"A bunch of Nova maniacs letting a Scientia into a position of power?" Athena asked, suspicious. "Something tells me that wouldn't happen."

"Something tells me you're right," Carina agreed. "I don't think she really realizes the consequences of what they're planning on doing. Talking to her is like talking to someone who's lived in a bubble their whole life. She was going on and on about how great it would be when she became the Imperatrix, but had no idea what she'd actually do once the crown was hers. She literally told me 'well, that's what advisors are for, isn't it?' As far as assassinating her older sister... she acts like it's totally normal and consequence-free."

"Wow, either she's a total sociopath or they had a really shitty relationship." Athena said.

"I think it's the second one... well, I don't know if I'd define it as shitty. More like nonexistent. Aleskynn thinks Acidalia is a 'Martian whore,' and I don't know what Acidalia thinks of her because I've never seen them interact with each other."

"Well, if someone called me a Martian whore, I probably wouldn't want to talk to her, either." Athena suddenly felt bad for the Imperatrix—both because seemingly everyone wanted her dead, and because growing up with someone as annoying as Aleskynn Cipher sounded horrific.

Carina sighed. "I suppose that's besides the point now, though. All I know is that they're going to kill Acidalia, and they're going to do it soon. And that means seven more years of Alestra—"

"Yikes."

"And then Aleskynn will be on the throne with her for God knows how long," Carina finished. "And even though I don't hate Aleskynn, she would be an awful empress."

"Agreed." Athena didn't know Acidalia whatsoever, but she had to be better than her mother or her sister—not that the bar was set very high. Still, having a semi-competent Imperatrix was far better than having a bunch of Nova fascists and one stupid tween at the helm of the solar system's biggest empire. There had to be some way to stop her from dying.

Athena racked her brain for a solution. It was as simple as letting Acidalia know somehow what her family was planning—if she knew the lengths they were willing to go to get her out of the line of succession, she might be able to get the hell out of there before someone put a bullet through her brain. But how on Terra could they just talk to the Imperatrix Ceasarina of Eleutheria like that? Athena didn't really know how royalty really worked, but she was pretty sure Acidalia-Planitia Cipher didn't just have a phone number or email address to send a warning to.

She thought briefly of direct messaging her on social media, then immediately dismissed that as a stupid idea. Acidalia probably got trillions of messages a day—she would never notice anything Athena sent. Besides, she probably didn't even manage her own accounts.

No, it would have to be someone close to her—someone who could walk up to her and be listened to. A noblewoman, probably, or some insanely high-ranking soldier or police chief. Even then, they'd have to be friendly with her. Otherwise she'd be wary of listening to them—if so many people truly wanted her dead, she wouldn't be willing to take what a stranger told her at face value. (That is, if she had an IQ higher than 4, which Athena somewhat doubted, seeing as she was related to Aleskynn.)

But who was high-ranking, had direct access to the palace, and had a friendly relationship with Acidalia Cipher? Athena couldn't think of anyone, especially not anyone she knew.

"I don't know what we're supposed to do," Carina confessed, looking lost. "I don't even know why I told you. It's not like we can change anything."

"No, I'll come up with something." Athena suddenly remembered a concept she'd learned in a communications class they'd made her take in eighth year. She'd thought it was so stupid at the time—why would an Astrophysica need a communications class? But they had told her one useful thing—the theory of six degrees of separation. No one person was really separated from another; the world was a network. If person A was trying to reach person B, there was a virtually guaranteed chance that A knew someone who knew someone who knew someone and so on, all the way until someone knew someone who knew person B. If you knew the right people, you could reach anyone in a relatively small amount of steps.

But who were the right people?

Athena thought of the most important people she knew. Most of them were work bosses, people who only slightly higher ranking than she was. She knew Carina, who knew Aleskynn, who knew Acidalia, but there was no way she could go that route when Aleskynn was actively trying to kill her own sister.

But, outside of the normal chain of command, there were other ways to gain power. They were less legitimate, less common, and less legal, but those pathways still existed. And Athena knew Kalyn, whose mother was supposedly a leader in some criminal enterprise. If she truly was as powerful as Kalyn made her sound, she'd probably made bribes with some wealthy Magistratum, who probably knew politicians, who knew more politicians... and the chain continued, all the way until someone knew the highest-ranking politician ever.

"Okay," Athena said. "This is a long shot, but I have a plan."

[russellthornton]

How to Read a Girl & Recognize the Subtle Hints She Drops Your Way

Girls are intricate creatures. I get it. But, learning how to read a girl doesn’t have to be rocket science. Let’s break it down, shall we?

You want to understand the complex layers that is a woman. You want to understand how to read a girl. I’m going to tell you, because SURPRISE: I am a girl.

Speaking as a girl, and on behalf of girls, I can safely say girls are intense. We have a wide-spread of emotions, layers, and intricacies that make us who we are. But we aren’t alone is this, boys are unique all on their own. Boys are just as hard to read some days, but that’s not why you are here, is it?

The importance of knowing how to read a girl

Well, first of all, there is a fair chance you might end up dating one of them. Maybe you never will, in which case, this is still important because you will deal with girls for the rest of your life *aren’t you lucky*. Your mother, your sister, your friends, your boss, your coworkers—the list of girls in your life is infinite.

Since they are all around you, it is vital that you understand the inner workings of a woman. *Why yes, I did just quote a Little Dicky song—bet you didn’t see that one coming*. [Read: 10 reasons why you don’t understand girls]

Why people find it so difficult to read a girl

Well, I will be the first to admit it—girls are difficult. Just in general. We never know what we want to eat for dinner, where we want to go, or what movie we want to watch. We are incredibly indecisive as a gender, and I don’t think that is ever going to change.

We say one thing, and we really mean another thing, and as girls—we get it. Sometimes we fail to remember that perhaps our male counterparts don’t understand our secret lingo or mixed messages. Sorry, guys. [Read: Girl things that guys just don’t understand]

The secret’s out: How to read a girl

Since I’m speaking on behalf of all women out there *Oh, my goodness who gave me this much power, and why?!*, I’m going to do the world a favor, and explain our methods. As my fourth-grade math teacher used to say, “There is a method to my madness.”

Okay, so sometimes there really is no method, and we are just going in blind. But often times, we know what we are doing, okay? At least we think we know what we are doing. The following is a list of things we say and do, and what they actually mean.

#1 Silence isn’t always golden. If we are being quiet, there’s a reason for it. We like to chat, even though we may say otherwise. Perhaps we ignore you because you did something offensive or just ignorant. Think about your actions in the past few days, even if it seems small, I can guarantee there is a deeper meaning for us. [Read: What men should do when given the silent treatment]

#2 “I don’t want to talk about it” is false. Like I just said, we like to chat. We almost always want to talk about it, even if we say otherwise. It might be incredibly painful to talk about, but deep down we really do want to talk about it and get it out in the open.

But be careful here: Don’t pry. Just sit with us and wait. Be patient, because it might take a while to build the courage to actually express how we are feeling. Reassuring us that you are there to listen, whenever we are ready to talk, really goes a long way. [Read: Ways to become a better listener in your relationship]

#3 Eyes on the prize. If we are staring into your eyes during conversation, take the hint. It means we are interested in you, at least on some level. If you are just starting to get to know each other and having intimate conversations, pay attention to where her eyes land. If she is staring at everything but your eyes, then she might be interested in something else.

But if she stares at your body *up and down, and side to side*, and seems uninterested in the topic at hand, she might be interested in your body and not your intellect. Decide where you want this relationship to go from here.

#4 Not everything is actually funny. I’m not entirely sure why we do this, but its 100% fact. If you want to know how to read a girl, you need to remember that we’ve been programmed to laugh at people that we are attracted to, even if they really aren’t funny. If she laughs at everything you say, then she’s into you, dude.

#5 A gentle graze might mean something more. If you are walking together or working on something together and she makes efforts to casually touch you, she might be testing the waters to see if there is a spark. You might not even notice that this is happening, but pay close attention from now on, because a lot of times it means something more than what it appears on the surface.

#6 Compliments, compliments, compliments. This is what women do, even if she is just trying to make friends with somebody, she will find something to compliment about them. When dealing with other women that I meet for the first time, I try to compliment them on an article of clothing or their hair/makeup.

It’s an easy in, and it works for romantic partners too. She might say “You have such nice curls” or “You’re really passionate about what you do, I admire that.” Pay close attention to the way she says these things as well. [Read: 15 body language cues a girl gives away if she’s falling for you]

#7 Sugar and spice. To partner with my last point, women often try to come off as sweet and gentle when trying to attract a mate *wow, that sounded like something you would hear on the Discovery Channel*. Her tone of voice around you may become lighter and more kind, because as women we want to appear nurturing and sweet. I’m not sure why, but it seems to work.

#8 Just give me a reason. Does she seemingly find reasons to text you or message you? Before I started dating my boyfriend, we worked together, and as a group, we had all planned to go see a movie together. I opted to text my then co-worker *now boyfriend* to invite him to the event. It seemed nonchalant and really was just a reason to start talking to him.

#9 Asking questions. Does she ask intimate questions about your childhood or personal life? If she seems genuinely interested in you, she probably is. Don’t second guess it. [Read: Fun and flirty questions to ask a girl to get to know her better]

#10 Domestic AF. Again, it’s just in our nature to be domestic. So, if she bakes you cookies or does something “house wifey” take the dang hint. She wants you to know that she is wife material, and is worth pursuing. Give her a shot, but only if her cookies are good.

#11 “How do I look” is a loaded question. No matter what, if she asks you “how do I look” respond with “like a super model” or something to that effect. No woman ever wants to hear that she looks bad, okay? Throw sugar on that pile of gorgeous woman you have, no matter what.

#12 Emojis mean everything. Listen, real talk about how to read a girl that you can never ignore: If a girl sends you emojis, that means something in in this text savvy era. If she takes the time to send them, it means she actually cares about your conversation and wants to be cute by sending emojis. Emojis are everything. [Read: How to decode the meanings of the colorful heart emojis]

#13 “Damn Jackie, I can’t control the weather.” Don’t pull a Kelso. If a girl says she’s cold, it means she wants your jacket, or she wants to be held. C’mon guys, this one’s a dead giveaway.

[Read: 11 keys to unlocking the mysteries of women]

It may be challenging to learn how to read a girl, but once you begin to open your mind and think like a girl, it all becomes a little bit easier. Get creative. You will master the art of girl in no time.

The post How to Read a Girl & Recognize the Subtle Hints She Drops Your Way is the original content of LovePanky - Your Guide to Better Love and Relationships.