#literally any time I hear someone talk about Spectrum it's to complain about it being shit

[roboromantic]

idk how prevalent this is in other parts of the US, much less the world so for context: There's usually a couple tables set up at the local Walmarts for Spectrum representatives to try and get you to sign up for for their internet service.

I've never really seen them move all that far from the tables but for whatever reason, today one of them decided to come all the way to the other end of the aisle to ask me who my ISP was. Normally I just say Spectrum and they're like "Cool! bye"

But this guy followed it up with "How's it been going for you?" and. *stares directly into the camera, which then cuts to a montage of my internet being Really slow and constantly cutting out for the past fucking week* "Bad"

[hunterssm00n]

Brighter Than the Sun

Lex is starting to feel like herself again after the events on Bouvetoya Island... with a little help from a tall, dreadlocked knight in shining armor at her side! | Lex/Scar |

part 1 of 3

my Scar & Lex series on ao3: here

*no cw, just humor and fluff*

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧‎♡‧₊˚

hunterssm00n © All rights reserved by me. I do not allow this work to be used or adapted in any way without my permission.

For the first time in forever, Lex Woods awoke without all the lights on.

Her first thought, ironically, being wow, my electric bill isn't gonna be completely outrageous this time. Aside from her silly self jibe, it really did feel like an accomplishment. Stretching luxuriously in her bed, the rays from the sun being the only light source through the curtains, she felt better than she had in a long time.  

A lot of things contributed to this, like the fact that a year and three months later, she was finally allowing herself to move on. She wasn't ignorant to think that she could ever move on completely - she already knew this would be a scar she would bear forever (both literally and figuratively). But she could accept it for what it was, and she could forgive herself.  

It didn't hurt that she also had her partner in crime back. That was a positive.  

A smile crossed her lips as she lazed in her bed, folding her arms under her pillow behind her head. She had managed to befriend an extraterrestrial from another planet... If someone had told her ten years ago that that would await her in the future, she would've laughed in their face and told them they needed counseling. Right now it didn't sound nearly as silly as it had a few days after the incident had happened; it was a bit more believable in her mind now that she'd spent over a year thinking about it (and now a few months living it, breathing it, etc.). And now, this creature, this alien - this guy was now her best friend in the whole world (and beyond, she liked to tease herself by thinking). This thing they had been through together had indeed been horrible, but it had brought them together.  

As much as Lex hated the fact, she knew that it was because of this reason that she couldn't wish Bouvetoya hadn't happened. She wished with all her heart that there hadn't been casualties (on either side of the spectrum, as Scar had lost brothers as well), but if they hadn't gone in the first place, then there wouldn't have ever been the possibility of the two of them meeting. It was a small world, but what would the chances of meeting have been if it hadn't happened on the island? And if by some chance they had met, what would the circumstances have been? And also, what would the actual meeting have been like? Probably would've made my skull into one of his trophies he adores so much. She shuddered at the thought - her friend definitely had some interesting hobbies.  

In the past three months, Scar had figured out that she was not at all impressed by his human skull trophies, and absolutely did not want to hear about them. Begrudgingly, but understanding why, he didn't prod her about his escapades on Earth - unless of course he was describing scenery or something else that he'd seen. That is, describing being using all of clicking, hand motions, growling and broken english. It was kind of like charades, except he was able to speak some english, so it wasn't a complete guessing game. And the more he saw her, the more he learned. She knew he could understand everything she said - it was just getting him to actually talk to her in her own language that was a trial. Not that she minded - he didn't need to do that to make her happy.  

Really, he didn't need to do anything to make her happy other than exist. It sounded really cheesy, but she felt more connected with him, an alien, than she did with anyone on her home planet. She suspected that he felt the same; otherwise, he wouldn't be visiting her as frequently as he did.  

And she certainly wasn't complaining. In fact, she actually was attempting to figure a lot out for the near future, such as how the hell she was going to cope with her feelings for him.  

Lex sighed, crossing one leg over the other under her sheets. It was certainly a dilemma in her mind. She didn't even know if he could feel such a thing, himself. It worried her more than she would ever let on. Idly, her finger stroked the warrior mark on her cheek, the fingers of her left hand tracing the familiar edges. This would eat her alive if she didn't get it out, and no one in her life knew about Scar but herself. Her therapist didn't even know that she had interacted with, ahem, aliens during her nightmare journey.  

Maybe she would start by asking if his species had such a thing as partnership, of the romantic aspect. Yeah, that sounded innocent enough. He probably wouldn't question her motives, and if he did, she would just pass it off as curiosity.  

The fact that she actually cared what he thought about her said something. She didn't care what anybody thought of her; she never had.  

Lex knew how crazy it sounded to have a romantic interest in an alien - she was a rational minded woman, of course. But no one knew her quite like he did. No one understood her, but he came pretty damn close. No one made her feel like he did. Through all the time they'd spent together in the past few months, on his various visits to her planet, it had become even more clear. She sounded corny as hell, even to herself. She'd had boyfriends before, but never had she felt this strongly; like the God damn love bug bit her right in the heart.  

She could go on all day... Laying there, in her bed, feeling content for the first time in a long time, another thought came to her, and it made her snort: Who knew it would take a seven-foot-something humanoid with dreadlocks and mandibles to make her swoon.    

Wow.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧‎♡‧₊˚

AN: I do not own the Alien vs Predator franchise or any of it's characters. Karen is an OC made up by me. I also do not own the song 'Brighter Than the Sun' by Colbie Caillat.

part two

[icantspeakspanish]

Being Seijoh‘s queer manager - Headcanons

Ship: Platonic!Oikawa x Platonic!Reader / Platonic!Iwaizumi x Platonic!Reader / Platonic!Hanamaki x Platonic!Reader / Platonic!Matsukawa x Platonic!Reader

Warnings: actually none. It’s just fluff and maybe the 3rd years flipping of some mean people

masterlist

A/n: I recently can’t stop thinking about headcanons to that, so enjoy I guess🕳🚶

Coming out to them

Oikawa Tooru

Okay listen

Oikawa pays SO MUCH attention to his friends

Like, if you’re looking at a person longer than u look at other people, this mf will notice that right then and there

Don’t worry, he wont just point that out

Maybe he‘ll drop some dumb comments like the dumb clown he is, but he wont spill anything

Oikawa is going to be more observing

One day you just hang out with him

and this shithead has a fucking plan

I do not kid you when I‘m telling u he has a whole maSTERPLAN??😀

both of you are on your own phone, you scrolling though Instagram liking memes about ur closeted sexuality and laughing inside, I see you

Then Oikawa plays on purpose one song

„Me and your girlfriend playin' dress up at my house..“

You immediately freeze

🎶👹Don’t be suspicious, don’t be suspicious👹🎶

You literally try so hard to sent a gaze on Oikawas phone without him noticing

LMFAO NOT U FAILING

Anyways

You see in the upper corner of your eye how Oikawa is grinning SO BOLD AT YOU BYE

Brb, just getting a tomato to complain it to your face❤️

Tbh, he wasn’t even sure till you turned red like there ain’t no other choice

You just acted obvious as fU-

Oikawa will deadass laugh at your confused face, but then hug you

„Why didn’t you say anything? I could‘ve get you a significant other so much earlier???“

Slap him pls

After you tell him that you just felt really anxious or something like that, Oikawa will hug you again

He will tell you that he loves you no matter what and that he‘s sure the team will too

Oikawa will absolutely get you like a pride flag to surprise you

He‘s so proud of you and happy you told him🥺

Oikawa will literally look in public out for a partner for u 💀

Put a leash on that piece of crap, or I will

If you’re part of the asexual spectrum, Oikawa will make sure no one is making you uncomfortable and to know your boundaries about jokes, touching, etc.

Will text u things like

„Y/N PLEASE DON‘T TELL ME U DATE THEM?? IS U BLIIIIIIND?????!“

Hit him

„If you have to reject this dipshit one more time, I‘ll let Iwaizumi and Kyiotani go WiLD😐“

Love him

„If you wont make a move on them, I will🤨“

Throw him off a bridge

Oikawa is always going to be there for you, ready to let his fangirls flip off everyone who just looks the wrong way at you

He just loves you and wants u to be happy🥺

HE‘S STILL RUDE ASHSDJDN

Iwaizumi Hajime

Iwa isn’t suspecting anything

Sure, he cares about you, but he doesn’t care about which gender u love

He doesent think that is any of his business, he just wants u to be happy and treaten well and taken care of

Pls I love him

since Iwaizumi wont suspect anything, you’ll have to make the first move into this conversation.

So when you and Iwa walk home after practice it seems like the perfect time

You don’t know how to start, so you sorta just blurt that shit out

„Iwaizumi?“

„What‘s up?“

„I‘m ____“

„Okay.“

Your legs stop moving

You look at him like 👁👄👁

he be having the audacity to stop walking and ask you what’s wrong

„Did you understand what I just said?“

„Yeah, why?“

Y/n.exe stopped working

„WHY DO YOU JUST SAY „OKAY“ LIKE A FOOL?!“

„EXCUSE ME?“

Iwaizumi.exe crashed too

„What else am I supposed to say?! You’re my friend, I don’t care which gender you having sex with!“

He ain’t good with words I‘m sorry🧑‍🦯

Will ruffle you’re hair and tell you not to worry, he can beat up any gender😩👌

I actually don’t think he‘d ask you questions. He doesen’t want to make you uncomfortable and just googles about it if there’s anything he doesen’t understand. Iwaizumi is actually pretty invested and wants to learn about your sexuality since one of his closest friends just came out to him.

If anyone is being rude to you, Iwaizumi will pop off

If he’s shopping or smth like that and sees something with pride colors / your flag colors, he will buy that and give it to you

Definitely ready to beat up anyone who tries to insult you because of your sexuality

Radiates big protective dad energy and wants to meet your partner before y’all go out

Iwa just wants you to stay safe

10/10 would recommend marriage 💯

Hanamaki Takahiro

„Are you gay?“

You look pale into his face

„whAT?!“

LMFAO I‘D BE CONFUSED TOO

„Is that a yes?“

„MAKKI!“

I don‘t even know why, but he would definitely know

Not your sexuality EXACTLY, but he knows you ain’t straight

Makki also uses that as an explanation and tells you you didn’t looked hetero from the start

Excuse you-

He‘s just a natural i guess

You tell him then what your actual sexuality is and Hanamaki is so chill about it

Will smile at you and tell you that he‘s proud of you and maybe apologizing for blurting that shit out of the blue

If someone is making you uncomfortable in anyway, Hanamaki will hunt them down to make them apologize

he will sent you some lgbtq+ memes and capture it with „That reminds me of u“

Matsukawa Issei

Hear me out

He makes jokes often

and since you (as seijohs manager) hang out with them often, both of you joke often

like y’all have some insiders, you give joking answers to his jokes

so when you and Mattsun went out to get drinks, he was joking as usual

„He/she’d be a great fiancé. dont you think?“

U look in the direction he’s pointing and see a friend group who’s chatting

„Naaah. His/her friend looks hotter“

u actually said that without thinking and as soon as you realize u started to blush and look to him

Matsukawa still looks into that direction.

„you’re right, they got that dumptruck“ BYE

„Matsukawa Issei, I knew youre an ass dude!“

pls y’all are so casual

after that he asks you if you meant that and really are interested in this gender

„wait that’s ___, right?“

you nod a bit surprised because you didn’t expect him to know the name of your sexuality

WOULD SENT YOU MEMES TOO AND ASK PEOPLE OUT FOR YOU BYE

Matsukawa looks intimidating like Iwaizumi, but he‘d joke around with your date tbh

but if they’re being shitty to you, Matsukawa won’t hesitate to sent them to hell

as long as they won’t hurt you physically, he will make so mean jokes, always pick a fight with them and is SO sarcastic towards them💀

mattsun also made you a playlist with like pride songs

Going to a Pride parade with them!!

OIKAWA IS SO EXCITED JABSNFBXB

He will absolutely wear a pride flag and be SO proud

he‘ll tries to make some friends for you so you have some people who‘re like you

hes a dumbass, sorry<\3

when you ask Iwaizumi to come with you and the team, he will firstly act annoyed and like he doesen’t want to go but Oikawa drags him anyway dw

if there’s like rainbow ice he will buy it for you what a sugar daddy

Iwaizumi will act annoyed and bored for most of the time, but as soon as you look two seconds away from him and turn back around, this men has rainbow flags on both of his cheeks🥺

someone also gave him a small pride flag and he’s swinging it since then the entire time GOD I‘M SO DOWN FOR SOFT IWAIZUMI PLEASE

some guys talked to him because they thought he’s 💅🏻 and hot and Oikawa let out a scream BAHAHA

Iwa explained himself so politely tho<3

Hanamaki found SO MANY FRIENDS GOODBYE

ofc he and matsukawa bought this thing with what you can draw those rainbow flags on your cheeks and they put it on Oikawas, yours, Iwaizumis and their own face

actually they have now rainbowflags all over their body because they think they look cool🧚‍♀️

and they will protect you from creeps <3

remember when I said Mattsun made a playlist for you? Oikawa‘s blasting that shit and dancing to it ofc he danced with you duh

after that day, Hanamaki changed y’all’s gc name to „y/n‘s protection squad“

[ramblings-of-a-mad-cat]

I've never met ANYONE who actually likes the Chibnall era. Would you seriously say that it's objectively good?

Brace yourself for unpopular (albeit positive) opinions.

Objectively? I don't know, I tend to feel like media is very much subjective and down to opinion. But on the whole...yeah. I'm gonna say yeah. I think the Chibnall era thus far is every bit as good as the Moffat Era and Davies Era were. It actually blows my mind to see the fandom come together and almost universally agree that the show has gone downhill. It's part of the reason why I kind of stepped away from the Doctor Who fandom because there's something very demoralizing about re-watching clips from Season 12 and seeing literally every comment just talk about how the show is ruined. And if I re-watch old clips, very often I come across comments that talk about how the show "used to" be good, and should have ended with Twelve, etc. I know a little reluctance toward the new Doctor can be part of the transition process, but normally the fans are over it by now.

Things haven't really changed.

I've been re-watching Twelve's era, and found a new appreciation for him. But I re-watched Thirteen's era right beforehand, and you know what? It holds up. Season 11 is remarkably strong. I can't think of a single "bad" episode in that season. It focuses on the characters, and thus it doesn't have nearly as strong ambitions, compared to one of the Moffat seasons, which were clever but often convoluted. They couldn't always stick the landing. (Looking at you, Season 6) But every has it's good parts and it's bad. The same man who wrote The Wedding of River Song and betrayed the entire season's storyline in the process...also wrote The Doctor Falls, which is probably my favorite final episode of any season ever. The Chibnall Era is the same way. The Tsuranga Conundrum isn't really a bad episode, it's just kind of forgettable, apart from the Pting. But then it is immediately followed up by Demons of the Punjab, which is an exceptional story in every way. I want the Thijurians to return for Thirteen's regeneration, I'm saying it.

My point being that even if there are episodes you can't stand in the new era, is that really exclusive to Chibnall? All the way back in Season 1, they had The Long Game, which I remember disliking, but it was sandwiched between Dalek and Father's Day, which are in my opinion, the two best episodes of that season. A lot of people don't like Orphan 55, for example. But it's followed up by Nikola Tesla's Night of Terror. Does anyone really dislike that episode? You're valid if you do, but I think it's really good. Ask me about any episode in the Chibnall Era, and I'll find something to like about it. (Except maybe Arachnids in the UK...and that one's not even bad, just kind of weak.) Because like I said, there is good and bad in every season...and I do think that the fandom has overblown how "bad" the Chibnall Era is...though that may be in part because I think this era is generally good? Incredible companions, solid episodes, a great Doctor, and hey...this era actually made the Daleks scary again. That is impressive. Even most of the hated episodes, like Orphan 55 as I mentioned...I enjoy them.

I stand by that. I think this era is great. If anything, I don't like that they reduced how many episodes we get, because some of these stories, like The Witchfinders and It Takes You Away especially Fugitive of The Judoon, are just begging to be two-parters. Spyfall is the only real two-parter we've had, in my opinion (Ascension of the Cybermen and The Timeless Children feel like two separate stories to me) and the episode was much stronger for having the extra time. If I have one genuine criticism with the Chibnall Era as a whole, it is the stark contrast between Seasons 11 and 12. I love Season 11, I thought it was beautiful. I like it far more than most people. I also truly enjoyed Season 12. But they are worlds apart, with Season 11 feeling so standalone and Season 12 picking up with a big storyline that really hadn't been hinted at all in the previous outing. The tone is also different, with The Doctor and "the fam" having a distance between them that seems to have developed offscreen in between seasons. It was as though Chibnall wanted to give everyone a breather from big overarching plots after the Moffat Era, but then after one season he decided "break's over" because he wanted to tell his story. And that's okay! It is. But it's jarring. Anyway, let's talk about Chibnall's storyline. You know where this is going.

"That" episode.

I meant what I said before. There isn't a single episode that I actively hate as much as say, Listen. Now let's get very controversial, because I know what y'all are thinking. "Not even The Timeless Children?" And I'll just get this out of the way right now: I don't think The Timeless Children, or it's twist, ruins Doctor Who. I don't think it gets anywhere close. I mentioned before that I was demoralized reading the comments on a clip of Doctor Who...to no one's surprise, it was this episode. Now, I may just be biased...after all, I didn't even hate Hell Bent. But while I have my criticisms of Season 12, The Doctor's revised backstory accounts for exactly none of them. You want to know what really bothers me? That we had a seven season buildup to Gallifrey's rescue, a nine season buildup to it's return...only for the show to do nothing with it, and then just destroy it again a couple of seasons later. As someone who loved The Day of The Doctor, I'm mad about that. Among other reasons, destroying Gallifrey is the kind of card you can really only play once.

So no, I don't think The Timeless Children is perfect. The Doctor had a seven season character arc culminating in them learning the lesson that using The Moment would be wrong, and that it was never okay to do something like that. To hear her even consider using The Death Particle, that "Or, a solution" line in response to Ryan appropriately reacting in horror? Yeah, that upset me. I don't like that Gallifrey is gone again, and even if The Doctor wasn't the one to do it, she almost did, and she left someone else to do it in her stead. That bothers me more than The Timeless Child ever could. That being said...the Timeless Child doesn't bother me. Seriously, it blows my mind that people act like this twist ruins Doctor Who. It...really doesn't, guys.

It does not insult the legacy of William Hartnell. He is still The First Doctor. It's not like there isn't a precedent for secret incarnations from The Doctor's past. We didn't start calling Christopher Eccleston The Tenth Doctor after we found out about John Hurt. Nothing can change The First Doctor's status or take it away, nor do I think Chibnall is trying. He is doing what I've actually wanted Doctor Who to do for a while. Give us a story about The Doctor's childhood. (Listen doesn't count, I don't care, that was all kinds of bad.) Let me ask you, what does this really change? I've seen people complain about the revision of The Doctor's history...but there's a precedent for that too. We could play bingo with how many times Clara fundamentally altered or influenced the show's history. She is the reason he started traveling, the reason he chose his Tardis, and the reason he saved Gallifrey. Why doesn't that bother people, if this does?

I also understand it if people dislike this change because they feel as though it makes The Doctor a kind of chosen one, compared to them having just been an average person who wanted to make a difference. I get that. However, this is down to interpretation, and there are so many ways to interpret The Doctor. Some people love it when The Doctor goes dark, other people cannot stand it and view it as out of character. Some people love it when The Doctor is heroic and badass, when they save the day...others would prefer that they take the backseat, teaching the humans how to save the day themselves. "The man who makes people better." And which interpretation you get, where it falls on the spectrum...it will vary from writer to writer. Moffat loved to make everything about The Doctor, and Davies frequently compared him to an angel or a god. This is not the first time that the show has portrayed The Doctor as a godlike being. It's not even close to the first time. And honestly? I don't think this makes The Doctor special or supernatural. I think it makes them a victim, nothing more. A victim of child abuse.

People also disliked this episode for removing the mystery behind The Doctor...but I fail to see how it did that? There are so. Many. Questions. That this finale opens up. Where did The Doctor come from? How and why did they get to our universe? What exactly is The Division? What went down between them and The Doctor? Where is Tecteun? (No, she's not Rassilon...) As the Masters asks, "What did they do to you, Doctor? How many lives have you had?" Amid all of the comments that made me sad, I did see a great one about how the original creator of Doctor Who actually didn't like it when they introduced the Timelords, because she felt that it boxed the show in and removed the mystery behind The Doctor, and how "She would have loved this episode." I agree with that. (Still salty that they destroyed Gallifrey though...) You know, I am genuinely interested in this story and where it's going to go, especially with the sixtieth anniversary approaching. But it depresses me that they might scale it back now, after how much the fandom has risen up against it. Not that I'm saying the fans shouldn't be happy, but...it's clear that a story is trying to be told here, and I think it should have that chance.

To each their own, of course. But I will never understand why this era is so hated.

[askaceattorney]

These are letters regarding the situation that recently transpired. After this, we will no longer be answering any letters regarding politics. All of us agree that this blog needs to strictly stay out of politics. In truth, politics should never have been the center of this blog. After this, any letter regarding politics or the situation will be deleted.

This is a blog that focuses on answering letters to Ace Attorney canon characters. It does not discriminate anyone or any mod based on race, gender, sexual orientation, religion, politics, etc. and such actions are not tolerated. If you believe one of our mods is discriminating for whatever reason, show solid evidence and we will handle this privately. A support for a former or current president of a country is not proof of discrimination and neither are political memes posted on a personal account.

(More Politics Ahead)

Dear rogertheegg,

Co-Mod: Nope. Everyone’s welcome here, regardless of political leanings.  I’m afraid I’m as clueless as you are about what exactly happened with the two former Mods (they didn’t even say anything to me about it), but it’s all water under the bridge as far as I’m concerned.

Mod Edgeworth: Absolutely not! I have never tolerated political discrimination. You are allowed to believe whatever politics you want.

Dear kunaiman,

Co-Mod: High five.

Mod Edgeworth: Thank you very much for your support.

Dear Mistakes,

Mod Edgeworth: I’m not going to go into anything else regarding my politics, but I will state my reason for outing myself: I’m doing this for Co-Mod.  I do consider him a friend of sorts and I do not wish for him to have to suffer this blowback alone. So, if you want to state your grievances, go ahead.

Know this though, I am still the same mod you have met and have never hidden my character from any of you. My politics do not define my character and neither does Co-Mod’s politics define his character. The same goes for anyone else. I’m just someone that leans Conservative and voted for Trump. If that makes me a bad person, even if I do stand against any discrimination, then I will gladly accept it.

Co-Mod: So, here’s the truth about me, Donald Trump, the MAGA Committee, etc. (and this is from the horse’s mouth, so anyone who says otherwise is lying) -- I’ve never been a huge fan of the guy, but I supported the good things he did and wanted to do during his presidency -- creating jobs, draining the political swamp, promoting patriotism, and so on -- and for that, I feel no shame.  I also wished he could’ve kept his big mouth shut about a lot of things, but overall, I saw him as someone who stood up for people who’d been largely ignored before he came along -- namely, middle class Americans. If you see him and his presidency differently, I won’t hold anything against you for it, so I respectfully ask that you do the same for me.

Dear Anonymous,

Mod Edgeworth: Don’t worry, I know who you are. You maybe under anonymous, but when we receive your letter, it isn’t anonymous lol. What we do is place your letter in photoshop and get rid of all your identity. Thank you for your support and I agree.

This blog will continue, even if it’s under a very few of us. I will allow everyone to display their grievances in the comment section. They have just as much right as Co-Mod and I do.

If there’s anyone I wish for you to support, it’s Co-Mod. He’s the one being the most effected by all of this. I don’t believe politics should have been involved or that we should have to justify why we believe in our politics. Neither have to do with our love for Ace Attorney.

Dear I’m still surprised,

Mod Edgeworth: I’m guessing this is for Co-Mod, because it doesn’t seem like you’ve read my own defense. I literally stated that both Co-Mod and I support LGBT and that the letters deleted because of shipping had nothing to do with any political beliefs. Beyond what I stated in my defense (despite what Co-Mod states below), I won’t say anything more. Non of us have to justify why we support a former president. I have my reasons just like anyone else. It doesn’t make me a terrible person and I will forever stand for everyone’s rights to believe whatever politics they believe.

Co-Mod: It’s a shame I have to say this on an Ace Attorney blog of all places, but where is your proof that I or anyone on my side of the aisle takes any enjoyment in seeing anyone dead or oppressed, whether in a minority or otherwise?  I can only assume you’ve been listening to some skewed sources, or that there’s something huge I’m missing, because I’ve yet to see any right-wing groups reach that level of hatred.  (And if you know of any, please fill me in.  I mean that honestly.)

As for why I left same-sex attraction out of this blog, it’s simply because I see it as a divisive topic rather than a simply controversial one, (i.e. the death penalty, game piracy, etc.).  I’ve also proven several times that I’m not very good at addressing it without people getting rubbed the wrong way, so I decided to play it safe and not discuss it at all.  I’m happy to talk about it anywhere else, but a blog about Ace Attorney didn’t seem like the right place for it to me.  On top of that, there are plenty of blogs about peoples’ same-sex ships all over Tumblr, so why complain about this one?  If there’s a rule stating that Ace Attorney-themed Tumblr blogs are required to include those ships, I sure haven’t heard it.

I’ll admit this much -- like Phoenix, it’s something I can’t claim to understand, so maybe I still have some learning to do about it, but if I’m going to be accused of bigotry, I’d like to see some solid evidence of it.  Assumptions don’t count in my book.

Dear Dailystir,

Mod Edgeworth: Thank you. I’m not going to address anymore than I already have. I will not and refuse to mention anything else on my politics. Just like how you said, I am more at the center in the political world. I lean more Conservative, but I am Independent. I consider both Republicans and Democrats to be two different wings from the same bird.

I’m also glad you do not consider being a Trump supporter to be in the same basket as being a racist, bigot or any of that. These days, I can declare myself as a supporter of Andrew Jackson (I’m not btw) and not be against Natives, even though he was the reason for the mass genocide of thousands of Native Americans. I can openly support Martain Luther King, yet not be considered homophobic, even though he was against LGBT. I can consider myself a Bill Clinton supporter and not support raping women, even though that’s what he did in office. Yet, the moment I declare myself a Trump supporter, I’m automatically Anti LGBT, a bigot, a sexist, a racist and a phobe of some sort, because Trump supposedly is? What a world we live in! I can’t remember the last time supporting a political figure or celebrity made you a terrible person.

As for Mod Vera and Mod Maya, I still wish they could’ve said something to me or Co-Mod, if they truly felt uncomfortable. I’m still willing to talk to either of them and hear them out. I don’t blame them for doing what they did. I don’t know them or what life they live in. I have talked to someone, who had faced bigotry  and hate from Trump supporters in their area to the point of fear. I’ve even seen a Trump supporter bully an Anti Trump Supporter and I ended up reporting the bully, then calling them out for their behavior. I can say from experience that when you face real discrimination, it puts you in a state of fear to never express yourself or your identity. My family faced that and so did I. It’s the reason I’ve never revealed my race, gender or sexual orientation and can understand where Mod Maya and Mod Vera are coming from.

I think the real takeaway is to not judge anyone based on their politics, but also to not hate anyone who does. You will find bigotry on any side of the political spectrum from any group. To say there is none on any side is spouting ignorance.

Dear Anonymous,

Mod Edgeworth: It is sad, though even if I do understand where Mod Vera and Mod Maya are coming from, I still can’t justify them not talking to either of us first. They never spoke to either of us and assumed the worst out of both of us. They never asked us anything or mentioned their concerns. I’m certain, even now, they’re still assuming things.

Had they mentioned their grievances, I would have been willing to talk with them and work things out, but we were never given that chance. It kinda hurts, because they said they understood when I told them I was staying out of politics and was willing to admit that I supported Trump and am an Independent Conservative. Then, they pull the rug from under us and claim we are against ethnic minorities and LGBT. That’s why I wish they could’ve said something.

I’m still willing to talk to either of them, but I doubt they’ll want to hear from me. No amount of context is going to change that. If it did, they would’ve talked to me about it before leaving.

-The Mods

P. S. Co-Mod: As ugly as this can of worms is, it’s been a fun practice in defending my beliefs and decisions.  Never underestimate that skill, everyone.

Mod Edgeworth: I still can’t believe this was brought out at all. I’m so sick of politics!

[demauryss]

murphy’s law | 1/2

anything that can go wrong will go wrong. eliott just learns it the hardest way possible.

or, kind of an expansion of hold you here my loveliest friend

 alt er love advent calender, day 18

(for my dearest mtea @bluronyourradar, this is the thing which i was writing for you. i tore my heart in half while writing this hehe hope you enjoy reading this. part two coming soon i promise :-))

The thing about giving your heart to your best friend is, you never actually see it happening. You don’t see it coming. It just happens. Maybe at the speed of tar moving over the road. Maybe at the way the sunlight fades behind the darkness of the night. Maybe in the blink of an eye. But it happens.

You see, they’re always there. You find their smile punctuated by the way they look at you, and their words sweet like honey and heart as warm as a stream of water on a hot day. The fluttering of their hands over your skin and in your stomach burning like the crackling fire you’d have stood in front of, smoke from the ashes mixing with the tears in your eyes as you’d have turned away. They’re always there, so you don’t see.

(Maybe sometimes you do. Amidst fleeting glances and stopping heartbeat and sometimes, concrete as the sky and bottomless as the ground beneath your feet. You don’t.)

And it’s the best thing, those short moments where you don’t have to worry about someone else having a hold of your heart, twisting it to their desires. It’s the best thing about giving your heart to your best friend. Because you’re as blissful as you can be around them. Because you’ve always felt this welcoming warmth radiating from them which envelops your bones and makes a home for you inside itself, stopping you from stepping out of it into the unbidden cold, which is sharp and sinks itself over you.

And when your best friend gives their heart to you, you take it without any questions asked. You hold it close to the space where yours used to be. You spend your nights dancing through the grass and your days lifting the feeling slowly settling in your head, blurring your thoughts and fading every sense of reality. You hold on to their heart tighter than your own, and maybe that’s the first mistake you make.

Because then your grip on your own heart starts to loosen. Till a time comes that it completely shifts away from you. Because your brain is busy protecting your best friend’s heart and forgets the part of itself which you have given away.

And because. Because you let yourself. So there comes a time when your best friend hands your heart back to you. They hand it back, warmed and loved and wrapped in a curtain which makes it to look like it hasn’t been used before. They hand it back, a delicate bundle of fibers and beats mixing into one.

And you’ve spent so much time in cutting all the nerves and vessels tying you to that beating flesh. You’ve spent so much of yourself living without that part of you. And when you get your heart back, despite of your wishes, you don’t know what to do with it. You place it beck inside your chest, behind that cage tightening against the walls, hoping it would find its place back. But it sits there, a foreign and estranged piece of you; a displaced swing finding its equilibrium again; a stretched elastic held against its wishes to recoil.

Because you know if you let it go it would return to them in a heartbeat.

And that’s another thing about giving your heart to your best friend. The first time it happens, you don’t realize it. But the second time, when your heart literally crawls out of your chest, and walks away from you and back to your best friend. It rips your skin in the way, leaves your hands frozen, unable to stop the process, as you watch it run away from you.

And you watch, realizing that it will never be yours if you stop it now. So you watch. And you let it go.

And with it comes the realization that the thing beating inside you was never meant to stay there and hide. That even after they return your heart to you under the guise of doubts and ache, it’s ready to turn away in a second. That no matter the layers you put over it and the pain you go through to cover the fierceness with which it is beginning to tear itself from you; it won’t work. And there comes a time where you’re left to collect the pieces of your skin and the fibers your heart has left in its trail.

And that’s the worst thing about giving your heart to your best friend, you see. The realization, the feeling, the fucking knife which keeps on twisting in your chest and you keep screaming for it to stop, just stop. But the blood seeps away and the wound gets deeper and you find yourself filling it with the dust in your lungs and the shivers in your hands. But it fills your mouth with iron and your legs become studded with lead when you realize – you realize that no matter what, your heart will never be yours to keep after that.

    Lucas’s mother owns a candy shop. When he hugs Eliott his hair smells of butterscotch and banana, all combined into one. It’s peculiar, but the thought fades into the back of his head when Lucas nuzzles his face into his chest, and as his hands squeeze the space above Eliott’s hips in a frantic cry of help.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, muffling a laugh behind the wild mess on Lucas’s head which needs to be toned down desperately – but Eliott isn’t complaining. “What is it this time?”

Lucas separates himself from Eliott, his lips puffed in a pout and eyes filled with a look of great disgrace as he grimaces. “Blueberry and basil! Like would you believe that?” He shudders effectively, his eyes going wide as he looks at Eliott. “It tastes terrible.”

Eliott shakes his head, “Terrible as in sriracha and peanut butter or terrible as in terrible?”

“Terrible!” Lucas throws his hands up as he starts walking into the shop. Eliott follows him. “Like how you’d expect someone's locker to smell like after months of dirty clothes accumulating there.”

Eliott shakes his head, a smile playing at his lips, “That’s oddly specific, and besides, I don’t think it’s that bad. I mean, you said the same thing about orange and tarragon and it ended up tasting bloody amazing!”

“I knew you would say that,” The small rainbow embroidered at the left side of Lucas’s olive green sweater catches Eliott’s eyes when he turns around to frown at him. Eliott has half a mind to remove the piece of lint and fraying thread from it, like they used to do before. Pieces of wool caught on Lucas’s hair, eyelash on Eliott’s cheek. Dirt smeared on Lucas’s face, and charcoal on Eliott’s fingers.

He has half a mind to fall back into the circle he barely made out of alive, and blow away the lint for it to catch something somewhere else. But he stops himself.

They don’t do it anymore.

“What makes you think so?”

Eliott’s first memory of Lucas is from the same spot Eliott’s standing on with the two jars of Ali’s homemade orange marmalade. Lucas’s eyes are a shade of an orchestral blue which he finds tainting the memory, and there’s a troubled smile blooming over his features a minute later when he hears another pair of footsteps coming closer.

“Eliott, is that you, dear? Please help me in letting this devil know he’s wrong. You’re the only one who can help me right now.”

Lucas lets out a wounded groan, his eyes widening as he whispers, “That.” Eliott smothers his laugh when Lucas starts to rush in the opposite direction to the resounding footsteps.

“I don’t work here and you never saw me.”

Ali nears into Eliott’s view just as her son disappears behind a display of colorful candies wrapped in pretty ribbons. Eliott, even when he was stumbling about his footing around Lucas, had always been awed by the intricate knots and the curves Ali has placed in the ribbons. When she approaches him, her eyes soften into a blue much like Lucas’s, but still on a different side of the spectrum.

“Lucas’s being a diva again,” she tells him, holding out a wooden spoon dipped in a questionable mixture in a purple bowl. It smells strongly of sugar and home, an exact opposite of what Lucas had so graciously – and wrongly – described. Ali holds out the mixture for him to taste, and he does so, dipping in a figure in the velvety warmth gathered on the tip of the spoon and bringing it to his mouth.

“It…actually, it tastes so good.”

He knows Lucas is hiding behind the shelves somewhere. Before, when it used to be as simple as Eliott using his fingers to do the counting on, or the stars simply dotting the sky without meaning anything, Ali would have Eliott and Lucas spending hours in her little kitchen, having them as the testers of whatever she would have made. It started out as a rush of a breeze for Eliott quickly picking up space before transforming into this pleasant routine he hasn’t departed from yet.

(Despite letting go of the person it all started out with.)

Ali’s smile brings Eliott into a cocoon of familiarity, “Tell this brainless idiot hiding here somewhere. I swear God really messed up when he gave Lucas those taste buds.” She shakes her head and Eliott laughs.

“Please stop talking about me like I’m not here,” He hears a muffled voice, one coming from directly behind him. Lucas emerges, licking around an orange colored candy which Eliott is absolutely sure isn’t meant for eating by him at all. His suspicion is confirmed when Ali gives her son a disapproving look, which he absolutely dodges when his eyes start burning brighter.

“And you please stop stealing the stuff I made which you previously rejected with those abominable taste buds of yours.” Ali bites back and Lucas turns a faux-offended face towards her. It’s familiar. It’s warm. It burns.

“I’ll have you know my taste buds are anything but that; very high in demand too. Tell her Eliott!” Eliott is more shocked on the mention of his name than the suffocating feeling the simple request brings as his lungs almost collapse on themselves. Lucas is unaware of the weight his words had on Eliott, as he struggles to keep his breathing even and heart forcibly inside his chest. There’s something very primal about this feeling – the one of tightness in his lungs and restlessness in his legs – something which takes him back to the very first time he’d seen Lucas a decade ago – right here in this candy shop with butterscotch in his smile and sugar in his hair, gripping Eliott in a saccharine tanginess bound to hold him for the rest of his life.

Lucas says something, and Ali threatens to catapult the bowl of the gooey mixture over his head. Eliott watches, silent, when Lucas shakes his head – all faux annoyed – as his mother stands rolling her eyes at her bratty son.

“Anyways,” Lucas says, looping his arm through Eliott’s at a place where a familiar burn seeps through the material of his shirt. “Since all of your attempts of stealing Eliott from me have considerably failed, can you let us go now?”

Eliott makes a sound of indignation in his throat. As if –

“As if you need any permission from me.”

Ali hasn’t even completed the sentence, and Eliott is being forcefully dragged towards the door. He’s always been amazed by the strength Lucas holds, now even more so when he finds himself just near the door between shouting a goodbye to Ali and taking his next breath.

“Hey,” Eliott starts when they’re outside. He’s resisting the pull Eliott has on him. It’s somewhere around the sun beginning to set behind the clouds. “Slow down, will you?”

Lucas looks at him, eyes narrowed as if he’s seriously judging Eliott, “Yann will have my head on a plate if we do.”

And Eliott would like to know where that we in this conversation came from. But before he does…..”And we can’t have that now?”

Lucas grins, “You know we can’t.”

  Lucas Lallemant is a tide –

He’s a force which keeps on moving forward, carving shorelines and curved shapes in places Eliott finds hard to keep up with. He’s high when the moon comes, rising on his toes to offer Eliott a hit of the blunt curled in his fingers, sometimes snug between his lips. Sometimes he rushes away. Sometimes he crashes against Eliott – but then he slips out of the gaps between Eliott’s fingers, through the cracks in his skin – and settles somewhere hidden, alien, and then Eliott has to crawl – follow the trajectory he would have carved, only to find him crashing against his walls with a rhythm impossible for Eliott to match, to get hold of.

He’s a force which keeps on giving – to shores, to coasts.  To the moss gathered on stone wearing with time and tide – with him. He gives – he gives till Eliott finds himself surrounded in every pore, every grain that is Lucas. He comes like this: little ripples on the surface of Eliott’s skin setting in motion

And that’s when he takes. The sand which lines the edges and the plants covering the base, tearing away their roots, dissolving them into smithereens much like Eliott’s heart in his hands and the blood in his mouth from biting his tongue too hard as it escapes; his heart among the waves melting on the floor and rising upwards, higher, faster. Till the blue of him surrounds Eliott in a lightning contrast against the warmth of his hands, resting, curling in his chest and plunging him into once deep then hallow darkness as he rises.

And when the ebb comes – Eliott drowns in it.

    Idriss takes him by the lapel of his jacket onto the balcony once they’ve reached Yann’s flat.

“Hey,” he says, his voice weighted by the bass which beats under his feet. Lucas gets swarmed into the crowd, one part of it taking him, another forming a barrier for Eliott to reach him.

“How have you been?”

It doesn’t register in his brain; the grave being which holds Idriss's words together for Eliott. He hums out a non-committal response, which does little wonders to ease Idriss off of his case.

“Eliott,” the end syllable of his name catches on a sigh as it comes out of Idriss’s mouth. But he wonders. It’s his name, isn’t it? Then why does it feel so foreign when Idriss says it; like the Eliott in his name and the Eliott that he is are two completely different beings.

Outside it’s cold, but still there is a feeling of warmth – all nebulous and out of place. Eliott doesn’t know what it means, just that he isn’t used to feeling this way.

“What is it?” His voice feels hollowed, and it must have been a trick of light, but he sees Idriss flinch.

“You stood up,” his voice sounds equally grave, “again.”

Eliott has to grasp behind the lines to understand what he means. “The date,” Idriss complies, when he sees the lost look on his face.

Eliott stills for a moment. He was supposed to go on a date. But, did he want to.

“Idriss,” Eliott sighs, turning around and putting all of his weight on the railing, hoping it would swallow the thing weighing him down like mercury. “I don’t want to be set up on dates. You know that.”

Idriss doesn’t speak for a moment. But then, “You can’t keep doing this to yourself Eliott,” He lands a hand on his shoulder, “you can’t.”

Eliott stays quiet, he doesn’t know what to say. What is it he’s doing, exactly? “Forget it-,” He says, at length, “- just leave me on my own. I don’t want to talk about it.”

Eliott feels it, inside him, the feling holding him getting impregnated with lead and rust when Idriss replies, “But did you – with Lucas?”

What?

Idriss reads his confusion. “Did you talk with Lucas about the reason why he didn’t want to be with you anymore?” Eliott bites his tongue and something other than physical pain fills his senses at the soft reminder of what went down mere three weeks ago.

“No,” His voice sounds scratchy, like it has taken him a great strength to get the simple word out. “Lucas doesn’t owe me an explanation. Besides, you can stop feeling for someone you thought you liked, no?”

The air is still and Eliott feels desolate from the domain outside his mind. He almost doesn’t register Idriss and his quiet, “But can you?” Almost.

There, something burns in his eyes and his chest and his throat feels awfully familiar to a thorny stem Eliott has grasped in his hands. There, outside, as leaves begin to fall and Idriss lets out a small whisper of comfort, that Eliott feels overwhelmingly small and separate from the significant part of the universe holding Lucas and the currents of waves rising from his touch.

Just tell him, Idriss says and when he leaves Eliott chants a mantra of too late too late too late in the havoc of his mind. And then Lucas comes, like a tide. He looks up at Eliott with fire behind the blue in his eyes and water raising it up instead of dimming it out. He takes away Eliott’s heart, yet again, the space in his chest feeling like a hollow piece of log left to be accumulated as moss on stagnant water and dew on drooping leaves. 

And when he leaves, he robs Eliott off of his breath like a flood does one of his belongings, leaving him wrecked and floating uncertainly in the sea of the world.

    He makes a mistake one day.

They are on the roof of Eliott’s building. Lucas’s hands are covered in gold which glitters in his soul and the stars above. His tongue tastes of mulberry and wine when Eliott licks in his mouth. His lips bleed soft kisses into the place Eliott’s neck meets his jaw. His eyes are dusty asteroids which circle into Eliott’s orbit with a force which knocks him of gravity and his breath when they close with laughter as Eliott finds the particularly ticklish spot on his neck.

I’ve been waiting for this, Lucas says, his voice light and warm and so, so soft. Eliott feels a cloud of smoke in his lungs. Me too.

He makes a mistake that day. He falls.

But then he’s standing next to the fire which Idriss and Yann created using plastic wrappers and leaves they found lying around. Lucas is a comet, the, his cold hands gripping Eliott’s as the fire pricks his eyes and the smoke in his lungs becomes a relic from before.

I can’t do this Eliott, He chokes, his voice heavy and sad and laden with so much hurt that Eliott has to take a step back. We’re – we will be better as friends. I’m sorry I just can’t.

So Eliott swallows around the charred cage in his chest doing little to keep his heart still. Okay, he whispers. Lucas’s red-rimmed eyes curving into a sad, watery smile burn like a star in Eliott’s gut.

He makes a mistake one day. He doesn’t stop falling.

    November comes, and Eliott finds himself shifting between cold winds ruffling his hair and tinging his cheeks with a cold he feels in his bones. It takes him skipping rocks among dirt and catching falling leaves in the palm of his hand. It takes him to Lucas, nestled between the shelves in his mother’s shop, eyes wide and engulfing warmth as sugar and syrup drips from his mouth and stains Eliott’s shirt in a stubborn red.

Eliott sees Lucas, sees him coming for his heart, and the pang which rises inside his chest feels sound in the void which grows around him. It becomes foreign, the security the pain brings him. But he drowns in the cold warmth encompassing him when Lucas smiles and asks him about another constellation, or when he brings Eliott’s coffee from the shop on the curb – when they talk, and their once, five month relationship becomes a fleeting whisper; a puddle after rain gone when the sun came up.

They don’t mention it, and neither their friends. Somewhere between that, Idriss takes the hint and stops trying to get Eliott to go on dates. His heart grows accustomed to having Lucas’s hold over it, and the thorns growing in his throat shrivel. They don’t fall like Eliott thought they would, and sometimes it happens that Eliott feels them digging into his windpipe, swallowing his voice when he sees Lucas from across the room. Or when his eyes glisten like gold and honey all combined into one.

He keeps taking Eliott apart, piece by piece, but Eliott grows familiar to the feeling making a home inside him. And when Lucas holds his hand and points to a falling star much like Eliott looking for a place in the universe, it doesn’t hurt.

Except when it does.

    There’s a hole in his jacket.

Eliott finds it the noon he’s inside the video store he worked at. He must have gotten it when he’s jacket got stuck in his neighbor’s fence, and in his haste, he must have pulled it, hard.

Lucas finds it funny for whatever reason when Eliott delivers him the news with sadness. His laugh rings through the speaker of Eliott’s phone. “You and that jacket, I swear.”

“It’s my favorite,” Eliott says, hoping his tone would convey his feelings to Lucas, “It’s been with me through thick and thin.”

“Yeah I know,” Lucas sounds solemn, “We’ll make it right,” Eliott believes him.

“But listen,” Lucas pauses, then begins again, “the reason I called you – I wanted to ask you something.”

Eliott holds on the phone, “Yes?”

“Sarah let me off with two passes for this art exhibition tonight. I wanted to know if you – if you’d go with me?”

Eliott’s chest gives a resounding ache which travels like water through his body, chilling his fingertips so much he can barely feel the phone held in them. The thing is – they don’t do this anymore; this just Lucas and him alone thing. He hasn’t done anything like this in such a long time that he forgot what being with Lucas – just Lucas – is like.

And he can't wait to remember. So. “Yeah,” he breathes out, “of course I’ll go.” With you.

“Perfect,” Lucas’s voice hold quiet happiness, something Eliott is sure is so fragile he’d break it if he takes another breath.

So he holds it, deep inside his lungs when Lucas says, “I’ll be at the store at 6:30. We’ll walk together.”

And he holds in when he says goodbye, a promise tethering on the edge of something so strange yet so comforting at the same time. His lungs burn, and his chest caves in.

But Eliott gets to work.

    Evening drags November to a cold, scruffy end. He can’t feel his hands when he accounts the last of the sales into the computer. It hits close to six when he finishes, and decides to spend the rest of the time till Lucas’s arrival sorting out the DVDs left on the counter.

It’s between that, one moment picking up the assortment and the other spent looking over his phone lying on the side as it lights up with a notification, that there’s the sound of someone closing the door behind them.

Eliott whips around, heart in his throat at the prospect of seeing Lucas, but the person standing in front of him takes him by surprise.

“Hi Eliott.”

Lucille’s smile is warmer; her hair is shorter, blonder. Eliott takes a hard minute to reply.

Lucille,” He’s sure his tone doesn’t do justice to the feeling she brings inside him. It’s been long – a long time since he last saw her. And that too ended on partial good terms.

But still he tries his best to smile.

“How have you been?” He asks, awkwardly placing the DVDs from where he picked them up. Lucille shrugs her shoulder, and a small laugh leaves her lips.

“Good, I’m good.” She says. Eliott nods, then, and tries to shake off the uncomfortable tension settling around him and over his shoulders. Lucille comes to his rescue, thankfully.

She points to the array of movies behind him, craning her neck to the side as she speaks, “I – I needed a recommendation, actually.”

Huh. “The movies. I – I kinda need one for uhm- this date night. My girlfriend- uh, Sophie is into screenwriting and stuff, so I want to do something to impress her.”

Eliott turns his neck sideways, “And I’m the only one you can come to for that?”

Lucille smiles sheepishly, “You know you are.”

He laughs, bright, and turns to sift through the movies he pretty much knows her girlfriend will surely appreciate. He’s always loved doing this, rec-ing stuff when asked – whether it be movies or artists or funny enough, dubstep artists to listen to.

(The credit for the last one goes mainly to Lucas, and Eliott feels proud to share that at least he’s helped him get into the kind of music he himself loves. Even when the insults Lucas throws after listening to the music are worth keeping in a jar and remembering for later.)

Lucille takes the movies he picks out.

“How are you and Lucas?”

Her tone carries an infinite amount of casualness which Eliott is sure she isn’t faking. But it makes him still – you and Lucas in a sentence together. They don’t go like that. Never have.

“We uh – we’re not together anymore.” He says, voice low and taut as he rings her up. “Uh- yeah. We broke up.”

Lucille is silent. Then, “Oh. I’m sorry.”

 He stays silent. When he’s done with her items, she takes it from him without a word. I’m sorry. It’s funny how many times he’s heard that.

“Um- Thank you,” She’s quiet, soft. Eliott smiles, as terse as that may be. “I’m happy to see you, Eliott.”

“Yeah, uh, I’m happy too.” He admits, because he is. Because she’s familiar. Because he knows her.

Lucille smiles, as she clutches the items to her chest, “If – If you’re free some time, I’d like for you to Sophie. She uh - knows about us, and I’m sure you both will like each other.”

“You’re sure?” He teases, and she slaps him lightly on his arm; familiar. Rolling her eyes, she bites back, “Yeah, idiot.” Eliott laughs; it’s warm.

“I’d love to meet her,” is what he settles on, and it’s what which has Lucille brightening up further. “Great,” she says, and leaves Eliott not before rising up on her toes and giving him a half-awkward, full warm hug which Eliott gladly accepts.

When she leaves, it becomes a game of watching the hands on the clock move. It’s fifteen minutes over the time Lucas and him and decided. But still Eliott sees no sign of him. He’s worried. There’s no text or call from him either, and Eliott knows he could do so too, but it doesn’t guarantee him not sounding desperate.

Five minutes to seven and he gives up, closing the store and walking out into the clear night sky. He spots a couple of uncluttered, adrift stars he doesn’t know yet. Cold air nips at his skin, eyes search for the sign of the familiar boy walking towards him. But he finds nothing.

He sighs, then, and starts walking in the direction of his apartment. Maybe something came up. Maybe Lucas is okay. Maybe he forgot. Maybe maybe maybe.

It’s then that the phone in his holed jacket rings, bringing him back to the now. He hustles to take it out, and as Lucas’s name blinds his eyes, his heart returns with a hopeful tingle in his chest.

His breath fogs in the dark as he whispers, “Hello?”

“Eliott,” Lucas’s voice feels distant, like they’re the same poles of a magnet and the field between them is just pushing them away.

“Lucas, are you alright?” It hurts, that it’s the first thing which comes to his mind. That something happened to Lucas – with Lucas, and he wasn’t able to make it to him. He hates it. He hates it.

“Yeah uh – I got held up. I’m sorry I couldn’t- can’t make it. I just – I didn’t – couldn’t find time to call you sooner. I’m so sorry I -.”

Eliott cuts Lucas off, “It’s alright,” his heart beats on the floor. His legs remain frozen on the sidewalk. It’s not Lucas’s fault if he found something more important than Eliott. He doesn’t owe him anything, anyway.

Eliott doesn’t hear the rest which follows. There’s something – someone on the phone behind Lucas, someone who calls Lucas – “You’re coming back Lu?” Eliott hears the voice.

Then he hears Lucas, loud and clear, “Yeah, baby, you go ahead. I’ll be with you in a second.”

Baby. Lucas only ever called Eliott that. He feels something twist inside him as his lungs burn with a ferocity which leaves him aching all over. His fingers go numb, and his feet drag painfully on the gravel.

Lucas seems to be talking, and Eliott only catches the end through the static in his head.

“I gotta go. But I – I promise I’ll make it up to you, Eli. Okay?”

Eliott purses his lips, doesn’t fight his hear combusting as a layer of heavy rust settles over it, preventing it from moving back to Lucas as he lies motionless there, on the concrete, forging stars from its dying matter.

Okay. Eliott whispers when Lucas hangs up. Then he releases his breath and starts walking.

[princessmadafu]

37 bleedin’ pages!

I have condensed them for you and left out most of the bits that the nasty evil British Press have already covered. Feel free to skip any boring bits.

Dax Shepard: Welcome, welcome, welcome to Armchair Expert's Experts on Expert. I'm Dan Shepard. I'm joined by Monica Mouse.

Monica Padman: Hi.

[...]

There follows some heavy marketing of towels and stuff...

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Pretty ironic really, as Harry wades into fake news and how advertising algorithms are ruining us...

DS:...It's like the algorithms on the internet. You can't compete with that, a human.

PH: You can't if you have the awareness of what it's doing to you. And the fact that it's learning, which is scary. And advertising has been going on for hundreds of years, but done really responsibly. The difference here is targeted ads. If ads have always worked for companies, you can put on the TV, you can walk away, you can come back, your involvement is switching on switching off or changing the channel. Whereas now with algorithms is there, it's just feeding your habits. And it's also reading through your emails and everything else. So it's getting to know you, like, it gets to know the decisions you're gonna make before you make them, then it creates this echo chamber of no pushback, of no context of nothing. It's just perpetuating and feeding the bias and the habits that you already have inside of you, which is terrible.[...]

Harry needs to learn about AdBlock and Ghostery and VPNs and Tor and DuckDuckGo and Smartpage and all the other clever little ways the computer-literate have of ridding their lives of unwanted advertising. I haven't seen an ad in years. The only person feeding my habits is me. It’s called personal responsibility. Maybe Harry still needs a Nanny but most grown-ups don’t. Oh wait, I forgot, the “Meghan&Harry Show” fans are all kids.

PH: [...] It's a computer. It's like, who wrote the algorithms? You guys did? Probably all male and all white.

Oooh, let's be sexist and racist, Harry! Did you ever hear of these women or are they too scary?

https://biztechmagazine.com/article/2012/05/mothers-technology-10-women-who-invented-and-innovated-tech

Then they discuss Naked Vegas (this guy Dax has a thing about nudity) and Harry in Afghanistan. And discuss a calendar of naked men that DS and MP put together - their favourite male bodies. What a good job it's only gloating over naked male bodies and not naked female bodies. It's apparently acceptable, for some reason. Harry doesn't know who the guys are.

DS: Monica makes this for me every year and it's a calendar of all my favourite bodies of friends.

MP: And they're all men.

DS: They're all men.

MP: And they're all gorgeous bodies.

[...]

And is Harry nervous talking about mental health? He shouldn't be, he's been banging on about it for years.

PH: Yeah. Was I nervous? No. Not so much nervous. But I guess on this particular subject around mental health. Yeah. For me, it's always a, unfortunately, today's world is quite a sensitive subject, not just for the people who are sharing. But ultimately, the subject matter itself has to be handled with care. [...] It ends up getting weaponized by certain people.

Weaponised by certain people? Like him and Markle, for instance. Neither of 'em has any talent so they weaponise their mental health. Big big mental health bombs loaded with word salad to lob at their own families and cause huge distress. Not nice, Harry.

PH: That's how I've always felt when it comes to projection. I mean, hatred is a form of projection, right? [...] We're not born to hate people. So it manifests itself over a period of time. And of course, it can come from unresolved pain, or being hurt continually, as a young kid or through adult life. But ultimately, there's a source to it. There's a reason why you want to hate somebody else.

Like his dad, his brother...

PH: And actually have some compassion for them. Which is really hard when you're on the receiving end of this, like, just vile, toxic abuse. But the reality is, is you say, flip it. [...] Every single one of us wherever we are, wherever we come from, there will always try and find some way to be able to mask the actual feeling and be able to try and make us feel different to how we are actually feeling, perhaps having a feeling. Right, because so many people are just numb to it. That was a huge part of the beginning of my life, which was like, I rejected. I said, there's nothing wrong with me. I'm fine.

And now he's moved on to promoting his new mental health stuff with Oprah, The Me You Can't See...

PH: So if you are making that conscious decision to say: You know what, it's not self serving, but I want to share my story. I'm being asked to share my story to hopefully help someone or loads of other people. I'm probably going to get trolled. I'm probably going to get attacked by the same people that were doing anyway. If I'm willing to make that decision, surely that comes from a place of courage rather than weakness?

Or possibly naivety. Harry is only wanted for his money-making title and royal status; he has no mental health qualifications, he's not a mental health professional, he's not an expert, all he brings to the table is the glamour of being a prince of the BRF. Which he quite clearly hates. Markle is lining her pockets from their self-indulgent mental health whinge fest and he's too dim to see it. There follows the bit about the spectrum of upbringing that the press is covering nicely so I can skip the next few pages - the bits where Harry says he doesn't see that talking about his own issues is complaining, and “it's the job, right”, how he never wanted the job of being royal, and his therapy and how “massively self-critical” he is (yet still can't see that he's not being honest with himself), ooh and sharing his hatred of the British press - that's a good bit, let's skip to page 18:

PH I think the biggest issue for me was that being born into it, you inherit the risk, you inherit the risk that comes with it, you inherit every element of it without choice. And because of the way that the UK media are, they feel an ownership over you. Literally like a full on ownership. And then they give the impression to some of their, well, most of the readers, that that is the case. But I think it's a really dangerous place to be if you don't have a choice, but then, of course, then people quite rightly will turn around and go. So what if you didn't have a choice? It was privilege? [...] Page Six of the New York Post, they took pictures of my son being picked up from school on his first day [...] But I guess my point is the way that I look at it, especially now living here one hour outside LA. Like it's a feeding frenzy here. We spent the first three and a half months living at Tyler Perry's house. You let us stay. And the helicopter helicopters, the drones the paparazzi cutting the fence like it was madness. And people out there -Their response was, Well, what do you expect if you live in LA? It's like, Okay, well, first of all, we didn't mean to live in LA. This is like a staging area before we try and find a house. And secondly, how sad that if you live in LA and you're well known figure, you just have to accept it. The first security we had, I said, Well, where's the safest place? Inside. Just because I'm a well known person, you can't go outside anymore. [...] it's really, really sad. And of course, their argument is - the paparazzi and everybody else - is like all if you're in the public space, then it's absolutely fine for us to do it. So what is our human right as an individual and as a family, you're saying that if the moment we step foot out of our house, that it's open season and free game? What? Because of public interest?. There's no public interest in you taking your kids for a walk down the beach. Nothing...

And on and on it goes... He should've stayed in the UK then. The Cambridges are managing very nicely, thank you. They take their kids for walks on the beach, and we'd never seen them until they released their anniversary video the other week. Harry's clearly envious of William; Harry's mad wife is vitriolically envious of Catherine. Oh and I’m pretty sure it’s the mad wife who keeps phoning her go-to paps when she needs to be in the news again.

PH: [...] I believe we live in an age now where you've got certain elements of the media redefining to us what privacy means. There's a massive conflict of interest. And then you've got social media platforms, trying to redefine what free speech means. Why - I wonder why you're doing that. And again - so this has been happening for 15 years now. And we're living in this world where we've almost like all the laws have been completely flipped by the very people that need them flipped so they can make more money and they can capitalise off our pain, grief, and this sort of general self destructive mode that's happening at the moment [...]

He doesn't get how hypocritical this is, does he? The Markles are the ones capitalising on their grief, pain and the rest of it. And no-one would be interested in them without the royal bits because they have nothing else to offer. Failed actress and used-to-be-a-soldier wrapped up in festering bitterness.

Blah, blah... went shopping in a supermarket... saw lots of chewing gum... blah, blah... Archie on the back of his bicycle... girls want to be princesses... You don't need to be a princess, you can create the life that will be better than any princess or it's something along those lines... she said she expected [the press] to be fair... Pages and pages of how he hates the British press...

PH: [...] And especially when you can't defend yourself so yes, I think when you marry into it, especially when it's one Princess Diana's sons there is a certain amount of 'okay what I'm actually letting myself in for?' But very few people actually know - apart from the Brits - how toxic that element of the of the UK press is.[...]

We're up to page 24 now, if you're still with me. Oh here it is, Harry's unconscious bias... What’s the betting the mad wife has scripted this bit for him?

PH: [...] So going back to the whole sort of travelling around the Commonwealth, I thought I knew, right, having been able to travel that much and meet so many and such a diverse group of people. I thought I understood life. Especially bearing in mind most of the countries I was going to were, most of the communities are going to were people of colour. But then I was really shocked once I started doing therapy. And that bubble was burst. And I started doing my own work, really - a lot of work - and started to uncover and understand more about unconscious bias. And I was like, wow, I thought since I screwed up when I was younger, and then did the work. I thought I then knew. But I didn't. And I still don't fully know. It's like a constant working progress. And every single one of us has it. [...] Everyone has biases, of all sorts. But I think it's a really important point, especially now, after everything's happened in the last year and a half, like the world is changing, the younger generation are driving it. And you've got to like a multi-racial, cultural sort of movement happening, which has never happened before. But unconscious bias is the way that I understand it, is, again, it's not something that's wrong with you. Right? And you don't have to be defensive about it. That's the thing. No one's blaming you. But the moment that you acknowledge that you do have unconscious bias, what are you going to do about it? Because if you choose to do nothing you're continuing to fuel the problem, which means that you're then heading towards racism. Whereas unconscious bias is actually something that is inherent, unfortunately, in every single one of us. But that it is possible to educate yourself to be more aware of the problems and therefore be part of the solution rather than part of the problem.

Markle's got him well-trained on this one, hasn't she. I wonder if he's read anything critical of the unconscious bias movement, or just repeating what he's been told to. Oh and then he goes off about being in the army...

PH: I loved it. I love wearing the same uniform as everybody else. I love being treated the same. I love the expectation of if you want to get that job, or you want that promotion, or you want to finish this race, it's all on you. There's no special treatment, you're not going to get any help. If anything, you're probably going to get treated the opposite because everyone thinks that you've had an easy life. And everyone's always helped you get to where you are.

But...but...but, Harry wasn't treated the same, there was special treatment, he was helped to get to where he was. He scraped a couple of poor quality A Levels and got admitted to Sandhurst because he's a prince. Good old Wikipedia says:

In June 2003, Harry completed his education at Eton with two A-Levels,[22] achieving a grade B in art and D in geography, having decided to drop history of art after AS level.[23] He has been described as "a top tier athlete", having played competitive polo and rugby union.[24] One of Harry's former teachers, Sarah Forsyth, has asserted that Harry was a "weak student" and that staff at Eton conspired to help him cheat on examinations.[25][26] Both Eton and Harry denied the claims.[25][27] While a tribunal made no ruling on the cheating claim, it "accepted the prince had received help in preparing his A-level 'expressive' project, which he needed to pass to secure his place at Sandhurst."[25][28]

PH: And then suddenly, like - while I was at school, I hated exams. And I promised myself I'd never do exams again. Then I joined the army of which is full of exams. I still promised myself I'm never gonna do it and then I end up flying Apache [...]

Gods, it's getting boring. Even the interviewers are zoning out. Still ten pages to go. Wish I hadn't started this, I could be out weeding. Weather's nice, not too windy... Do I deserve a quick G&T yet?

PH: Or worse, was they turn around and say, right, because last week, you're out the front. This week, you got to carry his bergan, I'm like - what, 30 extra pounds? Nooo. But it was, it was the most normalising experience or job that I could have ever hoped for. And then going to Afghanistan twice [...] And someone said to me very recently, from the moment that you're born into today's world, life is trauma, so the sooner that we actually acknowledge that but but [...]

A-a-a-a-and he's back on the mental health thing, PTSD or PTSI,

PH: Post Traumatic Stress Injury is like: Well, that makes sense, because I just saw my mate get blown out. But the other piece of this is, what we need to remember is, the lot of the recruiting that we do in the UK, comes from certain cities and certain homes, where there's childhood trauma. So what we collectively have already got inside of us, the trigger of seeing something happen in Iraq, Afghanistan can be the trigger. So everyone goes: Oh, it's because they were on operations, and because they saw their makeup blown up. It's like, no. [...] So that's what I've been working on for years, for the last five years, which is like, and it started in therapy of like, I don't want to lose this thing, because I think it's, I feel so connected to my mum. [...]

They move on to parenting, which the press is rubbing its hands over... Harry blaming everyone but himself and his saintly mother - Charles, HMTQ, PP... "They f*ck you up, your mum and dad". But not the mum bit. He can't push his mum off her pedestal.

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/48419/this-be-the-verse if you don't know Larkin's poetry. How much more? Nearly there. Monica loves The Crown and doesn't realise it's fictitious.

DS: [...]Well, Harry, I've really really liked talking to you. You're very charming. You're very intelligent. You're handsome, and I can't wait to see your torso.

MP: Thank you so much for coming.

DS: So I just want to remind everyone that May 21 on Apple Plus, you should check out Oprah and Prince Harry's 'The Me You Can't See'. I have to imagine it's similar to her book, which I just read, which is absolutely incredible 'What happened to you?' So everyone should check out 'The me you can't see' on Apple plus May 21.

And still Harry won't shut up... Shut up, shut up. Cut his mic. You don't have to read this last bit, they've already wound up the interview...He still won’t shut up.

PH: Yeah, we're moving from the physical to the emotional, right, physically. At the beginning of this pandemic, people were panicking. And there was that fight or flight like, ahh what do we do like lockdown, survival? Yeah. And now that the vaccines have been sort of, we're getting to the point where more and more people are being vaccinated, we're now in the emotional phase of what I read in the New York Times article was called languishing, which is really interesting. It's like the is the middle child between flourishing and depression. You just feel flat, and it's not depressed. It's definitely not flourishing. You lack the energy and the will, the motivation, all that kind of stuff. Because you're kind of sitting there going - Well, what happens next? And I think it's really important that we talk about languishing. And it was coined by someone I can't remember who but I think it was the journalist who wrote the story was Adam Grant. No, he didn't come up with it. Someone else came up with him, he wrote this, the most amazing article about languishing and the fact that how important it is to be able to talk about it because - look when it comes to mental health, we need to realise and accept that every single one of us have mental health. There's varying degrees, as we said, you've got the mental illness, and then you've got the sort of the awareness and the work that you can put in, like, Where do you want to be that we shouldn't just sit there and go: Oh, mental illness is once we are literally on the floor crawling around in the foetal position needing help. But for me, I don't think I need therapy anymore. But I wanted. And when I say therapy, I mean, actual therapy, sitting down having a discussion with someone. But I also mean like, nature, like going for walks, like throwing the ball for my dog down the beach and stuff like that. There are certain things around the world that are free, some you have to pay for, but ultimately go searching for the things that make you feel good about yourself. Like that's the key to life, get rid of the bad stuff, get rid of the hate, and just focus on the good. And your whole life turns around from that. I hate this idea. And I was one of them. I fell for it. Right? I didn't acknowledge that clearly what happened to me when I was 12 years old, losing my mom and all the other pieces that happened, the traumatic experiences that happened to me since then, I didn't acknowledge them, when perhaps - maybe I need to deal with this because if I don't, how the hell am I going to be a decent father to my son and my daughter? Like that awareness, I didn't have then. But again, we've got what - 40 experts as part of this series, and the Surgeon General, Dr. Nadine Burke Harris, she's absolutely fantastic. And she was talking about this concept of mental health being sort of public health, right. Because the services are so limited. There's not enough money. The problem is actually immense. How can we all help each other rather than this: 'Oh, once I'm broken, or once I'm suffering, I have to go here.' And there's not enough rooms or spaces for the amount of people or the for the need, when actually you can get ahead of it, and work on the prevention by sharing and being more vulnerable with each other, and being able to process this grief or this loss, or this trauma that every single one of us have experienced and will experience. So anyone who's sitting there going: 'I don't have a problem, and I never will have a problem.' Well, you probably are already contributing to the problem, because you probably got your blinkers on, you probably created your own echo chambers. So I think it's a that, that's certainly what I've experienced for my own process, my own journey, my family and my friends and everybody else is. Anyone who thinks, oh, we're fine. You're the one who's like, willing to talk about it. It's like, yeah, I'm willing to talk about it and talking about it. And the financial element as well. We're pouring money into on the downsteam, when it's like, Can we just focus upstream? Yeah, we focus on one thing, like to me listen to Oprah was what was one of the reasons that this whole thing started was two of the biggest issues that we're facing in today's world, I think, is the climate crisis, and mental health. And they're both intrinsically linked. Basically if we neglect our collective wellbeing, then we're screwed. Basically, because we can't look after ourselves. We can't look after each other. We can't look after each other, we can't look after this home that we all inhabit. So it's all part of the same thing.

DS: Prince Harry, I don't say this lightly. I love you. Thanks for coming. This was great.

M: Thank you so much.

PH: Thank you very much.

Wish I'd done my weeding.

[queer-as-frikc]

My coming out story is weird, it gets a lil transphobic so tw near the end tw long post too

So, pretty much throughout my time growing up through elementary school and half of middle school, i grew up in a white middle class area. I didnt know about the LGBTQ+ or anything other than what I saw, which was white people and an occasional poc. Eventually I had to move and I ended up in a super diverse area, and ended up becoming best friends with this person (they are ftm now so imma use the right pronouns but they were f when this story mostly takes place) he told me all about things I didnt know, specifically the LGBTQ+ community and that he was pan, and it was new information so just like any 13 year old learning new things, I questioned myself, I questioned if I could like the same sex or not or possibly more.

Sadly, drama happened between my best friend, his girlfriend and I, so thing got a little weird. But there was a time in winter, when he was off that relationship for more than a month and he said he'd like to date me, and I really thought about it before hand and said yeah, I couldnt tell you how happy I was to have this experience.

I told my mom that night, in a round about way cuz I was nervous, "Hey mom, what if I liked girls?" She told me she doesnt think that I do, because I always expressed feelings for guys, and when I tell her I didnt really understand what being gay was when I was younger, I didn't really know it was a possibility. She snapped at me and said, "Unless you are willing to kiss a girl and do the other stuff, you arent gay at all."

Eventually I have a sit down conversation with her, about how confusing this all was and how I wish I knew how I felt, and so on. She said she had a similar questioning phase but it never stuck so she doesnt think I am.

Like a month later I figure it out and dude that was so gratifying. I came out as bi to my mom, who just dismissed the whole thing, but I was terrified to tell my uncle (it's a long story about that, no it's not "sweet home Alabama") because he always said bi's were wh*res so yeah. I ended up telling him, and he goes, "You know my opinion on it but that doesnt mean that I'll disown you or anything." Btw the relationship (dating wise) with my best friend after he came out as ftm because he went back to his ex, it's all cool tho.

So that was that, or so I thought. It was my first year of high school, and I finally really understood the definition of pan, what was holding me back though was the trans experience, I thought because I didnt know what it was like, I couldnt be pan, even though I didnt have a preference, turns out it just means you like people no matter their gender and it like, clicked finally so yeah. I've told my family about that since but I a similar reaction: my mom said she doesnt think I am and she lectured me on my generation having so many labels and how she hated it. My uncle said he appreciated that I was pan more than me being bi which confused me but he just had a better view of pansexual than bisexual. (I explained to both of them what the difference was but idk man)

I believe it was my second year of high school when I really started to question my gender, and that was mostly because I saw a video of what gender dysphoria looks like if it's not that strong and you arent aware for ftm. So like wearing bagging clothes all the time, always wearing sports bras, and practically no other bra, feeling really good if someone accidentally calls you sir, etc. And I was like, oml it's me. But it wasnt, I didnt find that out until later tho. So, with my friend group, I find a name that seems to fit me well and ask them to address me by it and he/him pronouns, as like a test of sorts. (All of my friends are gay in some way so it was cool) In the end tho, I got a little iffy about the whole thing and wouldnt ever correct them at times or it was just off for me. I felt really bad because I thought that they might have thought that I was just trying to force myself to be more like them, but I wasnt, i still felt bad though and kinda dropped it.

I'm not sure 100% how I figured it out tho, but I remember talking to my best friend (not the same one from middle school, they were my best friend as well but they arent the same person) about the whole experience and I believe they brought up the idea of genderfulid, and I was like :0.... what that. They explain it, you go aall over the gender spectrum, some days you might feel like a boy, others you might feel like you have no gender, some days you might feel like your gender is something completely weird and different, that's just what it is. And I was like, "It fits but like, I barely feel femme at any point in time, maybe like once a year." And they tell me, that's ok and stuff as long as my gender just decides to be a completely weird and went all over the place, it counted, so I was like, "I finally figured it out!!!" And i was so happy.

Then came the time I was comfortable enough to tell my parents. I had been using the label genderfuild for over half a year already and I thought that it was what I was so it was ok to tell them. I saw how ok me being gay went, so I was nervous but not as nervous as I should have been, probably. I told my mom first, she went on a similar rant of her no liking my generations labels and such, but it went fine, I explained it, I thought I was through, I thought I was fine, apparently not. One day I'm in the shower and I hear my mom being very expressive with what ever shes talking about to my uncle, which is fine, she needs someone to vent to sometimes. When I get out though, and I can here her clearly, I hear sees complaining about what I told her recently, that I'm genderfulid, but instead of saying that, she only says I want to be a boy. (Oh no) So shes complaining to him, asking why I cant be more like her and just be a masculine girl and be fine, why do I have to fit in with the crowd of my generation to feel special, why cant I just be fine with who I am now? Etc.

The sad thing is, that night, I was going out shopping for pants and underwear with my uncle because I needed some and I wore men's pants already at that point, because they are more durable, and stuff so I knew it was gonna be a long ride. My mom was snippy with me that whole night, just the entire time which sucked.

When we finally left to go get clothes though, I didnt know it could get worse. My uncle lectured me about how that's just my generations fad, and how his was making tattoos and piercings ok in the work place and mine is being trans a gay and all that crap, and that I'm just trying to fit in, I'm not being myself, no matter how much I chop myself up and cut my hair and take hormones my chromosomes will never change and so I can never be an actual guy. He also said that I would bring just more attention to myself being a woman who does guy things rather than try and be one, and he thinks I'm doing this all for attention. I was mad but silent at this point, I didnt want to cause anything to happen. He ended up asking me, "So did you pick a different name?" I was surprised but I said yeah, and my friends were using it and it seemed to fit better. He asked me what it was and fear over took my body. I told him, "I'll only tell you if you dont use it against me if your mad." He says, "i cant promise that." And then gets mad because I wont tell him. Though I do, because I feel obligated since hes buying me clothes. To be even more confusing, he buys me guys underwear, and undershirts along with the predetermined pants he promised me and now I'm so confused.

But it gets even worse. When we get home, my mom freaks out on him because be bought me all that mens stuff and she said he was encouraging my behavior and stuff, he defended with it's just clothes, and yah it is. Eventually things settle down, obviously my mom isnt talking to be, but that's for the best at this point. I'm in the living room with my uncle and he just then starts harassing me with questions like, how do you know? he asks. "Well, I just feel that way, same as you." I say. But why do you wanna be a guy? he asks. "I dont wanna be a guy, it's just weird that way. Also it's not me being a guy, it me being many more than that," I say. He says that's bullsh*t. I offer to show him videos that better explain what trans is and how it's an actual sciencey thing and stuff but he said he wont take a video because he wants me to say it. And then he just goes off, saying the name I picked out shows how self centered I am because I am selfish, he kept asking me if i liked to fight, to catch and play with bugs, to be strong, to be angry all the time, and all these stereotypes for men and I just left, and went to bed. He wasnt going to listen to me, so there wasnt a point to me staying.

But, it gets worse. The morning comes and I'm awoken by the slam of my door by my uncle and the laughter of my mom. My uncle starts being really aggressive and starts cleaning my room, I only have clothes on the floor mostly so that's all it was, but he starts saying, well if you're gonna be a man, imma start training you like one, the man of the house picks up after everyone, the man of the house does everything he can to help the house run smoothly, the man of the house has to be strong, and all that stuff. (Which I thought was funny because he was "the man of the house" yet I did everything, and still do. I clean up most after him, funny huh.) And, I know what's happening and so I stay in bed, I don't want this to happen. But I literally get ripped out of my bed by my uncle and get told to stop being a little b*tch and a brat because I'm being selfish by my mom and I'm yelled at to sit in the living room and wait while my uncle cleans my room. When hes done hes starts lecturing me and being all aggressive and in my face. He keeps asking me a million questions with the tone that he didnt care so I knew he wouldn't listen. Eventually, him and my mom leave, I'm told to stay there until I get back. When they do get back, they act like everything is fine, nothing happened between them and I and it's just been so hard for me to talk to them about that since.

I'm greatful that I dont have to deal with that anymore but every time something that that is brought up with my family, I panic so much now. I'm fine and I'm safe but it was very traumatic for me. And uh, thanks for listening.

hey, thank you so much for sharing your story. this was just. so heartbreaking. noone deserves to have a person like your uncle in their life. im so sorry you had to go through all of that. i hope you’re in a much better place now <3 (also i loveeddd reading about how you figured it out) =)

again, tysm <3

[sometimes-love-is-enough]

do you have any spicy hot takes you wanna drop 👀👀?? i will drop one as well, i think that everyone got carried away with the whole sympathetic and unsympathetic stuff -💫

okay so i read the first sentence and i was like ‘fuck yes time to talk about the sympathetic/unsympathetic thing’ and then i read the rest of it and yeah okay so we’re on the same page here. i have a feeling this is going to get extensive so if you don’t want to hear me complaining about stuff that you may or may not like don’t go reading under the cut. Also it's not going to be very coherent

disclaimer: i am not trying to police the fandom or trying to tell anyone that they can’t write stuff. i do my best to stay in my lane and read/consume content that i want to. these are just. feelings i have.

so on the one hand i sort of understand where the whole concept sprung from. it’s hard to write interesting longform stories without a villain of some sort, it’s not as if there’s all that many characters in the first place, and sometimes using the Dragon Witch doesn’t quite cut it. and honestly if you take away the whole ‘they’re all part of the same person’ thing it would’ve been pretty easy to assume that Deceit was the bad guy when he first showed up. he went the whole ‘ominous smirking, evil laughter’ route because he’s a dramatic little bastard, and some people were like 'my son, I love him' and others went 'evil man! Evil! He's planning bad things' and on a purely mechanical level having tags that distinguish people who think a character is good vs people who think a character is evil is a good thing, it helps you distinguish content you want to look at from the content that you don't!

HOWEVER. I think the idea of characters being 'sympathetic' or 'unsympathetic' in the way that this fandom uses those terms is innately flawed. It's black-and-white thinking and it veers close to the whole puritan thing that tumblr is so fond of. And in most cases 'unsympathetic' is just an excuse to write characters as toxic, abusive, and just downright cruel without having to explain yourself. Which is. Hm. And also just lazy writing.

This bit might be tmi but: Patton actually used to be my favorite Sanders Sides character. But back when i initially got into the fandom, I hadn't quite worked out how to filter the content I looked through yet, and I just kept seeing this... constant stream of stuff involving him being abusive to the others in a way that was hm how shall i say this. Uncomfortably familiar. especially with a lot of religious guilt themes. It's not anyone's fault, precisely, but it did tinge a lot of my fandom experience, and it maaaay be why i'm not great at writing him. Doesn't matter. The point is... There wasn't a point. I'm just still bitter about that and wanted to mention it. Maybe i'm angrier about this than i thought i was. Let's not talk about that. Let's move on with this discussion.

You'll notice that i used Janus as an example up there at the top. I can't be sure (and actually it grimly fascinates me so if anybody who's been around here longer than I have has any info on this send it over, I'd love to know) but I think that Deceit's appearance in CLBG may have marked the beginning of this whole unsympathetic/sympathetic split in the fandom. It seems a safe enough bet, anyway, especially since the earliest example I can find of any fic being tagged 'unsympathetic' in the AO3 archive is from 4th February 2018, literally the day after CLBG went up. (damn, guys, moving fast). 

The first occurrences of the 'sympathetic' tag crop up about a month later. Tumblr is impossible to search so I don't know if there was any discussion about terms, or if it was just a kind of snowball effect with people seeing the tags and tagging their own fics as appropriate (and this is a fascinating phenomena in itself!) but either way - i have absolutely no idea what happened to make people go from 'we're divided on whether this character who presents himself a villain is actually doing bad and detrimental things to the other sides/thomas/the world as a whole/innocent puppies' to 'hang on what if the other sides were kicking puppies also?'

So now this has turned from a rant about terminology into me being genuinely curious about this whole thing. I will put the rant on pause while I go scour AO3 to see when the first occurrences of the tags popped up. Please hold.

Okay. I'm going to ignore the unsympathetic tags for anyone who's not a side because i don't hate myself nearly that much (but uh for the record. There is a part of this fandom that thinks the LITERAL CONCEPT OF SLEEP IS EVIL and i'm not sure if i should be impressed or horrified. What? What???)

All of these numbers are up-to-date as of 17/06/2020, which is when I'm posting this. I'm probably not going to update that, so keep that in mind if you're reading this in the future.

In order of chronological appearance:

Unsympathetic Janus ('Deceit' at the time, of course) - first appears 12 March 2018, 191 works Unsympathetic Roman - first appears 10 February 2019, 102 works Unsympathetic Logan - first appears 24 June 2019, 59 works Unsympathetic Patton - first appears 2 July 2019, 228 works Unsympathetic Remus - first appears 17 July, 2019, 121 works Unsympathetic Virgil - first appears 31 July 2019, 71 works

...I genuinely don't know what I expected.

The fandom was much slower to spark with Unsympathetic Remus content after he first showed up, which is kind of interesting. Unless they just didn't bother to tag it? Like, I'm working with the assumption that everyone's tagging all of their content, which might not always be the case

I thought there'd be so much more Janus and Remus-tagged fics than there actually are.

It does not surprise me that Patton has the most in this category. It makes me sad but it doesn't surprise me. Why are you guys so intent on making him evil

And on the opposite side of the sympathy spectrum (similarly chronological):

Sympathetic Janus - first appears 7 March 2018, 1920 works Sympathetic Remus - first appears 2 July 2019, 965 works Sympathetic Patton - first appears 31 July 2019, 71 works Sympathetic Virgil - first appears 1 August 2019, 69 works (nice) Sympathetic Logan - first appears 8 August 2019, 41 works Sympathetic Roman - first appears 20 August, 56 works

It's actually wild that 'Sympathetic [Janus]' seems to have appeared several days between Unsympathetic Jan made any appearance.

There were several Remus fics that were backtagged to before DWIT was released. I ignored them because it was throwing this off a bit. there may be other problems to this effect in any of the other stats, but i’m too lazy to go back and check those all one-by-one

Sympathetic tags in general seem to be used as, hm, there's a word here i can't quite think of. Basically, 'Sympathetic' seems to be the default setting for characters like Virgil, Patton, Roman, Logan (the 'Light Sides', although i take issue with that terms as well. This isn't the time for that, though. Statistics!!) which 'Unsympathetic' used to be the default for Janus and Remus. That's become slightly more elastic of late, though. Basically if you're using the Sympathetic tag for anyone who's not a 'Dark Side' you're usually doing it to make a point of something. e.g. if you have other sides who aren't usually unsympathetic as such and you're trying to clarify that yes, these specific ones are Okay. Or if you're just being thorough. Anyway that's why LAMP seem to have less works tagged as Symp than the other two.

All the sympathetic tags for non-Janus characters seem to have sprung up in quick succession over a short period of months! I have no idea what this means but it's strange and cool to look at

If you're wondering about the discrepancy between this information and my earlier note that the first appearance of 'unsympathetic' as an AO3 tag was the day after CLBG came out - that fic in question had a general 'unsympathetic dark sides' tag, no specific tags mentioned.

Okay statistics segue over. The only point of that apart from scientific curiosity was to try to puzzle out where the fuck this all stemmed from. I still have no answers.

I need you all to understand that 'Sympathetic' no longer looks like a real word to me.

So. Remember how i mentioned how this fandom managed to make unsympathetic!Remy/Sleep a thing? Yeah. That baffles me. I haven't seen unsympathetic Dr Picani anywhere yet but I know it's only a matter of time and that lowkey horrifies me. But that's not really the most baffling thing because, uh

Well. earlier this week I accidentally stumbled into a corner of tumblr that's dedicated to unsympathetic character Thomas content. If you're a fan of that, i'd advise you to click away from this post now because i'm about to get very angry about that and i don't want to make you upset. Thank you.

What the fuck. literally all of the posts in this corner of tumblr are about c!thomas abusing the sides and being a terrible person??? ??????? ????? WHAT? can we just take a step back and. WHY? WHY are you doing this? Are we watching the same show? from a psychological standpoint, that's self-abuse and self-harm and i suppose it might be interesting if you explored it as such but APPARENTLY NO. apparently that's not what this is about. This is just about writing about someone being abusive to other people for the sake of it. there were so many posts about him 'abusing the sides by telling them they're not real people' and. OKAY so a) he wouldn't do that b) THEY AREN'T. THEY LITERALLY AREN'T REAL PEOPLE WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT

[deep breath]

so actually i think that kind of leads me back to the point of this whole thing.  I had a point, what? It surprises me too, don't worry. The point is (roughly) that writing characters as 'unsympathetic' isn't something that i have an objection to at all. Everybody has the capacity to be cruel! Nobody's perfect!! But with the sympathetic/un labels it seems to enforce this strict dichotomy of good vs bad. Either Logan is an abusive monster OR he's a perfect angel. Guys. That's not how it works. And it's not INTERESTING if you do that sort of thing because then you've got people being unnecessarily cruel and evil for the sake of it. They turn into 2-dimensional caricatures that only exist to be bad people. 

People make mistakes! I write about characters making mistakes all the time! Janus and Remus pulling the whole trolley problem thing in Pick A Side definitely wasn't a great thing for them to do, but I didn't tag them as unsympathetic at the time and i have no plan to do so because i don't want to write them as two-dimensional caricatures who are only capable of one of two settings on the morality meter.  (same goes for the next chapter, whenever that comes up but... let’s talk about that when i post it, maybe)That's boring. If you're going to take characters and make them into antagonists just because you can't think of anyone else to fit the role, and you're doing it by stripping away everything that makes them Them, then you might as well just stuff a paper bag with straw and cast a scarecrow as the villain instead because buddy. You're making a strawman. That's what you're doing. You can't have Patton without kindness and well-meaningness, just as you can't have Patton without the mistakes caused by those two things. Same goes for the other sides and their flaws and strengths.

And then there's the other thing that's definitely more specific to this fandom, which I think was best summarized with something i said in the comments section of Pick A Side with len at like ten minutes past midnight that one time:

(...) and not necessarily related to anything you said, but - this fandom is kind of unique in that... there's no actual bad guys or villains. (at least that's how i perceive it.) The Real Villain Is Your Poor Mental Health. people are always like 'unsympathetic deceit' or 'unsympathetic patton' and point to different points in the videos as evidence, ('i give you permission to think those thoughts' patton's being controlling - that's abuse) but like. it's all the same guy. he's giving himself permission. he's doing it to himself. imagine if we tagged other fandom characters with like 'Unsympathetic Harry Potter' when he was being mean or critical to himself. wild.

 So yeah. In conclusion: obviously people should write what they like. If they see characters one way and they want to write about them being two-dimensional monsters that's fine. I kind of wish you'd put more thought into it and make it at least interesting if you're going to do that sort of thing, but you do you i guess.

That being said. If I see any more unsympathetic!Patton content I will start crying. i want to love Goofy Dad Man the same way i used to 

[lexosaurus]

Writing Tips From Your Local Mess

Disclaimer, everyone’s body is different. These are just my experiences. I just wanted to give some helpful anecdotes for people researching for writing because I know this shit can be useful.

1. Fainting

Background: In high school I had to go on a very restrictive diet for health reasons and ended up accidentally giving myself electrolyte depletion and started randomly passing out.

According to my doctor, the brain kinda uses fainting as a reset button of sorts. So most of the time, you’re only unconscious for a few seconds, if that.

I could usually feel it come on. But I didn’t wanna be a wuss so I didn’t say anything. Also sometimes I didn’t even faint.

One thing I did do was when I felt them coming on, I had enough time to move so I was standing over carpet or something at least sort of soft so I wouldn’t hit my head on concrete or anything.

Waking up was a trip because in the movies and stuff people usually wake up all disoriented and “where am I?? what happened??” but that wasn’t even close to reality with me. Cuz I knew where I was and I knew what happened. 

I literally acted like I had smoked a ton of weed when waking up. No joke. I was a giggly mess. My doctor said it was because my brain was being flooded with oxygen I think. Like I remember trying to tell my school nurse I was fine and I didn’t need the wheelchair, because I genuinely didn’t, AND I COULDN’T STOP LAUGHING. She was like “Rightttt okayyyy yeah you’re sooo fine yeahhh” and I was standing there like “Huehueheu no for real hahaha i’m lolol i’m so fine! trust me hahaha!”

Like I’m not kidding people literally asked me if I was high the next day because they just witnessed me collapse on the ground, wake up uncontrollably giggling, and then be escorted out of whatever room I was in pushing a wheelchair and still giggling.

2. Mild to Moderate Electrical Shock

Background: I was renting an apartment with a garbage disposal that had a loose wire. I was shoving some food down there, my hand went past the rubber stopper, and my hand entered the wet electrical field. The electricity went up my arm.

Your bones get this weird vibrating thing idk how to describe it. It’s genuinely something I can’t compare to any other sensation. Weird vibrating is the best I can do.

It really just burns. Like my arm wasn’t twitching or anything after. I couldn’t see any sparks. My arm felt like it was resting on a hot pan and the pan was vibrating.

I actually stuck my hand in there three times (the third time I got legit shocked which was painful) because the buzzing thing was so odd, I thought I was making it up in my head. So the burning only happened the third time when I just fucking went for it.

I didn’t know what happened for a solid 5-10 minutes after. I was aware something had gone wrong, and my arm was now red, but I didn’t have anything to compare it to so I made myself a sandwich and it was only when I was mid-sandwich consumption that I realized “oh fuck i got electrocuted.”

3. Fractured Ribs

Background: I had a whole ass cocktail of breathing problems and diseases over the course of several months and ended up coughing so much I fractured at least one rib.

If I’m being honest, it’s not that big a deal. Idk. I think my period cramps hurt way worse. And if you take advil and shit it’s not that bad

Your ribs go all the way around your body, so I didn’t realize for a while that there might have been a problem because my rib got fractured on the side of my torso. So. Just FYI it’s not always gonna be on your chest.

Like any broken bone, it hurt to press down on that specific rib in that specific spot of the fracture. I couldn’t sleep on that side of my body for a time, and laughing and coughing was lil painful.

Overall, not the worst thing ever. I still did weight training and stuff with it, I just didn’t do any serious cardio for a lil bit. But that was all.

You don’t wrap your chest or bind it in any way in the event of a fracture. You really can’t. Basically, you just take mild pain relievers and wait it out.

4. Getting Too Drunk

Background: I went to college.

I wasn’t gonna include this one but I just godda say NO ONE hiccups when they’re too drunk. No one. If someone does, it’s cuz idk they just are just like sometimes when you’re sober you hiccup. 

So those “Hey...*hic* how are you *hic* doing?” quotes I see in fanfiction and sometimes in published writing need to go. 

You talk slower and slur a bit and you’re a bit overconfident and bold in your general life decisions but you don’t hiccup oh my god.

5. Being Temporarily Blind

Background: Tried out a new contact brand that happened to have an oopsie in the factory, and so my contacts got doused with some chemical that wasn’t supposed to be in there.

So my specific case, I was “blind” for one week and it was due to my light sensitivity being completely corrupted so I couldn’t even open my eyes in a dark room as it was too “bright” and my eyelid muscles wouldn’t do it. 

Honestly, it was pretty boring. When you lose your vision, you don’t suddenly gain magical abilities from your other senses. I wasn’t able to hear any better or smell any better. Blind people have “better” senses because that’s what they use to navigate, so it takes a while to train those senses to work with you like that. Someone losing their vision for a short period of time isn’t gonna suddenly be an expert sniffer or anything.

Showering and stuff was a bit difficult, because I literally couldn’t open my eyes at all, but I put my conditioner lid face down and my shampoo lid face up, so it wasn’t that bad.

No, I didn’t drop my toothbrush in the sink or in the toilet or anything. I lost my vision, not my coordination.

Yes I did crash into walls. In my own house. But no, I didn’t fall down the stairs at all. Thank god.

I couldn’t use my phone at all (because I don’t know how to use the blind settings) and I was dealing with a lil bit of a pressing issue anyways, so uhhh what happened was I literally just dropped off the face of the earth for a week. All my classmates knew was that one day I was acting kinda weird and complaining about the color spectrum being wonky, and the next day and days following I wasn’t in school or clubs and all contact with me was futile. Rumors about me being in the hospital circulated, probably due to my mom, and that’s all people knew. So you can only imagine the stories I heard afterwards.

That’s all I can think of right now. Uhh yeah as someone who enjoys writing these are some things I thought might be useful. Please feel free to add onto this if you have any experiences you think could be good for people to know. Please remember, this is all anecdotal and shouldn’t be taken as a medical bible for your writing purposes. It’s just a new perspective to think about.

[ayameakuma]

Hi, guys!

So, this is one of my many ideas for fanfics (seriously, they are breeding like rabbits inside my head) and I need your opinion on whether you would like to read something like this (it helps me decide if the fanfic idea is worth it or not when friends or other people give their thoughts on it).

Fair warning: This idea may trigger some people because it involves breaking 2 ships from 2 different fandoms that people like very much from what I have seen. I DO NOT INTENT TO START SOME SHIPPING WAR HERE. If this annoys you or you just don't like it, be polite about it, ok? I cannot control what my anime/cartoon infested brain cooks up for a new fanfic. (GOD KNOWS I have TRIED to control them)

Either way, here is a brief explanation of the idea and some explanation on why I chose the pairing(s):

First off, this is a crossover between Miraculous Ladybug and Soul Eater. Marinette, who at the beginning of the story is a 13 years old girl, is the only daughter of Tom and Sabine Dupain-Cheng. Sabine is a Meister - who is very proficient in wielding a variety of weapons - and Tom is her multi-form weapon. The Cheng Clan is - or better said was - very famous in the world for their weapon wielding abilities and for their assassination capabilities, which some even say that were on par with the Star Clan's.

Marinette, however, was kept away from the weapon/meister world by her parents because they wished she would be able to live the normal life they couldn't. But, that did not last long. Around her 10th birthday, Marinette started exhibiting Meister-like skills, and not normal ones either (you can't convince me that the only ones that show the signs of belonging to one of the side of the spectrum are just the weapon, the meisters must also have like early signs of Awakening as a meister too, right?): heightened sense for danger, her body moving on its own when she feels unsafe/sees someone in need of help, and, the strangest one yet, possessing knowledge of how to use a certain object as a weapon in situations that need such expertise (like, knowing how to and where to wound a wolf with just a throw of a sharp rock/a stab of a pocket knife, in order to protect a classmate of hers). These skills brought her more bad than good. For showing such dangerous skills, she was bullied, called weird or even accused of being a "killer in becoming" (kids are stupid and cruel, let's just leave it at that).

Two years pass, during which her signs of awakening as a Meister become more pronounced. Marinette, who never complained about the bullying to her parents, has had enough and tells them what the kids in her school put her through. Hearing this, Tom and Sabine make their decision and, at the age of 12, Marinette Dupain-Cheng becomes one of the newest students at DWMA.

Here, she meets Adrien Agreste, the son of Gabriel Agreste. Adrien is still a model here and is a weapon. His father, Gabriel, was known as one of DWMA most talented students as a Meister and currently is a top fashion designer, his dream of becoming the Meister that made the next Death Scythe now unattainable due to the premature death of his partner and wife, Emily.

Marinette falls for Adrien, who was LITERALLY the first person - besides her parents - that treated Marinette like a human being and not a ticking bomb in the last 2 years. She decides to become the best Meister she can be and become Adrien's pair and possibly his significant other along the way. Her first female friend in Death City, Alya, supports her with all her might and tried helps Marinette get Adrien's attention. The two are also helped by Nino, Adrien's first friend at DWMA, and Alya's Weapon Partner.

One year later, she finally gathers up her courage to ask him to become a meister-weapon pair with her. Things should go smoothly from here on, right? Wrong. Adrien refuses her and, unknowingly, breaks her heart. Depressed, she ends up crying and questioning her worth over the next week, loosing more and more sleep.

A few days after, she ends up being incredibly late for one class that will have the students make pairs for a "pretend fight" as not only to help them with their partnership (for those who already have partners chosen), but also to observe their performance in a more controlled environment before sending them out to collect the Kishin souls.

Along her there is another student who end up just as late as she is, that student being Soul "Eater" Evans. The two, who never really spoke before (besides the morning greetings or just small insignificant chats) are now put to fight as a Meister-Weapon Pair for this only class.

Durring the class, however, something unexpected happened, and, now, by Lord Death's word, the two have to give their partnership a chance by becoming temporary partners for the rest of the school year. Will Marinette and Soul's partnership end up being a success or an utter failure?

ALRIGHT! So, the above is a short summary of like the first 2 chapters, maybe. And as you can see I already changed a LOT of things from the original setting of Soul Eater. (I have nothing planned on how to input the kwami here but... I WILL come up with something, hopefully) Why? Don't ask me. I have zero ideea how this became a thing in my brain and maybe I will have a more clear idea as to why over time. For now, let's leave that as "it just works and that is it".

Now, as you read I have put Marinette and Soul as a (temporary) Meister and Weapon pair, but their relationship before this arrangement is more inspired from my own life. I basically was in the same class for 1 year with this boy, and, besides the group project and greetings, we have never talked at all. One day we just start talking because we were bored and that boy basically became one of my best friends in like 5 minutes. It is this muted chemistry that only clicks for you once you actually interact with that person in a non-official setting or just happens over the course of the debate of one subject that you both like.

Also, yes, I think that Soul and Marinette will be a good romantic (or maybe platonic) couple too. And since, Soul becomes Marinette's weapon, Adrien becomes Maka's.

Now, to explain why these two Meister-Weapon pairs work:

1.Soul and Marinette (Sonette - the name of the ship - given by my best friend who told me I should post this here)

Due to being bullied, Marinette is very shy in general and the only time she becomes more assertive is during battle, even though the confidence/assertiveness dosen't last long. Remember this is a world in which Mari never got to be Ladybug, and because of this, here she is more meek and dosen't know her own value, nor does she have any self-confidence acquired due to responsibilities such as superheroing or being class president. She also didn't have a lot of friends in school before DWMA, a fact that may end up creating situations in which she is very much overwhelmed because someone did a very nice gesture towards her or she may even end up taking blame for thing that were not her fault at all. As such, someone like Soul, who is confident, could balance out Mari very well, besides the fact that LITTLE MARI NEEDS SUPPORT, GODDAMN IT. She needs someone to reamind her she has worth and get her out of her comfort zone in order to give her a push in a better direction. (In other words: Marinette Protection Squad Assemble!)

As for Soul... well, Soul is stubborn. I think that it will do him well to have someone he needs to look after since it will show Soul's gentle side more. Besides this, Soul is still the same Soul we know and love. Personally, I think that these little changes in a character while still maintaining the canon personality can actually make them seem more alive and it makes character development moments more significant in comparison to the original because we see a new side of that character that the canon did not delve into too much.

2. Maka and Adrien

Look, I love Maka and Soul's dynamics and the same can be said about Mari and Adrien's (if only blondie had a back bone *me being salty about the Lila phases*).

But you can't really say that Maka isn't reckless or that Adrien is not a spineless coward most of the time (hate you too, Gabriel, since it is your fault for this).

Why I think they are good for each other?

Well, Maka could learn to be more attentive towards other people and less reckless. Seriously, there is a fine line between courage and recklessness, and Maka seems to need to learn how to discern between the two. Adrien could be good for this since, in this fanfic, he is more or less naive af and needs to be guided by someone other than his father. Maka, in trying to help Adrien, ends up helping herself to some extent and due to Adrien's stained relationship with his father maybe she will even give her own father, Spirit, a chance to mend their own relationship. (It is just a possibility that I could see after pairing them up)

As for Adrien? Well, in this fanfic idea, at least until Maka gets into his mind, Adrien is not better than a doll for his father to play with. Gabriel controls everything than happens in his life. And since here he is not Chat Noir, the only little escape he has is the school, but even that is conditioned by his grades: "If you do not continue to have exemplary results in your school work, then I see no need for you to continue going there." - Gabriel, at some point in the story probably

His father even chose his own partner based on the level of soul compatibility they have together. Basically, Adrien has no voice of his own.

Maka could help him, simply put because she is reckless. Without Soul there, Maka needs to be told what is a good idea and what isn't, even more so when she is not capable of seeing the answer herself. And so, Adrien has to take a stand and say things with his own mouth. He will end up finding his own voice because he has Maka there. (I low key believe if Marinette was his partner, she will have a lots of problems trying to get Adrien to disagree with her, mainly due to her shyness and feelings for Adrien, but that is just me)

Maka and Adrien even have a similar house situation: they both have only one parent remaining that they dislike (no matter how internalized Adrien's dislike is), but they handle it differently which could be a good influence on the other: while Adrien is obedient to a fault to Gabriel because he wants to please his father in hope that Gabriel won't abandon him for not being enough, Maka defies her father due to her dislike for him and for the fact that he exhibits a perverse behaviour while still saying he is in love with Maka's mom (this pissed me off very much about Spirit but at the same time, give him a chance Maka, look at him; he is pitiful)

And this concludes my rant/ depiction of my fanfic idea.

Again, if you don't like it, that is fine. If you do, that is fine too. I just want to ask you: do you think it is worth writing? Would you read something like this if I did wrote and posted it?

Thank you for your time! Bye!😊

[lawbreaker13]

Why is everybody so upset with Stormy Weather 2? This was like a super important episode??

Seriously guys, I don’t know what the problem is. There are flashback episodes in basically every show, but this was a crazy important marker for Miraculous Ladybug. I’m gonna go into detail about everything that was learned, but I just want to start by saying that what this episode did for us indefinitely was set itself on a timeline. It explicitly stated that everything through Chris Master happened within a year-and-a-half timeframe before this episode. It also set Marinette in a place where she’s officially declared, in writing, that she and Adrien are “just friends.” Like, she used Adrien’s “just a friend” line. And we know how this show is with parallels, so I count that as a pretty big one.

I’m gonna get more into this now though, so here we go.

Right off the bat we have the idea of change. Chloe taunts Marinette with the idea that she’ll never change (and we all know how much Marinette likes to challenge Chloe’s words). The word “change” is something that is brought up throughout the whole episode, so watch out for that.

We have Marinette genuinely reflecting. Like not just thinking on her rooftop and complaining about how Chat Noir is a glutton and would drop his guard for a couple of macaroons, she’s really thinking over her life’s choices. It’s framed in such a different light than the way we normally get our characters thinking.

“Adrien has become a true friend.” “Adrien’s become a friend who I can talk to about anything.” “Can you still be in love with someone even after they become your friend? Do you think I’ll ever be able to tell him that he means much more to me than ‘just a friend?’” This is what Marinette thinks of relationships. She thinks that the friends-to-lovers trope is crap and that you have to dive straight into a relationship. And that’s why whenever Adrien talks about her as a friend she becomes so heartbroken. She doesn’t think it’s a step in the right direction, she thinks it’s completely on the opposite end of the spectrum.

I don’t know WHAT Gabriel is plotting with “Ms. Tsurugi” or whether that means Kagami or her mom, but I’m a little terrified.

"Things may not be going exactly as we had planned, but change can be a good thing.” Gabriel’s first line is about change. Hm.

Nathalie’s entire monologue gives us so much background I don’t even know where to start.

She’s starting to regret having taken the job in the first place

She really, genuinely cares about Adrien

She officially, canonically, is in love with Gabriel and it’s because his dedication to his wife is admirable which show how much of a detail-oriented person Nathalie is because WOW she’s missing the big picture here, and also that there is going to be some major love triangle stuff going on towards the end of this between Gabriel, Emilie, and Nathalie (but how might that work?? Redemption arc??? Prison marriage????)

Emilie’s condition is progressively getting worse

Nathalie is still getting sicker, despite only having used the peacock miraculous once (on-screen)

(Also, side-note, hearing Nathalie speak so much at once was like an out-of-body experience for me and her passionate voice about Gabriel was...something)

Adrien really just wants to talk to his dad about his day and their relationship is so screwed up that he can tell by LESS THAN a side glance that Gabriel doesn’t want to hear it from him. Like geez.

Gabriel can recognize familiar emotions. So...does an emotion from Chat Noir feel the same as emotion from Adrien??? Guess we’ll find out soon enough.

Nooroo just wants to see Gabriel and Adrien happy together. Gabriel is a dick. This is not new information, just needed to be reiterated again.

Also, save Nooroo, please.

Gabriel does in fact have the ability to feel remorse. However, he chooses to ignore it, in his own words “at any price.” The only things worth changing his mind are his family, though he does care about Nathalie too. We’ll see how well that holds up.

“People don’t change, they only grow.” Huh. Episode themes from Gabriel Agreste.

“My father will never change.” YOU GUYS PICKING UP ON A THEME HERE????

Plagg’s “I like people who never change. You always know what to expect!” is first off, adorable, second, reverse psychology. He does this to Adrien consistently throughout the series. Considering he’s the one who keeps trying to change Adrien’s mind about Ladybug, he obviously knows what he’s saying isn’t entirely truthful. But Plagg is an adorable, cheese-loving psychopath. Whatcha gonna do?

On the complete other end of that, Plagg talking Adrien through all the ways he’s changed shows how much he cares about him again.

Why Plagg is defending Gabriel, I don’t know. But this is definitely something to note. Does he really think Gabriel is changing for the better? Is Gabriel supposedly changing for the better? (I vote no) Is he unintentionally setting Adrien up for disappointment in a later episode? Guess we’ll see!

Side note, Plagg pretending not to know Marinette’s name is one of my favorite things. It’s not like he can’t say it because Tikki can talk about Adrien, he just chooses not to. And he knows very well who she is. This was confirmed in Weredad.

The scarf has been brought up again. Everybody note this immediately.

ZAG does, in fact, have somewhat of a legitimate animation budget. That volcano is sick.

Of all the villains to use as a filler, Stormy Weather was a solid choice, you all have to admit. Especially when you contrast the repetition of a villain to the episode’s theme.

Ladybug puns. This has been confirmed.

“A little change is good, don’t you think?” HMMMMMMM. Just think about how this was followed by the line “I love that girl.” HMMMMMMM.

Nino and Alya chill on Alya’s bed. Nino never regrets meeting Alya. He loves his girlfriend. Alya loves her boyfriend. They are one of the sweetest canon couples ever to exist.

Nino has a flirty voice he uses on Alya. This is important information.

I don’t want to get into what would’ve happened had the twins not burst the door open, but I want this thought to be noted.

Nino has been adopted by the Cesaire family.

Chloe literally stands on her rooftop with a bat signal every time there’s an akuma. Obsessive much?

"There’s nobody nicer than me!” *cue reel of Chloe being the worst human in the country* is honestly one of the best jokes in this series.

“Once a villain, always a villain,” has an incredible amount of significance but it can pretty much be summed up into the idea that Chloe doesn’t understand change.

Ladybug knows that she and Chat Noir know each other really well now. She reflects on how much they trust each other, literally with their lives, and how their relationship is the reason they have new powers and fighting abilities.

Also, character development. Did anybody see that super soft look Ladybug gave Chat Noir when he said he always agrees with her? Would Ladybug have stopped to admire anything about Chat Noir 2 seasons ago? HMMMMMM.

I would like it to be noted that professional cinematography equipment is several thousands of dollars and it physically hurts me to think of that camera screen breaking in the cold.

Apparently you can take down a super villain with a photocopier and a pencil. Take notes, people.

Alya’s sisters have an akuma victory dance. More important info.

Marinette has gathered up enough courage to write Adrien a note. Last episode she tried to express her feelings. She very well had it in her to do that again, and what she chose to do was to make it clear that they were just friends. She wants Adrien to know that they’re on the same page. It’s in writing. And in Adrien’s hands.

“Good job, we’ve got ourselves a new and improved Marinette!” Change, anyone???

“She’s always been that way. She never changes.” HMMMMM.

Plagg wants Adrien to move on. He’s genuinely trying to convince him by reminding him of how Ladybug is not interested. But maybe there are other girls out there? Hint hint.

*Looks at valentine from Marinette* “You can’t just change your feelings just like that.” *conveniently timed note from Marinette arrives* GUYS. IT’S CALLED SYMBOLISM. Or something like that. Also foreshadowing.

Now this I need to explain super in-depth because there are so many complaints about this part. Adrien was just looking between the two notes. He knows how Marinette gets around him and he knows how it compares to when she’s talking to Chat Noir or Alya. He remembers things from Troublemaker. And he’s holding the two notes in his hands at that moment. Incredibly similar handwriting. He thinks. He remembers how she had pictures of him in her room. And he consciously knows that the valentine he got in response to his own is not from Ladybug. He knows it’s from someone at school. Doesn’t think, he knows. Adrien has figured it out. “No, Marinette couldn’t possibly be in love with me,” he says sadly with slight question in his voice. “She’s just a friend who loves fashion. Besides. There’s Luka.” *cue flashbacks of Adrien watching Marinette and Luka on a date, with the absolute saddest music I have ever heard play in this show playing in the background while he reflects* Guys. This is how Adrien thinks. This is what Adrien thinks of relationships. He believes that you can only like one person at a time. He can’t like Marinette, he likes Ladybug. And Marinette can’t like him, she likes Luka. He DID figure it out. The only reason he dismissed it is because he doesn’t understand her feelings. He doesn’t understand that love isn’t clear-cut, finite, one-and-done. He knows for a fact that she went out with Luka once, so how could she like both of them? That’s not possible...is it?

And are you telling me that “It’s just a person that has similar writing, that’s all,” wasn’t spoken in the most melancholic, disappointed tone of voice that Adrien has ever used on anyone other than his father?

Adrien’s 14. Marinette is 14. They don’t understand life. They don’t understand how complex feelings and relationships are. They think you fall in love with your soulmate and it’s golden from there. They’re dumb kids, but they’re not stupid. Adrien did figure it out. But he can’t bring himself to believe it. He doesn’t understand. And be honest. Did you understand when you were 14?

A couple side notes about the episode that didn’t fit directly into my play-by-play.

That valentine thing went full-circle. Dark Cupid was the first episode with any real lovesquare plot-progression and here we have the exact same setup, but this time with internal monologuing. We start with Marinette reading Adrien’s letter and end with Adrien reading Marinette’s letter. Just like we did in Dark Cupid, but this time it’s in reflection. It’s a parallel. I’m not fabulous at analysis, but I do know this much. Parallels.

This was a Valentine’s Day episode in the same way that Chris Master was a Christmas episode. Themed but not centered. It was a nice change of pace if you ask me.

The end card is always kind of a mini-synopsis of the episode. In this one, we see Marinette, confident and proud of herself for accepting Adrien’s friendship, and Adrien, staring longingly at a valentine that he knows isn’t from Ladybug, wondering if it could possibly, possibly be from Marinette. Huh. That feels a little backwards, doesn’t it?

And I’m just still so stuck on how sad that music was with the Luka flashback. Like, that kinda hurt to listen to??? Wow Adrien.

Side note, I just...I can't get over this. When you were a kid and you heard someone liked you (let alone was in love with you) did you believe it? I'm an adult and I wouldn't believe it if someone told me they liked me. When you feel as unloved as Adrien does every single day, the idea of a good friend of yours being completely in love with you sounds almost...too good to be true, doesn't it? Why should he think she likes him? Especially since he’s just drawing that conclusion on his own?

I personally would like to believe that the reason the rest of the episodes have been postponed is so that we can mull this over for a little while until the rest of them come out. Because from this point forward, there will be some changes. And speaking of which.

CHANGE. Can we all agree that that’s what this episode was about? Why would they place it on a timeline otherwise? Why would they explain to us what came before unless we’re supposed to know what comes after? IT’S THE CONTINUITY THAT WE’VE BEEN ASKING FOR. ACCEPT YOUR GIFTS.

This is the best continuity and information we’ve been given since episode one. And it’s set up in a way that my 6-year-old cousin could understand perfectly. It’s a show for everyone, guys. And this episode was the perfect example of it.

I personally think this is one of the best episodes thus far. In fact, if it weren’t for my Marichat-loving heart, it would be number one by a long-shot. Of COURSE they needed a recap episode. Because if they didn’t have one, do you know what we’d say? “Oh, but Thomas Astruc says there IS no continuity! Did he LIE???” Let the man win for once. We asked. It was delivered. This. Is. Continuity. This. Is. Character development. This. Is. Plot. This. Is. Miraculous.

Thank you for coming along on this journey with me.

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: Devil’s Due

Summary: Years ago, Lacey made a deal. Now, at the height of her fame, he comes to collect. Lacey, though, is canny, and she’s ready for whatever he might ask of her in return for his magic.

Written for the @a-monthly-rumbelling moodboard prompt, available here.

Rated: T

=====

Devil’s Due

Lacey’s expecting him when he arrives at the same time as her breakfast. She’s been counting the days, because it would never do to be caught unawares when dealing with the likes of him. Despite everything that’s happened in her favour over the last five years, Lacey is genre-savvy enough not to be complacent.

So, he doesn’t catch her unawares when he slips into her bedroom behind the maid bringing coffee and croissants. She gives him a nod of acknowledgement. Calm and collected; although there’s that same frisson of fear that she felt the first time they met, it’s more a knee-jerk reaction to what he is than to what he may ask of her.

The maid leaves, not registering the appearance of another person in the room. She wouldn’t, of course. He made it clear last time that only Lacey would be able to see him.

“You’re not surprised.” He sounds surprised himself. Surprised, and something else. Lacey would say something along the lines of elation. He’s actually happy that she’s not surprised.

“Naturally. It’s five years to the day. I knew that you’d come to collect.”

He smiles, and it’s such a dangerous smile, but such a thrilling one too. He looks different to the first time they met. He’s wearing a sharp suit, exquisitely fitted around his slim frame. The crutch from last time has been replaced by an elegant cane, and the missing tooth now glitters gold. As her fortunes have increased, so have his, it seems. Or maybe this is just his way, altering his appearance to suit the circumstances. Back when she’d been undiscovered, singing in clubs for a pittance and sleeping in a different bed every night, no fixed abode, he had mirrored her hunger. Now she is sated and successful and he mirrors her comfort.

Lacey remembers their first meeting, in the alley outside the club. It is three o’clock in the morning, and Lacey is lighting her first cigarette of the night. The tips have been poor lately and she’ll have to make this pack last. He comes out of nowhere, offering her a match when her lighter doesn’t work. She’s certain she checked the alley for lurkers when she first came out. It’s as if he’s stepped out of the darkness itself. She just stares at him, both of them watching the match flame burn down to his fingers. He doesn’t throw it down until it goes out completely, and when he lights the next, his skin, although grubby, is unburned. That’s when Lacey knows what he is.

“I can make you famous,”, he whispers, breath smelling faintly of sulphur, or does she imagine that? From any other hobo on the streets it would be a pathetic line, but when the third match has burned down and Lacey has finally lit her cigarette and taken a long, calming drag, she knows that he could and would make good on his words.

“Can you, now?” She tries to play it cool and uninterested, but that hunger for success has already burst into life again and is champing at the bit to be let out to play and to devour whatever he might offer. “And what would be the price?”

She knows the story. A classic tale reworked so many times over that it’s become part of the collective psyche. At the end of your rope, someone offers your hopes and dreams on a plate. But no-one gets something for nothing; soon you’ll get your backside bitten if you don’t follow the rules.

“Just say the word, dearie, and fame and fortune could be yours.”

“And what would be the price?” Lacey repeats. “My soul?”

He laughs, a high-pitched, twittering giggle. “Oh no. That’s just crass. Souls fell out of fashion years ago. We live in a materialistic world, after all. Everyone needs things.”

“In that case, first-born child is traditional, isn’t it?”

He shakes his head. “Far too risky an investment. What if you never reproduce? Immaculate conception is the other side’s domain.”

“So, what then? There’s no such thing as a free lunch, or a free foot in the door. Especially not in Hollywood.”

“Let’s just say that you’ll owe me a favour.”

Lacey’s savvy. She knows that she’s better off walking away. But savvy won’t keep her alive if she can’t buy bread and the hunger for food, fame and fortune is gnawing at her insides.

“Then let’s make a deal.”

The terms are agreed, and he says he’ll return in five years. Lacey begins her countdown. She may have given in to temptation, but she can still be sharp.

And here he is, five years later, calmly standing in her bedroom doorway. She beckons him closer and offers a croissant, as if she has any power in this exchange. Still, he accepts, perching on the edge of her bed and taking a bite of flaky pastry.

“Time’s been kind to you,” she says.

“Even kinder to you. Breakfast in bed. It’s a far cry from singing for your supper, isn’t it?”

“I can’t complain. So, your favour.”

He tuts. “All business and no small talk. Such a shame. I wanted to hear all about your next role. And all the gossip from the Oscars, of course. You looked truly ravishing, my dear.”

“Thank you.” She’s determined not to be lulled into a false sense of security. He would not be here unless he wanted something. She must keep that in the forefront of her mind. She’s known it for five years, so she can’t afford to let her guard down now at this final moment.

“You’re right though.” He’s changed tack again, making Lacey’s head spin with all his different directions, determined to follow him to the bitter end and never lose her way. “You’ve never once complained about the pressures of fame, about its burdens. That’s what I like about you, Lacey. You’ve never taken my gifts for granted.”

“God giveth, and God taketh away.” She smirks at his raised eyebrow. “Or the other side, of course.”

“That’s more like it, dearie.” He leans in a little closer now that he’s finished eating. “There’s something else I’ve noticed.”

“Oh yes? And what might that be?” Although Lacey is enjoying their banter, a small part of her wants to cut to the chase. She’s been anticipating this day for the last five years and the suspense is killing her.

“You’ve never been linked with another name. A beautiful young talent like you, I would have thought that every red top journalist under the sun would have given their right arm for the hot gossip on Lacey French’s latest beau. Or belle, if you’re that way inclined.”

It’s true. She hasn’t been in any kind of relationship since the day she made the deal, not that the ones she’d been in before had anything close to meaning in them. She tells herself again that this is the result of being prepared. The fewer people she has attached to her, the less chance there is of someone she loves being caught in the crossfire when he comes to collect.

Deep down, though, she knows that the real reason is far darker, far less noble than the one she would choose to give him. She knows that he knows it too, and that there would be little point to her sanctimonious lie.

For all that he has changed in appearance since the last time they met, one thing remains the same. His eyes are unchanged. They’re still the dark and deceptively dangerous eyes he had before. One might call them soulless in their depths: indeed, Lacey wrote him off as soulless five years ago.

Today though, the light is better, mid-morning compared to the small hours of the night. Lacey can see that those dark, dark eyes are far from soulless. They’re so deep that they’re eternal, full of secrets as old as time itself, and older than that again. There’s history in his eyes, the full spectrum of human emotion on a worldwide scale that Lacey could never hope to emulate. He’s not unfeeling. He is feeling, in the most literal sense of the word, all those base, animalistic feelings deemed sinful brought into one embodiment. As that realisation sinks in, Lacey knows and fully accepts the reason for her five years’ detachment from others of her human race. The only man, if he can be called such, who has ever sparked her interest, is sitting in front of her now.

“My price,” he says presently, bringing her back to reality.

“Of course.”

“A kiss.”

“What?” At first she thinks she hasn’t heard him correctly. After all, he was the one who stressed the importance of things at their last meeting.

“Do you disagree to my terms?” There’s ice in his smooth voice. Just a little, but it still chills her through, nonetheless.

“Not at all.” She hastens to correct the misunderstanding. “It just seems something so small and insignificant in comparison to the gift given.”

“Ah, dearie, it’s for me to decide what is and isn’t worth the price. A kiss from you would be very precious indeed.”

Lacey wonders, because there’s got to be more to it than that. If that was his price, why not take it there and then in the alley? She’s certainly done worse in alleys in her time. Just what will she be giving away if she gives him this simple thing? A kiss in exchange for all that he has given her – fame, fortune, wealth, comfort, security…

Lacey brings her hand to his face, her fingers cupping his cheek gently. He’s warm to the touch, unnaturally so. If he were a normal man, she’d say he had a fever, but she knows better. His eyes never falter from her face, but he remains silent and his hands stay clasped in his lap, neither encouraging nor dissuading, leaving her to settle the score on her own terms.

His lips are scalding as Lacey presses her mouth against his. It’s not a chaste, Hollywood kiss. If Lacey’s going for this, then she’s going for it wholeheartedly. She won’t be accused of not making an effort.

He’s surprisingly soft and pliant and his lips part eagerly under the pressure from her tongue. His hand comes up to cradle the back of her head, but his touch is light; she feels no urge to fight it.

She expected him to taste sulphurous, like the vague scent that she can sometimes pick up in his vicinity, or maybe it’s just her imagination. He doesn’t. He tastes of apples, pomegranates, the forbidden fruits that lead to darker depths.

Lacey knows then, as she closes her eyes and sinks down into his embrace. Oh, he was clever when he said that he did not want her soul. Even if it was not his prize, he has ensnared her, nonetheless. She thinks of her next project, Pride and Prejudice, filming to start in two weeks.

You have bewitched me; body and soul.

Her soul is his now, whether he wants it or not. With this single kiss, the culmination of five years of intrigue and wondering, he’s ruined her for any other man who might cross her path. He was the only one she wanted before, and now she knows that she will never want another.

There’s lust and passion and excitement and desire in his eyes when they break away, a perfect mirror for her own thoughts and emotions. He smiles his dangerous smile, sated, his price collected, and he gets up to leave. Lacey knows that he would always leave her wanting more, but she won’t give him the satisfaction of letting him know it. He already knows it. He already knows everything.

“Will I be seeing you again?” she asks, affecting an unconcerned tone.

His grin is wicked as he pauses by the door.

“As you wish, Miss French.”

[mysunfreckle]

If the Patron-Minette had a coffee shop AU

...it would be the Dutch kind of coffeeshop

Patron-Minette Friendship, Gen, 1.3k, cw: smoking, soft drugs

For the type of place it is Coffeeshop Gaia has a very good reputation and a rather high number of regulars, to add to the usual tourist traffic. Claquesous was a customer too, before he became an employee. Not that he’s entirely sure when exactly he stopped just hanging around and actually ended up working there. That seems to be the case for most of his colleagues too. 

Gueulemer practically lives at the shop (of course he does also actually live in the apartment above, but that still shouldn’t mean he’s literally always there). Claquesous’ shift is always a full eight hours at least, longer if it gets busy or there happens to be trouble. And although Babet makes sure all her people are always well supplied with food and coffee, he has never seen anyone get the required regular breaks.

But that’s just the way things are and no one cares. Working for Babet is not so much a job as it is a vocation. It’s like that for everyone, no less so for Claquesous. Working for Babet means working hard and being bossed around, but it also means being part of her people. It’s a strange thing, having Babet’s trust placed on you, and it’s compelling. Once she’s made up her mind up about someone, it’s fixed.

Ironically, Claquesous quite likes working security. At least he likes it here. He even likes being sent out with Gueulemer to deal with the slightly less above-board side of the business. To be honest, he’d be bored without it. (Officially Gueul is just the cook, but his strength and size have two advantages. Firstly, it’s intimidating. Secondly, it draws attention away from Claquesous, who is actually the bigger threat by virtue of quickness and training.)

None of that appreciation is particularly present in Claquesous mind at the moment though, because he’s still fucking tired.

“Hey Biz,” he grunts to Kruideniers who’s smoking just outside the door because smoking tobacco is still prohibited inside and – more importantly – Babet can’t stand the smell.

Kruideniers hums. “Trouble yesterday I hear.”

“Yes,” Claquesous says, already walking past him.

“Glad I wasn’t by then,” Kruideniers says with a grin.

“You never are, lucky fuck.”

Kruideniers laughs and Claquesous steps inside. It’s quiet. Normal for a weekday afternoon. There’s two guys sitting by the window and a small group of giggly girls in a corner, that’s it.

Predictably, Marion is still behind the bar and Montparnasse is nowhere in sight.

“You look like hell,” she greets him. “Double espresso?”

“Thanks,” he nods, a little surprised. Marion Veuve has many admirable qualities, but ‘caring’ is not the first one that springs to mind.

Marion slides off her chair and moves to the coffee machine with ease, clearly she’s having a good day.

“Is Gueul in?” Claquesous asks.

“Course,” she says. “In the kitchen.” She makes a prompting motion with her head and Claquesous moves towards the door to the left while she makes him his coffee. The customers must have been very pleasant today. As he opens the kitchen door he hears Gueulemer’s voice and even before he sees him Claquesous knows he’s on the phone. His friend sounds different when he’s talking to his family. Gueulemer doesn’t see him, he’s leaning heavily against the wall with one hand, the other holding his phone to his ear. His eyes are closed and he looks way more tired than his voice lets on.

“Sí, Mai. Sí, sí. Ami primintí. Sí. …m’ta stimabo. Ayo.”

He lowers his phone and opens his eyes at the same time. When he sees Claquesous he pulls his face into a grimace. “Shit, man.”

“You’re not winning any beauty contests today either,” Claquesous snarks.

Gueulemer groans in agreement and drags a hand across his face. “Babet’s been out all day,” he says unhappily. “Only heard from her once.”

Claquesous doesn’t answer. That probably means she’s having one of her famous arguments with one or more of her business associates. “If she needs us, she’ll tell us,” he shrugs finally.

“Yeah,” Gueulemer says, clearly not at all pleased with this approach. They don’t have a choice though and he knows it.

They both lift their head when there’s a burst of noise from the shop.

“You’re late,” Marion’s voice drifts above the racket, which means the racket is nothing more than the arrival of Montparnasse.

Montparnasse is the newest addition to the business. He’s is young, cocky, sarcastic and vain. He’s also an extremely good barista, a damn connoisseur when it comes to cannabis products and – for reasons of convenience as well as compatibility – rapidly becoming someone Claquesous genuinely considers his friend.

He and Marion both have very different styles. Marion listens to customers, with vacant smiles and distasteful glances sometimes, but she listens. Montparnasse doesn’t. He reads them, stares them down and tells them what they want instead of taking their order. Somehow, between his good looks and his excellent read of character and taste, he makes it work. People often complain about Montparnasse’s manners, but they never complain about what he ends up serving them.

That is at least partly owed to Gueulemer and Babet of course, because Babet’s drugs are of excellent quality and Gueulemer is a horrendously good cook. Several people from the Antillean community come in just for his pastries, nothing else.

“Fashionably late,” Montparnasse’s smooth voice drawls, causing Gueulemer to turn his eyes upward.

Marion’s reply is indistinguishable, but no doubt scathing and creative, because there is laughter from the customers. Claquesous grins slightly and moves towards the kitchen door. Gueulemer follows him, leaning against the doorframe as Claquesous walks back into the shop.

Montparnasse is leaning on the counter, smirking at Marion and looking the picture of fashion as usual. Claquesous has never questions the way Montparnasse acquires designer clothes, but he suspects he has more than one method and that they all vary greatly on the greyscale spectrum of moral and legal acceptability.

“Oh, it’s you today?” he says as soon as he sees Claquesous and he’s doing a bad job of not sounding pleased.

“Hurtful,” Kruideniers drawls from where he has appeared in the doorway and Montparnasse meets his mockery with utter indifference. “I’m off,” Kruideniers nods at Claquesous. “Nothing to report.”

“Good,” Claquesous nods in return.

Two regulars call out greetings in response to Kruidenier’s goodbye, doing the same (with considerable more charm) for Marion and then settle back down again. It’s a little past five so it’ll be a while before it gets busy. In fact it doesn’t get overly busy at all. At least not with the kind of customers that matter to Claquesous. No one makes trouble, which is good for business, but boring.

Montparnasse looks bored too, but then again he usually does. “If I have to have another argument with a goddamn twenty year old about not selling them more cake, I am shoving someone’s face into the milk steamer,” he snaps after getting rid of yet another group of excitable customers.

Claquesous snorts. “Your twenty-first was how long ago?” he sneers.

Montparnasse’s green eyes flash resentfully. “I never ate myself sick on bloody space cake.”

“Only because you were too busy watching your figure,” Claquesous says sweetly, effortlessly grabbing the towel that Montparnasse chucks at him out of the air.

When he locks the doors at one am Montparnasse has already started cleaning up and judging how much he’s hurrying, he’s meeting someone after work.

“Quiet night.”

Claquesous turns around to nod his agreement at Gueulemer. His friend looks better now than he did before, he must have slept at some point during the evening.

“Want to come up for a bit?” he asks, glancing at Montparnasse to extend the invitation, but obviously rather pleased when that is met with a dismissive:

“Got stuff to do.”

“Stuff or someone,” Claquesous snorts.

“That’s entirely up to him, isn’t it?” Montparnasse grins, disappearing from view as he ducks behind the bar.

Claquesous snorts and follows a chuckling Gueulemer out through the back of the shop. It’s kind of nice, having your friends and your work all gathered in one place. A bit of a tangled mess sometimes, but nice.

[whimsymuse]

Star-Crossed (chapter 1)

➸ “Marry the Prince and save your friend; that was your job, but you refuse to be with someone you don’t love. So, what happens when you fall in love with the wrong person?”

Masterlist

pairing: Taehyung x Reader (slight Jimin x Reader | Royalty AU)

genre: Fluff, humour and angst

warnings: none so far

words: 2,486

Chapter: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight

     When your parents told you the place you were going was a little old timey, this isn't what you were expecting. By old timey, you thought there would just be a lack of skyscrapers and electronic billboards, but you never expected the place to actually look straight out of the Regency era. You half expected Mr. Darcy to round the corner with Elizabeth on his arm wearing his fancy tailcoat and iconic top hat.

     The buildings were mismatched, but shared the cozy small town feel where the architecture consisted purely of wood and bricks. Each building had their respective names painted on wooden panels hanging above their doors. There was also a stark lack of modern technology, but it didn't seem to be because the town was closed off from the rest of society, but simply because their townspeople preferred the simplicity. Even the lamps illuminating the shops had light bulbs that imitated flames and everything was close enough that you could walk or take a short carriage ride to get there.

     You checked your watch. There was still a few minutes to spare before you were supposed to be picked up, so there was no harm in you exploring for a bit, right? Around you there were several shops and carts filled with little trinkets and wares and you just had to see what they had to offer.

     Stepping into the first shop that caught your eye, you were immediately hit with a plethora of scents. The shop was lined with shelves carrying uniquely shaped humidifiers with small bottles of aromas. On a few tables there were even pyramids of handmade soaps, incense and perfume. You slowly and carefully made your way around the shop, not wanting to knock down any displays while also wanting to smell everything the shop had on display.

      There were scents ranging from honeysuckle to forest pine; the entire spectrum from sweet smelling aromas to smokey scented incense.

      You’d just picked up a candle and lifted it to your nose, “Eucalyptus.” You said absentmindedly to yourself before gently placing the candle back down.

      The shop seemed to just be a normal shop, but you couldn’t help but feel like there was something magical to it. You rarely got to see shops like this back where you lived, so maybe it was just that; either way the shop and it's wares kept you hypnotized.

     “Can I help you?” A smooth voice asked, pulling you out of your reverie so suddenly that you almost stumbled over your own feet.

      “N-no, um … I’m just looking.” You managed to stammer out.

      “Alright, well take your time. If you need anything, I'll just be behind here.” The shop keeper said with a polite smile and a nod to his left where you found the counter.

      “Thank you.” You returned the smile, then continued down the aisles, with a faint blush of embarrassment still dusted over your cheeks.

       While peering through the shelves, you tried to focus on the products in front of you in lieu of the embarrassment you felt. And that’s when your eyes land on a basket filled with brightly coloured objects. There was body cream, bath salts, candles and some incense sticks, but what really attracted your attention was the array of multi-coloured rubber ducks that decorated the inside of the basket.

      Did they have kids? You thought, as you vaguely recalled your mother mentioning a toddler and a baby. They would like these, right? What kid didn't like rubber duckies? Plus they're too big to be choking hazards, so it should be fine. They deserve a gift anyways.

      You checked the price, then sighed. You forgot the currency wasn't the same here. So you quickly pulled up the calculator on your phone to figure out the price.

      “Wow, that’s it?” You said slightly surprised, but you weren’t gonna complain. So the next thing you knew, you were hefting basket all the way to the counter.

      “Did you find everything you were looking for today?”

       You nodded as you plopped the basket down on the counter before asking, “Do you take card?”

       The shopkeeper gestured to the small machine next to the register and you sighed in relief. The town, though looking like it came straight out of a time machine, still had some of the conveniences of technology, and lucky for you because you forgot to exchange your money at the airport.

      You paid then smiled up at the shopkeeper, who brightly smiled back and it wasn’t until then that your realized he was actually good looking. His hair was parted off to the side, showing off perfectly clear skin and soft features that you envied and his smile literally glowed. How had you not noticed this man before? You briefly wondered, before hastily looking away upon realizing you’d been staring for far too long.

     “Pleasure doing business with you.” He said.

     “Yes, thank you.” You replied quickly, just before leaving with your heavy purchase in tow.

     Back on the streets, you forced yourself to forget the encounter because that was not why you were here. You couldn’t be ogling random people when you might be getting married in a few weeks.

After shifting a little bit away from the window of the store,you decided to stay where you were. The basket was way too heavy for you to lug anywhere else and besides, you would be in this country for awhile, so you still had a lot to time to explore the town.

      As a few minutes ticked by, you noticed the shops around you slowly turn off their lights and close up. You looked at your watch in surprise; it was still early, but you guessed that was just another difference between here and where you came from.

      You swayed slightly on the balls of your feet, looking down the road for approaching cars or carriages hoping that whichever was supposed to pick you up would arrive soon, when you felt a light tap on your shoulder.

      Surprised, you turned around and were greeted by a handful of bright pink flowers being held in your face.

     “For you.” A small voice stated more than asked and you had to lower your gaze to see who it came from.

     “Oh, no it’s fine. I already spent all of my money on this basket.” You said, nodding towards your last purchase.

     The little girl shook her head, “It's free.” she said and your eyes widened in shock.

    “Free?”

     The girl nodded, “It's the end of the day and these are all I have left. Have them.”

      “Are you sure?” You asked, only to have the girl respond by pushing the flowers closer to your face. “W-Well, okay then. Thank you.” You said, gratefully accepting the flowers, “They’re beautiful, do you grow then yourself?”

      “Yup! They're the best flowers in town.” She responded, proudly placing her hands on her hips.

      “I don’t doubt it.”

     You were still admiring the flowers when you heard a voice call your name.

     Before you could respond, the little girl before you bounded past you and curtsied.

     “Lord Taehyung, good evening.” She said.

     You watched as the man who’d just called your name bow back to her.

     “Miss Jane, always a pleasure.” The man replied, in a rather exaggerated manner and you faintly heard a small giggle escape the little girl. “Flower business going well I presume?”

     “Of course!” Jane placed her hands on her hips again, “I almost completely sold out again today.”

     “Marvellous! I'm glad to hear it.” The man said again in his overly happy tone, but you sensed he meant evey word regardless. “Now you must excuse me, but I must be heading off soon and considering the time,” He said while briefly checking his watch, “you should be too.”

     Jane nodded, the curtsied “Good night, Lord Taehyung. She then turned towards you, “It was nice to meet you…”

     “Lady Y/n." The man responded before you could and Jane smiled brightly as she curtsied while repeating your name.

       Hesitantly, you curtsied back, albeit awkwardly, but Jane’s smile told you she was satisfied all the same. After she scampered off, you lifted your eyes towards the man before you as he approached.

      “Lady Y/n, it's a pleasure to see you again.” He said as he took your hand a gently placed a kiss on its back.

       Flustered, you choked on your response “I-it’s nice to see you too...um... Lord Taehyung?”

       Last time you saw Taehyung, you were back home and that's all you called him. Slapping on ‘Lord' felt weird and foreign on your tongue.

     Taehyung chuckled at your seeming discomfort then said, “I guess we can drop the formalities when it’s just us.”

     “Oh thank God.” You sighed with your entire body in relief.

     “Though I have to warn you that everyone else in town is going to be referring to you as a Lady and while you're here you're going to have to learn how to respond appropriately.”

     You bit your lip in nervousness, but nodded anyways. “I expected as much. You really do run things very differently here.”

     “Yes, but I hope you come to like it here regardless.” Taehyung responded, hands still stiffly held behind his back and you sighed.

     “So by ‘drop formalities’ were you just talking about the titles or can we talk like we normally do to each other?”

            “Right!” Taehyung physically seems to loosen up after that, “Right, sorry. Sometimes it's hard to get out to the whole ‘prim and proper-ness’ of being a Lord.”

     “I can only imagine.”

     The two of you make your way towards the car, you assumed to be your ride to his house. Along the way, Taehyung noticed your heavy basket and carefully took it from your hands and you smiled gratefully.

      “So how've you been?” He asked after passing off your basket to his chauffeur- he had a chauffeur?! -and taking the seat next to you.

      “I've been good. Law school was tough, but I’m finally done with it and I managed to land a job that's waiting for me back home. Though, I guess if everything works out here, I won't really be heading home?” You inquired, shooting straight past the pleasantries and getting to what was really important.

      “Right.” Taehyung shifted uncomfortably in his seat, “I’m sorry we brought you into this. I know how hard you’ve been working to become a lawyer and I’m just… I really am sorry.”

      “Don’t be, I’m happy to help. Plus my dream of marrying a Prince out dates my dream of becoming a lawyer so the choice was obvious.” You said hoping to lighten the mood, but Taehyung’s frown only deepens.

      “I know, but you still shouldn't have had to give up your dream of being a lawyer for us. This doesn't even affect you, we should've been able to handle this on our own.”

      “Tae.” You said in a hard tone, causing the man to look up in shock, “I really did mean it when I said that I am happy to help. You have always been kind to me and our families are practically family.” You placed a hand over his, “I promise to do my best to help you guys.”

      Taehyung’s eyes dropped to where your hand rested over his and for a second you could swear you saw him blush, but the moment quickly passed as Taehyung bowed his head.

     “Thank you, Y/n. My family will forever be in your debt.”

     “Don’t worry about it Tae. As long as your mom bakes me Apple pie, consider the debt paid.”

     Taehyung chuckled, “You can have all the Apple pie you want, whenever you want after this and I’ll personally bake it.”

     You recoiled slightly, “I thought you wanted me to help you. I kind of have to be alive to do that.”

      Taehyung placed a hand over his chest in mock offense, “I’ll have you know I'm a great cook.”

      You raised an unconvinced eyebrow.

      “Okay, I can at least bake my mom’s apple pie.” He amended. “Hey, I’ve been practicing!” He tacked on when you still appeared unconvinced.

       “hm…” You tapped your chin in thought, “I don't know if I'm willing to risk it…”

        Taehyung rolled his eyes, “I promise to taste it first if I bake one for you.”

        “But some poisons aren't fast acting.”

        “I’m not that bad!” Taehyung whined indignantly, causing you to laugh.

        “I’m just joking,” You chided, “but you can't really blame me. The last time I saw you in the kitchen, you set my head on fire.”

        “But does that speak more about my lack of cooking skills or the lack of life in your hair?”

        You swatted at Taehyung’s arm for his last comment, “It was my bow! You set my bow on fire then dunked and entire bucket of water on me when you tried to put it out!”

       “Ah… good times.”

       Taehyung cackled when you swatted his arm again.

        The rest of the car ride passed filled with the same banter. It’d been years since you’ve seen each in person, but still you were able to fall back into your usual pace so easily. And while you were happy to see him again, it was a shame you were meeting under such unfortunate circumstances.

In the distance, Taehyung’s mansion? Manor? (You never thought you’d be in a position where you’d have to tell the difference, if there even was one) grew closer and the reality of your situation finally hit you.

“So…” You stared, breaking the comfortable silence that settled over. “After this month I’ll either be married, or your family will lose this place.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Taehyung shift in his seat and his mouth open to respond, but no words left his lips. That was fine. You didn’t really expect him to answer; how could he? He knew it was his family’s fault you were here and under this much pressure. If only he’d been able to handle their financial problems, then you wouldn’t have had to put your life on hold just for his family - for him. He never wanted to resort to asking this of you, but he had no choice and he trusted no one else but you.

“I’m sorry… I really am...” He said, finally managing to string a coherent sentence together.

You took his hands into yours, forcing him to meet your eyes. “It’s okay Tae,” You said with a smile, “It really is okay.”

You weren’t sure who you were trying harder to convince, him or yourself, but either way you steeled yourself and faced forward once more, unconsciously still holding only Taehyung’s hand for support. Whatever happened after this month was all up to you, and his entire family depended on you. You couldn’t back out now.

Chapter: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight

please do NOT edit, copy or repost

[akajustjessicajones]

In The Night || Jessica & Scott

summary: jessica & scott accidentally bond over whiskey and bad memories, and somehow find a way to laugh??

trigger warnings: heavy discussion of rape, kilgrave things, prison things, PTSD, that sort of fun stuff. plus drinking to solve problems

featuring: @ofscottlang

Scott stepped into the bar, figuring he might have a drink. Luis hadn't picked up more beers and, while he generally preferred to just have one at home and relax, the bar wasn't bad. He stepped inside and ordered himself a drink, only to recognize the woman he'd met just recently - Jessica. "Hey." He said, stepping closer. "I know you. I think." He said grinning.

Jessica had spent most of the day trying to build a timeline. Trying to track every weird and terrible thing that had happened since March 31st, anything that might trace back to Kilgrave. Or give some hint to where he was now. But the more possible leads she tacked up, the smaller the walls seemed. Like they were closing in on her. So she stepped back, hit the fire escape, and found a bar. The last thing she wanted -- or expected -- was to hear someone call to her. "Youch boy," she recognized, words slurring only slightly. "The felon. You here to break parole?"

"Is that my reputation now?" Scott asked with a grin, sitting beside her and sipping his drink, raising his eyebrows at how intoxicated she already was. "I'm off parole. I'm free as a bird. And just looking to get a drink." He said smiling. "What about you?"

She shrugged, staring down at her half-empty glass. Was this number three or four? 'Or Five? Blimey...' his voice whispered, his hallucination on her right, while Scott slid in on her left. She turned towards Scott. "You're doing better than that guy," she said, nodding towards the end of the bar. "He just got out on bail, he's looking to skip town," she surmised, taking a sip of her drink. Her eyes slid back to Scott's. "From what I can tell anyway -- I people watch when I'm stuck on a case. And I drink when I need to think."

Scott winced. It wasn't a feeling he was familiar with - at first in prison it was a consideration, but then he'd missed Cassie so much he'd determined from the moment he left prison he was going to spend every possible minute with her. Of course it hadn't worked out quite how he'd hoped, but things were still good. "What are you thinking about right now?"

She wasn't drunk enough to miss his reaction, but she wasn't sure what to make of it just yet. Still, she wasn't surprised when he redirected the conversation back towards her, away from whatever thought had just crossed his mind. If he was hoping for less of a horror show, he was out of luck. "Trust me," she said, picking up her glass. "You don't wanna know."

He chuckled and downed his drink. Something about Jessica made it clear there was a lot of pain in her, and he suspected that with enough drinks he could handle whatever she had to throw at him. "Try me." He said.

Jessica tilted her glass back until it was practically vertical, until the last drop trickled down her throat. For a long moment, she was silent, tapping the side of her glass with one finger, trying to ignore the hallucination on her right, the hungry look in his eye as he leaned in, too close for any kind of comfort. "My rapist," she whispered finally. Spitting the words almost defiantly, but they were like shards of glass, cutting her from the inside out. "A psychotic, repulsive waste of a human being. And I need to track him down."

Scott's hand froze on his bottle and he stared at her, memories coming to the surface of his mind. An attack in prison. Pain and anguish and feeling like what had happened to him was his fucking fault. Why was it that that was his fault for fighting and being aggressive towards the other man, but for this girl she was an innocent victim. "Good. People like that deserve worse than death." Scott said coldly, ordering another drink from the bartender and pausing. "Not trying to sleep with you, but can I order you another drink? If this conversation is happening, we both need to get wasted."

The word never failed to get a reaction. She'd seen everything, from every end of the spectrum. Pity, like when Trish found her sobbing on the bathroom floor, unable to take her clothes off, too scared to be exposed like that. Curiosity, from that shrink who asked about it a little too often for Jessica's paranoia to loosen her tongue beyond the bare minimum response. Disbelief, from the reporters who hounded her during the trial. Denial from the man himself -- 'I hate that word,' the hallucination repeated now, glaring at her. (She wanted to reach over and snap his neck again, but she refrained from literally trying to catch smoke.) She wasn't prepared for this-- for Scott to freeze, for the ice in his voice. A cool sharp edge that wasn't pointed at her, but inward, towards some unspoken memory. Jessica's eyes darted back and forth, between him and her empty glass, trying to find a way to put the pieces in front of her together in any other way but the truth. "Both of us?" she choked out finally, breath shallow. She swallowed hard. "Sure," she said finally, nodding once. "I'm not gonna complain about getting wasted."(edited)

Scott let out a dry, humorless laugh. "If I'm going to talk about my experiences, I'm getting hammered." He said shaking his head. It was never something he'd confronted, and he probably should have. Instead he went to the medical center for the pain and refused to tell anyone what had happened. The bartender brought her a new drink too, and Scott received a whiskey rather than his usual beer. He downed half the drink without any comfort - he usually stuck to lighter drinks, so it burned in a way he hadn't felt since his college experiments with whatever cheapest thing he could find. "Haven't gone to look for the guy who did it to me." Scott said quietly.

Jessica didn't reply at first, not until they both had new drinks and his was half empty. She followed suit, knowing exactly what he meant. It wasn't just for the potential blackout that would follow, erasing this memory from their minds as if it'd never happened -- the burn of cheap whiskey, like fire and glass down her throat, she needed that. Needed the pain to rip her open and make her so raw she'd go numb, before she could really talk about it. Instead of just using the word to scare him off -- that was her original intention. She'd wanted to drink and be alone, because at least alone was safe, but now... Now she was drawn in. "Why not?" she asked. "I mean, can't say I blame you. Wouldn't be looking for mine if -- if I didn't need to. "

He sighed, swirling the liquid around in his glass. Scott never knew why he'd tried to track down the man who'd hurt him - sure, it was a bit of a needle in a haystack since there were a lot of guys in prison at the time and he didn't remember any exact dates, but he knew the rough time it had taken place and what prison they'd been in. Surely it would have been the place to start. But, instead, he just shrugged. "Dunno. Didn't seem worth it." He said. "It was my fault for challenging the guy, making him feel like..." Like he needed to prove he was stronger. Scott shook his head. "It's pretty far behind me at this point. Just never really told anyone."

"Yeah, I get that," Jessica murmured, tilting back the rest of her glass. She wasn't any more eager than Scott to try and make eye contact. The bar around them was full of sound, the clinking of glasses, that low murmur of drunken voices, the buzz of flies floating lazily through the hot summer air. No one even noticed them, no one gave a shit about them, and she was perfectly fine with that. But her entire focus was on this moment, her being tunneling down to what Scott was saying -- and what he wasn't. "Not like it's an easy topic to bring up," she whispered, thinking about his ex, the one he got along with. Did she know? Did his kid? She'd barely been able to tell Trish, the only family she'd known for thirteen years. She motioned for a refill, told the bartender to leave the bottle behind. "You're wrong though," she said, once the bartender moved on. Her eyes met Scott's, held firm like steel as she reached for the bottle, filled her glass to the brim. And his too. "It's not your fault. Whatever he said, however it happened -- that wasn't your choice." Her hand closed around her drink, so tight her knuckles turned white and she could almost see the microcracks in the glass. "Lack of choice is kind of the point with something like this."

He stared down at his drink. Wasn't it, though? Hadn't he egged the man on? He'd always thought he could stand up to people and tell them off and get out of it, slip away. This time he hadn't been able to and he'd paid the price. "Definitely not." He said. It was a good thing sex hadn't come up with anyone since that had happened - his experience hadn't colored how he felt about sex, but he didn't know if that would change if he actually tried to with someone. He wouldn't even know how to tell anyone - Cassie was too young to understand it, and he was connected with Maggie now, but it wasn't to that extent. Hope... One day. Maybe. "And you? Sounded like they were a little more personal." He said Psychotic, repulsive waste made it sound like, unlike him, she knew the one who'd violated her.

She sipped her drink slowly, mostly because she was being so careful not to shatter the glass. She couldn't afford it, not right now. "I mean it," she said, still staring over at him, trying to will him to look up. She knew exactly how difficult it was, how hard it was to look at anything other than that glass. "Say it back to me," she said firmly. "Even if you don't believe it yet." He had no reason to believe it, it wasn't like he knew her. They were sharing glimpses at the skeletons in their closet, but trust was something trickier than that. She took a breath, and another long sip. "It... went on a while," she said, her voice flat and thick, tongue fumbling over the words. "Hard not to get personal when it happens for eight months. And not once, not one time--" She let her eyes flick, just for a second, to the hallucination of him over Scott's shoulder. "Not one time did I want it. Never."

Scott took a deep breath, feeling himself react, his heartrate increasing. It hurt, it fucking hurt, but she was right. It was almost impossible to maintain eye contact with her - Jessica was intense and this didn't seem to be something she normally did, but it made him feel... Better. "What happened wasn't my fault." He repeated back to her, at least trying to believe it. It helped, he found, which surprised him. He wasn't sure he was ready to believe it just yet, but he was ready to head in that direction. "Eight months?" He asked in surprise. He didn't understand, didn't want to understand, or to think about the horror that she must have gone through. "You still see it. Don't you?" He asked her, knowing that look in her eyes. "How did you get out?"

She knew this wasn't easy. It hadn't been easy for her. Trish was the first one who made her say it. Over and over until she believed it. On the Good Days at least. But Good Days always ended, always became Bad Nights eventually. Tonight.... tonight was a Bad Night. But she loosened her grip on her glass a little when he echoed the words back. "Good," she said after a moment, letting out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. "That was good. It gets easier, after a while. To say anyway." There were still times she didn't believe it. Her eyes flicked back to his, and this time it was her gaze that faltered. She glanced at her drink, nodding vaguely before taking a long sip. "He had... abilities," she explained after a moment. "Mind control. He could make you do, or say, or feel whatever he wanted." She licked her lips, bit down hard for a long moment, until the taste of blood mixed with whiskey. "First time?" she whispered finally. "He got hit by a bus. I thought that's what did it anyway."

Scott shrugged. It had been nearly five years since it had happened, but it wasn't like he ever thought he'd tell anyone. People didn't exactly have sympathy for male rape victims and he didn't want people to suddenly begin to pity him or think differently of him because of what had happened. "Everybody seems to, nowadays." Scott commented with raised eyebrows, not even wanting to know what kind of abilities someone had to keep her there. He had a sneaking suspicion, already, that he knew just what kind of ability her attacker had. "The first time?" He asked with a grimace. "Then what?"

Jessica met his gaze more softly now, and returned the shrug. It was mostly bullshit, and they both knew it. All time did was take you a little further away from the day it happened. Sometimes that was enough to keep you from thinking about it. Sometimes that was enough to make you obsess. To think of all the ways you were different because of it. All depended on the day. There were some things you never really got over. Some things could reach out, no matter how far back in the past they were, and dig sharp claws into your skin, reopening those old wounds until they felt fresh again. "Then he came back," she said, tapping her fingers against her glass. "And I put him out of my misery. Snapped his neck with my bare hands." She looked at him now, waiting for judgement despite what he said earlier, about people like that. "I was immune to him. Not sure why," she murmured. "So I ended it. I thought I thought it was over, but then I met Dai--" She stopped herself. That part wasn't hers to tell. "Someone else, that he hurt. Recently. " She sighed irritably, tension ratcheting up through every muscle in her body. "Now I need to do it again."

There was a surprising warmth in his chest. He was glad Jessica was strong enough to confront and attack her demons - it was different, for her. To Scott, as much as the man who had hurt him had been a monster, he was a faceless monster. His dreams weren't haunted by the man, they were haunted by the pain and feeling of worthlessness. It wasn't so personal as much as it made him sick to his stomach. "Good." He said bitterly. "Daisy Johnson?" He asked, recognizing the name. He'd heard the stories, and met her when she was in the hospital. She was just a kid, and yet to go through what Jessica was describing, he felt even more horrible seeing her pain. "It's what he deserves."

Good. He said it with the same bitterness she tasted on her tongue. Like ash, that never washed away no matter how many drinks she had. For three years, she had been trying to figure out if it was 'good,' or not. If killing him had been the right move, if she should've crossed that line, if there was any way back. She still didn't know for sure. "Maybe," she said finally, ignoring the comment about Daisy, not meeting his eyes. "But maybe I just became exactly what he wanted me to be." She picked up her drink, shrugged, tossed it back. "So what is it I deserve?"

"Peace," Scott said. From what he could tell, while he hadn't quite accepted his attack in the way Jessica had hers, he certainly was over it. He could go a full day without a drink and could maintain healthy relationships in a way she seemed to believe she couldn't, and he wanted her to get the kind of balance he had mostly achieved in his life. "He wanted you to be his to use. And that's not what you are. At all."

Peace. The word alone made her reach for the bottle -- but it was empty already. She reached into her pocket, and sighed irritably, slapping down what was left of her cash. "I'm out of money, because I can't bring myself to actually work a goddamn case while he's still out there," she said, draining the last dregs out of her glass. "Still feels like I'm revolving around him. He doesn't need to say a goddamn thing to control me," she muttered, steadying herself on the bar. Her eyes stole over towards Scott. "You wanna continue this depressing conversation at my place? Booze there is free," she pointed out.

He would have paid for another drink for her, but instead shrugged and finished what was left of his own, getting off the bar stool and masking his slight stumble. It was rare for him to drink anything stronger than a beer or two, so what he’d had tonight pushed what he was used to with quite a lot of ease. “Sounds perfect.”

Jessica nodded, not sure if she felt nervous that he'd actually accepted her offer -- or relieved that he wouldn't be alone the rest of the night. She might've been piss-poor excuse for company, but she knew what it was like. When the past reared its head unexpectedly. She kept a careful watch on him while they walked, didn't need him to stumble out into goddamn traffic or something. "You know who did it?" she asked finally. "His name?"

He stuffed his hands in his pockets and shook his head. “Just some big beefy guy in prison who I kept pissing off. I called him Big and Blond. Avoided him after it and never tried to find out.” He said. Giving the man a name would have made it all so serious and intense. “The psychopath?”

So they were both statistics. Shitty ones. Jessica nodded, biting her lip, worrying at the place she'd already split open. The tang of pain kept her centered when her mind wanted to spiral away. "You want to? Maybe..." she trailed off, shrugging. "Maybe it help. Though closure isn't all its cracked up to be, in my experience. "She sighed heavily. "Kilgrave," she said, rolling her eyes lazily. "Kevin Thompson was his real name. Is. But he calls himself Kilgrave."

He shrugged. “Learning his name might help if I’m going to tell the story. But I don’t expect to go after him or something.” He said. “What kind of goddamn name is Kilgrave? Just how much of an angsty prick can you be?” He asked, his tongue loosened by the drink. “Oh man, that is worse than Ant Man.”

"If," she repeated. They rounded the corner to her block, and she nodded towards her building. "Try telling him that," she said, a wry smirk on her lips. "Never did find out where the hell he got that one. You think it would've come up." She led the way up her steps. "Ant Man?" she repeated. "No. No one is dumb enough to..." She gave him a long look, brows furrowed together. "Seriously?"

He’d try. It was a start, at least - talking about this shit wasn’t fun. He sighed, acknowledging just how bad the name was. “In all fairness, I didn’t come up with it. Just took the name from the last one.” He said. He was shit at keeping it a secret and being drunk meant he was even worse at it, the words slipping out with ease.

She paused at the door, shaking her head slowly. "You owe me that story," she said, flashing a smirk at him. She paused inside, glancing at the elevator, blinking as she saw it all again. The ghosts of the Shlottmans. Hope's scream echoed through her ears. She headed for the stairs instead. "How did not one, but two people decide to call themselves goddamn Ant Man?"

He followed her towards the stairs, deciding not to ask questions about the elevator even though the stairs made everything a little unsteady and dizzy. “Ha - this guy had the name Ant Man, and when he gave me the suit and all, the name came with it. Didn’t get a choice.” He said. “What would your superhero name be?”

"You gonna make it? We got five stories, and if I have to carry you, it's gonna get awkward for us both," she said, making sure to keep an eye on him. She gritted her teeth during his story. "Some guy just... gave you a suit, a superhero name, and didn't give you a choice about it?" she asked. "The hell kind of shit is --" She paused at the question. "Never got that far," she replied. "And the costume was only ever a bad prototype, before you ask about that." She kept leading the way. "My sister wanted to call me Jewel. Told her it sounded like a stripper."

“I can handle it. Besides, I may look skinny, but I’m not that light.” Scott said, following her up the stairs. “More like I’d end up back in prison unless I helped him. My fault for being stupid. Plus, I like the suit, and I’m stupid so the name works well.” He joked. “Your sister is right.”

Jessica glanced back at him, pausing on the stairwell. She gripped the metal railing, and pushed down until it bent under her fingers. "I think I could handle it," she said, shrugging and continuing up. "You're real good at this self-blame thing," she noted, pulling open the door to her floor. "I didn't think anyone could be better at it than me." She rolled her eyes, strolling towards her apartment. "You're drunk. My sister thought it was a good name. I just go by Jessica."

“Woah, cool!” Scott said, touching the metal and prodding at it, attempting to bend it himself and finding that, no, it was really that solid. “Thanks! A lot of people tell me I’m not good at anything, it’s nice to hear someone disagree.” He said.

She just shook her head, turned away from him so he wouldn't see how her smirk had softened into something closer to a genuine smile. She was stuck with these abilities, she might as well have fun with them. She could regret giving Oscar a headachein the morning. "You really are an idiot," she told him, opening the door to her apartment. "But not everything's your fault. Not entirely anyway," she murmured. She thought of her mom, the way she remembered the accident as opposed to Jessica's own memories. The guilt they both felt, that belonged to neither of them completely. "Nothing is that goddamn simple."

He shrugged. Scott was rather sure everything was his fault - all this Fisk shit had begun because he’d been a dumb kid. But thinking about it was pointless now. “What about you? You do the self blame thing?” He asked, plopping onto her couch - well more like a futon.

Yeah, that was about as effective as she expected it to be. "Apparently," she quipped, striding inside. At least most of the mess was cleaned up. "Shrink called it an 'unhealthy coping mechanism,'" she said, plucking a bottle off her desk. She took a long swig, falling onto the couch beside him. A healthy amount of space sitting between then. "I've got 'control issues.'"

He snorted, eyeing the bottle and trying to decide if another drink was a terrible idea or a great one. “See, it’s not a problem if you don’t go to a shrink about it. That’s how shit works, right?” He asked. “Control issues from someone who has been controlled. Don’t blame you.”

"Yeah," she agreed, smirking wryly. "Wasn't my idea to go, promise you that." She tilted the bottle back, focusing on the burn, sharp and clear in the back of her throat. "If a door won't stay closed, build a bigger door," she mused. "I tried that for a while too." She looked over at him, head falling back against the futon. "Come on. Out with it. What the hell are 'Ant Man's' powers?"

“No powers.” Scott said. He wouldn’t want powers, either - the ones he’d seen only caused problems. “Just a suit that can make me shrink and grow.” He said pointing to his watch.

"Please tell me this is not some very convoluted pick up line," she said, arching a brow. "Cuz if it is, I will bend you into a pretzel."

“I have no doubt you can. But no, I have a girlfriend. Ish. Close enough.” He said shrugging and getting up excitedly, stumbling. “Wanna see?”

"All that talk of growing and shrinking.." She smirked at him, settling back against the couch. It was nice, actually, hearing that he had someone. Remembering that most people didn't isolate themselves, didn't cut off every connection they had. She waved to the center of the room." Knock yourself out," she said, taking another sip. "Just -- not literally, okay?"

He followed her waving hand, tapping his watch so that the ant man suit built up around him, snapping on the helmet and posing to show off. “I might knock myself out if I try to go big, so we’ll do small.” He said, clicking the button on his glove and shrinking.

Jessica just shook her head slowly. Half of her expected him to just stand there and crouch -- and then he pulled a goddamn suit out of his goddamn watch. "Better than a purse," she noted, slumping down on her futon. But when he actually, truly shrank, she leaned forward. "Holy shit," she breathed, staying very still. "Where the hell did you go?"

"Down here." Scott said, jumping up from the floor and hoping she wasn't about to freak out and step on him. It was one thing to freak out Luis, it was completely another to have someone with super strength decide he was a bug to be squashed. And, since he was rather intoxicated, he thought trying to avoid that would be dangerous.

She was pretty goddamn drunk, but she was fairly certain that voice wasn't just a hallucination. Her eyes followed it down to the source, and she saw a miniscule dot in the center of her floor. Slowly, carefully, she set the bottle aside and got down on the floor, crawling on hands and knees, stretching out onto her stomach to be sort of eye-level with him. "Jesus," she murmured, holding out her hand towards the miniature Scott. "You weren't kidding about the shrinkage."

He laughed, hooping up onto her shoulder and nodding. “It’s crazy, huh? I can also talk to ants, but I suspect you don’t want any in your apartment.” He said.

It was strange, hearing him so clearly despite his size. His laugh just as warm and bright as it was when he was full-size. She let h im hop up on her shoulder, turning only her eyes towards them, keeping her head still. "Yeah, I'd rather you send them out of the apartment, actually," she said, smirking as she propped an arm under herself. "So how does being an inch tall help things?"

“I think I can do that.” He said, tapping his helmet and sending ants scurrying away, informing them of a nearby food stand and the dumpster where it’s food was dumped. “My size is different but strength is the same. I’m basically a bullet.” He explained, quoting Hope’s explanation.

Jessica almost jumped -- would've if not for the little person on her shoulder -- when she saw the long string of ants heading out her window. A goddamn stream of them. "Jesus," she breathed. "I really gotta sweep more." As if she swept at all. She nodded once at Scott's explanation, then slowly turned her head towards him, smirking at him on her shoulder. "A bullet I could crush with a simple..." She held up her fingers, flicked the air well away from Scott.

Scott grimaced. “Luckily I can grow to full size pretty fast.” He said, hopping off her shoulder and growing to his normal size in less that a second. “I can grow bigger too, but it’s really draining and probably a bad idea here.”

She laughed -- a rough, ragged kind of laugh, soaked with too much-whiskey, so it didn't fall from her lips so much as drip. She rolled over onto her back, not eager to try and stand. "Yeah, my windows are already shot," she said, gesturing over her head. "Plus my super lives right above me, and believe me, he does not need anymore excuses to hate me."

“Ouch,” He said, hearing her voice soaked with alcohol and seeing her on the floor. “I should get out of your hair and let you sleep.” He said offering a hand.

Jessica hesitated a second -- but she was at that stage of really drunk where a black out was imminent, and she could almost imagine sleep, so she took his hand, hauled herself up. The room swam as she expected to, and she glanced at him. "I'm drunk," she announced, as if it weren't obvious. "Which means you.... Are very drunk," she said, giving him a look. "You can stay over," she announced, stumbling towards her bedroom. "Come on. You can take the bed."

He snorted. “I’m fine.” He said, going to the door only to stumble against the wall, laughing. “Okay, fine. But I’m taking the floor and you have the bed.”

Jessica rolled her eyes at him, and reached out, sloppily grabbing his shirt. "This is not a come on," she told him very bluntly, dragging him down the hall, trying to keep him on his feet. She let go when they reached her room. "And it's not a discussion. Bed's yours," she said pointedly.

“It’s a big bed. Why don’t we just share?” He offered crossing his arms.

Jessica sighed, but mostly out of amusement. She shrugged in agreement, and kicked off her jeans. Too tired to argue anymore. "Whatever," she slurred, rolling away from him. "Thanks," she added after a moment, biting her lip before the drunkeness finally pulled her eyelids down, and she faded into blackness.

Scott nodded, falling to the pillows and watching Jessica, feeling a bit better about all his concerns as he drifted off to sleep beside her.