#now to be fair there have been quite a few crises over the past few months but i thought i was doing okay all things considered | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

whirlybirbs · 4 years ago

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✶ ——— MENDING ; d.d.

summary: something has unsettled din. you set to find out what. affections brew. * set post!chapter 11. contains spoilers! *

pairing: din djarin x gender nuetral!reader

word count: 1.8k of pure pining ‘n’ identity crises !

a/n: it’s another notes app fic, baby! the gif above is from this set by the lovely @thewaythisis! anyways, din can plow me like a field of wheat under the harvest moon whew (panting spongebob meme)

something is bothering him.

it would be a lie to say that din djarin was quiet soul — plainly put, he wasn’t.

he was, if anything, a purposeful and succinct soul who knew how to measure the weight of words when they were spoken. with all the little bell-like tinkers that came from his every step — beskar on beskar — quiet was not a fitting adjective to match that of din djarin. no. he was strong. sturdy. a chant of mando’a in the afternoon sun. intimidating.

something is definitely bothering him.

the ship is a wreck — you’re sure that alone is enough to strike a sore nerve with the mandalorian piloting the vessel. so, as he plots course for the little planet on the edge of nowhere that the striking bo-katan spoke of, you make work on what you can. reinforcing some structural plating, running diagnostics on the fuel-lining that runs beneath the floor plates, and welding the paneling the mon calamari engineer installed to cover the gaping hole in the side of the ship occupies you for a long while.

just the bright flicker of flame and your thoughts.

din hasn’t uttered a word since entering the ship.

you hope, at the very least, he’s taken the time to eat something away from your prying eyes.

the welding torch is hot in your gloved hands when you hear footsteps coming down the ladder into the swaying belly of the razor crest. you knew it was the wing equilibrium counter-weights the moment you took off. not much you can do about it from the inside.

the good news is that the rocking put the child right to sleep.

you pull your goggles down and watch as din djarin carefully carries the little woolen bundle to the hanging hammock within the small cot compartment. he’s exceedingly gentle, incredibly careful. once the child is inside, din dims the lights and closes the door.

you work your gloves off.

he sighs.

again, you can’t help but be struck with worry. the sort that nibbles on your heartstrings just enough to wring a flinch out of you.

“have you eaten?” he asks. his voice is even, almost cold.

you shake your head.

his helmet glints in the overhead light as he juts his chin to the cockpit; wordlessly, you stand and follow — swallows whole by his bulky shadow that looms over you as you hike yourself up the ladder.

din has done some mending of his own, it seems. the netting and twine that was keeping the dash steady had been removed. you can see the tedious, small welding marks from his own tool kit along the seams. you make a mental note to go over it later. in the corner, there’s a pile of the mess.

you land into the passenger’s seat with a huff.

the tube of protein paste that din offers you from his stash beneath the razor crest’s controls has you frowning. but, it’s bantha flavored. better than nothing. if you close your eyes, you can almost imagine it being a piece of steak.

almost.

if a steak was cold, pureed, and poured into a jerky-shaped tube.

din is quiet when swings in his chair, turning to nearly face you. he stretches, straightening his back out, then he crosses his arms. his boots plant themselves on the floor. his stance is wide. his posture is sagging.

you swallow your meal.

“did you eat?” your voice feels small.

din nods.

hm.

“... are you hurt?”

more silence. finally, he shakes his head. you know it’s a lie — the last forty-eight hours have left you both with your fair share of lacerations and deep-tissue bruising. beneath the armor, you can only imagine the sort of bruises he’s gotten.

“... tired?”

“this checklist you’re doing,” he rasps out, head lulling to the side as he looks up at the ceiling, “you should be doing it on yourself.”

you scoff into your meal paste.

“maybe.”

a grunt.

silence follows the exchange for a few minutes. it’s once you’ve managed to choke down the entirety of the bantha-flavored mush that you speak again. it’s not courage the drives the question, but concern.

“be honest, din,” you breathe, “are you alright?”

his helmet turns, t-visor glaring at you in the dim light of the cabin. you can see his fingers, gloved and tucked neatly against his biceps, twitch. he inhales deeply. the beskar glimmers with the light of stars that pass by beyond the cockpit window.

he’s rather a sight to behold.

“no.”

you’re startled back to the moment.

when you speak, your voice is soft. the sort of soft that’s begun to erode din’s usual beskar-grade composure. he’s begun to waver, begun to hesitate around you. he finds he can’t help it. he’d grown quite fond of you and your innate ability to give a shit. you’re not asking because you want to get paid, because you expect something of him. no, you’re asking because it matters to you.

he’s finally starting to understand that after cycles and cycles of time spent trying to find the child’s true place in this mess of a galaxy. you’ve been traveling with him since before nevarro — before... before the covert’s split.

before he started to feel so alone.

and confused.

and angry.

so angry.

how many moments has he denied himself because of this armor? how much kindness, how much care? how many friendships has he ignored for the sake of the creed? how many loves have come and gone, as fickle as stardust? what has he missed?

... has he truly even missed anything? that is the way.

he is all sorts of swirling bitterness now, mouth pulled into a firm line beneath the lip of his helmet. to see those others — true mandalorians, ones with clan-names, with lineage-graced armor, who speak the tongue and have touched the soil of the place he has never called home, but always idolized — reveal their faces...

he’s one of them...

children of the watch...

din’s foot taps.

you lean forward.

“din...?”

“the others,” he speaks suddenly, almost in a bark, “called my clan a coven of zealots. fringe radicalists. they showed me their faces and —”

a ragged sigh.

suddenly, you’re beginning to understand.

he’s frustrated.

“i’ve lived my life under a strict code,” din continues, helmet tilted up the ceiling. he’s tracing the bolts with his dark eyes, “one that has given me a purpose, a family, a home. but i can’t help but begin to question the cost.”

you’re listening. you’re pulling your knees up, arms cradling them close. your expression is soft.

“i thought...” then, he lets out a gritted huff of frustration, “i — i never considered my practices to be radical. i thought they were as every mandalorian lived.”

your words are soft. “... in all fairness, your people are living in a diaspora, din. the empire scattered you all to the far corners of the galaxy. it wasn’t as if you were seeing your kin every weekend."

din grunts.

you roll the hem of your tunic between your fingers.

“why is this bothering you?”

“i’ve spent my entire life in armor.”

you frown. din’s head turns and you feel a sad look pull your brows together. you hadn’t... well. his mood is beginning to make a lot of sense now. the frustration, the quiet. all of it.

“i’ve never felt the sea breeze on my face,” he continues, “or... or the kiss of another person. all because i lived my life by the creed i was raised upon. and i was told upon breaking that creed, i’d no longer have a purpose. dar’manda.”

“dar’manda?” the language is harsh on your tongue.

“to... to lose your heritage. to not be mandalorian. the covert believed that bearing your face to another outside of marriage was grounds for ex-communication from the clan. exile.”

“well,” you say after a long moment, crossing your legs and perching on the chair, “that explains the lack the kissing. certainly wasn’t the most important thing on the docket, was it?”

that manages to worm a laugh out of din. the sort that rattles his shoulders and makes his armor swell. he ducks his chin. the sound is still warm as it crackles through his vocalizer.

“interesting point of focus.”

“shut up,” you shirk, “you brought it up.”

“... do you blame me?”

you grow quiet at that but shake your head. your chin finds your hand.

“no,” you say softly, “i don’t. i’m sorry.”

“don’t be.”

“what will you do?”

din straightens a bit at that.

there’s only kindness in your eyes.

“it doesn’t matter now,” din says curtly, as if it’s the easiest answer in the world, “the child is my priority. keep you both safe is my priority.”

slowly, you amble up. your hand finds his pauldron, pressing gently into the fabric between his neck and shoulder oh-so-gently. you mind the affection blooming at his words; you’re careful with how you approach it, just as he is. as if a reflex, his hand snatches up to grip yours tightly.

you welcome it.

you squeeze the cold leather of his gloved hand.

“it does matter,” is uttered out like a sigh; din can’t look up at you. he’s sure his entire chest will burst, “you can’t bear the weight of the world on your shoulders, din.”

“i can manage.”

“let me help.”

a scoff. suddenly his hold tightens. his thumb, ever-so-carefully, ghosts the knuckle of your hand.

“you do enough.”

it’s your turn to snort.

“i’m practically freeloading, din —”

“no,” he barks, sitting up a bit straighter. now his visor tilts up, and you swear if you looked hard enough, you could see the slope of a nose, the curve of a lip. maybe, if he tilted his head, you could see his jaw — a ghost of a beard, a flash of a throat. he is human. it’s moments like these that remind you, “no, you’re important. you care.”

“— and i eat all your food —”

“you care about me and you care about the child and it matters more than you realize.”

his tone is so final, you feel as if it’s struck an ending note. as if the conversation has ended. that the welling of emotion behind his words is not to be questioned, not to be considered. in the last few cycles, moments like these have become more frequent but still cherished. as rare as they are, they never fail to make you feel like there’s star-shine in your veins. he isn’t one for grandiose confessions. but... this feel special.

his words leave your lips parted, mouth agape.

and then, in the tiny cockpit, hand in hand with din djarin, all you can muster is a flustered:

“you know, if that helmet wasn’t in the way i would have kissed you cycles ago.”

now, he’s embarassed. it has him laughing — but quiet and shy and all sorts of meak that make the brute of a man seem boyish. his voice is crackled alive with a new-found comfort. he is better now, more like himself and more.

“don’t feed the indentity crisis.”

#din djarin x reader #din djarin imagine #din djarin x you #mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #mandalorian imagine #the mandalorian imagine #mandalorian season 2 spoilers #OHHH DIN MY BABY BOY

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kpopsnowball · 4 years ago

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The forum, the royal court accomplished over more than 1000 years back still displayed its glory because the present day royals still respected its essence of impartial, cut throat and pure justice. They truly believed in maintaining the etiquette even though it was the 21st century now. Afterall it’s not the throne running the royal blood instead it’s the royalties running the throne. Deep meaning, serves the purpose.

The Royal Family. The name itself made people bow down to them. The royal blood, the tag not different from any ordinary but it was their ancestors what made the common man respect them. Even their generations did good deeds and strived to make their royal blood live not in the fake glory but in it’s true pride. Being it the 21st century yet the traditions of royals had still been the same. The only change was their modern attire rest everything had been passed onto to the next generations similar to that of their throne. The traditions and rituals of royals have been strict and always kept no room for opposition. The sin for argument was simply being thrown out as rogue. They had their own set of laws and rules. Everyone were abide by the laws.

The Royal court, a special established building formed for maintaining the laws and orders was created 300 years ago. The main purpose of it was to maintain decorum in the working of their bloodline and to look after the word around the world. The main person in power to make decisions being the King or the Queen. Many people believed it be injustice because the court is for justice but the monarch system was followed. But to be honest, the royals never took advantage of their crown and made sure that fair chances and justice shall be given to the victim and the guilty.

“Her Royal Majesty, the queen have marked her gracious presence in the forum. We are obliged to have her royal majesty in the evening summit of the Royal Chambers. The summit shall commence now.” The Royal secretary, the chief of the court of justice announced the mark of the yearly summit and moved back to his place while placing the book record on the table in front of her royal majesty.

The royal court, circular in inner infrastructure with the worshiped throne placed in the back centre of the room along with lines of chairs emerging from its two sides placed in semi circular outline, lining the edges of the circular shaped forum. Each chair belonging to princes, managers and secretaries. The ordinary blood victim and guilty were abandoned from entering the blood tagged forum, another established court was made for them.

“Before we start, I want every further discussed information to remain confidential in the forum and between the Princes. I hope I made myself clear now” the queen, domineering, bold and fearless demanded while examining the records, a small frown taking place over her features. She was the current queen of the bloodline, a queen without a king in her late 50s yet her glory overpowered by her dominance made people quiver in fear. The crown on her head gave birth to many renowned rulers for hundreds of years. Her face wrinkled showing her age yet her sharp features with small almond shaped intimidating eyes made people bow their heads in front of her.

“Your royal majesty, I deeply apologise for the delay but Your Royal highness, Prince Knight have not marked his gracious presence yet” the royal guard informed with a bow and marched back, leaving the forum.

“This is disrespect to the forum. Consequences will be taken against Prince Vincenzo Knight. I will personally look into this matter. The forum shall begin now” the queen ordered with a displeased expression. Her own son abandoning the forum made her blood boil. She thought of taking strict actions against him. Even if it was the 21st century, decorum of the forum and the royalty shall always remain, she thought.

“Your royal majesty, two of our companies in London are facing a major financial crisis right now. Growth rate for past two years have been increasing by 24.7% but for past few months, the loss incurred is been rising from 6% to 21.9%. The senior manager has been requesting your royal majesty to look into this matter because of the sudden loss. No exact reasons are known and the company is suffering from major crises. Other companies are doing comparatively well but the overall margins of loss are increasing every month. Financially, our companies in London, New York and Japan are requesting for our immediate help. Thank you your royal majesty” the executive secretary stated the facts and with a bow returned back to his positioned chair.

“Prince Antonio Rodriguez, what do you think of this situation?” The queen directed her attention to the Prince, the one who was the master of finances making him gain the tag of financial advisor just at the age of 23. His wisdom and knowledge unparalleled, a true prodigy of his field but the royal majesty was displeased when she found him engrossed in his phone, making her finger twitch in anger. Afterall the queen she was, she was not a person to be neglected.

“Prince Antonio!” The queen raised her voice, making your royal highness flinch a bit.

“Mom, you surprised me! Why are you shouting?Relax” he said looking up, his dark brown eyes boring into hers, the past amusement vanishing. He was piqued by her dictatorial behaviour.

“Prince Antonio where is your attention? I have been calling you”

“And I have been telling you that I am not a Prince” he pounced back.

The queen was infuriated now, her patience low as the melting point of ice.

“The Summit is dismissed for now. I want to have a word with the Princes”

The Royal Secretary, managers and the guards immediately left the forum, a cold sweat breaking down their spine, the wrath of queen was not a joke to make. Now, only the three of them were alone in the room, the third person still not making his presence seen even of when he was physically present.

“Prince Christopher, may I have your attention please” the queen mocked him. He looked up to her from his book, his dark brown eyes covered with lenses stared at his mother, void of emotions and arched a perfect eyebrow. A staring competition took place between the mother and the son, sighing he gave up and stood up from his positioned chair towards his mother who was sitting on her throne.

“Yes mom. You have all my attention now. Tell me what’s the matter”

“Chris I bet your book would be more interesting than her talk” Antonio scoffed and walked towards Christopher and stood besides him. Christopher scowled at him and gave a warning look to stop and in response the man threw his hands in air as a defeat but his eyes still challenging.

“Antonio this is not a way to talk. You need to maintain your etiquette” the queen said, curling her fingers in a tight fist, her anger clearly visible in her sharp eyes.

Scoffing, “Etiquette? Why? Why should I maintain that? I don’t want to and it’s my choice” the man was clearly disturbed by his mother. He did not like her being controlling over him. Even though she did not do anything in the past hour yet he always searched for a reason just to oppose her, afterall he knows what happens behind the royal doors.

“Antonio! I won’t hear a no. I did not ask you for your opinion! It’s my order and you have to follow that Do you get that?!” the royal majesty was now beyond angry, she liked submission and despised domination over her, her hand tightly holding the handle of the throne now.

Antonio was about to pounce back but Christopher immediately placed his hand on his shoulder and stopped him. The man gave a warning look to Chris to stop and let him go but Chris shook his head and asked him to calm down. Antonio was actually a chilled out person but sometimes anger would take the best of him whereas Christopher was quite opposite to him, being quite, composed, but not shy, his dating history was longer than Antonio. He was the calmer and composed one in the Princes. The master of general knowledge. A book worm in particular but with a sharp wit.

“This is not the right time Nio. Stop okay? We need to discuss about him first” Chris whispered to the man besides him, calming him down but his features turning tense with the mention of him.

“She would never agree” the man whispered back to his brother, traces of pain visible over his features. They truly knew their mother.

“Let’s jus-”

A loud bang was heard interrupting their conversation. The huge antique carved door which was above 25 feet long was banged open, viewing a man in all black biker outfit clad tightly to his body, showing his muscular lean body paired with black boots, his one hand holding his helmet and the other pulling his hair back.

“Our queen was missing you a lot Vince! Show her your gracious presence your Royal highness” The past pain vanishing, Antonio mocked but in playful way earning himself a scowl from the man.

“What’s up with people scowling today” he whispered to himself.

“Vincenzo this is not how you should dress and behave in the forum. Do I need to make you all learn your manners?” The queen was clearly annoyed with his sons. Their behaviour and manners were questioning her upbringing.

The man did not reply and simply walked towards his positioned chair and unzipped his jacket and threw on the chair, revealing a tight black tee clasped on his body showing off his strong firm abs.

“Vincenzo! Do you hear me? I am talking to you!” The queen shouted in the forum, making her voice echo. The man did not even budge, he was busy removing his watch and wiping off the sweat from his head.

Christopher nudged Antonio and with his head motioned him to move back. Both the brothers moved to a corner, Christopher started reading the record book kept on the nearby table, a true bookworm he was whereas Antonio crossed his arms and was enjoying the show with a smirk. He knew what was coming next.

The queen was very annoyed now, she strode towards Vincenzo and pulled his arm to face him towards her but immediately the man harshly pulled his arm back with a deep scowl on his face, his eyes fuming making the queen turn even more mad.

“Don’t you dare show me your eyes, you better know your place”

“I definitely do. Queen” the man spoke for the first time he entered, venom lacing his last words.

“I am your mom rig-”

“You have lost that title years ago for me” Vincenzo beat it to her, his eyes burning in agony, the one buried for many years. Christopher immediately diverted his attention to the scenario unfolding in front of them. He looked at Antonio and both shared a bit surprised look. It was not new for them to hear this, but after years they have heard that sentence.

“As much as you try, you can’t change the fact that I am your mother Vince” the queen replied, devoid of any emotion. Her mind completely blank.

“Don’t call me that, I hate to hear it from your mouth” Vincenzo took a threatening steps towards his mother but the queen she was, her legs stood still, her eyes fuming now at the insult.

Taking a deep breath to calm herself down, she said,

“Then what do you want me to do?”

“I want to see regret in your eyes”

“And what if you don’t my beloved son” she smirked, evilness visible in her eyes.

“I will make you, your royal majesty” he smirked back.

She threw her head back and started laughing viciously, clapping loudly.

“Tsk tsk tsk, How would you do that son? Making air castles hun? You know that I am your queen right? The ultimate power. You won’t be able to go above me dear” a complete evil rant, it was not new for them to hear because they truly knew her colours, she was about to continue her evil motives but immediately the man’s next words froze everybody in the forum. The two brothers at the corner completely surprised and the fearless, dominating royal majesty going completely blank, a shiver running down her spine. And that was the last thing she wanted.

“What if I free him queen?”

★𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @urowngoddess @purplepsycho03 @koishua @rr0zu @soleilsuhh @bluejaem @kunrengui @najatheangel @emuava @moon-jun @crescentjen @dundun-baby @sunryu @melonmochimoon @reiichann 𝐎𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐰. 𝐒𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐝.

★ 𝐀/𝐍: It was very amazing to write the first chapter. I actually searched a lot about the royal court and royal dress of the queen. The information I found was soo beautiful and I would definitely include it in my upcoming chapters. I wanted this chapter to be a bit of introductory to my characters and soon more things will also be revealed.

★ Please consider to leave a feedback or a reblog because it really helps me to learn and grow as a writer. Thank you soo much. Sending you lots of love and happiness❤️

★ 𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐥𝐬

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ada-mike · 4 years ago

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The Truth Always Comes Out - Digimon (Davis/Yolei)

Hey, guys, long time no see. Hope you’re all doing well, all things considered. I decided to dust off this blog and post a little FanFiction for a change! Fancy that. Why FanFiction for a fairly rare pair in a children’s cartoon from twenty years ago? Good question. I was honestly inspired by the work of a truly amazing writer @tanyatakaishi and their incredible story Innocent Games, whose sequel is currently in progress and definitely worth the read whether you’re into Digimon or not (but you should be into Digimon, i mean seriously?) But yeah, drop by and give Innocent Games a read, drop a comment and a kudo too while you’re at it. This short story I’m posting myself is so inspired by Innocent Games, it’s pretty safe to call it a FanFiction of a FanFiction, doesn’t really fit into any canon, and is just something I had rattling around my head that I needed to bang out. Please give it a read and let me know your thoughts! Stay safe, ya’ll.

- Mike

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In hindsight, he really should have known better. Yolei had always possessed an inquisitive streak to put it lightly (whether or not the matter being investigated was her business was rarely a concern) and she was typically about as adept at snooping things out as Davis was poor at hiding them.

And really, on his laptop of all places?

Davis, along with the rest of their friends, had spent his fair share of time around – as well as inside of – computers, but regardless, they were still Yolei's domain through and through, her expertise. And as his father had once told him many years ago, during a family trip to the supermarket where Davis had denied, despite being caught, that he'd tried to shoplift a pack of gum down the front of his shorts: The truth always comes out.

His thoughts were scattered though as they stumbled through the front door and into the blackness of the dorm he shared with Ken. Yolei was strung over his back like a long-legged, lilac-haired knapsack – having mounted him during the elevator ride, laughing, the liquor in her belly turning her playful.

The haze of alcohol still hung heavy in Davis’s mind too, enough so that his legs wobbled dangerously as he carried her through the blackness to where he approximated the futon was.

“Is Ken here?” Her breath was warm in his hair and the heat climbed up his neck to settle in the tips of his ears.

“Nah,” He said. “He’s with his parents this weekend.”

“Perfect.” She purred.

Davis picked up the pace, stumbling over a pair of soccer cleats in the dark. He spun in a circle, pulling a fresh laugh from Yolei, before depositing them both on the sagging futon cushion. Yolei sat pinned behind him, a little squished, but regardless it was the perfect position to plant sloppy kisses on his exposed neck. Davis squirmed, his heart racing.

“It doesn’t smell in here, does it?” He asked.

“Only a little.”

“It’s the trash, I bet. I haven’t taken it out since Monday.” He moved to rise, but she pulled him back into her lap, near growling:

“Leave it.”

“Mmm,” He hummed. “You like the funk, huh? It sets the mood for you?”

“You’re about to ruin the mood if you don’t shut it.”

“Such a way with words, love.”

Love.

That word. It was enough to diffuse squabble that had been sparking.

Davis sunk back into her and she wrapped her arms around him, feeling up and down his chest, then down his gut. He seized one of her hands and brought it to his mouth, kissing her sharp knuckles, the pads of her fingers, her wrist. It was surprisingly tender for him.

And it drove her absolutely wild.

Her free hand had just wrapped around the buckle of his belt, when the door to the bedroom creaked open.

“Davish?”

They both flinched as tiny feet pounded on the floor, leapt, then thudded lightly on the futon by their side. Yolei reached and flicked on the lamp switch by her head.

“DemiVeemon!” Davis was grinning at the sight of his partner, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I thought you’d still be sleeping, buddy.”

“I had a dream that we were on a boat! I wanted to tell you about it!” The in-training Digimon clambered onto Yolei’s knee. “Yolei, your face is so red you look like a tomato!”

“It’s hot.” She explained. And it was, the compounding moments of passion followed by DemiVeemon’s interruption had them both sweating slightly.

“Where’s Poromon?” The Digimon asked, unperturbed. Fresh from his nap, he was ready to play.

“Um- He’s spending the night in the Digital World.” She dug her nails into Davis’s side, causing him to wince in pain, the soft touches suddenly gone. “I kind of thought you’d be there too.”

“Nope!” Chirped DemiVeemon. “But we could all go now!”

“Tomorrow, buddy.” Davis brushed his hands over DemiVeemon’s ears. Even if a trip to the Digital World could be fit into their agenda, the phantom feeling of Yolei's hands on him was fresh and that very likely meant that standing up anytime would be a bad move. “But hey, you know, I think I still have some Udon in the fridge from yesterday. Ya hungry?”

“Yes!”

As DemiVeemon scampered away, Davis sighed and lifted himself out from between Yolei’s legs so he could sit beside her.

“Sorry about that,” He settled his arms on her shoulders, leaning close. “But where were we?”

“Davis, no.” She pushed him back. “I told you that I was taking Poromon to the Digital World so we could be alone tonight. Why didn’t you do the same?”

“I was going to. I just – I dunno, felt bad about dumping him there.” Davis rubbed his nose. The alcohol's buzz was fading from him now, much too fast for his liking. “He’ll be in a food coma in twenty minutes though, I guarantee it. Then we can get back to -”

“Hold on,” Her eyes sharpened into knives behind her glasses “You think I dumped Poromon in the Digital World?”

“No, I-”

“I did not dump him,” She continued, shifting further away on the cushion as she sat up straighter. “He’s helping out in Primary Village. I’ll be there to pick him up again tomorrow.”

“I know!” Davis felt a fresh wave of heat roll up his ears, annoyed that she was picking apart his words tonight of all nights. “I’m not trying to make you feel guilty.”

“I have no reason to feel guilty.” She folded her arms and sank back, eyes settling on the kitchen where DemiVeemon’s ears were casting shadows up the wall from the light of the open refrigerator. “He’s fine, just – dammit, Davis.” A heavy sigh billowed her lips, then: “You and I just got back together, what? Three days ago? And between school and everything, you and I haven’t had time… We needed a night like this.”

It was true. This most recent “break” of theirs had been a rough one and longer than any previous up to now. Almost an entire two months had passed where they barely spoke a single word to each other, only interacting when strictly necessary for Digimon matters, or the occasional late-night message over their D-Terminals.

Davis slumped back too.

“Tonight was a good night.” He said lamely.

She just nodded.

They sat in silence for a minute as DemiVeemon finished rummaging for food. He eventually waddled past them back to Davis’s bedroom, a warm bowl nearly as big as he was balanced on his head. All dreams of boats forgotten for the time being. Whether or not he had heard the beginning of their spat, Davis wasn’t sure. Regardless, he now wished his partner had stayed to break some of the tension that hung heavy in the room.

What he really wanted was another drink.

What he needed to do was apologize.

Instead, he lurched forward, propping himself on one arm as he reached over Yolei. She opened her mouth, ready to rebuke him again, until he reached past her and snatched the clunky laptop that sat on the end table.

It was five pounds heavier and just as many years outdated for anything Yolei would have considered satisfactory, but Davis had got it for a good price in a resale shop and desperately needed a computer for school. He grunted as he settled back in his seat and flipped open the lid, determined to find a way to break the awkward silence.

“Can I – um, play some music?”

He was already scrolling through his rather extensive music library, not waiting for an answer, but Yolei nodded anyways.

“Just no dub-step, please for the love of God.”

He chuckled and something in her chest unwound. He eventually settled on something, and with a double-click the room was filed with smooth guitar and steady drums. They listened, Davis nodding his head in beat and Yolei watching him.

“The speakers on that thing are awful.”

“Yeah.”

The song transitioned, adding more varied guitar and aggressive vocals.

“I haven’t heard this one before.”

“Ken showed it to me.”

“It’s good.”

“Yeah.”

As the song started to fade, Davis reached, without looking, and rubbed a line up and down Yolei’s thigh. She unfolded her arms, but before she could move further towards him, he was lifting the laptop from his lap and moving it into her’s. He stood up.

“Gotta take a piss.” He muttered, trudging towards the bathroom, tripping over the same pair of cleats as he went.

Yolei watched him leave, long nails tapping on the plastic laptop chassis. After the bathroom door closed and she heard him emptying his bladder into the toilet through the thin wall, she sighed and began flicking through his music.

She had gotten a little too defensive earlier and she knew it.

The truth was, she did feel a little guilty for parting ways with her Digimon, even if it was only for a night. Despite the lack of crises in the Digital World needing their intervention, it sometimes felt like she was shirking responsibility by turning more attention to other aspects of her life.

But she was older. She was busy – they all were.

Breaking up with Davis a few months ago had been a mistake, a rash decision after a stupid fight.

Drawing a good night out by coming home with him and arguing tonight had been a mistake. The wounds from the breakup were still fairly fresh. They couldn’t exactly just pickup where they left off.

Hell, maybe getting back together had been the mistake.

She wasn’t even reading the list of songs anymore as she scrolled. Her ring finger tapped a little too quickly on the arrow keys and the music program locked up from overestimation. Grumbling, she tapped more—even though she knew better—and the window was suddenly minimized, and then she was confronted with the egregious mess of folders on Davis’s desktop.

What immediately caught her eye was the folder labeled ‘Sexy Sexy Sexy’, and with that, any thought of innocently returning Davis’s music library vanished up in smoke.

Eyebrow quirked, she clicked and opened the oddly-named folder without hesitation. Of course she knew that most every guy had that particular folder stashed away. Having it on the desktop was definitely bold though.

What she saw though almost made her guffaw, and she struggled to steel herself.

The folder contained pictures upon pictures of different styles of ramen, most likely purloined from some high-end bistro’s online menu, judging by the nearly indecent high quality and their tiny watermarks in the corner of each. Nearly every photo was accompanied with an adjacent text document, containing what Yolei astutely guessed were Davis’s attempts at parsing out the recipe by looks alone.

This ramen folder was probably more organized and cared for than the one he used for homework, and a quick visit back to the desktop and to a directory simply dubbed ‘hw’ confirmed this.

Yolei glanced at the bathroom door. Things inside had gone silent, but if history and the number of sliders he ate at the bar were reliable indicators, Davis would probably be preoccupied for a few more minutes. She had plenty of time.

Yolei cruised through the rest of his desktop in record time, finding nothing of note outside of a few folders containing game roms, a second folder of his own home-brewed ramen recipes, and much to her surprise: an alarming amount of digitized Shoujo manga, definitely pirated. She filed that away for teasing ammunition later.

Now, to find the really good stuff.

Her practiced fingers danced over the keyboard, running a shell command to search for recently accessed items. Buried in several sub-folders was one entry that caught her eye, a single folder with a timestamp indicating it was opened just an hour or so before he’d picked her up for their date earlier that evening.

The folder was named ‘yolei’.

A swirl of emotions flooded her as she opened the file with her namesake, and she found it was a dumping ground of yet more photographs.

Instead of gratuitous snapshots of food however, they all featured her.

Yolei immediately recognized a series of selfies she’d sent him herself – some as early as when they had first started their on-again/off-again relationship years ago. It had never occurred to her that Davis would be the type to save them anywhere but his phone. It was surprisingly sentimental of him.

An image of Davis lying in his bed, clicking through and lovingly studying a slideshow of her, sprung to mind and she felt a warm swell of affection for him. She had done something similar on occasion, when their respective university work had kept them apart for multiple days on end.

There were other styles of pictures too. As she scrolled further, she found photos they had taken together at her high school graduation ceremony, shots of them at a beach trip, and one from her recent birthday where he’d tried to wrestle her face into the cake. She couldn’t help but laugh quietly.

She came to a stop at one photo in particular, the image’s age betrayed by how grainy it’s quality was.

They couldn’t have been older than thirteen. Davis was round-faced and grinning in the middle, one arm slung over Ken to his left and the other over a mildly miffed Kari. T.K. stood on Kari’s other side (Yolei had forgotten about that silly hat he used to wear) and on the opposite edge stood Yolei herself, all spindly limbs and thick, round glasses—stained brilliant white from the flash of the camera.

Their Digimon partners stood huddled around their feet and Yolei felt a fresh pang when her eyes fell on Hawkmon.

She scrolled further, perhaps more quickly than necessary, but then came to a screeching halt.

“Bastard.” She hissed, an angry blush spreading across her cheeks.

“What?” Davis had somehow exited the bathroom and was halfway back to his seat. Yolei had been so engrossed in her recent discovery she hadn’t even heard him flush.

Without missing a beat, she twirled the laptop around and pointed the screen at him accusatory.

“What the hell is this?”

To his credit, Davis had learned since the gum smuggling attempt in his youth that it was best not to lie when he’d be caught.

“Oh,” His mouth formed a perfect O-shape. Now he was blushing too. “I can explain-”

“You better!” She rattled the laptop at him, the hinge wobbling dangerously. “I told you to delete these, Davis!”

It had been her one demand when they had broken up most recently. He had listed several himself, including the unconditional return of the multiple sweater-shirts she’d swiped from his dorm. She considered this a devastating blow, as they made the perfect sleeping shirts in her opinion. But to be fair, he actually needed them more than she did, his winter wardrobe being sparse as it was.

“I did delete them!” He shot back.

“Oh—that is so obviously not true.” She flipped the laptop back around so she could look at them again. The photos were definitely there, present and accounted for, completely not deleted. Her eyes were flashing as she glared back up at him. “Why did you keep these?!”

“Look, you specifically asked me to delete from my phone,” He explained. “And that’s what I did.”

“Oh, so you thought you could keep these on a technicality, huh?”

“We’re back together now so why does it matter?” He threw his hands in the air. “They’re not even that bad of pictures.”

“They’re disgusting.”

Davis chose not to argue with that. Certainly most of the photos could be construed as less-than appealing.

His laptop currently contained the only copies in existence of seventeen candid photos of Yolei, caught in various stages of sleep, sickness, and general foulness.

It had started as kind of sweet. On one of the nights she had slept over he’d woken first, and had snapped a quick picture of her face as she slept rather serenely, messy hair splayed over his pillow. When he’d showed her the picture later, he’d called her beautiful. She made a show of rolling her eyes, but smiled and blushed all the same.

For the second photo, he’d caught her while she was trying to subtly pick her nose.

It had kind of snowballed from there.

“Why were you even going through my laptop anyways?” He demanded in turn.

“I was looking for music.” Yolei turned her nose up matter-of-factly.

“In my pictures? Yeah, Right.”

“You’re missing the point.” She waved her hand as if his words were a fly buzzing by her ears. “This is a major breach of privacy.”

“Now that, you’re right about.” He stepped forward finally and reached for his laptop, but she pulled it to her chest.

“I mean my privacy, you jackass.”

“I took those, so they’re actually mine.”

“But they’re not pictures of you, are they?” She looked down, scrutinizing one of her in an unseemly, homemade guacamole facemask, filename: ‘she-hulk’. She had seen all these pictures before at one point or another, usually accompanied with some gentle ribbing at her expense, but seeing the collage now felt entirely different. “Davis, how could I ever trust you again? You promised me that you’d get rid of these.”

She was right of course, and that caused the words to sting all the more. Davis was near a hundred percent sober now, but his vision still blurred. Hot tears of shame, and a heaping dose of frustration, pricking his eyes. He fought and managed to keep his voice level, mostly:

“Yeah, well... how am I supposed to just go around like it’s nothing when you could be sniffing through my drawers every time I turn my back?”

She didn’t have an answer for that.

A half minute passed where neither said anything. The music from the laptop was still playing passively, shuffling through Davis’s library automatically and currently playing some upbeat video game OST Yolei didn’t recognize. Eventually he moved and sank down onto the futon with her again, a few inches of space between them, and both their eyes settled on the gallery of photos still on display on the glowing screen in Yolei’s arms.

Davis remembered telling his friends oh so recently that he and Yolei were back together. Tai and Izzy had exchanged a quick glance, a silent exchange of barely-contained, mild exasperation. He imaged them placing bets on how long he and Yolei would last this time and pictured money exchanging hands when he broke the news that they were surely once again parting ways-

“That was the most sick I’d ever been in my entire life.” Yolei muttered suddenly, indicating one of the pictures. “I literally thought I was dying.”

He chuckled despite himself.

“Your nose is so red there.”

“Yeah, the tissues from I-Mart were like sandpaper. They still are.”

“Red looks good on you though.” Their eyes met then, and Davis continued quickly, stammering slightly. “I mean, not many people can pull off crimson flight pants, but- um… you did.. for years.”

Her face had an unreadable quality to it, and it seemed as if she might respond with something, but then she turned away and began scrolling through his computer again. He noticed her eyes weren’t focused though and he didn’t have it in him to try and dissuade her from searching still. There was nothing else to find anyway.

“Why do you even have this folder?” She asked, eyes forward.

He debated with himself for a few seconds, then decided on the truth.

“I like… having photos. You know, of you.” He admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “And when we broke up last time, and you told me to delete all those ugly pics of you, I did.” Yolei’s mouth opened to object, but he continued before she could interject. “I really did. I honestly just forgot that they were on my laptop with everything else too, and when I saw them later, I just… couldn’t get rid of them.” He stared at her profile, tracing with his eyes the lines of her cheek, the bump on her nose. “I really thought this last time was the real deal.”

“Me too.”

“Do you think we should break up again?”

“I don’t know.” Even though they weren’t quite touching, Yolei felt him stiffen by her side. She closed her eyes, and said her next words to the blackness of her eyelids. “I don’t want to.”

He breathed out, the air leaving him as if released from a balloon.

“God, me neither.”

She twisted on her seat, opening her eyes to meet his gaze.

“I’m sorry for looking through your laptop. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“It’s okay.” He responded quickly.

Yolei continued anyways.

“If I’m being honest too, I was looking to see what kind of porn you had saved on here.”

“What?” Davis balked. “Seriously? Why would you think I had… that stuff… on there? I don’t even…” He shook his head, the image of incredulity. “I don’t even watch that.” Yolei watched him steadily, a single brow raised. “What? I don’t!”

“Sure. We’ll talk about that some other time.” She was only half teasing.

The promise of ‘some other time’ bolstered his spirits quickly. He eyed his laptop in her hands, suddenly loathing the pathetic thing and how he’d used it to hide away the secret vestiges of what he had once thought would be all that remained of his and Yolei’s relationship. She had owned up to her transgressions.

What he needed to do was apologize.

Standing, he pulled the laptop from her slack grip before she could argue, and looking her dead in the eyes, gripped each half of the computer and snapped it in half along the hinge. The music died with a pitiful wheeze and splinters of plastic flew everywhere, a few bouncing off Yolei’s glasses to disappear into the fibers of the rug at her feet.

“Davis!”

“I shouldn’t have kept those pictures.” He discarded the broken halves of the computer, speaking passionately. “I want us to start over fresh, okay? I don’t want any dumb secrets or anything like that to cause any problems. I want you to trust me, because I trust you – I really do.” He swallowed hard. “I still love you, Yolei.”

Her eyes shone and laughter bubbled in her throat.

“But you computer-”

“I needed a new one anyways. You can help me pick one out!”

“Yeah, but,” She wiped her eyes clear. “What about all the other pictures? My graduation, the Digimon?”

“I still have those on my phone, no worries.”

“And your homework?”

“My homework?” It took a second for Davis’s brain to catch up. His eyes passed from one broken piece of the laptop to the other, then his hands rose to bury themselves in his hair. “Oh shit, shit. My mid-term paper is saved on there...”

Yolei wanted to laugh, she wanted to cry, but instead she reached out and pulled him to her. She gently unwound his fingers from his hair and twined them with hers. She kissed him and kept pulling until he was climbing onto the battered futon with her, then over her.

In the morning, she would take off the back panel of his broken computer and pull the hard drive. She’d help him recover his homework and maybe, just maybe, a couple of the more agreeable photos that she would allow him to keep.

For now though, he didn’t need any of the digital keepsakes. As far as either of them were concerned, any number of pictures paled in comparison to the real thing.

For now though, she held him close and breathed in his ear.

“I love you too.”

When DemiVeemon bounced back into the living area sometime later, he found the pair asleep and huddled under a blanket together on the futon. The small Digimon took in the mess on the floor, the couple’s mussed hair, their slow and steady breaths, chests rising as one. Of course, he had heard every word of their argument from Davis’s bedroom, but he was used to the ruckus by now and too preoccupied with his noodles to care. Anyways, no doubt there would be many such squabbles in the future for him to witness.

He decided to let them sleep for now and bounded to the kitchen in search of a mid-night snack. He would just have tell Davis about his dream some other time.

#digimon #davis motomiya #daisuke motomiya #yolei inoue #miyako inoue #daivis/yolei #daiyako #demiveemon #my fanfiction

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greenninjagal-blog · 5 years ago

Text

A Cactus and Nothing More

Summary: Virgil gifts Deceit a dead Cactus.

Words: 3266

Quick Taglist: @chelsvans @dwbh888 @glitchybina @faithfulcat111 @felicianoromano @harrypotternerdprincess @holliberries @jemthebookworm @killerfangirl3 @lunasfriendgabby @musical-nerd18 @never-end1ng-suffering @nonasficcollection @silverflame-wc @stricken-with-clairvoyancy @themultishipperchild @thenaiads @treasureofpriam @vianadraws @figurative-siren-song

Read on Ao3 || General Writing Master List

When Virgil first gave Deceit the cactus it was supposed to be thinly veiled insult. Something to remind the side that while Thomas was coming to terms with him, what he and Virgil had was not salvageable.

It wasn’t even like he went out of his way for it either: Patton had gifted him the little cactus a few weeks after his official coronation to the Light Side and Virgil had accidentally killed it the way he killed most plants. So a little regifting and he handed over the witted falling apart cactus to Deceit the day after the liar had managed to finally get his points across to Thomas.

“A cactus?” Deceit said slowly eyeing the withering plant.

“Yeah,” Virgil said already turned around and heading back off into the blurry grey fog that separated all their rooms. Virgil liked to point out it used to be a Black Fog between all the dark sides’ rooms, shrouding them in darkness so thick it made it dangerous to go anywhere. Especially when one remembered that Remus liked to rearrange the entire mindscape and often left trapped doors anywhere he pleased, along with the booby traps, false staircases, maze of mirrors, and sometimes even that shark pit. When Virgil switched to the Light side he had been even more suspicious of the white fog that swished around the place like little clouds. The floors didn’t rearrange themselves but any time Virgil left his room he was reminded of the great expanse of Thomas’s mind and almost immediately started feeling sick without a wall to lean against.

The grey fog was...a compromise. Virgil didn’t know how to feel about it, but it had started coming the more that Thomas listened to Deceit and accepted Remus, and hung out with Virgil. It wasn’t bad.

It wasn’t good either.

Virgil didn’t like being out in it, so he tried to push it out of his mind.

“Yeah,” Virgil said again, “A cactus, because you’re a massive prick still, Dee.”

And because Virgil also didn’t know how to feel about Deceit, he fled the scene and pushed the interaction from his mind.

That was supposed to be the end of it. A single insult and nothing more.

But then Thomas...got himself into one of those situations.

A situation just like before when Thomas was a teenager and Virgil was juggling the fifty million things Thomas needed to focus on and he was failing and dropping things--

“Why don’t we ask Deceit?” Patton suggested. “He’ll probably have an answer!”

Roman blew out a breath with a hand on his chest, “Oh thank god, I didn’t want to be the one who said it.”

You...Patton,” Thomas said with all the disbelief Virgil felt, “Want to ask Deceit for help?”

“Well, yeah kiddo!” Patton smiled that dopey, sunshine smile of his. “He’s a part of you too, ya know!”

“Thomas if I may--” Logan interjected from the hall, folding his hands in an excited, yet focused manner. “Patton may be on to something here. In the past Deceit has worked closely with Virgil to get you out of tight binds like this one. Lying may not be the absolutely best solution for the overall conundrum, but it will provide a temporary expansion of time for us to fix the problem in another way. Much like boarding up a broken window until we can replace the window all together.”

“But what if it doesn’t?” Virgil growled. “What if Joan sees through the lie and hates us even more?”

“Mhm, doubtful,” Logan said. “Joan is a very understanding friend. Even if they aren’t misdirected by our misdirection, they will likely allow us time to explain why we felt the need to lie to them.”

“You just don’t want to work with Deceit!” Roman declared flourishing in Virgil’s direction. “Don’t worry, Channing Tantrum! You aren’t going to be replaced!”

“I wasn’t worried about being replaced,” Virgil grumbled. “But I am now! Thanks Roman!”

Patton cupped his own face, “Oh no! We would never do that to you! That’s not what I meant!”

“I agree,” Logan said, “Its more likely that I would scoot over to allow room to my left for Deceit to say his piece.”

Thomas absently looked around his living room with a critical eye, “I need a bigger living room, if I’m going to keep having theses existential crises.”

“Bigger living room means more room for puppies!” Patton said

“Bigger living room means more Me!” Roman added, excitedly.

“No Thomas!” Logan shouted, “Stay on track!”

Their host, Patton, and Roman, all shared a groan, which didn’t make the uneasiness in Virgil dim any. Of course Logan corralling the others to focus just made Virgil more aware of the time that was passing-- the time that they were losing to come up with a solution to the problem that Virgil created because he wasn’t doing his job effectively enough.

Joan was due over in half an hour, and they needed to figure out how to tell them that they promised to spend the day with Terrance-- without letting on the the fact that Terrance had asked for help getting Joan’s surprise birthday present together.

“Alright lets call Deceit,” Thomas said, spinning to face the left side of Logan and throwing his arms out, “DECEIT!”

And it was supposed to be Deceit showing up with his cunning and theatrical smirk, having obviously heard them all talking about him and preening under the knew attention. Virgil would have bet money on seeing that Snake’s overconfident smile; and he would have felt relieved that Deceit would have a pre-preapred lie in the making that would only take a second or two to clue Thomas in on and the he’d be gone again.

It was not supposed to be Deceit being flung up into the room holding that damn little cactus in his hands and it flying out of his hands to land on the floor.

“De--oh,” Thomas said eyeing the succulent as it tumbled over and spilled metaphorical dirt on the ground. “Sorry?”

“Thomas,” Deceit said with a resigned lit, “So wonderful for you to call. I was totally expecting it.” He bent down to pick up the little plant, careful of the needles and investigated the flower with an analyzing eye.

“Is that a cactus?” Roman asked.

“....No.”

“Is that the cactus I gave you?” Virgil asked, before he could stop himself.

Because well...it couldn’t be the cactus Virgil gave him. Virgil’s “gift” had been 9/10ths dead and suffering badly for it (not that Virgil had tried to kill it or anything. He had looked up how to take care of a cactus and it still hadn’t worked for him). The one in Deceit’s hand was blooming with bright yellow flowers that matched Deceit’s gloves and was a healthy green color.

Deceit gave him an offended look for his trouble. “Of course not! Can’t you see that I let yours die and then went to the trouble of getting the same exact one to keep and admire in my room?”

“You can quit with the attitude,” Virgil shot back.

“Me? An attitude?” Deceit scoffed, tossing his head as he rolled his eyes and banished his cactus back to his room. “Perish the thought! Now I assume that you called me up here for a reason, and not just to chat, Thomas. So come on, get out with the the day’s dilemma.”

That should have been the end of it. An eye roll and nothing more.

But Deceit spun that little lie that Thomas agreed to tell, Virgil and Deceit worked side by side just like they used to before Thomas grew up. Virgil juggled all the things that he needed to focus on and Deceit spun the lies to catch the things he dropped before they shattered.

And when Thomas was successfully on his way to Terrance’s with Joan none the wiser (and none the angrier at him), Virgil called it a day and sunk back down into the Mindscape.

It was strange, wasn’t it? That Deceit had kept his cactus- that Deceit had kept it at all.

And perhaps a little part of Virgil was happy about-- the same little part of him that woke him up at night because the other half of his bed was empty or because he wanted a hug but he wanted one of Deceit’s hugs. It was the same little part of him he had been trying to hush and squash and silence for years now.

The part of him that still wanted Deceit in his life, in Thomas’s life.

And wasn’t that annoying? Virgil was overthinking this.

It was a mostly dead cactus. Deceit had probably grown it back from the edge for spite against him and no reason more.

He picked up one of the other plants he had in his room: another cactus, because Patton knew they required little help from humans and though they could liven Virgil’s room a little. Virgil adored Patton, he did, but he didn’t have the heart to tell the Moral side that he just wasn’t good with plants.

But Deceit was. Probably was.

And Deceit really had saved Thomas from a really bad day today. A half dead plant probably wasn’t a very good “Thank you”.

But Virgil wasn’t exactly good at thank you’s either. So he left a second cactus outside Dee’s door with a note that read “You’re Still a Prick”.

And by the next time Virgil got the courage to roam to Deceit’s door, two to three days later it had vanished.

So it was an apology and nothing more.

Should have been an apology and nothing more.

But Patton had dropped off another little succulent for him-- this one still alive and had purple accents with it, and Virgil had once again chickened out of telling him that he routinely managed to kill all the plants he touched. Instead Virgil eyed the plant and pursed his lips.

Surely it wasn’t fair to the stupid little cactus that it got stuck being gifted to Virgil. (Where was Patton even getting these from?) It didn’t deserve to suffer in Virgil’s room for months on end while he tittered about it and begged it not to die on him like its predecessors.

Oh geez, was Virgil serious acting like the cactus had feelings? That’s a new low for him.

Besides he knew where this was going anyway. Straight down the misty emptiness that was The mindscape and to the right: Deceit’s room.

He left another note with it: “Aloe Loser, thought you might want another friend.”

So it was a joke and nothing more.

And if Virgil brainstormed a couple more bad cactus puns? Well.. that’s his business. He drew a few of the succulents too, but his window sill was clear and and he no longer felt awful for letting all of his gifted plants die.

That was something right?

It should have ended there.

But then Virgil had come upon one of those nights were he couldn’t-- fucking-- sleep. He tossed and turned and growled. Threw off his covers, pulled them back on, turned on the fan, drank warm milk, listened to the calming sounds of a thunderstorm--

It was hopeless.

He huffed and grabbed his sweatshirt before stalking out of his room, unsure of where he was even going. Thomas was resting peacefully, Roman was out making dreams and Remus was working with him for once to make some epic fantasy thing-- Virgil only knows this because Roman had actually been excited that his brother agreed to help him rather than hindered him.

Virgil was just glad Remus wasn’t antagonizing them again.

The grey fog swirled around him as he walked, feeling like a fine mist against his exposed skin. He triple checked Thomas’s schedule, the memories of Thomas’s plans with friends and family, he checked the viewers most recent comments-- but whatever was keeping him up wasn’t tied to Thomas.

(Which was ridiculous because it was tied to Virgil who was already tied to Thomas, which meant-- geez he was too tired to finish the thought.)

“Virgil?”

The voice shook him from his pondering, soft and gentle and coaxing. Virgil wasn’t surprised to find Dee standing in the grey mass looking every bit irritated at Virgil felt, only he was still dressed for the day. His purple and gold tunic was covered in a foul smelling goop and there were smudges of green on his face and in his hair. His shoes made a horrid squelching noise with every step and his hat and caplet were missing.

“What are you doing out?” Virgil huffed, curling his shoulders.

Deceit exhaled sharply, “Well I was heading to find the memories of the day to file away, but Remus rearranged the floor again without telling me and I discovered a lovely Slip-N-Slide from my door straight to a pit of something green.” He grimaced, “I don’t want to know what it is.”

Virgil winced. “That’s...” he started, “rough.”

Deceit scoffed, “That is one way to put it.” He wiped his hands together as if he he could get rid of the goop, “And you? What are you doing haunting the halls of Thomas’s mind like a specter of the night, Anxiety?”

“Can’t sleep.” Virgil replied.

He shifted for a moment twisting his hands in his sweatshirt while Deceit pretended not to notice. The silence was a stifling sort, the type that echoed through all of Thomas and made Virgil violently aware that neither of them were actually real beings as much as just metaphysical figments from the imagination of a man with a incredible obsession for Disney.

“I should be going.” Deceit said finally. “Good Night--”

“Wait,” Virgil said, too loudly, too quickly, too suddenly.

Deceit raised an eyebrow at him and he worried his bottom lip between his teeth.

“I, uh,” Virgil sighed and then rolled his shoulders back, “My room’s closer. I think I still have some of your clothes in there. If you want to... like change.”

Deceit stared at him for far too long.

“I---” the side said tilting his head, “No that’s okay, Virgil. I don’t want to be a hassle.”

“You aren’t a hassle, Dee.” Virgil thought it should be a lie coming from him, because he’d spent so long being angry at Dee for so many reasons-- too many to count and keep straight. He had whined and complained and arguments and grumbled so many times because Deceit refused to leave Thomas, to leave Virgil himself alone.

But here they are now.

And Virgil was reminded that he didn’t know what his feelings about Deceit were. He just knew that they were there, and very present, and that they had been growing ever since he saw that Deceit kept his stupid little cactus.

“Okay,” Deceit said and it was barely more than a whisper in the night.

“Okay,” Virgil echoed.

The walk back to Virgil’s room was weird. There was a tension in the air that Virgil couldn't place, didn’t want to place, tried not to place. Deceit’s mouth opened once or twice but he aborted whatever thought it was at the last second. It was entirely unlike him. Virgil fidgeted with the loose string of his pocket.

The squelching of Deceit’s shoes make both of them wince, but once back in Virgil’s room Virgil summoned a container of Clorox wipes for him. It was silent while Deceit cleaned himself up and Virgil hunted down those old clothes he knew were still in his room. It was the third drawer by the time he found them: stuffed behind a bunch of other clothes that Virgil never wore anymore.

“Why did you keep my cactus?” Virgil asked, trying not to watch as Deceit stripped shamelessly in front of him (and god at least that about him was still the same).

“Why did you gift me a dead cactus?” Deceit asked right back.

“I think you know the answer to that,” Virgil said.

Deceit turned around to face him and Virgil realized that he gave him the wrong shirt because that one is definitely his own. Deceit was never a band fan: always preferring to listen to classical and read philosophy than bounce around with Virgil as the beat move through them. Still with his dark eye lashes and cocky grin he wore that shirt better than Virgil ever did.

“Do I?” He said startling Virgil out of his thoughts. Virgil tore his eyes off Deceit’s chest, away from the his piercing eyes and very kissable lips (not that Virgil was thinking of kissing him, okay. It was late and he was tired and there aren’t many other adjectives to describe what the hell type of lips Deceit has).

“You do,” Virgil confirmed, flopping onto his bed.

“Ah,” Deceit said and then so carefully slid onto the opposite corner of the bed, barely even on the bed at all. He looked a bit like he was waiting for Virgil to tell him to get off, to get out, to get on with his life. “Then I supposed you gave me the cactus because you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” Virgil said.

“Because you hated me?”

“I...” Virgil hesitated.

“Because you wanted to remind me that what we had between us was dead.”

Virgil didn’t say anything because it wasn't a question anymore. Deceit didn’t say anything either because-- because he was Deceit and there was too much history between them to fill the silence with memories. They simply stare at opposite sides of the room.

“So,” Virgil said after a moment. “If you knew that, why did you keep it?”

Deceit stood up suddenly, taking a deep breath and letting it out, “Perhaps because even I can be an optimistic fool sometimes.” He turned away, “Thank you Virgil. I’ll go now-”

“Wait--”

“Good night.”

“Deceit!” Virgil said and Deceit froze where he was, one hand on the door handle, one foot prepared to run off. With his back to Virgil, he couldn't make out the expression of Deceit’s face, but he was guessing it was a grimace.

Whatever Virgil was going to say is gone and to be honest Virgil wasn’t sure it was ever there. Some part of him had started screaming the moment that Deceit had gone to leave and Virgil had reacted without a thought.

“Do you--” Virgil cleared his throat, “Would you--” He stuttered off. Virgil squeezed his eyes closed, “Where do you keep it?”

Deceit stared at the door for a long moment. Virgil counted each and every breath until he spoke up again. “The desk in my room gets a lot of light. I’ve lined them all up.”

“All?”

“All,” Deceit echoed. “They look nice while I read.”

Virgil’s mouth felt dry and he wasn’t sure why.

“Good night, Virgil,” Deceit said again, softly and opened the door to step back out into the mindscape.

“Deceit!” Virgil called one more time, “Do you....If I...” He took another breath, “Would you like another one?”

“Another Cactus?” Deceit asked

And Virgil didn’t know how to say “Another Chance” or “Another hug” or “Another Kiss” so instead he just nodded.

Deceit looked at him again, his scales glimmering in the dull light. He smiled sorta--kinda--probably. “Yes, Virgil,” He said, “If you have another to offer.”

Virgil told himself not to get excited, not to get anxious, not to get overwhelmed.

After all, it was just a cactus and nothing more.

#Axceit #sanders sides #cactus puns #The author really didn't know where this was going but its here now #virgil sanders #deceit sanders #sympathetic deceit #The author started to fall asleep so the quality took a down turn #my bad #Remus rearranges the Mindscape all the time because I said so

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blackswaneuroparedux · 5 years ago

Text

Anonymous asked: As a staunch royalist I would be interested to hear your views about Prince Harry and Meghan Markle deciding to quit the British royal family. Did they do the right thing or are they just being selfish and ‘woke’? Does this ‘Megxit’ the British royal family is in crisis and its future looks bleak by this act of betrayal to the Queen?

Short answer:

I have been avoiding answering this question precisely because I became tired of hearing about it around the family dinner table or with friends when I visited England recently or now with French friends here in Paris who can’t fathom what is going on. But too many have asked about this in my blog inbox.

I don’t mean to sound so dismissive but to me it’s just a passing storm in a tea cup rather than some cataclysmic crisis of the British monarchy. Everyone should stop take a deep breath.

After the joint press statement by Prince Harry and the Duchess of Sussex statement came out on 8 January 2020 it set in motion the usual hilarious pastiche of Cold War Kremlinology by the British press. So at any one time you had sensationalist and sanctimonious headlines such as the fury of the palace press knew no bounds. How dare they? The Queen humiliated. The palace insulted. And so on and so on.

Every newspaper editor knows there is a yawning gulf between the “public interest” and what interests the public. By any standards, Harry and Meghan have become huge celebrities. They were idolised, their charities blessed, their presence craved. Unfortunately such is human nature, the public invest something of themselves in their heroes. They see in their idols a reflection of their own fantasies and delights, hopes and fears. When they witness celebrities traumatised it can be unsettling, as the death of Princess Diana vividly showed. People cried in the street.

As Harry knew from his mother’s tragic experience, all this is par for the royal course. The British newspapers - or rather those peddling in royal tittle tattle such as the Sun, Mirror, and the Daily Mail - have a habit of erecting pedestals one minute and then the next minute they enjoy destroying the icon in the name of the public interest. Andrew’s former wife, Sarah Ferguson, was appallingly treated. So at times were Princess Anne, and Prince Edward’s wife, Sophie. Press attention should be water off the royal duck’s back. Prince Philip’s advice was reportedly: “Don’t read the bloody papers.”

While Harry was brought up surrounded by the furies of the celebrity media, Meghan’s career was the opposite. In her profession as a known actor (albeit a middling TV actor at that), image is an artifice, daily crafted and laundered by publicists.

This does not work with British royalty, which comes with its own carefully minted image attached. Its rituals are those of mind-numbing deference. It has no accountability. The only mirror it has is the press. The tabloids are the price that must be paid for adulation. They honour no discretion and have no sense of fairness. The press is a memento mori, whispering into the victor’s ear that he – or she – is only mortal. And gosh do they take that role on with sanctimonious glee.

To be daily compared to the Duchess of Cambridge, from an utterly different social background, must have been intolerable for Meghan: the dress comparisons, the stuffiness of the court, its hyper-caution and obsession with precedence and procedure, added to the impossibility of contact with ordinary people. As a self-made millionaire already perhaps she wanted to be more than a mere civil servant in a tiara. Perhaps it proved too much but who really knows? But then I don’t know what else she expected when she decided to marry into the British royal family.

Similarly one can only speculate how much it was really Prince Harry who wanted to drop out riding on the royal carousel as he has been since birth. Regardless of who he married perhaps this was always the plan. His loathing of the British press and paparazzi is well known - he still blames them for his mother’s tragic death in Paris. It’s well known the paparazzi have tried to catch him out in manufactured scandals as he grew up. He has refreshingly come clean and has talked about how he still goes to therapy over his mother’s death. It’s no wonder he would ever subject a future wife and especially a child to the level of press intrusion that he had endured.

Prince Harry is nobody’s fool. I won’t say a bad word about him because - unlike previous and present royals with the exception of his grandfather, Prince Philip, who did active naval service during the Second World War and his uncle Prince Andrew, who as a naval officer flew Sea King helicopters during the Falklands War - he didn’t play the ceremonial toy soldier. After Eton he worked his arse off to get through Sandhurst and got commissioned with the Blues and Royals regiment. Upon the outbreak of war in Iraq, he was alleged to have said around 2006, “There's no way I'm going to put myself through Sandhurst and then sit on my arse back home while my boys are out fighting for their country.”

As it was the military chiefs got cold feet and pulled him out. But he did see active service with the British forces in Afghanistan with two tours. By all accounts he acquitted himself very well as a Forward Air Controller in Helmand Province and later as a co-pilot and gunner on Apache helicopters. He was widely respected and accepted by rank and file because he was down to earth and never asked for special treatment. He wasn’t a typical ‘Rupert’ - a squaddie’s nickname given to British army officers who typically came from privileged aristocratic backgrounds but were also ‘nice but dim witted’.

Overall I sympathise that the Sussexes’ predicament was clearly desperate, and it is perhaps to their credit that they have brought it to a head early and not let it drag on. I feel they are sincere in their reasons to ’step back’ from the royal family and frenzied media circus around it. The fact they want to pay their own way and pay back any outstanding sums back to the royal household is perhaps a sign of that sincerity.

Instead some sections of the British press rolled out the tired old trope of the parallels between the Duke of Sussex and his great-great uncle, the Duke of Windsor, are overwhelming. Once again, a dashing, sporting, ex-military prince leaves royal life for the love of an American divorcée. This is exactly the opposite of what Edward and Mrs Wallace Simpson did when they bit the hand that fed them. They took money to support their lavish lifestyle in exile from the Queen and all the while took every opportunity to snark the fledgling young Queen from their own alternative royal court in Paris. Harry no doubt loves his grandmother and his family and would try not sully the Windsor name.

Where I would be critical a little is in their handling of it which appears naive at best and inept at worst. I suspect - since verified - that having a transatlantic split of publicists, and in addition didn’t understand the full import of how this would play out, would inevitably drop the ball. But I would extend a finger of blame to the palace courtiers who were involved in their own games of intrigue with a whispering campaign to selected journalists of the press. Indeed multiple newspapers, including the Daily Telegraph in the UK, reported that the queen was “disappointed” with the surprise announcement, and had asked the Sussexes to hold off on issuing a public statement. When The gossip mongering Sun newspaper published a front-page story that the couple was contemplating a move to Canada, the Sussexes pushed the button on their statement.

I do think the Sussexes and their advisors were fooling themselves into thinking that they could have their cake and eat it - in other words keep the royal titles but cut back on the public and ceremonial duties. The blunt truth is if you want to stay on the books, you do so by the leave of the firm and its boss i.e. The Queen. The contract is for life. If not, you resign. There is no half in and half out. This seems to have been the gist of the family only summit at Sandringham in January 2020, with media attention worthy of the Treaty of Versailles.

I am frankly surprised how worked up people are about this. Cut out the white noise and the picture is more prosaic.

The first point is that when all is said and done, none of this drama really matters. Politically, constitutionally, it is an irrelevance. Harry, at number six, is not seriously in line to the throne. The British monarchy has long shown itself immune to crisis; indeed I wonder sometimes if it welcomes crises as implying continued importance. The divorce and death of Princess Diana were awfully tragic, as was the very public shaming of Prince Andrew and his questionable friendship with billionaire paedophile Jeffrey Epstein. But how Harry leads his life is between himself, his wife and his father, Prince Charles. That is the point of heredity. It is immune to character, as it is to merit.

The second point is we should remember that other European royal families, of the same constitutional status as Britain, have been down sizing for many years now. These royal families balanced privacy and discretion whilst holding down ordinary professions. The King of the Netherlands, Willem-Alexander, is still an airline pilot. He occasionally flies KLM jets, safe in the knowledge that few people recognise him. In 2001 Prince Haakon, heir to the Norwegian throne, married a single mother with a drug-fuelled past. Despite some controversy, he survived incognito.

The King of Sweden, Carl XVI Gustaf, has reigned for 46 inconspicuous years as a nine-to-five job, his family merged into the Swedish bourgeoisie. The Crown Princess, Victoria, works intermittently for the UN. The King of Spain, Felipe VI, may have taken after his philandering father, Juan Carlos, but he became king without fuss on his father’s retirement in 2014. None of these “houses” has an extended state-subsidised royal family. None has grown unstable as a result.

There is no doubt that the exploitation of the British royal family celebrity by palace courtiers as PR handlers has worked. The royal family recognises that truth for itself when HRH King George VI famously quipped, “We are not a family, we are a firm”. The Queen is regularly cited as central to “UK plc” and to tourism. The British people remain overwhelmingly in favour of retaining monarchy as the focus of their patriotism, even during the wobble over Diana’s death. Republicanism is dead. The last ostentatious republican, the Fife MP Willie Hamilton, left parliament in 1987. If Scotland ever went independent it would almost certainly retain the Queen as head of state.

As for how royalty behaves, a constitutional monarchy should be beyond all controversy. As the great political and constitutional commentator (and founder of the Economist magazine) Walter Bagehot put it, “the monarch should be a dignified rather than efficient element of the constitution”. In other words, the monarchy as personified in its reigning king or queen can represent the whole nation in an emotionally satisfying way - everything else is but pure embellishment.

The Queen must be a glorious anthropomorphism of the nation as a whole. If she has opinions, she keeps them to herself - much to her credit. The contrast is clear with countries where state headship is combined with an elected executive presidency. The state risks being tainted by partisanship: witness the embarrassment many Americans feel at having their national loyalty identified with any president based on divided partisan feelings e.g. from FDR to Obama and Nixon to Trump.

A rare occasion when the monarch might overstep the mark was conjectured by Mike Bartlett in his ingenious play, King Charles III, in 2014. It was based on the present Prince of Wales as king, refusing formally to sign a bill censoring the press (good on him). In the resulting crisis, William and Kate engineer Charles’s abdication, while the tearaway Harry takes up with a republican girlfriend. It was not wholly implausible. When Belgium faced a similar crisis over King Baudouin’s refusal to sign an abortion bill in 1990, he was allowed to abdicate for a day.

How the monarchy conducts itself is not wholly irrelevant. It is part of the collective context in which the nation’s politics are enacted. It represents tradition and upholds precedent. It sets boundaries and dictates a courtesy in the conduct of public affairs - however often that courtesy is infringed. What outsiders forget (especially our American friends) is that the British political system is gloriously resilient, as the past three years of Brexit hell have shown. It can tolerate the odd eccentricity, such as the blatant purchase of parliamentary seats in the House of Lords. But the question is how far such eccentricity can extend.

The present heir to the throne, Prince Charles, is deft at stepping mildly out of line. His views on architecture, health and the environment are not overtly partisan. But it does not matter as he is no more “powerful” than a newspaper or television commentator. His influence is that of celebrity. I would rather have the heir to throne engage intelligently in public debate than arrogantly indulge in the sordid sexual antics of his younger brother, Andrew.

For all his perceived faults, Prince Charles knows his limits. To expect such controlled nuances in the constitutional mystique of royalty to apply to an ever larger family has always been an accident waiting to happen. More prescient is the fact that the current system will impose the same disciplines and direct the same public exposure on an ever widening array of royal offspring as the years go by. I feel genuine sympathy for the royal children. Most British minors have their faces blanked out on camera, but not royal ones. They are sentenced to be recognised for life.

As a nation then we are extremely fortunate that Prince Harry is no more militant than in defence of the planet, wild animals and injured military veterans - all worthy causes if we are honest to admit it. Full disclosure: as an ex-veteran, I do give charitable donations to Invictus Games Foundation, the multi-sports event put on for wounded, injured or sick armed services personnel and their associated veterans. Prince Harry was instrumental in founding the Invictus Games in 2014 on his own initiative so that we never forget the courage and sacrifice of our military veterans.

What is already clear is that the Sussexes intend forthwith to redraw the lines of engagement with the press. They are opting out of the Royal Rota, the arrangement whereby, for decades, the royals have given access to a pool reporter from the national papers; instead, they will invite coverage from personally selected media outlets and will use their own social-media accounts, especially Instagram, to communicate directly with the public. Having railed against the media’s commodification of his wife, Prince Harry now seems prepared to take its commodification into his own hands: it was reported in January 2020 that he and the Duchess have lately submitted a trademark application for hundreds of items, from clothing to printed items, that may be issued with the couple’s personal brand, Sussex Royal.

This step is unfortunate and unedifying. To my mind, Sussex is a title, not a brand name. It is no more Harry and Meghan’s to exploit than Buckingham Palace is the Queen’s to sell off. Even if they distance themselves from the monarchy by being financially independent (as well as disowning their titles) by pursuing other commercial opportunities it only takes one scandal - e.g. a goods with their brand made from sweat shop labour or some other unforeseen PR disaster - to reflect badly on the Queen and the British monarchy solely because of Harry’s proximity to the throne. Harry may not be a Prince but he is a Windsor.

We are back to Bagehot again. For it was he who argued that the constitution was divided into two branches. The monarchy represents the “dignified” branch. Its job is to symbolise the state through pomp and ceremony. The government -Parliament, the cabinet and the civil service - represents the “efficient” branch. Its job is to run the country by passing laws and providing public services. The dignified branch governs through poetry, and the efficient branch through prose. The monarchy certainly doesn’t govern through commercial exploitation of its brand as an end in itself.

Today, the dignified branch is trying to adapt to an age of populism and until recently it’s been doing a much better job than the efficient branch. But the monarchy must never lower itself to the lowest common denominator to satisfy the base instincts of populism. As Bagehot aptly said, “An element of exaggeration clings to the popular judgment: great vices are made greater, great virtues greater also; interesting incidents are made more interesting, softer legends more soft.”

A family spat of no public importance is obsessing the nation and the world. Everyone should sit down and have a nice relaxing cup of tea.

#question #megxit #monarchy #britain #prince harry #meghan markle #duke and duchess of sussex #royalty #constitution #journalism

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lideria · 4 years ago

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Give Me a Few. | Johnny

Request: hi hi can you write smtg with johnny? like anything hhhh im soft for the man

Author’s Note: I miss school. Yes, that might be a crime but hear me out: this quarantine’s got me missing school and having crises over assignments and quizzes and tests, which is crazy to me. So, this shall be a college fic.

Warnings: A few swear words and a little anxiety. English is my second language so there might be errors + my brain is pushing a writer’s block on me but I won’t let it so there might be some complications with the flow loves I’m sorry.

Word Count: 1.752 IT’S SHORT.

Genre: Fluff, Angst if you like squint really hard, college!au, platonicfriends!au

Hope everyone who reads it enjoys!! 💚Have a lovely time, and good night for me lol

“The fuck?”

Johnny’s head bolts up at the frustrated question. He sees you hunched over the printed papers with your mechanical pencil in your hand and your phone in the other, scrunched eyebrows looking at the white surface scribbled all over with equations and formulas. The desk has eraser dust all over it, all from the past few hours of tussling with questions he thought must simply be too difficult. “That doesn’t make any sense, you sure that’s right?”

He can hear the faint “Dude yes, I used the calculator.” of your friend on the other end of the line, and sees your hand spring up to your temple, rubbing the spot as you let out a sigh. Shortly after, though, the mechanical pen comes back in contact with the paper. “Okay okay. Just guide me through that one more time please.”

Your friend cleans their throat so clearly Johnny can hear it, and with that he returns to his own share of notes. He is much more relaxed than you are since he has left his fair share of difficult examinations behind, and although he has a lot more memorizing to do still, it is whatever. Just two more to go.

It takes a few minutes for your friend to go over everything they had just told you, with you writing the formulas and equations down step by step, circling the ones you deemed important. You thank your friend for helping before hanging up.

Which is when the mechanical pencil is thrown out of your hand and onto the desk. “I’m gonna fail this final so bad,” You whine out. “Why make the course mandatory if half the faculty doesn’t even get it?” Leaned back on the chair, you rub your eyes with your fists. There is nothing more you want other than being done with the finals already and to never have to be acquainted with this course ever again— but you also have to pass it in order for that to become true.

“Should I just help?” Johnny suggests, his own studies long forgotten at that point. Not that he had been doing a particularly good job at focusing on them.

He sees you hunch back over the desk, looking at him with your hands tiredly placed on your cheeks. “Hasn’t it been like.. 2 semesters since you’ve taken this? Plus, you have a test tomorrow.”

Johnny clicks his tongue. “It’s history anyway— I couldn’t care less, it’s easy. Multiple choice.” Shutting his notebook close (which still amazes you how he can take notes by hand of a class like history where it is dominantly lecture material that matters), he stands up and instead takes a seat on the chair beside yours. “I’d rather struggle with formulas than read about every revolution there ever was.”

“Easy to say when you ace tests without studying for them.” You mumble, which makes Johnny smile. He could not protest that because it was true. He was a good listener during class, which helped him tons with assignments, which in turn helped him not forget the class material. The only type of courses that truly got to him were the ones where most things are dependent on discussions, arguments or debates where he needed to improvise. Not because he is bad at any of them, just because he is the type to take problems more subjectively rather than objectively.

Johnny tells you to take a breather for a few minutes while he tries to get what is going on in the question. You see this as an opportunity to take a few sips from your sugary drink that is supposed to get you through this night’s study session that is sure to become an all nighter considering you still have a couple of pages to work out. Then you check your phone, scrolling through your social media for a little, until Johnny’s hand lightly lands on your forearm. “I think I figured it out.”

“You did?” The question sounds more hopeful than it should have. “Mhm,” His eyes land on your phone momentarily before he continues speaking. “Let’s have dinner first, though.”

For you to agree he almost has to literally drag you outside of the study room the two of you had occupied, but he manages to bring you out by wrapping his arms around your shoulders and waddling his way out until the door closes and locks behind you. The two of you then make your way to the cafeteria just because you could not be bothered with making any food or asking for delivery.

While you eat, Johnny tells you he is almost sure you could not get the question because your brain was fried rather than being unable to do it. Although not knowing if it is true or not you are thankful that he says it, because it gives you a motivational boost.

Both because you are hungry and because you really need all the studying you can get, you hurry up eating— barely even tasting the food before you leave to get back to the study room.

When you are back both of you immediately go back to your seats, putting your phones on flight mode before abandoning them at the far end of the desk. Johnny takes your mechanical pencil and eraser, erasing your jotted answer before starting to re-read and rephrase the question for you. He writes down the answer step by step, making sure you truly understand everything and stopping when you need to get your head wrapped on some things.

And when he erases his writings so you can write the answer down, he gives you encouraging pats on your shoulder, letting his hand rest there as a reminder that he is there if you need to ask something.

At some point he places his chin on your shoulder as well to watch you. Not you writing your answer down, but you. “You’re being annoying right now.” You mumble, to which he chuckles slightly. “Am I?”

“You are,” Confirming the statement, you tap down at the desk. “Just look. I got the right answer this time.”

He does. The smile that spreads across his face soon after he does so makes you proud. “See, I told you it was only your overworked brain.”

With a roll of your eyes you thank him, before turning back to the many practice questions that awaited you. The questions start coming as a breeze for the first couple of hours as you gather help from your textbooks with your freshened mind. Johnny starts to play one of his many playlists with chill songs on it, reaching out for his phone to do it before also reaching out for his notebook and highlighters, returning to history out of the sheer fact that it would make him feel better if he studied while you were.

The music in the background provides a nice ambiance in the room, much more lighthearted and relaxed than how it has been for the whole study session so far. Johnny and you take turns leaving the room to walk around, partly to get some exercise and partly to delay the point where you would get sleepy.

The night seems to go by faster after you start studying for the second time. And surely after some time, you had to start leaving the study room not for short walks, but to wash your face in order to stay awake.

Letters slowly start to form a gibberish language in your mind, numbers becoming a jumble of weird lines and strokes. What really breaks all that you have left of wakefulness, though, is when Johnny starts softly humming to the songs on his never-ending playlist.

His voice is deep and strains when he is using such a low tone to hum to the songs, but it is still quite the attention catcher. You cannot help but start listening to him, and you certainly cannot help your hand that trails off of the practice questions. Within a few songs’ time, your eyes get droopy and your world gets droopy, too. But you honestly try to fight off the sleep.

Yet, sleep is much stronger than whatever is keeping you awake.

“I think I’m gonna take a nap,” The announcement comes as a surprise even to you, but you reach out for your bag and drag it until it is in front of you on the desk. “What’re you doing?” Johnny throws a soft yet questioning look at you even though it must be obvious what you are doing. “I’m gonna use it as a pillow.”

“Just lay your head on my arm,” He says as if it is nothing, and shrugs a little when you look at him with your own pair of questioning eyes. “My cardigan’s thick and soft enough to be comfortable for both you and me.”

You smile at him, and pull your bag full of books and binders aside. Reaching out for his left arm, you hold his hand lightly— even though he is fully capable of lifting his forearm to place it in front of you— and drag his arm to the space previously occupied by your bag. He returns to his notes, unbothered, and gets back to humming along to the songs.

When you place your head on his forearm you smile at the scent of his cardigan, the scent of the coffee he had had before you started studying still embedded into the fabric.

You shut your eyes that do not have the motivation to fight off the sweet invitation of sleep. And if anybody ever asked you, you would say you fell asleep before Johnny finished the line he was humming to.

And if anybody ever asked you, it was the one of the best (and deepest) sleeps you had; your face engulfed in him and his cardigan’s warmth, your arms closed around his forearm, hunched over the desk in a position that is surely going to ache your back— until there is a scratch at the top of your head and through your hair. “Hm?”

“An hour’s passed.” He whispers, his hand still in your hair. You draw his arm closer to you, nuzzling your face into the fabric. You were not the one with a test tomorrow, and you were surely not the one with a test tomorrow that you could ace with your eyes closed. “Gimme 15 minutes.”

You hear him laugh. “Okay, big baby.”

#nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct x reader #nct johnny #johnny #johnny imagines #johnny x reader #nct #nct 127 #mmmmm me like this one #mmmmmm this reminds me of someone i know in particular and my school #mmmmmm i'm making myself upset #yeah i also have a jaehyun fic that flopped so if you wanna check that out feel free to #mwah

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fluffyvillain · 5 years ago

Text

The Bond

Chapter: 4/?

Summary: Henry and Mila meet again after two years

Pairing: Henry Cavill/OFC

Warnings: A little swearing, like two words

"And what did you do after that?" Doctor Leitmann adjusted his glasses.

"I invited some friends over and I drank, a lot." Mila was completely honest as that was the deal between the two of them.

"Mhm, you see, it's not uncommon for people to swap one addiction with another and, let's face it, craving for a soulmate is sort of an addiction. Not rarely do people substitute this addiction with a different one, the one that allows them not to feel."

"I don't plan on doing that, but I have to admit that it did make me forget, even for only a few hours."

"Alright. Now, can you, please, tell me how you felt after you had left Henry at the restaurant."

Mila put both of her legs on the chair where she was sitting, hugging her shins, leaning chin on her knees. "Disappointed. Sad. Hollow. Piqued. Broken. Angry."

"Were you angry because of the way he treated you or because you didn't bond?"

"Because of the way he acted, the fact he doesn't feel the same about me makes me devastated."

"That's good, some people get angry at their soulmate because they don't feel the same way, but that is not something they chose, just like you didn't choose to feel this way for him, that is destiny. Now I'm going to ask you to do something you probably won't like, but you need it in order to begin your healing."

"Please, do."

"I need to contact Henry one more time, just to make sure. Ask him to meet you, try to explain that he got the wrong picture of you."

"Is that really necessary?" Mila felt like throwing up just thinking about it.

"I'm afraid it is, if you don't do this, you will always live with a grain of doubt."

"Well, my pride is already bruised, so what is there left to lose?"

"We will talk again last week, like we agreed. Until then, I want you to practice all the breathing techniques I showed you and everything else."

"I will, thank you."

"You have my number, if get into crises, feel free to call me at any hour."

"Thank you. Goodbye, doctor."

Mila decided to rip off the band aid right away.

Dear Henry,

Can we meet again? I wasn't lying about what I said. Please.

Mila

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

10 DAYS LATER

"So, what are your impressions after first week as a CEO?" James asked Mila.

"It's okay, a little bit stressful, but i like the position so far. And it's not like I could even make a mistake when gramps has been checking up on me the whole time."

Robert put down his glass on a table. "That's absolutely not true."

"Really, gramps? Out of 5 business days, you visited me only 4 times and you missed the 5th one only because you had a meeting outside of town." Mila raised an eyebrow at her grandfather.

"Can you blame me for wanting to help you?" Mila's eyebrow shot up even higher. "Okay, I just have to make sure that you have everything under control before I retire."

"Dad, we all know that you are never going to retire. Or you will, for a month or two." Rose joined the conversation.

"I second that." James supported his wife.

"We agree too," twins exclaimed in unison and once again their family was creeped out by the fact that they often said the exact same thing at the exact same time.

"Anyhow, I invited you here for a reason. So, you all know how I've always talked about finding my other half..." three silent nods followed, and two eye rolls - which were followed by their mother's death glare. "Well, that's not happening. I mean, it did happen, I met him, but we didn't bond. He simply doesn't feel it." Everyone kept silent, staring at her, except for uncle Blake, his eyes were fixated on the table. "I seeked professional help and I was advised to share this with my family, not to keep it inside. I've tried contacting him again, but he ignored me, so, definitely, that's it. I didn't even know that that could happen, but it can and it did happen to me." She took a deep, shaky breath.

"Cuz," Stephan grabbed Mila's hand and she expected words of support coming from him, "do you want us to kick his ass? We can do that much."

"I highly doubt that would be possible."

"Do you really think we can't do that, that we aren't strong enough? Who is that guy?" Mike supported his brother.

"Your favourite Superman."

"Christopher Reeve? He's a little dead I'm afraid."

"Okay, your second favourite."

"Cavill?"

"That's the one."

"Okay, maybe we cannot fight him, but he just dropped to the bottom of my list."

"Thanks, Mike, it means a lot to me."

"That's not fair." Everyone turned to Rose. "It's just not. Why would that happen, why to you?"

"Auntie, I will be fine, it will not be easy, but I will truly be fine. Don't you know me? I have my job to keep me busy, I will do different stuff to keep me occupied, like Sudoku, crosswords, playing video games, reading. I won't sink." Mila wasn't saying this just so Rose would calm down, she was sure she could do it, because she had to.

Robert walked over to his granddaughter speechlessly, he kissed her forehead before he excused himself to go to the bathroom, only Blake noticed a single tear rolling down his cheek, but he chose not to mention it even to his wife.

Rose insisted on staying with Mila overnight, but Mila refused. She needed to be alone, she needed to figure this out on her own. After she had bid them goodbye, she did the dishes, really focusing on what she was doing and it took her three times longer than necessary. Dishwasher wasn't even an option in her recent past or future, she used everything, every possible chore to get her mind of the way Henry felt.

Nights were the worst, she didn't know it at this moment, but it would take her months to be able to fall asleep without much trouble. Tonight wasn't an exception either, so Mila threw a blanket over her back, sitting in front of a glass wall of her living room, watching clouds get rid of excess energy, shooting up lightnings.

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

2 YEARS LATER

Waking up 2 hours before having to go to work was difficult at first, but Mila got used to it now. Doing morning yoga and meditation became a forced habit of hers, she did it so much that she got trained to block Henry's feelings within minutes, but not this morning. She almost never got the feeling of sadness and pain coming from him and even if she did, it was for a very short time. This morning those feelings wouldn't go away, it took her a lot to tone them down to a point she only felt them in traces.

The same thing happened the next day and the day after the next one. On the third day, she could barely eat her lunch, so she retreated to her office and decided to do something she hasn't done since a few days after she had met Henry. She put his name in Google search engine and pressed enter.

Henry Cavill breks up with a long time girlfriend as she finds her soulmate

Elaine Svensson finds her soulmate, dumps Henry Cavill

Henry Cavill is back on the dating market

Those were the first three results. Oh, that's what's going on. No wonder he's been feeling this way. Now that she knew what was going on, she though it would be easier for her to block it. Knowing how much love he felt, it wasn't a surprise he felt that way.

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

2 WEEKS LATER

After finishing her yoga session, Mila made herself a cup of tea. She got her phone off a charger to check her social networks, but she was surprised to see that she got a an e-mail on her personal address last nigh. She opened it and stared at it for quite some time, it was an e-mail she should've received 2 years ago.

I was wrong, you are not just some crazy fan.

I did some research about you, I asked around, I know who you are.

We need to meet, does tomorrow work for you? I'll come to your hotel.

Henry

She wasn't sure whether she wanted to answer at first, but she wasn't like him, even if her response was negative, she wanted to do it. She just wasn't sure what to write, so she opted for a short one.

FUCK YOU!

No, that's a little harsh, it would be rude for you to write it.

SCREW YOU! GO TO HELL!!!

She pressed backspace until everything was deleted. Breathe, Mila. She knew exactly what was going on, he wanted her to be his rebound. Otherwise, she would feel the change in his feelings. He knew her love would be unconditional, that she would never leave him, but she wasn't anyone's second choice, not even his. She deserved better.

Dear Mr. Cavill,

Thank you for your e-mail.

Unfortunately, tomorrow doesn't work for me. As a matter of fact, any day after tomorrow doesn't work for me either.

Best regards and good luck in your future endeavors,

Mila Radcliffe

She did 15 more minutes of meditation again and then continued her day as usually, like nothing happened. Today was the day her company organized annual blood donating day. Her grandfather started it after her mother had been in a need of blood while in the hospital, even though it didn't do much for her in the end, Robert realized the importance of blood donating. He saw it as an homage to her daughter and Mila continued his legacy.

When she was done with daily reports, she joined her coworkers in a conference room where blood donating was held. She was among the last ones, she greeted her colleagues first: "Hello everyone, you are doing an amazing thing, thank you." Then she greeted the medical staff before she filled in a standard form, they checked her hemoglobin level and then she proceeded to a quick doctor's check up. "Is everything alright, doctor?"

"It is, thank you for doing this again."

"Pleasure is all mine." Mila feed access to her biceps.

"Okay, let's check your blood pressure now." Doctor wrapped and inflatable cuff around her arm, she waited for a few seconds. "You are good to go. I just have one more question. I see in the system that you are a bone marrow donor to, have you ever donated?"

"Unfortunately, no. Nobody ever matched with me."

"Chances are 1:430, but even if you never get matched, just applying is a very noble thing. Well, that's all from me, you know the procedure."

It took less than 5 minutes for Mila to finish up the blood drawl, she thanked everyone again and left the conference room. The ones who donated blood didn't have to go back to work, especially if their job involved using physical strength, hers didn't and she was used to donating blood.

She rolled down her sleeve and continued to her office. Path leading there went through the hotel lobby, so she smiled and nodded at the front desk staff and tried to hurry in order not to disturb guests and visitors sitting there, but soon she stopped in her track when she heard someone calling her once and she knew exactly who he was.

"Mila," Henry approached her, confident steps, deep voice, arm firmly outstretched towards her.

If they were alone, she would've never accepted his hand, but she didn't want to make a scandal. She shook his hand for a second and she instantly started resenting herself for feeling the same electrical current coming through her like when she touched him the first time. "I think I made it clear that I didn't want to see you," she tried to be quiet enough so nobody else could her.

"Can we go somewhere more private, please?" Henry didn't pay much attention to her when they met, but now that he looked at her, she was beautiful. She was significantly shorter than him even on heels, he usually dated tall girls, but women's height wasn't something that was of utmost importance for him. Her large blue eyes had something worm in them even though her voice was ice cold. Since this was his best option, he could make it work, it wouldn't be so difficult. Maybe one day he would come to love her, now that Elaine would never be his again.

Mila looked him straight in the eye, his eyes looked tired and dark circles around his eyes gave out the fact that he didn't sleep in God knows how long. "Only because I don't need any kind of scandal here, let alone one caused by me. You can follow me to my office."

Henry followed silently, taking his time to analyze her appearance further. Her long dark brown curls bounced in the rhythm of her footsteps, she was on a skinnier side, but her ass didn't look skinny at all.

Mila pressed her ID card against a card reader and a door opened. "Please, go ahead," she held the door for him. They passed a few offices until they reached hers. When they entered, she gestured for him to have a seat on the opposite side of her desk, across from her chair. "Okay, go ahead. What do you want?"

"I need to apologize for my previous behavior first. I couldn't even grasp what you felt in that moment when you met me. You know, Elaine left me, about two weeks ago, we were out in a club and it was over in minutes. The person I though was the love of my life left me in about 15 minutes for her soulmate, after all the years we spent together, after I moved here for her. All of that didn't matter. That's when I saw how powerful that force is. I wish I could feel the same for you."

Mila looked at his blue eyes at first, noticing a little brown patch in one. In order to focus on what he was saying, she focused on a pile of papers in front of her. He sounded hurt and a part of him wanted to help him, to console him, but the part who wanted to kill him for even thinking about her as a consolation price won. "How stupid do you think I am? No, you don't. You wish your soulmate was Elaine and now that you can't have her anymore, you came to pick up your second prize. You miscalculated a bit, I learned to live without you and I'd rather be alone my whole life than feel like a silver medal you won, when all you've ever wanted was to win gold."

"That's not..."

"Let me stop you right there, I don't want you to waste your time anymore, nor do I want to waste mine." Mila stood up, she was the one who offered her hand now first.

Henry took it and shook it gently, he really thought that she would agree, he needed her to. He wanted to belong somewhere. "If you ever change your mind, you know how to find me."

"I won't and, please, if you ever run into me, just pretend that you didn't see me and that you don't know me, it will make things easier for me. Now, if you don't mind, I have a lot of work, you know your way out." She set back on the chair and gestured towards the door. "Goodbye, Mr. Cavill."

"Goodbye, Mila."

She waited until she heard a vague click of the second door before she threw a paper clip at the door, all of her pens followed. She slammed a drawer shut and then kicked a garbage can, feeling completely helpless. Then she lay on the floor in a fetal position, hoping the pain would go away and that her tears would dry soon.

#henry cavill #henry cavill fanfic #soulmates au

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snellyboi · 5 years ago

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Psst, hey, you! Want a Steven Universe hot take?

Words: Too damn many Summary: It’s a Steven Universe hot take about hurting connie, and how it ties into the show, the original Steven Universe, the lack of filler, and Steak Dinners. Warnings: Longe boi, a bit of a text wall but I do use paragraphs so it’s not awful I guess? A lot of talks about filler and stuff at the beginning.

ALSO I SHOULD POINT OUT this isn’t, like, some sort of SU critical circa 2017 post. I have qualms with the show, which are discussed, but overall, I think it’s pretty good stuff. Please be aware of that. I’m not gonna say it’s the worst thing on the planet because it’s not.

UNDER THE CUT:

Before we get into the meat of the conversation, I need to tell you where I’m coming from.

I have...strange feelings about Steven Universe.

It came out when I was starting High School, when I was bingeing cartoons like nobody’s business because peer pressure for years had made me repulse them. I didn’t care much about the deeper meanings of the show at the time, if I wanted to do deeper meanings I could go back and watch ATLA or those Rebecca Sugar episodes of Adventure Time, or OTGW. This was a bunch of magic space rocks fighting other magic space rocks! I was SO down!

Near the middle, though, and closer to the end, I guess I got a little...bored with it? I dunno what it was; well, I do now, but at the time I had no clue. it just seemed...a little over the top. I guess I had signed up for something like early Adventure Time, or the early parts of any given ATLA season. It became more of a drama than anything else, like a hundred Zuko and Iroh moments rolled into one, emotional punch after emotional punch.

This isn’t the most sound assessment, no, and current me would be...a little annoyed at best if a show started doing this today. Sure, one could make the argument that I sound super hypocritical in retrospect, as I’m a huge fan of She-Ra and Infinity Train, but for every ‘Mermysteries’ in She-Ra there’s a ‘Roll With It’, and Infinity Train’s seasons are 5 nights long, perfect for punch after punch, but on Steven Universe? For every ‘Mirror Gem’, there was a...’Gem Harvest’. Which, sure, it was alright, but c’mon, calling an episode where we meet an entirely new character, even if only for a moment, filler, is a bit of a stretch. Filler is like ‘Always BMO Closing’ or something. And that hits the bone of the weird part here, does Steven Universe even have filler?

The whole 'no true filler’ idea is one of those things that sounds great on a show, but falls flat, because when people complain about filler, it’s complaining about bad filler, not the presence of it in general. If I get a steak and fries, and the fries are bad, I’m not complaining because they’re fries, I’m complaining because they’re bad fries. She-Ra is a good porterhouse with great fries. Infinity Train and OTGW are filet mignon with lobster tail, not really filler, but perfect in a way. Near the end, and really, for me, all the way through, Steven Universe felt more like a strip steak with no sides, just a little bit of A1.

Isn’t this post about Connie, SUF, and how that all works?

Yes, it is. We’re getting there.

Steven Universe Future has been all emotional roller coasters the whole way through, seemingly. I’ll be honest, I’m not as into it as I was into Steven Universe, for a few reasons. Mostly, it expands on that no filler problem, big time. Nothing feels like it can be out of place, there’s even an episode titled the ‘Very Special Episode’, a slang term used in TV to talk about stuff like stranger danger specials, or the Golden Girls tackling the issue of gay marriage, etc. With the tense build of Steven’s mental health issues, I honestly wouldn’t have it any other way. Whether I like it or not, it’s doing what it needs to do, and I’ll acknowledge that it does exactly what it sets out to accomplish.

So in Steven Universe, the main conflict is Steven and his past, and trying to convince people that no matter who someone is, they can be redeemed. It’s not a space war epic like I thought it would be (I used to be angry about that, but, just like the show said, people change, and now I have different qualms with it) but it does really well with that. So what is the conflict in SUF?

Steven has lost his raison d’etre.

He’s going through that most existential of crises; “I’m at the top of the mountain, now what?”

NOW WE FINALLY GET TO THE HOT TAKE!

The reason I brought up any of what I just did is to link it back to this heinous, outright stupid idea that Steven would just, like, I dunno, choke slam Connie or whatever you sick monsters wanna see.

All of this No Filler, Everything is important stuff told us a lot about the characters. After all, it’s hard not to have character development in a show environment like that. Steven was shown as someone who genuinely cared, a lot, about everyone around him. He almost over-empathizes, to the point where he’s able to see the good in a bunch of arguably fascist space rocks voiced by former broadway divas. As much as I dislike the show for only ever being weighty and never having any ‘true filler’ or whatever, the reason it did that makes stylistic sense; Steven has no filler in his life. He’s way too empathetic. He cried when he found out that Snakes don’t have arms, for christ’s sake!

As annoying as it felt watching it, it’s an unfortunate reality that some people are forced to live their lives that way, empathizing with anyone and everyone they meet, and it hurts, and when you fix all the problems people had, but they suddenly leave?

That fucking hurts. And that’s how I think we ended up here.

That’s also why I think he’s not gonna hit Connie. At least, not purposefully.

Steven has pretty openly expressed feelings for Connie before, and while we haven’t seen a romance line yet, it’s pretty obvious it’s slated to at some point.

Now, if Steven can empathize with Space Stalin™, he can empathize with a girl he’s had a crush on for years at this point for going away to seek higher education. Sure, these pink outbursts are getting to him, as recent leaks may have shown, but I doubt that hurting Connie would crop up. It goes against a lot of the show’s themes of community and healing. But most of all?

It’s just crappy writing.

The show has had its fair share of clunkers in my opinion, as every show longer than 2 seasons is bound to have. Remember that episode where Nanefua runs for mayor? Or how about the one with Lars and the Off Color gems where they’re there for a grand total, of, like...the opening?

None of those were terrible episodes though, just...forgettable. It’s not as if Steven just pulls out a chain gun and starts blasting in one of them. That would be stupid, and garbage, and a copout to generate ratings. Punching Connie would be like killing Brian on Family Guy; no weight, just shock. Flash in the pan. A bomb going off with no warning, no suspense. A jump scare.

And that’s why I talked about the whole No Filler thing, and how it annoys me to no end, but how it’s necessary and worth while!

No one would ever have spent this whole time building up Steven as an over empathizer with an Atlas personality just to have him punch someone whose been his love interest since 2013.

We would never spend an entire show cycle building someone up as caring too much about the people around him for his fatal flaw to be punching his girlfriend. The no filler thing was a noble, brave idea, that in my opinion fell over. But damn, did it do great things for the characters on the show, even if it sacrificed pacing.

It should come as no surprise by now that the no filler thing, to me, is a bit of a stretch. Of course there was filler; sure, lore gets expanded, but when it’s not expanded well it just feels like the writers aren’t quite sure what to do (hmm, maybe they’d be better at filler if they’d written some beforehand...).

But it portrayed the lead amazingly well, giving us a world through his eyes, and set up an amazing story about someone who cared too much about a world that was starting to care less and less about him. Setting us up for an amazing show, whether I want to watch it that often, or not.

Let’s face it, it may not be my favorite meal, but sometimes you just can’t beat a strip steak with a little bit of A1.

#steven universe #suf #steven universe future #connie maheswaran

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frcmashes · 5 years ago

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featuring: hope mikaelson, landon kirby. hon. mentions: william halliwell, lizzie saltzman tagging: @chosenlonely summary: hope tells landon that she has feelings for someone else. surprisingly enough, all hell doesn’t break loose.

hope mikaelsonLast Monday at 6:26 PM

so, her door is still broken. she doesn't know why she hasn't fixed it yet. it'd be a flick of her wrist, a mumbling of a spell, and that'd be that. but it feels too simple. it feels too much like settling back into a normalcy that's intangible now. ( like maybe, if she's meticulous enough, if she acts like nothing ever happened, if she's careful about where the cracks were, no one will ever notice. except .. she will. and lizzie will. and god, it's not fair on landon to expect him to accept the damages. ) she's sitting on her bed, thinking over how the openness is a good metaphor, when she hears footsteps. " hey. " he makes her want to smile just by being around and she has to accept she's going to lose that feeling. ( she'll be fine, she wants to convince herself. maybe even take lizzie's advice. not everyone leaves. ) " you'll never guess what happened today. " she has to curb the ease that wants to overtake her, remember what lizzie told her. she, at least, draws the line on going over to meet him. " i'll give you three guesses. "

landon kirbyLast Monday at 7:48 PM

when a text comes through that says we need to talk, it's a surefire sign that something's up. even still, he tries not to jump to worst case scenarios as he heads to hope's room. he should be studying for a test they have the next day, but he's sure no amount of studying is going to help him now. it's too late, his mind already stuffed with about as much as it can handle. thoughts of the test fade away when he sees the splintered door frame, eyes widening as he crosses the threshold. " uh. " he looks between her and the door, using context clues to fill in the blanks. " either the monster of the week busted your door down, or lando's way stronger than i thought he was. " another glance. " krypto strength levels. " he's pretty sure it's not the latter, so his stomach churns at the thought of yet another monster coming after them.

January 21, 2020

hope mikaelsonLast Tuesday at 8:23 AM

she's learnt that the worst things are quiet. it's only natural that she's responded to the worst moments in her life with aggression, with violence, with noise. it filled the space, stopped her rampart panicked thoughts. it's self-preservation at it's finest. except ... this time, with landon making jokes about mysteriously strong dogs and showing up, she knows it's not possible. and equally, that it's not what she wants. for the first time in her life, she's going to have respond to quiet with quiet. ( if she's being stripped of all of her comforts, all of her coping mechanisms may as well fall to the floor beside them. ) a smile cracking, though she can't help if it seems insincere. not quite reaching her eyes. " as much as i'd love to have a dog who could do all of that, " would she? questions for another time. " i guess malivore's spitting out monsters again. " that wasn't something she'd missed. " this time it was a croatoan. " she's halfway to the truth.(edited)

landon kirbyLast Tuesday at 9:33 AM

it's guilt that he feels. right off the bat, it hits him square between the teeth and he flinches. right, the monsters were back. he knew that, might have forgotten to mention that fact when he'd gotten a little preoccupied with the existential crisis that came along with seylah re-entering his life. " i know. " his gaze is apologetic, shifting his weight from foot to foot. " some octopus monster came after me last week when i was walking lando. i meant to tell you, but -- " in truth, he hadn't been sure how he felt. it seemed impossible to tell someone what was going on in your life when you weren't entirely sure you even knew. " seylah's here. my mom. " a sentence that he never expected to say. " she killed it. " he shakes his head, hating the guilt and the dread that gathers in the pit of his stomach. everything with malivore makes it flare up, like a fever you can't shake off. " are you okay ? is everyone okay ? " there's concern in his gaze, crossing over to her so he can see for himself that she's in one piece.

hope mikaelsonLast Tuesday at 10:03 AM

he mentions monsters, and malivore, and how he meant to tell her but ... ( she's struck by how they've both been keeping secrets stuck in their separate crises of confidence. ) guilt is an emotion that was already sitting in the pit of her stomach, in her chest, every time they spoke and she kept everything to herself. first seylah, now lizzie. she isn't sure when she got a reputation for keeping secrets from her boyfriend. ( and she's definitely sure that it isn't one that she wants to uphold. ) she shifts on the bed, despite herself, despite self control, and moves closer to him. " seylah killed it. " god, if today is the day for honesty, she might as well come forth with all of it. if the croatoan walks through that door again, hungry to destroy more of life ( a process she set in motion ), she'll be defenceless. she doesn't know if it sounds revelatory, or just quietly accepting. ( an international assassin known for killing monsters. she wishes she had just been honest now. ) " i'm fine. everyone's fine. "

she feels awkward in the space, instead of reaching out for his hands, placing her own on her legs. " but, " inhale, exhale, focus, " the croatoan - the monster that was here today - is basically a venus fly trap for secrets. " she doesn't why it makes her smile, the absurdity of the situation and her nerves blending together. " it almost killed me for how many i've been keeping. " she deserves to feel guilty, he deserves honesty. " that trip we took to kansas wasn't for nothing. we met your mom. " it feels unconvincing, her shoulders shrugging high. " the reason none of us remembered is because she found the portal before we could stop her. i don't know why. " she doesn't know why. wishes she did. " i never forgot her. and no, i don't know that either. " she wishes she did. it would make all of this easier to explain. " i am so sorry, landon. "

landon kirbyLast Tuesday at 10:15 AM

he joins her on the bed, figures if they're unpacking heavy, guilt-inducing secrets, he should probably be sitting for it. he notices how her hands don't reach for him but doesn't think anything of it, not when his mind's preoccupied with what she has to say. a few weeks ago, he thinks he'd be angry; hurt that she hadn't told him something that important. except now, maybe he gets it. he's met seylah, looked in her eyes and found out some truths he's not quite sure how to stomach. if she threw herself back in that pit, well, maybe -- he doesn't get it, but he does. ( maybe she was just trying her best. trying not to hurt him. he's hurt anyway, but that's the thing about good intentions -- sometimes you can try your best and people still get hurt. ) he swallows hard past the lump in his throat, nods his head once. a venus fly trap for secrets. wow. he's kind of glad he missed that one, not so sure he'd want to announce to the world some of the truths he's been clutching. " i know why. " it's said quietly, like he's afraid to give life to the thoughts churning inside of him. " or -- i can guess. i don't remember, so i can't be sure. " that must be how he'd lost the picture. seylah took it. he wants to be angry, but he thinks he's just numb. " she never wanted to be a mother. it was -- " ah, nope. he cuts himself off, decides to spin it in another direction. ( he's scared of what will happen when he says it out loud. ) " turns out, you're not the only person in the room who's had their dad referred to as the great evil. " his smile is tight. " i know who my dad is. " a lengthy pause. " malivore. "

hope mikaelsonLast Tuesday at 10:43 AM

she shifts further towards him when he joins her, one leg falling under her to turn to him. she still yearns to touch him, can't think of a time she hasn't, but keeps herself checked. ( caught up in what he deserves. ) she wonders, waits in a space, for a few moments as his reaction forms. she'd understand if he was upset, even more if he was angry. ( that is, of course, how her own emotions register. ) she exhales when he starts to speak. i know why. she really hopes, prays, that what's about to come out of his mouth isn't going to be self-deprecation born out of a conversation with his mother. ( she can face her, recognises seylah's faults and tries to encourage her to be there for the person who needs her. especially because she's still haunted by the fifteen year old version of herself, begging her father to love her. )

" landon ... " it's sympathetic, but not interrupting. she's going to let him talk, let him air all of this out. especially if this is the last time he gets this safety with her. ( it's her responsibility, after everything they've built, to give him that. ) about his father, - a revelation she will quietly wait for - about them, about everything. and then, all of her plans fall dead before her. malivore. ( she's going to break all her rules. ) it's instinctive, shifting to hold both of his hands in hers. " hey. " she doesn't know if he's going down the same path she often does, doesn't know if he's questioning who he is and who he can be. doesn't know if he's talking himself out of the person he is to protect everyone else. but if his smile is any indication, there's a part of her in him.." listen to me. you are not your father. " she doesn't know if telling him will make any difference. but she tries. ( unlike before, all her face shows now is unflinching sincerity. fight. ) " and yeah, monsters are probably going to keep coming. " god knows why, but they'll keep going. " and we are probably going to have to deal with your mom, a and malivore. " protecting him from that reality does no good anymore.

" but last time i checked, " her hand shifts from in his to on his cheek, too gentle for her original intentions, " you're the person who told me our parents sins don't define us. " evil is relative.

landon kirbyLast Tuesday at 11:03 AM

he looks up when her hands cover his own, no longer trying to pointedly ignore her gaze. in ways, he's been stalling this conversation because he knew she was the voice of reason, would remove the filter of bias that clouds his vision when it comes to introspection. it's easy for him to say that she's nothing like her father, like the great evil they write about in history books, but somehow it's not as easy to stomach when the mirror's turned around on him. ( he's a hypocrite. he acknowledges it, doesn't know how to not. ) " i can't believe my own words are being used against me. " he cracks a smile, a real one this time. he squeezes her hands, sucks in a breath. " logically, i know you're right. we don't get to choose our parents, or our circumstances. " he certainly wouldn't have chosen the cards he was dealt. " ... but every time a monster shows up, or someone gets hurt, " his vision darkens. " it's on me. " his fault, his responsibility. so far they've been lucky, no one's gotten seriously hurt, but what happens when they do ? he thinks it's selfish, staying here when his presence puts people in danger, but he doesn't know where he'd go either. he has people here, people he loves -- people who love him. is it more selfish to stay, or to leave ? ( he's thought about this a lot lately, gone back and forth so many times it's like whiplash. ) " dr. saltzman kicked me out before -- maybe he was right. ". he pulls his hands back, rubs at the back of his neck the way he always does when he's anxious; when he's about to do, or say, something that might be stupid. except he's already done that, said the very ghosts of thoughts that have been haunting him the last month. or at least, the kohl's notes version. some truths, some revelations, should never see the light of day.

" i'm sorry, i didn't mean to unload all of that onto you. " a weak smile's flashed, his back straightening as he clears his throat. " guilty conscience, i guess. " a lopsided shrug of one shoulder, fixing his gaze back onto her again. " -- you wanted to talk to me about something ? i'm assuming it's not monster related. " it would be easy to assume that it was, that the truth monster would feed off the unspoken truths between them, but there's a nagging prickling at the edge of his rationale that says there has to be more.

hope mikaelsonLast Tuesday at 11:23 AM

" hmm, get used to it. " it's good advice, wise advice. they are nothing like their parents, not even if the most haunted things stay with them in the middle of the night. ( she shouldn't, however, be telling him to get used to anything. ) her smile is real, mirroring his, squeezes his hands back. ( she loves him, she really, truly does. she simply doesn't love him alone. ) she shakes off his admittance of blame, his accountability, as null and void. " no, it's not. " she's a hypocrite too. " dr. saltzman sent you away to protect you. not to protect us. "

she doesn't know if he's noticed, but they're a school full of supernatural witches, werewolves, vampires and all things in between. " and we might be in the middle of an apocalypse, " monsters engulfing them with the barrier down, mystic falls probably grateful for the reprieve, " but that doesn't mean you have to sacrifice yourself to stop it. " she'd do the same, if it were her. that's the whole problem. she understands where he's coming from, understands this yearning to protect the people he loves. she needs to work on it. ( maybe he does too. ) " we'll figure it out. all of us. " because that's what they always do. he diverts the subject, pulls his hands back, and she feels the anxiety that's become familiar start to cling to her. " don't be. " she shakes her head again, offers him a smile in reassurance. " i'm not. " she's not sorry he walked into her life, she's not he's malivore's son either. ( the only part she's really, truly, sorry about is what she has to say now. ) " i know the feeling. " a breath, swallowing around the truth as he had. now it's her turn to spill everything.." and that's actually what i wanted to talk to you about. " it's moments like this she's reminded why she doesn't like herself with words. they never come out right, she can never quite conjure them into the speeches he's capable of. seeming effortless and romantic and wonderful. that's just not who she is. " when the croatoan attacked today, lizzie was here. " her heart is pounding. rip the bandaid off, quick and easy. face the rejection, rebuild her life. ( listen to lizzie's advice. not everyone leaves. ) " and uh, she was in danger. and i got so scared, and it wasn't leaving. and i had to tell her everything. " rip it off. quick and easy. " i'm in love with her, landon. " it still doesn't taste right. does no one any good. " and that doesn't mean i don't love you. " she doesn't think she's ever talked this much in the quiet. " and it's not about you, or about her. it's not like i was trying. i just, " she doesn't know what she's searching for, " it just happened. " she's rambling. and not in a good way. " and i am so sorry. "

landon kirbyLast Tuesday at 11:53 AM

he wants to believe her. he wants to believe that he should stay, that he belongs here -- that he's part of the team. maybe not an integral member, he's more hindrance than help, but he knows now what he's capable of. ( his alternative self might have been a dick, but he's proof that he can be something more. something better. ) there's a light at the end of the tunnel, some glimmer of hope; of maybe one day, no longer facing malivore as an imminent threat. he wants to believe that, so for today - he does. ( it might not last. he might waiver, change his mind, but for now he ignores the voices in his head telling him to run and decides to stay. ) " all of us. " he repeats it with a nod, like it's a mantra that'll lead to their salvation. " together.". of all the truths he was expecting, all the possible scenarios he could have imagined, this wasn't one of them. he's stunned into silence; which, in a way, might be worse than being angry. he wants to be angry, he does, but it's hard to be angry with someone you love. " you love lizzie. " he repeats it, acknowledges the way he leaves out one of the key words. in. she's in love with lizzie. he doesn't like the way that tastes in his mouth, bitter and unfriendly. " you -- " he breaks off again, confusion clouding his processing as he opens and closes his mouth a few times. she loves lizzie, but she also loves him. there's a part of him that wonders, in a moment of darkness, if he's being punk'd. maybe will thought it would be funny, to catch the look on his face. except, no, none of them are that cruel. he has to believe that they aren't because if the people he loves are that cruel ... maybe he's never really known them. he swallows hard, fingers picking at the skin around his thumbnail as he works it over in his head. ( he can't look at her. he doesn't trust himself. not yet. ). there's a part of him that feels responsible. no, culpable. maybe he was't there for her, wasn't enough, and that meant she needed more. it's not like he knew what he was doing, or even how to take care of himself let alone anyone else. ( he's projecting; if he blames himself, maybe he won't have to blame her. or no one. who do you blame in a situation where everyone loses ? ) " how long. " it's murmured at first, not quite a question. finally he looks up, clears his throat and asks again. " how long have you been in love with her ? "

January 22, 2020

hope mikaelsonLast Wednesday at 9:42 AM

there's something off about hearing her truth out of his lips. yes, she does love lizzie. yes, she is in love with lizzie. but, no, it's not the same as loving him. she loves him in a way that makes her believe she could forever. with lizzie, it simply feels ... inevitable. like their whole lives, through chambers of miscommunication and resentment and lies, they've been supposed to get here. simple course correction from her faults, and lizzie's faults, and the world that kept them apart. loving lizzie is so different to loving landon. ( she wishes she could tell him that. could work through the differences and encourage them. tell him that as long as she has both of them, however she has both of them, she'll be okay. but, at this point, she isn't sure that's going to make any difference. ) " i do. " she loves them both. she can't choose, as though a choice particularly mattered. if she chose lizzie, she'd be choosing to wait. to put all of her loneliness on a person who's already found the antidote to hers. if she chose landon, she'd be choosing to lie to him. and they didn't lie to each other. ( not after everything. ) she doesn't know what else to offer, the truth on it's bare bones before them. any placation she offers, any differentiation she makes, she thinks will only help in the aftermath. as they speak, she thinks, they're still wading through the rubble. ( hence the door that's still lying, in pieces, on the ground. ).he asks her how long and she has to consider it for a moment. she's distracted by the movement of his gaze, hope flaring in her chest, wondering if this is a good thing. wondering how long it has been. she supposes lizzie's always stood out to her. as a person trying to get close to her first, and then an enemy who'd finally given up on her. and now as her best friend. she supposes that she's wanted to love lizzie for a long time. that love simply transcended boundaries, and definitions, now. ( it's just course correction, she thinks. but she doesn't think explaining her long and winding history with lizzie is going to do either of them any good. ) when she first became conscious that the way she looked at lizzie was different, though, she can pin point that. " after i slept with her. " after he slept with will, after they did a harmless, teenage thing. at least, it was supposed to be.(edited)

landon kirbyLast Wednesday at 10:16 AM

the answer he gets is both the one he wants, and the one he doesn't. if she'd known before, if they'd gone into that night on uneven footing, he thinks it would be worse. can he really be mad about this ? about something he happily went along with ? he's not sure. he's equal parts confused and upset, but the anger hasn't really registered. it would be easier if it had. if he was angry, if he could cling to it like a shield, maybe it could protect him from the inevitable crash. ( his walls came down around her and he isn't sure how to throw them back up. the dust crunches under his feet, reminds him why he fought. ) " okay. ". is it ? okay ? he's not sure. maybe it's because there's so much uncertainty in this confession; he's not sure what he's wading through, where any of the other moving parts fit into this equation. is lizzie in love with her ? if she is, where does this leave will ? leave him ? there's uncertainty in the unknown and that's what he hates about all of this. the unknown, of not knowing where he stands -- what this means. " does she -- " he pauses, rephrases. he's upset, but this is still someone he loves. hurting someone else because you're hurting just makes everyone lose. ( today, he chooses to keep fighting. he won't throw in the towel just because it's hard. not unless the fight's truly, and welly, over ) " is this -- are you breaking up with me ? " that's the question he needs to know, isn't it ? if this is a storm they're weathering, or if she's bailing out as the water comes rushing in. " are you and lizzie -- " he breaks off, can't really find the right words, but he thinks she'll know where he was going. she is, after all, someone who's always managed to see right through him. he assumes that hasn't changed. ( or has it ? he doesn't know. ). it dawns on him, in the pesky way that only regrets can, that while he was having fun -- she was falling in love. it's ironic, makes him want to laugh even though it's not funny. he does love will, felt some type of something from the very minute they met, but it was never like this. maybe in another life, in a world where there was no hope, no lizzie, but that wasn't the world they lived in. except for hope, it is. he can't hold it against her, knows the heart sometimes wants what it wants regardless of your best intentions, but can he live with it ? live with knowing there's someone else in the equation ? always wondering when the other shoe will drop and he'll end up alone ? that's what he's unsure of. that's what plunges his veins with ice water, sees him resisting every urge to run so he's not just another C O W A R D afraid to face the truth. ( he's been running for so long. maybe it's time he finally stopped. )

hope mikaelsonLast Wednesday at 11:40 AM

it's not okay, she knows that. intellectually and rationally she can recognise, if the roles were reversed, she'd be running for the hills. ( she wouldn't even know where to begin. ) she knows he could too, that he has before, but she chooses to take the fact they're both sitting in carefully elected silence as a good sign. he pauses, rephrases, recalculates, and it's odd to watch. she doesn't suppose she's ever really seen him fail with words. ( if this is stripping even their most basic inclinations, it's a cue of what they have to face. ) for once, she has to take his place. put everything behind honest sentiments and hope for the best.

in an odd way, asking if she's breaking up with him is a relief. " no. " she shakes her head, longs to reach out and grip his hands ( physical intimacy, actions are louder than words ) and simply lays her hands between them on the bed. an invitation for a more appropriate time. ( she's always worked in inches. push and pull. ) " the last thing i want to do is break up with you. " or be broken up with. the following question is undeniably painful but it's the kind of pain she could learn to live with. lizzie didn't reject her, or leave her. she isn't planning to. she isn't loved romantically, but she is loved. and, despite what her initial heartbreak would cue, that's enough. " we aren't. " she assures, and is surprised by how steady her voice sounds.." she loves will. and i'm okay with that. " she isn't, in some epistemic sense of what they could have had, but she is now. in their world. she'll have to be. ( right now, the wound is too fresh and she feels too of the situation to hope for anything else. ) " she's my best friend. " there's an unspoken statement within the title. she's going to be around. lizzie may not love her, may never love her, but she's going to be here. always.

landon kirbyLast Wednesday at 12:09 PM

when her hands move, there's a panicked part of him that thinks it's too soon. she'll reach, he'll flinch, and a chasm will open up between them. he doesn't want that, and he could practically cry when she lets them rest between them. god, this is why he loves her. why even right now, even in this period of confusion and uncertainty, she still knows what he needs; or what he doesn't. there's a ghost of a smile on his face, hands coming up to cover his face for a moment as he takes in a breath. this calm ... it's exhausting, if he's honest. he knows it's a choice, that he could easily work himself up -- yell, scream, hate, but who does that help ? what does it serve ? he's been on the receiving end of that kind of ' love ' in the past and he knows that's not healthy. it's not okay. ( this isn't okay, but he thinks they will be. ). he nods his head once his hands fall away, they drop into his lap as he organizes his thoughts. " i don't want to say this is okay because it isn't. " he has to be honest, even if it's hard. " but we always said we wouldn't lie to each other. so as awful as this feels right now -- i'm glad you told me. you didn't have to. " she could have sat on it, could have let it fester until it exploded at an inopportune time. that, he thinks, would have been worse. maybe irreparably so. " i guess i'm just confused. i don't know what this means for us. " he sucks in a breath, realizing that at some point he's stopped looking at her. he needs to see her now, meets her gaze and searches. he doesn't see any half truths, or things left unsaid. nothing that screams ' trouble ' and makes him want to run for the hills. ( though, he does acknowledge, it might have been easier if he did. the right thing and the easy thing are hardly ever one and the same. ). " i don't want to break up. " he wasn't entirely sure of that, not until he says it out loud. " but, " this is important, something he needs to say. " i don't want to wonder if things would be different if lizzie wasn't with will. " he doesn't want to be anyone's consolation prize. they both deserve better than that. " or wonder why i wasn't enough. " he thinks it has to be the intensity of this conversation, of the variety of topics covered, that gives him the courage to say; to not cower, to say what's on his mind and to not let it remain unsaid for god knows how long. " so if you need time to figure that out -- to be sure, i can wait. " he's not running. he's not going anywhere. " i just need to know we're ... on the same page. " or at least in the same book. he's not picky. he can acknowledge that there's a lot to unpack here, more than can be processed in a single conversation, but he's trying. he's trying because he loves her, that hasn't changed. ( he'd said he'd fight. so he is. )(edited)

hope mikaelsonLast Wednesday at 1:28 PM

staying, as with everything, comes in different forms. she's had people fight for her, barter for her, die for her. she's simply never had anyone ... stay for her. it's always seemed so literal to her. her father god knows where for most of her life, her family spread across the globe. sent away to a boarding school she didn't know how to adjust to with people she'd never met. ( she'd come to call them family, but she couldn't have known that then. in fact, she doesn't think she really knew that until recently. ) she knows that's why the word feels as rooted as the act. if crisis was quiet, deafening silence, then staying was loud. and vibrant. in her mind, at least. sitting here, ultimately in careful silence with the boy she loves, when he has every reason to leave ( even if there isn't a door to slam ), makes her realise she's been wrong. she always knew that emma, and dr. saltzman, and her parents, were right about her. she was damaged, and scared, and she internalised it and forced it into something powerful. anger was a weapon from a woman who could destroy villages on a whim. ( her aunts words chimed in her mind often ; people like you and me, we can't get angry. ) she thinks all that anger she's been holding onto - the anger that exploded onto lizzie before she imploded - turns her into a person she isn't certain she wants to be. she still needs to make peace with her parents ( and her culpability in their deaths ) and her family. but landon, even if he ran, even if he stole a knife, even if she sent him away and he went ... he's never left her. it's taken recognising not all victories are celebrations to recognise that. ( god, she loves him. )." i wanted to tell you. " that much is true. because they don't lie to each other. she might value that now more than ever. she can't blame him for anything he says next. confusion is better than anger, and it's a hell of a lot better than fear. she hopes like hell it stays that way. he continues, she waits. he doesn't want to break up, she doesn't allow herself to relax yet. she waits, and she listens, until she recognises she needs to take time to think of this. she doesn't want to be away from him, wait to be sure, about a reality that doesn't exist. ( her dilemma earlier ; choosing between them. she stands by her conclusion. it doesn't matter. she can have them both. )

she should do the unselfish thing. let them settle, let them recognise who they are to each other. if he can wait, so can she. ( but god, she doesn't want to. ) she takes a few moments, thinks about her answer, because she can't underestimate how important it is. " i don't want lizzie at the expense of you. " it sounds contemplative, like she's reached the only conclusion that makes any sense, as she meets his eyes. " and i understand if you need to take some time too. " she does. they're both staying. ( she hopes. ) " but i didn't fall for her because you aren't enough. " quite the opposite actually. he may have happened to teach her love didn't always end in tragedy. she wants to shift closer, but she doesn't. she simply keeps her hands as they are.(edited)

January 24, 2020

landon kirbyLast Friday at 4:38 PM

he’s never known a love like this. never looked at someone and knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that they were meant to be in his life. he’d thought maybe it was fate, the universe throwing them into each other’s trajectories because they were soulmates -- but maybe there’s more to it than that. maybe it’s not fate, not some cosmic intervention that they have no control over. maybe love is a choice; choosing not to run. choosing to stay. choosing to fight. ( i’ll always be the guy who fights, he’d said once. it’s a promise he isn’t looking to break. ) so he listens, really listens, and nods his head to ensure she knows; he’s not jumping in impulsively, disregarding the gravity of their situation. he knows that this should be a death sentence, a final nail in the coffin of their relationship -- so why isn’t it ? why isn’t he running ? why does he stay ? it’s easy. it’s not even a question, not something he needs to think about or dwell on. there were no nails. no red flags. one nail won’t keep the lid closed, won’t end the story before it even gets a chance to blossom.. he’s holding on because he has no reason not to. she’s never given him any reason to doubt her before, so why would he start now ? ( honesty, he’s learned, isn’t a trap; it’s salvation. ) so he doesn’t hesitate as he shakes his head, his hands finally seeking hers out. he laces their fingers together, squeezes twice. he knows with absolute certainty that this is what he wants; was there really ever any doubt ? maybe the easier option would be to leave, to throw distance between them and try to protect his heart. but does breaking your own heart to stave off future heartbreak ever really work ? whether by your hand, or not, the heartbreak stings all the same. ( why be miserable when you could choose to not be ? it’s a gamble but the best things in life often are.. ). “ i think i should move back into my old room. at least for awhile. ” it’s never been official, his presence here. he has his own room, cobwebs gathering on the bed posts as he spends his nights in hers. he isn’t ready to let go, but he rationalizes that a little space might not hurt them. could even be good. healthy. “ slow things down, a little. while we figure all of this out. i can’t say it’ll be easy, or that i won’t be jealous sometimes, ” better to be honest, ensure they’re on equal footing. “ --- but i love you. ” that’s important, needs to be said. “ that hasn’t changed. ” he offers up a smile, swallowing hard past the lump in his throat. “ ... and it’ll be okay. ” he believes it, means it whole heartedly when he says it. “ we’ll be okay. ” he can follow her lead, proceed in these uncharted waters together. in truth, he needs her -- need to be with her, knows she’s a calming influence when he feels like he’s one misstep from tumbling over the rails. he likes to think they balance each other --- drown out the demons, guide towards the light. ( yeah, it’s a choice. not one he’ll regret. )(edited)

January 25, 2020

hope mikaelsonYesterday at 3:45 PM

at the end of the day, she's optimistic. she knows that's far from her natural state, that she's been a pessimist pretending to be a realist for a long time now. ( really, she thought being left was an inevitable reality. perhaps thats where her ' realism ' came from. ) and she knows that she could never call this a good thing. it hurts two of the people she loves the most, carves a hole in her own chest to set her insecurities alive. it's not a good thing by any means, but it doesn't feel quite so ... crippling either. she feels safe. despite the fact there is a croatoan still running around, likely ruining lives and collecting secrets, as they speak. despite the fact she still has to fix her damn door. she looks at landon, notices how he laces their fingers together like he misses her just as much as he misses him, and realises that okay her life is pretty far from ruined. it's hit a speed bump, an unexpected complication, but it didn't crash. ( hopefully, it isn't going to when they turn around the next bend either. ) she still has a best friend, she still has a boyfriend. and, more importantly, she still has lizzie as her best friend and landon as her boyfriend. ( selfishly, she's kind of glad she's able to love them both. it's not a good thing but, one day when the dust of immediate revelations has settled, she thinks she'll be grateful for the ability to love two wonderful people at the same time. she's lucky that way. ).her smile isn't swayed by landon's suggestions, because none of them seem like leaving. because, even if they did, she knows he isn't. she squeezes his hands in return, twice, as she watches him. ( just for a moment, as they talk about the future as a certainty, she lets herself remember how in love she is. ) and sure, she isn't super excited about the prospect of sleeping alone more often, even less at the jealously she knows she can't deny, but she thinks that's a normal reaction. they're going to adjust, not change. that's what's important. " i think that's a good idea. " she could make a joke, ask about which nights she's allowed to stay over, ask about who lando's staying with, but she thinks it has to come up organically. when landon's ready to resume being the way they were, when they both are, they'll know. ( she's really looking forward to that. ) " i love you too. " she would usually kiss him at moments like this. when she doesn't trust herself. she's just going to have to get better with words. " and i know i can't ask you not to be jealous, but i can remind you of that. " that hasn't changed for him, he promises. " that hasn't changed for me either. " she doubts it ever will..we'll be okay, he tells her, and she truly believes him. not because she has blind faith in landon kirby, not because she loves him. but simply because she's thought actions speak louder than words ( hence her persistent preference for physical affection ) and he's sitting here with her. still sitting here with her. not angry, not rash, not throwing out everything they've built. talking to her. landon is staying, despite everything she's told him. that's why she believes him. ( and, more certainly, she thinks that's why she trusts him too. )

#( interactions )#( hope )#tw: ugly formatting

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hencethebravery · 5 years ago

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TITLE: First Family (1/1)

SUMMARY: It's not as if Killian Jones believes his husband to be incapable of winning the presidency (quite the opposite, actually)─he's just not entirely certain he wants him to. A CC 2020 Election AU. (Ao3)

NOTES: This particular story is meant to be entirely cute and in celebration of the prospect of having a “First Gentleman” (see recent Time magazine cover). It is not at all meant to be an endorsement of any one candidate, and if you come at me with anything other than love for these two boys and their dog, I will unhinge my jaw and swallow you whole. I developed Jasmine’s last name from a princess who appeared in The Book of One Thousand and One Nights (on whom Jasmine is based, or so Wikipedia tells me). Oh, and another small disclaimer, this is the first time I’ve included Emma Swan in a Captain Charming fic. For whatever reason I used to struggle with including her, but I guess I’m over it because she’s here now. If you think that’ll bother you then give this one a miss!

If the chronically thin, awkward, and punk-ass 15 year old version of Killian Jones could have, somehow, opened a portal in time and space; a feat which might have allowed him to peer into the future in an attempt to witness what the future might hold, he would have likely imbibed several ill-advised shots of cheap bloody rum, and then quite dramatically flung himself atop the rumpled sheets of his perpetually unmade bed. If the younger Jones had even an inkling of the type of life he’d be living as a 35 year old man─with a full time job, a mortgage, a husband, one wildly photogenic dog─he would have done everything in his power to steer himself off such a disturbingly clean-cut, well-behaved course.

“Well and truly boring I’ve become, isn’t that right my love?”

Dave, the husband in question, sat comfortably in his usual corner of the couch, reading glasses perched at the end of his nose, putzing about on their shared iPad, paying less and less attention by the minute, “Oh, absolutely. Can’t stand you.”

The only reason he brings it up at all is because he has, somewhat unexpectedly, been rather unsettled by the prospect of a life change so massive, he has had no other choice but to reconcile with the fact that the quiet life he has managed to build for himself could, quite likely, be completely destroyed. Forever. Never to be found again. Relegated only to a memory that he’ll return to in his twilight years, a decrepit old thing. “Ah yes,” he would mumble, smacking his lips together in that way the elderly tend to do, “I remember when you could watch an entire 48 hours of television, totally unbothered!”

It’s not as if he legitimately wants to keep his husband, arguably the love his life, from doing what he’s meant to, and clearly, the man’s meant for greatness, but Killian has become accustomed to a certain standard of living. He likes (much to his younger self’s hypothetical horror) doing the same things everyday─up with the sun, cup of coffee, walk the dog, go to school, come home, make dinner, watch Netflix, go to bed. He likes weekend drives to the country; hikes in the morning, beers in the afternoon. He enjoys the calm, safe predictability of his life that he has so miraculously found in the wake of a rather tumultuous, traumatic youth.

“Killian,” David insisted gently, “you’re my husband. Obviously, if you don’t want me to do this, I won’t do it.”

The maddening part is that he knows with absolute certainty that he’s telling the truth. David Nolan wasn’t the resentful type─it was something he both simultaneously loved and hated about the man.

“I swear, darling, the last thing I want to do is hold you back,” Killian replied, frustrated with his own lack of enthusiasm, “I just…”

“...It’s a big change,” David finished, “I know. Honestly,” he continued, “I probably won’t even win.”

“Sure,” Killian scoffed, a smirk on his face, “that’s exactly what you said last time.”

5 Y E A R S E A R L I E R

“I JUST THINK IT’S FUNNY!” Killian yells over the deafening cheers, one arm slung round Dave’s shoulders, the other waving wildly in the air.

“WHAT?” David shouts back, his mouth turned upwards in a somewhat manic, and what was fast becoming alarmingly permanent, grin.

“IT’S FUNNY!” he repeats, the volume of his voice doing little to bely the patience in his tone. He finds a few of their friends’ faces in the crowd and blows them a kiss, his cheeks starting to hurt with the force and breadth of his own smile.

“WHAT IS?”

Killian couldn’t help rolling his eyes at the absurdity of their attempting to hold a conversation at all at a time like this, but he’d never been one to keep from saying, “I told you so,” when the opportunity presented itself. That said, it was quite the ruckus, and he had simply shaken his head in surrender, silently promising to rub it in at a later date.

To be fair to David’s humility, a mayoral race and a presidential race are two vastly different undertakings, particularly when the mayoral position in question involved a municipality of around 100,000 people, which while a large enough amount, was quite small in comparison to the rest of the country. But at the same time, given what Killian knew about his husband, he had a hard time believing that the rest of the country wouldn’t be able to see what he saw─if they were able to get past the “First Gentleman” of it all, that is.

Killian would be lying if he said he didn’t have something of a pessimistic streak. Certainly, it had grown quieter over the years, especially since meeting David (and his subsequent election to political office in a small midwestern city), but the presidential election of about 3 years prior, coupled with the many national tragedies and constitutional crises, had “awoken the dragon,” so to speak.

“You’ve been watching way too much ‘Game of Thrones.’”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

David and Killian had agreed from the very start─whomever ran in 2020 would have to be and do more than the average candidate. The only way to remind the country and the world of who they really were as a nation was to commit a complete and total act of repudiation with a substantive majority vote.

“You know everyone and their mom is gonna run,” Emma Swan, David’s campaign manager, had joked in the weeks following the 2016 election, after all of their emotional wounds had felt somewhat soothed. Alcohol helped.

“Ah, yes,” Killian agreed, taking a sip of whiskey, “I can feel the splitting migraine already.”

Looking back, David’s silence in that moment had been suspicious, and if he and Emma hadn’t gotten absolutely wrecked in preparation for an upcoming election cycle that would inevitably last what would feel like a decade, he would have prodded a bit further. In fact, if he had prodded, maybe he wouldn’t be so woefully unprepared for the, “I’m thinking of running for President of the United States,” conversation.

Immediately before the panic had set in, what he had actually felt was pride. Regretfully however, panic will-out, and in the midst of his initial tittering he forgot to effectively relay that initial emotion, which was for David he was sure, far more preferable.

In the early stages of the mayoral race, Emma had been adamant on the point of storytelling. According to her, elections were won and lost on a candidate’s ability to tell a story─about themselves, their campaign, their vision for the community─and if David was going to run, an openly gay man (albeit white as they come) from a working class background with little name recognition, the story he told would have to be good. Thankfully there was the military record, that usually played well with an older, more conservative crowd, and it wasn’t as if he was a stranger to hard work─the necessity of family, community, the like. He’d lived there his whole life, people knew who he was, however… unfamiliar they were with his “lifestyle.”

Killian had been far more concerned about himself being one of the factors that could lose Dave the race. The two of them had yet to be married at the time, despite having lived together for several years, and while Killian had lived in America for much of his adulthood, he hadn’t been born there. He was also openly bisexual, had a mostly benign criminal record, and had gotten into his share of fairly public tiffs with some less... "progressive" members of their community. One of them had even been filmed─and gone viral.

“Aren’t you the least bit worried about dragging that all back up again?” Killian had asked during their first informal meeting with Emma. The kind of discussion that started with things like, "We're not having this conversation, but if we were," etc., etc.

“After this President?” Emma scoffed, a gleam in her eye, “It’ll only help.”

Killian should’ve guessed, after seeing David’s quick, knowing glance, that he’d been found out. That it wasn’t the loss of their current lives that he truly fretted over; his inability to walk down the street unmolested, but rather a deep-seated worry of his own value as a partner. He worried, as he had during Dave’s first campaign, that he would only weigh him down.

At some point in the near future, some invasive young journalist is going to ask Killian about the spousal sacrifices. They’re going to want to know, as the spouse of the first openly gay presidential candidate, what do you anticipate giving up? And how, if at all, has he made peace with their new reality? In point of fact, the first concession that Killian had made (up until the whole, “running for leader of the free world,” business that is) was his surrender of the coast.

Killian had never really had roots─there was never a physical home with four walls and a roof overhead to which he could depart and return, over and over again. It could never even be said that he had any people to which he might turn instead; he had a brother, Liam, but they’d never been particularly close, and their history was tense at best and outright antagonistic at worst. All this to say, it was part of the reason why he had given Her up (the sea). Because Dave, most curiously, would become his home in a way he had never thought possible. It was how he was able to make a compromise─to go without the sight of the waves lapping against the rocks in favor of a large, wraparound porch, with some admittedly stunning views of the trees and hills that surrounded their home.

It was where he happened to be sitting the morning after their first casual, "meeting but not a meeting," with Emma; a mug of cooling coffee in his hand, watching Sally sniffing to and fro in the damp grass. It was an otherwise normal morning aside from the impending dose of reality he had yet to fully face. He was in the midst of a perfectly somber and on brand bit of mindless staring when he heard the quiet rumbling of Dave’s early morning voice (a personal favorite of his).

“Hey,” he said, startling Killian out of his ironically stressful meditations. “Sorry,” he said with a laugh, taking a seat beside him on the porch swing, “I didn’t feel you get up this morning.”

“My apologies, love,” Killian answered with a brief kiss, “I didn’t want to wake you.”

There was no crying of gulls, and you couldn’t taste a hint of salt on your lips, but there was still the pleasant chirping of birds; the sight of the sun peeking over the tops of the trees, the heady smell of blooming flowers. Killian cleared his throat, both knowing and dreading the conversation he could no longer avoid.

“You have never,” David began, very astutely avoiding his husband’s nervous glances for the moment, “been something to be ashamed of.”

“For you to even think it,” he continued, giving a slight shake of his head, “I must be doing something wrong.”

“Dave, no─”

“Killian,” he interrupted, giving his hand a gentle squeeze, “you are the person I admire most in the world. You are the exact kind of person this country needs to see right now.”

A bit dramatic, Killian thought, desperately attempting to quell the violent beating of his own heart. Despite having known David for as long as he did, he was still somewhat overwhelmed by the sheer goodness of him. Having spent so long himself in a place of defensive cynicism, it was still a challenge to be so unabashedly confronted by such unrelenting hope. That’s what the country needs.

“I know it took us both a long time to make it…” He pauses, glancing up at the trees, the dog now slumbering at their feet, “here, but─”

“I couldn’t possibly adore you more than I already do,” Killian finished, abandoning his cold coffee in favor of framing David’s flushed face, “and I will be there every step of the way.”

“‘For better or for worse,’ blah, blah, blah?”

“Yes,” Killian laughed, pressing their lips together, “something like that.”

The secret? Say “yes,” to fucking everything. That seems to be the fundamental step when you have absolutely zero name recognition and you’re under the age of 75. It’s Emma’s first rule, and she fanatically demands that they abide by it unless she says otherwise. “Let’s let the paint dry on Fox for a hot second,” she suggests after Killian exclaims, “Surely not everything.”

But she damn well means enough. Everything from small, independent news blogs run by journalists, to “serious” news media, to BuzzFeed, and everything in between.

“One of these things is going to just,” she snaps her fingers. “And then it’s all over, boys.”

It’s during an interview with a fairly well known political podcast that really sets them on that, “nothing will be the same after this,” trajectory. He’d essentially been laughed out of the room until he sat down at a table with one of the unnecessarily handsome, affable hosts and dropped stat, after stat, after quip, after poignant observation─after some light hearted jokes that proved he wasn’t living in the dark ages.

“And I hate to ask this,” the host began, the hesitancy evident in his voice, “but what do you say to people who argue that you just don’t have enough experience for the job?”

After a brief pause, during which Killian could observe the wheels spinning from where he sat quietly in the corner of the room, David spoke. In that way he always had of speaking. That way that could convince anyone to listen to what he had to say.

“To that I think I would consider the importance of humility,” a chuckle, “I never want to be one of those people that believes they have nothing left to learn, but at the same time, to claim I have, ya know, ‘no experience,’ whether that’s because of my age, or the size of my city, is just… I don’t know, disingenuous?”

The host laughs a bit at that, “You mean to say, what precisely is their ‘concern?’”

“Yeah, I mean, we knew going into this we might create a few… waves─I don't know if you were aware, but, I am in fact very attracted to other men."

They left the sound of Killian’s obnoxious and embarrassing snort in the recording, which actually ended up being a good thing. Positive polling based on the sound of incredulity? It was strange, the small details that people seemed to cling to.

“But seriously, and this is what I believe, is that the individual experiences of every single person living in this country makes them… invaluable to understanding how it should,” he shakes his head, searching for the right word, “...exist, or be run. So, these people who are concerned about my experience, it’s not a lie for them to say that I haven’t worked at the federal level, or that I haven’t run a federal agency or served in Congress, but my experiences are valuable, my identity is valuable, and I think it’s something the people of this country deserve to see. Even if I’m not the one they choose.”

The tension at the back of Killian’s throat made swallowing a tad painful, but he had to do something to stop himself from crying, which would be… regrettable (although, once the polling had come out about the snort, maybe it wouldn’t have been such a bad thing after all). Crying in front of all these cool, young politicos. But at that moment, at the close of his husband’s small speech, the hopeful grin on the face of the host, the other people in the room─hell, even Emma’s radiant expression, he locked eyes with David and he knew. Snap.

First Family

Mayor David Nolan and the Rebranding of Hope

May 2, 2019

by Jasmine Badur

“I’m not sure I truly believed in ‘hope’ before I met him,” Killian Jones, the potentially first, “First Gentleman,” had somewhat reluctantly revealed in one of our early conversations. “I don’t think I necessarily knew I didn’t at the time,” he paused, giving his ear a nervous tug, “but once I got to know him… I certainly seemed to understand what it was I’d been missing.”

I was invited out to the Jones-Nolan household by Mayor Nolan’s campaign manager, Ms. Emma Swan, a woman who has proven herself to be quite formidable in our current political landscape. “If you really want to know him, them,” she had insisted during one of our many phone calls, “you’ve gotta see them where they live.”

And so, here I am, on a warm, sunny day, greeted by the pleasant sight of a rather long, winding driveway lined with tall, leaf-laden trees. The house itself is also surrounded by quite a bit of lush greenery, which, as Killian explained, was purposeful. Apparently the two men value their privacy, which is pretty ironic, considering.

“Yes, yes, I know,” he answered, unprovoked, “pretty bloody funny.”

The couple’s dog, Sally, runs down the porch steps as I exit my car, and I can hear Mayor Nolan call her name from inside the house. Despite the somewhat grandiose nature of the extended driveway, the house itself is modest, with little in the way of fuss. Both men greet me at the door, and I’m immediately offered a drink or a snack by the Mayor himself.

“He’s worse than my grandmother,” Ms. Swan half shouts from another room, after which David (“Please, call me David”) huffs and playfully rolls his eyes. “We’re like a family here,” he explains, leading me into their warm, sun-drenched kitchen, “I don’t think I know any other way to do this, to be honest.”

“This,” of course, being the campaign. The reason I’ve shown up here at all, to share this historical candidacy with a country that has proven to be far more interested than David expected it to be.

“The truth is, no,” he admitted over our tea, “I didn’t really expect this.”

A turn about the house reveals a number of familiar sights─a mix of running shoes and formalwear lined up by the door, coats on their hooks, framed photos on the mantle or hanging on the fridge. I note a young Emma in a number of these photos, to which David confirms their personal history, that of being pseudo-siblings, which most people are tangentially aware of, but the way David explains, it has a lot more to do with his campaign than you might think.

Soon after Emma Swan had moved to town to live with her aforementioned grandmother, she had met David at school, and the two quickly became inseparable.

“My grandma was a sweet lady,” Emma had shared, albeit reluctantly, “but she was pretty old. Not really prepared to have a young kid. David and his mom became my family, more or less.” When I’ve spoken to others who knew the Nolans, the stories seem to follow a similar thread. It was nearly impossible to know them and not be treated as if they had known you your entire life.

“That was what my mother believed,” David says, a resolute smile on his face, “everyone deserves to have a family.”

It might seem an unusual tactic for the candidate to take, but having spoken with Emma Swan, and having spent time with David and Killian in their home, I’m not so sure the harsher criticisms are especially valid.

“He’s a bit inclined to picking up strays, isn’t he?” Killian starts, politely if not vaguely uncomfortable. The two of us are walking through the field behind their house, and truly, it is a beautiful piece of land. “And what are we all,” he finishes, somewhat distantly, “if not a country of wanderers?"

Most people have a general understanding of Killian’s background. Born in London to an absent single mother who passed when he was about 17, a brother serving in the Royal Navy; teaches literature, unreasonably handsome, perhaps inclined to appear in viral videos─“Surprised you lasted this long,” he says, laughing. “Haven’t you lot gotten sick of that story yet?”

Unfortunately for Killian, though somewhat fortuitously for the campaign, that now famous clip, of the man in question throwing an unequivocal fist into the cheekbone of a far-right activist, has earned him some degree of popularity in progressive circles, though he contends he had absolutely no plans for such an outcome.

“It was satisfying before the entire country knew about it,” he concludes, with a blend of both seriousness and charm that can be challenging for most people to pull off. “And I’d do it again in a bloody heartbeat.”

“God bless Killian Jones,” Emma had sighed when I’d first mentioned it to her, “that man’s righteous anger could be the thing that gets us elected.”

Killian himself isn’t quite ready to admit that, but he is glad to help his husband in anyway he can, even at the expense of his own anonymity. Which, he did admit, was a serious concern at first.

“We’d spent so many years searching for this,” he explained, glancing pointedly at our surroundings, the sight of their now smoking chimney peeking over the tops of the trees. “I wasn’t sure I was ready to give it up.”

But now, he says, the doubts seem to have all but faded.

“There’s always moments of insecurity, sure,” he admits, “but I think it’s worth it.”

The Nolan-Jones household is cluttered─but not in a way that might leave you feeling suspicious of their character. True, it’s cluttered in a way you might not presume a presidential candidate’s house to be. Maybe you would consider the “right candidate,” to be so obnoxiously Type A that their home be something akin to a serial killer’s lair. If that is what you were expecting, I am sorry to say that his house is very much not that. This house is cluttered in a way that our lives create clutter. Like their "family-oriented" campaign style, the ordinariness of their home and their lives prior to this event, reveals quite a bit more than you might think. We exist in a day and age seemingly obsessed with the idea of authenticity, and while I've grown to despise the word, it seems to have been given new life here, even though their kitchen did happen to smell of freshly baked cookies during my visit.

At the end of the day, no one knows how this campaign is going to shake out. Politics have never been predictable, no matter what many pundits and strategists claim, but if there’s one thing we might always learn to expect, it is that "electability" is a true falsehood. I don’t know if Mayor David Nolan will become the first openly gay President of the United States, and neither does he, but that doesn’t seem to be the point.

“It may seem trite to some, but it is about hope,” David said in the few moments before I left, hands resting in his pockets, his gaze tired yet contented, “I think our 44th president had that part right.”

In an era of such unrelenting cynicism, it can be difficult to find the silver lining of it all, but as I drove back down the long, winding driveway in the moonlight, the sight of Killian Jones and David Nolan waving in my rearview mirror, my heart felt a little less heavy.

Jasmine Badur is a freelance political correspondent with Time, BuzzFeed News, and others. She is currently on the road following a number of Democratic candidates running for President, including Mayor David Nolan. She can be found on Twitter @badurjofficial.

#ouat ff #cc ff #cc fanfic #captain charming friday #captain charming #cc: saved my life #@hencethewriter #would ya look at that #i've managed to produce #more captain charming #and it's topical

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abitterlifethroughcinema · 5 years ago

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“Villains of Verano”

WOKE! Film Reviews for a Hot Time in the City

Lucas A Cavazos

No summer cinema season is complete without some bad guys and gals to muck things up oh just so right. These three films have just hit our movie screens, and while they don’t necessarily run circles round a boogeyman, they surely do make it easy to despise a few characters. Let’s

Once Upon a Time in Hollywood #### Quite likely one of the finest films I’ve seen all year, Quentin Tarantino’s latest film burst into Spanish cinemas this week, and I do declare that this is perhaps some of the most fun he has had making one of his celluloid, revenge opuses in years. Why, you ask? Because he gets to return to the envisioned Hollywood of his childhood and in this way, we the viewers get to escape into an idealised late 60s Los Angeles. Starring Leo DiCaprio, who plays former TV Western actor Rick Dalton, as well as, Brad Pitt as his stalwart driver and stunt double, Cliff Booth, director Tarantino takes us into the hills to his Cielo Drive home and lets comical magic just flow. What we then learn is that his next door neighbours are Roman Polanski and his young actress and beautiful wife, Sharon Tate, played to utmost perfection by my newest fave actress over the last few years, Margot Robbie. It is certainly important to state that Tarantino more than takes his time giving us plenty to think about. I’ve heard that DiCaprio would not permit workers on set to look him in the eyes, even when speaking to him…only other actors of his ilk. If that is so, and it likely is, fuck him, but boy does the director do his fair job making us look at our own desperate attempts to not be left stuck in the past when we so want to be relevant in the here and now. DiCaprio plays this fear to utter success and there are so many joyously hilarious scenes that should earn him a spot on actors’ awards lists later this year, assuredly. But it’s the scenes with Pitt as Cliff that engage us and ingratiate us more into the goings-on of the time and just how easily Tarantino starts to play historian and detailing the scenes of US-American life via California, long before it was a Democratic/liberal haven. Using Pitt in his car, we meet some of the guys and gals that were clamouring together at the Spahn Ranch, and we even meet Charlie Manson for a quick spell. And one gets roused by the way Tarantino also tips his hat to filmmakers of yesteryear, players like Sergio Leone or the silly minds behind Sharon Tate’s film Wrecking Crew, nothing lost on me, and he paints a picture that definitely comes across as nostalgia gone all-too-real. When the finale presents itself, and it does so on an evening that hints at incorporating a good time and all next to Polanski’s compound, we kind of know what we are in for, but naturally Tarantino loves to paint history to his own liking. We then determine who lives on and who doesn’t. One thing should be known: Tarantino and his oeuvre will continue to live on proudly…Loves!

Cold Pursuit ### Oh Liam Neeson, we verily know thee…If you think that this is just another over-55/60 year-old, angry dad getting revenge movie that the actor’s been so famous for the last decade, you’d be right. If you think that this may be the last in the tired genre that he can possibly eke out to moderate success, you’d also be very correct! As it stands now, the film which cost roughly $60 million to make has only recuperated $75 million in its worldwide box office. Let it be known that a film, in order to be considered financially successful, in this millennial digi-age in which we live, a film must garner two-and-a-half to three times more than its total budget. To have a varied cast that also includes Laura Dern as Neeson’s wife, as well as, TV faves Emmy Rossum and Tom Bateman, you certainly lack not for having a set of decent, emotionally-charged actors. The challenge with this hopefully last of the Livid & Vengeful Neeson series is that we dive so quickly and head-long into his pursuit of the band of no-goodniks who attacked his family and thereby set off the action which the film follows. Norwegian film director Hans Petter Moland remakes his own film from five years back, merely changing the main character’s name from Nils Dickman to Neeson’s Nels Coxman. Phallic naming aside, the film’s Denver setting does little to paint a picaresque action film and instead, stays true to the Neeson theme of late, pursuing him as he pursues those responsible for his family member’s demise until he slowly makes his way to the top drug lord. How this ski-lift plow man has the skills to bust up a ring like this and simply murder away is beyond anyone, except perhaps the Native Americano thugs thrown in for, I suppose, PC measure although that falls flat. In the end, what we get is a sometimes engaging, sometimes too formulaic film and a pile of mob boss and Native American villains do nothing to enhance the fun. Over it…NEXT!

Fast & Furious Presents Hobbs and Shaw ###-1/2… Say what you will about this interminable franchise as one must certainly have an opinion about this modern testosterone putz-fest by now, but man alive, do they serve up incredible, often impeccable, action sequences that either keep you at the edge of or throw you right the hell off of your seat. A couple of flicks ago, we had to say our goodbyes to poor Paul Walker after his uncannily and ill-fated final car ride demise. Since then, the last F&F was a sad complaint of a film, cast members had a series of rows and since Dwayne Johnson is also a businessman, his smart self decided to screw over shmuck Vin Diesel and silly-ass Tyrese and buddy up with charming Brit Jason Statham and POOF!... another branch of the series is born! This time around, we focus on a more comical, emotional and familial Hobbs and Shaw as, early on, we see a split-screen sequence between their US/UK lives, but soon enough after that, the action gets legit lit when we’re introduced to Shaw’s sister and criminal Hattie (Vanessa Kirby) who has been in possession of a fast-acting super-virus which can jelly one’s guts instantly. Throw in eye candy delight Idris Elba and a Robin Hood-esque attempt at “saving humanity’ from the spread of this virus only serves to boost the action and fun when we realise we’re also up against a real villain of verano, which in this case is a big tech demon called Etheon. As all my readers know, I despise spoilers so all I can say is that, even when the film cuts to a boring scene or two, it is the symbiotic nature and wittiness between the main characters that keep you smiling and highly convinced that F&F should be put to rest please and the mid-life crises adventures of Hobbs and Shaw should slide easily into its place…perhaps served up with non-stop celeb cameos and hot cars as always.

#Tarantino #OnceUponATimeInHollywood #DiCaprio #BradPitt #dadsploitation #ColdPursuit #LiamNeeson #LauraDern #VillainsOfVerano #CinemaLife #HobbsandShaw #DwayneJohnson #JasonStatham #VanessaKirby #VOSEng #FastandFurious #EnglishRadioBCN #ABitterLifeThroughCinema #WOKE

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mushroom-cartel · 6 years ago

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I’ve come up with a list of disjointed headcanons because I’m having an existential crisis over Roxas and Ventus being different people/the same person and KH3′s looming presence is scaring me.

The headcanons are written for an AU based on the initial premise of the “Cranky Old We’ve-seen-some-serious-shit-you-would-never-understand People” trio, but blown way out of proportion.

This post can be considered Part 2 to the one linked above.

Expect some wild dumb thoughts also being thrown in…

KHX, KHUX and Pre-BbS:

The era of small, angsty children going through mid-life crises and not appreciating Disney because Lux collecting is insane.

Strelitzia. Dead.

The Keyblade War.

Mass memory wipe commences.

Amnesia galore and Union X is formed.

Problem with that though is that the new leader all have to bear the burden of retaining everyone’s memories of life before and what happened during the War.

They’re just kids.

Bless them.

Aren’t Ephemer, Skuld, Ventus, Brain and Lauriam Keyblade Masters by default because of this?

I mean, there’s no one around to tell them if they’re still ordinary Keyblade wielders or not, but now that they’re Union leaders, it would make sense for the five of them to perform a mock Mark of Mastery exams in the Keyblade Graveyard.

Just to feel like its all official and the end of the worlds wasn’t upon them or something.

Ventus should be allowed to laugh at Terra and Aqua in BbS.

AKA, the reason why Ventus doesn’t have Starlight in BbS but probably does like every other NPC in KHUX.

Because the Mark of Mastery back in the old days granted you a new Keyblade.

You remember the Masters of Masters having the Gazing Eye in each of his apprentices’ Keyblades?

Apparently, he also forged their Keyblades from their hearts.

Well there you go.

While five kids doing the same to each other is a chaotic mess, it’s still in the realm of possibility.

Just stick your hand in a heart and viola!

An entirely new Keyblade.

For reference, go look up Gatchaman Crowds’s NOTE.

The Keyblade version of Graceful Dahlia is formed via this method?

All those weird plot points Nomura makes.

Out of the five new leaders, Ventus is undoubtedly the youngest and has the least experience when it comes to leadership. He doesn’t understand why he was chosen in the first place anyways when he can’t even stand for himself.

He has issues.

But he wants to be helpful.

Shift Pride is introduced to Union X and Lauriam starts to go looking for his sister, asking for Elrena’s aid in his endeavours. Every possible lead they follow winds up a dead end and they have to start their searches all over again. In this AU, Lauriam doesn’t confide in the others about his sister’s disappearance because he believes too much in the power of friendship. It’s during this time that Lauriam starts neglecting his duties as a Union leader, and Ventus, being the nice kid he is and all, covers for him and does the workload of two grown-ups.

This arrangement goes on for quite a while, so much so that Ventus loses it.

He goes ham on Lauriam’s ass because it’s not fair; they all lost important people and things before and during the War, what matters now is what they can do to preserve the memories.

“Why are you so intent on chasing a ghost of the past?”

“She’s my sister, you wouldn’t understand!”

Laurium and Ventus get into a fight, which ended up with Laurium losing his heart and Elrena following him shortly after because she stepped in the way of his Keyblade to stop him from doing the same to Ventus.

Guys, Elrena just wants everybody to be happy.

She used to be sunshine and rainbows.

AKA, the story of how child soldiers became Nobodies.

AKA, a method of leaving the Realm of Sleep, or in this case, the dream within a dream, the alternate reality which Union X formed.

In his guilt, Ventus exiled himself from Daybreak Town.

Like, he just up and left the second layer and went back to the dream world where the Keyblade War took place.

And then he destroyed his Chirithy, basically an intimate part of his soul since he started sleeping. Soon he jumped off a cliff and BAM.

AKA, a method of leaving this particular part of the Realm of Sleep, which was fabricated by the Masters of Masters.

Ventus enters Reality, where times are different and years have passed.

Surprise, surprise, though, the first layer of dreams was very real (despite everything they’ve been told) and lots of children died.

The people of Daybreak Town were the SURVIVORS of the War, the Foretellers were more senior Keyblade wielders, and MoM being the guy to put them all to sleep.

So the War in KHX was technically the second of its kind.

The War (the player has flashbacks of) in KHUX is the first.

Memory alteration magic for the win here.

HE’S IN THE FUTURE.

PANIC.

Confusion.

He’s alone for a period of time, in which he starts to adopt a backhanded grip in the hopes of utilising Wayward Wind’s blunt edge because he’s scared of doing the same to anyone else like he did to Lauriam.

Stabbing and hitting becomes guarding and slashing.

And then Xehanort showed up

To screw things up.

Heart-splitting action occurred some time later.

As did Vanitas.

Sora’s healing time also happens and Ventus forgets about Daybreak Town for like a second.

Actually, more than a decade.

Daybreak what now?

“TERRA! AQUA!”

Post-KH(ish) and Early-358/2:

Roxas doesn’t remember his first six days because he was having flashbacks of the War through his connection with Sora and Ventus.

Xemnas is scared that he’s remembering Sora.

Marluxia nearly cried foul when the boy was inducted.

Larxene wanted nothing to do with him.

Why?

Since the two lost their hearts in a fake realm of sleep, their memories are a bit scrambled. So what they remember of their Sombodies is in correlation to strong emotions.

You know.

Like that time they died.

OR THE KEYBLADE WAR.

Still, Marluxia needs power and Roxas seems familiar.

And Larxene?

She just wants to have a good time.

See what makes him tick, what makes him different, what makes him Roxas and not Ventus.

She’s bitter and jaded. A few years of being nothing can do that to some people.

Don’t expect her to pat Roxas on the head mockingly.

Okay, she does but that was only a one time thing.

It’s accidental, but she ends up forming some sort of amicable acquaintanceship with the boy.

She hasn’t had proper friends since…

.… Since what?

Ah, it doesn’t matter.

On the other hand, Roxas is weirded out by the fact that Marluxia and Larxene seem so familiar despite not having any memories of his Somebody’s life.

When he looks at them, he feels nothing but regret and the urge to profusely apologise for something he doesn’t know about.

He’s paranoid, guys.

Wait, what?

Day 11.

“You’re going on a reconnaissance mission with Number XII.”

“But, Saïx, she’s going to kill me!”

“Not a concern of mine unless it hinders your ability to collect hearts.”

AKA, the beginnings of a proper adventure with “Accidental Murder” and “Friends Should Not Fight (Even If I Die)”.

Note to self: Marluxia’s crack code name is “Death by Sister Complex”.

It’s a grand adventure.

One that includes flying saucers, a grand amount of explosions and lighting raining down from the sky and roasted acorns.

Just like old times, in Larxene’s mind.

Seriously, what were the Foretellers thinking when they sent children to go collect Lux?

Oh, just casually go defeat huge Heartless, no biggie.

What was that about a war?

Roxas learns survival skills like a madman.

A friendship is formed?

Day 22 and sea-salt ice cream like normal before RTC.

Pre-CoM(ish) and During:

Roxas is still being paranoid, even with less people occupying the Castle That Never Was.

At least Larxene and Marluxia isn’t around to give him the heebie-jeebies.

He thinks.

Paranoid to the point that he doesn’t even interact with Xion as much as he did in canon and Xion doesn’t get a face (from him or Axel) because he’s scared that someone might try to use him as scapegoat.

Plans go awry because initiating social interaction isn’t in her programming. Xemnas almost throws himself off his throne.

Meanwhile, Marluxia’s just doing his own things in Castle Oblivion and unintentionally makes Naminé give Sora memories of Strelitzia.

Also, thanks to his tenure as Union leader, he does in fact have power over memories to a certain degree, how else would the War be wiped out from the Dandelions’ minds?

He teaches Naminé things.

But memories of Strelitzia only means one thing. Lauriam.

And Lauriam’s… nice. Very different to Marluxia in some ways.

“Who the hell is this?”

“Lauriam.”

“YOU.”

“Who?”

“Strelitzia?”

“WHERE DID YOU HEAR THAT?”

Confrontations within Castle Oblivion are disorderly.

In this AU, the goal is not to cause a coup, but rather, it’s to make others (coughxemnascough) think twice about forming Kingdom Hearts.

Stop trying.

It’s not gonna work, old man.

Not knowing that he’s in the process of leading a group to stop another war from breaking out is Marluxia’s mood.

Larxene low-key just wants to burn Castle Oblivion to the ground because she can feel Ventus’s ghostly presence withing in the walls, even after how many years its been since she lost her heart and forgot some things. A few millenniums? She knows it’s familiar but she can’t put her finger on the feeling. Maybe it’s just her excitement acting up, high voltage running through her body making her think there’s something not quite there here.

If they did actually succeed in finding the Chamber of Waking, Larxene’s reaction to Ventus’s body living without a heart would be, “Oh, great! I was right, there’s a damn ghost in this place!!”

A lighting show inside a half-dead world is great.

Larxene finds it ironic that she’s dying to a Keyblade for the second time and just laughs, instead having a “I’m fading” moment like all the other Nobodies.

Sora is confused.

Larxene. Gone.

“It was great while it lasted.”

Yes, Ventus is asleep here still, but he’s currently wrangling with Roxas’s acute trauma in sleep land.

Roxas’s coma is key.

Because he remembers being Sora AND Ventus and he’s so confused because he:

a). Saved a whole bunch of kids like himself from serve trauma.

b). Saved a whole bunch of worlds from being taken over by the darkness.

c). He’s lost himself at least twice in wherever he is.

He’s walking through a version of Daybreak Town before everything in KHX and KHUX.

“When the worlds were bathed in light” sort of Daybreak Town.

Half-awake and half-asleep.

The real incarnation, present day where the legacies of Ephemer, Skuld and Brain are lived and breathed by Daybreak Town.

Also, Ephemer, Skuld and Brain is another friendship trio that forms in this AU.

This is important.

They lost Lauriam and Ventus in one fell swoop and what do you do when you lose your friends?

You became stronger by strengthening the bond that remain and forge new ones.

In Union X’s case, they soon abolished the old Union system and formed a meager with what was left.

Competing amongst themselves to collect the most Lux becomes a thing of the past.

The people who didn’t agree with this change were free to leave Daybreak Town (the dream within the dream) and establish connections with the outside and Reality, moving from the Realm of Sleep and into the Realm of Light or Darknes, but they still regarded Daybreak Town as home, so now and then they’d send themselves to sleep.

AKA, how Luxu got to the outside world by blending in.

AKA, the ability to put something in the universe to sleep forever is exclusive to the old people for once.

Those that remained slowly regained their memories, and despite all the aftereffects of the War(s) on the population of Keyblade wielders, these people and the ones who left still interacted with one another.

Which basically means, if the leavers found any potential across the worlds, they’d send those who could possibly wield a Keyblade into a deep sleep to be trained in Daybreak Town; while they might age mentally, they’ll stay physically the same.

AKA, a better option for immortality.

Luxu’s around for a bit.

He passes on No Name at some point after this.

Their comatose bodies are sent to Scala Ad Caelum for safekeeping, where they are to remain for all eternity unless they chose to leave Daybreak Town themselves.

And because of this, Scala Ad Caelum is abundant with darkness and light, ensuring that it stays between the two Realms.

I guess Scala Ad Caelum is a world formed from the hearts of the participants of the Keyblade War.

Their hearts didn’t become part of Kingdom Hearts?

Scala Ad Caelum is the original base of most, if not all, Keyblade-related activities.

Scala Ad Caelum is home to many; light and darkness guide those whose dwell on this world.

Daybreak Town 2.0?

Somewhere in the realms between it exists.

Many years later, Xehanort and Eraqus became the apprentices of a Keyblade Master descended from a person who left Daybreak Town all those years, who acted as one of the guardians to all the sleeping hearts.

Yen Sid is trained by a wandering Dandelion descendant.

Back in the old days, being a Keyblade wielder meant you went to sleep, guarded Scala Ad Caelum or you got found by a stranger who took a particular shine to you.

After Lauriam “died” and Ventus left, Ephemer, Skuld and Brain realise for once that they’re just children.

Two of their friends are gone for eternity.

Back to Roxas, he’s just… tripping out. Majorly.

What’s with all these grey cats surrounding him and bawling their eyes out right next to his ear?

They’re going off the rails, saying things about calling the Grand Masters over to the plaza he awoke in, calling him a name unfamiliar to his memory.

Then there’s a corridor of darkness and light opening right before the poor boy and the trio that steps out are who he assumes to be the Grand Masters.

They look barely older than him, maybe by a year or two but no more than that.

“Ventus?” the girl whispers, taking a knee to meet him at eye level. “It’s been years, how…?”

“Please, Skuld. We could’ve never known if he left in the first place. He might’ve actually run off to another dream and accidentally opened up a corridor here. Don’t overwhelm him with questions,” says one of the boys, tilting back his head slightly to stare at Roxas from under the brim of his hat.

“I wasn’t about to, Brain! Eh, Ephemer, back me up here… Ephemer? Something wrong?”

“It’s Ventus for sure, but… His heart… I can’t sense it.”

During Days 23 to 50, Sora goes through Castle Oblivion and Axel does the dirty.

When Larxene and Marluxia cease to exist, it begins the process of reforming as their Somebodies.

They’re how old by now?

Their Heartless are long gone.

Which means that while their bodies end up in Scala Ad Caelum, their hearts awaken in Daybreak Town, just as Sora is put to sleep by Naminé—meaning they just missed Roxas returning to Reality.

Did I forget to mention Xion is still a puppet?

Late-358/2:

“All my friends are dead to me.”

After awakening, Roxas immediately begins to distrust the Organization. He’s beyond paranoid by this point.

He’s suspicious of Axel especially, considering that the members who perished at Castle Oblivion weren’t exactly pushovers.

He thinks he’s done this before; maybe Ventus did too?

The Grand Masters weren’t exactly transparent on what Ventus did, but Roxas knew better than to question it when he saw the way they acted guarded around him.

He has a “contemplating on running away from home to find answers” phase. Like all good Nobodies do at some point in their meaningless existences.

Seeing as Xion doesn’t have any problems following the orders of anybody, he enlists her help to investigate.

She gets a face.

Finally.

Jokes on Roxas because Sora’s memory is questionable.

IT’S STRELITZIA’S FACE.

[ I just realised Marluxia and Larxene aren’t around by this point. ]

[ That’s a shame. ]

The change affects everyone’s sight. Yes, even Saïx and Xigbar aren’t safe.

She retains the colour of her hair, but it is noticeably longer than what it appeared to be initially.

No one knows whose face Xion has and no amount of programming can change it.

Xemnas is tired of kids not following the plan.

A wild Riku Ansem appears.

And he’s just as confused by Xion as the rest of the Organization.

“DiZ, it looks like no one Sora’s ever met.”

“Perhaps it took its face from another source.”

“What—those other drawing of Naminé’s? How can that be?”

“Not everything needs a sound explaination. No matter, regardless of the puppet’s state, you need to capture it as it will be necessary for our plans to move ahead.”

Despite Riku’s Ansem’s skepticism, Xion having Strelitzia’s face is on Naminé’s part.

Because Marluxia was half the asshole he was in canon and memory magic is very potent in the hands of a capable student.

Going through Marluxia’s head and finding a girl of unknown origins was very good blackmail material.

She drew creepy renditions of his old life.

And then she shoved a copy of Lauriam’s memories into Sora’s heart when she put him to sleep to reconnect his chain of memories.

Why?

Because she could.

And she wanted to flip the bird on Marluxia in the case that he didn’t die and would have to fight Sora again.

[ Oh, jeez, this AU’s version of Sora will be so weird in KH3′s setting because of that one trailer showing us Marluxia’s return. ]

Naminé the Witch of Memories for the win.

The wonder duo of Roxas and Xion eventually allow Axel into their circle of conspiracies. However, there are cutthroat rules about how and what he can do to help.

The days go.

Kill Heartless, collect hearts, lie to Xemnas, eat sea-salt ice cream.

Just the usual shebang.

Traitor!Xion is a thing now: desperate to discover her origins, instead of being forcefully taken and convinced, Xion willingly walks right up to DiZ and Ansem’s doorstep.

Yes, even though she and Roxas are friends, it should also serve as a remainder that their relationship isn’t as close in canon, here they both halfly trust one another because they know the Organization has more sinister plans for them.

They need another pair of eyes to look out for their backs.

Their partnership is just them using each other for personal gains.

Axel is completely on a different loop.

He has no idea what’s going on in his friends’ heads.

They were planning on offing Axel but resisted the urge.

Xion learns exactly who and what she is.

DiZ finding the opportunity to do so, puts her to sleep and forces Naminé to rewire her memories; making it seem like to Xion that the Organization stole her (Sora’s) memories and DiZ is trying to help her get them back from Roxas.

“Destroy the boy.”

“Okay, DiZ.”

Naminé takes the time to stick a copy of Lauriam’s memories of Strelitzia in Xion too. For good measure, she reasons to herself.

Roxas’s final battle is technically against “Mystery Girl”.

An unholy amalgamation between Xion’s last form and Marluxia’s own.

Her memory went out of wack.

There’s flower petals everywhere when she lands a blow on Roxas while they fight above Twilight Town.

Prologue-KH2:

Making munny is exhausting.

The normal stuff happens, except:

a). Naminé to anybody she can get her hands on, “You get a copy of someone’s memories and you get a copy of someone’s memories! Everyone gets a copy of someone’s memories!!”

b). Axel buys a crate of sea-salt and throws it down from atop the clock tower, wanting to test the limitations of digital data and human injury on Day 2.

“Accidental Murder” evolves into “Natural Disaster of a Murderer”.

When Roxas thinks Axel died, he shrugged it off.

People come back from the dead all the time.

Stop starting fires, DiZ.

Ansem Riku questions his morals.

Everything should be back to normal when Sora wakes up, right?

Unknown Point(s):

“Lauriam?”

“Ah, my old friends. How long has it been since we last talked like civilised people?”

The three Grand Masters laugh. “Far too long.”

“Hey, Marluxia, where—”

“Who’s this?”

“Why, might I introduce to you my dear friend Elrena?”

“You may.”

In other news, Ventus is a time traveller, Lauriam served his time, Elrena didn’t ask for this and Kingdom Hearts is bad news.

I might add some more headcanons after KH3 blasts a hole somewhere in my ship and becomes safe to talk about.

#i've got some ideas #kingdom hearts #khux #kh 358/2 days #kh3 #ventus #roxas #lauriam #marluxia #elrena #larxene #strelitzia #daybreak town #scala ad caelum #friendship trio for the win #headcanon #crack fic idea for the soul #shitpost #wild speculation

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dailynewswebsite · 4 years ago

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How countries are raising debt to fight COVID and why developing nations face tougher choices

PM Boris Johnson (left) and Chancellor Rishi Sunak have give you cash to underwrite wages, rescue packages and meal vouchers in the course of the pandemic. Jonathan Brady/PA Wire/PA Photos

COVID continues to ravage societies world wide, and a key concern is how governments can afford to combat it. As economies are disrupted, governments are stepping in to extend their spending to bail out firms, pay the price of well being measures, and subsidise employees’ wages.

Earlier than COVID, when individuals argued that the state ought to be capable to provide free healthcare and free training, amongst different providers, and welfare measures, a normal political response was that state sources had been restricted. Requested by a nurse in 2017 why her wages hadn’t elevated from 2009 ranges, then British prime minister, Theresa Could, stated: “There is no such thing as a magic cash tree that we will shake that all of a sudden gives for all the pieces that individuals need.”

Besides, just a few years later, the federal government has not solely been capable of pay the wages of thousands and thousands, it has additionally created rescue packages for 1000’s of corporations and supplied individuals vouchers to eat out in eating places. Quite a lot of European nations have additionally taken the unprecedented step of underwriting the wages of thousands and thousands of employees in response to the pandemic.

How is the British state and others able to this radical enhance in spending at a time when revenues from taxes are collapsing?

‘Magic cash tree’

The reply to this lies within the debt market. Over the previous few months, world governments have drastically elevated their borrowing to cowl the prices of the pandemic. It’d seem logical that the price of credit score will go up throughout unsure financial occasions. The truth, nevertheless, is that capital typically goes to safer sovereign debt throughout financial downturns, significantly because the fairness markets develop into unstable and risky.

Over current months, fairly than struggling to search out lenders or having to pay extra for debt, the governments of the key economies have been awash with credit score at traditionally low charges. In October, the EU, till now a small participant within the debt market (as borrowing principally is by nationwide governments of member states), started a significant borrowing marketing campaign as a part of the efforts to combat COVID via the SURE programme (Assist to mitigate Unemployment Dangers in an Emergency) which was created in Could.

The primary sale of bonds value €17 billion was met with what some described as “outrageous demand”, with traders bidding a complete of €233 billion to purchase them. This intense competitors was for bonds that supplied a return of -0.26% over ten years, that means that an investor who holds the bond to maturity will obtain lower than they paid at the moment.

The EU isn’t the one borrower that’s successfully being paid to borrow cash. Lots of the superior economies have been in recent times and months promoting debt at unfavorable charges. For some nations, the shift has been dramatic. Even nations resembling Spain, Italy and Greece that had been beforehand seen as comparatively dangerous debtors, with Greece going via a significant debt disaster, are actually having fun with borrowing cash at very low charges.

The explanation for this phenomenon is that whereas these bonds are initially purchased by “conventional” market actors, central banks are shopping for large portions of those bonds as soon as they’re circulated available in the market. For just a few years now, the European Central Financial institution (ECB) has been an lively purchaser of European authorities bonds – in a roundabout way from governments however from the secondary market (from traders who purchased these bonds earlier). This ECB asset buy programme was expanded to assist climate the COVID disaster, with the ECB spending €676 billion on authorities bonds from the beginning of 2020 till September.

Different central banks within the main superior economies are following the identical technique. Via these programmes, these central banks encourage traders to maintain shopping for authorities bonds with the data that the demand for these bonds within the secondary market will stay robust.

Poorer nations

Not all people, nevertheless, enjoys the same place within the debt market. Whereas the wealthy economies are being chased by traders to take their cash, the scenario is radically totally different for poorer nations. Many poor nations have restricted entry to the credit score market and rely as a substitute on public lenders, such because the World Financial institution.

Lately, this sample started to alter with a rising variety of creating nations rising their international borrowing from non-public lenders. Growing nations, nevertheless, are in a structurally weaker place than richer friends. The smaller scale of their capital markets imply that they’re extra reliant on exterior financing. This reliance implies that creating nations depend on elevating cash in international forex, which will increase the danger to their economies.

As many creating nations have much less diversified exports with the next share of commodities, the worth decline in commodities in current months has elevated these dangers. In consequence, creating nations face a considerably larger value of borrowing in comparison with the richer economies.

A couple of massive creating nations, resembling Indonesia, Colombia, India and the Philippines, have begun to comply with the coverage adopted by the superior economies of shopping for authorities bonds to fund an increasing deficit. The dangers of doing this, nevertheless, are larger than the richer economies, together with a decline in capital inflows, capital flight and forex crises. A report by the ranking company S&P World Rankings illustrated the variations between these two economies:

Superior nations usually have deep home capital markets, robust public establishments (together with impartial central banks), low and steady inflation, and transparency and predictability in financial insurance policies. These attributes permit their central banks to take care of massive authorities bond holdings with out dropping investor confidence, creating worry of upper inflation, or triggering capital outflow. Conversely, sovereigns with much less credible public establishments and fewer financial, change fee and monetary flexibility have much less capability to monetise fiscal deficits with out operating the danger of upper inflation. This will set off massive capital outflows, devaluing the forex and prompting home rates of interest to rise, as seen in Argentina over components of the previous decade.

Whereas the response of the market to this strategy by creating nations has been muted thus far, the report argued, this example may change. Growing nations who do that may “weaken financial flexibility and financial stability, which may enhance the probability of sovereign ranking downgrades”.

Rankings downgrades

Over current months, downgrading by ranking businesses have been a significant threat dealing with creating nations with many economies dealing with larger prices of borrowing because of such downgrades. These downgrades had been typically linked to say no in costs and exports of commodities, as was the case for diamonds for Botswana and oil for Nigeria.

In July, following the participation of Ethiopia, Pakistan, Cameroon, Senegal and the Ivory Coast in a World Financial institution-endorsed G20 debt suspension initiative, the ranking company Moody’s took motion in opposition to these nations arguing that participation on this scheme elevated the danger for traders in bonds issued by these nations, resulting in some creating economies avoiding the initiative so as to not ship a “unfavorable sign to the market”. Zambia is on the verge of being the primary “COVID default” and different creating nations may face the same scenario in coming months.

Because of these dynamics, many creating nations are dealing with the powerful alternative of giving up any economically pricey well being measures or dealing with severe fiscal and financial crises. Entry to credit score has develop into a defining issue within the skill of governments to answer the pandemic. Because of entry to low cost credit score, developed economies are thus far capable of take such well being measures whereas limiting the social and financial impression of the pandemic. Many creating nations wouldn’t have this luxurious. Not everybody will get to shake the branches of the magical cash tree.

Shamel Azmeh doesn’t work for, seek the advice of, personal shares in or obtain funding from any firm or organisation that will profit from this text, and has disclosed no related affiliations past their tutorial appointment.

from Growth News https://growthnews.in/how-countries-are-raising-debt-to-fight-covid-and-why-developing-nations-face-tougher-choices/ via https://growthnews.in

#Growth News

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