#now. did i have opinions before i could fully articulate them yes. yes i did. but now im even worse

[fappellmoan]

oh you would not believe how opinionated i can be about lighting. am i by any means a camera person no am i gonna be like hmm you wanna know what you really need. better lighting. come on guys it seriously makes all the difference

[ceoofhelaegon]

I wanna talk about our Dreamer Queen Helaena' s abilities.

She can foresee life changing events but it is implied she doesn't fully understand them...or can't fully articulate them and thus why no one in the family pays her any mind.

So, I'm starting to wonder if what she sees is actual people or just symbols.

"Beware the beast beneath the boards".

She uses figurative language. And when the event itself arrives, she is super stunned by it. She did not fully expect it, it seemed.

Many haters have said if she can forsee the future, why could she not warn her family directly? Well, I now think it's because she doesn't see literal images of people. But more of gets a vibe and sees imagery she can't fully understand. "Dragons of flesh weaving dragons of thread." etc

This is very different from, say, the rumored witch Alys Rivers. Who is said to have seen Daemon in the flames, waiting for Aemond near God's Eye.

So, if Helaena was to kill herself because of having a vision of any family member, to me it would be more of she felt the vibe rather than saw clearly what happened to them.

She might for instance sense, or be troubled by a vision of Maelor dying.

Many might end up confusing Helaena's unease for a spell of madness.

And when Maelor's death is confirmed by Mysaria when she comes to her chambers to tell her, Helaena is broken.

This might confirm that she doesn't exactly 'see' the people she loves in distress in her visions and will only be driven to action when she's told what's happened.

I'm interested to see how they'll explain this.

But what do you think? Sorry for dropping a whole ass post.

Oh yes, I fully believe that she was actually surprised when she saw Meleys.

You know that feeling you get when you finally understand something?

“OH, that’s what you’re talking about!!! Thinking back it was so clear to see, how come I didn’t understand it before?”

That is the vibe I get from Helaena, because why would she see a dragon as a beast? She has Dreamfyre, she loves her dragon, she probably has seen Meleys before too, there’s no reason for a Targaryen to see a dragon as a beast.

But you know who does? People who are afraid of them, i.e the smallfolk and even her own mother, Alicent Hightower.

So her visions are purely metaphorical, in my opinion, Viserys’ also were but he knew how to interpret them or maybe since he’s not neurodivergent like Helaena, he could see them more clearly.

Off topic but I loved seeing Alicent pregnant with Helaena and he’s actively losing the ability of having dragon dreams. My HC is that Helaena could have dragon dreams since she was a baby, which is why she cried so much. 😭

They could play with this a lot, her visions get slightly clearer but since she’s in so much grief, people around her wouldn’t listen because they would assume her words are because of the grief.

Or, she straight knows what’s going to happen and gets even more grief stricken because she can’t help. Having dragon dreams and having such a deep grief? It’s heartbreaking.

There’s so much that they can do, not sure how they’ll utilise it but hopefully we’ll get lots of our Queen and seeing how she navigates her dragon dreams.

[oitommothetease]

Invisible String (9/?)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female reader (Modern AU)

Word Count: 2k words

You weren't a morning person, hell, you weren’t even a person in the morning. Therefore, when you woke up to two kids playing with your hair and jumping on your bed, you wanted to strangle them or shove them on the floor. But again, you loved those little demons so you just groaned loudly, clearly irritated and you decided to keep your eyes closed, hoping that your ignorance will make them leave you alone. You squeezed your eyes shut and didn't open them until you heard a familiar voice chuckling.

“Carol told me you aren't a morning person, but this-” James didn't finish his sentence, his lips breaking into a cheeky grin, and as much annoyed as you were at his teasing, you kind of thought he looked gorgeous. Who looked so gorgeous this early in the morning? A smile made its way to your face and you instantly wiped it off, feigning offense.

“Carol? You're already on a first-name basis with my sister?”

“Aw, don't worry, doll. I'm just trying to be friendly with your family or should I say my future family as your mother reminded me ten minutes ago,” he pestered, moving towards you to hand you the cup of coffee in his hand. Bucky winked teasingly when you accepted it, and you mumbled a ‘thank you’.

That pet name made your stomach do some somersaults and you didn't trust yourself enough to speak. It's not like the first time he called you ‘doll’, in fact, he had been calling you that the moment you started fake dating. But it was something about the way he said it as if the word was made for you and nobody could say that word unless it wasn't voiced by him for you. He didn't notice the flush in your eyes and even if he did, he didn't mention it.

“That’s it. You’re done hanging out with my family,” you articulated, “You are officially infected.” 

“Don’t be like that, doll. Come on, breakfast’s ready.”

At the age of 18, when you were finally a college girl, you decided that breakfast was a myth created by Satan. When you lived with your parents, the breakfast consisted of extravagant food like pancakes, waffles and fruits. Once you moved away for college, your breakfast shifted to coffee and maybe a toast if you had the time before your first lecture. And the second you were independent, coffee became your boyfriend, keeping you up at night and also, your best friend, keeping you up in the morning without dozing off in classes.

So, sitting again at a dining table with your family and fake boyfriend/boss was very awkward, to say the least. But of course, your sister had the magical ability where she took an awkward silence and converted it into an uncomfortable conversation.

“We hope we didn't wake you up last night. Nick and I tend to get loud sometimes,” Carol joked and you coughed, choking on your food, and James laughed awkwardly. 

James' hand instinctively came to your back, running calming circles with his palm and you shot a deathly glare to your sister. 

“Oh, we know all about that,” James teased, bringing your chair closer to him. Your eyes widened and you whipped your head towards him so quickly that your neck hurt. What was he saying? This man, your boyfriend, fake boyfriend was a completely different person than your boss (not that you were complaining). He was funny, charming, he made you feel comfortable and something else you weren’t ready to point out just yet.

You could see yourself falling for a man like James. No, he is your boss and sort of criminal. Get your shit together, you told yourself.

After the very awkward breakfast, thanks to Carol. Your mother told you to show James around town and you would have said no but that meant you’d have to stay at home with your family, which was worse. So when James accepted your offer to go to your favorite burger place nearby, you were relieved.

“This burger is amazing, but nothing compared to Barry’s,” James stated. 

You nodded your head, chewing the remnant of food in your mouth properly before speaking, “Nothing compares to Sally and her food.”

You liked being with James, everything about him made you want this, the real thing with him, not the whole faux boyfriend play. You wanted him and you were sure that he didn’t. One look at him was sufficient for anyone to know how handsome he was, and how oblivious he was to the waitress ogling him. He didn’t spare her a glance, he was probably used to the attention that he stopped caring about it. Of course, if you weren't overthinking at the moment, you would have noticed that he didn't care about anyone else - well, except you. 

“The waitress was totally checking you out,” you informed James. You were very jealous, but you wouldn't stop your crush on your boss to stop him from living his life. He had already sacrificed a lot for you, you didn't want to cock-block him on top of that.

“No, she wasn’t,” he huffed, looking at you for any sign that this conversation displeased you the way it did him.

“I swear she was,” you said, “You should ask her out. She’s cute.”

 “No, I’m taken.”

“But you’re not taken, James. This isn’t real,” you retorted and it hurt you so much to say. Sometimes you wished you could be a selfish bitch but you couldn’t do that to James. He deserves someone who would cherish and love him, not give him a faux relationship. “You should ask her out.”

 “Do you want me to?” James asked, his voice was laced with desperation that you couldn't understand. Why would he care about your opinion?

Bucky hoped that you would say no, he needed a sign to know that you wanted him too. His tone was despondent because he was hoping that this could be more. He really wanted it to be. But when you said yes, everything came shattering down for him. You didn’t want him and God, he was so frustrated that he could cry. What sick game was the universe playing with him? He felt like a rat stuck in a cage with cheese right outside, in front of him. Even though he was so close to you, you were still out of his reach.

“You know what?,” he pondered, “Now that I think about it maybe I should ask her out?”

“Like right now?” you questioned, taken aback by his sudden and unexpected change in demeanor.

“Yeah!” he cheered enthusiastically, “No time like the present, right? You can get home by yourself?”

He didn’t wait for your answer, already walking back towards the restaurant, and you murmured a ‘yeah’ which he didn’t even notice because he was already jogging towards the burger place.

When you reached home alone, tears welled up in your eyes, and you ran up to the bathroom to avoid stumbling upon your family. Maybe you shouldn't have pushed him, maybe if you didn’t then he wouldn’t have pursued the waitress. He wouldn’t have gone if you didn’t shove him towards the cute waitress. Why were you such a good person?

Your thoughts were brought to a halt with frantic knocks on the door. Instantly, you wiped your eyes and opened up the door to be met with your sister’s kids. Izzy and Alex didn’t give you any time before getting a hold of your hand and rushing you outside to help them set up the trampoline.

Your family was already out there, and you hoped your face didn’t say, ’I've been crying in the bathroom.’ Your sister and her husband were seated on a blanket which was spread out on the grass, sipping wine, and your parents were admiring their grandchildren.

“Auntie Y/N!” Alex exclaimed and Izzy added, “Help us fix the trampoline please.”

You agreed because those two were the only people in the world that considered you their friend without asking for anything in return. Moreover, it was a good distraction, if you stayed in a room thinking about James, then you would probably lose your sanity. So, once you started setting up the trampoline for the kids, it became somewhat fun, and you almost forgot all about James, and how he must be talking to that girl and how that girl must be flirting with him. You hoped he didn’t call her doll, you knew you were being unreasonable and immature, but you couldn’t help yourself.

Izzy and Alex made their way towards their parents and whispered something about you being so in love with James that his absence made you angry.

You ignored them and the way your sister smiled, you were so focused on fitting the trampoline spring that you did not realize someone was standing behind you until two strong hands came around you, taking the spring from your hand and attaching it to the corner. 

You knew it was James, no one would touch your hand so gently, any other man would have snatched the spring from your hold and mansplained it’s process to you. But James wasn’t doing that, he wanted to be near you, to have your attention fully that is why he took the spring from you. He didn’t undermine you. No, he desired you to notice him, the guy who has been trying all weekend to get you to like him. He wanted you to see Bucky, not your boss, James.

You could feel his head looming over your shoulder, you dared to crane your neck in his direction to find him already looking at you with a smile on his face. You were so dazed in his eyes that you didn’t notice that he was wearing a white shirt instead of the one he wore in the morning. You did not notice that he didn’t leave you to get the waitress’s number, instead he got a customized shirt that read 'I heart Y/N'. You only noticed him.

Furthermore, you didn’t care about anything else at the moment, just him. Bucky eyed your lips longer than he should have and leaned a bit towards you; a question. You answered his question by closing the distance between you and crashing your lips with his. His hands engulfed around your waist, flushing your back against his chest and he kissed you feverishly. 

The kids were right.

You were in love, and that love was reciprocated by the man who was holding you like you were his archer and kissing you like you were the source of his last breath. But both of you were too unaware to realize that the other felt the same way.

Everyone could see that, your mother looked over at your father and your sister looked at her husband, smiling, reminiscing the way they fell in love just like you and Bucky. The kids looked at you both with hope, aspiring to have a love like that in their future, the kind they saw in movies and in the couples around them.

What you didn't realize was that there was one other set of eyes watching you from a car in the distance. Rumlow finally found his rival's vulnerability, and he was going to do everything in his power to exploit and eventually kill Bucky’s weakness, his love, you. 

TAGS:  @bananapipedreams​ @akkinda10​ @rivers-rambles21​ @emmabarnes​ @valsworldofcreativity​ @boofy1998​ @marvel-3407​ @mybuck​ @priii​ @coffeebooksandfandom​ @ladydmalfoy​ @shaking-a-jar-of-bees 

[tvitr]

uwu I don’t make the ruwules

(Okay fine, reasons/opinions below the cut but be warned! I won’t be holding back on game or book spoilers. Or rambling. This got longer than I anticipated lol)

BETTER IN THE BOOK

Eis “Fireman Sam” Glover: I don’t know what the game was trying to do with this one. I guess he gets overwhelmed by the fire and loses his composure or gets scared or... something?  Also why did he not bring a hose. Or a mask.  This is why so many reviewers thought Wonderworld was a metaphor for purgatory and all the inhabitants are dead I swear. Who cares, the book handled it a lot better. I wouldn’t say it’s perfect, but there’s definitely a good idea here with some interesting themes. The gist is that he feels ashamed following his captain’s orders to retreat during a serious blaze, which his colleagues disobeyed, and his colleagues are later hailed as heroes by the press.  Is Balan the Book trying to take on toxic masculinity...? How brave. Tl;dr, the book conveyed the story a Hell of lot better than the game. Honestly I’m surprised this is the only one.

BETTER IN THE GAME

Haoyu “Airplane Boi” Chang: So the book tried waaaay too hard to draw a parallel between Haoyu and Fiona (aka, Dolphin Girl) to the point that they both share a similar backstory, in that they had a hobby which led to a near-fatal accident and now they’re too traumatised to resume said hobby. And that’s not a bad thing per se but... “near fatal accident” was already Fiona’s backstory. We didn’t need a duplicate. And this is more personal preference, but I kinda liked Haoyu’s story in the game anyway. His failure at building a functioning aeroplane out of crap he found in his garage is endearingly funny in the game, and the resolution of him taking time out to sit down and study before building anything is a nice spin on the whole “if at first you don’t succeed” theme the chapter wanted. 

Sana “Bird Lady” Hudson: So the book decided they didn’t want to make Cal an angry sore loser so guess what? They made Sana an angry misanthrope. Wonderful. Okay maybe that’s harsh, but she definitely came off as very bitter and unsympathetic in the book. Like there’s a scene at the end where she harasses a firefighter and tries to steal a fire engine because they’re working on a building fire and not supervising her park. That’s not a character you wanna root for. That’s a Karen. The game had a better plot thread and resolution to her story rather than a boring cookie-cutter “humans vs. nature grrrr humans are so evil” story, like the game story here had a bit more depth to it and approached the topic more maturely than the book did. Which is ironic considering how hilariously edgy the book gets sometimes, but I guess throwing a few smashed eggs and frozen bird skeletons into your story doesn’t mean anything if you’re still going to paint such a black-and-white narrative.

Iben “Frozen Elsa” Bia: This story didn’t need dialogue. Like... we don’t need her to justify why she’s upset her parents are dead because we’d already assume that. They’re her parents! Of course we’d assume she’d be upset! They died! Simultaneously! That’s horrible! WE DON’T NEED HER TO EXPLAIN THIS! Also her dialogue in the book was... pretty terrible, not gonna lie. Like if you’re gonna insist on dialogue at least make it gOOD. I’m actually planning on just reviewing her book scene so I can fully articulate just how bad it is anyway, so stay tuned for that mess lol.

FINE IN BOTH

I mean there’s not really too much to say here but anyways:

Jose/”The Farmer” having a family in the book gives him a bit more depth, even if we never hear from them again after his backstory dump.

Fiona/”Dolphin Girl” almost drowns in a slightly different way, with a dolphin straight up pulling her mask off rather than knocking it out of her mouth, and the book also goes more into detail about her love for diving and dolphins. Also the book ships her and Haoyu like. So hard. Like they never shut up about how similar they are or what they other’s doing or if the other’s okay or not. By the end of it I was expecting them to just start making out in front of everyone, they’re that obsessed with each other. And it would be funny if they didn’t use this to wreck Haoyu’s backstory like I mentioned earlier.

Yuri/”Bug Kid”/”Is that a Pokémon reference?” is now being kinda bullied for liking bugs, which yeah gives her more depth and reason to be upset but I also kinda related to her just being that One Kid with interests that nobody else had. But it’s not as bad as some of the other changes, so I can let it slide.

Atillio/Clown and Bruce/Old Man are the same, nothing to say here.

Lucy/”The Artist” is a total drama queen but then again so are Art People so I can let it slide. I did like them changing her problem from “artist’s block” (seriously?) to her feeling too under pressure to create masterpieces, unless that’s what the game was aiming for? Oh who cares.

JUST A BIG MESS

Cass “Dead Cat Girl” Milligan: This is a weird one because the story is the same between the game and book (though the book mentions she witnessed a more severe car accident rather than a speeding car which she assumes kills the cat, and the cat isn’t even her cat, it’s a stray) but the story itself is... flawed. According to the book, they wanted to convey the idea that running away from the accident was irresponsible, and she just needed to look back and she’d see her cat is okay, but the game kind of makes it look more like Balan turned back time to save her cat, and the book mentions a serious car crash which I don’t think anyone would willingly return to. I feel there’s a better way to convey this idea of being responsible for your pets, like say her cat escapes from the house and gets lost, and her resolution is going out and properly looking for it. That’s a more effective (and natural) way to relay that message, especially as they weren’t going to commit to the idea of grieving a lost pet.

I’M CONFLICTED

Cal “Chess Daddy” Suresh: God this was a tough call. On one hand Cal’s game backstory is one of the ones most YouTube players single out as the weakest backstory in the game. He’s just “that guy who lost one game of chess”. Being right before Iben’s level certainly doesn’t help. I could honestly write a separate post about how bad the story placements are in this game but that’s too long for here.  On the other hand, I still... kinda like it? Like I like this idea of him being a sore loser with a bad temper who needs to learn some humility, sure it’s not as serious as “I almost drowned” or “my parents are dead” but one of the few good things about the game is that it balanced “serious” stories with “benign” ones, if that makes sense. HOWEVER His book scene is... probably one of the best written in the whole book. Which isn’t saying much, but it felt like it hit the intended degree of darkness that the rest of the book was trying to hit. One of my main issues with the book is how much it edged up everyone’s backstory, which doesn’t sound bad but when you have 12 characters with edgy backstories to sit through, it starts to feel like a 14 year old's first attempt at writing an angsty fanfiction very quickly. And yes, Cal’s story is dark and angsty but it felt like the perfect balance of dark and angsty. Or as perfect as the book can get. Like even Balan’s annoying rhyming dialogue sounded good for the tone of the scene. Man maybe I should just do a review of both his backstories in a bigger post.  Obviously I could be biased because I’m a sucker for chess aesthetics and dark skinned men with long permed hair so I’m just putting more thought into him but still.

[whitehotharlots]

The point is control

Whenever we think or talk about censorship, we usually conceptualize it as certain types of speech being somehow disallowed: maybe (rarely) it's made formally illegal by the government, maybe it's banned in certain venues, maybe the FCC will fine you if you broadcast it, maybe your boss will fire you if she learns of it, maybe your friends will stop talking to you if they see what you've written, etc. etc. 

This understanding engenders a lot of mostly worthless discussion precisely because it's so broad. Pedants--usually arguing in favor of banning a certain work or idea--will often argue that speech protections only apply to direct, government bans. These bans, when they exist, are fairly narrow and apply only to those rare speech acts in which other people are put in danger by speech (yelling the N-word in a crowded theater, for example). This pedantry isn't correct even within its own terms, however, because plenty of people get in trouble for making threats. The FBI has an entire entrapment program dedicated to getting mentally ill muslims and rednecks to post stuff like "Death 2 the Super bowl!!" on twitter, arresting them, and the doing a press conference about how they heroically saved the world from terrorism. 

Another, more recent pedant's trend is claiming that, actually, you do have freedom of speech; you just don't have freedom from the consequences of speech. This logic is eerily dictatorial and ignores the entire purpose of speech protections. Like, even in the history's most repressive regimes, people still technically had freedom of speech but not from consequences. Those leftist kids who the nazis beheaded for speaking out against the war were, by this logic, merely being held accountable. 

The two conceptualizations of censorship I described above are, 99% of the time, deployed by people who are arguing in favor of a certain act of censorship but trying to exempt themselves from the moral implications of doing so. Censorship is rad when they get to do it, but they realize such a solipsism seems kinda icky so they need to explain how, actually, they're not censoring anybody, what they're doing is an act of righteous silencing that's a totally different matter. Maybe they associate censorship with groups they don't like, such as nazis or religious zealots. Maybe they have a vague dedication toward Enlightenment principles and don't want to be regarded as incurious dullards. Most typically, they're just afraid of the axe slicing both ways, and they want to make sure that the precedent they're establishing for others will not be applied to themselves.

Anyone who engages with this honestly for more than a few minutes will realize that censorship is much more complicated, especially in regards to its informal and social dimensions. We can all agree that society simply would not function if everyone said whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted. You might think your boss is a moron or your wife's dress doesn't look flattering, but you realize that such tidbits are probably best kept to yourself. 

Again, this is a two-way proposition that everyone is seeking to balance. Do you really want people to verbalize every time they dislike or disagree with you? I sure as hell don't. And so, as part of a social compact, we learn to self-censor. Sometimes this is to the detriment of ourselves and our communities. Most often, however, it's just a price we have to pay in order to keep things from collapsing. 

But as systems, large and small, grow increasingly more insane and untenable, so do the comportment standards of speech. The disconnect between America's reality and the image Americans have of themselves has never been more plainly obvious, and so striving for situational equanimity is no longer good enough. We can't just pretend cops aren't racist and the economy isn't run by venal retards or that the government places any value on the life of its citizens. There's too much evidence that contradicts all that, and the evidence is too omnipresent. There's too many damn internet videos, and only so many of them can be cast as Russian disinformation. So, sadly, we must abandon our old ways of communicating and embrace instead systems that are even more unstable, repressive, and insane than the ones that were previously in place.

Until very, very recently, nuance and big-picture, balanced thinking were considered signs of seriousness, if not intelligence. Such considerations were always exploited by shitheads to obfuscate things that otherwise would have seemed much less ambiguous, yes, but this fact alone does not mitigate the potential value of such an approach to understanding the world--especially since the stuff that's been offered up to replace it is, by every worthwhile metric, even worse.

So let's not pretend I'm Malcolm Gladwell or some similarly slimy asshole seeking to "both sides" a clearcut moral issue. Let's pretend I am me. Flash back to about a year ago, when there was real, widespread, and sustained support for police reform. Remember that? Seems like forever ago, man, but it was just last year... anyhow, now, remember what happened? Direct, issues-focused attempts to reform policing were knocked down. Blotted out. Instead, we were told two things: 1) we had to repeat the slogan ABOLISH THE POLICE, and 2) we had to say it was actually very good and beautiful and nonviolent and valid when rioters burned down poor neighborhoods.

Now, in a relatively healthy discourse, it might have been possible for someone to say something like "while I agree that American policing is heavily violent and racist and requires substantial reforms, I worry that taking such an absolutist point of demanding abolition and cheering on the destruction of city blocks will be a political non-starter." This statement would have been, in retrospect, 100000000% correct. But could you have said it, in any worthwhile manner? If you had said something along those lines, what would the fallout had been? Would you have lost friends? Your job? Would you have suffered something more minor, like getting yelled at, told your opinion did not matter? Would your acquaintances still now--a year later, after their political project has failed beyond all dispute--would they still defame you in "whisper networks," never quite articulating your verbal sins but nonetheless informing others that you are a dangerous and bad person because one time you tried to tell them how utterly fucking self-destructive they were being? It is undeniably clear that last year's most-elevated voices were demanding not reform but catharsis. I hope they really had fun watching those immigrant-owned bodegas burn down, because that’s it, that will forever be remembered as the most palpable and consequential aspect of their shitty, selfish movement. We ain't reforming shit. Instead, we gave everyone who's already in power a blank check to fortify that power to a degree you and I cannot fully fathom.

But, oh, these people knew what they were doing. They were good little boys and girls. They have been rewarded with near-total control of the national discourse, and they are all either too guilt-ridden or too stupid to realize how badly they played into the hands of the structures they were supposedly trying to upend.

And so left-liberalism is now controlled by people whose worldview is equal parts superficial and incoherent. This was the only possible outcome that would have let the system continue to sustain itself in light of such immense evidence of its unsustainability without resulting in reform, so that's what has happened.

But... okay, let's take a step back. Let's focus on what I wanted to talk about when I started this.

I came across a post today from a young man who claimed that his high school English department head had been removed from his position and had his tenure revoked for refusing to remove three books from classrooms. This was, of course, fallout from the ongoing debate about Critical Race Theory. Two of those books were Marjane Satropi's Persepolis and, oh boy, The Diary of Anne Frank. Fuck. Jesus christ, fuck.

Now, here's the thing... When Persepolis was named, I assumed the bannors were anti-CRT. The graphic novel does not deal with racism all that much, at least not as its discussed contemporarily, but it centers an Iranian girl protagonist and maybe that upset Republican types. But Anne Frank? I'm sorry, but the most likely censors there are liberal identiarians who believe that teaching her diary amounts to centering the suffering of a white woman instead of talking about the One Real Racism, which must always be understood in an American context. The super woke cult group Black Hammer made waves recently with their #FuckAnneFrank campaign... you'd be hard pressed to find anyone associated with the GOP taking a firm stance against the diary since, oh, about 1975 or so.

So which side was it? That doesn't matter. What matters is, I cannot find out.

Now, pro-CRT people always accuse anti-CRT people of not knowing what CRT is, and then after making such accusations they always define CRT in a way that absolutely is not what CRT is. Pro-CRTers default to "they don't want  students to read about slavery or racism." This is absolutely not true, and absolutely not what actual CRT concerns itself with. Slavery and racism have been mainstays of American history curriucla since before I was born. Even people who barely paid attention in school would admit this, if there were any more desire for honesty in our discourse. 

My high school history teacher was a southern "lost causer" who took the south's side in the Civil War but nonetheless provided us with the most descriptive and unapologetic understandings of slavery's brutalities I had heard up until that point. He also unambiguously referred to the nuclear attacks on Hiroshmia and Nagasaki as "genocidal." Why? Because most people's politics are idiosyncratic, and because you cannot genuinely infer a person to believe one thing based on their opinion of another, tangentially related thing. The totality of human understanding used to be something open-minded people prided themselves on being aware of, believe it or not...

This is the problem with CRT. This is is the motivation behind the majority of people who wish to ban it. It’s not because they are necessarily racist themselves. It’s because they recognize, correctly, that the now-ascendant frames for understanding social issues boils everything down to a superficial patina that denies not only the realities of the systems they seek to upend but the very humanity of the people who exist within them. There is no humanity without depth and nuance and complexities and contradictions. When you argue otherwise, people will get mad and fight back. 

And this is the most bitter irony of this idiotic debate: it was never about not wanting to teach the sinful or embarrassing parts of our history. That was a different debate, one that was settled and won long ago. It is instead an immense, embarrassing overreach on behalf of people who have bullied their way to complete dominance of their spheres of influence within media and academe assuming they could do the same to everyone else. Some of its purveyors may have convinced themselves that getting students to admit complicity in privilege will prevent police shootings, sure. But I know these people. I’ve spoken to them at length. I’ve read their work. The vast, vast majority of them aren’t that stupid. The point is to exert control. The point is to make sure they stay in charge and that nothing changes. The point is failure. 

[hopeswriting]

I meant to do a post about my thoughts on the Daily Life Arc now that I finished rereading it, but I can't seem to find the time and it's been a while now, and if I keep it up I'll forget what my thoughts are to begin with lol, so here's the long story short:

I know it's a long arc, as in it starts being boring and more or less unbearable past some point, because the "gag of the chapter" format only takes you so far, and not actually very far if Amano's humor doesn't work on you much, if at all. I don't think it's an arc you can reread right away/soon either, lest you feel that one flaw even faster.

And I felt it too, starting with the fourty-something chapters I felt like it was dragging on too much, though to be fair that probably had to do too with the fact I knew things much more interesting were coming after that.

Still, all that said, like, it's an enjoyable arc. Amano's humor happens to work on me, and she does it really well, and I liked reading the arc. There are some chapters where you're really asking yourself why they were written for lol, but even then you read it for the characters, and it somehow keeps you going.

And like, even though I think Amano could have seen the fact the comedy was going to turn repetitive and thus boring at some point, and try to diversify it or something, it's just how comedy/humor/gags works? Some jokes land and some doesn't, but for me at least a lot more of them worked than not.

The DLA is a good enough arc is what I'm saying.

------

On than note and on the contrary, of course it's fine if you think it's a bad arc, to each their opinion, but personally I really don't agree it's an unnecessary one.

I'm saying this because apparently it's not uncommon to advice new fans to skip the arc and directly start with the Kokuyo one? (Or so I learned on TV Tropes anyway, this might or might not be still relevent/accurate.)

Now don't get me wrong, the DLA does fail to hook the readers to the story for the reasons stated above, I agree with that, but it literally introduces the main character? And all the other characters, and gets us to know them, and establishes the dynamics between them and why they're the way they are, and, though only in a more or less superficial manner (and more than less) by design of the arc's purpose (not being deep in any way lol), it still gives us an insight into the characters and why they're the way they are. A glimpse into the core of their personality, the "stakes" of their characters, the flaws they have to overcome.

And all that in the context of their daily life, so if you skip it to go directly to the arc that challenges them, you can't appreciate fully how they rise to the challenge, how it shows their growth or reasserts their core values. You can't know how much or what it means, for example, off the top of my head, to have Yamamoto sacrifice his arm to beat Ken, when only a year ago he tried to kill himself over his broken arm. Or Hibari losing against Mukuro, thus telling us how much of a real threat he was. Or Tsuna screaming at Lancia for having hurt his friends, anger on his face, clearly despite himself, that Dame-Tsuna.

All these just wouldn't hit you the same, and it'd be such a shame? I mean I guess the ones who start with the Kokuyo arc go back to read the DLA, or you could compromise like the anime did by splitting the DLA between more serious arcs, but like I said I personally don't find the DLA that bad, so I still wouldn't advice it lol.

Even if, I suppose, it'd mean they might give up on the manga somewhere through the DLA, but like? Some mangas just don't speak to you, and that's fine, and it'd be a little of a shame from my POV as a KHR fan, but still, no big deal.

------

I'm still very impressed with how smoothly Amano went from a gag manga to a shonen one, and how she made it so the DLA still fits with the rest. I mean the sudden change in tone/stakes/etc is jarring, sure, but it's all based on stuff she introduced in the DLA, which she presumably came up with with no intention to ever make it something deeper/more meaningful.

It's easy to believe the foreshadowing, and generally speaking the worldbuilding was planned all along, which, again, probably not, and like? Super impressive.

(Though once more don't get me wrong, there are inconsistencies/plot holes in Amano's plotlines and worldbuilding, but not, like, at their seams, if I can say it like that? It's more often in the details, and it's fairly easy to fill in the blanks ourselves.)

------

Finally it was a lot of fun to rediscover the characters in a new light, and a bit of a disbelieving surprise tbh.

For context before I started my reread of the manga, all this time I was going with the time I read/watched it years ago plus the times I skimmed it, but mostly by all the fanon I was consuming. And it's not to say fanon is wrong per se, but it latched on one to three character's traits, or slapped an easy character archetype on them easy to "relate" to within, and apparently never looked back lol. And also often dialed up those traits (good or bad) in a very noticeable manner.

What I'm saying is, fanon is, in fact, wrong sometimes zldnslsz, and the characters are much more nuanced even in the DLA! (Which still leaves us at a more or less superficial level, because, you know lol, but still!)

------

To name the ones that stood out to me the most:

Nana isn't abused by Iemitsu, nor is she unhappy in her marriage despite Iemitsu being an absent husband (which is not relevent in the context of the DLA, but still, you can tell). She isn't an abusive mother to Tsuna either, and she is literally never an airhead. She literally just isn't, she actually does react very normally to the crazy Reborn brings with him, but much like Yamamoto as long as no one gets hurt (or walks it off), she just brushes it off.

And she has friends she goes listen to piano recitals with, and tries to save on money by eating rests, and gets in two-way arguments with Tsuna, and raises his allowance if he gets better grades to push him to work harder, and all around is just your average mom that really didn't read as just The Mom, if you know what I mean.

She has her flaws, definitely, she's not a great mom, namely is apparently used to call Tsuna Dame-Tsuna, but she's not just that.

She takes care of him, worries over him, and seems to be the only one who hasn't given up on him yet when the story starts. She supports him (though sometimes in a tactless to hurtful way), praises him when he does well, and trusts him to watch over the kids.

She's not that bad is what I'm saying, and 100% redeemable (that is, if you think she needs to be redeemed to begin with, which I actually do think she does, calling Tsuna Dame of all things is just a really shitty thing to do.)

(Though it's interesting to note that she doesn't do it again after what happened with Kyoko iirc, even if she might very well still talk to him in a belittling way at times. I just wish Amano would have commit fully to acknowledge it and resolve it, what with already having made it Kyoko's Dying Will Regret.)

(Edit: I had forgotten but she literally forgets his birthday while preparing someone else's birthday, so I take back that she is 100% redeemable because it's being too nice. But my point still stands.)

------

Haru is literally such a fun character, it makes me even more sad now to know what Amano did with her (nothing ansknslq 😭😂).

She's unhinged, has zero impulse control, does not reflect on the consequences of her lack of impulse control as Tsuna points it out, is ready and willing to throw hands at any given moment and is unapologetic of it, and is the one Amano actually calls an airhead.

The only problem she had with the mafia is that she thought Tsuna was forcing it on Reborn, and when she confirmed it was all true she literally didn't even blink at it, and immediately called herself the future Decimo's wife djosdkkd.

On that note she is literally mafia right from her first appearance, is more or less involved in almost all the mafia shenanigans, was right there with Tsuna & Co when they went to destroy the Tomaso's headquarters.

And like?? Amano could just have left it at that if she wasn't going to do anything else/more with it. Haru had so much potential, and not only Amano did nothing with it, she actually watered her down and took away all her distinct character's traits 😭.

------

Hibari is so much more feral and playful than his fanon cool, overpowered, quiet badass counterpart. Which I love too, don't get me wrong, but these two sides of him don't have to be exclusive!

He talks and smiles and jokes often, and shows off and casually insults you, and licks the blood away from his lips after having beaten bloody other middle schoolers who dared to defy him (I know this happens in the Kokuyo arc, but it illustrates my point the best).

Not much more to add than that, we should just acknowledge that and put it in our works more often.

------

Gokudera is a compelling character from the get go, and as far as the DLA goes, he's the most compelling character second to Tsuna. He's the only one to actually have flashbacks and a backstory. And what stood out to me the most that I don't see often in fanon, is that he's really a good friend.

Yes he has a short fuse and snaps easily and is easy to anger, but he's not always angry. And is seen having and being capable of positive exchanges outside of Tsuna (I'm thinking Yamamoto namely, who's made with Ryohei to be the one he gets angry with the most).

And yes he holds Tsuna on a pedestal and sees him through heavily tinted pink glasses, but even through that he's earnestly a good friend. And tries his best, and is hardworking and overachieving, so much so he messes up without meaning to, but he only ever has honest, straight-forward good intentions behind it all (well, maybe not always lol).

I love him a lot more now is what I'm saying.

------

And Tsuna. I'm not sure I'll be able to articulate my thoughts properly, but like... he's just your average teenager. Which of course is his whole thing, and I'm saying it in a very not judgy way whatsoever, but he's often made to be at least a little more than that, namely about his bullying.

Like, it's kind of dramatised in fics? And I'm not going to elaborate on that more because it might come out wrong and I don't want that, but it's just, like—canonically he is just bullied, simple as that. Like many other teenagers are.

And it's all in a "chill" way (for unfortunate lack of a better word, I don't mean to trivialize bullying at all, it's wrong and unfair and never deserved or okay, just so we're clear), and by the time the story starts Tsuna is used to it and has given up fighting against it, and actually finds refuge and a twisted comfort in embracing his Dame-Tsuna's monicker, because at least he's not gonna hit rock bottom deeper than that if he does.

And I'm not actually going anywhere with this, it's just? It hit me how differently canon and fanon portray his bullying.

Back on the note of him being a (below) average teenager, Tsuna is not an uwu pure cinnamon roll too good for this world.

He's literally so quick to judge and criticise, whether in his head or out loud when he knows more the person (namely Haru lol, poor girl), it was actually a bit of a shock tbh lol. He snaps easily, and is lazy, does not want to try even one bit, and is happy to run away from his responsibilities whenever he can.

And not only I'm not saying that in a judgy way this time either, but I'm actually saying it in a good way. He really felt like your average middle schooler, and it was so refreshing to see. That, plus the fact the narrative never holds it against him, let alone punishes him for it even if he's made to grow out of these traits, and it's literally part of his character arc, is kind of unique for the shonen genre (maybe, I'm not exactly a specialist of shonen mangas lol).

And I can see why you'd want to change it in fics, but personally I think it really makes his character's arc even more meaningful.

[dickwheelie]

Some soft Jmart cuddles but in some kind of au of your choosing? Maybe from one of those generic "fanfic au prompt" lists?

ohhh Oran u spoil me....I don’t have any of those lists on hand BUT I would like an excuse to do something for my spooky mer jon au!

EDIT: oh my god Oran I. forgot that you asked for cuddles. I wrote this whole thing and there are no cuddles in it fjkfksdf I am so sorry. I’ll make it up to you but it’s late so have this for now! I’ll do a sequel for it probably tomorrow with actual cuddles. fuck I can’t believe I missed that lmaoooo sorry againnnnn

____________

Martin had heard the rumors, of course. Myths. Legends. Whatever you wanted to call them. Stories of dubious legitimacy about the creature that lurked in the waters of the bay that bordered their tiny village, who was either a menace or a blessing, depending on who you asked. The woman who sold flowers at the market said it had once frightened her daughter while she was playing in a tide pool. One of the grizzled old fishermen claimed it had saved his cat from drowning. There were as many stories as there were people in the village, all who had claimed to have seen it, or at least known someone who had. No one could say exactly what it looked like, only that it had a humanoid upper half, a long, slithery fish-tail, and was horrific to look upon. The more exaggerated tales claimed that its face, if one could call it that, was enough to send even the most seasoned of sailors swimming for land.

Yes, Martin had heard the stories, but he was, as far as he could tell, the only one in the village who didn’t believe this odd creature of ambiguous morals actually existed. He was a practical man, and although he enjoyed the idea of impossible things like ghosts and fairies and mer-creatures, he knew, deep down, that none of it was real, especially not so close to the utterly ordinary, unexciting place he called home. He’d lived in the village all his life, and had never, not once, caught so much as a splash of the thing’s tail.

Until now.

He had been out on the bay on his sailboat all afternoon, trying to muster up the inspiration for a poem or two. The sun had begun to set, and, with no more ideas in his head than when he’d left, Martin had started to head back to shore.

That was when he had spotted it: barely visible in the dappled light of the sunset on the water, a dark shape was moving just under the surface. It wasn’t the shape of an ordinary fish, or even a dolphin, and Martin had leaned over the side of the boat to try to get a better look.

He was almost smacked in the face by another figure rising up out of the water, splashing water all over Martin and sending him falling backwards into the boat, flailing in surprise. The figure had grabbed the side of the boat and pulled itself up, leaning over Martin as he stared up at it, dumbfounded, and rethinking everything he knew about stories of dubious legitimacy.

In the warm light of the sunset, the creature was clearly visible. Its skin was dark grey, not quite black, paler around the gills which frilled out around its neck and sides. Its torso was, indeed, humanoid, with two appendages that certainly looked like arms, ending with webbed, clawed hands. Martin couldn’t see its tail from where he was lying, but he imagined it must have been eel-like, for the creature’s face reminded him of an eel. Two huge eyes were set in its face, clearly meant for seeing in the dark of the sea floor, and a wide mouth with innumerable, close-set, needle-point teeth gaped down at him. Apparently, this was what had sent sailors fleeing in terror. Martin was honestly a little disappointed. He was well-versed in marine wildlife (or at least, he’d thought he was), and he thought it looked more cute than scary.

The creature stared down at him, as though waiting for him to do something. It certainly seemed intelligent enough; maybe he could try talking to it. Martin cleared his throat. “Um. Hello.” He managed a little wave.

The creature’s eyes darted to his hand as it moved, then back to his face. It cocked its head, then did something utterly amazing, and answered him. “Why are you not running away,” it said. Its voice was . . . properly British, actually. It spoke with a solid southern accent, the sound a bit muffled and strangely deep, but apparently this creature didn’t need to use lips or teeth to enunciate.

Martin could think of nothing else to do but answer its question. “I . . . can’t really run anywhere,” he said, gesturing at his tiny, stationary sailboat. Once again, the creature’s eyes tracked the movements of his hands meticulously. “You, uh, sort of caught me by surprise.”

“Oh,” said the creature, its voice almost sounding sheepish. It drummed its webbed hands on the edge of the boat, in a surprisingly human-like manner. “Right. Yes. That . . . makes sense.” Its throat moved as it talked, and Martin supposed that must be where its clipped, precise voice was coming from.

“Why would I want to run?” Martin asked.

“Because you’re scared of me,” the creature said, rather unconvincingly.

“Am I?”

“You . . . you should be,” it said, drawing itself up slightly, which made the sailboat rock precariously, so it caught itself and stopped. “Um. I could hurt you. Kill you, even.”

Martin supposed that, yes, this creature was capable of killing him. Though it certainly didn’t seem like it wanted to, and none of the stories he’d heard about it had involved murder. It had even saved a cat once, apparently. Besides, he thought, there were plenty of humans capable of killing Martin just as easily, if they really wanted to. “Are you? Going to kill me?”

“Uh.” The creature lowered itself slightly, so its head was barely visible above the edge of the boat. Martin shifted upwards into a sitting position to see it better, and spotted a dark, rapidly undulating shape in the water, which must have been the creature’s tail. “Well. Er. Not now.”

“Should I leave and come back later?” Martin said, mostly for his own amusement. He didn’t expect the creature to understand the joke.

But it surprised him once again by laughing. Or at least, it sounded like a laugh, and the creature immediately put its hand over its throat, as though to stifle the sound.

Martin couldn’t help but smile at it. “Is that how you talk?” he couldn’t stop himself from asking. “With your--?” He gestured at his own throat.

The creature stared at him, even more wide-eyed than it usually was. “Um. Yes. I believe humans also have a voicebox, don’t they?”

“Yeah,” Martin said, “but ours doesn’t articulate sound the way yours does.” He grinned. “That’s so cool.”

“Oh,” said the creature, and it lowered itself even further into the water. “I, um. Thank you?”

Martin leaned forward to rest his elbows on the edge of the boat, so the two of them were now face-to-face. This close, he could see intricate little patterns in the creature’s skin, dotted across its cheek and around its neck. Not quite freckles, but something like them. Then the creature shifted, and the dimming light of the sunset caught them, turning them iridescent. The light caught its huge eyes as well, revealing that they weren’t just black pupils surrounded by a thin circle of white, but that there was an iris, colored such a dark brown it was almost black. “Wow,” Martin said, unthinkingly. “You’re beautiful.”

The creature’s claws scraped the edge of the boat as it clenched its webbed hands around it. Martin saw its tail thrash just under the water. “I--um--I have to go,” it said, and launched itself off of the boat and back into the water with a splash.

Martin barely had the chance to feel disappointed before its head popped up again, bobbing just above the waves a few meters from the boat. “Um,” it said, “I wanted to ask, before I go--just in case I want to find you again to kill you later--what’s your name?”

“Martin,” said Martin, smiling.

“Martin,” the creature repeated, and coming out of that voicebox it sounded lovely. It paused a moment, just staring at him with those huge, pretty eyes, and then said, “Jon,” before slipping back underneath the waves.

Martin had heard plenty of stories about the strange, terrifying creature that lived in the bay that bordered his village, and he was fully willing to believe them, now. However there were none, in his opinion, that measured up to the real thing.

[thesouthernpansy]

your hand, my hand (to hold it)

artemy burakh/daniil dankovsky

2,556 words

(here on ao3)

Dankovsky stands at the top of the staircase in his shirtsleeves. He's changed, again, from the last time you saw him, his eyes darker and his jaw weaker, but he takes your hands in his cool, gloved palms and tuts in that same distant, put-upon way he has.

“When was the last time you cleaned your fingernails?”

Even in pitch darkness, with your eyes closed, you could find your way back to him by his scolding.

“I think I have a few crumbs under there, I was saving them for later.”

Dankovsky tsks, not without humor. “I expect you'll try to convince me it's economical. Are you hungry? I have some bread and—well, I've been told it's trout, but who can tell these days. Some kind of smoked fish. It's yours if you'll wash up. Quid pro quo.”

Are you hungry? You wonder at his formality; you've been hungry for days.

His back is to you while he digs through his doctor's bag, the blades of his shoulders, the knife of his spine. Your fingers itch with the urge to touch, to run the pad of your thumb against his angles like it could draw blood.

“The townspeople are finally rubbing off on you, huh?”

Distracted thought creases a line between Dankovsky's brows. “Ah, the local bartering custom. You'll have to more fully explain the precise mechanics of the process to me at some point.”

It's heartening and unexpected progress, from him, the admission—the interest—though you refrain from saying as much.

True to his word, he sets out a generous heel of bread and paper-wrapped package bleeding fish-smelling oil. Leans his hip against the edge of the desk, crossing his arms across his narrow chest. The fine visible bones of his wrist, the pale exposed forearm, you could close your whole fist around them with space to spare.

“Where did all this come from, anyway? The Kains?”

Dankovsky stills, a sudden subtle tenseness, his gloves drawn tight across the knuckles.

“The doctor's fund,” he says shortly.

“Ah.” Guilt seeps through to tangle with the warmer sensation rising in your chest.

Dankovsky gestures dismissively, turning away. “Don't give me that martyred expression. You come to the hospital or you don't, all that's important is that progress is being made on the vaccine.”

“The panacea,” you correct him.

“Suum cuique. Do we have a deal or don't we?”

“The healer's hands are always bloodiest,” you say, half teasing.

Dankovsky satisfies it with a long-suffering sigh. “Don't you mean muddiest? By the looks of it you've been up to your elbows looking for your steppe herbs all morning.”

Always your herbs, an arrogant dismissal as if he doesn't by now have ample first-hand experience with the effectiveness of your painkillers, at least. It frustrates him doubly, you've gathered in time, that you insist on wasting your time with flowers rather than focus on the infinitely more practical and productive collection of infected human samples that Dankovsky continues to find himself unanimously denied.

Silence settles between you with gauzy tangibility, like the pest-thick air of the infected Bridge Square, grey-green and swimming-still.

An idea comes to you. Against the growing distance you lift your grime-streaked hands, palms open, up.

“With this I give you company. The road you walk is dangerous, but you don't walk it alone. I go with you, my help and my guidance.”

“Your guidance,” says Dankovsky, mostly to himself.

“What do you give me, oynon?”

Movement at the corner of his mouth. “Food. I had thought I made that clear.”

“A thing can be more than it is, more than an object to take up space in your hand. To give and take is to connect, a feeling or intention, or...” you falter, trying to remember. “Warmth. Kindness.”

Dankovsky bites out a laugh at that, harsh and short. “Kindness? In this town?”

“Comfort,” you persist. “Joy.”

“Nothing anyone has given me in this town has brought me joy.” He stops to look at you, then, though, to truly look. “I ought to give you rest, if I thought that you would take it.”

“You'd have to have it, first, to give it away.” Both of you well aware that this is the closest to rest you're likely to get today, and even that more than either of you can really afford.

Dankovsky turns towards the window, his jawline a taut cord of tension. His profile backlit with sickly light, casting him angular, severe, the unexpected stranger in the near-dark of Rubin's rooms. Near the hollow of his throat, the shadow of dark unshaven stubble, like a bruise.

“For all that it matters. What's the actual purpose of this asinine exercise?”

“I told you—” You reach out; his hair curls damply by his ear, the pulse quickening beneath your fingertips. “It's about connection.”

Prickling, “Warmth, yes, I remember. Here—”

He takes your wrist. Then, from the little shaving kit on the windowsill, a thin wedge of soap, soft from use. Presses it into your hand.

“Take...care.”

You have held human hearts in your hands, before—hot, and with the echo of beating still in them. Maybe this is nothing like that, but it echoes all the same.

“Thank you, oynon.”

“You're welcome...emshen.” At your smirk, “What? Didn't I pronounce it correctly?”

You shake your head, laughter on your tongue. “It's the vowels. They're tricky, if you didn't grow up with the language.”

“Don't you patronize me.” He swats you away and goes, muttering the word under his breath, to collect a washbasin and pitcher from beneath the bed. They're a matched set, not poor quality but plainly in disrepair, the enamel pattern chipped and cloudy. Dankovsky sloshes the basin half-full, notices your watching.

“Concerns, Burakh?”

“No, it looks clean.”

“Of course it's clean. I saw to its collection personally. Eva has been surprisingly diligent about boiling all the water she can gets her hands on, as well, for whatever good it does.”

“Cholera dies in boiled water,” you say absently. For a brief, suspended moment in Dankovsky's place you see the frightened woman in the Flank, her flat terrified eyes, her trembling fists.

Dankovsky frowns in dim recognition. “Someone else told me that recently. I can't recall who it was.”

“Maybe it was a dream.” Quick, careful efficiency as you strip away enough of your soiled smock to bare your arms.

“I have been having the strangest dreams,” he admits, voice soft. “Ever since I arrived here. I dream about walking, mostly, out across the steppe. I'm up to my knees in water and trying to reach something on the very edge of the horizon, or perhaps it's the horizon itself? And the sky is always red, dark red like blood, and I can feel in my bones that something is missing, as though the moon might not be there if I could think to look for it.”

Frown deepening, he shakes his head as if to clear the image. “In any case, perhaps it was a dream, then. I've been experiencing a great deal of déjàvu lately.”

The basin water murkies like a pre-storm dawn, greying lather sloughed away with the days' mud and blood and sweat. Like peeling back dead skin to see something fresh and pink underneath, new nerve endings, raw and receptive. It feels wrong, somehow. Dark water, clean hands.

“How do you imagine the Town will think of you when this is all over, after you're gone?”

“I don't,” says Dankovsky, clipped. “There are far more consequential matters that call for my attention. Who has time to worry about the opinions of small minds, with so much to do?”

Sanctimonious bastard.

“I do.” Gripping the edges of the washbasin like you could snap it in two, satisfying in the imagined sound of shattering, Dankovsky's startled expression, a rush of movement across the Stillwater's floorboards.

“Well, it's different for you, obviously. Being a local.”

You step away, scrubbing wet hands across your face. “I'm glad at least someone thinks that of me.”

Anger ebbs away in the ensuing silence. Then, the staccato click of Dankovsky's polished shoes accompanied by the faint sough of cloth. A towel, threadbare and yellowed, held like a surrender. You acquiesce, and Dankovsky pointedly avoids your gaze as he dries your hands with studious care.

“If you're...unsatisfied, here, you could always come to the Capital with me, when I return. Thanatica, or whatever's left of it, could benefit from your...unique perspective.”

His right hand in your left, points of articulation lined up—palm, wrist, knuckle, rib—and a warm thrum under your skin, heady and thick, like twyre bloom.

“That's a generous offer, oynon. You're right, though, I am a local. My place is here.”

“Yes,” he says. “well. I won't try to change your mind, if you're—”

“You could stay.”

Sudden, startled offense and dazed uncomprehending, Dankovsky's expression caught halfway between a sneer and something terrified. Defensive, cornered.

“I—here? No, what would I even—? No, no, I can't.”

“If you say so. I'll probably try to change your mind. Not right now. Later, when it matters.”

Dankovsky's eyes are sharp when they meet yours, lit with keen, unmasked curiosity. The full weight of his attention pierces like a pin punched through a beetle's jeweled carapace for display. A bright spot of pain in your chest, velvet at your back.

“You won't,” he says, weight in his words so you could almost see them falling out, bitten clean.

Fondness blooms in you at the thawing unease with which he holds himself, like a man who has forgotten how to be warm coming in from the cold. Reticent in a reluctant, guarded way you recognize, of all people, from Murky.

“I'll try anyway.”

A thin, unsteady laugh, reedy and nasal, and thenhe softens, all at once, deflating slightly, like a weight borne across his shoulders has been lifted free from him.

“Just so. Dum spiro, spero.”

“I don't know what that means.”

“I think you know,” he says carefully, “enough.”

Clearly, like a memory in your mind's eyes you see yourself kissing him, again and again, harsh and then tender, then tenderer still—the copper of blood on your teeth, the hazy, cooling steppe at dusk, the terrible sweet fever smell you know so well—a rush, like wind, like falling from a height, and here, constant, the place where the parallel nets of your lives snag and tangle.

Which is to say: what follows flows with the ease of the inevitable.

Dankovsky looks up, you look down.

The two of you meet in the middle.

The kiss starts slow, chaste and unsure and so nice; a pleased, helpless little sound escapes from you before you can think to stop it, and you feel Dankovsky's lips part slightly to form some wry response. You take it as an invitation, licking into the heat of his mouth, fingers threaded in the short hair at the nape of his neck. He shudders against you and moans, hitched breath and a deep, dreamy sigh that resonates like struck steel, pools low in your gut, molten and dark. Grasping, his hands find your waist, slide upwards to reel you close and keep you there.

Against your palm, the rabbit-pace of his pulse. Yours, sheltered against it. Dankovsky kisses you in the dim, stale Stillwater, and you think, the left and right hand. You think, yes.

Understanding: you are separate things like two hairs on a bull's back are separate, his heartbeat ending where yours begins without distinction. In the shared breaths caught between you, it's easy to believe that you could choose this—one vast, drumming heartbeat, one fast, endless line, strung through you soft and whole, tying indelibly together what you've feared would be inevitably torn apart. That after loss, losing, knowing what might still be lost, you could carve a harbor in the quiet and keep it shielded because you wanted it enough.

Behind you, the clock chimes the new hour. The adrenaline pumping in your blood start to sour.

“Fuck,” says Dankovsky, teeth scraping your lip.

You swallow thickly. “Is it two already?”

“Three, I think.” Focused on a point past your shoulder, his hands still under your shirt and his eyes already terribly far away.

“Shudkher.”

“You have somewhere else need to be.”

“I—yes.”

He nods, stepping away. His warmth goes with him. Clearing his throat, righting his clothes, you watch his expression shutter closed and feel like a limb that has been too long in a cast, pallid and shriveled and weak. Regret twists its clammy thorns around your heart, but there's nothing you can apologize for, nothing that it would fix.

“I'm sorry,” you say anyway.

Dankovsky shakes his head. “What for? Unless you're responsible for this whole wretched plague I can't accept that from you. And if you are responsible I wouldn't accept it it anyway, my reaction would be the furthest thing from forgiveness. Besides, it isn't as though I don't have work of my own to do.”

He recovers your discarded smock from the floor, gives it a vigorous shake. You take it from him, and he promptly busies himself elsewhere while you redress, the conspicuous return to silence aching in your joints like the promise of rain.

Dankovsky breaks it first. “Here, can you carry this?”

A hastily-wrapped parcel of waxed canvas, secured with a pair of safety pins that recently-acquired instinct hones in on immediately—that girl by the Trammel had been looking for pins, and she'd had a fingernail coin she was willing to trade—so that full focus returns with the thing in your hands and a stiff, dour set to Dankovsky's shoulders, the pull of his mouth. Unreachable, resigned.

“What is it?”

“My side of our bargain.” Hesitant, almost amused. “You didn't think I'd try to rescind our deal just because you can't stay for tea. Tell me you'll remember to eat it before it spoils.”

“I'll do my best.” Shifting aside bundles of twyre to tuck the food into your bag, as if you won't be tearing it open again as soon as you're outside.

“See that you do. I...be careful out there, Burakh.”

“You too, oynon.”

A fluid moment, blood pulled through the chambers of a heart, singing and open like the bare vein of Mother Boddho at the base of a tree. Pregnant with the promise of movement, the exposed unspoken, a restlessness that settles, itching, into the red of your marrow.

You wonder if Dankovsky would let you kiss him goodbye.

“Did you need something else, or are you just going to stand there hulking behind me while I work?”

The skin of tension splits, relief trickling out in a thin line.

“I'm going, I'm going, no need to force me out.”

“As if I could.” The formality of irritation over unmistakable affection.

You reach out and take his hand. Dankovsky watches warily, frowning as you peel back the edge of the clean black glove, but makes no move to stop you. The bare cradle of his palm still smells faintly of leather when you curve towards it, pressing your lips against the skin.

Dankovsky's eyes don't leave you even after you release him, fingers curling closed.

“Warmth,” he says softly, “yes, I see.”

[carlatsukinamistolemyhamsandwich]

Carla’s CL Route: A Shin Fan’s Thoughts and Feelings

I have such mixed feelings on this route but I’m going to try and relay them as articulately as I can. Obligatory warning, this post contains massive spoilers for CL (mainly Carla’s route but i’m going to mention some of the other routes too). Now without further ado:

Before I delve into any of the issues I had with this route, let’s start with what I liked. Firstly, I think it’s safe to say that Carla hands down deals with the situation the best after he gets his memories back compared to the other routes I’ve played (Shin’s, Shu’s and Laito’s) and I would be very surprised if any of the other characters are able to handle things as well as he did (although admittedly that’s partly because he’s just so much more powerful than everyone else). I did like that the writers were able to show off how capable he can be, while still bringing up stuff like how it isn’t good at cleaning or cooking.

I liked the plot point about Carla being able to live without Endzeit if they stayed in the miniature garden as I thought it was an interesting concept.

I found it very interesting that Subaru was the only other character to regain his memories in this route, especially given that Carla actually played a role in his LE route which wasn’t the case for any of the other Sakamaki brothers in LE. I can’t help but wonder if the writers have them as a brotp when considering that they were also paired together in the Versus IV CDs. Regardless, I did enjoy seeing their interactions in Carla’s CL route.

The scenes between Carla and Yui after Carla gets his memory back are great and I’m sure Carla fans will have a field day with them.

Now, lets move onto to the issues I personally have with this route.

Because Carla is shown to be so capable, I never really felt fearful for the characters. In contrast, in Shin, Shu and Laito’s routes they all had moments of genuine peril outside of the bad endings, which meant I felt really concerned and was drawn into the story. Carla’s route however, went something like this: Oh no, how are they going to deal with this unexpected development? Ah wait, he solved it in an instant, as expected of Carla I suppose. Oh no, how are they going to deal with this other unexpected situation? Ah no nevermind, he dealt with it right away again... and so on.

This might just be personal preference, but in my opinion if you really want people to get invested in a story, there needs to be some element of risk for the characters (even if you know there’s going to be a good ending). If you take that away, even though the fluffy bits with Carla and Yui were lovely, every time we got to one of the more plot-orientated parts of the story, I’d start to get invested only for there to be no pay off as there never really seemed to be much of a problem in the first place. This is why you have to be a bit careful when coming up with characters to make sure that they have some sort of weakness, otherwise the audience knows they’re going to be fine whatever.

Yes Carla is undoubtedly the strongest of the boys when Karl’s powers aren’t involved (and especially when Endzeit is removed from the picture) but I still feel like there should have been something. We came a little close with Shin getting close to being killed by the Scarlet family but Carla took care of it so easily that it just felt a bit... I don’t know, flat maybe?

And now onto my biggest bugbear of the route: how they handled things with Shin. 

First things first, I am fully aware that I am incredibly biased here and Carla fans, you may see no issues with this route at all and honestly, good on you, I’m glad you enjoyed it, but hopefully after the end of this post you’ll at least understand why I was a little upset.

Things started off really well on this front, I loved the scene where Carla starts to remember things, Shin cuts his arm and then says that seeing Carla kneeling in front of him makes him feel frustrated for some reason. I was pleased when Carla and Yui went to rescue Shin (and by extension Ruki) when they were being attacked by the Scarlet family and the angst when Carla and Yui saw Shin treating Ruki as his big brother. But it then just... went nowhere (well in the Euphoria ending anyway, I’ll get onto that Labyrinth ending later).

The writers threw in some token lines from Shin in chapter 15 sure, but did he get his memories back before they returned to the real world? No. Did we get any sort of scene between Shin and Carla after Shin had gotten his memories back? No. In the route to achieve the Euphoria ending could Shin have stopped existing from about chapter 12 onwards and it wouldn’t have changed anything? Honestly, yes. 

I genuinely don’t think this would have bothered me so much had it not been for two things: 1) how much of a big deal trying to return Carla’s memories was in Shin’s route (although I would never have really expected anything else) and 2) the fact that all of this Shin and Carla angst was dangled in front of my nose only for there to be no pay off whatsoever.

I know this route is meant to ultimately be about Carla and Yui, not Carla and Shin’s brotherly relationship but I can’t help but feel cheated that the little Carla and Shin content we did get never amounted to anything. There was no heated discussion/argument between the two of them, there was no exciting climax where Shin tried to kill Carla because he still had his fake memories. Hell, we didn’t even get a token scene at the end where the brothers finally both had their memories back; Shin was unconscious for the conversation with Socrates and then he never comes up again.

My main point here is that I don’t think it was a good decision to include all these bits about Shin being important to Carla and then to not do anything with it in the climax of the good ending.

I acknowledge that there was no big climax in Laito’s route with the triplets either but at the very least Kanato and Ayato got their memories back and made sure that Shu and Reiji didn’t kill Subaru while Laito and Yui were trying to find a way out of the miniature garden. Shin didn’t even do that much.

Now as for labyrinth ending, oh boy where do I even begin. Putting aside the fact that Shin getting infected with Endzeit is literally the one thing I never want to happen in the franchise, I wasn’t a fan of it at all. Part of my reason for not being a fan of this ending comes back to my point about Shin playing such a small role in the Euphoria ending version of chapter 15 that he could have been replaced by a mop and I don’t think anyone would have noticed. 

However my biggest issue is that we get no information on what’s actually happened to him in that ending.

For anyone unfamiliar with that ending, in the Labyrinth version of chapter 15 Shin tries to kill Yui before they reach the church (as he still hasn’t got his memories back) but Carla protects her and gets stabbed. Shin gets covered in Carla’s blood and because his wounds from earlier in the route haven’t healed yet, they suspect he’s gotten infect with Endzeit. As a result, Yui and Carla decide to stay in the miniature garden where time is effectively frozen rather than return to the real world and have Shin potentially die from Endzeit.

The actual ending is just Yui and Carla talking about whether they’ve made the right decision. They say Shin hasn’t shown any signs of Endzeit but did he get his memory back? Are they just keeping him locked in the dungeons so he doesn’t try to murder them both? Who knows.

I can’t help but feel that it was very unfair to have Shin used as a bad ending plot device and then cut him out of that ending too. 

Also I am calling complete bullshit on that line about Carla being able to suppress his symptoms. I get that Rejet are probably trying to hint to his DF ending where Yui’s blood is magically able to hold off Endzeit symptoms (which was retconed for LE but might be thing again now apparently?) but then why was there any hesitation from Yui over going back to the real world versus staying with Carla in the minature garden??? Like this makes no sense at all. Either Carla is dying from Endzeit or he isn’t, you can’t pick and choose within the route itself depending on what’s convenient.

Anyway I’m starting to rant which isn’t good, so I’ll bring an end to this post here. 

Do I think the route has its good points? Yes, absolutely, I think Carla fans who enjoy his softer side will have a great time playing it. Do I personally have some very specific problems with it which are likely related to the identity of my favorite character? Again, yes.

Anyway I’d be interested to know if anyone agrees with me or if I am just a Shin-obsessed mad woman. I’m going to go and listen to one of Shin’s drama CDs or something while I go and calm down. Hope you’re having a good day and thanks for reading :)

[unfriendlyamazon]

tagged in this thanks to @dominocity and i spend more time looking at my ao3 stats then i care to admit...

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

36 works on AO3, plus one on my super secret (not really) second AO3 so I don’t contaminate my fandoms.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

165,078

3. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Baby Dragon - jurassic park if it was a romcom

Liking You and Me - this one is one of the earliest kaijou fics i wrote (besides the one i deleted), and i don’t even know if i like it anymore... but i get frequent kudos and comments so i guess it’s good!

In Awe of Flowers - they don’t even kiss!!! also @jadenvargen drew me a comic in the comments and i never thanked him for it because i was too scared to talk to him and tagging him now so long after the fact seems pretty ridiculous but um thank you jay for real.

Sweater Weather - kaijou for when you had a bad day

A Hand to Hold - kaijou hand kink this one i am actively embarrassed of (also, before i saw the light on trans joey)

4. Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I try really hard to! If the fic is really old I don’t (i don’t know why i can’t explain it), but I really appreciate when people take the time to comment and I want them to know it.

5. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

I don’t... really have any?? I write plenty of angsty situations. Competitionverse (my duke/seto business business au) is probably the angstiest one and the one I have the worst plans for. I have some secret fanfic of 1930s gangster Joey that I’ve kind of put out in the world so maybe that?

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

Haaahaha what drew me back to fanfiction after not writing it for at least a decade was domestic portraits of kaijou so, like, that’s what I write. Probably Baby Dragon or In Awe of Flowers.

7. Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve written?

Not crossovers but I write... a lot of AUs and in fact did an entire compilation one year for NaNoWriMo I never finished. Most niche is the Black Tapes AU that yes I do have a full outline for including timelines for every characters and how they intersect with the grand conspiracy, and maybe the wildest is Long Way to a Small Angry Planet just for making Joey a feathered reptile alien.

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

I’ve gotten some comments over writing Duke as non-binary and kind of a weird one on my super secret FE3H fanfiction fighting me on a plot point??

9. Do you write smut? If so what kind?

I didn’t, but now I do. I don’t post 90% of what I write, which is maybe weirder?  It’s been really good to be pushed there by friends and develop that part of my writing, so maybe I’ll post more. Probably not tho. I feel like I’ve branded myself as the KaiJou hand kink person but I still don’t write it enough to be anyone’s go-to.

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

No?? I don’t think so???

11. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No but it’d be super cool.

12. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I guess not technically. Me and @saggiclowns bounce ideas off each other, write fanfiction for each other’s fanfiction, and have definitely developed things together, so maybe that counts? But our IP is individualized.

13. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

I have almost exclusively written KaiJou so you think that’d be the obvious answer. I think my actual all time favorite ship that sends me to the moon is probably Marceline/Bubblegum from Adventure Time (the history!!!! the animosity!!!!! the friendship!!!!!!!), I just... don’t want to read AT fanfiction.

14. What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

Hahahaaaaaaa. I am WIP queen!! Back in the day I’d start a hundred fanfics just to abandon them! The same’s true of today I just don’t post every thought that comes into my head. Star Trek AU deserves so much more of my attention and I do have a plan for it and I bought a special little Star Trek notebook to keep all my thoughts ideas and notes in and then when it comes to writing it I struggle.

15. What are your writing strengths?

Genuinely, to toot my own horn, I feel I write very naturalistic dialogue and for the longest time writing dialogue was the easiest thing in the world to me, to the point that sometimes I would skip over anything else. Also, gosh I love world building. I could go from a blank screen to a fully articulated society complete with maps, pantheons, and intricate histories for every location. The problem is then writing it.

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

I tend to get very stuck on things and struggle to skip over them. Last year’s NaNoWriMo was a testament to that, and I kept rewriting and getting frustrated and will inevitably end up trashing the whole thing. I pick up new ideas constantly and then discard them for the next thought in my head. It’s part of why I’ve only really let myself write one shots and short fic, but I do have some longer WIP I’d love to actually finish.

17. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

This is a tricky one and I’ve read and listened to a lot of people talk about how other non-fluent languages are presented in all kinds of different art. I personally don’t have a strong opinion. Best practice is to find someone who is fluent in that language to help you translate it (and there used to be whole blogs dedicated to helping people with this, I don’t know if they’re still around), but that doesn’t mean I’ve never jammed anything into a translator.

18. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

This... is interesting because the answer is YuGiOh. Back in my middle school days my friends were very into ygo and wrote silly like chat formatted fics that we posted on DeviantArt (???) that were just really bad and stupid and silly, and the only reason I even thought about ygo was because all my friends liked it. The first fandom I actually really got involved in was Teen Titans, and ATLA I was, like, a recognizable presence. I fell off extremely hard probably thanks to college and have spent most of my life focusing on original fiction and writing my own characters. Then my best friend sent me a piece of fanart that unlocked my childhood memories, and here we are now, in the only fandom.

19. What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

I wrote Bite Hard and it might be one of the best things I’ve written... and now I’ve kind of repurposed it into an original fiction??? I think the main characters might always be buddies no matter how much I’ve manipulated them, but it’s kind of spun off into it’s own thing? That’s what fanfiction’s for! Experimentation, playing with ideas, having a sandbox to build in! And then I EL James it and make millions! (jk)

@saggiclowns doesn’t post to AO3 that much, and i don’t know if @danieco even has an AO3 but they are extremely good writers!! also if you write fic, please share your own!

[dreaming-about-fanfictions]

Laughing and Knitting - Jim Kirk (AOS) x Plussize!Reader

Summary: You have the biggest crush on Jim but he doesn’t seem to feel the same. After years of having no contact, you see him again.

Request by: @morganofthecoves1 “Hello! Would it be possible for you to do a Kirk (aos) X plus size reader??? If so could you do like a super fluffy image/one shot where Jim and the reader went to the academy together and sat next to each other in one of their classes. They became fast friends, Jim acting like a dork around the reader, always hugging her and telling jokes to make her laugh. Maybe they don't see each other for a long time and then the reader starts to work on the Enterprise. Anything really. Thanks” --> I hope you like it! Enjoy <3

A/N: I forgot how much I love writing Star Trek imagines! This was so much fun!

Words: 2853 Pairing: Jim Kirk (AOS) x plussize!Reader Warnings: fluff fluff fluff and some insecurities

„James Tiberius Kirk, late as always.”

You looked up from your notes when the seminar got so suddenly interrupted. Your professor leaned against his table, arms crossed, a disappointed – yet not surprised – look in his eyes as he stared at Kirk who had just tried to sneak into the room.

Your classmates gave each other amused looks, some chuckled. This happened at least twice a week.

The blonde cadet let go of the door handle and slipped into the room. “Would you believe me if I told you –“

“No,” the professor interrupted him. “No, I would not. Now sit down. There are some people left in this class who take their education seriously. Even though you are sadly not one of them.”

“I’m very serious about my education, Professor,” Kirk replied with his usual smile on his lips and walked towards one of his friends who was sitting in the first row and looked just as disappointed at him than the professor did. Was it Coy? McCoy? You were sure that you had spoken to the man before but couldn’t quite remember his name. “Otherwise I wouldn’t have skipped my morning shower and my breakfast to get to your class, right?”

Some people laughed, you rolled your eyes. It was almost a miracle that Kirk was still allowed to attend Starfleet Academy.

“In that case you can stay right there,” the professor simply replied. “No shower equals no place in the first row,”

Right there meant your row, you realized when Jim turned towards you – and even worse, it meant next to you. Oh god.

James or how his friends called him, Jim, Kirk started attending Starfleet Academy the same year you did. You had noticed him already on the first evening when he boasted to everyone who would listen that he would be Captain of a Starship in only three years. Granted, this happened after five beers in a student bar in downtown San Francisco. Nevertheless, the arrogance of this guy made you hate him. There were other people, people like you, who had studied hard to get into this program and someone like him just showed up and got accepted? It made you furious. 

Those feelings didn’t last very long however. In fact, the anger turned into a full-size crush pretty soon. After a few weeks you got to see his other side – his funny, charming, always-a-smile-on-his-lips side. He still annoyed the shit out of you, don’t be mistaken, yet you couldn’t help but laugh when he cracked another one of his jokes in class.

Kirk was fully aware of his effect on women. At least, it always seemed that way. So his reputation was quickly established. He flirted shamelessly, changing his girlfriends faster than his underwear. It was one reason why you never acted on your feelings and preferred to watch him from afar, being content with your daydreams staying daydreams. The other reason was your fear of rejection. Kirk would never go for a woman like you. Not because of your looks – your rolls and curves weren’t making you less attractive. Quite the opposite actually, you knew how to flaunt them. Feeling comfortable in your body was something you had worked hard for and one man’s opinion wasn’t going to destroy that. No, the women he dated or even just hooked up with were … fierce. They were exciting and knew what they wanted. You couldn’t keep up with that and were convinced that men like Jim Kirk didn’t notice you. You simply flew under their radar.

“May I sit here?”

You flinched and nearly dropped your pen at the sound of his voice. “Yeah, sure.”

Kirk didn’t move. After two seconds passed you looked up at him, a confused look on your face. He furrowed his brows when you didn’t react and the confusion grew. Then he finally bent down, grabbing your jacket that was still on the chair next to you and handed it to you.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” Your face grew hot and you quickly tucked the jacked away in your backpack.

“Don’t worry,” he sounded friendly and you were sure he was smiling again. However, you were still embarrassed and kept your gaze focused on the presentation the professor presented to the class. “I’m Jim,” he continued.

“I know,” you mumbled and instantly regretted it. Why was your brain not able to come up with proper responses?!

Jim chuckled. “Of course you do. My name just got announced to everyone.”

Sure, that was the reason.

You cleared your throat and finally turned your head. Leaning against the back of the chair, legs spread out, he seemed more than comfortable. He looked directly at you as if he was waiting for you to say something. “I’m Y/N,” you finally introduced yourself.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N,” Jim held out his hand with a big grin.

You let out a nervous breath of air, concealing it with a soft chuckle, before you shook it. “Nice to meet you, Jim.”

 ***

 Two days later …

It was raining like someone was emptying buckets outside. You sprinted the whole way from your dorm to your classroom and practically fell into your chair, completely out of breath and soaking wet.

“Rough morning?”

To your surprise, Jim was already sitting next to you. You looked at your watch. Were you late? No. “You’re early,” you stated.

He shrugged. “I’m always one for surprises.”

“Did you miss your shower again?” You asked when you got out of your jacket. 

“What?”

“No shower equals no place in the first row,” you quoted your professors and used the sleeve of your pullover to wipe away the raindrops from your face.

“Oh!” Jim exclaimed and laughed. “No, no. I just like the view I have from here.” He winked at you.

You blushed and quickly bent down to rummage through your backpack so he wouldn’t notice it. The last time he sat next to you, the two of you hardly spoke. You were too nervous and didn’t know what to say. He occasionally commented on the lecture and caused you to laugh at the most impossible times but nothing more happened. You thought that was it. Your one chance to talk to him, to act on your crush and you were too shy to do so.

Apparently that was not it.

“Your scarf is great.”

“What?” You looked up at him, thinking you misheard.

Jim pointed at your neck. “Your scarf. Did you make it?”

“Oh,” you felt your cheeks growing hot again not sure if he was joking or not. You had knitted the scarf last year when you visited your parents home and were quite proud of it. “Yes, actually. I sometimes … make things.” You made things? Damn, your ability to articulate yourself was on point today. 

“It looks great, seriously.”

“Thanks,” you smiled softly. 

Then the door opened and your professor strutted in, a cup of coffee in his hands. “Good morning everyone!”

 ***

 Two weeks later …

“What’s that?” Jim asked when he sat down, curiously eyeing the package on his table.

You shrugged, playing dumb. “Who knows. Open it and see for yourself.”

You barely finished your sentence when he ripped it open. “No way!” He exclaimed so loudly that two students in front of you flinched. “That’s so cool!”

You smiled widely as you watched him pull out the scarf. It looked similar to yours, except for the darker color.

“You made that?” He asked you and put it on immediately.

You nodded, feeling flattered.

“Thank you!” It sounded so sincere and he looked so happy, you were taken a little aback by it. All of a sudden, he leaned in and pulled you into a tight hug. “No one ever made anything for me.”

 ***

 From this point on, the friendship between the two of you developed quickly. Soon you sat together in almost every class. You met up for lunch and study sessions. He crashed on the floor in your dorm more than once when was locked out of his room again and even had dinner with your parents when they came to visit you once.

Of course, nothing more happened. As you had suspected – men like Jim Kirk didn’t go for women like you. He never made a move, never gave you any clue that he was interested in you. So you didn’t say anything either. You stayed quiet, enjoying his company and his stories that never failed to make you laugh. The feelings didn’t go away, no. If anything, they grew stronger with every day you saw him and he pulled you into a tight hug. Jim was extremely touchy – hugs, grabbing your arms, touching your hair, it was all a normal part of being his friend. You didn’t mind though. Quite the contrary.

Your friends declared you crazy after a few months. “How do you put up with this?” or “Do you enjoy suffering?” or “Doesn’t it make you feel miserable?” were common questions. You didn’t have answers to any of them. Being around Jim never made you feel miserable. Of course, you sometimes wished you were brave enough to ask him out, to make a move. You dreamed about him realizing that you were more than just a friend to him and confessing his love to you.

It never happened though and you respected it. So you kept quiet and enjoyed the friendship between the two of you. If this was all he could offer you then you gladly took it.

 ***

 Three years later …

It was your first day on the Enterprise. You walked into your room, tired, exhausted, happier than ever. You still couldn’t believe it. When you received the call and they told you that you’ve been accepted, you were convinced it was a prank call. It wasn’t. Starfleet wanted you to transfer to the Enterprise, the most prestigious ship in the entire fleet. It was by far your proudest moment in your career.

After you changed out of your uniform and into something more comfortable, you fell onto your bed, sinking into the soft pillows. As you let the day pass by in your mind once more, you smiled. The crew had been great, welcoming you with open arms. You already loved your job and were excited to officially start the next day.

Would he you see him tomorrow? The thought crossed your mind all of a sudden and you opened your eyes, staring at the ceiling. You knew he was the Captain of the ship. Everyone knew. After all, he was the first one to become Captain in only three years. Oh, how loudly you had laughed when you heard about it in the news. No one believed him on his first day and he did it anyways.

However, Jim and you had fallen out of contact shortly after that faithful day when the Romulans attacked Vulcan. He got promoted quickly afterwards and his life turned into this adventure you didn’t seem to have a place in it. It hurt. Even now, you flinched when you thought about it.

You sat up when you suddenly heard two short knocks on the door. “Come in,” you called out and got up from the bed.

When the door opened, your heart skipped a beat.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you.” There he was. Captain James T. Kirk in the flesh, wearing his golden Starfleet uniform, his hands crossed behind his back, his signature smirk on his lips.

“Jim!” You exclaimed before remembering who he was and quickly clearing your throat. “I mean … Captain.” He looked like the Jim Kirk you knew but at the same time he didn’t. Something about him had changed. He seemed more sure of himself, his composure, the way he spoke – he had matured. It was an almost scary sight.

Jim rolled his eyes. “Please, I’m still Jim to you.” Stepping towards you he continued: “I knew, I recognized that name when Spock told me about our new crew members. It’s so good to see you again, Y/N!” He opened his arms but then paused for a moment. “May I hug you?”

You stared at him. “Yes, yes, of course, Jim!” You finally replied and walked towards him.

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a tight hug. You breathed in his familiar scent and closed your eyes. It had been so long. Too long. “I missed you,” you mumbled into his shoulder.

“Same here,” he whispered.

You laughed. “Yeah, right.”

Jim pulled back at your reaction. “You don’t believe me?” He asked, his brows furrowed.

“I don’t know,” you shrugged. “You’ve been so busy I don’t think you had time to miss me that much. At least it seemed that way since you never called or anything.”

He lowered his gaze, a painful look on his face. “I’m sorry, Y/N,” his apology sounded sincere. It wasn’t good enough for you though. “I really am. I meant to call but …”

“Then why didn’t you?”, you interrupted Jim, trying not to sound too heartbroken about it which seemed almost impossible. “I tried to reach you but you never replied.”

“I know,” he sighed. “Honestly I thought it was the perfect opportunity to get some space.”

Ouch. That hurt even more. Space? Why did he need space? Had your friendship been more one-sided than you realized? “Space?” You asked. “What do you mean?”

Finally, he looked at you. He raised his eyebrows as if he didn’t believe what you just said. “Oh, come on, Y/N. As if you don’t know what I mean.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about?!” You shook your head, growing more and more annoyed by the second.

Jim scoffed before blurting out: “I had the biggest possible crush on you from the day I sat down next to you in class!”

The words felt like a punch in the gut. They left you breathless and your brain wasn’t able to understand the true meaning behind them for a few seconds. “What?! You … what?” You stammered.

“Yeah! I was so in love with you!”, Jim repeated himself and grabbed your hands, holding them tightly. “As if you didn’t notice. Leonard – Dr. McCoy – he still makes fun of my behavior back then. I was hopelessly in love with you.” He let out a short laugh when he thought back.

No words came from your mouth. You were speechless. Confused you looked back and forth between his face and your hand that was resting in his.

Jim watched you. And then – it dawned on him. “Wait, you really didn’t know?”

You just stared at him.

“Oh.” Something happened that you never thought possible: Jim Kirk blushed. “Well, this is embarrassing.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” You asked softly. All of this felt like a dream. Working on the Enterprise, Jim Kirk confessing his feelings for after so many years – you expected to wake up any second now.

Jim shrugged. “You didn’t seem interested. And I didn’t want to ruin our friendship.”

“You’re such an idiot.”

“What?”

A big grin suddenly appeared on your face and before you knew it, you started laughing. “Oh, Jim,” you managed to get out, grabbing your waist while giggling like a schoolgirl. “We’re both such idiots.”

Jim looked at you confusedly. Had you lost your mind completely now? Then he started to realize. Oh no. “Wait…”

You raised an eyebrow, still grinning like an idiot.

“Please, don’t tell me you felt the same,” Jim groaned.

You nodded and the both of you started laughing again.

“Unbelievable…”, Jim exclaimed after a few seconds. “Why didn’t you say anything?!”

It was your turn to shrug this time. “I don’t know. Same reason, I guess. I thought you weren’t interested and didn’t want to ruin what we had.”

Jim let out a long sigh. “I don’t believe it. How did we miss that?!”

“I have no idea,” you mumbled. “We wasted so much time.”

For a while no one said a word. It was just you and him, standing in the middle of your room, holding hands, looking at each other. It seemed too good to be true and you never wanted this moment to end.

“Do you still feel the same?” Jim finally asked, his voice barely a whisper.

“Do you?”

He didn’t reply, instead his gaze wandered down to your lips. “May I …?”

“Yes,” you whispered, a shudder running down your spine. “You may.”

Jim Kirk leaned forwards, gently cupping your cheek with his hand, as his lips locked with yours – and in that moment, everything you ever wanted became true. The kiss was soft and slow, loving and longing. You never wanted it to end.

When it did end, you sighed.

Jim smiled at you. “I still have the scarf, you know.”

You chuckled. “Oh, really? Well, I can make you a new one now. I’m much better at knitting now.

“No,” he shook his head. “I want to keep it. You made it for me.”

***

My Star Trek Masterlist

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[thejustmaiden]

Why do you think Sunrise did that event in with Sesshomaru and Rin's VAs mirroring InuKag? They have already done that CD Drama, do you think they did that to give hope to the shippers? What if after so many hints, if they reveal in the anime that Sessrin isn't canon, aren't the shippers gonna be disapointed? This may be a dumb question and your answers are always smart and well-articulated, but i seriously don't understand their marketing strategy, do you care to explain for me?

Oh, hey there! I appreciate all the love you've been leaving on my blogs lately. I really hope I'm able to give you an answer you're satisfied with. Sorry it took some time to get back to you. I hope this makes up for it. 🙏

I'm not gonna lie, I'm up and down about how I feel about that livestream and what it means for the future of this ship. My brain has been on roller coaster mode since basically the moment the sequel was announced. We're in the home stretch now, and we better get the answers WE WANT the second that sequel comes out. Since it's evidently not going to happen anytime sooner- welp!

Before the livestream aired, I really thought us fans were on the verge of discovering the mom and that it was going to be Rin. We still had hope she wasn't, but at the same time most of us antis were "bracing for impact." lol

Then nothing happened.

We were pretty shocked but obviously relieved. The days before it came out, I was telling others (as well as myself lol) that just because Sesshomaru and Rin's VAs had a livestream together doesn't confirm anything. Besides, why does that have to automatically mean that both pairings need to be romantic? We all know how integral these characters are/were to each other's storylines, so these pairings make the most logical sense, wouldn't you say?

In the previous livestream with the voice actors who play Inuyasha and Kagome, they discuss the new character Moroha and introduce her as Inuyasha AND Kagome's daughter. Now let's compare that to the other livestream with Sesshomaru and Rin's VAs. When they described Towa and Setsuna, they did so as Sesshomaru's daughters NOT Sesshomaru and Rin's daughters. That to me is the most telling piece of evidence.

Like how could they not use that prime opportunity to tell us Rin's the mom when her voice actor was literally sitting right there??! We were all expecting it and they still insisted on giving us nothing! What this tells me is that it's possible this mom is a new character, and it even appears she is quite pivotal to the new series. I keep changing my opinion on that part though to be honest with you, because sometimes I think she won't be important at all in the grand scheme of things. (See what I mean about being up and down? lol) Idk about you, but it seems to me like we haven't even met her character. If it was Rin, why keep it a mystery? It's not like Sessrin's popularity is exactly a secret in this fandom. Why wait until the big reveal if it's "so obvious" in the first place? How does Sunrise benefit from hiding this information?

If it does end up being Rin, it would've been better to just come out and say it. If this ain't just pure fanbait like some of us still hope it is, why hold back? Give 'em what they want already and let us antis be at peace. If they hope to think that I'll change my mind and give this sequel a go just because I've waited this long so might as well, they're sorely mistaken. If anything, I'm going to be pissed they kept us in the dark this long when they could've just saved us all the trouble. I imagine that goes for a lot of us, shippers and antis alike. Whatever way you look at it, I won't be invested in this sequel if Sessrin goes canon- period. I cannot and will not be on board with a series that promotes such a harmful and insulting dynamic.

Which brings us to Sunrise's marketing strategy. Well, I definitely think they have been catering to the fans of this ship for quite some time now. Because, ya know, money. Whether that's because they plan to make this ship canon or not remains to be seen. "Show meee the moneeeeyyyy!" *yells in Jerry Maguire*

There was first the drama cd and more recently that calendar which included art of adult!Rin with Sesshomaru, but neither of those are canon first off. Also, does anyone know if it was actually confirmed to be pro-Sessrin fan art? I mean, I know it doesn't look very good when the artist who made it is a Sessrin shipper and certain fans are fawning over their OTP, but that doesn't necessarily mean the calender automatically is either last I checked. I wonder why it can't simply be Rin as an adult visiting with Sesshomaru. I believe in one picture she's seen giving him a flower, much like little Rin would've done, or just as any child does for a loved one. So if Rin is still bringing him flowers as an adult, I would assume that means their relationship dynamic hasn't changed at all. That's what's supposed to happen, too! If an adult's relationship was established with another person while they were just a child, then that adult will always view them as a child no matter what and vice versa. Even when those children become grown-ups, that won't change. That's just how things are, or how they're supposed to be rather. In other words, a normal healthy adult-child bond does not resemble one like Sessrin.

Both Sessrin fans and antis agree there haven't been any romantic implications between Sesshomaru and Rin in the original series. That's why I can't understand for the life of me why we're even having this discussion. Alas, here we are. This is what happens when society has conditioned us to believe that the only proper (aka "best") way an adult male and a young female's closeness can evolve is with romance. So maybe it's not obvious at first (because that would be illegal), but we should EXPECT their relationship to shift in that direction. Why, you ask? Well, simply because sexualizing young girls is the norm so why not, right? No clues or foreshadowing required! Because like I just said, that would be illegal. Fiction has loopholes for this kinda stuff, so problem solved?

Nope! Aging her up counts too, folks! When you look at a girl character and the first thing you think is, "I can't wait till she grows up so she can f*ck" then, yeah, you're a part of the problem. You may not realize it, but you are. That's not to say you're a bad person or that it's even your fault, just saying that there are times in all of our lives where we start to question some of our beliefs. If you not only support but desire the idea of a romance eventually forming between a grown man- yes, 19 is an adult- and a young girl, then you should probably ask yourself why that may be and re-evaluate. Please stop using cultural differences and history that dates back almost a thousand years to justify this so-called tradition.

"You all shouldn't think too deeply about this, it's just fiction! Ugh, you're ruining the fun! Antis should all just shut up! Only we can have problems, but when you do it's just complaining!"

Right....

And by the way, most of us are not even complaining. We're being critical of the content we're watching. Criticism isn't always pretty unfortunately.

If Sunrise and Rumiko do decide to go through with this, then I will disappointed, sure, but not surprised. Romanticizing these sexualized images of young or pre-pubescent girls has been happening for far too long, after all. We've become desensitized to it sadly enough, especially when the media continues to glorify it. I wish we'd realize how many young girls- or minors in general- we're putting in danger by sending messages such as this.

To you young teenage girls and even boys reading this, you may not fully understand right now, but it's never okay for anyone to tell you that your body being sexualized is a natural and beautiful thing. It's going through through a lot changes at your age, yes, but they should never use your curiosity to satisfy their sexual needs. Don't allow some of these stories to be an example of what is acceptable to occur in your own life if you were ever to encounter a similar situation, especially if fiction is all that you have to compare it to. It is not in any way, shape, or form okay for an adult to say or do sexual/romantic things to you. Even a conversation that may seem harmless at first could have dire consequences. No, not even if you trust them and they're one of your favorite people in this world are these things ever appropriate. What they're asking from you or showing you is dangerous, and even if it doesn't seem like it they are very likely taking advantage of you. If you're ever unsure about something, don't hesitate to come to me. Or maybe you have a loved one that you can go to, that works too. 😊

Idk if I even gave you a definite answer, but perhaps it's because I'm still figuring it out myself. If I ever do, ha! I hope by allowing you to get inside my head for a little bit you got a better idea. Or maybe not, and I just made it more confusing for you. Oops! lol Feel free to hit me up again, dear, and have a nice day/night!! 👋

[diotm]

[behind] - to fuck my muse from behind ndoul an dio

DRABBLE SMUT STARTERS & SYMBOLS // No Longer Accepting

Tadow  (music) + Drabble 

Warning: Explicit NSFW + DIO/N’DOUL PLEASE DO NOT READ IF YOU DO NOT LIKE HARD NSFW.

DIO laid comfortable in his mattress with a canopy and embroidered headboard, drenched in beautiful red & gold silk sheets, mind directed to his book that rested against bent legs, flicking the folios effortlessly with his index. A low hum was vibrating in his cords as he actively began plotting out different ways his plans could go either right or wrong. The second option is something he demanded wouldn't occur on his time, though, he couldn't say much more than that since the group was starting to creep up to Egypt's doormat. DIO currently was wearing that skin-tight black tank with his usual bright pattern pants, feet uncovered, locks over-grown from not having a cut in awhile. Framing ivory features as some hair rested on his massive deltoids. A couple of candles flickered his lonesome chamber, only having a lamp that's snuggled next to this bed as his significant support of light during this hour. The atmosphere held a chill sting to it, but the aura decorated in warmth. Not so warmer as if a friendly welcoming, but more inviting or approachable. It had to be for the woman he falsely endeared in his chambers -- though this was something he could alter within moments depending on his mood -- & luckily, he was in a handsome mood.

 Mind tucked away in his books until he heard upon sensitive ears a familiar cane tapping away within the halls. First, it started at the bottom of the stairs following lines of rooms prior to his then came closer & closer -- soft words articulated from behind the door as he requested to enter his domain. It was no hesitation for DIO to let the man access, a simple -- "come. " was all he responded. The heavy door raked across the wooden floor, the warmth of the room swooshing with the halls as the Egyptian took a step in. Blank canvases leered downward toward the floor, looking up only when prompted -- though, it didn't matter much if he looked or not, since the other's doors were closed continuously, yet his different senses flourished. Out of all his stand users that occupied this mansion, N’Doul User of Geb was by far the most exciting & compelling, and this DIO knew to be accurate, as he watched all of those who placed their loyalty under him. Testing their strength & questioning their faith toward him more than once. As the man approached his cane sprawled in front of him, Tapping away until it collided with DIO’s bed’s leg, at that moment, he knew to kneel in the presence of his LORD. 

“What is it, N’Doul --??” DIO inquired, shutting the book as gently put to the side of him, pushing up & twisting himself off the bed, so his legs touched the floor, crossing one over the other. Amber ivories were dancing in question as to what his minion needed from him. N’Doul dressed in his original garments, a beautiful colour palette in DIO’s opinion, though a bit to dry for his taste, but it compliments his sun-weathered skin. Attracting appearance the dessert stand held -- it piqued DIO’s interest. However, his stand is where most of his appreciation came from, N’Doul was robust, intelligent & spontaneous when it came to combat with others, typically staying at a far distance away from the actual brawl, fascinating he was. “ Lord Dio, I have news regarding the Joestars.” N’doul started, left forearm resting idly on his tawny-coloured pants, as his other hand gripped his standing staff, raven tresses covering his features. Golden looped earrings were swaying as he spoke. “ Didn’t you already come to speak to me regarding this -- ??” Remarked DIO, a brow creasing as a smirk tugged on his lips ( did the other just wish to bask in his presence? ) He wondered. “ Yes, My lord ... I only wish to discuss other possibles if they were to breach earlier than expected.” He conversed, keeping his gaze low as he awaited the other’s response. “ I see, thank you. You can stand.” The blond retorted, standing up himself as he placed a hand upon his hip, weight shifting into his right, long digits stroking through his locks. “Stand.” He once again spoke as watched with delight as the other followed his command. Darkened hands now placed on top of his cane, eyes now looking forward but not in the direct gaze of his lords.  

It only took a step before DIO was towering over him, his shadow casting over the little light that caressed N’Doul’s features, the hand that cupped his hip, soon to begin gingerly stroking N’Doul chin with his thumb, strokes were long to short as he tilted the chin up.  Optics staring into his white ones, an urge that often slithered up on DIO was apparent as lust brimming his body. Core filling up with sexual arousal as did his thought dancing with the fantasies he held stored in his memory, mused continuously by the other. There was silence for quite a while before the unseeing spoke, under a hushed voice. “ Is there an issue? My lord..?” He sought out, blinking on a few times as his expression stayed still. “ No issue, N’Doul ... I do have to ask, though.” He paused. “ Do you want to lay with me -- ??” Words tinged with clear desire as too what he meant. “ My lord.. if that is what you wish. “ He complied, but this causes DIO to furrows his brow. “ my wish? I’m asking you -- as I do want to taste you, to feel you, I want you.” His typical desires were fully aroused on his need of erotic gratification, although -- This stand user brought a sensation he was not familiar to him. DIO moves his face closer to his, chilling breath landing upon those lips that radiated heat. “ Tell me, N’Doul.” again he speaks, awaiting on approval to happily please him. A flush was present on his skin as the temperature becomes to invade his expression. “ I do My lord; I would like nothing more than to feel you.. to please you, in any way I can.” He admitted the tip of his tongue peeking through parted lips. “Mhm... you are something that I’ve desired for quite some time.” Within seconds, DIO pushes his yearning lips against the others, hand sliding on his chest as he eagerly ripped the drape that covered his frame, throwing it to the side with ease. 

N’Doul’s head pushed back lightly, but he pushes against DIO’S, using his strength in the mix as both their saliva mingle with each other. Diminutive gasp released through DIO’s typical primal behaviour when it came to sexual intimacy, intense & relentless if the other can’t keep up with his speed. The heat started to rise in the room as the kissing started to escalate. N’Doul’s palms reached forward, gilding them up & around the others godly physique, feeling his abs, to the impressive tones of his muscles since he can’t see him -- to feel him was the only way he was able to imagine what his saviour looked. Both their tongues danced together in the heated cavern of their mouths, saliva dribbling out the corner of the kissed, rhythmical moans releasing. DIO hands roamed the other's body, exploring the untamed sands, picking at his clothes eager to reveal his sun-touched skin, to taste him in all ways than one.. he wanted him & he was going to get him. As both their hands started to get to know their partner, DIO quickly broke off the kiss, pulling away as a trail of their making connected their lips. A lustful breath exerts out of DIO’s lungs, orbs increasingly excited toward his breathless (meal). “ Come here.” He speaks, grabbing the wrist of the other gently as he lured them both to his sheets, shallow breathes are all that echoed in the room as tried to grasp the little air he had in his lungs. DIO pushes him onto the edge of the bed, again reaching for both his wrist to place both middles of his palm on his ass and squeezing on top of N’Douls to do what he pleased with him. A snicker parted hungry lips as he pulled his shirt from under his waistband & up and over his head. Laterals & abs were stretching as he completed this action, a broad build expanding -- revealing the work he’d placed into a body that stopped in time months back. Every surface of his muscles working as his hand placement behind the desert’s head, inciting to place warm lips against his torso. N’Doul exultantly did the action, soft brushes against his abs, turned into kissing as his palms gratifying squeezed his ass, pushing his body more into him with each second. A contentful hum leapt in his chest -- unable to explain how he got the position he was currently in, and he was not complaining in the slightest.  

DIO let his digits play around raven-tresses, massaging then pulling at them. A ferocious growl rumbling in his mouth as the warm kisses gave a tingle upon his chilled surface, loving the sensations of warmth that he forfeited centuries ago. This was the only way he was able to retrieve such a pointless act. But if it was unnecessary, why was he so addicted to it? Why was he so addicted to a human sin that he tossed away? What was it? Peering through lidded lashes toward the man he was going to ravish, admiring him. The texture of the skin, the heat he radiated, the visage of such a dignified man. He was drawn to him, sexually? Intellectually? Perhaps many things compelled him.

Releasing his hands in the others mans hair, he took N’Doul palms away from his rear & away from loving his abdomen. Instead, he directed the hands of the other above his head, pinning them with just one of his hands. “ Keep them there,” he ordered, freeing smaller wrist. He directed his attention toward undressing him. DIO didn’t take off the vest he wore but simply tore the shirt he was wearing down the middle, lowering himself to his knees to the floor, hovering over the male -- removing the cloth that blocked his ability to please him. Grand palms cup his upper body on the sides as they slide down, thumb affectionately stroking his skin, gripping him at the waist as he began to leave his pecks on his flesh. He was staring in the middle of his chest cavity, moving down his chest down to his happy trail, lips pulling teasing at the hairs until they disappeared behind his waistline. As he continued to go up & down the other's chest, his nails started to leave visible lines as he dragged & clutched the others side. A wet tongue was circling the others nipple, flicking it. His right hand slithered down to cup his erected bulge, stroking it outside of his pants as his tongue freely sucked at his nipple. Loving the reaction he was getting. N’Doul’s body begun to high-strung as louder moans left his gaped mouth, Blank canvases party open as he gazed down toward where he was feeling the other touch him. His throbbing cock pulsing into a pallid hand, hips are pushing upward in sudden drives as he couldn't help but move his arms that held above his head to entwine themselves in golden locks, clutching a handful as his heartbeat rammed against his rib cage. 

DIO was enamored by others body, built & fit, yet soft under his touch -- it excited him behind words could explain. Typically, DIO would have snapped at the other disobeying his order of arm placements, but he was content in pleasing him and enjoying his hair played with. Ears ringing with delight as his moans bounced off his walls. “ f.. fuck .. “ N’Doul sang through shaky breaths, the activity of the hands of the other stroking his cock was just too much. “ Mhm~ talk to me, N’Doul~” DIO crooned, pulling away from his chest to rise & place kisses against the sweaty features, hand still playing with him. “I’m going to make you scream my name~” He purred, again changing his placement as he pushed up, shadow engulfing the man below. Digits curl under the man's waistline, pulling it down and below his knees along with his briefs, exposing his delicious cock (decent in size & girth) that throbbed between his legs, brightly erected & flush. DIO bit his lower lip into complete awe, a sinful amount of thoughts screaming into his mind as he watched him panting. Lowering him, so his heels touched the back of his thighs, he placed himself comfortable again between his legs, spreading them more away from each other. Cold digits wrap around his shaft as he started to pump it up & down, strokes generously switching between slow and fast, keeping a keen eye on his lover's reactions. N’Doul’s body shuddered with delight as his mouth opened, even more, abdomen testing with each stroke. “ M-my.. lord.. please..” He begged, tossing his head back & forth, breathes unsteady. “ hm? what?” DIO teasingly replied, resting his thumb on his tip, moving over his cock he let a good amount of saliva drenched his fingers along with his cock, another muffled moan escaping him as DIO began rubbing up and down his urethra opening. Seeing how he was pleasuring the other he started flicking his wet organ over his head, circling around his cock, hand still stroking him as he did this action. Sticking his tongue in the others opening before he commenced placing his cock into his mouth, just the tip as each second passed more of N’Doul’s organ begun entering this mouth, making sure to continue his circle motions around his dick. The taste of others was overwhelming, The sweat his body produced as DIO continued to suck him off, squeezing at the base of his cock, his mouth now bopping up & down, making sure to wet his cock. Slurping & licking up his mess he was creating with his mouth. “ Nng--!! ah..h..mhm..” Moans and moans were what DIO lived for, knowing he was pleasing him was all that he wanted. To see that handsome expression twist into utter pleasure was what he was living for at this moment. His suction was immaculate on N’Doul, even under him squirming from sheer pleasure that brewed in his stomach he didn’t ease upon him. DIO didn’t want him to cum, but he wanted to build him up to that level. N’Doul’s thighs begun to shiver as hands gripped onto his sheets, eyes shut as his back arched up than dropped. Dio continued his process until he knew the other was reaching so he stopped, snapping his mouth off his cock, a trail of pre-cum bridge from his tip to his lips. “ Not yet.” Voice stern yet soft toward him -- The others body was in near shock as the pleasure that built him up started to vanish, but the feeling was not torn from memory. DIO Stood up, licking in & around his fingers, serpent-like tongue riding around his lips. “ We’re not done.” Again he spoke, voice vibrating the walls. N’Doul didn’t have any time to react as DIO roughly grabbed him from the waist, pulling up & turning him around so his rear faced upward with such ease it could be embarrassing so N’Doul wasn’t light, but to him, it was a like a rag-doll. Having N’Doul placed on his stomach he snaked one of his arms under his hips, pushing his exposed ass in the air & pulling off his bottom garment completely off & tossing it to the side. “ Move your body up.” He ordered, N’Doul knowing he was on a bed still manoeuvred his hands out to feel around him until DIO ordered him to stop, he was now in the middle of the bed. The vampire sprang to unbuckle his pants, revealing his own throbbing cock, standing high as he crawled himself on the bed, comfortable behind him in a doggy position. Though, the others vest was starting to urk him, so he ripped it from the back along with his shirt (he won’t be wearing those again) as he seemingly removed them. A sun-weathered back bared to him, his cock hung as it twitched, excited this experience wasn’t done. “ Mhm, yum N’Doul~” He sang, hovering over the man to place kisses upon his tender neck, allowing his tongue to ride up to his ear lobe, pulling & nipping at it. His hands massaging the others back, feeling the muscles under his skin was delightful. God, he wanted to tear him up. Nails digging into those delicious hips. Kissing him enough he trailed his lips in the dip of his back, feeling the goosebumps that rose to greet his lips -- Dio got to his hips finally, pulling away & pulling apart his ass cheeks, displaying DIO’s destination-- it was not long before again his wet tongue became familiarized with more parts of him -- licking him up to give a moist entrance for him. Tongue forcing its way into his tight hole, while doing this screams of pleasure were released, N’Doul’s chest meeting the sheets as fingers helplessly twist the silk within dark digits, saliva making it’s home on his chin. As DIO defiled his hole, he retracted -- licking up N’Doul’s taste into his mouth, wanting to lick his fingers & finger him as right now he wouldn’t be able to handle DIO’s size ... but that would result in blood more than it would pleasure, due to sharpness of his nails. His cock alone will be unbearable against his experience. Observing the saliva dripped onto his balls was fulfilling. “ We’re starting.” He warned, spitting onto his cock some more and stroking it as he watched the others limbs trembling, his own moans leaving his lips -- but he was ready. Pushing off his legs he adjusted his tip directly in front of his opening, thrusting his hips in the slightest as he watched the hole extend then close as he continued his motion. Though, a simple motion it was causing the others lower half to tense, which made it difficult. “ Relax -- “ He responded to his lover. “ I . .cant, it’s too big.. My lord..” he returned but took a deep breath in as DIO took this to his advantage. A devilish smirk pulled both sides of his lips. having his tip pushed in enough his hand's grip his stand users hips & aggressively THRUSTING into him, with no warning. A loud moan erupts both their mouths, N’Doul more so pleasure & pain, arms trembled as his mouth stayed in an opening manner but nothing came out, tears filling in the corners of his eyes as DIO pushed his body into the mattress, his arch was also very impressive. Nails tearing into his tender flesh, delicate lines of blood dripped from his hips unto his sheets. They both stood still as it was overwhelming for them both. The pleasure was out of his room as DIO could feel his cock becoming massaged inside him, wetting it every moment that passed between the two. His animalistic behaviour started to kick in as he again (without warning) started bucking his hips forward into him, slow.. slow then faster and faster. Mind overwhelmed with hearing the sounds of his ass slapping against his groin, his wet substance covering his cock as his thrust become relentless. Arms now wrapping themselves around the leaner waist(securing so he couldn't move), his teeth biting N’Doul’s trap as his breath was hitched, brows furrowed as his strokes were deep & fast. The tip of N’Douls cock rubbing against the silk sheets, soiling them as his body was nearly slammed into the bed from behind. His senses were off the roof, unable to see his sense of touch, smell, & hearing were all heightened so this experience was profound. He wasn’t even able to utter out any words, only screams & moans as his LORD’s cock entered him & left as he pleased, aroused as his older man held him in place, all he could do was squeeze the sheets & let his lord do what he wanted with him, he, after all -- devoted his life to him now.. and this experience was something he never wanted to forget.. not something he could possibly forget anyway.  DIO slide his arm directly under his hip, pushing him into his already extensive penetration, a loud moan muffled by him biting N’Doul but pleasure rode up to his body in ways you couldn’t even explain, though -- he could go like this for hours, his human, couldn’t. Freeing one of his arms from holding him in a place he cupped N’Doul cock within his palm, stroking with each firm thrust he landed onto him -- “ aarh.. nn-nnhg.. mhmm,.. d-dio ...!!!” he squealed as 30 minutes past with him stopping & coming back to stroking his cock to his pleasurable thrust.. his time was inching closer. Body started to tense up as his eyes begun to roll behind his head, saliva dripping merrily from his mouth -- DIO felt this, releasing the others trap that marked of his presence he started to kiss his neck, exciting him to look at him -- which he did, clearly out of breath. Pale lips connect to his, tongue invading his mouth into a passionate & rough, occasionally biting & pulling at his lower lip.” Cum for me~ “ he crooned, breaking off the kiss. Standing tall behind him, hands firmly placed back on top of his ass as he pounded him in sets of deep strokes out. ‘ Cum for me ~!! “ he again, moaned -- watching his dick make it’s home in him. Having nothing left to stop him from cumming, his legs tense up & as arches his back. letting out a powerful groan, every fiber in his muscle twitch as that creamy liquid squirts over his bed, pulsating at DIO ends it with a firm smack & push into him, releasing himself (early) into him, filling up. -- grabbing his hips into his own as he did so.  N’Doul chest connected to the sheets, breath heated & heavy as he goes feeble within DIO’S grasp. “Mhm ~ “ Is all he uttered, before removing himself & falling to the side of him, N’Doul following as his hips rest against the coverings. Eyes trying their best to stay open but continue to flutter before shutting. “Goodnight.... N’Doul -- we’ll talk in the morning. “ He sweetly spoke through harsh pauses. Taking one arm he grabbed lose sheets & covered N’Doul as he got up to clean himself before going for a midnight snack. 

[tsarisfanfiction]

Unexpected

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Gen (brief, family-friendly allusion to the birds and bees) Genre: Family Characters: Scott, John, Gordon, Alan, Virgil, EOS

Yup, another fic for @gumnut-logic‘s #irrelief!  The prompt used here is ““We’re going to be uncles!” A Tracy has reproduced (can be Kayo too)” from @shirubie.  Maybe not quite what the prompt implies, though.

When it came to the next generation, Scott didn’t think it would happen quite like this.

“I can’t believe it!”

Gordon’s sudden exclamation was greeted by silence from his older brothers.  Scott raised an eyebrow before returning to the metaphorical mountain of paperwork on his desk.  EOS had been a thoroughly internal affair, and while none of them intended on letting anyone in the GDF – including Colonel Casey, for all that she was on their side – learn the truth about what exactly had gone down during those disastrous moments on Thunderbird Five, the fact remained that several distress calls had gone unanswered for hours and the GDF wanted answers.

Finding a way to cover it all up without revealing John’s inadvertent creation of a sentient AI several years earlier, or the fact that said sentient AI now resided full time on the most technologically advanced satellite in the world, was tricky.  It was not helped by the fact that she was currently only trusted entirely by John, although Scott suspected the rest of his brothers were being fast won over, and she reminded him more than a little of John when he’d been that age (assuming, of course, that EOS was approximately ten years old – John had not been forthcoming on when, exactly, he’d written the base coding).

Like creator, like… creation?

“What is it, Gordon?”

Unlike the elder brothers – Virgil was steadfastly tickling ivories without pause, and John might not be actively hovering, but Scott knew his line with them was always open (unless a certain AI – nope, not going to go there right now) – Alan had not mastered the art of working out when Gordon needed to be listened to, and when he was simply attention-seeking.  Or maybe he had but had yet to tire of enabling him – or maybe, just maybe, Alan was bored of cleaning.

It was probably the latter. No-one liked cleaning, not even MAX.

“John!” Gordon called out, his tone almost accusatory, instead of directly answering his younger brother.

John, blessed with the patience of a saint but also, more importantly, the ability to tell when Gordon should be listened to, and when he should not, didn’t answer.

He did, however, pop up in miniature in the corner of Scott’s holoprojector, out of Gordon’s line of sight, and rolled his eyes.  Scott appreciated the proof that the line was indeed open, and not being hijacked by EOS. He shook his head slightly in return, amused if a little exasperated at the elder blond’s outburst – whatever inane thing it was he’d thought of.

“Joo-oooohn!” Gordon repeated, in that annoying, grinding way of splitting a brother’s name into two syllables when it clearly only had one that both Scott and John hated.  “Johnny!”  Turquoise eyes hardened in frustration – two syllables in ‘Jo-ohn’ was one thing, but ‘Johnny’ was detested.  Scott couldn’t agree, preferring ‘Scotty’ to ‘Sco-ott’ himself, or even ‘Scooter’, as his brothers occasionally bastardised his name.  ‘Scotty’ was childish, but ‘Sco-ott’ was just whining.

Still, John remained silent.  Patience was a virtue, and one John had far more of than Gordon.  The eventual victor was already clear.

“I know you’re listening!” Gordon continued, and oh dear, there was the end of the patience.  Willing or not, they were all about to be made privy to whatever revelation the aquanaut had come to.  Scott didn’t have a clue what it could be, but knowing Gordon, it was probably going to be nonsense.

From the look he got from John, he wasn’t alone in that opinion.

“Jooohnny.”  Now it was a whine.  Dogs whined, little kids whined.  Fully qualified aquanauts with military training also whined, apparently.  Or maybe it was just ones named Gordon Cooper Tracy.  Scott had never really interacted with WASP during his time in service.  “Why didn’t you say you had a kid?”

John choked, immediately drawing the attention of the two youngest as they whirled around to see his miniature hologram perched on Scott’s – Dad’s – desk.

“Were you hiding?” Alan asked, launching himself away from the broom he was supposed to be sweeping popcorn crumbs off of the den floor with – which clattered to the floor loudly – to cling to the edge of the desk.  Gordon was hot on his heels.

“A kid?” Virgil asked, the quiet melody stopping as the middle child abandoned his sonata and came to join the huddle of brothers around the desk.  “Where did that come from, Gordon?”

“You mean EOS?”  Alan sounded surprised, as though he’d only just drawn the conclusion.  Scott wondered if Gordon had already brought him in on this crazy scheme, but even if he hadn’t, Alan had beaten him to the punch on whatever was going through Gordon’s head, anyway.  Maybe blond-haired teenager brothers had a psychic link.  It might explain a few things, anyway.

“EOS?” John asked, jogging Scott out of suppositions about psychic younger brothers and back to the bizarre conversation at hand.  “My kid?”

“Well she is, isn’t she?” Gordon challenged, arms crossed and eyebrow raised in a manner that looked rather familiar from the mirror.  “You made her.  And now she’s living with you while you teach her how tell right from wrong.”

“I know you know how children happen,” John said bluntly.  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You made her,” Gordon repeated, and beside him Alan, who had been looking thoughtful, began to nod.

“Gordon’s right,” he said, and John turned an incredulous look on him.  Scott shared a look of ‘what are we supposed to do about this’ with Virgil.  “You made her base coding, and now she’s growing up.”

“She is growing up?” Gordon interjected, and Scott realised John had been backed into a corner. Saying EOS wasn’t maturing would both be a lie – she was – and also a sure way to upset the AI who was no doubt eavesdropping on the conversation.

“Of course she is,” John defended her.  “She’s learning.”

“Like a child,” Gordon pressed.  “Ergo, your daughter.”

“Those two things aren’t mutually-”

“John?”

EOS cut off the ginger’s argument, her recently installed own hologram projecting into the midst of their discussion.  Scott just started wondering when she was going to appear.

“Yes, EOS?” John asked, his head turning to look at what Scott assumed was the security camera EOS had taken for a ‘body’ up in Thunderbird Five.

“Your brothers are referring to me as your ‘daughter’, but I checked the internet for how ‘daughter’s are created, and I have no recollection of such an act occurring to create my code.”

Alan and Gordon burst out laughing, and even Scott couldn’t resist joining Virgil in a chuckle as John’s face turned redder than his hair.

“EOS, that’s- why were you looking at that?” he demanded, over Gordon’s gasps for air.  Virgil helpfully patted the aquanaut’s shoulder, and got a baleful look for it.

“To understand, John,�� the AI said.  “You said I should research facts before reaching conclusions.”

“I did,” John sighed, rubbing his face with one hand.  “I should have known that would come up sooner or later.  So, what conclusion did you come to?”

“That I am your daughter.”

Scott found himself witness to the rare sight of a baffled John.

“But you just said you didn’t understand what Gordon meant,” Alan pointed out, before John could articulate whatever was going through his head.

“Research implies that while intercourse is how a daughter or son is created, it is not the only way one may be obtained,” EOS replied, sounding as smug as a computer-generated voice could – and perhaps more than Scott ever thought one would.  “The act of sheltering a younger being in one’s home and assisting in their growth and understanding is also one of parenthood. Thus, it would not be incorrect to state that John is my father and I am John’s daughter.”

“I don’t think that’s quite how it works,” Virgil muttered, but he was drowned out by Gordon’s triumphant shout.

“I told you so!” he crowed. “EOS is John’s daughter!”

John was shaking his head, but Scott saw the fond smile on his face.

“Okay, fine,” the ginger said.  “Yes, EOS, that makes you my daughter.  But, please, just keep calling me John.”

“Spoilsport,” Gordon sulked. “Hey, EOS.  If you’re John’s daughter that makes you my niece, so feel free to call me ‘Uncle’!”

“And me!” Alan chimed in. Scott shared another look with Virgil, and they silently agreed to stay out of it.

“Don’t encourage them, EOS,” John muttered, and the white ring of lights flared again.

“John does not wish me to,” she said.  “So I shall not.  After all, research suggests that daughters obey their fathers.”

Her hologram vanished, leaving behind a pair of gaping blonds.  John turned his attention to them.

“Thank you,” he said. “Now I have some explaining to do.” His hologram disappeared as well.

Scott shook his head in despair.  John was patient, but one day he’d get revenge on the teenagers.  Scott was quite content to remain a fly on the wall for the eventual payback.

In the meantime, he had the GDF to throw off the scent of his newly-named niece.  Not quite the way he’d imagined the family expanding.

[the-original-b]

Archangel--Chapter 5: the Seza Situation

Format: Prose / Fiction, multi-entry

Part in Series: 6 of 9 (Previous Chapter | First Chapter)

Word Count: c. 4,300

Summary: Krueger makes peace with a few of his demons while he and Khai deal with the fallout of the events at Orham’s cabin; other parties hatch a plot against the duo.

Northern Africa, circa 2005.

The six of them sat in the back of the five-ton cargo transport as it crossed the ragged desert terrain below them. One of them, about ten years younger than everyone else there, jiggled her knee as she held her clasped hands together atop her lap.

Another one—a large barrel-chested man with broad shoulders, tan skin, a shaven head, and bushy beard—looked over at her. “You nervous, Seza?” He leaned forward in his seat. “You look nervous.”

“She looks better than you, Brock,” uttered the third one among them. This one—Wyatt—wore a baseball cap to cover his brown hair. He was a fair-skinned man with green eyes and a trimmed goatee that covered his upper lip and chin. He leered at Brock. “How is it possible that you gained weight since the last time I saw you?”

Brock smiled and patted his belly. “It’s all the home cooking,” he jested.

The fourth person, Alicia, rolled her brown eyes. “Brock Singer, ladies and gentlemen,” she said. She had light brown skin, delicate features, and black hair tied in a ponytail passed over the band of a tan snapback cap. “Two-hundred-plus pounds of beer and muscle.”

Brock chuckled. “The ladies love it, Alicia.”

The fifth one in the back of the transport—Jackson—added his input. “Well we have two with us, you’re welcome to ask their opinion.” He had fair skin, dark blonde hair, blue eyes, and messy stubble.

“I wouldn’t,” Wyatt noted. He nodded in Seza’s direction. “This one looks like she’s ready to squeeze the life out of the next thing that touches her.”

Seza perked up when she met his eyes. “No,” she stammered. “It’s just—”

“First job jitters? Trust me, mate, we’ve all been there. But this is a protection job, nothing safer to start cutting your teeth on, I say.”

“Don’t you lie to the poor girl, Wyatt,” Brock said.

“I’m not.” He looked over to the corner at the sixth man in their party. “Oi, Archangel..! How many protection jobs have you worked in your day?”

The leader of the bunch—Archangel, known to a handful of people across the globe as Milo Krueger—leaned back in his seat with his arms crossed and stared straight ahead. “Enough,” he said. A tan shemagh rested on his neck and shoulders atop a pale t-shirt.

“Yeah, and how many of them went sideways?”

“Enough.” He quickly glanced over his gear.

At this, Seza retreated back into herself. For all her prior training and preparation, she never actually partook in battle.

Wyatt noticed it. “Don’t let it scare you,” he advised. “Just stay by him, if it all goes FUBAR he’ll pull you out of the fire.”

Seza looked back at him, incredulous.

“He pulled my arse out at least twice… And Brock’s. And Jackson’s, and Alicia’s.” Wyatt leaned back in his seat. “Trust me, you’re in good hands with him.”

Seza looked down at the floor, and then at Krueger. She could see it in the way he carried himself—an undeniable sureness of who he was and what he was capable of. She could tell he earned the respect and admiration of everyone else in the truck with her.

She took a breath and tried to relax as the vehicle came to a stop and the rear gate opened. When Krueger stepped out to assist in unloading the cases of weapons, she took her spot a few meters from him, not just to survey the others, but to keep an eye on him particularly. Seza knew if she was going to make it in this line of work, her start would have to be with him.

Rego Park, six miles southeast of Manhattan, present day.

Krueger held one hand against the shower wall as he let the water hit the back of his neck and run down all of his his five feet and ten inches. He reflected on the day’s events—the meticulous planning that didn’t matter once the others showed up, the return of a ghost he previously thought dead for eight years, the fact that he failed his mission.

None of it ate at the corners of his mind as much as what she said to him. Seza wouldn’t tell him who hired her to kill Miles Orham, or why. He had taken too many kill orders from too many people to believe that Seza’s presence there coincided with his own by accident. Whoever sent her knew he and Khai would be there too, and probably knew what they were there for. Besides himself, there were only two other people in the room yesterday morning in a position to leak any details. And he didn’t like the possibility of having to kill either or both of them.

He shut the water off and stepped out of the shower to dry himself off. He winced a little as he passed the towel over his left shoulder, and the dull pulsing pain radiating from a circular bruise on his upper right chest reminded him of the bullets he took in Hoboken just two days ago. He looked deep in the empty eye sockets of the grinning skull tattooed under the bruise, and then lowered the towel to study the marks on his left arm and shoulder. Now, perhaps more than ever before, they were haunting reminders both of Seza and of his failures.

 ~~~~

Krueger dressed himself in a pale gray A-shirt and dark loose-fitting track pants, then sat down in his kitchenette to eat his dinner of lean beef and grilled vegetables, keeping his P30L within reach. He was just about halfway done when his doorbell rang. Slowly, methodically, he stood up from his chair and approached the door, keeping his handgun pointed towards it the whole time. He placed the muzzle on the door as he looked through the peephole at the woman on the other side. He considered walking away from the door for a moment before he lowered his gun and cracked it open, holding the gun in his hand behind his back.

Khai stood before his doorway, wrapped in a double-breasted pea coat and scarf. Under it she had the same pants and boots from this morning. She greeted him with a wave and nervous chuckle before putting her hand back into her coat pocket. “So, I ran your license plate number and got your home address,” she confessed. “Don’t be mad.”

“I’m not,” Krueger said.

“Then why do I get the feeling you don’t trust me?”

“Probably for the reason you figured I might. There are only two other people who knew where we would be this morning, and they may have tried to use that opportunity to have me killed.”

Khai averted his gaze and nodded, understanding his suspicion but still hurt by the insinuation. “Will you at least let me in so I can come clean properly?” she asked, looking back at him.

“On one condition,” Krueger articulated. “I’m going to ask you simple questions, to which I want simple answers.”

“Of course.”

Krueger stepped back to open the door fully and let Khai in, keeping his place behind it. She took a few brisk steps to cross the threshold and waited for him on the other side while he peeked over the door to scan the street quickly before closing it. He let his hand hang by his side, allowing her to see the P30L he still held.

She took solace in the fact that his finger was away from the trigger. For the moment, at least, he hadn’t intended to shoot her. “That smells incredible,” she said, noting his dinner. “What is it?”

“I based it on a Mediterranean recipe I picked up working in the region.” Krueger stepped away from the door toward her, gesturing the seating area to her left with the gun in his hand. “Please have a seat.”

Khai complied, placing herself on a large couch int which she sank. She crossed her feet at the ankles and placed her hands into her lap, palms down.

Krueger took a seat in an upholstered armchair across from her. A glass-topped coffee table separated them. He leaned forward a little, resting his elbows on his knees and letting his hands hang between them. “Are you armed?” he finally asked.

Khai shook her head. “No, I’m not carrying,” she said. “There’s a Glock 19 in my glove box, but that hardly matters right now.”

“Did you think about carrying it with you inside?”

“Briefly, but it wouldn’t do much to repair our relationship if I had.”

“No, I suppose it wouldn’t have…” Krueger straightened his posture, pulling his elbows back to rest on the arms of the chair. “Did you order Seza to murder Orham?”

“No,” Khai affirmed.

Krueger paid close attention to her. She was rock-steady; she didn’t fidget or move in her seat before or after answering, and her pitch and tone of voice remained where it had been since he first started questioning her. Khai, he was relieved to find out, was telling the truth. “Then why did you say you wanted to come clean, earlier?”

At this, Khai broke eye contact and wringed her hands. “Because I owe you an explanation, and an apology for not coming forward with this sooner.” She tucked her hair back behind her ear before continuing, placing her hands in her lap again. “I don’t work for Simon Wells,” she admitted. “I never worked for him or his father William. I report to people higher in the organization than them.”

“The actual Managing Partners,” Krueger surmised.

Khai nodded, confirming his theory. “There are five of them, each presiding over a piece of the United States,” she explained. “Remember Charles Silvio, CJ’s father? He’s in charge of the Southeast Region. There’s also Karin Marlow in the Southwest, Herman Gallagher in the Northwest, and Dana Frazer in the Central region. I report to Isaac Hayden, the Northeast Region’s controller and Simon Wells’ boss.”

“I see,” Krueger said. “So Isaac Hayden installed you at the Branch in oh-six to get it back in working order.”

“It wasn’t Hayden at the time, but yes, the region’s head gave me the order. And when Simon inherited the Branch after William’s death I was tasked with transitioning him into the position. During that time Hayden was promoted and found that the Branch ran wonderfully with me as its co-pilot, so he had me stay there. Either that, or he didn’t trust Simon to run it without me,” she mused, smiling to herself.

“I’m inclined to agree with that theory,” Krueger said with a half-smile of his own. His expression flattened again. “Why did you keep this from me?” he asked.

Khai looked away from him and shrugged. “I guess I didn’t think we would be working together long enough for it to matter… and since we ended up staying together I was afraid if I shared it with you then, you would think less of me for not being open with you about it sooner.” She reclaimed his green and blue eyes. “I know it’s silly.”

“Not really,” Krueger said. “Truth be told I would have thought the same, were I in your position. It’s rare for people in my line of work stay with an employer long enough for such details to emerge, rarer still for them to care about such things.”

Khai let out a quiet sigh of relief and grinned. “Guess that means there really is only one of you, huh?” She crossed her legs and leaned back in the couch a little.

Krueger, happy to see her relaxed again, smirked too. “I did tell you, didn’t I?”

“You did,” Khai chuckled. She sat there for a little, looking at him and admiring how he filled the sleeveless shirt he wore, studying both the tattoos she could see and the one tucked mostly out of sight. Though she read about them in his dossier, she had never actually seen them with her own eyes. They raised questions, and one in particular that rose above the others. “May I ask you something?”

“Of course you may.”

She took a breath, choosing her next words carefully. “Who is Seza to you, really?”

Krueger broke eye contact while he organized his thoughts. “Seza is many things to me,”he began. “A student, a partner, my sister-in-arms... a lover.” He set his P30L down on the table top and looked at her again, clasping his hands together. “She is both my greatest success and harshest failure,” he continued. “I first met her in 2005, when she joined as the sixth and final member of my squad of private contractors. There was Brock, Jackson, Alicia, Wyatt, myself, and her. We were Amur Company, a band of apex predators greater than the sum of its parts.” He gestured his left arm and shoulder. “We each got these tattoos, the tiger’s stripes that set us apart from the rest.”

Amur, Khai understood. As in the Siberian tiger.

“We were the best at what we did,” he continued, “but she was something entirely different. Dangerous in a way none of us were. I paid special attention to her. Trained her, taught her everything I knew in an effort to stop her from becoming something terrible. But it seems that in so doing,” he lamented, “I created a monster.”

“At the cabin,” Khai noted, “you said she outgrew you.”

“I meant it,” he said. “She’s a chameleon; can hide in plain sight anywhere in the world. She’s fluent in seven languages, can infiltrate, impersonate… she can be a barista at your local Starbucks, a fitness instructor at the gym around the block, an art gallery director, anything; you’d never see her coming.”

“You almost sound proud of her.”

“In a way I am, but in another I feel sorry for her. She never shared much of her early life, but I knew there was a deep pain behind her eyes. I hoped to help her turn it into something better, but all I did was give her a set of tools to spread that pain.” Krueger shrugged. “I guess I should have foreseen that; altruism isn’t a lucrative trait for a soldier of fortune.”

Khai leaned in a little closer to him. “What happened between you two?”

Krueger looked away from her for a moment, then back at her. “My group was out of work for months when I agreed to what would become our final job, near the Laos-Cambodia border,” he said.

“The one you mentioned this morning.”

“That’s the one. After days of failed attempts of dragging them out of the forests we were given an ultimatum, put the resistance down or forego the pay. I had to take care of my people, so I took… steps.”

“Steps?”

“White phosphorous munitions,” he said. “Incendiary devices, the nasty kind.”

Khai knew what he was avoiding saying. “…you burned the forest down.”

“It worked,” Krueger said. “The resistance was routed, but it left a bad feeling in my gut. So I left, didn’t even wait to get paid. The others who stayed ended up dead, murdered in their sleep by the warlord’s militia.”

“Except for Seza,” she correctly deduced.

“She contacted me shortly after the others were killed. Told me she’d escaped and wanted to avenge them with me. I told her to walk away, but she didn’t. She called me a deserter and a coward, said she’d do herself what I was too weak to do. And I didn’t hear from her again—until this morning I thought she was dead.” Krueger tapped the tattoo under his shirt. “That’s why I got this… Have I ever told you what it is?”

“It’s a Jolly Roger, isn’t it?”

Krueger took a breath, pulling at his shirt strap to show more of it to her. “My great-uncle, he wore a sigil like this on his collar. From 1939 to 1943.”

Khai recalled that chapter in history. “He was SS,” she deduced.

Krueger nodded. “Totenkopfverbände,” he elaborated. “In charge of a death camp in Poland. I grew up hearing my father tell me about the letters he sent him, how he expressed his deep regret for carrying out his orders. He was a good man, forced to do evil.” He straightened back up. “And that’s what this is, a reminder of when I did something terrible for someone else’s benefit. A reminder of what never to do again.”

Until now, Khai had never heard him talk so much about himself or his past. She had been curious for a while, and now that she knew she pitied him for enduring so much pain throughout his life. She appreciated his relationship with Seza a little more now, and understood both his obligation to steer her on a different path than him, and his disappointment in her choice to keep doing as she had. “That couldn’t have been easy to talk about,” she finally said, cursing the distance between them. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”

Krueger leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees again. “Trust is a two-way street, Miss Khai. You reassured me I can put my faith in you, and I felt I had to reciprocate.”

He said it. She could rest easy again. “And I’m grateful that you have. Thank you, again, Milo.”

Krueger offered her a nod. “You’re welcome, Elizabeth.”

They shared a moment of mutual understanding and newfound respect, neither daring to break the perfect silence between them.

Khai’s groaning stomach killed the mood. “Oh!” she said through an embarrassed laugh. “Excuse me, I’ve been so wrapped up in everything today I forgot to eat..!”

Krueger looked over at his dinner plate, and the stove top. “Well, I did cook enough for two meals. You’re welcome to stay and eat something before you go—”

“Oh, no,” she said, standing up again. “I wouldn’t dare impose.”

“Nonsense,” Krueger added, standing up as well. “You wouldn’t be imposing at all. Besides, it’ll be too late by the time you get home to do anything about dinner. So please, stay, make yourself comfortable. Let me take your coat.”

Khai couldn’t help but smile to herself. “Well,” she chuckled, “how am I supposed to say ‘no’ now that you asked so nicely?” She unbuttoned her coat and unwrapped her scarf.

“You don’t,” he jested, taking her outerwear. Underneath she wore a form-fitting navy blue long-sleeve cotton shirt. “Have a seat at the table, I’ll be right with you.” He moved to a coat rack by the front door to hang her outerwear.

“Sure thing.” Khai walked past the seating area to the dining area across from the kitchenette and took a seat at a small square table. “You have to tell me where you got those couches,” she said. “I can’t remember the last time I sat on something so comfortable.”

“I ordered them from Amelia’s,” he said, trotting over to the kitchenette to prepare a plate for her. “You know, the furniture store next to Everett’s boutique shop?”

“I have walked by there a few times, yeah. I’ve never actually taken a look inside, though.”

Krueger retrieved a square plate from the cabinet and set a portion of beef and vegetables onto it. “Remind me to give you her number sometime,” he said. “Tell her you’re a friend of Sebastian’s and she’ll take care of you.” He set the plate down in front of her with a knife, fork, napkin, and a bottle of water. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have any wine to offer you.”

“This is plenty,” she said with a smile. “Thank you so much. Really, you’re a life-saver.”

“So I’ve been told,” he chuckled, taking a seat across from her at his own half-finished plate.

“Hang on,” she laughed, “is that where ‘Archangel’ comes from?”

“Oh, that?” Krueger chuckled. “I spent some months working in Mogadishu. The locals called me that—for all of my good deeds, no doubt. I never particularly liked it, but I suppose it stuck.”

“Well I’d say it fits..!” Khai cut a piece off her vegetables and took a bite.

 ~~

When dinner was over, Krueger walked her back toward the front door. “So what happens now?”

“Now?” Khai looked up at him as she wrapped her scarf around her neck. “I thank you for dinner, bid you good night, and replay this evening in my head on my drive back to Westchester.”

“I meant for the Branch,” Krueger laughed.

“Oh, them… I keep my eyes on Simon, and you stand by for the next assignment.”

“Any idea when that will be?”

“Hayden didn’t give me a timeline yet,” she disclosed. “But if you’re asking when we’ll see each other again, there’s a fantastic restaurant within walking distance of the office. I wouldn’t mind seeing you there for lunch tomorrow.”

“I’ll be sure to let you know my schedule.”

“Do keep me posted.” She stood there for a moment looking up at him. Then, throwing caution to the wind, wrapped her arms around the base of his neck and held a tight, earnest hug which Krueger returned. She untucked her head from the side of his neck to place a tender kiss on his cheek. “Thank you for dinner,” she said as she released him. “Gute nacht, Milo.”

Krueger watched her slip her coat back on and head for the door. “Gute nacht, mein freund.” He took a moment to watch her walk back to her car through the window, and when he saw her enter and drive away, he turned back toward the kitchen to clean up.

 ~~~~

Simon Wells rolled his chair away from his desktop computer in his home office late that same night to prepare a nightcap before heading upstairs to bed. The light of the computer monitor had altered his visual acuity in the surrounding darkness; the only way he would see the butler bar at the far end of the office was if he switched a light on.

He reached over to a floor lamp and thumbed the switch, and nearly jumped out of his own skin when he saw her seated by the butler bar, clad in dark tactical pants and an A-shirt.

“Jesus..!” he exclaimed in whispers, careful not to wake the other people in the house, sleeping a floor above him. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack..?”

Seza, seated with crossed legs, swung her airborne foot. “Zero-seven-two-six-one-zero,” she said

“What?”

“The day of your wedding. Cute, but predictable.”

Simon made a mental note to have his home security system fixed. “You disabled the audio chimes, didn’t you?”

“It wasn’t difficult,” she said plainly.

Simon sighed and headed over to where she sat. He scooped up a tumbler and shoveled some ice cubes into it, almost filling the glass with bourbon. He took a gulp from his glass, finishing half of it, and took a seat opposite the specialist. “Why are you even in my house?”

“To learn more about you, Mr. Wells. Tell me,” she mused, “where does your darling wife sleep? Your son? Do they know what you do? Are they listening to us now?”

“Leave them out of this, will you?” Simon took another gulp. “Just tell me why you’re here.”

“I’m here to inform you that Miles Orham has been terminated. Per the kill order you issued.”

“What do you want, a medal? That’s your job.” He stood up with his drink in hand. “Now go away.”

“Another professional was there too,” Seza added.

“Yeah, a guy named Krueger. He’s supposed to be good, but I spared no expense with you.”

“I know he’s good. I got to watch him work up close.”

Simon froze. “And you didn’t kill him?” he snapped.

“No.”

“Why the fuck not??” His yelling was stifled by the hour, and his sleeping family.

“That wasn’t the order,” she commented.

Simon cursed under his breath. He sat back down and placed his glass on the butler bar, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and first finger. “How much do you want?”

“Nothing.”

“Okay, so what do you want?”

“To inform you of your current situation,” she said. “Our business is concluded, but as a professional courtesy I will provide you with a word of warning: Milo Krueger is a very clever, very dangerous man. If he hasn’t yet determined it was you who sent my unit after Orham he will soon. And what do you think he will do when he does? What do you think will happen to your darling wife and son?”

Simon recoiled again at her mention of his family. “Will you kill him, then?”

“I will not,” Seza noted.

“Fine then..! Will you draw him into the open, so I can have one of my guys do it?”

“No. Our business is concluded,” Seza repeated, uncrossing her legs. “I will do nothing else for you.” She stood up and slipped on a waist-length down coat she had hanging over the back of the chair.

Simon threw his hand up to stop her. “Wait, goddammit..!” he pleaded. “Wait.” He took a moment to compose himself again. “If I offered to pay you again to take that job, would you?”

“That depends,” Seza said, sitting back down. “I’ll have to see the offer.”

“Alright,” Simon conceded. “I’ll draw up the contract in the morning.”

“You do that.” Seza stood back up to leave. “My men were talking, you know,” she added. “They’re saying they want another shot at Krueger, after what he did to them in Pennsylvania. You may want to include them in your offer.” Seza moved in total silence to the front door, where she re-engaged the security system and exited the Greenwich home, disappearing into the night.

(Next Chapter | Masterlist)

[mothmanhamlet]

Feelings are Fatal

I’ve decided to put all my fics here on tumblr, so here we go I guess

Logan is decidedly against love, but the very feeling he hates may just be his downfall.

Logince, 4231 words, Hanahaki au/High school au

Warnings: Major character death! Blood! Kinda swearing idk

Hanahaki Disease. It was just another fact of Logan’s life, the almost magical sickness that caused flowers to bloom in ones lungs as a result of unrequited love. He had to write a paper about it once, about when humans discovered it and how it affects humanity. He got a good grade on that paper, even though he didn’t understand it. Yes he understood the phenomenon, but how anyone could feel that deeply simply evaded him.

He used to pride himself on that, the fact that he always put logic and reason above emotion. It let him get good grades in every class he took, it made sure he focused, and it helped him get through high school without a hitch.

Well almost. Before he could glide through school into an Ivy League, he met Roman Prince.  

Roman Prince was the resident drama star and popular kid. He was conventionally attractive, with his curly brown hair, unblemished skin, and light brown eyes. A hopeless romantic, he was dramatic and confident. He and Logan shared Literature and World History together for almost two years.  

He could remember the day they first met, 2nd period English Literature. It was a rather bright room with handwritten posters plastered anywhere there was room. A giant messy whiteboard was at the front near the door with a square of desks facing it. The desks seemed to be one for every two people, an odd choice for a teacher but a completely average choice for that particular one. He remembers taking half of one in the front corner.

Once the bell rang to start class, the teacher, Mr. Picani, emerged rather ceremoniously from behind the desk. Immediately, he introduced himself and scribbled “Romeo and Juliet” on the board. From there, the class launched into a conversation about the story, most of them having already read it, which soon turned into a debate.

“It’s just so tragic, they were in love and had to die because of it, what could be sadder?” Roman announced, standing up and waving his hands around to accentuate his point.  

“They knew each other for a month at best and then killed themselves, how is that a tragic love story?” Logan said with a scoff.  

“How could you just say something like that about one of the greatest love stories of all time?” Roman gasped, turning his attention fully to Logan.

“Juliet was thirteen, she didn’t know what love was.”

“Oh and you would know better?”

“Actually-”  

They continued their debate for almost all of class, ending with both of them literally out of their seats and yelling at each other. It was intense and probably not the best first impression. It also caused their suddenly pacifist teacher to switch around their seating, so they ended up right next to each other in a swift move Mr. Picani called the “Get-along-desk”.

For the first few months, it was a hell-scape. Their interactions were explosive, they always had different opinions and neither were willing to compromise. For a while, they just refused to talk to each other, after all it did seem like the logical move at the time. That didn’t last long, as being desk-mates meant being project partners and projects meant communication. If not for Logan’s refusal to disrupt his own learning, they probably would have been kicked out of class. Even in History they weren’t safe, somehow always ending up partnered together. Logan found it infuriating. Roman thought with his emotions, he relied on abstractions and was too stubborn to let go of them. Not to mention, arguing with him was like arguing with the personification of the Uno reverse card. Roman would say that he was the stubborn one, focusing on facts and figures exclusively. Four whole months went by and no one thought they were capable of getting along.

That was until Roman’s twin brother transferred into their class. Remus was everything Logan despised, doing everything thoughtlessly. He would place nightmarish takes on their reading, placing what ifs where they had no business being. Logan was sure he lacked the capability to take anything seriously. Roman could barely stand him too, Remus being the antithesis of him despite the fact that they shared DNA. If Logan hated Roman, he despised Remus.  

So of course, when it was time to do team debates, Mr. Picani made the mistake of pairing them against Remus’ group. It didn’t matter how they felt about each other before, they were against a common enemy and needed to best him.

As rivals they were strong. As allies, they were damn near unstoppable. Every issue they had was put aside as they worked on an argument about the feminism of Pride and Prejudice. They used every second of class, discussing evidence and building upon ideas. They even went out of their way to work after class. Logan was finally able to see Roman’s strengths, how passionate he was, how driven he could be, and the creativity he had in every aspect. Sure enough, they got the highest grade in the class, and a friendship was formed. Albeit, it was uneasy and reluctant, but it was a friendship nonetheless.

Soon, unease and reluctance grew to respect. Respect grew to appreciation. After a few months, lo and behold, the get-along-desk had worked. They were not true friends, but they were doing better. They started to acknowledge points they made, even adding in some occasions. They made small talk too, Roman talking about his rehearsals or telling about another person he just had to meet (but ultimately never would). Logan would start to ramble about something he learned. It was little things like that that made their friendship.

It was mid-March when Logan noticed it. Everything had seemingly calmed down since Remus had gotten expelled for performing the macarena during an assembly for the 15th time, and he and Roman were slowly becoming at least acquaintances. They were in history class at the time, when Roman turned to him while they were working.

“European society really did peak in, like, the 1300’s huh,” Roman said nonchalantly, pointing to a knight’s uniform. Of course, Logan was annoyed with him. Somehow, he managed to forget the black plague, despite it being the focus of most of the unit. But it was a different kind of annoyance, more amusement than anything else. And of course Roman    wanted to be a knight, he already had the chivalry and honor down to a tee. But he was thinking about that too much.

It was a weird sensation Logan didn’t entirely understand. He probably should have thought about it, as that would be the logical thing to do, however Roman had told him continuously that emotions were illogical and that same weird part of him wanted to listen to Roman. So instead, he ignored the feeling and lectured him on the black plague. It was easy enough to ignore.

He felt it again in English the next day, while he was reading The Picture of Dorian Gray. They weren’t required, he simply wanted to. He remembered Dorian reminding him of Roman. A little narcissistic, a bit vain, beautiful. Beautiful. His brain got stuck on that word for a while. He thought Roman was beautiful. But emotions were illogical, so he ignored it. It was easy to ignore.

It continued to be easy to ignore. Sure moments like that would pop up, more and more frequently as time went on, but it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter the bursts of unexplainable happiness that Logan felt when he saw Roman. It didn’t matter the times Logan lost the ability to articulate in his presence. It didn’t matter that Logan could see just how nice and charming and unique Roman was. It didn’t matter, because he could ignore it.

By the end of the year, he could safely say it was harder to ignore. What was once subtle, was now strong and demanding in his head. That was also the time Logan realized it was hopeless to even want what he now knew he wanted. Over the year, he learned that Roman was in fact, a hopeless romantic. However, the endless string of people Roman fell for had a few things in common. From what he heard, they were all emotional, dramatic, popular, and perfect. Just like Roman.

So, when the year ended, Logan did what he did best when it came to his feelings about Roman. He ignored them.

The summer passed as the summer always did. Logan did mathematics camps, biology camps, astronomy camps, anything that kept him busy and learning. It was almost boring, how routine it was. The only thing that kept nagging at him was his ‘crush’ (the others at camp had taught him the term) on Roman. It never went away as he had hoped, yet he still continued to neglect it. Unfortunately, like a wound left unattended, it would begin to fester.

The school year began, and Logan could almost remember the happiness he felt when it started again. Classes were where he found his confidence, where he was listened to and respected. He was good at school, because it let him use logic and reason generally without complication.

There was, of course, one minor problem. He was waiting in his new English class, coming off of the high that was impressing his orchestra class, as he sat down at an empty table. This teacher seemed much like his previous one, bubbly and energetic. There were more technicolor posters adorning the walls, but everything was less cartoonish. In addition to the spectacled teacher who insisted they call him by his first name, this class seemed to have a TA, a dark shadowy man who must have been a college student. Logan had to have been distracted while taking everything in, as he failed to notice someone sitting next to him.  

“Hey Microsoft Nerd, ready to win English again?” Logan turned to see a smiling Roman facing him. Besides simply being startled, Logan jumped at seeing Roman again. He didn’t think Roman would actively seek him out like that.

“Roman, you cannot win English as a class, or a language for that matter, it is not a competition,” Logan said, adjusting his glasses. He forgot how pretty Roman was. It seemed his brain was at it again with this inconvenience.

“Au contraire, Pocket Protector, we can and we shall,” Roman said with a grin, his eyes lit up like candles.

So Logan had to be with Roman for another year, which was fine except for the fact that his feelings came back swifter and stronger. It was like his brain couldn’t stop noticing Roman and his smile and how he talked about the things he loved and how good he was.

He did fine, keeping it in the back of his mind, till around mid-October. That’s when he first noticed it.  

He was in his bedroom, at the clean white desk doing his homework. He had a cup of tea next to him, his books in front of him, and everything in order. Standard studying procedure. He remembered taking a sip of tea and coughing violently, his lungs burning like a wildfire inside his chest. Coughing and sputtering, he remembered thinking it was the tea, that he attempted to breathe while drinking it. It wasn’t until the burning died down and he felt something soft between his teeth did he understand. Removing it, he could see how bright red it was, a thick petal with uniform teeth marks pressed into it. It had to be a poppy. Coughing again, he feels another, more curly petal. A red carnation. They looked striking on his desk, in a room of mostly neutrals and deep blues, they added color. They popped so strangely it almost hurt to look at. They were objectively beautiful, plump and bright, but what they symbolized horrified Logan. He had really fallen for him, there was no turning back, not now. There wasn't much he could do now.

Well.  

Seeing as it was hopeless anyways, no one else needed to know. It was his secret, his mistake to be hidden. So, instead of telling anyone or getting a doctor or doing anything, he swept the red abominations into a little blue trash bin.

He remembered the next month at school being pretty easy, all things considered. He would go about his day as normal, minus the new addition of a water bottle for him to place the horrible beautiful petals. Roman would look at him or smile at him and his chest would ache, but he was sure it would get easier to ignore. He was very good at ignoring.

Harder than that, was explaining how his trash bin became full of scarlet, slightly damp, flower petals. It didn't completely sell him out though. No, that was a few weeks later, when he was in the middle of dinner. They sat rather quietly as usual, when Logan felt the recognizable burning in his chest, however this time was worse, feeling like lit kerosene all the way up his throat. He realized in that moment he was unprepared, no way to hide what would inevitably fall from his mouth. After a minute of wheezing, Logan looked to his plate to find a full, slightly bloodied, red carnation.  

His parents stared at him with wide eyes, flitting between the plate and him. It was as if they couldn’t process what had happened. He didn’t want to tell them like this, but it was too late for that now.

“Logan, I think we should schedule a doctor’s appointment,” Logan’s dad said, clearing his throat. It was a simple announcement, one that ended the conversation as they went back into silence.

One week of mild suffering later, Logan was sitting in a doctor’s office, waiting for the doctor to come back with the results of his blood test. He didn’t know how it worked, or why they needed a blood test to determine if he had flowers in his lungs, but he decided not to question it.  

The doctor came in with a serious face, as if he was about to deliver bad news and they didn’t already know the answer. He gave his parents a brochure, one with all the options they had, although there weren’t many. There were pills he could take, but they were new, expensive, and had a nasty habit of giving people cancer. There was the tried and true method of explaining your feelings in the hopes it wasn’t actually unrequited and you just thought it was. Then there was the option most people chose, the surgery. It was generally reliable and probably the safest option. It did remove your ability to feel most emotions, but to people with this kind of problem that was kind of a bonus. A security that it won’t happen again.

In the car ride back, Logan already knew what would happen. Sure, a confession would be easy, but even worse than his mild fear of humiliation was his parents’ strong fear of him getting a boyfriend. Or any romantic attachments for that matter. They were of the opinion that school and work came first and anything besides that was a distraction. He himself prided himself on a similar outlook.

“Logan, I think you should get the surgery, it may not seem ideal, but I promise    you it will pay off in the end,” Logan’s mom said from the front seat of their car. It was nothing Logan didn’t expect, so he simply sat there looking out the window at the trail of cars around them.

“Ok.”

The next day of school, he was filled with a sort of relief. He would be rid of these emotions that had been annoying him for months and trying to kill him for weeks. He was more relaxed. Unfortunately, because no good thing goes unpunished, he forgot his water bottle in orchestra. Which meant, he wouldn’t have it till after his next class, which just so happened to be English.

He did alright, all things considered, until they were allowed to research for their essays. He felt a burn in the back of his throat that meant flowers were coming. He started to cough, attracting the attention of the others at his table, a blonde girl, a redhead boy, and of course Roman. The emo TA also started to look at him, which was one more step to explaining his… Condition to the class.

A solid minute of wheezing later, two bright red and bloody flowers appeared in his hand, a carnation and poppy each with some stray petals. That drew a little more attention. The teacher gave him a concerned glance, but after Logan shook his head at him, he retreated. A few straggling eyes were suddenly on him, but the ones he was focusing on were the ones sitting right next to him.  

“So you do have a heart Lo,” Roman said, reaching out to touch a petal. He had to be dreaming. Roman couldn’t know. Roman wasn’t allowed to know. And Roman had many nicknames for him, but they were never his name. It was as if it were too personal. “I’m very sorry about whoever this is, and I would fight them anytime.”

Logan put on a brave face and straightened the blue tie he tended to wear. “Don’t feel too bad, I’m getting the surgery for it in a month or two.” Maybe if he didn’t look at Roman he would be better at talking about it.

“Oh, good luck then,” Roman said with a smile as Logan looked at him. He could have sworn he heard the slightest bit of sadness in his voice, but Logan was never very good with emotions.  

Three weeks came and went without much notice, except for the occasional brave soul asking about his illness. Logan remembered the answers he gave to be extremely clinical, using a lot of logic for a emotions based affliction.

He sat in the doctor’s office, a cold and sterile room, waiting for the doctor to come back with his X-rays, just so they could make sure the surgery would go on as usual. His mother, sat next to him in a light colored chair, squeezed his hand.

“They’re going to fix you, don’t worry,” His mother whispered. Moments later, the doctor came back into the room, clearly trying not to look distraught.

“I’m afraid we ran into a complication,” the doctor said, looking at his mother, “Your son is extremely far along in the disease, and the roots of the flowers grew in an unfortunate place in your son’s lungs. Trying to remove them would cause extreme scarring that would inevitably lead to pulmonary fibrosis, as well as cause severe damage to the blood vessels. Not to mention the fact that his brain is still developing, which means that the alterations to his limbic system could result in abnormal developments. What this means is that your son does not have a high chance of survival, should this surgery go through. I apologize that we were not able to identify these things beforehand, and you still technically can go through with it, though I would not recommend it.”

His mother’s face fell. Logan himself could barely acknowledge what had happened, the words refusing to run through his brain. The pure cleanliness of the room became all the more oppressive, the walls were beginning to close in on him. This, Logan would remember as the beginning of the end.

The next week of school was weighted and dull. His parents started to fight about whether or not he should go on with the surgery, and every day he continued to cough more and more. His parents announced that the next week would be his last at school. It was the march of his last year at high school, it should have been the home stretch for him. In many ways it was.

His last week at school was possibly the most difficult part. He had to explain to his teachers that he would be leaving, he had to watch their faces drop as they realized why he might not come back. His English teacher, Patton as he insisted they call him, cried when he told him. He thought Logan couldn’t see him, but he was able to see the small drops of water in his eyes. Even Virgil-the-TA was a little sadder. He decided no one else would know, if he could help it. Except Roman. As much as he hated the thought of telling him, Roman was his friend, technically his only friend. He deserved to know, Logan decided. He deserved to know everything, or at least a shortened version of it.

Soon, it was Friday. His last day of school went without much fanfare, besides his teachers becoming sentimental. He had also neglected to tell Roman, effectively waiting until the last possible moment. It neared the end of English class, and Logan was prepared. When they were allowed to talk, he turned to face Roman.

“Roman, I’m going to be away from school for a while and do not know when I’ll be back, or even if I will return,” Logan said in his usual directness. It was… Odd talking about his likely death. “So if this is the last time we ever speak, I just wanted to tell you that I-” No. He couldn’t do it. Roman would blame himself for it, and Logan refused to put that on him. Roman didn’t deserve to blame himself for this. For him. “I always thought of you as a friend. A best friend I suppose.”

Roman looked at him with a mixture of shock and sadness. “Logan I li-” Roman said quickly before pausing, letting out a sigh. “Logan, I’m glad I could be your friend. A best friend.”

And that was it. Logan got on with the rest of his day, and went home.

That lead Logan to where he was now, around three weeks later. He was sat in the chair in his room, as usual, reading a book. It was Astrophysics for People in a Hurry, and he had read it hundreds of times. He always wanted to study space. The pristine whites and grays of his bedroom were tinged red from coughing fits in the middle of the day. Flowers could be spotted in the corners of his room, the only mess in his neat space. It used to feel comfortably organized, now feeling distant and damaged. Nevertheless, he essentially lived in his room, no reason to go outside when he was going to die anyways. No reason to leave his room when his parents were always fighting about him. They were still considering surgery, or at least his father was.

He felt another cough rise in his lungs. He had almost gotten used to the pain. Slowly stumbling up and to the trash can, he choked through the pain. He could feel the warmth claw its way up his throat, burning.  Moments later, he could see two blood-soaked flowers, a poppy and carnation perfectly intact, stem and all. But they didn’t stop. A stream of blood followed, nearly filling his mouth, staining his lips and teeth red. In that moment, he realized just how little time he had left.

He turned over to the light switch, turning it off, then closing the drapes to his window. In the darkness he walked over to his perfectly made bed, and lied down. He could stare at the childish glow-in-the-dark stars he had placed up there, simply because they looked nice. He simply laid in the silence, staring at his own stars.

They say that before you die, your life flashes before your eyes. But a flash was the wrong word. No, Logan felt every moment leading up to this wash over him in a wave. Every mistake, every choice. He wondered if things could have been different. Maybe if he had never argued that first day, if he had never talked to Roman Prince, maybe he could have avoided all of this. He could have been on his way to a college, then to a job, and to a life. But it was too late for that. It was too late for him. It was almost over and he had lost.

Logan stared at the stars in thought. Soon, he lost track of time. He didn’t know how long he waited there before his vision started to blur. His vision started to fade, going darker and darker till he was staring into the face of the void. He felt his body lose the warmth it once contained, his energy dissolving. Despite it all, he could feel his heart pounding in his chest, fighting for his life. Soon, it too gave up, slowing and stilling. He felt a soft pain surrounding his body, dulling his senses to numbness. Through the ache in his chest his breathing slowed. He gave out a small cough and a sharp breath in. As he released the breath, he felt himself let go. He released himself to the icy nothingness moving in on his brain. He couldn’t hear or see or feel anymore. He was still and detached and nothing anymore. He was finally gone.