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skinsharpenedteeth · 4 years ago

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Tonight, We Are Young

So as a New Year’s gift, I give to you another NYE Malex fic, because apparently I can’t help myself. I hope 2021 treats everyone better than 2020 did!

Also available on AO3!

“This party is fucking lame,” Alex commented, watching his classmates mill around the Evans’ mini-mansion with their red Solo cups filled with vodka, rum, or whatever mixed with fruit juice or soda. He was tired of watching people grind on each other to Christina Aguilera or 50cent while was left dodging assholes like Kyle Valenti all evening.

“Well, what do you propose we do instead?” Michael asked, head hanging upside down from over the side of the pool table he was laying across. His eyes were half obscured by gold, glittery 2008 glasses and he smelled a little like weed and spring rain. Alex thought briefly about wanting to Spiderman kiss him while he hung like that, but stopped himself with a sharp reminder that they were ‘just friends’.

They’d been hanging out since Alex had offered the backyard shed for Michael’s use during the cold winter nights. He knew he was using it, but hadn’t gotten up the courage to go talk to him yet while he was there. He was afraid he’d bring his father’s attention to it if he spent too much time out there, spent too much time with another boy in a room with the vaguest notion of privacy and a bed…

“You wanna get out of here? I know a place…,’ Alex started, but Michael was already sitting up before Alex could finish. He rolled off his back and then jumped off the table to stand beside where Alex was still sitting cross-legged against the pool table leg. He grinned down at Alex, smile wide and sweet and making Alex blush a little like he always did when Michael looked right at him like that, and held out his hand to pull Alex up off the floor. Alex took his hand and Michael gave a helpful tug as Alex pushed his way up. It was too much, Alex was overbalancing and falling against Michael’s chest. Michael’s hand let go of Alex’s so he could grip his waist and help steady him. The blush that had been only a pink tinge at Michael’s smile flared red as his hands landed against his solid chest and he felt how close they were.

“Oh-OH! Watch out Guerin or he’ll take advantage of you!” a raucous yell rang out through the crowd. Alex shut his eyes and stepped back quickly, cursing the gods for creating Kyle Valenti, and also for the feeling of Michael’s hands quickly falling from his body.

“Fuck off, Valenti,” Michael yelled back, throwing up a middle finger.

“You got something to fucking say?!” Kyle yelled, obviously a little drunk, as he pushed past the intervening people and shoved Michael backwards a step or two. Alex stood shocked, not sure what was happening, when Michael shoved Kyle back.

“Pretty sure I said what needed saying. Why don’t you go back to ‘your boys’ and circle jerk until midnight? Make sure you ‘no homo’ before your dicks out though, or it's definitely homo,” Michael goaded, getting into Kyle’s face. Their chests were touching and they looked so close they couldn’t possibly be able to focus on one another. Alex reached out and grabbed Michael’s arm, his hands closing firmly around his bicep as he stepped close.

“Let’s just get out of here,” Alex pleaded, well aware of how many eyes were on them. He didn’t want this kind of attention, didn’t need to be on anyone else’s radar.

“Going to let your boyfriend tell you what to do, Guerin?” Kyle taunted, obviously itching for a fight. Michael looked at him for another moment before sliding his eyes over to Alex’s. Alex could see the softening around the edges of Michael’s eyes as they held contact with his and hoped he couldn’t see the fear in him. He didn’t think he was successful in hiding it, because Michael’s mouth jaw clenched and he closed his eyes in resignation.

“Yeah, I am. Get fucked,” Michael said tiredly, not looking back at Kyle's face but backing away from him instead. He turned and headed back towards the bedroom where everyone's coats were and then to the front door with Alex hot on his heels. Alex could hear Liz cussing at Kyle half in Spanish as they left and at least felt safer knowing they would be gone before he could shake free of her to continue trying to rile Michael into a fight.

The cold late December air hit him hard as they left the warmth of the Evans’ house and stalked towards Michael’s truck. As soon as Michael shut the driver’s door, the engine roared to life and he turned up the vents to try and make the heaters kick in quicker. Alex slid in the passenger side and quietly buckled his seat belt.

“So where we headin’?” Michael asked, turning to look over at him with his usual lazy grin. Alex marveled how quickly the anger and violence had drained out of him. He looked like he hadn’t just been about to throw punches. He was casual and relaxed as he slouched in his seat, wrist resting over the top of the steering wheel. Alex noted the mostly full bottle of Jack sitting next to his thigh and had an idea.

“Uh, once we get out of the neighborhood, hit Main going northwest,” Alex instructed, eyeing the bottle warily. He knew how he got when he was drunk, but he’d never been with Michael inebriated before. He was worried he’d say the wrong thing or touch him when he didn’t want to be touched. Drinking was easier with Maria, Liz, and Rosa because he didn’t want to kiss them or see them naked so if he collapsed with his head in a lap or held someone’s hand it was innocent. There was no intention behind it. He didn’t think he could have that same freedom with Michael. He definitely wanted to kiss and touch Michael in ways that would make his dad kick his ass if he ever found out.

Michael followed his quiet instructions until they were driving out past the city limits, high beams the only lights for miles around. Michael had turned on the radio and put the volume on low while he waited for Alex to speak. Alex fidgeted with the strings of his hoodie, pulling them taut on one side and then the other, his leg bouncing rhythmically against the bottom of the foot well. Silently, still watching the road, Michael reached over and curled his fingers around Alex’s knee. Alex froze, staring wide eyed at Michael’s hand, before he let it slip off Alex's leg and rest between them on the bench seat. He looked up and saw Michael darting a grin over at him.

“So where are we going?” Michael asked, leaving his hand between them and making Alex ache with how much he wanted to reach over and cover it with his own.

“There’s a place not too far from here where my brothers and I used to build bonfires. I figured we’d go set some shit on fire for awhile,” Alex replied, a little self-consciously. Would Michael think this was dumb?

“Cool,” he answered, his fingers starting to tap on the bench seat. Alex watched his fingers for a moment, marveling at how square and even his nails were and how perfect his knuckles seemed to be before turning his attention back to the road. He was getting distracted and they were getting close to where the turn off was.

“There’s going to be a sign pretty soon that says Camp Honor. It’s going to be over here on the left. That’s the turn we make. Then there’s a fork about two miles in and we’ll take the right fork,” Alex rattled off, wishing they were already parked so he could take a shot of bourbon to calm his nerves. He actually hoped Michael had some more weed on him. A joint would help put him to ease.

“Camp Honor?” Michael asked, shooting Alex a curious look, eyebrow raised.

“It’s a hunting camp. There’s no season right now, so no one will be around,” Alex replied. At least he hoped there was no season that time of the year. He hadn’t been up there since he was fourteen and that had been its own disaster he’d like to never remember.

The truck bounced over the ruts and hills in the barely discernible road up to the fire pit. Alex sincerely hoped that the tradition of hauling all the fallen branches and detritus from around the cabin and hunting grounds had kept up in the years since he’d been the one sent out to do most of it. They rolled up to a clearing and Alex could make out the fallen trees they’d moved to make places for them to sit around the pit.

“Go ahead and park. This is the place,” Alex said, turning to Michael and putting a hand on his arm as if he weren’t paying attention. Michael slowed the truck and put it in park. He peered through the darkness.

“You know, when you said you knew a place I was imagining… something different,” Michael said as he continued to look skeptically at what little was illuminated by the truck’s headlights. Alex rolled his eyes and pushed open his door. As soon as his Docs hit the ground, he was excited to see how high he could get the flames. Bonfire night had been the only night he looked forward to when he’d been forced to do long camping trips with his brothers and the Valenti’s. He went ahead and walked forward towards the pit, hoping against hope there was a stack of wood in its sunken sand floor. When he got to the edge, he let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding, and then looked over to Michael and grinned broadly.

“Let's get this thing lit and then you can turn off your headlights,” Alex said excitedly, carefully making his way down into the shallowly dug ten by ten dirt bowl they used for fire nights. He checked over the wood and was glad to see he should be able to get away with just lighting the thing up. His brothers or Kyle must be planning to come out here soon. He took a small, sadistic pleasure in knowing he’d get to use it before they would and they’d have to go get chopped wood from the cabin and haul it out here if they wanted a fire. He patted his pockets and fished out a lighter from the pocket of his black skinny jeans. He flicked it a couple times before it caught and then he carefully moved his hand down through a gap in the wood until he could catch the tiny yellow flame on the tinder. As it caught, he carefully extracted his hand and started gently blowing air towards the flame. When it started to catch and spread, he stood back up and watched it, feeling oddly proud about starting the easiest fire of his life. When he turned, Michael was smiling at him fondly.

“Guess I’ll go turn off my headlights so I don’t drain the battery and we can roll out of here later,” he commented, turning and clapping his hand over Alex’s chest before letting it slide away as he started back towards his car. Alex tried to ignore the thrill he felt at Michael’s affectionate gesture and instead concentrated on the way his breath fogged as he exhaled and how cold his hands were even stuffed in his pocket. The fire was slowly getting going, but it would be a while before it was truly letting off heat to warm them.

Scuffing behind him alerted him of Michael’s return and he turned to see him sitting on the edge of the fire ring, whiskey uncapped, and being raised to his lips. Alex went and sat next to him, leaning towards the warmth that radiated off his body almost unconsciously. When Michael passed him the bottle, he took a healthy swig, coughing as he handed it back.

“Fuck, how do people drink that shit?” he asked, wiping his mouth with his sleeve and trying vainly to hide his grimace and watering eyes.

“Pretty sure nobody drinks for the taste,” Michael observed with a grin, watching him as he caught his breath before taking another swig from the bottle himself. He didn’t cough after his swallow and Alex felt heat infusing his cheeks at how uncool he must look to not be able to handle the burn of alcohol on his throat.

“I do better with vodka,” Alex said defensively, picking at the sides of his Vans as he stared at the growing fire. He toppled to the side when Michael slammed his body into him, elbows, shoulders, and hips pressed close against Alex. Alex let out a squawk of indignation, but didn’t protest when he righted himself and could feel the warmth of Michael bleeding through his too-thin layers of clothing where they touched.

“Jesus, it’s fucking cold,” Michael hissed through gritten teeth. Alex could feel the small tremors of him shivering and he wrapped an arm around him gingerly. He waited for Michael to protest or push him away and call him a ‘fag’, but when he just huddled closer Alex relaxed against him. Alex pried the whiskey bottle out from his fingers and took another manly swallow, coughing into his shoulder when he finished.

They stared at the fire, both shivering and sharing the bottle between them. As the alcohol and flames started to warm them, Alex felt Michael shifting more until his head was resting on Alex’s chest. Alex found himself running his fingers through Michael’s curls in fascination at how the light from the flames caught the brown ringlets and turned them to gold.

“We really should have thought this out better,” Michael observed.

“Hm?” Alex asked as he stretched out his legs towards the warmth.

“We should have brought snacks and music and something else to do besides drink,” Michael complained, lifting himself off of Alex’s chest and sitting up. He took the bottle from Alex’s side and helped himself to another mouth full.

“We could tell ghost stories?” Alex supplied, ready for the incredulous look Michael gave him. It still made him laugh when he looked over his shoulder at Alex like he was full of shit. “Well, what else would you do around a fire with someone if you didn’t have snacks or music?”

“Depends on the someone,” Michael replied, innuendo lacing his voice and making something hot in Alex’s stomach churn, but eyes staring straight into the fire in front of them.

“We… we can do what you do with them?” Alex offered bravely. His throat felt dry and he was pretty sure he was going to die. Did he really just say that to Michael? Michael looked over at him consideringly and handed him the bottle.

“We are,” Michael replied shortly. Alex shriveled a little in embarrassment, but he took the bottle and dutifully took a sip, trying to shift his body away so it wasn’t leaning quite as fully on Michael’s. Alex capped the bottle and put it in the dirt between legs before leaning back onto his elbows to stare up at the stars.

“Why did you stop me from hitting Valenti?” Michael asked a few minutes later. Alex had been staring at the stars, enjoying the heat on his legs from the fire. He tipped his head back down to see Michael half turned and staring at him.

“What do you mean, why? He’s a fucking tool and not worth the effort,” Alex spit out. He didn’t really want to think about Valenti right then.

“He deserves to get his fucking head knocked off,” Michael replied heatedly, turning back to stare at the fire. Alex looked at the back of his head for a moment in confusion.

“Well, I agree, but why do you care what he says?” Alex asked, a little unsure what answer he was hoping for. Michael looked back over his shoulder at Alex for a split second before snorting and looking back at the fire.

“You’re the nicest person I’ve ever met. I just hate seeing him treat you like shit because of his own insecurities. You’re not his punching bag. You deserve to be treated better.”

Alex sighed and looked back up at the stars. The sky was starting to spin a little so he let himself collapse all the way down onto his back. Without looking, he reached out and grabbed the back of Michael’s jacket and tugged him until he was laying down also. Their shoulders were overlapping despite the fact that they each had room to move. Tentatively, heart pounding so hard Alex could swear he heard it in his ears, he moved his hand over to press against Michael’s. He held his breath and waited, tensing as if he were going to be hit, but when it never came he let the air out of his lungs slowly. Then he felt Michael move his hand and in a gesture born more of instinct than finesse, scoop his hand up and thread their fingers together. Alex’s heart beat double time, practically in his throat, as he tried to relax into the warm hold Michael had on his fingers.

He stared at the sky, but he didn’t see the stars anymore. He was too hyper aware of the dry, brittle grass poking into the back of his hand and the way there seemed to be sweat collecting in his palm from the heat between them and the way the tips of his fingers were numb with cold, and how tightly and perfectly their fingers seemed to fit around each other… There wasn’t any part of his brain that wasn’t thinking about how much he wanted the rest of their bodies to fit together as well as their hands did. Then Michael started shifting around.

“What are you doing?” Alex asked, looked over at him in concern. He tried to move his hand, but Michael’s grip tightened slightly so he let it rest back where it was. Michael was digging around in his jacket pocket and flapping his arm about as he tried to dislodge his hand from the too-small opening.

“Lemme borrow your lighter,” Michael asked, still distracted by getting his hand out of his pocket. Alex furrowed his brow, but slipped his hand into the jean pocket with the lighter and then held it out for Michael to take. When he finally freed his hand, Alex watched him put a rolled joint between his lips and then take the lighter from him. He lit the end and inhaled deeply before passing it over to Alex. Alex did the same and they both laid and slowly let out their breaths at the same time. Immediately, Alex’s head felt lighter.

“Wanna shotgun one?” Alex asked on his next turn with the joint. Michael rolled onto his elbow, letting go of his hand in the process, and looked down at him with a shiteating grin.

“If you wanted me to kiss you, all you have to do is ask,” he snarked. Before Alex could squirm with embarrassment or deny that’s what his aim was, Michael plucked the joint from Alex’s fingers, took a deep inhale, and swooped down to seal his lips over Alex’s. Alex gasped at the unexpected contact, filling his mouth and lungs with smoke and causing him to cough reflexively. When he felt Michael’s weight shift, his body tensing to back away, he brought his hand to the back of Michael’s neck, keeping him in place as he breathed the smoke out through his nose. Michael froze and Alex squeezed his eyes shut and prayed to all the Gods he didn’t believe in as he tentatively started moving his lips. At first, it was just the drag of his own lips against Michael’s, slightly dry from the pot smoke and desert air, but then… then it was like Michael melted into him. His body relaxed back to partially rest his weight over Alex’s, his lips pressing harder and his tongue swiping invitingly over Alex’s. Alex surged into it, desperate to keep kissing him, to stop thinking for a while and just let things happen. His brain had other ideas.

First, he had to figure out what to do with his hands. The one on the back of Michael’s neck was nice, but the one lying on the ground between them… did he put it on his arm? On his chest? Lower? Much lower? As they kissed, he experimentally put it on Michael’s chest, fascinated by how he could feel his heart beating even through his shirt. In response, he felt Michael’s hand curling around his waist over his clothes. Dimly, Alex wondered what had happened to the joint, but he found he didn’t really care as long as Michael kept kissing him. Alex started to move his hand up Michael’s neck. He wanted to touch his curls again, tangle his fingers in them and maybe tug a little as they kissed, but Michael pulled away.

“I’m sorry,” he panted, eyes wide and imploring as they looked down into Alex’s. Alex felt shock jolt through his system, making his fingers tingle as he stared up into Michael’s face. He weakly worked his mouth, trying to find the words to respond. ‘Why?’, ‘It’s okay’, and ‘Don’t be’ came to mind, but he didn’t know which one to actually say. “I just mean… you didn’t ask for all that.”

“I didn’t mind,” Alex finally answered in a quiet voice. He gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile and took it as a good sign that Michael hadn’t moved off him. Slowly, he raised his head as far as he could and pressed an opened mouth kiss onto Michael’s lower lip. He pulled back to do it again, and Michael’s eyes fluttered closed. The hand at Alex’s waist tightened briefly and that was all the warning Alex got before Michael’s mouth was pushing against his. This time Alex let himself sink into the feeling. He let his hands roam wherever they wanted to, let his mouth move against Michael’s, tongues touching and fleeing, let Michael shift and press a leg between his which felt better than it had any right to with so many layers of clothes between them.

Alex let out an unmanly yelp against Michael’s mouth when his cold fingers found their way under his layers of jacket, hoodie, shirt, undershirt and touched the bare skin of his stomach. Gooseflesh immediately erupted over his chest and back and he felt his nipples tighten at the shock of the cold. Michael was snickering into his shoulder as he continued to move his hand over Alex’s stomach and Alex continued to whine and flinch away from his touch.

“Stop it! Oh my God your hands are so fucking cold! Quit, quit, quit,” Alex yowled, making a grab for Michael’s hand and finding himself in a short grappling match. It ended up with him pinning Michael against the cold earth with his wrists beside his head as Alex straddled his waist. He bared his teeth at him in a fiendish grin.

“I win,” he said simply. Michael laughed again, body relaxed under Alex’s.

“Did you?” Michael asked, moving his hips in a way that suggested he was settling in, but definitely brushed his half chub against Alex in a way he couldn’t miss. Alex felt a flash of panic as he realized he didn’t know how to flirt like that, how to be casual and cool and sexy in the face of someone else actually desiring him. He let go of Michael’s hands and rolled off to sit next to him. He hoped the firelight was dim enough that Michael didn’t see the blush on his cheeks as he grabbed for the abandoned whiskey bottle and uncorked it to grab a sip. Michael sat up and watched him before taking the bottle and slugging down his own drink.

“That wasn’t a demand, ya know?” Michael said, voice subdued as he watched the fire burning down.

“I know,” Alex replied, feeling his cheeks heat up more. He pulled his knees up towards his chest and hugged them as he stared awkwardly at the fire, wishing he could go back to five minutes ago when they were pressed against each other and their mouths were all that mattered. From the corner of his eye, he could see Michael turn to look at him and he kept his eyes trained forward with every ounce of his being.

“You wanna head back in? It’s getting really cold,” Michael asked. He was giving Alex an out and Alex didn’t know if he felt grateful for it or annoyed.

“There’s a cabin not too far from here. Let’s go there. We can build another fire inside and just sleep there. Neither of us should be driving right now,” Alex offered, noting exactly how spinny the world was when he closed his eyes.

“You’re probably right. Is this like… a place you’ve been before? Is it abandoned or something?” Michael asked, sounding nervous and wary.

“No, it’s not abandoned. Kyle’s dad owns it,” Alex explained.

“VALENTI’S DAD?!” Michael exclaimed, laughing and shaking his head. “No way are we staying there. Holy shit, I can just imagine how bad that would be if we got found.”

“No, no, no. Sheriff Valenti and my dad are old friends. Mr. Valenti loves me. He’s given me, like, blanket permission to use the cabin whenever I need to. It’s fine,” Alex said, distracted by Michael’s mini-freak out enough to turn and hold his shoulders while he explained. “We won’t get in trouble. It’ll be fine. Sheriff Valenti is the exact opposite of my dad.”

Michael sat and looked at him, as if he could see the future and gauge whether the risk was worth the reward.

“Besides, we’d really be fucked if he caught us driving home this fucked up. He’d be happier knowing we didn’t try to operate a motor vehicle while under the influence. Seriously, it’ll be fine.”

“Man, okay. You sure it’d be fine?” Michael asked again, still looking like a rabbit ready to bolt.

“Dude, it’s fine. Let’s douse this with some sand and we’ll roll down there,” Alex said, standing up and holding his hand out to Michael.

“Thought we shouldn’t be driving?” Michael asked sarcastically.

“I mean, if you want to walk a mile in this cold, that’s fine, but I think you can be reasonably responsible to drive a mile in the middle of the night down a dirt road one mile per hour about idle. But if you don’t want to, that’s fine. We’ll walk it,” Alex offered. Michael had grabbed his arm and was poised to get pulled up, but Alex wanted to know his decision first.

“Yeah, it’s fine. We’ll take the truck,” he said and then Alex stepped back and pulled him up to his feet.

“Cool, then let’s throw some sand on this fire! It’s fucking cold,” Alex shouted, before going over to the bucket of sand that was always kept on the side of the fire pit and picking it up. He started slowly pouring the sand over the remaining flames while Michael went and grabbed a second bucket and took the other side of the fire to do the same. When it was dark, Michael went ahead to turn on the truck lights while Alex stirred the fire to see if any hot spots were left. By the time he was satisfied, the high beams were streaming over the edge of the fire pit and Michael was revving the engine to get it to warm up. Alex climbed out of the fire pit and got back into the truck, then slowly gave Michael directions on how to get to the cabin. When they pulled up in front of the cabin, Michael looked at it even more warily than he had the fire pit.

“This isn’t your murder cabin, is it? We’re not going to get stabbed by some dude in a shitty sports mask if we make out some more, are we?” he asked as he followed Alex up to the porch. Alex snorted and started feeling around the top of the door frame for the extra cabin key. When he found it, he opened the door quickly and ushered them both in. He flipped one of the light switches and the living room and kitchen lights came on, giving the rustic cabin a warm, yellow glow. He looked at the fireplace and grimaced. Unlike the firepit, the cabin was not ready for a fire to be lit. Sighing, he went back outside and grabbed a handful of logs off the porch pile and shuffled them inside.

Michael was walking around the inside rooms, looking at the walls and knickknacks scattered around.

“Hey, where do you guys sleep?” Michael called out. Alex turned from where he was stacking logs in the fireplace to see Michael standing in the kitchen with his hands on his hips twisting around as if another doorway would suddenly appear.

“There’s another building that’s a bunk house,” Alex explained, turning back to the fire.

“Are we going to sleep in there?” Michael asked, his voice coming closer. Alex could feel the vibration in the floor as he got closer and then the warmth of him standing behind him. Alex grabbed a rolled piece of fire starter from the box they kept nearby. He pushed it into the middle of the logs and grabbed a punk to light with his lighter. He pushed it against the fire starter and blew a little, waiting until he saw the fire starter catch before withdrawing the punk and throwing it on top of the logs. When that was finished, he turned to consider his options. He didn’t really want to run both fireplaces in the cabin. He’d have to clean them both out in the morning and that seemed like far too much work.

“Let’s go grab a couple mattresses off the bunks and drag them in here. We can push them together and cover them with blankets and stuff…if that’s cool with you?” Alex asked, looking up at Michael who’d been watching him work with the fire.

“That’s fine. I’ve got a couple sleeping bags in the truck I can bring in. We can use them as extra padding or extra cover,” he offered. Alex nodded and they smiled at each other. It was oddly wholesome, like they were just having a sleepover and nothing else.

They went out to the bunk house and Alex used the key to unlock the door. They grabbed a couple of the twin mattresses off the closest bunks and hauled them on their shoulders over to the main cabin. They put them on the floor next to one another and then while Michael went to his truck for the sleeping bags, Alex went back to the bunk house for pillows and some extra blankets. By the time they’d made their nest, the fire had warmed up the room to something almost near comfortable. Alex shrugged off his coat and hoodie, throwing them onto the couch, and then toed off his shoes before stepping onto the thin, cheap camp mattresses.

“You’re going to sleep in your jeans?” Michael asked incredulously. Alex looked down at himself and then at Michael. He had planned on it, but not if Michael wasn’t. He was already unbuttoning them as he gave his retort.

“What if I get cold?” he asked, trying to balance on one leg and work the skinny leg of his jeans off his foot with the other.

“I promise, I’ll keep you warm. I’ve been told I run hot,” Michael joked, stripping down to his boxers and nothing else. Alex tried not to get caught staring at him, but it was so much skin and he hadn’t mentally prepared himself for it. When Michael turned to pick up one of his fallen socks from when he’d chucked his clothes onto the couch, Alex got too distracted and ended up toppling over onto the mattress with only one leg free from his jeans. Michael looked over at him and grinned like he knew what had caught his attention. He reached over and grabbed Alex’s foot, swinging him around so he could work the other jean leg down around Alex’s foot.

“These are really not conducive to getting naked quickly,” Michael commented as he tugged and pulled at the denim to get them to slide down over Alex’s calf and heel.

“I wasn’t really expecting to need to get naked quickly tonight,” Alex snapped, bending his knee to pull it out of the jean leg.

“Didn’t have plans to be naked at midnight with someone?” Michael teased, tossing the jeans aside when they’d finally gotten them all the way off. Alex snorted indelicately and watched Michael drop to his hands and knees on the mattress beside him. He pulled his pillow over from the other side of the mattress until it touched Alex’s.

“Not really. I was just hoping to get a kiss,” Alex said distractedly while watching Michael curiously as he started arranging the covers to his liking. Michael looked up at the wall clock.

“We were probably making out at midnight. I think you got your wish,” he commented before dropping onto his side next to Alex. Alex felt a spasm of shock go through him. He hadn’t realized it was so late, that they’d missed the turning of the clock from one year to the next. He turned onto his side and faced Michael, looking him over thoughtfully.

“Happy New Year,” he said, smiling and running his hand down Michael’s arm affectionately. Michael spared a glance at his arm and then leaned in, pressing his mouth to Alex’s in a sweet, open kiss that made something in Alex draw tight with need.

“Happy New Year,” Michael breathed against his lips when they parted for breath. This time Alex felt bold, felt like it had to be more than a fluke of the fire and whiskey if they’d kissed twice over so many hours. He slipped his hand around Michael’s back and pulled their bodies closer together while sweeping his tongue across Michael’s to beckon him to kiss him deeper. Now there were fewer layers, less guessing, and more to explore for Alex’s hands as they kissed. He couldn’t get enough of the swell of Michael’s shoulder blades or the sharp curve of his hip bone, or the way his stomach felt as it bumped against his when they drew in deep breaths before diving back into each other. He was drowning in it, drowning in Michael touching him back, exploring his body too, and when he ran his hand under the leg of Alex’s boxers and grabbed his ass to grind their bodies together? Alex saw nirvana. It was the best thing he’d felt outside of his own hand.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Michael breathed, kissing over Alex’s jaw to his ear. Alex nodded, but he was too caught up in how hot and hard Michael’s dick felt through his boxers as it slid along the inside of his hip and wondering if he could get his hand on him, if he could put his mouth on him…

“You ever do this before?” Alex managed to gasp before slipping his fingers under the waistband of Michael’s underwear.

“Yeah,” Michael replied with a embarrassed, proud grin, “but not like with a…”

“A guy?” Alex supplied as Michael trailed off. They both let out a burst of embarrassed, hysterical giggles.

“Yeah, a guy. But also, not with someone I like as much as I like you,” he finished, bringing Alex’s face back to his so he could see the sincerity in his words. Alex felt like he’d been given a birthday present and kicked in the gut at the same time. He smiled slowly at Michael’s words and leaned in to kiss him, softly, sweetly, and with all the emotion he could muster but couldn’t put into sentences.

“I like you, too,” he managed after a few more kisses.

“I would certainly hope so,” Michael joked, bringing his hand between them to gently squeeze the line of Alex’s prick through the thin jersey material of his boxers. Alex glanced down and could see the dark spot at the tip of his cock. He looked at Michael’s underwear and was relieved to see a similar stain starting on his own underwear.

“What do you want to do tonight?” Alex asked breathily as he ran a finger lightly up the length of Michael’s hard on. His hips twitched in response to the stimulation and Alex felt a hunger for more rise in him at the motion.

“I… I don’t know? M-maybe, hand jobs?” Michael stuttered, his eyes drifting closed as Alex moved forward to kiss his neck and chest while his hand continued to softly pet his cock. Alex watched in fascination as his hand framed Michael’s covered dick while he stroked over the fabric. He wanted more to do more, wanted to see him, taste him, make him feel good.

“I think I want to try giving you a blow job,” Alex said almost absentmindedly. He heard Michael’s sharp, quiet gasp and his eyes came up to meet his.

“You want to?” Michael asked, eyes pleading that he say ‘yes’, but voice making it clear that Alex could say ‘no’ without any repercussions.

“Yeah, is that okay?” Alex asked, trying to convey the same thing with his eyes as he waited for Michael’s verdict.

“I mean, yeah, of course. I… have you ever done this before?” Michael asked hesitantly.

“No, but I mean… I’ve watched porn. I’ve done my research. How hard can it be?” Alex asked, starting to scoot his body down so he could more easily access Michael’s dick.

“Oh, just thinking about it makes it very hard,” Michael replied cheekily. Alex shot him an amused, appreciative grin at the joke.

“Okay, I’m going to…” Alex started, reaching for the waistband of Michael’s underwear. Michael’s hands met his and together they pushed and maneuvered his underwear off and then he laid on his back, bared in all his glory to Alex’s gaze. Alex tried not to stare, but Michael’s was the first real live cock he’d seen in front of him, hard, turned on, and for him to do what he wanted with. He catalogued all the differences between them. Michael was thicker than he was, uncut, and he seemed wider at the tip. Alex grasped him, running his fingers over the soft, velvety foreskin before taking a firmer grip and jacking him slowly. It was such a different sensation than he got from jacking his own cock, more fluid, and he loved watching the head of Michael’s cock disappear and reappear as his hand moved on him. He heard Michael softly exhale ‘Fuck’ above him as he kept moving his hand slowly up and down the shaft of his cock. The precum that beaded the tip was clear and shiny. Without overthinking it, Alex licked a broad stripe across the sticky head. The bitter, tangy taste took him by surprise, but he found he wanted more of it. Pulling back Michael’s foreskin he pressed his tongue over the slit of Michael’s cock before lowering his mouth to seal around the head and suck gently.

“Shit, I don’t know if I’m going to make it to the main event,” Michael hissed above him as Alex sucked on the head of his cock and moved his hand in tempo. Alex looked up through his eyelashes at him, not stopping what he was doing, and could see the strain on his face as he watched Alex’s mouth and hand on him. It made a flood of arousal wash through him to see how turned on Michael was getting, how so little was pushing him close to cumming already.

“Hey, switch sides,” Michael gasped, clutching at Alex’s shoulder. Alex popped off and gave him a confused look for a moment. “Like, bring your bottom half up here. 69!”

Alex scrambled to comply. He practically tore off his underwear and both of them rolled onto their sides to face each other. He took Michael in hand again and looked down between them to see Michael do the same. He did it confidently, like he’d done this before even though Alex knew he hadn’t, but it was so typically Michael to always act like he knew what he was doing. He’d at least been blown before so, Alex surmised, he had to know more than Alex. Michael glanced down and their eyes met and for a fleeting second, Alex could see in some microexpression that Michael was nervous too. It made him feel better, made him want to make Michael feel the way he’d felt earlier, so he closed his eyes and wrapped his lips around Michael again.

This time he felt more confident. He smoothed his tongue over the hard flesh in his mouth and pushed his lips further down Michael’s shaft until he felt him teasing the edges of the back of his throat and he knew if he kept pushing he’d gag. So he took what he could and moved his hand over what he couldn’t. He’d gotten caught up in a rhythm of sorts to what he was doing when he felt the first touch of Michael’s tongue against his dick. It was barely there, a warm pressure and then gone. When Michael came back with his whole mouth, Alex pulled back off Michael with a gasp. That was a completely different feeling, one that made his toes curl and the muscles around his spine tense with pleasure. When Michael added his own bit of suction, Alex felt sure he would blow.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he panted, leaning his head against Michael’s hip for a moment.

“Right?” he heard Michael say and without looking, he knew the bastard was smirking at him.

“So can we just agree that if each of us is embarrassingly quick, this was just a warm-up round?” Alex panted out, finally opening his eyes to glance down towards Michael’s face. It was a mistake, of course, because his lips were red and spit slick, and Alex’s own cock was only inches away from them, and Michael had just had his mouth on him and if possible, Alex felt himself get the tiniest bit harder in Michael’s hand at the sight.

“Yep,” Michael agreed succinctly, before diving back in. Alex had to concentrate not to buck his hips at the sudden sensation of Michael’s mouth on him, but he managed it. Trying to get his head back in the game, he drew Michael back into his mouth and regained his earlier tempo. A deep, throaty moan from Michael almost sent him spiraling over the edge as the vibrations ran the length of him. He echoed the sentiment and felt fine tremors run along Michael’s thighs. Slowing down, Alex decided to try to push his limit and see how much he could get of Michael in him. He moved his head down lower, trying to relax through the feeling of something blocking his throat. He pulled back and tried again.

“Shit, Alex, what are you-- Oh my god,” Michael was gasping above him, hand reaching down to cradle the back of Alex’s head. He didn’t push or put any pressure on him, just tangled his fingers in Alex’s dark locks and held on as Alex continued to slowly work him deeper. Michael tried to pleasure Alex at the same time, but it felt more like he just held him in his mouth and moaned as Alex moved over him. He didn’t mind. It felt powerful to have him so distracted, to have him whimpering and see his muscles twitching with how bad he wanted to move and thrust as Alex swirled his tongue around him and hollowed out his cheeks.

A clench of fingers in Alex’s hair and quickly frantic “Fuck, I’m gunna --” was all the warning Alex got before his mouth was flooded with Michael’s release. It wasn’t altogether pleasant, but he swallowed quickly in hopes the aftertaste wouldn’t be as bad. He backed off and looked down at Michael’s face. His cheeks were red from exertion, his mouth open and panting, and his eyes closed in something between pain and bliss. After a moment, he opened his eyes and looked down at Alex, a lazy grin on his face.

“That was awesome,” he drawled, before sitting up and moving so he could capture Alex’s mouth in an overenthusiastic, sloppy kiss. Alex laughed at him, kissing him back and pulling him close, running his hands over all his new favorite places on Michael’s body. Michael’s hand reached between them and he grasped Alex’s cock.

“Is this okay?” he asked between kisses, hand moving purposefully over Alex. Alex nodded, pulling Michael into another kiss as he let himself get worked over. When he could no longer kiss because all his attention was on the rushing feeling through his body as he got pulled closer and closer to cumming, Michael started talking.

“You look so hot like this,” he murmured against Alex’s neck. “You’re the most gorgeous person I’ve ever seen.”

“Fuck, Michael,” Alex gasped, hips starting to make small, aborted thrusts to follow Michael’s tight grip on him.

“You looked so hot with my cock in your mouth, so focused, like you loved doing it, like you were made for it,” Michael breathed into his ear. Alex could only whimper, his body drawing tight before he started shooting, cum hitting his chest and stomach, dripping over Michael’s knuckles.

“Christ, that’s a lot of jizz,” Michael said, before laughing lightly as he grabbed someone’s underwear and wiped off his hand and Alex’s torso. “What a load of --”

“Shhh,” Alex said, turning and covering Michael’s mouth with his before he could make another terrible joke. Michael hummed contentedly as Alex kissed it, slow and languidly as he came down from his high. When Alex could muster up the energy, he reached down and grabbed one of the blankets to throw it over them. Despite there being two mattresses, they were sharing one, knees tangled together, arms wrapped around each other, chests touching.

“So what does this mean tomorrow?” Michael asked quietly when they’d begun to drowse and could no longer keep kissing. Alex opened an eye and looked over at him, having noted the tension in his voice.

“What do you mean?” he asked, raising his head and propping it on a hand so he could look down at Michael.

“Like… are we together? Boyfriends? Friends with benefits? Is this like… a drunk tumble for the holiday?” Michael asked, swallowing thickly as he pushed out the last option. Alex frowned down at him, wondering where this was coming from, why he’d need to ask. Did he want it to be a drunk tumble?

“I… I figured it meant we were dating? Like… like boyfriends. But if you don’t want that I--” Alex never got to figure out what concession he’d make to keep getting to kiss Michael.

“No! No, boyfriends is good. I-I want to be your boyfriend. I just wanted to make sure you wanted that too,” he finished, focusing on Alex’s shoulder as he ran his fingers lightly over the curve to his arm.

“So boyfriends,” Alex said decisively, laying back down, arm extended out under his pillow. He couldn’t help the smile that stretched over his mouth or the excitement that crept into his voice as he said, as calmly as possible, “I’m your boyfriend.”

“You bet you are,” Michael pronounced, meeting his eyes finally and swooping in to kiss him through his own smile. Their teeth may have clacked together because they couldn’t seem to stop grinning, but it didn’t hurt and no one seemed to care.

The night passed quietly and slowly. They fell asleep against each other only minutes before dawn started to lighten the sky, the fire burned low in the fireplace behind them, their bodies spent from discovering each other over and over. It was the happiest Alex had ever felt, the safest and warmest as he laid with his back against Michael’s chest, feeling him breathe deeply as he slept.

“Boyfriends,” he whispered into the dark room, still smiling as he forced himself to close his eyes and lightly squeeze the arms that wrapped around him.

#happy new years #malex #malex fic #michael guerin #alex manes #new years eve #rnm fic #tw: homophobic language #schmoop and smut

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cinnaminsvga · 5 years ago

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intermission • v | moonshine

→ summary: When the love letter you wrote and submitted as an assignment is leaked to the entirety of your university, it becomes a race against time to dispel rumours and convince the seven suspected muses of the poem that they aren’t the subject before anyone realises that you are the author. Easy, right? Well… maybe not as easy as you think.

→ pairing: bts x reader (feat. jihope + seokjin) → genre: college!au, crack, fluff, angst → warnings: homoerotic tension (?), delulu shippers, seokjin is a nosy motherfucker (as per usual) → words: 7.3K → a/n: it’s been,, ten million years,, sorry to my fox rain readers but let’s just say my brain has been a smoothie for a while but now!! it is still a smoothie but perhaps a little chunkier ;w; anyway, we love jihope in this household,, and seokjin,, is seokjin,, we love him too

— • masterlist | prev | intermission v | next • —

In a small studio apartment somewhere close to your university campus, notoriously handsome and oh-so-talented Kim Seokjin wakes up in cold sweat, his heart beating a mile a second and a chill running down his spine. “There’s been a disturbance in the force,” he mutters lowly to himself, a drop of sweat making its way down his razor-sharp jaw.

He had been in the midst of a wondrous dream wherein he, the universe’s protagonist, was being showered with praise and adoration after the sensational debut of his autobiographical documentary. Men and women alike were at his feet, peppering his heaven-sent toesies with the worship that he deserves. Everyone was there, even you had been there, his self-declared rival! But just as you were about to reach the head of the line, lips puckered and ready to go, Seokjin was ripped away from his kissies without warning.

You, of course, were not the reason for his mind-bending, earth-shattering, cock-jizzing premature arousal from his slumber. No –– Kim Seokjin does not wake up prematurely, for every moment of his life is a beacon of perfection. Only events of the most catastrophic order were able to wake him up from his slumber, so whatever cosmic force caused him to awaken must’ve been no joke. He had to take this seriously, as it might mean thousands of lives were at stake.

Seokjin jumps to his feet with a flourish, his entire body oozing grace, so much so that it would make any grown ballerina cry. He rushes to unplug his phone from its charger, unlocking it and immediately going to search through his social media accounts. As he scans through the tweets and posts, his well-trained eye sifts through the dreary and the mundane, his only intent to find whatever it is that might forewarn him of a natural disaster.

His follower count is stable. His engagement graphs show that his posts are at an all-time high. To any other novice, this might have been a sign that his gut feeling had been nothing but a fluke. Surely, nothing is wrong in the universe? But no, Seokjin is not some mere amateur! He wouldn’t be as successful at being a prick celebrity social media influencer if he didn’t have the reflexes that he did. He has to keep searching and pick out any little thing that might indicate that something was amiss.

It takes a hot minute (three hours to be exact) for Seokjin to find it, but he does. And oh, his intuition had been right: this was a level nine catastrophe. To give you an understanding of what that might mean, then here’s some context to scale: a level eight catastrophe would be if you ever found that he might have had a crush on you when you first met each other; a level ten catastrophe would be if Kim Seokjin lost all his followers overnight and was forced to relinquish his title as an Instagram baddie. So yes, level nine was dire, if not almost life-threatening.

The evidence?

...

To the untrained eye, it might look like nothing. But to a delulu devoted JiHope stan? This was a living nightmare.

Oh god, the signs are all there! The context, the timestamps, the emojis… They all made sense in Seokjin’s complicated maze of a mind. Like a seasoned detective, he’s able to connect all the dots to make a valid hypothesis that yes, JiHope is in danger of breaking up*.

[Addendum: Please note that JiHope has never dated before. Kim Seokjin is a lunatic and the constraints of reality do not apply to those of his kind. Please read the rest of this report with that in mind. Noted by: Min Yoongi.]

“FUCK!” he exclaims (with feeling), dropping to his knees as he cries (with feeling). The signs are all there: something is causing a rift between his two favorite homos* from staying together and he, as the chosen one, must do something to save them before it’s too late.

[Addendum: Well, technically he’s right, but Jimin is bisexual at the very least, but that’s a matter of semantics… But that’s pretty much as “factual” as Kim Seokjin is ever going to get, so let’s take that as a blessing. Noted by: Min Yoongi (again).]

He can’t jump headfirst into this madness, however. He needs a plan; not only did it need to be foolproof, but it also had to be undeniably fabulous and downright heinous. Seokjin never did see himself as the morally right hero from those dreary Marvel comic books despite the allure of their skintight spandex and ostentatious capes. No–– Seokjin is of a higher calling, one where the hero needs to pull his dirtiest tricks in order to save the day.

Which is why Seokjin finds no error in his ways when he decides to stalk Jimin and Hoseok throughout their day, trying to pinpoint which clogs in his JiHope machine need oiling and lubing.

Nothing is ever too much for Kim Seokjin. In fact, he’ll go out of his way to follow them to their homes if he has to, but luckily (for Jimin and Hoseok), he doesn’t need to go that far. In fact, it’s a downright fucking miracle that his intuition from this morning had been correct, made apparent by hour ten (10) of his stalking misadventures:

It’s nearing five in the afternoon. Kim Seokjin’s patience and determination has been put to the test before, but never like this. He could never ever imagine himself setting foot in this damned place, what with its overflowing abundance of knowledge, nerds, and public displays of integrity. He nearly gagged the moment he took one step in the library, and not even the thought of seeing Jimin and Hoseok together was enough to settle the bile climbing up his throat.

To make matters worse, you were there too. Not that Seokjin particularly cares (he does) that you are, but there is something… annoying about seeing you just sitting there, teaching Hoseok like it was normal*.

[Addendum: It is fucking normal. As per usual, Kim Seokjin is a dipshit who has never worked a day in his life and does not understand the notion of helping others study for their courses. To this day, I can’t understand how he’s passing his classes, though I’m kind of afraid of finding out how. Some things are better left… unsolved. Noted by: Min “I’m-not-paid-enough-for-this” Yoongi.]

He had been busy following Jimin around before this, but he was forced to change targets when one of his adoring fans had distracted him while asking for an autograph, causing him to lose track of Jimin entirely. It was of little consequence, however, given that he knows that Jimin was also going to be tutored by you later on anyway, so he just hopes that Jimin doesn’t do something stupid while he’s out of sight for the time being.

Normally, he’d try to find out where Jimin was going next, but the hardest part about following Jimin is that he didn’t have a fixed schedule like Hoseok did. Even Seokjin didn’t quite understand what Jimin was majoring in, and he prides himself in knowing every single detail of both their lives. But for now, it didn’t matter; at least Seokjin was left with one schedule to follow, so it made sense to just let Jimin be and go to wherever Hoseok was probably at the moment.

When Seokjin had finally located him walking out of his last class, Hoseok hadn’t appeared all that different from his usual demeanor. A bit dazed maybe, but that could be brushed off due to the essay he had to cram for that morning (a fact that Seokjin had learned through various connections). He walks lazily to the nearby library where he would be meeting you, and with a heavy heart, Seokjin follows suit.

You were already there when the two of them arrive. Seokjin is lucky when your eyes train automatically on Hoseok, ignoring him completely. In any other scenario, Seokjin would’ve felt incredibly scorned by this. He would’ve immediately stomped over to where you sat, making sure to announce his presence to you and everyone else within a fifty-foot radius. But today was not an ordinary day, so Seokjin is forced to hold his tongue and save his bitchin’ for another day. And so, he quietly slinks away to a seat a few tables away, his contemptuous aura causing all the previously seated students to vacate the table in a rush.

Much to his chagrin, it feels like Seokjin has just wasted an hour as he watches the two of you being productive (Seokjin lets out a shudder), not even bothering to film your tutoring session due to how little information he was getting. The only point of interest is how pissed off you seem, though it’s not like Seokjin has ever witnessed you in any other state anyway. He watches as Hoseok’s sunny disposition slowly chips away at your foul mood, and to his awe and surprise, sees you crack a smile just as the hour was about to pass.

It isn’t like that was important to Seokjin, though. So what if he noticed that you were happier with Hoseok around? It’s not every day that Seokjin catches you in a good mood (and he reluctantly admits that it’s always nice to see you smiling, even if his presence unfailingly causes a deep-set frown to appear on your lips.)

That was of little importance, he told himself.

Seokjin had hoped that when Hoseok’s tutoring session would end that he might manage to see him and Jimin cross paths. Unfortunately, it seems like Hoseok has other plans as he quickly shuffles his things into his bag, looking apologetic as he waves a hasty goodbye to you. You and Seokjin gaze at the empty spot he has left in his wake, both of you knowing even without Hoseok’s admittance that this rift between him and Jimin was far deeper than either of you had imagined.

Seeing Hoseok so skittish has a terrible effect on one’s psyche, and Seokjin feels despair growing in the pit of his stomach at what might be an unsalvageable situation for the JiHope community.

“Nonsense!” his inner-voice (that suspiciously sounds like you) chastises, whacking him with a proverbial rolled-up newspaper. “There is no such thing as unsalvageable when it comes to the magnificent Kim Seokjin!”

“You’re right,” Seokjin says (out loud), slamming his fists on the table. The jittery librarian’s assistant by the front desk jumps up in surprise, but Seokjin pays him no mind.

Seokjin is so immersed by his own internal monologue that he doesn’t notice the aforementioned librarian’s assistant leave his station with a small handwritten note clutched tightly in his hand. Seokjin also doesn’t notice when he speaks to you with pink dusting the apples of his cheeks before returning to his desk, sans note*.

[Addendum: I’M SO MAD WHY DOESN’T ANYONE NOTICE FUCKING JUNGKOOK??? NEXT TIME I SEE SEOKJIN IT’S ON FUCKING SIGHT HOW DARE HE NOT SEE MY LIL BABY WALK TO HIS ***** AND FULFIL ALL MY HOPES AND DREAMS? I’M GONNA KILL YOU KIM SEOKJIN! (Angrily) Noted by: Min Yoongi.]

It doesn’t take long for Jimin to arrive, and he’s kind of hard to miss with how loud his entrance is. Seokjin nods in approval as the younger enters the drab library with an astounding flourish, complete with his hair gently flowing in the (nonexistent) wind and hips swaying to the (nonexistent) beat.

None of this out of the ordinary, especially with how unfazed the general library populace was to Jimin’s commotion. What is a little different, however, is the beaming, oversaturated, downright diabetic smile on his face, complete with his signature eyes creased into their cute little crescents.

It isn’t that Jimin wasn’t a naturally sunny person; on the contrary, his kind and gregarious personality is what drew Seokjin into shipping him with Hoseok in the first place. But there was something about this level of overflowing giddiness that is a bit… disconcerting, for lack of a better word.

Even you appeared to be dumbstruck by Jimin’s odd mood. You squint curiously at Jimin, taking his worksheets from his hands without another word. Seokjin covertly takes out his phone to pretend to take a selfie, but proceeds to tape the whole tutoring session for him to review later that night. He strains his ears to try and catch the bits and pieces of your conversation with Jimin, but he’s left high and dry when he realizes that you were the type who actually liked to whisper at the library, further foiling his plans.

“Dammit,” he mutters to himself, hastily shoving his “textbooks” into his sling bag as he moves to a table slightly closer to the two of you. He doesn’t bother unpacking them again on the table, foregoing the pretense that he was actually there to “study” when in fact he had goals much loftier than those of an ordinary university student.

He carefully adjusts his camera, trying his best to stay out of your and Jimin’s view. He cranes his head forward as far as he can, face crumpling (handsomely) from the strain.

Seokjin had missed it when he was busy relocating to his better position, but it seems like you had finally gotten fed up with Jimin’s strange behavior. He only sees Jimin look shocked by your irritability, but that quickly fades away as his previously dopey smile comes back at full force. Knowing you, your eye is probably twitching right now, but Seokjin attributes that to the stick permanently stuck up your ass.

“It’s, umm…” Jimin looks extremely bashful all of a sudden, and Seokjin makes sure to zoom in on his face for better analysis later. There’s a slight pause, and both you and Seokjin wait for Jimin to continue. “Do you know… uh…” He takes a deep breath, blushing all the while. “Y/N, you know Lee Sera, right?”

Since you’re faced away from Seokjin, he doesn’t get to see what type of reaction you might be sporting on your face. He has a guess though, and that’s mostly because he already knows what Lee Sera means to you.

Seokjin only just saw the forum post this morning when he was going through his social media. Since he was one of the only people who actually knew you were the author, he’d known from the get-go that Lee Sera had probably written that post revealing herself as the author as a way to get easy clout. Nothing annoyed Seokjin more than people getting more famous than him, so he was honestly a strongly-worded call-out post away from revealing the truth to the masses, but was eventually stopped by the thought of your desperate face from days ago.

As much as Seokjin was a slut for drama, even he isn’t that mean. He can be mean in other ways, such as by putting an ugly filter on your face as he continues to videotape you without your consent. Case in point:

“What?” you say, almost shouting. Unbeknownst to you, there is a pooping baby currently superimposed on your forehead. The film looks shaky at best, but that’s all because of how hard Seokjin is shaking from trying not to laugh.

“Do you know if she likes anyone?” he replies, still dreamy. The AR pooping baby is also on his head, but Jimin manages to pull the look off.

Seokjin waits for your explosion to come, but he underestimates your self-control because he completely misses the next few words you say from how calmly and quietly you speak, though he only imagines that you must be on the way to a mental breakdown soon enough.

The calm before the storm, Seokjin thinks giddily to himself. He could always post your mental breakdown on Youtube for a couple thousand views. C’mon… let’s go viral, baby!

Jimin watches you eagerly from the sides and waits for your response, but you’re too busy short-circuiting right in front of him to give one. Seokjin almost feels sorry for you, but he’s too busy trying not to burst into laughter as it is. God, you’re such a fucking sad mess.

Lucky for you, your timer goes off to signal the end of your tutoring session, and Seokjin notices the way your shoulders slacken with relief. And Jimin seems to have forgotten all about his query because he’s started to pack his things already, humming softly to himself. Once he finishes, he pulls out his phone to read something on his screen, tapping away through his social media as he waits for you to say goodbye.

You’re too busy packing away your own things that you don’t notice when Jimin’s eyes begin to bug out, his mouth dropping and his nostrils flaring with the intensity of his breathing. When he scrolls a little bit further down, he lets out a sharp gasp, catching you and Seokjin off guard.

Jimin has just seen the post, didn’t he? Either that, or he saw porn on his timeline, though Seokjin doesn’t think that would excite Jimin as much as the former would. You seem to guess the same, judging by how stiff you become at his exclamation.

“Y/N! Y/N, she–– she’s––!”

Your fight or flight instincts activate, and Seokjin has to scramble after you as you powerwalk out of the library, desperate to get away from Jimin and his revelation. Unfortunately, you’re not entirely in your best shape right now, so it would be an absolute miracle if you were ever to outpace Park “abs of steel” Jimin. Jimin continues to titter beside you, unaware of the waves of tension running rivers down your form.

“She’s amazing, isn’t she? And she’s so humble to have kept quiet about the whole thing, too. Wah, she’s so…” Seokjin hears Jimin say, and he has to stop himself from snorting at how blatantly love blind Jimin seems to be. Seokjin isn’t anywhere near as good as you when it comes to writing (though he hates to admit it), but even he knows that Lee Sera isn’t as capable as you are. Jimin must really be a sucker for bitches in tight skirts and basic nude pumps because honestly… Why have the knock-off when you can have real Gucci?*

[Addendum: Hey it’s me again… Just wanted to say… Why is Seokjin lowkey kinda making me wanna ship him with Y/N… This is for real weird… Stop this… I’m scared… Noted by: Confused Min Yoongi.]

“I never really paid it much attention, but now that I’m rereading the poem… she’s so talented.” Jimin continues to gush, and you look half a second away from painting the walls with your vomit. Your head is bowed, so you don’t notice when the library doors open and a student in a loose white shirt and flowy black pants enters, looking as far removed from the environment as Seokjin did. “It’s no wonder it blew up so much, she’s such a gifted––”

“Who’s such a gifted what?” the new intruder asks. Kim Taehyung stops right in front of you in all his indie glory, and the sudden apparition of another of one of your “muses” must have frayed your unraveling mind even further. Seokjin is already turning his camera to your face with a dramatic pan left zoom, the pooping baby filter still on your head. It slips a turd onto your grimacing face.

Jimin, ever the sweet himbo, has already forgotten about you and instead rushes over to Taehyung with the news. “Tae! The author of that poem you’re always raging about––”

Seokjin watches with interest as Taehyung elbows Jimin strongly in the gut, a strong blush coating his cheeks.

Jimin continues, undeterred. “The author of the poem, it’s Lee Sera! I know I always ignored you when you talked about it, but now…” Seokjin has already stopped listening in favor of watching the way Taehyung’s expression slowly morphs from bashful embarrassment to careful indifference. His eyebrows raise even further when Taehyung’s gaze sweeps towards you, unwavering despite the animated prattlings of his best friend beside him.

Inch-resting… Inch-resting indeed…

Seokjin leaves then, not wanting to be caught by any of you as he slinks away unseen. He stops his recording, an array of thoughts swimming through his head as he tries to piece together the puzzle in front of him. He’ll need to follow you, Jimin, and Hoseok again, and he knows in the pit of his stomach that the tsunami is fast approaching.

x x x x x

And so, Seokjin follows the three of you around like a parasite, waiting for any of you to drop the ball on him. It’s the next Monday now, and he’s still not any closer to witnessing the “climax” of his JiHope prophecy. While he is aware that Lee Sera is undoubtedly going to be the catalyst for breaking his ult ship, he can’t exactly fix the problem unless something wrong happens first.

Of course, he could always slip a laxative into Sera’s disgusting tummy tea when she isn’t looking, but Seokjin finished using all of them up when he slipped them into your breakfast a few weeks ago. Plus, drinking tummy tea is punishment enough, so he’ll hold his punches for now.

Seokjin has a strong feeling that today is going to be the day where something finally shifts. He doesn’t know why he thinks this, though he likes to tell himself it’s a God-given gift of JiHope senses, but he digresses.

He’s starting to lose hope in his trusty JiHope senses, however, when he watches another fruitless tutoring session between you and Hoseok. Man, if not for the fact that Seokjin was a delulu JiHope shipper, he’d totally be the type to shove Hoseok down the toilet in middle school. That dude… he’s too smart and studious for him, and Seokjin is always threatened by anyone who can get a score above 4 in an exam.

Hoseok leaves in a rush as per usual, and Seokjin has since figured out that it wasn’t because the English major was keen on rushing back home to jack off. Hoseok’s eyes search around frantically as he exits the library, like he’s afraid of running into a certain someone. It causes Seokjin’s grip on his pencil prop to tighten, so much so that he snaps it in half when he sees it happen for the third session in a row.

The situation in the JiHope fandom is much worse than he can ever imagine, and Seokjin resolves himself to fix it no matter what. He’ll even ask you for help, if worst comes to worst.

Hoseok practically leaves a dust trail in his wake, hurriedly vacating the premises just as you say goodbye. Just as Hoseok leaves, Jimin enters the scene with his signature bubbly laughter echoing through the rows of shelves. Seokjin turns his head towards the sound, but he can feel something is amiss already. There’s… someone with him.

I can smell the cheap drug store perfume all the way from here. Seokjin sneers to himself, crinkling his nose as the sound of another pair of footfalls confirms his suspicions right away. When he turns to look at you, the look of utter rage and disbelief on your face is almost enough to make him forget about the horrendous stench of Lee Sera.

Sera tears herself away from Jimin when she catches sight of you, and Seokjin’s heart clenches when he sees the utter look of confusion replacing the grin on Jimin’s face. She was just draped over Jimin’s arm a few seconds ago, but the complete 180 definitely must have bewildered the poor lovesick fool.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Lee Sera craved the attention she was being given after coming out as the “author” of the poem, though Seokjin finds her neediness distasteful. As someone who loved being in the limelight, Seokjin didn’t go around taking other people’s credit for his success! Clearly, he was the better one (as he always is in any situation).

Anyway, point stands: you look like you’re about to shit yourself from anger. Seokjin isn’t really listening to the conversation between the two of you, instead focusing on both of your body languages. Sera is playing the role of the remorseful peasant, begging for reconciliation from you, the ireful landlady who refuses to watch another second of her quivering lip.

It’s all very dramatic. Even though Seokjin is mostly recording the fight for analysis purposes, he’s probably going to keep the video for archival purposes as well. The rage, the hurt, the chaos… Seokjin could turn this entire narrative into its own wildly popular musical! He would obviously play himself as the omnipotent, all-seeing jack-of-all-trades, and you’d probably be played by some hag he can cast from the street. Seokjin can almost feel the Tony award jutting up his ass.

Slap! Seokjin jerks to attention and his dreams of his musical fade as he watches, slack-jawed, at the aftermath of your rage. The sound reverberates so loudly that Seokjin feels his ears ringing. In his surprise, he instinctively turns off his camera, ready to go and join stop the fight. Before he can take a step forward, however, a whirlwind shoves past him in a blur, but Seokjin already knows from his lean form that Hoseok had come to intervene. Seokjin hadn’t even noticed the lilac-haired boy was still around the library, but it doesn’t matter now that he’s here to save the day like the bishounen protagonist that he is.

Hoseok holds you back, but it does nothing to quell your anger. “How could you say that to him!” you cry, arms struggling to free themselves from Hoseok to throttle Sera. You look a bit like a rabid animal, teeth bared as you squirm in Hoseok’s hold.

To the side, Jimin chokes up in silence. He’s begun to regain his senses, limbs shifting as he prepares to escape. Seokjin doesn’t miss the shine in his eyes, tears forming and threatening to fall. He turns on his feel, high-tailing out of there without another word.

Hoseok says something into your ear and you nod mindlessly in response. He lets you go, watches as you chase after Jimin. His jaw is set, fists clenched by his sides, but he doesn’t make a move to follow. He takes one last look at Sera’s bamboozled expression, tuts angrily to himself, and walks away in the opposite direction.

Seokjin is speechless.

What the fuck was that? Seokjin isn’t a stranger to the current happenings of your sad love heptagon, or whatever the fuck you want to call it. It probably could have been solved much sooner if you just confessed to him already, but he can’t say he doesn’t enjoy the drama*.

[Addendum: She literally does not have a crush on Seokjin. If she did, I’d block her immediately. I didn’t raise Y/N for her to fall in love with this psychopath. PLEASE. Signed: Min Yoongi.]

No, Seokjin isn’t confused about the whole Sera thing. What he’s more confused about is why Hoseok isn’t going to comfort his boyfriend lover homie like he’s supposed to! Something must have caused a rift in their friendship, and Seokjin is determined to find out and fix this mess once and for all! There’s no need to fear for Seokjin is here!*

[Addendum: “Hallelujah!” said no one ever. I hate this dude. Noted by: Min Yoongi.]

x x x x x

After spending an inexcusable amount of time planning and plotting later that night, Seokjin comes to campus early the next day to put his incredibly profound plan into motion. Lucky for Seokjin, he’s equipped with a myriad of skills that go beyond that of acting and being a nuisance, so it comes as no surprise that he’s quite handy with Photoshop. He uses his Amazing Incredible Fantastic Photoshop skillz to their limits to print out a dozen or so fake posters for a new dance exhibition on Saturday.

Why? Because Seokjin is a genius of course! He knows for certain that Jimin will want to attend the exhibition to cheer himself up after the whole Sera debacle. He always did like watching the university’s dance club from the windows, always wistfully looking but never joining even though he COULD dance if he WANTED to but of course he wouldn’t! Because his beloved Hoseokie-hyung wouldn’t be there to be his partner and it’s all very sad and romantic, yadayadayada… Long story short, Seokjin is whipped for this BL trope and he will die on this hill if he has to!

However, Hoseok is going to be a bit harder to bait... He’d never be caught dead attending a dance exhibition, so Seokjin has to scavenge the last remaining brain cells he has to think of an event that Hoseok would want to go to. He settles on making a fake poster for a book signing by Pi Ness Hughman that is “mandatory” for all English Literature majors to attend. He even goes the whole way and makes a spoof e-mail to send to Hoseok, and no, Seokjin will not be explaining how he did that because he might be bordering on being a criminal, but that doesn’t mean he wants other people to be criminals too. That’s just how great of a person he is!

And what does any of this have to do with anything? Well… He’s going to lock them together inside a classroom and hope that they solve their differences there. Is Seokjin certain that his plan is going to work? Not at all. Is it more likely to use this as an excuse to get inspiration for his upcoming 100K slow burn enemies to lover fic that he’s been planning on starting? Absolutely.

Point of the matter is that Team Kim Seokjin never loses, and he’ll still end up on top even if everything goes to shit, and that is honestly all that matters.

Seokjin proceeds with his plan, going as smoothly as he can. He places the posters around areas that he is sure the duo would pass by. He also makes sure to accidentally “misplace” other posters and advertisements on the cork board that might serve as distractions, but you didn’t hear that from him. He watches stealthily from the shadows, carefully keeping track of their movements to make sure that they see the posters and that everything goes according to keikaku*.

[Addendum: Hey, it’s Yoongi again. I just wanted to say that I saw Seokjin when he was doing this because I caught him taking down some of the ads near my residence, and let me just say that his version of “making sure they see his fake posters” is literally just shoving the papers in their faces and then running away as soon as he can. So, I guess he did succeed on what he aimed to do, but was it moral? Was it just? Well, dear reader… I’m leaving that judgment up to you. (Tiredly) Noted by: Min Yoongi.]

It’s Saturday afternoon and Seokjin has just finished setting up his “trap” when he hears footsteps approaching where he was. He quickly jumps inside a nearby utility closet, keeping the door ajar to observe the upcoming interaction. Seokjin doesn’t even need to look to know that it’s Hoseok who has arrived first, always notoriously strict when it comes to scheduled meetings. He begins to worry, realizing belatedly that Jimin is the exact opposite of Hoseok when it comes to things like this, and while that makes for a good fanfic couple trope, it doesn’t really help Seokjin in this case.

He watches Hoseok peek into the classroom, brows scrunched in confusion as he must wonder why nobody seems to be at the supposed book signing. He snatches the poster from inside his satchel, squinting at the meeting details that should say that his class was supposed to meet at this very much abandoned classroom in the Law building. For how smart Hoseok is, he certainly didn’t question the sketchiness of the venue that Seokjin had chosen.

Hoseok taps his shoes against the linoleum floor, lips pursed as he debates on what to do. Just as Seokjin is about to blow his cover and just shove Hoseok into the classroom himself, a loud bang resounds from the end of the hall. They both flinch, looking over to see a head of red hair zooming towards them.

Jimin is dressed haphazardly in a ripped jean jacket and comically short shorts – you wouldn’t be able to tell what season it was based on his clothes alone. He looks like he’d just jumped out of bed, what with the noticeable drool stain still caked around his chin. He grinds to a halt in front of the classroom, breathing heavily through his mouth and still not yet aware of the company he has found himself with.

“Jimin? What the fuck?” Hoseok exclaims, staring incredulously at him. Jimin finally looks up, pausing in his heavy breathing to stare back.

He straightens up, pointing an accusing finger at the elder. “GASP! What are you doing here?”

Hoseok points his own finger. “Did you just say ‘gasp’ in real life?”

“I asked you first!”

“I asked you second!”

“Well,” Hoseok coughs awkwardly, gesturing to the empty classroom mindlessly. “I’m supposed to be here for a book signing, but I feel like I got a fake ad by accident.”

“Hah! Foolish of you,” Jimin snorts, nose high in the air. He procures his own fake poster from his short pockets, presenting it to Hoseok. “You must be Miss Steak Anne, because this classroom is supposed to be where a dance exhibition is being held. I knew you wanted to watch them dance! You’re just trying to cover up your embarrassment!”

“What?” Hoseok splutters, snatching the poster from his hands. He reads it, narrowing his eyes at Seokjin’s masterpiece of deception. “Dude. The poster is fake too. They spelled ‘dance’ like ‘dunce.’”

Jimin takes it back, slack-jawed when he sees that Hoseok was right. “What the fuck,” he says. He groans, smacking himself in the face. “I’m the foolish one now!”

Before Hoseok can retort, Seokjin chooses that moment to burst forth from his hiding place. “Hello, boys!” he greets, not waiting for a response. The two boys jump in surprise, but they don’t even have time to scream before Seokjin promptly shoves them into the classroom. He clicks the lock in place, grateful that he scouted this place during his first year in case he’d ever need somewhere to lock his unsuspecting classmates in*.

[Addendum: Me. It was me. He locked me in there when I told him JiHope was the worst ship on campus. Y/NKook for life! Noted by: Min Yoongi.]

“Hey! Let us out!” Jimin yells from behind the door, his tiny fists banging uselessly against the door. Seokjin cackles maniacally from the outside, doing a funny dance through the frosted glass window.

“Not until you guys fix whatever angst bullshit you have going on! I’ll be back in an hour. Until then, homos!” Seokjin singsongs, skipping away from the mess he created. But not to worry, dear readers, for Seokjin had planted microphones all over the classroom in advance so that we may all be privy to the ensuing drama/hotness courtesy of JiHope! Oh, how incredibly big-brained of him! The following is a transcript of the aforementioned recording because, as you know, Seokjin always wins.

Transcript by Min Yoongi:*

[Addendum: Paid-slash-blackmailed, by the way. I would never do this willingly. He knows too much about me… It’s sickening but also he offered to buy me chicken nuggets and I’d be an idiot to decline that. Anyway, here’s this pile of shit. Noted by: Min Yoongi.]

[0:00] *heavy banging from Jimin’s tiny baby fists*

[0:10] Jimin: Ugh, this shit BLOWS! *proceeds to stomp around like a baby before sliding to the ground with a thud*

[0:20] Hoseok: Well, it could be worse. We could have been kidnapped by a serial killer.

[0:25] Jimin: I’m pretty sure Kim Seokjin categorizes as one, but go off.

[0:30] Hoseok: *grumbling* I’m just trying to lighten the mood.

[0:35] Jimin: Oh wow, thanks soooo much. This is all your fault, by the way. Can’t believe your dumbass got bamboozled by Seokjin.

[0:40] Hoseok: How the fuck is this my fault? You were fooled too! And will you stop sitting like that? I can see everything with how short your shorts are.

[0:45] Jimin: Oh, and now you’re going to police how I dress? Bitch, people would be honored to see my nuts! They’re prized nuts!

[0:50] Hoseok: *snorts* Sure, if you say so.

[0:55] *there is a short pause and you can hear Jimin’s heavy breathing* Jimin, mumbling: Taehyung says my nuts are great…

[1:00] Hoseok: Well, Taehyung is an idiot. He probably says that shit to everybody.

[1:05] Jimin: *gasps* TAKE THAT BACK! HE’S MY FUCKING SOULMATE!”

[1:10] Hoseok: Oh, he’s your soulmate, is he? Guess you like throwing that word around to just about anybody, huh? Because last time, I remember you calling me your soulmate!”

[1:15-6:15] *literally just five minutes of silence* *you can hear Jimin crying a little bit but it’s obvious he’s trying to hold it in* *Hoseok (?) or maybe Jimin is pacing around*

[6:20] Hoseok: I, uhh... *hesitates some more* I didn’t... Mean to say that.

[6:25] Jimin: *starts to laugh hysterically* Fuck…

[6:30] Jimin: *slams his tiny baby hand against the wall again* Fuck!

[6:35] Jimin, choking up: You didn’t mean to say what? That we really were soulmates? That we used to be best friends?

[6:40] Hoseok, quietly: Jimin... No, I meant––

[6:45] Jimin: What do you mean, huh? I can never understand you. You never explain yourself. It’s always a guessing game with you and I just end up getting my feelings hurt because I always make the wrong assumptions, isn’t that right?

[7:00] Hoseok, choking up: Of course not. You’re right, I’m stupid and––

[7:05] Jimin, yelling: That’s right! You are fucking stupid! You’ve been stupid since day one and I can’t believe I wanted to be friends with you! *sniffles loudly* And I’m even stupider for still wanting to be friends with you.

[7:20-7:30] *there is a long silence except for the sound of Jimin’s heavy sniffling*

[7:35] Hoseok, sighing: I know that I don’t deserve to be your friend. I’m ashamed. I’m so fucking ashamed. There isn’t a day where I don’t regret not telling you about giving up dance all those years ago. I should’ve been more open with you.

[7:50] *Jimin stops sniffling* Jimin: Yeah. You should’ve. You should be. Asshole.

[8:00] Hoseok: And every time I try telling myself that I should apologize, I’d just get cold feet. It got even worse when you started hanging around Taehyung more... And I just... Lost it.

[8:10] Jimin, laughing harshly: Oh? So you were fucking jealous? Please.

[8:15] Hoseok: It sounds childish, but yea. I was.

[8:20] Jimin, quietly: Oh.

[8:30] Hoseok: And then when I saw you hanging off of Sera’s stupid little finger like a lovesick fool, it... It really fucking messed me up.

[8:40] Jimin: Oh my god. Was that why you’ve been so moody these past few days? Holy shit.

[8:45] Hoseok: When you put it that way... Ugh, this is so embarrassing. I’m really not a feelings guy, you know? I’m always just supposed to be the happy-go-lucky sunshine guy.

[9:00] Jimin: You’re allowed to feel, you know? Get rid of that toxic masculinity bullshit you have going on. This is why we fucking drifted in the first place!

[9:10] Hoseok, laughing hoarsely: Yeah... You’re right. *sound of a body sliding down to the floor... Hoseok must have sat beside Jimin*

[9:30] Jimin: We are literally so stupid. Do you realize how dumb our arguments sound? We’re being so childish, and for what?

[9:40] Hoseok: *sighing* I know… I’m the asshole here. I know what I did and I’m the reason why our friendship shifted. I’ve never been considerate to you and now…

[9:50] Hoseok: You probably hate me. And I used to tell myself that it’s better that you moved on but I know the reason why you never applied for the dance program is because of me.

[10:00] Jimin: I mean, yeah. That’s true.

[10:05] Hoseok: Wait, the asshole part or…

[10:10] Jimin: Pretty much everything. Yes, you’re the asshole. Yes, you ruined our friendship. Yes, I didn’t apply for the dance program because of you.

[10:15] Hoseok: *sighing* And you probably hate me, right?

[10:20] Jimin, softer: No, of course not. I could never hate you, hyung. Hell, I thought you hated me! You never hang out with me anymore! I literally only started taking those tutoring lessons from Y/N so that I would have an excuse to see you sometimes.

[10:35] Hoseok: ...oh. I didn’t know… I guess I’ve been a little bit too self-absorbed.

[10:45] Jimin: Understatement of the century, hyung. I just fucking miss you, okay? *sniffles loudly* God, I am so sick of crying all the time! First that shit with Sera, and now this…

[10:55] Hoseok: *panicking* Shit! Jimin-ah, please don’t cry… I’m such a fuck up! Why do you even want to hang around me?

[11:05] Jimin: Don’t you get it? You’re my best friend! How could I just erase years of friendship over what? Just because you don’t wanna dance anymore? Listen, I know I always pester you to go dance with me again, but I’d be more than happy just having you as my friend. I don’t care about that shit anymore! I just want you to look at me without looking so fucking guilty all the time.

[11:35] Hoseok: Well… I still want to dance. All the time, believe me. But… I can’t go around wasting my time when I made a promise to my dad.

[11:45] Jimin, hesitantly: Your… your dad?

[11:50] Hoseok: Yeah. He told me it was his greatest wish if I followed in his footsteps and became a teacher… I’m sorry, Jimin. I couldn’t just let my old man down like that. I…

[12:00] Jimin: Oh my god. You idiot. You fucking dunce. You dick for brains.

[12:05] Hoseok: What the fuck? What did I do now?

[12:10] Jimin: Have you ever considered… that you could teach shit other than English? Huh?

[12:15] *Hoseok.exe has stopped working*

[12:20] Jimin: Oh my god! I have a fucking feeling your dad meant he just wanted to see you teach kids, not necessarily become an English teacher like he was! You fucking stupid piece of shit!

[12:30] Hoseok: I… literally didn’t think. How the fuck..?

[12:35] Jimin: Are you literally just telling me right now that we could’ve escaped 3 years of stupid misunderstanding if you just hadn’t been an idiot? Give me a break! How the hell do you think you’d ever become a teacher?!

[12:50] *there is a pause before the two of them start laughing loudly*

[13:00] Hoseok: Jesus. Guess I really am the asshole, huh?

[13:05] Jimin: You think? Ugh, maybe getting locked in a classroom with you isn’t so bad after all…

[13:10] Hoseok: Speaking of… When do you think Seokjin is gonna let us out of here? I kinda need to piss and as happy as I am to be your friend again, I don’t think I wanna relive our toddler years together either.

[13:20] Jimin: *snorts* Gross. *shuffling* Hyung! Stand here! I’m gonna climb you and try to open the latch to the window over there. Shouldn’t be that far of a jump. Then I’ll just open the door for you.

[13:40] Hoseok: Jimin, are you insane? That could be dangerous! Let me do it.

[13:50] Jimin: You and what? Your skinny ass? Please! Do you see the gloriousness of this ass? I can get us out of here in no time.

[14:00] Hoseok, whispering: Assuming you can even squeeze through the window…

[14:05] Jimin, yelling: EXCUSE ME? I’LL HAVE YOU KNOW THAT THIS ASS HAS WON ME MANY FREE MCDONALD’S HAPPY MEALS IN MY DAY––

End of Audio

x x x x x

Yoongi pauses from his typing to recheck the file, making sure he hadn’t accidentally paused the recording. When he sees that the audio does end there, he leans back into his chair, letting his headphones fall back to settle around his neck. He fishes his phone out of his pocket, sending a quick text to Seokjin to ask what happened to the two stupid lovebirds.

288 notes · View notes

forevfangirlwrites · 5 years ago

Text

On The Case

A/N: Thank you to @wonder-ful-lass for choosing the prompt: established relationship for percabeth or solangelo!

“Have you noticed that Nico’s been hanging around more often?” He looks up from the tomatoes he’s cutting to see Annabeth peek out from behind her laptop and raise an eyebrow.

“Not that that’s a bad thing,” he rushes to continue. “It just seems like he’s…” He trails off, unable to find the words.

“Running away from something?” Annabeth finishes, shutting her laptop and standing up to stretch.

“Yeah, and I—” He cuts off as he realizes his wife is not just wearing his t-shirt, but only his t shirt. It’s already barely long enough and when she stretches...

“What?” she prods because he still hasn’t continued his sentence. Leaving the sentence, tomatoes, and kitchen aside, he chooses instead to crowd her against the table and wrap his arms around her.

“You can’t expect me to do anything if you come out looking like that,” he growls against her ear before dropping his head to pepper kisses down her neck.

She smiles, angling her head to give him better access. “We’ve been married a year, been together for years before that, I thought you’d be over it by now.”

He pauses his trail down her neck to look directly into her eyes. The stormy grey are a shade darker than normal and he can feel her hands roaming his chest.

“How about I get over you and show you just how—”

A loud ring makes them both jump back and Percy backs away reluctantly, pout apparent on his face. And though she’s not as apparent, he can tell she feels the same when she pulls him in for what’s supposed to be a quick kiss but clearly isn’t, since the doorbell rings again.

He forces himself to turn away and walks to the door, hoping both his frustration and arousal are not visible. Who would even show up at this time—

It’s Nico.

“Hey, sorry, um, can I, like, crash here, for like an hour,” he mumbles, looking down at the floor. Percy finds the frustration rushing out of him as concern fills its place.

“Sure,” he says, opening the door a little wider and letting Nico walk through.

Annabeth must have snuck off to the bedroom, ‘cause she’s not in sight when Nico flops on the couch.

“What’s going on?” Percy asks. “Are you okay?”

“What? Yeah, I’m fine, it’s nothing.” Nico looks down at his phone. “Just um, needed to get away, roommate…” he trails off.

“Did he do something to hurt you?” he questions, frowning.

“No!” Nico’s head snaps up. “No! He’s fine, he’s, uh, great, just um, needed some air…” he trails off again, this time focusing on his phone with firm determination.

Percy sighs. At least he’s okay. He walks back to the tomatoes and picks up the knife just as Annabeth returns, wearing a pair of leggings under his shirt. (Honestly, it’s still hot.)

“Hey Nico, what’s going on?” she asks, walking over to the couch.

He focuses on his tomatoes as Annabeth receives the same mumbled answers as he did. Annabeth looks up to catch his eye and he knows she’s thinking the same thing. They need to get to the bottom of this.

-.-

Since Nico refuses to divulge information, Percy decides to do some on-site sleuthing. Which is why he’s at Nico’s apartment, a short distance from campus, with a tupperware full of cookies he’s baked. He’s been to Nico’s apartment before, but he’s never met this mysterious roommate. Well, that’s about to change.

Nico’s eyes are wide when he opens up the door and Percy bites back his grin, settling for a friendly smile and wave instead.

“Hey! What’s up?” he asks, and Nico looks like he wants the ground to swallow him alive.

“What are you doing here?” He doesn’t think Nico means it like that, but it’s clear his embarrassment of the situation is getting the better of him.

“I brought some cookies, can I… come in?” he replies, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, I don’t know, my roomma— “

“Hey Nico, who’s at the door?” a voice calls from inside, and Nico flushes as he turns around to respond.

“Oh, um, just a friend.” Nico is clearly ready to close the door, but it’s too late, and a head of blonde hair appears beside him.

Nico’s roommate is a tall blonde guy with a cheery smile and absolutely nothing about him screams problem to Percy.

“Hi! I’m Will,” he introduces, holding out his hand.

“Percy.” He shakes back.

“Come on in! Don’t worry, Nico, I don’t mind.” Will opens the door further and Nico looks rather like the tomatoes he was cutting the other day.

“Thanks, I brought some cookies I baked,” he says, offering the container to the two of them.

“Oh cool! Can I have one?” Will directs the question towards Nico and Nico, being himself, just nods before dropping his head to look at the floor.

Percy opens the container and holds it out. Will thanks him before picking up a cookie.

“God, that’s so good!” he all but groans as he takes his fist bite. Percy smiles proudly, another baking success.

“Thanks man!”

“Nico, where do you find em?” Will jokes, stuffing the rest of the cookie in his mouth.

“He’s just a friend.” Nico speaks up for the first time. “A really good friend, but like, I mean, you’re great,” he says to Percy, still rambling. “But like, no homo, I mean like, in a brotherly way, and…” Nico realizing he’s talked himself into a corner, reaches out to grab a cookie and shoves the whole thing in his mouth.

“Thanks, Nico,” Percy responds, amused at the situation. Will is looking at Nico with a look on his face that Percy can’t really place.

He decides to end Nico’s misery by shoving the container into Will’s hands.

“Well, anyway, I just wanted to drop them off. I got to go, Annabeth and I have a date night,” he tells them, but mostly Nico, because he really just needs to be with his wife, alone.

Nico springs into action at the words, rushing him towards the door. “Okay, thank you, tell Annabeth I say hi.”

“Alright, bye Will, it was nice to meet you!” he waves back as he lets himself be herded out by a still anxious Nico. Will waves back, a look of confusion still on his face.

As the door shuts behind him he hears Nico say something about “He’s always in a rush to see his wife, you know, love, and all that.”

Percy grins. His sleuthing had proven very fruitful.

-.-

“I’m impressed,” Annabeth says when he regales the story to her. “It took you forever to figure out I liked you.”

Percy pouts. “He was being obvious, you’re never obvious!”

She rolls her eyes and takes a bite of her food.

“Anyway,” Percy continues. “He clearly likes the guy but far from doing anything about it, he can’t even function.”

“We need to figure out what this Will guy is like.” Annabeth muses.

“He was really nice and friendly towards me. Plus,” Percy adds, swallowing his bite. “He’s blonde.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Annabeth asks.

“I like blondes,” he states simply.

“Really.” She drags out the words and rolls her eyes again to prove her point.

“I mean, I married one.”

Annabeth looks taken back by his words. She turns towards him and drops her fork, standing up as she did.

“What are you doing?” he asks from his place on the couch.

“Being obvious.”

And with that she straddles his lap and brings him in for a searing kiss.

-.-

Their plan is simple. Actually, it’s not. Because they both know that if they tell Nico to invite Will out to a bar on Friday, Nico won’t pass along the message. So this time, it’s Annabeth who drops by their place after work with another container of cupcakes that Percy’s baked for the occasion to make sure the invitation reaches both of them.

“And I just wanted to invite both of you for this Friday,” she stresses, shooting a quick smile towards Will. He has a half-eaten cupcake in his hand.

“Oh, are you sure, I don’t want to intrude…” Will starts but Annabeth cuts him off.

“Of course not! Any friend of Nico’s is welcome!”

Will smiles brightly and nods. “That sounds great, thanks!”

Nico mumbles something, bright red from the moment she’d stepped towards the door, holding out the Tupperware container as a shield and insisting that he needs to eat more food.

Annabeth wonders if he ever stopped being red from that moment to now, when the two walk into the bar and head towards their table.

“Hey guys!” Percy waves them over. Will waves back and Nico shuffles forward, still mostly looking down.

“How’s it going?” Annabeth asks as they sit down.

“Pretty good, what about you two?” Will asks, speaking up since Nico seems to have lost his voice.

They chat and order drinks before Percy brings up the real reason they had invited them to this place.

“They’re opening up a dance floor,” Percy says brightly. “Want to join?”

He doesn’t specify anyone by name but mostly directs the question towards Nico, whose head snaps up.

“What, dance, who, me? I mean, probably Annabeth, right, cause you know, dancing,” he mumbles, wrapping a hand around his drink and pulling it closer. “’Cause you know like, no homo, and dancing is nice—” he cuts himself off by taking a huge swig of his beer.

Will’s frowning at Nico. “I don’t see anything wrong with two guys dancing.”

Nico looks petrified and Annabeth actually feels sorry for the poor guy as he continues to ramble. “I mean I didn’t mean it like that, like it’s perfectly fine, nothing wrong with it at all, I didn’t mean—”

She decides to save him. “It’s okay, Nico, we know.”

Will’s still curiously looking over at Nico. “I’m glad, ‘cause you know I’m bi and I hope you don’t have any problem with that.”

Nico’s mouth literally drops open and she grabs Percy’s hand under the table. This was better than they could have hoped!

“Oh, uh, I didn’t know that, I uh, no problem at all, I um, that’s great,” Nico stutters out.

Just then, louder dance music blasts over the speakers and she turns towards Percy. “Babe, I love this song, let’s go!” And with that, she tugs Percy away from the table, leaving the two of them sitting there.

“You have no clue what this song is,” Percy says as they make their way to the dance floor.

“Sure I do!” she defends. She has no idea.

Percy pulls her to him and smiles. “Oh yeah, what’s the name?”

“Percy and Annabeth might have finally gotten the ball moving for those two,” she replies smugly.

Percy looks over to the two and she follows his gaze. They seem to be talking, which is, to be fair, a huge improvement on Nico’s part.

“I think you’re right,” he says, turning back to her.

“I’m always right.”

He rolls his eyes and leans in to kiss her.

-.-

“She’s beautiful,” Will says, looking over the crib.

“You’re beautiful,” Nico says with a smile. “No homo.”

Will looks away from the baby and rolls his eyes. “We’re married.”

“You got me there.”

Annabeth feels bad interrupting their moment, but she needs to get to her child. She feels a hand on her back and Percy drops his chin on her shoulder. “Another fruit of our labor.”

Annabeth makes a face at him and is about to comment that he had definitely NOT gone through labor to birth their child, but it dies on her lips as the baby in the crib starts to cry.

Will and Nico move aside as they rush to their child, Percy picking her up in his arms and rocking her gently.

Their daughter quiets down and Percy grins at Annabeth.

“I knew it, blondes like me.”

Rolling her eyes at her husband, Annabeth leans forward to peck him on the lips. Well, he isn’t wrong.

A/N: Thank you again for choosing a prompt and I really hoped you liked it! It’s only really established relationship for Percabeth but I hope the Solangelo is what you were looking for!

#percy and annabeth #percabeth #percabeth fic #nico and will #solangelo #oneshot #percabeth au #solangelo fic #fanfiction #writing #prompts #writing prompts #established relationship #getting together

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existential-idealist · 4 years ago

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Word.

In the beginning was the word, and the word was none. It is and isn’t; it fulfills and evaporates. The word was not said but only felt, only seen. It is nothing, yet carries everything. Taking on the weight of all ideas ever made, all concepts ever formed, all questions and answers that ever existed. It is, in the most veracious sense, the word.

In the millennia that passed the word has not changed. It carries on from the beginning of time to its inevitable end. The word will only cease to exist if everything does. Right now, it is with us. As beings of indubitable intelligence, the word is granted to us, as the light of the torch is passed from one creation to another. Its light everlasting, shining even in the darkest depths of the universe.

However, whether unwittingly or knowingly, we changed the word. It grew, it flourished, it became. We unearthed it as though it wasn’t meant for us, but with the determination of human beings, contributing also our inner stubbornness, we forced it out for all of us to see, to feel, and finally, to speak.

What are words but carriers of messages, like the messengers of Ancient Greek, or the umalohokan of the Philippines’ past. They are information. All that we think, do, and say are rooted in the formation of these fundamental units of language. What are we if not for their power, as they hold that with which drives the development of civilizations and wreak havoc on entire races. That is what’s truly terrifying in this world. All of us has the power within us, but only those with a mind brave and strong enough to conjure it into existence can control the world in their hands, leaving the rest to hope and pray that they use it for good.

Words are power, yes, that much is true. As we change what they are, so too does they change us. It is amazing how much we use them in a day and never stop to think how they affect others.

"Words have energy and power with the ability to help, to heal, to hinder, to hurt, to harm, to humiliate, and to humble." -Yehuda Berg

Oh, how haughty has humanity been, to hold such force harboring harshness and hardships for all to handle. How hollow are our hearts, to hatch hate and hastily hinder the success of others, housing a hellish landscape, and hampering hardworking homo sapiens.

Quotes like this bring about change to people’s perceptions in life. They mold worldviews and beliefs, as well as provide a different perspective on thoughts and feelings one might possess. They can bring peace, or hold within them incredible clout. Simple strings of words have been shown to sway even those with unwavering valor, those who possess astounding intelligence, and those with indomitable morals and values. The way that our language is shaped affects the way that we interact with our surroundings, including our fellow human beings.

"Don't ever diminish the power of words. Words move hearts and hearts move limbs." -Hamza Yusuf

In the literature that we, as a collective whole, has made, we reveal the most impressive of all art and thinking. With studies published to textbooks written, we have usurped the knowledge and understanding we so desire. Through words, we have made sense of the world. Through its lenses, we see the reality, our universe, influencing how we perceive it and changing our predisposition on everything.

Language is a basic instrument to articulate and connect, and writing and reading are a vital factor of daily life. Studying how people use language - the unconsciously chosen words and phrases they blend - will make us understand our own language and why we have been doing the same thing. It is important to learn the words made by others not of our own culture and to understand how they evolve over time, as they can allow academics to understand the basis of the special way people interact with each other.

We should talk with mindfulness as we chat, in a way that solidifies unity and kindness in our personalities. Not only do our words count, but the sound we use has an enormous effect as well. There are some principles that all our interactions with others should be driven by. Some of the most important things we will ever comprehend are deciding the meaning of events in our lives, and our duty to choose and find an encouraging meaning. When something happens to us, our ruling on the favorable or unfavorable meaning behind it can be controlled consciously. We are not really aware of our first responses to something, but then we should step in and reframe the context. Select the words that you utter particularly wisely, for they have the power to do almost anything or to ruin almost everything.

The distortion of the meaning applied to different words has created chaos. When used in a negative context, these words can be derogatory, often the emotions could be felt as well as a genuine punch to the face. Humans are the only beings that culminates the power of speech and the written word on this planet, yet we spend more time discovering its destructive potential, in spite of the imaginative potential this force offers us. What we manifest in our lives often influences our mindset. It is our words that are the bold confirmation of our subconsciousness. They affirm our way of seeing people, our lives and us in the world. It is this deep assurance with our words that makes our thoughts manifest into reality.

And so, what is the word? What is that thing that connects anything and everything, that with which made into existence all that we can simply view. At the start of the entirety, foreseeing through all eternity, it stays and it prospers. What is it that from the inner core of our being, inside the deepest center of creation, has been inseparably implanted within us? Who knows, I certainly don’t.

#word #power #speech #writing

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teatimewithtess · 6 years ago

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Entry 6: Saturday, June 29, 11:33 pm

Recently in one of my past English classes I wrote my own version of A Modest Proposal by Jonathan Swift; in the original essay, Swift chooses a daring solution to solve Ireland’s problem for bad children, hunger, and poverty: eating babies. Throughout his essay, Swift provides a plentiful amount of evidence and statistics proving that his solution is the one that no one will admit to working because no one has the audacity to propose it. Given any topic, I decided to go with the political anarchy that has divided America completely. I hope you can catch on to the satirical aspects planted throughout my work...enjoy.

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A Modest Proposal

For providing the great citizens of the United States of America with valuable, lawful choices that will aid in the development of one's’ views regarding the evolution of the future.

By Tess Butler

Unfortunately in our world today, frustrated Americans walk a road of hope and opportunity but are selfishly blocked by the doubt and ignorance from current politicians that only worry about how America can help them. From government shutdowns to never-ending debates, the American people cannot move forward, cannot move past these horrible roadblocks that cause the country to come to a halt. There has been bickering since the formation of the United States. George Washington even advised the current colonists to not create political parties because it would cause too much controversy; however, they did not heed his words. It has cost us the devolution of human reasoning in economics and politics. People argue without even obtaining the proper knowledge beforehand in order to propose a respectful argument that may lead to actual solutions.

There is a constant debate over government, and it might never end. No matter how much all 300 million Americans try, they will never be able to work together in pure bliss, which is an unreasonable expectation anyway. Consequently, we are not using our gifts as homo sapiens, to communicate effectively and productively, but that is a future argument for a new and improved developed America. Every person has different views about each and every subject, so placing all these differentiating views in one enclosed area is not the best idea. Anarchy, protests, war, assassinations, murder, and ostracization are all consequences of opposing views; therefore, people with generally similar views should be together and share their ideas without having to worry about those frightening consequences. With similar people being together, Americans are finally united by the concept of similarity, rather than being forced together by differences. Fortunately, uniting those with common similarities is more realistic than a group of politicians actually working to better the future of the people. People would develop a more effective work ethic and become more united in a common trust of one another. Perhaps finally separating each mindset by our differences would finally allow the American people to prosper and break the bad habits we see too often in history.

As of 2019, 53% of Americans have a high level of discontent with the American economic system, 7% want a communist country, 57% of Democrats view socialism with a positive outlook; these percentages are far too high for America to continue on at its current rate. There are 327,232,426 people that live in America. If I subtract from the equation Alaska and Hawaii, which are not geographically connected to the United States and could be sold to Japan or Canada to gain some revenue, the resulting population would be 325,067,965 people. If I divided the total population into 5 different governing sections, it would equal about 65,000,000 people in each section. Even as the amount of births and deaths continue to fluctuate, it would not affect any aspect of the political districts. Therefore, each person out of the 300,000,000+ population would be finally divided for the better.

Now I will gladly propose my solution for solving differentiating views about government, even if it is denied by the current government itself, to the open minds of society. Out of the 300,000,000 people, each person will have the choice to live in one of five contrasting government sections of the “States of America.” The five individual sections will be under the control of the following governments: democracy, republic, communism, socialism, and monarchy. The sections will be enclosed by massive Mexico funded walls that are heavily guarded by border police of that specific state; In between each of the central borders, wide channels will be created to further separate each state. Of each section, or state, the maximum population will be 65,000,000. If one might disagree with the government authority that they are born into, once reached the age of 18 they can move to a different state; however, any person can move a total of 2 times. If the population of the desired state has reached its maximum, one must go to their secondary choice. I will now introduce each specific state. State one is called “Calikota”(pronounced as kal-ih-coat-uh); it is under the ruling of a democracy and covers the area of the northern half of California to the border of Utah, Colorado, Kansas, Iowa, and Missouri. The democracy is in one of the largest sections geographically because it is still one of the most wanted and popular forms of government. State two is called “Arkwasin”(pronounced as ark-wah-sin) ; it is under the ruling of a socialism and covers the area from Minnesota to Louisiana, bordering Kansas, Oklahoma, Texas, Alabama, Tennessee, Kentucky, and Ohio. State three is named “South Cosas” (pronounced as south koh-sus); it is a monarchy government and contains the remaining area between Calikota and Arkwasin, which is from southern California to the border of Louisiana. State four is known as “Hiolina” (pronounced he-oh-lee-nuh), which is under the control of a republic government; this state contains the area from Florida to the border of Pennsylvania, including Alabama, Tennessee, Kentucky, and Ohio. Finally, state five is “New Sylvinland” (pronounced as new sill-vin-lend) and is under the rule of a communism; the state contains the rest of the area of America, which is from Pennsylvania to Maine. The cheated people of America will finally have a real freedom of choice. There will be one week for choosing the desired state, and if not chosen by the required deadline, will result in a random placement. With desired political views finally fulfilled, Americans have one less problem to worry about: building that wall!

As ridiculous as it may appear, long-lasting problems require long-lasting solutions; even if it means replaying history, such as segregation based on race, and modifying it to our advantage, segregation of political views. However, I advise the people to ponder over the obvious advantages it has on every separate person and every separate thing.

First, it will finally put the phrase so commonly used to a well deserved rest: “Separate but equal.” That ironic mantra was never intended to be taken seriously because of how absurd it was to the realistic world. There is no such thing as “separate but equal”; there never has been and there never will be. So might as well teach the future intelligent and truthful generations the actual truth of the world: nothing is equal.

Secondly, people with higher education will finally have the rightful choice to actually do what they want without having the negative effects of delinquents’ decisions. Because of the accumulated knowledge and intelligence some citizens have attained, they will fortunately choose some of the best states to live in because they understand the definitions and true purposes of each government. And fortunately for them, most people with a simpler or more illiterate mindset will be forced to live in one of five random states, since they never learned a valuable enough work ethic to make deadlines. A win-win situation, as they like to call it.

Thirdly, we can teach the future generations ANOTHER key concept in the development of Americans: opposites do NOT attract. Since each state is separated by government, each person now has a common similarity among one another. We can finally distinguish the 40% of ruined relationships, because of political disagreement, and gladly participate in conversations about how much better one state is compared to another. Even though we already do that in modern America, at least we have support from 64,999,999 other people in the future States of America.

Fourthly, the smaller amount of people will directly relate to a smaller amount of problems. Finally, the president of Calikota will only have to deal with problems from 65,000,000 people instead of 300,000,000. We will gladly make the remaining citizens someone else's problem: an American specialty passed down from generations of success.

Finally, the media will be heavily affected by the dramatic decrease of viewers because of the small amount of democratic watchers. News Stations will now only appeal to that specific state, so citizens of South Cosas, the monarchy, will not be forced to listen to the verbal junk that comes out of every newscasters mouth on Fox News, CNN, etc. The people will receive real news about important topics; only 65 million people have to watch a donkey and an elephant fight.

Now, the current Americans of today withhold too much ignorance and understanding to actually diffuse the political anarchy that they started. If we would have actually listened to one another from the very beginning instead of pursuing our common self-centered ways, America would actually be at ease. Now, if one might despise my ideas I offer them with a solution that might be too difficult to comprehend, especially if one is a politician or works for the government. America has the decision to change its own government. If things are not working well, the power of the democratic government can choose to change to better help the people. Unfortunately, this solution requires many long debates and indecision, which I fear is too much for the modern politician to handle. The politicians that unfortunately run this country are hard-headed and are not open to practical solutions; they tend to draw problems out past the actual deadline. Political parties will be our demise and ironically we are the only people that can end it. If we do not try to change anything at all, like we have not been the past 200 years, our country might finally cease to exist, respectively, on a worldwide scale. I am sure many Americans are frustrated with the insults and stereotypes we receive from other countries that are actually communicating and succeeding, and to be an American is far more than supporting an elephant or a donkey. Perhaps, in one's views of America, it is not considered American if one does not do things for a resulting positive effect, but instead because one is too greedy and narcissistic to do things for the greater good.

Now, while many people with the education of an elite ivy league school might inspect my idea and announce it preposterous, my modern problem requires a modern solution. Without proposing a solution like this would only continue to hold back America's growth. This proposal might be rejected by the highest authority of America, but is not rejected by the majority. The people of America know what they want, and what they want for this country. This solution shall be proposed to the official government of America after reaching a reasonable amount of signatures, and will continue to grow as awareness is spread. Once the solution is approved and conversed about, it will become in affect the January of the following year. As I watch idly by, in my homeland of Turkey, I will see the States of America beautifully flourish because of a foreigners idea. George Washington would be proud.

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- Tesu :)

#writer #wrtiting #creative wrting #my wrting #politics #funny #honestly though #questions #thinking #hmmm #essay #original

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meggannn · 6 years ago

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cw depression/death thoughts

Boots hanging off the bed and still covered in his bike jacket with his face smashed into the mattress, Eddie swore when the motion-activated ceiling light failed to turn off after several minutes. He squashed his eyes shut.

Single, going on forty, barely living above the poverty line, a gutted social circle of barely-qualifiable friends countable on one hand. Too old to start his career over, too old to start over with someone else. Some time between Annie miserably leaving that ring in his jacket and him standing over the Golden Gate with it in the pitch dark, Eddie had accepted his fall from grace, so much so that he’d somehow accepted being infected with an alien life form was the highlight of his year, for however short a time.

Venom had changed a lot, but it couldn’t change the realities of middle-age in the twenty-first century: he was a has-been with more guts and misdirected moral fiber than common sense. The Brock Report aside, he was destined for a mediocre life and an uneventful death on this dying planet of assholes who didn’t care and good people who died in the dirt. When he was one of them he wouldn’t have to care anymore. Indulging in this dark fantasy of anonymous decline no longer felt intrusive or unwelcome, no longer scared or repulsed him; at the thought of it all ending, he only felt faint relief.

ARE YOU DONE?

He grabbed a pillow without looking and shoved it over his head. As if that would make a difference —

FOR A REPORTER KNOWN FOR HIS INTERPERSONAL SKILLS, YOU LATCH ONTO THE FIRST IMPRESSION OF YOURSELF WITHOUT FURTHER INVESTIGATION OR QUESTIONING. YOU WOULD NOT HAVE BEEN SUCCESSFUL AT YOUR JOB IF YOU HAD CONDUCTED PREVIOUS STUDIES SIMILARLY.

“You’ve said it yourself, remember?” Suddenly it was funny. He smiled grimly into the sheets, eyes still closed. “The first thing you said about my brain. Dank, miserable place. Neurosis.”

WE ALSO SAID YOU WERE A LOSER.

“And you’re the one who latched onto my ganglia and corpus callosum and said ‘yup, this is the one for me.’ I don’t wanna hear it.”

WE HAVE ALREADY EXPLAINED. WE ARE A MATCH. Venom hesitated, and then, with a faint air of smugness: DO YOU NEED A Q-TIP TO CLEAR OUT YOUR EARS? MAYBE THEN YOU WILL LISTEN BETTER.

A pause.

“Where’d you learn that one?”

THE BOX.

“Well,” Eddie said faintly, not willing to air out the matter of the symbiote learning to watch television on its own at the moment, “while you’re finding me a q-tip, clean out the rest of my brain while you’re at it. Got a lot of junk rattling around there I don’t need anymore.”

WE NOTICED. WHO IS ROWAN? YOUR PLANT REMINDS YOU OF THIS NAME. YOU ASSOCIATE THIS PERSON WITH YOUR APPRECIATION FOR BOTANY AND NOTHING ELSE.

“Row — ? Oh, old girlfriend. Back at the Bugle. Shit, haven’t thought about her in ages.”

A DISPENSABLE MEMORY? GONE.

“Wha — what?!” Eddie bolted upright, the pillow tossed aside. The goddamn light was piercing; he squinted and blinked away the spots. “What the fuck?!”

GOT YOUR ATTENTION.

Eddie stuffed his face into his hands, elbows propped up on his knees. Asshole.

WE CAN’T ERASE YOUR MEMORIES, DUMBASS.

“Look,” Eddie said, faintly. “You don’t like it here? You invited yourself in. Consider this your opportunity to jump ship.”

The alien was on its own wavelength, ignoring Eddie’s words completely, still hunting for the root of Eddie’s malcontent. YOU SEE YOUR DEMISE AS INEVITABLE. Eddie was hit with a wave of clarity that he recognized wasn’t his: the symbiote was learning. A HUMAN TRAIT. HOMO SAPIENS VIEW DEATH WITH FEARANGERSADNESSGUILTCURIOSITYPARANOIA. BUT AN EVENTUALITY. INESCAPABLE.

Venom was quiet. Eddie supposed it was processing this.

Suddenly — a loud, chaotic burst of anger. Aggrieved. AND WHAT WOULD HAPPEN TO US?

“After I died, you mean? You’d find someone who could feed you regularly, for a fuckin’ start. Eight billion other humans out there.”

NO, Venom insisted, WE REFUSE.

“Don’t get a choice in the matter, stupid.”

YOU ARE THE STUPID ONE. YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND. YOU DO NOT WISH TO UNDERSTAND. WE ARE NOT HUMAN.

“Yeah,” Eddie snapped, now removing his hands yelling at thin air, “you’re the alien from outer space, you’re the immortal one who gets to hop bodies when your old host keels over — ”

WE — Venom’s fury hurts, just behind his eyes. Eddie realizes it as unintentional, its anger is that great. ARE NOT — HUMAN!

He realizes suddenly what it’s trying to say: we. “We” as in the two of them. We as in —

“What do — what the hell do you mean, you’re saying I’m not human?”

WE HAVE EXPLAINED THIS! WE ARE TOGETHER. WE ARE MORE. WE CAN BE ANYTHING WE WANT.

Did that… did that mean he was part symbiote now, or that their union had crafted some new blend of species altogether? Jesus. This was too much to process at ten PM on a Wednesday in the middle of a mid-life existential crisis —

“V,” Eddie said tiredly. “I don’t know what to tell you. One month with an alien in my head isn’t enough to break thirty-something years of eating and breathing and thinking like a human being — ”

Venom was relentless: WE HAVE TRAVELED TO REACH YOUR PLANET FROM FURTHER GALAXIES THAN YOU CAN IMAGINE. WE HAVE FLED THE COLLECTIVE AND BETRAYED THE IMPERIUM. YOU HAVE ACCEPTED US. WE HAVE REVIVED AND HEALED AND PROTECTED YOU. WE ARE WELCOME HERE.

YOU, Venom says pointedly, indignantly, somehow continuing even though Eddie’s heart had caught in his throat, ARE OURS. WE ARE FREE HERE. AND DEATH IS NOTHING.

#eddie brock #venom #here have this i have no idea what it is or where it came from or if i'll finish it #just eddie n' v getting used to each other in the early stages #BUT IT'S THE MOST I'VE WRITTEN IN MONTHS AND I NEED TO SHARE?#unbowed unbent and unbetad #fic snippets

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audreysmusicaljourney · 3 years ago

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Album #88: David Bowie “Hunky Dory” (1971)

I know this album. I love this album. The only thing I do not really like is the album cover art; the coloring on it throws something off.

“Changes” is an incredible track that introduces the piano as the lead instrument on this album. This track sounds like a more psychedelic version of a song by the Beatles. It still is a pop song at its core though. “Oh! You Pretty Things” really sounds like something by the Beatles. I personally think that Bowie sings well on this track over the piano, which he may or may not be playing. Rick Wakeman from Yes! played a lot of the piano on this album and disputes that Bowie played the piano for the entirety of this track. I always thought Bowie was singing “Mother Superior” on this track, but he is singing “homo superior,” which is a reference to a theory by Nietzsche. This track segues flawlessly into “Eight Line Poem,” which has a stripped down sound of a piano and a guitar. There’s a slight country twang to the guitar riff. I love “Life on Mars?” The strings arrangement builds upon the intensity of the piano as Bowie gets after it vocally on the climactic chorus. This seems like the kind of song that Elton John could have written, but I’m glad Bowie transitioned his focus to the piano to create this song. I had no idea this was a parody of Frank Sinatra’s “My Way.” What?!?! “Kooks” has a slower, softer sound. The string arrangement and trumpet give it a nice balance. This actually reminds me of the Kinks. I love the Kinks. There’s another reference to Nietzche’s Superman on the track “Quicksand.” I like the overall sound on this track with the piano creating a nice sound rounded out by the layering of guitars.

“Fill Your Heart” is a strikingly different track in comparison to the preceding ones. It’s a cover and Bowie plays the trumpet on it. His vocals seem less genuine, which is probably because he did not right the lyrics. The trumpet squeaks at the end of this track. “Andy Warhol” features two acoustic guitars. This has a slight folk vibe but has a frenetic sound as the guitars go back-and-forth in rapid succession at the end of the track. The tributes continue with “Song for Bob Dylan.” Bowie sounds good on this track, which has an upbeat tempo. The chords do sound like something by Dylan. I have listened to “Queen Bitch” a lot of times. It is even one of my starred songs on Spotify. I had no idea it was written as a tribute to Lou Reed from the Velvet Underground. This is a glam rock song driven by the guitars. I love the playfulness in the delivery of Bowie’s vocals on this track. I have absolutely no idea what is going on with the closing track “The Bewlay Brothers.” It almost sounds like something about a brother going off to war, but I don’t think it is. I do like the sound of Bowie’s vocals over the acoustic guitar. The chorus that joins it at the end is fairly disturbing though and further complicates whatever is going on with this song.

Rating: 9.5/10

How I Listened: Vinyl

Takeaway: I love this kind of sound from Bowie. He was such a talented musician and performer. I like how he unabashedly wrote tributes to some of his favorite artists, but he was not afraid to still throw some shade on them. It may have had more to do with his own changes/growing success as an artist as he was just on the cusp of stardom when this album was released.

#rs500albums #nowspinning #nowstreaming

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margridarnauds · 7 years ago

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laz and solene pls

THANKS FOR MY LIFE AVERY

Lazare

Sexuality Headcanon: GAY GAY GAY. I mean, the man has a RAINBOW across his crotch at one point. (Now, you could argue that it was a trick of the lighting, but come on. We know the truth.) Possibly with a side of demi, since I really don’t think that he really has any interest in sex until Ronan comes into his life, despite having a longtime (unfortunate and unrequited) crush on Artois and I genuinely can’t see him, say, going to a brothel or even having an affair with another officer or a soldier. I just think the man, with one, single exception, is more or less completely married to his job, and given the emphasis in army training on avoiding libertinism, the idea that “vices” weren’t inherent and could be stomped out, and my own headcanons as far as his family history...it ain’t gonna happen no matter what. Like, there are probably ongoing challenges in court as to who can successfully get the D, with no one being successful. (This has led to a number of young ladies swarming him at any given function in the hopes that they’ll be the one to melt his brooding heart.) In some AUs, like the Polyam AU, he’s obviously bi, but that’s the odd one out on multiple levels and is one of the few I’d really put into its own continuity (Come on, it acknowledges R/O, for God’s sake.) Asexual homoromantic Laz is also Very Important to me, with him trying to deal with everything because Ronan unleashes SQUISHY FEELINGS in him but he still doesn’t feel any sexual attraction towards him, though he’s not 100% opposed to sex in principle, and Ronan taking it personally because it’s Ronan and, in all fairness, it’s not like they have pamphlets on asexuality in the 18th century, though eventually they decide to navigate it in a way that makes them both happy.

Gender Headcanon: Generally, I write him as more or less cis, but trans Laz has a very, very special place in my heart since it puts his need to conform to society in an entirely different light. Like, it could be a Lady Oscar-esque situation where he’s an only child and Mama Peyrol and Papa de Peyrol (mainly Mama de Peyrol because *someone* is probably either in a brothel or on campaign WHOOPS) get worried and just...straight up raise him as a guy from the time he’s about 4-5 years old and he’s okay with it because, well, he is a guy and he’s happy that they finally notice that (and since boys habitually wore dresses until about the age of 7 when they had their breeching, this wouldn’t even be a Major Deal and they could probably come up with some bullshit reason for why they’d had a daughter baptized but now have a healthy son. Or if not, they just, like, bribe the local priest. Because they’re aristocrats and can afford to do shit like that). Then Papa de Peyrol dies, Grandpapa de Fuck comes into play, and it becomes more of a Thing, with always Upholding the De Peyrol Name and Fulfilling His Duty becoming the focus rather than, idk, raising a well-adjusted kid. Like, he gets some points for not misgendering him, but on every other level? Dude’s still an asshole. Because he’s Grandpapa de Fuck.

Laz is taught that he has to be the best grandson and heir that he can be, that no one can ever have a suspicion about him, which also becomes a bit of a strain as the pressure to marry looms in the future and Grandpapa de Fuck dies without even being useful. (Typical). And so Laz tries very, very hard to conform, to not so much as bend a single rule, to be the perfect military man. He gets this reputation for being standoffish from the time he’s a young officer, about the age of 14, never really interacting with the other men, even changing his clothes in secret, always sleeping on his own when he has the opportunity to, and, despite the other officer’s best efforts, never going into a brothel or having an affair no matter how many bets they make among themselves. Until one day some reckless peasant boy charges into his life and Laz really, really tries to fight it because this could ruin EVERYTHING but. It’s Ronan. Ronan’s persistent. And also an oblivious toenail so it takes a little while to get it through his head that, no, Laz is still a man and Ronan’s STILL gay AF. (Sorry, Ronan, you can’t no-homo your way out of this one. Full homo. All the homo.)

A ship I have with said character: R/L is pretty much my be all, end all for Laz, though I also can and do ship O/L and R/O/L.

A BROTP I have with said character: Poor Laz in canon doesn’t really have any friends that we see, unless you count the one time he and Artois conspire. (I don’t.) Even though I tend to have his troops shipping Laz/Ronan, that’s out of selfishness as much as anything else (if he’s getting laid, he might not be so snappish.) In the Abomination (which...obviously doesn’t go with the whole “Peyrol wanting to fire on him”...thing from the Zuka version), I like the dynamic between Laz and Papa du Puget, where you have the latter really helping him out in terms of figuring out where he is in terms of his relationship with Ronan and getting his sense of individuality back. Like, it shouldn’t require a neon sign to say “Hey, maybe not having anything to do with your boyfriend except for when you have sex might be part of the reason why he’s not speaking to you right now, maybe cuddle with him?” but Laz is new to this, doesn’t exactly have a roadmap, and thinks that his relationship with Ronan can be neatly packaged into his schedule. Which...surprise, it can’t be. Since du Puget is also very much a man of the Enlightenment with a HUGE library to match it (really, we know this, because when the Bastille fell he demanded compensation for it), if anyone can help Laz get grounded again, it’s him. And, since Laz is about 24-ish in the Abomination, he’s the perfect age to be Du Puget’s son (with Olympe being about 19), which adds an extra dimension as du Puget (my very, very specific version of him modeled after the historical figure) really mirrors Laz’s father in a lot of ways, from his friendship with de Sade (who Laz *loathes*) to his military career and his habit of occasionally having affairs. (Which is pretty shitty, but not unexpected given the times.) The difference is, du Puget really does get the opportunity to do what Papa de Peyrol never could: Do his best to protect Lazare from Grandpapa de Fuck’s influence, even if the damage has already been mostly done, as well as ultimately give up his career and his post for his family. (For what it’s worth, I tend to headcanon Papa de Peyrol as a wannabe Validad who was just...flawed in his implementation of it. Like, my take on him is this guy who would always bring back his son toys and souvenirs from his campaign, tell him stories when he tucked him into bed, etc., but whose own weaknesses ultimately still led to his death and his widow being left absolutely destitute to the point where she had to make a deal with Grandpapa de Fuck. Because it’s the 18th century and life’s a bitch, especially if you’re a widow with weakened financial prospects and a young child and your father in law is convinced your kid is his second chance from God.)

A NOTP I have with said character: Generally, I’d say Artois/Laz in anything that’s not set pre-canon given that, for all it could be interesting in a fucked up way, there’s no way it’ll end up well for Laz, but I have also seen Danton/Laz and it scarred me deeply. Salieri/Laz is something I’ve also seen a bit, which I don’t *get* because any time they would have met it’d be like: *gay staring*

*gay staring*

*gay panic*

And then both of them rushing over to their extroverted boyfriends. If anything, I could only really see the two of them bonding over having absolutely ridiculous boyfriends (and, if it gets to postcanon for both, bonding over WHOOPS I ACCIDENTALLY KILLED MY BOYFRIEND).

A random headcanon: Oh God, pretty much everything I have on him is a headcanon. Like, even the things I take for granted on him (like Sugardaddy!Laz) are headcanons. The man is one massive, walking headcanon because no one in the writer’s room wanted to sit down and work on their contract cop-out; they were just like “fuck, let him keep Maniaque. And give him this new song. And a bit in the opening, where he demonstrates the beginning of his homoerotic tension lifelong hatred with the lead. That’s good, right?”

Laz always liked music growing up; he liked how steady the beats were, he liked the smooth texture of the harpsichord keys, he liked his mother sometimes sitting him on her knee and gently moving his fingers over the right keys, he liked the way he could channel himself into the music. Communication was hard, mired in social niceties that he didn’t always understand, things that the adults treated like they were life and death, but music was simple. Hitting the key one place produced one sound, hitting it in another produced another, every time. When his father was at home, he would sit in the drawing room and listen to the two of them play, applauding at the right moments and praising Lazare enthusiastically. This was the first time young Lazare tasted success and praise, and he basked in it. By the time his father died, when was about seven or eight, he was quite good at it in his own right.

Obviously, since this was a bright, happy period in Lazare’s life, guess what Grandpapa de Fuck did? Yep, it went out the window. A man, Grandpapa de Fuck believed, could only ever be talented at one thing, barring some few geniuses (with his grandson not being among them), and Lazare was going to be a soldier. Everything else was going to go. As with most things relating to his childhood that his grandfather robbed him of, he chose to convince himself that it had been a childish indulgence. He still felt the music, though, in the steady rhythm of soldier’s boots and the beat of the regimental drum, but he could only direct it now, never play it for himself. Once, when he was a young officer being used by enthralled with the Comte d’Artois, the latter took him to a performance of an opera, chastising him when he noticed the way Lazare’s hands moved throughout the performance. Lazare buried it even further, not even talking about it when it could be avoided, much less consuming it.

Then, Ronan comes into his life. And Ronan’s not a music critic; the most he knows are the peasant songs they played at festivals or sang as together in the winter months when things looked bleak and they had little else to do. He probably doesn’t know the difference between a harpsichord and a piano, just that they’re Rich People’s Instruments. But, despite everything else, despite the hard time he gives Peyrol for it at first, he ends up egging him into taking classes again because, Hell, it’s something besides homicide that makes Laz happy and, for all of their differences as a couple, Ronan wants him to be happy. And it’s frustrating, because he should know how to do this; for so long everything in his life has been something that he already knew and could predict and, with this, he can hear his failure. There are many times that he takes his anger out on the keys or scatters the sheet music around. But, over time, he feels himself improving, the keys start to become old friends to him, and, gradually, he starts to play again. And it’s not like it was when he was a child, there is no audience eager to praise him, but, sometimes during a late practice session, Ronan will come over from behind (with some amount of warning, since approaching the experienced army officer from behind tends to have unforeseen consequences), drowsily nuzzle into Laz’s neck, and it’s just as good. (Also, he probably reaches around to play a few notes of “Ah, Ca Ira” or “La Marseillaise” while Laz is briefly distracted because Ronan Mazurier is, first and foremost, a little shit). (Also, they totally bang on the harpsichord at one point.)

General Opinion over said character: MY SON. My useless, emotionally repressed, gay, homicidal, aristocratic son who needs to have some sense knocked in his head but is trying his best and is quite possibly the only officer in Paris who is actually doing his job. Deserves more screentime and/or cuddles from his boyfriend who is STILL ALIVE, thank you very much, if and when he gets into the position when he’ll accept them. I wish he got something resembling character development or an arc, but HE’S MINE NOW. (And, tbh, I’m a little worried that it’ll be a monkey’s paw type situation with him getting more time. Like, I’m fully prepared to sell my soul to the Toho production, but I’m also preparing myself to see a much darker take on my son than I’m used to. Including when it comes to Ronan. And that might be a bitter pill to swallow.) Even though I love all my sons equally, I prefer the opportunity for nuance that original!Laz afffords (and the amount of Done he seems to be most of the time), as the other two lean a little more towards sadistic (though sex dungeon Laz is too good for me to pass up entirely). Also, I still hold Toho!Laz as an ideal faceclaim for Grandpapa de Fuck.

Someone please save him. I would, but I’m too busy tossing him into the Seine atm.

Solene

Sexuality Headcanon: Solene’s sexuality has always been tricky for me because bisexual Solene is very near and dear to my heart (ONE OF US, ONE OF US), but I could also make an argument for lesbian Solene who separates her working life from her private life. In another universe, she very likely would have ended up with a man no matter what, I’m not sure if she’d have been entirely content, but she probably wouldn’t have questioned it so long as she was decently secure and well-cared for, like most WLW throughout history probably did. Even in canon, I could see her taking up with a man (like in the Zuka and Toho versions where she and Danton have a longer term “relationship”), because it’s a means of security + stability so long as he’s not some abusive assfuck who thinks that he owns her, but as far as actual trust and companionship are concerned? I can only really see it with women, which makes sense when you consider how closely tied Solene really is to women, especially in the French and Toho versions where she’s got “Je Veux le Monde” which is literally her belting out about how awesome women are and how men (specifically Ronan) are too blinded by their own ambition and bloodlust + the fact that we always see her surrounded by the other women, during La Nuit M’Appelle, Je Veux le Monde, and Fixe.

Gender Headcanon: She’s most likely a cis woman. Je Veux le Monde has a great emphasis on childbirth, etc. associated with that, though I could also roll with a significant portion of that being her taking power in her own terms, using the only language she knows, like she also seems to be doing in La Nuit, while still perhaps being a little unhappy with the way gender identity is dealt with in 18th century French society.

A ship I have with said character: Solene/Olympe. Like...was there any doubt?

“Oh, I think Peyronan’s my OTP and I can’t wait to work on all my fanfiction for them!” *Accidentally writes Solympe fic after Solympe fic*

“How did THAT happen?”

I mean, it does help that they aren’t at each other’s throats for the early part of their relationship, unlike SOME PEOPLE.

In all honesty, given how little Solene actually gets to do, there’s really not all that much room for shipping, save with the women around her and Lucille in the Zuka version. Which is an option, definitely, given that they “become friends” BUT.

A BROTP I have with said character: Despite headcanoning Solene as one of a VERY small number of people who can genuinely scare Laz, I do like to imagine the two of them bonding over Ronan’s more ridiculous moments. Like, at first she’s pissed as HELL at him for obvious reasons, but it also becomes a matter of “What did he do this time?” “He told me that my chess set was royalist propaganda. Then he jumped out the window. I have yet to try to retrieve him” “*Sigh* Let me talk to him.” And, in the Abominationverse, with the advent of the twins, Uncle Lazare is the nearest thing they have to a responsible adult when Solene and Olympe want to have a date night and Olympe’s parents are otherwise occupied, and since the children are already strangely drawn to him, well...there are worse babysitters, especially during the period of time when Ronan is off playing Hero of the Revolution and the twins are the only thing Laz really has to keep his mind off of him.

A NOTP I have with said character: Solene/Danton as a ship somewhat creeps me out, given that (1) He still has the ability to throw her out on the street with nothing and (2) ...Historically, we know how this one’s going to work out. Danton’s married, eventually he’s going to marry a fifteen year old a couple of weeks after his wife dies, and then he gets fucking guillotined. There is no way Solene doesn’t get fucked over AGAIN in this one. (Also, I just...don’t see them as a romantic couple. He was a customer, they did the do, Ronan was SUPER pissed about it and Danton’s probably forever on his shit list for it, but still. It wasn’t a *romance* for her. It was food for the day. It was part of her rent for the month.)

A random headcanon: The pink ring that Solene wears in the “Je Veux le Monde” music video (and, seemingly, in the showcase video) belonged to her mother. When Mama Mazurier realized she wasn’t going to survive her last birth, when Solene was probably about 5-7, she pressed it deep into the girl’s hand, as if hoping that she could press the ring into her memory as well. It was the last movement she would make in this life. As time went on, the taxes mounted up as one disaster after another seemed to befall the family. They sold off whatever they could, with the ring being one of the few things that remained. (And it got to the point where their debt was so high that, really, selling the ring wouldn’t have helped in the long run, and so Papa Mazurier decided that at least Solene could have it, nearly crying for the first time in front of his children when she offered it to him once before firmly putting it back on her finger). She briefly considered selling it off when she got to Paris, to the point where she had it in the palm of her hand, ready to sell to a street vendor before she decided that it wasn’t worth it, feeling the sharp press of metal when she clasped it hard. When Ronan later told her, “When people lose their dignity, it’s the end,” he didn’t know what she’d done to avoid doing just that. Ronan, as always, saw only what she’d lost, rather than what she’d kept.

Also, since I’m just returning home from the angst wars with Laz and he got a nice, long headcanon, Papa Mazurier loved both of his children equally. Really, he did. He was a true validad, which is also why he had to die. But, looking back, Ronan always felt a little bit like he was the least favorite of the two of them, because it seemed like, generally, Solene tended to get what she wanted more. In reality, though, as Solene would later tell Ronan when he, Olympe, Lazare, and her were sitting down together, it was really just that she knew how to ask for things tactfully, including when to wait, whereas Ronan went in guns blazing. Solene learned how to play the long game, and it paid off. (Also, even though she was initially pissed off over her brother screwing their father’s murderer after abandoning her to pursue a half-baked revenge plot, she is also personally amazed at the fact that, not only did Ronan get a gig that her and most of her friends DREAMED of, a furnished apartment with a faithful, devoted, aristocratic lover who is willing to buy him anything he asks for, not the least well-tailored outfits, he did it accidentally. By continuously insulting him. In prison. If Ronan ever screws this up, Solene is going to personally kill him. And then kick Laz’s ass because Ronan is still her brother dammit.)

General Opinion over said character: Hello, continuing evidence of my bisexuality. The Superior Mazurier Sibling, AKA THE ONE WHO ACTUALLY HAS SOME COMMON SENSE. Deserved better writing, hot cocoa, and to have seen Olympe at least one time that wasn’t over her brother’s corpse. She is one of the few things I think the French cast did best with, since later productions really tried to sanitize her, though I love Zuka!Solene directly calling out Ronan in La Nuit m’Appelle. LET HER HAVE A PLOTLINE DAMMIT. Also: WHY THE FUCK DIDN’T WE GET HER SHOWCASE COSTUME? (Also, Matthieu Carnot would have rocked as her sibling, just saying.) I just...have many emotions about Solene Mazurier and what she deserves and what she got and I will never forgive the show for skimping on her storyline the entire time and then having the last thing we see of her being her crying her eyes out over the brother who abandoned her (and, okay, in other productions, they reconcile, but it doesn’t ACHIEVE anything between the two of them and it’s mainly Solene reaching out to him whereas I want him groveling). It’s a good thing she hooks up with his beard after his funeral, otherwise the angst and overall incomplete nature of her arc might be too much to bear.

#1789 #or rather my very specific take on it #janetcarter

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icecreamkink · 4 years ago

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so im watching ice princess bc. brain empty. it has been like legit 15 years since i watched it! this was the very first ice skating thing i have ever watched and i was OBSESSED with it when we rented it in vhs. i wouldnt get Actually Into figure skating until sochi but this movie was the reason i was gliding around in socks on the floor and started watching winter olympics as child

it starts w this song that sounds like a ripoff of this OTHER early 00's girl movie song that i cannot remember (or prob never learned lol) the lyrics to and its driving me crazyyy

the ptbr version is called 'sonhos no gelo' aka dreams on ice and i personally think its a better name than ice princess

then again dreams on ice is such a ice show name so maybe thats why they chose not to lol

the music that is playing when hayden panettiere (??) first talks to georgina from gg is. . . weirdly soft porn-y. harold-

OMG WHO IS THE GENERIC "HOT" JOCK. WHERE DO I KNOW HIM FROM

i feel like sasha cohen being who makes georgina go 'omg. moving on ice requires physics!!!and thus Plot' would generate Some Type of dumb discourse today. i cant explain it i just feel it

that tv is very very old .

im so happy that joan cusak is playing an annoying judgy feminist she looks like shes loving it as she should

color coded skaters!

kim cattrall as a scary retired Did She Break A Competitors Leg Did She Not Guess! coach mom named tina is also what she Should be doing

i remember she and joan cusak fight ?by the end? so we are looking forward to That

is this another 'give the girl that the mc has chemistry with a brother for no homo reasons' example; never rewatch your heroes

juniors faking landing quads in 2005? sounds kinda precocious but what do i know

movies abt artistic sports usually Highly overestimate how nice the training outifts are but caseys a woman of the people

georgina wearing kim cattralls old outfit and the yoiness of it all. idk how to feel abt that. blueprint

honestly if my mom hated fs costumes and made me wear That i would definetely rebel

ok listen. i dont Really Know, and i guess the point is that as a Physics Person with Talent she like breaks the barriers or something but . . 'tucking ur arms in' 'pushing with your toepick' are pretty standard things people are conscious of and i dont think theyd make a girl whos been training for a couple months land a double ? would she even have the muscles for that . i mean OK ITS A DISNEY MOVIE IK i Know IM JUST. ok ok

whys georginas token best friend so likeable. get it ann

teddy, the no homo zamboni driver

joan cusack and kim cattralls passive agressive interactions!!!!!!!! ty for my life

Unlikely Complex Computer Program Check

jen! im not dressed for a party! sigh. shake it. ??? eye roll your hair >>>>>

GENERIC HOT JOCK IS SHANE OMEN OMGGGG I KNEW I KNEW HIM

hey! you get paid to be a has been on ice ok. and its Awesome. and its probably more fun than competing all things considered lbr

no but like, its not like georgina couldnt go to college during or after a skating career..... plenty of athletes do that.....

considering she could retire circa 2015, she could even become a youtuber on TOP and capitalize on yuri on ice. joan cusack has no eye for the future smh

but making her mom not simply a controlling academic but instead a working professor regretting probable wasted potential was a smart choice

aw cds !!

'youllbe be worth even more when you win' damn dont hold back tiffanys dad

i feel seen with the way the parents are so obnoxious in this movie

i mean i feel seen bc i had to deal w ballet parents not that i am a obnoxious parent myself, i. i dont have kids

i wish i could say omg thats so dumb as if athletes are always at each others throats like that but uh. on junior level? it happens

hayden panehfd and georgina ending up together would have been so cute sigh

only the girls/women are important in this movie and im into this. rip teddy

zoey bloch sure can rock

i wish i knew how to hidroblade :( or. skate. at all; lmao

nikkis regionals costume was very cute , prize for the jumping bean!! . eh shrimp

so who choreographed georginas programs? tina? did she do it herself? is that why they look kinda meh. why didnt they show it

ok but like. needing to break in brand new shoes is . is it not . common knowledge. :for anything. ?

LIKE im not defending the sabotaging of a teenager but. as a Smart Person who Knows Physics and has been training in a high impact sport and STUDYING IT, did it rly not occur to her that like. competing in brand new, though skates might be a Bad Idea? she figured out how to land a triple in months but not that performing on brand new shoes sounds kinda stupid??

ooo~~ its just like sarajevo~~

JOAN CUSAK AND KIM CATTRALL THROWING IT DOWN YES

the dramatic fight makes it kinda inescapable that they act circles around the kids but oh well

why didnt kim cattrall push teddy to be a figure skater too. like double the odds of a success, seems kinda obvious

its noT MY DREAM MOM. ITS YOURS

*hayden panerimo, voice cracking* anD I WANT *kim cattrall*okay okay thats enough -

drama in the hallwayyy

georgina answering "why are u passionate about harvard" with essentially "im not" kinda iconic ngl

its noT MY DREAM MOM. ITS YOURS²

whys she not wearing the new skates. she already has them now, and for free too

i have never seen an actual frozen lake in my life but are those cracks supposed to be like that

yes it IS a beautiful sport casey tell em !!

kim cattrall was a such a big brain choice. who else would sell 'im not gonna apologize for sabotaging you and taking advantage of ur stupidity" to a 16 year old in a disney movie

"i dont have to like or trust my coach "kjasdkfn casey,,,,, sweetie. i mean eteris girls do win trophies back to back so I Guess In A Way but also.,,,,,, sweetie-

i know that she meant it in a general way, but the Possibility of kim cattrall and joan cusack going to high school together and somethin something Watching and Envying the pretty prom queen/world champion, something being tired of performing feminity something something short skirts something harsh realities of academia and pro sports careers / anywhere for women something. something something.

michelle kwan!! i did not remember her in this

forget georgina and hayden panettone, otp is hayden / ann . hann!! tutor trope!!!!

omg does joan cusack teach at a community college or a encceja type of thing . bitter moms plot thickens

zoey skated to toxic! queen.

i watched this movie so many times in the days i had it rented that i actually still remember a lot of the final programs choreos lmao

skate w the heart uwu

costume prettye

ah!! i used to try to copy the programsss thats why i know the moves LMAO the memories ,,, keep coming back to me

whats this gala lighting all of a sudden???

hann keeps on winning!! look at that hug!they left together! arms linked!!!!!!!

centering the mom daughter relationships is a :'''') for me

we stan nikki

dramedy centering on joan cusack and kim cattrall navigating georginas career

FEEL THE RAIN ON

YOUR

SKIN

NO ONE ELSE CAN FEEL IT FOR YOUU

this was nice :') its confirmed ive had good taste since toddler age 🤷

#ice princess #:')#this was a memory lane trip #filmes #m.

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almasidaliano · 4 years ago

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Plot Twist: IT IS A RACE THING

let's rip the bandaid off. it's a race thing. "oh no racism isn't an issue" shut the fuck up. seriously, im disappointed in my people so i'm going to address yall first. my melanated Kings and Queens; darlings what are yall doing? Why are we still taking this? Why are we subjecting ourselves to this kind of disrespect?

are we really just going to sit here and let history repeat itself? going to watch them shackle and kill us all again? what are you afraid of? our ancestors were scared. they were strong in their own way, we are stronger. they kept our culture alive, our roots. they sacrifice their freedom for ours, and look at this. look at us. playing into their game, letting them run the show. have we forgotten about the 1960s? when the civil rights movements picked up? yall forget Martin, Malcolm, Rosa?

if you are African American, meaning black (yes you mixed mfs are black, you can try to tread on the fence but im sorry to tell you, the day will come when you have to pick a side and what's worse is no matter what you pick the world already decided for you.) and born in america; your ancestors are slaves. you can't tell me, your blood, your heritage, your lineage doesn't deserve defending, protection.

we have a constitution. this doctrine is the "LAW OF THE LAND" (still we have individual state laws, hmm). in this document, the rights of people of color, and women were added into the admendments. people of color had to take citizenship tests, though they were never taught to read, and english wasn't even their first language. then there was the segregation. if you skin is pigmented, you are treated differently.

low income areas, "ghettos/hood" areas were designed for the communities to run like crabs in a bucket. they require dependency or rebellion. they isolated and rationed resources, discriminated and interfered with job security, then blamed the citizens of the community for their failures. provided the bare minimum (a bar they set) and do you know why the hate continued? because still we rose.

understand this : WE; ALL PEOPLE, ALL HUMAN BEINGS ARE EQUAL, HOWEVER WE ARE NOT THE SAME.

this is why the problem started. human were created in "Gods image" (any god you believe in we will indulge the religious conversation later.) layman's terms? we are all gods.

we are not the same kind of gods though. like ying and yang right? so there is light and dark. society told us we should be afraid of the dark, that bad things happen in the dark, that monsters hide there. what's funny is that life teaches us the opposite; teaches us that monsters can dress nice and wear smiles too. there's the story of Lucifer right? Lucifer is not the Devil. the Devil in my opinion is the "God" of evil. like there is good energy and there is bad energy. the universe is made up of both. so boom right? Lucifer was right hand to God and got big headed wanted to be him couldn't boom gets casted out takes a third of angels and boom hell and allat right? so let's just break it down for a second.

alright so first, B I B L E: basic instructions before leaving earth. the Bible is written in code, one, and two it is allegorical. (all melanated people truly do need to crack open a book and get to reading.) Jesus (Yahshua) is melanated, wooly hair bronze skin? come on now. so the idea they are selling is this all power white man is saving us all. truthfully, who cares what he look like if he's here to save our souls? you would think that would be the thought process, however; for some people the truth does not get them what they want so they opt against it. Good and light became associated with white. "wear all white when you feeling godly" its supposed to holy and clean right? pale faces became the face of faith. hasn't anyone realized how blinding light is? the closer you look the less you see. they guide your focus. the stars light the night sky yet we have all of this light pollution, it is simply a means of distraction. the wind talks, did you know that? the trees whisper. nature is beautiful and most of the world will never know.

they divided us by color. our skin isn't even black, however because they are pale, pasty, white; they made us their opposite. even in their classification of us they revealed the truth. you see, white is the absence of all color. it is empty. whereas, black is compromised of every color.

did you know there are two types of humans? yes seriously. homo sapiens and neanderthals. fun fact: neanderthals are structured more chimp like. homo sapiens were living in Africa albinism was prominent so there were a lot of melanated people without melanin, getting skin cancer and dying. neanderthals came about when homo sapiens migrated to Europe and Eurasia. they mated and began creating all the many races and ethnicities we have today.

melanated people are built structurally different than white people. we are naturally stronger, faster, thicker, humane, etc than they are. this is where the hate comes from.

"jealousy is just love and hate at the same time. - aubrey" pride and envy are dangerous things. when trying to compete, they were met with failure and it manifested hate instead of motivation. look at america. it is built entirely on the ideas of others, the hardwork and manual labor of others. those leading our country have done nothing for us. they simply continue taking all the credit.

white people left Britain, and called it "fleeing from religious persecution". the truth is they were fleeing from classism. they were in their element and they were minnows and not sharks. they decided to find a new pond to swim in. they did just that. the Natives were abused, and disregarded. they pretended to be civil and took damn near everything from them, all of their legacies and memories, their safety.

white people are lazy and greedy. this is why there are so many dividing markers in our life, labels, roles. there is a grave lack of family values for them. there is this morphed idea that the world is here for them, like we are all here to aid them. they reek of entitlement. like success, joy, love and prosperity are guaranteed to them just because. it is not on them all. just like melanated people can't help their environment, neither can they. the rude awakening always comes once you become unsheltered from actuality.

the cards are stacked against us from the jump. due to our enivornments, children grow up in broken homes, homeless, or jumping from home to home. single parents run themselves ragged, over stressed. children end up in the streets trying to take some of the weight off of their parents. the world just see thugs and gangsters though. menaces to society. when the real menace is society.

still we rise. still we smile. still we laugh and we love. and its so disheartening, that those are the things festering their hatred for us. no one is perfect. no one is the worst thing they have ever done either. growth is constant.

all we have to do is decide to be ourselves. decide to impact the world the best way YOU know how. white people have talents, a multitude of gifts. instead of trying to get rid of everyone else's imagination, what about losing the fear and choosing to dream yourself? and maybe asking for help, should you need it.

who you are, is who you've always been. i mean, the you, you were before the world told you who you had to be. who you are, has and will never be dependent on anything out of your control. people use the wrong things to assess the quality of a person. things like religious views, political views, music preference, sexuality. things that do not have shit to do with you. its all more division markers.

trust yourself. fuck what society says. what does society actually know? only what they are told. think about this: pyschological control is basically brainwashing. so boom. then you got your mind, your heart and your gut. that would be logic, emotion, and intuition. your emotion and your intuition are in the same section of your body. your brain however, is all isolated while being the storage container for everything you see experience etc in life. your brain is what gets conditioned. all the preconceived notions you have about things came from somewhere. where? we know what we know because they told us. how do we know its true? the thing about logic is, it makes sense. so when your mind isn't making sense yet your heart and gut in agreement, listen to yourself. they tell you think before you speak because their conditioned processor is in your head. always follow your heart.

people on both sides still to this day suggest segregation. like folks really do not believe we can cohabitate in a productive civil mutually benefical and prosperous way and that without segregation, civil war and/or genocide is in the future. here's the thing. they had every opportunity, to ship folks back, or even kick us out. now folks could just start up and leaving, yet we don't. we tuck our tails and put up with it. why? i think its due to fear of being a foreigner in your true motherland. fear of not being accepted there either. i also think it's due to the way our ancestors were treated; how they allowed themselves to be treated.

so look: i'm a mutt. both sides of the feud, so i can formulate a well rounded argument; however i am black. when the world sees me and when i see me too. i am black and proud, in a world hell bent on making me believe my genes deem me inferior or unworthy to anyone. i say that to say, nothing will change until we stop fighting each other and start fighting for one another. they misused and abused us. chained and locked us away like animals. beat us like animals. and before they started more actively and carelessly attacking us out loud again, they got smart. gave us rights, gave us "homes" "communities" we were grateful. for this illusion of freedom. we must get uncomfortable with this false freedom. they treated us like animals, then tried to make us the villians, fearful we would retaliate, when all we ever wanted to do was live, joyously in harmony.

they cannot stop hating us, because we will never hate them. its a losing battle for them. still, if we don't stand up and fight we will lose in the end. fear and trauma also sparks compliance in them. bears are not violent creatures. but you don't poke a bear you know? melanated people are bears. currently acting like bears at the zoo. how long are we going to let them poke the bear?

melanated people need to unite. Dr. King tried peace and it worked for a little bit. it was a bandaid fix. now it's time to try Malcolm's approach.

Thanks for listening. -Almasi.

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kaijutegu · 8 years ago

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pls disragard these questions if you arent feeling like explaining anthropology that is probably not within your specific field, but i have questions and somehow youre the most accessible source for answers about ancient-ass humans. so: why are humans so much hardier than other animals? like if you break a horse's bone that horse is kaput, but people bounce back from shit like missing limbs. how are we so cool? also, how prevalent (and when) was pursuit predation? also, thanks! have a nice day

OH no worries, this is something I teach every year and it’s REALLY COOL. There’s footnotes and works cited below the jump if you want them, and I can point you at some other work if this is something you’re interested in reading about. Humans are ridiculously resilient. The reason for this has a lot to do with the tradeoffs we made for endurance rather than speed. Human walking is really energy efficient (it’s really just controlled falling) compared to a horse’s galloping, and we have pretty well-muscled legs. Our plantigrade feet mean that there’s not as much energy when we spring off compared to an animal that runs on their toes, but at the same time, we spend a lot less energy moving around.

Our muscles and leg anatomy have a lot to do with it, too. Let’s look at a horse’s leg compared to a human’s.

Horses in particular have a hard time with broken legs because they have a LOT of mass resting on on those legs. Horses’ legs are basically built to go fast- their leg bones are actually quite light, and below the ankle there’s… well, basically nothing. Just tendon and skin- there’s no big muscles to stabilize or cushion the bone. This means that there’s less weight to drag around so the horse can escape a predator more quickly, but it comes with a major tradeoff- if a horse breaks their lower leg, it tends to shatter. In the wild, this is going to make the horse extremely easy to pick off. But like I said up there, humans- unlike horses- don’t run on our toes. Our ankle bones are chunky and strong, and our lower legs are cushioned with muscle and fat. But our healing ability goes beyond just basic anatomy! Our group dynamics also play into this, too. If a horse breaks a leg, what can the other horses do about it? The injured horse still has its biological needs to fulfill; it has to eat, drink, and evade predators. It has to keep moving- it can’t lie down for a few weeks and let the leg heal. But that’s not true of humans and our closest relatives! I’ll use Neanderthals for this example because I like them a lot, but the same goes for early modern humans, too.

Let’s say that some Neanderthals are out on the hunt, and Thog gets knocked against a tree trunk by a mammoth and she breaks her leg. Because Thog’s a member of a social species, it’s not the end of the world for her or her group. The rest of her crew can keep hunting and Thog can limp back home, where her grandfather looks after her and her younger sister brings her water. She’s able to rest and keep weight off the broken leg, which means that so long as she keeps whatever wounds there might be relatively clean, sepsis is less likely. Group living means that you don’t have to be self-sufficient; no hominin is an island. Part of why we’re so successful is that our ability to care for each other ensures better group survival. If your reproductive-age individuals are also providers, group care means that you’re less likely to lose them.

We know from looking at Neanderthal skeletons that they were injured frequently and were able to shake it off and survive; even elderly individuals with severe arthritis are often found in group contexts, suggesting they weren’t left behind. And we are talking serious injuries here- not just broken legs, but head and neck trauma, too. There’s a famous paper* that says that most Neanderthal injuries came from close contact hunting (due to them being mostly head and neck injuries rather than lower body injuries), but more up-to-date research notes that actually, Neanderthals could- and did- get hurt pretty much everywhere**.

As to when pursuit predation came into effect, the best guess we have is “probably sometime around two million years ago, practiced by Homo erectus/ergaster.” One way we can tell this is by diet. Mandibles are very quick to adapt to dietary pressures, so by comparing mandibles to things with known diets, we’re able to tell what’s going on. Add that to dental wear and morphology studies and chemical analysis of subfossils’*** teeth and we can get a pretty good picture of who’s eating what. What we see with the H. erectus/ergaster complex of species is that they’re eating a wide variety of very tough foods; their jaws and molars suggest that they were eating root vegetables, tough meat, tubers, bone marrow, honey- really, anything they could find. We also know that they were eating a fairly high calorie diet compared to their predecessors; this was necessary for brain development- and we know that these calories came from meat. As average brain mass increases, so does evidence of meat-eating. Brain development is expensive- you have to put a lot of nutrients into it- nutrients that are really hard to get from plants alone. One way to feed the family is by hunting- though realistically this didn’t happen all that regularly. Rather, it’s more likely that hunting supplemented gathering, as it does with many forager groups today; hunting takes a lot of energy and can be dangerous.Archaeology also points to the “around two million years ago” date based on stone tool deposits and fossil prey species. One good example of this is Kanjera in Kenya; it’s a site by Lake Victoria that has good evidence for persistence hunting. There’s quite a lot of gazelle and antelope skeletons that aside from stone tool marks, don’t have a lot of damage. It looks like these were brought to the site for butchering- and they would have had to be hunted because hyenas, lions, and other predators and scavengers will actually eat those bones. Gazelles are a lot faster than humans, and the hominins of the time didn’t really do projectiles; rather, it’s more likely they ran the gazelles down until they were exhausted, then dragged them back to this lakeside camp site to process and eat. It’s likely that this strategy helped fuel the migration of Homo into Asia; once you’re able to hunt big game, your movement is less restricted by the availability of small animals, scavenged meat, and seasonal plants; you can follow herd animals and just chase one whenever you need to eat. However, the exact role that hunting and scavenging played in the development of the Homo genus is something that archaeologists and physical anthropologists do not agree on- when you’re trying to figure out what a species eats and how they got their food, you gotta realize that this can vary heavily by what’s available, what predators are in the area, your own group’s composition, and myriad other factors that can affect food acquisition.

One thing we do know for sure: Persistence hunting works. Our species is super good at it, even today. If you’d like to see some persistence hunting in action, it’s actually still used by San groups in Africa.

youtube

Footnotes*This famous paper is, of course, “Patterns of Trauma among the Neanderthals” by Thomas Berger and Erik Trinkaus. Published in the Journal of Archaeological Science in 1995 (Volume 22, issue 6, pp. 841-852), this study is really interesting but doesn’t quite take lower leg injury patterns into account and underestimates the potential prevalence of these types of injuries.

**For more about Neanderthal injuries, check out Erik Trinkaus’s more recent work; he’s one of the authors on the famous “rodeo rider” paper from the 1990s, and it’s his 2010s-era revisions that expanded our understanding of Neanderthal and early modern human injuries.

***You can’t do the same types of analysis with full fossils because the bone tissue is basically replaced by rock, but you can still look at dental morphology! Just can’t get isotopes.

Works citedBraun, D, et al. Early hominin diet included diverse terrestrial and aquatic animals 1.95 Ma in East Turkana, Kenya. PNAS107(22): 10002-10007. June 2010.

Plummer TW, Ditchfield PW, Bishop LC, Kingston JD, Ferraro JV, Braun DR, et al. (2009) Oldest Evidence of Toolmaking Hominins in a Grassland-Dominated Ecosystem. PLoS ONE 4(9): e7199. Open Access: http://journals.plos.org/plosone/article?id=10.1371/journal.pone.0007199

Pobiner, B. New actualistic data on the ecology and energetics of hominin scavenging opportunities. Journal of Human Evolution 80: 1-16. March 2015

Trinkaus, E. “Neandertals, early modern humans, and rodeo riders.” Journal of Archaeological Science 39(12): 3691–3693. December 2012.

Image SourcesHorse leg: http://www.sacredequine.com/faqs.htmlHuman leg: https://www.anatomylibrary99.com/wrist-tendon-anatomy-diagrams/wrist-tendon-anatomy-tendons-of-the-posterior/

#beaureqard #answered #anthropology

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musicalsandmayhemandmurderohmy · 8 years ago

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Sprace - First Encounter Modern AU

Sorry I haven’t been posting a lot lately, summer has been pretty hectic (not with a social life unfortunately, but hey)! Anyway, I’m on holliers at the moment so here’s a little fic, that turned out way longer than I’d intended - any thoughts on Sarah and Spot being good friends? ~

***** Sarah started as the first fat raindrops hit her forehead. She’d been in an almost trance-like state since this morning, equally eagerly awaiting and dreading the next week. This was going to be the longest she’d spent away from Katherine since they’d moved in together, and, as childishly clingy as it might sound, she hated being apart from her girlfriend any longer than she had to be. Thanksgiving with the family had become an almost sacred tradition among the Jacobs, especially since Esther and Mayer had moved out to Long Island after they’d retired. It was time for their children to grow up, they’d joked, and stop visiting them every day just because they couldn’t cook or do laundry themselves. Still, they were always happy to see Sarah and Davey return to the nest, especially now that Les was always touring with his show; the years of auditions had finally paid off - Lesley Jacobs, thirteen, was in the middle of a successful tour of North America as Billy Elliott - the Billy Elliott, he’d exclaimed when he found out. Rummaging through her pockets, Sarah fished out her phone to check her messages. Hi sis, running late - allow half hour. See you soon x. She bit her lip, wondering how much longer the worse of the rain would hold off. Above her, the sky showed little mercy, dark storm clouds hanging low over the skyscrapers and spires. Okay, ring me when you get here - finding shelter. Hope you’re not texting while driving. Say hi to Schrödinger dinger for me x she replied, wrestling her umbrella into some sort of adequate shelter, before hoisting her bag onto her back and setting off in search of a shop. Her mind wandering as she walked, she considered ringing her girlfriend to check in. Usually, Katherine would be coming with her to Jacobs gatherings - she’d often confided in Sarah and Davey that their family felt more like hers than her own - but her parents had summoned her to entertain their guests with them over the holiday season. Katherine had been livid when she’d gotten off the phone to them. “I don’t see the point of dragging me out there to drink stupid cocktails and talk about stupid things like overpriced hair salons and celebrity chefs with stupid people who have too much money and walk around throwing ingratiating smiles at people who have equally opposite ratios of sense to money, while they all secretly cannot stand to be around each other! Honestly, if this were any other century, they’d have married me off to a Russian noble to secure a trading agreement - as it is, they’re trying to set me up with Bill this Thanksgiving - he warned me that his parents are in on it too - as if I wasn’t a flaming lesbian!“ She’d ranted endlessly to Sarah that morning as they’d packed away her heels and dresses - a far cry from her usual uniform of denim and flannel. “You’ll be comfy and enjoying yourself out in Long Island, and I’ll be trussed up like a turkey, guzzling champagne, trying not to slap someone silly and missing you the whole time in Fort Pullitzer”, she’d joked, pulling Sarah in for a kiss. No, Sarah decided, better to ring Kat later, when pints of cheap champagne had softened her mood and Bill had distracted her from the deepening irritation she felt every time she had to mingle with her parents’ friends and their children - people who Katherine had grown up with, who had known her all their lives - as they liked to remind her. Sarah had met them once, when Katherine’s parents had thrown an elegant dinner party for her twenty first birthday. It had proved to be one of the most uncomfortable nights of her life - she had never encountered a group so possessive of another human being, explaining to Sarah how they’d been in Katherine’s class “All the way since kindergarten”, before asking disinterestedly how long Sarah and her had been friends. Sarah’s only salvation when Kat had been whisked away from her by Mr. and Mrs. Pullitzer had been Bill, a sharply dressed boy with an angelic face and a rainbow pin on his lapel. He’d seemed at once apart from everyone else there, a different kind to the rest of them. “The pin is my version of idiot repellent here”, he’d remarked dryly, snatching her another glass of champagne. “Keeps the straights from hitting on me. Welcome to the Media Magnates Homo Club Inc. You’re our third member so far.” Sarah chuckled as she recalled their conversation - Katherine was in safe hands. An ambulance surged past, dousing Sarah with icy water. With a sharp hiss, she quickened her pace, deafened completely by the insistent thrumming of rain on her umbrella. “Hey!” The shout stopped her in her tracks. A shortish boy lounged in a doorway surrounded by knick knacks and ornaments, his face screwed up in concentration as he struggled to light the cigarette dangling from his lips. His eyes stared out at her from underneath the peak of his hat, dark and alert. His task completed successfully, he clamped the cigarette between his teeth and set about slowly rolling a large urn through the open doorway. “Well don’t just stand there!” he exclaimed. “Help me haul this shit in - you’ll drown out there!” Sarah looked around the shop in awe. She’d have been never guessed a treasure trove like this lay beyond the somewhat rundown exterior. Wandering down the aisle, she gazed, transfixed, at the strange objects she found. Without thinking, her fingers brushed the face of an elegant porcelain doll, its red hair coiffed and curled around its face. “Ahem!” Sarah snatched her fingers away as though she’d been burnt. The source of the noise sat in the very back of the shop, particularly obscured by a large glass case that had been commandeered and used as a counter. Shrouded in colourful shawls, her bony fingers effortlessly knitting with a variety of coloured yarns, sat a wizened old lady. With her piercing eyes and hunched shoulders, there was something almost bird-like about her. “Look, not touch antiques! ”, she pronounced, her lips vanishing into a small pucker as she scowled severely. “Lighten up, Mama Maria - she got caught in the rain, helped me bring in the stock.” Sarah jumped as a heavy hand landed. “Antonio Higgins”, the boy said proudly, offering her his hand. “To friends and so to you, Racetrack. And this”, he declared, “esteemed lady, superb grandmother, proud great-grandmother, and dignified proprietor of Valenti Antiques, is Mama Maria, all the way from Sienna, Italy.” Mrs Valenti laid down her knitting and shuffled over to them. “Ignore my grandson”, she chuckled, reaching up to cuff him playfully on the ear. “You’ve been smoking those dirty things again, haven’t you?” she scolded. “Always puffing, always reeking - when you are my age, then you can start!” “But Mama! They was Coronas!” he protested, planting a kiss on her cheek. Sarah covered her mouth “Silly boy! You have forgotten your manners, to introduce our guest!” Mrs Valenti turned to Sarah expectantly. “Oh!” Sarah exclaimed, not expecting to be drawn into the conversation. “I’m Sarah - Sarah Jacobs”, she stuttered, offering her hand to Mrs Valenti. Taking Sarah by surprise, she clasped Sarah’s hand with both of her own. Her bird-like eyes swept Sarah up and down, resting on her face. A slow smile spread across her face. Racetrack laughed loudly at Sarah’s shock when Mrs Valenti grasped her by the shoulders and planted a light kiss on each cheek. “Mama, not everyone is as Italian as you!” he laughed. “Oh, hush boy! You Americanos have none of the etiquette! Our guest Sarah is soaked, she will freeze in the November here!” Throwing up her hands in exasperation, she marched into the back of the shop, shawls fluttering. Race laughed nervously. “So, that’s my grandma anyway, she’s everyone’s madre. Five minutes and she’ll be back with a tray of tea and a list of questions for asking. Oh also, would you like to change? If you don’t have your own I can fetch you something of my sister’s?” Sarah tapped her bag. “I have my stuff with me… Where can I change?” Race showed Sarah down the passage into the back room. “This is the only room there’s space to turn around in - there’s no light in here though so the door usually stays open…. Don’t worry, I won’t look”, he joked, his back to the her. Feeling slightly self conscious, Sarah began to change out of her wet clothes. “What brings you to this lonely corner of Manhattan?” “My parents live out on Long Island…. Davey was meant to pick me up for Thanksgiving, last I heard from him he was running a bit late”. “Family, huh? Can’t get rid of them when you’re near, can’t get enough of them when you’re far… Life! Is Davey your boyfriend?” A peal of laughter escaped Sarah’s lips. “Davey? Nooo, no! Davey is my brother!” “Oh!” Sarah could hear the sheepishness in his voice. “So, Davey, he’s late for you?” he questioned, recovering swiftly. “Last I heard from him”, she paused to pull on her jeans, “he was half an hour away.” “How long ago was that?” “That was about… Twenty minutes ago now”, she replied, checking her phone as she emerged. Frowning, she stopped in the doorway. You’d say hello to Schrödinger but not me? Displeased. -_- Race watched a smile flashed across her face as her thumbs tapped out a quick message. “Davey onto you?” he asked nonchalantly. “No, I think he’s bringing someone though… Probably why he’s late.” Sarah shut off her phone and smiled at Race. “Could I borrow a plastic bag?” Race bent and rummaged in the drawers of an old fashioned writing desk. Above it, mounted on the wall, was a large collection of old photographs. Many were of a large family, taken over the course of many years as if to immortalise each year of their lives. There were newspaper clippings in Italian and English, photos of a man, smiling for the camera, standing at the desk before her, a cuckoo clock lying open before him. In the centre was a large picture of two Italian-looking men on either side of a young woman - Sarah supposed it must be Mrs Valenti - in front of the shop, taken during brighter times. Feeling as though she was prying into someone else’s life, Sarah directed her attention back to the desk. It looked like a work bench for repairs - a box of tiny cogs and levers nestled in the corner, surrounded by various bits and pieces of watches, clocks, and music boxes, as well as several small screws and washers. On the centre of the desk sat an ancient looking typewriter. Sarah leaned forward, inspecting it more closely. The letters K. PLUMBER were printed on the side. Squinting, Sarah could just about make out “The World” etched in a delicate, curling script below that. Katherine had often expressed how much she’d love to own a typewriter - she’d feel like a true journalist. And Sarah didn’t have her Christmas present yet… “Now, Sarah, some tea? You will want to warm up after outside”, Mrs Valenti called, padding down the stairs at the far end of the passage, accompanied by the sound of clinking. Race emerged and handed Sarah a bag, rushing to take the tray from his grandmother. “Antonio, grazie mille ”, she murmured, following him out to the counter. Sarah hovered, unsure of whether to sit, until Race pulled out one of the two stools and offered it to her. “So, Sarah”, she began. Sarah noticed that she pronounced it Zara , emphasising the consonants. “What brings you here?” Sarah sipped at her tea, spellbound by this seemingly unstoppable old lady. Time had seemed to fly since she’d first sat down, just listening to Mrs Valenti. “I came here in the forties, when there was nothing left for us back home, back in Italia. The place was full of foreigners, escaping the war, the poverty in Europe”, she’d explained, a hint sadness in her voice. “When we came here, we had nothing but us, us and our skills. My husband was - I don’t know the words - he made clocks, before the war. But then…” she spread her hands, a gesture that expressed more than any words could. “We opened this shop when we came here, you know. My husband and his brother and I, they did dealing, buying, I kept books, kept tidy, organised, they talked - their English, far better.” She shook her head sadly. “This used to be famous once. There were people, all day, when it was three of us…. But time takes, and now, only me. Antonio is all I have left.” Sarah smiled at the older woman as her grandson wrapped his arm around her protectively. The two of them were fiercely protective of each other, that much was clear. Without warning, her phone broke the silence, buzzing urgently. Sarah cursed softly. “I’m sorry, my brother -” Maria nodded. “You enjoy Thanksgiving, Sarah”, she smiled. Stepping slightly away, Sarah answered. “Heyyy, whereabouts are you kiddo?” Davey yelled, Schrödinger barking in the background. “Hey Davey", she murmured, wincing slightly. She’d forgotten how loud her brother and his dog could be. “I’m in an antique shop - Valenti’s - down the street. Come in to it, I think you’ll like it in here”. Davey’s words were drowned out by a howl from the back seat. “ SHUT UP FOR A SEC - yeah I’ll be right over - I’ve got a surprise for you though”, he said smugly. “It’s why Schrödinger won’t shut up”. A light jingle heralded Davey’s arrival, followed by a low whistle. Sarah looked around sharply - she knew that whistle anywhere. “David Jacobs, thanks for looking after my sister”, Davey said, shaking hands with Race and Maria. “This is Sean Conlon.” Sarah sidled over to Spot while Davey chatted easily with Maria. “You coming with us to Thanksgiving?” she asked hopefully. He was sporting a new bruise, flourishing just under his jaw. Sarah was under no illusions as to who’d given it to him. “Yeah, he said under his breathe. My old man ain’t been too loving lately”, he spat. Sarah had seen for herself what Mr Conlon was capable of - it was usually her or Davey bandaging him up. The two of them stood side by side, watching Davey converse with Mrs Valenti. He had that laid back charm that made old ladies smile and remark what a nice boy he was as soon as he turned it on. “Hey Spot, did I hear you’ve been harassing my pooch?“ Sarah muttered, seeking to change the subject. Spot knew what she was doing - it was a favourite Jacobs tactic - but he appreciated it nonetheless. “Your “pooch”, as you call him, is well able to look after himself - the only person being harassed in that car was me “, he retorted. Sarah grinned impishly. “Aw, was the great king of Brooklyn defeated by a dog and his toy cat?” Spot’s arm shot around her shoulders, pulling her close enough to ruffle her hair - about the most physical he got with anyone. “You watch out, Sarah Jacobs - I don’t fight girls, but for you I can make an exception!” Spot released her, just in time to see Race’s eyes on the two of them. There was something in his eyes that made Spot uneasy. Longing? He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but he felt suddenly protective of Sarah. No puppy-eyed Italian mama’s boy lays a finger on her, he thought, glaring at Race. Race’s heart sank when Spot’s eyes met his. He hadn’t meant to stare - there was something familiar about the other boy, he’d seen him before, but his glare didn’t encourage familiarity. Great, now he thinks I was ogling his girlfriend. He started when Maria tapped him on the back of the hand. “Aren’t you going to introduce yourself, Tony?” He looked around, seemingly lost in thought. “Oh - I’m Antonio - Tony - Higgins”, he flustered, shaking hands with Davey. Spot looked at him long and hard before accepting his handshake, his glare never losing its intensity. Up close, it was even more uncomfortable - Race felt as though he were a butterfly, pinned firmly down. Sarah noted with interest that he’d lost all his previous charm and swagger - this was a different Racetrack than the one she’d helped to move stock earlier. “Mama, I forgot to take in the urn”, Race mumbled, like a child begging to be excused. Mrs Valenti beckoned subtly for him to go, then turned her attention back to her guests. David, she had decided, was absolutely lovely - the same manners as his sister, well groomed, a natural conversationalist. She was not so sure about the other boy though - he was no relation of theirs, that she could tell - where they were neat and well turned out, he was casual to the point of untidiness - a large flannel shirt billowed around him, and his hair hung untidily around his face. He had none of their calm aura either - his fingers tapped and fiddled constantly, as if of their own accord. His eyes darted constantly around the shop - not in the way a thief’s would, but a fugitives, as if he was memorising his surroundings with a view to escape. Mrs Valenti saw something in those eyes that awakened a deep sense of unease within her - there was something wild about that hungry, haunted look that she had not seen in many years. She had seen eyes like those, hundreds of them, back home - in the faces of the men who’d returned from the war, their minds forever marked by the terrible things they had seen. No, he could not possibly be family - a friend perhaps? Boyfriend of Sarah? She shook her head slightly. A shame, she decided, when there were plenty nice, straightforward boys like her Antonio. Spot waited until Mrs Valenti was engrossed in conversation with Sarah and Davey before slipping quietly out of the shop. He found Race outside, holding a cigarette with trembling hands. Wordlessly, he pulled out one of his own. The two boys leaned against opposite sides of the doorway, both staring resolutely ahead. Spot took a deep pull, deciding what to do next. “Well Tony”, he drawled. “You and your grandmother seem real close.” * “I guess”, Race shrugged. “I’ve seen you at Sheepeshead”, Spot said suddenly. “You go there every Saturday. You bet whatever money you have with you. You win some, you lose some, but you always make sure to have as much when you leave as when you came in. You walk home alone, in rain you take the Subway. Isn’t that right, Race?” Race nodded, his eyes wide with fear. “I know you, Race”, Spot continued. “I know where to find you. You might know me, you might think you know me, you might recognise me from somewhere - I don’t care. As long a you know that if you ever touch that girl in there, you will never set foot in Brooklyn again. If you lay so much as a finger on her, if you flirt with her, if you LOOK at her the wrong way, Spot Conlon will find out. And God help you when I do”. Race looked at him, aghast. If this was Spot’s reaction to the thought that Race might fancy Sarah, just imagine if he found out…… “Listen, I’m sorry if you got the wrong idea back there”, he stuttered. “But I’m… I wasn’t thinking of Sarah that way.” Spot raised a sarcastic eyebrow. “Well it sure looked like that to me”. Race took a shaky pull of his cigarette. “I’m not into girls much… I mean they’re nice but…. Not my thing, I guess. I’m sorry if you thought I was trying to move in on your girlfriend”, he finished lamely, bracing himself. Boys like Spot didn’t, in his experience, take well to his sexuality. He turned slowly, not sure what to expect. Spot stared at him in disbelief, cigarette suspended halfway to his mouth. “You thought… Sarah and I were together?” Race shrugged miserably. “Well yeah. When you came in, putting your arm around her, it looked-” He broke off, silenced by a loud laugh from Spot. “No man, you’ve got it all wrong - Sarah’s - oh wow - Sarah’s like a sister to me!” Spot snorted. “Plus, she’s - she has a girlfriend”. Race blinked in surprise. “You’ve never had feelings for her?” Spot stared at him incredulously. “Look, Racetrack, I swing the other way. Violently. I’m gay as hell!” Spot laughed at Race’s stunned expression. “Didn’t see that coming, did you?” Mrs Valenti looked up in surprise as Race and Spot reentered together. “Sean, I didn’t notice you leave!” she exclaimed. “That’s alright, I was just helping Racetrack with the urn”, Spot replied mildly. Mrs Valenti nodded, pleasantly surprised. She turned back to Sarah. “I’m afraid the typewriter is, right now, unworking. Tony has tried to fix, but, no good. It is old, hard to know”. Sarah nodded. “That’s alright, Mrs Valenti”, she smiled, trying to hide her disappointment. Davey looked at his sister, then at Spot. “Sp- Sean is good at that kind of thing”, he blurted. Spot looked at him, then nodded. “My grandad was good at fixing things… I could try the typewriter, if you’ll let me”, he said slowly. Mrs Valenti took a moment to consider this. “I see no problem”, she said eventually. “Tony, are you happy to work with Sean?” Race’s heart leapt. “Sure, I’d be happy to”, he stammered, reddening. Race waved with Mrs Valenti from the doorway as the car pulled away from them, piled high with bags. He could just about see Spot in the back, almost obscured completely by a large, shaggy black dog. Race couldn't be certain, but he could have sworn Spot was grinning straight at him. His hand drifted down to his pocket, to the slip of paper that had been pressed into his hand as they’d all said goodbye. “Lovely girl, isn’t she?” Mrs Valenti piped up from Race’s shoulder. He mumbled incoherently, nodding slightly. It wasn’t Sarah’s number in his pocket.

#sprace #newsbians #newsies #newsies modern au #sarah jacobs #spot conlon #race higgins #race #davey jacobs #Just another fic

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sanctferum · 7 years ago

Text

Back to Dangan Ronpa V3: Chapter 3: Deadly Life: & Knuckles: Limited Edition.

Last time, we couldn’t have free time events with the Student Council members. Then we learned Maki’s tragic past, obtained a flashback light, had the flashback light broken, dealt with a curfew, tried to help Tenko but failed, and then we discovered Angie’s body and Deadly Life began. Kiyo took some people off to perform a séance, and we must investigate as well.

From right to left! First, Maki. She wants to confirm that the front door was locked. Kokichi picked the lock. Could anyone else have opened the lock? Not from the outside, no. Monodam swallowed the key…Kokichi must be the only one who could have opened or closed the door from the outside. Someone inside could have opened and closed it, but the only person we found inside was Angie herself.

Gonta finds it strange that the murder happened at 2 AM. The Student Council made a curfew, after all. Do we have the heart to tell him that there were six people who didn’t give a crap what the Student Council’s rules were, and four people besides Gonta himself that were on the Student Council and had permission to walk around? Well, five people, but I doubt Angie committed suicide, despite the locked room issue. No, we don’t have the heart to tell him that. Good thing Maki’s here to tell him instead of us.

Gonta refuses to believe the Student Council would break its own rules. Didn’t they specifically carve out an exception to those rules for themselves? Ah, I see. Gonta thinks they shouldn’t have been out even with the exception, because they should have been being good role models to everyone else by staying in their rooms.

Gonta decides that Angie was attacked in her room and brought to the lab against her will, and blames himself for sleeping when that happened. Poor naïve innocent guy.

We can’t examine the effigies. Weird, I thought for sure the fact that Kiyo’s antique katana is stuck in Kaede’s effigy would be of note to Shuichi.

The back door is locked. Shuichi says no one’s used the door since they first discovered this lab. So it’s been locked ever since.

There’s something gold and shiny on the lock’s tab. It has to be the gold foil from the katana, right? Was that part of the blackened’s escape plan?

The lock will easily slide open if you try and open it from the inside. Same with sliding closed. Hmmm.

The front door and back door having different locks is odd. But with both of them locked when we arrived, this has become a locked-room mystery. The only one of us that we know can pick locks is Kokichi, but I don’t think it’s him. We haven’t even found his Ultimate Lab yet. And while it’s true that he showed up at a strangely convenient time, I think he just had a good idea that someone was dead, rather than being the killer himself. How he’d know that is a different question.

Passing over Angie’s body for now, Tsumugi. She suspects Tenko, because she overheard Himiko say something about Tenko trying to betray the Student Council. Well, Angie did let Student Council members into the lab, so Tenko could’ve gotten in, but so could the other four Student Council survivors. Only one of them was a spy, with a motive to save her beloved. Tenko is suspicious for that reason, but I don’t think it’s her either. Gonta, Keebo, Tsumugi, Himiko, and Tenko…you wouldn’t necessarily need to be any of them to get into the Lab if there’s some third way of entering and exiting. And the locked room mystery does seem to suggest that as a possibility.

Miu thinks the effigies are diversions, used to distract us from something. It is true that they were the first thing we saw when we entered the lab, even before Angie’s body.

So Shuichi has graduated from “Poo-ichi” to “Sherlock Homo”. OK, Miu, sure, whatever. Maki has the same reaction I do.

“On the rag”? What does that mean? Context clues make me think she’s asking if Maki’s on her period, which is totally something Miu would ask.

Miu decides to investigate the effigies further. Let’s see if she notices that one of them has a big-ass katana sticking out of it. Nope, she’s just looking up Kaede’s effigy’s skirt to see if she’s wearing panties. OK. Nothing about the katana sticking out of Kaede’s effigy’s chest? Miu you fool.

Yeah, Maki was right. Talking to Miu is not a productive activity.

Angie’s body is lying face-down in a pool of her own blood. Oh, we get to investigate the whole area near her body, including the effigy with a katana sticking out of it.

The effigies are all suspended upside down with rope, probably obtained from the warehouse. Are the upside down as part of the ritual, or…?

Maki pulls the katana out of Kaede’s effigy and stares at it. Gold leaf on it, and blood on the tip. Too rusty a sword to cut well…but certainly enough to stab. But why the katana? Maki’s lab was unlocked, if it was weapons in general they needed. Maybe it’s because Kiyo’s lab is on the fourth floor, and the culprit didn’t want to waste time. Or they could have needed a weapon of this length. Maki’s Lab has no swords in it. It’s not a weapon type she ever uses for assassinations. Well, OK, she used a katana once. She botched the mission she was on, and hasn’t used a sword since.

The gold leaf flakes off and gets everywhere. Does the length of the katana have to do with the locked back door?

Preserve the crime scene as best as we can…which means putting the katana back where we found it. Kaede’s effigy’s chest. Shuichi can’t bring himself to even look as Maki puts it back.

Later on, after we examine the body, we’re gonna go investigate Kiyo’s lab to see if the blackened left a clue there.

Before we look at Angie herself, let’s take a look at the Necronomicon. The motive behind this case…

First, Angie needed to make an effigy. Something to represent the soul she was trying to call back. But rather than go with a cheap effigy, like a rock with Rantaro’s face drawn on it or something, she made the wax statues. The effigy’s materials, shape, and size are irrelevant, but hey, if you’re gonna go that far, you might as well go all the way.

The way the ritual works from there is that the user would burn the Necronomicon to ash, sprinkle the ash on the effigy, and say their name three times. Then the user closes their eyes, and after a little while, they feel a light tap on their back. Success! But there’s only one Necronomicon, so only one set of ashes, and only one resurrection, is possible.

Carbon Monoxide poisoning is mentioned as something to be wary of when burning the book. I’ll keep that in mind.

Maki thinks it’s foolish, but Shuichi thinks it might have worked. This is no normal place they’re at…maybe the rules of the normal outside world don’t apply.

Angie’s head is dripping blood. A sneak attack from behind killed her, in all likelihood. If the blackened got into her lab via some other method than using the door, she might have never known who killed her, which will put a damper on the séance.

Still, it’s strange that there’s a wound on her forehead, considering everything else. A deep wound, not bleeding much, but still. It’s strange that the two wounds don’t look like they’re from the same weapon…

Underneath Angie’s corpse is a crumpled up piece of duct tape. There’s hair on it, and it looks to be Angie’s hair.

There’s a pool of blood around Angie. From her neck wound, in all likelihood. But it’s dry…as if it was from at least a few hours before Angie was killed. Huh? Before she died…? Maybe that was a typo and they meant when she was found.

Maki thinks Shuichi is only reliable when investigating a crime scene. Which is more reliable than Kaito will ever be. Oof.

To Kiyo’s lab, then!

Maki isn’t happy being stuck as Shuichi’s partner. Well, whatever.

The Book of the Caged Child is here in the lab, but Kiyo knows it by heart, so he probably doesn’t need the book itself to perform the séance. The Caged Dog is gone, presumably being used for the ritual right now. The katana appears to be here as well, but on closer inspection, it’s just the sheath. Which means the katana in Angie’s lab is indeed from Kiyo’s lab. Kiyo is somewhat suspicious, what with this being his lab…but it’s not like it was locked or anything. Anyone could’ve grabbed it.

Kokichi pops in. The séance must have finished already, then. No, it hasn’t even begun? Kokichi’s here to grab something to use in the séance. A white sheet that’s lying on the ground. That, the cage, and the dog statue are key ingredients for the séance. Kokichi has no idea what these items are used for, so he grabs the Book of the Caged Child and flips through it till he finds some kind of mention of the ritual, which he does. A magic circle drawing. The same circle that Kiyo is currently drawing on the floor of the center empty room. Kiyo, the spirit medium for this ritual, will kneel in the center of the circle and curl like a turtle, and rest his forehead on a stone on the ground. Then the four other participants must put the cage on him, cover it with a white sheet, and place the dog statue, known as the Dog God (nice palindrome there, game!) on top of the cage. During the preparations, no one should step on the magic circle. After all that, each four participants goes to a corner of the room, and the séance begins. I’m seeing a problem here…all the empty rooms have holes in one corner of the room. The four participants will sing The Caged Child song, then they will ask “Is the caged child Angie Yonaga?” Kiyo will respond in Angie’s voice, and then presumably the other four participants will ask the relevant questions.

Sounds complicated…

Kiyo’s been itching to try this for a while, hasn’t he. Kokichi invites Shuichi to watch the séance himself. Maki isn’t gonna join in, since she has no belief in this kind of stuff, but Shuichi, as a detective, should be there whether it works or not, to observe and gather clues if possible. Maki heads back to Angie’s lab to investigate the clues there again. We head to the center room, where Kiyo tells us that only five people, himself included, will be participating. Kokichi kicks Keebo out and we take his place. Yeah, I dunno how one of the participants of this ritual being a robot would have gone…Keebo is none too happy about this turn of events.

So. We can’t enter the magic circle on the floor. It’s drawn with purifying salt, so stepping on it would disturb the arrangement. Also, if the séance were to fail because of the magic circle being broken, a curse might be unleashed.

Kiyo has even the pictures in that Caged Child book memorized. Dayum. Impressive.

As for the song of The Caged Child…we gotta memorize it. Great.

“At last, at last, at long last…young guard dog and little lost girl, sealed within an iron cage, at mountain’s bottom, within the darkness. At last, at last, at long last…how many will there be by dawn? Will there be two or just one? Will the guard dog run far away? At last, at last, at long last.”

Huh. Kiyo doesn’t plan to be the spiritual medium…Himiko volunteers. She wants to feel Angie’s presence once more, just once more. Tenko volunteers as well, because if Himiko is the medium, she won’t be able to talk to Angie…Himiko needs this. She needs to say goodbye to Angie, and move on, and survive. Survive, along with everyone else…and while Tenko is at it, she says Himiko shouldn’t be ashamed to express her feelings. If she needs to cry while talking to Angie, she should feel free to do so. Crying, laughing, venting…those aren’t things Himiko has been doing. These are things that are only natural, that are healthy.

Himiko and Tenko apparently made up with each other sometime between last night and now. Good.

Time for the ritual to begin. We already learned the instructions, but Kiyo also has something to add. Tenko must not raise her head or change positions the entire time. Shuichi and Kokichi put the cage on top of Tenko, making sure not to drop it directly on her. It’d be a shame if someone else died during this case, after all. Kiyo covers the cage with a white cloth. The four people here besides Tenko place the heavy statue on top of the cage. It’s 175 pounds, but the iron cage was made to hold it, so it should be fine. Now…Tenko must stop speaking. Next time she says anything will be in Angie’s voice. Now to blow out the candles giving the room light. Himiko is in the corner of the room with the gaps in the floor, so Shuichi and Kokichi get the task of blowing out the candles. After the séance, we’ll relight the candles with the matches Kiyo bought from the warehouse. This whole plan is making me somewhat nervous.

The candles are out. If anything bad happens, we’ll have to rely on our hearing to figure out what it is.

The singing begins. There’s one more line than on the paper. “Will the guard dog run far away?” is followed by “Or did it eat the little girl?” There’s also a weird thunking noise in the middle…I hope that wasn’t the cage collapsing on Tenko.

No answer from Angie. Tenko’s dead, isn’t she. But who would have killed her? Why kill two people?

We relight the candles. Is that blood next to the cage, or am I imagining things? None of the characters seem to notice in the dim light. This is not going to end well. Tenko is dead. Tenko is so definitely dead.

Removing the sheet reveals Tenko in the same position she started in, but in a pool of blood. Himiko runs up, over the magic circle despite Kiyo’s warning, and lifts up the cage. As everyone stares in disbelief, the body discovery announcement plays. Tenko Chabashira is dead.

Monodam tells everyone to gather in the séance room…someone killed both Angie and Tenko. I have a few suspects…Kiyo already seemed suspicious, and Kaito has a motive of fearing occult activity. So, uh…for now, I have no idea.

Deadly Life 2: Deadlier Life! Gee, what is it with Dangan Ronpa games and two people being killed in the third case?

Everyone arrives and Maki demands an explanation. Shuichi is as lost and baffled as everyone else, though.

The Monokubs arrive, presumably with the Monokuma File. Kiyo has a question. What if there are two blackened? If someone killed Angie and someone else killed Tenko, will both have to be discovered at the class trial? If I remember correctly, in Dangan Ronpa 2, the answer was that if that happened, whichever blackened the Ultimates didn’t vote for would win, and either way, only 1 person would survive such a trial.

Monodam is as lost as everyone else is. Monotaro suggests asking Monokuma, but Monophanie points out that he’s in no condition to help. Speak of the bear and guess who shows up, looking as awful as before. Monotaro and Monophanie plan to use the power of their love for their father to restore Monokuma back to normal. Monodam says that Monokuma is just an empty shell now, but he sounds a bit nervous. Hmmmhmmm.

Monodam can’t understand the power of love because no one has ever loved him before. Monotaro and Monophanie plead for Monokuma to come back to life. He doesn’t. Instead, a spare Monokuma suddenly appears! I guess the Monokuma we saw for this chapter till now really is an empty shell.

Monokuma was on vacation. Fully able to relax and have a good time, all while Monodam thought he’d won…Monodam is less than pleased. Monokuma says the bald Monokuma is a part-timer he got to cover for him while he was gone. He gives the bald Monokuma his pay, and the bald Monokuma leaves. OK then.

The answer to Kiyo’s question is…first come, first served. The first blackened is the one to focus on. If someone else is also a killer…well, they wasted a perfectly good kill on Tenko, and will have nothing to show for it. One updated Monokuma File and one new school regulation later, we get Monophanie and Monotaro praising Monokuma. Monodam is silent. Monotaro and Monophanie leave, and Monodam shortly after.

If Angie’s killer and Tenko’s killer are different…and we do find out who Tenko’s killer is…we’ll have to live with them, with the knowledge that they killed Tenko, for no good reason. But if that could be the case, there’s also the other possibility, that the blackened for these cases are one and the same. If that’s the case, I wonder what about what Tenko was doing or what she knew was a threat to them so much that they had to kill her?

Kaito’s partnering up with us again.

The Monokuma File says that the only visible wound is a stab to the back of the neck. What about invisible wounds, I wonder? And is it just coincidence that Angie and Tenko were killed the same way?

Kokichi jokes that it could be Angie’s curse. Kaito freaks out and grabs onto Maki, screaming. Maki punches him right in the mouth. Kaito leaves to get some fresh air. Again.

Tsumugi accused Tenko of being suspicious earlier…something she fully regrets now. Gonta blames himself for no apparent reason. Then he leaves to grab candles from the other empty rooms so we can actually see what we’re investigating. Keebo and Miu stop him, though. Keebo has a new function that Miu installed…what, a flashlight or something?

Keebo’s eyes light up, illuminating the room in brightness.

The guiding light that shines on us all, huh?

Kokichi thinks Miu should’ve made Keebo into a transformer instead.

Keebo’s flashlight function has been added to our truth bullets. Odd. How will that be relevant?

We’ll continue investigating these deaths next time!

#Dangan Ronpa #Dangan Ronpa V3 #Danganronpa V3

1 note · View note

go-redgirl · 5 years ago

Video

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Eric Trump accuses media of ignoring Trump's popularity at Iowa State Fair

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OPINION: Great and outstanding job, Eric Trump defending our country and your father as President who loves our great country. Who could have said it so truthfully with facts to back it up. 👍

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INDIVIDUALS/COMMENTS/POSTS:

TO: BIG BEN Eric Trump is correct the socialists of The democrat party: "Their proposals are wild and crazy."

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David George Fake news is what happens when the communists (new democrats) get in bed with media outlets.

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REPLY David George

Fake news is what happens when the communists (new democrats) get in bed with media outlets.

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REPLY dannyparkersmith Fredo wants a rebuttal. LOL

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REPLY Dawn Witmer The Media AND the dumboRATS are hilarious! TRUMP 2020 by a LANDSLIDE WIN !!!

REPLY NBA Flag DEPLORABLES: success is measured by kernels. 😆😆

REPLY J W The US citizens should understand by now that the MSM is in bed with the left and always have been.

REPLY XtremeZone "Men and women need to get dirty again." I like how she thinks....

William Lubak it’s true, the democrats are no longer the party of Kennedy. It’s also true that the Republicans are no longer the party of Reagan. Both parties are a disgrace.

Pristine MONTANA SMART JUST LIKE HIS DAD!

Charlett Delmars Eric Trump is right you cant find it. so sad

Soph M

Unbelievable! Joe Biden can hardly speak or be understood anymore lol Trump we are forever grateful , yes !!!!!

Gavin Beets Trump 2020 ! God Bless him

Sandra Martinez Nice ti see you eric trump blessing🙏❤

Allan Towler The level of propaganda used by the Democratic party is directly proportional to the bank account at the UN.

Trace Conrad If California fall's in the ocean, don't blame it on President Trump, it will really be San Andreas Fault, ☮️ World

REPLY Yush Bhattarai There's so much anger out here.. Can't we just respectfully disagree with other folks instead of demonizing them for being wrong!

plowisonutube Eric is very talented!

Nob Wings Donald is the Man!(with eggs)...YEAH!

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