#people just watched the musical and they may be flat there compared to the book

[la-pheacienne]

Am I the only person on planet earth who believes that Cosette and Marius are a beautiful love story? Yeah it has been so many years since I read this and yeah I was a teen, but I still remember what I felt when I read their story and their deep love for each other really really touched me. They were both orphans, two broken people who found each other by sheer luck and made each other really happy and gave each other hope and light in the midst of adversity and misery. It's just a beautiful depiction of real, deep, visceral, honest emotion between two people. How can you be completely immune to that? And this without even talking about the form, the lyricism, the poetic beauty of the text, the guy literally wrote one of the most iconic passages about romantic love that have ever been written and all you seem to care about is, idk, the power imbalance between them because of gender roles? Or the fact that Marius stalked Cosette? Or the fact that the "love at first sight" trope is boring and conservative? This is fine if the goal is to deconstruct patriarchy but I'm afraid it completely lacks feeling and honest engagement with the text, you know? This approach to the story is so flat and lifeless that I wonder if we've all read the same book. Everyone is entitled to their feelings and their tastes in art of course, but I will just suggest that if you truly do not feel anything at all while reading this love story then maybe 19th century Romanticism isn't for you? Idk.

[thebibliosphere]

soooo I’m finally watching Marie Kondo’s Netflix show in an attempt to motivate myself to clean my room, and while a lot of the tips seem like things that will be good for my ADHD and anxiety, the homes she looks at are... kind of already clean? Like, no dust, no trash, no dirty laundry, no spiderwebs. There’s lots of clutter, but not a lot of actual dirtiness. And especially with my worsening depression, I’ve been trying not to think about how bad my room is for so long that there are Actual Cobwebs in a couple corners. I know I’m an extreme exception, but if you had any tips on how to tackle that aspect, I would fully appreciate it

 Marie Kondo is less of a “clean your home” show and more of a “keep it organized.”

It’s also important to remember that no matter how real the people are, parts are staged. Because I guarantee you, some of those houses with the amount of clutter that is in them? Will absolutely have dust, cobwebs, and mold problems. We’re just not being shown them.

But that doesn’t mean you also can’t use Marie’s techniques to actually clean.

I’ve talked before about removing the lid from the laundry hamper helped ETD actually start putting laundry in the basket instead of on the floor/any flat surface. What I’ve yet to talk about is how that in no way helped us keep on top of doing laundry. The thing that really helped us was buying multiple cheap laundry baskets (this kind) and sorting our laundry out as we got changed. For example, there are three laundry baskets lined up near the door in our bedroom. One has t-shirts, another one has underwear, and another has, like, pants and jeans and shit. They serve both as visual reminders that we need to do laundry and help with pre-sorting laundry. Once they get full to a certain point, it’s time to do a laundry load.

We’ve also got baskets like these for towels, kitchen things and bed linens. Everything just goes into visible baskets, which can, if necessary, be stacked and shoved into a closet if company suddenly comes over. (Though that doesn’t happen so much these days.)

I also use spare hampers for doing 15-minute-pick-ups, which is exactly what it sounds like. I set a timer for 15 minutes, and I pick things up from places where they don’t belong and throw them in the hamper. So, for example, Holly’s toys and blankets are currently scattered all through the house. If I want to dust, vacuum, and clean, I will walk around the house picking her stuff up and putting it in the hamper, clearing a path for me to do the other things I need to do without worrying about organizing a space for her stuff. 

Another example would be my work desk. My work desk is currently covered in everything from my work printouts, bills I need to pay, medical gear like my blood pressure cuff, all my charging cables, multiple books, some of Holly’s toys, and for some unknown reason, four measuring tapes. If I want to dust my desk, I will put everything in a basket, wipe the surface down, then pick out the things that belong on my desk. Like the printouts and the bills. My desk is now, in less than 15 minutes, dust-free and organized. But Joy, you might say, what about the things in the basket? What do I do with those? Easy, keep them in the basket and take them to where they do belong. But what if the space they belong needs cleaned? Rinse and repeat, take your basket to the next space, clear everything into the basket, clean the area, then put back the things that belong. Congrats, you may have just cleared multiple spaces. And if you run out of energy in the interim? That’s okay; it’s better to have things contained in baskets than scattered everywhere across your house. It reduces them down to smaller problems and reduces your visual exhaustion from clutter, making tasks easier for ADHD brains in the long run. (This also works for other types of executive dysfunction. Visual exhaustion is a real problem for brains that are already trying their hardest.)

So, now you’ve got things sorted into manageable piles, what do you do next? You prioritize what is necessary for your space to be safe and sanitary. Cobwebs might be gross looking, but they’re not really an issue compared to, say, actual trash or dirty dishes that might be molding in your space. Remove those things first. Set another 15-minute timer, pick up as much trash as you can, and put it in a trash bag. If the timer runs out and you’re still good to go, set it for another 15-minutes, or keep going until you’re done. I find music helps. I’ve actually tricked my brain into realizing that dishes take me 12 minutes (instead of the literal hours my brain thinks it is), so for me, that’s 3-4 songs from my favorite band. Other people like to watch “clean with me” videos on youtube. They can be quite motivating, sort of like second-hand dopamine from watching people be productive.

 Once you’ve sorted one major task, assess how you’re feeling. Are you tired and need to stop? Great! You’ve achieved a lot already; well done. Have a sticker and or reward of choice. Tomorrow you will do another 15 minutes of something else, and slowly but surely, your space should become more manageable and less intimidating.

Think you can do more? Also great! Let’s maybe try to get the dishes next. After that, I’d suggest tackling the cobwebs, then dusting, then sweeping/vacuuming, and then if necessary, mopping the floor. And I don't mean all at once, I just mean in that order, just so you’re not having to go back and dust again.

I try to do 15 minutes of housework every day in this fashion. I also keep a rough schedule on our fridge and tick major tasks as we go. So did I do laundry this week? Yes! Excellent, gold star. No? Okay, well, that gets priority next week. (Still gold star for what I did achieve, though.)

It helps keep things manageable while also not being Too Much for either my ADHD or my physical disabilities. For some people, that 15 minutes is too much, and I would say even doing 5 minutes a day is better than none. Anything you can do to keep your living space safely habitable for both your mental and physical health is good and worthy of praise and pride.

Anyway, I hope some of this helps and wasn’t too long! 

Take care and good luck!

[obeymeluv]

The Bros as Dads

PSA: The boys would be very attractive dads (emotionally and physically). That is all.

Note: the headcanon also includes genders for the kids. I can see some of them having sons, and others having daughters. And, obviously, everyone is older (20′s-ish).

Lucifer

Takes a while to process the news. It’s kind of a big thing. His love life was something of a roller coaster (or nonexistent) until you. The ‘L’ word was a hurdle, now there’s a B word and a P word?!

When his brain realizes what you’ve said or if you show him some proof, the pride takes over FULL SWING (you can feel it explode in him, like his aura) and he purrs

You are truly his stars, his moon, and the heavens he so dearly misses

There’s this raw, vulnerable love in Lucifer’s eyes and it pretty much awes everyone because he’s usually so proper and reserved

The memories are old and dusty but Lucifer’s parenting instincts are strong

A type-A, fussy person. You may have 7 months left before you give birth, but the house will be spotless and perfectly proofed before you hit bed rest

Piles of parenting books suddenly sprout around the house. No one’s sure where they came from or how there’s even that many WRITTEN about parenting.

You and the child become his world. You’re his kryptonite, the only thing to convince him away from long hours or break him out of sour moods

Lucifer is very stressed, more than he thought he’d be, because you’re carrying his child and he worries for your health.

He’s with you every step of the way, from appointments to birth

He’d absolutely drop everything to tend to your needs, or appoint one of the brothers if he couldn’t.

Likes to busy himself with making a nursery and is actually good at themes/interior decorating

Has a tiny desk built in his study. The child won’t be able to join him for a while, but the idea of his tiny joy working on something beside him warms his heart

Hunts down obscure herbs and items from folklore that are supposed to bless pregnancies or benefit the unborn. Turns out he’s really nervous and superstitious.

Lucifer is the worst when it comes to shopping because his pride outweighs his logical restraint. If he convinces himself IN THE SLIGHTEST that his child would look good in something or the nursery could really use an item, it’s coming to the House of Lamentation

He ugly cries when he realizes you’re having a girl because he feels like Lilith has been given back to him.

Refuses to name his child Lilith because of everything that happened. Can’t settle for anything close to her name or any nicknames they gave her.

Makes you a sleeping space in his study. Loves to take breaks to watch you sleep. Unintentionally takes a break to kiss your stomach and talk to the baby.

Firm believer in ‘in the belly’ enrichment so you’ll have music playing and Lucifer will read to them all the time.

If the baby’s not with you, she’s with him. Lucifer has definitely shown up to a meeting with Lord Diavolo with his baby in a chest carrier. The meeting went flat because Diavolo wanted to play with the baby.

He’s the type of dad that demands total silence when the baby’s sleeping. Might have tied up some of his brothers to achieve it.

He’s not a total hard-ass (this kid has made a sucker out of him, okay?) but his kid will definitely have manners and knows to help clean up.

The type to take naps with his kid. He’ll get up at 2 in the morning and climb into their crib if they’re fussy.

Lucifer spent so much of his life being the primary caretaker for his bros that he forgets he’s not alone this time. When you push him back down so he can sleep, and tend to your daughter, his heart almost bursts with love.

On the fence about another child. The kid’s going to have pride in spades and he thinks a sibling will humble them (and make them less lonely). He’s also afraid of that prideful wrath and doesn’t want two prideful little demons always fighting

Isn’t the best with dressing up his kid but likes to give them fancy shoes. The shoes are always on point even if the rest of the outfit is a disaster.

Is 100% ready to receive any and everything “#1 Dad” because he IS, DAMN IT. He’ll use it regularly, too.

Mammon

He’s freaking out hardcore (”You sure? Really, really sure? Maybe you just have gas or something. Y-yeah!”)

Doesn’t believe it until he sees a test. Promptly faints. Dead-ass faints as soon as he sees it.

Kind of remembers it when he wakes up, and you have to remind him again.

This time he’s pretty excited because THE GREAT MAMMON will be having a child. WHAT A GIFT, RIGHT? THE BEST GIFT!

All the magazines are snapping up this gossip and, for once in his life, he puts the earnings away. Kid has a nice fund going before they’re even born.

His schedule is 50% work, 50% family because YOUR MAIN MAN HAS TO BE THERE. Work just pays the bills and pads the nursery account, okay?

The Devildom has something similar to a baby shower and Mammon puts all KINDS of high-dollar shit on there. His baby’s going to be stylin’, okay?

Some crying in front of others, but an entirely different kind of crying behind closed doors. Vulnerable, grateful crying about being loved and having a tiny someone who will love him, too

Pays someone to explain baby stuff to him. How to change them, feed them, what type of breathing you should be doing. It surprised his bros because Lucifer could just give him that info. The fact that Mammon paid for it means he’s pretty serious about learning.

Gets tons of free maternity photos because all his magazines want the scoop. He gets to pamper you and see you all dressed up and beautiful and EVERY magazine has a shot of him crying like a proud sap.

Mammon hoards all of those pictures. Has a pile of them in his room, totally separate from everything else.

Has a lot of nervous energy and can get frustrated with all the baby books, so he distracts himself with scrap-booking. Surprisingly good at it.

Mammon thinks you’re just the most beautiful thing ever. He loves taking pictures of you. Wants the kid to have no doubts about how much he loves them and their parent.

He’s so lovesick. When you sleep or hug your belly or just touch it he melts.

Stacks Grimm on your belly when you sleep. Thinks it’s fun. Likes to record how big the towers get.

Not the best at getting up for your random-hour cravings and has definitely made you cry with his bluntness. When he’s more awake he’ll apologize and you guys will work it out.

When he finds out he’s having a little boy, the bros throw a party. Mammon gets semi-drunk and has a huge, ass-chewing lecture about how the bros made him feel for centuries and how they better not say ANYTHING like that to his kid.

You shot down any and all attempts to name the kid anything money related.

Almost passed out when you had the baby.

Cried when he first held him. Calls him Mamm-mini.

Totally planning the baby’s first photo shoot. Has people on standby to make matching outfits.

He now has a partner in crime and the kid can charm the pants off of anyone!

Mammon is 100% devoted to this kid and he secretly hopes he’s the favorite parent.

Lives for any second of bonding he can get. NEEDS IT TO LIVE. 100% a sappy dad.

The most supportive dad, always saying nice things because he knows people didn’t always say nice things about him.

Levi

Brain stops working. You almost think you’ve given him a heart attack

Levi feels you take the controller from his hand and instantly has to fill it with something else, taking yours. He looks at you and asks you again if you’re sure.

He can see it in your eyes and he just crows. He doesn’t know if he’s excited or scared but he made the noise.

Worries A LOT about the idea of becoming a father. Can gross otakus be good fathers? How does he dad?

Gets pre-stressed about social interactions. Kids have to go to school and have play-dates and Levi’s going to have to talk to people...ugh! Gross!

Definitely has a few break-downs (feelings of inadequacy, etc.) before Lucifer or Satan comfort him. He’s better than he thinks, just insecure. Everyone learns as they go. They have classes (”They’re like cheat codes, Levi.”) and it makes him feel better

His gaming friends send their congratulations and he gets lots of themed blankets and onesies.

Wants you to have a water birth because the water is his child’s calling. Really attached to the idea.

He’s constantly looking up guides to baby-proofing, double- and triple-checking safety specs of anything before buying it.

Spends HOURS scouring Akuzon, comparing brands, and reading reviews for everything.

Akuzon noticed he was buying lots of baby books and looking at baby-related things so they sent him a onesie.

You get a lovely beach/water-themed maternity shoot and Levi is so love-struck he gets a nosebleed. Once he’s cleaned up it makes a darling photo shoot.  

Has already made lists of anime for the kid to watch. Some are his favorite, some are for the lessons and moments that stuck with him

Asmo messaged TSL on the down-low and Levi got some quality kid-sized merch.

Tries to get you to name the baby Henry if it’s a boy. When he finds out it’s a girl, he pushes for Henrietta.

Reads TSL to the baby and plays ocean sounds.

As you get further along in your pregnancy, he buys a fridge for his room and stocks it with your favorite cold stuff. Any snack foods are just added to his stash.

You are absolutely worshipped. Craving something? Akuzon has it and the fastest pig is on it’s way. Your feet hurt? Try a water bath!

You’re his Player 2 now and forever (always have been), and he’s keeping you in perfect health.

Probably keeps a video journal for the kid or of the two of you during your pregnancy. Big on preserving stuff digitally.

Probably makes a game for his kid just because. They’ll be able to play it when they’re older.

Bought a ton of Magical Girl-style hairbows and things for when their hair grows in. His daughter’s a fucking princess, okay?

Belphegor bought the baby a goldfish onesie and Levi loves it to pieces.

Bought the baby a seashell bassinet and rocks them to sleep with his tail.

Levi has a bad sleep schedule and wakes easily, so he’s usually the first one to get up and handle the baby.

He has this complex about being a good dad. People can call him a weird, gross otaku but they’re ALSO going to mention how good of a dad he is!

Super affectionate with his kid in a quiet, whispering, mumbling way. Just thinks they’re the best thing.

Having a daughter really makes him rethink some of the ways he viewed anime characters and made him super critical. If his daughter ends up liking anime he’ll make it very clear what he thinks and how she shouldn’t let other people treat her like an object. 

His demon form gets triggered REALLY EASILY if his bros hold her for too long. THAT’S HIS BABY, THANK YOU!

Satan

Secretly hoped to be a father one day. Wanted to prove so badly that he could be one, and move past the constant fear of his temper looming over him. He didn’t want wrath to be his only legacy.

Can’t manage more than a genuine smile and a lilting laugh when you tell him, but he’s literally almost sick with joy. He’s just not the type to jump from the rooftops or anything

Asmodeus and Mammon convince him into drinking because he needs to let loose and really show it!

Satan ends up drunk-stumbling to Lucifer and plunking his head into his chest and crying. He’s crying because he’s happy and mumbling something about ‘granddad’. When his tears dry he’s happy as can be, smugly calls Lucifer an ‘old fuck’ and promptly throws up.

They’re past most of their bad blood but even Lucifer wasn’t surprised Satan never got EVERYTHING out of his system. A lot of his childhood memories are tainted with pure wrath instead of coming into his cardinal sin through some other mean. Or naturally, like puberty.

Between his personal research and Lucifer’s expertise, the baby-proofing is totally covered.

His book binges are strictly about pregnancies, suspicions, rituals, parenting, and anything he can think of that has to do with kids.

He’s big on teas and brews that are supposed to help with pregnancies and pains. Uses his many connections to get ingredients for said teas

Reads the classics and big epics to his unborn child.

Buys you some Hellcats for protection. They’re fiercely loyal, so he’ll know you’re safe.

He’d be the type to nag you about your diet, but not to be mean. He’d support it with this absolute WALL of evidence that turns into a lecture that could last for hours.

Has to fight the Hellcats to sit next to you or touch your belly a lot more than he thought he would. He’d never say it out loud, but he’s starting to hate the cats (he doesn’t mean it though).

Starts cleaning up his book piles a lot more. The baby would get hurt if the stacks fell on them. His room becomes virtually spotless.

You pick books to read together. You end up reading Satan to sleep, too. He keeps a hand on your belly.

Gets nervous about you wanting to go out, and basically tries to keep you in the House of Lamentation. Relents a little because hormones make you scary. He was basically afraid of nothing because the walks were fine.

You like to sit in the Devildom gardens and he thinks you look picturesque and wonderful. It takes his breath away.

Asmodeus is your personal photographer because Satan doesn’t think anyone else will do you justice.

Finds out you’re having boy-girl twins and totally shuts down. What does he say? How does he respond? BELPHIE OR BEEL WERE SUPPOSED TO HAVE TWINS! WHY HIM?!

Lucifer is BEYOND amused. This is definitely payback for everything Satan did in his childhood (so the saying goes).

It doesn’t bother him as much when he starts buying smart little cardigans, button-ups, ribbons, and bowties. He’s actually quite happy.

The Hellcats act weird and tip him off to your contractions before your water breaks. Satan gets you to the hospital and helps you give birth. The twins grow to look more like him than you, but if someone mistakes you for the nanny or says something derogatory, he’s pulling two ferocious kids off an idiot

Satan was afraid he’d be a short fuse, but he becomes the parent that explains everything to death (for better or worse). The kids will get a lecture when they’re bad, when the ask ‘why’ to something, he’ll explain why he gave the punishment he did, and be very clear with anything.

Asmodeus

Quickly falls in love with the idea of you being pregnant. It’s the best! Proof of his truest love, the thing that makes his heart beat!

He loved you to pieces before you were pregnant, and loves you even more now (if that’s possible).

Always wants to be with you, smothering your belly with kisses and touches and looking at it like it’s the next greatest love of his life

Takes names very seriously. “My child is a gift unto this world. People will know their name, so it has to be a good one!”

Gets really wrapped up in decor and aesthetic. He’d be a one-man force for all of it if you didn’t tell him to stop and breathe! Asmodeus just has lots of ideas, okay?

Has a really hard time understanding the value of baby-proofing until Satan smushes a few of his lipsticks in his hand and knocks around some finishing powder (”Now imagine that. All the time. With anything you love.”). 

Hires someone to baby-proof the room because that’s just not his thing. He’ll handle securing the valuables, okay?

Constantly reading about beauty rituals and things to do for his pregnant wife. She’s doing something really hard and deserves to be pampered!

You’ll constantly be pampered or trying ‘this and that’ because he read it was good for the baby. Good for beauty, good for health, etc.

Has a pretty decent diet, himself, and keeps you on yours.

You definitely have pregnancy sex a few times. Anything he can do to help you out, you know?

Asmodeus ADORES watching you grow round with his child and LIVES for helping you take care of yourself. He’ll let you lounge in his fantastic tub and has no issues sitting on the floor and doing your toes

Picks out all your outfits. Wants you to look your best! Don’t worry, you’ll be comfy!

When he finds out you’re having a girl he cries. A lot.

SO MANY BABY UPDATE BROADCASTS ON DEVILGRAM! There is an official ‘baby watch’. It’s trending more than you thought it would.

Takes TONS of videos.

His baby is easily the most fashionable child in all of Devildom.

Takes really candid, private photos that have a lot of sentimental value. A lot of your pregnancy photos are you looking comfy in bed or sitting at a vanity in breezy clothes as he does your makeup.

The type of dad to sit down in the middle of the store to play with toys (are they good enough for his kid? Like, really?). Must feel everything before he buys it. If he doesn’t like how it feels, he won’t buy it.

You end up giving birth earlier than planned and Asmo almost throws up because birth doesn’t look like he thought it would

Super nervous during your pregnancy because you’re in pain and there’s lots of noises.

Busies himself doing your makeup because that’s the only way he can handle the situation. You’re holding his tail and he SWEARS you’re going to break it off!

The bros help deliver his little angel and Asmo is SMITTEN. ABSOLUTELY SMITTEN.

Holding his baby 24/7.

Loses sleep just because he watches them sleep. Sometimes he loses sleep for real because DAMN, babies don’t sleep a lot, do they?

It’s really hard to adjust to and he’s surprised his skin isn’t god-awful.

Doesn’t regret a thing, fawning over their tiny nails and little curls, and OMG EVERYTHING! Cries a lot because they’re just perfect

His wardrobe reflects his dad status but he still looks like a DILF. You can give him the most classic dad attire and it just looks good on him.

Beelzebub

He’s excited about your pregnancy. Boy honestly tried for it, you know? Studied positions and everything.

Beelzebub has so much love and the idea of holding a tiny someone just warms his heart

Everything kid-related is totally foreign to him except for how to act with them. He and Belphie were the youngest so he was used to being taken care of until he got old enough to climb and eat on his own.

The type of guy to need explicit, step-by-step instructions on EVERYTHING. He doesn’t have a brain for it like Satan or Lucifer, so he needs help

Seriously. Give him a checklist for baby-proofing and he’ll get it done.

Gets pretty down about not being able to cuddle and snuggle like normal, but he’ll look into safe ways to do so.

Has special snuggles with the baby. Kisses your belly and rubs it. Talks to your baby like the little demon it is (even if it doesn’t have a name yet).

Lives for the times you talk to the baby, talk yourself out of bed, or how you absently talk to your belly throughout the day.

Works out to deal with stress and nerves, but also because he wants to be a good, strong dad

The doctors give him a list of exercises you can do and he does them with you

Can’t really take the nutrition advice seriously. He eats pretty much everything and you probably will, too.

When people ask him about your pregnancy, he uses very inclusive language (”We’re expecting, etc.”)

You make mini-dates out of your late-night cravings. Beel is totally in love with it.

Beelzebub becomes your food finder. There’s been times where you look at him so cutely, so imploringly, and all you can manage is ‘spicy and crunchy’. He’ll find you something, don’t worry! He’s an expert!

Big on massages and cuddling. Likes to cup his hands over your belly and trace it.

The type of dad to gain weight with you as your pregnancy moves along. Becomes soft, strong dad.

Finds out you’re having twin boys and has the happiest crying session ever. Belphie is the first to know and all Beel can say is ‘Just like us!’ as he nearly crushes his twin to death.

Likes to dress them in cute and comfy clothes. Animal onesies? Yes!

At some point yours twins are going to look like hotdogs and hamburgers. There’s no shortage of food costumes thanks to Levi, Asmo, and Beel.

Suspicious about baby food, bugs Satan about how nutritious it is, and tries all of it just to be sure.

Some of their teething toys look like real food. Beelzebub ate one on accident.

Is a perfect gentle giant. Afraid of hurting them, for they are tiny and precious, but gets over that pretty quickly.

Always wants to cuddle and hold them. You have to make him leave them alone to sleep. Gets kind of sad when they’re napping because he can’t make faces at them or hear them laugh. Right back to his usual self when they wake up, though.

You best believe they learn their alphabet by studying food. Beelzebub will stand in the kitchen and dig through the pantry until he finds things that match the letters of the alphabet 

Belphegor

He’s kind of surprised you ended up pregnant because the sex is usually lazy and casual. Yes, he has the moments where it’s pretty hardcore, but...wow. For some reason, he just didn’t see you getting pregnant.

Secretly hopes you have more than one kid. Something in him would just be happy if there’s more than one kid. You think it comes from the time he spent alone in the attic but never say it.

Sleeps a lot more. Not out of avoidance or anything, but because naps will be rare in the future. He likes to think he’s stockpiling sleep.

Makes sure you’re comfy at all times.

Would love for you to sleep and be cozy but apparently that’s not healthy for humans, so he takes easy walks around the house and keeps you semi-active.

He’ll give you his cow pillow to use as a back pillow. It’s his way of letting the baby use it until he can share it with them.

Listens to a lot of audiotapes about parenting. Looks at books, too, but does better with audio. 

Reads a new bedtime story to your kid every night.

Sometimes you guys sleep in the star room so he can talk to them about constellations. They can’t see anything, of course, but he still goes into detail.

Isn’t much of a picture person and doesn’t see the point in taking maternity pictures. It’s actually because Belphie has a photographic memory so he remembers everything.

The bros force him into taking maternity pictures.

The type to journal everything. He writes a big-ass, super-detailed diary for the baby.

Is kind of worried about his temperament, so he’ll take some classes on how to handle stress and stuff before the babies arrive

Becomes King of Lists. There’s lists for everything. Lists help. Lists are good.

When he finds out you’re having triplets (a boy and two girls), he doesn’t know how to react. You saw him smile though. It doesn’t sink in until you’re hugging him. “I’m never sleeping again,” he realizes with absolute terror.

Beelzebub is super excited. “That’s twins plus a bonus!”

Very snobby about the nursery decor. Also very tactile like Asmodeus. If it doesn’t feel good, it’s not going in the nursery.

Wants a barn-themed nursery (to include as many cow-related things as possible)

You get the comfiest PJs.

With three kids, he lives by embroidery. He has to have a way to tell them apart, after all (the girls, at least).

Can’t hoard the babies but wants to. Hates that he doesn’t have enough arms to hold them all at the same time.

Is very interested by their tendency to hold each other and nap together. Finds it super adorable.

Makes a super-sized crib he can climb in and sleep with them. It’s basically a Belphie-sized bed with little attachments his kids sleep in. Separates them all just enough so he doesn’t worry about hurting them, but there’s still contact

Thanks whatever god exists that they mostly stay on a schedule together. Makes it stressful for changing diapers, but very fun to feed them.

Almost dies laughing when Lucifer holds them for the first time because one vomited on him, the other sneezed in his face, and one pooped so much it got on his pants leg.

Lulls them to sleep with his happy purr, and gets woken up from a dead sleep by pure love when they make the sound back. Suddenly there’s three chirpy purrs rolling against him and he’s in love.

Proud they love their mama so much (to the point of being TOTAL mama’s kids), but also kind of relieved he can breathe.

The three trade off occasionally when they realize he’s free real estate and come to him for snuggles. They all love him so he doesn’t mind.

This house supports cuddle piles! Belphie got them hooked on group naps for a young age and they sleep together now. 

Hope you liked it :)

[prose-for-hire]

UC Sunnyhell: Part four

When Hell freezes over

Previous part // Next Part

Pairing: Spike x reader

Request: College AU. Part four of eight. Spike is the campus bad boy with a secret soft heart. The pair continue to navigate living together and try to focus on their similarities than their differences.

Originally requested by: @sunflower-stan​

Other tags: @fictionalhoomanofnowhere @harpersmariano @artsymaddie @cameo-greaves @shy-ginger-in-the-graveyard​

Warning: Alcohol consumption. Swearing. Sex reference.

For a long time since the open mic night, Spike had been thinking. Writing. Not able to stop himself running those words through his mind. That glimpse of you he was now becoming slowly obsessed with. He was getting ready to leave for the night, probably to drink himself into oblivion depending how this interaction went.

He shrugged on his leather duster and stalked into the living room where you were curled up with a book. You looked up, about to smile but he rushed his words out before you even had chance to change your facial expression.

“Your words”

“Yeah?” You braced yourself. Expecting him to belittle you. To tease.

“I liked ‘em” He shrugged. It was quiet but he had definitely said it. It almost knocked you down in shock. Your eyes widened, to have his approval had been all you had wanted. No matter how mad at him you had been, this weird need for him to like you or some part of you had been there. Even while you disliked him.

You opened your mouth to say something back, but he had already walked away. Leaving to go out for the evening and leaving you reeling at his admittance.

For him, that was massive. He didn’t say much except insulting quips. So, that sentence really started to mean something. You clutched it, tried to hold on to this glimpse of kindness. You had began to want to see the good in him.

He had to walk out quickly before he said something further and ruined it. He knew what you had done, the type of person that would write the words you had – speak them with such feeling, he couldn’t not tell you. Seeing as you had put yourself out there that way to tell him.

He was embarrassed though and didn’t want to have to stand and hear you gushing. It would make him uncomfortable.

Since that night you and Spike had managed to have a few conversations that weren’t entirely unpleasant for either of you. If you saw each other in your shared kitchenette or in the hall you would nod or even hold a little conversation.

It mostly consisted of exchanging ‘hellos’ and you would explain what you were doing and he would nod and not provide you with his intentions for the day. But it was something.

You were becoming more and more curious about the other. Neither of you could help it. You wanted to know more about that poet you had seen glimpses of.

Later that week, you had seen Spike cleaning up after his time in the kitchen. His way of making things up to you. I mean, he moved a plate from one end of the room to the other but the intention was there. You knew he had done it because you always asked him to.

You were beginning to warm up to him. To get used to him. You were confused with yourself for it, after everything but you supposed it had been petty. That you had acted on what others had told you rather than getting to know him properly yourself.

You were sat at lunch with your friends, you had been testing Willow on her history knowledge ahead of the text she had in her next class.

This was before, as it usually would, your group’s conversation turned to your usual living predicament. They did this to offer you support, but you weren’t so sure that you needed it anymore.

“He’s actually been almost nice recently… I don’t know” You mumbled, unsure of yourself.

“What happened to ‘I’ll never find a single good trait of Spike’s – Hell would have to freeze over’?” Your own words repeated back to you.

“Yeah, well Hell may have just frozen over” you mutter this inaudibly as you frown. But you just shrugged to your friends. They began to tease you about it, that you had a crush. It was because it was unthinkable, ridiculous even for this to ever happen.

You took it back, embarrassed about the way you longed to find this connection. Even if it was with someone you had been so sure you hated. You couldn’t dare tell them about the open-mic night. You knew they would only laugh more. And you didn’t want them to laugh… at either of you. Not that you thought they would be cruel to you - you were just wary of their views on the matter.

You then moved conversation onto something you knew would distract them. You had gossip about the time you had been spending with Angel for your presentation.

“He mentions you all of the time” You insisted to Buffy, which was definitely true. Angel always appeared to be thinking about her.

“You think? I was worried I was making it up, y’know? I miss him”

“He feels the same, from what he’s said. But he didn’t say all that much”

“Details! We need the exact words and tone. Now, y/n!” Cordy demanded which made you laugh as she narrowed her eyes.

“Yeah, we’ll send Will to the lab for analysis” Xander joked, his part in this kind of gossip was usually humour and suggesting he was ‘the voice of reason’ on the matter. Although, nobody really listened to his thoughts especially on Angel. They usually teased him because he didn’t get into the frat angel belonged to.

Buffy listened intently as you told them every detail you could remember. You explained how you had been dropping in good words about Buffy here and there. She grinned, hugging you in thanks. She was really excited. She had always loved Angel and she just wanted to be with him again.

Cordelia said that the next stage would be to get Buffy and Angel in the same room, perhaps at the frat party on Friday. You all nodded in agreement as Xander rolled his eyes. He would go, but he would be complaining about the fraternity and how stupid they were the entire time.

Later that week as the party neared, you had been humming softly as you cooked your evening meal. You made pasta but you soon realised you had made too much. So, you walked into the living room a little embarrassed and offered him a bowl. He looked at you with suspicion first. But quickly agreed. He nodded his thanks a little awkwardly as he took the second bowl from your hand.

You went and sat on the comfy chair on the far side of the room from him, still able to cast an eye to whatever it was that he was watching. He watched you from across the room for a moment and you smiled at him as he tucked in.

You were both thinking about the other. As you watched him, you found yourself wanting to know the man behind those sweet words. To take a chance on him despite the way he had acted.

He was fast becoming to realise that your pleasant nature was how you were genuinely. It was your natural setting. You had no ulterior motive other than the pasta would have wasted had he not agreed to have a bowl. You wanted to be friendly. You wanted to share connections with people.

And you were beginning to figure a few things out. You couldn’t confirm it, but you had guessed that the way he acted was a defence. He had built up this armour around himself to protect him from the way he was used to getting hurt. Spent his time drinking and having  lot of sex to fill the void. The emptiness and loneliness he often felt. You knew taking Psych 101 wasn’t a complete waste of time.

You just stared at each other, eating your pasta in silence with the buzz of the tv in the background. It wasn’t uncomfortable, it was just silence. You were both thinking deeply. Completely lost in your own minds.

You emerged from your room on Friday evening. You had been getting ready for the frat party and you thought you better make some kind of effort. You were in a much lighter mood since you and Spike had begun bridging the gap between you. You were both seemingly even marginally more considerate than you had been yesterday. Which was progress. You had this weird flicker of hope inside. As if you and Spike could move forward this way. Be civil at least.

Spike caught sight of you and had to double take.

“Goin’ out, love?” He asked. You nodded, thinking over his use of pet name before he continued, “Makes a change. The annual loser parade?” He asked but this time you knew he wasn’t being cruel.

In fact, the insult had fallen a little flat compared to the biting comments he would usually use. This told you that he was softening. Or, at least, trying not to be as rude as he usually was.

“Just some frat party I promised the girls I’d go to” You shrugged and he nodded distractedly as if he wasn’t too bothered about where you were going. His eyes scanned your body subtly as you moved around the living space looking for things. You turned back to him and he snapped his eyes away, frowning at himself. His brow furrowing.

You were stood with your group of friends at the party, you had drinks and you were letting the music wash over you. The vibrations changing the rhythm of your heart it was so loud. You were laughing with Buffy and Willow. Cordy and Xander were kissing in the corner after Xander had defended her against some loser that had poured beer down her front. He was distracting her while the water they used to wipe her clothes off dried.

Buffy kept looking up at Angel every so often and you all tried to encourage her to walk over to him. While Willow continued talking her friend into walking up to him (which he so clearly looked like he wanted to do as well), you looked off into the distance.

Into the swarm of party-goers. You felt like you stood out. Like everyone else had this amazing time except you. These strong even deep connections that you longed for. You loved your friends but you still felt like you didn’t fit in here completely.

As you felt this, you looked across the room to find none other than your roommate. Spike was there. At a frat party. He stood out as obviously as you felt that you did. He was talking to someone. A woman you was using her arms animatedly as she spoke. She appeared annoyed and he was just calmly nodding along.

Cordy came back from their corner and Xander handed you a drink. Everyone followed your line of vision, thinking you were angry that Spike had crashed. They offered you words of support, some glares in his direction. Willow lowered her voice to explain that the one Spike was talking with was Anya. Nobody really got along with her, she was very blunt and hard to get along with.

“They had a thing”

“Ew, they deserve each other” Cordy scrunched her nose up in disgust at the pair of them.

“Who wouldn’t have a thing with her?” Xander had said at the same time as Cordy, referring to the fact he had always found Anya attractive. He was checking her out and Cordy gasped and hit him in the chest.

They began heatedly arguing and Cordy’s cup looked suspiciously like it was about to empty in Xander’s face.

You tried to help calm them down but Willow tugged you away, shaking her head. She explained there was a 90% probability at any moment they would begin kissing and making up again and nobody should get caught up in that.

You noticed that Anya had stormed away from Spike and he didn’t seem entirely all that bothered about it. For some reason he hadn’t been in the mood for her proposition. Not with Anya, anyway, he maintained. Maybe he was just keeping his options open…

His eye had wondered toward you every so often, he ended up positioning himself nearer to where you would be. He wasn’t sure why or even that he was doing it consciously. He had a taste of your mind. Of your authenticity. That fiery tension that surrounded you both had fuelled this strange feeling. Despite the fact he didn’t want to admit it. He was softening on you.

After a moment, you moved from where you stood by the drinks and made your way over to Spike. He had just been stood in the corner of the room, his face like thunder. He wasn’t well-liked and so he was alone. Again.

You felt bad, seeing him alone. So you walked straight over to him, offering him a beer, “Here” You offered. He raised an eyebrow in suspicion but took it eventually. You joined him, standing beside him with your back against the wall.

“Shouldn’t you be frolickin’ with the rest?”

“Uh, no. I’m taking a break…” You offered, “I don’t really feel like I, y’know, fit in properly here” you admitted, taking another large drink from your bottle. You were speaking more freely as you drank further.

He was interested to hear this. Shocked that you would feel that way and that he could identify with it. He scanned your face, finding your honesty there. A face he so wanted to trust. Especially after hearing more about your earnest thoughts. Writings.

“Yeah, well, it’s ‘cause they’re all bloody mindless automatons”

“Like me, you mean?” You said, not able to let that slide as you took another large drink.

“No, I-” He shook his head when he looked back at you. Seeing that you were actually smiling. You were only teasing him. The corners of his mouth quirked slightly as he looked down. You liked his smile. You weren’t sure if you had ever seen him properly smile before that moment.

You liked it. It softened his features, brightened them. Made him look so much more attractive than that deep-set scowl he usually had on his face. Like the whole world was against him. You were about to tell him you liked his smile, that you wished you could see it more often when you were interrupted. By Buffy.

She pulled you away, hurling a scathing review of his masculinity and telling him to leave you alone. That he had terrorised you enough at home. That he wasn’t even invited into any frats after the last time. You didn’t want to ask about the last time. You had been getting on and didn’t want a reason to change your mind about him.

The scowl returned to his face and you found your own features mirroring his. You felt bad for him. You really had only been talking. You tried to say something, perhaps in his defence but you couldn’t come up with anything. This tenuous understanding was new to you both and so you just kept silent. He hadn’t expected you to say anything and wasn’t particularly annoyed at you.

It just meant he kept an eye on you from the corner of the room again rather than speaking to you. He swigged the beer you had handed him, surprised at the way you had teased him. The way you had been so easy-going. Almost comfortable for him to be around.

As the evening came to an end, you had gotten yourself separated from your group of friends. You were stood in the fresh air of the night thinking about walking home and trying to remember the correct direction.

As you chose a path to follow, you stumbled over your own feet. You braced yourself, expecting to meet hard concrete. But instead some strong hands caught you. Looping around your waist and setting you back on your feet. You turned to look at the blurry bleach blonde figure with a smile.

“You wanna watch it, love. Can’t be stumbling all over the show in a town like this after dark” He muttered. Everyone called the place Sunnyhell because weird things happened with no explanation. He squinted around, “Where’s Blondie? Shouldn’t she be with you?”

“Told her… I’d be okay” You insisted, holding your stomach slightly. You were feeling a little queasy.

“Well, don’t matter what you said. You’re clearly hammered, pet”

“I’m not… you’re- you’re ‘ammered” You copied his accent and giggled slightly. He stepped a few paces in the real direction of your home and stopped looking at you as you just watched him go.

“Come on then, I’m not waitin’ around all night” He gestured with his head for you to walk with him. He was fairly drunk himself, but he could hold it a lot better than you. Too much practice.

“How are you not drunk? You had more th-than me…”

“Some of us can handle our liquor, pet” He said smugly, lighting up a cigarette as you walked beside him, staggering slightly to keep up with him. You were too drunk to notice but he made sure to exhale the smoke away from you as a courtesy.

“I was nervous, I-I feel like I stand out so much in places like that… a piece that doesn’t fit, I stand out so awkwardly” You sighed, pouring how you felt without filter. Spike frowned slightly, you appeared to blend in so easily. Everyone seemed to like you. From the nerds to the jock-types. But he could tell you meant it. He identified with it held onto the idea you were like him. Clung to it with both hands.

“I get that, love, I’m always in the shadows. When people aren’t laughin’ they’re cowering” He shrugged as if it didn’t bother him but even in the state you were in, you could tell he wasn’t as cool about it as he pretended.

“You get lonely too? But you always have friends a-and the music… and sex” you mumbled, despite you already having the suspicion he wasn’t as fulfilled by these as he made out.

“Thing is, pet, that’s all well and good but it doesn’t change that when all’s said, I’m on my own by the end of the night. In mind or body. A connection, that’s what matters. Something real…” He shook his head as he realised he had revealed too much of himself.

You stared at him for a really long time as he said this, he glanced at you twice as you both walked in silence. He didn’t understand why you were staring. That you felt this so deeply. That a deep connection was all you had ever dreamed about.

“You know… I think that we could be friends... you know? You’re all dark and scary but your heart is… it’s soft really. I think I saw it and I like it. I like you… I think. When you-you’re not being a complete-”

“Alright, watch what you’re sayin’ or you’re not getting any kind of friend out of this” He warned, although he was smiling at the way you spoke. He had been feeling similar about you.

“Friends?” You asked, having caught what he said and wanting to confirm it. He looked at you, squinting for a moment. As if he was trying to check if you were playing some kind of practical joke. No, he decided. You were drunk and just running your honest thoughts.

He just nodded, looking away from you. You almost cheered when he nodded but opted for a more subtle smile. But he caught it and it meant more to him than he thought it would.

You then tripped over your own feet and overbalanced because of the way your head was spinning. You really had drunk a lot. He had to grab you by your middle again before you tumbled to the floor and lead you back to your shared home by taking on your weight.

He made sure that you were safe and in your bed. He had to move the piles of paper you had left there. Your writings. Thoughts, poems. He scanned his eyes over them, but the pages were a little blurry.

You flopped into the bed fully clothed. He took your shoes off for you before looked around your room, soaking up just how much of you was in such a small space. He found himself liking it. The smell. The colour scheme. Those books you never went anywhere without.

He pulled your bedclothes over you and used his hand to balance himself against the wall and leave to his own room. He couldn’t help smiling softly as he walked though, at the way you had asked so innocently. You really had wanted to be his friend. His mind was reeling. His opinion of you was beginning to change. And he was starting to actually acknowledge it.

In the weeks after, he began to grow more and more fond of you. It grew and creeped up on him in a way he wasn’t accustomed to.

You slowly began to have slightly longer conversations when you crossed paths. Starting after you thanked him for leaving water by your bed for when you woke up that night you got drunk.

You became animated in conversation and he caught himself watching you, genuinely listening. How had he missed how nice you were? How genuine your enthusiasm was?

He now knew the plot to several musicals and books despite having never heard of them before. Just as you knew a lot more about the origin of punk and the bands he loved so much. It was strange sharing these parts of yourself.

It could still be awkward at times and it wasn’t as if Spike had entirely changed his personality. He still lived the way he usually would. He just tried to mind you a lot more. He started to realise he wanted to be considerate of you. Where he definitely hadn’t before.

He sometimes saw you writing and nodded. You shared a small smile. Understanding each other in that sense. He even acknowledged you in public now. Sidling up to you so long as your group of friends weren’t around. He found his chest lifting when you spoke.

He wasn’t used to friends he actually got along with. Actually enjoyed spending time with. He usually tolerated people that felt the same way as him – those on the peripheries of the others. Or people that liked the same music.

You and he truly began to become friends. You find yourself genuinely enjoying his company. His silences weren’t filled with anger or resentment for you anymore. Your company wasn’t his only to berate the way he lived his life or cast judgement you had learned from your friends.

You genuinely started to get on. The first time you began to laugh at something together it made you smile for the rest of the day. He had replayed your conversation over in his mind. Your home life was getting so much better.

You both even started making use of the shared living space together. You began silently watching some dumb soap in the late afternoon (aka Spike’s breakfast time). He was eating Weetabix and suddenly got excited at what you were watching, throwing himself down beside you and taking the remote from your hands. He turned the volume up and settled in.

You were bemused, laughed a little which made him frown and look at you.

“What?” He asked with a mouthful of Weetabix as he caught that smile of yours.

“Nothing” You stifled a giggle and turned back to the tv. You weren’t trying to tease him you just hadn’t expected him to be so into the show. You would almost find it endearing.

The proximity and the natural way he had sat down beside you made you smile slightly too. All it had taken was some careful coaxing and he was already showing you more of himself.

He was beginning to grow on you. Maybe you really could be proper friends after all…

[musedblues]

Call It Fate Call It Karma

summary: In which your band gets signed to the same label as Queen, and Brian May takes a whole bunch of fun out of your new musical journey.

a/n: Here’s what to know… There’s an age gap! This takes place sometime in the 1980s and reader is in her twenty’s. There are also mentions of sex / sexual situations. (Not 18+ just be aware!) Here’s what’s been dubbed as The Bitchy Bri Fic! Title from this song!

w/c: 10k

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Everything changed as you’d started to lose hope. And you owed it all to Jim Beach.

It was the afternoon you and your bandmates managed to sneak past the receptionist desk at EMI and present the reel of tape you called you an EP to a bored producer called Watts; Jim Beach was already occupying his office. By then, you’d been to every other record label in the city and were prepared to be kicked out of this one all the same.

But then the producer agreed to listen to your tape. Watts sat with his feet on his desk and a glazed over look in his eye as two of your only three songs played. Jim spoke up from the back of the room when your third and final song started to crackle to life.

“Well, aren’t you going to give them a shot?” He asked, in a warm, gentle tone.

“What are you three called?” Watts asked.

“Loba.” Wilda piped up, picking her nails in place of her guitar.

“It means ‘she wolf’ in Spanish.” Joane pointed out, twisting strands of her pale fringe as she perched on the edge of the bench at your side.

“Can you lot throw together the couple hundred bucks it takes to record, by the end of next week?” The producer asked.

“Yes.” You spoke up, though you weren’t sure how you’d get the money, this was the opportunity of a lifetime.

“Beach! Manage these lady wolves, will you?” Watts dragged his feet back to the floor with a thud.

“Me? I-I well,”

“You’ve got Queen, and who else? No one.” Watts exasperated. “McCartney has half our staff on lockdown this month and Iron Maiden has already gotten our three best workers to quit. You liked this mediocre garage rock well enough to say something…” The producer gathered your tape and tossed it to the manager with kind eyes and a smile under his furrowed brow. “Now everyone leave my office.”

You’d barely processed the life changing news as Jim turned toward you and your band with a grin that just kept growing.

“What do ya say, girls? Wanna make a record?”

///

You worked overtime and Joane got a second odd job to come up with the money to make a real-life record. And in a matter of a couple of months, you had an all new stage show, a new shiny Fender bass, and your very own album.

Well, almost. The record was in the final processes of being pressed. Watts helped put it together with his feet propped on the soundboard he manned. Past his usual cigar, he mumbled suggestions and even some encouragement; as you Wilda and Joane perfected the songs from your EP and threw together a couple more. Joane was praised for tightening her drum kit and bringing back up sticks. Wilda’s method of retuning her prized guitar worked without a hitch. You sang all your worries away with your bass playing in time. It was as easy as ever to work together, and one thousand times more terrifying all the same.

Jim lingered by on days like those, and on nights you’d booked gigs at local pubs and places of the like. On tea breaks, and in storage closets turned green rooms, Jim helped you and the girls make plans for the future. He carried around a pad of paper to jot down every time one of you thought up a new goal or two.

You went on and on about the sounds you heard in your head, and how you dreamed of bringing them to life. Of the words you longed to share with the world, and your favourite old tunes that never failed to inspire and excite.

Wilda dreamed of parties and people and places, the things she’d say on guest appearances and press tours. She dreamed of stages much more grandiose than the rickety old ones you were so familiar with now.

“We’d quite like to be as big as that other band of yours, one day.” Joane quipped, to a smiley Jim Beach. She was always going on about Queen. Bet she never dreamed of being graced with the assistance of her favourite band’s very own manager.

“No worries there.” Jim chuckled. “You ladies are a well-oiled machine compared to those four old bats. You’ll see for yourself tomorrow at the party.” He seemed to raise a brow like an omen but you couldn’t help but grin from ear to ear.

///

Your first ever album had been slowly climbing the charts since it’s release at the start of the week. When your single aired for the first time, Joane parked her old beaten down truck outside of your flat and turned her car’s radio up all the way. You dismissed your neighbour’s pleas for peace and quiet by hopping in your drummers ride and speeding away to EMI, squealing along to your very own song the whole way there.

You met your guitarist outside of the company’s biggest office. Inside, the three of you hurried through a few pages of papers, and scribbled your signatures along odd dotted lines. Just like that, you were signed.

Even though Loba was gifted a bottle of champagne and a couple of snapshots to prove it, the label decided a proper party was in order to welcome you. Apparently, EMI liked to use every excuse they could to make use of their loft and it’s impressive bar top that wrapped around nearly every wall.

So no sooner than you’d shuffled into the head office, you were escorted out and up to the very top floor. The party, Jim said, was already in full swing.

And that’s when you met his other band. Though he never said so outright, you could tell Jim was most excited to introduce you to the only other group he’d had the pleasure of working with till now. Behind poorly placed streamers and the backs of people too busy carrying on conversations to notice you, there was Queen. All lazily huddled together against a spot at the long and winding bar.

When Jim made his presences known, you and the girls stopped in your tracks and traded a few nervous glances.

Freddie Mercury was all of a sudden shifting his weight before the lot of you, casting a sweeping gaze across each of your faces.

“Miami, are these the children you’ve adopted now that we’re all grown up?” Freddie asked, greeting the manager and turning his oxen eyes to your band. His champagne sloshed in the glass he held near his chest as he threw one arm around Jim’s shoulders.

“Awe, you talk about us?” You jabbed an elbow toward the manager though you couldn’t quite reach where he stood. As his grin only grew, the rest of the band shifted closer.

“Boys, meet the girls.” Jim smiled, introducing you each by name.

But you couldn’t be sure if Roger even heard the manager’s introduction. The blonde floated up to your guitarist like he’d been supernaturally dragged across the room to meet her. Wilda stood before him, trying desperately not to pick at her nails, and smiled. You wanted to laugh, but you wanted to hurl. It was just too much, the way Roger seemed to drool at the simple sight of her, like Pepe Le Pew.

“What are you lovely ladies called, again?” He asked in a voice just as rasped as you’d come to recognize over the radio. Wilda blanched and seemed to go shy all of a sudden, but you weren’t.

“Loba.” You shrugged speaking in the drummer’s direction.

“What?” John asked, stepping closer to the other side of you, standing taller than you expected him to be.

“It means she-wolf.” Joane piped up, reciting her favourite and well-practised line. It always saved her from going too quiet, that fact.

“Uh-huh.” Roger seemed to agree, shifting to stand at Wilda’s side instead of ogling her head on- holding her gaze all the same.

“Better than their almost name. Guess what it was, lads.” Jim raised a brow to Freddie. Oh no. With Joane likely having shut down at the mention of her old idea, and Wilda entirely preoccupied with whispering to Roger, everyone turned to glance at you- Left with no choice but to bury your embarrassment and answer.

“Doin’ Alright.” You admitted through a smile, because if you didn’t laugh, who would? It was your drummer, resident Queen fanatic’s idea, one you talked her out of shortly after joining.

“How bloody un-o-fucking-riginal,” Brain huffed and crossed his long arms over his chest.

You had barely officially met the guy. He loomed near the back of the gathering and stood in silence, till then. And you might have thought he’d only been joking if it wasn’t for the way his stoic expression remained unchanged when your eyes met his for the first ever time.

“Hate to break it to ya, but your name was already sort of taken, too.” You pointed out, giving a weak mocking curtsy at the vague mention of her majesty. Queen’s guitarist’s glare remained.

“Oh, I like this one. Good ear, Miami.” Freddie sauntered over and nudged you away from Brian’s burning gaze. Roger was pointing Wilda out to the balcony, where a rowdy group grew larger every time you glanced out beyond the open glass doors.

“Don’t mind him.” John cocked his head toward the sulking guitarist, and handed you a bubbly drink. “He’s in the middle of a divorce and a midlife crisis, it’s really quite the combination.”

“Poor thing.” You stuck your lip out on your turn in Brian’s direction, as Freddie yanked you toward the balcony, laughing all the while. The wild-haired guitarist watched you leave with an expression you couldn’t quite understand, though you wanted too.

But before the lot of you could spin your separate ways and dance until sunrise, one of the men from the head office stopped in front of everyone with a smile.

“Nice to see you’re all already so well acquainted.” He said, in a sickeningly posh tone. Roger draped an arm across Wilda’s slim shoulders as the rest of you hummed in agreeance.

“So how would you like to tour together, then?” The man grinned. Freddie flourished, making a grand gesture and saying something about how that was the best idea he’d ever heard in his life. Joane turned to you, not even attempting to hide her squeal of excitement. Jim shared a look with John, like a proud father.

“Good. Because that’s what the label wants.” The man nodded and turned to Jim with instructions to phone him to start planning. Freddie swept you away to kick off a night of fun, and when you turned to see if Brian cared at all, he was gone.

///

Your single topped the charts in the US. Jim came into your work, feigned an emergency and gathered the rest of your band to share the good news over a celebratory brunch. You might have won over the yanks, but Queen had stolen the hearts of billions long before you’d written your first tune. So it was naturally decided your band would open for the much more renowned group.

You turned your two weeks notice into your job, and blew your last paycheck on an all-new wardrobe. If you were going to prance around America with the likes of Queen, you had to look the part. Some platforms and a few dazzling dresses found their way into your suitcase a week before it was time to go.

By the time you met up with the other band at the airport, you knew Roger well enough to stick out your tongue as a greeting. He’d come around your flat once, trailing behind Wilda to crash a night out you’d been planning all week. And again to steal her away from your last band meeting. When you, Joane and Wilda sleepily trudged through the waiting gates, he stole your guitarist away for the third time, and you wondered what might become of them.

You were still dazzled by Freddie, charmed by his laugh and stunned when he insisted on sitting next to you on the plane ride over, to share gossip. All of his friends seemed just as taken with the ethereal singer, too. John sprung up from his catnap to go help Freddie find the best snacks the airport had to offer. And while Jim sat going over the schedule with Joane, Brian sat across from you with his arms crossed and his legs a mile apart.

“Are you excited?” You wondered because you really wanted to know if someone who’d done this a time or two was still thrilled by it. But mostly, you wanted to get the lanky guitarist to open up a little. If you were going to spend a whole month and a half near each other, wouldn’t it be nice to get to know the guy a little?

“I’m tired.” Brian nodded, his hazel eyes fluttering toward the windows.

“Lighten up Mr. May. You could have my job. Was just sent to phone Fred’s cats and we haven’t even left home.” A man as gangly as Brian shuffled to sit at your side, adjusting the sunglasses on his head that did little to hide his thinning hair.

“I’m Crystal, that’s Ratty.” The guy pointed across the lounge to another slim, long-haired fellow bent over an open acoustic guitar case.

“We’re everyone’s personal lackeys and will be glad to lend you ladies a hand all the same.”

You thanked the guy with a chuckle and felt charmed enough by his sudden kindness to admit your growing nerves. But then Freddie and John were back, and the plane was ready, and it was time to go on tour.

///

The first week flew by in a flash. You were jarred by the size of every new arena and crowd that filled the seats. You lost yourself entirely to the music that blared from the speakers at your band’s command; but never got used to hearing the songs you once plucked away at in your bedroom, fill stadiums.

Going from entertaining grotty pubs to seas full of people wasn’t something you ever expected to happen. The sound of their collective cheers directed to your band didn’t seem real. All you could do was play on, and sing with your friends until the time came to rush to another green room, catch your breath, and a glimpse of the headlining act.

You usually only saw Queen in passing- in revolving hotel doors or shuffling about the same backstage halls. If you weren’t on stage, your band was hauled off to radio stations for interviews while Queen partied on. And if your band had an afternoon to do as you pleased, Queen was off signing records and privately touring art museums.

But there were the rare occasions your paths crossed for longer than a minute or two. John would always make a point to ask after you, from time to time. He said you and the girls seemed to be handling the road like old champs.

“I’m too busy to be bothered with stage fright.” You laughed, when John asked how you looked so at home in front of the crowds that had started to sing along to the songs you played.

Where most of Queen felt like friends your parents warned against staying out past curfew with, John felt like your older brother; who waited up to sneak you back home with a kind word.

Freddie always invited you to the after parties and nights out, even when he knew Loba was meant to do a photoshoot one city away. And when you failed to show up, the singer would always say he’d missed you. And you believed him, because of the nights he’d sneak in your hotel room to share the last of the liquor that had knocked the rest of his bandmates cold. Freddie went out of his way to include you and the girls more often than not.

But Roger seemed to include himself in your groups circle any chance he could get. He trailed behind Wilda, sure, but he seemed genuinely fond of chatting away with you and Joane all the same. And when your guitarist and Queen’s drummer partook in their weekly game of playing hard to get, you were awarded tiny moments with just Roger.

Like the time everyone crashed before midnight, and the two of you stayed up by the quiet hotel poolside, with an acoustic. It wasn’t long before your goofing around turned into some kind of jam session, and you were writing a song together. Roger insisted you keep it to use, and left the cocktail napkin full of scribbled lyrics tucked between the strings of Wilda’s guitar that you’d been left in charge of.

Then, there was Brian.

He strolled ahead of you off of the riverboat where both of your groups had been invited to enjoy a day off, cruising around somewhere in America’s deep south. You couldn’t help but watch Brian’s figure move as it seemed to tower just over all the people at his side. It was time to head back to the hotel, or at least, time for your freshwater adventure to end. Everyone was glad for the easy-going ride, still tired from the night before.

Maybe that’s why he was so quiet all afternoon. Brian usually was, but there was something more to his silence today. And you didn’t know the guy well enough to figure, or dare ask why. The weather was nice, and Queen was received with reverence every place they went. Brian had no reason to sulk- none you could possibly understand.

A slew of people with cameras and questions flocked to the boat docks as the one and only Freddie led the way, pretending to introduce Crystal as some kind of rockstar in his own right. The roadie ate up the attention as Brian’s pace set your own. You couldn’t move until he did. And while he stalled, cameras flashed and a desperate middle-aged man held a skinny microphone toward the band.

“Brian, how are you finding America?” They asked in a mousy pitch.

“Oh, it’s lovely here, as always.” Brian politely grinned, curling his fists in his jacket pockets, from what you could see.

“How’s touring with another group? Queen usually don’t need the support of an opening act.”

“Right.” Brian seemed to agree in a curiously cynical tone.

“They’re called Loba, and we quite like having them around.” Roger was suddenly shaking your shoulders like an overzealous coach. You chuckled at his antics as Brian dared to glimpse at the commotion.

He turned his gaze over his shoulder to look at you for a moment. It might have been the most exciting part of your whole day, considering how Brian hardly ever looked your way till now. But why did it have to be like that? What did you ever do to the guy?

The best you’d ever gotten from Brian was an empty hum when asked if he cared if you sat in the only open seat at his side, during some dinner. And over that meal, he chattered away with the likes of his band, and even yours. And maybe it was because you became utterly paranoid by his silence to break it with all of the questions you had for the guy. But he never spoke to you. The seat at Brian side seemed a void in his peripheral. And you were growing a bit anxious by the thought of actually being invisible to Brian. So you started speaking up.

When Freddie asked you with help on matching one of his many jackets with a pair of trousers, you’d already made up your mind, but twisted around to ask what Brian thought. His brows upturned in a painfully confused expression as he hesitantly gave his answer to Freddie’s clothing debacle. You got your own answer too, that at least Brian heard a voice coming from the space you existed in.

When both tour buses stopped for gas one random midnight; Roger raced you into the convenience store and distracted you from buying anything in place of dancing to The Cars tune crackling from the overhead speakers. Your spontaneous party was broken up when Brian breezed by with his freshly purchased candy bar in hand.

“We are on a schedule you know?” He glared your way on his turn to leave.

“I’m sorry you weren’t invited to the dance party Bri.” You mused, stopping the guy in his tracks, who turned to look at you in the way he did. “We’ll let you sulk in the corner of our next one, since it would obviously kill you to actually join in the fun.”

But all that got you was a roll of Brian’s hazel eyes and a cackle from Roger. That was the norm. Brian either seemed to pretend you weren’t there, or traded you bone chilling glares like you’d wronged him in a past life. But you’d never known less of a person than you’d known of Brian May, and you were beginning to wonder if going about finding out more was worth it.

///

By the time your next soundcheck came, Queen had nothing better to do than bop about the stadium to wait their turn. You and the girls rushed through your usual set up but decided to change things around for your second to the last song. And while you started to unplug it was decided Joane would have to turn a certain drum fill into a solo while Wilda rushed off stage to retune her only electric guitar to properly close out the show.

Brian overheard, from the place he stood arguing over an amp with Ratty, who’d kindly agreed to stick close by your band during times like now. The roadie shuffled over to take your bass away, while Brian issued a complaint.

“You’re going to retune? Just use a bloody capo and don’t waste everyone’s time.” Brian shifted his weight, furrowing his brow your way. Though you weren’t the guitarist in question, you seemed to be the one and only person Brian felt most comfortable yapping at.

“There’s more than one way to do things, you know?” You pointed.

“Yeah,” Brian shrugged, agreeing with you in a breathtaking turn of events. But then again, not really… “The right way and the wrong way.”

“Christ no wonder you’re divorced.” You shook your head in the guy’s direction. His eyes might have been pretty if they weren’t burning into yours with such disdain. Then you both made a show of storming past each other. You were getting really sick of his attitude, and what it did to yours.

///

“Oh no. Oh no, no, no!” You cried, cradling your bass that had fallen from the stand to the concrete floor below. The neck was ever so slightly cracked and a tuning peg was bent and your heart was near stopping. When you looked up from the ground, you saw Ratty cursing out one of the stadiums impish young stagehands. The kid had blown an amp and sent it smoking, and your guitar flying off the stage in his rush to run from the trouble he’d stirred.

You clutched your one and only instrument to your chest and hurried away for help. Ratty was wrestling the broken amp, Crystal was nowhere to be seen, and John was off phoning home. You recalled the sights of the city from yesterday’s afternoon off. There was a guitar shop across from the Chinese place where you stopped for lunch.

So you raced past Joane and shouted that you’d be back in an hour. The exact amount of time you had until it was time to go on stage.

You ran down the city streets with your bass in your arms like a wounded child. The guitar shop appeared like a beacon.

Inside was blaring a song by Led Zeppelin you might have wanted to sing along too if your heart wasn’t in your throat. There was a mass of teenaged boys crowded the counter. You waited, held your breath and checked the clock as it ticked away at a frightening speed. By the time the boys buying strings and straps shuffled away, you threw your broken baby to the older man behind the counter. He assured you the fix would be a breeze and tried to sell you an overpriced Gibson while you waited. You stood drumming beats on the sales counter and tried not to scream when the clock showed you’d only had ten minutes left to waste. A couple more later, your bass was in your grasp. You threw an extra bit of cash to the guy and ran off in a flurry, praying to make it on time.

You’d never ran so fast, certainly. You didn’t even have time to apologize to a kid on a bike who had to swerve out of your way. You burst through the back doors of the stadium, much to the shock of the doorman. When he shouted at you to take it easy, you ceased running to walk as fast as you could toward the green room.

Brian was the first familiar face to greet you after the nerve-wracking scene.

“So nice of you to finally show up.” He let out a mocking cheer from the place he kicked back on a torn leather sofa. So relaxed in his gloom. Your heart used to ache at the thought of his troubles. At the sight of his far off gaze as his friends joked on around him. When Freddie would drunkenly whisper to you details of Brian’s trying year. But the guitarist’s sneers your way were getting old, and the ache in your heart for him was slowly growing cold.

Freddie spun to greet you, let out a sigh of relief like an anxious mother, reaching out to adjust your shirt collar skewed under the strap of your instrument.

“Well, my guitar had to get fixed one way or the other. And unlike you, your highness, we haven’t got a gaggle of roadies to call upon.” You swatted Freddie away and snapped toward Brian.

“No, but what’s ours is yours. Next time ask for help.” John spoke like a stern father, tossing you a bottle of water and pointing toward the clock on the wall. You had about a minute to run out on stage.

“Let her learn the hard way, Deacy. She seems to like it that way.” Brian rang. You dashed away before you had time to curse him.

“Brian, stop being such a bitch, I mean, my God.” Freddie whined as you stormed off, glad for once that someone else seemed fed up with the guitarist’s sharp tongue, too.

///

When the show was over, John insisted you hop along his band’s tour bus back to the hotel. The other two-thirds of your band were still enjoying the amenities of the afterparty, and you were in the middle of trading bass themed horror stories with Deacy. So he kept on talking as you walked to follow him, settling near the front of the ride as it travelled to your latest hotel.

As Queen shuffled to cross the bleak lot to get to the grandiose lodge, Brian was the last to leave. He shouldered past you with that same old sullen pout. His eyes caught yours for a moment before he took another step, but something about the usual interaction was the final straw for you.

“What the hell did I ever do to you?” You demanded to know, as Brian’s bandmates disappeared inside the hotel. Brian stalled reluctantly and turned to face you with pursed lips and the smallest shake of his head.

“Look,” He began, as you stood ready to get to the bottom of whatever this was. “I’ve really never meant to be so cross with you. And I’m sorry my temper’s been so easily getting the better of me. I am sorry.” Brian nodded. He looked exhausted, like this was the millionth time he’d had to give a similar speech, but he did so in such a genuine manner- that you could only stand and trade a perplexed gaze to the lanky guitarist.

“It’s… it’s best if we just keep to ourselves, yeah?” Brian concluded, turning away with one final nod. You didn’t get the chance to agree, or disagree, or understand what just happened before Brian was on his way, and you were on your own.

///

After the tour was said and done, a new year was just kicking off. And the label was pushing for another album right out the gate. You and the girls had two months to throw together a collection of new songs, and were struggling for most of the time to do just that.

The song Roger helped you write was the best one you had to offer, and Joane was nearly crippled under the stress of being creatively confined to a certain amount of time. You’d never had such a hard time working together before, and the pressure was building up between each of your bandmates in a way you were afraid of.

When Watts strolled in to take control of the soundboard you’d been fiddling with all morning, you couldn’t help but to warn him against changing any of your settings. You and the girls were finally making some kind of progress, albeit bickering along the way. Poor Jim could only sorrily sigh each time one of you turned and ask for his help. This bit of work was a little outside of the managers league.

And Watts only seemed to egg you on, pressing the few buttons you asked him not to.

“You want to control this soundboard so bad, have at it.” He stood in a huff, “I only strongly suggest you don’t fuck this up.” The producer hissed before slipping out of the door. He smiled a smile that made you queasy, and you nodded knowing full well you were on thin ice.

Jim left you and the girls to fight over tempos and key changes and came back from the studio’s kitchenette with an unexpected announcement.

“Brian is coming.” He said, matter of factly.

“What’d you call him for?” Joane groaned from the floor, where she laid fiddling with her kit.

“Because Queen is the best help I know. But Freddies in Barcelona, John’s with his family, Roger is MIA and Brian is right down the road. You lot have a day left, and I’m running out of helpful ideas. And quite frankly, you girls are in need of a lot of it.”

“Yeah, maybe, but now nothing will get done.” Joane countered. “Not with the way he and y/n square off like old alley cats.”

“He’ll be here in five. Come on lady wolves… Claws up, plugs in.” Jim pointed as he sat back down on the studio sofa, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Wilda shot into a speech, begging you over and over to keep it cool. The sooner you started, the better. She was right, and you wanted nothing more than to get this record finished. So with a nod, you accepted your fate.

Brian strolled in the studio right on time. His eyes looked desperate for sleep, and his already wild mane seemed even more unkempt. His small smile Jim’s way made you want to reach past the wall Brian put up, and shake his shoulders, and tell him it was okay to be actually happy once in a while.

Maybe it was the time that had passed since the tour. Maybe Brian forgot that he’d cared so little for you, and that’s why his faint grin lingered when his eyes met yours, past the glass of the recording booth. You willed your own weak smile his way, weary of this new civility, but just as tempted to take it in stride.

“Hello, ladies. Let’s see what you’re working with so far, shall we?” Brian leaned in and spoke just to you, it seemed. Maybe it was because you were closest, front and centre before the guy in a little glass box.

You’d felt more vulnerable than ever, under his forest coloured gaze. There was no place to run off and hide. You were right in Brian’s line of sight, right under his thumb, as he pressed a button stopped your band from playing to suggest a few dozen changes.

You knew he was here to help. And Jim looked so hopeful, tapping his foot to the beat in the corner of the room. So even though your throat was going dry as Brian settled his eyes on your bass- you played on. When he stopped you again, your blood began to boil.

“Please tell me you plan on adding a keyboard? A harmonica, something else?” Brian grimaced.

“We only play on the record what we can play on stage as a three-piece.” Joane raised a drumstick to make a point.

“Yeah well, it’s sure sounding that way.” The older and wiser musicians voice crackled through the speaker.

“Fuck you, that sounded good!” You hissed into the mic, wielding your bass like a weapon. That might'a been the best take you’d done all day.

“Yeah, but it didn’t sound great. If I turned my car radio on to that I’d fall asleep at the wheel. Joane, try using your snare on the bridge, instead of the cymbals. Y/n… from the top.” Brian sighed, sitting back in his chair like an exhausted parent.

You sighed too, adjusting your headphones and tossing Wilda a glare, a sign that you couldn’t keep your cool much longer.

You tried harder. But Brian kept stopping you. And every time he did, you couldn’t be stopped from cursing him just a little. If he’d only give you just one chance to find your rhythm, you might’ve made a whole record by now. When you told him as much, he let you play on for almost half a song before he’d stopped you again. When he did, you nearly exploded. But Joane snapped first. She got up from her kit, chucked her headphones, and stormed away. You slung your bass away to follow after her, but Wilda was quicker and raced out of the back to chase Joane down.

That left you with time enough to break out of the glass box and give Brian a few choice words.

“Way to fucking go, drill sergeant.” You gestured toward the guy who was slow to rise from his place before the soundboard.

“It’s not my fault she decided to-”

“Yeah, it is. Thanks for showing up and doing fuck all.”

“I came here to help you, and I could do if you’d stop acting like a damn child.” He pointed a finger your way, and the fire in his gaze sent a chill down your spine for the first time ever. You weren’t afraid of him. You were only stunned by the way he spoke to you. The way he always had. Why did Brian bother showing up here tonight?

“We might be able to take some of your suggestions if you stopped stopping us! Why don’t you just stick to pissing your own band off? You do it so well.”

You’d heard him trade sharper words with Queen. Roger told you that Brian was just working through some things. John said he’d always been like this. You just couldn’t understand why you got the worst of it.

“Well, it’s clear you’ve got more than enough hell to give your own group. You might sound less like the second place winners of your primary school’s talent show if you learned to stop making so many executive decisions.”

“I have a suggestion for you.” You decided, “Why don’t you take all your bleeding suggestions and fu-”

“Yeah, alright, let’s all take a break.” Jim intervened as you let out an exhausted sigh that doubled as a frustrated cry. The manager waved Brian over and the two men started to share a word as you stormed out of the back from fresh air and a clearer mind.

“He’s right you know. We sound like a washed-up wedding band.” Wilda shouted your way as she stayed leaning back against the hood of her car with a cigarette in hand.

“Where is Joane?” You asked, already knowing the answer. Wilda glanced at the empty parking spot where your drummer’s new mustang was earlier today. Great. Just what you needed.

“Right. Let’s forget everything, and finish. We’ll just… get it done.”

And so that’s what you did. Brian was gone when you ventured back in, and his absence left a familiar little ache in your heart. You didn’t like shouting at each other like cross siblings. You’d wanted to be his friend more than anything, at the start of all of this. The stars that might have aligned for that chance were all askew by now.

Jim left you and Wilda to go fetch some takeaway. Then he sat around the small table in the studio and shared dinner and some words of wisdom with the two of you. You thanked your manager for being so kind, and forgiving of your antics thus far. He chuckled and said something about having witnessed and dealt with much worse. Jim stayed a while longer, while you and Wilda worked together, and it was you who had to encourage the guy to go home and get some rest.

He entrusted the key to the place to you and your bandmate and left you to finish up for the evening. And you did, eventually. You and the eager guitarist listened back to the tapes and added in riffs and fills, and even a few of Brian’s suggestions; until well past midnight. But right on time for the label.

You could sleep soundly knowing you’d finished when you were meant to. But your dreams were full of worry that the record still wasn’t good enough.

///

“You did what?” Joane shrieked in the hall of your flat.

“We had to finish, Joane. You never came back, what else were supposed to do?” You yelled back, worry saturating your tone. It was far too early to be having this fight.

“You were supposed to wait for me!” Joane shouted, looking to you with big sad eyes. You rushed to remind her that you were out of time, and she could have shown back up and helped you finish, but she didn’t. And in her typical fashion, the drummer spun on her heels and stormed away, fringe flying far behind her shoulders as she shouted something about never coming back.

The girl had been known to fly off the handle on occasion. There was the time she drove your van away from a sketchy Welsh pub you travelled miles to play in, because Wilda called the drummers shoes ugly. Or the time she nearly chucked her cymbals from your third story flat window. You prayed that this episode was like the others you’d endured as you shut your door and rushed to get ready. It was time to take your record to the head office.

No one was particularly happy to find your three-piece only consisted of two when you showed up with Wilda to present your latest creation. Jim flashed a couple of smiles as the tracks played on, but all you noticed were Wilda’s shrugs. The record was done. But under unexpectedly trying circumstances and lacking a lot of help from your drummer. It wasn’t what you’d envisioned. The label still decided it was good enough, and sent you to fill a couple of talk show slots before the week was up.

You went with your guitarist to a couple of press junkets, and watched as your dazzling friend gave away answers she’d been practising since before you’d played your first gig. The only thing that made her umber eyes glow brighter was the sight of Roger Taylor waiting up after a certain interview. He invited her back to wherever it was he’d run off to, and Wilda had the decency to look toward you with a furrowed brow.

With a sigh, you agreed to handle the rest of the press on your own. Because she deserved to have the fun she’d been wishing for with the capricious drummer.

Four talk shows, three guest appearances, and one very hectic game show later, it was time for your record release. Roger phoned to assure he’d bring Wilda back in the nick of time. But Joane wasn’t answering her phone. You’d hoped after a bit of space that your drummer would come back around. But she wasn’t any place you’d gone to look. You spent until the witching hour driving to the places you knew she might have been and came up short.

When the time came to get ready for the party, half of your time getting ready was spent trying to hide the dark circles under your eyes. Before you left home, you took a couple of shots and prayed tonight wouldn’t crash and burn around you.

///

The mansion belonged to the head of the company, a place he’d invite people to when celebrations were too grandiose to fit in EMI’s loft. You wondered if you were the last to arrive when you opened the massive carved doors to find the stunning home littered with faces most of whom you didn’t recognize. One you did finally emerged from the crowd.

“Thank God you made it, I feared I’d have to put on a show instead.” Freddie chuckled, greeting you with glee. You ruffled the boa around his neck, thanked him for showing up, and wondered where you could find the drinks.

“I’ll take you round back dear, but you’d better hurry. The old important men are tired of waiting.” You could have explained how you’d waited up in hopes that Jonae would phone. And how when the phone did ring, it was Wilda worrying that she’d missed the only flight back home. But you only gave Freddie a sorry smile and spun into the garden. There was a bar in the veranda, where a handsome man made a show of mixing you a drink, making little passes along the way.

The time you thought you were stalling by answering all of the dude’s dumb questions was very soon interrupted. All of a sudden a towering guitarist was casting a shadow over you, and swiftly excusing the man behind the minibar.

“It’s about bloody time you showed up.” Brian rang in a mockingly sweet timbre. And as your stomach fluttered with nerves, you knew time was up. But how could you release a record without the rest of your band?

When you started to argue as much, Brian clamped his fingers around your arm like a vice and yanked you away from the bar and the drink you didn’t even get to try.

“Saving the day again, are you?” You rang dryly, as he towed you away. Brian’s face was set in its usual frown, one you’d become so familiar with that his smile on magazine covers made you look twice. He said nothing as he marched you out of the yard and into the mansion. You figured he’d part ways from you once you passed through the doors, but his grip didn’t loosen on the way down the empty marble hallway.

“Let me go.” You struggled, huffing out the words as you fought his grip and won. Before you had time to storm away, Brian spun to face you.

“Would you grow the fuck up? There is a room full of people depending on you and you’re acting like a fucking child, like always.”

“I’m not a child.” You hissed, curled your fists and glared up at Brian as he loomed over you. His shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his chest. His feet and fiery eye’s pointed to back you into the corner. But you wouldn’t let him get to you. “I’m trying my best it’s just not fucking good enough.”

A bit of a waver passed through your tone, as you targeted the words through your teeth. You watched Brian bend at the knee to look right in your eye, and pretended not to hold your breath.

“No, you aren’t.” Brian pointed a finger right at you and spoke in a low, unnerving rumble. “I’ve seen you at your best and I can guarantee you’re far from it, tonight.” He snarled, glaring you up and down with those dangerous hazel eyes. They raked over the span of your figure before landing on yours once more. “You look a bloody mess.”

“Because I’ve been running around till two in the damn morning, trying to find Joane! And when I couldn’t, I had to finish everything all on my own again. Because Roger took Wilda away and bought her nice pretty shoes and put her in good graces with all the higher-ups, and unlike her, I have to earn that shit myself.” You yelled, the dam holding back your bottled up emotion had crumbled in the overflow. You could feel the threat of tears stinging the backs of your eyes as Brian stood gaping at you in your outburst.

“So now I’ve lost my voice from all the interviews and the lack of sleep and I probably won’t be able to sing on tour to promote this shite album with a single you’ll switch off when it comes on the radio, anyway!”

And before you’d even stopped shouting, it seemed, Brian had his hands on either side of your face, and his lips pressed to yours. Your back was pushed to the wall and it took great effort not to melt down it with the way you were consumed by an all new kind of fire; mixed among the usual. But above it all, you were too shocked to kiss him back. Then you parted from each other, and past his unbuttoned top you watched the rise and fall of Brian’s chest while he caught his breath and stared at you.

“What the bloody hell was that?” You asked in a stunned hush. Brian blinked and shook his curls.

“I’m, I- I don’t- I didn’t mean-”

“You think you can just kiss me and, I don’t know, that everything is just magically going to be okay?” You wondered in a fluster, knowing there was nothing that could be done about the blush burning your cheeks. After months of frowning every time the two of you passed each other he kisses you?

“No. No I- I’ve always wanted to kiss you and I just thought I knew better than to do it.”  Brian held up a hand like he was swearing not to come closer. Talk about some seriously mixed messages.

“What?” You asked in an embarrassingly high squeak.

“I wanted to kiss you before I even knew your name. And it just seemed like the entirely wrong thing to do. So I shut you out, and my ire kept getting the better of me, and that’s not an excuse, just the truth,” Brian sighed, at what seemed like a sudden loss for words as his eyes searched yours.

“Well, you’ve gone and done it now.” You pointed out with the faintest laugh despite everything. Brian shook his head, asking, in a way, to understand what you were on about.

So you shook your head too, and latched onto his loose collar. You yanked Brian closer because you weren’t angry. You were actually feeling fine all of a sudden about everything. Only sure that you had to kiss him again good and proper. It was your first kiss with him, really, as your mouths moved together. Brian’s fingers were wrapped around your arm again, less claw-like than moments ago. And he didn’t seem too keen to break away from pushing you a little closer to the wall, a second time around.

But just as you lost yourself to the feeling of Brian’s frame moulded against your own, your name was hollered from somewhere down the hall. Music grew louder over the speakers that reached out to the sparsely decorated hall. Brian let you go, and you released your latch on his shirt to wipe your lips in a hurry.

But before you could scurry away, you watched Brian watch you prepare to bolt, and couldn’t help the small smile blooming across your face. He smiled, too.

You looked a mess. You were a mess. And you might’ve been one step away from fucking this whole thing up. But for the first time all year, you accepted it.

///

Your second record, somehow, was praised by the label and adored by the steadily growing following you’d gained. The old burnt out hippie man who ran your home town record store stood from his torn leather stool and applauded you, the day you came in to buy the Talking Heads new record.

“You’re really finding your sound, man.” The old hippie grinned. You told him to sit back down and thanked him despite your embarrassment. He asked you to autograph the cash box and gave you a discount on the album you bought.

After your single reached the top five in the charts, you talked Joane back around. It wasn’t easy. You had to promise you’d keep a cooler head, and she did too. She started stopping over every Sunday with a book of songs for you to think up a tune to, and turned the radio up every time one of your hits came on air. You laughed when she danced around your coffee table like it was the first time she was hearing your band name on the lips of a local dj.

Wilda cut all her hair off and wore the shoes Roger bought her everywhere. She talked about him after every breath, but you knew she hadn’t talked to him in months. Queen were busy planning a tour of Europe and trying to save the families that hadn’t already slipped through the cracks at the homes they bought but hardly visited.

You knew because you called Freddie to ask after Brian.

“Why are you asking about Brian?” You could hear the smile in Freddie’s voice, after he’d finished gabbing about the others.

“I want to know how all you boys are, naturally.” You panicked, realizing how lame your excuse was as you spoke it into the receiver. Freddie only hummed after a beat, and let another silence linger before speaking up again.

“I know you both secretly care for each other. Just give him time love, he’ll come around.” Freddie chirped before giving you a sweet farewell and hanging up.

Throughout your ever-changing year, Freddie had been more than kind to you. He’d become your friend. He gave away secrets like a kid at a slumber party. And when Brian came up in his conversation, Freddie always got serious. When the singer told you about the rough year Brian had been through, and the state of his well being, Freddie seemed to look at you with all of the seriousness in the world. Like he was desperate for you to understand. Did he know you were desperate to understand? Did he know Brian kissed you?

You could have phoned Brian. But you were too busy secretly hoping he’d ring you.

///

Your only notable call came from Jim, who gently nudged you to agree to being Queen’s opening act, once again.

“It’s what the fans want, according to the label. It’s what the label wants.” Jim explained, in the soft, kind, way that protected the guy from ever receiving a glare or harsh word from you, or Brian, you realized.

“We’ll do it, if the royal court isn’t up in arms.”

“Freddie said, and I quote, 'Beg her on my behalf and tell her I’ll fly home from Barcelona to do it myself if she even thinks of saying no.’”

So you called your band, packed a bag and showed up to the airport at five in the bloody morning with a smile on your face.

And then you were off. For the first week, a local band had been chosen from each new city, to open for Loba. By the time you, Wilda, and Joane took the stage, each audience of what seemed like billions were more electric than the last. You’d never had more fun, jumping around to the music you’d worked your ass off to create with the girls. You each ran off stage, changed in a flurry and ran back to the sidelines to watch Queen light up the black ink night. And like the last time, that was about the only time you’d see much of them- till one show got delayed when a wicked storm showed no signs of passing.

Roger took Wilda to dinner, and she followed his burning trail after about a minute of pretending she wasn’t at all interested. Joane made a speech about everyone catching up one sleep, before she crashed in your bed with her shoes still on. After unlacing her heavy boots and tossing them aside, you went to find your favourite band of boys gathering in the lobby with plans to go out.

“Now the party can really start.” Crystal grinned, reaching to wrap a strong arm around your neck as he pulled you to follow the gang to the limo in waiting. You broke loose of the roadies hold and shoved him into the back of the car before crouching in yourself.

A couple of girls you’d never met sat on either side of Freddie, and cast their doe eyes to John who scooted over to make room for you. And holding the bassist’s attention was Brian, who had yet to look your way all week. Ah, just like old times. You both had been busy. But you couldn’t stop from wondering if there was something more to it…

Had you upset Brian beyond your wildest dreams, when you kissed? Did he smile at you after it happened in the way people who were so angry did, that their furry appeared in a mask of calm?

Or… did you finally get him to shut up for good? Did he realize how unremarkable you were? That you weren’t even good enough to bicker with any longer? Pushing his buttons was one thing. But you always hated the times you and Brian paired harsh words with those deadly glares. Now that you were getting the silent treatment though, you’d take his arguing with you with a relieved smile.

Freddie pulled you along into a club adorned in sickening green uplighting. The purple-tinted insides held a crowded bar and a dance floor where patrons overflowed toward the restrooms. Some tune by The Velvet Underground was pulsing through the speakers as Freddie spun you around, dancing you both closer to the mass of people doing the same.

You noticed members of your group beginning to lose themselves in the crowd when you decided a drink was in order. The bar was packed, so much so that you nearly couldn’t turn to see who you’d wedged yourself against until you felt him tense up.

Brian kept his eyes on the wall decorated with drink options and dared not move as you shifted to notice him. His hip jabbed into your side, his white knuckles rested on the ledge of the bar brushed against your arm as he drew his hands together.

“Aren’t we going to talk about it?” You asked all of a sudden. If it were up to you, you would have cornered Brian like he’d cornered you, that night. But the tour had been so busy, and this was the closest you’d been since the night he pushed you against the wall… And you couldn’t take it anymore.

Still, Brian kept his eyes pointed front and said nothing.

“You kissed me first, ya know?” You spoke plainly, desperate for a response.

The barman shoved a tall drink toward Brian’s chest just then, at the same time Freddie reached past a few strangers to yank his guitarist toward the dance floor. As he was pulled away, Brian’s eyes swept over yours, and they were prettier than ever.

///

You’d nearly forgotten all your troubles that weekend, as everyone rushed to make up the cancelled show with two in a row, and one another city away with no time to sleep, not really.

After a montage of screaming crowds, ringing guitars, and squirming in and out of too-tight clothes, a three day break awaited the lot of you at long last. You trekked behind familiar faces down a lime green hotel hall, and dreamed of sleeping until you were good and ready to wake up.

Freddie waved as he twirled into his room, and Roger followed Wilda all the way down the hall. And while you watched your feet move toward your room number a few dozen doors away, you were stopped in your tracks.

You grinned when you recognized the feeling of the fingers around your arm, and the way Brian dragged you in his tow. You didn’t have far to go, just behind the door he was already closing in one swift move…

And in a flash, the door was shut and he was kissing you like how he did before, without a word, all of a sudden. Like he was trying to suck the life out of you. You kissed him right back, like you’d been dreaming of doing since you knew how nice it was.

And then you shoved him away. Because you wanted this, but not like last time.

“You’re not going to leave me in the quiet after tonight are you? I might at least be able to stand the radio silence if I knew what it was all about.” You searched Brian’s face in the dark. All the while, you kept ahold of his shirt sleeves and slowly found your way to his haphazardly made hotel bed.

“I was afraid.”

“Afraid?” You couldn’t help but chuckle. He’d treated you with all the interest of a passive-aggressive house cat since the day you met. Brian went quiet as you guided him to sit on the mattress, leary to close the space between you until he spoke up again. Though his long fingers fell feather-light against your hips, you only kept yours on his shoulders and held his gaze, silently hoping he’d speak up again.

“Of how desperately I’ve always wanted you.” He whispered while his fingers curled to grip you the slightest bit closer. “There were about one thousand reasons I was afraid of ever kissing you, and they all seemed even scarier after I did.”

Brian let his eyes rake up your figure before meeting your own. His lips were close enough to brush yours now. It made such sense, now. All those looks weren’t really glares. All those bitter words weren’t so malice. The tension that lied between you and Brian was all to do with how badly you’d wanted to be this close all along.

Maybe he was afraid to cross that line, because of all the love he’d so recently lost. Or maybe it was because of how young and dumb you really were. And maybe it was because of something you wouldn’t come to find out for a while, yet. You decided there wasn’t time to worry over why, tonight. That could come later.

“I hope you realise now, there’s nothing to fear.” You wrapped a hand around Brian’s neck and watched his eyes search yours in the dark. Then he nodded, softly bumping his head against yours. He pulled you closer between his legs and kissed you. You pushed him to lay down and started on your mission to show Brian just how fond of him you really were.

“I’m still pissed that we could have been doing this ages ago.” You breathed a laugh as Brian’s teeth grazed your neck.

“Never could handle not getting your way, could you?” He hummed against the skin you’d started to expose.

“I mean it.” You chuckled, tugging at a few of Brian’s highlighted curls. His head lulled until he was looking at you again. Brian stayed perfectly fitted against you while his eyes peered into yours. You recognized the uncertain look on his face, but it was different than before. Softer. Sadder, maybe. 

“You really want this?” He asked in a soft timbre.

“Yes.” You nodded, tracing the length of his nose just because. A bit of quiet lingered after your assurance.

“But do you want me?” Brian asked in a hush. His sweet voice saturated in a worry you didn’t realize he had.

“Yeah,” You nodded again, searching his pretty hazel eyes as you placed both of your hands on the sides of his lovely face. “I want you Bri.”

The kiss you shared then was one that meant more than you knew a kiss could. There was something about Brian, a part of him you’d always longed to know. You felt closer than ever to that side of the guitarist now, when he deepened the kiss, and you felt him smile.

///

You woke up with a song in your head.  A melody left over from a dream. But instead of rushing to find a pen and paper, you rolled over to covet the warmth of your unexpected company.

Brian draped an arm across your middle and hummed in delight when you nuzzled closer. You stayed like that, perfectly content in the tangled up sheets, watching the patterns of the sun through the window on their slow shift across the room.

“We’re going to have to leave this bed at some point you know?” You sat up a little after dozing off for the third time in a row. Brian stayed happily tucked close to your side. “And someone is more than likely going to figure this out.”

“That’s fine by me.” Brian shrugged, peering up to you from the pillows you leaned against.

“We’re supposed to hate each other.” You reminded through a sleepy chuckle. Brian only grinned and blinked, conjuring up a thought.

“I never hated you. I might always be sorry for picking such fights. I did always want the best for you, I just had a nasty way saying so.” Brian murmured thoughtfully.

He caught your eye once more and the corners of his mouth turned up when he looked to find you were already staring at him, trying to memorize the perfect outline of his profile against the bright sunlight. You inched lower to meet his gaze, and said,

“I think we might’ve finally figured out what’s best for both of us.”

And the way Brian looked at you then sent a chill down your spine that raced back up and shot through your heart in one go.

“S'Just, sometimes you’re a real bitch.” You joked to fight the way your heart was beginning to beat like a drum. Because you weren’t quite brave enough to fall all the way in love yet. But you decided just as quickly that Brian was probably worth falling for.

“I know. And sometimes you’re fucking unbearable.” He countered with a smirk.

“Yeah, I guess so.” You noted with a laugh. You had it real bad for this guy. And that kind of scared the shit out of you. How could this have happened so quickly? How had you failed to see it coming? What if it was over no sooner than it began?

“But…” The only thing that broke through your hesitancy was Brian’s long fingers slowly trailing across your jaw.  "Do you want me?“ You echoed his statement from the night before, in a hush. You’d only just realized the depth in asking so.

"Yeah.” Brian said, wrapping a lean arm snug around your middle without a moment’s hesitation. “I want you.”

And he said so like he was trying to encapsulate all the things that made you whole and wonderful and unbearable all at once. And even then, you giggled before leaning in for a kiss.

You spent the rest of what was left of that morning doing all the things you’d done the night before. And when you decided to finally get dressed, you and Brian hopped into your clothes while squabbling over what and when to tell your friends.

You hoped you’d get to hear his maddening whinging on for the rest of forever. Because if it ever became too much, at least you’d finally discovered some pretty effective ways to shut each other up.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

[infinite-xerath]

Runeterra Retcons 1: Thresh

This is something that I did today. I plan to make this an on-going series (might even take it to YouTube someday if I get the nerve to share my voice), but for now have it as a tumblr post.))

The world of Runeterra is one of the most interesting and complex fantasy settings in modern gaming; a fictional realm bustling with fantastical beings, characters, and a wide variety of plot points offering near endless potential for story-telling. The story of League of Legends is not, in fact, a singular narrative, but rather a collection of different stories spread out across a variety of fictional countries, continents, and even dimensions.

Runeterra as we know it today wasn’t always like this, however; in 2015 Riot Games opted to effectively reboot the lore of their world to be rid of the more restrictive plot elements like Summoners and the Institute of War to allow themselves more wriggle room to tell the stories they wanted to tell. While the decision to effectively make League of Legends non-canon to its own story was initially controversial, the writers of Riot Games have effectively proven themselves extraordinarily capable of using this newfound freedom to its full potential… For the most part.

With a retconned world came the need to retcon characters; Riot has made a substantial effort in the last few years to reimagine and redefine the backstories of the iconic Champions to make them fit into the new narrative, albeit with mixed results. Let’s face it: no writer is perfect and hindsight is 20/20, so a number of characters throughout the years have been left with less-than-stellar backstories compared to most of the roster.

Welcome to Runeterra Retcons, a series in which I’ll be analyzing some of the more controversial champion bios in the game to pick apart the good, the bad, and the horribly missed opportunities. With all that out of the way, let’s begin, shall we?

Episode 1: Thresh

Thresh is at once both an interesting and a bland character. He’s arguably one of the more iconic characters in the game, to the point where he’s practically become the unofficial mascot for the Shadow Isles. In-spite of this, I’ve long felt that Thresh is one of the most awkward fits into the region; before we can discuss the problems with his current lore, however, we first need to address Thresh’s backstory pre-retcon and see if we can analyze the core of his character.

Insert original lore here

So, we can see the concept behind Thresh’s character pretty easily: he’s a jailor who loves tormenting his charges, so much so that he continues to do so even after death. If you were to describe Thresh in a single word, it would probably be “sadistic.” Unfortunately, the original lore doesn’t give a lot beyond that; not where he’s from, not when he died, not even where his prison was located. The bio itself literally says that no one knows the details, and while that does add a faint air of mystery to the character, it doesn’t do much to tie him into the faction he’s supposed to represent: The Shadow Isles.

With that out of the way, let’s now take a look at Thresh’s new bio and see how Riot decided to change him after the retcon.

Insert new lore here

Alright, so, there’s a lot to unpack here. Perhaps the most notable change is that Thresh went from tormenting people to… Tormenting “living relics.” The relics are offered no further explanation in the lore or given any prior context. There’s just… A mirror with a soul in it. There’s a sentient book hidden down in the vaults. For some reason, the monks of the Isles even decided to stash a living person down there because he infused his body with raw magic. Why? Who was this person? What did he do to end up in chains? If this was a dangerous mage, wouldn’t it be better to build a proper prison for him rather than stuff him in a vault full of powerful, dangerous artifacts?

There are so many mysteries here, but perhaps biggest one is this: why was Thresh changed from a warden of people to a warden of relics? Why did they feel the need to turn him from a jailor who enjoyed tormenting his inmates to a curator that was slowly corrupted by the very magics meant to help him do his job? Well, I believe that’s meant to tie into the change made to the Shadow Isles themselves, or rather, the Blessed Isles.

While we never had much info on what the Isles were like before becoming an undead haven, a lot of the lore suggests that they were effectively a paradise, hence the name “Blessed Isles.” This was a place without war, without starvation, without corruption. Naturally, there would be no criminals in paradise, and so this of course means that to make Thresh a warden of things that are inhuman… At least, this is the thought process one might have until they introduce the mysterious regenerating mage, but I guess he’s meant to be one bad egg amidst the crowd, assuming he even came from the Isles at all. Again, it’s never really elaborated on.

So, while the change does make a degree of sense, it kind of feels… Flat. I mean, a guy who enjoys tormenting prisoners in their cells to hear their screams sounds a lot more terrifying than a guy who just stops his sentences halfway through to spite a book. Also, the fact that his lantern just becomes a seemingly endless vessel for souls because of the Ruination is a little silly; like, I know the Black Mist does all sorts of nonsensical things to matter, but the fact that an ordinary lantern gets turned into a relic arguably far more dangerous than anything Thresh was ever guarding seems kind of backwards, at least in my opinion.

So, how can we change this? How would I, personally, retcon Thresh if given the chance? Well, there are a lot of base elements that I would keep, but also some key components I’d like to alter. I’ve written up a short bio of my own for you all to enjoy, so without further ado…

In an age all but forgotten to history, there existed a realm known as the Blessed Isles. Hidden away from the world by a veil of magical mist, the Isles were a place of peace and prosperity; a land free of war, corruption, plague and misery. This paradise was ruled by an order of sacred monks devoted to learning and enlightenment. It was within this paradise that Thresh was born and raised by a pair of humble farmers, growing up surrounded by nature’s bounty.

Though expected that he might follow in his fathers’ footsteps, Thresh showed an aptitude for learning from an early age. In-particular, Thresh seemed fascinated with matters of philosophy; the nature of the soul, morality, and other complex subjects were frequent on the boy’s mind. This attitude quickly earned Thresh the attention of the brotherhood, who invited him to join their order as soon as he was of age. Thresh agreed without hesitation, leaving the farm behind to study at the Isles’ monastery.

For many years, Thresh studied under the tutelage of the order, distinguishing himself from his peers for his ability to grasp complex philosophical issues. Though acknowledged by his teachers, Thresh was met with looks of envy and scorn from his fellow students; rather than let himself be disheartened, however, Thresh instead took an interest in the root of their envy in scorn. Upon approaching his elders with such questions, Thresh found himself being led to a secret chamber deep beneath the monastery, guarded by powerful wards and runes. It was here that Thresh learned the truth of the Blessed Isles.

Thresh watched as one of his fellow pupils stood surrounded by figured in ominous robes, chanting an ominous spell in unison. Thresh’s teacher explained to him that this was ritual had been used by the order for ages to ensure that the Isles flourished. Evil was present in all humans, and so the only way to ensure it did not corrupt their paradise was to extract it from the soul, and seal it away. As the ritual drew to a close, Thresh saw the essence of all the other student’s hatred, envy, malice and warped desire ripped from his body, and placed into a special lantern made to contain it.

Thresh was intrigued. He approached the lantern without hesitation as the other boy was escorted from the chamber, and to his surprise, he heard voice whispering to him from within. The monks explained that though the evils of humanity could be removed, they could not be truly discarded. They needed to be contained, and more than that, they needed a warden to watch over them. Thresh volunteered in a heartbeat, and the monks smiled, pleased by their pupils’ devotion.

What they did not know, however, was that the whispers in Thresh’s mind had already begun taken root. From that day forward, Thresh vigilantly stood guard over the lantern, watching each successive cleansing as it took place. Each time, the wicked essence in the lantern grew stronger, as did the whispers in Thresh’s mind. He began to dream of enacting twisted torments upon the monks, the other disciples, and even his own parents. Slowly but surely, the brotherhood noticed a change in Thresh’s behavior. Fearing that he himself would be subjected to their cleansing rite, Thresh stole the lantern and fled the monastery.

The monks chased Thresh for days, but their search was brought to an abrupt end when strange ships arrived on the Blessed Isles: something Thresh thought impossible. From the safety of the cliffs, Thresh watched in delight as a soldiers led by a foreign king massacred his fellow monks. Their screams were music to the warden’s ears, and as the chaos spread, Thresh found himself reveling in the suffering of all who fell to the foreigners’ blades. Even at the cost of his own life, Thresh dared to move about the battlefield, searching for survivors left in the king’s wake only that he may snuff out the remnants of their lives himself.

Finally, as the screams of his victims began to subside, Thresh turned his attention to the heart of the Isles. From there, he saw a cloud of pure darkness rushing to meet him, and opened his arms wide to embrace it. In that moment, all the wickedness trapped within Thresh’s lantern was freed, bound to his soul through the power of the Ruination. Thresh emerged a being of pure maliciousness, and his lantern, now empty, would serve as the perfect vessel to enact his twisted fantasies.

Thresh now roams Runeterra as an avatar of sadism, bringing pain and misery to all unfortunate enough to cross his path. He stalks his victims and torments them by slowly stripping them of their sanity, before finally prying their souls from their bodies with his wicked sickle. If you hear the sound of chains in the dead of night, run… Though it may already be far too late.

So, what did you think? Now, it’s at this point I feel I need to clarify something: I’m not trying to bash on Riot’s creative team, nor am I saying that I can definitely make a better version of someone else’s character. Hell, I’m not even really saying that my version of the story is flawless; it would probably need to go through several more rewrites before I’d ever consider publishing it as canon, not that I have the power to do so, of course.

Rather, I wanted to take a closer look at Thresh’s character and how well his current lore represents him. I said earlier that Thresh is at once and interesting and a bland character. I consider him a little bland because you can sum him up in a single word: “sadistic.” He has no goals and no motivation other than to cause pain and suffering. Even the other undead of the Shadow Isles typically have some kind of agenda, even if it’s only to spread the Black Mist’s influence. Thresh doesn’t care about that; he just wants to see you writhe in agony, both before and after death. I’d argue he has more in common in with League’s demons than the other specters of the Isles, but it’s BECAUSE Thresh is undead that he has so much potential for an interesting backstory.

The main points I wanted to emphasize in my rewrite are: expanding on the magics that corrupted Thresh into being so sadistic, giving his lantern some greater significance in the story, and replacing the vault full of otherwise pointless macguffins with something a little more sinister that gives the Blessed Isles a hint of dichotomy. Riot loves adding a little morally grey to all their characters and factions, after-all.

Anyways, what do you all think? Could Thresh’s lore be improved, or do you all like his story the way in currently is? Lemme know down below, and I’ll see you all next time!

[the-20th-century-girl]

all the numbers for Larry Rickard, Ho-Tan and Humphrey 😁

Oh boy, this one will be hard and also interesting. Leaving this under a cut as it got a little long...

This may appear first on the list of answers but it sure as heck wasn't the first I answered. Saved this to last as it's the most difficult.

1. stab, shoot or drown

Drown Humphrey. He's easy as he's already dead so nothing actually happens. Plus I'm sure his head will just float on the water.

Sorry to stab the massager but Larry pulled the short straw here.

Which I guess leaves Ho-Tan to be shot. Sorry girl.

I'd get drunk with Larry, it'll probably be the best night ever lol.

2. fist fight, get drunk with, share a flat with

I wouldn't say I have much in common in terms of interior design with any of them. But out of the 3, Ho-Tan is most likely to surprise me with liking something I do.

Which leave poor Humphrey... But it's just the body I'm fist fighting, as it needs to be a fair fight. Which says more about me than him...

3. fight aliens with, fight zombies with, fight capitalism with

We all know Ho-Tan isn't one for fighting actual people/creature, So Capitalism better watch out for this Trans Scribe Elder!

Saying Humphrey for aliens as I got this funny image of them trying to adduct him, classic UFO beans over him (body and head attached) and he floats up. Only it's just his head that gets beaned up to the ship and his body just stays put on the ground :')

Which leaves Larry for zombie fighting. I'd feel we'd both be equally as capable and useless as each other in this...

4. write a book with, read a book to, hit with a book

With Larry's help and input the book we'd write could be somewhat enjoyable, at the very least... readable.

I'm dyslectic as heck! So any attempt of reading out loud would be awkward and terribly monotone in delivery. So Ho-Tan is my girl for this. She's less likely to judge and may try to help. Or just take over which would be better for everyone's sake.

And again Humphrey is getting abused... Could say my middle name is Thomas. Anyway again the imagery of me throwing the book and it hitting him on the head and it falls off is just too funny to me.

5. go on a six hour road trip with (no car radio, you choose who drives), sit next to on a six hour plane flight, sit across from on a six hour train journey

Let's be real. Ho-Tan doesn't know how to drive, or Humphrey for that matter. So me and Larry will be having to entertain ourselves with eye spy and carpool karaoke (without music).

I'd sit next to Humphrey on the plane. No reason whatsoever. Definitely not so we can snuggle up and maybe nap......

And I'd sit opposite Ho-Tan on the train. Comparing the beautiful views from our window to her.

6. go clothes shopping with, go to ikea with, go grocery shopping with

I'd go to Ikea with Humphrey. Mostly as he'd be so lost after when he tries to put what we got together. And it would be funny to watch him. I will help eventually when it stops being funny.

Obviously going clothes shopping with my girl Ho-Tan. We have very different styles but it'll be a great girls day out.

And go get groceries with Larry. I'm sure he'll be able to put up with my bad jokes as we walk past the vegetables section and I say to him "Lettuce romaine calm about this".

7. go to a wedding with, go to a party with, go to a museum with

I'd go to a wedding with Ho-Tan. So she can wear a beautiful wedding dress with flowers in her hair as everyone watches her walk down the aisle . Plot twist it's our wedding, we're getting married.

I'd go to a party with Humphrey. I'd gosh darn include the boy in something!

And would absolutely love to go to a museum with Larry, especially a history one! He most definitely has stories to tell from his Horrible Histories days.

8. share a car with, share a bank account with, share a cake with

Like you said about Vex I wouldn't trust Ho-Tan with a car or shared bank account. So she's getting cake.

Share the car with Larry, as I don't drive and as I said it before, I’m sure Humphrey doesn't either. Otherwise the car would just sit there.

And I guess that leaves me to share a bank account with Humphrey. I mean it could be worse, a lot worse... could've been Julian!

9. watch a soap opera with, go to a play with, watch your favourite movie with

I'd happily watch my favourite movie with Humphrey (assuming he's a ghost and can't leave). It's The Last Unicorn and he seemed easily enough pleased so could enjoy it.

I have to watch a soap opera with Ho-Tan. She'd love the extremely bad cheesy ones the most for sure!

And lastly. I would adore to watch a play with Larry.

10. netflix and chill with, go ice-skating with, play dodgeball against

I'd go ice-skating with Larry. Don't know if he's ever done it but I haven't so he'll either help me or we'll both wobble and fall together.

Gotta Netflix and chill with my girl Ho-Tan. I doubt they have Netflix in Yonderland so we'll have a lot to discover on there.

And lastly play dodgeball against Humphrey. But the dodgeball is his head.

put three names & a number in my ask

[harrieatthemet]

I Think So, Too

in which you get high and Harry gets his feelings hurt, again. 

(4k wtf?) 

They’re hideous pants.

Regardless, you’d like to think it’d have been just as easy to sort him out of a crowd even if he hadn't shown up in awkwardly colored gingham pants. But, he did, and he was hard to miss with them on.

It was just something to wear; something effortless and, okay, the first thing his hand grabbed upon reaching into the closet. They’re ugly; he knows. And you’re not the first person to think it, because he’s forcing a chuckle at Gemma’s college friend who cracks the fifth joke of the night about his uncomely trousers.

And while you wonder if he’s noticed you yet, lingering by the archway connecting the living room and dining room, he’s already known you were here for over an hour.

Approach; it’s the most important and, seemingly, the one thing he can’t bring himself to do. How did he do it the other two times? Gemma’s talking to him, introducing a friend of hers or droning on about a bar she was at last weekend. It doesn’t matter because he zoned out before she’d really gotten started, trying to figure out how he drummed up a conversation the last time he’d bumped into you. And the time before that.

“Third time’s a charm, innit?”

He had ample amount of time to come up with anything other than that between the walk from Gemma, in the kitchen, to you, in the living room. Any kind of courage he had convinced himself of was, by now, all but gone. You’re so fucking good at doing that.

“Maybe,” and your playful grimace evokes one of his own, “or you’re just following me.”

“Mm,” his laugh is breathy, coming from his nose as he wiggles his eyebrows, “would love tha’, wouldn’t you?”

The way your grin starts to dull tells him, maybe, he’s gotten a bit ahead of himself. It’s no fault of his own, considering how easy it is to get comfortable around you. Too easy, it seems, because your hand is hugging that wine glass a little tighter and he’s starting to feel like he's overstepped his boundaries. So when you suck in a breath, washing it down with a rather generous swash of white wine, a figurative lump doubles in size right at the back of his throat.

“Nice pants.”

If it were anyone else, he’d have bit their head off. One more ugly pants joke and he might start seeing red. But you’re stifling a giggle, head nodding towards his trousers, eyes flickering up to meet his own. He’s just glad you’ve said something.

“Seem t’be the only one who thinks so.” and he shakes his head when you raise your eyebrows at him.

Listening to you talk could very well be one his favorite hobbies. Surely, it’d be impossible for him to even pinpoint what one thing you’re rambling about. His eyes are trained on your lips, watching the move and pause briefly to hug the ring of your glass. And each time you pull it back from your mouth, there’s a new lip stain.

And your voice is comparable to white noise; the best kind, almost like music in the baxkgeoundk of a slow dance or like rain hitting the window late at night.

“Y’wanna leave?”

It’s an empty question, one he asked because he’s not sure how much longer he can stand in here and watch people stare at his fucking pants. And it’s fueled by the fact that he can barely hear you talk; he wants to. He wants you to be the only person talking, which, is a lot to ask for in a house filled with 50 something people and an inappropriately loud stereo.

The brief flicker of befuddlement is that of a discouraging one to him, and in theory, it seemed like a harmless question to ask. In reality, there was a valid reason to pause. Leave where? To do what? The last time you'd been at Harry’s was the last time you’d been at Harry’s. If he can remember it so clearly, the arguing and door slamming and the punitive mood of conversation, surely you can too.

“And do what?”

In all honesty, you catch him slightly off guard. He had fully prepared himself for a polite decline and the awkward silence that was likely to follow. But he’s got you interested now; it’s obvious because you’re ready to put your glass down and abandon it instead of angling for a refill.

It’d be to eager to say yes right away. Which is why you didn’t, afraid of possibly sounding to needy; too desperate, even though you were. You were about 3 deep in a bottle of Riesling, bored out of your mind in a house full of strangers.

and you can feel yourself getting giddy when his face lights up, “wanna go get high?”

                          ______________________________________

“I could’ve rolled that better if I was blind,” your giggle does nothing for him, his face crunching up in response, “just saying.”

A very familiar type of yearning has returned again, settling so profoundly he can feel it in his joints; he knows this feeling well. It’s annoying, nonetheless, more-so because he’s spent the better part of the past 20 minutes trying to act like it wasn’t there.

Regardless, he’s comfortable; possibly the most comfortable he’s been in months. He can tell you are too just based off of your breathing, the way you’re content with the pauses in between conversations.

A part of him, all of him if he’s being truthful, would like to think that it’s his company that’s got you this comfortable; that’s got your legs hanging over his lap. Wishful thinking is really all it is, because between your index and middle finger the joint he so poorly rolled up is withering away. It doesn’t matter if you’re high. Irregardless he still managed to get you here, in his room, touching him in some kind of way.

“Y’ever thought about me?”

Whatever link between his brain and his mouth had completely failed him, because he was hearing himself talk before he could process the magnitude of what he was saying. Out of reflex his breathing halts, his body briefly going still as he processes the fact he just asked a question he he didn’t want an answer to. Or he did, just not the wrong one. The drag you take from what’s left of the joint is only seconds, but to him it may as well have been hours.

“Yes,” and out with your words comes a small cloud of smoke, “course I do.”

He’s glad he can release all the air he had stowed away in the pit of his chest, exhaling as subtly as possible as the tension in his muscles begins to dwindle. The fact that you had answered in the present tense was even more of an affirmation, one he didn’t know he really needed until he actually hear you say it out loud.

“Your turn,” you hum, “ever think of me?”

His eyes are trained on you as so you prop yourself up, sitting straight up so that your face can get within proximity of his. He’s grateful you do, and he’s grateful that instead of passing him the joint you keep it still in between your fingers, placing the end of it to his lips.

All the time. If not everyday, than most days. Thinking of you was unavoidable, try as he may. Right now even, as you sit practically in his lap while you stare at him with heavy eyelids, he’s still thinking of you.

Obviously, he wants to talk. He’s willing to confess that, yes, he does think of you; in more ways than one. But it’s even better having you in front of him, a couple inches from his face, where he can smell the floral notes of your perfume and feel your breath hit the tip of his nose. He wants to talk, and out of all the times he’s been able to run his mouth, his lips won’t even part.

So he nods.

Limp at his sides lay his hands, exercising all of their restraint so they don’t start wandering. Do you want him to touch you? It’s so hard to tell. He’s so high, and the way you’re biting at your bottom lip is making him feel even more inebriated.

“Like what,” and before he can even string together a coherent thought, you’re straddling him; fully in his lap, “wanna know what you think about when m’on your mind.”

This could very well be one of the most illusive daydreams he’s ever had. He’s even got to blink once or twice, partially because he’s higher than his own good. Your boldness is, honestly, surprising even though he attributes it to the weed and two glasses of Riesling you knocked back earlier.

The type of longing in your eye, though, and how your fingers are softly toiling with a few strands of hair on his lower neck tells him you’re angling for a very specific kind of answer. One that he is painfully ready to give, courtesy of the growing hard-on in his gingham printed trousers as you settle your weight on his thigh.

“Think y’might know already, love..” his voice is trailing, dwindling, much like his train of thought.

In his mind, his chest too, everything seems to be racing. His heart’s moving so fast he can almost hear it in his ears. And while a cluster of different ideas and thoughts shuffle through his head, he settles on investing his attention on figuring out what to do with his idle hands.

Everything feels so unhurried, so slow-paced and time-defying. His hands have fallen under the same spell, it seems, because they take their time sliding up your thighs. With thumbs hooked on the inside of your skit, his palms flat on your skin, it’s only a few seconds before the satin material of your skirt is pooled awkwardly at your hips.

“I think so, too.”

Your voice is lilted, sweet and silvery, almost like melting honey. He could keep you like this for hours; sat in his lap, lips to his ear as you hummed and talked.

It’s quiet for a minute; for a multitude of reasons. He’s gone and lost his train of thought again. It’s hard for him to truly process anything when all he can think about is your neck, how each time you lean in a little closer he starts wallowing in a mixture of jasmine and orange blossom.

He can feel the pads of his thumbs skim the bottom of your underwear, brushing against the cotton material before he gives the hem a playful tug. The erection pressed against the inner lining of his blinding-patterned pants speaks for itself; he’s getting impatient.

Maybe not as quite impatient as you, he can read you like a favorite book. Nails gingerly scarping at the back of his neck, the way you’ve shamelessly tried rocking your hips once or twice, he can tell; you’re getting greedy.

He can almost get a taste of how insatiable you are by the time he works up the courage to meet your mouth with his own. And he comes to understand that feeling, because the way your teeth are tugging on his bottom lip before your tongue runs over his own has him completely spell-bound. The remnants of peach flavored lipgloss and the bitter taste of wine coating your mouth plays as an interesting combination; he likes it, though.

All he can smell is the muted scent of weed married to the charming smell of the perfume dabbed sparingly on your neck. Each time he finds a new spot to leave a black and blue, his lips sucking a new area of skin, the smell remains a sensory overload.

So are the small sighs of pleasure, of content. Each time he nicks a spot with his teeth he can hear it come from you, like a reward or a praise. He never wants them to stop.

“M’getting all th’good spots, yeah?” and he smirks when you playfully scoff.

Your lips are swollen, bruised, and it’s making his skin get hot when he thinks it’s because of him. The hickeys that’ll surface on your neck and collar bone tomorrow; they’re from him.

“Don’t be coy.”

It’s hard to hear a word you’re saying when he’s huffing in disappointment, watching you as you slide your knees from the leather coating of his sofa so that you could fully stand up.

Your eyes are just as hazy as his own, if not more-so. With lids that are heavy, pupils wide and eyes bloodshot, you smile shyly when your hands subconsciously go for the skirt. And he watches, his breathing heavy, as you taught and tug at the sides of the pretty blue satin. It takes you a minute before the fabric is in a heap on his tartan printed rug.

“Like that skirt,” he breathes, “s’a nice color.”

His tongue makes a brief appearance before his teeth sink into his bottom lip, his chest going tight when your hands find a home in his lap. It’s impossible for him to croak a word out before your fingers are looped in the belt loops of his trousers. You want them off, he knows. He wants them off too.

“Thank you,” and your voice is sing-songy, “wish I could say the same about these.”

A breathy laugh is all you get from him, his eyes glazed over in anticipation as you tap the outer part of his thigh with two of your free fingers. To which, he takes the hint gingerly, lifting himself off the couch briefly to oblige your instructions.

He’d forgotten how nice it was to hear you laugh; nice having it reflect off the muted orange of his living room walls. It’s saccharine, sweet and wholesome. You even do the thing, the one where you throw your head back, all because you’d nicked his inner thigh with his pant zipper.  

“Not very sexy of you.” and his joke tugs on another sly giggle from you.

“Oh fuck off,” you’re back to straddling him, shirtless, and the material of your underwear rubbing against his bare thigh is enough to get his stomach to flutter, “m’doing my best.”

Time is an affordable luxury, it seems, and for that he’s counting his blessings. Still, every single move and kiss and sigh is elongated; everything is slow-paced. His fingers, too, as they nimbly work the zipper running down the back of your spine, guiding it paced and steadily until it spills to your elbows.

He’s not sure how much foreplay he can take, though. He’s not sure how much longer he can really last. Being this high, this flustered, face nestled in your neck before he gets another chance to taste whats left of the wine on your tongue. His stamina is surely wearing out, his patience not far behind it. 

Though he’s curious to know where your head’s at, if you’re in the same boat as him. It’s what prompts him to pull aside the flimsy black cotton material of your underwear. And it’s pleasing to see how wet you are, properly soaked, wincing at the pressure his fingers deliver to your clit. 

Your lips are already red and swollen, so the way you’re sinking your teeth into your bottom lip when he adopts a faster pace only makes it worse, “Harry I’m-”

“Hm?” and even now he’s smug, so fucking smug it’s almost annoying, “y’alright?” 

And as smug as he may have been he cannot help but wince, suck in a rather harsh breath when your hadn't reaches down fir his wrist, brushing against his cocking lying against his thigh. 

“Condom,” he croaks, “don’t ‘ave a bloody fucking condom.” 

There’s a brief flicker of worry quite prominent on your face, though his fingers still keep their slow pace rubbing your bundle of nerves, regardless of the grip you’ve got in his wrist. He’s thinking it was all for nothing; he’s got you here, naked in his lap, lips parted in response to pleasure and your hand so close to where he needs it, for nothing. 

“I’m on the pill, I’m-” and you’re practically out of breath, “Harry please.” 

Begging, though it’s something he really didn't need right now, still sounds just as good. Loves having you like this; riled up, desperate and jittery, completely impatient to get your way. 

To which, he is happy to oblige, happy to help you get readjusted so that you could ease onto him without problem. 

He’s eager to get some relief, whining and sighing when your thumb pays special attention to the head, running over the slit to acquire some of the precum. Finally, he release that groan from the inside of his chest, his head briefly arching back against the sofa when your hand gives a few squeezes to his shaft; whining quietly, he’s hardly prepared for you to take all of him. 

You’re sliding down on him, slowly, inch by inch and he swear’s you’re gonna milk him for everything he’s got before he mumbles an “Oh fuck me.” 

As impatient as you were, he may have been more, which you learn when he greedily bucks his hips, earning a yelp from you as you steady yourself with your hands on his shoulders. He can feel your knees sink into the leather of the couch, your fingernails grazing the backs of his shoulder blades as a wobbly breath passes from your lips. 

‘Gotta, fuck,” he swears his eyes might roll to the back of his head because you’re squeezing him so fucking tightly, “gotta move, love, or I won’t last much longer.” 

And so you do, slow at first. Not that it matters, your eyes are so heavy and Harry’s are so bloodshot; everything still feels so slow. But your hips are searching for a rhythm, a steady one so Harry’s can meet your own. So what starts out as a sloppy grinding motion soon transcends into an accustomed pace; a bounce, if you will. 

“So wet fo’ me, yeah?” 

The way you moan, one in such a hush toned before you’re nails dig a little harder into the flesh of his back, it’s likely going to be the death of him. Best way to go, he thinks. 

The fiery turmoil in his lower belly completely doubles when you do that, when you squeeze him like that. Each time he hits that particularly squishy spot, hips meeting yours every so often to ease some fo your labor, he feels it; your walls completely clenching him. It’s gonna ruin him, gonna completely do him in before he even makes it to a minute. 

Dragging a nipple between his teeth, tweaking it before he runs over it with his tongue. And he can feel a shot of chills run down the back of his spine when he gets a look at you like that, lips parted so that his name can pour out of your mouth.

It’s a sight for sore eyes, one he can't ever get enough of. The whining of his names, spoken from swollen lips, it’s better than any melody, “I-I need, I’m so.” 

You can't quite find the right words, there’s so much stimulation that it’s merely impossible to string together a full thought. All you can thing of is the open mouthed kisses placed to the flesh of your boobs, how good it feels when he hits the right spot inside of you. Your stomach is knotting now when he completely pulls out, just to sink you right back down so he can revel in that squeaky noise; that sinful, pornographic noise he could listen to on a loop. 

“M’gonna,” he grunts, thumbs pressed a bit harder to your hip bones, “y’squeezing me bloody fucking well” 

Regardless, he wants you to finis first. He can tell your close because you’re getting faster, sloppier, so he doesn’t mind reaching between you two so his fingers can find your clit again. Because now he's got you just at the edge, his fingers moving in fast circles at your bundle of nerves as you bounce in his lap; lips parted, hugging his name that way, choking it out between small gasps and blissed out moans. 

And he swears if that wasn’t enough to get him off, the way you’re riding him still after you’ve came is more than plenty. Because he can feel the ball in his stomach completely implode, roving over nearly every inch of him. His grip on your hips tighten, desperate to grab as hold of something to ride his way through, his teeth grazing your shoulder as he lets out a couple grunts and a slew of choice words. 

It’s euphoric, and he can’t believe he’d almost forgotten what you looked like in his lap; pupils blown out while his cock twitched inside of you, your baby hairs matted to the peak of your forehead.

He swears he could stare at you like this, limitlessly, reeling from a good fuck and trying to catch up with your breathing pattern. So he doesn’t say much, just brushes a few hairs from your face; you’re so pretty, can you tell that’s why he’s staring? He wants to tell you how pretty you are, like he used to, but instead he’s huffing in frustration as you slide yourself off of him. 

But he watches you collect your clothes from the floor, shimmying the bottom half of your body back into that satin skirt, “Got somewhere t’be, than?” 

A little part of his chest flutters, still, when you glance up at him; top half still naked, a few hickeys peeking through your skin as you try to turn your shirt the right way out, “no.”

He hopes you don’t notice the small frown on his face when he hears that, and he mumbles a thank you when you very Kindly hand him his boxers from off the coffee table. 

Surely you do, because you’ve already got your shirt on and he just came inside you not even two whole minutes ago. And now you’re scanning the floor, looking for the pair of sandals you so mindlessly kicked off when you got here.

“Can just spend th’night, y’know.” he sighs, fidgeting with the waistband of his underwear.

“Spend the night?” you inquire, to which, he eagerly nods, “Harry, I can’t spend the night.” 

It’s out of his control, now, with whatever expression decides to play out in his face. And right now, he’s honestly a bit lost. With knitted eyebrows, furrowed in an off putting type of way, he sucked in a bit of a deep breath because his high was starting to wear off and he didn’t particularly want the night to take this turn. 

“Y’done it plenty,” and he hands you a sandal, watching as you slide it on your foot, “spent the night, I mean, used to all th’time.”

“Don’t do that,” you sigh, “you know it’s different.” 

It’s not like he’s an idiot; he knows the circumstances were different. He’s well aware and, judging by the look on your face, he knows you are too. But something changed, had to. He just fucked you on his leather sofa; you were naked in his living room not even 10 minutes ago. Clearly, he was getting ahead of himself, because as soon as you secured the strap to the other sandal you were pacing for the door. 

“So now what?” 

He’s about at the end of his rope, standing in the foyer of his house as you open the door, wearing only his underwear while you’re fully clothed. He wants you to stay, and briefly he considers pleading. It’s almost like deja vu because he’s definitely been in this position before. He’s not going to beg, though, won’t plead either. He asked a question and he’ll get an answer from you, even if you’re halfway onto his porch already. 

“I just go home, Harry.” 

[betweenthetimeandsound]

Three Minutes to Eternity: My ESC 250 (#140-131)

#140: Lordi -- Hard Rock Hallelujah (Finland 2006)

“You will see the jokers soon'll be the new kings!” I'm semi-convinced that if I heard this song when I was a child, I would've been so scared I would just hide (I also panicked at the cover of Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince, though that maybe because I didn't want to read such a long book). Watching it for the first time in 2020, I didn't mind it, though the monsters still puts me off. As much as I like to jam to this one, I can’t see myself listening to it over and over again. That said, one can’t take away from the sheer catharsis of this song, from the opening notes to how Lordi gleefully announces their arrival and thunders down Athens with the arockalypse. Whether it’s the first hard rock winner or the last schlager one, Lordi came, saw, and grabbed a first win for Finland after so many attempts, and made rock more popular in Eurovision for a few years. i You can’t resist yourself from headbanging to this one! Personal ranking: 3rd/37 Actual ranking: 1st/24 GF in Athens

#139: Natasha St-Pier -- Je n'ai que mon âme (France 2001)

“Mais je n'ai que mon âme pour te parler de moi, Oh, juste mon âme, mon âme et ma voix,” “But I only have my soul to talk to you about me. Oh, just my soul, my soul and my voice.” By the turn of the millenium, France switched back to contemporary ballads to represent them. While 1999 and 2000's entries didn't do well, their next two would be really strong songs amongst the weakest years ever, and that's why I appreciate France so much in the contest. Initially, I didn’t get it, because it sounded a bit derivative (not unlike what Celine Dion would sing). However, one thing which won me over was with the intro, which provided the base of a really great build. A soft intro leading to a lush instrumental, it shone above the crowd, and it turned from being "derivative" to being "gentle and sincere. Natasha delivers this with equal parts softness and grace, though the English parts did feel a bit out of place in the end. That might have cost it a (deserved) place on the podium, and France would have wait twenty more years for the next medal-placing. Personal ranking: 2nd/23 Actual ranking: 4th/23 in Copenhagen

#138: Lena -- Satellite (Germany 2010)

“I even painted my toenails for you I did it just the other day!"

Whenever you check the comments of any video on this song, you will note a bunch of angry Turkish people who insist MaNga should’ve won 2010. While I really love their song (and will end up later on the list), Satellite was a worthy winner. Along with its commercial success, Satellite is adorable because it is uptempo, sweet, and infectious. Lena acts like she’s having fun on stage and doesn’t even try to pretend. Her accent, which emerged as a result of her English teacher, adds to the charm and her overall innocence. It’s cute, which can turn off some people, but not me--I really embrace it. Also, Arilena Ara made a cover last year for Eurovision Home Concerts, which you should check out! It keeps the poppy vibe, but adds a funky edge to it. Personal ranking: 4th/39 Actual ranking: 1st/25 GF in Oslo

#137: Lazy Bums -- Shir Habatlanim (Israel 1987)

“עושה לי כוס קפה ומדליק לי הסיגריה יוצא אל המרפסת לפצח גרעינים הציפורים יורדות העציצים של המרפסת ומפזמות איתי את שיר הבטלנים” “I make myself a cup of coffee and light a cigarette I go out to the balcony to crack open some seeds The birds come down to the plants of the balcony And sing with me the bums’ song” The Culture Minister threatened to resign when Shir Habatlanim was chosen for the Israeli entry in 1987, but it adds to the charming element to this performance. After a decade in which the Israeli entries pranced around, this was something different, and the two actors really take on the role. The lyrics were a bit silly, but relatable with the bums not seeing the sun because of the buildings and doing random tasks while hanging out with the birds. The Lazy Song before the Lazy Song, I'm starting to think this is the "reality" on playing hooky, whereas "Ferris Bueller's Day Off" is the "expectations" part (and they are really high in the movie). The Blues Brothers-inspired performance ("We're coming to ya--"), combined with Kobi Oshrat's orchestration, makes this otherwise troll song into a comedic masterpiece. It's three minutes of fun and endearment, and I can't help but smile. Personal ranking: 4th/22 Actual ranking: 8th/22 in Brussels

#136: Antique -- (I Would) Die for You (Greece 2001)

"Κάθησα και σκέφτηκα Κι είδα ότι μ’ αγαπάς Μόνο εσύ, μόνο εσύ" "I sat down and thought Realised that you love me Only you, only you" Greece's first top-three placing in Eurovision is thanks to Helena Paparizou and guy whose name we do not know Nikos Panagiotidis, both who were based in Sweden at the time. They were well known for combining Greek instruments and dance beat; Opa Opa (written by Giorgios Alkaios, see #207 for his entry) is a really good example of this! (Thanks again, Nikos Terzis for composing this too) From the opening bouzouki, Die for You establishes a sense of cool; the pop production following it adds a sense of modernity that the 2001 class lacked for the most part. And compared to Je n'ai que mon ame (#139), the switch from Greek to English is absolutely natural. It feels like being in an exclusive club, filled with dim lighting and a very spacy ambience of it all--though the orange in Parken works as well. And despite being nineteen, Helena oozes cool in all the ways. From her sleek hair to her jumpsuit to how she moves, she makes the song her own, for what it's worth. I frequently find myself copying her handography, though sometimes my desk lamp blocks my left hand, making it feel a bit clumsy. Though I don't say this often, either Antique or Natasha should've won in 2001. Personal ranking: 1st/23 Actual ranking: 3rd/23 in Copenhagen Final impressions on 2001: DR tried to go big with 35,000, but everyone went to drink, and it felt like one hundred. The songs at hand tried hard to be cool, though in some places, we were better off in school. On their own, the strings in our hearts remain broke, though when the trophy did, our minds awoke. Despite the ambitions, the contest would make people leave the room. Thankfully, it was better than that of 2002! :) (On another note, of all the years Italy didn't participate in the contest, 1999 and 2001 were the most irritating. Here, Elisa's Luce (tramonti a nord-est) won Sanremo, and it's a surrealistically beautiful indie song with cool lyrics (especially it was originally written in English, and had to be changed to Italian for the contest). Had they competed, I could see a top-five finish for them, and I could see this as an all-time favorite for me.)

#135: Katerine Duska -- Better Love (Greece 2019)

“Won’t you lean on me You can lean on me Let them look, don’t know, don’t care Go deep with me...” She's not Amy Winehouse, she's Katerine Duska! I had a love/hate relationship with this song during the 2019 season. On the one hand, it’s a really good song, with a lush production and sultry vocals from Katerine Duska. The lyrics, while simple, deals with the theme of love in an interesting way--no matter who you are, you deserve a love that suits you.

On the other hand, considering my grudge towards the 2018 contest, I was worried that this may do well and restart the Greek golden age. That feeling amplified when the rehearsals started, when Katerine and co. had this faerie queene aesthetic. It looked absolutely beautiful, with flowers and fantasy and whimsy. And most important, swords (the MV had sabres whereas the live performance had epees.)!

Of course it qualified, but it collapsed in the final and placed 21st in the end. Some people attributed to how "messy" the staging was, along with Katerine's vocals. In hindsight, I could see it with the former, but the latter remained firm, and she aced that high note.

But it was a good change for Greece, showing that they can do indie music as well as pop and ethno. And Katerine's non-Eurovision songs are fantastic; especially check out Autumn Again and Athenian Skies! Personal ranking: 4th/41 Actual ranking: 21st/26 GF in Tel Aviv

#134: Netta -- Toy (Israel 2018)

“Wonder Woman don’t you ever forget You’re divine and he’s about to regret...”

This has been a total phenomenon ever since its release. However, it’s also quite polarizing, with some people really bopping to this one whether it's on the radio or Tik-tok, and others getting repulsed by the chicken noises or the strong message it provided.

For me, it's Toy's "in-your-face' nature which makes it really special. From the first listen, there's the element of surprise with Netta's looping (the MV intro on Spotify >>> regular studio intro). It then builds until Netta announces herself as a "beautiful creature" and that she wasn't going to be bullied by others. While the songwriters definitely used the "Me Too" movement as a vehicle for the song, it's Netta's influence, along with the Mizrahi instrumentation in the chorus, which packs a punch. Without those chicken noises, Toy would fall flat.

The staging had to be worked on several times, but the final result captured the song's kookiness in every way. From the fake looper to the backing dancer's choreography, the following three minutes is an explosion of fun (though some of the energy died on stage on first viewing).

In short, Netta deserved to win, and those who suggest otherwise is just mean.

Personal ranking: 5th/43 Actual ranking: 1st/26 GF in Lisbon

#133: Mariza Koch -- Panagia Mou, Panagia Mou (Greece 1976)

“Κι αν δείτε ερείπια γκρεμισμένα, όι-όι μάνα μ', Δεν θα 'ναι απ' άλλες, απ' άλλες εποχές, Από ναπάλμ θα 'ναι καμένα, όι-όι μάνα μ'…"

“And if you see shattered ruins, oh oh my Mother, It's not from other, from other eras It is burnt by napalm, oh oh my Mother...”

In their second appearance at the Eurovision Song Contest, Greece sends this politically-charged song to criticize the invasion of Cyprus two years before. The Greek military junta at the time wanted to unite the island with mainland Greece, which led to a coup. As a result, the Turkish government invaded Cyprus, and declared the non-recognized Republic of Northern Cyprus. This status remains to this day, which has hindered Turkey's admission to the European Union.

(Interestingly enough, Turkey broadcast this contest despite not participating, and censored the Greek song to replace it with a patriotic song. Haha)

Dark context aside, it ties into the folk tradition during that time, but adds a Greek touch to it with the bouzouki. Combined with thoughtful yet tragic lyrics, it stands out as a darker yet deeper tone from the 1976 contest. Mariza also conveys this with her clear, yet harsh vocals pinpoint the horrors of what was going on. Also, the orchestration adds to the grandeur of this with its lush strings.

Personal ranking: 3rd/18 Actual ranking: 11th/18 in Den Haag

#132: Chocolate, Menta, Mastik -- Emor Shalom (Israel 1976)

בוא, בוא, בוא עוד היום”, אני עוד כאן אז בוא אמור שלום, אמור שלום

“Come, come, come today, I'm still here so come say hello Say hello..”

From one heavily politically charged song to a slightly less so, haha! Emor Shalom is s very playful and cute song, the three girls charm their potential lover (or diplomatic) with their voices and dance moves.

The hidden political context comes from "shalom"--is it hello, or is it peace? When the song was performed, Israel had been independent for thirty years, but their geopolitical relationships were not good with their neighbors. So the three girls, who sung for the military, were not only hoping for a lover, but also for peace.

The song itself incorporates some elements disco with trumpets, which got me into it in the first place. I'm not entirely sure about how the latter works--they are fine, but it does feel a bit cartoonish. While the lyrics are a bit simple, they still add to it.

Personal ranking: 2nd/18 Actual ranking: 6th/18 in Den Haag

#131: Sonja Lumme -- Eläköön elämä (Finland 1985)

“Kaupungissa on yö, puistoon kanssasi jäin Sä seisot edessäin täynnä toivoa” “It’s night in the city, I stayed in the park with you You’re standing in front me full of hope” Top ten anime opening themes, part two!

From the intro until the end, I love how Eläköön elämä progresses. It not only has a sound which matches with music trends (along with those mullets, but it's the 1980s so we can move on about this...), but also has a joie-de-vivre in terms of the lyrics. I've heard about it being connected to the Cold War; considering it was before glasnost, I'd imagine one of the themes here was to enjoy every moment before the world ends.

Ossi Runne's orchestration mixes the punchy pop-rock with some really good strings and brass. An awesome instrumentation and hopeful lyrics, when put together, you’ve got one of Finland’s best ever entries.

Personal ranking: 1st/19 Actual ranking: 9th/19 in Gothenburg

Final impressions on 1985: While Sweden first hosted in 1975, the production ten years later shows their capabilities in putting on a good show. From the graphics to the stage to Lilli's hosting, it's a totally fun experience. The songs were a bit weaker than it, though there were enough gems to keep the mood buzzing. Plus, there were several good orchestral moments there (especially #193) which made it all the better!

[paintingraves]

A purr-fect day

Went to OPT prompts and received a prompt about Percival being swarmed by a pack of kittens so here - have this very soft thing ❤️

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

It’s Percival Graves’ birthday. 

The man himself doesn’t seem to care, but  every single one of his Aurors know about it. So does Newt, who's been living in a rented flat in New York for a few months now, working in an official capacity as a consultant for the MACUSA. They are trying to reform some of their laws about magical creatures: it is a long, tedious process -- one that sets back the publication of his second book by months -- but it’s important and Newt really feels like he is making a difference. 

His routine these days is usually the same. Newt wakes up at the crack of dawn and tends to his creatures; then he gets dressed and drops by Jacob’s bakery on his way to work in order to grab coffee and a delicious pastry. His favourite at the moment is a croissant-like delicacy filled with warm chocolate.  Newt always wolfs it down like he hasn’t eaten in three days and licks his fingers clean afterwards, unashamed. 

He steps into MACUSA through the magical revolving door and heads to the Aurors’ bullpen, where his office and work await him. They chatter amicably between colleagues until 8 am, at which point Director Percival Graves makes his grand entrance -- cup of bitter black coffee in his hand and dark circles under his eyes. He gives them a debriefing as he sips his drink. When he's done they get to work, and Graves heads down to his own office. He always passes by Newt when he does, and Newt always gets to appreciate the heady smell of his cologne on the way. 

(He… may or may not have a bit of a thing for Percival Graves. So what? Almost everyone here does, apparently, because their director is just that striking. Newt is no different.) 

But today is a special day, and things take a different turn. 

Newt stills drops by Jacob’s bakery, but he’s earlier than usual. Instead of buying only one pastry, he buys an assortment of them, trying to pick ones he thinks Percival would like. 

All his colleagues are present at the office as early as 7 am. Newt steps into the room as they’re starting to clear the tables free of paperwork, ink, quills, books and other bulky things to rearrange them in a sort of semi-circle to serve as a buffet. 

Madeleine uses her wand to unfold a large white tablecloth and everyone helps set the table: there's pots of coffee, warm chocolate and tea; Newt brought pastries, John’s baked an apple pie, and Esther made a fruit salad. Soon enough, with everyone’s contributions, the table is full of food and drink aplenty. Diana is blowing up balloons while Geralt hangs a large ‘happy birthday’ banner across the room. 

There's one table reserved for gifts. Newt can guess what most people could have bought: perhaps a new tie or a book, a good bottle of wine, etc. Newt himself has gotten Percival an exotic plant, whose flowers release a calming scent that has the same effect on humans as a cat purring. He hopes Percival will like it. 

It’s nearly 8. They're all a bit nervous; truth be told they have no idea how Graves will react to the display. He certainly isn’t expecting it, that's for sure. Geralt said he's never known Percival to mention his birthday, much less celebrate it. But today also marks the first year the man's been back at work despite his ordeal at the hands of Grindelwald, and that deserves to be remembered. They’re just hoping he’ll be touched by the attention, and happy. 

When Percival walks into the room at 8 precisely, he freezes on the doorstep. His eyes widen in surprise and alarm. He takes in the redecorated room, his hand shaking slightly around his cup of coffee. “... What is this?” 

“Happy birthday, sir,” his Aurors say all at once, smiling. 

Percival’s eyes widen even more. “Oh shit,” he says, coming to a realization. “It is my birthday, isn’t it? I’m… Fuck. I don’t know what to say. This… is a surprise, but...” 

“You deserve it,” Diana says simply, and they all nod in agreement. “I’ll put on some music. I hope you like jazz!” 

“Get you anything to drink, sir? Or eat? We got a ton of stuff here, including but not limited to John’s famous apple pie!” 

“A - a slice of apple pie sounds perfect, thank you,” Percival says, still bewildered. He looks almost timid, so wrong-footed. “And coffee, please. I’m sure it’ll taste better than this brew I have.” 

“Let me take your coat,” Newt offers, stepping forward. “And make yourself comfortable.” 

"There’s work to do,” Percival says, even as he takes off his cream-coloured trench coat and his hat. Underneath, he wears one of his usual three-piece suits, complete with dark blue pants, a white shirt and an assorted waistcoat and tie. Everything is tailored to perfection, as per usual. Newt will honestly never get over how attractive the older man is. It doesn't help that Percival rolls up his sleeves to his elbows. "I can't stay long, but I really appreciate this, thank you…"

His words get drowned in the soft jazz music that starts playing. Everyone relaxes and starts to eat and drink, standing up, or sitting on chairs around the room; they're all happy that Percival hasn’t reacted negatively (and why would he?) 

The director seems to have gotten over his shock now; he is clearly embarrassed (the tips of his ears blushing red) as well as deeply flattered, but he’s not mad. 

At one point there's the opening of presents. 

Percival stays sitting in his chair as they bring the wrapped gifts over to him. He thanks each Auror warmly, saying he never expected to be this spoiled, and that they shouldn't have. He makes jokes about getting old. Percival receives a brand new watch (courtesy of three of the Aurors, who put together some savings to afford it) as well as a silver hoop earring -- much to his delight and surprise. He raises an eyebrow as Geralt explains sheepishly that he’s noticed Percival’s ear was pierced, yet that he never wore such jewelry, promoting Percival to regal them with a few tales of his rebellious youth. He puts the earring on. It looks incredibly dashing, giving him a bit of a more roguish air. It's terribly, terribly attractive. 

There's also a funny tie with little ducklings printed on it which Percival promises to wear the next day at work; two Sherlock Holmes books; a shiny pocket knife (for Percival never goes anywhere unarmed) and finally Newt’s plant. Newt monologues about its healing properties, as he’s wont to do, and Percival thanks him with a warm smile, telling Newt it is incredibly thoughtful. He is so polite. So sincere. So composed. Ugh. Newt wants this man quite badly. He doesn’t know how much longer he can handle this sweet torture... 

The last gift Percival receives is… different. He is laughing, and he's never looked this happy in the months Newt has known him. It makes his heart swell painfully inside his chest. He wants Percival to keep smiling like that, everyday, and he wants to be the reason behind his joyous smile. 

“Alright, what is this?” Percival asks as Madeleine give him a large square box. They managed to convince him to wear one of those pointy colorful birthday hat, and it is slightly askew on his head. A strand of dark hair falls into his face. Percival looks more ruffled and relaxed than they’ve ever seen him, and Newt wonders whether one of the aurors spiked his coffee with whiskey or something, because this is quite the contrast compared to the austere, severe, put together man they’re used to seeing daily. 

“Open it!” Madeleine says, and Percival does - only for everyone to gasp in sheer joy at the sight of what’s inside of the box. 

Kittens! 

“Oh my god!” Esther squeals happily, slapping a hand over her mouth. 

“So one of my cats had babies recently, and I figured this was a nice gift! Here they are!” 

“I…” Percival says, at a loss as to what to do. Madeleine grins and, gently, she takes each kitten from the box and puts them in Percival’s lap, then takes the box away. 

The kittens (four in total) immediately meow for attention and begin to explore their new surroundings: one of them tries to climb on Percival’s chest, digging its claws into the expensive fabric of his waistcoat; another nearly falls off Percival’s thigh except the man catches him, and the kitten fits in his big hand. Percival says ‘Hello little guy, hello’ and strokes his head with a finger so very gently. 

Percival Graves and kittens. Newt thinks this might be heaven. 

“They’re so tiny,” Percival murmurs in awe. “Oh no no no, where are you going? Ow, not the claws, hey, not the claws --” 

Percival Graves swarmed by a pack of kittens is definitely the cutest thing Newt has ever seen. He can’t stop smiling. 

Neither can Percival, apparently - his cheeks are glowing with happiness, his eyes wrinkling attractively at the corners, his face and posture open and serene. He helps one of the kittens climb up his shoulder, where it sniffs Percival’s collar curiously, and gathers the other three together in his lap, petting them. Noticing Newt’s staring, he holds one of the kittens up. “Take him.” 

Esther kneels next to Percival, who gives her one of the kittens too, and she looks about to cry as she holds the tiny animal in her hands. She folds her arm and the kitten curls up in the crook of her elbow, seemingly having found a nice corner to nap in, and purrs as she scratches it behind the ears gently. 

“They’re up for adoption,” Madeleine informs them, beaming. “We already have three cats, and I got a friend who adopted one from this litter, but these four are looking for a new home!” 

“I’ll take one,” Esther says immediately. “My husband’s allergic but we’ll find a way to make it work. I've always wanted a cat.” 

“... I can take one too,” Geralt says hesitantly. “They’re rather cute.” 

“They’re adorable.” 

“Percival? Ahem, sir?” 

Percival had been busy making heart eyes at the kitten in his lap. “Hmm? Oh, I wish I could, but…” He sighs. “I wouldn’t have time to care for him. They deserve better than that.” 

“Newt?” 

Newt shakes his head. Same as Percival, he’s already got a lot of creatures to care for. 

“I’ll keep asking around then,” Madeleine concludes. 

Geralt takes one of the kittens. Percival gets up from his chair, his last tiny friend still perched on his shoulder like a very fluffy parrot. He brushes cat hair from his pants with little success, and walks up to Newt, who’s busy cooing at his own kitten. He’s already given it a name and everything. Oh, and she’s a female. 

“This is Kiara,” he says, showing the kitten to Percival, who smiles warmly. 

“Seems like she’s adopted you, uh.” 

“I do so wish I could take her in,” Newt says mournfully. 

“Hmm. You’ve already got a lot on your shoulders, haven't you, but I understand the sentiment.” 

“You look happy,” Newt remarks. 

Graves laughs. “You say that as if it’s the second coming of christ. Am I that sour and grumpy all the time?" 

“Well...” Newt ducks his head and avoids the question, though he knows Graves is just teasing him. “I’m really glad you liked our little surprise party here.” 

“Whose idea was it?” 

“Everyone’s, really. We figured you ought to know how much we all appreciate you. You’re a very good leader, Percival, and a good man, and a good friend.”

“...Thank you,” Percival says quietly. "I do try."

“I mean that,” Newt insists. “Met a lot of politicians in my life, after all, I know what I'm talking about." 

"Ah ah. While I can’t say I’ve met a lot of magizoologists in my life, I also really like working with you, Newton. You've very knowledgeable, and you are able to think outside the box. I really like that.” 

Newt swallows at the compliment, his heart picking up pace, heat rising to his face. “Thanks,” he mumbles, forcing himself to look straight at the other man. Percival meets his gaze. There’s a heavy moment of silence. Time slows down as Newt’s eyes flit from Percival’s own down to his lips, and he is overcome with the urge to simply kiss the other man. Percival wets his lips too, looking up at him underneath his dark eyelashes, and he leans imperceptibly closer and Newt thinks oh fuck -- and then Madeleine steps into their intimate circle with a plate of cake to offer them some. The moment is shattered. 

But… Newt didn’t dream it, right? Right? 

For a moment there he saw desire reflected back in Percival’s eyes… right? 

He refuses another helping of cake, but Percival does take an apple fritter and bites into it, smearing sugar across his lips. He licks them clean. 

Newt wants to kiss him so badly. Again. 

After an hour or so of festivities it’s time to clean up and get back to work, however reluctant they are to do so. 

For the rest of the day, the balloons still hang on the walls of the aurors’ room and kittens roam free in the office. They play with bits of string or red dots that the aurors make appear on the floor with the tip of their wand. 

Percival goes back to his office and keeps the pointy hat. It’s not a very productive day, work-wise, but it’s one that leaves everybody in high spirits when the evening comes, and certainly strengthens the bonds between colleagues. 

Around 8, Newt prepares to leave the bullpen as well. He tidies things up on his desk and takes his suitcase, turning off the lights as he leaves. He knocks on Percival’s door and hears a rumbling ‘yes, come in’. 

“Leaving for the day,” Newt says. Percival nods his assent, nose deep in paperwork. “Good night, sir.” 

“Good night, Newton,” Graves says absently. He dips his quill into ink and scribbles something down. Newt sighs. 

“Sir?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Would you - that is, would you like to grab a drink with me sometime?” 

Percival pauses, looking up at him above the rim of his tortoise shell glasses. “Why?” 

“B - because…” Oh bugger, he read this all wrong. A stab of fear lances through him.  “Err. No, nevermind, forget I asked. I’ll just - go. I'm leaving. Yes.” 

“Newt.”

“Yes?” Newt looks back at him, his palms sweating, only to be struck dumb. 

Graves is smirking. He’s never seen such an expression on his face and oh, that must be what Graves looks like when he’s really flirting. Newt feels weak in the knees. 

“It’d be my pleasure,” Percival purrs, and Newt makes a sound not unlike that of a startled mouse. He flushes and haltingly steps back, fiddling with the handle of his briefcase, butterflies fluttering in his stomach. 

“Oh. Oh that’s. That’s good then. Great. Brilliant. Hm. Is… after work tomorrow okay for you?” 

“It’s good,” Percival agrees. “Have a good evening. And Newt?” 

“Y - yes?”

“Remember to breathe.” And there’s that infuriating, smug smirk again. 

Newt vows to kiss it off the man’s face one day until Graves is the one struggling to remember how to breathe. He shall make Percival lose his carefully constructed composure. 

“Tomorrow it is,” he repeats, straightening up. “I look forward to it.” 

Graves shakes his head, as though he can’t believe he’s really doing this, but he’s still smiling. 

Newt makes his way out MACUSA and back to his flat with a spring in his step, happiness and hope bubbling inside his chest. 

He did it! 

And Percival agreed! Holy shit. This. Is. Amazing! By Merlin - tomorrow can’t come fast enough!

[redevenir]

to eat flowers and not to be afraid

woozi x reader

wc : ~ 7690

a/n : i first wrote this piece for @svtwritenight and i kept writing because it felt very nice. the title comes from this verse by e. e. cummings : « since the thing perhaps is to / eat flowers and not to be afraid » from voices to voices. I don’t think there is a specific warning here. There is only one sentence that I find disgusting, but nothing triggering. Vague references to past disasters and deaths.

« "Alas," he cried to himself in his dismay, "what ever will become of me, and how is it all to end? If I stay here upon the river bed through the long watches of the night, I am so exhausted that the bitter cold and damp may make an end of me—for towards sunrise there will be a keen wind blowing from off the river. If, on the other hand, I climb the hill side, find shelter in the woods, and sleep in some thicket, I may escape the cold and have a good night's rest, but some savage beast may take advantage of me and devour me." »

The Odyssey, Book V, Homer.

You put your hand on the doorknob. You’ve been sleeping here for a few weeks now. Compared to other places you’ve been before, this one is starting to feel comfortable. You can’t call it otherwise though. There are walls in your head, walls that you built when everything was falling apart. Vulnerability kills, you’ve learn it fast. You cannot afford to be sentimental, especially toward a mere concrete structure and yet, you’ve already overstep the boundaries you’ve set yourself. It’s not gratitude, it’s just… It’s nice. It’s nice that the two-story building is here. That it didn’t crumble like most of them, it’s nice that in what was barely a town before you’ve found it empty. That all four apartments were empty when you came in. That there’s a fireplace in each one of them. That the vegetation around has grown enough to hide most of the windows of the one you’ve chosen for yourself.

You remember the day you arrived there. Terrified of getting caught, you had rummaged through all of the apartments as fast as you could, storing all you thought might be of use. Then you had barricaded the three unoccupied ones, establishing yourself on the second floor. You hung bells behind the front door, bells behind the lobby door. Bells hung very low all over the staircase, so you’d know if someone was to come in. Nobody had so far. It was just you, day after day after day, and you were beginning to feel safe. Able to spend a few hours a day without worrying. A luxury. Just you, the bare trees around. Sometimes you’d see the occasional boars, down the road. How are they still alive? Don’t ask yourself, worries will come back. You know it now: you know nothing. You will never fully understand any of the crazy things that has happened so far, because most of them don’t make sense. Most of the time, you try – very, very hard – not to think at all. Just another way to stay safe.

You open the door to the shelter. You’re soaked, you’re tired, you can’t see a thing. It’s been a mistake, going out today, you realized. A useless loss of time and energy. You wanted to watch the road, see if there was anyone passing by. That was the first lie. No one was « passing by » anymore. You just wanted an excuse to go out. You’re being unreasonable. You know inside – you can’t even word « home » in your head, not now, not tomorrow, not a year from now – inside is safe. Home is too comfortable, too dangerous. Inside in the only safe. Home will get you killed. It will make you less and less careful. Exactly like today. You’ve been outside for hours, knowing from the start it’d be worthless. And if anyone had indeed walked that road, you couldn’t even know. The clouds were too thick and everything was too dark for you see a thing, and that was before the rain started to fall. But you stayed there. Almost confident in your warm safe place, almost looking forward to the fire you’d be lighting up to dry your clothes and warm yourself up. One might say – but there is no one anymore – you were already lucky it was just good old-fashion rain, not the burning, acid one. You tell yourself you’d recognize the deadly clouds. Maybe that’s the second lie.

Standing before the building’s door, you feel sick. It’s disgusting. All you have lost, all that is gone, for you to be this carefree. Nausea rises up your body. You shiver, close your eyes, breathe. Confidence is a concept of the past. Confidence will get you killed. Breathe in, breathe out. It is the only therapy left now. And now you’re scared. You put your hand in your pocket, touch the big rock you always keep in there. Heavy. Uncomfortable. You grab it, take it out. Breathe in, breathe out. You open the door, welcomed by the soft music of the bells. Quick, you check the entrances of the ground-floor apartments. Still barricaded, nothing has changed. Breathe in, breathe out. You climb up the stairs, as fast and as silent as you can, only to find the doors of your floor as closed as you left them. Breathe in, breathe out. You enter your flat. No harm done. Just as quiet as ever. Still, you don’t light up the room for a few days, except for the fireplace. Your shoulder hurts a bit, so you try to massage it absentmindedly. It’s winter, you assume, and you cannot afford to sleep without the warmth provided by the fire.

Summer is over, you realize, looking at the window, wondering how long you have left before all the leaves have fallen again. It’s the second time you’ll be watching them do so here. What’s exhausting, you think, is that you have no purpose whatsoever. You never left from your shelter. If you’re being honest, you haven’t even taken the time to consider it. You know you don’t want to leave. Leaving would be dangerous. You feel weak now. Your reflexes have dulled. What’s more, there is nowhere you’d rather be. And – this one, you can’t word, even in the heart of the night, even when you know no one has heard your voice for actual years now – you don’t want to see people. Either dead or alive. Enough losses, countless deaths. You don’t remember the last friendly face now, everyone has faded. Voices you remember, though. Heartless words, the various announcements of various Disasters. Now it feels as if all of it happened at once, but there is, buried in your brain, the memory of days longer than weeks when all people were doing was waiting, waiting for the news, waiting for an explanation, waiting for the way to defeat whatever force was at work against them. And then there were none.

Jihoon breathes. In, out. Finds a fix spot, focuses on it. There are blue flowers at the bottom of that small building. Keeps on breathing. Deep blue, five thin petals. Breathe in, breathe out. It’s borages, he thinks. They’re edible. Who’s eating them ? Panic begins to creep in again. Breathe in, breathe out. They’re in bloom, so it must be spring, right ? Deep breathe. He’s quite sure there is a way to make herbal tea of some sort with borages. He backs away into the woods. He’s not ready yet. He needs time to process the news. He walks deeper in the forest than ever before, tries not to overthink it, not yet, not while he’s moving, and exposed.

Later on, when he’s hidden behind branches and leaves, laying on the ground, he needs to breathe again. He feels his heart pounding in his chest, out of terror, out of anger, out of curiosity, also. Has he been seen ? And if so, who saw him ? Is he going to see the sun rise again ? And who is leaving here ? He assumes it’s a loner, for keeping a company is putting one’s self more at risk. He hasn’t. Breathe in, breathe out. Are they armed ? He barely sleeps that night. He does not lie to himself, knows he has to meet them. He simply wonders which approach will be best. Of course, he can’t just present himself, hands in his pocket. What would be the right way to make sure they’d see him as a peace-seaking stranger but intimidating enough that they wouldn’t try to murder him ? Jihoon feels a bit sick, that he has to think about it this way. It is sick. All of it is fucking sick. He doesn’t try to picture the stranger, for he knows his imagination would create a macabre mix of people he’s known and people’s he’s seen dead. He breathes. Tomorrow. Tomorrow he’ll go, and knock at the door. On his guard, but decent. Tomorrow, he’ll be brave, and go to the two-story building.

Tomorrow lasts for days, he finds out, as he keeps weighing the pros and cons of knocking on that copper-colored door. Every day, he walks for a bit through the woods, close enough so that he can see the small building, and stay there. It’s a nice door. He likes the color. Once again, he lingers. And then, he remembers that it doesn’t matter what the outcome might be. He has nowhere to be, no one to see. There is no purpose left for him in this existence. He has no plan. Shit, he’s been sleeping in the woods for months now – he cannot admit to himself there is a high chance he has been doing so for years. It is for this exact situation that the saying « nothing to loose » has been made up – of course people back then had no idea of what it actually meant. Breathe in. It’s a friendly door, he decides. Breathe out. He stands up, and begins to walk what’s left of the way to the building. 

And then he hears a crack and feels a piercing pain through his right hand. Before he can shout he’s punched in the face as he tries to turn around to see his assailant. He’s wrestled to the ground, all he can see is a messy mass of hair as they bring a hand – cold, small – to his neck. He screws his eyes shut. And nothing. Nothing happens, only heavy breathes. His, uneven because of the atrocious pain in his right hand. And the ones of the stranger who attacked him. Breathe in. He opens his eyes. They meet a furious gaze and overly frowned eyebrows. He doesn’t read anything out of it, and, as he tries to take a better look at the angry face, he realizes he’s almost surprised to see a human. He knew it, of course. Only humans use ceiling lights, as far as he knows. Still, he’s surprised to see a human face. Silence lingers.

« What were you doing ? » Your voice is croaky. He’s surprised once more. Curiosity oversteps and he wonders – when were your last words ? Clearly, he takes too long to answer, for you press over his wounded hand and he screams in both pain and surprised.

« I-i-i was going over to tha-aah-t building. To meet… who-whoever is living there. »

« Why »

Jihoon thinks, quick, quick. Breathe in.

« I figured – ahh – why not ? » Breathe out.

You remain silent.

You tell yourself you don’t feel bad, not a bit. Still, his hand looks ugly. Overall, he’s looking pretty bad. He smells of dirt, of mud. He hasn’t showered for a very long time, you guess. The air smells bad too. You look up at the sky, keeping your hand on his jaw, without pressure – you don’t want him dead, and his good hand is out of use. It takes you a bit of time but sure enough, you find the clouds. Far, but visible. You look back at the guy you knocked out. He knows. He’s been looking in the same direction as you have. You assume he can smell the air, too. Breathe in. You pity him. You sigh. You can fix this.

« Do you have anything of value nearby ? »

Jihoon screws his eyes shut, like you just slapped him. Shit. You take it as no. Take it as a they-re-way-too-far kind of no. You lift your hand off his jaw, stand up, and give it to him instead.

« Let’s go inside then. »

You’ve lit up a fire. You figured he deserved it. Hadn’t he just lost all his possessions, however meager they might be ? You try not to look at his face too bluntly, and you wonder if he’s holding up his tears. Instead, you let him walk, slow, oh so slow, around the room while you rummage among the branches of dry wood. Surely, you can find enough of them to make him a splint of sort. You’ve done it for yourself before – it did not heal as well as it should have, but it healed anyway. Without looking at him, you realize you know exactly where he is in the room. It’s been so quiet for so long, that even his soft steps are like thunder to your ears. You vaguely notice that he doesn’t go near the windows. Good, you think. Lesser chances of being seen – and you try hard not to wonder for how long he’s known about you being here.

Jihoon thinks he has rarely been this stupid, and he hates it. Turns out, he actually had things to loose : food, his clothes. At least he’s alive – but what for ? He looks at your back, annoyed, curious, still scared. You broke his hand, took him to your place and now you want to... fix... said hand - he tries not to think about the fact that taking him inside means saving him from a terrible pain - possibly lethal. He watches over the room, looking for any clue about the resident. He knows, of course, he won’t find any personal item – who has managed to keep one ? But, maybe, from the way you’ve organize the furniture – he notices the small heaps of stones under the windows. One of the walls is yellow, a bright yellow. All the others have this dull, white color to them but on this one, he sees traces of hands on the paint – the stores had been closed for a long time when you painted it, he guesses. Is it even paint that you used ? Breathe in. He remembers the bells that gently knocked over his head on your way up the stairs. Breathe out. Surely, it’s a friendly wall.

« Sit down on the chair. »

Again, it comes off wrong. A weak, faint, trail of voice. Jihoon wonders, had the situation been reversed, would you have been able to scream or shout ? He quickly decides you wouldn’t, and feels a bit sick when he puts it in the « good news » part of his brain. He does as said, sits quietly, showing his left side to the fire, while you sit down on the brown fabric sofa before him. It is massive, very long, and looks quite off. Who needs such a big couch? He gives you his hand. You take his wrist with caution – he tries not to remember when was the last non-aggressive touch he’s been given – look at his hand from every possible angle, change it when you notice him wincing. You remain silent for a little while, and organize the cheap, self-made sort of first-aid kit you’ve managed to assemble over time.

« Let me take care of that. »

You notice the brief look of surprise on his face. Of course, of course. He remains silent, however, and you start to fix up the mess you’ve made with your stone. As long as it takes, the two of you keep your words for yourselves. You don’t tell him you don’t really know what you’re doing. None of you mention the loud pounding of the toxic rain outside. You thank the men of old for inventing the concrete. Jihoon tries not to think of his stuff, doomed to rot. Fire warms up both of your faces as you work.

It’s very early – you know it, because the birds have just started to sing. You’ve put a new log moments ago. The intruder is dozing on the couch. You assume he’s had a long day, between your encounter, the broken hand – you didn’t tell him how bad it was, if he’s made it so far, he already understood. But you can’t fall asleep. You can’t think about falling asleep. You’re frightened. Of course, he can’t do you any harm. Still, it’s so sudden. When did you turn into this human-shaped scaredy cat ? You shut your eyes, open them up. Look away from the fire, to the sleeping form. Now you can take a good look at him.

A bit shorter than you are, around your age – maybe older, maybe younger? Hunger has a terrible way of making people look younger, you’ve found out. Yet despair makes them look older, so who knows. His hair looks as wrong as the rest. Dark, messy. You assume he’s tried to keep them on the short side by his own means. He’s underfed – but so are you. He looks fiery – dangerous, you think, if he’s survived so long, and come so far. Then it hits you. You’ve made it so far. You’re the one who found this removed place, barricaded it, you’re the one with a stock of heavy stones near all of you windows. You’re to be feared as much as he is. All of this has turned you into a cold-blooded huntress – or are you still a prey on the lookout ? Who will tell the difference now. Everyone who had once known the vulnerable you has disappeared. You feel the nausea creeping in. Breathe in. Tomorrow you will offer him to take a shower

None of you talk much. Jihoon notices how you keep avoiding to look at him straight in the eyes. He’s not much help, so he lights up the fire, cleans up a bit. Days are shorter now. If he comes near the windows he can feel the poor isolation. Still, he hates to do nothing, tries to keep himself busy. With the bunch of pens you’ve gathered as a reflex more than anything, he learns to write with his left hand. It is hard, and messy, and he’s glad no one will see it. The first conversations you have are about plants. It’s a safe topic, harmless, useful, and it appears you know as much as he does. Although, you can name them, whereas he had to learn to recognize them the hard way. You both list what’s growing around, exchange a few cooking ideas. You say nothing about his diet, but the first time you cooked meat in front of him you let him have it all. And the second time. The third time he asks you to stop, you retort he needs it. Jihoon really can’t do anything about it, but the first time you cut it in half, he smiles.

One night, as you’re both sitting in front of the fire, it escapes from your lips, like a confession held up for too long, you turn your head to your left to face him.

« I grew up on the coast, too. » He’s surprised, as usual, tries to look at your face from the side, and you see the outline of a smile, the light squinting of his eyes. « Is that so ? » You hum in confirmation, turning away to face the fireplace again. Jihoon takes his time, tries to list all the things he knows about you. From your accent – thick, slow-paced – he gets you’re from a different district than him. Obviously though, you’ve met people from his. How else would you know what he hasn’t told you? You’re good at hunting, at least good enough that twice a week you catch something for the both of you to feed upon it – mostly birds or rabbits. You’re generous, he knows that. His mere presence here proves it. You like the color yellow and don’t know the very basics of medicine. You’re taciturn – or cautious? There is no way of telling which was there from the beginning and which has come from a traumatic series of disasters. Not a fast runner. You understand his need for space – you never say anything when he closes the dark, old, heavy curtains during rainfalls. You still haven’t asked anything about him before. And this, as much as he’s thankful for it, makes him uncomfortable. Do you not ask because you don’t want him to ask you back? Obviously you have things to hide. You’re so well off here. No one can reach this level of comfort – isolation, warmth, food, even the amount of bells you’ve gathered is suspicious – without having some ugly deeds on their hands. He has too. Or maybe – he shivers – you don’t ask him because you suspect where he’s coming from? Or worse, maybe you just plain know it, and don’t wish to address it. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Maybe you were just craving companionship as much as he was, maybe you don’t care, maybe you don’t want to care, and maybe he shouldn’t.

He must take it slow, not overwhelm you. He’s still worried you might send him off once his hands is all good – although he knows it will never be the same. Good at fighting, he adds to his list – or are you just good at ambush ? He finally settles for the next thing he wants to know.

« Have you read any of the books in here ? »

Safe, keep it safe. Be normal.

« Some, not many. Also, they don’t teach you that in school, where I come from. » Jihoon wants to slap himself. He knows that. Of course he does. The illiterate districts, how did he forget? Even after it’s all gone, inequalities remain. However alien it might look now, you are still walking on the ashes of the same damn country. He tries to contain his discomfort and remain casual. What will you do, when you find out – it’s not an if, he knows you will, he has no desire of leaving you now. Is he doomed?  

« Anything good ? »

« The dictionary sure is handy. »

That’s the first time you hear him laugh. It’s light and bright, as he shakes his head a bit, and it makes you smile as well.

That’s the first time he sees you smile. It’s genuine and hidden, and he might have missed it if he had closed his eyes a bit longer. It’s a friendly smile, he decides.

He asks about the geography, and, as expected, he knows more than you do about this district. He tries not to feel the pain in his chest when he understands you’ve just walked blindly until you couldn’t anymore, as far as you could from the terrifying remnants of civilization, that you didn’t have a plan. He tries really hard, but still pats your head kindly, throat tight. All you’re really sure about is that you had never been this far north before, and that you didn’t know what true winter was. He should be used to it, by now. No one was prepared and yet every time it is a slap in his face to find out others have been through hell as much as he has. Jihoon is simple. He wishes no harm to anyone. He doesn’t ask  for the specifics – not yet. He does not need to know much you’ve been screwed up – he doesn’t want to admit how mad it will make him. But he starts to teach you. He draws map on the floor, using dry leaves as borders. He rummages through the books, finds some he likes. He even asks you if he can go into the other flats, you know, in case there might be something he’d like. You say yes to everything, he finds out. You cut him out every time he tries to justify himself. The first time you tell him he lives here as much as you do is the first time he wants to smooch you.

It’s the middle of the night, and you’re trying to wake him up, hand on his mouth, tugging at his sleeve, when you realize you don’t know his name. He’s been there for weeks – the slow healing of his hands tells you that much – and not once have you asked for his name – you feel too guilty to realize he hasn’t, either. You’re already too scared to worry about it, and you shake his arm vigorously as your ushered whining intensifies.

« Wake up, wake up, wake up, oh please wake up, someone is near, someone is there I’m begging you please just wake up already. » Jihoon opens up his eyes in panic at the sound of your supplication. He whispers hurriedly to you, and it hits you once again that he is survivor too. At that moment, you see he’s ready for anything, he’s always ready for anything.

« Who ? Where ? How many ? »

« Just outside, I saw moving shadows at the edge of the forest. I think two, maybe three. » You’re a good huntress, he trusts your sight. But before your eyes you see the quick change in his attitude. From the serene companion to a determined fighter. He looks at you straight in the eyes, all sleep forgotten. « Do you think they’ve noticed us ? »

« I think the curtains do a great job at hiding us, we don’t have any light on... »

You both end up hiding in your bedroom, barricaded, doing nothing. What could you do anyway ? You’re no murderer – apparently  he isn’t either. No bell’s melody is heard. The shadows don’t come in, you don’t come out. It’s the first time Jihoon actually comes inside your room. Sat on the floor, he says nothing about the bed, that clearly hasn’t been touched for a long time, judging by the layer of dust. He says nothing about his hand you’re holding. He notices your bag, the few clothes you’ve hanged. He’s grateful they also fit him, even if it’s probably unflattering. Otherwise he would have been stuck with what he had on his back when he met you – not much, almost torn to pieces. There are small lines drawn on the wall near the headboard, he wonders what you were trying to count, and how long you’ve done it before giving up. He jumps a bit when you tell him it’s birds – forgot you were watching him.

« They’re… Well. It’s uncanny. » You don’t look at him, you’re staring at the ceiling. He watches all of the signs on your face that tell him your fear, trying to learn your language, so that the slightest thrill won’t go unnoticed. You deserve it, don’t you? To be acknowledged. His hand tightens a bit around yours.

« Uncanny... ? »

« You know. What do they do when it rains ? » Jihoon misses a breathe. Oh my god. How, after all this time, can there be a new terrifying side to the Horrors ? He’s lived in the woods for so long, and not once has he though about it. He’s been worried for himself, of course. He stopped counting the sleepless nights he has spent anxiously hoping his little shelters, made of whatever he was able to find at the moment, would hold on. He’s been careful not to eat carcasses, out of fear they might be poisoned but this, this is new. This is a precise, specific aspect of terror. He feels dizzy and his train of thought is out of reach when you move to face him, close, hand on his face. Soft, gentle, even if he winces a bit.

« Hey, hey, don’t fret, you whisper. Corvids are super smart, and they’re the only ones I see here. Don’t overthink it. I stopped. »

He slowly catches his breathe, and says nothing as you keep holding his wrist in your hand.

You barely sleep for days after that, and Jihoon wonders if you’ve felt that way with him first. You ask him to keep you up and for the first time since the day he lost all of his remaining clothes and food – the very day he met you – he wants to cry. But he stays with you. You barely go to your room anymore, therefore when you pass out on the couch, exhausted, he stays with you, makes sure he doesn’t fall asleep, for he doesn’t want to loose your trust. He sees it now. You’re no danger. You’re terrified, and you’ve been alone for a long, long time. So he complies

« Can we build a greenhouse ? Or, at least, organize a garden? »

« I guess we could… But it’d be very obvious there’s people in the house. »

Jihoon shrugs. « Whatever. »

You look at him, startled. « Are you not worried ? »

« What else is there to do anyway ? I think it would be nice to have a project. And to achieve it. » You don’t tell him you need seeds for a greenhouse to be useful. You don’t want to argue, you want to trust him. If you’re being honest, you’ve been observing him since he first arrived. For a long time, it was anxious surveillance and side-eyeing. Like animals meeting at sunset, wondering how lethal the other may be. Now… Now, you wonder how bad it has been for him, so bad that he never brings it up. You assume he’s killed people, you fear he was among those who worked for a faster destruction of humanity’s ruins. Did he take part in raids over these little communities? Burn them to the ground, for the mere reason they were trying to keep a kind of society going? Was he – it’s hard to admit it’s a possibility – working for the government? You shake it off. You want purpose, and safety, and kindness, and Jihoon has been all of it and more – you cannot tell him yet how much you enjoy when he caresses your hand, you’re pretty sure he only does it when he thinks you’re asleep.

« Alright then. » You never tell him you’re not even sure there were trespassers that night.

Time passes, and he forgets there is a world outside of the one you both share. He forgets his life before you as he learns more about yours before him. Slowly, carefully, you tell him where you were, and what you were doing every time you heard the news of a Disaster. He holds you tight when you remember the nuclear one, more vividly than any other, for one of the bombings happened in your are. You heard it with your own hears, saw it with your own eyes, smelled it with your own nose. He apologizes and promises never to ask again. You brush it off, telling him he’s not the one who blew it up. You keep for yourself the nausea you never quite got rid off, the loss of balance when you run, the broken ankle you had to fix yourself. How sometimes you have to sit down under the shower, and bite your fist because your brain is confused between the toxic rain and the hot running water.

You contemplate the large pot of cooling water. It is routine now. Filling it up in the shower, boiling it, waiting. You don’t know if the running water’s infected, but what are the odds? It is already a miracle it’s still running, and quite clear at that. You remember the last time you saw a river after a downpour. Red from the blood of melting fishes. Sickening scent. Maybe that’s the reason why you’ve waited for so long to settle down – you’ve let your guard down, you don’t even realize it’s a home now, it’s good, you don’t know it yet, but it is good. It was the last sight of your agonizing town, when you ran, still in your work uniform, without a goal, without a plan. Away.

« How did you paint the wall yellow ? » He asks, as he plucks the petals of a heather sprig, a very satisfied smile on his lips.

It catches you off guard, as always. The first change you notice is his voice. It’s dulcet now – you remember the word, because it is in one of the few books you’ve read here. You like it. It is small and soft, and has a pleasing meaning. You look at your companion. It fits him well – you forget you first meant his voice.

« With great difficulties. Once I was done I realized I had no turmeric left, and I felt like an idiot. »

« It’s nice. I like yellow. »

You hum. « With a lot of madder we could probably get enough orange for another one. I’ll show you. »

It’s summer now. Days never get any warmer, and you both agreed to spend some time outside, enjoying the sun on your skin. You’re walking in the woods, Jihoon following you, as you’re both looking for dyer’s madder. Every few minutes he points out some plants he’s recognized, waits for you to tell him its name, and gives his verdict.

« Here. »

« Bear leek. »

« Grandiose. I respect them. These ones, on the other hand... »

« Fool’s… par… sley… ? » You, muse, unsure.

« Never. Eat. That. »

You raise a hand to catch a pear – pears are safe, pears are delicious – and Jihoon tries not to stare at your arm’s skin, bruised, torn by the fog – how long as it been ? Will it heal someday ? You know there are plants good for healing skin, but none of you knows which ones, and you’re both too afraid of making a severe mistake. Anyway, Jihoon has seen your body, as much as you’ve seen his, knows there are more like these, ancient. You’ve been caught under the rain more than once, and you’ve been hurt. Hurt by human hands. That he knows as well, you’ve been among those poor bastards used for testing, when the rain began to fall. He’s seen the little scars inside your arms, from the shots of whatever they put into your veins. It’s fucking disgusting. Jihoon wants to set someone on fire – he remembers, of course, there’s only you with him.

You watch as Jihoon opens and closes his hand absentmindedly.

« You know it will never heal properly, right ? » You ask, mouth full of big chunks of pear.

« I do, thank you. » You shut your eyes, and Jihoon feels guilty about the venom in his voice. Of course, he’s resentful, and, well you’re the one who smashed his fingers, but still, he hates the miserable look on your face. He watches as you breathe in. The pear juice drips down your chin. You swallow the last chunk.

« There’s nothing more I can do to fix it. But I-I can make up for your loss, you know, you breathe out. I can keep hunting, I can cook... » He softens, as you can’t finish your sentence. He let frustration take the best of him. He knows, he’s been replaying the scene over and over at night. He would have done the same, and it is worth it. Companionship. Having someone else around. It is so much worth it. His voice is but a whisper when he tells you « Okay, it’s okay, it’s neat, I understand, I’ll stay. » and he means it.

This is your first quarrel, but it is nothing, nothing compared to the next one, Jihoon ruminates. The second one is big, full of shame, of disgust, of anger and torment. It’s a hurricane of every frustration you’ve ever had in your life, hurled to his face. It was too good to last, he tells himself, but when you spit at his feet it still feels like a slap. He’d rather have you shouting at him. You’re just disgusted. He gets it, anyway, how unfair it must be for you. How iniquitous it is for you.

You come from a poor district, that much you knew. What you don’t know, and what he does, is that it was not only one of the poorest, but it was supposed to remain this way. Nothing was ever done to improve people’s life down there because the elites never wanted the scum to rise above their condition. Of course, he doesn’t say it like that, but when the « illiterate states » expression escapes him, he knows you won’t let it fly. So he tells you everything, and how things actually happened during the Fall. How it was no accident that the first bomb was dropped on the cities with the most workers. How they knew, up there, that no one will complain. How he heard, half-whispers in the streets, about the tests done far over there. Hopes of creating a vaccine against radioactivity – but were they, really? So little was heard, it was like a urban legend. That was when you spit at him. Of course there were testing. They had gone door-to-door, the doctors in their white coats, going through each household, claiming to offer a cure, without ever saying who were the actual guinea pigs. And anyway, they certainly weren't going to be able to work any more, so why not, what's the point of being skeptical now? You only stop when you realize it is over anyway. You cannot seek revenge nor destroy the government – it’s already a thing of the past. When tears run down your cheek in rage, he takes your hand and apologizes. Even though he wasn’t there, even though it wasn’t him. Jihoon feels someone has to make amends for you. So he does.

You say nothing of it after. What could he do about it. Jihoon is kind. Jihoon never hurt you. You let it go, like all the rest.

It is very early again, when you come back from your hunt, distraught, and hurt. It is the bells Jihoon hears first, immediately sitting straight, shaking the sleep off, adrenaline rushing. He runs to the door, checking it’s well locked, expecting the worse, a heavy stone in his left hand. It’s only when you try to open it, and pathetically whimpers it’s you that he opens, closing right after you rush in. You shakily make your way to the water, splashing it on your face as fast as you can.

Bad doesn’t even begin to describe how bad you look, holes in your clothes, shaking, is that blood on your shirt ? Nothing else looks like blood, Jihoon has learn, it is unmistakable. When he comes closer to you, you���re already trying to get a hold of yourself. He notices your fists moving slowly in the air, as you try to recover an even breathe.

« What… ? »

You face him and the end of his question is useless. It’s not that bad, but your face is marked, tiny bits of skin are missing, leaving your skin red and sticky. You reek of disease.

« Did it rain ? I didn’t hea... »

« The fog. » Your voice is breaking. « It’s e-even in the f-fog now. » You curl up on yourself, and Jihoon takes matters into his own hands. Puts them on your shoulders, guides you to the small bathroom in the corner of the bedroom. Helps you out of your clothes. He doesn’t want to invade your personal space, so he focuses on the sounds of water running. Gently pushes you inside, as your whimpering turns to wailing that you try hard, very hard, to silence. It’s crushing, really, that after all this time you still feel the need to hide your vulnerability from him. He takes your hand, comes closer to you, lets the shower soak him, and whispers to you it’s okay, really, you can let it go, it must be so painful, don’t worry and I’m here and don’t, oh please don’t worry. You hold him strong as you cry out loud for the pain, curling up again. It will never end. You’ve acted without caution and you’re a fool. As he washes you up you promise to yourself never to be this dumb again – you cannot let him down.

That night you sleep on the bed, and Jihoon realizes you’ve almost never done so since he’s here. He crawls in after you, laying close but careful not to touch you. He knows your skin will be sensitive for days. You fall asleep right away, exhausted, empty of all tears, without a word, and he tries to remember how it feels to be under the rain – it’s been a long time. He’s been relying on you for too long, it is about time he returns the favor. Tomorrow, he’ll be better.

He doesn’t let you leave the bed for days, doesn’t let you alone for more than a few minutes, he moves the sofa and the table to the bedroom. The only thing he cannot carry with him is the fireplace. So he wakes up, lights a fire, assembles a breakfast for both you to eat together, spends his day reading, talking with you when you can, whispering to you when you’re too tired to answer, napping, washing up, putting logs into the fire. The memory of a past convalescence floats between the sheets, a fossil from another world. How can you even remember it? It is there, though. The first one. You had just left the hangar for a few minute, to enjoy some fresh air after inhaling sawdust for hours. It was not a bad job, you’d tell yourself. Useful, crafty. The incessant creaking of electric sanders made it possible to have private discussions, which was already a luxury when you had started to work. When it rained for the first time on your small port town, a summer shower – you come from the sunniest of the districts, after all.

You’re chewing on leaves of mint, as you watch Jihoon tidying the room. You let your mind wander as he hangs your shared clothes in front of the fire to dry. Jihoon can stay still, you tell yourself. He can be quiet, and collected, but he needs something to do, something to think about, and unless he finds it he get antsy. You cut him some slack, remembering you’re quite similar in this aspect. That you were once calm and level-headed, until it was no longer manageable. However, there is a chance he has always been restless – maybe that’s why he endured better than you did before you met. Jihoon has the heart of a lion, and surely anything he’s done was for his survival or others’. You don’t doubt him. He nice, he is caring. He has this boyish, grumpy face, and he’s both knowledgeable and...

« What are you thinking about ? »

You jump, eyes wide.

« What ? What is ? »

« No-nothing ! You’re very reliable, that’s all. » He chuckles at that.

« Well, it’s nice to be acknowledged. »

You don’t answer, face burning hot. You miss Jihoon’s fond smile and the red on his own cheeks.

When you finally go outside again, buds herald the return of spring. You keep sleeping side by side, like it was never a question. It takes even longer for you to go out again, yet you’re terrified of Jihoon getting hurt alone outside. But he is careful, quick. When he comes backs, he seems even more worried about you than you are about him. Slowly, you sleep closer and closer in bed, like it would change something to your fate. Like it might make things right, after all. If you keep close enough, who knows, maybe you’ll be protected. Maybe no one will ever notice any of you. You never let go of Jihoon’s hand. And you say nothing when he starts to put his hand on you side to sleep, his breathe not far from your neck. It comes slow, and gentle, and tender. He is patient, and impatient, and what you don’t know is that it is as impressive, as intimidating for him as it is for you. What is he supposed to do when he’s holding you in his arms, when every time he’s been this close to someone was during fights – including with you?

So when you tell him you’re scared, but not of him, he understands. And so do you when he tells you sometimes when he wakes up he forgets you’re the one on his side. But surely it is okay there are burning butterflies in your belly when you feel his breathe on your ear when he tells you this and that. This time you notice the pink flush on his cheeks – he does not answer.

« You were right, it is very nice. »

« Told you. » He doesn’t even look at you and keeps drawing. He’s gotten a lot better, you’ll admit. Now, his handwriting is even better than yours – which probably has gotten worse, since you never write anything. You contemplate the small plant you managed to put in a pot, amazed that such a simple, delicate setting makes you feel so good. All you had to do was to pick a bit of fern and put it in a useless pot full of earth. With Jihoon’s drawings hanging on the walls – some of them drawn on the walls – you are now at home. You sigh in contentment, sinking deeper into the couch. This spring is cloudy, but the fire burning in this house is infinite.

«I feel blessed you’re here.»

Jihoon looks up, sees you spread out over the sofa. He already feels the blush on his face, but he is tired. He stands up, walks up to you. He kneels down by your side and takes your hand. He swallows his saliva as you sit up, looking worried. He pulls a little on your arm, so you’re face to face, and gentle, brave, insane, he kisses you.

Eyes closed, you reach for his hand.

Tomorrow means nothing now. There is no hope of anything getting better at this point, yet here you are, holding hands with him, waking up with him, making plans with him. Why not?

[baekhyuq]

“Four Stars Out Of Five.” Baekhyun(m)

Genre: Smut, Bellhop!BBH, Phantom!bbh

Warnings: Smut

Word count: 4.7k

Mini Playlist: Four Out Of Five-Arctic Monkeys

Summary: You have to stay at a hotel because you ran out of gas.

Next>>

The fuel light popped on and you immediately pulled over to the nearest building. Which happened to be a hotel called “City Lights Inn.”

You banged your head on the steering wheel. You should’ve stopped for gas sooner, but your body felt tired. And it was dark. About 10 pm to be exact. You had no idea where the next gas station would be.

Letting out a frustrated yell before exiting the car, you looked up at the Hotel. The exterior was very nice but something was off. It looked a little too nice to be out in the middle of nowhere.

I'm Mr. Bridge and Tunnel on the Starlight Express

You pushed your way through the front door, being welcomed by the faint scent of a fall candle. You grinned, someone must be in a good mood.

“Hello, miss. Welcome to the City Lights Inn.” A smooth voice sounded. Your eyes scanned the room and you were met with a tall man. His shoulders were back and he had a small smile on his face. His eyes were kind and he lured you in with just a sentence.

[[MORE]]

“Hi how are you, I need a room for one night.” You smiled back. He was too handsome for this hotel. This hotel that was in the middle of nowhere.

“Any preferences in the room? Some customers like to be on the lower floor levels because the higher ones...” His voice trailed off and he ended the sentence with silence.

The head of special effects in my mind's eye

“Uh, I guess i’ll take a lower level room.” You said unsure, what’s wrong with the higher level? Must be some rude janitor or something.

“Yes ma’am, your room number is 03 and here is your key.” The handsome man gives you a key, his fingers brushing yours.

“Don’t I need to pay first?” You question.

“Oh, no need. Let this be on the house.” He grins at you and your brows furrow.

“Are you sure? There’s no problem with me paying sir, it’s fine.” You offer again.

The man leans on the counter closer to you until you feel his breath on your ear.

“I said don’t worry about it.”

Your arms become littered in goosebumps and you feel like melting into a puddle.

He grins, “My name is Baekhyun. If you would follow me this way to your room.” He begins to walk and you note his graceful stride. The long steps he takes compared to your short ones.

Baekhyun walks you down a well lit hallway and stops at a door. “Your room is this door here. If you have any questions or simply need anything i’m just a call away. My number is on the telephone book.” He says in one breath and you feel out of breath by just listening. His whole presence is suffocating you.

You nod and thank him before reaching for the doorknob to unlock it.

“And another thing.”

You turn to face Baekhyun and he’s leaned down to your level. Invading your personal space. Your cheeks turn red instantly.

Okey cokey with the opposite sex

“Y-yes?” You stutter, sounding dumb.

“Breakfast is served at 9 am.” He smiles sweetly before turning on his heel.

You gawk at his backside, his shoulders broad and the expanse of his back is just so attractive.

What’s wrong with you? It’s only been 15 minutes since you’ve met this man, and you’re fantasizing about him!

He’s just so handsome.

***

You’re reading a book on your phone when the electricity goes out. Your eyes widen and you turn on your flashlight on your phone.

“Oh my god.” You whisper, quietly panicking.

You hear a knock at your door. You jump slightly.

“Yes?” You pry open the door to see Baekhyun with a flashlight and a worried face.

“Are you alright miss?”

You nod, “Just a little frightened.”

“It seems that the power has gone out on this side of the building. And I-This may seem very unprofessional but you’re going to have to sleep in my room for tonight.” Baekhyun says, watching your facial expression.

“I-You-What?”

“I know, I am sorry but all of the rooms are booked.” He says in a way you don’t dare to question.

The hotel was pretty quiet, it’s late so everyone must be asleep and not have noticed the power go out.

This just sucks. But at least you get to see a handsome man?

***

The things you try to forget

You couldn’t sleep the entire night, the thought of being in such an attractive man’s room made you anxious. You wanted to leave all together, the morning couldn’t have came any slower.

You were heading out the hotel with your suitcase and phone in hand. You stop at your car and you almost scream. All four tires are flat, someone slashed your tires.

You want to cry.

“Miss!” You year the familiar bellhops voice and you turn to see him running to catch up with you.

“Are you alright-“ He begins before you cut him off with a heated shout.

“Somebody slashed my fucking tires!” You want to throw yourself in front of a train. You can’t stay here again, not with Baekhyun anyway. You feel uncomfortable.

“Oh dear, it appears so. I will call somebody for you. Though it may take sometime for them to get here. You should come back inside.” Baekhyun places a hand on your shoulder and you sigh.

Doesn’t time fly?

“What are you doing with a pair of shears anyway?” You ask curiously.

He looks down at you. “I was tending to the bushes in the front, they needed a trim.” He chuckles. “I am very sorry about your tires. I will call the mechanic immediately.” He says before rushing off somewhere.

You go back to into the hotel as well. Not being able to do much. You were hungry and you hadn’t eaten since yesterday morning. Your stomach growls quietly.

I'm in no position to give advice

“Here.” Baekhyun appears next to you with a tray of sweets. What the-?

“I realized you didn’t eat yesterday. I figured you must be hungry. I don’t know what you like so I sorta gave you options..” Baekhyun scratches his neck laughing.

“T-thank you.” You take whatever your hand grazes over and eat it.

“I also bring some bad news.” He laughs nervously this time, dodging your eyes.

“Well?”

“The mechanic is actually out of town...”

“Well that’s okay I suppose, for a day or two?”

“Aha..try a month.” Baekhyun anticipates your reaction.

I don’t want to be nice

“What?!” You stand from the chair yelling. There’s no one around to see the scene you’re causing. “A fucking month? I cant stay here that long! I don’t have the money to afford this place for a month. I have to leave by the end of this week! I-I-I have to leave I-“

“Hey!” Baekhyun takes you by the shoulders and keeps you still. “Get a hold of yourself. You’re going to be okay. I’ll let you stay here u till your car is fixed. It’s on me.. I promise.”

And you know that

Your eyes are wide and you take a deep breath. “You would do that for me?”

Baekhyun nods, a small smile on his face. “You have my word.”

“Okay...but I would like my own room if that’s okay. I cant sleep beside someone so handsome every night-“

“You think i’m handsome?” The ego boost he definitely needed.

Your cheeks redden at what the realization of what you blurted out. You nodded nevertheless.

Take it easy for a little while

“I’m sad to inform you that the rooms are filled, and half of the hotel still has no power. The electrician should be here tomorrow to fix the problem.” Baekhyun sighs. “If its not one thing it’s another.”

“That really sucks.. It just went out on a clear night too.” You pout.

“At least we can be roommates.” Baekhyun nudges your shoulder.

“I guess we can be..” You joke.

“Deal.”

Come and stay with us, It’s such an easy flight

***

It’s dinner time and Baekhyun invites you to burgers at a local burger joint.

The interior was a cozy 1960’s styled restaurant. It smelled of burgers and fries. Your mouth instantly watered at the smell.

“Is this suppose to be really good?” You ask to fill the empty air. There’s music playing in the

place and people are filling some of the seats. But it’s generally quiet.

Cute new places keep on popping up, Around Clavius

Baekhyun smiles at you, “The best in town.” He calls over a waitress and she’s smiling at Baekhyun, and side eyeing you.

Baekhyun asks what you want and you say you’ll have whatever he wants. His eyes darken for a second before he regains his posture and says our orders.

“Alright, i’ll have your meals out in a few sir.” The waitress rests a hand on Baekhyun’s shoulder before leaving.

“How touchy.” You comment, she didn’t have to be a bitch for liking the guy. Baekhyun wasn’t yours.

It's all getting gentrified. The information action ratio

Baekhyun grins, taking a sip of the sprite he ordered. “Jealous?”

“Of what?” You raise an eyebrow crossing your arms on the table. “If she wants your number by all means take it.”

“By the way Y/n...” He starts looking outside then back at you. “Are you single?”

“No, i’ve been single for a while now.” You don’t usually want to talk about it but you feel like talking to Baekhyun was like talking to a friend. “What about you?”

“I have a girlfriend.”

“Oh, that’s nice!”

“I’m joking. I’ve been single for a while as well.” Baekhyun crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back in the booth across from you.

Your eyes flicker from his smirk to his eyes. How playful.

Is the place to go, and you will not recognize, the old headquarters

“So what’s your job really like? It can’t be smiles and sunshine all the time, Mister Baekhyun.” You lean on your hand, waiting for his voice to bless your ears once more.

“Haha, actually no. It isn’t. My day starts at 7 am. And It doesn’t stop till 12. They’re very long, very tiring days. Why do I stay? Because there’s something about it I just can’t leave. I love waking up and tending to the garden in the front. Or asking guests how their experience was.” Baekhyun talks with his hands mostly, his slender fingers waving around.

You nod understandingly. “I see. Do you ever think about...leaving everything behind?”

“No. Never.” He answers quickly, his gaze is hard and it’s directed at you. As if you asked a very offensive question.

You nervously laugh it off, changing the subject. “So is this your home town?”

“Ah no, I was born in South Korea. But I moved when I was very young. Where are you from?” Baekhyun laces his fingers together in his lap.

“Oh i’m from ____.” You sadly smile. Mentioning the town made you emotional.

“Ah, I’ve never been there before. Why are you so far from home?” Baekhyun’s face was neutral. No source of emotion in his face, just blank.

“I...I-“

All the nights that never happened

“Why are you running Y/n?” He interrupts you, leaning forward.

“I cant..”

You’re startled by the waitress coming with your food and placing it on the table. She bends a little further than necessary, trying to impress Baekhyun.

Baekhyun watches you as you reach for your plate. You quietly eat, dodging any eye contact with Baekhyun.

“Y/n.” He calls.

“Yes?” You bring your eyes up to his, too awkward to answer, a fry in your mouth.

“You have something...” He reaches over the table and wipes the side of your mouth.

Your cheeks burn at the gesture. How freaking charming could he get. You chew the rest of your fry. “Thanks..” You mumble awkwardly.

Baekhyun smiles, resting his chin in his hand. “It’s cute.” He says.

“What is?” You question. Taking a sip of your drink.

“You being embarrassed is cute. Your cheeks turn red and you become awkward.” He stares you down, with those brown eyes and that smile. He wins this battle.

And the days that don't exist

“I’m not use to these kind of things.” You admit.

“How’s the food?” He changes the subject for you, knowing you’re uncomfortable.

“Really good actually, the burger taste like heaven.” You take a bite from the burger and you moan at the flavors.

“Well, This is the best burger joint in town.”

***

At the information action ratio

Back at the hotel it’s nighttime and the power is most definitely still out on one side of the hotel. You sigh, nervous to sleep in the same bed at Baekhyun again. He respects your space and privacy. But he makes you very self conscious.

You step out the shower and wrap a towel around you. The weathers getting a little colder nowadays and you’re starting to take hotter showers. The hot water lets off steam and it fogs up the mirror. You wipe the mirror and see your reflection.

You put your hair up before doing your skincare and brushing your teeth. You change into your nightgown and exit the steamy bathroom.

“My god, it’s like a sauna in there.”

Baekhyun’s voice makes you jump back and his the door, you whimper as the door knob hits your side. “Ouch! Baekhyun don’t scare me like that!” You chase him around the room, he runs and laughs at your childishness.

Only time that we stop laughing

“Yah! Come here, I might bruise because of you.” You stop to check your waist, pulling up your nightgown to reveal your side. You run your finger over it and it hurts.

Baekhyun stares shamelessly, checking out your curves under your gown. “Put your dress down, Y/n.”

Your eyes widen, “I’m sorry.” You let your dress fall back down. “I’m not use to living with the other gender.”

Baekhyun quirks his head, sitting on the sofa. “Why’s that?”

“I grew up in a all girls household. The opposite sex is a mystery to me in general.” You snort, taking a seat on the bed, you cover your legs with the blanket and scroll through your phone.

“So you’ve never had a boyfriend?” Baekhyun asks sounding innocent. He plays with the buttons on the end of his shirt.

You shake your head. “Never.” It’s embarrassing saying it out loud. You feel pathetic.

“You’ve never done anything?” He tilts his head, a grin on his face.

Your cheeks are tinted slightly, but the lamp on the bed side table doesn’t show it. “N-no.”

Baekhyun stands and slowly makes his way toward you. “You really are innocent huh?” He takes your chin in his cold hand and tilts your head. You freeze.

“I cant see how nobody have taken you for themselves yet. Should I be the first? Can I be selfish?” Baekhyun’s words shoot to your core and you become aroused.

Is to breathe,

A whimper gets caught at the back of your throat threatening to come out.

Baekhyun smirks, looking down at your redden cheeks. He can see your hands grabbing the blanket nervously. He leans down further and can smell your shower gel. Your breathing slows and your heart breath accelerates. He’s so close he can hear your heart beat.

His body radiates no warmth. It’s strange. His hand travels from your chin to your throat. He stops over your shoulder and takes the thin strap of your dress and lets it slide off. Your core was aching.

“P-please.” You pathetically manage to spit out. The one word sounding like a cry for help.

Baekhyun laughs, “Little lamb, you are such a naughty girl aren’t you?” He pushes you back slightly and you let him. You land on the bed sprawled our for Baekhyun’s eyes to feast.

He crawls over you, his thighs on either side of you. Baekhyun rakes his eyes over your body, the baby pink nightgown you’re wearing blocking his view of what he really wanted to see.

“As much as I want to take this off. I love how cute you look in it, I want to see you cum while looking like a little angel.” Baekhyun confesses into your ear. He leans back to see the surprised look on your face. Your hair is framing your beautiful face perfectly, and Baekhyun can’t look away.

“Tell me how much you want me.” Baekhyun commands. “Tell me how much you need me.”

You choke up on your words and start spitting out anything that comes to your mind. “I-I want you-no I need y-you so badly, Baekhyun. P-please I-“

Or steal a kiss

Baekhyun grins, your adorable stuttering catching him off guard. He cups your cheek and plants a slow kiss on your lips.

He gives you time to catch on and guides your mouth with his. You nervously move your lips with his, wondering if you’re doing this right.

Baekhyun runs his hand down your body, testing how far you’ll let him go. He slides your dress up slightly, feeling your fleshy thighs and playfully pinches them.

He catches your whimper in the kiss. And he can help but to chuckle. “Oh you’re so adorable. I’m going to have a lot of fun with you.”

I can get you on the list for all the clubs

You watch as Baekhyun sits back on his legs and scans over your body. His eyes taking in your dress messily pushed up your body, your messy hair and dilated pupils.

Baekhyun takes a hold of your panties and pulls at them. “May I?”

You nod shyly, closing your legs as you’re brain says the opposite.

Baekhyun chuckles and grabs your knees and spreads your legs for him. He slides off your panties to see a trail of slick attached to them. He licks his lips.

“Ahh, Y/n you’re not so innocent I see.” Baekhyun takes a finger and swipes it through your slit, gathering your slick. He shows you, and you become embarrassed again.

I can lift you up another semitone

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about Y/n, we need lubricant while having sex. Or else it would be rather painful and pretty much impossible. You’re body is responding to me, it’s in a aroused state.” He explains while hovering over you.

“Now look,” He takes your hand and places it over his crotch. You can feel his hardened member through his pajama bottoms. “This is how my body is responding to you. It’s in a aroused state also. You made me like this.” He groans as you squeeze it once.

“Okay.” You say understanding.

Baekhyun takes your hand and places it above your head before doing so with the other hand. He grins in your face as you lock eyes. “Now keep these here, I want to eat you out my little lamb.”

Take it easy for a little while

You close your legs around his torso and he chuckles deeply. “This again Y/n? You must be really horny. I’m really doubting your innocence again.” He teases.

“Let go of me so I can make you feel good.” Baekhyun commands. You slowly let you death grip loosen. “Good girl. Now keep your hands up there and your legs open.”

You whine, but nonetheless don’t move.

Come and stay with us

Baekhyun slides down your body to your core and he positions your thighs over his shoulders and his hand rests under your bum. He starts slowly first, licking a stripe up your slit. Then laying his tongue flat and letting you rock your hips to meet his mouth. Watching your desperate expressions.

Baekhyun holds down your thighs as you try to squeeze them back together from all the pleasure between them. You feel like you’re on cloud nine, being kitten licked by some gorgeous man.

Baekhyun’s tongue is sinfully skillful. He traces patterns and words over your clit, even going at far as to hold you down and tongue fuck you. His mouth was one tool you didn’t know he could work so well.

Such an easy flight

Baekhyun has you a whining mess. He slows back down, settling on a steady tongue flicking pace. Baekhyun watches your face from below, your eyes are closed and your mouth is open, jaw slack. He pinches your thigh, getting your attention. You whine at the sudden pain. You lock eyes and you can’t look away.

Baekhyun’s eyes darken, as he swirls his tongue in circles, pleasing you.

The intimate eye contact makes you want him even more. The more he engages with you like a human the more you fall for him.

“Baekhyun please fuck me.” You say out loud.

Baekhyun stops his kitten licks and gives you one long lick all the way up to your clit.

Cute new places keep on popping up,

“Are you sure little lamb? Once I start I may not be able to hold my composure. You’re really killing me here.”

“Yes please, Baekhyun I-I just want you so bad.” Your voice trails off, the silence of the room deafening.

Baekhyun responds by taking off his bottoms and his boxers. He strokes himself a few times before he positions himself at your heat. He takes his finger and runs it up your slit gathering some of your slick and lubricating himself. He rubs your clit a few times and inserts one of his fingers into you. You feel the uncomfortable digit, and he curls it. Your eyes cross and your toes curl.

“Ahh.” You moan quietly. “That feels weird.”

“I’m sorry, you have to be stretched first, I don’t want to hurt you little lamb.” Baekhyun coos, a understanding frown on his lips.

Around Clavius, It’s all getting gentrified

“I’m going to insert another one,” He continues to insert another finger and the feeling of being stretched feels uncomfortable. He pulls them in and out, to get you use to the feeling of something in you. Your stomach turns at the foreign feeling. Is this what it would feel like when he’s in there?

“Baekhyun...” You mumble.

“I know, I know. You’re doing so good, angel.” He shushes you and kisses your forehead, comforting you with words of endearment.

He fits three fingers in you and you’re almost teary eyed at the sensation. “Okay i’m going to be slow with you.” Baekhyun says as he lines up his member with your heat, he leans down and cups your face before pushing in.

I put a taqueria on the moon

You gasp, the stretch feeling more than three of Baekhyun’s fingers. “Baekhyun I don’t like it, it hurts so much.” You cry, squeezing your eyes shut.

Baekhyun tried to comfort you the best he can and distract you from the pain. “I know baby, It will get better soon. I promise.” He wiped your tear of pain from your cheek.

He begins to slowly move his hips into yours. The stinging continues but worsens, you bite your lip. “Just a little longer.” He reassures you.

The steady rocking of Baekhyun’s hips speed a little and the pain slowly subsides. The pleasure you feel is unlike any pleasure you’ve experienced.

It got rave reviews

“Baekhyun, you feel so..good.” You bring your hand to rest on his lower abdomen as he leans back on his own legs and rocks into you.

“You’re doing so good, angel. I knew you could take all of me. You’re such a talented little lamb.” Baekhyun grins down at you, his eyes hooded and glazed over completely.

You moan at his praises, a new level of you wanting to be adored discovered.

“Ah ah ah, but what did I say?” Baekhyun takes your hand and places it above your head. “Keep your hands above your head.” He whispered seductively.

“But I want to touch you too.” You grab the blanket and twist it in your grasp, desperate for connection. “Please, Baekhyun.”

For stars out of five

“I’ll grant you this one wish.” He rolls his eyes but grins at your child like whining.

You rest your hands on his shoulders as he leans close enough to kiss you, but he doesn’t. Baekhyun hovers over your lips, looking into your eyes.

You boldly reach up and connect your lips, the connection causing you to receive more pleasure. You roll your hips into his and moan into his mouth. Baekhyun pulls your hair slightly, adding onto how much pleasure you could feel. The contrast between pain and pleasure gave you more pleasure in the end. Baekhyun knew that.

Take it easy for a little while

Baekhyun’s hips are snapping into yours, you’re moaning into his neck as he holds you both together, the bed is squeaking slightly and you feel as if you could fall apart in this moment. The pleasure was overwhelming, a warm sensation trickles down your legs and you cry loudly.

Come and stay with us

Baekhyun stills, looking down at your bodies connected. He lifts his head to look at you with a smirk on his lips.

“What?”

“I made you squirt.” He connects his body with yours again, making you whine at the sensitivity.

Four stars out of five.

“Don’t say that, it’s embarrassing.” You cover your eyes, turning away.

“Hey,” Baekhyun takes your arm from your eyes. “It was fucking hot.”

***

Take it easy for a little while

You couldn’t think about Baekhyun the same after last night. The sex you two had had you sore, your hips bruised and your pelvic bone felt sore.

But strangely you didn’t wake up beside him the next morning. His phone was plugged into the wall charging, his clothes weren’t laying on the bed for him to get dressed. None of his belongings were there anymore. It’s as if he left.

Come and stay with us

You put on your nightgown and open the door to your room. You peek your head out and see no one in the hallway. You walk to the reception desk and look around once more. Nobody.

Your bare feet carry you outside to see the sun beaming down on your back. You look in the parking lot and you can’t remember if there was any other car but yours parked there to begin with.

Four stars out of five

To think of it, when did you ever bump into a guest at the hotel? Did this hotel even have service. What’s with the closed sign on the door? And why does it smell so musty inside. Why can you wipe your finger across the door knob and collect dust as if it hasn’t been touched in months.

“Ma’am! What are you doing on this property, the sign says no trespassing at anytime!” A voice calls to you.

Take it easy for a little while

You turn toward the road to find a older man in a beat up pick up truck. You run over to him, he squints as you jog up to his truck.

“I have a room rented out here, is there a problem sir?” You reply, your bare feet burned on the cement.

“Well there’s no way you’re living in there-“

Come and stay with us

“Should I go get the bellhop for you?”

“Ma’am this place has been shut down since 1960.”

You stood still, a chilling sensation creeping up your spine to the back of your neck.

“1960? D-Do you know who owned the place?”

Four stars out of five

“Ah, yes. A young man named Byun Baekhyun. A tragic story really, he committed suicide by jumping off the building. They had to close down the place after that happened...” The man sighed, but continued. “But don’t go inside there. It’s dangerous. Be safe.” And with that he drove off.

Take it easy for a little while

Goosebumps formed on your legs and spread over your thighs. The cold shivering sensation worsening. You turned back to the hotel, looking at the doors. They were left opened.

Four stars out of five

[runaway-train-works]

Quarantine Tag Game 🏡

Thank you @a-brighter-yellow for the tag! 😘

Are you staying home from work/school?

Not to be depressing on main, but I’m the manager of a restaurant, so as you can probably imagine, cover-19 as completely f**ked me and the entire hospitality industry over. I knew the lockdown was coming after seeing what was happening in other countries, but it still hit hard, particularly when my bosses dragged me two and a half hours away for a meeting to tell me they weren’t going to be able to pay any of the staff while were in lockdown without risking closures in the long run (I had hoped they would be able to pay us a portion) so I had to have some serious discussions with my family as to whether I could still stay where I am or just pack up my life and move back to live in Scotland until it all blew over and try and get a job there, which I really didn’t want to do for reasons I won’t bore you with. Fortunately, the UK government is now providing grants to cover a decent chunk of our wages so I can stay put for the time being. As it stands, I have zero work to do except go in once a week and check the restaurant is ok. I’m trying to keep positive but my future is pretty uncertain at the moment.

Who is at home with you? Just me as I live alone.

Are you a homebody? Normally I am, but I think that’s because my job revolves around being around people constantly, so I like to have my own space to unwind. I’m already getting pretty restless and it’s only been about 10 days.

Any event you were looking forward to that got cancelled? Urgh yes. First Louis in London, then Dua Lipa rescheduled, and then Harry announced his UK/European tour was moving for which I was going to six shows, and the order has changed which makes it more difficult for me to get between them and have the time off I need, so I may have to sell my tickets for one or two. So far the end of the year looks fine for my other concerts (Niall, Lewis Capaldi and Genesis), but I also have a ticket for Harryween and I doubt I’ll be able to afford NYC now if the lockdown goes on for a while, so I’ll probably have to sell my ticket for that which I’m pretty gutted about. I know it probably sounds incredibly spoiled to be mad about it all giving what’s going on, but concerts are a huge thing for me, something I really look forward to and what I save up for and spend my money on compared to other luxuries other people might choose, so it’s made a bad situation worse for me that everything I had planned over the coming months has been cancelled.

What movies have you been watching recently? I actually haven’t watched any films which is quite unlike me, I’ve been watching TV instead.

What are you doing for self-care? Sleep as much my body needs to and not set alarms, cook fresh food and try new recipes, keep in touch with family and friends and organise group facetime calls with them. I also bought myself a steam cleaner and I’m going to deep clean my entire flat because that’s how rock n’ roll I am.

What shows are you watching? Tiger King. I’m pleased I watched it before all the memes came out! and it’s really as batshit crazy as they say it is. I just feel bad for the tigers though, I need justice for them. Also started watching The O.C again because I haven’t watched it since I was a teenager and wanted a blast from the past. Honestly, how anyone could pick Seth over Ryan as their favourite I will never know. I’m well into season two and I’ll probably watch One Tree Hill after I’m done.

What music have you been listening to? Pretty much just Heartbreak Weather (which I am LOVING btw) but Due Lipa’s new album came out on Friday so I’ve been dipping into that a bit over the weekend too.

What books are you reading? I’m just reading fics at the moment. Re-read my fav Narry fic and started on the sequel last night and read a couple of short ones from the Pubefest that were good. 

I will tag @dimpled-halo, @missytearex, @louandhazaf and @whenthebodiesspeak if you haven’t already done this! 💕

[bestereiseziele-blog]

Top 10 Cheapest Travel Destinations in the World

In this tough economy, most people think that it is next to impossible to travel unless they spend a lot of money for it. If you are one of those who prefer to experience a little adventure without breaking the bank, you may want to check out these top 10 cheapest travel destinations for you and the whole family. Discover new sites and fascinating culture as you embark on an exciting journey to these must-see places - even when you are on a tight budget.

10. Northeastern USA

Top 3 cities in the northeastern part of the US including Washington DC, Boston and New York are great places to visit for penny pinchers out there. The best way to save money on your trip is by taking advantage of several budget bus companies that can connect you to various destinations such as Charlotte, Pittsburgh, Philadelphia and Toronto. For as low as $5 on a one-way trip to these destinations, traveling is indeed as cheap as it can get. Aside from the relaxing ride in these buses, you can enjoy surfing on the web during a long trip because of the free wi-fi. So, forget about renting a car, and just ride these low-cost buses as you visit other parts of the US. more info here Traveling

9. Japan

As compared with other famous destinations that are loaded with almost similar types of attractions (amusement parks, botanical gardens, shopping centers), Japan is a much cheaper option for thrifty travelers. If what you look for is excitement such as theme parks and ski runs, then you can find the perfect place to visit in Tokyo. What's more, there are budget accommodations that will suit your budget just fine. In Tokyo, you can find charming guesthouses that will only cost you about $37 for an overnight stay.

8. Portugal

Now is the best time to visit Portugal, particularly the enchanting town of Porto. This cozy town boasts of its village-like plazas, beaches, and old-fashioned buildings decked in stunning azuelo tiles. For about $37 per night, you can find a decent accommodation such as inns furnished with charming antiques. To get around town, you can take a comfortable ride on a tram for less than $2, or hop on a ferry on your way to the beach - also at a cheap price of $2 for a ride. You can also explore nearby areas in a flat-bottomed boat for only $29, and that should be enough to let you have a glimpse of every beautiful places in this town.

7. Macedonia

Looking for a budget-friendly trip for you and your family? Macedonia is one of the finest places to explore because of its serene lakes, picturesque vineyards, and historic Byzantine churches. What's more, Macedonia is a great stopover on your exciting Balkan trip. Private rooms at Macedonia ate quite cheap, and you can find a nice B&B for about $72. In addition, there are bus services available, and these can take you to must-visit spots such as the Galičica National Park where you find places to hike, go on a boating trip or swim.

6. Vietnam

Explore several enigmatic sites in Vietnam that are worth your time and money. In fact, getting by these fabulous areas in the country is very simple, and you may either ride a bus or experience the convenience of hiring moto-taxis. Popular attractions include Chau Doc, Vinh Long floating markets, and Ben Tre. If you are not fond of highly-populated places, then the Tra Vinh and Ha Tien are excellent options. As for boat trips, you can find the best deals at $5 to $10, and guesthouses cost about $10 up to $25.

5. Peru

Typically, a 5-day cruise around Amazon may cost you about $3500 excluding air fare. However, you can cut down this amazingly high price by dealing with locals in Iquitos, which is also the biggest city in the world that cannot be reached by land. These locals can tailor a trip of your choice at cheap prices whether you are up for a tour at piranha fishing spots, go dolphin watching at the Allpahuayo Mishana National Reserve, or visit the Otorongo Lodge located on the Colombian border.

4. Mexico

If you want to experience how it's like to tour around the culture-rich Mexico, then you should do so by visiting some of the country's historic places. For instance, you may rent historical homes that are converted into inns, and the cost is much cheaper than those at Cancun's top resorts. You will also be amazed by the Plaza Grande, which features remarkable 16th century cathedrals and art museums. If you happen to stop by the plaza on weekends, then you can get caught up in the excitement as the place becomes the center of street parties and dance performances. There are also exciting day trips to five historic Mayan sites that cost for only $40 when you opt for the Ruta Puuc public bus.

3. Northern Ireland

Get a load of Northern Ireland's literature, drama and music as you embark on this fascinating travel destination. In fact, Northern Ireland has invested more than $25 million into its local tourism, and foreign tourists can greatly benefit from this. Since the last quarter of 2012, there are more available flights coming from Belfast and London, and fares are much cheaper, as well. With more flights offered by several companies, you can take advantage of lower airfares for budget-conscious travelers.

2. Turkey

The impressive Turkish Riviera is a charming European destination that fits your budget perfectly. In the past year, hotel rates went down by 25 percent, which makes this place a must-visit location for economical travelers. One of the best places to begin your tour is in Antalya, a charming city in the southwestern coast of Turkey. It offers fantastic sights and placid ambience that will soothe your sense. What's more, for about $100 per night, you can find lovely accommodation from waterfront resorts in the country.

1. Greece

Greece has experienced financial difficulties in the past years, which coincidentally makes it a budget-friendly destination for every traveler. In fact, you can find a cheap package that include plane fare and flight for two for only $2,800 - and that already includes taxes. This is indeed a great deal, as compared to the skyrocketing prices years back. Once you are in Greece, you can start exploring breathtaking beaches, historic ruins, and have a taste of authentic Greek dishes that will make your mouth water.

Have a blast in these top 10 budget destinations even when you are low on cash. By booking a trip to these exciting places in the world, you can boost your savings while giving yourself a relaxing time during your vacation.

[nerdsideofthemedia]

Bumblebee was always the plan part 2

It’s time to continue with my controversial posts. When I began writing this, it was intended to be mostly a response to arguments I see around and EF’s. Then my pretty confrontational post that had led to say to a friend “Thankfully no one reads my blog” became much bigger than I ever expected. There’s a good chance I would have gone for a different tone had I known it would get 500x the usual view of… 1, which is usually mine. This been said, it would have been a mistake. Still, I feel like I have to address some points that seem to have confused a few people and this is definitely to do that.

But first, soothing music to prevent knee-jerk reactions.

Let’s start with a claim that was kind of controversial: the suggestion that Blake could still turn out to be a lesbian instead of bi or pan as some claimed this was in itself bi erasure. I understand where this complaint comes from as bisexuality was basically considered to not exist in media, for example, Sex and the City has an episode where all the main characters but Samantha treat it as something alienating and a way to still be in the closet. Yeah, some episodes have not aged well. And I’ve lost count of the number of people that still don’t consider it a thing, even among progressive fandom like Janelle Monae’s and Crazy Ex-Girlfriend’s (I just gave you 2 bi anthems1). Just so we’re clear, even though I do think Blake is bothsexual (let’s see if someone recognizes that reference), I have to put on table of her being a lesbian as some gay people have dated members of the opposite sex for a very long time, and there’s high probability some of them were abused in said relationships. I can’t ignore those experiences (I suppose I can, but I shouldn’t and hopefully never will).

Black Sun: the ship that didn’t sail

Again, there were a few that didn’t like that I compared BB and BS, which they interpreted as a dick contest. That really wasn’t my goal. I did that because those were the ships involving Blake that had a chance to happen (Catmeleon and Enabling-abuse2 were not on the table) and I was arguing for Bumblebee having been the plan all along (which, to me, implies that Black Sun was meant to be a red herring, though I didn’t flat out say it – sorry, I didn’t think I needed to). The point was to illustrate how there had been hints for Bumblebee.

I argued for that way before volume 6 by pointing out several clues like the dance arc, the songs and the injury. At the time, someone asked me how I could know BB wasn’t the red herring. There are 2 reasons why:

While it’s not lacking in hints and foreshadowing, they are (mostly3) on the subtle side when compared to the very obvious Sun’s crush on Blake;

They’re a LGBTQ+ pairing. There are huge double standards when it comes to LGBTQ+ in comparison to hetero ones – many people will deny the first one until it’s impossible to do so. The point of the bait and switch is to have a little twist and you can’t have that if a significant part of your audience notices the switch, but doesn’t see the bait.

And if you have doubts about the last point, remember: in 6x11, Adam attacked Yang out of jealousy, then Blake held her hand while making a speech that put them as equal in contrast to Blake-Adam, a relationship where one of them constantly tried to make the other feel small (the point of the infamous speech). There were many denying BB. Then, he tried to make Yang feel insecure about Blake by telling her she had made the same promise to him and asked the super platonic question: “What does she even see in you?” and people still tried to deny it. In the last episode, Blake and Yang spent the time holding each other’s hands and yet, there were still people denying it. Not that I’m complaining, since it only increased my celebration time. It was like: episode 6x11, “yeah! Bees” for 3 days, the internet crashed my party for one, then 6x12, “yeah! Bees! This time is for sure” for another 3 days, again I had my enthusiasm dashed and finally, “yeah! Bees”. That time it stuck. So thanks guys! It would have been bad if by 6x13 I had already used all my fireworks.

If you thought BS was going to happen – that’s normal, because it was the bait. If I am aware that people tend to think of others as straight until proven otherwise, why do you think the writers aren’t? I may not live in the same country as them, but I still consume a lot of USA’s media and I know that if guy stalks girl, he usually gets her. Not to mention, the number of times media announces a LGBTQ+ character as tactic to gain some support yet deliver nothing, like saying Dumbledore is gay even though there’s nothing in the films or books indicating it (let’s leave the conversation about the “word of God” for some other time). There were more than a few LGBTQ+ people who were afraid Bumblebee would turn out to be just that: queerbaiting.

Miles and Kerry knew all of that and, more importantly, they were aware that you knew it too, so they played on your assumptions to make their bait-and-switch. However, there were plenty of hints that Sun was just the red herring and that Bumblebee was going to happen. Last time, I focused on the latter, this time let’s concentrate on the first. Let’s take a look at Sun and Blake’s relationship, shall we?

Sun was introduced in the last episodes of V1 and Blake trusted him immediately, because… he’s a Faunus. Though she told him about herself and the White Fang, he showed immediately he’s not on the same page as her as Faunus rights mean a lot to her and little to nothing to him. In 2x01, Sun talks to Neptune about Blake and concluded “and the best part is she’s a Faunus”, which goes completely against Blake’s words in the next episode “I want people to see me for who I am, not what I am”. She began going on a downward spiral to which he reacts with “Is she being all Blake-y?”, while Yang’s the one who gets through to her by exposing her own vulnerability.

Sun not fully understanding Blake is something the show hammers in our heads quite a few times even in more recent volumes. Like when he assumed she’s on her way to fight the White Fang when she was actually going to Menagerie to rest. Or suggested destroying the WF while Blake wanted to take it back.

In volume 3, they had literally no interactions besides him winking at her in the Vytal Festival – yes, she blushed, which can be explained by the fact that he did it in front of an entire stadium or that she had a crush on him. Personally, I’m inclined to the latter, but it really doesn’t mean much: not all crushes lead to something. A lot of them are a result of idealization and I think that was the case for Blake. By the way, I have to speak of Blake’s crush as likely, not certain precisely because it was never actually confirmed.

When Yang asked Weiss where Blake and Ruby were, Sun was there, yet it was Yang alone who went after Blake. The next time we saw him, it’s after their injuries and he is noticing an injured Blake grabbing Yang’s hand.

No, this shot doesn’t exist to show Sun seeing Blake injured, because he already knew that. He had just told Ruby that Yang was going to be OK, and the one who brought her there was Blake. Not to mention that if the point was to make him notice Blake’s injuries, it makes no sense for their hands to appear. Yang would have been kept out of the frame, instead of taking up more space than Blake. To me, this is the moment where Sun realizes Blake’s feelings for Yang. If the intention was for him to notice Blake’s injured, it would have made much more sense to see his face, then cut to her. Yes, they could have done the same with their hands, but this way they left it more ambiguous which was probably the intention. It would have made no sense for them to choose that if it was meant for Black Sun, because the audience was more than aware he was interested in Blake. We had been since V1 as there was never anything subtle about their relationship.

In volume 4, he flirts, Blake is usually either apathetic or downright annoyed. The exception is after the injury, and like I said, he’s the one who brings up Yang, revealing he realizes the bond between them. He is also hurt by the chick whose feelings weren’t reciprocated (I talked about that at length in part 1). In volume 5, their relationship is platonic.

Really, in spite of spending the volumes 4 and 5 together, it’s not about developing Black Sun in a romantic way.

Oh, a kiss on the cheek isn't romantic. It can be, but in the context, it was merely a "thank you".

Black Sun hasn’t sunk yet

While RWBY isn’t over, the possibility for Black Sun isn’t completely gone, though I don’t think I’m lying when I say it’s unlikely. You can like it more than Bumblebee, but it’s all right to admit it’s improbable. We (almost) all have been there. For crying out loud, in MHA, I sort of ship Kacchako4 (loses 2/3 of her readers – and that’s why this piece of trivia was originally intended to appear much later).

After everything he’s done for her (that she didn’t ask for)

This is usually phrased in a disgusting way.

There is a lot to unpack here.

First, it’s ridiculous to think you can be owed love/getting into someone’s panties. You can’t. People either love you/want to do you, or they don’t. If you want to do something for someone else, great, but do it because you want to and like (not necessarily in a romantic way) said person or because you’re altruistic – don’t expect a reward. This is what you sound like to us:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YWFfrQtHag0

You wanted the guy to get the girl, fine. You know you can watch that in almost everything else, right?

Second, it’s idiotic to associate getting the girl with masculinity or not getting her with being “cucked”. If your notion of being a man is tied to getting someone else, that’s on you. If you need someone else to feel good about yourself, maybe you have some underlying issues to address (another reference to Crazy Ex-Girlfriend – watch the show, especially if you’re making comments like the one I showed: you need it. I feel like the narrator in “S.O.B.s”).

Third, even by the logic of “after everything I’ve done for you”, Sun doesn’t win, because Yang paid a much bigger price: she lost an arm and had PTSD while he had a minor injury from which he had basically recovered by the next episode. This isn’t a “Yang deserves her” either – that argument is nonsensical no matter the pairing being defended, I’m just pointing out that it doesn’t even favor BS.

By the way, I noticed that a few people completely missed the point of why I compared Yang’s injury to Sun’s and think I did it to indicate Yang deserves it more or to win (?). It’s a bit confusing because I flat out say why I made the comparison, but here it goes again: it’s not to say Yang deserves Blake, but to indicate that, in fiction, we usually associate romance with higher stakes. I literally wrote:

“I think Yang’s and Sun’s injuries are everything I should need to prove the likelihood of BB as they contrast the two main Blake ships: Bumblebee and Black Sun. While heroes tend to save many people who are indeed just friends or sometimes not even that, there’s a reason why Superman and Spiderman usually include Lois Lane and MJ (or whoever the love interest is in said film) in the climax – it makes it more personal, raising the stakes. From this perspective, it’s easy to understand the importance given to either by comparing: what the injury was, who caused it, why and Blake’s reaction, thus allowing to conclude which couple was given more weight.”

“[…] point Bumblebee as the first one is more associated with romance.”

That was me explaining what the points were as well as why I was comparing the 2.

And yes, paying attention to dramatic weight is completely valid, we are talking about fiction after all. It’s not like we accidentally walked in on a guy threatening a gal and saying “I’ll destroy everything you love… starting with her” as another woman appeared in real life. Things happened the way they did because writers (editors, directors, etc.) wanted them to. 

Don’t pretend you didn’t know that it’s relevant that the one who caused Yang’s injury was Adam, Blake’s ex-boyfriend, while Sun’s was caused by Ilia, the friend whose feelings weren’t reciprocated, and that it doesn’t say anything about the links Adam-Yang and Sun-Ilia. I lost count of the number of BSers who wanted Sun to fight Adam and wanted him to be the one taking Adam down (even though it got in the way of Yang’s closure), which shows many of you were perfectly aware of the importance of said connection.

As for the dyke representation… (the fact that they phrased it that way is very telling) if it was just that, then any lesbian couple would do. RWBY is about 4 female characters. Seriously, how come people never ask themselves why this one is so popular, even though Yang and Blake aren't the most popular characters? From what I've seen, Weiss and Yang are.

The claims of “pandering” and “SJW” have been raining for a while and I expect them to continue until they realize CRWBY can’t be bullied into erasing BB. Count on that to happen whenever a show reveals a main character is LGBTQ+ mid-series (unless it’s a particularly progressive show). If your reaction to seeing LGBTQ+ characters is to call it “pandering”, it says a lot about you, none of it good.

I know that we perceive straight white male as default. This is so entrenched in our culture that the first Transformers didn’t have any female transformers because the writers thought it would require an explanation. Yup, apparently you need an explanation to include half of the world’s population.

I suppose screaming “pandering” is better than to pull an EF and say “Bumblebee was and is the safest LGBTQ ship they could have done. Lesbian couples are the safest representation a show can make […] It’s more comfortable to see woman on woman action just because of how fantasized they are”, which:

doesn’t justify why BB is the safest LGBTQ+ couple as there are a ton of lesbian couples possible (White Rose, Checkmate/Monochrome, Freezerburn, etc.);

fails to consider the high number of LGBTQ+ women in RWBY when compared to LGBTQ+ men probably has something to do with the fact it has more female characters;

when did we see woman on woman action in RWBY? How did I miss that episode?

if lesbians are so appealing to straight men, how come they’re the ones whining the most about BB?

The whole straight-men-like-lesbians while being the ones complaining about them is particularly odd to me. It doesn’t sound like they like they are spending their time wrapped up in sexual fantasies. Maybe they are and can't stop. And that's why they don't like Bumblebee anymore... Poor things... But really, it just sounds like they need some kind of… safe space.

You can tell them not to worry. They still have most shows/books/films. And for the next 2-4 decades, they'll be able to count on Disney (taking shots at it since my very first post).

As usual, the original.

More RWBY posts:

Filmmaking and Bumbleby

Bumblebee was Always the Plan

Bumblebee was Always the Plan part 2

Faunus and the White Fang: The Portrayal of Racism

BB & Renora

Weird Post on Weiss’s Clothes

Foils: Adam and Yang (this one is in wordpress; it was my first one and I didn’t have Tumblr then)

Let’s talk about Adam Taurus (I didn’t post this one on Tumblr because the title and tags could lead Adam fans thinking this was about “his wasted potential” when really it defends the decision of killing him off and explains why it happened)

1 “Make me Feel” can also be taken as a pan anthem as Janelle as identifies as such (and I think she’s OK with being called bi too).

2 Enabling Abuse is what I call AdamxBlake.

3 I still consider “Burning the Candle”, V3 finale and the ship named “Pride” to be pretty obvious.

4 Not only are the odds against Kacchako (BakugoxUraraka), the shippers are considered villains who worship chaos, which is fine by me. I can’t say some part of me doesn’t enjoy being The Dark Knight’s Joker and that part is saying: “Tell me Batman, how does it feel to be the hero of a film that everyone watches for its villains?”

[flirting-with-psychology]

2014/2015/2016/2017/2018/2019 New Years Survey

1: What did you do in 2014/2015/2016/2017/2018/2019 that you’d never done before?

2014: Had sex

2015: Got further in my love life

2016: Went to the PAC 12 Championship, and about to go to a bowl game

2017: Graduated and moved in with friends

2018: Had a real film client

2019: Got a boyfriend

2: Did you keep your new year’s resolutions, and will you make more for next year? 2014: I don’t think I actually made any. I might try to this year

2015: I kept a lot of them, and I will probably make new ones

2016: I can’t remember what they were. I might make new ones

2017: I can’t remember what they were. I am making new ones

2018: I can’t remember what they are, and I might make a couple new ones

2019: I kept some, and yes

3: Did anyone close to you give birth? 2014: No

2015: No

2016: My mom’s ex-boyfriend’s daughter

2017: No

2018: No

2019: No

4: Did anyone close to you die? 2014: No

2015: No

2016: My friend Zach, although we hadn’t really talked much for a couple of years so we weren’t close anymore

2017: No

2018: My cat and my great aunt

2019: Not really

5: What countries did you visit? 2014: I stayed in my home country this year, but hopefully I will travel more in 2015 or 2016, I am planning to study abroad

2015: I stayed in my home country but I am planning to study abroad in 2016

2016: I studied abroad in Italy :)

2017: I went to London with my mom

2018: I stayed at home

2019: I went to Israel on Birthright

6: What would you like to have in 2015/2016/2017/2018/2019/2020 that you lacked in 2014/2015/2016/2017/2018/2019? 2014: A boyfriend, more confidence, and a more interesting personality

2015: A boyfriend and more confidence

2016: A boyfriend already goddamnit it’s time

2017: An official boyfriend and a film job

2018: A boyfriend, a film job, and probably a car

2019: An interesting job (finally got the boyfriend!)

7: What dates from 2014/2015/2016/2017/2018/19 will remain etched upon your memory, and why? 2014: 12/13/14, the day I had sex, and it was interesting because I had my first kiss on 11/12/13

2015: 9/3/15 was the day of the Old Chicago watch party where Hawaii flirted me.

2016: 6/8/16 the day I found out Zach had died

2017: 8/21/17, the solar eclipse

2018: 8/7/18 moving into the B Flat

2019: 3/3/19 My anniversary with my boyfriend

8: What was your biggest achievement of the year? 2014: I think my Blank Space video was cool. Also I got a job

2015: Maybe finally starting to go to the gym and get confidence

2016: My short film Pancakes, which had a full film crew

2017: Graduated college

2018: Did some film work for Sonic Octane

2019: Got a boyfriend lol

9: What was your biggest failure? 2014: Letting myself remain unhappy instead of figuring out how to change it

2015: Losing some of the confidence I gained in the fall

2016: Kinda giving up on trying, in various ways

2017: Did not get back into working out

2018: Not letting myself try things and fail

2019: Let another year go by without getting anywhere in my career

10: Did you suffer illness or injury? 2014: I had a trifecta of stomach flu, pink eye, and common cold during finals week. I also cut my foot open at Water World and it got infected

2015: I was sick for a month from kissing Hawaii

2016: Yeah, that month-long Hawaii plague kinda turned into a year-long strike from my immune system. Also, I got a node in my thyroid. So far it’s benign, just a weird lump

2017: I had to get surgery to remove the thyroid node

2018: I had a cough for 2 months

2019: Stomach flu

11: What was the best thing you bought? 2014: A Netflix subscription

2015: My TV

2016: All my Italy souvenirs. Idk I can’t pinpoint one thing

2017: Sebastian the pirate merman ornament

2018: I think the gold Giani Bernini shoes were this year

2019: Maybe some jewelry? Idk, I din’t really buy anything big

12: Whose behaviour merited celebration? 2014: My mom’s boyfriend is finally apologizing to her and trying to make up for cheating on her last year, and he actually seems to be working really hard to change

2015: Vincent has become close friends with me and shows a lot of bravery in how he handles things

2016: The football team finally got good

2017: My film class for all we accomplished and helping each other on projects

2018: My coworker and I actually became friends even though I didn’t like her at first

2019: My boyfriend for being a sweetheart

13: Whose behaviour made you appalled? 2014: There were a few guys who bailed on me without explanation, but the biggest one is my friend who stopped talking to me, apparently because I vented to her too much, but did not give me any chance to fix it and seems to hate me now

2015: All the guys who were too cowardly to text me back

2016: This one dude in Italy on my study abroad program made out, etc with me, then told me not to tell anyone because there was a different girl he wanted to get with

2017: My friend and his girlfriend got mad at me for seeking out another ride because they drove recklessly

2018: A guy who cheated on someone with me, and me a little for enabling it

2019: Customers

14: Where did most of your money go? 2014: A lot went into camera and film equipment rentals. Unfortunately quite a bit also went into the vending machine

2015: Random stuff, and more than usual went to holiday presents

2016: Groceries and clothes and knick knacks

2017: Rent

2018: Macy’s

2019: Jewelry

15: What did you get really, really, really excited about? 2014: I went to the Telluride Film Festival with a school group

2015: Getting to go on a band trip

2016: Getting to go on 3 (three!) band trips

2017: Graduating and London

2018: Las Vegas film shoot

2019: Having a boyfriend

16: What song will always remind you of 2014/2015/2016/2017/2018/19? 2014: Songs tend to remind me of people, and the songs that remind me of the people of 2014 are “Don’t Cha” for Captain and “Wildest Dreams” for Marble. Also, Blank Space for all of them

2015: Taylor Swift’s 1989 album

2016: Shut Up and Dance

2017: Not sure if I have one. Maybe the Anastasia soundtrack

2018: Maybe Waving Through a Window

2019: If I Were a Jolly Blacksmith

17: Compared to this time last year, are you: (a) happier or sadder? (b) thinner or fatter? © richer or poorer? 2014: A) Maybe a little sadder. I’m just getting more desperate as more time passes with me single. B) About the same, maybe a couple pounds fatter. C) Richer, now that I have a job

2015: A) Happier. B) Thinner. C) About the same, maybe a little richer. I’m not excellent at saving

2016: A) Happier. I was about to say sadder, because I think this year as a whole I’ve been sadder than last year as a whole, but I remembered that in december I was trying to get over Hawaii and that sucked ass. B) Fatter. C) About the same, maybe a bit richer

2017: A) About the same. Maybe a little sadder, I kind of miss college. B) Probably about the same. C) Probably poorer because I actually have to pay rent now. But I also make a lot more money so maybe it evens out

2018: A) Maybe a little happier. B) Fatter. C) About the same

2019: A) About the same. B) Fatter. C) Poorer

18: What do you wish you’d done more of? 2014: Adventures, swing dancing, and maybe a little more textbook reading

2015: Enjoying myself and trying new experiences, and getting the most out of school

2016: Exercising, making friends in Italy

2017: I wish I had done more in college as a whole

2018: Making friends and flirting, and learning how to work hard

2019: Looking for jobs

19: What do you wish you’d done less of? 2014: Fighting with my parents, perhaps, and maybe less being sad or worried around people because clearly it pushes them away

2015: Worrying about things

2016: Thinking about Hawaii

2017: Strategizing

2018: Overthinking

2019: Eating pasta

20: How did you spend Christmas? 2014: With my mom’s boyfriend’s family

2015: Oops awk, I’m doing this early. But I will spend it with my mom’s boyfriend’s family

2016: Lol I’m doing it early again. I think I am just gonna be chilling, I’ll probably do Hanukkah that night

2017: I keep doing it early. Idk maybe watch a movie or something

2018: I’m gonna chill and maybe see a movie with my mom

2019: I went home and had Hanukkah with my mom and vented about jobs and my boyfriend

21: Did you fall in love in 2014/2015/2016/2017/2018/2019? 2014: No, I don’t think so. Maybe, with Captain a little

2015: Not quite

2016: I stayed in love with Captain. I’m pretty sure that started before this year but maybe not. I told him that I loved him this year, though

2017: Almost maybe, but not quite

2018: No

2019: Almost but not quite there yet

22: What was your favourite TV program? 2014: Supernatural

2015: How to Get Away With Murder

2016: Suits

2017: Friends

2018: Dexter or Criminal Minds

2019: Dexter

23: Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year? 2014: My friend who hates me, I’m starting to hate her back

2015: I still don’t really hate anyone

2016: Don’t really hate anyone

2017: Yeah. Didn’t know her last year

2018: Not really

2019: Not really

24: What was the best book you read? 2014: Mistborn

2015: The Testing, maybe

2016: Mistborn series

2017: Mistborn series. Also not quite a book but the Choices game

2018: Here Lies Daniel Tate

2019: Didn’t really read anything good

25: What was your greatest musical discovery? 2014: Blank Space

2015: Shut Up and Dance

2016: Collabro

2017: Anastasia the Musical

2018: Dear Evan Hansen

2019: Spotify

26: What did you want and get? 2014: A job, new experiences

2015: More confidence, losing weight, better friend relationships

2016: A bowl trip, a summer abroad

2017: I may be on the path to getting a boyfriend?

2018: Film work, good roommates

2019: A boyfriend

27: What did you want and not get? 2014: A boyfriend, to lose weight, more confidence and conversational skills

2015: A boyfriend

2016: A boyfriend

2017: Cadence

2018: A boyfriend, to lose weight

2019: A new job

28: What was your favourite film of this year? 2014: The Imitation Game or Guardians of the Galaxy

2015: The Martian or Inside Out

2016: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them

2017: Coco

2018: A Star Is Born

2019: Rocketman

29: What one thing made your year immeasurably more satisfying? 2014: Being in college

2015: Better friend relationships

2016: The football team doing well

2017: Graduating

2018: The B Flat

2019: My boyfriend

30: How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2014/2015/2016/2017/2018/2019? 2014: Lazy

2015: Thift-shoppy

2016: Lazy

2017: Lazy when I was in school except for the days I saw Cadence, and then more fashionable when I got my job

2018: Business Lazy

2019: Lazy

31: What kept you sane? 2014: Hope for the future

2015: Belief in myself I guess

2016: Genetics and environmental factors that have not yet caused insanity

2017: Not sure

2018: Structure

2019: Not meeting the threshold for insanity

32: Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most? 2014: Chris Pratt

2015: Still Chris Pratt I think

2016: Chris Pratt is a sexy, sexy man

2017: Yup. Or Kit Harington

2018: Maybe Tom Holland

2019: Tom Hiddleston

33: What political issue stirred you the most? 2014: Probably the Leelah Alcorn suicide that just happened

2015: The presidential debates are happening

2016: The presidential election, first one that I got to vote in

2017: Maybe Net Neutrality

2018: ICE Internment camps for immigrant kids

2019: Trump as a whole

34: Who did you miss? 2014: My friend who hates me

2015: Hawaii

2016: Hawaii and Zach

2017: I missed Jessie while we were fighting

2018: Kylie

2019: Shaina

35: Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2014/2015/2016/2017/2018/2019. 2014: Let it Go

2015: Bravery means going after what you want

2016: The importance of storyboarding

2017: Strategizing just wastes time

2018: I don’t have to be the girl who never has a boyfriend

2019: Boyfriends have feelings too

36: Quote a song lyric that sums up your year. 2014: Got a long list of ex-lovers, they’ll tell you I’m insane

2015: I almost brought him up, but you start to talk about the movie that your family watches every single Christmas, and I’ll talk about that, for the first time, what’s past is past

2016: Buffaloes, Buffaloes, Go CU

2017: School’s out forever

2018: I’ve learned to slam on the brakes before I’ve even turned the key

2019: When will my life begin?