#so ‘fox’ has become a genuine chosen name for me | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

xlady-saya · 5 years ago

Text

I want this touch to be familiar [Ch. 2]

Relationships: andrew/neil, side aaron/katelyn

Summary: Deep down, Andrew knew he would always reach this crossroads, a time where the thought became too strong to ignore.

Going all the way with Neil. It’s not something he can continue to avoid thinking about. When Andrew looks back to the days where he held Neil’s hands down, when he never got off with him in the same room, he’s forced to acknowledge how much he’s allowed.

Not allowed. Welcomed. Wanted.

But that’s not all there is to it, and the desire to make a decision finally makes itself known.

Tags: first time fic, p*rn with feelings, relationship study, fluff and communication, multichapter

Read on ao3!

Andrew is a planner.

This is one thing he's not afraid to admit about himself; most events in his life have been unplanned, disastrous things which he can only try to wrangle in the moment they make themselves known. However, if he has the time and foresight, he's much more inclined to plot out every move, making sure there are no slip-ups. Minimal error.

Thinking about and minimizing the damage to himself is new, since beforehand he wouldn't bother to care. In this case, his own reactions are things he'll have to deal with in the moment, since his limit here is unknown. He's never done this with anyone.

For now, his sole focus becomes Neil.

Of course, he knows with something like this it's impossible to get it perfect. He's more experienced than Neil, despite the fact he's never been intimate with someone on his own terms; he knows how it works, knows what to expect and all the ways it can go wrong.

He knows it most likely will be uncomfortable the first time, but can he make the good outweigh that?

At the thought, Andrew grumbles to himself, shaking his head over his cup of coffee. It's been a few weeks since that initial conversation, and his head has been a balancing act of sexual tension and precaution. He's planning as if he's made up his mind, though it's the farthest thing from the truth.

But, necessary. He needs to treat this like it's real, or it'll never sink in.

And well, the sexual part of it feels very real. His overactive mind has made sure to spin the fantasy at him almost daily, and he's been powerless against it. The thought of Neil splayed out in front of him is not something he'll ever be adverse to. Lately, Andrew's libido has spiked, doubling from what is normal. If Neil knows the reason, he hasn't chosen to comment on it, and just seems happy to satisfy Andrew in whatever way he can.

A curl of warmth unfurls in his chest, and he slides his gaze over to where Neil sits on the floor, legs kicked up as he runs through his calculus homework. The gym shorts he has on slip a little, revealing odd patterns of discoloration. Andrew can only assume they're burns.

He's real, so painfully real Andrew feels the need to shield him from a threat that's not even there. Neil isn't scared of him, Andrew isn't scared of Neil. For all their hostility, they fit.

They prepare for the worst, gentleness often escapes them, and they've never minded each other's harshness.

Even still...

Silently, he pours Neil a cup of coffee into the god awful fox mug Nicky made him at Color Me Mine, the eyes sagging and crossed, and sets it beside him on the floor.

Neil’s head tilts up just enough to smile sleepily at him, and Andrew's insides twist painfully. Harshly, he pushes Neil's head down, back to his homework, and tries not to let the soft laugh cloud his thoughts anymore.

For all his severity, none of which Andrew is ashamed of, he finds himself itching to give Neil the opposite. And he does, when he thinks about it. Andrew tries his best not to roll his eyes; Neil ends up being right at the most annoying times.

Andrew wouldn't mean to hurt him, it's true. Andrew would never willingly hurt Neil these days, he simply doesn't have the capability. But intention is seldom enough for him. He'll do this right; it's the reason he's set up a plan in the first place.

Yet, plans are hard to keep together. Steps should be easy to follow, checked off.

1. Talk to Bee

2. Talk to Roland

3. Do his own research

Simple, direct; that's what Andrew thought when he put the plan into action. Bee would be able to reveal the things Andrew could not yet see, pick his brain until the maze had a map. Roland would have experience with this, he'd be able to tell Andrew what it's like when it's consensual, the do's and don'ts. From then on, Andrew should've been able to piece the puzzle together and fill in the gaps with cold, hard information. There's only so much he can do to prepare, but he'll cover all his bases.

The plan was supposed to do all that, but hiccups forever plagued Andrew's life. Bee's words were weights, necessary, still sitting with him even now. And Roland, well, that had almost gone well.

At the memory, Andrew glares. The night before, he'd gone to talk with Roland alone, no stress or obligation to keep an eye on his family while he tried to sort this out. He told Neil, wrapped around him in bed, because it's not something he felt ashamed sharing. The reasoning was another story.

And Neil, stupid, understanding Neil, hadn't even questioned it, blindly trusting Andrew to tell him later. It would be agonizing, but Andrew would do it.

Keeping things from Neil nowadays is almost like an allergy, irritating.

It should've been uneventful. At most, he expected Roland to be obnoxious about it, which he was...

"Ohoho, it's about time indeed," the bartender crowed above the loud music of the club, spilled alcohol sticking to Andrew's boot soles. He grit his teeth. Andrew tried his best not to give too much away when he asked Roland to follow him to the backrooms, but Roland's shocked face when he brought it up forced Andrew’s hand.

It wasn't like that, it wouldn't ever be like that again and Roland knew it, was probably worried something had happened with Neil to make Andrew seek out something physical.

So naturally, Andrew told him the gist of his situation, his intentions to go all the way with Neil, and Roland had run away with it in triumph. The bartender's smirk made Andrew want to turn around and walk right out of there immediately. As if sensing Andrew's need to retreat, Roland leaned closer into his personal space, never a fast learner.

Andrew doesn't know what he ever saw in him.

"Shut up and let's go," Andrew growled in the small space between them, and Roland laughed at his expense without care. Andrew had to remind himself Roland was his only direct resource, unless he wanted to ask Nicky, which he would never do.

Whatever, Andrew would not have this conversation in public.

"Alright, alright lover boy," Roland sighed, raising his hands with a wink. Andrew employed Neil's tactic for a moment, counting to ten in German. "I'm just happy for you. C'mon."

Andrew didn't bother to respond to that.

The relief that took root in Andrew's chest was short lived, so short lived he didn't even have to shove it down himself. He pushed off the counter to follow Roland through the throngs of drunk college students, the itch in his head gearing towards the information he was about to be given, when he saw her.

The one and only, Ms. I doodle my last name as Minyard in my notebooks--Katelyn.

Andrew froze; and saw the exact moment she knew she'd been caught. She was midstep, legs locked in an awkward position, but she didn't seem to be aware. It would've been satisfying, seeing Aaron's cheerleader so thrown off if it weren't for the look on her face. Andrew could see the assumptions swimming there before the idiot was probably even aware of them, her eyes, so close in color to Neil's but not the same at all, glancing between him and Roland.

For a brief moment, cruelty sparked in Andrew's veins at being read in such a way; it was foreign, this particular anger. He never cared before what people thought of him, least of all Aaron's perfect girlfriend. Andrew knew people thought he was a monster, it never mattered, because Neil didn't.

Yet, the whole reason he was there at all was to avoid hurting Neil as much as possible, so the suspicion on Katelyn's face made him want to commit murder. He might've, but then the idiot rolled her ankle, preserving the progress he'd made with Aaron over the past year and a half.

He couldn't kill her, he couldn't leave her there either.

Aaron's words echoed in his skull; 'Our feelings are the same.'

So inconvenient, so annoying, but so impossible to avoid.

Andrew remembers glancing back at Roland, knowing they wouldn't be having that talk after all, not right then. He remembers his skin crawling as he hauled Katelyn into his car, her words setting him on edge but reminding him that some people still had the capacity to surprise him.

The word 'love' tossed into the mix of mayhem.

Katelyn had put a lot of unnecessary thoughts in his head, but Andrew came back from that night clear headed, not necessarily about the sex situation, but about how he had been handling it.

Guess she isn't totally useless.

Speaking of...

"Good morning!" Katelyn sing-songs into the living area, and Neil flinches from the abruptness. The old instinct to run is hard to bury, and Andrew watches reality settle in as his muscles go slack again. Andrew misses the peace already, but he's the one who left the door open for Aaron in the first place.

Katelyn waves at Neil sheepishly for having spooked him, hopping along on her better ankle to lean against the small counter. Andrew rolls his eyes internally from how Aaron hovers, always there in case Katelyn decides to do another swan dive to the floor.

There's a pause then, one which isn't usually there. Katelyn's eyes land on Andrew and stay there, which in itself is odd. Up until this point, their understanding has been clear. Normally, Katelyn would ignore him, keep her distance. She still does, staying out of his immediate bubble. Yet, this time she offers him a genuine smile, and Andrew hopes last night hasn't given her any ideas about how things are going to be from now on. "Hi Andrew."

Ah, but looks like it has. Great.

Despite the twitch this realization causes, Andrew only hesitates momentarily before he offers her a nod, and ignores the way his brother blanches. Katelyn, thankfully, doesn't treat it as more than what it is, and carries on with whatever breakfast concoction she has in mind. A cook, she is not, and Andrew has no intention of eating it.

He feels Neil's smug smile in the corner of his eye, and dutifully ignores it in favor of watching his brother move seamlessly around his girlfriend. They touch purposefully, and often, like a dance with added steps just for the sake of staying close.

Aaron's arm slides against Katelyn's lower back, and she bites her lip, a blush rising to the tops of her ears. It's not subtle, but it's also not something anyone would bat an eye at.

Why Andrew can see the difference, he isn't sure, but it's there. There's a clinginess between them, more than usual, a product of Aaron's protectiveness and something else.

Looks like after Matt and Dan had fallen asleep, someone else in that dorm had decided to get handsy.

Andrew stuffs down his disgust at the thought; he seldom agrees with Nicky, but thinking of Aaron having any kind of sex is abhorrent, worse when it's straight.

His brother makes it seem so simple though, doesn't he?

He and his twin spent so many years being on the opposite ends of everything that their recent developments make Andrew even more painfully aware of how they're different. They're learning to share things in common without so much teeth pulling, but Andrew knows this is one area Aaron could not understand.

Andrew isn't jealous or resentful, he's just not like Aaron in that way. He's sure his brother and Katelyn had sex soon after meeting, long before it turned into something he'd risk Andrew's wrath over. He's also sure it's not something that keeps Aaron up at night, or wracks him with guilt afterwards. Watching them interact now, post intimacy, makes that clear enough. Aaron wants her and he's happy to want her, there's nothing else to it. Aaron's own insecurities are a monster, that much he knows, but they're not always in line with Andrew's.

Aaron is not afraid to want, and he trusts himself not to hurt.

This observation, coupled with his conversation with Katelyn, leaves Andrew with little room to avoid the real reason for his plan.

Realistically, Andrew knows he's been setting up roadblocks intentionally. Talk to Bee, setback, another setback, step two, back to step one, and so forth. With this process, there's essentially no way for this to not be dragged out to hell and back.

Annoyingly, he hears Renee's voice in his head, "be patient with yourself," but that's not it at all. The steps are more than just precautionary measures or even speedbumps. No, he can't try to convince himself that he put them there to pace himself, to make sure it's what he really wants.

To want, to want, to want.

That's the thing. He knows what he wants, but part of him thought that with enough time, enough pause, he wouldn't anymore. Then, he could fall back on an old habit, push it away and pretend he doesn't care about the fallout.

He'd been giving his brain ample time to ruin this for him too. To remember that wanting is dangerous, disappointing, not worth the consideration or effort. That maybe, impossibly, if he gave himself room to fortify a new wall, he'd no longer crave Neil's everything. Then, hurting him wouldn't have to be a worry at all, because he simply wouldn't care.

But alas, he's caught himself at the end of his rope, and he should know better. He's known better since Baltimore. Because even now, his head buzzing with conflict, one fact stands out as sturdy as before.

He wants Neil. In every way, every part, all the ugly, spiked edges and harsh temper. Nothing has ever sounded better and he hates it. He hates to feel like this, but he won't try to stop.

Why?

"Andrew, what you feel is normal," Bee's saccharine voice trickles through his head, words from the last two sessions when she helped him piece through all this. Or, maybe he should say she gave him the reins. Bee knows him by now, knows Andrew prefers to do most of the work once pointed in the right direction, even if it's something he hates to admit.

What I feel is normal? Yes, yes, I know Bee.

Pleasure, joy, contentment. The lack of exposure to them all for so long means he doesn't know how to process them, according to Bee. In fact, the feelings become almost intolerable.

"As such, your instinct is to lash out at or banish these feelings. They're uncomfortable, maybe even upsetting for you."

He thinks of so many repeats of 'I hate you' and 'this is nothing.' Thing is, those weren't lies. He needed Neil to be nothing, even when he knew it was impossible. He'd crossed the line into dangerous territory again, and Neil had happily jogged over next to him.

Neil's the only one who's ever followed without question.

He means it though; he hates to want. He wonders if it's because it all feels too good to be true, that if he doesn't tell himself he hates it, he'll have to finally acknowledge how good it feels.

How Neil makes him feel.

He can't accept that, not yet. But he will take a different step forward.

Katelyn prattles on about her schedule for the week, and Andrew can't hold her ramblings against her in this case. Labs and practice will keep her and Aaron apart for most of the week; Andrew used to crave the alone time, now...

With the sounds of pots and pans joining the chorus of Katelyn's chatter, Andrew walks over to Neil with intent clear. Funny, how he expected this revelation to be a lot less anticlimactic. But here they are, on a Sunday morning, the smell of burnt toast wafting through the air.

Neil looks up when Andrew sits beside him, catching whatever must be on Andrew's face and tilting his head. He's not sure how Neil does it, doesn't think to ask. Neil won't stop anyways if Andrew tells him too.

Because...

"What you value is understanding."

Yes, this is something Andrew will not be rid of anytime soon, Neil Josten will not go away. The little thrill which runs through him at the thought is not something he'd ever think he'd feel this much again. It intensifies as the days go, and everyday he loses more of the energy to stop it.

He can feel Bee smiling that damn smile, all the way from here.

Andrew digs his thumb into Neil's already open palm, waiting for his sleepy grin, and gets rid of all the roadblocks.

I want this, he repeats, and holds Neil's gaze. I want you.

He fights back the automatic recoil, and notes how it's gotten easier to do so, to overshadow his need to pull away with his need to pull closer.

"Yes," he says, and for a moment Neil is so still Andrew wonders if Katelyn's laughter ate up the small word. From how Neil's eyes soften a second later, he knows they weren't. "I don't know when, but it's a yes."

Because they've always gotten through things in the past, together.

Neil's breath hitches, and his hand curls tight around Andrew's, the touch conveying more than words can. The world is still such a dark, unforgiving place, but on this Sunday morning their dorm room has a brightness to it. Andrew shrinks away from it, but is powerless to avoid it.

Andrew thinks it might solely come from Neil, but he's wrong.

"Breakfast," Aaron calls to the room with a sigh, all too carefree and happy with Katelyn next to him. Andrew briefly wonders if Aaron ever thought he'd get to that point, and it's something they share. Disbelief.

"Okay," Neil calls back, and it has a dreamy quality to it Andrew wants so badly to stamp out like a cigarette. He doesn't though, he can't. The word carries the smile on the striker's lips, and Neil buries his face in Andrew's sleeve, content to let their food get a little cold.

Without Andrew noticing, his fingers curl just as tight around Neil's too.

One thing Andrew cannot fathom about Neil sometimes is that there's no sense of pressure.

Andrew made up his mind about going all the way that very morning, over a week ago with Neil resting his head in his lap and eventually wriggling a little too purposefully to be cute anymore. Andrew nearly snapped at Aaron and Katelyn to get lost, but then Neil would've won.

Considering how cheeky Neil looked later on, Andrew's cock in his mouth, maybe he did.

And in the afterglow, there had been...peace.

Andrew's not sure what he expected; maybe Neil's impatience, a new layer of tension in their kisses, their touches, something saying go, go, go. The rush to dive in and get things over with before the thoughts tore him in two.

But there's not. There's nothing like that; no urgency in his head or a ticking clock telling him they need to do it before it's too late. Of course, he still thinks about it constantly, how could he not? He's only a man with an (admittedly) hot...boyfriend. A Neil. A very energetic and smart-mouthed Neil.

Closing his eyes, he can picture it, his memory a blessing for once with something from just the other day.

Andrew lets his hands follow the curve of Neil's ass, feeling the smooth skin, patches of it rough from road burn and other scarring. He digs his fingers into the one spot of Neil's lower back, swallowing Neil's gasp. Like a press of a button, Neil's back bends for him.

They're only making out, just kissing, and he's like this. Andrew is okay with just keeping things like this, it feels right.

"Andrew..." Neil moans, featherlight, so unlike his usual brashness. It makes Andrew's pulse spike, and he kisses back greedily, mind swimming. Neil wants him, he makes Neil feel good...

Neil makes him feel good.

"Quiet," Andrew scolds, muffled by the urgent press of Neil's lips. It's begrudgingly amusing, how stupid Neil is. He keeps going back in for another peck, one right after the other, provoking Andrew to just pin him and push his tongue into his mouth.

"Mm," Neil hums teasingly, and Andrew feels the glide of his fingernail along the column of his neck. Andrew can't help it, he gives Neil a grunt for that, the sensitivity overwhelming.

And Neil, so infuriating, smirks.

"You first," his junkie bites back, so predictable. He punctuates the taunt with a nip to Andrew's earlobe. Then it's cloudy, no, hazy, a dream.

Except Neil has proven time and time again he's the furthest thing from a dream; so real, so warm and solid. Andrew lets himself sink into the pleasure, and in these moments he doesn't realize he's falling, that he doesn't mind it.

"Andrew..."

Neil's voice is a fog Andrew has a hard time finding his way out of sometimes, and he leans his head back on the wall by his bed while the heat pools in his gut.

Oh yes, he thinks about this a lot, and he's too fixated on the feelings to put up a fight.

But it's not even just in these moments that he wants Neil, what once was so troubling is now simply reality...

He thinks of the redhead's sleep deprived yawns, long and drawn out enough to show the slope of his jaw. Anxious nibbling on the end of a pencil when he's focused on some stupid equation. Careful hands, patching up Andrew's bloody knuckles after sparring sessions. And not so careful hands, punching the first reporter to say something even remotely negative about Andrew outside the stadium.

Neil is so dangerous, in that Andrew wants all of him.

Yet, there's never an imperativeness to have all of him, to just lock them away for the weekend and see what all the fuss is about. No, he can savor different parts of Neil in innocent ways: the concerned touches, considerate glances, and wide grins...

And in filthy ways.

The slow stretch of his spine when he's doing warm ups, those yoga pants he wears on purpose around campus, the flick of a tongue against Andrew's biceps.

And still, neither of them feel the need to cross the line into new territory yet, not for lack of want, but for lack of good timing.

Point is, since the decision, he and Neil have done plenty of other things without the underlying question of taking it all the way. It leaves Andrew's stomach buzzing for different, non-anxious reasons. The absence of pressure, of force. It's as if now that everything is out in the open, Neil's presence is both a relaxant and a stimulant, and nothing they do together is bogged down by anything other than chasing the pleasure it brings them.

Even with Roland, when they were ready to experiment further, there was no point in waiting. No pacing. Andrew was typically ready to get it out of his system for the sake of his libido, never pushing himself too far but also not patient with himself either. He'd propose the next thing he wanted to try, made sure Roland's hands were out of the way, and acted accordingly. Quickly. Andrew did not savor.

Andrew would take what he needed from the sensations and that was that; his knees on the floor of Eden's, a heavy weight on his tongue. Roland was enthusiastic, reacting well to Andrew's touches as he got more experienced with time.

As for Andrew...

Sometimes he'd like it, sometimes not, and in those cases he'd put a stop to it and he and Roland would revert to whatever was quickest to get off. Efficient, enough for Andrew to feel the spike of control, to bring another man pleasure without putting himself at risk. Exerting power over someone, and having them like it.

It had all been controlled, because Andrew needed it to be. Many of those nights blur together now; he can remember them all, he does, but pulling those times to the forefront of his mind is not something he ever chose to do. It simply didn't affect him in that way, because Roland never got below Andrew's skin.

With Neil however…

Andrew can't help but imprint every gasp and arch into his brain to never be forgotten, to be spun into daydreams so vivid it's hard to keep still. In the mornings the thoughts drip into the front of his mind, Neil pressed close to him. Then when he's watching Neil run in the gym with strong legs, and it's like he feels Neil's legs tightening around him. When he's bored in class, the sounds of Neil's moans drown out the professor as the fantasies in Andrew's head take over.

With Neil it is pure, blinding pleasure. He savors more than he thinks he should, like there's a limited supply and he's going through an army's worth everyday.

Andrew prolongs sex with Neil as much as he can. He's never allowed himself to feel this with anyone. He couldn't. For once it's not just about gaining experience or getting off, it's all that with Neil and exploring all the ways to make him fall apart.

So, Andrew still blows him in the showers after practice and ruts against him in the backseat of the Maserati. And through it all, Neil doesn't wait or expect Andrew to bring up going all the way.

He just enjoys it, enjoys being with Andrew.

"I'm still convinced I dreamed you," he spits out later that night when they're making out on the floor. Making out is putting it innocently, since it's quickly progressing into Andrew grinding his hips into Neil's.

They haven't exactly had enough alone time for this, not for a few weeks, but Andrew tames his desperation for it as best he can. He can't be that vulnerable, and yet his hips are moving on their own accord.

With Kevin visiting Wymack and Nicky off studying, they're alone. They can take their time, and they don't hesitate to take advantage.

Andrew can no longer contain the caged animal.

Neil pauses briefly to look up at Andrew, sliding one of Andrew's hands under his shirt to touch him more. Andrew shivers at the silent request, thumbing at one his nipples while Neil tries to make words.

"D--Do you want me to be a hallucination?" Neil teases, and leans up to bite Andrew's bottom lip. Andrew pinches Neil's chest beneath his fingertips, logging away the breathy moan to recall later.

"No," Andrew snaps quickly, almost against his will, and Neil's grin is so annoyingly brilliant.

They both already knew the answer. He's not sure he could handle that at this point. Neil disappearing, like a ghost with only a compliment as a goodbye.

Not again.

As if to cement this fact, Andrew bucks forward, the friction dizzying. Again, it's been a little too long, and Andrew's movements betray it.

"Fuck Andrew," Neil says, reaching for Andrew's fly. It's already undone, his belt somewhere halfway across the room due to Neil's eager hands. Andrew had told him yes, and yet Neil's hand hovers just over Andrew's groin in a silent question. Andrew growls, leading Neil's hand under the waistband until it brushes the wet head of his cock, and they moan in sync this time.

"Andrew I want...fuck," Neil throws his head back, the frustration clear. Andrew can't help but feel the same; if he could make Neil fall apart in every way he would, but for now his body craves the friction, the desperation of his movements.

This is how he wants to get off, humping Neil into the floor.

"Use your words," Andrew breathes, swiping his thumb over Neil's lips. Neil's pink tongue flicks out, coaxing Andrew's fingers into his mouth and sucking.

Neil's eyes are so full of mischief, his response clear: sure about that?

Andrew gives a slow roll of his hips as Neil pumps him slow, pulling away when he senses Andrew's patience running thin. The striker's legs spread farther apart for him, letting Andrew slot them perfectly together. Neil wants it like this too, he realizes.

A shudder runs through him, overwhelming and definitely something he'd normally lash out against. But this feels too good in the moment to resist, his clothed cock sliding perfectly against Neil's, and the thought comes barreling through as the heat coils tighter and tighter.

It's just like the last time they did this. Andrew starts thrusting faster, the phantom of the real thing while Neil's back slides against the floor. Except this time...

This time what?

He watches Neil meet each thrust just as desperately, a few whimpers escaping and mixing with the few Andrew can't help but let loose. He looks absolutely debauched, with his shorts hanging off one leg and his underwear damp. Andrew takes a snapshot, sealing this Neil away in his head forever. Hungry, insatiable, junkie.

What if this was the real thing? Would Neil arch and writhe even more? Neil always feels too good to be true, even now. He'd be warm, Andrew knows it, his ass hugging Andrew's cock, so bent on making Andrew feel good. He'd probably be more reactive too, loud enough for anyone nearby to hear. The fantasy floods in, and Andrew feels his heart rate pick up as his hips buck faster, the pace erratic and wild.

And that's the difference, isn't it? This time, Andrew doesn't feel strange to think about it, to imagine it. He's free to indulge, but should he, does he want to?

His cock twitches, and that's answer enough. The small ounce of hesitation is something Neil catches, because he throws Andrew a shaky smile as a bead of sweat drips down his forehead.

"You can think about it," Neil chokes out, voice raw and oh, it's doing a lot of things to Andrew which shouldn't be allowed. "I am too. Fuck, I want you to fuck me Andrew, so bad..."

Andrew surges forward, slotting their lips together. It's hardly a kiss, his tongue pinning Neil's down in a promise he can't say.

Me too, I want all of you.

The thought is so shocking, it doesn't make him recoil instantly. Something in him bends, snaps in two, and the only pause he gives is one used to manhandle Neil. He pulls him forward, so Neil is curled up at the perfect angle. Andrew does sometimes appreciate all the cheerleading stretches Neil borrows from Katelyn, he's so much more flexible now.

"Neil," Andrew breathes when he pulls back from Neil's lips, just his name. Neil's eyes widen, and Andrew wonders what kind of look he's wearing again. Can Neil see it all, how much Andrew really wants to rail Neil into the nearest surface?

It doesn't matter, his next movements make it obvious.

Andrew's hips piston forward until Neil is shaking apart, his orgasm pulling out a whine Andrew knows the neighbors can hear. He can't be bothered with it now, the unusual greediness he feels when it comes to Neil is second to his own rising pleasure. So close, so close--

Neil reaches up, boneless, and hums almost deliriously. Fixated, Andrew's eyes never leave the ring of blue in his eyes. Neil's fingers tap on Andrew's neck, right at the pulse. "C'mon, come for me."

Andrew does, it's obscene how fast he does. The words aren't even all the way out of Neil's mouth and Andrew doesn't have time to be upset with his orgasm coursing through him. His eyes close on their own accord, the feeling wiping out his sight for a few blissful seconds as he trembles. He's vaguely aware of Neil's hands on his muscles, feeling them clench with the aftershocks.

Andrew's stomach bottoms out, and he feels the rush all the way down his legs.

Never before, never this intense. Not with anyone but Neil.

He slumps forward, his body about as relaxed as it can be in Neil's arms. The urge to run after these moments isn't really there anymore, the need for separation either delayed or gone completely. It's the result of doing this...many times, and Neil's arms still rest loosely around Andrew, ready to let go the moment he needs it.

They lay like that for a few seconds, their pants echoing in the small space and Andrew licks the salt from Neil's neck. The striker has the nerve to give Andrew more space, welcoming all the marks. He doesn't even realize he'll be wearing sweaters for a few days in the blistering heat, if only to avoid Kevin's wrath.

Andrew pops off, satisfied with the fresh bruise, and savors the low whine he gets for it.

Eventually, he has to move, but less for the need to get cleaned up and more due to an odd feeling tugging at his abdomen. Neil's noises...they're troublesome for Andrew's self-control, and Andrew is sure Neil knows it.

The mess in Andrew's boxers is...a lot, and he grimaces as he shifts a little. He doesn't pull away completely, just to let Neil know he's alright, but he looks down at the striker with something swimming in his chest.

Neil's breathing is ragged, chest still heaving, and Andrew's eyes follow the trail of hickies he left on Neil's collarbone. The odd feeling hits him again, a simmering heat.

Unfinished.

Ah, so that's it. He gets it.

Andrew's eyes darken and he hears the moment Neil figures it out too. The redhead's throat clears, mixed with a moan as he sits up with Andrew. His eyes are still wide, pupils blown and covering icy blue in darkness. They're expectant, excited.

So, so much energy.

Andrew knows his smirk doesn't show on his actual face, but he has to fight real hard against it as he stands up. Neil licks his lips, tracking the movement as Andrew pulls the waistband of his boxers forward. He's a mess; his cock is slick with his own cum, globs of it sticking to the fabric. Without betraying his own emotions, he pulls himself out for Neil to see the state of him. In Andrew's head, the mantra repeats: you do this to me, you make me feel this way.

Neil's eyes get that hazy quality to them, the intense focus usually applied to games, and Andrew quirks a brow. Neil's glances keep flitting between Andrew's face and his dripping cock, not sure where to look, but eager nonetheless. His mouth is already open, ready. The fire in Andrew's gut is no longer simmering, it's back in full force. Not yet satisfied, not done.

His cum is about to start dripping on the floor when he finally takes pity on them both.

"Hey," he says, almost innocently, and Neil freezes. "Clean up your mess."

And oh, Neil certainly does.

Appropriately, Andrew is peckish after this, and Kevin had once again gone through the trouble of throwing away all his candy.

Honestly, Andrew could kill him at this point. Their deal is over, but then he'd have no reason to drag Neil out after 10 p.m. to try desserts Andrew knows he'll hate. His reactions make Andrew's chest feel fuzzy, and as uncomfortable as it is, he knows it's not a bad feeling or a particularly overwhelming one. Therefore, it's best to use for exposure therapy.

He's making Neil taste baklava at some 24-hour dessert bar when he says the words, unprompted and lazy, but it doesn't feel less right. For whatever reason, their moments of mundanity seem to coax the most monumental things out of Andrew, probably because they're the most grounded he ever feels.

Neil's hair is still a mess from their activities, that coupled with his scrunched up nose at the sweetness of the pastry is so routine, so familiar, it softens Andrew's edges. Andrew's fingertips are sticky from the syrup, but there's nothing filthy about watching Neil's lips wrap around them when Andrew feeds him the bite. It's so oddly cliche and cheesy, Andrew can't believe he did it without realizing.

Neil sticks out his tongue in disgust as he chews, pushing the rest of the pastry at Andrew in favor of his boring gummy bears (Andrew made him get something), when Andrew tilts his head to look at him. Really look.

He doesn't know what he's searching for, and he doesn't find it. It's a relief; Neil is the same, and it's such a comfort Andrew has to force it down.

His brain, always the betrayer, whispers: This is it.

It's not said in a romantic, or even joyful way. It's simply stating a fact; he won't have this again, and won't pursue it.

Neil's eyes soften when he catches Andrew staring, but doesn't call it out like he normally would. The striker rests his head on his arm, blue eyes shining under the shitty diner lights. They're back to normal, all ice, all color. His hand slides across the tabletop to brush Andrew's, not quite linking, but a constant. An 'I'm here' just because he feels like it.

The ease in Neil's eyes, brought on by all their exertion and from Andrew's presence, is so unlike the desire from earlier. It's apparent, but not jarring. This side of Neil is still one he knows, one he's come to expect without meaning to. There's something so innocent about it, so genuine, the words overflow.

"Neil," he says, even though he already has Neil's undivided attention. He wonders what kind of face he's making to get that kind of reaction, but then assures himself he doesn't want to know. He can't handle that yet. He clears away the tightness in his throat as best he can without acknowledging that it's there, and lets the realization wash over him. "Next time we're alone."

He's ready to try if Neil is. He knows Neil will understand what he's referring to. It's both a proposition and a promise, and Neil reads it easily.

He blinks, sitting up in that way which reminds Andrew of an actual fox. If Neil had the ears they would perk up, alert. His fingers inch forward, between the spaces Andrew has left for him already.

"You're ready?" Neil asks, voice quiet but resounding in the deserted shop. Andrew shivers, but knows the answer. He's known for a few days, but only now does he feel up to admitting it.

"Yes."

There's not much more he needs--or wants--to say. This is his decision; the mess in his mind is still there. The image of hurting Neil, or old memories surging forward in the heat of the moment. The shock of being so connected to someone, so vulnerable. It's all still there, making his skin crawl.

But then Neil looks at him like this, a mix of lust and some other emotion he won't name (won't assign Katelyn's stupid definition to) and it becomes a factor. Despite all the mess, Neil is someone he can trust and someone who trusts Andrew.

They want this, that's enough.

"Neil," he says when Neil has been quiet too long, that stupid look on his face, and watches him blush a brilliant shade of red.

"I--yes, yes of course I--" Neil stammers, and it's instinct for him to ground himself with Andrew's touch. His hand grips Andrew's tight, as if Andrew needs more convincing when Neil's tone is so excited. The striker's gaze turns firm, determined, and heat simmers in Andrew's chest once more. "I want that..."

No kidding.

"Stop being an idiot," Andrew snaps, but he tightens his hold on Neil's hand anyways. He's not sure who he's talking to.

Judging by the smile Neil is trying to force down, he knows it too.

"You have a thing for idiots," he whispers with a smirk, teeth pressing into his bottom lip, and oh yes, Andrew always knew this man was far too dangerous to keep around.

Too late now.

"Apparently," he sighs, feigning resignation. He leans against the back of the booth, and it's mostly so he can see all of Neil clearly. The disheveled clothes, the unruly hair, the sharpness. In reality, he's far from cursing his future in that moment. He's not sure if he can label the static in his abdomen and his head as excitement, but he has a feeling it's exactly that.

Troublesome, and much too powerful to try and push away.

Satisfied, Neil smiles and leans back too. They don't stay separate for long; as soon as Neil's hand is off his, Andrew feels a strong leg press into his calf. He doesn't even flinch these days.

Neil poises to throw a gummy bear, and Andrew opens his mouth willingly to catch it, falling back into their easy routine of wasting time together. Long drives, stupid questions and stupider answers.

Andrew misses three out of the ten gummy bears, not really trying. It makes Neil laugh harder when he misses.

On the fifteenth throw, realization crosses over Neil's face, and he pauses. The smirk turns deadly, razor sharp. Andrew has never seen Neil so vengeful, and the excitement only grows when Neil speaks. "You know what this means?"

Andrew raises a brow, and Neil inhales, giddy with his own spite. "We can finally kick Kevin out."

And he automatically knows what Neil means. He recalls hours spent holed up in the stadium, making out with Neil and wishing they were cocooned in bed while Kevin sexiled them for time with Thea.

The word leaves Andrew's mouth, as deadly as Neil's expression. "Payback."

#andreil #all for the game #aftg #andrew minyard #neil josten

36 notes · View notes

letterboxd · 5 years ago

Photo

Fantasia 2020.

We emerge from the depths of Fantasia Festival 2020—the largest genre fest in North America—with the ten best things we saw this year.

Fantasia Festival aced this weird shitstorm of a year with one of the best online film festival experiences of 2020 so far. Sure, we miss that unique, zombie-like, end-of-fest haze brought on by midnight madness and inappropriate mealtimes, but quarantine breeds an adjacent kind of mental fog that made Fantasia’s online offering a weirdly natural place to be this year.

Tuning into Montreal from London and Auckland, our Fantasia team (Kambole Campbell, Aaron Yap and Gemma Gracewood) watched as widely as possible, and we recommend most of what we saw—but these are the ten films that stuck out.

Chasing Dream Directed by Johnnie To, written by Wai Ka-Fai, Ryder Chan and Mak Tin-Shu

Hong Kong master of genre Johnnie To once again links up with screenwriter Wai Ka Fai, the writer of Drug War and Romancing in Thin Air. Their new feature Chasing Dream finds itself somewhere between those two, telling the story of an MMA fighter with gang ties named Tiger (Jacky Heung, winner of Fantasia’s Best Actor award) who falls in love with an aspiring singer named Cuckoo (Keru Wang).

To and Wai Ka Fai’s incredibly goofy sense of humor is still totally intact, as they make a complete farce out of the singing competition that Cuckoo enters, with her greatest competitor continually performing so hard that she accumulates injuries, until she ends up in a full-body cast. As Michelle writes: “It’s Rocky meets A Star is Born, with a dash of American Idol, a pinch of musical, and a huge dollop of romance.” This is all to say that Chasing Dream really is a hell of a lot of movie at once. (KC)

Labyrinth of Cinema Directed by Nobuhiko Ōbayashi, written by Kazuya Konaka, Nobu Obayashi and Tadashi Naitō

“It’s time to revisit our history to build a better future.” So begins Labyrinth of Cinema, the final film of Japanese experimental legend Nobuhiko Ōbayashi. Following a trilogy of films contemplating modern Japanese history and war (including the ravishing Hanagatami), Labyrinth is a metatextual and metaphysical trip through the history of Japanese cinema and its intersection with war.

A handful of young characters are quite literally absorbed into the screen of the cinema they’re sitting in at the film’s beginning, jumping through different eras and genres of film, tackling everything from war and propaganda, romance and musical, to chanbara and back again. Jake Cole notes the film’s surprising optimism, writing “even as Ōbayashi grows more sober, the film conveys more and more his strength of belief that cinema is still a force for good, and that if the past cannot be helped, perhaps movies can be rethought and re-crafted to produce a better future”. (KC)

Lapsis Written and directed by Noah Hutton

Noah Hutton (son of Timothy Hutton and Debra Winger) makes his narrative feature debut with a sci-fi-that’s-barely-sci-fi film, which dives into robotics, capitalism and unionization. Not a million miles away from the activist documentaries the director already has under his belt, Lapsis is a low-key, mordant film that captures gig-economy drudgery and the arcane fog of big tech. “Honestly really fucking cool,” writes David, of Hutton’s world-building on a shoestring. “An intelligent and peculiar concept expertly executed and thoroughly entertaining from beginning to end.” Dean Imperial’s surliness is a treat. (AY)

Bleed with Me Written and directed by Amelia Moses

Not one of Bleed with Me’s 79 minutes is wasted. If any of the following sound good to you—micro-thrillers, Robert Altman's Images, Rodney Ascher’s The Nightmare, mumblecore Bergman—add Amelia Moses’ debut feature to your watchlist now. It’s an assured start from Moses, who crafts an unsettling, tantalizingly ambiguous atmosphere from the three-hander, cabin-in-the-snow confines, with Scrabble, gaslighting, bloodletting and sleep paralysis thrown in.

“Lee Marshall anchors the film with a deeply moving performance as Rowan,” writes Finhorror. “With every facial expression, movement, and line reading, she sells vulnerability and discomfort while showing a minimal amount of effort.” Would pair well with Mickey Reece’s Climate of the Hunter (florid dinner conversations, immaculate food-porn and psycho-sexual tension) for an ace double feature. (AY)

PVT CHAT Written and directed by Ben Hozie

New York filmmaker Ben Hozie examines online relationships and modern sexual fantasies with PVT CHAT, starring Uncut Gems breakout star Julia Fox as Scarlet, a cam-girl dominatrix. The film splits its focus between Scarlet and Jack (played by Peter Vack), an internet gambler who mostly remains inside his NYC apartment as he becomes fixated on her. While there’s palpable discomfort in Jack’s increasing obsession with Scarlet, the film doesn’t mock the practitioner nor the customer, and it doesn’t moralize over either of their actions—it simply leaves them plain to witness, as though a normal element of contemporary digital living.

The genuineness of the relationship between Scarlet and Jack is ambiguous—the line between performance and sincere emotion distorted via pixels. As they continue to open up to each other the line blurs further, and PVT CHAT becomes a fascinating observation of how online communication has changed and commodified the ways in which we interact with each other. (KC)

Tezuka’s Barbara Directed by Makoto Tezuka, screenplay by Hisako Kurasawa

Speaking of obsessions, Japanese filmmaker Makoto Tezuka might have chosen his father’s strangest work to adapt into a live-action film. As it says in the title, Tezuka’s Barbara is an adaptation of ‘godfather of manga’ Osamu Tezuka’s Barbara, his most hallucinatory and sexually explicit work. Opening with a Nietzsche quote about madness and love, Tezuka’s Barbara more or less conflates the two, as the main character Yosuke, an author who specializes in lurid and trashy paperbacks, falls obsessively in love with Barbara, a homeless drifter he meets in the street.

Beautifully lensed by Christopher Doyle, legendary cinematographer of Chungking Express and In The Mood For Love, Tezuka’s Barbara takes on a magical and ethereal quality, particularly in its sex scenes. Yosuke’s increasingly deranged obsession with Barbara and the young Tezuka’s depiction of it is compellingly weird, from its vivid colors and almost antiquated costuming to its Eyes Wide Shut-esque rituals of the wealthy. Deranged, perhaps opaque, but a riveting visual journey, especially with its context in mind. (KC)

Special Actors Written and directed by Shinichiro Ueda

Special Actors is the new film from Shinichiro Ueda, who turned heads with his bonkers cult film One Cut of the Dead. It may appear a little less surprising to those already familiar with his tactics, but it’s no less entertaining for it. Special Actors starts one way, as the tale of an aspiring actor looking for work, and ends somewhere else entirely. Brought into a company named ‘Special Actors’ by his estranged younger brother, Kazuko embarks on a different kind of performer’s journey, not just restricted to film and commercials, but also playing implanted mourners at funerals, fake boyfriends—whatever the client desires.

This is an Ueda film, so of course it takes a huge swerve, transforming into a bizarre and entertaining caper as the Special Actors are hired to infiltrate a cult. Ueda is more than aware of the classic conflation of film with “fakery” (as Orson Welles would call it)—the structure of a caper and its layers of illusion, truth and everything in between aligning with the requirements of stagecraft—and he has more than a little fun with it. As a result, so do we. (KC)

Feels Good Man Directed by Arthur Jones / Available on demand now

The internet was a mistake. Even if you try to stay out of the digital trash-fires, you’ll likely have heard of the ‘Pepe the Frog’ meme. Turns out, we need to pay attention to these things, particularly with another US election looming. In Feels Good Man, Arthur Jones introduces us to Matt Furie, the humble cartoonist behind the original Pepe, and then takes several wild and weird side-roads, with the most unexpected-but-entertaining talking heads, as we learn just how 4Chan and the alt-right adopted, weaponized and took the frog all the way to the White House, earning official hate-symbol status. “I came in expecting a solid documentary about a meme, and I ended up getting that and a compelling narrative about today’s troubling world,” writes Zach. (GG)

Sheep Without a Shepherd Directed by Sam Quah, written by Yang Weiwei

Dare we say “Letterboxd meets Parasite”? Sheep Without a Shepherd, Sam Quah’s debut feature (based on Jeethu Joseph’s highly rated film Drishyam), is a cinephiliac feast about have-nots taking on upper-echelon corruption. Lead character Weijie (Xiao Yang) is a working-class, obsessive cinephile who vomits his movie knowledge any chance he can get. When his family is pulled into a case of police corruption, this same cinephilia may be the only thing that gets them out of it. It’s a sturdily wrought Hitchcockian homage, with a well-calibrated balance of suspense, humor and pathos.

“What a gut punch of a movie in the best way,” writes Amanda. “A little messy at times, especially in the end, and some questionable forensics, but this is something I’ll definitely be revisiting.” The jury is still out on whether the ending—make that the many endings—worked, but for the most part Letterboxd members enjoyed the cat-and-mouseness of it all, along with its moral questionability. (AY)

You Cannot Kill David Arquette Directed by David Darg and Price James / Available on demand now

You Cannot Kill David Arquette is a rousing, eye-opening and mostly upbeat gawk at the life of the Hollywood star whose fortunes have lately run dry. Although he is out of shape and has very young children (and very cute Basset hounds) to think of, Arquette is desperate to reignite his love of pro wrestling. In a quest to prove to his heroes that he’s serious about the sport, the actor participates in backyard wrestling matches in Virginia, joins street-fighters in Mexico, and goes down a K-hole at the hands of health professionals.

“Arquette is searching for a shred of legitimacy in a world that’s always made him feel like a fraud, and by the end of this loveable, hilarious, and ineffably heartfelt doc it’s almost impossible not to believe in him,” writes David Ehrlich. As compelling a look at mental health as physical, the film benefits from the inclusion of conversations with those closest to Arquette (both of his wives feature), and there’s a heart-skipping scene involving the late Luke Perry. (GG)

Lastly, our team wanted to shout out to Daria Woszek’s Marygoround for the best end credits dedication of the year. Thanks, Fantasia! Roll on 2021.

#fantasia #fantasia festival #midnight madness #fantasia fest #film festival #genre festival #montreal #letterboxd

1 note · View note

lettersofwrittencollective · 6 years ago

Text

The Pull (23/?)

Summary: The Ragnulf’s are one of the oldest lines of werewolves known. A gift from ancient times was given to the line. Though not all of the line will experience it. There are some who will experience a Pull. This Pull leads them to their true mate, a soulmate. The problem is, just because the wolf finds their true mate does not mean that they are the same for that person.

Author: @lettersofwrittencollective

Pairing: Stiles x Hale!Cousin OC (Reader)

Word Count: 3246

Warnings:

A/N: Ya’ll I am super excited to see what you think of this scene! Let me know all your thoughts, did you love it? did you hate it? do you want more of these scenes? Less of them? are they ok with the balance? Because I NEED to know?

<<Prev || Masterlist || Next>>

Stiles waited for Melissa to go through the appointments list. Hopefully, Dr. Gardner is in today and has something so that they can meet.

As he waits, he looks over to see Natasha sitting in one of the waiting area chairs, a magazine in her hand. She must be able to feel his gaze because a moment later she’s looking up and offering him a small smile.

Returning the gesture, he thinks that he really needs to clarify the kiss with her. It had been unexpected, sure but not unwanted. In fact, it might be something that he’d like to do again and again and again… If she’d let him.

“Dr. Gardner’s not back until next week,” Melissa says, pulling his attention back to her. “Do you wanna try waiting for one of the urgent care doctors or….” she trails off.

Stiles is shaking his head and saying no very softly as he steps backward. Melissa calls his name, asking if he’s ok and suddenly she is there with him. He shakes his head, “I… I don’t know. Yeah… I guess. I guess not really.”

He can feel her take his hand and he looks at her and shakes his head, he needs to tell her. He goes to say something but Melissa is pushing on his side, moving him towards some rooms. He begins to walk and can feel Natasha’s hand loosen so he tightens his hold on her, having her follow them.

Melissa takes him to one of the patient rooms, room 315, and while Natasha stands at the doorway, Melissa sits him on the bed she settles him and looks over to the door. He’s sure that she’s going to tell her to go. Patient confidentiality and all that so he asks if she can stay.

Melissa looks at him before nodding and asking about what he’s been experiencing lately.

“Blackouts. But not for that long… And sleepwalking, which I used to do a lot as a kid. Ummm… Also having some really bad anxiety,” he lists off for her.

Melissa turns to him, “Panic attacks?”

“Yeah, a couple,” he nods his head. As Melissa writes, he remembers something else, “Oh, and I temporarily lost the ability to read. But that might have had more to do with this giant magic tree and a whole human sacrifice thing.” He’s frustrated with the situation. If it’s not one thing then it’s another.

When Melissa finds out that he’s only had 8 hours of sleep in the last three days, she looks to Natasha who nods her head in confirmation. He looks down at his hands and begins to count the fingers. He’s not sure if he’s confirming that he’s awake or that it was actually 8 hours of sleep but he confirms the 8 hours of sleep portion.

Melissa walks away from him, rummaging through the cabinet and asks if he’d been irritable. He confirms, “Possibly to the point of homicide.”

“Stiles… that’s not what that was..” Natasha is saying. She sounds annoyed with him but how can she be so sure that he hadn’t hurt anyone? It was his writing. He had had the key

He can see Melissa looking between the two of them before she asks if he’s been able to focus. He shakes his head, the Adderall hadn’t been working and he tells her so.

“Impulsive behavior?”

“More than my usual? Hard to tell.” He’s trying to remain calm, trying to not be frustrated but the next question from Melissa and he’s saying, “Basically all the above. Do you know what this is?”

“I think so,” she says with a nod and a shot in her hand.

He eyes the needle and can feel his heart race picking up before looking at her, “What is that?”

“Do you trust me?”

“When you’re not holding a needle.”

“It’s Midazolam,” Melissa tells him as she gives him a shot of the liquid, “A sedative.” When he asks about why he’s receiving it, she tells him “You, Stiles, are one profoundly sleep-deprived young man. You need rest, and you need it now.”

He can feel her pushing him to lay on the bed and his eyes are heavy.

Annoyed, angry, ready to murder a being older than time itself. All of these sound like very good ideas. His wolves have always been ready for the things that they have to face. But this time, this time those women are not letting one of his pups prepare for what is to come.

And that’s part of the problem, she is still a pup and yet the Nornirs have decided that she will have to deal with a damn fox. A groan escapes his lips as he weaves through the mountain. The path has long since faded from the naked eye but he remembers it well.

Not only has he, himself, traveled it many times but he has protected his warriors when they have taken this particular path.

As he walks the mountain path, he can see a figure that is following him. There’s something about the figure that’s not quite there completely so he pays it no real mind. If it were to attack him, well he is Odin and a great warrior on his own. As he makes his way to the place he is looking for, the winds pick up and the skies open up to rain. It would seem the Nornirs are not too happy that he is coming. He pulls his cloak tighter to him and mutters a spell to repel the water and keep the figure following him dry as he continues his climb.

Finally, after hours of climbing, he reaches the entrance to their home. Climbing in, he is treated to the beautiful receiving room of the Nornirs. Removing his hood, he calls out, “Verðandi! Skuld!”

They know he is here, of that he is sure. But, they make him wait. He’s often wondered if they make him wait to remind him of his own mortality or if it is because they genuinely are working towards the things that are coming into being and moving people into place for the things that will eventually be.

The room is silent and still, as if it is holding its breath before a silver mist flows into the room. It swirls and compacts into the form of a giantess. “Verðandi,” he greets while bowing his head in respect, he waits for the second form to appear.

It’s not long before the second giantess appears and he greets her in the same way, bowing his head in respect.

“What brings the All-Father to journey below the roots of Yggdrasil?” Verðandi begins, a cheshire smile on her lips.

Knowing he must tread carefully, Odin goes to respond but Skuld is laughing. It irks him. But, he is here to request a gift so it would be better to not insult the Nornirs by telling her to shut up. So, biting his tongue, he waits for her to stop laughing to say something but she doesn’t give him the chance. “He’s here to ask us to spare his child the fox.”

“Now, why would we do that?” Verðandi asks, her voice is falsely innocent and sweet.

“She is just a pup!” he reminds them. “This one that you have chosen for her! He’s not yet reached his potential! He has so much more to learn about our world, about his own abilities and skills before he is ready to face this with any real chance of survival! Would you really condemn them both?”

They’re laughing. Full belly laughs that turn into mad cackles and he’s wondering what would happen to Miðgarðr if one, or both, of these beings, were to cease.

It’s as he’s contemplating the ways in which one could kill a Nornir that suddenly, Skuld has wrapped her hand around his neck and is squeezing. He grabs her wrist and she lets his hand go before taking a step back.

“Do you really believe we do not know what we are doing? We have paired many of your children before and you did not question, not even when they were the favorite of the Greeks or the Egyptians,” as she spoke, her presence became heavier within the room. “The one we have chosen for her has their tests in front of them. Did you ever consider the possibility that this will help mold them into what the other needs?” Odin watched as Verðandi came up beside her and the two joined hands.

The silver mist they had formed from returned, this time there were other colors interwoven into the mist. When the Nornirs spoke, it was both Verðandi and Skuld, their voices becoming one, loud and booming, “The child of Odin, Alpha in their own right will face the fox. Should the child fail, death will be imminent.”

Feeling the ice run down his spine, Odin nods his head. Regardless of what he wants, fate has been set and he will have to let it play out. “Can we at least give them a fighting chance?”

They look at him before fading away. As they leave, however, the words We are not beholden to the All-Father are spoken, left to echo in the cave.

Stiles knows he’s dreaming which is frustrating. Thankfully, this dream doesn’t seem like the ones he had before they’d saved Malia - there was something more, observatory, about this. He had been pulled along as a cloaked figure climbed a practically dead mountain. Trying to place the mountain, Stiles realized that he had no idea where he’d seen it in real life. Perhaps it had been in a movie?

The figure had weaved in and out of the trees and bushes, through rain and thunder before reaching a cave entrance. When the figure had entered the cave, Stiles had been pulled in with it only to find himself in a really interesting room. It’s got a really old feeling to it but everything feels powerful. It sort of reminds of him of when Scott’s in Alpha mode but it’s so much - more than that at the same time.

The figure that he had been following up the mountain path removed his hood and Stiles is able to see that it’s a man. He calls out two names, Verðandi and Skuld. Somehow, Stiles knows that these are the Norns. He’d read about them, they’re basically the fates of Norse Mythology though he thought there were supposed to be three of them?

Stiles watches as two very tall, very intimidating women seem to materialize out of almost nothing. They have a conversation with the man who, Stiles is able to piece together, is apparently Odin. He’s pleading with them about someone. There’s something coming and Stiles is sure that it can’t be good if this god is asking the fates to intervene.

Stiles has a realization that this may not actually be a dream but maybe something more. He has a terrible feeling of uneasiness when he sees the woman disappear, their words echoing throughout the room forebodingly, We are not beholden to the All-Father.

Stiles suddenly has the need to escape the place. He has enough supernatural drama to deal with. He doesn’t want to add more to it by There was a chittering noise and Stiles turned around, trying to locate the source only to find himself in a lavish hall.

The sound of clanging metal, grunting, roaring, and crazed laughter fills his ears as he watches both men and women fight against each other with all kinds of weaponry. Suddenly a man with brunette hair grabs him by the arm and swings him around. Cupping Stiles’ face this man begins bellowing loudly at him. It takes Stiles by surprise for just a moment before he returns the bellow without a second thought.

Suddenly, the man is chuckling as he lets him go and claps him on the back. “You are going to be just fine young one,” he says as he moves to sit on one of the chairs and motions for Stiles to do the same.

Hesitantly, Stiles decides to go ahead and take a seat next to the man. “Who are you?”

“Just a humble servant of the gods.”

“The gods? Don’t you mean Odin?”

“Ah so you do know the gods!” the man giggles and claps as if he’s giddy at the prospect itself.

Stiles is confused but doesn’t have a chance to really ask any questions before someone has knocked him off his chair and onto the ground. Suddenly he sees the glint of metal and instinctively puts up his arm to try and block the metal.

There’s a wooden shield on his arm and he actually has to brace towards the weight of an ax being swung at him. Sitting upwards, he shuffles backward and tries to stand up when the ax comes at him again. This time, he’s ready for it though and can at least stand in place.

The man that had swung the ax at him pulls it back and lets out a hearty laugh. Stiles is wondering what insanity is going through this man's head when the guy that had been talking to him earlier claps him on the shoulder.

“Ragnar! Leave the child alone. He’s not dead yet” he scolds and Stiles looks at the guy, Floki.

Floki looks at him and begins to giggle before they’re all sitting around a table. As they’re eating he hears someone calling his name. The fighting around him dies down and Stiles turns to see the man from earlier calling him. Odin.

“You know me?”

“How long have you been here?”

“Where is here? Cause a moment ago, there was some cave room thing and then I’ve got- Floki here terrifying and,” he looks at the other guy, trying to remember the name, “Ragnar here trying to kill me with an ax and now there’s this.”

Some people around him chuckled and he could have sworn that he heard the name Valhalla which he figured would make sense. It would also really suck because from what he knew of the place it would mean that he was dead.

Odin, for some reason, is now sitting next to him and Stiles is not sure how that happened but figures that being a god has something to do with it. Stiles looks at him and nods his head, not sure what else to do but he does want to know, ��Am I dead?”

Odin laughs and “No child, I would argue that you are more alive than you’ve ever been. The Space between life and death, that’s where we are most alive… But, you have challenges coming your way young one. Remember that where a fox’s ears are a fox’s teeth are near.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Stiles asks as he can’t seem to really get his mind wrapped around what the god is saying.

“Do you have any idea of what you are?”

“I’m just a human. I’m not anything more,” he says with a shrug of his shoulder.

Odin smacks his shoulder and Stiles can’t help the grunt that escapes his lips. “What is up with everyone smacking my shoulder here?”

“Bah! You’re fine child. But you’re so much more than just a human Stiles. Don’t forget that. People will always underestimate you. Especially the supernatural, they will think that you are not a threat, but I know differently. You have many gifts, what is in here,” He watches Odin point to his head and then his heart.” is a gift. You do not think like the others. That will serve you well. Let them underestimate you. But I know better- you have the heart of a warrior here.”

Stiles looks at Odin and nods his head. The gods apparently telling him that there’s a whole new storm coming their way and Stiles isn’t sure that he wants to deal with it but apparently, he has no choice.

Odin offers him a curved horn and Stiles takes it. Unsurprisingly, there’s a sweet drink inside. As he goes to lift the drink to his lips, he hears “Skol!” which is then repeated by everyone in the room. Stiles is surprised but repeats the sentiment before lifting the drink with them and the rest of the room begins to disperse into their own things.

He finds that he’s sitting with Floki and Ragnar. They’re sitting there with him and they’re sharing stories. Stiles is listening to stories of raiding and travels of the world. As they’re talking about the different stories, Stiles finds himself being pulled further and further into them .

“Ragnar,” the ax man begins, “how is Lagertha?”

Ragnar smiles and looks over towards a woman who is fighting with some other men and women. Stiles watches and sees as his lips quirk upwards, “She’s doing well. The woman is a true skjaldmær through and through.” There’s pride in his voice as he talks about the woman and a soon enough Ragnar is asking Floki about someone named Helga.

Floki is giggling, once again, and claps his hands. “I am sure that Freyja will allow me to see her soon. I have missed her.” Then, the insane man is looking at him, “What of you child? Have you found your woman?”

“Uh… Well what I mean is that there’s kind of… I mean there might be someone but umm.. Yeah.” he nods his head as if that’s enough of an explanation for the men.

Stiles watches as both of the men look at each other and then bust out laughing. He’s worried that they’re drunk and then they turn to him. “Be kind to her. She comes from a long line that has long been blessed by the Gods. She’s a Valkyrie amongst the living so you must remember that she is surrounded by death but she will always make the best choices.”

“Do you know who she is?”

“How would we know? We are simply Vikings in Valhalla. We do not see the rest of the world.”

“Just remember, warriors, do not show their heart until the ax reveals it.” Loki laughs drumming his fingers together.

Stiles decides that he’s not gonna worry about the ramblings of an obviously insane man. So, he just continues to enjoy the food while observing the hall around him. Most of the people are fighting still, ignoring the food around them but there is one man who catches Stiles’ attention.

The man in question wouldn’t have stood out so much had it not been for the fact that he seemed to be eating and drinking everything he could get his hands on. Stiles found it odd but then figured that this was just the way some people are here.

Returning to his conversation, he’s not sure how long he’s spent talking to the two when suddenly, there’s liquid all over the table. Shoving himself away from it, he looks over to see the same man that had been devouring everything in his reach is now eating the food around him.

He’s drinking from one of the chalices only to toss it to the side and grab another and then another.

"Whoa, buddy, ya thirsty?"

"Oh, you have no idea.” the man grins at him, yellowed teeth prominently on display before he licks his lips, “I'm insatiable."

<<Prev || Masterlist || Next>>

tag list:

@nicole-lynne @fandom-princess-forevermore @capandbuck @biles-bilinski-24 @stiles-o-dylan24 @fiveisadorable @falling-stars-never-cry @blueraindrops@its-livelovelife @screamxqueenx94 @ceceliaking-18 @jasmin3xswayz31994@dear-vista @fangirlbitch02 @riseandshinelittleblossom @jessicakimba @truthdaze @seninjakitey @kateeee0817 @squadkyoya @lucifersnipnips @niawoods @pansexualbitchesofhell @bloodrose-scythe @fox-in-a-mousetrap-8 @findingmyselfinthismessedupworld @shantayok @yougottalovefandoms

Do not copy and paste my writing anywhere without my consent. This work is the property of lettersofwrittencollective . Associated characters belong to MTV and are being borrowed for this work, all OC’s are the property of lettersofwrittencollective. These works contain material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of these works may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author/publisher.

Posted 11 May 2019

#reader insert #stiles #stiles x reader #stiles imagine #stiles imagines #stiles stilinski #stiles stilinski x reader #stiles stilinski imagines #stiles stilinski imagine #teen wolf #teen wolf x reader #teen wolf insert #teen wolf rewrite #my writing #the pull #series #odin #norse mythology #valhalla

200 notes · View notes

juleswolverton-hyde · 6 years ago

Text

A Valediction: Forbidden Mourning | 01

Genre: Smut, Romance, Angst, Stepbrother AU

Pairing: Stepbrother!Namjoon x English student!Reader

Warning: Appearance of a jealous Namjoon, rutting

Summary: Love comes in many shapes, but does not always have a prosperous fate. However, whereas parents might have found it, all the children can do is live in kalopsia.

Forbidden yet denying the mourning of the path chosen for them by Fate.

Author’s Note: Kalopsia (n.): the delusion of things being more beautiful than they are.

Also, my brain descended further into madness, deteriorating fast thanks to exams about poetry and linguistics, thus producing this fanfic which was originally meant to be a one-shot. Yet, here we are, and it would be a lie to say I am not secretly living for this.

Masterlist / Next part

Preface

As virtuous men pass mildly away, And whisper to their souls to go, Whilst some of their sad friends do say The breath goes now, and some say, No: So let us melt, and make no noise, No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move; 'Twere profanation of our joys To tell the laity our love. Moving of th' earth brings harms and fears, Men reckon what it did, and meant; But trepidation of the spheres, Though greater far, is innocent. Dull sublunary lovers' love (Whose soul is sense) cannot admit Absence, because it doth remove Those things which elemented it. But we by a love so much refined, That our selves know not what it is, Inter-assured of the mind, Care less, eyes, lips, and hands to miss. Our two souls therefore, which are one, Though I must go, endure not yet A breach, but an expansion, Like gold to airy thinness beat. If they be two, they are two so As stiff twin compasses are two; Thy soul, the fixed foot, makes no show To move, but doth, if the other do. And though it in the center sit, Yet when the other far doth roam, It leans and hearkens after it, And grows erect, as that comes home. Such wilt thou be to me, who must, Like th' other foot, obliquely run; Thy firmness makes my circle just, And makes me end where I begun. John Donne, Songs and Sonnets, 1633

Happiness can occur in life in all sorts of shapes in places both expected and unexpected, easy to reach or lying at the end of a rocky road. Sometimes it is a physical thing or activity that brings joy - a cup of coffee or tea on a dreary morning while reading a good book that university does not obligate you to read - and sometimes it is a person.

Dad found it in a foreign woman after divorcing Mom, steadily building a relationship from the ashes of the one that had just been burned to the ground, leaving only a daughter just finished with high school as the last steady though crumbling pillar. It could have collapsed had she not accepted the woman and the son who had flown over from a week earlier from the country she herself had left behind and managed to remain friendly despite the thirty-hour jetlag upon seeing the extended welcoming committee upon arrival. Even able to continue to do so in spite of insecurity, crazy working hours draining every last bit of humanity at times and - nowadays fairly decreased - social anxiety arousing suspicion around every unknown person.

At times it remains hard due to the cultural differences, but shared moments like dinners and helping with setting up the rooms for the new inhabitants has only strengthened the bond so that it has become like the days of the old marriage. In fact, travel stories alongside common interests form another source of daily bonding regardless of being busy with university and complaining about it.

Nevertheless, it is a form of love: family. And there is a gladness it has been restored to a formerly broken man trying to create the best life for an insecure though growing lass with wanderlust who likes to be more often absent than present.

Withal, these days the need to escape is grander thanks to a new reason.

Another love in the form of a person.

A big man who is five years older with the beautiful mind of an old soul and the brains of a proper academic, speaking with a silver tongue without lies and baritone tone reminiscent of the days spent by the sea during travelling in the gap year before giving university a chance forms a source of joy in this particular case. Habits like the patting of the head accompanied by encouragements and hugs coloured with a mixture of protectiveness and assurance before setting off on yet another adventure somewhere in the world when the educational and work schedule allows it or before stressful tests increasing the pressuring anxiety bring more comfort than they ought. How curious to see the rise in intimacy in comparison to the polite cold handshakes at the very start of the second journey during twelve careless months.

The sense of amenity has especially become more prominent after a particular night filled with terrors which occupied every dream, making the unconscious body futilely attempt to fight the horror. Joon came bounding up the creaking attic stairs and burst through the door, making sure everything was alright after urgently waking a girl he barely knew safe for what her father and his mother had told him, refusing to go downstairs to the simply furnished bedroom also functioning as a studio and office they built up together. Instead, the one-person bed had to be shared as a harmless bear lay down beside a koala and held her all throughout the night to form a guard against any evil that would dare disturb the calm.

How cruel Fate is.

To send a person who unexpectedly had brought joy to a formerly bland existence filled with self-growth and a lonely road of which the emptiness was denied for surely the scenery made up for the lack of company.

But what of the local cafés for breakfast and coffee breaks, to scan through the taken pictures, show off any proud results to a companion? What of the bookstores to wander in for hours on end, the recommendations that cannot be given to a fellow bookworm?

No one is there.

Nothing but the empty shape of the man with adorable dimples and unique laugh that strangely captured the heart from the start.

All there is, is a sole pair of sneakers that are still a tad dirtied by Scottish mud when stubbornness resulted in being stuck in the hills, too afraid of falling to come down rapidly.

If Joon had been there, big hands would have guided us both down towards the beginning of Holyrood Park safely.

Been held while walking The Royal Mile and wrapped around a warm cup of freshly made cappuccino with impeccable latte art in the form of a Smeraldo flower as the rain poured from the ashen heavens yet we were sheltered from it by Miss MacIntyre’s cosy café.

If he had been there.

Thus, the girl who denied the loneliness is regardlessly left in solitude, lost among stories that can solely be shared with the one person who already loves another in the way the lone wolf loves him.

Because the bond of stepsister and stepbrother is in the way of pursuing a beloved who makes even the stressful days easier and who speaks with the distinct deep voice that can both rap and sing poetry, an odd contrast given the important day job requiring a suit, giving the genuine encouragements needed to see the hours through when everything becomes too much. Whose clothing style shows off the secret duality and sometimes becomes part of the self-developed one after coming home on a rainy day. Definitely becomes part of it if the temperatures are low and worries about potential sickness triggers the stubborn guardian inside the clumsy giant.

Namjoon makes the world not feel as if Atlas has handed over the burden. Instead, he selflessly lifts it.

And yet the truthful smile fades when low and more high-pitched murmurs and giggles on the other side of the bedroom door are heard during passing through the hallway to the attic in the evening, for it is undeniable Heungji, a beautiful onyx-haired girl on the other side of the world in a country - the place of his roots - as gorgeous as the fox herself, will keep the bear’s heart even if miles separate love. At least there is still the digital highway to connect and keep the relationship standing.

All we have are moments like these wherein the friendliness is painfully obvious while going out for a hot beverage together or lunch depending on the time of the seminar and his function as a debtor manager for the bank allows a break, even if the day has not gone awry. Nonetheless, today it has as the linguistics exam did not turn out as well as expected and the sole source of comfort - a cup of joe - cannot be paid for since everything which is necessary for the day was transferred from the bag used for the job as a retail worker to the backpack that was decidedly a better option, except my wallet.

Fortunately, the exchange student within our seminar group and also one of the loved friends made along the way, Changkyun - who goes by the name of Daniel to make it easier for the professors and likely evade embarrassment at the hand of wrong pronunciation - has offered to pay since he, too, needs a break from studying old literature. Moreover, there was no escaping the offer since the hazelnut-haired lad with a sly hint to a stoic look knows how much depends on caffeine in this student’s life and the salary earned at the supermarket in the mall would be deposited today anyway. Besides, spending some time with a fellow student, a rare occurrence outside lectures and regular class, might bring some peace of mind to the rampant mental chaos.

A buzz shaking in the back pocket of dark skinny jeans that do all but hold out the icy winter weather signifies the arrival of a message, the name upon checking who exactly sent it immediately bringing a sliver of a smile to thin lips desperate to cry out in frustration yet remaining silent. ‘Hey, how did it go? Did the practice we did last night do you any good?’

After dinner, Namjoon tried to help with the development of the skill of being able to distinguish between prescriptive and descriptive grammar as we sat in the corner of the stone-shaded L-shaped couch with the printed twenty-five page summary of all that needed to be learned. Before it would never even have occurred to the mind to lean on the broad shoulder offered so freely and embrace the strong arm which also functioned as a stress outlet whenever answering a question wrong. Joon did not mind it, merely asked in a laughing manner not to separate the limb from the body by squeezing.

It perhaps would have been after hearing yet another Skype call with Heungji.

It is silly, being so infatuated with a person who can never be held dear in the desired manner if they were ever fated to be with the lover from afar at all. But that is the way of the world: nobody can always get what they want. At least the parents who raised us have found happiness in each other, a virtue which is more important than the selfish desire for a grey-haired man who holds the middle between a wolf and a bear.

Withal, the same words spoken by the unattainable hidden philosopher when the first doubts about the study and everything surrounding it echo in the faded buzz of companions conversing with one another while waiting for the last party member: just because it is a bad day, does not necessarily mean it is a bad life.

Eager digits foolishly in love with the hallucination firmly cloaking them, refusing to lift the veil, type out a reply speaking the not so pretty truth. ‘First part went fairly well: 68/100. Guess I’m a grammar nazi, after all. The second part proved I, apparently, cannot use grammar in the normal sense. Completely screwed that up: 58/100. Hoping for an average above the 5.0.

‘Anywho, I’m going to forget about it for a wee while with Changkyun and a cup of coffee. Forgot my wallet, but he’s paying so it’s all good. Free coffee!’

An odd uncharacteristic response comes a split second later, the tone of the text containing a harshness which would normally never be associated with the kind giant regardless of the seemingly harmless proposal. ‘I’ll pay. You know what, let’s get lunch together. My treat. I’ll come to pick you up and we’ll go to your favourite restaurant near the convention centre.’

‘Joon, it’s fine. I’ll eat something at home and get back to studying. Besides, it’s only coffee before returning to the study of 1100 years of literary history and I’m sure you’re busy.’ Normally, the chance of sharing a meal after a late morning seminar would not be skipped, certainly not at the Asian fusion restaurant nearby the station and grand cinema, but it is nice to do something with someone else for a change.

Eyes widen in surprise at the determination and silent sternness colouring the turn the conversation has taken, unbelieving of the attitude Namjoon has suddenly taken on. ‘Seeing as I’m texting you, I must not be very busy. Let me take care of you. What was the address of the building where you have class again?’

‘Is this a Korean thing or just you being a very insistent gentleman? Don’t make such a deal out of it and get back to work.’ In the beginning and even nowadays there is a noticeable difference in culture as the wolf simply does not permit me to pay for my own food when the city allows repose from obligation and we should share a meal as family.

As stepbrother and sister.

The role of the latter becomes harder with the day, but the sole audience who gets to see the actress perform remains blind to the woman underneath the makeup due to the performance which crumbles behind the scenes.

The argument is completely disregarded in favour of the behaviour laced with curious possessiveness. ‘Oh, never mind. I remember now. In fact, I’ll be there in ten.’

‘Un-fucking-believable.’ With a defeated sigh and shake of the head, the phone is tucked back into the pocket and music softly sounding through crisp white earbuds turned on again. It is the variety of upbeat Korean pop songs mixed with indie artists and symphonic metal that keeps the blood boiling enough without acting in a rash impulse. Hands are tucked in the pockets of the leather jacket lined with fake wolf fur to trap all bodily warmth. Nonetheless, there is a fleeting, spiderweb-thin, unknown emotion adding extra heat to the body despite the apparent need for control. Something different than the amorous sensation normally provoked by the tall man.

‘Y/N, you okay?’ The baritone voice making one assume the lad speaking is older than the truth dictates, makes a mocking focus shift from sneakers forever engraved by adventures in Scotland and lined with sheep’s wool lightly kicking the ground to the face of the boy who has been a friend since the beginning of September. The hero of this awful day. Wearing the same style as on the matching day, raven locks parted in the middle to make the same-toned baggy hoodie appear more fashionable than it actually is and golden-rimmed glasses framing bright almond-shaped eyes the colour of the earth in autumn set above a tall nose, Changkyun stands waiting patiently for an explanation for the change in behaviour with crossed arms. ‘You already said the test didn’t go too well, but now you seem even more pissed off. Did something happen?’

‘My stubborn... brother.’ The last word comes out with difficulty for lately the situation has grown complicated due to emotions and actions both parties show and undertake, cloaking the relationship in a confusing veil outside of the eyes of loving parents. ‘I don’t know what’s gotten into him lately, but his behaviour has changed and not exactly always for the better. In fact, Joon is somehow completely against us getting coffee. Just two weeks ago he wouldn’t have minded because he knows you’re a good friend of mine, but now he’s acting even worse than I do when The Red Dragon is around.’

Withal, even before the mentioned period of change, some uncharacteristic tweaks in attitude that would soon be made part of the self had been noticeable.

The most obvious one was the curious shift from jealousy which was tried very much to be hidden underneath a calm listening expression to almost undeniable relief at hearing the male coworker turned into a good comrade on the first day of work at a new job picked up a month or so ago at the local mall as a retail worker already has a girlfriend.

A little while later, mayhaps in the week that followed, a similar rapid storm of emotions passed behind the wizened gaze of the bear who was reading Me Before You by Jojo Moyes as Dad and Jeongja, the gentle lovely woman who raised Namjoon and now also has a daughter to care for, spent the evening by watching series on Netflix. The slight cramping of slender caramel digits around the bright crimson sides of the novel showed everything that secretly flashed by in the eyes partially obscured by the top side of the book at hearing a few fellow students, the sole individuals who have been deemed genuine and fun company, dropped by the store for a brief visit before heading home via the station just across the plaza. Changkyun’s name - the sole male one among the fellowship - triggered the quiet rage. The rest form no problem since they are lasses, but the stoic boy who could make an advance that would deepen the current friendship to a more meaningful bond was in the unspoken opinion seething on the stone-toned sofa.

Still is, judging from the tiny tenses of fingers or other easily dismissible negative quirks that appear after accounting having made a linguistics or literature seminar more fun than it truly was by goofing around - in a respectful manner that did not disturb the professor, of course - with a mere companion.

Another sign of transformation are the touches in the early morning when preparing the first cup of coffee of the day, the necessary beverage to get through the following hours, and a small bowl of soy yoghurt. First, it was simply digits muzzling extremely dishevelled but clean ash blonde locks which looked as if having withstood a tornado or gentle petting if they had fallen into a messy though charming bedhead look. Then those touches turned into big warm palms wrapping over the shoulder bared by the baggy shirt functioning as sleepwear, apparently a “convenient” point of support for getting something from the cupboard - being kindly slapped with a sachet of instant coffee on the head - or fridge.

None of it has been minded thus far since it casts a mirage which only adds to the forbidden longing for the tall man who can never be had and the fact Namjoon is the sole person who is allowed any kind of showing physical affection in the morning without being grumbled at. Mayhaps this is how siblings behave in Korea, showing more affection than here in Europe.

However, the intimacy to which they have grown alongside the farewell and welcome-back hugs at the airport or after a long tiring day, certainly will make any outsider curious as to what lies beneath the surface which allows the touches to this degree.

Nonetheless, in those instances, out of the sight that would surely question and judge the skinship, the world is a bit less harsh and the day easier on the psyche.

In those delusional meaningless moments, we are more than stepbrother and sister.

I am his and he is mine.

Regardless, what was minded and continues to bother the consciousness anew after being butchered by grammar and now once again tries to find a plausible explanation for the half-slumbering given excuse which bore no conviction, is this morning’s suddenly very intimate gesture. Perhaps it was an accident because there surely is no other justification for the paradoxical situation that unintentionally formed a prelude to today’s troubled train of thought.

Withal, the sensation of feeling a warm chest containing a wildly beating heart pressed against the spine while a hardened heat source pushed with the same pressure against the behind, the intention of the sensual action clear, and having arms wrapped around the shoulders in an inappropriate intimate embrace as thick grey locks appeared in the corner of barely though immediately alert vision cannot be easily let go of. Just like the full lips drowsily murmuring undecipherable statements against the shoulder blade while one hand travelled down to grip the hip and guide it to feel the slow barely noticeable rhythm set in by the wolf.

When remarking upon the fairly awkward situation, perversely wishing to remain a bit longer like this - even going as far bringing the pleasure suddenly sought after, yet not wanting to ignite any futile hope with the desire-filled images rapidly flashing by in a mental thunderstorm - Sense returned from wherever it went in an instant and the bear tainted with the traces of slumber muttered a poor excuse about not being fully conscious, having had a difficult conversation the night before with Heungji and therefore not being in the right proper mindset.

That it was just a lucid dream.

After all, we are siblings.

It meant nothing.

Simply an accident.

A bittersweet moment of actually feeling wanted as more than the sweet girl by the poet bound to an onyx fox in the land of tigers.

But it is uncertain what Heungji would think of the recent obvious displays of jealousy. Surely, it would not be much appreciated if a lover so clearly is affected by the actions of another, basically not allowing them to be with anyone who is not approved of aside from themselves. In fact, the situation a wolf and koala are in is one of cheating.

Then again, there is too much distance between the two and things are easily left unspoken.

Mayhaps I am a mere distraction.

Worth nothing.

Howbeit, if one thing has been learned from the relatively brief time together, it is that cold false games like that are not Namjoon’s way and would be an unbelievable attempt at hiding the genuine nature underneath the sometimes intimidating exterior. Henceforth, something must have happened which has triggered the change. After all, how difficult was that conversation last night and was it the first or another addition to a series of multiple? Furthermore, there are still the kind-hearted soft female giggles and sonorous chuckles resonating from the other side of the door, although not quite so often as they used to do.

It is frustrating how the self cannot let go of Hope and let Sense lead it down another, less painful, path. That there is no progress from the dream keeping the mind captured.

What would not be given in order to escape the kalopsia.

‘He is likely just concerned for his little sister. I know I’d be if my sister would go out, even for just a coffee, with a guy despite claiming they’re merely friends.’ A small smile forms on roseate lips, promising there is nothing to worry about and this is merely natural behaviour. ‘He’s simply being a good brother, Y/N.’

‘Changkyun, you don’t- no, never mind.’ At the last second, the intent to use the accident as an argument is repressed, deciding it is too much information to share with somebody regardless of the bond with them. ‘Let’s just keep it at that he’s simply being weird but, as you said, a good brother.’

A lie which has to be believed every single day in order to move past the fantasies romanticizing reality and keeping the conscious blind to the all too eager harshness which would so like to make them crumble into tiny irretrievable shards.

To keep breathing when the salt shed in privacy has dried and Namjoon still is not there.

To just keep going.

‘Whatever you say, Y/N. Whatever you say.’

For a few more minutes, we simply stand basking in the warm scent of the building’s coffee corner while waiting for the last party member to return from the awful linguistics test, spending the time in silence disturbed by melodies only a sole pair of ears can hear. The music calms the nerves standing on edge with the for once negative anticipation of seeing the recently grown odd stepbrother appear in the doorway to fulfil the promise that could not be refused.

There is always a choice, you tell me that time and again when rock bottom is close or times are generally hard but not desperate. However, why is there not now? Why can’t you let me pick?

‘I’m so glad that’s over! All I want to do is go home and forget this bloody test.’ Golden straight locks round the corner in a whirlwind of temporarily gradually fading worry, held together by a caramel-toned hair tie. Judging from the tiredness dimming the normally bright - albeit tainted with stress more often than not - crystal blue stare, Monica is well and truly done with the day. ‘Let’s get out of here. I need to go home to study for tomorrow’s exam.’

‘Go take a break with us.’ The need for a brief repose is barely able to be dismissed from even the slightly happier expression breaking the stoic façade of the pale hazelnut-haired fellow caffeine addict. ‘Y/N and I are going to get some coffee anyway so join us.’

‘It’ll do you some good. Studying can wait until later.’ Fingers remove the headphones providing rest for a chaotic mind, the sounds of the world flowing in after melodies fade. A hand stretches out, tempting another soul into procrastination. ‘Or you’ll end up like Donne, obsessed with death. Death by studying. Come on, Mon. Let’s go.’

Withal, it cannot be taken nor a step set towards the exit of the edifice before an all too familiar baritone voice growls in warning. ‘How about you come with me?’

So far for escaping the sole person who wanted to be evaded at all costs to merely enjoy the rare occasion of doing something with friends, unrelated to university.

Because in the doorway and thus barring the way, clad in a neat onyx turtleneck and same-coloured pants underneath a trench coat which is a lighter shade of black, the outfit put on for work as a debtor manager this very morning, stands an intimidating wolf instead of the kind book-loving bear who helped with studying last night. And since there is no help, there is also no possible tactic that can be employed to still succeed in circumventing the six-feet-tall blockade.

There is no way to avoid Namjoon, raging with jealous menace.

#BTS #BTS smut #kpopwonderlandtag #btssmutclub #btsguild #armyofwriters #BTS x Reader #Namjoon #RM #Kim Namjoon #Joon #Stepbrother!Namjoon #A Valediction: Forbidden Mourning

202 notes · View notes

extraneousdominomask · 7 years ago

Text

Of Heists and Hustles - The Abridged Version

[Night in Zootopia. The Nope Diamond is travelling to The Museum, and all the cops are helping. All the cops except]

Judy: This sucks! I wanna help!

Nick: I am ambivalent.

[The Cooper Gang waits nearby, ready to steal it!]

Sly: I'm a thief!

Bentley: I'm a hacker.

Murray: I'M THE MURRAY

Sly: This sucks. I'm bored.

McHorn: Oh god! We're all getting beaten up by a giant shirtless cat!

Sly: Amazing!

[Sly meets Tai Lung. He is giant and shirtless.]

Sly: I have stolen the diamond!

[Tai Lung hits him very hard.]

Judy: Stop right there! You're under arrest!

[Tai Lung hits her very hard.]

Tai Lung: I will now kill you.

Sly: Not if I heroically intervene! It's my Establishing Character Moment! I do nice things but for selfish reasons maybe!

[Everybody fights. Nick throws the diamond. Judy throws herself after it. Both land in a river.]

Nick: I am anxious!

Tai Lung: I am leaving.

Judy : I am the world's greatest cop!!!! but also cold and wet

[It's still night. The same night and everything! Tai Lung is running across rooftops.]

Tai Lung: I am the best at running across rooftops!

Sly: Get on my level, amateur, you don't even know I'm following you.

Tai Lung: What?

Sly: Nothing.

Bentley: Sly, what's happening?!

Sly: A bad guy tried to steal the diamond and hurt a policewoman. I am following him because I hate him.

Bentley: Your libido will be the death of us all.

[It's The Museum. The curator of The Museum is Black Panther. Yes, really.]

Okonkwo: Thank you for saving the diamond. I hired Wolf O'Donnell to protect it, but he hasn't been written into the story yet. Would you like to come to my fancy party on Friday?

Nick: Heck yes!

Judy: As long as we don't die horribly before then, ha ha!

[Awkward silence.]

[It's a gross warehouse. There are hyenas.]

Shenzi: We're hyenas!

Banzai: Except now we're also bikers!

Tai Lung: Move aside. I hate you.

[A tiny nerd uses a telephone.]

Peridot: I'VE SPENT A LOT OF EFFORT ENSURING MY BOSS IS A SECRET!

Mastermind: Ironically, it is transparently obvious who I am.

Sly: I've just taken photos of all of you!

Tai Lung: What! I will now kill y-

[Murray hits him with a van.]

Murray: let's BOUNCE

[It's the ZPD morning briefing! With your host, Chiiiiiiiief Bogo!]

Bogo: Let's get this over with. I have strict orders to distract from the fact this entire chapter is exposition by utilizing

Sly: snazzy scene transitions!

Bentley: ...why did you yell that?

Sly: Just run it, Hardison.

Bentley: This is Tai Lung. He punches. This is Peridot. She hacks. These are the hyenas. They're dumb, and, furthermore, stupid. Squeezing them might reveal the mastermind, who I have been unable to identify.

Sly: And what about

Judy: the oddly attractive raccoon, Chief?

Bogo: He's Sly Cooper. He and his friends steal things for fun, mostly from other criminals. But sometimes they don't, I guess. We have an Interpol agent coming to help us. That is all.

Nick: Wow, I wish all our briefings could be this short. That just leaves

Sly: Nick and Judy!

Bentley: Yes. Nick and Judy. They are friends who fight crime.

Sly: I will befriend them also. Get me a telephone.

Judy: I just got a text! Sly wants to meet us.

Nick: Guess we better investigate.

Judy: Sounds like a plan, my dearest friend who I love and share a house with!

Nick: So are we boning or what?

Judy : Unclear!

[Nick and Judy are in a park, reading a newspaper of wacky mayoral candidates.]

Nick: Look at all these wacky mayoral candidates! Like Toriel Undertale! And Scar!

Judy: "Scar" is a dumb name.

Nick: Yes.

Clawhauser: It's me, Clawhauser, over the radio! Bogo wants to see you, Nick!

Nick: Heck. Don't die, Judy.

Judy: Okay!

[Nick leaves. Sly enters.]

Sly: Wanna team up?

Judy: Only kinda!

Bogo: Come in, Wilde, and meet our Interpol liaison.

Nick: Great, some stuffed-shirt two-bit - ¡dios mío, zorra muy bonita!

Carmelita: Hello, I'm Inspector Carmelita Montoya Fox. And I should hope you mean that to be translated literally, not colloquially.

Nick: You work for Interpol?! That completely invalidates my significance as a street-level officer in Furry New York.

Carmelita: True. But remember: Star Fox.

Nick: Star Fox?

Carmelita: Yes.

Bogo: Wilde, you've been chosen to work with Carmelita because you know the city like no-one else.

Carmelita: Pretty good justification for why I'd team up with a complete rookie, right?

Nick: If I don't have Judy helping me I might cry. Just a heads up.

Bogo: In a somewhat out-of-character move, I will grant Hopps freedom from usual department rules.

Carmelita: In a very out-of-character move, I am okay with this.

Nick: The important thing is that I got what I wanted.

Carmelita: Congratulations. Now if you'll excuse me, I should go get my ninety minutes of daily sleep.

Bogo: Wilde, for god's sake, learn some independence. Hopps could die at literally any moment, you ever think about that?

Nick: Yes!!!!! Constantly!!!!!!!!!! It consumes me from within!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Bogo: Well, good. As long as you're aware.

Nick: Star Fox?!?!

Judy: Yes.

Sly: Go arrest the hyenas to find the mastermind.

Judy: Smart plan. But my partner isn't gonna like this.

Nick: I don't like this!

Judy: Pleeeeeeeeeeeeease? Just once!

Nick: Fine. Just once. Oh, also, the Interpol inspector is a fox, and also also, Bogo is letting you help me help her. Secretly.

Judy: Wow! Wow to all of that!

Nick: Yeah. Now let's go to Ruby's bar.

[It's Ruby's bar.]

Ruby: I'm Ruby, from the show RWBY!

Blake: I'm quiet.

Finnick: And I'm here too.

Nick: oh god

Judy: Are you two not friends any more?

Finnick: It's genuinely unclear in canon if we ever were.

Murray : Time for THE MURRAY to make like a Cold War superpower and instigate a proxy conflict!

[He does. There are many kicks. The hyenas go to jail.]

Tai Lung: Heck.

Carmelita: So Nick and Judy think these hyenas are connected to the diamond heist?

Bogo: I'll be honest, Inspector, I just let them do whatever and they work things out eventually.

Banzai: You'll get nothing from me, copper!

Nick: [is Nick]

Banzai: here is every secret i've ever been told

Nick: So apparently the mastermind is Scar? That's ridiculous. Let's go bother him.

Peridot: HECK!!!!!!!!!!

Carmelita: Great work in there, Nick!

Nick: I was not a con artist!!

Carmelita: ...Cool! See you later.

[It's a slideshow.]

Bentley: Here's the slideshow for my new plan. We'll need three things: alarm schematics,

Sly: Right,

Bentley: an entire subway train,

Murray: NICE

Bentley: and an invitation we'll have to rob from an innocent old man.

Sly: Okay :)

Bentley: ...

Murray: ...That's... kinda evil, Bentl-

Bentley: Yes. It is.

[It's Scar's house.]

Scar: Hello, I'm Scar.

Judy: Are you the bad guy?

Scar: No, I'm Scar.

Nick: How's Mufasa?

Scar: That's unimportant. I'm Scar.

Judy: Are you connected with these hyenas?

Scar: Oh , I'm so sorry, but I haven't "seen" them in years >;3

Judy: ...can we arrest him for making that face

Nick: That legislation hasn't been finalized yet, sorry.

[They leave.]

Nick: Scar basically admitted to everything, but in a way that gives us no evidence. We've got nothing right now, but I'm sure it's him.

Judy: But why? Why steal the diamond?

Nick: Well, everyone loves us for saving the day. If he manufactured a similar situation, he might actually get voted in as mayor.

Judy: A transparently evil fascist using misinformation to win an election? Come on, Nick. This is 2016.

Nick: goddammit judy

Clawhauser: It's time to read Tai Lung's Extended Backstory File!

Carmelita: And I am here as well.

Clawhauser: Oh gosh! He's mostly evil because his dad died! And he did the manslaughter! Mammalslaughter...?

Nick: Yep, it's true. Doing one crime will ruin your life forever. Gotta tick off the Social Commentary box for this to be a real Zootopia fanfiction...

Carmelita: I remain unsympathetic to him in light of this information. My role in this and all narratives is to stick stringently to the Lawful part of Lawful Good. Never trust criminals. No matter how handsome they are.

Nick: But this doesn't explain why Tai Lung is helping Scar become mayor.

Judy: The mayor's office can pardon crimes! Somehow! Even though that really only applies to stuff like parking tickets, not an international crime spree of theft and probably murder!

Nick: In fairness, Tai Lung mightn't know that, Scar just needs to convince him.

Judy: Let's go with that, yes.

[A smol cat stabs Banzai with an umbrella.]

Banzai : Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!! Kill Nick!

[Carmelita shoots him with her Huge Gun.]

Carmelita: Writhe, little man.

Nick: He went savage! But only a little bit...

Judy: What evil genius put this together?

Peridot : AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!! LEGS... SHORT! HNFF

[The Cooper Gang steal a subway train.]

Murray: This is the BEST DAY EVER

[Tai Lung attacks.]

Murray: I change MY MIND

Sly: Go on without me, guys! I'll handle him alone! By which I mean I'm immediately calling Judy for help.

[There are many kicks.]

Judy: Wait! I know your tragic backstory!

Tai Lung: Then go make a gifset.

[His attempts to murder them do not abate. However, Sly and Judy save each other.]

Judy: Gosh, you're amazing!

Sly: No, you're amazing!

Judy: Gosh...

Sly: So are we boning or what?

Judy: Unclear!

Tai Lung: Enough of this vague romantic tension! You're boring me stiff!

[He bores into them until they are stiff.]

Murray: Oh my god Sly and Judy are dead wait, no, they're just sleeping.

Bentley: Yes. We're all terrified two protagonists will die halfway through the story.

Carmelita: Alright, losers, shut up and follow my lead. Time to demonstrate my full prowess as an officer.

Murray: Oh, wow! Are you gonna shoot him?

Carmelita: Murray, please. I'm an Inspector with Interpol. My tactical knowledge is a little more advanced than that.

Tai Lung: I'm going to drown these tiny fools! And there's nothing anyone can do to stop m-

[Carmelita proceeds to shoot Tai Lung in the face multiple times. It is very funny.]

Nick: I've found a way to weaponise his previously-established backstory!

Bentley: Thank god. We've justified that otherwise pointless detour.

Nick: Shut up and hack that telephone, Specs.

[The telephone rings.]

Murray: It's for you!

Tai Lung: Ahoy-hoy?

Nick: It's me! Your boss! Quit it.

Tai Lung: Pop quiz - what's my motivation?

Nick: Uh... you're doing these crimes to not be a criminal any more?

Tai Lung: Close enough. I will begrudgingly follow your suspiciously merciful orders.

Nick: We did it!

Bentley: Nice work. Say, does this look like a flash-bang to you?

Nick: Wh- OH GOD MY EYES

[Judy is propped up on many pillows.]

Nick: Okay, you didn't die this time, but that was pretty close.

Judy: Bring on Round Two!

Nick: I am genuinely begging you to take the day off. More for my sake than yours.

[It's Black Panther's office in The Museum.]

Wolf O'Donnell: And it's me! Wolf O'Donnell!

[Audience applause, cheers, howling.]

Okonkwo: Hello, my vaguely trusted employee. Can I help you?

Wolf: Yes. This job has much more master thieves than advertised. Pay me much more money.

Okonkwo: Your concerns are valid. However, I'm afraid I have no money to spare.

Wolf: ...well then! Forget I said anything. Not important ;)

[Peridot is watching cartoons illegally online - yes, specifically, that's what happened - when Tai Lung appears.]

Peridot: YYYYYYYYYYYYOU MESSED UP!

Tai Lung: Eh.

Peridot: I'M GONNA FIX IT!!!

Tai Lung: Off you go, then.

Peridot: NYEH

Sly: Always treat a lady to chocolates after she saves you from being drowned by a snow leopard.

Bentley: Terrible news! Murray's sick! He's come down with a serious case of Can't Be In The Plot Right Now!

Sly: Perfect! What a convenient excuse to invite Judy to fight slash commit crime with me!

Bentley: Sly, can we please talk about the underlying issues pushing you into this uncharacteristic behaviour?

Sly: No.

[Nick and Carmelita must do computer things.]

Carmelita: I like you, Nick. I'm gonna tell you a bit of my backstory - lord help me, I'll even banter with you.

Nick: Wow. Well, it's an honour being under you.

Carmelita: So are we boning or what?

Nick: Unclear!

[Judy has had the entire day off. She is ready to die.]

Judy: I am ready to make some terrible decisions!

[She receives a text from Sly.]

Sly: check out this hot selfie i took at an active crime scene

Judy: Wow! What an attractive terrible decision!

Sly: want to help me beat up a small nerd?

Judy: i'm there! [rabbit emoji] [raccoon emoji] [gun emoji] [computer emoji]

Peridot: CLODS! STEP INTO MY DEATHTRAP GAUNTLET AND DIE!

Sly: How about................... we don't do that?

Judy: yeah okay

Peridot: NO!!!

[Peridot locks them into an employee lounge, forcing them to Bond(tm).]

Sly: So basically I'm doing this for my dead dad.

Judy: Interesting. Isn't he dead, though?

Sly: Hmm, good point.

[Nick receives a text from Judy.]

Nick: uhhhhhhhhhhh hhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Carmelita: What's up, buttercup?

Nick: On one hand, I should probably keep this a secret. On the other, Please Help.

Sly: My arc is that I can't stop stealing.

Judy: Mine is that I'm probably going to h*cking die.

Sly: Haha wow!

Judy: Hey. Hey, Sly, guess what. I know your tragic backstory too. That's rough, buddy.

Sly: Thanks, Judy. I appreciate it. Y'know, you'd make a pretty good thief.

Judy: And you'd make a good cop!

Sly: Um, funny story,

Nick: You drafted a falsely amnesiac Sly Cooper into Interpol?! That's not a funny story at all! That's melancholic, and deeply concerning!

Carmelita: Look. In my defence... I wanted to bone him.

Nick: That's not-!

Peridot: CLODS! STEP INTO MY DEATHTRAP GAUNTLET AND DIE! PLEASE?!

Nick: Let's cut the power.

Peridot: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Nick: I lied. I actually was a con-artist.

Carmelita: I know, Nick, I've seen the movie.

Sly: You should communicate more clearly with your partner.

Judy: Good suggestion, internationally wanted criminal. I'll get right on that, just as soon as-

[The power goes out and the doors open.]

Judy: Oh, cool, we can beat up that nerd!

Sly: Finally!

Peridot: THIS IS A BAD NIGHT FOR PERIDOT

Tai Lung: Ugh! I'm here to save you.

Nick: They're gone. But we can still arrest Sly - Judy, cuff him!

Judy: Um... no.

[It's breakfast time! Judy... actually, y'know what? I'm not gonna comedically abridge this part. Chapter 16 of this story came out very, very well, especially since I don't consider serious emotion one of my strengths. I might suggest you just go and read it if you're interested. It's the emotional culmination of the separate arcs for Nick, Judy, and Sly/Carmelita that build through the story, and I'm still very pleased with the results. Anyway. It's sad.]

[The Cooper Gang's sad too.]

Murray: I messed up!

Sly: Yeah. Me too.

Bentley: Oh, shut up, guys. You'll feel better when we successfully heist a diamond, I assume.

[Sad, sad, droopy ears.]

Judy: I am so depressed I am willingly performing traffic duty.

Clawhauser: I can't even cheer you up, and I'm Clawhauser!

Judy: She who is tired of Clawhauser is tired of life.

[At The Museum, Wolf is giving a helpful pep talk.]

Wolf: What do we want?

Wolves: Loads of money!

Wolf: How do we want it?

Wolves: From anyone!

Wolf : [tearing up] I'm so proud of you all.

[Nick and Carmelita try to find the Cooper Gang. All they find is a chocolate shop.]

Carmelita: This makes me feel angry!

Nick: I am dead inside. ...Moreso than usual.

[The bad guys are doing okay, really.]

Peridot: I'M VERY SORRY!

Mastermind: Sorta don't care. Is the Night Howler(tm) ready?

Tai Lung: We're using Night Howler on someone?

Mastermind: Oh, we're using it on someone alright >;3c

Tai Lung: how did you do that over the phone

[It's the fancy party! Wolf's manning the door.]

Wolf: I'm casually bullying a guy in a wheelchair! Just in case you weren't sure I was an antagonist.

Scar: Here is a bribe so I can carry skip the security check.

Wolf: I love my job.

Sly: Hiding in the rafters is making me feel a little better.

Tai Lung: Same.

Sly: Agh! What are you doing up here?!

Tai Lung: Right now? Just mocking you for having empathy. Loser.

Judy: Oh, hello, Carmelita. What's up?

Carmelita: This is a little late in the story, but: we have so much common ground. Don't repeat my mistakes. You have deeply impressed me in the threeish days I've known you, and I'm lucky to have met you.

Judy: W-wow. The feeling's more than mutual.

Carmelita: So are we boning or what?

Judy: Gosh, I hope so.

Nick: You enjoying the party, Scar?

Scar : Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmhhh >:3cccc

Nick: Soon, Nicholas. Soon.

Toriel: Excuse me, I seem to have misplaced my child. I'm a competent mother, I swear.

[Judy looks for Toriel's son, Asriel, but instead finds only a crime!]

Wolf: Gimme the diamond!

Okonkwo: What treachery is this?!

Wolf: I've received purely electronic communication from someone claiming to be the Cooper Gang, saying they'll pay me big money for this diamond.

Okonkwo: And you... trust that?

Wolf: Well, not any more. Clearly, Cooper is trying to fool me!

Okonkwo: Clearly.

[Wolf leaves with the diamond. Okonkwo obliterates a wolf with a single punch. He is, after all, Black Panther.]

Okonkwo: Officer Hopps, please help me evacuate the entire museum by claiming that a heretofore-unmentioned fireworks display is about to start, which is mandatory for all guests to attend, but will not actually materialise.

Judy: Wow! You are smart.

Okonkwo: Yes.

[Everyone leaves, miraculously.]

Tai Lung: Time for you to get poisoned by Night Howler!

[Tai Lung gets poisoned by Night Howler.]

Tai Lung: The - the shadowy figure who never so much as told me their name betrayed me?!

Sly: Oh, honey.

Asriel: Golly! I exist for only two things: bein' adorable and wanderin' heedlessly into deadly situations!

Sly: I've known this kid for only half a second but if anything happened to him I would kill everyone in this room and then myself.

[Something almost happens to him.]

Sly: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[He saves the good good boy. The Cooper Gang regroup-er gang.]

Wolf: You'll pay for this, Cooper!

Sly: who in god's name are you

[There are many punches. Nick, Judy and Carmelita show up.]

Nick: We haven't resolved our issues yet!

Judy: But that won't stop us from DOOR!

[DOOR!]

Sly: Is everyone okay?!

Judy: Yeah, but the three of us are stuck in here with Tai Lung!

Nick: And I'm stuck out here like a tiny orange idiot!

Murray: Don't worry, Jak & Daxter reference! Me and Bentley will try to open this door offscreen!

Bentley: Yes, now's as good a time as any to exit the narrative. Frankly we've been secondary characters for this entire outing.

[Bye, guys!]

Carmelita: I have a novel idea - let's beat up the bad guy, with violence.

Sly: I love you so much.

Nick: Don't worry Judy, you can do this! You're amazing!

Judy: Thanks, Nick. I genuinely needed to hear that. What about you?

Nick: I can do something else. Because I'm also, separately, amazing.

Sly: Hey, cool, People Are Good At Different Things! That's the moral of my whole franchise.

Nick: Here's one for you - Nick Wilde Is The Best. That's the moral of mine.

Judy: Go get 'em, tiger.

[They go get the snow leopard as Nick go gets the lion.]

Nick: Ladies and gentlemammals, I know who's behind this.

Toriel: Is it me?

Nick: Actually, no! It's Mufasa!

Scar: What?! No! I'm ten times the jewel thief Mufasa is! ...Which, um, is zero. Because ten times zero is still zero.

Nick: Let's discuss this somewhere quieter, where it would be hypothetically easier to stab a police officer to death.

Scar: Excellent. Yes.

Scar : Why yes, I am exactly the kind of person to own a cane-sword.

Nick: Contrary to appearances, I am perfectly competent at my job! You're under arrest!

Scar: Curses! But I still have Peridot.

Nick: You really don't. She's gonna abandon you the second my excellent partner stops Tai Lung.

Scar: Ah, but will she?!

[She does.]

Judy: Oh god, Sly is dying!

Carmelita: No! Not like this...

Sly: Oh. Wow. You're... actually really sad. I'm fine actually. It was a prank. Epic... fake internal bleeding to steal a diamond prank! Y'know, that old... um... SMOKEBOMB

Peridot: I WILL NOW MAKE LIKE A LAWN CHAIR AND FOLD.

Nick: Just as I predicted! Everything's done, we can go home.

Judy: But Nick, we need to resolve these emotional arcs!

Nick: uuuuuuuuuuuggggggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

[The roof!]

Sly: I'm sad. I ruined everything.

Judy: No, Sly. Not doing crimes is good, actually.

Sly: Source?

Nick: We are definitely not boning.

Sly: More's the pity. Maybe next time.

Carmelita: We might still be, though. Despite everything.

Sly: Hooray! Let's smooch!

[They smooch. I've been publishing fanfics for over six years - well over 200,000 words in the last two years alone - and for so long this was the only kiss in any of my stories. And I wonder why my numbers are low.]

Sly: I'll start making the world a better place by robbing Scar utterly blind! Catch you all later!

Carmelita : No, Sly, we'll catch you.

[Everyone laughs. Sly flings himself from the rooftop.]

Nick: Hey, Carmelita, let's be penpals.

Carmelita: Sure. That sounds like a mildly diverting interquel. I'm gonna get hammered on champagne now, so I'll leave you kids to your Feels.

[She does. Nick and Judy make up and stuff. Whatever.]

[Night in Zootopia.]

Epilogue! The bad guys go to jail, Carmelita learns how to email, Wolf disappears, Finnick gets a job at The Museum because I guess his presence in this story needed to go somewhere, the Cooper Gang's failure means the diamond is safe, Sly has a protracted existential crisis he claims is just him "figuring stuff out", and Nick and Judy - surprise surprise - are still friends. But are they boning? To this day, it remains unclear.

(At this rate, probably not.)

Woah, that was so much faster!!! I wrote this whole thing in under a week. I'm just gonna stick to this format from now on...

#sly cooper #zootopia #of heists and hustles #my writing

16 notes · View notes

ajw720 · 8 years ago

Note

Regarding D becoming A-list after ACS and if the stunts will continue, just a reminder that LDC had also reached his limit around 1995 a-fter playing a gay role in Total Eclipse- and wanted to come out as bi, I think, even had the interview planned. But then he got Romeo's role and his PR team (same PR as Darren) forced him in the closet to market him as a straight heartthrob for young females. He became A-list actor and never had the opportunity to come out since then. I see so many parallels.

Anon, you will get no argument from me. I am not going to comment on LDC specifically as I don’t have any facts to back that up. But there are tons and tons of actors that have been closeted for years. 20, 30, 40 and beyond. Barry Manilow is in his 70s and just came out. So many stars. And there are actors that have been married for an exceedingly long time to their beards and both parties are content to share public lives together and live completely separate private lives. I’d even say some of these marriages are based in genuine friendship. Many even have kids together.

And I don’t want to pretend that I know anything about how any of these people feel. I don’t have a clue. The only two I follow closely are C&D.

I truly believe the major difference is that D cannot handle it anymore. Further, I think he has weighed all of the consequences, all of the pros and cons, and I firmly believe he has decided that he wants to live his life freely and openly and is willing to accept the ramifications. he is well aware that if he comes out, it is not going to be all wine and roses and the road will be rocky. But i also think he has faith in his abilities and that he has chosen a career path that will allow him to be challenged but won’t require that he is straight.

At some point, every person has to make a choice for their future. Did he willingly sign a contract at 23? absolutely no question. Did he know he would be closeted? Yes, the first straight mention was immediate when he started on Glee. And I am not one of those that thinks C was the first man he dated. While I leave it to him to define his sexuality, i firmly believe he dated men prior to his start on Glee. And if this is the case, he did make a conscious choice at 23 to repress his sexuality. A choice I venture to bet most people would have taken when handed a similar opportunity.

But what I think he did not understand was (1) the impact it would have on him emotionally (2) the direct impact it would have on his family and partner (who was unknown when the initial contract was signed before he started) (3) the length of time it would continue (he has tried to come out multiple times and each and every time he was stopped by Fox/SS, so the will is there to tell the truth despite the known consequences) and (4) the manner in which he would be manipulated and abused by the people in his life- Fox/RIB/SS, his manager, and his insufferable beard.

Add another factor. His partner is not some no name person that is willing to sit in the background and twiddle his thumbs for the rest of his life and watch Darren deny him repeatedly and pretend to love someone else. If you think that is the case, you have grossly underestimating Mr. Colfer. I know there is this tendency to say Chris needs to be protected. I could not disagree more. He is an adult who is more than capable of handling himself. He has played the games and supported Darren because there has not been a choice. But he is completely over it and ready to stand strong by Darren as they move forward in their lives and careers.

I won’t lie, I was unsure on how much Fox was in the background controlling the situation for a long period post Glee as there seemed to be no interaction between the parties. And even I started to question why the closeting was continuing and leaned towards manipulation by his team.

But it became very clear that Fox is very much the controlling player in this when Royalties was announced last fall (remember the day after the Pap kiss). And as I have stated on multiple occasions, i think a deal has been made that is favorable to all parties and allows Darren his freedom in time.

Am I right? Maybe. Time will tell. But I for one will be shocked if D willingly remains closeted for a lengthy period of time.

27 notes · View notes

chloe-elizabeth-price · 8 years ago

Note

0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 16 17 18 20 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 37 38 40 41 42 43 and 44

Wow, almost all of them, huh, @annoyinglyuniquebread? I’ll put it under a read-more as to not hit everyone with walls of text but read if ya feel like it…Okay, here we go!

0. Height

I’m 5′1 just like Carrie Fisher/Princess Leia!

1. Age

I’m 21, but my birthday is in February so pretty soon I’ll be feelin’ 22! *Dances horrendously*

2. Shoe Size

I’m a 5 in US sizes I think…?

3. Do you smoke?

I do not

4. Do you drink?

Well yes, it’s important to stay hydrated kids, my drink of choice is coke or tea…But I assume this is asking if I drink alcohol which I do not do

5. Do you take drugs?

Once again I assume this is referring to illegal drugs and not meds, I do not do any of those. However I do take antidepressants and sleeping pills for my anxiety-related insomnia/the occasional anxiety-suppressor.

6. Age you get mistaken for?

As I’m pretty short and thin (+ you tend to look smaller in a wheelchair which i occasionally use) I’d say people tend to assume I’m a lot younger than I am. If asked my age most people tend to guess around 15, or at least they did when I was in my late teens, no one has guessed my age in a while so maybe i look older these days? idk lol

7. Have tattoos?

I do have a tiny lightening bolt on my wrist, it’s a Harry Potter reference/a symbol for my general love of stories.

8: Want any tattoos?

I do definitely want more tattoos in the future, I haven’t really decided on placements yet but I know that I want a Buffy-B (a B in the Btvs-font) on my other wrist so that my two fandom tattoos can match in placements. I also want a fox somewhere and “fearless” in Taylor Swift’s handwriting to remind me of her brilliant definition of the word: (”To me, fearless is not the absence of fear. It’s not being completely unafraid. To me, fearless is having fears. fearless is having doubts. Lots of them. To me, fearless is living in spite of those things that scare you to death.”) which I think will help with my anxiety. Those are a few of the tattoos I know that I want to get at some point, but there’s always room for more options since I really like the idea of a lot of tattoos!

9: Got any piercings?

Nope, not even pierced ears

10: Want any piercings?

Not really, no

11: Best friend?

@gay-grandma <3

12: Relationship status?

Single, sapphic and sad

13: Biggest turn ons?

As far as personality and little things go I’d say people who listen and respect my opinions and my view of a situation, but also aren’t afraid to say what they think/voice their opinions I guess. Also like, when people are genuine with their affection and you can tell that they just genuinely care for you I guess? Geez this sounds cheesy! As for physically, I’m gonna say collarbones…Is that weird? I feel like that’s weird…Not necessarily seeing collar bones (malnutrition isn’t sexy, kids!) but just like biting or kissing them I don’t even know! Maybe I have a few kinks too, but this is already officially TMI and I’m gonna stop………..

14: Biggest turn offs?

Bigoted or small-minded people honestly, nope not gonna interact!

16: I’ll love you if…

You respect me, seduce me with your nerdiness and/or let me introduce you to nerdy stuff (Movies/shows/books/games etc) I like and most importantly, genuinely seem to like me tbh, I don’t ask for much…

17: Someone you miss

I live pretty far away from my family for school so I find myself almost constantly missing them and my dog :( Also you and your stupidly pretty face, @annoyinglyuniquebread I can’t believe it’s gonna be so long until I get to see you!

18: Most traumatic experience?

Probably something emotionally abusive at the hands of my biological dad or his wife but honestly I’ve repressed most of it and I don’t really wanna talk about that sooooo………*shudders* Anywayyyy

20: What I hate most about myself?

Too many things to list to be honest. I’m not trying to sound negative, but I do have a lot of issues when it comes to how I view myself, but I am working on them and am hoping to be getting to a place where I can honestly say that I don’t think I suck in the near future, wish me luck!

22: What I want to be when I get older?

Author! I wanna write, write write! If ONE kid picks up a book I’ve written and it helps them in any way at all or sparks that love of stories in them that has become my own driving force, then my goal in life has been achieved!

23: My relationship with my sibling(s)

Okay, so I have 4 siblings, two older sisters and two younger brothers. My relationship to my sisters are pretty much your standard sibling-situation, we grew up together and occasionally we wanted to murder each other, but most of the time we got along and now as adults we’re all pretty close even though I live far away. My brothers are a more complicated situation, due to my nonexistent relationship with my biological father I haven’t actually seen my little bros in years, I hope that we’ll be able to have some type of relationship one day, but as long as they live with dad I don’t see that as possible, although I love them and would love to be a proper big sib to them someday!

24: My relationship with my parent(s)

My mom is absolutely one of the most important people in my life, I love spending time with her and she’s the one I go to first if any problem, big or small arises in my life, we’ve always been extremely close and she’s quite simply my best friend. My step-dad (who I tend to refer to as dad most of the time) has been in my life since I was 4 and he’s more of a father to me than my biological dad (who i don’t even view as my ‘dad’ at all) ever was or could ever be. I love him with all my heart, he’s the best and one of the funniest people I know! I’d say generally I’m very, very close to both of my parents and they’re both extremely important to me and here I am getting sappy at 2AM.

25: My idea of a perfect date

Movie/Show marathon and cuddling with snacks tbh

26: My biggest pet peeves

When the cover/general appearance of a book on my shelf doesn’t match what the rest of the books in that series look like…All my books have to match if they’re part of the same series or I freak the fuck out honestly! That’s really the only pet peeve I can think of at the moment.

27: A description of the girl/boy I like

I kinda really like @annoyinglyuniquebread but don’t tell her, it’d just get to her pretty head and she’d probably tease me about it and I’m shy!

28: A description of the person I dislike the most

Wow, has someone told the oversized cheeto running America that he has a giant dead cat on his head yet orrrrr…?

29: A reason I’ve lied to a friend?

I can’t think of a specific situation in which I’ve done this just now, but chances are if you’re my friend I’ve probably lied to you and told you I was sick so I wouldn’t have to hang out with you that day, it’s not that I don’t WANNA hang out, I love you I promise…it’s just my very awkward introverted ass not being sure how to tell you that I need to reschedule because my social battery is drained and that I am going to physically explode if I have to be around humans for the next few days, without sounding like a hermit and/or hurting your feelings soooo…Yeah, sorry about that!

30: What I hate the most about work/school?

That it ruins the fun of learning with all those deadlines and gives me performance anxiety about stuff I’d normally be good at/comfortable with doing…

31: What my last text message says?

“Night, I love you <3″ to my mom…Wow, I’m a mama’s kid huh?

32: What words upset me the most?

Any type of uninformed, ignorant hate speech, when someone is being bigoted in my presence it always makes me feel like I want to scream and/or cry

33: What words make me feel the best about myself?

When people compliment my hair, clothes or writing it really makes my day every time without fail! Also when people use my chosen name and pronoun it makes me feel like I could take on the whole world on my own and win, so thank you SO much to everyone in my life who make an effort to do that every day!!

34: What I find attractive in women?

Um, everything about them, i mean have you SEEN girls??? I love being a lesbian; ladies, you’re all so beautiful I wanna squeal just thinking about it!

35: What I find attractive in men?

Them being Harrison Ford. If you are male, but not Mr. Ford I’m sorry but I’m simply not attracted to you at all and won’t date you. Sorry men, I don’t make the rules. However, if you’re reading this, Harrison from ca 1980 (why would you be?) hit me up!

37: One of my insecurities?

Too many to list again, but like I said, I am working on that!

38: My childhood career choice

Author, not much has changed, huh? I’ve actually known what I want to be since I was like 5.

40: Who I wish I could be?

A happier, more secure version of myself…Or you know Han Solo/Veronica Mars/Kim Possible, that works too!

41: Where I want to be right now?

Right at this moment I’m pretty happy here under the covers in my big comfy bed listening to Taylor Swift with my laptop in my lap and answering all these questions. Even though I’m having a pretty bad case of insomnia I feel pretty content, a little hungry tho…Think I’m gonna go make noodles and finish Stranger Things when I’m done answering these!

42: The last thing I ate

Some salted caramel chocolate a while ago, it was delicious!

43: Sexiest person that comes to my mind immediately?

Well I’d be cheating on my wife if I didn’t say Sarah Michelle Gellar, wouldn’t I? Although there are a few other candidates as well…

44: A random fact about anything

Did you guys know that @annoyinglyuniquebread aka Bella is really cute and awesome and great at holding hands? Well, if you didn’t there’s a random fact for ya!

Wow, that sure was a lot of questions, but it was fun to answer them all! Thanks for sending them, Bella <3 I’m off to make my noodles and watch netflix!

#thanks for the ask!

2 notes · View notes

scithemodestmermaid · 6 years ago

Text

I’m going to talk about Pokemon Sword a bit, and you know I’m serious because I’m actually using proper capitalization. Warning: it’s a pretty long review.

I’m several hours in and up to Route 5, and while the game does have flaws it’s still a good game. That’s the short version. The long version is going to be pretty long.

Now I’m going into this game a despiser of Dexit. The only reason I bought the game is because this is the first gen where I’ve been at the very least content with all the new designs and because I wanted to see if Gamefreak could put out a good game without all the Pokemon before decrying them for being unable to do so. And I know a lot of people have been attacking the game and every positive thing said about it, saying that the devs are lazy, and there’s no soul in the game, and the people who buy the game should just kill themselves because they alone are what’s wrong with the world, etc etc etc.

And let me just say, if you’re one of those people telling others to kill themselves because they did or did not buy/like the game....shut the fuck up. You are not helping your side, whichever side it may be. And don’t ever, ever, tell someone to commit suicide. Especially over something as trivial as a game. This is not singling out Pro-Dexit or Anti-Dexit or whatever; I’ve seen some pretty abysmal things said on both sides towards both sides. And that needs to stop. If you can’t discuss your side like a mature human being, then go back to your playroom and let the grown-ups talk.

Now that THAT’S off my chest, to discuss what I like and dislike...

What I Like:

Visuals are leaps and bounds ahead of USUM, and there have been several spots where I’ve just been impressed with how pretty everything is. Granted, the Wild Area visuals are a step below the traditional routes. The trees in the Wild Area do, indeed, all look like the infamous N64 tree that was floating around. But here’s the crazy thing, I didn’t really notice unless I was specifically staring at it. Otherwise, it all just blends into the background and doesn’t matter in the end.

The new Pokemon designs. Like I mentioned, this this the first gen where I have been okay with the newly-introduced mons, if not outright adoring them and calling them my new faves. Impidimp line, Toxel line, Hattena line, Yamper line, Nickit line, Rolycoly line...all have stolen my heart. The Galarian forms bear mentioning, as well; so far I’ve only encountered G. Zigazagoon and G. Meowth and technically Giga Meowth (I mean, I’ve seen all the leaks, but still, it’s honestly different finding them yourself), and they are just so fun. The design team absolutely knocked it out of the park this time around.

The new Mons’ animations. Yes yes, I know I know, all the crap animation memes. But, talking specifically about the new Mons...they move really nicely. An example would be Nickit’s attack (as seen here): after the attack, it deftly brushes away its tracks before settling back into its idle animation. It’s such a small little detail that adds so much to Nickit’s personality. There’s several other mons with little visual details like that: Yamper’s little jump after a tackle, Drizzile pulling water balloons from its tear sacs and tossing them, Toxel’s lil temper tantrum, and the list goes on. The new guys look and move great.

The Wild Area. Now, if you go in expect the entirety of Breath of the Wild, then yes you will be disappointed. But the Wild Area is definitely a step in a neat direction for Gamefreak. There’s a variety of Mons to find, Raid Battles to participate in, and things to just uncover. So far, most of my time with the game has been spent running around to see what new Mon I’d find. The area is a bit small, but there’s so much to see that it feels a lot bigger.

Camping. There’s something so charming about sitting down and seeing all my Mons walk around and interact with each other. Calling one or two over to talk to them and play fetch. Enjoying curry together. It’s so cozy and comfy, and honestly the only thing that would’ve made it better was if they kept actual patting in (but honestly, that’s such a minor thing compared to what all they did add). But as it is, it adds such a nice, relaxing atmosphere to the game.

Hop. Lots of folks say that he’s Hau 2.0 (and if we’re talking about a tendency to interrupt the story with cutscenes, yes he is (more on that later)), but I disagree. Where Hau was easygoing to the point of aloofness, Hop is driven and determined. He pushes himself and the player character to their limits, trying to become greater than everyone else and make a name for himself. So strangely enough, Hop shares a lot in common with Blue: aggressively pushing himself and the player forward. Only difference is that Hop tries to be polite about it. I’m interested to see where he ends up.

Leon. Yeah, I’m not beating around the bush here, he’s handsome. Hot dang. Bravo. And even though I know it’s cool to hate on the fact that he uses a Charizard as his ace, the fact that he absolutely adores his Charizard is something I can respect.

What I Dislike:

The old Mons’ animations. Yes, it turns out that they lied about the remade models (a AAA company lying? shocking!). But I was hoping they would’ve updated more of the animations like the other excuse they’d had for cutting Mons. Honestly, I think I saw just one new animation, and even then I don’t know if it’s genuinely new or new to me (Nuzleaf’s Tackle animation is different than I remember). The rest of it is the same old, same old. And it makes the old Mons stand out from the new ones, and not necessarily in a good way.

CUTSCENES. OH MY GOSH NO PLEASE. WHY. Why did Gamefreak decide to bring back the cutscene-heavy storytelling from Gen 7? Nobody liked getting stopped constantly to read pages of text. NOBODY. LIKED. IT. And yet, here it is again. And this time, if the spoilers I read are to believe, the story doesn’t go down dark corridors like Gen 7 did. Heck, if those spoilers are right, the story doesn’t go anywhere (can’t confirm until I’ve beaten the game myself, so I’ll probably talk more than that in another review)! So why these cutscenes?!

Dynamaxing. When I was fighting the Dynamaxed Eldegoss during the first gym, and she used a move that did huge damage, added Grassy Terrain and healing to everyone on the floor, and did that several times in a row...the thought popped into my head, “Wow, this is stupid.” How is what I just described more balanced than Mega Evolutions or Z-Moves? Because it’s only three turns? And why is the sound effect SO LOUD when they Dynamax? Genuinely, every raid battle that I did, I’d get jumpscared by the Dynamax’d Mon’s cry. Honestly, instead of adding a new gimmick every 3D gen, they should’ve chosen one and stuck with it. Improved on it. Not replaced it. And especially not replaced it with this. (As implied earlier though, Giga forms are neat...would’ve made great mega evolutions, oh but what do I know)

Music. Now, usually when I play handheld games, I’ll listen to music on my computer. But for the heck of it, I decided to listen to this game’s music. And it’s...well, it’s no Splatoon 2 soundtrack, that’s for damn sure. A lot of it is this really bland and forgettable trance beat, or it’s a calliope of sound effects mixed in with the music (case in point: the music that plays when Zacian meets you in the forest). I know that Toby Fox did a song for the game, and hearing the song it’s honestly the best song in the game and he should’ve just done the whole soundtrack.

Pop-in. The draw distance is a bit weird, and NPCs will just pop into place once you get close enough. This can get a little distracting, especially if you’re like me and your reaction to pop-in is to go back and forth and watch them appear and disappear over and over. To be blunt, though, pop-in is a problem many beloved Switch games have (I’ve seen it several times while playing Breath of the Wild), but I suppose it’s still worth mentioning.

Also, you can’t actually pat any of your Pokemon anymore and Rotomdex is no longer a character that you interact with it’s just a phone.

And there’s other things in the game that aren’t a problem now but who knows what will happen later on (story-related issues, Exp. Share, long-term Y-Comm usage, etc), but I guess that’s a ramble for another time.

As it stands so far, Pokemon Sword is a fun game. It is no Sonic 06. It is no Breath of the Wild. It is Pokemon. It is nice. It is fun. It is better than the entirety of Gen 7 in my humble opinion. I enjoy it. I think it’s a nice looking game, and it’s a nice time playing it. And at the end of the day, that’s why I play Pokemon. To have a nice, fun time with virtual critters.

#sci plays vidyagaems #fluffly pokey mons #gen 8 spoilers #this is the most in-depth review i have written for anything in awhile

0 notes

markoberposts · 6 years ago

Text

Love Island

Something good has been happening concerning the reality show Love Island on CBS this Summer. Thanks perhaps to the quality of the initial selection of involved participants in this show, it's developed an unexpected quality to it that's much more on the positive side of things. For the sake of contrast, the prior show of this sort, Paradise Hotel on FOX, had ended up being more about the prize money for most of the contestants, with this usually being what people would concentrate on when figuring out how to conduct themselves...to try to win the $250,000 stated prize at the end. However, although mentioned briefly about at the beginning of this show Love Island concerning there being an apparent $100,000 prize at the end, this never seems to be what any of the contestants either think about or mention about. It seems that instead of this, they're actually focused--virtually all of them it seems--on both finding relationships and forming truly respectful friendships with each other, which to me is a very positive, unexpected, and great thing to have happened.

And perhaps one of the biggest reasons for this might be the clever way that the show has set things up physically. First of all, they're all on the very romantic island of Fiji sleeping and living together in what appears to be a single, large, mostly-open area containing several large beds together that are only slightly separated from each other that, although requiring coupling up with each other within them, nevertheless foster more of an overall family type of environment than a setting for people to have sex in. So, very surprisingly to me (with my somewhat older age perhaps), these forced couples merely end up spooning and kissing together with each other rather than having sex. You would think otherwise, but this seems to be the case because they all talk about everything with each other, and discussions about sleeping with each other always fall short of sex having ended up being what's been happening. They sometimes do kiss with each other, but typically this seems to be the extent of it, especially with the cameras always surveilling them including with night vision and even in their bathrooms...24 hours a day every day.

But this was not the case on the prior show Paradise Hotel, where they actually each had somewhat more private rooms with each other as forced couples and did--as a result--occasionally end up having sex with each other. But with the way that it's become more of a communal type thing with their all sleeping together within this show Love Island, it's ended up nicely instead fostering much more of a family-type of environment where sex has rarely if ever occurred, and each of the contestants has been focusing more on forming honest relationships and finding partners that they are truly compatible with than on either having sex or working toward winning the alleged prize money at the end...which I'm starting to even wonder about because of it never being mentioned by anyone anymore--not the contestants nor the show--for weeks now.

So I am very happy about this fact, being that it has honestly become little if anything about being a competition with each other and much more instead about being a group of sincere, respectful, newly-formed friends all trying to work together with each other to become the happiest that they all can be. And the emotions that they feel for each other are all very genuine, with each of them feeling greatly pained whenever they end up losing some of their group off of the island, which basically makes it seem more like the hostess who has to do this to them--eliminate some of them each week--is more like some type of a monster who they've come to truly fear whenever she's had to show up on the island at least once a week to do the producer's dirty deeds!

So the format of this show has simply ended up being rather amazing, with it instead having truly ended up being a way for people--albeit a lucky few really good-looking ones--to come on it and have a way to instantly find and make new powerful friendships for life, if not even also picking up a genuine partner as well that may end up eventually becoming their chosen mate for life. And anyone can tell just by watching this program that each of these people is going to think back on this time in their life on this special island on this show as honestly one of the best and most memorable times of their life. So if they haven't yet learned to really appreciate it as such due to their relative youth, then they really would be wise to do so because it truly will become fondly remembered for the rest of their lives likely by each of them as one of their greatest and most unique experiences that they've ever had.

And I'm sure that the friendships formed on this show with each other will become lasting ones that will continue on for most of them for a very long time to come. In fact, once they've left the show and it is completely over and done with, they'll be wishing they could go back to it probably for the rest of their lives, being that it is such a both unique and special opportunity for each one of them that will most likely never happen again within their remaining lifetimes. And perhaps many of them are somewhat aware of this fact on a deep inner level, which is why they're becoming so both emotional and attached to each other...more so than what I've seen in other reality television shows so far (although I have to admit that I don't watch many). In fact, even the necessarily-mean female host of the show who has to do the dirty work of sending people home each week and trying to seem like she doesn't feel bad for doing so, nevertheless lets her feelings occasionally slip through a tiny bit and does show us in rare moments that the great spirit of love between the contestants on this show is even affecting her as well, making it even hard for her to see them being kicked off of the island.

So in a sense, this show has perhaps brought back the days of the "hippies" with their all living together within a communal setting and all feeling genuine love and respect for each other...so much so, in fact, that whenever any of the contestants do get kicked off of the island, it really does make all of them quite sad and even at times sick over it. Still, though, the bottom line for this show has honestly been living up to its name, with all of those who visit the island actually finding it to present for them a very strong chance of finding true love there, with a number of strong bonds actually forming between either newly-formed couples or if not this, then minimally from all of the newly-formed friendships with each other. So I would be very surprised if most of those who participate in the show as contestants don't end up staying in touch with each other long after the show has ended, with their forever after likely referring to each other as their "Love Island" family, probably for the rest of their lives to come. :)

#Love Island #surprising #positive

0 notes

ariexposed-blog · 6 years ago

Text

What kind of vegan Ariana is?

Miss Ariana Grande has called herself a vegan several times but is she really part of that movement? does she even know what veganism is about? Let’s find out...

On November 5th of 2013 Ariana declared on her twitter account that she was becoming "100% vegan" from that day, as you can see below. (tweet link here)

The PETA (People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals) organization even congratulated her for becoming vegan and for her AMAs award later that month and she thanked them reafirming her decision saying she was very happy for her almost full month as a vegan. (tweet link here)

One year later she celebrated her 1 year of a plant based diet on twitter. (tweet link here)

Notice she was proud of "saving some cute lil innocent lives". Apparently.

One month later, an interview she gave to the Daily Mirror was published (you can check it here) and her supposedly vegan lifestyle became one of the topics.

Interviewer: You’re part Italian, how do you stay in tune with that? Ariana: I’m very proud, my family has amazing history. It’s great hearing stories of my mum growing up in Brooklyn, then moving to Florida, having me and growing up with this eccentric, fun family. Although I don’t eat a lot of Italian things, because I’m vegan. I was raised on meat and cheese, so I’ve had enough for anyone’s normal life span. Interviewer: Why did you become vegan?

Ariana: I love animals more than I love most people, not kidding. But I am a firm believer in eating a full plant-based, whole food diet that can expand your life length and make you an all-round happier person. It is tricky dining out, but I just stick to what I know – veggies, fruit and salad – then when I get home I’ll have something else.

She seemed really proud of being a vegan, right? Well, let's see...

The Donut Incident (07/03/2015)

I think we're all familiar with that Ariana story, but, for those who don't know what the donut incident is about let me explain it to you. On March 7th of 2015, miss Grande and some friends went to a donut shop called Wolfee Donuts where she impolitely licked a donut that was on the shop's counter for sale.

She was also very rude to the shop's donut server and declared to hate America, but that's a subject for another post (her diva behaviour). The main point is: after that she and her friends bought some donuts she was caught by the cameras eating a donut. You can watch the video here.

Well, it wouldn't have been a big deal if the donut were not vegan. This was confirmated by the shop's owner himself and a also by some fans after contacting Wolfee Donuts’ social media about it.

What kind of vegan goes around there eating anything whithout making sure it doesn't have any animal ingredients in it? It's pretty clear she knew it wasn't a vegan donut. She just didn't care about it.

M.A.C.’s Viva Glam Campaign (2015)

Back in 2015 Ariana was chosen as the new face of the line Viva Glam, by M.A.C. In partnership with the cosmetics brand, she developed two lipsticks that were out for sale in 2016 and the money would go for people affected by HIV and AIDS.

Pretty good, huh? Yeah, this would’ve been even better if M.A.C. doesn’t fund tests on animals. Any real vegan would think twice before accepting to be the face of a make up line by a company that funds animal cruelty, even it being for a good cause. Well, she didn’t.

The Fox Fur Jacket (2017)

On 2017's January 27th Ariana posted the picture below in her instagram account:

As usual, her fans quickly found her outfit online and the jacket she was using specially caught a lot of people's attention. It was a Tzarina by Ollia Fox Fur Jacket (£1,900.00).

Well, Tzarina by Ollia is a brand that has a lot of famous women using its designs, such as Kylie Jenner, Kendall Jenner, Jennifer Lopez and many others. This brand has openly confirmed to use animal fur in its clothes.

It would have been bad enough for Ariana to have bought this jacket without checking whether it was made of synthetic fur or not. But, the curious thing is that the brand apparently launched this model exclusively to be sold under her name, as it can be seen on its own website.

We don’t know if the sale of this specific jacket tied to Ariana was something done after she had acquired it and publicly used it, or, if from the beginning it was developed for Ariana itself as well as its commercialization under her name. Either way she agreed to this, even it being a piece of clothing from animal suffering, and is probably earning money from it.

She was seen using this jacket many times. The image used on the brand’s website of her with then-boyfriend Mac Miller was taken on the Halloween of that same year. The brand’s instagram account even posted a photo of she using it.

It's very strange to Ariana after declaring herself as a vegan several times have agreed to this, right?

Leather boots

As everyone knows, Ariana wears a pair of thigh high/over-the-knee boots almost every day. She tries to make it her thing, i guess. But, it wouldn’t be a thing to complain about if most of them weren’t made of real leather.

These Gucci boots, by example, aren’t vegan and you can see it on its website.

Y’all can check where most of her outfits are from here and see that not only her boots (which I’d dare to say 90% are made of genuine leather), but a lot of her clothes has animals skin/fur/feather in it. Sadly.

And since we’re talking about Ariana’s not-cruelty-free clothes I thought it would be interesting to let you all know that the pink top she uses on Thank U, Next’s desperate for attention music video was made of Ostrich feathers.

I think a real vegan would be more careful at picking clothes.

Reebook (2017)

Last year Ariana became Reebook's newest ambassador and at this point you can imagine that Reebok isn’t a vegan brand. Right answer.

Reebook uses leather and wool in its products. But that didn’t stop the pony tail from becoming a brand’s ambassador. Any real vegan wouldn’t accept to earn money from animal suffering. She did.

Conclusion

Ariana shouldn’t be going around telling everyone she is vegan ‘cause it’s pretty clear that she is not. Since she eats things with animal derived ingredients, wear clothes with animal derived materials and support brands that funds animal suffering she probably doesn’t even know what the vegan moviment is about.

In my opinion, she just had (or still has idk) a plant based diet for a while to lose weight and stay in shape. That diet is pretty famous and a lot of celebrities are adepts like Beyoncé and Kate Moss. It would be a lot better if she just admitted it instead of lying and claiming she is from a movement that she clearly isn’t. Very hypocrite.

See you on the next post, xoxo.

#fake veganism #the donut incident #m.a.c.#reebook

0 notes

idealisticrealism · 8 years ago

Text

So, Prison Break will be back in a matter of hours.

And to a lot of you, that may mean nothing.

But it means a hell of a lot to me.

Prison Break first aired when I was fourteen. I don’t remember much about the night itself, but what I do remember is kicking up a real fuss when my brothers outvoted me on the choice of programming, the two of them commandeering the TV remote and forcing me to watch the pilot of this new prison show instead of the episode of House that I had apparently very much wanted to watch at the time. After that night, though, House certainly never took precedence in my schedule ever again, because I had fallen hard for Prison Break in a way that I never had with a show before (or since), my soul already eagerly sold to it before the credits were even rolling on the first episode.

For the next four years of my life, it was my obsession, my joy, my greatest love, the one thing I could talk endlessly about (particularly any part related to MiSa, my OTP of all OTPs), and the mere thought of which would always make me happy. It led me to my first fan forum, to amazing friends (who I am still in touch with to this day), and also brought me into the world of fanfiction, which in itself became (and remains) a hugely important part of my life.

As it went on, the show not only taught me life lessons like sacrifice and making difficult decisions and taking responsibility for your actions; it also taught me about myself, and what I wanted and valued and believed. And, as with any show that truly pulls you in, the characters were always far more than just actors spouting lines-- they were like family to me, and I celebrated and struggled and grieved with them through four incredible and traumatising seasons. I genuinely cried more tears for them and their pain than I ever did over anything else in my own (obviously very fortunate and privileged) life.

The same year that Prison Break ended, I graduated high school and was accepted into medical school, a career that I had chosen for several very good reasons, not the least of which was because my still-forming teenage self had looked at Dr Sara Tancredi and had seen exactly the kind of woman I wanted to grow up to be. About five years after that, I was freshly graduated as a doctor, and finally got the chance to meet Went, Dom, and Sarah at my first Comic Con, and was able to thank them in person for the beautiful thing that they had helped create, and which-- in Sarah’s case in particular, of course-- had helped to create me.

Today, I’m exactly a month shy of my twenty-sixth birthday, and have been a doctor for almost two and a half years, having even worked briefly in the prison system during that time, among many other things. I may not have the posters hanging on my wall anymore, and the cardboard box full of memorabilia and carefully folded cranes might be tucked away in a closet out of sight, but even still, this show has never left me. It’s in the “Be the change you want to see in the world” ring that I’ve worn every day for the last nine years. It’s in the tiny origami flower that has been tattooed on the back of my left ear since I was nineteen. It’s in the crane that was tattooed on my left wrist two years ago in Chicago, with those same old forum friends beside me, all coming together for the first time in our ten-year friendship to visit the city and the prison that had been the setting for the story that had brought us into each other’s lives. But even more than the marks on my skin, its mark is still inside me, a permanent building block in the foundation of who I am.

In the last eight years, there’s only one thing about this show that I’ve always regretted, one thing that I have literally wished (on shooting stars, four-leaf clovers, birthday cakes, 11:11, dandelions-- you name it, I’ve wished on it) that I could change. Of course, I know that happy endings don’t always exist; that reality is hard and cruel and whatever, so supposedly TV should be too. But that never stopped me from wishing that there could have been just one more happy ending out there to give to this story.

Then, about two years ago, something happened. Stars-- both astronomical and celebrity-- aligned. Whispers like ‘reboot’ and ‘season 5′ floated around, and then suddenly, startlingly, my dream had started looking like a possibility. A possibility that eventually turned into a miraculous definite, the confirmation followed by months of filming and promoting that I promptly did my very best to ignore or hide from, because I was convinced that if I thought about it too much-- let myself hope too much-- it would somehow all disappear again; would revert to being merely an elaborate fantasy that I’d concocted in my head, a silly fangirl’s headcanon to rectify her OTP’s heartbreak as well as her own.

But tonight, it’s all becoming real. Tonight, for the first time in eight years, I will turn on my TV and see my character-family again; will experience that old feeling afresh. And though there’s certainly always the chance that the new season will somehow be a disappointment, or will only add more pain, it’s a chance I’m so very willing to take.

A chance that I’m so, so grateful even exists.

So, if you can, tune in tonight (9/8c on Fox). Even if you’ve never watched before, even if you think that frankly I’m probably just overhyping it and it’s actually nowhere near as great as I claim. Do it anyway, and show the network and showrunners that what they have done means something to the viewers out there-- to the people like me, who got far more from this show than just a fascinating story, who might have been a very different person today if they’d managed to wrestle the TV remote off of their brothers on that one night a dozen years ago. And who knows; a success for Prison Break now, like with The X-Files and Gilmore Girls before it, could mean reboots-- and therefore justice-- for even more beloved shows down the line, and even more opportunities for other fans to re-experience the things that helped to shape them into who they are.

And, well, this moment may have been eight long years in the making-- but whatever happens, it was worth it.

#Prison Break #MiSa #I honestly don't remember the last time that I spoke this openly about something this personal #today's just a really big day in my life if you can't tell lol #this is why I've tried to never judge anyone for what they love #bc I know that most of the time you have literally no choice in the matter #god this show is just everything #MiSa is everything #honestly I care more about them getting a happily ever after than I do about myself getting one #sigh #I thought maybe time would fade this connection away #apparently not

67 notes · View notes

cupidsbower · 8 years ago

Text

You're living in the past, it's a new generation

Supernatural 12x16, “Ladies Drink Free.”

So you might have noticed I haven’t been around much lately, or posted any reviews. That’s because I’ve been too busy to watch any TV for about a month. I’m just starting to catch up on Supernatural again now.

This was an interesting episode because it had two narratives in conflict, one of which ended up working much more strongly than the other. The title pretty much encapsulates the problem here -- the reason “ladies drink free” is to attract male patrons by implying they’ll get access to the (potentially drunk) ladies. Everything about the notion is sexist and gross. Here’s a blackly humorous breakdown of the implied economic transaction taking place.

Anyway, the first narrative in the ep is Claire’s, which the writer, Meredith Glynn, seems to have done their very best to infuse with a feminist theme. The other narrative, however, is Mick’s teachable moment, which is at the expense of one dead young woman and one tortured young woman -- the “ladies” of the title who drank “for free,” so men would have access to them. Manpain, in other words; the second plot is all about the manpain. There’s really no successful way to merge these two different narratives, I think, but Glynn does give it their best shot.

Let’s start with the attempt at a feminist narrative, as that’s the bit that’s least successful.

The plot of this episode is very much by-the-numbers. We have two potential male predators offered up to us, two young, pretty female victims, and several male protectors. Glynn even points out how typical this is very early on, with the “Haven’t you ever seen a horror movie?” line. Yes, we all have, and so this plot unfolds exactly as expected when women are sacrificed so men can learn a lesson.

Glynn attempts to subvert this sexist old-school narrative by trying to make the episode a coming-of-age moment for Claire as well as the manpain-teachable-moment for Mick. The arc ends with Claire alive, and affirming her place as Jodie’s daughter and as a woman with her own needs as she goes off to be a hunter. These are good things. And there are some genuinely nice touches in this part of the ep too, like this:

(from @itsokaysammy)

You go Claire!

But these moments sit uneasily inside the frame of the typical women-as-sexualised-victims storyline, and there isn’t really a true climax for Claire’s arc in the ep, where she gets to kick-ass and take names, or even engineer her own moment of freedom.

We can see this thematically in the two musical tracks that top and tail Claire’s journey, without a proper bridge in between (the other obvious track in the ep is for Dean and Mick and it’s Save Me Tonight -- ugh). The first of Claire’s tracks is Make Me Wanna Die, as she’s walking into the teeth of the werewolf...

youtube

Make Me Wanna Die, by The Pretty Reckless

Take me I'm alive Never was a girl with a wicked mind But everything looks better when the sun goes down

I had everything Opportunities for eternity And I could belong to the night

Then your eyes Your eyes I can see in your eyes Your eyes

You make me wanna die I'll never be good enough You make me wanna die And everything you love will burn up in the light And every time I look inside your eyes You make me wanna die

Taste me drink my soul Show me all the things that I shouldn't know When there's a blue moon on the rise

I had everything Opportunities for eternity And I could belong to the night

Then your eyes Your eyes I can see in your eyes Your eyes Everything in your eyes Your eyes

You make me wanna die I'll never be good enough You make me wanna die And everything…

A very listenable song, but also one that’s very much about female victimhood. There’s something so icky about this being associated with Claire and Hayden, just because they’re young women who want to be able to spread their wings a little and are punished for it (by men). But I think this dissonance is made worse by being contrasted with the song Claire gets as she drives away at the end.

youtube

Real Wild Child, Joan Jett and the Blackhearts

Joan Jett is the real deal, you know; she’s who Dean Winchester wants to be. Look at that car, and her hair, and her everything. She gave us a glimpse of what female rock really looked like: kindness, feminism, no-apologies rock, and all-around awesomeness -- just look at this interview with Roseanne Barr. Tell me you don’t have a crush now!?!

Don’t get me wrong, This could have been such a great journey for Claire, if she’d had a proper moment of agency near the end. It’s just she doesn’t really get to legitimately have this journey into becoming the Wild Child -- this is no Lily Sunder story arc. Glynn tries to give it to her, but the real teachable moment is all for Mick, and Claire’s is a tack-on to try and reduce the otherwise choking amounts of sexism that would be in this episode.

I have really mixed feelings about this, because some of the stuff related to Mick’s lesson is interesting myth-arc development, but this treatment of Claire is so superficial, and I want more from the show when it comes to the way they use female characters.

And has Mick even really learned his lesson, or was it another fake-out? I think maybe he did, because it’s implied this was his first hands-on murder, and it shocked him, but the whole MoL is so slimy I won’t be surprised if he backslides or just lied. So Claire and Hayden may have gone through all that for nothing.

UGH.

Okay, moving on to the good. There’s three main things I want to talk about.

First, Dean pretty much explicitly confirms my reading of the Winchester style of hunting, as they’ve come to perform it, is supernatural police work. I’m pleased by this, as it indicates we really are heading into an exploration of what it means to be hunters, and what hunters are not. I’ve wanted this narrative for a long, long time. And the reason I want is so much is...

Second, back when I was a fan of Teen Wolf, one of the things that had me excited to find out what happened was the back story which showed that the genocide being carried out by hunters was actually the main cause of the very werewolf violence they purported to want to stop. Every werewolf we saw attack someone had a traumatic history with at least one hunter in their past, and no stable pack.

I adored this implication that the hunters were mired in hypocrisy, and I desperately wanted to see this arc unfold and resolve. Unfortunately, whatever it was that happened behind the scenes in season 3 that ruined so much of Teen Wolf’s potential, also seemed to destroy any chance of this arc paying off. *still bitter*

But now, here is is again! Our typical selfish white boy, Justin, it turns out, would probably only ever have been an everyday sort of prick if the Men of Letters’ genocide hadn’t wiped out his pack and launched him into his serial murderer and biter-without-consent spree.

In other words, the MoL’s actions are the first link in a causal chain that’s leading to the kinds of deaths and suffering they claim to want to stop. This is not to say Justin has no agency -- he’s still responsible for his own actions and the effects they cause. But the trigger that set him on the path he otherwise probably wouldn’t have chosen was the MoL’s attack on his pack.

I’m super keen that we’re treading this ground, and cannot wait to see where Dabb takes it. SUPER EXCITED. (But it better not be taking us to Mary’s refridging, is the proviso.)

Third, I am beginning to think we are seriously going to get Three Men-Shaped-Beings and a Little Nephilim as the plot for season 13 (how apropos), because this episode was aaallllllllllll about Sam and Dean as dads. Like, Sam is officially a skeevy old dude, and Dean is one breath away from grounding everyone, and they both have explicitly dad-coded moments. Dean with the shotgun speech (which just plays into the sexism of the Claire plot, so I’m not a fan, but it’s still definitely dad-coded), and Sam with his conversation with Claire that helps her decide to own her choices and talk to Jodie about them.

I’m actually pretty keen about this development too. With a kid in the mix, there is so much ground that could be explored in terms of the legacy of John and how Sam and Dean (and Mary) are recovering from that and learning healthier ways to be family, especially with a supernatural kid in the mix. It opens up an interesting role for Castiel as well, given he’s likely to be the kid’s uncle.

So, as I said, a very mixed episode. The sexism means I won’t be rushing to re-watch, but the good things do have me looking forward to the next ep.

Previously:

The Ministry of Information vs Wayward Sons Carrying On (12x01)

My, my, how can I resist you? (12x02) and follow-up about Bohemian Raphsody

So what am I so afraid of? (I think I love you) (12x03)

I’ve got the joy, joy, joy, joy Down in my heart (Where?) (12x04) and a follow-up about the codependency and about Dean’s self-flagellation and issues with space

There can be only one! (12x05), and a follow-up conversation with elizabethrobertajones on Freud vs Schwartz.

They shall fall by the sword: they shall be a portion for foxes (12x06)

Presenting the Immaculate Heart Reunion Tour (12x07)

I’m still living the life where you get home and open the fridge and there’s half a pot of yogurt and a half a can of flat Coca-Cola. ~Alan Rickman (12x08, 12x09)

When the sons of God came in unto the daughters of men (12x10)

in re (12x11)

Making the most of teachable moments (12x12) and an added thought, In-and-out-laws

Don’t fuck with the branches on my family tree (12x13)

To Protect and to Serve (12x14) and some more thoughts

Hiding in the shadow of love (12x15) and some further thoughts in response to @elizabethrobertajones‘ meta.

#supernatural #season 12 #spoilers #meta #claire novack #mick davies #sexism #bmol #mytharc #themes #dean winchester #sam winchester #fatherhood #genocide #hunting

17 notes · View notes

ruleandruinrpg · 8 years ago

Photo

CONGRATULATIONS, KAITLIN!

You have been accepted for the role of ANTON LANTSOV with a faceclaim change to Reece King. Admin Bree: Choosing Anton’s player was probably one of the hardest decisions I’ve had to make as an admin, and for that reason alone, I’d like to congratulate the three of you for writing such brilliant applications. Each of you captured him in your own unique way, and it took me hours to decide which I liked best, because each of your portrayals brought something wonderful to the table. But I’m incredibly confident in my decision to offer him to you, Kaitlin, because your application was stunning in more ways than one. His dialogue in your samples, your headcanons—all of it was so incredibly him, so much that I don’t doubt for a second your ability to portray our beloved Crown Prince. Beautiful work! You have 24 HOURS to send in your account. Also, remember to look at the CHECKLIST. Welcome to Ravka!

OUT OF CHARACTER

ALIAS: Kaitlin.

PREFERRED PRONOUNS: She / her.

AGE: 20.

TIMEZONE & ACTIVITY LEVEL: I am more or less available all of the time. I’m currently in the middle of hunting for a new job, but it will be part time so I’ll still be around all the time. Obviously muse wavers and fluctuates and such, but I’d say around a 7 out of 10. As a quick sidenote: I do have to say that the first two weeks of the group I’m probably going to be a bit busy. Opening weekend we are celebrating my mom’s 50th birthday by going into the city for a night so I may or may not be on at all during that time. It depends on how busy we are that night. Then a week after opening I’m going to Italy on a family vacation with my Dad and Stepmom and siblings etc. During that time I’ll be around at night for sure, but not likely at all during the day!

CURRENT/PAST ACCOUNTS: My only current active muse is Adeline Calore.

Also… please don’t hate me for how long this is.. I got really carried away… Love way too strong. Yikes.

IN CHARACTER

DESIRED CHARACTER: Crown Prince of Ravka, Anton Matvei Lantsov.

WHAT DREW YOU TO THIS CHARACTER? By Saints I wish I could make this short and sweet, but it feels like there’s just about a million things about Anton that are screaming my name.

I really really really wish that I could say something like “his was the first teaser that I read and I’ve been hooked on him ever since,” but in truth it took much longer for the Fox Prince to sink his canines in and really hook me. When the group was first coming out and posting things to the teaser blog and such, I knew I would be crazy chaotic busy pretty much from the time of your guys opening (As in like, when you started posting teasers. I’ve been busy so long I’m about ready to start crying, but this app has been surprisingly stress-relieving.) until about two weeks after your first acceptances: I’d resolved myself against applying for that reason.

But like all deliciously attractive roleplays, I couldn’t help but keep my eye on the group, take a peek at the main every so often to see how things were going. I wasn’t paying close attention, and originally my gaze fell to Anastasia (partially because Ashley Moore is the love of my life, as she should be everyones, and partially because I am quite partial to princesses). I had no real plan to apply… and then I read Anton’s bio, in an attempt to learn everything I could about Ana, and fuck was I done for.

Just like that, he had wormed his way into my heart. All I wanted to do was spread my volcra wings and start screeching because holy shit was I in love. I had 12 million other things to be doing every single day and yet, I’d be driving in my car to pick my sister up from a friend’s house and Anton fucking Lantsov would start running through my mind. (Coincidentally, I have a feeling he has this affect on a lot of people, not just me.) I’m thinking about things that he might say, how he might react if someone slighted him – is he the sort who would cut off a man’s hand because he questioned his authority as a war general (answer: maybe, possibly probably) or would he tear him down using a combination of carefully chosen words (answer: maybe, probably, he’d do both)? For a while, to be perfectly honest, I struggled a lot with finding his voice. It’s not that I couldn’t figure out why he says the things that he does, or even why he acts the way that he does because I think that I figured that out pretty early on. (At least, in my opinion. I hate when people make declarations about characters as though they know them better than the admins and so if I sound like that…. just, kick me. Seriously.) I legitimately mean, his voice – the things that he says, the words that are so carefully crafted on his lips. A big part of this is likely the fact that I am not particularly charming, and that’s legitimately the core of Anton’s persona; he is a charmer through and through, able to mold himself into any situation to make people like him. I, on the other hand, am a potato who doesn’t even like talking on the phone because it relies so much on words and that is a lot of pressure on a very small thing. But honestly I was obsessed and couldn’t stop thinking about him. Little devil snaked his way into my heart, the same way he snakes his way into everyone else’s.

What first drew me to Anton was, honestly, just the first line of his biography. I am a genuine sucker for royalty, especially the glorious and the tragic – of which Anton is both. He is legitimately everything that the crown could ever want from a prince, which makes it all the more confusing as to how exactly he got to where he is. It’s not exactly that he’s ambiguous, because his goals and motivations come to me with crystal-clear clarity: he wants better for Ravka, and that’s the be-all, end-all of it. It’s a lot like the quote by Nikolai in S&S: “I’m a prince, Alina. I can’t afford to be myself.” This is what I’m trying to get at, in essence, but it goes even further beyond this in Anton’s case. It’s not so much that he can’t afford to be himself, but rather that who is he is defined by his nation, what his people need from him. Who he is, therefore, is whoever his people need him to be. Ravka is everything to Anton, and he would never compromise his nation or his people for the sake of a single person, including himself.

Anton may not have been born for the throne, but he is absolutely made for it. Anton, for all intents and purposes and for the sake of understanding him, strikes me as a sort of conglomeration of many of the male Greek deities. He has the wit of Ares and he has the savvy of Apollo, a boy as equally loved by the son as he is scorched by it – he has simultaneously gained everything and lost everything with his ascension to crown prince, his love his family his friends, it’s all been pulled away from him for the sake of the crown. He doesn’t complain, but he’s still been put on a pedestal he never expected to be put on. He’d grown accustomed to the battleground, allowed the gaze of war to settle into his skin alongside muted war-crys. He was a soldier though and through, racing towards victories on the horizon, a blade in his elder brother’s palm used to cut down Ravka’s enemies.

But then Zeus crept in, making way for the true king Anton could become. Suddenly war and ruin were not all that he need know; he could know what it felt to hold a crown atop his head, to hold lightning in his hands and command where it might strike instead of being the strike. He was right to get involved with the war effort, was right to believe that war was entwined with his fate, but he had it wrong. He’s not the boy born for bloodshed, not the boy born to carry out the wars, but the one born to stop them, the boy born to bring peace to a nation that has too long been under siege by a darkness none of them knew how to fight. Or maybe the wars will kill him. Who knows.

Honestly? I’d be crazy to not want to explore a character with that kind of weight on their shoulders, wouldn’t I?

WHAT FUTURE PLOT IDEAS DID YOU HAVE IN MIND?

LANTSOV MEN DIDN’T DIE: Anton, the word-lover, Anton, the wordsmith. I would love for Anton – who always had a quick remark to make before words could even enter his opponents thoughts – to be at a loss for words, for ideas. Perhaps it comes because he finds himself suddenly on not only uncharted, but also uneven ground, a place where not even his wide comfort zone can reach. Anton is brilliant, but there’s always someone out there smarter, someone just that touch more clever, and maybe they’ll put him into a position where he is in over his head. I think this is the kind of situation that would be really great for his character development; he is a selfless prince, to be sure, but he is also a vain prince, and to see him knocked off the pedestal he’s been put on, or even just knocked a rung or two down the ladder would be really fascinating. After all, the world around him is fast changing and he’s just have to learn how to run faster, talk quicker, be that much smarter. It’d be interesting to see someone pull ahead, even if only for a moment. Lantsov men, after all, are gods walking – but even gods can be killed, can be outsmarted. Just ask Ivan.

E’YA STA REZKU: I am become a blade. In this case not in the hand’s of the Sun Summoner, but in the hands of Ravka, of his home, of his nation, of his people. Da Vinci (my light, my life, my idol) wrote this thing: “every whole is greater than the part.” As much as I hate to so obviously take inspiration from Nikolai, I can’t help it in this case. Ravka is Anton’s first love. Therefore, to be perfectly honest, all I want is to see Anton come to grips with the fact that he will legitimately, finally, one day be at the helm of this nation. Anton, sun-haloed, war-torn, hungry Anton Lantsov is to find himself wholly consumed by his nation, and I’m wondering if he’s truly as cut out for it as he believes himself to be. He does, after all, have his weaknesses – his pride, his preference for alliances rather than relationships; when everything is skin deep it’s easy for him to betray, but just as easy for him to be betrayed. Anyways, this is kind of already in the midst of happening, but I’m really excited for Anton to morph from General into Crown Prince.

BLOOD IS THICKER: I don’t actually know if I really want this to happen or not because Anton will be in for a world of pain if it does, but I would love for it to be revealed that he is in fact a bastard. I’ve been talking about it a lot recently in various Skype chats, and I have a feeling it’s because I’m a sucker for angst, but can you imagine the pain that fact would put Anton in? He’s lived his entire life under the burden of whispers and doubts, but those he could handle; he could do it because Anton is a Great Man™ in the traditional sense of the word great in that he is pretty much designed to bring about revolution, to bring about an end to the nation’s suffering. He is a god through and through, with equal parts capability for mercy and ruthlessness when it comes to the good of his nation, and he knows it. He didn’t always, but as the people allowed him to be more volk than sobachka, he began to see himself for what he was. To have it revealed that he is in fact a bastard, that he cannot and will never again wear the crown, would be to rip the very fabric of Anton’s soul from his chest. I don’t think he would know who he is if the crown was ripped from his head, it’s too big a part of the destiny he sees for himself now. It would be a fascinating thing to have happen, and a fascinating thing for me to get to explore, but honestly I’d be very worried about his mental state if this came to fruition.

THE SPARE SEEKS AN HEIR: The most obvious and most discussed thus far would have to be Anton finding himself a wife, considering it’s an act as future king of Ravka that will help to define his reign over the people. Who he chooses to have by his side while he rules will reflect back on him a great deal, and I would really like for it to be someone that he doesn’t necessarily expect to fall in love with. I feel like a lot of people at court tip-toe around him, or at least they should because he’s going to be the king for Saint’s sake. He is a king of the people as much as a king can be, but he is still going to be a king, is still a god walking among mere men. Probably because of that fact, there’s a kind of attitude that I want to see from Anton’s future wife, someone that isn’t afraid to call him out for being a douche – charming as that douchery may be. I also think that a kind of defiance would be something that Anton would greatly appreciate. After all, he spent his life as the spare, the prince that no one needed but they got anyways. He was someone that people needed to respect, and he commanded that from them, but he was never going to be king and he got used to that part of his life – that possibility of comfort, of familiarity, of casualness. As future king, he probably lost a lot of those casual relationship that brought easy smiles to his cheeks and was left with so much distance. I want Anton to find someone not only unafraid of that distance, but who crosses it with confidence and ease.

GOT YOUR SIX: I would really like to see Anton training a second, and farther beyond this, Anton involved in the war efforts in general. This might be something that develops in Anton’s past, in the sense that it’s a position / relationship that already exists that just isn’t written in his bio is this makes sense. Anton with his soldier friends, joking around as they all lose themselves to the drink around him, tossing back glass after glass of kvas, their lives pressed into the dirt and destruction all around them. I feel like there’s no really an established relationship for Anton that involves the war brigade, and given that’s such an integral part of the man he became, I’d love to get to explore it more.

WOULD YOU BE WILLING TO HAVE YOUR CHARACTER DIE? I want to be really cool and say yes, no problem, but I have a feeling if I was accepted I would cry and be really protective over my little bastard king and cry even more if you killed him. I’d probably let it happen anyways though, you know, for the Angst™

IN DEPTH

IN CHARACTER PARA SAMPLE(S): The sample(s) may be as long or as short as you see fit. It must be in third person and in-character.

REASON IS NOT AUTOMATIC. – I really just wanted a glimpse into how Anton handles the men in his army. I had intended originally to write about the kindness he shows them, but since I wrote a headcanon about how he treats the good men (remembers their names, their lives, remembers they are people and not just blades in his collection), I thought it might be interesting to see how he handles the ones who are in the war for the blood, not the loyalty.

“We’ll probably be able to catch a few more of them lurking around in the woods, then we can have some more fun with them. Damn Fjerdans, always thinking they can take what’s not theirs, what’s ours.” There’s a pause, a silence a bit too harsh to be stagnant, as though the speaker was looking forward to the other man’s answer to his next question. “You take any alive?”

“Yeah,“ the other man says, and the tone of disappointment caught in his throat makes Anton sick to his stomach. These were his men, not the Fjerdans who ridiculously thought Grisha to be witches, or men from Ketterdam entwined with the drug industry; his men, and he thought they would be better than this. It’s a bitter reality for him to swallow. “One of them actually surrendered,” the man says, his words crisp on the cold night’s air. Anton cannot see the voice that it belongs to, but somehow he knows they are not someone to make a friend out of. “Rest of the company was around though, so I had to turn him over.”

“We aren’t taking the live ones to prison are we? We don’t need any more damn mouths to feed. I’m hungry enough most night as is.”

“Nah, just the ones who seem like they might know what their men were doing crossing into Ravkan territory. Think Popov, that new interrogator, is in with one of ‘em now. I know the live one I caught is going to be executed once the interrogator is done with him, but what I wouldn’t give to kill the Fjerdan myself.”

“Well, at least Popov gets to have some fun tonight.”

His voice is distinct when he begins – slow, deliberate, regal, in the most patronizing of ways. Men like this must be kept in line. “Now, boys,” the Prince begins, removing himself from the shadows of the tent to expose himself to these bloodthirsty wolves, calling them boys so as to make them remember that as much as he build himself into friendship with his merry men, they will forever and always be below him. And in this moment, disappointed in the cruelty of man, he needs all the status he can get. “I would say have you been paying attention, but it’s clear you haven’t. I sent out stealth parties into the trees not half an hour ago so that they might ambush the remaining Fjerdan invaders as the moon rises. Worry not; we will take and protect that which is ours and march home with any spoils. Or did you doubt your leaders?”

It’s casual, the insinuation of treason, of insubordination, of treachery. It’s the most powerful weapon against men who dare to let thoughts of such nature to take hold in their minds – the notion that it makes them weak, that it makes them lesser. (Wonderful, how the pride of men can be used so easily against them.) It often pulls men like this back, dragging them from the edge of the dark abyss and into his own arms -- where he may use them as he pleases.

Anton is never certain how he should feel about such men, the wolves of Ravka made into human flesh, but he doesn’t dwell on the thought, instead choosing to turn away from these devils in tattered clothing. It’s been almost a year to the day since Anton has stepped his foot in the Grand Palace, in his home. Tomorrow will be the year mark, and he finds more and more often that he itches for the palace, for the ability to stride through the halls, no longer sobachka but volk, no longer a weak-hearted little boy but a man as sharp as volcra talons.

Becoming a god had come at a lofty price.

( What he doesn’t say, cannot admit, is not so much that he fears he is beginning to forget; beginning to forget the sound of Anastasia laughing, the way his father’s voice curls around consonants – sharply, as though every word must be a knife to cut down his enemies – or the way Darya tended to favor certain words over others.

This? This separation? He is afraid to admit that he does not mind.

Foolish for him to have thought it would ruin him. )

Anton sits at his desk, scrawling word after word, letter after letter, pouring his mind into the pieces of parchment bound in leather.

I told Ivan this morning of the terrors, the absolute horrors, that the Shu invaders used against me and my men. There have been rumors for years about the technology they have been developing, and I fear I’ve witnessed those beginning to come to fruition.

Yet still, he doesn’t listen to me when I try and tell him my designs. I don’t understand how a mind so built for war, for weaponry could be so opposed to hearing about the developments that another thinks they could make. Dawn begins to breaks along the snow-covered horizon and he is off, walking away from me in the middle of my words, his mind too distracted by the battle his is about to wage to see the bigger picture: Ravka is going to fail .

I fear what he is going to do to our nation by keeping it as he has always known it. Ivan is no fool, but is he a king either? We need him to be. Ravka needs him to be, more so now than ever.

Every morning he wakes to desire of the most unholy sort: treason. The second son, greater than none. Funny, truly, how desperation can drive one to greatness. Nothing, however, could be done about fate, about birth order. He way be a god, but the second tier was the only level he’d be able to call home.

Anton doesn’t hear when his brother enters the room, barely notices that Ivan has entered unannounced and unwanted to come and stand at Anton’s shoulder as he hunches over the desk before him. But then his elder brother is leaning over and he can feel the breath – warm and hot, unwelcome – touching the bare space between his hairline and the top of his shirt and suddenly the journal is being slammed closed as he shoves away from his chair.

He recognized it as Ivan before he even saw him with his own eyes, even before his brother began to speak. He would know Ivan anywhere, though he may pretend not to. All he can hope is that he hadn’t read any of what has been put to paper.

“Saints, boy. You’d think I’d just held a knife to your throat the way you jump.”

Boy – the slight cuts Anton more than he’d care to admit. (Instead he’d just blather on about it in his diary later.) At first he shrinks away from the casual reprimand, knowing with sharp clarity what the small word insinuates -- he’d used the same method only minutes before. Anton, of course, had learned his tactics from the best.

“Don’t you think I know my nation well enough to know best how to handle it?” Ah -- so he had read it.

“Brother, of course I know you’re worried about what lies beyond our borders; we all are. But don’t you see? The Shu to the South and Fjerdans to the North? And right between lies our nation – while great, vulnerable; we sit cut off from our trade routes along the Western borders. All it will take to overcome us is an army strong enough, technology that we in our wildest dreams have not been able to craft. I will not allow them to take what is ours and call it their own.” Anton is alive now, caught up in the feeling of greatness, of the divinity that Ivan himself had shown him existed in Lantsov blood.

“Ivan, If the Shu decide to attack us, and I mean really attack us, we will lose. The Shu are expanding their army and I’ve seen their weaponry; if they decided to come together with Kerch to attack us by land and sea, well, even the Grisha won’t be able to protect us from that kind of machinery. Our neighbors want to expand their borders and swallow Ravka whole. We cannot continue to be a nation divided. If you would just allow -- ”

“It’s very romantic and all how you wish to save the world, but I think we both know it takes a man like me to actually do it. People respond to strength and strength alone, young brother, not reason; and while I must credit your mind with the cleverness it is due, it has nothing on the Ravkan army’s brute force.”

Sometimes he wonders about his brother; Ivan the great, Ivan the Terrible. Is he unable or perhaps just unwilling to understand that fear is a temporary solution? After all, is it more difficult to learn how to be cruel, or to learn how to be soft? Anton was beginning to think the gods knew not of humanity, knew not the workings of a human’s mind. He was beginning to think that it was a good thing he’d been forced to remain half-boy for so long, that being a god meant he would forget how to bleed.

And so long as he remembers what it is to bleed, he will remember to protect that humanity his brother had seemingly lost.

OTHER GIRLS WERE FAINT STARS. – A bit of a timeline, this sample more or less shows the rise and fall of Darya and Anton’s relationship, at least the ways in which I imagine it.

The truth of the matter is this: Anton Lantsov would do anything for that which he loved. He’d written it once in his journal before:

Love for me is different, I think. People say that love feels like home, but it’s not. It’s like a religion. It’s so much bigger than a building where I can be myself – It’s terrifying. It’s a black night and a single burning star. It’s building them a city and calling it Church. It’s taking all of human history and bending it to their will. Forget the ending, I will build them a story anew.

He finds her in the gardens, and in spite of himself, he grins from ear-to-ear at the sight of her. He thinks it’s her back (It’s always the back with him – the way a person’s spine curves and the ridges where their shoulder blades end, the little dip between the two. He quite enjoys mapping out those places, and he does so with as much vigor as he puts into his campaigns.) that truly gives her away, the dark cascade of hair that falls over her shoulders and grazes the spot where fabric covers spine. The set of those shoulders really should have acted as a warning sign, but even if it did he chose to ignore it. (Anton, of course, does nothing without choosing to do so.)

“Miss Voronov, are you enjoying the evening?”

He almost laughs when she whips around, her face a delicious shade of red. He’d always loved the sight of a flush in a person’s cheeks – spoke to wonderful things happening below the surface, inside of a person’s mind. Perhaps she, too, was thinking of their midnight rendezvous under the influence of a tad too much champagne. He knew she was a dangerous game to play; he’d go back to war soon (too soon, really) and to dance with his emotions now would be to play with fire -- but, then, when had love or war ever been fair?

“We should probably pretend it didn’t happen,” she begins, moving quickly beyond pleasantries to address (or rather – not address, seeing as she seemed to want to forget) the kiss he’d shared with her the night before. His lips stayed in place, a smile commanding its hold as a hearty laugh rolled its way through his chest.

“Pretend what didn’t happen, you taking advantage of me or kicking me out after you did it?”

“I did not take advantage!” She sounds taken aback, and it’s all Anton can do to hear the gasp of air in her throat and not press his mouth to hers again. Instead he clicks his tongue in disapproval, his head shaking in mock innocence, though the warmth in his eyes is a dead give away for the fondness that’s settled across his skin. And he knows she can see it for she’s clearly holding back laughter, small chuckles escaping her with each word. Each sound tastes like cherry wine. It’s sweet in a quiet sort of manner, gentle but assured – as though she laughs like that every day, as though he makes her laugh like that every day, as though she may just allow him to stay by her side from now until eternity just to keep her laughing like that. He makes it his gospel.

“Oh, I was drunk and extremely handsome.” His head tilts to the side as he pauses, looking at her with obvious endearment. “You took advantage.” (What better way to show affection than with humor, no? His brothers always told him otherwise, but he finds this woman’s laugh intoxicating – he’d worship at the altar of that sound if only she’d let him.)

“I think extremely handsome is being overly generous.” The corners of his mouth tilt down in mock distress. He knows that she will come around, that she is pretending for the sake of honor, or perhaps self-protection; he can see it in the tilt of her mouth, the repressed grin.

“Oh no, last night I was wearing my good shirt, the deep blue colored one. Compliments my complexion quite nicely. Last night I was extremely handsome. You took advantage.”

“I did no -- ”

“Would you care to take advantage again, say tomorrow evening?” he says, interrupting her. He’d probably pay for that later.

“Your Highness – ”

“Please Darya, call me Anton.” He uses her given name, and he can feel the weight of it on his tongue like Atlas bearing the world, can feel it on his tongue like intimacy made concrete. The set of her mouth is what makes him smile again, the determined way in which she forces it into a straight line.

“Your Highness,” she says again. Determined little star; he could already feel his gravity shifting, anchoring him to her instead of the grass beneath their feet. “-- don’t you take anything seriously?” She knows the answer to this is yes, that he takes everything seriously, devotes himself completely to everything his nation needs, but it’s not what he says.

“I find life tends to get rather dull that way.” Sailors always tell tall tales of mermaids luring men to their deaths beneath the waves, dragged down to the shadowy depths; he thinks he’s found his siren call.

She pauses, shaking her head, but the smile he’s been trying to coax out of her is finally beginning to show, the walls beginning to crumble as he so desperately wished they would. “You really ought to stop looking at me like that,” she says.

“Like what?”

“Oh, I think that you know what.”

And he does know what, because he looks at her like he finally understands the Apparat’s preaching, like she is the moon and he a lone wolf desperate for a response. He looks at her like she’s the sun, and he’d gladly raze his wings to ash if she’d only asked him to come near.

It could be daunting, he supposes, but Anton had never walked away from a challenge before. He wasn’t about to start now.

He had been right: love and war were certainly not fair. They were vicious opponents, each as demanding as the other, both entwined together like the strings of fate. He tells himself that he is not at all bitter, that the war is where he belongs; it’s easier when she isn’t so near.

He is throwing rocks at her window and to be fair, he knows it’s all entirely absurd, but he can’t help the smile that colors his cheeks rose. Too long had he been ruled by sulfur and gunfire, by glory and victory. Too long had he been away from peace, and Darya was nothing if not solace against broken bones and battlegrounds.

He told himself that he wouldn’t do this, that the first stop he made when he returned from war wouldn’t be her, but the moment he was alone his body had taken over his mind and carried him here, for he’d missed her more than he could ever put into words. It was unbearable, really, to even think her name – Darya Voronov, Darya Voronov, Darya Voronov, Darya Voronov, it took over everything if he let it seep in – when she wasn’t near. Thoughts of her made him tremble with it: humanity.

It terrified him.

(Perhaps it’s why he needs the jurda: to tame his heart, to strengthen his hands.)

There’s a certain euphoria he feels whenever she is near, and even the simple sight of her leaned over that balcony edge is enough to make his heart ache in ways he never imagined that it could, in ways he hopes will never fade. Her gaze meets his (truly, it hasn’t been that long but it’s been far, far too long) and suddenly everything else pales in comparison to her eyes, all the other beauty in the world pale stars in comparison to her full moon. For a moment his breath hitches in his chest and he counts one -- two -- three -- before he can breathe again.

“Anton, what are you doing out there! Someone may hear you!” She half-whispers her words, chiding, but the smile that winds its way onto her cheeks is a dead give away, her tell. He knows she is as happy to have him home as he is to see her once again. Seeing her standing there, the delicate weight of her lifted onto toes so that she might lean over the railing, makes him smile crookedly. (Really, what other sort of smile can a boy with fifty faces have?) He’s unsurprised at her delight, remembering that with every letter he sent her, she sent one back with equal fervor: come home, she would write. I miss you, too, he would send back.

“Well, you know how I feel about taking risks,” he replies with a smile to match her own blossoming one. Like calls to like, he would suppose.

“Don’t you know what my father would do to you if he caught you out there? What your father would do?”

It doesn’t matter to him what her father would do, what anyone would do. The only reason he hides her is for her benefit, for her own safety. She deserved so much better than to be put under scrutiny, under the watchful eye of every other woman at court who may have thought to seek out the hand of a prince; Darya was already an outsider at court, despite the efforts of Ana to make people see otherwise. She was not from a high house, did not come from money, no, far from it. He loved her, and as he does all the things he loves, he protects her whatever the cost, even if that means he needs to hide her from the rest of the world.

Hearing her speak he realizes that it’s true what they say about distance, about separation. The first thing to go from your memory is the voice, and hearing Darya’s now, fluttering along the gentle breeze, it sounds something like church bells, the notes of a choir’s hymn at sunset.

He feels grounded, anchored to her. A disciple at his knees before the saints.

His eyes are alight with mischief when he finally replies. “Make me marry you, perhaps?”

A dangerous game to play, indeed.

Anton barely thinks twice about being called to his father’s study. He’s almost grown accustomed to the man now, barely registers anymore that the man standing before him is twice the god that Anton will ever be, that his father is the titan who taught him how to shed the sobachka pelt Ravka had put on his shoulders. He knocks -- a succinct rap rap on the mahogany door frame -- before entering, passing through the entryway to Olympus only when his father’s voice calls out come in.

“Darya Voronov?” Ivan had never been one for playing games, and tonight was no different. If Darya was Anton’s own personalized version of an addiction, then his father was buzzkill incarnate. He crosses his arms over his broad chest, and Anton immediately feels smaller; he almost crumples in on himself with the weight of his father’s gaze. Please, father, he wants to beg. Let’s not do this.

He keeps his gaze apathetic, the guarded prince guarding his heart; he cannot afford to give too much away. The king stands (Do kings ever truly sit, even when they are planted on their thrones? When they are always so high above all others?) and waits for an answer from the spare, but for a moment Anton finds himself absent a quip to allay the situation, absent a tongue. The bonds between father and son, no matter the complexity, no matter the darkness, no matter the questions (Are you proud of me? Do you love me? Do you love my mother? Am I hers?) are unshakeable though, and as cleverly as Anton my try to shed the weight of his father’s gaze, may try to escape the imploring eyes, gods do not know the meaning of the word no.

Anton should have known better than to think he could hide her from a man who saw the bigger picture like it was marked out for him on the floor in dotted lines. “I know all, my boy.”

Anton wants to laugh it off, to pretend like his father is being absurd. He knows his words are thin, that his father has eyes even in the statues that decorate the Grand Palace, that nowhere is safe, but he lies anyways.

“Father, I never pegged you as the type to listen to petty gossip.” He pretends not to feel the way his heart has begun to beat more quickly between his ribcages, growing so large with every pump of blood that it surely is on the verge of explosion. The young prince should really know better by now than to try and lie to a man who could lie for a living. (Old habits die hard, I suppose.) “Do you pay all such rumors credence, or do you consider me a special case?”

His father is shaking his head then and he is looking straight through Anton as though there is a shining star buried in his chest setting his every secret aflame, bright and burning for all the world to see. And maybe there is something buried there, a piece of Darya stuck like a burr on his heart, his body drowning with the gravity of it. He wouldn’t be surprised.

“You’re a skilled liar, Anton, but not skilled enough.”

Gods don’t care for weakness, and love is surely one.

She hates it when he smokes, but to be fair, he only does it when he’s away from her, like when she is around his need for vice is sated. Without her Anton is a burning pyre, and when there’s smoke the pipe is too tempting not to give into. Coming back to the palace he finds it difficult to quit, and standing beside the lake makes him nostalgic for the ocean -- his hands needs a distraction or they may just begin that insufferable flexing that happens whenever he wants something he cannot have.

“You know, once of these days they’re going to tell you jurda can kill you,” she says, her voice suddenly breaking through the night, just as flame is approaching pipe. How quickly he smiles; he needed a distraction, and Darya was be a much more appealing addiction to indulge himself in. Dangerous, the intellectual part of his brain days, for they are in public and much to his own chagrin, Darya is a well-kept secret.

Delicious, the wolf says.

“You think you know what it’s going to feel like, but this” he says, a general of war suddenly gentle in the hands of his flower, gesturing clumsily at the empty space between their two bodies. “This is nothing l could have predicted. I don’t know why anybody bothers with drugs when they could just fall in love.”

There are a million words on the tip of his liquor-lacquered tongue. My throat, mine. You left stars in my heart and now I claim this space between your ribs as mine, mine, mine. I am in your heart and it is paradise; I am in your light and it keeps streaming into me. “Never leave me,” he says instead. His head is shaking, a mind caught in incredulity. How had she claimed him so? A man who was everything, reduced to a man in love, a man at his knees?

“Is that what you’re afraid of?” She says it like a joke, like it’s nothing, but Anton knows better.

His lips brush hers and it tastes suspiciously of wildflowers.

“Who says I’m afraid of anything?”

You get to be the King. This isn’t the way he thought it would feel. For a momen\ it felt like magic, but now it feels like getting stabbed to death. You get magic gloves! You’re all cotton candy pink and glowing! He feels strangely trapped, like a princess in her tower or the dragon stuck in the dungeons.

She finds him in the gardens. and while there is no longer a tear in his eye, salt has clung onto the peach fuzz that covers his cheeks. The faded tears tighten his skin, just as the noose he’d placed around his own neck so many years ago had finally grown taut; just as he’d always wanted. The gravity lines that had once held him spinning in her orbit had been severed, and he hung precariously from the hands of the Ravkan people. His fate belong to them now, not her.

If he was going to put the noose around his own neck, he supposes he should at least do it right.

“Anton,” she calls when she is only a few feet away. Here he’d been thinking they wouldn’t even say goodbye, wouldn’t submit themselves to the pain of such an endeavor. But then again, he’d always been the dramatic sort, and much as he wanted to save himself from the war of love, he knows that a wound left to fester would surely kill, that neither one will be able to move on without the safety of a clean cut.

He didn’t do it on purpose (or maybe he did, he can’t be sure), but everything about him is stark sobering; his clothes are crisp and free of blemish the same way his face remains smooth, unburdened. He had to make it look easy, had to make it as pure and unblemished by the loss of his brother as possible. It will be easier this way, he thinks, and maybe he’s right. (He usually is.)

“My dear Darya – ” he begins without thinking, something he thinks he’s never done.

“Please don’t call me that – yours, as though I ever will be.”

His eyes cast themselves towards hers and it’s not exactly painful; perhaps nostalgic would be a better word. She looks like a morning glories unfurling at down, she looks like home. It’s instinctual, the way his hand nearly floats away from his side to stroke her cheek; he’d just washed them recently, and he knew she’d be able to smell the lemon on them. It’s all he can do to not surge forward, to wrap her in his arms to keep her safe and tucked away from the pain and darkness now threatening to take over.

Instead he breathes, and flexes his hand once, twice, three times over. He knows she deserves something better than this, better than the role of dirty secret. Doesn’t change the turning in his abdomen at the thought of her lips on his.

He wants to apologize for all of the things that he ever said to her, wants to take it all back. What good is it doing either of them now? When they’ve known happiness, pure and unbridled love, only to have it ripped away by something as heavy as blood? Sorry about taking your heart and making myself a home there, sorry about walking with you through the gardens under a black sky alight with bright stars. I’m sorry that I built a cathedral at your feet, and I’m sorry for the sacrilege I’m about to commit. Sorry about the casket I’ve already buried our love in.

Sorry about ruining everything before even saying it aloud.

Is this what destruction looks like? Or maybe it’s something else, something like construction. Maybe it takes clumsy hearts at twilight to realize that what was underneath the floorboard was what he was destined for, that the perfunctory kiss goodbye he plants on her rosebud mouth was something he should have been prepared for all along.

It’s love or it isn’t; does it matter anymore? It does. Of course it does.

“Our nation needs strength, Darya. No matter the cost.” He doesn’t say it aloud, not exactly, but he knows her to be clever enough to hear the words he cannot say: the cost is you, the cost is you, the cost is you.

He would pay it time and time again, and he wouldn’t think twice.

“I know, my love. I know.”

He turns away from her then and there’s the same unmistakable set of his shoulders, the one he learned from his brother, from his father. It’s the stance of a Lantsov. It’s the stance not of a boy turned men, but of a man turned god.

The truth of the matter is this: Anton Lantsov loves Ravka, and he’d do anything to protect it.

CHARACTER HEADCANONS:

MY HEART ON YOUR SLEEVE: Anton is always giving away his heart in the form of material objects. With his men, the ones who did right by him, by a man not just their general but their friend, he would give them little trinkets that he had invented that would make their lives easier – an especially powerful telescope that would allow men to see an enemy approaching from further distances, a jacket made from the same material as his own kefta, a seemingly simple pair of gloves that have metal in the knuckles so any hand to hand combat would be just that much more dangerous, and so on and so forth. It’s not necessary by any means, but it adds to his charms, makes him more friend than other, makes him more human if people are able to carry little pieces of his mind around in their pockets. Similarly, he lavishes his lovers with gifts. There haven’t been too many, and besides Darya they were all frivolous teenage trysts, but each and every single one of them found themselves adorned with jewels. Darya, of course, was always telling him that she didn’t need it, but that never stopped him. He can’t seem to help it, the ways in which he loves to inject himself into other people, to don his peers with little bits of himself – perhaps it’s a way of claiming ownership, of claiming power, but it’s also something that gives him pride; to see people wear and use the things he has given them, it lets him know that they appreciate what he does for them, and he loves to be appreciated.

HEAD ON, HEART OFF: For the greater good, he tells himself. I think it probably scares him a little bit, how easily he was able to walk away from Darya. There’s a great many nuances to this situation, but at the end of the day I don’t think that, once he knew of his brothers death and what that entailed for his own future, he ever thought twice about keeping Darya in his life. He’s far too smart to ever truly believe that Darya could be his queen, and so he let her go without a second thought. Part of it was for her own sake; if he held onto her until he found himself a wife, then he would be doing her not only a great dishonesty, but also a great disservice. He knows that she deserves far better than to be the king’s mistress. And he thinks about her, often – sometimes it’s late at night, when there’s no one there to distract his thoughts from the image of her sprawled across his silk bed sheets, and sometimes it’s when he hears something funny or something beautiful; she is who he wants to share those moments with. But still, he left her like it was nothing, like it was easy, because that’s what his kingdom needed, what the crown demanded. It scares him how quickly the man he wanted to become has vanished, a crown prince left to fill his shining shoes.

BATHE IN STARLIGHT: I am dead convinced that Anton has an unshakeable love for all things that live above his head: the birds that live in the trees, the trees themselves that grow so big and tall and will outlive him by millennia, but most important the sky, and what is beyond that. The galaxies and the cosmos fascinate him, and he is constantly staring up at them, clambering his way onto the roofs of buildings in an attempt to get closer to them. What secrets do they hold, those floating little balls of light? He can see them there, flickering in the sky above – they’re the only absolute constant in his life. Out on the Vy, or making camp near one of the Tula Valley’s many abandoned farms, even lost in the vast otherness of Tsibeya, the stars remained the same, guiding him through the darkness and to safety.

EXTRAS:

I do have a mockblog, which I’ve linked in this whole sentence! As per usual, I think it’s probably more helpful for me than it will be for you, but it’s there. :) I’ve also made Anton a pinterest board!

Some extra things, a number of which are just more headcanons:

a playlist that i made for anton… here’s hoping you have spotify. it’s more or less instrumental songs that made me think of him, but there’s a couple of lyric songs in there as well.

i forced myself not to make a darya & anton playlist, but listen to moondust by jaymes young and try to tell me it doesn’t make you cry. i’ll wait.

birthdate: december 31st: capricorn. This sign is, above all else, ambitious. And while I don’t think that Anton necessarily lusted after the crown when he was the second son, he absolutely fought tooth and nail to make sure he was not only well-liked, but well respected. He rose through use of his own merit and skill to the title of General, and he did it because he’s patient. He’s resourceful. He gets what he wants. Capricorn’s other common traits tend to serve their ambition in that they are usually quite disciplined and quite intuitive; I think this lend nicely to the notion that Anton is very good at reading people – their wishes, their desires, they all come easily and quickly to him, allowing him to be whoever the person needs him to be. Capricorns often are very good with their words, which fits with his ability to but charm people and put them in their place, with his ability to bring nations to their knees with a twist of his tongue rather than his wrist.

gender identity: cisgender; he/him. Anton’s entire life he was bred for war, for the life of a general. He was taught to keep his hair cropped short, his posture straight, and his muscles coiled tightly. He was taught walk like a man. This is why I’d suspect he’s never considered what life would be like if he were able to separate himself from his gender, from the constriction of the pronouns he’d been given at birth. The phrase be a man was so wound in with his identity that I doubt he could have ever given much thought to abandoning that which he was born into.

sexuality: heteroperformative, but likely unopposed to the idea of sex with any and all genders, and more than likely has tumbled with his fair share of people of varying genders. To be perfectly honest, I don’t think he’s given a terrible amount of thought to his sexuality, always just assuming that he would have to marry some noble girl regardless of his own choices. The fact that he found and loved Darya wasn’t something that happened every day in Ravkan court, and I don’t think he was expecting it at all. Sure he’s the second born son and so his marriage wouldn’t have been nearly as important as any one made by Ivan, but Saints forbid Anton end up marrying anyone other than a well-mannered lady capable of matching his own level of wit and sophistication. No, Anton’s own personal willingness to cross all of those boundaries never mattered because he knew that in the long run he likely wouldn’t be marrying for love.

hogwarts house: In my heart of hearts I love Gryffindor so much and was honestly trying to figure out a way to justify putting Anton in Gryffindor, but I just couldn’t manage it. I think he’s very probably in Slytherin given his pension for ambition and bringing armies to heel, but I think the sorting hat may think twice about not putting him in Ravenclaw.

books: It’s not surprising that someone with an ability to connect to a vast array of people is then able to connect across a different field: the page. For as long as Anton can remember he’s always loved books, and the worlds that different stories can create. Before the spare was the heir, he was generally free to spend his days as he pleased. Prior to his introduction to the battalions, Anton could pretty much always be found in the library and anyone who walks into Anton’s personal quarters int he palace likely could have mistaken the room for a second one. His room is practically littered with stacks of different books, some of them historical and some simply novels to be read for pleasure. They cover every surface – piles on the floor beneath his desk and on the chair in the corner of his room. Books on his nightstand and at the foot of his bed. All of varying lengths and topics and age. His favorites always turn out to be about historical leaders, sometimes monarchs sometimes dictators sometimes usurpers. Men and women of great power and prestige who did great or ( sometimes and ) terrible things for their nations. Sometimes he pretends he’s not, but he’s always taking mental notes of what those Greats did that made them the ruler that they were. Even before he had the crown Anton was ready for it.

languages: As the great wordsmith that Anton is, it makes sense that he would make sure he could be as such in as many languages as he could get his hands on. While out at sea, there is little else to do on passages than read a book, or perhaps practice a bit of swordplay (not that he really needs much help in that department). So read he would, plowing through books on Kerch and Shu Han, devouring the language and attempting to form the sounds on his tongue even without the aid of a native speaker. But eventually a vague understanding wasn’t enough, and he pestered each speaker of foreign languages that he could find into showing him to to move his mouth, where to put his tongue exactly behind his teeth. He loves words, and the more the merrier.

mars: For the longest time he couldn’t justify with himself getting a dog, unable to reconcile his want with the amount of time he would spend away from the creature. When his brother died, when he was made Crown Prince, he found himself spending more time at the palace than he had since he was a teenager, and he found a true friend in the small Golden Retriever puppy that he acquired. His father had said Get a Great Dane if you really must have a pet, but Anton loved the unbridled loyalty that came with his Golden, and he wouldn’t trade Mars for anything. The puppy now follows him everywhere, and he grows bigger and bigger every day. Mars, he finds, is very good at listening to his secrets.

sailing: Anton, beyond a shadow of a doubt, loves the sea. There were a great many things that kept him from it while he was growing up ( namely The Unsea ) but even the darkness couldn’t hold Anton back from the place he was meant to be. Being out on the water was as close a thing to religion as Anton has ever felt, despite the preachings of the Apparat that he alway had to sit through while growing up. The language of the Saints had never resonated in his mind until he witnessed what it was to feel the wind kissing his skin, salt getting caught up in his too-long eyelashes. There’s something so liberating about being out on the water, an emotion that comes only when the land begins to fade from vision. In my head it was the first thing that was truly, incandescently Anton’s. He was the Second Born battle-savvy son, but Ivan was ruthless in battle in a way that made Anton’s pension for clever tricks instead of brute force not only less popular with his father, but it made the battlefield less his. Maybe that’s a selfish thought, but being at sea was the first thing that he was really, really good at that his elder brother hadn’t already claimed – the almost rhythmic slapping of the hull and the crooning of seagulls, the rigging creaking as it tightens around the pins. **As a sidenote, I did come up with this headcanon prior to reading the Grisha trilogy – it is entirely possible that I was projecting my own love for the sea onto Anton, but I think it fits beautifully with his instiably curious, restless mind – but I am really really pleased that it aligned with Nikolai’s character because I love him and I just think that King of the Sea Anton is a beautiful Anton.

good men: This one ties in kind of closely with my “HEART ON YOUR SLEEVE” headcanon, but I wanted to expand on that one just a little bit more down here. I think that Anton is the kind of General that remembers every single soldier that he served with, and even many of the ones that he was only commander to. He is just that kind of man, the one who cares about people far more than they very well may care about him. He asks men he hasn’t seen in three years how their lives have changed, remembering that one man’s wife was pregnant when they first met and so will ask if he ended up with a spitfire who can’t sleep through the night or not, will ask about anything he can remember from his past with them and the people love it, and it’s why not a single person out there questions the fact the the prince is the general – they know he wasn’t just given the title for the sake of the title. Anton damn well earned it.

drinking: As a dastardly teenager with a face far too beautiful for it to be any good for Ravka’s women, kvas was more than likely one of Anton’s very best friends, as it would have been for any other young teenage boy. But I don’t think Anton drinks anymore, at least not really, and I think this is probably a fairly recent development. Obviously champagne and the occasional glass of kvas is necessary in the life a royal – for entertaining guests who prefer brandy to warm the hearts rather than the talk of alliances, or for wooing a woman into bed with the sultry glance above the rim of his glass – but I don’t think that he really drinks to excess. He’s too focused on Ravka and making it the kingdom he believes it can be: grand and powerful. He wouldn’t risk any modicum of control for the sake of waking up nauseous and bleary-eyed – no matter how attractive the prospect of liquor may seem in the moment. WIP.

grisha: Anton acts all holier than thou sometimes (read: all the time) but it’s more or less a facade to entertain while still commanding respect, and his emotions about the Grisha are not any different to how he feels about other citizens of Ravka: they deserve protection. As a child, his vision was tainted by the glasses of prejudice, but as soon as he began coming into his own, as soon as he began traveling through Ravka, he stopped seeing abomination and began to see allies, to see the human beneath the Small Science. It mattered not to Anton the fact that Stasya Belov could command air particles; he wanted to go for a tumble with her in shadowy corners just the same way Darya Voronov made his abdomen tighten. He saw beyond the prejudices he had been taught, and that newfound vision has stuck with him – and he’s determined to carry it not only through Ravka, but into Kerch and Shu Han and past the Fjerdan borders. He has a vision for the world, and it’s colored in acceptance.

charms: I find the fact that Anton is extraordinarily charming quite fascinating if I’m being perfectly honest, because every persona that he dons is as genuine as the last – a feat not easily accomplished. The Grisha have odinakovost and etovost, that strange ability of theirs to call to the small sciences, but Anton has something equally as powerful: that ability to see into a person’s soul and know exactly what they need from him, who he must be to gain their trust. He’s a golden kind of charming, the kind of boy who lights up a person’s world, the kind of boy who creates warmth wherever he goes. Sometimes it makes a hearth, sometimes it burns men to the ground – it depends on what will serve him best.

knives: Anton has always been skilled with knives. Anton, to be fair, tends to be good at everything that he puts his mind to.

letters: Every single time he was away from the palace (and, to be sure, it was a great many times, for many months at a time) he sent letters back to his two favorite ladies: Anastasia and Darya. When he first began going to war, it was only to his sweet Ana that he would send mail to regularly, but as soon as Darya came into his life he was hooked on her, drowning in an all-encompassing love, and he’d pour and pour and pour himself into the pages he sent to her until there was nothing left to pour. More often than not he would press a flower he found near camp and include it in the letters he sent; even when he was away he wanted to give people a tiny little piece of himself, even if that piece was only a bit of where he was in the world at the time of mailing.

jurda: He smokes the root from a pipe, but only when he’s away from the palace (read: only when he’s away from Darya.) He tried chewing it, like all soldiers do, but he found the feeling it left in his mouth uncomfortable, and quickly moved onto using the pipe instead. It’s not quite that he needs a vice, but more so that it’s the only thing he’s found that can sate his appetite, that can calm the wolf every time he gets agitated. It’s strange, perhaps, but Anton needs no aid in finding energy as many who chew jurda do, but rather that thoughts of Darya often used to distract his energy from where it needed to be. The smoke focused him, smothered the want to make way for the war.

prayer: Good sailors. Good soldiers. Let the sea carry them to safe harbor, and may the Saints receive them on a brighter shore. Anton repeats the Sailor’s Prayer to himself after every single battle, whether the men he’s lost have been sea-lovers or not. Sailing is as close a thing to religion as he has ever truly believed in and he can’t quite shake himself of the habit. Sometimes it’s a simple Saints receive them and sometimes it’s the entire prayer, but either way the sea is always with him.

CONNECTIONS – These are, of course, player approval contingent, but I tried to keep them mostly Anton-sided to avoid potential variations in interpretation! I know that there’s a lot of these, and so that some of them may need tweaking, but given Anton’s status, he knows a great many people and I wanted to really explore his thoughts about Ravkan court given it runs his life.

ivan – Fascinating, isn’t it, the bonds between brothers? If manipulation were a two-sided coin, then Anton and Ivan would be on opposing sides: Ivan, the physical, Anton, the mental. Where one was all fists, the other relied on wits. Where neither was overly tender or merciful, one knew what the words meant where the other pretended the words didn’t exist. How do you live with yourself? Anton occasionally thought to ask, though he knew what his elder brother would respond with: a haughty laugh, an innately valorous twist of his mouth (everything Ivan did was fraught with grandeur, with glory, with darkness). By always being the last man standing. Little did he know.

viktor – He is Viktor fucking Lantsov, a harbinger of the kind of darkness that he saw in his elder brother’s soul as well. The two, it would seem, are cut from the same cloth, and for that reason there’s a terror that fills Anton’s mind every time he thinks about the youngest brother – the same terror he once felt when he stood in Ivan’s presence. If Anton’s destiny was always to be the crown, then Viktor’s was always to be the spare; for that reason he is filled with wounds and they are leaking gasoline, leaving Anton to navigate the precipice between comrade and competition, weapon and wary. It has never been easy, loving his brother, especially when he knows that Viktor’s fury knows no bounds, his anger raging with a kind of frenzy even the strongest hurricane couldn’t stomp out. He has already incurred his brother’s wrath, and he has no desire to incur his fury. Only the tides will tell him what he will do next, and even those he’s not sure he can rely on.

anastasia – His printsessa. God he loves Ana; he loves Ana so much that sometimes it hurts, so much that he makes her think of bringing knife to rope so that he might cut himself from the Lantsov noose around his neck, away from the kingdom. But that’s all he does: think. He will never take action to mend the fragile broken thing that now rests between them, will never put blood above country. Like all half-gods, Anton had come to accept this tragedy – it shocks him every single day how easily this acceptance came to him. There was no blackhole of sleepless night where he mourned the loss of sister and brother, of lover or friend. There are few people that Anton will openly admit to having loved in his life, who have seen him in the most vulnerable of places, and while Ana is one of those special few, he is no longer the sweet little sobachka he once was. With crown came kingdom, and that needs to be more important than any love, even family.

tatiana – Fuck if he doesn’t absolutely loathe the time he must spend at his cousins side, though he would never admit to his dislike aloud. As close to the edge as she pushes him (and, to be sure, Cronos’s cool embrace often sounds more appealing than listening to Tati screech on about this or that – but, hey, we don’t choose our family) he would extinguish any star that dared to threaten her, the same as he would for Ana or Viktor, despite the distance and coldness between all of them.

darya – He would give anything is this world to make Darya happy, anything but himself. There is no easy way from Earth to the stars, and if Anton’s blood calls to the sea beneath the hull of his ship, then the fabric of Darya’s soul is made of stardust. He once thought that this would never be the way of it, with his heart abandoned on her sleeve, his ability to love suddenly gone, but now he sees the truth for what it is: this is his destiny, no matter the steps it took for him to get here. He loves (he would desperately like to believe it to be loved, but he isn’t in the habit of lying to himself) Darya, and he knows that he always will. The fox that he once was will love her until the sun rises in the west and the sea turns to sand beneath his feet, but the volk that he has become, the volk that was always lying in wait beneath his skin, will never allow himself to feel for her what he once did. To do so would be to put himself above his country, and Ravka deserves better than a king who cannot abandon the boy he once was for the GOD they need.

the darkling – Anton sees him for exactly what he is: a plague made flesh. It’s not a warm thought, neither is Anton filled with the kind of warmth others at court are when the Darkling enters a room. Pain makes noise, and despite all the pain he causes, the Darkling is silent as the moon. Anton can’t very well trust a man who feels nothing can he?

gemma – He thinks about marrying her more and more often, and not for any frivolous reason such as love. He sees her not for her beauty and not even for her brains, but for what the people see in her: hope. If Iskra is his hope for a better future for himself, then Gemma is his hope for his nation. He sees in her illuminated cities, at the very center of her is a well to satiate the thirst his people have been suffering under for centuries. It’s not fair, but what is fairness anymore? When the fate of a nation is not just in your hands, but in your blood, in your bones, you cannot turn away: Anton will ask everything from her, and he will do it without a second thought. Here is my hand. Here is my throat. Here is anything you want, even the marrow from my bones if you ask it. He doesn’t believe in religion, but he would build one to her if that’s what she needs. The nation needs her and just as he would give himself to his people, he will do anything she asks if she’ll just be his ally, his hallelujah.

iskra – She flinches, and he would be disappointed. He thinks her beyond something as trivial as fear. Perhaps it’s strange, or perhaps unfair, the way he holds her up, places her so high above all of the others. He mounts her on a pedestal as though she is one of Donatello’s masterpieces and Saints help the soul who dares to call her anything but a marvel. He plucked her from the masses, just another bastard in a crowd, an Etherealki whose fate he could see from the moment his night-darkened eyes fell upon her face, and he helped to turn her into something glorious. When he found her, she was already a sight to behold: a dragon to set fire to each of his enemies, a warrior in soft skin. She was a bastard who had left everything she had ever known to start a new life someplace foreign. Even then he knew that she was something meant to be spoken of in legends, a girl turned woman, turned blade. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. And like a phoenix, she rose from the ashes of her former life, and Anton made for himself a home at the hearth of her. Like calls to like. He sees in her both what he fears and what he dreams of – a bastard who has created a life still worth something, a bastard who rises above what others seek to drag them down for. I rise. I rise. I rise. “Nadeyus moya,” he calls her when no one can hear. My hope.

inessa & feliks – He compares them both is Iskra, and time and time again he is disappointed in them. It’s not fair, not in the slightest; it’s like comparing kings to gods, of which Iskra is certainly one. Inessa is remarkable, to be sure, but she is a snake in snakes’ skin, a girl whose veins seem forged from gasoline not unlike his brothers – just waiting to be set aflame. Feliks comes from an equally, though differently, violent background, and it’s not that he doesn’t trust the guards with his siblings lives (he does, cautiously, as he does all other things), but he worries about the darkness that seems to color their lives, worries that it will follow them from past and into the present. Too many have wound up dead in both of their pasts for Anton to truly trust them, no matter how often and thoroughly they prove themselves capable.

arisha – Arisha is… a force to be reckoned with, to be sure. She’s a clever sort, the kind of wolf that would dare to challenge his status as alpha is he left her with an opening to do so. He thinks she would have done well with his brother, both creatures of equal part gods and terror. She’s a good actress, with the kind of poker face that most men would sacrifice entire nations just to crack, but Anton holds a stack of cards that she can’t even begin too imagine, with plays that she’s never seen before. (Or so he thinks; tragic, Anton is, remember?) And while the minx makes him uncomfortable, while he makes sure to never turn his back in her direction for fear she may slip a knife between his ribs – to be fair, he makes every effort to never turn his back on anyone – he listens to what she has to say about the kingdom as intently as his mother does, as his father does. Until she proves herself an enemy he will continue to treat her as ally, but he waits with bated breath for the moment she will show her true colors.

oyun – There are so many vipers in Ravkan court; Oyun Kir-naran is one of those many, and she makes no apologies for it. Anton finds he can respect that, despite the soft-edges she paints herself with. She speaks with a tongue like velvet, like the sun’s rays filtering in with dawn, and it sounds like lust, tastes like intimacy, and it’s all on purpose. Saints know Anton sees through it because he does the same thing: play on people, use their tells to be the kind of person they spill their secrets to. Oyun is exactly the kind of person he needs to be wary of, just as he is who she needs to worry about – each wants to bring the other’s nation to it’s knees, and if he could he’d say Scurry back to Shu Han, Oyun, his voice collected and his face unreadable. You can’t win here. As it is he bows his head respectfully and smiles. Let the games play on. Gods do not bend their knees to wolves in sheepskin.

ANYTHING ELSE?

And FINALLY I have approximately 12 million favorites, but the book I’ve probably read the most times is Inkheart by Cornelia Funke, just because it’s filled with book-lovers and I am nothing if not one of those! Thank you for reading my app & can’t wait to keep a weathered eye on this group even if I’m not accepted. ♡

#accepted: anton #raraccepted

1 note · View note

occupyscifi · 8 years ago

Text

The Distracter in chief

The day the UN criminal court accused three fossil fuel companies of crimes against humanity for causing irreversible global warming the President of the United States was caught on camera pissing on a tramp in Times Square.

“lots of haters and losers posting fake content” tweeted the president later that day “but I’m above that lying fake news liberal media. So sad to lie to boost their sagging ratings”

His argument was let down by two things, the first that he had tweeted from downtown New York, mere streets from where the incident took place. The other being that the figure in the video had turned to the camera and said “I’m the President of the fucking USA and I endorse this message”.

“video faked” the President later tweeted “beautiful what computers can do. Losers in Hollywood can’t take me because I’m too real”

However not everyone was talking about the president’s innovative new solution for the problem of homelessness.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit of a coincidence?” Said Butterfield Jones, lead guerrilla reporter for the undercover paramilitary wing of CNN “I mean the very day that the UN brings its case against ExxonMobil, the Koch brothers and Rosneft for climate genocide. The same fossil fuel companies our president has been championing since he took office, and the same climate change that he’s denied since day one. Doesn’t it strike you as odd on this of all days he decides to take a leak on a homeless guy?”

“err, no” said her editor, arching an impressively thick eyebrow. Unibrows were in this season, along with moustaches for women, though the editor preferred the whispy look of one drawn on in mascara. The two journalists were sitting in a downtown branch of Mcvegans, chosen not because of its right on politics – the name change had come about since a combination of antibiotic resistant diseases and spiralling meat prices had made it impossible to make a profit from animal burgers – but because of its ultra secure WIFI. The editor pointed to a wall where a news feed had been projected, a hashcloud of tweets and mood colours showing the President’s incredulous expression surrounded by his favourite adjectives, ones that frequently had little or no connection to real words, or reality itself “you really think the commander in chief deliberately leaked that footage?” Jones winced slightly at the pun, she had spent too many years sub editing to not have pun based PTSD “that seems pretty unlikely, because it’s something that would sink pretty much every politician if a video of them pissing on a tramp got out…”

“but not this president” countered Jones, tapping at a foldout keyboard in thick primary colours. Since the great cyber paedo scare three years earlier the safest encryption to be found on any device was always on kids networked toys. The fallout from the scandal which had engulfed Mattel and Hasbro had brought in the sort of digital protection that Apple and other Silicon Valley privacy crusaders could only dream of. That terrorists and rogue reporters like Jones had instantly bought up the new ultra safe devices had gone largely unnoticed. That today’s terrorists largely communicated via networked Furbies had been revealed by numerous news outlet but had largely been assumed as simply fake news “he’s being pulling shit like this since day one. look” said Jones, linking the editor’s digital glasses into what she herself was seeing. Two timelines scrolling side by side. One showed a chronological line of the president’s, gaffes, accidental wars, support for fascistic ideas, pointless crusades against imaginary ills and character assassinations against everyone up to and including God himself. The other showed a ticker tape of seemingly unrelated bad news events and political scandals. The admission several years earlier by ExxonMobil that they had spent millions climate change proofing their organisations while denying that climate change even happened. The selling off of all US national parks to a consortium of Russian oligarchs. The announcement that most of the American Midwest had a lower quality of life than most of east Africa. The time that the Chinese had bailed out the US’s national debt in return for total control of the south China sea. The toxic spill that had rendered much of Louisiana inhabitable.

"I don’t remember that happening” said the editor, looking at the date “but, wait, was that was that the day the president gave that nazi salute on live TV?”

"yup” said Jones, bringing up the footage on her Mattel “Which he dismissed as being a high five gone wrong. So you missed the fact that the US now has more internal refugees than Syria. But the fact was that the President’s tiny hands heil was just another piece of nazi trolling, which I believe he does pretty much every day. The only difference this time was that a live TV camera happened to be on him at the time. Which I cannot believe was just a coincidence, what with his handlers now being pretty much experts in the art of not letting the man walk around with his dick hanging out of his pants – you know, after that time he actually did get caught with his dick out. I think someone is leaking these things deliberately, and I think they are doing it to distract us from the worse things that are happening”

“I don’t think the president’s that smart” said the editor “and I don’t really see what can be worse than a president who tried to start a war with every country he doesn’t like and publicly suggests that the far right aren’t really bad guys after all. I mean, I genuinely can’t think of anything horrible, mean or stupid he hasn’t already”

“Exactly” said Jones “he fucks up so often and does such stupid outrageous stuff that always dominates the news cycle. His people just have to time their announcements for when the president drops a shit bomb. No one has the time to be outraged by two things at once. Like no one can be upset about the EPA being shut down or Murdoch being put in charge of the FCC the same week that the President tries to make Steve Bannon a supreme court judge. Fact was the Judge Bannon storm never came to anything. Like everything the president does. Nothing actually happens. Sure he keeps threatening war, like he keeps threatening to build that wall with Mexico. It never actually happens. Its all just clickbait for angry liberals”

"Oh come on" said the editor "You expect me to believe every time the president gets caught doing horrible shit its really done to cover all the really, really horrible shit that goes down? You sound like a conspiracy nut" the editor tapped at her own toy keyboard, the Mattel logo subtly changed to spell the words 'My Hell'. "Look, here they are. A bunch of the Presidents own Nazi Douche bros. Let me read you the highlights" she gained sickly. Dealing with the many openly Nazi online supported of the president was an occupational hazard. The fact that in real life both jones and the editor could have taken out the basement dwelling Third Reichers with one hand tied behind their back didn't matter. The mini blackshirts lived online in an age where everything going was networked. The doxx and the leak had replaced the jackboot and the castor oil in the armoury of fascism. That they were also openly supported by the president and, and indeed had their own federally funded ‘Department of Patriotism and Correct Reporting’ also helped.

"The Femininazi liberals have struck again, their fake news making headlines in the failing Jew York times. Is it a coincidence that George Soros and the Washington Post editorial team were seen at the same function on Saturday? Where they selling out the proud American race? What other conclusion could we come to? So sad that they can't see that they'll be the first in the gas chambers, because that how we deal with traitors to the white race"

"Get to the point" said Jones weary. She knew that most of these screeds were written automatically by a software bot that reacted to real time world events with a set of stock phrases. Both Isis and Fox News used the same, meaning they could claim responsibility for every single terror incident in the world – or denounce muslims - even if they were entirely fictional.

"studies show that there is a correlation between Liberal mothers and boys becoming gay. Coincidence? This cannot be allowed to continue. The little snowflakes need to realise that a real man can stand up for himself' then it's just the usual bunch of rape threats. What I'm saying is you’re paranoid girl. There is now way our bloated POTUS has the smarts to manufacture a crisis every time one of his billionaire plutocrat buddies causes an even bigger one. Besides, I think the media and people in general are smart enough to know when they're being played. We’re pretty savvy these days"

"You sure about that?" said Jones, gesturing at the other dinners in the Mcvegan restaurant. As most didn't have the kiddie encryption of the two journalists everything going they were looking at was easily available to the snooping software that both women had on their digital glasses.

"Look at them" said Jones " Those who aren't streaming AR HBO porn are writing angry tweets against our C in C"

"Good for them" said the editor "The first sign of a healthy democracy is an engaged citizenry. Our job as journalists is first the fight against apathy. Because the true enemy of our way of life is not the jackboot or the swastika but the indifference of our..."

"Spare me" said Jones, who had heard that speech too many times during her internship with numerous liberal crusading organisations "have you noticed what they are actually tweeting about?" She pointed around the room "that guy there is memeing some Dawson’s Creek pics with Pres piss references. That girl with the Amish beard is writing a protest musical about the president"

"Sounds good" said the editor "art and politics are..."

"About the president only. His seismic xenophobia, his comically small hands and his incredibly thin skin. Any mention of how we lost the trade war with China? Or how Russia now owns eastern Europe? Or that Roe versus Wade got suspended last week by the Supreme court? You know, the week that Trump organised his second crusade against imaginary electoral fraud by the alt left – whoever the fuck they are meant to be" Jones clenched her fists "no, course not. Because people like to be outraged by what someone says, rather than what they actually do. Because we aren’t just being gaslighted anymore, we’re being distracted by shiny things that make us angry while someone walks away with America. So instead of a woman’s right to choose we’ve got a musical number about how the President got confused about North and South Korea and sent a bunch of weapons to the last communist state on earth"

"That was a major news event..."

"Sending a couple of cruise missiles to a country so poor they can't eat and so isolated that their literacy rate is under fifty percent doesn't really change much" said Jones "and besides, I don't know if it actually happened. Pentagon said it didn’t. Most experts can’t find any evidence that it did. There was just an anonymous leak to Buzzfeed"

"Who believes the pentagon these days?" said the editor "they were covering their asses. Besides it's just the sort of stupid shit the president does, ever since he punched that disabled woman at his second term inauguration"

"Exactly" said Jones "With this guy in charge people will believe literally anything because of who he is. I don't believe we're the first people to realise this. I think some important people are using the president to bury their bad news. He’s a distraction, a big old orange wizard of Oz. The real guy’s in charge are behind the curtain” she tapped the table in irritation “And I don't think he even knows about it"

"Sounds like a great story sweetie" said the editor patronisingly " but how are you ever going to get proof? I mean sure, tweet it but there's so much shit flying around I doubt anyone would notice. I don't know how you’re going to get anyone to listen"

"Simple" said Jones "I'm going to talk to the man himself. He’s so thin skinned and insecure he’d believe it straight away if I told him that people were trying to ruin his reputation on purpose. If there’s anything he takes seriously its himself"

“umm, how are you going to do that?” said the editor “he doesn’t do interviews. Not since that time he had to admit that he didn’t actually know who Winston Churchill was, and that he thought Thomas Jefferson wrote White Rabbit”

“Oh, that’s easy” said Jones “too easy, in fact”

It was depressingly simple to get access to the president. Not as a journalist of course, any found within three hundred metres of the president would be arrested as a traitor and sent straight to Guantanamo bay. But the president always found time for his fans, especially if they were sycophantic, female and could be ordered to anonymous hotels as easily as calling an uber.

Jones knew the presidents’ predilections, as did everyone after the leaked tape where he had explained in depth the kind of girl he enjoyed cheating on his wife with. And while going undercover as a whore was not easy it was something Jones had done several times before, not least because it was always the easiest way to secure an interview with a politician. Admittedly it did mean having to blackmail them, but since when had journalism not become a form of guerrilla war? After all since they had been designated the opposition party it made sense to use any means necessary.

Jones had then managed to hack the shortlist of the presidents preferred women, which had been secured by a machine inexplicably still running windows XP. Jones had raised an eyebrow, you would have thought after the nuclear codes had been stolen after being stored on a similar machine that the president would have learned his lesson. Now Jones had an inkling as to why, you never knew when you might need to leak a video of the President getting a girl to dress as the House Minority leader while fellating him.

However when Jones finally confronted the President, dressed this time as a Fox news anchor who’d once had the temerity to challenge him, the response she got was not what she had expected.

“Mr President” she had said from her knees, the all too familiar presidential dong hanging inches from her nose “I have some serious news for you”

“hey, not cool. Not part of the script” said the president, looking anxiously around. His security were stationed outside, the POTUS would have had them in the room with him but they had pointed out that went beyond their contracts and threatened to get their union involved.

“I have reason to believe the stream of leaks, allegations and intelligence reports embarrassing you are being used as part of an orchestrated campaign to hide a wider and more destructive agenda”

“no shit” said the president “the libtard media have got it in for me. Always. Not news. It’s not. Now come on, call me the best president ever. I wanna hear it. The best President…”

“not by them, Mr President” said Jones, pulling out a tablet and projecting on the wall her findings. The two timeline bulged with cross referenced facts and incontrovertible proof “I believe a cabal of special interests are using these…incidents to their own advantage. To bury their own bad news and their evil actions at your expense”

“uh huh” said the president, looking at the wall, his flaccid member still hanging from his ten thousand dollar suit. He put one hand on his hip and the other he used to point a stubby finger at the display. The two timelines that matched almost perfectly, for every gaffe and pointless vanity crusade there was a war or corruption scandal whose impact dwarfed whatever stupidity the President had been involved in “you got it all here. Everything. That’s so….”

“look, I know it’s not proof” said Jones quickly, pulling off the curly blonde wig and getting to her feet “but it’s pretty consistent. I mean right back to your first term every time there was something big that people should be discussing then someone releases some dirt on you – usually something ludicrous that gets debunked”

“Fake news. All fake news” said the president with a shrug, his eyes on the timelines “that’s neat. Real neat software you got there”

“you don’t seem concerned” said Jones, her face wrinkling “I mean, they’re ruining your reputation out there. To hide their own shit and corruption” jones looked at the President grinning inanely as he looked at the spike in online traffic after he had got the secret service to waterboard a schoolboy who had insulted him on Twitter “in fact” said jones “I’d say you don’t even look surprised. Did you know about this?”

“know about it?” said the President “oh, I didn’t just know about it. I arranged it. I made the fricking deal. Deal of the century. Every time they wanna use my name to hide a little scandal of theirs I make sure they pay. Pay big. I mean, I gotta make a buck, right? They don’t pay me much as President. I’m a businessman. A businessman. You know what that means right?”

“but your reputation” said Jones, jabbing a finger at the projection “doesn’t that bother you? I mean, you aren’t famous for taking the high road when it comes to how people see you”

“No. you see, the thing is. okay” the president held up his right hand, thumb and forefinger pressed together “one thing, half that shit is made up. It’s made up. Total bullshit. Liberals hate me, they want to believe anything and everything bad against me. Why not make them hate me even more? Gets me off to see how much they hate me. I love it. And the people that support me, they don’t believe it. In fact the more shit gets thrown at me the less they believe. Its scandal fatigue. Scandal fatigue. People get tired of hearing the same thing. I mean, sure, the first time they said I fucked hookers there was outrage. Total outage. Now, no one cares. Besides you gotta remember what really matters. Me. And they keep talking about me. No one cares about what all the whores say. I’m still the big guy on the evening news”

“but you do fuck hookers!” cried Jones “and everyone knows it. But that doesn’t make it right. You’re meant to be president. That carries with it a certain standard. You think it doesn’t disgust people that you do this?”

“hey, I told everyone on the campaign trail that I could shoot a person in Times Square and not lose votes. Everyone knew what they were buying then, right? So why not monetise that? The lying Liberal media was so obsessed with trashing me they couldn’t see the obvious. I played them. I’m the master player. They think they’re so clever. That they can win with their facts. Good businessman knows his enemies weakness. A good entertainer know what people wants. I’m an entertainer. I gave them what they wanted. They wanted to hate me so I gave them something to hate. Not my fault that they missed the real story. And they should thank me. If it wasn’t for me no one would read the New York Times or the Washington Post”

“so you arranged it all?” said Jones, somehow surprised that the president still had the capacity to disgust her “you deliberately leaked scandals just to get bribe money from your big business friends?” Jones clenched her fists and thought of the tiny hidden camera hidden in the skin of her forehead just under the hairline “you have any idea what will happen when I tell people this?”

“it’ll hide whatever I want to it to hide” said the President, grinning at his tumescent member “cause I’d be real careful when you leak it. I so much as get word this hits the headlines and I’m gonna deny it. Like always. And you’ll come back, calling me a liar. Like always. And I’ll trash you on twitter. Like always. And by the time the dust clears no one will remember that this was the same day I released my tax returns or I reveal what my family really owns in Russia – and lemme tell you it’s huge. Huge. I been doing this since before even my first day in office. And the media falls for it. Every time. Everyone does”

“but…” began jones, trying to think of a way to release the compromising footage that meant it couldn’t be used by the president to cover an even bigger scandal. Of a way to release the data that he couldn’t use to cause a social media spat that got people angry without actually having anything new to be angry about or doing anything to change things for the better. She could feel her eyes fill with tears and her hands clench uselessly.

“that’s right sweetheart” said the president, using his free hand to bring himself to climax “keep that expression. The one where you’re real disgusted and defeated at the same time. Love it”

“And he just turned around and walked out the hotel room?” said the editor. She was ubering in her spare time and had picked up the still shaking Jones from the hotel. A short ride around the city was turning into a very long one and only the editor’s infinite knowledge of hacks and workarounds kept that information from appearing on the vast tracking network of Uber “you didn’t try to nail him to anything else? Or, you know, nail him?”

“no” said Jones “I mean what could I do? It was obvious when he told me. We’ve been played by him. We thought he was the big evil bastard….”

“which he is”

“but he’s just the public face. The target. He’s nothing but a live action internet troll. He’s all words. It’s the people behind him that are the problem” she sighed deeply “but how the fuck do we bring them to light? Every time we try to get people’s attention then the president blasts in calling Zika victims a bunch of whining bitches, or the 911 widows a bunch of hotties. He’s totally outclassed us”

“and you say he’s been doing this since the beginning?”

“since his first day on the job. Everything he’s done as president has been to distract us from the real problems. The crusade against the voter fraud that never happened. The fucking wall with Mexico that they didn’t pay for but that we bought from them anyway because it was cheaper. Its like the accusation he likes watching whores pissing. It’s all been to stop us seeing the truth. And it’s just got bigger and bigger. It used just to be stupid shit he’d say, then it was stupid shit he’d do and now its fucking hookers practically in public and pissing on the homeless. Who knows where it goes next?”

“yeah” said the editor, looking distracted as she sped past a stranded Hummer 7, its front axle having snapped trying to go up on a kerb. Since the Russians had taken over Europe and China had taken over Asia the only cars on offer were American gas guzzlers with atrocious safety records “yeah, he is getting worse. Like he’s deliberately trying to troll the American people…” her voice trailed off for a moment “hey, have you checked the retweet figures of his bullshit?” she said “can we get figures as to how many people are talking about him?”

“I guess” said Jones “we can cross twitter data with hashclouds relating to the president. Find the keywords mentioning the President and we get a rough idea of how many people are talking about him”

“do it” said the editor “and see whether the numbers are going up or down”

“umm, I think that’s pretty obvious” said Jones “it’s getting worse, like everything. All people ever do is talk about the President and how shit he is”

“check it anyway. You might be surprised. I have a feeling, you know. not as many people talk about him as they used to. The law of diminishing returns and all that. After a while most people become numb, they become bored. I mean sure, we know a lot of people who get outraged, but this is New York and we hang out with people who live to be offended. I wanna know if America at large still gives a fuck about its shitty Commander in Chief”

“hmm” said jones, not really believing her editor. However she punched up the numbers for the last five years. Looked at them. Checked them again and rubbed her eyes “what the fuck? But I thought…” she asked “how did you know?”

“laws of supply and demand” said the editor “you gotta remember I’ve a masters in celebonomics from Yale. One of the first laws of celebonomics is that the more you expose yourself to the world the more you will need to keep exposing to maintain public interest – and by public interest I mean people actually giving a shit what you do, not whether they like you. Celebrities haven’t needed to be liked since the rise of reality TV. So you need to keep upping the exposure to keep yourself in the public eye, but it’s not physically possible to do that indefinitely. So what happens is you pass a critical point – the Kardashian point they call it – where media saturation is so great that you can be everywhere but no one will care any more. Your ubiquity is so total that people will literally cease to notice you. With the Kardashians they were so overexposed that it didn’t matter how many family members they roped in or much cosmetic surgery they had, or even that time Kim and Kourtney had that knife fight. People just stopped caring, and now they can’t even get arrested in LA” she shrugged “I did my thesis on the Kardashians. That’s where Trump is now. He hasn’t got any more capacity to shock, so people are getting bored and switching off. Give it another few years and they won’t give a fuck about him. He’ll be reduced to giving handjobs to his fans. Like Kanye west did”

“great” said Jones “but we don’t have a few years. In fact if you’re correct then he’s going to clock that people aren’t giving a fuck about him. Then he’ll do something really fucking crazy. Is there anything we can do to speed up the process?”

“there is” said the editor “but I don’t think you’re going to like it”

“what?”

“well, we’re gonna need that footage you shot. For starters. Then we’re going give the President what he wants more than anything else. More than money, more than power”

“what’s that?”

“Our undivided attention”

Six weeks later

The day the UN convicted two US oil companies for genocide the president got a call in his motorcade down the Washington Mall while an aide next to him astrotrufed his twitter ratings.

“Donald” said the Koch brother on the other end. The president could never remember which was which and it hardly mattered so long as one of them picked up the cheque. They were the major backers along with a cabal of silicon valley Caesars and Russian oligarchs that were funding him to hide their criminal activities with his own “you wanna explain why I see my face on the morning news?”

“impossible David” said the president, looking at an aide who nodded that He’d got the right one “impossible. Listen I heard about your little difficulty. So I tweeted a whole bunch of racist shit last night at 3 in the morning and then deleted it so I looked drunk. They’ll be so busy arguing about it they won’t notice what happened in New York…”

“so do you want to explain why the highest trending hashtag is kochbrothersfraud? And why I’m not only now facing federal charges relating to the little, um, difficulty at the UN but a PR meltdown? i thought Liberals didn’t have time to give a fuck about global warming because they were too busy getting pissed off at you”

“listen you don’t need to worry about the Feds. Not at all” said the President “My boys are out there explaining that this UN is all just fake news and the Chinese trying to take our jobs…”

“no, you don’t get it” said Koch “I don’t care about the Feds. We own them, because we own you. I care about the fact that we’re paying you roughly six percent of our annual profit to get your face on the news and currently you’re rated lower than the new series of the pornstar version of the Apprentice”

“hey, now that isn’t true. I’ll tell you. I’m a ratings winner. I’m number one famous. More famous than ever. I’ve been the focus of more news these last weeks than anyone else. A real spike in news traffic” he looked at his aides who nodded and showed tablets with figures all designed to soothe the president’s fragile ego. They had long realised that the president didn’t care whether people were loving or hating him so long as they were talking about him. According to all their estimates more people were talking about him than ever “I had a proper hitjob from some bitch at CNN underground. Then a whole twitter war with….”

“Mr President, I know you’re a fucking idiot so I’m going to explain this simply” said Koch over the phone “you’ve been played. All those news reports, those twitter wars. Someone has been Kardashioning you”

“what?” said the president “what have those losers got to do with this? No one’s cared about them in years. They used to be everywhere. Then people got bored. Old news”

“exactly” sad Koch “people are bored of you, Mr President. They’re bored of your little tricks. They aren’t outraged anymore. They don’t care about the dancing clown who says racist things and grabs ass. That’s bad for us. You need to fix this. Get people interested in you and yours so I don’t have them getting interested in me and mine”

“I could get Ivanka to do the Playboy centrefold from the west wing again. She’s had some work done. Real knock out…”

“it’s been done. No one cares about your daughter’s new tits” said Koch “find something new. Or else we find ourselves a new clown. You got it?”

With that the fossil fuel billionaire was gone and the president was left facing his aides. They waited for the inevitable explosion of self justification and round cursing of someone who had the audacity to oppose the Donald.

“okay” said the president, instead looking icily calm “its D-day. Those fake news CNN bitches think they can take me down. Well I got news for them. I’m gonna leak the biggie. The one that will get everyone talking. Get the liberals creaming their pants with rage and the deplorables creaming with joy”

“your tax returns?” said one female aide “are we sure they’re ready?”

“no, of course not” said Trump “no one’s ready for that” he pointed at another aide from his extended family “you…whatever your fucking name is. Leak the hotel footage from that reporter. Unedited. I wanna make sure they all get the money shot. i wanna see me coming in glorious HD. Then release a tweet that I’m going to have her locked up in Gitmo. Then issue a denial that it ever came from me. Then one doubling down on the first one” he looked out the window at the grey winter of Washington “this’ll get me back on top. This one can’t be stopped” he looked at the aide anxiously after a few seconds “is it ready?”

“footage leaked” said the aide, tapping at a tablet “sending a copy to the news outlets that do what we say- wikileaks and Fox news. Sending the denials now”

“beautiful” said the president as the limo moved through the cold streets “beautiful” he looked at the view, then the inside of the limo “any retweets yet?”

“negative Mr President”

“any news outlets leading on it?”

“umm, fox and friends are talking about it. Or they mentioned it. They didn’t seem interested. They moved on pretty quick to the Koch thing. Apparently there’s a lot of refugees down in Lousiana who can get compensation….”

The aide was silenced by a look.

“fake news” said the president “losers. No ratings. What are my retweets?”

“in the hundreds of thousands” said one aide cagily, his too honest face turning a bright shade of red.

“real tweets, or astroturfed by Russian bots?” asked the President huskily

“umm…” said the aide

“fucking losers” said the president. Five minutes passed in silence. Then ten “and now?” he growled. The aides looked at each other

“well, it might take some time, you know to….” Began one

“no. that doesn’t happen” the president shouted “I’m the fucking president. I don’t get ignored. I’m the star. The ratings winner. The star” he looked crazily about him. Then his eyes narrowed “you know, I said once I could shoot people in Times Square” the aides looked at each other

“sir, I don’t think that…”

“Thinking too small. Yeah I know” said the president “go big or go home. Well people it’s time to go big” he looked at an aide whose wrist was manacled to a briefcase “too big to be ignored”

“I can’t believe this is working” said Jones, looking at the ticker tape of news around Times Square. The burning heat of information, images and advertising bathed them and there was not a single mention of the President “we played him at his own game and won”

“told you” said the editor, toasting her with a nice Starbucks Methalatte “isn’t anyone who can stay famous once they hit the Kardashian point. It’s like the H-bomb of celebrity killers. you can’t fuck with the laws of nature. Celebonomics is a bitch, and the President was the biggest celeb around” Her words were drowned out by the sound of sirens suddenly blatting and the screens above them whiting out due to information overload “what the fuck is that?” she screamed

“well, you know you mentioned H-bombs…” began Jones, looking in her smart glasses with horror as missile silos across the nation started opening up “seems like maybe the President found a way to stay in the story after all”

#impeachtrump #climate change #maga

0 notes