#that like . back vowel in and like. raised (from my perspective)

[whales-are-gay]

[beewolfwrites]

The Oar in the Sand - Chapter Four: Guessing Games

@cheshiya @tenseoyong @szallejhscorner @something-more-original-please @ofsunsetsandpoetries @nek0dzuken @allozaur @serenzippity

I’m sorry if there’s any typos or mistakes in this. Some chapters are just harder to write, and I end up repeating words over and over haha. If you spot any, do let me know! 

As always, I’ll leave the AO3 link here. And I hope you like it! 

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The Latin alphabet.

The message could be written in any language from English to Spanish, Czech or even Latin itself.

It could mean anything.

Unlike An, Headband or Pigtails, I had the advantage, and I could still save us. Except I had no idea where to start, and the steady pressure of the game was already settling on my shoulders like a thick fog.  

The Queen was smiling at me from the other gallows. I understood now, the way her eyes had lingered on me back in the reception. She probably hadn’t accounted for a foreigner to be here – after all, her game was intrinsically designed for native Japanese speakers. And yet that smile, the way the corners of her eyes crinkled ever so slightly; she was still confident.

And she should be. She already knows I can’t read morse code.

‘I don’t mean to rush you,’ said Pigtails, ‘but do you think you’ll be able to decode some of it?’ Her previous hope had wilted away, and she was now watching me with apprehension.

The message glared at me from the screen, nonsensical and confusing. The dots and dashes were swarming, melting into one dotted mass that darkened the room. My arms and legs felt detached, swinging from this noose like a doll. So many people had died. The teenage girl, the business man, Pink Scrunchie, countless players accused of being witches... I wasn’t able to save any of them.

And now, four more lives would be added to the list.

‘Stop panicking.’

I jumped at the sharpness of An’s voice. The dots and dashes returned to their screen. My hands and legs were still intact, still moving.

‘Take a deep breath and focus,’ she instructed.

Swallowing, I breathed in and out shakily. My chest felt hollow, and at the same time, it was crawling with jitters. ‘How can you be so calm? 何を知っている分からない.’ I don’t know what I’m doing.

‘Yes, you do. Chishiya brought you to the Beach for a reason.’

Chishiya?

That was why she trusted me?

I couldn’t hold back a bitter laugh; no matter how much I loved him, what he did at the Beach, the way he had almost betrayed me, it was still painful to think about.

‘違う.’ You’re wrong. I didn’t exactly have the vocabulary to explain properly, but I was sure they’d get the gist. ‘苣屋は私を使ってトランプの盗むしていた. それが唯一の理由だった.’ Chishiya was using me to steal the cards. That was the only reason.

An’s lips parted in surprise. Headband and Pigtails were whispering in low voices. I couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, but from their tones it was clear they didn’t think too highly of Chishiya.

‘So that’s what really happened,’ An muttered, filling in the rest of the blanks herself. ‘It was hard to believe Arisu could be capable of doing something like that.’ She shook her head slowly, processing the new information. ‘I suppose it no longer matters, since the Beach is gone now. But Chishiya still made a good decision bringing you to us. I’ve heard about your games, and I believe you’re more capable than you think.’

I remembered my conversation with Chishiya the day before the second stage, when he told me I would be good at Diamonds. Back then, he was wrong. Just looking at the dots and dashes on the screen, I knew this game was beyond me. And yet, it would be nothing more than a simple brainteaser for someone like him.

I wonder, what would he do? How would he approach this game?

I tried to picture his response to a morse code message. I tried to imagine his methods of breaking it down logically. But even so, it was impossible to understand how his brain worked. He was totally different to me. He was rational and analytical, able to uncover a solution to even the most complex situations. All I could do was notice things. I wasn’t Chishiya, nor would I ever be. And right now, was he wandering the streets looking for me? Probably not. Knowing him, he might have even gone straight to the Jack of Diamonds venue.  

No. That can’t be true.

He cared. I knew that. I’d felt his fingers playing with my hair whenever I drifted in and out of sleep during the night. I’d witnessed that unreadable expression of his when he first saw the bruises Niragi left. I’d felt his hands tearing me away from the balcony edge when...

‘If we were in a game together, and say, someone pointed a gun at me, would you do that? As in, would you stand back and watch?’

‘I don’t know.’

My vision glassed over at the memory. Chishiya, you...

You liar.

I rubbed away the tears and tried to hold my chin up higher. ‘みんな、ごめんね. 今大丈夫.’ I’m sorry everyone. It’s okay now.

There were only fifty-two minutes left. The Queen, who had remained silent this whole time, was watching on with a vague, academic intrigue. Despite the pristine neatness of her olive suit and her black shoes, she was relaxed, raising her delicate eyebrows as I looked at her squarely.

‘You said before that you might be able to answer some of our questions, so I want to make a deal.’

‘What kind of deal?’ Her eyes glinted as if I’d just proposed a new game – as if I’d made this even more fun for her.

The drawing of the gallows was still waiting, empty, on the second screen. ‘If we figure out this message and clear the game, you have to answer my questions.’

She took the time to consider it. ‘I suppose that’s fair,’ she said. ‘One of us will die here, so it hardly matters anymore. It’s a deal.’

I’d said those same words to Chishiya, and I had no intention of breaking our promise here in this library. With a little more confidence now, I analysed the coded message closely. Normally in a game of Hangman, vowels were a first choice because of how often they were used. But we could only pick two.

What’s the most used vowel in the Latin alphabet?

Most people would assume it was A, but if I had to make a guess, I’d probably say E. Lots of languages with a Latin alphabet, like French, Spanish and Italian, used words like el, es, e, and est. But if E was the most common vowel, would that make it too obvious a choice?

I chanced a look at the Queen. She was smiling, not in a manipulative or secretive way, but as if she was quietly supporting us from the sidelines. It was peculiar. There was a chance she had purposely avoided E because of how often it was used, and I wouldn’t put it past her – she was still alive for a reason.

So what’s the second most common?

U was a no-go. Out of all the vowels it was definitely the least popular. A would be far too obvious as well. It would have to be a gamble between I and O. There were just forty-eight minutes left, and there was no time to waste hesitating between them.

Pick one, pick one.

‘If it’s okay with everyone,’ I said, ‘I’m going to choose O.’

Pigtails and Headbands looked unsure, most likely because I kept switching languages accidentally. On the other hand, An was open to the idea, replying only with, ‘I trust you.’

I held my breath, transfixed by the dots and dashes before us.

A number of Os appeared, scattered throughout the message; two in the first line, three in the second, four in the third, and one in the fourth. The drawing of the empty gallows remained unchanged.

We did it!

Beside me, Headband exhaled a sigh of relief and murmured a subdued thank you. Much to my surprise, however, the Queen didn’t seem disheartened by our small victory. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she looked pleased for us.

‘A good choice to start with, I must say.’ She clasped her hands together, resting them against her blazer. ‘Unfortunately, you’ve used up one of your vowels, but you seem like smart girls. I’m sure you’ll do well.’

How could she be so happy?

‘Isn’t this a bad thing for you?’ I asked. ‘Aren’t you worried?’

‘Should I be? There’s no good or bad,’ she countered, ‘just two perspectives.’

She’s a gamemaster, isn’t she? She set up these games, and she’ll die here if we win.

‘But we’re your enemy...’

She smiled warmly once more. ‘I think you’ll find we’re on the same side.’

On the same side? I didn’t understand. It didn’t make sense at all. ‘What do y—’

‘Don’t bother.’ An took off her sunglasses, openly assessing the Queen. ‘She’s intentionally wasting our time.’

She was right. The clock was now on forty-seven minutes, and the Queen seemed to be particularly skilled at raising more questions than she answered. I could interrogate her about all of this once we’d cleared the game – some things took priority. I focused my concentration on the code, trying to find some kind of hint or pattern there.

.-.   ..   -.   --. / .- / .-.   ..   -.   --. / O / .-.   o   ...   .   ...

.- / .--.   o   -.-.   -.-   .   - / ..-.   ..-   .-..   .-.. / o   ..-. / .--.   o   ...   ..   .   ...

.- / -   ..   ...   ....   o   o / .- / -   ..   ...   ....   o   o

.--   . / .-   .-..   .-.. / ..-.   .-   .-..   .-.. / -..   o   .--   -.

From what I could see, the O in the first line was capitalised. It was a standalone word – usually that would mean the word was either archaic, or it was in another language. But the Os in the third line were even more curious. The morse symbols repeated themselves twice, with the Os hinting at what could only be either onomatopoeia, or again, archaic terminology.

‘What do you think?’ Pigtails asked.

My eyes scanned the repetitions in the third line. There was something off about it. Words didn’t usually repeat themselves twice in a row like that... unless they were poetic. It would certainly explain why the O was alone in the top line, and why this message was carefully constructed with line breaks in the first place.

If it’s poetry, I might have heard it before.

Headband perked up suddenly. ‘What about going with the most common characters?’

By characters, she must’ve meant letters. I still didn’t know what language the message was in, so I could only use the letters I knew rather than those with accents. Although, playing Hangman as a child, there were always certain letters that wielded the best chance of success.

‘Let’s go with M,’ I said at last. There was usually at least one hiding somewhere. The four of us looked at the screen in anticipation. My fists clenched at my sides as I willed for an M to appear in the mix.

The screen changed.

The wrong screen. A circle appeared below the noose in the drawing. The hangman now had a head.

I could feel the others looking at me, aware that they had put their trusted me and I had let them down. ‘I’m sorry...’ I told them. ‘I’m sorry. ごめん.’

A hand lightly squeezed my shoulder. ‘It’s okay,’ Headband said. ‘We’ve still got more tries.’

Pigtails stepped as close as the noose would allow. ‘This was going to happen at some point. And at least now we know which characters aren’t there. It narrows down the possible words.’

There was silence from An. Perhaps she was disappointed in me, or even regretting her decision to let me captain this game. I wouldn’t blame her if that was the case. I felt the same way, only my regret was stained with guilt too. If I couldn’t save the three of them, at least I would die too. At least I would get what I deserved.

I glanced up at the timer. Forty-five minutes until someone gets sent to the gallows. I couldn’t let it be them.

I can’t lose control of myself like this.

‘You’ve used up one of your ten consonants,’ the Queen reminded us, steady and composed as always. ‘As a word of advice, relying on an age-old strategy doesn’t necessarily work.’

Every time the Queen opened her mouth, she only confused me more. And judging from An’s response, I wasn’t the only one to feel that way. ‘Why should we listen to your advice? Our failure is your win.’

‘Maybe you shouldn’t,’ the Queen replied. ‘But I’ll leave it up to you to decide.’

She didn’t sound like she was purposely trying to mislead us, but that in itself could be what made it so misleading. Most people tend to gravitate towards common letters when playing Hangman – is that what she meant by an ‘age-old-strategy’?

In that case...

I took a deep breath. Maybe this was worth the risk. ‘I think we should try doing the opposite,’ I stated. ‘I think we should choose an uncommon letter.’ Realising I’d slipped between languages yet again, I tried to remember the words in Japanese. ‘逆が試みよう.’ Let’s try the opposite. ‘レアの文字.’ An uncommon letter.

The Queen could have purposely avoided using popular ones to throw us off. But if I was wrong, was it worth losing a turn? The bodiless head dangled from its noose on the other screen.

Only six chances left.

‘It’s worth a shot,’ said An.

Pigtails peered at us from the end of the platform. ‘Are you sure? We don’t have that many chances of guessing.’

I understood her hesitation. It felt like we were gambling with our lives, and I was the one calling the shots. And it was even worse for her as she was placing her life in someone else’s hands. ‘I know, わかてる,’ I tried to reassure her. ‘If it doesn’t work, we can try a different approach.’

Headband was twiddling her fingers again, although there was a hardness in her posture. A resolve to win. ‘It won’t be a waste, because we’ll know then that it’s the wrong strategy. I trust you two.’

It felt good to know they had my back, even if my previous attempt at guessing hadn’t worked. Maybe things would take a turn for the better? I exhaled slowly, trying to assemble the most unlikely letters. Q was definitely a contender. Z was again, too obvious, but X was hardly ever used because there were fewer words you could make with it. It was probably the most unlikely letter to appear in a game of Hangman.

Forty-three minutes ticked down to forty-two.

‘X.’

We waited with bated breath. Headband played with her fingers. Pigtails chewed on her lip. An clutched her sunglasses in both hands, her eyes locked on the message before us.

Please... please.

‘Relying on an age-old strategy doesn’t necessarily work.’

A black line appeared beneath the hangman’s head, his new body dangling from the noose.  

[onelastbreath-writes]

I’ll Meet You There (Part 3)

Pairing: Marcus Moreno/ Wife!Reader (AFAB, no y/n) 

Word Count: 2.6K

Warnings: Talks about loss of spouse, loss of child, medical conditions/inaccuracies, grief/mourning, manipulation/brainwashing (subtext/implied, but we’ll get into it later *winkwink*)

Tags: Hurt/No comfort (for now), ANGST, eventual happy ending, one really sad man for whom I just keep making things worse, #sorrynotsorry, and now I’m just making stuff up as I go along

Summary(lite): You are Marcus’s wife, and you’re definitely not dead. No one is having a great time right now, but like hell if there's a force on this earth that’ll keep you apart forever. This is not a goodbye, its just a see you later. And the interim is going to be everyone else’s problem, you’ll make sure of it.

A/N: Hello dears, welcome back to my twisted mind story,,, guess who showed up like 2 weeks late with a smoothie! So things about this new chapter: I am a criminal with italics and someone needs to stop me, hello switching scenes and perspectives because I just want to fast forward to the good stuff but y’all don’t live in my head and don’t know all the stuff that happens to get us there so here we are taking the slow lane, and I keep brainstorming new and horrible things for my characters because I am A Lot, All The Time, and will not be stopped. Also hey, Marcus the Simp is here for you, so much. I hope this is acceptable to be a reader fic still, because I am giving you some serious personality traits... ehh, it is what it is. Tell me if you spot any of my various references, there’s a lot of ‘em. Thanks to everyone who has liked/reblogged/commented, y’all are gorgeous and I’m so grateful for the love <3 Drop me a message/ask if you want a secret about one of the characters (specify which one), I need an outlet for my endless b.t.s. plotting >;) Please enjoy p3!

AO3|Masterlist

[Previous Part]

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There were more casseroles in his fridge that Marcus knew what to do with, and more sympathy and “thinking of you” cards stacked in piles around the house than he could count. He appreciated everyone’s gestures, but he could recognize the difference between people who were kind in the interest of helping others, and those who were kind only to help themselves. It was quite obvious which type were flooding his mailbox.

Hell, most of the people sending him cards, his fans, didn’t even know his wife, never spoke to her, didn’t feel the empty Her-shaped-space in their very souls. They just wanted the clout, the prestige, of being ‘involved’ and sympathetic to a grieving superhero. It was exhausting, but no one seemed to empathize with him on that.

The Heroics upper management, and the director specifically after his press conference and the publicity the attack had brought the organization, had insisted on Marcus taking an undetermined amount of leave from the team so he could “process and mourn his loss in the comfort of his own home.” Like he didn’t look around and see every piece of himself and his wife over the years; the Home they built for their family, filled with all the hopes and dreams of two starry eyed lovers ready to take on the world together. Like her absence wasn’t slowly killing him. 

And it wasn’t like she was gone gone.  

Dead.  

She wasn’t dead.

No way in Hell.  

Whether it was because she worked with superpowered people, her experience as a medical professional, or if she was just more paranoid than most, his wife was a planner, and she was prepared for this. “In the event of my death...," like she just knew it would be necessary.

Truthfully, she had schemes and contingencies and all manner of reactionary plans prepared for if (and when) the worst happened; terrified to be blindsided or caught unaware, unable to help those she would have been able to, if only if she had the time to think. Unpreparedness costs lives in both of their careers, and she refused to leave anything up to chance if possible. And so, she’d plan, and he’d listen.  

All throughout their relationship, from before they’d even gotten serious enough to discuss marriage, to when they heard their unborn child’s heartbeat for the first time, and just on random weekday afternoons when they would take Missy for walks around the neighbourhood to show her the beauty in their lives, his wife would paint her theories and ideas like artwork. She’d tell him a story, full of action and mystery, humour and theatrics, tragic romance and harrowing adventure; she could spin a tale like she had a silver tongue, but she never lost herself in her own narratives. In the end, they were messages, lessons, for him to remember when everything was going wrong.    

“It’s all about momentum, babe. Bleeding off energy and taking a bad hit instead of a fatal hit. You can’t just full stop; you’d absorb all the kinetic energy, and the resulting trauma will turn all your squishy internals into, like, body soup, which is just super unpleasant. And of course, head is always number one priority. Bracing for impact works better at giving you fewer serious injuries, especially for your neck and head. Muscles should absorb as much of the energy as possible, instead of letting it fall to your ligaments, discs, and nerves to take the force. So, tense up and roll in the case of a low air evacuation.”

Low air evac... she was concerned he was going to have to jump from an aircraft without a parachute at some point in his life. Which was probably accurate he’d admit, but still, he wasn’t hoping to actually need that plan.

Thankfully, it wasn’t always fire and brimstone with her, and she had many strange and terrible schemes to keep the common, everyday superhero family on their toes. Always carry at least two lip balms... never tell someone you don’t have plans for the evening... don’t smile in your mugshot... no clowns. Ever.

She was so weird, a total nerd, and so completely the girl of his dreams.  

He loved teasing her about her unending train of thought, the brain that never sleeps, how she’d go on tangents while on tangents but always circle back around; even nicknamed her (quite cheekily, and because it made them both laugh) Doctor Batman, which was usually saved for when she was being particularly dramatic and gloomy. Turn the supercomputer off for a second, Bats, come see what Missy’s doing!  

He was her anchor, always ready to pull her back to earth when she started drifting off too far from them, but he never asked and never wanted her to change. He adored her, silly or serious, or when she woke him up in the middle of the night to make him promise that he’d never get their kid(s) a pet owl (because they’re “scary”, and “our kids would be too powerful, Marcus. Promise me!”), or that in the event of them inviting a third to their bed, it would “absolutely never, ever, ever be Miracle. No way!”  

He thought it was quite entertaining most of the time, listening to her plan for zombies and old gods and what to do if everyone just started hating cheese one day, but if it was all so important to her: having him remember this or agree to that, he’d accede to her requests in a heartbeat. Most of it was cute, harmless stuff he didn’t think would even happen, but sometimes she would hit him with serious stuff. Entirely out of left field, she’d go for his heart, and ask him for things that would hurt him, destroy him inside, if he ever had to follow through with it.

“Marcus, if it’s a choice between my safety- my life, and Missy’s? I’m always going to choose her. Kids come first, okay?”  

She wasn’t superpowered, didn’t have a shred of anything other than pure, normal human in her, but she was easily the strongest person he knew. Fearless and brave, kinder than this world deserved, she’d do anything for the people she cared about. And she’d promised him, maybe as a way to repay him for all the things he’d agreed to over the years, that she’d move heavens and the earth to return to their family. That nothing in this world, or beyond, could keep her away. “Eventually,” she’d stared into his eyes, glossy with tears from how forcefully she believed, “I will find my way back to you. I swear it, so keep a weather eye on the horizon.” See? A whole-ass nerd, and he couldn’t have loved her more.

So, she wasn’t dead. Pure and simple. She was somewhere, somehow, and he was going to find her again.  

---

“Marcus, the grieving process is different for everyone, but it is always unpredictable and painful. You will have days where you will feel like you haven’t made any progress, or even lost the progress you’ve previously made, but please know that this is natural; it's something everyone experiences, and that it doesn’t mean you’ve failed in your objective. Healing takes time, and a major part of recovery is learning to forgive yourself when you slip up. No one expects you to be back to normal tomorrow, or next week, or next month. Healing from grief is not a race, so we will go at your own pace, and we will work together to accomplish your recovery goals. You aren’t alone in this journey, and you don’t need to handle everything by yourself.”

The grief specialist he was seeing was someone he would describe as an “old soul”. She exuded the patience and peace of someone who had watched empires rise and fall, seen the turning of the wheel of time and drifted along with the current. Her voice was deep, rich in emotion and empathy for those who needed guidance, calming and intriguing with a soft lilt on her vowels. Timeless and ancient all in one, and even if he wasn’t actually mourning the death of his wife, he did find himself deeply grieving being without her. They were two halves of a whole, and though his soul was at a loss without its partner here, he still had their greatest creation, their pride and joy, their baby girl to raise.  

He would do whatever he had to do to be the best parent he could for Missy. And so, if meeting with a physiatrist every week was something that would help, then he would be here, every week. He'd learn to live with his grief, his sadness and loneliness, with just the memory of his Everything, and he’d help their kid with all hers too.  

It’s what he promised to do, after all.

“If anything ever happens to me, you’ll just have to love her enough for the both of us.”  

---

There was nothing they could recover of the people closest to centre of the explosion. No remains, no blood, nothing. Like they hadn’t been there at all.  

Suspicious.

Upper Management had brought in a team of private investigators to handle the case, people who would keep the details quiet and the public appeased with what little information they’d choose to release.  

Marcus was a superhero, and sure, his job was to hit things until they weren’t a problem anymore, but he couldn’t understand why all the highly trained professionals didn’t question the sheer amount of evidence that just wasn’t adding up.  

He tried to bring up the inconsistencies once with the lead investigator, but they had just given the distraught, widowed husband, so lost in his own denial and grasping at straws, a sad smile and told him they would do everything they could to find the truth for him and the rest of the victims’ families.

Typical.

After being brushed off without a second thought, he decided to keep his ideas quiet, and since they’d proven their unwillingness to listen, he’d just have to solve the mass disappearance himself.  

“Have you ever thought about how to commit the perfect murder, mi amor? I have. First: If there’s no body, they can’t prove the person is dead. No evidence of death? No murder. Simple. But of course, completely vanishing a full human would be a challenge. Short of having the superpowers necessary to, like, erase someone from reality in their entirety, there would be a lot of chances to leave evidence. Ordering suspicious chemicals leaves a trail, driving out to a pig farm in the middle of the night is shady as hell and all neighbors are professional narcs, and fires? Hah! Do you have any idea how hot the fire needs to be to cremate human remains, and how long they would need to grill for? Huh, maybe the perfect murder isn’t a murder at all...  

Hey babe...  

Always doubt a body, but always doubt no body, more.”

---

You tended to lose time when there was no one else in your room. It was hard to tell when your eyes were open because you started dreaming about the only things you could see since you first woke up: drop-ceiling tiles, white walls, and pale blue curtain dividers. And it was easier that way, in the end. Your heart didn’t hurt when you only dreamt of the room. You couldn’t mourn the things and people only your soul could remember if you thought of the room. Drifting in and out of consciousness was how you were coping.  

---

You had been here, left in this room alone, for ages. You had agreed to help the man who had saved you from the explosion that killed your family, but apparently you couldn’t help him until you had recovered enough. You’d read your charts, grilled your nurses and doctors more and more the longer you were kept here. What were they all waiting for? There was nothing wrong with you except the mild post traumatic amnesia, and the whole not-remembering-much-(or anything, really)-about-your-personal-life-and-family-of-the-recent-few-years thing you had going on. It was nothing compared to when you first awoke and could remember nothing. It killed you to be without the memories of your husband and child, to know only of them instead of actually knowing them, but there was nothing you or the doctors here could do. The brain was a tricky thing, and you had to accept that your memory loss might be permanent.  

That just meant that you had to put all that you could remember to good use. You could help people here, and work towards getting justice for your family. Years and years of school, practical experience and training, you had gained it all back; re-read textbooks and studies, wrote papers on your re-emerging knowledge and jogged your memory about long nights and early mornings, surgeries and follow ups... it was all still in your head. It had returned to you easily, like diving into a cool pool on a hot summer day. It was like coming home and taking off your shoes; it felt good, freeing, as-it-should-be.  

But still they weren’t letting you leave. So: what were they waiting for?  

“Ah, Doctor, it’s lovely to see you, as always. How are we feeling today?” Okay, so the guy who “saved” you (read: paid the people who actually saved your life)  gave you the heebie-jeebies. He looked like a classic pompous asshole bigwig, like, oil tycoon or something. And he definitely had some sort of thing for you. Gross.

“I’m doing as well as can be expected, trapped in a room with nothing to do, you know, brain rotting, et cetera. Thanks for asking.” The sass was a choice, probably not a great choice, but your choice none-the-less. You really hadn’t had many opportunities to choose anything for yourself in a while.  

Well...

You were bored, and that was going to be everyone else’s problem.  

“Ah, well, good news then! You have been cleared from observation and you’ll be able to be discharged soon. Isn’t that just delightful!” Mister Craig (“Please, just Greg is fine”), was some sort of horrible group hallucination, you were convinced. No one was that cheery, that animated, unless they were on something, or you were on something. “I’ll have someone bring you your personal effects shortly, and then I can show you to your new apartment. The complex isn’t in the best neighbourhood unfortunately, but it's got some real charm, very vintage! You’ll love it!”

“I’ll look forward to seeing it then; sounds like it’ll be a real interesting place to stay. You can also explain what it is I’m going to be doing with your organization. Because you haven’t specified yet. And I expect a proper contract and wage agreement. Legally binding preferably, for your sake, of course, Mr. Craig.” Even if you weren’t the most physically intimidating person around, you knew how, and more so, when, to assert your dominance in a conversation. Especially with men like him. He was the type of guy who would pinch a nurse’s ass and then accuse them of not being able to take a joke.  

“You wound me, Doctor, I am a man of integrity! I promised you an opportunity to make a difference! To get justice for the loved ones so cruelly torn from you! You have nothing to worry about!”  

Sounds legit. Totally above board. Can’t wait.

---

Taglist (omg!! thanks love): @killtherandomness​

Drop me a line if you want to be added <3

[in-flagrante]

'I feel sexier as I get older': Back on TV in a compelling new drama, Michelle Dockery tells how her own confidence has soared after playing a succession of strong, sassy women

By GABRIELLE DONNELLY FOR WEEKEND MAGAZINE

22 May 2020

Since she burst onto our screens ten years ago as Downton Abbey’s Lady Mary, all cut-glass vowels and nerves of steel, Michelle Dockery’s kept us in a permanent state of emotional whiplash with the sheer variety of roles she’s taken on.

She was a drug-addicted con artist in the 2016 TV series Good Behavior, a gun-totin’ cowgirl in the acclaimed 2017 drama Godless, and a Cockney gangster’s moll in Guy Ritchie’s crime caper The Gentlemen.

One thing you will not see, she insists, is Michelle Dockery playing a piece of arm candy.

‘I like to play strong women,’ she says when we meet for coffee pre-lockdown in New England, where she’s been shooting her new TV mini-series Defending Jacob.

‘And even if they’re not strong, they have to be interesting. Multi-faceted, complex, complicated, three-dimensional... and flawed too, because people are. Anything but boring!’

That doesn’t mean they can’t be sexy though, and she says the added bonus to playing these characters is that, at 38, she’s finding herself feeling sexier than ever.

‘Sexy is not about having anyone else make you feel sexy, it’s about how you feel inside, and I have certainly felt sexier as I’ve got older.

But I think that’s a confidence thing too. I’ve been lucky enough to play such strong, confident women, and when you do that you definitely take something from them with you into your real life – you sort of get inspiration from them.’

Her latest character in the thriller Defending Jacob is a straightforwardly good woman – although one thrust into bewildering circumstances.

Laurie Barber is happily married to handsome local Assistant District Attorney Andy Barber (Captain America film star Chris Evans), and mother to her wise-cracking 14-year-old son Jacob (Jaeden Martell).

She’s the sort of woman who goes for a run before breakfast, then quizzes her son on vocabulary over coffee before heading to her high-profile job managing a home for abused children.

She’s just so together... until her son is accused of one of the most hideous crimes imaginable – the cold-blooded murder of a classmate – and her entire life and social circle begin to unravel as the police investigate.

‘It’s a really gripping story, because it’s so difficult for this couple to comprehend that their child might commit any sort of crime, let alone a murder,’ says Michelle of the story, based on the 2012 novel by William Landay.

‘They’re both defending their son, and like any parent would, Laurie’s asking at the same time, “Where did I go wrong?”

'There’s conflict between Laurie and Andy because at the start of the story she’s the emotional one and he’s the calm one, but then as the story goes on there’s a need for Andy to be emotional too.

'So they’re always seeing things from a slightly different perspective.

‘It’s a very human, raw story about what something like this can do to a family, and what’s so interesting about Laurie is that as her life is turned completely upside down, she also begins to question things about her family – “How well do you really know your partner? How well do you really know your child?”’

Michelle’s own family background is modest but as stable as anyone could wish for. The youngest of three girls born to Irish-born lorry driver turned surveyor Michael Dockery and his redoubtable wife Lorraine, a former shorthand typist turned social worker, she was brought up in Romford, Essex, working class and proud of it.

‘My mum is loving but she’s also strict,’ says Michelle. ‘When I was about seven I stole some penny sweets from a shop. Mum caught me and made me go back and apologise to the shopkeeper, and I’ve never stolen anything since!’

She was also raised – as were her sisters Louise and Joanne – to speak up for what was right.

‘I was brought up to stand up for myself. To speak up when I felt passionate about something, when I felt the need to make my voice heard about something that mattered.

'I think a lot of that comes from having sisters, because we’ve always supported each other all along.

'If I’ve ever felt bullied or pushed into a corner, I’ve always been able to stand up for myself. And if I see it happening to someone else, especially younger actresses, I’ll stand up for them too.

‘I hate bullying. I have huge admiration for women in Hollywood and elsewhere who have come forward to tell their stories about that, and have stood up against people like Harvey Weinstein.

'It’s horrendous what they experienced and I’m glad something has been done about it.’

It’s safe to say no one has succeeded in taking advantage of Michelle, and she says now that when she first broached the idea of going into acting to her parents they were not in the least bit concerned.

‘They weren’t alarmed by it at all!’ she laughs. ‘They made sure I had a good education so I had something to fall back on.

'Both my parents are wonderful. My mum is the most incredible woman, she inspires me.

'And my dad’s amazing too – even though he spent our growing-up years with a bathroom that was never free! They let me be who I want to be.

'So between them and my two elder sisters, who are still my best friends, I’m very lucky. We call ourselves the Essex Mafia!’

Her career choice can hardly have come as a surprise to the family, as she says she wanted to be an actor ever since she can remember.

When she and her sisters were small they attended a stage school in the evening, and they would put on plays at home to entertain the family.

Michelle apprenticed at the National Youth Theatre when she was a teenager, and as soon as she’d taken her A-levels she enrolled at the Guildhall School of Music and Drama.

‘I feel I learned more at drama school than I did anywhere else,’ she says. ‘Even when I was at regular school I was never out of the drama department, so I didn’t do very well in other subjects.

'I just didn’t want to be taught anything else. But there’s a huge amount you learn in drama school besides acting, like history and literature, and that was where I came into my own.’

It was, of course, Lady Mary who made Michelle famous. ‘It happened overnight,’ she says.

‘Well, I’d been working in the theatre for seven years, so it wasn’t really overnight, but I remember after the first episode of Downton Abbey aired, walking into my newsagent’s where I was living and seeing a picture of myself, Laura Carmichael and Jessica Brown-Findlay, the three Crawley sisters, on the cover of three papers and that was huge.

'Then the first time I was recognised on the street was in New York, and that was even bigger because that’s when it hit me how big the show had become if I was being recognised in America.’

With talk of another feature film in the works after last year’s hit Downton movie, she says playing Mary is as comfortable as slipping into a second skin.

‘I have huge fondness for her, she’s been a big part of my life. That was a very special show, and I hope it’s one that stays with people forever.’

It was through Downton that she met the man she thought she’d be married to now.

In 2013, her co-star Allen Leech, who played chauffeur Branson, introduced her to Irish-born public relations executive John Dineen.

She and John fell in love, became engaged and were in the process of planning their wedding when John was diagnosed with a rare form of cancer. He died in December 2015 with Michelle by his side.

At his funeral, the day after her 34th birthday and a day before what would have been his 35th, she told mourners, ���He was my friend, my hero, my king, my everything.

'We celebrate him, we honour him, and we will miss him.’ She has not spoken out about her grief, but has admitted that it was her friends and family who helped her pull through, saying, ‘They are the ones who see you through the most difficult times.’

She has been dating Jasper Waller-Bridge, brother of Fleabag’s Phoebe, for a year now.

They met through friends and Jasper, who is six years Michelle’s junior and the creative director at a talent agency, accompanied her to red-carpet events before lockdown.

It was also reported that she bought a £1.7 million house in north-east London before Christmas.

Michelle hasn’t commented on the relationship but she does say that a sense of humour – surely a given with any member of the Waller-Bridge family – is vital in a relationship.

‘My parents always taught me to see the funny side of life and never to take myself too seriously.

'I find that more and more as I get older – I’m finding ways to laugh things off much more than I used to be able to.’

Right now, Michelle Dockery would seem to have plenty to smile about.

https://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-8336165/I-feel-sexier-older-Downton-Abbeys-Michelle-Dockerty.html

[jancynco]

Remember, I Love You

The Friday after our wedding I was ridiculously excited. All of the unrealistic expectations and ideas of marriage completely consumed my brain. The never-ending happily ever after moments, abundance of success, a ton of sex and great health. Not a worry in my make-shift world. A part of me felt like we cheated the system or something by quietly having a small intimate wedding on a brisk Thursday night away from the world. It was as if by keeping it hush all the plagues of life would miss us and love could be our guise. It wasn’t until this endearing encounter with a gentleman by the name of Mr. Jim at my grandmother’s retirement home that I witnessed unconditional love personified. It quickly changed my perspective of the effort and true longevity necessary for marriage. My husband and I went to visit my grandmother because she was unable to attend our wedding. We decided to spend a couple of hours with her so she could become familiar with Rich’s voice. My grandmother could not speak but from what the nurses observed she was very attentive to Rich. I think because he’s easy on the eyes… something she would say back in her healthier days. But that’s neither here nor there. It was there in the common area that Mr. Jim, this spunky, older white man with a calming southern drawl began to talk to us. He said we looked like we were in love and that Rich had “got him a good one.” I jokingly responded, “he sure did”. He proceeded to tell us about his beloved wife of 60 years and how he took special pride in loving, protecting and raising a family with her. Then he paused and mentioned a young woman he could not take his mind off of. Whoever this woman was she was the most beautiful encounter he had ever experienced. She apparently was everything he wasn’t and her composed, elegant nature was something that intrigued him quite immensely. He continued to let us know that today was the day he was going to marry her and start a new life, family and all. We thought he most certainly was joking with us because we had mentioned we were newlywed the day before and the fact that he was in his mid-80s. He was serious. That day he was awaiting her arrival and if she said yes, they were to be married that very day. He took a deep breath and said “you two look like you are in love. Seems like you picked a good one”. Perplexed, I hesitantly replied with a “sure did” and touched my husband’s knee hinting at this possible lapse in time. It was then that I heard this fragile woman’s voice say that she had to go home and prepare for the wedding. They whispered “I love you” to one another and she repeatedly assured him of her return for the ceremony as she tried to leave. 

 My heart sank as I realized what just played out in front of me. I found out that Mr. Jim suffered from dementia and his caregiver, his wife of 60 years, the young woman he obsessed over just moments before, enacted this routine every day in order for her to go home after taking care of him, preventing a mental episode. To put a smile on his face and to ease the blow of leaving him every night she promised a wedding to prepare for, as a hopeful focus for him to have peace in. My heart exploded with emotion at what Rich and I had just experienced. It was the saddest and yet most beautiful thing I had ever witnessed. As his nurses helped him to his room he yelled out “see you at the wedding!” and she replied “remember, I love you.” 

 Over the past couple of weeks that memory has been my alarm clock in the mornings. Trying to push through the health complications, maintain our businesses, endure this pandemic… and just deal with the complexities of life, I think of my husband and feel so safe… anchored. Being loved the right way is overwhelming. It’s an experience within itself. The overflow of someone’s good nature is what we find ourselves enamored by in this euphoric cycle of bliss. It’s what vowels are made of. What intention desires to be and our decisions work so tirelessly to prove. It is to love without condition, force logic to conform into an uncontrollable state and take the risk of betting it all on the faith that someone will fight everything life has to offer with great conviction and dedication with you. It is that thing that will be the last memory of a hopeless romantic that kept a smile on his face through 60 years until his last days. 

 Nothing in the world mattered to him. The news, featuring countless, heart-wrenching stories leaving everyone with these unsettling anxieties paled in comparison to his thought of her. In my poor attempt of trying to comprehend the full spectrum of the disease that is dementia, I thought it to be both a curse and a blessing of some twisted sorts to have one last memory and it being the love of your life. I also thought of her and the weight of knowing all the fruit that came from that love, yet only acknowledging a particular moment. She is weighted with history while he is stuck in that moment and they are both trying to love each other respectively in time. How do Rich and I get to 60 years? What will influence my decision to wake up every morning and to love him with equal or more intensity than the last day? What do we hold on to when it seems like we are free falling together? What’s a mountain, a mole hill and what’s just another incline to overcome in the grand scheme of things? Bickering about bills, if you put the toilet seat down, who didn’t compliment who if they got a new look, doesn’t matter. At the end of the day… “Remember, I love you.”

[bigskydreaming]

I mean, here’s the thing....

I’m more than capable of writing positive Batfam posts, meta deep dives that don’t dwell overlong on negativity, serious content, light hearted content, content about each and every one of the Batfam....anyone familiar with just a few different samples of my posts knows I do not lack for topics to happily ramble on about for absurd lengths. Hell, I’m pretty sure there’s a direct correlation where like, the less negative emotions I have about the content I’m writing, the LONGER it ends up being.

So its not like I particularly need or want to be the ‘loud angry scary adult cis white man yelling at kids’ to have something to say or talk about. Or that I particularly like that state of mind. I’m certainly not unaware of my privileges or that I can be off-putting or not someone everyone wants to be around on here. Its actually something I put a lot of thought into regularly, as personal accountability is such a big deal to me, and that certainly includes my own. There are times where I’ve looked back on something and thought yeah, I definitely could’ve dialed it down there.

But not gonna lie, given that personal accountability is kinda My Theme and I DO put a lot of time and effort into being self-aware and taking care not to cross certain lines, whether you believe me or not or agree with where I draw my lines or not....

Its more than a little obnoxious to regularly see my positive posts and my emotion-neutral meta posts and even my negative critical of canon posts take off and get hundreds of notes in just a couple of days....

But without fail, any time I so much as suggest that fandom’s perpetuating some of the very same toxic tendencies I criticize canon for, with the extension of that thought being hey fandom, unlike canon and how its written, we actually can do something about how we write these very same matters and slowly but surely normalize reader resistance to canon still perpetuating those ideas in the future, and maybe someday even they might buy a vowel and realize hey, our audience does not like what we’re selling here.

*Shrugs* Or maybe not. But even SOME changes to how specific problematic tropes and dynamics are being written in fandom currently could still only be an improvement, is all I’m saying.

Except, every time, without fail, no matter HOW I go about saying it, how polite, mild, civil, non-accusatory....its either crickets or immediate heels dug into the sand as often the very same people who commented on my neutral meta with variations of ‘this is pretty insightful’, like at the mere SUGGESTION its worth taking a more critical look at their own content to see what they might unknowingly be perpetuating and like....the very idea of asking fic writers to be more accountable for what toxic tendencies we perpetuate within our own creative works, even just among our own far more limited platforms....

Its like... HOLD UP! I AM BEING ATTACKED! WITHOUT CAUSE! WHY DO YOU HATE THE FANS? WHY AREN’T YOU SAYING ALL THIS STUFF ABOUT THE ACTUAL COMICS???

And its just like....uh....I did. I do. You were there. You were saying I was making some really good points. But without calling any individuals out or making specific insinuations or personal attacks....I am suddenly just the most unreasonable of the unreasonables, because I dared say “hey, we can’t do anything about what canon writes, but we can do something about the things we write, and actually transform some of the more problematic tendencies and dynamics from canon into things that benefit all the characters and all the fans.”

But nah. Without exception, those posts either get nada or they get vitriol, no matter my own linguistic volume....and meanwhile, posts I made just before them and just after them are now hitting the thousand notes mark. So I kinda can’t help but wonder, is the problem really that I magically lose all ability to grasp supremely basic concepts and start spewing irrelevant gibberish anytime I’m critical of fandom specifically? Or.....just spitballing here....is it at ALL possible that maybe I’m not as much of the problem there as you want to make me about to be?

Like, say what you will about how toxic my more negative, angry posts can be, but personally, I think artificial positivity is just as toxic....plastering a ‘I see nothing wrong here’ sign with a smiley face over a bunch of mold doesn’t actually accomplish anything but allow that mold to fester and grow even further, without notice, until it becomes too widespread to ignore anymore at which point its usually rooted so deep its impossible to get out.

So yeah. I get angry, the all caps come out, and the volume level of my posts on those subjects rises. Its something I’m aware of and something I’m okay with and stand by with certain posts and that I decide I’m not okay with and keep an eye against repeating with certain other posts. Its a process, it doesn’t have an endpoint or finish line, and I’m okay with all of that.

What I’m NOT okay with though, and never will be, is the heat I draw for that and the condemnations and criticisms of my behavior and how toxic and unpleasant I make fandom with those posts....as though the tendencies I’m pointing out in them, by virtue of already being present throughout fandom, don’t already make it toxic and unpleasant in a lot of ways, for a lot of people.

But for all the times I have someone respond to me or call me out specifically for one of my angry posts that very deliberately are made with no specific individuals in mind, just generic references to fandom wide tendencies as a whole....there’s a whole lot of ‘helpful advice’ for all the things I should do different or better to avoid making fandom a more toxic place.....and not a hint of awareness that there’s anything at all they could be doing differently to make fandom less toxic than it already is in various ways.

So just saying, I’m kiiiiiinda not super keen on being lectured for my shit by people who are committed to the belief that their own shit doesn’t stink....WHILE AT THE SAME TIME, I have a good half a dozen positive or neutral meta posts still making the rounds through fandom and consistently picking up notes that according to the tags, generally seem to be viewed as adding positively to fandom in their own respective fashions.

Which basically from my perspective, makes things look like this:

Me: regularly contributes positive content that’s received positively by lots of different parts of fandom, not just the Dick Grayson stan corner of it, with zero negativity attached to these posts....regularly contributes meta content that’s deemed insightful and adding fresh viewpoints by lots of different parts of fandom, not just the Dick Grayson stan corner of it, again, with zero negativity attached because it doesn’t rely on putting down any other characters to make whatever points I’m after.....

....but then contributes posts that are critical of certain specific characterizations and viewpoints within fandom itself, without actually having a twelve step powerpoint presentation attached detailing ALL FANS MUST DO THIS INSTEAD....and instead I usually just include a spectrum of possible alternative takes.....

But wait! Nooooow comes the pushback. Which usually sounds like various forms of this:

Stop trying to police us! La la la la can’t hear you over the sound of your moral superiority complex! You just want us to do exactly what you want us to do which is gaslighting and the very same abusive behavior you talk about which makes you abusive!

And also, a bunch of changing the subject or avoiding addressing various points I raise completely.

Maybe you see my issue? I don’t need tips on how to be a positive fandom presence, I actually don’t have any trouble creating positive content or meta, a large amount of which is deemed insightful and humorous and otherwise well received....but the second I make a criticism of fandom and suggest there’s things fans could be doing differently to address the toxicity existing around various characters in various respects, instead of just keeping everything about DC’s flaws which none of us including me have any kind of platform to even reach DC with......

Suddenly I have ZERO idea what I’m talking about, I clearly don’t get the point of fandom, period, I’m obsessed with my own moral righteousness, and am like, so out of the ballpark misguided its not even funny, and I need all of this explained to me like a five year old, because everyone obviously should get that ‘we’re just fans, why are you blaming us for things we write specifically instead of DC who are getting paid as if that’s even the point?’

So yup. I get ticked off, I make more posts venting about being ticked off, rinse and repeat and my volume goes up.

And that’s it by the way.

You’ll notice, that’s kinda the worst that ever happens, because I literally have never done anything but....type posts with lots of capitalized letters. I don’t target specific individuals, I don’t harass people, I don’t @ specific fics or fic writers or urge people to flood their comments or ask boxes with callouts. I’ve never called anyone in this fandom names or made personal attacks other than the posts various people have felt targeted by because my description of specific tropes or tendencies I have a problem with apparently made them think I was talking about them I guess? Hmm. Weird.

So what’s the point of this post? Idk. Nothing really. Not trying to accomplish anything, just putting my thoughts out there as a way to work through them because like....that’s literally what I have this blog for, lmao. And FYI, I super don’t appreciate the tactic of condemning me for my quote unquote rage issues and framing all this as me yelling at kids on the internet....kids, specifically, and oh right, just screaming at people rather than addressing my own abusive behavior.

Since abuse is a hugely personal and important topic to me, let me just say accusing me of abusing generic fandom in general (since again, I haven’t actually made any of this personal about any individual with my fandom criticisms)....like, I’m quite willing to consider and address flaws in my own behavior when raised, but I’m not a fan of being called abusive in a context that demonstrates a complete lack of awareness as to what abuse actually is.

You don’t like me yelling on my blog? Fine, you don’t have to like it, or me. But abuse is the exploitation of a power differential, taking advantage of power one person has over the other, or that the other person just doesn’t have period. The fact that I am an adult cis white man does not make me aggressively capitalizing stuff in my own posts the same as “the same triggering position of the cisgender man who screams and makes kids feel scared and wince and hide from your posts.”

Like, lol, nice. Classy. I mean who cares right, that yeah, even acknowledging that we can legitimately sense tones and moods through even written text.....a person ranting on their internet blog is not remotely interchangeable with the physical presence of an adult cis white man loudly screaming in your face and with the potential for immediate consequences and harm. Does that mean the tone of my posts is above criticism? No. It means exactly what I said. The one is not the same as the other. 

Secondly, the repeated insistence on me yelling at kids...and this person I’m quoting isn’t the only one who’s done this, FYI, and its crap. Am I unaware that there are a lot of minors in fandom? No, I absolutely am not. Its why I make a point to check the blog of someone I’m replying to heatedly before I respond, to make sure they’re not a minor, and if they are, I don’t engage. So that I can categorically state, with complete certainty, I have never yelled at a kid in this fandom. Do my generic yells about ‘fandom’ not include kids then? Yeah, you could say kids are included there, though again I’d have to question why my criticisms of specific handlings of specific subjects somehow equates to me yelling at specific individuals, whom apparently are all kids and only kids. Like, framing my posts as being all about me screaming at kids specifically is a deliberate choice with a clear aim of making me look as bad as possible. This isn’t subtle.

Third, as an abuse survivor I’m keenly aware that doesn’t exempt me from being abusive myself, but it does mean I find it really fucking gross to be labeled abusive because my posts make kids feel scared and wince and want to hide from my posts. As someone who as a kid absolutely had to hide from their abuser in fear, I really, dearly would love to know what exactly it is about the capitalized sentences written by a man who couldn’t even pick a stranger’s URL out of a lineup, that’s so scary that kids, specifically, want to run and hide from the big bad posts. No, seriously. Go on. Please tell me what exactly it is about my screaming rage issues as conveyed by my posts, which pose any kind of threat or even the potential of threat for someone who I’ve never interacted with and only feels personally attacked by my posts by virtue of associating themselves with the behaviors or tendencies I’ve centered in those posts as the things I’m specifically angry about.

I also apparently am abusive because that’s what you call it when I gaslight or attempt to gaslight a fandom....which is apparently what you call it when my fandom policing tries to get everyone to do exactly what I want them to do. Which again is pretty interesting to me given that I’ve literally never told even generic ‘fandom’ at large to do anything in specific other than....’hey this thing I think is shitty and thus am criticizing shouldn’t be a thing, stop doing it.” Oh wait, I’m sorry, I also ask people to consider their creative impact and not insist on pretending everything we write exists in a vacuum and has no potential to carry harm, and just keep this in mind when making our creative choices. Still not sure how that’s demanding everyone do things exactly the way I want them, since the only clear and actionable request or demand in all of that is...omg....HE ASKED THAT WE THINK ABOUT THE STUFF WE WRITE, HOW COULD HE???

Like, literally, that’s the furthest any of my angry, rage-borne DEMANDS have gone: I’ve asked people apply more personal accountability to their own creative works and not take their potential impact for granted just because they’re a fic writer rather than a published one....and oh yeah, not engage in perpetuating certain tropes or dynamics I consider toxic.

Now, anyone is certainly welcome to disagree with my take on any or all of those tropes, tendencies or dynamics being toxic....but to do so, like, you need to actually DISAGREE AND MAYBE EVEN TELL ME WHY. But the overall refusal to engage with any of my posts criticizing certain fandom tendencies regarding the characters, other than to make it about my overall toxicity and RAGE.....like, that means that I keep making posts that include specific examples for what I’m describing and why I think they’re toxic, and nobody’s actually made any kind of case for me being wrong in any of those posts? So.....its not actually gaslighting to try and convince people these things I bring up are toxic....when I’m actually including reasons and examples of the things I’m talking about in order to convince people, and I’m not actually ignoring, evading or misconstruing counter-arguments....because nobody’s actually making counter arguments in the first place!! That’s not fucking gaslighting, that’s called EXPRESSING MY VIEWPOINT ON A MATTER.

And for the record, like I said earlier, abuse is the perversion or exploitation of a power differential. Try all you want, but you can’t claim I have power over myriad specific individuals I don’t even know EXIST without them interacting with me directly....power that I’m then exploiting just by yelling at stuff on my blog. Yes I’m aware of my overall privileges as a cis and white man. But none of those change a damn thing about the fact that I’m not actually yelling at anyone in specific and people reading my posts have to decide for THEMSELVES whether the thing I’m pissed about is a thing they do before they can even CLAIM to feel at all ‘targeted’ by my RAGE (with me still not being able to tell from that who any particular individual this might apply to is, and also, THATS NOT EVEN THE POINT OF ANY OF MY POSTS)....NOR do any of my privileges negate the fact that every single one of you exists in varying physical distances from me, unknown to me, and I have ZERO power to compel you to even read my posts in the first place, or to keep you from exiting your browser or app or even just going ahead and blocking me to be sure you’re ‘safe’ from the big bad abusive boogeyman and his posts of Gaslighting and Rage.

Me venting on my own damn blog, even knowing that other people can see what I post and share it if they want, is NOT the same thing as screaming in your face and making you want to wince and hide, no matter WHO you are. It just literally isn’t. Doesn’t mean you can’t have a problem with my posts or my tone, it just means what it says. Its not the same thing, they’re not interchangeable or even comparable, because NONE OF YOU ARE A CAPTIVE AUDIENCE. There are NO possible consequences to ignoring, disagreeing with or just scrolling past my posts, firstly because THERE’S ZERO WAY FOR ME TO EVEN KNOW THAT, IF I EVEN CARED. Nobody, kid or adult, can ever HIDE from my posts, because that would first require MY POSTS EVER BE ABLE TO FIND THEM. Whatever the hell THAT even means.

You’re not my prisoners. You don’t have to be here. You’re not even ACTUALLY HERE. Nobody owes me an audience, and honestly, the lack of one wouldn’t change all that much because I babble on all the time about shit none of my followers actually care about, because I post for ME first and foremost, and people from there are welcome to do whatever they want to do with my content, or do nothing with it at all. I literally don’t care, other than thinking its shitty that so many people find my content worthwhile except and until I get critical of fandom behaviors at which point they only engage with it to make it all about ME and MY toxicity instead of anything I actually posted about. Which I then...gasp...vent about. How dare I be angry in the space I cultivated for myself online and other people chose to look in on by their own choice because rather than being threatened or bullied into doing so, they found at least something I’d said interesting enough to be worth listening to hear what else I might say.

I HAVE ZERO POWER OVER ANY OF YOU. At most my posts hold some weight for the people who think I generally have interesting or insightful things to say, but that’s literally it, and that’s the result of me having said things they find interesting and insightful overall. I can’t MAKE anyone do anything, if I’d ever even tried to make anyone do anything other than actually LISTEN to what I ACTUALLY am saying on certain subjects and CONSIDER IT. So if we’re going to throw words like gaslighting around so carelessly, we might want to hold that one up next to the phrase ‘fandom policing’ I so often get accused of....as though I’m any kind of actual authority with actual power to actually enforce any actual agenda I even actually have.

Which brings me to the last thing I want to touch on, which is my supposed moral righteousness, that oozes all over everything I post and drowns out any good points I have to make, which again, apparently is just in terms of fandom criticisms, since every other point I’ve ever made in fandom seems to come through just fine.

Like.....tbh, I don’t really know what to do with the many times I’ve heard people say I’m self-righteous and obsessed with my own moral righteousness. Considering like...I’m not shy about acknowledging my flaws, I know perfectly well I can be loud and angry and aggressive in my posts and have talked plenty before about not being super proud of that, I’ve never claimed to be a saint and I don’t think my actions and choices are the gold standard everyone should adhere to. In fact, the only time I make a point to state what *I* do or did or what *I* think or believe....is when its directly relevant to something critical I’m saying.

And you think that’s because I want everyone to be aware of how moral and righteous I am? Fucking please, if I were as self-absorbed as you people make me out to be when giving me shit, I just wanna know when you think I’d have time to squeeze out 10K of random Batfam meta every other day, instead of being busy finding new things to say about myself.

Literally the only reason I make a point to bring up my own behavior or choices when criticizing others is because PERSONAL ACCOUNTABILITY IS THE CORE THEME OF LITERALLY EVERYTHING I SAY IN THIS REGARD.

And you know what personal accountability requires? A willingness to acknowledge and address your own behavior. Which is why its kinda hilarious the consensus seems to be I’m too up my own ass to even be aware of my own behavior or actions, given that the literal actual reason I bring up examples of what I did or think when making posts about personal accountability....is to stress that REGARDLESS of what those things were, I think its important to not just be talking out of my ass. But rather to emphasize I hold myself to the same expectations I’m asking other people to consider, I’m putting it out there and on the record, here’s what I did relevant to this matter I’m talking about and why I made that choice....see, I’m not asking anything of anyone else that I don’t expect to be held to myself. ITS NOT ABOUT TRYING TO IMPRESS PEOPLE WITH MY MORAL RIGHTEOUSNESS, ITS LITERALLY JUST ME TRYING TO ESTABLISH I’M NOT LOOKING TO BE A HYPOCRITE IN THIS REGARD, SPECIFICALLY.

Like, is maybe that unnecessary and counter-productive? Could be, its something for me to think about some more, but gotta tell you, its a little hard figuring out what will and won’t work when I’m STILL waiting on the first time someone actually engages me on an actual criticism I’m actually voicing about fandom.

*Shrugs* Whatever. Like I said, I don’t even know if this post has a point beyond just getting this all out of my head, so whatever. Make of it what you will. People will likely still just keep viewing me however they already do, for better or worse. Oh well. C’est la vie. Its not the end of the world anymore than any other post I make is, no matter how much RAGE I imbue it with. As I’ve always said, that’s literally the only reason for any of the posts I make ever...I’m just getting them out of my head and down on paper, so to speak, in whatever mood I’m feeling while thinking about that topic. Yeah, I phrase things for a generic fandom audience most of the time, other than when I’m talking to someone directly, but never have I made a post with an entitled and expectant belief that people will take every word I say literally and regard it as a directive for what they should do and how they should live their lives. Since, y’know, I don’t actually think I should be the ruler of everyone’s choices. 

Over and over I keep repeating, I just want people to put more THOUGHT into their choices, and keep in mind various contexts that yeah, I think are relevant to certain topics, sue me. Because the vast majority of creative choices I take issue with, I actually fundamentally believe are just the result of a lack of thinking critically or with a broader awareness of various implications or repercussions. Shocking though this may seem, I’m actually a big believer that humans are inherently good or at least have the capacity to be.

The thing that amps up my frustration and ticks me off so often is how much time and effort I end up wasting trying to get people to address the actual things I’m asking them to consider, instead of dancing around it and evading it in every way possible, not even like, as an attempt to counter it, just willfully refusing to let it be about the topic I ACTUALLY raised.

And yeah, just FYI, to whom it may concern, since this is so often relevant it seems.....gotta say, I find it particularly odious that WITHOUT FAIL, the very same people who carelessly throw out ‘don’t like don’t read’ as the catch-all solution to every issue anyone ever might have with something in fandom, as though its that simple.....

Time after time demonstrate a COMPLETE refusal or inability to take their own damn advice, since NONE of this would ever even come up if the loudest advocates of that system actually APPLIED it themselves. 

And simply....didn’t read my posts.

I fail to see why I’m expected to do what they don’t consider worth doing themselves, to spare themselves the aggravation (or fear) from reading my posts. Let alone interacting with them.

But whatevs. When do I ever know what I’m talking about anyway, lol, on account of all this RAGE I’ve got mucking with my head and objectivity.

Oh well, gotta go. KALEN SMASH!

[glass-es-say]

Send Us a Message from Somewhere Beyond (Part 11)

Halloween Terrorfest Day 11: “Corruptible mortal state” | Ao3

In which a Watch watches a where

Franklin sends them to watch over a tiny little rift in the far northern reaches of the Side, about as far away from himself and his devotees as is geographically and metaphysically possible. It’s the kindest thing the old ghost has done to Francis in a long time.

He voices that perspective to Thomas when they’ve lit up their pipes and settled down for their watch.

“If this is the sort of kindness being your friend gets me then maybe I ought to start sucking up to Franklin,” Thomas huffs with a grin. “I never see Jamie spending a night in the arse-end of nowhere.”

Francis scoffs. “As if you could ever stand acting like that bird-brained idiot for more than a joke.”

“He’s not as bad as all that, Francis.”

Francis raises an eyebrow and takes a drag on his pipe.

“Probably a pleasanter watch down south,” he offers to the wind.

“Aye,” Thomas says. “More of a risk of people crossing over, though.”

Francis nods in agreement, tapping his pipe lightly against his teeth. “Such a shame we won’t have the opportunity to—ah, what was it—guide those lost souls away from their corruptible mortal state and all that drivel.”

“Mm, pity.” Thomas pulls one of his legs up across his knee. “And here I was, so looking forward to purifying.”

“I can’t stand his little speeches,” Francis blurts out, mouth twisting into a grimace. “I swear they get worse each year. Keeps going on and on about corruptible souls and can’t even acknowledge his own inclusion.”

“A man’s allowed his regrets, Francis,” Thomas pronounces with only the hint of a smile.

“Allowed?” Francis asks, scoffing. “If bloody only.”

“Maybe he’s trying to stop what happened to him happening to someone else.”

Francis levels Thomas with a look. “Then he should warn people to make sure their wives, er, give up the ghost, rather than setting us up as little Hallows’ Eve missionaries.”

“It gets the others out on the job,” Thomas says mildly, before flashing a wicked grin. “And gives us something to complain about.”

Francis snorts. “To Franklin’s kindness,” he says, raising his pipe in a toast.

 “Tom,” Francis asks a good twenty minutes later, “why are we here?”

“Because Franklin hates the sight of your grouchy face,” Thomas says, “and I made the mistake of picking you up off that beach.”

Francis scowls. “Bastard.”

“You know that’s not how I was made,” Thomas grins. Francis knocks their shoulders together in retaliation.

“On this Side, you nitwit.”

“Well,” Thomas starts, dragging out the sound of the vowel. “I’m on this Side on account of the how I’m an affront against the laws of God and men and my existence over there would’ve been a cursed one doomed to destruction.” He takes a long drag. “I reckon you’re just here because you caught the right albatross’ eye.”

Francis huffs and rolls his eyes. “I think your head might need tighter stitches.”

Thomas flicks his ear. “Watch yourself, bagpipes.”

Francis grins into his pipe and blows a little cloud into the air.

The rift is just a few yards ahead of them, a glimmering, shifting slash that bends the light around it like flames to a moth. Francis hadn’t initially remembered anything like it being around when he died; he used to think that maybe he made it through on accident.

“Sometimes I wonder if Franklin’s right,” Francis admits to the growing breeze that carries his breath and smoke away. “What if the whole point of us is as a warning?”

Thomas makes a noise that’s halfway between a scoff and a sigh. “Maybe,” he says slowly, “not as a cautionary tale, though. For my money, it’s more about fear.”

“You’re supposed to tell me I’m wrong, Thomas.”

“You are wrong,” Thomas says easily. “All the time.”

Francis rolls his eyes.

“We’re out here to scare them, Francis, but not out of becoming us.” Thomas knocks his pipe against his wooden leg. “Out of… losing themselves.”

“Doesn’t seem to be much difference.”

“We may be monsters but it isn’t a shame to be who we are,” Thomas says. He bumps his shoulder into Francis’. “When a soul comes to close to the boundary, why do you wail?”

“To try and stop them from dying.”

“Right,” Thomas says triumphantly, thumping his leg. “Not to stop them from becoming a banshee or a miserable old sod without the ability to smile.”

“I thought I was supposed to be the cruel one,” Francis mutters wryly.

Thomas shoots him a look, then turns back to watch the otherworldly rift in front of them. “We’re not a bad thing to end up as,” he says, “not all of us, at least.”

 (“I exist to scare people,” James will say a year later as Francis strokes the curve of his hip and the soft brown feathers that grow there. “To stop them from sailing to places they won’t survive. From going places they shouldn’t be.”

“You’re a warning of danger,” Francis agrees.

“Yes,” James nods, head shifting against the fabric of the pillow beneath him. “But in order to convince people of danger I have to be dangerous.” He pauses, fingers fiddling with Francis’ other hand. “I’m not always proud of that.”

Francis spreads his hand across James’ chest and presses his forehead to his shoulder. “You exist for other reasons too.”)

[estrxlar]

The Ghost Of You

17 - So Called Guardian

This Chapter’s Songs:

November; Tyler The Creator

Desire Lines; Lush

Show Me How; Men I Trust

- Y. L. Perspective

I swiftly take off my blazer, shoes, and tie, keeping an eye on the new yet old girl. After she had introduced herself to me, she finished up her conversation with Kiyoko. As I hid behind the locker to change my outfit, I listened in on Eclair and her reason for being here.

"Yeah, so I just got back! I'm leaving again around next week! I'm on spring break to see my mom, so I thought I could by after school to visit the old club! Maybe if Takeda lets me, I could stick around till I leave," she mumbles, smiling down at her shoes. The girl looked like an unboxed expensive doll with rich clothing included. "Oh...I have a question."

Kiyoko hummed, tying her shoes on the bench.

"How's Koushi doing?"

I felt as if my ears were stretching out towards her, hearing every single vowel she spoke out. 'Suga? What does she want to do with him? Maybe they're old friends.' I hoped and prayed that the two weren't involved in anything together. If so, that would give me another issue. I didn't want some beautiful girl near Koushi if they had history. Especially not if they're so close for them to be on a first-name basis.

I slam my locker shut, getting ready to put on my shoes as well. Both girls are surprised by the sudden sound, but I ignore it, continuing to "mind my own business."

"Uhm..." I feel Kiyoko's eyes wander towards me at the mention of Sugawara. "He's been doing pretty good ever since school started. I don't know much about his personal life."

I spot her hands tightening in on each other in the corner of my eye. "Oh! Okay, I'll just ask Daichi then. The only reason I'm asking is that...well...you know."

'You know?! What the hell does this girl want with Koushi?! And it's not like I can say I'm his girlfriend or anything...' I think to myself, finishing getting dressed. "Hey, Kiyoko, we should probably get going. We don't wanna be late to practice," I mutter in a nervous voice, rubbing my neck.

She nods to me. "Yeah. Uhm— Eclair is coming as well if you don't mind."

'Of course, she is.' Once again, I smile, saying, "that's fine with me! Gives me some time to know her." The girl squeals in excitement, getting a head start to the gym before Kiyoko and me.

When Kiyoko pulls open the gym doors, we're greeted by a few players that were already there. To my surprise, there seems to be a new boy in the gym.

I had expected him to greet us, girls, in a gentle manner the way the rest of the team does. Instead, he yells out to the black-haired girl, "Kiyoko! Come to my arms sweet mama!"

Repulsed, she slapped her hand against his face, making sure he hadn't touched her. "Stop that," she demanded which in her therapeutic tone that I could never take seriously. I only stood at the doorway, confused as to why there was a short, loud little man at our feet.

"I've missed you!" The boy gets back up, standing a good distance from us. Kiyoko simply scoffs before walking to the supply room, leaving Eclair and me with him. He looks our way almost immediately, grabbing both of our hands and kissing them. "Hey, ladies! Now, Eclair— you better tell me who this fine girl!"

She giggles lightly. "That's Y/n! I just met her a few moments ago, so I'm not sure I can tell you much about her!" A few moments after he turns back to the rest of the team, she leans close to my ear to whisper, "that's Nishinoya. He was our old libero before leaving for temporary discipline."

Kiyoko rolls out a basket of volleyballs, calling me towards her while Eclair greeted our players. I run towards her, helping her unbuckle the straps that held the casket together.

"So...who exactly is this Eclair?" I ask her, causing her to roll her eyes.

'I'm guessing no one good.'

"It's just an old manager that was around for a month or two during our second year. Throughout that time, she managed to get every boy on the team to wag their tail for her. I wouldn't call her a slut or anything, just very flirtatious. She didn't do much. She was more of a cheerleader for the boys so drool over," she explains. I look over to Eclair, feeling ill by the fact she was much closer to any of the players than I was. "And about Sugawara... she had a major crush on him for a while. You might want to keep an eye on him since you two are a thing."

It seemed Eclair was a huge threat already. With her formality, style, and beauty, I most definitely had my doubts about keeping Koshi in my grasp. I stared her down as she walked over towards him, greeting him with a small hug. Internally, I felt like ripping my head off at the sight. But I just tried ignoring it and continuing my task.

Thankfully, Daichi yells my name out, calling for me to head over there. I do as told and run over towards the group. He tugs at my shoulders, wrapping one of his strong arms around them. "This is Y/n. She's been a manager of ours for a week now, but she's pretty familiar with the third years. I think she'll be helping Kiyoko out until they graduate. Y/n, this is Eclair and Nishinoya— second years. Eclair was assistant to manager for a little while and Noya is our team's libero."

"Wow, that's so cool! So is Eclair gonna be a manager too?! That would be so awesome if we had three pretty girls in the club!" I cringe at how girl-obsessed this Nishinoya seemed to be and how sweet Eclair was behaving.

She smiled, giggling at the boy's question. "No, silly! I'm only here for a week! Since I'm still on spring break, I'll just be hanging out with you guys a couple of times before going back to France. I'm so sad that I have to leave all of you sweet boys for good!"

Daichi let's go of me, letting me wiggle my shoulders around. "Noya, you haven't changed all that much after leaving school for a while."

"Oh, whatever. I'm just excited to be back on the team. So, where's Asahi? Is he back yet?"

Everyone grows silent at Noya's question, looking anywhere but at him. 'Who's Asahi? This team is really lacking communication skills,' I think to myself. "Well...Uhm," Daichi mumbles in a hesitant tone.

"Damn coward." Nishinoya makes a sudden remark, changing the cheerful atmosphere he led just a few seconds ago.

Tanaka tried shutting up his peer, scared he'll get himself into even more trouble than he was already in. "Noya! Show some respect for your upper class-men!—"

"Oh shut up! He's a scared little cry baby and you know it," he yelled back to Tanaka. "If Asahi's not coming back, then neither am I!"

'So dramatic.' I think to myself, raising my brows at the awkward situation. Before anybody can stop him, he rushes out of the gym, leaving us worried. It sure was the "guardian" that Daichi described last week. Blunt and loud.

"Hm..so who's gonna run after him this time?" Tanaka groans, disappointed that his reunion with his friend came to a sudden stop.

Eclair frowns, beginning the sentence of her idea. "Maybe I could talk to him—" but she's suddenly interrupted by Koshi, who stands right behind me.

"Y/n! Why don't you do it?" He and his patronizing smile showed no mercy towards me. Placing both of his hands on my hips, he turns and leads me towards the door. "Come on, it'll be fun! Noya is always nice to gorgeous girls. Right guys?"

The team nods, chuckling at Koshi's strange behavior, given none of them had ever seen him act so touchy with me. In fact, he'd just told every member of the club that he thought I was gorgeous.

I give him a death stare, attempting to unleash myself from his grasp. He still kept a cheerful mood and was determined to see how I could handle this situation. "Koshi—I dunno... I just met the guy two minutes ago!"

When we reach the door, he suddenly got close up to my ear, whispering, "you'll be closer to the team ten times more than you were if you get him back. I just want you and the team to feel comfortable before announcing anything."

As annoyed as I was with him, I understood. My friends knew Suga, but they weren't very close to him in any way. I didn't blame him for wanting me to communicate with them. Still, that didn't change the fact I was pissed with him for putting me on the spot like that.

Sighing, I roll my eyes, awkwardly smiling at the team as they look towards us. And before I knew it, I'm off looking for Nishinoya.

I felt released when I had spotted him sitting nicely under a cherry blossom tree. As cheerful as the area was, he looked quite disappointed.

I debated once more if I should have butt into a problem that I truly had no acknowledgment of— if it was the best idea to potentially ruin this opportunity for the volleyball club. Unfortunately, he had spotted me in his peripheral vision before I could doubt myself any longer.

"Did Daichi send you?" His raspy high pitched voice questions me while he cracked his knuckles.

'Well, not him, but his best friend.'

I shake my head, sitting down in the empty spot next to him on the bench. He quickly turned the other way, crossing his arms like a child. "I'm not coming back," Noya scoffed.

I was lost. Was there anything other than coming back to the club to talk about? His skills. "Uhm, so, you specialize in defense, right?" I prayed to every presence that I was steering the right way with this conversation.

"Why do you think that?" He asks. "Cause I'm short?"

I shake my head again. "No, It's because Daichi kept calling you 'Guardian'."

"Guardian?! Where did that come from? I mean, I'm not that important. It's embarrassing—really!" Bingo! Noya grew flustered about the nickname and faced me, denying his excitement. "D-did he say that?"

"Mhm, supposedly you're pretty important."

But all good things must come to an end. After a few more seconds of happiness, he reverts to his angry attitude. "So what?! Does Daichi think giving me a badass nickname is enough to make me come back? I mean he's not wrong but—damn is Daichi that's not fair."

'It's not all that. Honestly, it's kind of cringe. But whatever floats your boat, I guess.' I wonder to myself how I could possibly make this stubborn boy agree that he was needed on the team. Without a script in my hand, I came up with the best I could do. "Look, Noya. I don't know much about volleyball or the club the way you do. Hell, I've only been here for a week and I'm already stressed out. But I'm positive that you're important to us. We have this kid...his name is Hinata. You met him earlier. You see, he has potential, but he still needs a lot of practice on his receives. And from what I know, that's the most important aspect of the game. Right?"

Nishinoya abruptly stands up, near crying at my explanation of how badly we needed him. "...wow,

L/n! You know how to convince a guy!" His voice wobbles in emotion. "Of course I'll help you! I

mean— Hinata! But that doesn't mean I'm coming back to volleyball club, I'm only gonna teach him how to do receives, that's all!"

I stand up, bowing towards the girl-obsessed guy. "Thank you, Noya."

'I did it! I got him to come back! Only for one practice, but that's still something!'

-

After taking many mental (and physical) notes on today, it was finally my time to leave practice.

Seeing Noya's playstyle helped me tremendously to understand the position of a receiver on the volleyball team. And as it turned out, he was an important player. And after this "Asahi" guy left, it only made everyone feel more diminished.

He's supposed to be another one of the third-year players. Though I've never met him, I do know that he's a boy my age but looks like a man. Supposedly, during a game that Karasuno was losing caused trouble for the entire team. Sugawara was setting and Asahi was attacking, but all of his attacks were shot down by another team. The night they came back is when he'd decided to give up on volleyball. I couldn't even imagine how guilty Koshi must have felt after that. Knowing him, he probably took on the blame for everything.

I was glad I decided to help out the club by getting Noya to help Hinata with his received. It would benefit not only them, but Sugawara as well. "How can you be confused, its just 'wooh!' and then 'pow!'" He shouts as the ball ricochets off of his wrists.

"Yeah! I know exactly what he's saying, how do you not get it?!" Kageyama says to Hinata, who's mentally challenging himself today.

"That's only because you guys teach with words!"

The day was coming to an end, finally. Dealing with a bunch of boys making noise and Eclair non-stop talking to everybody made me feel sick. But before I left to change back into my clothes, Nishinoya made a move to stop me.

"Wait, Y/n! You can't just leave without giving me your number! And where's my hug?! How about I take you out sometime as thanks for giving me such a sweet talk under the pretty little tree?" He whines, grabbing both my hands. 'Where's my hug? Mother fucker, you're younger than I am.'

Koshi spends no time running up behind me and pulling me from his grasp, telling the boy, "Noya, you need to stop harassing all the girls that step into this gym."

"Oh, come on, Suga! She's a total cutie and you know it!" He points at him. "Wait a minute...is that why you're so protective of the new manager?! You've got your eyes on Y/n!"

We both gasp, letting go of each other in an instant. "No!" Koshi and I yell while awkwardly smiling.

-

As time passes, each member dresses out and begins to walk home. When I do as well, Koshi. waits for me outside.

I would finally be able to talk with him about today!

"So, you have Noya a sweet talk under the cherry blossom tree?" Sugawara teases me, playfully bumping my shoulder while we began our walk into the roads.

I hit him back. "Stop that! That was just a coincidence. And I only got him back by saying Daichi thought of him as some knight and that he was needed on the team. That's all!"

"Oh yeah? Well, you did a good job. He said he'll stick around for a little bit to teach Hinata. Gotta say they get along great." His sweet chuckle fills the warmth around us.

Something was poking at me to ask him about the girl I'd met earlier. 'If she still has feelings for him, then should I not say anything?' "Hey, Kou?"

He hums, wrapping an arm around me. "What?"

"...what do you think of Eclair? Are you happy she's back to visit you guys?"

"Oh, I guess so. I tried not paying too much attention to her." He states, looking at the sidewalk ahead of us. Something told me he didn't want to talk about her feelings for him or if they were still there. However, I was determined to get to the bottom of the situation before having to be in the same room as the girl who likes the boy I love.

"Uhm...could you tell me about her? Like, what kind of relationship did she have with everybody? Did you guys get along? Stuff like that. I wanna get to know her without having to talk to her a whole lot," I tell him, snuggling into his shoulder.

When he walks dead silent for a few seconds, I realize that something is wrong. "Y/n..." he begins to sound a bit worried and disappointed. "I'd rather you not be around her too much."

As if I had no idea, I raise my brows innocently. "Why?"

"She just...stirs things up. I-I'd rather not have her come in between us. Thing is, she used to have this thing for me a few months before she left for France. At first, I thought she was just being polite by doing usual things that people would do when they are in love. But then after some time, I realized she had a major crush on me. And when I told her that I wasn't ready for a relationship, she totally flipped out. She made a big scene and told everybody that I was a stupid guy who only talked to girls for my pleasure." Towards the end of his explanation, he becomes more and more ashamed of what he says.

'So that means he had to have done things with other girls.' The thought that Koshi has most likely already had sex made my face heat up in both anger and sadness. Not that I had any motive to rush into that with him, but I felt more anxious he would expect more from me if the time ever came. "And...did you only talk to girls for pleasure?" My heart raced with every silent second that ran past us. Sugawara didn't want to answer my question.

"Koshi, if you've already had sex then I don't mind. I'm just asking if you used other girls for pleasure...because if so—"

"No!" He shouts gently, turning me towards him. Once again, we stood under the street light that we always seemed to stop at on walks home. "Y/n, I know I was pretty messed up but I wouldn't ever take girls for advantage and never have! And my old habits—they aren't something I should be proud of, so I don't talk about it."

"Koshi, we don't have to if you don't want to," I tell him.

"But I have to eventually, right? Why get you all caught up in a relationship you don't even fully know about."

I look into his eyes, longing for him to lay his sorrow down onto me and forget about it all. I knew that he'd never have it in his heart to do anything evil. But whatever he didn't want to tell me was eating him up. After a few moments of even more silence, I bring him back from his thoughts. "Kou?"

The boy takes one of my hands within his and brings it up to his lips, kissing it lightly. When he takes his lips back, he begins his explanation. "I've never really been able to cope properly with my mom's death, Y/n. That's why when I talk about it, I can't seem to keep myself together. And I know it's been a long time, but I'm still ashamed for giving my first time away so easily because I was overwhelmed with anger that I didn't care any longer. Things that someone should save for someone special were spent on girls who were only in it for pleasure. I was the same, but I now know that I would have saved even holding hands with a girl if it meant it was with you, Y/n. See— doing anything with you feels like the first time but better. And that's because I love you. So yeah, I slept with a couple of girls, but it never meant anything to me. It only helped me distract myself from realizing that I required feeling important and loved again. That as much as I wanted to, I couldn't be an adult at the age of seventeen. Please, tell me that you understand what I'm saying? That when I'm with you, you make me feel whole again. Like I'm loved and needed, and I can take my time with you."

When he says things like that to me, I can't help but sink into his arms and breathy close to him. I wanted nothing more than to help him cure whatever negative feelings intoxicated him. If I was what helped him, then so be it.

"Then tell me, Koshi," I whisper to him, looking deep into his eyes. The world stopped around us if only for a second to let me ask this question, even if I already knew the answer. "...who is your first love?"

Every nerve in my body jumped when he wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me into a strong hug. If he had already done everything romantic with other women, then wouldn't that meant he was already in love with somebody previously?

No, wrong.

"You. Y/n, you are my first."

-

I loved writing the ending of this chapter sm eee

Vote mofo <3 ily

- estrxlar

[loveinthebones]

Let Them Think What They Want

Prompt: 2. Things you said through your teeth

Rating: T 

Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Friends to Lovers, Alpha! Phil and Alpha! Dan

These are you WARNINGS: Slight scuffle between Dan and Phil, mentions of blood

-Let Them Think What They Want- 

There are certain…expected…qualities that Phil lacked from an outsider’s perspective and it never failed to set Dan’s teeth on edge when others’ made assumptions about where the boy with the startling eyes fell without a second thought.

His quiet, thoughtful countenance let him fade into the background, if he wasn’t careful.

Dan was trying to encourage Phil to speak more. He knew from experience that his flatmate’s soothing northern twang would turn heads without him even trying but Phil merely giggled in response, lips stained from the shaved ice they had been sharing, and laid his head on his shoulder, radiating heat and unspoken adoration.

“Let them think what they want, Dan.”

-

Aside from being a small tree, Phil wasn’t a physically commanding presence.

Dan didn’t mean to draw attention to himself as much as he did, but he had always been a bit more impulsive, a bit freer in letting that mysterious pull drench his words. His power of persuasion was less of a suggestion and more of a demand…and it had caused problems when their business partnership had started to solidify.

He remembers the startled eyes of the Beta secretary who had frowned deeply at the compulsion to loosen her posture, despite her will to maintain her strict professionalism after he had jokingly told her, “You can relax. We don’t bite.”

“Stop that,” Phil scolded, swatting his shoulder, as he came to stand behind Dan. He offered his hand to her with a charming, apologetic smile. “I apologize. He hasn’t gotten the hang of his vocal training, just yet.”

It was lie and they both knew it.

Dan used to have trouble controlling his Alpha voice when he was overwhelmed and back then, he had been a terrified nineteen-year-old about to sit in his first official business meeting with his friend and the creator he was working to establish a brand with in the possible future.

Her eyes had drifted across his form with a surprised gaze. It wasn’t often that an Alpha struggled with vocal training but it was speculated that those who did would be the ideal candidates for leadership positions, even when pitted against other Alphas.

“My apologies.” She replied instantly and courteously as she grasped Phil’s hand. “How do you deal with it? He certainly is a strong one.”

Dan’s own hand flexed at the sudden spike of annoyance flooding his system.

Does she not realize…?

Phil only smiled back politely and answered, “Exposure, I suppose. Should we get going?”

Phil reached for his jumping fingers to give them a reassuring squeeze while the Beta hesitated for a split second.

When Dan growled at her reluctance, Phil dropped his hold to fall in place beside his friend as they started to make their way down the corridor, following the Beta who was chattering about the recording spaces, sound equipment, and green screens that would be available to them after the meeting, if they were interested.

His fingertips scraped at the small of Dan’s back as they walked and if she noticed anything- she didn’t say a word.

Dan couldn’t help but wonder if she picked up on the fact that she had folded easily to Phil’s influence.

-

“You worry too much, Danny.”  Phil told him as he clicked away at the controller determinedly. His eyes were glued to the screen where his character was shooting rainbows and jumping hastily to escape the water hot on his heels. “Let it go.”

“I just…why do people assume?” Dan sighed, helplessly searching for the words to explain why it bothered him so much. “Seriously. It’s idiotic and irritating.“ Dan ran his fingers through his fringe, flicking the tickling strands out of his eyes peevishly. "You are just as much of an Al—”

“Shit!” Phil whined, lifting his controller up with angrily shaking hands, and a warning growl ripped from Dan’s throat before he could call it back.

Phil clamped his teeth on the unmoving plastic, an answering rumble vibrating his chest.

There’s something laying heavy and hot in his chest and it urges Dan to stand so he does, drifting to Phil unthinkingly.

His hand rests on locks dyed in the blackest black that can be bought in a bottle and the spell is broken when Phil’s breath fans across his wrist.

“Ah—” Dan squeaked, jerking his hand away as if he had been burned. “Sor—”

Phil chucked the controller at him with a laugh that flashed just a bit too much bite. “Piss off.”

-

“What is it like living with a Beta?” Dan read and he pressed a hand to his temple with a wry laugh. “Well, HowellattheMoon, you see Phil is—”

“Daniel.”

His name was muffled but it seemed to carry an uncanny echo that had the hairs at the back of his neck standing at attention.

Dan’s lower jaw moved subtly as Phil continued from his place behind his closed bedroom door: “Let it go.”

“You want to go, mate?” There’s a playful lilt to the vowels of his sentence but it’s distorted because Dan is speaking through the barrier of his clenched teeth and his blood is rushing through his ears violently but he remains sitting in his butt chair, leaning on his elbow with a strained smile and glowing eyes.

It isn’t the first time he has used his Alpha voice during a livestream but it’s the first time that it’s laced with something…dark.

The chat is going crazy but Dan’s senses are fixed on the gentle protest of his door’s hinges and the man who has let himself in to his room.

Phil’s fingers open and close at his side as he huffs, a single brow arched in a silent challenge.

“Bring it on.”

So much for the challenge being silent.

“I will murder you,” Dan retorted, flicking his gaze to Phil pointedly. The other shoves his shoulders back at the action, meeting his scrutiny unblinkingly.

There’s that something again—hot, distracting, undiluted but Dan manages to keep himself in check by sheer willpower. “Want to come say hi?”

It’s less of a question and more of a demand and Phil’s tricolored eyes flash as he rolls his shoulders stiffly before he saunters over to kneel beside Dan.

He grins at the chat and chirps out a happy, friendly and infuriatingly relaxed, “Hey guys!”

The air crackles between them.

-

There’s teeth digging relentlessly into that spot on his neck and Dan raked his blunt nails down the warm skin under his fingertips, distantly worried that he might have drawn blood.

Phil hissed against his sore neck. “You’re the one who wanted to do this, love.” He reminded Dan, flesh still trapped between painful points.

“I know,” Dan panted, digging little angry half-moons where his hands have come to rest just under Phil’s scapulas. “I just—”

“Alphas’ don’t normally have their bonding gland stimulated.” Soft lips pressed against his bruised and tender skin, followed by the slimy scrape of a playful tongue, and Dan snorted as he canted his head backwards so the column of his neck stayed exposed, despite the little voice screeching in his head that he was being reckless and in danger.

“I know,” Dan repeated his earlier statement, bumping his chin against the top of Phil’s head. “I still have that bruise on my hip.”

“I warned you,” Phil giggled, nuzzling into the juncture of his shoulder, before he raised himself up to press his forehead against Dan’s. “I am stronger than I look.”

The pads of Dan’s fingers ghosted along the pretty purple starburst on Phil’s own bonding gland, admiring the indentations he left behind.

Phil growled but it was more of a gentle, loving purr than a warning snarl.

“People have forgotten that in the olden days,” Phil’s lip is split from their tussle, cheeks rosy, and he winces as he talks.“Alphas used to take Alphas for mates.”

Dan’s chest heaved harshly as he cups his throbbing nose, grimacing. “I doubt it’s healthy to take an elbow to the face.” He commented dryly, catching the sparse droplets of blood in his palm. “I’m just saying.”

“We got carried away,” Phil shrugged nonchalantly. “It happens. Aggression hormones, adrenaline, and all that.”  He wiped at his bottom lip with his sleeve, smearing crimson along the fabric carelessly as he chuckled. “Though I didn’t expect you to slap me-”

“It was an accident!” Dan protested, panting and exhausted after their brief struggle. He didn’t want to admit that Phil’s scent was pleasantly scrambling his thoughts…and that their little squabble hadn’t helped…. the now familiar heat sizzling and scorching the walls of his veins. “I really didn’t mean to. Sorry.”

“It’s all good,” Phil hummed, lips quirked in one corner in a lopsided, forgiving smile. “It happens.”

"You say that…” Dan muttered, licking his lips, as his heart thudded against his ribs. He shook his head to clear away the fog covering his mind. “…Did Alphas really take other Alphas as mates?”

“Oh, yeah.” Phil laughed with a suggestive eyeroll and Dan’s tongue suddenly decided it wanted to stay glued to the roof of his mouth.

“Why?”  The single word escaped before his internal filter could catch it and Dan uncovered the lower portion of his face, eyes cautiously curious.

“Because the two partners had to be evenly matched.“ Phil answered softly, combing his fringe back into a messy quiff. "Though, I do believe that you can choose your mate, regardless of where you or they fall.” Phil stood, dusting off his trackies, before offering to his left hand to Dan. “Are we good?”

“We’re good, Philly.” Dan kept his eyes on their bland carpet as he accepted Phil’s help. “Would you?”

Phil pulled him to his feet and they were so close that Dan could see the individual flecks of gold and green in the electric blue depths of Phil’s irises.

“Would I, what?”

“Date an Alpha.” Dan whispered, still holding onto Phil.

The air buzzing along his skin dotted his arm with goosebumps as Phil squeezed his fingers gently.

“I would.”

“Mine,” Dan murmured, caressing the mark reverently. “People will know you’re mine.”

Phil dipped his head and the tip of his nose tickled Dan’s skin as he made his way down. “And you are mine.“

"Even if people assume I’m the sole Alpha?” Dan teased and his breath stuttered as Phil bit that spot again, mewling in pain.

Phil kissed away the sting before baring his teeth at Dan, showcasing the jagged ends and slight unevenness.

“Let them think what they want, but make no mistake I can take you on, Danny boy.”

[ofgilded-blog]

R E G I N E 

may crept into the air - the sun almost too lazy to rise, flowers blooming, bleeding fragrances. yet here in the bustling alley it was all cobblestone streets and an ever swelling crowd. it was good for people watching, jaehyun supposed. a lady sneering with violent glee, her sister with a mouthful of sharp teeth. a boy rushed past with roses in his arms and presents in his grasp ( a hurried birthday gift perhaps? ). a trio of girls stared in his direction - but not at him. jaehyun looked at the woman beside him ( ah, so she was the subject of such fixation ), wondering where he had seen her face before.

“if they’re so keen for a show, perhaps we should give them one,” she turned to say to him, lascivious & saccharine.

“you shouldn’t feed the dogs that keep coming back hungry for more,” he replied, curved vowels spoken so calmly. hidden amusement lurked in his eyes at the thought of such scandal (of entertaining the common masses). he regarded her coolly, movements indolent. her name was ghost in his throat - just a touch out of reach. “whatever did you do to receive such blatant attention?”

“haven’t you heard? it’s all over the news, darling.” she sipped her drink, rings glinting with her movement. “preying like vultures on my story.”

“they are hardly vultures,” he replied. and he thought about leon’s damning article — hurling knives through ink and parchment, a declaration of war in the spaces between words. she had killed a man ( a literary death is a death all the same ). a sudden image of her - beating heart in hand, dripping ink tainting her skin. “don’t mistake mutts for those who pick b o n e s  for a living.”

she threw her head back and laughed, a golden sound he rarely heard these days. “well, it seems i’m not as apt in zoology as you.” she had a touch of divinity — the way she carried herself as if she was raised with violent grace. half goddess and half hell by the words she spoke. 

“i disagree. it’s just a matter of perspective, wouldn’t you agree?” 

... ( present time ) ... 

tangerine dreams shattered--- 

he finds her bleeding ichor and palms shaking in the shower, water pelting down, drenching golden features. she buries her head in his chest as he joins her, clinging to him with talons. he smooths her hair, feeling her shake with sobs. “my little volchitsa,” he croons. she dreams of empty churches and a lone summer with him far from this madness. “they are vultures indeed. but in everything there is a point of no return; i will make them pay.” 

[2pcanadas-googlehistory]

Uhh.. I’m just gonna leave my shitty writing right here for @ask-the-icelandic-little since I just basically spilled everything about the AU and it could possibly be a distraction of sorts? 

I should also tag @chinaichooseyou because I bet Dari would kick my ass if I let something from the Fantasy AU slide past her.

It’s no where near done, obviously, and I kind stopped mid sentence so... Yeah. uhh... Here’s SwissAus? It switches perspectives a couple of times. I also haven’t read through it myself in a while, so prepare for cringyness 

Notes: Undines /ˈʌnˌdiːn, ˌʌnˈdiːn/ (or ondines) are a category of elemental beings associated with water, first named in the alchemical writings of Paracelsus. Similar creatures are found in classical literature, particularly Ovid's Metamorphoses. Later writers developed the undine into a water nymph in its own right, and it continues to live in modern literature and art through such adaptations as Hans Christian Andersen's "The Little Mermaid".     - Wikapedia

Lieutenant Vash Zwingli clutched his injured arm with his right hand as he dove behind a thick pine. He fought for breath as he allowed his head to rest against the tree's trunk. This was not how today's mission was supposed to play out. His objective was merely a training session for the new recruits. The Undines were definitely not supposed to be this close to the Fairy-Elven base. His squad was not supposed to run into a fully trained and hardened enemy unit. Those young Fairies never stood a chance. They weren't supposed to die today; maybe at another point during the war, but definitely not today. Not under his watch.

“Damn!” Vash muttered to no one in particular. He removed his bloody hand from his arm to examine the damage caused by one the the Undine's magic attacks. A deep cut with a slight burn, nothing more. Nothing that could, or would, slow him down. Vash quickly reached to his holsters, and readied his guns. In a normal situation, he would have more than just the two small hand guns at his disposal. But this was far from normal. With only enough ammunition left for a total of sixteen shots, Vash couldn't afford to waste a single bullet. After a moment's silence, Vash made his move. Keeping his guard up and sliding from tree to tree for cover, he slowly began his retreat back to base. As the sole survivor, he needed to inform his higher ups of the Undine attack so they could prepare for what may come.

As night fell, the trees thinned out, and Vash was faced with an open marsh-like field. Thankful for the cover of shadows, Vash set out through long grass with guns still at the ready. He contemplated flying the rest of the way. Surely he was far enough away from the Undines by now? He admitted to himself that he was slightly lost in an unfamiliar country, but the base had to be in that forest on the other side of this field, right? Vash toyed with the idea for just a short moment before the silence of the night was broken by shrill screaming in the distance. Vash froze, then crouched in the tall grass, eyes searching the direction of the ear-splitting voices for signs of danger. The voices grew slightly nearer, then as quickly as they started, the screams stopped. Catching his breath again, and thoroughly spooked, Vash immediately jumped to his feet and began running towards where he believed his base to be located.

A sharp snap sounded behind him. Foot steps. Someone was following close behind. Were they targeting him? He wouldn't survive with his back turned to them. Vash slid to a stop, then turned on his heels, fingers on the triggers of his hand guns as he held them up to the scene now in front of him.

Nothing.

There was no one there. The sound of his pursuer had disappeared. Why was there no one there? “What the fuck?” He let out a tense, shaky breath as he scanned the area. Maybe he was just hearing things? He shook his head to clear his thoughts before using his forearm to wipe away sweat from his brow.

Then he froze yet again as his breath caught in his throat. An eerie, soft, yet masculine voice filled the air. Was that singing? Vash brought his attention back to his surroundings. Where was the voice coming from? He spun in place, searching desperately for the source. They must have followed him after all. Were they just taunting him now? Playing with him like a cat with a mouse?

“SHOW YOURSELF, YOU FUCKING UNDINE!” Vash spat out, anger and panic heavy in his own voice. The singer seemed to stutter momentarily before continuing. The voice grew slightly louder, but the origin remained hidden. The language was not one Vash had ever heard before. Harsh vowels, complimented by a calming melody. Did the Undines have a language like that? “Quit mocking me, damn it!” Suddenly, the singing stopped. Vash once again searched the surrounding area from where he stood.

Then foot steps again.

Vash quickly turned to the sound, now certain of his target's whereabouts, and unloaded one of the hand guns. The blasts echoed for a few moments, then silence. Vash began to catch his breath once more. He had to get out of here. The rest of the Undines would surely have heard that. He wiped his forehead with his arm again, then placed the regretfully empty gun back into its holster.

He gasped as hands planted themselves on his shoulders from behind, with the owner's cold fingers gently crawling up his neck. Vash continued to stare forward in shock as the figure behind him slowly lowered its head to whisper into his ear, “Too slow...” Vash's eyes widened as he recognized the singing voice, now speaking a language he understood, “However, I do not wish to kill you.” A sharp pain in his neck, then the world went black.

Roderich allowed the now-unconscious Fairy soldier to fall backwards into his arms. The fairy was lighter than Roderich had anticipated, and for a moment he wondered if the boy had eaten a decent meal since the start of the war. The thought quickly passed, and Roderich tossed the fairy over his shoulder, careful to avoid injuring his wings. Although Roderich had, in fact, taken care of the pesky Undines that were tracking the boy, they were still unsafe in this current location. After making sure the boy was secure, Roderich swiftly disappeared into the forest moments before a new unit of Undines made their way to investigate the recent gunshots.

--------

Roderich gently set his captive Fairy beneath a low hanging branch of an old pine tree, leaning him against the darkened trunk. The evergreen needles provided a decent amount of shelter from the incoming rain over head. He took a deep breath and stretched his back, then began to rub out a kink in his neck from carrying the boy for so long. He may have been lighter than what was healthy, but after a while the weight seems to add up. With a sigh, Roderich sat on the increasingly wet ground in front of the Fairy. There was a point in time where he would have shrieked at the mere idea of getting mud on his clothing, however those days were long behind him. He removed his glasses, wiping them off with a dry portion of his shirt, then returned the worn frames to their place on his nose. Allowing another deep intake of air, Roderich directed his gaze to the still unconscious soldier sitting before him.

The Fairy was young from the looks of it, or at least younger than Roderich, yet even asleep he held an air of intimidation about him. He was dressed in an olive green Fairy military uniform, although Roderich was certain he was supposed to have an over shirt or jacket of some sort which would identify his rank. Perhaps he lost it during the ambush? A plain black sleeveless shirt covered his chest, tucked into a pair of pants which seemed a size too large. Dried blood ran along his left arm, the source being a fresh wound just below his shoulder. His left black finger-less glove was missing. A thick leather belt held extra pouches, probably where ammunition was kept. From his neck, a long silver chain held his identification tags. Roderich leaned forward, and carefully brushed a lock of the boy's shoulder-length blond hair behind his ear, bringing himself just close enough to read the Fairy's name on the tag.

“Zwingli... Vash...” Roderich let out a hum, bringing his gaze back to the boy. His dirt covered features were fairly soft, giving away his youth. A light scar ran across his cheek, it was smooth to the touch, obviously an old scar, worn by time. What could this young man have gone through in his short life to damage such a pretty face? “Vash...” Roderich froze after the name escaped from him once more. He suddenly realized he had his hand on the boy's jawline, in an almost intimate embrace. His own cheeks grew hot and stained red, and he slowly brought himself back to his seat. He crossed his arms with one hand lifted up to his lips, the foreign name's presence still lingering on his tongue.

He had to know more out this odd Fairy.

No one should be able to resist a Siren's song like he did.

Or at least, not that Roderich knew of. Perhaps this was normal? Roderich pinched the bridge of his nose and began contemplating any and all reasonable explanations. Maybe this Fairy just wasn't interested in men? No, that never seemed to be a problem before. Could the adrenaline of battle have overpowered his song? Obviously the boy could hear him move through the grass, so being deaf was ruled out.

Roderich placed his face in his hands and let out a frustrated sigh. He could sit here all week coming up with reasons, but it wouldn't do him any good. He would have to make his way back to Dallam if he wanted any real answers. He shivered at the thought. He wouldn't go back, there had to be another way.

A soft moan jerked Roderich out of his thoughts. He raised his head out of his palms and brought his attention to the Fairy soldier. The boy's brows were furrowed, and he shifted his head to the side. He was beginning to wake, and most likely would not be welcoming to a Siren. Roderich quickly jumped to his feet, almost tripping on his long jacket as he did. He pushed his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose, giving Vash one final glance. The rain was beginning to pick up, allowing Roderich some cover as he swiftly removed himself from the boy's presence. He watched from the branches of a near by tree as the fairy began to stir.

The last time Vash had experienced a headache this awful was the morning after his fourteenth birthday. Fourteen being the legal drinking age for Fairies. Vash had gone out, alone, to one of the local bars after handing in his military application earlier that day. After almost emptying his wallet, and somehow making his way back home, Vash awoke the next morning on the bathroom floor. He had himself propped up against the wall of the bathtub, with his legs outstretched in front of the toilet and sink. A small whimper brought Vash's attention to his house-mate's dog sitting at the door. The Pit Bull Terrier gently nudged his foot with her nose before whining yet again and shifting on her feet. Vash brushed a hand through his bangs and smiled at the dog. The beautiful blue-nose pit was the only thing making this house bearable, and would be the only part he would miss once he left.

“It's okay, Rosie Bear, I'm fine...” Vash lifted himself up and extended an arm to pat the gentle creature on the head, only to have his hand pass through her.

Suddenly, Vash was no longer on the bathroom floor. He was in a forest. His smile faded with the image of Rose. It was dark, but new light was breaking it's way through the trees. The air was crisp with rain, silent save for the sound of drops hitting leaves.

That's right. It's been four years since he last saw Rose. He was at war with the Undines, and something attacked him last night. Was attacked the right word though? He quickly examined himself for any signs of new injuries, finding nothing.

I do not wish to kill you.