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purplerose244 · 3 years

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Irrational - Chapter 5: I love you too much

HELLOOOOOOO!!! 🤩🤩

Here comes the fifth day of @spacecampweek with what is probably my favorite fic of the bunch! Little song-fic but not really situation in a normal world AU, where Krel is about to confess his feelings in a special way! 💕💕💕

Enjoy!! 😙

Summary: Prom is here at last, a night of entertainment, of happiness, to celebrate changes and the future. What better moment for Krel to finally express feelings that have been hidden for so long? Time to put those guitar lessons to some use...

Read it on the AO3

It was happening. No more holding back, no more thinking rationally about his chances without concluding a thing. Tonight, everything was going to change.

Prom had turned out to be an absolute oxymoron to walk into, between his deep appreciation for parties and his unsettledness at dealing with other people of different temperatures – or ‘cool’, as they liked to call themselves. Everyone was dancing like crazy, that was very good, and everyone was talking loud about nonsense, that was very not good. Adding to the unpleasantries was the music playing onto the stage, something pulsing yet in a hardly dynamic way. If this was another night, he would have liked to teach these people what real music sounded like and propose himself as a DJ, to properly say goodbye to Arcadia Oaks High. Then again, in another delson he would have not worn these kind of flashy clothes – he had lost the chance to call this a normal night the moment he had exited his house wearing a bow.

There was a lot of movement in the middle of the room, and in the middle some familiar faces. He could spot Jim’s questionable moves while Claire was laughing loudly with red cheeks, he could see Toby doing some robot moves while Darci danced along him, he managed to notice Aja spinning all over, between a super smiling Steve and an extremely radiant Eli.

It looked like they were all having fun, so much fun. Krel wasn’t… not yet.

“Hey Clint.”

He almost snorted at the sudden voice.

“Mary, I know you know my name at this point.”

“Whatever Kurt, whatcha up to?” The queen of the bees appeared in front of him, all sparkly in her pink shock dress. “Hank got all handsy, Dean is being shy, and that cute guy from Arcadia Oaks Academy that snuck in is being difficult. I’m up for some juice and it looks like you’re up to something.” And the queen of gossip too as well. She grinned at him, clearly playful. “Could it be you’ll stop being a wuss, at last? That would be nice!” He didn’t deny it. for a second. Big mistake, her eyes immediately widened, like she got struck by absolute knowledge. “Don’t tell me-”

He covered her mouth, realizing midway there that there was no point, the music was so loud it silenced everything. Despite that, he couldn’t bring her to say it. Not yet.

“Perhaps… maybe.”

Mary’s eyes turned into stars. She quickly wiped his hands off her.

“O-M-G, finally, I’ve been waiting for this for so long! Ha, I knew you were going to be the one to do it, Darci owes me five dollars! So does Logan! Pff, why was everyone betting on the space dork anyway… hey, what’s wrong?” She was perceptive. It happened after knowing each other for a couple of years. “Cheer up Kai.”

He laughed again. His chest felt like it was exploding, but in a good way. Seklos and Gaylen, for how long he had postponed what he was about to do, blaming time, work and consequences? It was terrifying in a way that was almost pleasant. Maybe. Perhaps.

“I am fine.” He swallowed, because of course the moment he had scanned the entire party, he had noticed it right away. Or rather, he had noticed a lack of him. “He… he is not here though.”

“He’s probably still bummed that he got into that accounting college his grumpy dad wants him to go but still doesn’t know about the engineering one.” Krel was holding his breath about that one too. Seamus had promised to be roommates in that case. Was it going to be weird if tonight wasn’t going to turn out the way he wanted? Was he going to be awkward around him? “Alright, I can smell burning thoughts, hashtag stopbeinganerd! You’re telling me you’re going to do it and I wanna know how, where and when, and if you try to chicken out now, I swear I’m gonna smash your precious guitar!” She sure knew how to get him riled up.

For the first time since he had come to this decision, Krel smiled, thinking of the backstage, the phases he had prepared into his head. He looked up, shaking his head.

“I believe that would be counterproductive for my plan.”

Mary’s mouth popped open, and if that wasn’t satisfying.

“No.”

“Kleb yes, I am not holding back.”

“That’s gonna be the bomb but you better don’t swoon anyone else, you dang charmer! I have all boy dates tonight and I wanna keep them focused on me only!” She giggled, patting his shoulder. “Just go for it, okay? You’re cool, even when you’re being a nerd.” It was as good of an encouragement as he could get right now. “Just wait until your dorky prince charming arri- Oh this is too perfect.” She was smirking, so much her makeup was scrunching up a little.

Krel didn’t have to turn around to know. He did it anyway.

What a view. This prince really wasn’t above physical appearance as he had first thought when he had arrived in Arcadia, powered by his absolute intellect, rationality, and general annoyance towards social interactions with amoebas. It had taken him a while, a whole while, to accept that even someone like him could get this soft inside.

Give then right time, and the right person.

Seamus was radiant, with the black jacket and the blue tie, with the polished shoes and the pulled back hair. From the relaxed eyes the discussion with his dad must had ended without a punishment, and he was actually smiling. Everything, he was so absolutely everything it made Krel choke up.

Mary was arching an eyebrow, although she most likely know what was going on. The prince swallowed, almost choking again, trying to keep his composure as usual.

Failing.

“… and… and you are absolutely sure…?”

“What in the world, Ken, yes! Yes he is completely head over heels for you, yes if you confess you bet your perfect grades he’s gonna reciprocate, yes the moment he will hear what you’ve prepared for him he might as well take a ring out of his pocket and propose in the middle of the dance room!” He grabbed his shoulders, shaking him a little. “You two are the absolute worst! C-bomb has actual guts to ask Jimmy Jam out, Darci and her Tobypie went for it naturally, even Steve is an idiot sometimes but not at dating and Aj and Eli practically gravitate around him! But you!!” She grabbed his collar, her stellar eyes turning into black holes. “You two are pining messes that I’m absolutely done with! So, I swear, Krel Tarron, if you don’t get on that stage and finally confess, you won’t have to make plans for college because this will be your last dance. Ever.” She could had stopped the threat at his actual name. That alone would have done it. Mary gave him the ‘I’m watching you gesture’, before backing down into the crowd without getting her eyes off.

Krel swallowed, nodded, watching her disappear into the party. Despite the dread of being murdered in cold blood being quite intense and even impressive, it was quickly washed away, as soon as Seamus looked at his direction with those blue eyes of him. There it was, that urge, that need to impress him somehow. It was their thing, the fulcrum of their rivalry that hadn’t stopped, even after years. The need to make the other break their mask of pride and turn it into amazement.

Bold enough, the prince grinned, winking at him. The way the blonde gaped warmed his heart. Was that pink on his cheeks? The lights were too strong and colorful, it was hard to tell.

Was it important? Not really. It was now or never.

Making his way towards the stage was a challenge itself, luckily his dancing skills were not to be ignored and swirling around these random kids was pretty easy and entertaining. The band was playing a pretty energetic movement, there was a keyboard player going absolutely nuts and a drummer doing their best. There was definitely something that could had been done to improve the whole performance – perhaps a few remixes on a DJ board, just saying –, but they were really into it. It almost felt bad going up there and show his own abilities.

Then again, Krel didn’t care.

He had a mission. With that determination in mind he immediately went behind the curtains of the stage, finding familiar locks of blue hair monitoring the situation. Having Douxie as the responsible one was still unusual, even though the ripped off pants and the numerous studs all over his suit were more likely. It probably wasn’t enough for him, he was tapping his foot over and over.

Krel cleared his voice, the older one turned, turning the frown into a smile.

“Krel, how’re you liking the show?” He snorted.

“Fine…” He really couldn’t help himself, it was too easy. “Would be better with some metal rock in it.” The smile was gone. Krel snorted again.

“Really, you’re going to put salt on it like that? Zoe already gives me a hard time because I didn’t get the Ash Dispersal Pattern to play here, don’t you get in the way too!” He turned to the band with a frown, shaking it. “‘Your music might not be a good example for the students’, fuzzbuckets, how old do you think these kids are?? Besides, how is techno a better alternative? Those moppets, I swear…” He muttered something under his breath, a curse most likely, then he sighed. “Alright, I’m fine. Extremely salty, but nothing a drink can solve later. I’m guessing you’re here to ask me something?” Perceptive. All of his friends had to be with him.

“Something like that, yeah…” He breathed in and breathed out, he was absolutely going for it but it didn’t make any of this easier for him. “Alright, I need a favor?”

Douxie smirked, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Oh yeah? You need a favor from this random guy who got nominated supervisor as cold comfort for not having his band play tonight? Little old me?” He snickered, shaking his head. “Should have thought before you came here to mock, shouldn’t ya?”

“Hisirdoux…”

“Nope, can’t let this one go, I’m out of patience tonight and I need to get at least one gratification. How about you apologize to me? I’ll even help, start with ‘You are the best guitarist I’ve ever known’ and… whoa, wait, what are you doing?” Was it a bluff? Krel was bowing already, but perhaps his brain was messed up tonight. “Dude, how are you actually doing it? What is this favor all about?” Oh. Right. He was the most prideful person on the planet. He had almost forgot.

Krel straightened up, shrugging a little. From the tone of the current song, it seemed that this band was almost done. He peaked from behind the curtain. Seamus was talking with Steve, giggling a little. The prince couldn’t help clenching his hand around the shirt over his chest. Ah, he wanted this, he wanted all of this.

He felt a familiar wave of warm. He turned back to the guitarist, and Douxie was gaping, blinking several times. It was probably clear.

“I want to make an exhibition.” His honey eyes widened.

“… yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“… alright then.” Douxie smiled, pointing at the backstage with his head. “Prepare yourself Lover Boy, I’m announcing you right after this.” If it wasn’t to preserve what was left of his pride, Krel would have hugged him. “Is it DJ Kleb time?”

Krel moved a few steps towards the back. He stopped.

“No,” He turned to the guitarist, smirking. “It is Krel time.”

***

“Alright, give it up for ‘The Raise of the Titans’! Amazing performance you guys, can’t wait to properly see you on Wednesday!” Douxie always looked confident on stage, he was born to have the attention of a public. It was something he and Krel had in common. Right now though, there was only one look the prince wanted all for himself. “Hope you’re having a blast tonight! How’s prom going?” A cheer followed. “That’s great, because we have a special exhibition right now. A special song, for a special someone! Give it up for Krel Tarron!”

The wood under his feet made a sound after every step, it was drowned by the voiced in the crowd. It made him smile thinking how many people were going to be surprised by his presence, his appearance, and especially him appearing with a guitar instead of his beloved keyboard. There was a single stool in the middle of the place, with a microphone already adjusted for his high. He thought that really needed to thank Douxie after this, for everything, as he sat down with the instrument on his lap. He had accorded it while he was in the backstage, but out of habit he did it again, the sound reverberating into his mind. It was like a reality check, a call to the place, as he finally looked up to the public.

Aja looked close to crying, absolutely overjoyed. Mary was smirking so much her cheek looked like it was being pulled. Steve looked absolutely astonished. Toby was grinning impossibly wide. Eli had his glasses shining and a bit smile. Jim had amazed eyes over him. Claire looked ecstatic. Darci was giving him a thumbs up. Everyone was there, everyone.

And then there was him. Him, adorably confused and starstruck.

Krel grinned. I hope you are ready for this, you math blonde.

“This song is for a dear person to me. I have never been able to express my feelings properly before. I have never been particularly good at.” He let another note fill his silence, it made him smile again. “But I will not shy away from it, not anymore. I went through everything with you, high school, my problems, your problems, math and space and everything between,” There was no doubt, not anymore. “I want to go beyond now.”

His mind was peaceful, his body was burning. It felt like he had never been more alive before. His fingers knew what to do, that song was a part of him. He just took a deep breath, and let the music take over.

I love you too much

To leave without you loving me back

I love you too much

Heaven’s my witness and this is a fact

I know I belong, when I sing this song

There’s love above love and it’s ours

‘cause I love you too much

It used to be just him, his mind, and his sister. Them against the world, with a mother that wanted her to be proper, with a father that wanted him not to be him. Everything had turned out so badly at first without them, and so not badly after, to the point he had managed to make an actual life away from Cantaloupia. Then, the escape had become home. Then, it he had become the place where he had met the only guy that was ever going to make him feel.

It used to be just him, his mind, and his sister. Now it was him and his sister, friends and family, a home and the world, and so many feelings in between. This was the right place, this was the right time, this was the right guy.

It used to be just him, his mind, and his sister. Now he could hardly imagine himself without the blonde in the picture, the one that could cloud his mind and fill his heart.

I live for your touch

I whisper your name night after night

I love you too much

There’s only one feeling and I know it’s right

I know I belong, when I sing this song

There’s love above love and it’s ours

‘cause I love you too much

The two of them weren’t the easiest people to deal with, their lives weren’t the easiest lives to deal with. It had been because of a cruel game of destiny or a lucky shot from faith that they had found each other, Krel at Seamus’ door whenever he felt like he didn’t matter, and Seamus at Krel’s whenever he felt like exploding? Was it bad that in their worst some of their sweetest moments together were born? Was it bad that overwise they might had not become this much of friends?

They were living in a world that was cruel and unforgiving, with people even less likely to welcome them. Krel liked to think that by knowing each other, they had managed to overcome that obstacle, and meet also the people that were fine. That were okay.

They were okay. He was okay.

He had never forgotten that one moment of them, not once.

Heaven knows your name I’ve been praying

To have you come here by my side

Without you a part of me is missing

Just to make you my own, I will fight

The song was a tragically familiar one. During the worst of his pining, when he thought he was never going to be good enough for him, when he thought that he didn’t deserve to feel something this pure and breathtaking, this had always been the song. Shannon had taught him the first notes after she had gifted him the guitar after a curious sequence of events, and then Douxie had taken over teaching him all he had needed to know. It was all so familiar now he hardly had to think about how to move, where to put his fingers, if it was too strong or just okay. It was cheesy in a way he never thought he could possibly be, with feelings he never thought he could have.

Aja had always listened from her room, he knew she had even though she had never said it, because before going to sleep the same delson she had always come to hug him. Mary had always told him that playing a love song to cure his – stupid – pained heart seemed a little counterproductive. Maybe she was right. But even if everything was to end tonight, he didn’t care.

He liked love. He loved love. He loved Seamus.

I know I belong

When I sing this song

There’s love above love and it’s ours

‘cause I love you too much

Caught by the sudden burst into his chest Krel stood up, almost making his stool fall down. He didn’t care. Right there the crowd’s cheering came to his ears, and despite how much he wanted to scan the place and look for that familiar strawberry blonde mane in between, he forced himself not to. Not yet, not until he said everything, not until he was sure he had delivered everything he had inside. He shushed his mind and let the rest of his body sing.

I love you too much!

I love you too much

Heaven’s my witness and this is a fact

You live in my soul, your heart is my goal

There’s love above love and it’s mine, ‘cause I love you

There’s love above love and it’s yours, ‘cause I love you

There’s love above love and it’s ours, if you love me…

… as much

When the last note left his instrument, an urge to cry mixed to an absolute pride took over. He did it, he actually did it. In his mind the song was still echoing, beautifully in the open as it was always supposed to be played. He was drained and so, so happy.

Then, as his head finally allowed in something other than exhaustion, it finally hit him the amount of people that was watching, and how crazy there were going with that applause. It was reverberating all over, he was surprised he noticed it only now. Steve was holding onto Eli and Aja, every single one of them looked close to tears. Mary was shouting something to one of her current dates, pointing at the stage then back at her, probably something like “I know him, he’s my friend, he’s cool because I’m cool, good old Kevin”. Toby was jumping up and down, with Darci laughing and applauding. Jim and Claire were holding onto each other, clapping with fervor. It was good, everything was so good right now.

Finally, Krel allowed himself to look.

Right then, his hear broke.

He wasn’t there. Seamus wasn’t there anymore. No blue tie around, no lock of blonde hair, no red freckles in sight. There was no way this prince couldn’t find him, so…

He left. He didn’t stay for him. He didn’t.

“How about that, huh?? Krel Tarron, everyone!!” Suddenly Douxie was by his side, Krel didn’t look at him. It hurt. He thought it wasn’t going to matter, but it hurt. “He will be all over you for autographs and junk later, let him rest for a moment, and welcome the next exhibition of the night!” His arm was onto his shoulders. Krel didn’t move. He didn’t want to. Then he got a squeeze, and he looked up out of pure instinct. Douxie was still smirking, like his heart hadn’t just gotten smashed against the solid ground of the ballroom. He pointed to the exist and Krel, sighing, obeyed.

He crossed the next couple of performers, who patted his back telling him how good he had been. It didn’t feel like a proud moment anymore. It felt like a waste. The guitar was hanging onto him by the lace, luckily, he would have forgotten it on the stage overwise. Krel sighed, putting the instrument down as soon as he was behind the curtains. He could deal with this.

He didn’t want to, but he could. He just needed some time to-

His hold was callous and warm. The prince knew it so well he almost didn’t have to turn. He did. Seamus had his entire face flushed. He looked outstanding.

“Come with me.” His voice was low, almost fearful, and Krel could do nothing other than follow his lead. He was dragged along as they were staying as far away from the crowd as possible, going for the exit. If anyone had noticed them, Krel was sure Steve or Mary would have taken care of them. As soon as they were out of the room, it was silence. The school looked almost dormant like this, without lights around, the abandoned lockers circling the corridors.

It was going to be one of the last times, in this special place.

There was little time for that kind of nostalgia, as they didn’t walk for long anyway. Seamus seemed in a hurry, he was moving forward without a single word. It almost made the prince fear that he had gone too far and had made him mad. Some more uncharacteristic apologies brushed his lips, at least as a precaution, no matter how weird it was going to be.

They died into his throat as soon as he was pressed against the wall. The echo of the music was gone. There were only those impossible blue eyes getting closer and closer and-

Krel would have laughed. He would have laughed in any other occasion, because this guy was rough and prideful and used to be really bad at dealing with his anger issues. Yet he kissed with the outmost gentleness, like he was genuinely afraid of breaking him, like he was terrified that at any point something was going to wake them up from this dream. Krel wanted to hold onto this dream. He held onto him, hands reaching for his shoulders, then up into his hair. They were not fluffy at all. Again, he would have laughed if he wasn’t this overwhelmed by the fact that this was happening, that Seamus was kissing him and it was happening. The hold onto his mane must had woken up the blonde, as he moved forward with urge, breathing in and taking more.

It was marvelous. It was uncertain and clumsy and they were both really inexperienced at this, and it was marvelous. Slowly the timing was getting clearer for the both of them, because despite pride and their social skills they were instead really good at learning and understanding. The rhythm drowned them both, and it almost made Krel forget he had lungs. It got him there, the urge for air, and he let out almost a strangled noise when he got out of one last kiss.

Seamus was panting just as hard, if not harder, his pupils blown. Krel had never seen him like this, it was a whole new side. He wanted to know it. He really wanted this.

“Sea-”

“Shut it.” Another kiss that made him hum, it was sweeter than before. He almost forgot the words. When he tried to talk again Seamus promptly kissed him again. He completely forgot the words. “You said more than enough, now it’s my turn.” The blonde was smiling of that beautiful smile again. “I’m gonna make every single word count.” His hand went over his hair, caressing his brown locks like they were precious treasures to keep. The urge to cry came back.

Along with another desire, that made Krel come back to his senses and smirk.

Once again, rivalry.

“Aren’t you an overachiever?” Seamus hummed questioning, brushing their noses together. It was too good, the prince giggled. “There are exactly 212 words into my song.” It was too perfect. This wasn’t an out of the world experience, this was the natural consequence of their relationship. Seamus was holding him, and he really didn’t want to be anywhere else.

The blonde seemed taken back by his words, for almost a full second, only to laugh. He brought him even closer, breathing against his lips.

The world disappeared. Prom could wait.

“Better start counting then.” He lunged forward, a quick press closer to a caress. “One,” Another one, deeper but still quick, that made Krel naturally lean back. “Two…” This time it was proper, making him decide that he didn’t really need his mind right now. There was no issue, no invention in standby, no math problem to solve. He could allow himself this. “Three.” He could take every single part of him, as a reward in a way, as a present even more. Without a single remorse Krel laced his arms around his neck, deepening every following kiss.

They stopped counting after nine.

#space camp #space camp week #toa space camp #kreamus #krel x seamus #krel tarron #seamus johnson #toa #tales of arcadia #toa 3below #3below #toa fic #toa fanfiction #fanfiction #toa kreamus

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shotgun--rider · 4 years

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Fake It Till You Make It - One

A Sam x Reader Series

PART ONE

Y/N knows it’s a bad idea to try telling her family that she’s dating Sam Winchester. But it’s just for the week of her sister’s wedding, and it’s all fake anyway. What could go wrong?

Word Count: 3600

Warnings: plus size! Reader, background Destiel for a hot sec, fatphobic comments, Y/N’s family are demons

A/N: Has this trope probably been done five million times? Yes. Am I about to do it again? Yes.

Your cellphone rang and you grimaced, rolling your eyes as you took in Dean’s all-too-amused expression. Your best friend may have thought your situation was the funniest thing he’d ever heard, but that didn’t mean you were of the same opinion.

“What?” you snapped out, not bothering to read the caller ID. Who else would be calling you for the fifth time in as many hours?

“Well that’s not a very nice way to greet your mother.”

Here you went again, the same thing over and over. You pinched the bridge of your nose and sighed. “What do you want now, Mom?”

Bent over something under Baby’s hood, Dean snorted, shamelessly listening to your half of the conversation. He could probably hear your mother too, you thought wryly. The woman was certainly loud enough.

“Well, listen, honey,” your mother began. “I was just talking to Jimmy...you remember Jimmy? From down the street, you used to--”

“Yes, Mom, I remember Jimmy.” you said tiredly. “Why do we care about Jimmy?” Please don’t say what I think you’re going to say.

“For the wedding! I just asked, and Jimmy agreed to come with you.”

You let out an alarmed noise before you could stop yourself. “Mom, no.” you said firmly, with an undercurrent of panic at the thought of being trailed around by awkward Jimmy for a week. “I know it’s hard to imagine,” you drawled sarcastically, “but the vows will still be successful if I’m there without a plus one. Not like I’m the one getting married, you know.”

Still focused on the Impala, Dean’s shoulders were shaking with suppressed laughter. You seized the apple core you’d been munching on earlier and chucked it at him, feeling marginally better when it bounced off of his back.

“Y/N L/N! You should be a little more grateful. Besides, have you even thought about how it’s going to look to Dick if you show up alone?”

“I don’t care,” you said automatically. “He’s a dick, pun absolutely intended.”

“He’s marrying your sister.”

“At least it’s not me.”

“That miserable attitude is exactly why you’re going to die alone, young lady,” your mother snipped. “You could at least make an effort. Maybe if you just lost some weight--”

“Yeah, okay Mom.” You hung up the phone before she could get another word in, immediately flopping back onto Dean’s front lawn in defeat. “If I ever get married, it’s going to be in Vegas with Elvis, and nobody is going to know about it.” Not that you would. Given your complete inability to keep a boyfriend for longer than two months and your habit of getting hung up on guys who were completely out of your league, marriage, or a relationship of any kind didn’t seem to be in the cards.

“Who’s Jimmy?” Dean’s green eyes were sparkling with mischief, and you let out a groan, smoothing out the skirt of your sundress as you sat back up to answer him.

“Straight-laced, awkward, kind of greasy. Went to high school with me.” You wrinkled your nose. “My mother is really scraping the bottom of the barrel. She’d throw a fit if I actually tried to bring him home. But apparently Jimmy is a better temporary solution than being single while my sister marries my ex.” You trailed off into silence, your hand pulling absently at a few strands of grass in your best friend’s front lawn. “Maybe I should just rent a boyfriend to shut her up. That’s a thing, right? Like a non-sexual escort.”

“If you’re going to the trouble, you should also get the sex,” Dean returned, still smirking at you as he wiped grease off his hands. “Or you could take me. I would make the best fake boyfriend. And I’m free if you feed me.”

You rolled your eyes at him, laughing at the mental image. “My mom knows you have a boyfriend,” you sighed. “Which, believe me, is a great source of sadness to her every single day.”

Dean laughed loudly, both of you glancing toward the house as the screen door swung open. “Maybe we broke up,”

“Well, she still doesn’t understand the concept of bisexuality, so as far as she’s concerned, you’d still be gay.” You rolled your eyes, long since over your mother’s narrow-minded opinions.

“Who’s gay?” Castiel inquired vaguely, making his way over to the flowerbeds.

“Dean is,” you pointed out helpfully, prompting a wide-eyed stare from Cas.

“Really? Dean, you should have told me!”

When you’d first met Dean’s new boyfriend, he’d been stiff and absolutely useless at sarcasm. It was always nice to see yours and Dean’s combined efforts working.

“D’you want me to ask Sammy?”

You were still laughing at Cas’s antics, and snapped your head back to Dean so fast that you were positive something popped in your neck. “W-what?”

“I can ask Sam if he’s free that week,” Dean repeated, looking at you like he thought you were stupid. “If you want,”

You blinked, irrational panic running through you at the thought of Dean’s younger, perfect, brother.

“It’ll shut your mom up,” Dean went on, oblivious. “Sammy wouldn’t mind.”

“Dean, I barely ever see Sam,” you protested after an awkward pause. A fact that was quite devastating, actually, not that you’d ever admit to your hopeless crush on the younger Winchester.

Your best friend and his boyfriend shared a look. “That’s because he’s a hopeless do-gooder on top of being a hotshot lawyer,” Dean said fondly. “But I bet we could talk him out of taking a bunch of free cases for a week,”

Walking into your sister’s wedding with Sam Winchester on your arm sounded like a disaster waiting to happen. On the other hand, it would shut your mother up. She’d been vocal in her fears of you dying alone since you’d been barely out of college, sending you links to weight-loss workout videos and advertising her fixer-upper daughter to single men in the grocery store for years. Sam’s presence might even serve to stave off comments about your weight, which seemed to be the family’s second-favorite discussion topic any time they were together.

Still, that meant pretending Sam Winchester was your boyfriend for a week, which just seemed like some masochistic form of self inflicted torture. Besides, if even you knew Sam would never go for a girl like you, how in the world were you supposed to sell it to your nosy, skeptical family?

“I was mostly kidding about the whole fake boyfriend thing, Dean,” you said wearily, not wanting to devote any more thought to the idea.

Dean shrugged easily, sharing one more pointed look with Cas before refocusing on you. “Fair enough. You’re still staying for dinner, though, right?”

You’d have to be crazy to turn down one of Dean’s steaks. “Obviously.”

“Great,” he returned brightly. “I think Charlie’s coming.”

You were going to kill Dean. And Cas too, potentially, though it was entirely possible that he’d genuinely just been too preoccupied with his backyard beehive to remember the full extent of his boyfriend’s dinner plans. Because, apparently, “Charlie’s coming” actually meant, “Charlie and also Sam are coming.”

It only took about five minutes for Dean to bring up your mother’s nonsense, prompting you to consider just face planting into the mashed potatoes in embarrassment while Charlie burst out laughing. She thought the whole thing was unbelievably hilarious, and had immediately offered herself up as a fake date. The offer was well meant, you knew, but you were only trying to get your mother to shut up, not disown you for bringing home a girlfriend.

“I don’t need a date,” you finally huffed out, irritated with the whole thing. “I’m perfectly capable of showing up by myself. It’s not like anyone’s going to have anything to say about it that I haven’t already heard.” It was true. Your mother, and you sister and all of your aunts and uncles, for that matter, had been making the same jabs at your weight and relationship status for the past decade. You were used to it by now.

“Doesn’t mean you should have to hear it,” Charlie shrugged. “If we’re too gay for your mother, get somebody else.”

“I tried to tell her Sammy would do it,” Dean put in unhelpfully, elbowing his brother, who had been silent up until this point. You contemplated kicking him under the table.

“Poor Sam does not need to be subjected to my family for no good reason,” you said firmly, hoping that would be the end of it.

Sam was studying you across the table. “Or you could just ask me,” he said finally, and you felt your face heat up as you realized you’d basically been speaking for him.

“Yes!” Charlie burst out before you could come up with a reply. “Sam doesn’t mind, do you, Sam?”

Too late, you realized Charlie was the real villain in all of this. Your old roommate, after all, was the one who knew about your little crush. You wondered if it was worth running the risk of trying to kick her under the table without hitting Cas, who thus far had remained off of your hit list.

Sam cleared his throat roughly, looking between you, Charlie, and his plate. “No, I don’t--I mean, I don’t think Y/N really--”

“No, I do,” you blurted out, scrunching up your face immediately after the words left your lips. I do? I do? Since when? And what was it about Sam fucking Winchester that always made you act like a complete idiot?

Dean was smirking at you across the table, and you idly wondered what would happen if you tried egging Baby.

“Oh,” Sam brought you back out of your thoughts, looking hesitantly pleased. “Well, I just wrapped my latest case up, so I don’t mind coming up with you for that week. If you want.”

“Are you sure?” you bit your lip. There were a lot of emotions vying for your attention, but the dominating one was concern for Sam’s wellbeing. He had no idea what he was trying to agree to.

Sam sighed, staring you down with those hazel eyes. “Y/N, you’re basically family. Of course I’m sure. You just worry about the maid of honor stuff, and I’ll watch your back. Okay?”

This was a significantly softer ending to dinner than you’d expected, but you couldn’t deny the warm feeling that rushed up inside you at his words. I’ll watch your back. Pretty much no one in your life had ever done anything of the sort, until you met Charlie, and, through her, the Winchesters. You’d known Dean for months before you finally met Sam, and of course he was perfect.

It was easy with Dean, since he’d been the big brother you’d never had from day one. Sure, he wasn’t bad looking (seriously those boys won some kind of genetic lottery, you swore) but it just wasn’t like that. And then Sam had shown up and he was six and a half feet of walking perfection.

And now he was smiling reassuringly at you across the dinner table, having just agreed to pose as your completely fake boyfriend in front of your god awful family. Well, at least you’d be able to pinpoint the exact moment your life went completely sideways, if you ever had to look back.

Two anxiety-filled weeks later found you in Sam’s car, because subjecting his long legs to your tiny vehicle for a seven hour drive just seemed like cruel and unusual punishment. You were driving at his insistence, and Sam was in the passenger seat with a legal pad on his legs like he thought he was going to take notes.

“Sam,” you whined out, “is this really necessary? Can’t we just... you know, lie?” Since the whole thing is a big fat giant lie anyway.

Sam raised an eyebrow at you, and it just wasn’t fair how sexy that made him look. “Y/N, you’re the one that kept trying to warn me about getting cross examined by your mother,”

“Such a lawyer,” you huffed. “Okay, fine, you’re right. Let’s write our fake love story,” You batted your eyelashes at him exaggeratedly, punching a surprised laugh out of Sam. He watched your antics in amusement for a moment, and then refocused, absently playing with a pen in his long fingers.

“Okay, how did we meet?”

You cocked your head to one side. “My mom knows who you are,” you explained. “Vaguely, but she knows you’re Dean’s brother. We can just tell them how we actually met and stuff,”

Sam smirked at you. “You tell your mother about me?”

You made a face at him, smacking his arm as the heat of embarrassment suffused your entire body. “Just in passing, don’t go getting a big head. Well,” you made a show of studying him, “a bigger head,”

He looked affronted, running a hand briefly through his hair. “Okay, fine, we met because of Dean. Where did I take you on our first date?”

“Why did you have to take me out? What if I took you out?” You were mostly arguing for the sake of arguing, trying to keep yourself from thinking too hard as you imagined a fake life with Sam that had never happened and never would. He thought of you as family, he’d said as much, and you had to remember that.

“Because I had been waiting forever to ask you out, and I had all the good date ideas saved up,” Sam answered immediately.

“O-okay,” you said hesitantly, jarred by the conviction in his statement. But that was the point, wasn’t it? You were trying to sell it, and Sam was obviously a good actor. And unfairly attractive. And kind. And...and oh god. Your fingers gripped the steering wheel harder as you thought about the unexpected trial he hadn’t signed up for. “Sam, can you golf?”

He shrugged. “I know how it’s supposed to work. I’m just...not that good at actually getting the balls in the holes.”

If Dean were here, he would have taken that opportunity to make a lewd joke. As it was, you just winced. “My dad is going to force you to go golfing,” you explained tiredly. “I should have thought of that, I’m sorry, I--”

“It’s no big deal, Y/N,” Sam assured you easily. “I don’t mind. Besides, I want to meet your dad,”

You blinked at him, almost missing a turn in the process. “You actually want to meet my family? Sam, they’re terrible. Well, my dad’s probably the least awful of the bunch. Mostly he just hides. But Ruby will definitely try hitting on you, even though she’s supposed to be getting married, and Dick will try hitting on everything with legs, which is just gross, and Gramma Lilith is gonna give you the speech about how you could do so much better, and my Uncle Az is going to start Googling you and making weird threats, probably…” you trailed off in a huff. “It could be worse, I guess. At least if Uncle Fergus shows up everybody’ll start yelling at him instead. One can hope. He’s pretty harmless,” you shrugged, “if sometimes high. And my mother will probably just stick to the usual fat girl comments, so…”

Sam’s quiet laughter at your descriptions trailed off. “Y/N, you know there’s nothing wrong with you, right?”

You just shrugged again, deflecting. “Oh, come on, Sam, you don’t have to pretend like you think I’m a size two or something,”

“I’m...not,” Sam sounded genuinely confused, and you risked a glance over at him in the passenger seat. Oddly enough, he didn’t look like he was lying. Huh. “I think you’re beautiful.”

You didn’t want to have to pretend not to be affected by that, and this was maybe the first time in your life you’d actually been grateful to see the turnoff for your family’s old estate. “Here we go,” you narrated a little shakily. “It’s a big house,” you warned, still smiling a little at the way Sam’s eyes widened.

It had been a given that the wedding would take place at your Aunt Abaddon’s old estate house, which no one was quite sure how she’d acquired and which no one questioned. The only fun of the house was watching people’s reactions on the rare occasion that you brought someone here.

“I’ll get the bags,” Sam said vacantly, still staring at the house, and you chuckled softly, getting out of the car in a rush. You couldn’t explain it, but it felt important that you got to your family before Sam did, to put yourself between them, though at this point you weren’t quite sure who was being shielded from whom.

You smoothed down the little sundress you’d decided to wear, grabbing your small duffel out of the backseat and hastily going up the front walk, Sam still rummaging in the trunk.

“Y/N!” Ruby opened the front door to meet you, her smile already insincere and condescending. “You’re late. We thought you weren’t coming.” She glanced behind you briefly, then smirked. “And you’re alone. I mean I figured you wouldn’t actually find a plus one, but you know you’re gonna owe me for the meal--”

“Got everything?”

Oh thank god for Sam Winchester. You smiled tightly at your older sister, glancing briefly at your shoulder to reassure yourself that Sam was there. He was, holding a bag in each hand and a pleasant smile on his face. It was totally his false courtroom smile, but Ruby didn’t have to know that. “Ruby, this is...my boyfriend. Sam.”

Ruby blinked long eyelashes at him, processing. You figured she was torn between insulting you and flirting with him, and, as expected, the flirting won out. “Hi, Sam,” she purred. “I can’t wait to get to know you a little better,”

“Right,” Sam said flatly. “Well, I can’t wait to put these bags down, so…”

Something in Ruby’s expression soured as she looked at him, and her hand fell away from the doorframe as she stepped back, letting you both into the house. You lost no time in ducking past her, Sam right behind you.

“There’s rooms on the second floor,” Ruby said quietly, then, “I’m up there too, just in case you get bored...”

“Great,” Sam returned, and he shifted both of the bags into one hand to put a hand on your back as you walked toward the staircase. You shivered at the touch, exhaling the frustration that was already tensing your shoulders, and started up the stairs. God, it hadn’t even been five minutes. How were you supposed to get through a whole week of this?

Sam’s warm breath on your ear startled you, and he whispered, “So, third floor?”

You turned to catch him with a mischievous spark in his hazel eyes, and nodded quickly, a little smile pulling up the corners of your mouth as you started toward the second staircase with a new energy in your step.

“Hurry your fat ass, Y/N!” you heard Ruby shriek from somewhere below. “Everyone’s already out in the garden,”

You blew out your breath, hastily swinging open the first door you saw. The room was mercifully unoccupied, with a queen bed in the middle of the room and not much in the way of decoration. Your Aunt Abaddon had always been pretty minimalist.

Sam shut the door behind you both, setting the bags down in a line at the foot of the bed.

“I can sleep on the floor,” you said quickly, figuring that it was best to get that out of the way as quickly as possible. “I’m the one that got you into this, so--”

He turned to face you with a quizzical expression. “Why would you...Y/N, you didn’t get me into anything. I said I wanted to be here. If you’re not comfortable, I’ll sleep on the floor,”

“No,” you sighed out, defeated. “Ruby’ll probably try barging in here anyway. I don’t think she believes you’re dating someone like me. We’re adults,” you went on with more confidence than you felt, “we can share,”

Sam’s brow furrowed adorably. Stop that. “Someone like you?” He moved to stand in front of you, one hand sliding very gently along your upper arm. “She doesn’t think I’d go for someone that’s funny and clever and really pretty?”

Something in your chest eased at his words, and, before your malfunctioning brain could stop you, you leaned forward to rest your forehead against his solid chest. “Thanks. She’s a bitch,” you mumbled into his shirt.

Sam’s hand migrated to gently rub over your back. “I’m beginning to get that impression,”

You stood there for a few more moments, letting yourself breathe within the safety of Sam’s arms, and then you straightened up and shook yourself. “Alright, boyfriend, ready to go meet the rest of the firing squad?”

He smiled down at you. “Whatever you say, honey bunch.”

You grimaced, but it got a laugh out of you, which you supposed had been his goal. “Absolutely not.”

“Cutie pie? Boo bear?”

“Stop it,” you threw a mock glare over your shoulder, opening the bedroom door.

“Okay, darlin’,” Sam murmured, and somehow that one sat better than all the rest. “I’ve got your back, remember?”

You smiled back at him, letting him slide his hand in yours for the show, and you braced yourself to head back downstairs and deal with the full force of your family.

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam x reader #x reader #reader insert #spn #series

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coffeecomicsgalore · 4 years

Text

For the Love of a Chat

NOTES: Had to finish the story with a long winded chapter! Sorry guys. I hope you enjoy!

Ao3

Chapter 31 - Time travel

Ladybug and Chat Noir bounced out of Marinette’s bedroom, making their way to the area the akuma was last seen. Lost Time was hanging out at Lycée Carnot when he called out for the victim he wanted.

“Where are you, ma chère Marinette?

“Marinette?” Ladybug questioned quietly as they perched silently on the building nearest to their high school. “What does he want with me?”

“Are you sure it’s for you, milady? Maybe it’s for another Marinette.”

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng!” He drawled out. Ladybug stared at Chat with an eye roll and Chat pursed his lips in a bit of protective haste.

“Who is that and why is he calling for you?”

Ladybug stared at the akuma for a long moment to figure out who the akuma could have been. Trying to denote the features and build, she gasped as one person came to mind.

“Jules?”

Chat was about to question who this Jules-person was but Ladybug beat him to it. “He’s in my art program. He’s been flirting with me and I’ve been trying to stop it without being rude, never giving in to what he was saying because of being in love with you and all. He did ask me out once, but I turned him down as gently as I could.” She looked over to Chat and Chat’s eyes were narrowed and filled with a bit of jealousy. “Knock it off. I didn’t want to date him and as you can see, I’m with you.”

Chat’s ears drooped and he knew she was right. “Sorry.”

She placed a caring hand on his wrist. “Hey. It’s alright, Chat. Let’s focus on the akuma, okay?” When Chat smiled and nodded in agreement, she turned back to stare at the akuma. “But why? Why is he acting like this all of a sudden?”

“You rather hang out with a cat than spend time with me?” Lost Time laughed bitterly. “Why don’t you show your face to me. Then I can show you how to have a real good time.”

Both Ladybug and Chat smacked their foreheads and groaned.

“I’m surprised Alya didn’t say anything to me when we talked earlier.”

“Nino didn’t message me either to see if I had seen the photo. It must have happened over the last few hours or so when we were... you know” He waggled his brows.

Ladybug continued and ignored Chat’s false inuendo. “Either that, or someone placed it on social media before Alya found out about it and that’s how he found out.”

“But then that means people are going to think you’re dating Chat Noir.

“Even though I am....” She added with a wink and a flick to his bell. “Well, whatever the reasoning, we have a lot to figure out so we don’t expose you, Chat.”

“Yay...” He said sarcastically. “Alright, LB. What’s the plan?”

“Well, I’m going to need you to bring me there... as Marinette.”

“Ladybug, no. I can’t.

“It’s okay. I trust you to protect me, okay?”

Chat gave her a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll protect you. I promise.”

Ladybug detransformed and Marinette stood in her place. “Okay, Chat. He’s going to be angry at you, so you’ll need to drop me down somewhere below and I’ll walk over to him. Keep close to me in the shadows and if something seems wrong, come get me. I won’t know where the akuma is hiding until I get closer. He doesn’t seem very irrational, at least, not right now. We’ll see in a bit.”

Chat dropped her down to the alleyway. When she felt okay enough to move forward, she nodded at Chat to hide. She meekly popped her head out of the alleyway and made her way to Lost Time.

“Jules?” Marinette called out, nervously.

“Marinette!” He announced, happily. Marinette walked closer to him; her hands were clutched to her heart to act like it was out of fear. “Please do not be scared. I won’t hurt you.”

Marinette finally reached him, her eyes constantly searching for an object that didn’t make sense to his wardrobe. She noticed he was wearing all black, numbers and empty clock ticks scattered all over his clothes in neon greens, purples, and yellows. His eyes were covered in translucent green shades, while his hands were covered with purple gloves. The only thing that stood out was a silver watch on his wrist.

“Jules? What happened. Why are you like this?”

His demeanor changed from happy to angry. “I’m not Jules. I’m Lost Time.” He started. “You. You broke my heart, Marinette. I have been flirting with you, talking with you, even asking you out, and yet you go out with that mangy tom cat? What does he have that I don’t?”

“Chat Noir took me out dancing because I was upset. But he is my best friend and he surprised me. Please, Jules. There’s nothing to be upset about.”

“Lies!” He screamed causing Marinette to take a step back. “I saw you dancing with him. I saw you holding him the way you did. I saw that you almost kissed him if it wasn’t for the fireworks scaring you apart. Don’t you dare lie to me with that nonsense. I. Saw. You! The pictures on Instagram don’t lie.”

Okay, so she was definitely going to have to wheedle her way out of this one somehow. But this also meant that she couldn’t date Adrien publicly right away until this entire mess is fixed.

“Okay, okay. Yes, we almost kissed. I won’t lie to you. I get why you’re upset, but please, I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“I lost my chance with you. Lost my time to be with you. Haven’t you ever felt like you lost time?” He said, his voice strained from the pain.

“I know how that feels, Jules. Please trust me. I lost so much time with someone because of my own fault. Because of my own insecurities. I get it.”

“Well, I don’t care how you feel because I’m hurt and the only way to fix this is if I give Hawkmoth Ladybug and Chat Noir’s miraculous.” The butterfly mask covered Lost Time’s eyes and as quickly as it came, it was gone. “Lucky for me, Hawkmoth gave me a great idea.”

Lost Time lunged at Marinette and she ran towards where she felt Chat would be hiding. Running quickly behind her, she could feel Lost Time gaining speed. Marinette looked over her shoulder and her eyes blew wide when he stuck out his arm and a ball of light started to form over his watch. Using his index and middle fingers, he pushed the beam out towards her.

Chat Noir jumped out just in time to leap her out of the way from a blast of light. Lost Time groaned out in anger as he watched Chat pick up Marinette bridal style off to an area where he could safely put her down.

A few more beams of light pounced towards them, one actually hitting them and engulfing them in a translucent light.

“Bye-bye kitty cat. I wonder how you’re Ladybug is going to do without her protector around.”

---

Marinette woke up splayed out on the roof of a building. Chat was already awake, rubbing his head as he overlooked his position.

“Chat?” Marinette groaned out as she sat herself up.

Chat ran over to Marinette and helped her up. “Hey are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. I feel woozy, but I’m okay.” She looked up at him and could see a bruise forming on his forehead. She pushed his hair away to look at the injury better. “You have a bump. Are you okay?”

“Besides that, yeah. I’m okay. We’re still in Paris, but it isn’t our timeline anymore.”

“What do you mean?” Marinette said, confused. Chat pointed to a billboard over on the other side of the rooftop where it showed an older Adrien Agreste wearing a fitted black suit, a black button down with the silver buttons with an “M” inscribed on each one, and a signature red tie. He gave the camera a smoldering look, a slight smirk pulling at the edge of his lips, while his thumb pulled his bottom lip down just a tiny bit.

“Damn, Adrien.” Marinette said, fanning herself. “You age amazingly.”

“That’s not all, Marinette. Look in the corner.”

Marinette looked and noticed a change in who Adrien was modeling for. “MDC? But that’s my symbol. That’s my signature.” She turned to him. “I- I made it?”

Chat gave her a tight squeeze. “I always knew you could do it.”

“I don’t mean to rain on your parade, but...”

Chat and Marinette turned around and noticed three figures standing on the rooftop.

“Hey Minibug, Kitty Noir!” Bunnyx waved at them, excitedly. “We were wondering when you were going to show up.”

“Bunnyx? Ladybug? Chat Noir?” Marinette called out, looking at each one.

“Hey you two.” The older Ladybug called out. Her hair was out of her signature pigtails and into a ponytail. Her suit had changed too. She wore a red and black spotted high collar jacket over a black skin tight suit and gloves with a pair of red and black spotted thigh-high boots. She looked to be about 25 if Marinette had to guess.

“Nice of you to beam in.” The older Chat Noir said making younger Chat laugh out in a fit of giggles. His suit looked exactly the same except his zipper went down a little to where his bell used to sit. His hair was a high fade with longer teased locks dripped over to one side. He had a more muscular build, but overall looked as good as the billboard they spotted him on.

“I can see that I don’t stop punning, huh?” Younger Chat Noir finally said.

“Not at all, mini-me. We actually get better with our puns.”

“Told you Marinette. You’ll have to live with this furrever!”

“He’s right you know.” Older Ladybug teased. She walked up to Marinette and placed a hand on her shoulder. She gave Marinette a confident smile. “I can at least tell you this much. It’s okay you know. I remember this whole akuma and I remember what I had told myself right before the alert came out.” She quickly looked over at the older Chat Noir who was chatting away with his younger self. She knew he was going to give the same speech but with an added pun or two to break the ice. “He’s not wrong in his pre-proposal, even though he couldn’t wait 5 seconds after revealing himself.”

Marinette looked over to Chat and he was positively beaming. Older Ladybug leaned down and whispered something to her ear. “Keep this between you and me, but Adrien is going to need something positive to keep his focus on. It’s going to be a big year for both of you in so many ways. I won’t give away too much because I don’t want the future to change over something I said, but remember to follow his lead on some things, give him all the love you know he deserves, and always keep working together, no matter how hard some moments become.”

Marinette looked up with a frown. “Okay. I promise you I will.”

“I know you will.” Ladybug stood back up and looked over to Chat to see if he had finished his part of their conversation. When older Chat Noir looked up, they nodded towards each other in silent communication over their next move.

“Alright. We are all here to bring these two back to their timeline. Marinette. You are going to be bait. Mini-kitty. You’re going to keep tabs on her and be by her side the entire time. You are going to lure him out and then capture the akuma. I’ll be on standby to help purify the akuma since Marinette can’t do it. Kitty, I want you to stand by in case something goes wrong. Bunnyx. You keep an eye out to make sure the akuma isn’t messing up the time line. Everyone got it?”

“Got it.” Everyone said in unison.

Ladybug called out for her Lucky Charm and a ring dropped into her hands. Ladybug winked at Marinette and older Chat Noir let out a happy chuckle as he crossed his arms and shook his head.

“I remember this. Mini-kitty. That one’s for you.”

Mini-kitty beamed again and Marinette looked over to him with a happy sigh. “Later kitty. Okay?”

“Okay!”

Chat took out his baton and helped bring the two of them back onto the ground. They called out for Lost Time.

“Jules!” Marinette yelled; her hands wrapped around her mouth like a megaphone. “Jules, come out. Can we talk?”

Chat followed her lead. “Jules? Lost Time? I wanted to apologize. You can have Marinette! I’m not in love with her! I just got caught up in the moment.” Marinette stopped for a second and stared at him.

“What?” He said with a shrug. “We have to lure him out somehow.”

Marinette went back to calling. “Jules? Please come ou-”

A bright light appeared and Lost Time dropped onto the street in front of them. “Well, well, well. You are giving up on her that easily? I told you Marinette, he’s not worth it.”

Marinette ran up to the akuma and grabbed onto his hands. “You’re right, Jules. I’m so sorry for never giving you a chance.” She lowered her hands until it rested on his forearms. “Could you ever forgive me for how I rejected you?”

Jules narrowed his eyes but a hint of a smile could be seen. He gazed into her bright blue eyes. “Do you- do you really mean that?”

“Yes. Jules. Secretly, I liked you. I was just too enamored with my old crush to see the truth.” Marinette placed one hand on his cheek as she continued to lower her other hand until it reached the watch. “So how about that date?”

“Da- date?” The akuma swallowed, still staring into her eyes.

“Of course.” She continued until she reached the watch, unclasping it from its spot and throwing it behind her.

“Chat!” She screamed out, throwing the watch in his direction.

Chat called out his cataclysm, grasping onto the watch as it disintegrated into ash. Ladybug and older Chat Noir dropped down beside their younger selves and Ladybug captured the akuma, purifying it into the white butterfly.

Bunnyx dropped down beside the older duo, and the three winked as they managed quick goodbyes.

Ladybug called out for her Miraculous Ladybug and as quickly as they arrived, they were back to their original timeline.

“Time travel is weird.” Marinette said to Chat as he nodded to agree.

After Chat made sure the akuma victim was alright and Marinette talked over the problem with Jules, Chat Noir helped Marinette onto his back, bouncing over the rooftops until they reached her balcony.

“So that was a wild ride, huh Marinette?”

Chat detransformed and Adrien wrapped his arms around Marinette’s waist.

“You’re telling me.” Marinette nuzzled her nose into his neck. “So, Ladybug told me something today.”

“And what’s that bug?”

“That I should follow my heart.”

Adrien pulled away from her for a second and scrunched his nose. “Well, what is your heart telling you?”

“That you’re right and if you still want an answer to your question, I can give you an answer.”

Adrien waited with bated breath. “If you really don’t want to wait to propose to me, then I won’t make you wait. When you’re ready, ask me. I already know my answer.”

He smiled brightly, his pearly white teeth beaming in the moonlight. “Well don’t make me wait bug. What’s your answer?”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down into a long, but gentle, kiss. When she pulled away to take a breath, she leaned her forehead against his and peered into his glossy green eyes.

“Yes.”

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

I wanted to say thank you all for all the kudos and comments. I never planned on writing this story, but my Marichat heart could not hold out from writing it.

Thank you for hanging out with me these last 31 days and I hope you enjoyed the final chapter.

#marichatmay2020 #miraculous ladybug fanfic #marichat

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tortoisesshells · 4 years

Text

insomnia is terrible. here’s thoughts on my recent kdrama binge, under the cut:

Signal (2016): It’s been over a month and I can confidently say I hated the last ~45minutes because they feel like the narrative equivalent of a long loading screen for a program you didn’t mean to boot up in the first place - it’s not the worst ending for a show I’ve ever seen (see Black, down below), but it did both feel like a cop-out and ... hmm. like my faith in the characters was seriously misplaced. Which is a shame! Cop-show/copaganda aside, both the overarching plot (the disappearance of Detective Lee Jae Han fifteen years ago)/plot preoccupations (political corruption, socio-economic stratification and the complicity of the police in reinforcing class barriers/defending the wealthy and powerful at the cost of the poor and powerless) and the individual mysteries that the characters past and present struggle to resolve were interesting and satisfactorily dealt with; the magic plot device of a radio that allowed Lieutenant Park Hae Young in 2015 to communicate with Lee Jae Han in the past (1989-2000) was ultimately far more compelling than it had any right to be. It feels like a long meditation on grief, at times, and how grief both rots and compels. I ugly cried so hard into my cat she sought revenge by dropping a spider in my bed, and I’m still not sure if that’s a recommendation.

Crash Landing on You (2020): as unlikely and ideologically irresponsible (South Korean heiress accidentally ends up in a North Korean village via paragliding accident, winds up in the middle of convoluted political plots as often as she does small-town hijinx, in no small part because she totally isn’t in love with the emotionally-shut-down-but-kind-Army-Captain; alas, those troubles (but! some of her new friends, too!) follow her when she returns to South Korea and her awful family) as it was ultimately charming. This was billed to me as “a fun romantic comedy” to take my mind off the mindfuck of Signal’s ending, which might have been a mislabeling, considering politics, that the main relationship hinges in small part on the male lead inadvertently preventing the female lead from killing herself seven years before the narrative picks up, and there was no way, short of reunification of North and South, that things would end totally happily for the characters. Serotonin is stored in the abundant found family/true companions scenes, but we can’t have nice things for long. Watch with tissues.

Kingdom (2019-): I spent a significant chunk of this dry-heaving, or biting my nails, or hiding under my quilt. Quality zombie drama that also made me cry my own tears, tightly written, but I’m too squeamish and too worn out by 2020 to enjoy this fully.

Mystic Pop Up Bar (2020): sometimes, a family is a bad-tempered 500 year-old cursed pop-up bar owner, her pun- and grandpa-sweater-loving manager with a long and mysterious supernatural past, their turbo-empath busboy who can’t touch normal people without them spilling their deepest secrets, and the single braincell they have to share between them as they struggle to solve ordinary human’s grudges to satisfy the terms of the curse on the owner. For all that the action is pretty light-hearted, the characters’ backstories are weighted down with trauma, abandonment, betrayal and suicide; the grudges of the episode also deal with heavy stuff (workplace sexual harassment, infertility, the cycle of poverty, to name a few). But this is also a show where there’s a field-day in the afterlife for the dead to compete at ridiculous tasks to win the privilege of appearing to their descendants with the winning lottery numbers, the gods accidentally text the wrong numbers, Steve Jobs apparently digitalized reincarnation records, and threatening deities with baseball bats sometimes works wonders (and if that doesn’t work, annoying the shit out of them might do the trick). It doesn’t explain itself and, frankly, I don’t give a damn. Absurd and absurdly charming. I watched it and then immediately forced my sister to watch it again with me; I have a gallery of out-of-context screenshots of this show that watered my crops, cleared up my acne, and killed my enemies.

Black (2017): Honestly, when I figure out what the fuck just happened in the ending, I’ll let you know. I wanted this show to be better than it was, because the premise hit a lot of my buttons, and I wanted to be swept up in a story about life and death (and whatever comes next), and whether being human is in the ability to laugh or enjoy food or make irrational mistakes, or whether it’s in the bigger things: the wanting to be better and the ability to be so much worse, and what the opposite of human is? A woman with the ability to see the shadow of death on those about to die gets swept up in a sprawling web of corruption and abuse when she encounters a childhood friend by accident in a fast-food restaurant, only to see him killed him a hostage situation a day later. He gets better, thanks to possession by a Grim Reaper with his own agenda, but the Reaper’s involvement (and struggles to act human) reveals hitherto buried secrets in the woman’s past. It’s ... grim. Really grim. The web of mysteries is pretty tightly woven, and the show uses unreliable narrators for everything the trope is worth, but the characters and most of their relationships ultimately feel like they fall short of their potential to me, in a way it’s hard for me to articulate? Generally, the female characters felt underwritten and under-utilized; there’s a posthumous trans woman character who’s especially not handled well (better than some, but still felt transphobic to this cis observer). Honestly can’t recommend, unless you, too, can’t resist narratives about grim-reaper-archetypes, or you enjoy being infuriated by nonsense endings. OST’s pretty great, though.

Currently watching Mr. Sunshine (2018) with friends. pray 4 me.

#polkaknox talks #polkaknox watches kdramas #polkaknox watches signal (2016)#polkaknox watches crash landing on you (2020)#polkaknox watches kingdom #polkaknox watches mystic pop up bar (2020)#polkaknox watches black (2017)

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virmillion · 5 years

Text

Ibytm - T minus 53 seconds

Masterpost - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter - ao3

Words: 3,665

Logan wedges his finger in the impossibly tight space between his neck and the collar of his shirt. Is it normal to be this nervous? He’s just waiting for coffee in front of a museum. It’s not like it’s a date or anything. Of course, that negates Logan’s decision to wear a nicer tie than normal. He could always claim it was laundry day, but laundry day is Sunday, so everything is clean for the upcoming week. Not that Cadmium would know that. Would he? Is he even going to show up? Just because Logan specifically requested Cadmium as his fetch kid, that doesn’t guarantee he’ll get him. Being the creator doesn’t mean pulling every string, but it’s not like it even matters, because Logan doesn’t really care if it’s Cadmium or not, no siree, pure apathy here all the way.

He loosens his collar again, then fidgets with his tie for a few minutes. Covered in a gentle plaid of purple and blue, it’s the only pop of color he allowed himself over a dark grey shirt and khakis. Will Cadmium think Logan is trying too hard to mimic his color scheme from the park? Cadmium will probably hate it, will say Logan’s just some weird guy from a museum tour, that he’s nothing more than his little eccentricities, a light piece of entertainment and nothing more, that—

“It’s not very often that I get special requests for a personal fetch quest fulfillment, you know.” Logan sees Cadmium’s shadow before gathering the courage to meet his eyes, clearing his throat and giving his collar one last tug. “Of course, I thought it couldn’t’ve possibly been you, since I know how much you love my usual drink. Here’s your fancy pants latte with all the fix-ins.” Cadmium thrusts a styrofoam tray at Logan, angling the smaller drink for easier access. His other hand remains behind his back.

“Oh! Oh, yeah, um, right, let me just finalize the—”

Cadmium waves off Logan’s attempts to pay him back for the order. “I stole both your drinks last time, call it even.” His face flushes a soft pink as he seems to realize something. “You, um—you did get the delight one for me, right? I’d hate to just assume—”

“Yeah, no, for sure, that’s all yours. If you want it, I mean.” Logan finally takes his drink in both hands, rocking back and forth on his feet and laughing uncomfortably. Cadmium echoes the sound, looking anywhere but at Logan, who takes the opportunity to admire Cadmium’s outfit. Under the green cardigan from the first time Logan saw him, Cadmium wears a pale grey T-shirt with a pastel alien across the front, paired with skinny jeans that proudly bear no holes. Possibly a first, as far as Logan’s seen. Logan opens his mouth to say something—compliment the outfit, mention the matching shirt colors, something , but Cadmium beats him to the punch.

“Oh! I, ah, I actually did bring something. For you, I mean. If that’s okay, I mean, like, I brought it because I assumed the coffees were, well, you know, so I, um, I just, yeah, you know? I mean, here you go.” Cadmium pulls his other arm out from behind his back, revealing a single red rose in front of an even redder face. “I don’t, like, know anything specific about the color meanings of flowers or whatever, but I thought maybe, I mean, if you didn’t—”

“It’s great,” Logan interrupts, gingerly accepting the flower. “It’s really, really nice.” Cadmium huffs what Logan can only hope is a sigh of relief. “Um, shall we?” Logan gestures toward the entrance doors with his coffee hand, poking out his other elbow—far enough for Cadmium to link in his own if he were comfortable with that, close enough to himself that it could be mistaken for a casually awkward pose. Hopefully.

“Well, how about that?” a familiar voice says at the entrance. Patton scratches the back of his neck with one hand, flicking his wrist to check an imaginary watch with the other. “I never expected to see the famed Virgil here on a day that doesn’t start with ‘T,’ much less with a suitor on his arm!” Cadmium yanks his hand quickly away from the crook of Logan’s elbow, his eyes brimming with panic. Logan busies himself with looking absolutely anywhere else. “So, which of you’s paying for this little date?”

Logan trips over himself to protest how it’s not a date, but once again, Cadmium beats him to the punch, all the panic gone from his face. Or maybe Logan was only imagining it to begin with. Cadmium slips his arm back into Logan’s. “My little nerd here will be paying, as I already did him the honor of getting us drinks. Logan, pay the nice man.” Too numb to do much of anything else, Logan switches his rose to his coffee hand and passes Patton the first bill he finds in his pocket—a gently crumpled twenty.

Patton trades it for a ten and waves them in, laughing to himself. “I’m surprised at you, Virgil. I would’ve thought you’d try to argue that free admission days begin with ‘T,’ and ‘today’ starts with a T, or something like that.”

“Gotta keep ’em on their toes,” Cadmium calls over his shoulder, tugging a dumbfounded Logan inside. Once they’ve burst into the cool air conditioning of the lobby, Cadmium takes a long drink from his cup and stares at Logan. “So I guess that secret’s out, huh?”

“I’ll still call you Cadmium, if you prefer.”

“Nah, nah, it’s out, it’s too late, it’s fine. You were probably gonna find out eventually, right? Plus, I mean, it’s not like you can just walk around calling me a bone-strengthener forever.”

“That’s calcium.”

“Close enough.”

“I mean, not really close at all. Cadmium is usually found in batteries, and—”

“Close enough. Gimme that rose for a sec, would you?”

Logan hands it over and patiently waits for his feet to catch up with his mind as Cadmium—well, Virgil—walks away, fiddling with the stem of the flower. “What’re you—”

“Shh, just hold on. Walk next to me and pretend I just said something really funny.”

Albeit in a confused manner, Logan complies, bumping shoulders with Virgil. “Why did you—”

“One of your coworkers over there, from that first fetch quest at your office.” Logan tracks the angle of Virgil’s jerked chin to see Roman glancing sidelong at them. “Okay, hand out.” Virgil slips the rose—now fashioned into a thorny bracelet—over Logan’s wrist, careful to keep the sleeve between the thorns and his skin. “Here, try to look lovestruck or something.”

“I don’t—”

“Come on, we can pretend we’re on a date, it’ll be fun.” Logan (surprising no one) doesn’t know what to do, so he just stares at the rose. “It’ll screw with your coworker so bad, c’mon.” Taking Logan by the rose-adorned hand, Virgil drags him out of the lobby and into the room opposite from where they first met—well, first made eye contact, anyway, but who’s keeping track? (Logan. Logan is keeping track.) It’s probably just his imagination, but Logan can almost feel Roman’s eyes burning holes into his back.

“Alright, my dude, my guy, my home slice of pineapple and cheese,” Cadmium— Virgil , Logan reminds himself, that’s going to take some getting used to —says . “Walk me through the deeper meaning of this statue here.”

Logan adjusts his glasses, then adjusts them again. It’s admittedly weirder than he expected, being on the other side of this whole tour business. “Right, yes, um, see here, how it’s got blue coloring—”

“Paint,” Virgil corrects.

“Right, so it’s got blue paint along where the front of its teeth should be, and on the CMYK spectrum, blue—”

“Cyan.”

“Is opposite yellow, which represents the sun, and since they don’t have white or yellow on their teeth, but instead yellow’s opposite, it’s implying the absence of sun in their life, which leads to a lack of Vitamin D, the lack of which is a common catalyst for bone pain and muscle weakness. Many people break bones earlier in their life due to being more adventurous, so the artist is lamenting the loss of child-like wonder throughout adulthood by displaying the lack of it in their muse’s smile.”

Virgil rubs the flats of his knuckles along his chin, nodding slowly. “You took more leaps than I’d recommend for a first timer, but it wasn’t entirely terrible.” He angles his head across the room to where a couple of children are complaining loudly about their boredom to an unimpressed chaperone. “Let me show you how it’s done. Don’t take notes, that’s intellectual plagiarism.”

Virgil strolls to the painting just beside the one cluttered with children, folding his hands behind his back and rocking on the balls of his feet. A dumbfounded Logan follows close behind. “You know, Logan,” he says in a much louder voice than necessary, “I always knew it was the adults that were wrong.” The kids seem vaguely disinterested at best, but Virgil continues undeterred. Lots of practice, Logan supposes. “I mean, forcing them to do boring stuff like chores and homework when they have the audacity to do this kind of nonsense for fun?” The kids hardly bother to hide it as they turn to listen. However bored they might be, Virgil’s nonsense is surely more interesting than a soccer mom on her phone.

Logan loses the conversation thread almost as soon as he picks it up, but he’s pretty sure Virgil hits some objectively irrational points, including (but not limited to, because Virgil is apparently nothing if not limitless) nature, sticky glitter, scissors, trampolines, cats, a family-friendly version of a particular being in possession of three separate mammary glands from a particular sixth location with a four mile disaster zone radius, and key lime pie.

Once Virgil finally, finally, finally stops—for a breath or dramatic effect, Logan couldn’t say—he looks expectantly at the kids. Wide eyed and mouths agape, they simply stare at him, waiting for more. Virgil nudges Logan’s shoulder, gesturing vaguely at the mom that is still paying approximately zero iotas of attention. Logan, understandably bewildered and running low on improv-based creativity, crouches down to balance on the balls of his feet, levels his eyes with theirs.

“Do you know how he knows all that?” The smaller one—a girl of a slight build with braids shooting out the sides of her skull—shakes her head slowly. The boy—her brother, probably—just stares back at Logan. Logan leans in closer, willing a mischievous glint into his eyes as he lowers his voice conspiratorially. “It’s ’cause he’s from Neptune.”

The girl nudges the boy, her braids whapping against her face. “That means he’s an alien!” As his face explodes into a grin, the boy knocks his head against the woman’s leg.

“Mom, mom, that guy’s an alien! He told me so!”

“That’s very nice, Virgil. Is this your way of saying you want to see a different exhibit?” As the mom tugs the still stunned kids away, Logan straightens and glances at his companion.

“What’re the odds, huh? Heck of a coincidence.”

“No such thing as coincidences,” Virgil replies. “Just cloning experiments gone wrong.”

“That is quite possibly the most upsetting thing I’ve ever heard out of your mouth that wasn’t part of a tour.”

“How upsetting are my tours?”

“You did find a way to argue that Julius Caesar was responsible for the decrease in skittle flavored chapsticks.”

“One of my best rabbit holes, if I do say so myself.” Virgil glances back toward the lobby and shrugs off his cardigan.

“What’re you—”

“Patton and your coworker dude are both looking over here. Put this on and try to look cute.”

“Try?” Logan pretends not to feel just a little wounded by the implication that he doesn’t already look good and slips the cardigan on over his shirt. Well, he tries to—the bulky sleeves do a remarkable job of getting in the way and preventing literally any leeway past his elbows.

Virgil considers him for a moment before taking the cardigan back. “Got anything on under that shirt?”

“Yeah, an undershirt, but—”

“Sweater off. I’ll hold your bracelet. Quickly, boys, museum’s not open forever.” Logan complies, more out of fear than anything else, and wonders if anyone else has ever gone from ‘fine’ to ‘deeply uncomfortable’ in an art museum before. Mercifully, Virgil is quick as a whip in slipping the cardigan over his bare arms. Logan wonders whether it would be weird to comment on the complete lack of an outstanding smell to mark it as Virgil’s. Rather than supplement the question with evidence, he just watches as Virgil takes his discarded sweater and tugs it over his head.

“Check it out, sweater swap! Here, give me your tie, I want to play with it.” Hardly waiting for permission (which Logan would’ve given anyway), Virgil undoes the tie—a full windsor, if anyone’s curious, which Virgil isn’t and wasn’t—and fashions it into a bracelet. He holds it up to Logan’s rose bracelet and grins. “Matchy matchy?”

Logan huffs a laugh. “Matchy matchy.”

With that fascinating wardrobe change out of the way, Virgil leads Logan into the next room, asking for various opinions about various artworks as he goes. “I’m going to pretend I don’t know you stalk my tours when I tell you this, but the next room has, like, amazing lighting. There’s this pink and orange mosaic that shines on the floor where—”

True to form, Logan loses track of Virgil’s words as his attention turns to the feel of the cardigan against his skin. He only really finds his way back to the physical plane when he feels Virgil’s hand leave his arm.

“Okay,” Virgil says, “stay right there, put your hand on your hip and strike—yes! That’s it, hold it right there.” Virgil switches from framing Logan’s silhouette with his thumbs and index fingers to snapping pictures with his phone. “Look at the second to last painting on the east wall. No, the east wall—okay, that’s south, one more try—hold it! The light here is perfect , Logan, hold still! Oh, perfection.”

Logan wonders idly whether he looks as ridiculous as he feels. Probably. As he drops the pose and joins Virgil in pretending to terrorize a statue for the amusement of more children, he opens the camera on his own phone. Two can play this game, it’s just that Logan can play it better. At least, provided Virgil doesn’t know he’s playing.

At every chance he gets, Logan snaps a candid of Virgil, doing a very poor job of hiding it. Maybe Virgil’s just pretending not to notice. It doesn’t really matter, anyway, since Virgil stops basically every ten feet to demand Logan use the full potential of the environment. Where Virgil’s shots are all artsy and dramatic and well lit, Logan’s are blurry and consist largely of Virgil fidgeting with the tie wrapped around his wrist. Logan can almost see the headlines now— Bigfoot: Spotted en Route to a Job Interview at the Museum!

“Oh my goodness, you two are so cute!” a little old lady exclaims, shuffling over with a pale pink purse clutched to her chest. To Logan’s relief, she interrupts Virgil from noticing Logan taking a picture of how the filtered light washes golden dust over the sleeves of the grey sweater bunched up to his elbows. Pure luck, nothing more. “Are you on a date? Do you boys want me to take a picture for you?” Logan hides his phone as Virgil glances at him suspiciously in response to the mention of a picture being taken. Perhaps not Logan’s best move, but at least he got a good shot out of it.

“That would be wonderful, actually, thank you so much!” Virgil says, stepping beside her. “Okay, so you just press this button here, and—ope, that was a selfie, whoops! Okay, and just—yep, that’s it, and just press the white button!” The lady grins as she holds up the phone between two quivering hands, waiting for Virgil to finish fixing Logan’s sleeves. Once he’s finally content, he wraps an arm around Logan’s waist and hugs him to his side, resting his head atop Logan’s hair. They both flash bright smiles as Logan leans into the embrace, kind of surprised that he doesn’t have to fake the happy expression. The weight on his head is admittedly pretty alien, but by no means unwelcome.

“Alrighty, I think I got it! I might’ve taken too many, though,” the impromptu paparazzi says.

“Nonsense, I’m sure they’re perfect.” Virgil flutters his hands as if to shoo away the preposterous notion, chattering politely as they look through the pictures. Logan busies himself with staring at a painting to keep anyone from noticing how beet red his face is.

“How long have you two been together? It looked like you were still getting to know each other, what with all your picture taking!”

“Ha, yeah, we just met pretty recently, actually! I do tours here sometimes, mostly at a cheaper rate for high schoolers on field trips.”

The lady places a dainty hand over her lips, her eyebrows shooting up. “My word , are you the famous Ya Boi Virgil? My grandson raves about you, he swears you’re the only thing that kept him from failing his art history final!”

Virgil ducks his head, catching Logan’s eye and grinning. “Oh, please, he had it in him the whole time, I’m sure.”

The lady pats his elbow affectionately and sets her sights on Logan. “You better hold onto this boy tight, before someone else snatches him up, y’hear?”

Logan is taken aback, to say the least. “I, uh, yeah. Yes. Um, ma’am. Yes, ma’am.” Nodding like she’s satisfied that Logan can hold onto Virgil long enough to last, she gives both boys a little wave and disappears in the direction of the lobby. Logan sidles up to his companion. “Ya Boy Virgil?”

“Boi, with an I,” Virgil corrects. “‘Mister’ is too official for someone of my caliber, so I modified it to suit my standards. My job here is unofficial, so my title might as well be the same, right?”

“Yeah, speaking of which, what is your job? I mean, do you just talk at teenagers for a living, or what?”

“I don’t know, it just kinda happened out of nowhere, y’know?” Virgil moves on to the next room, still scrolling through the pictures. “I’ve been coming here ever since I was little, and I was basically a talking fixture that would history rant at anyone who would listen. The mid-higher ups just kind of unofficially brought me on board and started advertising my tours to schools, since I was already an unpaid tour guide, so I might as well have been bringing in revenue, y’know? I just do Tuesdays and Thursdays because I don’t love charging kids, but sometimes they’ll give me tips, so I get more than just fun out of it.”

Logan nods, trying to reconcile this information with how he’d been raised—attend college, get a job in a competitive field, rise through the ranks, reach the top, then quit and take half the company with you to start your own business. The real company you’d take along was literally the friends you made along the way. “Does that really net you enough to live off of?”

Virgil seems to stiffen at that, and Logan immediately wishes he were off being the only population on Neptune right now. “The fetch quests help, but I do well enough. Thanks for the assumption that I can’t keep my own life in order, though, I really love being looked at as a child. Because of course anyone without a steady nine to five job must be missing some crucial key necessary for surviving adulthood.”

“I—I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“M-mm,” Virgil interrupts, shaking his head. The seconds of silence stretch on, but Logan doesn’t dare speak again. Finally Virgil continues, “It’s fine. I’ve just had a lot of people get on my case about this stuff, and I didn’t really consider it to be first date discussion territory.” Logan nods, an almost imperceptible dip of his chin as he waits for the tension in the air to suffocate him. At Virgil’s continued silence, it becomes increasingly clear that he won’t be speaking first. Logan exhales.

“I really am sorry.”

Virgil stops walking.

“I promise you, it’s fine,” he says, turning to face Logan. “Not even a thing, as long as you don’t bring it up again. I am perfectly alright, see?” He peels his lips back from his teeth in what might be callously called a smile to prove his point.

“Okay, well, um, I’ve got a topic change for you. We’re at the end of the museum.” Logan gestures to the lobby, where Roman is still loitering. Weird. “I, uh, am I going to see you again? Er, can I?”

Virgil hesitates, then holds out his hand. Logan stares at it. “Phone?”

“Oh. Oh!” Logan unlocks his phone and hands it over, watching Virgil add himself to the contacts list—‘Cadmium,’ followed by a battery emoji.

“And to answer your question, yes, we have to see each other again.” Virgil holds up the tie looped around his wrist. “You’ve still got my headphones and that cardigan, so I’m holding your tie hostage until both items are back in my possession.” With that, Virgil spins on his heel and walks out the front door, waving to Patton as he goes. Patton barely acknowledges it, too absorbed in conversation with Roman, who’s pretending not to stare at Logan. Logan doesn’t notice, his eyes focused on how Virgil’s silhouette is imprinted in the ghost of the sunspots in his eyes.

#labhwrites #mine #i'll bring you the moon #ibytm #just realized ao3's html puts a space between italics and a comma but im too apathetic to fix it now

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dissonants-13 · 6 years

Note

Can you do a Kamilah x MC fic where they make up after a huge fight? MC's name is up to you. 😊

Hi anon! I have combined this request with another I received (below) because I feel they go together - I hope you both enjoy!

Story Notes: Kamilah x MC (Gianna), brief non-explicit mentions of sex. 1300 words.

Apologising

Kamilahdidn’t think it was possible for someone to bake angrily, but that is exactly what Gianna is doing, somehow,creating a cacophony of clangs as she slams down metal trays and aggressivelyshuts cupboard doors. She shoots Kamilah a furious look that, in centuries longpast, would have probably resulted in Kamilah relieving her body of her head.Kamilah leans against the door frame leading in to her palatial kitchen, pressingher lips together as another baking tray crashes down onto the benchtop.

“Pleasedon’t scratch the marble,” she says coolly. It earns her another witheringglare from Gianna, but at least the noise quiets a little, and she stops beingquite so harsh on innocent bakeware.

Kamilahcan’t quite understand what Gianna is so mad about; one minute Kamilah isworking, deep in important discussions with business associates, and the nextGianna is yelling and angry-crying, almost before the door has shut behindKamilah’s guests. Kamilah had blinked, her lips pursing angrily, and questionedexactly what Gianna was raging about – which seemed to make her angrier andmore nonsensical. Kamilah is over two thousand years old, and despite thefondness she feels for Gianna – though she’d deny it if you asked – theemotions of short-lived humans feel inconsequential to her.

Giannais talking about needing Kamilah’s attention and effort, and she can’t get herhead around the complaint, to be frank. Gianna is living with her, she thinks, in her house, in her space. And as forattention…well just last night, Kamilah had come in late (or, well, early she supposed, around 4AM) andawoken Gianna with some attentionbetween her sweet thighs. Was that not adequate?

Kamilah’smere presence in the doorway, and her ongoing ignorance to exactly what Giannais so upset about sets her off on a rant again, and Kamilah lets the words washover her, marvelling instead at the fact that someone can actually kneadchocolate chip cookie dough crossly. It’s kind of cute, she thinks to herself.

“Gianna,stop,” Kamilah says, raising her hand to silence the girl. Kamilah moves to thebench, and leans her hip against it, eyeing Gianna. “What is it you want fromme? Why are you so upset?”

Kamilahcan see that Gianna wants to continue yelling, but as she takes a deep breath,it’s like the floodgates burst. Her breath turns shaky and tears well quicklyin the corners of her eyes. Kamilah stands up straighter, a little taken abackby this flood of emotion from the normally collected and unflappable Gianna.This is a woman who has been in the heart of the Baron’s den of iniquity,Kamilah thinks, and maybe if she’s feeling this sort of emotion…maybe it’sworth Kamilah paying attention to.

Kamilahmoves around the bench and Gianna puts the tray in the oven, the brief blast ofheat as the door open wafting over Kamilah as she waits. She waits still,patiently, as Gianna washes her hands, and then dries them, and finally whenthat’s done, Kamilah takes one of her hands. With the other, she uses herfingers under Gianna’s chin to gently guide the girl to look at her.

“Comenow,” she murmurs, brushing a tear away with the pad of her thumb. “Tell mewhat’s wrong. Civilly,” she adds, so Gianna doesn’t yell again.

“Ijust-” Gianna’s voice falters, and she casts her eyes downward.

“Lookat me,” Kamilah says coaxingly. When Gianna meets her gaze again, some of thetension leaves her mouth, and Kamilah leans in, placing a soft, chaste rewardkiss on her lips. “Tell me.”

“Ijust – I just feel like I’m making all the effort here,” Gianna finally getsout, her voice barely more than a whisper.

“Why?”Kamilah asks. In her experience, human emotions, while often excessive andgrandiose in the scheme of the universe and the scale of the situation they’reresponding to, are usually not irrational. If Gianna feels like Kamilah doesn’tshow her interest or affection, maybe she’s right. Kamilah is used to her owncompany, and the company of a council of vampires who are all too concernedwith politics and agendas. She’s not used to having to think of another in suchan intimate way.

“Well,you’re not…very affectionate.” Gianna virtually grinds the words out, andKamilah can see it’s difficult for her; she knows she’s intimidating, andaloof, it’s how she’s always been. She was raised in an entirely differenttime, and the typecast of her personality was forged in the fires of adifferent culture, a different era. And, as they say, old habits die hard. Kamilahhas seen scores of lovers flower and wither; she supposes her default settingmay be to keep them at arm’s length.

Giannacontinues, when Kamilah motions for her to do so. “I – I tell you how I care,and I like to have physical contact…hand holding, kisses, hugs from behind…thatsort of stuff.” She sighs heavily. “I guess, I just saw you laughing with thosebank men, and sometimes I can’t even get a smile out you and we’re supposed tobe…you know.” She gestures between them lamely, then lets her hand drop. “Ibarely see you, because you’re busy, that’s fine – you’ve got an empire to run.But when I do see you, a lot of the time I feel like I’m inconveniencing you. Idon’t like that.”

“Thankyou for telling me,” Kamilah says. “I’m sorry to have made you feel that way. Ido care for you, I suppose it will just take me some time to become accustomedto the idea of someone wanting my attention and affection regularly.” Kamilahspies the look on Gianna’s face, a look that says she still feels embarrassed –perhaps of her outburst, perhaps of appearing ‘needy’. Kamilah doesn’t mindthough, and so she attempts to put Gianna’s mind to rest. She draws her alittle closer.

“Iwill promise to be more attentive to your needs, emotionally as well asphysically-” Kamilah runs her fingertip down Gianna’s neck, deftly flickingopen the top button of her shirt, and her lips curve into a smile as Giannaswallows heavily. “I only ask that you speak to me more, instead of bottlingthese things up.”

“I cando that,” Gianna says, her voice a little strained, as if her throat is dry.Kamilah pops the next button of her shirt.

“Am Iforgiven?” Kamilah purrs, leaning in close to Gianna’s ear. She softly mouthsat her ear lobe, then at the angle of her jaw, and her sharp hearing easilypicks up the little shudder of breath the Gianna releases.

“Yes.Sorry I’m emotional and needy.”

“Don’tapologise. I either have the capacity to give you what you want, or I don’t, asin any relationship, but it’s important you tell your partner what you needfrom them. Don’t apologise for asking for what you need.”

Kamilahkisses along Gianna’s jaw until their lips are ghosting together, neither quiteclosing the distance. “What do you need now?” Kamilah asks, her voice low andsultry. Gianna’s hands find her hips, and settle there.

“Kissme,” she whispers, and Kamilah does, curling her fingers in Gianna’s hair. Shefeels Gianna tremble and virtually melt into Kamilah’s arms, as she pours allthe intensity of her feelings into the kiss. Kamilah’s lips say sorry in a wayher words never could; sliding, burning, begging, and her hands pull at Giannauntil their bodies are as close as can be fully clothed.

Giannabreaks away with a ragged gasp, pupils blown and lips shining red. She’ll neverget over the electricity of Kamilah’s kisses. “Apology accepted,” she says,breathing heavily, but with a smile all the same.

Kamilahreaches out, caressing Gianna’s collarbone for a tender moment, before rippingher shirt open. Buttons fly every which way, showering to the floor with littlethuds as they hit the hardwood. Gianna’s lips part in shock, and Kamilah feelsherself grinning, predatorily.

“Oh,darling, this apology is just getting started.”

#kamilah sayeed #kamilah x mc #bloodbound #choices bloodbound #request #choices fanfiction #choices fanfic #in which kamilah is equal parts snark and seduction

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jeonsdear · 6 years

Photo

BTS: Yoongi 😎

Idol!Yoongi and YouTuber!reader Parts: (12) Part: 11/15 Info: The time of the phone doesn’t match the time of the setting so just pay attention to the time stamp of the messages Notice: Ignore that the boys can’t speak English in real life Y/N: Your Name Y/c/n: Your country Y/nat: Your nationality Y/lang: Your language

We Accept the Love We Think We Deserve You are a famous YouTuber in your country who gets to interview BTS and Yoongi is intrigued by you.

A/N: HERE IS A NARRATIVE FOR YOUUU. Please excuse any mistakes, English isn’t my first language xx Part 12?

read my stories here request imagines, reactions and text messages here

You felt weirdly comfortable snuggled up against Yoongi and Hoseok as you three were watching the two youngest of the group trying to convince Seokjin to part-take in the spicy noodle challenge. Jungkook’s dark eyes were glazed over by the influence of alcohol and Jimin couldn’t stop giggling. Taehyung who had refused any kind of alcoholic beverage, sat to your feet smirking at his oldest Hyung’s attempts to look like he was way too mature for nonsense like that but in reality everyone knew that drunk Seokjin was up to everything.

“Noona, you too!‘‘

Jungkook’s enthusiastic exclamation was followed by a big bunny smile of his and you felt Yoongi’s laughter rumbling in his chest, one arm circling around your waist as he drew you closer to his body. You both had drowned a few shots which resulted in Yoongi loosening up a little bit and seeking skinship whenever he could. You didn’t mind. Quite on the contrary. You didn’t dare admit to yourself, not to anyone else, but whenever you felt his piercing gaze on you, your heart wouldn’t stop pounding. The boys had provided you with an amazing experience being on stage with them but all you had cared for ever since Yoongi had told you he’d visit your country, was seeing him. You had missed him. You knew it was irrational and dumb and the past mistakes of your former relationship had left deep wounds, but you felt so save whenever Yoongi held you or whenever a message of his popped up on your phone. You trusted him in a way that you rarely trusted people in. Whenever you were faced with difficulties or you came home after a long and miserable day, he was the one you turned to. And in return he did, too. Ever since the conversation about how he didn’t feel loveable you couldn’t stop thinking about it. The words were still making you mad and your heart hurt because deep down you knew you know he was, you knew you loved him. Even if you wouldn’t let your mind admit it. So when you felt the man’s arms pulling you even closer to him, feeling the muscles of his chest against your back, you had to bit your lip to muffle the sigh that was threatening to come out. Beside you, Hoseok watched you two intently, noticing the way you melted into his friend’s embrace and how Yoongi’s lips hovered over the crown of your head. When Hoseok lifted his head he was met with Namjoon’s eyes who were observing you two as well. A small smile played on his lips and Hoseok realized that he wasn’t the only one who could see Yoongi falling for the foreign girl.

Namjoon loved you, in a way a brother would love his sister, and he understood why his friend was falling for you. All these late night conversations while writing songs with Yoongi had taught him how lonely their second oldest actually was. Deep insecurities rooted in his soul, his outlet being music. Namjoon had tried numerous times to ease his friend’s worries but only when you had come around Yoongi had started to really trust another person to take on his troubles. Now watching the content smile on Yoongi’s lips as he had his girl in his arms and his friends around him terrified Namjoon. Technically neither of the boys had to deal with the usual dating ban Idols had to stick to, but there was a reason a ban like this existed in the first place. Dating wasn’t easy living a life of an Idol. And the last thing he wanted for his Hyung was to get a taste of what love might taste like only to have it taken away.

“Jungkook, I’m y/nat. We don’t do spicy stuff like you. I might die.“

Yoongi behind you snorted which made you pinch the skin showing through his ripped jeans.

Yoongi’s “Yah, y/n!‘‘ was followed by Jungkook’s “I’m strong enough to carry a dead body!‘‘ and the room erupted in laughter. The air filled with happiness and comfort had you wishing you could experience this more often. Somehow these boys had turned into your closest friends and Yoongi, who now playfully tried to hide your frame from the others, made you dream about his lips.

The youngest moved forward to grab you and tickle your sides but you searched shelter in the crook of Yoongi’s neck, and his low laughter filled your ear as he turned with you in his arms and suddenly his weight was on you and all Jungkook got was a grasp of the back of Yoongi’s shirt.

“Respect your elders, Kookie.‘‘, you teased and stuck your tongue out at him and the younger boy’s eyes crinkled with laughter.

“That’s how you treat your bias? Aish, thanks y/n.‘‘, he grinned before Yoongi’s hand shoved at his maknae’s head.

“You’re not her bias, brat.‘‘

“Yes, I am.‘‘, he sang gleefully, eyes glistening with mirth. “I saw a fan video after we became friends with her and people made those ‘get to know her‘ videos. And she once talked about us and when she was asked who her bias was she said it’s meeeeeeeeee.‘‘

Jimin back-hugged Jungkook and laughed in Yoongi’s face. “Seriously, y/n? The youngest?“

Yoongi faced you with a raised eyebrow and you couldn’t help but groan before you blushed. “I love his voice?‘‘

His eyes darkened and searched your face for the truth before a sly grin stretched his lips. “His voice? You know, he sounds like a girl when he moans.‘‘

Seokjin was caught in a coughing fit before you could hear his high-pitched laughter and when you turned your face you saw Jungkook gaping at his Hyung.

“Uhm I’m not really sure what I’m supposed to do with that information or why you know how he sounds …when he…you know. But I still love his voice.“

Namjoon just chuckled but Jimin piped up saying “We’ve been living together for years. Trust me, we know.“

In the meantime, Jungkook had regained his composure and an evil glint had entered his eyes.

“I sound like a girl? You know the walls are thin Hyung and I’m up late a lot of times.‘‘

He turned to you and smirked. “If you ever want to know how he’d sound like, let me know. I can record it.‘‘

The terror in Taehyung’s eyes was almost comical and everyone except for Yoongi and you moved forward to slap a body part of Jungkook’s that was the nearest.

You were torn between laughing and running away, but Yoongi’s hand grasping yours and pulling you upwards with him solved that pretty quickly.

“You’re lucky I love you.“, he growled at his youngest member before pulling you with him out of the room. A groan filled the floor of the hotel and it had you giggling.

“You’re so soft for him.‘‘, you teased gently before you intertwined your fingers with his and pulled him with you in the direction of your own room.

“He’s a brat. I can’t believe he’s your bias. Seriously?“

Laughing you shrugged your shoulders, entering the elevator that would take you ten floors higher. The light was dim and you could see Yoongi’s eyes fixed on you in the mirror as you leaned back against the wall. His thumb gently rubbed soothing circles into your skin and you could feel it deep in your bones.

“He is a lot like me. I think that’s why.“

Murmuring something incoherent, Yoongi took a step closer to you, knee’s touching your thighs.

“So he’s your favourite?“, he said slowly and gauged your reaction. Your eyes were still filled with laughter and he could have sworn he never saw something as beautiful as you.

“No, he’s my bias Yoongs. But you’re my favourite.‘‘

Your eyes followed his movements as he bit down on his lips before soothing it with the tip of his tongue. For fuck's sake, now you couldn’t stop staring at his lips and Yoongi noticed too. The atmosphere changed from playful into something thicker and when you met his dark gaze all the longing and desire you had kept at bay instantly filled your whole system. Yoongi noticed the way your breath hitched in your throat and how your eyes started to darken, his body moving closer on its own accord.

“Say that again.“, he begged quietly and watched you swallow.

“What?“

“My name. Yoongs. I love when you say it out loud.“

He was met with a gentle smile and his heart jumped in his chest.

“Yoongs…“, you whispered and his hands came up to cradle your face. Seeking for permission he scanned your face for any indicator of uncertainty, but when he wasn’t able to find any he stopped thinking and within second his lips had touched yours. Carefully, he placed little kisses against the softness of your lips and you wrapped your arms around his waist. His lips felt soft under yours and you couldn’t help but sigh in relief to finally get a taste of him, melting into his embrace and his strong body. Your sigh was Yoongi’s clue and he bit your lip carefully to ask for entrance, making you open your lips and suddenly you felt his tongue against yours and any rational thought was erased from your mind. Everything that existed was the man kissing you and the longing filling your body.

Yoongi tried. He really did. He wanted to be gentle and soft, loving even. But as soon as your sigh had filled the small space his body reacted like a starved man and he couldn’t keep himself from pulling you tighter to him and deepening the kiss. Oh, how many times had he imagined doing this? Kissing you. Holding you to him like this? And now, that he finally did, his body was in overdrive and everything he wanted was the woman in his arms.

As if both your body’s had known each other for years, you worked in perfect unison, knowing exactly how to angle your heads, how to caress each other lips and tongues. Your hands moved up to his neck and your fingers tangled in his soft hair, making Yoongi groan lowly into your mouth. With that sound, your body was on fire and you shivered under his exploring hands. He felt your tremor and you felt him smirk into the kiss, turning the whole affair even hotter than it already was.

“I’m your favourite, huh?“, he murmured, still smirking when you both came up for air. Breaths mingling all you could do was nod, afraid your voice had gotten lost. Starring at each other you realized that you had reached your floor in the meantime and Yoongi didn’t waste any time, grabbing your hand and pulling you with him.

“Which room?“

Instead of answering you gave him your room key and with quick strides and a swipe of the key card he had you pressed back against your hotel room door. Not a second later his lips were on yours again and you started to laugh when he whined against your lips.

“Someone’s a little eager.“, you teased and the sound coming out of his mouth proved your point once again.

“I’ve wanted to do this for so long so please stop talking and let me kiss you, yeah?“

Your laugh turned into a surprised moan when he grabbed the undersides of your thighs and hoisted you up onto his hips, holding you against the door.

“Looks like I’m not the only one.‘‘, he whispered and captured your lips in a heated kiss, your fingers findings their way into his hair again.

He was right of course. You had wanted this for so long that you felt a little lost in how to be even closer to him than this. Your whole body was screaming for him and shivered when his tongue danced expertly with yours. He was good. He was a fucking great kisser and you didn’t know whether he knew, but he might be able to judge by the way you were clinging to him. Yoongi sucked your tongue into his mouth and rolled his hips, driven by pure instinct, into yours.

“Fuck“, you coursed in your native tongue and his hands tightened on your thighs.

“Shit, I love when you talk in y/lang.“

Yoongi looked at you with glazed over eyes and a heaving chest, eyes fluttering shut when you involuntarily bucked your hips into his.

“Baby, don’t.“, he growled but his words lost their meaning when he pressed his middle against you.

The playfulness returning, you raised an eyebrow and wiggled a little in his hold, creating friction.

“Don’t what, Yoongs?“

“Don’t tempt me, Y/n.“

Your head fell back with a thud when he lowered his head to lick over your pulse point before biting it gently, moving down your neck and sucking the soft skin between his lips to leave purple marks. When you tried to pay him back he shook his head gently remind you that he can’t be seen with hickeys at the airport, so you settled for burying your head in his neck and leaving light pecks.

At some point, he had walked you over to the big, cosy looking bed in the middle of the room and through lazy kisses and occasional giggling, you both calmed down. Laying half way atop of him, Yoongi pulled the covers over your forms and pressed a soft kiss on your forehead.

“What about the boys?“, you murmured with a yawn and you felt him smile against your temple. The only light in the room was coming from the moon as you hadn’t shut the blinds and soft rain danced across the glass.

“Probably passed out asleep by now“, he answered and tightened his arms around you and you hummed in content. It was silent for quite some time, neither of you wanting to disturb the tranquillity but right before you drifted off to sleep you started giggling.

“Yoongi?“

“Hmm?“, he hummed sleepily and popped open one eye.

“Kookie was wrong.“

“Wrong with what?“

“You don’t moan like a girl.“

Yoongi’s deep chuckle followed you into your sleep.

#btscreatorsnet #bts imagines #yoongi imagines #bts fake texts #bts #yoongi fake texts #yoongi #min yoongi #bangtan #bts writing #writing #yoongi writing

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thesinglesjukebox · 6 years

Video

youtube

ARIANA GRANDE FT. NICKI MINAJ - THE LIGHT IS COMING

[6.36]

It's Ariana Gran-Day! Starting off with this Nicki duet, containing an unexpected sample...

Rebecca A. Gowns: The sample is fascinating. It reminds me of the baby coo in "Are You That Somebody"; a non-musical sound transformed into a musical refrain, then multiplied so often it becomes the beat itself. And seemingly not connected to the actual content of the song... or is it? Like, is "Are You That Somebody" really about making babies? (Not just euphemistically, but about conception itself?) And is this song really an anti-establishment taunt? (Not just the music industry, but the clowns in Congress, if you will?) Well, who the hell knows. The music here is so much more fascinating than the lyrical content; the man yells about not being interrupted between stringent beep-bop-boop sounds crossing over from Dan Deacon territory. Honestly, it's reminiscent of a certain other pop/rap song that could also be called equal turns annoying, political, and just plain fun. And like that song, I like it even when it starts to grate. Maybe even because it's grating -- like, thank God established pop artists take risks like this sometimes. [8]

Katherine St Asaph: Gather around, folks, for a recent history lesson! The man sampled all over "The Light Is Coming," Craig Miller, was part of a Tea Party-organized, "almost entirely white and irritable" crowd protesting an 2009 Arlen Specter town hall in soon-to-flip-red Pennsylvania. The protest was against Obamacare, but it devolved almost immediately into more general right-wing bullshit. You can watch the whole thing on C-SPAN, if you're short on despair. Lowlights include: "What about this Guantanamo closure? ... The [mispronounced] Koar-ann says that all unbelievers shall be executed, killed. That's why I cannot support Islam." "He's right." (43:56); cheering at "we can take the non-U.S. citizens and give them an airplane ticket and ship them back" (38:47); even louder cheering at "the illegals, they shouldn't even be here" (18:34), and, toward the end (1:13:13), a familiar refrain: "The people in this room want their country back." One of them felt the need to clarify that she didn't have "any Nazi symbols with [her]" (7:45), perhaps because the previous day, in Georgia, someone painted a swastika outside Democratic representative David Scott's office after his town hall. Do I think Pharrell -- who also sampled Specter's own remarks in "Lemon" -- is maliciously sneaking far-right propaganda into our children's pop music? No, of course not. Maybe he just thought it sounded cool. But including a sample this obscure, this prominently, must have some point, and choosing one so politically charged brings in connotations -- connotations that just don't play nice with the light/darkness/taking-back/theft imagery and taunting delivery of "the light is coming to give back everything the darkness stole." It doesn't help that the Manchester bombing, which every Sweetener interview unavoidably alludes to, was quickly exploited by the far right. It also doesn't help that Grande's verses don't rebut but echo Miller, targeting someone who's a "know-it-all" (see other protesters' gripes about "elitists" and a bill written above "junior high school" language), who's irrational and doesn't listen, who's "tellin' everyone, stay woke" -- sides clearly assigned. The beat is great, the most inventive and sinuous Pharrell's sounded in years, but it's wasted on -- what, exactly? Both-sidesing? A Producers-esque attempt to squash innovation in pop with a bizarre sample set up to fail? Or inadvertently (I hope) something more reactionary than anything Taylor Swift's ever released? It could be worse. The track's a "Sleazy"/"Dark Horse"/"Jewels 'n' Drugs" urban crossover attempt, for which Grande's team "auditioned eight rappers," one of whom may have been much-streamed XXXTentacion. Nicki's winning verse, self-promotion and fuckboy dissing written remotely, doesn't engage with the song at all, which is probably for the best. As for fan consensus? Seems to be: "Will that old guy please STFU?" [2]

Vikram Joseph: Ladies and gentlemen, 2018's most bizarre sampling decision! I've read the context behind the "You wouldn't let anybody speak, and instead..." quote, and it still makes minimal sense to loop it continuously behind what's otherwise a seductive, abrasive, very N.E.R.D. throb of a beat. Thematically, it seems to be an attempt to take down condescension and echo-chamber complacency in debate ("if it ain't your view, that's the bottom line"); this is ambitious, and only occasionally hits the mark, too often stumbling into jumbled nonsense such as "give you a box of chances, every time you blow it all". Nicki Minaj, meanwhile, is relegated to a brief, off-topic turn in the intro. And all the while, that shouty man keeps shouting (and, god, I really can't emphasise enough what a strange choice of sample this is). Good Beat, B.A.A.D. Decisions. [5]

Tobi Tella: I mean, you don't know how HARD I tried to like this. Coming off their three amazing previous collaborations, this should've been great. But there's so much about this I don't like: the repetitive chorus, the weird way she sings so you can't actually understand a word she's saying, the sample of a conservative yelling? It's all just off-putting and irritating to me. Nicki gets in the best line of the song with "Yo Ariana come let give you a high five", but even her solid verse can't save the trainwreck around her. [3]

Abdullah Siddiqui: Little about this track is normal for a Top 40 single. And I find that very refreshing. The hook is effective, in that it hasn't left the back of my mind in weeks. The instrumental is beautifully minimalistic; the drum sequence at the start reminds me of Björk's "Heirloom". I love when the track kicks into double time. Minaj delivers a few solid bars at the top. Grande doesn't rely too much on her vocal tricks for this one, and it works to the song's benefit. The track is not without its flaws, however. It feels somewhat structurally underdeveloped. The "you wouldn't let anybody speak" is a bit overused, and it feels particularly misplaced during the verses. But these flaws are not by any means fatal. This is definitely one of Grande's most adventurous releases, and I'd go so far as to say, one of her best. [8]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: Aside from Nicki Minaj, whose tacked-on verse sounds less like its own contribution and more like another mandatory installment in the "Chun-Li" cinematic universe, all the many moving parts here end up making a lot of sense. Ariana's vocal performance darts between the little open spaces of Pharrell's beat, expanding and contracting as he brings in bizarro-bounce elements (including a sample from an anti-Obamacare town hall, of all things.) It's almost interesting enough as a pure physical feat, the way she moves from taunting cadences to breathy whispers to damn-near belting on a second's notice, but fortunately there's a good enough song as scaffolding around her too, one that provides enough structure to support "the light is coming" in its pursuit of weird pop glory. [7]

Alex Clifton: Ariana seems to be reinventing pop this year; the work off of Sweetener so far is the most eclectic stuff I've heard on the charts in quite some time. Where "No Tears Left to Cry" refused to resolve in any particular tonality (major or minor? why not both!), "The Light Is Coming" stutters and glitches with a sample of an irate citizen from hearings over Obamacare paired with video game beeps and boops. On paper, it shouldn't work, and it doesn't overwhelm me the way that all of Ariana's best tracks have in the past. But in practice it ends up sounding like a dystopian dance song/spoken word poem, which in 2018 feels like a real mood. Ariana and Nicki work well together as always although once Nicki's initial verse is gone she's out of the song for good; she could've come back pretty easily, and that would've made for some nice vocal interplay. But the more I hear of Ariana's music the more I keep wanting to hear, even when it misses the mark. It's been a while since I've seen a Pop Diva experiment so boldly away from her typical formula, and I'm revelling in every moment of it. [6]

Ashley John: The dismembered corpses of pure pop hooks and Pennsylvania politics roughly stitched together with a Pharrell beat is as close to a summary of Me as a song can get, so I'm partial to and suspicious of it right away. "The Light is Coming" should feel gimmicky, like Ariana is rushing in a rebellious phase, but instead it hits closer to a teaser--of what I am not sure. A Lorde song without the specificity or the groove, a Gwen Stefani track without the whimsy, and in those places just a hollow, trembling core. The track feels like it could collapse in on itself at any point, and actually, how fitting for a chorus of chanted, demanded optimism. [7]

Alfred Soto: A gesture -- an attempt to coalesce Pharrellistic effects around a would-be aphorism. One of the effects is Nicki Minaj. [6]

Thomas Inskeep: The beat, the slightly off-kilter rhythm was nagging at me, and then once I looked up the credits it made sense: it's Pharrell. And what he's brought for Ariana here is Trio's "Da Da Da" cut with Hot Butter's 1972 smash "Popcorn"! And then, on top of that, Minaj drops a solid opening 12 bars before Grande cuts loose with a message of positivity -- the chorus is "the light is coming to give back everything the darkness stole" -- that's obviously another reference to Manchester. And it works. I hope this hits on radio, because it'll sound glaringly different, and radio needs more of that right now. [7]

Will Rivitz: Man, Pharrell can't miss, can he? No one quite does the minimal beat like he does, and the versatility of his productions -- fitting everyone from Clipse to Ed Sheeran -- is on full display here, addictive vocal sample and all. Of course, it helps that everything else clicks, too: Ariana's finally embracing her "sardonic" side in her music, Nicki's verse is serviceable and appropriate if not particularly memorable, and the eerie nonchalance of the chorus perfectly encapsulates the song's uncanny ambience. Dangerous Woman is one of the best pop albums of the decade, and if Grande's current singles are any indication, Sweetener could be even better. [9]

Stephen Eisermann: Pharrell's production has been a bit shaky lately, but here his experimentation works. Nicki gives a perfectly serviceable verse to Pharrell's noisy beat, but it's Ariana's commitment and sass that elevates the track. To take on a track this playful, you need an artist who is willing and able to dance along to the track and Ariana is no slacker; even if the song is a bit weird thematically, sonically it's a gem and I'll be dancing along all summer. [7]

Maxwell Cavaseno: The unlikely world where I can imagine if Ariana thought the kind of music that came out of Ghostly International at the start of the decade would be the perfect sort of music to top the charts. Nevertheless, she's utterly at home, crooning and yammering through the strange pinball playground of her design, and to make the retrofitting all the more complete, you have Nicki doing her best to remember when she last sounded interesting... way back at the dawn of the decade. [7]

Pedro João Santos: It's a idiosyncratic mix of atypical vocal restraint by Ariana, boundless structure and glitchy, angular production courtesy of Pharrell. The verses are amorphous and abstract; Nicki makes a perfunctory but reliable appearance; the circular hook is repeated ad infinitum. Somehow, it all amounts to moderate success, after the brilliant "No Tears Left to Cry", even despite the appalling sample, which might serve for texture, but not much else. At least, it led to interview gold: "Is Ariana Grande a Christian?", the man whose voice was sampled, unbeknownst to him, asks an MTV reporter; his wife Karen sensibly replies: "Craig, I think she's more like Madonna." [7]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox]

#Ariana Grande #Nicki Minaj #pop #music reviews

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centurionboy · 6 years

Text

Meet the Parents

For @friendoftheood because I suddenly got really super inspired by this scenario and I hope it helps you get your Rose muse back...

Set in a post- ‘The God Complex, ’pre-/stubbornly disregarding ‘Time of Angels’ sort of time.

“Ok,” Rose panted, hands on her knees, but looking up, “Can we hurry up please?”

River, hair still bouncing somehow, didn’t even look up from the transporter on her wrist, into which she was frantically typing co-ordinates. “I’m working on it sweetie!” River’s voice was equally sing-song, as though the pair of them were completely oblivious to the menacing thunder of footsteps echoing around the corner towards them. “Oh who even made these things! Such a fiddly operating system-” She grumbled aloud, as though they were just discussing technology.

Rose was straightening up again, barely able to restrain herself from rolling her eyes before she froze. The footsteps had stopped. “Oh sh-”

“I have located the intruders! Corridor 59!”

“Honey?!” Rose called again, slapping her hand against the back of River’s jacket. “Really really time to go now!” Only a tremor of nerves showed in her voice, but with one Sontaran barrelling down the corridor towards them, blaster at the ready, and a whole fleet more on their way, a hasty exit couldn’t come quick enough. “Oh don’t rush me, you’re starting to sound like the Doctor! Such a fusspot,” River laughed, turning triumphantly on her heel.

The Sontaran was almost upon them now, if he paused to fire, there was surely no way he’d miss. But River was gripping Rose’s arm now, all smirk as she punched in the final few numbers. “Ciao boys.” She was laughing as they disappeared in a flash of light.

Rose and River burst out of the light, sprawled in another starkly white, empty corridor. For a second, Rose thought they’d only jumped inside the ship, but as they both leapt to their feet the little details sank in. An analogue clock, a sign written in English. “Where are we?” She panted - these jumps always seemed to leave her breathless.

A single look at River’s face told her everything had not gone to plan. Rose followed her eyes. A little dazed, but holding a blaster steady, aimed straight at them, was their Sontaran pursuer.

“Fleet. Report? I have apprehended the intruders.” For a second, the Sontaran was confused as his comms crackled with static.

Rose didn’t even have to look at River to know what to do now. As one, they barrelled into him, knocking him backwards as they hurtled down another corridor. The corridors were a maze, but sickeningly the thud of heavy boots followed them. The pair skidded to a halt at the end of a corridor. There were people ahead that way, people that definitely didn’t need a Sontaran crashing through their waiting room. “You know,” Rose panted, “This happens every time you promise it’ll be a fun time. Running? Not fun! Never fun!”

“Oh please” River shot back, grabbing Rose’s arm and spinning her around so they could start retracing their steps. They ducked down the next corridor just in time, but both ducked as they heard the blaster shot explode against the wall behind them. “You love it! You’d be bored if we just went for dinner! Oh.” The triumph in her voice died as the blank dead end of the corridor.

The stomp of the boot behind them slowed. “Halt. Before I kill you. Humans.”

River and Rose shared a glance, turning slowly with their hands raised. “Now, really? Do we need the blaster?”

“Yes.”

“Are you really going to try to reason with a Sontaran?” Rose sighed. “Honestly.”

“Well it was worth a go-” River pulled out a communicator from her pocket. The Sontaran blaster twitched, but the trigger finger stayed still. River began fiddling with buttons again, glancing at Rose with a subtle nod to the Sontaran. Luckily Rose was used to it enough to know it was time to talk her way out of something.

“Hand over the files.” The Sontaran growled.

“Files? Files? I don’t remember any files, do you remember any files, River?” Rose shrugged, trying to act as innocent as possible when she knew all too well that the data chip was currently stashed in her inside pocket. All three of them jumped as the communicator gave a strange whistle, and suddenly Rose’s voice was echoing over the tannoy system.

“No idea darling, no idea. Poor thing must be confused. We were just here one minute. In the radiology department. By the store cupboard. When suddenly! We weren’t there at all! And now here we are again.” River was speaking pointedly, in a way that made Rose’s eyes narrow in a sideways glance. “So really, you’re being incredibly rude-” She went on, in that way that only the Doctor and River seemed able to do, telling off a hostile alien as though they were a wayward child. So they were playing for time, thought Rose, waiting for something, some sort of help, perhaps? It would be a whole lot easier to know what she could do to get them out of this if she had the faintest idea where they were. But wait, hadn’t Rose said radiology? A hospital then? For some, irrational second, her mind leapt to Doctor. But no, the Doctor was rarely found in a hospital if he could help it. Martha, perhaps? She was a Doctor. But why come here for help? Why, when River was under-pressure and trying her hardest to hide a tiny bit of fear, would she come here?

“So now really, perhaps you’d better put the blaster down and we can see about getting you home, eh?” River was slowing now, that dreading feeling she wasn’t going to be able to talk her way out of this one, setting in.

“Hand over the files. Or I blow you both to pieces.”

There seemed to be nothing else for it. But that data was going to be vital ... Both women threw themselves flat, as sparks exploded, the blast hitting the wall. “Ok! Ok! Jesus. Just...” River put her hands up, sighing and glancing behind the Sontaran hopefully - even though there was nothing there. “We’ll hand it over. Nice and slowly and nobody needs to get hurt, do they?”

“Nonsense humans. You will hand over the files and then, you will di-” A hand tapped the Sontaran on the shoulder. A figure in scrubs. Rose was busy stuffing the drive back into her pocket, but she did catch a glimpse of the thunderous right hook that caught the Sontaran straight in the face as it turned to brush off its attacker. “RUN!”

Nobody needed telling twice. But this time, Rose and River were following the lanky figure in scrubs, who actually knew where he was going. All three were panting hard by the time they came crashing through a fire-door and out into the street. “KEYS!” River yelled across to the stranger, heading automatically towards a red convertible that stood out glaringly in the grey car park. “Not a chance!” The nurse shot back, shooing her away from the driver’s side door and jumping in. Rose was still watching the door behind them, half expecting the Sontaran to emerge firing a blaster as she vaulted into the back seat. But now they were pulling away, and River was laughing as though this had all been hilarious. It was infectious. As her heart stopped hammering quite so loudly, a grin spread across Rose’s face, and she couldn’t help but laugh herself as River immediately began to play with the radio.

“Now this is more like it!” She threw her hair back, raising her arms in the front seat and seeming to bask in the glow of the adrenalin.

“I don’t suppose anyone wants to explain what the hell just happened? And why I had to leave work early to punch a Sontaran?” Their driver spoke up suddenly, and Rose realised that for a moment she had just accepted whoever this ally was.

“Long story. Had to do some research, they weren’t very happy about sharing, then I remembered whose birthday it was this weekend and thought I’d better pop in-” River laughed it off, leaning across to press a kiss to their driver’s cheek.

“Well... you would have been in trouble if you’d missed it, that’s true.”

Rose felt increasingly awkward as she listened to their driver and River catching up on each other’s lives. There was something familiar about that voice, but she just couldn’t place it... Finally they pulled up outside a row of smart terraced houses, opposite a small park. Rose couldn’t help but smile as she saw the oh-so-tardis blue front door of the house they’d stopped in front of. It was safe to say whoever it was knew everything then, even if it did look as though everyone else who lived on the street would be boring city workers with young families...

“Now. Give me a hug.” Rose looked around to see River and the driver had climbed out of the car while she was admiring their surroundings. Her jaw dropped as she got a good look at his face for the first time. When was the last time she’d seen that face? The 1960s? Perhaps? And yet here, not a day older, was the Centurion, Rory.

“It’s good to see you, Daddy Dearest,” River laughed, pulling her dad into a fond hug. Rose’s jaw nearly hit the floor. “D... Daddy dearest?” She sputtered. Rory. Dad. What.

Rory’s expression mirrored hers, his eyes wide suddenly as he realised who his passenger actually was. “Rose... Rose?” Speechless, battling with the sudden flood of memories as that door to his other life opened, he stepped forwards, looking at her curiously. Now it was River’s turn to look between the two of them in confusion. After a long moment, Rory huffed, turning and jogging up the steps to open the bright blue front door. “Amy? Put the kettle on, everything’s got weird again!”

#idk I just got really inspired to right this situation and definitely didn't do the action sequence justice compared to what it was in my he #Head

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octopuscato · 7 years

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what do you think of this video? /watch?v=UUg_av4v-rM (It makes me angry how there are still people out there who believe in the vaccines cause autism theory and I'm kinda horrified by all the comments under the video agreeing with this)

It’s trash, obviously :/ Vaccines don’t cause autism, the study was faked, the person who conducted it admitted to it and was forbidden to practice medicine - and yet people keep believing this nonsense. It’s also all terribly ableist. I posted this before on some vaccines & autism post here on tumble, but let me post it again; I wrote it some years ago back on LJ:

Behold the darkness in my soulless autistic eyes.

What am I even talking about?

Vaccines. Or more precisely, the ableism behind the anti-vaccines movement.

I’m sure a lot of you have heard about the whole “Vaccines cause autism!” hysteria. I never paid much attention to it, because seriously, it was one study years ago the results of which could never be reproduced in other studies, the person who conducted it said himself that it was a faulty study, and since that’s all there is, factually, I dismissed it. Every now and then I’d talk with friends when it came up and roll my eyes, because seriously, who believes that?

But there’s actually more to it, and it bothers me.

This article popped up on my Facebook feed: I’m Autistic, And Believe Me, It’s A Lot Better Than Measles. The author of The Bellejar also wrote a good article on this subject, called: Vaccines don’t cause autism, but that’s not the point. Stop being ableist. I read them, and then I was disgusted and offended.

Let’s for a moment put aside the fact that vaccines have nothing to do at all with autism. That’s not what this is about.

The Bellejar author quotes some parents who’re against vaccinating their children, and I’d like to repeat those quotes here:

1) “It’s the worst shot,” [Missy Foster, mother to an 18 month old daughter] said, with tears in her eyes. “Do you want to wake up one morning and the light is gone from her eyes with autism or something?”’

2) ‘Kelly McMenimen, a Lagunitas parent, said she “meditated on it a lot” before deciding not to vaccinate her son Tobias, 8, against even “deadly or deforming diseases.” She said she did not want “so many toxins” entering the slender body of a bright-eyed boy who loves math and geography.’

3) “Right before his MMR shot, I said to the doctor, ‘I have a very bad feeling about this shot. This is the autism shot, isn’t it?’ And he said, ‘No, that is ridiculous. It is a mother’s desperate attempt to blame something,’ and he swore at me, and then the nurse gave [Evan] the shot,” she says. “And I remember going, ‘Oh, God, I hope he’s right.’ And soon thereafter — boom — the soul’s gone from his eyes.”

What do all of these people have in common? Apparently they’re ridiculously irrational, hysterical, and ignorant. Not to forget bloody offensive.

Yes, I understand that these parents love their children with all their hearts and are simply frightened to “lose them”, as they perceive it, to a condition they know nothing about other than stereotypes purported by the media (and sadly also “Autism Speaks”). They want to spare their children and themselves what they see as a horrible fate. Or, like in the last case, they’re devastated because it has happened - their child has been diagnosed with that terrible condition, and they don’t know how to go on from there. I get that.

But they need to educate themselves before speaking about autism, about autistic people, like that. You can’t make any informed choices (never mind that there is no choice between “vaccines & risk of autism” and “no vaccines & no risk of autism”) if you know nothing about the subject in question.

Staying with those quotes, what becomes also quite clear is that when thinking “autism” these parents think of “unreachable”, “living in their own world”, “can’t communicate” etc. They’re afraid their child will be “gone”. Only autistic people aren’t “gone”, as the author at “The Bellejar” points out. In her words:

Their brains function differently than neurotypical brains, which often leads to them becoming overwhelmed by outside stimuli in a way that other people might not. So, in a sense, they’re more present than many of us are – they’re bombarded by sights, sounds and smells that neurotypical people can ignore or dismiss. They are very much “here,” trying way harder than most to process what “here” is.

This, precisely. Outside of my flat where I can tone down “here” as much as possible, I’m almost constantly busy warding off the environment and all its stimuli. If I come off as aloof or distant, it might be because I’m trying not to react to anything and everything and have a screaming fit because it’s overwhelming. Somebody who’s more severely affected obviously reacts more severely, be it meltdowns or withdrawal into stimming for self-soothing purposes. But no, we’re not “gone”.

On to what really annoyed me: the truly offensive language and what it says. Because while that’s probably what these people mean, they’re not saying: “I’m frightened for my child to become sick with something I don’t know a lot about other than scary things I’ve heard someplace. I love my child and want them to be healthy and happy the way I know, the way I am.”No, they’re saying something else with these words.Now, there are probably people reading this with children with a more severe Autism Sprectrum Disorder than me. And through my sister, I met lots of disabled children and their parents while growing up, among whom were non-verbal autistic children with mental disabilities. I also read a lot about the subject. So, I’d never claim that having an autistic child can’t be absolutely exhausting and frustrating and bring people to the end of their rope. And certainly most parents with disabled children have wondered what it might be like if the child were born without the disability. But I seriously doubt that most people with disabled children would talk about there “being no light in their eyes”, or how they have no soul. Even if those are just meant as figures of speech - WORDS MEAN THINGS.What is there in your child’s eyes if there’s “no light”? Is there darkness? Or are they just dull, empty? Is there nothing there? And if your son’s “soul is gone from his eyes”, what does that mean? Again, that there’s nothing there anymore?You make it sound as if autistic (and other disabled) people weren’t human. No light, no soul - nothing there. Non-entities. “Gone”, as I said above. I’m not a zombie. I prefer not to look you in the eye, but that’s not due to my wish to hide the soulless darkness lurking there, it’s because it makes me uncomfortable. (Recently, I received a message on a dating site telling me that my eyes could “cut into a man’s heart like a knife into butter”. See, I actually have laser eyes, not vortexes of darkness.) I might not have a love for math and geography, but music, art, and literature aren’t all that bad either - that’s what I love. And without the tongue-in-cheek attitude: I like to think I’m human, as is your son, as are all the other people with autism (and other disabilities). As somebody who’s not as severely affected, I manage to pass as “normal” if eccentric, my special interests can be viewed as extensive interest in hobbies, and most of the time I can suppress more “autistic-looking” behaviours in public. People who’re more severely affected don’t pass because they can’t do the latter, and their special interests might seem pointless and frustrating. But none of us are “gone” or dull creatures without individuality. No, also not those who’re non-verbal and mentally disabled. Just as human and just as individual as you.But that’s not all. It goes further. Because in essence, these words and the entire attitude behind not vaccinating for fear of the child becoming disabled mean more. It means: “I’d rather risk my child dying from measles/other preventable diseases than have them become autistic (disabled), because that’s a fate worse than death.”I don’t know. Last I checked, my life was pretty superior to being worm fodder, even with the problems I have due to being autistic in a world not geared for that. I bet my sister with Down Syndrome feels the same, as do millions of other disabled people - and their families and friends. My family, friends, and girlfriend are rather happy that I exist.Is this really what you want to say? You’d rather your child die than be disabled? Being disabled is such a terrible thing that being dead is better, for the person in question as well as those around them? If not, you need to choose your words more carefully.If yes, you have a whole lot to learn in life. I pity you. Actually, I wouldn’t want to switch places with you even for a day, because you’re more severely disabled than me, or any other disabled person.PS.: The true irony? That the very diseases you choose not to protect your child from could also leave them disabled. Them and/or other children whom you endanger by doing this.

#anon #lordhellebore answers #autism #asd #vaccines #vaccinate your kids

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milliebeeweasel · 7 years

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I read Cassie Clare’s Draco Dormiens, so you don’t have to

So Cassie Claire.

She’s a world-famous author, an Internet-famous plagiariser, and I am a little nobody with a masochistic streak a mile wide and too much curiosity for my own good. So I decided to read Draco Dormiens: the early-2000s fanfic that propelled Cassie into her writing career, and turned a shitload of people against her because plagiarism.

Cassie was 27 when she wrote this. It made her a BNF. It was huge. So it has to be good, right?

Um.

Well.

Let me take you on a sporkful journey. A journey into OOC weirdness, Hermione yo-yo-knickers, gentle canon divergence and blatant canon destruction. We’ll come out haggard and exhausted and wondering what the hell we just saw, but then we can all sit together and laugh soullessly about it over beers.

Also, since Cassie mercilessly rips off funnier people than her, I’m going to do the same. It’s a theme.

Draco Dormiens, it goeth thusly.

The basic premise is a Harry-Draco bodyswap fic. Since this was written before the release of Order of the Phoenix, it starts with a fifth year potions lesson. Snape is teaching the class about polyjuice potions, and forces everyone to temporarily swap bodies so they can see its affects. He pairs Harry and Draco, which is in-character because he’s making Harry suffer, but also wildly out of character, because he’s making Draco suffer, too.

Anyway, Harry and Draco chug their polyjuice potions and bitch for a while about how awful it is to be each other. Draco particularly whinges about Harry’s bitten nails, because his own are like, professionally manicured by house elves.

Take a moment to let that sink in. Dobby the nail technician.

I digress. When the class turns back, Harry and Draco don’t. Draco checks his Rolex—and my brain does a spit-take because why the fuck is Draco wearing Muggle apparel?—and says they should be back to normal now. Harry, thinking Draco’s spiked the potion, starts throwing punches. I mean, he never threw a punch in a lifetime of Dudley’s bullying, but I guess now’s a fine time to start? The fight ends with Draco knocking Harry the fuck out, and then realising he’s still stuck in Harry’s body. Harry (still looking like Draco) is taken to the Hospital Wing, where Madam Pomfrey’s like, ‘No problem, Dracey-poo will be out cold for the night and all better in the morning!’

She um. She doesn’t use magic to heal him or anything.

This is a recurring theme in Draco Dormiens. Magical healing is mostly ignored for plot purposes, and suddenly pops up when it’s convenient.

At this point, you’d think Draco would point out he’s Draco, and the unconscious Draco is actually Harry, but he … doesn’t? Draco essentially says to himself, ‘I AM THE GREETEST, I WILL BE HARRY POTTER NOW, FOR NO RAISINS!’ and continues to follow Harry’s timetable and never inform anyone of what happened.

So we get some bumbling comedy while Draco tries to be Harry, including him being exceptionally nasty to Cho Chang, revealing that Goyle wears ladies’ underwear, and eventually snogging Hermione. You know, the Mudblood he loathes.

If your brain just slammed on the brakes, don’t worry. That’s normal.

Meanwhile, Harry wakes up in the Hospital Wing screaming he’s not Draco Malfoy. Rather than gently calming him and getting an explanation so this whole contrived plot can be repaired, Madam Pomfrey knocks him the fuck out again and calls for Lucius Malfoy to take him home.

Harry, buddy, you might want to get a CAT Scan when you wake up. I hear being unconscious is super bad for you.

So Draco finds out Harry’s been carted off by his dad and understandably flips out, because he thinks Lucius is going to realise he’s basically got Harry captive and murder him, leaving Draco stuck as Harry forever. If you’re thinking a) polyjuice potion doesn’t work like that, or b) if it did, Lucius would be smart enough to not just murder Harry and ruin Draco’s life, your mind is in the wrong place for this fanfic.

Hermione catches Draco in the library, being swooned over by Cho Chang because apparently all she really wanted was a bad boy. You know, like Cedric Diggory. That real bad boy Hufflepuff she dated. (Speaking of which, Cedric Diggory is not mentioned once in this fic. Ever. Voldemort’s return is barely referenced until halfway through.)

BRB, rolling my eyes to space.

When they’re alone, Draco finally, finally admits to Hermione that he’s not Harry Potter.

And she punches him.

A lot.

I mean, I guess it’s technically more in-character for Hermione, but still. They’re in a library. Respect for the books, yo.

When she’s eventually got all the punching out, Draco uses a truth spell on himself to prove he didn’t fuck this up on purpose. Now. This was another brain-stop moment, because I know that veritaserum was in Goblet of Fire, and the spell Draco uses is ‘veritas’. But Hermione freaks because it’s DARK MAGIC and BAD and YOU SHOULDN’T DO THAT, even though good characters use veritaserum in Goblet of Fire with no problem. On the other hand, Hermione recovers enough to ask Draco if he’s ever had sex in order to humiliate him (he hasn’t). How heroic.

Draco does point out around now that he and Harry have a kind of mental link, and it’s making him do all kinds of nice stuff like saving Hermione from bludgers and Neville from bullies. Character development? Eh.

Hermione and Draco decide to go to Malfoy Manor and rescue Harry, leaving Ron behind because they’d have to explain everything to him, and that’s just such a bother.

Don’t worry, Ron. You’re actually getting off lightly, tbh.

Harry, in the meantime, wakes up in Malfoy Manor and plays along as Draco so he won’t get out-and-out murderkilled by Lucius. Now, Lucius in the books was implied to be cold with Draco, but still fond of him. Lucius in Draco Dormiens is full on, no holds barred abusive to both Draco and Narcissa, and also a total sex fiend who repeatedly cheats on Narcissa and attempts to assault Hermione.

But we’ll get to that later.

After some hilarious banter with McNair, where Lucius reveals Dumbledore straight-up cold-blooded killed a man ("And when Zabini tried to send the boy an exploding broom, Dumbledore intercepted it and sent it right back in a different package. They had to bury Zabini in a matchbox!"), Harry discovers the Death Eaters have captured Sirius. Narcissa faints; Harry tries to deck Lucius to get to Sirius; Lucius locks Harry in Draco’s room, and saunters off to stick Sirius in the dungeon and, presumably, gloat him to death.

At this point, Hermione and Draco make it to Malfoy Manor and Draco does a few spells to get them inside. I want to make a point of that. Draco performs a few spells. It takes up maybe a page, at a push. This is important later.

(This, also, is the first time I spotted a quote definitely lifted from Blackadder, when Draco dives in the way of an arrow to save Hermione and gets it in the leg, and she comments, ‘Six inches to the left and grandchildren would’ve been out of the question.’)

They burst into the bedroom where Harry’s locked up, and Harry proceeds to get irrationally angry because Hermione and Draco were holding each other for dear life as they crashed wildly through the window. It turns out this irrational anger is contagious, as the three of them continue to pointlessly argue for the rest of the fic, mostly about which of the two boys Hermione wants to bang most. It’s a wonder Harry manages to actually tell them Sirius is in the dungeon, smh.

Lucius arrives and Draco and Hermione hide in the wardrobe. Only after Harry’s walked off to the dungeons with Lucius does Draco point out the wardrobe locks from the outside, so they’re now stuck. This, of course, is a perfect opportunity for them to get drunk on butterbeer and make out. Because why not?

Harry gets to Sirius and is miraculously left alone with him. Sirius can smell that he’s really Harry, and this makes perfect sense because he’s a dog half the time. What doesn’t make sense is Hermione’s constant musings that she can also smell the difference between Harry and Draco, who smell like a variety of painfully fanficcy nonsense, from coffee to maple syrup to lime and I cringed every time.

Anyhoo, Sirius tells Harry that it’s super weird Narcissa married Lucius because Narcissa was totes a nice girl at school and I started going cross-eyed at this point because I couldn’t believe I was watching a Sirius/Narcissa plotline emerge.

Harry nances back up to the bedroom to enlist Draco and Hermione’s help in saving Sirius, and goes apeshit when he catches them snogging. Not at Draco—no, no, no. Entirely at Hermione.

You know, if I left my female friend locked in a wardrobe with a guy I didn’t trust further than I could throw him, and then opened the wardrobe and found them all over each other, I’d kind of … assume it was the guy’s fault? Like, my first instinct would be to push him off and check the girl’s all right, that he wasn’t assaulting her.

Not Harry.

Nope.

This is all definitely Hermione’s fault.

And I’d judge Harry for this, but Hermione’s actions over the next few chapters kind of explain his response. I lost count of how many times she kissed Harry, then Draco, then Harry, then Draco, and got angry with both of them if they dared be upset at her constant cheating. Bella Swan was positively decisive compared to DD!Hermione.

After more mind-numbing bickering, they stick Draco under the invisibility cloak, what with him looking like Harry and all, and all head back to the dungeon to save Sirius. However, they’re caught by Lucius Malfoy, who somehow completely doesn’t recognise Hermione, who Harry introduces as his—Draco’s—girlfriend, a Ravenclaw and totally not a muggleborn at all. Nope.

Also he kisses her.

Because you know. Hermione hasn’t done enough kissing yet. Not by a wide margin.

Lucius sends Harry away, and the instant he’s alone with Hermione he proceeds to pounce on her like a sexually starved dog attacking someone’s leg. I’m a damn strong advocate for not censoring sexual violence in fiction, but this scene doesn’t further the plot in the least and has basically no emotional effect on Hermione after the fact. It’s pointless. Deeply uncomfortable, and pointless.

Welp, Draco chases his dad off Hermione by throwing shit at him from under the cloak, kinda like Harry throwing mud at Draco in Prisoner of Azkaban, and before Lucius runs off Hermione notices he’s clutching some ugly-ass necklace with a tooth in it.

Hmm. I’m sure that’s not plot relevant at all!

A bunch of shenanigans happen that I don’t remember all too well because I read this whole fic in one evening at midnight, but eventually another Death Eater recognises Hermione, and Lucius gets right down to torturing her so she’ll tell him where Harry is, because he sent an owl to Hogwarts to lure Harry in to save Sirius so they could capture him and—

Wow. Déjà vu. This, um. This was actually written before Order of the Phoenix.

Huh.

Anyway, eventually Draco can’t stand it anymore and bursts out from under the cloak all, ‘TIS I, HAROLD POTTERSON, PLEASE DESIST!’ and Lucius totally desists so he can capture Draco and toss Hermione in the dungeon with Sirius. I think Harry gets sent to Draco’s room again. I think?

But basically he gets out and goes to save Sirius and Hermione, but you can’t get into the dungeon unless you’ve got Malfoy blood in your veins, so he sneaks to Draco, who’s now locked in a sparkly magic cage. Harry decides to take the phrase ‘Malfoy blood in your veins’ 100% literally, and just straight up steal a bunch of Draco’s blood. So of course they painstakingly set up a magical blood transfusion and—

Hahaha, just kidding! Harry slices their palms open with a knife and they hold hands until probably he’s got some Malfoy blood in him.

At this point, you may be wondering why the polyjuice potion hasn’t automatically turned Harry’s blood into Draco’s, since it turned the rest of him into Draco. If so, stop thinking. You’re not allowed to do that.

Also, what I haven’t mentioned until now is that this fanfic comes with artwork. Wall-eyed anime Draco holding a black rose is the cover art, and it’s peppered throughout with crappy pencil sketches, mostly of Hermione swooning over either Harry or Draco. It’s honesly worth reading the fic just to cringe at the illustrations.

Anywhoo, Harry runs back to the dungeons to release Sirius and Hermione, and then they meet Narcissa Malfoy, who tells them a) Voldemort is totes here already to kill Harry (Draco), and b) that ugly necklace of Lucius’s is actually a curse on Draco, so if the necklace breaks, he dies. This is the only reason she’s stayed with Lucius all this time. Poor battered wife Narcissa.

Boo.

They also learn that Voldemort isn’t going to kill Harry—instead he’s going to do some ridiculously convoluted magic to give Harry a magic metal arm that kills Muggles and Muggleborns, and then set him out with the Imperius Curse to kill people. Why he wouldn’t just … give Harry a knife and send him out under the Imperius Curse to kill people is never explained.

Whatever. Voldemort arrives and Draco makes some cutting remarks about him being ugly, because that’s a smart move? Voldy realises pretty sharpish that Draco isn’t Harry, because Draco doesn’t scream bloody murder when Voldy pokes him in the face. Then Voldemort removes the spell from polyjuice potion.

With two words.

He uses finite incantatem.

I’m serious, that’s it. Other characters have used finite incantatem several times throughout the fic, but apparently none of them thought to check if it would reverse the polyjuice potion. This does get elaborated on later, but still, none of the characters questioned it. None of them said, ‘Oh duh, we should totally have tried that!’ I may have screamed into a pillow a little.

Anyway, Draco turns back to Draco and Harry turns back to Harry, and Harry possibly makes out with Hermione again. Everything at this point is pretty fuzzy because it was getting late and I was on the brink of wishing for death.

EDIT: Because I can’t believe I forgot to add this before: Draco’s full name in this fic is Draco Thomas Malfoy. Thomas. After Tom Riddle. He’s named after his Uncle Voldy. Yes, that in an actual tear on my cheek.

Harry decides he can’t just leave Draco behind, so Hermione messes with the metal arm gadget and he whacks it on and storms in on the Death Eaters. Voldemort starts monologuing, saying the instant Draco turned back to himself he told Voldy everything and totes betrayed Harry and Hermione. Because you know, without the magical link to Harry, Draco’s just plain evil.

Then Voldy puts Harry under the Imperius Curse and … Harry just kinda tosses it off? He throws out a line like, ‘You know the Imperius Curse doesn’t work on me!’ as if it’d been foreshadowed in any way at all, and I narrowed my eyes and sighed and moved on.

Harry uses the metal hand to fire lasers at all the Death Eaters, which doesn’t kill them since Hermione tinkered with it, but sends them all super far away. That should be helpful … for like three minutes. They’re adult wizards. They can apparate. Ugh.

Well, they don’t apparate. Harry takes off the metal arm and he, Hermione and Sirius march out of Malfoy Manor together.

This ought to be the end of the fic, right? Harry and Draco are back to normal. Voldemort was faced and defeated. Just gotta wrap up the loose ends and all done, surely?

So imagine my surprise when I glance up at the top of my PDF and realise I’ve got over half the fic to go.

O-okay?

The crew grab Draco before he can scarper, because they want his help getting out of the Manor, since it’s all cursed and shit. Now, remember when I said that getting in took a couple of spells and maybe a page?

Getting out takes ten times as long.

Yeah, suddenly Malfoy’s garden is full of hexes and booby traps and really, painfully obviously-stolen-from-Blackadder lines that Draco has to lead them all through. (And yes, at this point I’d noticed several plagiarised lines, most of them cited half-arsedly at the end of their chapter.)

The whole way, Harry and Hermione are sulking because they think Draco betrayed them, Draco’s sulking because he didn’t betray them but they think he did, and Sirius is essentially me, face-palming at the idiot teenagers the whole way.

Eventually they get to this chasm, and Draco makes a magic path for them to cross. Harry falls off, screaming ‘I LOVE YOU’ at Hermione, who is so dense she immediately convinces herself he couldn’t possibly have said that. Draco legs it back towards the manor alone, because I guess he’s still a prick.

Harry has some weird fever dream about Hermione in a yellow dress as he’s falling, and then he’s suddenly in the back of Arthur Weasley’s flying car with Ron and Fred and George, and honestly it took me half a page to realise the flying car wasn’t part of the fever dream. Turns out Ron got the owl from Lucius Malfoy and came flying to the rescue with Fred and George, and they saw Harry fall and caught him.

They fly Harry back up to Hermione, who cries a lot, and while Sirius runs off to get Draco, Ron suddenly becomes Harry’s Life Coach is all like, ‘Harry, my man, my bud, pls tell Hermione how you feel about her now, we literally cannot stand this love triangle for another page.’

So Harry goes off to do just that, and Hermione. Hermione. Hermione. Twists everything he says, cries again, says she can never be with him because she loves him too much and it scares her, says she’s safer with Draco who can’t hurt her, and runs off sobbing.

Have I mentioned Hermione is kind of the worst?

Yeah.

Cassie broke Hermione. Thanks, Cassie.

Meanwhile, Sirius finds Draco and has a heart-to-heart with him, essentially saying that Draco reminds him of him, what with the Death Eater parents and the shitty home life, and that he learned to be friends with James and that was cool, so why not be friends with Harry? Draco grumbles but comes with him, and I check the numbers at the top and still like, 100 A4 pages to go, what the fuck?

As Sirius and Draco return, Lucius Malfoy apparently remembers how to apparate and does so, right in front of them all. He tries to kill Harry but Draco’s like ‘DADDY NO!’ and jumps in the way in an elegant and moving rendition of the climax from Pocahontas.

Lucius decides fuck it, he can make more babies, and goes to crush the necklace. But Hizzle P. and da Crew dive in to stop him, and shove him in the trunk of the Ford Anglia. Draco, however, is now basically dying from a dent in the necklace, so they rush him to Hogwarts.

There’s a lot of wrapping up at this point, but basically Draco goes to the Hospital Wing to get fixed up, Lucius Malfoy gets thrown to the Aurors, Narcissa agrees to testify against him. It’s all looking like we’re heading for a happy ending.

And I look up.

Ninety. Fucking. Pages. Left.

‘Everything’s done!’ I’m screaming. ‘What more is left to discuss!?’

Well, two things. First of all, Dumbledore has to sweep in and explain how Super Special both Harry and Draco are. Apparently they’re both Magids, a stupid word Cassie made up for this fic, which basically makes them … super wizards? I guess? It’s not terribly clear. Either way, Dumbledore also says this is why Voldemort wanted to kill Harry as a baby and I cackled wildly because hindsight is 50/50 when you’ve read all seven books. He also says Draco is a Magid, and Draco accidentally made the polyjuice potion permanent, and Voldemort is a Magid, and that’s why his finite incantatem stopped the spell.

Oh, you may be thinking, that’s nice. At least that got explained.

Except.

EXCEPT.

ANY ONE OF THEM COULD HAVE AT LEAST TRIED FINITE INCANTATEM. DRACO COULD EVEN HAVE JUST ASKED SNAPE FOR HELP. BUT NO. THIS WHOLE MESS JUST HAD TO HAPPEN.

MAGIDS IS A TERRIBLE EXPLANATION.

Well fine. Draco also kind of hand-waves a half-arsed reason for wanting to be Harry—because apparently Harry is just so popular and well-liked, and poor woobie Draco isn’t. At this point I think my eyes start melting out their sockets, because Harry is regularly despised by his classmates throughout the books, but fine. Whatever. I just want this trainwreck finished.

But wait.

There’s still so, so much more.

What follows is pages and pages of Hermione humming and harring over Draco and Harry. It’s dumb. It’s agony. I wanted to shake her, shake the author, shake the whole world, as I skimmed this drivel. I wanted Harry and Draco to say fuck her, to admit they were each gayer than a rainbow parade and fly away together in the Ford Anglia like the end of Grease.

But no. Finally, fucking finally, Harry finds the Mirror of Erised, hereafter to be known as the Mirror of Plot Convenience, and Hermione sees herself standing with Harry. She decides he must be the one for her, and I’m put out of my fucking misery.

Siiiigh.

Draco Dormiens ends with a letter from Sirius to say that Narcissa’s getting divorced from mean old nasty Lucius, and she’s going to marry Sirius instead—and with hysterical screaming laughter from me.

So that’s Draco Dormiens.

I’ll give Cassie Claire this: she’s good at creating hooks to propel you through the plot. Even as I shook my head and tutted and rolled my eyes and screamed into pillows at the stupidity, I never stopped reading. Each chapter gave me another hook—okay, so what’s Harry going to do; what about that necklace; how do they free Draco?

But oh my god, it was stupid.

Every character did something that felt just plain wrong at least once. Especially Hermione. Hermione was the most painfully out of character: bitchy, selfish, hysterical, utterly awful. A few times in the fic, Cassie mentions that Hermione doesn’t cry often. But that’s not true. Hermione cries all the way through this fic. If she’s not sobbing, she’s on the verge of tears.

I’m an absolute sucker for redemption arcs, but making Draco a poor, abused woobie in order to turn him good felt cheap and unrewarding.

And, of course, the plagiarism. Jesus Christ.

Other people have covered this much better than me, but yes, I spotted several pinched or reworded lines in the fic. This wouldn’t usually bother me in a not-for-profit fanfic, but Cassie did profit from her fanfic, in more ways than one (please, please read the exposé, it’s fascinating). It also meant that, every time I saw a witty or well-written line I didn’t recognise, my instinct was to wonder where she’d stolen it from. It’s really awkward to read with that level of paranoia hanging over you.

It’s not the worst fanfic I’ve ever read. It’s not My Immortal level ridiculous or Master of the Universe level offensive. If you’ve got nothing to do of an evening, it’s amusing enough for a few hours to laugh at the missteps—I honestly can’t believe a 27-year-old wrote DD; her craft is terrible—and it’s got enough plot to keep you relatively interested between the what-the-fuckery.

Just … have some paracetamol handy for when you’re done. And a stiff drink.

#cassie clare #draco dormiens #fanfic #fanfiction #hope this isn't tagging hate #if anyone wants i can remove tags :)#harry potter

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digdeepergravedigger09 · 7 years

Text

So I was tagged both by @naferty and @imaginestarkquill about this ... post meme thing. It took a while because of some certain questions. And also I talk a LOT. It’s just a thing I do. Talk a lot. Get into a tangent. I may have taken this way too seriously. One of the questions also contain a certain aspect of myself that I really dislike about myself. I tried to answer honestly, but I have to admit I am very defensive and I’ve qualified a lot of things trying to excuse myself. I answered it as honestly as I would on a personal blog that this is.

Also, gross insect death.

Rules: answer the questions in a new post and tag 20 blogs you would like to know better!

A - age: 25... 26? I’m not entirely sure. It’s hard to remember when you’re one year older than your birthdate says you are apparently B - birthplace: Korea C - current time: 3.46 PM D - drink you last had: Water E - easiest person to talk to: It depends on what I want to talk about. I usually talk most of everything with my mom, and all that I don’t want to talk about with her, with my bf, and all that I don’t want to talk with either of them, with @deredana. F - favorite song: For the longest of time, it had been Chrystalanthemums from the Homestuck Album 1-4, but these days I’m in love with Hey Judy by Julie Robert from the Event [0] Soundtrack.

Continued under Keep reading.

G - grossest memory: Grade 7. First biology class of the year. Sat next to this kid who had a plastic folder/bag. Very sturdy, holds textbooks. There was a fly in the room, and apparently it sat on the table, before this kid with the bag. He slams it on the fly. Apparently, the fly tried to take off, but its lower... half... got crushed by the folder bag. Apart from the disgusting black mess that was the fly, there were.... white... tiny... things. That were crawling everywhere. Just... tiny, tiny tiny maggots crawling to every which direction. I don’t remember what happened after that, but I’m still scared of hitting/killing flies that I will just run away from them instead of swatting them away. I don’t want to look at flies, I don’t want to think about flies. H - horror yes or horror no: Horror no. Just no. Thriller is fine, but horror is no. I - in love?: In love what? Am I in love? What is love? Baby don’t hurt me No but seriously, everything that people say about “love” seem to be accepted to be all simultaneously accurate and incoherent mess of contradictions. How can you know the “love” you say is the same “love” I feel? I know “love” can be felt in differing intensity, but how would I know, in the root, that they are the same feeling? I can’t tell if I am “in love” because I don’t know if what I’m feeling is love. I don’t understand whatever feeling the world’s literature describes love to be, it’s all nonsense. I think I’d prefer the phrase “extreme fondness” over “love” to be honest. “Love” is such a loaded word. But yeah, I guess I am “in love” currently, with someone. J - jealous of people?: Yes. I’m a jealous and envious person. I hate that I can’t be 100% genuine when I say I congratulate people for succeeding, especially in areas where I myself want to succeed. I don’t actually hate the individuals themselves, I don’t think. But I do get resentful - I know that it is irrational and petty and ridiculous and just overall it says a lot about what person I am - when I am not the best/better. I think I got it down to a point where I will have a constant, low undercurrent of envy and resentment under my skin, but I like to think that I do a good job on not outwardly hating the people themselves for their success, at the very least. And I know this might taint some people’s perception of myself, that I may be lying to them about me being happy for their success. I’m not lying about that part; I really am glad they are getting a good thing in their life. But if you don’t believe me (and I don’t blame you, after everything I’ve written), don’t mind the selfish person being jealous. You got your success because you worked hard for it, or if it was a lucky break, but it was your well-deserved lucky break. K - killed someone?: Only in my dreams. Wow, that sounds wrong. I mean nightmares. But also dreams sometimes. I kill a lot of people in both my dreams and nightmares. That’s not a better answer. L - love at first sight or should I walk by again: I don’t believe in “love” at first sight. I prefer the understanding that “love” comes after years of stable, familiar relationship where you can accept everything of each other. So, no, no love at first sight, nor walking by again would help. M - middle name: I don’t have a middle name. N - number of siblings: I’m an only child. O - one wish: To have enough money to not have the audacity to make up an excuse to pass by any people who ask for help on the streets. To have enough money that I made on my own, to not be a burden on my parents or on my significant other. To be self sufficient and more, to be able to be generous without feeling guilty and facetious. P - person you called last: My boyfriend. Q - question you’re always asked: "How’s life?” “What will you do after you do (this thing I’m currently doing)?” Everything is going horribly, thank you, and I have no idea where my life is headed currently. But I’m trying to manage everything. I appreciate that you’re trying to help, and they probably will help in the end, but right now as I hear that question I am filled with anger and resentment and everything that pops into my head is venom and vitriol. Unfortunately I don’t get asked many questions that don’t have to do with things I hate to think about the most. R - reason to smile: Healthy, happy animals. People who enjoy their lives. (I’m envious, but I’m also happy to see others be happy and passionate about their life and work. I don’t know what that’s about either) S - song you sang last: As in Karaoke? It’s been so long - 낭만고양이 by Cherry Filter, I suppose. Gosh, it’s been ages. Just by myself? Art is Dead by Bo Burnham. U - underwear color: Navy and Black. V - vacation: I might go to where my parents are for like a week, once everything is over. X - x-rays: What do you want from this question? I don’t understand. Have I ever been x-ray’d? Yes. I think most people would have, at least once in their lives? Y - your favourite food: Noodles. All noodles. Instant noodles, Udon, Ramen, Gooksoo, Pho, Bun Cha, Spaghetti, Phat Thai, Bun Bo Hue, etc and all that I may not remember. With few notable exceptions: I don’t like Korean Soy noodles, and I don’t particularly enjoy vermicelli, unless cooked in a very specific dish. Z - zodiac sign: Virgo

I do have some certain people I would like to get to know better. I have a feeling many of you have already done this - it’s been a while since I got tagged too, so. But if you haven’t, please do? @reioka @tonystarktogo @saved-by-the-notepad @westbrookwestbooks @feelingsinwinter @deredana @beir @bloody-bee-tea and any of you who might want to try too, consider yourselves tagged!

#I don't like the J question #It really just pulled me down to a place I don't want to be #I'm bitter about most of this tbh #I'm trying to be better #personal #I changed the answer to that question a lot #a LOT #it feels a lot more PG than it was before #so I feel better about tagging people onto this #squished bug story #gross bug story #gross bug #it took me a while #because I was toning things down so I could feel comfortable tagging people #I talk a lot #as I usually do

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stimtoybox · 8 years

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I don't know if it's okay to ask you, but do you have any tips for sensory overload? Not melt/shutdowns, but the ones that make it painful to touch anything with a different texture than smooth and/or soft, and that can sometimes make it painful to speak?

I apologise for taking so long on this, anon. (And it is absolutely okay to ask!) This is a hard question to answer: I think folkswho endure sensory overload experience it in phenomenally unique ways andthis individuality of experience cannot be taken out of the discussion. Itis, I think, why I scroll past so many pieces on the subject, because most ofthem don’t click with me! What triggers it, how it it’s triggered, where/whenit’s triggered and what one finds calming make all the difference in the world.All these different things add together to make an experience, I think, thatisn’t completely shared by anyone else.

My sensory overload is triggeredquite badly by sound, presence - I can’t find the technical term,but the feeling of too many things/people in too small a space, even ifthey’re not touching me and are pretty quiet - light, movement and scent. In contrast,I’m a texture seeker (exceptions being wool, scratchy fabric and devil tags).So already, we have the same rough language for the concept, but the dialectswe speak are so different that a list of things that work for mealready leaves me speaking, uselessly, at cross-purposes to you and, in fact,most other people. I know already that the things that help me are very like todrive you to frustration, if they don’t worsen your overload!

So I think my answer is this: toknow what helps you, you need to get to know you. Because you are theonly one who can answer a question on a unique problem with useful specificity.Not you as society or family or friends want you to be; you as you are right now. (And in case it needs saying: you right now are pretty awesome.) I knowit is very much the nature of the world forced upon us that we don’t knowourselves. How can we, when we’re told with a thousand voices that we’rewrong and shouldn’t exist as we are? When we learn to hide so much of what we are in response to that? But it’s self-advocacy and glorious rebellion both toattempt it, and everyone who ever reads this deserves it.

There’s any number of stim/rescue/sensory overload kit lists online with suggestions; I think this one is pretty thorough within the bounds of portability. It’s a starting point, though, because your next job is to figure out what your particular needs are. Who you are.

So, towards that end, here’s some questions you might want toask yourself. Ask them and keep on asking them. It might take you yearsto get to a full answer of any one of these things. (I’m still figuring these things out. I’ll probably never stop figuring them out.)But if you make a habit of asking, you’ll start to notice those moments in yourexperience (well after the fact is fine) that answer those questions.

(I will observe that some of thesecan be very difficult for folk with financial restrictions to carry out - itseems to me ridiculously unfair that the people who most need to changetheir environments often have the financial inability to do so.)

Questions below the cut!

-What triggers your sensory overload? Be general at first - very general.(Because identifying triggers? Hard.) Then try to break it down and findany smaller elements. Sit at the end of the day for a minute or two and think about how you felt(hard, I know) and what you think might have caused it. Keep on doing this.Even when you think you know, check in afterwards!

(Don’t worry: you can’t be wrong inthis. All answers are useful. Even if you later decide the answer doesn’t fit,it got you thinking on the very hard problem of identifying. That’s allit needs to do.)

-What triggers can you avoid? Because it might be that a few of thesethings are avoidable. Sure, society tells you that you shouldn’t beoverloaded by anything, but society is absurd and nonsensical. If you can avoidthis thing and it causes no harm to you or the people around you, like wearing earplugs at a shopping centre, do it.

- What triggers can you minimize? It might be that some of these things can be lessened, too.

- What can you tolerate ordinarilybut not when you’re overwhelmed? Can you replace it with something alwaystolerable? I’ll give an example: if you cantolerate the touch of your quilt when not-overwhelmed but can’t bear it whenoverwhelmed, get rid of it and replace it with something you can alwaystolerate. Make your room, your bag, your clothing, your things, your personalspaces, as tolerable/pleasing for you as possible, no matter your state. Thisgives you somewhere safe and comfortable to be; this makes it easier to recover. You don’t ever want to have tobe out shopping and deal with overwhelm from other customers plusthe devil tags on your clothing. You say you struggle with non-smooth/softtextures when overloaded, so why not make your things/spaces as smooth and softas possible? This makes your clothes, your things and your spaces a retreat, nomatter what.

- What does your overload feellike? Again, this is also really hard.(Knowing what I’m feeling? What?) But if you can, over time, puttogether a list of experiences and sensations, you’ll have more warning aboutwhen an overload is coming, what it feels like when it does and what you can do about it.

(You may have noticed by now thatI’m here for advocating, as much as is reasonably possible, the art of notbeing overloaded. In truth, it’s easier for me to not be overloaded than it isto come down from overload.)

- What makes you feel good andconnected to your body? I spentfive years telling psychologists that I’d love to be a ball of energy, a la theascended Ancients in Stargate, because my body is only an uncomfortable,pain-cursed thing to be endured. I do have enjoyable sensoryexperiences: I just hadn’t experienced many of them up until that point … or even noticed that they were pleasurable. It doesn’t have to makeyou feel amazing; anything even a little positive. I’m talking aboutstimming as a coping mechanism - a means of delivering positive input to helpcounteract the overwhelm. List everything you can think of. Keep adding to it. Keep a feel-good list or journal!

(To find these? Explore things. Dowhat society tells you not to do: touch clothing in a store, listen to things,look at colours. Neurotypical adults are taught to shut off so much positivesensory input along with the negative, but since we can’t do that and have tolive in the world they made for us, we need to embrace ourfeeling-things-too-much powers by finding the good stuff we really feel.And there will be something. Do you find peace in a dark, quiet space whenthere’s nothing to rasp against your senses? That too is a sensoryexperience!)

-Which of these positive experiences can best relax you when overwhelmed?Stim toys, music, ear plugs? (This ties in to making sure as much of yourthings are still accessible to you - by which I mean not a negative experiencefor you - when overloaded.) Experiment here. Try different things! It’ll be hard to remember to try, I know! The more you think about this, though, the more likely it is one of these things will pop into your mind when you need it.

- What calms or distracts you? True story here: whenever I went into shutdown, mypsychologist would ask me a question about gender, activism or feminism,because she figured out quickly that getting me into analytical mode got me outof shutdown much quicker than standing back and waiting. (I’m an opinionated non-binary person.) Do you have that one songthat always makes you happy? Do you have a topic or special interest? Do youneed to get away from people altogether and hide in a quiet space? Get a listtogether; if people in your life are supportive, give them this list. If they care about you, they’ll consider it their job to help you.

- What worsens your overload? List this. Give those lists, too, to your friends, family, teachers. You don’t want these things to happen when the world is already too much for you, and people who care about you should also consider it their job to not worsen your experience.

(Even if there’s nobody to support you, knowing what bothers you helps. Even if all you can say is that yes, this is because everyone’s screaming in the next room, that can help. It takes my overwhelm from irrational and unacceptable to a natural consequence of a situation never designed for me, and sometimes that can lower things a notch or two. A notch or two is better than nothing!)

I’ll be honest: this is a lot of work. There’s a lot of words here for not a lot of answer; I don’t have a simple, easy one. Believe me, if I had one, I’d be shouting that truth from the rooftops! I’d share it with the world! You need to be an explorer, willing to try and experiment knowing you might only find little pieces of ease here and there, and that’s hard and scary, but I don’t know any other way.

Best of luck, anon.

#text #long post #very long post #ask #anon #off topic #mod chatter #mod K.A.

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southern-belle-outcasts · 3 years

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29. what are your honest thoughts about your muse’s canon? //For like all the canon muses.

@meretrixious

Okay, so for Rogue it's no secret I like some runs better than others, and I am very...this shit didn't happen when she gets too OOC. My take on Remy does end up affecting Rogue's canon because I don't think he would go ask Sinister for a godsdamn lobotomy, ergo not be indebted or involved with the Morlock Massacre, ergo Roguey isn't choosing to leave him for dead. Even if he did...she wouldn't be doing that. She might cut you off and never speak to you again if she really feels hurt and that she can't trust you anymore, but she's not going to murder you if you're not being an active threat to her or someone else. That's just not her. My salt for the constant retconning of her power control status and the collar nonsense have been pretty thoroughly discussed on here, as has my adamant disagreement with her not having a serious talk before marriage if she truly didn't want kids. But we already know I just take everything from Excalibur, aka OOC-R-US, and chuck it into AU status as it is. She wants kids. End of discussion. But the lovey dovey, totally just eating up being able to touch Remy and letting him be his best thieving self? Yes. 12/10. Accurate af. So for me and her canon...it's a love-hate relationship. I think most comic fans are like that, tbh.

Sara's canon honestly doesn't bother me. Keep in mind I haven't so much as watched the crossover episodes on Green Arrow because I tried to watch it initially a few years ago because my brother was so into it...I couldn't. I got to episode three and had to stop because the gritty dark, slow pacing was just a big "nope" for me. So I have not actually watched any of Sara's relationship with Nyssa (don't really care to either now that L*tz showed her ass although I'm very much enjoying the wonderful levels of comic book bullshittery in the new season of Legends). Obviously me being the multishipper I am, I don't really have Avalance as like, OTP status, even though I ship them. Honestly really wanted to see what would have happened with her and Snart and I'm always going to be pissed they killed him off in the first season like cowards. But I really enjoy her self-growth and learning how to better trust herself and her crew, and just her as a character. So besides the eh direction some of the plotline took that wasn't entirely a direct Sara thing? I'm mostly okay with.

Cisco...sigh. I'm really annoyed with the sidelining and direction he's been taken in, but it's not really him so much as the whole show is going off the rails, literally everyone's character development is being tossed out the window, and he's getting dragged down with it so he's my OC now basically. Somewhere between season 4 and 5ish honestly is where I start to get looser and looser with my following of canon. I love he's so smart, the humor, the geekiness, the valuing friendship and wanting to help foster Frost's autonomy... and then they just undid that and I'm over here holding the smashed pieces of my character just dumbfounded as to why they would do such a thing. So...there's problems. There's lots of problems. I also have a huge, huge, huge problem with the show not taking the opportunity to change Cynthia's codename from the old comics, especially since fans had asked them to do so, sooooo my Cisco never heard the g-slur, would never use the g-slur, the g-slur is not a thing on this blog thank you very much and a big fuck you to CW on that.

My only real problem with Padmé's canon is people trying to tell me how problematic her and Anakin is based off of either 1) not watching the movies as intended, a saga, it's not supposed to be a stand-alone piece of perfection you can go over with a fine tooth comb, their traits are SUPPOSED to be exaggerated, 2) watching a really really ooc cartoon that I can't stand that came after the fact and shouldn't actually be considered but the loosest of canon, 3) reading a novelization that was by a hella misogynistic dude that was not actually directly overseen by Lucas. My two main canon pieces are the prequels, supplemented of course by the OG trilogy regardless of her lack of presence, and the RoTS novelization. Those are the KEY canon pieces, they needed George's approval before being viewed by the fans because they're that important. Anything else, eh. There's certainly other pieces of the og EU that are still compatible with canon but I don't consider them as hard and fast. I'm also not the 'I shouldn't need to read the book to understand the movie' person because while I have great love for the book and the scenes that ended up being deleted, but included in the book ergo are still canon, I didn't need it for that insight??? Maybe I just watched the prequels more times than is humanly reasonable, I don't see the discrepancies people have. Yes, it is ENTIRELY irrational, if not flatout dumbassery, to argue with someone going through a psychotic break, I'ma give y'all that. But, again, exaggerated character types, they're not supposed to be perfect, and you needed to have her end up dead. So working with the fact she is a naive to the real world when it isn't politics kind of woman, on top of being such a romantic AND believing in the political and justice system...it's realistic for what it is. I'm absolutely saying if it was me I would have have nodded along to his sleep deprived ass until I could have knocked him out. And I'm absolutely saying that when you're that pregnant there's no way you're sitting stationary in a pilot's seat for hours when this thing called autopilot exists. And I'm absolutely saying there's no fucking way I wouldn't have found Obi-Wan coming over with this news more than a little sus, nor do I buy you're sitting in that position in a closet silently for hours. I'm absolutely recognizing the last 30 minutes require some suspension of disbelief, but I'm also recognizing that I have more 'real world' experience than Padmé, I've dealt with more likely to pop off and fly off the handle people than she has, and I also don't think she's ever had that experience where you've been manipulated by someone close to you and then be awakened to it to form a deep suspicion of it happening again. So what screams 'why would you do that' to us doesn't really to her. So I have my problems...but at the same time I don't. Basically the only thing I would do would get rid of Luke's need to balance shit out the way he did in the first place so I can have some wholesome family time (by which I mean disaster time, because it would very much be a mess, and not the woobified trophy husband mess that keeps popping up, just a mess, neither of them was prepared for kids).

All in all, no surprise that Rogue is my problem child with the most need to cherry pick and dispose of certain canon. (Not Remy's blog but really my biggest issue is just the whole deal with Sinister as already mentioned, the runs he's ooc- hello Excalibur, and his lack of confusion for Rogue's 180 on kids. Again, comics, you can't rely on them for consistency.)

#;out of the south #;little asks are made of gunpowder and lead #lobotomy tw #mental illness tw #manipulation tw #racism tw #antiromanyism tw #salt #fandom salt #honestly as far as salt and me goes this is fucking tame...

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curdinway-blog · 7 years

Text

Introduction

I can’t tell you how many times I have heard the following: “I just don’t like anime.”

It’s a declaration waged across the lines; from every disparate grouping or individual identity, from family, friends, and acquaintances alike. Chances are if you have not heard this turn of phrase before, you have said it yourself. But why does Japanese animation often carry such a sullied reputation? The answer can usually be boiled down to one of four possibilities.

1. Limited/and or Negative Experiences

Understand that no matter what genre or styling of film there is to be had, there will always be a few pieces that are just…well, garbage. When I was a kid, my only experience with anime was probably the same as for many; early morning cartoons, with jerky, cheap animations, nonsensical quasi-storylines, and lots and lots of screaming. Not exactly the sort of thing that will endear most types of people to the medium. I flipped the channel to One Saturday Morning, watched Recess, and enjoyed my sugar cereal in peace.

The problem with this assertation is that a small sample size will always incur a higher proportion of random chance. This is universally true no matter what is being talked about. If you have never watched science-fiction before, and your first experience is Plan 9 from Outer Space, you might come away with the assumption that all science-fiction is ridiculous. If you have never had Chinese food before, and your first taste is Hundred Year-Old Egg, you will probably decide Chinese food sucks. If you are driving a Toyota for the first time, and the gas pedal sticks, you will probably wish in retrospect you had never bought a Toyota. You might be right on that count, you might be wrong. The point is, in each of these cases, you might hold different opinions if you garnered a larger sample size. You might decide you liked science-fiction after seeing Star Wars or 2001: A Space Odyssey, you might order Chinese takeout again after some General Tso’s Chicken, you might champion the excellent mileage and engine quality of Toyota after buying 5 subsequent Toyota’s. Provided of course, you were able to bail out in time before the thing flew off a cliff.

For the record, I don’t have anything against Toyota. I just needed to influx some humor, I’m limited creatively, and it was there. Onto Numero Dos.

2. Animation Don’t Get No Respect (Well, Here Anyway)

When it comes time for accolades, awards, and recognition, animation clearly gets the Rodney Dangerfield treatment.

Consider the following: since 2000, only two animated films (Toy Story 3 and Up) have earned a Best Picture nomination from the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences. The other animated films released during that timeframe? Spirited Away, Finding Nemo, The Incredibles, Ratatouille, Wall-E, Inside Out, Zootopia…and so on, and so forth. All of these films had over 95% on Rotten Tomatoes’ famed Tomatometer, and a few were listed as some of the best films of the decade by film critics, but apparently did not do enough to warrant a nod. Last year (2016) saw all 5 nominees for Best Animated Feature crack a Tomatometer score 95% or above. Not one received a nomination for Best Picture.

There seems to exist a perception in America that animated features are lesser works. Perhaps this opinion is perpetuated by a belief that the skill required to painstakingly craft an entire world, often by hand, does not equate to the organizational and logistical challenges of live-action work. The lack of open-mindedness towards animated works hurts Japanese animation by proxy, regardless of the blatant unfairness involved.

Mystifyingly, while the United States regards the animated form with a rather chilly demeanor, Japan has embraced animation in their culture with open arms, rewarding films such as Spirited Away and Princess Mononoke with the Japan Academy Prize for Best Picture, and oodles and oodles of money at the box office. This disparity between nations can probably be accounted to a number of factors, but none more so than this:

3. Animation is for Kiddies

Man, oh man, is this a common reason for disliking anime, and what a frustrating one at that. Firstly; the assumption is not accurate. Check out films such as Akira or Ghost in the Shell. Go ahead, pop those suckers in at daycare. Email me the aftermath a few days later, I could use a laugh. Secondly; implying that animated works exist solely for younger audiences shoehorns the entire medium into a particular convention, when in fact, it exists across an infinity of styles and genres. You can have science-fiction in animation. You can have animations that are dramas, or action-adventures, or comedies. You can have animations that are horror films; yes, horror films! Check out Perfect Blue. Regarding any brand of filmmaking as something exclusively for children is close-minded, simplistic, and just plain wrong.

Thirdly; what if an animated film ends up being child-friendly? So what? Is that such a bad thing, that you can watch a film with somebody younger than you, and enjoy an experience together, and have meaningful discussions afterward regarding what the film said and did? It is good for society, to have films that promote such dialogue and social connection. That is not to say that child-friendly works must be watched exclusively with children either. The fear of watching something because it might make you seem “immature” or “kiddy” is irrational and silly. Besides that, films for younger audiences tend to feature themes which are more readily universal and positive, which are good things for one to reflect on no matter their age. It isn’t always such a bad thing to connect to your inner child; hell, I’m always looking for any way possible to feel younger than I am.

4. Cultural Differences

This is probably the most understandable and least easily overcome problem regarding anime. Because the medium is generally produced with Japanese audiences in mind, there can be gaps in understanding, different flavors or tastes to the proceedings which can seem indigestible or “weird”, and even basic language incompatibilities. I find that the more I watch anime, the more I grow to understand and appreciate these differences. If you find anime to be off-putting, I would suggest starting with something more accessible to western audiences or newcomers. There are a lot of great films which fall into this category, movies that can be enjoyed virtually right off the bat. Inevitably, the more you watch, the more you expand your horizons. That is a good thing; for both your film tastes, and your personhood.

I didn’t really get into anime at first. Obviously, as a kid growing up in the 1990’s, Disney took priority. It was a good time to be a Disney fan. As I grew older, Roger Ebert and others piqued my interest in the likes of Pixar, which was consistently putting out some of the best films in the world. Finally, when I reached college, I began to investigate Japanese animation. I enjoyed it, but it was Mamoru Hosoda’s sublime film Wolf Children that proved to be a life-changing experience, and flung the door open wide for a literal whole new world of film. Anime has proved to be a great addition to me; culturally, creatively, and simply from a point of personal happiness. Recently, I’ve considered that, if not for the writings of people like Roger Ebert or Richard Roeper, I might not have ever given anime a shot. With that in mind, I decided to write what I call, “12 Days of Anime.” Each day, proceeding towards December 25th of this year, will feature a different review of a Japanese-animated work. To simplify things, I am operating with a few ground rules. One; only feature-length films will be listed, because I simply do not have time to grind through 100+ episodes of television a pop, and most of you probably do not either. Two; where an English-language dubbed copy and Japanese-language subtitled copy exist, I will default to the dubbed variety, again, to make things more accessible for newcomers. These films aren’t listed in any particular chronology or order, but I consider all of them great pieces, and they adopt a variety of genres and tones so that no matter your personal tastes, there is something here which may pique your interest. I hope that if you have been resistant towards trying out Japanese anime in the past, are looking to get into something new and enlightening for 2018, or are simply a goofball enthusiast like me, this guide will be of some use and value towards you.

Let’s get started!

-Marcus Ganser

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