#that show raised me from birth made me the person I am today etc. etc.

[the-golden-ghost]

I want to do a Twilight Zone rewatch but I deeply fear the person I will become if I open those floodgates again

[hangovercurse]

Stay With You ii

You get the call after Rook’s accident and go to the hospital to take care of him.

Requests: “ Could you maybe write another Rook story about where you get the call after his accident that he’s in the hospital and just always staying there with him and when his dad shows up he sees you leaning on the bed sleeping holding Rooks hand or something and he knows you’ll take care of him? I just really love Rook “ “ I was wondering if you know what happened to rook and if you could write something cute like taking care of him after being worried at first about him. I had a mental breakdown when we got the news I'm hoping he gets well soon “

JP “Rook” Cappelletty X Reader

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of the accident (violence, broken bones, etc.), angst

A/N: I needed something happy to come out of this situation so... I wrote it.

Word Count: 2372

part i

You woke up a few hours later to Rook moving under you, your eyes finding his instantly. “Hey baby, how are you feeling?” You asked as you sat up, a smile on your face as you saw that the bruising on his face was fading. He had clearly just woken up as well, sleep still in his eyes.

“Better, I think. Awake.” You nodded, moving the pillow from his lap.

“Your dad’s here.” You said softly, nodding your head towards the man who was sleeping in the chair against the wall. You giggled at the sight and Rook let out a chuckle.

“I’m hungry” He whined and you frowned, remembering what the anesthesiologist told you about no food 8 hours before surgery. He was scheduled to go in at 10 am, and it was currently 5 am.

“I’m sorry, babe. The doctor said no food until after the surgery. I can see if they’ll let you eat jello if you want.” He frowned and you reached up to rub his face. You could tell this was going to be a long 8 weeks.

Truth be told, Rook was a baby when he got sick. He would lay in bed and whine until you agreed to cuddle with him. And if he wanted something, he would pout until he got it. But you kind of loved it. “I’ll be right back.” You whispered, standing up to go find a nurse.

He smiled at you, “can you hand me my phone?” He asked. You moved to the other side of his bed where his phone lay on a table and handed it to him. “I’m gonna see if Colson’s still up.”

You nodded, happy that the two boys were so close. You put your mask on and left the room, flagging down one of the nurses working the night shift.

When you got back into the room with 2 cups of lemon-flavored jello, Johnny was up and the father and son were having a light conversation. You set the cups on the tray and moved it so it was in front of Rook. He tried to raise his hands but you could tell he was struggling. He let out a sigh and looked at you, embarrassment in his eyes.

You smiled lightly, trying not to giggle at his helplessness. “Do you want me to help you?” You asked and he gave a nod, pouting. You adjusted his bed so he was sitting up fully.

“Can you sit next to me?” Johnny let out a laugh as you rolled your eyes a little bit.

Rook tried to shift over in the bed, but you could tell it was hurting him. “Baby stop, you’re gonna hurt yourself.” You sighed.

“I want you to sit on the bed with me.”

You looked at his dad, an exasperated look in your eyes. He just chuckled and turned back to his phone. “I don’t want to hurt you.” You frowned, taking notice of the fact that there was very little room on the bed to begin with.

He squinted his eyes at you, still pouting. “You won’t hurt me.” You raised your eyebrow and moved to sit halfway on the bed, your right thigh resting on the mattress but the majority of your weight still on your left foot on the ground. “Not good enough.”

You rolled your eyes, scooting closer so that your back was against the back of the bed, turned on your side. He smiled, reaching his arm up slowly to try and wrap it around your shoulders. You glared at him, but he shot you a “My hand is broken, not my arm.”

You sighed, sitting up and leaning onto his chest, where you knew he wanted you. You pulled your other leg onto the bed, careful not to put any pressure against his. You leaned up slightly, putting weight on your right hand as your left grabbed the jello cup beside the bed. He opened his mouth and you rolled your eyes. “I don’t like how much you’re enjoying this.”

You placed a small spoonful of the yellow food into his mouth, making him smile. “In a few years, its gonna be you in this bed and I’ll be feeding you jello.” You tilted your head at his words, furrowing your eyebrows. “Y’know, when you’re giving birth to our kid.”

You blushed, a smile making its way to your face. You knew JP wanted kids at some point, and you did too. But you guys had never really talked about it. And now he was bringing it up so casually. Before you could respond, the door opened, and in walked Colson with a backpack full of what he called “everything Rook will ever need,” which you assumed to mean weed and tequila.

Rook smiled, “Yo, dude, what’s up?” Colson threw the bag onto the floor on the opposite side of the bed from you.

“How are you, man?” Colson asked, throwing himself onto the chair next to it.

Rook shrugged, “I’ve been better.” He chuckled and you rolled your eyes, a small giggle coming from you. “Y/N’s feeding me, so it’s not too bad.”

His dad spoke up, “You’re forcing Y/N to feed you jello, you mean?” You laughed at that as Rook’s shoulders fell. “Nice to see you, Kelly.”

“You too, Johnny. I like the new hair.” Colson smiled at the older man, who thanked him. “So, what did the doctors say?”

Rook gave him the rundown, one surgery today, Wednesday, and another on Friday. Casts on his hands for 6 weeks and on his legs for longer. The four of you spoke for a while afterwards and then Colson pulled out a game of connect four (which you raised your eyebrows at but Rook seemed excited about it).

Eventually the Anesthesiologist, Dr. Stenson, came in with a few nurses to take Rook to surgery. You had to climb off the bed, much to Rook’s dismay. “I can’t go into surgery with you, dummy.” But part of you wished you could stay with him because you did not like the way those nurses were looking at him. Colson noticed your distaste and chuckled, causing you to send him a glare.

“He’s going to be very drowsy when he comes back once the anesthesia wears off.” Dr. Stenson said, and you smiled at the thought of Rook on anesthesia, which he claimed would be “just like being high.” Dr. Stenson shook his head at that.

Before he was wheeled out of the room on his bed, he made grabby hands at you as best as he could. You leaned closer to him, pressing your lips against his quickly. “I love you, Y/N” He said, quietly. He didn’t mind anyone else hearing, but he wanted these words to be only for you.

“I love you too.” You said, just as quietly. He leaned back up to kiss you again, making you smile. You were starting to love helpless Rook; it was just endless attention and neediness.

The nurses took him off to surgery, leaving you, Johnny, and Colson alone in the room together. You collapsed onto the chair you had slept in, letting out a sigh as Colson chuckled at you. “Shut up.” You scrunched your nose at him, curling into the chair and bringing the pillow under your head.

“You guys are cute, what?” He asked, defensively, but the smile on his face was anything but.

You pouted, trying to push yourself further into the chair to find some comfort, but you knew your attempts to sleep were futile. You groaned, sitting up and throwing your head down towards your chest. “I’m so tired.” You mumbled, causing the two men to laugh.

“This is your life for the next 2 months.” Johnny chuckled. “If he doesn’t marry you after this then you need to leave his ass.”

You chuckled, the irony of his dad telling you that made it even funnier. “I can’t believe he still hasn’t proposed.” Colson shook his head in disappointment.  

A laugh fell from your mouth. “It’s funny how everyone is more impatient than I am for my own proposal.”

“I don’t understand how you’re so patient! I’ve barely been with Megan a whole year and I already wanna marry her.” Colson threw his head back against the back of his chair.

“I mean it’s not like I’m worried it’s not gonna happen. We were just talking about kids. He just doesn’t feel the rush, I guess. I don’t either, what’s the big deal with getting married anyways?”

Colson tilted his head at you, “It’s like, this huge proclamation of your love. Like you’re telling the whole world that you’re gonna love each other for the rest of your lives.”

You shrugged, looking down at your nails. “I mean, we don’t really need big proclamations. It’s in the little things. I love him, he loves me.”

You could feel both men’s eyes on yours and heat ran to your cheeks as you thought about the idea of a white dress. “But you do wanna get married, right?” Johnny asked and you smiled.

“Of course, I just don’t want to push him into something like that. He’ll ask when he’s ready.”

Colson shook his head as you looked back up, “He is one lucky motherfucker. Literally every other person would’ve kicked his ass by now.” You chuckled, not saying anything. “Wait you guys were talking about kids?”

You nodded, “right before you got here, actually.”

Colson furrowed his eyebrows, “I never saw him as the type, honestly.”

You smiled widely, “He brought it up.” Colson shrugged, a hum coming from his mouth. “I think it’d be kinda nice. I don’t know how it would work with him being on tour all the time, but that’s a discussion for another day.”

“I seriously can’t imagine Rook being a dad.”

“Can you imagine Rook getting married?” You giggled as Colson shook his head.

“Well I, for one, am looking forward to being a grandad, so hop on that.” Johnny said and you laughed. You spent the rest of the time while Rook was in surgery playing connect four and eating shitty hospital food, trying to keep your mind off the fact that Rook was in fucking surgery.

When he did get back, it was a sight to behold. The nurses wheeled him back into the room, his eyes lighting up when he saw you. “Y/NNN!” He slurred, “Look at my beautiful girlfriend.” He said to the nurses and you and Colson busted out laughing. “She’s so cool. She comes on tour with me sometimes, and we partyyy.” He made a dancing motion with his arms even though they his right was in a very large cast.

“Okay Rookie, the nurses are gonna leave now, okay?” You said, trying to hide your laughter. The nurses gave you a look of thanks and left the room after leaving you with a list of what he could and couldn’t do. Colson took his phone out and started recording, knowing that whatever Rook was gonna say next would be funny.

The surgery went well according to them, but the doctors would be in later when the medicine wore off to tell you more. “How are you feeling?” You asked, knowing he wouldn’t give a real answer.

“I feel greeeat. I’d feel better if my fiancé were laying with me right now, but other than that I am just fine.”

You cocked an eyebrow, an amused look on your face. “Your fiancé?”

“Yeahhhh.”

“When did you propose?” You giggled, looking over to his dad and Colson who were both cracking up.

A look of realization crossed Rook’s face, “Oh shit, I forgot that step, didn’t I?” You nodded, “Do you wanna get married?” You bent over in laughter at his innocent expression. He pouted at you, whining. “Why are you laughing I’m asking you to marry me?”

You tried to speak through your laughs, “I’m sorry babe.” You took a deep breath in, “I’m not laughing at you.”

“So, you don’t wanna get married?” He asked, getting very upset.

“I do, baby. I do. But you gotta get a ring.”

“Oh yeaaaah.” He looked over at Colson. “Colson, where’s the ring?” Your head snapped to Colson, whose face went red.

“Dude you didn’t get a ring.” He tried to cover it up but you could tell he was lying.

Your eyes went wide and your mouth hung open. “Yes I did, I told you to bring the ring with you when you came.” He whined.

You giggled, hand going to your mouth. “Oh wait.” He said, turning back to you. “I can’t ask you to marry me right now. I gotta get down on one knee and my legs are broken.”

Johnny had an amused look on his face when you looked over to him for help. “Okay, Rookie. I’ll forget that you proposed and then when your legs get better you can do it again, okay?”

He nodded, “But you’ll still say yes, right?”

“I’ll still say yes.” You smiled, eyes closing as you continued to laugh. “You should get some sleep, hun.” You moved his braids out of his face.

“I wanna cuddle.” He pouted.

“You just had surgery; I can’t give you cuddles.” You frowned as he looked sad.

“Why don’t you love me?”

“I do love you, Rookie. I just can’t cuddle you with your arm broken.” You could hear Colson wheezing from the opposite side of the bed. “Get some sleep and we can cuddle when you wake up.”

He groaned but leaned back into the bed anyways, slowly drifting off to sleep. You turned to Colson, eyes wide and face red. “You had a whole conversation about marriage while you had his ring in your bag?” You whisper screamed.

He raised his hands up in surrender, “I was just doing what I was told. I didn’t think he’d propose to you while he was high off his ass on anesthesia.” He chuckled.

Johnny chuckled, “at least you got it on video.” You sighed and rolled your eyes, putting your face in your hands.

“Congratulations!” Colson said, eyes swinging up in the air.

[honoredbastard]

I COME BACK WITH THOUGHTS/THEORIES ON ITADORI AND HIS RELATIONS- I THINK.

anyways, so i'll just point this out: i'm not good at speaking my thoughts in an organized manner. i absolutely suck at it, i speak on how my brain brings up the thoughts so i might ramble, get over my head in a thought, etc. i can't control it so i apologize in advance for the jumpiness of the texts. i will spell a lot of things wrong and not everything will be correct, as i read translations and on a manga site. don't worry it's not illegal, i believe.

MANGA SPOILERS AHEAD.

i apologize for my absence! last week or two weeks ago the tower to my computer completely broke and will not turn on. i tried to repair it and follow my fathers instructions but nothing worked. even cleaned off the fan and went through countless nights readjusting things. it's not my cords either so to help me out my father is working extra shifts to get me a new pc. so in the meantime i'll do small posts like these but not full writing/head canons until i have a computer tower lol. a family member was kind enough to allow me to have their phone while we work throughout this issue.

now onto the actual topic:

kenjaku and itadori's relationship. ( family wise ).

for context in the most recent chapter, 160 "colony" kamo shows up in sasaki's home and talks to her about the culling game and a barrier. but that's not the point, the point is as he's guiding her to the barrier inside her "dream" at the end he says "oh right. i almost forgot to tell you. thank you for getting along with my son." and then she is awakened inside the barrier, in her pajamas beside iguchi. when sasaki and iguchi look at the barrier and gather themselves they bring up kamo.

sasaki asked iguchi if he mentioned his son and he says no. this leaves sasaki in a state of confusion when itadori flashes in her mind. she says his name aloud like she finally connected the dots. now. why am i bringing up this whole kenjaku thanking sasaki for being his "son"'s friend. it throws me off because why didn't he thank iguchi?

did he not think iguchi meant their friendship? because sasaki was the one uninjured and still counted itadori as a friend? does iguchi not consider itadori as a friend anymore?

because we haven't seen these two at all since the incident. that raised many questions in me. as well "how can itadori be related to kamo?" and itadori is related to choso.

because kamo's technique is explained ( vaguely. we are aware he can create barriers, take over bodies, and has incredible cursed tools. chapter 134. this is also where choso makes his connection ( i believe. ) to itadori yuji as his brother. but because we saw this with todo many thought itadori just had another unconsious technique that allows the person who is hit create false memories and believe of a completely made up relationship with itadori without his knowledge. but alas, i was wrong. ) and we're given more hints shown than told ( imo ) i tried my best to make sense out of the situation and what he said. i think my conclusions are pretty solid, so continuing on.

we're given very little history on itadori, his past, and family. at the start of the manga we know that itadori's only family he knows is his grandfather and that he is ill in the hospital. at the very very beginning we learn that itadori is your average cute, fluffy, laid back but strong and goofy protagonist. in smaller words: itadori is kirby but even cuter and dumber.

my first impressions of him is a pineapple. if you're confused to this saying: it's calling a person prickly on the outside but sweet on the inside. and this is true, itadori's grandfather seems prickly and cold on the outside but he genuinely cares for itadori.

he raised itadori for all we know and did that with his all in assumption. but this ends up backfiring onto itadori, because he cares so much for his grandson - he ends up leaving a " curse " on yuji.

help people. save them.

itadori takes this to heart as his grandfathers speech is his last one. when he looks over to his grandfather the man is dead and now yuji is left alone. then the following events occur.

at this point in time i assumed itadori was an orphan ( he technically is if we're connecting the dots. his parents has not been shown, he doesn't speak of them, they aren't in the picture. we can conclude either they disowned itadori or died before he could make complete memories of them. )

but when we are shown in chapter 143 itadori's parents we see this "woman" jin ( yuji's father ) and his grandfather talking about has the same scar pattern. this scar pattern is either stitching ( assuming that is how kamo keeps the top of the opened skull from coming off. this is also how kamo revealed his cursed technique / body of sorts ( the brain, assuming that is kenjaku in his cursed technique and not the body / puppet he is controlling " getou suguru " ) to gojou. )

this is the only way i find kamo being able to assign itadori as his son. why is that you might be asking this dumbass here.

we do not have the full story, exact date, location, and full context of the memory/dream itadori is having. this cannot be fake either because kamo would than have no reason to call itadori his son. or is there? anyways.

take a leap of faith with me. imagine that before itadori is born ( he seems no more than a few weeks or days old in this memory. hence why i am thinking my conclusion is pretty solid in theory. but yknow gege, there might be something different. ) anywhooo.

TW. D3ATH/IMPLYING ANTI LIFE ATTEMPT

kamo had to have taken over yuji's mothers body after an accident OR after she gave birth to yuji. his grandfather is interrupted by her before he can finish his sentence but it seems to be leading to the conclusion that either kaori ( yuji's mother ) died while giving birth to yuji or kaori could not conceive and tried to take her own life or cause an accident that would take her life. ( i read a fan translation for this part but im pretty sure i also read the official translation today too and it added up to the same. )

i believe in the first idea, but since kamo's cursed technique wasn't explained in detail i don't know the conditions of his body technique. does the original host of the body have to be dead? can he regenerate body limbs ( i highly doubt. getou lost an arm during his fight with yuta. overconfident dick. reminding me of an ex ANTWAYS. i forgive him for being overconfident smooch. he learned. OFF TOPIC but continuing on i promise.

this is being continued from the cut off point. i'm so upset so it'll just be summarized. i can't believe this shit lol i took three hours just to finish it for it to literally cut off the bottom half.

continuing on in a sadge mood. kamo must not have the complete ability to take over a body. after all getou took his only arm he had as he was dying and choked his own body to his full ability. getou was willing to die ( possibly, you never know he could be alive if he killed his own body. moving on. ) just to have the chance to save his friend from being swallowed by a damn box.

so there has to be a chance that kamo cannot fully take over the previous persons complete consious and memory of their body. if getou still had his other arm after losing the fight to yuta, he could've choked kamo with both arms. in theory kamo wouldn't be able to control the right arm and die to the previous host choking him to death.

so why wouldn't the other hosts do it? after all, kamo did say it was his first time experiencing such a thing. assuming kamo has lived throughout many bodies in his 150+ lifespan none of the previous hosts could take control of their body.

i believe getou was completely influenced by gojou and his six eyes. there is no way gojou would even try to speak out to his friend unless he had an inkling or saw getou still in there. helpless and without the ability to save himself from the cage he's in.

being used and puppeteered in his own body by an external force. laughing in the world he could not. putting getou into a constant misery and defeat that he couldn't escape his hell. the one he tried so hard to fight and get out of. even if it was the wrong path.

gojou was the last person to witness getou dying. he had to watch getou bleed out after their conversation because he couldn't bring himself to kill his friend. the one he spent his whole jujutsu student life with. so for gojou to say such a thing to getou despite all that he did had to break getou out of his misery and give him that small sliver of hope that he could do something. of course he failed, but i doubt that's going to be the end of that.

the only way i see kamo being related to yuji is if he took over kaori's body before the pregnancy. assuming that when kamo takes over a body he becomes one with said body and is that person for however long he lives in said body. my only thing is, can he take over a persons body whilst they are alive? i would go more in depth like i did the last time but i am extremely upset about my work being erased so that's the end of this part.

thank you for reading! i have one more thing for you though.

the last time we see sukuna in a manga page after the shibuya incident is where he is on his throne and in his domain. this is after yuji is stabbed by yuta and is presumed "dead" at the time. he seems to be interested in yuta and i can think of 2-3 things. I would love to hear your theories too so don't be afraid to barge into my dms like the koolaid man.

A - sukuna is interested in Yuta because of his ability to use the reverse healing technique ( only a few sorcerers know this. sukuna being the first. shoko being the second one to be told that she has this power and then gojou. ) because of this he sees potential in yuta as well or has added this boy into his plans. after all, there is very few that can make sukuna make an expression that isn't an RBF. aka megumi and possibly gojou. I was looking at the page of him stabbing yuji and noticed we only see the entry point of where the blade enters. it's smaller because some got chunked off so its a possibility yuta used this to his advantage when "killing" yuji and instead hit an artery that could kill him but quickly healed him afterwards. or just his heart. the ideas.

B. Rika, Yuta is able to completely control Rika as shown. Even though he claims he is on the weak side, these two combined seem like an unstoppable force. He may be interested in Rika as she is a curse that has been put on someone that can fully control it. Not many people is shown to be able to control their curse. As we haven't met many.

this was enti and that's the last of my post! thank you for reading and it was a fun one. even though i had to restore this shit. anyways, i'd love you to add or fix up my ideas and tell me your thoughts and opinions! Thanks a bunch!

^ this is for pure humor

[nagitolovebug]

I saw your posts and I looove them. They also made me hungry for some KamuKoma food. Can you provide some info in their days in the Despair era.(i.e. how they fell for eachother, fluff, angst, Bebi Kamukura, etc.) Keep up the good work and have a lovely day!

i postponed answering this for so long because...it's a really big ask and i have. literal pages for bebi and kamukoma's time in despair but i wanted to answer this both thoroughly and succinctly so...hopefully this does that ^_^ i loove kamukoma and am so happy you're liking my mini dumps about them and bebi so far !! always feel free to ask more if you want my askbox is always open!

for how they fell for each other. i think originally,,,nagito was given to izuru as a ""gift"" from junko. it was supposed to be entertaining for her,,, Servant had been annoying her, izuru had been annoying her; she wanted izuru to feel despair after Servant irritated the fuck out of him and wanted to watch him kill servant. but that doesn't happen.

junko inviting kamukura over and shoving nagito at his feet. she's patiently waiting for izuru to sneer at him and kill him, brutally. nagito just slowly stands and won't look him in the eyes, hands him a fairly new collar and chain, turns around and brushes the hair off his neck. he's shaking a little. izuru knows what junko wants from him, knows that she's waiting for him to take that slender neck in between his fingers and squeeze, or snap, to bruise, to betray, to bloody. and he remembers grey-green eyes looking at him without fear, the only one to never once hold fear, and pulling the trigger without hesitation. he knows the shaking isn't in fear, but anticipation. whether he's killed or accepted, nagito will win. i think izuru knows placing the collar gently around nagito's neck and snapping it closed will piss junko off, so he does. silently wraps a hand around the chain and walks away. nagito's breathing is labored behind him, but he's still holding his tongue of all the irreverent babble that's bubbling inside him. when they're outside izuru lets go of the chain and begins to leave him, disinterested. but nagito won't let the opportunity pass. he steps forward to do something, but in doing so trips and somehow sets off a reaction that leads to the exit izuru was heading toward collapsing. izuru turns around and stares, and nagito melts under his gaze, but doesn't look away. doesn't breathe. "i'm yours now. you have to do something with me." "i already told you once. if the only quality that sets you apart from the others is your good luck, i have it. i have no use of you." and nagito leans in close to his face. "who said i have good luck?" he places the chain in izuru's hand and yanks him forward, and rubble falls where izuru had been standing. he waits patiently for izuru to give him an order. izuru simply lets go of the chain and keeps walking. but he doesn't stop nagito from following.

nagitos been fucking infatuated with him since izuru shot him so. he's always touching izuru and talking to him and generally speaks to him as if he's Not the most powerful person alive and never shows any fear which is so strange for izuru. and even with junko he'd babble incoherent rants either cursing her or worshipping her but it was always Othering her and even tho he. worships izuru. he still treats him like a Person. its refreshing and it's odd and izuru. isn't bored. nagito's luck, at least, is unpredictable.

I like the idea of servant n izuru learning from each other and starting to unravel the issues they got by caring for each other,,,nagito letting himself be loved and loving in return bc izurus too powerful to be hurt by someone as lowly as him and izuru developing emotions and feeling comfortable in fostering them with nagito..it's all very new and i think that's very exciting!

as for fluff, angst, and bebi....there's so much. the pregnancy and birth in itself were both..very tender and very overwhelming. induced an abundance of love and despair!

bebi was born a year before the future foundation came to capture izuru and nagito which...the way bebi was separated from their family warrants its own post as it was. a lot. but bebi spent a year with their family before being taken into custody and temporarily being raised by makoto (just about 3 months..then hajime woke up)

they went through a lot that year, nagito having fits of despair (nagito trying to leave...), wild animal attacks...even the aftermath wasn't pretty with hajime dealing with a child and trying to wake everyone up, nagito dealing with seeing his child again, bebi losing their vision...

there are lots of little moments in their perfect little year, but it all ends when everyone is taken. it was bebi's birthday when they were ripped from their father's arms, and ever since there's a certain anxiety associated with their birthday. there's a bit of confusion when naegi carries a baby aboard the ship..

byakuya scowls at him.

"if you found a baby in the street, let my people take them, we can't bring a baby onto a boat with a bunch of genocidal maniacs for months on end."

naegi can't even meet his eyes.

"....it's their kid."

"whose kid??"

"komaeda..and kamukura."

"what????? how is that even possible??? komaeda's health is abysmal, he shouldn't be able to carry to term and still be alive. and I thought kamukura..I didnt think he was capable of. feeling."

"he's izuru kamukura. he made sure both the baby and komaeda survived. he insisted they were put in the same room. I'm not going to give this baby away to your men while they're recovering. it's not fair to the baby. we have to watch them until the remnants wake up."

"doesn't this child deserve better? even if this ends up working, there's been irreparable damage to each of their psyches, and there's no telling how they'd react to a child if they lose their memories of despair."

naegi hugs bebi a little closer.

"you..you don't understand. I saw them. with the baby. its their birthday today..we watched them leave a house...and take the baby to the beach. to spend time together. komaeda seemed nearly out of despair with the baby. he seemed normal. they looked like a regular family. and...when we..separated them. nobody could fake that reaction. he loves his baby. and so does izuru. we'd all be dead right now if we didn't have custody of the baby. the only thing that stopped him from killing us all for putting our hands on komaeda was his worry for the safety of his child. they may not be good people yet, but they're good parents. and I think they deserve a chance with their baby. and bebi deserves a chance with them."

[thefairefolk-rp]

Welcome to TFF, Bri! Your application for Orla Fang has been accepted!

OOC INFORMATION:

Name/Nickname:

Bri

Age:

22

Pronouns:

She/hers

Timezone:

EST

Activity and Availability (Please answer in words as well as rating your availability from 1-10):

I am a relatively slow writer and I work full-time, but I’ve been looking for a way to write in community. This will definitely be a priority for me! So I’d say my availability will be at least 6/10. I’m totally new to rps and tumblr, so it might take me a while to get up to speed on … literally everything. But I’ll get there!

IC INFORMATION:

Desired Character:

Orla Fang

Second Choice Character:

Ingrid Faolan

What made you choose this character?:

Orla caught my interest because of her many contradictions. I really love the idea of a character who is so set on a goal, but has increasing doubts about it. Who is she when the goal is done? If the goal is never accomplished? Right now, in the middle of striving for it? She allows herself so little, but that’s unsustainable (even if she’s been at it her whole life). That’s great ground for a growth arc.

She’s definitely going to be haunted by a lot of her father’s behavior, and have some unprocessed feelings about whether his torment was self-inflicted, or even merited. Due to her father’s disgrace, she has lived 600 years in a place she was taught not to call home, while her “real�� home remains out of reach. Now, she’s in a Clan where family means very little, but it’s her driving value! I’m also excited to write all the little clashes and complements that come out of her taste for the fancy things of nobility and her more rugged, battle-ready life in the Wildlands.

Her goal might be to return to the Seelie court in favor, but her loyalty is not to the Seelie court — it’s to her family, and her late father. Add in the recent rocky reputation of good Queen Mab and the fact that the Wolf Clan allied with the Unseelie in the war, and Orla could really ally with anyone.

I also love the slight parallel between her and Luna Crow, made all the better for the blackmail dynamic between them. Both are pretending to be someone they’re not, and living in realities they only tentatively accept. I saw that Luna isn’t taken right now, but that’s still an exciting direction for the future!

Her aesthetic also really interested me. In keeping with some of the advice I read in a blitz of rp-101 articles, I’ve started a pinterest board and playlist for inspiration. Links here :)

Pinterest board: https://www.pinterest.com/brialikescheese/orla/

Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5ralXJE5Uyo3D1YbfbxwgI?si=Z8btNQVVSDyIPIBFKIUXXw

Are there any changes you would like to make?:

Nope!

Questions/Comments:

Do you have any more resources available or examples of gif chatting?

What if I can’t find a lot of gifs/images of my face claim?

Do you recommend looking through other characters’ blogs to get a sense of how people start and continue plot threads? That seems really intimidating to me! Also, I don’t exactly know the ins and outs of reblogging and replying. But I’ll get there.

If I say something in my para that isn’t true (contradicted by earlier things) or not super convenient to future storytelling, will somebody tell me, and will I be able to edit it?

If my application is accepted, should I wait until the current event is over to kind of leap in? Starting cold intimidates me too. Are there any guidelines, recommendations, or examples for a starter?

Is it common practice for people in this rp to plot or worldbuild together?  I guess I’m trying to gauge the degree to which people prefer to plan out a detail or respond to it directly in the text. I’m sure it depends on personal preference, timing, and the importance of the detail too.

Is it okay to create random NPC characters to facilitate scenes in (self)paras? I’ve seen people mention unnamed guards etc., but what about recurring minor named characters?

I’ve seen xkit around a lot. Do you recommend that?

Writing Sample (Must be 300 words or more, third person limited, in the character you’re auditioning for’s point of view):

Orla ran a hand over the braids coiled at her neck, fingers catching on jeweled pins. One came loose. She turned it over in her palm — a silver branch twined around sapphires and diamonds. In the dim light of the carriage, its glittering gems seemed to laugh at her misfortune. Once again, she’d left the Seelie court with little more than petty gossip to show for it. No matter. She would return.

The carriage pitched on the cobblestones, growing uneven as they left Wisteria behind. Orla watched the gold arches and shimmering lanterns give way to thorn thickets and thin creeks at the edge of the Wildlands. Soon, these too would vanish, replaced by mountains, rolling mist, and ever-taller pines.

Until then, Orla was left to dwell on the city she was promised.

Orla passed the silver pin wordlessly to Sionnach, who sprawled beside her in comfortable silence. Sionnach slipped the pin into a leather pouch. She would know its proper place in Orla’s room, and see that it returned there.

“I will be late to the fires tonight,” Orla said.

“Of course,” Sionnach replied, but raised a brow. “I hope not too late. Your sparring partners need to keep their skills sharp.”

“Not too late,” Orla agreed.

“Good. You promised me a spar, remember.” Sionnach grinned. “And it will get less and less friendly the more you keep me waiting.”

Orla pressed her lips to avoid smiling.

“I’ll be there when you’re warmed up. You’ll need it.”

In the Wildlands, Orla disembarked from the carriage. If she were a mortal, or simply less attuned to the subtle cues exchanged between a warrior’s body and environment, the slim points of her shoes might have sunk into the earth, unbalancing her. Instead, she allowed a moment to savor the way the ground met her weight — with just enough give to ensure it could push back.

Sionnach followed. She tossed a handful of honey-braised carrots to the harnessed elk at the carriage head. She laughed as they nosed the matted grass and pine needles, and patted their necks. In Wisteria, Orla had pretended not to notice Sionnach pocketing food from the feast table while the nobles tittered and scoffed away. Gossip and carrots. Those were her spoils.

Within the round walls of her tent, Orla exchanged her court garb for sparring leathers and sat at her desk. Her eyes fell on the stack of books in its center. The spines were mismatched: one of green leather and another of brushed grey suede; still others wrapped in birchbark, woven reeds, and the stretched, pebbled skin of an unknown reptile. The casual looker would never guess they were all penned by the same author, which suited their purpose. Their one unifying mark had long since faded, but if Orla touched the spines, her fingers could still find the depressions of the name. In the right light — one candle, lit across the room, or the moon as it set — tiny flecks told of a time when the name was written in full gold leaf.

Azriel Black.

A name she hadn’t spoken aloud in quite some time.

That wouldn’t change today. She pulled out the journal bound in grey suede and thumbed the pages, skimming for the names of the nobles she had seen at court. Though the script itself was neat, reading it was no small act. Text filled a page and even turned the corner to fill it crosswise. Arrows arched between names and fell on diagrams and symbols. It got worse as the text went on. Some of the last  journals, Orla could barely stand to touch. She hated the ache in her chest they produced.

There. The names she was looking for. In the margins Orla wrote down all the details she remembered, even the most frustrating and inane. Lord so-and-so wore a waistcoat with abalone buttons, possibly sourced from that contentious new colony. Lady such-and-such laughed at a tasteless joke and stood guard by the pomegranate puff pastries all night.

She wrote until she ran out of white space. Just as well. Orla closed the book, and then her eyes. These fae were welcomed to city life, taking the parties and pastries as facts of life — things that were owed to them, by name, birth, and the guilelessness that kept them from ever hearing whispers of treason, let alone mustering the will to whisper it themselves.

She slipped the book between its neighbors and went in search of a weapon to suit her mood. Something heavy, tonight. Blunt. Court had soured her appetite for delicacy and grace.

One day, these journals and parties would amount to something. Everything would change.

Until then, the fires were lit, and Sionnach was waiting.

[timelesshonesttrailer]

The bane of many writers is that once you have birthed a story, taken the time to write, erase, rewrite, edit, scream at, and finally accept the words that you have written… you have to name it. 

Like people, or businesses, the name is everything. It’s one of the first things people see. It’s what they will use to communicate the story to others. So picking a good title is vital, which makes it all the more daunting. But like most things in life, once you break it down and examine its parts, see how it works, it becomes a lot less scary and a lot more manageable.

This is how I got pretty good at making titles, not only for my own works, but for others. And I want to share with you what I learned, and hopefully make the task of titling your stories a lot less terrifying.

To create a good title, you have to focus on two things: Structure and Meaning.

Structure

Quick, think of all your favorite books, shows, and movies. Now think of popular franchises that are household names. What do they have in common, title wise? They are short and to the point.

On average, these titles are one to two words long. This does not include articles or connecting words like “the,” “of,” “or,” etc, because they pretty much disappear.

The titles also average few syllables, about two or three. You don’t really want to go above four. English is a very lazy language and we like to keep things short. This is why a lot of titles get shortened anyway.

Examples of Titles (remember, articles/connectors don’t count):

Friends – One word, one syllable.

Cheers – One word, one syllable.

Lost – One word, one syllable.

Dune – One word, one syllable.

Timeless – One word, two syllables.

ER – One word, two syllables.

Twilight – One word, two syllables. Can refer to the entire series.

The Mummy (1999) – One word, three syllables.

The Simpsons – One word, three syllables.

Parasite – One word, three syllables.

Titanic – One word, three syllables.

Hamilton – One word, three syllables.

The X-Files – One word, three syllables. Though it’s debatable if X-Files is one word or two.

CSI – One word (standing in for three), three syllables (standing in for seven).

Star Wars – Two words, two syllables.

Good Omens – Two words, three syllables.

Game of Thrones – Two words, three syllables. Often verbally shortened to Thrones.

Lord of the Rings – Two words, four syllables.

I can keep going, but you see the trend.

But what about titles like the Harry Potter books? The answer is in the question. Each book/movie title starts with Harry Potter and then has a modifier. Harry Potter itself is only two words and four syllables. Then if someone talks about a specific novel, they typically would not say the whole title, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, they would simply say Azkaban. The same is done in other series. Percy Jackson for example.

There are, of course, exceptions.

Elementary is a one word, but five syllables. It’s also a very common phrase in both the genre and in everyday life. Use of common phrases is a way to get around the above formula because we’re already used to saying them, thinking them, etc. One Day at a Time is another good example. Three words, five syllables, but doesn’t feel any longer than Lord of the Rings. 

But the longer the title, the more likely it will somehow get shortened. Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep was changed to three syllable Blade Runner. My favorite book, The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, has a very long title. Technically it’s three words when you remove articles/connectors, but the syllable count is a whopping ten. It gets away with it because for one, it’s a rift on an already common phrase, and two, fans can call it Hitchhiker’s Guide which is only four syllables. 

Now, once you know the structure of a title, you can work on choosing one.

Meaning

The title of your story has to give the reader an idea about what they’re getting into. It does this by focusing on one of the following:

A literal Person/Place/Thing –  Percy Jackson, Cheers, The X-Files

The Subject Matter – Friends, Law & Order, The Sixth Sense, CSI

The Genre – Twilight, Star Wars, Friday the 13th, Altered Carbon

The Overall Metaphor/Concept – Game of Thrones, Parasite, Pride and Prejudice

Many of these cross over. The Sixth Sense and CSI could also be considered a literal thing as well as a genre marker. If your title fulfills more than one slot, that is neat, but not a necessity. You might feel like you have to come up with some complex title, but sometimes it’s really just as simple as it’s a show about friends and their relationships with each other.

Take the title Catch-22. The term Catch-22 is a major metaphor and concept that is universally known today. But when Joseph Heller wrote Catch-22, no one called that concept a Catch-22. The title was simply naming the military rule (a thing), which created the situation and therefore drove the narrative. People later co-opted the title to quickly express the concept that the book so masterfully discusses.

Whatever you chose, the title should match the feel of the story you’re trying to tell. It’s part of your promise to the reader, and must make sense by the time they get to the end of the story.  

But how to pick a title when you have persons, places, things, subject matter, genre, and metaphors in your story? You simply work backwards. Ask yourself what your story is really about.

What is the driving force of the narrative?

What do you want your readers to get out of the story?

Is it a story about a person?

Or about the people of a specific group?

Is the story a one-shot or the beginning of a trilogy/series?

Is there a specific name or line of text that sums up your story neatly?

Somewhere in the answers to those questions is your title.

Now, I can make guesses on how some of the above mentioned titles came to be. Cheers takes place in the bar of the same name, and it’s about the patrons of said bar, so it’s the story about a place named Cheers. But I can’t speak for the creators and what thought processes they might have went through in order to choose their titles. So, instead, I am going to give you some of the titles I have come up with and explain how I got there.

Copper and Gold Two words, four syllables. Genre: Urban Fantasy This is the first book of a series based around a singular character, Minni Masterson, whose motif is copper, which plays a large role in the story. Since it’s a series, I need a title that could be formulaic across each one. In the first novel, the “guest character” is a gold dragon (Aiden Drake). So when I say Copper and Gold, I’m really saying Minni and Drake. And in the second book, when I say Copper and Cobalt, I am saying Minni and the Kobolds. Copper and Mercury is Minni and the Werewolves. Etc.

Emperor’s Shadow Two words, five syllables. Genre: Star Wars fan fiction/Mystery/Character Study The story is about Mara Jade who was an Emperor’s Hand. It’s about her coming to terms with the shadow that looms over her from her past and what Palpatine did to her. Instead of going with something much bulkier like In the Shadow of the Empire, I merged her past (Emperor’s Hand) with her current conflict.

The Serpent and the Liar Two words, seven syllables. (This format of “The X and the X” is one that is an exception to the rule, so long as the syllables belonging to X remain low) Genre: Marvel!Loki fan fiction/Pre-Movies Canon Compliant The story is about Loki and the events leading up to the first Thor movie. It also brings in Sigyn to explore that ship, along with some Norse myths, and to explain why she isn’t in the movie. Loki, of course, is known for his serpent motif and as the god of lies. I play on this, giving Sigyn a serpent motif, something to match her with Loki. But on several occasions, I raise the question of who is actually the serpent, and who is the liar? Because the best way to lie, is to tell the truth. So, like Copper and Gold, I’m really just calling the story Loki and Sigyn, I mean, Sigyn and Loki?

Amehrana One word, four syllables. Genre: Timeless Food Truck AU/Garcy Slow Burn The story is about Flynn and Lucy, and the rest of the team, in an AU setting. I named Flynn’s food truck Amehrana because it’s a mix of the word American and Hrana, which is Croatian for food. So the title is both a thing (the food truck) but also another word for Flynn and Lucy because he’s Croat and she’s American. But unlike Copper and Gold and The Serpent and the Liar, there is the added symbolism here of Flynn and Lucy coming together.

Frankenstein’s Monster Two words, five syllables Genre: Timeless Mission Fic for Proposed Season 3 (non-movie compliant) The mission is Mary Shelley, but that doesn’t mean there *has* to be a Frankenstein reference. But you have Flynn who thinks he’s a monster, one created by Rittenhouse. I also go deeper and hint at Lucy herself being a Frankenstein Monster, i.e. created by Rittenhouse for a purpose she doesn’t want any part of. Once again, my title is basically just another name for my main characters.

I want to interject for a moment and point out that we all have our preferences in our writing styles, and titles are no different. If you realized you tend to do most of your titles a specific way, then own it. It’s part of what makes you unique as an artist. And if you occasionally decide you want to go a completely opposite direction for one story, then go for it.

Case in point.

No Accounting for Heroes Three words, seven syllables Genre: Canon Compliant account of the Fall of SHIELD and its aftermath This fic really takes a hard look at what happens to those living in a world with superheroes. The main character, an accountant named Rani, is giving an account of events. My cowriter suggested putting “accounting” in the title which made me think of the common phrase, “no accounting for taste,” which is a concept about how different people like/need different things, and applied it to the story. No Accounting for Heroes means that we all need a hero, but maybe not the heroes we think we do, and we can all be heroes in some way, to someone in need. But also, there is that underlying current that heroes are not held accountable for the destruction that follows in their wake. 

Never be afraid to ask for help with titles. And don’t be afraid to reject titles if they don’t fit. And definitely don’t be afraid to take the suggestion, turn it over, season it, put it in a waffle iron, and see if what comes out is edible.

I have helped others name their stories, and here are three examples:

Remember, Remember Two words, six syllables. Genre: Timeless Garcy Canon Divergent/Angst/Mission Fic The story is about Lucy trying to save Flynn after he goes back to 2012. Emma saves him instead. Eventually Lucy runs into him and she discovers he doesn’t remember her and only knows what Emma has told him. At the end of the story, they have a final confrontation during the Gunpowder Plot. When the author asked my thoughts on a title, well, the Gunpowder Plot has the very famous saying “Remember, Remember, the 5th of November” and the whole story is Lucy trying to get Flynn to remember…

Disavowed One word, three syllables. Genre: Timeless Luciana Canon Divergent/Angst In this Twitter story, Flynn is blocked from returning to the US from Canada because they still think he’s a terrorist. Basically, his own country, whom he helped save, rejected him. When asked for a title, I focused on the idea that this story is about Flynn being rejected/denied entry/etc. I basically flipped through synonyms for rejected until I came across disavowed which is a term often used in spy craft. It’s a heavy word which paired well with the angst of the story.

Only Our Stories Three words, five syllables. Genre: Timeless Movie Canon Compliant-adjacent/Angst/Mission Fic The phrase “only our stories” is said in the fic itself. Future-Lucy writes it down towards the beginning, once she’s returned from dropping off the journal post-Chinatown. All that she has left of Flynn is only their stories, which she writes in the journal. She is eventually able to change things to get Flynn back, but he doesn’t remember her. There is still a connection though… their stories.

Never be afraid to take a line from your story to use as your title, so long as you follow the structure guidelines from the first section. 

At the end of the day, coming up with titles is just as much a skill as any other part of writing. We suck at first, then we figure out what's good, what's bad, and look at the world around us to figure out how to make it better. And don’t be afraid to edit it as much as you edit your novel. Until you publish, no title is set in stone, so it doesn’t have be right the first time.

And now here is where I close out this reference guide by saying something inspirational. Instead, I’m going to name this piece. While I wrote it, the temp file name was “Creating a Title” which is technically accurate but has no umph or style. This guide is meant to be helpful so the title should inspire confidence that I know what I’m talking about. But I don’t want it to sound too clinical either. 

A synonym for “name” is designation which I like but too many syllables because I’ll have to add to it. Synonym’s for “title” don’t give me much either. Instead, I should focus on the concept of the guide rather than its direct contents. Using something like “What’s in a Name?” would be too cliché. “I Suck at Titles” is funny, at first, with it being the exact opposite, but my genre is more educational than satire.

Wait, if I’m not going to reveal the title until the end, as a way to show you the thought process in creating a title, then to the reader, the title both does and doesn’t exist at the same time. It’s what you might call a…

Schrodinger’s Title: A Guide to Naming

[sserpente]

Book review: “LOKI - Where Mischief lies”

Alright, my lovelies. I read it. I read this marvellous book called “LOKI – Where Mischief Lies” by Mackenzi Lee and I loved every single page. It made me cry and scream and gasp and squeal, and I have to talk about it with you guys. Before you read on, beware of spoilers though.

If you follow me on Instagram, you’ll know that I thought that reading this novel was like reading a fanfiction. When Odin banished Amora to Earth in Chapter 6, I swear to Loki, it was exactly like a fanfiction I once read.

There is so much canon information to work with. Seriously; that was my first thought. This novel confirmed Loki is pansexual because on Asgard, just like we thought, it doesn’t matter whom you love as long as you’re being genuine about it. And Loki is genderfluid. Canonically now. He literally said ”I don’t change my gender. I exist as both.” and the fact that in the novel, he is not willing to accept the concept of being feminine as a man or masculine as a woman being allegedly bad within society, or that certain things like painting your nails and wearing high shoes is something only the female gender should do, is prodigious. Guys. Loki painted his nails black when he was young. I’m in love.

This novel gave us such a perfect insight as to what Loki was like when he was young. The novel takes places roughly two centuries before the first Thor movie (as Odin declares Thor would become his heir in the end) and it proved singlehandedly that Loki (surprise surprise) was never evil has always been misunderstood. It literally states that Thor’s “warrior friends” (e.g. Fandral, Volstagg and Sif, etc.) didn’t want anything to do with him and that out of the two, Thor was the spineless one for the most part. I mean… blaming Loki alone for their failure in Alfheim? Buh, you whore. And Odin… well, Odin has always been a jerk but that’s been canon for a while anyway.

And then all the little details! The concept of there being little to no magic on Earth and your powers being drained from you if you spend too much time there is fascinating and it raises a particularly important question—with Asgard destroyed, what will Loki do? But then again, he has the Tesseract. He can go anywhere he pleases.

Did you notice Mackenzi mentioned more than once that Loki never freezes? That the amount of that blackout powder Theo had to use on him to render him unconscious when he arrived on Earth was strong enough to knock out a Frost Giant?

Oh and now we know that up until the 19th century, at the very least, Loki didn’t know who Shakespeare was. He didn’t know what dogs are, he’s a sweet tooth (though we already knew that thanks to the Junior Novelisation of Thor Ragnarok) and he likes coffee! For some peculiar reason, I’ve always wondered if Loki would like the black brew. He’d either love or loathe it. Now I’m glad I finally know the answer.

Back when he was young, Loki was pretty shy when in love. He did not dare kiss Amora for a long time and rest assured I screamed when he asked her. Loki was soft. He didn’t understand why the nine realms were so against him and why there is “something about him that makes people not trust him”. I dare say that the softness which we see glimpses of in the first Thor movie is not gone. Loki is still soft, especially when in love. I do think he is more farouche now, though. More dominant and hence even more restrained than he already was. Amora ceased to be Loki’s true friend when she turned hysterical and tried to kill him for her own benefit. As for Theo… he had already made up his mind about Loki when he read the myths which Loki wasn’t even aware of until he grabbed that book himself but at least Theo came round. Oh and Loki did like him. Because of his past, which this novel confirms, I think it’d be hard for him to believe that somebody would truly accept, like or love him just the way he is and I love how this plays right into my own Imagines which I’ve written in the past.

Anyway, my personal theory is that Amora is not truly dead. She was swept away by the force of the strong airflow more dead than alive when she let go (writing this I realised Loki attempted the same kind of suicide Amora did… oh my God…) but I highly doubt she died. Mind you she was strong enough to destroy the Godseye Mirror with Loki and drew life force from humans to survive on Earth. What does that mean? Could she possibly make an appearance in the Loki series? In the next novel? At this point, anything is possible. And what about Theo? I remember Loki’s “This day, the next, a hundred years, it’s nothing. It’s a heartbeat. You’ll never be ready.” Loki lied to him because he had to. He couldn’t have brought him to Asgard if he wanted to and he also couldn’t stay on Midgard with him. He knew it’d be so damn hard for him, an Asgardian (since he didn’t know he was a Frost Giant) and a human to be in love. Loki knew that when he told Thor to say goodbye in TDW. Odin would not have allowed Theo on Asgard, especially not if Loki asked. He even compared Thor’s (ex-)girlfriend Jane to a goat when he brought her.

So what did Theo do after? If you read the book, you’ll know that Loki discussed the SHARP Society’s name with him and Loki… Loki suggested SHIELD. I mean…?! Did Loki influence the foundation of SHIELD? Is that what Theo did with his life after Loki had gone?

Last but not least, Odin’s and Loki’s conversation at the end broke my heart. I thought having to witness Odin telling Loki that his birth right was to die was bad but apparently, there is worse:

“The only truth with which you need concern yourself,” Odin said, “is that any man who sticks his hand into a fire will be burned. You have disappointed me greatly today, my son.”

“As opposed to what, exactly?” The vehemence of his own voice surprised him. Before he knew what he was doing, before he had truly considered it, he mounted the stairs and walked up to the throne, uninvited, and faced his father. “You have never given me a reason to believe you were anything but disappointed with me since the day I was born.”

Odin shook his head. “You do not give me reason to show you anything but that.”

“I have done terrible things, but you let me be nothing but those things. Tell me, Father, do you think me evil? Do you think me monstrous?” He spread his arms. “Did you need a villain and I was available? Someone to make Thor look prettier than he is so that when you give him the throne, everyone will be willing to overlook the thousands he’s slaughtered in the name of peace and Asgard?”

“Enough!” Odin roared, […].

I was a sobbing mess. Now tell me if Loki ever had a choice not to be selfish. Who else is going to think about him, consider his opinion and take care of him if he doesn’t do it himself? That he decides to “become the witch and know everything”? And in spite of it all… I am soft for how much he still loves his brother. Mind you, the (actually deleted) scene from the first Thor movie in which Loki tells Thor that he’s looked forward to this day as long as he had, is yet to come. “My brother. My friend. Sometimes I’m envious… but never doubt I love you.” or what he told the Warriors Three after his banishment: “I love Thor more dearly than any of you but you know what he is.” Yes, he led some Frost Giants the way into Asgard to “protect the realm from his idiotic rule for a while longer” (thank God he did, Loki was right, Asgard would have drowned in chaos—not Loki’s kind of chaos but bad chaos) but I don’t doubt the sincerity of his words to Thor before his almost-coronation.

Yet to come is also the revelation that he’s a Frost Giant, for him to find out why he never stood a chance against Odin’s constant disappointment. I should have known from the beginning it was him who took the Norn Stones. For himself. Loki is so relatable it physically hurts.

He didn’t just snap when his whole world fell apart that day. This novel proved that it was only the tip of the iceberg; like a tiny pebble removed from a mountain made of rocks, causing it to collapse.

I am definitely going to read this novel again. It’s incredibly inspiring for Imagines (I’ve already got a pretty angsty Imagine planned based on Loki’s adventures and I’ll make sure to work that in between all the Halloween requests I received) and I am desperate for more details. Mackenzi has to write the next one ASAP.

[thequietestnoiseonearth]

Ornette Coleman: “The Harmolodic Manifesto”

Of all inventions of 20th century musical instruments the most challenging ones today are the Electric Guitar, Bass & Drums. Most of those who play these instruments, which are countless players, are dedicated only to their personal expressions free of concepts are styles. Normally they are used as supportive players not equal to jazz or classical concepts, etc. When I started to form a Harmolodic Band, I auditioned a young kid who did not read or write music that played the Bass (electric). I asked him to play whatever he wanted. As he started to play I joined him and when he stopped I thought I would offer him a job and teach him Harmolodics. He told me he did not want to play the kind of music we were playing although I was playing with him (what an example of personal interest). This confirmed my belief in Harmolodics. Question: “Where can/will I find a player who can read (or not read) who can play their instrument to their own satisfaction and accept the challenge of the music environment?” For Harmolodic Democracy – the player would need the freedom to express what Harmodlodic information they found to work in composed music. There is always a rhythm – melody – harmony concept. All ideas have lead resolutions. Each player can choose any of the connections from the composers work for their personal expression, etc. Prime Time is not a jazz, classical, rock or blues ensemble. It is pure Harmolodic where all forms that can, or could exist yesterday, today, or tomorrow can exist in the now or moment without a second.

Enter: “Sound Museum.” The title is used as a metaphor. The sound of this music is made from the way it’s played not by a given sound played in a set sequence. All are expressed as equal information for the players to compose imporivse withouot any reference to a style which lies in the judgment of memory. in writing a letter or any form of academic expression, the results are all used as a form of repetition. Equal but not free. Free but not equal. One only has to observe someone else’s judgment to know that. This CD has one song and thirteen instrumentals. The song tells a story of the need and want of a couple who have had a relationship for a long time while existing with the condition of their trust and love. “Sound Museum” exists in two CD renditions of the same compositions played differently in each rendition. This concept was done to show music harmolodically. In the Harmolodic world the concept of space and time are not past or future but the present. Applied harmolodics will allow equal relationship to any information where an answer or a concept is an opinion. The four players are expressing their opinions free of the leader. In harmolodics, the melody is not the lead. The melody occupies the same concept as a written document like a letter. One writes what they wish as in a song: Don’t You Know By Now. As a composer/player, the work that goes into composing is totally independent of playing and vice versa. I have found this to be true of playing the violin and trumpet. I don’t play either the same as I do the saxophone. For me it is impossible, unless I transpose what is called the melody and play the same unison pitches on each instrument. It comes out sounding different. For me, it works.

All musicians who are playing in this quartet and Prime Time use the Harmolodic concept. Harmolodics is not a style. Those who judge the concept of Harmolodic playing are using outdated terms to describe their knowledge. All listeners are equal in their opinions.

Communism, socialism, capitalism, and monarchy in the world (have) and are changing for a truer relationship of the democracy of the individual. Every person who has had a democratic experience by birth or by passport knows there are no hatred or enemies in democracy, because everyone is an individual. Learning, doing, being, are the conversationship for perfecting, protecting, and caring of the belief in existence as an individual in relationship to everyone, physically, mentally, spiritually

— the concept of self.

—I play pure emotion

—In music, the only thing that matters is whether you feel it or not

—Chords are just the name for sounds, which really need no names at all, as names are sometimes confusing

—Blow what you feel – anything. Play the thought, the idea in your mind – Break away from the convention and stagnation – escape!

—[Musicians] have more room to express themselves with me…They should be free to play things as they feel it, the way it’s comfortable for them to play it. You can use any note and rhythm pattern that makes good sense for you. You just hear it – like beautiful thoughts – you don’t listen to people telling you how to play.

—My music doesn’t have any real time, no metric time. It has time, but not in the sense that you can time it. It’s more like breathing – a natural, freer time. People have forgotten how beautiful it is to be natural. Even in love.

—When we were on relief during the Depression, they’d give us dried-up old cheese and dried milk and we’d get ourselves all filled up and we’d kept this thing going, singing and dancing. I remember that when I play. You have to stick to your roots. Sometimes I play happy. Sometimes I play sad. But the condition of being alive is what I play all the time.

—Music has no face. Whatever gives oxygen its power, music is cut from the same cloth.

—It was when I realized I could make mistakes that I decided I was really on to something.

—People don’t realize it, but there is a real folklore music in jazz. It’s neither black nor white. it’s the mixture of the races, and folklore has come from it.

—I have found that by eliminating chords or keys or melodies as being the present idea of what you’re trying to feel i think you can play more emotion into the music. in other words, you can have the harmony, melody, intonation all blending into one to the point of your emotional thought.

—There is a music that has the quality to preserve life.

—I listen to anybody. The only thing I am interested in is their natural ability. I don’t care if they’re playing buckets. I’m only interested in what gets through to people, what makes them tap their feet, what moves them.

—I was out at Margaret Mead’s school and was teaching some kids how to play instantly. I asked the question, ‘How many kids would like to play music and have fun?’ And all the little kids raised up their hands. And I asked,’Well, how do you do that?’ And one little girl said, ‘You just apply your feelings to sound.’ She was right – if you apply your feelings to sound, regardless of what instrument you have, you’ll probably make good music.

—You really have to have players with you who will allow your instincts to flourish in such a way that they will make the same order as if you sat down and written a piece of music. To me, that is the most glorified goal of the improvising quality of playing – to be able to do that.

[scotiaeire]

SEXUALITY. AND OTHER STUFF.

I KNOW THAT RIGHT NOW, EVERYONE SEEMS TO BE FIGHTING TO BE RECOGNISED, AND VALIDATED WHEN IT COMES TO THEIR SEXUALITY AND GENDER.

I’VE A TRANSGENDER LESBIAN DAUGHTER AND SHE TRIES HARD TO EXPLAIN THE MULTITUDE OF WAYS PEOPLE EXPLAIN WHO OR WHAT THEY ARE IN THAT.

AND I PROBABLY WILL NEVER UNDERSTAND IT ALL. CUT ME SOME SLACK THOUGH. I WAS RAISED IN A TIME WHEN YOU HAD STRAIGHT OR GAY AND THAT WAS IT. I’M TRYING TO. BUT I’M THAT “BORING” THING, AN OLD STRAIGHT WOMAN, NOT UP TO DATE WITH MODERN TERMS, LABELS (WHY DO FOLKS NEED THOSE BTW?)

AND HERE’S THE THING THAT PUZZLES ME MOST OF ALL...WHILST I RECOGNISE THE ABSOLUTE RIGHT OF FOLKS TO LIVE WHICHEVER WAY THEY CHOOSE SO LONG AS THEY’RE NOT HARMING OTHERS (POLITICIANS, TAKE FUCKING NOTE YOU BASTARDS!) I JUST DON’T UNDERSTAND WHY ANYONE’S SEXUALITY OR GENDER IS ANYONE ELSE’S BUSINESS.

LIVE AND LET LIVE. I’M PROBABLY GONNA COME ACROSS AS JUST AN OLD PRUDE NOW (ANYONE WHO KNOWS ME WILL TELL YOU I’M FAR FROM IT) BUT TBH, SHOULDN’T INTIMACY AND SEX BE PRIVATE? UNLESS YOU’RE INTO PUBLIC ORGIES OR SUCHLIKE...THEN I GUESS PRIVACY ISN’T YOUR THING REALLY.

BUT FOR THE MAJORITY OF US, WHY THE NEED TO JUSTIFY OFFERING YOUR NAME THEN FOLLOWING UP WITH “GAY” “BI” “PANSEXUAL” OR WHATEVER?

DOESN’T THAT ONLY MATTER IF SOMEONE ACTUALLY *ASKS* YOU ABOUT IT? AND IF THEY ARE, WHY AREN’T YOU TELLING THEM TO MIND THEIR OWN FUCKING BUSINESS?

I *KNOW* I’M OLD FASHIONED, BUT HONESTLY, I DON’T MEET PEOPLE, SAY HIYA TO THEM THEN THE FIRST THING I ASK IS “BTW, WHAT’S YOUR SEXUAL PREFERENCE?”

WHEN I MEET GAY LOVERS I DON’T NEED TO ASK THEM. IT’S OBVIOUS. DOESN’T TROUBLE ME IN THE LEAST AND I’M NOT INTERESTED BECAUSE, PEOPLE’S INTIMATE LIVES SHOULD BE JUST THAT...INTIMATE. PRIVATE.

I “GET” THAT MANY FEEL THEY HAVE TO FIGHT FOR THE RIGHT TO *BE* WHAT THEY ARE. AND NO, IT ISN’T A MATTER OF KEEPING YOUR SEXUALITY HIDDEN.

IT’S JUST, YOU’RE SO MUCH MORE AS A PERSON THAN WHO OR HOW YOU MAKE LOVE TO. JUST SAYING. YOU’VE MORE FACETS TO YOU THAN SEXUALITY.

USED TO BE, SOME WOULD INTRODUCE THEMSELVES THEN FOLLOW IT UP WITH “I’M A MUSICIAN/ARTIST/DANCER” WHATEVER, AND YOU COULD GET A DIALOGUE GOING WITH THAT.

BUT TO MEET SOMEONE WHO GREETS YOU WITH “HELLO, I’M ANNA AND I’M ASEXUAL” IS JUST...WELL, WHAT DO I SAY TO THAT? I WASN’T EVEN WONDERING ABOUT WHAT YOUR SEX LIFE WAS LIKE. OR NOT. IT ISN’T SOMETHING I THINK ABOUT. WHEN I MEET NEW FOLKS (ADMITTEDLY, POST LOCKDOWN, THAT’S NOT OFTEN NOW) I’M INTERESTED IN WHO THEY ARE, WHAT THEY LIKE TO DO (SEX ASIDE) AND WHERE THEY’RE FROM, ETC, THAT KINDA THING.

WE’VE COME SO FAR FROM THE DAYS WHEN YOU COULDN’T EVEN MENTION SEX AT ALL EXCEPT IN METAPHORICAL PROSE OR SUCHLIKE.

NOW IT SEEMS IT’S ALL (SORRY FOR THIS...) THRUST IN OUR FACES, ON SHOWS AND SERIES (COUNT THE MINUTES TIL THE FIRST COUPLE FUCKING, REALLY..EVEN IF THE PLOT DOESN’T CALL FOR IT) TO FOLKS INTRODUCING THEMSELVES BY STATING WHAT THEY ARE.

BELIEVE IT OR NOT, LOTS OF US, AYE, EVEN US OLD FARTS, DON’T MIND WHAT YOU ARE AND NEVER GIVE IT A THOUGHT.

AND NO, IT’S NOT BECAUSE WE’RE DEAD FROM THE NECK DOWN.....

IT’S JUST, WHAT HAPPENED TO PRIVACY? MYSTERY? FOLKS MINDING THEIR OWN BUSINESS? WHY DOES THE WHOLE WORLD HAVE TO KNOW?

OK, THAT’S MY SOAPBOX RE SEXUALITY.

THE “OTHER STUFF”?

THE BLACK VS WHITE THING IS GETTING OUT OF HAND.

THE OTHER DAY SOMEONE HAD A GO AT ME BECAUSE I’M WHITE. BECAUSE I’M WHITE, I’M EXPECTED TO SOMEHOW ATONE FOR THE ACTIONS OF WHITE PEOPLE IN THE PAST WHO PARTICIPATED IN THE SLAVE TRADE.

I CAN’T. AND I WOULDN’T. BECAUSE I WOULDN’T PARTICIPATE IN ANY SLAVE TRADE AND I AM NOT GOING TO BE HELD RESPONSIBLE FOR THE ACTIONS OF PEOPLE NO LONGER ALIVE.

I ALSO GOT THE NOW OLD “WHITE PRIVILEGE” SHIT. WELL, I’VE ALREADY BLOGGED ABOUT THAT. I’M WHITE BUT MY LIFE HAS BEEN FAR FROM PRIVILEGED. SO IF I’M GOING TO BE ACCUSED OF IT, PLEASE CAN I HAVE SOME FIRST SO I CAN TRY IT OUT, AT LEAST? BECAUSE I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT IT FEELS LIKE.

AND AS FOR SLAVERY, THE FOLLOWING LINK IS BUT THE TIP OF AN ICEBERG...https://www.electricscotland.com/history/other/white_slavery.htm

WE ARE ALL A HUMAN SPECIES MADE UP OF RACIAL GROUPS WHO HAVE ALL, AT SOME POINT IN HISTORY, MADE WAR, CONDUCTED SLAVE TRADING AND CONQUERED WEAKER PEOPLES. THAT’S HUMAN NATURE AND FRANKLY, FUCK ALL TO DO WITH RACE.

SO, I MIGHT BE AN AGEING OLD WHITE WOMAN, BUT I’M STILL VOLATILE ENOUGH TO GET RILED UP WHEN I GET ACCUSED OF BEING PART AND PARCEL OF SOMEONE ELSE’S RACIAL AGENDA. BECAUSE TO TELL SOMEONE THEY SHOULD BE ASHAMED OF THEIR CULTURE, HERITAGE AND SKIN COLOUR *IS* RACIST. AND NO, NOT ALL WHITE CULTURE AND HERITAGE HAS BEEN AGAINST OTHER RACES. STATE THAT AND YOU IGNORE CONTRIBUTIONS TO SCIENCE, TECHNOLOGY, ART, MUSIC AND MEDICINE ETC THAT BENEFITS EVERYONE.

IF YOU HAVE A GENUINE GRIEVANCE AGAINST A GROUP OR RACE OF PEOPLE, AIM AT THE CORRECT TARGETS..EITHER RAGE AT THOSE OF THE PAST, LONG DEAD, WHICH IS FUTILE, OR AIM AT THE PEOPLE WHO PERPETUATE THE REASON FOR YOUR GRIEVANCE, WHO TODAY ARE LIKELY TO BE POLITICIANS.

BUT THE BULK OF ORDINARY FOLKS SIMPLY TRYING TO LIVE AND LET LIVE? LAY OFF. JUST AS A PERSON OF COLOUR IS A PRODUCT OF THEIR BIRTH, SO IS A WHITE PERSON.

AND IN THE END, WE’RE ALL JUST PEOPLE. MAYBE WE SHOULD REMEMBER THAT.

RANT OVER. I’M NOT A “RACIST” FOR BEING WHITE. AND BECAUSE I TALK ABOUT MY ANCESTORS AND THEIR CULTURES DOESN’T MAKE ME “RACIST”. END OF.

[thecorteztwins]

Character Flaws: How To Do Them (And How Not To)

Hi there, I’m going to talk about character flaws today! And I’m going to start with a very unpopular statement----I think flawless characters, or characters with minimal flaws, are just fine. It just depends on what kind of character you want to portray. Some character roles are SUPPOSED to be paragons of virtue or sweet innocent angels, just as some characters are SUPPOSED to be dastardly evil-doers or complex nuanced grimdark antiheroes. What matters is whether it’s what you INTEND, and how to pull it off. Also, I’m not an expert. These are opinions. Feel free to agree or disagree, take what you like and leave the rest, etc. I am not an authority in ANY way, and your thoughts are just as valid as mine. That said, let’s start. Strap in, this got long, I’m sorry.

There are three general types of flaws that you can give to a character: INTERVIEW FLAWS aka CINNAMON ROLL FLAWS aka NON-FLAWS I call them this because they’re the sort of “flaws” that you would say you have at a job interview when asked what your flaws are. They’re “flaws” that make someone actually sound better---more moral, or more endearing, or more sympathetic, etc. Things like “too loyal” or “kind to a fault” or “too protective of his friends”. They’re the sort of flaws that “cinnamon roll” characters typically have. These actually can become very damning mega-flaws if taken to the extreme, but more on that later; this paragraph is for when they’re still solidly in “interview flaw” territory. A big aspect of these “flaws” is that they only hurt the character, if anyone. They will seldom, if ever, negatively affect another person. If they do hurt someone else, it will often be in a way that is totally justified to the reader (the character who is “too protective” beating up someone who was being a jerk to his friends) or really not the character’s fault at all (a naive character being manipulated by a bad guy into revealing something important) Whatever trouble they get in will usually be done in a way that is meant to make the reader either feel bad for them, or see them in a positive light for it. If this is the sort of character you want to go for, that is a-okay! Cinnamon rolls have their place in a story, and they can be just as beloved by fans as more grimdark characters. The only problem comes is when someone tries to sell their character as “flawed” when actually they’re just one of these. Or, alternatively, tries to sell the character as one of these when actually they’re one of the categories below. But if it’s exactly what you intended? Great! NORMAL FLAWS Exactly what it says---flaws that a normal person would have. Things like jealousy, snobbery, misanthropy, negativity, bad tempers, irresponsibility, laziness, not taking things seriously when they should, the list goes on and on. This is probably the widest category, since what flaw you pick and how it manifests can span the range from being almost a non-flaw but not quite, to nearly a mega-flaw. It also depends on the character who has it, what they’re like otherwise, and why they have it. For instance, someone who is unjustly hostile to someone trying to help them because they’re suspicious due to being tricked, exploited, or abused in the past by people pretending to be well-meaning, is a lot more sympathetic than someone who just doesn’t think they need help because they see themselves as perfect and don’t like correction. Both still fall under the “normal” category most of the time, but are coming from very different places, and will be perceived differently by most readers. So, which to use? It all depends what you’re going for with your character! MEGA FLAWS The big ones. The ones that will really make others dislike your character. Things like real-life bigotry (as in, being homophobic, not hating elves), gleeful bullying and abusiveness, toxic egomania, blaming others (especially innocent characters) for their mistakes, sexual misconduct, and kicking puppies, to name a few. Sometimes, these can be used to make audiences hate the characters instantly, but that’s actually not always guaranteed. A great many characters that are among the most popular in their respective fandoms have one or more of these traits. Sometimes, that’s just because people love a good villain, but other times it’s because the character’s reasons for these flaws, or the character’s overall personality in general apart from the flaws, are very compelling and interesting. Just as some people love cinnamon rolls, some people prefer darker characters like these, and much like preferring different ice cream flavors, neither is superior to the other. These kinds of flaws also don’t always translate to truly inhuman, awful people either. Sometimes a character may actually be MORE human for them. The protagonist in a novel I once read was raised by his grandparents because his mother, who gave birth to him as a teen, hated him. She wanted nothing to do with him as a child, and outright told him she hated him when he was just barely an adult. The protagonist didn’t know why for most of his life, but eventually found out it was because he was born a twin, and his twin brother died when they were babies. He was born big, healthy, and strong, whereas his brother had been tiny and weak and sick, probably because he sapped the bulk of the nutrients in the womb, which sadly is something that sometimes happens. The mother was devastated by the death of her weaker son, and blamed the surviving one, feeling he was a monster baby that killed his sibling, not to mention resented how he was fawned over by the rest of her family when they had treated her like dirt, including her own parents. This woman was not meant as sympathetic to readers. It was pretty clear to me that the writer wanted us to see her as horrible. And what she did was completely horrible indeed. She blamed an innocent baby for something not possibly his fault, and held that against him his whole life. That’s unforgivably awful, and there’s no excuse for it. Yet it’s such a human reaction that it made me feel for her. People often are illogical and awful in ways like this, it’s very believable to me that a human being would feel this way. It was meant to make her an irredeemable strawman, but my reaction was to see her now as less of a 2D “bad mother” cutout, and more of a person. Sometimes, it’s the worst in people that can win us over, because that can sometimes be the most human part of them. Note that this will often be divisive; I’m sure a lot of readers actually did hate this woman all the more for this, and that’s a totally valid reaction too. However, if you wish to make your character truly despicable, hurting children or cute animals is generally a good way to go; most readers won’t forgive that (though I’ve seen it happen) That said, be warned that making your character sexy or tragic (especially in combination) will inevitably make some fans fawn over them regardless of how evil they are, and there’s not much you can do about it. Someone is ALWAYS going to find the bad guy hot/sympathetic even when you’re not SUPPOSED to. Now that we’ve covered the different categories of GOOD ways to write flaws, here are some ways that I see people failing at writing flaws: INFORMED FLAWS Informed flaws are flaws that the writer CLAIMS the character has, but never actually show up. For instance, they SAY that this character is standoffish, has a temper, and can be cruel, but only ever write him as being lovably surly at worst, and typically very tolerant and patient with others (especially cute children or cinnamon bun types) Or they claim that the character is shy and insecure, but here they are trying out for the lead in the school play without anyone pushing them to do it. This is often due to the author being overly affectionate towards their character. In the first example, they want their character to be a tough guy, but an ENDEARING tough guy, and not risk him doing anything that the audience might possibly dislike him for. So they go overboard with showing his “soft” moments, while never showing the “hard” ones that are what would make the “soft” ones actually special and unusual. In the second example, maybe the character is just shy and insecure in a different way (like they’re comfortable on-stage because there’s no actual interaction with people, and crumble when in real conversations) but more likely, they’re just acting out-of-character because the author WANTS them to be the lead in the play, regardless of how little sense it makes for them to try out and get the part. Informed flaws are basically a failure of a “show, don’t tell” rule. We’re TOLD that this character has a flaw, but we’re either never shown it, or shown the exact opposite. For instance, we may be told that this character never opens up to people because of her dark past, but it sure doesn’t seem that way if she immediately starts talking about that dark past to first man who shows interest in her as she falls into his arms. And it’s hard to take a writer’s claim that their character is “humble” with any seriousness if that character has a habit of bringing up his numerous talents and accomplishments in every conversation. And you may SAY that a character tends to get jealous, but how do we KNOW if she never encounters anyone she’s jealous of? INCONSEQUENTIAL FLAWS The character is a rude abrasive jerk, but everyone likes her immediately anyway! Maybe they can instantly see past her snarky surface to the sensitive soul beneath, or maybe they respect her toughness and candor. Some people have a problem with her attitude, but they’re either prudish sticks-in-the-mod, overly sensitive namby-pambies, sexists who are threatened by a strong woman, or they come around to respecting/liking her in the end! The character hates breaking rules and getting into trouble; he craves approval from authority, and will tell on his friends to get it. Fortunately, he’s never put in this position, or, if he does, his friends understand and forgive him, and may even agree that he did the right thing. The character is impulsive and acts on their first thought, if they think at all. Luckily, her assumptions prove correct (or at least lead her to the right place) and her reckless actions not only don’t cause any problems, they save the day! Everyone is proud of her, and no one scolds her for anything she did along the way that might have broken protocol or endangered other people. The character is super hostile anyone breaking his routine...but then his routine never gets broke in the story or any of his interactions. He’s also terrified of animals, but luckily no animals appear in the story. And he’s an asshole at work, but none of the story takes place there and none of the other characters are his co-workers. See the problem? None of these flaws MATTER. They either don’t come up in the story at all, and thus never get a chance to affect the character, or if they do come up, they don’t cause any problems for the character, and in fact may benefit them. That’s not a flaw. It doesn’t matter if your character is a freaking SERIAL KILLER if they never face any kind of issue because of it, it’s not a flaw in the context of the story unless it works AGAINST your character in some way. ACCIDENTAL FLAWS These often overlap with inconsequential flaws, and are kind of the opposite of informed flaws. In the case of informed flaws, the author claims to us that the character has a flaw, but then fails to show it (or shows the opposite). In the case of accidental flaws, the author claims that the character DOESN’T have a certain flaw...and then proceeds to give them exactly that. For instance, how many times have you been reading a novel where the heroine INSISTS that she’s very plain and not pretty at all, then proceeded to give us an extremely flattering description of herself? How many times have you read something where the protagonist was acting like a huge jerk, but you got the impression from how it was written that the author expected us to be cheering him on, and anyone who thought he was indeed a jerk was portrayed as always unlikable and in the wrong? This is a case where the writer is either so oblivious or so in love with their own character that they become unaware of how obnoxious their darling is actually coming off. They rush to justify everything she does, they portray any opposition as simply evil or jealous or stupid, they overlook any kind of actual harm that he’s doing to anyone else, and they often make the villains end up accidentally sympathetic by comparison because the hero we’re supposed to love and admire is just so unbearable. The writer has made a very flawed character---but they didn’t mean or want to, and that’s the problem. WEAKNESSES Weaknesses aren’t flaws. Being clumsy, having a physical disability, or being a member of an oppressed/disliked group is not a flaw. Flaws are personality traits. They can be the RESULT of things like trauma or mental disorders, so they’re not always changeable or the person’s fault, but they’re still part of WHO they are, not WHAT, and something they can be held accountable for. If your character’s only “flaws” are being deaf and having PTSD and being an elf in a world that doesn’t like elves, those aren’t flaws, they’re weaknesses or drawbacks. If they’re lacking in some skill, such as fencing or shooting or flipping hamburgers, that’s also not a flaw. It could be a flaw if having the skill is important yet they refuse to work on it (ex: a police officer who doesn’t bother to improve his aim) but it is not in itself a flaw. Hell, it’s not even a weakness unless it’s relevant---I don’t know how to use a gun, but there’s no reason that it’s immediately relevant to my life to do so, so I wouldn’t count it as a weakness or a flaw. TIPS: - Try to be objective as you can about your character, even if you love them. Keep in mind that the other characters around them are people with thoughts and feelings too, and that if your character is rude, cruel, annoying, or off-putting to them, then they may have good reason for disliking or losing patience with your character, no matter what good reason your character has for being that way. If your atheist character trashes the faith of a religious character, it doesn’t matter if they grew up in a household of religious abuse, they’re still being a jerk and the religious character has a right to think so. If your character loses their temper and wrecks a store, it doesn’t matter that they were provoked or are really a nice person, the store owner is still well within their rights to press charges and demand compensation. Avoid vilifying other characters, and take their pain and personhood as seriously as you do the main character’s own. This alone will open the door to showing a lot of flaws that your character has, which will let you then decide if that’s the amount you WANT your character to have, or if you should change some things. - Any trait, including very good traits, can be bad taken to the extreme. For instance, let’s take a common “interview flaw”--- loyal no matter what. A lot of people don’t realize just how dark this can get. But what if your character is so loyal to their friend that they overlook it not only when that friend treats them badly, but treats other people too? What if they discover the friend has done something terrible, like is abusing his wife? What if they’re loyal to a fault to a supervillain organization that is actively hurting or even killing people, and they KNOW this? You can take this some pretty terrible places if you want. You don’t HAVE to, it can remain in “cinnamon roll” or “normal” territory if that’s what you want, but if you’re looking to make a more dark scenario, remember that you don’t need to rely on inherently “dark” flaws like “he loves to hurt people”---the most mild and even positive traits can become disturbing and evil if taken far enough. - If you’re trying to make someone MORE flawed, look at the flaws they already have and consider how it might hurt OTHER PEOPLE instead of just the character. For instance, if your character is very insecure, perhaps instead of just thinking about how worthless or untalented they are, they are overly-critical, even mean, to people who are even less talented. Or when someone else is more talented at something they wish they were better at, they scrutinize that person to find bad things about them, or even just assume things about them---like “sure, she’s a much better artist than me, but she’s ugly and she can’t write worth a damn” or “he may have a girlfriend and be good-looking, but he’s dumb as a brick and probably a bully like all dumb jocks”. An attitude like that takes your character from simply being the purely sympathetic sort of insecure, to someone who is actually doing something wrong because of it. Again, this is if you WANT your character to have more of an edge; it doesn’t suit some characters, and that’s ok. - By the same token, if you want to take some edge OFF your character and make them less flawed, look at how their present flaws might negatively affect others, and decrease that. If  the character you WANT to be a “cinnamon bun” lashes out at people who just don’t understand her pain/genius/specialness/goodness/etc, maybe reconsider that. - If you want to get ideas for flaws, look at the things other people do that annoy you. What are your pet peeves? Maybe you hate “Karen” behavior, or people who don’t take proper care of their pets, people who think they’re funny or clever when they’re not, people who interrupt you when you’re talking, people who make assumptions, people you feel are fishing for attention, people who believe or share false information without checking it first, people who never seem to listen or learn, people who are always late, people who feel entitled to something, and so on. See if any of them fit your character. Be sure to be honest with yourself---yes, you REALLY love your tough guy character, and you HATE when smokers just throw their butts on the ground...but maybe he would? And maybe he WOULD be snappish with someone who didn’t deserve it? And maybe he WOULD be quick to stereotype others, such as labeling them privileged preps based on how they dress? Think about it. - Zodiac signs are another good place to get ideas for flaws, as are Myers-Briggs personality types, and anything else that categorizes people into different personality types. Note that your character need not actually, say, have that sign for their zodiac, it’s just good places to get base personality ideas. - Try to keep your voice out of your character’s mouth, and let their actions speak for themselves. Whether you want to portray the world’s sweetest cinnamon roll (tired of that phrase yet?) or the worst dumpster fire in the universe, what works to show that isn’t for your character or those around them to TALK about how sweet/terrible your character is, what works is to actually have them do and say things that are sweet/terrible! - Get second opinions! You want to make your character MORE of a jerk? You’re worried they’re TOO MUCH of a jerk? You think your villain is too soft? You want to add moral ambiguity to your hero? Get other people to look at your work! Friends are great for this, but what’s even better is people who aren’t particularly close to you, and won’t hold back on honest advice and feedback.If you want to see how your characters come off to a set of unbiased eyes, the best way is to ask someone! - Remember that everyone is different and no matter how well you portray a character the way you intend, there will always be someone who views them in a way you didn’t want them to at all, even if it makes no sense for them to do so. Make peace with it. Don’t dismiss everyone by saying they “didn’t understand” or “read it wrong” or “are interrogating the text from the wrong perspective”, but by the same token don’t get too hung up on making sure every single reader views every single character the exact way you wanted. It just won’t happen. Just do your best.

[four-loose-screws]

Their Sealed Pasts - FE4 Short Story Translation - Section 2

If you would like to start from the beginning, read a missed part, etc., click here!

FE Game Script Translations - FE Novel Translations - Original FE Support Conversations - Ko-fi

I consider this a “section” and not a “part” because it’s a break that I defined myself. This short story was not broken up into parts by the author.

T/W: Half-sibling incest. Direct implications of sex, but no explicit scenes.

———————————

Their Sealed Pasts

Short Story #5 of Fire Emblem: Genealogy of the Holy War - The Last of the Earth Dragon Tribe

Section 2

Deirdre was not a virgin.

But this fact did not change his feelings for her, rather, it made them burn all the brighter.

Every night, as he touched her, he felt pangs of jealousy.

'Someone else did as he pleased with this beautiful body before me.'

Not wanting to lose to this unknown man brought him to love her all the more passionately.

Nothing satisfied him more than her moans of pleasure, but at the same time, they also made him suffer.

'Tell me, did you moan just like this for him?'

But he couldn't ask her, because she could not remember anything before him.

'I can't go on like this.' He thought. 'I've been so fixated on her past, that it's become an obstacle to everything I am planning to do. I cannot stand to think about it any longer.'

ー

Arvis sat down at his place at the table.

"Deirdre, I've been thinking. About why you appeared before me after you lost your memory. And I've concluded that it was destiny. It was your destiny to lose your memory and be mine. So I don't want you to try to remember your past anymore. Only for you to make more memories with me."

Tears welled up in Deirdre's eyes.

"What happened? Did I say something wrong?"

"No, not at all! Actually, I'm very happy!" She wiped away her tears with a handkerchief.

"This whole time, I've thought of myself as only half a person. As a woman that can't possibly be good enough for you. During the day, when you go to the palace, I try as hard as I can to regain my memories. But I can't, no matter what I do. When you come home, I always blame myself. Today was the same. I'm a terrible, awful woman…" Her last words trailed off into a wail.

"You don't have to feel like that anymore, Deirdre. What I’m saying is, we are the most perfect couple in all the world. Today, I visited the king. I told him that I found the woman that I want to spend the rest of my life with. And then he said he wants to give us his blessing."

"You… You did…?"

"He was overjoyed, and asked me to bring you to the palace tomorrow."

"Am I really the one? A woman like me…?"

"Don’t say that. You are the most amazing woman I have ever met." He said with all the conviction he could muster. Then, he repeated to himself over and over that he couldn't obsess over her past anymore, and sealed those thoughts deep within his heart.

That night, he made love to her without a single worry in his heart for the first time.

All unease disappeared from her face as well.

'She's even more beautiful now than ever before.' He thought.

When they were finished, Deirdre said, "I don't know why, but that was the first time our love has ever felt quite like that."

He stroked her soft, smooth back. "I felt the same way. I love you, Deirdre."

"I love you too, Arvis. I love you so much."

They fell asleep in each other's arms, and slept soundly until morning.

ー

King Azmur sat on the throne for the first time in a long time.

Arvis walked up to him with his fiancée, and they both bowed.

"It's good to see you. Please, raise your heads."

Deirdre bowed further, dropping down on one knee, before doing so.

The king’s expression changed suddenly.

"Is something the matter, Your Majesty?" Arvis asked.

"It's nothing." He said, then looked closely at Deirdre's face once more. “Young lady, I understand that you have lost your memory?”

“Yes, I have.”

“So you don’t remember anything about your parents?”

“Unfortunately, no.”

“I may be wrong, but… Your face reminds me of someone. Please take off your circlet, and show me your forehead.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” She looked puzzled, but raised her arms to take off her circlet.

She always wore it. Even Arvis had yet to see her without it on.

“Is this okay?”

On her forehead was a white, wave-shaped mark.

“I knew it.”

“What is it?” Arvis asked, worry dripping in his voice.

“That mark on her forehead is the Holy Mark passed down through Grannvale’s royal family. Deirdre, was it? There is no doubt in my mind that you are my son Kurt’s orphan.”

“What are you saying? That my fiancée is Prince Kurt’s daughter…?

“Yes, I am. I do not know when or with whom he may have fathered her, but I know that she is his daughter. This is cause for celebration! I worried that Grannvale’s royal bloodline had died out, but the gods have not abandoned the Crusaders after all. Duke Arvis, Deirdre, I give you my blessing to marry as soon as possible and produce an heir. Duke Arvis, I will grant you the status of regent, and you will run the kingdom’s government until your successor has grown. What a joyous occasion this is! We must announce the news throughout the country straight away!”

It was Arvis’ final chance to question who she was. He started to wonder how she could be Prince Kurt’s daughter...

But he had already sealed his heart off from thinking about her past.

All he could think about was the idea that he was next in line to inherit the Grannvalian throne.

‘Everything is going according to plan.’

War continued to ravage the continent, yet Grannvale remained almost completely unaffected by it, throwing a wedding so extravagant it would be the major news story long after it happened.

ー

Sigurd’s army came out of hiding in Silesse, and killed Lombard.

Now, they were gaining momentum, and traveling across the Yied Desert towards Grannvale.

But Arvis had a plan in place for every possibility.

He ordered Friege’s army, led by Reptor, and Velthomer’s army, led by General Aida, to face Sigurd's army head-on. However, once the fighting started, Velthomer’s mages rained Meteor spells down on Friege’s Army.

Friege’s Army panicked, and Reptor was killed by Sigurd, who had obtained his Holy Weapon, the Holy Sword Tyrfing.

General Aida opened the gate to Velthomer Castle, and greeted Sigurd. 

“Duke Arvis knows that you are innocent, Lord Sigurd. He says everything that transpired was all the work of Duke Reptor and Duke Lombard. They were simply too powerful for Duke Arvis to do anything about them until now.”

“Really? Then that means my father’s name will be cleared as well?” He asked her with a cold expression on his face.

“Yes, Duke Arvis is waiting with His Majesty for you in Balhalla. The Roten Ritter will be there to greet you. The entire country will celebrate your triumphant return.”

Sigurd announced to his army that the war was over, and disbanded them.

Only two hundred of his soldiers went to Balhalla, and just a single unit went with him to the palace.

What the world would soon call “The Battle of Balhalla” would not be a battle at all. It would be a massacre.

Arvis himself stood before Sigurd, and declared him a traitor. Then, Arvis pulled Deirdre alongside him. “Take a good look at him! This is the man who killed your father! Sigurd, son of Duke Byron! He will now be executed for his crimes!”

Then, Sigurd screamed, “Deirdre!”

She looked at him in complete surprise.

“Of course! I know everything now, Deirdre! It was him!”

“You… You know me...?”

Arvis cut off her next question, and ushered her to the back of the Rotten Ritter. “Take my wife back to the palace.”

The two soldiers each took one of her hands.

“Wait, milord! ...Just give me one moment with him…”

But the soldiers began to pull her along, nearly dragging her across the ground.

“Deirdre!!”

“All units! Kill the traitor and his soldiers!”

It was over in an instant.

The only traitor who survived was a woman, who lost her right arm and fell unconscious in critical condition.

Those who had traveled to Balhalla, but did not go to the castle, all fled without even trying to put up a fight.

‘So it was him. He is the man who loved her before me.’ Arvis thought to himself as he looked down at Sigurd’s charred remains. ‘But it is no matter. The past is in the past, and now he is dead. The only problem is whether or not she regained her memories when he called out to her.’

He didn’t want her to remember.

He wanted her to be his, and his alone.

Once he confirmed that the battle was over, he returned to the palace.

His wife was alone in her room, sitting in a chair in the corner, lost in thought.

When she realized that Arvis had entered the room, she pleaded, “Tell me! Did he know something about my past!?”

‘Thank the gods. Her memories did not return.’ He sighed and answered, “I do not know. But he was always a liar. Surely, he thought that by pretending to know you, I would spare his life.”

“I see. If that’s the case, then I understand, but…”

“You have no reason to worry. As I’ve always said to you, we gain nothing by obsessing over the past. Your only memories are the ones you have with me. Those as my perfect bride.” He took her hand, pulled her up from the chair, and hugged her tenderly.

“Hold me tighter. I’m so scared of what my past might have been. Even one thought about it chills me to the bone.”

“It’s alright. I’m here.”

They held each other for a long, long time.

A few days later, he learned that she was pregnant.

ー

The rebellion was over.

And King Azmur was on his death bed.

To build his new empire, Arvis had to work long, hard days, and traveled frequently.

While subjugating Leonster to the east, he was informed that his wife had given birth to twins, a boy and a girl. All three of them were doing well.

He named the boy Julius, and the girl Julia.

With their king and inheritor to holy blood, Quan, gone, Leonster did not put up much of a fight. Seeing that there was still much to be done, he entrusted Leonster to Reptor’s son, Bloom, and returned home.

He promised Bloom the title of King of Leonster. Bloom vowed his absolute loyalty with glee.

It was Arvis’ first time coming home in two months.

He rushed up to Deirdre’s room, and found her breastfeeding one of the babies.

The sight of her husband’s return put a smile on her face, but made Arvis gasp in response.

Deirdre no longer had the face of a young woman, but of a mother. And it reminded him exactly of his mother’s.

‘Mother!’ He couldn’t bring himself to say the word, screaming it inside of his heart instead.

And it became the key that unlocked the seal upon his heart.

Every one of his forgotten memories came flooding back to him.

His father’s suicide. His mother, Cigyun, and Prince Kurt’s behavior at the funeral. And his mother’s disappearance.

As a child who'd become the Duke of Velthomer at such a young age, he had to be strong to protect his title. However, he was still just a boy who'd lost his mother and been left alone, so at first, he’d cried time and time again.

With all the pieces in place, he put the truth together.

His wife was the child born between his mother and Prince Kurt.

He'd fallen in love with her at first sight because his unconscious saw his mother's image in her.

'I married my sister from a different father, and even had children with her.'

For any normal person, it would be a shameful secret, and end there.

‘But I inherited Loptous’ blood from my mother. So children born between my sister and me would likely have much thicker Loptrian blood than us. What will this mean for them?'

And the last thing he remembered were Manfroy’s words. “She is waiting for you.”

‘What are you planning, Manfroy!?’

“What’s wrong, milord?” Deirdre saw that her husband was still standing in the doorway, and called out to him. Then, she looked down at their child. “Look, Julius, it’s your father!”

Her voice dragged him to their side.

“Aw, look at our son. He looks just like you!”

The boy seemed to be like any other innocent infant, eyes closed, peacefully sucking his mother’s breast.

Except for the tiny red dot on his forehead.

[catte-bard]

Pater

Grey clouds were beginning to drift their way across the Gyr Abanian sky. Already the air hung heavy with the smell of rain. That didn’t bode well for the adventurer if she wanted to get some hunting done. The rain would be sure to make that difficult.

Bellona crossed her arms as she looked out across the sprawling plains of the Peaks. She had been looking forward to coming out her for some decent hunting too. It seemed that would have to wait until another day. Very well.

The game was going nowhere. She could wait.

An impatient squawk came from her chocobo. Ah yes, then there was that. Poor Zephyr had been spending so much time in the stables. Usually only let out for a short journey back and forth between Gridania and Rhalgr’s Reach.  

The bird was probably itching for some excitement.

Bellona gave him an apologetic look and a pat on the neck. “Hopefully tomorrow it’ll be nice enough to get some stuff done.” She told him and the chocobo responded with an unhappy clack of his beak.

You’ll get over it. The woman rolled her eyes as she pulled herself up into his saddle. She was about to set off when something on the land below caught her eye.

A group of pantera. Several were rushing over together as if hunting something. Or…someone…

She wasn’t very high up, so she could make out the figure of person being surrounded by the creatures. They were doing their best to fend them off—throwing rocks and swatting at them with sticks—but it wouldn’t be enough.  Especially with more of them rushing over.

Bellona cursed under her breath and nudged Zephyr into a run. Those pantera would make quick work of their quarry if she didn’t intervene. “Looks like you’ll being getting spend some of that restless energy today after all, Zeph.”

They needed to hurry and there was no time to take the safe and long way around. She urged her steed down the dangerous uneven path, trusting that the bird wouldn’t misstep. Bellona reached around to snatch her bow from her back as they drew closer to the pack.

Once on the ground below, an arrow was nocked and released. The shaft buried itself into the hind-leg of one of the slathering beasts. It let out a yowl of pain and swung its head in her direction. Seeing the adventurer, the pantera let out a vicious snarl and charged.

Her chocobo let out an angry cry and Bellona swung down from the saddle to confront the beast rushing towards them.  As Bellona was pulling another bow from her quiver,  the pantera were upon her. With a mighty snarl, it tried to swat at her with sharp claws. However, the adventurer rolled out of the way. Nocking her arrow, she turned and released into the beast’s neck.

A yowl of pain before it dropped dead.

That definitely pull the rest of the pack’s attention away from their first target. Another one of them broke off from the throng, only to be met with a kick in the face from a rather angry chocobo. Bellona muttered praise for the bird before loosing another arrow. It hit its mark before the pantera could recover from Zephyr’s assault.

The others snarled at her in rage, however something seemed have convinced them to back down. Two of their own kind felled so quickly by her seemed to be enough to persuade them that the Miqo’te wasn’t worth the effort. Slowly, one by one they stepped away, retreating off somewhere deeper into the Peaks.

Bellona watched them go, her hand still clutched tightly around her bow. It was an easy victory, but she didn’t want to revel in it until she was sure the beasts would not return.

“Oh, thank you so much.” The voice of woman expressing gratitude. “Such terrible creatures. I feared I was done for.”

Bellona turned around to look at the woman. She was a Hyur. Tall and with fair hair cut short. Her eyes were as black as obsidian and gave off an almost eerie feeling when trapped under that gaze. However, Bellona shook the sensation off and did her best to ignore it.

Zephyr seemed to sense it as well, for the bird fluffed up as the strange woman drew near. Bellona shushed him and gave his neck a few soothing pats. For the most part, it seemed to calm him down.

“It was no problem.” She said with a smile as she returned her bow to her back.  

The adventurer looked around to see various items scattered across the ground. Simple items for travel from what it looked like. Clothing, food, potions, etc.

“I was just passing through when those awful beasts attacked.” The woman explained. “One of them grabbed ahold of my pack and ripped it away from me.”

Bellona nodded and began to pick up a few of the scattered belongings. “Well it’s a good thing you weren’t stranded out in the middle of nowhere. Ala Ghiri isn’t that far from here. Perhaps a little over a half-bell’s walk that way.” She says, nodding in the direction of the settlement. 

The woman clasped her hands together with joy. “Thank you very much. My name is Iris by the way.” She beamed. “And how lucky I am to be saved by a vaunted Warrior of Light.”

Bellona frowned. She knew that she should be, but it always surprised her when complete strangers knew of her. It just went to show how well known her deeds were all across Eorzea she supposed. 

“I just happened to be in the area when I spotted you in trouble.” The Miqo’te said as she walked over to hand the items back to her. None of them seemed to be damaged. Though a few potions bottle did lay shattered on the ground. She hoped Iris didn’t lose too much in this attack.  “Are you a traveling merchant or something? Where were you headed?”

“Mm nay, not a merchant. More of traveling messenger.” She told her. “And actually I was hoping to run into you, Bellona bas Marcellus. For I have a message to deliver to you all the way from the homeland.”

The Miqo’te stiffened at that and took a wary step away from the woman.

However, Iris smiled innocently.

Imperial.

Someone sent by her parents? Or perhaps one of Varis’ own servants come to deliver his threats on his behalf?

“I’m not going to hurt you. All I’ve come to do is deliver a message from my lord.” Iris assured and held up her hands to indicate no harm. “Do I even look like a fighter to you? Surely you saw how poorly I handled those beasts ganging up on me?”

That remains to be seen. Bellona narrowed her eyes at her. “State your message and then leave me be.”

“So quick to turn so cold even after saving my life.” Iris blinked. Perhaps Bellona was imagining it, but she thought she heard a snideness in that tone. Already, she was liking this Iris less and less.

“I said state your message and leave me be.” Bellona repeated through bared teeth. “Or do I need to alert the Alliance of your presence here?”

“Now, now, I am only a messenger. Not a spy or mercenary sent by the emperor. There’s no need for threats, my lady.” Iris scolded while waggling a finger at her. “That being said, you probably should be careful about reporting said spies to the Eorzea Alliance. Some of your own secrets might come up if they were to investigate the matter.”

The adventurer bristled. So that’s the way it was going to be then? Threaten to out her as well if she tried to go to any of her allies for help?

Fine.

The Miqo’te crossed her arms, looking at the messenger expectantly. This had better be worth her time.

Once sure that the warrior would play nice, Iris beamed and then swung a peculiar bundle down from her back. Whatever it was had been carefully wrapped within cloth and was actually rather large. Bellona looked at it in puzzlement as Iris handed it over to her.

The Miqo’te frowned at the bundled; it had some weight to it. Iris eagerly gestured for her to unfurl the cloth and she did so warily. Wrapped within the material was a sword. A rather impressive one at that—Garlean in make. A long golden blade with what appeared to be a crested etched into the metal. Perhaps a bit on the gaudy side but it was obviously no weapon simply meant for show.

Neither was it a mere lowly soldier’s blade. Such craftmanship could only be afforded by someone from a noble house. It wasn’t a new blade either. Though clearly polished and cared after greatly, it was easy to see that it had been put to use a few times. With something so nice one would think the owner would be very unwilling to part with it. So why was it being presented to her?

“What’s this?” The adventurer was perplexed.

“A gift from my lord.” Iris told her. “From your father.”

Bellona’s ear gave a flick. She looked down at the sword. “My…father?”

“Oh! No, not Praetor Marcellus.” She giggled. Bellona wasn’t sure what she found so amusing. “Though my lord is very thankful that the man took in his daughter and raised her into such a marvelous adult. Though—and this is just me speaking freely—perhaps he could have done a better job of discipline and reining in.”

Bellona bristled at that. She had just saved this woman from her death and her response is to insult her? Perhaps she should have been a little slower in her rescue? She almost snorted and walked off at the comment, but something Iris said made her pause.

Her father? But she wasn’t referring to Kaeso…

No…she couldn’t really mean?

Bellona suddenly found herself staring down at the blade with a sense of distaste.

“I don’t want it.” She flatly said as she tried to shove it back into the messenger’s hands.

Iris shook her head and stepped away. “Tis a gift from my lord to you.”

A gift that she neither wanted nor cared for. And honestly, the gesture actually filled her with anger more than anything. The woman never thought very highly of her birth parents. They were people she never knew as they had left from her life scarcely before it even began.

A dead mother.

A forsaking father.

She didn’t even want to give them the privilege of being called her parents. That was an honor reserved for Kaeso and Icilia. The people who actually raised and cared for her. Her actual parents as far as anything else was concerned.

What right did this man think he had? He abandoned her before she had even been born. Two full decades had passed with him never once reaching out to her before. And only now he had taken an interest in her? The man better have an extremely good excuse for his twenty year absence. Otherwise, Bellona might not be able to control whatever her rage drove her to do should their paths cross.

She leered at the other woman. “And how do you even know I’m your lord’s daughter?”

Iris shrugged. “My lord has his ways of obtaining information. And your actions within Eorzea has somewhat helped with that.”

She snorted at that. So he kept up with her life but never bothered to reach out to her? “And now he suddenly wants to acknowledge my existence?”

She shoved the blade back into Iris’s arms. “No thanks. I don’t want this. I have better things to worry about right now. And I don’t have time to play catch up with a man who didn’t even want to be in my life in the first place.”

Bellona coldly turned away and marched over to her waiting chocobo. As she was just about to swing herself up into the saddle, she heard Iris speak up again.

“My lord has his reasons for his absence. But I assure you he is very eager to meet you now.” The messenger woman piped.

Reasons? That made her tail lash. “I don’t care to hear about his reasons for abandoning his family. I don’t care about him.” She hissed out. “Just…go back to Garlemald and tell him to leave me alone. I really don’t need to be dealing with this right now.”

“I know you’re quite used to being able to, but you cannot run away from everything you’re scared of.” Iris snipped back.

Bellona stiffened and her chocobo sensing her agitation, clacked his beak. “I’m not scared.”

“Then why so intent to avoid the father who wishes to make amends?”

Bellona turned to face her again. A stubborn frown set upon her brow. “ I’m not running away from anything. And I wouldn’t even call him a father as he never stuck around to actually be one. You expect me to forgive a man like that? .”

“He does not ask that you forgive him. He merely wants to speak to you.” Iris plainly stated.

Even then, Bellona wasn’t sure if she were willing to do that. Couldn’t she just live the rest of her life not caring about the man’s existence? She also found the whole thing to be rather odd. Twenty summers and suddenly now the man had taken an interest in his child? She didn’t like it. Something had to be wrong…

A long sigh. The Miqo’te shook her head. “Why only now? Why not five years ago or even ten?”

And Iris frowned, growing quiet for a moment. “It is…complicated.”

In what way?

“The choice is yours to make in the end, Lady Bellona.” She then continued. “I come only to deliver a message, not to force you to return to Garlemald. But your re—birth father would very much like to see you. To make amends.”

She walked over to the Bellona. “If you chose to stay ignorant of who your father was, very well. But haven’t you remained ignorant for long enough? A daughter who knows nothing of her bloodline is a pitiful thing.” She ignores the leer the Miqo’te shoots at her. “And you’ve run from so much already. Perhaps it is time to stop and finally face some things?”

“I told you, I’m not running from anything.” Bellona growled.

“Perhaps from your perspective.” Iris tells her. “But from mine I see a very scared and insecure little girl that would rather run from all her problems instead of face them.”

And the woman actually had the nerve to smile at her as she spoke. Smiling sweetly as if she had said nothing insulting at all.

“I think it may be time for you to leave.” Bellona warned through clenched teeth.

“Some things cannot be avoided forever.” Iris tells her more tersely.

She looked as if she wanted to say more. But she met Bellona’s cold gaze and seemed to bite back her words.

Instead, the messenger merely bowed her head. “Of course.” She looked back up at Bellona and handed the blade back to her. There was almost a forcefulness behind the action and Bellona had no choice but to accept from her again. “Do think about it though. My lord isn’t quite a bad as you’re imagining him to be. And you may learn some things about yourself.”

That said, she bowed once more and turned away to depart. Leaving Bellona to stare down sourly at her sire’s blade.

“Even if I wanted to go to him. How would I even find him when I don’t even know…” Bellona looked up at Iris only to see that the woman was already gone. “…his name…”

Looking around her, she saw no sign of her. Surely, she couldn’t have moved so quickly? The woman had just been there speaking to her. Yet, the flat plains of the Peaks appeared empty as if Bellona were the only one there.

Strange.

What a very strange woman.

A fat raindrop suddenly plopped on her head. And slowly one by one, more began to fall. Her chocobo gave a squawk of distaste as he shook himself.  

“Alright, alright I’m coming.” Bellona told him. She sighed and wrapped the sword back up in the bundle of cloth. Later…she’d figure out what to do with it later.

She didn’t like it. Her birth father suddenly wanting to reconnect with her out of nowhere? It sounded suspicious. It sounded like a trap. Especially given recent events...

Trap or not, Bellona had to begrudgingly admit that it had sparked some curiosity within.

Curious thought I’m probably better off without.

She didn’t even want to entertain the idea of what kind of man her birth father was. After all, she’d done a good job of avoiding such thoughts for years. And with good reason.

But she had a feeling this was going to one of those things that would be hard to simply ignore. If the man was truly so serious about reconnecting, she doubted she would be left alone for long...

There was simply too much going on at once. And Bellona didn’t need this piled atop of everything else. 

Another cry from her chocobo. “Alright, I hear you. Let’s get you out the rain.”

“You’ve been to speak with her then?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“And?”

“It may take a little more convincing. She remains very opposed to the idea of coming to you willing.”

“Hmph...stubborn child.”

“...My lord? If she insists on being stubborn might I suggest—”

“Bellona must come to me of her own free will. And if that must take a little more...creative convincing. Then so be it. It may not be today or tomorrow, but the girl will come to me eventually.”     

[harmoniaroyallineage]

An Analysis of Ghetsis Harmonia Gropius and the Reasoning for this AU

May add to if I note something in further research

From my personal research, I believe Canon!Ghetsis is a psychopath.

Let’s go through this point by point.

Ghetsis is a liar

Ghetsis is known to be a rather charming man. He has convinced people such as the Seven Sages to join in his cause. Of course, they were oblivious to his true intentions at first. For example, Rood. He truly believed he was fighting only for the liberation of Pokémon. This is also shown in some of the dialogue of grunts.

His speeches are also shown to be well thought out. It has people questioning if what they’re doing is truly right and if they should side with Team Plasma. Here is part of his speech in Accumula Town:

"...I am here representing Team Plasma. Today, ladies and gentlemen, I would like to talk to you about Pokémon liberation. I'm sure most of you believe that we humans and Pokémon are partners that have come to live together because we want and need each other. However... Is that really the truth? Have you ever considered that perhaps we humans... only assume that this is the truth? Pokémon are subject to the selfish commands of Trainers... They get pushed around when they are our ‘partner’ at work... Can anyone say with confidence that there is no truth in what I'm saying?”

Observe his speech carefully. He presents the tradition of coexistence with Pokémon and makes people question if this is the right way. One line I was to make note of is the bolded line. Ghetsis is claiming that Trainers are using and abusing their Pokémon through training and battles. This is twisted info. On the surface, this looks like the case. However, the games in general make note how Pokémon enjoy being captured and love to be with their Trainers. Hell, in one game (I cant remember which one message me if you know where this was said), an NPC says that Pokémon only jump out at Trainers because they wish to be captured.

This is one example of Ghetsis twisting the truth to further his plans and get more supporters for his false cause. His cause in itself is insincere. He claims he wants to free Pokémon to better Pokémon but it is later revealed to be a lie. He wants to take control of Unova with Pokémon.

Insincere speech is common with psychopaths. They lie and twist info to get what they want. Lying is very easy for psychopath has it is like a second nature. They can lie with a straight face and show no regret. Ghetsis is shown to show no regret for his actions and lies constantly. This lying even started Team Plasma.

Ghetsis is defiantly not trustworthy as he is seen twisting info and straight up lying to further advance his goals.

Ghetsis is narcissistic

There is no issue in taking pride in your work and yourself but Ghetsis takes it much further. After being defeated by Hilda/Hilbert, he says:

"What?! I created Team Plasma with my own hands. I'm absolutely perfect! I AM PERFECTION! I am the perfect ruler of a perfect new world!"

He claims he is perfect and progresses to say that he is perfection itself.  I want to give special attention to the bolded line as it really struck me. It shows how Ghetsis sees himself. To be perfect is to be without flaws. However, humans would not be humans if we didn’t have flaws. This leads me to believe that Ghetsis doesn’t wish to be just a ruler. I believe that Ghetsis wishes to be treated like a God. Take any religion and you’ll see how people view their respective god(s). Typically, people view their gods as perfect and that they can’t do any wrong. This is what Ghetsis thinks of himself. He thinks that what he is doing is right and how nothing will be fixed if he is not worshipped like the god he wants to be.

Some psychopaths can be shown to be overconfident. For example, they may claim they are a world-class swimmer. Ghetsis may be an extreme case of this as he doesn’t just believe it. He will do anything to make others see how perfect he is. In BW2 in the Plasma Frigate, he says

“The terrified people and Pokémon will bow at Team Plasma's...no...at MY feet!" 

He holds a great desire for power and he wants to have people bow to him. At this point, he holds very little regard for Plasma. Keep in mind that in BW2, Ghetsis seems to have lost some of his mental stability.

Ghetsis lacks empathy

One of the telltale signs of a psychopath is the lack of empathy and the ability to connect with people. Ghetsis has been shown to lack empathy on multiple occasions. 

Look at his Hydregion. In BW2, his Hydregion knows Frustration. Frustration is the counterpart of Return where the lower the happiness, the higher power it will have. This shows that Ghetsis holds little regard for his own Pokémon, his partners. He doesn’t care about them. He only sees them as tools and will even hurt them to get them to achieve what he wants.

Ghetsis seeing living things as tools is a common thing. Let’s focus on one specific character: Natural Harmonia Gropius.

N was a boy taken in by Ghetsis to be raised as a king for Team Plasma. While this may seem nice, it isn’t when you realize that N was emotionally abused.

Concordia make note of how N was brought up in BW:

“N has been separated from people since he was young. He was brought up with Pokémon... Pokémon that were betrayed, mistreated and hurt by bad people... Ghetsis deliberately brought only those poor Pokémon closer to N. N was touched by their plight, and started pursuing idealsB/the truthW, thinking only of Pokémon. N's heart is pure and innocent. But there is nothing more beautiful and terrifying than innocence."

This shows that Ghetsis groomed him to believe what he believed in to help push for his goal. I want to make note of the bolded line. What Concordia says is very true. N was a naive and innocent child. He still is innocent due to his sheltering. While it may be beautiful to have someone like him still believe that the world can be sunshine and rainbows, it is also terrifying as it leaves him vulnerable and easily manipulated. Ghetsis knew this and used it to his advantage. I see Ghetsis as the kind of parent who would pay little mind to N unless he got out of line. Ghetsis is implied to spoil N if we look at his room. I feel that such items were only given to keep N quiet and away.

His room seems to be a symbol of stunted maturity. By BW, N should at least be older than 18. At that time, he should have altered his room to more resemble a bedroom. But he didn’t. It leads me to believe that he never truly grew up. He probably still has the mentality of a child. Ghetsis isn’t helping either. I feel Ghetsis is contributing to this as he wants N to be completely dependent on him. By doing this, Ghetsis’ little puppet will always be around to assist his father.

I would elaborate on Ghetsis’ lines to N when he fails but I think “you good for nothing boy” and “a freak without a human heart” are self explanatory. He doesn’t feel an ounce of love for his son. Why didn’t I say adoptive son? Well...

Headcanons on Canon!Ghetsis

A lot of the events in my AU happen in canon for my headcanons. The deaths of his wife and mother, the betrayal of his father, etc. Things play out different though.

Ghetsis would have been the son of a Pokémon breeder. She gifted him his Deino turned to Hydregion. From a young age, he would have shown his lack of care for others. Hurting kids, lying to his mother, etc. After his mother’s death, he inherited her life insurance. Virgil would try to leech off of Ghetsis but Ghetsis would push him away once learning the truth.

Lucina was simply a pawn. He had the idea for Plasma but he needed an heir. He charmed his way into Lucina’s heart and married her to have said heir. The first birth was Anthea and Concordia whom he wasn’t pleased with. It took 7 years due to miscarriages before N was born. She died an hour after his birth. She wanted to name him Natsu but Ghetsis did not honor her last wish and gave him the name of Natural.

He would abandon N to later retrieve him to make himself look good in N’s eyes. To make N hurt if he tried to betray him.

Once upon a time, he tried to fix himself. But after his mother’s death, he stopped caring and became what he is now.

AU Reasoning

The whole basis of the AU is based on two major differences:

Ghetsis is born royalty

Ghetsis was not born a psycopath

This allows Ghetsis to properly feel and express certain emotions. However, all the bad events in his life has lead him to depression. He has an unhealthy way of showing it by assuring himself he’s perfect and that he’s fine. He may say it but he doesn’t truly believe it. He thinks he’s flawed, he’s terrible and that he will never amount to anything and that he himself is a pawn to all of Unova. He doesn’t say anything though because all of Unova is watching. He just has to smile and wave.

I wanted to try to play a character who struggles with emotions he has to hide. With Canon!Ghetsis, this is impossible due to his lack of empathy for others. I wanted Anthea, Concordia and N to have a happy life and to experience a childhood they never seemed to have.

Of course their lives are not without flaws. AU!Ghetsis is shown to be scared of letting his children out his sight and he’s very controlling. A little inspiration was Lusamine SM. It’s tamed down though.

With Ghetsis being my favorite character, I just wanted to see what would happen if I took the strings and messed with his psyche to better the lives of the kids. The AU was mostly made to make the kids happen. However, this causes Ghetsis to suffer. He would never let his kids see it though. Their happiness is more important than his.

[wordsonpages1-blog]

Okay so first of all I have to say sorry for being so absent for the past few months. But I want to thank you all for your support and love and care and understanding during this period it has really helped me and I am so grateful for all of you! 

second: this fic is based on a prompt I recieved ages ago from @gellbellshead​-

“So saw your post that you have some time for writing and couldn't help myself from sending you this one. Person A and Person B are camp counselors and Person A gets all flustered because Person B is really good with kids and it’s adorable.” 

which kind of inspired 30 pages worth of content haha ps. sorry I took forever to get this done love!

third: THANKYOU TO @rileybabe​ for this STUNNING aesthetic I mean I can’t even with her talent! I would also like to dedicate this fic to her and @ms-maj​ for being so kind and lovely and always sending me such cute messages and supporting me even when I was MIA. 

Again thanks everyone for the love I hope you enjoy!

warning: light smut

as this is long af, here is the AO3 link-

http://archiveofourown.org/works/11821416

CAMP SWEETWATER-

“Welcome to Camp Sweetwater”

Betty let out a defeated sigh as she read the faded words scripted in yellow paint across a crooked wooden sign.  This was not how she wanted to spend her summer.

“Really Elizabeth stop acting like such a child, “ her mother scolded from the driver’s seat, shutting off the car’s engine and opening the door. Betty groaned, letting her head thump back against the seat.  

All she asked for was a carefree summer; one where she was free of her “perfect” girl next door persona and could just be a teenager. But of course that was not acceptable to Alice Cooper. Betty had been furious when her mother had excitedly relayed her acceptance as a camp counsellor, shaking the neatly opened letter in her face. It wasn’t that she didn’t like kids or the outdoors, no it was the principle of having her time stripped of her against her will. But her objections were no match for Alice’s lectures on the importance of broadening her skill set, and the need to fill her college applications with extra curricula’s- as if she didn’t have enough. So her bags had been packed, and here she was.

Deciding there was no point in further delaying the inevitable and beginning to become uncomfortable inside the stuffy vehicle, Betty opened her own door and stepped out into the summer heat.

She had to admit the location was beautiful, with lush greenery all around and the sounds of the river trickling through the air. Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad.

Rounding the vehicle, Alice placed Betty’s duffle bag on the dusty ground beside her and grabbed her reluctant daughter’s shoulders.

“It’s only seven weeks, who knows it might surprise you,” her mother placated softly, offering a warm smile.

Internally Betty scoffed, only seven weeks, but she knew her mother truly just wanted what was best for her even if she had an overbearing and odd way of actuating that. So instead she returned the words with a soft smile of her own and pulled her mother into a hug.

“I’ll call you when I can, have a safe drive home.”

And with that she was gone.

Taking a deep breath and pushing her hesitancies and irritations aside, the blonde tightened her pony tail before bending down to pick up her duffle bag, slinging it over her shoulder. Her sneakers hit the ground with purpose as she crossed through the open gateway, her green eyes scanning across rows of log cabins with brightly painted accents and dirt pathways, all the way to the tree line that led into the forest.

“Betty Cooper?”

Betty turned her head from the view, only to be completely taken aback by the new one. A boy about her age was approaching her with lazy steps that held a subtle air of arrogance. He was tall and lean; the plaid button up he was wearing, the sleeves rolled up on his forearms made sure she was very aware of that fact.  Rogue strands of his ebony hair fell over his impossibly blue eyes tantalisingly while the rest was tucked beneath a beanie that she was too stunned to question the use of in this weather. And god his jawline looked sharp enough to cut glass.

It wasn’t until his dark brows furrowed and his mouth twitched into an amused smile that Betty realised she had been straight out ogling him and if that wasn’t embarrassing enough, she had totally failed to respond to his question. Trying to ignore the flush that was quickly rising to her cheeks, Betty summoned the social skills she had acquired over years of Cooper indoctrination and flashed him her best girl next door smile.

“That’s me! Sorry I was a little distracted by the view,” the blonde recovered in an upbeat tone, internally commending herself on constructing an excuse that wasn’t entirely a lie.

The boy chuckled shaking her politely extended hand.

“Yeah it’s some view,” he replied, a cheeky smirk gracing his lips, making it obvious they both knew she wasn’t talking about the geographical scenery. Betty felt her cheeks flame even more and cast her eyes downward shyly.

“Jughead Jones, welcome to Camp Sweetwater.”

Betty was extremely grateful that he didn’t feel the need to loiter on her embarrassment and found the courage to meet his eyes again. God did he have nice eyes.

“Thanks, I’m assuming this isn’t your first time?”

“You’d be right. I’ve been friends with Fred’s son since birth really, so of course every summer I’d come with them here and then when we got old enough it was kind of a natural progression into camp counsellors,” Jughead informed her, rubbing the back of his neck.

“So you’re the welcoming committee?” She half joked, feeling her stomach flutter at the good natured smile he offered her.

“Something like that.”

She quirked a brow, the tone of his voice indicating he knew something she didn’t.

“Well I’m your welcoming committee,” his smirk reappeared and Betty bit her lip at the sight.

“Lucky me,” she returned softly, her eyes widening as the confession slipped out. Letting out a nervous chuckle she shuffled her converse through the dirt, attempting to play it off as friendly jest.

Jughead raised an eyebrow- his eyes seeming to twinkle with something unknown- but didn’t comment.

“Come on, I’ll show you ‘round.”

Maybe this summer wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Twenty four hours later Betty would uncover the meaning to Jughead’s cryptic message about being her welcoming committee.

Her first day at Camp Sweetwater was spent acquainting herself with the place. It was beautiful. The main part of camp was built on a large clearing just near the river. Cabins made of log, a large rec room/dining hall and a fire pit. While multiple trails led to the areas where various activities took place. Betty was impressed and made sure Mr Andrews was well aware of the fact. The campers weren’t arriving till the following week and Betty was glad for the time to settle in.

Jughead had introduced her to her bunk mate first. Veronica Lodge was a dark haired girl with impeccable makeup and a socialite attitude straight from New York City. Her mum and Fred were old friends. The two although having seemingly juxtaposing personalities had hit it off instantly and Betty was grateful for Veronica’s taking her under her wing. The other girl had quickly given her the rundown on the regular’s; Archie, Fred’s son, football player, heart of gold but not necessarily the sharpest tool in the shed. Kevin Keller, “resident gay”, always up for an adventure and kept the atmosphere light while not afraid to be straight up with people. Cheryl Blossom, bitch by nature, cheer captain, but good with kids and a nice person “deep, deep down.” She hadn’t said much about Jughead though, much to Betty’s disappointment and she knew better than to ask in fear of making her new found curiosity- easily mistaken as “crushing”- too obvious. All she got was that he was basically Fred’s surrogate son, a bit of a lone wolf and always had a sarcastic remark ready.

They had spent the day breezily, playing ice breaker games and just hanging out really, as well as doing some admin all together. It was during that portion of the afternoon that Betty had really made an impression on her peers. Her aptitude for making schedules came in handy for kitchen duty and cleaning rosters etc.

But god she was not prepared for today.

The plan for the rest of the week was for the counsellors to run through all the activities so that they were well equipped to run them when the kids came and then to brain storm some other activities for the evenings and free time.

“So you’ll just run through each activity with your co-counsellor which will help you guys to bond before your campers arrive,” Fred explained, while they were sat at the picnic like tables inside the dining hall eating breakfast.

“We have to be paired together B! We’ll be like Thelma and Louise and our group will be totally empowered,” Veronica whispered conspiringly in her ear, placing an excited hand on Betty’s arm while Fred looked for the list of “teams”.

Betty laughed at her new friend and nodded, “Oh yeah, we’d have them all attending feminist rallies by the end of the summer.”

“Well if you’re allowed to brain wash America’s youth and use them to your advantage, I’m going to make sure my group are all attending pride marches before the summers out!” Kevin added, with a wiggle of his eyebrows and a mock serious tone.

“Kev you try and do that every year anyway,” Jughead mentioned off-handedly while pretending to be engaged in Archie’s rambling about the necessity of compiling a list of classic camp fire “jams”.

Both girls laughed while Kevin feigned shock.

“Ah here it is!” Fred broke through their chatter once again, with a sheepish grin.

“Okay Archie and Ethel, Cheryl and Reggie, Jughead and Betty and Kevin and Veronica.”

Betty froze, spoon buried in her bowl of cereal Did he just say-

“Bummer girl! Oh well we can always kick ass together in the kitchen,” Veronica interrupted her sudden brain malfunction, before getting up from her place and taking her plate toward the kitchen with an excited Kevin on her heels.

Betty’s stupor was fading as she processed the idea of working with Jughead, closely, every day for the entire summer. She blinked at her all bran, before taking a deep breath and looking up. Jughead was watching her from across the table with the corner of his mouth upturned. Yeah bummer, Betty thought as she once again felt her pulse jump under his scrutiny. She offered him a pleased- but not too pleased- smile of her own and met his eyes fully now. It was then that she became reacquainted with that cheeky twinkle. Oh.

“Well that explains the personal welcoming committee,” she threw at him with a teasing tenor.

Jughead shrugged, his face twisting into a passive expression, though his eyes still sparkled under jest. Rising to his feet he moved to clear both of their dishes.

“Weird coincidence right?” and then he was walking away and all Betty could do was chug her juice to prevent the wide smile threatening to split her face in half.

Yeah this summer was going to be far from bad.

“So you knew we were going to be paired up together all along?” Betty prodded, while she and Jughead ventured down the path toward the boat shed; their first activity was canoeing.

“Yeah,” was all he offered, hands tucked into the pockets of his worn light wash jeans.

Betty nodded, trying not to pry too much while also finding herself parched for knowledge about this boy. His voice entranced her, his words intrigued her and his demeanour attracted her. She was unsettled by how much she was responding to his presence, by how much she wanted to know him. It was strange but also electrifying and she had to remind herself that she had all summer for that.

“And may I ask how you gathered that information?”

“World class investigative skills.” He retorted dryly, his playful expression daring her to oppose him as they rounded on the shed.

“Well in that case you should come and write for my school paper,” Betty responded with her own sarcastic quip, accepting the colourful oar he handed her from the row hung on the side of the shed.

“Yours as in your schools or yours as in you run it?” the dark haired boy asked nodding his head so that she followed him round the side.

Betty was a little taken aback by his sincere question, stalling for a second before her trainer clad feet followed him.

“Both. This is my second year as editor but we are severely lacking in writers who possess talent and the ability to chase a story,” she explained trying not to sound too nerdy as she watched him reach up to grab life jackets from the top shelf while she leaned against the door way.

His shirt rode up a little with the action and Betty bit her lip as a strip of olive skin and lean back muscle that was exposed to her. Jughead turned around clasping the objects and she quickly averted her eyes from his figure, trying to act nonchalant despite being almost caught checking him out for the second time in the very short span of time they had known each other.

“That’s cool. Well except for the shitty journalists part.” He threw a life jacket at her and Betty mumbled a thanks, pushing off the door way to put it on.

“You think so?”

“Yeah, I’m partial to the literary types and especially to mysteries so…” Jughead trailed off making a non-committal gesture with his hand and putting his own life jacket on.

Betty nodded, feeling satisfaction warm through her veins, knowing they had found some common ground.

“Anyway you’re dodging my question and as a ‘world class’ investigator myself I will not be deterred so easily!” the blonde proclaimed as they moved to where the canoes were lined up by the bank of the river. Jughead sighed, tugging on his beanie before pausing to examine her for a moment.

His scrutinising gaze wasn’t harsh in the way her mother’s often was- searching for flaws- but rather, it seemed as though he was searching for something positive within her. Something he could trust.

“Fred told me.” They pushed the canoe into the shallow depths of the water, both their shoes becoming soaked, before they jumped in themselves. Betty was praising her choice of jean shorts while Jughead seemed completely unfazed by the damp cuffs of his jeans.

Betty scoffed and shook her head at him, eyes squinting.

“That part I figured.”

Jughead smirked looking out at the water before turning back to her.

“I hate surprises okay? I know that sounds stupid but I like to know things before they happen, I don’t know it helps me prepare. Been that way since I was a kid and Fred knows me well enough to not spring things on me.”

Betty nodded, understanding better than maybe he realised. She knew that feeling well. In fact anyone with anxiety would probably understand that… she couldn’t help but realise the common symptom, even though he had played it off as coolly as he could.

“Plus Fred likes to have new counsellors with Archie or myself. We’re basically prodigals,” he continued after a moment, his tone less strained while he transgressed into a joke.

“That makes sense. And I’m sorry,” Betty spoke softly knowing firsthand how difficult it could be to discuss your anxieties with others.

Jughead furrowed his eyebrows, clearly confused by her apology.

“Well I can imagine for someone who doesn’t like surprises it must be hard to work with someone completely knew, who you know nothing about. It’s like one big surprise in a human package,” she elaborated, watching the sun gleam off the clear water while she spoke almost shyly, before turning back to him.

A strand of dark hair had fallen from his beanie again and was sitting dangerously over his eyes, the sun was highlighting his jaw line and making his skin look flawless; the envy of every teenage girl for sure.

“I don’t think I’m going to mind this surprise.”

Her eyes widened as he studied her cautiously. A soft smile spread across her lips as she held his gaze, the sounds of the breeze and birds the unaccompanied symphony to their rowing.

“Oh shit, Fred asked me to gather paper and pens, so that we could schedule some evening activities during dinner!” Veronica exclaimed as her and Betty made the short walk from their cabin to the dining hall.

“I’m going to go back and grab them from our cabin, meet you there?” the raven haired girl asked already backtracking toward their room.

Betty nodded her mind preoccupied with the view a few metres away.

“Sure V,” she called, not taking her eyes from Jughead who was sprawled across the grass near the dormant fire pit, notebook in hand, barely registering Archie sat in one of the chairs near him strumming away at his guitar.

Her legs began moving to cross the distance before her brain registered what she was doing, though it didn’t object.

“So when you said you were partial to literary types, what you were really saying is that you’re partial to yourself?”

Jughead looked up at the sound of the teasing voice that had quickly imprinted itself into his memory as her voice.

Betty stood in front of him clad in a pair of well-fitting athletic shorts that showed off her long legs and an old hoodie, hair still in that pony tail. He had to remind himself to breathe as she completely dwarfed the scenery around her.

Rolling his eyes Jughead snapped the leather skin journal shut and rose up on his forearms.

“I think literary type and narcissist are synonymous Betty,” he fired back smoothly, revelling in the way she shook her head at him with that soft smile playing at her pink lips.

“How silly of me Jughead,” she exclaimed gracefully perching next to him on the grass.

He shrugged at her, leaving a purposeful silence for her to fill if she wanted to.

“So what were you writing?”

“Nothing really,” he tried to modestly lay the subject to rest.

Archie scoffed but didn’t say anything and Betty looked at Jughead curiously.

“Okay not nothing. I’m in the process of writing a novel,” he explained sheepishly, not meeting her eyes.

Betty’s whole body seemed to light up with genuine enthusiasm as she gushed, “Jug that’s amazing! What’s it about?”

Jughead hesitated not really sure how to explain the inner workings of his dark mind and also not sure if he was ready to confide that in another person, especially one he just met. Though he had to admit there was something about this girl that made him feel as if he’d known her forever, or had always been waiting to meet her. He couldn’t explain it, couldn’t put his finger on it, but he just knew that there was so much more to her than the “all American” persona she was putting on, and god did he want to know what was behind it.

“Sorry, a good author doesn’t release spoilers.”

Betty felt a tiny tinge of disappointment spread through her, but respected his prerogative. Writing could be deeply personal. Writing articles for the school paper was one thing, but sharing something entirely concocted from your own thoughts, your own fantasises, your own imagination and having people see the way you view the world around you, allowing people a window into your experience, well that was something else entirely.

“Well, be sure to send me a signed copy when it’s number one on the New York Times best seller list,” she said fixing him with a look that was both serious and teasing at the same time. Jughead laughed- he found himself doing that a lot around her.

Ignoring the butterflies in her stomach at the sight of his grin, perfect teeth on full display, Betty rose from her knees, making her way toward the dining hall once again.

Jughead watched her retreating form, before shaking his head and falling back on the grass once more.

“Dude!” Archie exclaimed, eyeing his long-time friend excitedly.

“What bro?” Jughead grumbled, barely glancing up.

“You know what. You and Betty!”

Jughead shot up, looking at the red head like he had grown a second head.

“What about me and Betty?”

Archie noted the shift in Jughead’s tone and realised he was retreating back to himself. He had to tread carefully.

“I don’t know man, but when she came over you got this look.”

“What look?”

“Well let’s just say you don’t look at her like you want to kill her- which is how you look at everyone else just for the record,” Archie elaborated carefully, though the mischievous glint in his eye did not fade.

“Shut up dickhead,” Jughead flipped his best friend off, with a glare for good measure.

“Okay we really need to start talking strategies for capture the flag,” Betty announced as her and Jughead walked a track deep into the forest.

The dark haired boy looked at her incredulously, taking a long swig from his water bottle. The heat had really kicked up a notch over the week making their skin sweat and burn even though it was barely 10am.

“You do realise that’s like three weeks away right? And we haven’t even met our team yet,” he dead panned.

“Yes.” Betty shot him a pointed look, skipping a few steps ahead of him before turning so that she was walking backwards.

“But I figure with my strategizing skills and your experience we’re practically unbeatable. And if we start planning now we are definitely unbeatable!”

Jughead couldn’t help but chuckle at her animated hand gestures and the determined look in her eye.

“Why do I get the feeling you’re a competitive person?”

“Shut up!” the blonde laughed with him, shoving his shoulder before falling back into step beside him.

“Okay Cooper, what’s your plan?”

By the time they reached the rock climbing site they had devised a thorough plan complete with diversion tactics, the appropriate number of defensive and offensive players and flushed out the other team’s most likely strategies.  Each of them had been impressed by the other’s wit and determination, while still maintaining a light air transfused with humour.

“Here we are,” Jughead noted as the track faded out.

A natural rock face stood tall while the area directly below had been cleared in a radius of a few metres before the trees started to encroach again.

“The starting point of the river is on the other side,” he mentioned trivially as he worked open the combination lock on the bin the harnesses were stored in.

“I can hear it,” Betty said, contented by the sounds of nature.

She watched Jughead pull out two harnesses, and he ran her through how to put them on and how to check the caribena was locked into place.

“Okay newbies choice- do you want to belay or climb first?”

Betty rolled her eyes at this use of the term “newbie”.

“I’ll climb.”

Jughead nodded, handing her a helmet. Betty took it from him yanking her hair out of its high pony tail to accommodate it. Jughead felt his breath hitch at the sight of her blonde locks falling in soft waves over her shoulders. She was truly ethereal.

Ethereal? Shit when did he become such a sap?

Snapping out of his daze Jughead moved to double check her harness again. Betty inhaled sharply at his proximity. The scent of his cologne mixed with something she couldn’t put her finger on was intoxicating. The way his body radiated heat toward her was enticing despite the harsh rays of the sun and she couldn’t help but follow the drop of sweat the slid past the collar of his t-shirt.

“Alright you’re good to go,” he said stepping back. His voice had taken on a breathier tone that sent shivers down her spine.

Betty gulped, “Thanks.”

She moved so that she was standing at the bottom of the now intimidating looking rock face and fidgeted with nervous anticipation. Betty had always been a fan of physical activity; she loved the release of energy, the surge of adrenalin and the escape it gave her. Though she had to admit, this wasn’t the same as running or cheer or rafting or hiking…

“Betts,” Jughead’s voice- back to its normal tone now- broke through her reverie.

“Hmm?”

“I’ve got your back.”

The words were simple, but the sentiment warmed her being in the way the summer never could. They had only known each other for a week but there was something about Jughead that made Betty trust him implicitly and right now she couldn’t think of anyone else she would rather have as her support system through this venture.

“I know.”

Taking a deep breath Betty began to climb up the rock face, taking her time and placing her feet in the most appropriate ledges. Jughead would call out useful instructions every now and then about where to place a hand or foot and some words of encouragement. But other than that he left her to focus and for that Betty was grateful.

She felt the familiar sensation of freedom rush through her veins once she started moving and all her nerves dissipated. The feeling of the heat bearing down on her and the physical exertion erupted a light sheen of sweat or her skin, but she barely noticed as she reached the top of the face and took a moment to appreciate the view ahead.

“Nice work Cooper! Okay when you’re ready just slowly propel yourself down!” Jughead called from below her.

Betty turned her upper body to look down at him and flash him a thumbs up, an action that turned out to be a big mistake.

Because it was in that moment that Betty realised just how high she had climbed. The blonde jolted and turned swiftly back around in the harness her hands pressing flat against the rock face as her breathing began to shallow. She suddenly felt out of control. Her thoughts were spiralling, she felt like she’d never feel the ground, like she was seconds away from falling. Everything was spinning. her hands gripped the wall tighter, suddenly only seeing the image of herself falling and her body manufacturing the pain that would cause while the jagged edge cut into the scarred flesh on her palms.

“Betty?” Jughead called out, his brows were furrowed with concern and his voice was strong.

He could see her chest rise and fall rapidly, the harsh sounds of panic filtering down to him. Her forehead pressed against the warm surface of the rock as her eyes were squeezed shut.

Shit, he thought.

He knew a panic attack when he saw one and his chest became uncomfortably tight with what he wasn’t sure was the memory of his own episodes or the beginning of one.

“Betty what’s going on?” he pried gently, testing her responsiveness.

“Jug I can’t… it’s so… I can’t… so high-“ she mumbled through shallow gasps.

“Okay Betty you need to breathe okay. In and out slowly, like this,” he said assertively demonstrating the breathing technique he knew all too well.

Betty took a moment but began to do as he instructed, her body recognising the familiar rhythm she had practiced many times before. As she worked through the breathing techniques Jughead continued.

“Good! Now I need you to focus on my voice okay? Just concentrate on the sound of my voice.”

Betty nodded curtly, eyes still shut and breathing in deeply.

“Betty you are attached to a harness. That harness is attached to a rope that I’m controlling. You are not going to fall because I’ve got you.”

Betty opened her eyes, repeating what he was saying in her head. You’re not going to fall Betty, he’s got you. Some part of her brain recognised what he was doing. It was cognitive process she had worked through with her own psychologist, focussed on recognising the negative thought and countering it.

“Betty I promise I’m not going to let you fall.”

His voice was so earnest and full of conviction she couldn’t help but believe it. Her chest still felt tight but she no longer felt like she couldn’t get oxygen into her lungs or like she was about to implode.

“You’re not going to let me fall,” she relayed down to him, her own voice sounding more sure now.

Jughead nodded enthusiastically. Some foreign feeling overwhelming him at the proof of her trust.

“Right. Okay I need you to put your hands on the rope and gently push off the rock with your feet. Can you do that for me?”

Taking another deep breath, Betty followed his instructions, her limbs shaking but managing.

Jughead instructed her the whole way down, constantly telling her what a great job she was doing. Eventually both her feet hit solid ground and she let out a relieved exhale. Jughead moved quickly so that he was behind her and placed steadying hands on her waist, but was still careful not to move too far into her personal space.

“You okay?” He asked softly.

Betty felt her cheeks heat up with the embarrassment and found herself hoping the ground would just swallow her up. Biting the bullet she turned around to face him. Jughead’s brows were furrowed as his gentle eyes studied her face.

“Yeah,” she breathed, averting his gaze and looking down at her feet, kicking the toe of her sneaker into the dirt.

He didn’t say anything but Betty could feel his eyes trained on her face looking for any sign of further alarm or distress.

“Honestly, I’m fine. Just embarrassed really,” she mumbled steeling her nerve and looking back into his face.

Jughead scoffed, his hands moving to unclip her helmet.

“I don’t know why. That was one of the bravest things I’ve seen.”

Betty looked at him like he was alien, eyes wide and disbelieving.

“Seriously Betty you had a panic attack 30 feet above the ground and managed to get yourself down. That’s brave.”

Searching his eyes she found nothing but the truth and her cheeks flushed for a completely different reason. His sincerity was endearing and staggering and made her more acutely aware of how wonderful this enigmatic boy was turning out to be.

“Thankyou,” she whispered as he removed her helmet and smoothed her hair down. The silky strands and her breathy voice were distracting him but not in an unpleasant way. He was suddenly aware of how close they were standing and was unable to work out which one of them had moved to eradicate the gap. He sure as hell wouldn’t be the first to move back though. He was entranced by the way her shirt clung to her damp skin, the curls that fell over her shoulders, the way her bottom lip was trapped beneath her teeth.

Betty hesitated, wanting to say more but unsure. But around him it was like she was helpless to restraint. His smell, his intense gaze, the strength in his arms, everything about him was pulling her in and pushing her inhibitions aside.

“I don’t think I could have done that if it hadn’t of been you that was with me.”

Jughead’s eyes flickered with something she could not discern but she noted the subtle way his breathing faltered and his hands flexed against the clasp of her harness that he was now working on removing.

“Yes you could have.”

Again she was struck by his conviction, set spinning by the heat his words filled her with.

“No you grounded me and not to overstep but you clearly knew what to do,” she spoke softly afraid of startling him or breaking the unexpected intimacy this moment had brought them into.

Jughead sighed, seeming to debate something within himself.

“Let’s just say I’m well acquainted with panic attacks,” he admitted, knowing that she was intuitive enough to decipher his meaning.

“Me too.”

The silence stretched between them again, only disrupted by the sounds of buckles and clicks. The harness drooped around Betty after he had undone the last clasp and she held his shoulders while she stepped out of it and then reluctantly stepped back, realising she had no reason to be in his personal space except for her selfish desires now.

Jughead cleared his throat, trying to clear some of the tension in the air with that action, while he moved to place the harness back in the bin.

“So fear of heights?” he asked conversationally as he began putting his own on.

“More like fear of falling I think,” Betty replied distractedly, feeling an unprecedented happiness at the fact that he still trusted her to belay for him minutes after she had just had a complete melt down. “One I literally just became aware of,” she added with a slight chuckle.

“Well Betts, I think you just kicked your fear of falling in the ass.”

She tried not to smile too wide at the newly founded nickname.

“So how are you and Jughead getting along?” Veronica asked her later that night as they lay sprawled across the floor of their cabin, the fans buzzing lowly in the background.

Betty looked up from the magazine she was flipping through and found Veronica looking at her with an expression that screamed ‘please give me gossip now’.

Reaching her hand into the mixed assortment of snacks between them Betty replied in her best casual tone, “Great.”

Veronica raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at her.

“Sorry B I’m going to need more than that.”

Betty rolled her eyes, turning back to an article about the best foods to promote clear skin- as if she didn’t already know that with Alice Cooper as a mother.

“I don’t know what you want me to say V. He’s smart and funny, and really nice and I think we’re gonna have fun working together,” the blonde said somewhere on the verge of exasperated.

A cat like smile stretched across Veronica’s face.

“Yeah you are.”

“Oh my god-“

“Relax Betty, I’m just teasing,” the raven haired socialite placated, flipping a page in her own magazine.

“He is cute though,” she added nonchalantly.

Betty responded before her brain could catch up to her mouth and send a big red warning signal.

“He’s hot.”

Both girl’s heads shot up, eyes going wide as Betty’s sentiment hung in the air.

“Oh my god!” They exclaimed in unison, one voice filled with horror the other with glee. And then they both collapsed into fits of laughter.

“So are you ready to meet our troops?” Jughead asked sliding into the seat next to Betty at breakfast.

It was Monday morning, “bright and early” as Fred put it and they were awaiting the arrival of their campers.

“You make it sound like war Jug,” Betty admonished, taking a bite of her toast.

“Summer camp is war, or have you forgotten about our tactile discussion on Friday?” he quipped back sardonically.

Betty laughed and nudged him in the side.

“Guys, dad wants us all outside,” Archie came up behind the pair placing a hand on each of their shoulders.

“Okay I’ll just quickly do the dishes,” Betty rose to her feet instantaneously and began gathering the dirty plates and cutlery.

Jughead felt a subtle wave of affection wash over him at her innate need to be useful and inability to do things that meant more work for other people or that went against etiquette. It was endearing really.

“Leave em’ we can do them with the lunch ones,” he cut in, placing a hand on her wrist. The slight touch sent sparks through them and Betty fumbled with the butter knife in her hand, barely avoiding dropping it.

“Reggie outside bro!” the red head hollered over them toward the jock who was taking aim at the bin with used napkins. The sudden noise broke Betty from her Jughead induced trance and she hastily moved her limbs away from his and set the items in her hands down.

“Shall we?” Jughead asked tentatively, recovering more rapidly than she had. The blonde nodded, pulling her pony tail tight before moving to follow the others outside.

Once they were all clustered in front of the dining hall Betty couldn’t help but appreciate the show of comradery in their matching “Camp Sweetwater t-shirts”. Fred had gotten each of them a few in a distinctive colour to distinguish their groups, ensuring they only had to wear them until the campers got to know who they were. Betty and Jughead had royal blue shirts with yellow writing. Betty praised the camp god’s for the way that had worked out, as not only was blue a colour she had no issue wearing, it also was one that looked fine as hell on her partner.

“Okay guys, campers will be arriving any minute now. We want to be as welcoming as possible, lots of energy and remember the whole point of the summer is to have fun and make memories.”

The energy around the camp had lifted tenfold within the hour, the arrival of fifty kids between the ages of ten and fourteen adding a whole new vibe to the atmosphere. Betty had quickly found herself embracing the “perfect” persona she so often wore, smiling brightly and introducing herself to an abundance of campers, helping those who were new find their way around. She had already begun mentally cataloguing names by the time Fred had gathered everyone to go through the basic rules of camp and the way things were going to run.

“And now the part where you meet the children who will become obsessed with you within the week,” Kevin whispered dramatically in Betty’s ear as Fred spoke. Glancing to her left Betty shared an amused grin with him, trying desperately to stifle her laugh.

A few moments later they had segregated and Fred was sorting out who belonged to which team.

“You ready?” Jughead questioned from beside her while they waited for the campers to filter over.

“To do what I signed up for? Sure…” she replied, slightly confused as to why he was asking her such a question.

Jughead smirked at her, mischief written across his face.

“I meant for having to share my attention now,” he teased, shooting her a wink.

Betty’s mouth fell open at the comment, fighting a swoon in her shock. But just as she conjured a retort a wave of kids flooded their radius.

“Jughead!” One of the younger boys shouted excitedly, rushing toward the front of the group and smiling so wide Betty thought his face might literally split in half.

“Hey buddy. Wow you’ve grown since I last saw you! How’d 6th grade treat you?” Jughead’s expression morphed into one that was soft and accentuated the youth in him. Suddenly he wasn’t just her really hot co-counsellor, but a guy who looked like a role model to these kids; like someone who genuinely cared about the kids in front of him.

The sight made Betty’s heart stutter in an unfamiliar rhythm, catching her off guard. The swoon she had managed to fight off before was back in full force now.

“Overall it was bearable,” the young boy sighed. “I worked on what you told me about ignoring people who piss me off and I’m getting pretty good at it!”

Betty’s eyes widened at the use of the cuss, while Jughead just looked purely amused, and maybe even a little proud.

“Good to hear Noah,” Jughead ruffled the boy’s mess of sandy hair and merely laughed at the affronted expression he received.

“Okay monsters time to shut up now!” Betty heard a demanding voice call from the next group over. Cheryl was rounding her and Reggie’s group up, making it clear she was not one to tolerate disobedience. Betty could see why Fred had paired her and Reggie up; the most likely to be too strict with the most likely to be too relaxed, hopefully they would balance each other.

Though, that knowledge didn’t stop her from shooting Jughead a mild look of panic at the firey girl’s demeanour. Jughead merely shrugged.

“Alright kidlets, listen up!” He called out, raising his voice just enough so their chatter stopped, but not enough to be intimidating.

“I’m Jughead- I know it’s a strange name and no you don’t get to know what my real name is- and this is Betty and we’re going to be your group leaders this summer. So if you need anything at all, we’re the people you should come and hunt down. If it’s during meal times though you should probably find Betty because food will probably win out over you guys sorry.”

The group laughed and Betty couldn’t help but feel a little entranced by his easy going personality and natural repour with kids. She had already worked out he wasn’t one to draw much attention within their group of counsellors, but he clearly was a natural at engaging people and a part of her thought it was kind of a shame he didn’t allow his charm to show through with everyone else all the time.

“Okay so now that the most important thing has been covered, we’re going to do the totally cliché thing where we all go around and introduce ourselves,” he continued with a lazy smile gesturing for them to form a circle, and sit down.

“Wanna start us off?” Jughead motioned toward her. Betty nodded.

“Hi guys, I’m Betty, and as Jughead said I’ll be one of your team leaders this summer. This is my first time at Camp Sweetwater actually, so any of you that have been here before will probably be able to help me out too. I’m sixteen, and I’m a cheerleader and I’m really looking forward to spending the next six weeks with you.” Her gaze may or may not have flitted to Jughead as she said the last part.

They moved around the group and Betty paid close attention to their names, already having memorised half of them. She learnt that the boy Jughead had spoken to earlier was here for a second summer. She also learnt that Jughead was seventeen, a piece of information she had filed away in the box in her brain labelled, “uncovering the enigma”.

“Awesome it’s really nice to meet you all. So the next thing we need to do is pick a group name. And this one’s completely up to you guys-“

“As long as it’s appropriate,” Betty cut in, sending an apologetic look Jughead’s way for the abrupt interruption. Jughead laughed, nodding to affirm her point.

“And I just beg you please not to pick anything that will make me cringe every time I have to say it,” he added and looking around Betty once again noticed how engaged all the campers were when he spoke, his mix of humour and authority clearly working for them.

In any other situation, with another person Betty may have felt that little spark of jealously birthed from the need to be the best enshrined into her from a young age. She was always taught to be the standout, the person who everyone relied on and wanted, but in this moment she found herself more than content to let Jughead shine in his element. It was new to her, and maybe a trait of the real her, the one she was unable to become fully acquainted with yet. She didn’t dwell too much on it but thought maybe it had a lot to do with him.  

Their group tossed ideas around for a while, the older kids scrunching up their noses at some of the suggestions from the younger crowd; team unicorns had not been a hit. After a few more minutes of debate a girl with long hair tied back in an elaborate braid- Emily, 13 from Greendale- spoke up.

“What about the Blue and Gold? You know because of your shirts. And Betty’s all blonde and bright which fits the gold and Jughead’s kind of darker like the blue?”

Betty laughed at her description of Jughead, quickly forgetting her embarrassment at being called “blonde and bright” while her partner furrowed his brows for a moment as if deciphering whether he should be offended by it or not. The others all nodded their heads and a chorus of “Oh’s” and “I like that one’s” rang across the small circle.

“Well I guess that’s settled then?” Betty asked looking around the group for confirmation. Upon finding no objection she turned to Jughead with a smile.

“Okay then. So Blue and Gold who’s ready for lunch?”

Betty led the way inside, she was on Kitchen duty with Veronica and Ethel today and headed in that direction once she was sure all the campers were happy mingling. As she walked past the tables she caught sight of Jughead with Noah again. The younger boy was clearly a little obsessed with Jughead as Kevin had jokingly described earlier. Though it wasn’t really the sight of them that caused the bright smile to break across her face, but rather the snippet of conversation she caught on her way past.

“Is Betty cool?” Noah asked Jughead, as though he was wary of trusting and was seeking confirmation in the older boy.

“Yeah she is,” she heard Jughead reply. That was enough for the corners of her mouth to twitch, but it was the next part that made her beam, as she just caught it before the distance became too great for the sound to travel to her.

“She’s really pretty.”

“Yeah she is.”

It was the second official week of camp and the weather was beginning to border on unbearable. Due to the dry heat, Fred had called off all of the planned activities for the afternoon, not willing to risk dehydration and heat stroke with the more physical activities.

Veronica, Kevin, Betty and Jughead had offered to take a group of kids swimming in the river, while Archie and Reggie were running a table tennis competition in the rec room/ dining hall and Ethel and Cheryl were preparing dinner.

“Stop looking at me like that!”

“Like what?” Jughead asked, his face twisting into an expression of both amusement and curiosity.

Betty huffed, self-consciously tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.  The two of them were sitting on the little jetty Fred had built extending onto the water, while Kevin and Veronica sunbathed on the grass. Betty was reading while Jughead wrote in his journal. Although, she was pretty sure he was casting more glances at her then he was writing words on the page.

“I don’t know, like… like I’m special or something,” she muttered shyly, not meeting his eyes under the guise of watching the kids and then flicking them back to page before her. She didn’t absorb any of the plot.

A silence stretched between them for a long moment. The only sounds to be heard were the echoes of splashing water, kids laughing and the rustling of trees in the wind.

Finally after what felt like an eternity, Jughead’s quiet yet earnest voice broke through the tense barrier of unspeaking.

“You are special.”

Betty looked at him then to find his gaze was already trained on her. His dark hair was falling in his eyes, which were such an intense shade of blue she felt a shiver run down her spine and her heart skip a beat. He wasn’t wearing his usual beanie today and the sight of his locks, freed was already making her knees weak. She felt as though her body was on fire as her mind went blank.

Special.

It was a word she hadn’t really associated with herself before. Perfect, yes. But never special. Because most of the time she felt like a carbon copy of her sister and pretty much every other all American girl that existed across the country. The blonde cheerleader type wasn’t exactly a rarity.

But here was this boy, telling her she was; special that is. This boy that seemed to know a lot about being different, about things that were unique. And she believed it.

A wave of affection ran through her blood at the sentiment and all she could do was blush under his stare, and bite her lip as her sanity slowly returned.

“Thank you,” she eventually mumbled a sweet smile on her lips- it was different to the award winning one she gave everyone else Jughead noted. This smile was small, a subtle quirk of her lips, a light in her eyes. It was real, and it was for him in this moment, right now.

The weight was not lost on Jughead and he offered his own grin in return, not the smirk he used on most but an actual smile. And Betty felt her heart flutter at the beauty of it- of him.

It felt like time no longer existed. It was just them in this moment, just them and the stars in their eyes, no kids, no co-workers, no nervousness, and no expectations. It was just them revelling in the new feeling of seeing someone, and them seeing you.

It was kind of startling in its magnitude. They had only known each other three weeks, but somehow it felt much longer than that. As a team they were in perfect sync, easily bouncing off each other in their banter and joking tendencies which enthralled their campers, easily matching one another in determination, which had worked to their advantage in the morning’s game of capture the flag, which their tactics had convincingly won them. And as people they were beginning to discover the ways in which they complemented and contrasted. They had similar taste in books, similar interests in writing, and although at this point it was unspoken, each got the feeling that the person they presented to the world and the person they really were, were not necessarily one in the same; though around the other, each felt their true self shining through more with each passing day.

“Betty!” a shrill voice broke through their little bubble, as each of them blinked hazily, the moment fading rapidly.

Turning her head the blonde recognised one of the girls in their group swimming over to the jetty looking disgruntled. Sarah was a charismatic eleven year old, who had quickly taken a shining to her camp counsellor who embodied her dreams of becoming a straight A student and cheerleader with an aptitude for outdoor activities. Kevin wasn’t wrong about the whole obsession thing.

“What’s up?” the older girl asked with concern, placing her book to the side.

“Can you please come and swim with us? We’re playing tag and the boys are cheating!”

Betty laughed, internally rolling her eyes at the dramatic flair the kid had, but agreed none the less.

“Sure.” Seeming appeased by her confirmation, Sarah gave a curt nod and headed back toward her peers.

Jughead held his hand out for her book and Betty smiled gratefully at him, placing her well-worn copy of Romeo and Juliet in his possession.

Standing up Betty pulled her t-shirt over her head before bending at the waist to rid herself of her shorts. Jughead swallowed hard at the sight. She was clad in a navy one piece bathing suit that was definitely not designed to be overtly provocative. But damn if she didn’t make it look like it was. Her long tan legs appeared to go on for miles and her small waist was accentuated by the fitting material. She was an expanse of smooth skin and soft curves that made his fingers itch to reach out.

His mind was quickly heading down a track that was not suitable for their current situation and he had to bite his lip from restraining a groan.

Using physical effort to pull his eyes away, he eventually made it back to her face. Betty was looking at him with a pretty blush colouring her cheeks and her own bottom lip trapped by her teeth. God even looking at her face wasn’t helping his hormones. He knew she was gorgeous already, but now he couldn’t help but think about how far her blush spread, and what that luscious looking lip would feel like beneath his teeth as he nipped at it….

Shit.

“Juggie?” Her soft voice broke through his lust induced haze… barely.

“Sorry, I was distracted by the view,” his voice was teasing, though an octave lower than usual and it sent a thrill down her spine as he threw her own words from their first encounter back at her.

“Yeah it’s some view,” she sent back at him with a coy smile before diving into the water.

Shaking his head Jughead hastily placed their belongings inside the backpack he had brought along and pulled off his own shirt diving in after her; he was suddenly in need of the relief of cool water.

Betty squealed slightly as he surfaced next to her. Jughead only laughed as she splashed him back, raising a hand to push his dark hair from his face in a way Betty had discovered was extremely enticing to her. And if that wasn’t enough to send heat pooling in her stomach, her eyes betrayed her and travelled down to take in his toned chest, his skin olive and glistening as water droplets invited her eyes to trail down to his lean but defined abs and the sharp v lines of his hips-

“Betty!” Sarah’s voice cut through her trance.

Shit he was going to be the death of her.

“I swear if one more of those little brats try’s to sneak out of their cabins there will be blood,” Cheryl exclaimed with irritation as she joined Veronica and Betty on their trek to the fire pit. Ethel who was trailing the red head looked horrified by her remark.

“Cheryl!” she protested, wide eyes looking to the other girls to gauge their own reactions.

Betty laughed, while Veronica shrugged and raised a perfectly sculpted brow.

“Remind me to hire a nanny when we have kids dear!” the socialite teased, while Cheryl rolled her eyes before storming ahead in a huff.

“I’m a masochist I swear, Ethel can you take these?” Veronica quickly handed off the bags of marshmallows she had been carrying before following after her girlfriend.

Betty was intrigued by Veronica and Cheryl’s relationship. According to her roommate they weren’t together because “long distance never works”. Veronica was in New York and Cheryl lived in Riverdale [the town Camp Sweetwater was just outside of]. But they hooked up every summer and whenever their paths crossed at events each of their wealthy families were invited to. It was complicated but it worked for them.

“They’re an interesting pair huh?” Ethel stated conversationally, motioning in the direction the others hand just gone.

Betty laughed, adjusting the bags of gram crackers and chocolate she was carrying.

“Yeah, I didn’t realise one relationship was capable of handling two personalities that big.”

Ethel chuckled. They had almost reached the fire pit where the other counsellors were waiting. It was rounding on 11pm so the campers were restricted to their cabins, bar use of the bathroom due to curfew. Deciding they deserved some fun the older kids had organised an impromptu bon fire for themselves tonight.

“So what’s being partnered with Jughead like?”

Betty was taken aback by the question, not expecting it and not sure why she was being asked. She stopped walking, and Ethel turned to face her waiting patiently for an answer. A million words raced through Betty’s mind but none of them seemed adequate, while all of them somehow seemed to be too invasive and personal to use.

“Ah it’s great. He’s a really good guy.”

She scrutinised Ethel’s reaction, the way she nodded slightly, the faraway look in her eyes, the way her head was titled toward said boy who stood by the fire, rolling his eyes at something Archie had said while Reggie cracked up.

“He seems like it.”

“Yeah,” Betty let the syllable hang between them for a second before steeling her pride and continuing.

“Is there a reason you’re asking Ethel,” she kept her tone light and trusting though the darkness in her was beginning to rear its head and begged to snap at the other girl.

“Oh, well it’s kind of embarrassing but I was wondering if maybe you could talk me up to him a little? You know leave a good impression?” the shorter girl blushed profusely as she spoke, unable to meet Betty’s gaze as she fidgeted on the spot.

Betty wanted to yell that no she couldn’t do that because if Jughead was interested in anyone it was her, but she didn’t really have indefensible evidence of that. And besides she didn’t own him, he was entitled to like Ethel if he wanted. They weren’t even a thing. Why did this bother her so much? Because you like him Betty that’s why.

“Um I don’t know Ethel-“

“Please Betty I’m not asking you to set up a date or anything. Just mention me or something.”

Betty sighed. She couldn’t really deny her that innocent gesture. So ignoring the bubbling feeling of nausea in her stomach, she nodded.

When they finally reached the camp site, it seemed that Veronica had made quick amends with Cheryl as the two were now cosied up on a lawn chair near the fire.

Upon noticing their arrival, Jughead excused himself from his conversation with Reggie and walked the short distance to them. Betty felt a smile naturally make its way onto her face at the sight.

“Oh my god Betts have I mentioned that you are my favourite human on earth!” he groaned at the sight of the food in her arms, taking some from her to ease the load.

Her whole being became warm with the compliment as they set the supplies down atop the drink cooler.

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” she returned with an equally theatrical voice. A soft defeated sigh to her left though reminded her of the conversation had not even minutes prior and the guilt she felt won out over her pettiness.

“I can’t take all the credit though, it was Ethel’s idea,” she added smoothly, putting her hand on Ethel’s back and nudging her forward.

Jughead looked at Betty quizzically for a brief second before turning to Ethel.

“Oh okay. Thanks Ethel, great idea.”

Betty couldn’t help the satisfaction that ran through her at the stark difference in the way he had responded to each of them.

A an hour later she was sitting on the ground with her back against a tree talking with Kevin about his boyfriend, while Archie and Veronica were singing together in the background, adding to the warm atmosphere.

“Okay I’m gonna go raid the pantry for more snacks, you want anything?”

“No thanks Kev,” as he walked away she let out a contented sigh, happy to absorb this moment, knowing these were the kind of memories that became stories.

“Hey,” Jughead’s voice reverberated through the air as he slid into the vacated spot next to her against the trees trunk.

“Hi.”

They were close enough that their thighs pressed against one another, and though he was wearing jeans, she could feel his warmth radiating through the fabric on the bare skin of her own leg left uncovered by her shorts. She shivered as it made her aware of how chilled she was in the evening breeze.

“Cold?”

“No I’m fine,” she insisted shaking her head.

Jughead looked at her with raised brows clearly not believing her and sat up slightly so that he was no longer pressed against the tree trunk, and then proceeded to shrug off the flannel he was wearing over his t-shirt.

Betty’s eyes widened as she realised his intention, her heart pounding obnoxiously against her chest. He held it out to her with a smirk and she sheepishly took the material from him. It was a faded blue and green one with grey and black accents. She shrugged it on half haphazardly protesting that he would get cold.

“Don’t worry I’m hot blooded,” he joked, as she snuggled into the fabric. It smelt like him; slightly spicy mixed with cigarettes and something fresh she couldn’t place.

“Capote would be so disappointed,” her sarcasm earned her a little nudge of his shoulder into hers.

“Well it looks better on you anyway,” Jughead said quietly, eyes locking on hers while his hands reached up to adjust his beanie. The blue was so intense she felt like she might down it in.

Betty gave him that soft smile again and he knew the forward statement was not misguided. It was odd how they could be flirting half naked at the river and he felt more sure of himself then than he did right now. Something about the soft glow of the fire and the melodic strumming of Archie’s guitar paired with the evening sky was inescapably intimate and he revelled in the fact that she wasn’t shying away.

Taking a deep breath she decided it was her turn to be brave.

“Juggie I’m still a little cold…” she whispered innocently, looking up at him through her lashes, green eyes piercing him in the best way. And it was ultimately the cheeky glint he found in those green eyes that made him completely confident in lifting an arm for her.

Biting her lip Betty shifted so that she was snuggled into his side. They stayed like that for the rest of the night, Betty on her part ignoring Ethel’s disappointed and jealous glances their way.

This was definitely the kind of night that made for a memory that made a story. Their story.

Betty couldn’t sleep. She had been lying awake for hours, tossing and turning and desperately willing herself to fall into slumber. Though it was to no avail. Her mind was plagued with images of a dark haired boy with lean muscles and a gorgeous smirk. She couldn’t shake the ghost of the feeling of his arms around her the night before at the bonfire, or the lingering feelings of his appreciative eyes roaming her body that day at the river. It was like every part of him had lit up every part of her and now that fire wouldn’t go to sleep.

She had barely seen him today. Maybe that was why he was so heavily on her mind tonight.

It was Saturday- well technically Sunday now- and Fred respected the sanctity of weekends in his schedules. They didn’t really do group activities and it was mostly free time. Though they still supervised certain areas, or organised some random things to do like water balloon wars and helped with the necessary chores, weekends were like their time off.

She had spent her morning writing in her journal and her afternoon on a hike with Archie and Veronica and she hadn’t really any idea where Jughead had been. She had seen him at breakfast but he hadn’t been at lunch and had sat with Noah at dinner. She figured that might have had something to do with it. But she didn’t really want to pry.

What she did know was that she missed him. And she kind of hated herself for that; how much of an impact his presence or absence was already having on her when they were still an unestablished entity. But more than that, she hated the aching feeling it left her with. She was starving for his jokes, his voice, his smiles, his laugh and the innocent touches they shared. She found herself wanting the less than innocent ones too but that was a fantasy at this point, one she was trying to avoid indulging in while her roommate slept only a few metres away.

A rapping at the window broke her from her reveries. Betty’s ears pricked up listening out for the sound to make sure her imagination was not manipulating the wind or making things up all together. But just as she was about to write it off as her brain playing tricks on her, the noise came again, more insistent this time.

Betty sat up, swinging her feet to the floor before creeping over to the window. She jumped when she saw a face looking back at her, hand shooting over her mouth to muffle her noise of surprise. Quickly glancing at Veronica to make sure she was still dead to the world, Betty slid the window open her eyes wide and incredulous.

Jughead was leaning against the pane, looking devilishly handsome with a smirk on his lips.

“Hey there Juliet,” he greeted, a twinkle in his eyes, though Betty didn’t miss the subtle ways he looked worn and defeated. His eyes though striking were framed by dark circles, his shoulders slightly tense and his jaw tight.

She shook her head in amazement at his brash gesture.

“What are you doing?”

“We’re going on an adventure,” he stated plainly as if it were obvious.

“Are you crazy?” she whispered harshly, though she couldn’t deny the giddy feeling overtaking her at the thought of sneaking into the night with him.

“We all are,” Jughead drawled tapping his fingers against the window sill.

“So are you coming or not?”

Betty sighed, looking over at Veronica again one more time before nodding.

“One second.” She moved quickly, grabbing a hoodie and chucking flip flops on, before moving back to the window.

It was a little bit of a squeeze but she thanked the cheerleading god’s for making her lithe and flexible enough to make it work. Jughead placed steadying hands on her waist to help her through the other side. He didn’t remove them immediately when she was on the ground, but rather looked down at her fondly.

“Hi,” he whispered, this time it seemed more intimate with them face to face like this, his hands burning her through the material of her hoodie and pyjama top.

“Didn’t we already do this?” She whispered back, hands resting on his shoulders as she quirked a brow.

“Smart ass,” he murmured, taking a slight step back but grabbed her hand before she had time to be disappointed.

He led her down toward the river without protest and she soon found herself sat with him on the jetty once again. He dropped her hand when they reached their destination and Betty immediately missed the way his thumb was rubbing small circles on the back of it.  

“This is my favourite part.”

Betty’s brows creased in confusion at his erroneous statement. His tone was meaningful and she didn’t want to miss what exactly he was being so sentimental about. For she was beginning to crave these moments with him, when it was just them in their own world, uncovering new layers of one another.

She studied him for a moment. He was lying on his back, hands behind his head looking up at the sky, his eyes clear and deep, his lips slightly parted. He looked somewhere between wonderment and defeated and she found herself needing to know how he got there.

Following his lead she lay back too.

A gasp left her lips as she took in the sight above her. the stars stretched across an endless plane of ebony sky, dots of ivory lighting it up and inviting fantasies and dreams, belittling everything else in the universe and dimming it in comparison to the endless infinites that were written in the night.

“Wow,” she breathed transfixed.

“There’s nothing else like it. Not just aesthetically I mean, there’s nothing else that makes you feel so enraptured, nothing that can steal your breath like that and make you realise that you are ultimately a finite being in an infinite world.” Jughead spoke in a way that made her feel like his words were being inscribed in her skin.

They were beautiful and profound and filled with a sense of longing and loathing that made them all the more enamouring.

Betty tore her eyes away for a moment to take him in, he seemed more stripped back than she had ever seen him before and she didn’t want to miss it.

“That was beautiful Jug.”

He didn’t say anything for a while.

“I think this might be my favourite place,” she said after a few minutes of silence.  She didn’t know if she meant the camp or this moment because couldn’t recall a time in her life that rivalled this moment of him and her and the endless sky, and the symphony of cicadas and the wind rustling the trees.

“Yeah?” She felt his eyes glance at her, and could imagine the way his eyebrows lifted with the question.

“I’ve never felt more myself than I do here.”

“That’s both terribly beautiful and terribly sad all at once Betty Cooper.”

He was right she supposed, and the thought made her smile ruefully.

“My mum has the image of who she thinks I should be. Perfect. It feels like everything I do is to please her. I don’t even really know who I am anymore. Ever since my sister Polly became a teen mum, it’s like she’s had this psychotic desire to dispel any possible fault anyone could see in me, like she has to compensate for that through me. It’s suffocating.”

She didn’t know where the sudden need to tell him that had come from, but she didn’t regret it, especially when he didn’t show her pity but rather left the air silent so that she could fill it with more words if she so wished.

“But here, there’s no expectation of who I should be or how I should act. I can just be. I kind of feel like this is the first time I’ve ever really had the chance to get to know the real me.”

“For what it’s worth, if what I’ve been seeing is the real you then I think she’s pretty amazing,” Jughead’s words were so sincere she would almost be scared if anyone else spoke them.

“And I’m not the only one. You have quite a stalker squad developing,” he continued, lightening the mood and little, causing her to let out a snort.

“What about you? Noah really looks up to you.”

Jughead seemed to tense again at that.

“He’s a good kid, been dealt a pretty shitty hand in life though and I know what that’s like.”

His voice had hardened with his expression, pain seeping through each word. She reached out until her fingers grazed his. Jughead linked them together.

“You were with him today.” It wasn’t a question but he nodded anyway.

“Yeah. His dad has never really been in the picture and his mum is a recovering drug addict. He just found out she had relapse today, she’s okay but he’s not. He’s mad and angry and scared and it’s not fair that he has to deal with all of that.” His own voice was ruff and sad, tinged with frustration.

Betty rolled onto her side, placing their clasped hands on his chest. And offering him the same curtesy he had given her. She left the air void of sound, letting him make the decision to fill it if he wanted.

“It just, it fucking sucks Betty to have a parent to consumed by their need to escape the shitty situation they put you all in to realise that you’re right there and you’re drowning. Kids shouldn’t have to take care of their parent, that’s not how it’s supposed to work. They’re not supposed to abandon you.” He finished much softer and defeated than he had started.

“You’re right that fucking sucks.” She said eventually. He didn’t need “I’m sorry’s”. They were full of pity. What he needed was acceptance. Jughead felt his lips twitch upward at her use of a cuss word. Hearing her swear was rare, but god he wanted to hear more dirty words fall from her lips.

“But for what it’s worth, you made yourself more than that, you didn’t let that define you and that’s pretty amazing.”

The look she was giving him, all doe eyes and sincerity made his chest ache. Her blonde curls were sprawled around them and her skin was illuminate in the moonlight. She was beautiful both inside and out and he couldn’t fight his magnetism toward her any longer.

His gaze was as tender and it was intense and Betty felt her pulse race and her breath hitch as it flickered to her lips. She couldn’t remember how to inhale as he neared and her own head began inclining toward his. All she think about was the desire to kiss him, the need to show him how wonderful he truly was.

He paused a millimetre away from her mouth, his whispering against her lips as he steadied. The anticipation was killing her, her heart was pounding so loudly she wouldn’t have sworn he could hear it. And then just when she was sure she was going to go insane from the hold up, he brought his mouth to hers in an earth shattering kiss.

The first contact of their lips was a ghosting sensation. She stuttered out a breath as he pulled slightly away his hand brushing her cheek, and then she was plunging into him again. Their lips met in a passionate embrace, sliding over one another in slow and sensual movements, words unable to be orated slipping between their mouths.

Betty sighed against his lips as his hands cupped her face more firmly to angle her head, as his tongue traced her bottom lips. She gladly gave him access and Jughead groaned at the minty taste of her warm mouth. They battled languidly for a while, hands roaming bodies over clothes and breaths being stolen with each caress of their lips and tongues. It was unlike any sensation either had experienced.

Breaking away she rested her forehead against his breathing heavily. A demure smile erupted on her face as both their eyes stayed closed and they basked in the bliss they had created.

They didn’t sneak back into their rooms till sunrise.

Betty was in a mood that rivalled sunshine itself. It had been two weeks since her and Jughead shared their moment in the middle of the night on the jetty and things were unfolding amazingly. They had kept it professional while running their group activities, however, they were unable to keep their flirting entirely at bay- a fact one their older campers had not so subtly pointed out making her blush profusely while Jughead just sported a shit eating grin. They spent their nights and free time together talking about anything and everything, uncovering each other’s secrets, scars and demons, while also learning what made the other laugh, and what their dreams were. The physical side of things had also been progressing quite nicely, and not just in the little touches around others like the way he would place a hand on her thigh during meals, or pull her onto his lap when they hung out after camper’s curfew. But in the heated moments alone, where his tongue would caress hers and his hands would roam the expanses of her skin.

The thought alone had her flushing and her thighs clenching.

Shaking her head Betty tried to focus on setting the table for lunch.

“Hey you,” a masculine voice whispered in her ear, arms wrapping around her from behind. A shiver ran down her spine at the feeling of his breath on her skin.

She span around in his arms, placing her own loosely around his neck.

“I’m sorry do I know you?” she teased, tilting her head in mock confusion.

“Ha ha,” was all Jughead gave in response, his mouth too busy delivering a kiss to hers to form a quip.

“Excuse me no PDA where I eat please!” Archie exclaimed, walking over to them.

Betty giggled as they broke apart, burrowing into Jughead’s side despite the warm weather making close body contact less than optimal.

“What’s up Arch?” Jughead asked, the good mood she always put him in, transcending into his words as he addressed his friend.

Archie smirked at Jughead, highlighting the juxtaposition between the Jughead he was around Betty and his normal brooding self. Thankfully the redhead had the decency not to say anything outright though.

“Dad just wanted me to make sure you’re all good for setting up the movie night stuff after lunch?”

Jughead nodded, already well aware of what needed to be done to set up the makeshift outdoor cinema for the evening.

And it was that outdoor cinema that became the perfect guise for them to sneak off to a secluded area and end up in the compromising positon they were in now.

Once the movie had started the pair had snuck off to what they now deemed as “their spot” on the jetty overlooking the water. The cinema had been set up on the other side of camp so they weren’t worried about prying eyes. Neither had any false pretences about their intentions either and they had quickly become a tangle of limbs.

Jughead’s tongue was exploring Betty’s mouth as she straddled his lap. Her hands were in his hair tugging on the dark strands while his were placed firmly on her ass. He tasted like the cola he had been drinking earlier, tinged with the cigarette had not long ago and she was fast becoming addicted to it. Nipping her bottom lip with his teeth, Jughead pulled his mouth away from hers.

Betty whined at the loss but that soon turned to a breathy whimper as his lips traced the column of her neck. Her hips ground down against his growing harness as he bit and sucked at her skin.

“Juggie,” she moaned as he bit down on her pulse point and then soothed the abused skin with his tongue. He groaned against her neck in approval.

“Fuck Betty. Do you know what hearing you say my name like that does to me?” He breathed into her skin.

“I think I have a pretty good idea,” was her equally breathy reply as she rocked against his arousal. Jughead dropped his head to her shoulder and bucked up against her making her gasp and arch her back.

“Off,” she ordered pulling at the hem of his black t-shirt, needing to feel his skin beneath her hands.

Jughead smirked, leaning back slightly to pull the fabric over his head.

Betty’s eyes darkened at the sight, her gaze hungry as it traced the dips and ridges of his muscles. Unable to resist any longer her lips slanted over his in a hot opened kiss as her hands felt the lines her eyes had been admiring, revelling in the way they quaked under her finger tips.

Jughead drank in the passion she offered him, his mouth consuming hers as he dominated the kiss. His hands moved from their place on her ass to her back before sliding around to her rib cage under her shirt. Betty broke away from his lips to trail kisses along his sharp jaw line, the feeling making him groan and cup her breasts in his hands. She rocked her hips against his in response, shuttering when he flicked her nipples.

“Juggie I-“ her ability to form coherent sentences was stolen by the hand tracing her inner thigh under her skirt. He could feel the heat radiating from her centre through the thin fabric of her panties and it only excited him more, but Jughead had learned quickly that teasing her was extremely enjoyable.

“Tell me what you want Betts,” he murmured into her shoulder, tracing the lace trimming of her underwear with his fingers. Betty whimpered, her face flushing in the most beautiful way that he now knew spread all the way down to her breasts.

“I want you to- Oh- touch me,” she gasped pressing herself against him more eagerly now, creating a delicious friction.

Jughead growled. The sight of her rocking against his lap, looking wonderfully dishevelled was too sinfully good.

His hand stopped its teasing and moved under the fabric of her underwear. He groaned at the feeling of her wet and wanting for him and quickly began rubbing sharp circles on her clit. Betty moaned and bucked against his hand, head falling back in pleasure as her eyes shut tight and her lips parted.

Smirking he left her bundle of nerves to slide his fingers inside of her, her breath hitching at the sensation and then coming out as a whimper.

“Oh god,” she groaned, rocking her hips against his hand as he curled his digits inside of her, loving the way she clenched around him.

“Please,” Betty whispered desperately as he continued his ministrations.

“You want more?” he asked, nipping her earlobe.

She was panting now and he could tell he was close.

“Yes,” she breathed, stuttering at the end.

And that was all he needed to pump his fingers harder into her a few more times, his thumb moving in tight circles around her clit pushing her over the edge and making her see stars as she came with a gasp of his name.  He worked her through it before removing his fingers and licking her essence off of them.

She had quickly overcome her embarrassment and unsureness with him in sexual situations, only having experienced heavy petting with anyone else before him. He had been a great teacher though and made her feel sexy and confident. So the sight of that alone was enough to stir her wanting again, and she kissed him hard.

“Shit you’re beautiful.” Jughead breathed out, taking in her glory; swollen lips, crumpled clothing, messed up hair, hazy eyes dark with lust and clouded with bliss.

She smiled at him tender and bright and his heart suddenly felt two sizes too big for his chest.

“So are you,” Betty replied, giving him a sweet kiss and brushing the ebony hair from his eyes.

“I was wrong.”

She pulled back slightly, confused as to what he was talking about. The look on his face was so soft and pure and honest it sent her spinning.

“The first night we were here I said there was nothing else that could make you feel so enraptured and enamoured as the stars could. I was wrong.” His thumbs caressed her cheeks, while his eyes coerced her soul and Betty felt the breath leave her body with the intensity of what she was feeling.

She was completely and utterly lost for any words, finding none that could come remotely close to the beauty of what he had just said to her. Licking her lips, she let herself be pulled into the depths of his eyes and pressed herself tight against his body. She chose to speak what she felt, to let her body take over her mind.

“Make love to me.”

[carlkandutsch]

Photographer Todd Hido’s first monograph, House Hunting, was published in 2001. A second book called Outskirts was published the following year. Most of the photographs in these first efforts are pictures of ordinary American houses taken at night.

Hido’s procedure in making these pictures was straight-forward. He would drive around suburban neighborhoods, pull over, take the picture (in analog format using natural light) and drive away. Occasionally the police were called, but “[y]ou’re allowed to take pictures in public. It’s interesting that so many people regard their surroundings as inherently private.”

I am drawn to write about photographs because although we are surrounded and inundated by photographs every day, we don’t really know what a photograph is – at least I don’t. In fact, it seems to me that the more photographs there are[i], the less time and thought we give to the question of what a photograph really is, what kind of object we are seeing. We fail to see just how mysterious the thing we call a photograph really is, and its very familiarity in the so-called “digital age” only deepens the mystery. In other words, the existence and proliferation of photographs in contemporary life cannot but raise philosophical questions, because if you really look at a photograph, you’re bound to ask yourself at some point what it is you are seeing. In an ordinary photograph that has not been digitally manipulated, you see something that is real; but if the essence of “real” (as opposed to fictional, imaginary, etc.) has to do with its being present outside of one’s mind – its being there in the world – then what we are given to see in a photograph is also “unreal” because it is precisely not there at the moment you look at the photograph. Dreams and hallucinations and fantasies are like this, but these phenomena pass away when we wake up and reconstitute our attention; however, the photograph is still there just as it was even when we’ve finished looking at it, inviting us to reflect on the relationship between our perceptual experience and the world.

             What is unique about photographs, as opposed to, say, paintings, is that reality is made present in the photograph without being represented by a human being. Although the photographer selects the portion of the world that is framed by the viewfinder and the precise moment when the shutter is triggered, what appears in the fixed final image appears without human intervention or interpretation. Our experience of the reality projected on film is not mediated by brushstrokes or lines or other representational norms and techniques deployed by a human being. This is to say that the human is excluded from the world made present in the photograph.

Todd Hido’s pictures of homes at night are clearly about the experience of being excluded – of being outside of the world shown in the photograph. That someone, perhaps a solitary individual, a couple or a family, is inside the house, is suggested by the light emanating from within outward through the window; viewing the photograph, we are shut out of the world within, excluded not only from the quintessentially private space of someone’s home but from the lives of other human beings as such. This is why Hido’s night photographs can be and usually are seen as making a sociological and psychological statement about life in suburban middle America at the dawn of the 21st century. If the viewer of the photograph feels shut out, it is because the invisible occupants of the homes pictured are shut in. This view is in line with the usual interpretation of Hido’s photographs in other genres, for example, pictures of interiors and portraits, and it finds support in Hido’s comment (quoted above) on the fact when his presence with camera on the street at night is noticed, he is assumed to be up to no good, prompting calls to the police – because people “regard their surroundings as inherently private.” The word “private” here means sealed off, inaccessible, and secret. Residential streets are no longer seen as public spaces that are in principle shared with other members of one’s community, each of whom shares a common interest as formulated, for instance, in the Declaration of Independence. Since the conclusion of the Second World War, Americans have experienced a steady and accelerating erosion of the very idea of public space, which has historically been seen as an essential component of the social contract and of democracy itself. It so happens that this same historical period has seen the rise and consolidation of the mass media, television, the Internet, and now universal global connectivity by means of an array of “personal devices” that travel on one’s person allowing instantaneous, real-time publication (and simultaneous consumption) of information and images that not long ago were considered private and intimate, all but incommunicable – not to mention universal monitoring, surveillance and recording of these activities by the government and corporate interests. These phenomena also happen to coincide with the entry into public consciousness of the apocalyptic destructive power of the nuclear bomb, and slightly later of the long-term consequences of environmental degradation, including, now, ominous signs of irreversible global climate change and the potential obliteration of human life on planet Earth. I do not purport to explain the connection between these various developments and the birth of photography as a technology and one of the arts, but only to suggest a context in which such an explanation might be attempted.

According to Stanley Cavell, photography responds to our alienation from the world – that is, our collective sense at a particular historical juncture that reality had withdrawn from our capacities to represent it – by allowing that alienation to feel natural or inevitable (and therefore as something other than estrangement). Photography accomplishes this feat by virtue of its autonomism. The process of making a photograph is mechanical and chemical (and today, electronic); by triggering the camera’s shutter, the photographer unleashes a series of causes and effects that result in reality being made present in the print. But if the camera frees us from the burdens of representing the world, it does so by excluding us from the world made present in the photograph. The human subject is repositioned as a spectator, so that our withdrawl from the world feels as natural as projecting or taking in views of it. And it feels natural because it is not possible for us to reach the world projected on film, and therefore not possible to fail to reach it either.  “Our condition has become one in which our natural mode of perception is to view, feeling unseen. We do not so much look at the world as look out at it, as if from behind the self … as though the world’s projection [on a movie screen] explains our forms of unknownness and of our inability to know … The screen … makes displacement appear as our natural condition.”[i]

             The fact that the reality made present in a photograph is sensuously indistinguishable from the world in which we live implies that the world on film is our world – the objects it contains (even if displaced from their normal positions) occupy the same space that we occupy while viewing the photograph. Therefore, if we are barred from entering the photographed world, it not because that world is located elsewhere, but because the photograph shows the world as it was at the very instant light entered the camera’s lens, and that instant has passed by the time we view the photograph. “The reality in a photograph is present to me while I am not present to it; and a world I know, and see, but to which I am nevertheless not present (through no fault of my subjectivity) is a world past.”[ii] The world projected on film is a world past not in historical but in mythical time, like childhood. I can see the world on film, I can look at it, I can see myself in it, but I cannot be of that world. Photographs reveal and confirm that for us earth-bound humans, our experience of each moment is utterly specific, if only we have the courage to make ourselves present to the moment in face of the fact that time is always running out.  

             The “sociological” interpretation of Hido’s night photographs draws our attention to the structural fact that the viewer is ontologically outside of the world made present in a photograph. We see the exterior of a house; its occupants are shut in, while the camera, its operator and the viewer of the picture are shut out. Our sense that there is something illegitimate or illicit in observing someone’s house from the darkness of the street indicates the that being shut-out (and shut in) are not merely spatial relationships. They are human postures that that we have arrived at, and which reflect the structure of our relationship to the world in the age of photography – for example, the sense that humans’ ancient yearning for reality could only be satisfied at the price of our withdrawal from the world, so that what we see is seen from outside. The reality of the real, the thing’s presentness to us, consists in its being outside of our consciousness, and that implies that we are inside, as if in some way trapped and confined, gazing out at the world through a pane of glass.

[all-emos-become-hipsters]

“But Eating Meat Is Natural!”

While you may enjoy the taste of flesh, the way in which it is brought to your table is often cruel, brutish and rather unecessary. I you ever asked for a coherant, non-offensive argument against the consumption of animal products. Personally, I am unable to digest red meat well and it made me ill when I used to consume it. And I’ve never cared much for chicken. So I only really ate fish as my only source of animal protein. As you are well aware, I was a pesketarian for many many years before I made the decision to go vegan. And it hasn’t been an overnight thing. I’ve been gradually moving towards it for years and only in the last few months have I been able to actually get there. I’m not asking, or telling you to go vegan. As you say, we all make choices. And so... Here we go. There is no ethical way to steal the flesh, reproductive products and body fluids of another creature. We are vastly beyond the point of 'Evolution' and the food chain as a species. We are an apex preadator that has colonised and spread across every landmass on the planet, and in our wake we have eaten our way across a large percentage of the animals that make up the world. Not to mention the fact we are not 'Carnivores' which is an organism that survives purely on the flesh of other creatures such as the Lion or the Wolf. We evolved mostly as herbivores, and omnivores at a push. Much like pigs, bears and chimpanzees (Our closest genetic reliatives). Even then, the amount of meat these creatures consume is negligible when compared to their consumption of plants. If you're concerned about protein, the average person needs only 60 grams or so a day which is easily achieved by consuming legumes, soy, beans and pulses. Our canine teeth are pitiful at tearing flesh, but far better at tearing through fruits and nuts. Meat was benefitial to our evolution as a species as it is high in calories and full of protein. But considering we are mostly sedentary as a species and way more evolved than any other organism on the face of this planet, do you think it is still entirely essential to our survival? Is it still natural? The minerals etc are easily obtained from plants and the only thing a vegan diet is truly deficient in is vitamin b12 which is very cheap as a supplement. You mention animal cruelty. It is the world we live in but only because people make it that way. That’s like saying the government are shit but it’s the world we live in. They’re only shit things if normal people allow or permit them to be ☺️ Which brings me nicely onto my next point: The oceans are being fished to breaking point and if you think that meat raised for slaughter is in any way natural, then you are under a commonly held delusion. There is one thing to be said for having chickens at the bottom of your garden, but keeping tens of thousands of live animals in the dark, being fed through tubes and pumped full of hormones to make them grow big enough to consume is not only unnatural, but also incredibly inhumane and deeply unethical. Eggs are often produced in much the same way which leaves chickens stripped of calcium in their bones which causes their legs to break and their bones to split and crack. Jungle Fowl, the 'Natural' chicken lays around 12 eggs A YEAR. Chickens, like humans have a menstrual cycle. Through selective breeding (read genetic engineering) we have altered the genome so much that we have forced their own bodies to work against them for the benefit of our species. Let that sink in. Then onto Milk. Name one other species that consumes the mammary secretions of another animal? Do lions suckle on Wilderbeast, Foxes on Rabbits, Dolphins on Whales? Nope. Also, when do female humans produce milk? After they have given birth. We forcefully impregnate animals (read Rape) in order to make them bear children. We then steal babies away from their mothers, and indeed the body fluids meant to sustain a calf, a lamb, a kid in order to fuel our own cravings for dairy. But, due to the disgusting conditions that most 'Dairy' animals are kept, often blood and pus from sores on their udders and nipples contaminate the milk. Cheese is nothing but curdled (read Stale) milk and many hormones and anti-biotics used to keep the animals alive through their horrific and strenuous lives enters their flesh and secretions which we then consume (More on that later) That's the animal welfare part.. The actual negative health effects on our bodies from consuming meat are vast and numerous. There is an increased risk of stroke, cancer, diabetes and heart disease not to mention effects on our hormonal balance such as decreased fertility, acne, psoriasis, and many other conditions. Processed meat is categorized by the World Health Organization as a type 1 carcinogen, putting it up there with smoking and asbestos. I’ve quit smoking, quit drinking and recreational drug use. I exercise regularly and eat well. I do this because I care about my own body, the planet and the welfare of our state. And I changed because of the wealth of information that shows how unhealthy and expensive these things are. I will not rethink that statement because it is true. If you drink, if you smoke, if you eat meat you are doing yourself a disservice. I have already damaged myself enough and I am not prepared to continue that way, and that is my choice. Now, I know you may not care about the health risks, but the effect these diseases have on our society as a whole are devastating. These diseases are the main killers in the West and cost our Governments Millions a year in healthcare costs. Do you care about the NHS? Stopping yourself getting sick is a good way to start helping. The anti-biotics pumped into animals is causing the bacteria in the world to start evolving to be resistant to them and as a result, we could be potentially faced with a super-virus in years to come which would render modern medicine useless and wipe out a vast amount of people. That's if climate change doesn't get there first... Environmentally, the rearing of animals for consumption is devastating. 51% of carbon emissions come from the Livestock industry and raising animals (specifically Cows) is the primary driving force behind deforestation. If you think consuming flesh, milk and eggs is really a 'natural' thing to do in todays world, then that is not an 'opinion'. That is a delusion. And the issue is, the vast majority of the world is still suffering from the same delusion. Vegans and vegetarians are often slated as 'preachy' and 'pissed off' but why shouldn't we be? The animal agriculture industrial complex runs deep in the veins of society. Hunting an animal with your teeth and fingernails is natural. Do you think that slitting an animals throat with a buzzsaw while it is hung on a conveyer belt and still consious and then transporting it's dismembered flesh and body parts thousands of miles across the world, spraying it with preservatives and wrapping it in toxic plastics and keeping it in a refrigirator for weeks is natural? Consuming those things is entirely your choice, much the same way it would be my choice to drink (or smoke) poison. I don’t expect you to change as I have very low expectations of people as a whole and I don’t stroke my ego thinking I can preach salvation. I’m in no way perfect what so ever but I am making an effort! 😉 Vegans are very good at listening to arguments to the contrary, the trouble is, your arguments as carnists aren’t valid. They have been proven wrong by science time after time. And with that in mind, I'm off for a falafel...