#wade has never had someone's time and attention to this degree before and he is extremely clingy and codependent with Peter

[hemlock-dreams]

Oooo possessive wade is delicious. Any more? Can't get enough

Peter's attention belongs to Wade, whether Peter likes it or not.

[yandere-wishes]

Alice in Marvel-land

𐙚Yandere! Deadpool (Wade Wilson) x Reader x Yandere Wolverine (Logan Howlett)

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ In some worlds, you were Logan's little darling. In others, you were Wade's starry-eyed lover. But here in the void, there is only one of you and two of them.

⁀➷ GORE, yandere behavior, kidnapping, Deadpool being Deadpool.

⁺₊𝄞₊⁺ IDK, probs the Deadpool and Wolverine soundtrack

Logan feels the world slipping away.

Piece by piece, atom by atom.

In a blink, he's falling down darkness.

An endless rabbit hole.

What was the name of that fairy tale you liked so much?

The one with the girl who gets lost in splendor?

The dust is kicking up, framing the sunset portrait along the horizon.

The envoys are nearly home, this time they've brought someone back. The cage balls chime along the unsteady road. If you squint just far enough you can almost make out vibrant specks of red and yellow.

Strange, the void tends to wash out bright colors. Well, it tends to wash out just about everything.

You scrape your nails along the skeleton's sockets. Leave crescents in the decaying cartilage. "They're almost here" you call out awaiting Cassandra's next move. You watch dolefully as she's transfixed on a portal. The sparky thing unfurled like a fresh wound, strewing salt on persistent lacerations. She watches her brother, or well some variation of her brother. Surrounded by his new family, surrounded by those he loves. He's forgotten her, or maybe never even knew her. You think that the latter would hurt the most.

"Cassandra" Your voice rises in octave, this time getting her attention. "They're here".

"Coming" She sings, voice so chip it almost sounds like unshed tears. You send a final glare at the portal before it collapses on itself.

If you tried hard enough, maybe you could bring yourself to understand her pain. Those pesky notions of desperation for someone to love. But it

doesn't matter now everyone you've ever loved is dead anyway. And unlike Cassandra, you've long since given up on the childish dreams of being rescued by someone who would offer up love so freely.

"Maybe shut up now"

Logan's nerves are frying. Thin strings snapping with every syllable that leaves the red merc's mouth. He's starting to appreciate Stryker in a way he didn't even know he could. The man was a psychotic sadist but at least he knew when to sew someone's mouth shut. Maybe he can convince this Cassadra chick to do the same.

Logan's eyes are almost at 90 degrees of a roll when they stop. He stops, frozen. In the gaping mouth of the rotting skull, something all too familiar stands.

Or rather someone.

Someone he knew.

Someone he loved.

Your name tastes bitter on his tongue. All death and whisky.

Maybe cause it's been so long since the attack. Since he walked off for the night and left his family to die. Cause the last time he saw you, you were a mangled corpse laying in an open grave. Deadweight as he cradled you in his arms.

You walk closer. Face painted in too many shades of confusion.

Curiouser and curiouser.

Damn, he's started quoting that stupid book again.

"How do you know my name" You ask. You look just as beautiful as he remembers. Spine carved straight in pride with perfect lips, perfect eyes. His talons itch to glide across your soft skin, to feel you so intimately once more.

"LOOOGAN did you see what the bald chick just- HEY!!"

It takes too much effort to pull his gaze away. To stare at red and black and be reminded of cruel realities. But Wade has a tendency to be a persistent ache, some unwelcomed anchor to every problem he's ever had.

Only this time when he actually looks at him. Looks at the jittery body that's stilled abruptly. He can't help but be glad that he did. A bitter laugh bubbles in his throat. Maybe Wade's shut up for good this time.

He always knew you were special but this is truly a miracle.

"IT'S YOU!!"

Nope, didn't work. He knew he couldn't be that lucky.

Wade whispers your name, a forgotten prayer. Logan didn't even know the loudmouth knew how to pray. But he seems to almost soften when he sees you. That feral, cheeky killer, looks so so soft when he stares into your doe-eyes. Reaching out zealously to twirl a lock of your hair around his blood-soaked finger.

He can almost feel Wade choking on your essence, heart erratic, like a child finding a lost toy. He's drowning in ecstasy, and Logan is almost tempted to join him. You're here, a breath away. So close it's taking every ounce of self-control not to pull you to his chest and keep you locked between his arms until he finally dies too.

"Penunt look that's my girl!!"

"Your girl!?"

He had taken you for granted as he tends to do with most peaceful things. The realization had occurred a little too late. Right as he had been emptying a round into the target of the week's head.

He lands.

Arms high like an Olympian pleasing the crowd.

He wonders if he can make you cheer for him.

Clap and shout his name as he twirls around the mess he's made.

He wants to feel loved, although he'll never say it out loud. He's only ever been good with words when they're laced with sarcasm and profanity.

And maybe 'I love you' is just about the most obscene thing he can ever say to someone as sweet as you.

Wade plays the white rabbit, fluffy coat stained red from every kill. Tricking poor Alice into following him down cruel rabbit holes. Making you chase him through labyrinths then leaving you at every turn. He leads you to every kill, makes you watch as he dances in slaughter. He can even feel your eyes right now. Starlight slicing him open to quench vulgar interests.  

Alice always follows the rabbit.

He stalks closer, white eyes fixated on your deliciously bewildered expression. Precious thing caught in a warzone. He can almost taste you on his tongue, the sharp tip of a star slivering the inside of his mouth, soft hands painting crescent moons along the back of his neck. He needs to carve his essence across your lips, to pour the after-kill adrenaline into your soul. He needs you.

Only this time...

This time he'd been too distracted. So caught up in claiming you as his victory prize that he didn't notice the grizzled man clinging to life...

And a pistole.

The bullet punctures his shoulder. An afterthought.

But the lead keeps going.

Penetrating the air until it lands bunglingly between your eyes.

You fall into his arms.

Deadweight.

Did the white rabbit ever miss Alice?

Did he ever realize how truly special such a curious girl made him feel?

He doubts it.

Doubts that a stupid rodent would have better emotional stability than him.

He's been given a second chance. A whole plethora of them actually. He's been deemed holy, righteous. And aren't gifts of marvel bestowed upon the truly blessed? What better blessing than the sight of you standing amongst the sand and skulls?

Good to see your affinity for dainty dresses spans across all universes...

He lets the blood trickle down his claws.

What else is there to do but dream of you?

It's the fourth day of his massacre and he's lost count of how many humans he's killed. Maybe cause after the first hundred the faces tend to blur.

He leaves your pleasants in between the rotting carcasses and broken glass. Only taking the torturous parts of you. The things that can hurt him. The sharp edges that he can slit his pulse point on, the vague memory of your glare before you cried. The soft skin of your neck between his jagged teeth.

Enough to keep the hate burning.

He wonders if the creatures of Wonderland wept after Alice left. He wonders if Wonderland lost its wonder.

But now you're standing here.

Alive.

And he wants so badly to remember the sweet taste of your lips. The soft push against his chapped lips as he swallows you whole. Even desperate rabbits can go a little feral. His eyes take in every breath, every scowl.

Alive.

Alive.

Alive.

Good to see your affinity for dainty dresses spans across all universes...

Aliath skids forward, mystified in lightning and smoke. You feel your bones collapsing under the rugged man's, Logan's, vice grip. You thrash and scream trying to break free but he only barks out orders to his friend before they take off running.

"Your safe, don't worry we got you." There's a comedic cadence to every word Wade says. You can almost fool yourself into enjoying it if the two weren't actively attempting to defy Cassandra, to defy Aliath, to defy deities and absolutes. To ripe you away from the only semblance of opulence you've come to know.

"Let me go, you custome-wearing freaks." His gripe tenses. "Don't struggle so much, we said you're safe, now hold still" Logan's anger ripples through you. It's almost muscle memory to still, to obey.

Did you know him? Know them?

In some past life too out of reach?

The ground shutters to a jagged rhythm. You're flying up, escaping the misty horrors of the ground. Your head pounds with the force, air slapping across your body as you taste the cotton of the clouds between your teeth.

Is this how Alice felt as her head hit the roof?

Wade mutters about the stars and educated wishes. About people who live and matter. Logan slices through his thigh, the mercenary's optimism making his body ring with phantom pains.

No one matters.

And when they start to, they die.

There are cruel absolutes in this world. He's tasted them all. Let them slice his tongue and heart and danced to every tune they've sung. He rips his claws out and digs them into Wade's chest.

Again

And again.  

Wade savors the salty tang of blood inside his mouth.

Licks his teeth and runs his tongue over the gaping holes.

He's sitting in the front seat head rolled back.

High off the blood and adrenaline and the thought of having you so close.

"I take it all back, the Honda odysseys fucks hard"

Bones crack, interrupted mid-heal as Logan turns his head to glare. "Shut up" he rasps and Wade almost, almost, hears approval.

There's a low moan reverberating across the broken car. Late night sleepy mumble that's half 'I love you' and half 'I need you'. Neither one has heard it in such a long time.

"Finally awake sleeping beauty? Kinda surprised you could sleep through all of that" Wade shimmies to the back, only to be greeted by your foot smashing into his face, cracking his nose open, and sending a fresh wave of blood into his mouth. He pins your knee to the seat and wiggles himself between you. caging you with his elbows as he stares down at your pretty face. "Miss me, angel baby?"

"Wrong fairy tale" Logan turns around in his seat, claws out running them across your cheek "Please stop, just let me go" you've never begged before, never fallen so low. But these two things, mutants, mutates, or whatever they are, scare you. Reckless, suicidal, dangerous. You feel so helpless in their presence. Never knowing you're to be kissed or killed.

"You're as lovely as I remember" The melancholy colors him in a monochrome of sympathy. Here is a man who's gone through every horror and still gets out of bed. Or maybe he has to, maybe he can't quite die and can't quite reach heaven. So he gulps down his immortality with black coffee to at least pretend he's being buried six feet deep. "Even after all this time I still love you" You almost melt in his brown eyes. So lonely, so desperate.

Kill or kiss

You want him to do both. Want to kiss extinction on his lips while being impaled by the claws. Kill or kiss.

Both, both, both.

"You know~" Wade pushes himself up, "I think your dress should be red...and black. To match your favorite man."

"Who the hell said you were the favorite?" Wade leans forward, in a blink he's gripped Logan's wrist and lunged the Wolvarine's claws into your abdomen.

You writhe, the bones and metal feel almost heavenly inside of you. When he retracts the claws you moan out, it's too saccharine to hold back. Everything feels so much lighter, colorful. You feel your essence slipping out, gushing over the back seat.

Red waterfall, so pretty.

Dress stained red.

"Told ya so!"

Wade pulls you roughly by the shoulders and smashes his lips against yours. He's so cute, fickle Cheshire cat, tongue dancing across your mouth, slitting itself on your peaked teeth, and filling your mouth with thick red caterpillar smoke. "What the hell is wrong with you? You really are God's perfect idiot" Logan's anger is tangible, sweet, and bitter like hatter tea at midnight.

"S'okay Logan, it feels nice" Your words slur, slipping gauche from your tongue as you giggle profusely. You feel like Alice cracking open Wonderland's ribs, crawling inside, and smearing the wonder across your face.

"When I used to read fairy tales, I fancied that kind of thing never happened, and now here I am in the middle of one" You've heard these words before, Alice's words. she's right. Your fairy tale is painted red with pretty, crazy, princes who think that slicing open a princess is easier than kissing her. You reach out for Logan, desperate for a kiss. "eat me" you mutter, and Logan's face morphs into pure terror "Wade what the hell have you done to her?".

"What? It's better this way trust me"

"I hate you"

Logan bends, meeting you halfway. He kisses you with all the wary of a dead man walking. All teeth and heart and bitter memories left to rot three lifetimes ago. He pushes himself between your bones, trying to carve out his ethos in your body. He'd burn the world so long as he gets to keep you.

You squeeze your thighs around Wade's muscular thighs and hips unlocking a gibby giggle from the man. His mask is half pulled up as he trails sloppy fervorous kisses across your neck and chest. The nostalgia slithering under your skin has you squirming, you've been through this all before. In a past life somewhere where storm monsters and voids don't exist. "Remember how good this feels?" Wade mumbles as his fingers dig into your puncture wounds, drawing slow, desperate moans from your puffy lips. You don't dare answer you don't know what would be worst admitting to liking the loudmouth ministrations or admitting there were other versions of you out there, other happy versions.

"Oh for hell's sake," Logan reclines the front seat and shuffles closer. Pulling down the back of your dress. His kisses are bite marks in disguise rabid and feral, the two things the man will never escape. His name rolls across your tongue, you let it slip in an airy moan. "No fair " Wade complains "I want you to say my name too." He pulls out his baby knife and etches the skin of your thighs. Scribbling doodles of stars and half hearts and the little symbol he wears on his belt. "W-wade" you gasp never knowing whether to scream in pain or giggle in bliss.

Logan laughs into your neck. You didn't even know he was capable of such a gentle thing. You bite his lip playfully. Dragging your fingers across his muscular arms. Your thumb pushes into the space between his knuckles asking for the claws. For the most macabre parts of him. You glide your tongue across the parish where flesh meets metal. Kissing the metal and bones and lapping at the blood. Watch curiously as he draws out a long airy sigh. "Good girl" he mumbles voice marred with ecstasy and you almost see the ghost of a smile smear across his pretty lips.

Wade's thumb gently rubs against your hips. Softly usering you into peace, tranquility. Your eyes get heavy, the car gets blurry. The grotesque realignment of their bones steering you into a deep, content sleep.

"Hey Peanut, you think Alice in Wonderland here would mind if we keep going? "  

"Shut it, moron "

"Oh, how I wish I could shut up like a telescope! I think I could, if only I knew how to begin.”

🎀Bonus

Deadpool: "Do you think the author's going to write about us again? Or is she planning to finally write that Dune fic she keeps talking about?

Wolverine: "I have no fucking idea what the hell you're even talking about.

🪐@yandere-romanticaa @bad4amficideas @sugarplumz100 @oscarissac2099 @facelessfionna @siphite @tocotuesday69 @linoleunm @mei-simp @shamelessdarkprince @gabriqllas @lovely-liliacs @shiroi-asashin17 @failinguniversity

[justcourttee]

And They Were Roommates- Pt 1

A/N Trying another soulmate chapter fiction cause I’m a sucker for them :)

Marinette doodled on her wrist, tuning out the professor in favor of annoying her soulmate. She was working on the third flower when a faux cough caught her attention. She dropped her pen, flashing her professor a warm smile, as she propped her chin on her hand.

“Am I boring you Ms. Dupen-Chang?”

“Quite the contrary Professor Lupez, the history of the Mexican-American War is riveting, but if I may, I believe you are reviewing the wrong War with our finals approaching next week.”

The professor raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms to stare down the French girl.

“And which war do you feel we should be covering?”

“You hardly touched on the Korean War and dismissed any questions we might have had on the subject, it will be on the final right?”

Sighing, the professor turned back to the board writing ‘Korean War’ in large letters, tossing the chalk on her desk with more force than necessary.

“Since it is our final review day, I will entertain you this one time Ms. Dupen-Chang, but believe me when I say, I will not miss our little interactions when the semester ends.”

“I would expect nothing less.”

Marinette smirked as she picked up her pen to jot down a few notes, peeking a look at her wrist in the process.

“Got caught again? Good. Pay attention in class.”

Her smirk widened as she rolled her eyes. The man always knew what to say, such the romantic. Glancing at the clock on the wall, Marinette began counting down the minutes until her final class ended. After all, American History was the least of her worries and with less than a week till her first final, she’d much rather be at the apartment studying anything else but this.

The clock had just hit the fifty mark and students were already out of their seats, Marinette along with them.

“Ms. Dupen-Chang, a moment please?”

She let out an involuntary groan as she made her way down to the front of the class. Professor Lupez was finishing packing her bag, not paying one mind to Marinette as she bounced from foot to foot, eager to leave. Finally, she took her seat, crossing her arms to look at the girl.

“Have you reconsidered Marinette?”

“Professor Lupez, I adore history, I really do. But it’s not something I want to do for the rest of my life, designing is, and I’m really good at it.”

“It’s your second to last semester Marinette, you’ll be graduating in the spring. You’ve taken enough history credits to satisfy your minor in history and you’re three credits away from having a double major. Would you at least consider that? I hate to see someone with your obvious love and affiliation of the topic not even consider it.”

Marinette let out a sigh, twirling a loose strand of hair.

“I’ll consider it Professor Lupez, but I want to finish my business degree and look into a major in business, not history.”

The professor simply nodded, a thoughtful expression on her face.

“That’s all I wanted to hear. I hope to see you in the spring Marinette,”

“I thought you were going to be so glad to rid yourself of our little interactions.”

“Please,” Lupez rose, collecting her bag in the process. “No other student has been able to rival my knowledge. It would be a shame to never see you again.”

Marinette turned to leave, a smile growing across her face.

“You as well Professor Lupez.”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The jingle of keys in the doorknob caught her attention as she looked up from her notes in time to see Chloe fall through the door, dropping a multitude of shopping bags in the process.

“Is this your way of preparing for finals?” A smile tugged at  Marinette’s lips as she watched the blonde adjust her hair in  the mirror beside the door.

“Dupen-Chang, it’s called retail therapy. Finals are the most stressful part of college and a girl needs to be ready to look fabulous to cover the stress wrinkles.”

She shuttered, sending Marinette into a fit of giggles. Standing up from the couch, she waded through her textbooks to pick up the nearest bag. Together, the two of them managed to make it to their shared room in one trip. As the blonde began to unpack, she blindly threw a shirt in Marinette’s direction.

“What’s this Chloe?”

“Don’t be dull Dupen-Chang,” she rolled her eyes as she pulled out another shirt, examining it closely before slipping it on a hanger. “It’s a new shirt that didn’t fit me how I wanted it to, but I bought it anyways because it should look decent on you.”

“I’m touched.” Marinette wiped a non-existent tear from her eye, holding up the shirt to examine it.

She opened her mouth, only to be cut off by the sound of the front door slamming shut. The two girls shared a grim look before they made their way across the hall, standing in front of Adiren’s door, the light sounds of destruction echoing from inside.

“Adrikins? You okay in there?”

There was silence before the sound of shuffling feet made their way to unlock the door. He pulled it open to reveal red and puffy eyes. Chloe pushed her way inside, dragging him to the bed with her while Marinette leaned against the doorframe, assessing the damage he had done. All the pictures of him and David were torn up and scattered across the floor, David’s scarf laid in different spots, ripped in two, strands of yarn fraying outward.

“David broke up with you?”

Adrien nodded softly, falling into Chloe’s outstretched arms.

“Well he’s ridiculous, utterly ridiculous then.”

“No, he’s not, he just found his soulmate, that’s all.” Adrien’s voice cracked as he inhaled sharply, trying to stop a new wave of tears.

Marinette sighed, joining the two on his bed, rubbing his back lightly as her and Chloe both shook their heads. The three of them had been attending Metropolis University for the past four years and every year, Adrien fell quickly and deeply in love with a guy only for them to leave just as fast, leaving him a broken mess.

“I guess we should put out for a new roommate then.”

He sat up stiffly, his eyes darting between the two girls as if daring them to argue. Chloe threw her hands up in the air, letting out a defeated sigh.

“If you’re so sure Adrikins. Mari and I can deliver him his stuff, you just get some rest. We’ll order your favorite take out and be back in an hour or so.”

He nodded, falling backwards on his bed, lost in thought. The two girls stood up, making their way to David’s old room, collecting a few stray boxes on the way.

“This is ridiculous Dupen-Chang. We need a no partner roommate policy. This is the third roommate we’ve replaced since January, all of them breaking Adrikins heart, it is unacceptable, utterly unacceptable.”

The girl just nodded as she pulled David’s suitcase out from the closet, packing his clothes as tightly as she could. Chloe continued to ramble on as the girls filled box after box.

“-and where does David plan on going? Is he just going to move in with his soulmate and hope he’s not a serial killer? That is stupid! I mean seriously, how stupid is this boy? I thought he was in the honor college?”

Marinette just shook her head, picking up a nearby pen, tossing the cap into the trash can.

“Can’t write much tonight. Threat Level Heartbreak”

Tossing the pen into the trash as well, Marinette stood, gathering the two closest boxes.

“Let’s call David and figure out where to drop this stuff off. We’ll put out the roommate ad later tonight.” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Around midnight, Marinette shifted from under Adrien and Chloe, causing the two to fall into each other on the couch, neither waking. She pulled the blanket over her friends, turning back to clean up the mess they had made. She threw away the take out containers, reaching for the empty ice cream when she felt the familiar tingle on her arm.

“I have waited the appropriate amount of time, correct? Threat resolved?”

A small smile threatened to take over her whole face as she tossed the empty containers. Setting the trash bag outside their apartment door, she pulled out the pen holding her hair together.

“Threat resolved. Surprised you’re still up.”

The previous statement disappeared from her arm, a new one beginning to etch in its place.

“Wanted to make sure you survived, I know the complexity of that threat.”

She let out a quiet chuckle, leaning down to pick up the spoons scattered across the coffee table. Moving to the sink, she gently scrubbed away her marks, uncapping the pen to respond.

“I think I’m getting better at it. Easier and faster each time.”

Letting the water run, she washed the few dishes, placing them on a towel to dry.

“Your friend should make better partner choices.”

“Hell yeah he should.” Marinette mumbled under breath as she ejected the Titanic disk, placing it in its case before turning off the TV. Moving to the bathroom, she ran her toothbrush under the water, placing it in her mouth before washing her arm again.

“Definitely.”

She just finished brushing her teeth when the tingling caught her attention once more.

“Get some sleep Angel”

Her ears burned from the nickname he insisted on calling her. She always hated when the twenty four hours had passed and the ink faded on it’s own. Washing away the ink was always a quick and effective way to communicate, but if she wanted to leave a message, she left the spot alone and her soulmate would be marked for a full twenty-four hours before the message disappeared.

“Will do mon amour. Goodnight”

Crawling into her bed, Marinette pulled out her phone, sending a quick email to the University Newsletter to request a spot for the roommate ad.

“What do you think Tikki? Can we manage to get a roommate that will last at least one full semester?”

Tikki flew from the doll mansion that Chloe had insisted on buying for their kwamii’s. Something about living in comfort and luxury is better for their powers? Honestly, Marinette didn’t care, as long as Tikki and Pollen were happy, so was she.

“I think it’s something you shouldn’t worry about right now Marinette. After all, your first final is in less than a week, the less stress the better.”

Marinette nodded, placing her phone on it’s charging pad, settling into her pillow.

“You’re right Tikki, after all, I made some extra commission money this month, making rent should be easy, even without a roommate.”

The kwamii nodded, placing a light kiss on her chosen’s forehead, watching as the girl drifted off to sleep.

“Sleep well Marinette.” Tikki flew back to the dollhouse, settling into their own bed, careful not to wake Pollen. Within minutes, the kwamii was asleep.

A tingling threatened to wake the sleeping girl, but she was too tired to open her eyes to check. In perfect script, four words etched their way into her skin while she slept, something that happened every night after her soulmate was sure she was asleep.

“I love you Angel”

And just as quickly, the confession disappeared. Three years of writing to each other and neither would admit it, but they both knew. They had both fallen for people they had never met.

Tag List:

@damianette-is-life

[irraanos]

I Got Tea to Spill

So my ex's baby daddy messaged me a couple days ago and called me a tranny among other insults. One thing leads to another, and eventually my gf who joined in on this gets a message from my ex herself. So I've taken the liberty of breaking down her message and adding my responses to her bullshit. If I may.

“Hi, I would just like to inform you that it isn’t socially acceptable to mention people’s names in conversations that they didn’t have a part in.” Citation needed.

“It isn’t necessarily my fault that your generationally confused ‘boyfriend’ thinks he makes a good hippie. He is a shitty hippie.” One, I never said I was a “good hippie.” Two, I said I was a hippie as a joke. Three, what exactly are you implying by putting “boyfriend” in quotes? Are you also suggesting I’m trans? Because there’s really no basis for that assumption. Did it ever occur to you that I just wanted my hair to be long? Is it the flag I’ve posted to social media? Because a simple Google search will show that that’s not the transgender flag.

“In fact, I don’t think hippies use butt plugs...” How do you know that? Do you have some degree in hippie culture?

“...or pretend to be ‘furries’ like he does.” I’ve never pretended to be a furry.

“If he hasn’t informed you of that you can also know that he used to fantasize in fucking transexual men. Unless you’re into that kind of thing then feel sorry for you.” There’s some truth to this. I occasionally enjoy some transgender/futanari porn. But so what? This is just kinkshaming for the sake of kinkshaming. Also, referring to transgender girls as “transexual men” is pretty transphobic. It’s nice to know you’re a transphobe too.

“He is a literal leech and he will drain you.” Funny, because you were the one constantly pining for my attention when we were together. You’d get pissed if I didn’t reply within FIVE MINUTES. You’d feel insecure if I just had a conversation with another girl, regardless of what the conversation was about or when it took place. For fuck’s sake, you cried after snooping through my messages and finding shit from two YEARS before I got with you. You were the textbook definition of an insecure girlfriend. I also recall spending hundreds if not thousands to feed your expensive Sephora makeup habit. So clearly one of us was a leech. But it wasn’t me.

“He has your sympathy for his life story...” I’ve never shared details about my life for the sake of getting sympathy. These days, I keep that shit locked up until I can trust someone with it. I made the mistake of trusting you with it, and I regret that.

“...but he will destroy you. If he’s anything like how he was when we were 19 then he hasn’t changed.” I was 18 when we broke up, for starters. But I digress. In the five years we’ve spent apart, I’ve had time to adapt, learn, fail, and grow. I’ve also spent a lot of that time thinking and reflecting. I’ve had to wade through plenty of shit during that time, and I have plenty of regrets. You’re easily one of if not my biggest regret. I regret meeting you. I regret somehow falling for you. I regret dealing with all your abuse. But most of all, I regret wasting two years of my life with you. We never should have been together. And I’ll forever resent the time you stole from me. Bitch.

[picturetoburnnn]

From Kisses to Hospital Visits | l.h. x reader

word count - approx. 2k

warning - the f-word is used like twice?? some severe angst here with some fluff interludes

a/n - I wrote this in one sitting because the idea came to me and i have nothing better to do on a wednesday night lol. hope y’all like it! if you ask nice enough there may be a part 2

taglist - @songforhema @asht0ns-world @lukesflaredpants @sunflowerxcal @star-gazing-calum @cxddlyash @emomack @merryblueberry02 @kinglyhood @caswinchester2000 @babe-babylon @irwinkitten @1delicate-fangirl dm me to be added!!! 

Y/N wiped her eyes with one hand as the other clutched her lover’s limp fingers.

“You gotta wake up, baby,” she whimpered, covering her mouth to try to muffle her cries. The metal of her engagement ring was bitingly cold against her skin, but she paid no attention. “You have to wake up for me, Luke.”

The beautiful blue eyes remained shut. He looked dead, even though the vital monitors showed his body worked just fine. Every part of him was functioning perfectly, except his conscious mind.

Luke lifted Y/N in the air, hands on her hips as she squealed.

“Luke! Put me down!” She laughed as he spun her in the air.

Luke’s eyes twinkled, his grin brighter than the Christmas lights that hung all over their home. 

Softly, he placed her feet back on the ground. His forehead pressed against hers as his grin softened to a sincere smile. Y/N’s arms curved around his neck, fingers tangling in his ever-messy curls.

“I love you,” he whispered. “I say it a lot, but it never feels like enough. I’ll never be able to tell you just how much I love you.”

She gently placed a hand on his cheek. “I know.”

Luke’s eyes met Y/N’s. His hand found her free one, intertwining their fingers between them. They were swaying now, dancing to a song only they could hear - their heartbeats made the bassline, their thoughts the lyrics. “A thousand love songs couldn’t do you justice.”

She felt her eyes water slightly as she told him “I love you more.”

He let out a breath of amusement. He said, as he did every time she said those words, “Impossible.”

“How is he?”

The new voice shook Y/N out of her thoughts, looking up from her place by his hospital bedside to see Luke’s bandmates in the doorway. Ashton’s hands were stuffed in his pockets, despair clear in his face. Calum and Michael didn’t look much better off. But how could they? Their best friend was in a coma, after all. 

Y/N quickly wiped her eyes again before sniffling. “No changes. Doctor said all we can do now is wait.” She averted her eyes back to Luke, scared she would miss the moment he opened his eyes. 

Ashton nodded, stepping into the room. He crossed the room with one despairing look at the boy that had been his brother for so many years. “And what about you? How are you holding up?”

“I’m okay,” she mumbled, another tear falling. She didn’t bother wiping it away. She just kept staring at the motionless body of the love of her life.

“No you’re not.” He crooked a finger under her chin, forcing her to look at him. In the past four years, Y/N had become like a little sister to Ashton. He wanted her to be safe from pain like this her whole life. He never thought she’d have to experience this.“When did you last eat?”

“I said I’m fine, Ash,” she protested, removing her face from his touch. “I need to be here.” Her gaze fell back to Luke. All the cords and wires on his body broke her heart. How broken inside really was he? When would her Luke come back? With smiles and gentle kisses and everything this Luke was missing. 

“Y/N,” Calum said quietly from across the room. He and Michael had taken post standing on the opposite side of the hospital bed, near the blonde’s head. “You need to eat. You need to sleep. He wouldn’t want you to do this.”

“You don’t know what he wants,” she blurted before she could stop herself. “He’s in a fucking coma, he can’t tell any of us what he wants.” Ashton’s hand was suddenly on her shoulder. 

“Y/N…” 

She exhaled as easily as she could. “I’m sorry. That was rude of me, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, y’know,” Michael spoke for the first time since they’d arrived. All eyes turned to him. “It’s okay to be worried, it’s okay to snap. But you have to take care of yourself. Luke would kick our asses if he woke up to find out you were in a hospital bed too. If you won’t, would you please let us help?”

At first, she said nothing. When all of the boys simultaneously gave her a pleading look, she sighed. Without a word, she nodded. 

“C’mere,” Ashton mumbled, gently tugging at her shoulders until she stood from the uncomfortable swivel chair she’d been in for the last twenty-something hours. He led her to the couch, sitting down and tugging her down too. He gently pulled her to lay down, head in his lap. “Get some sleep, angel,” he mumbled. She vaguely heard him ask someone to go get food, attention focused primarily on her fiance’s form.

“It’s so hot,” Y/N whined as they walked down the street. 

“Not as hot as me,” Luke sassed teasingly, clearly amused with himself. 

“Luke, I love you, but I think this one-hundred degree heat has got you beat.” Y/N fanned herself. 

The vacation to Florida had sounded good in theory, but the couple quickly realized it was an awful idea to come in the middle of the summer. 

“Oh come on,” Luke half whined, half laughed.

“I tell you what.” Y/N’s eyes shifted up to her then-boyfriend as he spoke. “Once we get back to the hotel, we go hop in the pool to cool off.”

She almost moaned at the idea. “Oh my god please yes.”

When they returned later that evening, true to his word, Luke threw the bikini at Y/N as he changed into his swim trunks. The couple raced like toddlers to the outdoor pool. Haphazardly throwing their stuff onto the nearest chair, both Luke and Y/N cannon balled into the water. 

“I won,” Luke boasted smugly once they broke the surface again.

“Nu-uh! I totally beat you in!” Y/N laughed as she splashed the singer. 

“No you didn’t,” Luke scoffed.

“Yeah.”

“No.”

“Yeah!”

“You’re a sore loser.”

“Since when did you talk to yourself?”

Luke didn’t have a snappy comeback, so he maturely stuck his tongue out. Y/N rolled her eyes as he waded closer to her. 

“Admit defeat.” He pulled her to straddle his thighs as he leaned against the pool wall in the five-and-a-half-foot deep water. 

“Never.”

“Then you leave me no choice,” he said dramatically. 

Before Y/N could even lift a confused eyebrow, Luke dunked her underwater. 

She resurfaced, spluttering. “What was that?!” 

Luke had lost himself to laughter, practically clutching his sides as he cackled. 

“Meanie!” Y/N splashed water at him, pretending to be mad as she turned her back on him. 

“No, baby,” he mumbled, voice still tinged with laughter. “I’m sorry.”

“No you’re not,” she challenged. 

“I love you.” His arms wrapped around her middle. She felt his front against her back as he pressed a kiss to her shoulder. 

Y/N spun to face him. “Prove it, Mister Meanie Pants.”

His lips met hers immediately, fiercely. It was innocent but seductive all at once, passionate but light. 

After what felt like an eternity in the best way, he pulled away. “Did I prove it?”

“I don’t know,” she smirked. “I think I might still need to be convinced.”

Luke rolled his eyes, but leaned back in with a wide smile. 

Y/N didn’t remember falling asleep on Ashton’s lap, but when she woke, there was a bag of french fries sitting in front of her, still warm. Ashton’s hand was gently smoothing her hair, his other scrolling through his phone. She shifted in the smallest way, and Ashton immediately knew she was up. 

“Hey,” he whispered, careful not to wake the other boys who had fallen asleep almost as soon as they got back. “How’re you feeling?”

“Better,” she mumbled whilst stretching sleepily. “How long did I sleep?”

“Just a couple hours.” At her widening eyes, he added, “There’s no news on Luke.”

Y/N nodded. 

Ashton and Y/N spoke softly about small things, about what they would do after Luke woke up. 

When there was a flash of movement in her peripheral vision, Y/N stopped talking mid-sentence, head whipping to the side.

“Y/N?” Ash questioned, concerned.

“Shh!” She held up one finger at Ashton, signalling him to be quiet.

Y/N swore her heart stopped the moment he moved again.

Then, like a spell had been lifted, Luke’s eyes fluttered open. 

“Y/N, you know I love you.” Luke started one evening as they sat cuddled together on the couch, watching whatever comedy special happened to catch their attention that night. 

Y/N looked up at him from where she was resting on his chest, clearly confused. “...Yeah?”

“I love you and only want the best for you--”

“Luke, what’s going on?” He could see the panic starting to build up in her mind and he had half a mind to forget what he was about to say and kiss away the anxiety instead. 

“I… I don’t think I can call you my girlfriend anymore.” 

Y/N bolted upright, now straddling him. “What?”

“I think that you and I… we aren’t fit to just date anymore. I’m sorry, angel.”

Y/N’s eyes were watering. “But I love you,” she stammered.

“I love you too.”

“But I can’t be your girlfriend anymore? What the fuck Luke?” At this point, she actually was crying, and Luke wanted to forget everything he had planned. He wanted to scoop her up into his arms and kiss her face until the pain disappeared. 

“I can’t call you my girlfriend,” he said as he reached into his pocket, “because I really, really want to call you my wife.”

Confusion was written across her face until he brought out a little velvet box. 

“I can’t live being your boyfriend. I want to be your husband, your rock through the long and hard times. I want to be your home, like you’re mine. I want to be able to love you every day for the rest of my life. I want to fall asleep next to you and wake up with you in my arms until the day I die. I want to marry you.”

Tears fell from her face, though now for an entirely different reason. Both hands covered her mouth as she looked back and forth from Luke, to the ring, and back again. She nodded slowly at first, until she couldn’t help repeat the motion incredibly fast. 

“Is that a yes?” Luke laughed. 

“Yes!” She blurt out. “Oh my god, yes. I love you so much, yes yes yes a million yesses.”

The curly blond grinned as he brought his lips back to hers in a sweet kiss. 

“You’re an ass,” she mumbled with a smile brighter than the stars, lips against his.

“Why’s that?” He beamed.

“Making me think you’re breaking up with me instead of spending the rest of your life with me.”

He laughed, placing his forehead on her shoulder as he fiddled with getting the ring out of the box. 

Luke slid the ring onto her finger, pressing another kiss to her lips. “Gotta keep you on your toes.”

“I love you,” she breathed. 

“I love you more.”

“Impossible.”

He grinned.

Y/N nearly ran the whole three steps over to the bedside. “Luke? Oh my god, you’re okay.”

Tears sprang to her eyes as she enveloped him in a hug. Hesitantly, he returned the gesture.

Y/N pulled away, a wide smile on her lips. It faded fast with the blond’s three words. 

“Who are you?”

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, ALEX! You’ve been accepted for the role of HORATIO. Admin Rogue: Alex, I can’t exaggerate enough how thrilled I was every moment of reading your app. You were so clever and thought so quickly, it was like seeing Hunter being built in front of me, until he became not just a character I wrote, but a person in his own right, quick-witted and dipped in gold. He was mesmerizing from start to finish; I believe I ended up half in love with him by the end of reading it. You brought such exciting depth to him that I can’t wait to see him brought to life! . Thank you for bringing my most beautiful son to the dash. Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Alex Age | Twenty-four Preferred Pronouns | She/Her Activity Level | I am a full time grad student but because of the messy events happening throughout the world at the moment, I have been left with more free time than I know how to handle! I anticipate investing that time in plotting with people and beginning threads so once classes pick up again, I am in a rhythm and able to maintain stable activity (catching up on all/most replies 2-3 times a week). Timezone | US EST How did you find the rp?  | Honestly, at this point I don’t even remember. I have been lurking for eons, waiting for the right timing and the right character to become available, and now couldn’t be more perfect!

IN CHARACTER

Character | HORATIO, Hunter Marchesi

What drew you to this character? | There are about a thousand-and-one things that I could list here. I have always been drawn to characters that walk the line between golden and gilded, the ones that are a little bit too inhuman to be fully mortal and yet too weak to truly be a god. When I read Hunter’s biography, it was striking how electric he felt. Reading through the plot summaries, it’s evident that Verona has been wading through dark times for a while now, and glancing through several biographies, her inhabitants are not without their scars. Yet here is Hunter, a boy from out of town that stumbled into the greatest war the underbelly of Verona has ever seen. He’s too clever to be fully naïve, yet he’s rampantly green – and that newness brings with it a certain freshness. Hunter isn’t tarnished yet. His future is bright, and he’s ambitious enough to learn how to make himself known in a new society. All the possibilities that came tumbling in with Hunter was vastly appealing to me, as well as his capability to step confidently into this world. Also, this one line in Castora’s connection had me dead: “He doesn’t hate her of course; his family often deals in philanthropy.”

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character?

BECOMING INSTRUMENTAL: Being an initiate sounds significantly more important than Hunter currently feels. He’s too new to be helpful, too green to pretend that he knows what he’s doing. Hunter requires mentors to aid in his transition. After all, his face is one that’s never known a bruise, his fingers remain ignorant to the pulse of a trigger, and his nose blind to the rusting of blood. He has started taking on minor missions, learning what he can and aiming to impress, but he needs guidance if he’s going to thrive outside of his comfort zone, and the people that he receives that guidance from will leave a lasting impression upon the Montague’s newest recruit.

NEW MONEY: All his life, Hunter has lived within the penthouse of society. The Marchesi family had wealth so vast that it was rumored to transcend written record. Often, he heard his father discuss how he hardly considered new money families to be money at all. “After all, if you don’t have at least three generations of wealth, you’re no better than a peasant that happened to have a successful night of gambling.” Essentially, Hunter has no concept of what it means to happen into wealth, but he imagines it feels rather similar to his new position within the Montague ranks. It is not the Marchesi family that matters here. No, everyone around him owes blood it to the Montagues, and Hunter is beginning to expect there is no exchange rate for a life debt. He is dealing in an entirely new currency, which he finds remarkably exhilarating. His journey within the mob is just beginning, and as such he’s blinded by challenge and possibility and bolstered by a history that has never known failure. However, I anticipate Hunter stumbling as he assimilates into a new life, and as such, I expect that he will begin to struggle with his idea of self. Hunter is no longer defined by a name, or wealth, or charm; everyone around him carries such characteristics aplenty. For perhaps the first time, Hunter will need to learn how to identify himself without his very foundations, and that may entail a dash of demolition.

LOYALTY IS FICKLE: As someone that has only joined a mob to avoid certain death, Hunter lacks the strict loyalty that seems to flow through the veins of his new family. Of course, he remains loyal to his own life (who wouldn’t?), and to a certain degree, Henry (largely because the good professor had the courtesy to keep him alive). As such, Hunter is able to recognize that helping a Capulet would potentially ruin his future, but the fear of such ruination hasn’t yet gripped his heart. Why shouldn’t he reach out to Beau? What’s the worst that could happen? // The way I visualize this conflict entails Hunter reaching out to Beau before becoming completely entrenched within the Montague camp. Naturally, Hunter will come to realize just how dark and violent life at war can be, thus adding pressure to the help he’s become determined to offer, perhaps leading to the first glimmer that perhaps danger can be just as terrifying as it is invigorating.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | You have my blessing to kill him off as you see fit!

IN DEPTH

INTERVIEW

Hunter was never one to enjoy sitting still, and his leg bounced even as he reclined in his seat. Those that did not know him may mistake the bobbing as movement motivated by nervousness, yet there was too much light glittering across his eyes to be born of anything but excitement. He might as well have been starting his first day at his dream job, not beginning to repay a newly incurred life debt.

His accomplice didn’t appear quite as energetic. Their shoulders were slumped, their gaze downturned. When he’d walked in, Hunter had guessed him to be in his mid-twenties. With the cloud hovering over his head, he looked twice that age. Thirty minutes into a stake-out, Hunter had started picking up on the crow’s feet, the downward angle of his lips, the hair that was in desperate need of a trim. He’d always thought the grandiose mobsters of Verona would have more style.

Five minutes passed, and Hunter focused his attention on the dimly lit street in front of him. He’d been in the city less than a month now, and he barely recognized the intersection in front of them. “Where are we in the city?” he asked.

“Ten minutes north of the Roman Arena,” his partner answered. Hunter had introduced himself at the start of the mission, but his partner had settled for a quick once-over before settling on silence and slipping into the car. He hadn’t bothered to ask his name since.

“Haven’t made it to the Arena yet,” Hunter mused. His partner didn’t respond, so Hunter settled for another question. “What is your favorite place in Verona?” Again, he was met with silence. If they weren’t three hours into a stale stakeout, Hunter would have let it go. He would have read the tension between them as one better suited for silence, but three hours of nothing begged to be replaced by something of substance. “I think that I’ll be quite fond of Lamberti Tower when the time comes. Haven’t exactly had good reason to celebrate yet.” He leaned his head back against the headrest and waited for an answer that he knew wasn’t coming. This time, he let silence settle between them. The moon arched higher overhead, a desperate sliver against the abyss of the night sky.

Hunter glanced at the clock. It’d been ten minutes since his last question, meaning it was high time to strike up conversation again. “What’s your typical day like? So far, all I’ve done are stakeouts and guard shifts at the library.”

“Depends on the day.”

“You’re a real charmer, anyone ever tell you that?” Hunter softened the dig with a wink. “Know any particularly talented fighters? I’m looking for a sparring coach. Punching bags rarely hit back.” Silence. Not even a pity chuckle. “You’re going to need to start answering some of my questions. These are the easy ones.”

His partner glanced at him briefly. “Awfully bossy for an initiate, anyone ever tell you that?” A sigh, and Hunter assumed that was the end of the conversation but the next sentence came with a pleasant surprise. “What are you doing now? Working out? Running errands? Sucking up to your superiors? All worthwhile things, sure. But I’m guessing they aren’t scratching that adrenaline itch that drove you to sign up.”

“And what makes you think I have an – how did you put it? Adrenaline itch?”

“You’re young, confident, rich. The world was given to you on a silver platter so you’re wondering if it’ll taste different on paper. Need something to stoke your fire since you’ve never come in contact with real conflict. You made a mistake joining, kid.”

Hunter swallowed the first response that threatened to spring to his lips. His partner was trying to start a fight, to insult him to the point he’d shut up for the remainder of the night. He wouldn’t be so lucky.

“Alright then, if we’re talking about mistakes, teach me something. What’s the biggest mistake you’ve made thus far?”

“Man doesn’t go around bragging about his mistakes.”

For the first time all night, Hunter agreed with him. He didn’t want to speak of the first mistake he’d ever made in life that carried consequences. There was still something unsettling about remembering that night, Doctor Zhang creating bloodshed and making it disappear with the bat of an eye. He’d made it seem so easy, and Hunter couldn’t yet imagine himself in such a position. He’d wondered nightly if it was a mistake to have pursued Henry for this long, to think about him as frequently as he did. It led to far too many uncertainties. If Henry Zhang was his greatest mistake, then signing up for a philosophy course was the root of all evil. It sounded ridiculous. Naturally, that meant that the true nature of the mistake would require significantly more introspection than Hunter cared to participate in. So he settled: his biggest mistake was being in the wrong place at the wrong time. A shame, but at least it was true.

Nearly an hour passed, filled with a brief moment of excitement when they noted movement ahead only to be met by the visage of a couple stumbling home linked arm-in-arm. There were at least three hours still until sunrise, and Hunter was beginning to lose all motivation. There had to be a better use of time and resources. There was no way this would be his future.

“What’s the most difficult task they’ve asked of you?” he asked suddenly, sure that this night marked his own.

“Staking out in a car all night with an initiate that isn’t comfortable with silence.”

“I’m trying to learn. It shows initiative,” Hunter countered.

“It shows that you’re nosey.”

Hunter wanted to be offended, but he couldn’t help the soft laugh that bubbled from his lips. After a night of intermingled silence, distant traffic, and brusque responses, this was the closest thing to humor he’d encountered, even if it was at his own expense. “They haven’t asked anything difficult of me yet.”

“Be thankful for that, son. You need to learn how to crawl before you can walk.”

“Alas, I came out the womb already sprinting.” It might be the low lighting, but Hunter swore he saw the slightest smirk on his partner’s face. It was enough camaraderie to summon up the question he had been desperately wanting answered all night: “What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues?”

What warmth he’d gained was quickly replaced with solid ice. “You shouldn’t ask questions like that.”

Hunter hummed. “Maybe not, but I’m still interested. I think it all seems very��� personal. Professional on the surface, of course. They’re competing industries in a small space, conflict in inevitable. But it hardly seems as if they’re fighting over territory at this point. Everything feels much more intimate, and not in a particularly loving way.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I?” He sounded confident, maybe even cocky. But he wasn’t entirely certain, and that unsettled him. Ever since arriving and locking himself within Verona’s perfect cage, he’d been trying to uncover the nature of this war they were fighting. If he was going to risk his life for someone, it only made sense to know why. Yet the answers were vague, elusive, textbook. There were too many layers of blood staining these streets to ever get at the bottom of it all, and Hunter was beginning to realize that like it or not, he’d been assigned a side in this war. And he would fight it.

EXTRAS

ZERO TO SIXTY: While Hunter was never groomed for war, a prior life of extravagance and wealth was not without its incidental lessons. Around his twentieth birthday, Hunter experienced a bout of boredom stronger than any that had come before. University was routine (save for the exception of a single course that oft labored late nights, red eyes, and grins that dripped sunshine), his parents were content with his performance, and his circle of friends remained vast and glittering of silver and gold. There was no change, no challenge looming ahead, and so he sought to create his own. // The first time he slipped into the driver’s seat of a Ferrari 488, he was sold. Looking back, he recognized his first lap as a slow fumble, but at the time he had felt himself a natural. Sinking into curves made his heart race, and the rumble of an engine with more power than he could control sent all thoughts of discontent scattering. Ever one to turn talent to profit, he began to race on the weekends, soaring with pride as his name began to climb the leaderboards of local tracks. The thought of turning his passion into a full-blown career would flit through his mind whenever he was standing in the winner’s circle, but he would wake the next morning with the knowledge that the lifetime wages of Formula One racers appeared mere pocket change next to the Marchesi fortune. Little did he know that he could one day turn his talent into a lucrative career as a getaway driver for the Montagues.

Driving playlist:   1. Physical // Dua Lipa. 2. Ride It // Regard. 3. Roller // Apache 207. 4. Red Flag // Billy Talent. 5. Run Boy run // Woodkid. 6. Slip // Skrizzly Adams. 7. Legend Has It // Run the Jewels.

FAMILIAL INFLUENCE: The headlines have been screaming it for ages: the British aristocracy is running low on funds. However, a single glance at the Marchesi family would cast doubt upon even the most reputable reporter. With manors in three different countries, the Marchesis have no qualms about demonstrating their wealth. // Jasper Marchesi was the eldest of four brothers, and he inherited his father’s art empire upon his death. Collectionswere the Marchesi trade, particularly the acquisition of difficult-to-come-by pieces. Jasper often cited the families distant Italian roots as being the source of his exquisite taste, and he honored the heritage by building a home in Milan. It was at this home that Hunter remembers spending a majority of the year, with voyages to Britain reserved for the holiday season and vacations to Brazil confined to the summer. // While her husband was rapt with the arts, Ana Marchesi believed that wealth was best unearthed in the modern-day gold of real estate. She began investigating just how lucrative buying, selling, and renting properties could be while her father was still traveling the world on diplomatic assignments. What started with a few rental houses quickly morphed into buying mansions left abandoned by new-money families that never had a chance of living in such elegance and transferring them (at a notable mark-up) back into the hands of those with the resources to invest in such a gilded future. Jasper reminded her on numerous occasions that such a business wasn’t necessary, that marrying into the Marchesi family meant that she had already bought into a future of diamonds and galas, but Ana insisted upon building her own empire. // Between the decadence of his father and the intrepid spirit of his mother, Hunter was destined for success. His family’s background required fluency in English, Italian, and Portuguese, and his father’s aptitude for the arts and his mother’s skill with finance instilled a harmony of practicum and creativity within him. He exclusively attended private schools as a child and enrolled in the most prestigious university in Italy without batting an eye. He pursued a degree in economics, and upon graduation assumed control of a subset of art galleries across Italy.

PLAYLIST

More // Poets of the Fall —What do you give someone who has it all? More, just to be sure. I got what I wanted so naturally I want more, what I paid for. Kansas City // The Mowgli’s — Been in a new town, got the same issues to work through. It turns out when you move, you just take them all with you. Wanna Be Missed // Hayley Kiyoko — I wanna be missed, like every night. I wanna be kissed, like it’s the last time. Say you can’t eat, can’t sleep, can’t breathe without me. An Evening I Will Not Forget // Dermot Kennedy — I remember when her heart broke over stubborn shit. That’s no way to be living kid; the angel of death is ruthless. And I’m always thinking summertime with the bikes out, pushing our luck, getting wiped out, days with nothing but laughing loud. Power Over Me // Dermot Kennedy — I wanna be king in your story. I wanna know who you are. I want your heart to beat for me. Pay the Man // Foster the People — Seasons change, you know it’ll never be the same. We’ll see the sun again before it fades. I just wanna say [REDACTED]. Cringe // Matt Maeson — She said I’m looking like a bad man, smooth criminal. She said my spirit doesn’t move like it did before. She said that I don’t look like me no more. The Best // AWOLNATION —Me, I wanna walk a little bit taller. Me, I wanna feel a little bit stronger. Me, I wanna think a little bit smarter. Said I just want to be the best. Classic Man // Jidenna — My name, calling all night. I could pull the wool while I’m being polite. Like darling, calling all night. I can be a bull while I’m being polite. Bonus Track: 7 rings // Ariana Grande

PINTEREST

[sweettemptaticn]

Hey is that [DOVE CAMERON]? No, that’s just [RYLEIGH MEADOWS]. They’re [TWENTY-ONE], and have spent [ONE MONTH] in Dayton. I hear that they’re kind of [SWEET], but also [BRATTY]. Did you hear their vices are [SEX & COFFEE]? Can’t wait to see [SHE/HER] at the next party! 

tw: heavy abuse, drugs, alcohol. 

full name: ryleigh danielle meadows

nickname: leigh

age: twenty-one

date of birth: june 2nd

place of birth: nowhere, ky

zodiac: gemini

gender: cis-female

nationality: american

sexual orientation: bisexual

romantic orientation: heteroromantic

relationship status: single 

PHYSICAL ATTRIBUTES.

height:  5′’0’

weight: 130lbs

hair color: blonde

eye color: green

need glasses/contacts? yes

tattoos: she has a gemini tattoo on her left shoulder blade, a shooting star on the front of her right hip.

distinguishing marks: she has freckles you usually can’t see unless she’s spent a fair amount of time in the sun. several jagged scars along her lower back and the backs of her thighs as well as a surgical scar on her left arm from where it was broken in three places. 

BACKGROUND INFORMATION.

hometown: nowhere, ky

current residence: dayton, ca

past residences: new york, ny

living arrangement: moving in with aiden and taking up space on his couch

spoken languages: english

financial status: she has money?

education level: high school diploma, degree in culinary arts

occupation: is hoping to get a job at the bakery in dayton

FAMILIAL INFORMATION.

father: wade meadows. 58. 

mother: farrah meadows. 56. 

siblings: sister ( 23 ), brother - aiden o’connor (31), twin (21)

children: none

pets? a hedgehog named elton (which aiden stole from her!)

other: n/a

PERSONALITY.

positive traits: sociable. goal-oriented. optimistic (it’s almost problematic). 

negative traits: bratty. insecure. impatient. impulsive.

likes: sex. baking literally everything (cupcakes are her favorite, though). lemonade. picnics. stargazing. that last hour before the sun begins to rise, when the world is just beginning to hum itself awake. nerds. twizzlers. candy in general. elton (her hedgehog). snakes. reading (mostly sci fi stuff). rain.

dislikes: historical movies. scary movies. mushrooms. pineapple on pizza (just no). drugs. alcohol. smoking. anything that can impair one’s judgment. babies. cats. apples. bubblegum. cigars. 

quirks: rambling when she’s nervous. biting at her lip when she feels uncertain. baking, consistently when she’s stressed. feeding people. anytime she considers herself friends with someone she’s like ‘omg let me feed you’. insomnia (nightmares usually keep her awake). 

HISTORY. 

youth. 

as far as ryleigh is concerned, aiden raised her. he’s her big brother and the only paternal figure she’s ever been able to count on. she looks up to him. she appreciates him. was she ever the rambunctious child, though - nothing could make her sit still, not even her enormous respect for aiden. jamie, her twin, though clearly taking after their sperm donor far too much, is the only person who could ever make her sit still for five seconds at a time. the only person who ever really truly helped her focus. 

no, they didn’t grow up with much. they had a roof over their head and food on the table, but materialism was a pleasure they were never able to have. one of her few possessions is the library book she checked out when she was seven and refused to return. aiden paid the fine for it and let her keep it and she swore, up and down, she’d pay him back for it one day. 

teenage years.

ryleigh’s terrible two’s were nothing compared to her teenage years. middle school was an awful experience because nobody wanted to be friends with her. they were scared of jamie. girls either hated her or ostracized her and there was nothing she could do to make it better. so of course, being shown any attention swept her into a fantasy there was no coming back from. she lost her virginity at fourteen, but not by choice. her second experience with sex was far better, if not equally as uncomfortable, but soon she realized how mind numbing a good lay could be. she didn’t have to think about if she’d get another meal, didn’t have to wonder why nobody wanted to be friends with her. 

oh, she was such a sweetheart, though. sassy with those who hated her, kind to those who really didn’t think of her one way or another. home economics was her favorite class and when she baked her first cupcake, her path was cemented. this is what she wanted to do for a living. she got a part time job at a local bakery - they didn’t pay much and she mostly swept the floors and bused tables, but being around all of those pastries? 

from baking came her love of cooking and soon, ryleigh had a knack for whipping up the finest dinners with even the simplest of ingredients. she’d found her purpose. sure, she was good at spreading her thighs and people liked that about her (since there wasn’t much else to like), but this? this she could make a living out of. 

twenty-one.

aiden hated her first real boyfriend. his little sister wasn’t supposed to even think about boys. after three months, she hated her first real boyfriend, too, because he wanted to spend more time tripping out than spending time with her. 

there were a few relationships between her first and the last. each one worse than the last. backwoods kentucky was hardly a place where anyone could amount to anything and there was always a constant draw to drugs and alcohol in order to escape reality. ryleigh left kentucky at eighteen because she ended up receiving a scholarship to a culinary school in new york. 

she was free. 

this was heaven.

until her wings were clipped and she landed in the fiery pits. because of a saccharine grin and whispered promises. 

she loved hard and she loved fast. each harsh word spoken followed by a promise to be better. to do better. why she could leave every other demon, but allow satan himself to burrow inside of her, to dig so deep she became so terrified to leave, she’s never understood. 

she screamed herself hoarse, pleading for him to stop. he tried to carve into her, like she was no more than a canvas for him to mold to his will. he broke her in all ways a person can be broken, but she smiled through it all. school saved her. her classes revived her. her job placated her. it wasn’t the time she’d spent a week in a hospital bed, tied to machines, because she fell down the stairs to open her eyes. nor had it been the time he felt it was necessary for her to earn her place among his group of friends. or when he’d grown bored and decided branding her was the best thing for him to do. and it hadn’t been the moment when he’d promised he would hurt jamie if she ever tried to leave him. 

but when he broke her arm because she’d come home late and she couldn’t attend class for two months, nearly causing her to lose everything she worked so hard for?

ryleigh is a survivor, not a victim. she’s always looked after herself and never made it anyone’s responsibility to do it for her. 

she ran. to the only safe place she could. to her brother, who is completely oblivious to the violent life ryleigh has lived. it’s a secret she’s chosen to take to her grave. a secret she’s refused to let break her. sex is still her vice of choice, but she’s survived hell and come out stronger for it and she’ll be damned if she ever allows herself to be put in that kind of situation ever again. 

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #271

“some of those who work forces are the same that burn crosses.”

Do you cook on the stove at all, or just microwave? I just use the microwave. I'm scared of the stove lmao. Do you ever debate religion with your friends? Bruuuh no. I am so disinterested in debating about something that to me ultimately doesn't matter yet humanity has made so serious. Whatever happens after we die, happens, there's that. Just be a decent human being and go out knowing you did your best to make the world better than when you entered it. Do you keep your shampoo in the shower or someplace else? In the shower. Something your mother said or did that shocked you: Like... recently? Or in my entire life? I dunno about recently, but I guess the most shocking to me was when she vehemently called my sister something I won't repeat. Did your mom go to college? She was before the cancer. Ready to graduate, too, but that didn't go as planned thanks to, y'know, cancer. Which food do you think you have the most cans of in your cupboard? Good question, no clue. I don't really pay attention to the canned foods. Maybe fruits? Do you save fortunes from fortune cookies? No. Are you offended when Christmas is spelled Xmas? Nah. Where do you put your keys when you come home? In my purse. Describe your favorite mug or glass to drink from? I don't have one. That I use, anyway. Sara gave me a Markiplier quote one that's a Holy Item on my shelf and instead of holding a beverage holds All My Love. Your bad habit that you love the most: UGH I hate how much I love soda. Invent a pop tart flavor: STORY TIME!!!! As a kid, there was this contest to design a type and you won like... a fucking huge supply of the newest flavor, which was at the time that wild berry whatever thing. My sister and I made one that I think I recall being pink with heart sprinkles and strawberry flavored, and we won. Guess who fucking hates the wild berry flavor now lmao. Okay but anyway if I was to invent one now... is there a BLUE raspberry flavor? Cuz a bitch loves blue raspberry flavored everything. Do you name your pets after tv/movie/book characters: Sometimes. I don't currently have a pet that is, though. Are you proud of yourself for what you've accomplished? The few things I actually have, sure? I'm more ashamed of what I haven't. Do you own any sexy lingerie? Nooooo no one would want to see me in that, least of all myself lmao. Have you ever caught a bouquet of flowers at a wedding before? No. Has a horse ever neighed at you before? Uhhh I don't think so? Do you prefer ice cream or sorbet? Ice cream. Have you gotten your pets spayed? My cat is. That's like... the only pet we ever have fixed, sadly. My parents/Mom (depending on time period) could just never afford it. The only real reason we managed to get Roman neutered was because our sister directed us to a cheap on-the-go business where it was like... only $45, and Roman was marking the house badly so it was pretty urgent. Would you ever take in a stray animal? HA, that is the STORY of my family with cats. At this current time, most likely not. We don't need another pet right now, nevermind one of a mysterious background with my mom being sick. When is payday? N/A Have you ever walked on a runway before? No. How long is your workday? N/A Is there a walkway or a pathway to your front door? No. What is your favorite color? What is your least favorite color? Pink is superior to all colors. I'm really not a puke-green fan, but I mean... is anyone? What color dominates your wardrobe? Everything is B L A C K. What color are your eyes? Grayish blue. Are you colorblind, or do you know anyone who is? I'm not, but Jason's brother is colorblind to I think red and blue? Do you prefer color photos or black-and white? It greatly depends on the composition and subject matter of the photograph. I find great beauty in both. If I had to pick though, color usually appeals to me more. Are you one of those people who can taste, feel, or smell colors? No. Have you ever seen a double rainbow before? Yes. Do you enjoy coloring? It tends to be my least-favorite part of the art process because that's where I always fuck shit up. Do you know anyone who is racist? Oh my, PLENTY. Welcome to the South. Are your nails painted any color(s) right now? They never are. Can you lift more than 100lbs? I probably CAN, but it would be very hard. What's your opinion on incest? It's fucking repulsive. Morally and negative from a scientific standpoint, anyway. Do you have a favorite color for cats? Orange. What video games did you play when you were younger? I was a massive gamer as a kid, teenager too, so I could put a hell of a lot here. But, I'll just imagine you're referring to when I was quite young. The Spyro games (save for Skylanders) were my LIFE, I loved Nintendogs, the Crash Bandicoot trilogy, lots of games that were based on movies (like Madagascar and Finding Nemo are two I really enjoyed), uhhh... OH! And absolutely weird, but I loved hunting games. Like, I had a whooole lot, despite hating real life hunting even as a child. I think it was because I got to see wild animals, plus it could be calming to wander and scary, too, when things like wolves found you. Oh, and then there were fishing games, too. LOOK I just love(d) games. Would you ever get a tramp stamp? I hate that nickname. Having a tattoo literally anywhere does not equate you to a stereotype. Yes, because I want to be heavily tattooed anyway. Did you cry when Michael Jackson died? No. Not that I didn't care at all, I just wasn't a giant fan. What's the ugliest species of animal? Lmao how mean. The blobfish immediately comes to mind, though. Looks like a ball of mucus shaped into an old man's face. Are you embarrassed about any songs on your iPod? I used to be, now it's just like whatever. I like what I like. What do you use to listen to music on the computer? YouTube. Do people know a lot about you? Places on the Internet sure do lmao. I try to be much more private now online to a degree, depending on where. Irl, no. I'm too easily embarrassed/afraid of being judged for what makes me, me. Who was the last person you slept beside? Sara. Do you like Metallica? They're one of my all-time favorites and I trust NOBODY who claims to hate them. What's your favorite kind of soup? I'm not a fan of soup. What’s your best friend's favorite band? Her all-time favorite is Pink Floyd. Who was the last person you took a picture with? Ummm idr. Do you play Guitar Hero? Not really anymore, but I fuckin slayed that shit back in the day. Whose house did you last visit? My older sister's. Who was the last person to come to your house? My younger sister. What time do you usually eat dinner? Anywhere between 5:30 to like... 7:00 or so. Have you ever searched your own house on Google Earth? Not this current one, no. Does it bother you when people have a loose grip on hugs? No? Some people don't like hugs. Are you looking forward to next year? I don't know. Is covid gonna be history by then? It depends on a lot of things. What have you done so far this summer? *blink blink blink* What's your favorite punk band? Honestly, I don't even really separate bands by genres now because I don't know. There's so so many, plenty overlap, etc. etc, and people - especially those who enjoy rock/metal stuff, I've found - get all snobbish and "WELL ACTUALLY" when you "misgenre" or whatever. Which is better: cold or hot weather? COLD. FUCK hot weather. Anything above ~75*F is disgusting. Is photography something you enjoy? I'm an aspiring photographer so like- What’s the best flavor snow cone? I haven't had a legit snow cone in years... but we have a place called Pelican's Snowballs, which is really just like... snow cones in a cup? They are A M A Z I N G and strawberry is to die for. When driving, are you a speed demon or do you drive like your grandmother? I don't drive because I'm terrified to. Have you ever met someone who just had you at hello? No. Bet you were expecting "Jason," but no, I was weirded out that a stranger just comes up to me in the hall on the way to class and starts talking to me. Have you ever written poetry? Yeah. Do you have any addictions? Technology, ugh. And soda, rip. When was the last time you just laid and looked at the stars? Laid, many years ago one summer when Jason and I were just lying on the trampoline while my dad was grilling. What song reminds you of an ex? A lot. What color eyeliner do you prefer? Black. What was the last thing that you made with your own two hands? Like, made from scratch? Hell if I know. What’s the deepest water you will wade into? Like, shoulder-deep in the ocean. How many blades does your razor have? Three, I think? Highest grade of education you’ve completed? Just one semester of college. Lowest grade you’ve received on a test? Yikes, Fs in college math. He taught in such an abstract way that I failed like... every test, or nearly did. I was too afraid to ask questions continuously. Do you enjoy sitting in the sun or the shade more? There is NO situation where I would rather be in the sun. Do you enjoy going to arcades? Hell yeah. What parades do you like to go to? None. When’s the last time you went on a tirade? I ranted to Mom about the fucking ridiculous anti-maskers that are a big reason this motherfucking pandemic is worsening in America. With my mom being immunocompromised, it is something I take VERY goddamn seriously. It's not a difference in opinion - it's a difference in morality. Do you like to play charades? I loved to as a kid. Now it'd feel weird. Would you ever lead a crusade? I wouldn't want to lead anything. Have your parents ever forbade you from doing something? Aha, so as a kid, I had a game demo disc that showed the preview to Parasite Eve, and my sisters and I would secretly watch it despite it scaring us to where Mom did forbid us to click on it. And all these years later, I've played it and love it... ha ha. Otherwise, my parents have always been pretty open to letting us do stuff, save for things the usual parent doesn't like, like swearing. When’s the last time someone said something degrading to you? A few days back when I got into an argument on Facebook about some asshole teasing their newly-hatched cobra to where it kept striking at the tongs, hood flared and all. Apparently I had no idea what I was talking about, pointing out the snake was clearly stressed out. What’s the last homemade dish you’ve made? I legit haven't cooked a thing since Sara was here and I made her eggs for breakfast. Which was like, a year ago. Do you like lemonade? What flavor(s)? Broooo YES. Pink lemonade is better, but I enjoy just the classic kind, too. Has anyone ever serenaded you before? Fuck this question. Would you like to visit the Everglades? Lemme see them motherfuckin GATORS. Have you ever attended a masquerade ball before? No. Would be dope, though. Have you lost anyone to AIDS? No, thank god. Have you ever been paid for sex? Hell no. Have you ever had a maid in your home before? HUNNY we are too poor for that shit. Do you know how to do different types of braids in hair? No. When’s the last time you wore a Band-aid? Where and why? I have no clue. When was the last time you were afraid? Of what? A family friend was over here a couple days ago and she had this weirdest muscle cramp in her leg that brought her to the floor gasping for like over a minute. I was super scared, and Mom was too, as we had no idea what to do. I almost had to call 911. Crazy woman hasn't gone to the doctor about it, to my knowledge. Would you ever consider growing your hair out to your waist, or longer? NOOOO NO NO. I am probably having short hair for the rest of my life. Is there anywhere in your house that you're scared to be alone in? No. What is your favorite shoe brand? I don't have one. What weird things did you do as a small child? I was just a weird kid in general. I did a lotta stuff that would make people raise a brow. Who puts the most pressure on you in your life? My goddamn self. Do you laugh off embarrassing moments? Hell no, I turn red as a cherry and probably cry once I'm in private. Do you have a favourite actor/actress? If so, who? No. Do you like little kids, or do they annoy you? I feel uncomfortable around them. They're too brutally honest, I feel like every move I make is wrong, and I just generally feel incapable of handling them properly. Do you want a small or a large family when you get older? Well, I don't want any kids, so... Are you a good dancer? If not, do you enjoy dancing anyways? No and no. I'd be embarrassed. Have you ever lied to avoid getting into trouble? Yeah. Have you ever been admitted to the hospital for a long period of time? I'd say two weeks is pretty long, and I was supposed to stay an entire month. I only got out of that by going to court. Do you take a lot of pictures of yourself, or are you camera shy? I HATE being in front of the camera. What are your choice of toppings on a hamburger? And do you prefer gas or charcoal grilling? I just like ketchup, mustard, and pickles, really. A bit of diced onion is fine, too. I prefer gas; I hate the charcoal-y taste. You are chosen to have lunch with the president. the condition is you only get to ask one question. What do you ask? Fuck that, I'd decline going to begin with. What is your concession stand must-have at the movies? Popcorn, of course. Which do you dislike most: pop-up ads or spam email? Pop-up ads. How long was it from ‘the first date’ until the proposal of marriage? How long until the wedding? N/A What topic can put you to sleep quicker than any other? Probably like, wrestling. Golf. Sports in general. How many times did it take you to pass your drivers test? I haven't tried it yet. If you had to have the same topping on your vanilla ice cream for the rest of your life, what topping would you choose? I always just use chocolate syrup. Would you rather be trapped in an elevator, or stuck in traffic? CHRIST, TRAFFIC. Elevators kinda scare me and I'm very scared of being stuck in one. What are you sitting on right now? My bed. Are you listening to anything? Halocene's cover of "Killing In The Name." Have you parents ever hated one of your boyfriends/girlfriends? No. Who was the last person to give you money? I have no idea. Have you ever dreamed of someone you barely know? Actually yeah. Weird as hell. When was the most recent time, if ever, that you felt “impostor syndrome,” or that you felt unqualified to be somewhere? Hm. I suppose when I went to the doctor by myself for my foot. I'd never done an appointment without Mom at all, and I was veeery clueless to a lot of steps, questions, etc. What are some ways that pop culture has helped you learn historic or scientific facts? Some TV shows, I guess. Or games, even. Have you ever had a job in which you felt that you had nothing to do? What was the protocol in that situation (e.g., surfing the web, taking on the job of co-workers, or pretending to work)? If you have not, do you think it would be lucky or unlucky to have such a job? No. I was expected to always be doing something. I'd consider that to be pretty unlucky, as it sounds boring and pointless. Have you ever intimidated or made another person feel legitimately threatened? If not, do you think that you could ever be seen as scary? I don't know. Mom has admitted me yelling has scared her before, though. I can yell pretty fucking loudly. But she herself never felt threatened. And do I think I could be seen as scary? Yes. Especially given my chronic fucking nightmares that almost always involve confrontation. In what ways do you or would you need to be validated by a partner? (For example, liking your posts/talking about you on social media, or perhaps by doting on you with gifts.) I am VERY much a "words of affirmation" person. I NEED reassurance that I'm adequate and sincerely loved. When you are having a hard time emotionally, what are some of the telltale ways that you act out or that your personality reflects your struggles? I become very snappy and more reclusive than usual. I cry really easily. Do you tend to succeed by weaning yourself off of something or by quitting cold turkey? It depends on what it is, but I've generally needed to wean myself off of things when necessary. Is there a specific type of pet breed/size/etc. that you don’t want? Why not? I am very turned off by animal breeds/types that are subject to serious health issues, such as pugs, dachsunds, Persians, spider ball pythons... Just don't fucking breed them. Ironically, some of these are the cutest, but I care far more about the health of the animal. Have you ever lived in a notoriously dangerous area? If not, would it bother you to do so? Yes and yes. Has a friend’s significant other ever interfered with or damaged your friendship? What about a significant other of yours damaging a friendship? I don't believe so, no. What, if anything, is something that you put pressure on yourself about? What do you imagine would happen if you did not live up to this expectation? Getting a job, for Heaven's sake, and actually managing to keep it. I've proven inept in this area so far, so, I've already failed that. :^) If you have been in a serious relationship, have you and your partner ever discussed lifetime plans that clashed? Did you reconcile them or did you break up? If you have not been in a relationship, what are some issues that would be deal-breakers? Jason and I kinda casually talked about kids early in our relationship, at which time I didn't see myself wanting them at all and he did at some point. It didn't really bother either of us, though; it was something we'd figure out if we actually got anywhere. Then he became the only person I could ever imagine myself having kids with. Life's funny.

[agdistis-sanctified]

Hey what do you think deadpool’s deadly sin is?

Oh shit, good question! I spent way too much time thinking about this. (This is long, I am so sorry, consider skipping to the end for my conclusion, but it was so fun to ponder.)

SIN BY SIN ANALYSIS

Pride - I think we can safely and easily write this one off completely unless erring on the opposite end of the spectrum to an often crippling degree counts. Even in his most “cocky” moments (e.g. fighting Tasky while handcuffed), pride is not at all his motive and he just correctly assesses his skill level. (Even then, he thought Tasky went easy on him! He underestimates himself.) 0% pride.

Greed - I would say he performs greed, but has stunningly little of it. Sure, he does terrible things “for money,” he enjoys money, he claims to be motivated by money, but money is literally never where his priorities actually lie. He never has the Treasure Planet/John Silver style moments of looking between gold and someone he could save because he never actually prioritizes money in the first place. Money is an excuse, a way to answer difficult questions, and a habit, not something that actually drives him. He routinely gives up money for fun, to get back at people, because he’s simply apathetic, or to help friends (usually without being asked and without getting credit! Completely on his own, he funds the Avengers, refuses to get paid for helping X-Force, buys Outlaw an apartment, pays for Chris’s tuition, and much more). He prioritizes everything but material gain. His most explicit verbalization of this was, off the top of my head, in that amazing Rocket issue where he said he’d rather “belong” than get paid.

Lust - 1. Sex: It is, of course, fair to say that he is happily a horndog, but I’m not sure we can call this a primary driving force or a way he actually errs. I mean, he likes sex, but to a fault? More than anything else? Eeeeh. There are plenty of times that he’s not the one in the room thinking about sex (that moment with Carmelita, which was loosely repeated in the first movie when he paid Vanessa to spend time with him playing skee ball instead of having sex, that time he had sex with Shiklah mostly to “hold her off” because he’d had other things on his mind, the way he initially ignored Outlaw’s flirtations, when he was the one complaining that Gambit was being irresponsible with their job over sex, etc.), and half the time he does mention sex he’s making a joke. We joke that his sexuality is “yes,” and I mean…. of course, but also, eeeeehhh, it’s an option but not what I’d choose of the seven. He’s “vulgar,” on the kinky end, open about sexuality, and enthusiastic about sexuality, but not exactly uniquely sex-driven.

Lust - 2. Love: Counterpoint, “lust” doesn’t have to mean lust for sex. I don’t see any other physical sensations changing my analysis here, but I’ve seen lust for love- apart from anything physical- listed as a form of lust before. If we count that, absolutely, he craves attention to a fault and actually does have to make hard choices between doing the right thing and feeling wanted. Lady Deadpool chose her side of an actual war based on who “wanted” her more and it was clear that 616 Deadpool could have done the same. He was tempted to betray X-Force by affection from “Father.” Spidey once pointed out that, at least at the time, Wade didn’t want to do the right thing, he wanted “to be loved for doing the right thing.” He usually has ~1 person whose approval means the world to him at any given time and he’s prone to making drastic decisions for them (selling Wolverine out to give Siryn her powers back, all of Cable & Deadpool, etc.). There are too many things to list; this is a solid option.

Envy - Early on, back in his villain days, he made some “If I’d had what he had, I’d be different” type comments. He used envy to help justify his bitterness at everyone and his choice not to take responsibility for things he did. More to the point, there was that time he tried to murder Wolverine during a psychotic break almost entirely because he was jealous. As he saw it, Logan wasn’t discarded by even the people that experimented on him, Logan was actually powerful and respected, Logan was forgiven by others for his mistakes, Logan wasn’t ugly, Logan wasn’t mentally ill, Logan wasn’t caught between the human and mutant worlds, Logan was accepted by the X-Men, Logan had friends, Logan was so “”privileged”” that he was going to just throw away everything that Wade would do anything to have, just for revenge, which Wade has rarely felt able to afford. HOWEVER, this is something Wade has successfully grown pretty far past, and even at the time, actually killing Wolverine wasn’t what he truly wanted. He secretly wanted Logan’s approval more than anything and had misplaced “daddy problem” feelings for him, which ties back into my Type 2 Lust argument. He hasn’t really expressed envy or aimless bitterness in years (that I remember??)- he just idolizes and wants to protect the people who are less ‘fucked’ than he thinks he is- but it was an important part of his history.

Gluttony - A lot of what I said about greed and lust apply here. He’s indulgent, but I’m not sure that he’s indulgent enough for me to actually choose this.

Wrath - He’s had temper issues (see: the way he treated Weasel and Al when Weasel came uninvited to his house, his reaction when Typhoid Mary hurt people to lure him into hurting her so that she could mock his attempts to redeem himself, fight > flight style PTSD symptoms unleashed at people like Crossbones), but like with envy, this has mostly decreased over time and isn’t usually a major factor in his bad decisions.

Sloth - This is a lot more compelling of an option than it would seem at first glance, because when he doesn’t do the right thing it’s often about the emotional/psychological difficulty or fear of exerting himself. In many ways, his real demon has always been pessimism-driven apathy and deeply internalized loathing for himself. He tends to know what the right thing is (or at least understands the principle of the thing even if he’s sometimes manipulated into the wrong methods), and he at least always actually wants the right thing, but doing the right thing is hard, he often assumes he can’t change and that there’s no point in trying, he’s scared of failure and making things worse, and he’s frequently tempted to give up based on psychological strain. It’s not so much classic physical slothfulness, though he’s also a Depression Mess™ icon, but on a psychological level, it’s a huge struggle for him. Because this is one of his biggest struggles, it’s also one of his biggest strengths- that it’s so hard for him to keep going and keep trying, but he always does in the end. The fact that that’s one of his biggest recurring themes and strengths is telling.

ALL THAT BEING SAID

I’m going to say, in order, it’s something like:

Lust(for love) and Sloth >> Envy >> Wrath >> Gluttony >> Greed >> Pride

[sweets-fanfics]

Honeymoon [RE]6

Title: Past Mistakes

Wordcount: 2055

Warning: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

AN: Had a mini panic this morning and thought I deleted it but I found it so YAY

_______________

“He’s such an asshole!” Riley slammed the door making you jump and almost knock over the chemical you were trying to pour into a tiny test tube.

“Who?”

“Bruce!” He stomped into the bathroom slamming the door behind him. A glass beaker fell off the counter by the bathroom door and smashed on the ground. 

“Riley that’s the fourth beaker this week I’m not buying anymore.” You finished pouring the chemical dropped a little bit of water and saved it in the test tube rack. “What did you go see Bruce for? Also did you get that slide I asked for from the university?”

He walked out and pulled it from his pocket and slid it across the table for you to catch. “I went and asked for help…”

“For what? The funding?” He nodded. You sighed and put the slide in the microscope and leaned in to look. “I told you we wouldn’t need it. I’ll just go ask for more hours.”

“You shouldn’t have too. We graduated school so early.” He slipped on his lab coat. “Since the university is letting us do research here you’d think they’d pay us.”

“We are only working here because Bruce is friends with the dean. So is his friend Mr. Stark.” You sighed. “This is a blood sample. I asked for skin cells.”

“They said that’s what you asked for.”

“Ugh! Assholes did it on purpose.” You felt Riley lean back on you as you hunched over your phone, texting an angry worded message to the science students in the classroom three doors down.

“They pick on us because we aren’t eighteen yet.” 

“Almost there.” Your phone vibrated. “Bruce texted me.” You opened it and read it silently.

What did you think about that job offer?

You tried to shut it quickly. “Did Bruce offer us a job?” He started to get excited before you could answer. “Wow! Now I feel like an ass for earlier.”

“Uh… Riley.” You turned and looked at him. “I.. It was just offered to me.” He looked down sad. “Just for the summer.” You lied.

“Hm.” He leaned forward and kissed your nose. “Okay. But if you become super famous, don’t forget about me.”

“Ha! Okay. I promise.”

-------

“So… an ex?” Steve asked again, pacing your bedroom. You sat on the foot of the bed watching him.

“Yeah. He’s not someone I really talk about.”

“You never thought to tell your husband that you have an ex who also has superpowers and maybe crazy?” He looked hurt.

“Well, I don’t want him in my life so I just pretend he’s not real.”

“What did he do to make you give him your cold shoulder?” He sat next to you and pulled you into his lap. “I’ve only seen you turn your back on one other person. Who of which I was surprised to hear from today.”

“Right around when I met you I was working at Berkeley with some very important research… like cancer ending research.” You took a deep breath. “I was close to a breakthrough but then we went to Sokovia where I got my abilities. When I came back Riley had realized that I was still working with the Avengers and had been hiding it. He destroyed everything I had worked for with him.” Steve hugged you. 

“Sorry, I got so mad.”

“Haha, It’s okay.” You took the sides of his face and went in for a kiss when the door busted open. 

“Dude, I cannot figure out your guys coffee machine-” Bucky stopped when he saw how we were situated. “Oops. I should have..”

“Knocked. Yeah.” Steve chuckled. “I’ll be right there Buck. Just shut the door.”

“Sorry, Y/N.” He quickly shut the door. 

“I love Bucky too. But why is he living here?” You asked.

“Because he needed a place to stay. It’s just temporary.” He gave you a long kiss. “I promise.”

You gave him a cute smile. “Fine. But after a month I stop cooking for him.”

He gave you another kiss. “Deal.” You slid off of him so he could go help his best friend. “I love you.” He called to you as he walked into the other room.

“I love you too.” You said but you could also hear Bucky say in a sarcastic tone. You laid back in bed thinking about the part of that story you didn’t have the heart to say.

-----

You walked into the lab the Monday after everything had gone down in Sakovia. You weren’t really paying attention until your foot crushed a piece of glass. You looked around confused and then your jaw dropped. The entire job was destroyed. You held your hands together because they started to shake so much.

You ran for your research and saw the rest of your tests broken and all over the floor. 

“Hello Y/N,” Riley said from the corner of the room making you jump. “Or do you have another name you use while playing superhero with Bruce and the Avengers.”

“Riley…” You looked at his hand and saw them covered in blood. “Did you do all this?”

“It’s not like you needed this research. You are probably getting paid enough. Is that where all the funding has been coming from! You said it would only be for a summer and that was more than half a year ago!” He threw down another glass instrument making it shatter and making you angrier. 

“Riley… Please stop. I have to tell you something.”

“No! Why were you lying to me! You and I did all the same things in college. And we have the same fucking degrees! So why the fuck do you keep getting opportunity after opportunity! I thought we were going to do everything together. That’s what you said when we graduated! You are mine! Not the fucking Avengers-”

“Shut up!” You screamed and fire shot from your hands making him squeak and jump.

“What did they do to you?” He asked concerned. 

“Nothing it was my fault.”

“They’ve changed you. You're a freak now!”

You didn’t know why but that turned a switch somewhere in you. You weren’t a freak. You were still you. How dare he! You snapped making fire and electricity shoot from your body. It was so bright you couldn’t see anything until it suddenly stopped and you could see.

The entire room was on fire and in front of you was a charred up body. You instantly regretted what you did dropping to the floor and pulling him close to you. 

“Riley?” You sobbed looking at his face. You couldn’t recognize him anymore. “No. Riley. I’m so sorry.” You hugged his body. “I didn’t mean to.” Your vision was blurry from the tears. The fire alarm went off and the sprinklers went on. You looked up as you got water sprayed on you. You knew someone would be here soon so you placed Riley down and ran out.

----

“Y/N! You want coffee or something?” Bucky asked, peaking in the door. “Y/N?” 

You blinked a few times and looked up at him. “What?”

“You okay?” 

“Huh? Oh. I'm fine. I'll just have some hot chocolate.”

He sat next to you and raised an eyebrow. “You sure you’re okay?”

You nodded. “I'm just wondering how Riley survived.”

“Well now that you mention it. While I was kept at the place where you were taken I once saw a young guy around your age. His face was scarred.”

“Must not have been him. He looked fine when I saw him.”

“He changed his face. That's why he was there. They injected him with something and after that, he was able to make it look like he was fine.”

“Hm..” you thought. “He… was caught in a fire.” Half the truth. “So he might have had some damage.”

“You two okay?” Steve peaked in. 

“We are brainstorming.” Bucky grinned. 

“When I saw Riley he was able to stop me and Wade from moving. And you said he could hide the scar on his face. Hydra must have pulled him from the fire…”

“What fire?”

“I'll explain later!” You jumped out of bed and pulled on the first thing you saw which was work out gear. You squeezed into the black skin-tight capri pants and tossed the white loose shirt over your head and stuck your arms through the holes.

“Wait where are you going?” 

“To see Bruce.” 

“The facility? That's a bit of a drive for the middle of the night. He won't even be awake.”

You laughed. “Trust me. He'll be up.” 

-------

You knocked on his door a little too quickly. Tony had given him a room at the new facility. It was much fancier than the one you ever had there. It had a door that connected him to the lab. Lucky!

“What! What!” He opened the door and was shocked to see me. “What happened?”

“He's enhanced!”

“Riley?”

“Yes. I don't think it was telekinesis. I think it had something to do with blood.” You walked past him into his lab and grabbed a needle and stabbed it in your arm.

“Ow! Whoa calm down you're gonna hurt yourself.” He reached a hand forward but didn't stop you. You pulled a tiny sample and then proceeded to put some of the samples on a slide and put it in a microscope. “What do you see?” Bruce asked curiously.

You pushed it towards him. “Should blood cells move this way?” He peaked in and pulled his head back.

“They’re hardly moving?” 

“There is supposed to be movement! It’s because my blood is still readjusting to being moved forcefully! He must control blood.”  You sat down on one of his stools and smiled at him.

“Why are you happy about that? That's terrifying!” 

“It means we can find a way to stop him.” 

Bruce sighed. “Okay. How about you sleep here tonight? I'll call Steve.” 

“I’m an adult, I can call him.” 

-------

The next morning you were rudely awoken from your half-asleep ness when the first thing you heard was “Good morning!” from Tony.

“Yeah…”

“Wow. You aren’t a morning person?”

“What made you think I was?”

“Well, you are married to the one person in this world that is a morning person twenty-four seven.”

“He’s not a morning person either.”

Tony’s jaw dropped and you didn’t think he was joking. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah. He’s better than me but he’s not easy to wake up if he doesn’t have anything important to do.”

“Are you talking about me?” Steve said as he pulled a seat up next to you. 

“Honey!” You hugged him tightly.

“Are you surprised?” He hugged you back and kissed your forehead.

“I am. I'm surprised Bucky didn't keep you up all night with all his talking.” A hand smacked the back of your head making you turn around to see Bucky giving you a dirty look. “Am I wrong?”

“Yeah. You made Steve boring and he wanted to go to bed shortly after you called him.” Tony handed Bucky a cup of coffee. 

“How did I make him boring?”

“You married him!” 

“I'm pretty sure he asked…” you sipped your drink and gave Bucky an equally dirty look. You and him might have some complications later. 

Steve looked back and forth at the two of you. “Are you two going to start bickering?”

“Shush.” Both you and Bucky said in unison. 

You sighed. “Sorry, Bucky. I didn’t sleep well. My brother’s bed is not comfortable.” 

“What did you guys figure out?” Steve asked.

“Riley can control blood. Probably. Hydra must've saved him when the fire happened.” You said the last part almost too fast but no one really noticed.

“Do you have something to counter that?” Steve looked at you.

You shrugged, “I’ll mess around in the lab today.”

“While you are busy doing that Steve can help me with something else.” Tony smiled.

“Like what?” 

Tony Smirked, “Nothing too important.”

--------

“I heard you saw her yesterday.” The voice said over the phone. Riley shifted a bit uncomfortable.

“I don’t really want to talk about it. She’s still a monster like before.”

The voice chuckled, “So are you now. Finish her off and then report back in person. I have a new mission.”

“You got it, boss.”

[jaeminlore]

Catch a Wave | Jeno

summary: baby go catch some rays on the sunny surf, and when you catch a wave you'll be sittin on top of the world words: 2.3k category: fluff, surfer!jeno, this is rlly soft i'll warn you now a/n: i had to look up celsius degrees for this story

Of all the ways you can think of spending your summer, it certainly isn't chauffeuring your younger cousin around Salos while she visits. Of course, her parents are paying you a decent sum for doing it — after all, you are giving up a month of your summer — but you can't tell if listening to her chatter twenty-four seven is really worth it.

Liv, at fourteen years old, is certainly the more outgoing of you two. She's already found a few locals her age to hang out with. Unfortunately, you still have to be there, chaperoning lamely while three girls chat about how hot the resort's lifeguard — Na Jaemin, your former classmate —  is.

You've decided awhile ago not to tell them that you've seen the same lifeguard passing secret kisses to someone under the pier. It was better to let them run their boy-crazy fantasies.

Besides, Jaemin was certainly not the only boy whose charm the girls have fallen for. They'd already gushed about Jisung, the cute and awkward biker that hangs out at the lemonade shop. Or Mark, the handsome yet completely awkward skater who always seems to be at the boardwalk.

But most importantly, they like Jeno, who offers surfing lessons at the university's private beach. They gush about him the most: the way his dark hair looks soft despite it's constant exposure to the salt water, the way his skin darkens under the hot sun, the way he speaks gently to everyone he had lessons with, encouraging them to do their best.

"Not to mention," Liv had interrupted one day, "he has abs. I mean, it's like a whole four-pack."

"Really?" you replied, turning a page of your mystery novel. "That's interesting."

"Apparently he's had, like, seven girlfriends this summer. He's like the island's bad boy."

You don't want to invalidate her most likely well-researched conclusions, but Lee Jeno as a bad boy? The boy who feeds stray cats on his way to school and gets flustered when people bring up his talent for surfing? The boy who attends shark rallies to fight against the stigma that all sharks are harmful? The boy who cuts plastic drink holders so dolphins won't get their snouts stuck? The boy who cleans the beach in his spare time? The boy who won't eat or drink from anything unless it can be recycled?

Mr. Reduce Reuse and Recycle as the island's bad boy?

"Oh?" you muse, holding in a giggle. You put your book down, because somehow the small girl in front of you is much more interesting than a murder house mystery. "Are you going to be his eighth girlfriend?"

Liv sticks her nose in the air. "I'm going to try."

"How are you going to do that? Follow him around the island?"

"No, I've convinced Dad to get me weekday surfing lessons, as long as you'll lend me your board."

Part of you laments yet another part of your day spent as a babysitter. The other part, however, thinks this is a show you certainly wouldn't want to miss.

☼

Liv's first lesson is the following morning, and she dresses in her matching bikini and rash guard, which looks quite adorable on her. She gets you to braid her hair, then somehow charms you into buying her an iced coffee.

Your only conclusion as to why she'd bring an iced coffee to a surfing lesson is that she thinks it'll make her look cool. Though, you're positive that the only way Jeno would only think coffee was cool is if it were in a biodegradable cup.

When you reach the small section of the beach where the lessons are, you spot a few other kids and teenagers trying their hand at the sport. Some are still practicing their wading ashore, while others are already riding waves.

You wish you were out there. The water looks especially welcoming today, and not to mention the sun is beating down at a sweltering thirty-nine degrees Celsius. Even just sticking your toes in the water would perhaps cure your desire to swim.

You don't want to complain. After all, Jeno does these lessons daily, and probably doesn't get to surf as much as he'd like. At least you'll get two months of summer to yourself when Liv is gone. Jeno is in this never ending loop of kids who watched Teen Beach Movie and think they're the next Tanner Danger.

Speaking of Jeno, he's a few yards away, eyes trained on a young boy who seems to be struggling to catch a wave. He looks deep in concentration, so much so that you pull Liv back from disrupting him.

This gives you a chance to study Jeno. Though you've seen him around school, this was quite possibly the first time you've truly noticed him.

He's wearing a black wetsuit, but it's unzipped halfway, so that the torso part hangs off his waist. His bare skin is paler than Liv described, almost as if it didn't quite know how to absorb the rays. Your eyes catch on his soft smile that grows inch by inch as the boy in the ocean finally manages to catch a wave. Jeno is suddenly whooping with joy, his toned arms rise high above his head as he shouts praises towards the boy.

Soon the boy is back on shore, surfboard tucked under his arm and a triumphant smile on his face. "I didn't eat sand this time!"

"You didn't!" Jeno shouts, wrapping an arm around the boy's neck and ruffling his hair affectionately. "I'm proud of you!"

The moment seems raw to you, and with heat creeping up your neck, you glance away. Sometimes there are exchanges you feel like you aren't meant to see, where people are far too vulnerable to be watched. This feels like one of these moments.

Trust Liv to not give a rip.

She grabs your wrist and pulls you down the beach until you're right in front of Jeno, staring at his surprised expression with a baffled one of your own.

"Y/n?" His voice is soft and baritone, and there's a surprised lilt in the back of his throat that makes you curious.

Your eyes drift to his beaded necklace, one you remember from his "save the sea turtles" campaign he started at school. The small turtle charm wetted from wood was a good thing to focus on when Jeno's eyes felt too intense. "Hi, Jeno. This is my cousin, Liv. She's here for surfing lessons."

"Oh!" Jeno brightens. He turns to Liv and greets her with an exciting smile. "Have your parents signed the consent forms?"

"Yeah," Liv bats her eyelashes at him and hands him the form. She makes sure to brush her fingers against his, which is a power move you're sure you would never have the courage to do.

Jeno reads over the form and gets Liv on a surfboard in no time, leaving you to mess around on your phone for an hour.

☼

"Wouldn't you like to surf with us?" It's Liv's fourteenth lesson, but she isn't the one inviting you. Instead, it's Jeno, with wet hair that curls over his eyes and a smile that could rival the sun.

Your eyes drift from his face to the ocean, where Liv is with another surfing instructor. Jeno's on his break, and he's taken to sitting with you during lunch. A half-eaten apple rests in his palm, turning brown from the oxygen. He takes lazy bites as he waits for your answer.

"Liv has my surfboard," you say. You turn off your phone and set it on your thigh, turning your full attention to the handsome boy beside you.

"How long have you surfed?"

You hum, "A few years. More for recreation than anything."

"Me too. I love it, but it's not my end goal." He turns to you with a shy smile, "I want to be a conservationist."

"Aren't you already?" You think of all the times he's advocated for the ocean and what lives in it. All the parties he passed up because he had to go clean up the beach.

Hues of pink spread across his shoulders and neck. "Ah," he rubs the back of his neck, "Thank you, but there's always ways to improve. I want to work on protecting sea turtles, and figure out ways to lessen pollution."

There's a certain feeling of pride one gets by listening to someone voice their passions. Like a wave — no pun intended — of love and hope that soars over your head and settles somewhere in the depths of your heart. That's what it feels like listening to him. That's what makes you fall in love.

Your revelation is stilted by Liv's loud cheers. She's finally caught a wave, and you're sure she's going to talk your ear off as soon as her feet hit the sand.

"You're off tomorrow, right?" you ask Jeno on impulse.

The sun makes the crown of his head seem to glow as he peeks up at you, palm over his brows to shield him from the sun. "Yeah, why?"

You feel nervous all of a sudden. "Maybe we could surf tomorrow morning? I heard the waves will be really good. Or if you're tired of surfing, we could get shaved ice. Or if you don't want to hang out with me at all—"

"Y/n," Jeno says, and the way he says it is gentle; kind. "I would love to hang out with you tomorrow. Meet me here at eight?"

"Yeah," you breathe, "okay."

"Good. It's a date."

☼

It's midday, and both you and Jeno are sitting astride your surfboards.

Jeno's board is covered with a strip of azure blue in the middle, and stenciled sea turtles patterned with white hibiscus flowers. It's beautiful, much like the boy who owns it.

You can't help but think Jeno deserves the most beautiful board on the island. And with the way the afternoon sun casts beams of light onto his face, spotlighting his straight nose and relaxed smile. When he cranes his neck and basks in the direct warmth, you feel as if you've caught yourself an angel.

Not that he is yours in any way, but just the fact that he's chosen to spend the day with you makes your mind churn with the possibility of something more.

As if he hears your thoughts, he turns to you with a curious gaze. "Would you like to get some shaved ice with me? My friend can get us a discount and I could walk you home while we dry off..?"

The more he talks, the redder your complexion becomes. Your heartbeat quickens, and you nearly forget to agree before you lay on your stomach and began paddling for shore. "Last one to the beach has to pay!"

"No fair! You got a head start!"

Despite his protests, Jeno makes it to the beach first. He pushes his bangs off of his face and holds his hand out for you to take.

His hand feels warm in yours. His palm is slightly calloused, but the way his thumb automatically brushes across your knuckles distracts you before you can mention it.

There's a small wooden cart parked on the beach, close to one of the boardwalk entrances. White paint peels off of the weather-ridden wood, but it's hardly noticeable when there's a giant rainbow umbrella over the entire thing. In chipped red paint, the cart reads "Rainbow Ice", and the fact that you can see the colored syrup bottles form a rainbow makes you think someone couldn't work here and ever be unhappy.

And you are right, because Chenle is perhaps the cheeriest boy you've ever met in your life. He doesn't just give you and Jeno a discount, he gives you free cones and pumps extra syrup onto each. You both get cherry, but Jeno mixes his with lemon syrup.

Then Jeno is walking you home, not holding your hand anymore since he needs both of his to eat his ice. But you're bumping shoulders with him every few steps, and neither of you seem to be complaining about the small shock of joy that runs through you every time your skin meets his.

Then you're both rounding the corner to your house, cones of ice forgotten and left in your neighbor's trash can.

Jeno stops, and so do you. "Y/n, I like you." He blurts it out, most ungracefully and very nearly comedic, like choking on a chunk of ice.

"Do you now?" You're giggling, and from humor or joy you aren't sure, but all you can do is laugh.

Jeno's bottom lip is tucked between his teeth. "Just let me know whether you like me back or not," he whines.

Your fingers are still sticky with cherry syrup, but neither you or Jeno seem to care very much as you cup his jaw and bring your lips up to meet him. His lips are soft, sweet and sour and oh so addicting, and you can't help but feel a small itch near your stomach when he lets out a deep sigh.

He walks back to the beach, mostly to collect both your surfboards from where he made Chenle hold them. You'd get yours in just a bit, after you changed and ate a proper lunch.

Liv stares at you as soon as you walk into the house, shivering from the influx of cold air. "What?"

"Was that Jeno? Did he come to see me?" she squeals, ignoring your denial to text her friends.

You bound up the stairs with a smile painted over your cherry-stained lips.

If only she knew.

[trophywifejimgordon]

pre show hcs: jim & oswald

backstory headcanons under the cut; i’m putting these two together because they’re the most polished and also because i’m a gobblepot bitch at heart. a few barbara and fish ones snuck in as well, if that’s your cup of tea 👀👀👀

When Peter Gordon is still alive, he shows his sons (Jim and his younger brother Roger) his favorite western movies, which Jim retains a taste for all his life. Jim especially loves 3:10 to Yuma*, both back then and in the present, because of Ben Wade--honestly, he doesn’t realize it (and would never admit it), but his first crushes were on those gentlemen outlaw types. Seems like nothing ever changes.

Jim idealizes his father completely and withdraws into himself entirely when he dies. He’s angry & sulky as hell at first, which only gets worse when his mother remarries--he picks constant fights with his stepfather, who isn’t such a bad guy (he genuinely loves Jim’s mother and he and Roger get along, but then, Roger doesn’t have as many memories of Peter, and he doesn’t have Jim’s temper), but when years pass and Jim’s still in that angry, mourning state, things eventually get brutal. He leaves home senior year the second he turns 18, finishes the year couch surfing, and doesn’t look back. Enlists in the army because there’s no way he can afford college on his own and he stopped caring about his grades once his home life went to shit, so he’s not exactly first in line for scholarships. Spends the majority of his senior year with his high school sweetheart** Barbara Kean, whose parents tolerate him because he’s walking proof that she’s straight after all.

Ha.

Jim breaks up with her messily right before he enlists; she handles the breakup poorly (combining with her parent’s neglect to give her some pretty severe abandonment issues that will rock their relationship years into the future) and spends her first year of college at a prestigious school her parents kind of buy her way into (but kind of not, too; she’s a very talented artist with a passion for art history as well as a perfectionist driven by her parents’ expectations when she was in high school, and if things hadn’t gone as they did with James, she might have excelled at that university) completely wasted. She flunks her first semester and her parents pull her out in an outrage and stash her in a local Gotham school to save face, where she meets Renee Montoya, a very promising student with a criminal justice major who is brilliantly talented and in fact got accepted to Barbara’s fancy college all on her own, but couldn’t pay tuition. She pulls Renee into a toxic cycle of drug use and affairs and being miserable, tries to make her both everything Jim is and what he isn’t, and they circle around each other for the whole of their college careers through increasingly tumultuous make-ups and break-ups that wreak havoc on both their grades and their mental states. Finally, their last year of college, Renee breaks it off, apparently for good, and pulls herself up to good academic standing in the school and joins the GCPD soon after, while Barbara does nothing with her degree but laugh at it for a while, spending her life mostly between parties and hangovers.

Jim had one or two encounters in high school that might have been recognizably Not Straight, but he really finds out he’s bi when he’s in the army, stationed overseas with about 30 other men and no women whatsoever in his platoon. He fools around mostly--not particularly interested in falling in love or even really in lust--but accidentally forms a close bond with fellow soldier Eduardo Dorrance, with whom he starts sharing dreams and fears and hopes for after the war in between quick and cheap late night h*ndjobs. They fool around just enough that Jim knows it’s more than friendship for him, and for Eduardo too, he thinks, and that realization shows him what he probably already knows; this is nothing new to him, not really (understanding that puts everything in a new light for Jim and he looks back on some of the interactions he’d had and thinks oh--the way he’d always change fast in the locker room, looking at the walls and making no eye contact, making sure he’d never look around because he couldn’t bear for his eyes to linger and leaving as soon as he’d tugged on his shirt and tied his shoes, the uncomfortable attraction he’d had to that particularly strict football coach junior year, the claps on the back and knocks to the shoulder he’d give friends, feeling the contact for long afterward), and at the end of his service he just finds himself surprisingly comfortable with men, perhaps more than he’d ever been with girls back in school. That’s... pretty much the only thing the army makes him comfortable with. While he’s there, he becomes increasingly disillusioned with the United States military and the war he’s there to fight. He starts getting in arguments with superiors, and only escapes a dishonorable discharge by the fact that he’s shot in the stomach and sent home with a purple heart first.

(When Eduardo comes back to the States on leave and shows up at his doorstep hoping to reconnect, pick up where they left off, something, Jim throws him out with an anger he’s never quite felt before and can’t understand afterward, and that’s it for them... until recently.) 

Jim makes a full recovery and decides, while he’s in the hospital, that he wants to get a job where he can just help people--at first thinking idealistically, thinking about being a doctor or a lawyer or a case worker--someone he thinks could really make a difference. He starts trying to find a way to make this work in Gotham and inevitably runs into Barbara Kean, whom he reconnects with, and soon, she’s offering to fund his education and go back to school with him, and he can’t say no.

They move to Chicago, where Barbara goes to school and Jim takes night classes and works during the day to pay for their shitty apartment that he still couldn’t afford if Barbara(’s parents) weren’t footing the bill.

He gets through two years of school and leaves with an associate’s degree, feeling like he’s good for nothing. He wakes in the few hours he does get to sleep with nightmares from the army, and while Barbara is moving up, selling a few of her pieces and organizing galleries and rubbing elbows with high class people, he can’t find a career that does what he wants to do. Drinking in a bar one night (he does that increasingly regularly, coming home earlier and earlier in the morning and sometimes not at all), Jim sees a man trying to take advantage of some lady there and beats the shit out of him. The police are called, and Jim nearly gets arrested, but the lady steps in and begs them to let him go, saying he’s a hero. The cops give him advice: you want to be a hero, stop getting drunk in bars. Join the force.

Thinking that the army has ruined him for any career that doesn’t involve guns and violence, anyway, Jim joins the police academy. He moves back to Gotham while Barbara stays in Chicago, and graduates top of his class, the oldest recruit they picked up that year. He does his time as a uniform cop at a smaller precinct outside of Gotham, but his (sparse) education and military background, not to mention the reputation his father left behind as DA, mark him for better things, and within a year, he’s promoted to become a homicide detective at the GCPD. Barbara moves back to Gotham (back into the apartment she’d lived in since her undergraduate years, a big penthouse she’d never quite been able to let the lease run out on, for reasons that surely have nothing to do with the woman who still held the other key to it) and sets up her own studio and shit, and he moves back in with her, asks her to marry him, and everything gets all picked out. Jim starts the job investigating the Wayne murders. The rest, we know.

*The 1957 version, because somehow it seems like blasphemy to conceive of modern movies in the Gotham setting

**Okay, so this isn’t entirely accurate to Gotham canon. There’s a part in season one where Harvey is deconstructing Jim’s love life and says something along the lines of “let me guess: high school sweetheart, hoes overseas only made you sad, and then there’s Barbara,” which Jim more or less acknowledges. I guess the first time I heard it I misinterpreted the line and thought it meant that Barbara was the high school sweetheart, so by the time I realized that wasn’t it, I was already in deep with the headcanon... oh well. I explored that idea in this fic over here, if you’re interested. 

Now, Oswald, on the other hand... Oswald Cobblepot spends his childhood as the weird kid with the strange clothes and the faint foreign accent. He brings goulash to school in a thermos and is too close to his mother and has no friends whatsoever, but spends a lot of time at the library and, in his early years, gets top marks in all his subjects. He’d be a shoe-in for special attention or even a place at the prestigious private school on a merit scholarship, but that the teachers don’t like him very much (there’s some prejudice against him for his single mother and his accent, and for the smug way in which he knows everything they ask of him and more) and do nothing to help him get ahead. 

When he starts high school, Oswald decides to try and make friends. He kicks his accent to start talking more like the other students, and does his best to socialize, mostly with other kids in his smart classes. For one ephemeral semester, some of the girls find him cute and take him under their wings, inviting him to study and go to the mall with them. He’s definitely their “gay best friend,” although he doesn’t know that (doesn’t realize he’s gay) and in hindsight resents them for it. He does their homework for them and generally lets himself get walked all over in the interest of having friends for the first time in his entire life. It goes pretty well until they start inviting him to hang out with them when they’re with their boyfriends, and Oswald (who’s also never had a crush in his life) falls hard, still not realizing that what he’s feeling is attraction. He’s overly nice and asks the guys a lot of questions and offers them things and generally just fawns, which kind of freaks the dudes out (and naturally they get mad about it) while the girls get pissed off that he’s flirting with their boyfriends. Eventually, they just go back to bullying him like everyone else, and Oswald is alone again.

Oswald deals with Gertrude’s mental state on-and-off throughout his life. She’s a loving mother, and in her better times she reads to him and teaches him to cook and tells him stories of her childhood (though never of his father). In her worse states, she can tend toward paranoid and delirious, a product of her childhood fearing the secret police* while living in poverty, and can even lash out toward Oswald, thinking he’s someone else, or else refuse to let him leave their apartment, because she’s afraid he’ll leave her for better things like Elijah had. When he’s much younger, there’s a string of abusive boyfriends who give him a warped perception of what “love” and dating look like--ultimately, he’s pretty turned off to the subject. They either ignore or physically hurt Oswald, and hurt Gertrude emotionally, physically, and s*xually, especially when she’s in more vulnerable mental states. These states get worse as he grows up and starts coming home with increasingly bad injuries--she’s furious about the bullies, but doesn’t do much but smother Oswald in attention he grows to resent. 

Because of her instability, she’s in-and-out of jobs as a cook or a house cleaner, and they spend most years impoverished, Oswald having to mend his own clothes because they can’t afford new ones. Between caring for her and worrying about where dinner’s going to come from, Oswald’s grades start to slip, and eventually he drops out of school halfway through his senior year to work two jobs, as she’s too far gone to support them. He spends his days at a department store as a clerk (working retail is all the backstory Oswald needs to justify his misanthropy, lbr) and his nights as a dishwasher for some seedy bar he’s not old enough to visit. To make things harder than they should be, Gertrude is resistant to him going out, as she’s sure that he’s going off on dates with a hussy that he’ll eventually elope with. He still loves his mother, of course, but he’s starting to grow resentful of her mental illness and the degree to which he’s suffering--pushed around by assholes at work, up at all hours, hardly getting more of a rest than his lunch breaks and the hour between his shifts, and seeing his future as essentially ruined because of how high school experience turned out. Still, he has no obligations greater than his devotion to her, so he sets his teeth and bears it. Builds up a crazy level of patience, stamina, and pain tolerance, as well as a flood of negative emotions at the whole world. Every once in a while, on his rare day off, he’ll sit with Gertrude and and read her her novels, like she would read to him. She seems better during times like these; sometimes she’ll have him let her take over reading, and she’ll pet his hair. Sometimes she even has enough clarity to realize that she’s putting a huge strain on her son, and weeps, apologizing; he feels guilty, then, for all the resentment he’s got, all the times he thought about just running away. He works longer hours, tries to pay for medication for her. It’s showing improvement in stabilizing her moods, but at the same time, he’s operating on the edge of collapse.

Right when Oswald figures he can’t take it anymore, something changes: a young, fearsome Fish Mooney comes into possession of the bar Oswald works nights at and decides to change it into a respectable nightclub. She’s Falcone’s wunderkind, making him the highest profit margins, and so she gets pretty wide range for what she’s allowed to do. Most of the staff, she fires for boring her or for having the wrong “look” for her establishment, but when Oswald grovels to keep his job, she decides he’s funny, and besides, the groveling fuels her ego. She, like those girls at his high school, takes him under her wing; she first buys him a new suit (he takes eternal pride in it and washes it nightly; it starts off his obsession with fancy dress and presentation) and then gives him a list of jobs: he has to tend to various things around the bar and do a few humiliating chores, not the least of which include cleaning toilets, rubbing Fish’s feet, and carrying her umbrella. It’s demeaning, but honestly, he’s too thankful (then) to give much of a shit. 

She tells him to quit his other job so he can follow her around all day, and he protests that he’ll never be able to feed his mother--to which she responds that he’s getting a pay raise effective immediately. She’s got a soft spot for poor single mothers, after all. Now he’s got both a well paying job and more time on his hands than before--Fish is demanding, but not as demanding as two full-time positions. Used to working his ass off constantly, Oswald spends his newfound free time both entertaining his mother and studying to make up for the years of high school he missed--he gets his GED, and passes with flying colors. Thinks briefly of the life he could have had as an academic, but pushes that behind him. Too late to regret what’s already gone. Plus, he’s got a good gig--Fish is amused by him, but she’s also slowly starting to value his advice (if it’s given appropriately timed and with no one else around, a lesson he learns with great difficulty), and slowly trusting him with more of her secrets. Many nights it’s just the two of them at the club after hours, her complaining about some new issue, him doing petty accounting for her over a glass of wine. And as time goes on, Oswald starts to realize that Fish is Falcone’s most trusted ally, and he’s her most trusted employee. He’s got everything he’s ever wanted--his job’s enough to keep him and Gertrude above the poverty line, his mother’s mental health has at least partially improved, and he’s gaining influence in the mob. He’s not that surprised to find he’s got no qualms about this--the mob has given him shit he’s not gotten anywhere else, and after being put down and miserable for all his life, he finds no injustice in hurting other people to pave his way. When Butch Gilzean offers him a bat and lets him have a go at beating the shit out of some goon, the guy on the ground is everyone who ever made fun of his accent, every shitty guy who beat on his mother. It’s a good match for him.

So for a while, he’s content.

Then... Well, for the first time in his life, his basic needs are met without fighting every day to survive. Basically he’s tasted blood and he wants more, so when he realizes what Fish is planning to do about Falcone (sees it months before she even dares speak the concept out loud, in fact) he wonders if he couldn’t damn well do the same. 

So he starts listening. Writing notes at the end of the day, little tidbits of information. Who’s in on her scheme. How she’s going to do it. Moves she’s anticipating from him, and from Maroni. All the while, he’s planning. At the same time, the stress she’s under is coming out in the form of more abuse on Oswald’s head, and he’s growing more and more resentful of her. The first step of his plan becomes “replace Fish in Falcone’s inner circle.” He bides his time for nearly a year before the opportunity to set things into motion presents itself....

The Waynes are murdered. Gotham plunges into the deep. Oswald finds a way to survive.

*Isn’t there an episode where Gertrude talks about selling out a girl’s parents to the secret police? I feel like I distinctly remember that. Anyway, I’ve always felt like she was traumatized to a certain degree and the influence it has on Oswald is something we don’t talk about enough, so...

[bigskydreaming]

notjustawave replied to your post:

If the only evidence of a character not being...

me seeing ppl act like deadpool movies are the pinnacle of representation like i HAVE to laugh

Like....we’ve been hearing this “oh, progress takes baby steps, one little thing at a time” crap for our entire lives, and guess what? With the exception of representation created by actual marginalized creators who manage to get a platform for it against all odds, most other so called representation from major studios and companies and franchises looks barely any different from the scraps they were giving us twenty years ago.

Baby steps my ass. Just say you’re trying to keep marginalized viewers on the hook watching your stuff without pissing off the homophobes and racists enough that they stop watching your stuff. That’s what it comes down to. That is the only reason most representation is still half-assed, blink and you miss it.

Major billion dollar corporations and highly successful and influential actors who makes millions off every movie honestly have people bending over backwards to say they’re trying or progress isn’t easy and it takes time, like these people are actual victims and like....boxed in by the evil homophobic society or whatever....instead of the tastemakers whose prioritization of straight white heroes for generations is the reason we have to fight so hard to get actual representation in the first place! 

They’re not powerless to do more in the face of a still largely homophobic society, they’ve just made the conscious choice that they care more about making sure homophobes still buy tickets to their movies than they do actually making a difference.

And like, if that’s what they want to do, then fine, they can do that, but what kills me is this idea that we’re supposed to be grateful for whatever little hint of not-straightness or not-whiteness that they shine a spotlight on for 2.5 seconds in a movie before its back to business as usual.....as though they’d do more if they could, really they would, but that’s just the best they could manage because The Homophobes and the Racists, y’see.

The movie Deadpool only happened because Ryan Reynolds wanted it to happen so badly, he wouldn’t let the project die in development hell. He kept making the rounds himself, kept the push on to keep new scripts for it getting made, and he has enough star power and a big enough fanbase that he was able to make it happen when lots of other actors couldn’t. There’s that post going around about how there’s a Bea Arthur T-Shirt he wore in the movie that they had trouble getting in because copyright stuff, so he paid $10K out of his own pocket for the licensing stuff to go through. And on and on.

Like, these aren’t small, innocuous things, they’re a display of the fact that people have power and influence in Hollywood and use those things every single day to get what they want or do things they care about. If the Deadpool production team and star really WANTED Deadpool the character to be the kind of meaningful representation they’re obviously all too happy to accept accolades for having provided already? Then they absolutely had the power to to give Wade an actual romantic history with one of the men in his films, or even one of them as an actual love interest or reciprocated flirting with one of them responding to his come-ons with like, interest of their own. Because notice how that suddenly, magically, turns what WAS just Wade obnoxiously using suggestive humor purely aimed at getting an audience laugh rather than an actual reaction....into two men having a moment like happens hundreds of times throughout every other summer blockbuster between a man and a woman and given the same degree of consideration and attention.

And yes, before someone comes at me with ‘bi and pan people don’t need to be in a romantic or sexual relationship with the same gender to be bi or pan’, like yes, thank you, I, a bisexual man, am aware of the fact that I remain equally bisexual when single, dating a man, dating a woman, or mid-orgy. My sexuality is not dependent on anyone or anything other than my own identity.

But we’re not talking about a real life human being’s identity here. We’re talking about REPRESENTATION, which is a thing created deliberately by human beings making conscious choices about what they want to display and what they don’t, and their reasons for both.

So yes, a bi or pan character is still bi or pan whether we see them kissing the same gender or not, but you can not act like a living bi man’s romantic and sexual interests being driven by his own unique choices as an individual....this is NOT the same thing as a bi or pan character who just so happens to be romantically interested in women love interests save for the occasional suggestive joke aimed at the nearest male character.

Because the former is born of that real life bi man’s entire life, experiences, personality, his BEING. The latter is born of human agendas and creative decisions and studio politics and yes, the fact that Fox and the Deadpool production are more than happy to throw LGBTQ+ viewers just enough table scraps that they’ll stay invested in supporting it, but not so much that it might risk them losing tickets in large numbers from the homophobic sector of their audience.

If I ignore the five men in my vicinity and focus on the one woman because I feel more of an attraction or connection to her for whatever reason, I get to do that because I am my own person, and people can assume whatever they want about what my motives or thought process might be but guess what? It doesn’t matter, because my choices are for me and me alone.

If Deadpool ignores the five men in his vicinity to focus on the one woman, its NOT because he feels more of an attraction or connection to her, because HE DOESN”T FEEL ANY OF THOSE THINGS. He is a fictional character. He only feels and acts upon whatever the writers decide he should feel and act upon, and THEIR motives and thought process absolutely get to be called into question, because they are not individuals making personal choices that are for them and them alone, they are creators of content that benefits and profits from the positive responses and continued support of whomever they choose to cater that content to in order to gain their support and positive response.

And bottom line, they still care more about selling tickets to homophobes than they do about creating real, positive, meaningful representation, and like....people should say that?? We do not owe it to million dollar franchises to say thank you, can we please have some more because of whatever they deign to dole out. Not while still blatantly making it clear PS, glad you liked that little moment there in Act Two Scene Five but tbh, we still care more about not pissing off the dude who lives in his parents’ basement in Kansas and has five guns and every Deadpool action figure ever made and cries into his pillow every night because Sara Lee rejected him when he asked her to his high school prom because he’s weird and ugly and nobody understands his pain like Deadpool, who is also weird and ugly and thus he NEEDS him, and just because he makes dumb jokes to guys onscreen sometimes, that’s no big deal, everyone does that sometimes, its not like he’s REALLY into guys, that’d be weird and also he can’t be because then he wouldn’t be like that homophobic shitbag who lives in his parents’ basement and trolls LGBTQ+ fans on twitter with “Lulz, dumbass losers, just accept that Deadpool doesn’t really represent you and never will, he’s OURS.”

They understand what actual representation looks like, because they’ve been representing the infinite shades of Shitty Straight White Human Being for generations now, and every single straight white man in Hollywood has a story about the character they identified with most as a child and made them want to write or act and basically shaped their entire life.

They know what actual representation looks like and what it means, but they have no interest in providing it so long as it might alienate who they see as the real moneymakers still, knowing they can still keep marginalized viewers watching by doling out the bare minimum and saying “there’s more coming, its just progress takes time, we need to take baby steps” like they’ve been doing for actual, literal decades, with very little actual change to show for it.

Sorry not sorry, but you tell me here’s five cents for you and hand me a nickel and then turn to the shitbag human being standing on the other side of you wearing a GOD HATES GAYS T-shirt and say “and here’s a twenty dollar bill for YOU, don’t spend it all in one place, lol” and then you and he share a hearty laugh while I’m standing there holding a fucking nickel?

LMAO, you can keep your five cents, you’re not like....actually doing me any favors there and I’m not going to feed your ego by pretending you did anything other than give me a shitty fucking nickel you probably picked up off the sidewalk.

[asflowersfade]

Ficlet: For Zoe Kimura

A MacGyver what-if story. What if Mac was on the R. V. Bancroft, too? Or, 33 survivors become 32 in the end. Jack’s POV. Retelling of episode 210.

Jack can feel the military plane shake and rattle around him. He’s sitting on the hard, unupholstered bench, dressed in his warmest clothes because the cargo hold’s not exactly toasty. And there’re boxes of provisions everywhere, held in place by strong netting. But he doesn’t pay attention to any of that. After years and years in the army, he’s used to traveling rough and this was the best that Matty could find him at such short notice.

Besides, his mind’s elsewhere. As he sits there with his elbows propped up on his knees, staring down at his gloved hands, all he can think of is Mac. Mac who took a few days off after his latest brush with death to nerd out, to just be a geek for a week, to travel to some arctic research station dealing with-with penguins or icicles or who-knows-what. And instead…

Jack rubs his face hard. He should’ve gone with him. He knows that bad shit happens when Mac travels anywhere alone. Bad shit happens when they travel together, too, but at least then he can keep an eye on the kid and make sure he gets home in one piece, sometimes a little bruised, sometimes a little charred around the edges, sure, but alive. And mentally sound.

But this time, this time Jack had other priorities he thought couldn’t wait, namely Elwood. Elwood who’s now sitting locked up in one of Phoenix Foundation’s cell in protective custody while Jack’s flying north to be where he should’ve been from the start: by Mac’s side.

Jesus. How could have Jack known? It was a stupid geeky trip on a stupid geeky college research ship with a group of 31 college geeks and their teacher. It should’ve been safe. As safe as the Arctic Sea can be, that is, but since Jack has yet to hear of any terrorists or madmen prowling the Big North, he thought Mac would be alright. And instead…

Yeah, instead. Instead, an explosion killed the captain and the crew of that ship and stranded the geek squad in the middle of nowhere at negative 56 degrees with help more than 12 hours away. And yet, with Mac on board, the situation wasn’t hopeless, they were dealing with issues as they arose and everything was just… fine. More or less.

Until the ship’s hull was crushed and ripped apart like a wet tissue. Not even MacGyver can stop icebergs from behaving the way icebergs usually do: they plow through everything. Stranded ships included.

Jack will never, ever forget the sound of metal tearing and twisting under enormous pressure. And he’ll never forget Mac’s look, his expression in the moment he realized what was happening and how it would all end. He’ll never forget because he was right there with him, through a satellite connection, they all were - he and Riley and Cage and Matty - following their friend’s fight for survival live through a webcam, unable to help, unable do anything but pay witness... and be there for him when he needed it.

Like when he did the math and arrived at one simple conclusion.

One hole. One room. One door…

One door that could only be closed from the inside.

And one person who would have to die to save everyone else.

Jack remembers every word Mac told him. He can still see his pale face, his lips turned blue from the ice cold water that he’d been wading through for long, long minutes by then. He can still hear his perfectly reasonable, calm and accepting voice...

“If I don’t seal this door right now, the whole ship will sink before the coast guard can get here. I did the math myself…”

And then Jack yelled. He yelled and he raged, he even threw things. And then he begged. He begged and he pleaded, don’t do this, Mac, please, help’s only thirty minutes away, don’t, please, please…

“I can’t risk the lives of these kids, Jack. I won’t…”

Never before in his life had Jack felt this helpless. He wanted to reach through the screens and throttle the self-sacrificing idiot. He wanted to shake him and hug him and never let go…

The plane jumps and drops, hitting a hard turbulence, and Jack’s torn from his reverie. He can feel the nose of the craft dip as they head for descent. In a few minutes, they’ll be on the ground and there’ll be a car waiting for him to take him to the harbor where he would wait for the coast guard’s icebreaker to come in, carrying the survivors from the research ship R. V. Bancroft.

32 of them, not 33.

Soon now.

Jack’s there when the icebreaker finally comes in, delayed by a storm out on the sea. He’s been waiting there for hours, in the harbor master’s office, staring out into the breaking dawn, patiently, quietly.

He’s there, on the pier, when the students file out, ushered away by the coast guard to be taken to a warm and cozy hotel in the city where they would wait for someone from the university or maybe their parents to come and pick them up, Jack doesn’t know. Nor does he care. He’s there for someone else.

There. On the gangway, coming down last with a duffle bag dangling loosely from his hand. Mac. He looks pale, washed out, his red parka seemingly the only splash of color on him. He’s shuffling down with his head bent low, drained, sad and broken.

When he finally notices Jack waiting for him, his head shoots up and he freezes, and Jack can see clearly the dark bruise on his forehead, so stark against his skin. The bruise that under any other circumstances would make Jack’s blood boil - but now he’s glad to see it. Because that bruise saved Mac’s life.

Zoe Kimura saved Mac’s life. With a lead pipe and more guts than Jack thought possible.

Because that’s what the pretty teacher whom Mac liked so much - Jack could tell - did. She hit Mac over the head, knocking him out. Then she dragged him from the room and locked him out - and herself in, sealing the door from within with one stroke of a match.

Room sealed. Hole sealed. One person’s fate… sealed.

Jack stayed with her those last few minutes. He stayed and he talked to her and he kept her company till the very last moment. Because it was the right thing to do. Because he liked the girl who geeked out about icicles with Mac on live feed and who craved ice cream while trapped on ship in the Arctic Sea.

And because Jack was grateful to her. He hated to see her die - if he could, he would’ve traded places with her in a heartbeat, he wouldn’t hesitate! - but if that had been Mac in there… Jack didn’t think he would’ve survived watching the kid die.

For Zoe Kimura, Jack cried. For Angus MacGyver…

He did ask her why. Why she did it when all she had to do was stand back and do nothing.

Her smile was as sweet as it was heartbreaking when she told him, “I couldn’t have let him die for us. These are my kids. My responsibility. My choice…” She paused then and as the water started choking her, she added, “Tell him I’m glad I met him, okay? That I wish we got to share that ice cream. I know a great place, he would love it…”

And he will. Jack will tell Mac all that. Maybe on their way back. Maybe over a beer, safely at home. They will talk about Zoe Kimura and about the sacrifice she made to save his boy’s life. About her death that broke Mac to pieces.

Jack waits for Mac to reach him. And when he does, Jack doesn’t say anything, he just folds Mac into his arms and holds him tight. For a long time, Mac doesn’t react at all, he simply stands there rigid and unmoving. Then, dropping his bag, he slowly hugs Jack back, fisting his hands into the back of Jack’s sky blue parka, hiding his face in Jack’s shoulder.

Jack’s willing to stand there till the end of time if that’s what Mac needs, he’ll hold him together and he’ll hold him up, anything the kid needs. But in the end, Mac pulls back and Jack lets him. Mac’s eyes are red-rimmed, their blue shade even starker than usual.

“Can we go home now, please?” Mac asks hoarsely, blinking hard.

Nodding, Jack bends down to pick up Mac’s back. “Yeah, buddy. Let’s go home.”

[ridleytheknight]

Games and Piercings Part 2

Since so many of you asked so kindly, here we are my lovely starlings! All the love to @ohwhataprettypinkhat for being my friend and helping me so much to add to her lovely prompt. You’re the real MVP here!

—

           The planet was interesting to say the least. It wasn’t humanoid enough to mistake it for earth. But it also wasn’t foreign enough to mistake it for another alien planet. It was a strange disorientating mix. Though Lance could feel the extra gravity weighing on him, his arm was buzzing with a strange numbness too that felt heavier than the rest of his body. The lion on his arm almost feeling like it was real and digging into his shoulder and not just alien ink.

           On the surface of the planet it was mostly rocks, dust was kicking up everywhere and Lance was pretty glad that they were keeping their helmets on for this mission. Who know what kind of dirt would get into his empty piercing is he took off his helmet in these conditions. Lance frown as his arm throbbed. Though, he supposed he had worst problems than that. His arm wasn’t moving easily. The shoulder not at all. Wasn’t that his shooting arm? Fuck. A hand on his shoulder jolted him out of his thoughts.

           “Are you alright Lance?” Allura was there, a soft smile only reserved for him was there on her slightly pink lips. Lance smiled back reassuringly.

           “I’m alright gorgeous. Though, do you know what’s in alien tattoos, it’s just ink, right?” Allura paused to think, a hand slipping down comfortably to the others waist as they walked together, almost looking like brother and sister with their familiar actions and similar skin tones.

           “I believe so, though the different colors might come from flecks of sea rock material since your tattoos are in fact blue. Why do you ask?” Lance held back a grimace. Rocks often held metal, didn’t they? His arm was probably being dragged down by the gravity of the planet. That, was something to work around. How was he going to shoot if he had too? Well, thank god he was ambidextrous. He’d have one arm to work with at least.

           “Ah, nothing Allura, just curious after someone asked me about it.” Allura took the excuse with an easy nod as Lance followed the other, still star stuck, paladins to the diplomat’s chambers. Smiling at Lance with a now smug smile. Those other paladins had nothing on Allura, she loved them of course, they were her paladins. But god were they dense. At least Lance was getting a little attention now. Allura frowned.

           But, how did anyone see the tattoo while Lance was in armor?

           Allura shrugged it off. It was probably one of the paladins that saw Lance before he suited up. Lance probably avoiding saying who it was because he knew she was still upset at the rest of them for ignoring their team mates. Allura brushed off the thought and swept back into the room. Lance out of his armor was the first thing she saw before she looked around. Feeling relieved that it seemed it was a safe place as everyone was coming out of their battle suits.

           The tan Cuban boy wince as his arm failed to move to pull out the chair in the meeting. The buzzing was much worse than when he’d been in the suit before. It was like a physical ache that was trying to claw him down into the ground. But Lance ignored it easily, shuffling into the chair awkwardly and cradling his arm discreetly in his lap. Trying to take the pressure off of it, which worked to help Lance a little bit as he silently cursed himself.

           Of course, he’d thought of the piercings being metal, but he hadn’t thought of the metal concentrate in the big ass tattoo of his main shooting arm. Luckily, it was going to be a short visit. Just a peaceful meeting and negotiation. And the leader had assured them all that the chambers were a clean safe place to take off their armor. So, Lance didn’t think he had to worry about getting sick or infected with something. -He’d already dealt with a space illness, never a-fucking-gain please-The lean boy relaxed against his chair as Allura came up and sat beside him with a hand on his shoulder in a quietly affectionate gesture that had Lance smiling almost unnoticeably like an idiot. Leaning slightly into her touch as the meeting went on. He could feel the rest of them staring at him, but, he couldn’t quite bring himself to care. She was the one that was always there for him, and if she was still willingly to smother him with attention than that was fine by Lance. The others were still, friends in a way, it wasn’t like training with them had stopped, or all conversations. They just didn’t pay attention when it mattered… or maybe Lance just had the shittiest timing to try and start conversations in the world.

           Either way, honestly, Lance had spent months trying to get their attention. And it hadn’t worked. If they wanted to actually have a conversation and a relationship with him. They were going to have to put in the work to make it not one sided. So, they’d have to come to him this time.

           That was fair, right?

           His arm groaned quietly as Allura’s grip adjusted lower. His shoulder was almost slinking out of its joint in near dislocation. God, how strong was the fucking gravity here? Lance felt like something was compressing his chest. But he still smiled, sending a small glance at the clock. There would only be about ten more minutes before Lance could suit up and they’d all head to the castle to call it a day. Until the meetings tomorrow which Allura would be handling alone. The paladins were honestly just for show to the public. Lance knew how the game went. Though, he had been going with Allura these past few meetings, and gotten quite well versed in the diplomatic and intricate ploys of politics. Knowing how to play the people charmer helped his learning experience too. He thought he’d skip this one.

           As much as he whined playfully, he didn’t really like to complain unless it was for dramatic and comedy purposes. Besides, his shoulder would probably just need a break in good gravity and some rest to recover. It already felt better when he took the weight off of it by leaning it against the table.

           Damn, he could only imagine how Shiro was feeling right now. His whole fucking right arm was metal. Wasn’t it? Shiro didn’t really seemed that bothered by it. Galran, druid magic bullshit right there. What the fuck. True, he kind of did this to himself though. He wanted the big ass ocean and lion themed tattoo to be blue to represent his beautiful girl, and now he was going to pay the god damn price.

           Eh, it was only for a mission. One planet. Then it would be onto the next.

           A meeting that was now finally over and god no Lance forgot about getting up and staying up with his arm trying to pry itself out of his body. God fucking damn it. Lance gritted his teeth as he forced his burningly numb arm to move and put on his helmet for him. Holding his breath and stumbling his way to the castle which gave him almost immediate relief. His arm jolting back into his socket and almost feeling as light as air. The pain and ache was wading away slowly. Lance wanted to laugh in relief. Allura nudged him.

           “You alright? You’re distracted on me.” Lance grinned.

           “You mean, I’m /spacing out/ on you gorgeous.” Allura paused, before sneering in disgust as Coran smothered a laugh down the hall.

           “I’m disgusted that I actually set you up for that one. Coran. I need a healing pod, immediately. Lance infected me with stupid.” Coran wondered down the hall, ignoring the other paladins filing into the room.

           “Ah princess Allura, don’t worry. Me and my boy can teach you all you need to know in the ways of bad puns and dad jokes. I’m quite sure of that.” Lance smothered a smile.

           “Hello Quite Certain of That, I’m Lance.” Coran turned to him with a similar sneer of disgust to match Allura’s previous expression.

           “Never mind. Throw him in the healing pod. Anyone with that bad of a sense of human has something wrong. Allura hold him down and I’ll shove him in the pod.” The three looked at each other as Allura grabbed Lance’s shoulders slowly, before the three of them burst into laughter. Lance almost having tears running down his face from how hard he was laughing. Cause the paladins who had trickled in to stare.

           “Coran my man, I already hold the record for most healing pod visits. Do I get a prize for that by the way?”

           “You’ll get a prize when you win a battle and don’t have to use the healing pod.” Lance whistled.

           “Damn, those are some high requirements you have.” The two laughed as Allura looked back to the paladins who were all staring longingly and curiously before catching her gaze. She smirked and clung to Lance a little tighter. Him unconsciously leaning into her embrace as she gave a smug look.

           Coran and Allura have played favorites, and it was damn obvious who was the favorite one of the batch. The other paladins would just have to deal. Allura turned back her full attention to Lance and Coran and rejoined the conversations as the others lingered silently. As if waiting for a chance to speak with the blue paladin, a chance that from the looks Allura and even Coran were sometimes shooting them, would not be happening in the near future.

           “Lance, you either need the healing pod all the time. Or refuse it when you desperately need it.” Lance looked indignant.

           “You shush your pretty face princess! It was a small infection for a minor injury. I was lightly stabbed. And my belly piercing was new! Who knew when we’d get to the next planet that could do that kind of piercing would be! I didn’t want it to get healed over!” Allura laughed.

           “Lance, you had an over 100-degree fever, which even you conceded to tell us was not normal for humans. You were sweating bullets and constantly tired and I barely even touched your wound before you almost shrieked and collapsed onto yourself. How is that even considered minor in your mind?”

“I mean, I didn’t die. That counts.” Shiro froze. Lance had an infection? When was that? And he didn’t ask them for help? It was almost terrifying. They were so caught up in their own lives and projects they hadn’t noticed their teammate suffering a severe injury. And obviously a long time ago with how lightly they were talking about it. It wasn’t a fresh topic. Which it really wasn’t. (It seemed like every spa night they had Allura would give him shit for that as he did her face mask. In between seconds of her scolding Coran for eating all their cucumbers and listening intently to Lance’s ramblings about his family of weird things he’d seen on the latest planet. Or his slightly odd, slightly funny obsession with mermaids.)

Shiro was flabbergasted and almost heart broken. He’d missed seeing this paladin grow up so much. What else had he missed with the Cuban boy. Did he miss any developments with the others? Was everyone else feeling as guilty as he felt? Keith was never an easy person to read, but it was easy to tell when he was having an inner battle with himself and it was clear as day to Shiro what today’s battle was.

Torturing himself for not noticing his interest being hurt, not noticing the little changes and the new quirks. Wanting to both murder anyone that had hurt Lance and wanting to clear the air. And the battle of how he could even approach the topic, much less apologize for not noticing the blue paladin for so long.

God, they all loved him so much. Yet they hadn’t even seen the changes or noticed them. How had they been so caught up that they didn’t even notice their friend anymore?

What could they do to fix this?

—

           It was true, the mission only lasted a few days, and after Allura pried the knowledge of Lance’s tattoo literally dragging him down she let him hang around and do chores with Coran for the remainder of their time on the planet. But something still wasn’t feeling right with Lance. It still felt hard to breath, and sometimes it hurt to even open his eyes in the morning. As if they dark was almost too bright for him to handle. The dizziness was worse though. It felt like he was constantly on a tilt-a-whirl. And Lance was only thankful that he wasn’t nauseous. Though he had a feeling that people were starting to catch on to him feeling under the weather.

           People kept bugging him. First it was Keith. Doing random shit, and almost acting like they used to. Small bickering. Challenges. But Lance didn’t know how to react anymore. His instincts and personality were intact, so bickering was easy. But he was tiring out easily after the last mission for some reason, by the end of their argument Lance really wasn’t up to sparring. So, Lance just brushed away with a smile. He knew Keith was looking at him weirdly, but Lance was honestly too tired to care.

           Hunk invited him to hang out in the kitchen and bake and Lance was happy to do so, until the loud beeping of kitchen timers and the heat started to make Lance feel like he was on the worlds worse fair ride and he wandered away with a reassuringly smile. Ending up in a quiet dark room with Pidge, which was like heaven. Low maintenance social interaction, a dark room, and comfy seat. It was damn nice and probably his favorite interaction with Pidge at the moment as they just enjoyed the silent moment. Pidge showing her attention with simple gestures, like leaning on Lance or small nudges every now at then.

           Next interaction, was not so pleasant as Lance finally faced it. His fears about getting infected with something through the holes in his face had come true as he woke up with a throbbing headache, pale skin, and a flush that almost made him look as red as the lion that mullet man piloted.

           In other words, he was sick as hell. And the first person to see him bundled up on his bed, half delirious with a fever? Not Allura or Coran or even anyone else. Just Takashi fucking Shirogane. Basically, the last person Lance would want to show weakness too. Shiro was almost Lance’s hero, despite the long rough patch of Shiro basically not noticing a thing about him except in training or battles. Who the hell wants their hero to see them sweating bullets and almost crying from how bad of a migraine they had?

           No fucking one. That’s who.

           Honestly, the only thing that was keeping him grounded from a freak out was playing with his tongue piercing. A small habit he’d developed over the months of having it. And maybe the fact that Lance was only really half aware of what the hell was going on as his door slid open with an ear grinding click. Letting more light that Lance really wanted or liked into the room as Shiro walked in with quiet, but still too fucking loud, footsteps.

           “Lance? Are you awake yet? You weren’t at breakfast, so I came to check on you.” Huh, it was past breakfast. It felt like the middle of the night. But that still didn’t explain why Shiro was here. No one ever batted an eye when he missed breakfast. Usually he just spent breakfast with Blue because of the fact he was never really hungry in the mornings.

           “Lance?” He was freezing and hot at the same time, but nothing compared to the feeling of Shiro’s human hand on his forehead. It was warm and cold all at the same time. Though Lance had no doubt his forehead was probably sweaty and gross and he felt a little bad that Shiro touched him when he felt disgusting and was probably contagious, but nice too. Because he was feeling a little selfish and god damn it Shiro’s large hand felt really fucking nice on his skin.

           “God, you’re burning up. Shit. Uh. Fuck. Can’t leave him like this, but, shit. It’s alright Lance, I got you.” Honestly, to Lance. It sounded more like freaking out that handling it. But that was just Lance. And he wasn’t about to complain as Shiro tucked him in more firmly with another blanket switch to place his cool metal hand on Lance’s forehead as he murmured into the com just barely audibly.

           “Yeah, he’s got a fever and I think a headache. Do you have aspirin or Tylenol? No. No! It’s a human medication to help people with pain and fevers. No, I don’t know if anything else is wrong. He’s breathing a little funny, fevers can do that to some people on earth. Thanks Coran. Yeah, I’ll keep an eye on him.” And Shiro went quiet, gently running his fingers through the gorgeously maintained brown hair that had the colors of a tropical sea intertwined in it.        

           “I’m sorry Lance. I’ll be a better leader, I’ll pay more attention, and I swear to god you won’t ever feel like you’re being ignored by me or us ever again. I promise that to you right now, and I’ll keep telling you that every day if I have to. Just. Please get better and let us get that chance to make it up to you.” Lance’s lips quirked up in a small smile despite him feeling like shit.

           It almost felt like, things were going to be alright.

           Maybe, it was time to put the game to rest.

           He had a new family now after all.

           They loved him a lot too.

Part 3!

[ideasforresearchingbetterspaces]

7th & 8th December

Digbeth First Friday at Vivid Projects and hosting Masters of Something

19:49 // 37.54 minutes Conversation transcript from tutorial with Cathy Wade

LS: I started making a rug just because I was interested in learning how to make a rug. And without me thinking about it, it was really about creating a safe space for me to have a seizure because I have epilepsy, and it was really about making a safe place for me to exist in a moment of heightened precarity.

How do you navigate yourself from a house with these kinds of spaces, to places where these spaces don’t exist? working class culture to something else? I’m not sure what that is because I definitely do not have the financial security that being middle class has. I grew up in Walsall and my parents had financial limits, so money was always a small thing. I’m proud of that. But now there’s always a bit of guilt that comes with being in an art school, where I’m sometimes teaching and doing an MA in arts education, and that isn’t working class – it’s not the working class I came from anyway and I’m often looking for safe spaces to be myself.

CW: I regularly fall out with a friend of mine, almost to a row, telling her she hasn’t got the foggiest idea about what she’s on about. She’s almost got this thing where she thinks working class culture is this thing where there isn’t really a culture; it doesn’t really exist. And I have family that have come from railway building, working in the pits, living in mining villages in miner’s accommodation and they grew vegetables and read books, they knew what they were doing, they were always informed. Somehow, we’ve lost that narrative where we’ve ended up with this idea that if you’re working class, you just have an interest in entertainment and that’s it, or your life revolves around going to the pub. These cultural things don’t fit in. I think there’s a real loss and it kind of suggests that if you’re going to make an impact in culture then you have to modify yourself. How do you think you have shifted?

LS: I dunno whether I have ‘shifted’, I’ve just become more confused like, for example, I was talking with Whipps about Jorja Smith who is a singer who went to my high school and she grew up like any other kid in Walsall, somewhat with piss all money and a thick black country accent but yet I hear her on the radio speaking, and I hear myself speaking in certain situations and the way we speak is completely different from when we grew up. And the same with Whipps, he grew up in Wolverhampton, yet you can’t hear that in his voice. You come to an institution and you speak with academically charged people with higher degrees or whatever and the way you speak just changes without you even really realize it. I think it’s just this working-class culture coming into an otherness where you feel like you just don’t belong and you try to change it. Losing accents become an easy way of doing that to disguise a layer of yourself you don’t want out on the table to discuss. When come into a university, or an art gallery, how do you enter the building without leaving an important part of who you are behind.

CW: Do you lose out on two different spaces? I can look back at where my family lived or where I’ve been brought up and we had a mixture of social clubs and spaces, and I can go back to it and completely understand it if I’m not in the social club I feel like a complete alien. I kind of found that with Longbridge, when I first started working with long bridge I was really interested with the social clubs and everyone kept asking why and I was like “because that’s where all the people are”.

LS: I can kind of relate. All of my family have been coal miners, all the men died in their early 50s from lung cancers from a life from 14 years old in the pits, my dad has worked in factories all of his life, all the women have been stay at home moms, and I’m the first person in my family to have gotten an A Levels, yet alone gone to uni and done an MA and really feel like I’m going somewhere new.

CW: There’s a really interesting correlation you’re talking about how that kind of space in which you can be epileptic or that space that’s safe but also this space that actively in a way I suppose how arts professionals has a sense of what arts professionals are. What makes them. I had my mother who was a complete overachiever and just went through it all, so you know basically I had things a lot easier on the basis of what she’s done so I wasn’t breaking the mould, it was just that thing that she’s done it and I was like oh that’s fine, that’s what you lot do. But what I find really interesting is that I go back and I see the family I don’t see very often, and we’ve all got the same interests, we just do them in different ways, so my aunt and my intersts are so similar except she expresses it through a community club and occasionally takes the local community on walks, and then I think about what I’m interested in and it is exactly the same except we’re both using completely different systems. There can be that absolute sense of refusal that can be really interesting where why should it change you? It was always that really big narrative that for working class families where if you wanted to get on, you’d have to lose your accent and then you’re acceptable and you don’t bare any weird signs of being anything else.

LS: I’ve noticed when my dad is on the phone, he develops this weird accent kind of like I do but like he doesn’t have any control over what it’s doing. For me it probably started when I went to uni when I was 18, so for the last 7 years I’ve unlearned my own accent, and now I’m realizing that, and I feel guilt. I’ve kind of forgotten how to pronounce words like how my mom does in order to cover the otherness. It becomes quite difficult when you try and undo all of that.

CW: There’s a really interesting thing that for years and years and years we had that kind of culture that if you think ill of every kid who comes from that kind of background where money has a certain financial limit and that effects how you dress, what you do, how you act, where you go, where you won’t go, and that kind of compared with what happens when people have privilege? And it quite often ends up wanting this weird authenticity that comes from these prescribed ideas.

LS: Walter Benjamin talks about ‘konvolutes’ which extends from an academic or literary sense of what intermediate relationships are in order to meet far-reaching sociological perspectives or what he describes as ‘a world of secret affinities’ or ‘mirror worlds’ and I thought do I really need to distinguish between all of these stages of research that I’m emotionally floating in and between more or less advanced ‘realized’ work… Whatever the fuck realized work even materially is or isn’t. How do make this? What the most useful thing I’ve done is throughout the whole of my post grad studies is conversations with mainly artist educators and me making work about stuff that isn’t about those conversations at the moment feels like a waste of my time. I need to figure out how to document this so it’s useful to me before it’s useful to anyone else.

CW: You’ve been on a really focused journey of research. However, you want to reflect this has to reflect what’s interesting to you. Don’t think about the people looking at the work, think about yourself in this and this works for you. What do you communicate? That alien-ness, it isn’t there, you’re generating the audience for this. All good artwork doesn’t let the behaviour of how the audience interprets the work, because the artist doesn’t give a shit. It would be a real shame for you to try and mash this into a form that limits it.

LS: Just now I was drinking with John Walker hahaha what the hell and the thing that really interested me was that he said he hates exhibiting because it’s so nuclear and it isn’t an important part of his practice process. I’m starting to think ‘fuck me, there’s got to be more important ways of me showing how I work’ because the people I want looking at it, aren’t really in art galleries, and they’re not really in art schools.

CW: Test it out this Friday with generative thoughts and see if it’s useful to you. See what happens. Utilize yourself and create something. Do something with that long piece of MDF that just sits there.

LS: So, going on from what the hell is realized work, I like that Walter Benjamin kind of a-likens this uncertainty to a mollusc’s shell, where it’s more entirely material that ever and more spectral alongside realism and essentially ambiguous in situations. Going back to this convolutes, I’m really interested in this assemblage of printed materials, manuscripts, and just STUFF, that belong together, and I think it’s really important for me to consider how I create visual or readable dialogue between a number of different works. I discovered a new word, phantasmagoria which is where a person enters to be distracted but as soon as I learned this word, I realized I throw others into phantasmagoria before I talk about what it is that’s really interesting me. Like a decoy, I’d drop “oh well I’m not really sure what I’m doing” when in actual fact I know exactly what I’m doing, I just don’t really want to reluctantly talk about it with someone I have to fight to keep their attention. In which case, I am nervous, and I’d really rather just keep it to myself.

CW: So there’s this book which I can’t remember the authors name but I’ll send it to you but it’s thinking about goth culture from a black American perspective and it starts to talk about histories of lynching, horror, and never really fitting in with this strange movement. It’s always about this positing and being outside how someone is accepted. It’s something that starts to articulate how you exist in spite of something, how do you exist when there’s these constant questions about belonging or territory or how much these people willingly give up and we know it with the art world because there’s so many artists who continue to have practices because they’ve got access to funds or access to a particular lifestyle where they can afford not to work 3 or 4 days of the week where if most of us look to that, we end up in crazy amounts of poverty.

LS: “Human beings are no better provided with what they need that the everyday world but in which they are freed from the drudgery of being useful” and on this note of usefulness or useful art, whatever that is anyway I don’t know, I came back to Tania Bruguera on Arte Util as a form of social art and to create or imagine something that’s useful or of a beneficial result and I think it’s important that its consistent and forms as an entry point to all audience, which goes back to how we started the conversation about how to we invite an epileptic into a space or how does a working class person feel not compelled to leave a piece of them behind when they walk through the door? How do you walk into a building without leaving an important part of who you are behind? How do we all contribute to something more useful? How do we feed of an organisation or institution as parasites but be careful not to damage the host where an exchange or sometimes in-exchange can happen?

The conversation continued...

Further reading: The Function of the Studio, Daniel Buren (1979): MIT Press