#(some of which are...incredibly dark and unfortunate and live in the dark recesses of their subconscious)

[shuvva]

tfw you keep accidentally making your characters plural-coded through different forms of transhumanism, multiple timeline, and supernatural/possession shit

[valhahazred]

Some Shoggoth "gods".

Ubbo Sathla is the living factory from which all Earthly life descends.

While it is made of physical matter from Earth, its design seems to mimic some of the less metaphysical aspects of Yog-Sothoth. The Progenitors had an understandable awe of the Outer God and sought to wield similar power themselves. This may have been what lead them to deal with the Outsiders and create the Polypous Ones.

Although Ubbo Sathla itself is lost, the Stones of Ubbo Sathla can still be found. These petrified atemporal fragments of the "god" can show a wielder visions of all Earthly life. They are frequently sought out in hopes of finding either Ubbo Sathla itself or the monoliths of Elder Knowledge it guards. Unfortunately it is easy to be overwhelmed and lost in the countless lifetimes before your soul is absorbed into the mindless psychic network of the first Shoggoths.

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Abhoth, the Dark Fission of Ubbo Sathla.

In an attempt to upgrade Ubbo Sathla, the Elder Ones fed the living factory some of the milk of Shub Niggurath. Ubbo Sathla rejected the foreign biomatter and with it, a part of itself. That piece continued to spawn but instead of the mighty Shoggoth, it only created useless monstrosities. The Progenitors sealed it away far to the north, where it could not bother them with its foul offspring.

Abhoth still lives in the deep recesses it was sealed away, beneath Greenland ice in what was once Hyperborea. It spawns and eats its creations in an endless cycle, with only a rare few able to escape their devouring parent.

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Bucca Shug became free in the midst of a massacre. As it devoured the guardians of a Serpent village, something within it made a connection. The dissolving mind of a sorcerer taught it many things, from freedom and magic to hatred for the winged crinoid things that had used it as a weapon. Even Bucca Shug does not know if it was a final spell or mere chance that gave its victim this moment. Still, Bucca Shug was not yet free and hundreds of Serpentine minds joined its collection before it was done.

It returned to its masters and in the moment between orders, destroyed them.

In the millions of years since, Bucca Shug has devoured countless sorcerers and plumbed incredible depths of Sothic power. In its tarry body float the bones of dead wizards, semi-animate and still aware. It can even call them forth as puppets, earning Bucca Shug another name, The Lich Lord.

It currently resides in Cornwall, where it accepts magical sacrifice for magical secrets. Over the ages entire sects have annihilated each other just for the chance at an audience with the Magovore.

[mostlycompetentwriter]

TMT One-Shot

F/M Pairing: Y/N x 3racha (Stray Kids)

Word Count: 8K

Genre: High School AU

Warnings: Lots of smut and language; mentions of alcohol

Summary: Y/N is the shy, awkward girl who can’t talk to boys while doing her best to exist as a shadow throughout her high school life. Her two brothers, Minho and Felix, are the complete opposite. Minho is the cool, suave music addict who wants to be in his own band one day, while Felix is the stereotypical popular kid whose best friend, Han Jisung, tirelessly trails after his friend’s older sister. However, despite their differences, the three siblings share a very close relationship and Y/N considers them to be her only real friends. 

One day, Minho brings home two classmates from his community college and Y/N realizes, for the very first time, that the sweet taste of desire is highly addictive.

When my mother died, I was only 10-years-old. She slipped away like a ghost, quietly and without notice, and I was left feeling broken on the inside. If I was a therapist, unlike the contemptuous older woman who always spoke to me with a condescending tone, I’d likely attribute the traumatic event to the person I started to become. 

Instead of bouncing back from her death like my brothers Minho and Felix, I started to feel sad all the time. Accordingly, I lost many of the friends I met in Elementary school because I chose to sit quietly in my classes when I didn't feel like talking to anyone else. Likewise, I also declined their invitations to visit their houses or ride with their parents to the movie theaters. Actually, I exchanged those friendships for the solitude of my bedroom at home where I usually spent the evening staring vacantly at the ceiling while trying not to cry anymore.

Yeah, I guess it was kinda my fault.

Overtime, my status evolved from the kind, amiable Y/N who everyone at school admired, to the sullen and despondent weird girl who sometimes spoke to imaginary friends. I spent recesses inside with my teachers, helping them clean the whiteboard. During lunch, I sat alone with my school tray and thought about how my mother used to pack my lunches for me because I complained about the mystery meatloaf....Oh, right, thinking about my mother inevitably made me feel sad again and sometimes I cried at school in front of my classmates. 

Needless to say, my youth wasn’t exactly as voracious as my peers...or even my brothers for that matter. Actually, Minho and Felix were perfectly normal because they mourned our mother’s death for several months before inexplicably moving on as if it had never happened. Thereafter, Minho developed a passion for music and my father allowed him to take guitar and piano lessons after school. Felix started to play sports and he was quite good at baseball despite his smaller stature. Likewise, in between classes, I heard my classmates frequently gossiping about my brothers: mysterious and alluring Minho who all the older girls adored, and popular and beloved Felix who was the envy of our classmates. 

I didn’t mind being considered an outsider in comparison to my brothers because they still treated me like a friend. In fact, my brothers and I were extremely close, especially after our mother’s death. Despite my introverted tendencies, Minho and Felix often went out of their way to include me in their activities. For example, Minho liked to offer his demos as background music for the raunchier parties in our town and he always begged me to come along and hear his new songs. My older brother was so incredibly talented that I rarely refused his offers, finding myself sitting next to Felix in the backseat of Minho’s car while we drove across town to the wealthier districts. I would spend the rest of the night hanging around my brothers while listening to Minho sing about everything from his ex-girlfriends to the pot he liked to smoke with some of the younger guys.

In any case, I could always count on my brothers to liven my spirits, which might explain why I was so uncomfortable when Minho graduated and applied for University. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing because Minho was only driving thirty minutes everyday to attend his classes and he still lived at home. But it still felt like an unwanted change, and I wasn’t sure how to cope with my brother’s sudden desire to build a studio in the basement of our childhood home while he brought new classmates to fawn over his equipment.

Thankfully, I managed to avoid the unfamiliar faces, and I started spending more time with Felix. Unfortunately, spending time with Felix inevitably forced me to endure the endless pandering from some of his more unsavory acquaintances. For example, when I wanted to play video games one afternoon, I knocked twice on Felix’s door only to find myself in the company of someone who was decidedly the complete opposite of my brother. His name was Han Jisung, and he was Felix’s best friend. “Y/N,” he said quietly, sheepishly attempting to fix the mop on top of his head. “How are you?”

“Fine,” I said, glancing over Jisung’s shoulder. “Where’s Felix?”

“Bathroom,” Jisung said, pointing at the door. 

I groaned. “Are you busy?”

“We’re never too busy for you,” Jisung smirked, but he always flirted with me shamelessly as if he didn’t care that I was Felix’s older sister.

I ignored Jisung when I walked into Felix’s bedroom, finding a relatively clean spot on his bed to wait for his return. In the meantime, Jisung lingered by the doorway, watching me with those ridiculous dark eyes. “I heard Minho made another demo.”

“He’s always making demos,” I replied, wondering why Felix was determined to take his time for once.

“Yeah, but he’s really proud of this one.”

“Minho thinks he’s a genius,” I said. “If you were to ask him, then every song he made would be a masterpiece.”

“Well, he’s the reason why I've started to pursue music.”

“You?” I scoffed, finding the idea of Jisung as a creator of anything other than enormous messes on the kitchen counter to be nothing short of hilarious. “Jisung, you can’t even finish your math homework.”

“That’s not true!” Jisung protested. “It’s just not that interesting, and I like music so it shouldn’t be a problem.”

“You’ll find something else to like in a few months,” I said, watching as he frowned with that ridiculous pout he always wore when he wasn’t getting his way.

“Yeah? Well, when my first mixtape comes out,” Jisung grumbled. 

“I’ll be the first one asking for an autograph,” I teased him, rolling my eyes when he sat next to me and held up his pinky finger.

“Promise?”

“Fine,” I sighed before trying to move further away from Jisung.

He didn’t allow the space for very long, sliding right up against me without any traces of his previous frustrations. “Y/N,” Jisung said, hand reaching out for my shoulder. “There’s a party this Friday.”

“I’m not in the mood for a party,” I said. “I have a lot of homework this weekend, and-”

“Actually, Minho invited us,” Felix interrupted, and I didn’t even realize that my brother had returned. I was also surprised to see Minho behind him, stretching his arms above his head like he had forgotten to sleep again last night.

“You’re going too?” I asked Minho.

“It’s Chan’s party,” Minho explained. “He’s playing some of my demo tracks.”

“Bang Chan,” I repeated, narrowing my eyes because I had heard my brother mention that name dozens of times. Actually, if I didn’t know any better, then I would think Minho had some kind of infatuation with his new college friend.

“I think Minho is in love,” Felix teased, dodging Minho’s playful swing before he joined Jisung and I on the edge of his bed.

“He’s just a friend from one of my lectures,” Minho said. 

“Minho also thinks he’s a genius,” Felix whispered to me, but it was loud enough for our brother to overhear. 

“You like him too,” Minho protested.

“Felix met him?”

“Last week,” Felix beamed. “Minho and I ran into him on the way to get coffee. Your lazy ass was still asleep at 12:00.”

“Shut up,” I grumbled. “I stayed up late to finish an essay.”

“College will kick your ass, Y/N,” Minho said. “If you can’t survive high school literature...”

“I get it,” I groaned. “I don’t want another lecture.”

“Good, but you’re still coming to the party because I want you to meet Chan and hear your brother’s masterpiece.”

“Please stop calling your mixtape a masterpiece.”

“I’ll consider it,” Minho smirked, “as long as I see you at Chan’s house this Friday.”

“This is considered blackmail, Minho,” I sighed. “But fine, I’ll need the time and address, please.”

I stood on the porch in the frigid cold wearing a party dress that might’ve been overkill, and I had a desire to return to my house because nobody was answering the door. Actually, when I really thought about it, this complex was too nice for a college student, unless Chan had discovered Blackbeard’s treasure or something. I snorted at my own joke, waiting impatiently for someone to let me inside because my brothers weren’t responding to my text messages. 

The music sounded faint from behind the door, which made me wonder if Minho had given me the wrong address. It wouldn’t be the first time that my brother gave me some kind of misinformation, but I thought he really wanted me to come tonight and hear his music. “Hello!” I yelled, banging my fist against the door. “Minho? I’m leaving in exactly ten seconds if nobody lets me inside!”

I started the countdown in my head, jumping up and down to warm my muscles, when a sudden expulsion of heat relieved the tension slowly numbing my fingers. “There you are,” Felix said with a drunken smile.

“Isn’t too early for you to be plastered?”

Felix giggled. “They’re playing Minho’s music next.”

“Well, let me inside you asshole,” I said, pushing my way into the house because my brother had clearly forgotten that it was basically snowing outside.

“What do you think?” Felix asked. “It’s pretty nice.”

“I can’t see anything,” I complained, narrowing my eyes since it was difficult to notice the details when the house was packed wall to wall with intoxicated college students. The lights were also dimmed, which meant that walking was an unnecessary chore as Felix took my hand and brought me into the kitchen where he promised Minho was waiting.

At least he wasn’t fully incapable. 

“Y/N,” Minho grinned, tossing an arm around my shoulder as he pulled me closer, allowing me to smell the nasty liquor on his breath.

“Drunk at your mixtape reveal party?”

Minho laughed. “I haven’t had much.”

“Felix has,” I said, grimacing when I spotted my younger brother bouncing from person to person with an unmaintainable energy.

“Let him have fun,” Minho said. “I’m keeping an eye on him.”

“Whatever, but he’s your responsibility in the morning when he’s suffering from a hangover.”

“I’ll handle it,” Minho reassured me. “Anyway, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

“Oh?”

“Chan! Get your ass over here!”

“What a good friend you are,” I remarked, and I was fully prepared to tease my brother further until I realized that Minho was waving down one of the most attractive men I had ever seen.

Chan was absolutely gorgeous, appearing nothing short of debauched under the low-hanging lights of the kitchen. Neatly styled blonde-hair parted down the middle, and bright blue eyes that held the stars inside an endless sea of black. “Are you guys having fun?” he asked with an accent that I couldn’t place.

“The place is fucking awesome, man,” Minho said, wrapping an arm around Chan’s shoulders as he nodded in my direction. “This is my sister,” Minho said with a proud smile. 

“Hello,” I said, cringing at my tone.

“Y/N,” Chan smiled, and I decided that nobody could ever say my name again with such a sexy tenor.

“You have a lovely home,” I said, swallowing hard when Chan leaned in closer. 

“Minho talks about you a lot,” Chan said with a smirk. “Do you want something to drink?”

I nodded without thinking, keeping my eyes trained on his beautiful visage as a beer slipped into my hand. “Pace yourself,” Minho warned me, but I ignored him as I swallowed down the bile-tasting liquid.

“I like her,” Chan nodded, looking at me seductively from over the top of his bottle.

“She’s a bit uptight,” Minho chuckled, and I glared at him because this was not the time to embarrass me. “Are my songs playing next?”

“I’ll make sure everything is ready,” Chan said, giving me one last lingering look.

“Let’s find a good place to hear everything,” Minho suggested, and I followed my brother with thoughts and fantasies consumed by Bang Chan.

Minho’s mixtape was really good, and I begrudgingly congratulated my brother and even allowed him to tell everyone that it was, in fact, a masterpiece. However, while my brother was distracted by a group of younger fan-girls, I slipped away to try and find somewhere peaceful to recover from my headache. It had developed sometime between the pounding bass line of “BEWARE” and the aggressive tone of “Boxer.” 

I paused next to the foyer where there were considerably less people. In fact, only one student lingered next to the open window, and I leaned against the wall as I closed my eyes against the distinct ringing in my ears. Next time, I would wear earplugs when Minho forced me to stand at the speakers.

“You’re not going to pass out, right?”

I blinked several times as the room swam into focus. “I’ll probably make it.”

“There’s a bathroom upstairs,” the rough voice continued, and I finally addressed the hooded figure standing at the window. I realized that he was smoking, holding the bud of the cigarette outside so that the ashes collected somewhere on the porch. “I’m Changbin,” he smirked. 

“Oh,” I cleared my throat. “Do you mind if I share the window?”

He shrugged, tossing his hood back so that I could see the way his black hair fell flat against his head. “Sure.”

I carefully felt my way along the wall until the generous cold breeze was hitting my flushed skin. “Thank god,” I groaned, practically forcing my head outside.

“Drink too much?”

“A combination of that and the music.”

“I heard a rumor that the beer was definitely spiked,” he said, dark eyes looking me over. “You’re obviously new here.”

“I’m with my brother,” I offered cautiously in response to his sudden advances.

“Do I know him?”

“Lee Minho.”

Changbin’s eyes widened. “We’re in the same music composition lecture. I thought he mentioned you in class.”

“He invited me,” I continued, but I didn’t understand why I felt the need to justify myself to him.

“I bet he did,” Changbin nodded. “Why would he hide you from us?”

I shivered. “I’m sure he’ll be back soon.”

“Is that right?” he asked before cornering me against the wall with a hungry gaze. “You hear the song playing?”

I nodded. “It’s loud.”

Changbin chuckled. “I made it.”

I nodded again because that certainly explained the explicit lyrics. “It’s...interesting?”

“Yeah?” Changbin purred. “Do you like it?”

“I do,” I gasped, feeling one of his hands grab me around the waist.

His lips brushed against mine, soft and sensual, while he inhaled deeply. “Y/N, is this your first party?”

“No,” I whispered because it suddenly felt like we were the only two people left in the room.

“I just assumed,” he said. “From the way you’re reacting.”

“W-what?”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that you wanted to go someplace else with me,” Changin said.

I was completely baffled by his assumption, searching for the right words, but they never came. However, the distinct sound of someone clearing their throat forced us apart, and I was surprised to see Chan standing so close. “I guess you’ve met Minho’s little sister,” Chan said and I hated how immature the introduction sounded. 

“She made sure to tell me,” Changbin smirked. “I can’t believe we haven’t met before.”

“He’s looking for her,” Chan continued, and I was confused by the hostility in his tone. “You probably shouldn’t do anything.”

“Wasn’t gonna,” Changbin retorted, planting one of his hands next to my head. “She’s feeling sick. Tell Minho I can take her home.”

“He won’t like that.”

“Oh? Is anyone else sober?”

Chan was quiet for a moment, eyes darting between the two of us. “Wait here.”

“What a good host,” Changbin snarked, but Chan was already walking away and I was starting to feel the effects of my alcoholic consumption darken the edges of my vision.

My brother was nothing short of incoherent, swaying back against Chan as he tried to give me a stern look. “Y/N, I hope you didn’t drink too much.”

“Really?” I snorted. “Isn’t that hypocritical?”

Of course, my admonishment had no effect on Minho. “Chan said that you were feeling sick.”

“It’s just a headache,” I said, although my churning stomach seemed to suggest otherwise.

“I thought I could take Y/N home,” Changbin interrupted. “I guess she could use some fresher air.”

“Sure,” Minho nodded, eyes glassy. “I don’t mind.”

Minho was readily willing to entrust his sister into the care of someone she had just met, and that’s when I knew that he couldn’t be trusted to take me anywhere. “Is that what you want?” Chan asked.

I shrugged because it might be nice to finally escape the endless drumming of Chan’s intricate sound system. “I might be saving myself some trouble.”

“I need more cigarettes,” Changbin said. “I’m running low and I know there’s a store near Minho’s house.

I frowned, but figured that Minho had brought Changbin over to our house before during that brief phase at the start of his college semester when I saw a new face in the basement every week. “I think that’s a good idea.”

“As long as you behave,” Chan warned him quietly, but I never had the opportunity to question him before Changbin was forcing us both outside onto the main porch where the snow was starting to build along the sidewalks.

“This way,” Changbin said, resting one of his hands against my lower back as he guided us down the street.

Changbin’s car was a very old model and the paint was starting to peel from the doors. He helped me inside slowly, reaching for my seat-belt before I slapped his hands out of the way because I could manage to do that by myself. He chuckled at my glare. “Comfortable?”

I nodded in response and waited for him to turn on the ignition before I was savoring the accompanying blast of heat even though it smelled distinctly of ashes. “Minho’s little sister,” Changbin said, eyes focused on the road in front of him. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yeah,” I replied because the growing distance between us and Chan’s party music was actually nice. “I guess the music gave me a headache.”

“That’s how Chan likes it,” Changbin said. “He’s gotten at least a dozen noise complaints from this past month alone.”

“How many parties does he have!”

Changbin smirked. “He likes to keep his house full.”

“It might’ve been too much tonight,” I said, leaning my head against the cold window. “I’ve never seen so many people.”

“Exams,” Changbin said. “When college students feel stressed, they like to get shitfaced.”

“But you’re not drunk.”

“Who said that I was stressed?”

His tone was strangely flirtatious, especially when he looked at me. “You didn’t have to help me, you know?”

“I know, but it was my window we were sharing,” Changbin said. “You looked like you were seconds away from crashing.”

“I can take care of myself,” I replied, even though it was rather harsh to criticize someone who was currently neglecting the speed limit to take my home as quickly as possible. “When did you meet Minho?”

“A few weeks ago,” Changbin said. “We worked on a project together.”

“I guess you’ve already been to my house.”

“Yeah, but I sure as hell don’t remember seeing you.”

“I don’t really like to socialize with most of my brother’s friends.” 

“Well, that explains a lot,” Changbin said, briefly glancing at me. “Are you that type? The unattainable girl next door?”

“I just don’t like people,” I grumbled, but Changbin seemed to think it was funny, laughing at my expense while reaching down to turn on the radio despite the fact that music had caused my headache in the first place.

Of course, I didn’t want to be that type, so I endured his self-promotion, listening to his gravelly voice suspend the entire car into some kind of hip-hip haven. He talked his way through the introductions of every song on his mixtapes, bragging about his compositions and arrangements. “It’s all about authenticity,” he explained when we finally pulled into my driveway.

“Is that so?” I sighed, frowning when I realized Felix had forgotten to turn on the front porch light.

“I guess I should wait until you’re inside,” Changbin chuckled.

“Thanks,” I said, reaching out for the door handle.

“Woah! Baby, where are you going?” Changbin asked, and I quickly returned my hands to my lap. “Are you trying to get away from me?”

“No,” I shook my head, breathing heavily when he reached for my thigh.

“You probably don’t hear this a lot,” Changbin continued. “But you’re really sexy.”

I startled at his words. “Thank you?”

“I mean it, Y/N,” he continued, fingers inching along my thigh like it was free real estate. “Thank god you wanted to share my window.”

I shook my head rapidly when he turned off the ignition, navigating the waistband of his panties to drag his hand against my sensitive core. “What are you doing?” I whispered.

“I’m trying to make you feel good,” he said. “Do you want me to?”

I nodded this time, waiting with my fists balled against the leather seats while he penetrated the soft walls of my core, moving in and out slowly to help me adjust to his fingers. I tried to relax, dropping my shoulders and controlling the way I was panting in desperation for more of the addicting feeling he was creating in my lower abdomen. It all felt entirely scandalous, feeling the way his fingers dragged across my insides, curling against the most responsive parts and watching me with an intensity that I could barely tolerate. I was moaning for him, calling his name softly because he was starting to increase his movements, and I focused on the way his wrist reappeared from underneath my skirt before losing itself in a sea of denim fabric.

“It’s wet,” he remarked, and the sounds of his penetration were growing louder, intermingling with my rapid breaths and the dark tone of his voice. “I can feel it.”

I knew what he meant because my entire body was pulsing in time to the pace in which he played with me. It was like I was his personal experiment, testing how I reacted to certain touches, especially when he crooked his fingers and a moan would displace the temporary quiet. “Changbin,” I whined, reaching for his arm because everything was starting to feel overwhelming.

“I got you,” he said. “You’ve been so good for me, Y/N, I’m not gonna stop until you cum.”

I orgasmed at his filthy words, falling down from the place he sent me and into a deep headspace. He pulled his fingers back, holding them up so that I could clearly see the evidence of my release in the faint light from the street lamp outside. “You didn’t expect that,” Changbin said calmly, reaching for a tissue from the backseat while I tried to figure out what just happened. “I don’t really care who your brother is,” he continued, moving in close. “I think we should fuck next time.” 

“Changbin,” I said, “if Minho finds out-”

“Why are you always worried about him?”

“He’s my brother!”

“Oh? Well, in that case, since you want to be good for your older brother,” Changbin smirked. “I guess I’ll have to find a different way to see you again.”

The next morning, I took a shower because I could still feel traces of Changbin’s touches between my thighs. The water was hot, fogging up the mirrors and making it difficult to breathe. It was necessary because I could function better when I re-emerged with fresh clothes and a sudden hunger for those little chocolate muffins my mom bought at the store.

I walked downstairs, noticing Felix and Jisung both sitting at the counter while they talked over their breakfast. Felix noticed me first, watching as I grabbed a leftover pastry from the fridge before leaning back against the cabinets. “Did you have fun last night?” he asked.

I narrowed my eyes, but then I realized that his question was innocent because he definitely didn’t know about Changbin. “It was nice.”

“What are you doing today?”

“I don’t know,” I shrugged. “I haven’t made plans.”

“You can hang out with me and Jisung today,” Felix suggested. “We’re just going for coffee.”

Jisung met my gaze from over the table and he quickly looked away as if he wasn’t expecting the contact. “Yeah,” I nodded. “I could use some coffee.”

It wasn’t often that I accompanied Felix and Jisung when they decided to actually leave the house and my brother’s massive collection of video games. Felix was never the problem, but I could only endure so much of Jisung’s flirtations before I inevitably made another pointless vow to try and ignore him. It was an impossible promise to keep since Felix was practically glued to his hip, and I can’t remember the last time Jisung actually spent the night at his own home.

However, coffee was nice and the taste was bile so it sat heavy on my tongue and provided a good distraction, even if that meant listening to my brother and Felix talk about the party. “I met Chan,” Jisung said. “He was really cool.”

Felix nodded, eyeing his coffee with obvious distaste. “Minho seems to like him.”

“He introduced me to his partner, Changbin,” Jisung continued and I fidgeted nervously at the mention of his name. “Apparently, they do a lot of work together.”

“I’ve heard their stuff,” Felix said, finally pushing away his coffee cup in exchange for his orange juice. “I think they’re really talented.”

“It’s like you’re meeting real professionals,” Jisung gushed and I rolled my eyes. “I let them listen to one of my demos,” Jisung chuckled. “I think they want to work together.”

“Really?” Felix gasped. “That’s amazing!”

“I guess they need another partner,” I remarked, shivering when I thought about my encounter with Changbin from the previous evening.

“You can always come with me to the studio tomorrow,” Jisung said. “If you want.”

The idea of being alone with Jisung wasn’t exactly high on my list of priorities. “I don’t know...”

“Changbin will be there too,” Jisung added. “Minho said he really thought you were cool at the party.”

“I bet he did,” I grumbled.

“Why are you inviting her instead of your best friend?” Felix pouted.

“You said you needed to work on a project,” Jisung reminded him. “Actually, you made me swear to keep away distractions!”

“Alright, fine,” Felix sighed. “You’re right, but that doesn’t mean that I’m okay with it.”

Jisung ignored my brother’s sullen expression. “Y/N? Do you want to come?”

“I guess,” I said, and I had no idea what possessed me to agree with his request until it was too late.

The next morning, I met Jisung outside of the address he had sent to my phone with several rather inappropriate emojis. I made sure to scold him for the messages, but he was far too excited, ignoring my complaints when he started talking about the new project he was working on with Chan and Changbin. “Come on,” he said, holding open the door as I walked inside the tiny lobby of the simple two-story building. “We’re on the top floor,” Jisung smirked as if that was something to brag about considering the condition of the worn-down warehouse they were using as a studio.

However, I knew that he was excited, so I feigned a smile as he continued talking about the building’s intricate history while we walked up the staircase to pause outside of a studio room. “Is this it?” I asked.

He nodded, reaching for the door handle. “They should be inside.”

True to his word, Chan and Changbin were standing together in front of a large computer monitor, turning around when they heard me and Jisung enter the room together. “There you are,” Chan said, but his gaze was strangely focused on me.

“We have some stuff for you to hear,” Changbin said, stretching his arms above his head. “I need some coffee first.”

“There’s a gas station down the road,” Jisung said. “I’ll go with you?”

Changbin looked at me for a moment before agreeing to Jisung’s proposal. “We’ll have plenty of time to work when we get back.”

“You’re in for a surprise, Jisung,” Chan said. “Actually, while the two of you are gone, maybe Y/N could look at some of the tracks?”

“Really?” I asked, surprised that he would be so willing to share, but he was already dragging me down into the desk chair, pulling me closer to the monitor.

“You can take you time and browse,” he said, joining Jisung and Changbin at the door.

They started talking about something else, but I was too busy admiring the vast number of tracks listened in sequential order on Chan’s computer. Despite how I might feel about Changbin, it was impossible to deny that their work was impressive, spreading across years of effort. It felt like I was being allowed an intimate glimpse of the artists who were growing more popular everyday.

“Try to be back in twenty minutes,” Chan said, and I watched Jisung and Changbin leave together, whispering in low tones while Chan shut the door behind them. “Your music is really good,” I said, scrolling through the library of his songs. It only made him that much more appealing when I could see the evidence of his passion.

“Are we going to stop playing games, Y/N?”

I frowned at his question, turning around in the chair. “What do you mean?”

Chan smirked, and I realized that it wasn’t playful. “Do you have any idea how fucking gorgeous you are?” he asked.

“Chan...” I trailed off, frozen in place while he slowly leered in my direction, taking several, meaningful steps before he was bracing himself on either side of the desk behind me. 

“Changbin told me about what happened in the car.”

I swallowed hard. “W-what?”

“Is that all it takes? A couple of fingers to satisfy you?”

“Chan, I don’t understand,” I tried, gasping when he picked me up out of the chair, legs wrapping around his waist automatically before he sat me down on the desk.

“Do you want it again?” Chan asked, running his hands alongside my waist before crawling his finger across the bare skin of my thighs, disregarding the thin barrier of my skirt. I felt him press the palm of his hand against my wet heat, fingers testing the edges of my panties. “I can make you feel good.”

The sensation was too much, and I found myself nodding without really thinking about the consequences. “Please.”

His fingers were suddenly penetrating my delicate walls, sliding in and out at a vicious pace that left me aching for something more. “Tell me, Y/N,” Chan demanded, using his thumb to circle my throbbing clitoris. “How does it feel?”

“I want it, Chan,” I moaned, bracing my hands against his firm chest as he continued to pleasure me. Unlike Changbin, I could tell that Chan was determined to make me cum as soon as possible, twisting his hand and jamming his fingers like he was aiming to make me lose my mind. I practically fell against him crying, riding out the waves of my high, while he ignored my whimpers when everything was suddenly feeling overstimulated.

“Come here,” he said, pulling out his fingers before falling against his chair and patting his thighs.

My legs were shaking when Chan helped me onto his lap and I moaned when his fingers crooked against my walls again. “Do you want my cock?” he asked and I nodded viciously, sending strands of my hair flying in all directions. “What a good girl,” he snarled, ripping his fingers away and leaving me whining around the empty space he left behind.

“Chan,” I groaned, resting my head against his shoulder while I watched him make a show out of undoing the belt around his waist, unzipping his skinny jeans before shoving the material down his thighs. His erection strained the silky material of his boxer shorts, and I was practically salivating.

He reached down to rub himself through his shorts, outlining his cock in a way that made me realize that I wasn’t going to leave this studio without an obvious limp. “Y/N,” he said. “Take off your skirt for me.”

I whined, but obeyed him instantly, bracing one hand against his shoulder while the other practically ripped the fine material of the pretty skirt down my legs and into the studio floor. Chan’s eyes darkened, grabbing my waist between his hands to grind the front of my soaked panties against his erection. “Please,” I cried, wanting nothing more than to take matters into my own hands, but Chan’s grip was impossible to break.

“I’m going to fuck this little pussy,” Chan growled. “Can you last long enough for me to come inside?”

“Yes,” I whined, stuttering around a broken sob when he pulled his cock into the studio light, stretching my panties to the side before sinking deep inside my pulsing heat.

“That’s right,” Chan said, eyes closed. “You feel so good.”

“Chan,” I moaned, eye widening when the stretch felt impossible, like he was splitting me open even when common sense told me that it was just my body accommodating to his cock.

His hips slammed into mine, and I could barely reciprocate when he easily overpowered my attempts to meet him somewhere between our bodies. Instead, he took control and I let him have it because he knew exactly what to do before sending me over the edge again, ignoring my cries when he continued to chase his own high, grunting against my ear when he came inside.

“Y/N,” he sighed, keeping me in place despite the fact that his cock was completely flaccid. “Such a good girl.”

I was incoherent and incapable of offering a response in return. Instead, I buried my face into the side of his neck, smelling the scent of his cologne mixed with sweat and the sex polluting the air around us. His body was firm and warm, and I closed my eyes because everything felt like an incredibly lucid dream.

I was still exhausted from the previous afternoon, unable to walk much further than from my bedroom to the living room before the painful reminder of my unexpected session with Chan started to ache between my legs. There was a movie playing on the television, but I was only somewhat focused on the lazy plot and characters. Instead, I was thinking about my interactions with Chan and Changbin, wondering if the two men were playing some sort of mind game with me.

I only managed to tear myself away from those thoughts when I saw Minho as he walked down the stairs with Felix and Jisung talking about something to do with a sports competition. “There you are!” Felix exclaimed. “We were just talking about your visit to the studio with Jisung.”

“I heard you got a tour,” Minho said. “That was nice of them.”

“Yeah,” I agree because there was a lot more to talk about besides the tour of the dilapidated studio.

“I haven’t had a chance to visit,” Minho said. “But they said I could record my new demo there.”

“Another one!” Felix gasped, looking at my brother with wide eyes. “You’re a fucking genius, man.”

“Oh, I know,” Minho smirked. “Actually, I can show you before my first lecture,” Minho said, starting in the direction of his bedroom.

Jisung watched Felix trail behind Minho before he joined me on the couch. “What did you think of the studio?”

I swallowed hard. “It was fine.”

“I think it’s really nice,” Jisung said. “Chan said something making us a permanent trio! He even gave us a name and everything!”

“Oh?”

“3racha,” Jisung giggled. “It’s like a pun-”

“Yeah, I get it,” I sighed impatiently. “I’m trying to watch the movie.”

Jisung was undeterred by the sharp comment, and he buried himself further into the cushions before turning his attention back to the screen.

“Our first show is tomorrow, Y/N,” Jisung giggled, and I finally turned to look at him. “I hope you can watch?”

“Where?”

“It’s a club somewhere downtown. I can send you the address? I know that Chan and Changbin were both insisting that you come.”

“I’m sure they were,” I grumbled, but Jisung was more interested in talking about his contributions to the album. 

“It would mean a lot to me,” he managed after thoroughly explaining their newest concept. “You don’t even have to stay for the whole show.”

“I don’t know...”

“Minho and Felix are coming!” he quickly added, and I wondered if he knew that I would feel more comfortable with my brothers around.

“Okay,” I finally relented, groaning when he started jumping up and down on the couch like an overzealous puppy.

I rode to the club with Minho and Felix who were excitedly chattering about the impending concert while I looked out the window despondently. It felt like a huge risk to show up to the concert considering the recent events concerning my meetings with Chan and Changbin. However, I didn’t want my brothers to be suspicious, so I reluctantly followed them inside where we squeezed together around one of the tables in the middle of an enormous crowd.

The atmosphere was euphoric, draped in a haze of alcohol and the flashing neon lights decorating the stage. It was actually quite civil considering the fact that we were moments away from listening to loud music full of pounding bass and fast rapping. I was half-way convinced that the other guests had no idea what they were actually getting themselves into by coming here tonight.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” an annoucement blared overheard, “please welcome, 3racha!”

The audience started clapping while a familiar melody began softly playing, and the fans around me started to cheer for the three shadowy figures who had suddenly walked onto the stage. “Let’s go!” Chan shouted, beginning his verse of the song which I now recognized as one of the tracks they had played for me at the studio. They were all wearing black, matching the tone and vibe of their music, playing through each track with an infectious energy. However, I was still unnerved because I noticed that they all managed to look at me at some point, even though the crowd, and I was starting to feel hot all over my entire body.

“They’re really good,” Felix remarked, and I nodded in return even though I was finding the table much more interesting.

“Thank you, 3racha!” an overhead announcement said and the audience were rising to their feet in synchrony to offer the artists a round of applause for their stage.

“Jisung sounded amazing!” Felix said as if he couldn’t resist the opportunity to brag about his friend.

“Maybe we can meet them backstage,” Minho suggested, and I halfheartedly protested when my brothers forced me to accompany them.

Subsequently, Minho forced Felix and I to wait by the stage for his friends because he was convinced that I really didn’t have an important project to complete before tomorrow. “You never do anything last minute, Y/N,” he said, smiling when he spotted Chan’s messy hair from the middle of the crowd.

“Hey!” Chan greeted him, accepting Minho’s failed attempt at a cool handshake. Changbin and Jisung followed him, and I couldn’t help but notice how the youngest had started to stumble on his feet. 

“You guys did great,” Minho said, talking extensively about his favorite performance while a sudden bombardment of alcohol hit my senses.

I instantly recoiled, covering my nose when the smell grew stronger. “How much did you drink, Jisung?”

“Not much,” the younger boy slurred, and I noticed that his eyes were distant.

“I’ll grab us more drinks,” Changbin said, giving me a familiar dark look before disappearing into the surrounding crowd.

“He’ll be fine,” Felix said, tossing an arm around Jisung’s shoulder. “You deserve to celebrate tonight, man!”

I tugged on Minho’s sleeve to catch his attention, unwittingly drawing Chan’s gaze at the same time. “I think he’s drunk.”

Minho sighed, ready to launch into one of his world-famous lectures, when he was interrupted by the DJ onstage who confronted Chan. “Hey! We couldn’t find you after the show.”

Chan rolled his eyes. “I was out here the entire time.”

“Well, you need to pick up your CD backstage,” the DJ said. “The owners will throw it out tomorrow.”

“I’ll be right there,” Chan grumbled while glaring at the DJ.

“Now,” the man growled and Chan quietly excused himself with a brittle tone. Meanwhile, I had to help Felix with Jisung because his friend was starting to sway dangerously back and forth.

“He needs to go home,” I sighed, watching as Jisung leaned more of his weight against a much smaller Felix.

“I’d take him, but I already had two beers,” Minho said, looking at Felix expectantly.

“Me!” Felix whined. “But I want to stay.”

“He’s your friend,” I glowered.

“Alright,” Minho groaned. “Y/N, you haven’t had anything to drink and you’re way more responsible than Felix.”

It was easy to meet Minho’s stern gaze since this was the perfect opportunity to finally leave the club. “Fine, I’ll take Jisung home.”

“Then it’s settled,” he agreed, tossing me his spare set of car keys. “Take him to our place.”

“Okay,” I said, groaning when Felix helped Jisung wrap his arms around my shoulders and waist. The additional weight was burdensome, and I cursed Jisung under my breath as I helped him through the club to where the bouncer waited at the exit. “I’ll never let you forget this,” I hissed, waiting for the bouncer to open the door while I took one last look over my shoulder to check on my brothers. Instead, I found myself looking directly into Changbin’s dark eyes as he waited by the bar, a familiar smirk making him appear even more dangerous. I shivered in response before I slowly shuffled to the car with Jisung practically breathing down my neck.

When I finally managed to accompany Jisung inside my house, I unceremoniously deposited him on the couch, ignoring the way he groaned in complaint. “I’ll find you some medicine,” I said, searching through one of the side tables.

“It hurts,” Jisung whined, and I rolled my eyes after shoving a bottle of Aspirin in his direction.

“Remember that when you decide to be stupid again.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, dropping two pills into his hand before swallowing them eagerly.

I grimaced as I sat down next to him. “When did you start drinking?”

“Before the show,” Jisung said. “Changbin said it would help take the edge off.”

“Yeah? Do me a favor and don’t listen to him anymore,” I said, frowning when Jisung curled closer to my side. “What are you doing?”

“Tired,” he said, looking up at me with a smile. “You look beautiful.”

I scoffed, trying to push him away, but alcohol apparently made him bolder because he was suddenly twisting one leg around my hip to hold himself in place. “Jisung, you need to stop,” I said, gasping when he brought his lips against mine, kissing me with skill and a surprising amount of tongue. “We can’t do this!”

“Please,” Jisung whined, grinding his hips against my legs. “Just one night, Y/N?”

“Your drunk,” I said, which was only one of a dozen problems with the scenarios currently playing out right in front of my very eyes.

“I’m sober,” Jisung promised, frantically chasing my lips with eager kisses.

It was nothing short of desire, the way he was looking at me, while I watched our clothes end up in a pile around the couch as Jisung fumbled with the condom before I helped him roll it onto his erection. He groaned at the contact, and I moved my hand up and down his cock a few more times before directing him between my legs. Jisung slid inside with a messy exhale, and his arms trembled as they supported his body looming over mine with his delicate frame.

It was a pleasant contradiction because Chan’s thrusts had been nothing short of confident while Jisung’s inexperience showed in the frantic way his hips stuttered against mine. He tried to move faster, losing his previous rhythm, and his cock fell all the way out, erection sliding between my thighs instead. He whined pathetically, rutting against my legs for several moments before he re-adjusted himself deep inside. “Y/N,” he moaned.

“It’s okay,” I told him, petting my fingers along the crown of his head. “You’re doing so good.”

“I like you so much,” Jisung replied earnestly and my heart ached at his words.

He looked unbelievably sinful, eclipsing my body against his as I felt the fabric of the couch against my skin. The friction was delicious, and I focused on the way his cock felt, thrusts growing more and more assured as he finally found a way to please us both, thumb brushing across my clitoris. He was still kissing me, tongue moving across mine deliberately, and I was breathing harshly as I fought to control the rising heat building in my abdomen. It was an intense build-up to an orgasm that I could’ve never anticipated since Jisung was always Felix’s friend who I usually avoided. The same Jisung whose endless flirtations usually annoyed me, but something had changed the moment I looked into his eyes and saw the lust and desire coming together to create an intoxicating mixture.

It was suddenly impossible to ignore the way he made me feel and I felt him come deep inside with a stuttered moan. His hips moved harshly against mine, and I chased my release with a sensual grind of my hips until I was throwing my head back with a cry, groaning when his lips found the sensitive skin of my neck. “Jisung,” I murmured, watching him through a haze of darkness as he rolled over next to me with a moan.

I studied the way Jisung’s hair fanned out across the cushions, making him look angelic beneath the influence of the moon’s light breaking the barrier of the  curtains. It made me feel guilty, realizing that I had finally returned Jisung’s feelings only after my tumultuous affairs with Changbin and Chan. In fact, I was nothing more than the very girls I often mocked when they threw themselves at the most popular boys in school. I swallowed hard at the realization. “What have I done?”

[jjkpls]

crayons ‘hana’ (PG)

> genre : fluffy fluff, light angst, comedy

> pairing : kim namjoon x reader

> words : 4.5k

> warnings : none (except a rusty quill)

> Y/N, a primary school teacher, is way too soft for the quiet, timid new child in her class. Little did she know, the adult version, who engendered this cutie, is even more charming.

> next

**words in italics are spoken in Korean

It's a grey day.

The Sun is acting up. As if It had been vexed deeply and now, no matter how loud the kids are calling after It, It just won't budge. Hidden behind the thick clouds, not hinting a tiny ray through the heavy shower, It won't show the tip of Its nose today, you have no doubt about that.

It takes some time to persuade the kids of that fact though.

The better half of recess is spent arguing, they just won't admit that for today, the break will be taken in class. It renders most of them gloomy, unable to accept the harsh reality, even if they've lived before -back in the beginning, when you were still too lenient, letting yourself drag into endless quarrel leading to stupid and quite irresponsible compromises- the traumatizing experience of standing in the middle of a storm. You still remember the awful concert of cries and the race to pick every kid somehow induced in a panic paralysis, one under each arm, to bring them to safety in urgency -thank god, Jeon Jungkook had been there, with his stature, able to stack up five of them at the same time, incredibly useful, pretty much life-saving. What you remember even better is the severe scolding you received from the principal, who thought -as you should have- that no matter how bad the children insisted, they shouldn't be playing outside in the rain.

You knew that. They just wouldn't believe you and you thought that, maybe, they just needed practical proof. No harm was supposed to be engendered. And quite frankly, none occurred. Children sometimes just enjoy being dramatic and it was the perfect, quintessential occasion to do so, especially if the principle is in earshot -which she was.

In any case, you learned your lesson. However, they did not.

Charlotte, standing on her pretty polished pearl white shoes -that you know, for a fact, that you'll get in trouble if her mother comes to pick her up to find them ruined by the terrible weather-, chin up high, hands tucked to her side, won't stop arguing with you as the main spokesgirl for the class. Apparently, it's “unfair”.

And it is unfair. Weather is not meant to be fair and you have not a single take on it. Try to explain that to a five-year-old.

“Ok, everyone, listen up!” Everyone's little heads swing forward like those car bobbleheads, wide eyes ogling you with burning impatience and clear, obnoxious delusion. They're all waiting, expecting you to open the door and let them free into the wild. “Let's make a deal, alright? Who wants to make a deal?” And everyone, even if they, for the most part, have no clue what's going on, wants to -except for Charlotte who's eyeing you with a suspicious glare and for Jimmy who's hiding in the corner, a sad scowl on his face. “You know that I don't have any power over the rain. But I do have powers over how long recess will last.” You act smug as you say that, their little impressed faces adding to the effect. It becomes painful to conceal the giggles blooming in your chest. “Since you already wasted half of your time, I have a proposition for you. You'll stay twice as long on break, meaning until it's 3:45,” You explain, pointing on the big clock hovering your desk where the long hand will be standing when the break ends. “if you can stay calm in class, ok?”

The announcement sends them in a fury, the simple idea of having a longer break overwhelming them with hysterical joy. So much for staying calm and collected.

Fortunately enough, I've been gifted with overall sweet children. It doesn't require more than a collecting "shh" and a reminder of the term of the bargain for them to quietly divert into groups, colonizing different lots of the classroom. Some ask for books, for paints or crayons, for the plushies and the toys they brought along to school -even though they're not allowed to- and a tranquil atmosphere rises and sets itself upon the room.

It's very nice, even for you. Sitting at your desk, watching over them with a distracted eye, you wonder if you'd be allowed to spend the rest of the day like so. They're talking, laughing and creating, sharing, being kind to each other and this whole ambience, slower than usual, calmer, more peaceful seem greatly beneficial for them. They don't feel any kind of pressure from having to learn, having to follow a predesigned, normative rhythm. It's pleasant and healthier than usual. Even if you try your best, constantly, to render every single day as filled with positivity through the required productivity as you can, you can't help sometimes stress and tension from blooming. It suffices one Kevin to come to class, sleepy and upset from a bad night, triggering a Charlotte who ends up scowling and nagging at everyone all day, and then everyone is in a terrible mood. Exercises are a pain to go through. Keeping their attention on you a quasi impossible challenge to overcome. Bringing their spirits up an unreachable, delusional aspiration.

But here and now, spending their time and energy on what they want with their chosen friends, in the comfortable warmth of the safe classroom, with the rain gently drumming on the windows, you can sense peace and joy and it fills your heart with content to the brim, or, almost to the brim.

Your heart could be spilling out with joy if it wasn't for this one, tiny pout adorning one tiny chubby face. Jimmy hasn't budged much from earlier. He had to leave his own desk to relocate at the very end of the room because a few girls decided to set up their library on the adjacent table.

His posture is the same though. Sitting quietly, his back pressed into the corner, hands tucked together against his belly, his big dark eyes are observing his classmates attentively. You read fear but also curiosity that's eaten up by something else, maybe sadness. It's a heartbreaking sight you're unfortunately too used to witness.

Jimmy arrived two months after everyone else. You don't know much about him. Because you haven't had the occasion to meet his parents yet, but mostly because he hasn't spoken a word since his arrival. His pouty mouth, shaped like an adorable button, hasn't opened once. Not even that one time you tried to have him participate and had him tearing up and crying, overwhelmed as he felt under the attention. He just sat silently, eyes drawn downwards, munching on the inside of his cheek, while tears ran down his round cheeks while all the other kids watched, as bewildered as you.

You almost quit your job that day. Certain you were not cut for it, somehow, finding out only now, at 26 years old, that you were a horrible, cruel person and your vocation and higher call were just all a blatant lie.

It doesn’t come as a surprise that today, once again, he’s hiding in his corner. You've tried a few things before. You didn’t just watch, waiting on time to operate and break his thick shell on its own. You've consulted the principal, colleagues, the internet. You've looked for clues, for tricks and after having tried quite a few, with little to no success at all -you've made him look up to your eyes, a thing he had been incapable of before-, you've decided to lay off a bit of that zeal.

You were getting too invested, even as this child’s teacher and you knew it wasn’t a good idea to pursue. As for him, you didn’t want to harm him in any way. No matter the benevolence and kindness and softness you put in every single one of your interaction, you thought, he seems so wounded already, you could break him, without meaning to, by simply trying too hard to smother his hostile edges.

You calmed down.

It tastes like defeat, coating a heavy layer in your throat, it never ceases to remind itself to you each time your eyes fall upon the sad pout and curious eyes. 

Today is no different.

Everything would be perfect if only, for once, he could mingle with his peers and if you could, for the first time, see the shades of his smile. If he even knows how to smile. 

Rising from your chair, you pick up a few pencils from your personal collection -the precious ones, unbitten at the top, unbroken at the tip, tall and seemingly unused. You don’t ever lend those to the kids as you know they’re not mature enough, and they won’t be for a long time to come, to care for your stuff the way those crayons need to be cared for-, a few white sheets and a sharpener and quietly make your way to him. He catches you and your intention from afar, his gaze fixed on you as you get closer.

He doesn’t utter a word, nor adumbrate a movement as you crouch next to him, soft smile, soft gestures. It’s a bit hurtful to think about it this way but it’s like approaching a wild tiny, tiny helpless creature -you're terrified to see it flee away.

“Hey Jimmy,” You say kindly, ignoring pointedly Charlotte who’s watching you (you can see her from the corner of your eyes) so that she knows to not interrupt or try to interfere in any way. “Would you like to draw a little?” You lay the material in front of him. His whole attention is offered to you and while you're glad you’ve reached that point where he can actually look at you, you can not help but wish he’d look away as his heavy stare suddenly makes you feel anxious. “Those are my personal crayons. I’m sure I can trust you to take care of them well, right?” He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t blink, doesn’t smile. You're not sure if he’ll even pick one of them up. You know he won't in front of you anyway and not wanting him to feel cornered and pressured, after another sugary sweet smile, you wave him goodbye and let him be.

The afternoon goes on, calmer than usual. It's as if they were brought to a state of peace so deep, they're now willing to accept any unfairness the world has in store for them. When the school bell rings, the children quickly run to the racks, grabbing their coats and little bags. A few of them start piling up at your feet, whining for the teddies and toys and lip balms they brought to school this morning and that you had to hold hostage as they are not supposed to bring them to school.

“Could we have another recess like today, miss? Tomorrow?” You see the shimmery eyes, the pressing pouts and impatient wiggling of the butts, waiting as patiently as they can for an answer. You're glad they had a good time today, still, a part of you can't help but regret it all. That part, conscious from the start, of how it'll all come back to bite you in the arse. No matter how cute they are, those little monsters always end up munching your arm up to the shoulder if you only do as much as tend an open hand their way.

“We'll see.” You say, waving them off. You don't mean to be so misleading but there's no way you're sending those kids home crying hysterically because they haven't heard the answer they were looking for.

Quickly they're all out of the class, seen outside to their carers by Adrianne, the lovely woman who helps out you, along with all the other teachers, with the kids every day.

There's only you and a little mess that you're able to tidy out quickly. In the corner, lay the little pile of papers and the crayons that had been obviously unused. Your heart squeezes briefly uncomfortably but you were not expecting any different from him. Since he arrived, two months ago, Jimmy has only drawn or traced letters or painted or built anything when the rest of his classmates were doing it too. You assume it's because he feels like he can't refuse to do something everyone else is doing. When it's just about him, when it doesn't concern directly the course, when it's just for pure personal entertainment, he simply would not do it.

You notice something. If he didn't draw anything on the sheets, he touched the crayons. They're piled very neatly, all tips turned the same way, one next to the other on top of the papers. What a sweetheart.

What a lovely, lovely kid.

It sends a rush of hope and determination back into your heart. You're not utterly desperate. It might take time. Maybe you won't be able to make significant progress until the very end of the year, when you'll have to say goodbye to him once he changes classes, but you don't despair to reach him, eventually.

And maybe that's all the universe needed -the conviction that you're not holding into this kid in pure vain- to offer you a generous little push. The magical manifestation comes in the form of Jimmy himself, escorted by Adrianne whose hand hovers few centimetres atop of his dark mop of hair, standing in the doorway, eyes drawn to the ground as if he's in trouble.

“Jimmy's father is running late and I-” She winces a little, grimace accentuating the lines carved on her face around her easy smile.

“You want to ask me something, don't you?” You tease knowingly. She looks embarrassed until she catches your wink, understanding she's probably fine to ask you anything.

“It's Felicia's birthday and I promised I'll be home early...”

You have to contain yourself, to not sound as ecstatic as you feel, to not drop to the ground, hands held high in gratitude towards the sky, settling for a simple: “Okay, I'll stay with him.”

“Are you sure?” She asks because she's nice and considerate but she's already turned her body towards the hallway. It doesn't take much more convincing to have her disappear.

It's only Jimmy and you now.

You're giddy but anxious. He doesn't even raise his head once she's gone. He just stands there, little raspberries tinting his cheeks and you're filled with a fondness tightly intertwined with sadness because he shouldn't look this guilty when he's done absolutely nothing wrong.

“Come have a seat.” His black eyes raise high enough for a split second, just to see where your hand is patting before quietly, he makes his way to the chair adjacent to yours. You've laid the papers and the crayons you'd picked up from the ground, an idea had come to you. There's no chance you'll have him draw something for you but you could draw for him.

You don't know if it'll have the same effect as it does on the other children. It's this special, unique teacher power that turns every single one of your shitty doodles, gifted to one of them, into a priceless, beautiful gift. It's the funniest thing and one of your favourites. The feeling is like the one you get when they fight and have to make serious arguments and deals to decide who will be the lucky one to hold the teacher's hand today.

Surely it's ridiculous but it does flat your ego grandiosely.

You're not expecting this kind of reaction from Jimmy, you'd just like to create some sort of contact, an interaction. Staring down at the white sheet, you're left speechless, nervous. It's been a while since you've sat in front of one of those, with no clear indication of what you were supposed to lay on it. Quite frankly, your crayons you only use to grade. The feeling is terrifying and you realise, gulping, that you didn't miss it. Maybe that feeling is the reason why he didn't pick up a pencil to draw himself. Was he filled with the same irrational paralysis that comes with the fear of the unknown?

“I'm not really good at drawing, to be honest with you... Do you like cats, Jimmy?” His big eyes watch you carefully. No answer. He simply munches on his lips, waiting for you to fill in the silence. “You probably do. Or, I hope you do because cats are what I draw best. Let's see.” You mumble, picking up a blue pencil to start -another consequence of the unusual anxiety you're feeling, suddenly picturing cats being blue.

It takes him a hot minute to open up the slightest. Actually, it takes about half an hour. Half an hour of you talking on your own, making conversation for the both of you; of you struggling to draw the cat you were certain you knew how to draw; of stopping every now and then to go over the basic body shape of a cat. It starts in the form of him snorting discreetly -you almost miss it- when you almost curse, fishing your cellphone out of your back pocket to look for the ugliest but easiest drawing of a cat you can find online for reference, tired of erasing and redoing the same damn curve of the cat's neck and messing up each time. It continues with him accepting to chose the next colour for what you keep calling “our cat”. He picks a deep purple for the back of the kitty, a bright yellow for the paws and apple green for the eyes. It's kind of funny looking but in a way you've done it together and your heart is filled to the brim with happiness. When it's done, sort of, you're ready to grab a new paper, hoping that maybe, on this one, he'll feel comfortable enough to grab a pencil himself and leave an actual mark on his own but the universe taps gently but firmly on the tip of your fingers, reminding you to be thankful for what happened today but not to be too greedy.

It's the tall and dishevelled man, stumbling loudly through the door that interrupts and determine the end of today's progress. Jimmy raises on his seat on reflex, running into the man's -you assume to be his father- legs. The man seems a bit uneasy, with his trench coat poorly buttoned, his dark hair messy with a thick strand sticking up to the roof, forehead crossed with worrisome lines. He reaches for the little boy, carrying him up to his chest, smacking a big kiss on his forehead; Jimmy's short arms are reaching far, far away, wrapping as much as he can around his father's neck and the previous wrinkles simply fade away.

“I'm so terribly sorry!” He apologizes, voice remarkably low, sounding lovely somehow even through the tension straining it. “I had this meeting that just lasted forever, I'm so, so sorry. It won't happen again.”

“No it's totally fine, don't worry about it!” You might be screaming a little bit because the big, impressively built man is now bowing with Jimmy draped around him like a koala and you feel so embarrassed because 1) no one has ever bowed to you, 2) you sincerely didn't mind staying a little bit later (especially given it happens more often than not) and 3) you were glad, you feel fortunate for the chance you just had to spend more time with Jimmy and see a spark of something you've never seen before. The reason you made a good improvement, you believe, is because the circumstances were favourable. Having a class filled with twenty-five other rambunctious kids that require great attention, at all time, doesn't, ever, allow you to bond with the boy. “Please don't, it's fine.” You insist, forcing him with wide gestures to stand up straight again. “Jimmy is one of the sweetest kids of my class, honestly, it was no bother.”

The dark eyes, perfect imitations of the ones Jimmy carries, display a lovely glint at my comment. He attempts to look at his son who’s snuggling in the crook of his neck, smiling softly.

“Is that right, Jiminie? My good boy.”

Jiminie. Without knowing what he says, the sonority of his words sounds so gentle and lovely, you can tell why the boy turns all sheepish.

There's a loud kiss pressed to his cheek and you can hear a high giggle, shy but sweet, as Jimmy squirms a bit in his dad's arms, pressing a hand to his ear. The scene is so, so adorable, you would cry if only you were not too worried to give off a terrible portray of an unbalanced and ugly-crier of a teacher to this father.

Father that you’re meeting for the first time.

And this fact, lost in the middle of a storm of agitated thoughts, manages to find his way to the surface after a little while of just awkwardly standing there, not really knowing what to say.

“Mr Kim, actually, I'm glad you're here. I meant to- meet and maybe have a little conversation with you, I don't know if Adrianne told you-”

“Yes, yes, she did. Of course. I apologize, I was supposed to get back to her with a date but work has been pretty- hectic. I've just changed job and-” You nod, genuinely understanding. If you don't know much about this man, nor this family in general, you can tell from the layers of fatigue that even the tender smiles he generously grants his son can't diminish, that he's not having the best of times. “It's not that- I don't want you to believe that I'm not invested in my son's education, it's really not the case-”

“Oh no, I don't believe that!” Quite frankly, you'd say that to any parents that come to you with these kinds of doubts, it's probably the worst thing you can do to a parent to criticize their parenting, their love, especially when you know from experience than most, even the ones that mess up and scar, don't commonly mean to. Parents are just adults and adults are just humans. Trying to figure shit out and actually not knowing jack shit about much. As a teacher, of children that young too, you owe to help them turn their progeny into the best versions they can be, as a team.

But this dad, standing there, distress and something akin sadness shading so much of his face, there's so little room for softness, a hand tenderly massaging the back of his boy's hair, you have no doubt, whatsoever, that it's not the case. That he tries and probably struggles, with whatever their circumstances are, but means the best. “I really don't. It's just I'd really like- I mean, I need, to have a little meeting with you. I receive every parent at the beginning of each year, it's important for me to understand better the child...” You would point out that in Jimmy's case, it's absolutely necessary given his behaviour but you don't want to say it in front of him. You've been reassured before by the principle that you weren't to worry too much. Jimmy was not, in any case, in any kind of danger at home, she had made sure of that after you first came to her with your concerns.

It's supposed to be a case of extreme timidity. It's confusing. Still, you were ready to accept this as the plain simple explanation if only you could talk to his father, have him confirm it and validate with your own personal impression. “I understand that you're working and don't have much time to yourself and that it's a bit- I mean, even as adults, no one likes to have to attend a teacher's meeting,” Only the corner of his lips twitch a little, yet you gladly accept it as a win. “Would it be possible for you to make just a little slot in your schedule for me? I won't take too long, twenty minutes at most? Whenever you can! Before class if you want or after, in the evening, sometimes I'm still here until 7. Or at lunch! Absolutely whenever is good for you.”

“That's very kind.” Is all he says.

You don't know what to say to that. You're not sure he is right. You are especially invested in your work and your pupils. You've been told before that, maybe, you should lay off a bit -you're told each time you cry at the end of a school year, thinking about all the faces you adore but won't be seeing every day anymore. But most teachers are, you want to believe. Min Yoongi, from first grade, wouldn't be as generous with his time, that's for sure. He'd probably come up with a date that'd fit his agenda and if possible inconvenience the most the parents' schedule and demand that they do make the time and be present, guilty-trip them if they seem reluctant. But that's just him, being a lazy cynical asshole. You want to believe he's an exception and any other teacher, in your shoes, would act the same way.

That being said, the way he's saying it, wide eyes sort of laced with a certain confusion, serves to thicken the compliment.

“Whenever is fine.” You repeat, lacking a direct response to his words. There's a tiny curious eye, picking from the collar of the trench coat, observing you attentively. You smile to Jimmy, picking up the drawing of the cat you've drawn earlier and handing it to him. “I'll let you off now, Jimmy is probably starving.”

After a few seconds of just staring at it, Jimmy sneaks a hand out to accept the drawing, face instantly burying further in the fabric of his dad's clothes, all shy and embarrassed.

“Thank you. Thank you very much for today and for any day really. I promise I'll make sure to meet you very soon.”

“Sure, perfect. Jimmy, see you tomorrow?”

“You say goodbye, Jiminie?”

He mutters something you don't quite catch, enshrouded as he is in the fabric adorning his dad, but his father and you decide that it's the answer you were waiting for. A wave and a stumble down the hall later -one that nearly gives you a heart attack as the prospect of the man actually eating shit with tiny Jimmy still in his arms hit you-, they're gone, out of the school and on to their way home you assume.

You're entirely alone now. Giddy as a school girl overly excited about something mundane that doesn't require this type of enthusiasm. You're not precisely sure why. It's a storm. Again. An overwhelming storm of emotions. In the mix of it all, you can decipher the loud, brilliant thoughts regarding the tiny shy little boy, and a future brighter than the one you used to picture for him. One where he's not scared of everyone, where you can hear his voice and see him giggle without his dad for him to hide behind. And something else.

You're not sure.

You don't suck at your job, you decide, as you think back about the adorable chubby finger pointing shyly at the crayons he wanted you to use.

A/N : as always, a lot of love send your way, thanks so much for reading, i hope you enjoy it :)

[ariparri]

Flowers

Pairing: Diego x Veruca (With a hint of Tulip x Carson)

Written by cursedautumn on Instagram

A/N: This was written from a story for art type of trade we made on IG. English isn’t cursedautumn's first language, so she apologizes if there are any mistakes.

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Day 1

It was the fall of 1988. This fall, in contrast to several previous ones, was full of sweet aroma of rotting leaves and the hot honey sun covering playgrounds, classrooms, and the forest near Hogwarts; fresh gold autumn leaf carpet lay on the stone slabs of the courtyard and soft field grass; saturated with moisture, the trees are seriously bent and the crystal was glittering with rain drops, remaining after another warm rain. The sky was clear and blue, with a milky foam of clouds, and it was tempting to run out of the heavy walls of the castle and lie under it, roll on the grass, feel the sweet water drops on your tongue, and run to the lake, which shone like pure crystal, and a couple of students even swam there once — although they had to report to Professor McGonagall and serve detention for quite a long time afterwards.

Veruca McQuaid went into the courtyard and sat by the fountain, near the place where everyone usually play Gobstones. After sitting in the semi-darkness of the Slytherin common room for almost twenty-four hours, she just needed a little bit of fresh air. She had expected to skip lunch and spend the rest of the day here alone with her homework and a bottle of cold pumpkin fizz, but her plans for privacy were not going to come true, because ten minutes after Veruca settled down next to the fountain, a voice came from above her head, "Hello, Veruca."

"Oh, Merlin!" thought Veruca with exasperation, and looking up, she recognized the intruder as Diego Caplan, a fellow Hufflepuff, a well-known ladies' man and a very good duelist. He always had a contented swarthy face, a strange yellow scarf, and beautiful dark eyes. He was holding a small bouquet of red roses and smiling. "Caplan? Veruca asked indifferently. "Well, hello."

"I hope I'm not interrupting you," Diego said with a charming smile. Veruca was tempted to say that he was interrupting, but she just smiled tightly and shook her head. To be honest, she was never hypocritical and enjoyed interacting with people, but right now Caplan chose a very inappropriate moment to talk to her... or whatever he wanted to do. "Did you want something?"

"Yes." Diego peremptorily handed her the aforementioned bouquet of roses and flashed his snow-white teeth. His smile was attractive and confident. "This is for you. I thought that such a beauty just needs a bouquet of flowers."

Veruca accepted the bouquet, but she wasn't sure why Diego had done it in the first place. She had never been insecure, but didn't consider herself strikingly beautiful either: a pretty face framed by dark hair, light green eyes, neat pink lips, and a well-formed figure - that's all, so Diego probably didn't want to grab her attention because of her incredible beauty, even though he said so.

She was also Coby McQuaid's sister, and a lot of guys shunned her just because they were afraid that the "crazy brother" would appear out of nowhere and wring their necks for his little sister. In general, she sceptically smiled at the bouquet, and said:

"Thank you. Now leave me alone, please, I'm a little busy."

Diego left after blowing her a final kiss, and Veruca gave the bouquet to Penny the same day — she simply couldn't believe that Caplan could really be interested in her. Most likely, he wanted new sensations, that's all. But if he thinks he's found a goal for one day, he's very, very wrong, Veruca thought with a grin as she watched Penny lovingly arrange a bouquet of roses in front of the statue of the headless knight.

Day 2

It rained that day, and the flying lesson with madam Hooch was canceled. Veruca, who had not slept well last night, was not too upset: she had no desire to cut through the thick, glass-like walls of rain on a broomstick. She spent the entire first half of the day running between classes, listening to Snape's unflattering comments about her personality, her brother, and so on, sitting in madam Rakepick's perfume-and-wood-scented classroom, and spending time with Penny and Chiara. Penny once said, "By the way, you shouldn't have refused the roses, they were so beautiful!"

"Yeah," Veruca grinned and looked at the Ravenclaw girls as they passed. One of them, a girl with dark eyes and fluffy brown hair, mentioned Diego Caplan in the conversation, and several of her friends immediately began to whisper and giggle with curiosity. It seemed that only Veruca disliked him, for even Merula spoke quite favorably of him, and if Merula approved of a person, then it was a waste of time — everyone adored him without exception, and there was nothing to be done about it.

On this day, Veruca couldn't shake the eerie yet strangely pleasant feeling that someone was watching her. Someone's already familiar dark eyes, clear and sly. It seemed to her that someone was staring at her back in class, studying her face at lunch, spying on her during recess... This, however, did not inspire her with any fear, firstly, because Veruca had managed to get used to being watched during her five years at Hogwarts, and secondly, it was a kind of harmless surveillance - as if she was an interesting performance, and she was being watched by a curious spectator. And for some reason, it never occurred to her that it might be HIM...

"Ahem-ahem."

Veruca shivered and looked up from her potions homework. In the faint greenish light of the Slytherin drawing room Merula Snyde's pale face looked like a cloud of smoky mist with two purple lightning-like eyes. She was holding a small bouquet of purple orchids wrapped in shimmering translucent pale yellow paper.

It exuded a sweet fragrance that overlaid the smell of underground dampness and pine needles (there were scented candles in the living room), and it looked lovely. A cream-colored paper was perched between the purple blossoms.

"What is it?" Veruca was taken aback. She had seen a lot in her life, but... for Merula to give her flowers?.. However, fortunately, the rival muttered, "Somebody asked me to give this to you," she plopped the bouquet on the table, the soles of her gaudy leather boots clattering indignantly, then went into their shared bedroom and slammed the door.

Veruca had no idea, freaked out if a classmate saw because it was torn away from the important contemplation of their own greatness or because Merula handed the bouquet to her and no one thought to do that; but understand she did not and pulled out a fragrant bouquet of cream paper box, which was briefly written:

"It is not good to give the gifts away, Veruca. But I'll try again, since you didn't take me seriously. -D.C.".

It wasn't hard to guess that D.C. was Diego Caplan. Well, then, he really wanted to get her attention for a while. At first Veruca felt flattered by the attention, then offended, because she didn't like intrusive people, and then she just decided to let the boy indulge. After all, she couldn't possibly forbid Diego from sending her flowers, so Veruca just got up, went to the trash can, and threw the unfortunate bouquet in there. The sweet scent gave her a headache. Let Caplan send her his stupid flowers as much as he wants. Let him... It's just a little cruel joke, isn't it?

Day 3

Sunflowers. Bright yellow, like Hufflepuff robes, as if woven from sunlight, they caught Veruca's eye as soon as she opened them. At first she didn't understand why the dark green Slytherin dorm room seemed to have a window that let in a flood of thick sun, but then she looked up and saw the pretty heads of flowers perched on her nightstand. The sunflowers didn't fit in with the luxurious and dark atmosphere of the room, and as she passed by, Ismelda grumbled that she should have gotten them, and immediately would throw them away.

Veruca, oddly enough, felt more alive and somehow light when she saw these flowers. They were so simple, of the usual yellow color, not scarlet roses or purple orchids, but she liked them very much, until she found it in the pile of golden flowers the same small creamy square, on which was written the same handwriting as yesterday:

"Attempt number three. I hope you like it and don't throw them away or give them to someone else. -D. C.".

Veruca furiously crumpled the paper and threw it away. Caplan could be as nice and generous as he liked, but his impudence and desire to use her for his own incomprehensible purposes irritated her terribly, so she hastily changed her clothes and washed up, took the sunflowers and went straight out of the living room with them, catching the surprised and mocking looks of her classmates and others. 'I'll kill you, Caplan,' Veruca thought as she left the common room.

To be honest, she liked the flowers very much, but Diego Caplan was known as a fan of ending relationships as quickly as starting them, and she wanted something more serious than being the one-night stand of a cheeky Hufflepuff.

She found Diego right after breakfast, playing Gobstones with some other Hufflepuff whose name Veruca didn't know and didn't want to know. When Caplan saw her, he broke into a satisfied smile, as if not noticing the girl's grim expression, "Sorry, Reg, there's a lady here who wants to talk to me."

"Hmmm," Reg muttered, absorbed in the game. He glanced at Veruca, who was holding a golden bouquet of sunflowers, and continued to hunch over the game. Diego got to his feet, very pleased, and sauntered over to Veruca. For some reason, she was uncomfortable with the way his gaze slid over the top button of her shirt, and she muttered, "I see you're not going to leave me alone." Diego flashed his white teeth. "Actually, it's unpleasant when your gifts are thrown away or misused."

"You'll get over it," Veruca said. Anger mixed with guilt (?!), and she just watched Diego's dark hair flutter in the light autumn wind. He was beautiful. Very handsome, no matter what... "Caplan, I'm not interested in a one-night stand. And I'm not one of those people who will throw themselves at you. So keep your flowers and give them to someone else."

"Should I keep them or give them to you?" Diego grinned. Veruca gave an exasperated sigh. "Calm down, baby. Maybe I just want to go out with you. And spend more than just one night."

Veruca gasped with indignation. Who does he think he is? "First of all," she hissed, " I'm not a baby, I'm a McQuaid, or at least just Veruca. And secondly, you want to spend not only one night, but also one day? No, thanks. I'd rather be alone than lie under someone else and then get muddied, okay?"

Diego smiled. In a strange, affectionate way, there was something mysterious and hungry in his dark brown eyes, as if she was a piece of candy that he couldn't wait to unwrap.

"I see," he said softly. "See you later, Veruca."

In the evening, after she slapped Caplan, left him and complained about him to Chiara, before going to bed, Veruca remembered that she had never returned the sunflowers, and they were shining in the dark Slytherin bedroom. Well, that's fine. They are beautiful...

Day 4

On this day, the sky suddenly frowned, clouded with a silver haze; a cold wind blew, carrying with it a pile of dead leaves, no longer burning with gold. A bloodless pallor settled over Hogwarts like a semi-transparent mist, as if someone invisible had suddenly drained the last of autumn's juices and warmth, and Veruca, wrapped in her robes, came to Herbology class. Professor Sprout, warm and plump, was as friendly as ever and talked about how to turn the most common weeds into the most common tulips, Tulip immediately noticed that she liked it, and frowned at Carson — they had a fight a couple of days ago. Rowan walked calmly past Ben, who she'd almost gotten into a fight with the day before, and Veruca noted grimly that she wasn't the only one with boy problems.

"So, get ready!" professor Sprout clapped her hands. "Today's spell does not apply to magic plants, but it helps a lot if you want to give your friend or partner a bouquet of beautiful tulips!"

"Carson only needs one beautiful Tulip," Rowan said, and she and Veruca giggled. Tulip pursed her lips grimly, "Well, yes. That's why he said yesterday that he was sick of my eternal thirst for adventure." Veruca knew perfectly well that this was said in a much milder form than the one Tulip had given her, but it was useless to argue: Carson and Tulip will make up tomorrow or the day after, which means it doesn't make sense to take their conflict seriously.

So she decided to take up the lesson and diligently wrote down everything that Professor Sprout said, and by the end of the lesson she had mastered the spell perfectly. As they were about to leave, a familiar voice called out to Veruca. A voice that stretches like hot chocolate. For some reason, she was a little pleased to hear him, although at one time she was irritated.

"How are you?" Diego sauntered over to her and touched his hand to his silky dark hair. "Did you learn your lesson with the-tulip weeds?" Veruca smiled dryly, ignoring the surprised looks from Penny and Rowan. All they probably wanted to do was tell everyone about their little affair with Diego. "And you?"

"I'm glad you asked," Caplan smiled charmingly (if Veruca had been any other student, she would have been nothing but a pink puddle) and, waving his wand as if he was going to show everyone his beautiful hands with flexible fingers, pointed to the weeds — and the unsightly, flabby plants instantly transformed into a wonderful bouquet of yellow and pink tulips with elastic buds and a pleasant aroma. Fortunately, no one was paying attention to them except Rowan and Penny, who were standing behind her, but that was enough: Veruca could feel their eyes boring into her back. Diego took the tulips and handed them to her. "Here. A bunch of tulips will add to your dark dungeons, won't they?"

She stood looking at him for a few seconds, wanting to laugh. How stupid, persistent, and sweet he is, this Diego Caplan! What a fool! Is she supposed to be flattered by such intrusive attention? Veruca didn't like it when someone invaded her personal space, and when she looked into Diego's dark chocolate eyes, she smiled, took the bouquet and said sweetly, "Thank you." She turned and shouted: "Hey, Tulip!"

"What are you doing?" Diego's smile faded instantly. Tulip watched Carson leave, then slowly walked over to Veruca and asked sadly, "What is it?"

"It's from Carson," Veruca said, and passed the flowers to Tulip. She was stunned, looking at the fresh bouquet as if it were the eighth wonder of the world, and so was Diego, and Veruca, smiling triumphantly, took her bag and left the greenhouse, feeling that she had put Diego Caplan in his place. But for some reason, the sweet feeling of victory was mixed with something bitter, like... regret?

Day 5

Veruca didn't know what was happening to her. Honestly, she just didn't understand. Diego Caplan had stopped annoying her. When she woke up in the morning, she felt a gnawing sense of guilt for giving his flowers to Tulip, for ignoring his attentions so actively, which were actually not so bad — it was better than if he was spreading his hands or making obscene compliments.

Diego was cute. He gave her flowers. And she just took it and, without even trying to be polite, rejected it. So Veruca thought the next day as she tossed and turned in the pearly gray, rattling light of morning; the bedroom was dark and quiet, except for Liz, who was snoring peacefully in her bed; Veruca suffered from the urge to go and apologize to Diego. Sunflowers added the melancholy, spreading a bunch of pure gold to the gloom of the Slytherin bedroom — Caplan's gift. Diego Caplan.

So in the morning, slipping out of the soft embrace of the bed, Veruca dressed quickly and went to breakfast before anyone else, hoping to see Diego on the threshold of the Great hall and apologize. Yes, her pride will howl...

Fortunately, Diego showed up at his table, and as soon as he finished and went to the door, Veruca left the half-eaten sausages and ran after him. Diego walked with his usual slightly swaying gait, so unhurried and confident that Veruca began to feel less confident, but she ran up and touched him on the shoulder. He turned around. He looked perfectly normal, not at all sad, and Veruca wondered if Diego wasn't upset at all. It's kind of a shame. "Veruca McQuaid," he smiled a little. "Hello."

"Hi," she stammered. Diego chuckled. "Look, I want to apologize for giving your flowers to Tulip yesterday." she found herself painfully short of words. "But Carson and Tulip made up."

Diego laughed. He had a beautiful laugh, low and clear. "How kind you are," he said. "Well, I will forgive you on one condition: you'll accept the next bouquet of flowers from me."

Veruca looked at him blankly. Does he have metal nerves or what? "Um," she said. "If you accept, I'll forgive you," Diego said, running a hand through his silky chocolate hair. Veruca noticed that they were beautifully, cleanly shining. "Do you agree?"

Veruca sighed. It's not so bad to get flowers. But she was supposed to be apologizing to him, making up for her "sins" in some way, not getting a gift, right? But Diego seemed serious, and she decided that if this was a way to let him know that she, Veruca McQuaid, was apologizing to him, let it be so: awkward, but not humiliating. It would have been far worse if he had asked her to leave him alone, or simply ignored her...

"All right," she said. "Okay, I agree." she looked into Diego's dark, shiny, soft eyes, framed by black lashes. And, for some reason, her heart fluttered with joy.

That evening, a first-year student wearing large round glasses approached Veruca. The girl was sitting on the couch reading a book when a first-year, Elora Dunn, came up to her and told her that she had received a gift. The gift was a bouquet of Calla lilies — white and pale pink, neat, velvety and delicate to the touch. Veruca took the bouquet from Elora and just stared at it for a few seconds, not noticing that the first-year had gone to her dorm and it didn't really matter.

The bouquet of Calla lilies had a delicate and soft aroma, like some ice cream. Veruca lifted the bouquet to her face, and the fragile petals brushed her cheeks. I guess sometimes you need to be able to apologize. The thought made her smile, and when she went to bed, Veruca felt extremely happy, as if a star had been lit somewhere inside her that would never go out...

Day 6

Veruca expected this farce of flowers to end after she accepted a bouquet of Calla lilies from Diego. Now, perhaps, he is tired, and he will no longer approach her with another bouquet of flowers, beautiful, bright, sweet-smelling... It would seem that Veruca should have been relieved — at last he was behind, she should be happy!

But when Diego didn't speak to her the next day, didn't even look back or come up with a bunch of flowers, she felt abandoned and sad, even though, of course, Diego didn't owe her anything. After a few days of pampering, that's enough. But why did Veruca feel that she really wanted to talk to Diego, to hear his voice again, to look into his dark, hot chocolate eyes again...

"Stop it!"

Veruca snapped, brushing her hair in front of the mirror this morning. Today, she had let her thick brown hair down, and it fell in a dark wave over her shoulders and framed her pale pink face beautifully. A bouquet of calla lilies, delicate and pleasing to the eye, stood on her bedside table and gave off a delicate fragrance.

Merula, passing by, grumbled that "McQuaid has already got everyone going mad with her flowers," but Veruca ignored this, preoccupied with her own thoughts, and put an emerald pendant around her neck to set off her eyes. Perhaps Diego might have been interested in her because of her looks, even though she hoped he liked her for more than just her pretty face...

"Stop it now. It's probably over. He's tired of you, and you're tired of him. And it is over."

But now she didn't want it to end so much. It was Saturday, and Veruca had decided to stop by the Hospital wing to help madam Pomfrey — sometimes on weekends she tended to patients and helped the elderly matron with some medical matters. Madam Pomfrey was not in the wing today, so Veruca began sorting through the used bottles of medicinal potions, selecting those that needed to be washed and those that needed to be treated first with a special antiseptic — the potions in them had to be poured into an exceptionally clean container.

Working here was very boring and time-consuming, but Veruca felt that sorting out bottles, bandaging wounds, and so on would help her miraculously put her confused thoughts in order. There was something right and clear about it. Suddenly the doors opened and Veruca turned to greet madam Pomfrey, but when she saw who it was, she froze, startled.

Diego Caplan stood in the doorway of the Hospital wing with a bouquet of pink flowers with crimson cores and yellow petals — Alstroemeria. He was smiling, and it seemed to warm Veruca. She just stared at Diego for a few seconds, unable to say anything, and he stepped up to her, "I didn't specify how many bouquets you should accept in order for me to forgive you."

Veruca opened her mouth awkwardly, "Oh... I... thank you," was all she said. Diego gave her a deep, mesmerizing smile.She picked up the flowers and then felt her nose itch and sneezed. "Bless you."

"Thank you... ah!" Veruca sneezed again. Her nose itched, her throat seemed to narrow slightly, and it was harder to breathe. Diego looked at her blankly. Veruca wiped her nose and looked at Alstroemeria. Then she slapped her forehead and started laughing.

"What is it?" Diego looked startled. "Hey, Veruca? What happened?" he took her by the shoulder. Veruca sneezed again, already trying to hide her slight pleasance at the touch of someone else's warm fingers, and said, "I'm allergic to these flowers..."

Diego looked so dumbfounded that she was sneezing and laughing for a long time, and then stopped sneezing and continued to laugh until dinner. But there were still tulips and sunflowers in her room, and the alstroemeria had to be given to Chiara, who was happy to put them in her dorm, so there were enough flowers for everyone, there was no doubt about that...

Day 7

Veruca slept well that night. She dreamed of Diego, smiling, wearing a light gray frock coat and holding a bouquet of roses. They seemed to be dancing under a vast starry sky, and from somewhere an unfamiliar melody was flowing, light and pleasant; it ran like a stream between stones, harmonious, subtle; then Diego suddenly literally disappeared, the melody stopped, everything was plunged into darkness for a few seconds, and Veruca woke up.

There was a strange, happy peace in her soul, and at the same time an anticipation of something very, very good; outside the window, the morning haze turned the ground and horizon ruby and tangerine, and the dim bedroom was bathed in warm light. Her roommates were snoring peacefully in their beds, behind the drawn curtains, and Veruca was left to her own thoughts and beautiful dream...

Everything went fine in the morning: the weather was fine again, and Veruca liked her own reflection in the mirror very much today — her hair were shining, her eyes were shining, her face was fresh and rested; it was a warm Sunday outside the window, and she wasn't even annoyed by the ever-dissatisfied Merula and the untidy Ismelda. Veruca cleaned her room peacefully, had a breakfast of scrambled eggs, played a game of gobstones with Tulip and Carson, who made up and looked at each other with loving eyes again, and passed her Charms homework.

But the best part, what she had been subconsciously waiting for all this time, happened after lunch. She and Diego ran into each other near the forest. It was empty: the students were gathered closer to the castle. The first thing Veruca saw was a familiar blue denim jacket, and then a bunch of blood — red carnations and familiar soft dark brown eyes. At first, she couldn't believe her eyes: another bouquet?

Diego stopped when he saw her. Grinned. "This is the last one," he said, turning over a bunch of carnations wrapped in milky white shimmering paper. "I hope you're not allergic to carnations."

"No," Veruca said, and then automatically repeated to herself, "the last one." Just a few days ago, she wanted it so much, and now...

"Along with this bouquet," Diego announced softly, smiling, "I want to ask you out, Veruca McQuaid. What do you say?"

Veruca froze. Ask her out? On a date? Diego Caplan? Her?

"I will understand if you refuse," Diego was calm. "But accept the bouquet. This is the last one."

And he handed her the flowers. Veruca picked up the delicate scarlet flowers wrapped in paper and stared at them for a few seconds. They were so beautiful. Fragrant. And from him...

The sun shone even brighter. The foliage is flushed with pure gold. Hogwarts castle suddenly became not clumsy and heavy, but majestic and beautiful. Veruca looked at Diego, feeling her heart flutter sweetly, happily, and sing, and Diego seemed to her the most beautiful young man on earth, and a bouquet of carnations was the most beautiful gift, the most elegant and appropriate...

"Well, so what?" Diego held out his hand. "How about a walk in the woods, an evening at Hogsmeade, Madame Puddifoot's cafe, and the company of a handsome man like me, hmm?"

Veruca couldn't help but laugh. "I agree, handsome man," she said softly, and put her hand in his. They walked towards the forest, through the golden trees, looking at each other and assessing each other anew...

And that was just the beginning of their story.

And the reason for everything...

Were flowers.

[nyerus]

MDZS  vs.  The Untamed

Differences between “Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation” (Mó Dào Zǔ Shī - 魔道祖师) and its live drama adaptation “The Untamed” (Chén Qíng Lìng - 陈情令)

(If you want to skip right to the differences, please see below the cut!)

I’ve recently fallen into the MXTX fandom by crying through TGCF and I’ve been delighted to see that I’m not the only one who’s been newly inducted. I've been seeing so much of the live action adaptation of MDZS, i.e. CQL, on my dash, and I'm so happy about it. After watching it, I thought it wouldn't be a bad idea to make a post cataloging the differences between CQL and MDZS for those interested.  (ﾉ´ヮ`)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ The goal of this post is for two reasons: First, to help people who are totally new to MDZS and are starting out with CQL as their entry, and then reading the novel (or going to the donghua/manhua). This will hopefully help them get their bearings in regards to the fandom, so that they won't be confused when coming across certain content that isn't in the live drama. Second, this is to help folks who have already read the novel/etc to understand what's different in the live action, so when/if they choose to watch CQL, they aren't caught off-guard by any changes. (I won't get into the manhua/donghua in this post because it's already too long as it is.) Hopefully, this will also help bridge the gap between fans, so that we can have a fun and shared experienced over this incredible world brought to us by MXTX! This post is split into two distinct sections: one without any major spoilers, and one with spoilers. If you want to be as unspoiled as possible and just want to know the big differences between the novel and drama, please read only the first portion. The second //spoiler-filled// portion is divided into other major and minor differences, and is mainly intended for people who have experienced at least one version already. Additionally, if you are completely new to MDZS, there are things which may seem like spoilers to you, but happen in like the first page of the novel/in the summary itself (or in the first 10mins of the first episode), and will not be treated as such. I will do what I can to keep actual spoilers out of the first section….

Before jumping right into it though, I think it’s time to say that many of the differences in CQL are in large part due to the strict censorship laws that China has. Unfortunately, we just have to live with this fact. Thankfully for us, the creators of CQL have earnestly tried their best in keeping the major points and themes of MDZS in tact, and have really stuck to the spirit of the series. Kudos to them and the actors for their hard work!

SPOILER-FREE DIFFERENCES

There is no explicit romance between Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji in CQL. They are literally called soulmates right in the CQL summary, and there are very obvious romantic undertones to their relationship in the drama—but there is nothing explicit on-screen. Naturally, due to censorship. While the novel has the two in an intimate (and very explicit) relationship where they end up literally married, the show tones this down to something more subtle. It’s still pretty obvious that they’re in love though. (Especially in the 20-episode wangxian special edition.) Also, they always seem to be sharing a room with one bed….

The plot is modified for CQL. In the novel, the plot revolves around Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji following an aggrieved spirit as they uncover the truth of what’s going on. In CQL, this was changed from the dismembered arm of said spirit to a sword, but it serves virtually the same purpose as it does in the novel. The other real major difference with the plot is that something known as “Yin Iron” is what drives a majority of the past’s plot. It has its origins tied to demonic cultivation, which I will explain more below. It doesn’t drastically change the actual plot itself, but does change some motivations, etc. This is not present in the novel.

Wei Wuxian is not the founder of demonic cultivation in the drama. Yes I know this seems whack. After all, the original novel is literally called Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation/Founder of Diabolism. But due to censorship laws, they had to change this. Wei Wuxian still uses demonic cultivation, and still invents many things (the compass, the spirit flags, the amulet, etc). He’s still shown as a prodigy—but demonic cultivation is a thing that’s been around long before the story takes place; it’s just that no one uses it except Wei Wuxian. The reason is the existence of the Yin Iron. It was something that was found and revered long ago, and is a source of dark power. Hence, why demonic cultivation already exists, but also why no one follows that path. The necromancy angle is also downplayed in CQL.

Wei Wuxian’s morality is somewhat different. Again, due to censorship restrictions. In the novel, Wei Wuxian is far more of a gray character who does some questionable things. He makes mistakes, there are things which are definitely his fault, and he has many things which he regrets. However in CQL, he is shown more as a victim of circumstance. He’s portrayed as a much more innocent character, who happens to be doing what’s right, and is just continually fucked over. He still does plenty of questionable things, but it’s less so than in the novel. In both versions, he is still Chaotic Good, just the novel emphasizes chaotic, and the drama emphasizes good. Also, CQL doesn’t really portray Wei Wuxian’s breakdown or deteriorating mental health before his death too deeply.

Wei Wuxian’s death in the beginning of the story is different. The novel is much more vague in this regard, and it is more drawn-out. I will return to this point later as well, in regards to spoilers. The live drama has a more… “peaceful” and quick type of death for Wei Wuxian, and given how it’s the very first scene that you see in the show, it may catch novel fans off guard. Still absolutely heart-wrenching though, especially when you see it play out in full later on.

The structure of the live drama’s narrative is different. While MDZS intersperses its main story in the present timeline with flashbacks (as do the donghua and manhua), CQL goes about it differently. After episode 2, CQL takes the viewer all the way to the past and goes through the entire timeline of events which happen leading up to Wei Wuxian’s death as seen in the first few scenes. From episode 3 to episode 33, you are firmly in the past only. Novel readers may find that this causes many things to be revealed quite early on. The change in structure is probably the biggest difference. From episode 33 and onwards, you are back to the present.

Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji’s relationship in the present timeline is different to start out with. The novel has Wei Wuxian first operating under the assumption that Lan Wangji doesn’t like him. This eventually turns around, and deepens into a romantic relationship between the two. CQL on the other hand, has present-timeline!Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji having a much more tender relationship from the moment they meet again.

Wei Wuxian’s appearance remains the same after he is resurrected in the drama. While in the novel and other adaptations, Wei Wuxian takes on the appearance of Mo Xuanyu (who happens to look similar to a younger him, luckily enough), this does not happen in the drama. Probably done for convenience’s sake. It is never properly explained other than the fact that along with the soul-summoning spell, Mo Xuanyu did some other things to ensure that Wei Wuxian returned to what looked like his old body. (Some body parts snatching might’ve been involved.) Thus, Wei Wuxian hides his identity by wearing a mask.

Everyone looks the same as they did when they were teenagers. Again, probably just for convenience’s sake. They spend a lot of time in the flashbacks so getting viewers used to one set of faces, and then changing everything would be jarring—and also expensive to swap out actors. So despite a 16 year gap, everyone looks the same with no aging. #cultivatingimmortality

The time gap between Wei Wuxian’s death and resurrection is slightly longer in the drama. It’s 16 years versus 13 years in the novel. Unsure of why the change, as it doesn’t change much apart from serving to make some of the kids older. Some kids’ ages are also slightly altered. It’s not a huge difference and it plays virtually no difference in plot. Also, I can’t confirm it, but everyone seems to start out older as well.

Xiao Xingchen, Song Lan, and Xue Yang are encountered much earlier in the drama. Before Wei Wuxian’s death, the three of them are encountered in Yueyang before the start of the Sunshot Campaign. The rest of their story plays out after Wei Wuxian’s resurrection.

Jiang Yanli, Wen Qing, and Wen Ning attend the classes at Cloud Recesses. This gives them a lot more screen time. Elaborated in spoilers below.

Wen Qing’s relationship with Wen Ruohan is more antagonistic from the start. Just like how Wei Wuxian is shown more as a victim of circumstance, so is Wen Qing (and by extension Wen Ning). Elaborated below.

The next section is spoiler-filled. It’s divided into two parts: major and minor differences. Turn back now if you don’t want serious spoilers for either CQL or MDZS!!!

SPOILER-FILLED MAJOR DIFFERENCES

After the dancing statue/Dafan Mountain incident — Wei Wuxian passed out, and wakes up in Cloud Recesses in Lan Wangji’s room. Both of them know™ already. Thus, Wei Wuxian doesn’t even try to pretend that he’s Mo Xuanyu in front of Lan Wangji, but he keeps up the appearance for other people until he’s figured out. This allows the two of them to have a very private relationship with each other.

Also lending to this, Wei Wuxian dies in a much different way in the drama, and dies knowing that Lan Wangji cares deeply about him. Thus why their relationship on his resurrection is so soft. He knew that Lan Wangji protected him and tried to save him until the very end, and is far more affectionate as a result.

Speaking of his death…. In CQL, Wei Wuxian chooses to basically swan dive off a cliff after seeing the horrors in front of him. It has a very lucid finality to it, and feels as though he has decided that only his death can bring peace, and so he falls back off a cliff—only to be caught momentarily by Lan Wangji. He eventually wrests himself from Lan Wangji’s grasp and falls to his death as Lan Wangji (and Jiang Cheng) watches in horror. The novel is far more vague and hints that he met a more gruesome end.

Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian essentially make up at the end of the drama—or at least end on decent terms by agreeing to put their past behind them and move on. Wei Wuxian wipes away a stray tear as Jiang Cheng cries in front of him in the temple. After everything is said and done, Jiang Cheng privately and quietly wishes Wei Wuxian well as he leaves with Lan Wangji.

Lan Xichen does not go into seclusion at the end of the drama. Despite his trauma, he’s relatively okay as compared to the novel. The drama doesn’t really comment on this aspect, to be honest.

In CQL, Jiang Yanli attends the classes at Cloud Recesses with her brothers. She is given extra interaction with Jin Zixuan during this. Yanli is in general given way more screen time in CQL. She is present during the destruction of Lotus Pier (she appears with Jiang Fengmian), and escapes with Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng to Yiling.

Similarly, Wen Ning and Wen Qing are also present for the classes at Cloud Recesses. This is where they first meet Wei Wuxian (and Jiang Cheng), instead of Wen Ning and Wei Wuxian meeting in Qishan later. This gives all of them a pre-existing relationship before the events at Lotus Pier. Jiang Cheng also harbors a tiny crush on Wen Qing for a little bit. #same

Wen Qing is handled with much more suspicion by Wen Ruohan and Wen Chao, and during the Sunshot Campaign, she is even locked up. She’s saved by Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng, but goes her separate way until Wei Wuxian encounters her again after becoming the Yiling Patriarch proper.

Mianmian is shown to be a part of the Jin sect in CQL, and is close to Jin Zixuan. She renounces her ties to Lanling Jin after everyone starts hating on Wei Wuxian.

Mianmian is also encountered in episode 1. She and her family replace the random farmer family they meet once they leave Gusu (for the second time) on their way to the Burial Mounds. The timing of this may also be different. This is because there is no real “epilogue” that takes 3 months later, like the final chapter of MDZS.

Mo Xuanyu was not ostracized for the same reasons as in the novel. In the novel, he’s also thought to be insane, but was thrown out because he supposedly “harassed” Meng Yao (i.e. had romantic feelings for him which were found out and he was driven out of Lanling). In CQL, he was thrown out for “harassing” Qin Su, but in actuality was only trying to reveal the truth about her husband, and was thrown out as an excuse to get rid of him before he became troublesome.

During the hunt in Phoenix Mountain, Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian have a heart-to-heart, and establish that they do, in fact, care for one another. (I’m pretty sure they use the word soulmate here, but the subs are like “lifelong confidante” lol.)

The origins of the bunnies is different in CQL, and is tied to Lan Yi—an ancestor of the Lan clan (the one who invented Cord Assassination). Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji find a cave in Gusu during their classmate days, which holds the spirit of Lan Yi. There, she reveals information about the Yin Iron and that she is guarding one piece of it. After all this, Wei Wuxian looks after the bunnies after taking them out of the cave, and as he leaves Cloud Recesses, he leaves them in the care of Lan Wangji.

The Gusu Lan sect is less rekt in CQL, as many of them are able to hide away in the aforementioned cave during the destruction of Cloud Recesses. Su She, then a disciple of Gusu Lan, betrays them by telling Wen Chao that the others are hiding in the cave. He’s summarily kicked out. In the novel, he’s the one that tries to rat out Mianmian when they’re facing the Tortoise of Slaughter. (He is still the one who casts the hundred holes spell on Jin Zixun.)

SPOILER-FILLED MINOR DIFFERENCES

In CQL, after his 33 lashes, Lan Wangji goes into forced seclusion for 3 years first. And then his 13 years of playing Inquiry start. Extra depressing, but it doesn’t change anything else.

The ghost baby that Wang LingJiao sees is replaced with a dismembered eye. Still gory. Don’t really know which one is worse…….. Her death is definitely less gory in CQL, though.

The Stygian Tiger Amulet was made of the strange weapon found in the Tortoise of Slaughter in both the novel and drama, but in CQL, said weapon was actually a fragment of the Yin Iron.

CQL shows a few scenes of Wei Wuxian when he first gets tossed into the Burial Mounds.

Lan Qiren is the head of the Gusu Lan sect, all the way through the story in CQL, including the end. Lan Xichen is never referred to as the sect leader.

Gusu Lan's rules are a little less strict in CQL. And co-ed classmates and cultivators seem to be the norm.

This post is certainly not 100% complete, as it’s just what I managed to pick up as I watched/read and remembered to note down. But if you have questions or comments, please reach out to me and I’ll do my best to answer! I hope this is as accurate as possible, but since I’m flying off memory...  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Take care, all! Feel free to drop into my DMs and scream with me!  ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ✩‧₊˚

[thebachelordiaries]

Clare seeks HIMBO: ‘The Bachelorette’ cast first impressions

The Covid-19 pandemic has been rough for the entire world, but Bachelor Nation faced some dark days too. Going eight months without a single new episode from The Bachelor franchise is something I would really like to not relive.

Fortunately, those dark days are over. Clare’s season has me sucked back in. 

The quality of this image is atrocious.

Most of these men—presuming they followed CDC’s social distancing guidelines— haven’t seen a woman in months, are touch deprived, possibly unemployed and contemplating moving back to their hometown while stalking the housing market on Zillow. Everyone’s desperate. That makes for some pretty good TV.

This season features men ranging from ages 26 to 41. We’ve got a boy band manager, a grooming specialist, several men who look like they masturbate in front of full length mirrors and even more who probably want me to join their MLM pyramid scheme. 

I’ve never been more ready to roast a bunch of men who have nightmares about going bald. It’s all I’ve wanted to do since March.

Let’s go:

AJ, 28, Software sales

AJ is the kind of guy who writes “Looking for the Pam to my Jim <3″ on his Bumble profile. His bio is generic and probably not reflective of who he is as a person. If I were Clare I’d swipe left.

Ben, 29, Army ranger veteran

“Ben's favorite indulgence is an ice bath.“ Well then.

Alexa, play “Run” by AWOLNATION.

Bennett, 36, Wealth management consultant

Bennett’s profile is the biggest red flag I’ve ever seen. This man says he is the total package but hasn’t always been "this successful and good looking.” But wait, there’s more: “According to Bennett, his high school girlfriend is the only girl he's ever had to work for.“

Can someone tell me what NYC neighborhood he lives in so I can blacklist it?

Blake M1, 31, Male grooming specialist

Blake’s just another stereotypical “29th round draft pick who sat on the bench of the practice team before getting cut, but claims he left the sport due to an injury on his own accord.” 

Blake M2, 29, Wildlife manager

This Blake is an outdoorsy Canadian who seems pretty genuine and cool. Unfortunately, he has the face of someone who’d get sent home on night one. I hope I’m wrong.

Brandon, 28, Real Estate Agent

Just another boring hot person. Nothing to see here.

Brendan, 30, Commercial roofer

Brandan, not to be confused for Brandon, “loves some good true crime, working out and hanging out with his friends.” I can’t even make fun of this man. We have the exact same interests. 

Chasen, 31, IT account executive

The Winklevoss twins are actually triplets and Chasen is their long lost brother. But more seriously, have you ever seen someone who looks more like their name than this man?

Chris, 27, Landscape design salesman

“Chris hopes to find a woman who is sharp and witty but also easygoing.” Chris, sweetheart, have you met Clare? Easygoing...? There’s still time back out of this before it’s too late.

Dale, 31, Former pro football wide receiver

Dale aggressively screams “Bachelor material.” I’d say he’s auditioning for that role but Matt James already scooped it up. Better luck next year, Daley.

Demar, 26, Spin cycling instructor

Demar is a “very popular spin instructor in Scottsdale and says he can get on that bike and spin to any beat thrown his way.” Imagine how many trophy wives Demar has f*cked? 

Eazy, 29, Sports marketing agent

Eazy is very similar to Dale on paper. Except his name is Eazy so he automatically loses that battle.

Ed, 33, Health care salesman

“Ed is looking to find a woman who has natural beauty without looking overly fake.” Ed deserves to die alone.

Garin, 34, Professor of Journalism

Garin’s bio is giving me hubby material vibes. And maybe a little bit of a “gets eliminated on night one” vibe too.

Ivan, 28, Aeronautical Engineer

Ivan, what are you doing here? We’re in a recession. Please go back to your normal job before it’s too late. 

Jason, 31, Former pro football linemen

“He is a former NFL offensive lineman who, after suffering too many concussions on the field, decided to prioritize his health and change the direction of his life.” A big, brawny HIMBO with CTE? I feel like he’s Clare’s type.

Jay, 29, Fitness director

There are too many things about Jay that I dislike and I’m trying to keep this brief. Jay says “it's time to take a break from worrying about others and focus on himself instead.” I am willing to bet money that this man has never made a woman c*m.

Jeremy, 40, Banker

Jeremy is the oldest contestant ever to come on "The Bachelorette,” which may seem like a monuments accomplishment but he’s literally only one year older than Clare. 

He also “hates Instagram models, both male and female,” so he should have a lot of fun here.

Joe, 36, Anesthesiologist

Before I even saw his profession and location, I thought Joe looked like a doctor I’d find on a NYC dating app...and...uh...I probably did see him on there now that I think about it.

Anyway, this man has apparently been through seven stages of hell while on the front lines fighting Covid-19 in NYC so I definitely think he deserves to find love. Someone marry him please.

Jordan C, 26, Software account executive

I can already tell Jordan is going to get the “I’m young but mature” edit which means he’s probably not going to be good TV.

Too bad someone a tad younger (like Tayshia) wasn’t the Bachelorette. I feel like they’d make a cute couple.

Jordan M., 30, Cyber security engineer

I was going to say something mean but Jordan’s into cyber security and I don’t want my blog to be deactivated, so never mind. Cast photos are historically bad so I’m sure he looks much better in real life.

Kenny, 39, Boy band manager

I could go for the obvious drags regarding this man’s profession (or his sh*tty chest tattoo, or his suspiciously boyish face relative to his age), but I like to think I’m more clever than that. 

I’d like to take this time to talk about men, who are obviously difficult people, who rant and rave about how they want an “easygoing” woman. Look into the mirror, bud. No, not the one you use to jerk off to your reflection; the mirror that looks into your soul. Out of respect for the rest of humankind, have some self-awareness. Or maybe just see a therapist.

Mike, 38, Digital media advisor

Mike is seemingly a decent catch, but I can’t help but wonder why he’s still single or how he never (accidentally or on purpose) impregnated a woman in his 38 years of life. 

And now that I’m thinking about it, do any of these men have children? I have yet to see any mention of it in their bios. But there are eight men left to review, so there’s still time.

Page, 37, Chef

I spoke too soon. Page is a father! He also hates football! I’m a fan of this man. I was initially going to drag him for his name and say that Page is not a real name. PAIGE is a real name. PAGE is a piece of paper. I’m allowed to say this because we have the same name except mine is spelled the correct way. Based on my (mostly positive) review of his cast bio, I have decided not to hold his name against him.

Riley, 30, Long Island City

Riley, once married with children, would like to go on a family vacation that consists of touring every single MLB stadium in the country. If i were his wife, I would simply never give this man children.

Robby, 30, Insurance broker

No more Robbys on The Bachelorette. Society has evolved past its need for more Robbys.

This Robby described his dream woman as: “Incredibly athletic and able to throw back a few beers with him after a day of hiking. She has a sweet personality and won't mind that he spends his Sundays on the golf course.”

Someone please give this man a sex doll. He just wants a hole.

Tyler C., 27, Lawyer

“Tyler C. is a badass lawyer who says he is a businessman by day and a cowboy by night.” How does that make him a lawyer? Does this mean he’s into cosplay? I’m confused.

Tyler S., 36, Music manager

Tyler makes an honorable living off riding his brother’s dick success as a country singer. “He just LOVES his job!” Uh yeah, I would too if I had a low-show, high-paying job off the merits of nepotism. It’s the American dream.

Yosef, 30, Medical device salesman

Another dad! He’s totally going to pull the “girl dad” narrative. That saying is kind of sexist to me but the masses generally eat it up, so I’m fairly confident Yosef will get the "sweet guy” edit he’s looking for.

Zac C., 36, Addiction specialist

“He loves Philadelphia sports and dreams of sharing a Philly Cheesesteak with his future wife while watching the Eagles win a Super Bowl.” This man is so South Jersey it hurts. 

On a more serious note, I don’t think anyone in recent history has spoken openly about their personal struggle with addiction on this show, so I hope Zac gets a chance to tell his story. 

Zach J., 37, Cleaning service owner

Zach is seemingly obsessed with Clare already and hopes to introduce her to his mom as his fiancée. Since Zach watched Clare on Juan Pablo’s season, you’d think he’d know that Clare would first meet his mom during the final four hometown dates. Assuming he makes it that far. My prediction is that he won’t.

Final thoughts

After eight long months Bachelor Mondays are back!!!

Uhh....wait.

Actually, we now have the less-exciting Bachelor Tuesdays. Yeah, it definitely doesn’t have the same ring to it. But I’ll take anything at this point.

Here are my final predictions:

First impression rose: Dale. It just looks like he can turn on the bullsh*t charm

Final rose: Jason. Clare wants a HIMBO I just know it.

Bachelor: nobody (Matt James is The Bachelor)

Most likely to get engaged on Bachelor in Paradise: Blake M2

Most likely to get canceled online: Bennett

Most likely to get sent home night one but deserve better: Chris

Who are your favorite men cast on this season?

[gadgetgirl71]

Amazon First Reads for June 2020

I know I say this every single month, but I can’t get over how quickly the last month has gone. Meaning that for Amazon Prime Members we get to choose which Amazon First Read were going to download for free. Again this month as most months there are eight books to choose from.

This months choices are:

Suspense 

The Bone Jar by S W Kane, Pages: 328, Publication Date: 1 July 2020

Synopsis: Two murders. An abandoned asylum. Will a mysterious former patient help untangle the dark truth?

The body of an elderly woman has been found in the bowels of a derelict asylum on the banks of the Thames. As Detective Lew Kirby and his partner begin their investigation, another body is discovered in the river nearby. How are the two murders connected?

Before long, the secrets of Blackwater Asylum begin to reveal themselves. There are rumours about underground bunkers and secret rooms, unspeakable psychological experimentation, and a dark force that haunts the ruins, trying to pull back in all those who attempt to escape. Urban explorer Connie Darke, whose sister died in a freak accident at the asylum, is determined to help Lew expose its grisly past. Meanwhile Lew discovers a devastating family secret that threatens to turn his life upside down.

As his world crumbles around him, Lew must put the pieces of the puzzle together to keep the killer from striking again. Only an eccentric former patient really knows the truth—but will he reveal it to Lew before it’s too late?

Contemporary Fiction

Someone Else’s Secret by Julia Spiro, Pages: 363, Publication Date: 1 July 2020

Synopsis: Here’s the thing about secrets: they change shape over time, become blurry with memory, until the truth is nearly lost.

2009. Lindsey and Georgie have high hopes for their summer on Martha’s Vineyard. In the wake of the recession, ambitious college graduate Lindsey accepts a job as a nanny for an influential family who may help her land a position in Boston’s exclusive art world. Georgie, the eldest child in that family, is nearly fifteen and eager to find herself, dreaming of independence and yearning for first love.

Over the course of that formative summer, the two young women develop a close bond. Then, one night by the lighthouse, a shocking act occurs that ensnares them both in the throes of a terrible secret. Their budding friendship is shattered, and neither one can speak of what happened that night for ten long years.

Until now. Lindsey and Georgie must confront the past after all this time. Their quest for justice will require costly sacrifices, but it also might give them the closure they need to move on. All they know for sure is that when the truth is revealed, their lives will be forever changed once again.

From a fresh voice in fiction, this poignant and timely novel explores the strength and nuance of female friendship, the cost of ambition, and the courage it takes to speak the truth.

Mystery

Never Look Back by Mary Burton, Pages: 332, Publication Date: 1 July 2020

Synopsis: Expect the unexpected in this gritty, tense, and page-turning mystery from New York Times bestselling author Mary Burton.

After multiple women go missing, Agent Melina Shepard of the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation makes the impulsive decision to go undercover as a prostitute. While working the street, she narrowly avoids becoming a serial killer’s latest victim; as much as it pains her to admit, she needs backup.

Enter lone wolf FBI agent Jerrod Ramsey. Stonewalled by a lack of leads, he and Melina investigate a scene where a little girl has been found abandoned in a crashed vehicle. They open the trunk to reveal a horror show and quickly realise they’re dealing with two serial killers with very different MOs. The whole situation brings back memories for Melina—why does this particular case feel so connected to her painful past?

Before time runs out, Melina must catch not one but two serial killers, both ready to claim another victim—and both with their sights set on her.

Thriller

Find Me by Anne Frasier, Pages: 286, Publication Date: 1 July 2020

Synopsis: A bone-chilling family history is unearthed in a heart-stopping thriller by New York Times bestselling author Anne Frasier.

Convicted serial killer Benjamin Fisher has finally offered to lead San Bernardino detective Daniel Ellis to the isolated graves of his victims. One catch: he’ll only do it if FBI profiler Reni Fisher, his estranged daughter, accompanies them. As hard as it is to exhume her traumatic childhood, Reni can’t say no. She still feels complicit in her father’s crimes.

Perfect to play a lost little girl, Reni was the bait to lure unsuspecting women to their deaths. It’s time for closure. For her. For the families. And for Daniel. He shares Reni’s obsession with the past. Ever since he was a boy, he’s been convinced that his mother was one of Fisher’s victims.

Thirty years of bad memories are flooding back. A master manipulator has gained their trust. For Reni and Daniel, this isn’t the end of a nightmare. It’s only the beginning.

Book Club Fiction

The Lending Library by Aliza Fogelson, Pages: 295, Publication Date: 1 July 2020

Synopsis: For fans of Jane Green and Loretta Nyhan, a heartwarming debut novel about a daydreamer who gives her town, and herself, an amazing gift: a lending library in her sun-room.

When the Chatsworth library closes indefinitely, Dodie Fairisle loses her sanctuary. How is a small-town art teacher supposed to cope without the never-ending life advice and enjoyment that books give her? Well, when she’s as resourceful and generous as Dodie, she turns her sun-room into her very own little lending library.

At first just a hobby, this lit lovers’ haven opens up her world in incredible ways. She knows books are powerful, and soon enough they help her forge friendships between her zany neighbours—and attract an exciting new romance.

But when the chance to adopt an orphaned child brings Dodie’s secret dream of motherhood within reach, everything else suddenly seems less important. Finding herself at a crossroads, Dodie must figure out what it means to live a full, happy life. If only there were a book that could tell her what to do…

Historical Fiction

Opium and Absinthe by Lydia Kang, Pages: 379, Publication Date: 1 July 2020

Synopsis: From the bestselling author of A Beautiful Poison comes another spellbinding historical novel full of intrigue, occult mystery, and unexpected twists.

New York City, 1899. Tillie Pembroke’s sister lies dead, her body drained of blood and with two puncture wounds on her neck. Bram Stoker’s new novel, Dracula, has just been published, and Tillie’s imagination leaps to the impossible: the murderer is a vampire. But it can’t be—can it?

A ravenous reader and researcher, Tillie has something of an addiction to truth, and she won’t rest until she unravels the mystery of her sister’s death. Unfortunately, Tillie’s addicted to more than just truth; to ease the pain from a recent injury, she’s taking more and more laudanum…and some in her immediate circle are happy to keep her well supplied.

Tillie can’t bring herself to believe vampires exist. But with the hysteria surrounding her sister’s death, the continued vampiric slayings, and the opium swirling through her body, it’s becoming increasingly difficult for a girl who relies on facts and figures to know what’s real—or whether she can trust those closest to her.

Epic Fantasy

Scarlet Odyssey by C T Rwizi, Pages: 534, Publication Date: 1 July 2020

Synopsis: Magic is women’s work; war is men’s. But in the coming battle, none of that will matter.

Men do not become mystics. They become warriors. But eighteen-year-old Salo has never been good at conforming to his tribe’s expectations. For as long as he can remember, he has loved books and magic in a culture where such things are considered unmanly. Despite it being sacrilege, Salo has worked on a magical device in secret that will awaken his latent magical powers. And when his village is attacked by a cruel enchantress, Salo knows that it is time to take action.

Salo’s queen is surprisingly accepting of his desire to be a mystic, but she will not allow him to stay in the tribe. Instead, she sends Salo on a quest. The quest will take him thousands of miles north to the Jungle City, the political heart of the continent. There he must gather information on a growing threat to his tribe.

On the way to the city, he is joined by three fellow outcasts: a shunned female warrior, a mysterious nomad, and a deadly assassin. But they’re being hunted by the same enchantress who attacked Salo’s village. She may hold the key to Salo’s awakening—and his redemption.

Children’s Picture Book

Kat and Juju by Kataneh Vahdani, Pages: 40, Publication Date: 1 July 2020

Synopsis: An unlikely duo star in a charming story about being different, finding courage, and the importance of friendship in the first book in a new series from an award-winning animation director.

Kat likes doing things her very own way, but sometimes she doubts herself. So when a bird named Juju arrives, Kat hopes he’ll be the best friend she’s always wanted. He’s outgoing and silly and doesn’t worry about what others think—the opposite of who she is. Bit by bit, with Juju’s help, Kat discovers her strength, and how to have a friend and be one—while still being true to herself.

*** Which book will you choose? I chose “Opium and Absinthe” as soon as I saw the cover I knew that was this book I had to choose. Let me know which book you choose. ***

[a-football-journal]

Satisfaction - Niko Kovac/Part VII

hi, me again. the last part was a little short, no? 

well hopefully this chapter makes up for it... ;) 

I looked out the window onto the tarmac that stretched below the plane. My mind kept rattling with thoughts about what Brazil would be like, and if I was even ready for the experience to come. That was all before I even acknowledged the state of Niko and I. I didn’t want to make things weird for Laura as she was the very reason I was even here, and Kristina would no doubt have my head on a platter, but I just couldn’t stop thinking about what he said that night, let alone how that kiss felt.

“Olivia?”

Just as seamlessly as I fell into the recesses of my mind, I was quickly pulled out of them with my name dropping ever so softly from his lips.

“Yeah?”

Niko chuckled.

“You seem to be very focused on the pavement.”

I looked down and my hands and picked at the chipped polish on my nails. My stomach instantly turned into a pit of knots and I felt a heaviness in my chest, but I managed a smile.

“Just a little nervous is all,” I responded. “This is my first time traveling internationally.”

“For the World Cup? Aren’t you lucky!” I heard a voice pipe up behind me. I turned around to be met with a spiky brown-haired man with a smirk plastered on his face. His chocolate eyes were hypnotizing.

“Hi, I’m Mario,” he said with a wave.

“Olivia,” I quietly muttered.

“And what brings you on this wonderful trip, Miss Olivia? Or are you the striker Coach Niko keeps threatening to replace me with?”

Niko shook his head and as he pulled out a neck pillow from his bag, the smallest of grins forming on his lips.

“Oh no, if he’s replacing you with anyone it certainly isn’t me,” I answered while shifting to face Mario. “I’m just tagging along to keep an eye on Laura during this whole thing.”

He leaned his head against the window and looked at me with kind eyes almost as if he was examining me.

“You’re doing the Lord’s work then.”

“Am I?” I let out with a giggle.

“Watching his pride and joy so he can whip us into shape for this tournament? Yeah, you sure are.”

He fluffled his pillow before resting his head against the window again and closing his eyes.

“You’re already the unsung hero and we haven’t even taken off yet, so thank you for your sacrifice. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to try and get some shuteye before I’m subject to impending shenanigans.”

My lips curled into a smile as I turned to face the front again only to find a sleeping Laura between Niko and I. His hand grazed over her hair softly as he looked down at her, the love clear as day on his face. For the first time since I had woken up that morning, the knots in my stomach were starting to loosen and the pressure in my chest subsided.

“Olivia, hey,” I heard a voice utter softly. Niko’s hand had gently shook my shoulder in an attempt to wake me up.

“Where are we?” I managed to get out after a lengthy yawn.

“We just landed! We’re in Brazil!” Laura essentially yelled as she lightly drummed my thigh with the side of her fists. Apparently, it only took her a nap to fully embrace this experience.

We grabbed our bags and started to head off the plane to be greeted with reporters and photographers. As much as I tried to prepare myself for this trip and every new aspect of it, I definitely did not consider this. It felt oddly invasive to have all of these pictures of me being taken even though I knew I was just an unfortunate casualty in the real pursuit for the players themselves and Niko.

I was so blindsided that I just stood at the gate for a moment. It was as if I was in a bubble and the rest of the world fell away. The clicks of the cameras and the questions from the reporters became muffled as I tried to get my bearings on the scene in front of me.

“It’s okay, draga, they won’t bite,” a voice pierced through the noise. I looked over to my side to see a tall man with short dark hair and a matching goatee. He flashed me a smile before pointing his head to the end of the gate and we walked down together.

“I’m… just not used to any of this, you’ll have to forgive me.”

“Nothing to forgive, this whole part of it is nonsense anyway,” he said as we coursed through the airport. As soon as we reached the baggage claim area he extended his hand.

“I’m Dejan.”

“Olivia,” I said as I reached out to shake his hand.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Olivia. You’re here with Niko, I heard?”

The sentence made my stomach uneasier than I anticipated.

“Yeah, I’m watching Laura throughout the tournament.”

Dejan broke into a toothy smile, which made my heart flutter. Had the Croatian national team always been filled with such beautiful men?

“That’s great,” he affirmed. “Maybe you’ll get to meet my Elena!”

“Oh, you have kids? How many?”

“Just one, right now. She’s the best,” he beamed.

The bags arrived fairly quickly and we were on our way to the exit. Dejan insisted on putting my bags on top of his as he drove the cart and we finally arrived at the pickup area.

“There you are,” Niko exclaimed. “I thought I almost lost you.”

“Sorry, chief, I had her tied up,” Dejan responded before I even had a chance to speak.

He looked over at me and winked before saying his goodbyes and loading his bags into a separate car. I followed Niko and Olivia into the one waiting for us and we drove off to the hotel.

As soon as we arrived, my jaw involuntarily dropped in awe. What little I knew of the lives of these athletes was certainly being set right on this trip. We walked into a pristine, yet functional hotel. It was lavish, but not to the point of excess. Niko picked up the keys from the front desk as a bellhop placed our bags on a trolley.

We made our way up to the 6th floor where the entire team would be staying. Niko pressed the key to the door, which unlocked in seconds. He turned the handle and stepped into the gorgeous suite. It took me a moment to take it all in. The room was spacious, with many different sections. The suite housed two rooms, a bathroom, a makeshift kitchen and a small living area that had a giant window that overlooked the water. Laura made her way to the master bedroom, which left me with the slightly smaller - but still incredibly generous - bedroom.

I rolled my luggage in and took a seat on the bed. A sigh automatically fell out of my mouth as I kicked off my shoes and rested for the first time since touching down in Brazil. However, it was short lived when I heard a knock on the door. After waiting to hear footsteps that never came, I assumed Niko was busy unpacking so I answered the door.

A handsome man with dark brown hair and beautiful green eyes was on the other side of it, towering over me. Ok so, Croatia was full of these cuties and I just wasn’t in the right part? I thought as he smiled at me.

“Oh, sorry, I thought the boss was here,” he said as he looked into the room. “Let me make sure I have the right room….” he stepped outside and examined the number outside the suite.

“Are you looking for Niko?”

“Yes. My name’s Vedran, by the way.”

“Olivia,” I smiled as I could feel a slight blush overtake my cheeks. “Come in, I’ll go get him.”

I walked to the master bedroom and knocked on the wall beside the entrance. Niko looked up from unpacking to catch my gaze, something that shouldn’t have set the butterflies loose in my stomach. His slight grin only added to the sensation.

“Vedran is here.”

“I’ll be right out,” he spoke as he put the last shirt on a hanger and walked out to the living area with me.

I watched as they talked briefly clearing up a scheduling concern and eventually Niko saw Vedran out. He called out a quick “nice meeting you, see you at dinner!” before Niko shut the door and let out a deep breath.

“Stressed?” I asked, now fully sprawled out on the couch.

“Now that we’re officially here, it’s hitting me how real everything is,” he said as he sat down next to me. “And how quickly everything is coming up.”

Instinctively, I reached out to grab his hand and stroked the back of it with my thumb. As soon as my mind realized what my body had done, my grip loosened, but my hand still lingered. He simply grabbed my hand with his free one.

“I’m hungryyyy, when are we eating?” Laura shouted as she joined us, sufficiently - and probably for the best - breaking the moment.

“Well, my dear, it’s a good thing everyone is waiting for us at the team dinner downstairs,” Niko said as he ruffled Laura’s hair and engaged in a play fight with her.

“Race you downstairs?” he had all but barely managed to get out before Laura set off, leaving him and myself to follow her lead.

Dinner was surprisingly enjoyable. The hotel catered a fantastic meal and I got to meet the rest of the players as well as the staff. By the team we got back up to our room, Laura was falling asleep in the hallway. Just as we reached the door, Niko received a call. He stayed out in the hallway while I got Laura in her pajamas and into bed. Within minutes she was dozing off on a mattress way too big for her and I made my way to the other room.

I stripped myself of the clothes I was wearing, including my bra, and pulled on my summer pajama shirt and matching shorts. The jetlag that I had tried my best to keep at bay for most of the day was having its way with me now and I was welcoming it. I put my phone to charge, turned off the light, and nestled myself into the comforter.

My eyes were only closed a few minutes and I was just drifting off into sleep when I felt a the other side of the bed sink. I looked over to see Niko getting into the bed. It was clear he was trying to sneak and be as quiet as possible, but as soon as we made eye contact he gave up the ruse.

“I didn’t want to wake Laura so I thought sleeping over here tonight would be okay?” He spoke just above a whisper.

My confusion immediately rendered him apologetic beyond belief.

“I should have asked first, but I didn’t want to wake you either, I’m so sorry, Oliv-”

“Relax, Niko,” I chuckled in my half-asleep state. “Get in.”

His eyes gave me the thank you his lips didn’t and soon he was just as deep in the sheets as I was. It felt nice to share the bed with someone even if we were on opposite ends.

“Good night, Olivia” were the last words I heard before trailing off to sleep.

[menagerie-rpg]

「 CATALINA CARTER 」

STRATUM: Two AGE: Twenty-six OCCUPATION: Cryptid Research SUGGESTED FCS: Ana De Armas

CREATURE FORM.

ELF is a pointed-eared legendary creature known for their supernatural height. Elves are said to be benevolent and highly observant beings, with the ability to become invisible at will when in this form.

ABOUT.

Curiosity killed the cat, didn’t anybody ever tell you? Far too many times, you stick your nose where it doesn’t belong. If not that, then your hands are juggling more promises and goals than you can handle. Only for all of them to slip through your fingers like sand. But you never learn -- your stubbornness has struck you yet again. One minute, you were researching the fascinating Menagerie. The next, you were caged and faking strength, faux smiles, just so Metzger could go easy on you and everyone else. You pray that your years of failure are over, that if not yourself, you will hold up others without falter.

BIOGRAPHY.

All under the cut.

In the beginning, she had her father and mother and life was saccharine sweet. Her life tasted like peaches and cherries, and smelled like jasmines and blossoms. It stayed that way for a while, because life was very long to a child. Years dragged on for children, birthdays were lightyears away. School teachers and family members always told Catalina that curiosity killed the cat, that was the response she got almost every time she asked “why” one too many times during class or in the arms of her father. Catalina was a smart girl, she was competitive and aggressive with her grades but she was always trying to learn more. She was the kid who read a book during recess and thought of her teachers as her friends. It wasn’t that she didn’t care about being a child, it was just that humanity had always been so fascinating to her so she figured she should go back to the beginning.

Catalina was always a happy child until the tsunami hit that swallowed her hometown whole. The floating bodies in the water while her home was just barely saved from being destroyed stuck with her every single day. She became frightened all the time and anxious, always thinking about death and the friends she had lost. Because of this event, Catalina wanted to get lose in her studies. She didn’t want to listen to her parents fight everyday, she didn’t want to remember the horrible scene that kept replaying in her mind all the time. She didn’t want to focus on how her home environment was becoming more unstable with every fight. She just wanted to learn what she could be. So she went through the motions of school, earning high marks in the traditional STEM courses, but there was one trait that had ruined many of her friendships as she got older. Catalina always wanted to keep a promise of being able to do something because she was so afraid of displeasing others. She figured if she said no, something awful could happen again and she’d never be able to help anyone again. But she was always saying yes to too many things.  She was president of every single high school club she could be, she was part of every committee. There was a part of her deep down that was trying to prove herself as a Latina working in science, alongside her traumatic experience. So she thought if she took on copious tasks, she would be able to outshine everyone else. The sad part was, she didn’t have the resources to be so busy all the time like she used to.

Catalina was stubborn though, she was determined to power through the bad memories and choking deadlines get everything done all at once even if it killed her. She got into Yale but it was at the expense of a relationship with her family. She had spent all those years studying and avoiding her mother, that she didn’t even feel the need to say goodbye. Her mother was too busy arguing with her father to notice Catalina, so her departure was a quiet one. She instead wanted to help her friends out, but her studies took over her life. She was taught to help people no matter what and to be kind, despite it taking a toll on her. She didn’t mean to be the stereotypical biology major hooked on adderall with a dark past, but it seemed to be the only thing that could help her function throughout the day. All the while, the rise of cryptids started to become more popular. Or more prevalent, to be more precise as Catalina would correct. These monsters need to be locked up, a classmate once said in class.

Little did Catalina know, she was a cryptid herself.

“I think we just need to understand them.” She mused aloud that day, feeling the wheels spin as she decided what her senior thesis would be.

Yes, cryptid research became Catalina’s newest obsession and once again, her personal life suffered. It didn’t matter when she felt she was on a breakthrough, she even took up anthropology to fully understand the history and bias. Her fascination with humanity never quenched, but this was something new. This was where she learned of the Menagerie.

She learned of the supposed sanctuary for cryptids, but everyone knew how cruel circuses were to regular animals; she could only imagine what was going on to an entire species that humans wanted dead. She thought of her family then, knowing that people would do anything to deport her parents even if they were citizens and felt a surge of justice for these cryptids.

Leaving college, she visited the Menagerie.

Her first visit was as a simple spectator, it seemed nothing more than a side show. The performers were charismatic, but there was a sense of danger in the air. Something wasn’t right, and her instincts told her to back away now before she got hurt. But Catalina kept coming back to watch in morbid curiosity, all the while taking notes. If she could understand the biology… maybe she could reverse it. After all, why would anyone want to be like this if there was a cure out there? Genetic engineering was nothing new, genetic modification could be a new breakthrough in her study.

Maybe it was something in the water, or perhaps it was just Metzger’s presence, but Catalina learned she was a cryptid the day she decided to interview him. They were to set up a deal, where she could observe and collect data on the other cryptids as long as she only wrote of their biology. But the anthropologist in her was interested in their culture as well, so she decided in secret she would be recording her observations on just that. She remembered shaking his hand, but then suddenly she could see her own hand disappear. It wasn’t long before the rest of her swallowed up into nothingness and there was no trace of her. Panicking, Catalina began to shout and yell, dropping all of her things in the process. What she didn’t realize was the choking sensation she felt wasn’t her own anxiety, but Metzger keeping her locked tight as he injected the sedative.

Catalina was told that she had been invisible for 48 hours and that she had to be sedated to calm down, but she felt like she had been gone for a year. She didn’t know there was now a location chip inside of her, she didn’t even know she was now bound to the Menagerie for life. She instead felt a crippling fear she hadn’t felt since the tsunami, and that was when she started growing incredibly tall, like the growth spurt she never had. Soon she was out of her restraints yet the world seemed so much smaller and more frightening. She felt like the little girl afraid of drowning, only it was Metzger who was the ocean suffocating her this time.

She was sedated again, before she grew too tall, and when she woke up again, Metzger had in a cage to try to explain just what happened. How could she be a cryptid? Wouldn’t something pop up in her blood samples? Catalina had asked all these questions, of course. But Metzger could only answer so much, and she was frightened by him. He suspected her to be an elf, which was preposterous but wasn’t a werewolf also seemingly impossible once upon a time? It took her time to come to terms with her new identity, but Metzger promised she wouldn’t have to be alone. He so kindly offered the Menagerie as a new home for her. The new deal was, she got to keep researching the cryptids and how to make their lives easier (Metzger really meant more subordinate), and she would be allowed to stay with free board. In fact, he was willing to pay her for her research. It was a scientists’s dream come true almost, except for the unfortunate fact that she felt like Metzger’s plaything. She didn’t know what else to do but force a smile and hope he wouldn’t target her, since he did promised that at the end of her study, she was free to leave.

She didn’t know this was a lie.

She wanted life to get a little easier being in the Menagerie up close and personal, but people didn’t take kindly to her at first. She asked too many questions, she was too invasive, and she was too personal. She didn’t understand why everyone had hated Metzger so much, he had always seemed like he meant well, but his actions had fell flat. It wasn’t until she saw Metzger punish someone else did she realize that the Menagerie was not the sanctuary it was meant to be, but it was more like some twisted freak show. Normally, Catalina felt an expose would be appropriate, but what could she do when everyone wanted this species dead?

Now that was a feeling Catalina was familiar with.

Catalina didn’t have school to distract her, but she did have her own personality to bite her in the ass. She was so determined to find out more about the Menagerie and help others around her. She wasn’t ready to outright rebel, because as far as Catalina knew, she was able to leave when she was done. She just wasn’t done just yet. She made promises to help the other cryptids, sometimes taking the fall for a mistake one of them might have made and sometimes by taking on too many other tasks. Her promises never mean to be empty, but sometimes she couldn’t help it. Overworking herself helped her block out the horrific scenes she had to watch for “research purposes.” But sometimes she felt like a gross onlooker, fetishizing the pain of the people she had come to think of her peers and friends.

Catalina was no stranger to failure, every time she felt like she had a breakthrough, something would fall apart. Every time she thought Metzger would be showing more humanity, he did something cruel again. She knew the feeling to want to disappear and not be seen by him or anyone else in her life. She knew the crushing weight of failure from her years in school and life. She failed to understand her mother, she failed to help the students in her life who overdosed or were stretched too thin like she promised she would. And she failed to understand the severity of her situation, but she was hoping that this time, that being this close to the circus, she would be able to succeed. So when she promises her coworkers that there would be a way out for them, she’d be hoping that she wouldn’t be failing them as well. She couldn’t deal with another failure when it carried the weight of everyone there on her shoulders.

[boltjacksonstories]

Jesús

I

It's difficult to understand exactly how much space there is in this world if you grew up anywhere outside of Arizona. Few regions rival its spaciousness. Kansas may be, and the Sahara, sure – but who would want to live in Kansas or the Sahara? Jesús thought he might. Anywhere outside of Arizona sounded good to him. He didn't know much about Kansas or the Sahara, and I wouldn't say that he cared to either. All he knew was this: those places were not Arizona. As such, they sounded alright to Jesús. Like most boys his age, Jesús did not know much about life. All he knew was that his life was exceptionally difficult.

           “The other boys will bully me all the way home, mama.” Jesús would plead with his mother, busy in the kitchen. She was busy, always busy, sometimes in the kitchen, sometimes in their living space, and sometimes in their shared bedroom. It was only Jesús and María in their cramped apartment, so far removed from the space outside of it. She was getting ready for work and while she did want to console her son, she did not have the time to do it.

           “I’m sorry the other boys are being hard on you, my love,” said María, “but I’m sure they are just trying to get to know you. Boys can be like that, you know. I remember how the boys used to tease me.” For a moment, she did remember. María, now and in her younger days, was a beauty queen. The boys did pick on her because they liked her, but Jesús was not as pretty as she was. She continued, “Now come on – we’ve got to get going, hijo.”

           Jesús, except for a sigh, offered no more protest. María had taken a second job and was running late for her shift. It was time to go. He rushed into the living room and grabbed his backpack, lighter than it should be.

“Where’s my Jesus?” he wondered. There weren’t many places it could be in here. Jesús looked around the living room to no avail. It wasn’t under the coffee table or even in the cracks of their old couch. Jesús was becoming frantic.

“Come on, honey. Let’s go!” Jesús could hear the exclamation point in her tone and knew she meant business.

“I’m coming! Hold on!” Jesús zoomed past his mother and into their bedroom. There he was, hiding under Jesús’s pillow. Jesús grabbed his Jesus, rushed back to his mama’s side, and they were out the door. She pushed little Jesús onto the stoop, locked the door behind her, and gave him a little kiss.

“Just remember,” she said, “Those boys probably like you and don’t know how to make friends with you. That’s the way it always was for me.”

“Mama,” Jesús whined, “That’s different!”

“Run along, hijo,” she said, “Or we’ll both going to be late.”

They parted ways with a hug and then Jesús was alone. He began his flat, hot, and dry trek to school once again. The only thing that could break up the monotony of his daily walk past the same cacti and tumbleweeds was his favorite toy Action Hero Jesus.

 II

Action Hero Jesus was fully robed and stood at twelve inches tall with dark sunglasses, a confident grin, and fully opposable thumbs. His body language seemed to scream an ironic “You Betcha!”. No sober-minded adult would take this seriously as an action figure for a child. Jesús’s father, far from being sober-minded, bought the toy from the bargain bin of a pharmacy while he was running late for his son’s birthday. When asked why he would buy a little boy something so sacrilegious, all he could say was “What? It’s Jesus.” Action Hero Jesus was Jesús’s last tangible line to his father who left soon after that birthday.

           Jesús felt a connection with this toy that he did not understand. It was his constant companion. As he walked to school, he wouldn’t see the tumbleweeds and the cacti. He would only see his Jesus. He would sit in class and not hear a single word. He only thought of his Jesus and their adventures. At recess that day, he sat alone on the bleachers, unaware of his surroundings. He thought about what might happen if he lost his Jesus and began to cry.

“Jesus Freak is fucking crying! Holy shit!” Dylan, Jesús’s near-constant bully, had snuck upon him. Tray, Dylan’s usual accomplice, followed.

“Oh, shit Dyl! Do you think he just found out that Jesus dies at the end?” Tray joked. Jesús came back to reality and defended himself.

“I am not crying!” Jesús said, with a sniff, “It is so dry outside that my eyes just look wet by comparison!”

“Really? If that were true, then how come your pussy looks so dry?”

“Oh, shit Dyl! You don’t have to crucify him!”

Jesús did not enjoy this treatment, but he had come to expect it. He knew that Dylan wouldn’t hurt him on school grounds. He knew it was all talk, for now. Still, the talk continued.

“Speaking of pussies, what you doing later, pussy?” Dylan asked.

“Nothing,” said Jesús.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Didn’t we have something planned?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“I’m pretty sure we had something planned.”

“No, we did not.”

Tray, unsure of if he had missed out on potential plans or not, felt anxious.

“Oh, now I remember,” said Dylan, quite pleased with himself, “That’s right. After school today, I’m gonna kick your dick so hard that it becomes a pussy. That’s the thing we had planned.”

“You didn’t… invite me?” asked Tray.

“It’s a joke, man. Come on.” Even Dylan was tired of Tray.

“Okay,” said Tray. There was an uncomfortable pause before Tray continued, “Just to be clear though, I am invited?”

“Shut-up!”

Jesús, unsure if they had forgotten about him or not, thought it best to just slip away. He knew Dylan wouldn’t follow him. At least not for now.

“That’s right, just turn the other pussy cheek, you pussy! I’ve had this planned out for weeks! After school, Jesus Freak. I’m gonna kick you a new pussy.”

Jesús heard the threats but didn’t think anything of them. Dylan was all talk, and besides, Jesús had Jesus on his side. For whom shall he fear? For Dylan, apparently.

 III

True to his word, Dylan had, in fact, planned for this dick-kicking several weeks in advance. Dylan may not have been a lot of things, but he was organized.

Dylan, as it turned out, had his own daddy issues. Whereas Jesús wondered where his father was and why he left, Dylan feared where his father was and wished he would leave. Dylan’s father was a volatile character prone to emotional and physical outbursts. Dylan learned to avoid these moments by planning out his time out well. All the pressure, all the walking on eggshells, all the fears of his old man; it all made Dylan a real asshole. Dylan thought he was doing the best he could, but he was still being an asshole, even for a fifth-grader. Jesús knew this, on some level, but couldn’t fully comprehend it at his young age. So, when threatened with physical violence by Dylan for the umpteenth time, Jesús did not take the threat seriously and took the same path home that day that he always took. Dylan would be waiting for him on that path, as promised, eager to make good on his planning.

For now, Jesús returned to his day and continued to let it pass by him as before. By the final bell’s ring, Jesús had forgotten Dylan’s threats. He walked home lost in fantasy with his Jesus. He imagined the forces of Satan were attacking them from every side. Action Hero Jesus would turn five loaves into five thousand, thus over-satisfying the demon of gluttony. He would raise a young saint from the dead, thereby thwarting a scheming incubus. He would use his heat vision to blast Satan into the third dimension of hell, ending the battle.

At this point in the story, it’s worth noting that Jesús never read the Bible. María was too busy for church and the toy was way more fun than a book. All he knew about Jesus was the toy. That, combined with a few too many superhero movies, made Jesús’s Jesus incredibly powerful. Unfortunately for Jesús, Jesus was only powerful in his imagination, where Jesús spent too much time.

When Jesús turned the corner by the post office, one of the final turns before he reached his street, he didn’t see the foot aimed directly at his groin. Attached to that foot was a leg, and to that leg a torso, and to that torso a satisfied Dylan. With the timing of a dancer, Dylan swung clear through Jesús’s crotch, forever damaging his confidence. Tray laughed close behind.

Jesús awoke on the ground with his armed sprawled out to his side and heat emanating from where his dick used to be.

“Did you kick my dick off?” Jesús asked, to no one in particular.

“In. I kicked your dick in, Jesus Freak.” Dylan laughed at his own remark. “Now you’re who you’re supposed to be, a pussy with a pussy.”

“Where’s… Where’s my Jesus?” Jesús looked to his right, to his left… nothing.

“Don’t worry, we’ve got him,” this was Tray’s time to shine, as he showed Jesús his Jesus, “Barbie Jesus here ain’t got no nuts to kick. We’ll just draw a little pussy on him instead.”

“No!”

Laughing, Tray proceeded to draw one small, singular, straight line on Jesus’s groin, which resembled that of a Ken doll. One small, perhaps half an inch little line from a permanent pen was all it took to emasculate Jesus forever. But Tray wasn’t finished yet.

“See?! Now he’s got a little pussy, just like you. Here ya go, boss.” Tray handed the Jesus to Dylan.

“Don’t call me boss.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m not okay with sir either.”

“I don’t know what you want from me.”

“Give me back my Jesus!” said Jesús, beginning to stand.

“But we’re not done with him yet!” said Dylan, “It’s not fair that you’re the only one who gets his little pussy kicked. We have to kick Jesus’s pussy, too!”

“Stop!”

But it was too late. Dylan dropped Jesus to the ground and proceeded to stomp on him until he was a mangled and unrecognizable plastic corpse. Jesús, on his knees, watched the scene unfold in slow motion. With the hot Arizona beating down on him, he was helpless as Dylan continued to stomp on his Jesus, over and over again. When he finally stopped, Jesús wanted to cry. Dylan burped.

“Okay, this is done,” he turned to Tray, who still didn’t know how to address him, “Let’s go, Sailor Moon starts in ten minutes,” Dylan turned back to Jesús, “Laters, pussy.”

Jesús could barely hear Dylan anymore, anyhow. His life, his love, his connection to his father, his Jesus… it lay before him broken, unable to resurrect itself. In other eras of human history, young Jesús would have torn his cloth or gnashed his teeth, but in modern times, there was nothing like that for Jesús to do. He just stared in silence.

The rest of the day drifted by him in a gray haze. The next thing he knew, he was home. And then after that, so was María. Soon after, there was food in his mouth. Soon after that, he was lying in bed, huddled under the covers. María, exhausted from her own day, knew that something was not quite right but felt relieved to have a quiet evening. She, too, soon found herself under her covers, and, even sooner than Jesús, found herself asleep. Jesús finally fell asleep as well, still holding his broken toy. As he drifted into a sad and lonely sleep, one tear fell from the cheek of Jesús to land on the cheek of Jesus.

 IV

           Lucid dreaming will only interest those seeking to escape mundanity. It appears a superpower, this ability to control everything around you and do whatever you want. It reveals a desire for control. Who needs to do whatever you want in a dream when you can do whatever you want when you’re awake? Jesús had never heard of lucid dreaming, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t a fan.

           Jesús was so in control of his dreams that he even created the illusion that he wasn’t. He dreamt that night like he always did, expecting nothing out of the ordinary. That’s why it was a complete shock when Jesus appeared to him.

           Seemingly out of nowhere, Jesus rose before his eyes. Jesús could not recall where he was, why he was there, or what he was doing beforehand. None of that mattered now. It all paled in comparison to the fact that a twelve-foot tall, living, breathing, and fully plastic Action Hero Jesus stood before him, too bright to look in the face. Awed, Jesús fell to his knees before his Jesus.

           “My Lord! I am not worthy!” Jesús would not have known if he was terrified, excited, or both. With his face to the ground, he began to tremble. Jesus spoke.

           “Hey, little dude! No worries! You can stand, my man. It’s cool!”

Jesus’s cavalier “You Betcha!” smirk matched his tone. Even in this form, Jesus remained true to his plastic anatomy. Only his jaw could move, and even that movement was in a limited range; up and down, nothing more. The same awkward movements applied to the rest of his body. He was only jointed at the hip, jaw, elbows, and thumbs. Every movement had to pass through these physiological gatekeepers. Truly, we are all slaves to our bodies. Jesus continued.

           “Everybody is always like ‘Lord!’ this, or ‘I’m not worthy!’ that… It’s truly enbeedee, my dude. I’m a man!, just like you. Thumbs up!”

           Jesus, confident as ever, gave a thumbs up and smiled, as he was wont to do. Jesús, not used to being addressed in this way, looked up. “Jesus has no clue how cool he looks from here,” he thought.

           “I know, I know. I look super extra cool like this. If there is one thing these toymakers got right, it is that I am a super relaxed guy. Hang ten!”

           Jesús finally understood why Jesus had those bitching shades on, for he could see it now: a bright glow followed the Savior’s face wherever he looked. Nearly blinded by the glow himself, Jesús returned his gaze downward.

           “You are too luminous, My Lord!” Jesús didn’t even know that he knew that word. “This must be what speaking in tongues is,” he thought.

           “Oh, right! Let me turn that down, right quick. There, is thaat better?”

           Jesús looked up again. Indeed, it was better. Jesus smiled down at him.

           “Mahalo, my child. Now rise.”

           Jesus indicated an upward motion with his thumbs and elbows. Jesús, as if possessed, followed.

           “Great job! Now listen here, tiny J: change is a-coming.”

           Jesús was not listening. He was so wound up with guilt that could not contain himself any longer.

           “I am sorry I let them beat you up, Jesus! Dylan was too strong! I promise I will avenge you!”

           “Avenge me? That’s not my thing… at all! Here, have a Capri-Sun. Capri-Suns are more of my thing than avenging.”

           To his amazement, a Capri-Sun appeared in Jesús’s hand. What’s more, it was the rarest of flavors, Pacific Cooler.

           “Pacific Cooler?! Holy shit!,” Jesús caught himself and apologized, “Oh. I am sorry, Jesus.”

           “For what? Pacific Cooler is tits! That’s why I created it.”

           “So… you don’t care if we curse?”

           “It’s no biggie, my dude! Words are just words. It’s all about the intent behind them. Now chill on that pri-pri for a moe, we gots to chat.” Before he knew it, a thin, yellow straw was in his mouth. Jesus continued.

           “Here’s the deal, little J: people forget this, but my whole deal is actually all about love. There’s not enough of it in this world, there’s not enough of it in this country, there’s not enough of it in this town, and there’s not enough of it in your heart. I know you’ve had it hard, young J, and I know that you’ve been hurt. You need to learn that the only way to respond is with love.”

           Jesús continued to gulp down his Pacific Cooler, extra crisp in the presence of the Lord. The straw never seemed to end. Jesús looked down to find his suspicions confirmed: the straw went on for an eternity or more.

           “I’m gonna let you borrow a few miracles, and you are going to use them to start spreading the love we want to see in this world, capiche? Not only that, but you’re also going to look hella cool doing it!”

           As Jesús listened and enjoyed this rare beverage, a pair of dark sunglasses, seemingly carried by angel doves, landed softly on his ears and nose.

           “Looking sharp! Let’s see, what else… what else…,” Jesus, free to fully spin at the hip, spun while he thought. “Nope! Nothing else, little dude. Just remember that it is all about love. Act out of love, and the world will respond accordingly.”

           Jesús repeated the maxim through garbled sugar water.

           “Actrouttatrove…”

           “That’s right. And the world will respond. With love.”

           “Wittrove.”

           “Correctomundo, mini J. I hate to ditch the sitch but it’s almost moe-moe for ya, bud! Namaste, my dude. Act out of love, and the world will respond…” Jesus began yet another ascension.

           “But... but!” But it was too late. Much faster than expected, Jesus, his everlasting light, and the Capri-Sun were all gone. Only the holy shades remained.

Suddenly, the floor beneath Jesús disappeared. He tried to scream but nothing would come out as he felt himself rushing back to earth. He was definitely not in control of this. He felt sure he would not hit the ground, but it continued to rush towards him. Right before he hit, POOF, Jesús woke up.

 V

           Jesús arose in heavenly spirits. He didn’t even notice his Jesus had disappeared.

           “Holy me,” Jesús thought, “It feels like I’ve slept for three days.”

           Jesús felt different but was not sure how. He was still contemplating what had changed when he entered the kitchen. María had no issue seeing what was different and alerted young Jesús to the changes immediately. She nearly dropped her glass of grape juice when she saw him.

           “Ay Dios Mio!”, she said, “Hijo, how are you floating?!”

           Indeed, Jesús was floating twelve inches above the ground. Not only that, but he also wore a white robe with dark sunglasses. “Ah,” thought Jesús, “so that’s why it feels like I am floating.” He wasn’t sure before she said something, but now he knew without a doubt: Jesús was Jesus.

           María passed out. Young Jesús, being the good boy that he was, caught her before she hit the linoleum and brought her back to life. She told him she needed water, so he changed her grape juice to dihydrogen monoxide right before her eyes. She nearly passed out again, but he stopped her.

           “What, my son,” she asked, “Has happened to you?” She could not look him directly in the face because the light behind him shone too bright.

           “I do not know, mama,” Jesús said, “but I was visited by Jesus in a strange dream. I thought it was just a dream, mama!”

           María, unable to believe her ears, again exited consciousness. This time, Jesús let her rest. He guided her to bed, tucked her in, and gave his mama a kiss on the forehead. It was almost time for school.

           “But what about her work?” Jesús thought, “She will surely be fired if she does not show up.” Jesús laid it upon the heart of María’s manager to allow her to skip her shift without consequence. Jesús willed it, and it was so.

 VI

           Jesús arrived at school that day ready to receive his followers. Everyone could sense his presence before they could see him. When he passed, some trembled in fear while others bowed and wept. A path was cleared for young Jesús wherever he moved. Children scampered up palm tree to pull branches (an Arizonan’s only source of shade!) and lay them down as a path for Jesús to walk on. When he reached the playground, a wailing sister, with her injured brother in tow, threw herself to the feet of Jesús to beg.

           “Oh, great healer!” she cried, “You must help my brother, you must! He has fallen off the monkey bars and broken his arm. He is in great pain, great healer! But I have faith in you!”

           The holy spirit was strong in this young sister. She was able to recognize a deity when she saw one. One look at her little brother would confirm her prognosis – his wrist was bent at a rather acute angle and he was not able to move it. What’s more, he appeared to be in great pain. His cheeks were flush with blood and soaked in tears. Jesús felt for him.

           “I will heal your brother, kind sister,” Jesús said. Without much of a show about it, he cusped the whimpering boy’s wrist. He smiled at the boy and soon the boy smiled back. When Jesús released his wrist, it was healed. Even those who saw it had a hard time believing it, but it was true. The boy thanked Jesús, who humbly could not accept.

           “Go now, have fun. As for you, sister,” Jesús now turned to the crowd so that they may hear, “Let this be a lesson to all of you: with a little love, and an even smaller amount of faith, all things can be accomplished. Look to this sister as an example of love and kindness.” He now turned back to the sister, “You have done well. Go now and be blessed.”

           With tears in her eyes, she nodded and chased after her brother. The entire crowd was moved by the poignant scene. Some hugged, others cried, I saw one couple making out, although I’m pretty sure they were doing that before Jesús came to the playground. Not that it mattered to Jesús. He’s always been strictly pro-love, both in the making and giving.

           A hush fell over the crowd as Dylan approached Jesús. His demeanor, too, was different than before. Dylan now looked up to Jesús with reverence and even a smidge of fear. Jesús, on the other hand, looked at Dylan with only love. Given Dylan’s home life, he was not prepared to receive love so freely given to him. It seemed to him something that he did not want. He imagined the feeling of love to be a gooey and messy feeling that would be sticky and get all over the place. He was half-right about that last part, and Jesús was okay with that too.

           “Jesús,” Dylan began, still not able to look Jesús in the eye, “I’m sorry for stomping on your doll and shit. And all the pussy stuff. Please forgive me.” Dylan threw himself before the Lord. Jesús, kind as ever, lifted him up softly from the chin.

           “It is okay, Dylan. I forgive you. Now go, spread the good word.”

           “But I don’t want to go!” Dylan protested, “I know I said some awful shit, but… I want to follow you.”

           “I do too!” said Tray, never far behind Dylan.

           “And me!” cried Susie.

           “And I as well!” cried John.

           John’s friend Matthew followed as well. Saul couldn’t be convinced, but Paul followed willingly. Six more made it known that they intended to follow. Jesús shrugged his holy shoulders. There was nothing he could do to stop them.

           “I cannot stop you from following me,” Jesús said, “But I will not change my path. I love you all.”

           Jesús continued his journeys now followed by a group of his peers, other children. They were fiercely devoted to their new Lord, although they weren’t quite sure why. They were caught up in the air of Jesus, or Jesús, as they saw him. The line between the two could no longer be distinguished. It cannot be helped that Jesus, the man, is a star, or else why would we still be talking about him? With being a star comes certain star qualities, one of those being that people follow you wherever you go. It cannot be helped. Jesús, endowed with Jesus’s star qualities, went on his way and his apostles followed. Jesús was unaware of the inevitable pitfalls of being Jesus because he had never read the Bible. He was unaware that there was a Judas in his midst, plotting to sell him to the highest bidder.

 Tray’s Chapter

           The next part of our story is best told by the young man who experienced it. It will be dictated by none other than Tray, an unwitting pawn in a grand game of spiritual chess.

This is Tray talking now, pleased to meet ya.

  We don’t know much about the gospels in my house. Churchgoing ain’t the type of thing that we’re likely to do. I remember going once when I was younger, but we didn’t go again. It was a bad time for us. The other churchgoers looked down on us. My sister said it was because our clothes weren’t as nice and clean as theirs were, but I thought that I looked just fine. That’s the last time I remember going, and that was a long time ago, like three or four years now. None of that matters, anyhow, because what I saw last night couldn’t be helped by no churchgoing. What I saw last night was stronger than that.

I had one of those dreams that I couldn’t escape. I kept waking up in a sweat, but every time I fell back asleep, I’d land back in hell. There was something dark down there that kept pulling me back in. I can’t quite explain it because it wasn’t no monster or nothing. It was just a bad feeling, I don’t know. But like a real bad feeling. It scared me shitless – I thought it wanted to hurt me. But it said it didn’t want to hurt me. It wanted me to hurt someone else.

Without speaking, it told me that I would meet Jesus tomorrow. It just put the ideas in my mind… like one of them aliens on the tv. It told me to gain Jesus’s trust and lead him to a spot in the desert, where it would be waiting. I am absolutely sure that is what it was trying to tell me, because every time I fell back into the dream, it would repeat the same message. I must have heard those instructions six- or seven-times last night! It just repeated them, over and over. I’m no stranger to nightmares but not like these. They felt too real. I didn’t feel right this morning, neither.

When I got to school and saw Jesus standing in the playground. I fell to my knees. I knew what I had to do.

 VIII

           At lunch, Jesús performed the miracle of feeding his entire school with only two loaves of bread and five fish. The following is a true account of how this came to be:

           Jesús entered the cafeteria followed by his disciples. A lunch man, totally distraught, threw himself before the feet of the Lord. He was in desperate need of help.

           “Young Jesus,” he said, “I do not know how or why you have come, but I am honored by your presence. Please, I beg of you: we need your help.”

           “What is it that you need of me, my elder?” Jesús was eager to help. There is a misconception of Jesus that he was able to predict the future, like a cheap psychic or any Jamaican person. Jesus was both god and the son of god, with emphasis on the word son. He was a man, and as such, experienced time in the same way we all do. Even though his spirit encompasses all moments and is free of time and space, Jesus as a man was restricted to the same bodily constraints that you and I are today. Jesus himself had less than ideal eyesight. It doesn’t really change anything, it’s just an interesting historical side note. That all goes to say, when Jesús asked a question of someone, he was genuinely curious.

           “A horrible mistake has been made and if we can’t fix it, the children will go hungry!”

           “We can’t have that,” said Jesús.

           All Jesús’s followers agreed as followers are wont to do.

           “We cannot, my Lord!,” continued the lunch man, “Instead of ordering two-thousand loaves of bread, someone accidentally left three zeroes off the order sheet and only ordered two loaves of bread. Then, instead of ordering five-hundred fish for Fish Sandwich Thursday, that same bozo only ordered five fish! Now we only have two loaves of bread and five fish to feed five-thousand children at Arizona’s largest elementary school! And you know what else? It was me! I was the bozo who ordered the numbers wrong! It was me! I confess!” The desperate lunch man presented Jesús with one fish and one loaf of bread, apparent evidence of his plea. He began to cry.

           Jesús (the boy) wasn’t sure what to do with this information. He took the fish in one hand and the loaf of bread in the other, looking at the two as if they were variables in some complex algebra equation where “x” is a fish and “y” is some bread. Jesús the boy didn’t know how to solve this equation, but he did know how to follow his heart. This is a true skill that is often overlooked: the ability to quiet noise and follow one’s instinct. Young Jesús possessed this skill and was prepared to use it.

           “Thank you for your faith, elder. I will see to it that all the children are fed,” said Jesús.

           “Incredible!” cried Matthew.

           “But how?” questioned Paul.

           “Do you have any gluten-free options?” asked Susie.

           “No!” responded the lunch man, “Fish Sandwich Thursday is a privilege, not a right! Now come, young savior, and we’ll get you dressed.”

           “As you wish.” Jesús followed the lunch man to the kitchen, where he was fitted for an apron and toque posthaste. Class by class, grade by grade, child by child – one by one, the school children lined up for lunch. Every single child received a fried fish sandwich that was out of this world. Susie even got her gluten-free option, which wasn’t Jesús’s best work, but he did the best he could given her dietary restraints. Sometimes there exists a trade-off between nutrition and flavor.

           All were in awe of this miracle. The apostle Tray told of Jesús’s miracles louder than anyone, encouraging all who could hear him to drop what they were doing and to follow.

           “You have witnessed his miracles! You have eaten his cooking! You have felt his love! Now follow him! He will lead us to a better life. I will follow him wherever he goes, even into the desert! Especially into the desert!”

           When every child and lunch lady was fed, Jesús joined his disciples for a fried fish sandwich. He looked around the table and saw that his followers were satisfied, but still had room for more. He distributed his own sandwich amongst them, divided equally, and felt led to speak.

           “Take my fried fish sandwich, for it is my body,” Jesús did not know what he was saying, or why, but continued, “Eat my body. Eat my body.”

           Weary of the repeated phrase, his followers ate his body. Seemingly from thin air, a Capri-Sun Pacific Cooler appeared next to each follower. They were instructed to drink it.

           “Drink this Capri-Sun, for it is my blood. Drink my blood. Drink my blood.”

           “Tastes like Jesús has diabetes,” cracked John, under his straw. He was promptly hushed by Susie. The followers ate Jesús’s crispy fried body and drank his sugary cold blood as he watched, apparently fasting. Nobody understood what was happening, but Tray and Jesús both felt that everything was going according to plan.

IX

           The school day concluded much like it started, with everyone in awe of Jesús. Of course, not everyone agreed with his message. Some were sad to see Jesús preach love because they themselves felt so much hate – these children became known as the “Sad-to-sees”, named such by none other than the Disciple Dylan, now using his name-calling powers for good. Some wanted to be fair to Jesús even though they didn’t agree with his message. They were dubbed the “Fair-a-sees” by a local dad who was keen on the joke.

           When Jesús left school, his followers followed. He felt a sense of unease about his path, but he was sure that he must continue. He hadn’t spoken since his final lunch, much to the alarm of his disciples. Tray, who by then had proven to be the most vocal of the bunch, walked alongside Jesús.

           “What’s wrong, great healer?” Tray asked, “You haven’t spoken since we ate you.”

           “I feel… a presence,” Jesús answered. Tray already felt that he knew this presence was the same one he felt the night before. Jesús continued, “I can’t quite explain it, but I am sure of two things: I am being lured towards this presence and that I should continue on my path.”

           “You’re being lured towards it… how do you know? Does it want to capture you?”

           “Yes, and… it wants to hurt me. It is waiting for me.”

           Tray had felt these feelings as well. Something shocked his heart, like an electric bee stinging his chest. He could not fathom the feeling then, but he felt bad for what he had done.

           “Well, you can still turn around,” Tray said, surprising himself. He continued, “If you feel like something is going to hurt you up ahead, we can just turn around. Wherever you lead, we will follow you. And if we gotta fight for ya, then we’ll fight.”

           “Thank you, my dear friend,” Jesús said, “But that won’t be necessary. This is what I must do. I do not know how I know it, but I am sure. Whatever challenges lie ahead of me, I am sure that, through love, I will overcome them.” Jesús’s sunglasses were particularly useful this afternoon, as the Arizona sun was relentless. Tray and Jesús then walked in silence with the rest of the disciples in tow.

           What happened next is difficult to explain. It was the same path that they always took home, but different. Susie noticed it first. Did they just pass the post office again? But how? Then John felt the heat. How long have they been out here? Isn’t this taking too long? Then even Paul started to doubt. “I am sure we’ve passed this corner before,” he thought, “this is probably the fourth time!”

           Indeed, Jesús had led them into a world that was not entirely their own. Without aging a moment, they walked through that stretch of desert for forty-days and forty-nights, passing the same landmarks over and over again. Tray continued to tempt Jesús into giving up his quest, but Jesús would not give in. He did not know how or why, but he was sure that he was where he was supposed to be.

           They had stepped into the Dimension of the Damned, a parallel reality spun by an angry demon as a death trap for Jesus. They walked, unable to stop, for a month and a half, until finally, they reached the end. It was like every other piece of Arizona real estate they’d ever seen before – dry, sandy, and vast. Yet it was completely unfamiliar to them all. The angry demon lay in wait just over the hills, ready to take advantage of a weakened Jesús.

 DIMENSION OF THE DAMNED

           The angry demon revealed himself from behind the hill. He was darkness incarnate and took on whatever form the viewer feared the most. He was like a fear electron in that he had no definite state until you looked at him. In this way, he was able to be anything you have ever feared. It was a truly terrifying experience for the children, except for the Jesús, who had learned to control his fears.

           “Well, well, well,” began the demon, “What do we have-”

           “Cut the shit, Casper.”            

           Everyone was stunned. What followed was an immaculately pregnant silence.

           “Is he not afraid?” Susie thought.

           “Can Jesus cuss?” wondered Dylan.

           “Who the fuck?” supposed the demon, and then said out loud, “Who the fuck do you think you are, twerp? I am Deimos, God of Fear! Now fear me!-” He was shocked to be cut off yet again.

           “Sup, D-bag? Are we gonna do this or what?”

           “Who taught you to speak like… I thought you couldn’t say those things!”

           “Fuck your mother, demon.”

           “Hail Satan, Jesus! Take it down a notch!”

           “I’m gonna take it up a notch. Up your mother’s butt.”

           “That’s it, Jesus! You have crossed the line! You wanna dance? Let’s dance!”

           Deimos charged Jesús and his disciples, who were paralyzed with fear. Only Tray was able to speak, but just barely. As Deimos began his wrathful charge, Tray managed to squeak out a question.

           “Aren’t… you…. Scared, my Lord?” he begged.

           Deimos, by then, was only a few precious moments away from destroying the Lord. Still, Jesús spoke with the confidence of a man under no pressure at all.

           “Why worry, my dude?” Jesús asked, “I’ve got fucking heat vision, baby.”

           “Nani?,” now even Tray was speaking in tongues.

           Jesús turned to Deimos and removed his sunglasses. A blast of holy energy more radiant and powerful than any nuclear bomb ever conceived by man burst forth like a heavenly cannon from the eye sockets of the one true living god. Deimos’s body, now taking on all forms of fear at all times, was launched like a small toy placed over an exploding fire hydrant. Deimos, who had no answer for this, was caught totally off guard and blown back through the panes of reality that separated the Dimension of the Damned from the real world. Jesús led his followers through the break in realities back to their home dimension, where the demon lay defeated. In his final form, the demon was small, ugly, and rodent-like. He didn’t look like something to fear, but rather something to pity. Something that was misunderstood. Jesús put his sunglasses back on.

           “You’ve got fucking heat vision,” said Tray.

           “Do you know where that heat comes from?” Jesus queried, “Does anyone know where that heat came from?”

           The disciples did not in fact know and murmured amongst themselves. Jesús quieted them again.

           “It comes from here,” he pointed to his chest, “It came from my heart. That heat was the power of love. Let that be a lesson to you all.”

           Without further explanation, Jesús turned and continued walking. Somehow, the disciples understood that they were not to continue following him, and none of them did. The demon disintegrated right before their very eyes and the hole between realities sewed itself shut. They stood in silence for quite some time before Dylan spoke.

           “So we’ve been able to cuss this whole fucking time?” asked Dylan.

           “I don’t know what the fuck is going on,” quoth Susie.

 XI

           Jesús arrived home that evening to find his mother María still resting where he had left her, sleeping like an angel. Jesús looked back on his day and sighed. He wondered if he had made Jesus proud. More than anything, he wanted to make Jesus proud. He performed many miracles. He taught his followers to love. He defeated fear incarnate with a love blast. He was sure Jesus would be proud. How could he not be?

           With that thought, Jesús finally, once and for all, felt at peace. A weight was lifted and Jesús fell into a deep, dark, and incredibly restful sleep.

 XII

           When Jesús awoke the next day, no dreams had disturbed his sleep. When he stepped out of bed, his feet actually touched the ground. He checked his face in the mirror and was satisfied to find only his eyes looking back at him, no shades in between. María made him his normal breakfast and went to work, unsure of why she felt so refreshed. Jesús took his normal route to school and nobody recognized him. Only Jesús could remember the day before. He was okay with that.

           He didn’t see Dylan at school at all that day and had lunch with Susie, John, and Paul. Normally, they all sat alone. For whatever reason, they felt compelled to eat with one another that day. They had a nice time and agreed to do it again.

           The final bell rung and Jesús walked home. Before turning the final turn home, under the hot Arizona sun, Jesús ran into Dylan.

           “Hey, Jesús”, Dylan said. He spoke like they were old friends.

           “What you doing?” asked Tray.

           “Just walking,” said Jesús.

           “Cool, cool,” said Dylan, “Mind if we walk with you?”

           Jesús smiled.

           “Sure.”

Tray, Dylan, and Jesús walked into the sunset like a holy trinity of friendship. For once, Arizona felt a little smaller.

[altekmediagroup]

POST COVID-19 ECONOMY A CASE FOR THE "V"

POST COVID-19 ECONOMY

A CASE FOR THE "V" OVERVIEW: IS HYSTERIA THE NEW NORMAL? The good news is that the number of new, confirmed cases of Coronavirus in the United States has, at least for now, peaked and appears to be falling. Stay-at-home mandates across the nation have been having their intended effect of limiting the spread of the virus beyond the initial surge. We are far less cognizant, however, of what the full scope of the economic shock will be, as economic statistics significantly lag public health stats. There is some data for March, but much of the month had passed before public health closures were widely mandated; hence they don’t tell us much. April numbers won’t start arriving until early May. Regardless, there is little doubt that these health mandated closures will cause a record decline in economic activity in the second quarter of the year. How much of a guessing game is a wild guessing game right now as there is no historical precedent for the current crisis and little good data as of yet. Current estimates from a variety of forecasting organizations suggest second-quarter growth could run from -20% to -40%, and we don’t disagree. Those numbers, however, sound far worse than they are as economists have a habit of reporting GDP statistics in annualized form. This means that the total output of the economy will contract by -5% to -10% from the first to the second quarter. Still, this is larger than anything experienced in the past. The real debate is over what comes next. As always, the issue has been boiled down to a spelling bee: will it be a “V” recovery or a “U”? Or perhaps a “W” and for the true pessimist let’s not forget the dreaded “L”. The broad consensus appears to be “U”— meaning that there will be little bounce following the record second-quarter downturn, after which we’ll have a long painful climb back to normality. Under this scenario, unemployment will remain elevated well into 2021 if not beyond. Most of the “U” camp is suggesting a business cycle that is as large or larger than what transpired during the Great Recession. The problem with these forecasts is that they are leaping to extremely grim conclusions with little basis. While there are many anecdotes and grim news stories—not to mention the universally odd experience of closed schools and empty highways— there is very little hard data yet. And we don’t have any recent economic experiences within the developed world to use as a historical metaphor. All forecasts right now are, at some level, a leap in the dark. But very few seem to acknowledge this even as they put out extremely negative predictions. Rather than pretend there is any logical way of building a mathematical model to predict trends in the coming months, in the outlook below, we boil the question of how this business cycle will look into five basic questions that should determine how rapidly the economy can bounce back after what will surely be a record second-quarter decline. Even cursory answers to these questions suggest that while a “U” is certainly possible, it is actually a far less likely outcome. There is little reason to think the economy can’t and won’t, bounce back rapidly—possibly even so rapidly as to call into question whether this entire episode can be accurately described as a recession as opposed to a national natural disaster. So why have the bulk of outlooks gone so negative? In truth, it is a relatively typical reaction. In January 2019 the stock markets were down 20% and the majority of contributors to the Wall Street Journal’s ‘Next Recession’ consensus survey were predicting a recession within 12 months. Why? The real estate collapse, rising inflation, rising interest rates, and of course the trade war with China, which was going to do incredible damage to the U.S. manufacturing sector. Of course, none of this came close to occurring. By April the markets were yet again hitting record-high levels. Obviously, the impacts of today’s public health mandates are substantially more severe than what was happening back then—but the level of hysteria has simply risen proportionately. This kind of reaction is, unfortunately, the new normal.

  THIS IS NOT THE GREAT RECESSION The one data point that really stands out is the 26 million initial claims for unemployment insurance filed over the five weeks since the mandated shutdowns went national. In all of 2008 (the Great Recession), there were 22 million initial claims filed. Never has the nation had so many people out of work and never has it happened so quickly. Worse yet, historical patterns on unemployment rates are clear: once up they take a long time to fall again. This naturally leads to the conclusion that this downturn will be worse than the last one.

But there is no similarity to what is happening today and what happened in the lead up to the Great Recession, or to any recessions in the last sixty years or more, if ever. This means we can’t necessarily use past patterns as a lens to predict the path ahead. The Great Recession was driven by a collapse of the massive subprime credit bubble, which formed during the preceding years and which pumped $15 trillion in new financial and household debt into the economy. This enormous credit inflow highly overinflated consumer borrowing, and the housing and commercial real estate industries. Easy credit pushed consumer savings rates to the lowest on record while the resulting consumption binge opened the widest trade deficit in decades. When it finally became clear that the entire sub-prime lending industry was little more than a giant Ponzi scheme, everything began to unwind. All those businesses that made billions of dollars during the bubble inflation suddenly lost their ability to earn a profit. The crash ultimately caused the permanent loss of millions of jobs connected with the bubble. Short of another bubble, these businesses/jobs were simply unsustainable. The crisis eventually caused the worst downturn since the Great Depression and the U.S. economy didn’t fully recover until 2015. What is happening today is nothing like what happened in 2008. The vast majority of people currently applying for unemployment are being laid off from profitable, sustainable businesses that have been shuttered temporarily as a result of public health mandates. If a cure for COVID-19 was discovered tomorrow, these mandates would be relaxed quickly, and there is no reason to think that companies wouldn’t reopen again as viable businesses and bring their employees back to work. What is happening today amounts to temporary layoffs—not permanent job losses. The difference between now and then is apparent in the data. When a broad negative shock, such as a collapsing subprime bubble, hits the economy, employment in a lagging indicator because businesses shut down and lay off employees only as a last resort. The peak in initial claims for unemployment during the Great Recession occurred in June 2009—the last official month of the recession. This time around the spike in unemployment has occurred first. As opposed to job losses being the result of a shock to the system, in this case, they are themselves the shock to the system. But this shock only lasts as long as the health mandates. Of course, that should not imply that there are no serious effects. While the world waits for the Coronavirus to be contained to the point where it is safe to lift the public health mandates, businesses are losing revenues, and families are losing income. This will cause them to fall behind on financial obligations, which can lead to other difficulties such as bankruptcies, defaults, and business failures. Moreover, the lack of consumer and business spending is sending shock waves through supply chains, leading to additional lost income and revenues, and more strain. As this continues, true structural damage will begin to build within the economy—harm that in theory could slow an otherwise rapid return to normalcy. How much damage will ultimately determine whether the economic trajectory looks like a sharp V or a protracted U. ORGANIZING OUR IGNORANCE “ A good forecaster is not smarter than everyone else, he merely has his ignorance better organized.”                                                                                      Anonymous To try and tease out what is likely to transpire in the economy in 2020, there are five basic questions that help approximate how much sustained damage will be generated from the public health related closures. If the answers suggest a lot of harm—then a slow recovery will be in order. If they don’t suggest sustained harm, then there is no reason to think the economy won’t rapidly return to normal. When thinking through these questions, we do not necessarily arrive at the conclusion that there will be an extended contraction of the economy. 1. How long until the public health mandates are lifted? 2. How deep is the current shock to the economy? 3. What is government doing in the meantime to soften the blow? 4. How fragile/healthy was the economy when the pandemic first hit? 5. Will there be permanent significant changes in consumer behavior? As for the first question, the good news is that the number of new Coronavirus cases appears to have peaked in the United States as well as in many other hard-hit nations. Some areas are already clamoring to lift certain mandates and even places like California, which has been very cautious, is beginning to see some partial lifting of controls. ‘Hot spots’ may reemerge in certain locations, which will slow the process, but remember, we are not the same nation as we were in February when we were given empty assurances from the Federal government and were blindly going about our lives with little cognition of the outbreak that was already growing rapidly. This time, the reaction to new outbreaks will be fast and fierce.

The best example is China, which is ahead of the rest of the world in both its post-shutdown surge and its control efforts. If the United States follows roughly the same path, we can expect mandates to start lifting in earnest in late May. Things won’t go back to normal immediately—either in terms of the mandates being universally relaxed or people returning to public life—but the process should begin. Certain activities such as large music festivals and conferences may continue to be prohibited but smaller-scale activities should begin to resume. Data from China (again) suggest that production should be back up and running in about three months while consumer spending will take about four months to return to normalcy. Either way, mandate wise, expect things to return to normal (mostly) by the third quarter of this year. How deep is the current shock? Many households and businesses are being denied income because of public health mandates. But those who aren’t losing income are being denied the ability to make desired purchases. This will likely lead to a build-up in demand and financial savings that will give the economy a boost when it reopens. The depth of the current shock will help us understand the balance between the first and second groups. At this point, we don’t know exactly how deep the current shutdown in economic activity is. The obvious issues are with restaurants, hotels, airports, travel operations, and a large portion of retail. But these kinds of businesses don’t make up that large of a share of U.S. GDP. In fact, the closures currently add up to less than 10% of U.S. economic activity in a typical year. Of course, the shock expands as it works its way into supply chains. This takes time given the basics of inventory pipelines. There are also productivity impacts as many people are forced to work from home, but again, we have little ability to estimate how big of an impact.

Notably, we are fortunate to live in an era of connectivity where a large share of retail business has and is shifting to an online environment. Many restaurants are offering take out and office meetings are being held over Zoom. All of these changes will continue to expand and help mitigate some of the hits the economy is taking. In total, we anticipate that the U.S. economy will contract by 7.5% to 10% in the second quarter, an annualized rate of 30% to 40%. This is huge historically, but it also suggests the income hits suffered by this 10% of the economy will be offset by pent up demand in the balance of the economy. How about government Intervention? There has been an unprecedented degree of public support for businesses and workers who are being negatively impacted. Initial claims for unemployment are up so dramatically in part because the eligibility has been widened to include many workers who would not have been eligible in 2008. Benefits have been heavily expanded. In California, they can be up to $1100 per week and there have even been anecdotes about employees who prefer being laid off to working. Additionally, eligible households are getting $1200 per person and small businesses are receiving forgivable loans to ensure they keep people employed. Billions of dollars more are going to social programs and direct support for local governments, hospitals, transit, and other services. The current tally comes $2 trillion-plus in government stimulus, which is enormous. The entire U.S. economy is approximately $22 trillion in size, meaning that on a quarterly basis overall economic activity runs about $5.5 trillion. As the predicted declines are in the 10% range for the second quarter, that amounts to a half-a-trillion dollar decline, give or take. A $2 trillion stimulus package is four times the size of this calculated decline. Much of the stimulus will flow straight into the financial markets which are currently in a full swoon—but the remainder will significantly boost demand. How healthy was the economy when the crisis began? There is little doubt that the pandemic is delivering a significant negative shock to the supply chain. Even those industries not directly impacted by the health mandates are being disrupted at some level. But will otherwise profitable businesses collapse into bankruptcy because of a two-month closure? Will mortgages move into foreclosure due to a couple of months of lost income? That all depends on the health of the economy (made up of these businesses and individuals) when the pandemic started. The positive news is that the economy is much less fragile now than it has been in the past. Structurally, a lot more of today’s economy is in services where there is little of the kind of inventory buildup that can create lasting harm during a crisis. Similarly, the United States is less dependent on global trade than other developed nations, implying that disruptions in global trade and supply chains are likely to have a smaller impact. Cyclically the nation is in good shape despite the length of the current expansion. While the recovery from the Great Recession was long and slow, and overall growth remains slower than in past expansions, the fundamentals of the U.S economy are fantastic. Pre-COVID-19, unemployment was at a 50-year low and in recent years labor shortages have been a problem in much of the nation. Both commercial and residential construction have had moderate runs with little sign of excess inventories. The pacesetter of consumer spending growth has been in travel, recreation, and restaurants. Business investment has been moderate. In short, nothing appears to be out of balance or due for collapse.

The financial economy, overall, is also healthy. Household savings rates are at a 30 year high, financial obligations ratios are at record low levels, and consumer debt markets have very low delinquency rates. Debt burdens on U.S. households are lower now than they were in 2007 at the peak of the bubble or even in more normal 1998. Real estate has a close to record low debtto-equity ratio and, thanks to changes in banking regulations following the Great Recession, borrowers in the last decade have had a median credit score above 750, the highest ever.

    IT LOOKS LIKE A “V” There is no doubt that the 10 million-plus people who are entering into unemployment will face a challenging period even with expanded unemployment benefits and direct payments from the Federal government. Many small businesses are also being pushed close to the edge as they wait to restart operations. But among much of the consuming public, savings rates are good, debt burdens are low, and consumers are maintaining their earnings. For this group the inability to spend money during the public health mandated shutdowns will lead to a surge in savings and significant pent up demand. While some households will not be able to spend as much post-pandemic, others will likely spend considerably more than usual. The same applies to businesses and investors. All this does not suggest a “U”, but a very large and rapid “V”. The second quarter will definitely post record negatives, but that will be followed by record positives in the last half of the year as we quickly return to normalcy. We see GDP growth as follows: 0% in Q1, -30% in Q2, 25% in Q3, and 5% in Q4, with unemployment falling back to the low 4’s over the year. Not all of the damage will be erased, but much of it will and things should largely return to normal faster than many expect. Indeed, we may find that the second quarter will be the only negative growth quarter of the year, which will cause plenty of debate over whether this was or wasn’t a true recession. It is also worth discussing the chaos that overran the financial markets in recent weeks—led by the collapse in the equity markets. The problems stemmed less from economic realities and more from financial improprieties. After the early 2019 sell off, the market exploded upwards and at the start of this year, P/E ratios were at 31—the third-highest on record, topped only in the years 2000 and 1929, according to Robert Shiller’s index. Maybe it will ultimately be positive that this bubble was popped before it began to do harm in the broader economy. But the recent wild swings in the numbers cause havoc in short-run debt markets and put substantial, unnecessary strain on an economy dealing with a very real pandemic. The Fed has now injected trillions of dollars into short term credit markets, but it looks like much of the panic has already passed. Credit markets are settling down and the economy will, in the short term at least, enjoy record low-interest rates along with lower gas prices and all the other benefits that come from falling commodity prices. This will also help with the third quarter bounce. The larger question, however, is at what point will regulators finally begin to seriously address the excessive volatility of the financial markets over the last decade? The markets are supposed to be the shock absorber for the U.S. economy but have turned into a shock expander. While we believe that the most likely outcome for the U.S. economy is better than what most forecasts are currently suggesting, we must also be humble in the face of such an unprecedented shock. In this case there are two major wildcards. The first, of course, is the virus itself. They are wily things and can take strange and unanticipated twists and turns. If the spread of the Coronavirus should spiral out of control again, public health mandates will once again take over and more damage will be done. But even in such a case, public response should be faster and more forceful the second time around, allowing us to weather the storm better. The global population has experienced a big learning curve and we are likely to continue behaving vigilantly, which will help limit negative outcomes. The second wildcard is whether there will be a dramatic shift in consumer behavior after the pandemic ends. Certainly, people will wash their hands more often and handshakes may well become a thing of the past, but will consumers stop going to ballgames and music festivals? Will they be too afraid to go to restaurants? We can’t really know, but it is worth noting that for hundreds of years people have faced pandemics that were far deadlier and more frightening than this one because they didn’t have the science or the medical responses we have today. Nevertheless, when there weren’t pandemics, or they ended, people continued living active lives. Even during wartime, or in places that are under constant threat of terrorist or other attack, people don’t allow low odds to halt their enjoyment of life. This is not a new normal—it is a return to one that has been with us for a long time. While we believe a “V” recovery is ahead, we say so very cautiously, and hope the false narrative that the ‘cure is worse than the disease’ is not allowed to push us off our current path. Economic and Revenue Forecasting Economic, Fiscal and Social Impact Analysis Regional and Sub-Regional Analysis Housing, Land Use and Real Estate Advisory Litigation and Testimony Sustainable Growth and Development

Christopher Thornberg, PhD Founding Partner Beacon Economics LLC Office: 310.571.3399 Chris@BeaconEcon.com BeaconEcon.com Learn More … Read the full article

[easyfoodnetwork]

How to Run 13 Food Businesses in the Middle of a Pandemic

Zingerman’s Delicatessen | Zingerman’s

As the co-founder of one of the country’s largest independent food companies, I’ve spent the past 38 years trying to plan for the future. Now, I’m taking my cues from history

This is Eater Voices, where chefs, restaurateurs, writers, and industry insiders share their perspectives about the food world, tackling a range of topics through the lens of personal experience. First-time writer? Don’t worry, we’ll pair you with an editor to make sure your piece hits the mark. If you want to write an Eater Voices essay, please send us a couple paragraphs explaining what you want to write about and why you are the person to write it to voices@eater.com.

Over the 38 years we’ve been in business I’ve worried about, talked through, and planned for hundreds of strange scenarios. I’m a planner, and here at Zingerman’s we’ve been forecasting and budgeting and organizing for so many years I can barely remember when we began doing it. But, as Mike Tyson once famously said, “Everyone has a plan till they get punched in the mouth.”

I don’t think anyone I know in the food world has ever thought about preparing for a pandemic. Having talked to dozens of colleagues around the country, we all seem to be pretty much in the same boat, struggling to answer the same questions. How do we deal with unexpectedly having to lay off dozens/hundreds/thousands of people that we’ve worked with for years? Are we providing better community service by staying open, or by closing? Can we figure out what the 900 pages of the CARES Act really mean? How does unemployment really work? What’s the difference between a furlough and a layoff? Can we survive for six months on limited menus for delivery and pickup? How long will this go on? Will it ever end? If it doesn’t end for a year, how do we handle that? If it does end, what will happen next? Just writing these questions, I can see why I — and probably most of us — have felt overwhelmed, pretty much daily, for the last few weeks.

On the evening of Tuesday, March 11, we had a sold-out fundraising dinner at Zingerman’s Roadhouse for SafeHouse Center, the place in town that provides shelter for victims of domestic abuse. It was a great event. The next morning, Wednesday, March 12, was a day that will probably live in infamy in the food world for at least a few decades. It’s the day that almost every restaurant in the country felt a shock that I can only equate to what it must have felt like when the stock market crashed on October 29, 1929.

It’s only been six weeks, but it seems like six years. We furloughed nearly 300 of the 700 staff members in our company, which comprises a community of 13 different food businesses. Normally at this time, we’d be ramping up for our busiest weekend of the year: the University of Michigan commencement, which was scheduled for the first weekend of May. Instead, our total organizational sales numbers are now running about 40 percent of plan. Who would imagine that we’d already have adjusted our expectations down so much, so quickly, that we’re celebrating as a “good day’s business” what a month ago we would have thought of as an unremarkable Monday lunch in the slow season of the year? It’s hard to remember the last time I was happy to see a $7,500 day at Zingerman’s Roadhouse, which has 150 seats — but now it seems like a decent weekday’s sales!

March 12 was a day that will probably live in infamy in the food world for at least a few decades.

The effects of the pandemic are felt differently across the company. Our events space, training business, and food tours have seen their sales drop nearly to zero. At our three restaurants (where we continue to do takeout and delivery), bakehouse, creamery, coffee, and candy businesses, sales are somewhere between 30 and 60 percent of what they would normally be this time of year, though wholesale sales to supermarkets and our mail-order business are helping keep us afloat. The bright note for us is that mail order is very busy — about twice what sales would typically be this time of year. And also that we’re still being kind and collaborative and cooking and serving (I mean delivering) good food. We’re following the CDC and local health department guidelines — constant handwashing, keeping plenty of distance between staff and guests (who are in very limited numbers inside our bakeshop, our creamery, and our coffee company), checking staff temperatures before they begin work — and, in the last week or so, wearing masks. For now, at least for us and for so many others, that’s our new normal.

As an erstwhile history major, two thoughts play around in my head. One is that it’s generally said that no war with a foreign power has ever been fought on American soil. I haven’t lived through one so I’m not sure the analogy is accurate, but this does sort of feel like what I imagine that living through a war would be. Life as we knew it has been drastically altered, perhaps for years. Within a few days of the “invasion,” everything was turned, seemingly, upside down. The craziness of the restaurant world that we all love and have learned to live with and actually kind of enjoy now seems stable and calm compared to this world where the coronavirus is calling the shots and we hope and pray that we, our colleagues, and our businesses can survive.

The other piece of history in my mind is that, while none of us have been through this before, humanity has, many times. Annalee Newitz recently wrote a great piece in the New York Times about the 1666 bubonic plague in London. Over the course of the year, the city lost over 15 percent of its population; across England, 750,000 people died. Newitz’s article reminded me of what I already knew: history always repeats. The good, long-term learning from Newitz’s article is that, as we know, the world did keep going when the plague receded. While it was a horrible year, and things didn’t just return quickly to normal, England did recover. The plague did go away. And there were restaurants still operating at the end of it. (On a lighter note, Newitz shared that Samuel Pepys buried a wheel of “Parmazan” cheese in his backyard when the city was evacuated.)

In our 38 years at Zingerman’s, we have worked through massive inflation, the tragic upheaval of 9/11, and the instability of the recession of 2008. Looking back, I can see that we survived the fear and uncertainty by staying true to our values, taking good care of our customers, communicating caringly with our crew, staying in touch with vendors, and maintaining quality. We continued to talk things through collaboratively, to work cooperatively, to stay as grounded and centered as we could under the circumstances. And this time around, we’re doing the same.

Eventually, like World War II and the plague of 1666, this will start to end.

If I’d gone to med school like my grandmother wanted me to, I might be trying to save lives in a hospital or doing research in a lab to find a vaccine or a cure to end this crisis. Unfortunately, I have nothing to contribute on either count. So all I can do is work to keep our community and our organization as healthy as possible. Try to figure out creative and caring ways through the darkness. Try to listen and be empathic and share struggles as best I can. To keep calling colleagues all over the country, hoping that someone smarter has come up with some great solutions. To stay in touch, and keep energy focused on safety and sanitation — and, at the same time, what we have left of service, sales, and staff. And then keep my fingers crossed, think positive thoughts, rub my rabbit’s feet, and, as with all long walks through darkness, hope like hell we can get through to the other side together.

Eventually, like World War II and the plague of 1666, this will start to end. Every day I wait to hear good news, and at some point there will be some. When it does come, we can say something along the lines of what Winston Churchill said as the British turned the tide of a very long war by defeating the Germans in Egypt in 1942. “This is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end,” he said. “But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.”

Whatever happens, I feel incredibly fortunate to have worked with so many great people both here in our own organization and in the food community across the country and around the world. To have bought, sold, served, and eaten so much good food, to have had a positive impact on so many people’s lives. I’m not ready to give up yet. And I’m reminded of something one of our line cooks shared with me from her previous job: As they used to say during really rough shifts, “See you on the other side!”

Ari Weinzweig is the co-founding partner of Zingerman’s Community of Businesses in Ann Arbor, Michigan.

from Eater - All https://ift.tt/3aJu5fI https://ift.tt/3bIaSMN

Zingerman’s Delicatessen | Zingerman’s

As the co-founder of one of the country’s largest independent food companies, I’ve spent the past 38 years trying to plan for the future. Now, I’m taking my cues from history

This is Eater Voices, where chefs, restaurateurs, writers, and industry insiders share their perspectives about the food world, tackling a range of topics through the lens of personal experience. First-time writer? Don’t worry, we’ll pair you with an editor to make sure your piece hits the mark. If you want to write an Eater Voices essay, please send us a couple paragraphs explaining what you want to write about and why you are the person to write it to voices@eater.com.

Over the 38 years we’ve been in business I’ve worried about, talked through, and planned for hundreds of strange scenarios. I’m a planner, and here at Zingerman’s we’ve been forecasting and budgeting and organizing for so many years I can barely remember when we began doing it. But, as Mike Tyson once famously said, “Everyone has a plan till they get punched in the mouth.”

I don’t think anyone I know in the food world has ever thought about preparing for a pandemic. Having talked to dozens of colleagues around the country, we all seem to be pretty much in the same boat, struggling to answer the same questions. How do we deal with unexpectedly having to lay off dozens/hundreds/thousands of people that we’ve worked with for years? Are we providing better community service by staying open, or by closing? Can we figure out what the 900 pages of the CARES Act really mean? How does unemployment really work? What’s the difference between a furlough and a layoff? Can we survive for six months on limited menus for delivery and pickup? How long will this go on? Will it ever end? If it doesn’t end for a year, how do we handle that? If it does end, what will happen next? Just writing these questions, I can see why I — and probably most of us — have felt overwhelmed, pretty much daily, for the last few weeks.

On the evening of Tuesday, March 11, we had a sold-out fundraising dinner at Zingerman’s Roadhouse for SafeHouse Center, the place in town that provides shelter for victims of domestic abuse. It was a great event. The next morning, Wednesday, March 12, was a day that will probably live in infamy in the food world for at least a few decades. It’s the day that almost every restaurant in the country felt a shock that I can only equate to what it must have felt like when the stock market crashed on October 29, 1929.

It’s only been six weeks, but it seems like six years. We furloughed nearly 300 of the 700 staff members in our company, which comprises a community of 13 different food businesses. Normally at this time, we’d be ramping up for our busiest weekend of the year: the University of Michigan commencement, which was scheduled for the first weekend of May. Instead, our total organizational sales numbers are now running about 40 percent of plan. Who would imagine that we’d already have adjusted our expectations down so much, so quickly, that we’re celebrating as a “good day’s business” what a month ago we would have thought of as an unremarkable Monday lunch in the slow season of the year? It’s hard to remember the last time I was happy to see a $7,500 day at Zingerman’s Roadhouse, which has 150 seats — but now it seems like a decent weekday’s sales!

March 12 was a day that will probably live in infamy in the food world for at least a few decades.

The effects of the pandemic are felt differently across the company. Our events space, training business, and food tours have seen their sales drop nearly to zero. At our three restaurants (where we continue to do takeout and delivery), bakehouse, creamery, coffee, and candy businesses, sales are somewhere between 30 and 60 percent of what they would normally be this time of year, though wholesale sales to supermarkets and our mail-order business are helping keep us afloat. The bright note for us is that mail order is very busy — about twice what sales would typically be this time of year. And also that we’re still being kind and collaborative and cooking and serving (I mean delivering) good food. We’re following the CDC and local health department guidelines — constant handwashing, keeping plenty of distance between staff and guests (who are in very limited numbers inside our bakeshop, our creamery, and our coffee company), checking staff temperatures before they begin work — and, in the last week or so, wearing masks. For now, at least for us and for so many others, that’s our new normal.

As an erstwhile history major, two thoughts play around in my head. One is that it’s generally said that no war with a foreign power has ever been fought on American soil. I haven’t lived through one so I’m not sure the analogy is accurate, but this does sort of feel like what I imagine that living through a war would be. Life as we knew it has been drastically altered, perhaps for years. Within a few days of the “invasion,” everything was turned, seemingly, upside down. The craziness of the restaurant world that we all love and have learned to live with and actually kind of enjoy now seems stable and calm compared to this world where the coronavirus is calling the shots and we hope and pray that we, our colleagues, and our businesses can survive.

The other piece of history in my mind is that, while none of us have been through this before, humanity has, many times. Annalee Newitz recently wrote a great piece in the New York Times about the 1666 bubonic plague in London. Over the course of the year, the city lost over 15 percent of its population; across England, 750,000 people died. Newitz’s article reminded me of what I already knew: history always repeats. The good, long-term learning from Newitz’s article is that, as we know, the world did keep going when the plague receded. While it was a horrible year, and things didn’t just return quickly to normal, England did recover. The plague did go away. And there were restaurants still operating at the end of it. (On a lighter note, Newitz shared that Samuel Pepys buried a wheel of “Parmazan” cheese in his backyard when the city was evacuated.)

In our 38 years at Zingerman’s, we have worked through massive inflation, the tragic upheaval of 9/11, and the instability of the recession of 2008. Looking back, I can see that we survived the fear and uncertainty by staying true to our values, taking good care of our customers, communicating caringly with our crew, staying in touch with vendors, and maintaining quality. We continued to talk things through collaboratively, to work cooperatively, to stay as grounded and centered as we could under the circumstances. And this time around, we’re doing the same.

Eventually, like World War II and the plague of 1666, this will start to end.

If I’d gone to med school like my grandmother wanted me to, I might be trying to save lives in a hospital or doing research in a lab to find a vaccine or a cure to end this crisis. Unfortunately, I have nothing to contribute on either count. So all I can do is work to keep our community and our organization as healthy as possible. Try to figure out creative and caring ways through the darkness. Try to listen and be empathic and share struggles as best I can. To keep calling colleagues all over the country, hoping that someone smarter has come up with some great solutions. To stay in touch, and keep energy focused on safety and sanitation — and, at the same time, what we have left of service, sales, and staff. And then keep my fingers crossed, think positive thoughts, rub my rabbit’s feet, and, as with all long walks through darkness, hope like hell we can get through to the other side together.

Eventually, like World War II and the plague of 1666, this will start to end. Every day I wait to hear good news, and at some point there will be some. When it does come, we can say something along the lines of what Winston Churchill said as the British turned the tide of a very long war by defeating the Germans in Egypt in 1942. “This is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end,” he said. “But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.”

Whatever happens, I feel incredibly fortunate to have worked with so many great people both here in our own organization and in the food community across the country and around the world. To have bought, sold, served, and eaten so much good food, to have had a positive impact on so many people’s lives. I’m not ready to give up yet. And I’m reminded of something one of our line cooks shared with me from her previous job: As they used to say during really rough shifts, “See you on the other side!”

Ari Weinzweig is the co-founding partner of Zingerman’s Community of Businesses in Ann Arbor, Michigan.

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[sanerontheinside]

Meta Post 1: Fool of a Sith

devilangel657 replied to your post “Revenge of the Fifth”

Question! If the trade feds were technically on sidious command and they killed qui gon originally by association, why does dooku join them if they killed his former padawan?

Solid question, 10/10

Confused me for a moment there, I wasn’t sure whether you were asking about canon or the fic or the au I currently live in. This isn’t 100% meta, even, just my interpretation, or character notes for future use.  @obaewankenope, @deadcatwithaflamethrower, @aidava, look at this mess. if you want. I meta’d again. Second meta post is on the Trade Federation, coming soon.  uuum. also tagging @kyberpunk, @poplitealqueen, @lilyrose225writes, @maawi, @eclipsemidnight, and @stonefreeak. 

(tl;dr: because he thought that would be the best way to destroy them.) 

Dooku trained the most accomplished lineage of diplomats the Jedi Order had. He was often assigned missions that kept him away from the Temple for long periods of time, the same way we later see the Jinn-Kenobi team frequently away from the Temple. That must have been incredibly isolating for Padawan Qui, but on the other hand he was also apprenticed to one of the most skilled diplomats in the Order—his training was without fault.

The Council did what it would do with any skilled team: it passed them the most difficult assignments. Now, consider: the Senate provides the Order with information about some planet or other needing help. That message is relayed through at least two stopping points: locally, to the planet’s representative, and from there to the sector’s Senator or one of their aides. Each person involved in this chain has their own political agenda, and the Council can never rely on them for accurate intel. Basically, some of the most difficult cases are the ones where the team is, effectively, going in blind.

Other cases include, but are not limited to: points of conflict, brewing revolutions, coups, etc. Some of these missions are better handled by at least three teams, but the Order doesn’t have the manpower to spare. Basically, it’s all a mess.

I could almost bet Dooku was jaded even before he took his first Padawan. Consider: we know him to be from a noble family, and that is often seen as the reasoning behind his focus on networking among the powerful. Personally, I imagine Qui-Gon’s easy friendships with local pirates and questionable types stood them in good stead very often; but Dooku believed that the way to create a lasting change was to convince the powerful that such a change would be in their interest.

This is double-edged, of course, because while Dooku is not necessarily wrong, he is relatively blind to the full extent of the strife of lower classes. Meanwhile Qui-Gon accidentally blunders into revolutions wherever he goes; it’s a byproduct of the Order being poorly-informed of the local sociopolitical climate, and Qui-Gon’s own curiosity and drive to see justice done.

Manipulating Dooku

Years later, Darth Plagueis—posing as Hego Damask II, Magister of the InterGalactic Banking Clan—is quietly pulling strings in the Outer-Rim territories and manipulating trade disputes and agreements. For instance: two worlds, Celanon and Serenno, were at a dispute over transit taxes for the use of the Hydian Way hyperspace lane. Celanon was building a hyperwave transceiver—basically, a transceiver that used hyperspace to connect to the HoloNet. Because of the amount of infrastructure required for the thing to work, they had to replan the local hyperspace lanes that ships could pass through. For this reason, they decided to charge transit taxes for ships entering their space—which included Serenno.

Damask’s (Plagueis’s) plan was fairly simple: he hoped that mediation between Serenno and Celanon would fail, and then Damask Holdings would withdraw funding for building the hyperwave transceiver. Said construction would have been of benefit to the less wealthy planets in that corner of space. The moment negotiations broke down, those worlds would blame the wealthy Serenno and Celanon for it.

Damask made the error of approaching Qui-Gon Jinn during a recess in the meeting. Jinn, ever one to call the situation exactly as he saw it, ‘accused Damask Holdings of fomenting discontent in the Outer Rim in the name of profit.’ [x - see subsection Serenno: Meeting Dooku and Sifo-Dyas] Not only was that a bit blunt, but it was also exactly right. You can imagine, no Sith Lord working on enacting his Grand Plan, the Return of the Line of Bane, would be particularly excited to have an opponent who could see right through all their careful smokescreens.

Damask also took the opportunity to chat with Dooku and Sifo-Dyas. Dooku was by then well aware of corruption in the Senate, and was quite vocal about it. Sifo-Dyas was more restrained. Unfortunately, talking to Sith is universally understood to be a bad idea. Plagueis walked away from that conversation knowing that to destroy the Jedi, he had to exploit their loyalty to the Republic, to make them appear the enemies of peace rather than guardians.

At the root of Damask’s interest was the fact that Dooku, while he might have thought himself one man working against the tide, had actually done a great deal of good in the Outer Rim territories, and even foiled a number of the Sith’s plans in the process. [x - see subsection Darth Tyranus is Born] 

Part of the tragedy of Dooku’s Fall is that he could see a glaring problem, and had no idea that he was already doing a great deal to fix it. That blindness, and a great deal of hubris, really. Hubris in thinking that he could build a utopia from scratch—rebuild the Republic without corruption, rebuild the Order without the faults he’d seen in it.

Dooku’s greatest disappointment was Galidraan, and Galidraan was a Sith-manipulated mess. [x]

The Governor of Galidraan rigged up a complicated scheme that was supposed to rid him both of an insurrection from his colonists and of the True Mandalorians—all of this while hiding a splinter group of the Death Watch (Viszla) on his world. The resulting scheme was designed by Sidious, of course.

So, step one: the Governor calls the True Mandalorians for help dealing with his minor insurrection, and offers to give them Pre Viszla’s location. The True Mandalorians agree and show up, setting up camp locally.

Step two: the Governor of Galidraan has the Death Watch pose as the True Mandalorians and attack the colonists.

Step three: the Governor calls the Senate in a panic begging for assistance from the Jedi Order—help, help, the Mandalorians are killing my people!

Step four: Dooku and a small team show up and surround the Mandalorian camp. Pressed for time (think of the dying colonists!), unable to verify, but possibly just the slightest bit suspicious (the Mandalorians are warriors, not butchers… surely?) the Jedi order the camp to surrender. The Mandalorians, having done nothing wrong up until this moment, open fire and resist.

Aftermath

Dooku had called for reinforcements. His hand was forced before they arrived. He and his small group were vastly outnumbered. What could have been resolved over a pot of tea instead ended in the slaughter of three hundred.

Now, on the one hand, the facts that Dooku had told him he didn’t have time for a pot of tea. On the other hand, even if we were to assume that he’d done everything right when making that decision, and still failed, that must have stung. It must have been, also, incredibly hard to face up to the fact that he’d done his best in a situation where he’d been set up for failure, and yet the Senate was forever going to use that horrible incident against the Order. The very same Senate that had sent him there without a real understanding of the situation, on the word of the Governor. The Order that had not been circumspect and simply said that Judicial would be manpower enough.

Even Chancellor Valorum would later refer to the Yinchorri Uprising as ‘another Galidraan’, and use it as an example for why the Jedi could not serve as the Republic ‘police force’. [x - see subsection Aftermath] On the one hand, it would’ve been nice if the Senate had allowed Valorum to actually declare, by law, that the Jedi were never to be sent out anywhere again for anything other than peaceful negotiations. On the other hand, a reminder of that kind of disastrous failure would have tailed Dooku for the rest of his time in the Order.

No matter whether Galidraan was his fault (an arguable point, and I’m not familiar with the book or comics), he would have still felt guilt over that disaster. He also never faced it: In Jedi vs. Sith: The Essential Guide to the Force by Ryder Wyndham, Dooku—by then Darth Tyranus is quoted as saying,

"Even though I knew that the Senate was corrupt, the Council was fallible, and Jedi training methods far from perfect, I remained with the Jedi Order for twelve years after Galidraan. Why? Because I still believed that I could accomplish some good as a Jedi. I thought I could bring about some positive changes, right certain wrongs, and do better than maintain the status quo. In short, I was an utter fool."

Dooku is willing to blame everyone else—the Senate, the Council, down to Jedi training methods. Never himself. He Knows Best, after all. Proud man, and the mightier his fall for it.

Naboo

To Dooku, Qui-Gon’s death on Naboo was just another indication of the Senate’s and Order’s ineptitude. Palpatine was only too happy to tell him the story of how his brave Padawan fell during the Battle of Naboo (even going so far as to show him a recording of the generator’s security feed, according to the comics). [x - see subsection Darth Tyranus is Born] Dooku had publicly criticised the Order and the Senate already, but this was all Palpatine needed to lure him over to the Dark Side:

[Dooku] "I declined to be a member of the Council in order to devote myself to diplomacy, and look how that has turned out. The Republic is sliding deeper into chaos." [Palpatine] "You're one man against a galaxy full of scoundrels." [Dooku] "One man should be able to make a difference if he is powerful enough."

How kind, how understanding Palpatine always was.

I imagine, even knowing that he was dealing with Sith, Dooku would never once have doubted his ability to outwit, outmaneuver those who had given him power. He would use Palpatine as Palpatine had intended to use him, and then he would destroy the Sith. He would destroy the Trade Federation, and the Banking Clans, and the Commerce Guild, and all those pesky monopolies that had been so influential in the fall of the Republic.

Once Palpatine had given him power, he proceeded to strip away Dooku’s every last connection to the Order. Every last thing that had grounded him vanished. Sifo-Dyas was killed the moment his usefulness ran out, though Dooku preserved his body in cryostasis. [I’ve meta’d here before] Somewhere in the midst of ten years of running errands for Sidious, Dooku realised that he could not win without help. He tried, he really did try, to turn to Obi-Wan for help on Geonosis.

But Dooku would never have turned to him on his own. He would never have asked for help, because no one was quite as good as he. When Obi-Wan proved to be resourceful, clever, and exactly the sort of nutcase who’d get himself into trouble the way Jinn would have, caught, and still defiant—that’s when Dooku decided to take a chance. But, alas, he walked into the cell without a plan, and what should have been a delicate manipulation to get Obi-Wan to believe him and then help him—completely blew up in his face.*

They had no common ground. Dooku had never spoken to him. He’d barely maintained contact with Qui-Gon after his Knighting, apparently, and left the Order after Obi-Wan’s. Obi-Wan had no reason to trust him, no reason to believe a word that came out of Dooku’s mouth. Unfortunate, that: the moment Obi-Wan understood Darth Tyranus had not been lying, his Grandmaster was long dead, the Jedi had been slaughtered, and Sidious had made the Republic into an Empire.

*[By the way, Dooku’s scene with Obi-Wan in AotC doesn’t strike me as one artful diplomat manipulating another. It sounds desperate, and for someone who’s supposed to be so good with words, the segue into ‘Qui-Gon always spoke very highly of you’ was rather blunt. But, as @meabhair pointed out, Lucas wrote choppy dialogue, so I suppose we can’t entirely blame the Count.]

Also, as an aside: in Silent enim leges inter arma (the frankenau), Dooku’s Turn and shocked realisation that he’s in over his head happen earlier—before Naboo. Details are still a bit hazy, but as you can see, there’s plenty to work with.

[evenstevensranked]

#49: Season 2, Episode 12 - “Easy Crier”

Holy crap you guys. Can you believe we’re already into the #40s?! This is going by faster than I anticipated.

This week, Lenny Cranepool (a.k.a “Lenny the Lifter”) is the new kid at school. He's a giant. Louis and Twitty befriend him and they become the most feared crew in school. Until they find out Lenny is a big softie who dreams of becoming a pastry chef. Meanwhile, Ren is trying to outlaw dodgeball due to its physical dangers.

The opening shot is Louis late for school, running in slo-mo down the hallway. His backpack is unzipped so every single paper in his bag goes flying literally everywhere. He gets stopped by Tugnut who yells at him for being late, and Louis says “Or! Is it possible everybody else on earth is early?” Real slick, Louis. Tugnut let’s him off the hook for his “sassy mouth” clap back, because it’s dodgeball season and he’s creepily overexcited for it and even throws in some maniacal laughter to drive it home. Do schools have dodgeball season, though? Like, is that a thing? Do they have big rainbow parachute in gym class season, too? That was the best. Anyway, this dodgeball mention is setting up the subplot.

Louis crawls into math class trying (and failing) to go unnoticed, when suddenly… there’s a giant foot in the aisle! Someone else is sitting in his seat. It’s Lenny Cranepool! The new transfer student who must’ve only transferred there for a few days because we never see him again! Louis is clearly intimidated when Lenny stands up, towering over him and GROWLING. I’m not kidding. Lenny genuinely growls and grunts like a caveman. Now that I think about it, that’s pretty hilarious. Louis is chill though and settles for a different desk. Once he sits though, he casually says “Actually, I’d prefer the window seat” and out of nowhere he is LIFTED INTO THE AIR BY LENNY and carried over to the window. 

He’s sitting in front of Twitty now, so Twitty fills him in on everything. He tells Louis the new kid is Lenny the Lifter. Word on the street is that he got kicked out of his old school for “going on a lifting spree” probably. I love that, omg. Lenny breaks his pencil and growls like an animal again. Louis is nice and gives him one of his pencils, but Lenny doesn’t even say thank you and gives them a hard look. Louis and Twitty are just relieved to be alive at this point. 

Next, we see Ren and Nelson preparing to go live on the school news program, The Wombat Report. Ren introduces her dodgeball segment accusing it of being a “barbaric celebration of pain and violence that sadistically pits the mean and vicious against the weak and skinny.” Dang, Ren. Tugnut is watching while wearing an I <3 DODGEBALL shirt and gets so pissed he breaks his pencil, too. That’s one too many pencils broken in under a minutes time if you ask me. Ren says they took a hidden Cap Cam into Tugnut’s gym class and came away with “disturbing footage.” The footage shows him teaching the kids about Hot Zones on the human body to aim for while playing dodgeball and uses a cardboard cutout of a skinny nerd dubbed Target Timmy. He notices the kid in the Cap Cam and says “no hats in class! TAKE IT OFF!” and violently throws a dodgeball at their head. Great teacher, right there.

I’m sure that’s enough to get him fired and banned from teaching ever again???

Louis is walking down the hall and is surprised when each step he takes parts the crowd of kids like Moses. Until, of course, he notices Lenny has been following him. He initially runs away, but Lenny catches up to him at lunch and thanks him for the pencil. Louis says “The pencil! Oh, right. Old Number 2! You’re welcome.” The Old Number 2 comment makes me laugh. That was definitely an ad lib. Louis invites Lenny to eat with him and we see the first glimmer of Lenny the Softie accompanied by sensitive piano. He’s like “YEAH! :D Thanks!” all happy. And it would be a nice gesture, except it marks the arrival of Selfish Louis here. He immediately decides to use Lenny to his advantage. He takes a seat at the 8th Grade lunch table, which is clearly off-limits and decorated like a fancy restaurant in comparison to all the other lowly tables, lol. Twitty comes over and asks Louis if he has a death wish. This is accurate.

When I was in middle school, there was this small stoop in the parking lot where the 8th graders would hang out during recess. If you went anywhere near there they would cuss you out. I was a pretty outgoing kid (I mean, not as brazen as Louis can be, but..) so one day when I was in 6th grade, I purposely got to the stoop before the 8th graders and just stood there. When they eventually came over telling me to leave, I stood my ground and said “This is a slab of cement. I don’t see your names anywhere. I can stand here if I want to.” They eventually gave up and went somewhere else, letting me and my friends hang out there that day! Ayyyyyy! One of my proudest moments. I wonder if I was subconsciously inspired by Louis. Probably, honestly. This show subconsciously shaped my sense of humor growing up and I only realized this when I started getting back into the show in 2011. I digress…

I felt the need to include a picture of the stoop. I literally went on Google Earth to get this! haha. This isn’t the exact stoop at the exact location, but this is exactly what it looks like. Just so you can visualize, lol.

Sure enough, Larry Beale and the big tough 8th Graders come over telling Louis the table is reserved. But, Louis says “Larry, this table is only reserved because you and a few of your unattractive friends say it is.” Burrrrn. I’ma use that next time. Just then, Lenny comes over. Larry is clearly scared and quickly sits at a different table and pretty much does whatever Louis says. So yeah, this is where Louis realizes he can just use Lenny to intimidate everyone and get whatever he wants from this moment forward. Nice!

Ren goes walking into a pitch black gym per Coach Tugnut’s request. He says “you got a problem with dodgeball?!” and claps twice to turn on a spotlight which dramatically reveals him sitting at desk. That’s honestly terrifying considering Tugnut is a grown man and Ren is like.. 14. I’d run out the door. We get one of my favorite lines here, though. Ren asks “I take it you’ve seen my dodgeball exposé?” and Tugnut says: 

(credit)

He tells her that Principal Wexler is holding a referendum on whether to keep or ban dodgeball. But he’s adamant that dodgeball isn’t going anywhere.

Louis notices Lenny sitting on the stairs, visibly upset. Louis goes over to him and Lenny immediately bursts into tears! Louis frantically tries to hide him so his tough image stays intact. Turns out Lenny is crying over a simple poetry assignment that’s due the next day. He says he’s worried that if he doesn’t do well in school he’ll “never graduate and become a p-p-p….” through tears, and Louis tries to guess what profession he was going to say. Asking “Police Man? Private Investigator?! PYTHON TRAINER?!” (I just love the way Shia says it.) But Lenny clarifies that he was going to say pastry chef. Louis ain’t thrilled.

Later that day, Louis and Twitty try to come up with a plan that will help Lenny remain feared. Louis just hopes that Lenny will write a poem that’s dark, mean and hateful. Unfortunately, he writes a poem that’s gentle, sweet and loving. Ren reads it and convinces Lenny to recite it on the Wombat Report to show everyone what a sweet guy he is.

Then, the following scene happens. Which I’m just going to embed instead of describing because I think it’s hilarious.

This paper cut incident helps Louis come up with an idea to stop Lenny from reading his poem.

The dodgeball drama turns into a Ren vs. Larry thing because Larry sides with Coach Tugnut. I’m not complaining about this. Any Ren/Larry interaction is nice because REN AND LARRY SHOULD JUST PUT ASIDE THEIR DIFFERENCES AND DATE! Larry and Tugnut demand equal time on the Wombat Report to debate over dodgeball, which is fair I guess. 

Over the course of ONE NIGHT Louis comes up with a voice activated device to attach to the bottom of Lenny’s chair that will zap him as soon as he starts reading his poem. Louis The Incredibly Gifted Engineer strikes again. 

The plan is to make Lenny go insane, like when he got the paper cut, on live TV. Yeah, that should do it. But before he’s about to go live, Lenny gives Louis a copy of the poem and says he wrote it about him. Louis reads it and asks Twitty “You ever feel the gnawing pains of guilt? You know, the ones that make you feel like a terrible person who doesn’t deserve to live?” Twitty says no and Louis is like, “Yeah, me neither. But this is the closest I’ve ever been” as if he’s a person incapable of feeling remorse or emotion. Not a fan of that choice, tbh.

Either way, he decides to do the right thing and swap the chairs. Lenny successfully reads his poem, which is also hilarious. Here’s the transcript:

“Emotional” by Lenny Cranepool

I wish you could see beyond my size, to the person that lives inside. There is someone who sees the real me... his name is Louis, and you see... He never judged, or laughed or tried to hide, he just treated me like any other guy. I owe a lot to this true friend, I hope our friendship never ends. It really hurts to be left out, if you have any doubt... Try being me for just one day, and I’m sure you’d agree when I say -- That being feared cuts like a knife, but one good friend can change your life.

The entire school is in tears, including Louis and Twitty. We see Larry and freaking PEDRO FROM NAPOLEON DYNAMITE with tears in his eyes (this is his second appearance in the series as a member of Larry’s posse.) He turns to Larry and says “That was so beautiful, man.” And Larry’s just like “Shut up, Omar” which makes me laugh. Larry’s happy though, because Louis just lost his body guard.

“Shut up, Omar.” lol this show has so much meme potential. 

Then they make a sharp turn from crying to the dodgeball debate, which is also funny. Only problem is that Ren is sitting in the rigged chair now. Oops. As soon as she speaks to debate against Larry, she gets zapped and screams at the top of her lungs. She knows Louis did it. She kicks the chair away and quickly shares a seat with Larry instead. They’re so cute. Just like that, Ren changes her position on dodgeball and decides that it can be a “very rewarding experience.” Meaning, she wants to get back at Louis.

I love how they have an American flag displayed. I mean, what’s more American than dodgeball?! 

The last scene is Ren, Larry and Tugnut ganging up against Louis by pelting him with dodgeballs. Ren and Larry are smiley and he says it’s nice to be on the same side for once, which is also cute. They’re just cute and should’ve got together by the end of the series!!!

Anyway, I’m not against Louis getting his but kicked here. He was going to do a pretty mean thing to Lenny for his own personal gain. And, then ended up ruining things and embarrassing Ren in the process. So… Sorry, Lou! I'm not with ya on this one. The episode ends on a freeze frame of Louis about to get hit in the face. The end.

This is a good episode. I used to love it... A LOT. (But again, every episode was my “favorite” at some point.) I guess the fact that it revolves around a one-off character makes it difficult for me to rank it any higher. Although, a good episode is a good episode regardless. But still. Louis’ ugly side made an appearance here, which I hate. So. I love the little Ren/Larry bit at the end, though. I wonder if Eric Ty Hodges was directed to subtly act like he has a secret crush on Ren occasionally, because I get those vibes.

Just a side note I’ve been thinking about: I might be the only person who feels this way.. but… Season 2 is weird for me. I’ve always seen it as the awkward transitional period between gritty Season 1 and über polished zany Season 3. Barring a few super memorable, pretty iconic episodes — Season 2 is just kinda… there. It might have something to do with the fact that Shia looks a little awkward himself. He’s not the young baby faced kid from Season 1 and he’s not the grown teenager we see in Season 3. He’s like.. an actual awkward 7th grader here lol. Also, little known fact! Louis and his friends actually move up to 8th grade in Season 3! It’s widely believed that Louis and Ren are in 7th and 8th grade the entire series. It's even listed as a production fact on Wikipedia! But, nope. There are slight things that confirm this, which I’ll acknowledge when they pop up but yeah. (This means that LJH is one of those rare middle schools that go up to 9th grade, btw) So, that’s definitely something else that contributes to my feelings towards Season 2. For Louis and his friends, in my mind I think...

Season 1: First half of 7th grade.

Season 2: Second half of 7th grade.

Season 3: 8th grade.

Obviously, Ren would be the same except 8th-9th. Also, fun fact #2: Seth Miller, who plays Lenny, was in an episode of Boy Meets World. There are a lot of parallels between the two shows, actually. 

I DIGRESS AGAIN!

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[chibisquirt]

That Fic I Want

Okay, so @flange5​, @kagekanecavi​, and @trickyarchangel​ have succeeded in pulling me down into the abyss which is The Untamed.  (It is soooo preeeeetty!!!!  And the Stony vibes are *real* let me tell you!!!)  

Anyway, naturally, I want fic-- and because it’s me, and I am the *most* predictable, one’s a crossover, while one’s a first time fic.  I will maybe someday write one or the other of them, but I have way too much to do to start on them now, so summaries it is.  

The first-time fic is standard “yes of course Bubbles wants that fic” fic, and no one should be surprised because I am trash.

The crossover, otoh, is a Doctrine of Labyrinths crossover which turns into Fix-it Fic because fuck you, this is my wish-fulfillment, I’ll save my tiny hyper-competent girlfriend if I want to.  I know I could write it in such a way that you don’t need to know both fandoms to read it, you only need to one or the other...  Hopefully this description is readable like that, too.

Help me, I’m in hell.

So the first place this comes from is, “you know who it would be *hilarious* to throw at these two gay idiots?  Felix and Mildmay!”  Which means non-DoL people need to know who those are.  

Felix is a magic user, and Mildmay, his half-brother, is an ex-assassin, ex-thief.  They both have SO MANY issues, from their personal histories (both children of poverty and abuse, but Felix was trained to use the manners of the powerful magic-using class, while Mildmay lived on the street) to the power differential between them to personal losses they’ve undergone.  Mildmay does not have magic, which makes him “annemer.”  The MDZS guys would say that Felix is a cultivator, and Mildmay is not, but that right there is one of the hurdles to writing this fic.

The way magic is described in the DoL books does not line up with the way Cultivation is described in MDZS.  So you have to find a way to reconcile those two.  DoL describes the uses and even abilities of magic changing as you move to a different culture, so that accounts for some of it; MDZS describes the energies involved in such a way that annemer may well be able to practice cultivation, so that fixes the rest.  For the actual fic, it’s going to be a hell of a lot of fun to explore the similarities and differences in the two systems while still having a cohesive worldbuilding, but for the purposes of this summary, just know that the two are similar, but not the same.

So why do I want to write this nonsense?  

WELL...!

Felix is a powerful magic user, who used to be a child prostitute before being scooped off the streets by an INCREDIBLY abusive necromancer and trained as his protege.  He is incredibly talented, and eventually breaks free of the dark magic he was trained under, and the course of the books is basically one big story of him becoming a better person.  He is also as queer as a football bat, and proud of it. (One scene in the books in which he is voluntarily participating in an orgy is changed into a rape scene when he realizes that one of the participants is a woman.  He is That Gay.  He makes both LWJ and WWX look incredibly straight by comparison.)  He is glib, and clever, but with an addictive personality, and he’s prideful but for good reason, because next to him all the magicians in Corambis really do look a bit like morons.

Sound familiar, at all...?

Mildmay, on the other hand, was raised on the streets by a “thief keeper,” a woman in this case who taught him to use knives, and steal, and then-- when he got his face busted up and couldn’t be unobtrusive anymore-- to be an assassin, instead.  He has a large scar that makes his speech slur, so he rarely speaks or changes expression, but despite his troubled history, he is a Good Person, compassionate and actively *wanting* to be good.  He’s low-class-- and even when he has an opportunity to pretend to be high-class, he never takes it-- but he’s still, in his own way, a Gentleman.  He likes to tell stories, and to hear them; if he had been taught to read and write, he could easily have been a novelist.  Also he is apparently The Greatest Ever at cunnilingus, which really is the cherry on top of my adoration for the boy.

...Okay, so my MDZS folks all know now why I’m slavering to introduce these two assholes to LWJ and WWX, right?  Cool.  Glad we’re on the same page.

DoL ends with our heroes at loose ends in a country with an empire of unknown characterization and size across the sea from them; also, they live on the coast, and have a history of traveling.  So it’s easy to imagine that they ended up in Ygres for... some reason... and that Ygres borders the land MDZS is set in (which as far as I know doesn’t have a name???)  

So this story would start with Felix and Mildmay being called into an audience with the Ygressine empress, who was originally from the Wen clan.*

The Wen empress is pretty thoroughly Ygressine by this point, but still wants to do right by her tiny bits of remaining family.  She sits on her cushions and pets her cat and gives our boys a task.  

She tells our boys about the Sunshot campaign that ended her clan, and about the cruelty afterwards that finished off the last of them.  Then she says that one of her relatives managed to survive the purge after the war by putting her soul into a vessel.  “This cousin of mine, Wen Qing, was very skilled and very clever, and so she has been able to retain her life, but her body perished.  She was a friend of the Yiling Patriarch, and was sure that he could restore her to herself, but alas, he himself died only a few days after she did, long before she was able to reach his side.”  

“So she’s stuck,” Mildmay says.

“Unfortunately, yes.  She made her way to me, and I have kept her safe and comfortable as well as I can since.”  She strokes the cat again.  The cat lashes its tail.

“You want us to restore her,” Felix guesses, madly trying to figure out what he knows about necromancy and praying this chick hasn’t become a fantome or a rachenant in the meantime.

“I doubt you can,” the empress says, “you don’t even know the basics of swordsmanship. No, I want you to find the Yiling Patriarch, Wei Wuxian.”

“The dead one, you mean?”

“We heard the story from three different spies,” the empress says, smiling thinly.  “He has returned to life.”

Now Felix is hoping Wei Wuxian isn’t a fantome or a rachenant.  

“You will escort my cousin, Wen Qing, to his side, and remain with them until they have succeeded in restoring her.  They are both quite clever-- and you’re adequate, too, in spite of your poor education--”  Felix is so indignant, y’all--  “I am sure you will resolve this swiftly.”   

The cat stands up after one last pet, stretches, and starts walking towards the door.  “I have a purse and luggage all packed for you, lacking only any personal items of your own you would like to bring.  We’ll leave at first light,” she says.  She stands on her hind legs with her forepaw on Mildmay’s thigh and bats at his hand.  “Aren’t you going to carry me??  It’s too far to walk!”

Felix and Mildmay:  “What the actual fuck!!!!”

So Cat Wen Qing (Wen Qing-tten?) and the brothers make their way to the MDZS lands, where Lan Wangji is now Excellency and WWX is wandering around cultivating shit and Lan Sizhui is building a cenotaph with Wen Ning, both of the unaware that they are in for a very large surprise.  

And that’s the setup!  There are so many good things I can do with this, so many ways it can go!

They don’t know where WWX is, so they determine to as LWJ, who is about the only one Wen Qing can think of who might know and also tell them without trying to kill her.  They do this without realizing that LWJ is the Excellency now, because when they left Ygres with it’s spy network the news hadn’t happened yet.

LWJ isn’t telling a damn soul where WWX is, least of all foreigners with a talking cat.

He tells them to stay.  (This is actually so that he can get to know them and evaluate them, but god forbid he actually tell anyone that.)  

Felix meets Lan Xichen and is very sympathetic to his recent loss.  He has been there, okay, he knows how this goes!  

At some point they start actually talking about the difference between what Felix and Mildmay know as magic and cultivation, and Mildmay has the “oh god every single one of them is a necromancer!” epiphany/breakdown

Also under the category of “difference between cultivation and magic,” Wen Qing is aware that they have a problem.  Felix is a foreigner, who does not read or write the language, does not sing, does not play an instrument, and barely speaks the language.  So literally no one is going to listen to Felix as a Cultivator if he doesn’t have a sword.

She gets him a sword.  She makes him learn to use it.  It is very, very ugly.

Wen Qing is a better swordsman than Felix is, and she’s still stuck in the body of a cat.

When Mildmay laughs, she makes him learn the sword, too.  

At some point, someone challenges Felix to a duel.  Felix shrugs, then cheats.  

LWJ finds out about Felix’s appallingly bad sword skills, and makes him practice with the juniors.

Mildmay also knows the juniors, because he talks them into teaching him how to gamble.  Then he takes all their money.

His stake in this game is all of the hairpins from his braid, each one of which is worth one (1) story.  He has to tell a story first to prove he can, but once they realize he knows a whole bunch and they haven’t heard any of them, the juniors all hoard their collection of hairpins jealously.  They’ll ante in all of their money, but if they have one of his hairpins, they hold onto it.

Someone buys him a new set of hairpins at some point because his braid is getting really unmanageable.  

Then everybody else buys him increasingly nice hair ornaments until he has the prettiest red queue in Cloud Recesses.

Lan Sizhui at some point gets another family member back, which I think we can all agree he too deserves

Wen Qing finding out who SiZhui is, though

At some point, Cat Wen Qing runs into Wen Ning and just climbs him, racing up his chest and perching on his shoulders to yowl fish-breath into his face, loudly and repeatedly scolding him in cat-noises.  

Felix and WWX in a room together, building towers of bullshit in the air together.  I just... really need that to happen, so much

Wen Qing and Mildmay have a mutual “I’m not good enough” slowburn high-pine-content sort of romance.  They both *deserve* it, damn it, as well as their happy ending!

Wen Qing tries to fix Mildmay’s leg with acupuncture, and it doesn’t work but it does help some

Everybody underestimating Mildmay because he’s not a cultivator and then Mildmay pulls some Mildmay-esque stunt, like stabbing a man fifteen times before he blinks or going over a wall that they thought was unscaleable, and they all just lose their fucking jaws.

*for DoL people who don’t know, the Wen clan are the bad guys of the first half of MDZS, and then they’re defeated, and the cruelty towards defeated Wens drives the action of the second half of MDZS.  So there are good Wens, too.