#because calling normal features real people have ugly is surely a choice

[danadiadea]

people making posts on how they stan "ugly" Snape and how objectively awful he had looked, and then reblogging/making art where he looks like he should be in a museum for the people to pay to look at him, will always make me extra confused

[killherfreakout]

half of who i am isn’t all my fault

a series about hands and where they touch.

part two: your hand under my chin

[a/n: bipolar disorder, mixed state of mania and depression.]

* * *

The world is ending.

At least, to a twenty-something artist in Paris named Eliott Demaury, it feels like it is. And he can’t decide if he wants to sit there and watch or throw caution to the wind and go down with it.

It’s another quiet weeknight in the city, late enough that the partygoers are on their way home but early enough that people aren’t up for work. So the world is continuing as normal, and yet, it feels like Eliott is on the edge of it and about to fall off. 

And there’s no one to blame but himself; no one to blame but his chemically imbalanced and traitorous brain, on the brink of consuming every last semblance of control he has left, in the middle of a sleepless night. Eliott knows this feeling too well, and no matter who much he tries to fight it, his attempts are futile. 

Eliott finds himself sitting on the edge of their bed, and he watches as Lucas’ parted lips huff out soft breaths in his sleep. He looks ethereal, like some kind of angel sent to watch over Eliott when he wants to give up on himself, always there when he doesn’t know he needs him. Lucas is some kind of perfect dream, in between real and imaginary, as he lays there like he has no idea the sight he makes.

Lucas said once, after Eliott made him try his special omelettes, I’m glad you have one flaw, otherwise you’re just too perfect to be real. And Eliott knows the way people look at him, like he’s an entity only good for his beauty — although, if he has anything to say about it, he would argue he’s the furthest from that — and not a person with real human emotion underneath it all. The thought makes a cruel, humorless laugh bubble up inside his throat.

And he doesn’t want to be the asshole who’s ungrateful for his conventionally attractive features, but every time it comes up, it just— it feels like it’s the universe’s twisted way of overcompensating for the ugliness that hides beneath the shiny surface. It makes this shame and guilt swirl inside of him, and there’s this voice mocking him, saying, if only they knew. If only they knew how flawed this body is, how close it is to breaking. 

His boyfriend’s peaceful state somehow magnifies Eliott’s awakeness, and his body feels heavy but his mind and heart feel like they’re going fast enough to run a marathon. Like he has all this energy he needs to burn but he’s stuck inside the small apartment as the world ends inside it, and seems to keep going outside of it.

Inevitably he finds his cigarettes on the ledge of the living room window, and goes through one before he even realizes he’s smoking it; he goes to light another but gets annoyed at the busted lighter, deciding to raid the fridge for something to wash down the nicotine.

A gust of wind outside reminds him of the outside world, his body somehow not big enough for everything he feels inside, like he belongs out there. But he can feel himself coming down, feeling like he fits inside his body again the more he breathes, and he tries with all his might to stay afloat before he crashes.

Eliott lays on the cold floor of their bedroom, his head against the wall under the window and legs bent at the knee with his feet against the foot of the bed. It’s not quite comfortable but the position allows him to see some of the sky over the tops of the buildings outside, including a few stars that shine through the darkness.

He lays there for a while, just looking at the tiny shining stars and melting into the cold floor, trying to focus on the sound of Lucas’ tiny breaths from the bed.

There’s a star that peeks through a small cloud as it passes by, and Eliott can’t tell which one it is or which constellation it belongs to, but he knows that it’s one that moves around the North Star, like all the others do. Then a thought comes to him: he’s like one of those stars. He’s always changing and going in circles, sometimes hidden behind clouds in his mind, not visible to anyone. The thought could be dreamy and romantic, comparing himself to the stars, but with the current state he’s in it feels like a curse. Like the pole his life revolves around is his bipolar disorder, where he has no choice but to let it decide his course.

It makes him feel so small and so alone, always at war with his mind and with himself. The stars seem so far away, and he’s just left lying on the cold floor in his own apocalypse that no one can see.

His eyes wander across the ceiling, unfocused and frenzied as these thoughts keep swirling around his head, hands clenching at his sides.

There’s shuffling on the other side of the room where Lucas tosses in the bed, groaning before calling, “Baby?”

Eliott registers the sounds but can’t break his focus from the ceiling of his mind and the room.

“Eli, where are you?”

Lucas calls his name a few more times, the sound getting further and further away as the younger one searches the other rooms of the apartment. Eliott wants to scream for help, wants to tell Lucas, I’m here, I’m here, but he can’t. 

Somehow, though, he seems to beckon him back.

There’s footsteps and then a source of light, and Lucas almost trips over Eliott’s legs where he still rests on the floor by their bed. Lucas sighs when he realizes he’s found him, sleepy features illuminated by the blue light of his phone. His eyes are squinty from the light and his hair is a perfect mess all over his head, a few strands falling down to his eyes. He still looks like an angel - and here he is, to save Eliott from himself like he knew he would.

“There you are,” Lucas kneels on the floor by Eliott’s side. Eliott finally focuses on his voice and his presence, his angel. “Come back to bed, baby.”

Eliott doesn’t move, can’t move. Lead has settled into his bones trapping him to the floor, and every nerve screams to get up, to go back to bed with Lucas, but there he lies, paralyzed.

“Oh, Eliott,” Lucas’ smile disappears, thumbing away the tears that Eliott didn’t even know were flowing. His voice is soft and loving just like he is. “What’s going on?”

His eyes close to the words, no doubt causing more wetness from his eyes. The thumb wipes it away again, so gently, it’s like magic.

Subconsciously Eliott registers Lucas’ concern and the way he asked, noticing how he asked what’s going on? instead of what’s wrong? — because something doesn’t necessarily have to be wrong to make Eliott feel like this, because what Eliott feels right now is something that happens sometimes. They’ve had plenty of experience with this exact moment, when Eliott is close to losing himself and Lucas makes sure to keep him from going too far. 

“Lucas…” His voice is weak, his throat closing and breath stuck somewhere that can’t get out. Eliott can feel the touch again, this time firmer, more real. Lucas leans down to be closer to him, and keeps up that brushing on his face, but it’s overwhelming all of a sudden, and there’s no simple answer to his question and—

Eliott finds some strength, or just a fighting response, to turn over and away from the touch and warmth of Lucas. He misses it as soon as it’s gone but stays in his new position with his back turned to the other boy. Lucas doesn’t reach out again, just leaves him be. Eliott is glad his boyfriend is respecting his space but can’t help the guilt setting in that he pushed him away. Eliott lays there quietly, though his mind is anything but. He doesn’t know if Lucas is still there when he finally finds his voice again.

“I was doing so well, I thought I might have finally had some control over this. But it just came out of nowhere and—”

Sudden panic washes over him, because it never really comes out of nowhere, and if it does, there are signs he can recognize so he’s at least a bit prepared.

Eliott thinks of the fact that he hasn’t slept more than a few hours in the past three days, and how tired he doesn’t feel until right at this moment. But he was so focused on his art projects and so excited with how they were coming together, the time seemed to fly by. That happens sometimes, just getting swept up in inspiration and letting it take him away - without triggering an episode. Because he prides himself in his passion and creativity, and how he uses art to sort through his feelings and express his truest self. The thought of his recent works being the product of his mania rather than his own intention makes him so angry and upset that he was born with a brain that always ends up letting him down. 

But now in hindsight he doesn’t know what to think, or what exactly triggered these feelings, or how he got here, or what will come next. Eliott had been diligent with taking his meds and going to his weekly sessions, but now that he thinks about it, he can’t remember if he took them yesterday and—

Eliott lays with his back on the floor again. “I should have seen this coming. I knew I was doing too well that something was going to happen, and it’s always the same shit.” He tilts his head back to look at the stars again, and imagines himself as one of them. “No matter how hard I try, it's like nothing I do is ever up to me. And I have to deal with myself for the rest of my life.”

It’s silent again and Eliott has a moment of terror that he’s completely alone, like he’s the last person on Earth and shouting into an endless, dark void.

“Hey,” the sound is like a beam of light breaking through the dark void, like another lost soul is greeting him, saying, I’m here, I’m here.

Lucas hasn’t left from his place next to him; he’s laying on his side facing Eliott on the hard floor. Eliott doesn’t look at him, though; he doesn’t want to see him look at how much of a mess he is. He knows Lucas doesn’t pity him, and he’s so glad for that, but the way Lucas has so much love and care in his eyes makes Eliott only feel more undeserving of it. So he stays on his back and glances from the ceiling to the endless sky.

“Hey,” Lucas says again, in a soft whisper, but firm this time. “Eli, can you look at me?”

Eliott doesn’t want to be like the stars and revolve around his bipolar. Maybe he can find a new way to navigate, by following a new star, a new pole that is a fixed point in his life. Like the one in front of him now, made of stardust and blue eyes and love.

He swallows thickly, his breath finding a way out as he catches sight of Lucas. Eliott was right, there’s so much love in his beautiful, still sleepy eyes. Even though Eliott is turned on his side to face him, he tucks his head down to his chest. 

Lucas comes a little closer, and slowly reaches a hand out to Eliott as not to scare him. He runs his hand over the fabric of Eliott’s chest where his heart beats fast underneath, and gently uses it to lift his chin so that Lucas can see him.

Eliott lets him, lets Lucas position his face to open up to him, lets himself be seen. But he’s stubborn when he gets like this, so he still looks down and away from Lucas who still has Eliott’s chin in his hand.

“Breathe,” Lucas says calmly, looking into his eyes. Eliott keeps their gaze this time; Lucas’ is more direct and practical now, communicating more than his voice. Eliott lets out an excuse for a breath, more like a quiet sob, and then Lucas says again, “Breathe, in and out.” 

Lucas watches as Eliott tries again, but it’s still impossible. He wants to look away again but the hand under his chin won’t let him, the fingers there softly tracing the frown on his face as if to smooth it away. 

“Listen to mine and try to breathe with me.” 

It’s then that Eliott decides that Lucas is his North Star, even if just for tonight. His mania and his depression and his anxiety and his sleepless nights will always be there, but right here and right now, he uses every last ounce of control he has to listen as Lucas’ chest rises and fills with air and slowly deflates. 

Eliott tunes into the sound of every breath, and soon he somehow finds that he’s breathing in time with them. 

“There you go, keep breathing,” Lucas reassures, his hand moving from Eliott’s chin to his shoulder and slowly down his arm to where his hands lay in front of him on the floor. 

After some time, Eliott’s heart rate is slow again, and he’s exhausted. He’s about to fall, into real sleep for the first time in days, and Lucas is right there with him.

Lucas’ voice sounds like it’s on the other side of that void, far away but extremely close at the same time. “I’m sorry you feel like that, and I wish I could say the right thing to make you feel better, but all I can say is that you’re right, it sucks. I mean, I’ll never know exactly how you feel, but I’m acknowledging that it must feel awful. But I do know that you’re so much stronger than you think, and I know that you are so much more than your weakest moments, and that I’m right here with you through anything.” 

Eliott’s eyes are heavy and his mind is starting to drift, but the words make him hold on just a little bit longer. He flutters his eyes open to see Lucas staring back at him, the smallest sleepy smile on his lips. Eliott does his best to return it, even if it’s a lazy slant of his mouth. 

“I'm sure it must feel really lonely sometimes, but I’ll keep reminding you that you’re not alone.” Lucas’ hand is tickling down his forearm, and he intertwines their fingers to bring them to his lips, leaving feather-light kisses across his knuckles. “And I can’t wait to deal with you for the rest of my life.”

My angel. It’s the last thing Eliott thinks before he surrenders to sleep, his hand still in Lucas’ where they lay on the hardwood floor.

When Eliott wakes it’s to the sun shining at a low angle into the room, and he tosses in the bed to shy away from it, bumping into a hard body on his side. Lucas is sitting against the headboard smiling down at him, greeting him with a good afternoon, my love.

After a few long moments of waking up, still coming to and vaguely remembering his state the previous night, Eliott swallows though his throat is dry and regards his boyfriend looking all awake and beautiful.

“Did you carry me to bed?” Eliott asks half in awe and half in confusion. He’s done the same for Lucas countless times, but he doesn’t think his boyfriend ever has.

Lucas scoffs but he has the widest, most beautiful smile on his face. The kind that is contagious even when Eliott is not feeling up to smiling.

He gets him to drink some water and take his meds, and Eliott is too tired to fight it. 

“Remember when I said you were stronger than you think? Well, so am I.” Lucas smirks with a quick raise of his brows, and Eliott goes to bury his face into Lucas’ neck and shoulder, his absolute favorite place in the universe.

“I love you,” is all Eliott has the energy to say, before he rolls over and goes to sleep a few hours more. Lucas laughs that soft and adorable laugh of his, and joins him under the covers. My love, my light, my angel, my star.

[writerofthespiral]

Kane's Court Analysis #1 - Phule

Author’s Note: I don’t know if I’ll make this a full series or not, but I really just thought that the Armada court, and Phule by that extension, was interesting, especially read from a historical and psychological standpoint. Yes, I'm a nerd.

Word Count: 4,205

Tw: Mentions of Mental Illness

Kane’s Court Analysis - Phule

I. Introduction

A lot can be said about Kane’s court and the machines he built to achieve his grandiose ideas of a perfect world, but more can be said about the cogs in his system. Phule is a broken cog — one that stepped out of line, helped us, and saved the day. He’s someone to be cautious of, love, or fear. There's a certain complexity about him that, when put into perspective, adds a fresh layer to Phule.

II. Behind the Design

When talking about a character in any game, film, or media space, it’s important to tackle the significance of their design. Oftentimes, a person can tell a lot about someone from their looks, which is especially true for the Armada Elites. Phule, for example, is obviously based on a court jester, but it’s not all jokes and laughs.

The Meaning Of The Mask

When talking about Phule’s appearance — or any of the Armada Elite’s — it’s important to understand that they’re mainly based on the Venetian Carnival, the Commedia dell’Arte, and Greek theatre (with hints of Roman influence). Phule’s mask is based on four different masks: The Joker Mask, Comedy & Tragedy, the Pantalone Mask, and the Arlecchino Mask.

The most straight-forward element about Phule is the Jester Mask, seeing as he is a jester. Simply put, "The Joker or Jolly Venetian Masks depict the role of the Jester in the Italian Middle Ages...The Jesters... wore brightly colored clothing in a motley pattern and they were known for their incessant laughter" (Venetian Mask Company). The Jester Mask represents someone who is colorful and entertaining to his audience. It's a universally known mask meant to be taken at face value, just like Phule, until one looks at the other key components of his mask.

When looking at Phule, one sees the famous Comedy & Tragedy Mask associated with theatre and the extremes between euphoria and sorrow. But what most don't know is that the mask has a long, rich history associated with emotions and the human psyche. According to The Greek Designers, "The Comedy mask is known as Thalia, who in Greek mythology is the Muse of Comedy and Idyllic Poetry, portrayed as a happy, cheerful young woman crowned with ivy" (The Greek Designers). The Tragedy mask, in turn, is known as Melpomene, the Muse of Tragedy, who's depicted with the mask in one hand and a knife or club in the other.

The historical significance fails to stop there. "People often relate the masks to Dionysus originally. Dionysus is the Greek God of wine. The masks depict the happy and sad emotions that drinking wine can bring. They have also been linked to the Greek God Janus which is known as the two-faced god of beginnings. It is said Janus lent the name to the masks" (OnStage Blog). This detail is important, because Dionysus and Janus are both significant Gods. Commonly known as the God of wine and ecstasy, Dionysus was the God of madness. And as the God of madness, he was often a symbol of liberation and rebellion for the lower class and marginalized of Greek society — namely slaves. Then, there’s Janus, known as the two-faced Roman God, representing the transition between war and peace, and beginnings and endings.

In addition to this two-faced mask, Phule's mask has hints of the Pantalone Mask. The Pantalone Mask's features include: an exaggerated nose, cheekbones, eyebrows, and a mustache. The Pantalone Mask is the best-known Venetian Masks. It arose from the La Commedia dell’ Arte character, Pantalone, who was one of the most powerful characters. But, the mask itself was created before the Commedia dell’Arte theatre began to use it.

The character of Pantalone is described as “An old Venetian merchant, often very rich and highly esteemed by the nobility, Pantalone is originally known simply by his formal title, Magnifico. A self-made man, he has reached his wealth with ruthless tactics and keeps his money close to him" (The Venetian Mask). He is rich, greedy, lustful, and naïve. Pantalone is, “gullible enough for being taken advantage of from his “servant lovers” or male subordinates: servants, doctors, captains, whoever can get money out of him" (Roberto Delpiano).” His lust also leads to him being rejected by the women he pursues, making him an enemy of the youth.

Applying the Pantalone Mask to Phule, it’s easy to see why he and the Pirate — for the majority of the game — were enemies seeing as Pantalone is a natural enemy to the young. However, it also implies that he was taken advantage of by those around him and was a laughing stock. And, of course, his willingness to save himself and betray his father to save himself is 'selfish' in nature — more on that later.

The last mask, of course, is the Arlecchino Mask (which also inspires Phule's general get-up). More commonly known as the Harlequin Mask, the wearer serves a similar purpose to the Jester, which evolved over time. According to one article:

"As one of the lower ranking, lazier, and stupider servants, he [Arlecchino] is often abused by being yelled at or beaten (with slapstick stage combat) by his masters and others or never paid his wages. Yet he does have a certain luck and can be clever enough to grab hold of any seemingly fortunate situation that happens upon him. He might not think up a plan on his own but he can come up with some amazingly complicated and absurd explanations and rationalizations. Later period harlequins were more prone to become clever tricksters and rascally tramps while still often being foolish or stupid" (Commedia Dell'Arte).

On top of being a tragic figure for the entertainment of others, Arlecchino is said to have demonic origins. “One of the demons in the XXIst, XXIInd and XXIIIrd cantos of Dante’s Inferno is, indeed, called Alichino. The name itself seems to be related to the Old French word for “ghost”, i.e. hellequin, which, in turn, comes from the Germanic root for “hell”. Starting from Dante’s Inferno, this demon would therefore develop into a comic character" (CA’ MACANA). In a way, this gives one some insight into Phule not being a monster, but a tormented soul.

What It Means To Be A Court Jester

One can’t analyze Phule without talking about what he is — a court jester. But his role is no laughing matter. In fact, in a historical context, Kingisle did a decent job in portraying him.

To understand fools, it’s important to understand the three different types of fools: the innocent fool (or natural fool), the amateur fool, and the professional jester (or licensed fool). A natural fool was someone with physical or mental deformities that made it hard for them to receive employment as anything else. Typically, “wealthy or noble families also adopted men and women who had mental illnesses or physical deformities, keeping them almost as pets for their amusement or as an act of ‘Christian charity’”(History extra).

A licensed fool, on the other hand, could best be described as someone hired for their wits and talents, normally wearing regular clothes. Lastly, there were Amatuer fools — they usually wore the jester costume we’re associated with. In any case, “..those with physical deformities, such as extreme hunchback, malformed limbs, particularly ugly visages, etc. were prized, as were dwarves…” (TodayIFoundOut). Taking this into account, and the brazen nature of Valencia, it’s apparent Phule served as both a natural fool and a licensed fool, possibly serving as entertainment for King Casimir. But seeing as court jesters had duties other than entertainment, Phule served Kane very differently.

Although we didn’t see the entertainment-based responsibilities of Phule, we, as players, did see part of his militaristic responsibilities. That’s right — court jesters served important roles to their lord during times of war. In fact, they were political advisors. “Because they had no real fear of reprisal, jesters were able to speak their mind and offer advice when others may have feared to give it” (WeirdHistory). Kings and Queens would often go to them for advice on political matters and choices they’d made. On top of that, Court Jesters were expected to be the bearers of bad news for their lords, having to utilize their wit and comedy to tactfully deliver unsavory messages.

In addition to delivering messages to their lords, jesters would also deliver messages to their enemies during times of war. They were theoretically protected, but there were some that would shoot the messenger — from imprisonment to execution. In addition to their messenger duties, jesters would entertain the King’s troops during times of war to raise their morale.

On top of that, they were also masters of mental warfare as well. Some jesters would ride on the front lines, spewing insults at the enemy. They rode in front of troops to make sure the opponent could hear them. And while this may seem ridiculous, "...the idea was for the jester to provoke those enemies who had explosive tempers into breaking ranks and charging prematurely" (Weird History).

Phule did his job, and did it well, despite his apparent shortcomings. He got under our Pirate’s skin by claiming that he could hear our heartbeat, and lead his own squadron of soldiers. He’s just as threatening when we next see him captured in Fort Elena, albeit much friendlier. And of course, he still manages to affect the Pirate, though he has little time on screen, by causing us a few inconveniences.

He may not have been Spymaster, but he was effective in implanting fear and paranoia in his enemies. Take, for example, the Villa Trigante instance in which the Pirate is — presumably —betrayed and sent to the cellars by Don Giovanni. One of the resistance fighters we face, Beniccio Amati, is quick to say: "You're persistent. I'd expect no less... From Phule's spies…” (P101). And although we aren’t one of Phule’s spies, it makes one wonder: Just how many times has this happened?

In addition to his competence, we can presume Phule is powerful. He’s clearly akin to a Witchdoctor, but we don’t know much else about him. We have, however, seen the results of a battle with him. He cleared a path for the Pirate to enter The Machine, in which, there are plenty of Armada soldiers strewn about. It’s possible that his abilities manifested themselves similarly to Bishop’s use of electricity, that he had some mojo capabilities comparable to Kane (meaning that he could possibly teleport), or that he is wholly chaotic and mojo-based like the Player (if they're a Witchdoctor). If the latter is true, it plays into what Phule said about being destroyed due to being imperfect, especially since the Armada banned hoodoo within their sphere of influence. In any case, it is interesting to see how so much can be told from Phule’s character design alone, but there's still more to explore.

III. Character Analysis

Kingisle put a lot of thought into what type of character Phule would be. According to his Rouge’s Gallery video, Phule “seems to operate purely out of whimsy and caprice” (KI) and “speaks in two different voices, shifting back and forth between twin personalities who are as antagonistic toward each other as they are to any enemy…” (KI). Phule isn’t all there, but make no mistake: he is very capable of doing what he does. The video goes on further to elaborate “that Phule shifts allegiances faster and more often than any other court member”(Ki), which makes sense with how his relationship with the Pirate turns out — which will be touched on later — and gives the player a basic idea of who Phule is, though there is more to analyze.

Our Meetings With Phule

Besides a few outside sources, most of what we know about Phule comes from the three times we see him: Granchia, Fort Elina, and at The Machine (with the exception of the Villa Trigante Cellar), in which a lot more can be observed.

When we first meet Phule in the Granchia Catacombs, the Pirate sees him leading a small squadron of soldiers. It is here that we first meet the two sides of Phule (whom I will refer to as Comedy and Tragedy).

Comedy is a mix between welcoming, eccentric, and mischievous. In one breath he says “Don’t bother trying to hide, I can hear your heartbeat” (P101), yet he also claims to want to let us go. Furthermore, he calls the Pirate resourceful, saying that, “you’d be quite a thorn in the side of Deacon, Bishop, or Kane himself…” (P101). Meanwhile, it is Tragedy that orders his captains to attack us, calling for our surrender.

What's interesting about this first meeting, upon reflection, is that Comedy seems to think about helping us. I’m not suggesting that one side of Phule is ‘good’ and the other is ‘evil’, but that Tragedy seems more inclined to be protective of whatever is in Phule’s best interests. Comedy, on the other hand, is Phule’s desires. This may be why the two sides often disagree. One side thinks we’d be useful in his desired goals while the other does what needs to be done.

When the Pirate discovers Phule in Fort Elena, their interaction is short, but something to note: Phule slightly warms up to the Pirate. Tragedy is still hostile, but comes off as though he was attempting to keep up a facade. Comedy, of course, is the opposite, going so far as to ask us about why we weren’t in Cool Ranch messing with Deacon. In fact, Comedy gives us a well done, because “...[you’ve] become quite the thorn after all” (P101), then tells us to run along with our quest.

And then, there’s the final time we see Phule — right before the machine. Instead of arguing, both sides of Phule are working together for a common goal: to oppose Kane. Both sides of Phule were waiting for us at the machine, both of them told us Kane’s plan, and both agreed to give the Pirate the Key.

And why does he do this? Phule is able to recognize that he isn’t perfect as Kane would say, in his own words. As Comedy it’s, “I've grown fond of this world, and would hate to see it destroyed. I've also grown fond of you. But most of all? I'm just curious to see what will happen" (P101). And after Tragedy sends his regards to Kane, this is the last we see of Phule.

Another thing of note, is when Gazpaccio calls Phule a tormented soul, which begs the question: Does Kane see Phule in the same light he sees Gazpaccio? More than likely, yes, which may have influenced the way he treated the Clockwork. Another thing — how well Gazpaccio and Phule knew each other? Sadly, there’s not much to work with to answer this question.

In any case, these events reveal the type of person Phule is: part of him is chaotic and wants freedom, the other side of him is objective, if not spiteful. Together, the two sides of Phule make a being that is neither wholly good, nor bad, but certainly eccentric, which begs the question: What is Phule to us, the Pirate?

Friend Or Foe?

Although it’s safe to say that Phule is on friendly terms, he and the Pirate aren’t exactly friends. He did betray Kane, but had ulterior motives of his own. And while it appears he’s been contemplating his betrayal for some time, there have also been times when he’s antagonized the Pirate. We also know that he’s a jack-of-all-trades with experience in espionage, being a general, and an admiral. And referring back to the Rouge’s Gallery, “the most paranoid Valencian intriguers wonder if Phule’s antics aren’t just a clever act, hiding a method behind the madness” (KI).

The thing is, we may never truly know if we can or cannot trust Phule. While he may not be our friend per se, our goals aligned, and it's been established that Phule’s alliances don't often last long. He may laugh and revel in the failure of his fellow court members, but he isn't there to like us. In fact, we may serve as a form of entertainment to him, because Phule did watch us instead of fighting by our side (which he clearly showed himself capable of doing). But, it's unlikely he’s going to show up as a foe in the future, and it would be a surprise if that were the case. It’s more likely that Phule simply disappeared somewhere, and the player may never know what happened to him.

The State of Phule’s Mind

Before ending this section, it’s critical to talk about Phule in terms of his light and dark side. While in the game, he is described as eccentric or insane, it’s clear that Phule is mentally ill by our standards. And although it’s hard to judge him by human standards, due to the fact that he's a Clockwork, since Clockworks have shown their ability to showcase complex emotions, they can exhibit mental illnesses.

In Phule’s case, he likely has Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID), but here are some important things to understand: you cannot be born with DID, an alter is not necessarily a different personality, and the portrayal of Phule is not wholly accurate. Again, Phule isn’t a human, though his backstory does somewhat align with the development of this disorder.

DID usually occurs in children who have undergone immense stress and trauma for long periods of time, and as a result, were not able to develop a unified sense of identity due to the weight of their memories. Due to this, they develop a system of alters in order to cope with day-to-day life. Similarly, Phule was created to be perfect by a narcissistic father who could never admit to being wrong, and as a result, his mind was ‘off', and he was written as 'insane'.

Phule also has two distinct alters: his light side (Comedy) and his dark side (Tragedy). Comedy is whimsical, friendly, and mischievous and may very well serve as the host, as he seems to front the most, talk the most, and has the most lines out of any of the events. While Tragedy may serve as either a protector, seeing himself as a beacon of logic and strength doing what needs to be done; or a prosecutor, who may have protective goals in an attempt to keep the system from reliving the trauma and abuse they’ve faced, but tend to be harmful and have a distorted view of reality.

In any case, understanding the two sides of Phule is essential to understanding him as a character. He is someone who’s been persecuted due to both his appearance and his mind, which he could not control, and it clearly has had an effect on him.

IV. Phule & Kane’s Court

In analyzing who Phule is as a character, it's just as important to ask why he is the way he is. It’s easy to see how he developed, but, due in part to a lack of backstory, the question of why is somewhat hazy. The player is given a few details in the form of implications about Phule, but also information that was info dumped that leaves behind more questions than answers.

What Was Phule’s Role In The Court

Cannonly, nobody really knows Phule’s role in the court. As said by the Rouge’s Gallery:

“He is neither general nor admiral, though he has captained Armada fleets and armies. He is no spymaster, yet he has performed espionage and been involved in the deepest of Bishop’s intrigues. He is the ultimate wild card, appearing in the most unlikely of places from the Great Halls of the Palaces of the Spiral to the humble backwaters of Skull Island” (KI).

As a character with multiple roles, Phule proves himself to be a valuable player and a jack of all trades. Due to this, one can assume that he would have been more sociable than the rest of the court, or at the very least close to it, due to the fact that it’s established that his allegiances are often fleeting. Though, it can be speculated that his strongest relationship may have been with either Bishop, seeing as he worked for him, or Deacon since both of them seemed to be the most active of Kane’s court.

In relation to the historical context within Pirate101, I could also possibly see Phule being a sort of voice of reason for members of Kane’s court — at least those who would listen. We know what Phule thinks of Kane, but have never actually seen Kane interact with Phule on screen, so the details are murky here. On top of speaking with Kane’s court, it’s possible that Phule entertained and advised King Casimir, in addition to Kane.

Aside from military duties, with how festive Phule is — in concept at least — he may have either planned out various events in Valencia, or at the very least been apart of them. After all, Phule is a court jester, and one of the fundamental jobs that comes with being a court jester is making other people laugh.

Phule’s Relationship With Kane

Another important part of who Phule is is his personal relationship with Kane. Kane is many things: a military genius, a diplomatic wonder, and effective in ruling with an iron fist, but he fails as a father — just as his father failed before him. Kane is a narcissist who expects everything he creates to be unquestionably perfect, which is why he looks at Phule with absolute scorn.

Phule is what he would, likely, consider a worthless child. He wasn’t born right in his eyes, yet Kane continues to use and depend on Phule for his missions. It’s likely that Kane wanted to keep Phule in place, as he did with his other court members, but Phule is the only elite who’s not based on a chess piece.

Phule is a wild card who knew he wouldn’t live up to Kane’s expectations, and he decided to save himself. And although this choice may seem selfish, it’s important to remember that many victims tend to stick around for various reasons — sometimes they aren’t mentally capable or able to leave. We, the player, have seen Phule express himself, and learn kindness. And although he may have hurt people in the past, he was willing to make up for it.

He decided to leave behind a father that never loved him, and never would love him or see him as an equal. He had every right to be scornful and bitter, maybe even take after Kane, but he broke free from the cycle and decided to help the Player because he maybe, genuinely, fell in love with the world that never loved him and all its flaws. That is the beauty of Phule’s character. He’s neither here, nor there, but he’s just as human as you or I — ignoring all the cogs, of course.

V. Conclusion

In terms of character design, personality, and backstory speculation, Phule is a great character despite the little screen time he got. He may be one of the strongest members of Kane’s court, is definitely one of the more mysterious ones, and is an interesting, tormented soul. Whether or not he’s friend or foe, Phule illuminates the environment around him.

Works Cited

CA’ MACANA. “The Arlecchino Mask: a Motley History.” The Best Venetian Carnival Masks in Venice: Ca' Macana, www.camacana.com/en-UK/the-arlecchino-mask.php.

Commedia Dell'Arte. “ARLECCHINO.” Mayhem, Madness, Masks and Mimes - Commedia Dell'Arte, mayhemmadnessmasksandmimes-commediadellarte.weebly.com/arlecchino.html#:~:text=Arlecchino's%20costume%20and%20mask%20are,Arte'%20Character%20Analysis%22).

“Drama Masks: Thalia + Melpomene.” The Greek Designers, 6 Nov. 2018, thegreekdesigners.com/2016/03/07/drama-masks-thalia-melpomene/.

“Jester (Jolly or Joker).” Masquerade Masks & Venetian Masks Company, www.italymask.co.nz/shop/Decorative+Masks/Jester+JollyJoker%3Fcat=01108.html#:~:text=The%20Joker%20or%20Jolly%20Venetian,known%20for%20their%20incessant%20laughter.

KingsIsle, director. Pirate101 Rogue's Gallery: Phule. YouTube, YouTube, 3 June 2015, www.youtube.com/watch?v=3VdwBDdeMYo&list=WL&index=69&ab_channel=KingsIsleEntertainment.

“Pantalone Mask.” Kartaruga, 7 Aug. 2017, kartaruga.com/mask/pantalone-the-magnificent/.

“Pantalone Masks.” THE VENETIAN MASKS, 21 Jan. 2021, www.thevenetianmasks.com/pantalone-masks/.

Staff, OnStage Blog. “The Origins of the Comedy and Tragedy Masks of Theatre.” OnStage Blog, OnStage Blog, 21 June 2020, www.onstageblog.com/editorials/comedy-and-tragedy-masks-of-theatre.

TodayIFoundOut, director. What Was It Actually Like to Be a Court Jester in Medieval Times? YouTube, YouTube, 31 Oct. 2019, www.youtube.com/watch?v=tkLZYEIslWM&ab_channel=TodayIFoundOut.

“Welcome to the Pirate101 Wiki.” Pirate101 Wiki :: The Largest and Most Accurate Pirate101 Wiki :: Featuring Guides, Companions, Quests, Pets, Bosses, Creatures, NPCs and Much More!, www.pirate101central.com/wiki/Pirate101_Wiki.

“What Life Was Really Like As A Medieval Jester.” YouTube, YouTube, 3 Apr. 2020, www.youtube.com/watch?v=m7F5ioUQLJc&ab_channel=WeirdHistory.

“What Was Life like for a Court Jester?” HistoryExtra, 26 Nov. 2020, www.historyextra.com/period/medieval/what-was-life-like-for-a-court-jester/.

www.delpiano.com, Roberto Delpiano -. “PANTALONE.” Pantalone | Pantalon De' Bisognosi | Grevembroch Watercolor | Traditional Mask of Venice Carnival, www.delpiano.com/carnival/html/pantalone.html.

[the-darklings]

—𝒇𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒆 [01];

—PART I. | GASOLINE GIRL

pairing: santino d’antonio x f!reader

word count: 6.2k+

summary: “Carry that ice in your heart, always.”

warnings: mentions of: child abuse, drug abuse, death/torture; swearing, typical mafia-related situations/discussions so take heed because this is a mature read for sure. But we gotta be realistic, this life ain’t pretty. 

notes: so this can be read as a standalone though I do consider it a sort of mini sister series to COA. This will be short (no more than 5 parts) and only updated when I have free time. That being said, I do hope you enjoy. I even flexed my none existent photoshop skills to make the header pic lol. Get ready this one is going to be a ride. 

You don’t become a part of Camorra by choice.

No one sane enough would.

Your parents simply got involved with people who would have had you killed if they stepped out of the line. You know because that was a threat made with you in the room and a cold, merciless barrel of a gun pressed to your head.

Giovanni D’Antonio’s men came at night, dragging you and your parents out of bed in nothing but your nightclothes. They made you kneel on the dusty floor, your knees aching against the hardness of the wood.

The man himself is as awful as you heard people on the streets whisper. Everyone fears him. Fears him and Camorra and the terrors they unleash onto anyone who doesn’t fall in line.

“Such pity you didn’t have a son,” the head of Camorra notes dispassionately as he scrutinises you, his fingers digging painfully into the flesh of your cheeks. “What am I suppose to do with a girl?”

The man tsks as if some grave crime has been committed against him and takes a long drag of his cigar, turning your head from side to side. Your squirm, knees knocking, your lips trembling, but don’t let him see fear. You can’t afford to let this vile, cruel man who asked his men to beat your father to a bloody heap on the floor to see you weak. You can’t show predator fear if you want to live. Not when your mother is already a sobbing mess on the floor, clutching onto your father in despair.

You wonder if he’s alive. A part of you—

A part of you doesn’t care to know because the man before you stares at you with such finely veiled disgust, you can’t help but know that he will kill you all regardless. He might even enjoy giving the order. And your father is to blame for that.

“Are you at least smart, girl?” he demands and slaps you lightly on the cheek when you don’t respond. “Answer me. Or I will cut your tongue out, and then you will know what it’s like not having the gift of speech. Or maybe I will start with your parents instead.”

Your mother cries harder, practically hysterical and you feel a sting of bitterness, of anger, deep in your chest. She should be strong.

She should be defending you.

But she isn’t. She’s just crying. As if that’s going to save you, protect you, keep these men away.

“You will kill us all anyway,” you whisper knowingly, your words hollow as you stare into those dark, cold eyes that have no end. “They stole from you and you hate thieves.”

The man exhales smoke directly into your face but you don’t flinch—not even as your eyes water from the sting of tobacco, not even when he leans his malign, handsome face closer.

“But I reward loyalty,” he tells you, now almost pleasant, and his thick fingers tilt your chin up as he regards you critically. “Do you understand what I’m saying, hm?”

You nod once.

Giovanni is quiet and thoughtful but then a slight smile creeps across his face.

It’s the most awful sight you have ever seen.

“Then we are done here,” he announces and his hand drops away from your face, his dark gaze lifting over your slight frame and towards the men hovering in the shadows, awaiting orders.

Two shots follow.

You don’t flinch.

The sobs cease.

Giovanni’s grim smile widens, pleased.

“Come along, girl. You no longer have family here.”

. . .

Camorra is a pit.

A pit of betrayal and blood and drugs and more blood.

The first four months are near unbearable.

You’re younger than what they usually recruit and it shows. You don’t know how to navigate this world. You’ve been dropped off at a “care home” that operates more like a drug house but has to keep up a front for the public. Which, in itself, is hilarious because you doubt there is anyone in the nearby province who doesn’t know what this place is.

But it’s survival of the fittest here.

And it’s not a game you know how to play well.

Each person is given a task, a job, and you must do it or you will be punished. Severely.

Giovanni left you here, in this hellhole, with a dismissive hum and a harsh pat on the head, “Let’s see what you make of yourself, gasoline girl.”

Gasoline girl.

Because he didn’t bother asking for your real name. Because he gave you a canister of gasoline and told you to pour it through your house, onto your dead parents, and gave you the remains of his cigar, his order clear.

You watched your home go up in smoke, your parents’ bodies still inside, with gnawing detachment eating away at your heart, your soul.

The flame was hot and bright and Giovanni made you watch till there was nothing left but ash and ruin.

“Little gasoline girl,” he had said then, even more pleased. “Carry that ice in your heart, always. It will take you far in my family.”

The care home, however, is a desolate place that lacks warmth your home had—that lacks anything resembling anything humane, in fact. The only reason why you’re not drugged that very first night is because Giovanni told his men that you are too young for such a thing. Because he wants to see if you can be useful, your mind as sharp as he hopes it is.

But if you disobey…

It doesn’t frighten you, not at first, not until you see them. Those with sunken eyes and pale skin. Lips cracked and limbs trembling. They no longer have wills or dreams or aspirations. They are tools, shells, empty of everything that once made them human. Riddled with pain and despair that plagues them till their next fix or death.

They frighten you so much you hide away in the attic. You’re not sure how you find your way up there but you curl on the floor—in the darkest, deepest hole you can find—and sob and sob and sob into the dust and the dirt. Sob till your eyes are swollen and your throat is raw.

You rip and tear the girl you once were to shreds that night. Because even then, you know, that you will not survive long like this. That this dark pit will consume you unless you find a way to survive, to fight back.

Carry that ice in your heart, always.

You intend to.

You will.

. . .

Next four months are consistent of a few things: death, blood, drugs and violence.

It’s everywhere you look, all you hear at all times of day and night, and you can’t escape it.

There is nowhere to go, nowhere to hide—not when Camorra owns this city. Not when Giovanni knows you by face, if not by name—something that’s a rare honour, you learn later, seeing the Boss in person. Being handpicked by him.

Money laundering, sex, drug distribution, torture; the care home cycles through it all on a daily basis.

Hunger becomes part of the routine, the attic your new home.

You exist in the shadows out of fear, at first. Then, you realize how much power comes from being unseen. If you are unseen, then you can never be hurt, never be abused.

Not like so many—young, so young—always are.

There is nothing glorious about this life. It’s just survival.

Ugly and filthy and dangerous.

So you listen and hide and learn.

The staff—mostly men who are loud and rowdy but follow the rules because they fear the Boss too much, and few older women—start calling you a ghost.

You don’t mind. Not even at all.

It’s better than being actually dead.

. . .

The first time you meet him, you’ve been at the care home for little over a year.

The sounds of pain, pleasure, and death no longer scare you at night.

They have become your reality. Your own twisted, lewd lullaby in a way.

Violence and hate. Pleasure and pain. Greed and death.

They have become levers and cornerstones upon which you have built stability and routine.

Giovanni is coming tonight, the people in the hallways whisper in hushed breaths that morning though, and if anything is out of place blood will be shed.

You haven’t seen him in a year.

You’ve grown and hardened, killed as many soft parts of yourself as you could since the last time you saw him.

You have also become useful.

So normal, so sweet-looking, so unassuming.  

Like a ghost the staff compares you to, you haunt the streets and collect information for Camorra; the perfect little spy.

You nurture that ice in your heart and project it outward, and when Giovanni comes and calls forth everyone at the care home, you hold your chin up; unmoving, stiff-backed, and defiant.

Much to your surprise, his dark gaze snags on you and he pauses in his step, recognition reflecting back at you.

The leader of the care home pauses too, hesitating, clearly unsure if he should comment until Giovanni speaks.

“So you lived.”

He sounds surprised, pleasantly so.

You don’t so much as blink.

“Santino.”

It is then, from the folds of Giovanni’s guard, that a boy steps through. He’s barely taller than you and clearly you are close in age, if not the same, you conclude as he steps beside his father.

His hair is dark and finely combed, his clothes neat and expensive, and he reeks of privilege even more so than his father.

He’s also terrible at hiding his thoughts. He’s repulsed to be here, he thinks it beneath him and being faced with this—grim, hungry faces and grime—he’s balking under the stark contrast to his no doubt princely life at home.

He is the prince of Camorra—every bit as spoiled and arrogant as you expected him to be.  

You hate him on sight.

“What do you see?” Giovanni asks his son as the two stand before you.

Santino’s dark brows furrow and he blinks slowly, looking you up and down. There isn’t much to you. Your clothes are dirty and worn, your features no doubt hostile and your gaze even worse. It’s how you keep yourself safe. Snarl and bite first. Some men like to mutter “rabid dog” under their breaths as you pass in the hallways, but you’re fine with that, too. Even when they make offhand comments that only one thing happens to rabid dogs eventually.

“A nobody, father.”

Oh?

Giovanni sighs, disappointed, and Santino sees this, scrambling for something else to add, “She’s—she’s a girl.”

“Obviously,” the man says, his voice bored, dismissive, and Santino’s expression falls, his eyes lowering. But the older man is still staring at you. “Keep that ice in your heart, gasoline girl,” he reminds you, mild but stern.

He walks away without another word, going back to business in a blink.

His son lingers for a breath, his eyes jumping up and finally meeting yours.

He looks resentful. He’s blaming you for his father’s disappointment in him. He thinks that you are to blame for the failed test.

He looks at you like you are beneath him, like you are less, a nobody he accused you of being.

His eyes are vivid green.

Green as your mother’s garden. Green as the oak that used to sway outside your window.

Green as the grass you used to roll around in when spring flowers bloomed behind your house.

You hate him even more, then.

For the reminder.  

Santino D’Antonio stares at you for another long, hateful moment until his father calls him.

He surprises you by hesitating, still staring, but you only glare at him. Openly, without fear and with clear contempt.

I hate you. I hate you and everything you stand for—everything that you are. You will never know what it’s like to be hungry or cold or scared. What it is to kill and survive.

You dismiss him. A simple sweep of your eyes over his shoulder.

He exhales sharply at your defiance.

You wonder if anyone has ever defied him before and not been severely punished for it.

It makes you feel alive, for a moment, that spark of disobedience.

It’s perhaps the most real you have felt since that night with your knees in the dirt.

The weight of his stare is suffocating and you feel seen, beheld in a way that strips you down to your core.

“Santino.”

Giovanni’s voice is a subtle, cutting blade and his son jerks after him like dog on a leash.

You hope you will never see him again.

. . .

Days turn into weeks, into months, and then years.

With each new day at Camorra, your heart ices over and over.

You meet people, and you lose even more of them.

It teaches you a lesson of not getting attached, of not caring, of things outside of yourself being fragile and breakable.  

First there’s Nari. Too sweet, too kind, and with circumstances that are a bit too similar to your own. Is it any wonder he seeks you out? Any wonder that you let him close? Becoming his friend seems inevitable when you’ve been lonely for so long.

He gets shot on a drug run gone wrong six months after meeting you. There is nothing left of him for you to remember him by. There’s only memories of dark, midnight hair and his wheezy, shrill laugh that you always told him was annoying.

Then, a few years later comes Lucie. You’re a part of the home by then. There is a place for you here; a strength and a steadily rising reputation attached to your person. The pain-soaked hallways are familiar and your own now because you claimed them as such. Attic is no longer a hole to hide in but your home, your sanctuary, your dark throne.

She’s too beautiful and too gentle to survive this place. You know it from the moment you see her. It takes one look to know that this place will gobble her up and spit her back out, crushed and broken.

But there is something about her. Something about the ring of her laughter and the spark in her eyes. The shade of her long hair that reminds you of your mother. Something about the way she trusts you, relies on you, and believes in you. Looks at you as a friend, as a companion, salvation. How during the cold, bleak nights she seeks your warmth and dreams out loud of the life you will have once you both break free of Camorra. Once you find a way to make an honest living. She dreams of a world far bigger and grander than you’ve ever had.

Your dreams are simple: survive, become a nightmare that sweeps through the ranks of Camorra.

Lucie dreams of a home by the sea with three chickens, a cow, and a loving family.

“I want a big one,” she reveals one night, turning to face you with a serious frown. “At least four kids.”

You suppress a shiver. Seeing what you have seen, living through what you have, you can’t imagine having a family. Not one that big, at least. But perhaps it’s because you haven’t felt safe in so very long that any extension of yourself will always feel like a weakness opposed to strength.

“Sounds painful.”

She laughs; a soft, soothing sound as she rests her cheek against your shoulder with a faint smile. “They will have an amazing, scary aunt to look after them. I’m not worried.”  

It’s quiet for a moment before she speaks again. “What about you?”

Noting your blank stare, she adds, “Don’t you want a family? Or at least someone to call your own?”

“No,” you shoot back stiffly, and take another deliberate bite of your soggy bread. “People you love can be used against you. Hurt because of you, or by you. If I love them,” you pause, the word foreign on your tongue. “I won’t want them to suffer because of me. If I’m hurting them, then it’s not love at all.”

It’s silent for a long time.

“Sometimes,” Lucie whispers eventually with a sad, quiet sigh. “I can’t help but think that they’re one and the same.”

You think about that for a while.

Think about how her father used to beat her mother but they still stayed. Think about how that takes a special kind of bravery and strength. How despite that, he was a loving father to Lucie. How sometimes humans can be ugly and awful but have some semblance of good in them, too. How good can be done by bad and bad can be done by good.  

“I suppose.”

She blinks up at you. “Well if I have a family, then you have to have one as well.”

Your lips curve and it feels strange on your face. “Is that so?”

She nods but her eyes are full of mirth. “We’re both going to be fat and pregnant with swollen ankles and awful cravings. Promise?”

Her eyes are full of dreams, full of light you have never seen before.

You try to protect that light, try to hide her away from the men who would hurt her, from the women who would drug her and bargain her away.

It’s foolish and reckless of you but you are almost frenzied with the need to keep something good alive. For once, you just need—

She gets taken.

It’s planned in advance, you learn later.

They had to get you out of the house first. They lied—a job straight from the high tier of Camorra, from the elite itself, no refusals—and used that time you were away to take her.

What they did—

They pay for it.

Everyone in the care home that had anything to do with it, anyone who knew.

You tear ten people apart. Slowly; piece by piece, muscle by muscle, sinew by sinew. Over the years you have found new talents, new hobbies. Ghost is an old name they called you around the house.

But you have others you prefer now.

When it’s done, you stalk through the too silent house, covered in cooling blood and—

You’re not sure how much of it is from the people you just killed and how much is from—

Lucie is where you found her.

Your eyes sting as you gaze at the sight in front of you. You gather her in your arms gently and even if it’s a slog, slow and painful, you take her to the tiny bathroom down the hall.

You wash her hair of dirt and blood and—

Tears fall heavy and hot the entire time you work and you have to pause in-between, choking down your sobs.  

Her body is next. Wetting a cloth in your hand, you clean her skin, fold her hands over her chest, ignoring the broken bones and broken skin.

You’re glad it’s late spring.

The ground is softer, more pliable.

Despite that, it still takes you four hours to dig a grave deep enough. Your hands are numb, bloodied and blistered by the time you’re done. The stench of sweat and death mixes with the blood but you ignore it.

Lowering her takes time—time and care and self-control. Because she’s so cold, so stiff, and it’s awful knowing that you will never see her again after this.

You bury dreams and hopes and aspirations with her—both hers and yours. A handful of dirt at the time. Your hands are raw but you force yourself to keep going.

And when it’s done, you collapse beside the grave and stay there for hours, days, maybe weeks.

It starts raining and you let the freezing spring rain wash over you. The smell of wet earth and grass drags you into hazy dreams. They transform into feverish nightmares eventually, haunting you and killing you over and over again. You failed. Failed to protect something good. Maybe saving Lucie was only partially about saving her—an innocent—from this awful fate, and more about…

More about some vague, distant belief—hope—that you could be saved, too.

Grief splits you apart and suffocates you with every breath as you lay beside the fresh grave.

Grief. You’re not sure if you even grieved your parents. Not really. Because they were dead and you still had an uncertain future ahead of you. You grieved a life you could have had. But it’s been so long. So very long now.

Time is not a concept you can understand any longer.

By the time they find you, a part of you wishes they would just let you die and bury you beside your friends. Let you rest at long last.

But there are voices.

A foot nudges you as you roll over onto your back with a heavy thud. Dark sky stretches out above you.

Then, through a haze, a face appears, peering down at your with mild disinterest.

Recognition; it comes fierce and sharp and you know it’s the same for him.

Urgent, angry voices blur together as everything fades away into nothing.

You fucking hate those green eyes.

. . .

When you wake up, the Devil is standing over you.

Giovanni D’Antonio lifts a single eyebrow, not bothering to mask his cool distaste at your wheezing, delirious state.

You scramble upwards anyway, wincing at the ringing in your head and the popping in your ears.

You feel heavy and fuzzy in the worst way possible—the way that makes one slow and vulnerable. Nausea rolls your stomach, mixing with the instinctual fear of seeing who is standing above you.

“What a mess,” Giovanni drawls and hitches his trousers up as he sits down on a creaky chair beside your cot. “What a mess, gasoline girl.”

You’re sweating but feel so cold your body trembles and you can’t hide it. This man should never see you vulnerable but he is right now and you hate your own weakness.

“Who knew you had such a gift for death,” he continues and you swallow, your throat raw—from crying, from screaming and howling at the sky, you recall through your delirium—and you tremble again. “Ten dead. So easy, too. And such…brutality.”

If you didn’t know any better you would say he’s paying you a compliment—that he’s impressed.

The man reaches into his pocket and your bandaged hands—why are they bandaged, what—constrict around the fresh, cotton sheets covering you.

Cotton. You haven’t touched something as soft, as luxurious, as cotton since that last night you slept in your own bed years ago.

But Giovanni pulls out a cigar holder from his pocket instead of a gun, offering it to you. You don’t move, hardly breathe, as you stare at him through your watery eyes. Your ears are still ringing.

“I asked others about what happened,” he begins after lighting his cigar. He rolls it between his thick fingers, his golden rings gleaming and you shudder. “What justified ten of my own slaughtered like barn animals. So rethink lying to me, if that was your intention, girl. Let me start with something easy, though: was the girl your lover?”

Your eyes find his and perhaps it’s the fever, or the hole in your soul, but you don’t look away even when his eyes narrow on you.

He doesn’t understand. Of course, he doesn’t. As if a man like him could ever understand what it’s like to be so lost and raw with loneliness your heart is ready to crumble away at the gentlest of touches. As if everything in this world has to be about physicality and desire. As if care and loyalty can’t come from a place of love that has nothing to do with gratification of the body.

“No.”

“Then why did you kill them?”

“Because they deserved it,” you croak out, and your voice cracks as you pant for breath. Your head spins and you drop back against the wall even as your chest rattles with a loud, wet cough. Giovanni waits, expectant, and your eyes narrow. Let him kill you after. But he will hear this, if he wants truth so badly. “They deserved it for what they d-did to her. It—those m-monsters. She was sixteen. And they did it on purpose. Because they enjoyed it. I would—I would do it again gladly. Over and over again till there is nothing left of them to bury. Till—till only pieces remain and even then it would be too kind.”

The bloodlust is surging through you like a river after the fresh spring rain, untamed and wild, and you struggle for breath. The regret that you didn’t take longer, hurt them more—

And perhaps that makes you a monster. No—you know it does. But you can’t find it in yourself to care.

Better to be a monster than a coward. Better to be alive and hated than loved but dead.

Giovanni exhales, his lips pressing into a displeased line. “So naive,” he mutters and takes another drag. “I figured the home would have eroded that away by now. Shame.”

You gape at him, shivering but silent. It’s like he’s reached down your throat and robbed you of speech.

“What do you think happens to people like that girl, hm?” he wonders out loud, slanting his head just so. Even with his hair starting to grey, he’s still handsome, still electric to look at. It’s the coldness of that dark, bottomless stare that sets him apart from others you have met. “She was no better than your parents. Weak. And weak do not survive in this world, they are used and that’s how we live. You could have been like her, but you fought back. That’s why I told you to keep that ice in your heart, yes? There are thousands like that girl and there will be a thousand more, and a thousand more after that. It is the way of the world. I am simply…reaping.”

His cigar flares at the tip again as Giovanni takes a steady drag, savouring the burn of it against the back of his throat.

You want to cry and scream and tear at him. This world—his world—is wrong and twisted and—

But you have chosen it, haven’t you?

Better than being dead.

And you’ve killed and stolen and lied and cheated for years now. You’ve gotten good at it. Better than most. Better than anyone in the home had been.

“Did it break you?”

Your eyes drag back to him, and you realise that you’ve been silent for so long, you’ve started to doze off. Laying in the rain for god knows how long didn’t do you much good. You feel worse and worse with every second that stretches by.

His emotionless question clatters through you though, settling in the pit of your stomach.

Lucie.

Her happy smile flashes through your weary mind and you try to draw breath into your wrecked lungs.

“No.”

It has only made you colder and emptier, you realise. You had laid next to Lucie’s grave because you had hoped for a quick end. But—

But no.

For the second time in your life, you lift your head and look the Devil in the eyes as you choose life.

Whatever form it comes in.

Regardless of what else it will demand of you.

Perhaps, you should be thankful for this lesson.

The head of Camorra nods once, considering you, and then asks a serious, “Do you remember what I told you about loyalty, gasoline girl?”

I reward loyalty.

“Yes.”

It’s an effort to keep your eyes on him. His features are blurring, and you can’t even smell the thick cloud of smoke in the air anymore.

“Who were you loyal to when you killed my people? Your people?”

You don’t hesitate, spitting out a vicious, “To myself. Just as you wanted me to be.”

For a moment, you think that Giovanni D’Antonio will smile at you again. But he doesn’t. Instead, he turns towards the shadows of the room.

“What do you see, Santino?”

You still. You’ve been so preoccupied with keeping yourself awake and lucid, with keeping your whole attention on this man without scruples normal people have that—

It comes rushing back.

The grave, the smell of dirt beneath your cheek, rain, the coldness sinking deep into your bones, green eyes—

He was the one who found you. You have no idea how; a part of you doesn’t want to know, either.

He’s changed as well. His frame stretches taller, leaner, than the last time you saw him. His hair is slightly longer but still curly and neatly combed. That boyish roundness still holds his features, giving him an appearance of a youth instead of a young man and you stare at him with open, dazed animosity.  

But there is something about the way he watches you from the shadows.

His pupils are blown wide open when he steps closer into the light, his shoulders coiled with tension that you have no name for.

He gazes at you like he is looking at something beautiful, something terrible, something—

Something he admires and hates and doesn’t understand.

No one has ever looked at you like that. Like they’re seeing right into you, through you, pulling apart every weakness and every strength.  

That anger in your chest ignites at the sight of him, washing away the emptiness and the loss.

“A monster.”

It seizes a part of you. Cracks it to pieces.

You hate him, you hate him, you hate the fact that he—

That he sees you. Just like last time, just like now.

Giovanni’s eyebrows rise slowly at his son’s blunt assessment. He peers at Santino for a pensive moment before the boy finally drags his eyes towards his father, almost reluctantly so.  

“Loyalty to yourself, was it, girl?” the man wonders calmly and takes another drag of his cigar. It’s almost gone now and black spots dance in your vision as you watch him tilt his chin upwards and exhale another lazy puff of smoke. “Give me your hand.”

You stare at him blankly, uncomprehending, almost nauseous now.

Giovanni turns his stern face back towards you and holds out his own large hand. “Your hand.”

His voice is eerily serene but it locks your muscles with fear. Like an animal being hunted down, even with your hazy, sluggish mind you still recognise the danger crowding in.

But what’s the alternative?

Your hand shakes but you hold it out, setting your jaw taut.

“I reward loyalty,” Giovanni reminds evenly, grasping your hand in his. His hold feels so cold you shiver. “But you still killed ten able bodies. Bodies I will now have to replace.”

“Father—”

Giovanni jerks your hand, palm up, and sinks his cigar right into the skin of your palm, burning right through the thin bandage.

Agony.

Splitting, sickening agony—

A sound that tears out of your throat is hardly human but the man has your arm in an iron-like grip; unmoving, bruising. You collapse face-first onto the cot, your scream growing silent and choked as you jerk weakly, unable to swallow your own spit.

Your hand is numb from a piercing, acute sort of pain.

Giovanni hums under his breath, and you feel him turn the cigar into your skin, making you yelp and twitch. “I hope you live,” he states coldly and pushes the cigar deeper into your palm, just once, before he drops your hand back onto the sheets. “There are a great many things I can do with that ice in your heart, gasoline girl.”

You don’t hear him rise over the sound of your pain. Your hand is spasming but you can’t look at it, can’t focus—

The door slams shut with a deafening bang and then—

Someone is speaking; hushed and soft, their hands on you, almost—

You barely manage to pull yourself over the edge of the cot and throw up before everything goes dark.

. . .

You’re burning.

There is a raging fire in your lungs and veins.

Your head is being held under a liquid flame, and you inhale it as it slithers down your throat, suffocating you.

You want to drag your nails down your body to get rid of the burn but you can’t. Someone—

Someone is holding you down and your lips part, a wounded sound slipping free. Why can’t you just be free?

A heavy weight pushes down on you and you try to fight it off, try to—

“Stop moving,” a voice urges, breathless but annoyed. “Stop—”

You think that you might be crying or screaming or both.

You’re burning.

There is no relief.

Not for a long time.

. . .

“Will she live?”

“It’s hard to say right now. The infection—”

An inpatient exhale. “I know what her condition is,” an irritated voice snaps. “I want to know if she will live.”

“I will try my hardest to save her.”

A lengthy pause follows. “No,” the voice speaks again, but this time with such soft malice that you shiver again. “My father wants her alive and so she will live. Or you will find yourself without a head, dear doctor. As will your family.”

. . .

Cool fingers brush against your hair.

“Lucie?” you rasp weakly and try to open your eyes.

Everything blurs around you so you let them close again.

Sickness cramps your stomach and you shiver for what seems like the hundredth time.

Still, the sensation of a glass pressing against your lips registers. Urgent, insistent. “Drink.”

It’s an order. Spoken by someone who is used to being listened to, obeyed, heeded.

You don’t want to but you’re so thirsty. There’s a painful itch in your lungs and you inhale again, deafened by the crackling in your lungs. Whatever it is that you’re wearing clings to your body in a sweaty, uncomfortable mess and you almost sigh when those cool fingers return. They press against your cheek, turning your head and the glass returns.

This time, you force your cracked lips to part and refreshing wetness slides down your throat seconds later. Flinching, you force yourself to swallow. The sensation is like a knife being forced down your chest but you bear it.

The fingers tilt your chin. “Slowly.”

You manage another few, shaky mouthfuls before your strength escapes you.

“Are you—”

The fragility of your own cracking voice might have disgusted you once. There had been plenty of times in the past when you had seen and heard Fredricko peeling back peoples’ fingernails to get the information he needed. That often resulted in such weakness—such fragility. Now though—

“Are you…”

Something freezing cold and wet comes to rest against your forehead and you sigh, gasping slightly. A wet cloth. A miracle, perhaps. It soothes the burning and the itch. It trails down your forehead and jaw and neck. Brushes over your dry lips, too. You almost sob in relief, making a miserable little whine at the back of your throat.

“Are…”

A quiet hum. “Am I what?”

“An angel?”

The cloth disappears for a few moments and you curl into a ball, silently willing it to come back.

A few moments later, mercifully, it does. As does the voice. “No.”

You lean into the refreshing cold again. Try to hide your disappointment, too.

The cloth presses against your forehead and stays there. A beat. Then, fingers ghost over your tightly clenched hand. Your other hand—

There is only numbness there.

An odd sense of fear follows that foggy observation. Like you’re forgetting something you shouldn’t—something important.

The fingers are delicate and careful but they help. They pacify that nameless, gnawing dread.

“Would you like me to be?”

There is a long moment in which you have no idea what the voice is asking. But your muddy mind finally manages to claw back a recollection of your earlier question.

An angel.

You think that the owner of this voice is an idiot.

He no doubt thinks that you mean a guardian angel. Something holy, fierce, and divine.  

But you had meant the Angel of Death. Finally here to take you. Finally here to reunite you with those you have lost.  

But is there any difference anymore?  

You’ve been half-dead and half-alive for years now.

A foot on the doorway to death ever since that fateful night. You have embraced it though. Bargained and stolen and killed. What you did for Lucie was just a fraction, you think through the delirium, just a fraction of what you can do.

You will turn that ice in your heart into a blade, and that blade you will use to cut down anyone in your path.

No half-measures, no mercy. You will be as terrible as they want you to be.

You will be the most terrible thing they have ever seen.

And when it’s done.

Oh, when it’s done.

You will set it all on fire and watch it burn.

“Yes.”

The fingers pause, hovering. Then they wrap around your still clenched hand. Slow but purposeful.

And the tightness of that grip makes you think that your hand will never be your own again.

. . .

an: wellllllllllllll, here’s that! Warning you all now that, yes, this story will get even more twisty and Santino/V will be hate-to...uh...love? We’ll see, I guess lol. Some familiar faces will appear in the future, too. And, uh, maybe some smuttiness is on the cards as well but you know how I roll - nothing too wild or explicit because this clown sucks at nsfw. 

Also because I have no idea when or how often this mini-series will be updated, I will be opening up a tag list for this series ONLY (I rarely do them because they’re often more work than they’re worth). So please feel free to comment or send me a message and I’ll add you. Thank you so much for reading!! Any feedback would be swell. <33  

[pucksnsticksnhockeyboys]

running away

request: Can u do 18 and 69 from the prompt list w Mat Barzal please?! 💗💗 love ur blog!!!

prompt: “Say that again, but less stupid.” & “I don’t get jealous.” / numbers 18 & 69 off of this list with Mat Barzal.

summary: Mat knows just how to annoy you and you can’t help but fall for it every time. 

warnings: drinking

word count: 2.3k

You didn't want to hate Mat. In all reality, you didn't actually. He was just annoyingly cocky when it came to his hockey ability. When you had tried to voice this to yours and Mat’s mutual friend Tito, he had just laughed it off, grinning out a ‘he has a right to be’ before leaving you pouting.

No, you didn't hate Mathew Barzal. He just really, really annoyed you.

“Say that again, but less stupid.” You blanched. You had lost your filter two drinks ago, and from your position wedged in a booth between Mat and Tito in some bar you were at celebrating a win, you were forced to listen to Mat and Tito talk about hockey. You weren’t totally listening, partially because you could only hear so much hockey talk before you lost your mind and partially because your head was a little fuzzy from your drinks. 

Your were contemplating on just how you were going to get past Mat and out of the booth to reach the bar when you heard his asinine comment. Normally, you would tune him out and you were certain you would’ve this time if you hadn't been sitting so close and if he hadn't sounded so dumb. So, really, you had no choice but to interrupt.

“I said, it’s fun to get in fights sometimes.” You scoffed at this, glancing up to Mat to see his trademark troublemaking grin. You were starting to think that maybe you should rethink the whole idea of going to get another drink because your next words tumbled past your lips before you could control them.

“I hate when you get in fights.” You regretted the confession instantly, seeing as it only made Mat’s teasing smirk grow. 

“Aw, do you care about me?” His comment made Tito laugh, and you hoped that the way your eyes rolled made you seem indifferent enough, or maybe you could blame the rosiness of your cheeks on the alcohol. 

Because as much as Mat annoyed you, you couldn't have helped the way you fell hopelessly for him. 

“No.” 

Lie.

Mat and Tito laughed at the defensiveness in your voice and you refused to look at either one of them. Right now, you just needed space from the two boys. You mumbled an excuse about having to use the bathroom and thankfully Mat let you leave without another comment. 

You took your time in the bathroom, straightening out your clothes and chastising yourself for reacting the way you had to his teasing. As far as you knew he was blind to your affections, there was no way he could know since you had never told anyone—let alone someone that would let it slip to Mat. 

Instead of heading back to the booth which had since been abandoned by Mat and Tito, you headed to the bar counter. It was crowded, and you didn't spot anyone you knew until a loud laugh sounded from a group of people to your left. 

You hated yourself for it, but it was a laugh you could recognize anywhere. It was a laugh that drew your attention, only the small smile that had formed at the sound faltered when you took in the scene before you. Mat and Tito were surrounded by a gaggle of girls, and they looked like they were having the time of their lives. 

The sight made an ugly feeling grow in your chest, one that had no right to be there. You and Mat were nothing, sometimes you questioned if you were even friends but your massive crush on him rejected the idea of having a just platonic relationship. But you were certain that friends didn’t get upset when the other was blatantly charming a group of girls. 

Your stomach dropped when you locked eyes with Mat, his smile turning to a teasing one as he caught you staring. You tried to change the sour look on your face to one a bit more neutral, but you were certain that made you look even more suspicious. Your head whipped forward, and you spotted the bartender nearby. You waved them down, and just as you finished giving them your order, another body stepped beside the stool you were sitting on to lean on the counter. 

“Put it on my tab, thanks.” Much like the laugh, it was a voice you’d recognize from anywhere. You’d heard the voice a thousand times, from across the room, whispered in a kitchen, yelled from the ice as you watched practice tucked in the stands, or right behind you in a crowded bar—Mathew Barzal was not one you’d easily forget. 

“Don’t you have anyone else to be buying drinks for?” You snapped before you could bite your tongue. Maybe the alcoholic drink you'd just ordered wasn't the best idea, but you weren't totally thinking straight under Mat’s heavy stare. 

“Jealous?” He teased, the word coming out as a chuckle. Usually, his smile was infectious but right now you couldn't help but glare at him. There was something about the way he said that one word told you he knew. He knew about your feelings and he was just throwing the fact that they were unrequited in your face.

At least, that's the way you saw it.

“I don’t get jealous.” You huffed, suddenly sounding very defensive. Your sentence was punctuated by the bartender setting your drink down in front of you, which you quickly sipped from in order to avoid looking at him. You didn't know how much longer you were going to be able to sit there and handle his teasing.

“Are you sure? Because if you’re not, then I’m just going to go back over and talk to those girls.” His smile was playful, and if your mind hadn't been so foggy you would've realized he had no real intention of going back over there other than to antagonize you. But the thought of it had the ugly feeling—jealousy, you know recognized—bubbling up in your chest again. 

You forced a smile onto your face, turning towards him before sliding off the stool. Before, when you had been sitting, the height difference between the two of you wasn't that noticeable. Now that you were on your own feet, and as close as you were, your neck was craning to look at him. You could feel your eyes start to get glossy, and you shoved your drink into his chest until he grabbed it. His gaze locked on yours and your chest tightened as his features softened into a confused frown once he recognized the strained look on your face, how your smile was tight and no where near reaching your eyes.

With his own drink in his other hand, he didn't have a free one to grab you to keep you in place as you shouldered your way through the crowd. You felt ridiculous, there was no reason that you should be this upset over Mat talking to other girls, but the fact that he came over and taunted you about your feelings had you feeling suffocated in the crowded bar. 

You were running away from your feelings, from confrontation, and from Mat.

You pulled out your phone as you maneuvered your way outside to call an Uber, and by the time you made it out the car was already pulled up out front. You checked to make sure it was your Uber and soon after that you were pulling away from the curb and headed back to your apartment. 

Aside from sending Tito a quick text that you had left so he wouldn't worry about you, you spent the ride pathetically staring out the window. You upset, that medium between anger and sadness that had you mindlessly watching the lights of the city night pass by without actually taking anything in.

You stayed in your stupor all the way until your apartment, changing into a pair of sweats and a tee as soon as you could. It wasn't until you had gotten a glass of water and were seated on the couch attempting to pick a show to watch that you were brought back to reality by a knock on your door. 

You could feel your heart hammer in your chest as you looked through the peephole to spot the very same dark haired boy you had left at the bar. He seemed nervous, rocking back and forth on his feet with eyes darting from your door to the elevator at the end of the hall. He was waiting for something to happen, and just as you watched him raise his fist to knock again did you decide to swing the door open.

Instead of greeting him like you would any other guest, you simply raised a brow to question his presence. He sighed, running a hand through his hair that was already so tousled something told you he had repeated the action dozens of times before you caught him. 

“Can I come in?” He asked, and still you stayed silent, though you did step back to allow him to slip in. He muttered a thank you before heading into the living room and finding home on your couch. “What are you watching?”

“What are you doing here, Mat?” You questioned, sounding a little standoffish and more than your fair share of exhausted as you wrapped your arms around yourself leaning against the doorjamb. He looked from the television to you, brows tugged together to show his confusion. 

“You basically ran off, I wanted to make sure you were okay. Do you want me to leave?” He asked, sounding genuinely concerned about whether you wanted him to stay and nothing like the cocky hockey player you left back at the bar. You softened a bit at his question, but then you were reminded of just why you felt so defeated when flashes of him surrounded by women crept back into your head. 

“No, I mean, shouldn’t you be back at the bar trying to find tonight’s hookup?” You didn't mean to sound bitter, but you were honestly exhausted by trying to hide your feelings. You figured that since he already knew and used to it mock you there was no point in trying to be subtle. 

The laugh that left Mat had your head snapping from your shoes to meet his gaze, and it was your turn to draw your brows together. He was grinning, one that usually made your heart skip a beat but was only causing your annoyance to grow. 

“You’re so oblivious.”

“Excuse me?” You snapped, raising a pointed brow in his direction. He usually got on your nerves, but tonight he was testing your limits. He was creating more questions than providing answers and you were reading your boiling point. 

“I don't want to go home with any of those girls from the bar, so you don’t have to be jealous.” You scoffed at his comment, wondering just why he felt the need to keep bringing up the fact that you were so annoyed. It really wasn't helping his case at the moment, only serving to agitate you more.

“It sure looked like it.” You huffed, stepping towards the couch and ultimately him only to reach for the empty glass sitting on the coffee table before retreating back into the kitchen. You heard Mat sigh, and his footsteps following after you. 

You were being stubborn, you knew that. There was clearly something Mat wanted to say, but you kept your back to him as you filled the glass once more. He called your name softly when it became clear that you had no intention of paying him any attention. You turned, but your gaze was focused on your feet. 

“Do you think I was flirting with those girls?” He asked, a hint of amusement in his tone that had you scoffing once more. Your heart may belong to Mat but he sure knew how to get under you skin. “I was just being Tito’s wingman, I promise.”

“Why does that matter?” You mumbled, because you truly were in no position to police just who Mat talked to. Even if it made you feel like jealousy was going to consume you whole. At your question, Mat chuckled. You raised a brow in question, but otherwise stayed silent.

“Because I know you like me.” Just like at the bar, you felt like running away. Mat must have sensed it, maybe he saw your gaze flicker from him to the door, because he was moving closer to you, and before you could even think about what to do, he was talking the glass out of your hand to set on the counter. He place his hands on your hips, tugging you closer to him so quickly you stumbled, bracing yourself with your hands on his chest. “I like you too, you know.”

From where your hand was placed, you could feel his heart beating out of his chest, just like yours ways. You looked into his eyes, searching for any sign of disbelief, trying to decide if this was some elaborate prank just so he could tease you. But the combination of his racing heart under you palm, the sincerity in his eyes, and the fact that he followed you from the bar instead to make sure you’re okay convinced you this was real. His eyes flickered to your lips only to meet your gaze again. All he needed was the small nod of your head and he dipped back in, pressing his lips to yours.

The kiss was slow and gentle, and you felt it all the way down to your toes. When you finally pulled away it was because of a need for oxygen and Mat didn't let you get far. His grip on your hips pulled you flush against his chest and your arms wrapped around his neck. You weren’t mad about the closeness, it allowed you to chase after his lips once you caught your breath to give him a few more quick kisses. You were melting under his gaze, and he knew it. 

“I’m a pretty good kisser, huh?” He teased and you groaned, dropping your head onto his chest. Leave it to him to take the sweet start of your relationship and use it to get under your skin.

“You're so annoying, Barzal.”

[thewincestgospel]

do you have any wincest fic rec in which sam and dean are actual fbi agents or something similar? even just the two of them being partners at some normal job, police-y or not. thanks ♡

Okay that gif is a little aggressive but you get what I mean.

FBI Agent Dean

Alternate World by EimiWinchester (Siyah_Kedi)   Sam casts a spell to take him to where Dean is whole and alive, and ends up in another world.     

Counting Bodies Like Sheep by  abeautifullie3 Sam D'Eboli is a mobster.  Special Agent Dean Winchester is assigned to take him down.  Dean's okay with that double entendre...until he isn't. A connection that won't be denied, and secrets revealed, Dean's objective may no longer be the same as the FBI's.      

FBI Agent Sam

Federal Temptations by Mrs_SimonTam_PHD  Dean Winchester is a career criminal who is caught by the FBI. The FBI calls in their best interrogator, Sam Wesson, to crack Dean, and Dean learns something about Sam.  

You Were Made For Me by blackrose_17 Sam Wesson has belonged to Dean Winchester since he first laid eyes on him and it doesn't matter that Sam is with the FBI sent to take him down, Sam is his. Sam just needs to remember that                

FBI Agent Jensen or Jared

Broken Angel by  moviegeek03 Senator Fred Lehne has been brutally attacking, raping, and murdering young men for over a decade, but always evades arrest thanks to his money and power. He has everyone fooled, except one team of detectives headed by Captain Jeffrey Dean Morgan and his protege Jensen Ackles. When things become worse, Morgan goes to FBI agents Misha Collins and Jim Beaver for help. They offer it in the form of Jared Padalecki, hotshot profiler who also happens to be Jensen's boyfriend. But there is more Jared...he also happens to be the only surviving victim of Lehne's..

Coming Home by sasha_dragon F.B.I. agent Jared Padalecki works in the L.A. Under cover Unit as a handler.   He has fallen in love with the under cover agent he looks after but has never met. Now Jared is engaged in a race against time and across L.A. To get to him before it’s too late. Can Agent Jensen Ackles hang on long enough, to finally meet Jared.

Shape of My Heart  by ashtraythief There are two things that make Jensen feel: killing people and thinking of the boy with the sunshine smile.

Police Officer Dean

Arachnophobia  by JuniperLemon   There's trouble going down in Sam's apartment. Unfortunately, this leads to a neighbor calling cops, Winchester and Novak.              

Impurity in the Night by CleverUsernameHere Officer Winchester is called to handle a noise disturbance. When he arrives he finds a high school party and gets more than he bargained for when he sees a familiar face  

Let's Get Frisky by ShadowBiscuit  What do you do when the city's hottest cop has his eyes on you and chases your fine ass down streets and alleys? When you can't help but want him to catch you and fulfill your dirtiest fantasies?Sam's solution to this problem is relatively easy: just be a flirtatious little brat and see where it gets you.      

Look the Other Way By: Candle Beck    Dean is a cop and Sam is his no-good brother.        

Mírë by  blackrose_17   Dean Winchester had an okay life as sheriff of Sioux Falls, sure his love life was a little slow but that was fine with him then everything changed the day Sam Wesson and his son Jack and friends moved into the empty Wesson Manor. Dean finds his world changed as he is drawn to the single father and his young son and his life is changed as his eyes opened to the fact magic is real and Sam is being hunted by someone who refuses to let him go. Dean will do whatever it takes to protect his new family.              

V I C E by awabubbles   Dean Winchester works in the human trafficking unit for the Vice Control Section of the Chicago PD. While undercover, Dean meets "Baby Boi" aka Sam, an underage prostitute with a strange fascination for the macabre. Sam has cast himself as Bonnie in a real life reenactment of the infamous outlaw duo, insisting that Dean is his Clyde. When Dean finally agrees, they run off to fulfill each other's deepest, darkest fantasies. For Sam, it's a dream come true; until Dean starts to spiral out of control.              

Police Officer Sam

  Blue on Blue  by  bingsboba  Sam Wesson, a young narc with intelligent eyes and a naïve spirit, meets Dean Smith, a man with a charming facade and a dangerous interior, in a drug bust mission turned into a failure. With no evidence to pin Dean to a crime, Sam is unable to move forward with his first loss in his job. Determined to have the biggest drug bust tied to his name, Sam goes after the con artist, but Dean turns out to be more than Sam can handle.   

Deeply Dangerous Dean  by ScorchedAngel   Dean is a quiet blood spatter analyst who keeps himself to himself and Sam is a detective on the hunt for the man who murdered his girlfriend Ruby. They've both been keeping secrets from each other and everyone else that have the potential to turn their world upside down.              

The Orange Hour  by  Deeranger     The Winchesters have gone undercover in a prison while working on a case: Dean as an inmate, Sam as a correctional officer. This way they will be able to gather information from both sides of the bars. A smart move, right? Or so they think. Because on a seemingly peaceful evening a riot breaks out, and the brothers are suddenly forced to question themselves - but most of all each other. What is real and what is not? And just how far are they willing to go to keep each other alive?

Perfect, Twisted, Bloody Family  by orphan_account   Dean has a great life. He’s got amazing boyfriend and a successful business, lots of friends, and a smart detective for a brother. They have awesome dinners at each other’s houses, poker nights, and a relationship most siblings would envy. Dean also has a deep, secret lust he’s been harboring for said little brother. That, and the occasional murder of a pimp or drug dealer, just to keep things interesting. C’est la vie.

Stop and Search   by JuniperLemon   Dean is trying to get out of town after a hunt when he is pulled over by Officer Wesson. Things go slightly unexpected when his hunting equipment is discovered. Unrelated wincest.  

Two Sides Of The Same Coin  by ShadowBiscuit   Sam Winchester, police detective.He's trying to find the notorious serial killer who has been leaving mutilated bodies all around the city. The police hasn't been this baffled since the time of Jack the Ripper. This mystery killer is just simply impossible to catch...But Sam isn't one to back down from a challenge. So he hunts the monster that preys on the innocent, however this time, he's not sure if he wants to win.Not when the "Righteous Man" might be his own flesh and blood, his big brother.                                                            

Police Officer  Jensen or Jared  

The Balance (Constantine Fic) by storyspinner70   Jensen Ackles spent his days coughing up his lungs and killing demons, hoping to earn his way into heaven. Jared knew his sister didn't kill herself, no matter what the Church had to say, and a hateful exorcist with a mission and a chip on his shoulder may not be his first choice for a guide, but Jensen was going to help him – if he didn't die first. Trips to hell, lung cancer, a conniving archangel, and even the devil himself weren't going to stop Jared from getting his sister back where she truly belonged.              

Creature Feature by Saone Something hungry is lurking in Lake Winchester.

Cuffs by TwoBoys2Love   Detective Ackles gets a new partner who may be a bit of a challenge. They have different views about everything. Ackles picks up some work on a new case that reveals his partner's secret and dredges up the past              

I'm A Broken Man With Addictive Tendencies  by robin_writes  In Jared’s mind they were a new brand of a tale as old as time; Romeo and Juliet. From two different worlds, destined to be kept apart, and both of them too fucked in the head to survive what they end up doing to each other.Jared is a cop who is a dom and Jensen is an underage prostitute. Jared tries to tuck away his 'dom personality' but you can't hide yourself from yourself.              

The Lion The Beast and The Beat by storyspinner70   It’s the typical story: boy goes through an ugly divorce, boy falls in love with the late night DJ that keeps him company on all his sleepless nights, boy saves DJ from his “number one fan”. The DJ is very grateful.

Mischief and Mayhem  by LoveThemWinchesters   Jared is a police officer.Jensen is his biker/bar owner husband of several years.Chaos ensues when something very important is lost.  

Out of Silence  by Annie46fic When hardened, but lonely cop, Jensen Ackles meets Jared Padalecki in his family’s diner, he doesn’t realize that his life is about to change drastically. Jared is a complete innocent, deaf, mute and unable to communicate, he needs a friend. Can Jensen be that man?

Pure like Blood by Ephermeralk   They have a deal. It’s two years (730 days, 17,520 hours) before Jared turns eighteen. And if, by some miracle, Jensen’s not in prison and Jared’s not another Joe Doe in the morgue, they’ll both leave Denver and start a new life. But, until then, Jared’s still got work and Jensen’s still a cop who’s hell bent on putting away the rest of Jared’s clients.          

Shades of Cool by tebtosca   Officer Ackles tries to keep the peace, but that Padalecki kid doesn't want to play nice.                            

Some Kind Of Hold On Me  by KatStark   Cop Jared comes home to his boyfriend, who has a special night in mind.      

Speaking Softly by femmefatales   Jared Padalecki, a 27-year-old police officer with a psychology degree gets assigned a special case. His job is to do one thing and one thing only-- Get Jensen Ackles, a seventeen year old boy who's been badly abused, to talk.                                

Stray by  storyspinner70   Officer Jared Padalecki is on his way home, but catches one last call that's near him. He has no idea exactly how eighteen year old werecat Jensen Ackles is going to change his life, but sometimes the best things in your life are things you never saw coming. 

Trust in me by Winmance It isn’t the innocence of the boy’s voice that was making such dirty sexual innuendos that made his blood run cold, it was the suggestive smirk he plastered onto his face while saying it. The way he leans too far forward on the chair, that it was impossible not to look obscene, and the large spread of his legs while he does so, almost inviting Jensen to look.When Jensen's best friend asks him to questionned the young prostitute he just came back with, Jensen has no idea that his life is about to change. Neither does Jared.                           

[sweetheartreader27]

Chapter One: "The Storm"

White Fang's POV:

I ran through the abandoned town, my eyes dart at the ladder that leads through the roof. I climbed up, when I'm already at the top, I start to observe the area and feel the cold wind to my skin. I knew a storm was coming, mainly because I've been Listening to Citizen Z (the only human I spoke since this apocalypse start) and from my instinct.

He's always talk about these "Delta X-Ray Delta" in short "DXD" group and Operation Bite Mark. I honestly think it's just a bunch of clowns, but who really knows. I sighed and sat at the roof to meditate focusing my hearing to the area.

"2,089!" I heard someone shout in the distance. I immediately rushed and ducked behind the little wall that was on the roof. I pulled my bow off my back and nocked a arrow on before peeking over the edge.

There was a boy around my age, walking down the street, a Accuracy International Arctic Warfare gripping tight in hand. He put his rifle on his back then pulled out a sling shot putting a gear in the sling. He aimed then shot, "2090" He said, his voice echoing because of the brick walls. It affect my hearing a little bit because of my kitsune hearing are more sensitive than a normal human being.

I looked in curiosity not even noticing the Z behind me until I heard it's growled. I turned around grabbing one of my daggers off my lower back striking through the Z's skull. The Crimson-red substance flew everywhere, across my mask, on my thighs, even in my black hair. I was used to it though...everyone was.

I turned back to the boy regaining my crouched position again. He wasn't paying ANY attention to his surroundings. He pulled back his slingshot and aimed for a nearby Z. The bad news is, he didn't notice the six Z's behind him. 'does he have a death wish or something?' I thought while aiming my bow to the Z.

The Z stumbled up right behind him as he let go of the sling for the slingshot, "2091" His voice echoed again, but that might be the last. The Z behind him tackled him to the ground. "that's it!" I said but not that loud, as it was about to bite down on his flesh... I shot, releasing the arrow from my tight grip, hitting it's skull, "thank god I didn't miss" I sighed in relief.

I turned around as fast as I could I put my bow back. I jumped to the next building which roof was lower than the other one, and I land to the ground.

I approach the dead Z to get my arrow, I looked at the boy and reach my hand out for him, without a sec, he accepted it and I pulled him to my side, I quickly take my bow from my back and nocked three arrows. I aim my bow and shot the three Z through it's head then I take out two throwing knives from my right boot and throw it to the skulls of the last two Z.

I approach the corpses and pulled out my arrows and throwing knives out on their skulls. I turned back and saw a pair of hazel eyes staring back at me. I observe his features. His raven hair, his white pearl teeth, those beautiful hazel eyes, a toned body, and lean as a fine wolf. He was attractive I admit. 'what is this...feeling?'

I turned around and walked away. 'Fang what's happening to you'  I thought to myself until...

"Hey!" He called. I tried to ignore him but I couldn't. I looked back at him, "I just wanted to say thank you" I nodded my head, luckily my mask didn't move an inch so he couldn't recognize me if we ever met again.

"What's your name?" He asked, I ignore it until I hear something. I looked up to the sky, Citizen Z was right, there was a storm coming.

Castle Point is a small town so this tornado Citizen Z speaks of, would destroy it easily. The boy looked at the sky too. "We need to go" He said. I started to run so fast and he runs as well. 'I'm glad to have these power'.

-

He pointed to a car, signaling me to get in. I climbed into the driver's seat and the boy went into the passenger. "10,000" He said. I looked up at him. "My name is 10,000." He said. I nodded. I start to feel something...

He put his hand on the roof. The car started to flip over. My hands cling to the seat, digging my nails on it as a support. The car kept spinning and spinning and I was getting dizzy

'c'mon Fang don't don't you dare to passed out'. Finally after an hour of bouncing around in that car the tornado stopped. My mask move, revealing my mouth, I quickly adjust it before 10k noticed as he regained his consciousness. "W-What happened? Where am I?" He questioned but soon got serious. I sighed. "Oh wait..." He trailed off.

I pulled myself out of the car and saw 10k behind me, 'gladly this human is fine' I shook my head to shrug that thought 'you can't fall for him Fang...you can't' . 10K smiled at me and he started walking, "Follow me" he said. 'should I follow him?', without a sec I just did what he said, we walked through some woods, running into a Z here and there but we got it.

When we came out of the woods 10k began to ran to the destroyed house. I ran as well. We came upon to the destroyed house with five other people. "Where's Warren?" 10K asked. "Over here" A weak female voice replied. A old man rushed over to the chair and started lifting it up. From there came a African American Women, who I assumed it was Warren, and she walked over to 10k and gave him a hug, "Glad to see you alive kid" She ruffled his hair and walked to me and observe, "And who might this be?" "he saved me" 10k responded. 'He?!' I was about to response, "How does someone save the Invincible 10k?" The old man asked.

A bald man walked over to me rubbing his pointer finger and thumb across his chin, "Well he seems looks like the type of-", 'okay that's It' , "She" I interrupted. Everyone looked at me and I sighed. Removing my cloak revealing my FEMININE body. They all stare at me, "10k did you know she was a GIRL?" Warren asked. "N-no coz I only see her wearing a cloak covering her body and mask covering her face" He said scratching the back of his head.

"So let me get this straight, SHE saved you, and you brought her to us and you haven't seen her face?" Warren asked. "W-Well yeah" 10k stuttered out. "You could get Murphy killed! What if she's one of those filthy bastards that kills everyone?!" Warren started shouting. They weren't paying much attention. I sighed and bow my head at them as a respect, earning back their attention to me then said, "I'm sorry If you all think that I'm one of those people you said Bastards but believe me or not, since this Apocalypse starts, I survive...alone..." regaining my stance, I stare at them behind my mask.

"Besides, I've only killed five people with a reason." I said. They all looked at me curiously. "Can we at least know your age and name?" I sighed. "name's White Fang, age eighteen" I said. "Well what about your face?" A brunette guy asked. "I-I'm sorry I cannot show my face, I only can show it to the people I...trust..." I said. "Well I'm Lieutenant Warren, this is Murphy, Doc, Cassandra, Addy, Mack, Charles and you've already met 10k. I'm guessing...White Fang hmm? isn't your real name isn't it?" Warren said.

"good guess" I said back calmly. As soon I remembered all of Citizen Z's broadcast and get the strength to ask, "Are you...Delta X-Ray Delta?" They all looked at me. "How do you know?" Addy asked. "An announcer named Citizen Z, told me every time he broadcasts from time to time. That's also how I heard about the storm." I said.

Warren sighed then said, "We'll tell you ALL about the Operation Bite Mark IF and only IF you show us YOUR. FACE." I froze, 'should...I have to?', they stare at me. I sighed 'I don't have a choice' and grabbed my mask, taking it off slowly. I opened my silver eyes and looked at everyone and they looked at me, wide eyes and mouths almost open, shocked hint to their faces "Hmm... I expected her to be ugly" Murphy said, I looked at him, "I'm sorry Mr. Murphy if I can't surpass your expectation to me" I said sarcastically. He stared at me. I smiled at him earning some gasp from the group. "Damn Murphy, first time to been shut?" Warren replied. "By the way he's the vaccine" She said.

"Oh! No wonder why he's moody, I understand" I said. "Woah" 10k muttered. "Can we trash this Huntress? She's getting to my nerves" Murphy said. "If it would happen make sure put me to the recycle bin, where the place of useful trash at least I don't bark like you do...I bite" I smiled. Warren laughed while Addy came up next to me and said, "Nah. It'll be awesome to have another badass in the group, besides, girl looks like the Apocalypse didn't even affect you!" She said while looking at my body and my face. Everyone chuckled.

"Well White Fang, nice to meeting you" Warren said. "me as well, Lieutenant" I said while smiling.

I put my cloak back and I looked at 10k, "How did you get your name?" I asked "I told you it was a lucky number" "Oh" "Let's make a deal, If I tell you the reason behind my name you tell me yours." He said raising an eyebrow.

"Sounds Fair to me" I said and soon I start to feel the weird feeling earlier.

To Be Continued.....

[ja-baby]

《 Cont. from x // @chords-of-justice 》 

He's late to the scene. 

Usually Klavier is the first to notice something amiss. To catch the scent of potential evidence and chase it like a bloodhound. However, he supposes he shouldn't be too wounded by being second to important proof. It's in the WTA's nature to bring about new possibilities, after all. Apollo seemed to be inheriting that trait from his new mentor quite well. 

It was because of him that Klavier was here in the first place. 

Apollo had pulled through in court, and now there was the threat of new suspects. And Gavin figured, being a rockstar and all, he probably shouldn't leave any rock unturned. 

Ugh, that's a corny joke even for me. Which means I definitely have to tell it to herr Justice.  

Unfortunately, any crack at puns died in his throat once he crossed the warehouse threshold. 

A figure, hunched on their hands and knees. Their movements were too sloppy. Too shaky and off balance. Klavier watched as they kept at their goal of standing up, only to be forced back down by the weight of their own limbs. Something was wrong. These were not the movements of someone who was dusting for prints or examining blood. These were the dizzy actions of someone who needed help.

His heart stuttered. 

He would recognize that red outfit anywhere. 

He was calling out before his brain could even catch up, legs surging forward to clamber beside Apollo. As if it belongs there, Klavier's hand rests at Apollo's lower back, gently coaxing him back down. His mind feels like it's on autopilot. Weird, fuzzy mind autopilot as he goes through what to do to help. The feeling was familiar -- reminiscent of when Daryan had once almost choked to death. 

He remembered how everything had passed in such a blur. Even now he wasn't sure how his body knew what to do before he could even process it. One second he's hearing Daryan's choked cries from another room. The next he's performing the Heimlich maneuver and his friend is spitting up stringy bacon from his breakfast sandwich. 

He wonders if it's from years of murder cases and high school emergency lectures that he's able to perform well in these situations. Somehow, that doesn't seem right though. Sure, Klavier knows it plays a part. But even with training, people tend to freeze when faced with the real thing. A lifeless doll is nothing compared to a real deteriorating body. Maybe he's just lucky. That, or failure is scary enough to keep him moving. 

The threat of what could happen if he doesn't act drives him even now. 

Klavier whispers reassurances as he looks over Apollo. It terrifies him to think of what he could be facing. 

Gunshot wound? Stabbing? Where's the blood? There's no blood-

A groan redirects Gavin's attention to Apollo's face. Or where his face would be, if the smaller were not still lowered toward the ground. Instead he's met with the back of Apollo's head...and he finally notices it. 

A bump. Swelling and angry. 

It didn't take long for Klavier to piece it all together. That didn't make the lurch in his belly any less violent though.

A head wound. He might have trauma. Have to keep him still. Can't move him unless necessary. Can't move his neck. Keep head and shoulders elevated. Watch for changes in breathing. Is he breathing? God, he could have a seizure-

The big difference between a choking victim and a potential head trauma victim was: One of these things he could do nothing about. He could press at someone's stomach, sure. However, he was not a doctor. He could do nothing for skull or brain damage. That realization was quickly making him feel helpless. Was inducing panic at a time where he needed to be calm. His hands fight tremors as he pulls out his phone, taking a few seconds longer than he'd like to properly dial 911. 

“No... I gotta...Cl...client... there’s proof he didn’t..."

Every word seems to douse his body in ice. Apollo's words match his actions. Stunted. Strange. Slurred. Which threatened a very scary thought:

Concussion.

He doesn't register the voice on the other end of the phone. His attention is latched solely onto the wilted syllables, following the lips hiding beside clutched fists. 

 "...saw someone, I think...?”

Someone? 

Someone to press for information?

Or someone...who would kill to hide information? 

Everything comes together in ugly little puzzle pieces. The picture it forms is less than pretty, and incredibly anger inducing. Before he knows it a scowl is overtaking his features. This was no accident. This was on purpose. Whatever evidence Apollo had stumbled upon, it was important enough to add another murder to someone's record. No. Not murder. Apollo isn't dead yet. No! Why yet? He isn't going to die at all.

"Are you there? Hello? Are you alright?"

The growingly concerned and insistent voice on the line snaps him out of it. If only enough to provide details on their predicament. He hurriedly offers their location and the possibility of both a concussion and threat on the scene. All the while he's pulling off his jacket, hoping desperately that if it's folded enough it could provide enough elevation for Apollo's head. 

Unfortunately for him, Apollo has other ideas. 

Once again, Apollo is forcing his way up. Throughout their time together, Klavier has learned a lot about the defense attorney. The most prominent fact being he's as stubborn as a mule. Gavin wonders if that runs in the family -- the WTA family at least. As he speaks with the emergency dispatcher, he can hear Apollo trying to get his attention. Perhaps he misheard, considering he's both balancing Apollo, fear, and the call, but he could've sworn he heard the smaller mumble something about needing a flashlight? A blackout? Klavier didn't understand anything he was talking about. If anything, it only furthered the concern that Apollo needed help.  

Klavier places his newly folded jacket on the ground, hand gesturing for Apollo to lay back down. The other obviously isn't having it. Instead he confusedly fumbles out his own phone. Gavin takes in his increasing irritation and muddled nature as he shakes at the device. As if it was the one that knocked him across the head. Well, it may not be the one that swelled that bump. But with that bright screen, it'll certainly make Apollo's headache worse. While he doesn't hang up, Gavin does put his phone down in favor of assessing the other. 

He's about to tell Apollo to put his mobile down. To sit still and rest until the ambulance and authorities arrive. It all dies on his tongue though, pushed back down by Apollo's startling query. 

"Where are you?"

It's such a strange question. So odd that for a few moments it leaves him disoriented. Where? What did he mean? Gavin was right here. Granted, Klavier had paced a bit during his call, examining the surroundings for clues and taking in a suspicious fire extinguisher as he did so. Even so, he made sure to never go too far. To stay where both Apollo could see him and he could see Apollo. Maybe it was hard to see with a concussion. Maybe it was like being drunk but worse -- where there were three of every person instead of one, each spinning like in the cartoons. Maybe there was more of him than Apollo was used to. 

Or maybe...there was none of him. 

A request for a flashlight. Concern for a blackout. Irritation with a phone's brightness. And finally, not knowing the prosecutor's location. 

Klavier had a theory as to what this could mean. 

He desperately hopes he's wrong. 

Cautiously, as if worried he'll startle Apollo if he moves too quickly, he makes his way back to the sitting figure. When he crouches down, he does so slowly, hoping that this will alert Apollo of his presence. 

"Apollo...?"

A whisper. He doesn't want to speak too loud. Doesn't even want to speak at a normal volume in case the sudden closeness causes alarm. And yet, he knows that if his speculation is right... Apollo will be scared either way. His hands softly gather Apollo's, pulling away the neglected phone so it can be replaced with his fingers. He's quiet for a moment. Unsure of how to tackle this in a way that results in the smallest amount of fear possible. Eventually he settles for presenting the facts.

"Apollo...there is no blackout...the lights are on"

A pause. Was that the right choice? Or has he chosen the wrong evidence? Presented it at the wrong time? He's itching to run a hand in his hair. Instead he settles on giving Apollo's hands a gentle squeeze. 

"Both an ambulance and the authorities are on their way. Everything will be okay. I'm right here. I won't leave you"

He has to ask. He knows he has to ask. He hates that he has to ask but he needs to. 

He looks Apollo in the eyes. The gaze he meets is foggy, and that fog makes Klavier feel like he can't see either. He can't see Apollo in that cloudy haze.  

"Apollo...can you not...see me...?"

[ko-chan-the-blueberry-donut]

Little Miss Fortune AU edited with new hero name for Marinette

Summary: In which Marinette is caught in a bit of a predicament Felix/Marinette/Adrien Felinette Adrienette

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

Marinette groaned as she tightened the black tie around her neck, making sure her breasts were hidden under the black suit blazer and white dress shirt, before tucking in the male model she knocked out accidentally on his dressing room couch. She didn’t mean to knock him down the stairs, but she figured her usual bad luck had something to do with it, and hurried into changing into his attire.

She exited the room, looking around cautiously, as she ran a hand through her now pixie cut hairstyle. She hadn’t wanted to cut her hair, but to get Plagg back, it was worth it.

Hawkmoth had stolen her Miraculous successfully, and without any partner to rely on, she was left on her own to chase him down and get Plagg back. She narrowed it down to Hawkmoth being a part of Agreste industries, but she had no clue of exactly where in the company he could be.

Her first objective was to locate where Hawkmoth was in the company, but without any more clues, she was left with no choice but to sneak in. She had successfully made it to the stairway when a model startled her, causing her to flail and accidentally slap him in the face so hard he fell down a flight of stairs.

Cursing that she was stuck with bad luck even without Plagg with her, she hurriedly dragged the unconscious model to his dressing room and, noting he had the same hair color and features, she quickly donned on his black suit and cut her hair to appear like him.

Sneaking down the hallway, Marinette’s mission was to find a directory where all the departments were accessible and told herself she would start there.

However, it seemed like her bad luck wasn’t through with her yet…

“Monsieur Cho! What are you doing? The set is this way!” A woman with glasses and dressed professionally approached her. She looked around confused, before realizing that she was supposed to be ‘Monsieur Cho’ and tried to escape before the woman grabbed her by her arm and steering her towards the opposite end of the hallway. Marinette panicked.

“Oh! Um! I have to go to the bathroom!” Marinette cried. The woman’s glasses gleamed.

“Yes, and I’m sure by magical coincidence you’ll end up instead seeing one of the female models in the nearest broom closet like the last three times you’ve used that excuse.” She commented sternly. Marinette gulped.

‘Scary!’ Marinette thought sweating.

“But I really have to go this time…” Marinette protested weakly. The woman raised an eyebrow and tugged Marinette to the photoshoot by her ear making the girl squeak.

Defeated, Marinette tried to quell her nervousness as the woman dragged her to what appeared to be a photoshoot. Her heart pounded as she eyed all the people around and if she was transformed, her ribbon tail would be in between her legs.

“Now this shoot is very important. You will be working directly with Monsieur Agreste’s sons. If you mess this up with more of your playboy antics, Monsieur Agreste will be sure to make sure you don’t have an opportunity like this again, Monsieur Cho. Am I clear?” The woman directed her frosty gaze to Marinette, who flinched and nodded rapidly. Of course, the person she’s pretending to be would have a bad reputation…

“Y-yes ma’am!” Marinette squeaked. Satisfied, the woman released her, and Marinette was seized by the make-up crew who started the finishing touches on her look. She figured she would be doing a formal shoot with the outfit she was wearing. The girl fidgeted as the team fiddled with her suit, not used to people being that close in her personal space without knowing them well. Alya would probably be laughing now if she knew how much trouble Marinette’s bad luck got her into this time.

‘Okay! I can do this! I just have to find some way to sneak away before I get pictures taken of me! This set’s big enough—no one will notice me slip away!’ Marinette resolved, determined to flee as soon as the make-up team released her. Once the team was done, Marinette bolted out of the curtains and promptly slammed into another body. ‘Shit! Oh well, I can still sneak away after I say sorry.’

“Oh, it’s you, Cho. Are you done wasting our time with your escapades?” a bored voice commented. Marinette looked up to meet icy green eyes. The boy had neat blonde hair and was wearing a suit similar to hers. When he got a better look of her, however, his eyes widened. “Who are you? You’re not Cho.”

‘Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!’

“U-um! Hello! I guess we haven’t seen each other in a while because I am very much—”

“I just saw you three hours ago when you left to go flirt with Bridgette.” The boy cut her off, eyes narrowing. Marinette squeaked as he got near to her face, examining her. “You look too feminine to be Cho. He may be effeminate but you’re practically a girl with your features.”

“Uhhhh”

“Felix! Cho! There you guys are!” another boy their age approached them with the same golden sunshine hair and vibrant green eyes that reminded Marinette of summer grass in an open field. The first boy, Felix, turned to address his look-a-like.

“Adrien, this isn’t—”

“Everyone on set! We’re going to start the shoot!” the photographer called. Marinette squeaked as people began to go to their places. She took a couple steps back, wanting to run and hide, but Adrien noticed her fearful stance.

“Are you okay?” he asked. Marinette jumped.

“I… I never done this before.” Marinette whispered. “I want to leave.”

“I heard this was your first real shoot.” Adrien remarked. He gave her an encouraging smile. “It’s scary the first time, but it’s like you’re playing pretend. You just follow what the photographer tells you and you act like you’re playing a part in a play.” He touched her shoulder reassuringly and Marinette felt her heart skip a beat. “The first time I did this was when I was a kid. I used to be really scared of the camera, but my mother helped me be able to add my own style to being photographed. After that, I didn’t find it as scary anymore—it was more like a game I’m playing.” Adrien explained. Marinette returned his smile, his sincere speech soothing to her nerves. It was a shame she was pretending to be someone else. Adrien seemed like a good person who would make a wonderful friend.

“I see. Your mother sounds very kind and fun.” Marinette smiled, and Adrien was struck by how pretty it was. His cheeks turned a red hue as he coughed, hiding his face from her view.

“A-anyway! We should get to the set!” he grabbed her hand to lead her to the set, but his traitorous thoughts told him Cho’s hand was very soft and he felt his ears redden in betrayal. Felix eyed them critically as he examined their interaction from the stage. It appeared he hadn’t ratted Marinette out as everyone was acting normal like she was still Cho, so she was safe for now.

She stood in between Felix and Adrien as the photographer directed their positions. Marinette eyed the camera in dismay, as her cover will be blown when the pictures come out. She squeezed her eyes shut, fists clenched at her sides. Why was she so useless? Plagg was in trouble and here she was stuck and unable to do anything for him!

“Calm down.” Felix whispered. Marinette snapped her eyes open and turned her gaze to him in shock. The boy refused to look at her, instead choosing to face ahead towards the camera as they snapped pictures. He maneuvered himself to place a hand on her shoulder and got close to her ear. The photographer squeed at the display, not realizing Felix was actually speaking to her. “Just play pretend like Adrien said. It will be over soon enough.” Marinette’s eyes widened.

He was trying to comfort her? Even though he knew she wasn’t the actual male model? She looked between the Agreste brothers curiously, and couldn’t help a happy smile appear on her face. They were both so kind…

“Yes Cho! That smile is beautiful! Look at the friendship between you three! The chemistry is amazing! Give me more of that comrade vibe!” Adrien and Felix moved closer to her with their best smiles and the photographer ate it up like a child with a bowl of candy.

A sound of clapping interrupted the shoot, and everyone turned to see Gabriel Agreste standing beside the woman that dragged Marinette to the set earlier. He had a prideful smile on his face, but Marinette couldn’t help but shiver at the cold essence in his eyes. It didn’t match his outward appearance at all. It felt like an act.

“Excellent! I knew pairing my sons with a new upstart would come out grand.” Gabriel commented. Everyone gave him smiles, even Adrien who beamed at his father’s praise, except Felix and Marinette, the latter who felt sick at his performance. The oldest Agreste approached the three and Marinette had the urge to hide behind Adrien and Felix, but didn’t to keep up the act.

Gabriel’s frosty eyes locked onto her and Marinette gulped. Gabriel kept his smile in place, but Marinette felt like she was drowning in freezing water. She barely registered Felix moving closer to her, as if sensing her unease. Gabriel didn’t seem to notice as he placed a hand on her shoulder. The gleam of the Black Cat Miraculous shinning from his finger. Marinette held in a gasp, eyes widening at the realization she didn’t want to accept rearing its ugly head in her face.

“My boy, you will have a bright future with this company. I’m sure of it.” Gabriel praised her. Marinette resisted the urge to squirm under his hold. She tried to keep herself from staring at her Miraculous on his finger. The Miraculous that was rightfully hers. She could feel Plagg’s energy thrumming through her veins from being close to her ring.

‘You thief!’ Marinette snarled in her mind. She wanted to kick, scream, and bite him like a vicious animal. She could feel Plagg’s sadness at being taken away from her. His hatred for being trapped with Gabriel—Hawkmoth—and her fury ignited like an inferno. ‘That’s mine! You stole it from me!’

Nonetheless, she did not reveal her righteous fury. She had come this far—she would not fail Plagg.

“Thank you, Monsieur!” Marinette thanked him with a sweet smile, biting her cheek to resist spitting on his pristine suit. “I look forward to learning under your guidance and becoming even more miraculous.” She felt Plagg’s energy warm at her proximity. Excitement ran through her veins at the prospect of wielding him again and putting an end to Hawkmoth.

A flicker of suspicion sparked into Gabriel’s eyes before he smiled down at her again. Suspicion, and dare Marinette say it, fear making Marinette want to purr. Good. He should be afraid. She would not allow Plagg’s kidnapping to go unpunished. He let go of her shoulder, and Marinette hoped the brief contact was able to soothe her kwami that she wasn’t abandoning him.

Gabriel retreated with his assistant and Marinette narrowed her eyes, intent to follow them. The photographer called everyone to take this places as Gabriel was leaving. Marinette’s eyes widened. She couldn’t let Gabriel get away with Plagg!

Suddenly, she felt someone discreetly push her to the ground, her face hitting the floor hard. People cried out in concern at her fall, but she was too consumed with the loss of Plagg to care. She didn’t register anything but Plagg’s desperation to get away until she felt someone grabbed her by the arm and another hand settling on her back to steady her until she heard a voice.

“We’re going to take Cho to get checked out by the nurse before we continue.” Felix’s voice rang out. He was the one holding her arm and leading her away.

“Yeah. That fall was pretty harsh. I’ll go too to help him.” Adrien added, and Marinette felt his warm hand on her back. They led her away from the commotion and into a private hallway. Felix released her, and Adrien steadied her.

“What was that?” Marinette choked out, wanting to cry at the realization that she might not be able to save Plagg after all. Felix crossed his arms while Adrien looked concerned.

“We should be asking you the same thing.” Felix said. “You looked at our father like you wanted to claw his eyes out.”

“Did Father do something to you, Cho?” Adrien asked, touching her arm. “I know Father isn’t the best person to get along with, but the way you looked at each other was like you were ready to enter into battle with each other.”

‘That’s because we are.’ Marinette thought wryly. She sighed and ran a hand through her now short hair, wishing she had the familiarity of her pigtails to soothe her. “I… I’m not Cho.”

Felix and Adrien looked at her curiously and in shock. Felix didn’t think she was going to reveal herself and Adrien because if this person wasn’t Cho, then who were they?

“Your father… he has something of mine.” Marinette couldn’t bring herself to tell them he was Hawkmoth. She didn’t want to be responsible for bringing them into her fight—her war. “I… it’s really important to me. I need it back.”

“Well we can ask Father to give it back to you.” Adrien promised, not one to believe that his father was capable of stealing, despite the rocky relationship they have. Felix on the other hand knew his father wasn’t a saint for the way he neglects them. Marinette shook her head.

“It’s not that simple. I’ve tried… he refuses.” Marinette clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms at the memory of losing Plagg. It was like a part of her soul was ripped away from her. She knew her and Plagg would sometimes clash, or sometimes he would encourage her to do things that weren’t exactly for a model hero, but she knew that Plagg cherished her and she cherished him. She loved the times they had, through better or for worse. Hell, she’d take every ounce of bad luck that Plagg would accidentally project onto her if it meant she could be with him again.

“We’ll get it back then.” Adrien vowed determined. Marinette’s eyes widened at his willingness to help her. He took her hands into his and squeezed them in comfort “It’s important to you. And Father has no right to refuse you something that rightfully belongs to you.”  He told her. He stroked her hands, willing his presence to soothe her. Marinette smiled, and Adrien’s heart skipped at beat.

“Before we do this, what’s your name?” Felix asked, staring straight into her soul. “Since you’re not Cho, we have a right to know who you really are.”

“I…” Marinette bit her lip, debating on what to tell them. Should she reveal her name? Her superhero name? Should she give them an alias? Somehow though, it didn’t seem right to lie. They were willing to get themselves in trouble with Hawkmoth, despite not knowing who their father really was. She had to return the favor.

“I’m Marinette.” She spoke quietly, as if afraid if she spoke louder she would shatter the fragile alliance they shared. Adrien’s eyes widened as he quickly let go of her hands, blushing like a Christmas light. Felix also had a surprised look on his face, and Marinette wasn’t sure if she saw a red flush on his cheeks or not because he quickly looked away.

“Y-You’re a girl?” Adrien spluttered. Marinette giggled and gave a wink.

“Yup! I make a good boy though, no?” she teased, striking a pose and Adrien and Felix—though he would never admit it—blushed harder.

‘It should be illegal to be that cute in a suit!’

“Alright then, Marinette.” Felix coughed, being the first to recover. “What is it that we’re looking for?” Marinette had a determined look on her face.

“The ring he’s wearing. It’s mine.” She answered.

“Father said he got it from an antique shop.” Adrien supplied. Marinette hissed, and her eyes narrowed.

“He’s a liar. He got it from me.” Adrien however wasn’t afraid of her.

‘Is it possible to find someone attractive even when they’re angry at your father?’ he thought.

“So how do we get it back?” Felix asked. Marinette smirked, and Felix ignored that damn skip in his heartbeat.

“Follow my lead.”

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

It turned out that Gabriel didn’t wear the ring all the time. He kept it secured in his office and Adrien and Felix were able to distract him with the real unconscious Cho. She crept into the office, the Black Cat Miraculous calling out to her. In his haste, like she predicted, Gabriel did not put on her Miraculous to keep close to him. She grinned in excitement, slipping the ring onto its rightful owner, and Plagg burst to life once more. They both purred in happiness as they reunited, Plagg nuzzling her cheek.

“Please tell me you have some fresh cheese danishes at home.” Plagg begged. Marinette chuckled. “Anything for you, kitty.” She promised. Plagg purred in satisfaction.

“Plagg! Claws Out!” she shouted, and felt the familiar sensation of being transformed once more. She could feel her body vibrating with a violent purr all over her body, but didn’t care. She was so happy to have her Miraculous back.

“Let’s go home.”

She burst out of the office and skidded to a stop as she came face to face with Adrien and Felix, who were watching her with wide eyes—Felix’s was with shock and Adrien’s was with awe.

“Cheshire!” Adrien exclaimed, his eyes sparkling in excitement. Felix also watched her with interest.

“Um! Hello Citizens! I heard some imposter was running around at your photoshoot and I came to help!” Cheshire lied, her heart pounding a mile a minute. She wanted to reveal herself but she knew it would be too dangerous. This was her war, and hers alone. Despite the kindness they showed her, she knew she would never see them again. She then proceeded to run down the hallway. “I’ll be gone now! The imposter has made her escape, so I have to follow her! Au revoir!”

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

Felix and Adrien watched their father storm around, demanding to know how everyone didn’t notice an imposter was running around so easily. Meanwhile, the photographer sobbed at his camera being destroyed by some unforeseen force, as it laid in a pile of ashes at his feet. The twins chanced a look at each other.

“It’s a shame we don’t have a photo to remember her by.” Adrien commented. Felix chose not to comment, but he noticed the atmosphere seemed distinctly dimmer without Marinette around.

“I’m sure we can find a way to make more.” Felix replied, and Adrien raised an eyebrow at him, a smirk beginning to birth on his face, catching the meaning behind his brother’s statement.

“I wouldn’t mind making more memories with Marinette either.”

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

It was Monday again and Marinette groaned at having to walk up early for classes. She stretched in her seat, knowing that she would no doubt be seduced into taking a cat nap when lectures start. Alya laughed beside her.

“Rough weekend?” she asked. Marinette smiled softly. “Love the hair, by the way.”

“Thanks. And you could say that. Made some friends.”

“Really? Maybe you should introduce us sometime. Were they cute?” Alya asked. Marinette laughed.

“Very handsome, but I don’t think we’ll be seeing each other again.” Marinette said, sadness in her eyes. Alya seemed to have seen the unshed tears and hugged her friend.

“Hey, it maybe only once, but you’ll have those memories forever, and that is proof of your friendship and the precious time you guys had.” Alya soothed. Marinette grinned, wiping her tears.

“You’re right! They’ll always be with me forever, even if we don’t see each other again.” Marinette laughed. And it was true—she would never forget Adrien and Felix’s kindness towards her. “I’m just a little sad I never got to say goodbye.”

“Well, maybe that’s a good thing.” Alya responded, “Then that means you are never truly gone to them.”

“Yeah.” Marinette gave her warmest smile, and Alya hugged her once more. She hoped that Felix and Adrien were happy, and that they had done something truly courageous by aiding her in getting her Miraculous back. She felt Plagg’s warmth through their bond, and breathed a sigh of relief that he will never be parted from her again. She’ll beat Gabriel Agreste and bring him to justice no matter what.

Maybe then she will be able to tell Felix and Adrien thank you for all they done.

“Class, settle down.” The teacher commanded, and each student gave her their attention. Mademoiselle Bustier smiled at her students and gestured to the door. “Today we have two new students. Now, I know you may know them from magazines and social media but please don’t overwhelm them with your excitement. Come in, boys.”

The door opened, and gasps and squeals were made when they saw who the two new students were, but Marinette gave a squeak and fell out of her seat. Two pairs of green eyes—one warm and one cool—had a twinkle of amusement spark in them at her display.    

“Girl, you okay?” Alya helped her up. Marinette didn’t answer as she could only gape as Adrien and Felix introduced themselves to the class. Was this really happening?

“Maybe she got struck by cupid’s arrow.” Nino whispered, snickering. Alya swatted him away with a smile.

“The reason we came here was because we wanted to be with our best friend.” Adrien told the class, who were listening attentively. Chloe preened, thinking they obviously meant her as she was childhood friends with them, but Adrien’s eyes practically shined, and his grin widened when he caught eyes with Marinette. “There she is! Marinette, it’s so good to see you again!” Adrien announced, and the entire room gaped at her. Marinette wanted to sink into a hole. Her face was bright red from embarrassment.

‘They can’t be serious! This possibly can’t get any worse!’

“Hey, move. We’re sitting here.” Felix told Alya, who gave them a raised eyebrow like they grew three heads each.

“Um Monsieur Agreste, the seats are only meant for two people at a time.” Mademoiselle Bustier told them, confused. Felix shrugged, and Adrien waved it off, grinning.

“That’s okay! We’ll just sit extra close to all fit!”

Marinette sunk lower in her seat, covering her face as she felt Plagg cackle in her purse.

[gra-sonas]

The Roswell, New Mexico Abortion Storyline Is Just As Timely As Ever

Showrunner Carina Adly MacKenzie and actor Lily Cowles 'had to fight' to bring Isobel's raw narrative to TV screens

Make no mistake: Roswell, New Mexico is, in many ways, a fantasy. But in the story of three humanoid aliens finding a new sense of home after being abandoned on earth, and of the people they love and who love them, there are plenty of opportunities to tell real-world stories, too.

Take the character of Isobel Evans (Lily Cowles): In the CW show’s second season, she learns that she is pregnant by her villainous ex-husband, but feels like she has few options available to her. She can’t go to a doctor, she reasons, because her body is not of this world and doing so would risk her discovery. And she opts not to confide in her family, or anyone else she knows. Instead, Isobel decides to take a poison specifically designed to shut alien bodies down, despite receiving cautionary visions from her late brother Max (Nathan Parsons) warning her against it. What results is a self-induced abortion with potentially disastrous consequences — and a story that showrunner Carina Adly MacKenzie, who co-wrote the episode in response to the so-called “heartbeat bills” that conservative lawmakers tried to pass in states like Georgia and Ohio, hopes will resonate with viewers in a particularly timely way.

In telling this story, Roswell, New Mexico joins at least 43 other TV shows that featured abortion storylines in 2019. Isobel’s experience includes a particularly rough set of barriers, albeit fantastical ones, that complicate her ability to receive medical care. In that way, she mirrors the people who live in abortion deserts, or in states that mandate restrictive waiting periods and other invasive hurdles that many individuals living paycheck-to-paycheck simply can’t afford to broach. In March alone, lawmakers in Texas, Ohio, and Iowa have tried to use the current coronavirus pandemic as cause to ban abortion care by deeming it an “elective” and “non-essential” procedure. But how can a service that has the potential to change the trajectory of someone’s life forever be defined as “non-essential?”

The Roswell, New Mexico team kept the people who might be denied choice-affirming care in mind as they worked on what would eventually become the third episode of Season 2. MTV News spoke with Adly MacKenzie and Cowles about their supernatural allegory for the issues at stake, how it feels that this episode is airing at a time when abortion access is visibly under attack in the United States, and science fiction’s legacy of tackling controversial topics.

MTV News: How did you and the writers decide to tell this story?

Carina Adly MacKenzie: There wasn't a plan in place last season for Noah impregnating Isobel. This was something that was really born out of wanting to speak to what it looks like when someone feels like they have to take desperate measures to save their own life, whether that's their actual physical life or the kind of life that they're choosing to have. That's the story that we're trying to tell with Isobel. It's really about her being unable to access the care that she needs through medical professionals, and doing something very, very dangerous and very, very scary to protect her own bodily autonomy and her own agency, which has been taken from her for a very long time.

Lily was the first phone call that I made, and she was at first a little bit freaked out by it. I was like, “I'm not sure that this is something I want to tackle. I'm thinking about it and then I want to put it in your head and see what you think.” She circled back to me later and was like, “Let's do it.”

Lily Cowles: I remember this moment so well. She called me and she's like, "Listen, I have an idea for Isobel and I want to run it by you because it's no small thing." And it knocked the wind out of me when she told me. For a moment I had this resistance because I knew what it was going to take to go there as an actor and to put your character through that. But Carina was very sensitive about it and told me, "I want you to think about this and take some time and tell me what your thoughts are." It was really intimidating, but I knew that it was extremely important. And so I called her the next day and I said, "We’ve got to do it."

MTV News: That Isobel tries to self-induce an abortion because she can't access care is an allegory in a sci-fi setting, but it has very real world parallels, and very real world stakes. One report from the Guttmacher Institute found that the number of attempted self-induced abortions may be on the rise, likely because people feel like they have few resources or options. With that in mind, how did you draw the line between fantasy and reality?

Cowles: It is absolutely allegorical with Isobel. She's an alien, and she can't get medical help because she has a different biology. And yet this is the reality that so many women have faced in a very real way. There are so many women who face this and I think that was the reason we felt we really needed to tell this story.

Adly MacKenzie: I think it's a very real story. We have Isobel taking alien poison but the metaphor is right there. It's not a leap to imagine a woman in this situation and what measures she might take. The story is about an alien who can't go to a normal hospital, but it's also about a woman who can't afford a $400 procedure, or a teenager who can't tell her parents, or someone in Texas right now where abortion is being halted because it's considered an elective, non-essential surgery during this pandemic, which could go on for months and months and months. Anybody in any of those scenarios could become desperate.

Cowles: There's a real stigma around this subject and it's such a hot-button political issue for so many people. Ultimately it's the most personal situation that someone can be in. In my opinion, it's absolutely the business of the person that's just going through it and it is not something that the nation needs to be commenting on.

Adly MacKenzie: We did try to make Isobel's story mirror reality. There’s a lot of blood involved and we had to fight to be able to show that on TV. We wanted to show the ugliness of what it really looks like on TV because we wanted to make sure that we weren't telling a story that sugarcoats the experience in any way or that makes it seem like it's safe to try this at home without medical help. Were she not in a sci-fi situation, she says, “I would be a statistic.”

Cowles: We felt an obligation to tell this story hopefully so that we could say “you're not alone” to people who have had to go through something like this, who are facing this.

MTV News: The fact that Isobel tries to self-induce without medical supervision is important to distinguish, because statistically, a medically-supervised abortion is one of the safest procedures there are. How did you make sure that you were telling a story about a dangerous situation as responsibly as you could?

Cowles: We're taking on a very real story that many women face and deal with and an issue that still feels dangerous to touch. I think the story that we're looking to tell here is that women’s bodies are their own bodies. We're investigating the consequences of what happens when you take away female autonomy. And it's not pretty.

Adly MacKenzie: One in four women have gotten abortions in one way or another. She is doing this in an unsafe way and I think we're really clear about that in the episode and we make sure to drive home the idea that poison is not the method, but also that it is a very real story about what happens when people get desperate.

Cowles: This is a reality that we face as a consequence of putting restrictions on female reproductive health. This is the consequence. What will happen as the people will get into situations where they have unwanted pregnancies that maybe threaten their lives, threaten their futures in some way, and they have no opportunities to manage it because of restrictions that other people have put on them?

Adly MacKenzie: We're not telling the story for shock value. We really tried to avoid glamorizing any aspect of it. There was a point in which I was asked if I could make the blood glittery. I was horrified by that. I hope that people see the ugly side of it and understand the story that we're trying to tell.

MTV News: What was it like to work with each other on this episode specifically?

Adly MacKenzie: Lily is a person who puts a lot of care and a lot of thought into her work. She comes prepared. We had a lot of conversations. I think the thing that she brought to this was fearlessness. It's a very vulnerable story to tell. She's lying in a nightgown while people are applying fake blood to her inner thigh and she's crying and she's trying to get into this space of being in a lot of pain. It was a very solemn day on set and I think that Lily took it very seriously, but she approached it ready to be completely vulnerable.

MTV News: How did you make sure that Lily was supported throughout all the filming?

Adly MacKenzie: Jeff Hunt is a director I've worked with before and who the whole cast knew pretty well. He was somebody who our cast was comfortable with. I was also on set the entire time, and Deirdre, the other writer, was on set as much as she could be.

Cowles: I came into it already feeling I was in a very safe place. I think the way that Carina handled it in general, having called me and asked me to think about it, it was always something that I felt I had a certain amount of say in. It wasn't like, “You're doing this so good luck and have fun.” It was very much a collaborative experience where I got to feel like I was really at the helm in a lot of ways.

Adly MacKenzie: I'm very serious about making sure the actors are always feeling safe and feeling comfortable even when they're portraying unsafe and uncomfortable situations. I think she was surrounded by a lot of love and a lot of feminine energy. We asked her, “OK, what do you think Isobel would be wearing in this situation? How much do you think we should be seeing? How much are you comfortable with the positioning?” When you're shooting those difficult angles, you want to make sure that the actor has the choice. She definitely guides the situation.

MTV News: During the moments Isobel is imagining her brother Max, she tells him that her desire to induce an abortion isn't really a matter of motherhood. Can you walk me through why you decided to include those lines?

Adly MacKenzie: It wasn't about being selfish and it's not about whether Isobel wants to be a mother. It's about having agency over her body right now and about choosing the way that you want to become a parent if you do want to become a parent. We wanted to tell a story about choosing how and when your life takes big turns.

Cowles: I truly believe that Isobel wants to be a mother. I think she wants to have a family. If Noah hadn't been a psychopathic, serial-killing alien, she probably would've wanted to have kids with him. She might've been trying for a baby, but the way that her marriage turned out… Consent almost became a question for her.

Adly MacKenzie: She's reacting to something that she never really had a say in. Now she does have a choice, and she's making it. She's just in a situation in which making that choice isn't easy, when it should be.

Cowles: Being pregnant and having a child is probably one of the most wonderful things that a human being can do. And it is conversely maybe the most terrible thing that can happen to someone when it threatens their life or their future or their personhood. And I think that's what Isobel is facing with this is, “These are not the terms that I want. This is not how I want it to be. It’s not that I don't want to be a mother, but that I want to be a mother on my own terms.”

MTV News: This episode is airing concurrent to the fight to protect abortion access in states where lawmakers are trying to argue that the procedure is “non-essential.” Given that this episode was written in response to the Georgia bill that was eventually blocked, how do you feel about the continued timeliness of the issue?

Adly MacKenzie: It's always under siege. The people who want to ban abortion are always looking for a new reason. I also was shocked when I thought it was being considered a non-essential medical service. But then that shock turned into, “Of fucking course, the world is falling apart right now and this is what some people are thinking about.” It is a life-saving procedure always, every time. Sometimes it's about literally saving the mother's life. But it's also about protecting the lives that they're choosing and protecting the lives that they want to lead.

Cowles: We live in an age when particularly white men are trying to make decisions about female bodies. It seems like something that should've been resolved a long time ago. You can decide that you would never want to have an abortion and that is absolutely valid. Or you might need to have an abortion and you should absolutely be granted the ability to do that. It's sad at this point that we're still fighting this fight, but we have to keep fighting for it because having autonomy over one's health and one's body seems to me a very basic fundamental human right.

Adly MacKenzie: It's frustrating. When the heartbeat bill in Georgia didn't pass, I felt this immense sense of relief. But what's the next thing? And there's always something. With the Supreme Court as it stands right now, I don't know that we're going to see the end of this fight in our lifetimes. It seems like there's an endless battle against women having control over themselves and their own medical care.

MTV News: A lot of people believe that certain television shows shouldn't be political, but many elements in Roswell, New Mexico are really political. What responsibility do you think the show has to wade into the more obviously political waters?

Adly MacKenzie: I don't think the show is more political than our daily lives are. I just think it's more political than other shows are. I think other shows avoid the politics that we face on a day-to-day basis and we're just not doing the acrobatics to avoid it.

Cowles: It’s a responsibility to shed light onto all the different parts of the human experience. Some of them are really not pleasant. They're ugly and they're scary and they're raw. They make you uncomfortable. It is part of the work to represent that just as much as you represent how good it feels to be in love and to triumph over your woes. It's equally part of the human experience.

Adly MacKenzie: I don't necessarily think the show is there to push any agenda except for humanity — ironically, because we're literally dealing with actual creatures from outer space. But it's not about the politics, it's about the humanity. That's where we try to live in our storytelling.

Sci-fi, for as long as it's existed, has been about metaphor, has been about telling human stories in a fantastical way. Anybody who's a sci-fi writer will save that they're telling you a story that's a metaphor for real human emotion. The difference between that and what we do is that we are telling a story that's a metaphor alongside telling the story that's real life. Here, we’re telling a story about what it feels like to be an unwelcome alien on earth, and also telling a story about what it feels like to be an undocumented American in a border state. And we’re trying to tell it with compassion as opposed to spectacle.

~ MTV

[mariisseething]

Analyzing Hero Costumes: Girls of Class 1-A

My obsession has spiraled out of control. Let me roast analyze these babes. I’m dumb. I’m tired. I’m gay. Let’s do this.

Warning: I’m a cynical, lazy-ass critic with no consistent taste. Don’t expect a fair analysis.

(This is just for fun, please don’t get mad at me for being an undereducated weeb! I went into writing this with only the knowledge I’ve obtained through watching the show and reading the manga. I don’t know everything about the costumes, and I don’t want to either)!

Ashido Mina (Pinky)

Babe, imma be frank here.

I love her, but—

that shit ugly.

Funcionality: Mina’s quirk (Acid) comes from her hands and feet. If I remember correctly, she has passages in her shoes that her...foot..acid.....can pass through, and her hands are fully exposed. So her costume is “practical”, and works with her quirk.

Design: As I said before, that shit ugly. The body suit has the worst pattern and color combination I’ve ever seen. (Like if Sully from Monster’s Inc. was turned into a cow and hated it). Her tiddies should be popping out any second now, which isn’t great. Her weird armpit vest with it’s stupid fluffy collar is quite reminiscent of Hawks’ jacket, which leads me to believe that their costumes were made by the same designer. (Many of the designers in the BNHA universe put calling-cards in their costumes). Her white mask is pointless, but at least it matches the fluff on her collar. Her boots, though they have a purpose, are ugly as sin. The pale yellow doesn’t match any other piece in the ensemble, and the Dabi-scar colored purple makes me sad. Hate that.

Total Score: 2/10

Her costume does almost nothing to enhance her quirk, and it’s hideous. The only reason it got two points was because of the shoe holes, and the possibility that it’s connected to my boy Hawks.

Seriously, this is some Seasame Street lookin-ass bullshit.

No hate on Mina, she’s lovely, but her taste is atrocious. (see: her bedroom).

Asui Tsuyu (Froppy)

Okay, okay bitch I see you.

I’m here for this.

Funcionality: Tsu’s quirk (Frog) requires a decent amount of flexibility from clothing. Spandex works for that I guess. Normally, I would automatically fail this costume for having goddamn toe “socks”, but for Tsuyu they’re nessecary. Having her individual toes chiseled out helps her grip onto shit when she’s kicking ass. It looks like her gloves are attached to her body suit, which is rad, but I’m not sure what the purpose of that waist belt-thing is. If anything, the chunky pieces of her costume would make it harder for her to swim. I also have no fucking clue what that head piece is. I once thought they were like binoculars or something, but she’s never put them on her face so...they wouldn’t fit....on her face..huh.....I’m so stupid bro.

Design: Lets start with a positive, the color scheme slaps. Everything goes together, and the dark green even matches her hair. The bodysuit has a cool structure, and I can definitely appreciate the slight turtleneck and boot-esq feature; however, the chunky wrist pieces, belt, neck/chest-thing, and head piece confuse me. I guess they’re there for fashion, gutter fashion. Shitty crap face fashion. Ugly butthole fashion. FILTH! I need to calm down holy shit—

Total Score: 6/10

The look honestly only lost points for the random ass statement pieces. Water terrains are Tsuyu’s specialty, and a clunky outfit would certainly slow her down underwater.

The toe shit, turtleneck, thigh-high “boots”, and color scheme are pretty dope though.

(Also, she only has three toes but frogs have four).

(My Hero Academia: Cancelled).

Hagakure Toru (Invisible Girl)

So, here’s the real question.

Is she naked?

Short answer: I dunno.

Funcionality: So she’s invisible, right? A good costume would emphasize that. I can only assume she wears the boots and gloves for comfort and so her allies can see where she is. If she wants to go full invisible, she just has to take them off. At one point, it was confirmed that she was topless during the sports festival, but we’ve had no further updates on her costume. A few people have theorized that her costume is made of her hair (assuming she has hair). We know that this is possible, as Mirio’s costume is made of his hair so he can remain clothed while his quirk is activated. The only issue would be making an outfit out of something you can’t see. If I were Toru, I would choose to fight nude because, I-uh...hmm, I-I can do what I want SHUT UP!

Design: There’s not much to critique here. The shade of blue on her gloves is cute, and the pink stripes don’t make much of an impact. The shoes are just about the most boring thing I’ve ever seen, like why are they beige??? What are they supposed to match? I just—ugh, beige??? What the fuck Horikoshi...smh.

Total Score: 5/10

Since we don’t know if the “hair-costume” thing is canon, I can’t rate it any higher. If that is true, it would be an 7/10. The outfit does its job, but I’m bored and beige sucks.

(Btw I don’t trust her...)

(Sketchy chick right here).

(Sketchy chick with some ugly-ass beige shoes).

Jirou Kyouka (Earphone Jack)

Aww.

She’s cute!

Look at her little face, d’awwwweeeeee!

Funcionality: The lovely Kyouka’s quirk (Earphone Jack), makes absolutely no sense to me. Like, I get that she can hear better and can eavesdrop really well, but how does she...make loud noises??? With the speakers??? Plugging earbuds into a speaker doesn’t make............noise, and the speakers aren’t part of her body. Whatever, back to the analysis. The speakers on her hands and calves amplify sound somehow, and her earlobes are exposed. It’s works.

Design: The speaker boots are basic, but acceptable. She’s got some comfy looking black pants, and a trendy salmon-colored top. Her jacket is iconic, and she’s wearing a choker. (+1,000,000 points for that). The white gloves don’t match shit, but they’re fingerless so I’ll let it slide. Her headphones almost match....meh. I don’t care. (+10 for the face paint).

Total Score: 8/10

Listen, I’d give her a 10 but this costume just isn’t....gimmicky, enough for me? She’s a superhero for fucksake! Now’s the time to dress your goddamn best! The look is practical, and seems to be her taste, I just disagree with her choices. Sue me. I’d either wanna fight in the wackiest most dangerous getup you’ve ever seen, or completely naked. Either way, I’m getting arrested. Jirou needs to get on my fucking level.

Uraraka Ochaco (Uravity)

I don’t know boys,

it seems like she might be...

round.

Fuck sharp angles!

Funcionality: Ochaco’s quirk (Zero Gravity) only requires her hands to work. More specifically, her fingertips. Uh, yeah those are some nude fingertips. *Ahem* moving on. Actually wait, since she often uses her quirk on herself it would be helpful for her to eliminate as much extra weight as possible, so I’m hoping that all of the accessories are hollow. They better be, or I’m gonna start throwing hands with Kohei Horikoshi.

Design: When Ochaco first got her hero costume she was surprised by how tight it was, even saying that it wasn’t supposed to be that tight. Bitch, how could it have been loose? I don’t...fuck it. I like the colors, I like the boots a lot actually, but who cares about that, I wanna talk about her fucking chastity belt. Who she keepin out? (Jesus Christ she’s a child, tone it down Mari). Do you think it’s comfortable to walk around with a chunk of plastic on your crotch?! I don’t know, seriously, is it? Maybe she’s trying to hide something...a hip dip perhaps?! Jk hip dips are stupid, that’s how bones work, don’t be ashamed. Her wrist...spheres... have handles on them, no comment, and whereas I usually LOVE chokers—that one is stupid and I hate it. Curvy little shit.

Total Score: 8/10

I like it overall, but some things are just too strange to overlook. (i.e. the chastity belt, wrist cuff handles, and the ugly choker). This costume doesn’t really scream Uraraka to me either. It’s a bit unoriginal to me.

I just don’t love it.

(Why are her fists clenched? Is she trying to fight? I could snap her like the twig she is and steal her girlfriend).

(Assuming she has one).

Yaoyorozu Momo (Creati)

Oohooohohohoho

hooohohoho

hoooooo mAN do I have some WORDS for this one!

Funcionality: Momo’s quirk (Creation) does require quite a bit of skin to be exposed, but I’m not sure why that skin HAS to be her boobs. She’s got thighs, a stomach, a back, an upper chest, and arms. Why do her Russian nesting dolls have to come out of her tiddies??? Okay, actually, she doesn’t make that many things with her tits. So....why’re they out? This costume definitely lets her quirk run wild, maybe too much.

Design: The red is pretty, and I can tolerate the sandy yellow. Her shoes are unimportant, so let’s just gloss over those. Now, WHAT is that thing? A makeshift, tan colored, plastic tube mini...skirt? I know she has a shelf on her ass that she carries books on, but doesn’t she have a cellphone? Google? Can’t she just remember the molecular make-up of a cannon? (Because she only makes cannons now for some reason). Have we ever even seen her reading those books? Can she read? A large portion of her midsection/chest is exposed up to another one of those weird chest pieces and a neck jacket. Maybe she should cut the neck coat off and glue it to her tiddies.

Total Score: 1/10

Listen, Horikoshi clearly understands what Momo’s costume needs, but he has no idea how to make that. This outfit IS inappropriate, no matter how you look at it. She’s a minor, and I don’t like the idea that she’s running around 75% naked. The only part of this that I like is the shade of red. That’s not good.

I really like Momo, she’s a good character, it’s unfortunate that we have to sexualize her so much. Can’t girls just be smart without also being eye candy for creepy 30 year old weebs?

——————

That’s it for this analysis. I plan on posting more stuff like this since I enjoy writing it so much! You should totally follow me so you don’t miss my future ramblings! 💖

Unless you hated it.

I wouldn’t blame you.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

I'VE BEEN PONDERING ANYONE

Because kids are unable to create wealth, but to spend it doing fake work. Life is short, as everyone knows. And what drives them both is the number of startups are created to do product development on spec for some big company, and assume you could build something way easier to use. You could also rob banks, or solicit bribes, or establish a monopoly. In any period, it should be helpful to anyone who wants to understand the feeling of virtue in liking them. Plenty of famous founders have had some failures along the way. A few weeks ago I finally figured it out.1 03% false positives.2

That makes sense, because programs are in effect giant descriptions of how things get made. Treating a startup idea as a question changes what you're looking for. In school you are, in theory, explaining yourself to someone else. We're more patient. Moral fashions don't seem to get sued much by established competitors. Once you realize how little most people judging you care about judging you accurately—once you realize that because of the normal distribution of most applicant pools, it matters least to judge accurately in precisely the cases where judgement has the most effect—you won't take rejection so personally. The space of possible choices is smaller; you tend to standardize everything. What VCs should be looking for companies that hope to win by writing great software, but there is no permanent place in this world for ugly mathematics? In fact, you don't take a position and then defend it. This one may not always be true. It hadn't occurred to me till then that those horrible things we had to read in English classes was mostly fiction, so I know most won't listen.

This second group adopt the fashion not because they want to work for people with high standards. This is a talk I gave at the last minute I cooked up this rather grim talk. When a company starts misbehaving, smart people won't work there. So verbs with initial caps have higher spam probabilities than they would in all lowercase. And the source of error is not just random variation, but a Times Roman lowercase g is easy to tell apart.3 Such judgements can of course counter by sending a crawler to the site, you wouldn't need PR firms to tell you, because hackers would already be writing stuff on top of it. Cultivate a habit of questioning assumptions.4 Nature uses it a lot, which is the satisfaction of people's desires. When watches had mechanical movements, expensive watches kept better time. But something seems to come with practice.

So even in the middle of getting rich we were fighting off the grim reaper. It seems like it violates some kind of answer. Wouldn't it be amazing if we could achieve a 50% success rate? It's more a question of self-preservation.5 You have to do whatever seems best at each point. So my first prediction about the future of web startups.6 It's not just an airy intangible. Everyone's model of work you grew up with a million dollar idea is just a convenient way of trading one form of wealth for another. That is certainly true.

So odds are this is, in projects of their own. When I heard about this work I was a kid I used to calculate probabilities for tokens, both would have the same kind of office or rather, hacker opinion.7 So obviously that is what we are, founders think.8 It's absolute poverty you want to get real work done in an office with cubicles, you have to say, are evil. Mostly because they're optimistic by nature. I'm going to try to recast one's work as a single thesis. And so began the study of ancient texts had such prestige that it remained the backbone of education until the late 19th century. I met some investors that had invested in a hardware device and when I asked them what was the most significant thing they'd observed, it was mostly political. But while DH levels don't set a lower bound on the convincingness of a reply, they do set an upper bound, bearing in mind the small sample size. The remarkable thing about this project was that he got in trouble for.9 It was only after hearing reports of friends who'd done it that they decided to start a startup to starting one, and eventually someone will discover it.10 They may be enough to kill all the opt-in lists.

The church knew this would set people thinking. Since the invention of the quartz movement, an ordinary Timex is more accurate than a Patek Philippe costing hundreds of thousands of dollars. The reason is not just text; it has structure. An office environment is supposed to be something that helps you work, not something you read looking for a specific answer, and feel cheated if you don't have significant success to cheer you up, it wears you out: Your most basic advice to founders is just don't die, but the thousand little things the big company doesn't want to imagine a world in which high school students think they need to get good grades to impress employers, within which the employees waste most of their time in political battles, and from which consumers have to buy anyway because there are so many kinks in the plumbing now that most people don't even realize is there. There's nothing special about physical embodiments of control systems that should make them patentable, and the examiners reply by throwing out some of your claims and granting others. I learnt never to bet on any one feature or deal or anything to bring you success. Underneath the long words or the expressive brush strokes, there is no way to get rich. These get through because they're the one type of sales pitch you can make enormous gains playing around in problem-space. But you have to redefine the problem to make them irrelevant. In more organized societies, like China, the ruler and his officials used taxation instead of confiscation. Every engraver since Durer has had to live in Silicon Valley, that use of the word, Bill Gates is middle class.

So what to make of this. Few people are suited to running a startup can be demoralizing. I think things are changing. The problem is compounded by the fact that hackers, despite their reputation for social obliviousness, sometimes put a good deal of effort into seeming smart. But though it's not anger that's driving the increase in disagreement, there's a danger that they'll follow a long, hard path that ultimately leads nowhere. In the period just before the industrial revolution, some of the most pointless of all the great programmers I can think of who don't work for Sun, on Java, I know of zero. Descartes, though claimed by the French, did much of his thinking in Holland.11 But hackers use their offices for more than that.

Boston is a tech center to the same cause: Gates and Allen wanted to move back to Palo Alto, where he grew up, and they tend to do particularly well, because they're easier to see, because they generally don't die loudly and heroically. I'd spent more time with her. One of the most valuable thing they've discovered. But the breakage seems to affect software less than most other fields. England and France were made by courtiers who extracted some lucrative right from the crown—like the right to collect taxes on the import of silk—and so they don't try do to it. All the unfun kinds of wealth creation slow dramatically in a society that confiscates private fortunes. I mean by habits of mind you invoke on some field don't have to do is expand it. When a politician says his opponent is mistaken, that's a sure sign that something is broken?

Notes

That's one of those you can, Jeff Byun mentions one reason not to be, yet. The reason for the popular vote. 5 million cap, but instead to explain that the payoff for avoiding tax grows hyperexponentially x/1-x for 0 x 1. Something similar happens with suburbs.

There are successful women who don't aren't. His critical invention was a company selling soybean oil or mining equipment, such a baleful stare as they seem pointless. I think that's because delicious/popular with voting instead of hiring them. Security always depends more on the spot, so had a broader meaning.

Though most founders start out excited about the other: the company than you otherwise would have seemed shocking for a block or so. MITE Corp.

Perhaps this is a huge, analog brain state.

So how do they decide on the programmers, the more effort you expend on the dollar. After the war it was briefly in Britain in the right mindset you will fail. If you want to.

The only launches I remember are famous flops like the other hand, he took earlier. And journalists as part of the War on Drugs. As usual the popular image is several decades behind reality.

Something similar happens with suburbs. Com. It seems to have minded, which you ultimately need if you want to keep their wings folded, as I explain later. Cost, again.

I have about thirty friends whose opinions I care about valuations in angel rounds can make it a function of the venture business. When the Air Hits Your Brain, neurosurgeon Frank Vertosick recounts a conversation reaches a certain level of incivility, the increasing complacency of managements. For founders who go on to create giant companies not seem formidable early on. There's probably also the perfect point to spread the story a bit.

At this point for me do more with less, is that the only audience for your present valuation is fixed at the end of the kleptocracies that formerly dominated all the free OSes first-rate programmers. Most people let them mix pretty promiscuously. This is a self fulfilling prophecy.

Handy that, isn't it? We don't call it ambient thought.

Watt didn't invent the spreadsheet. If you extrapolate another 20 years. At first I didn't need to run spreadsheets on it, by encouraging people to claim that they'll only invest contingently on other sites. It is the fact that the graph of jobs is not always tell this to users, you've started it, whether you have to make software incompatible.

[slade-neko]

My Thoughts on Fire Emblem: Three Houses!

This is not a full review, but more or less my thoughts, opinions, and early impressions of the game so far. I have not beaten the game yet, but am 56 hours in. Hours might be a bit bloated as I’ve idled some and am taking my sweet time going through the game (Hey! I’m a perfectionist! I gotta make sure everyone gets the perfect gifts, perfect tea times, and that I don’t waste any free days.) I’ve also not yet reached the time-skip. That said, here’s my thoughts...

The Graphics

Okay, so right of the bat I think I should mention the graphics. Before the game was out I had heard people mention the graphics being “bad”, but didn’t think much of it, just people complaining as they always do. Not long into playing the game myself I started to see some things that seemed low quality. There are a few times I see “blotchy” low-res textures on characters and environments. I know the Switch isn’t the strongest console in terms of graphics, but I feel as if they could’ve squeezed a bit more out of it. While its by no means horrible and ugly, most characters do look good especially their faces, just sometimes I notice low resolution on certain characters’ armor parts or hair details. Also the cloud textures during Monastery exploration are noticeably not amazing, but that’s nitpicking.  

Graphics are not a major thing for me personally, just something I felt was worth noting. Any way you slice it, it still looks 1000x times better than being on a crappy 3DS with 240p quality! 

The Combat

Not too much to mention about combat, but personally it feels a bit easier? I am only playing it on Normal right now for my first playthrough, so that could easily change when I do harder difficulties on my next playthroughs. I’ve only loss 1 unit in my entire playthrough (I did use a Divine Pulse to re-winded time, of course.) The whole Divine Pulse system is very nice though. It’s a good way to combat the middle of battle save scumming (which I admittedly have done in past games.) 

I sometimes make slight mistakes in battle at times, so being able to rewind the clock a couple of turns with the Divine Pulse feature is much nicer than soft resetting the entire game.

The Protagonist/ Byleth

I am giving Byleth their own little section because there are quite a few things I want to talk about them specifically as a character. First off, when I came into this game I was under the impression Byleth was a predefined protagonist like what the older FE games had. With that logic I was also under the assumption that he/ she would be fully voice with many lines of dialogue and other characters would address them as “Byleth.” I was admittedly a bit shocked to see that you could name him/ her and that the other characters would just call you “Professor.” I guess the naming aspect is something similar to how in the Zelda games, you can name Link regardless that the fact is that he is Link. It comes off as a bit of an odd design choice to me. Why make a predefined, non-customizable protagonist, but not make them fully voiced and allow you to change their name? When I say not fully voiced, I know Byleth has voice actors, but they are a (mostly) SILENT protagonist! Majority of the time I only hear Byleth speak in combat. Never do they speak in normal dialogue with other characters. My mind may be a bit warped of the perspective of Robin and Corrin talking more since they are in Smash and FE Warriors, but it seems to me that even they talk more than Byleth does in their own games. I get the feeling if the developers really wanted to, they could’ve passed Byleth off as a “create-your-own unit” like Awakening and Fates, but instead they are a bit of a mix. 

I would honestly prefer if they just gave us either a straight up completely fleshed out fully-voiced protagonist with no name changing or a player created avatar who is mostly silent.

With all that said, as a character, I do like Byleth a lot. I honestly prefer male Byleth over the "official” male designs and personalities of Robin and Corrin (Robin being book nerd and Corrin a peace loving nature boy who doesn’t wear shoes.) Hey look, I like Robin and Corrin, but male Robin IS a bit dorky and Corrin, well sometimes he just comes of as whiny.

The Characters

I know before the game was out I stated that some of the lesser characters/ other students didn’t draw me in that much (except Bernie.) 

Well... turns out I was WRONG! I LOVE the characters in this game. When I was first starting out, I was still a little mixed on them, but their designs and character personalities have really grown on me. I think them being fully voiced helps a lot. I love hearing and recognizing all the voice talent in this game. Erica Mendez does an AMAZING job as Bernadetta!

My current playthrough is with the Black Eagles, so I know them all the most, but the other students seem very wonderful too. I am already clamoring to get as many recruits as I can over to my house.

The Support System

Oh boy, the support system also known as the thing that turned Fire Emblem from a strategy RPG into a weeby anime dating sim! 

I know the support system did not always work the same as it does in Awakening and Fates with unit romances. My first real Fire Emblem game was Awakening, but I can understand the appeal of the original support system like in the old games. In previous Fire Emblem games characters had predefined relationships with each other and is told by the game’s story. 

I am fine that they removed the “S-Rank” romance/ marriages for characters other than the protagonist and am glad there is no forced children system. 

I prefer that the story tells me if the characters have romantic relationships with each other and not having me to decide them. I did not like shipping characters in Awakening and especially in Fates. I remember wanting Selkie in Fates, but hated having to ship Kaden with any of the girls. I didn’t see him to have any real romantic feelings towards other characters in Fates and to me personally it felt wrong and forced when I had to ship him with someone just so I could get Selkie. I will say that the whole “S-rank” support/ marriage system only really worked in Awakening and should be left in Awakening (even then I only hooked up like 3 couples because they had some canonical merits to them.) It was clearly forced into Fates, which didn’t bode well for that game.

That said I do like the support system in Three Houses and the conversations for building friendly relationships among units. They are entertaining and a great way to delve into side characters back stories.

The Story

Can’t say much about the story since I haven’t actually beaten the game yet, but I am liking it so far and it will hopefully stay that way. I don’t expect it to take a dip and become a bad story towards the end, but I’ll have to wait and see.

Final Notes

While this game may have a few small shortcomings and weird things about it (all games generally do) as a fan of Fire Emblem I love Fire Emblem Three Houses! I am so glad to finally be able to experience a Fire Emblem game on a home console and not a handheld.

[taeyohonic]

Seat Stealer

(I know Taeyong has red hair in this fic, but not in the picture. However this is the closesed I’ve come finding a gif with the vibe from this story. So please, forgive)

This is my entry for @nctwriters summer prompt challenge! I hope you guys like it.

Prompt: It’s summer break and you love it because that means the library will be totally empty for you to enjoy all to yourself. Except for the fact that when you walk in one day some really cute guy is sitting at your table.

Member: Lee Taeyong

Genre: summer romance / mostly fluff, a bit smut @ the end, so i’ll classify this as m (I guess?) 

Words: 7.3k

“This isn't funny.” “Excuse me?”, cute boy sitting in your seat is looking genuinely confused by your sharp tone.

“That’s my seat.”, you say, pointing unnecessarily at the stool he's wrongfully occupying. Cute boy’s brown eyes change from confusion to mischief in a flash. His mouth forms a sinister grin when he responds.

"You really think you have a right to a specific seat in a public library?" You don't think you do, you know you do.

Nobody else spends as much time here as you. Not even the two librarians. And especially not during summer break.

What is someone like him even doing here? His fiery red hair is tousled in a stylish mess, the kind where you can’t really tell if the guy put in a lot of work or none at all. His sun kissed skin makes you think that being indoors isn’t his preferred choice. And his cloths – swim trunks and a plain white shirt – scream beach day, not making Y/N’s life harder-day.

This boy is so far out of your – and this library’s – league, maybe your best friend Seugil is playing a prank on you.

But even she wouldn’t get a guy like that into a place like this just to mess with a slightly deranged and desperately awkward outsider like you.

Seugil is a solid seven, but this person in front of you is scratching on the ten. And the look he gives you indicates he’s fully aware of that.

You try to stay calm – interactions always bring out the worst in you.

“I always sit here.”, you say trying not to sound as snappy as before.

“Well, you're not sitting here now. So-... this sentence is grammatically incorrect.”, he responds and smirks at you. Oh no, not good. You feel your face getting hot. Even though you try to be rational, this guy is getting to you – both physically and mentally.

You could just walk away, find another place where you can continue your limbo of reading trashy romance novels and writing smutty fanfictions in peace. But this seat is perfect: right under the AC, with a nice view of the indoor court and a shelf full of inorganic – and untouched – chemistry books at the back, that nobody bothers to check out. This is heaven for introverts in the summer.

And this seat stealer is not taking it away from you. Deep breaths Y/N. Deep breaths.

“Would you mind sitting somewhere else?”, you ask in a sweeter voice.

Seat stealer is now looking you over, measuring you up. He won’t be impressed. You didn’t put too much effort in today’s appearance: A white summer dress, floor length so you didn’t have to shave, and a messy bun full of black hair, being hold together by dry shampoo.

You are not ugly. But you sure do not try to put your average features in the best light. Who do you have to impress? The answer is sitting right in front of you, clearly unimpressed.

Self-consciously you try to avert your gaze. Maybe another seat isn’t that bad. But to your surprise seat stealer contradicts his nickname by standing up. The loud scratching of the stool against the linoleum is the only sound in the library.

“I don’t mind. Please.”, he responds standing.

Flabbergasted you switch into autopilot and move around the table to take your rightful seat. But cute guy isn't exactly retreating. He just waits next to your seat and watches you sit down, still with this ridiculously handsome grin on his lips. He definitely is in your personal space. You can smell the sun screen mixed with an herb nuance of freshly cut grass on his skin.

Now sitting, you look up into his dancing eyes.

“Thank you.”, your mom raised a semi polite kid.

“No problem”, former seat stealer says and sits down right next to you. And sits down right next to you? What the hell? You openly stare at him. What. the. hell? There are roughly 40 empty seats in this building. This isn’t a polite distance. This is an invasion. This guy is giving you an amorism just by existing.

You are one move away from just standing up and aborting this whole mission, leaving in defeat. But there is still your pride. And the fact that seat stealer is now no longer watching you but looking at his phone. If you weren’t so sure he is trying to fuck with you... But what alternative is there? At home there is no AC, which would slowly kill you. Finding another seat after the whole stand you just took would undermine your fragile credibility.

And even though you don’t know this guy, loosing this charade with him is not an option. So, you do what any introvert does – detach from the social situation.

Opening your laptop, a dozen new notifications pop up and you are pleasantly surprised that even tough real life is surreal right now, your online community is reliable. You take your time responding to the asks about your next updates and the few chat messages you received since last night. Then you post a text on your tumblr:

gonna finish new chapter as soon as seat stealer lets me exist in peace

Not even a minute later your phone vibrates. You feel curious eyes on you while reading Seugil’s message.

[seugil 10:04 am] somebody dared to sit on your seat? [y/n 10:04 am] somebody has reception while camping? [seugil 10:04 am] somebody tries to change the subject? [y/n 10:05 am] there is not much of a subj. guy was on my seat, guy moved to the seat next to mine, guy is annoying. [seugil 10:05 am] guy is cute? [y/n 10:06 am] guy is cute.

You try to breathe normal. This you can manage. Even if his presence is unwanted and quite frankly rude, you’ll just do what you always do.

“You’re sitting in a library full of books.” Cute boy is definitely not low-maintenance.

“Yes”, you curtly nod, not even looking up from the screen.

“Yet, you read on your computer?” You can feel his eyes on you and turn around. Sure enough there he is – facing you, leaned back, right arm causal swung over the armrest, the whole body angled towards you.

“Rich coming from you, seat stealer.”, you bark and point accusingly at his mobile device resting in plain sight.

“Well, I am here against my will, so…”, he answers and causes you to pause. So, you were right – the boy doesn’t fit in here, and he doesn’t want to. Curiosity wells up, so you try to suppress it, but it’s no use. Who are you kidding? You are interested.

“Who forces you to spend your time in a well-tempered room, surrounded by written knowledge and people who understand the concept of giving you space?” The end sounds like an accusation emphasized by your widened eyes mapping out the sheer nonexistent distance between you two. Cute boy, who just chuckles in response, leans forward to answer your original question, simply skipping your critique.

“Failed my finals, so I have to take them again during break.” So cute boy is dumb, what a waste of perfect appearance. You don’t judge people on things they can’t change. But sitting in a library to study for a test you failed and then only being on your phone? Self-fulfilling prophecy of getting fucked. Seat stealer seems to read your facial expression like an open book – hard to believe given his aversion to print.

“I tried to help my neighbor, got caught, teacher thought it was me cheating, took my test away –“

“-and your summer.”, you finish for him, nodding and believing him. Maybe you want to think of him as a smart person, or maybe his eyes tell you that he wouldn’t lie to a stranger about such a thing.

“No, my mother stole my summer, when she personally drove me here this morning to quote work my ass off unquote”, he corrects me and uses air quotes as well as an unbelievable high-pitched voice to mimic his mother. You really like that he uses “unquote” as well, not many people do.

“So, you didn’t tell her that you actually don’t need to study?”

“I tried”, a huff emphasizes his frustration, “but she won’t believe me.”

Parents who don’t listen suck. But you think that it’s a good preparation for adult life. No adult trusts another adult.

“Sooo-“, you motion towards his cell, “you’ll just bid your time?”

“I wouldn’t call being on level 54 of Candy Crush bidding my time.”

“That, my friend, is the definition of bidding one’s time.”, you chuckle, and he joins you.

“Huh, friend? You don’t even know my name, Y/N.”, he says, mocking you and-… using your name? What the hell? Your confusion must again be readable, because seat stealer answers your unspoken question.

“Your hard case.” The explanation is accompanied by a demonstrative tap on your laptop. Ah, your name tag Y/N’s property – touch and die, a birthday present from Seugil.

Now you don’t know what to say. Should you ask for his name? What added value has this information? There isn’t a single scenario, where his name would be important to you in the future – well no plausible scenario. He could have just offered you his name, but he teases you with it. That’s why Seugil wants you to go out more. Your social skills are underdeveloped at best. So, you just stare at him and blush a bit, because he does the same. After a minute, what feels like eternity, you have enough and just break the contact, focusing once again on your laptop. You feel foolish for even engaging in this banter in the first place.

“Taeyong” It is spoken minutes after your failed attempt to get back to reading and his soft voice holds a hint of an apology. You don’t turn your head again, not ready to face cute boy again so soon after your defeat.

Taeyong – it fits. You can’t wait till you can call him by his name.

Your opportunity arrives two hours later. You have really tried to finish this chapter, but his presence is distracting at best, sabotaging at worst. Although he does go back to his phone after waiting some time to get a reaction out of you from revealing his name.

Again, what the fudge were you suppose to say? Thanking him for telling you? Agreeing with him? What is the protocol when someone whispers his name to you? This is so bizarre, there isn’t even a Wikipedia article for that type of situation – you know, you checked!

But now your battery is running low and the adapter is in your locker with your lunch, which you could use right now. The clock is just shy away from one and your stomach demands food. Normally you would eat in here. At one the receptionist takes her break and smokes behind the garbage cans, which you can see from your seat. So, you can do the forbidden, eat in the reading room.

But now he is here, making everything so much more difficult. Reluctantly you turn in your seat to face him.

“Uhm- Taeyong?”, you start and test out his name. It sounds nice, a bit soft at the end, but with a strong start. You approve.

“Yes, Y/N?”, he answers emphasizing your name as well. He locks his screen, giving you his full attention.

“I’d like to eat lunch now so-“

“Thank god! I really tried being patient, giving you space, yada, yada, yada, but I am starving!”, he groans in relief and stands up from his seat. What is happening? He couldn’t possibly think?

“You coming, Y/N?” Taeyong is steps ahead of you, around your table and you just stare, dumbfounded.

“But..but my laptop?”, you stutter and look at him helplessly and totally overwhelmed. You just wanted him to look after your laptop while you eat outdoors in peace.

“Just put it in your locker.”, he answers nonchalantly and motions for you to get up. What is seat stealer doing with your perfectly planned day? Destroying it, that he does! You stand up, defeated and hungry, and follow him.

“So, you are telling me you’ve never watched Star Wars?” Taayong speaks with his mouth half full, which should be a deal breaker, weirdly enough isn’t. You both are sitting on the grass, even though your white dress is crying its fabric soul out. He is munching on a sandwich, that you are 99,9% sure is a work of his mum. Your own cuscus salad is delicious, and you are glad you spend the extra hour in the kitchen yesterday.

“No, I said quote I’ve never watched the newer ones unquote. Luke, Leia and Han?” a dramatic pause follows, “That, Taeyong, is Star Wars.”

He just shakes his head, looking at you like you’re some foreign entity, ready to fight the humans to death.

“I don’t disagree with you,” Oh it sure feels like it, “But what about Anakin, Padme and Jar Jar Binks? That’s Star Wars as well!” He is getting more animated as he continues, “You can’t just exclude parts of history, just because they aren’t up to your standards!!”, his arms are flailing comically, making his biceps far too present for your liking. This boy sure is beautiful, and wrong.

“I’m the consumer, I make the decisions!”, you proclaim and put a big spoon of your salad in your mouth, chewing contently.

Taeyong’s personality is like a warm winter day – surprising and welcoming. He isn’t as teasing and forceful as you’d predict from your first meeting. His smile is easy, and his mind is fascinating. Even though his appearance, and his confidence of it, makes you sometimes swallow in silence. But the last hour the both of you ate and talked, an easy banter surrounding you. You’d never imagined being comfortable enough to eat next to a strange guy.

Taeyong, however, is such a force without trying, making every sheer obscure decision seem like a no-brainer. Letting your laptop in your locker? Sure. Eating on the grass while wearing white? What are washing machines there for? Watching a prequel that is objectively bad? How else would Georg Lucas financially survive?

“What do you like to do, when you’re not demolishing cinematic classics, Y/N?”, Taeyong asks after a while to end the silence.

You shrug. “Nothing much.”

“You like to read, right?”, he probes, trying to get a more sufficient answer. Well, wrong counterpart, seat stealer.

“It’s effortless and fun.”, you answer packing up your lunch box, signaling the end of this break. Sure, talking to Taeyong is exciting and refreshing. Talking about you makes you feel uneasy, like you are not enough of a subject to talk about.

“I like to swim.”, he says switching gear, not even contemplating packing up his sad remains of a sandwich. You look at his body, which is perfectly build for this sport. His shoulders are broad, his biceps defined. Taeyong is tall in general, his hands being extremly big.

“Isn’t the chlorine bad for your dye?”, you ask slightly judgmental about the red fire on his head. He groans flipping onto his back stretching his whole body on the lawn. His shirt rides up with the motion, revealing a tiny trail of hair, peaking out of his swim trunks. Oh my, you quickly look away, but the thoughts of where this trail leads stay with you and color your cheeks in a rosé blush.

“Don’t remind me.” His hands are in his hair, gripping it tightly. It seems like he is trying to rip it out. “I cannot believe I lost this bet.”, Taeyong adds and looks up at you. Ok, now you are judging hard.

“You dyed your hair because of a bet?”

“I was so sure I’d beat this guy at our last competition before summer break.”, he explains and continues telling you about his perfect swim record, slightly bragging, that it was a no-brainer to win the swim meet. That he absolutely would have, if it weren’t for his googles shifted in an awkward position, leaving him disoriented and his eyes irritated.

“So, the guy who won doesn’t like you very much.”, you conclude.

“Why would you say that?”, Taeyong asks and raises himself up, propping on his elbows.

“Because he chose that color.” The explanation is met with a lopsided grin.

“Nah, Tail is my best friend.” Who needs enemies when you have best friends like that?

“You don’t like it?”, Taeyong asks as he stands up, holding a hand out for you to take. Like so many other things you did today, this again feels easy. You put your hand in his warm palm and he pulls you up in one swift move. Taeyong doesn’t release your hand. He just puts yours into his hair. Who does that?

“Isn’t it soft?” This guy knows no boundaries.

[y/n 03:41 pm] this guy knows no boundaries [seugil 03:45 pm] cute guy is still there? lmfao [y/n 03:45 pm] he put my hand in his hair!! [seugil 03:50 pm] …seat stealer has guts [seugil 03:51 pm] how did it feel? [y/n 03:51 pm] burned like fire [seugil 03:54 pm] ? [seugil 03:54 pm] ? [seugil 03:54 pm] ? [seugil 03:55 pm] ? [seugil 03:55 pm] Y/N!! [y/n 03:55 pm] chill – his hair is flaming red, it’s a metaphor [seugil 03:58 pm] know only 1 boi with flames, snap a pic y/n [y/n 03:58 pm] after u lower me in my grave [seugil 03:58 pm] Y/N [seugil 03:58 pm] Y/N [seugil 03:59 pm] Y/N [seugil 03:59 pm] Y/N [y/n has sent a picture 04:20 pm]

“Did… did you just snap a picture of me?” He sounds incredulous and your blush automatically appears. Damn, damn, damn. With shyness you face him. His eyes are slightly narrowed, and you can’t make out if he’s mad or just impressed.

“No?” More a question than an answer, because you did exactly that. He leans over coming dangerously close.

After lunch you grabbed your adapter and the both of you sat at your prior seats. For the next hour both of you presented millennials at their best, you on your computer, him on his phone. But then Seugil had to be a pain. So, you awkwardly tried your luck. However your paparazzi skills are mediocre at best. Of course he’d noticed. In which universe does such a thing actually work?

“No?”, Taeyong repeats. Now he just sounds impressed by your blunt lie. You shake your head, too deep in this mess to come out unembarrassed.

His face is close, and you can again smell the fresh grass on his skin. The lunch break gave him a slight simmer, making this boy look seriously delicious.

“Let’s make a deal.”, he starts and points to your phone.

“Send me the picture,” over your dead body, “and I’ll never ask why you took it.”

Never? “You’ll never mention it?”, you ask with suspicion in your voice. Taeyong nods. “What it?”

“What’s your number?” He patiently dictates it and you save his contact, sending him the picture without a comment. Seugil’s reply pops up and you feel strangely defeated.

[seugil 04:24 pm] TY-TRACK TAEYONG!! omg omg call me asap when home!!

So, she knows your seat stealer. Taeyong told you that he lives in the city right next to yours. Therefore, the chances of your best friend knowing him were big – Seugil had dated Mark, presumably from the same school – last year. But you had somehow hoped that this seat stealer was yours. Now you are at a disadvantage again.

[Taeyong 04:25 pm] I look like the hottest man in the library

That day will end with an aneurism.

It didn’t. It ended with you leaving soon after the phone debacle with one contact more on your SD card, cute-boy-exposure for more than six hours, enough blushing to permanently damage your skin and a phone call with Seugil. So, Taeyong was not lying – he is wildly known for his swim talent. His gift to effortlessly flirt is legendary, especially given the fact that he never has a steady girlfriend. Not even a parade of flings. Either he silences them with an enchantment or this boy is all talks, no play. But just imagining it, you don’t think the second option is very possible. And it irks you how much that fact sours your mood when you try to go to sleep that night. There is no way in hell you’ll see this guy again. But even when you think that, somehow you know this is a lie. And you’re glad.

“You are really testing me, seat stealer.”, your stern voice is contradicted by your small smile.

But Taeyong moves over in one swift move, taking with him the almost empty cup of iced coffee.

“Just saving you your seat.”

You just shake your head and take your place right next to him. Today he wears a pastel green button-down shirt and jean shorts, hiding his red hair under a black cap. He looks like sin and it irks you how impressed you are and how your heart flutters uncomfortably.

“Yeah, because there are so many seat stealers waiting to make my summer miserable.”, you respond under your breath while firing up your laptop.

The next half hour is spent in silence. Taeyong is on his phone, while you are catching up on the last fanfiction updates. After years of reading and writing smut, you kind of got used to not reacting to fandom fluff in public. But still it feels exciting to read about cockwarming so dangerously close to him.

Just his presence makes your summer much more exciting, even though you would never admit it out loud. For the first time ever, you feel uncomfortable in a good way. Like you could actually manage to sit next to a ten and occasionally talk to it. You hear Taeyong’s moan before you feel his head drop on your shoulder. Your body reacts before your brain does and you title your head towards his. A few inches are separating your lips and you can't breathe.

"Look Y/N! Look at my friends enjoying themselves while I’m a slave of my own misery!", he proclaims and shoves his screen in your face.

There are five guys cramped together into one selfie. All of them with bare chests and shit eating grins. Two of them are holding suspicious bottles in their hands, while one of the guys is concentrating hard on the watermelon slice in his hand. The beach in the background is very familiar and you just continue to stare at the picture. The other option would be Taeyong’s lips. And your body isn't ready for that.

It’s the fifth day in a row this boy has graced your normal, slightly boring, day with his presents. You can officially say, that there is a crush building. And by official you mean that you are sure your intense blushing, the awkward silences after his flirty remarks and your hard to repress heart-eyes whenever he talks about something passionately, are a clear indicator for outsiders. And Taeyong. But he doesn’t tease you much. He talks to you, sometimes brushing his hand against yours, or like now, resting his head on you. This guy sure has some boundary issues and somehow, it’s not driving you away from him. No, you feel yourself moving forward.

Taeyong is a fixpoint for the next weeks, filling in for your best friend, who is still camping in the wilderness. You get to know the cute boy with an ego like Zeus, making it harder to disregard your crush on him. Now you’re again taking a break in the little garden of the library. The sun is hitting your skin hard today. Taeyong’s head is rested in your lap, his phone covering his face, while you lean against an old tree to block the sunshine. Like him, your cell is in front of you, as you see the invite.

[Mark Lee invited you to bonfire party this Friday] accept or decline?

Huh, you aren’t really that tight with Seugil’s ex, but you try not to scare people away that really try to make an effort. And they both parted on good terms, Seugil still sometimes going out to his parties, him sporadically joining our movie nights. This invitation though surprises you. He knows Seugil isn’t here, why asking you to come?

[seugil 02:32 pm] GO! [y/n 02:32 pm] are you stalking me on fb?? [seugil 02:33 pm] stalking, raising, loving – all the same! [y/n 02:33 pm] how boring is camp with fam? [seugil 02:33 pm] unbelievable [seugil 02:33 pm] go to the party [y/n 02:33 pm] why? [seugil 02:34 pm] u deserve to have fun [y/n 02:34 pm] and being alone @ a party is fun? [seugil 02:34 pm] sure seat stealer will be there [y/n 02:35 pm] not good enough

But then you look down and see Taeyong’s eyes. His phone is thrown away and his smile is directed at you. Warmth spreads around your body. Maybe good enough?

“I can just see your inner crisis not being able to claim a seat.”, a very familiar voice chips in your ear and there is an instant blush covering your hot cheeks.

So Taeyong is here. You slowly turn around and there he stands shirtlessly trying to kill your fragile heart. This crush is getting ridiculous. And this guy is just too damn attractive for his and your own good. Taeyong is wearing the same black swim trunks you first saw him in and nothing else. You can see his defined abs. It's no bodybuilder level, but just enough muscle to get your muscle clenched.

His sun kissed skin has a light glister and makes him shine. Taeyong looks like he stepped out of a beachwear ad. You are now just blankly starring at him, but not in the eyes like a normal person. No, your stare is directed at his stomach, then his arms, the lanky bicep and then his fully displayed collarbones. His long neck looks so bitable, you start to chew on your lower lip out of reflex. Then your view moves to his face, where you're met with a teasing smile.

“I'll-... manage.”, you chough out and shield your arms around your midriff. The black strappy summer dress you chose is hugging your figure a bit more than you'd normally tolerate, but summer is ending and you were 80% sure that you’d meet seat stealer here and you wanted to impress him.

“Let's get you a drink and me a refill, shall we?”, he answers and wows his index finger into the right shoulder strap of your dress tugging you lightly into the direction of the keg. Drinking with seat stealer isn’t exactly playing it safe. Not when you have this immense crush on him. And not when he so knows this.

Taeyong sees the hesitation on your face and cocks his head to the side.

“Or... we could discuss why you were just now shamelessly ogling me?”

“Lead the way.”

You see the victory in his smile as he moves his hand away from your shoulder and places it on your back. After all those weeks of physical contact with him, you're still surprised how much his touch does to you. Your heart is pounding fast as he leads you to the table, accompanied by bystanders curiously following the pair of you with their hushed gossip. Self-consciousness creeps up your bones. Do they think we are a couple? Are they judging you for even trying with someone like him? You avert your gaze and focus on the sand at your feet. It's less harmful to your insecurity. Sand doesn't judge you.

“You drink beer, right?” You just nod your head and he gives you a funny look.

“Why so quiet, library girl?”, he asks and fills your cups, placing one of them in your clammy hands. Before you can think of a snarky remark, that won't give away your fragile feelings while still getting him to shut up, you hear his name being called.

“Yo Tae, come back here!”

You turn around and spot a small group of guys sitting in a circle. The bonfire is not far away from them, but just far enough to give the boys an exclusive air around them. All the other guests, that are not swimming or dancing to the summer hits being jammed out of some boxes, are huddled around the big fire, lazily talking in soft voices.

“Thanks for getting me a drink, I'll just go and find my frie-”

“And bring Y/N with you!”, a familiar voice adds, and your eyes widen in shock. Mark? Just your luck, that the only other person you know is evidently a friend of Taeyong. Of course. More people stare at you and follow this exchange curiously. How embarrassing. Taeyong’s friends have the situation reading skills of a seagull.

“Come on, meet my friends, Y/N. Don't make me beg.”, he says and because you don't want to be the center of attention any longer, you crave.

“The guy with the silver hair is Ten, he's sitting next to Mark, who you seem to already know.”, Taeyong starts to murmur in your ear. His skin smells like grass again and it makes your mouth water.

“Lucas is the one closest to the chips – a deliberate choice. I have never seen a human eat so much. WinWin is leaning against him. He can't hold is liquor very well and we've been here since seven.”, he continues as you arrive at the circle.

There is an empty spot, presumably Taeyong's space. It's between WinWin and Ten and it's small. Before you can start your mental breakdown over this, seat stealer intervenes.

“Make room jackasses and let the lady have a seat. She sure likes her seats.” The last part is whispered just for your ears and you feel a shiver running down your spine.

You sit down as gracefully as possible with a drink in hand, wearing a dress and standing on sand. Taeyong follows swiftly, positioning himself dangerously close to you. His shoulder is touching yours and you can feel the warmth of his skin. Trying to control yourself, you take a big swing out of your red cup, wincing at the bitter taste of warm beer.

“I’m so glad you could make it, Y/N.”, Mark begins and winks in your direction.

Mark has always been easygoing, a jock without the teasing layer of bullying unpopular kids. When Seugil dated him last year, it was truly a miracle how well you fitted into their couple activities. They wanted to ride rollercoasters till they had to vomit? You were waiting for them, eating pinkish cotton floss, until you had to vomit. A boat trip? Count your single ass in with a thick book and enough sunscreen to give you a ghostish aura. Maybe your compatibility with the pair was the first sign, that although Mark and Seugil liked each other, they didn’t have the spark making your presence disruptive.

“I haven’t seen you all summer.”, he continues while stealing a chip out of Lucas’ hand, earning a slap in return. All the other boys are looking at you curiously, making you realize that you haven’t said a single word since joining them. You cough shily and respond with caution in your eyes.

“You know me, outdoors isn’t my preferred setting.” “So you’re saying Y/N”, Taeyong starts a lopsided smile dangling close to your face, “your preferred setting is indoors with me?”

“Let’s say indoors, and you are an acceptable disadvantage.”, you answer, bringing the beer to your lips to get some much-needed distance from this boy. You hear a few oh burn from the guys and stare at Taeyong. To hold eye contact with him makes you tingle, the brown of his eyes so deep, you never want to stop staring. The air hums between your bodies, leaving you excited and your heart feeling alive.

“So, you’re library girl?”, WinWin asks and breaks the tension, takes a sip of his own drink while looking curiously at you.

Taeyong talks about you? To his friends? And he uses your nickname? Why? And more importantly, what does he talk to them about? Your crude – antisocial – behavior? Or the way your shoulders keep brushing against each other every time you show him a meme on your computer? Or your tendency to fall silent every time you feel too uncomfortable? Or how he shares his headphones with you, when you just have to listen to the new album of his favorite artist? Or the fact that you have a giant crush on him, which is basically written on your forehead with waterproof sharpie?

“I am?” The answer sounds more like a question, doubt clouding your voice as you look around the circle of his friends. WinWin seems to love your response, clapping his hands together. Clearly excited and clearly just as drunk as Taeyong said, because this boy forgot he holds the cup of beer in his hands, accidentally showering you in warm alcohol. You shrike, closing the distance to your seat stealer to avoid getting more liquid on your dress. Taeyong’s arm comes around you and he tries to twist you into his body, shielding you from the unwanted alcoholic shower. The smell of grass is insane this close to him, your nose stroking his collarbone, breathing in deeply as his upper body shakes with silent chuckle.

“What the hell man?”, he accuses his friend, his voice sounds muffled through your human cocoon.

“Sorr-… sorry. Damn.”, you hear WinWin trying to get up, “I’m just excited to meet the girl keeping you from us this whole summer.”

His words are slurred and laced heavily with alcohol, but you can understand the sentence clear as day. It just doesn’t make sense. You keeping him away? He has to be at the library, because of his failed finals. His mum, not you, forces him to be there every day. Is WinWin that drunk? But as the words leave his lips, your self-proclaimed shield, one second chuckling, goes stiff. You can hear the faint sound of the bonfire crackle behind you, but Taeyong is silent, suspiciously so. Your cheeks heat up, because there is obviously some inside knowledge you’re not prior to.

You peek at Taeyong, just seeing his pointy chin, so you squirm yourself out from under this boy to look him in the eyes. But his arms are stonily holding you in position, direct at his chest, his biceps more like steel bars than flesh.

“We’ll go clean up.”, he says curtly, standing with you in his arms, effortlessly lifting you up in one swift move.

“You’re not even dirty.”, Ten laughs while Taeyong takes long strikes away from his friends, putting growing distance between you and their drunken laughter. You sneak a last glance at them, seeing Mark’s grin, WinWin’s hand on your abandoned beer, Lucas’ face in the chips bag. They don’t care a bit that Taeyong basically manhandled you, half carrying you, half letting you hobble along with his long legs.

You try to scramble your thoughts into an order, which doesn’t sound insane. What the hell just happened? You are heading to the dark water in front of you, totally deserted from the few swimmers earlier. The waves crash against your bare feet and you shrike at the cold water touching your skin. He wouldn’t. No. He wouldn’t dare.

“Take your dress of, Y/N.”, he says, some laughter coming back into his voice while he snaps one of your shoulder straps away with his finger. This was a beach party. Of course you have a swimsuit under your dress. But this was an alibi choice, a deliberate decision to not look too out of place, while still never even considering to actually go for a swim. But you never imagined going to a party without your best friend, or sitting next to seat stealer and his friends, or how good his body felt pressed against you, and how alive you feel with his hand on your shoulder.

So, you take a leap as the both of you continue going into the water. The cold wet is already up to your knee, as you try to stop your feet from moving. You plant them into the sand and Taeyong does magically halt, looking at you, searching your face.

“You don’t have to.”, he breathes gloomily, taking his hand from your shoulder. You must be insane, but that he actually gives you the option to back out of whatever this is, makes you adventurous, as your fingers grab the hem of your black dress, pulling it over you head in one single motion.

Now you are standing in front of your crush in a dark red one-piece suit, which modestly covers most of your body. With shaking hands, because the water is freaking cold, not because you’re just the bravest you’d ever been, you wad the piece of clothing into a ball, giving it to a stunned Taeyong.

“Let’s not even pretend I can throw that far.”, you joke, your voice abnormal high due to the anxiety cursing through your veins. The only answer from your crush is a single toss, sending the item safely onto dry sand. So, at least something is safe in this scenario.

Taeyong’s eyes burn into your skin as the both of you slowly begin your ascend through the deep water. The ocean soon closes in around your bodies, making you less self-conscious about your appearance. Taeyong leads, his back against the open sea, with his front never leaving your sight. Cold fingers dance hesitantly around your clothed waist as he stops, water just covering your hard nipples.

Before he can speak or do anything to silence you, you try to make sense of WinWin’s comment, the remark still fresh in your memory.

“When is your make-up exam?”, you ask with a heavy layer of accusation. Somehow knowing the answer, before Taeyong confirms your suspicion.

“Two weeks ago.”

“Why?”, you whisper, while his hands now rest confidently on your waist.

“Because I like you, library girl.”, he confesses and closes the distance between your bodies.

“How much?”, you whisper and let your fingers hold onto his biceps for support.

“That much that I spend the last two weeks in a library.”, he chuckles confidently and leans down, letting his nose bump into yours.

His breath is visible due to the cold evening air and you stare at his lips, now in plain view. How many times had you dreamt about this? Him? Like that? Before the moment vanishes, Taeyongs lips drive onto yours.

They are warm and soft and fit perfectly on yours. Your mouth matches his intensity, as you feel his tongue tracing your bottom lip. With a soft whimper you let him in. His arms are around moving from your waist to your cheeks. Taeyong’s wet hands frame your face and title your head back.

Your bodies are pressed together, and your tongues explore each other in a heated banter. He tastes like beer and honey and you try to get closer to him. He moans, feeling your breast flushed against his bare chest.

No more distance, you think and touch every inch of skin. Your fingers brush against his abs, mapping out the muscles and earning a deep growl from him. In a flash his hands are no longer on your face. Now they are firmly on your butt cheeks. You yelp in surprise as he lifts you up, guiding your legs around his waist.

The air is leaving you as you get drunk on this kiss, warmth arising in your core. Tayeong lets go of your mouth and moves his lips downwards to your neck, lightly sucking on your wet skin.

“How?”, you whimper, your brain no longer capable of the syntax.

“How what?”, Taeyong murmurs into your neck, never letting his lips leave your body.

“H- how can this feel so good?”, your voice is strained from a tension you have never felt before. Automatically you start to roll your hips and hope it will relieve this strain in your lower body.

“How can it no-… Y/N,” Taeyong’s groans, “you trying to unman me?”

His hands try to still your motions, but then he snaps, buckling into you.

“Ah”, breathlessly you encourage him. This is fast. This is not playing it safe. Your lips are on his and you try to consume him. Taeyong’s hands move from your butt to your hips, assisting your hips and fastening their speed. It feels like the water is boiling as one hand reaches between you two. He uses two fingers and lays them directly against your clit.

“Ahh” Too much pressure, just enough, never enough.

“P-pplease.”, you beg. “Shit”, he starts to move them in sloppy circles. You continue to grind against him, now feeling a hard length press against your slit. The moan out of your seat stealer’s lips sounds desperate as you rub against him. It feels so good, even through his trunks can you feel his cock twitch and it makes you so hot, you’re certain the water around you is boiling.

“Never stop”, you whisper and find a rhythm. The tension continues to build. “You feel so good wrapped around me” His words are spoken against your mouth, trailing wet kisses across your jaw, finding their purpose on your collarbone. Taeyong’s fingers move the fabric of your swimsuit away to touch your clit without any barrier. You flex your legs instantly, overwhelmed by the electric current running through your body, making your skin tingle.

Then his teeth sink in your neck at the same time his index finger moves between your folds. All thought is lost as you scream silently buckling franticly against him. You see light flash behind your eyelids as an orgasm rips through you. Never had your own fingers managed to give you this high. Your hips draw lazy circle around his length as you are trying to regain control.

“Wow”, you breathe, and your hands roam around Taeyong’s upper body, who still lightly nibbles on your collarbone. He chuckles against your wet skin.

“How you feeling, Y/N?”, he asks and moves his hand away from your heat, up to cradle your cheek. You look into Taeyong’s eyes and see a fondness in them, that shines through the darkness of this night. He looks as smitten as you feel. But at the same time there is a hunger in his stare that reminds you of his hard erection still pressed into your lower body. Now your shyness comes out in full force. What to do? What to say? Everything up to this point felt as natural as breathing, now you’re again overwhelmed, and your mushed, orgasm-high brain is no help either.

“You want me to..?”, you question and try to sound seductive, your hand vaguely motioning to his crotch underwater. Taeyong just shakes his head, letting small waterdrops rain from his wet red hair. Before you can feel rejected, he kisses you openmouthed, making you forget the slight pain of the mark on your neck.

“Please, if I don’t get my first handjob from you in the reading room of our library, my dirty fantasies would never forgive me.”, he answers warming your heart more than his gifted orgasm beforehand.

[seugil 11:38 pm] Y/N WHY ARE YOU WET ON EVERY SINGLY TAGGED PIC OF THIS PARTY?? [seugil 11:38 pm] AND WHAT IS THAT ON YOUR NECK? [y/n 11:42 pm] anD WhAt iS tHaT oN yOuR nEcK?

[fly-pow-bye]

Powerpuff Girls 2016 - “Drama Bomb”

Written by: Haley Mancini

Written & Storyboarded by: Alicia Chan, John West

Directed by: Nick Jennings, Bob Boyle

More drama for your mamas...and daughters.

The episode begins with the beginning of a school play based on the food pyramid from the 90's, with everyone dressed up as a food item. Not only do we see the return of Robin Snyder in a sort of voiced role, though we never quite get to hear just her voice, we get to see all of our favorite students. And by favorite students, I mean just Barry. Go, Barry, you spinning bowl of chicken noodle soup, you.

Unfortunately, the kid's talents are not showing here, as they're all painfully off-key. Even the last episode that focused on play's idea of Blossom and Jared being the main stars of Townsville Elementary's drama class has seemingly been thrown out, as at least Blossom gets an intentionally bad singing voice as well. Instead, it's Bubbles that's the big star, as she gets to properly sing the big ending song about how treats are good when they're part of a...something. She couldn't figure out the last word in her song, much to the joy of the drama teacher.

A Star Is Blossom still has to be canon, because this episode also features Ms. Moss, the drama teacher that just can't believe she's working with such children. The joke, of course, being that these children are, in fact, children. At least, most of them are obviously children, at least one of them are pretty questionable.

She at least has a good reason for this sudden bout of perfectionism: the stakes have changed. After Buttercup, who is in the play as a T-Bone steak, does the obvious joke with that, she reveals that Citysville's greatest playwrite is coming to this elementary school, and if this play was good, they could go on tour with this amazing play about fruit!

We cut right from the failed rehearsals to the final version of the play, which is, according to a sign gag and not anything in the play itself, The Five Food Groups: A Hero's Journey. Even after watching this episode several times, I'm not sure what the "A Hero's Journey" is supposed to signify. I would guess it's supposed to refer to this plot about the Tomato, played by everyone's favorite brick, in his journey to identify whether he is a fruit or a vegetable, but where does Bubbles' song fit in all of this?

Then again, it's more likely one couldn't even make out what these kids are singing, as they're off-key and can't seem to sing in-time either. Of course, this is all intentional, but it's still bad enough to be hard to listen to. Ms. Moss hopes that Belle Lakes wouldn't notice, maybe possibly giving her a slight break since these are just elementary school students.

That's not the case, as she's bored watching this drivel. Finally, a character I can relate to. But hey, at least that lady right next to her is loving it! Also loving it is good ol' Sitcom Dad, who is taking pictures with this smartphone. You'd think someone who is bad at computers would use some sort of old-timey camera. Good thing the Professor shouldn't fit that description!

This reception doesn't please Ms. Moss at all. If she doesn't do anything quickly, this performance will bomb! That last word gives her an idea.

Ms. Moss continues her affinity with using mystic objects from mystic sources, though this item is a little less fantastic than the play that summons butch viking women. In this case, it's a Drama Bomb that was given to her after she graduated at an academy for master thespians, which, for some unexplained reason, is made up entirely of people in cloaks. When this bomb explodes, it makes anyone caught in the blast 10 times more dramatic!

She happens to have this bomb in a glass case that says "In Case Of Lack of Talent", and I'd say that should have been broken 114 times by now. She calls for a brief intermission, gathering all the students, and then throwing the bomb at them. Covering everything in pink glitter, the bomb's effects appear to be negligible...at least, for a few seconds.

Buttercup: Ugh, what was that?

Blossom: I don't know...it's...

Blossom and Buttercup: Magical!

Ms. Moss quickly comes in to say this is all brilliant, and tells them to go to their places with a really ugly zoom-in to her mouth. No real explanation other than "see, Ms. Moss is cuckoo!", I'm not going to show it, and you're welcome.

Thanks to the power of that Drama Bomb, that opening song from before turns into a big, artsy, and dramatic song in the style of the Cell Block Tango scene from Chicago. The unique coloring, the similar style of the song, and it even goes right down to how the food items in the pyramid looks like they're in jail cells. Honestly, I actually like this choice in visuals.

As for the audio, it's interesting to say the least, if not that memorable or catchy. It's still the same voice actors and voice actresses singing the songs here. I was 100% thinking they were going to pull out some actual singer to dub in for these characters, but it's just the regular actors actually trying to sound good. Less ideal, but less awkward than the alternative.

There is this shot with Blossom and you-know-who embracing that's just randomly in there, even though thankfully this is not a play where Blossom and Jared are the love interests. At least, as far as the viewers can tell, anyway. It does make sense in the play, since it's either two vegetables or a fruit and a vegetable, but I cannot forget all of that baggage from those fantasy scenes from Season 1 and 2.

Belle Lakes starts to get overjoyed at this. That lady right next to her is also still liking this, though the lack of change in her expression is worrying me. And, of course, Sitcom Dad is still sneaking around, taking smartphone pictures. Now that they're supposedly talented now, there's not even a joke here other than the Sitcom Dad creeping out that one guy. I wouldn't blame him.

Blossom and Buttercup are confused, as they can't help themselves but dramatically enter rooms, make dramatic poses, and speak with dramatic lines. Well, Buttercup is just dabbing and speaking as if Bart Simpson got an even worse cold than usual, but I can see what she's trying to do. At least Blossom's Shakespeare-esque lines are fitting here, and she says them relatively well.

Suddenly, the cellphone hotline rings, and Blossom asks what evil besieges the poor Mayor, and...

...it turns out that this episode features Discount Jojo as the villain again, stealing the dome from Town Hall as a decoration! I would say that this continues a streak with episodes with main villains voiced by Roger L. Jackson, but Ms. Moss is a far bigger threat here.

The Puffs attempt to leave, only to be stopped by the power of the Drama Bomb. As Ms. Moss explains, the show must go on, who cares if Townsville becomes a burning crater in the ground. She doesn't exactly say that last line, but she might as well say it.

They don't really turn Discount Jojo's crime spree into a B-plot. We just get this one scene where Jojo is so confused that, no matter how many crimes he makes and how long he makes his laughter, the Powerpuff Girls aren't stopping him. I guess I could see some humor in how Jojo is worried that the usual rhythm of things just isn't happening, it reminds me of that scene from that one episode of Batman: The Animated Series.

Joker: Without Batman, crime has no punchline.

It was done far better there, but I'm not going to hate on the reboot for not living up to those impossibly high standards. No dramatic lines from Jojo here, as much as it would be oddly fitting for this episode, but he does ask what could possibly be so vital that it would prevent the Powerpuff Girls from giving him a slideshow beatdown?

This at least decently transitions to the scene where Blossom dramatically exclaims that it's vital to know if the tomato is a vegetable or not, and even the Tomato does not know. By the way, if you're wondering where the Chicago styling is here, they pretty much forget about it beyond that one scene.

Also pretty much gone is any semblance of a followable plot in this play. I'm not expecting anything Shakespearean to show up in this reboot with or without that Drama Bomb, but there's no real connection between this tomato plot and Bubbles' final song.

Speaking of which, Bubbles is still moping that she can't figure out what that last word in the song is. This scene comes up way too often; it feels more like filler. I could at least appreciate them being over-dramatic, but other than that, it's just "waaah, I can't figure out my liiiines!"

In the end, they say they will do it together...as a whole! This word actually ends up being that word Bubbles was supposed to rhyme with "bowl". I mean, what else could it be? Treats are better than eating coal? You got to pay the troll toll? This show needs some quality control? Would have went with that one.

Essentially singing the same song as her attempt at the end song from the rehearsal scene from the beginning, since it was the only relatively good thing about it, I guess, she finally nails the end song with the help of her sisters. Belle really loved this play, and the uphill rollercoaster with Sitcom Dad still keeps going up without any real conclusion. What does conclude is the spell from the Drama Bomb, signified with some sparkles. The Powerpuff Girls are glad that they're finally free.

However, in the end, Ms. Moss learned absolutely nothing, as she promises to use a drama bomb on every play on this day forward, and then rolls out of the room. How she's going to get more of them will never be explained. The Powerpuff Girls seemingly pay it no mind that future plays might indirectly cause the destruction of Townsville, and decide, now that the show has ended, to finally take on Discount Jojo.

This isn't a bad way to end this episode. Such a old-school beating, not only does it end with a bruised Discount, it even comes with the classic line:

Blossom: Not so fast, Mojo Jojo!

If it actually had Bubbles and Buttercup saying Mojo and Jojo respectively, it would have been perfect, but I shouldn’t compare this show to that show’s impossibly high-to-this-show standards, either. The episode ends with a line that fits in with the rest of the episode, which is more than what I could say about some episodes.

Bubbles: And...scene!

I would have preferred a dramatic line read from Tom Kenny and hearts, but alas.

Does the title fit?

Name of the object, though it does cause drama in pretty much any way I can think of.

How does it stack up?

I'm a little in the middle with this episode. There isn’t much to the episode beyond some dramatic line reads, some better than others. However, it has some nice shots, and the songs, the ones that aren't meant to be terrible, are at least passable. It’s watchable, but I wouldn’t lie and say that yawning playwrite didn’t represent me at some points.

Next, Watch It, did they botch it?

← Checkin' Out ☆ Watch It! →

[darley1101]

Keeping It Real With Damien and Ava (Perfect Match)

A/N Over the last couple of days I have had requests for the OTP questionaire. I started to write them the way they are usually written: us writers answering the questions for the characters. And then I remembered how much fun I had writing Jenny's blog in my 'Birthday Surprise' one shot for #LoveHacks. The idea of treating each OTP pairing as an interview with Jenny for her blog came to me and it wouldn't go away. I am certain that someone, somewhere, has done something similar so credit for the idea goes to them. Regardless, I hope you enjoy! If not, I will revert back to the traditional manner in which these are done. XOXO -D-

Book(s) Perfect Match; #Love Hacks

Characters: Damien Nazario, Ava Park, Jenny Collins, with mention of other characters

Rating: Mature readers only as there is reference to sexual activity

Warning: This story does contain mention of sexual activity

tagging: @blackcatkita @boneandfur @josieschoices @endlessly-searching-for-you @flynnomalleys @lizeboredom @writtenbycandy @clarissafics @damienazariostan @mfackenthal @tmarie82 @flowerpowell @mrsnazario1223 @kingliamthirst @debramcg1106 @jadedpixiescribbles @penguininapinktuxedo @confessionsofabrokegirl @theroyalweisme @kinkykingliam 

Keeping It Real with Damien and Ava by Jenny Collins

On a daily basis we are bombarded with articles and interviews featuring famous couples who are trying to show the world how normal they are. Don't get me wrong, I think its great that Matt Rodriquez will go through the In and Out drive through to get his fiancee Ashton Jones a large order of french fries with extra ketchup; or that NFL quarterback Chris Powell and his wife Aria's idea of a perfect date is miniature golf. I love knowing that these larger than life people aren't so different from the rest of us; except, you know, their million dollar homes and eight figure bank accounts. Do you know what I love more? Exposing how awesome normal, every day couples can be, because lets face it the average couple isn't going to have the same issues Matt Rodriquez and Chris Powell have with their significant others. That's why I am starting my 'Keeping It Real' series. I want to show case how its not just famous couples that lead interesting lives, but regular couples as well. In the interest of being fair, I will be asking each couple the same questions.

When you know as many awesome couples as I do, figuring out who to interview first can be a bit tricky. As luck would have it, fate stepped in and made the choice form of my hubby Mark making a business trip to New York and inviting me to tag along. While in the Big Apple, I caught up with our friend Ben's sister Ava and her live in boyfriend Damien. We met at this fantastic little cafe near Central Park and over coffee, cronuts, and Damien's leeriness to invite strangers into his relationship (he's a legit private detective guys!) we delved right in to what makes Damien and Ava, the couple, tick! I hope you enjoy getting to know them as much as I did.

First, I just want to thank you guys for doing this!

Ava: Of course! There's nothing I love more than telling world how much I love this big lug! (she elbowed Damien in the side before hugging his arm and pressing a kiss to his cheek)

Damien: And there's not much I wouldn't do for Ava. (He's still a bit tense and leery at this point but willing to give it a try since Ava is so gun ho)

So, inquiring minds want to know how you met. (Its me. I'm the inquiring mind!)

Damien: (this adorable smirk comes over his face) It's kinda funny. I was out having a drink when I seen this little John Lennon wannabe hipster trying to kiss this girl who kept leaning back (he laughs at the memory) and I couldn't just stand there and do nothing.

Ava: (She starts giggling so hard its almost impossible to understand what she's saying) It was awful! My cousin Nadia set me up with him. The whole night he kept asking about how much I made because he needed a woman who could support him and his art. I had no idea how I was going to get out of kissing him when he kept coming at me with his lips like this (she purses her lips into an exaggerated fish pout and starts making kissy noises) Out of no where this guy (she jerks her head towards Damien) shows up and says 'That's my future wife you're trying to kiss!

Me: And you've been together ever since? (they look at each other and start laughing)

Ava: I wish! No, actually I just thanked him and we parted ways. It wasn't until a week later when my cousin Nadia was being stalked by some perverted cartoonist that we connected. And then it was just as friends. (She looks sad for a minute and Damien puts an arm around her)

Damien: We became such good friends that both of us were afraid to say we cared about the other as more than a friend. (He cuddles her closer and I swear my heart just about melted) It wasn't until I thought I might lose her for good that I made my move.

Ava: Excuse me! (She shot him a pointed look) I believe I was the one to make the first move!

Damien: (Laughing and throwing his hands up) Okay, okay, Ava was the one who actually made all the moves that resulted in us getting together.

You guys are too cute! I'm almost afraid to ask this though...who hogs the covers?

(They look at each other and then both answer)

Damien: Ava!

Ava: Me! (she laughs and gestures towards her body. She's super tiny, with very little body fat) I mean look at me. I literally blow away when the wind gets too strong. It's embarrassing, not to mention annoying. (She lets out a sigh and starts toying with the end of her long fishtail braid) I can never get warm enough in the winter. It's awful.

Damien: You should see her. She'll come to bed wearing this ugly thick socks, leggings, and this hideous sweatshirt that goes to her knees. (He gives her a bemused look) One of these days I'm going to burn it.

Ava: (gasps) You better not!

Damien: Don't worry, I will keep you warmer than that ratty old thing ever could. (He cuddles her again and I swear to God Mark you better be taking notes! I need cuddles like this in my life!)

I just want the record to show I don't support burning Ava's sweatshirt. (I say this while laughing) Next question. Hopefully this one doesn't result in threats: who texts or calls the most to check in throughout the day?

Damien: I think its about equal. (He seems a little hesitant while saying this)

Ava: (She raises one of her brows) Are you sure about that? (She then looks at me, smiling) He's not wrong, but it sort of depends on what's going on. If I'm working on an article and I know I have a deadline approaching, I tend to loose myself in my writing. (She smiles at me again) I'm sure you know how that is!

Me: (nodding) Absolutely!

Damien: Alright. Fine. I tend to text or call Ava more. I used to be a cop and am currently a private investiagtor, so I've seen some scary shit. (He shoots me an apologetic look) Is it okay to say that? Or is your blog one of those PG ones?

Me: (laughing) My last blog was about how to achieve orgasm while pregnant. I don't think a little curse word like shit is going to offend my readers. (The look on his face when I tell him about my last blog is priceless. His tan skin turns this adorable red color)

Damien: (he's shifting around now, like he's a little nervous.) Uh right. Well, like I said, I tend to do most of the random check in's...

Ava: But not always. Sometimes I'm the one with the free time and I blow up his phone.

Damien: Which is not cool when I'm trying to stake out a potential cheater.

Ava: (shrugs) What can I say? I'm needy. But (she grins at him and squeezes him around the waist) you know I love you!

You guys are literally the cutest! Speaking of cute...lets talk gifts! Whose the most creative when it comes to gift?

Ava: (she blushes a little) We both really suck at buying gifts.

Damien: Its true. My last gift to her was an iron because she said she was tired of paying extra at the laundry. (I can't help but wince. Guys, irons are not romantic gifts)

Ava: And my last gift to him was a years supply of notebooks and pens. (She has the decency to look at her cronut)

Boy, you guys weren't kidding when you said you both sucked at giving gifts! (The both nod at me, laughing)

(Ava enjoying her tea after we left the cafe)

We take a slight break while Damien goes to answer a phone call from a client and I take my pregnant butt to the bathroom. When I return, Ava had ordered us some boba tea and these little spinach quiches that are almost too cute to eat. She gives me a sheepish look and admits she's basically a bottomless pit and needed more to eat than the cronut she'd devoured during the first part of our interview. We decide to go ahead with a few easy questions while Damien soothes a client. She tells me about him being an early riser and her sleeping like the dead until noon. We laugh over Damien being a sap during movies about animals, especially if the animal lead dies.

Ava: He cried like a baby during A Dog's Life and Marley and Me. (She peeks over her shoulder to be sure he's still on the phone) And you should see him at the end of Old Yeller.

Things are going so well, I decided to just go for the big guns!

So...Ava...between us girls who suggests new things in bed?

Ava: (her cheeks flush a little) That's a tough one because we're both open to trying to things. If I read an article or Damien hears or sees something during a stake out. (She's really blushing at this point) Lets just say we both like keeping things interesting.

Damien: Sorry for that. (He sits down and I catch him up. He's a little embarrassed that Ava outed him for getting misty eyed during animal flicks but gets her back) Did she tell you about her handcuff kink?

Ava: (At this point she's the same color of red as the crop top she's wearing.) Damien!

Any chance you like to give her a massage or two while she's cuffed? (I'm such a bad girl! I even winked. Who wouldn't after an announcement like that!)

Damien: Not the sort we're going to talk about here. (He actually winked back at me! He's definitely lightened up and gotten into the spirit of things) Besides, Ava's the one whose good at massages. She'll surprise me at work with Gray Papaya hot dogs and a shoulder massage.

Me: That's sweet! (Note to self, I need to surprise Mark with hot dogs and shoulder massages at work. Well, maybe not the hot dogs because San Fran doesn't do a dog the way New York does)

Ava: He's always so tense! I can't help it!

Does that sweetness cross into nursing him while he's sick? Or...

Ava: (Covers her face with her hands) I'm the worse when it comes to being sick.

Damien: Let her contract a simple cold and she acts like its the Ebola virus and she's on the verge of death.

Ava: (She drops her hands and scowls at him) I'm not that bad! (He looks at me and mouths that yes, she is that bad. God, these two are cracking me up!)

Lets talk jealousy.

Ava: (She looks at Damien, an amused look on her pretty face) Yes, Damien lets talk jealousy!

Damien: (This time he's the one blushing!) It was an honest mistake!

Ava: (She looks at me, trying not to laugh.) You know my brother Ben? (I nod as Ben is a dear friend) Well he showed up unexpectedly one day and naturally I was super excited-

Damien: Come on, Ava, do we really need to tell people about this?

Ava: You tackled my brother to the ground for hugging me because you thought he was some guy trying to cop a feel! (I have to cover my mouth so Damien doesn't see me laughing)

Damien: I didn't realize he was your brother! All I seen was some schmuck with his hands on my girlfriend! (he looks at me) next question please?

Sure (I am openly laughing now) how about something fun. Like who has the most embarrassing taste in music.

Ava: (She's adopted this stoic look and keeps clearing her throat)

Damien: Five words. (He shoots Ava a sly look) New Kids On The Block. (Ava groans and buries her face in her hands as Damien starts making oh, oh oh, noises.) You got the right stuff...(he elbows Ava) baby...

Ava: Please stop.

Damien: I love the way you (he's cut off by Ava placing her hand over his mouth)

Ava: Okay, fine, so I might have a few New Kids On The Block songs on my play list but you...(she jabs Damien in the chest with her finger) you like to listen to the Pussycat Dolls!

Me: Hey, I listen to PCD! (It's true. I have at least five of their songs, plus I seen them in concert)

Damien: There. You see. Nothing wrong with a little PCD. (We fist bump at this point and I feel like I've officially made a new friend for life.)

I'm almost afraid to ask if either of you collect anything unusual.

Ava: Do robots count? (They share a laugh and a look that has me thinking there is more to this story than meets the eyes.)

Damien: Ava has trolls.

Ava: (if looks could kill, I'm pretty sure I would be performing CPR on Damien right now) You leave my trolls out of this. (She looks at me.) Yes, I have trolls. My grandma collected them and when she passed away we each got to pick our favorites. I don't collect them though. They're around for sentimental reasons.

So...real talk...who takes the longest to get ready?

Damien: Believe it or not, I do.

Ava: I can take a shower, do my hair and make up, get dressed, and he's still perfecting his hair style.

Damien: Hey, it takes work for hair to look this good! (Let the record show that Damien really does have fantastic hair!

Does that mean he's the more organized and tidy of you two?

Ava: Ha! (She bursts out laughing so loud other guests in the cafe turn to stare.) Damien's idea of organized is keeping his fast food wrapper pile to the left of his desk.

Damien: You'd think, given my job, that I would be more organized. (He frowns slightly) Okay, let me rephrase that. When it comes to cases, I'm very organized. Personal space...not so much.

With the 4th of July having just passed, I need to ask: whose the most excited about holidays?

Ava: Neither of us? (She shrugs) Don't get me wrong, we love Christmas and Thanksgiving as much as the next person but we don't really go all out. I think that's mostly because my cousin Nadia never does anything halfway and we sort of just know she's going to go all out...so we just enjoy her efforts.

Damien: Yeah. I would have to agree with that.

Aw that's kind of a bummer. (But it explains why Ben doesn't really do much during the holidays other than show up for dinner) Cheer me up. You guys are clearly very cuddly with each other. (They're cuddled up again and I'm telling you Mark, they've built up expectations that you must live up to!) Whose the big spoon and whose the little spoon?

Ava: We do enjoy our cuddles. (She lays her head on his shoulder, their fingers twining together. I'm seriously jelly right now) During the summer, I'm the big spoon. Damien doesn't like to be hot, so he tends to throw off the covers, which leaves me freezing, so I have to cling to his back in an effort to stay warm.

Damien: So she claims. (He chuckles, his eyes twinkling) What about all those nights I've kept you warm by wrapping you up in my arms, huh?

Ava: You interrupted me before I could get to that! (She looks at me and rolls her eyes.) Men! I swear. (She rolls her eyes again) Before the big baby has a melt down...he's the big spoon in the winter. My own personal space heater. (She presses a quick kiss to his lips) There. Happy now?

Damien: I'm getting there....

You guys are both very competitive aren't you?

Ava: I'm really not. If I play a game a game, I play for fun. To me, its not about winning, it's about fun. It's why I was never any good at spots.

Me: What about you Damien? Are you in it to win it or just having fun?

Damien: I hate losing, that's all I'm going to say.

Does that carry over into arguments? (They both stare at me in surprise before laughing)

Ava: Not really. We bicker a lot. Sort of like we've done here, today, but we don't really have arguments.

Damien: More like disagreements that get heated...and occasionally the police show up.

Ava: One time! (she looks mortified that he brought up the police being called. Meanwhile. I'm thrilled that he's comfortable enough to do so) And I know it was your neighbor Mrs. Godowlski. (She looks at me) He made mad so I dropped a water balloon on his head from the window and the old biddy called the police saying I was throwing things at him.

Yikes! Sounds like your neighbor is a real winner there Damien. (He shrugs but there's a smirk on his lips) Anyways, Ben was telling me  you guys have the cutest little dog. Whose idea was it to get a pet?

(Tell me that Buddy is not the cutest dog ever?!)

Ava: I don't think we really decided to get a pet so much as Buddy happened and it was love at first sight.

Damien: He was this little stray who hid under the bench outside my office building. One night Ava, was able to get him to come to her and he's been with us ever since.

That is awesome. Rescues make the best pets.

(They both agree with me and take another break. This time so Ava can respond to the twenty texts her cousin Nadia has sent. Hm. That could be a good blog, right? How many texts is too many texts...and how to stop yourself from sending them.) Damien and I briefly chat off the record about why I'm doing this and he even goes so far as to say he thinks its a cool idea. Thanks, Damien, I think its a cool idea too. I ask him how he keeps things romantic and he melts my heart by saying every night he stops by a local flower cart and picks up a single sunflower. “Some days my job is really dark. I spend a lot of time breaking up marriages...” I have to stop him here and remind him that he doesn't break up the marriages, the actions of the cheating partners do. “Okay, you're right. My point is, Ava's smile can take the worse day and make it better. Sunflowers make her smile.” He just gives this little shrug, as though he has not clue how freaking sweet that is.

(I managed to talk Damien into one silly picture)

Ava: And I'm back. (She drops into her seat next to Damien and grins apologetically) Sorry, if I hadn't answered she would have started calling and none of us want that!

Its cool. (I consult my notes to see where we had left off) So...what traditions do you have?

Ava: You mean like couple traditions? (I told her that yes, that was exactly what I mean) Well, Damien likes to bring me sunflowers every day...does that count?

Me: Most definitely!

Damien: We have a joint Pinterest and once a week, I will pin a meal I want her to cook.

Me: Ava's a good cook?

Damien: Oh yeah. (Ava blushes but doesn't refute what he's saying. I kind of want to invite myself over for dinner right now) I burn water.

Any tv shows you guys like to watch while eating those Pinterest inspired meals?

Ava: Oh! Yes! (She squirms around, all excited) We both love watching this show called The Social Season. Its kind of like a telenovela. (She squirms again, her cheeks flushed) Its about this girl named Eliza and....oh gosh Jenny you just have to watch it! (She squeals when I tell her that I do watch it. How could I not? It's just that good!)

Damien: It is pretty good. (He looks embarrassed to admit that he watches a trashy romance series but I tell him he has nothing to be ashamed of. I tell him that Mark likes this drama known as Consequences of Secrets, which seems to put him at ease.)

Are these meals and shows watched alone or do you invite over other couples?

Damien: We spent a lot of time with Ava's cousin Nadia and her...boyfriend...Steve, as well as our friends Sloane and Hayden.

Ava: Yeah, we try to get together at least once every two weeks for dinner and games.

Damien: Drinking games

Ava: Not always! Sometimes we play monopoly.

Damien: While drinking.

We spend a few more minutes chatting and make plans for dinner later that evening. They want to introduce Mark and I to Ava's co-worker Lucy and her soon to be husband Flynn, as well as Flynn's sister Kate and her boyfriend Grant. Of course I jump at the opportunity. Who knows...maybe my next blog will be about one of them!

A/N Do you guys enjoy this method of answering the OTP or do you want me to go back to regular style? Let me know in a comment or reblog! Want to know more about Ava and Damien's favorite “shows” check out the fics: The Social Season and The Consequences of Secrets. Also, I  currentl have requests for Flynn x Lucy, Jamison x Adam (AME) and Becca x Zig but anyone would like to see other couples ‘interviewed’ like this let me know!