#….not my kind of story because I’m a kitschy soft person at heart but I suppose it COULD work

[typinggently]

I’m so fascinated by fics where one of the boys kills John. Like what a way to ignore the premise and heart of the core seasons.

[atinydise]

Ateez reacting to their s/o holding their hands for the 1st time

❦ Genre: Fluff.

❦ Pairing: OT8.

❦ Word count: 3k3.

❦ Requested: Yes, thank you! 🦋

HONGJOONG

You were peacefully staring at the sky from your window. You've been staring at it since the departure. It was such a beautiful view that you wouldn't be bored it even with 11 hours of flight. "What are you staring at, love?" Asked Hongjoong, finally removing his earphones. 'Love'. You will never get used to him calling you this way. It never fails to make your heart beating faster than ever. "The view with the sunset is just so relaxing." You smiled. "Look at this with..." he struggled to untangle his earphone. The short imagination of him losing his AirPods for the 823rd time, got you smiling. "Song." He finally inserted it on your ear.

A soft and calm music started to play. All of your senses were comforted by these clear notes. "Sounds like a commercial music, right?" Giggled your boyfriend. "No... it's relaxing." You claimed. "I could fall asleep in 2 seconds because of it." "Then go ahead." He patted his shoulder, telling you to rest on it. Without hesitating, you put your head on. It was comfier than what you thought. Not something pointy and hard that could bother with your earrings or piercings. "Is it comfy?" Asked Hongjoong, a tiny bit worried. Too reassure him, you simply nodded and grabbed his forearm with your hand. Just to keep him close. Hongjoong wasn't used to you, showing this kind of attention in public. He was a bit taken a back, but finally only you mattered. The song was leading you in a soft and calm mindset. Your eyes were closing at every note and your entire body felt like a feather. Your boyfriend guessed that you were falling asleep because your hand was sliding on his forearm. 5 minutes later, your head almost fell from Hongjoong's shoulder. He quickly put it back in place, but it caused your hand to rest right in his free one. The warmness and the softness of his palm made you unconsciously held his hand. Tight. Hongjoong took his time to realize what was happening. Even if you were sleeping, he was hickey flustered. He was staring at your fingers, intertwined with his. Your boyfriend couldn't help but smile and blush. More when he tried to remove your grip, but you tightened it. "Cute." He whispered. Hongjoong and you were not really tactile and clingy persons, but when these moments happen, for the first time or rarely, both of you desire that it never stops. It was your moment only.

SEONGHWA

"I can't believe we are here already!" You stomped enthusiastically. Seonghwa was staring at you. You were so happy and cute. The way, you were holding your backpack straps made him melt instantly. "Disneyworld..." you sighed joyfully. "It's magic!" Seonghwa nodded, they really created a whole world and it felt unreal since he put a foot there. "Where do you want to start?" He asked, opening the map. "Space mountain!" You almost yelled, pointing at the localization pin. "Really? But we ate 2 hours ago?" He gulped, thinking at the amount of looping. "What a baby." You smirked. "Then what about... Peter Pan? Or Ratatouille?" "Okay I agree for the last one." He accepted. "Let's go!" You almost ran to the crowd, not wanting people to take your place in the queue. Seonghwa was looking at every details of the amusement park. All the shops had their own magical surfaces. He needs to come here with the members one time. They would go crazy for sure. "Fast Park Seonghwa!" You pouted. To tease you a little bit more, he started to walk slower. He deducted that it was working well because he spotted the vein on your forehead. "You are so slow!" You complained. Not thinking twice about your actions, you held his hand and led him to the attraction. The moment he felt your hand in his huge one, his stomach clenched. A thousand of butterflies were flying there. You were too focused on the board that you didn't saw the light blush on his face. But you secretly liked to hold his hand. It felt just right. "Bingo!" You pointed at the clock, "only 5 minutes of queueing." Seonghwa was barely listening to you. He was looking at your hands fitting perfectly in his. You had a moment of doubt, maybe he didn't like it and was too nice to tell you. You tried to detach your embrace slowly, but he tightened his grip on it. "Don't." He said seriously. "I like it." You smiled shyly at him. "It's the first time we are holding hands." He giggled. "A-Ah really?" You stuttered, a bit flustered. Seonghwa was about to reply when his phone buzzed in his pocket. You thought that he would let your hand free, but you were wrong. He struggled a bit to get it out of the pocket but no way he would use both of his hands. "Yeah Joong?" He rolled his eyes. "No. I told you I had a date today with Y/N. At Disneyworld." You glanced at him when you heard the word "date". Seonghwa saw your facial expression and winked cockily. You ignored what feels the most magical now; Disneyworld or a date with Seonghwa?

YUNHO

More and more you were moving forward in the queue, more you wanted to run away. Your friends advised you to go in a haunted house with Yunho, for your first date. At first, you didn't realize the situation. You only thought about a way to be close to him without being awkward. Yunho is scared of absolutely, nothing. He could play with a tarantula, then dance with a venomous snake without problem. So, a haunted house was nothing for him. But for you, it was another story. "Are you okay Y/N? You are shaking a bit." Asked Yunho thinking that you were already scared. "Even a lot." "I'm good!" You slapped his shoulder, puffing a bit. "It's just the anticipation." "Ok cool. I thought you had this kitschy idea to stay glued to me for the whole time. But I would probably be the one doing it." He laughed. "N-No. So, cliché." You laughed nervously, cursing at your friends in your mind. Not even 30 seconds later, the host led you inside. You were completely terrified. You couldn't even enjoy a single moment the proximity or the thought or having a romantic intercourse with Yunho. "Oh wow, that's well made." He pointed at the spider above you. You did your best to suppress the scream stuck in your throat. "W-Wait. You are working too fast." You tugged his shirt. "Are you scared?" He teased you. "We can go out if you-" "No." You shook your head. "Just stay close." You wrapped your arm around his. Yunho admitted that it was cute. Of course, he was aware of your plan when you invited him to the haunted house. You couldn't even walk next to a worm, without yelling. Suddenly and even Yunho shivered, a skeleton almost fell at your right. Your first reflex was to grab his hand and to hide behind his tall figure. Even though the situation wasn't the best, Yunho's heart flustered. Thanks to the darkness, you couldn't see the blush on his cheeks. His stomach clenched when your fingers placed right between his long ones. This action never had such an impact before. He was used to hold Atiny's hand during fansign. But it was nothing compared to this feeling. The rest of the way, you never let his hand go. Nor let 2 centimeters away from you. When finally, you exited the nightmare, the reality hit you. "Well done Y/N." Said Yunho. "F-For what? I've been a scared baby there." You faked to fix your clothes. "I thought you would jump on me right when we entered, but no. You had shown an amazing braveness." He giggled patting the back of your head. You grunted few words, too nervous and shy to admit your plan. "Give me your hand lady. Let's go inside again. I liked it." He smiled.

YEOSANG

["Y/N"] ["Bring ice cream."] Without hesitation you run to your kitchen and took a vanilla post in the refrigerator. You messily put your shoes and exited the college dorm. ["On my way!"] After 5 minutes of walking and avoiding bumping into every single person in the street, you arrived to Ateez' dorm. Right when you exited the elevator, you saw Wooyoung closing the door. "Wow. I want a best friend like you. In less than 15 minutes you there." Claimed Wooyoung. "How is he? Good or?" "A complete mess." He replied. You rolled your eyes, "I swear... I told him to stay away from this type of girl." "Good luck." Shrugged Wooyoung. "Wait, you are not going to comfort him?" "Why. I know that you are here." He patted your shoulder. "I'll watch a movie. See ya!" "Jung Wooyoung! I swear-" "Are you going to stay there the whole day, or you are going to enter and comfort me?" Asked Yeosang, who came out after hearing your voice in the hallway. "Be nice with me. I brought you a vanilla pot." You lifted your plastic bag. "Cool. Now I can be completely depressed and heartbroken." He whined. After that, you both sat on the couch, enjoying the calm for once. Yeosang explain that he prepared the best date for her and he even bought flowers. But she never shown up, nor replied to his texts. "You don't deserve her. I told you that already and a bunch of times." You ate another spoon of ice cream. "Are you going to eat all of this by yourself?" He slapped your hand, causing the spoon to fall. You rolled your eyes and faced him. "Yeosang, stop being sad for her. You are a real treasure and too bad for her, she lost someone really special." You grabbed both of his hands and rubbed it with your thumbs. "Even if you are a bit savage sometimes, you are such a good person." Yeosang's eyes couldn't leave the sight of your hands, holding, squeezing and rubbing his. "And she's stupid. You are probably the perfect boyfriend on this earth." You claimed. "I would be grateful to have a boyfriend like you." He raised his brow, by surprise. You instantly flickered his forehead. "Don't even think about it." He sneered, knowing that you would say something like that. "How do you feel?" You asked when you finally saw a smile on his face. Yeosang hesitated a second, but finally chose to take his sad facial expression back. "Hold my hand and tell me how amazing I am again. It might help." You rolled your eyes. "This guy... Anyway." You ordered and held his hands once again. Screw the compliment. That's what he really wanted.

SAN

You were waiting your boyfriend for 15 minutes already. He as late. Like always. But you never been mad about it. San was doing his best to spend some time with you despite having a heavy and full schedule. The last thing you could do, to just show him how grateful you are, is to be patient. "Y/N!" Shouted San, running to you. He was smiling widely and waving crazily. "Slow down, you are going to trip." You warned him when you judged he was close enough. "Sorry." He paused, catching his breath. "I'm late again." "It's okay babe." You pecked his cheek, making his heart jolt a tiny bit. "To apologize, you can choose everything you want us to do today." He said happily. Next thing he knew he was trying to walk for the first time with rollers. "Y/N, I can't do this!" He whined, holding the ramp on the wall. "Come on! I know that you can be really good at this." You encouraged your boyfriend. "How do you manage to stay still with this?!" "It's still my feet. I'm the only one controlling them." You smiled, turning around him. "Oh my god, help me." He sighed, trying to stop his legs to shake like a newborn. "Okay." You stopped at his left. "I'll help you." San gulped when you slid your hand over his forearm to gently hold his hand. He was still amazed by the softness of your palm that he didn't realize that the wall was getting far away every seconds. "I can't believe that we are holding hands." He finally said. You simply giggled, ignoring what to say. "I thought that I would need to do it first. I know how shy you are princess." "Stay focused Sanie." You replied, a smile glued on your face. "Your hand is so cute in mine. It's like it was meant to be there." "San." "I want this moment to pause forever." He claimed. "Babe." "I can’t believe!" He sang, using the same tone as Chen in Exo*. "And I can't believe, you made a whole round without falling." San finally looked around him. He was so focused on your hand that he completely forgot his main task. "I'm roller-skating!" He shouted victoriously. "I'm a grown man now." "Can the grown man detach his hand now that's he's a pro?" "Never."

MINGI

Mingi is shy. On the stage, he always looks fierce, confident and cool. But in reality, he is a cute and shy boy. It took him 20 minutes to ask you on a date. You spent your entire break from your old part time job, to listen to him, stuttering 2 words by minute. With respect, of course, you always kept your distance and understood that he was not into showing affection in public. Then you always 'stayed in your place' and be affectioned in private. But even not that much because he was still taken a back. Tonight, they all had a rough day and Seonghwa offered to walk an hour in the park below. You encouraged them, saying that it was a good idea. So here you are, leading the walk with your boyfriend. The rest of the members behind you, a bit like chaperones. Everyone could tell that this little walk was relaxing. One by one, they all found their smiles back. "Do you remember Bridgerton?" You asked. Mingi raised a brow, "the show that made you drool and fangirl about the dresses?" "Yeah!" You snapped. "The boys looks like our parents, checking that we don’t do anything wrong." You smirked. The tall boy looking behind him. The 7 other boys were minding their own business. "Not really. They totally don’t give a f about us." He sneered. "Ah really? So, it won't bother anyone if... I do something like." You removed your hand out of your pocket to held Mingi's one. As expected, he blushed and stuttered that they were just behind. "Come on...." You teased him, squeezing his hand. "We are dating for 3 months and you never held my hand. So, I do it." "Y/N!" He blushed even more. "Ooooouh Song Mingi!" Shouted the boys behind. Some of them were whistling, one by one. Few ones were clapping, and San Yunho were imitating the scene. Even though Mingi was cringing, it was not bad at all. "Song Mingi is a man now! He's holding a girl's hand." Shouted Wooyoung. All of their comment started to make you awkward too. But in a good way. Judging that you teased Mingi enough. You tried to untangle your fingers. "Finish what you started." Said Mingi, tightening his grip. "You put us in this situation, so you need to assume it too." A nervous laugh came out from your throat when he put both of your hands in his pocket. Of course, this move caused the other boys to start yelling behind both of you. But you could still live with it.

WOOYOUNG

Even if you agreed to spend the night at the dorm Wooyoung still found the situation awkward. It's been 2 weeks that you were officially dating. Everything was perfect. You both had a real great harmony. Even the other members claimed that they were jealous of your chemistry. The only problem which was not a big deal but still bothers Wooyoung, was that you were not really the 'clingy type'. You barely touched each other. He respected that you needed to hold our hand sometimes or just give you a hug or a peck randomly. "What are you thinking about?" You asked sliding under the sheets. "You keep looking at the ceiling." Wooyoung hesitated a second to tell you what was bothering him. But he finally decided to not say anything and to not put you in a awkward situation. "Nothing, just tired." He yawned. "Let's sleep." You nodded and made sure both of you were well covered. "Good night Wooyoungie." "Night Y/N." You couldn’t see his face, but he was disappointed when you turned around, showing your back to him asking if he was asleep already. He finally cracked an eye when he felt your warmness just next to him. His heart started to rush. Wooyoung even though it would stop functioning when you grabbed his hand to held yours. You slowly rested your interlaced hands on your belly. Wooyoung was burning behind you. The dozen of mini him were dancing and shouting along in his head. When you started to rub your thumb over his skin, it completely drove him crazy. Wooyoung could felly your belly on his forearm. because of that, he wanted so bad to squeeze and hug you until you couldn't breathe anymore. "I know that you are awake." You whispered, giggling a bit. Just in case this moment would stop, he preferred to stay quiet. "I feel your heart bumping, jolting and clenching in your chest." You added. "I just... love this." He finally admitted. You simply stuck your body closer to him and snuggled gently against it. "This shit drives me crazy. You seem so tiny." "Just sleep." You giggled, enjoying his presence. "I can't sleep anymore! I feel like I'm going to explode." He replied, happily. "What did I do..." you sighed, smiling a little bit.

JONGHO

You just felt your friends. You spent the whole day looking for a dress. And not a casual dress. An amazing and fancy one. Just to go with your boyfriend at a gala. You needed to get along with everyone there or to be at least presentable. Jongho told you that you could wear anything you want, but your desire was to impress everyone there. Especially the CEO, so he could stop looking at you like a trash. Just when you got out of the café, you spotted a red-haired guy, in the same alley of you. You doubted a second, but you saw him holding an Ice americano. It was your boyfriend for sure. Without hesitating, your ran to his direction. When you were at 5 meters behind him, you walked slowly and quietly. You recognized the Chanel earrings you gave him and his Louis Vuitton sport bag. "He's so expensive." You thought. Not waiting anymore, you grabbed his free hand. Jongho had the instant reflex to step away and to brush the hand off. "Hello young man, are you single?" You winked at him. His face softened, when he saw your face. "No sorry. I'm taken and take care because she's crazy." "Hey!" You pouted. Jongho sneered, proud of his own joke. When finally, he realized. "Oh." Wondering why this sudden behavior and glanced where's he was looking at. "What?" "It's the first time that you are holding my hand." He blinked. "We do this all the time." "No. You don't get it. It's incredible." "What?" "Your hand is hold mine. It's the best thing ever." You raised a brow, "you are too much." “I’m usually the one holding yours but now!” “You-” "Do not move." He kept staring at it. People walking past to you, were giving you a weird look. Jongho was looking at your hands in awe. "She's holding my hand too! And the first time!" He said to a couple passing by. "Choi Jongho." You slapped his shoulder gently, completely embarrassed. "Let's go to Hongdae!" "Why suddenly?" You asked. "So, we can walk there!" "It's 1 hour far away from here!" "Yes. Exactly. That's the point." He smiled widely, already enjoying the idea.

*Exo - Tempo: it’s a song which had been praised by many (I do recommend to watch Ateez covering this because it’s a m a z i n g) and Chen’s lyrics intro (0:02) really had his impact.

[plague-of-insomnia]

“Circus” AU Drabble #2: Seb meets Lau

Here's another drabble set in the world of my AU tentatively called Circus! In this scene, Sebastian visits Lau to threaten him, only to be threatened in return.

If you enjoy, please reblog, comment, and like!

Note: This scene does not have any nudity or sex, but it does feature some graphic language.

It's not necessary to enjoy this drabble, but you may want to read the first one I posted, in which Seb and Ciel talk over dinner, and which temporarly will probably come before this scene below.

I’m hoping to post these weekly on Sundays (no promises), and next week I’ll likely post at least part of a Sebciel sex scene I’ve been working on.

This story really should be my last priority atm but it’s been taking over my inspiration...

____________________

Sebastian sat stiffly in a gaudily decorated room on the second floor of what, from the outside, appeared to be a rather unassuming shopping center in Chinatown filled with massage parlors, restaurants, and small grocery stores. The room he’d been led into was filled with kitschy faux Chinese antiques, including a large golden dragon Sebastian was almost certain was made out of molded resin. He longed to explore, to ascertain if the door he’d been led through was the only exit, but a buff man, likely one of Lau’s bodyguards, had positioned himself so that his beady eyes watched every move Sebastian made. Occasionally the man would murmur something gruffly in Mandarin with a smile Sebastian assumed was intended to be menacing as he apparently enjoyed the thought of the tall foreigner being “devoured by the dragon.”

      Sebastian barely contained a snarky retort; it would be better to keep his cards as close to his chest as possible, and if everyone but Lau assumed Sebastian was a clueless, typically monolingual American, it would give him an advantage if things turned ugly. Of course, it would still be just him, armed with only the small knives the guards hadn’t found in the heels of his boots against a veritable army of automatic and semi-automatic weapons, but he had been taking a careful survey of his surroundings, filing away any potential cover or objects that might be sturdy enough to use as spur-of-the-moment weapons should the need arise. He felt like he’d had worse odds. Besides, it wasn’t his intention to start something here and now, no matter how much he wanted to kill Lau. And Lau wasn’t the kind to draw undue attention to himself: bad for business.

      Sebastian briefly entertained the idea of sticking his hand in his pants and putting on a very vocal maturbatory show to make the guard uncomfortable, but he immediately dismissed it. The idea of touching himself anywhere remotely near that slimy son of a bitch Lau made Sebastian’s stomach turn.

      A soft knock sounded at the door, and the guard whispered in Mandarin to whoever was on the other side, speaking too softly for Sebastian to make anything out. A moment later the man stepped aside and a half dozen too-young looking Asian girls entered. They wore tiny, form-fitted qípáo with skirts that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Between them, they carried all the trappings for tea and authentic Chinese sweets. While it wasn’t uncommon for Asian girls to appear younger than they actually were, Sebastian doubted any of them were older than fourteen, and he inwardly seethed, keeping his outward composure as he watched the girls arrange everything on the coffee table in front of him, all of them kneeling and not a one making eye contact. It was impossible for Sebastian to tell if that was cultural, out of respect to him as a guest of their—it made Sebastian ill to think of Lau that way—master, or if they’d merely been beaten into submission. He suspected likely a combo of both, as the girls—as beautiful as they all were, their hair and makeup flawless—seemed broken. Sebastian could recognize that anywhere.

      A moment later, Lau emerged from behind a curtain in the opposite end of the room from the door, with another girl on his arm, this one definitely Chinese, and she looked of age. She was dressed similarly to the tea-serving girls, but her dress and hair accessories were of finer quality, and she held herself with a composed and calm air, her eyes scanning the room. Sebastian decided it would be best for him not to underestimate her. It would be just like Lau to have a female as his personal bodyguard.

      Although middle aged now, Lau had apparently changed little in the years since Sebastian had last seen him. He still wore a long chángpáo as was his custom, his hands hidden in the voluminous sleeves. This was no cosplay costume; even at a distance Sebastian could appreciate the quality of the silk and the embroidery on the outer coat, a deep emerald offset by dancing gold dragons. Undoubtedly a reference to his appellation of “The Green Dragon,” as the leader of Qīng Bāng, aka “the Green Gang,” a fearsome criminal syndicate that operated both in the US and Asia. The outfit made Sebastian roll his eyes, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair.

      Lau took his seat across from Sebastian, acting like an emperor arriving at court. The woman bodyguard took her place beside him, and all but one of the girls shuffled so they were kneeling around Lau, some of them leaning against his legs, while others received absent head pats as if they were pets rather than people.

      Lau began speaking in Mandarin, his voice soft and light as it almost always was, his eyes nearly closed, his affect totally opposite the tension the younger man was feeling. The woman beside him translated, “It is good to see you looking so well after so long apart, Li Xiǎo Guǐ. This is Ran Mao.” So that was the woman’s name. Two surnames? Perhaps it was an alias. “Have my chǒng wù been treating you well?” So the girls really were his “pets,” as Lau used the same word used for an animal, rather than a favorite person.

      Sebastian snarled, but otherwise kept his anger in check. “I’m called Sebastian now,” he bit back in Mandarin.

      Ran Mao seemed unphased that Sebastian could speak Chinese. In fact, her face was expressionless.

      Lau, on the other hand, chuckled as he accepted a cup of tea from the chǒng wù serving them. “Yes. I know, Mr. Michaelis,” Lau said the name like a curse. “But you’ll always be my little demon,” Lau continued, switching to perfect English, his voice soft and lilting and beguilingly soothing. Normally a nickname for a troublesome child, because of his ink-black hair and unusual red eyes, Sebastian had been given the name Xiǎo Guǐ, one he hadn’t heard used since he’d fled Lau years ago. “Your Mandarin is a little rusty, Xiǎo Guǐ. Have you been living apart from me so long that you’ve forgotten to call me father? Or speak to me with the proper respect?”

      Sebastian scoffed. Lau was not his biological father, although who that man was was unknown. All Sebastian knew was he was mixed, a son of one of Lau’s underage whores, which made him even more of a demon in Lau’s eyes, although his beauty had made Sebastian a useful commodity. “A man like you deserves no respect,” he replied, switching back to Mandarin because English wouldn’t convey the level of insult nearly as effectively.

      The chǒng wù gasped, and Ran Mao stiffened, but Lau simply laughed and held up a hand to signal it was fine. “You haven’t changed, Xiǎo Guǐ. And you’re still beautiful. How old are you now? Nearly thirty? And yet you appear younger. I imagine you must be a valuable asset to Joker. Especially with how deadly you are.” Lau’s smile was feral, even if he still barely opened his eyes, sipping his tea calmly.

      Anxiety creeped in on the edge of Sebastian’s brain. How much did Lau know about his life? Was it true that he could never truly escape the dragon’s talons?

      “By the way, how is that little blue-eyed boy you stole from me? Does he still look underage? Is that why you enjoy fucking him so much?” Lau’s expression was placid, as if he were merely chatting about the weather, rather than doling out one veiled threat after another.

      Sebastian growled and jumped up from his seat, his fists clenched, not even thinking clearly enough to yank his knives from his boot heels. “You son of a bitch. Stay away from Ciel.”

      Ran Mao stepped between the two men, pulling knives of her own from holsters strapped to her thighs, normally hidden by her dress, bracing herself to launch herself toward Sebastian.

      But Lau merely chuckled, murmuring in Mandarin for Ran Mao to stand down before addressing Sebastian again in English, “I’ll do as I please. You both belong to me, and I’m very possessive of my property, as you well know.” Lau handed his cup to one of the girls and rose. “You used to be dangerous because you had nothing to lose, but you do now, don’t you? What do you think some of my clients would do to a beautiful white boy like Ciel? Ah, but you do know. From personal experience.” Lau opened his eyes, revealing a cold, menacing glint that said more than his even tone suggested. “Interfere with my business, Xiǎo Guǐ, and I interfere with yours. Consider it a courtesy that I’m letting you leave today.” Lau issued commands to his guards in Mandarin, and without a further word, he and Ran Mao departed the way they came, leaving Sebastian still standing, heart pounding, hands trembling.

[britneyshakespeare]

top 5 sabrina the teenage witch episodes

ooh or top 5 ryan ross-penned songs

ooooh i see. strangle me with my own niche obsessions, will you?

thank you so much nancy.

sabrina eps:

1x11/hilda and zelda: the teenage years honestly my soft spot for season 1 is so real. it’s probably the season i caught the most of on tv as a kid. but hilda and zelda are such good characters and in most cases the more involved they are in the plotline, the better. also the actresses they get to play young hilda and zelda are so seamless for the most part.

1x18/sweet charity THIS episode made me love libby chessler. for some reason i always love mean girl archetype characters that i don’t relate to whatsoever, whether in cheesy 90s sitcoms or jane austen. idk. that’s something i maybe have to talk about with my therapist but when libby steals sabrina’s adopted nana… oh my god sis did that.

2x11/oh what a tangled web she weaves if nothing else but for the fact that hilda admits that the earth used to be flat and it’s only round now because of her own nonsense and that shit’s amazing

4x04/little orphan hilda again more great hilda/zelda backstory but also this episode gets me… weirdly emotional. like holy shit no one expected a campy 90s fantasy sitcom to make me cry but sometimes it do my friends.

5x07/sabrina’s perfect christmas i know a lot of people dislike the later seasons but eh… i just. don’t. well i have some major qualms w season 7 but i think seasons 5 and 6 are pretty good, for what they are. i like a lot of the new characters they introduce, especially morgan cavanaugh, aka the kind of bitch i would love to be if i were born rich and straight. again, another libby-esque mean girl but i think she holds her own, especially in this episode where we actually learn to sympathize with her for her own personality and situation. a poor-little-rich-girl story that lands w me, at least. plus, roxie’s arc in this episode is really good too.

and ryan ross songs……..hooooo  boy.

nearly witches either version of this song really… but i especially love the studio version for its perfect completion of vices & virtues and ryan ross’s contribution to panic. i also love how you can totally tell which lyrics were written by ryan and which were written by brendon, that’s just amazing. they complemented each other quite well though, when they did work together. oh what a time… what a time. whatever. the entire music of this thing is just so magical and haunted and oddly enjoyable.

there’s a reason these tables are numbered WOW is this song just incredible. it all just flows off the tongue, line by line, cruel and sardonic and sassy. and CLEVER. i’m never gonna forget when i was sitting in freshman science watching bill nye when he put together the chemical compound for nitroglycerin and said “and here’s nitroglycerin–the ingredient in dynamite that makes it explosive” and i just kind of sat there in awe thinking about “oh and the smokes in that cigarette box on the table/they just so happen to be laced with nitroglycerin” for the rest of the period.

the piano knows something i don’t know there’s not a song on pretty odd that hasn’t at one point been my favorite song on pretty odd, i’m just gonna get that outta the way, but at least lately this has been the one i come back to more than the others. “if i could build my house/just like the trojan horse/i’d put a statue of myself upon the shelf of course” there’s so much i love about that line. the interior rhyme. the perfect meter. he was so poetic. swan-diving off of the deep-end of my tragic cigarette. she’s steam laughing on the windowpanes. and this one’s also kind of like nearly witches except more… mellow? if that’s the word i wanna use. i don’t know if it is. but it feels similarly enchanted and possessed.

build god, then we’ll talk & mad as rabbits these are tied because i couldn’t not mention both of them. although they are very different emotionally and sonically. but perfect songs nonetheless with wonderful lyrics. the sound of music sample in build god is so sickly inspired and mad as rabbits with its rimbaud references. we stan a weird boy.

heart of mine i wouldn’t consider this the best song from take a vacation by a long shot, actually, but it does feel oddly earnest. like, lyrically, it’s so unimpressive that it’s almost trite, but on this beach rock throwback album (just before throwback pop became the big thing this decade, might i point out) that’s as kitschy as it is sincerely passionate, in almost a dumb way. i just love it so much. and it’s sung so purely you can tell he really poured his heart into this project. it’s such a shame the young veins haven’t done anything since. :\ god i hate that i still love ryan ross. what a sad life.

ask me for top 5s

[benbarnesescape]

Focus

Billy Russo Prompt Challenge – for @ boypansies

Prompt #54 - “I don’t want to get up….I’m so warm beside you.”

Prompt #62 - “Fuck it – do you wanna get married.”

Warnings: Mentions of sex, language and so much fluff your heart will melt. I hope lol..

A/N – Okay, I know the angst has been real. So real. So this is a fun, fluffy, cute story to make up for it. No left turn sad ending – promise!  Also this is a Billy AU where he doesn’t want to kill his best friend. I know I’m detracting but it’s the only way I can validate happy endings for him because I know his true nature as Jigsaw!

If you were in a horror movie, you would probably be one of the first girls – people – to die. Not because you were the slut, or the one person of color (why were serial killers, ghosts and zombies so racist?) or the nerdy, quirky friend where death was inevitable even if you were a good friend (R.I.P. Barb). It was because you had the worse sense of awareness.

Billy teased you about it all the time. A former marine, Billy had the cat like senses of a panther. Knew when someone was going to walk through a door before they knew they were going to walk through a door.

“You just have to pay better attention.” He had teased you a few months back, when you had jumped halfway out of your skin when one of his employees had walked in on the two of you making out in his large office. He had found it amusing and you had found it humiliating and terrifying. The employee had left, his face flushed red. And why wouldn’t he. You were basically half naked as Billy kneaded your breast through your bra.

You swore you would never be able to return as the man left, all but slamming the door behind him.

“You knew they were coming down the hall!?” You had squeaked out as he nipped at your neck, chuckling in the tight crevice,

“Figured I’d show you off since no one believed that I was committed to you.”

“I hate you.” You had mumbled, but it didn’t stop you from going back to your make out session. Or for stopping by Anvil since then. You were really bad at keeping your promises when it came to Billy Russo.

You had tried working on it. You really had. But you had all the focus of a five-year-old in preschool. Once your attention was on something, you couldn’t be bothered with everything else around you. Instead you dedicated every sense in your body to that one thing.

This evening, it had been in the form of a book. Literature and movies typically were your primary distractions, followed by food, music and coffee. Sex of course trumped all of those things. In fact, if you could make out a list of distractions it would read as the following:

1.       Sex

2.       Literature

3.       Sex

4.       Movies

5.       Sex

6.       Food

7.       Sex

8.       Music

9.       Sex

10.   Coffee

11.   Sex

12.   Sex

13.   Family/Friends

14.   Sex

15.   Sex

16.   Sex……..

You basically had the mind and sex drive of a 13 year old boy.

Another quality Billy found amusing and adorable. Mainly because with his handsome features and charming personality, he could get you to focus on him no matter the situation. He was needy. He would never admit that he was – would never own it. But he was insecure in his need for others to accept and love him. You made it easy for him to get both of those feelings validated. Even if you didn’t want to really commit to a relationship, or further it. Even if you had been dating him technically for two years. Even if he had convinced you to move in with him two months back. Even if he had made it very clear that he wanted to commit to you.

You wouldn’t have it. Billy Russo was too goddamn beautiful. And intelligent. And smart. And passionate. And driven. Minus all the emotional scars, he was basically a perfect man. You hadn’t really been insecure about who you were and how you fit in the world until you had started dating him. That unnerved you. Kinda pissed you off because you weren’t that insecure. Sure, there were things you’d wanted fix but overall you considered yourself an 8/10. But next to Billy…. next to Billy you felt like a D rated movie that went straight to DVD. Not even good enough for the dollar theaters. So until you could move past these feelings, you tried your best to distance yourself. Which Billy made particularly difficult because he had made it more than clear that he was committed to you and only.

But you were getting beside the point.

It was a typical work day evening. You had gone to gym, made dinner and forced yourself to read a book instead of binge watch something online. You were in your bedroom, sitting on your shared bed as your body pressed against your headboard, legs propped up so you could lay your book on your thighs, reading your book. A hot cup of tea with maybe three splashes of whiskey nestled warming in your hands as your eyes hurriedly ran over the pages. It was your favorite kind of book. Fantasy, check. Murder and mystery, check. Sex in all the way kitschy books can write sex, double check. It was getting steamy and terrifying all at once and you were so deep in, you didn’t hear him come in. Couldn’t hear the way he lazily dragged his feet, dropping off his duffel bag before pouring himself a cup of water. Had probably already planned his surprise attack knowing you were distracted in something.

Nope – you were too focused on Artegenian and Larea finally discovering their 300 page worth of tense romantic feelings for each other, his strong member pressing against her softness, drawing a soft sigh out of her lips as his mouth grazed slowly down her collarbone……..

“What you reading!?” Billy’s masculine voice cuts through the soft sounds of your Spotify playlist and you jump so high your drink splashes on your knees, causing you to curse under your breath.

And this is why you would die. Because you should face your intruder but instead your too focused on the hot water and whiskey burning your thigh, starting to cool as you place the mug on your bedside table. You check the bag to make sure no water got on your comforter before you realized you lost your page on your book, and this leads you down another rabbit hole of thought.

You’ve managed to effectively forget the person who got you in this situation in the first place and he chuckles, redirecting your attention again before saying,

“Babe, you gotta focus on more than one thing. We talked about you paying attention to your surroundings. Guess its something I’ll have to help you work on…”

You turn, taking in the way he looks in his black outfit, his black tshrit threatening to rip around his strong biceps and nothing matters. Your run toward him, jumping up easily in his embrace and he laughs as he holds you before its smothered by your lips.

God you missed him.

He doesn’t pull away but instead deepens the kiss, guiding you back to your bed where you both fall down, his large weight bearing into your own but you don’t care. He’s been gone a month for work, back to the sandbox as he liked to refer to it, and you had been a mess. A mess because you missed his smile, the way he constantly called and texted you to make sure you were ok. Missed the way you could snuggle against him while you binged a show on Netflix or Hulu, or the way girls would give him a second look as you both walked down the street. Missed the way his lips felt on your body and having his name whispered on your lips.

You loved him so much you weren’t even sure why you were fighting him on this relationship thing. When he pulls away far enough to look at you, those dark ebony eyes drinking you in, you’re reminded. Again. Billy Russo was way too damn good looking for you. He’d disagree but you knew your strengths. You were cute, pretty. You could get a guy to buy you a drink or two if you flirted enough. Been told by many how attractive you are. But you weren’t on Billy Russo attractive level. That was that super model, Hollywood actor, I’ll let you in because you’re so damn fine level. Billy always denied it but he didn’t see how women literally fanned themselves when he walked by.

You did. You really needed to carve out time with a therapist to move past these feelings. It was unhealthy for you and for him.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, placing soft kisses on your eyes. Your nose. Your cheeks. Your lips. You giggle out,

“Nothing.” Trying to drive him back in but he knows your lying as he starts to poke your side. More laughter ensues as his hands began their assault of tickling, shaking his head as he says,

“You’re the worse liar, you know that?”

You try to push him away, anything to save you but he’s stronger than you. More skilled, he pins you down easily with one hand as he assaults you with his free one and it’s only a few minutes more before you’re screaming for freedom. He complies, satisfied as he allows his weight to fall on you and you start raking your hands through his thick hair, caressing down his hard back.

“Was thinking how the hell I did something worth deserving you.”

He pulls back a bit, watches you carefully before saying,

“You mean, what did I do to find someone like you.”

He was good at this, twisting words in his favor but you weren’t having it. You roll your eyes before mumbling,

“Okay Billy…” and he presses his lips onto yours instantly, teasing your mouth open.

If kissing was a game at the Olympic games, Billy would always win gold. He knew how to go from being demanding and passionate to soft and romantic, exactly what he was doing now as his tongue expertly tangled with your own, giving every bit of your mouth the attention it needed from him. When he pulls away lazily, biting your bottom lip, he whispers,

“I know you don’t think you measure up to me or whatever but you’re my world. I honestly wouldn’t be as close of a good man if I didn’t have you in it. I love you.”

You can’t help the smile that automatically twitches on your face as he rests his head on your shoulder, placing a soft kiss on your exposed skin and you murmur back “I love you too” because despite all the other stuff that you got hung up on, you felt how much love you both had for each other. Filled up a room whenever you were together.  And perhaps that was what scared you the most. You had never felt this way before.

You don’t live in it for too long though. When you feel his breathing start to steady that you know you must push him off, his dead weight starting to cause your leg to go numb. You nudge him, asking him gently to get off of you but he won’t have it. He’s too comfortable on top of you, holding you closer to him and protests loudly against moving.

“Billy….” You whine and he moans, hiding his face deeper in your neck.

“I don’t want to get up….I’m so warm beside you.”

You roll your eyes, trying to wiggle from his embrace but the new movement has re-sparked his energy and his arms pin beside you, keeping you in place and you whine against his ear,

“You’re too heavy! I can’t breathe! And you’re hot!”

You’re being dramatic – sure. But he was a walking furnace and you were already warm wearing his Henley and despite your exposed legs you felt like you were on fire.

Billy was too amused however, missing the way you sounded, missing how your body felt against his and he laughs, kissing at your neck until you give in, wrapping your arms around his neck as he moves his face to kiss you again. Desperate. Hungry. His hips shimmy against you, his erection pressing into your center and you moan, your leg wrapping around his stiff pants easily.

He never played by the rules.

When he’s got you to the point where you’re equally desperate, your body shimmying against his own, your hands clawing to pull off his shirt he stops you. Looks down at you with serious eyes and gives a shaky sigh. You stop, taking in the way his heart has increased and you cup his face, knowing something has shifted.

Perhaps he was trying to figure out how to break up with you. It all hits you too quickly – becomes too real. Of course that was what was happening. You had efficiently freaked him out enough and now he didn’t want anything to do with you. Or maybe he was trying to express himself. That was also the more realistic possibility.

As much as you hated voicing out your insecurities, you knew it was important in a relationship. And you could honestly have a conversation with yourself when it was getting out of hand. Billy, on the other hand, was horrible at expressing himself if the language wasn’t sarcasm or affection. And even affection had been a tough one to tackle down.

You place a hand on his chest, over his heart as you whisper,

“Billy, calm down. Its ok. Take your time. You know I won’t judge you no matter what you say.”

He looks down at you, bites his lip before shaking his head.

“Fuck it – do you wanna get married?”

You blink up at him, your brain trying to process his words. Your silence freaks Billy out though as he leans off you, standing and digging through his pockets.

“I fucked it up,” he mumbles once he finds what he’s looking for, pulling out the velvet black box. He gets down on one knee, his hands trembling as you sit up in bed, falling back on your knees as Billy gives out a heavy sigh.

“I asked Curtis how I should ask you and he said, just do it naturally, you know, like how’d I ask you how the day is going or what you wanted to do. Then I asked Frank and he said to ask it like I would give you a compliment and…. aww fuck it I don’t know how to say this because I know. I know you aren’t looking for something serious, that you’re afraid because for some reason I cannot get out of your skull, you don’t think you’re good enough for me. Or beautiful enough or smart enough and….you’re a space engineer – of course you’re smart and beautiful and….” He’s rambling and you feel something swell in your heart. For all the time that you had known Billy, from the moment he had walked over to you during your friends company party, he had never been tongue tied or flustered. He was confident and sure of himself.

You had bought out this new side of him. You had brought out the insecure boy you knew he tried to hide from you and the world. And he was this way because he loved you.

“What I’m trying to say is…you know, ever since the day I saw you at that holiday party…god, you were different. Made me feel different. And you have always made me work for it, pushed me and challenged me. Made me realize how I could be a better person. And I hope I can be that for you and….goddammit I just want to spend the rest of my life with you. Love you so damn much Y/N. Want to see your belly grow with my babies one day. Want to grow old with you and all that romantic shit…fuck, I shouldn’t be cursing so much in a proposal.”

He looks up at you then, his face flushed red trying to find some relief. It’s found in you as you bob your head up and down, trying to contain the tears falling from your face. You don’t know why this act, this little ask reassures you. Perhaps its seeing him out of his element, seeing how tortured he was in trying to make you happy that has you comforted.

“I will. Do. I’ll marry you.” You answer finally and his eyebrows furrow together.

“Really? You’re not going to argue with me for hours about it. Not going to try to convince me on why I shouldn’t be trying to build a life with you.”

“Really.” You say as you move closer to him and his frown deepens.

“You literally argued with me for five hours on why you didn’t want to move in here with me. You still even have your apartment!”

“I’ll sell it you idiot – do you want me to marry you or not!? Focus on your surroundings.”

You say the last part snarkily and he grins up at you now wolfishly before his lips are back on your own, trapping you in a bear hug as he kisses you.

“That’s my line.” He says when he pulls away and you shrug as his hand find your left one, sliding the ring onto your finger.

You’re amazed. It was your dream ring. And your expensive dream ring – at least it looked. You had always wanted a simple princess cut ring, nothing to fancy. The rock of this ring demanded attention. You might even ask Billy if you could use his security personnel to protect you from walking down the street with.

“I asked all your close girlfriends and your mom and your sisters and even your brother what kind of ring you wanted. When I went to Harry Winston they told me the cushion cut was basically the same thing and ..... oh my god are you not listening to me?”

You snap your head back up at him and press a soft kiss to your lips. Your ring was shiny and did he say a Harry Winston? You only thought people in movies got rings from the Harry Winston. The hell was wrong with this man?

That doesn’t matter though. You know he did it because he genuinely believed you deserved the best.

When you pull away you voice as much, “Thank you for loving me and taking me for who I am.”

“No thank you babe. But you know, if you want to find a more physical way to show your thanks….”He kisses your nose before you feel his hips shimmy against you and you laugh nodding your head.

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

[officialmaleclibrary]

This month we’re showcasing an author in the fandom who has written popular works such as Quite magical and A promise of forever. Pat is on ao3 as WendigoBaby and on tumblr as @maghnvsbane, and we’d like to thank her once again for taking part in the OML author showcase! 

1. When did you start writing fics? Tell us a little of your journey as a fic writer.

I believe I was 13 when I wrote my first ever piece of fiction (a really bad story about a lady assassin able to turn into a panther, don’t even ask) and it snowballed from there. For two or three years I used to do fics for this French cartoon called Code Lyoko, before moving to original stuff - it was a great exercise for keeping personalities and plot consistent, while also dabbling in character design. Then forth came Shadowhunters and I fell so hard for this show, that I’ve been stuck writing for it almost exclusively since the end of season one, with a small phase dedicated to The Raven Cycle.

2. What fic of yours are you most proud of and why?

My Simple blessings piece holds a special place in my heart, as I’ve poured a lot of emotion into it; the relief related to being able to love and be loved in return, the joy of domesticity and the intrinsic beauty of the world (or maybe I just love waxing poetic). The other one I’m proud of from a more practical standpoint is fire & gasoline; describing fighting is always a bit of a challenge, because you have to imagine all of the movements and stitch them all together into something that flows and reads comfortably, allowing the reader to imagine it all in their head. With that fic I feel like managed that quite decently and I'm proud of it.

3. Who is your favorite character to write and why? Which character do you find the most challenging to write?

My favourite is definitely Alec, since I relate to him in many aspects, both life and personality-wise: we’re both perfectionists, a little closed off and wary of newcomers, but tender and with a lot of love to give beneath a hard shell. Also we both love Magnus Bane, so there’s that. On the other hand, I feel like Simon is the most challenging one and it may be a strange answer, but his kindness and his specific kind of rambling, pop culture-related humour is hard to capture for someone more quiet like me.

4. What is the hardest part about being a fic author? The easiest?

Starting the fic and then bringing it to the finish line, definitely - the longer I work on a piece, the more doubts I get whether the idea is even worth the effort. Probably because the more I read over the same sentences, the more predictable they get and start to feel like boring writing, even when it’s only in my own head. I also get distracted fairly frequently by new concepts, which ends with me surrounded by half-finished fics that gather dust on my desktop. The easiest? Getting an idea - inspiration comes from anywhere and with time I start to hoard these little thoughts that one day may be born into full blown pieces - sometimes all it takes is half a sentence heard in a grocery store two aisles over.

5. What inspires you? Where do you find your muse?

Anywhere and everywhere, but most often from songs and aesthetic pictures I come across on tumblr. Other than that, it's movies, tv shows, video games, real-life conversations or even random things I dreamed about (although those tend to get a little strange and I don’t think should be turned into fanfiction).

6. How do you power through writer’s block?

I cry. No, to be honest, I just try to keep going. I write the most awful, kitschy sentences imagined and yell (complain and whine, more like) about them to my friends until it gets easier and my creativity flows again. If that doesn’t work, then I let myself take a day off, go outside, do something with my family or friends, or just start something new because pushing too hard for will just make everything  worse. Consuming new media also helps - going to the cinema, reading poetry or books, listening to music you'd never think you'd enjoy, anything to widen the horizon of your imagination and get yourself out of your comfort zone.

7. Do you have a favorite fic from another author?

Oh gosh, so many! Some Kind of Wonderful by magnusragnor/@magnusragnor (the best lifeguard au i’ve read ever, well-paced and characterized, I fell in love immediately and it’s one of the first fics that comes to my mind when someone asks for recommendations), and my heart is set on you, plus all of the single parent aus by @lightwoodlesbians /ohprongs (Charley has one of the most incredible styles with great natural humour and in-character writing; she is also one of the only people who can make me like children in fics), hold on to me (cause i’m a little unsteady) by ceciwrites/@daddariossmile (this just stuck with me, the soft way they interact, the whole concept of skating the way it’s used here, 10/10) and Appassionato by Chonideno (this moved me on a deeper level, the love of music included in this, passion written into every word, the original take on the concept of a first meeting, I love it all).

8. What’s something you’re looking forward to in season three of Shadowhunters?

As for Magnus and Alec, I’d love to see them have more conversations about the differences between them without death in the form of Valentine looming over their heads, as well as more casual intimacy and domesticity (hand holding, hello kisses, more hugs, a training scene, I’ll take anything). We’ve got a taste of Battle Couple, which I hope is just an introduction to more great scenes with them as a team. In general, I’m looking forward to Luke’s conflict with nosy Ollie (plus his hot date with Maryse) and more backstory on our favorite Downworlders - Simon and how he’ll get out of the Seelie Queen’s grasp, Maia’s and Bat’s growing connection. I miss this show already, I want to know everything!

9. Can you give us a sneak peek to what you’re writing next? Or at least any hints to what’s to come?

I tend to jump between ideas quite a lot and I like keeping them under wraps, so no sneak peeks from me! But as I’m looking at my to-write list, I can tell you to expect more domesticity, more canon fics with a sprinkle of aus and/or meet-cutes. The one I’m working on right now involves immortal husbands, pretty countrysides and a title inspired by one specific French song, maybe you can even guess which one it is?

10. Do you have advice for anyone who might be interested in writing fan fiction?

First - don't be afraid to start and second - keep going even if you don't feel like it. Writing good fan fiction takes a lot of trial and error as well as practice. My first fics were all around awkwardly written and as I continued with different ideas, I did get better. When it comes to finding the right balance for characters, it's good to read well-characterized fic from other writers plus meta posts as those tend to give an explained look into the character's personality. And if you're not sure about something, don't hesitate to ask others, just don't give up.

11. Does having English as a second language challenge you as a writer?

In some ways, yes. Although since I’ve been using English for about sixteen years of my life, it’s become almost like an extension of my thoughts. That doesn’t mean I don’t get things wrong, because I do, mostly in the department of grammar (all those pesky rules). Some words or expressions don’t translate well (or even don’t exist) in both languages, so as someone bilingual I have to maneuver my way around those obstacles either by looking through a thesaurus or a dictionary (I always have those two open when I write). Yet, beside grammatical nuances, strange expressions that make no sense when translated from Polish, and confusing words, the worst thing about being bilingual is forgetting the word I want to use in both languages at once. I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy!

[artificialqueens]

Late Bloomer Chapter 1

This is loosely based on “Late Bloomer” by Jenny Lewis

follow the fic at @ladyalix on ao3

CHAPTER ONE

Trixie chose Paris because it was the fashion capital of the world, she told herself, but mostly because it seemed the farthest away place in the world from Milwaukee. After high school she was determined to do something with her life, to prove to herself and the rest of her graduating class that her dreams were not unfounded - and she was also determined not to fuck it up. Her plan, really, was very simple. Rent a room somewhere with the limited funds she’d saved up washing dishes at the local greasy spoon for the past two years, apply for as many fashion-related internships and jobs as she could find, and serve enough cups of coffee and run enough Xerox trips until she was designing. Unfortunately, the plan did not include falling in love with the female, anxiety-ridden, chain-smoking Russian artist who lived down the hall.

“So you’re my new roommate,” said the chubby, red-haired woman who answered the door. Trixie noted the woman’s soft country accent - she had specifically chosen to live with an American expat as her French was high-school level, but something about this woman’s inflections were comfortingly familiar. She too was a refugee from a life far from any city of note.

“Yeah, hi, um, I’m Trixie - Trixie Mattel,” Trixie used the surname she had planned on adopting along with her new life - something that came from her reputation as Barbie-doll like, with her penchant for fashion, makeup, and all things pink and kitschy.

“I’m Ginger - Ginger Minj,” beamed the woman. Ginger opened the door wider, and Trixie gulped as she realised the flat was quite small; one room, strewn with clothing, art, and record albums, and one large bed.

“I forgot to mention, we’re going to have to share some space,” winced Ginger. “And I’m having a small get-together with my art friends tonight. You’ll like them, but I’m afraid there’s not much room to avoid us in.”

Trixie laughed. “That’s fine!” She began to unpack her solo suitcase, filled with her embellished thrift-store finds and her own pink creations, and put them in the small dresser by the bed.

“You’re quite an artist yourself,” commented Ginger, “did you make those?”

“Most of them, yeah. I want to go into fashion.”

Ginger chuckled. “You and every other girl in Paris.” Trixie tried not to show how the woman’s words had hurt her - she hadn’t really thought about how many stories like hers existed. In Milwaukee, she had been unique in her dreaming and determination. But after several hours off the plane she already saw how difficult it would be for her in a place like this, so saturated in its expectations and abundance of mediocre people with bigger egos and dreams than talents and resources.

“I’m going for a walk,” she managed, “to clear my head. And see the neighborhood.”

“Be back by eight tonight,” called Ginger. “It’s just a small get-together, but I want you to meet people.”

Ginger’s “small get-together” turned out to be a weed-and-pills-fueled party of about twenty strange-looking people of every colour, gender, and quirk packed into the tiny flat. Some sort of indie band Trixie wasn’t quite cool enough to recognize thrummed in the background. She felt very small and very young and very, very Milwaukee here.

“Trixie!” called Ginger. “There’s some people I’d like you to meet.” She gestured to a small group of women clustered towards the door, where they were admiring one of Ginger’s strange, abstract paintings.

“This one’s weird as fuck,” a tall, slender brunette girl remarked, taking a drag on a cigarette. Ginger beamed.

“Thanks, Violet, I did try. Girls - this is Trixie, my new roommate. She’s from Minnesota.”

“Milwaukee. Wisconsin,” amended Trixie. “You were close, though.”

Another girl, who had a septum ring but somehow made it look high-fashion, smirked.

“Milwaukee? Jesus, you must be in for a shock. You’re not in Kansas anymore; welcome to Oz.”

Trixie almost didn’t hear what the septum-pierced girl was saying to her, though, because just then an extraordinary-looking woman kitty-corner across the room caught her eye; barely ten years older than Trixie, or just really good at concealing her age, she was a tall, striking woman with blunt-cut, bleach-blond hair and intelligent blue eyes. What was most shocking, however, was her clothing - a macrame-covered dress that seemed like it came out of Trixie’s mom’s wardrobe from the 1970s, a dark fur cossack hat, and quirky jewelry scattered haphazardly - lip-shaped brooches, oversized faux-pearls, eyeball hairclips. Trixie, who had prided herself on her fashion-forward clothes, felt underdressed. Trixie felt her heart flutter in a way she had only read about - something girls were supposed to have felt to boys. Something she hadn’t ever known.

“Who is that?” she managed, pointing discreetly at the woman. The septum-pierced girl rolled her eyes.

“That’s Katya. She’s the craziest bitch I’ve ever met. She’s kind of a genius, though. I’d kill to be as talented as her.”

“Talented? What does she do?”

“She’s a performance artist. She does, like, interpretive dance and gymnastics and shit but somehow she makes it really incredible. She was a gymnast growing up, and they say she could have made it to the Russian Olympic team, but - “

“Shut up, Pearl,” said the taller girl - Violet - whom Trixie noticed was rather possessively holding onto the other girl - Pearl’s - forearm. Almost like they were dating. Trixie had never met a gay person before, except for her favorite teacher at school who got fired when the news of his personal life was revealed. Trixie shuddered. All her life she’d never liked anyone. But now she was safely in a community of queer people, she could ask herself - did she feel that way towards this enigmatic Katya?

“Sorry,” said Ginger, breaking the tense silence. “I think Katya wouldn’t want us… gossiping about her past. She’s put it behind her quite well.”

“Oh, God,” groaned Pearl playfully, “she noticed us.” The blonde woman was bounding across the room, a cigarette in her hand and a toothy grin on her face.

“ Devotchki”, she exclaimed, clasping her hands together in greeting. She turned to face Trixie, and Trixie had to fight the urge to turn her head shyly. “And who is this?” Her English was heavily accented, her voice the gravelly tone that gave away a chainsmoking habit.

“Um, I’m Trixie - Trixie Mattel,” said Trixie softly, using the new name with a tentative confidence.

“Trixie! What a lovely name!” beamed Katya. Trixie looked into her eyes and saw they were a startling icy blue, covered in thick black makeup. The makeup artist side of Trixie knew the Russian’s skills were dreadfully sloppy and amateurish but the strangely smitten Trixie thought Katya looked incredible - badass and vulnerable, strange and trendy all at once.

“I’m Katya - Yekaterina Petrovna Zamolodchikova, that is, but you can call me Katya.”

“Trixie’s from Wisconsin,” offered Violet with a knowing smirk, “she moved to Paris today.”

“Today?” gasped Katya, raising an eyebrow, “how old are you, dear?”

Trixie blushed, realising she was in fact quite young compared to these incredibly cool artists. “I’m eighteen. I just graduated from high school and I’m going to start looking for jobs tomorrow.”

Katya laughed - a glorious, rollicking laugh, her head thrown back and her hands moving side-to-side manically.

“You moved here without a job? Oh, that’s wonderful! You can, of course, speak French though…”

Shit. “Um…” Trixie began.

“Don’t worry,” said Katya. “I can help you. I’ve met many people in the years I’ve been here.”

“Everyone knows Katya,” offered Pearl. “She’s kind of famous.”

“And I live right down the hall,” the Russian woman offered. “Hey, tomorrow I take you drinking, okay? I can show you around the neighborhood a little more.”

“I’m trying to save most of my money for rent right now,” admitted Trixie; she really would have liked to go. “And I’m only eighteen.”

“Darling, this is France,” laughed Katya. “At least we know now you are not one of the Americans who only move here to drink legally before their twenty-first birthday. And don’t worry - it’s my treat.”

“Like - “ stammered Trixie. “Like a date?” of course it wasn’t a date, Trixie reminded herself. They were girls. Katya was probably straight anyway - but growing up poor like Trixie had, she wasn’t always comfortable having someone she had just barely met treat her to something like this. It was too much like charity. Somehow, though, Katya’s offer was different than that.

“Yes, something like a date,” said Katya breezily. “Moi druzya, do any of you have a light?”

[honeylikewords]

OMG SJDJENF T NO ONE WRITES FOR SAM WILSON U BLESS ME SO MUCH!!! PLS TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK IT'D BE LIKE DATING THAT BEAUTIFUL MAN

PLEASE COME TO ME FOR ALL YOUR SAM WILSON LOVING NEEDS I LOVE HIM SO MUCH

ok ok ok ok here we go!!!

i used to live in DC so i’ve got some of that Sweet Insider Knowledge(TM) 

he met his girl at a “the hobbit” themed bar/restaurant that’s in alexandria; his friends and he went as a joke one friday night, and he saw her at a nearby table, laughing herself into hysterics at a friend’s joke

he had to admit the place was dorky but had a really cute appeal to it- kinda kitschy and woodsy and the lights made her smile look so gorgeous and ethereal and he just HAD to get to know her

they got talking because he tried to approach her and she accidentally elbowed him when telling her friend a story 

(he still likes to tell her that they met because she commited “assault and battery against his person”, but that she was so cute he couldn’t possibly press charges)

once they start dating he’s SUCH a cutie

he likes to call her once a day (he is trying SO hard not to be clingy), sometimes to tell her about his day, and sometimes just to hear her talk

they move in after a few months, which gets sam giddy as a schoolboy because!!!! his girl lives WITH HIM!!!! he gets so excited that he goes out and buys a bunch of very silly ikea furniture and wants to put it together with her for the “bonding experience” (said bonding experience results in a frustratingly lopsided coffee table they call “the shitter” because it supports nothing and is just there as a reminder that they both suck at reading those comic book-like ikea instructions)

he loves nothing as much as he loves cooking with his girl, the radio blasting top 40′s pop (you can’t fucking tell me that sam wilson doesn’t love carly rae jepsen- esp fever and store), and he likes to dance with her, even if it’s just him holding her hips from behind and swaying with her as she stirs the pasta in the pot

he’s so cuddly it’s almost laughable. sam will spread out on the couch, limbs everywhere, and want his girl to lay in his lap, head on his chest, his arms around her as they watch tv. it doesn’t matter what program it is, what time it is, not a thing will prevent him from achieving the full-body hug

in that same vein, he really loves to hold her in bed. they don’t always have to be face-to-face snuggling or spooning or anything (god only knows it gets too hot in dc in the summer to warrant falling asleep next to someone’s body heat), but he likes to at least have an arm strewn across her or a hand on her back, or sometimes he gets laces their fingers together and falls asleep like that

sam wilson REFUSES to go out the door in the morning without a goodbye/good luck kiss. staunchly refuses. he will follow his girl around even on the most hectic morning going “baaaaaaby, you’re forgetting somethinnnnng, something sweet and special for your favorite maaaaaan” “sam i have to put my clothes on c’mon” [voice rises an annoying octave] “bAAAAAAAABYYYYYYY”

this whining and following will NOT stop until she gives him a good, warm kiss on the lips, which will make him grin like the cat that got the cream

he’s an obnoxious flirt, long after they’ve been together. he’ll whistle at her when she comes out of the shower in a towel, or he’ll lean on the doorframe as she’s bent over the fridge looking for the jar of pickles and say “hey girl. you come here often?” “samuel, i live here.” “saucy ;)”

he still gets really bad nightmares about his service and deployment, and though he’s learned to manage it, it still rattles him. sometimes they get ugly and his girl is there, on the front lines, and something happens to her that he can’t stop and he’ll wake up in a cold sweat, needing to feel her near. he’ll roll over and latch onto her, burying his face in her back and trying not to cry because it felt so real

she knows his signs and triggers, and she knows instinctively, even in her sleep, that when she feels that kind of touch, he’s in need, so she’ll wake up and take care of him, speaking to him in soft tones and stroking his cheeks and giving him lots of delicate, light kisses

“i’m here, sam, i’m here, i’m right here with you.” “don’t go anywhere, okay, baby? can you promise me?” “i promise you.”

sam wilson has the most incredible sense of loyalty in the world. he’s completely faithful and dedicated, and he gives his whole heart to his love, no matter what. he’s just so crazy about her. he doesn’t ever shut up about his wonderful girl who did this that and the other, or hey did you hear about that time his beautiful gf did xyz or how about-

cap basically knows her before they even officially meet. he knows way too much about her because sam just will NOT SHUT UP about her. he knows her birthday and favorite color and favorite albums and about how when she was in sixth grade she chased a bully with a dead frog on a stick 

however, he’d NEVER tell anyone he didn’t trust about his girlfriend. you have to be so careful about who you trust these days, and he doesn’t want anyone to do anything to his beloved girl. he’s paralyzed with fear that one day, one of these super-freaks is going to hunt down his girl and do something awful to her, and he can’t live with that thought.

but, on a lighter note, sam will sometimes drive out with his girlfriend to nowheresville, USA, with the wings in the trunk of his car, and he’ll show off in front of her in the middle of a field, doing loops and spins up in the sky

in fact, one time he brought an attachment for the wings (that he made) that could skywrite, and he wrote out “WILL YOU MARRY ME” in the clouds

when he finally touched back down, he was grinning like a madman from the adrenaline and she ran across the field and jumped on him, tackling him and spinning him around and yelling “OF COURSE I WILL YOU SHOWOFF”

i have so many more. stop me before i lose control

[melforbes]

Restrained

post Founder’s Mutation

Her hands are tied behind her back, the tethers invisible but tight, her wrists aching against their everlasting pull. Though she rarely sleeps on her stomach - he noticed that too, furrowed his brow as she shifted positions in bed, wondered what other habits she’d picked up of late - she lies chest-down now, her cheek hot against the starched pillow, her lungs heavy upon the mattress. He’s still awake, so of course, he knows she’s still awake.

Once upon a time - he used to always begin his stories like that, once upon a time, two agents named Mulder and Scully scurried out to the far reaches of the planet and learned that, in the end, it doesn’t matter what we see but with whom we see it - they shared a bed like this. Not in the romantic way, no, but in the incidental and apologetic way that two non-lovers subdued daily by mutual but silent attraction would. Once upon a time, they checked into a Motel 6 and found, well, damn it, there’s one room left, only a queen-size open. Though she knew better than to believe in the law of averages, she still mused the statistical improbability, the way that the theorems of the world should at least have allowed for one or two cancellations that night; last week, she read a theory on how the world is all Matrix - she still knows where that DVD is in their home, wedged up between Contact and Interstellar on the shelf - and just a computer simulation, and if that’s true, then the mathematical modeling that binds everyone together should have given them another option. They could have driven to another hotel even though it was past midnight, or they could have crashed on the local sheriff’s couch, or they could have slept in the car while parked alongside two RVs and a truck in a starkly-lit Walmart lot. Instead, Mulder looked to her, then agreed to one room, and the way her heart had stopped at the prospect made her wonder if morals could ever be absolute; if pain and terror could be so exciting, then why are the body’s warning signs? Why are the things that terrify us so indulgent? 

But she digressed and came into bed with him and silenced her scientific mind while he stayed above the sheets. He slept in sweats and a tee shirt while she wore all-too-proper pajamas, a night suit as he’d once called them. Then, she slid onto her side and stared toward the motel room’s window, one blocked off by a shabby curtain that let flickers of parking lot light in, and she waited for something she couldn’t identify.

“You’re still awake,” he said after minutes, hours, days, she couldn’t tell.

“You are too,” she gave softly, hesitantly.

“Of course I am,” he said. “I don’t sleep.”

Uncomfortably, she lay there, her body tense in a workday kind of way: shoulders up, eyes wide open and stinging with tiredness, stomach empty, legs aching. Back then, her restraints were looser around her wrists, and sometimes, they threatened to fall beyond her fingers, so regularly, she tightened them. Occam’s Razor, she used to explain to herself; it was far more likely that she was simply unsexed and bored with her personal life than that she was silently but genuinely in love with him, so she kept her professional rigidity, left her mask of scientific indifference on.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a long pause.

Though she too was sorry, she knew their reasonings wouldn’t align, so she kept quiet. In the morning, they didn’t discuss how he curled up against her back at some point in the night, and they didn’t make a big deal about how she stared a second too long after walking in on him while he was in the shower. Most of all, they never talked about what they would do if such a thing happened again.

And it did happen again, though new context forced previous awkwardness away. Instead of wasting money on two required hotel rooms, they were forced into one when they would’ve used only one anyway; with his hands strong around her hips, his mouth warm and wet against her skin, she found those nights similar to any other night of that time, the room situation disregarded. For a while, she only stayed in hotels during medical conferences in far-off places, so she reserved one room with one bed, the practice easy and simple and everyday. Nowadays, they’re back to two rooms, one bed each, and as they did once upon a time, they both retreat to their own rooms at night, only now she wears his old shirts to bed while she doubts he wears anything at all.

Tonight, she asked for two rooms, and, what do you know, they’re booked. After all, this motel’s tiny, and up here in the Adirondacks during on-season, kitschy cabin-style places that are cheap and have enough parking for a boat rack sell out quickly. Though there are eight units total, seven were full upon their arrival, only one left to boot. The next closest establishment is at least twenty miles away, and here in lake-and-land country, the roads are dark and narrow, begging a driver to lose control. In terms of probability, it seems the world wants her to lose control in some way or another. This time, she accepted the one room while he stared on blankly. 

“You’re still awake,” he says, and she feels the restraints grow tighter.

“I am,” she says blandly.

“I can feel you thinking.”

“That’s an absurd thing to say.”

Her eyes close. She pictures a time not so long ago, a morning in their house back when they’d hung white summery curtains in their bedroom; she imagines how he would nuzzle up against her collarbone and ask what was on that exquisite mind of hers.

“What’s keeping you up?” he asks with bored interest. Way out here in the country, they don’t put TVs in motel rooms because, apparently, technology takes away from the experience; for now, she’s his only entertainment, that irony hardly lost on her.

She takes a deep breath, feels the press of her lungs against the top-sheet beneath her. Cloth barriers cover their skin. He smells like himself again.

And what is keeping her up? Was it the way he offered to sleep on the floor as though they’d never shared a bed before, as though such a thing would never be commonplace again? Or was it how lonely she’d felt after their last case together, after thoughts of their son returned to the front of her mind? Or was it the way she now stayed awake until the small hours of the morning, her bed too big and her apartment too quiet, her heart rate quickening when she wondered if, now that they’re back at the Bureau, he would start calling her at two am just to ask her opinion on an arbitrary extraterrestrial matter again? Was it how he could take his medications in front of her without second-guessing himself? Or was it the serendipity of the evening, how the one room left at the motel meant her craving to sleep next to him would finally, finally, be nourished? 

Occam’s razor, she thinks. 

“I read this theory on humanity,” she explains, “about how we’re all in some big computer simulation. It makes sense in certain ways. After all, the world can be reduced to series of patterns if we really need it to be. However, it doesn’t account for the inaccuracies, the places where our theorems aren’t fully held.”

“Huh,” he says.

Huh. In her imagining, he kisses where her neck meets her jaw and says tell me more.

“I don’t know,” she continues. This room is small and creaky, the wood cheap and painted a muddy brown, the one window shielded by ungodly curtains. Side by side, their suitcases sit close to the door, her 360-degree wheels and his hell-and-back duffel a modest distance apart. Absentmindedly, she wonders which one is hardier, more applicable to the kind of travel they do: the expensive and ergonomic bag or the bag that’s been to worse places but survived nonetheless. “There are some things that seem mathematically unpredictable to me.”

“Like what?”

Softly, her wrists relax. She turns onto her side so that she can face him, but suddenly, she stares down at his chest, at the shirt she washed so many times that it got holes in the sleeves; a man so close to her in bed is an indulgence she’s foregone since she left him. With late-night scruff and eyes renewed with light, he looks younger somehow. 

“Like…” she furrows her brow and looks down as she searches for an example. “Like meeting you that first time. Statistically improbable. There’s got to be some other explanation.”

Giving that half-smile he used to shoot her from across the console of a cheap rental car, he shifts in bed, asks, “And why do you think that was an anomaly?”

“Well,” she continues, “there were plenty of other agents around my age with scientific backgrounds at that time, and in the end, they wanted logic to derail your findings, not science. Science is the language of change; logic is the language of control. We both know which of those they wanted more.”

He nods against his pillow. In the darkness, his face is a greyscale, all age-lines and soft eyes and timelessness, a sense that he’s always been looking at her in this way. As her restraints loosen, she reaches her arms forward, folds them in front of her chest.

“What if your assignment was part of the math of it all?” he asks, and she remembers how he told her he failed his one statistics course in college. “What if that is the most logical thing that could have happened? What if anything other than that would have been statistically improbable?”

“Fate?” she asks with a dry laugh. “You’re really bringing fate into this?”

“Well, if you put it that way-”

“The second law of thermodynamics,” she states. “The disorder in a system tends to stay the same. It’s more likely that things will go wrong than that they’ll go right.”

“So meeting me was cosmically right.”

I don’t know, she thinks, but his words set her wrists free, so she reaches toward him, places a single hand on his chest.

“Newton’s third law,” she says quietly; through his shirt, she can feel his pulse quicken.

“Scully,” he warns but simultaneously begs.

“We haven’t share a bed in-”

He mumbles a number of days that she pretends not to hear, not to already know.

“If it’s all fake, just some number-cruncher putting in values,” he says, trying to sound casual as he places his hand over hers, “then why did this happen?”

Defining that indeterminate why, she says, “God creates man.”

He huffs. “You and that God of yours.”

“There was no room for Mary and Joseph at the inn.”

“We’re not at an inn, and they had room for us here.”

"There’s only eight units, and it’s on-season,” she explains. “Statistically speaking, this was likely to happen.”

“Two probabilities walk into a bar,” he quips.

“Occam’s razor,” she supplies.

“The simplest explanation is often the correct one.”

“Yes,” she says, then leans forward to kiss him.

[30-days-of-exciting-stuff-blog]

Day 10 - Black Mirror [Series]

Do you ever feel fabulously grateful for something crappy that happened to you, because it eventually led to something good? This is one of my favourite things in the world. I had one of these moments a few weeks ago. A co-worker had been motivating us all week to spend a crazy Friday night out. For totally work-unrelated reasons, I had been feeling pretty depressed lately and most of my evenings were spent alone in my apartment (mostly re-watching bad Youtube videos, probably in order to make sure that I still didn’t like them), so I looked forward to this night out. Getting anywhere close to drunk was off the table because I had made some damn good resolutions, but I was kind of hoping that we’d meet wonderfully weird people, and find a place where the decoration would make me laugh even more than the huge portrait of Angela Merkel that took up all the space of the ladies’ restroom door in a Germany-themed bar I once went to. Enjoying the city lights and probably dancing - to some terrible 2000’s music that would remind me of the awkward teenage parties I usually wasn’t invited to anyway – sounded like a nice sequel to this.

In case you wonder: The weird Angela Merkel bar is actually called the Black Forest Society, and it’s located in Lyon, France. They have nice, original, good-resolutions-incompatible cocktails made with Black Forest Gin and fancy liquors and cocoa, sometimes served in kitschy recipients. A bit expensive, but still a nice experience. Oh, and they have bretzels as well.

Unfortunately, they had all lost their motivation sparkle by the time Friday came. Some of them wanted to get up early tomorrow, some had other plans, some were tired. I ended up being the only one who actually wanted to go. I had booked my train tickets to my parents’ for the next morning, so it became clear that this would be another lonely night in my flat. I soon found myself texting my co-worker, whining about how bored I was and asking her if she could think of something nice for me to read or watch.  She suggested me to try Black Mirror if I wanted food for thought about modern society. Black Mirror is a series of one-hour standalone episodes. That, my friends, is already a pretty great point for people like me who try to watch a zillion series at once - and inevitably end up forgetting what the hell the hot smart gay intern’s name is because 1) all these character names adding up can be rather confusing 2) they find time for an episode of the show every two months or so. Standalone episodes have that great habit of rightly assuming that, just like Jon Snow, the viewer knows nothing. Each one has its own cast, setting, and reality, which basically makes them short movies. What they all have in common in Black Mirror is the theme of new technologies and their unexpected consequences.

By the way: Connor Walsh. The hot smart gay intern from How to get away with murder is Connor Walsh. He’s one of the main characters for the Seven’s sake, how could you even forget?

As you may have noticed, the theme is pretty broad, which allows for a number of variations. Some episodes are built around a specific fictional technology – what would happen, for instance, if everyone had a chimp implant that recorded everything they did, saw or heard, and allowed them to replay the entire memory, either in front of their eyes or on a screen? The Entire History of You is centered around that possibility. In an alternative reality where this technology allows personal data storage to go even further than it currently does – and anyone who once cringed in front of an n-th attempt from Facebook to revive awkward 8-year-old memories to celebrate a virtual friendship birthday will probably argue that this has already gone way too far – memories are never faded, let alone erased. Every recording is potentially an evidence to the jealous protagonist, who suspects his wife to have cheated on him with her ex and gets more and more paranoid as he keeps replaying potentially incriminating memories. The chilling Be right back, on the other hand, introduces us to realistic androids simulating the deceased using their previous communication data. Martha, a grieving young woman whose husband died in a car crash, reluctantly begins to communicate with an artificial intelligence accurately imitating her late partner – humour, interests, reactions, everything is calculated to sound like him. The digital ghost is convincing and Martha soon finds herself in love with him, until she gets frustrated with his inability to express emotions accurately, and his lack of the traits that were not expressed by her deceased husband in his digital life. The resulting story is truly haunting – no pun intended -, and is both a heart-wrenching exploration of grief and a starting point to an authentic riot of questions in the viewer’s mind, the most interesting probably being “What spares the human from a thinking machine anticipating its reaction to every situation, and able to be loved by the ones who knew the person behind?”.

The Entire History of You - Nah, you told me your relationship had lasted one week, not one month, LOOK, I HAVE PROOF. *Memory replays*

Hi digital ghost, I guess.

My favourite episodes, however, are those set in dehumanized, acerbic, cynical dystopias, built and revealed slowly over the course of the episode. In the thought-provoking Fifteen million merits, citizens only go out of their confined sleeping boxes to cycle endlessly on exercise bikes to power their screen-covered surroundings and generate Merits, a currency that allows them to skip the untimely, inopportune, sometimes obscene advertisements that keep interrupting their activities to sell them nothing but virtual items such as accessories for their avatars. Sleep. Cycle. Skip ad – if you can afford it. Interact briefly with one or two avatars. Repeat. The protagonist progressively becomes aware of the vacuity of this existence and craves realness since he got a glimpse of it in the singing voice of one of his co-cyclers, but even the only perceived escapes usually turn out to be smoking mirrors. Another great episode, Nosedive, is set in a colourful, alternative reality where people rate one another using their phones. Ratings determine their employability, access to services and overall value in society – some neighbourhoods are exclusively reserved to people with high ratings, and a low rating will make you lose your job. This leads people to obsess over their ratings and calculate every single social interaction, hoping to get the favours of high-rated people in order to raise their score and finally be able to get the discount they need to rent a house. Satires about social media society probably aren’t uncommon, but this one has that cynical feel created by the sharp contrast between the pink-and-pastel visuals and the hypocritical, chained social interactions that take place under a social media eye constantly ready to pull people under if they dare speak their minds or complain about anything. Nosedive gets even scarier when you think back about it and realise that the terrifying society described over the episode already exists, although in a less visible way. Social media does play a huge role in our personal and professional lives – who never thought of posting something on the social media just to impress someone? Who never heard a story of someone who got in trouble at work, or didn’t get hired, because of social media material? Who never got stuck into a conversation about what a common acquaintance posted on social media the day before? Who never paid at least a little attention to the number of likes they got on their Facebook post? And about the whole rating thing – I’m pretty sure you’re already familiar with “We’ll go to that restaurant, it’s really well-rated on Tripadvisor” or “If you liked it, please don’t forget to rate us”. And actually, apps that rate people are already a thing.

Fifteen million merits and Nosedive - Different atmospheres, different alternate realities, same feeling of suffocating fakeness.

This is where Black Mirror generally gets brilliant: Although the alternate realities depicted in the show are usually noticeably different from ours, the viewer always ends up seeing a reflection of their own society. The scenarios X-ray aspects of our modern world and disguise them in a satirical, clever, accurate way that makes you think back about Black Mirror episodes long after you watched them. The questions raised by the series go way beyond the usual “You should all turn off your phones, get real again and go for a walk in the forest with your neighbour, social media turned you into narcissist brainless zombies” rhetoric. The variety of scenarios, from political satire to intimate drama, make sure you keep being surprised and never get bored. However, you will probably get uneasy pretty often – and I’m not saying that because the first episode revolves around the Prime Minister being ordered to have sex with a pig in order to save a princess from being killed. A cuddly blanket, a nice cup of tea, your favourite biscuits and a pair of arms/loving cat/soft toy (depending on what you have in store) are probably advised during, or after, a Black Mirror episode. Not providing yourself with that equipment and watching it right before going to bed will be at your own risk – I promise you don’t want your nightmares to turn into technologically advanced dystopias. Old school monsters are easier to run from.

And also: This is the tenth post of this Tumblr, which definitely deserves to be celebrated with the song that kind of inspired it. As hinted in the Crypt of the Necrodancer post, it’s the famous standard “My favorite things” (except I usually write it, like everything on that Tumblr, with the British spelling – I’m neither British nor American, and I’m trying hard to avoid cliché-ridden justifications such as “because it makes my blog posts smell like my beloved Twinings tea”). Just like that enthusiastic blog of mine, it’s an enumeration of amazing things. Let’s face it, “whiskers on kittens, bright copper kettles and warm woollen mittens” probably sound much better than “sad novels, weird computer games, robot exhibits and sci-fi-ish series”, but I promise I love kittens and soft mittens as well. I just don’t have enough material to write about them. Anyway, I thought you may enjoy this cover by Pomplamoose as much as I do.

[atinydise]

Ateez realizing they’re in love with their s/o while working on a duet

❦ Genre: Fluff.

❦ Pairing: OT8.

❦ Word count: 11k5.

❦ Requested: Yes, thank you! 🦋

❦ Masterlist.

HONGJOONG

Hongjoong was spinning around, on his chair. He was thinking about the lyrics he needed to write for Eden. He didn’t want to disappoint him, so he did his best, as always. Knowing that your best friend was busy and stressed, you came at his studio to support him or help him as you could. “Is that a love song?” You asked, reading the first verse. “Yes, it is a summer love song. Like the person you met in vacation and developed feelings.” “There’s a ton of summer love song Joongie.” You warned. “Why not a love song about friendship?” you proposed. “I-I don’t know how it feels,” he stuttered. “Hum… I’ll help you.” You grabbed a pen and a paper and started to write few sentences that he could turn as lyrics.

Hongjoong looked at you, struggling, but he found you cute. You tied your hair in a messy bun and few hairs were falling on your face. Hongjoong could say that you were completely focus because you were chewing the pen and your fingers were lost in your hair. “You never felt this feeling? Like this person that you consider like your best friend is more than that? You think about this person all the time and want to see her every day?” You asked him. Hongjoong ignored if it was the sudden proximity or the way you looked so cute, but he realized that he might feel what you just explained. “Or the feelings like what you could do everything with this person? That both of you can fight the world, together?” You added. Hongjoong continued to stare at you, “yes I probably did.” “Then let’s go write about it!” you smiled, enthusiastically. “I feel like it will be easier to write good lyrics if you there.” He claimed, grabbing his notebook. You didn’t fully understand what he wanted to say but you liked it.

SEONGHWA

Seonghwa was working with another idol for a special performance at MMA. This opportunity was incredible for him so you tried to help your friend the best as you could. You knocked at the practice room door and entered instantly. “Oh Y/N!” said Seonghwa when he saw you. “Hello beautiful! I’m here to help you!” You greeted him enthusiastically, “let’s practice!” “You don’t even know how to sing idiot.” He teased you. “Bla bla bla,” you rolled your eyes, “I heard that your duo was busy today. So, I’ll do my best to help you.” “Okay then… tell me how I can change the last verse. I want it to be more…” he stopped to search for the good word. You grabbed the paper in front of you. “More tender? Soft?” “Exactly,” he snapped his fingers at you. “You are just talking about how you fell in love but not what you like about her or him. You can add more physicals details. So, your fans could relate a lot more.” You explained. “Hum… that would be good idea.” Nodded Seonghwa. “If I was your girlfriend for example, what would you like?” Seonghwa blushed lightly, the idea of you being his girlfriend didn’t bother him at all. “I guess that I would love how you are always so supportive and funny even if your jokes are… not really good.” He chuckled. “I would love how you are kind with everyone even if they don’t deserve it. I love seeing you playing with your hair. Your eyes are always sparkling too, even if you are sad. This is beautiful to see.” He gulped. “I could stare at you for long hours.” “And finally… being next to you is my favorite thing. Your perfume is addictive, and your presence is warm.” he said quietly. “Hum… okay,” you giggled. “I think that you found enough details to write your lyrics.” He nodded, “yes. And I think I found something else too.” He whispered, enough for you to not hearing it.

YUNHO

“Argh… why composing is so hard!” Sighed Yunho sitting between you and Mingi on the couch. “Are you inspired?” asked Mingi, watching TV at the same time. “Not at all… I don’t know how Hongjoong Hyung can think about good lyrics all the time.” Declared Yunho. “Why you don’t go and ask him for help?” you asked grabbing his large hand to massage it. “I need to do it by myself.” He simply replied. “I’ve never been in love or I don’t know how it really feels.” “My mom told me that you feel full every time. Like if you ate a good meal.” Said Mingi cutely. You giggled, “yes, kind of.” Yunho sighed and rested his head on your laps. “How should I start? Or what I should do?” “Maybe you can describe what would be your favorite date?” proposed Mingi. “Hum nah… to kitschy.” You stopped your friend. “I think that the melody would need to stay soft and cute but with a powerful chorus or bridge.” “Yes maybe,” he sighed. “Like a smooth melody,” you rubbed his hand softly like if it became a piano. “Plus, it’s a duet so you can use your voice to set the atmosphere too and create a surprising effect.” You added. Yunho was staring at your fingers playing on his hand. The smoothness of your digits made his heart race unexpectedly. “But… you both now better than me anyway,” you said awkwardly. Mingi pocked Yunho’s waist, noticing that he was still on this trance. “Huh? Yes! Thank you!” He almost yelled. Yunho stood up and almost ran back to his bedroom. You stared back at Mingi, “is he okay? Did I say something bad?” He smiled, “no. I think he just realized something. Finally.”

YEOSANG

You had this little argument earlier with Yeosang. He said something that hurt your feelings a bit and didn’t apologize yet. He noticed that you were mad because you were quiet. You stayed on the couch, looking at the ceiling. Since the past hour, none of you started to talk. Yeosang was humming alone. He needed to write his part for the new comeback. It wasn’t a romantic song but a simple one talking about friendship. Funny when you see the context. Yeosang threw once again a ball of paper in the trash and buried his head on his arms, frustrated. Not liking to see your best friend so anxious, you asked him: “No inspiration?” He hummed, “nothing matches with the beat. I can’t do anything right.” You stood up from the couch and crouched down next to Yeosang. You felt him jump a bit when he felt your hand rubbing his back. “You can do it Yeosang-ie. You are so talented. You just need to find the good words.” You cheered him gently. He sighed, lifting his head a bit, “it would be easier to do this duet with you and not a stranger.” “I know but I’m not an idol.” You giggled, hugging him. Yeosang felt instantly relaxed. Your presence was always so warm. “Why everything is so simple with you?” “Just relax and the aspiration will hit you,” you added. His heart was racing. It wasn’t the first time that you were hugging him but today it felt different. “Oh! I need to go,” you looked at the clock. “What already?” He pouted. “See you tomorrow, okay?” You kissed his forehead. “Love you!” You wave at him exiting the room. “I love you too…” he whispered. “And maybe more than I thought.” He added, hand on his chest trying to calm his heartbeat.

SAN

You desperately wanted to watch a new avenger at cinema. It was available few days left, or you would need to see it on your TV. You asked San, your childhood best friend to come with you but he needed to finish his production first. So, you were dancing crazily in the studio. Your friend was jamming and composing in the same time. You were supposed to help him, but his playlist was not helping. “Y/N, weren’t you supposed to write lyrics with me?” he giggled, seeing your failed silly twerk. “I know, but I need to dance! It’s like you played all my favorite songs!” you explained. San was staring at you. Not like a friend would but like a lover would. All these years, he saw you growing up with him and he discovered how amazing you were. “Oh! Sing with me!” You ordered him, pulling San by the hand. He giggled, “no I can’t I need to focus on it if you want to watch your movie.” “Well okay…” You stopped the music and sat next to him, “let’s go.” San handed you the lyrics he already wrote. You put all your attention on it. “It’s terrible,” he claimed. You shushed him, finger on his lip and continued to read. “They’re pretty good already!” You exclaimed. “I like how you compared the first and innocent love story to a powerful and hot volcano.” He blushed a bit, “ah really?” “Yes!” You wrapped your arm around his shoulders, giggling next to his ear. “You’re a genius! Not many people can compare these 2 things.” “I guess I had a good inspiration,” he whispered, trying to hide his red cheeks. “I think you just need to add a little more of feelings, so people could relate. Okay?” you mentioned. He nodded, “thank you.” “Anytime,” you smiled. San hesitate at first, but he finally asked. “Do you want to go on a walk someday? At the Han River?” “It feels like a date invitation,” you chuckled, ignoring that it was a real one. San gulped, for sure something changed for him.

MINGI

“Song Mingi Focus on your work!” You scolded your friend again. “I’m trying but you are breathing crazily!” he replied. Instinctively, you threw a ball of paper right at the back of his head. “Don’t scold me while you are the only one who’s doing his work at the last minute.” Lucky for him, you didn’t see the way his eyes rolled, or you would throw the whole notebook. Mingi needed to write a rap verse for a duet that he would perform with Kevin from TheBoyz. Sadly, because of his schedule and his laziness, he didn’t write anything. He called you at 2AM to help him since Hongjoong was busy with his individual schedule. And he would probably kill him too. “Do you have any idea about what Kevin could have wrote?” you asked, laying on your back, staring at the ceiling. “I know that he’s the one who need ‘to confess’ the first.” He sighed, leaving his desk to join you on his bed. “So, you need a powerful verse. Something that could really attract your fan.” You claimed, rolling in his side, resting your head on his shoulder. Mingi froze. These days, he felt shy toward you every time you were to close to him. He was used to you being clingy time to time, but it never bothered him or made him feel this way. “Maybe, you could sing and not rap. It could be nice.” You giggled. He played with your hair, removing it from your face. “I could give a try,” he smiled. You coughed, a bit before rapping, imitating his deep voice. “Ayo! I’m in love with you! Would you let me date you? I’m your Romeo so please be my Juliette for the good sake! Draaah!” Mingi laughed so hard, next to you, “that was terrible.!” Unexpectedly, he wrapped his arm around you to pull you in a tight hug. “I know that you like when I imitate you!” You giggled in his arms. “Yes, I do,” he whispered, enjoying you being so close. “I like it a lot.”

WOOYOUNG

Wooyoung was stuck in the vocal room for 3 hours now. The inspiration wasn’t coming at all today. He buried his head on his arms, sighing and claiming that he was a loser who couldn’t write. “You will find something good Wooyoung-ie.” You reassured him. “It’s been 3 hours, and nothing came yet!” He replied, disappointed. You put your phone on a side and next to your best friend. “Come one… it shouldn’t be too hard to write love songs. It’s always the same thing…” you declared. “For you maybe…” You sighed, you really needed to find a way of comforting him. “What about a kitschy brainstorm?” you asked. “Oh? Why not,” he accepted. “Ok, I start,” you smiled happily. “Oppa*… is your father a thief?” “Hum… no why?” he simply replied, cringing a bit at the nickname you chose. “Because he stole all the stars to put it on your eyes.” “Cringyyyyy,” he laughed. “But okay, it was a good one.” You smirked, proudly “I know. Your turn now.” “Okay.” He coughed, preparing mentally. “Y/N… if I was a policeman, I would arrest you instantly. For an excessive beauty limit.” You faked to throw up and pinched his arm, “good one but I didn’t say my last words.” You grabbed his hands, “Wooyoung-ie. You know why I’m the luckiest girl in the world?” “Why?” he raised a brow, feeling his hands becoming moist. “Because I have you in my life.” You declared, looking right at him. Wooyoung blushed instantly and his breathe became heavier. “Seems like I won!” you shouted happily. Your friend balbutiated few words but finally managed to say: “You should go back at home okay! It’s late! Call a taxi and stage okay?” He practically threw your jacket at you and pulled you out of the vocal room. “Ouch! Wooyoung! Your inspiration, you-“ “Yes yes! See you later!” he greeted you before slamming the door right at your face. He left himself slide against the door frame. “What is happening to you Wooyoung?” he whispered, panicking a bit.

*Oppa: literally means “older brother of a female person”. Older brother, very close friend who is older (but not much older!), romantic interest, boyfriend, and sometimes even husband, if they are older.

JONGHO

Jongho was busy the whole week. It was your childhood birthday and he couldn’t manage to spend some time with you. So, if he couldn’t come to the party, the party would come to him. Without even knocking, you entered his bedroom. “Hello Choi Jongho!” He blinked a bit trying to know why you made this fabulous entry. “What are you doing here idiot?” he giggled. “I don’t want you to get all the fun alone,” you said sarcastically, putting delicately the cake on his bed. “It’s not fun at all, I need to find good lyrics, but I need more lessons.” “Did you tried to play guitar in the same time?” It could inspire you.” You said, looking for the lighter. “Yes, I tried to, but nothing fits well.” He stared at you, struggling to light the cake. “Do it again! I want to hear it and at least I can give you my opinion.” You smiled widely. “Okay, if you say.” He accepted, grabbing carefully his guitar, humming the melody. While he was searching for the perfect lyrics, you settled the cake at the center of the bed. You hung up a little birthday banner on the bedhead and listened Jongho, carefully. The maknae loved the atmosphere you prepared. He managed to sing a full verse just by looking at you. Being here for him. As always. “That was pretty good Jongho!” You are just too hard with yourself.” “Probably!” he smiled shyly. You patted the bed, making him understand to sit here, “come here so we can blow our candles.” He nodded and joined you. “Let’s wish to stay together forever okay?” you smiled. “That’s everything I want.” He replied. “More than anything.”