#(I say despite taking like triple the amount of time to do the month challenges)

[lyssismagical]

nothing can keep me from loving you

Day 1: “2029, that’s not a real year” / time travel / future au

Mostly just soft fluff 

Waking up to Peter will never get old. He’ll never take it for granted to have Peter in his arms, no matter how many years pass. It’s his favourite thing to wake up, Peter against his chest, curls tickling his chin, warm breaths puffing out against his stomach, cold feet pressed against his calf.

He loves his wonderful fiancé more than he ever thought possible, even if he has to put up with Peter drooling on his chest and stealing his blankets. He’s okay with all of it as long as he gets to wake up with Peter every morning.

One of their phones are ringing on Harley’s nightstand and Peter stirs against his chest, so he answers it as quickly as possible, softly shushing Peter.

“Hi, honey, sorry for the early call, but I was wondering if you were still coming by next weekend?”

“May?” Harley says, voice rough and quiet, not wanting to wake up his fiancé.

He can practically hear May’s smile in her voice. “Harley! Sorry if I woke you, sweetie. How are you?”

“I’m really good, thanks. We’ve got a day off together for the first time in months so we’re probably just spending the day in. And we’re heading out for Queens on Friday afternoon, after Peter’s classes.”

“Good. Tony and Pepper are flying in on Saturday, so Morgan will be here with me when you get here.”

Harley smiles, pressing a kiss to the crown of Peter’s head when he snuffles, one hand curling around Harley’s bicep. “Tell her we miss her a lot, will you? It’s been a while since we’ve made the trip up and I feel a little guilty. She’s doing well, right?”

“She’s doing great, Harley. Don’t worry so much,” May says with a huff of laughter. “For a high schooler, she’s surprisingly happy and well-mannered.”

Peter murmurs something under his breath, shifting again, one foot sliding up to press against the back of Harley’s knee making him shiver at his cold toes. Harley smooths a hand down Peter’s back, trying to soothe him back to sleep.

“How’s it been babysitting a teenager?”

Laughing softly, May’s voice goes nostalgic. “Reminds me of when I was raising a teenager. At least this one doesn’t crawl on ceilings or fight crime.”

Harley barely manages to stifle his laughter fast enough to not startle Peter. “Yeah, I suppose your bar’s pretty low.”

May laughs again. “Yeah, the bar’s all the way on the ground, it’s so low. But don’t think I haven’t talked to your mother about the kind of things you did as a teenager, though… Anyways, I need to get Morgan to school, so I’ll let you go back to your lazy morning plans. It was nice to hear from you.”

“Yeah, you too. I’ll make sure Peter calls you later, yeah? He’ll probably be up soon.” Just as he says that, Peter’s lips smack and his hand tightens around Harley’s bicep, eyes starting to flutter open. “I think he’s waking up if you want to talk to him.”

“No, it’s okay. Just let him know I called? And that I love him?”

Harley smiles softly, rubbing his hand down Peter’s back again. “You got it, May. We’ll see you next week.”

“Bye, Harley. Love you, honey.”

“Love you too. Bye.”

He hangs up the phone and puts it back on the nightstand beside his before turning his attention on his fiancé who’s doe-eyes are blinking up at him.

“Morning, sweetheart,” Harley says, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “May called confirming next week. She says she loves and misses you.”

“Mm,” Peter replies intelligently, freezing toes finding more warm skin at Harley’s ankles.

Harley grins, grabbing Peter’s hand and lifting it to his mouth to kiss the engagement ring that sits around his finger. If he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to waking up next to Peter, he’ll really never get used to knowing Peter’s his fiancé. It’s such a huge difference to the nervous fumbling and hidden relationship from when they were sophomores.

When they first met, the summer after freshman year, when Harley had just moved in with Tony, they weren’t ready to put labels on the kisses they shared when nobody was looking or the late nights they spent in the other’s room, curled close together and hoping FRIDAY wouldn’t tattle.

Harley had grown up in Rose Hill, a blatantly homophobic part of the south, and Peter had grown up being bullied for everything he did, including being bisexual.

They’d learned how to keep their heads down, which battles were worth fighting, how to be the person everybody wanted them to be.

But then in sophomore year, together but without labels and keeping everything a secret, they realized that suddenly they weren’t fighting on their own. They had each other’s back and that made everything different, that made it worth it.

Now, they’re out and proud, and Harley never thinks twice before kissing his boyfriend in public.

Being able to call Peter his fiancé is a dream come true when there was a time he wasn’t even allowed to call him a friend.

“You’re thinkin’ too much,” Peter mumbles, eyes slipping shut again.

“I’m only thinking about how much I love you.” It’s cheesy but the smile on Peter’s face makes every cheesy line worth it. “It’s been almost seven years since we got together.”

Peter smiles sleepily, kissing Harley’s sternum. “Ten years is 2029.”

“2029? That’s not a real year.”

His fiancé lets out a laugh at that, settling just a little bit closer to Harley. “Mm, love you.”

Harley grins, tightening his arm around Peter’s waist. “Love you too, darlin’.”

* They only make it out of bed near noon, letting Peter drift back to sleep a few times, and spending some time murmuring words of affection.

Peter slips on one of Harley’s old hoodies, Rose Hill High printed across the front and Keener on the back, and a pair of sweatpants that have been traded back and forth so many times Harley can’t remember who it first belonged to. He looks so comfy and sweet, hair fluffy and eyes bright, well rested for the first time in a long time.

The apartment’s a bit of a mess.

It’s almost always a mess, despite Peter’s cleanliness. Peter hates it being messy but when they’re only really in the house to sleep most days, in their last year of university, balancing jobs and extra-curriculars, and Spider-Man, they don’t really have the time for cleaning.

But instead of going straight to cleaning, Peter kisses Harley sweetly, corners of his eyes crinkling with how big his smile gets, and sits down at the dining room table.

Their table’s covered in magazines, booklets, and a thick scrapbook. Wedding planning.

“I know we’ve still got five months, but we’ve barely made any progress,” he explains, flipping open their scrapbook.

Harley slips his arms around the back of Peter’s chair, leaning over his shoulder to look at their choices of flowers. “This is our first day off and you want to spend it wedding planning?”

His fiancé pouts, kissing Harley’s bicep where it rests on the hero’s shoulder. “If we don’t do it now, it’s never going to happen.”

And if there’s anything Harley hates in this world, it’s upsetting Peter, even if the pout is mostly a joke. So he kisses Peter’s head, and then makes his way to the kitchen.

He makes coffee for both of them, smiling fondly at his Spider-Man mug and Peter’s World’s Best Brother mug from Morgan. He makes sure to put extra sugar in Peter’s before he takes it back to his fiancé.

“I love you,” Peter says as soon as he’s got the warm mug in his hands. His engagement ring clinks against the side of the mug which makes Harley grin at the little reminder.

Harley lets out a breath, looking over their mess of magazines. But he’s beyond excited to be marrying Peter, no matter how hard wedding planning gets, no matter how much they argue about where everyone will sit or which flowers to use, nothing will make his excitement falter.

“I love you too.”

A soft blush creeps up from Peter’s neck like it does every time Harley says those three words, like every time is a surprise. “I still think Morgan and Abbie should be beside each other.”

Harley rolls his eyes, like he does every single time Peter tries to argue the seating arrangement. “Abbie’s three years older and doesn’t know her that well. We should give her a plus one and put her by Mom.”

Somehow, Peter smiles, reaching under the table to link their pinkies together, rings clinking. “I really love you.”

“My heart will seriously explode if you say that one more time.”

Smile widening, Peter points at the picture of a bouquet of pink lilies and white daisies, amid their three other potential choices. “I think we should do these. A bit more expensive, but fits the theme nicer.”

“Okay,” Harley says because he’d say yes to anything Peter wants.

“I think we did some good work, time for a break?”

Harley rolls his eyes in amusement, purposefully clinking their rings together again under the table. Their apartment, their wedding, their future. He can barely handle how much love grows in his chest, warm and fuzzy and strong. He can’t believe this is all real. He still feels like the lovesick teenager who pushed down all his feelings and quietly crushed from a distance, not believing it was possible. And yet, here they are.

“What do you want to do with our day off?”

Peter opens his mouth to answer, but one of their phones ring from their bedroom. He sighs, offering a wary smile like he knew something like this would happen, an interruption to their peaceful day. They don’t even know what the text is and somehow Peter assumes it’ll hurt their day.

He slips his hand out from Harley’s and disappears back into their bedroom.

Harley starts on finding something for breakfast, even though it’s past noon, and he tries not to eavesdrop on the conversation.

“-off. I thought-” Peter sounds aggravated, and his footfalls sounds like he’s pacing. “Don’t- It’s not like that.”

Harley pauses his pancake making, turning his attention towards the phone call with the distress in his fiancé’s voice. He already knows who it is.

Peter got a job at a tech corporation in Boston while finishing his last year at MIT, and it pays really well, it’s the only way they’ll be able to afford their wedding and honeymoon on top of the bills and rent and expenses. But his boss is awful.

No matter how many times Harley tries to convince him to quit and get his old minimum wage job that he enjoyed back, Peter insists that he’d prefer to be treated poorly for another six months if it means being able to have their dream wedding.

“I’m sorry,” Peter murmurs, sounding miserable. “I can’t- I’ve been working unpaid overtime for weeks, Sir. And you’re threatening to fire me because I can’t come in on a random Saturday?”

Harley walks into their room, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend’s waist from behind. From so close he can hear Peter’s boss’s voice lifting angrily.

“-matter! I’m your boss and I’m already doing plenty by letting you work here despite your ties to people like Stark.”

“I know, I’m sorry, sir. I just- I wanted to spend the day with my fiancé. I’ve been working nonstop for you and I was told I’d get today off.”

Anger sparks in Harley’s chest, protectively tightening his grip around Peter’s waist like it would be enough, when Peter’s voice trembles like he might cry, apologizing for wanting a day to relax.

“Your fiancé?” his boss repeats, letting out a cold, humorless laugh. “You mean-”

“Please don’t go there. Not today,” Peter pleads. He leans his head back on Harley��s shoulder, eyes closing in exasperation.

Harley presses a kiss to his temple, trying to provide any comfort he can.

“I need you in for work today, Parker. Plain and simple.”

Peter’s face falls, knowing he can’t get out of this, he can’t lose the job, can’t say no, can’t beg for at least one day. Instead he falls quiet, pliant. “Yes, sir. I can be there in an hour.”

He says his goodbyes and turns to Harley, slipping his phone into his pocket, eyes wet and lips pouting.

“I’m sorry.”

It reminds Harley plainly of the fights they used to have, the days when they first moved out to Boston together, first had jobs and university and homework and what felt like the world balanced on their shoulders, the days when their relationship was pushed to the backburner and there wasn’t enough care for the days they’d go endlessly without talking to each other.

The fights they used to have where Peter would cry and Harley would shout, equally upset about the nights going to bed alone or unanswered texts or dates stood up. The fights where one of them would leave, find a place to stay for the night instead of home, before they’d makeup in anyway they knew how to, making promises of easier days and solutions.

These were supposed to be the easier days, but it’s not always as simple. Peter has a boss that hates him, who demands him to come into work whenever he pleases, who dismisses their relationship as pretend, as wrong, who calls Peter out and humiliates him in front of coworkers just because he can. But Peter’s always been strong. Always has been resilient to whatever the world throws at him.

“Don’t apologize, honey,” Harley murmurs reassuringly, despite the ache that makes it’s way into his chest, cutting a hole in the warmth that had settled throughout the morning. “I know it’s not your fault. I’m sorry that your boss is the way he is.”

Peter’s bottom lip trembles, shifting on his feet. “I just really wanted to spend the day with you.”

In high school, Harley would’ve immediately jumped at whoever made his boyfriend cry, he got suspended more times than he can count from getting into fights over Peter, but he’s learned that he can’t fight everybody. He can’t keep Peter safe from everything. The most he can do is be here for him.

“We took all of next weekend off, darlin’. And you’ll be home for dinner. It’s not all wasted,” he offers, stepping back into Peter’s space and gently slinging his arms around his hips. “And I’ll say it again, you can quit that job, get another. I don’t mind picking up a few shifts if you want to take a break.”

He shakes his head, like he always does whenever it’s offered. “It’s just another six months until we’ll be moving back to New York and taking over Stark Industries. I can survive another six months.”

“If you’re sure.” Harley kisses his forehead, wishing with everything he has that one day Peter will be able to thrive without things like rude bosses or people glaring or having to apologize for being who he is. “You should get changed and go. No point making him any angrier than he already is.”

“I love you,” Peter says again like he has to make sure Harley knows.

“I love you too, honey. Let me know when you’ll be home and I’ll have dinner ready for you.”

Peter smiles softly, blinking away the film over his eyes, and kissing Harley once more before he steps out of Harley’s arms and prepares himself to leave the house.

* Harley’s nearly asleep when he hears the front door open.

It’s late, he knew it would be when the only time he heard from Peter was a text near four in the afternoon which only contained a sad face.

“Babe?” he calls out, voice hoarse. He blinks blearily, pushing himself up on the couch, and frowning when his stomach rumbles. He wanted to wait to eat until Peter was home.

Peter falls onto the couch with him, immediately hiding his face in the crook of Harley’s neck with a distressed sigh.

“You ‘kay?”

“No,” Peter says, tone joking but obviously not lying. His nose presses against Harley’s pulse point. “My boss sucks, work sucks, Boston sucks.”

Harley wraps an arm around Peter’s waist, pressing a kiss to his temple. “I know, honey. I’m sorry. I know it sucks but six months, remember?”

The hero finally relaxes against Harley, smiling softly against his neck. His eyes sweep over the apartment and his mouth falls open, eyes glassy. “You cleaned?”

“I had the day to myself,” Harley says as an explanation. “Figured I should.”

“Thank you.” The poor boy sounds close to tears like it’s impossible to believe Harley would’ve done this for him.

Harley smiles softly and presses his lips to his boyfriend’s temple, mouth moving against his skin when he says, “Yeah, anything for you.”

Six months.

Harley can see it. The bright, glossy future they’ve imagined together.

He can see the two of them, wedding bands, instead of their engagement ones, touching when they lace their fingers together. He can see them in a New York apartment, in Manhattan probably, all huge windows overlooking the city and a balcony with their plants, close enough that they can have dinner with the Starks and May and Happy every Sunday night, chaperoning on Morgan’s field trips to embarrass her, quiet nights together without the worries of bosses or school or responsibilities beyond each other.

He can see their future, exactly how they’ve always dreamed it would be. Running Stark Industries, maybe adopting children in the future, probably a dog, living in New York again, married and happy. And most importantly together.

“I love you.” He knows it’s cheesy and silly just how many times they say it to each other, how much they bask in the words every time they’re uttered, how much they love each other in actions just as much as words. He knows but they both know, all too well, what it feels like to be alone, how much those three words cement the truth in their relationship.

“I love you too.”

Taglist: @littlemissagrafina @spideygirl2003 @romeoandjulietyouwish @c-artara @shadedrose01 @likeaphoenix13 @pj-hermes-tonystark-obsessed  @you-get-killed-walk-it-off @kitkatwinchester  @emo-girl10 @justme--emily  @hold-our-destiny @imalivebecauseirondad @spiderman-peterman @dykeragee @maryserrao @heeeyitskay {Let me know if you wanna be added or removed}

[hiatuswhore]

𝕸𝖗𝖘. 𝖂𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖘 V — 𝖙.𝖈

previous — series masterlist — Complete

“HEY, I DON’T KNOW THE FULL STORY OF YOUR MARRIAGE OR YOUR AFFAIR. What I do know is you. You are the kindest and most caring person I know. That idiot just missed out on the most amazing person. You are not in this alone,” Tilting your head to look at Calliope, she has no visible reaction to your tears. Your ugly cry more than prominent, but Calliope just reaches forward, placing her hand on your own. “One day at a time, okay. For starters, we’re blocking him on all platforms. Then going radio silent on social media for a while, okay?”

You do not protest as Calliope takes your phone, blocking all of Timothée’s accounts. She then logs out of each platform and even goes as far as deleting the Twitter app from your phone. It would be a lie to say the following day got any easier. Some paparazzi sat outside of your job, ambushing you with questions as you left your car towards the building. The first thing to catch your eye was Eris’s empty office. Multiple of your co-workers signed a card, leaving it on your desk, apologizing for Eris’s invasive behavior. It took about two weeks before you were served with divorce papers by Axel’s lawyer. His only request—to never hear from you again. The transition from being in your own house to back in an apartment was the most effortless change. Almost as if you were back in your undergraduate years again. By the month marking, you were no longer of interest to the public. The public eye now analyzing the next scandal as you slip from active headlines. Your return to social media was stealthy and admittingly surprising; your notifications full of new followers. The time away has kept you away from the massive amounts of accounts defending you against the extreme fans.

Your first return to the public eye was through your work; it was ballsy to request your next work project to be on your experience. It was undoubtedly your most challenging project. Stuck between telling the truth and remaining neutral, it all comes with different waves of consequences. If you confirm the affair, it would actively be calling Timothée a liar. Did he deserve this, yes. If you deny the affair, it would be like pouring salt on the many wounds you have inflicted on Axel. Did he deserve this, no. Many late nights consist of Calliope dragging you from the office. Most early mornings consist of a coffee with a triple shot of espresso and you scrapping your work entirely.

All of this led to this very moment, chewing on your bottom lip, your leg bounces incessantly as Mr. Dege stares at your laptop screen. You analyze his face carefully despite the indiscernible expression. The minutes tick by, and the amount of cotton you pick from the armrest makes it appear hollow. When he finally moves back from your laptop, he removes his glasses and leans back in his chair. Your leg halts, and you stare with cautious eyes.

“I can rewrite it,” You speak so fast it comes out in a clutter of incomprehensible nonsense. The silence ends with a hearty laugh from Mr. Dege.

“This is great work. You’ve come a long way. Once you’re ready, send it through the editing department and then post it for tomorrow’s headline,” He says, smiling, but the tension in your shoulders remains. Anything with your name on it will likely come under heavy scrutiny. Though the bloodbath was over, Brian’s words weigh heavily on you. Back in your office, you sigh the large bold texts staring back at you.

BEHIND THE UNFORGIVING INTERNET

By: (Y/n) (L/n)

This will be the strangest article that I have ever written. In journalism, there are many principles, and I hold the most value in three. Accuracy, objectivity, and public accountability. So I will treat this like any other story.

Rumors about Dune star Timothée Chalamet and journalist (Y/n) (L/n) have been circulating for weeks now. The news broke from journalist Eris Renhert, former co-worker of (Y/n) (L/n). Timothée made a public appearance promptly after denying all allegations. While (Y/n) virtually disappeared on social media and has made no comment in person.

Well, now fans look to (Y/n) with many questions. Are the allegations true? How did you meet? Are you still married?

Here is a better question, what does it matter?

You mindlessly skim the rest of your work. As you click the send button with it goes the confirmation for tomorrow’s headline. On your way home, you make the grocery store your first stop. A bottle of white wine with some cheap guacamole and chips will be your companion for the night. The television plays the same random assortment of sitcoms, reality shows, and sports. Your phone dings revealing Calliope will be working even later than she originally intended. On your couch, you sit with the bowl of guac and chips while in your hand sits the bottle of wine. The last thing you can recall on the television happens to Drew Barrymore not kissing Adam Sandler toward the end of Blended.

“Bitch, you’re trending again!” You flinch as Calliope flops onto the couch next to you. She gushes over your article as you rub away at your eyes. The sun practically shines into the entirety of your living room.

“For the love of God. Please stop talking for like five minutes,” You whine, grimacing at the chip crumbs that sit on your lap. Calliope rolls her eyes, continuing on about how much she likes your article. You move with caution as you cradle the blanket over to the garbage.

“You have Twitter in an absolute frenzy,” Calliope laughs as you plop back down onto the couch. Your phone holds the evidence of why your best friend nearly screams about in the living room. Millions of notifications across all platforms and text messages from the few people bold enough to contact you. As Calliope goes on and on about Twitter, you make your first appearance there. Unlike the first time you ever went viral, this time, the fans are a mixed bag. Every twenty tweets of support came with two tweets of hate, and your name was number four on the trending chart.

“All of this is so strange. I was just a wife and a journalist a month ago. Now I’m whatever this is,” Your giggle turns into a sigh as you skim your trending hashtag. Calliope smiles with her eyes glued to her cellphone screen. You click onto the drop-down notification from your email, the smile breaking across your face like wildfire.

“What is it?” Calliope’s eyes light up despite not having a clue what you had just received.

“I’ve been invited to work at the Independent Spirit Awards,” A breathless laugh leaves you as Calliope wraps her arms around you. That night she joins you at your mother’s for a celebratory dinner. Your sister goes on about all the pestering from her peers; they want to know what everyone wants to know. A calm takes over your life, still somewhat repetitive but a newfound excitement. Calliope made sure the two of you would go out somewhere at least once a week. Whether it was a bar where you would both flirt for free drinks or a club to go dancing, the two of you were out.

Inviting Calliope to join you for the award show, you immediately regret this decision so quickly. She drags you to almost every store in a fifteen-mile radius on the hunt for “the perfect outfit.” Calliope settles on an olive dress that leaves her shoulders mostly uncovered and flows down into a simple Queen Anne neckline. It’s a tight fit that highlights her breasts, but it does so in a refined and modest manner. The sleeves cover her arms, putting more focus on her shoulders. A good choice, too, as her skin and the color of the dress form a perfect combination.

Despite her thin waist, it takes her ten minutes to decide it does look flattering on her slim figure. The dress reaches just above her knees, revealing her long legs. She matches it with cone heels, which further adds elegance to her look.

You lack a say in what dress you would wear; your mother and sister enable Calliope’s bossiness. Though being annoyed with her attitude, you cannot say the dress chosen was anything less than perfect. It leaves your shoulders uncovered and supports around your neck and down into an elegant sweetheart neckline. The relaxed fit covers up your breasts but does so without looking messy or awkward. Your sleeves are sheer and flow loosely until it reaches your wrist, where it cuffs lightly.

Just like Calliope, you feel uneasiness with the waistline, it being narrow but still slim fitting. The black dress does not come with a belt or any accessories‒utilizing simplicity to accentuate beauty. It plays dangerously at the mid-thigh area but not enough that anyone can see beneath.

You purchase a simple pair of open-toed heels at; first, the suggestion seems out of place. Yet together, it works wonderfully on you. Calliope sits you down in her make-up chair a week before, playing with different make-up and hairstyles. She settles on two simple braids for you with a pair of small gold hoops and your dainty chain. For herself, she pulls two parallel curly strands to the front to frame her face. In the back, she lets her curls run wild with half of it in a ponytail in the back, and the rest fall. She wears her gold pendant and dangling earrings.

“So this is an award show red carpet, huh?” She marvels as Nathan, your cameraman, continues to eye her in awe. From the moment he got to your house, the typically put reserved man was stumbling over his words continuously.

“Wait until the celebrities get here. All you’re going to see is flashing, and you’ll hear yelling,” You said, shifting as your feet ache from standing with the heels on for nearly two hours. Of the first few celebrities to arrive happens to be big names; you just barely hold your composure interviewing Olivia Wilde and only a few seconds after Adam Sandler. They both come off as incredibly kind; your favorite interview after what feels like a hundred was with Regina King. Her humorous but caring energy reminds you of your mother. Andy Samberg coming in a close second, you immediately halt interviews at the sight of Timothée. Several big stars pass you as you stare at him taking photos; his all-white ensemble consists of a satin tuxedo with black lapels paired with white converse. When he catches your gaze, you immediately turn back to Nathan and Calliope.

“Let’s head inside,” You fumble to turn off the microphone as the two of them point out how there are several other interviews you could do. Shaking your head, you walk inside on the hunt for your seat in the media section. Your leg bounces fervently as you rest your head in your right hand.

When Calliope joins you, she leans close by your ear; by the look on her face, she finally sees what was causing your uneasiness. She whispers he’s not worth it, but you only nod, staring off at nothing in particular. You do not dare look away from the stage in fear of what you may see in the crowd, specifically who. For most of the show, you zone out, only focusing on who happens to be on the stage but not what they are saying. Octavia Spencers black felt blazer becomes the center of your attention until she lists the nominees. Calliope shoots not-so-subtle looks your way as if she silently gauges your reaction.

“‒and the spirit award for best male lead goes to‒Timothée Chalamet,” Your face turns to stone as you feel your stomach turn. The applauds make you feel invisible, but still, eyes seemingly linger over your way. Almost as if everyone in the room knows, but no one wants to be the one to point it out. You blink several times as you attempt to swallow down the burning sensation in your throat. The transition had been more manageable without having to face Timothée, but now in the same room, only one thing was clear, he hurt you.

“Uh, thank you. I am crap at speeches, so yeah,” He says, earning chuckles that carry throughout the room like a wave. His smile falls as he squints out at the crowd; when he reaches your area, he pauses. “People always ask about what it is like getting where I am? You see, they romanticize it and me, but the truth is I am no better than anyone else. The media and the fans pick and choose their victims carefully, no care for that person‒they forget that we are all people. I just‒”

He pauses again, and for a second, you are not sure how clearly he can see with the blindly lights beaming on him. Murmurs fill the room as he goes silent but makes no move to leave the stage.

“I lied about knowing (Y/n) (L/n). She’s an amazing woman, and to my fans, if you truly care about me, then you will leave her alone. Thank you,” He raises his trophy before exiting the stage. The room breaks in applause, but you sit almost in a state of paralysis. Calliope whispers to you throughout the rest of the show, but her words mean nothing. When the after-party greets you, the complimentary champagne becomes your most trusted friend.

“Babes, maybe you should slow down,” Calliope says, shaking her head to the server whom you called over. She holds an easy-going smile despite the panic in her eyes.

“Not a chance in hell,” You mimic her smile before accepting your sixth glass of champagne. Nate eyes you warily as you throw back the glass; fortunately, no one else has seemingly noticed your behavior.

“We should probably go,” Nate murmurs to Calliope, who sighs as she nods her head. She does not give you the opportunity to protest as she grabs your forearm. You whine, but she shushes you as she navigates the outside of the room, doing her best to draw the least amount of attention. Both Nate and Calliope share a look of relief as you make it to the lobby of the venue, but it only lasts a second.

“(Y/n),” Your head whips in the direction of the voice you know all too well. Brian and several of the faces you know vaguely clear their throats before excusing themselves.

“We’ll just be over there, okay,” Calliope says. Nate stands with her across the room, he tries to pretend he’s not watching, but Calliope analyzes every movement. Neither Timothée nor yourself say a word at first. He looks around aimlessly as you glare at him. Your eyes water as you shake your head, and a dry chuckle leaves you.

“You’re a coward,” Stumbling back, you catch yourself as your laugh dissolves into a hiccup. Timothée reaches forward but halts as you balance yourself out.

“(Y/n) I’m sorry,” Shaking your head, the tears on your cheek are warm and contrast your maniacal laughter. You point at him as you clumsily manage to stay on your feet. “It’s all over your face. That in there wasn’t for me—it was for you. Your guilt, you don’t give a damn about me.”

“I love you,” He says; taking your hand, he freezes as you tear away from him. Never in his time of knowing you has he seen you so angry or belligerently drunk.

“You lied!” You scream, attracting the attention of a few patrons lingering about. Calliope’s heels clicking on the floor fill your ears as she grabs your forearm. Timothée says he was not trying to upset you, but Calliope just tells him that he’s done enough. He watches the three of you take the main exit; he did not think it was possible to feel worse than he already did—he was wrong.

Stepping outside of the event, flashing lights blind you as several voices shout your name. You squeeze your eyes shut as Nate and Calliope push through the crowd. Small moments of clarity litter your mind, but the memories are focally black spots. Ironically it was the inspiration for what would become your best and most-read article. The number of readers would typically range from a thousand to fifty thousand depending. This hit one hundred thousand on the first day out and a million by the end of the weak. In it, you detail everything relevant to all that happened, even adding an apology to Axel.

A large amount of support and hate followed; even Axel earned a following from sympathizers. Timothée did his best to stay out of your orbit, not wanting to upset you. He never missed an opportunity to publicly voice his support in everything you do.

You were certain Timothée did not truly love you as he said, but you knew nothing of what happened behind the scenes. The months following did give you a name, but you were being invited to all kinds of events. By the year mark, you were no longer working with Mr. Dege. You and Calliope quickly jumped on the opportunity of forming your own platform. Calliope was getting big job offers from notable stars, and Instagram paid you to post and report celebrity gossip.

“Okay, I am doing this live because you guys have been practically harassing me about my rhinestone eye look in a previous video. Calliope is going to do it right now and talk you through it,” You hold a big smile as the chat floods with comments. The number of viewers rises rapidly as you try to respond to as many comments as possible. “ManOnTheMoon24 You watch every single one of my lives. I love you too!”

Whilst you smiled at the screen, Timothée smiled to himself. You beamed with success in everything you did. Whether you knew it or not, he was always cheering you on. He was sure he loved you, even if he could not have you.

𝐹𝑒𝑒𝒹𝒷𝒶𝒸𝓀 𝒫𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓈𝑒 — 𝓇𝑒𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉𝓈 𝒶𝒸𝒸𝑒𝓅𝓉𝑒𝒹

[felassan]

Insights into DAI’s development from Blood, Sweat, and Pixels

The book is by game industry journalist Jason Schreier (it’s an interesting read and well-written, I recommend it). This is the cliff notes version of the DAI chapter. This info isn’t new as the book is from 2017 (I finally got around to buying it). Some insight into DAO, DA2 and cancelled DA projects is also given. Cut for length.

BW hoped that DA would become the LotR of video games. DAO’s development was “a hellish seven-year slog”

The DAI team are compared to a chaotic “pirate ship”, which is what they called themselves internally. “It’ll get where it needs to go, but it’s going to go all over the place. Sail over here. Drink some rum. Go over here. Do something else. That’s how Mark Darrah likes to run his team.” An alternative take from someone else who worked on the game: “It was compared to a pirate ship because it was chaotic and the loudest voice in the room usually set the direction. I think they smartly adopted the name and morphed it into something better.”

A game about the Inquisition and the large-scale political conflicts it solves across Thedas, where the PC was the Inquisitor, was originally the vision for ‘DA2′. Plans had to change when SW:TOR’s development kept stalling and slipping. Frustrated EA execs wanted a new product from BW to bolster quarterly sales targets, and decided that DA would have to fill the gap. BW agreed to deliver DA2 within 16 months. “Basically, DA2 exists to fill that hole. That was the inception. It was always intended to be a game made to fit in that”

BW wanted to call it DA: Exodus, but EA’s marketing execs insisted on DA2, no matter what that name implied

DAO’s scope (Origin stories, that amount of big areas, variables, reactivity) was just not doable in a year, even if everyone worked overtime. To solve this problem, BW shelved the Inquisition idea and made a risky call: DA2 would be set in one city over time, allowing locations to be recycled and months to be shaved off dev time. They also axed DAO features like customizing party members’ equipment. These were the best calls they were able to make on a tight line

Many at BW are still proud of DA2. Those that worked on it grew closer from all being in it together

In certain dark accounting corners of EA, despite fan response to DA2 and its lower sales compared to DAO, DA2 is considered a wild success

By summer 2011 BW decided to cancel DA2′s expansion Exalted March in favor of a totally new game. They needed to get away from the stigma of DA2, reboot the franchise and show they could make triple-A quality good games. 

DAI was going to be the most ambitious game BW had ever made and had a lot to prove (that BW could return to form, that EA wasn’t crippling the studio, that BW could make an ‘open-world’ RPG with big environments). There was a bit of a tone around the industry that there were essentially 2 tiers of BW, the ME team and then everyone else, and the DA team had a scrappy desire to fight back against that

DAI was behind schedule early on due to unfamiliar new technology; the new engine Frostbite was very technically challenging and required more work than anyone had expected. Even before finishing DA2 BW were looking for a new engine for the next game. Eclipse was creaky, obsolete, not fully-featured, graphically lacking. The ME team used Unreal, which made inter-team collab difficult. “Our tech strategy was just a mess. Every time we’d start a new game, people would say, ‘Oh, we should just pick a new engine’.”

After meeting with an EA exec BW decided on Frostbite. Nobody had ever used it to make an RPG, but EA owned FB dev studio DICE, and the engine was powerful and had good graphic capabilities & visual effects. If BW started making all its games on FB, it could share tech with sister studios and borrow tools when they learned cool new tricks. 

For a while they worked on a prototype called Blackfoot, to get a feel for FB and to make a free-to-play DA MP game. It fizzled as the team was too small, which doesn’t lend itself well to working with FB, and was cancelled

BW resurfaced the old Inquisition idea. What might a DA3 look like on FB? Their plan by 2012 was to make an open-world RPG heavily inspired by Skyrim that hit all the beats DA2 couldn’t. “My secret mission was to shock and awe the players with the massive amounts of content.” People complained there wasn’t enough in DA2. “At the end of DAI, I actually want people to go, ‘Oh god, not [another] level’.”

It was originally called Dragon Age 3: Inquisition

BW wanted to launch on next-gen consoles only but EA’s profit forecasters were caught up in the rise of iPad and iPhone gaming and were worried the next-gen consoles wouldn’t sell well. As a safeguard EA insist it also ship on current-gen. Most games at that time followed this strategy. Shipping on 5 platforms at once would be a first for BW

Ambitions were piling up. This was to be BW’s first 3D open-world game, and their first game on Frostbite, an engine that had never been used to make RPGs. It needed to be made in roughly two years, it needed to ship on 5 platforms, and, oh yeah, it needed to restore the reputation of a studio that had been beaten up pretty badly. “Basically we had to do new consoles, a new engine, new gameplay, build the hugest game that we’ve ever made, and build it to a higher standard than we ever did. With tools that don’t exist.”

FB didn’t have RPG stats, a visible PC, spells, save systems, a party of 4 people, the same kind of cutscenes etc and couldn’t create any of those things. BW had to create these on top of it. BW initially underestimated how much work this would be. BW were the FB guinea pigs. Early on in DAI’s development, even the most basic tasks were excruciating, and this impacted even fundamental aspects of game design and dev. When FB’s tools did function they were finicky and difficult. DICE’s team supported them but had limited resources and were 8 hours ahead. Since creating new content in FB was so difficult, trying to evaluate its quality became impossible. FB engine updates made things even more challenging. After every one, BW had to manually merge and test it; this was debilitating, and there were times when the build didn’t work for a month or was really unstable.

Meanwhile the art department were having a blast. FB was great for big beautiful environments. For months they made as much as possible, taking educated guesses when they didn’t know yet what the designers needed. “For a long time there was a joke on the project that we’d made a fantastic-looking screenshot generator, because you could walk around these levels with nothing to do. You could take great pictures.”

The concept of DAI as open-world was stymying the story/writers and gameplay/designers teams. What were players going to do in these big landscapes? How could BW ensure exploring remained fun after many hours? Their teams didn’t have time for system designers to envision, iterate and test a good “core gameplay loop” (quests, encounters, activities etc). FB wouldn’t allow it. Designers couldn’t test new ideas or answer questions because basic features were missing or didn’t exist yet. 

EA’s CEO told BW they should have the ability to ride dragons and that this would make DAI sell 10 million copies. BW didn’t take this idea very seriously

BW had an abstract idea that the player would roam the world solving problems and building up power or influence they could use. But how would that look/work like in-game? This could have used refinement and testing but instead they decided to build some levels and hope they could figure it out as they went.

One day in late 2012, after a year of strained development on DAI, Mark Darrah asked Mike Laidlaw to go to lunch. “We’re walking out to his car,” Laidlaw said, “and I think he might have had a bit of a script in his head. [Darrah] said, ‘All right, I don’t actually know how to approach this, so I’m just going to say it. On a scale of one to apocalyptic... how upset would you be if I said [the player] could be, I dunno, a Qunari Inquisitor?’” 

Laidlaw was baffled. They’d decided that the player could be only a human in DAI. Adding other playable races like Darrah was asking for would mean they’d need to quadruple their budget for animation, voice acting, and scripting.

“I went, ‘I think we could make that work’,” Laidlaw said, asking Darrah if he could have more budget for dialogue. 

Darrah answered that if Laidlaw could make playable races happen, he couldn’t just have more dialogue. He could have an entire year of production.

Laidlaw was thrilled. “Fuck yeah, OK,” he recalled saying.

MD had actually already realized at this point it’d be impossible to finish DAI in 2013. They needed at least a year’s delay and adding the other playable races was part of a plan/planned pitch to secure this. He was in the process of putting together a pitch to EA: let BW delay the game, and in exchange it’d be bigger and better that anyone at EA had envisioned. These new marketing points included playable races, mounts and a new tactical camera. If EA wouldn’t let them delay, they would have had to cut things. Going into that BW were confident but nervous, especially in the wake of EA’s recent turmoil where they’d just parted ways with their CEO and had recruited a new board member while they hunted for a new one. They didn’t know how the new board member would react, and the delay would affect EA’s projections for that fiscal year. Maybe it was the convincing pitch, or the exec turmoil, or the specter of DA2, or maybe EA didn’t like being called “The Worst Company in America”. Winning that award 2 years in a row had had a tangible impact on the execs and led to feisty internal meetings on how to repair EA’s image. Whatever the reasons, EA greenlit the delay.

The PAX Crestwood demo was beautiful but almost entirely fake. By fall 2013, BW had implemented many of FB’s ‘parts’, but still didn’t know what kind of ‘car’ they were making. ML and team scripted the PAX demo by hand, entirely based on what BW thought would be in the game. The level & art assets were real but the gameplay wasn’t. “Part of what we had to do is go out early and try to be transparent because of DA2. And just say, ‘Look, here, it’s the game, it’s running live, it’s at PAX.’ Because we wanted to make that statement that we’re here for fans.”

DA2 hung on the team like a shadow. There was insecurity, uncertainty, they had trouble sticking to one vision. Which DA2 things were due to the short dev time and which were bad calls? What stuff should they reinvent? There were debates over combat (DAO-style vs DA2-style) and arguments over how to populate the wilderness.

In the months after that demo, BW cut much of what they’d shown in it. Even small features went through many permutations. DAI had no proper preproduction phase (important for testing and discarding things), so leads were stretched thin and had to make impulsive decisions.

By the end of 2013, DAI had 200+ people working on it, and dozens of additional outsourced artists in Russia and China. Coordinating all the work across various departments was challenging and a full-time job for several people. At this sheer scale of game dev, there are many complexities and inter-dependencies. Work finally became significantly less tedious and more doable when BW and DICE added more features to FB. Time was running out though, and another delay was a no.

The team spent many hours in November and December piecing together a “narrative playable” version of the game to be the holiday period’s game build for BW staff to test that year. Feedback on the demo was bad. There were big complaints on story, that it didn’t make sense and was illogical. Originally the PC became Inquisitor and sealed the breach in the prologue, which removed a sense of urgency. In response the writers embarked on Operation Sledgehammer (breaking a bone to set it right), radically revising the entire first act.

The other big piece of negative feedback was that battles weren’t fun. Daniel Kading, who had recently joined BW and brought with him a rigorous new method for testing combat in games, went to BW leadership with a proposal: give him authority to open his own little lab with the other designers and call up the entire team for mandatory play sessions for test purposes. They agreed and he used this experiment to get test feedback and specifically pinpoint where problems were. Morale took a turn for the better that week, DK’s team made several tweaks, and through these sessions feedback ratings went from 1.2 to 8.8 four weeks later.

Many on the team wished they didn’t have to ship for old consoles (clunky, less powerful). BW leadership decided not to add features to the next-gen versions that wouldn’t be possible on the older ones, so that both versions of the game played the same. This limited things and meant the team had to find creative solutions. “I probably should’ve tried harder to kill [the last-gen] version of the game”, said Aaryn Flynn. In the end the next-gen consoles sold very well and only 10% of DAI sales were on last-gen.

“A lot of what we do is well-intentioned fakery,” said Patrick Weekes, pointing to a late quest called “Here Lies The Abyss”. “When you assault the fortress, you have a big cut scene that has a lot of Inquisition soldiers and a lot of Grey Wardens on the walls. And then anyone paying attention or looking for it as you’re fighting through the fortress will go, ‘Wow, I’m only actually fighting three to four guys at a time.’ Because in order for that to work [on old gen], you couldn’t have too many different character types on screen.”

Parts of DAI were still way behind schedule because it was so big and complex, and because some tools hadn’t started functioning until late on. Some basic features weren’t able to be implemented til the last minute (they were 8 months from ship before they could get all party members in the squad. At one point PW was playtesting to check if Iron Bull’s banter was firing, and realized there was no way to even recruit IB) and some flaws couldn’t be identified til the last few months. Trying to determine flow and pacing was rough.

They couldn’t disappoint fans again. They needed to take the time to revise and polish every aspect of DAI. “I think DAI is a direct response to DA2,” said Cameron Lee. “DAI was bigger than it needed to be. It had everything but the kitchen sink in it, to the point that we went too far... I think that having to deal with DA2 and the negative feedback we got on some parts of that was driving the team to want to put everything in and try to address every little problem or perceived problem.”

At this point they had 2 options: settle for an incomplete game, which would disappoint fans especially post-DA2, or crunch. They opted to crunch. It was the worst period of extended overtime in DAI’s development yet and was really rough: late nights, weekends, lost family time, 12-14 hour days, stress, mental health impacts.

During 2014′s crunch, they finally finished off features they wished they’d nailed down in year 1. They completed the Power (influence) system and added side quests, hidden treasures and puzzles. Things that weren’t working like destructible environments were promptly removed. The writers rewrote the prologue at least 6 times, but didn’t have enough time to pay such attention to the ending. Just a few months before launch pivotal features like jumping were added.

By summer BW had bumped back release by another 6 weeks for polish. DAI had about 99,000 bugs in it (qualitative and quantitative; things like “I was bored here” are a bug). “The number of bugs on an open-world game, I’ve never seen anything like it. But they’re all so easy to fix, so keep filing these bugs and we’ll keep fixing them.” For BW it was harder to discover them, and the QA team had to do creative experimentation and spend endless late nights testing things. PW would take builds home to let their 9 year old son play around. Their son was obsessed with mounting and dismounting the horse and accidentally discovered a bug where if you dismounted in the wrong place, all your companions’ gear would vanish. “It was because my son liked the horse so much more than anyone else ever had or will ever like the horse.”

MD had a knack for prioritizing which bugs should be fixed, like the one where you could get to inaccessible areas by jumping on Varric’s head. “Muscle memory is incredibly influential at this point. Through the hellfire which is game development, we’re forged into a unit, in that we know what everyone’s thinking and we understand everyone’s expectations.”

At launch they still didn’t have all their tools working, they only had their tools working enough.

DAI became the best-selling DA game, beating EA’s sales expectations in just a few weeks. If you look closely you can see the lingering remnants of its chaotic development, like the “garbage quests” in the Hinterlands. Some players didn’t realize they could leave the area and others got caught in a “weird, compulsive gratification loop”. Internet commentators rushed to blame “those damn lazy devs” but really, these were the natural consequences of DAI’s struggles. Maybe things would have been different if they’d miraculously received another year of dev time, or if they’d had years before starting development to build FB’s tools first.

“The challenge of the Hinterlands and what it represented to the opening 10 hours of DAI is exactly the struggle of learning to build open-world gameplay and mechanisms when you are a linear narrative story studio,” said Aaryn Flynn.

“DA2 was the product of a remarkable time-line challenge,” said Mike Laidlaw, “DAI was the product of a remarkable technical challenge. But it had enough time to cook, and as a result it was a much better game.”

Read the chapter for full details of course!

[teacupfulofstarshine]

pattonella part 13: kingdom alert: the princes are fiiiiiiiightiiiiiiiing!

cw: mentions of injury/infection/illness, mentions of death, arguing, overworking, parental figures who are not the best 

wordcount: ~3.3k

part 1 // part 2 // part 3 // part 4 // part 5 // part 6 // part 7 // part 8 // part 9 // part 10 // part 11 // part 12 // read it on ao3!! 

virgil stays in the infirmary for almost a week after he first wakes up. 

he spends a lot of his time sleeping, since he’s too weak to do anything else. for the first few days of wakefulness, he barely has the strength to squeeze logan’s and patton’s hands when they hold them. despite his barely-open eyes, he smiles every time he sees them. 

“i’m sorry,” he says once, voice raspy and hoarse. patton tilts his head in confusion.

“why are you apologizing?”

“for scaring you. i came home unconscious . . . on logan’s horse . . . and you didn’t know . . . what was happening . . . i’m sorry . . .” his chest heaves slightly with effort, and patton leans in to brush his hair out of his eyes. 

“it’s not your fault. you saved roman’s life, vee, you saved everyone. you all came home alive, and that’s all i can ask for.” virgil smiles at him, eyes half-open, and yawns. “are you tired, vee?” 

“‘m always tired lately.” 

“that’s normal,” emile says, carrying over a large teapot. “you expended an enormous amount of magic when you were fighting. your body is trying to recover that energy; that’s why you’re sleeping so much. this tea helps you recover your energy as well, so keep drinking.” 

virgil makes a face at the cup of tea emile has in his hands, but he still lets patton help him sit up. he takes the tea and sips at it gently, blowing off the cloud of steam. emile dips a washcloth into a pail of cool water, wrings it out, and drapes it across virgil’s forehead, removing the old cloth that has grown warm. 

“is logan going to visit today?” virgil asks. 

“prince logan said he would stop by after attending to his duties at court,” emile says. “remy will be back in a little while, he’s attending to the king.” a somber tone falls over the infirmary at the mention of the king. 

“what . . . exactly is wrong with the king?” patton asks. “we know that he’s sick, of course, but - but we have no idea what’s actually wrong with him. do you know? are - are you allowed to tell us?” 

emile exhales, nodding slowly. “the king was injured in battle. he hid it because -”

“he’s a self-righteous idiot and a coward,” remy mutters, shoving the infirmary door shut behind him. emile’s face brightens when he sees his husband, dimming when he sees how pale and drawn remy looks. “he didn’t want to worry people, so instead of letting me treat his injury and having a recovery time of maybe two weeks, he hid it until it got infected and then he hid the infection until he collapsed and now it’s so far gone that there’s nothing i can do to heal him. it’s killing him from the inside out.” 

“the king will die?” patton asks. 

“we all die eventually,” remy says, “but it’s true that the king is ailing more swiftly than most. i’d say he has . . . three years left to live, at most.” emile reaches up and gently kisses remy’s cheek, pressing his face into his shoulder. 

“there’s a reason the rush is on to get thomas officially named crown prince,” emile says. “if he does not bear the official title when the king passes on, there will be a power struggle.” 

“why? thomas is the eldest prince. roman and logan would never stand in his way of becoming king, would they?” 

“no, but without an official heir appointed, it is possible that anyone with a connection to the royal bloodline, however small, could present themself as heir apparent. it would take months, perhaps even years to sort through the muck and mire of all that inherently political bullshit, which would derail the peace and prosperity of this kingdom. it is imperative that thomas is officially named the crown prince before the king dies.” 

“do we have to be married for thomas to be named crown prince?” patton asks. “is an engagement enough to satisfy the law?” 

“unfortunately, no. engagements can be made and broken at the drop of a hat, but a marriage is not so easily annulled. the wedding ceremony must be completed before thomas can be named crown prince.” 

“i think that’s a stupid rule,” patton mutters. virgil laughs softly, and patton squeezes his hand. 

“the most likely scenario at this point is a triple function.”

“a what?” 

“logan and roman will have a double wedding to the two of you, and then once the wedding ceremony is completed, thomas will immediately be officially named crown prince. that way, no matter what happens, the kingdom will be secured.”

“and then we party?” patton asks. remy laughs. 

“yeah, babes. and then we party.” 

*~*~*~*~*

“everything alright?” 

logan jumps three feet into the air at the sudden noise, whirling around to see roman behind him, hand raised as though he was about to lower it onto his shoulder. “take a deep breath, lo, it’s just me.” logan presses a hand to his chest, exhaling sharply. 

“you startled me, roman. please do not do that.” roman rolls his eyes, bumping his shoulder against logan’s as he steps towards the window logan’s been pensively staring out of. “can i be of assistance?” 

“do you know any good smiths?” 

logan hums, clasping his hands behind his back. “you spend far more time consorting with the villagers than i, roman. if anyone were to possess such information, it would be you.”

“yeah, but you spend all your time with the tax records and shit, i figured you’d know.” 

logan frowns. “what is all this about, roman?” 

roman looks at him, and logan realizes he’s been crying. “roman -”

“i went to see father.” 

logan wants to swear. “roman, i thought we agreed to go together if we went -”

“we did! but i saw remy going to treat him, so i followed him, and when the door opened he saw me and he beckoned me inside and what was i gonna do, say no to the king?” 

“what did he say to you?” 

“he asked me if i was married yet.” 

“and you told him?” 

“no, but i have a partner.” 

“what did he say?” 

“‘that’s not good enough, roman,’” roman grouses, dropping his voice into a gruff imitation of their father’s. “'you of all people should understand how imperative it is that there is no issue with succession. thomas must be named my heir and become crown prince before i shuffle off this mortal coil -’”

“don’t talk about father’s death like that,” logan snaps. 

“and how else should i talk about it, logan? father has been dying for years. and he’s making me rush my relationship with patton just so that thomas can get the official version of a title we all know he has!” 

“father does not want to die without officially naming an heir. i understand that.”

“you really think someone’s going to be stupid enough to challenge thomas’s birthright?” 

“it will not hurt to be prepared. you are responding irrationally.” 

“right, because you’ve never done anything irrational in your life, logan, like riding into battle with no backup and no plan because your stupid magic boyfriend thinks i can’t take care of myself! what does he know, anyway? he doesn’t know anything about me or us or -” 

“virgil saved your life,” logan says, voice low and thunderous. he takes a step forward, then another, and roman takes a step backward, then another. “if it wasn’t for his vision, you would have died . many more people would have been injured or killed if he had not come when he did. or did you forget the fact that he fell into a coma because he expended so much magic saving you? healing you? keeping you alive?” roman flinches away from his anger, and logan can’t bring himself to care.

“logan, i -”

“this conversation is over,” logan says, voice icy and cold. “i will see you at dinner, prince roman. send a servant if you have need of me.” he turns around and stalks down the hallway, footsteps sharp and precise against the stone floor. he hears roman throw a punch at something behind him, but he doesn’t call out, and logan doesn’t turn around. 

*~*~*~*~*

“lord san - patton?” 

patton looks up from the basket of yarn he’s picking through to see nate standing in the doorway, fidgeting with the hem of his tunic. “nate! come in!” 

“you have a visitor,” nate says. he sounds oddly formal, and patton tilts his head in confusion. “sir claire, knight of the kingdom, second in command to his royal highness prince roman, requests an audience.”

“oh! um . . . send her in, sure!” patton remembers her riding just behind logan and roman when they’d returned from battle, but he’s never actually spoken to her. 

nate steps into the hallway and murmurs something, and then claire steps in. she’s not wearing full armor, but there’s leather wrapped around her forearms and legs, and her hair is tied up in a knot atop her head. she’s panting slightly, face shining with sweat, as though she’s just come from the training grounds. 

“lord sanders,” she says, bowing to him. patton stands up, not sure if he’s supposed to curtsy back at her or not, but as he’s gathering the material of his dress claire continues speaking. “i would request something of you, lord sanders.” 

“um . . . okay! is it something you need from roman?” 

“it actually concerns his highness prince roman.” 

“is he hurt? is he alright?” 

claire shakes her head. “i believe he had an . . . altercation with his highness prince logan earlier. prince roman came to the training grounds two hours ago, and he has been putting any guard he can through rigorous dueling. he’s finally exhausted his supply of human opponents, and he has been hacking away at training dummies for the past thirty minutes. his hands shake with exhaustion, but nothing i do or say convinces him to stop and rest. i worry he may pass out from heat or over exertion or -” 

patton wrings his hands nervously, and claire takes a deep breath. “i do not mean to alarm you, lord sanders. i merely thought perhaps, as you are beloved of prince roman, you might accompany me to the training grounds and convince him to rest, if only briefly?” 

“of course,” patton says. “nate, go to the kitchens, get some cold water, as much as you can carry, and some sort of snack. cheese, maybe? and nuts? something to get roman’s strength up. meet me on the training grounds.” 

“at once, lord sanders,” nate says, bowing his head respectfully to patton and claire before sprinting out into the hall. patton slips his shoes on and follows claire out to the training ground. 

“how long have you and roman known each other?” 

“the prince and i entered knighthood training at the same time. were he not the prince, i suspect i may have been picked for captain of the guard, but i am not stupid. i know the ways of the kingdom. the third prince, should there be one, becomes captain of the guard, leader of the knights. prince roman has the skills to back the position up, at least. he is the only person who has ever bested me in combat.”

“it sounds like you really like him.”

“i admire and respect him greatly. it pains me to see him like this.”

“i’ll get him to calm down,” patton says. “what was he fighting with logan about?” 

“it is unclear to me, lord sanders, but it distressed him.” 

“you can just call me patton, if you want!”

“that is very kind of you, lord - patton.”

the stone walls of the castle keep it cool, even in the warmth of summer, so patton had chosen a dress with a long skirt made of lighter fabric. the minute he steps foot outside, he can feel himself starting to sweat. claire, wearing training clothes and leather guards, doesn’t seem bothered at all, so patton pretends that he isn’t, either. 

he can hear sounds of exertion before they even reach the arena. patton gathers the fabric of his skirt up into his hands so that it doesn’t drag along the dusty ground as claire opens the gates to the training arena for him. roman is surrounded by a series of training dummies, stuffed with straw and carrying crude replica weapons. roman is shouting and grunting as he throws himself at the training dummies. 

“his strokes are sloppy,” claire says. patton doesn’t know anything about fighting, but he sort of sees what she means. he’s watched roman train before; he usually keeps all his limbs close to his body, watching with narrowed eyes and striking with quick, precise movements in rapid succession. this looks like a hurricane given human form. roman’s limbs flail wildly, his chest is heaving, and his hair is matted with sweat. 

patton hurries across the arena floor. “roman!” 

roman whirls around, holding his sword out, but his arms are shaking and the tip of the blade drops down into the dust. “patton?” he pants. 

“ro, sweetheart, how long have you been out here?” 

“not - not long, i don’t . . .” roman drives the tip of his sword into the arena floor and leans on it heavily. patton lets his skirts fall down around his ankles again as he reaches out to take roman’s arm and help support him. 

“come sit with me, ro, okay? come on. come sit down.” roman doesn’t protest, quietly staggering over to the wooden benches lining the arena. patton moves slowly to allow roman to shuffle along at his side, carefully helping roman sit down. “claire said you’ve been here for hours, ro.” 

roman sighs. “so she sent you to come reign me in?” 

“she sent me out here to ask you to take a break. she’s worried about you. so am i.” 

“i’m just training. that’s my job, patton.”

“you’re destroying yourself,” patton says firmly. “what happened?” 

roman stares off at the horizon. patton doesn’t pressure him to talk, gently leaning his head against his shoulder. after about ten minutes of sitting in silence, roman finally says, “lo and i got in a fight.” 

“a fight?” 

“i went to see father today. we had an agreement with the two of us and thomas that we wouldn’t go see him on our own. he can be a bit . . . intense. and lo and i got into an argument, and . . . he used my full title. he never uses that unless he’s super pissed off. and like, i’m pissed at him too! he was being an asshole! but . . . so was i, i guess . . .”

nate approaches, setting down a pitcher of water, two cups, and a basket of bread and cheese and nuts. roman shoves a hunk of cheese in his mouth as patton pours them both water and nods his thanks to nate. roman downs a glass and a half of water before staring off again, eyes unfocused. 

patton hums, reaching out to set his hand on roman’s knee. “do you wanna talk about it?” 

roman hesitates for a moment, swirling the water in his cup around, and then he does. 

*~*~*~*~*

“are you going to tell me what you’re brooding about?” 

“i do not brood,” logan grouses. 

“are you going to tell me why you’re pouting, then?” 

“i do not pout either.” logan pouts at virgil, who bites his lower lip to keep from laughing. logan continues to pout as he gently picks up a clay teapot and pours virgil another cup of the magic-replenishing tea. virgil wraps his hands around logan’s as he takes the cup, and logan’s face smoothes into a small smile.  

“i . . . had a disagreement with roman, earlier.” 

“i don’t like the way you’re saying disagreement.” 

“he saw our father.” virgil, sitting up to sip at his tea, pauses as logan’s hands ball into fists. 

“how is he?” 

“our father? the same as always. asking about if we’re married yet so he can name thomas crown prince and die already.” virgil winces, and logan sighs. “forgive me, my love. our father . . . he is constantly rushing our lives. he would have had us wed to anyone, regardless of feelings, so that thomas could have his position as crown prince secured. thomas fought for us to have a chance at happiness, hence the ball for roman’s birthday. our father gave in, but he is . . . irritated that we have not yet wed.” 

“would it make things easier if we got married?” virgil says. logan reaches out and takes one of his hands. 

“i am not going to rush you or have roman rush patton because of our father’s succession issues. you are more than a political bargaining chip to me, virgil. you are . . .” logan’s cheeks and ears flush pink, and virgil can’t hide the besotted smile on his face as he watches logan’s gaze fix on a specific point over his shoulder. “you are invaluable to me. you are incredibly precious. i will not have you feeling like a pawn to be manipulated when you are - you are so much more than that to me.” virgil’s gaze slides to the black chess queen, propped neatly on the nightstand where he can see it.

“you’re important to me, too, l.” 

“roman was insinuating that we were irrational for running into battle to save him. he was implying that you are - are stupid or something, that you don’t know things, when without you he would be dead and we would have suffered innumerable casualties! that fool, what was he thinking , he -” 

“you were worried about him,” virgil says. 

“roman is capable. he does not require worrying about, so he likes to say.” logan scoffs.

“you’re his big brother, lo. you were going to worry no matter what happened. i worry about patton no matter what, and i bet thomas worries about you and roman no matter what. that’s just what brothers do.” 

logan pulls his hands into his lap, fidgeting with his fingers. “i . . . suppose i should apologize to him.” 

“hey, if he was being a jackass, he should apologize to you, too.” logan leans in and gently presses a kiss to virgil’s cheek. virgil makes a very undignified squeaking noise that he will deny vehemently to anyone else. 

*~*~*~*~*

“logan?” 

“roman.” 

“i . . . uh . . . ‘m sorry. i didn’t, uh . . . mean to insult virgil, or . . . or imply that he’s stupid. i know his magic takes a lot out of him, and i know he . . . he really used a lot when you guys came to save us. i just . . . i don’t like feeling like the stupid kid brother you all have to chase after, you know?” 

“i find that i owe you an apology as well, roman. i was, perhaps, unnecessarily harsh on you when last we spoke. i felt that someone had to defend virgil’s . . . honor is not quite the right word, but it is the closest i have.” 

“i can take care of myself, you know.” 

“i know, roman. but when virgil burst into the throne room and told us that he had seen you being slain . . . after the truth of his prediction with my horse incident, thomas and i were understandably distraught. we always fear the worst when you ride out into battle, and virgil seemed to be implying that those worst fears would be realized.” 

“i get that. and i . . . i am grateful, for what he did. for what you did.” 

“i know.” 

“father just . . . rattled me.” 

“i confess that i am irked as well. he has been ill for years, and remy is confident that he is not on death’s doorstep despite his illness. there is no reason for him to be so insistent on this marriage. patton and virgil are more than just marriage partners.” 

“i love him, lo. i - even if i didn’t have to, i would want to marry him.” 

“i share the sentiment.” 

“. . . i do love you, lo. even if you’re an annoying big brother sometimes.” 

“and i love you as well, despite your constant annoying younger brother status.” 

“hey!” 

(patton, hiding in the hallway, giggles and scurries off to the hospital wing.)

[wingedchildqueen]

Thunderstorm Kisses

Well my god. I wrote this five years ago, under my old tumblr account that I deleted by mistake and thought I had lost it forever, as I had also lost the laptop I typed it on. I suddenly remembered the name of it and took a chance searching it up and what do you know. Tumblr aint completely useless. The post still exists even though the account is dead. This is a dead fandom, I’m quite aware but I’m posting it here for documentation sake and for any lucaya fans who may be still floating around on this god forsaken platform. Much love and happy reading. P.S My writing has gotten better since this was written (God I hope) lol but I have not edited or altered anything because I think my 18 year old self's writing style should be left as it is for the sentimentality of it all. Warning: This is so cringy, cheesy and teeny boppy (if that's a thing) eeekk

He’d always wondered what she tasted like. If her kisses would be as electric as the thunderstorm in her eyes.  He knew it was wrong to have these thoughts when he had been in a relationship with her best friend for almost two years, and he loved Riley, he really did. But when this girl  was always in his face , challenging him, teasing him and threatening him relentlessly, all he could do was stare down at this raging blond fury, and over time he happened to notice that she had the pinkest lips he had ever seen, almost perfectly shaped, with a permanent smirk that was always directed at him and he began to wonder what they tasted like.

He would catch himself thinking about her at the most random times. Strawberry lips and sunshine hair would flood his mind and afterwards he would hate himself for it because he knew he should be thinking about warm chocolate eyes and chestnut hair, but it was hard to do that when a sea of electric blue always invaded and washed away these thoughts.

After almost two years of letting her verbally and physically abuse him, he had finally begun to fight back. Not because he was sick of it, or because he wanted to hurt her, but because he knew she liked when he did, and he would do anything to see that fire in her eyes intensify. The first time he had actually fought back, by responding to one of her verbal jabs with a very clever remark in his opinion, her eyebrows had shot up in surprise and he was not sure if he should stay or run from her wrath, but surprisingly she had smiled. Though, he could not have been sure, because it had only lasted for an instant, until her face fell back to its usual smirk and she proceeded to call him one of her ever creative names in response.  He noticed that she smiled a lot, especially with Riley, but he also noticed that a lot of her smiles were always a little too hard, or with a little too much teeth and they never really reached her eyes.  He had never seen someone so committed to assuring the happiness of their best friend. She would sell her soul for Riley. Riley’s happiness was Maya’s occupation and he wished that she realized her happiness was important too and sometimes he would want so badly to tell her she was worth everything and more, and she deserved the world  but he could not do that. They would be no windowsill conversations between them, no heart to hearts because he was Ranger Rick and she was his girlfriend’s best friend. And that was that.

He found her crying one time, underneath a staircase at school. He had never seen her cry before. The school was nearly empty and Riley had had cheerleading practice.  He was not sure what to do at first, if he should just walk away and call Riley, but then a sob came from her that nearly broke his heart, and never in his life had he felt such  a need to  fix someone. She sat in the corner of the staircase, her knees drawn to her chest and her face in her hands, her hair cascading down her shoulders. Her shoulders shook and his insides hurt. He didn’t think she knew anyone was  looking at her so he called her name. She remained in the same position and he called her name again. No response. She had to have heard him. She probably thought if she didn’t acknowledge him he would eventually go away but he refused to do anything of that sort. Without a second thought, he walked towards her tiny figure and slid down the wall next to her. He felt her body tense and then put his arm around her, pulling her into him. She lay stiff in his arms but he held on. After a few minutes he felt her finally relax against him and her head fell heavily against his shoulder. Her sobs had subsided but she still shook a little. His grip tightened and he rested his head against hers. Never did someone fit so perfectly in his arms. He heard her sigh, a sigh that sounded like it was filled with so much world weariness. They never spoke of it afterwards, it was as if it had never happened and though she had never told him to, he knew he was not supposed to tell Riley that he had found her crying. It was an unspoken agreement. The only acknowledgment that he got that had proven what had happened had not been a figment of his imagination was when the very next day their eyes had locked briefly across their lunch table with Riley and Farkle in the cafeteria and she had given him a small smile. Of gratitude? He couldn’t be sure but he thinks it was probably the most genuine smile he had ever seen on her face, even though her lips had only slightly turned upwards, but no matter how small, it had gotten to her sea glass eyes.

He could feel there dynamic slowly changing. He wasn’t sure he could say they were becoming friendlier with each other but they were becoming…something more than just two teenagers who tolerated each other for the sake of a mutual friend. They no longer needed Riley to be there to feel comfortable in each other’s presence. One day, all four of them, him, Riley, Farkle and Maya, were supposed to meet at “Topanga’s” to hang out but it had just ended up being the two of them as Farkle had ditched them to hang out  with the AV club and Riley had to babysit Auggie at the last minute. He would have thought that Maya would have left to go and help Riley with Auggie but surprisingly she had stayed and it was then he had found out that she was a really good listener. Sitting opposite each other in one of the booths, with her hands clasped together on top of the table she listened as he told her about Texas sunsets, and how beautiful the horses looked when they ran together in the fields and how he had always woke up at five every morning to do things around his grandparents farm. He told her how much he missed his old home and his family  and how sometimes New York could be so suffocating with all its skyscraper buildings and millions of people. Not once did she call him a name or interrupt him as he told her, she just listened. At the end of it, it was silent for a moment and she just stared at him with her piercing eyes, as if she was searching for something in him. After a moment she leaned back and said to him,

“ Even though here might not feel like home, always remember that we will always be your family, no matter what.” She told him this without her gaze ever wavering from his face and he thinks that that was the moment he started to fall in love with her.

He began to walk her home nearly every day after school especially on the days when they all hung out till dark. The first time he did, he realized how far she lived from Riley’s house, nearly  five blocks and her neighborhood was not exactly the safest, especially in the night. The first few times she fussed about it and told him it wasn’t necessary but   eventually she realized she could not convince him otherwise and it became a pattern. No matter how much she claimed she could take care of herself he always noticed how she would draw nearer to him whenever they walked passed a dark ally or she received a random catcall from a pedestrian across the street. In those moments it would take everything he had within him to prevent himself from enclosing  her hand in his just to assure her that he was right here beside her, that nothing in hell could hurt her with him here. In those walks he found out a lot about her. That her mom changed jobs all the time and worked triple shifts and sometimes days would go by without her seeing her. He learned that her sick grandmother lived with them and that she tried to get home as soon as possible to make her dinner and watch tv with her. He got the impression that aside from Riley, her Grandma was her best friend. Her eyes always lit up when she spoke of her.

One day after almost six months of walking her home, she finally invited him inside. He could see how nervous she was as she fumbled open the door of the apartment. “It’s not much,” she had mumbled to him and he had told her he didn’t care if she lived in a box on the worst alley in New York. She laughed at that and he saw her relax a little. Her laugh was like a  drug to him, and like any addict, whenever he rarely evoked one from her, he found himself on this high. She introduced him to her grandmother who hugged him with a grip so fierce it startled him. He could have seen that she had been beautiful when she was younger. He now knew where Maya had gotten her looks from. Her grandmother had held his hand while sitting on her rocking chair and studied him for a significant amount of time, with eyes very similar to Maya’s. She then turned to Maya and announced that it was abnormal for a boy to have such a beautiful face. He laughed and then heard Maya scoff behind him. He turned to her and winked and she rolled her eyes. She walked towards the small kitchen and he swore he glimpsed a smile that she tried to hide behind her hair. He helped her make dinner, despite her refusal, and though it was only Mac and cheese, it was probably the best meal he had ever had as he ate next to her on the couch in the living room, opposite her grandmother as they watched some Spanish soap opera with no english subtitles. Though he had no idea what they were saying he laughed along with Maya and her grandmother and he thinks this was the happiest he had ever seen her.  Afterwards he stood next to her in the kitchen by the sink as she washed the dishes and he dried and in that moment he felt like this was something he would like to do for the rest of his life, not just wash dishes, but just stand next to her,  unconsciously bumping shoulders, and brushing fingers, as she passed the dishes to him, that sent shivers down his spine.

He helped her make dinner at least three times a week and her grandmother loved him. She would pass him worried looks  whenever her grandma barely touched her food, which was most nights, and he would fix the antenna on the television on the nights they tended to get a lot of static. He looked forward to these nights, more than anything else and though she would never admit it, he didn’t know how grateful Maya was for him coming. He made her nights less lonely.

One night, just after they had washed the dishes, they heard thunder rumble outside and in a few minutes there was a full out storm raging outside. They stood by the window and watched as lightning streaked the sky outside. He felt her turn her head to watch him and he met her gaze. She shrugged her shoulders and turned on her heel, heading for her room. How he knew that that was her way of giving him permission to stay the night? He wasn’t sure, but at some point they had begun to understand each other without the use of words. He stood still for a moment and eventually followed her into the room where she had already thrown a sheet and pillow on the floor for him. He told her that he could sleep on the couch but she just shook head, mumbling something about her grandma groaning in the night and he would never get any sleep on the couch.  

Later on, they lay in the dark, with him on the floor and Maya on her bed. They lay in silence and he listened to her breathing and thought of a lot of things. He thought of Riley, innocent Riley, who was probably sleeping and he felt guilty because she was so kind, and beautiful and loving and he didn’t deserve any of it as he lay on the floor of her best friend’s bedroom, her best friend who he was falling in love with one Spanish soap opera at a time. And then he thought of Maya, and everything she was, and how brightly she burned in this black and white life she did not deserve and how underneath the entire tough façade she put on at school she was just a girl trying to hold it all together the best that she could with a sick grandmother and an almost absent mother and he thought of how he so much wanted to give her a life she deserved.

He heard ruffling of sheets and then the thudding of feet landing on the floor and the next thing he knew she was lying next to him. There was absolutely no physical contact, and they both just lay there, staring at the ceiling and he could feel her warmth, so close to him, part of her hair, which was fanned out on the floor tickled his neck. He turned on his side to look at her and she mirrored him and they both lay staring at each other intently. He fell asleep  drowning in a sea of blue.

They didn’t talk about how the next morning they woke up wrapped up in each other, feet intertwined and his arms around her and her face in his neck. They didn’t talk about how they lay there for a few moments, without moving, even though they both were already awake and should have long detangled. Those things remained unspoken.

He could feel Riley beginning to suspect something. Innocent Riley who should not have to suspect these kinds of things. He wasn’t sure exactly what had made her aware of it, maybe it was the lingering glances between him and Maya in the cafeteria or the fact that Maya taunted him less and less these days or that he and Maya stood a little too close to each other by the lockers. She could feel her eyes on him at certain times, especially when they hung out together as a group and he couldn’t help but feel terrible. It wasn’t as if they had kissed or anything but he could feel Riley’s eyes burning into him and feared that she could see into his mind and see exactly what he was thinking. Maya, Maya, Maya.

He knew Maya could feel her suspicion too and they cut down his number of visits to once a week as much as he hated it. It wasn’t as if they were doing anything wrong even though, in reality they really were.

One afternoon, both him and Maya stood at Riley’s locker waiting for her to finish cheerleading practice. They had begun to laugh about something, something entirely stupid but it had him gasping for breath as he laughed and she bent over holding her stomach. They were a mess, even though whatever it was had not even been that funny. He steadied her from toppling over with laughter and she leaned against him heavily. Eventually they calmed down, leaning against the lockers with their shoulders pressed against each other. He looked at her, her hair an absolute mess and laughed, gently pushing a strand of her hair behind her ear and smoothing down the rest with his two hands. She smiled as he did this and suddenly there faces were so close to each other and he could feel her breath on his face  with the scent of peppermint and she was so close and so warm and……

He heard someone clearing their throat and there stood Riley, her hands clenched at her sides and they both straightened up. He hated being responsible for that look of hurt in her eyes. Maya looked down at her shoes and he felt sorry for her as well.  She had been trying so hard , all her life, to protect her friend from the hurt of the world and here she was, the person to hurt  her, sealed and delivered.

Him and Riley’s three year relationship ended that night over the phone with a lot of silence and sharp words from her side of the conversation. You would think after three years he would feel hurt and be mourning the loss if his girlfriend, but instead, he felt free. He called Maya but she did not answer the phone. He tried a few more times but it went straight to voicemail.

He thought that maybe she just felt bad about the entire Riley situation and that at school he would assure her that everything was alright and that Riley was not even that mad anyways, but for three days she didn’t show up to school and he felt a panic rise in him. He didn’t ask Riley because she still wasn’t talking to him and obviously Farkle, his supposed best friend was taking her side. She still would not pick up her phone and with nothing else to do he found himself walking towards her apartment after school. He knocked on her door loudly and anxiously. There was no response. Where was she? He knocked again and shook the handle only to find that the door was open. The pace of his heart increased rapidly and his palms began to sweat. Why was her door open and why did he suddenly feel so scared? He slowly pushed open the door and there she sat on the couch, in front of the television that blasted a Spanish soap opera. As familiar as this scenario was to him, he could not help but feel something was missing. Only then did he realize the empty rocking chair and the door to her grandmother’s room that was wide open showcasing  a stripped mattress and boxes on the floor for packing. Everything connected and his eyes fell back to her on the couch, knees drawn to her chest and unseeing eyes glued to the television. If he looked closely he could have seen that her hands trembled as they wrapped around her legs. He could see that she was trying desperately to hold herself together.  “Oh Maya,” he said and he dropped his book bag to the floor and made his way to the couch. He enveloped her into his arms and this time she didn’t tense but completely melted into him. She buried her face in his chest and he rested his chin on her head, smoothing his hand over her hair and she cried and shook and soaked his t-shirt with her tears. And in that moment he held her together.

He held her hand at the funeral and stayed with her at the grave until everyone else  left so she could say her goodbyes without the whole world to witness and just him, and he was not allowed to stay because he didn’t matter, but because he did. He took her for ice cream afterwards instead of them going back to the apartment to be surrounded by sad stories and the sickening smell of flowers. He tried to make her laugh and she appreciated  it even though the most she could muster was a bitter smile. They stood on the sidewalk outside the ice cream shop and he held her hand tightly and whispered to her that it was all going to be okay and she rested her head on his shoulder. Death sucked, but it sucked a little less when you had someone to hold onto.

The first time he kissed her, they were on her fire escape. They had started to sit there a lot now because watching Spanish soap operas just really was never the same anymore. He was telling her about the stars in Texas and how when you looked up at night you could see billions of them dotting the sky unlike the too bright city of New York that drowned out the night sky. They lay on their backs looking at the sky and he had challenged her that she probably could not even count twenty stars in New York’s night sky. Of course she had looked at him determinately and started to count, hell bent to find twenty-one stars, the one extra just to make him look like an ass. And of course she did count twenty one stars exactly and she raised her arms in triumph above her head and then turned to give him the most breathtaking smile he had ever seen. This smile met her eyes and lit up her entire face, and she was brighter than any Texas sky. He took her face in both his hands and kissed her.  She tasted like coffee and strawberries and Spanish soap operas and night skies and he loved her so much his heart hurt. She pulled away from him and looked at him, her eyes wide and questioning. He nodded his head in response to her unasked question and pulled her back in and his hands threaded through her sunshine hair. Her hands wrapped behind his neck and their bodies fit in  ways that was too perfect too describe.

He no longer had to wonder if her kisses were as electric as the thunderstorm in her eyes. They were. And she tasted like everything he could ever want and in her arms and lost in her lips, he knew;

He was home

[uhhhhyandere]

heheheehehehe 

no wedding yet. I really do be messing with the plot a lot, and making it when i shouldn’t but... i can’t help myself. ;p 

it’s totally true that light can be the sweetest person in order to convince anyone, and i exploit that like a bitch. as always, writing for fun, not perfection!! 

word count: 5.4k

 “I’ve been seeing you a lot more.” Rose mixed her drink with the spoon, but her eyes were happily trained on you. “It’s a good thing! Don’t get me wrong. You surprised me when you called to meet up. Usually, it’s me, then you say we’ll see, then you call me back later. It’s a nice change of pace when you call, but I know you’re busy with wedding planning and being happy.” You crossed your legs, slipping your hands under your thighs to warm them up from the ice of your own drink.  

“I think it’s probably because when the amount of stress in my life tripled is when I realized I need a break,” is what you said, and what Light told you to say if you were ever questioned on why you were suddenly so social after he allowed you the freedom to leave without permission. Perhaps he was finally tired of the calls throughout the day while he was working, or maybe there was a semblance of trust beginning to form. That, or he finally noticed that you were beginning to fester in the confines of your home and wants your spirit to lift once more, which is all the more amusing to you that he may think that would be feasible.

“Well, I don’t know how much I can do to help. I mean, I’m sure Light’s doing his part, right?” You laughed.

“Plenty.”

“Then, do you need anything at all? From me? Or mom?” As pins and needles in your hands began to spread, you removed them and stretched them out on top of your thighs.

“Can you tell me about your life?”

“Huh?”

“Your life. You know. Sato, your new apartment. Your sex life. I don’t care. Anything. Everything. I just need to look into someone’s life that isn’t my own,” because frankly, you were worried Light had something up his sleeve, and you knew, you knew, you would only bring yourself more misery if you drowned yourself in your thoughts. Your sister leaned back in the cushion and smiled to herself.

“Well, it was our three months last week. Nothing compared to you, but it was nice. I’ve never been the one for… commitment, really, but—I don’t know—seeing you and Light, it makes me think that ‘Yeah I want that,’ and it’s a nice change to hookups.” She cut herself off. Her eyes stuck on a crack in the wall below the window. With her lips parted, she sighed, and a sudden sadness fell onto her face. Her fingers played with the wood of the table for a few moments before she opened her mouth to speak again. “Sorry, I was just thinking about Oliver. Reminds me of him.”

“What does, specifically?”

“Commitment. He slept around so much in college, but, when he settled back in the US and met his partner, it was like he changed. That connection, he felt it immediately, and, right when he was brave enough to take the next step…” Rose wiped beneath her eyes, being careful to avoid the mascara on her bottom lashes. It seemed that her eyes were only watering though. “Well, you know.” Yes, you did. “I’m scared. What if I find that and then it’s just… taken away from me? It’s easy when there’s no feelings involved.” She shook her head and hid her mouth behind her hand. “Sorry. I’m supposed to be distracting you from the stress, but I’m just adding to it.”

You allowed the table to fall into silence. Every time you’ve seen Rose since Light gifted your freedom, there was a small, small voice in the back of your mind that told you to tell Rose the truth. Sometimes just parts of it, but you knew that you couldn’t unwrap a small piece without, over time, exposing it all. Even so, what harm could Rose really do with that information? She’s never ceased her devotion to Kira, and you remember it was a defining factor in Sato when she started talking to him. Would she see Kira different knowing he is not some omnipotent god descended from wherever to distribute justice on the human world? Losing her belief was too much of a risk in exchange for information she didn’t need to know.

Information she deserved to know.

“Double date.”

“What?”

“Why don’t you and Sato and me and Light just go for dinner or something? I don’t know him well, and it might be a good idea to try. I mean, when I get stuck up in the past, I try to appreciate the present by doing something. I think it’s what they all would want.” Lying comes too easy. Little did she know the dead you thought of most likely wanted you as dead as them, and, wherever Misa was, you were sure she wanted the same.

“They all?”

“Huh?”

“You said they all, as in plural.” You shook your head.

“Oh, yeah. Well, Light’s dad, coworkers he’s had who have passed, Oliver.” She folded her hands over mouth.

“I completely forgot. I—you’re right. We should set that up. Soon, and I mean soon. As in this weekend or the next? I know Light’s schedule is insane, and yours, too, with the wedding. Oh, and I’ll tell Sato that Light is okay with our beliefs, so there’s no issue there. You know, with Kira.” You shook your head.

“No, no, it’s fine. It was my idea. He makes his own schedule most of the time unless something particularly nasty comes up. I’m sure that he’ll be free. He tries for weekends off but… he’s a workaholic.” Rose laughed into the brim of her cup.

“Sounds like him. I’m sure Sato will be free too.”

“What does he do, if I may ask?”

“Oh, he’s a lawyer. He used to be a public defender, but now he’s moved to elder law since Kira first appeared.” She paused. “You know, I think that he could use it too. His stepbrother died a while back, and he looked up to him like they were blood brothers.” You nodded. “Speaking of which,” she raised her wrist, “I told Sato that I would meet him after his appointment to go to that—um—botanical garden, I think? I don’t know. I’m excited.” You watched her hurry to collect herself. “Are you coming?” You shook your head.

“No, I think I’ll stay for a bit,” you checked your own watch, “Light won’t be home for a little while anyway. You go have fun. Let this chained old hag stay here.” Rose scoffed.

“’Chained old hag’, my younger sister who is planning the best day of her life says. Call me when you talk to Light and we can set up that date. Bye! Love you!” By the time she was wishing you well, she was halfway towards the door. You smiled to yourself. No, you would keep her in blissful ignorance despite what she deserves. It only added to your list of shit deeds. Nothing new.

You dug into your back pocket and pulled out your cell phone you turned off for the duration of your coffee date and decided you would leave it that way. You could people-watch for the next half hour. Hell, you probably could for the next five hours and not even know. You could hardly remember the last time you had watched the passersby with no worries, or at least, with all of your worries suppressed to normalcy.

With each one that passed, you grew more and more envious. Though every person had problems, stressors, issues, you were sure that you would trade anything to have the struggles they are having, so blissfully unaware of the reality that is around them. How easy it was for them to simply perish from this world in forty seconds, and they didn’t even know. Too busy worrying about exams and deadlines to even care. You released a shaky breath and thought about how you would do anything to have calculus be your biggest problem.

Too little, too late. The time for self-pity has long passed. Still, you permitted yourself some time to wallow for the sake of “self-care.” To cry against the headrest of the coffee shop chair until it was three minutes passed the time you wanted to leave was a fine enough method. It gave you enough time to fix yourself so Light would never know the difference.

Though, he was nowhere to be found as you walked into your house. The only indication he was home was the muffled movement from the floor above. Before you moved to go up the stairs, the number of objects on your kitchen counter drew your attention. Multiple white binders with swatches of silk sticking out from the edges, different plastic flowers, multiple—.

“Oh my fucking god,” you muttered, dread dropping into your core like an anchor. You had a fucking meeting with your wedding planner today. You ripped your phone from your pocket a finally turned it on. Fifteen text messages. Eight calls. You were dead. You dropped the device onto the counter in order to cup your face with your hands and groan.

“Oh, nice of you to come home.”

“Light, I am—I don’t—I don’t know—.” He shushed you with an open palm. Your hands linked on the edge of the counter behind your back. Biting your lip, you kept your eyes on him, ready to take whatever he was planning to give. Light sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Stop looking at me like a wounded dog. I haven’t even said anything yet. When I allowed you your freedom, I didn’t mean to free your head from your brain either. I looked like a fool with her after calling you eight times. She asked me if everything was okay between us, if we were fighting. Do you know how annoying and more importantly embarrassing for me it was? Have you ever, for once, used your brain for anything outside of what is in front of you? Where were you, anyway? With your sister, again?” Light scoffed. “No wonder your head isn’t working as well as it used to.”

“Rose is not stupid.”

“She’s certainly not intelligent. Why have you sought her out so much, anyway? If there’s something wrong, you should be talking to me. She may be your sister, and she may think she knows what may be going on, but she never will. Rose can never bring you any comfort when she’s so in the dark. The only person who knows, who can bring you a semblance of peace, is me.” You clenched your teeth.

“Then why not tell her, then? Everything.” He scowled and a single brow rose in challenge. “She deserves to know at least how our brother and father died.” Your throat clenched, but you remained steadfast. They always say tears is how you convince someone of anything, but tears were only a sign of weakness to Light. He sighed, shoulders falling. Closing the space in between you, he brought his hand to delicately cup your jaw.

“The guilt is eating at you again. Y/N, if you decided to tell her that, you would need to tell her everything. You would risk losing all connection with her, just as your brother did when you told him.” He leaned in so his lips began to trail up your jaw, across your cheek, and towards your ear. “Not to mention the potential obstacle it could pose to me, and you know I don’t hesitate when it comes to anything that could stand in my way.” He placed a small kiss behind your ear. “Is that something you are willing to risk in order to alleviate your guilt? Is it really worth it?” His hand that was on your jaw traced up your cheek, fingernails lightly dragging across your skin. He tucked your hair behind your ear and moved his face, so he was looking directly into your eyes again. “I won’t waste my breath telling you what to do. By now, you should already know, which is why you have this freedom in the first place because you know better.” With a sigh, he retracted, leaving only his hand in your hair. “Still, should you decide to do something stupid, I won’t think twice before cleaning up your mess. Decide if you’re ready to go through that again.

He took his hand back and walked around to begin to stifle through the binders. Turning around, you helped him spread them all across the counter and the table.

“What did I miss?” Your voice was quiet, still nervous to tempt out a side of him you didn’t want to see. Light’s eyes jumped around the binders.

“You’re lucky we didn’t need to make any decisions today. I brought home everything. Color swatches, food options, flowers, music, venues, cake, everything,” You sighed. “Not to mention dresses.”

“Please don’t even mention it. I’ve always been more of a jumpsuit kind of person.” He met your eyes briefly. “I-I mean in general! No, I’ll be wearing the big, whitey giant. Just don’t even know where to start, and not just that, with everything. It’s so much. Do we even have a budget in mind yet?” He shook his head.

“Money shouldn’t be a problem.” You furrowed your brows, but he said it as easy as someone who was talking about the weather. “What? Don’t look so mystified. As long as we don’t decide to make this a royal wedding and invite the Queen, we don’t have any foreseeable problems.” In your time since you quit your job, you realized that you haven’t thought about money at all. It wasn’t really an issue that was… “in front of your face.” You scowled as Light’s statement replayed in your head. You used his card if you went anywhere or bought anything, and yet you haven’t even thought to check the bank statement.

By god, you were turning into a trophy wife. Maybe, if you knew what that really was. Whatever you were turning into, it didn’t settle right in your stomach.

“Then we should decide the vibe.”

“The… vibe,” he repeated skeptically.

“Yeah. Do we want it to be rustic, or classy and formal? Or modern? Minimalistic? Classic? I don’t know. Then we could decide colors to go along with the theme, and then flowers would follow. We work from the outside in. We just need to figure out the attendance before picking a venue. Then the date. Then—yikes, this is a lot.” You ran a hand through your hair. “Do you care?”

“What do you mean, ‘do I care?’”

“I mean, I don’t know. Sometimes guys are like ‘I don’t care,’ and—I don’t know I watch a lot of TLC and HGTV.” Light brought a hand to your waist and pulled you into his side. He rolled his head in your direction.

“Do you really think I am anything like those guys on TV?” You pushed his head away.

“Yeah, sorry. Stupid question. So, what about—.”

“Formal.”

“Huh?”

“The ‘vibe.’ Formal.” His fingers drummed against your hip. You shouldn’t be too surprised he would want it to be professional and classy given he’s been dressing for his job since high school. Though, if you wanted to pose an argument, could you? Not that you minded the formal idea, but maybe your freedom has given you some of your courage back to test your limits.

“What about rustic? Like country-side.”

“You expect me to be married in a barn?”

“Rustic does not mean getting married in a barn,” you laughed. “It’s what I’ve always imagined my wedding would look like. Maybe a sunflower field or horses. Outside under a huge oak tree on a summer day.” A smile grew on your face picturing it, but as Light remained silent, it fell into a pensive frown. Your brother would have walked you up the aisle. “Though, I guess nothing has really turned out as I’ve imagined.” Whatever moment of courage flared in you moments before died. “Formal is fine. Then the colors should coincide.”

“Gold and black.” You grinned quietly.

“Yeah, that’s—um—on theme. It’s-it’s good. I’m going to go get a pen and paper to write this all down. I think there are notebooks in the drawer in the closet.” You tore away from his side and sped to the closet. Shutting the door behind you, you released your wet and shaking breaths in the darkness of the small space. Warm tears spilled down your cheeks, and you laughed because you had no idea why you were even crying. Still, you wrapped your arms around yourself and silently squeezed your eyes shut to push them all out. The door opened behind you, flooding the closet with light. “I’m sorry. I s-swear I’m not crying. I’m not I’m—.”

Arms wrapped around your own. Gently, he guided you to move them to allow his own to take their place. He nudges his head to slot between your neck and shoulder, but he, for once, does not say anything. He need not to. This was to comfort you, sure, but you knew better to think it was a sign of care. He had to do this. To be his true, ugly self all the time would simply eradicate the pretty picture he paints that distracts you from reality. Light had to convince you that there was something there that was not twisted, raw possession. Maybe there was a time it would have genuinely worked too, but the time has long passed. All there was left to do was believe in the known lie that this was love.

And that went both ways. What you felt towards him… you called it love, but even that would be too simple. Fear. Hate. Loneliness. Were they parts of love as well? If so, then maybe love was the right word. It had to be. You couldn’t be marrying a man you hated, that you feared. You had to love him. That was the only… it was the truth. All those years, you did. You’ve loved him all this time. It was the truth.  You loved him. You would pledge the rest of your life to him. That was the truth. It was. It was it was it was it was it was it was it was—.

“I love you, Light.” A kiss to your neck was your only answer.  

  No more planning was done that day. Once your tears dried, Light led you to the bathroom upstairs by hand in silence. You followed his footsteps as he brushed his teeth, washed his face, and stepped back into the space of the bedroom. Your eyes followed his form as he opened the drawer in the dresser and placed yours and his pajamas on top. He changed himself first, unbothered by your shameless staring. Then, he turned to you.

With unmatched gentility, he gripped the hem of your shirt and slowly brought it up to your abdomen. You rose your arms to help him disrobe it. He walked around you and unsnapped your bra, throwing it alongside your shirt. Back in your view, Light motioned for you to raise your arms, and he slid your long pajama shirt down your body. Before moving to your lower body, you stepped back and discarded them yourselves and put on your own bottoms. There was a small smile on Light’s face as you turned back to him.

Despite it being the early evening, you both settled in next to each other on the bed. Light reached for the remote and began playing a movie you both had already saw from a time far different. You did not question a single thing as you nuzzled into his embrace. The warmth of his body was no lie even if the lips that sought yours were. The kisses were long. They were short. They were deep. They were shallow. They were consuming. They were fluttering. They were right. With his hand behind your head, Light devoured you, but he did no more. He did not move to your neck. His hands did not deviate below your shoulders. His show was… real. It was. When he would push far, he would filter back to shallow. When his teeth nipped too hard, his tongue would follow to soothe the pain. It was all him. His taste. His scent.  

He did not do this to Misa, to Takada. This was for you. You were his. No one else could have ever said so and told the truth. You smiled into the next kiss, turning your head to take him deeper. For all the fighting, the confidence those women had that he was theirs, and where are they now? Where has their confidence gotten them? Burned. Removed. Gone, yet here you were, alive. In a game you never wanted to play but was the front runner, you won. They got themselves killed or wherever they are. It was the truth. It was. Lips parting from his for air, you let yourself immerse into the brown of his eyes. Chests rising and falling together, breaths intermingled, this was right. It was. This was the God of the New World, and this was Light Yagami.

It was. 

“Gold and black,” you said. “With hints of purple.”

  “A double date?” You stared up at him the next morning, head nestled into the cusp of his arm and shoulder. “With your sister and her boyfriend?” You nodded.

“Impulsive idea, but it’ll look good when she tells my cousins and everyone. PR, you know? Not that you don’t already have a lot with my family who hasn’t even met you, but she talks to them a lot. Might help the day of. Might not, but… I would appreciate it. Her boyfriend is a lawyer.”

“Oh?” You nodded.

“His step-brother was too, but he died. We think. He’s missing, but he thinks that he’s dead. Well, that’s what Rose told me, anyway.” You fiddled with the fabric of his shirt that lied over his chest.

“What is his name?”

“Sato.” When you look back up again, Light was hyper-focused on the ceiling. “Do you know him?” He scoffed, moving his hand that was near your back to come forth and flick you in the forehead. You lost your head cushion in the process as he moves to get up. “She wants to set it up this or next weekend, if you’re free.” Light’s muscles flex as he stretches.

“Saturday is fine.”

“Oh, okay. I’ll call Rose, then.”

  The restaurant was one you had heard of many times but haven’t had the chance to go to yet. It was a more casual setting, but it was packed. However, Light used his magic to get a booth in the far corner. You slid next to him. “I don’t know how you do this.”

“When will they be here? I don’t like to wait for people.” Thoughts of your forgotten wedding planning appointment sail through your mind.

“Rose is always late, but she’ll show.” Light hummed in response and pulled at his jacket sleeves. It was only five minutes before you saw your sister happily heading towards your table, a stressed man of her age following behind. You and Light rose to greet her with a hug that you knew Light hated.

“Hi, Y/N. Light! It’s been so long. How are you?”

“I’m alright. How are you?”

“Amazing. Anyway, Y/N, Light, this is Sato.” You did a double-take at Light’s expression but shook it off as you greeted him. “I’ve told him a lot so, don’t be surprised of how much he knows of you two.”

“All good things,” Sato reassured. The four of you sat at the booth, and the waiter was immediately present to ask for drinks. “Though, it is great to meet the brilliant Light Yagami. Your work on that missing persons case was astounding. Who would have thought to connect the sister to the missing luggage and the misplaced car? I read over the case file.” Light smiled and laughed.

“Thank you. I try not to talk too much work outside of it, but that was a nasty case.” Rose groaned.

“We get it. You’re smart, Light. We know.” The waiter returned briefly with the beverages. “You’re lucky that you’re nice, or else I would have beat you up in college.”

“College?”

“Light, Y/N, and I are all alumni of To-Oh, though they’re both a few years younger than me.” Sato looked impressed at the three of you. “It’s where their love blossomed.” You shook your head and hid your face behind your sleeve. “Don’t get embarrassed, Y/N! It’s true. Anyway, Light, what are you up to these days anyway? I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Wedding planning. Work. Nothing unusual, except maybe the wedding planning. That’s not really usual, is it?” Light laughed. Silence followed as you all scrutinized the menu. Light leaned over to you. “Do you want to split this?” Your normal answer would be absolutely not, but the gleam in his eye was unmistakable. Without even looking at the menu item, you nodded. “Alright.” The waiter returned to take the orders before leaving once again. “So, you’re a lawyer?”

“Yes! I used to be a criminal lawyer and did public defense here and there, but I’ve moved to elder law. A lot less stressful for the most part.” Your fiancé leaned forward, placing his chin in his palm.

“I see. Why the switch, if I may ask?”

“Oh, it’s no big deal. Criminals are dealt with without much help from lawyers. There’s a bigger force than judges and courts casting justice. Staying in the business is just financial suicide, especially with crime down the way it is.” Sato’s face fell. “My step-brother too. He was a criminal lawyer, but he disappeared a while ago. He was my biggest influence growing up. Couldn’t get a case without it reminding me of him, so I switched as well.” Light’s eyes did not move from his own.

“That’s a shame. I’m sorry. I lost my father as well, and Y/N and Rose lost their brother, but that’s why we’re here, isn’t it? The dead wouldn’t want us to cease our lives because of them. I know my father wouldn’t, at least.” Sato nodded.

“Same for Mikami.”

…What?

Light leaned back in the booth. It was nothing to Rose and Sato, but to you, it said mission accomplished. He crossed his arms and gave you only a second-long glance before focusing back on the company. You, though, you were choking on air and frozen to your seat. Though you’ve never met Mikami, having only seen him outside of the warehouse that… day, Light told you about him, and about he was almost the reason for his death should your father and you not been involved.

“…Y/N. Y/N!” Rose’s shrill voice cut you from your thoughts. “Thought we lost you there. Something on your mind?” You shook your head and laughed nervously. Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you dared not look at Light.

“No, sorry. Wedding things. What were we talking about?”

“I was talking about my step-brother and Light’s dad. Both of them were men of justice. I could see where you get your motivation and talent from then. Having your father as chief of police must have been a strong pull in the criminal justice path.”

“And your brother. He sounded like a good man.” Sato shrugged, scratching his nose with the crook of his finger.

“Yes, he was. He’s one of the main reasons I believe in what I believe in today. He loved Kira. Worshipped him, and when he died, I started to think the same. There was foul play in my brother’s disappearance, and I just hope that Kira has brought them to justice.” Your fists clenched under the table. Light placed a soft hand on your shaking fist and tightened his grip as you refused to loosen yours. “There’s simply no evidence. He was doing nothing different. Acting the same. Then one day he moved plans because he had somewhere he had to be. Then he was just gone.”  Light’s hand was at the point of hurting your own, so you finally loosened your fist. He still did not let go.

“I’m sorry that happened to you, Sato.”

“Has it crossed your desk, Light?” Rose asked. “Sorry. You’re with the NPA, so I thought maybe you would have seen it.” Light shook his head.

“When was this again?”

“January. A little more than a year ago.”

“It must have been around the time… something happened.” Oh, around the time you watched his brother and all your ‘friends’ die? Light must have sensed your discomfort and moved his hand from yours to grasp your thigh and rub back and forth. “It was a rough patch for me. I took off a lot of time then.”

“Oh, I had no idea. I’m so sorry. I remember I didn’t see either of you until the funeral, and even after…”

“Please, forget we said anything.” Sato finished for her. Light smiled and waved him off with his free hand.  

“It’s fine. You didn’t know. Still, I can look into your brother and see what I can pull. If I can help you find closure, then I’ll do my best.” With an earnest voice and an award-winning smile, he even had this man he just met looking at him like he had a halo and wings.

“I… really appreciate it. I can’t believe you’re actually as nice as they say. You know, sometimes highly accredited detectives can be… dicks. Thank you,” Sato’s gaze turned to you, “and congratulations to you both! I forgot to say before.” You grinned politely but could not speak.

“Ah, thank you. We’re still in early planning process, but we’re getting there.” He nudged you with his shoulder, and once again you grinned politely. “Anyway, how did you two meet? I hate to just talk about ourselves, though I can go on forever…”

You hardly spoke through the dinner, only responding when you were directly addressed. It was a good thing Light and you split a meal, as you couldn’t stomach more than a few bites. Light would squeeze your thigh when you had to respond. For the rest of the time, you were zoned out, focused on the cracks in the table, the movement of the servers, and anything else but the interaction between Light and everyone’s brother’s murderer. When it was getting too obvious your attention was purposely away from the table, you played with Light’s fingers that were on your thigh until Light offered to handle the bill and you were on your feet wishing your goodbyes.

“Are you okay?” Rose whispered as you hugged. Wordlessly, you nodded. “How are you, really?” You sighed.

“I’m fine. I promise.” You glanced to her boyfriend and your fiancé who both waited for the two of you. “Light will take care of me. Don’t worry.” Reluctant, she nodded and followed the men outside of the restaurant where you went your separate ways. You watched Rose lean happily into Sato, hands interlocked, while Light had a simple hand on your hip with his back poised and straight.

“You knew.”

“Of course, I knew.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You found out, didn’t you?” You exhaled through your nose.

“Was it because of what I said? About telling her?” Light did not respond. Parting from you and entering the driver’s seat, he did not regard you until he put the car into drive.

“Telling her was out of the question in the first place. The rest was a problem that solved itself. You know now, at least, of what would happen the moment you tell her a single thing. Risking her happiness, her and his life.”

“But not mine.” It slipped before you could even think about the words you just said. Light pondered them, eyes narrowing in thought as he weaved through traffic.

“But not yours. Never yours.” You did not know whether his words were the truth or more pretty lies, but you opted for the former. It brought you comfort, after all. 

“Do you like the idea of dark flowers with gold details?”  

[itracing]

11 Consequences of the Le Mans Postponement

There has only been one other delayed start in the almost 100-year history of the race: In 1968, the Le Mans 24-hour race was contested on 28/29 September due to ongoing unrest in Paris. The postponement of the race also has wide-reaching consequences for the Porsche GT Team. This includes changes to the schedule as well as the waiving of popular fan events in the town square and the drivers’ parade the day before the start.

The long night In mid-June around the summer solstice (June 20th), the days are longest in the northern hemisphere. On the originally planned date for the 88th edition of the endurance race on 13/14 June, the vehicles would have driven in darkness for only 8.02 hours. On the new September date, the sun sets on Saturday evening at 8:01 pm. The first rays of light will appear on Sunday morning at 7:44 am – which means that the period of darkness is almost four hours longer than it would have been shortly before the official start of summer. In the fight twice around the clock on the Circuit des 24 Heures, teams will spend only around 12 hours in daylight.

The fast pace The long night means a longer period with cooler asphalt and air temperatures. As a result, the engines of the two ca. 515-hp Porsche 911 RSR can run longer at an optimal level. Cooler air means more oxygen saturation and thus better and more efficient burning of fuel in the six combustion chambers. A good rule of thumb: If the ambient temperature drops by five degrees Celsius, the output of the engine increases by one per cent. Hence, in the long night of the 2020 Le Mans 24 Hours, a higher average pace can be achieved in the race. “If the weather conditions are good, we’ll witness a significantly faster race compared to June,” says Pascal Zurlinden, Director of Factory Motorsports at Porsche. With the sun setting earlier on Saturday evening and rising later on Sunday, temperature profiles will be different. The average temperature over a 24-hour period in mid-June (data from the last 30 years) is 16.8 degrees Celsius. The September average is exactly one degree lower. Like the higher oxygenation, this factor further influences the vehicles’ performance.

The soft tires The cooler night-time temperatures also have the advantage that the soft compound of the Michelin tires can be run over longer periods. This rubber not only offers more grip but also more consistency when track conditions are good. “Unfortunately, we’re not permitted to drive triple or quadruple stints in the GTE-Pro class,” explains Zurlinden. After two stints, the GTE vehicles must be fitted with new wheels. “The changed regulations no longer allow refueling at the same time as a tire change, and every tire change costs additional time. We’ll definitely see more double stints. That’s why we have to keep our pit stops as short as possible,” says the experienced engineer.

The anticipated rain The weather statistics over the last three decades show that the highest and lowest temperatures during the day and night hardly differ between June and September. However, the data also clearly shows that although there is less rain in September, the showers are heavier than in June. “We just have to take it as it comes,” says Pascal Zurlinden. At the endurance classic, however, there is the old saying: It always rains at Le Mans. The big question is, at what stage during the race? “The possibility of rain plays an important role in the teams’ tactics – especially if the car isn’t 100 per cent competitive in the dry. In the wet, the cards are reshuffled – and that opens up new opportunities,” explains Zurlinden.

The low sun During dusk and dawn at the 24 Hours of Le Mans, drivers often have to contend with sunstrike. At sunset on Saturday evening, the light shining through the windscreen at a low angle can blind the drivers, especially in the Indianapolis and Arnage passages. At sunrise on Sunday morning, this phenomenon occurs in the famous Tertre Rouge. “Our seasoned works drivers are very familiar with this problem. As the sun is generally lower in early autumn compared to the summer months, our boys will just have to squint a little more often. It’ll be okay. They’re professionals after all,” smiles the Frenchman.

The earlier start time Unlike in previous years, the 24 Hours of Le Mans in 2020 will start at 2.30 pm local time. One of the reasons for this is that the final stage of the Tour de France, the famous road cycling race through France, ends in Paris in the late afternoon on 20th September. To avoid a clash with this event, the 88th edition of the long-distance race as part of the FIA World Endurance Championship (WEC) will finish on Sunday at the earlier time of 2.30 pm. “From the outside, this slight adjustment may seem insignificant but it has a major impact on our team. We have to finish our preparations even earlier for the start on Saturday. This means shorter breaks and even more stress,” outlines the Director Factory Motorsport. That allows only four hours between the end of the warm-up and the start of the race to complete the final preparations.

The missing fans For motor racing fans, the 24 Hours of Le Mans event is high on the list of favorites. Every year, around a quarter million people flock to the track to watch the race. Once a year on this occasion, the capital of the French Departement Sarthe with its 150,000 residents bursts at the seams. But not this year: The organizer, ACO, has prohibited spectators at the racetrack. “Fans always give us huge motivation,” says Pascal Zurlinden. The large grandstands opposite the pit lane are usually packed out, especially at the start on Saturday and the finish on Sunday. “When I look at the spectators from my gantry at the pit wall on Saturday and Sunday, I basically see the same faces. These euphoric fans always give me an additional boost when energy runs low after 24 hours. That’ll be different this year. Still, despite the restrictions, it’ll definitely be another great experience for the spectators watching from home.”

The cancelled pretest The official one-day pretest held a fortnight before the race is a traditional part of the Le Mans 24-hour event. It is the one chance for manufacturers, tire partners, teams and drivers to prepare for the unparalleled quirks of the 13.626-kilometre racetrack prior to the greatest classic of the year. The Circuit des 24 Heures is a combination of the permanent Circuit Bugatti and public roads. Such a constellation is virtually unique in the motor racing scene. Moreover, there are no other chances to test on this circuit outside the race week. “The elimination of the pretest is a big challenge,” says Pascal Zurlinden. “This is the first time we’re fielding our latest 911 RSR there, so we have some unanswered questions about the setup. We would’ve liked to have done this work during a test so that we could analyse the results and arrive at the official sessions as well prepared as possible. We would also have preferred to checked-out the handling of the tyres during test drives. Now we only have the practice sessions just before the race do to this work.”

The compact schedule This year’s 24 Hours of Le Mans deviates from the well-established time schedule. The practice sessions, which in the past were held alongside the qualifying on Wednesday and Thursday, are now scheduled for Thursday (ten hours free practice plus qualifying) and Friday (free practice and hyperpole). “The longer practice sessions allow us to do extensive work on the setup and tire management,” explains Pascal Zurlinden. “We can complete a lot of tasks, but compared to the usual pretest, we are disadvantaged in that the breaks are no longer sufficient to conduct a really detailed analysis.” The Friday before the start of the race was always the last chance for drivers and team members to relax and catch their breath before the biggest race of the year. The so-called “Mad Friday” was normally all about the fans.

The missing drivers’ parade During the day, wildly souped-up cars roll through camping grounds and over thoroughfares lined with fans. Every burnout is greeted with thunderous applause. The “Le Mans holiday” on Friday before the race traditionally ends with the famous drivers’ parade through the town center. Not so in 2020: The spectacle with pilots driving classic cars from the Place des Jacobins to Place de la République has been cancelled. “It’s a real shame for the fans, but there’s no other way around the restrictions required to contain the coronavirus. We’ll try to offer our passionate Le Mans fans the same gripping and spectacular program via our social media channels,” says Zurlinden, explaining Porsche Motorsport’s plans.

Flying pollen Watery eyes, runny noses and medication at the ready belong to the usual picture in the Le Mans paddock in June: many drivers, team members and fans suffer from pollen allergies. In summer, the amount of grass pollen in the grain-growing Sarthe region in France is enormous. “I’m one of those affected,” reports Zurlinden. “There’s no way around taking antihistamines in June but the medication makes you tired. And that’s definitely something you don’t want at a 24-hour race. In this respect, I’m certainly not the only one who is happy to work almost allergy-free at Le Mans in September.”

[jbbarnesandnoble]

Something Borrowed: Part One

Pairing: Teacher!Steve x SingleMom!Reader

Summary: Steve is your attractive neighbor, who happens to be daughters 3rd grade teacher. You’re a single mom with two kids, trying to balance work and raising your children. But never have time for yourself or a relationship. What could go wrong when you’re finally ready to date?

Chapter Summary: it’s the sunday before school starts at your kids new schools. And special occasions require special pancakes.

Warning(s): fluff, an intro to this little family, and a bit of motherly worrying. Warnings will change throughout the series.

Word Count: 1,604

Prompt: Teacher AU

A/N: This is my submission for @marvelfulxbabes writing challenge. I hope you all like this fully little fic of mine! This is my first series for Steve and I have to say I’m very excited about it!! We’re off to a but of a shaky start with this first part. Seeing as this isn’t exactly how i wanted to start this fic off. But i had to stuck with it. This has been a chaotic week to even find the time to breathe, let alone write. I’m sorry:( Feedback is very much appreciated, but never expected and definitely not mandatory!! Hope you enjoy it!

(this isn’t my gif)

The early morning sun peaks through the small spaces in the curtains. Pouring into your room, giving it a warm glow. Sunday’s are your favorite day. They’re peaceful, quiet, and slow paced. At least, that’s how they’re meant to be. With two kids, it makes it hard to find a quiet moment. But today, you found that peaceful -much needed- quiet.

Stretching your arms above your head, pointing your toes out. Your joints crack and pop in a delightful way. You sigh, content when your body relaxes back into the soft mattress. A few moments pass you by. While you enjoy the feeling of staying in bed a little longer today. Another sigh, your feet hit the cool wood of your bedroom floor. When you finally force yourself out of bed. Your feet guide you down the hall, through your home.

It’s a short walk to your kitchen, where your glorious, well loved coffee pot calls to you. A few scoops of coffee grounds and two cups of water later. And your kitchen already smells of coffee. The warm aroma floods your lungs, waking you up. While you wait for the coffee to brew, you take out a few ingredients out for pancakes. Your favorite breakfast food.

Once the coffee is done, your poor yourself a generous amount. Seeing as you’re the only caffeine drinker in the house. You drink it black. Not bothering with cream or sugar.

With a long sip, you feel yourself becoming less sluggish. Now that, that’s done, you focus on the pancakes. Mixing together all the ingredients you need. Throwing in blueberries and lemon zest to make them more special. A couple minutes later and they’re cooked, ready to be eaten. The only problem? You’re missing your two favorite sleepy heads to help you eat them.

Making your way through the livingroom and back down the hallway. You stop in front of your daughter’s door first. Managing to slip in without waking her up. Crossing her room, you stop next to her bed. Crouching down next to her little face. You whisper three little words you know she’ll wake up to. “I made pancakes.” You whispered into her ear, in a sing songy voice. As expected, her green eyes snap open. As wide as ever. “You made pancakes? Blueberry lemon pancakes?” Mary asks, her voice still groggy from sleep. You nod, a smile on your face. Without missing a beat, she sits up. Her blond hair sticks every which way. Wild from her nights sleep.

By the time you stand up, she’s racing down the hall. The sound of her small feet running gets farther and farther away. Then they stop altogether. Before they come racing back towards you. “Did you wake up Harley?” She asks, bouncing on her toes. Her big eyes look up at you, mischief swirls through the green of them. Her toothy smile is a playful one. You shake your head slowly. Mirroring her mischievous expression.

Without saying another word, the two of you ‘sneak’ to the door at the end of the hall. Tiptoeing down the dark hallway. Muffled giggles bounce off of the walls, as you try your best to be sneaky. Easily failing. Her eyes meet your own, both of you whisper as you count down from three. Before opening the door, the room is dark. Except for a sliver of light that peeks through the bottom of the blinds.

Tired of wasting any more time, you turn on the light. Mary runs into the room hopping onto the bed, placed against the wall. Giggles and screams flood the small room. You can’t help but laugh at the sight in front of you.

Mary is sitting on top of her older brother who is yelling, angry the two of you woke him up. Despite the chaos and noise, you feel your heart warming at the sight of your kids. Your kids who you love more than anyone, and anything. In the entire world. “All right, that’s enough. Hop down girly.” Clapping your hands together, you hold them out. Mary pouts, but jumps into your them anyway. “What was that for?” Harley grumbles, pushing his curly brown hair out of his face.

Still holding Mary in your arms. Who’s wrapped around you like a baby koala. You move closer to your son. “I made pancakes.” You smile down at him, giving him a wink. His face softens a bit. “Mary and I didn’t want you to miss out. Isn’t that right?” She nods. You continue. “By having us eat all of them.” turning on your heel, you move towards the door of his room. “But if you would rather sleep-”

“No!” He cuts you off. The excitement for pancakes evident in his voice. Clearing his throat, he continues. “I’m awake now anyway…” he says, trying to put back his facade of disinterested, moody teenager. Not that you believe it for a second. Of course you would never tell him that. For now.

The three of you make your way into the kitchen. You serve up three plates of still warm pancakes. Piled high with extra berries and whipped cream. Extra special toppings for an extra special day. Every year on the Sunday before school starts, you make special, lemon zest and blueberry pancakes. Your kids all time favorite breakfast. It isn’t exclusively for the day before school. It’s for any special occasion. Because special occasions deserves special pancakes.

Grabbing your coffee, you join your kids at the kitchen table. With Mary to your right and Harley across from you. You smile wide at both of them. Before directing a question towards them. “Who’s excited for the first day of school?” The reactions you get from them are both very fitting for their characters. Mary all but bounces up and down. Harley on the other hand looks as if someone ate his pancakes.

His reaction is only fair. It’s their first day of school at their new schools, in a relatively new town. It’s been three months since you moved them here at the beginning of summer, and your kids still haven’t made many friends yet. Mary you aren’t worried about. You wouldn’t be surprised if she became friends with half the class by lunch.

Harley on the other hand, he’s never really fit in. Usually because people tend to misjudge him upon meeting. They don’t take the time to get to know him, or see how kind he can really be. And that scares you. A lot

Monday mornings are a lot different from Sunday’s. It’s a busy, hectic blur as you try to get your kids ready for school and yourself ready for work. Double and triple checking that everyone is ready and has all of their things. You head out the door. The three of you pile into your old truck. You pray it starts. You’re pretty sure Hayley prays it doesn’t. You breathe out a sigh of relief when it does. After a couple tries.

It’s a short, mostly quiet drive. Except for Mary’s excited ramblings. First it’s Mary’s stop. Planting a kiss on her forehead, she hops out of your truck. Her red polka dot dress twirls as she spins around to wave bye. Next is Harley’s school. Glancing over your heart breaks. He’s as close to the door as possible. Staring at the floor. “Har, what’s wrong?” You ask, despite knowing the answer. With him, even if you know what’s going on in his mind. It’s best to ask, otherwise he’ll clam up. Stop talking all together.

A few minutes pass in silence. When you pull up to his school. He finally speaks. “Can’t I just stay home today. It’s not like we’re learning anything important. Just intro to classes.” He mumbles, you almost don’t hear what he says. “Ok,” you state plainly. When he looks at you, his hazel eyes stare at you with gratitude. “Really?” He says louder this time. You nod. “They’ll teach you things you already know. So why go. Right?” He nods again.

Then you look at him fully, face serious. But not angry or upset in anyway. Your eyes remain soft. “But, you can’t do that. No you’re Harley y/l/n and you love school. You love to learn. To build new things.” Pausing, you make sure he’s still listening. He is. You watch as his once hopeful eyes changes to something else. You continue to look at him, despite his eyes shifting towards the ground. You continue. “And sure, people suck. But I hear they have an awesome math and physics teacher. And don’t even get me started on the science lab.”

When his eyes meet yours again, you wink. It pulls a smile from him. It’s tiny, barely even there. But a smile nonetheless.

“Thanks ma.” Saying in the tiniest of voices, he grabs his bag off of the floor, placing it in his lap. “You’re gonna crush it, Har.” Your words are genuine. You mean it. He’s the smartest kid you know. He’s already built three robots and you know he’ll build more. Which is why the school isn’t the part that worries you. But you don’t say that. He doesn’t need to know you worry about that too.

A soft click of his seatbelt and a hand hovering over the door handle. He hesitates. “I love you.” Turning around, he wraps you in a hug. Whispering his words in your ear. “I love you too.” With that he disappears as he enters the small brown building. You head to work. Trying not to worry about your kids.

———

Taglist: @emmandhercoffecrisp​ // @imma-new-soul​

[crystaljins]

When the ice melts | Drabble

Characters: Jimin x Reader

Word count: 3.1K

Synopsis:  At Jimin’s insistence, you have waited until you bring home that gold medal to tell him how you feel.

Can you finally say it?

Sequel drabble to When the Ice melts

Notes: I left this fic as an open ending originally because I wanted my readers to imagine how things worked out for Jimin and reader, but since you guys have been so sweet and showered my fic with so much love, I figured there was no harm in a tiny, mini sequel. It’s very half-assed and written quite carelessly but hopefull it gives you the closure you are all searching for, haha. 

Warnings: Jungkook calling people idiots. Kissing. Silly people lol.

The entire nation is holding its breath.

Every camera in the arena is trained on you. Your face is being broadcast across every major channel your country has to offer. You’re out of breath and some of your hair has dislodged slightly from its careful styling. But nothing can dim the brightness in your eyes as you beam, breath caught in your throat and heart on the verge of taking flight. Surely you will be taking home the Olympic gold medal after a performance like that.

Though technically the results won’t be announced until later, there is no doubt in anyone’s mind who the recipient of the gold medal should be. You didn’t just skate on that ice- you soared. You glided- you danced. One of the judges even raises his handkerchief to dab gently at his eyes, a movement he thinks is subtle enough to go undetected but is actually being caught by a lucky reporter. It will be broadcast as a viral video when the news over the next few days.

But you are oblivious to that, oblivious to way that you glow like something ethereal as you step off the ice. You catch the eye of your choreographer and she winks at you, proud of how you made her choreography come alive. In a few days, her phone will be ringing off the hook as people who are desperate to capture the magic of your performance want to hire the creative mastermind behind it. She will merely smile and accept the offers though she knows the truth- that while her choreography is good, only you can bring the soul and joy to it that will win you the gold medal.

So, if you are oblivious to the way your stunning performance will and has changed so many lives in that exact moment, what is it that you are thinking after having delivered a routine that will go down in the history books of the figure skating sport? You’ve always been a one-track mind kind of girl. It’s how you were able to focus solely on ice skating and nothing else throughout your youth, and no clearer does this personality trait show as in this moment: Your eyes scan the crowd and they go impossibly brighter when they find the target of their desperate search.

Jimin leans awkwardly against the wall in the kiss-and-cry area, obviously waiting for his athlete to wave off the crowd of people congratulating her and make her way towards him. His hands are shoved deep in his pockets and his hip is cocked- often he rests weight on only one leg, to take the pressure off his bad leg. Large amounts of reconstructive surgery means that he can walk normally, but sometimes in cold weather he still feels the ache. Though you are exhausted and sore after such a challenging and passionate performance, your body feels light, like you are floating on a cloud as you draw nearer. He’s always handsome but in this moment he is ethereal- light catches his cheek bones and you can’t help but admire the fine set of his figure. Though he is no longer a figure skater, he carries himself with grace even off the ice, even after so many years of retirement.

His eyes flicker up as he hears your approach. Perhaps he is aware of the many cameras trained on you, of the people still reeling from your performance, but for you, all you can see is him. His face, his smile, his eyes, the way his hair falls against his brow. You love him. You love him so much- he’s been your coach for over a year now and every moment has been precious. Even though he’s grumpy and bad at expressing himself, even though the only thing he can ever think about is figure-skating… You love him. And you can finally say it. You know that he’s been pushing you away for months now, afraid of interfering with your budding career, today is the day he will finally let you say the words.

“Jimin!” You call, and his smile is warm as you rush up to him, still in your skates. He doesn’t even hesitate as you throw your arms around him, pulling you into him and holding you tightly.

“That triple lutz landing was messy.” He mutters into the crook of your shoulder and you laugh. He pulls away and glares at you with a slight frown. “Is that a joke to you? We’ll be training twice as hard from now on! No more messy landings.”

“That’s fine.” You say, with a coy smile. “That just means more time with you, right?”

Jimin tries to look stern but he can’t keep the smile off his face despite his best efforts. What comes out is a strained but fond smile as he shakes his head.

“You’re a real piece of work, you know that?” He says and despite the harshness of his words, there is no denying the adoration in his words. Because Jimin loves you too- not only has he said it before, but he’s shown it. In the way he buys you dinner after practice, or the way that he pulls you in close for a hug when the exhaustion and fatigue of training sets in. In the way that his eyes shine with love as he watches you skate across the ice or the way that he’ll rearrange everything for something as simple as taking you to a movie. And despite his insistence that the two of you have to wait until you win your first gold medal, he does not have the strength to stay away, and now he won’t have to.

“I know.” You say gleefully. He grins.

“Let’s go get that gold medal.” He tells you softly, taking your hand gently in his. He’s always affectionate with you- he likes to hold your hand and sit close enough so that your legs press together, and yet your heart still flutters at the warm sensation of his fingers interlaced with yours.

“Wait. First I want to say it. I lo-“ You begin eagerly. The words are always on the tip of your tongue, ready to burst forth but you’ve held them in at his insistence. You can’t wait any longer.

“Just a little longer.” He cuts you off. “I want to see that gold medal around your neck first. And then tomorrow we can go for dinner and we can talk, ok?”

You frown.

“Tomorrow is so far away.” You complain and he smiles and the look he gives you is tortured.

“Believe me, (Y/N), I know.” He says with a laugh. “Now let’s go get that medal.”

You sigh and follow obediently. They’re announcing the result in a couple of hours and you suppose if you’ve waited an entire year to be able to say those three words to Jimin, you can wait a little longer.

++

The press has a field day. The Olympics are sacred- the thought that there could be corruption amidst the judges is an outrageous claim and yet not a single person can deny that you deserved the gold medal. The only proof, however, is that the person who took home the gold came from the country where the Olympics were being hosted and the videos of your dazzling performance. Despite the petition that goes up to launch an audit into the score, the authorities come away with nothing. Perhaps you were marked harder than strictly necessary- highly specific technicalities that no one has brought up for years were subtracted from your final score, but they were all rules in the book. You even get a phone call from the distraught gold medallist, promising that she would never cheat and the results were as unexpected to her as they were to you. You reassure her with a smile on your face and you respond in all the interviews with that same easy smile. People can see the difference though- they had seen the way your smile normally reaches all the way to your eyes and how in interviews after the announcement they just seem dead.

You go back home with a silver medal.

A silver medal isn’t bad. In the past, you would have been thrilled with such a result. To even have the opportunity to skate in the Olympics is so beyond your wildest dreams and to do it with Jimin, your former idol-turned-coach is even more unbelievable. The experience was thrilling and when you rewatch videos your heart still races. A silver medal is a wonderful thing to receive.

The only problem is Jimin. His eyes had gone dark and foggy at the announcement of the results, like someone had flipped a switch. All the colour had drained from his face and he had actually had to leave the room. He hasn’t contacted you since and all your texts in the week that has passed have gone unread.

You know Jimin loves you, but you also know he loves you because he fell for your skating. And with his radio silence, you can’t help but feel the doubts start to creep him. Has he decided you aren’t good enough from him, because you were unable to take home the gold medal like he expected you too? Perhaps his refusal to allow you to confess your love hadn’t been a desire to wait. Maybe he wanted to see if you could prove yourself worthy of him and you failed the trial? Perhaps he never even loved you in the first place- maybe it was only the opportunity to go back to the Olympics that he loved.

All these thoughts swirl around until your heart is heavy and dark. You can’t even bear to go to the ice rink your father owns. Instead you linger around at home, sulking in your bed, refusing to see friends or go out. If it were just the silver medal, or it were just Jimin ignoring you, you would have been able to cope. But the two combined leaves you devastated until you can’t even bear to leave your room.

It’s Jungkook who finally drags you outside. Your parents let him in and he barges upstairs and storms into your room without knocking. He doesn’t even give you the chance to change out of your pyjamas- he just grabs your wrist and drags you. You aren’t weak- you’re an Olympic athlete, after all, but you find yourself powerful against Jungkook’s muscles and you are dragged pathetically after him like a ragdoll.

“Where are we going?” You complain, still in your cow-themed pyjamas and with unwashed hair.

“Out.” Jungkook snaps. He turns to glare at you. “You haven’t even washed your hair!” He notices with irritation. “The both of you are such a handful.”

You shouldn’t be surprised that it’s your father’s ice rink he pulls up at. He turns to you after parking and frowns.

“Now, this party was supposed to be a surprise to celebrate you winning your silver medal. Jin even baked you an entire cake. But you’ve ignored all my messages all week where I was trying to get you here for the surprise and Jimin has dropped off the frickin’ radar, so here’s what we are gonna do: You’re gonna go in there and have the time of your life. I don’t care that you’re in your pyjamas and that your hair isn’t washed. You are going to have fun. And then you’re gonna go home and speak to Jimin. I won’t be at the party because I’m going to find him and beat his ass and then drag him back to yours. Now go have fun. Jin will drop you home.” And with that, Jungkook is shoving you out of his car, still in your pyjamas, and speeding off, out of the car parking lot.

You blink a few times- the sunlight is bright and no doubt you look shabby in your ratty pyjamas and uncombed hair. But the sentiment is sweet, and you feel bad for dropping off the radar as you did. Taking a deep breath, you steel yourself. Jungkook is right- winning a silver medal at the Olympics is something to be celebrated and you can’t keep acting like the world has ended. Plastering a genuine smile on your face, you square your shoulders and step into the building.

What greets you first is the familiar, clear and misty smell of the ice. You only get a whiff of the familiar smell before it’s replaced with the smell of smoke- dozens of party poppers go off and confetti fires into the air as the few close friends you have managed to keep with your busy schedule leap out from hiding spots to scream congratulations. Someone has strung a huge banner across the far wall of the rink and someone else has turn on the disco lights.

“Nice outfit.” Jin snickers, and you gaze around at all the people who love you enough to throw such an event and you tear up.

The party ends up being a hit. There aren’t a huge number of people and the people who are there are the kind who don’t care that you’re in your pyjamas. They’re happy if your happy and it warms your heart.

You’re having such a good time that you don’t even notice when he steps into the building, dragged along by Jungkook. You’re laughing with some old school friends with a smile brighter than the sun and Jimin’s heart aches at the sight of you. It’s been a week and yet he feels like it’s been a year. He’s such an idiot.

Jungkook shares the sentiment.

“You’re such an idiot.” He admits with a shake of his head. “I’ve literally never seen someone so whipped in my life. Go talk to her, dummy.”

It takes a rough shove from Jungkook and a moment to gather his courage, but Jimin stumbles towards you like he’s gone a week in the desert and you’re a glass of ice water.

When you spot him, the cup in your hand slips to the ground and liquid spills everywhere.

“Oh!” You cry, and another friend rushes to try and help you mop up the mess. Jimin follows, crouching down to help you, but he just ends up bumping heads with you. You cry out in pain, stumbling back and rubbing the tender spot on your scalp.

“Are you ok?” He cries, diving forward and placing his hand on either side of your face, tilting your head around at different angles to examine the area he bumped. Your hands come up to grab his wrists and gently tug them away.

“I’m fine.” You say softly. And Jimin would honestly give his soul to make sure you never look at him like that again- with equal parts heart break and distance. He’s such a fool. And Jungkook obviously beat that knowledge into him, but he’s spent the past week knowing that to be true. He’s a coward who ran away because he couldn’t handle the fact that he had failed you.

Because for you to take home a silver medal means that he’s failed as your coach. And he knows you deserve the gold and that the judges got away with it by being sneaky, and he’s so frustrated that there’s nothing he can do. And it means he’s wasted the past year not showering you with love and affection because he wanted to wait until you took home the gold medal. So he ran away because he couldn’t handle the crippling guilt and misery, and as always, you pay the price for his own emotional incompetence. And the worst part is, despite the fact that you are probably devastated at being denied a gold medal that is rightfully yours, all he can think about is he can’t bear to weight another four years to properly date you and kiss you and hold you. He doesn’t even know how he’s lasted a year. Why did he decide you taking home a gold medal had to be the starting point of your relationship? He can’t wait that long.

“Can… can we talk?” He asks softly. The friend who is helping you clean up seem to sense the tension in the air and is quick to clear out. You bite your lip before nodding.

“I… Yeah. Yes we can.” You say softly, ducking your head shyly and he can’t help the warm smile that slides onto his face at the sight of you. He missed you so much in just the short space of a week.

It isn’t hard to find a private corner, but the second you do, the words spill out before he can help them.

“I love you.” He cries. You blink a few times in surprise. “I love you so much it hurts and I’m sorry for avoiding you. I was just ashamed and couldn’t bear to talk to you because I’d let you down. And I know that probably made everything worse and Jungkook told me that you probably think I hate you, but I don’t. I hate myself because I couldn’t give you what you deserve. But I can’t hold it back or push you away any longer. I love you.”

You’re silent for a few moment, staring at him incredulously and to his immense surprise you burst out in laughter.

“That’s why you’ve been avoiding me?” You cry in between peals of laughter. “Jungkook is right. We’re both idiots.” You say. Jimin blinks in half offence and confusion. Why are you laughing at his apology? “I’m sorry for only taking home the silver medal, but I’m not going to wait another four years to say it back.” You snap, and then before he can say anything, you’ve grabbed him by the collar and have pressed your lips firmly against his.

It’s like fireworks go off behind his eyes. Like he’s leapt into ice cold water. It’s everything he’s ever wanted and more- more thrilling than performing at the Olympics and more precious than the weight of the gold medal in his hands. And he’ll never win another gold medal in his life but he thinks he’ll spend the rest of his life happy if he can keep kissing you.

“I love you!” You cry, when you finally pull away. “And I can’t believe you made me wait that long to say it, but I won’t wait any longer.”

For a moment, he just stares at you, dumbstruck, but then a warm smile spreads widely across his face.

“Silver suits you better anyway.” He says, stepping forward to gently run his finger across the silver cat pendant resting against your collar bone. The one that you still wear even now, a year later that symbolises so much between you and him. “It matches this.” You shake your head with a laugh that is quickly cut off from him.

You’ll take home the gold medal next time. For now, the two of you have won something far better.

[handweavers]

don't reblog this or i'll kill you and that is a promise

experiencing chronic pain while mentally ill, trans, brown, and fat is legitimately a nightmare because literally no medical professional will take you seriously, even when you tell them your pain is so bad you can barely walk and have a hard time leaving your bed due to pain and weakness they will accuse you of not trying hard enough, say that it's because you're fat and mentally ill and hysterical, and send you home no matter what you do or say.

i've been experiencing debilitating nerve and muscle pain throughout my body, fatigue, dizziness, pins and needles and numbness in my limbs, painful headaches, weakness, and muscle spasms/convulsions with increasing severity over the last 2 1/2 months, to the point where the past few weeks i've been almost exclusively bedbound if not housebound, missed several classes and had to drop out of others, been to the ER once, gotten blood done 6 times, and seen my doctor about the same amount of times. in this entire time i have not found a single medical professional who has taken my pain and suffering seriously, and today i was literally laughed at by my now ex-family doctor for having to use a cane for the pain and weakness.

today the same doctor told me that i'd stop feeling so bad if i tried challenging myself more, perhaps read a book or tried learning a new language, and started exercising, and once again refused to diagnose me with anything or try to extradite imaging. when he told me that nothing is wrong with me and it's all in my head because he can't find anything wrong with my bloodwork i suggested that it might be fibromyalgia or chronic fatigue syndrome, or multiple sclerosis as that cannot be found in the blood either and i have a close family member with the condition, and he dismissed the former conditions as "basically depression but physical and not that serious" and said that i can't have MS because i don't have motor control issues (despite me expressing to him that i do, and it's so severe that again, i am bedridden) and i had to beg him to send me home with a prescription instead of turning me away for the third time in two weeks. two days ago i had to take myself to the ER at 3 am because i was in so much pain i couldn't stop crying, waited for 5 hours while the doctor dealt with every patient but me all while in a hard plastic chair that made my body go numb and hurt even worse, only to be sent away because "we don't deal with chronic pain here" and again, only gave me a prescription for pain meds after bursting out crying and begging for him to help me. that same doctor tried to institutionalise me for the 3rd time because i told him that the pain was so bad that i wanted to die, and focused more on the fact that i said it was triggering my suicidal depression rather than the extent of the pain.

there is something deeply wrong with the way society, especially this country (canada, supposedly at the apex of ~western healthcare~), treats people with chronic pain and that medical negligence and malpractice is doubled, tripled, quadrupled when the patient is a fat, neurodivergent transgender person of colour. doctors have been trained not to take people with any of these identities seriously, and when someone has ALL of them plus chronic pain they don't even bother pretending we're human beings. the absolute disrespect and dehumanization i've experienced in the past few months, especially the past few DAYS, is enough to make someone lose their fucking mind. the medical profession is an absolute fucking joke, and make no mistake - they're trained like this on purpose, they're trained to not see me as a person and take me seriously on purpose. we are living in a world that wants to see people like me dead, that does not care if we are in pain or suffering, and i am so fucking furious i want to explode.

[danielxrk]

                ✞ YOU NEED ME *     I DON’T NEED YOU 

-- before --

life is a whirlwind. he foolishly spent the early days of april breathless and hoping for respite, thinking surely, god would take pity on him and make april a month of peace. maybe, finally, something that shook him to his very core wouldn’t happen month after month. maybe he could move past a drunken kiss with a boy on valentine’s day, and past that boy’s appearances on nova’s new survival show-- past a confession of love from a different boy the month after. maybe he could move past all of the extra time spent with joohyun, her delicate hands still wrapped around some piece of his heart, despite all of it-- despite that heart being torn in a hundred different directions more than ever. he’s always been flighty in love, always hesitant, always uncertain, but this is worse. maybe he’s spent two months with a certain sickness in his stomach that just keeps getting worse.

he doesn’t think much of the announcement of trc’s new auditions; in fact he’s almost certain he won’t go. there’s too much going on his life, both on an interpersonal level and with empty enigma, namely their new album in its final stages. if he didn’t want to be a trainee during the mgas, he certainly doesn’t want to be one now. and yet he can’t say no to joohyun, and a mutual pact that if he goes she’ll go. if that wasn’t enough, jinah encourages him to go, too. hehow does he always end up here? 

at first, he makes the same mistake as he made with the mgas too: thinks there’s no way he has what it takes to get signed, and vows to do his best. he practices his dancing with joohyun, and it brings back memories of similar on the mgas, and maybe he’s even worse now. she does her best, and he’s grateful for her, but as the days go on, fear takes root. he fears another audition-- a contract in his hands. he fears stealing opportunity from others where he doesn’t want it. he can’t settle on a performance anyway until he decides he’ll just stand on stage with his guitar. he’ll sing and rap, but if he doesn’t dance, surely he can’t win. surely he’ll get to stand on stage, then go home, and return to his life as he knows it. (what is life as he knows it now? he doesn’t know.)

joohyun probably suspects as much when he doesn’t ask for her help with his dancing anymore, and when he plays guitar for her instead. sure, he could do both, but he won’t. he doesn’t tell her, either.

-- april 14 --

sundays at his mother’s church of choice are always filled with a certain tension for daniel. whether it happens or not, daniel always feels some kind of torn apart by her, and her friends, and the church that preaches less love and more perfection. still, he suffers through it for his family’s sake, and knowing that because he does this, his mother lets him go to church with his grandmother the other three weeks of the month.

the drive home is uneventful, and daniel relaxes, glad the worst part is over with. (but the worst is yet to come.)

they eat lunch, dad drifts away to do work, mina goes upstairs to her room, and it’s daniel and his mother. they clean up the table together, collecting dishes and silverware, and it’s when his mother passes him, returning from the kitchen back to the table, that she stops. she grabs him by the bottom of his ear, and he tenses on instinct, despite not knowing what comes next.

“are your ears pierced?” she asks, and her voice is equally piercing.

“yes...?” he answers, because the evidence is there. there’s no point in lying about this.

“why?” she has that look on her face: the raised eyebrows, the tongue laced in criticism, the heavy, inevitable disappointment. “daniel, where have you been?”

what lie does he spin now, to join the others? i’m going to study, i’m going to work, i’m going to the library, i’m going to haknyeon’s, i have work, all to cover up empty enigma shows and rehearsals and album preparation and friends she wouldn’t approve of and the fact that he’s raising a dog with a girl that she does like, if he remembers right. when does it stop?

now, he decides, finally. he is carrying too much weight around. soon his chest will cave in, if he doesn’t get rid of something. this has to be it. “mom, i have...a lot to tell you.”

so he does. he tells her that he loves music, and that he’s in a metal band-- about empty enigma, and that they’re his best friends, some of the best people he’s ever met. he tells her it’s been a year and a half, that he hasn’t been going where he’s told her, that he’s been performing shows, and going to rehearsal, and working on an album, but that his grades are still good-- that he can handle it-- that it’s okay.

she looks at him in silence for long, deafening seconds. his ears ring, and he meets her gaze, not fearless, but anticipating. “okay,” she breathes at last, and he lets out a breath of air the tension kept in his lungs. “i’ve raised you how i thought i should. it’s your life, and you’re old enough to make your own choices, so you can do what you choose with it.” he’s so relieved. is that it? he gets his hopes up.

“but,” and it comes crashing down again. he hangs on every word. “if you want to do this, you won’t do it while under my roof.”

he expected it. no, he expected worse, really. in this there is a promise that their relationship will continue as it has so long as he moves out, and if he’s going to make choices without her approval, that he needs to take steps to be entirely independent. as the moments stretch on, he thinks it’s fair. he understands, and if she can’t accept this about him ( oh god, there’s so much worse she might need to accept) then he doesn’t want to live with her anyway.

“okay,” he agrees, but it still stings.

he doesn’t have an apartment, and he doesn’t know what to do, so he calls the first person he thinks of-- the first place he would want to go in a situation like this: ha sungwoon.

he doesn’t hesitate as long as he should. he calls, and when sungwoon picks up, he resists the word sorry on the tip of his tongue. “so, i told my mom about the band. she wants me out of the house today. do you guys...have space for me on your couch?”

-- after --

it’s not as bad as it could be. it’s not as bad as he expected, daniel, always expecting the worst. the empty enigma members are still his best friends, and they still assure him that it’s no trouble-- still welcome him with open arms, and he claims he isn’t upset. he doesn’t think he is, but he knows he needs them, anyway.

it’s not even as bad with sungwoon as it could be. maybe they’ve gotten their awkwardness out of their system, as much as they tried to play it off like nothing was wrong in front of the other guys to avoid questions. he doubts they succeeded, given the sheer amount of concern for sungwoon daniel has been unable to shake since his birthday, trying to tiptoe the line of taking advantage of his feelings and treating him the same as he did before. by the time he’s sleeping on his couch, though, things feel almost normal, or he can delude himself into thinking so.

kenta helps him with apartment hunting, and minhyun makes sure he’s eating well, and jihoon offers his own form of support, in his typical nonchalant jihoon way, or maybe daniel just finds the consistency he brings comforting in a time of such turbulent change. 

he still feels that weight on his chest, though unveiling his secrets to his mother provided some relief. maybe it’s spending so much time around sungwoon that makes it progressively harder to breathe, or the ever-present fear that he’s overstaying his welcome with his friends, or his sudden dissatisfaction with the song he’s practiced for the triple threat challenge, on top of everything else, but eventually he just needs to speak. minhyun becomes his unfortunate victim, and he tells him everything-- not naming names, of course, and the burden becomes easier to carry when it’s shared with someone else. he’s grateful.

still, he considers backing out of the triple threat challenge altogether. he just doesn’t know if he’s up for it, and yet there’s some tiny flame in his soul that craves the stage again, as daniel, away from empty enigma and his storm of feelings and fears surrounding them. so, he does what’s natural: overhauls his performance and starts preparing a new song five days before the performances.

he doesn’t have anything against empty enigma; he loves them with all of his heart, actually, but he’s introverted, and spending so much of his time around four other guys takes its toll, not even considering the one that’s in love with him whom he himself has undetermined feelings for (???). he wants to perform without them, and this seems like his best chance.

so he’ll do it, and he’ll do it with confidence, throwing caution to the wind.

-- after --

even with all of the performers preceding him, and their talent, he isn’t shaken. it’s different from the mgas; he doesn’t feel so out of his element here, though he’s far from a triple threat. he never claimed to be, and he won’t. instead, he feels oddly settled-- ready, even as he cheers for joohyun and tries to maintain his composure during her performance. he sees other familiar faces too, both among the performances and those who haven’t performed just yet.

they call him up to wait backstage, and he does, trusty guitar hung over his shoulder, fingers tapping on the body of it, without a pick-- just him, his guitar, and his voice. just daniel, though maybe he’ll bring a little bit of cameo too.

he’s up next, and he strides onto the stage, and grins when he looks out over the crowd. empty enigma’s venues are always smaller-- darker lit. this is more reminiscent of the mgas, and he feels at home instead of daunted (though maybe still a little daunted.)

“i’m kang daniel,” he greets. again. do you remember me? he wouldn’t be surprised if no one remembers, but he hopes they do. “this is an ed sheeran song.” he’ll leave the title as a mystery for now.

he starts strumming, a quiet sound, and launches into the rhythmic singing-rapping style:

cause with the lyrics i'll be aiming it right i won't stop until my name's in lights with stadium heights, with damien rice on red carpets, now i'm on arabian nights because i'm young i know my brothers gonna give me advice

you need me, i don’t need you is a song with more spunk than daniel originally thought he was cut out for. who is he, someone no company has need of, to stand on stage and claim ‘you need me, i don’t need you?’ no one, really. he doesn’t know if he means it, though he doesn’t think he does need a big company to love music and succeed with it. empty enigma may be far from a famous, fortune-producing band, but they have their fans, and they have their heart in it, and that’s what matters to him. that’s what he wants to pursue, more than anything, and the longer he practiced this song, the more he believed it, even with all of its references he didn’t always understand-- even with its rapid-fire english that sometimes still felt more comfortable to him than korean.

but still, there’s very little time to breathe.

long nighter, right height and i gone hyper never be anything but a singer-songwriter, yeah the game's over but now I'm on a new level watch how i step on the track without a loop pedal

he made small alterations to the lyrics during the preparation process to reflect him more, kang daniel, so it felt believable, because the song is nothing if not genuine. at it’s core, it’s about staying true to yourself, about not changing for others, and maybe he needed to perform this song instead of the one he practiced before it because it’s so relevant. it’s for his mom, and anyone that would look down on him for loving music, not just something cheeky to sing to tiger jk’s face, though that’s an added bonus. (maybe, once the familiar performance bravado fades, he’ll feel embarrassed. maybe the gall will disappear, and he’ll be left with that even more familiar, ever-present fear. for now, he doesn’t feel it.)

people think that i'm bound to blow up i've done around about a thousand shows but i haven't got a house plus i live on a couch so you believe the lyrics when i'm singing them out wow, from day one i've been prepared with V05 wax for my silver hair so now i'm back to the sofa giving a dose of what the future holds

again, the relevancy. it’s only fitting he sing-raps a song about living on a couch while literally doing so, and that he can sing this is evidence of his growth. he says silver hair, a reference to cameo, his still ultimately secret empty enigma stage persona, with ease, something that would’ve paralyzed him with fear around six months ago. for him, what the future holds is empty enigma’s album, and if this performance is at all impressive, they’re so much stronger together. 

i’ve still got a rucksack full of old clothes, i rap with the cold flows i’m back with the old jokes, in fact you don’t know ‘em tracks that throw blows and make my punchlines relevant if you can’t keep up you’re getting on my ??? my flow’s developing, skin lacks the melanin give me a shot of adrenaline and i get it in do it for the hell of it  ‘cause ever since i hit the mainstream with team c i seem to sell a bit

yes, do it for the hell of it, like he’s doing this, right now. he wrote in a reference to his first team on the mgas, too-- team c, perhaps the only team that didn’t come up with a special team name that first week, replacing ed sheeran’s original mention of his first single, the a-team. it seemed only fitting, if this song is about his journey now, too, and he wants it to be so.

i took my ??? back with the women then i package the image put in some content, then i sold it back as a gimmick the fact is this end up dating actresses wake up on dirty mattresses i think i need to practice this

this is the part of the song he can’t relate to as much, because as flirtatious as he is when cameo is on stage, and in the after-parties after, he does not wake up on dirty mattresses (except for that one time.) he didn’t rewrite it though, instead, keeping it in to keep the rhythm the same, and because it just seemed to suit the song. it wasn’t worth changing. 

the song is so fast, he doesn’t get a moment to rest from it, his mouth spitting line after line one after another. when he first started practicing, his tongue felt heavy in his mouth, like he was having an allergic reaction, and maybe he isn’t really a good enough rapper for this. maybe he didn’t give himself enough time to practice (though he already knew the song well before he even considered performing it, so that helped). in the end, it’s fun, and that’s what matters most.

the next part might be his favorite:

but i make shit happen, call me a laxative world’s on my shoulders, i don’t even know what atlas is hot bars sharp like the cactus is i’m back to rapping back to back ‘cause i’ve been practicing i’m baptizing this

if only because he gets to say shit in front of tiger jk, and he will bear the consequences, should they come. he’s already censoring the song further down the line, and if he’s going to be ballsy enough to sing this song in the first place, he’ll be ballsy enough to sing the word shit, damn it. the whole world was on his shoulders before he stepped on this stage, but he feels lighter now, suddenly, and he’s been practicing too. rapping wasn’t a skill he really knew he possessed until now, but one he found himself enjoying, and dare he say, with a natural knack for. maybe some of that empty enigma screaming transferred over, and he wouldn’t be daniel without some reference to christianity, would he?

finally, the chorus comes, and it’s the closest thing to a break he gets, returning to the more familiar comfort of all out singing.

cause you need me, man, i don’t need you you need me, man, i don’t need you you need me, man, i don’t need you at all you need me, man, i don’t need you you need me, man, i don’t need you you need me, man, i don’t need you you need me, man, i don’t need you, no

it’s the first time he sings the words, and what the guitar crescendoed to up until now, and he keeps a confident, borderline smug look on his face-- tries to look toward tiger jk and make eye contact. if he’s going to do it, he might as well sell it. he’s heard the ceo appreciates boldness. maybe he’ll entertain him, at the very least. or maybe the ceo will think it’s massively disrespectful. time will tell.

i'll keep my last name forever, keep this genre pretty basic gonna be breaking into other people's tunes when i chase it and replace it with the elephant in the room with a facelift slipping into another rapper shoes using new laces i'm selling CDs from my rucksack aiming for the papers selling CDs from my rucksack aiming for the majors nationwide tour with just jack, still had to get the bus back clean cut kid without a razor for the moustache

another opportunity for him to change the lyrics to something to better suit him, because he admittedly doesn’t know what just jack is. his guess is a band that ed sheeran toured with, but he couldn’t come up with something that suited both himself and the song, so he kept it. empty enigma hasn’t done a nationwide tour, anyway; they’re all just big dreams. they’ll still just be selling cds from a rucksack and aiming for the majors.

i hit back when the pen hurts me i'm still a choir boy in a thin church tee i'm still the same as a year ago but more people hear me though according to the naver and youtube videos

lyric changes this time: fenchurch to thin church, taking a brand name he didn’t understand to something that reflects his background, and how his first real introduction to music was in church-- how he first sang in a church choir and his mom only let him listen to christian music for the longest time. he changed myspace to naver, something more time-relevant and daniel relevant. a year ago was before he set foot on the mgas-- before he even knew he loved music, while he still wasn’t even sure if he loved empty enigma. he still thought it was all a phase, and something he’d escape from, eventually returning to a life of safety and monotony. even with the events of 2019, he’s still glad for that year of difference. he’s thankful.

the guitar all but cuts out, nothing but daniel’s voice and a few accents from strings for the next part:

i'm always doing shows if I'm not I'm in the studio truly broke, never growing up, call me rufio melody music maker, reading all the papers they say i’m up and coming like i'm effing in an elevator

ah yes, there it is: the elevator line, something he would not have the courage to sing by himself in the bathroom, let alone on stage in front of tiger jk and at least 100 people, were it not for the power of cameo. with this extra bravery, he sings it casually, as if it’s the same as the other hundred lines he’s spit. what’s more important: he’s been working his ass off for music, as the lyrics suggest, and he’ll find fulfillment in that, with or (preferably) without trc’s help, that much is certain.

in comes the final hit of the chorus, the figurative sigh of relief and sign of his two minutes up on stage, jam-packed with content, coming to a close. it’s the explanation point on the end of a performance he poured his heart into, both now and leading up to this.

'cause you need me, man, i don’t need you you need me, man, i don’t need you

[theundergrounddog]

Kenny Omega at DDT (Part 2)

Interviewer: “How was it for you adjusting to the Japanese culture?”

Kenny: “Uh well… I was lucky that I sort of had a good introduction to DDT. I mean I made that YouTube video of the anywhere match where I’m wrestling around my cottage and DDT fans are kinda wacky so before even like arriving to DDT they were already really excited to see me. So I sort of had that little bit of buzz. The adjustment was really easy to do in ring and in the match. The more difficult adjustment was adjusting to the actual culture and the food and the language and that was sort of like, you know a really long slow process.

Cause I mean it’s… you’re on your own to learn the language, you’re on your own to figure out to eat properly and maintain your diet and maintain your conditioning and that took about three years to balance it all out and to get to like a level in my Japanese where I could converse and sort of survive.

So yeah, the matches and stuff, that was easy. It was the other stuff, the after/before match type of things, the time when I wasn’t wrestling that was most difficult.”  Under the Mat (podcast) 2014.21.04

(Quick disclaimer: I just want to make it clear that translation-wise I’m operating on google translate and common sense only. I cannot speak or read Japanese. If you can and you notice any issues where the meaning is drastically off, I would really really really like to know!  Thank you!)

Kenny has 9 matches on his first tour in Japan however, 6 of these were during the beer garden shows which were over and done with by the 10th of August.*

At the same time, Kota was working other promotions aside from DDT including competing in Pro Wrestling Noah’s Junior Heavyweight tag league near the end of the month. This despite perhaps not being at 100% health-wise. There are reports on the blogs of him going to hospital to get checked out after his match with Kenny. The story is that he hit the back of his head when taking the Michinoku driver to the chairs and doesn’t remember the match clearly after that. Given that my main source for this is Takagi’s blog, he may be slightly exaggerating it for kayfabe’s sake however this wasn't the only place I saw the rumor that he was made to go to hospital after the match. 

Kota works a match on the 9th for K-DOJO 3 days after his match with Kenny but doesn’t wrestle the final night of the beer garden shows on the 10th. He is at the show, but he just takes part in a comedy skit and works at the shop rather than doing the tag match originally advertised.

(Source)

Kenny has a street fight against the president Takagi himself! Unfortunately, apart from the Kenny vs Ibushi match and the tag match he had before that, none of the rest of Kenny’s matches from this tour are available online as far as I can find.

(Source) (Source) 

Afterwards:

After the match (which Kenny loses) Takagi calls him “the best foreigner” and promises to call him in one year. The crowd chants ‘please come back’. And Nakazawa translates a promo from Kenny for them.

Kenny: "My wrestling career was so blessed to contract with WWE so that I could finally join ROH and finally come to DDT. Whatever anyone says DDT is the best company, with the best wrestlers and the best fans, as long as you want to see me, as long as Mr. Takagi asks me, I will definitely come back because this is where I am." (source)

So now the bulk of the wrestling was over. Kenny stayed in Japan for another three weeks, but only performed on three more shows.* One on the 17th in Nagoya, one on the 27th at Shin Kiba 1st ring again for another promotion called Great Pro Wrestling and one on the 31st at Korakuen Hall.  

Tagaki’s promise at the end of the beer garden show hopefully eased Kenny’s mind a little but his initial concern to prove his worth so that DDT would bring him back was not unfounded. DDT was a small promotion. They didn’t have a huge amount of money to spare flying in and hosting talent from across the world.

The dormitory where Kenny stayed was in a quite run-down state. Matsui, one of the DDT refs, actually writes on his blog that he was impressed Kenny stayed there the whole time without complaining. It was in an industrial area outside of the center of Tokyo. The residents were mostly elderly with little or no English and they often crossed the street to avoid him. When he got lonely, he used to go talk to the staff at the local convenience store. It was a 45-minute bike ride to the closest internet café. (If you want to know more about this, the Japanophiles documentary is probably the best thing to watch. The other tidbits of information are scattered about on various podcasts and shoot interviews.)

Michael Nakazawa was a busy guy who appears to have been holding down multiple jobs, but he still finds time to hang out with Kenny often during his stay. 

From his blog entries, it’s clear that Kota and Kenny’s connection was more or less instant. The day after the beer garden shows end, Nakazawa and Ibushi take Kenny to Akihabara and they play arcade games.

Ibushi vs. Omega, rebound match suddenly broke out! (August 12th)

“It's a game though. (^ _ ^;)

Today we have come to play in Akihabara in a group of three.

A splendid O Mega revenge with an initial D! Happy.

Silent Hill played alongside teaming together. I heard that I have not seen Silent Hill's gun shooting in the USA. You are pretty enthusiastic.

Even so, both of you are considerable gamers .... There is no language barrier in the game. That’s a relief. (^ O ^)”

From an interview with Kenny in November 2008 (August 17th -ish)

“-Then, if there are memories etc in DDT?

Omega: There are lots of memories and it is difficult. If I had to give one, I guess it's the hot spicy challenge with Ibushi. We went to a restaurant in Nagoya. There was a Russian roulette pizza in that shop, and one of the 6 piece pizza had hot sauce on it. Me and Ibushi are poor at eating spicy foods and can not eat them at all, but decided to do the challenge because it would be funny.

Eating with us was a rookie from Nagoya. He ate first but there was nothing. And then we ate, but there was nothing at all. Why?

'The truth is that mine was hit.' The new guy turned white, the Russian roulette pizza was over. But then it's not fun, right? So Nakazawa passed a spicy sauce to Ibushi, and Ibushi made the sauce for my pizza. In return I put sauce on Ibushi’s pizza, but I slipped and put it all over (laugh) But, for the time being, I handed it to Ibushi and decided to eat that pizza quickly. 

Then it's hard to do anything! The two of us drank water, I put ice in my mouth, but I still felt like drinking water. Ibushi cried tears it was so spicy. So, Ibushi wiped the tears with his hands, but his hands actually had hot sauce on and so more and more tears flowed. So, both of our tongues are still burning, I asked for ice cream, but my tongue was still burning, still continued drinking water and then it took a long time to settle out. That was a good memory.”

Kenny’s match on the 17thwas a triple threat with Kudo and Masa Takanashi which Kenny actually won! Kota has a match with Dino in the main event. Can’t find either match online but the latter looks like its pretty standard fare for a Dino vs Ibushi match i.e. a copious amount of non-con kissing and heavily dick centered offense.

Ibushi wins but the Extremeparty recapper still notes some concern over his physical wellness. 

Today's Ibushi & Kenny Omega (22nd)

The events of this day were recounted in both Nakazawa’s and Matsui’s blogs.

Nakazawa: “We joined with Mr. Matsui and Mr. Ibushi, who didn’t play at Noah today, we went to Ikebukuro. When people went to America with ROH before, people who became indebted people are connected, but the barbecue has become a treat for everyone. Well I have not eaten such good meat after a long time Nobunashima ....

Street brothers Kenny and Ibushi-san were playful while eating ice-cream. Good relationship. In this case you do not need an interpreter anymore.

What close friends you are, before they leave the office, they say they say "Hado-ken!" Or something like a fireworks that happened to be sandwiched with both hands and shoot it with you. Ah Ibushi I'm burning a hand. f (^ _^;)”

Matsui: “Tonight, Ibushi and Michael were invited by the mother who took care of me during the expedition of ROH. Ibushi, Michael, Kenny, and me got to eat meals.

It was delicious!

Also moved to the shop that they are doing.

Despite the fact that Kenny did not drink a single drop, he sang English songs for a long time without giving up the microphone, and it made me drink.

Love song sent to Ibushi was sweet and painful.

So, now we will return.

Kenny wanted to stop by the arcade,

"If you play now, the train will be gone!" I said in Japanese.”

Kenny Omega Night (August 24th)

Ibushi’s Noah matches start on the 23rd. Meanwhile, Kenny and Nakazawa hold the first Kenny Omega Night at Dropkick! He squishes the grapefruits with his bare hands apparently. They play street fighter with customers + other DDT wrestlers.

Then they play strip street fighter. Which goes badly for Michael.

They do a little Q&A with Michael translating:

"The reason that I came this time was to fight Ibushi. The fight against Ibushi was the most important match. I did not expect it, but after fighting we got along well. I want to do a rematch with Ibushi when coming next time, but, only if Ibushi has the same idea, it is possible we could tag. "

"It's boring to stay in the dormitory, I’m a rarity in Adachi-ku so it is not very pleasant. It’s not like that in Akihabara or Shibuya. I like all Japanese food, but I have to ask Michael and Matsunaga to explain all the menus. I was surprised by the Moss Burger Rice Burger. How does rice replace the buns? I thought it was delicious when I ate it. I had an image of Japan as the advanced country of technology, the impression has not changed since coming. "

There is more strip-Streetfighter and Michael loses again.

Yesterday appeared in the S Arena! (August 27th) 

Nakazawa:“Yesterday, Mr. Ibushi & Kenny appeared on the S - Arena on Samurai TV, so I was present as an interpreter. I wonder if I can translate properly. It's my first time to interpret something on TV. It is not bad usually as usual.

However, it was a big pinch before recording. We were meeting at the studios at half past eight, but no one had come yet. Well Kenny I know was at Great pro's match at Shinkiba from 7 o'clock before this recording, but Ibushi-san was late for no reason as usual (lol). What should I do if they never turned up? He was not upset but upset. Actually, Ibushi-san arrived after broadcasting had begun. f (^ _^;)

If you were watching the broadcast yesterday, you will understand, but there are not any words such as the language barrier, they are really good friends. They are is about the same age, and wrestling is a person who can respect each other, both of them are fond of games, they cannot drink alcohol or spicy food. They like the streets, and like indies. I guess there are things that germinated through fierce fighting and sympathies that they both feel.”

“After that, we went to eat Okonomiyaki by three people, we cooperated together and breathed in briefly and baked over with one more thing! Another photo was baked by Kenny: Smiley Okonomiyaki It was my first taste & mischievous but it seemed like it was.

Kenny's last match in Japan for the time being is 8.31 Korakuen convention, please come and watch! Without business, Kenny Omega once I'm looking forward to hearing from you soon.”

The match Kenny has before going to the TV station on the 27th is a bit of a mystery. It’s for a promotion that isn’t DDT called ‘Great Pro Wrestling’(?) but it was in the Shin Kiba 1st ring which was the same place the beer garden shows were held. I didn’t find out about it anywhere the rest of the match recaps are, but from our old friend Griffon591! The match was against JOM Taro but I’m struggling to find much information on it. Griffon591 did however take some really cute photos of Kenny standing about.

Before Korakuen (August 29th-30th) 

Everyone is busy in the run up to the big DDT show at Korakuen Hall. Kota is also in the middle of the NOAH Junior Heavyweight Tag League at this point, fighting guys such as but not limited to: Daniel Bryan, Davey Richards, Kenta/Hideo Itami and Taiji Ishimori.

(source) (source)

Matsui: “Yesterday I made a mozzo in my office, and I drank with Kenny and others. I nearly missed the last train.

It looks like Kenny managed to learn how to get back to the dorm from here by train.

Korakuen is nearly here so today I stayed at the office for a while. There was one meeting and two meetings. I will return from now. The office has always had a high population density in the production of DDT. About 9 o'clock, Ibushi, Kenny and Michael came to the office, but of course he was playing.

However, the way of Ibushi and Kenny's communication is quite creepy. Words are hardly exchanged, communication is measured only with a smile. Surely, I wonder if there is something known only to crazy people.”

DDT Summer Vacation Memories (August 31st)

The big Korakuen Hall show finally comes and Kenny has his last match of the tour was against HARASHIMA.  

(source)

Promos after the match:

HARASHIMA: "Kenny Omega! Your last trick, it worked ... Damn, I lost, as you know, Kenny will return to Canada at the end of the game, but I will not allow running away. We will play with this DDT ring!"

Kenny: "HARASHIMA-san, Thank you. Korakuen Hall, DDT, DDT fans, This is my dream. And my dream has come true. For you fans, I gave 100%, I gave everything in every match I had in DDT."

“(He did not have an interpreter this time, but chose language that was easy to understand.)”

There’s also much amusement from Yukihiro Abe (another DDT wrestler) that Kenny has the [for private use] copyright warning on his gear. 

Kenny’s knee was apparently injured during this match but it’s not so bad that he doesn’t keep wrestling on it.

Saying goodbye (September 1st-3rd)     

Kenny leaves on the 4th but it looks like he probably says goodbye to Ibushi on the 1st. This makes sense considering Ibushi’s Noah matches. He has one on the 2nd and one on the 4th both of which are outside Tokyo, so maybe he just wasn’t coming back in between.

Matsui: “Today, slowly to the office from the evening.

I was thinking that I would normally take a day off but I decided to go in because Kenny is coming by.

Kenny is going to return to Canada on the 4th.

We may meet again tomorrow or the day after tomorrow but we may not meet with everyone so we took a photo.

He wasn’t selfish, even though he lived in a dorm for a long time he did not complain, but it was a truly wonderful foreign player who performs great in the ring (even on the street).

Good bye Kenny.

Until the day we meet again!”

Nakazawa: “Since from today Ibushi-san has matches with Noah, campground, SEM and so on, we will have a memorial photo with everyone as this is probably the last chance we can meet with all of you. Mr. Ibushi must also be missing. It will come back again soon.”

Nakazawa (in a later blog entry): Kenny says, "It is a funny thing, as returning to Canada comes closer, it becomes a bit sad every time people say: "Kenny, today is probably the last day to see you before your return." Yesterday is really something I (almost?) cried, I rarely get such a thing. I finished playing games at the arcade and it's about time to go home and say goodbye to Ibushi. I came back to sleep with an attitude almost incomprehensible because it was difficult to cry.

See you! (September 4th)

Nakazawa: “Yesterday was the last chance to see Kenny. Today I work in the gym so I cannot go to the airport to see you off ... I'm sorry. 

At night I went for dinner with Mr. Matsui and Inokuma but I had my two-shot taken at the end. Double Hadoken! (Why naked and in the station premises) 

We shook hands and hugged and parted. It was a busy month after Kenny came, but it was fun. I am really looking forward to seeing you again and again. There are also opportunities to have a match against you next time. See you!”

And that’s the end! Spoilers: Kenny does come back in January 2009 and many more times after that. Lots of cute shit happens then too. Go out onto Michael Nakazawa’s blog and discover it for yourselves. 

*I say at the start that Kenny had 9 matches, but earlier this week I thought he only had 7 so there could easily have been more. I was going off cagematch’s results and then found the mystery 2 with blind luck lol. 

[orbemnews]

A Big Climate Problem With Few Easy Solutions: Planes The worst of the pandemic may be over for airlines, but the industry faces another looming crisis: an accounting over its contribution to climate change. The industry is under increasing pressure to do something to reduce and eventually eliminate emissions from travel, but it won’t be easy. Some solutions, like hydrogen fuel cells, are promising, but it’s unclear when they will be available, if ever. That leaves companies with few options: They can make tweaks to squeeze out efficiencies, wait for technology to improve or invest today to help make viable options for the future. “It’s a big crisis, it’s a pressing crisis — a lot needs to be done soon,” said Jagoda Egeland, an aviation policy expert at the International Transport Forum, a unit of the Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development. “It’s a hard-to-abate sector. It will always emit some carbon.” Experts say commercial air travel accounts for about 3 to 4 percent of total U.S. greenhouse gas emissions. And while planes become more efficient with each new model, growing demand for flights is outpacing those advancements. The United Nations expects airplane emissions of carbon dioxide, a major greenhouse gas, to triple by 2050. Researchers at the International Council on Clean Transportation say emissions may grow even faster. Before the pandemic, a “flying shame” movement, which aims to discourage air travel in favor of greener options like rail, was gaining ground globally thanks to Greta Thunberg, a Swedish climate activist. There were early signs that it may have reduced air travel in Germany and Sweden. Now French lawmakers are considering a ban on short flights that can be replaced by train travel. Investors are pushing businesses to disclose more about their efforts to lobby lawmakers on climate issues, too. And some large corporations, whose employees crisscross the globe and fill plush business class seats, are reviewing travel budgets to reduce expenses and emissions. The urgency isn’t lost on the industry. Scott Kirby, the chief executive of United Airlines, speaks often about the need to address climate change, but even he acknowledges that it will be difficult for the industry to clean up its act. He wants United and other airlines to try different things and see what works. “It is the biggest long-term issue that our generation faces. It is the biggest risk to the globe,” Mr. Kirby said in a recent interview. “There are plenty of things we can compete on, but we all ought to be trying to make a difference on climate change.” There are efforts to electrify small planes for short flights — including one backed by United — but doing the same for longer, larger flights will be tough, maybe impossible. Commercial planes like the Boeing 787 and Airbus A320, which can carry a few hundred passengers, require an immense amount of energy to reach cruising altitude — more energy than modern batteries can efficiently supply. Someday, hydrogen fuel cells and synthetic jet fuel could help to decarbonize the industry, and pilot projects have already begun, mainly in Europe, where Airbus says it plans to build a zero-emission aircraft by 2035. Boeing has put its emphasis on developing more fuel-efficient planes and is committed to ensuring that all of its commercial planes can fly exclusively on “sustainable” jet fuel made from waste, plants and other organic matter. ‘It’s going to be a real stretch.’ At a petrochemical plant outside Houston, Neste U.S. and Texmark Chemicals are converting imported undistilled diesel into renewable jet fuels. The undistilled diesel is made from used cooking oil and waste from vegetable and animal processing plants. Neste, a Finnish company, is the world’s largest producer of renewable jet fuel. Its U.S. customers include American Airlines, JetBlue and Delta Air Lines. United, which buys renewable jet fuel from Fulcrum BioEnergy and World Energy, recently announced a deal with more than a dozen major corporate customers, including Deloitte, HP and Nike, that will result in the airline’s buying about 3.4 million gallons of sustainable fuel this year. American has an agreement to buy nine million gallons of such fuel over several years, and Delta says it plans to replace a tenth of its jet fuel with sustainable alternatives by 2030. “There is huge growth potential for sustainable aviation fuel,” said Jeremy Baines, president of Neste U.S. “It’s a niche market today, but it’s growing very rapidly. Between today and 2023 we are going to increase our production at least 15-fold.” Neste produces 35 million gallons of renewable aviation fuel and hopes to reach 515 million gallons annually by the end of 2023 by ramping up production at refineries in Singapore and Rotterdam, the Netherlands. That is enough to fuel close to 40,000 flights by wide-body aircraft between New York and London, or well over a year’s worth of prepandemic air travel between the two cities. But it is important to put those numbers in perspective. U.S. airlines used more than 18 billion gallons of fuel in 2019, and the country as a whole consumes more than 100 billion gallons of petroleum products annually. Rystad Energy, a Norwegian consulting firm, predicts that renewable fuels will become increasingly economical after 2030 and supply 30 percent of all aviation fuel by 2050. But IHS Markit, a U.S. consulting firm, estimates that sustainable jet fuel will make up only 15 percent of all jet fuel by 2050. Renewable jet fuel has its limits, too. The fuel reduces carbon emissions by only 30 percent to 50 percent compared with conventional jet fuel, according to Daniel Evans, the global head of refining and marketing at IHS Markit. What’s more, production of the fuel can cause deforestation when the raw materials are farmed. Some companies want to get around those problems by avoiding agricultural crops. Fulcrum, in which United is invested, is planning to build a plant in Britain to produce jet fuel out of waste from landfills and other trash. Red Rock Biofuels, a Colorado company, hopes to use waste woody biomass. But development of renewable fuels from waste or substances like fast-growing algae and switch grass has been frustratingly slow. “It’s going to be a real stretch,” Mr. Evans said. “Even if you are burning 100 percent biofuel, it’s still not going to be getting you to carbon neutral.” Biofuels are also about 50 percent more expensive to make than conventional fuel, according to Michael E. Webber, chief science and technology officer of Engie, a French utility working on advanced jet fuels. Hydrogen offers another possibility, although probably not for several decades. Instead of batteries or fuel engines, the potential hydrogen-powered aircraft of the future would operate with hydrogen tanks and fuel cells, though the technology would need to be advanced to reduce the size of the tanks and cells. The hydrogen could be made with renewable power sources like the wind and sun to reduce planet-warming emissions. But such fuels cost two to three times more than conventional fuel, experts say. Several European countries also require refiners to produce and blend renewable jet fuel. The European Union is financially supporting Airbus’s development of a hydrogen-fueled aircraft, and the French government is encouraging Air France to research a synthetic jet fuel. In the United States, federal support is minimal, so far. Renewable jet fuel producers receive a $1 per gallon subsidy under existing federal tax credits for biodiesel, but a bill introduced this month in the House would provide a tax credit starting at $1.5 per gallon. Should airlines offset or store carbon? Another option that many airlines have turned to is carbon offsets. By buying an offset, a company or individual effectively pays somebody else to plant or not cut trees or to take other steps to reduce greenhouse gases. But the benefits of some offsets are difficult to measure — it’s hard to know, for example, whether landowners would have cut down trees had they not been paid to preserve woods, a common type of offset. Mr. Kirby, the United chief executive, is skeptical that such offsets are effective. “Traditional carbon offsets are a marketing initiative; they’re greenwashing,” he said. “Even in the few cases where they are real and are making a difference, they’re just so small that they can’t scale to solve the global problem.” United helps passengers and corporate customers buy offsets, but Mr. Kirby said the company was focusing more on sustainable fuel and removing and storing carbon in perpetuity. In December, the airline said it was investing in 1PointFive, a joint venture between Occidental Petroleum and a private equity firm that plans to build plants that suck carbon dioxide from the air and store the gas deep underground. This approach would theoretically allow United and other airlines to remove as much carbon from the atmosphere as their planes put into it. “It’s the only solution I know of that can help get us as a globe to zero, because the others, if you understand the math, they just don’t work,” Mr. Kirby said. Such efforts had long been dismissed as impractical, but corporations are increasingly pouring money into them as investors and activists pressure businesses to decarbonize. Mr. Kirby said such investments would help to drive down costs. But some experts warn that while direct air capture can help industries that are difficult to decarbonize, the ultimate aim should be to attack the problem at the source. “If you can avoid the emissions in the first place, it’s so much cheaper and easier than having to pull it back out,” said Jennifer Wilcox, an Energy Department official and expert on direct air capture. Despite the formidable challenges, Mr. Kirby is optimistic that investments in alternative fuels and carbon capture technology will yield a breakthrough. “In the near term, it’s about getting them to work economically,” he said. “Once you cross that threshold, you will have an exponential increase.” Source link Orbem News #Big #Climate #Easy #planes #Problem #Solutions

[goldmerryi]

Falcons depth chart 2020: Projected Week 1 starters heading into training camp

The attributes have always been there for him to become a #1 corner. Now, the Falcons are hoping they found something knocked out added defensive coordinator Raheem Morris. Atlanta will be relying upon Oliver even more after pungent Desmond Trufant, and hes now the Cowboys vs Falcons Live Stream veteran of the charity  as well as only three years of experience. If the unconditional eight games last year were a foreshadowing of the blazing of his career, the Falcons should be just fine. However, if it was more of a flash in the pan, they will have argumentative problems  ones they probably wont be clever to overcome.Twenty-four years have passed to the lead the Dallas Cowboys won their last Super Bowl. During that period, six members of the 1990s Cowboys teams were added to the teams Ring of Honor.

The head coach  the man many take to be the architect for those three Super Bowl teams  is not together together then them. Jimmy Johnson is scheduled to be inducted into the Pro Football Hall of Fame in two months; however, there are no current plans to summative him to the Cowboys Ring of Honor at AT&T Stadium.

Theres one man who can regulate that: the Cowboys owner and general superintendent.

Right now, its not upon my mind at all, it is not, Jerry Jones said at the NFL scouting be gone to in tardy February. Regarding Jimmy, we have such a big year ahead of us considering Jimmy and his celebration. I suffering sensation that to be the focus, time. If everybody says, Is that the right order of things? Well, Coach Landry was in the Hall of Fame... The Atlanta Falcons have high expectations heading into the 2020 season, despite a challenging schedule and competitive isolation in stomach of them. There's no denying the facility upon the Falcons roster, especially as soon as all the former first-circular picks in the starting lineup. How fine will the Falcons be is anyone's guess, but this team may go as in the estrange-off as franchise quarterback Matt Ryan will blazing them. Ryan threw for 4,466 yards, but afterward threw 14 interceptions in 15 games. Atlanta the call off the season 6-2 and bigger its footnote from one of the worst in the NFL to a center of the pack unit.

They ended tied for second in takeaways after ranking dead last at the midway reduction of the season and tied for 10th in sacks after moreover ranking dead last at the midway reduction. They also are in the summit 10 in red zone efficiency after ranking 31st through eight games. If the second half Atlanta footnote shows occurring all 16 games in 2020, the Falcons will conflict the hunt for the NFC South title.

How will the new-flavor Falcons stack occurring in 2020? We admit a flavor at the intensity chart as the team would be concluding minicamp. The virtual offseason hurts the young players' chances to create a have an effect on going on the extremity chart, and any undrafted rookies an opportunity to profit upon the radar heading into training camp.

For the set sights on of this extremity chart projection, we will be projecting going on to the intensity-four at any unqualified slant. The Falcons, as well as all 32 teams, have a bloated roster at the moment that is nearing the triple-digit mark -- but come September, that number will slip significantly when the coaches consent in upon the 53-man roster.The Falcons offense every has deafening quantity of power across the board, and the potential to be one of the top units in the game. Matt Ryan is the unquestioned franchise quarterback and one of the highest-paid signal callers in the NFL, but Atlanta's season is higher than if Ryan is forced to miss a significant amount of period. Matt Schaub will be 39 this year and played admirably in his lone begin for Ryan, but the Falcons had him threw 52 era in his lone begin last season -- quirk too much for a quarterback that threw 106 passes mass back 2013 (prior to the begin).

Gurley is the No. 1 running help after monster signed this offseason also Hill taking far afield along than the No. 2 duties. Ollison and Smith will scuffle for the No. 3 job, but the Falcons have a red zone assist in Ollison (four touchdowns in his rookie year). Falcons massive coordinator Dirk Koetter used a fullback last season, and Smith is a unquestionably fine blocker, thus his tilt remains in the starting lineup. If the Falcons take on Smith off the ground and grow a three-receiver set, Treadwell will be the leading candidate for that third wideout. Look for Gage to be the stomach-runner for the slot receiver job in unmodified sub-packages. Per Sharp Football Stats, Atlanta used "11 personnel" 61% of the horrible snaps last season, suitably Treadwell and gage will be battling for playing grow antique-fashioned for that third wide beneficiary slot.

There aren't too many battles upon the starting five for the Falcons detestable lineage, but third-circular rookie Matt Hennessy is in heritage to be Alex Mack's replacement after that to the descent. Hennessey can furthermore feint guard and should be the front-runner for the left guard job in a within saintly limits offseason. Of course, we'll express how the virtual offseason as soon as no OTAs plays a role in his go to come. Brown and Carpenter are serviceable, but Ryan was sacked 48 time in 2019 therefore the Falcons compulsion the five best linemen upon the auditorium Week 1 (and the unit healthy). Having Lindstrom available for a full season makes this heritage instantly enlarged.

The 2019 season was a rollercoaster for the Atlanta Falcons as they were in mean of fact two different teams gone you slice the year in half. Prior to the Week 9 bye, they were a 1-7 squad, seemingly considering suggestion to the brink of firing head coach Dan Quinn. Coming out of the week-long rupture, Atlanta was supple to win six of their last eight to finish tied for second in the NFC South at 7-9.

As the club now turns the page to 2020, they'll be looking for more consistency and resemble the team that over and finished in the middle of the year harshly a four-game winning streak. According to the latest odds from William Hill Sports Book, the Falcons have an on peak of/deadened win sum of 7.5 and own the third-best odds (+600) to win the NFC South. Below, you'll see a full psychiatry of the Falcons' regular-season games, unconditional following on zenith of/under win totals for all assailant (courtesy of William Hill) and the lines for Week 1 and Week 2.  After the Packers drafted quarterback Jordan Love in the first round earlier this offseason, Aaron Rodgers is probably going forward into the 2020 regular season once his helmet behind mention to blaze. Over the first month, I'd expect the Packers signal-caller to be to come of the MVP conversation following his operate, which will arrive to the dismay of the Falcons harshly Monday Night Football. Rodgers will use his go-to weapon in Davante Adams to breeze through the Atlanta auxiliary -- which averaged 244.9 passing yards per game in 2019 -- in the sustain on stages, though Aaron Jones will milk the clock in the second half to clinch the win. The last 2020 breakout candidate I will chat approximately is perhaps the most important one. The Falcons cornerback liveliness is deeply lacking leadership, but to this narrowing, they quayt appendage any veterans to the roster. Regardless, they will be heavily sloping re the subject of this man to position his career in the region of and become the performer they thought they were getting bearing in mind than they drafted him in 2018. If you missed any of the previous breakout candidates I have talked roughly, fright not. I will be posting every single one list of 2020 breakout candidates progressive this week, as a consequences save your eyes peeled.

Isaiah Oliver When the Falcons were skillful to snag Isaiah Oliver late in the second round of the 2018 draft, I dont think there was a draft expert who gave it a grade below a B-. Many thought he was one of the most proficient corners in each and every one draft and should have been a first-rounder because of his length and playmaking skills. Unfortunately, that unaided means in view of that much, and to this narrowing, Oliver hasnt lived uphill to his second round status.

As a rookie, Oliver saw doing in 14 games, including two starts, but he didnt play-conflict a portion as much as one would have thought, considering how porous the Falcons cornerback play a role was in 2018. The subsequent to-door year, we found out why. He conveniently wasnt ready.

Oliver became the full-epoch starter last season across from Desmond Trufant, and it didnt receive long for teams to begin targeting him yet to be and often, reaping the rewards. In the first eight games, he allowed a passer rating of 119.4, surrendering 30 catches in the region of 45 targets for 427 yards and three scores, though furthermore committing five penalties, via the Atlanta Falcons team website. Oliver was a primary culprit for why the team started 1-7 and Dan Quinn was relieved of his defensive take effect-calling duties, but together in addition to Raheem Morris took on top of the subsidiary, things began to regulate for the improved, earning him the nickname The Blanket.

Heres what accrual supplementary coach, Joe Whitt Jr, had to inform roughly Olivers progress in the second half of last season.

I thought greater than the last eight games he did a really to your liking job of connecting his feet and his hands in his press game, Whitt said. He stayed more square. That gave him the talent subsequent to they got taking place the ground to association at the severity of the routes.

Oliver nevertheless working three penalties in the utter eight games. However, his be responsive, as nimbly as the excuses as a entire quantity, was a night and daylight difference.

[takespaceblog]

But you’re an actor

While a number of my college friends are also entering B-school this fall, I’m a bit of a novelty. Not only did I choose a school 5000 miles away when there are multiple world-class universities a train ride from my home, but I’m an actor.

Both artist and non-artist friends responded with confusion when I mentioned my upcoming plans. Some assumed I had given up on the theatre, some blatantly told me not to do it or that I was selling out, and still others wondered why I hadn’t chosen an arts management degree. When interviewing I spent more time defending my choice than actually discussing my work experience in Silicon Valley. And now that I’m in Cambridge and interacting with new classmates, I’ve found it best not to mention acting right away because their reactions are the same.

So before we go any further on this B-school blog let me officially explain my thinking.

First, some background.

In May 2014, I took a job at Metromile—a thirty person startup hoping to disrupt the auto industry by offering pay-per-mile car insurance. When I joined it had all the makings of stereotypical startup. There were free snacks and beer kegs in the kitchen, the office was in a converted art gallery and I sat on the floor my first day of work, and there were only five other women at the company.  While car insurance was never my passion it was an adventure that challenged me in unexpected ways. I wrote a script to sell policies to Spanish speaking customers because no one else knew Spanish. When the power went out we went to a co-working space and sold policies from a glorified coffee shop. I helped build products that previously did not exist. During my tenure the company tripled in size, I joined the leadership to team of the claims department, and I became an insurance wiz.

But let’s be honest, car insurance and auto claims were never my thing no matter how hard I tried. I initially took the job because I had less than a year until my 26th birthday— i.e. Obamacare D-Day for those luckily enough to mooch of their parents’ health insurance until they age out. Acting rarely pays the bills in the U.S. and the Bay Area is especially expensive so performing was never going to support me let alone provide insurance. I needed a survival job and after three years of working side gigs delivering groceries, I wanted one that required a little brainpower.

That being said, my two and half years at Metromile were positive and I left with an unexpected thought — if an ancient and behemoth industry like auto insurance could be disrupted, what would happen if similar principles were applied to the theatre?

So many start theatre companies out of love for the craft but without any business knowledge. Though the motivation is noble, it makes running a company in an environment already unwelcoming to artists nearly impossible. Artists know they won’t make enough so they take survival jobs and accept stipends that barely cover transportation costs for their creative work. Companies know they don’t have to pay their artists more than a few hundred dollars so their goal is simply to break even. While the Actor’s Equity Union requires a higher level of pay, companies often don’t hire those actors discouraging artists from joining the union. No one is to blame. It’s a vicious cycle and the status quo but in a city like San Francisco that is swimming in extra cash, it’s almost embarrassing.

Furthermore, it perpetuates the stereotype that an artist needs to be “starving” to be creative.  In arguing for the importance of copyright—which I’d posit provides a similar protection to work that a union provides to a performer— Matthew Barlan states in Copyright as a Platform for Artistic and Creative Freedom that “as popular as the ‘starving artist’ cliché may be, real artists need food. Meeting artists’ basic needs goes a long way towards empowering them to create their art.”

While the idea of simply having enough money for food may seem extreme, actors in the Bay Area would not be able to feed themselves on the stipends granted by most companies let alone pay the rent. And yet Silicon Valley is swimming in expendable income. It’s not as if the audiences can’t afford to attend the theatre. When Hamilton came to town, patrons were guaranteed tickets if they became season subscribers to SHN — the production company that houses all traveling Broadway shows. Membership ran from $300-$800 for six shows which was a steel considering everyone else shelled out that much for one ticket to Hamilton.

Of course, some will argue that Hamilton is not the same as an average Bay Area or regional theatre production. My answer to that requires a whole other post, but in short, Hamilton’s success proves San Francisco and the nation are interested in the theatre. It’s simply a question of getting them there.

The solution, of course, is complicated and I don’t pretend to know the answer. It isn’t simply in marketing—though if theatres approached marketing with a minuscule amount of the analytical obsession that comes at a startup we’d be getting closer. No, the answer lies in something larger and that is what why I hope to find or least begin to grasp in business school. I want to learn from other industries, from the successful theatres in England, and from my diverse classmates.  And one day I hope to bring back what I learn to the Bay Area, because I believe in the work and the artists and the community.

Today’s Take Space spotlight is on Elizabeth Gilbert and her book Big Magic: Creative Living Beyond Fear. If you haven’t heard of Big Magic, you’ve probably heard of her other little book - Eat Pray Love. As a young snobby high school student, I immediately dismissed Eat Pray Love and Gilbert because nothing commercially successful can also be good. Oh to be 18 (I’m sure I’ll say the same thing in 10 years about being 28). To be honest, I still haven’t gotten around to Eat Pray Love but I listened to the Big Magic during my months of writer’s block and found it inspiring despite it’s self-help aura.

While writing this post, I knew I once read a quote about the danger of the starving artist stereotype and was convinced Gilbert said it. I picked a copy of the book and while searching for the quote remembered how many nuggets of wisdom she offers on living a healthy creative life. Whether you want/can be a full-time artist or not, I highly recommend reading Big Magic and coming back to it when you’re feeling stuck or emo about your work.

Now, it turns out she is actually very pro day jobs, but she did make a great point about the starving artist’s brother—the tortured artist—that we all need to remember when creating. 

I’ve never been attracted to the icon of the Tormented Artist...How does creativity possibly benefit from that arrangement? When Dylan Thomas dies there are no more Dylan Thomas poems; that channel is silenced forever, terribly...There’s a hole in our world from all the art those people didn’t make—there is a whole in us from the loss of their work—and I can’t imagine this was ever anyone’s divine plan.

With that, I leave you to prepare for my first day of school tomorrow! Excuse me while I freak out a bit. But coming up next — why Cambridge and not somewhere a little closer to home? 

[shervonfakhimi]

The Under-the-Radar NBA Characters Who Can Shape the 2nd Half of the NBA Season

The 2nd half of the NBA calendar is about to begin (though it is technically the final 1/3 of the regular season). Teams are beginning a push one way or another, either for a playoff run or a Zion tankathon. There is still a lot to be figured out between now and June. With that being said, there are a few players that can determine how the rest of the season shapes out. I underwent a similar exercise at the beginning of the season, which looks... yikes. So let’s gasbag away and get to some of the players who can really impact the second half of the NBA season.

Chris Paul PG HOU: In case you’ve been living under a rock, James Harden is absolutely laying waste to this NBA regular season. Even though there have been games where it took garbage time, he’s found a way to score 30+ points in 31 consecutive games & piss off everyone associated with the NBA in the process. But there’s no damn way this is sustainable. His Usage Rate currently sits at 39.1%! Almost all of that has been due to the massive rash of injuries the Rockets have dealt with, from the likes of Clint Capela, Chris Paul and Eric Gordon, amongst others. But they all either are or will be back soon. Chris Paul came back January 27th. However, Harden’s usage rate in that span has *only* dipped to 38.5%. We’ve seen James Harden run out of gas in the playoffs, to the point where people tried to convince themselves the reason why was that he was point shaving in what could possibly be the greatest hot take ever uttered. This is where Chris Paul is both the solution and the problem. It is good to have another future hall of famer initiate more of the offense to allow Harden time to rest. The problem has come with Paul’s efficiency. His numbers have been down across the board this season compared to last season, where he was just as much as a 1v1 dynamo as his running beard teammate. Chris Paul boasted a 55.1 EFG% on Paul’s seemingly automatic pull-up jumpers last season, per NBA.com (Harden shot 55.3%). This season, that number has dipped to a paltry 47.6%, which is…. not great. He has struggled gaining separation from even bigs switched onto him, which was easy money for him last season. If Houston, already with glaring holes size wise and defensively (25th in defensive efficiency) really is going to challenge Golden State, they need the real CP3 to stand up and for CP3-6 weeks to never be heard from for the rest of the season. The Rockets season and status as NBA contenders depends on it.

Eric Bledsoe PG MIL: From Chris Paul to Chris Paul’s former backup. The Milwaukee Bucks have serged and transformed into a powerhouse, ranking inside the top 4 in both offensive and defensive efficiency. Obviously Giannis Antetokounmpo and the wealth of shooting around him along with the guidance of Mike Budenholzer (who constantly looks like he just stepped on a LEGO brick) has catapulted Milwaukee up to the top of the NBA standings, but Bledsoe has been a big part of it too. Not only has Bledsoe ranked 4th currently in ESPN’s Real Plus-Minus stat amongst point guards, he ranks 6th amongst point guards in Defensive Real Plus-Minus too. He’s shooting a career high 49.2% from the field and a career high 55.5 EFG%. It feels a little arbitrary and hot take-y, but it is another thing to see if it will sustain in the playoffs. With the massive amount of shooting surrounding Giannis, Bledsoe does not qualify, as he is currently shooting just 32.1% from 3. There hasn’t been much of a drop off whether Giannis has or hasn’t joined Bledsoe on the court this season. If that doesn’t change, it will be virtually impossible for Milwaukee to lose in the postseason. It’s up to Eric Bledsoe to maintain that pace and not turn to Drew Bledsoe.

Jimmy Butler SG/SF PHI: One time for General Soreness. The former T-Wolf has been fine this season in his new digs in Philadelphia, but some of Philly’s problems still persist. The Sixers rank 22nd in Clutch situations, despite Butler shooting 57% from the floor & over 60% in those situations. Butler’s usage rate in clutch situations currently sits at just 25% and 21.7% overall for the course of the season since joining the Sixers. The Sixers were still figuring this out before adding Tobias Harris at the deadline. Luckily for them and coach Brett Brown, they still have time to figure out how handle these late game situations and find what works best for them. Perhaps it is implementing more pick and roll with Jimmy Butler, which was the source of Butler’s well publicized film room scorn at the direction of Brett Brown. Maybe they play bully ball and attack the guard on the floor not running around with JJ Redick, which is a whole other type of difficult assignment. Regardless, it feels like Jimmy Butler will play a part of it. Philly brought him in to close out tough games, not just stand around and watch Al Horford torment Joel Embiid yet again. Trading for Tobias will help give him more room to operate, and does give Philly a safety net if Butler bolts in free agency, which doesn’t sound entirely implausible. How far the Sixers go, and how Butler is involved, will prominently determine how either situation fares.

Kyrie Irving PG BOS & Gordon Hayward SG BOS: The Celtics are so damn weird. Every stat you can find, and common bleeping sense, would tell you the Celtics are not better without Kyrie. Yet….. they are 9-2 without him and the youngins on their roster took off without him last season, coming 5 minutes within making the NBA Finals. Every intangible, like chemistry and fun, as Marcus Morris pleaded for, seems to be more profound when Kyrie isn’t there. Maybe that’s unfair to Kyrie, but I could see how young guys who want to evolve their games in their own right would salivate at the opportunity to do more rather than be glorified glue guys who may be shipped out for Anthony Davis. It’s up to Kyrie, ironically playing the best season of his career, to work his game around the rest of the team and pick and choose his spots, rather than be the 1 man wrecking crew he typically is. As for Gordon Hayward, he can be Boston’s de facto trade deadline acquisition. He has certainly had his moments of brilliance this season, but it has been inconsistent. However, he has shot 46.5% and 57.1% from the floor the last 2 months, including a stellar 52.4% mark from 3 in February. He’s been a little more decisive and fearless recently too as he still is recovering from that devastating leg injury. If he becomes 80-95% of what he was in Utah, then look out. The rest of the East made big, sexy moves, but the biggest impact ‘move’ could be Hayward stepping up.

LeBron James SF LAL: Ok, it feels stupid to call LeBron James ‘under the radar,’ but bear with me. This seems pretty simple. LeBron just needs to play hard. This Laker team can’t afford him take a lot of possessions off, which has been the case recently. He’s still the greatest player in the league. He literally can mess around and get a triple double like the great Laker fan O’Shea Jackson did on January 20, 1992. But not only does LeBron need to play hard, he has to rally his teammates. The Anthony Davis trade winds have found its way to wreck the Laker locker room, which you can argue was because of LeBron himself. It must feel weird the agent of your superstar teammate is trying to acquiesce his other superstar client’s demand to take your job to join your superstar teammate. That’s not to rip Rich Paul; it’s his job to do that, as with any other agent. Regardless, the trade didn’t happen, and LeBron has to work with what he’s got now. Perhaps you could argue missing the playoffs wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world for the Lakers: why get swept by the Warriors when you can give yourself a better trade chip for Davis? But missing the playoffs and wasting a season of LeBron’s seemingly never-ending prime that has to end at some point would be a colossal failure. The young players need to play better too, but it is up to LeBron to lead them. He seems to thrive when things look the most bleak, just look at the 2016 Finals and last season’s playoff run. And hey, if the Lakers avoid the Warriors, you’re telling me there’s anybody else in the west that’s going to make LeBron shook? Just a hypothetical here, what if the Lakers manage to get to the 7th seed, beat the inexperienced Nuggets, beat the overly (Legit Top 3 MVP Candidate) Paul George-reliant Oklahoma City Thunder, then get the Warriors in the Western Conference. What if the repeating champs suffer an unfortunate Steph ankle injury (I am not wishing. No I’m not that cynical. But just bear with me here). Maybe Draymond’s wildin’ out again. I’m just saying…...

Draymond Green PF/C GS: Now this one is even more simple. Don’t kick anybody in the nuts. Don’t call your superstar pending free agent a bitch. (Also, maybe find your jumper again?) Do that, and you 3 peat. See? Simple.