#Silva is all neat and not a hair out of place

[angeliqueacademy]

prologue & black coffee

I didn’t want to move. All I’ve known was moving from one town to the next. But this time this was permanent, well, semi-permanent at least. The first time I heard about Angelique was after my mother found my pack of cigarettes in my room. That was the last straw for her. I didn’t even know this place existed until she secretly applied for a scholarship against my wishes and got my acceptance letter later to rub it in my face that I was attending the start of the fall term. I obviously wasn’t pleased when my parents forced me to attend this school. 

It was a Sunday morning, I arrived in Limpet, a small town on the North Shore of Long Island. I was told that this place mostly consisted of swamps, lakes, and forests. On the outskirts of it were gift shops, independent businesses, beaches, and loads of nautical paraphernalia. The scenery was vastly different from the old town I lived in, there was so much green.

On my way to the academy, this school wasn’t like the previous schools I’d attended. The exterior looked outdated but not in a creepy, abandoned, start of a horror flick, black mold asbestos sense, but in an “I’m too lazy to spend money on the school’s exterior and we’re gonna spend all of our money towards outreach events” sense.

 The whole car ride with my mother was awkwardly quiet. I only brought two cases of luggage which suited me fine, I didn’t pack much moving-wise anyway. We both felt all butt nothing but disdain towards each other. The “trouble” I got into my freshman year of high school was never overlooked by my parents. They were extremely disappointed in me, but I didn’t care. 

“We’re here.” Mom ended up breaking the silence after I walked out of our white 1995 Honda Accord. “And take that stupid piece of metal out of your nose!” She pointed at my silver nose ring and snapped at me, “And those earcuffs! You’re going to one of the top twenty schools in America, start acting like it!” I scoffed as my ear cuffs weren’t even ear cuffs, they were genuine piercings that I pierced myself in the girls’ bathroom alongside my friends back at Sherman High. Was it a little bit crooked and doesn’t look done by a professional? Well a bit, but at least I put gloves on before I went through doing it! Besides, once you lose the studs you never go back, hoops for the win. I took them both out sulking like hell. I wouldn’t expect my mother nonetheless my parents to get or understand my sense of style. 

I’m gonna put them back in anyway…

It was hot outside but not in a dry way like I’m used to. It was very murky and humid. Over to my left were many gnats flying in the same brainless motion. Birds were chirping and cicadas were buzzing from out of my vision. I then peered at the academy’s exterior more intricately, the outside certainly looked ten times better than this insane asylum-like architecture, and the groundskeeping looked straight out of a fairytale having a plethora of shrubs and flowers scattered throughout the lot. Immediately as I got out of the car, I could’ve sworn I got a mosquito bite on my ankle.

Behind me, I heard footsteps. My mother signaled for me to turn around. I saw a slender, bookish middle-aged woman in her late 40s, mousy brown hair with minor strays of gray slicked back in a neat bun, brown eyes, and big framed glasses with a burgundy blazer and pencil skirt down to her knees and thin black heels. I couldn’t help but notice the insignia of the school emblem pinned on the collar of a bee resting on an open book with letters on the top reading. “VIVE ET DISCE.” This must be the headmistress of the school. 

The Headmistress's face went from deadpan to having emotion, “Hello!  You must be the Da Silva’s! A pleasure to meet you both!” Mom eagerly shook her hand, “Yes, I’m Marie. And this is my daughter, Lacey.” I swallowed my pride and shook the headmistress’s hand as well. “I’m Mrs. McCoy, the Headmistress of the school, please do come inside!” We both followed the headmistress into the entrance of the school, our footsteps echoing throughout the halls and the doors slowly creaking shut behind us. The school’s entrance looked straight out of the Marie Antionette movie, minus the bright vibrant colors. It wasn’t super dark either, just really neutral and overly brown. The floor was checkered black and white. In front of me were a ton of trophies for various academic and athletic achievements and a marble bust of a Gibson Girl. Behind it was a commissioned portrait of the school founder who ironically looked angelic with blonde hair, blue eyes, and a white lace tea gown. The engraving at the foot of the painting frame read “Angelique Cuthbert.” 

To my side was the front desk, with an elderly woman with a straitlaced blouse and a plaid pleated skirt that went down to her ankles with pointy cat eyeglasses. This lady was fast asleep with her mouth wide open! I couldn’t tell if she was taking a nap or if she was dead. “Forgive Mrs. O’Shea, she’s a little tired.” The headmistress nervously chuckled then cleared her throat, “Welcome to Angelique Academy. Our faculty has been awaiting your arrival, our academy has been deeply rooted in transforming girls into young women since 1919.” She exclaims. “School isn't in session as of now, all classes start tomorrow. In a few minutes, I will take you upstairs on the second floor to my office to show you your schedule and residency information on campus.” The Headmistress gestured to follow her way.

As we followed Headmistress McCoy to her office I couldn’t help but smell the overwhelming scent of printed paper and freshly brewed coffee. I look around her room which typically consists of drawers, bookcases, and her desk. Standing next to Headmistress Mccoy’s chair, I saw a woman with big strawberry blonde curly hair and floral print business attire. My face turned pale, no shit, is that? “Aunt Jan?” My eyes widened in shock, surprised, “What are you doing here?” I haven’t seen my Aunt Jan in ages. Though I guess it makes sense. Although I only saw her once or twice growing up since she lived in New York, I do remember she used to teach mathematics to teens. Oh my gosh, does she work here? Does she know why I’m here? 

I slowly go over to Headmistress McCoy’s desk sitting alongside my mother. Aunt Jan smiled softly at me. Still dumbfounded, I just stared at her. 

Suddenly I turned back to Headmistress McCoy who seemingly pulled out my file while I was daydreaming into nothingness. As she sat down,  I stared into her cold harsh eyes, rigidness that could whip an addict back into shape. I wasn’t threatened. I was used to these types of people. She looked back down to my file and examined it carefully.  “Not many young women who applied here could be in your shoes, nor have this academic ineptitude of yours,” The stoic headmistress passed my academic records from across the desk I was sitting at and pointed at my absences and plummeting grades from middle school from freshman year. 

“Your parents must be very fortunate that you will be beginning your education at Angelique.”  My mother nodded at McCoy’s response, “Yes Headmistress, unfortunately my daughter has been under some ‘bad influences’ last year at her previous high school.” I rolled my eyes at my mother. She has no idea what she’s fucking talking about... “Her father as well as I are hoping maybe she’ll have a fresh new start at this school since her acceptance letter was received in the mail...” Headmistress McCoy gives a sympathetic expression, “Don’t worry Mrs. Da Silva, you're in good hands here. A few parents were in your shoes just like you last year, and now their daughters are all in the Debate Club here.” You’ve got to be kidding me, Debate? Do I seriously look like a high-achieving nutjob whose only goal in life is to pass all honors classes to go to an Ivy League University that would cause me so much student debt I wouldn’t be able to pay off by the day I die? Over my dead body.

All I’ve been doing for most of my life was listen, listen, listen, why should I listen to anyone if no one will ever listen to me? This school is nothing but a lie on a glossy pamphlet and the fact they think it could straighten me out when there’s barely anything to change about me in the first place. There was nothing all at this school would fix because quite truthfully, there’s absolutely nothing! 

Out of all the places I could go, out of all the places I could be, why here? 

[possibilistfanfiction]

First, thanks for writing stuff! Your words always make my day better. Second, I’m seconding the avarice football au, and also asking who is the keeper and why is only correct answer Mary, because someone has to manage these idiots. Third, can I prompt you: Mother Superion visits LA because she, too, likes tacos and margaritas, and maybe she also meets Bea and Ava’s newborn baby.

[a tiny preview of footy au for the culture]

//

you’re always the first. 

it’s your duty — as captain, as the starting 6, as someone who has suffered for sport for so long you don’t know anything else.

you’re always the first.

but today, as you walk onto the training grounds as the sun is just drifting over the horizon, still hazy and bruise-blue, you’re not first.

ava silva — a few years your junior and back from two years of grueling injury and rehab, the newest signing for your club, splashy and entirely unpredictable — hits a perfect bending ball into the upper left 90, then smiles to herself and races away from goal, arms spread wide, like she’s just scored in the world cup or won the champions league.

she has on team issue shorts and socks, one slipping down her ankle, a pair of boots that are a cycle behind your brand new mercurial vapors that nike sends you like clockwork, and a hoodie that you’re really only supposed to wear on the plane or bus for away travel days. her hair is cut above her shoulders now, haphazardly in a little bun but mostly falling into her eyes. she’s a far cry from your quarter-zip, zipped all the way up, tucked into your shorts like always, a ritual, and the ponytail braid that you make sure is neat and perfect before you ever step onto the field or into the gym.

ava lines up a shot again, hits another perfect bending ball, clinical and ruthless and beautiful, and throws her arms up again in celebration. you haven’t really found joy on the pitch in a long time; you haven’t seen joy on this pitch like this maybe ever. ava’s sheer delight at her unmarked goals, on an empty net, is frustratingly infectious. you had watched replay of her back injury; you hadn’t been in the same league, at the time, but she had been a bright young star and you had watched in horror a few months before the world cup, on a grainy stream in your hotel room with lilith and mary, as ava’s spine had apparently broken, a bad tackle in the box gone terribly, terribly wrong, projected to never play again. you won’t say it out loud — it’s impossibly sentimental, devoted, romantic; all things you are decidedly not — but watching ava play now, even like this, or maybe especially like this, is a miracle.

‘ava silva,’ you say, carrying your own bag of balls onto the pitch in her direction. she turns toward you with a grin.

‘oh captain, my captain,’ she says, then tucks an errant, sweaty strand of hair behind her ear, offers her hand.

‘beatrice,’ you say, ‘pleasure.’

ava’s smile doesn’t waver at all. ‘oh, i know,’ she says. ‘ballon d’or winner, wsl champion, nwsl champion, champions league runner up, the face of nike football. arguably the best player in the world.’ she winks, lets go of your hand. ‘the pleasure is all mine.’

‘that’s — i’m a 6,’ you say, feeling a little out of your depth and bewildered without any warning.

ava just laughs. ‘yeah, you seem like it.’ she flicks a ball up, does two around the worlds, and then catches it between her shoulder blades before popping it back up and sending it your way. ‘wanna play one v one, or do you have a whole little routine?’

‘i —‘ ava, in the early morning light, with the dew on the grass soaking into the juncture of your cleat and socks, the crisp air — it’s all perfect. you remember, in a flash, why you fell in love with football in the first place. ‘first to five, small goal.’

ava fist pumps. ‘show me how it’s done, then.’

[shirophantomvox]

How Illumi, Hisoka, and Chrollo would react to their S/O in the hospital

Hi, anon! You are welcome to join my Discord Server if you are a fan of Hxh, Voltron, or both! I promise this is a safe environment! This is an interesting topic for sure! To the other anon(s), I am working on your request! This will contain both fluff and angst. I forgot to include Leorio in this, so I’ll include him in the next HxH post. You’ll have to forgive me, I have 2 more requests in my inbox and I am not feeling the best. I just got my second Covid shot and it is hurting like hell. Nevertheless, I encourage you all to get your shot if you can. I will be on this site one and off and I should be on it for real next week. I have run out of ideas to write and I began to think I was annoying people with my HxH content (no one said this I just assumed). This post has 1974 words. After these requests are finished, I plan on doing a character analysis for Leorio.

Anyway, let’s get into the post!

We’ll start with Hisoka this time.

Hisoka

In all honesty, this man has heard of a hospital (since he sends a lot of people to it after fights) but has never been in one.

The signs, floors, staircase numbers, and elevators all confuse him. He has only been in one once when he was a kid and has never been again.

He isn’t a social butterfly in this setting because this is a professional establishment and not a college party. Asking for directions takes quite a toll on him because of his established pride. You know guys act when they want to find a destination on their own and will go miles out of the way instead of just asking for direction.

He doesn’t talk to anyone; all he wants to do is find you and make sure you are alright.

He is the tallest person in the freight elevator. So tall that everyone at turns to look at him at once for at least 10 seconds and turn back around surprised.

“How tall is he,” one of the nurses ask.

“Tall enough to be my house!”

This annoys him. He takes out the Joker card and lays it against his thigh but realizes he cannot make any hasty decisions. His bloodlust was activated merely out of irritation and not by threat. You were on his mind and destroying these worthless humans wasn’t an option for today.

He approached the guest desk and waited for about 2 minutes before he was acknowledged.

“May I help you,” a smug receptionist asked. Wow, these people do not know who they’re talking to.

“I’m here to see y/n.”

“Y/n is in room 345. Go down the hall and to the right all the way down.”

This man nearly ran with a quickness! His jester shoes somehow made the floor shake as he ran.

You were awake, eating the horrible food the hospital provided and watching TV. It seemed like you were doing ok, but you had just been in a car accident. Your arms and right leg were still sore. It was so bad that you’d be fine with Hisoka carrying you everywhere.

When you two are alone in serious public places, he doesn’t play games or tricks. He is often portrayed as a ruthless man, but in settings like this, he places the jokes and games aside for later. When he enters your room, he is silent for 30 seconds. Much too long. He was shocked; he walked around your hospital bed, pulled up a chair, and stared at your cast. It had many names written on it.

“Yes, I am ok.”

“I apologize for not being there for you,” he began to say.

“Shh… it’s ok. This is life. It hurts like hell, but I’m a trooper!”

Admiring your cast and its multiple fonts of handwriting and messages, he grabbed a sharpie marker, wrote his name, with a heart and spade next to it. Surprisingly, his cursive was very neat and legible.

“I didn’t know you knew how to write in cursive! Why don’t you write me letters?”

“I see you every day and it hurts my hand.”

The doctor wouldn’t be in for another 1 ½ hours, so Hisoka used your thigh as a pillow as he took a nap. He had been up for countless nights thinking about you. He was screwing up so bad, Chrollo let him leave early.

“As soon as your better, we will fight again. I won’t go easy on you. You won’t be in the hospital but you get the jest.”

Illumi

Illumi isn’t the type of man to overreact in these types of situations. When you both agreed to date each other, you knew you all were tough cookies. You were aware of the dangers of dating an assassin and he knew about the dangers of dating a bounty hunter. People hated you both and you targeted.

One night you both were caught in a vulnerable state. While you both enjoyed chocolate milkshakes at a laid-back 1950’s styled diner, two men were previously thrown out for fighting. While your back was turned one of those men shot your arm, causing you to carelessly throw your body to the ground due to impact.

While everyone else was screaming, Illumi jumped to the ground and tied his hair tie around your arm to temporarily stop the bleeding.

“Illu, why does it feel cold in here,” you managed to breathe out.

His heart dropped to his stomach for the first time in history.

“Don’t say things like that!”

Illumi is already horrible at displaying emotions, but all he could do is frown in fear. Once the EMS came barling in, he demanded that he ride with you.

Illumi hadn’t experienced anything like this since Killua had been injured when he fell from a tree.

You and he were separated when you were rushed into surgery leaving him alone in the waiting room.

When Illumi is stressed and cannot properly display how he feels, he tends to act in “odd” ways.

He begins to furiously turn pages in magazines or bother the receptions every 2 minutes about the status of your surgery. When the woman finally says that you’re still alive, he tones it down a little.

Illumi is open to conforming advice from strangers; he has been receiving it secretly from strangers. Since Silva was busy abusing him, he often found comfort from “the streets”.

He has a bad habit of pacing back and forth and fidgeting in his seat while horrific images fill his mind. All he has seen is pain and even though he was used to it, he didn’t want you to go through it as well.

While sitting in his seat (finally!) and head in his lap, doubled over indescribable sorrow, a little girl walks up to him with her hands folded and a doll under her arms. Illumi feels her presence and looks up. The girl’s curly hair covered her endearing eyes and her smile is wide.

“They’ll be alright. I just know they will,” turning around returning to her mother, the girl said with confidence.

On cue, Illumi placed his hand over his heart, smiling just a little.

He walked quickly to your room once you were out of surgery.

His speed walk mimics one of a soldier; his left arm in since with his right leg. His shoes echoed throughout the hall.

As soon as he enters the room, he shuts the door harder than usual and gives you a tight embrace. This surprises you! You’re lucky if he lays his head on your shoulder!

Illumi had been working out lately. He wanted to beat you in the “squish the melon” contest. He is very competitive and even if he lost, that doesn’t hurt his ego. Not in the slightest. Since it was just the both of you alone, he bends down to hug you tight, so tight that your face is squished against his.

This behavior is only surprising because he usually doesn’t coddle you even when you get hurt, but this time he realized that you could have died from the gunshot wound.

After that he kissed your forehead and almost simultaneously the doctor barreled in just missing the sweet moment between you and your beau.

Chrollo

When Chrollo is holding meetings with the Phantom Troupe, he always appears to be neutral. That is very important. A leader has to show strength even through the worst/hurtful times of their lives.

Chrollo had gotten a call from Nobunaga that you had gotten hurt on a mission and had actually gotten captured by the enemy. Phinks was able to get you back but you suffered horrible injuries.

This is protocol; they do this for any of the members. The troupe was oblivious to the fact that you and Chrollo were dating. They thought you were here to replace Uvo.

In situations like this, he is calm on the outside but screaming on the inside. Common sense will tell you if you are startled by the news you’ve just received and you begin to drive, you could cause more harm on the way to your destination.

Chrollo is very silent; he doesn’t call to check on your status or anything; he would rather see it for himself.

You were a trooper! After all, you are dating a dangerous robber.

Chrollo already knew what room you were in so he just went.

“I knew I should have kept y/n by my side. Y/n insisted on doing my dirty work that they almost died! How foolish could I have been?” He constantly cursed himself for letting his guard down with you.

He always gave you room to think and complete your own tasks but he can’t help his protective nature; one he has for the troupe but times 10.

His childhood friends had been shot by law enforcers, his home was horrific, and the last thing he needed was for you to be gone. You were keeping him afloat in society.

When he opened the door, Phinks was sitting in a chair, one leg over the other, laughing at a TikTok video.

Nobunaga on the other hand was watching the world news and seemed invested that he didn’t hear Chrollo enter the room. Once they both saw, they stood to their feet.

“Y/n is ok boss. They suffered a few cuts and burns, but they're breathing.”

Chrollo’s straight face remained as he stared at you.

Chrollo’s silence is something the troupe has internalized as a sign of anger, rage, or both. When he didn’t speak and just stared, everyone knew that their next mission was going to be a brutal one.

Chrollo is a man that isn’t afraid to express how he feels. He could cry right now if he wanted to and no one would dare laugh at him or insult him. After all, Nobunaga cried when he realized Uvo was dead.

Nobunaga and Phinks excused themselves as they saw him place his hand over his mouth.

Once the door closed, He pulled up the chair, grabbed your hand, and gently squeezed it. His warmth woke you up instantly and you turned your head. You winced in pain causing Chrollo to jump from his seat, moving to your right side so you wouldn’t turn your head too much.

“I’m glad you're alive, darling. What were you doing putting yourself in danger? Feitan could have handled the beast!”

He isn’t trying to doubt your ability to fight, he’s just concerned for your safety. Even so, why would he insist that you join the spiders?

A tear dropped from his face as he silently kissed your hand three times. You smiled warmly and placed your right left hand on top of his.

“I am fine, boss. You need not worry. I’m a trooper, remember?”

He placed your hand against his dry cheek and continued to kiss it. You were his lifeline and he wanted to spend every moment with you.

[ohbutwheresyourheart]

Eye brows!!

Behold, an excerpt from my extremely self-indulgent Tom Riddle/OC fic featuring time travel:

It took all of two minutes for Silvas to shout out into his office himself.

“Black! Girl! Get in here!”

Cassiopeia could not restrain a grin as she sashayed past the sour-faced receptionist and into Silvas’s office.

Silvas looked almost exactly like he had forty years prior, only noticeably more wizened and stooped. His silver hair was heavily pomaded and combed back from his face, and his jaw was framed by a neat beard. Horn-rimmed spectacles perched precariously on the tip of his tomato-like nose, anchored under thick brows, and the eyes that peered through them were a piercing grey.

For a moment, after Cassiopeia had shut the door behind them, he simply sat and stared at her. Then, with a sprightliness she would not have guessed he still possessed, he jumped up, darted around the table, and shook her hand with vigour and a bright grin.

“You did it!” he crowed. “Oh, my dear girl, you did it! All these years, always I wondered… and now here you are! Congratulations, Miss Black, my most sincere congratulations. What you have achieved - this will change our understanding of magic forever!”

Finally. Three months she had spent at Hogwarts, under the mistrusting eye of Albus Dumbledore, but now - finally - Cassiopeia had the understanding, the acclaim, that she had waited for and deserved. Dumbledore might think her research a terrible, dangerous undertaking, but Silva had always understood the need to know.

“How did you do it? Where did you end up? Was it the same place, or did you move through space as well as time?”

“The latter - I ended up at Hogwarts, of all places, right in Albus Dumbledore’s office. Who is apparently headmaster now… I have to say, I preferred Dippet,” Cassiopeia admitted with a frown. “I should also probably warn you, I am technically on the run.”

“On the run?” Silva echoed, his bushy eyebrows shooting up. “And on what possible grounds? Have they criminalised magical research in that backwater country of yours?”

“Not quite, but…” Here was the sticky point, but Cassiopeia had wanted to get an objective viewpoint and Silva, while he had never taken a shine to Tom like he had to Cassiopeia herself, at least did not share Dumbledore’s irrational hatred of him. “It seems there have been some… developments… in the last forty years with a certain friend of mine…”

“Ah.” Silva nodded. “Your tomcat, yes. He has been making quite a nuisance of himself in your absence. Well, I will tell you, if you wish to know. But rest assured that the British authorities have no possible grounds to extradite you from Hungary. If any Aurors come sniffing around, I will tell Michela to show them the door. She is very good at that. Now, now, enough of this - come, sit, have a drink, and then we shall talk.”

[moonlightreal]

Fate ep 3, second half

Welcome back!  So I’m enjoying the heck outta Fate… but not as a Winx thing.  I mean,

Things Fate has in common with Winx:

Some of the names.

Things Fate does not have in common with Winx:

The rest of the names, the characters’ personalities, how magic works, how the world works, who’s dating who, the color of Riven’s hair, how many drugs everyone’s doing, the style of clothing, who the teachers are, what the school looks like, what Bloom’s parents are like, etc. etc.

If they’d just renamed it Elemental Academy it’d still have been a fun show and we could’ve skipped all… this…

Gods I wish we could’ve skipped all this.  

But weirdly separate from all this, I’m reviewing a show with some teachers who I like.

The students of Elemental Academy are headed to the quietest rave ever! Lots of purple lightbars and everybody’s drinking!  Ok, if the teachers know how many substances their students are using shouldn’t they at least try to not let them?  Ok, I can see Silva having a grand time making everybody do grueling workouts while hung over but substances and healthy fighting form don’t go together longterm.

Terra explains.  This is the east wing of Alfea, “It used to be used for war preparations but since there hasn’t been a conflict in a while no one really comes down here.  Except for tonight!”  

I want to know what the last war was about, who fought in it, who they were fighting against, how often wars happen in the Otherworld… but Bloom wants a beer.

Ohmigod Terra brought pot brownies!  Ahahahahaha!  That was literally a joke on discord weeks before Fate aired, that Terra would be the fairy of pot brownies.  Also Musa has gorgeous eye makeup.  Race stuff aside, Elisha Applebaum is really pretty.  Sam comes over, and there’s Dane.  Sam gives Terra grief about the special brownies.  And Dane ditches her to go offer Riven and Sky some special brownies.  Poor Terra.

Bloom finds Sky and asks about Silva and Sky opens up to being upset, that Silva raised him and having Silva’s life in danger is messing him up.  Then Sky asks Bloom about her parents and she says it’s complicated and she maybe needs more booze to go into it.  Sky wouldn’t mind a distraction himself, so off to drink it is!

Debauchery! Beer pong!  Bloom and Aisha versus Sky and Riven!  Everyone drinking lots of cups!  Bloom uses her power to make beer hot, which is neat since warmth seems much more useful than fire.  Aisha tries to use her magic to bounce the ball out and ends up blasting all the cups and drenching Riven.  Who probably deserves it just on genera…. Yup, here he is, telling Bloom about Sky’s last girl!  Ricki, Stella’s last roommate and bestie until she flirted with Sky and Stella blinded her.  On purpose.  Bloom can’t believe it.  Sky just says, ‘Yeah. that’s the story.’  But the mood is well and truly killed, and Bloom goes off to find Aisha.

Stella is in a dress solid with sequins, standing with a student in a full beard, I think.

Looking for Aisha Bloom wanders into a storage room for war stuff, and finds a class picture!  There she is, the dream woman standing with a class of specialists!  I think she must’ve been the Specialist trainer before Silva.

Sam and Musa flirt.  Smooching!  

Then Musa senses Terra coming as a wave of social anxiety and Sam vanishes through a pillar to escape.  Terra wants Musa to read Dane’s mind to see if they have a chance.  Musa says there is a chance.

Dane, riven and Beatrix have found the war supplies too.  Plate armor! This world still uses plate armor!  They do a three-way smoking of one joint, which is so gross.  I know covid wasn’t a thing when this was made but eeeeeeeew the poor actors!  Riven is his horrible self and teases Dane about how much Terra wants his dick.  And Riven whose shirt was splashed with beer, wants to steal Dane’s.  Run, Dane, find better friends!

We jump to Stella and the bearded student who is ladling out punch.  Sky comes right over and goes, ‘We need to talk about Ricki!” right there in the middle of the party.  Stella is horrified.  They back and forth… the jist seems to be that the rumor isn’t true. Stella didn’t blind Ricki on purpose but she wants everyone to think she did.  Probably she did it by accident and would rather be thought of as evil than weak, which is kinda understandable.  But Sky points out that being with Stella now makes him look like a total nut.

Text arrives!  The Burned One is dead!  Whew!

What? How!  The trained adults never succeed in this kind of story!  At least they lived.

And here Bloom is photographing the specialist alumni photos.  Beatrix comes in and says, ‘Are you photocollaging at a party?  Why are we not friends?”  Bloom asks who the woman is but Beatrix says she doesn’t know.  

Bloom goes and shows the pictures to Aisha.  Dowling is in the photo so she must know.  Aisha wants to ask Dowling tomorrow when they’re sober but Bloom’s keen to go now.  Aisha basically says if Bloom is dumb enough to go demand answers at midnight while drunk, Aisha’s out.  

In the headmistress’ office Beatrix and Callan are ready for another go at the secret passage trap!  Since Bloom asked about Rosalind, the plot is thickening and they have to get through now!  But they haven’t disarmed the trap.  So Beatrix lightnings up and tosses Callan through the door.  That was direct!  The guy goes blue in the lips and falls down probably dying.  Beatrix goes through the secret door and down the stairs beyond.

Sky finds Silva but oh no, he’s not better!  It was the wrong Burned One!  There are more!  Sky says he’s done waiting, he wants to fight.  He storms off.

In the cafeteria Dowling and Harvey mourn.  It’s their job to fix this Burned One problem and they’re not having much luck.

And here comes ragey drunk Bloom!  She holds up the picture and demands an infodump.  Rosalind was the headmistress before Dowling during a “difficult period in Alfea’s history” And Rosalind’s dead.

...no she isn’t.  Obviously.

Bloom can read the Plot as well as I can, and heads down to the stone circle to make contact!  While drunk at night.  But this is awesome, she flames up her hands and lights a ring of braziers and the magic silver vessel.  Her jacket’s on fire too.  Then the flames all go out and she droops over crying.  Sky runs over in battle kit and Bloom tells him about the changeling thing and how she just wants answers.  Then she asks why Sky’s dressed for battle.  Sky’s going Burned One hunting!  And Bloom thinks she can track the thing, she can sense them.  Now Bloom’s the sensible one who suggests telling Dowling but Sky runs past her into the forest and Bloom takes off after him.

Now there’s that plot I knew should be there!

We cut back to the party where Terra is playing beer pong and gets to hug Dane who is topless ‘cause Riven stole his shirt.  I think Riven is playing some kinda wingman here.

Stella rushes over to ask about Sky, and Riven stirs the pot basically saying he spilled the “blinding” thing to Bloom then jumps into, ‘no no, they’re just friends, no need to blind her too!’

Stella: “I wouldn’t waste my magic on a changeling!”

Show, if you do not tell me what the stigma of changelings is about--!

Riven didn’t know, so Stella just stilled some beans back as getting revenge on a completely different person?

Bloom sends a text.  Emergency Burned One hunt at the stone circle!

It interrupts Musa mid-snog with Sam.

Beatrix walks down a dark hallway and finds… the barrier-ed door from the trailer!

Bloom and Sky pass through the barrier and end up in a place that looks like where Bloom was trying her magic a few episodes ago.  Bloom says it’s close.  Sky wants to know why Bloom can track it, Bloom wants to know that too.  They go back to back but the Burned One looms

Magic battle!  Sky gets in a few sword swings before he’s knocked down! A voice calls, ‘Close your eyes!” before Stella unleashes blinding light!  Terra uses her cousin’s favorite trick and vines it to the ground and Bloom throws fire calling on Aisha to help put it out.  And Sky skewers the Burned One with his sword.  Down it goes!

But Musa can tell it’s not dead yet.  It leaps up—then catches fire from the inside, shining orange light, then falls again.  This was a top quality battle!

Dowling appears behind the girls and confirms it’s dead now.

Beatrix emerges from the tunnels to find Callan still frozen and blue-lipped. Was Dowling’s trap actually killing him or was it just keeping him paralyzed?  We’ll never know because Beatrix uses lightning to blast him to dust!

I mean, Callan wasn’t much but that’s put Beatrix solidly in irredeemable territory.

But good news, we saved the more interesting adult!  Silva is on the mend.  Well enough to immediately give Sky grief about going after a Burned One like an idiot.  Sky only cares if his mentor is better, and he hugs Silva.  Sweet moment all round.

The girls are getting the same from Dowling.  But Musa sensed a tiny bit of pride in the headmistress.

Sky arrives, and Bloom says they should all get home, leaving Stella to talk to Sky.  The other four have clearly bonded, and Stella’s clearly the odd one out.  Stella says, ‘I was awful today.  Seeing you scared I couldn’t deal with it.” and, ‘You’re the only one that knows the real me.”  she goes in for a kiss but Sky pulls back saying, “That’s your choice, Stella.”

Stella disagrees.  “I’m the heir to the Solarian throne, if you knew the kind of pressure...” and says Sky is her safety net and she needs to know he’s there if she needs him.  But what if he needs somebody?

Which brings up a side issue.  I don’t think Sky and Stella are doing the deed these days, but if they are or were that’s epic dumb for the heir to a kingdom.  Royalty tends to care about premarital romps more than commoners, and if they came down with a case of surprise baby that baby would be a future heir!  And then they’d pretty much have to get married, and if Eraklyon was on the other side of those wars nobody’ll tell us about that could add up to a real mess.

I wonder if there was sex in the past, Stella desperate for a distraction to get her out of her own head while knowing that every time the clothes came off they were taking a big risk thus creating more stress by the very means they tried to escape it.

This show tries to be all dark and gritty by having teenagers do loads of drugs but did they think of all this?  It’s just practicality but it’d be plenty dark.  

Over in the dorm Terra’s getting ready for bed.  Musa comes to say, ‘your brother’s pretty great.’ but Terra laughs it off, not paying attention.  She texts Dane to say she had fun at the party and Dane replies with a video of himself shirtless roughhousing with Riven.  The phrase, “fat girl with the brownies” is the only thing that can be understood.  I think Beatrix is filming, and she films the three of them doing a trio-smooch with pot smoke!  

Terra cries.  This show is cruel to her.  Not as bad as I was expecting it to be, but bad enough.  Hope she strangles the lot of ‘em.

Over with Bloom and Aisha, Bloom says, ‘You’d be proud of me, I went to the stone circle but chose not to summon all my magic and burn the Otherworld down.”

That was a choice?  That did not look like a choice, Bloom.

Bloom starts in on sensing the Burned One and Dowling being sus and Rosalind, but Aisha is done being the sidekick.  She suggests there might be no conspiracy and offers the really logical idea that maybe a teenage student got pregnant and didn’t know what to do so Rosalind changelinged the baby.  Good on Aisha for trying to climb out of the rabbit hole, but Bloom’s too deep and says there are too many unanswered questions.  I mean, she’s a destiny-ridden protagonist so she is right, but after last month we’ve seen in the real world how far people can go when they feel that they’re destiny-ridden protagonists…  feels different now.  The show in its cultural context.

Then Aisha says “some people” would kill to be a natural with magic like Bloom is even if she’s just an “ordinary” fairy and says Bloom should be “realistic.”  

Oh Aisha, when will you learn to not say stuff?  For Bloom “realistic” means birth parents who didn’t want her and gave her up.  Bloom starts crying saying she has to believe there’s more to it than that.  And yeah, that is understandable.

Ending scene with the adults in Dowling’s unlit office!  “Bloom had a memory of the fairy that left her in the human world.  It was Rosalind.”  One of the guys says, “Ah shit.”  As the camera moves down toward the mystery barrier in the tunnel Dowling continues, “Bloom has the potential to be one of the most powerful fairies the Otherworld has ever seen.  If Rosalind is calling to her there’s a reason.  We can never let them meet.’

And there’s Rosalind inside the barrier!  Not dead.

Good ending music this time, but no lyrics.

I think Dowling hasn’t yet realized her secretary got lightninged to death.

I’ve also been wondering who “he” the evil overlord could be.  Can’t be Rosalind because she’s a she!  None of the named male characters seem at all sus.  Callan’s dead, Sky’s dad is named but dead (unless he isn’t), Silva and Harvey are way too sweet, and Beatrix has no respect for any of the teenagers.  Unless one of them is getting possessed maybe?  Riven vaped in an evil spirit and occasionally his eyes glow and he spouts evil orders?  Maybe it’s a guy we haven’t met yet, or a master Burned One on a dark throne in a cave somewhere.  That’d make sense.

My main curiosity now is for Stella’s full story!  Stella is an interesting character!  Despicable, but interesting now that I’ve stopped thinking she’s going to be anything like the other Stella. Maybe we’ll find out… next time on Elemental Academy!

[seerofmike]

Prenuptial

pairing: cryptane word count: 3, 532 rating: t tags: established relationship, fluff, humor summary: Octavio's father is coming to visit, and it can't mean anything good.

Nothing too complicated! Just a short little thing while I work on the new chapters for my fics!! :] Enjoy!

read this on ao3

OR

below

“You know my dad is a colossal asshole, right?”

“Right,” Taejoon said.

“And he fucking sucks, right?”

“I know.”

“And he hates when—”

“Octavio,” his boyfriend said, and he glanced up from his phone, where he had been pretending to do stuff while his mind moved at a million miles per hour, trying to predict his father’s meeting with Taejoon. “Every time we talk about him, you bring up how much you hate him. I am aware.”

Octavio let out a huff at that, tossing his phone aside and giving up his charade. “Well, whatever you’re imagining, scrap it. Imagine Lovecraft. You follow?"

Taejoon raised an eyebrow, but entertained him all the same. "I do."

"Now imagine Lovecraft, but ten times worse." He threw his hands up to exaggerate his point. "And pretending to be a businessman and wearing a businessman suit."

Both of Taejoon's eyebrows were raised now. "When you say Lovecraft, you mean the Cthulhu, right?"

"What's that?"

His boyfriend's face was impenetrable.

"Nevermind."

"He’s insufferable, Taejoon!" Octavio wasn't done yet. He would hop onto any opportunity to insult his father, and had gone on several rants because of it. "He’s an asshole and he’s going to judge you and make it seem like you suck."

“I would be quite used to it.”

Octavio wasn’t so sure about that. Sure, Taejoon was used to being placed under scrutiny and suspicion, but not outright derision. Caustic had a similar attitude to his father, and Taejoon’s temper often flared up when he was around the man. He imagined that the same would happen once his father finally touched down on Solace and began his Bullshit (with a capital B).

Wait, no, actually, this could be fun. He’d pay money to see his boyfriend throw hands with his old man...hell yeah...

“I am not fighting your dad,” Taejoon mumbled as if reading his mind, gaze returning to his book, and Octavio didn’t even try to deny that he was thinking of it.

“Why not?” He whined, kicking off the wall to crawl onto the couch beside Taejoon. “If you really loved me you would.”

“Perhaps I do not love you, then.”

Octavio squinted. “Well if you...maybe if...then you—”

Why was he not good at coming up with badass things to say on the spot? Bangalore often exploited this, and it looked like Taejoon was starting to catch on. Most of the time he was able to quip back rapidly, but sometimes his brain malfunctioned. It was currently doing that now.

Crossing his arms and pouting petulantly, he turned his back on Taejoon. He heard his boyfriend sigh, but refrained from turning around or saying anything, biting hard on the inside of his cheek to keep himself silent.

“You know I didn’t mean that,” Taejoon said quietly. Octavio just kept his mouth shut, leg jittering with energy. “I was joking with you.”

Octavio continued giving him the silent treatment, smirking to himself just a little when he felt Taejoon press his fingers  against his lower back.

“Octavio.” Then arms were wrapping themselves gently around his waist, warm and solid. “I love you.”

Melting into his touch, Octavio let himself flop onto Taejoon’s chest and cooed, “I knowwwww.”

Taejoon smiled down at him, and he felt his heart do something funny in his chest. The warm feeling of being wrapped up in his boyfriend’s limbs was almost enough to distract him from the fact that his father would be here any minute now, because someone (Ajay) had told him that he was in a relationship, and his father...

Well, his father wanted to meet Taejoon. He was supposedly coming here to conference with the Game runners, seeing as he was the one who provided the medkits, and would 'drop by' on his way out—but Octavio knew better.

He wouldn't put it past his father to orchestrate an entire trip just to come see him and his new boyfriend; and for no good reason, he was sure of that. He seemed to exist just to make Octavio's life miserable.

But they had a little while more to touch one another before he got there, and he would take full advantage of this. Flipping over so that he was straddling his boyfriend’s lap, he slid his hand through his hair and started nipping playfully at his jaw, just the way he liked.

"Octavio," Taejoon said, voice a deep rumble in his chest. "Can we not do this so close to your dad arriving?"

"Just put your jacket on when he gets here," Octavio said, intent on biting marks into his boyfriend's pretty neck, but the next thing he knew strong hands were maneuvering him off of his boyfriend's lap and seating him easily on the couch beside him, as though he weighed nothing.

Octavio scowled at Taejoon, but this expression quickly disappeared when he asked,

"Do you want to order dinner?"

"Only if I get to choose," he said eagerly, leaning close into Taejoon's personal space to look at his phone as he pulled up the ordering app.

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

The doorbell finally rang about an hour later.

Technically, the doorbell didn’t really work; it was busted after Octavio had done something stupid with a skateboard. Before it used to produce a long, melodic ding-dong, but now it simply made a short buzzing sound that could only be heard if you were right by the door.

Thankfully, they were eating take-out on Octavio’s couch and trying to get through a bad comedy he’d stolen from Natalie right when it rang, and Octavio let out a groan at the buzz, setting his food down on the coffee table.

“That’s probably him,” he said, and Taejoon sighed, getting up and brushing his pants off. Truth be told, he was just a little bit nervous, and not quite happy about this whole situation.

He had no intention of starting a fight with Mr. Silva, nor did he really intend to impress him—not with the things he knew he’d done to Octavio. His opinion was not something Taejoon wanted nor needed, but he would try to be civil at least. For Octavio's sake.

Octavio turned the TV off before jumping over his couch, throwing the door open without much ceremony. Standing on the front porch was Kishou Silva, a tall man with graying hair and a mustache. He wore a long white coat and fancy trousers, the exact opposite of what Octavio was currently wearing: a black t-shirt ripped into a crop-top with a pair of jean shorts that had once been regular jeans but had met the same fate as all the rest of Octavio’s clothes—a pair of scissors.

“Father,” Octavio said curtly, taking on a tone Taejoon had only ever heard him use when talking about the man before them.

“Son,” Mr. Silva said with much less feeling. His eyes (brown, unlike Octavio’s hazel) slid right over the other's head and instead focused on Taejoon. He stuck his hands into his pockets as he felt himself bristle beneath the man’s gaze, but he still met his eyes in a direct, silent challenge.

“This is Hyeon Kim?” Mr. Silva asked, stepping in without being invited, and Octavio rolled his eyes as he shut the door behind him.

“The one and only,” he said, sarcastic, but his father either didn’t pick up on his sarcasm or just didn’t care.

“I see.” Mr. Silva stepped around Taejoon, looking him up-and-down, before eyeing the take-out on the coffee table. “How appropriately...underwhelming.”

“Thanks,” Taejoon said. It really was a compliment, considering that he worked hard to be undercover, but he still said his thanks with an undercurrent of snideness in it. Asshole.

Mr. Silva wandered around the messy living room, the unused dining room, and the disastrous kitchen, all with an increasingly more unimpressed look on his face. The natural state of Octavio's house just seemed to be "disorganized". Taejoon tried cleaning every now and then, but truth be told, he wasn’t much of a neat person either.

“Your home is hardly adequate.” Mr. Silva ran his hand over the untouched stove, grimacing when he saw the dust that had gathered on his fingertips. “Do your salaries not afford you a maid?”

Who the fuck talks like that anymore? Taejoon thought to himself, but answered anyways. “We can clean after ourselves.”

“Evidently not.” Mr. Silva eyed him. “I was under the impression you two aren’t living together.”

“We aren’t,” Octavio snapped, and Taejoon sighed at the hostility inflected in his voice. It looked like this wouldn’t be a peaceful meeting after all. 

“I would like to see the upstairs,” Mr. Silva said, as if he hadn’t heard him.

“And I would like you to go fuck yourself.”

“Yah,” Taejoon said sharply, and his boyfriend looked over at him with wide eyes. “Let’s keep this civil.”

Octavio crossed his arms, but didn’t say anything else. Even though this wasn't his house Taejoon really didn’t want to let Mr. Silva upstairs either, but the sooner he finished...whatever he was doing, the better.

He led the elder man up the staircase, closing the door to Octavio’s messy room and making a point to slam it before he could glimpse inside. Mr. Silva didn’t enter it, which was good, but it still didn’t stop him from insulting every other room up there.

“I told you he’s a jackass,” Octavio complained to him as Mr. Silva shoved aside the shower curtain to glare at the rust on the faucet.

“I never disputed you on this,” Taejoon replied.

Mr. Silva went back downstairs, and the both of them followed him, their fingers brushing against each other’s on the way down. He took Octavio’s hand into his own and gave it a reassuring squeeze, but the other man pulled away from him with a scowl, stomping after his father to make sure he didn’t touch his things.

Mr. Silva was standing in front of the front door again, which made Taejoon happy for a brief second—he’s about to leave!—when he started speaking again.

“How long has this been going on?”

“Six months,” Octavio said, foot tapping impatiently on the ground. He clearly wanted him out of the house immediately.

"This is a serious arrangement, correct? Not casual?"

Octavio opened his mouth to say something that was probably inappropriate, so Taejoon cut him off with a warning look as he said, "Yes."

“And your background, Mr. Kim?”

Taejoon glared at the other man, wondering if he should even grace him with the fake backstory he’d given the Game runners. Deciding that he wasn’t worth the time, he said, “Unimportant.”

Mr. Silva’s eyes seemed to light up at that, which was a strange reaction. “I see.”

He opened up his long white coat, taking a thick stack of papers out before handing them over to Taejoon. He hesitated before accepting them, staring down at the title page with something like confusion brewing inside of his stomach.

“What’s this?” Octavio asked sharply, and before he could answer, practically shrieked: “A prenup?!”

“Not that I expect you two to get married any time soon,” Mr. Silva said, unaffected by Octavio’s raised voice. “But given the unknowns of Mr. Kim’s background, it’s safe to assume that he is not in the upper echelon. This contract describes the terms you would agree to if you got married.”

"You're such an asshole!" Octavio yelled, face flushing red, and Taejoon had never quite seen his boyfriend lose his temper like this. He was typically easy-going, which could be frustrating at times, but he hardly ever got mad. His father being around seemed to change things, though.

Octavio kept hissing at his father in Spanish as Taejoon flipped through the contract, disbelieving. There were loads of pages, a lot of them about Silva Pharmaceuticals, which he was a little confused by, because he knew that Octavio didn’t want to take over the company. Was this just an intimidation tactic? More terms to add to this contract just to scare him off? Or was there an actual credible threat in here?

He then got to a page about children and heirs, and seeing this, Mr. Silva spoke over Octavio. 

“In the event that you two should have a biological child, I would have the right to pass on the title of heir to them, which means that you would be under contract of the company.”

Taejoon didn’t really know where to start with that entire sentence, and he opened his mouth to say something, but he wasn’t sure what. Maybe shut the hell up, or this is illegal, but all that came out was, "I'm not signing this."

Nevermind the fact that he didn't really intend to marry Octavio any time soon, but the sheer audacity and incredulity of the entire situation was truly something else. He was shell-shocked.

Mr. Silva nodded, as if he'd expected this answer. "Then reconsider continuing this relationship."

Octavio suddenly tore the prenup from Taejoon's hands, startling him as he managed to rip the whole thing in half. It was quite an impressive feat considering his skinny arms and the thickness of the packet, and he let the mess fall to the floor, fluttering everywhere.

“I want you out,” Octavio said, and there was a triumphant sort of air to his voice, like he’d been waiting to say that his whole life. “Salte."

Mr. Silva didn’t even argue as he opened up the door, a smug, self-satisfied aura surrounding him. He shut the door behind him on his way out, and Octavio stood there, red-faced and fuming. Taejoon was still trying to comprehend what the fuck had just happened, so he said cautiously,

“Tavi-yah?”

A ‘cute’ nickname he’d given to him only after the other had begged for a pet name in Korean; Taejoon wasn't very good at coming up with that sort of stuff, so he’d just slapped a suffix onto Octavio's pre-existing nickname and called it a day. The other man seemed to love it regardless.

“Ugh,” Octavio burst out, rounding on him, and Taejoon took a wary step back. “He always does this! Every dude I date he uses some stupid intimidation tactic to scare them off because he doesn't want me to leave home for good and—"

“It’s okay,” Taejoon said, and his boyfriend shot him a nasty look at yet another one of his tirades against his father being interrupted. “I’m not going to let him intimidate me. I would've been scared off a long time ago if I wasn’t able to handle you.”

Octavio squinted at him. “Gee thanks, babe.”

“I was just being honest.” Taejoon bent down to pick up the mess on the floor, tucking all of the ripped-up paper beneath his arm. He had known that Mr. Silva would probably do something underhanded when he arrived, but he hadn’t really expected...this.

A prenup...he thought that sort of stuff only existed in those shitty k-dramas he and Mila used to watch together. It just sounded so cartoonishly villainous, the clichéd poor girl meets heir of the company plot that was obligated to have an asshole parent in it for drama.

But prenup aside, the thought of marrying Octavio was...

Feeling that his whole face was now flushed a brilliant red, Taejoon turned his back on his boyfriend, heading towards the kitchen to throw the papers away. Don’t think about that. Don’t think about that.

“Heyyyy,” Octavio whined, following after him closely, and he stiffened a little when he felt the other’s arms wrapping around his waist. “You’re not mad, are you?”

“Why would I be?”

“You just ran away.”

“I didn’t.” Hoping that the heat in his cheeks had died down, he turned and pressed a short kiss to Octavio’s forehead. “Let’s finish eating.”

Octavio stared up at him with wide eyes, and Taejoon stared back with an eyebrow arched, waiting for him to say whatever was clearly on his mind. After a couple of seconds, his boyfriend pointed his finger at him and said,

“You wanna marry me.”

Feeling the heat come back in full force, Taejoon demanded, “What makes you say that?”

Laughing, Octavio ducked out of the kitchen, tumbling over the couch with a whoop.

“Taejoon loooooooves me!”

Idiot.

Picking up his now cold food, Taejoon settled down on the couch with a sigh, lifting his arms slightly so that Octavio could lay himself in his lap. They started their movie again, and he was just picking the corn out of his rice (fuck corn) when Octavio mumbled against his thigh,

“Y’know, I wouldn’t mind getting married to  you.  Marriage is a sham, but like...”

Heart beating rapidly in his chest, Taejoon let out a hum to show that he was listening.

“With you, it probably wouldn’t be so bad.” Octavio nestled his cheek further into his thigh. “We probably should sign a prenup though. There’s no way I’m letting you keep my PC if we divorce.”

And just like that, the pleasant, bubbly haze that had taken hold of him at the notion of marrying his boyfriend and having a stable life dissolved. Shoving Octavio off of him and earning a squawk, Taejoon ate his food in sullen silence, ignoring the other man while he whined okayyyy I was jokiiiiiing we don’t have to sign a prenup please marry me porrrrr favorrrrrr.

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

Octavio curled up against his boyfriend, wrapping his limbs around him like a starfish. Taejoon responded by stroking his fingers lightly along the scarred flesh of his thigh, and he gave a shiver at the feeling. It didn't hurt, it just felt...weird. Ticklish, almost.

Their night had ended early after his father had left; they hadn't even finished the movie before Taejoon had stood up and declared that he was tired and wanted to go home. Octavio felt guilty, knowing that his haste to leave probably had something to do with the pile of paperwork sitting in his trash, so he had begged the man to at least sleep over instead of going home, and now here they were, at barely nine in the evening, going to bed.

Who the hell even went to bed at nine o'clock except for old people? Apparently they were, but that was fine. As long as he got to cling to the other man, even if they were...ugh...staying still and not doing anything...

Octavio ran his hand over Taejoon's chest, fingers gliding over the metal plating there before he found soft skin, and he let out a small huff against the back of the taller man's neck. This was so. Boring.

Nice, but boring.

"I meant what I said earlier," Octavio said, because if he didn't speak or do something he was actually going to die. He felt Taejoon's chest deflate under his palm as he gave a slightly-exasperated exhale.

"About getting married?" Came his boyfriend's voice, attractively creaky due to his own apparent tiredness.

"Yeah." Octavio himself couldn't believe that he was saying that. He'd always viewed marriage derisively; his father's never lasted, and every new wedding he attended just left a bitter taste in his mouth, a new timer in his head counting down to the exact moment his father had had enough and filed for divorce. The thought of getting married to someone—shackling himself to them, slowing down for them—had never been appealing. But with Taejoon?

For some reason, it sounded nice. He already felt electricity in his veins every time he referred to the other man as 'my boyfriend'. God, imagine the absolute power he would feel saying 'my husband', and knowing that this wasn't just a silly, casual fling, and that they cared for each other, and...

...He was going crazy.

"Forget about it," Octavio mumbled, burying his face between his boyfriend's shoulder blades. Go away stupid gay thoughts. You sound like a boring person. What kinda daredevil gets married? Where's the fun in that?

He heard Taejoon laugh, so quiet that he was sure that he had imagined it, and then the other man was turning over in his arms, now facing him with a look on his face that was soft. He loved that expression, the exact opposite of the displeased one he wore during the games, and he felt privileged that he got to see it.

"Some day," his boyfriend said, and leaned closer to press a kiss to his lips, which made his heart beat rapidly in his chest like he was a teenager. "If you're up for it."

Bursting with the need to say something, but not sure what, Octavio stared at him, cycling through several responses in his mind. Should he go for something funny? Annoying? Serious? Being serious sucked, and yet this situation seemed to call for a genuine response, not humorous deflection or jokes.

Octavio's eyes slid down his boyfriend's face to focus somewhere on his midriff as he considered his response, knowing that he was about to sound stupid as he mumbled,

"Promise?"

Taejoon's hand found his waist, and his thumb stroked the sliver of exposed skin there, which made his entire body feel warm. "Promise."

[daresplaining]

Iron Fist Countdown: 2 Days

Mary Walker/Typhoid Mary/Bloody Mary

    One of the neat aspects of any adaptation is the chance to experiment with new stories, character interpretations, and relationships. The Marvel Netflix shows have brought together many characters who don’t have any particular connection in the source material. Comics Jessica Jones and Patsy Walker aren’t much more than acquaintances. Comics Karen Page never met Frank Castle. But the shows have used this undeveloped territory to craft some fascinating new character dynamics. Thus, we’re extra excited that Typhoid Mary (and her various other personalities), while typically a Daredevil and Deadpool comics mainstay, will be making her MCU debut in Iron Fist Season 2!

    Mary first appeared in 1988, in Daredevil vol. 1 #254. Ann Nocenti, who created the character, intended for her to be a revolutionary amalgam of tropes. 

“As for where Typhoid came from, you'll have to ask the shrink I've as yet never gone to. I think I wanted to shatter the female stereotypes-- virgin, whore, bitch, ditz, feminist, girl scout, all-suffering mother, et al.-- into tiny fragments and yet keep all the pieces in the same little female bundle.”

    Mary is quite literally a character built of layers. She suffers from an exaggerated, comic book science version of multiple personality disorder, resulting in an unpleasant childhood of psychiatric testing. 

“Code name Typhoid Mary. One of the most fascinating cases in psychiatric history. Subject spent most of her life institutionalized, undergoing every known test-- yet she continues to baffle the entire scientific community. The child’s dual personality was first discovered in infancy. In the Mary persona, she is fragile, sickly, prone to epilepsy and other disorders. As Typhoid, she is utterly unapproachable, uncontrollable, a murderous little girl. Pure poison.”

Daredevil vol. 1 #254 by Ann Nocenti, John Romita Jr., and Christie Scheele

    This original version of the continuity suggests that she was born with at least two of her personalities. But later, J.M. Dematteis pulled a snippet from Frank Miller’s Man Without Fear origin retelling into the main continuity: an episode during Matt’s first vigilante outing in which he accidentally kills a sex worker. Joe Kelly then took that tidbit now made canon, and decided that the woman in question was Mary, and that this final act of violence committed against her by a man was what fractured her personality. (We’re not big fans of this change, but it is what it is.) 

    Either way, Mary is literally a multifaceted person, with each personality battling for control. As Mary Walker she is a sweet, naive, gentle person, who is horrified by any kind of violence. As Typhoid Mary she is gleefully violent, power-hungry, and wields her sexuality as a weapon to control the men around her. These two personalities hate each other, and they turn her body itself into a battleground. 

Mary: “Feels good to fluff out my hair, get that makeup off... Hot in here. Sweating... Do I have a fever...? Feel sick, do I look sick--? Oh! My hair... my face...!! I don’t look like myself... I look wild... It’s you! It’s that woman...! Oh, god, no-- have to warn myself...”

Typhoid: “Shut up you sniveling twit! Get back in there and shut up! Typhoid’s back on top!”

Daredevil vol. 1 #256 by Ann Nocenti, John Romita Jr., and Christie Scheele

    As if that weren’t enough, Typhoid also possesses an array of psychic powers, including telepathy, telekinesis, and-- most famously-- pyrokinesis. Mary doesn’t get any of these fun tricks.  

Typhoid: “Matthew, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you for quite some time... Burn...”

Daredevil vol. 2 #46 by Brian Michael Bendis, Alex Maleev, and Matt Hollingsworth

    Mary’s mental state evolves and fluctuates over time. For a while she has three identities: Mary Walker, Typhoid Mary, and an avenging angel named Bloody Mary, who hunts down and kills men who abuse women. 

Bloody Mary: “You beat two of them to their deaths! Did they ask for that? Did they beg you to kill them? For your crimes you will die!”

The Spectacular Spider-Man (1976) #214 by Ann Nocenti, James Fry, et al. 

    This arc even results in a short-lived, “healthy” all-encompassing identity who just calls herself Walker. But that is a rare occurrence, and in most modern comics Typhoid pretty much stays in control, opposing all attempts at recovery. Mental health is at the core of many of Mary’s stories, and she has been placed in therapy at various points, sometimes of her own free will but usually not. 

Matt: “I heard what you said. You’re not wrong about Mary. [...] Mary’s trapped in a revolving door of crime, jail, and misery. Her crimes are addressed-- but never her sickness.”

Wade: “What if... what if we had another option?”

Deadpool (2015) #13.1 by Gerry Duggan, Paco Diaz, and Israel Silva

    But she’s such a compelling character as she is that it’s unlikely any treatment will last long. It would be like permanently restoring Matt’s eyesight. Nobody wants that. 

    Given the trend toward groundedness in all of by these shows, we’re expecting Netflix Mary’s personalities to be taken down a notch, with more of an emphasis placed on the mental health angle. Alice Eve has had really evocative things to say about playing Mary, and about the degree to which she immersed herself in the chaos and violence and pain inherent in the character: 

“I’m not sure any of us are lucky enough to be completely mentally sane. Mental sanity is society’s construct so that we can all function together, but, you know, we all go to bed with our minds and we all know what they do to us. [...] So I just kind of swam in that deep ocean for a while and really let myself think the thoughts that mindfulness and meditation and all those things tell you not to, and embraced all the disorder in my mind, and enjoyed that, and felt that pain and lived that. [...] I like Marvel for being able to hinge these issues on this construct they have of exploded powers and exploded weaknesses, and make them big, like they feel to us inside.”

    But the multiple personalities will still be there, splitting Mary between gentleness and violence. The Iron Fist Twitter account has posted several images that seem to be messages Mary has left for herself: 

    Our big question is whether she’ll still have her psychic powers. We really, really hope so.

    As for how she will play into the events of the season, it’s still anyone’s guess. It seems that she encounters Danny and Colleen as Mary, while also running rampant as Typhoid. In the comics, her introductory arc follows her time as Wilson Fisk’s assassin/girlfriend. He instructs her to break Matt Murdock’s heart and then kill him, but she ends up falling in love with him along the way. This seems like an odd plotline to adapt to Iron Fist, so we’re expecting/hoping for something new. It’s also worth nothing that she bears a strong resemblance to Trish... and we’re wondering if they might end up being related in this universe. That would be a neat twist. 

    In any case, we can’t wait to see how she is involved in this story, and to watch her kick maximum butt. ONLY TWO DAYS LEFT!

[lustriakeimark]

Chapter 1: Groceries

“Marcus… Marcus!”

Marcus heard his name being called, a wailing from a woman on a distant void. The sound was familiar and nigh, drawing him nearer from the source. He was engulfed by darkness, his sentience hovered to the sliver of light that trespassed his space. Like a black hole, he became a star stuck on the process of being devoured.

His consciousness returned. His eyes awaken from the circumstantial dream to the blinding light of noon sun over his windowpane and his heart thumped, loud and rushed. The ambivalent emotions of awe and aghast still hunted her heart, clutching and squeezing to plump.  He held her stomping chest, trying to ebb the wild and bursting throb. His ears deafened from the terrible ache of bellowing woman. The wrenching pain from the grip of a hand stung his flesh and cognizance to rouse up. He gasped with dire groan but immediately quelled by instantaneous panting. His sweat streamed down from his disheveled hair to his forehead, and his yellow flannel shirt drenched wet as well as his grey trouser despite the cold temperature of air conditioned room.

He looked up to the woman in her 20s, which he easily recognized as her 23-year old sister Chloe. She wore a white polo overlaid with cobalt blue coat and a fitted skirt of knee-length. Apparently, she just came from her Saturday work.

“Where am I?” he spoke, his words sloshing with shock and his upper body ascended.

“You’re in your apartment, idiot. You won’t wake up. You just remained shivering. What’s up with you, by the way? Do you have fever? Or are you having nightmare?” Chloe indifferently asked, her face mustered coldness and yet she was clutching her brother to death earlier, alarmed and terrified. She got up from the chair beside him, and calmly trudged, concealing a slight concern with her eyes scrutinizing his measly and jumbled chamber.

‘Thank goodness it was all a dream,’ Marcus thought, his expression released a soft sigh.

‘No, it wasn’t a dream but a nightmare so vivid and awful which make it more horrifying.’ He asserted to himself, his sigh turned back easily to a wary disbelief.

Incredulously unassured, he examined his place, disregarding the queries of his sister. The small glass windows, the grey ceiling with a simple bulb turned off, his varnished wooden table laden with his lamp, pens and books, the erect cabinet patched with stickers and notes, the tiled floor nestling his messy stuffs, his black fridge and his own bed beneath him, were all there. The modern place was evidently his apartment.

‘There’s no doubt, it was indeed, home.’ He deliberately figured out, his ashen face began to gleam pink, and the wild tide in his heart appeased down to a constant rhythm. Ascertained of comforting reality, he sunk down and laid on his fuzzy and buoyant bed.

“Nah, I’m not having fever. I guess it’s just some nightmarish dreams.” He caustically retorted, his lips simpering from delusional dread he had experienced. Plastering nonchalance, Chloe merely smirked and shrugged as being used to his brother’s idiosyncrasies. The rare presence of her sauntering to and fro in his apartment dawned late to Marcus.

“Wait, and why are you here? I don’t remember giving you my key.” Marcus partially rousted, his upper body facing her sister and his gaze was accusingly questioning.

He settled himself in this apartment for three years in a row, commencing from his fifteen years. The college he went was closed by, just a walk away. He wanted to be independent and do things alone thus he chose to purchase this apartment like her sister having her own house. Their parents were still healthy, dwelling on the countryside with his younger brother in a rustic and mediocre life. Being reserved with lofty precept of privacy, he reveled himself to clandestine solitude which allegedly ascertain himself being stingy of his privy stuffs especially his apartment key even to his kin.

“Of course you don’t, I put myself in trouble in snipping your spare keys to the forging shop. Well, it was your fault, putting your keys anywhere but I should commend your hiding ways, it was somehow clever, not on the usual shoe rack or the flower pots, rather on the corner of the gate. Maybe I should learn from you.”

She strolled, with her hands gesturing, her jaw lifted up and grinned, like an anime villainess explaining how she defeat her feeble opponent and how she proudly grappled her triumph. Marcus, being aware of his sister’s attitude, knew already that she was implying the opposite. The last part of her speech was entirely an air of sarcasm obscured by her crude snickers.

After flaunting and elaborating her sheer wit to his brother, Chloe continued to blabber words about how cluttered and disorder was his apartment. Her hands kept waving and pointing to scraps and unwashed clothes, emphasizing its lacked of appropriate arrangement and sanitation. Though a big chatterbox and haughty, it wasn’t for nothing. She was indisputably an astute and acute accountant, entitled as CPA.

Marcus, however, submerged his body on his bed, his mind drifting to another dimension of his own world. The blather of her sister began to fade, from echoing resonance to a stilly silence. His eyes remained open staring through the blue ceiling, yet farther and limitless. He perpended about his nightmare, how vivid and detailed it was like an actual scene happening on another time and space.

His mind shifted again to an image of an old woman roosting on her wooden chair, her curly hair was kempt and tied round, her skin was white, blotched with blemishes and wrinkled with time, and her eyes were deep, sparkling along the sun like an ocean glistening bottomless. She always wore her conservative fashion, a purple skirt extending to her ankle and a blouse of neat white. The old woman glinted a glance toward him, her lips contoured a brilliant smile. She was his grandmother, already dead for ten years. Dead as classified by the police, since she was gone missing for a long time, her body remained not found as her mother had told her couple of years ago. He remembered the tale of her granny, the mystical place of Seleria environed by the vast forest of Silva and herself, being the nanny of the precious mage. He was convinced this tale had triggered his meticulously detailed dream, resembling greatly on how his grandma described the Silva Forest and the Mages.

A booming sound pierced his imaginary domain, wrecking the glass of images to shattering pieces of his mind, putting halt to his old wandering memories. His awareness flooded back to him, from a bludgeoning torrent of a yelping woman in his front.

“…Marcus! Are you even listening?” Chloe yelled at him, her face reddened with infuriation.

“I’m sorry, I just napped a bit. What are you saying again?” Marcus replied, lost and perplex, trying hard to cope with the reality. Chloe’s facade sweltered of annoyance, her brother being absent minded was unusually vexing and somehow worrying.

“I was saying I visited our parents last week. Jonas was doing great in his study, but mom and dad was kind of disappointed without your appearance. Jonas said they were anticipating your arrival and thought I forgot mentioning you coming with me though I had invited you before. So, I guess you really need to drop by them these times. There’s a tinge of sadness when they saw me barging in alone. Don’t worry, I told them you were busy in your finals just as you said you were.” Chloe briefly repeated, her irritation soon vanished into sisterly solicitude.

Marcus reckoned the last time her sister had called. Last week for him was a tedious slog, his examinations every semester were a flaming time of his college. Yet, the feeling of completion and complacency of doing his best was worth the extreme heat like how he decided to filched some time off his weekend job. He supposed a three-day bucolic break with his family would be better than sprawling in his room for a day, and opportunely, he could inquire his mother more about her grandma fantasies especially the girl of her tale, Zariel. He surmised that through his granny’s tales, he could assuage the weirdness of his recurring dream and halt himself from overthinking.

“I think I could go this week. I got small cash in my card, and I already finished my exams, so just menial recreations at school. I guess I could skip that. How about this Monday, until Wednesday?” He insinuated, gathering his weight to get up from his bed.

“That’s up to you, but I guess that would do. And please, make yourself clean. Do something about that shaggy hair of yours.” Chloe dictated, her voice indicating command.

“I almost forgot, you need to buy this list. Just some groceries. Mom would definitely love that. And you need to cook something when you get there, that should be great. I already put some money with it, so no need to worry for expenses.” She added, her hand fixing the thick envelope attached with a short folded list, laying it on top the of table. Her stares eventually focused to his brother with his hands searching something on his cupboard.

“From the look of it, I bet train tickets would be far from my concern anymore.” Marcus chuckled, accustomed of her sister’s munificence. Given that she was a regular worker of the popular BWO Universal Bank for more than a year, he unhesitatingly accepted the offer.

“Thanks then. I will buy those by tomorrow morning. This Saturday was bustling weekend in malls, hordes of people is undoubted.” He explained, pondering Sunday would be more convenient to shop. His hand held a mug, raising it up, bidding her sister another cup and afterwards, emplaced it down to the coffee maker.

“It’s okay, it’s 1 PM already and I should be in the office by now. And please don’t over sleep, I was forced to open this room earlier.” Chloe responsively warned, her body motioning toward her sling bag.

“Bye then, just send my regards to our parents and Jonas. And call me if there’s a problem.” She dictated, her hands on the knob of the door, her pouch slung on her shoulder and her feet outside, stood on the corridor. For the last minute, she glanced back, checking the entirety of the room.

“I will. Goodbye.” Marcus adjourned while taking a sip from his cup.

A muffled slam concluded his sister’s departure, brimming his room a cool gust of quietude.

“So tomorrow is Sunday, guess I really need this three-day vacation.” He convinced himself, his eyes looking afar through his window. Outside, a canopy of lofty buildings stood, their heights were distinct with the sinuous roads eking its picturesque scenery and the sun, magnificent on its peak, illuminated the vast glasses of the city dwellings, yielding an ochre beauty of noon. A marvel of progress.

‘I guess the view would be more beautiful during night.’ He conceived.

“But still, the lingering breeze and the dazzling stars at night of the countryside beats them all.” His notions spun loud to an uttered words, weaved by a drop of nostalgia.

Just reminiscing his pastoral life brought him longing for his parents. Albeit it was only three months the last time he had visited them, he was still thrilled of seeing them in person.

He ambled toward his wooden table, filled with scraps and cans of soft drinks. He picked up the list his sister had left him. His eyes perused the tiny paper, and afterwards, his mouth became a purse of puffing mirth. His laugh amplified with his other hand dabbing his belly, triggered by the inane brevity of letters scribed on the bitsy sheet his sister called list.

“Groceries.”

05-17-2020