#and real support/believes in his vision she would not be able to answer with confidence

[brutlist]

bernie really should be the person who inherits heron after heugh passes but it's not realistic bc she's never in a thousand years accept it, and that it's passing on to eric, a trans man who looks up to heugh in an almost fanatic way, worries her so fucking much

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

I wanted to give my own quick interpretation of the scene where Atsushi... imagines? hallucinates? all those people while conflicted over what to do in the most recent chapter, because idk I haven't seen people talk about it that much?

See, the whole conflict with Atsushi in this arc is that he's replaced the constant demeaning of the orphanage director in his head with encouragement from his mentor, and he can control the tiger, and he supports the people around him... but Kunikida makes a point of saying (before everything went to shit) that while Atsushi's tiger is strong, he himself is still weak.

I don't think this has to do with Atsushi's character per se. I think it more so has to do with his still very simplistic views on people or the world - things are very black and white, good or bad. And when faced with a problem without a simple solution, Atsushi's unfortunate tendency is still to freeze up. This is not surprising - he may be 18, but he's a very... how do I put this... a very young 18. He hasn't had anyone teach him these things or guide him. He very much craves support and encouragement from others. He likely also didn't see much of the world outside the orphanage before he was kicked out either. And let's not forget how absolutely shot his self-esteem is. The fact that Atsushi functions and believes in the best in people as well as he does is testament to how kind-hearted and resilient of a person he is.

But here's the problem: Atsushi's self-confidence hasn't done much developing.

What Atsushi has learned throughout the story is how incredible the Agency as a whole is, and as he grows to learn and care about them and realize that he has been given a place to belong, he grows to support them in turn; pulls his weight in a number of increasingly badass ways (he caught a bullet with his teeth. GODDAMN). But all that confidence goes away the moment he is left alone. Atsushi has confidence in his own strength in a group - and only in a group.

Unfortunately, the Agency, though I believe well-intentioned, kind of enables this mentality in him. We see Ranpo, Kunikida and Kyouka in turn, who echo things they have said and would say to this situation.

"Don't you even know that?" Ranpo would ask this, rhetorically, and then solve it himself. Atsushi would not have time to come up with an answer of his own.

"Failure is unacceptable." Kunikida would say this and then act, no matter what. Atsushi would be left to follow what he does.

"You don't have to do anything." Kyouka would protect him. Atsushi wouldn't have to do anything because she would grab his arm and take over from there.

See what's happening here? These are no longer demeaning words from the headmaster (in fact, I want to reiterate that I believe they are all well-intentioned), but they still insinuate that Atsushi is incapable on his own. And indeed it's interesting that Atsushi sees these "visions" of Dazai guiding him all throughout the hunting dogs, sky casino and decay of angels arcs. I, for one, think this is just Atsushi's imagination and not a real vision (unless we get some evidence to the contrary in the future) but for now, it implies that Atsushi's self-confidence is still so abysmal that he has to imagine someone giving him advice and advising him on what to do - instead of being able to consciously admit these ideas are his own.

And then Fitzgerald shows up - "No one expects anything from you." Looming over him, a symbol of power and status over the panicked, conflicted form of a boy who feels eternally powerless without support.

And then it gets interesting.

Akutagawa shows up in Atsushi's mind, for the first time in a guiding role, not a demeaning one. And there's a definite reason for this - when Atsushi was all alone, when he admitted to himself he had no idea what to do and was terrified to be left to fight with no one else with him - who showed up?

Akutagawa. Akutagawa, who in spite of everything, fought by his side and was reliable. And the thing is, Akutagawa cannot take over, not in their kind of plans, or they just won't work. They have to work together. They have to be equals. And on some level, I think this part shows Atsushi's realization of the rather surprising amount of trust Akutagawa had to have placed in him - and him alone. I find it rather heartbreaking that Atsushi appears to have just now started to realize this after their plan failed due to a lack of trust (mostly on his side I'd say) and Akutagawa died.

So, Atsushi receives guidance from Akutagawa, and of course, from Dazai, the person he is extremely grateful for as a mentor. They don't tell him what to do. But still, Atsushi is guided into looking - "get out of your head" and moving - "the door is right there - do something about it". These "visions" still spur Atsushi into action, but the action itself? It's Atsushi's alone.

Atsushi still needs to justify his actions by imagining others giving him support, but this is definite progress for him restoring a sense of personal... agency (see what I did there?) within himself.

And yes, his eventual course of action is to find Fukuzawa and have him make the final decision on the matter - but really now, he's just been told something that apparently has Teruko (who I am certain is older than much of the cast and likely a former soldier from the war) drained and tired and seemingly conflicted herself - this isn't really the kind of issue you want to be deciding on all by yourself. Also, admitting you don't know what to do but moving forwards anyways to actively ask for advice or help is very much still making a decision and moving forward. Actively asking someone what they think about a complex situation is very different from being passive while others take control around you.

Atsushi made the decision to walk out that door into uncertainty. And I am convinced he's going to have to pick a course of action anyways - as of right now, Fukuzawa is out of commission, as are Dazai, Akutagawa, Ranpo and Kunikida (we don't know where Kyouka is yet).

It's been a long time coming, but this is serious progress for his character.

[knightprincess]

Cadet Training (The Bad Batch)

Words: 3166

Warning: None but a lot of hurt/comfort (I think)

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Cadet training for the clones was never easy. Although it was just about bearable for the regular clones. It was constant torment for Clone Force 99. They never got a day off from training like others did. From the moment they had been able to begin training, it had been non stop, a constant pressure to succeed, to obey the orders given or face punishment. 

TECH Tech's training consisted of testing his knowledge. He'd be hooked up to an array of machines, some to monitor his brain waves, other his heart rate and blood pressure. Another that would give him a nasty shock. Once he was hooked up the testing began, he was normally given questions on the screens before him, he had a certain amount of time to answer them. If he succeeded, another question would appear. If he was to fail, he would receive a electric shock. If he ever asked for it to stop, the instructor would only up the power. Being sure to stop before he lost consciousness. As soon as the shocks stopped he was told to get back to his feet and continue. Maker help him should he ask for a bathroom break or any break in general. On the days he wasn't facing the quizzes, then he was normally dragged to the medical bay, to undergo horrendous scans. The worst part always being he could feel everything they did. The pain being unbearable, the few times he was able to get strangled words out, he was always calling for his brothers, begging them to make it stop and rescue him from the constant pain. He'd be poked and prodded with needles and other things as if he was a pin cushion. Normally thirsty and hungry as he would be denied food and drink for hours before these scans and tests. If he was to say he was hungry or needed a drink, he would be harshly told to be silent and wait. 

When it was over it was a struggle to even walk, most of the time he used the walls to prop himself up on his way to where ever wanted to go. His words would be slurred, the best he could do with the splitting headache to be blurring his vision. He'd struggle to hold eating utensils when in the mess hall, only just being able to grip the cup to drink something. After a while he'd give up completely and settle for returning to the barracks, another night of going hungry. Crosshair would never allow it and always followed behind his younger brother, helping Tech along to ensure he got there safely. Upon making sure Tech got to his bunk, he retrieve a few ration bars, ensuring Tech didn't go hungry. WRECKER Wrecker's training wasn't as bad as his brothers to look at. He'd be constantly pushed to his limit with blasters, bombs and other explosives. Often being sent to the training rooms to test his skills against droids. If he was ever hit by one, the course would be reset until he got it right. Often times had he missed meal times because of this. He'd be forced to repeat the disarming over and over again, until he got it right first time. Yet he hated destroying things that had meaning to him. Like one time an instructor noticed his original tooka doll and picture of his brothers. Both had been stuffed into a metal box with little care, a detonator thrown in with them. 

That day he'd been tasked with disarming an bomb within a time limit. If he succeeded, he'd get the things taken from him back. If he failed then the blast would destroy the small metal box and the things stuffed so carelessly inside. That day had broke Wrecker, losing the photo was like losing his brothers, he cried himself to sleep that night, believing he had failed them. Although a new Tooka doll had appeared on his bunk, a small tag in messy writing saying its name was Lula. 

Wreckers worst training session by far was the one where he was training with blasters. He'd only spoken of his exhaustion and strains before then. But that day his trainer had dragged Hunter, Tech and Crosshair to the firing range. He been informed their lives were on the line this time, they would be on the firing range, between each target. If he missed any target his brothers would ended up being hit. Wrecker had protested as did his brothers, their lives were in his hands, he knew his brothers trusted him, but he didn't want that responsibility just yet. He didn't want to hurt them in any way. 

He knew it would be difficult, with the trainer tying each of his brothers to a make shift stake between each target, blind folding them so they couldn't see what was happening. To Wrecker it was like they were set to be executed by firing squad, like they were the criminals and he was the executor, like he was the hand that would bring swift death. He tried so hard to protest against it, refusing, even when his train held a gun to his head, even when he was smacked in the face with the butt of the gun he still refused. 

He eventually fired upon hearing the encouraging words of his brothers. Hearing they trusted him and believed him even when he didn't believe in himself. Although he had hit every target, he'd come dangerously close to each of them. A bolt had hit just to the right of Crosshair, mere inches from his shoulder, another had been close to hitting Hunter, the bolt hitting the wall above him, where as Tech's had missed by inches, instead hitting the floor in front of him. A comment or two had escaped the train's lips, yet nothing of support but instead patronizing him further, stamping out the confidence he had gained. Something to do with a gag for his brothers next time. 

Tech, Crosshair and Hunter had all bared witness to Wrecker's beating that day. Tied helpless to the make shift stakes as he was beaten for his words in response to the sadistic trainer, beaten for standing up for himself and them. Despite their efforts to free themselves, they had been force to listen as Wrecker shouted for it to stop and screamed in agonizing pain when the side of his face was held to one of the metal containers, mere seconds before it exploded. The Trainer didn't seem to care, instead pulling the crying Wrecker to his feet afterwards, ignoring the pleas to be left alone. Nala Se had been the rescuer that day, investigating upon hearing Wrecker scream. She took him with her, ordering Tech, Crosshair and Hunter to be freed and sent back to their barracks. 

Despite her best efforts Nala Se couldn't save Wrecker from permanent scaring. She kept him in her lab for days, doing her best to take away his pain as she removed shrapnel and his left eye. Replacing the eye with a cybernetic one. Her examinations showing he'd be partially death in the left ear.  Yet she had also showed kindness, even more so when she had taken the punishment of the Bounty Hunter into her own hands, ensuring he wouldn't be heartless to one of her special five again.

CROSSHAIR Crosshair's training normally consisted of being isolated for days on end. His accuracy was beyond that of any other, so his path of a sniper had been chosen for him. Forced on him even. At first it would be overnight stays in the training facilities, perched in a snipers nest, flat on his stomach, he'd be allowed breaks to move around and join the others in the mess hall. But as time went by, the conditions got worse. He'd be denied simple breaks to stretch his limbs, bathroom trips or even sleep. Food and water became a method to reward him for his good work in training. 

After a while the trips to the training facility wasn't enough. His instructor insisting he needed something more real. So would take him out to a landing pad in the constant rain, there he'd be tasked with eliminating all distractions and fire on his fellow cadets, each time they'd be unaware. If Crosshair was to refuse then he'd be beaten, stamped on and other things, at times his own instructor had used a electric torture device to deliver a shock, all in an attempt to get him to comply. If he still refused a loaded gun would be held to the side of his head, or he'd be put in some sort of strangle hold. Crosshair had bones broken one more than one occasion. Normally ribs, wrist, ankle and fingers. 

Many a times Crosshair had been taken outside in the pouring rain, without cover, food or water, he'd be left their for days, only being sent a location of his target, normally another cadet but occasionally a fully trained trooper would would fire back. He was tasked to stun them all. To make it easier, his instructor told him to make up stories about them, to make himself think they deserved it, he was told to ignore his guilt over firing at them and ignore they were clones just like him. Instead he was told to think of it like a game, with everyone he stunned he'd be earning the right of bathroom use, of food and water, of being able to return to his barracks and see his brothers again. 

But it only got worse. Eventually stunning his fellow cadets and fully trained troopers wasn't enough anymore. His instructor wanted him to use live rounds, to potentially kill them. He was branded as teaching them a lesson, of setting an example to other cadets who misbehaved. Every time Crosshair refused he was met with a brutal beating, already weak from days without food and lying flat on his stomach. Already weak from his countless other beating from answering back with snarky comments. He'd been denied medical attention until he completed his training session. 

When he was sent to the med bay, he found no comfort. It was made perfectly clear to him by the elegant Kaminoans he wasn't welcome there, they tolerated him a best, doing the bare minimum to ease his pain and ensuring his injuries and wounds would heal. Pain killers weren't a luxury extended to him, instead he felt the pain, eventually growing to accept it as a companion, refusing to show it to another unless he couldn't bare it any longer. 

By far his worst training session was when he was up on the landing platform, the rain pelting down on him, hardly bothered him anymore. He was told via a comm link four targets were heading into his directory, he was to shoot them. At first Crosshair was certain he wouldn't have a problem with it, he grown used to using cadets and troopers as a target practice. Yet this time was different, the targets in question was a fully grown trooper and three cadets. Tech, Hunter and Wrecker along with ninety-nine. Almost instantly Crosshair yelled he couldn't, no wouldn't fire on them. They were his brothers and one of the few who actually showed care to him. Ninety-Nine had named each of them, treated them like he did with all the other cadets, with care and loved. Always helping them with something. 

His instructor had come on to his landing pad after that, demanding he shoot all four to kill. Stamping on Crosshair's back when he refused, the beating when on for quite some time. Only stopping when Crosshair had managed to grab his rifle and point it had the vicious man tasked with training him. Even then no emotion escaped his blush pink features. Instead his instructor called him names, often accompanied by the words useless and defect. Through it all Crosshair would yell even scream he didn't want to kill his brothers, loud enough they could hear him and pin point his location, loud enough they would know what they're being used for this time. 

The nightmares were always the worst part of his torture. They were the mental scars of his training. When he was actually allowed to sleep, he'd been tormented by the nightmares, a scenario being played out where he'd have to hunt his brothers, torture them for information and eventually kill them in a public way. Every time he'd wake up screaming he didn't want to kill them. Each time Wrecker would offer him Lula, as comfort. Tech would reassure him it was just a dream and they were all there, alive and well. Where as Hunter would stay by his side until he fell back to sleep. The cycle would repeat itself several times over, each time the stun setting on the gun becoming more appealing, until Crosshair would eventually give up on the idea of sleep. Instead he would be content watching over his brothers and reading something on Tech's data-pad, all while playing with Hunter's knife and protecting Lula for Wrecker. 

HUNTER Hunter's training mainly centered around his senses and tracking. Much like Crosshair it was far more physical than most. Although he'd also find himself locked in a lab for what was supposed to be testing but felt more like his own personal brand of torture. His favorite training was when he got to spend time with his brothers. Normally when they were in training facilities together, going through different scenarios. They worked well as a team and was sure to let his tired brothers know it. 

His training as an individual however he hated, with a vengeance. Often times was Crosshair the one he had to track, with the order to subdue my any means necessary. Every time his sharp eyed brother would be under the impression the person coming would be trying to kill him, as if he'd been brain washed. Each time he would be in for a fight even when Crosshair had been starved for days. He'd always say I'm sorry before stunning him, he'd hold his brother close, maker knows what would happen to him for being caught. 

The days in the lab he hated most. Mostly due to be stuck in some kind of tub, helpless to do anything as Tech yelled for help and for someone to save him. In his tub he'd be subjected to a manor of different things, noises only he could hear, with a pitch high enough to frazzle his hearing for days. Smells powerful enough to burn his air ways and leave a metal tinged after taste in his mouth. multi-color lights so bright, he would be blinded and couldn't see the Kaminoan outside the tube. He's be left with lights flashing behind his eyes long after the bright lights had been turned off. 

When not in the tube, he would be strapped to a table like Tech, poked and prodded, different tests administered. He'd always know when they were due, being forbidden from drinking or eating anything for hours before hand. His struggles only resulted in pain, multiple times he'd been struck with something across his midsection. The blow hard enough he could feel his ribs crunch beneath the object, and the air leave his lungs from the pure shock of it. He'd always think of his brothers in those times. Think about needing to be strong for them, so he could help them when they all returned to the barracks.

Although even those thoughts had been used against him. Manipulated to serve a purpose. Countless times had the Kaminoans in the lab put goggles on him while strapped to the lab table. They'd play videos of his brother's training, specifically when they would be punished for failing, answering back to the instructors or just doing something considered out of line. Each time it was when he wasn't there to save them or when he was unable to get to them. The clips of Tech when he was being electrocuted in his tests or yelling out from pain during his lab stints. Wrecker's being his scarring injury or when he'd been called every name under the sun, being hit with objects and humiliated by his awful instructor. Where as Crosshair's was pretty much every training session, when he was starved for days, beaten and berated, shocked and had guns held to his head or a knife to his throat. Where the people he loved most were used against him. 

One such occasion where the videos were shown to him. Hunter had yelled out for it to stop, as always being ignored, so he had constantly belted the side of his head off the equipment so close to him, shattering the goggles. The Kaminoans had removed the remnants afterwards scolding him, as the injuries sustained were patched up. Although it would leave a scar as a reminder, a scar he'd eventually hide beneath his trademark bandanna. Yet he always felt as he deserved the scar as it reminded him of the times he failed to protect his brothers. 

Returning to the barracks after those tube tests was never easy. The lights in the halls were always bright enough to blind him, to the point he would hold his hands out and feel his way around to find his way back. Countless times had the bleach smell to radiate through the Military facilities burn his air ways, making it hard for him to breath. Tech would always help by turning the lights down to the lowest setting possible, although that was to help Crosshair too. He'd also find a sweet smelling fragrance of some kind, normally vanilla and cover the bleach smell in their room with it. Although their private barracks always had the smell of home. A cross between engine oil and gun powder. 

Yet still he felt the need to protect his brothers. Guiding Tech to his bunk and putting the data-pad at a safe distance on the table in the center of the room. He'd make sure Wrecker had a picture of them together near him and his favorite blanket and Lola if Crosshair didn't have it. As for Crosshair, he'd always be there when he woke up screaming from nightmares, just as he knew when Crosshair had gotten his knife as something to hold on to. Yet he didn't say anything as it gave both comfort. Getting to sleep on the other hand was a far more difficult task. Often times he'd wait until his brothers were asleep, or at least Tech and Wrecker. More often than not he'd end up crying himself to sleep, knowing the only one to hear would be Crosshair, who often helped by placing a hand on his shoulder while pulling his blankets up to keep him warm. Crosshair being their somehow eased the pain and sent him into a somewhat peaceful sleep. 

[keyofjetwolf]

We’re All Just Guys

Well it took the entire fucking season, but I FINALLY get the purpose for Henry Fondle: Sex Robot. And while the entire episode (and season, honestly) has been tremendous, that this ridiculous fucking punchline was the vehicle to deliver the overarching point with a solid knockout punch of meaning AND pathos? Absolutely floored. That BoJack Horseman can be (and often is) brilliant isn’t a surprise, but the ways is keeps proving it often are.

So “The Stopped Show”, a tale of accountability and responsibility and how we’re all just guys.

Each of our main characters closes out this season alone (sort of), in assorted stages of realizing the main themes, or completely failing to. I find Diane’s arc the hardest for me to make a decision on, which isn’t surprising, as I think in many ways, Diane’s the most complicated character in the show. She delivers, directly and succinctly, one of the major points of not just this season but the entire show, but how does it relate to her? I’M NOT COMPLETELY SURE. I think part of the problem with (and for) Diane is that she knows better. She’s the most insightful character, she has a fantastic head on her shoulders, but only for everyone else. She’s this fucked up little disaster prophet, her vision clear and her message concise, unable to ever apply her gifts to fix herself.

Diane is just as trapped as BoJack, but in a fun twist, is now lagging behind him in trying to do something about it. Nearly every single scene with Diane this season has been in this sad little room of her sad little apartment with all her sad little unpacked boxes, and no matter how much truth and wisdom she spits out, HERE SHE STILL IS, failing to correctly assemble IKEA furniture with names like Bȧcksleid. She already feels like shit for sleeping with Mr. Peanutbutter, so what does she do? THE SAME FUCKING THING. To which I groan and roll my eyes, while simultaneously being proud of her for directly and immediately setting him straight about not getting back together. Diane rides this constant line where she gets it but also doesn’t, which is so interesting to me in the level of additional frustration this makes me feel. BoJack is so self-absorbed you don’t really expect any better of him, which has the flip side of your expectations being so low that even the whiff of progress feels exceptional. Diane doesn’t come with any of that though, she knows better, you KNOW she knows better, and the consequence of this for the audience is that she winds up being more unlikeable than the guy who literally last episode nearly strangled his girlfriend and co-star in the middle of a paranoid drug-induced frenzy.

Which is fucked up! It’s intensely fucked up! And also, I think, the point! We expect more of Diane, and so feel more disappointed when she doesn’t deliver. Is that fair of us?

But there’s more here, as we pivot to the accountability portion of this episode/season. From the beginning of the show, it’s been incredibly upfront about how everything is unfair. We come back to this time and again. Privilege rules the day in the world of Hollywoo. Fame, money, charisma, gender, power. BoJack has been an asshole from pretty much the moment he set foot in the spotlight (possibly before?), and the only thing ever even attempting to hold him back has been the moments his guilt manages to scream loud enough to be heard over his internal narrative. Whatever he does, however he fucks up, he always stumbles back to his feet, and NEVER with any (broad scale) consequences. Meanwhile, here’s Diane, in her sad shitty apartment. Consequences haunt Diane, even if she’s the one doing the haunting. The crap things she’s done and the shitty choices she’s made cling to her.

There’s no fairness in that either, no justice. But Hollywoo (and the entire world around it) (and our world too oh yes) has that privilege carved into its bones, and Diane bears none of its marks. Her situation is very different from but parallel to Gina, who is just so fucked over, it keeps legitimately making me angry for her.

Gina, of course, brought none of this on herself. She made the mistake of caring about BoJack and trying to help him. OOPS YOU WERE A GENEROUS PERSON WITH AN OPEN HEART FUCK YOU LADY. For her trouble, Gina has been assaulted and traumatized, AND she is in very real danger of her career being over when it’s only just finally beginning. And she KNOWS THIS. That’s the part that I keep coming back to. All this should be an aberration, an anomaly, and while that may be true of the specifics, conceptually, it’s so commonplace that Gina already knows how it’s going to play. She’ll stop being Gina and become The Woman Nearly Strangled To Death By BoJack Horseman. Even if she’s able to keep working, this is what she’ll be asked about in every interview forever. Even if she convinced people to genuinely listen to her, BoJack would, at worst, get a slap on the wrist as he stumbles back to his feet. We know that, WE ALL KNOW THAT, because it happens all. the. fucking. time. Gina did nothing wrong, but this would still define her for the rest of her life, while for BoJack, it would maybe become a footnote on his Wikipedia page.

Nothing about that is FAIR. Nothing about it is JUST. Gina’s choices shouldn’t have to be “this becomes my entire life” or “swallow this down and pretend it never happened”. But it is, as it has been in perpetuity for the victims of the privileged.

So then what can we do about it? Well that’s really the question, isn’t it? This episode answers it in an assortment of ways (I think the entire SHOW is very much about this, really, but this episode is for sure coming with guns blazing), while also showing us why none of those answers can work. It’s funny and sad and awful and true, but also, ultimately, the most hopeful answer because it’s the only one you can actually affect: It’s you. It’s me. It’s each and every one of us, individually, making a choice to be better.

And believe it or not, we embody this with Henry Fondle: Sex Robot.

I thought the whole thing was so unbelievably stupid. Half the season, we’ve had this goddamn multi-dildo’d juvenile frat boy joke running around with its stupid ass Speak-and-Say voice, doing the same shtick over and over, and I’m like, “okay this is just the shit I have to put up with to get the clever stuff, I guess.” BUT THAT’S EXACTLY THE POINT I’M SITTING THERE LIVING THE ENTIRE GODDAMN POINT AND MISSING IT. Henry Fondle: Sex Robot is seventeen shades of overt horribleness, AND WE ALL JUST GIVE IT A PASS. It’s just the way it is, the way the world works, the price of doing business. When the whole time -- THE ENTIRE FUCKING TIME -- all it took was one person to say no. One person who could see the game we all are playing and was willing to give up everything to stop it.

Hilariously, Henry Fondle IS a metaphor, sort of, but of the saddest kind. He is literally a robot, he can’t possibly change. What’s more, media fervor will never affect him, fallout will never touch him, and the powerful will always rally around themselves to retain their power. It takes Todd, the head of the company, the creator of Henry Fondle, and the one person who would benefit most from the unending efforts of the rest of the world bending over backwards to avoid the truth, to put a stop to it. In doing so, he immediately returns to his old, homeless, destitute self, but doesn’t once hesitate or look back.

It’s Todd, and only Todd, that stops that madness, because while individual people are a problem, the world at large is too. Stefani makes a great point that Diane holds herself and everyone else to impossible standards and a little forgiveness and grace wouldn’t go amiss, but when Diane suggests they apply that philosophy to their clickbait gossipy shit on their website, it’s just

Which again, is beautifully cynical and depressing, but not untrue. Fostering a more forgiving culture isn’t in stopping websites from posting clickbaity takedown articles, it’s each person deciding not to take the clickbait. We can absolutely have a conversation about the people creating their world or the world creating its people, but when you boil it down, only one of those things can you yourself absolutely and directly change, and it’s not the entire world.

A THING DIANE GETS BUT SIMULTANEOUSLY ABSOLUTELY DOES NOT.

I can’t take myself away from this Diane thing, I know, but only because she’s the fucking CORE of each and every one of us struggling with this idea. She’s the simplicity of it and the complication all in one. Not BoJack, which is NOT where I thought we’d be when we started this journey. BoJack is more an action on the people around him at this point in the story, he IS the world you cannot change. He’s pointed to rehab, and off he goes -- or doesn’t! I don’t think it’s coincidence that we stay with Diane and watch her watching him.

Oh, Diane, indeed. As she tells her story of her friend Abby, who threw her over for the cool kids, who turned every confidence into a scar. Who Diane still helped anyway, because Abby needed her. Did Abby learn from that, did she get better? We don’t know; we stay with Diane and watch her watching Abby. Diane, who can so completely understand about personal responsibility while failing to recognize her own enabling for the shitty things that keep happening to her.

You can control yourself. That’s it. That’s the only playground with a guarantee.

Will BoJack go off to learn that? Will Diane stay and figure it out?

THAT’S WHAT NEXT SEASON IS FOR

Something I was toying with including in this, but ultimately decided against for a variety of reasons, was the contrast between BoJack’s take on personal responsibility independent of external response, and The Good Place’s argument that people need external support for personal growth. An idea I may not have even considered contrasting save that Doc’s talked before about these two Jewish creators with what are clearly very different philosophies, and basically, if she were ever able to manage a discussion between them on this, I’d love to be in the room. I’ll be very quiet and not get in the way, I promise.

[shih-coulda-had-it]

20/29 platonic nanahiko

20/29. [Platonic] Carrying while half-asleep and crawling into bed | Nana & Sorahiko | WC: 1,203

//

Sky High Agency’s spare cot had been outfitted for a single individual of average height.

If a person surpassing two hundred centimeters needed a nap, then they crammed themselves against the wall and hoped for sleep to take them before the crick in their neck did. Whoever did choose to doze off in the back room inevitably woke up within the hour, skin chilled (thin blanket) and bones creaky (hard mattress). The lack of comfort in this set-up originated from a youthful, well-intentioned mind fighting a lazy, cynical one.

If you couldn’t sleep on the bed, then you wouldn’t sleep on the bed!

A lose-lose situation all around for the towering pro-heroes of Sky High.

This was the first issue that came to Gran Torino’s mind when thinking about the agency.

Well, no. The real first issue was Shimura’s recent habit of working herself into an early grave. Her productivity had skyrocketed since the death of her husband, but all that busy work had a drawback. Instead of Sorahiko snoozing at his desk, it was Nana, head bent and pen held lax in her gloved fingers.

He didn’t have the heart to tease.

As quietly as he could, he left his desk and their secluded office space to check that all their civilian staffers had clocked out. Toshinori had been promptly bullied out by nine o’clock, so Sorahiko was confident that no bright-eyed, solemn-voiced teenager would be present to lecture his mentors’ approach to self-care. Still, sometimes the more soft-hearted civilians relayed their concerns to the agency’s single intern, forgetting that Toshinori was only sixteen and ill-equipped to save his mentors.

Sorahiko returned to Shimura’s side, bent a little, and jostled her elbow. He said, “Work is over.”

She mumbled something like, “I work for life.”

He restrained himself from snorting, but endeavored to at least get her sitting upright. Shimura was heavy, from her muscles to her hair to her head, and she groaned in protest over the movement. She butted her forehead into his ribs. Idly, Sorahiko plucked the pen from her grasp and set it on the table. Next week’s forms were next week’s problems.

“I don’t want to go home,” Shimura complained.

“I’m not hauling you to mine.”

“Pft. Stingy.” Shimura stood and leaned against Sorahiko, who expected the weight and received none, because Shimura used Float to hang off his cape.

“Hey,” he warned, watching her feet lift off the floor. Shimura tugged, inched higher, swung herself sideways and lifted her legs.

Noting her sly smile, Sorahiko immediately clued into her idea of a bridal carry.

He shifted her into a fireman’s lift just as her weight returned. Canceling Float so abruptly caused Sorahiko to stagger; Shimura yelped and kneed Sorahiko’s chest, one fist flying down to thump against the small of his back.

“Drag me back in public like this and I’ll beat you up!”

“Oh no,” Sorahiko deadpanned, turning for the door. He heard her furious yawn. “You and what burst of adrenaline?”

“Jet-head—!” The crack of another yawn. A sullen silence followed, no witty retort answering his question. Sorahiko managed to exit into the hallway when Shimura admitted, “The house is so empty, Sorahiko.”

He stilled.

“I had to clean up Kotarou’s crayons. He didn’t believe me about packing up what he loved because he wouldn’t be able to come back and get it,” she rambled. “And then I had to cook dinner, and as bad as I was a cook for my family, it really is worse cooking for myself. Kinda sucks having to rate my own cooking a six out of ten.”

He exhaled, sharp. The glass doors of the entrance reflected two underpaid, overworked pro-heroes, one in need of a serious recharge. Sorahiko decided to open the spare room and brought them both into the cramped area with its single shitty cot and multiple filing cabinets.

“Sorahiko?” Shimura questioned.

Sorahiko set her on her feet. Brusquely, he said, “Catch a few hours here. I’ll wait.”

“Huh?” She cast a wary look at the cot, no doubt regretting her brash decision to deprive her best friend of all that was good in the world.

Then she shrugged, and unclipped her cape. That, her boots and her gloves, were all discarded, deposited on top of those dusty filing cabinets. Shimura yanked her hair tie out, shook out those long tresses, and stared back at Sorahiko.

She lifted an eyebrow, as if to say, ‘Well?’

“I’ll finish up a few papers,” said Sorahiko. He pointed at the cot. “Try and get an hour.”

“Ha,” she said, because she knew even fifteen uninterrupted minutes on the cot was a miracle. But she obliged; Shimura perched on the edge of the mattress, still a giant in her diminished state. “See you in an hour.”

Sorahiko inclined his head and crossed back over the hallway, determined to tidy up something. A paper for his teaching credential program, a permit for next month’s investigation outside the prefecture, or even the permission slips Toshinori kept ferrying to their office. He assumed they were permission slips. Maybe the brat was getting them to sign away the agency to his inheritance.

In the span of one hour, Sorahiko went loopy.

He didn’t like being sleep-deprived. That was why he tried to overcorrect with too much sleeping, despite Recovery Girl’s emphatic advice to not do that.

Characters began to blur, and his handwriting grew sloppy, more chicken-scratch than typeset. When Sorahiko caught his pen trailing into the ‘Leave Unfilled/Marked for Administration’ box, he deemed the night over and levered himself out of his chair.

“Hell,” he muttered, blinking at the spinning room. How late was it? Hopefully Shimura already slipped out of the office, but the likelihood of her doing that without alerting him would be… well, it would be high. Sorahiko tended to get tunnel vision once he got in the groove.

He stumbled into the hallway. A short nap. That was all he needed.

Peeking inside the spare room revealed Shimura’s continued occupation of the cot, but at this point, Sorahiko was going to settle for sitting on the floor and using the mattress as neck support. He circled around, shedding his gloves and his mask, stashing them with Shimura’s.

“What time is it?” Shimura sleepily asked.

“Late.”

“Mm. Get in here,” she mumbled. Her hand grasped the edge of his cape. Sorahiko, dazed and too tired to argue for his right to the cot, agreeably crawled on top of her. His limbs went for whatever space was available, which wasn’t much. His head nestled face-down; he crammed it between her shoulder and head. Shimura yelped.

“Hush,” said Sorahiko into the mattress. Oh, he always forgot the lack of pillow. This cot sucked.

“You’re squishing me.”

“Ugh.” Grumpily, he slid sideways and wedged himself between her and the wall, shoving at her until she also went on her side. Before she could yell about betrayal and falling off the edge, Sorahiko hooked his arm over her stomach and held Shimura close. “Better?”

“Boots.”

“Deal with it.”

“Gross,” Shimura sighed, and obligingly reached back and pulled Sorahiko’s cape over their chests, kicking the thin blanket down to cover their lower halves.

[the-goofball]

Raffi Musiker...

...and how she became Picard’s First Officer.

Excerpt from ‘The Last Best Hope’ by Una McCormack

[...]On-screen, the woman said, "My name is Lieutenant Commander Raffi Musiker, and I'm an intelligence specialist at Romulan Affairs. As you're aware, we've been tracking some odd communications from Romulan space in recent weeks - odd even by Romulan standards."

Listening to Musiker, Picard found himself taking a liking to her. She had a faintly disreputable air, a plesant change from the smooth operatives that Starfleet Intelligence usually fielded. Her frankness was refreshing, as was the fact that she was clearly not daunted by the grandeur of her audience. Most of all, she was on top of her briefing. A question came about the reliability of their sources, which was dispatched with confidence and ease. Then another question came about the range of the blast from the supernova, and here she stopped and took a moment to collect herself.

"What I want to say is, that these calculations are a worst-case scenario. This implies that effects in climate change are already being felt. Sometime in 2387. I'll show you that first. Because it might make the best-case scenario less damn frightening."

Picard leaned over to Clancy. "What was her name again?" "Raffi Musiker," said Clancy. "Lieutenant Commander Raffi Musiker."[...]

Hours later Picard talks to Beverly Crusher via com:

[...]"Can I offer you some free advice?" she said.

"Of course, Beverly. Of course."

"Put someone right next to you who isn't scared of you."

"Scared--?"

"You're quite... now, let me get this right. Not intimidating... not severe... huh. That's it. You can be quite certain of yourself. And that can stop people from telling you things that you need to know."

"Certain of myself?"

That half-smile again. "Don't get me wrong! With good reason. Most of the time. But you're only human like the rest of us. You make mistakes. And you need someone there who's able to tell you when that's happening."[...]

.

[…]Lieutenant Commander Raffi Musiker, when asked to wait for a senior officer, did not generally sit patiently in a chair, and she saw no reason to do so for a legend either. She stood outside the admiral’s office, bouncing up and down ever so slightly on her heels, ready for action.[…]

[…]Raffi mentally ran through her presentation one more time. The instruction to see the admiral had been brief, courteous, and not particularly informative as to the purpose of the meeting. She knew, from superiors and colleagues, the impact of her presentation and so she assumed she was here to give a direct one to the man himself and answer any questions he might have. Then back to her desk at Romulan Affairs. Only now she would have met a legend. Gabe, her son, was dying to hear about him. Mom’s job was mostly that thing that meant she didn’t always make his soccer matches, but every so often she managed to deliver something incredibly cool, like this.[…]

(And because I couldn’t decide what to leave out, there’s a bit more under the cut.)

[…]The admiral closed the screen, rose from his chair, and came to greet her. The legend, come to life. She had the edge on him when it came to height, but he moved with a commanding grace. “Commander,” he said, “thank you for making the time to see me today.” His voice was measured, cadenced; the kind of voice, she suspected, that you could not help but listen to, and then do exactly what was requested.

“Happy to supply whatever you need, sir.” She looked around the room for an audience that wasn’t there. Didn’t he have a senior staff in place yet? “Are we meeting here?”

He gestured to two comfortable seats in the corner of the room, where teapot and cups stood waiting on a low table. “Take a seat. Tea?”

“Sure, thanks.” Raffi sat, uneasy in the easy chair, putting padds on the floor beside her, and then leaning forward, palms on her knees. He took the chair opposite, smiled disarmingly, and poured tea. “I assumed I was giving a presentation this morning, sir.” She sipped her tea. What the hell was this stuff? It tasted of goddamned perfume. Was it too late to ask for coffee?

“I’ve watched your presentation half a dozen times now,” he said. “It’s insightful, informative, and precise. I was very impressed.”

Hey Gabe, wait till you hear what the Great Man said about Mom. “Thank you, sir.”

“Could you tell me, please, from your perspective as an expert on Romulan affairs, what you believe our chief difficulty will be in Starfleet’s dealings with them?”

He didn’t waste time, did he? Raffi took a breath. “Opposition, sir,” she said. “Believe it or not, they are not happy that Starfleet is devoting so much time, energy, and resources to helping them. They are hating all this. They hate that we know they’re in trouble, and they hate accepting help. They won’t want to lose face.”

“I understand. What else?”

“And even if they’re united on this, they’ll be divided among themselves about what to do with us. Some will want to accept our help for a while. Some will try to make it impossible for us to function. Others might try to get rid of us—”

“By force?”

“By subterfuge, more likely. Secretly, so that half of them won’t know whether it’s a sanctioned operation or not. The saying in our office goes that Romulans don’t tell their left hand what their right hand is doing.”

The admiral nodded. Yes, he recognized that.

“That makes them inconsistent and unpredictable,” Raffi said. “Not to mention damn annoying. They’ll say one thing and do another, and they won’t even know themselves what their real policy is toward us. Expect the unexpected, sir.”

“I see. Would it help at all, Commander, if I approached Ambassador Spock and had him petition the Senate to instruct cooperation with this mission?”

“Excuse me, sir? How would that help?”

He looked surprised. “The ambassador surely commands considerable respect—”

Raffi laughed out loud. “Spock? They think he’s a nutcase!”

His eyes opened wide. Shit, she thought, me and my big mouth. She had a vision of herself, explaining to Gabe: No, the admiral hated me, and that’s why I’m being court-martialed… Hold on. Was he… smiling? “Sorry, sir,” she said quickly. “No, I wouldn’t advise that. Ambassador Spock’s mission to Romulus may look very laudable to us, but from the Romulan perspective he and his supporters are outliers. Reunification of Romulus and Vulcan? Hey, when I was a kid, I wanted a unicorn. With wings. I didn’t get one. I didn’t even get a damn pony—”

“A personal mission of peace, the ambassador calls it.”

“Well, the Romulans consider it very personal. Almost…” She scraped around for a word that wouldn’t offend. “Um. Idiosyncratic?”

“In other words, they think he’s a crank.” He was most definitely smiling. “Carry on talking so frankly to me, Commander,” he said, “and we shall get along very well. Very well indeed.”

The door buzzer sounded. He called out, “Come.” Kaul came in.

“Apologies for the interruption, sir, but you asked me to let you know immediately when the ship was ready for you.”

“Ah, yes, thank you, Kaul! Yes, I’ll be on my way shortly.” He turned back to Raffi. “The Starship Verity has been assigned to lead the first fleet out to Romulan space. A nice name, don’t you think?”

“Sure…?”

“ ‘A true principle, especially one of fundamental significance.’ ” He looked pleased. “I believe that remembering such things will be crucial to the success of our undertaking. Above all, we are on a mission to protect, preserve, and save lives.”

Raffi nodded, faintly. This meeting was not going in the slightest how she had anticipated. No presentation. He said he’d already watched it half a dozen times. He clearly didn’t want it in person. For some reason they were now discussing eternal verities. She was a simple intelligence officer, maybe turned a mite suspicious by having to think like a Romulan twenty-four hours a day. She wasn’t any kind of philosopher. Why was she here?

“Lieutenant Kaul,” added Picard conversationally, “was on staff here before even I was. Seconded from Admiral Bordson’s office. Their loss has been my gain. She’ll be vital to operations here on Earth.”

There it was again, that extraneous information, as if giving her a picture of the setup here.

“Sir,” said Raffi, “may I ask you something?”

“By all means,” said the Great Man. “You must always feel you can speak freely to me.”

She’d never had any superior officer say that to her. Sometimes quite the contrary.

“This isn’t a briefing, is it?” said Raffi. “This is an interview.”

“That’s correct, Commander. My apologies if I kept my cards close to my chest, but I wanted to see how you answered my questions face-to-face.” He sipped some of his revolting tea. “You’ve answered them most satisfactorily.”

“Which means…?”

“Which means I’d like you as my XO.”

She put down her cup with a rattle. Tea spilled. “Shit!”

His mouth twitched. “I sincerely hope not. Most certainly we have some difficult times ahead. More difficult than either of us can imagine.”

She turned and looked out through the transparent aluminum partition into the busy office. All those people, dashing about, putting the nuts and bolts of this mission together, building this operation from data, information, decisions, actions. Sure, it was easy to take the piss out of the padd pushers, but nothing could happen without them. Working out what was needed, where it could be found, how to get it all to the right place at the right time. She had no idea how to do this… She took a breath. How do you say “no” to a legend?

“Sir,” she said, “I’m not an administrator.”

He blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“I mean, this is a flattering offer, sir, I hope you understand that. Truly flattering. But an operation like this?” She gestured to the room beyond. “I’m not cut out for this kind of work. I wouldn’t know where to start.”

She saw understanding dawn in his eyes. “Ah, there has been a misunderstanding. I have a very able administrator arriving to head up the office here on Earth, Commander Crystal Gbowee. She’s on her way from Starbase 192 as we speak. She’s worked with the UFPHCR coordinating numerous missions— she was on Bajor for a while after the Occupation, and on Cardassia Prime during the reconstruction effort there. Once she arrives, I shall move over to the fleet. This mission must get underway, and soon.” He glanced out across the busy room. “No, the appointment here is filled, I’m afraid. I’m sorry if that’s a disappointment.”

His eyes were quietly twinkling with suppressed mirth. No, of course he didn’t want her here. She’d be no damn good here, would she?

“Then—”

He leaned forward in his seat, held her eye, very serious now. “I’m asking you to come aboard my ship, Commander. Be my first officer on the Verity. But I’m asking more than that, and I think you know it. I have left my crew behind on the Enterprise. I must replace them, and if I am to succeed, I need an excellent XO. And what I require above all from my XOs is honesty. I shall need you always to tell me the truth. What do you say? Is that something you believe that you could do?”

Shit, she thought, and managed not to say it out loud this time. No, this was not what she’d been expecting when she’d walked into this room.

“It’s a big decision,” he was saying. “There may be all manner of ties keeping you here on Earth…”

Gabe had a soccer match next week. She’d missed the last one putting together that damn presentation. “When does the ship leave?”

“Six days.”

So she could make Gabe’s match. But there would be the next match, or the match after, the long months away, the individual seconds and moments of simply being present that were tiny for her, but that constituted the whole of Gabe’s life, his childhood.

“I…” Damn, she wanted this post. She could do this job. She was made to do this job. She’d known the second she walked into this room that she wanted to work with this man in some way. But she’d never imagined she would be offered this. Right hand to a legend. Right in the middle of the greatest operation that Starfleet would ever mount.

He was smiling at her. “Would you like to see the ship, Commander? The Verity? You’d be spending a lot of time there, after all. You can make your decision after that.”

“Yes,” she said, already knowing what her decision would be. “I’d love to see the ship.”

[btschooseafic]

Hey you, what’s your dream?

Pairing: platonic!oc x ot7

Details: manager!oc, predebut/idolverse, partial BTS World!verse

Summary: Aviva is worried about Soonyoung. They learn something new about Yoongi.

Warnings: This is a fictional story based on real events. The characters presented here are not the same as their real life counterparts. (TW: drinking and vomiting mention) [Masterlist]

Interlude 2: Crossroads Pt. 1

STAR - Jessi

“Road to success but my vision foggy

Thought the rain would never stop”

January 2012

Soonyoung’s birthday was on the first. She threw herself a big party that Aviva tried her best to be engaged in, though she felt more in her element giving Soonyoung painkillers and birthday cake the next morning.

However, as the new year continued, Soonyoung was out more and more partying. She had always been social, but Aviva was worried about the impact it would have on her training.

And then Aviva woke up one night to find Soonyoung throwing up over the toilet. She held back Soonyoung’s hair silently. She made Soonyoung a cup of tea, and tentatively brought up her concerns.

“So what?” Soonyoung said, as they sat on the bathroom floor together. “It’s not like they’re ever planning on debuting me. They have all these younger, prettier female trainees at the affiliate companies now.”

“First of all, even if they’re pretty, doesn’t mean you’re not,” Aviva told her. “Second of all, have you talked to them? Talk to Chief Youngjin or Bang-PDnim.”

Soonyoung shook her head, closing her eyes slightly.

“I don’t care.”

Aviva frowned. “How can you not care? It’s always been your dream.”

Soonyoung sighed. “Maybe I’m just growing up and realizing most people don’t get to fulfill their childhood dreams. I feel like I’m struggling against the tide, Avi. And you know I’ve never been good at swimming.”

“Then I’m getting you floaties,” Aviva muttered determinedly. Soonyoung laughed.

“Keep the floaties for yourself, darling. You know there isn’t room for two people on that piece of wood.”

Aviva groaned. “Fuck the Titantic, you know I hate that movie. We’re getting through this together. You’ll see.”

A few days later, Soonyoung called Aviva late in the night, sobbing, confused, saying she wasn’t sure where she was. Because the two of them had agreed to give each other their tracking details as soon as the technology came out, Aviva was able to catch a cab and get to where Soonyoung was.

“We’ve got to get you sobered up a bit,” Aviva thought. “Have you drank any water? Ate anything tonight?” Soonyoung shrugged. Aviva looked around and spotted a late night hole in the wall restaurant. She dragged Soonyoung inside and ordered her some hot food and tea. It was a cramped space, with one of the only two tables taken already.

It took Aviva a minute to recognize the person sitting at the table, hugging a motorcycle helmet against his chest as he glared at the textbook on the table in front of him.

She blinked. “Yoongi-ssi?”

He looked up. “…Bom-ssi, what’s up?”

“Um… I’m trying to get Soonie to sober up,” she answered honestly. Yoongi glanced over at the other table, where Aviva had propped Soonyoung up.

“Yo~” Soonyoung waved wobbly.

“Wait…” Yoongi smiled at her. “You’re Queen, right?”

Aviva looked at her. “Isn’t that your username on some gaming sites?”

Soonyoung grinned a little sheepishly.

“I was thinking of using it as my stage name…” She squinted suspiciously at Yoongi. “But I haven’t told anybody yet—how’d you know?”

“Some of your beats were open on the computer in the studio when I went there one time,” he told her. “It was good stuff, so I kind of asked around about who did it…” He rubbed the back of his neck, and then smiled at her again. “Anyway, I really liked it.”

Soonyoung’s brow furrowed. “You’re l-lying.”

Yoongi shrugged. “Believe what you want. I don’t sugar-coat things.”

“Don’t you?” Soonyoung wondered. “I thought your stage name was Suga.”

He rolled his eyes. “That’s got to do with basketball, it’s not… anyway, you should be careful—if management catches you out drinking…” He glanced at Aviva.

Aviva held her hands up. “I’m not going to tell anyone.”

“And she won’t tell anyone you’re working a part time job against the rules either!” Soonyoung said confidently. “Cause she’s the sweetest person there is, sweeter than sugar.” Soonyoung tried to wrap her arms around Aviva and snuggle her. Aviva made a face.

“You smell. Eat your food, please.”

Soonyoung gave her a small salute.

“…What part time job?” Yoongi said after a minute.

“Aren’t you working here?” Soonyoung said, her voice a little muffled by the food in her mouth. Yoongi shook his head. Soonyoung scoffed. “Then why are you holding a motorcycle helmet with this restaurant’s name on it?” Yoongi froze.

“Yoongi-yah?” The man at the register called out. “Are these your friends? I said you could sit here and study, but I don’t want you bothering customers.”

“He’s not bothering us,” Aviva said, bowing slightly.

“Eh, I’m done anyway,” Soonyoung said, swallowing her last bite of food and washing it down with the tea. “Come on, Avi.” She dragged her outside.

“Wait.” Yoongi came after them. He pointed at Soonyoung. “You’re scarily observant for a drunk person.”

“Gotta be,” Soonyoung told him. “Can’t be a small drunk Asian girl in the middle of the night in Queens if you don’t got your wits about you.”

“Part of that problem would be solved if you didn’t go out drinking so late,” Aviva thought. Soonyoung shrugged.

“I’d still be small and Asian. Nice that doesn’t matter as much here, but now apparently I’ve got an accent and I’m too tan?” She grunted. “Something’s always gotta be going against me, I guess. I’m so tired of this shit, Avi.”

“I know.” Aviva hugged her.

“And you!” Soonyoung pointed at Yoongi. “You’ve got a part time job, you’re in idol training, and you’re studying for your college exams? When do you fucking sleep?”

“Yah, I don’t want to hear that from you,” Yoongi muttered. “I just wanted… promise me neither of you will say anything about this job?”

“I already said we fucking wouldn’t,” Soonyoung reminded him.

Yoongi looked at Aviva.

“We won’t,” she assured him. Yoongi studied her for a moment and then nodded.

“Where do you live?” He asked. Soonyoung squinted at him.

“I can and will beat you up if you start acting creepy.”

He laughed. “I believe that. I just meant I’d drive you back since it’s so late.”

“Three people on a motorcycle?” Aviva said confusedly.

“No.” Yoongi shot her an amused look. “I have access to the delivery van also.”

Aviva hesitated. “I don’t want to get you in trouble with your boss.”

“Should be fine as long as I get it back on time. Take it or leave it.”

“…Okay.” Aviva dipped her head. “Thank you, Yoongi-ssi.” Soonyoung fell asleep on Aviva’s shoulder as Yoongi drove them back. Aviva brushed her hair out of her face, frowning. “I should get my driver’s license… see if I can start saving up for a car. If she’s going to keep going out this late, I’ll need a more reliable way to pick her up.”

“Are you saying I’m not reliable?” Yoongi said lightly. Aviva just sighed.

  The next morning Aviva was thinking of sending Namjoon a text when her phone buzzed. She stared down at it. She had Yoongi's number, but the last time he texted was several months ago, to let her know that Hoseok's phone had died and he would be running late to practice.

This morning Yoongi had texted her the name of a driver's ed place, with a discount for a referral.

'thanks!' she texted him back immediately. 'for everything.'

'don't mention it'

Aviva followed up with a text to Namjoon that Yoongi could probably use a little extra support with his studying.

‘I’ll take care of it,’ he told her. Later, Aviva received a text from Hoseok telling her that they’d secretly made lunch for Yoongi. He’d included a picture of the boys crowding around Yoongi, who was rolling his eyes, but also smiling.

Aviva had almost fallen asleep on the couch when she sat up with a start at the sound of the key in the lock. The door opened carefully, Soonyoung nearly tiptoeing. When she saw Aviva, she smiled.

“Hey, sweetie, what are you doing up?” She cooed, slipping off her shoes and then coming to cuddle against her on the couch.

“Waiting for you, duh,” Aviva said, yawning and rubbing at her eyes. “Did you have fun on your night off?”

“Yeah. You would’ve hated it though.” She nuzzled against her neck.

“I can imagine,” Aviva said, squirming at the strong scent of alcohol on her friend’s breath.

“Anyway, I finally did what you suggested. I talked to Chief Youngjin and Bang-PDnim, and ba ba bum!” Soonyoung threw her arms out wide. “Bit Hit has agreed to train me as a producer!”

“What?” Aviva was suddenly wide-awake. “What, but Soon—what about becoming an idol?”

“Well, I’ve been thinking about it,” Soonyoung said, tapping her nose. “I’ve been thinking about what it is I really wanted from being an idol. I’ve decided that it’s the music that’s the most important thing to me. Preforming would be fun, but I can do just as good working behind the stage as I could on it.” She tilted her head. “Maybe better, even. Anyway, I noticed the production department’s all guys at the moment and that grossed me out so I decided I’d like to even the playing field a little.”

“Well…” Aviva curled more comfortably around her. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” Soonyoung said. “And you? Are you happy in the management department, darling? You know I’ve always loved your voice, and you’re not half bad with computers either.”

Aviva laughed. “You’re biased, Soon. My voice is fine for singing in the shower, not for stages and albums. Anyway… I like it in management. There’s some real talent in the trainees, and I want to help see it to fruition.” She frowned. “I’m a bit disappointed I won’t get to manage you like I’ve always imagined, but of course I know you’ll be great at whatever you do, and I respect your choice.”

Soonyoung smiled fondly at her. “You’re too good, Viva. We’re all gonna do great, you’ll see.”

Meanwhile, the rest of the Bangtan lineup was still unsettled. Aviva was busier than ever helping out with the auditions.

[marilynsweet]

WITCH AU: The Witch's House

Didn't realize I forgot to post this! So I bring you this, part 1 of 3 for the history between Asriel and Frostbite in the Witch AU.

I'm putting it under a read more because it's long--

Feedback is very much appreciated!!

Asriel woke to a splitting headache and a fuzzy vision.

A groan escaped his lips, and he reached a hand up to grip his head. He ached, why did he ache?

He was suddenly aware of something tied around his neck and wrists, making his heart sink into his stomach.

Was he..?

Asriel shot upright, holding his wrists before him.

Bandages. They were just bandages.

He let out a sigh of relief, though dizziness from sitting up much too fast made him lie back down.

The air smelled of warm cinnamon and a campfire, with the sound of clattering glass coming from the other room.

Asriel stared up at the ceiling, eyes narrowed as he tried to remember where he was. Was he home? No… that ceiling wasn’t the color of his bedroom. He didn’t have herbs hanging from the ceiling…

Wait… why were there herbs hanging from the ceiling?

He finally took a moment to draw in his surroundings.

Upon shelves were crammed books, jars, and small ornate boxes. Shelves lined the walls like support beams. Plants hung from the ceiling in bowls, tied carefully into roped hangers. A thin sheet was pinned above the doorway, blocking his view into the other room. He lied on a bed, handcrafted, and covered with heavy fur blankets. Candles were lit around the room, an assortment of colors. A window was uncovered next to him, allowing a soft autumn breeze into the warm room. A book lie closed on a table against the wall, in front of a small, closed ornate box. Surrounding the book was an assortment of colored candles, and a small statue of what looked to be a woman with a staff. In front of that table was a pillow on the floor.

He could hear humming.

Asriel slowly slid off the bed, feeling a rug beneath his feet. He took a few steps towards the door, off of the rug and onto cold floorboards.

They creaked loudly under his weight, and the humming stopped.

“I wouldn’t recommend doing that if I were you. It’d be in your best interest to lie back down before you irritate your head more; wouldn’t want your neck to break, would we?”

He froze at the voice that came from behind the sheet, eyes narrowing. Where had he heard that voice before? It was so familiar...

“I didn’t stutter.”

Asriel took a few steps back, eyes narrowed, towards the bed.

Once he was away from the door, a figure stepped through, brushing the sheet aside. Asriel gasped when he recognized the small figure that stepped through.

“You!”

The woman, shorter than he - only about as tall as his waist - had stepped past the sheet and into the room. Granted, he was tall in the first place, but still. She had long hair the color of autumn leaves, with eyes of amber to match. Her cheeks were freckled. She was a Fox-monster, with a long, fluffy tail that brushed against the ground. Her fur was white, save for some black markings along her shoulders, and some orange on her ears and tail.. She wore a piece of fabric, crafted into some form of necklace, around her neck, in the center of which was tied a gemstone. Another gem was tied around her neck by a long black string. She wore a long, sleeved white shirt, which ruffled at the bottom, and a black cloak, the shoulders of which were missing. She wore a leather corset around her waist, black pants, and long, leather boots. One of her arms was gloved.

“Yes, me.”

“What do you want with me?”

“I saved your life, or have you forgotten?”

Asriel’s eyes narrowed at the woman.

“I still recommend you sit, Asriel.”

“You… I know you! You’re from the village!”

“I’m not from the village, per se,but I have been there for the last few months. When you hear rumors of people impersonating you and being hung for crimes they didn’t commit, you’re bound to investigate.”

The woman walked towards one of the shelves, investigating a plant that sat upon it. Her tail flickered under her long, black cloak. Asriel absorbed her words for a moment.

He’d seen her around before, usually petting an animal along a farm gate, or sitting in a church pew. He’d seen her buying things from the merchant, feeding wandering chickens, and speaking with other shop owners. He had never seen her on a farm of her own. Rumor had it that she lived on the edge of town. She had never dressed like this, either.

“Impersonation… nobody’s…”

Then, it clicked.

“YOU’RE A WITCH!” He cried out, almost angrily.

“I am,” the woman answered coolly, not turning to look at him.

“A worshiper— no, a whore of the Devil! You’ve come to sacrifice me! Or— make me sign his book-!”

A sudden thud made Asriel stop. The woman had turned to face him with a fury in her eyes he hadn’t seen on anyone before, not to him. In her hand, the hilt of an ornate dagger. The blade was stuck into the shelf she had been standing at just moments before.

“I don’t whore over any Devil,” she hissed, fangs bared into a snarl. Her voice was low as she approached him. Asriel stepped backwards, tripping back and falling onto the bed.

“I worship the Earth I walk upon, and the deity who provided us with it. Mother’s remedies saved your life, Dreemurr. Your lot simply cries witchcraft and Devil worship for things you don’t understand, like the remedies of plants provided to us and the magic that is our surroundings. Religious zealots like yourself have torn Mother’s roots up and replaced them with pastures and more land than you will ever need. You burn her trees and ruin her hills with nothing in return, instead putting your false idol before she who gave you everything.

How fair is it that your greed, your people, have begun to ruin the land of Mother? For what? Divine intervention? Someone must claim these lands as their own, someone must show off the grandeur that is the new order, who escaped persecution, yet made their own in the process? Persecuting what you don’t understand, and shrieking that those who are different are witches, sentenced to die for refusing confession? You’ve just been using it to be rid of the neighbors you dislike! Not to mention how flawed your religion is! What, you’re superior to others because of how much gold lines your pockets, and what lies between your legs? Mother cares not for damned minerals like gold and silver. Mother doesn’t care your sex, who you love, or what wealth you have.

I may be a witch, but not in your terms. I may dance around fires, may practice spells and potions, but never in the name of any Devil. I’m not scared of you, Dreemurr, not what you claim to be able to do. I’m not scared of your God, nor his wrath. Men simply created this ‘God’ to make others bow to them. Show me any real proof that your God exists! That he wrote those ‘sacred texts’ in that book you love so much!

Did your God ever help you when you were swinging from that damned rope? Did his followers give you any mercy? Did he save an innocent man from the shrieks of attention-seeking little girls? No. You’re appalled by my laughter at your prayer, but how can I not? It’s ridiculous!”

Asriel was speechless, mouth agape. She was practically on top of him, now, having moved closer in her fury. Their noses could have touched, and he could see the fire behind her eyes. Her teeth remained bared; sharp fangs that could tear flesh like paper.

She suddenly huffed, sitting upright and walking over to the shelf. She brushed off her front, ears twitching on top of her head. She yanked the knife from the shelf, turning it in her hands.

“Mother told me to save your life,” she stated. “She told me: This one has potential. There’s goodness in him. I’m inclined to believe her. But boy, you do not make it easy.”

Turning back to him, she pointed the knife at his chin.

“Should you try anything, should you try to harm this house or that which I worship, Mother gives permission for me to defend her with my life. There’s a reason I’m the Guardian of this forest.

I’m setting some ground rules. There is to be no more accusations of Devil worship. You will not berate me for what I practice, and you will not under any circumstances reveal my location to any member of the village. Do you understand me?”

The flat side of the knife pressed against his chin, lifting his head. Asriel nodded, eyes narrowing.

The woman removed the blade from his chin, tucking it into a sheath inside her corset.

“Good. Then, let’s start, shall we?”

She reached out a hand to him.

“My name is Frostbite. I’ll be taking care of you from now on.”

Asriel took her hand and shook it, watching as she stepped away from him.

“Your neck and wrists are still healing, I wouldn’t recommend moving much. Be easy if you do.”

“Why’d you pull me down?”

Frostbite perked up, turning back to face him.

“Excuse me?”

“Why’d you pull me down, if you despise me so?” Asriel asked, shifting so his legs were tucked on the bed.

Frostbite was silent for a few moments before shaking her head.

“I don’t despise you,” she muttered. “You were the only one who wasn’t killed; what was I to do? Leave you up there, suffocating?”

With that, she walked back into the other room, the sheet fluttering with her absence.

Asriel bit the inside of his cheek, watching her leave. She was… strange. She dressed so differently than he was used to, and she had such a demeanor about her that he hadn’t seen on a woman in years.

Confidence. She wasn’t afraid to speak her mind.

Part of him admired her for that. And, as much as he didn’t want to admit it, he was now in her debt. He’d have suffocated to death if he hadn’t been cut down. The hangman’s rope didn’t break his neck, as it was supposed to.

“Guess I should be grateful for that…” he muttered, tucking his hands into his arms.

But where was he to go, alive? The village despised him, sentenced him to death as a witch, and likely wouldn’t be happy upon his return. Frostbite was probably the only person in miles who knew where anything was.

Thinking of the village… it brought up pain in him.

I wonder if Mother is alright…

Toriel, his mother, had fought tooth and nail against the townsfolk and the judges who had sentenced him. When he was taken to the noose, he hadn’t seen her among the crowd. He fully expected to hear she had fled to another town. He could only imagine the pain she was in.

I wish I could tell her I’m alive…

He glanced back to the door, swinging his legs off the bed. With as much silence as he could, he knelt onto the floor beside his bed.

He clasped his hands together in prayer, and lowered his head. He winced at the pain in his neck.

Let her know for me, please. Tell my mother I’m alive. Some way, somehow… tell her that she didn’t lose her son.

“I thought I told you not to move?”

Asriel was shaken from his prayer by the now-known voice of Frostbite. She was standing in the doorway.

“You’re not as good as you think you are at being sneaky,” she stated, walking back over to him and taking his hands. One of her hands was bandaged, he noticed. The other hand was smooth-skinned, and gentle. “I’m making food, you’ll be able to sit at the table then.”

“I want my mother to know I’m alive,” Asriel said, standing as she helped him up. “I—“

“Toriel?”

“You-?”

Frostbite let go of his hands.

“I know of her. She lent me cloth when I was in town,” she replied. “She wasn’t at the hanging.”

Asriel subconsciously rubbed the bandages around his neck.

“I don’t know what happened to her. I think she left.”

“She did. Something about being disappointed in the world she thought she knew. I can seek her out once you can be on your own,” Frostbite replied. “I have a good idea of where she went.”

“How..?”

“I’m much more observant than you think. All that time you saw me in the village, I was learning as much as I could about the accused and their families. Seeing what you deem as witchcraft. Your lot claims Devil worship and heresy as witchcraft; which makes sense, I guess, not much of what I believe in would be ‘Biblical.’”

Asriel shifted backwards onto the bed, leaning back against the wall.

“I’m making soup. Hope you don’t hate chicken,” Frostbite added. Asriel noticed her pick at the bandages on her hand.

“What’d you do to your hand?” He asked.

She was silent, and she stopped touching her bandages.

“...I’ll come get you when it’s ready.”

With that, she quickly left the room.

After a short while and reading the countless book spines that lined the walls, he heard the thud of something on wood. Asriel perked up, looking over to the doorway. After a few moments, the sheet shifted, and Frostbite walked through.

“You didn’t move, good. I’ll get you some books or something; sorry it took so long,” she said, quickly walking over and offering him her hands. Again, he noticed the bandages when he took them.

“You’ve got an interesting selection here,” he said.

“No Bibles, sorry,” she said with the threatening of a smile. He rolled his eyes as she helped him to his feet.

When she led him into the next room, he was somehow not surprised at the contents. Plants, again, hung from the ceiling, either potted and flowering or hung to dry. A small wooden table sat to the right, while the kitchen was to the left. She had a small wood stove providing warmth to the room, with cabinets lining the walls around it with counters to match. On the table, a heavy-looking pot sat in the center, with two bowls laid out on either side of it. The front door had a small window in it, covered with a curtain.

Frostbite led Asriel to the table, encouraging him to sit. She took a ladle from one of the counter drawers, and set it next to the pot. When she took the lid off, Asriel was immediately wrapped in the delicious smell. It made his mouth water, and it was only then that he realized just how hungry he was. When was the last time he had a full meal?

“Help yourself,” Frostbite said, likely noticing the look on his face. She walked back over to the stove, pulling open the door in the front. From under it, she pulled out a piece of wood, and placed it into the small fire.

“I’ve got bread, too, and butter. I’m hoping you’re not sick of it,” she said, closing the oven as Asriel ladled soup into his bowl.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” He asked, watching her move about the kitchen.

“I will, in a minute. Don’t choke.”

She went outside, a cold draft permeating the room when the front door opened. It was quickly doused, though, when it shut.

It was quiet, save for the soft crackle of the wood stove, and he took the time to look up at the stairs. Wood, like everything else, and crafted delicately. Part of him wondered where she got all of these supplies. The other part wondered what was upstairs.

He shrugged, though winced when he moved his neck. While she was gone, he folded his hands in his lap, taking a small bow of his head.

“Usually, I say my prayers when I gather the ingredients. Your God didn’t make that soup.”

He was practically thrown out of his skin when he heard her voice again.

“Stop doing that!” He cried, watching Frostbite as she placed a dish on the counter. He could see the risen loaf inside, which she dropped onto a wooden board.

“Pay attention,” she replied coolly, taking a knife from a small chest on the counter. “Just because I’m quiet doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be observant.”

Asriel, again, rolled his eyes.

“And be careful with your neck,” she added, cutting a few slices of the bread and setting them aside on the board. “Still healing. It’s only been two days.”

“I was out for two days?” Asriel asked incredulously, perked up. “How..?”

“I induced you into sleep. That way, you’d heal a bit faster.”

Frostbite approached the table and placed the small board onto the surface, next to the pot. Upon it were three slices of bread, and a small bowl with butter in it. By the look of it, it was churned recently.

“Did you make all of this yourself?” Asriel asked, watching as she sat across from him.

“Of course.”

“Alone?”

“Who else would be helping me? Eat. Your soup’s getting cold.”

Asriel took the spoon he was given in his hand, and took a bit from his bowl. Upon tasting it, he could practically feel the warmth running through him.

“This is delicious!” He exclaimed, and he noticed a small smile on Frostbite’s face.

“Thanks,” she said a bit sheepishly, and he could spot a flush of pink on her cheeks.

“So… you do everything yourself around here, huh?”

A small nod, and he noticed her stir her bowl with her spoon, not yet taking a bite.

“...You haven’t poisoned me, have you?” Asriel asked, and she snorted.

“And why would I do that?” She asked, lifting her head. “Poisoning you does you no good, and does me no favors. Why save your life just to poison you later?”

“Good point.”

He took another spoonful, watching as she finally did the same.

“So… what did you do to your hand?” He asked, noticing she had tucked it under the table. “The bandaged one?”

“...Burned it. Long time ago,” she murmured. “I don’t like to see the scars.”

“Oh…”

Of all the things he was expecting, that wasn’t it.

“I’m sorry.”

She shook her head.

“Not your fault,” she said, lifting her gaze from the tabletop. “Just… not used to talking about it. Don’t have many visitors. Just the goats and the chickens.”

“You have chickens?”

“They wander about, and I take their eggs. I don’t like to take too much of Mother’s land, but we’ve got to eat somehow. I’m told I take too little.”

“What’s upstairs?” Asriel asked, taking a slice of bread from the board.

“My room. Nothing much. Just a bed, some books. Some storage, I have a shelf with feed in it. It’s nothing special.”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” he added, to which she shrugged.

“I don’t like to live lavishly,” she muttered, again returning to stirring her soup. “It feels selfish of me.”

“If it’s laid out for you, why don’t you take advantage of it?” Asriel asked, moving to tilt his head. However, he was met with pain, and stopped.

Frostbite lifted her head, narrowing her visible eye.

“I’m not going to destroy the very forest I protect for the sake of material possessions,” she hissed.

Asriel raised his hands as a sign of peace.

“I’m just saying! If it’s there, why not?”

“Because I’m not selfish! I’m not going to take every bit of land I can get my hands on, and take more than I need!” Frostbite snapped, slamming her spoon on the table. “I have what I need to survive, and what wants I can spare. I don’t need acres of land for one person.”

“Okay- Okay! Fine!” Asriel huffed, lowering his hands to take another spoonful of soup. “I get it. Point taken.”

Frostbite’s ears twitched, and she continued to watch him. There was an uncomfortable silence between the two of them for a long time. Asriel eventually took a piece of bread from the board.

“Butter?” Frostbite asked, sliding him the small bowl. “Promise, it’s not poisoned.”

Asriel snorted. At least she was trying to be humorous. “Sure, why not?”

The rest of dinner went by without incident. Frostbite wasn’t exactly the best at conversation, but Asriel was willing to excuse it. It didn’t seem she had many companions out here. She was amusing, and she smiled often, so he gave her that.

However, he lay awake that night, staring at the plants hanging from the ceiling. A stack of books lie on the nightstand next to him, an assortment Frostbite had given him as reading material. She had told him to lie on his back, neck propped up on pillows to irritate it less. Progress with the healing was being made; it wasn’t raw, anymore, at least. It still hurt to move his head too much, though.

He couldn’t stop thinking. It was so much different here than home. It felt like his worries could just melt away with the candle wax. Not to mention, he had a full meal. Something other than bread and water, and a filthy jail cell. Though, despite this, Asriel was still thinking of home.

Would Chara, Frisk, and his father be mourning him? The lack of a body to bury? Did the townsfolk still think him a witch? They must’ve; he had been hung for it. Still, he missed them. Would they pray for him? Would they aim to find his mother, and try to reconcile?

He thought about what to do. When he left here, he’d have to go back. Where else could he go? It wasn’t like he could stay here forever. Would they be shocked? Would they try him as a witch again? Would they hang him properly?

He shut his eyes tight, resisting the want to turn over onto his side. Frostbite had told him to lie back, so lie back he did.

He let his mind wander, losing himself to the dreams that began to lull him. Soon, he fell into sleep, the first peaceful one in a while.

[xianglingslesbian]

ewbts - my top moments

no i will never stop laughing at that abbreviation it’s beautiful. buckle in because this is gonna be long, and probably don’t read it unless you’ve watched/read kuroko’s basketball and like izuki lmaoooo

chapter 1: hatchling, awaken

Izuki swallows. “Why do you all think I can do this?”

Then Kiyoshi turns to him with steel in his eyes (that must be how he got nicknamed Iron Heart - he seriously never backs down!) and asks him very clearly, “Why don’t you?”

Why don’t I think I can be captain?

“Because nobody thought I could be until now.”

aka “ceru is a masochist”, exhibit 1/???. anyway lets hear it for insecurities!!

chapter 2: liftoff

Predictably, Kuroko drags him aside at practice the next day and says, “I have something to tell you, Izuki-senpai.”

Izuki smiles at him. “Is it about your five evil exes?”

Kuroko looks horrified. “My what?!”

i think im funny

chapter 3: crash landing

As Izuki walks off the court, he looks for flashing glasses and grey eyes.

He curses himself for the heavy sadness that falls over him like a blanket when he doesn’t spot them.

yay for “ceru is a masochist” exhibit 2!

Oh, he [Izuki] watched videos of Aomine, came up with strategy after strategy to corner him, but videos and strategies can only go so far. Aomine in real life is something else entirely, a flash of lightning setting the court on fire with the sheer elegance of his crazy street basketball. All one can do is sit back and watch, awed beyond belief. Nothing can curb the wild madness that is Aomine Daiki – unrestrained, gleeful insanity dancing across the court like it’s his playground.

i also rlly like this line, it has some pretty imagery and we all know im a slut for pretty imagery~

chapter 4: a broken bone grows back stronger

“All right,” Koganei says to himself, moving to stand in front of the hoop. “One more time.”

He jumps, raising the ball to just above his face and releasing it. It misses, and he lets out a cry of frustration.

Can he even do this? Is it worth the time?

Koganei bites back the wave of guilt that washes over him at the thought. Izuki, Kiyoshi, Tsuchida, Rinnosuke, Kagami, Kuroko – he’d be letting them down if he didn’t give this his best shot. They’re all so dedicated to basketball that they each have a special skill honed from years of practice and love for the sport. If he can’t bring anything of his own to the table, what will he mean to this team? Seirin makes him want to be a team player, to add his skills to theirs rather than shining on his own. The change is good, yes, but he doesn’t want to stop there – he doesn’t want to be useless.

He will not be useless.

a bit of context: in this fic, since hyuuga did not return, koga became the SG for seirin :D i think my favorite character to develop, apart from izuki, was koganei - it was so fun to imagine all the ways he could have gone!

chapter 5: spreading new wings

All too soon, the day of judgment arrives, and Seirin convenes in the gym one last time before they head off to the Winter Cup building. No one says anything; not Kagami, fresh from his training trip to America, not Izuki, not Kiyoshi or Riko. They simply stand there, breathing in the scent of cleaner and leather and something else that’s so entirely Seirin, and knowing that no matter what happens this Winter Cup, they will return to the gym different people than they were before.

Different, and better.

Then they head out and off to the opening ceremony of the Winter Cup, not looking back once as they do.

yay for more pretty words!!!

“Oh, no worries. The actual motivational part is coming. Anyway, as I was saying – Tōō was just better than us that day. It’s hard to admit, I know: far easier to blame yourself, say you didn’t give it your all, but you know; we all know. It was their day to shine, not ours. But I think we’ve worked hard enough and are in a good enough mindset to change that, today. We aren’t scared or apprehensive about Tōō and Aomine, because we’ve faced them before. We know what attitude they’ll walk into our game with, and that’s what we’re going to exploit!”

“You’re going to exploit,” corrects Tsuchida. “Unlike you, the rest of us aren’t manipulative bastards.”

That raises a bunch of cackles, which quiet down when Izuki gives his team a glare. It doesn’t work on Riko, however, who sniggers under her breath and smirks at him.

izuki highkey sucks at pep talks lmao

chapter 6: ride the storm

Kagami and Aomine were made for each other. Made for this rivalry, this intense competition that will push them to their very limits and carry them onto a plane that no ordinary human can reach. Neither can defeat the other per se - they’re destined to stand neck and neck forever. However, one has a trump card on his side; and that trump card can make all the difference in the world.

Aomine Daiki may be strong, but Kagami Taiga is just as good. And damn him if the power of Kagami’s determination coupled with Kuroko’s unshakeable support won’t overwhelm the undisputed king of basketball.

Move aside, light bulb, Izuki thinks vindictively. The tube light is here to replace you.

pretty words. gay words. i love them (aokaga + izuki being a salt man lmao).

chapter 7: eagle versus aegis

“So bitter,” he [Izuki] reflects aloud, answering Himuro’s question.

That’s the emotion in his eyes. That’s what I might have become, if I had let my anger grow.

And suddenly he isn’t seeing Himuro Tatsuya anymore, but a version of himself, a version with darkened eyes and a mocking smile and pain and rage bubbling below the surface. Immensely talented, but not able to break the last barrier. Because he’s an ordinary man, and it’s as much as an ordinary man can do.

Strong, so strong. But also so terribly, heartbreakingly weak. Weak in a way that today’s Izuki Shun will never be.

GOD where do i even start w/this scene its literally everything i’ve ever wanted to write ksjfhsfj

chapter 8: clawing through mirages

Izuki’s taken aback for a millisecond before he continues his mad dash towards Murasakibara, letting out a war cry as the center makes to simply toss the ball into the hoop.

“It wasn’t their intention,” says a quiet but familiar voice. “But, this is the result of Kiyoshi-senpai and the other upperclassmen’s tenacity.”

Izuki grins, feeling new strength fill him up.

Together, huh? Okay. Together.

“This is where it ends for you!” shouts the voice, becoming stronger.

Not one, but two hands knock the ball out of Murasakibara’s hands and onto the ground. Kuroko shimmers into vision, smiling at Izuki with all the happiness in the world, just as the final buzzer rings.

i loved writing this match tbh, yousen is super underrated!

chapter 9: catch the updraft

21 - 22, in their favour at long last. Izuki grins at Kasamatsu, who shakes his head wearily.

“Using my own advice against me. What a terrible student you are,” he says, affecting an old man’s voice.

“The true student is the one who beats the master at his own game,” Izuki says quickly, sliding back into their familiar banter. “I swore to myself, my drive would beat your drive today, kitakore.”

“When did you get so wise?” asks Kasamatsu with a sigh, ignoring his pun and receiving the ball from Kobori, who was quick to grab it once Koga scored. Izuki just laughs, not bothering to reply and instead focusing carefully on Kasamatsu’s movements.

Kasamatsu shifts his weight right, left, then right again. Izuki narrows his eyes, trying to figure out what the hell his upperclassman is doing—

But it’s far too late, as Kasamatsu successfully passes through his defence in his moment of distraction, ball clutched tightly in hand. The sound of the scoring whistle is shrill and unpleasant to Izuki’s ears, and his chest stings at the loss.

“What was that about the main course?” Kasamatsu teases, wearing an enormous grin as he comes forward to guard Izuki once more. 

izuki + kasamatsu banter is so so fun to write y’all have no idea

chapter 10: headwinds

This is your fault. If you’d been a better captain, a better point guard, a better everything, none of this would’ve happened. Seirin would have been well in the lead and controlling the game—

Izuki shakes his head violently, trying to get rid of his intrusive thoughts. He knows he’s a good captain, and doing this to himself will do no good for the rest of the team. He has to be strong for them. He has to lead them to victory, he can’t be a weak person overwhelmed by emotion. But it’s so hard to breathe, suddenly, and Izuki’s about to sink when—

“Don’t worry, Captain. I’ll take care of this match today,” says a confident and familiar voice, and a hand claps down on Izuki’s shoulder. He turns, a little surprised by the sudden contact, to find Koganei’s cat mouth set in a determined frown. “You can rest your hopes on me. I’ll be Seirin’s wings for as long as you need me to.”

kogazuki brotp feels man. kogazuki brotp feels.

chapter 11: cliff edge

Riko nods, sobering up a little. “I do know. And… I have to admit, I was a little harsh on you in the early days… I kept comparing you to Hyūga-kun.” She looks at the ground briefly, then raises her head to continue, meeting Izuki’s eyes with no hint of doubt in her own brown irises. “But then I saw how different you were. How you were never willing to give up, even if you were the worst player in the world. That’s what… that’s what made me truly believe in you.” She swallows thickly, taking a deep breath, but not averting her gaze from his.

The honesty and trust in her eyes is what shatters Izuki’s calm.

He steps forward, and she rises too, opening her arms. Then he hugs her tightly, murmuring, “Thank you for having faith in me.”

The “Of course. You’re family,” that she whispers back fills Izuki’s already overflowing heart even further.

Eventually, he lets her go, and she drops lightly to the ground, straightening her sweater and skirt.

“We never speak of this,” Izuki warns her, moving towards the door of the room.

Riko nods, back to her usual haughty demeanour. “Of course. No one can know we’re actually big softies who care a lot for each other.”

“To them, we’re just sarcastic jerks,” Izuki agrees. “And that’s the way it stays.”

anyone said izuriko brotp???? this fic is just platonic feels tbh

chapter 12: overcast skies

What should I do? Someone tell me! the voice cries out in Izuki’s head, a voice he hasn’t heard since the loss to Tōō. It is the same voice that whispers all his insecurities in his ear in the dead of night when no one is around to reassure him, the same voice that gave rise to all his fears and worries. It is the voice of the vulnerable and weak part of Izuki, the one that needs someone to guide him with a gentle hand, and he hates it.

It is a voice that, frankly, he never thought he would hear again. Yet, here it is, crying out for attention, screaming for someone to help.

He thought he had left it behind. It turns out he was wrong.

Izuki shoves it deep into his heart with more effort than he’s exerted all game, breathing a heavy sigh when he succeeds in locking it behind the glass wall that keeps his emotions away.

let’s hear it for “ceru is a masochist” exhibit 3~

chapter 13: nosedive

“I don’t know who you are,” Koganei completes his little speech, anger brimming in every part of his being. “But I know that my captain is Izuki Shun, not Akashi Seijūrō. The coach can bench you if she likes; we can fight without our captain, because we know he wants us to win for his sake. We’ve been fighting without him all the match, and we can continue doing so. We don’t need a player that can’t play with the same passion as us!”

Izuki looks at the ground and doesn’t respond. Somewhere within, something is stirring at Koganei’s words. Something that cries out to fill the gap inside him.

Next to speak is Kiyoshi, standing up and executing much the same move as Koga had by yanking Izuki up by his collar. However, Kiyoshi pulls Izuki into a standing position so that Izuki is half-leaning against him.

Brown eyes meet black, and Kiyoshi simply states, “I didn’t expect this from you, Shun.”

Then he rears his fist backwards and punches Izuki in the jaw.

“ceru is a masochist” exhibit 4!

chapter 14: bird of prey

“I just… I didn’t think you’d give up so easily.”

Koganei’s head shoots up. There’s fury in his eyes, and his face is white. His hands are shaking.

Izuki continues, calm and careless as he always is, “Really… after you gave me all that talk at halftime? I don’t believe this is you.”

Koganei’s jaw clenches, and he cries, “But I have done everything I can! He’s just too good—”

“And when has that ever stopped you?” Izuki keeps his voice quiet and even, but it has the gravity he intended it to - Koga falls silent immediately, eyes wide and riveted on him. “When have you ever backed down from fighting? You don’t know the meaning of giving up. You’ve never cared about whether someone’s better than you. I knew a shooting guard once, just like you, and he had the potential to be the greatest in the world. He was held back because he cared that he was worse than others. But you? You never blinked at it, just practised and practised until you could do the impossible.”

His words are getting louder with pride; he’s unable to keep it steady with the outpouring of emotion in his speech.

“Tell me, who can master Ray Allen’s form in one and a half years? Who can be such a rookie at basketball, yet be able to fight an Uncrowned King and respond to a shot that has left all its previous victims unable to move?!” Izuki leans forward and jabs a finger into Koganei’s chest demandingly. “Tell me, who the hell was that?!”

“Me,” Koga whispers timidly, looking down.

ahhhh yay for more platonic comfort and bonding. *izuki voice* yelling is the way to get ur team to get their shit tgt

chapter 15: born to soar

Izuki finds himself moving, barely thinking as he grabs the ball and bawls for an attack. He’s running faster than he ever has, flying up the court like there are wings on his legs. No one follows at his pace - they’re all too far behind.

No one but Kiyoshi.

The rhythm beats louder than ever, a heavy pulse in Izuki’s head and heart. He can feel Akashi on his heels and knows he needs to do something.

One second left—

Izuki’s hands move on their own, passing the ball to the one person he knows that he will always find.

Kiyoshi catches it and jumps.

Fortyfivethirtyfivetwentyfivefifteen—

The ball leaves his hands.

Fivezero—

The whistle blows to end the game. Kiyoshi’s shot hits the backboard and drops straight into the basket. Time stops as a shrill sound screeches into the air and the ref shouts, “124 to 123, Seirin High wins the Winter Cup!”

there we go. the most heartwrenching scene of this chapter ahhhhh

chapter 16: final flight

“We should go. Don’t want to keep them waiting too long,” Kiyoshi says, staring daggers at Hyūga, who to his credit doesn’t flinch but merely stares back.

“Let’s go, then,” Izuki agrees. He looks straight at Hyūga and allows a small, formal smile to play on his lips. Hyūga just nods, accepting the answer.

Izuki nods back, then turns around and starts walking away. But even as he moves toward the exit, something weighs heavily in his tired chest. For the first time in a long time, he isn’t confident in his decision.

Acting on impulse, he turns on his heel and yells out, “Call sometime, maybe!” before walking backwards out the door that Kiyoshi holds for him.

It’s an open-ended suggestion. Hyūga can choose to wallow and ignore it, or he can choose to pick up the phone. Izuki isn’t going to do so either way - he’ll be happy if Hyūga makes that call, but he won’t be terribly sad if he doesn't.

This time, he’s going to be the one that walks forward without looking back.

ahhh okay so this scene means a hella lot to me personally because... i had to grow, the way izuki grew. izuki’s now strong enough to sort of put the olive branch out and say, “take it or leave it,” and if it’s left he’s not gonna be upset. that’s something i really learned with a lot of difficulty and i think that that growth - in both me and him - is a lovely thing.

and there we have it! my favorite moments from each chapter of this story. *cries in a corner* god i can’t believe it’s over...

THANK YOU FOR THE JOURNEY!

[jonsnowloversunite]

Winter is Coming

This is part of a revamped collection of one shots and other sexy pieces featuring my man, Jon Snow. It's a balanced combination of sweet as honey fluff and sinful smut. I hope you enjoy reading this as much I as I loved writing it!

(SMUT WARNING!)

Ghost had awakened Jon in the middle of the night, stirring him from a deep sleep. He began sniffing under the doorway and scratching at it feverishly. “What is it boy?” he said, sitting up quickly. He was alarmed by his direwolf’s behavior.  Jon felt a sense of dread pass over him like a cold dark shadow when the door slowly creaked open. To Jon’s surprise, Ghost sat down obediently, waiting for the shadow to enter the dark room.

“Who’s there?” Jon said firmly, demanding an answer.  As he rose from the bed, he reached for a dagger that was hidden under the mattress. He wasn’t entirely sure if this was real, or if he had still been dreaming.

“It’s just me, Elenya,” a small voice called from the darkness. “I’m sorry if I frightened you.” Jon met her at the door, making sure that no one saw her enter. He quietly closed the door behind them. Ghost padded over to the girl, licking her hands with his warm wet tongue.  Elenya bent down to scratch the wolf under his chin just the way he liked it.

“What’s wrong?” Jon whispered as a he lit a candle. He grabbed Elenya gently by the hand and led her toward the bed.  Her hands were always warm, even on the coldest of nights. But this time was different he noted. This time, her hands were like ice.

“You’re freezing Elenya. You’re going to catch a chill.” He could feel her body shivering next to his.  Jon covered her with a thick wool blanket, draping it over her trembling shoulders. The heaviness of it seemed to comfort her.

“Now tell me, what’s going on?” Jon asked. He could now see the dried up tears that had stained her cheeks. Her eyes were red and swollen.  

“I…I…,” she sobbed, no longer able to hold back. Fresh tears streamed down her face. Jon pulled Elenya into his arms and held her close to his body. “It’s going to be alright,” he assured her. Ghost nudged at her knees, offering his support. Elenya could hear the beating of Jon’s heart as she pressed her head tighter against his chest. The rhythm was melodic and soothing. The crying stopped and her racing heartbeat began to calm. Even her body grew warmer. Whatever had happened was beginning to pass.

It was probably just another strange dream, Jon thought. He knew that the dreams she had were very unsettling; they were not to be ignored, for they often came true. Some would even call them green dreams, prophetic dreams that could reveal the future. Jon grew up listening to Old Nan’s stories about the greenseers, but never believed them true until Elenya.

She had been confiding in him about her visions since they were children, although it took some time before Jon understood that she truly had a gift from the Gods, and was not just fooling him. The dreams had recently become more vivid, and they were coming nearly every night now. Jon sensed that this one was the worst of all.

“I dreamed something horrible,” Elenya whispered, finally able to speak.  She stared off into nothing, as if in a trance, and continued.  “A darkness is soon coming here. When the moon is at her brightest and fullest, she will suddenly shrink and go black. With no light to guide you, a pride of lions will arrive disguised in sweet lies. And no one will see what their true purpose is, and the danger they pose. They will take your family far away to the lands of summer, yet it will not really be summer. That will be another one of their illusions. It will actually be an endless winter for them, and for you, full of pain and sorrow and death.”

Elenya’s bright eyes glistened as tears swelled in them once again. She turned toward Jon and looked upon his sweet face. He wiped the wetness from her sticky cheeks with his gentle fingers. In that moment, he realized how much he loved her. She was the only person who did not see him as everyone else saw him. To her, it didn’t matter that he was a bastard with no mother to name and a father who had too much honor to fully accept him as a son. He was an outcast and always would be, but when he was with Elenya none of that mattered.

Jon drew Elenya close to him once again and whispered softly into her ear, “It’s okay. Everything will be okay.” An icy draft entered the room, and a chill overcame her. Elenya laid down on the bed and covered her legs with another blanket for warmth. Jon could see that she was shivering again, so he laid down beside her. She snuggled in closer to him, pulling his arm around her waist.  Elenya let out a soft sigh of relief and felt comforted in Jon’s arms.

Pressing her body so close to his, Jon filled with desire. He nestled his face into Elenya’s curly golden locks, inhaling her essence. He began to spiral deeper, and deeper still. Small beads of sweat formed on his brow, for he knew that this would be the night they would become one.

She turned over to face Jon, gazing into his dark grey eyes. “I have to tell you something,” he said a little nervously. “I am in love with you.” Elenya smiled. “I love you too, Jon Snow.”  He kissed her passionately, sensing his entire body tingle and come to life.

She closed her eyes as he breathed hotly onto her neck. Jon’s supple mouth found its way down her pale skin, showering her with pleasure as he descended. He unbuttoned the gown she was wearing and exposed her fully; plump breasts and ripe womanhood for the taking. The sight of her made Jon swell and throb. She eagerly found her way under the blankets and rubbed his cock, making it stiffer with every touch. “Oh Gods,” erupted from his mouth.

Elenya let out a soft moan when he placed his mouth on her, flicking his tongue and sucking on her sweet, hard nipples. She felt a strange surge of heat and wetness between her thighs. Elenya ran her fingers through Jon’s jet black curls, tugging on them when he moved his hands down to her legs, parting them open. His strong fingers knew his way to her most sensitive spot as well as his mouth did. Another moan escaped her, this one much deeper and louder than the first. Jon stifled the sound with a kiss, tasting of her sweetness. “We must be quiet,” he whispered, “We don’t want anyone to hear us.” She nodded in agreement as she reached for his manhood. She felt him- hot and hard and dripping.

Jon climbed on top of his lover and put the full weight of his body on her. She rather liked the heaviness. His strength was always something she found attractive. Jon slowly and carefully pressed himself into her, for fear that he may hurt her. Elenya’s face showed a mild grimace, but the discomfort passed quickly. She wanted him more than she had wanted anything, so she wrapped her arms and legs tightly around his body and pulled him deeper inside of her. He pumped his hips, gently at first, but gained momentum with every stroke.

Jon could feel himself completely connected with Elenya. The two bodies melted together. A flash of energy passed between them, electric and powerful; the most overwhelming feeling that either of them had ever experienced. Elenya ached between her legs when he left her. Jon finished on her belly, leaving his seed behind.  He laid down next to his lover, his member still pulsating.

Jon pulled her close to him and tried to reassure her that everything would be okay. “I promise that I will not leave you, Elenya. I swear it by the Old Gods.” Elenya smiled at him and lightly caressed his face, “I know you believe that to be true, but don’t make promises you can’t keep.” She pulled him close to him once more, exhaled deeply, and closed her eyes.

Jon lay awake for some time thinking about her dream and what it could mean. Whatever it was, he sensed that winter was coming soon.

[komatsunana]

Pt 2 of Martina and my conversation on Ren Honjo and other related topics

In order to save everyone’s dashboards, I’m making another post lol.  This is a continuation of this conversation between @placebogirl7​ and my conversation.

Hehe, well even if we don’t like Takumi personally, he’s still an interesting character to explore! I definetly don’t disagree with you though - it’s probably a happier environment if a band is more like a family under Papa Yasu rather than an army of soldiers to General Takumi.  I think the problem is Takumi is too OP!!  He doesn’t listen anyone else because at the end... He’s right and always fives steps ahead of everyone - ally and enemy alike.  Well until he isn’t, at the end when Ren dies.  Nothing prepared him for it and even though he tries to regain control of the situation... Nothing can bring Ren back.  He isn’t all-powerful.

Nah, no worries you haven’t expressed yourself wrong!  I’m just incredibly pendantic, lol.  But I totally get what you mean - I might have a different PoV but I don’t think you’re wrong at all to see Ren as being hypocritic for saying he didn’t care what and for who he played for, when he clearly wanted to be playing for Trapnest.  It’s even likely he doesn’t see how that’s contrary.

Perhaps the problem is that Ren doesn’t realize family doesn’t *have* to be a nuclear family with a father, mother, and biological children.  He didn’t know Blast was his family already, that if he’d just accepted Yasu’s adoptive parents to help him they’d have been his family too... and that’s why he left, because he believed in Takumi’s vision and Nana was denying him asking her to be the mother to his children.  When you didn’t grow up in a family, it could be hard to notice when you finally get one if it doesn’t look like the ones you see in movies.

I can’t take a photo with my phone atm, but Ren says something like “I just got her to tell me by pretending I understood her decision.  I would’ve been able to take a break next week, she didn’t need to do this.”  Tbh I never wanted to be THAT weeb who learned Japanese just to read manga but... Nothing makes me want to learn Japanese more than that I want to read NANA in the original language!  I think Shojo Beat did a good job of translating the series, and injected a lot of fun into the way the characters talk, but it really isn’t possible to completely translate one language into another without losing something.

Oh yeah, none of that was to say that Yasu, Ren, or even Shin are unimportant to Blast... But Nana wasn’t planning on continuing Blast in Tokyo until Nobu moved there.  Those two ARE Blast.  A band that doesn’t have both of them is not Blast, it’s a band by another name.

Oooh, yeah Takumi says something about it here:

He doesn’t straight out say that he wants to manage Reira’s solo career, but the implication is there when you take into account that Trapnest was created for her and his masterplan for her.

And nah, you aren’t wrong!!  We just have different opinions and that’s cool.  Tbh, I think art like NANA is subjective and I don’t think either of us are right or wrong.  Unless it’s something textual or an actual theory for something that is textual, everything is just up to us to have our own opinions and ideas.  I also think I don’t have too much about hypocrisy unless it’s harming someone (Example: ”Get a job you homeless bum!!!! Anyway off to church now”) so we’re gonna feel more upset about different things.  That’s all.

Oh sorry, I didn’t say that clearly... What I mean is that Ren realizes after betraying Blast that he betrayed them and feel bad about betraying them.  Now that Ren is part of Trapnest, he doesn’t want to betray another band - not even to help the band that he once betrayed.

Oh yeah, I definitely agree that in that fight about Nana asking Ren to sub for Shin both of them said some things to apologize for.  And that Nana didn’t feel as close to Shin as she did to Yasu and Nobu (though I do think the little we see of their relationship is very interesting!)  With your views on why Nana always saw Shin as a stand-in for Ren, do you think her views on Shin changed when he made that promise again to surpass Ren upon getting out of jail?  Just curious!  I also agree that the Nana and Takumi parallels are real, though I think how they fight their battles are very different.

Hm, I don’t think only unhappy people take drugs though that’s often the reason people in poverty might.  Also, if I can remember right, I think Ren really only starts taking drugs when his relationship with Nana begins again so I think that’s part of it.  Not that Nana is making him unhappy, but he feels... idk unfulfilled maybe?  I’m not sure, but I also see your point!

(Woo~ both of are the same as Miu lol)

Anyway, I think Nana’s reasons for not wanting children aren’t just her lack of confidence and it’s a very complex reason, tied into her traumatic upbringing and her desires to be free on stage, and her lack of maternal instinct and probably even more.  But I still agree she could change her mind, though I think there were other reasons for Nana to ask that of her gyno: to pick up her birth control, because Ren wanted children and she didn’t, maybe her own ideas of being a mother someday, and also... maybe a little bit about her own mom, who had to have lacked some maternal instinct to abandon Nana like she did.  Of course none of what we’re talking about takes into account the popular fan theory that Satsuki could biologically be Nana and Ren’s.

I think Ren understood Nana better before their first break up, but it is possible that Ren never understood Nana’s trauma completely.  After all, from Ren’s pov... he was abandoned as a baby and never had a family ever.  At least Nana had her grandma.  And even though as readers we know that’s wrong, but I could see Ren thinking that. Maybe.

Oooh, well I do think there is a difference between the dreams you have at night and the dreams you have for your life... But wow!! That Italian translation really brings on some different meanings, I think it sounds very beautiful when put like that.  Now I want to learn every language and read NANA in every language OTL

Oh man, the hard hitting question!!! What was Ren’s plan!!! I don’t know!!!!! Lol.  I mean I have my ideas and I do think that Ren’s gift to Nana will be the only way we’ll ever know the answer possibly... I have 3 different theories.  

That Ren would break up with Nana to continue playing for Trapnest and ask her if she would still come live with him when they were both old in the warehouse.  I actually think that one is the least likely.

That Ren would give Nana the choice once again and tell her that he was going to stay with Trapnest and that she would have to live with it or break up because they would both be unhappy if not.  This might lead into option 1, asking if they could retire to the warehouse one day, if she said no and they broke up but unlikely.  I think in the case of Ren putting the choice in Nana’s hands it’s one or the other: they reconcile and stay together or stay apart forever.

Ren dedicates himself to staying with Nana, even if it means never getting back with Trapnest again.  He’ll be Satsuki’s favorite uncle and fight uncle Nobu to teach her guitar and support his wife with her musical career.  He’ll be what he always wanted Nana to be for him, waiting for her to come home.  He does not re-join Blast, though he might do something else musically.  Maybe teach!  I think he’d be the BEST music teacher.

Of course this is Yazawa and I fully expect whatever she had planned to be unexpected and yet completely in character and believable. I do fully believe that Ren had made his decision and he was committed to it on the drive and that he was completely happy with it.  What about you?

I think it is inevitable that big fandoms will have some ugliness and shipping wars and things like that - it’s one of the few benefits to a small fandom is that everyone knows each other so we all better be nice.  It still sucks to see though.

(｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡

[jenniferyoung]

name: jennifer young age: 38 fc: laura vanderroort time in charming: life long occupation: trauma counsellor side: devils positive traits: + valiant, + fierce, + loving negative traits: - worrywart, - insecure, - stubborn children: one boy, 22 years old siblings: one older brother

trigger warnings(please read them carefully, her background is very dark and traumatic): kidnap, abuse, implied rape, teen pregnancy, traumatic child-birth.

this is gonna be really long and i’m sorry. if you actually read it all i’ll give you a cookie

✹ early life was pretty simple, even with a dad and brother in the MC

✹ plans to graduate and go to college to study archaeology

✹ that got yeeted when she was kidnapped not long after her 16th birthday

✹ jenny had been walking home from a friends when she was grabbed from behind and knocked out

✹ she woke up in a basement with her hands and feet chained to the bed. loose enough for her to move around and sit up but not to get free

✹ her captor? turned out to be a man who she’d been seeing a lot of in the last weeks. random encounters that seemed so innocent until right now

✹ he was quite young, late 20′s maybe but he was absolutely insane. completely infatuated with her and thought that by kidnapping her, he could have her for himself and they’d have a happy life. loco maniac with big temper issues

✹ naturally she did try countless times to escape but would be quickly slapped down, only for him to cry and apologise afterwards, “why did you make me do that” as though any of it was her fault

✹ once the abuse turned into physical touches, that’s when her tears dried up and her mind began to go into autopilot. not to mention the drugs he forced down her throat to keep her subdued really took away a lot of her will to fight

✹ it had been two whole months when she finally started accepting her fate. nobody was ever going to find her and as if the man could see that light go out in her eyes, that night he pinned her down and raped her in spite of her pleas

✹ he even had the audacity to call it love

✹ she was pretty much broken after this. especially since she had been a virgin, so imagine how traumatised she was when another 2 months slipped by and she realised she hadn’t had her period

✹ it had been his plan all along, he wanted a family with her because he was convinced “you’ll love me eventually”

✹ it would have been easy enough to break completely but in the following weeks, something really strange happened. instead of focusing on the trauma, on how used and disgusting she felt, she focused on her growing bump

✹ hours alone in the dark, she began to talk to it, as though somehow it was a comfort to them both

✹ the first time she felt it kick was the first time in months she had a spark of life behind her blue eyes. so she did fall in love, not with her captor, but with her baby

✹ at first she did try to hate it, this thing growing inside her that she didn’t ask for but she couldn’t. how could you blame an innocent life for how it came to be?

✹ the following months, she began to put on an act. starting with a smile now and again that looked genuine, to a laugh at one of the mans jokes. making him believe he was winning, that she was slowly coming around to the idea of being with him

✹ for the most part, it worked. the abuse stopped, she convinced him to stop drugging her because it wasn’t good for “their” baby

✹ the plan was to eventually convince him to unchain her. he agreed to unchain her feet, which was a start ( and a relief considering the metal had long since dug right into her ankles )

✹ she waited a few more days but before she could ask about her hands, she felt the first signs of labour

✹ newly terrified, she literally cried and begged him to call an ambulance because holy fuck

✹ obviously he refused and she spent the next 30 hours in excruciating agony. something was not right

✹ she was bleeding, trying to fight the urge to push because her whole instincts were telling her not to, but it was no use

✹ four pushes and a whole lot of banshee screams later, she birthed a baby boy whom she begged to hold instantly, if only to take him out of the mans hands

✹ beautiful. the second he started to cry and looked up at her with his blue eyes she knew there wasn’t anything or anyone she’d ever let hurt him

✹ somewhere between the mixture of emotions, she hadn’t realised that she was starting to bleed out and the panic returned

✹ frantically, she tried to tell the man that he needed to unchain her and take her to a hospital and to her almost shock, he agreed. like he was actually concerned that she was going to bleed out and die if he didn’t.

✹ it was practically impossible to get up the stairs and even harder to hold her son against her chest whilst looking with double vision for something she could use as a weapon

✹ the glimmer of something shiny caught her eye and in a burst of bravery and energy, she grabbed it (a shiny vase on the table top) and swung it around, smashing it off his head

✹ thank god it must have knocked him out for at least a few seconds because she managed to get to and out the front door

✹ that’s when she realised she was still in charming. not only that, but she could see the clubhouse from where she stood & so she ran (hobbled, hopped, nearly crawled w/e) bursting through the doors like something out of a horror movie, dirty and bloody and instantly on her knees because she couldn’t support her own weight anymore

✹ her father, brother and a couple other members instantly flew to her aid. it had to have been nearly a year since she went missing and now here she was, holding a baby and about to die

✹ “he’s mine” was almost all she could manage to whisper as she had no energy to stop one of the guys taking him from her “don’t let him touch him, don’t– don’t let him” don’t let the captor touch her son, is what she meant

✹ it was barely a second after everything turned black and when she woke, it was three days later and she was in hospital. safe

✹ she only asked once about the guy and got the reply from her dad “it’s been handled” presumably she left a good trail of blood for them to find the source. but she never did dare ask, had she killed him with the vase? or did they. not that she cared.

✹ she only went over her ordeal once with her parents, her brother and the mc’s president at the time and then she told them she never wanted to relive it. which suited them just fine because they couldn’t have the guys dead body getting tied to them.

✹ so the only alternative? was to say she had ran away, that she fell pregnant and that’s why she stayed away until she got scared and came home. cue the judgement from the towns snooty bitches

✹ it was a fight and a half to keep her son, with a mother who wanted to support her decision but a father who was adamant she wouldn’t be able to cope

✹ it got overly extreme, she threatened to end her own life if he had her baby taken away & went on to explain that her son was the only thing that kept her going in those months

✹ she wanted to raise him, teach him to be kind and be a good man and to her relief, her father relented

✹ she named him liam because she always recalled someone telling her it meant “unwavering saviour”

✹ the next five years were tough, but she never gave up and she never quit. she focused her energy on her son, on learning to handle her ordeal in a healthy manner. her father paid good money for her to see a trauma counsellor, one out of town who wouldn’t ask questions they didn’t have answers to. the only rules? never tell them her real name (she posed as someone called lucy) and never name the man so it could never be traced back to them

✹ it was an uphill battle and to be honest, even now sometimes it still is

✹ she was inspired by the way the counsellor helped her and decided that’s what she wanted to do with her life now, so she went back to school and studied for a degree

✹ she’s now a qualified trauma and ptsd counsellor with her own office in the hospital. she also does a lot of fundraising for charities that feel close to her heart. domestic violence, etc. etc.

✹ when she was 25, she finally spoke out at a charity auction she’d organised for survivors and it was hands down the scariest thing she’d ever done. but she did it because she wanted to help young girls see that there was always a light at the end of the tunnel. that you’re not defined by your trauma ( she had to tweak a couple facts, such as saying it happened out of town and that the guy got away )

✹ sooo yeah, she’s one tough bitch now. taught herself how to fight and yoo she kicks ass. got a lot of her confidence back and made damn sure she was raising a good boy

✹ there is literally nobody on this earth she loves more than liam and even though he’s 22 now, he’s still very much her baby and her saving grace

bop bop bop there we have it. *hands you a chocolate chip cookie*

connections:

friends

enemies

exes ending on good or bad terms

fwb or past hook ups maybe

someone she councils would be great

her soN liam would be even better. i visualise him as brandon flynn if he could work for you. alternatively, joe keery or dacre montgomery? it’s negotiable

her older brother would be great too

or any mc members who were around at the time her trauma happened

life long besties who would also know the truth whilst everyone else assumed she was some dumb slapper who got knocked up

anything elseeee

[whattimeisitintokyo]

Somos Familia Ch 40- Parting Words of Regret

With a loud clatter and a few more pathetic twangs, the guitar shattered into more chunks and splinters as it was flung in front of Matty and Coco’s feet. Most of the crowd had already dispersed with the promise that the contest would continue an hour later to give everyone a chance to calm down. A few annoying onlookers still hung about, wanting to witness the drama unfold with morbid curiosity. Oscar and Felipe’s vain attempts to get them to leave proved to be fruitless, but Imelda’s threat of a well-placed boot to the face seemed to finally convince them to go on their merry way.

The family was now alone in the plaza, able to talk peacefully and calmly.

Unfortunately, “peace” and “calm” were two words that Héctor Rivera was entirely incapable of utilizing at the moment.

“A guitar!” He snarled as he paced back and forth in front of his two oldest children, the res of the adults standing behind them ready to offer some form of support. “You taught him to play the guitar. And here I thought he went over to your house all those times to have some sibling bonding. I was so happy that you two were so close despite the age gap. Instead you were teaching him how to play that-that… Dios, of all the things you had to teach him it was that good for nothing-”

“I did not teach him to play the guitar Papá. I play the violin, not the guitar.” Coco said softly, hoping that if she remained calm then maybe her father would too. “He taught himself how to play it, by watching Tio Nesto’s films and listening to his records. To your records Papá. He’s practically following in your footsteps.”

“Oh sí, my footsteps.” Héctor murmured, turning his intense gaze over to Vicente. “That reminds me, was that your intentions yesterday, Chente? When you convinced me that Miguel would want to work with Rivera de la Cruz? Did you know he could play music as well, trying to churn out another throwaway musician like you do every year?”

Leaning back slightly as Héctor started to bear down on him, Vincente was able to stay calm and looked at him. “No Señor Rivera, that was not my intention. We’ve always known he has looked up to you, practically idolized el Señor de la Cruz. I just thought he would want to work someday in the company his father and godfather personally founded. I had no idea he had any musical talents of his own.”

Héctor stared at him for a moment longer then nodded, chuckling bitterly. “Ha… That’s good to hear. That is very good, I am glad you were honest with me, seeing as how your employment depended on your answer.”

“Now just hold on!” a voice popped up, and Javier came between Vicente and Héctor. Flicking ash from his cigar at Héctor’s feet, he pointed it towards him with emphasis. “You can’t threaten to fire someone over something as stupid as that. Especially when that someone has more than doubled your profits in the music industry in the last year while you sat here in Santa Cecilia. And who has produced more groundbreaking movies in three years that Señor se la Cruz ever did in his entire tenure.”

Héctor stared at Javier, completely dumbfounded at being talked to like that, and exploded. “Who exactly are you, cabrón?!”

With a click of his tongue, Javier smirked. “I’m the guy who makes those movies look good.”

“I meant who are you in this conversation?” Héctor said. “This is a family matter, and you are not our family! So why don’t you and Vicente head back to the house and stay out of this!”

“Actually, Señor Rivera, I believe that I will get Señor Barbero and I a couple of rooms at a nearby inn for the night.” Vicente said. He spoke calmly and coolly, almost as if in a business meeting, but everyone could tell that he was just masking some hurt. “We have to leave very early in the morning to go back to work soon, we wouldn’t want to disturb anyone. If you are done with me, then-”

“Yes, go!”

With a short nod Vicente mumbled quietly to Imelda. “Thank you for your hospitality, Señora Rivera.” With a turn he made his way down the street, with Javiar following close behind. Javiar made a point to flick the end of his cigar towards the ground out of spite before he left, but it was lost to Héctor as his attention was back on his family.

“You knew how I felt.” Héctor said to Coco. “All of you know how I feel about this garbage. And yet you went behind my back and nurtured this fixation on music and fame, despite all that has happened to us. What goes on in that house of yours?!”

“I dance Abuelito!” Victoria spoke up boldly, trying to diffuse the situation a little. Or at least take the heat off of Miguel in some way. Make her grandfather see that he was not the only one who had messed up. When Héctor’s gaze fixed onto hers, his face twisting a little in surprise and pain before seetling back down to anger, her confidence dropped. She ducked her head to look to ground, and to her shame clung to her mother’s skirt like a child. “I d-dance… ballet. Miguel and I practice…”

“Well that’s just perfect, isn’t it?!” Héctor ran a hand through his gray hair and balled a fist into it, letting go to point viciously at his daughter. “Well guess what? He’s not allowed to come over to your house anymore. You want to see him, then you come to us! You are enabling not only your brother but your daughter as well, and you’ve got your husband trying to keep up the charade. Elena is the only one to make any sense in your messed-up family!”

“Héctor!” Imelda gasped.

“You’re one to talk about messed up, Héctor!” Julio said angrily as he held his wife and daughter close to him, both of his girls close to tears. “You don’t talk to my wife like that!”

“I’ll talk to my daughter anyway I like!” Héctor shouted back. “If you were a real husband and father you would have tried to stop this before they got hurt!”

“Héctor!” Imelda gasped, but before she could intervene Matty spoke up.

“I told you, Papá!” Matty shouted as he pointed at Héctor. Wanda tried to hold him back, whispering at him to just leave it, but he kept on. “I told you that you were shell-shocked. All it took was a song and Miguel performing and look at you! You’re out of control, screaming and raving at your family. You probably feel sick and trapped and are lashing out. I know how you feel, but this isn’t how you deal with it.”

“Don’t tell me how to deal with my family!”

“Papá, don’t you see?! The only one whose hurting anyone is you! You’re hurting not only yourself but the people around you! Just like I hurt my son, now you’ve gone and hurt yours.”

Héctor laughed. “Oh please! This is completely different. My son screwed up, yours didn’t.” Héctor then leaned in close, sneering. “And I’m pretty sure when Miguel ran off all of his bones were still intact!”

“HÉCTOR!”

Imelda’s shout, as well as the horrified gasps of everyone around them, caused Héctor to draw back a little. In an instant he knew that he had gone too far, and if he didn’t know then he would have realized it less then a second later: When Wanda came up and slapped him hard across the face. Staggering back slightly and reaching up to his stinging cheek, he could barely make out Wanda standing before him past the flashing colors and white spots.

“How dare you?!” Wanda screamed as Héctor shook his head to clear his vision. “How dare you throw that in his face?! Your own son! You stupid bastard!”

“I need to leave.”

Wanda turned back to Matty, instantly by his side and murmuring soothing words to her husband. Matty stood their trembling, clutching his cane for dear life and trying not to raise it in order to attack his father. So many emotions rushed over his face: Shock, fury, despair, shame. He looked like he was at war with his emotions and about to lose control, but through his pain he could only managed a choked-out whisper. “Wanda, I need to leave. I need to leave. I need to leave…”

“Shh shh, it’s alright darling. We’re going now. It’ll be alright.” Guiding her shaking husband away from everyone else, Wanda turned back to Héctor. Despite his back being towards her, she still shouted at him. “You should be ashamed of yourself! We’re leaving too, and we’re not waiting until morning! We’ll take the private plane out tonight! And don’t even bother coming to Thanksgiving dinner, you are not wanted! Goodbye Mamá Imelda. Coco. I’ll let you know when we’ve landed.”

Watching Wanda lead her distraught son away from the plaza, seeing Julio try to console his wife and daughter, Rosita and her twin brothers standing there not knowing what to do, Imelda decided she had seen enough. Walking up to the three other unaffected members of the family, she spoke as calmly and sternly as always. “Rosita, go back to the museum to your husband. Make sure that the children haven’t killed him, Bueno? Oscar, Felipe, please escort Coco and her family back home safely and then you all come back to the mansion. I’ll handle Héctor.”

Rosita wrung her hands worriedly. “Are you sure, Mamá Imelda?”

“Sí, are you sure hermana?’

“If you want we can stay with you-”

“-So you won’t be alone to deal with him.”

“I’ll be fine. Gracias.” Imelda said. “But Mateo is right: This needs to end. Go on home.” Watching the rest of her family walk off in dejection, Imelda turned to glower at Héctor who was still facing away from her and holding his cheek. “Well I hope you’re happy, Héctor Rivera! You have blown this whole mess way out of proportion and now-”

A sniffle broke through her tirade and she stopped to listen. Another sniffle and then a shudder throughout Héctor’s body immediately diminished much of Imelda’s anger towards her husband. Héctor had gone way out of line, humiliated his youngest child on his birthday and had pretty much alienated the entire family in the span of five minutes, but he wasn’t totally without sympathy. He was in a great deal of pain, and Imelda found herself gently placing her hands on his shoulders as he gently wept. “Oh Héctor. My sweet Héctor… It’ll be all right, mi amor.”

Lifting his head up Héctor looked at Imelda with his eyes full of tears, taking his hand off of his reddened cheek. “Imelda, please tell me you didn’t know about this.” He whispered. “Please.”

With a small sigh Imelda gazed away, but Héctor already saw the look of guilt and started to draw away again. “I knew he was listening to music at Coco’s… I didn’t know that he knew how to play an instrument.”

“Dios mio, it’s ruined…” Héctor moaned out, walking away from her to start pacing the ground again. “It’s all ruined! Everything! I hate this stupid day and everything about it!”

“I know you do Héctor.”

“You think I don’t know, Imelda?!” Héctor yelled at her, his anger quickly flaring back up as he paced. “You think I don’t know how much everyone laughs at me?! The company, the whole industry, even the people of Santa Cecilia? ‘Ay, there goes Señor Rivera. Made his fortune with his music but can’t even stand to listen to a creaky old music box.’ ‘If he doesn’t like music then maybe he should give his money away to the people who actually want to make music.’ I bet they even wish that Ernesto was the one who… who survived. He was the face of the entertainment industry, the entertainer. Everyone loved him and tolerated me because I was a package deal.”

Imelda shook her head. “That’s not true!”

“They all laughed at me, but I had hoped… That my family would understand my feelings.” Héctor sniffled again, but with a harsh brush across his eyes he continued. “That they would understand that music has brought me nothing but pain and misery. How much I can’t stand it. I thought they would but that ended up being wishful thinking, didn’t it? They went behind my back because they think I’m foolish just like everyone else. They don’t care that it hurts me, that they hurt me. They don’t care.”

“They do care about you, Héctor.” Imelda said softly, taking him by the arm. “They love you. But you know you don’t really hate music.”

“I do!”

“No, mi amor. I know that you are traumatized by what happened to Ernesto and you link music to it, but you don’t truly hate it.”

“I hate it! I swear that I hate it. Why doesn’t anyone understand that?! I hate-”

“Héctor, you sing in your sleep.”

Héctor stopped as the air was sucked out of his lungs. He stood there for a moment, trying to really process what was just said to him. He stood frozen until finally, with a choked gasp that was almost a sob, he looked at Imelda. He tried to find any hint of a lie in her face, but she just smiled sadly at him. Wistfully. His face crinkled in confusion. “What?” he whispered.

“You sing in your sleep.” She repeated. Rubbing his arm soothingly, she leaned into him for comfort. “Sometimes you sing songs that you’ve written before, sometimes they’re ones that I’ve never heard of. Not whole songs, just a random verse or two. Mostly you just hum out what’s in your head. And yes, they’re all wonderful melodies. Beautiful. After all these years you haven’t lost your touch.”

As Héctor continued to stare at her incredulously, as if she had just told him that he might as well have killed someone, she smiled again and brushed back his hair into place. “You don’t do it every night, just sometimes. You did last night. I think you only do it on nights that you’re upset. I think you do it to make yourself feel better.”

At that comment Héctor suddenly found himself flashing back to a long-forgotten memory of his youth. Perched on a branch of an old tree by the cemetery, with an ancient guitar on its last legs resting in his lap as he plucked at the strings. And sulking. Not about the tragedies of his life, the tragic death of his youngest daughter, the brutal demise of his best friend. No, just the minor grievances of a teenage boy that would be forgotten about not long after.

“Why so down, hermanito?”

“Ay, I tried to speak to Imelda today, but she won’t talk to me. I think she’s still mad that I ruined her quince anos. Not that I blame her. I did knock the punch bowl all over her.”

“Well I see that your foul mood hasn’t affected your playing.”

“Eh, when life gets me down I play my guitar.”

“… That’s really corny, Héctor.”

“It’s poetic. You’re just jealous that you didn’t come up with it.”

“Whatever. Not skooch over and teach me that scale you just did.”

No no NO! He did not need to think about nonsense like that! With a hard shake and a jerk he wrenched himself from Imelda’s gentle hold, his anger returning to warm him back up after being left so icy cold from that revelation. To give him strength.

“I asked for one thing Imelda.” He said with a snarl. “I have provided for my family quite well and provided for other families quite well. I have sacrificed so much to get where I am today, and the one favor I ask for myself is scoffed at and completely ignored. By my own family.”

Imelda reached out for him again. “Héctor, please-”

“If it had been you who would have said ‘no music’, everyone would have bent over backwards to please you. But since it was me who asked, well, he must not really mean it, si?” The thought of that clicked inside of Héctor, made things seem clearer to him. And it also started to curl something dark and ugly inside his belly. His glare darkening to something fiercer, he snarled. “Maybe… if my family feared me like they feared you… If I was as cold and unyielding as you… Then I would have some respect around here.”

Imelda’s eyes widened in shock and hurt, then it was her turn to glare. “Cold and unyielding? How can you say that?”

“You made me believe, for three years, that you didn’t love me. And then kicked me out of my own house.” Héctor hissed out. “I can’t think of anything colder than that.”

Imelda gasped at that, and her anger turned to hurt once again. Her eyes lowered, ashamed, she sighed sadly. “Héctor… that was years ago. I was hurt and confused… and I apologized to you. Several times. Are you saying that you’ve never forgiven me for that?”

“All I know is that if the roles were switched, that I had abandoned you, there would be no apologies or forgiveness. I would be persona non grata in my own family.” Crossing his arms, he stood tall over his wife as he stared her down. “Look me in the eye and tell me I’m wrong.”

Héctor gave her a moment to try to come up with an answer, a very generous moment.  A full ten seconds, even. But when she continued to stare at the ground, Héctor smiled and nodded bitterly. With a shake of his head, he waved her away as if done with her, and started to walk away. But then finally her voice spoke up again, firmly and with no emotion.

“Trying to burn as many bridges as you can tonight, Héctor?”

Turning back, he shook his head. “I’m trying to get the respect I deserve as patriarch and provider for this family. And if that means a total change in attitude, to be stricter and less forgiving, then so be it. Go back to the house, Imelda.”

“We have to find Miguel.”

“We don’t need to find him, I know exactly where he’s going.” Héctor said. “Chente said Miguel idolized Ernesto, then there’s only one place he’d be at this time of night and on this day: The cemetery. Now go home, Imelda. Now.”

“Héctor, please don’t punish your son!” Imelda pleaded, trying one last time to push some sense into her husband. “You’ve already publicly humiliated him on his birthday, isn’t that enough?”

“…Apparently not.” Héctor said, and with that he started towards the cemetery. Not listening to his wife’s weakening pleads and calls for him to come back, he was on a mission. And nothing would stop him.

In an alley next to the plaza, a small cat and a hairless Xolo dog watched as the irate man left his mate alone next to the gazebo. Dante whined as he watched the woman start to weep softly into her hands, but was cut off when a soft nudge jostled him. Looking down he saw Pepita staring up at him with half-lidded yellow eyes, then, with a quick tilt of her head, gestured at him to follow the old man.

With a yip and a goofy wag of a tail Dante bolted like a bat out of hell after Héctor, tripping a little and then smacking into the gazebo stairs, before just as quickly shaking it off and continuing on. With a slight exhale aof a sigh coming out of her nose, Pepita made her way over to her desolate soul. Her task now was to watch over her: to comfort her throughout the night, maybe even comfort the rest of the family as well. Aside from a few grabby children trying to pull her tail, her job for the night was relatively easy.

Dante’s, though, was just beginning.

“Buena suerte, pelón…”

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

As Héctor walked down the streets of Santa Cecilia towards the cemetery, many thoughts were running through his fury-addled brain. ‘How could they?’, ‘Doesn’t anyone care about how I feel?’, and ‘I’ll show them not to disrespect me!’

But there was one other thought that was just beneath the surface of his anger, something that he couldn’t shake off or ignore:

‘What have I done?’

Because despite all the self-righteous anger coursing throughout his body, the acrid bubbling of guilt was threatening to come up. He could still see his family’s horror, their sadness, their rage. He could see Coco ashamed and cowed, Matty shocked into a dumbed stupor, Imelda’s quiet sadness. He could see Miguel’s absolute heartbreak as he had cried and ran away from him. All of that because of him.

But every time the guilt made its presence known to him, anger and pride would push it right back down. No, it was not because of him. Not entirely. His family had disregarded his feelings. They kept secrets from him. They had betrayed him. It was high time that got the respect that he deserved, even if he had to force it upon everyone.

Before he knew it he had reached the cemetery. It was beautiful to behold, just like it was every year. Hundreds of softly glowing candles on every grave, thousands of cempazuchitl flowers gathered in bunches and petals littering the ground. The scents of freshly baked foods and incense, the quiet murmurings of the townspeople crowding the area. Such a warm and inviting atmosphere in a normally morbid environment.

But Héctor’s attention was solely on the mausoleum. Weaving his way through the gravestones, tilting this way and that so as not to disturb anyone on his trek, Héctor kept an eye out for Miguel. But as he got closer, close enough to see Ernesto’s smug grinning bust atop the obscene eyesore of his final resting place, there was no sign of his son. His brow crinkled in confusion. He was so sure that he would be here. With his hands on his hips he glanced around the cemetery, then back to the mausoleum. Where in the world could he be?

Then he saw the window.

It was open. And it looked like it was opened by force. Slowly he made his way towards the open window, and as he got closely he heard something: A soft voice near whisper but echoing slightly in the almost empty crypt. An awfully familiar voice.  Peering inside, Héctor was shocked by what he saw. It was Miguel, alright, kneeling on top of the crypt where Ernesto’s remains laid, staring reverently up at the painted portrait and the golden guitar supported on the wall pegs.

“-don’t be mad. I-I’m Miguel. Your godson, remember? I was smaller than when you last saw me, heh... But I’m in trouble and I need your help.” Then, to Héctor’s horror, Miguel reached up to grab the guitar. “I-I need to borrow this.”

“MIGUEL!”

With a gasp Miguel whipped around, tucking his hands back to his sides without ever having touched the guitar. He shrunk back in horrified panic at who he saw. “Papá!”

“What the hell are you doing?!” Héctor said as he forced his way up and through the window. It wasn’t easy for his fifty-year old body, and he was sure he felt something pop, but he ignored it as he came inside and headed straight for Miguel. “Have you lost your mind?! Get down from there now!”

Gasping in panic Miguel scurried down off of the crypt and in his hurry landed hard on his backside, but Héctor just went over to the crypt to make sure everything was in order. “Dios mio, you moved the lid! How?! You only weigh-Ay!” With a choked off gasp Héctor backed away from the crypt in terror. The lid was slightly moved to the side, almost cracking open. Almost revealing what was inside. The very thought of Ernesto’s body inside of it made him painfully nauseous. His body was in there, and he almost saw it again. Saw all that blood again. All over him. All-

“What are you doing here?!” Miguel shouted at his father, breaking Héctor out of his downward spiral.

“What am-what am I doing here?!” Héctor asked in disbelief. “What are you doing in here?! Better yet, what were you about to do? And-” Suddenly something caught his eyes as he looked over his son, something he had never noticed until now. Horror and disgust filling him, he numbly pointed at his wrists. “What are those?...”

Looking down at his new wristbands, Miguel held them protectively to his chest and glared back at Héctor. “They’re my de la Cruz wristbands.”

“Take them off.”

“No!” Miguel shouted. “Everyone wears them! They were his signature look! And Victoria made them for my birth-”

“TAKE THEM OFF NOW!”

At Héctor’s thundering yell Miguel ripped them off quickly, scraping his wrists in the process, and flung them to the other side of the mausoleum. There was some whispered mutterings of the people outside, someone saying that they should get the groundskeeper to unlock the tomb to see what was going on, but the two occupants paid them no mind. They just stared at each other: one in terror, the other in anger.

“So what?” Héctor finally asked, causing Miguel to flinch. “You a grave robber now?”

“N-no!” Miguel stammered out. “I’m not a grave robber. I was just taking it… from his… grave.”

“That’s grave robbing.”

“No, I was just going to borrow it!” Miguel said. “For the contest! Then I was going to put it back.”

“You’re not playing in the contest, Miguel. You’re not going to play ever.” Héctor said. “I forbid it.”

“What is wrong with you?!” Miguel shouted, angry tears forming in his eyes. “Why do you hate music so much?! You were the greatest songwriter of all time. People sing your songs every day. They made you famous! They made you rich! How can you hate music?”

“Because it took my best friend away from me!” Héctor shouted back.

“No it didn’t! A giant bell did!”

“And what put him under that bell, huh?!” Héctor asked, then shook his head. “You know what? No. No, you’re right. A giant bell did kill him. But really it only sped up what was going to happen to him anyway.”

At Miguel’s confused look, Héctor walked over to where the wristbands laid and picked them up, holding them in front of his son. “Guess what these were for, huh? Why Ernesto always wore them, even on hot summer days?”

Thinking about it a little, Miguel couldn’t do more than shrug. “Th-they… They were cool. I don’t kn-”

“He used them to hide his slit wrists. I saw them myself, and he admitted to it.” Throwing them back to the ground, he made his way over to the portrait. Gazing at his friend’s proud smiling face, he whispered painfully, “He tried to kill himself.”

“What?...”

“He tried to end his own life. But that’s not all…” Héctor kept looking at the portrait, even when the picture before him started to blur more and more. “He was also on drugs. The bad ones Miguel: cocaine, heroin, pills. I don’t know what he didn’t take.” He held his tongue about all the women who had come forth to try and get a piece out of the de la Cruz estate after his death. And a few men as well. Miguel didn’t need to know about that. “And I know why he did it too. Why he tried to kill himself.”

“You do?”

“Si… It’s because it was too much for him.” Turning back towards Miguel, Héctor continued. “The fame, the Papárazzi, working nonstop on music and movies. Sometimes it just causes a man to wear too thin. That’s what happened to him, Miguel. I can’t let the same thing happen to you, claro? It’s for your own good.”

Miguel looked at his father, then at the portrait of Ernesto, before his face hardened. “No… No, it’s for your own good!”

“What?”

“Everything has been for your own good and I’m sick of it! Especially on my own birthday, it’s Héctor Rivera’s birthday instead!” Miguel shouted. “We don’t play music, we don’t even listen to music. We can’t watch Tio Nesto’s movies, we can’t even talk about him! You don’t talk about Leti, everything I know about her I’ve heard from someone else, never from you! It’s like you don’t even like them!”

“I loved them!” Héctor shouted back, his rage boiling over again. “I loved them more than anything else on Earth! They were taken from me, and I would give every centavo I have just to get them back!”

“And you’re rich because of music!” Miguel kept on, ignoring Héctor. “Saying you hate music after it’s made you rich, and makes you richer every day, makes you a hypocrite! You don’t care about what’s good for me! You don’t care about anyone but yourself! You’re a coward, a terrible father, and I don’t want to be a part of your family anymore!”

Héctor couldn’t believe this. Was everyone out to get him tonight? Did no one respect him at all? He couldn’t stand it anymore. He was the patriarch of the Rivera family, it was high time he started to act like it. No more pushover Héctor. It was time to put his foot down.

“I’m a terrible father?” Héctor asked. “Oh no no no… No, I’m not the terrible father. You know who was a terrible father? My father. And I had a terrible mother too. I was left alone on the steps of the church as a newborn, thrown away by the people who I depended on the most. My whole life I craved a family that I never had, and in the end I got it. And I gave my family everything I never had and more. But it’s not enough for you is it? You have the nicest clothes, a full stomach every day, a huge bedroom all to yourself filled with toys and games. And it’s not enough for you. You’re spoiled rotten.”

Bowing his head, tears finally fell down Miguel’s face at the insult. He shook his head and weakly squeaked out, “No, I’m not…”

“Well I am done being the nice parent. The nice husband. The nice little brother who does what he’s told.” Héctor hissed. “I couldn’t stop your brother from going off to war. I couldn’t stop your mother from kicking me out. I couldn’t stop Ernesto from going on that stage that night. I tried to stop them, and I couldn’t. But I’m certain that I can stop you from going down the same path that he did.”

“So first of all, you can forget going to that new school on the weekends, and you can forget waiting for the next school year. Because as soon as we get home we’re packing your belongings and setting you up first thing Monday morning. And you will stay there until summer break!”

Miguel’s eyes widened in horror, and cried out, “No! You can’t!”

“And I’ll make sure that you never come in contact with music while you’re there as well! No guitars, no radios, no record players, nothing! I don’t care if I have to pay extra nor if you’re under lock and key 24/7, you will never play or hear music again! Ever!”

Ignoring his son’s broken sobs and wails, Héctor turned on his heel to glare at Ernesto’s golden guitar mounted on the wall underneath his stupid fat face. A gift that he had given him out the love for his brother, now the bane of his existence and an unwanted temptation to his son. “And the first thing I’m going to do is get rid of this stupid thing once and for all!”

He grabbed the guitar and swung it off the pegs. It must have been a little too hard, or maybe he just didn’t know his own strength, because when he did the force of it sent a flourish of golden petals to drift and float in the air with a loud whoosh! And if was paying a little more attention he would have noticed that the petals seemed to have glowed a little brighter. Turning back, he gestured at Miguel with hard jerk of the guitar. “Now get up. We’re going home.”

Miguel didn’t say anything. He just stared at him silently, mouth agape. He wasn’t even crying anymore. Just staring up, a little vacantly and with his eyes darting slightly. Finally, just as Héctor felt himself getting more annoyed and angrier by his silence, Miguel whispered, “…Papá?...”

Héctor sighed and shook his head. “We’re done talking about this. I’ve made up my mind and you won’t-”

“Papá?! PAPÁ!”

Now Miguel wasn’t even staring at him, instead looking frantically around the mausoleum, and now Héctor was getting fed up. “Enough of this! Miguel, we’re going home now! Miguel stop screaming! Miguel!”

Suddenly the sound of a metal key grating through the door lock was heard, and both Héctor and Miguel turned to see a pock-mocked teenager walking inside with a flashlight. “Alright, who’s in here?” he asked in a squeaky voice.

Héctor stepped around Miguel and held up a hand towards the young teen. “It’s all right chamaco. I’m handling this, we’ll be on our way shortly.”

“Miguel?” the teenager said surprised. “What are you doing in here? Where’s de la Cruz’s guitar?”

Miguel said nothing, just stood there shaking in terror and struggling to breathe. Héctor held the guitar up for him to see. “I have it, and I’ll be taking it with me for the time being, so if you’ll excuse-”

“Ay, mi abuelo is going to kill me if he finds out you took it on my watch!” the teenager moaned, then walked towards Miguel. “Come on, you shouldn’t be here. I’ll take you home.”

Héctor stood firmly in front of Miguel, stopping him from coming closer. “Oye, I said I’ll handle it! What is with everyone?! Why does no one ever listen to-”

*whoosh*

“-meEe?...”

With a sickening feeling, and a hot and cold sensation, Héctor felt the young boy walk through his body and out the other side. Clutching his stomach at the feeling, he whipped around to see the teenage boy grab Miguel by the arm and start to pull him away. “Hey, let go of him!”

He reached out to pull the boy’s hand off of his son, but as soon as he made contact his hand phased through the arm like a wisp of smoke before forming solid again. Staring at it disbelief, Héctor twisted his hand side to side to look at it. And to his horror, he found that he could actually see through it. And his hand, as well as his arm, his leg, his whole body… was glowing gold.

He kept staring at it, mesmerized and confused, until his son’s voice broke through his mental short. Miguel was screaming as he tried to break free of the older boy’s grip, and what he screamed made Héctor’s insides run cold.

“No, stop! Please! My papá disappeared! He’s gone! He vanished into thin air!”

No.

No, I’m still here.

“Hey stop!” Héctor shouted as he followed them out into the cemetery. “Give me back my son! I’m right here! Can’t you see- aah!”

Suddenly another person bumped into him, or rather through him, and Héctor was once again bombarded with that nauseating sensation of cold and heat. Then another came. And another. Apparently everyone thought it was a good idea to crowd around the mausoleum to see what all the commotion was about, but all it was doing was knocking Héctor’s world off course.

Trying to weave through the mass of people, trying to locate Miguel by his shouting over the rush of blood through his ears, Héctor finally made it through the crowd. He had practically swam through all of them, and not one of them ever looked at him.

No one could see him at all.

Another shout from Miguel brought his attention back to what was important. The teenager had now almost dragged Miguel to the exit, but the path was clear now. Dodging through the maze of gravestones, Héctor was getting closer and closer towards his son. “Oye kid! Let him go! You hear me?! Let him-”

With another whoosh, and another nauseating tilt as a random woman walked into his direction, Héctor’s legs folded out from under him and he planted hard on his face. Laying on the ground for a few moments, trying to get his bearings and his breathing back under control, Héctor didn’t notice the shadow loom over him. Not until a sweet voice called out and a gentle hand touched his shoulder.

“Dios mio! Señor, are you okay? You fell pretty hard! Here, let me help you up.”

As he felt the hands grip his arms and his body lift off the ground, Héctor sighed in relief. Someone could see him, and he could be touched. He was normal again. Probably was normal to begin with. He had been so angry before; it must have popped a few screws loose. His brain had been a little addled, but it was all just a simple mind trick. Nothing was wrong. He was seen and heard. All was well.

“Ay, gracias a Dios.”

“Are you all right now, Señor?” the woman asked, brushing the dirt off of his jacket with gloved hands. Héctor nodded and smiled, looking up.

“Sí. Gracias Señoritaa-aaa-ha-AAA-HAAA-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

[escarlatafox]

whispers for the 'send you a series' meme, i'm tempted to just be Unoriginal and say kung fu panda, but if you'd rather something else, i'm seeing a lot of steven universe around here jfjfiea

Masha ily. You know that, right? :D

Kung Fu Panda:

Favourite character: Who else but Shifu? XD

Second favourite character: It might actually be Po

Least favourite character: Hard to think of a least favourite character. If we ONLY count the main cast + the villains in the movies and exclude any other minor characters, then I’d say Kai maybe? Just wasn’t as impactful to me as the other characters/villains. Or if we include minor characters I might say the hugging panda from the third movie because the gag and his character didn’t really add much. Also, I’ve already spoken about this in the past, possibly more than once, but back when I was a child upon watching the first movie, my answer to this question would actually be Ping. Suffice it to say, my opinion on him changed a LOT. XD

The character I’m most like: Maybe I am like Po in some ways. At my core, I’m a fangirl lol. And I like food :O

Favourite pairing: Don’t really have any ships. Crane and the girl from that one short tho. Like idk if I’d want them to get together, maybe not now that I think about it. But it would be nice to see them interact more.

Least favourite pairing: HAH. Let’s just say I really hate what Legends of Awesomeness decided to do with Shifu in the shipping realm and leave it at that. :P

Favourite moment: YOU’RE GONNA MAKE ME CHOOSE? There’s no way. I could only list off notable ones. Okay, if we narrow it down to non-Shifu moments, off the top of my head, you obviously have the iconic cannonball scene at the end of kung fu panda 2, and in the THIRD movie I love love love how when Po is in the spirit realm and he says “turns out... I’m all of them” and the music swells and the framing and the scenery is just. so gorgeous . I love. So much. If I sat here thinking too long I’d probably start recapping all the movies SO since I’ve thrown those two out there I’ll cut myself off before I get too out of hand. XD

Rating out of 10: First movie is just 10/10 for me. It’s my favourite movie, not just in the franchise but like, probably ever among movies in general, and just about every moment and scene feels like home when I watch it. The trio of movies I’d then put at probably around 9/10.

Steven Universe:

Favourite character: I can now say with confidence that it is Steven Universe.

The people who liked Steven “before it was cool” certainly have bragging rights, because I was one of those people who failed to find myself among them, as I lacked the foresight, or... future vision for it. :P. At first, in the very early days, I didn’t really care for Steven. It’s often very easy to gloss over a protagonist, and, in my case, not truly appreciate what’s great in a character like early-days Steven, or even Po. Now, Steven and Po are, naturally, quite distinct characters in their distinct franchises but there are certainly parallels that can be drawn, not only in their character but how I initially felt towards them. By asking for both fandoms in the one ask, I feel like you’ve given me the opportunity to speak about this, which has been idly on my mind every so often. XDBoth Steven and Po are the protagonist of the franchise they’re in. They’re both fond of food, they both start out needing training and then develop incredible skills along the way until they become one of, if not the most powerful in the cast. They’re both generally very easygoing, excitable, enthusiastic, FRIENDLY, and generally kind. At the start of their journeys, there’s a lot of focus on how much they’re lacking in skills and abilities, how difficult it is for them to accomplish even the basics. They both gotta Save The World, whether it be more in the sense of the universe as a whole or China.And the thing is I had the same issue with Po as I did with early-days Steven; I didn’t realise how great Po is. I was just a little too dismissive. With time, (and I’m talking around the point where I actually entered the fandom after the second movie was out, so it was mostly kid me who is guilty of not recognising Po’s greatness) I grew to realise just how cool Po is, to truly appreciate his genuine enthusiasm and excitement and also utmost reverence and admiration of kung fu. I simply Expected Po’s character to be less than it was, which is what caused the oversight. But Po is honestly so fantastic and deserves every last bit of love the fandom has to offer him. Also, seeing his potential and him reaching his potential is so damn epic. See: his “turns out, I’m all of them” quote/scene I mentioned earlier.So to bring things back to Steven, whose character arc nonetheless has its VERY stark differences from Po’s, it was around when Steven managed to calm down and stop the cluster that it fully registered in my mind how fantastic and amazing he is and how much I appreciate his character. In fact, it was a little earlier than that. Pretty sure I hadn’t actually started watching the show yet when Sadie’s Song aired, but I was getting all the deets secondhand on my dashboard and I loved what I heard and saw in gifs/pics. A boy who just wants to perform and dance around on stage in heels and a gorgeous outfit to boot (I really liked the thought of trans girl Steven at the time tbh, which was being thrown about on my dashboard back then, though of course that’s not the path the show decided to go down, so he/him it is...!). He had my full support. And THEN when he calmed the cluster down like that... (and I think I was probably watching the show at that point?) I just, loved his incredible talent to reach out to others and HELP them, I loved his magical gem abilities and how he always seemed to be triumphing against the odds, and as the show progressed his feats only started getting more and more impressive. I absolutely noticed how much responsibilities he’d started forcing onto himself, how he was trying to manage everyone and be an adult to all the adults in his life, I was kind of intrigued by how much he was shouldering, and it struck me that he had developed an Atlas Personality long, long before he was ever listed as an example of it on the wikipedia page. I simply adored Steven and his placement in the show and everything.He’s also completely ACING things as usual in the movie too.And then Steven Universe Future hit, and oh boy, that’s a whole other story. Steven truly emerged as the forefront seeing as the focus was now unrelentingly on him and his issues. What initially got me really hooked as well, was the inherent shock and intrigue of seeing a character who would usually always do the right thing, who always seemed to know what was best for everyone, who always seemed to be able to read a situation and understand who needed help and then reaching out and offering them help... not only completely failing to recognise that HE was the source of a given problem (see: the pink dome rapidly closing in), but to actively dig himself deeper by being convinced SOMEONE ELSE was at fault, and whirling around and trying to pin it all on them. Before Steven whirled around to point at Lars, there was absolutely no doubt in my mind that he was about to be like “guys, you know what? I think I’m causing this - I think I have some stuff going on” LOL NOPE. And that was only the tip of the ice berg. Steven had nowhere else to go but down, and boy, down did he go until he hit rock bottom, pulled out a shovel and started digging.

Second favourite character: Hard to say. I do know that I am crazy about the zircons (I mean c’mon - lawyers!). I was crazy about Blue Pearl when we first saw her too. My answer might’ve been Aquamarine or even Eyeball if it wasn’t for Steven Universe Future. Seeing more of them just kinda made me go “ok you know what, yeah this isn’t really what I expected and they’re not actually really my thing after all.” I reeeeally don’t know. Steven Universe has such a stellar cast of great characters. Steven Universe Future also kinda threw me off Spinel, but obviously Spinel is A+ as well.

Least favourite character: I don’t really care about Lapis. She just kind of lost appeal as a character to me and I never really understood her I guess. I was also never fond of the diamonds... because you know, discourse, and like, the discourse kind of has a point. But after Steven Universe Future I might invest more in trying to understand their positioning in the show a little more, now with the confirmation that Steven never did actually forgive them. I completely wrote-off White Diamond’s seemingly quick turnaround for the longest time and honestly never bought it and felt it was WAY too easy and rushed/forced. But I came to an internal understanding quite recently and I THINK I finally get what the show meant there so I think I can buy it now and find it believable at last, which is nice. So don’t quote me and don’t crucify me, but I might warm up to the diamonds a Little.

The character I’m most like: omg. There’s so many characters idk who is most like me hahaha

Favourite pairing: Connverse. Connie kissing Steven on the cheek in the movie made me SO pleased, and I can say this is my favourite pairing if only because the prospect of it not working out and instead going up in flames and not actually having a good resolution - which is a threat that felt so very real during Steven Universe Future - was deeply, DEEPLY upsetting to me. Like I didn’t care because I’d been taking it for GRANTED, but the moment anyone suggested, with alarming plausibility that they may split up or whatever, I was immediately on edge like “NO NO NO NO NO”.

Least favourite pairing: Stevinel. Stevidot. Just, any ship with Steven and any of the gems is an instant no from me. D:

Favourite moment: omggg. Again, there are simply way too many, so no answer I give here can or will be definitive. So I’ll simply state my love for when Steven is singing Change and Spinel yeets him in the sky and there’s the stellar animation where he goes “You can make it different... You can make it right! You can make it better! We don’t have to fight!”

Rating out of 10: I’d probably give it a 9/10, if only because, look. There are a LOT of shows out there. There are a lot of pieces of media I’m into and have watched. And Steven Universe is just. It’s good. Even when I like another piece of media MORE than Steven Universe, I can still more than readily acknowledge when/if SU has vastly superior writing. And it usually does. The only thing stopping me from giving it a 10/10 is because for the vast majority of SU’s existence I was mainly only ever a passive watcher/fan and/or got secondhand knowledge (closer to the start of it airing), so it lacks that fundamental closeness to my heart that something like Kung Fu Panda has. (Though I got way more close to it during SUF, as my reblogs can attest to LOL). The other thing stopping it from hitting that 10/10 is there are things I still take issue with, like how the Rose=Pink reveal undermines Pearl’s character (the “rebellion” aspect) and casts an EXTREMELY uncomfortable light on Pearl being in love with Rose. Yes, the show already showed us that Pearl’s obsession with Rose is unhealthy and problematised it. But regardless of how problematised it already was, I’m just not comfortable with a former slave being shown as being in love with their former master at all. What does that add, realistically? There are other valid criticisms that have been pointed out, namely how aspects of the show such as Sugilite’s role in Coach Steven do fail its Black audience. That undercurrent is there and it’s unfortunate.

[takemealivelh]

If requests are still open, can you do a Luke Hemmings x reader where it’s that cocktail chats, and the reader is the one directing & filming bc she’s known for being good at both so they get her down to do it. Luke has a massive crush on her, either before she shows up or when she does show up and he’s thinking “shit” lmao. So when they get really shitfaced, he says something on camera about her & gradually starts hitting on her until he asks her out lol

ALRIGHT! This took me forever but I DID IT! Proud of this one (I think)

This one’s for ya!

(Luke’s POV)

One of our strong points as a band, besides creating and performing music we believe in, is how we interact with our fans. They know us, they know we're up for a good time and we don't shy away from making fools out of ourselves. The Cocktail Chats seemed like a good idea to get it all together in one project. That was until I found out who was directing and filming.

"She should be here any second" Ashton scrolled through his phone. We were waiting for the crew to set up the cameras, lighting and audio at his kitchen, and we'd gotten there a few hours before just to help him clean up. 

"Who?" I made the dumb mistake of asking. Michael, Calum and Ashton looked at me wide-eyed with the biggest looking frown on their faces. "What?"

"Are you fucking serious? We discussed this weeks ago, mate" Michael shook his head. He immediately started laughing when I didn't reply, "okay, maybe your brain has been pushing it to the back so you didn't shit your pants every day we got closer to filming." Ashton laughed along and high-fived our guitarist. None of them answered my question, though.

I looked for Calum's face, but he didn't help me out either. 

The doorbell rang, "she's here!" Ashton smiled and got up from his spot on the kitchen table. 

"This is going to be good" Michael laughed under his breath before pushing himself off the countertop and walking towards the front door behind Ash. "Hey!" I heard him yell in excitement and a few other voices greeting them. "Hey man, you drove everyone here?"

"Yeah, yeah, I did. I wasn't going to miss this, you four getting drunk and discussing music?" Alex's voice was unmistakable, and I was glad he'd come around, "wouldn't fucking miss it, also I wanted to help. Where are the other two? We need to set all this equipment."

"Cal! Luke! Don't be dicks and come help out"

When I got to the front door and saw Ashton's arm around her shoulders, her hands holding a camera tripod, I felt the colour fade from my face. 

Maybe Mike was right.

-

"Can you move a little bit closer to the mic, Cal? Please?"

I saw her giving directions, saw her being her charming professional self. Carrie seemed to have everything under control but never stopped being the lovely person she is. When Ashton stood next to her, asking her about how they'd bring the concept to life, she explained her vision with such eloquence that I decided I could listen to her talk about her work for hours. She was a smart, creative, kind person. I was crushing so hard on her.

"Keep the drool to a minimum," I felt someone nudge my shoulder and saw Alex with a smug smirk behind me, getting ready the shots and cocktails we were about to drink. "You're not subtle, Luke. And I worry about how you'll act when you've got some drinks in you."

I rolled my eyes, "I can be professional, mate. Thanks for the confidence boost, though."

"I'm just saying," he laughed.

-

"Everyone does a shot and then we start with introductions, sounds good?" Carrie smiled from behind the camera. "Ashton, you go first. And... we're rolling."

The red light lit up and I felt my hands starting to sweat. I only needed to play it cool, just for a couple of hours. I'd been drunk before, and I'd been drunk before around her as well. It never went bad, but maybe because Cal had to drag me out of the party before I embarrassed myself. 

"Let it begin..."Ashton did a shot and the rest of us followed suit. I tried to be cool and impress her by being expressionless as the burning alcohol went down my throat. 

It didn't work.

"Hello, I'm Ashton, I'm the drummer in the band..."

"Hello, for everyone out there who doesn't know who I am, I'm Calum Hood..."

"I'm Michael, I play guitar in 5 seconds of summer..."

"I'm Luke..." my brain completely betrayed me when I saw her smile from the other side of the camera, "I'm NOT 6'4, I'm 6'2 at best..."

The more drinks I got in me, the sloppier I got, the stupider I got, the more I embarrassed myself. 

Oh god, she was so pretty when she laughed at my dumb jokes. 

"Can you tell him to say it without the word genius?" I heard her faintly over the loud mess we had going on. Ashton repeated the question I swear I saw a smirk on her face.

Of course, I messed up, again. 

-

"I think we need a break" 

"I think we need like 3 breaks," Mike was slouched on the floor next to the camera, "I can't concentrate for shit. Hey, man! When did you get here?"

The kitchen was quickly getting more crowded. When Ashton said that he started a party because he got drunk, he wasn't joking. From 8 people, we were now at 25. My words were starting to spill out of my mouth without any filter and I was partly worried that I would profess my undying love for her in front of everyone. But I was also feeling a bit confident, every time I made her laugh or blush -even faintly- I felt good. Maybe she liked me as well.

"You want a drink?" I offered her a glass of some cocktail we were drinking. Carrie smiled at me and showed me the half-empty glass in her hand. "Oh, you already have one. You want another one after that?"

"Luke! Stop giving her drinks, mate! You're so unprofessional"

Ashton laughed from the other side of the kitchen, slurping the rest of his cocktail, "we're discussing music while we're getting drunk, Cal. I think professional flew out the window a few hours ago"

She smiled at me and sipped the rest of her drink. Was I imagining things or was she maintaining a playful eye contact with me? Was it my vivid desires playing tricks to my drunken mind or was she running her hand up and down my arm? "I like you in this shirt, it suits you" she whispered.

I think my heart almost stopped beating.

- 

"Guys, you can do it. Only two more songs, alright?"

Michael and Cal made their way around the kitchen, trying to get everyone either to stay quiet or to go party on the backyard. Ashton was bopping his head to the beat of Empty Wallets.

The first piano part has always reminded me of N'Sync's Bye Bye Bye, and since we were all pretty shitfaced by now, decency had left the room a while ago. 

"I'm not gonna play anymore because that is fire"

"Wow"

"Pure Fuego"

"You're gonna burn down your house, Ash"

I could see Carrie trying to contain the laughter as we all teased Ashton.

"Thank you, audience participants. That was very supportive."

I sat next to her as the rest of the band did their part of the video. I saw Alex's cheeky grin at me, and Mike's eyebrows wiggle at me when Carried shifted in the stool and subtly brushed her body against mine. I thought my body wouldn't be able to take that much heat.

-

We had finished talking about Ghost Of You and now we were doing the Deluxe tracks of the album. But it was likely that none of that footage was going to end up in the actual videos. We were absolutely smashed. Michael had to go out to take some air, Cal went out for a smoke and Alex and Ash followed to spend some time with all the people they had invited over.

It was just me and Carrie.

"Alright, Luke. Monsters Among Men. What's it mean?"

"Er..." my mind was racing five hundred thoughts at the speed of light. Her hair had been put up in a ponytail because the temperature in the room had gone up quickly in the past 20 minutes. She had a few strands of hair stuck with sweat to her skin and the cleavage exposed by her v-neck shirt was glistening. I couldn't focus. 

She gave me a sly smile, "are you gonna talk, or?"

"You're cute" I blurted out.

"You're drunk"

The way her nose crinkled when she teased me, the way the lighting hit the side of her face, the way she wiped the sweat off her forehead with two fingers... I needed to ask her out. "You're still cute when I'm sober, though"

"Wow, real smooth, Hemmings"

"I try"

Her laugh was enough to give me the last boost of confidence.

"You wanna go out with me? Not tonight, I won't be good company if I'm about to throw up all the time"

Carrie laughed and turned the camera off. "Alright, no deluxe," she said under her breath, shaking her head. I could feel my throat starting to close, she was breathtaking and I had asked her out and she wasn't replying and oh my god did I make a dick move?

"I'm free next week," she smiled.

Thank fucking god, "it's a date then."

TAG LIST:

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[crcfo123-blog]

What are the benefits of CFO and Why a Startup Company needs a CFO?

Big and tiny entrepreneurs would like somebody who can manage their companies’ finances to realize monetary stability, and it needs to be a chief money handler. However, hiring an Outsourced CFO and Accounting Services doesn't apply to any or all. Some cannot afford to try this. As luck would have it, there are part-time CFOs able to meet different company preferences.

 Hiring a part-time CFO and accounting services prices but obtaining a permanent one. For tiny corporations who don't have complicated monetary desires; however, it's best to rent a part-time business executive. CFOs oughtn't to complete eight hours every day and five days every week. Some CFOs are competent enough that they solely render services for in some unspecified time in the future every week.

 Also, part-time CFOs will give services that are at par with those of regular CFOs; thus, with part-time CFOs, corporations can do monetary growth while not invest an excessive amount of in hiring knowledgeable finance govt. There are typically no contracts, also, that bond an organization with a part-time business executive. This drives interim CFO and accounting services to perform higher.

 Since the part-time business executive is just needed to render business executive services for a brief amount, (s) he strives to satisfy the company’s finance and account outsourcing goals inside the assigned time. Thus, the objectives are earned quicker. It's not solely cost-effective; however, it is time-efficient, as well. Corporations have longer to specialize in different areas; therefore, quicker growth is achieved.

 Hiring part-time CFOs is additionally advantageous to the entire finance department employees. A part of the business executive services is providing employees with updated info regarding finance management. If there's a brand new business executive to mentor them, learning becomes continuous. Their information on economic management is unendingly revived.

 It is additionally a CFO’s responsibility to require half within the company’s strategy-making. If the corporate continuously hire a brand new business executive, new methods are shaped, and new approaches area unit developed. For entrepreneurs who need to embrace the new body and operational ways, it's ideal that they get part-time business executive services.

 Reasons why any Startup Companies need CFO?

 Time and time once more, a senior business executive has improved several companies’ findability, operational health, and exit price. Here’s why each start-up company wants a part-time CFO:

 Successfully Raises Capital

 A senior chief financial officer could be a crucial member of a powerful management team, even on a part-time basis. He or she adds quality and quality to the company’s money model and projections; helps the chief operating officer articulate the company’s industrial vision, and with efficiency negotiates and closes funding rounds.

 Avoid to Make Big Mistakes

 Every company experiences an incomprehensible forecast, sudden value overruns, unbudgeted expenses, and alternative surprises. Senior CFOs are consultants at anticipating the unforeseen, making ready for adversity, and minimizing the consequences on the organization and its money.

 Optimize Cash Management

 A part-time CFO provides robust forecasting and expense management to extend your company’s runaway and buy time to create more value.

 Improve Management of the Company

 Experienced CFOs skills to manage money and body tasks of every type. They apprehend what things ought to value, and may quickly and favorably discuss advantages, insurance, leases, bank lines, legal fees, outside service suppliers, and more. They create sure that accounting outsourcing numbers are correct and on time. They'll fluently manage adjunct operations and departments so that your information team doesn’t have to be compelled to pay time on the rear workplace.

 Avoid in Group Thinking

 A good CFO knows how to challenge a plan, proposal, and number constructively, or claim. It is their fiduciary obligation and different skill to avoid traditional thinking and force 360º problem solving to increase the chance of success.

Build Credibility

 Investors appreciate and value a senior CFO’s contribution. They understand that a decent CFO can be believed consultant and will enhance the company’s accounting sourcing, and the CEO’s performance.

 Increase the Possibility of Refinancing

 Corporations that fulfill or exceed plan manage cash and headcount well have a history of delivering accurate, on-time financials, and report few negative “surprises” typically get high marks from existing investors. And happy existing investors attract new investors.

 Help in Creating Constituent Confidence

 Having senior CFO reassures employees, creditors, suppliers, banks, service providers, and investors. You will persuade people nicely, get decent terms, and regulate better.

 Increase the Probability

 More than 90% of entrances are attained through a corporation or asset sale—often early in a company’s development. M&A buyers, often public firms, will either drastically rebate or avoid a young corporation with weak financials, executive, and operational supervision because the integration of pain and clean-up cost are too high. A part-time senior CFO can minimize the discount, friction, and transaction pain, thereby yielding a higher return for all.

 Give Return to your Investment

 A part-time CFO more than pays for their assistance, furnishing senior CFO creativity without full-time worker headcount. Many startups borrow a part-time CFO for as little as five hours per month and can measure his or her investment as the startup grows. As accessible as a part-time CFO is, how can you afford not to have one?

What is Rethinking Revenue for a Measurable Impact on a Company?

 That answer should guide everything – your business strategy, your structure, and staffing, your communications, your partnership outreach. Everything. It might even reveal that you’d be better off joining forces with another organization, that space is already too crowded or that your solution is missing a critical piece. Every day, thousands of organizations, governments, and individuals work to address pressing social problems – poverty, hunger, poor education, environmental degradation. This is wonderful: People are taking issues into their own hands and – in some cases – making a real impact. But a larger question persists: Are we all going about this the right way? Are too many organizations focused on the same issues, fighting for the same resources and fundraising dollars? Are competition and a lack of cooperation ultimately holding us back?

 Think about how overwhelmed donors must be. Then imagine how much stronger your case for support would be if you could offer solutions – an impact – that cuts to the heart of the issue. Comprehend how much power your case would be if you could relate a social impact “return on investment.”

About Author

CRCFO is a technical accounting and financial consulting firm utilizing a flexible and scalable team approach.  Our technical team is led by highly experienced former Big 4 partners.  To support your business strategy, we collaborate with your stakeholders to navigate your important transactions – IPOs, M&As, revenue arrangements - and other complex accounting, systems, process and business issues. CRCFO employs a risk-based approach to help you minimize transaction risk which maximizes stakeholder value by anticipating matters that can derail your business, transactions, financing, and external audits.