#anyway my point is tumblr has been doing this way longer than james has so please resist the urge to do this

[wild-at-mind]

Honestly really upset about the James Somerton thing.

[inherstars]

Oh hey, I'm making my semi-annual attempt to get back into Tumblr, because i loathe literally every other social media platform. Except Instagram, IG hasn't spurned me yet.

Anyway, this is just a dump of some story notes I worked on this morning, for no other reason than I felt like needed to get them down. I'm almost certainly not going to write it, but if I did it would take place in a very loosely structured universe I created for a, uh, niche interest community I belong to, even more loosely based on "Gears of War" (because I wanted people to be able to read it without having to also know what the fuck "Gears of War" was about.

The story is set in the same universe as Mad-World, a Gears-of-War-like post-apocalyptic militarized wasteland where humanity is fighting some kind of aggressive, largely underground alien enemy (that may or may not be sentient / weaponized? I don’t remember.)

The characters are a squad of soldiers tasked with setting demolition charges at known burrow openings, closing them up so that other teams can more safely move into place to set up camps, hunt for supplies, etc.  Their most recent Munitions Placement member recently transferred out, and they’ve just been assigned a new one.

The team is led by Sgt. James Candle. Gentle giant, quiet but friendly, well respected.  Despite the fact that he looks like he could crush your skull in one hand, he has zero interest in being any brand of hard ass.

The newest squadmate shares a last name with one of the existing members (no relation), and so Candle asks if she has a nickname they can use instead, so he doesn’t have to go by “Thing One and Thing Two”.  She says her first name is Daisy, and he agrees to go with that.

Daisy is pleasant, cheerful and upbeat, a stark contrast to the rest of the team. It’s clear, initially, they have no idea what to make of her, and she’s the square peg among them.  Candle is half-certain she’ll end up getting reassigned at some point, particularly if the rest of the squad doesn’t gel with her, but she’s good company and he commits to giving her a fair shake.

Their first mission out is to an old advanced care / retirement home, now largely rubble.  The APC parks at a safe distance and Daisy goes in to set the charges while the others do more remote, digital scanning of the area for “soft spots” to watch out for, seismic activity, or available resources for future extraction teams.  Candle gets on the radio and walks a distance from the APC, keeping ears and eyes on everything.

But Daisy is uncharacteristically quiet, even and especially for Munitions, and Candle has a hard time getting her to update him as to where she is and what she’s doing.  Even when she does respond, her answers are brief -- not rude, but clearly distracted.  On one hand, he doesn’t want to get off on a bad foot by dressing her down or trying to throw his weight around unnecessarily -- maybe this is how she works.  She is, after all, carrying a lot of explosives.  But he still needs her to communicate, for all their sakes.

Just before he can pull rank on her she announces that the charges are set and that she’s on her way out.  She crawls back out through the rubble and Candle goes to meet her halfway, telling the others to pull to a safe distance and they’ll meet them there for detonation.  He doesn’t want to “have words” with her in front of her new squadmates this soon.

Right away he can tell something is off about her.  She’s no longer smiling, upbeat. She’s withdrawn and quiet, answering all his questions so precisely as to seem almost scripted. Respectful, not rude or impolite, but with an economy of words and energy.  He changes technique and asks if she’s alright, she seems different.  She agrees she’s fine, it just takes a lot out of her.  He tells her that he needs her to communicate with him when she’s working, he needs to know where she is at all times in case something happens.

This seems to bring her out of her stupor a little, she apologizes and agrees that she’ll try harder to keep in touch with him.

He asks if she’s sure she’s cut out for this work, that if it’s not a good fit maybe she can be reassigned. She says that she’s been doing this almost exclusively since she signed up.  If he doesn’t feel she’s doing her job well he can request she be transferred.  He cuts her off gently and says he has faith she can do the job well, just wants to make sure she’ll enjoy it.

“Enjoy it, sir?”

“Right.  Poor choice of words.”

They head back together.  Shit gets blowed up real good, they all go home.

Although Daisy hangs around with them a little bit for dinner in the mess, she declines to join them for a drink.  She’s still out of sorts. Excuses herself for the evening.  After she’s gone, the others express reservations about her and her behavior.  They don’t seem to like her either happy or sad.  Candle says he’ll take it under advisement, but doesn’t want to make any judgments after just one mission.

The next mission is at an even larger facility, an old single-story shopping mall.  Daisy is back in good spirits, though Candle decides to keep a closer eye on her.

The entrances are all blocked and barricaded.  They briefly discuss blasting a hole, but Daisy tells them that it could destabilize the structure, and it might attract unwanted attention before they’re ready for it.  She has them pull the APC near to the building, near the roofline, and opts to rappel down through one of the ceiling skylights.

They park a distance away and Candle once again gets on the radio while the others do their surveillance.

“Talk to me, Dais.”  

Silence.

“Private.”

“I’m here, sir.  Sorry. I’m just… I had to get my lights going.  The interior is in pretty rough shape.”

Her voice is quiet, strained.  Fearful but strangely determined.

“Talk me through what you’re doing, where you are.”

“I’m… I don’t know, all the stores sort of look the same.  Trying to find a way around to the burrow hole.”

More silence.  He doesn’t want to be impatient with her.  He can hear her movement, so he knows she has the mic open to communicate.  She’s not being purposefully difficult, she’s trying to comply.  He gentles his tone.

“Tell me what you see.”

A moment of quiet, then, “Corpses.  Just… lots and lots of bodies everywhere.  Mostly bones, now.”  Even more softly, “So many bones.”

Candle looks back at the APC, walks a little further.

“Is that what it usually looks like?”

“Yeah.  It’s not just the people that were killed when the hole opened up.  These things, they sort of… they’re like gophers.  They push everything along the tunnels and then… up and out of their way, through the hole.  I can’t imagine what it must look like when they finally break through.  Like a… like an eruption of bodies.  It’s got to be awful.”

Her voice is rough, she’s getting in her own head.  He’s quiet, thinking about that, about what she must see every day: bodies upon bodies, Moms and children and grandparents in various states of decay.  Piles of expended humanity rotting slowly back to bone.  No wonder she lost her happy disposition.

“So what do you normally do when you’re out here,” he asks her. “How do you keep it together, when you don’t have your Sergeant yammering in your ear?”

“Not really much of anything.  I just try to get the job done. Get in and out as fast as I can.  I don’t like to think about what I’m seeing, too much, or it… you know, it comes back to you afterwards.  Tunnel vision helps.”

“Can I make a suggestion?”

“Sir?”

“Back when I used to, uh… well, when my old squad used to have moments of… let’s say nerves, I had them sing a song.  Just something simple to keep their mind off of whatever they were afraid of.  Maybe you can try that out.”

“Uh. Not much of a singer, sir.  Truth be told, I’d be hard pressed to come up with a song that isn’t wildly inappropriate to this specific situation.”

“Well, that’s kind of the point, isn’t it? Gotta lighten the mood, take yourself out of the moment.”  He clears his throat. “Here, I’ll start…uh…”

“...wait, what?”

And he begins singing to her, exactly as awkwardly and terribly as one would imagine he would sing.

“Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do.  I’m half crazy all for the love of you.  It won’t be a stylish marriage, I can’t afford a carriage. But you’ll look sweet upon the seat of a bicycle built for two.”

That was awful, and he’s pretty pleased with himself.  “How was that?”

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate the sentiment, sir, but we just met.”

He laughs out loud, drawing the attention of the rest of the squad looking on strangely from the APC.

“Hey, it’s been a while.”

“Since you last sang, or since you put the moves on a woman on a bike?”

He laughs again.  “Take your pick.”

“Hang on, I’m nearly…  OK.  There.  Charges set.”

“Good job.”  He starts back to the APC, gesturing to the others to wrap it up.  “Head straight back, we’re coming to meet you now.  I expect to hear you singing, Private.”

They pick her up as she comes back down from the roof.  At a distance they park again and the soldiers position themselves with sniper rifles to pick off anything that might come out, while Candle and Daisy watch from the top hatch of the APC.

“They don’t have to worry,” she says softly as the dust cloud spreads and rolls across the barren landscape. “There was nothing left alive in there.”

During later conversations, Candle gives her a bracelet -- brightly colored plastic beads on an elastic string.  Tells her it’s for luck, or maybe just to help keep her mind off things.  She’s bewildered but charmed.

“Where did you even get this?”

“What do you mean?  I made it.”

“You made this?”

“Don’t let the menacing good looks fool you.  I can also produce gallery-quality macaroni art, but macaroni is in pretty short supply these days.  They don’t like you gluing it to things.”

“Does this mean I’ve heard the last of your serenading?”

“Look, you don’t have to sound happy about that.”

He reveals to her, at some point, that his name was originally James Chandler, and despite the look of him he was not born a soldier.  Much to his father’s dismay, he actually took after his mother and wanted nothing more than to be a teacher.  He was teaching Kindergarten during the first attacks, when the war first began, and lost the entirety of his class when the school was brought down on top of them.  He was pulled from the rubble, unconscious.  They hadn’t been able to identify him until he emerged from a coma some days later.  

His school ID had been almost destroyed when he was rescued, the last name reduced from CHANDLER to J. C*ANDLE*, and so that’s what they’d listed on his chart.  When he learned about the fate of his class, he opted to keep that as his name, and enlisted as soon as he was medically cleared."

[glytchfic]

We started as a spark. PART 2.

David Dastmalchian x Fem!Reader

Bonjour! There goes Part 2, it’s a bit longer than Part 1. Look, i was truly inspired, okay? Anyway, i’m letting you guys decide which Tom is it, it’s up to you - wink wink -. And I’ve decided to change the name of the story, it’s still from the same song but i thought it was more fitting. 

Special thanks to everyone who’s reading me, i really appreciate it. Comments, complaints, the usual!

PS: Since i’m pretty new to the whole Tumblr thing, can anyone explain to me how am i suppose to do a ‘read more’ option on my post so people who doesn’t want to read it don’t have to scroll for so long? lol, i feel stupidddddd.

Enjoy!

Rating: 18+

Warnings: slow burn, foul language, flirting, sexual tension, drinking, brief mention of marital problems. 

Inspired by the song False Alarm by Matoma and Becky Hills.

___________________________________________________________

‘How about this one?’

‘You are not gonna get laid in this one, trust me.’ my friend tells me.

‘What if, and it might sound totally crazy, I don’t wanna get laid?’ I say, amused.

‘At a wedding? Bullshit.’  

I laugh a bit and go back to my cabin to change again. I look at all the possibilities in front of me, pink puffy dress, green silk dress and a white dress. I scowl looking at the white dress. As if I would wear that to someone else’s wedding. I draw the curtains of the cabin, only in my underwear, and look at Alica.

‘I’m desperate. For the love of God, find me something.’ I whine.

‘Why do you care so much about this wedding anyway?’ she says as she browses through a bunch of dresses behind her.

‘David will be there.’

‘The guy who looks like a serial killer?’

‘He does not -’ I begin, walking towards her, ‘he’s a sweet guy.’  

‘And he’s married.’ she states.

‘Yes, he is.’ I mutter.

After a long silence, she gently slaps me on my arm, ‘Oh my god! Are you serious? I thought you didn’t sleep with married men!’

‘I don’t!’ I defend myself, ‘I just – I don’t know. I wanna be smoking hot at Sean’s wedding and the fact that David is there might or might not have a direct link to my desperate search for the perfect dress. We might never know.’ I say with a bit of sarcasm.

‘Sweetie,’ she puts her hands on my shoulders, ‘I’m sure he’s a fantastic guy, but don’t get too hyped about him. You’re gonna get yourself hurt.’ she says in a gentle tone.

‘I -’ I stammer, ‘Look, it’s just a dumb crush. I’ll be over it after a new one-night stand.’

‘Are you sure?’ she questions me.

‘Sure. I mean, yeah, I’d climb this guy like a fucking tree -’

‘You’re unbelievable.’ she cuts me off.

‘Buuuuuut -’ I motion to her to let me finish, ‘I can’t, and I won’t. I honestly think David and I can be good friends. Whether you believe me or not, I really do think that.’ I reassure her.

‘I do believe you, but please, just be careful. I’m telling you this because I care about you.’ she says while putting a strand of my hair behind my ear.  

‘I know and if you were in my shoes, I would be telling you the same thing.’ I smile at her.

‘I know.’ she smiles back.

I hesitate a few seconds, ‘So anyway, as I was saying: like a fucking tree -’ I joke and start laughing.

‘Oh my god!’ she throws a black dress at my face, ‘go try this one. Hopefully, it’ll help you get some.’

_

Car keys in hands, I lock my car and walk toward the ceremony. I put my keys in my purse and see I have a text message from Alica wishing me good luck for the evening and all. I text back a simple ‘Thanks, love you xx’ and I put in back in my purse. I stop in front of the door, and I observe my surroundings. I see a few faces I recognize, and they wave at me. I wave back and smile at them. This event won’t be that bad. I’ll probably run into lots of people I know – from the industry – that I haven’t seen in a long time. Good opportunity to catch up.

‘Wow! You look beautiful!’

I hear a familiar voice and turn around. I see Daniela – Melchior, aka Ratcatcher 2 – trotting towards me. She opens her arms; I do the same and we hug each other more tightly than I thought we would. I really do enjoy Daniela’s presence, but she lives in Portugal and only come to the USA from time to time for the pre-production of the film so I haven’t had the chance to get to know her as much as I would have liked.

‘I didn’t think you would be here!’ I say, surprised.

‘Me neither, but James convinced Warner Bros to pay for my plane ticket and told them it was work related.’ she says, excited.

I laugh, ‘Of course he did that.’

I’ve known James for years and I would’ve been surprised if he hadn’t arranged for Daniela to be here for his brother’s wedding. James is always like that; he wants to create a sense of family with his crew, and no one is left behind.  

‘I’m so nervous.’ Daniela says quietly.

‘How come?’

‘I don’t know anyone here except for the Suicide Squad gang.’ she muttered, looking down.

‘Hey, gotta start somewhere, right?’ I gently put my hand under her chin, and I slowly raise her head. ‘don’t worry about anything, we got you.’ I wink at her, and a beautiful smile appears on her face.

‘Thanks.’

Daniela is, by far, the youngest of the group. She’s barely 23 years old, she’s from Portugal, English is not her first language, and The Suicide Squad is her first big international role. I remember the first time I saw her, she looked so intimidated being surrounded by all of us, but she’s learning so fast and I can’t wait to see what she’ll give us once we’re on set.

‘Let’s go, it’ll probably starts soon.’ I wrap a protective arm around her, and we walk through the front door.

_

‘I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride!’ the priest exclaims.

Sean grabs Nathasha – now officially his wife – by her waist and they kiss each other passionately. Everyone stands up and applauds to congratulate the newly married couple. Daniela grabs my arm, all excited by Sean and Nathasha walking down the aisle. I look at them, a huge smile on my face, and something – someone – caught my attention in the background.

‘What are you looking at?’ Daniela questions me, ‘hey look, David is over there!’ she says pointing in his direction.

Oh, poor child, if only you knew. Everyone starts following the married couple down the aisle and Daniela gently grabs my hand so we can’t get separated. Walking through this crown of Sean and Nathasha’s friends, Daniela and I find the exit and get there just in time to see the newly married couple leaving the place to go to the reception. I smile as I look at the car disappearing from my sight, I turn around towards Daniela and I freeze, my smile slowly fading away.

‘What’s the matter?’ Daniela asks, worried.

She follows my gaze and sees what I was looking at. David walking towards us, hand in hand with his – I assume – his wife. He waves at us and Daniela waves back at him while I’m still not moving. This shouldn’t be a surprise really. It makes perfect sense that he’s at a wedding ceremony with his wife and – fucking hell – she's pretty.

‘Hi, I’m Evelyn!’ she says with enthusiasm.

And she seems so nice. And has a good vibe. And they look like a great couple. And – fuck – I feel horrible for all the thoughts I’ve had – and still have – about her husband in the last two months. Daniela, still holding my hand, looks between me and her a few times and squeezes my hand a bit as if she was comforting me. I can hear them make small talk about the wedding and all, but I’m not paying attention. I see David trying to catch my gaze, but every time I either look at Daniela or his wife. I feel like such a spoiled brat, I shouldn’t be affected that much by this. I don’t want to marry him goddamn it, I just wanna – but I won’t - have sex with him. It’s just an attraction. A deep, intense and consuming attraction, but still an attraction, nonetheless. Why am I like this?  

‘Are you okay?’ Daniela asks, still worried.

I don’t answer as I look David and his wife walking towards their car, probably on their way to the ceremony. Daniela put her other hand on my back and hugs me a little.

‘I know what it feels like.’ she simply whispers close to my ear.

‘What do you mean?’ I mutter, getting back to reality.

‘I have been there before. It will be fine, trust me.’ she hugs me a bit tighter.

I turn my head towards her, and she gives me a warm smile.

‘Is it really that obvious?’

She laughs, ‘Come on, we have to go.’

Fuck, she knows.

_

Drink in hand, I’m on the dance floor with Daniela and we’re giving everything we have. Screaming the lyrics to the Icona Pop song ‘All Night’, she takes my free hand, and we start spinning, laughing and stumbling around. The last note of the song echoed on the dance floor, and I look at Daniela, out of breath.

‘How long have we been here? Jesus.’ I say catching my breath.

‘Long enough for this guy at the bar to completely undress you with his eyes.’ she subtly points me the direction with her chin.

I turn around to see the handsome stranger and I chuckle a bit. It’s no stranger, I know this guy. I look at Daniela as I finish my drink, I put it on the table next to us and I wink at her before leaving.

‘Hey Tom.’ I say seductively.  

‘Good evening, gorgeous.’ He flirts back in his English accent.  

Tom and I aren’t at our first ride together. We have history together, nothing serious really, but we do appreciate each other a lot. And he’s a good fuck, there I said it. For what feels like hours – who knows how long – we catch up, flirt, have a few drinks, hands wandering here and there. I feel myself getting more and more tipsy as the minute goes by. As Tom was whispering sweet nothings in my ear, something else caught my attention a bit far away. David and his wife, talking. They both move their hands a lot. Oh. I’m an idiot. They’re arguing. Not the ‘imma-scream-and-make-a-scene’ type of argument, but you can clearly see something is going on. After a few minutes, they both seem to have calm down. David put his hand on Evelyn’s hips and tries to kiss her, but she turns her head away, kissing her cheek instead. She gives him a weak smile and leaves. David sighs, rubs his forehead and walks towards the bar.

‘Tom, could you give me a moment, please? I think my friend’s not feeling good.’ I say, worried.

‘Of course, darling.’  

I get up and finally realize that I’m a bit more drunk that I thought I was, but nothing too crazy. I’ve seen worse, way much worse. I stabilize myself and walk towards the other bar where David was sitting all by himself, leaning his forehead against the palm of his left hand as the other was mindlessly scrolling on his phone.  

‘What is a handsome place like this doing in a man like you?’ I say, thinking I’m incredibly funny.

He turns around to look at me, a weak smile on his lips.

‘That was dumb as fuck, I’m sorry. Can -’ I sit down next to him, ‘can I buy you a drink or something?’

‘That’s very nice of you, but I don’t drink.’ He simply says.

‘Oh.’

I look around, a bit awkward. Even though there’s loud music playing permanently, it feels like there’s a heavy silence between us. I decide to stay right next to him and I start scrolling on my phone too.

‘You don’t have to do this, you know.’ He mutters.

‘Oh, I insist! S’cuse me, sir -’ the barman turns towards me, ‘can I have two glasses of water pretty please?’ the barman nods.

‘You’re unstoppable, aren’t you?’ Another weak smile appears on his lips.

‘Always. So -’ the barman puts down the glasses in front of us, ‘you wanna talk about it?’ I risk myself.

‘Not really, actually.’ He sighs.

‘It’s perfectly fine! So, hmm, ah yes! I watched this horror movie the other day, I’m sure you would have love it! There’s this girl, y’know? She slept with a guy she went on a movie date with. After their sexy time this asshole fucking drugs her with – what's it called – that liquid they use on washcloths in movie to make people fall asleep and kidnap them?’

‘Chloroform.’ He chuckles.

‘This! Yes! So anyway, she falls asleep and when she wakes up, she’s tied up on a chair! And then there’s this weird looking naked woman walking towards the girl and turns out this woman is actually a ghost now chasing the girl and the guy slept with her because you can pass this ghost curse through sex. Can you fucking believe that?’

‘I cannot believe it.’ He says, clearly amused.

‘Does it make sense? Should I stop? Sorry, I’ve been drinking tonight.’ I say, a bit embarrassed.

‘No, no! Please, tell me more.’

And I keep babbling about the movie It Follows and as I go, I realize that most of the things I say don’t make any sense at all, but as long as David keeps smiling and laughing, I’ll just keep going. At one point of the story, he bursts out laughing which makes me smile so much that my jaw is almost hurting.  

‘There it is. That smile.’ I simply say.

Hu blushes, ‘Thanks.’

We look at each other for a few seconds and I motion him to drink water, which he does. I do the same and I almost choke on my water when I hear ‘Dance With Me Tonight’ by Olly Murs starts playing. I put down my glass and take David by the arm with enthusiasm.  

‘That’s my song, come on David!’ I pull on his arm.

He laughs and I can feel him letting himself go. He follows me on the dance floor, and I start dancing, encouraging him. He looks around, with a small smile on his lips and he looks back at me, rubbing his neck with his hand. I reach out to him, and he grabs my hands. Laughing and moving around, we can’t stop looking at each other as we’re having the time of our life. I suddenly stop when I feel a hand – not David’s - on my shoulder.

‘I was looking everywhere for you, darling.’ he says slipping his hand down my back, ‘I’m Tom.’ he stares at my partner.

‘David.’ he simply answers.

‘I’m going back to my place, darling. Care to join me?’ he gets closer to me.

Still holding David’s hand, I look between him and Tom, unsure of myself. I glance at David who gives me a reassuring smile. I know he wouldn’t be mad at me. I mean, I do wanna get laid. But.

‘Sorry, Tom. I’m staying.’ I say confidently as I feel David’s hands gently squeezing mine.

‘Oh, I see.’ he bends towards me and kiss me on the temple, ‘call me, okay?’

I nod and watch him leave the place. I exhale deeply and turn back towards David who has a cheeky smile on his face. He rubs my hand a little bit with his thumbs, and he laughs.

‘Did I just cock-blocked you?’

‘I think you did.’ I laugh back.

He hesitates, ‘It’s not too late if you want to join him.’ he says looking in the direction Tom left.

‘No! I -’ I cut him off, ‘I’d rather stay here.’ I say under my breath.

He smiles, ‘Where were we?’ he starts dancing again.

_

Quoting our favorite movies, David and I are walking down my street. I would be lying if I said I was still drunk, I’m not. I haven’t had a drink since I went to see David at the bar, but I don’t feel like I need the effect of alcohol to enjoy myself right at this moment.  

‘You didn’t have to walk me home, y’know?’ I shiver.

‘I know, but I wanted to.’ hey says as he wraps his jacket around my shoulders.

I blush and look down at my feet. We walk down the rest of the street in a comfortable silence and I’m here, wondering what would happen next if he wasn’t married. I push those thoughts away as I see my apartment complex in front of me.

‘Home sweet home.’ I sigh, not wanting this night to ever end.

‘Home sweet home, indeed.’ he replies, ‘look,’ he hesitates a few seconds, ‘thank you for tonight. I truly mean it.’ he says with a warm smile.

I feel my heart beating faster, ‘Anything for you, David.’

He looks down, bites his lips and looks back at me, ‘I forgot to tell you,’ he gets closer, ‘you looked lovely tonight.’ he gently takes back his jacket from my shoulders.

I catch my breath, ‘Thanks.’

‘Sweet dreams.’ he whispers.

‘Good night.’ I whisper back and he smiles.

He turns around and starts walking again. I look at him for a few seconds before I enter my apartment complex with a sigh of – I don’t know – frustration or relief, I wouldn’t be able to say which one.

‘Are you okay, miss?’ Alexander, the night shift lobbyist, asks me.  

‘Yes, I’m fine.’  

No, Alexander, I’m not fine. My core is throbbing, my heart is racing, and I can’t remember the last time I’ve been this fucking horny.  

[midnightelite]

So, I ranted yesterday, about love and obsession and a few of my close friends pushed me towards putting it on Tumblr.

I've been hearing a few things lately, about Snape and how he felt about Lily. Some people were saying that love and obsession are not mutually exclusive, and it just rubbed me the wrong way. Not because of the people who said it, they're lovely people, but because of the implication that you can do both. Love and be obsessed with someone. And I couldn't stop thinking about it and needed to just write to get it out of my head.

This is partially because I have dealt with obsession before, in the sense that I was an object of someone’s obsession. Which resulted in me losing my best friend, and me no longer feeling comfortable around them anymore, and I don’t think that will change. At least not anytime soon, and it happened in 2018.

Saying love and obsession are not mutually exclusive is coming from someone who has not experienced or just does not have the knowledge of either of these, and equating them to being similar, or possible to be felt at the same time is a very toxic view. If you truly know what love is, you would know that it is absolutely mutually exclusive.

Love is coming from a place that is so positive. You want the best for this person, and you want them to thrive. It’s okay if you guys don’t get together if it’s romantic, because above all else you want them to be happy. If you love someone you want them to be happy, and anyway you can aid in that you are willing to do. Which is a very big distinction when you are comparing the two.

Obsession is a much darker beast and comes with a lot of differences that are just contradictory to what love is. Obsession comes with a lot of factors and can present in a lot of different ways. For one thing, someone who is obsessed doesn’t see the greater picture when it comes to the object of their obsession.

I keep calling the person they are obsessed with an object of obsession because that’s essentially what it is like. You’re not a person, they ignore your flaws, will talk to other people about how you’re perfect. You can point out really shitty things that you do, and they will just dismiss it. Other people can point out flaws to them and they dismiss it.

This seems extreme, but it happens! I’ve dealt with it! And it is so harmful and puts that person in such an uncomfortable position. Part of what makes a person human and not an object is the flaws that make them, them. And ignoring any wrongs that person does is not only harmful to other people but is also working against the person who is doing the wrongs, regardless of the size.

We keep others in check by confronting them when they do something that isn’t right, if we absolve them of any mistakes they make they will never grow as a person, or they won’t realize their behavior can be harmful.

Rounding back to them not seeing the greater picture, they are not always looking out for the person’s well-being, and if they are it isn’t necessarily the want of the person they are doing it to. They are still self-serving, even if they mask it with the thought that they are doing it for this person, it’s not necessarily what that person wants or is comfortable with. And they don’t check-in to see how the person is feeling about their actions. They continue doing what they think is right, regardless of how it is affecting the person that is involved.

They don't take the other person's desires into consideration when they act. They don't care if what they are doing is hurting another person, or making them uncomfortable. In my experience they didn't even ask. They just decide what they think is the best course of action.

You can see this with Snape and Lily in the few flashbacks we get.

In the first memory we see in Deathly Hallows the way he is staring at Lily in the bushes is with 'undisguised greed.' Greed, as in an avid desire for gain. He wants Lily, and the connotation of greed means more than your share, but it is talking about objects it wealth. Not people. And we know based off Lily's response throughout the memory the only reason she entertains him is because she thinks he might have an answer for why she can do extraordinary things. As soon as he says witch she is not about the interaction anymore and tried leaving, and when she eventually does leave it's with a glare at him.

In a later memory this exchange occurs:

Snape's whole face contorted and he spluttered, "Saved? Saved? You think he was playing the hero? He was saving his neck and his friends' too! You're not going to-- I won't let you--"

"Let me? Let me?"

Lily's bright green eyes were slits. Snape backtracked at once.

This gives a huge insight into Snape's mindset when it comes to Lily. When our emotions are high we tend to lose our filter and say things we usually keep locked away even though it's how we feel. He accidentally slips and says he won't let her what? Befriend James? Label him a hero? Either way he feels like he has the right to control her actions, which is obviously against her wishes, and not in her comfort zone.

He is actively pursuing and supporting an organization that wants people like Lily to not be in their society. We know Lily is against dark arts and this movement, she joined the order of the phoenix to fight against this entity. This is the situation that had Lily ending their friendship, to begin with.

Snape didn’t care what Lily’s feelings were about the situation. He knew Lily did not support his interest in the dark arts. He joined this organization knowing that it would hurt other muggleborns. If he truly cared for Lily, he never would have joined that organization, he would have fought beside her to help stop Voldemort.

Instead, he kept it hidden, and was fine with other muggleborns being tortured as long as it wasn’t Lily. You see it again in his flashbacks when Harry is chosen over Neville as the ‘chosen one’ for the prophecy. He didn’t care about that prophecy when it was possible it could be the Longbottom’s.

As soon as Voldemort chose Lily and her child, he crawled back to Dumbledore, not because he changed his views, or wants to be good now, but because the object of his affection is now being threatened. So, what does he do? Takes the only path he can think of to save his possession.

There are so many examples I could pull, but bottom line, if it was love he would not have done a lot of the things he had.

The reason that love and obsession are mutually exclusive is because obsession does not take the object’s wants and feelings into consideration. The person who is obsessed is not checking to see if the other’s needs are being met. They have an idea of this person in their head that they solidified in stone. They aren’t there to help them grow, or change as time passes. They are trying to protect this person they barely know-because of how they dismiss and full out reject any flaws which is the root of what a person is-and keep them with them.

Love wants the best for the other person, and that person is an active participant in the decision. Love is all about respecting each other’s wants, and compromising when needed. The ultimate goal is to make that person happy. It happens despite any flaws, and wants the best for that person in a way that the person is comfortable with. You want to grow, as people together, but ultimately if that person can't be happy and fulfilled with you, you want them to go find what will make them happy and fulfilled.

This is not to say that those decisions won’t hurt, it absolutely does, but you want the best for them, and you will help however you can. You’ll feel your feelings and as time passes it will get easier, and one day you’ll find someone who wants the exact same thing for you, and you’ll feel it in return. This is for both platonic and romantic relationships.

Obsession is easily mistaken for love, but they are contradictory terms, even if you look at the surface level and they seem like they can be similar. When you get down to the core of these two things, they couldn’t be more different.

Snape was obsessed, he was not in love. It may have started as love but it became warped and twisted, and I think the moment he started acting without her consent behind the scenes, and it concerned Lily, is the moment you know that the switch flipped. If there are no conversations about what you are doing to protect this person with the person it involves, then that is the moment you are entering dangerous water.

Sorry it's so long, and also unedited. I hope if anything, that this at least helps people distinguish between love and obsession.

[maybankiara]

I HAVE COME TO SAVE THE DAY

pairing: JJ Maybank x Kiara Carrera

summary: JJ is a postman and Kiara is his favourite receptionist (alternatively, 4 times Kiara didn’t know JJ’s name and the one time she did).

w/c: 5k

a/n: i posted this on ao3 back for jiara week and totally forgot to post it on tumblr, too, so here’s a belated jiara fic, a short ‘lil enemies to lovers trope for y’all!!

masterlist | tag list

read on archive of our own

1: J.

‘Carrera Law Firm, how may I help you?’

  The guy standing in front of Kiara in a postman’s uniform gives her a glance that’s part-question part-disbelief, and then points at the device in his hand. ‘Delivery for Anna Carrera.’

  ‘Oh. Okay.’

  Blood rushes to Kiara’s cheeks as she clicks the button on the desk telephone, reaching her mother within seconds. 

  ‘Just sign it in,’ says her mother. 

  ‘Okay.’

  She hangs up and looks at the guy, extending a hand. ‘I’ll sign it.’

  He gives her a slight eyebrow raise and she may or may not see a hint of wickedness in the tight corner of his smile as she takes the device from him. She’s quick to sign it, with a shaky hand, and give it back to him. 

  ‘You’re new here.’

  Kiara nods, says: ‘Yeah, it's my first day’, even though it was a statement, not a question. 

  He stares at her for a hot second with the same expression, and Kiara expects him to ask something else, make it a conversation—it seemed like a conversation starter—but he doesn’t even acknowledge her answer. 

  ‘Where do I put this?’

  There’s a slight thud and she leans across her desk, seeing a medium-sized box with his black combat boot right next to it. 

  Her lips purse as she realises what he’d done, and decides she dislikes him. 

  All she wants to do is tell him off, that could be fragile, but she’s new and he seems cocky and reeks of trouble enough to make her bite her tongue. 

  So all she actually does is lean back into her chair and nod towards the wall to her side. ‘Just leave it there.’

  He does so without a question, and on the way out, gives her a two-finger salute. 

  Kiara checks the paper slip he left on her desk, finding his name with ease: J. Maybank. She thinks of his short but shaggy blonde hair, rugged and self-satisfied appearance that oozed confidence, and yeah, he looked like a boy whose name begins with J.

  It’s not the most awkward conversation/situation she has that day, but it’s the most memorable one, mostly because she can't get his smirk out of her head for more reasons than just one (and far too many of them she’d never admit). 

  She decides she hates him, anyway.

2: JOHN

The next time he comes, it’s Friday and Kiara’s got the hang of it, so she wags a finger at him to tell him to wait as she picks up the ringing phone. 

  ‘Carrera Law Firm.’ 

  She talks with the customer—a lovely lady, has the misfortune of living next to a new construction site—for a little bit, laughter falling from her lips. It’s Friday already and she’s gotten better at this, more confident, and making J. Maybank wait on her is worth it. 

  (It’s not a personal vendetta, per se – more of karma, really.)

  She watches him shift weight from one leg to another, hands resting in his pocket. He’s got a slouch to him, the ease in his shoulders making him seem as if anything he wishes for, the world gives him. Kiara’s friend Sarah calls boys who stood like that suave, but Kiara calls it arrogance. 

  The same half-smile with the same dose of wickedness in its curve is mocking her when she bids farewell to the lady on the phone. Her back is resting against the chair and a pen slides across the paper, before she actually looks at him. 

  ‘Delivery?’

  J. Maybank reaches into the side of his backpack and takes out a handful of letters, placing them on the desk. 

  Kiara frowns, because he’s still standing there. ‘Do I need to sign those?’

  ‘Nope.’

  He doesn’t budge and neither does his smile. 

  She collects the mail and goes through it, separating them in piles for each of her mother's employees. It takes her a couple of seconds, but J. Maybank’s gaze on her burns on her cheeks and makes it last a whole eternity. 

  Her glance at him comes in pair with a single raised eyebrow. ‘Can I help you?’

  J. Maybank puts his fingers on the desk, tapping one of them. ‘I can leave a message with you, right?’

  ‘Yeah, sure.’

  ‘Okay’'

  He nods. Kiara notes his fingers are shaky as he reaches into his pocket, taking out a pen and a piece of paper, even though there’s a bunch of both already on her desk for this exact purpose. 

  He scribbles down a note and folds the paper in half, hiding the text. He slides the note towards her, fingers still shaky. It’s a far cry from the overconfident, cocky person he was a mere minute ago. 

  ‘I looked up on the internet and it said that you offer free consultations, right?’

  Kiara nods. ‘Mostly, yeah. Depends on what you need.’

  ‘Family law,’ he elaborates. 

  ‘Then a consultation is free. It’s Mrs Viola Glisson’s department.’ Kiara puts her finger on the note and she wants to open it, to see what he’d written. Instead, she swallows dryly. ‘Do you want me to give this to her?’

  He nods. ‘That’d be great.’

  No thanks comes her way, only a smile that is innocent for less than it takes her to blink. He gives her the same two-finger salute and is back to the cocky J. Maybank in moments, and Kiara hates to admit that she can’t take her eyes off of him as he walks through the glass door. His uniform doesn’t fit the aesthetic of the building, nor Kiara’s smart black trousers and a red t-shirt with a propper-up collar and a zipper on the cleavage, but he doesn’t look out of place. 

  As soon as he’s out of sight, Kiara’s fingers take the paper note, ready to give it to Viola, a woman who grew up with her mother and Kiara dated her son James back in middle school. She’s planning to give it to Viola immediately, no wicked intentions, but J. Maybank’s face pops up in her mind, complete with the self-confident smirk. She gives in with a sigh, thinking that he deserves her snooping for the way he’s been acting. 

  To her disappointment, the writing is just a phone number with John Maybank written underneath it. 

  She hands it to Viola with a sigh, offering no information to go with it. Viola reads the note and a knowing look spreads over her features. ‘Maybank, the postman, right?’

  Kiara nods. 

  ‘He’s about your and James’ age, no?’

  ‘I guess.’ Her face flashes before her eyes and she places him in her school corridors with ease. She knows he doesn’t go to the Cooke Academy because a face with demeanour like his would stand out. 

  ‘He’s a good kid, Maybank. Mowed our lawn a fair amount,’ Viola muses to herself. Her fingers flip through a stack of papers and she writes something down, looking up at Kiara. ‘Did he say what he needed?’

  ‘Just a consultation with Familial.’

  ‘Hm? That’s interesting, might be about his father... Can you bring me a cup of coffee on your way out? You make the best coffee I’ve had in years!’

  Kiara knows when she’s being dismissed, so she does as Viola asked of her. Her mind buzzes with the newfound information about J.—John—Maybank. 

  He’s a mystery, and stays in her mind longer than she’d like, again. 

  3: JOHN J.

‘Mrs Grubbs, I can’t give away our employee’s private information.’

  ‘It’s just a phone number,’ repeats Mrs Lana Grubbs in exasperation. ‘It’s not private.’

  ‘A personal phone number is private information. I don’t have the right—’

  ‘Fine, I’ll just do it myself.’

  The short woman with greying brown hair pulled into an elaborate bun walks past Kiara's desk with complete disregard of any manners whatsoever, and is already halfway through the main hallway when Kiara comes up in front of her. 

  The young Carrera puts her hands between her and the woman, lips pressed tight. ‘Mrs Grubbs, you can’t walk in here unannounced.’

  ‘Announce me, then.’

  ‘You need to have an appointment,’ elaborates Kiara. She feels herself close to seething; there are firm rules set in stone when it comes to culture, and the woman before her seems to have completely missed them. ‘I can arrange you an appointment.’

  Mrs Grubbs scoffs. Her perfectly defined eyebrows shoot up, and her lips purse as she raises her chin. ‘I need an appointment now, young lady.’

  ‘My mother is in the middle of a meeting, and is busy until the end of her shift.’

  ‘She is not that busy. Push me in after this meeting.’

  Kiara sighs. Even if she pushed her in, she knew her mother wouldn’t give her time of the day with that attitude. ‘With all due respect—’

  ‘Ms Lana!’

  The two women avert their attention to Kiara’s reception desk, where a fair-haired boy in a postman’s uniform is standing with a small box in his hands and a grin on his face. He waves at them, but he’s looking at Mrs Grubbs. 

  ‘Hey, Ms Lana. How you been?’

  Mrs Grubbs’ demeanour changes in an instant – Kiara watches her go from a ruthless witch to a friendly lady from the neighbourhood. She approaches John Maybank and squeezes his cheeks with, asking about school, his friends, and whatnot. 

  Kiara takes the opportunity to go back behind her desk, eyeing the exchange suspiciously. Before she knows it, John is hugging Mrs Grubbs and she turns to the girl with a disappointed smile on her face. 

  ‘I will arrange an appointment elsewhere,’ she states, as if Kiara is supposed to give a damn. ‘Your services are subpar.’

  at least we don’t need to deal with entitled, mannerless assholes like you, crosses Kiara’s mind, but the only thing noticeable is the smile on her face. ‘In that case, I hope you find services that match your demands.’

  What she gets in return is a distasteful eye roll paired with an over-dramatic huff. Mrs Grubbs turns on her heel and walks out of the door without so much as a goodbye. 

  At last, Kiara takes a deep breath and shifts her gaze to the postman in front of her desk. 

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ he tells her with the smirk she’s gotten used to in the past two weeks. ‘Ms Lana is a bitch to everyone.’

  ‘Not you,’ sighs Kiara. 

  ‘No, that’s because everyone likes me.’

  She raises her eyebrows at him—she seems to be doing that a lot when he’s around—and just opens her hand. ‘What you got?’

  ‘Delivery for Mrs Viola Glisson.’ He hands her a paper slip and the device to sign, which she does. ‘So you don’t agree that everyone likes me?’

  ‘I don’t.’

  ‘Ouch.’ John places a hand over where his heart is supposed to be (a little too far to the left) and grimaces. ‘That hurts my feelings.’

  Kiara gives the device back to him, walking around the desk to pick up the box and put it on it. She knows he’s staring at her cleavage (not very exposed, but noticeable when she bends over) and wonders if he left it there on purpose. 

  When she sits back in her chair, he’s still there, fingers tapping against her desk.

  ‘Look, thanks for your help with Mrs Grubbs,’ she says, because a) she’s not a fool and she can tell what he did, and b) she can swallow her pride for one second. 

  ‘Does that make me your prince?’

  ‘You didn’t come on the white horse or in your shining armour.’

  ‘My uniform’s kinda shiny,’ he says, tugging at the short sleeves that have the reflective tape on it that is a must-have for Kildare. ‘And my bike is white.’

  Kiara laughs. ‘Your bicycle?’

  ‘My motorbike.’

  He says it slowly, with the “e” stretching into a knowing smile, and Kiara hates that he knows exactly what he’s doing, and hates even more that it’s working. 

  Thing is – by now, Kiara is half-certain that the majority of the reason why his presence irks her is because she’s attracted to it, and Kiara Carrera hates being attracted to people who are cocky and self-serving. He looks like he could be a good night’s fun, with his cheeky grin and eyes that remind her of waves she sometimes surfs on, and he reeks of trouble, still. This used to be her type – tall, blonde, with a streak for illegal activities, but Kiara said to herself that she isn’t fifteen anymore. She hasn’t been fifteen in two years, come two weeks. She’s past that childish behaviour. 

  ‘I don’t need a knight in shining armour, pal,’ she states, shutting down her thoughts before they progressed even further. I need a postman.’

  ‘We could be friends,’ he says. ‘Why not, huh?’

  ‘Do you always chat with receptionists for longer than it’s appropriate?’

  ‘Only cute ones.’

  Kiara can’t contain her laugh this time, and it echoes in the room full of marble. John is smiling at her, and she thinks that the wickedness in the crook of his smile is just playfulness, instead. Teasing, too, and maybe just the slight hint of a daredevil. 

  She leans her elbows on the desk, intertwines her fingers, and rests her chin on her hands. ‘I don’t even know your name.’

  He cocks his head to the side as if he knows she’s lying and, based on the way he seems (perceptive, in any case – he’s very good at finding out what makes her tick), he knows that she is. 

  The blond extends her a hand and she takes it. ‘John J. Maybank.’

  ‘Kiara Carrera.’ His grip is firm but so is hers, and they have a little staredown. ‘Adding in a “J.” to make yourself seem fancy?’

  (She pretends her hand isn’t cold once his is away; she pretends she doesn’t feel the blood coursing through her veins, or the knots in her stomach when his eyes fall to her lips.)

  John J. Maybank laughs with his whole chest, arms crossed on it. ‘Fancy is the last word anyone would use to describe me.’

  Her eyes travel up and down his body, and she tries not to linger on his biceps, accentuated by his pose, or the way his uniform sits just right on his body. 

  Instead, she grins. ‘I can tell.’

  He taps his fingers against her desk, and her eyes catch a pair of rings she didn’t notice before. ‘Anyway, we're friends now.'

  ‘Do I want to be friends with you?’

  John J. Maybank is already halfway out of the building when he turns to her, walking backwards, and shrugs with his arms outstretched. ‘I don’t think you have a choice.’

  He’s right – she doesn’t. 

  She thinks he’d be surprised if he knew just how little choice she has when it comes to him.

  4: JOHNNY JAY

John J. Maybank catches her as she’s walking out of the small—hers only—bathroom next to her desk. 

  ‘Hey, friend.’

  Kiara still rolls her eyes at the greeting. There’s something off about him, only she doesn’t notice what it is until she's sat down at her desk – he’s wearing a basketball top and short cargo pants, paired with the usual combat boots. 

  Kiara certainly didn’t expect to find out that the uniform actually hides quite a good bit of his body that is, objectively (and not in the way of Kiara objecting), quite pleasant to look at.

  He catches her looking. ‘I’m here for an appointment with Mrs Glisson.’

  ‘Now?’

  John J. Maybank glances at the clock to his right, above the bathroom door. ‘In ten minutes.’

  ‘Give me a second.’

  Her mind buzzes as fast as her fingers flip through the book of visitors. She recalls him asking for a consultation with Viola about two weeks ago, distinctly remembering Viola saying something about his father possibly being the reason. Her fingers land on the last time someone came for Viola. 

  ‘Sorry, she’s still in a meeting.’

  ‘Thanks. It’s okay, I’m not in a rush,’ he says, taking a seat in the waiting area, a few feet from Kiara’s desk. He throws one hand on the back of the seat next to him, ankle over a knee, and grins. ‘Besides, I don’t mind the company.’

  ‘I’m busy,’ retorts Kiara. 

  ‘When’s the last time you had fun?’

  ‘How long ago did you come here?’

  ‘Damn, dude. You still don’t like me?’

  ‘Nope.’

  They both know it's a lie. 

  In the past two weeks, he’s been here about five times, and every single one of those, he stayed behind to chat a little bit. Kiara didn’t mind – she liked having someone to talk to, especially someone who was her age. 

  (Well – not anymore, as of today.)

  ‘You should come to the Boneyard,’ he says. ‘And before you say you don’t want to—I see you—I’ll just let you know that I know you do, because I’ve seen you there, with Sarah Cameron and the kooks.’

  At this, Kiara leans back in her chair, crossing her ankles underneath her desk. ‘Don’t recall the Kooks playing at a Boneyard party. I think they tend to have proper concerts, instead.’

  ‘So what, you’re gonna say going to Boneyard parties isn’t your bad habit?’

  A smile spreads over her lips, heated underneath his gaze. She likes that he caught her reference – she likes that maybe they have the same taste in music. She likes the idea of them dancing to it, at a Boneyard party, red solo cups in hand. 

  ‘Relax, Johnny Jay.’ He raises an eyebrow at the name, but doesn’t interrupt her. ‘Boneyard parties aren’t really my scene anymore.’

  John J. Maybank stares at her with the same knowing look. She catches the glimmer in her eye that tells her she's not fooling him, and she sees the intent in the curve of his Cupid’s bow. 

  He flashes a set of white teeth and a pair of dimples. ‘Bring Sarah Cameron and the kooks. It might be a pogue party, but it’ll be a proper party.’

  Kiara’s smile is soft, and her cheeks are heating up again underneath the sharpness of his gaze. ‘What will they say when I find out I’m friends with a pogue?’

  ‘You care about that?’

  ‘No,’ she admits, ‘but I thought you might.’

  ‘Nah, dude. My friends already know about us.’

  ‘There’s no us.’

  ‘There could be.’

  He gives her an award winning smile, one that must’ve given him the aura of someone good for a night's worth of fun. (She hates that it’s drawing her in the way he is, making her want to say yes when she told herself she’d be more responsible her last year before leaving for college.)

  Kiara just sighs, going back to what she was doing before she took a bathroom break – doodling on a paper they used for testing the new printer (the one only Kiara seems to understand, which makes her useful, and the situation annoying). 

  John J. Maybank walks over to her, fingers on the desk. It irks her when he does it, so he does it as often as possible. 

  She looks up at him and for once, there is not a hint of anything wicked.

  ‘Come on, Kiara. Next summer, you’ll be getting ready for college, and you’ll be too busy to enjoy yourself. Then you’re gonna leave for college and you won’t look back, and that’ll be the best years of your life wasted. Besides,’—he taps against her hand and she slaps his—‘I won’t be there anymore.’

  He tries touching her hand again, and she slaps it all the same. ‘Why does that matter?’

  ‘‘Cause I’m the best thing Kildare has to offer.’

  as if.

  Kiara is about to snap back with something—he hasn’t figured out what—when Rafe Cameron walks past the two of them, giving her a court nod. She pushes John J. Maybank’s hand off the wood, pretending her hands don’t burn where skin touches skin. ‘That’s your cue.’

  He nods, and she notices the smile fell off his face while she watched her best friend’s brother walk out. His blue eyes are glazed, and his lips are trembling so Kiara pokes his hand with the top end of her pen. 

  ‘You’ll be fine, Johnny Jay.’

  ‘Yeah.’ He nods to her, or himself, and taps once against the desk. ‘See you later, I guess.’

  Kiara gives him what she hopes to be a reassuring smile. 

  John J. Maybank leaves, and she listens to the familiar thuds of his boots until she hears Viola's door open, and he walks in. What they’re doing isn’t her business, regardless of how badly she wants to know. Rafe Cameron’s here because he’s dealing with some bullshit his dad’s putting him through, and the only reason she knows any of that is because Sarah told her. Kiara is practically family to the two, even if she isn’t the biggest fan of the boy. 

  Johnny Jay, on the other hand, is someone she struggles to even consider a friend, since they’ve never met outside the confines of these four walls. They read each other well, bounce off of one another like a pair of old friends, and they’ve got a lot more in common than she would’ve ever thought. 

  They’re not friends in the traditional way, but they’re friends enough. 

  The telephone on the desk buzzes with the word VIOLA in place of caller ID. Kiara answers. 

  ‘Kiara, sweetheart, can you please print for me the documents I sent you?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Thank you, darling.’

  Printing is actually much simpler than any of them realise. Kiara doesn’t even open the documents before sending them to the printer, clicking a few buttons that are just settings for how the page will come out (and most of them she doesn’t even need to touch). The printer is in the building’s library on the first floor, and the room smells of old books and freshly printed papers. 

  There’s a difference between snooping into a note he left for Viola and looking over the documents that she is currently taking out of the printer – she can’t not see what is written on them when she has to check that the printer hasn’t gone out of ink. 

  It’s only a glance at each of the pages, but it’s enough for her to see EMANCIPATION FORM and RESTRAINING ORDER FORM written at the headers of each of the two sets to clock onto what’s happening.

  The only thought in her head is: shit.

  She wasn’t meant to see that. 

  Kiara’s hands produce a shaky knock against the wooden door, and it’s Viola’s raspy smoker-voice that invites her in. She’s still feeling a little bit sick in the stomach when she enters, papers in hand. 

  ‘Thank you, Kiara,’ says Viola, a thoughtful expression on her face.

  ‘No problem.’

  Her voice is feeble, filling out every inch of space not occupied by something, or someone. She’s halfway out the door before Viola even gets to dismiss her, and she glances at Maybank on the way – he’s pale, face sickened with something she doesn’t recognise, but his eyes are weary in a way no sixteen-year-old’s should be. 

  He doesn’t seem angry – it’s Kiara’s last thought before the door shuts, and she can’t see him anymore. 

  Time passes as she waits for the meeting to be over. The fair-haired boy is all she can think about; she shouldn’t ask questions but there are many in her head, and her doodles can’t distract her anymore. When customers call, she doesn’t chat to them, and no people walk in to divert her attention. 

  He walks out about quarter of an hour later, a bittersweet edge to the eyebrows looming over his eyes, a stack of paper in tow.

  ‘Hey, friend.’

  A finger taps against the desk, next to a doodle that looks an awful lot like him. She moves her arm and rests her elbow on it. 

  ‘Hey,’ she says back. ‘Did it go well?’

  ‘Well.’ A sour smile. ‘I’m not sure getting a restraining order against the same old man you’re trying to get emancipated from could ever go well.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ offers Kiara, and it's genuine. 

  To John J. Maybank’s credit, he gives her a court nod and a smile that seems a little less like it’s saying i am doing something that could go terribly right or terribly wrong.

  ‘Come to the Boneyard on Saturday. Bring Sarah and everybody. It’ll be fun.’

  ‘I’ll think about it.’

  He must know her well enough to be able to tell this is as close to a yes as anyone will ever get from her, because the smile his cheeks stretch into is the one with dimples, and a fancy for trouble.

  She knows him well enough to be able to tell that what she found out stays between them. 

  (Kiara wonders when strangers turned into friends turned into people who understand each other without having to say anything.)

  ‘Oh and, uh,’ he calls back from the main door, ‘happy birthday!’

  He doesn’t stick around long enough to hear her thanks, but he sticks around many other times.

  + 1: JJ

Flowers. 

  ‘Those better not be for me,’ muses Kiara from her desk. ‘I don’t like orchids.’

  JJ walks in with a bouquet of flowers and his postman uniform, all accompanied by a wide, cheerful grin on his face. He’s got a spring to his step and he swings himself around the desk, planting a kiss to Kiara’s cheek. 

  Her hands loop around his waist. With the flowers now on her papers, Kiara feels as if she walked into the Camerons’ backyard. 

  ‘It’s not for you,’ says JJ, wrapping a curl around his finger. ‘For Mrs Glisson.’

  ‘What’s the occasion?’

  Kiara’s—well, whatever they are to one another—hesitates for a second, but she thinks it’s more for dramatic effect than actual hesitation. 

  His finger taps her cheek, warm and rough at the tip. ‘I’m moving into the Chateau today. Officially.’

  ‘Have the forms gone through?’

  He nods, and Kiara flings her around his neck, pulling him into a full kiss. It shifts into a hug, and she feels him relax into her. ‘I can breathe now.’

  ‘I can only imagine.’ She pulls back, smiling as wide as he is. ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘Shocked. Terrified. Excited. Ambi-feelous.’

  ‘That’s not a word.’

  ‘God, you’re starting to sound like Pope. I never should’ve introduced you.’

  ‘It was inevitable,’ Kiara says. 

  They both know it, so JJ just runs a finger alongside her jaw, and his lips briefly touch hers. He’s gone after that and so are the flowers (Kiara is genuinely glad they weren’t for her). Viola isn’t in a meeting right now so it’s fair game, and about two minutes in, she’s pretty sure she can hear the woman crying/yelling (when it comes to Viola, those sounds are way too similar). It’s a big deal for everybody – the whole firm took him under their wing once they found out about the horrors of living under the Maybank roof, enough that they decided to do the case pro bono. 

  (JJ doesn’t like pity, so he made sure to help out in any way they can, from running errands while doing her postman job or being their personal mechanic during his free time.)

  When he comes back, he’s all smiles, lips stretched out wider than Kiara thought it possible. 

  ‘I’m picking up post today,’ he says, walking over to the box with mail thrown into it. ‘Busy day.’

  ‘How busy?’ 

  ‘Busy.’

  ‘Could you spare ten minutes?’ asks Kiara, stepping away from her desk. He can see her in her full glory now – she’s pretty sure he has a thing for secretaries and their lookalikes, and she’s been putting in extra effort the past few days. ‘I think a pipe went off in my bathroom, or something. Since you said you’d help out with maintenance…’

  JJ checks the clock above the bathroom, then shrugs, facing away from the camera to give her a coy grin. ‘I guess ten minutes won’t hurt.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She starts walking over to the bathroom, JJ at her heel. ‘I’ve been dying to get this fixed for days.’

  ‘Mhm. I can imagine. It must’ve been awful.’

  ‘Truly terrible.’

  The moment they’re behind the closed door of Kiara’s bathroom, she’s pressed against the cold wall, JJ’s body hot in front of her. His lips are all over her neck and her hands making a mess out of his hair, while his are busy tugging her shirt out of her trousers and sliding underneath the fabric, pulling lines on the bare skin. 

  Instinctively, Kiara’s hips buckle against his as she arches her back and tilts her neck, exposing more skin for him to brush his lips over. She feels the bugle, and lets out a hearty laugh. 

  JJ stops kissing her, just enough to give her a glare with a frown. ‘I can see how terrible it’s been if you have time to laugh at me.’

  ‘Shut up,’ Kiara says, tugging at his collar to pull him closer. ‘We’ve got to be quiet.’

  His hands travel downwards until they’re in her trousers, cupping her ass, and Kiara buckles against him again. She pulls him closer until they’re chest to chest, and she kisses the spot right below his ear, feeling him moan against her, his hands gripping her tighter. The thrill of being caught is making both their hearts race, and Kiara can think of very few things hotter than this moment.

  ‘Quiet is the last thing you’re going to be, Kie,’ he threatens.

  She’s up on the sink within a heartbeat, and he tugs her trousers down with more ease than she’d think possible. 

  There’s a mirror on both sides of the wall, in front of her and behind her; she sees the grin on her lips, with self-assurance and a hint of wickedness to it, watching JJ press kisses up her tight that leave marks no one but her will be able to see. 

  Her hands are tugging on his hair, pulling him closer to her. ‘Ten minutes,’ she reminds him. ‘Make ‘em count.’

  All JJ does is bury his head between her legs, and she starts to think that this bathroom had never been meant for anything other than this.

  ★

tagging. @jjmaybanky​​ @chasefreakinstokes​​ @drewstarkey​​ @thatsme-johnbookerroutledge​​ @outrbank​​ @juneyxx @drewstarkeyobx​​ @ilovejjmaybank​​​ @teamnick​​​ @jjmaybanksbaby​​​ @mahleeyuh​​​ @nicolewithasoul​​ @kiarawilliams127​​ @starlightstarkey​​ @anonymous0writer​​ @outerbongs​​ @warnettc​​ @jjandreidsgirl @jjmaybanqs @sofiesshitshow @kaitieskidmore1 @maybanksbaby @abbiesthings @tempestuousjj @coconutroseowl @queenofthepouges

[soyouareandrewdobson]

The biggest post yet: Analyzing a multipage story

Before I begin, I like to thank every follower so far and the ones who helped me over the course of the last weeks to build this tumblr up. This is for you and in a way the first test run for future, hopefully more elaborate reviews of Dobson’s comics. Hope you enjoy it and learn something.

Without further ado, ladys, gentlemen and the colorful rianbow inbetween, I present the unpublished “So you are a cartoonist?” story about the King of Queens trying to become a comic artist

Okay, this is not quite right. What is going to happen is as followed:

A few years ago Dobson released via his patreon the unpublished sketches of a multipage comic story about the struggles of a webcomic artist by the name of Kevin James, with no relation to the famous comedian who as of recently is also playing a neo nazi in a supposedly pretty damn good home invasion movie.

What I want to do is now go through this comic and point out some of the flaws in the writing/progression, okay? Cause honestly, this is not going to be the worst thing Dobson ever published. But it unfortunately has more than a few little hiccups that show Dobson’s flaws when it comes to creating a story.

So off to the next pages

Now as you can see, it is pretty obvious that the story is heading into a direction where Kevin seems to be a down on his luck creator. Having to work at the blandest named Burger Joint since Good Burger, with discount Doctor Wily as his manager and getting pretty little money into his account. Seriously, only 206 $ plus? I don’t know much about minimum wage in the states, but are you really getting that little even after taxes have been accounted for? Or is it likely Kevin is pretty deep into the reds and his deposit was even putting it into the plus again. If so… yaiks.

And now we are getting into the pages where a few slight problems may show up, depending on your own interpretation of things.

 See, in my opinion it is obvious that we are meant to feel sorry for Kevin, cause he lost his minimum wage job now for simply being late. Something that can happen to all of us. And yeah, losing your job when you have not really much in the bank, that sucks. So I would wish for the character to get at least a new job soon. However, we also need to acknowledge that the manager is not in the wrong here. After all, Kevin supposedly has shown up late for work for some time and his excuse that he was late because he had to work on his comic is not reasonable. For a lack of a better word, making this comic is just his hobby, not his job. His job is to make burgers and sell them, because the manager of the burger joint is paying him for that. So excuse me if my sympathy is not that much with him

Not really much to say here. I just want to point out two things: One, the countdown that showed up also in previous pages and goes further down the longer we get into the story, two that it actually may be a good thing that Dobson has not drawn the copy shop employee in more detail. Cause one thing I came to realize over time with Dobson is, that often times his sketches have more of a softness to them than the final product, where e.g. faces are more harsher and frankly, uglier than they need to be, in addition to being a bit oversaturated thanks to the colors. And with Dobson’s tendency to make also angry faces genuinely spiteful, I wonder if the copy shop owner would have come off in the final product as more “strawman mean” than necessary. Cause it is very obvious that “poor Kevin” seems to suffer from the indifferences of his environment.

 One month since he was fired and one more month till we are in the present and he loses his electricity cause he has not paid his bills. And this is where I slightly start to lose my sympathy with the character. Again, it is obvious that the story wants us to feel bad for Kevin because he is down on his luck although all he wants to do is just create his comic.

But at the same time, only halfway through the comic I have to ask, how much of his shitty situation is not just him doing nothing against it?

I mean, he has obvious money issues, he can’t pay the electricity bill and he has been fired a month ago. Shouldn’t he at this point not have attempted yet to get a replacement job? Or ask for unemployment support? Do commission work for fans in exchange for money?

I am just saying, his woes become a bit less relatable if he does not really attempt to at least try and fix the situation.

And unfortunately, this development continues still

 Gesh, this comic is really old when Kevin still owns a flip phone…

Also, I need to give his mom credit. 500$ send to her son so that he can pay his debts off and live well enough for a few days. Sorry, but 500$ is actually enough for me to live for a month and pay my groceries and major bills if I am careful enough. Lets hope Kevin is the same and that he looks out for a job

 … nope, he does not look for a job. Two weeks after he got the money he still does not have a job to support himself and assure he has a roof over his head. In fact, he likely loses more money than he necessarily needs to by going to a diner.

Look, unlike other characters created by Dobson, I really do not hate Kevin. Primarily because he does not show any of the despicable or idiotic traits other characters by him do. But Kevin is not doing anything to improve his situation, period. And that is not really how you should write “down on their luck” characters, cause that doesn’t really make them sympathetic. The sympathy a reader gives those characters stems primarily from the fact, that though they really try their best, fate is not working into their favor for different reasons beyond their control. But here the problem is, that Kevin has to a certain degree control over his situation. He can decide what he wants to do with the money, he can decide to either do or not do anything to improve his situation at least slightly. And he doesn’t do anything.  

Dear lord, Kevin is essentially Dobson when it comes to the laters overall situation and how he does little to improve anything when he is stuck.

Then there is also the entire thing about the waitress calling Kevin’s work amazing. For starters, I kinda doubt that that in our modern day society and work environment her acting like that in front of a customer, even if the customer does not mind, would fly with her employer. After all, professionalism and all that. Next, her praise feels shallow. The typical cardboard speech praise checkmark lines you can give to any piece of work, that don’t really mean anything if you do not elaborate on what it really is you find amazing about the characters in terms of personality or what it is about the story that hits home (e.g. can you realte to the characters, are you genuinely thinking the story is funny etc)

In fact, what even is Kevin’s comic?

 I get that his work is not the center stage of this story, but think about it: we are supposed to think that Kevin is talented and that he needs his lucky break. But would his work even justify success and admiration? All we know is that the comic features a character called Kat (not really an original name) who for a lack of a better word and based on the sketch outline may just be the bastard offspring of Bubsy and Talus from Alex ze Pirate. And that is it. For all I know, and taking for shit and giggles a made up meta narrative into account, his work may actually be on the same level as Alex ze Pirate itself. And if that is the case, let me just fill out an application as janitor for Kevin right now. If he is lucky he can make around 1000 dollars a month soon.

 This right here is actually a prime example of a common problem in Dobson’s longer story: Him breaking the old rule of “show, don’t tell”. The narrative tells us e.g. via the words of the waitress and the fact he has fans, that Kevin is a good cartoonist. But we do not see it for ourselves. And I am not suggesting here Dobson should draw 20 additional pages of Kevin’s creations and comics, because that would be freaking overkill. But imagine if this comic started off with the first page being part of a a very fantastic fight scene or story. Something rich in color and characters. Only for it to be revealed in the next page to be actually NOT the story we are supposed to read, but something Kevin creates right now. By doing so Dobson could not only show for the actual main story that Kevin is justified in having success, Dobson could have also shown for himself how he can be imaginative. How he can toy with tropes and expectations, while also creating something “new” out of nowhere just for fun. But that is not what we got. And all we have now are four more pages.

 Again, ONE MORE WEEK passed and he still did not get a job. And in fact, he is also overdue on his rent and wants to ask his mother AGAIN for money.

Dude… I am all out of sympathy. Sell your freaking kidney for all I care, offer your landlord oral sex or that you are going to do work around the house for him, just try to do something except beg mother to help you out again. Especially as she has already send you 500 dollar. What have you done with that money anyway? Did most of it get spend on your electric bill? If so, how huge was it? And did you fail to pay rent for a couple of months now that even your landlord is having enough? I ask the later in part because I genuinely do not know how fast a landlord can vacate you in the US. See, where I live you can get vacated too when you don’t pay up, but most landlords are by law forced to at least let you stay for a few more weeks till you either find a way to pay up or another place to live. Forceful removal of a tenant can mostly only happen if the person causes severe damage to the apartment or is facing criminal charges.

 So NOW you are looking for a job. Good luck getting 700 dollars in three days though. I can’t imagine that even if you get hired, that anyone will pay up that amount of money upfront to help you. Again, do you have no other options, Kevin? Also, for how long was that sign up there? How often have you gone by that diner? Also dear lord, the waitress really is not the smartest if she thinks being a webcomic artist pays all the bills

 So if the manager has already found someone, even if it was “just” now, why was the “now hiring” sign even still in the window? And he assumes there are even more bills? Kevin… do you have a genuine problem when it comes to handling finances? Would you do better, if you only get an allowance? Just one more page. And with it my biggest complains

And so our comic ends with all the build up of how down on his luck Kevin is, being essentially pointless, because at the end of the day he is still lucky and all his problems get resolved not by his own doing but by deus ex machina.

Okay, this is not entirely accurate.

After all, Kevin DID create this comic. He wrote it, he drew it, he send the script to multiple publishers, he got rejected multiple times and now he is also going to finally get recognition for it all. You can say he worked to get his foot into the industry. The problem is, that none of that work is really shown in the story presented to us. We do not see him work on the script, potentially rewrite or fix up mistakes, get the impression that even with the bad situation he is in, he still wants at the very least this passion project to succeed. All we know is he worked on something and now because it is convenient for the story, his misfortune is going to end and he gets a happy end that is way too convenient for my taste.

Look, I know nothing about how publishers work. If someone reads this and has genuine experience in how publishers approach you if they are interested in your work and how much money you can really make through it, you are free to tell me what you know or have experienced directly or indirectly. Cause frankly, I find it hard to believe that any publisher would immediately do the thing Kevin now experiences here. First off, why would they not attempt to call him or get into a more convenient contact with him than the mail? Second, advanced payment? Shouldn’t you at least try to handle out basic deals before you send him a paycheck over?

I get it is supposed to be a happy end for Kevin here, but honestly, with the way how even if people are getting published, success may not be immediate or not to a degree Dobson actually hopes for. Sorry, but I am also just jaded enough as a person to know that even otherwise acclaimed work does take time to really hit a certain level of popularity. Luke Pearson e.g., wrote and drew the first volume of the comic series Hilda in 2010, just a few months after he finished college. The comic was a success and resulted in him publishing up to four more books till 2016. But only with his comic being adapted into a Netflix series in 2018 did he also get recognition outside of Great Britain, from which he is likely going to make enough money to have a comfortable life for the next couple of years. Mind you, I said comfortable, not “luxurious”. Cause this is actually one thing I fear with Dobson to a degree: That he thinks that being a successful comic creator equals also becoming stinking rich. Cause as far as I know, this is not really the case for many comic creators around the world. But I digress.

This post is not about the potential delusions of Dobson when it comes to how much of a fortune he could make through a successful publication, this post is about judging a SYAC story that got never published.

And frankly, the story of Kevin James… I don’t hate it. Honestly, I think there is potential for a decent, even longer story about a webcomic artist trying to get his big break. The problem is, this is not a story about the challenges Kevin faces in creating his comic. This is not the story about someone being determined to get his work out, even if he struggles in real life. This is not the story of someone facing and dealing with his real life struggles in a mature way, making the happy end all the more feel rightfully earned. This is a story where honestly there would be no drama at all (or at least less drama), if Kevin even attempted to do something halfway logical most other people in real life would do, if they found themselves in his situation (like looking for a job, trying to work commissions etc.) . And a drama where the dramatic event would not happen if some basic logic even a kid can think off would be applied, is at least for me not really a drama.

So yeah, it is not the worst thing by Dobson, but it is very flawed to say the least.

[zertzertzhang]

Stand and Deliver: My Life Turned Upside Down

A/N: This is my first time writing on Tumblr, so please bear with me! I am usually active on FFNet and AO3, but since this fandom is basically nonexistent except for here, I thought maybe I could post my works for this movie here. The story is a fanfic based on the 1988 movie ‘Stand and Deliver’ starring Edward James Olmos, and taking a deeper look into the lives of the impoverished students in East LA.

Eventual Angel/OC, and warnings of racial slurs with some physical violence.

:

:

Chapter One: Hellhole

The divorce shattered the Yang family to pieces. Vianne was no stranger to her mother’s scorn for her father, even at a young age. There were countless nights of screaming from Mrs. Yang, coupled with the frustrated curses her father threw in return. At one point, she was sure she heard plates crashing against the walls, but by the time she pumped up the courage to go check the next day, everything had been neatly restored. It was like the fight never took place.

Vianne was not stupid; the traces of her parent’s clashing were found in their silence. It was the harsh clatter of silverware against the bowls during dinner which reminded her that despite the calm nature of the family evenings, rage was just seconds from spilling onto the streets. Their house had just enough bearings to keep authorities from pounding the door on a weekly basis.

There wasn’t much left to solidify the hate between the spouses of the Yang household. By the time Vianne’s father suggested giving her a sibling to help bring her mother back, even she knew that it was a futile attempt to play house a little longer.

But to Vianne’s dismay, her mother agreed. Within months, blue paint littered around the spare bedroom in a massive heap, threatening to swallow the couple whole. Vianne didn’t react much when she realized a brother was coming her way, the increased shouting from Mrs. Yang frightened her as the due date neared. Her father would grumble incessantly about his wife’s mood swings and how that was what men got for marrying.  

All of that was lost to Vianne; she was too young to comprehend full sentences, much less understand the hidden meaning behind her father’s statement. Maybe her brother would make her mother happy for once. She could envision her father playing with her in the fields as her mother and her brother sat on picnic mats to the side. They would be laughing just like how it used to be. Vianne wouldn’t have to stay awake, pressing her ears against the doors as more kitchenwares were broken. There would finally be peace...

Her mother’s eyes held the warmth of motherhood for no longer than a few seconds before the cold hollow overtook them again.

Peace never came. What happened in its stead was her brother screeching from his crib, all the while as her parents shrieked at one another over changing diapers. It made Vianne’s head split with thunderous agony. She never wanted to yell this badly, to make them just hug each other for once and stop talking. But such thoughts happened in her mind only. And before she knew it, they were back to throwing pots against the wall.

That lasted however long she remembered. Then came the papers, and she soon found herself holding baby Jack in her arms as her aunt ushered her into a stranger’s car. They said they would be taking care of them for a while. It dawned on Vianne that this was her first time meeting her mother’s family. There was no such thing as a happy reunion in this household.

She didn’t get to see her father after that, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to anyway. Not when the last thing she saw him doing was spitting onto her mother’s face as he tried to stop her from stepping out the door. No one knew that Vianne hid under the covers to cry herself to sleep once she settled in her new home.

And thus, Mrs. Yang became Ms. Lin once more. But for legal reasons, Vianne and Jack’s surname stayed. The minor details flew over her head; Vianne didn’t put much care on the subject. In the long run, the privilege to listen to the crickets chirp at night was enough to keep her satisfied.

That’s how things went for a while, with the emotional charge from her mother coming down for once in a long time. It wasn’t a surprise when Ms. Lin began going out all dolled up and pretty. The scent of her Saint Laurent eau de parfum clung to her skin as she whisked past the older Vianne. The girl felt a twist in her gut; she didn’t want to smell the hints of cologne her mother brought back after every weekend. However, she kept her mouth shut.

Ms. Lin didn’t hold back on her monetary needs. Thank god her salary as a lawyer cushioned their lifestyle. Despite being a single parent, her income had left a spacious room for extra spending. A shopping trip once a month was guaranteed, and that was when Vianne saw her mother at her very best. Talkative and cheery, Ms. Lin wasted no time in purchasing the latest trench-coats from Burberry as she gushed over how cute it looked on Vianne.

Something about her giggling mother put her at ease. The punching of the credit card’s number sent a rush of high in her blood, which only increased with Ms. Lin’s blabbering praise of how beautiful she looked in the mirror. She was well-fed and well-clothed; Vianne figured that there had to be a trade off somewhere. Not everything could be given, so she happily accepted the allowance. It was the closest she’d ever get to having her mother smother her in a crushing hug.

School was another topic. No doubt she was expected to do well in it; Vianne was sure her college expenses would be covered as well once she got to it. So she put the worry on that to the side as well. Her social life at school was decent, with her own clique of Asian Americans making up most of her friend group. It was genuinely a decent life for her, and for a moment, she thought this was going to be her forever.

Until it was news to her that her current school was going to be a thing of the past. Ms. Lin had become engaged to one of her former clients. Vianne was near her senior year of high school when her mother broke the news to her.

“Scott has a family of his own,” Ms. Lin explained. “His children are having a difficult time accepting us.”

Vianne lost her appetite and tossed her dinner down the dump. Her brain refused to tell her how to react, so her first response was denial. She wasn’t interested in a second dad or a second family, this was her happy medium. Besides, she still had Jack, so there wasn’t any long-term loneliness. Why was her mother complicating things?! What the hell?

“I don’t see how it’s our problem.” She tried to keep her voice cool, but the hint of frustration leaked nonetheless.

Her mother looked almost ashamed. Almost. “I’ll be moving in with Scott next week, Vianne. It’s to help his children get used to the new family members.”

The pause after the statement didn’t help the rising anxiety within Vianne. Her fingers clenched around the fork, digging the metal utensil into her soft skin so much that it stung. There was a catch to that announcement, she could feel it.

“What about me?” she asked. “What about Jack?”

Ms. Lin sucked in a breath, drumming her fingers on the mahogany table in a frenzy. And from experience, that only meant bad news. “Scott lives in the Bay Area. It’s too far away from Napa for me to come visit constantly if you stay. So I’ve decided to have you move back with your father.”

The world came undone from below and swallowed Vianne whole. Her mind was a blank sheet of paper, with no idea how to respond. It had been a decade of little to no contact with Mr. Yang, and the sudden contact with him was not going to lead to a happy talk over a cup of coffee. This was fucking ridiculous.

“You said you’d never let him see us again.” Her retort sounded irrelevant at worst, and petty at best. Not that this was going to change her mother’s engagement.

And sure enough, it wasn’t. Ms. Lin gave an exasperated sigh and pinched her nose. The shake of her head reminded Vianne of the way she would scold her when she was a child.

“Your father is doing better now. He’s…different,” her mother tried. “He’s simply not living in the best places out there. But that’s ok! You won’t stay there after graduation, and after you go to college, you’ll be coming back to Scott and me over breaks.”

Vianne could hear the blood in her ears bubbling like an overboiled teapot. “I don’t even know Scott that well, mom! How am I supposed to be his new family after you settle in?!”

The matriarch rolled her eyes at the scene, clearly not taking her daughter’s response well. “It’s a work in progress. I’ll make sure to bring them to you every once in a while to let them get comfortable. That’s why I’m moving in first.”

Her reasoning failed to get past Vianne’s anger, spurring her on. “So you’re just gonna dump us in LA with dad so you can live your comfy life?!”

That comment seemed to be the final nail onto the coffin, as Ms. Lin’s frown turned to a scowl in seconds. “I’m not dumping you anywhere, Vianne. It’s only going to be a year, and your allowance is staying the same! So stop being dramatic.”

Her mother’s cold gaze bore into her mind, freezing her in her tracks. It would serve both of them better if she conceded right there. Once her mother came to a decision, she was like an ox in the middle of a fight. There was no arguing out of this situation. The friends she had and the memories she made in Napa were now pipedreams wrapped up in a dusky alley. Her failure to even voice her opinions squeezed her lungs tight with perturbation.

The familiar pounding headache cursed her forehead, making her wince. Vianne had the sudden urge to smash plates just like her mother had done before. But she didn’t need a grounding on top of everything else, so she settled with pulling her lips back into a painful grin.

“What's the name of the school?” She expected her mother to answer that at least. Donning an air of nonchalance, Vianne tried to appear as unbothered as she could. The trembling of her hands were the only markers of betrayal. If Ms. Lin noticed her plight, then she took no interest in it. Her mother reached for a brown packet and tore it open.

A stack of papers slid out of the package, with the name ‘J.A. Garfield High School’ printed in bold fonts in the front page. It was her transfer letter.

Ms. Lin took a sip of her red wine before she continued her trail of thought. “I’ve given them your transcripts and coursework history already. You’ll be admitted in the second semester.”

“You’re really sending me to the ghetto.” Vianne felt the veins in her head pop. Quickly scouring through the papers, she came across her schedule. There was no AP Biology on the list, and there was definitely no AP BC Calculus on it either. In their places was a section marked as ‘Teaching Assistant’. And that was enough to send her ticking with rage.

“What’s the meaning of this?!” This time, she didn’t bother to hide her fury. “Why did they drop my classes?!”

Slamming the files down so hard that the china rattled, the young woman seethed as she stared her mother down. Ms. Lin wasn’t having any of it either, her fingers gripping the wine glass had turned pale with the increased pressure.

“The school doesn’t have AP courses, Vianne. They’re offering full credits for your two AP classes as compensation.”

The words that came out of her mother’s mouth stunned Vianne into silence. Graduation credits were worth nothing to her in college, this had to be some sick joke.

“What about my AP tests next year?” she hammered. “How am I supposed to take the tests without taking the classes?!” Her complaints were like flies buzzing around an agitated human. Ms. Lin simply waved them off without a second glance, as if her worries were nothing but unnecessary trivialities in life.

“You’re smart, sweetheart. You can study for them by yourself.” Her mother threw out the response like it was the obvious solution to her problem. “There’ll be more than enough spare time in your hands to bury yourself in books.”

Vianne quirked a brow. “Why?”

Ms. Lin actually smiled. But behind it were the vestiges of an arrogant smirk threatening to show itself to the surface. “Their coursework is basically non-existent. The catalogs are dated, and the materials are easy enough to be mistaken for a middle schooler’s level. You’ll have no trouble boosting your GPA up and acing your tests.”

If pride was a thing in her family, then it was going out the window. Vianne couldn’t believe her ears, nor could she stomach the sight of the letters. At this level, she might as well turn herself to a thirteen-year-old and go back to primary school. All her hard work was about to go up in flames because of that ghetto school. Hot tears rimmed along her eyes, sending her into a vortex of despair once more.

There wasn’t enough time to say goodbye to her friends; Kimberly’s birthday was in two weeks, and the whole group had a surprise beach trip planned out. And that was just the tip of the iceberg. Mountains of projects she had been dedicated to simply poofed into air. Her hands clenched at the sides, doing their best to contain the urge to hit something.

The shifting of bodies alerted her of her mother’s departure from the living room; Ms. Lin was already up the stairs by the time Vianne shook herself back to reality. She looked over to the stove and was struck by the time it displayed on the counter. It was way too late into the early mornings.

“Your flights depart in two days.” The voice of her mother was drifting away into the distance. Their hollow vibrations from the hall sent her stomach dropping to the floor. “You should start packing soon, Vianne.”

That was the end of the conversation. It was made clear with the slam of Ms. Lin’s bedroom door, rattling its hinges. Neither of them were in the state to argue, and she knew it. Standing alone by the dining table, Vianne sniffled. Her nose was unbearably stuffy in addition to the increasing sting in her eyes.

She didn’t catch a wink of sleep that night.

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LAX was the definition of a madhouse. People shouted in all kinds of languages, deafening her ears and making Jack whimper on her side. Vianne held her brother close as she shoved their way through the gates of their section. The crowded mass on top of her migraine was slowly inching her towards a mental breakdown. After hauling off the last of her luggages from baggage claim, she ushered Jack to the main exit of the airport.

She knew she hadn't seen her father’s face in years, and the dreadful thought of not recognizing their only ticket out settled within her gut. Panic palpated in her heart as they came out of the building, with the sea of people not helping in the slightest.

Mr. Yang was next to unrecognizable when Vianne saw the massive sign with her name blaring in red. He looked different, much different than before. But then again, her seven-year-old perspective wasn’t all that trustworthy either. The face of her father hit her like a cold splash of water, and she found herself failing to greet him with the simplest ‘hello’. She merely stared at the balding man,  unable to tear her eyes away from the beerbelly and narrowed eyes. Her father was a stranger to her, and it was then she realized that Jack had never even met their father.

Her brother scooted away from Mr. Yang when the man approached them, looking up to her with his teary gaze. Jack looked like he wanted to burst into a wailing fit. It was going to be a long ride back.

Heavy silence filled the car throughout the ride to her new home. Mr. Yang asked about her health and her school life, repeating the same questions he wrote to her weeks ago. Vianne kept the answers simple and precise, nodding and smiling to make it seem like she was engaged.

Jack, on the other hand, fidgeted endlessly in his seat in the back, looking anywhere but the front of the driver’s seat. The introduction between father and son was awkward to say the least. Vianne was just happy that they were now on their way to get the year over with. She clutched the phonebook in her pockets, memorizing all her friends’ numbers. It took her mind off things, if that was a positive note.

There could never be enough distractions for her, especially now that the three of them were stuck in the worst possible position. As if whatever deity in the heavens wanted to lay more unto the cruel joke, Vianne shook from her revere and noticed the selection of houses they were approaching.

Rundown and abandoned were the least of her worries. The neighborhood was like the cardboard cutout from a horror magazine. Desecrated with graffitis and empty beer cans, the streets were littered with grime and dust. It was obvious the town duster wasn’t a frequent worker there. And was that a person sitting on the roof of a car?!

Vianne’s eyes bulged as she squinted at the flailing man on top of a red Chevrolet. Men donned in tall hats paraded the city roads like they owned the place, causing a line of angry drivers honking at the ruckus. The pounding headache intensified at the sight, and she grumbled a string of curses to herself.

“Monterey Park is a lot better,” Mr. Yang spoke out of nowhere. “We’re gonna be away from these dirty shitbags.”

She flinched at the harsh edge of his voice, but didn’t say anything. By the crinkled lines between his brows and the frown on his lips, her father wasn’t in the mood for a good-natured chat. It was better that way, Vianne herself could feel her spirits waning with each mile.

The trio reached a small neighborhood in no time, and to her relief, it looked miles better than the houses she previously saw. The structures still retained the brittle fragility in appearance, but the paintings were even this time. And the lawns appeared to be taken cared of as well. Vianne felt the corners of her lip tug up in a hopeful smile.

But like any other good news, it was crushed to dust as soon as it presented itself. Her father didn’t use his keys to unlock the door. Instead, it swung open on its own accord, revealing the face of a middle-aged woman with frizzy hair and leopard-printed blouse. Vianne’s mind jumped to the worst possible scenario, jumping back a good distance. The young woman stared at the fresh face for what felt like a long time, before the coughing from Mr. Yang pulled her from the staring contest.

“Clara, they’re my children; Vianne and Jack.” Her father’s gruff voice held her to the ground. Gesturing to the women next, he continued to speak. “Vianne, Jack, this is Clara. She’s my girlfriend.”

Despite him being this close to the two women, Mr. Yang was oblivious to the scowl that now stretched across his daughter’s face. Vianne put two and two together and realized why her mother refused to share too much of her father’s living situation. There was no way in hell she would have agreed to come had she knew of this beforehand. Her living arrangements were fucked up to no end, and for a moment, she contemplated ringing her mother on the spot.

“It’s nice to meet you.” Clara didn’t move from her position. She gave the two newcomers a pitying look, but her lips turned up to a smirk. “I’ve heard a lot about y’all.”

Jack stared at Vianne, lips pouting in morbid curiosity. The older sibling sighed and rolled her eyes; she was getting worked up over nothing. They only had to stay here for another year till graduation, so she reckoned she would find a way to grin and bear it.

“There are rules to this household.” Her father wasted no time in listing the regulations under his roof. “You won’t be able to run amok like ya did with your mother here. First, Clara is to be respected at all times.”

Mr. Yang was blind to the seething glare Vianne threw him as she unpacked her bags across the room. It was one thing to be forced to live under these conditions, but it was a totally different thing to be mandated around by a stranger who she detested. A biting remark made its way to her tongue, but was cut short by his rambling speech.

“Curfew is 6 pm sharp. No loitering around the streets after the sun goes down,” he continued. “No boys are allowed, and there will be no parties here.”

No one, and she meant no one, told her when she got to come home. The last time her mother set her a curfew was in middle school. And it was definitely not at that time either. She wasn’t interested in dating anyone from this neighborhood, much less bringing a boy back home. Parties were out of the question, Vianne had already made up her mind that she was going to burrow herself for a year before she dipped.

“I’ll stay out as much as I want.” It was a crisp retort, and she turned up her nose. “My car will be here in a few days. I’ll be fine.”

Mr. Yang’s nose flared at the comment. His eyes darkened, reminding her of the way he used to look at her mother. She didn’t voice it, but the familiar shivers ran down her spine. Avoiding his gazem Vianne took a sudden interest in the rings on her fingers.

“This ain’t Napa County, Vianne.” Her father’s hand shook. “You’ll be down in the dirt in no time if you don’t adapt to the people here.”

She ignored his statement and pulled out her luggage of clothes. Everyone knew of the nature of the ghetto people there. That was the reason she brought her car. Whatever it was, Vianne wasn’t going to touch them with a ten-foot pole.

 “Whatever,” she mumbled. Sensing her displeasure in the conversation, Mr. Yang grumbled something about women, before throwing a stack of notebooks onto her bed. Vianne glanced at them, but made no attempt to retrieve the papers.

“These are the course intros for tomorrow.” Her father was opening a can of beer as he eyed her. “You and Jack are waking up at 7. No negotiations.”

“Sure, sure.” There was no reason to get into a fight, and she thought it was wise to choose her battles. A curt nod was all she gave him, before she slipped past her father to go find Jack. There was still time to brood over her state of affairs.

Time always flew when you were either panicking or on cloud nine. That would be the second night of the week where she didn’t get to sleep. Her eyes trailed to the calendar; today was her first day of school.

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A/N: Sorry for the slow start! Juicy drama picks up in the next chapter! Reviews, criticism, and comments are welcome :3

And here's a shoutout to @classic80sand90smovieloves2 for inspiring and helping me write this out!

[valkyrieelysia18]

RWBY Rewrite: Penny Polendina

Salutations Tumblr users! Today, we tackle beloved fan favorite robot girl Penny Polendina.

Now as I stated before, I dropped RWBY after Volume 6 and didn’t really watch Volume 7. I have however heard about certain developments and one plot point made me grateful I got out earlier or I would have rage quit this Volume anyway.

They brought back Penny, with all her memories completely intact.

This destroys one of the best pieces of writing in the show. Penny’s death was meant to symbolize the death of innocence in the show and it led in to the Fall of Beacon as well as Pyrrha’s death. Up until now, the show had been treating it as if a real girl had died. Vexed Viewer on YouTube has done a video on the topic that explains this better than I could. Even if they were going to bring Penny back in some way, she shouldn’t have been exactly the same as if nothing happened. Such as her memory of Vale (and everyone she met) being completely gone or her personality being significantly changed she isn’t even the same person anymore.

So, in this post I am going to be going over her history, role in the plot, and ‘successor’ for the Atlas Arc. 

Creation and History

Okay, slight can of worms, but if Doctor Polendina is black, why is his daughter one of the most obviously white characters of the cast?

Alright, there actually is a legitimate reason for that in this rewrite. Penny’s physical features are actually based on Pietro’s late wife Clara Polendina (reference to the Nutcracker ballet) who worked with her husband. The two were very much happy and in love, but Clara died in a Grimm attack before they could have children. Thus, Penny is basically the daughter Pietro never got to have with her. Clara won’t come up that much in the Rewrite, but she was close to both of her husband’s prized students Arthur Watts and Willow Schnee. Arthur would note the resemblance and bring it up during his final confrontation with the doctor (This is what you ruined my life for as well as countless others?! Clara would be ashamed.) Willow would also bring it up and notice the similarities in both Penny and her successor.

However, the Atlas military and Ironwood’s desires to build something like Penny is less heartwarming. There was the original desire of making stronger robots for mass production to protect humans that evolved into infiltration and espionage purposes. But James Ironwood would see Polendina’s plans and see an immense opportunity. A young woman who would never age or die. An individual that they would never have to worry about running away or disobeying orders. Such a person becoming a Maiden would mean that they would never have to worry about the transfer process ever again. That would explain why Penny said that it would be her job to save the world one day, but they don’t think she’s ready for it yet. She is Ironwood’s hope for the future of the Maidens. And just in case she isn’t perfected in time for the next transfer, Winter is being trained and kept in reserve. Ironwood would provide all of the materials Pietro could need, including a crystalized substance that no one knows much about other than it being a classified by the military. It’s source  will be noted in a spoiler’s section in this post, but it’s the very thing finally got things to work.

But while Pietro is aware something is up and suspicious of Ironwood’s intentions, he loves his little robot daughter regardless. There will be some flashbacks involving her first days awake (showing her curiosity and determination) as well as her bidding her father good bye when she leaves for the Vytal Festival. 

Vale

The only thing I’d really change about Penny in the Vale Arc is giving her more time to interact with the cast, especially Ruby. What we got was okay, but I think it would be much more impactful if Ruby got to spend more time with Penny before her death. I’d definitely like it if Penny would bring up her father during their conversations, saying she was sure that two of them would get along given how much Ruby likes weapons.

It might be also nice for Pyrrha to feel a little off by her sensing all the metal when they first meet, but not realize why or how important that is. Just bit of foreshadowing.

Pelia

So, as you might have guessed by now, Penny will stay dead in this Rewrite. With the kind of story and tone I’m working with, it’s important that there is legitimate consequences to events and actions of the characters. As such, characters who died will stay dead. They may be referenced, appear in flashbacks, haunt our characters’ dreams, perhaps having a spirit linger with unfinished business to help the main characters on their path, but there is no chance of resurrection.

Not that Pietro wasn’t thinking along the same lines as others had considering Penny is a robot. They did manage to retrieve her body and core, but when he managed to build a new body, reboot, and restart, it wasn’t Penny greeting him. Rather, it was a completely personality. And they did not recognize anything or anyone. Pietro was devastated.

Thus I introduce Pelia Polendina, or Pelly. This is reference to the Coppelia ballet that actually includes a toy inventor trying bring a doll to life that he calls a daughter, much like Pinocchio. Only instead of magic bringing a puppet to life, the inventor tries to bring Coppelia to life by stealing a human soul and putting it in the doll. Quite the dark contrast and is actually going to be a bit of foreshadowing. I will say her appearance is actually pretty similar to Penny’s redesign with longer hair, though I would picture her more similar to dishwasher 1910′s design in https://www.deviantart.com/dishwasher1910/art/penny3-0-SD-758463321 . Check them out on DeviantArt, their work is amazing.

Pelia is considerably different than Penny. Whereas Penny was bright, enthusiastic, and rather trusting; Pelly is subdued, talks very mechanically, and is significantly less naïve. While Penny longed to be a part of something greater and be with humans despite her lack of social skills, Pelly avoids most people and is afraid of what Atlas(and by extension Ironwood) wants with a robot like her. This is partly due to her finding about Penny and how the world reacted with the Fall of Beacon.

In regards to Penny, she feels rather guilty about being alive in her place though she doesn’t quite realize that’s what she is feeling. This would lead to her trying to find out everything she could on Penny to understand her emotions, learning about Ruby and the others in the process. Pietro is devastated by the loss and incredibly frustrated with her, not really considering her alive in the same way Penny was which given her personality isn’t that unreasonable to think. Pelia does care about her creator and tries to assist him in what ways she can, but his attitude towards her is not positive and as such she mostly stays out of his way.

Atlas

Pelia’s first proper appearance would be in the Atlas Arc when the group visits Doctor Polendina for weapons repairs after their meeting with Ironwood doesn’t go well and the good doctor isn’t the on the best terms with the General at present. The man is not pleased or in the mood to humor them, though he does defrost a little when Ruby shows her geeky know how on weapons. (He may have also said some rather terrible things about Pyrrha which made the group somewhat grateful JNR wasn’t there.) As the group leaves the building and goes on their way, Ruby looks up to the upstairs window as she feels she’s being watched. She doesn’t see anything, but as she turns and walks away Pelia comes into view from the window. Having recognized who the people who just visited were, Pelly sneaks out and follows the group in the secret for a while.

She finally gets revealed while the group is watching Weiss dance ballet at a Mantle Community Theater. The Atlas Arc is primarily Weiss centric and part of her Arc in proving herself as worthy of the Schnee name will have her prove herself to people of Mantle. One such instance will have her helping out at the community theatre in learning and teaching dance. It’s in which she is showing off her skills Pelia accidentally reveals herself to the group having been incredibly entranced in ballet (little show to her inspiration). Ruby at first mistakes her for Penny so she gets very emotional, only to temper down when she realizes Pelia’s not her. The situation is cleared up and the group gets more insight into the situation of Atlas as well as the strain between the General and Pietro.

Pelia has three distinct dynamics of interactions with the group: Ruby on Penny, Weiss and Winter on siblings, and Oscar on succession. With Ruby, Pelia gets to know more about Penny as a person and Ruby gets a chance to fully process her loss. Pelia’s not Penny, but she comes to appreciate her all the same. Ruby also comes up with Yang in regards to sibling interactions, but Pelia’s focus in this case is more on the Schnee siblings. She’s basically wondering what sisters act like and whether Penny would have seen her as a sister. This lets her get some ballet lessons from Weiss as well as close to Winter. Then there��s her relationship with Oscar with the two of them having to deal with their predecessors and the problems they’ve let them to deal with. The both of them come to realize through talking with each other is that they shouldn’t compare themselves to those who came before. They have their own views and ways of doing things different from their predecessors and that’s not necessarily a bad thing. The only thing they can do is do things the best THEY can.

The big turning point in the Atlas Arc for Pelia is when Pietro finds out abut the Winter Maiden and what Ironwood’s original plans were.  While I am majorly rewriting the Atlas Arc, I do actually like the idea of an old Winter Maiden who is on her last legs. Pietro doesn’t get all the details of course, but it gives him the idea that the magic could bring Penny back to life. Aside from the whole ‘Dead means dead’ world I’m working with, it’s also a way to show that magic that cannot bring back the dead. I know that’s very much true in the show though not directly stated, but here I want to lay the ground rules down on what magic is and is not capable of.

After being called back by Pietro and assisting him in breaking into the facility where the transfer is soon to take place, the two enter the room that was originally prepped for Winter (who is distracted with everyone else on things going wrong due to Pietro’s interference) with the old woman in the pod. Pietro has explained things and orders Pelia to get in the other pod. Pelia doesn’t move, having been conflicted during this entre plan which shows all over her face. The doctor orders again, much firmer this time.  A few moments pass as she thinks it over; fear, doubt, determination all playout in her expressions. Finally, she speaks. “No.”

While Pelia may have been built to be a weapon, she still has free will. Unlike Penny who accepted her role without many doubts, Pelia rejects that her only purpose is to be someone’s tool of war. She wants to help others, but she doesn’t want to fight. I think that if you bring choice into a story as a main theme, you also have to give the characters the choice not to fight, to walk away even if they don’t actually do it. Above all, Pelia doesn’t think that sacrificing others for herself is what Penny would have wanted after having met Ruby and gotten to know what she was like. 

She would tell this to Pietro, who would get furious and argue with her. this would continue until they were interrupted by Watts. Watts, with revenge on the brain, would focus on Doctor Polendina and tell Pelia to run along. I know this seems a little hypocritical for Watts to do this considering his advice to Cinder in Volume 5, but this a different situation. Spoilers for the future Atlas Arc Rewrite and future James Ironwood post, go to the next paragraph if you don’t want spoilers. You see, the villains don’t need the Winter Maiden to open the Vault for them because Ironwood already took the Relic of Creation out of the Vault years ago (and is NOT holding up Atlas). In fact, a bit of the power from the staff was used to create Penny  which was the the crystalized substance. Watts knows this due to his hacking Ironwood’s system and has already retrieved the Relic and sent it on the way to Salem. This will make the results in Atlas a lot more bittersweet: our heroes will win on the people’s side of things, but lose the Relic. Back to Watts, the man is all about efficiency. While the Winter Maiden’s powers would be nice, they don’t have a vessel for it at the moment and it’s not necessary for their primary goal. Once the business side of things is taken care of, then he’ll indulge in revenge.

Pelia, while conflicted, would run and get to the group to tell them everything. She would then spend the rest of the conflicting helping to escort and treat the wounded, giving her a presence to the people of Atlas. Pietro will be arrested and will be convicted for his crimes, Watts dead but having gotten the last laugh in the end with his technological abilities exposing his teacher and those who left him out to dry.

Once everything is settled, Pelly will stay behind in Atlas as the new right hand of new Headmistress Winter Schnee. Basically, she becomes the Glynda to Winter’s Ozpin (though Winter is a much more hands on no nonsense person). She bids the group goodbye, hoping to Ruby that they will meet again.

After Atlas

I don’t have much in mind for Pelia after the Atlas Arc except for two things. Firstly, that she and Pietro do eventually reconcile and develop something of a relationship when she visits him in prison on her off days. (Jacques is not so lucky in regards to his children.)

The second is when she and Winter will meet everyone at the lowest point of the story. Ruby will have learned some pretty dark truths, including some choices her mother made that’s really made her think. Pelia will actually have a similar conversation with Ruby that she had with Oscar. In how she’s no more Penny than Ruby is Summer. She’ll remark that perhaps Ruby put her mother on a bit too much of a pedestal thanks to the way her family viewed her. When in reality Summer was just a person and people make mistakes. Right now, what choices Summer made in the past aren’t what matters. What matters is what Ruby wants to do now.

Okay, I think I started before the coronavirus stuff went crazy. I am so sorry. Not sure when I’ll get beck to this.

However, I know the next subject is going to quite the doozy...

[asgardianthot]

Flesh And Bones - part 1

Sam Wilson x Bucky Barnes

Soulmate AU

In a world where people bond with their soulmates through physical pain, living in the same compound makes the search much easier (or it should, if they weren’t so damn stubborn)

TW: self-inflicted injuries

words: 1742

A/N: this is my first time posting a series on the tumblrs but I’ve had the idea for months so here goes nothing

Series Masterlist

Pain is such human extravaganza.

For your body to react to certain dangers or stimulations that trigger specific nervous patterns, that’s something most living creatures are built with. We are but machines; when you lay your hand over fire and it hurts, your nervous system is alerting the rest of your body of harm and yelling at it to get away from said harm, similar to how old hair dryers would stop functioning when they overheated to prevent explosions.

That, we have a general idea of. Pain is natural and not a construct.

But suffering. Aching from love, or the lack of it… nobody does it better than humans. Super-humans included. Enhanced, hyper-trained, whatever. The pain parade of romance is something so deeply rooted into the dumbest parts of our brains, that that must be the reason behind soulmates.

The point is, it is only logical for such a cruel universe to bond love and pain so tightly.

It’s simple, really. Sometime in the speck of dust of time in which we live, a person will get injured. They’ll bump their toe on a kitchen counter, fall on their butts, cut their finger while chopping vegetables, or maybe get into a chaotic car accident. No matter the damage, when the universe decides that hurt idiot is your hurt idiot, you’ll feel their pain on your own skin. It also didn’t matter if you knew the person or not, only chances were your soulmate was a complete stranger.

At first it comes like a tingle, a small pinch or even the ghost sensation of a scratch. But if your soulmate is nearer than they should without you realizing who they are, the sensation becomes full and the closer they are the more vivid their pain feels on your own skin. It is extremely uncertain, however, if it has to do with spatial proximity, or emotional.

Sam Wilson would eventually sit on the park, after his morning jog, or afternoon jog, and contemplate people. He enjoyed the easiness, the memory of a time before the army, when his life was simple. No PTSD, no Avenging. To be fair, the Avenger life was the cure to the PTSD somehow, for Sam Wilson was a man of action and the more quiet his life was, the more his mind wandered. He loved the agitation, the missions, the feeling of helping people, yet every once in a while, or once a day even, he would simply sit and watch the futility of civilian’s walks around the park.

A woman sat next to him and didn’t offer any sign of kindness. She seemed busy -occupied- in the way that she moved and looked around, which is why he didn’t look at her any longer so she wouldn’t feel uncomfortable. However, he then began getting the feeling that she was keeping an eye on him, and when he glanced at her nervous hands, he noticed the poor woman holding a needle to her skin, poking her own hand a few times.

A desperate soul.

On one side of a binary coin, some people don’t believe in soulmates. They aren’t the easiest to spot, and when a couple like that is seen, there is no proof for a simple skeptical individual that they actually felt each other’s pain. There were studies proving the neuronal effects, and were those hard to execute, but not everyone fell for them. Some argued that it was psychological placebo, that the person forced themselves to feel their lover’s feelings, some accused the studies to be biased or false. Some were old and hadn’t found one so why would they believe soulmates were real? They’re not necessary. You don’t just love the person you’ll want to spend the rest of your life with, and them alone, there’s all kinds of love and affection. Then, well… some were simply bitter, covering up their fear of never finding one for themselves.

On the polar opposite, there were the desperate ones. They would inflict harm on themselves in public spaces, expecting a reaction from the passersby.

More than once had Sam seen a man stab their own leg or cut through their palm yelling ‘can anybody feel this?’ as if they feared this was their only shot, forcing the Falcon to run and make them stop hurting themselves along with other civilians. Some couldn’t wait. And Sam never understood why someone wouldn’t be able to enjoy life if they didn’t know their one and only; It made dating much more relaxed and fun and honest. Perhaps that person would eventually become your soulmate, and even though the probabilities of that happening were slim to none, it didn’t need to ruin every romantic relationship in your life.

Therefore with pain in his chest, he addressed the young woman whose eyes were directly analyzing Sam’s hand.

“Hey, lady?” he asked her, earning a big pair of hopeful eyes to find his; yet he had to give her a sad frown to let her know he wasn’t who she was looking for, thus gaining a mimicking disappointed look, “It’s not worth all this trouble.”

Her expression quickly turned into one of distance, like she was trying to protect herself from people who didn’t understand her. She sat back and allowed a smirk to take over her face as she stared into nothingness.

“You’re one of those people who think it’s all a hoax? A construct?” when obtaining no reply, she kept pressuring the Falcon, “Placebo effect? Self-conditioning?”

Sam didn’t give in. He simply took a big breath and sat up from the bench. When he turned to face her, her eyes weren’t as distant.

“No.” He said calmly, “I think yours will come when it’s time. Until then,” he raised his eyebrows a bit, “you’re just hurting yourself for no reason.”

Sam walked away before he could see the young woman’s lower lip tremble.

-

“I didn’t eat your cereal.” Bucky protested, plopped on the couch that faced a flat screen.

Sam, however, wasn’t buying it. He held his ground, one hand on his hip and the other agitating the skimpy remains inside the carton box, making it rattle.

“It’s empty.” He insisted, in a way that screamed paranoia over being accused of overreacting or being crazy.

Instead of acting in an opposite behavior, he gave Bucky all the more reason to treat him as if he were going insane.

“Well, it wasn’t me.” The soldier replied easily, not flipping through the channels anymore but surrendering to a local news one; after a sigh, he looked at the accusatory, “Maybe Steve did it.”

Sam pursed his lips before turning to Steve with a dead look on his face.

“Steve, did you eat my cereal?” he asked condescendingly, already knowing the answer to be no.

As a matter of fact, the blonde’s shirt had small dark spots where he sweat his morning jog on, his hair was still perfect for a regular person but a bit disheveled for Captain America’s inhuman standards, and he was focused on drinking from a water bottle.

He tilted his head to Sam, who nodded, more agreeing with himself than with Rogers.

“You’re the only one who stays on the couch all morning.” He braked back at Barnes.

He didn’t respond this time, perhaps because he was, once again, being accused of being lazy and not using his time nor his gifts wisely. Perhaps because he was just tired of saying he didn’t eat the cereals in question when he had undoubtedly and decisively eaten the cereals in question.

Paying attention to the random local news he’d landed on, he got the gist of what the reporter was saying. They were presenting a quirky story of a bitter man suing his soulmate. He claimed the only reason he got into a car accident was because he felt a sudden sharp pain in his foot and got distracted, and therefore, was asking for his soulmate to pay off the insurance money. Of course they had to find the soulmate who was allegedly responsible for the crash.

“That’s ridiculous.” Bucky mocked.

Sam sat next to him, already having dropped the subject of the missing cereals. He listened to the reporter interviewing the odd man and let an amused but very quickly evaporated smile.

“People have been pulling stunts like these for ages, you can’t be surprised.”

Barnes glanced at him for a second, then returning to the TV. He still thought it was the stupidest reason to sue he’d ever heard of.

“It’s insane.” He said anyways.

“I think it’s sad.” Sam derailed the commentary on an opposite direction, “Can’t be fun starting your lifelong love story through a lawsuit.”

Steve joined the conversation from behind the couch. “I’m pretty sure it’s just a way of getting their attention. You know, find them whatever it takes. It’s actually kind of romantic.”

Bucky scoffed. He couldn’t stop Steve from being such a hopeless romantic and blindly believe in fairy tales where there was none, but he could still be annoyed by the fact.

“A little convenient, isn’t it?” he raised an eyebrow in judgement, yet not turning around to face the blonde.

“What?” Sam shot defiantly, “You don’t believe in this stuff?”

They both knew he was referring to the soulmates paraphernalia. With his glum attitude and dark observations, Barnes did seem like the kind of people to discard the idea of a soulmate. Love that never changes, souls that bond… it did not sound like James Buchanan Barnes’ cup of tea.

“Not the whole part.” He admitted, “I think there’s a lot of bullshit to it.”

The smirk grew on Wilson’s face, “So you’re one of those wacko conspirationists?”

“What if I am?” Bucky shot back, just to mess with him.

He wasn’t though, or not when it came to soulmates, at least. NASA and the government, on the other hand? The man had seen too much inside Hydra to not believe any crazy theory to be possible. He dropped the subject and became more serious, shrugging a little.

“All I’m saying is there’s lots of rules and conditions, I mean, who makes the calls?” Bucky questioned, almost angry, “Who chooses everyone’s partners? And what if you hate your soulmate?”

“That’s the point.” Steve intervened with his bright optimism, “You won’t. They’re your other half.”

Bucky pursed his lips and picked up the remote to switch channels again.

“Sounds real dumb.”

[fangirl-ramblings]

Their First Time [18+]

📷 Picture by @the-neigh-sayer 

Pairing: John Marston x Lilly Mae James ( @lilly-and-alice  )

Summary: Lilly has been running with the Van der Linde Gang for a while. During that time, her relationship with John has been hard to define. Practically the same age as each other, a rocky friendship of sorts has developed between them; which has not been helped by John's seeming indifference towards her in the beginning.

That all changed a few nights previously when John took the opportunity to kiss Lilly

Notes: Self indulgent Smut [NSFW - 18+] | (Barely) Friends to Lovers | First Time | The opposite of a slow burn fic | Wham Bam Thank You Ma’am | Pre-Canon | Pre- John x Abigail 

I'm gifting this story my wonderful friend, the lovely @gangofgunslingers​ for her birthday as a huge thank you for being one of John x Lilly's biggest fans and constantly inspiring & motivating me (and wanting to kick my ass) to try finish all my stories. (But most importantly - it’s because ilysm and I hope you have a wonderful day 😘😘😘)

Also huge thank you to @sad-sweet-cowboah​ & @verai-marcel​ who took the time beta read this story and give me some excellent advice.

Requested tags: @amina-celestial​ & @cupofhana (If you also want to be tagged in anything I write, or no longer want to be tagged, just send me a message)

Unrequested tags: For my remaining John hoes @theunholyoutlaw @the-neigh-sayer & @redeadepression (because we need more John content in our lives - even if it is my poor attempt at something)

~* Tumblr Masterlist | Stories on AO3 *~

     “Hey sugar, you look like you’re having a fine old time tonight.”

     “Why thank you, kind sir,” Lilly slurred, smiling at the stranger who spoke to her. “I am having a fine old time tonight! For, indeed, it is my birthday and I am celebrating with my friend!” She gestured wildly to where she last saw John, who had been talking to the barkeeper. A look of confusion crossed her face as she struggled to find him in the sea of people that had suddenly developed around the bar.

     “Well a very happy birthday to you Miss, but it looks like your so-called 'friend' has upped and left you.” The stranger leaned in, whispering in her ear, as he placed a firm hand on her backside. “How about we go someplace private and celebrate together instead?”

Looking down towards his hand, it took a few seconds for Lilly to realise what the man was implying to her. “Erm, no thank you,” she replied, grabbing the man’s wrist and removing it from her person, before looking around the packed saloon, yelling "Marston? Where you at, you damned fool?"

While she was distracted, she felt a sharp tug at her own wrist. The man had grabbed hold and was now pulling her towards the door. “Oh, I wasn’t asking sweetheart, now move yourself!” he barked at her.

Anger spiked immediately and Lilly was quick to attempt to remove herself from the situation. She swiftly grabbed an empty beer bottle from a nearby table and raised it high. However, before she had a chance to smash it over the man's head, she felt another arm wrap tightly around her waist, pulling her from her pursuer’s grasp. 

“Hey! You got a problem with my lady?” A raspy voice asked, appearing from seemingly nowhere. Lilly glanced at the familiar face that was now beside her, pulling her ever closer to him.

     “Your lady?” Both Lilly and her antagoniser questioned, looking John up and down.

     “As if she'd even look twice at you, ya greasy streak of piss. You can’t be much older than 18, if that!” The older man snarled as he cast his eye over young Marston, who now had his hand upon the revolver resting in his gun belt.  “No,  what she really needs is a real man, not a jumped up little boy who thinks he’s playin’ Cowboys & Injuns.”

Lilly closed her eyes, envisioning John's anger over those comments. She waited for the quick firing of bullets she knew he was capable of. However, she was surprised to hear nothing but silence. As she tentatively reopened her eyes, she looked down to find both of John’s hands firmly on her waist, pulling her against him, before gently placing his lips against hers in such a tender way that she didn't realise John Marston was actually capable of.

Not knowing whether it was the drink or the kiss that was making her feel intoxicated, she allowed herself to reply by allowing the tip of her tongue to brush against his whiskey stained lips, practically insisting that he should let her in.

The kiss itself was over within seconds, but it seemed to the pair of them that time had stood still, igniting something deep in both of them, something they had tried so hard to previously ignore and now would change their friendship forever.

Breaking away from each other to catch their breath, Lilly and John placed their foreheads against each other's. They took a brief moment to stare into each other's eyes, attempting to make sense of what was happening between them.

     "Thanks for saving me,” she breathlessly whispered, noticing out the corner of her eye that the man had moved to the other side of the bar to try his luck with some other poor, unsuspecting girl. “But did you really need to kiss me to prove a point?”

     “It was either that or shoot him, and Dutch did ask us to stay outta trouble, so...” he replied, with a smirk plastered on his face, his hands still holding onto her hips. “Anyways, did you need to try and stick your tongue down my throat?” 

Not knowing whether she was caught up in the moment, felt embarrassed by his comment, or just flushed from the effects of the alcohol, Lilly found herself breaking away from the embrace and headed towards the door. "I think...I think I need some fresh air."

***

Lilly stumbled through the swinging doors, stopping for a moment to breathe in and savour the freshness of the night air. Taking a deep breath, she made her way down the small dirt path at the side of the saloon. Placing her back against the wooden wall and closing her eyes, she tried to make sense of everything: Could it be that she truly enjoyed this kiss, and the one they shared a few nights ago? Were the butterflies that appeared in her stomach at his mere touch a new feeling, or was it something she'd unconsciously tried to repress? Maybe these feelings had gone on even longer than she originally thought. She was always disappointed to find John had left camp without her and she couldn't deny that her heart leaped with joy every time he returned.

The sound of John's raspy laugh brought her back out of her daydream.

     “So you finished celebratin' your birthday yet?” he asked, leaning against the side of the saloon with a cigarette hanging from his mouth. He casually struck a match against the wall to light it.

     “For now at least,” she replied, leaning in the empty space next to him. Pausing for a second she turned to face him, “Hey can I ask you something?”

     “Sure, what about?” He replied, staring straight ahead, outstretching his hand to offer her his cigarette.

     “What is this?" Lilly questioned, taking a drag before handing it back to him.

     "It's a cigarette." John teased, though it was clear he knew full well what she truly meant.

     "No dumbass! What is *this* happening between us?” she gestured, waving her hands wildly in the empty space in between them. 

     “I thought that was obvious,” he chuckled, exhaling a puff of smoke in that calm, collected manner of his. 

     Struggling to take her eyes off him, Lilly leaned back, resting her head against the woodwork. “It's just...well...I've been running with you guys for a while now, and you hardly ever used to speak to me and all of a sudden, you keep kissing me?”

     "What? You don't like me kissin' ya?"

     "Well yeah, I do like it. But..." Before she could finish her sentence, John had flicked his cigarette to the floor. He moved quickly to face her, one hand resting next to her head on the wall, the other one back on her hip. His thumb began to rub circles on a patch of exposed skin, and he pulled her body closer to him.

     "But what?" He whispered into her ear; his breath so close she could practically taste the whiskey and tobacco.

Staring into his eyes, Lilly no longer had the words to answer him. She instead leaned forward to kiss him, her tongue prodding through his already parted lips. John took the opportunity to suck gently on her tongue as one hand moved to palm her breast. His other hand moved gently over her body, feeling every curve and groaning as he watched her succumb to his touch. 

He smirked, immensely enjoying the soft moans that escaped from her mouth into his. Her hips rolled subconsciously against him, grinding against his growing erection. Her jeans soon felt loosened as he unbuckled them. She groaned into his ear as he slid his hand in and moved a finger along her already wet folds.

     "Nice to see I have this effect on you." he smirked. He observed her expression as he thumbed her sensitive nub before moving a finger inside of her core.

Burying her head against his shoulder as she arched her hips to his touch, Lilly couldn't help but cry out a breathless, "Oh…God." 

Holding Lilly's jaw with his other hand, he rasped into her ear, "You never struck me as being so needy for my touch," he brushed a thumb against her lips, which she eagerly took into her mouth. "Yet here you are, takin’ everything I'm givin’ you."

Lilly nodded, finding herself unable to speak. Her face contorted with pleasure as he quickened his pace with his other hand, curling his fingers against her sweet spot. Grabbing a tight hold of his arm, Lilly dug her nails in as the crest of her first wave quickly built up and washed over her.

As she eased down from her high, John moved his hand away, prompting her to whine from the loss of contact. She caught her breath and watched in anticipation as John started to unbuckle his own trousers. His rock hard erection sprang free and he moved his hand over the shaft, coating it with a mix of her slick and his own precum.

With John helping her out of her jeans, Lilly was not used to the strange sensation of the cool night air nip at her exposed flesh. The heat of her core quickly returned upon catching the pure lust in John’s eyes, him staring at her as if she were the most gorgeous being he’d ever set his sights on.

Moving in closer to her, he carefully positioned himself at her entrance. "You ready for me?" he asked. 

Nodding sheepishly, Lilly pulled him into a short and sweet kiss, gingerly placing her hands on his shoulders. John eased her up against the wall and placed a hand on her thigh, lifting her leg up to rest on his waist. He slowly pushed into her, watching her face for any signs of discomfort. As her body grew accustomed to him, he began to thrust at a steady pace. Her hands moved to his backside, pushing him closer and deeper within her with each thrust. 

John firmly placed his hand under her chin, pulling her mouth closer to his own. Her hot breath breezed against his cheek as she moaned, her body tingling in pleasure from how deep he’d reached inside her. Nipping at her bottom lip, Lilly couldn't help but groan his name into his mouth. Her hands moved under his shirt to claw at his back.

     “Feelin’ okay?” John whispered, his nimble fingers unlacing her blouse. With her breasts exposed to his hungry gaze, he brought his mouth against her supple flesh. His tongue and teeth toyed and grazed against her hardened nipple, only heightening her ecstasy.

     “Mmm...better than...okay….I…..I…..” Unable to finish the sentence, Lilly’s body began to shake and tighten around him, tugging at his hair as she attempted to keep herself quiet. With another climax on the rise, John quickly moved to muffle her screams by covering her mouth with his hand. He continued to thrust deep into her, helping her ride out the ever heightening wave of pleasure.

He wasn’t too far behind, only short moments passing before he quickly pulled out and spilt himself onto the floor. He panted heavily and leaned his head against her shoulder, the night air filled with their breathless sighs.

     Lilly was the first to speak, "Wow!" she exclaimed, simply at a loss for other words. She leaned against the wall, dragging her tired fingers through his hair.

John placed soft kisses along her collarbone before he tucked himself back into his trousers. A small look of concern crossed his face, and he muttered, "Sorry."

     "For what?"

    "I practically forced myself on you just then...but it's just…I've wanted you ever since I first laid eyes on you."

Lilly smiled at him, grabbing her jeans to pull them back on. "You didn't force yourself on me. I kissed you this time, remember?" As she laced her blouse back up, she noted the look of confusion John had etched across his face. A giggle escaped her. "I obviously wanted it too. It just took me a bit longer to realise my feelings towards you." 

Her reassurance seemed to do the trick as a smile appeared on John’s lips. “I’m glad to hear you say that, didn’t want you thinkin’ that this had to be a one off” 

Placing a gentle kiss on his cheek, she linked his arm and walked back with him onto the main street. "Come on, I think I’m done with my birthday drinks. But what say we continue celebrating over at the hotel?"

[roseskiesandbutterflies]

Killer Queen - Chapter 12: Thank God It’s Christmas

Summary: Life is easy when things go your way. I know this from experience. I also know that that can disappear in an instant and that you have to be able to rely on your friends. Luckily my name is Arabella Ruth White and I’m the fifth marauder. But I want to show you the girl behind the mask. It takes a lot of work to be this fabulous, darling. (This story is also on Wattpad and AO3 of the same name.)

A/N: So hello again! I know it’s been 3 months since I last updated this fic, and a lot has changed since August so let me catch you up real quick. First of all, in the UK we basically came out of lockdown only to go back into it last week so that’s great. I’m in Year 11 now which is the last year of high school if you didn’t know, and I’m in the middle of my mocks right now, so my free time has plummeted. This unfortunately means that updates across all of my fics will be much slower for the foreseeable future, or at least until Bojo finally cancels our exams. We can but hope.

I hope you enjoy this chapter! Sorry it’s kind of a filler but I promise that the plot is properly about to kick in, just like I said a couple chapters ago. I’ve realised that I’m now the same age as these characters which makes things a lot easier in terms of writing them realistically. Also I’ve decided that all of the characters and just this whole fic in general has main character energy which is Good. We love to see it. Anyways I shall see you next time! Hasta luego.

Warning(s): swearing

Word Count: 3.1k+

Inspiration: random headcanons I found on Tumblr and Pinterest, The Boy Who Killed God by SeraMGrigori on AO3, All The Young Dudes by MsKingBean89 on AO3, Sweet Things by Cocomouse on AO3

Taglist: @bhmay @briarrose26

Ask/comment to be on my taglist! Let me know if it’s for a specific fandom(s). Full list is in my bio.

Ruth had her face pressed right up to the glass of the tiny kitchen window, making it smear up from her breath, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care. She curiously watched her cat, Sooty, cautiously interact with the much larger cat from down the road, circling each other in a manner that would be rather ominous if the former wasn’t a quarter of the latter’s size. Sooty was almost completely obscured by the overgrown grass that was screaming to be cut; Ruth wouldn’t have even known he was outside if it wasn’t for his extraordinarily long tail poking through.

“Ruth, why are you sitting on my poor washing machine?” her mother came in, half amused, half concerned, “You’re going to break the damn thing.”

She gasped in mock offence and turned round to look at her, “Are you trying to say something, Mum?”

She gave her a knowing look and said, “You know that’s not what I meant. Now, you didn’t answer my question, what on earth are you doing on my washing machine?”

She jumped off before Jocelyn could chastise her any further, “I’m waiting for the boys. We were saying about going down the pier or something today so we could give each other our presents, and I’m waiting for James’s parents to apparate them all to our garden. And they’re taking forever,” she pouted, elongating the last word way more than necessary.

“Well, what time did you tell them to come round?”

Ruth thought about it for a second before saying, “Around one o’clock, I think.”

She raised an eyebrow, “And what time is it now?”

She looked at the ground and mumbled, “Half twelve.”

“Well, there you go. You have half an hour, and you haven’t even got dressed yet,” she pointed out.

“But-”

“No buts. You’re not going out in your dressing gown so go and get dressed,” she said, playfully swatting Ruth with the tea towel and chasing her out of the kitchen.

She laughed maniacally as she ran out of the room, “But Mother, I am dressed,” she said, taking off her dressing gown like a stripper.

“Then why are you wearing your dressing gown?” Jocelyn asked exasperatedly.

“Because it’s bloody cold!” Ruth grinned.

“Language,” she muttered, shaking her head with a smile but sobering up when she noticed Ruth’s face fall, “What’s up with you?”

She faltered for a moment, caught off guard by Jocelyn’s quick observations, “Mum, did you, erm, did you hear about Melanie?” she grimaced with the fear of treading grounds such as those. Her cousin hadn’t mentioned anything about who she had told about the pregnancy, so for all Ruth knew, Jocelyn didn’t have a clue and she was about to get Melanie into some serious trouble.

Luckily for them both, Jocelyn’s face softened with understanding, “I heard. Your aunt told me all about it a couple weeks ago.”

“What do you think about it all? I mean, Christ, Mum, she’s only seventeen,” Ruth sighed, running a hand across her hair with an anxiety that she hadn’t even realised she had been suppressing.

“Come here,” she said, taking Ruth into her arms and holding her for a moment, “She’s going to be okay. She’s not alone, remember that. She’s got your aunt and us and that boyfriend of hers. She’ll be fine.”

A sudden knock at the window followed by four familiar faces made both Ruth and her mum look up in surprise, followed by a disappointed laugh from the former when she noticed that Sirius was only wearing his signature leather jacket, with no hat, scarf or gloves. She opened the kitchen door to let them in, hugging each of them as they entered.

Jocelyn smiled at the group before winking at her daughter, “I’ll make myself busy, then. Have fun today,” she said as she left with her steaming cup of tea.

Ruth grinned before turning to the boys, “Sirius, darling, it’s December, not June. Where the hell is your coat? And don’t tell me you’re too cool to actually keep yourself warm,” she added before the boy in question could say anything.

“Leave it, Ruth, I’ve been trying to talk some sense into him all morning, he won’t listen,” James sighed dramatically, sounding scarily like an exhausted mother.

“I won’t listen? You’re the one who nearly strangled me with that damn scarf!” Sirius exclaimed, looking desperately to the others for back-up, only to be met with shrugs.

“You dress appropriately for the weather, or you face the consequences,” James deadpanned, before bursting into laughter from the miffed expression on Sirius’s face.

“God, you really have become your mum, haven’t you?” Peter smirked, holding back his own laughter.

“Shut up, Pete!” he whined, stomping on the ground petulantly.

“Now you’re my brother,” Ruth snorted.

*************

The fresh air bit at their noses as they made their way down the bustling high street, bracing themselves against the crisp December wind. Sirius was still the only one not wearing a coat, the rest of the group bundled up in their Gryffindor scarves which may or may not have been the only scarves they owned. Except for fifteen-year-old-grandmother Remus, who absolutely had a worrying obsession with anything you could make via knitting and the like. Peter had been positively swallowed up, and between his hat that looked about two sizes too big and his scarf, you could only see his eyes and the top of his nose.

“It’s a bit nippy out here, lads,” Ruth said, just as an icy gust of wind hit them, bringing tears to eyes, and actually making Peter stumble a little bit. As Jocelyn said at every possible opportunity, the wind was always stronger at the seaside.

“Is it really, Ruth? Gosh, I hadn’t noticed, thank you for telling me,” Remus glared at her, which would have been tenfold more menacing if half of his face wasn’t concealed by windswept hair.

“You are most welcome, dear Remus,” she grinned, sticking her tongue out at him in defiance.

“Children. Actual children,” Sirius muttered in a tone not at all dissimilar to that of an exasperated father.

“Says the one who refused to put his scarf on because he’s a stubborn bastard,” James said pointedly.

“Oh, you’re still going on about that one?”

“Always, my dear boy, always. I’m already making sure my best man’s speech mentions it at least twice,” he said proudly.

“He’s gotta find someone to marry first,” Peter pointed out, voice muffled from under his scarf.

“And what’s that supposed to meant, Pete?” Sirius rounded on him, forgetting completely about James’s strange obsession with his lack of winter clothing.

“Well, I don’t know but it might have something to do with the fact that you’ve never had a girlfriend for longer than three weeks,” Ruth shrugged.

“Oh, that’s rich coming from you, Ruth,” Remus laughed, “But she does have a point, Sirius.”

“Why are you all ganging up on me, it’s very rude,” he huffed, “Anyway, it’s not my fault that I want to win the bet me and Ruth started in third year.”

“Darling, you’ve always had the option to pull out and admit that I am proud to be the biggest hoe that Hogwarts has ever seen,” she said with as much faux innocence as one can muster while talking about sex.

Sirius was silent for a moment before pointing out, “Wait, hang on, I’ve had a girlfriend for longer than three weeks. I went out with Emmeline Vance for about five months!”

“You mean you were on again, off again with Emmeline Vance for about five months,” Remus raised an eyebrow.

“You’re both gonna end up clapped as anything by the time we leave,” Peter mumbled as they walked through the threshold of their destination: Ruth’s beloved record shop.

Cromer’s one and only record shop was a favourite haunt of Ruth’s. If anyone wanted to find her during the school holidays, the record shop would be the first place they would go to, the second being the arcade on the promenade because they have the best games darling, and the third being the beach. It never seemed to cross anyone’s mind to look for her at her own home; it was a generally unspoken rule of sorts in the town that seeing Ruth at her house was as rare as seeing a double rainbow. It was the place where a good part of her pocket money went to, and the owner was incredibly grateful to have such a loyal customer. Ruth just told him to consider himself lucky that his was the only establishment in walking distance of her house that supplied her with her vinyl obsession. And oh boy, did he do just that. The White family were responsible for a good twenty per cent of his sales.

They filed into the shop, instantly taking off their hats when the somewhat aggressive heat hit them. The limited daylight spilt in through the floor-length windows that flanked the door, highlighting the records on show. The shop itself was rather small, with only two aisles running straight down to the till. They were separated by cases upon cases of albums, packed like sardines into their crates and sorted semi-alphabetically. Posters adorned almost every available space on the otherwise dull walls, looking over the customers with a keen interest. Underneath them were further crates, these ones pushed back against the walls and full of singles, which were ordered even more haphazardly than the albums if you could believe that. Ruth made her way down one of the aisles, leaving the boys to browse artists that they barely even knew. At the back end of the shop sat the counter, behind which sat the owner, Steve.

Steve was a rather short and stout man who had the grave misfortune of looking around a whole decade older than he actually was. That was more so to do with the way with which he held himself, and the fact that he wore those glasses that had a chain attached that you only see on elderly men, than his physical appearance. He had a terribly receding hairline that seemed to creep back every time Ruth came into his shop. She reckoned that he’d be completely bald by the time she left Hogwarts for good. He always seemed to wear the same attire, consisting of loose-fitting trousers and a grey t-shirt that always had a stain that Ruth would rather not enquire after. His fingers were coated with a nicotine stain that you only get after smoking for a good few decades, teeth and fingernails tinted yellow.

His smile was warm, and his eyes lit up like a match when he noticed Ruth walking up to the counter, “Arabella, good to see you!”

“You too, Steve, how’s everything been these past couple of months?” she asked, leaning on the counter with her elbows.

“Not bad, not bad,” he said, “A lot better than this time last year, that’s for sure. Thanks, by the way, for the advert in the newspaper suggestion. Business has gone up a great deal since then.”

“Well, I couldn’t let you give up the shop that easily, could I? Nah, you’ve supplied me with the very best music these past few years, it was the least I could do,” she beamed.

He smiled gratefully at her before glancing at the boys behind her, leafing through bands they’d never even heard of for the most part, “I see you’ve brought your mates at last.”

Ruth snorted as they all poked their heads up and waved at the same time, each one oblivious to the other, “Yeah, I thought I might as well, I’ve been putting it off for too long.”

“One of them your boyfriend?” he winked, laughing at Ruth’s mortified expression.

“No! God, no, that’s a horrible thought,” she shivered, recoiling in disgust.

“What’s a horrible thought?” Sirius asked as he sauntered up to the counter.

“Your face,” Ruth muttered as he swatted her shoulder, mouth agape in shock.

“How rude! I can’t believe you would say something like that!” he gasped before turning around and whining, “James! Ruth’s being mean to me!”

It was then James’s turn to gasp in disappointment, “Is she? Oh, come here, I’ll protect you from the meanie,” he said in the most motherly voice he could muster, opening his arms and hugging Sirius while glaring at Ruth.

She stared at them in disbelief, looking at Remus and Peter for guidance, only to be met with shrugs. She resolved to simply shaking her head in exasperation and turning to the ‘new releases’ section of the shop.

*************

“You know what we should do,” Ruth said, holding up a chip to emphasise her point, “We should go on a gang holiday when we’re older. Just go travelling for a couple of weeks or something.”

They were currently sitting on the beach which, as you can probably imagine, isn’t the most pleasant of experiences in the middle of winter. The harsh wind nipped at their faces and Peter’s nose was crimson with the cold, but they found themselves sitting there anyway, watching the teal waves advance and retreat under the December mist that lazily rested on the ocean’s surface. They were sharing a couple of bags of chips that they’d bought from the chippy just aound the corner from Ruth’s house, trying their best to shield them from the prying seagulls circling the skies above them like hawks.

Peter audibly gasped with excitement, “We should get one of those caravans that muggles used to drive all the time in the sixties.”

“Yes! And we could charm it so it’s bigger on the inside like the tents they have at the Quidditch World Cup!” James added, ecstatic just to have been able to chime in with a Quidditch reference, let alone about the actual holiday. Sirius grinned stupidly as they high fived, making Ruth cringe and groan like an embarrassed daughter having to watch her parents kiss. Though, once she thought about it, that analogy was pretty accurate, perhaps more than she would have liked.

Remus held out his hands in suspense, something he always did when he’d thought of a master plan, “Two words. Tardis. Caravan.”

The sounds that then erupted from the group could not be described as human, more like a group of over-excited seagulls.

Once they’d calmed down, which took more time than it probably should have done, James suggested, “We should go to France so Sirius can show his French off!”

Sirius glared at him, muttering under his breath and by doing so, proving James’s point, “Putain de chienne. Je ne me montre pas, vous seriez tous perdus sans moi.”

“Oui, oui, er, baguette,” Peter snorted, rubbing his arm when Sirius hit at him playfully.

“Right, well,” Remus cut in before they jumped at each other’s throats, “Presents? The whole reason we’re here?”

“Gosh, Moony, here I was thinking that you were here because you wanted to see us and enjoy our company, but no, you just want your damn chocolate,” Sirius huffed.

Remus blinked at him for a second before asking tentatively, “Moony?”

“Moony,” he nodded.

Remus pinched his brow and sighed, “I’m going to regret asking but why?”

“Werewolf. Moon. Moony,” he explained as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

He raised an eyebrow at him, “Do I get a say in this by any chance?”

“No. I’ve thought of names for all of us, actually. I’m Padfoot, Peter’s Wormtail, Ruth is Silverspot and James is Prongs,” he counted off his fingers before nodding resolutely.

James smirked, eyes gleaming and Ruth already knew what he was going to say, “Am I Prongs because of my big–”

She slapped a hand over his mouth and glared at him menacingly, “Finish that question and I swear to God, James, I will slap you into next year.”

“Sirius, I think you’ve had far too much spare time on your hands,” Remus said while James and Ruth engaged in a very mature staring competition that lasted all of ten seconds.

“Yeah, five days without us and you’ve given us all nicknames,” Peter added, looking rather concerned for his friend’s mental state.

“Do you want me to change yours to Massive Knobhead?” Sirius asked with a scarily fake smile on his face.

James cut in before any fighting could ensue, “Okay, let’s get on to the presents, shall we?”

Sirius just shrugged and made a noise of vague agreement, while Peter just looked rather relieved to avoid conflict.

*************

“Sirius, will you keep still!”

It was the fifth time that Remus had had to utter those words in the past two minutes, much to everyone’s annoyance and to Sirius’s amusement.

“Keeping still is for wimps!” Sirius announced with a stupid grin on his face before ruffling his hair once again.

“My fingers are gonna fall off from the cold at this rate,” Peter scowled, shooting daggers at Sirius with his eyes. Remus had given him a polaroid camera for Christmas after he’d been going on and on about wanting a muggle one all year, and he’d been trying his best to get a photo of the others for what felt like hours.

“Sirius stand still or I will petrificus totalus your sorry ass,” Ruth groaned, and James had to suppress a cheer when Sirius finally, finally, did as he was told. Peter took the photo as quickly as he could and waited patiently for the photo to develop, grinning when the image came into colour. “Let us see, then!” she exclaimed impatiently, holding her hands out like a baby would and snatching the photo from Peter.

“Oi, careful, I did not wait that long for Sirius to stop moving for you to just rip the bloody photo in half,” Peter huffed, re-joining the group with a false reluctance.

James grinned when he got a look at the photo, “Oh, Pete, that’s a bloody good photo. You should be a photographer or something,” he said, ruffling Peter’s hair playfully as the boy’s face flushed red.

“He’s got a point, Wormtail,” Remus mused, watching Sirius’s face light up at his use of the nickname, “It is a good photo. Though it’s weird having us stood still for once, I’m so used to us being in magical pictures.”

“I like it,” Ruth smiled, glancing at the boys affectionately, “I think it makes it even more special,” she paused for a moment, inhaling the very essence of that moment and relishing in it, “Happy Christmas, lads.”

[rosewilliams1736]

This I Promise You  Chapter 3

TW: PTSD/PANIC ATTACK DISCLAIMER: This chapter is a little bit more intense than the previous ones and depicts both a minor panic attack and a minor character death.

If you would like to avoid both of those elements, please start reading at the bolded sentence that is just over halfway through that chapter.

I will provide a summary of these sections on my tumblr that is free of the aforementioned elements for anyone who does not want to miss any of the main plot points.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

******************************************************************************************

Kara clenched her teeth and set down the box of old ship parts she was holding. Her sister came up behind her and put a hand on her shoulder. “You okay?”

Kara nodded toward her sister. “I’ll be fine. I just can’t shake this headache.”

“I bet getting some actual food in you will help. Mom and I talked before we left, and it sounds like she’s planning a feast for when we get back.”

Kara grinned. “Are we going to make potstickers? Oh god Alex, it’s been years since I had a pot sticker.”

“If Dickwell Lord actually holds up his side of the bargain this time, we can all have some potstickers.” Alex shifted her own box so that she could pick up Kara’s as well.

“I’ve got it.” Kara tried to argue, but Alex rolled her eyes.

“I can carry two half-empty boxes of parts Kara.” Alex smirked. “Besides, now my hands are full so I couldn’t possibly negotiate with Lord right now.”

A pout sprang to Kara’s face, headache momentarily forgotten. “Ah come on Alex, it’s your turn!”

Alex shrugged and took off to where the rest of their group was beginning to gather with the remainder of their goods. The older girl had her back turned, but Kara stuck her tongue out at her anyway.

Kara was seconds away from stomping over to the group and pulling Alex back to take care of her duties when she felt someone bump into her shoulder. She turned in time to see Leslie Willis brush by her.

“Don’t fuck this up Danvers. I’m sick of that loser taking advantage of us.”

“Thanks for the confidence Leslie. I’ve got it handled.”

“You better.” Leslie snapped over her shoulder.

“What a lovely girl.” The hairs on the back of Kara’s neck stood up at the sound of a familiar smarmy voice.

Kara forced a bright smile onto her face. “Maxwell.”

His appearance perfectly emulated his slimy personality. His hair was slicked back with so much product that Kara was sure that she could run into it with her speeder at full throttle and it wouldn’t budge.

“Kara.” He said as he placed a palm on the small of her back and started leading them to the loot pile. “It’s been some time.”

Kara’s entire body tensed, and she quickly stepped out of his reach. “Well, I’m sure it’s tough to make time in your busy schedule to get over to this side of the galaxy.”

“When you say it that way, you make me sound like a bad business partner. I’ve always gone out of my way to help you all.” He wasn’t only talking to Kara this time, but the small group that she’d brought with her on this mission as well.

Barry, James, and Alex stood stoically, staring directly at him while Winn and a handful of other members seemed to be taking a great interest in the floor beneath them. Leslie scoffed and threw a box down at Maxwell’s feet.

“Alright then, where the hell have you been?” Leslie snarled. “We haven’t heard from you in months and none of us have had a full meal in longer than that.”

Maxwell did not look at Leslie and instead began inspecting the fingernails of his right hand. “I don’t see how any of that is my fault. If anything, it sounds like you have a rationing problem.”

“Leslie…” Kara warned.

If Leslie heard Kara, she certainly didn’t act like it. She stepped closer into Maxwell’s space and pushed a finger into his chest.

“You can deflect all you want, but you’re still just a rich asshole who takes advantage of us every chance he gets.”

“Why don’t I do you a favor then?”  Maxwell looked down at Leslie with a dangerous smile as his eyes briefly flashed yellow. “How about I make it so your people have one less mouth to worry about feeding?”

With a flick of Maxwell’s wrist, Leslie went flying across the room and into the far wall. Her body crumpled to the ground and Maxwell turned toward the rest of the group with a smile. He was met with twenty blasters pointed in his direction.

“Oh please, tell me that she didn’t deserve that.”

A tense silence followed.

Maxwell let out a humorless laugh. “Now, we can all play nice and do what we came here to do, or the only things that your families will get out of this deal will be your remains. What’s it going to be?”

A bright red bolt shot across the room and struck Maxwell in the shoulder. He whipped around to see Leslie lying prone with her blaster trained on him.

He ground his teeth together and pulled his saber from his belt. “Looks like your decision has been made for you. Guards!”

The room was suddenly tinted red as blaster bolts filled the air and the saber in Maxwell’s hands lit up.

Alex began targeting the guards who had previously been standing unseen around the room, while Barry and James ushered Winn and the others out of the line of fire. Maxwell dashed off toward Leslie at a speed that was just a little too quick to be human. Kara attempted to follow him, but between his apparent enhanced speed and having to avoid stray blaster fire she struggled to keep up.

As she got closer, she watched Maxwell raise his saber over his head and brought it down toward Leslie, who had yet to get back to her feet. Kara raised her blaster and attempted to fire, but just as she did, it was struck by another bolt and was sent skittering across the floor. Desperately Kara dove at Maxwell and just managed to grab him by his knees and pull him to the ground.

Maxwell fell on his side with a hiss, just managing to roll away from the crackling blade of his own saber.

Kara pushed herself back to her feet and stood in between Leslie and Maxwell. “Get out of here!” She shouted over her shoulder.

Her back was still turned to Maxwell when she felt something white hot strike her wrist. She didn’t even have time to see what happened before panic filled her body as an invisible hand secured itself around her neck and cut off her air supply. Kara glanced down at Maxwell, only to see him back on his feet with one hand reaching in front of him in a choke hold and the other twirling his saber.

While his eyes had only flashed yellow for a second before, they were burning amber now. Fury twisted his features and it felt as though he was glaring into her very soul.

Kara fell to her knees and attempted to bring her hands to her throat but found that only one responded. The left one was no longer there. “Please.” She croaked

Maxwell smirked and walked over to Kara. “You see? Those are the kinds of manners I was expecting from the group of people that I feed and protect, but no. No, instead they insulted me and my business.”

Kara’s vision began to grow black at the edges and her lungs screamed for air. She frantically surveyed the area, looking for something, anything to help break her out of this. For a second, she thought she saw someone move behind Maxwell, but when she blinked, they were gone.

“I wonder how your mother is going to feel when she gets word of what happened here?” Maxwell continued his monologue. “She never did like me. Maybe I should deliver you and your sister to her doorstep myself? I can’t imagine she gets many visitors.”

A small droid came barreling toward Maxwell and ran into his leg. It wasn’t much of an impact, but it was just enough to distract him for a second as a pipe flew up and struck him across the jaw. He lost his grip on Kara and she fell forward, having to suck in a few gasping breaths before her lungs started to work again.

Just as the feeling of Maxwell’s grip began to fade, she felt a new one wrap around her shoulder. Barry stepped out from behind Maxwell and drew his blaster.

“Looks like even your droids can’t stand you. What’s that like man? I can’t imagine it’s much fun.”

That was the last sentence Kara could make out before a hand landed on her shoulder and Alex pulled her out of earshot. “Alex, no. We have to go back! Barry…”

“I know, he wanted me to get you out of here. I’m going back for him.”

A cry of pain rang out over the sounds of battle. Kara broke out of Alex’s grip and sprinted back toward Barry. Maxwell was kneeling down next to Barry’s unmoving body breathing heavily with a handheld tightly to his side.

Maxwell slowly turned to face them and started to smile. His triumph was short lived though, because seconds later, a blue saber blade appeared through the center of his chest. Surprise briefly flashed over Maxwell’s face before he fell face forward into the ground.

Barry collapsed back to the ground behind him.

“Barry!”

Kara and Alex ran over to Barry and knelt down beside him just as Maxwell had done just a moment ago.

“You’re going to be okay, just hang on. We’ll hail Eliza as soon as we get back to the ship and… and…”

Barry lifted a hand up and put it on Kara’s knee. “I don’t think we’re going to be that lucky today Kara.”

Tears began to stream down Kara’s face. “Please don’t Barry, you’re going to be okay.”

“Always the optimist. Here, Kara, take this. I don’t want anyone else to find it and accidently lose an eye.” He pushed his saber over to her.

“I can’t take that Barry; it wasn’t meant for me.”

Barry smiled weakly. “All it ever really did for me was hang uselessly on my belt. I’m sure you’ll find a good use for it.”

“I’ll try my best.”

“Good.” Barry’s eyes slid closed.

The sisters watched as his breathes grew increasingly shallow before stopping all together. Kara turned to Alex and felt her sister’s arms wrap around her. They sat that way for a moment before the other members of their team wandered over to see what had happened.

With the help of Alex, James and a few of the others, they managed to pick up Barry and carefully bring him back to the ship. Kara walked a few paces behind them, cradling her left arm and trying to process what just happened.

She had nearly made it onto the ship when she felt something gently bump into the side of her leg. Kara glanced down to see the droid who had distracted Maxwell looking up at her. The droid was rusted and dented in a few places, but still seemed to be functioning at full capacity.

“Hey there little buddy.”

The droid beeped a few times in question.

“Of course, you can come home with us, you saved me back there, I owe you one.”

The droid beeped excitedly.

Kara nodded toward the ship.

“After you.”

***

“Kara. Kara. Hey, it’s okay. You’re safe. Can you hear me?”

The tail end of the dream faded, and Kara’s eyes snapped open to see a familiar cockpit and an only slightly familiar face kneeled down in front of her. Her heart was racing, and she could feel herself hyperventilating.

“There we are. Alright Kara, what do you need? Does touch make it better or worse?”

“Better.” Kara breathed.

Lena nodded and slid her hand slowly into Kara’s. She gave Kara’s hand the gentlest of squeezes and began rubbing the back of Kara’s hand with her thumb.

It took a few minutes, but eventually Kara felt herself slowly start to calm down. Lena sat there the whole time: murmuring reassurances and doing her best to keep Kara grounded.

As Kara returned to herself, she began to take notice of how weak she felt. She looked down at the hand that was still held in Lena’s and found that it was paler than it had been even before Lena had saved her.

“I had to stabilize you again, but we’re nearing Tatooine now.” She looked up at Lena and the other woman gave her a reassuring smile while giving her hand another squeeze.

Everything had been so hectic when they had first met that this was the first time that Kara actually got to sit down and get a good look at Lena. She looked exhausted. Her eyes were bloodshot and carried dark circles beneath them while her shoulders were slumped under the weight of the day. Even still, her striking green eyes were locked on Kara.

“How are you feeling now?”

“A lot better.” Kara felt heat start to creep up her neck and into her checks. “I know I’ve already said it today but thank you. I wouldn’t have made it out of there alive without you. My mom would have killed me if that happened. Well, not killed, you can’t really do that if someone is already dead but...” Kara cleared her throat to stop her ramble. “Thanks.”

Lena gave her a soft smile and Kara could have sworn she saw a red tint to her ears. “You’re welcome.”

Lena kept her gaze on Kara’s for a moment too long, and just as Kara was preparing herself to try and speak again, Krypto started beeping loudly next to them. The attention of both girls snapped to the droid and they pulled their own respective hands back to themselves.

Kara nodded along with the droid as they described the situation. “It’s okay Krypto. We can still get there; it’s just not going to be pretty.”

Lena glanced back at Kara, her eyes pulled together in curiosity. “My droid is a bit rusty, I’m afraid I only caught half of that.”

Kara sat up straighter in her chair and hissed as pain shot up her leg. “Krypto said that we are starting to lose the…”

The ship shook violently and the control panel in front of them began to flash rapidly.

“Engines. Got it.” Lena said.

Kara made another move to get up, but Lena beat her to it, sliding easily back into the captain’s chair. “If it’s all the same to you, I think I can handle this.”

“Alright, but you’re going to have to let me show off my very impressive pilot skills some other time.”

Lena rolled her eyes with a smirk and turned back to the controls. “I’m looking forward to it.”

Kara watched as Lena’s hands expertly flew over the buttons. Lena kept her cool even as the ship fell rapidly out of hyperdrive and began barreling unsteadily toward a fast approaching Tatooine.

“Kara darling, does this ship have a radio? It may be wise to warn anyone who might be down there. I don’t know how much control I’m going to have by the time we get there.”

Did this ship have a radio? There was definitely one in her helmet, but she’d discarded that hours ago.

“I-I don’t know.”

“It’s too late now. I’ll try and land her as gently as I can, but it’s going to hurt. Hang on.”

As the ship grew closer to the ground, it began shaking violently. Lena’s knuckles were white on the navigational levers as she fought to keep the ship from colliding with sand dunes beneath them.

“Shit.” She said through clenched teeth as a small collection of domed buildings came into view.

Kara let out a nervous laugh. “Oh look, we made it.”

Lena glanced over at Kara for a second. “I’m sorry about your ship Kara.”

“Wait, what are you...?”

Lena forced the levers down and the ship angled downward. It lurched as it struck a dune and then another and one more before coming to a halt.

The cockpit was silent as the ship settled into the sand.

“Lena?” Kara sounded winded.

“Mm m’okay.” Lena said as she cut off her safety belt.

She rolled unceremoniously onto the floor, barely managing to catch herself on her hands and knees as she tried to regain the breath that her belt had knocked out of her.

Kara looked down at her with concern, ignoring the pain her own restraint had caused her. “Are you sure?”

Lena picked herself up and wiped the dust from her knees.

“I’m great, you on the other hand…”

Kara put her right hand over her chest and feigned offence. “Are you this nice to all the girls who release you from carbonite?”

“Only the lucky ones.” Lena said as she cut Kara free.

“Well then I’m honored, truly.”

“You know, you have awfully good manners for a scavenger.”

Lena offered Kara a hand and pulled her to her feet before wrapping a hand around her waist and guiding her back into the cargo bay.

“Well, for a scavenger you really um….”

“That’s okay, take your time.”

Kara bumped her shoulder into Lena’s. “Hey! I lost a lot of blood today, thinking is about as easy as trying to see through a dust storm right now.”

“I’ll make sure to keep the witty banter to a minimum until you’re better then.” Lena said playfully.

“You’re too kind.”

Lena pressed the button that released the ramp and she adjusted her grip on Kara to one that was more secure for the trek through the sand.

The ramp was only about half of the way down before a pair of hands appeared on the edge of the platform.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Lena drew her knife in the hand that wasn’t around Kara. At the same time, she felt Kara draw her blaster weakly beside her.

A head popped over the edge of the door and Kara dropped her weapon. “Alex!”

“Kara!”

Alex pulled herself up and onto the door before sliding down the incline towards them. She was on her feet in an instant.

She gave Kara a once over and frowned before turning on Lena. “Who the fuck are you, and what the hell did you do to her?”

Lena dropped her knife and held up her hand in surrender.

“She’s not a threat Alex. Her name is Lena and she’s the only reason that I’m still breathing right now.”

Alex didn’t take her eyes off of Lena.

“It is a long story and I’ll tell you every word of what happened, but not until we get Kara to a healer.”

Kara nodded, sweat glistening on her brow. “Seeing mom would be really nice right about now.”

Alex stepped up so that she was toe to toe with Lena. “I’ve got it from here.”

Lena held her ground and stared Alex down for a moment before eventually relenting and carefully withdrawing from Kara. Alex quickly took her place and began guiding Kara out of the ship.

Lena started to follow, but then stopped herself. What the hell was she even doing here? Sure, Kara had essentially given Lena her life back and she felt like she owed it to the girl to get her home. That was absolutely the only reason that she found herself standing on a nearly abandoned planet right now. Right? It wasn’t connected to the curious hum that had started in the back of her mind the moment Kara woke her up, or the fact that it felt a little bit like destiny that Kara had stumbled upon her in a place that she was never supposed to be found.

Either way, it definitely had nothing to do with how much she had grown to like Kara’s smile.

Lena pushed aside her thoughts. Tatooine is clear on the other side of the galaxy to where she needed to be. She’d check on Kara to make sure she was alright and then she’d take the first ship out of this place. It’s better for everyone that way. The last thing any of them needed was for the Luthors to track her here and turn this planet into an asteroid field.

“Lena?” Kara’s voice came from a distance.

“I’m disconnecting your droid; I’ll be right there!” She yelled back.

“It’s just a few days.” She said quietly to herself. “Everything else can wait for just a few days.” 

[peachyromanoff]

Jeffree Star Breakup

Oh, look, I’m covering viral Youtuber news— who would have thought it would get to this point. I’m kidding, I love drama, no matter how petty or, in this case, invasive. Just call me tumblr’s Keemstar—actually, please don’t do that. Shockingly, I do have some form of dignity left and I’ve never said the n-word, so that means I’m immediately on higher ground than the infamous Daniel Keem. Maybe I’ll cover why he’s so infamous one day, but not today, because today’s post isn’t about the thirteen year old Call of Duty player high on adderall trapped inside the body of thirty-seven year old man. No, today I’ll be talking about Youtube’s favorite makeup guru, James Charles—no, wait, it’s Jeffree Star. Eh, same difference if you ignore the net worth. Anyway, as I was saying, Jeffree Star was in the news recently due him and his longtime partner, Nathan Schwandt, parting ways. The couple had been together for five years before they decided to officially call it quits just last week. The news broke when Star took to his Youtube channel in a seventeen minute video explaining what happened between them. "I will always have love for him," Star said in the video. "Are we in love with each other? No. But we love each other and he will always be in my life." There has since been rumors that Schwandt moved on with a woman after their split, to which Jeffree publicly denied on his Twitter page. “I’ve been in Orange County all day visiting my Grandma Mary who will be turning 103 years old this July! 👵🏻 Nate has been at my house w the dogs all day. Media outlets reporting lies about him: Stop, it’s not going to work,” stated Star. As of now, there hasn’t been any official statements made by Schwandt since the couple publicly split. I can’t exactly give my opinion on someone else’s heartbreak, because I’m not a emotionally void monster that wants to profit off other’s misfortune. But I do question why we, the public, feel it’s necessary that we know every detail about a celebrity’s personal life. I know the only reason Jeffree Star made the breakup public is to silence any rumors made about either party, but truth of the matter is that he doesn’t owe us any explanation. Especially not after just experiencing the breakup, an official youtube video should be the last thing on his mind. In the same vein, I’ve recently seen people state that they “no longer believe in love” because two people in a relationship, of which they had no part in, broke up. It’s strange how much we invest ourselves into other people’s lives despite how much—or how little—of it they actually show us. These are people’s lives, the only difference between everyday people and celebrities is the amount of attention they receive, or how well known they are. There’s also the money aspect, but we don’t need to get into that. What I’m saying is that we, as a society, need to stop dehumanizing people just because they’re famous or well-known. We have no right to judge, shame, mock, or pressure information from them just because we’ve put them in a glass box. They’re not animals for our entertainment, they’re real people that have been stripped of their privacy. I hope that one day we can take them off the pedestals we pushed them up onto.

[buildarocketboys]

Doc Martin finale - spoilers if you watch it!

So if that was the last ever episode of Doc Martin (which The Sun seems to think it was - not usually a source I'd particularly trust but it is the most recent source talking about it as far as I can tell) it makes sense, but also - is that it?

First of all, I get it from a storytelling perspective - if (HUGE SPOILER if anyone actually cares about this show at all lol) Martin isn't a doctor anymore, then it doesn't make sense to continue "Doc Martin" if he's no longer the doc.

I also get it from a character perspective. I like the fact that (it seems to me) Martin has decided he can live without being a doctor because he has people who love and care about him, and a place where he fits - not just with his family, his wife and son and aunt, but in Portwenn in general - sure, the locals may not like him, but he's their doc (and a bloody good one at that, whatever the gmc say) and he's part of their lives, and he even has good relationships with some of them (I loved him walking Morwenna down the aisle, Al gets along with him pretty well, even the vet in the last episode had a nice working relationship thing going on with him). Ruth makes the point that James has parents who love him, whereas Martin did not, but Martin does have people who love him and more importantly who respect him and who he can rely on, because they know they can rely on him. So he feels able to take the decision for himself to resign as a gp, rather than just let it happen to him. As Martin himself said, it's none of his mentor's or the gmc's business how he chooses to live his life and why - that's his business, and he's totally confident in his decision and his place in life.

Unfortunately, what is the gmc's business is whether he can do his job, and as far as they're concerned, the surgery shows that, contrary to what he said, his haemophobia can affect his job, in potentially life-threatening ways. But the point here is, he still has a choice - he can choose to turn a blind eye to the other surgeon's condition and he'll turn a blind eye to Martin. Martin can't do this, but it does force him to face up to the fact that if Mr Surgeon whatshisname can't safely continue to perform surgery, his condition means he also can't safely perform his job. He takes responsibility for that (which he has pretty much been refusing to do throughout the season) and takes it upon himself to resign.

Now for the criticism. The whole handling of the assessment by the gmc was really poorly done by the show. Maybe that was on purpose, to get to this ending, but really? You have last series ending with Martin basically being like "I'll do anything to keep my job with my wife and kid" and then he just? doesn't do anything about his haemophobia until the literal day of the assessment? I know he's vaguely tried stuff before, but surely if your entire livelihood is on the line, you at the very least make the effort to look into therapy and have a proper go at it, rather than ignore it completely and hope your medical genius makes up for your queasiness at the sight of blood 🤔🤔

To be fair, even though the assessment was allegedly about the blood thing, and that did play a big role - another big reason he would have been struck off was his bedside manner. I'm not saying that's unimportant in a gp, of course, but clearly Martin is autistic, the bluntness and honesty kind of comes as standard, and yes, maybe he could make more of an effort to be kinder, nobody has ever given him a reason why that makes sense to him. He does his job and does it well - he has a responsibility to his patients which means he goes above and beyond the call of duty on a daily basis (and I know that's sort of the point of the show, but still), and he's honest with his patients because as far as he can see, sugarcoating it does nothing except encourage patients to take poor care of their health and misunderstand the urgency (or lack thereof) of their medical situation. Yes, he ruffles feathers and hurts some feelings and people think he's a tosser. But he saves lives, and plenty of the villagers respect his honesty, even if they don't particularly like it. This isn't really a criticism of the show itself per se (although its refusal to acknowledge Martin is autistic, even though James is clearly showing similar signs - Ruth calling him "gifted" and Louisa saying "like Martin" was so close and yet so far - is), but it really does show off the ableism present in medicine - if Martin had a perfect bedside manner, as a gp, would his blood phobia really have been so critical? Maybe so, but maybe they would have overlooked it. And the ironic thing is, the haemophobia started in the first place as a hyperempathetic reaction to a patient he was operating on.

My biggest criticism really, though, is the way they rounded it off. Martin tells Louisa he quit (after she's told him she's pregnant lol), he says "bad timing?" and then "I love you" (ie my love for you is more important than my life's work, which is A LOT, but really not given the gravity it deserves) and then...that's it? If there's no more Doc Martin then...what are we supposed to assume from that? What is Martin Ellingham going to do if he's not a doctor? Again, this is more than just a job for him - it's his life's work and his passion, and on a more practical level, it's how he fits into Portwenn, and it's not going to be an easy thing to let that go, for him or the villagers. I know we can't exactly cover all that, but more than a cursory 30 second conversation at the end of the final episode was probably necessary.

In the end, my takeaway is pretty much - loved the idea, hated the execution. The idea of this autistic abuse victim whose only passion in life was medicine and being a doctor/surgeon, getting to a place where he's found family and a place he fits and is confident enough to be able to give that up, on his own terms, when he realises he can't go on - just love it. But it just doesn't make sense (especially when he's had that blood phobia for years) and it makes even less sense to have that damp squib of an ending, if that really is the ending of the show. (If not I'd be interested to see where they take it next).

Anyway, I know basically nobody on tumblr cares about this show but I've been watching it almost since the beginning, and even though it's kind of silly (and Martin kind of ticks every stereotypical "high-functioning" asshole genius white male autistic stereotype going), I kind of love it and I'm sad to see it go.

[elixirsoflife]

across seasons and seas

@inekepp

HAPPY BIRTHDAY INEKE!! 

i’ve actually been planning this present for a while... i got the idea a few months ago, started it, stopped it when my muse flaked out on me and recently completed it (as of 23rd sept) just in time to spring it upon you. to my soulmate and the person who hyped dormitory 2.6a to a whole new level, here is a brand new novus one shot for you ^.^ <333

(i can’t guarantee it’s any good lmao)

(also bc you are a beast at validating on hpft, i had to upload it onto tumblr first)

"It can only be true love when you enable your other half to be better, to be the person they're destined to be." -  Michelle Yeoh

PRÓLOGOS 

It starts like this.

With a party in a cosy common room. The lights are dim, and the music is loud, and there are bodies everywhere, too many to count. There's a brief parting of the crowd, a glimpse of one tipsy girl's heartfelt laughter, and a momentary appreciation for the more beautiful things in life.

(Al stops. He stares.)

It starts with the party and then it stutters as the school year gives way to the summer holidays and Al forgets all about Nova Hale and her pretty little laugh.

(Elijah tackles him without warning. The trance he's in shatters as he hits the ground.)

♥

In sixth year, the engine groans to life again, hesitant at first - and then as the Scottish air rapidly chills, everything switches into fifth gear. Whatever is slowly blooming to life between the pair picks up speed, hurtles through the corridors of Hogwarts like drag racers along lamp-lit streets. One moment, Nova Hale is a mere classmate and the next, she's the star of his dreams.

(He's sixteen years old, months shy of his birthday, and he thinks he's in love.)

Loving Nova Hale is easy.

Granted, her friends are without a doubt her immediate concern at all times and she shies away when his hands are a little too familiar in public. But the smiles she offers are soft and sweet, like he's her entire world, and the way her cheeks darken makes his heart sing. Her laughter comes easily and her kindness quickly follows suit and her pinkie links delicately with his whenever they stroll through the courtyard.

They argue over each other's priorities and they're in love.

Exams drive them to the edges of their sanity and they're in love.

The wizarding world barges into their personal bubble the second they leave Hogwarts and they're still in love -

But sometimes love simply isn't enough. And the fact is that Nova has never been great with attention in the first place while Al's surname and dream career greedily sucks it all up like a black hole. Their regrets are countless and their tears are earnest, but in the end, they agree – 

It ends like this.

♥

(Months earlier, one hundred and sixty seventh years loitered on the grass near the Black Lake, reluctant to clamber into the boats that first brought them there. Al remembers looking at the girl beside him, the way she tugged on the tassles of her graduation cap, and thinking that, though things will inevitably change, he knows she will always be a constant in his life.

He thought wrong.)

EPISODE ONE

Life without Nova Hale isn't necessarily life without Nova Hale.

There are a couple of months that immediately succeed the break up and though it wasn't messy, it still hurts. He sees her in Diagon Alley, snowflakes melting on her cheeks, and he wants. It's intense and sharp, far more powerful than the puppy adoration from those early days in sixth year when he didn't know the sweetness of her mouth or the press of her arm against his. And quite frankly, it’s…

It hurts.

Strictly speaking, their lives do not intersect much. Without him, there's no reason for Elijah or Adam the Puff or even Scorpius to go out of their way to contact her so there's little risk of Nova tumbling into his life without warning. But Al’s also good friends with Alice and good… something or the other with Dahlia, who both carry with them a constant reminder of everything he's lost whenever he sees them. So life without Nova Hale isn't necessarily life without Nova Hale, even when she abruptly leaves England with a backpack choking with clothes and a pouchful of Galleons, off to travel the world.

(Even when she's somewhere in the middle of Asia, sun on her back and skin darkening to honey, she remains in the peripheries of his existence. Sometimes he thinks that'll never change.)

Life without Nova Hale is –

Gruelling practices where he's run into the ground, thighs sore from clamping around a broomstick for hours on end. Days begin with the sun rising over Montrose and a quick trip to The Harpy for a coffee to wake him up. They end with a hot shower, maybe a night out to the pub with the boys, or crashing at someone's place for the evening. Life is a crappy flat he shares with the reserve Keeper, Ahmad, and Al’s brother – who technically doesn't live with them but can never be found elsewhere. It’s downing chocolate quaffles straight from the cereal box in lieu of an actual breakfast and then having his dad pinch his waist and reprimand him for not eating more.

It’s waking up one day and realising that it's getting a lot easier to breathe again.

(He's pissed out of his head on Firewhiskey when he realises he is no longer in love with Nova Hale. Nothing will scrub away the fondness he regards her with or make her less beautiful in his eyes, but he can accept that. He's moved on. He's moved on.)

♥

Months fly by and his career takes off with them.

Sure, Al's young and inexperienced compared to the big stars of the league, but he's also somewhat of a prodigy when it comes to Quidditch. Passion meets a keen eye when he circles the pitch on his broom; enthusiasm collides with his natural Slytherin instinct to strategise down to every last possibility. He complements this by training furiously and it shows.

Quidditch magazines all over Britain and Western Europe note his performance, the way he elevates the Magpies to even higher ranks. In the meantime, gossip rags note his blossoming relationship with enemy Seeker of the Falcons, Briar James, when they’re seen together a handful of times over the duration of several weeks before they go finally public.

RIVALRY FOR THE SNITCH, ROMANCE OFF THE PITCH, screams Witch Weekly when the news breaks out.

("I will honestly murder you," screams Dahlia Darzi instead.

Alice helpfully points out that it's been nearly a year since the Incident and that Nova herself is in the midst of a whirlwind romance somewhere in the depths of St Petersburg. Dahlia tells her to fuck herself.)

So for a time, life without Nova Hale is a life with Briar James, with her tight afro and her big doe eyes. It's impromptu matches of football in a half-empty Muggle park and pancakes on Sunday mornings and being labelled Briabus by their adoring fans. It's beer on Friday evenings and sex on Saturday mornings and accented English venomously spitting his name over an intense game of Mario Kart.

It’s being moonstruck and happy again.

But then that too fades away and Al is left - well, not heartbroken, not really, but certainly rather upset because he really did like Briar. She was relaxed and easy-going, just as down to re-enact her favourite WWE wrestling moves as she was to tug Al’s jumpers over his head. Time with her was like a hall full of floating candles: bright and pretty. It's a shame they eventually snuffed out.

STASIMON

Nova Hale returns from Europe on a slow Sunday afternoon. They meet in The Harpy, Al walking out of the bathroom to find her on his seat at the counter, sipping on his white chocolate mocha. A million disjointed thoughts fly through his head when he sees her, but he settles for a quirk of his lips and clears his throat.

"Shouldn't you ask me out before you steal my coffee?"

She chokes on it, eyes blown wide as she turns sharply in his direction. There's an eased slant to her shoulders and a new air of confidence that clings to her, scavenged all the way from the far reaches of China, but her cheeks burn as red as always.

"I - I," she stammers, glancing between Al and the drink in her hands. Finally, her eyes settle on the smug smirk of her friend behind the counter. "You said this was for me!"

Dahlia shrugs without care. "Oops."

"Oh my god." Nova closes her eyes, mortified. "I honestly hate you."

"My life is complete."

"Good, now I won't feel bad about ending it," comes the retort before Nova turns to Al with a much gentler expression. Sheepish, she holds out the white chocolate mocha. "Sorry about that, I genuinely didn't realise. Here you go – or, never mind that, I'll buy you a new one if you'd like?"

He's already shaking his head. "No, I'm alright," he says not unkindly. Indulging in a small smile, he adds, "You probably need it more than me anyways. I hear travelling to half the countries in the world takes a lot out of you."

Nova returns the smile with one of her own. It's not nearly as lovestruck as it once was, but it's pretty all the same. "Not nearly as much as winning the Quidditch League," she replies and takes a fresh sip. The slant of her eyebrows is friendly and teasing over the lid.

"Ah. So you heard about that."

"Kind of hard not to," she confesses. "You're pretty big news, Albus Potter. The leagues love you."

On the surface, he preens under her compliments, pleased as ever to hear them. He's worked damn hard to get where he is, alright, and he deserves to accept some praise sometimes. But underneath that, beyond his teasingly arrogant response that of course he's big news and what else did you expect, Hale?, there's a moment of understanding between them.

Once they fell apart because of camera flashes and Quidditch robes. It was a struggle between wanting forever together and wanting their dreams - and now, over a year later, they can admit that they chose and chased the right option.

No matter how much it hurt at the time.

EPISODE TWO

Their story starts in a common room with Firewhiskey clouding their minds and the very edges of their worlds brushing. Then it hiccups, takes a quick detour over the summer, before hurtling down the motorway at ninety miles an hour. And then half a year after their childhood has drawn to an end, it stalls.

A season shy of two years later, it hums back to life again.

It happens like this.

♥

Italy's night sky is a dark blue overhead when Al sneaks out of his hotel. The past handful of days have been spent on Asinara as the wizarding world clamours around a glorious Quidditch stadium far from prying Muggle eyes. Country after country has played passionately, losing or rising to glory. And for the first time in a long time, England is storming ahead towards the World Cup.

The feeling is heady and exhilarating. Somewhere in the past, a twelve-year-old Albus Potter gazes at him in awe, trailing a wondrous finger over the number on the back of his robes. He's here; he's made it. He's finally reached the distant goal he set the second he made it onto the Slytherin Quidditch team.

There's a thrumming in his veins, faint and electric, a restlessness that begs to be dispelled. He apparates hundreds of miles away from the team’s accommodation to a fountain in the Eternal City and recalls a memory from years ago. Remembers the solidness of Nova Hale in his arms, the grandeur of the Trevi Fountain, the coin they tossed in for good measure.

He remembers being so wholeheartedly in love with this one girl.

It's been a little under two years since they went their separate ways. In that time, they've loved and known other partners, stitched together the hurts that lingered on their skin. They've avoided each other, ran away to different continents entirely, and then stood face to face and finally accepted that things have changed.

(The tricky thing about first loves, however, is that they never truly go away. As much as Al tries to kid himself, there's always a part of him that yearns to tuck himself into Nova's side and hide away.

As the months after her return draw on, that part of him grows.)

But here, here in front of this massive monument, the days of his youth burned into the back of his eyes, the acceptance of their situation seems to unravel. The night whispers of regression, of old things rising anew. He looks at the Trevi fountain and once more wants with a ferocity he hasn’t felt in a long while. Not since that winter they broke up.

He hears her footsteps before he sees her face. Hears her voice before she shifts out of the shadows and into view.

"Al?" Nova calls out softly across the courtyard. When their eyes meet, she breaks out into a hesitant smile, slowly drawing closer. "Fancy seeing you here."

Perhaps her presence there should be a little more jarring, a tad bit questionable. After all, as of a few weeks ago, Nova was still in England, scribbling away at the Quibbler. At most a month before that, she was in South America with his Aunt Luna, describing the sublime with words and painting a compelling picture with her articles. And now she's here in little old Italy by his side as they gaze up at the fountain once more.

It isn't.

Jarring, that is.

The last time he was here, it was with her. Back then, his arms were around her waist, fingers interlocking where they met - his chin on the top of her head, eyes drowsy as he absorbed the sight. Something in the quiet air whispered that there were far greater things than them at work here. Such intimacy can therefore only be shared with her; it makes sense for her to appear now.

"I couldn't sleep," he replies at last. His hands bury deep into his pockets. "Figured I should take a trip down memory lane."

Nova mimics his position and stuffs her hands into the silk depths of her coat with a sigh. It's not a particularly sad sigh, but Al struggles to place the emotions that lace it. Longing, maybe? Wistfulness? Or maybe that’s just him.

"Me too," she admits quietly. Her eyes are bright with soft gold lights and distant memories. "Luna brought me along to do a piece on Italy since the World Cup's here and I thought I might as well come here for old times' sake?" Her voice rises in a question at the end as if she's not sure whether it's okay for her to be there while he is. As if she’s an intruder on a private moment when the truth is, she’s the star of it all.

"I guess the coin worked then,” is what Al voices instead.

It takes her a moment to understand his words, but when she does, Nova lets out a surprised laugh. "I forgot about that!" She bats softly at his arm. "Maybe there really is magic going on here then, like all the rumours say. Sure feels like it, don’t you think?"

Al can't help but smile at her. No matter how many years it's been since their last visit, Nova's joy in the face of such grandeur has never diminished in its loveliness. A poet could write sonnets about it, he thinks. An artist could immortalise it in vivid sunsets. The sound of it, the sight - it makes him feel so, so warm.

"Since we're already here," he murmurs, "do you wanna see if anywhere's still open?"

When Nova looks at him, it's with very shrewd eyes. He can see puzzle pieces slot into place in her mind, conclusions being drawn in white chalk against midnight boards, decisions being made. But at last, she offers him her own smile - gentle and indulgent, a little nostalgic too - and cocks her head to one side.

"Lead the way."

♥

High school sweethearts rarely ever stay together. Did you know that? Hogwarts is not a microcosm of the wider world – and so, Al and Nova did not know how to function without the crutch of those castle walls. Life commanded them in different ways, tugged them to separate directions. Al flew up to Montrose, a stadium full of magpies calling his name, and Nova? Well, she travelled everywhere in the end.

Even when she officially returned to England, several countries under her belt and a year after they split ways, she was restless. A true child of wanderlust, she eventually signed up for a job that meant she was always on her feet, returning to town only to Portkey back out again. The Quibbler was more than happy to take her on as Luna’s travelling companion, her vivid descriptions of exotic locations partnered with the older woman’s magizoological finds. Both parties have never looked back since. 

Such busy schedules have meant that neither Al nor Nova have had the proper chance to rebuild a genuine relationship beyond standard niceties. Meant that their conversations have always hovered on the strange edge between polite warmth and flirty friendliness, enough attraction lingering between the exes to charge their interactions with an indefinable energy that is never addressed.

That night in Italy quickly unravels into much more.

A catch-up over Butterbeer dissolves into a conversation about old memories, happiness pouring from their tongues and shoulders shaking with its force. As they talk, their ankles are familiar underneath the table, brushing up against each other every so often. And the spark of tension that hovers between them, even years later, rapidly flickers into something much less tentative.

They're not drunk.

Not when Nova laughs so hard she collapses against his arm. Not when they stay in the bar long after their glasses are drained to the last drop. Not when they leave their seats and linger on the cobblestones outside, reluctant to leave for their beds. Not when Al's fingers trace along her wrist and then flutter against the curve of her waist inquiringly – and not when she steps into his embrace as the world blurs around them.

They're not drunk. At least, not on alcohol.

Maybe on this feeling though. This oblivion that wipes all comprehension from Al's mind save the sweetness of honeysuckle kisses from Nova's mouth. Maybe off the pressure of ten fingers on his shoulders and sweat sticking to his back and his heartbeat racing, racing, racing behind the safety of his ribs. Maybe on the way he breathes her name and she murmurs his and how the world seems to align perfectly once again.

♥

(The next morning, his coach’s thunderous knock on his hotel room door startles Al out of his sated slumber. He jerks awake to see Nova still there, face puffy and eyelashes clamped tight. She flips over, a pout pressed against the base of his throat.

"Do we have to get up?" she whines. "Because if so, I think we should stage a protest."

Butterflies swoop in his stomach when she says we instead of you. His fingers intertwine with hers. She holds his hands like she doesn't plan on letting go.)

STASIMON II.

This is a story, did you know?

In the beginning, it starts like this: at a party in a common room underground. A boy sees a girl laugh across the room and for a moment, he forgets how to breathe. That summer, he forgets that he forgot how to do that - until sixth year arrives and he falls in love with that laugh again in a way that'll never really leave him, even when he tries for years.

Of course, all great stories must have conflict. They must have the readers on their edges of their seats, teeth worrying away at the crescents of their nails, desperate to know if their protagonists will make it through their turmoil. And so our story has a hiccup and the hiccup is - tragic, bittersweet - tainted with dreams that are too big and a love that weeps for it. There are Quidditch practices that demand all of Al's attention and cameras that gobble up some more until there is very little left for Nova. 

So, she leaves.

Kisses him goodbye, sheds a few hundred tears and packs her bags for a town in France (and then Germany and Europe and then the rest of the world. It’s not running away if she meant to do it eventually, after all.)

They stay this way for years, seemingly for forever. For some tales, this would be where the story draws to a close, the final words stained with melancholy and regret. Others, however - the best ones some might say - have a happy ending. Here, the happy ending looks a lot like:

Italy in the late hours of the day with its silk skies and hidden stars, a sliver of a silver moon hanging low against the night.

Nova's skin when it's kissed by golden light, soft and lovely as a fountain spills magic mere metres away.

Al's pulse juddering under a hot, velvet coat.

Skin on skin and small hands tracing blazing trails along his freckles.

Lazy smiles on sunlit mornings and private meals in the evening

Aa promise made over neat hotel napkins.

(The promise agreed that things between them feel different. That they think they might have grown up since two winters ago. That perhaps this means they can grab the second chance they’ve been offered with both hands - and this time, they can hold on tight.)

EXODE

"Albus Potter, you've just won England the Quidditch World Cup final! How does it feel to bring the trophy home for the first time in half a century?" "It feels great, mate. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go kiss my girlfriend."

[capblacksails]

Swords & Confessions (2/2)

Post-Canon. Silver-centered. John Silver is a lost man after having lost Madi. He goes to the only person he knows who understands his loss. And (un)surprisingly, here starts a journey full of love… (In short : It’s +20 years of love(s). It’s past hurts, and growth. It’s tying Black Sails to Treasure Island, somehow. Includes also THE two scenes we’ve been robbed of in 4x10: James/John and Madi/John) (James/Thomas, James/John, John/Madi(past), James/Miranda/Thomas(past), Thomas&John). If this fic was BS soundtrack: It would be ‘Funeral At Sea’ I guess?

Read it all : FFnet / AO3 / Tumblr

Companion piece - a collection of canon compliant shorts: The Memories Chest: AO3 / Tumblr / FFnet

From the embers of the shadows in our pasts (a phoenix will rise) 

(PART VIIIb: Remember how James has decided it’s time again for fencing lessons and how John is ‘a bit’ overwhelmed (as he should)? Well, this is the second part of it... (and the end of the ‘confessions’ arc…) Bonus pure gold Thomas because that’s just what he is to start with...) 

VIIIb (continued from here).

When James arrives up the hill, John is already there.

He seems assured enough when James hands him a sword - taking it in his hand, appraising it, before meeting James's eyes again, wonder evident in his gaze:

"I'm honestly curious you know, about how you could make those?"

(Sharp tools are all under supervision; it's a general rule. Only spoons at the table. Every knife in the kitchen is tied to a wall. Every blade for bathroom uses too. Guards survey while you use any of those; always. And James? He is even labelled 'extra security'; he is not allowed much more than a shovel - and he has to maintain a minimum distance whenever he has it in hand... So it is indeed astonishing that he had been allowed carving tools.)

James feels a smile curling on his mouth as he explains: "Thomas."

John's brows furrow, and James clarifies, conspiratorially.

"He proposed to Oeglethorpe to stay at the mainhouse while I worked - as a guarantee."

The idea only should have felt nauseous. James somehow still smiles nonetheless.

"He promised me to recommend one truly awful book an hour for Oglethorpe to buy. It was somehow an acceptable deal."

John is going to thanks Thomas for this; at least a thousand times, you bet. But right now? John can't help an admirative grin:

"He is wicked, isn't he?"

James chuckles.

"You have no idea."

It's hard to decide if James's voice is more fond or proud; undoubtly both anyway.

James then assesses his own sword, feeling the weight of it in his hand before finding John's gaze again: "Shall we try them, then?"

He feels though that John is still somehow hesitant, and proposes:

"Shall I attack first?"

John is obviously relieved about not having to play the agressor. He gives James a nod as he takes position. And James decides that, at least for now, it will do...

"On three. One, two,-"

The clash of wood against wood is unusual; but all the rest? It feels right enough...

/

They take a break, sharing a bottle.

John is too quiet again, gaze lost on the faraway sea.

"What are we looking at?", James can't refrain from echoing from their past.

"Maroon Island."

John turns to him.

"I have spent so many hours at those cliffs. Watching out for potential enemies ships. But the first time I sent for news? I realized when an answer actually came that I was surprised; like if, unconsciously, I hadn't been expecting you to have stayed here? That's when I realized how all that time I had maybe also been watching out for you; somehow hoping - I don't know, for some resolution? - even if you came hunting for my blood... What were a few walls and a few guards against Captain Flint after all? I couldn't help but cringe at the coward thought - making *you* responsible for your fate; when *I* was the one- I couldn't regret my decision: you lived - possibly hating me - but you lived, and you were loved. But even though I repeatedly told myself that it should be enough, I could finally admit that it was wrong all the same. I couldn't though just tell Oglethorpe I had a change of heart, of course - he might have released you; but not Thomas...

John's voice trails into a silence heavy with 'what if's' James recognizes all too well.

"That's why I used to come to this spot too... Looking at Maroon Island? Wondering about you, and Madi; mostly hoping you were both happy. Thomas understood, obviously. Now that you're here, he doesn't feel like intruding by coming with me. But then? He only came looking for me here if he thought I had been dwelling in my head too long for my own good... But honestly? I wouldn't have gone to the Island. I wasn't thirsting for your blood to start with. And I would *never* have endangered you and Madi by coming around. (sigh) Anyway, this place? It's not the walls, nor the guards, that keep us here..."

John tilts his head. "I came here more than a year and a half ago now. I understand exactly what you mean."

"I thought about breaking free, of course; I had it all planned out, after only a few days. I simply couldn't bear the idea of Thomas being contained like this, while having never done anything wrong. But when I spoke about escaping, he asked me: "And where will we go?" I instinctively answered: "It doesn't matter"; but I realized I had been indeed so focused on planning *how* that I hadn't thought past it. But we couldn't go back to Europe; not only because Thomas might be recognized, but because it would be somehow serving those empires again - any of them, all the same... And showing myself anywhere in the New World meant risking Thomas's life. And not to forget of course that we'd have to pretend for the rest of our lives - no matter where we might end... But then Thomas said: "If it doesn't matter, then we might as well stay where we are." I was speechless. And then I was going to retort; but he told me I still hadn't seen the church - a hint of something in his voice that I recognized... And so we went; and well, you already know what was nailed on its doors...

"One of his pamphlets."

"Indeed."

James is quiet for a short moment; remembering his awe, when he had started to read the page taken from a local newsaper it seemed, and had understood it was Thomas's text - and had it confirmed with a glance. He hadn't been able to stop reading though until he had reached the end, and the signature - the signature had torn his heart out. 'TBMG'. Thomas Barlow Mc Graw.

"I couldn't speak. Trust Thomas to find a way to do Good, no matter what? I had fought so hard to force the world to change; to make a difference. But you can't force people to change at once against their will - it never holds in the long run. But here he was, achieving more maybe by slowly corrupting that system from the inside? It was a tiny step; but it was still a step in the right direction, at least. His ideas were published; read; discussed. You should have seen him when he explained to me how it had come to be - the secrecy, the allies, the countless times he had sent pieces over the wall under the cover of night, his surprise when it had actually paid off... He was proud, but rightly so. And I realized something else. Thomas had been here for years already. He had true friends here; friends he had been longer with than with me, in fact. I hadn't considered them until then: not how hard it might be for Thomas to cut them loose; and not how... he could have moved on - all those years; he should have, maybe... Thomas knows it all, you know... I told him everything; right the first night. And yet... He never *saw* me; saw what I am capable of... Miranda didn't either; she just saw the aftermath, patching me up and- (sigh) You were there. And you feared me. I know you did."

John wants to retort: And I'm still here.

But he knows what James is hearing instead: 'The one who has shaped me.' / 'To be both liked and feared all at once is an entirely different state of being.'

And so John also hears what James doesn't say: Maybe you still do.

And John knows that somehow, he still does, indeed. Isn't it how you know who you love - when you fear *for* them? And indeed, the less he had come to fear Flint, the more he had come to fear for James... But this would probably not give James any peace...

So, instead, John confesses: "Of course I feared you; I would have been a fool not to. But (it was a new kind of fear, and somehow, I admired you for it - John thinks but doesn't say.) I wanted to be you; I wanted to be feared too (for a change - John keeps to himself again).

And James remembers in a flash, how John - 'I don't want to be a pirate: I'm not interested in the life; I'm not interested in the fighting, not interested in the ships, I don't care much for the sea while we're on the subject' fucking John - had started to learn what it was to be a sailor, all the while wearing a ponytail to match his own... James has no time though to linger on the memories as John continues:

"By the time I realized it came with a price, well... I kept telling myself that all I ever did was to secure my share of that gold we were chasing. (John shakes his head, still in disbelief somehow) Believe me, I was the first surprised when I decided to discard it. But along the way... I had come to care apparently - about the men; and about you. You told me, you know? 'The more those men need you, the more you need them'? You just didn't see then how it included you too; but to me, it did… The crew... It was validating indeed, to be seen and valued, to feel like I belonged. But you... (I wanted you to see me and value me too.) Your validation, somehow, meant more; I had to win it. There were also the undeniable facts that you were hurting, and that I wanted you to hurt *less*, I guess... It had been so for some time, even if I had no clue what had been the tipping point. And it mattered - more than the gold, obviously..."

James now aches. He has no doubt John's words are truth; and once more, it only tears at his heart. How could you not *recognize* any of it, John? How come you were so unaware; so blind to your own heart... But James has long ago tacitly agreed to let John's demons rest in the past where they lay, and he finds something to say instead of ask.

"I understood it, later on. I understood *you*. When we went for that whale and you told... I wasn't surprised. The thing is, when we had reached Nassau and Rackham had our gold? I was *certain* that it must have been your making. But then, you stayed? So apparently you had no hand in it, and I tried to put the thought aside. But it was still there, that doubt; and the thought was infuriating... But when you confessed? It felt somehow suddenly an even better alternative - to know that you had indeed done it, and had yet chosen to stay... That's when I finally knew, that what I thought I was seeing for some time was in truth the real you."

Everyone wears a mask. It is both a sign of trust and a leap of faith to put it off for someone. (And James is never the first to, mind you...) So. When John had told it all on that sloop, lifting the veil on his pretense? James had known John purely meant to make a point - proving to him that he was just as cunning and manipulating as him. But what James had actually heard was something else entirely...

You had it, John. Your one big prize. Your safety and freedom - from water, from hunger, from wages; from me. You had it. But you couldn't take it. You told it was because of your leg; but I knew your leg wouldn't have mattered - not with that much gold... The truth was you couldn't bear to have to doubt everything and everyone from that moment on; never knowing what would be genuine, and what would be bought. You wanted to matter - to people. You wanted to be loved...

And that's when I realized I wanted it too, indeed - not only shed Flint's persona, show you my true face in return; but simply love you...

James's thoughts take yet another turn: Maybe you should have taken that gold...

Because James has often wondered, since John has turned up at the plantation, about what John's future might have been, if he *had* made the other choice. He could have been happy, couldn't he? Alone; but carefree. He might not have felt lonely; not by then. And he might have never known of love; probably - but he would never have had to be wounded; never have had to be damaged beyond repair by losing his Madi... James knows *he* wouldn't trade his own hurts, past and present, would he ever be offered the possibility to start anew. This kind of wishful thinking has never crossed his mind about himself. But it is hard not to wish for it for John, somehow; even knowing that John would probably not agree either...

John's voice lures James back to the present once more: "For some time, huh?"

John's sheepish eyes have darted to the ground. He is so openly fishing - a rare occurence: which only shows how much he needs to *hear*; and so James can't deny him:

"The third time you stomped your foot, going on with what I thought was the dumbest plan ever to convince the crew to allow you to remain, and got punched again in return? Well, you were a *thief*, and an *impostor*, but at least you were tenacious, I had to give you that... Besides, you had just saved my life; twice, even; it was a fact hard to overlook, I guess. And it's past due time I thank you for it, by the way."

They share a meaningful gaze, before John shrugs it off: "I probably wouldn't have believed you meant it at the time anyway - you *liar*" - smiling on the last word.

James scoffs, but is interrupted by John hitting him playfully in the ribs with his elbow: "But let's stop listing our shortcomings. (taking his crutch) It is my turn to attack, right?"

James gets up, then hands John his sword when he is standing too.

And for this? I do not fear you now. James is deeply grateful.

.

(Again, please do NOT hate me for NOT making Savannah the worst place on Earth. Of course I would prefer to have them all out. Keeping them here HURTS me. But there are 20 f$#%#$g YEARS, and James DIED AT SAVANNAH “of old rhum” (= because that’s what people thought - because they knew he was captive). So I just had to find a way to live with it - and THIS is it. I don’t expect anyone to agree. But I just had to find a way to BEAR it a minimum, so please just don’t burst my bubble?)