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targaryenrealnessdarling · 5 months

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Quid Pro Quo | Michael Gavey x fem!reader

Summary: After being ditched by her friend at the Trinity College Christmas Party, she finds herself enthralled with learning the language of Michael Gavey | Word Count: 3.8k~ | Warnings below the cut!

Part Two: Carpe Diem Part Three: Veni, Vidi, Vici

warnings: virgin michael, semi-public sexual conduct, oral sex (m receiving), heavy petting

If she has to listen to Professor Wardon swoon over Ancient Greek and how it ‘drove him to pursue his dreams in extending his passion to other students’, she thinks she might actually fall asleep.

She's in a good spot to do so, nestled between two other students, the one on her right seemingly just as bored as her, and conveniently hidden behind a tall, lanky first year, who sits straight, with his head perfectly obscuring hers as he fixes his posture regularly.

Several times throughout, she's checked her watch, and yet the second hand never seems to move an inch.

Professor Wardon is just about to go on a lovesick spiel about Homeric Greek when the lecture concludes with a heaved sigh from every student as they sling their hefty bags over their shoulders.

“Remember I want 2,500 words on Les Liaisons dangereuses in my pigeon hole by next Thursday, before your Christmas parties!”

“Oh joy,” she sighs with a grin to the girl walking shoulder to shoulder beside her as they leave, feeling noticeably lighter knowing that that's their last lecture before Christmas break.

“Christ, you're telling me. I can't be arsed to even right my own name at the moment, nevermind read 18th century fucking French.”

She gives a snort in reply, “Merry Christmas to us, eh? Should do what the French do and have a revolution or something.”

“Yeah, eat our lecturers or something.”

“Alright, I wouldn't go that far.”

“Anyway, I'm off to T Library, see ya, have a good Christmas and don't do anything I wouldn't!”

She waves her off as her friend disappears, the cold air of the outside nipping at her skin that manages to sneak beneath her coat.

Oxford University is not what she imagined at all. She came here very much feeling like an outsider, like there'd been some sort of paperwork mistake and it was supposed to be someone else in her place.

The imposter syndrome seemed difficult to shift, but she'd at least managed to make a couple of friends since starting in September.

Languages had always found her well, and seemingly the only thing she managed to actually understand. People were inconsistent, cruel and fickle. Languages, though they shifted and changed, were firmly rooted in reason and understanding.

As sad as it sounded, conjugating verbs, vowel shifts and rare dialects were the one thing she found herself itching to discover more about. The idea that there was more to uncover seemed exciting and scary at the same time.

And Oxford University was the best place she could be to do that.

All that said, her eagerness to get involved with her studies had left her social life with much to be desired.

In the first two weeks of university alone, she'd gained one friend and lost a boyfriend. And while they were drifting apart anyway, it was still a relatively large blow to her self-esteem and her confidence to actually get out there, socialise and make the most of her first year of freedom.

The only friends she'd made were those on her course. Priya, who'd just abandoned her to stick her nose in books about the Great Vowel Shift, and Anya, who…to be honest, rarely left her room. Seeming more like a ghost than anything else.

It was a wonder she was still a student, with how often she missed classes.

What Anya does do best, is manage to somehow rise out of her pit to drag her to Christmas parties that aren't even run by their college.

Which is why she finds herself somehow at Trinity College campus, where she eyes several scantily clad women wearing revealing Santa costumes adorned with itchy tinsel.

Anya is the sort of girl who, well, every girl kind of wants to be. So much so she sort of wonders why she hangs around with her. She's pretty, fit and fucking clever. Her only downfall is her taste in men, so often being Oxford pretty boys.

So it is absolutely no surprise at all, when two jägerbombs in, Anya has somehow slipped into the arms of one aforementioned Oxford pretty boy, seeming in every way a clone of the previous, with the exception of the way he pairs his Ayia Nappa top with his low rise jeans and the only effort to conform to theme, is a pair of plastic reindeer antlers on his head bobbling side to side.

She grimaces as she watches them suck each other's faces off in a dark corner of the room, ‘Stay Another Day’ by East 17 blaring with a cheap crackle through the speakers as she makes her way through the bodies to somewhere quiet.

She sighs, nursing the rum and coke Anya had sloppily poured her in one hand as she closes the door behind her, shutting out the drunken squeals and cheers for the peace of a quiet common room.

It's still decorated, she notes, but empty. Maybe she could lurk here until Anya is done, if she ever will be.

The deep clack of a pool ball being sucked into a socket makes her jump, realising perhaps that she was not actually alone, as she'd previously thought.

The cool light hung above the battered pool table illuminates his deep red jumper, and the first thing she sees is the way he leans on one leg, standing straight as if he was imitating the rigid pool cue leant before him. The yellow lined detailing around the cuffs highlights his small wrists and big hands that stretch from it as he rubs blue chalk onto the tip.

Her eyes trail up the back of his neck, past the lazy waves of dark blonde hair, clearly due a trim at some point, and to his face, even from this angle able to see how his features sit. With a sharp nose and jawline, and black skinny glasses perched above his cheekbones.

She almost laughs at the way he's almost as tall as the light that illuminates the table, half-thinking that she might never have seen such a strange and yet interesting looking guy.

“Didn't fancy the party?” she finally says, alerting him to her presence.

She doesn't quite expect the way the light bounces off his sharp features, sinking his blue eyes in shadow as his head turns to her with an expression of boredom.

“Not particularly, no.”

His voice is lighter than she thought it would be and part of her wonders if he's putting it on. He presses his glasses further up his nose before assessing his next shot, stalking around the table.

“Why's that?”

This time, when he answers, he doesn't look at her. He simply leans down, and aims.

“Not. Fucking. Invited,” he replies bitterly, missing a yellow, “that's why.”

Her fingertips moisten against the glass as the ice begins to melt, but she pays it no mind.

“So you're lurking about in here instead.”

He plays with the cue in one hand, barely sparing a second glance, a bitter, quiet laugh escaping him.

He misses another red before he heaves a sigh, straightening to look at her again.

“You here alone as well?” he asks dispassionately.

She smiles lazily and shrugs.

“My mate is…a bit preoccupied, if you know what I mean,” she replies, taking an awkward sip of the now watered down drink, “like you, I don't really think these are my thing either.”

He seems to consider her statement for a moment.

“Why come then?”

She shrugs again, “trying to be sociable.”

“With those vapid cunts? Good luck getting any intelligent conversation out of them.”

She watches as he picks up the blue chalk again, applying more when he doesn't even need it in sort of a nervous gesture, his blue eyes averted and pretending to assess his next move.

There's something about him. How judgemental he is and how he forms his words. Perhaps she hadn't expected this sort of guy to be so outwardly honest with his opinions, and for the most part, she can't say she disagrees with the message, just the way in which he said it.

“Can I play?” She asks, leaning over to put her drink down.

“What are you reading?” He asks so suddenly, and out of context, that she does a double take.

She raises her eyebrows, smiling, “Does my answer depend on if I get to play or not?”

There's no answer from him. Shocker of the century.

“Modern Languages.”

“Fucking hell,” he groans.

She's a bit too happy and dizzy on rum to get defensive.

“Is that one of those subjects that sounds way less interesting than it actually ends up being?”

She gives a breathy laugh, “just like languages.”

He hums, as if the answer didn't impress him, “more of a science and numbers man myself, obviously.”

For a moment, it's lost on her why it's obvious.

He takes a sip of his, no doubt, stale beer, wetting his lips after, “Your name is?”

She narrows her eyes teasingly, smiling as she leans against the table, “quid pro quo.��

She enjoys the brief confusion on his face, before he realises what she's said.

“Okay, okay, Michael.”

She smiles, “See? You know what that meant. Who says you're not a languages man?”

It's the first time he seems to duck his head, hiding a blush she's barely able to see.

“I don’t think the Ancient Roman idea of fair exchange warrants the title of ‘languages man’.”

The blue chalk comes off on his hands as he fiddles nervously with it.

“So, am I bestowed the privilege of playing?”

He raises his head, and she can tell he's trying his damndest to not let a little beer-induced smile pass his lips.

“I suppose I could allow you to embarrass yourself in front of me for a bit, if you insist. We'll have to share a cue though.”

She doesn't have the heart to tell him her uncle was a pool player, and so by extension, has played pool for most of her upbringing. Rather, he finds out himself when she pots three yellows in a row.

It's either the alcohol or pity that kicks in when she misses the fourth, holding the cue for him to take.

“You being good at pool wasn't on my bingo card,” he mutters with some nervous teasing in his voice.

They go back and forth for a bit, missing some, potting some, with interspersed conversation between.

“Thought you might have been a Norman-no -mates, like me,” he says quietly as he watches her assess her next shot. Bending to aim.

“You're not far off,” she replies, “first fortnight I was down a boyfriend. Since then, I've only been up two friends and one of them is in the other room having ditched me for the shag of a lifetime.”

She doesn't see it until after she takes the shot, the way his eyes flit back to hers quickly as she rights herself to stand.

Was he checking me out?

As if he was lagging, he only laughs now at what she's said.

“What about you?” She asks, “no girls, or boys, on the scene?”

He blushes a lot when she asks that. And she can't help the fluttering in her chest she feels that someone might find her attractive.

“Can’t say there is.”

She stands close, passing the cue to him, electricity warming her fingertips as she grazes his.

“And why not?”

He scoffs bitterly, “have you seen me?” he mutters, wandering around the table, suddenly unable to shake the feeling of her gaze, “Not too many girls out there looking for the stereotypical nerdy math boy, really.”

“Hm,” she hums, “how unfortunate for them.”

He sinks a red, picking at his red jumper.

“Yeah, they're clearly missing out, huh?”

The bitter and self-deprecating tone of his voice makes her heart sink a bit. He's not a bad looking guy, she thinks. His style, glasses, hair, she would almost say look actually quite cute.

Maybe that's the thing he doesn't like.

“No interest? Or is maths the only one for you?”

He misses the next shot and sighs, holding the cue for her to take, “clearly, the only one I need.”

She steps close to retrieve, taking her time, looking up at him as she does. At this proximity, Michael sucks in a breath quietly, his lips, which she can't say she'd noticed until right this moment, parting and his Adam's apple bobbing as his eyes flit rapidly down her.

A warmth swirls in her gut at that.

She circles the table, “what about in the past?”

He leans against the other side, his hand on the cushion, long fingers splayed on the green fabric. She has to shake her head to break her own trance.

“Can’t say my love life has exactly been a roaring success, honestly.”

The way he says it.

She wouldn't be surprised if he was…

Oh.

“So what? You're focussed on your studies?”

She misses. Too set on the conversation rather than the game.

He gives a mirthless laugh, “Sure.”

She rounds the table, holding the cue for him to take, but when he reaches for it, she pulls back with a smirk.

“So we've established you're not one for languages,” she starts, and Michael furrows his brows in confusion, “have you ever really asked for what you want? Ever?”

He seems to miss what she's trying to say.

“Have you been with a girl?”

At that, his eyes widen slightly, a blush crawling up his neck to the tips of his ears, cheeks near matching his shirt.

She knows she has her answer.

“Well…I…no, I haven't…”

At chest height, she can see the way his breathing elevates.

“And, hypothetically, if a girl expressed interest. What would you say?”

His lips part for a good few seconds before he gives a reply, “I’d…I um…I guess it depends who…”

It's like he's afraid she'll make fun of him for it.

“What about, if it was me?” She asks, her voice lowering as she reaches out to pick some lint off his jumper, like it's the most normal thing in the world. His body goes all rigid as she does.

This isn't normal in his world.

Michael swallows thickly, “you're not taking the Mick out of me, are you?”

She shakes her head, “I just want you to feel comfortable asking for what you want.”

For someone who had so often thought about it, now when faced with the situation, he feels as if he doesn't know what to do or say.

She's still stood with the cue in one hand, close enough so that when she shifts her weight from foot to foot, her knee grazes his leg. It's interesting to watch him think so deeply about it. Convinced he's probably never thought of anything so much in his life.

“What if what I want is…you?”

The tension deepens like the tone and volume of his voice. And without effort, a smile finds its way to her face when she looks at his expression. He's frozen stiff, for once, not knowing what to say.

So nothing shocks her more when he grabs the pool cue as a means of pulling her to him, and he has to duck considerably to press his lips clumsily to hers. He's eager, that much is true, but it's clear he's inexperienced. But instead of causing discomfort, she thinks it's quite endearing.

The pool cue clangs to the floor as she braces her hands on his shoulders and chest, guiding his lips with her own in a slower, more careful movement. She feels the edge of the pool table bite into her lower back when he presses her against it, clearly excited, if the hardness that's flush to her stomach is anything to go by.

The hands she had been staring at not half an hour ago are bruising as they trace her waist and hips, with a grip tight enough to tell her exactly how much he's enjoying the experience.

For a moment, they're not in a common room alone, against a pool table, with ‘Cheetah-licious Christmas’ playing in the room over, the bass of which rumbles through the floor and into their chests.

The kiss lasts a long while, and she has a feeling he wants to savour it as if it's the last time he will ever be able to do it.

One of her hands snakes its way to the back of his head, fingers gripping at his hair to pull him closer as either of them tilt to aid more contact between them. And at the little amount of tugging, Michael whines into her mouth, prompting him to pull away.

He looks halfway between mortified and pleased, his glasses having skewed to one side with the eagerness of what they'd done. And she laughs a bit, reaching up to fix them, which seems to make the mortification fade somewhat from his face.

Michael looks down between them, where his obvious erection is pressed to her, and pulls away slightly with a scarlet blush.

“Shit - sorry-”

“It's fine,” she reassures, “no need to be embarrassed.”

The words alone would be enough, if her hand hadn't snaked between their bodies to brush her palm over him. And if it were possible, his flush spreads to his neck, words failing him once more.

Her eyes flicker up to his, their lips all kiss-bruised and swollen.

“If you don't want to-”

“No, no, I want to…” he says, immediately embarrassed about how quick it was.

She smiles, one hand palming him through his jeans and the other trailing up his chest, “Sit down.”

He backs up to sit on a nearby sofa, watching with a kind of adoration as she makes space between his legs, her eyes glimmering at him as she slowly undoes his belt.

“If at any time, you need to stop, tell me.”

He gives a nervous laugh, his stomach muscles tightening, wondering probably if this is really happening to him, “Not sure I will want to…”

She smiles reassuringly, watching as his lips part as she palms him through his boxers, trying to suppress how impressed she is with his size.

It's always the skinny white guys.

“Well, the offer's there.” She smirks, pulling him from his boxers, Michael gives a suffered breath, feeling her touch on him and also her breath so close. He almost feels dizzy. The thought of this happening in this situation, with a party going on next door, is dangerous and exciting in equal measure.

She knows he has very limited experience, so decides not to tease him too much.

Michael gasps softly as she licks at the base of him, drawing a wet line with her tongue along the vein underneath, all the way to the tip. She concentrates her efforts slightly on the sensitive spot there before closing her mouth over the head of his cock, sucking gently.

She feels the way his thighs tense, and the blue disappearing as he closes his eyes. His fists are tight beside him, knuckles white, like he doesn't know if he should touch her or not. All he knows right now is that this feeling is brand new, and the sensation is so much already.

She pulls herself from him to run her tongue over his length, one hand moving to his hand, to encourage him. His blue eyes crack open just a bit, to understand what she's trying to tell him.

And she fights the urge to smile as his longer fingers swipe across her temple into her hair, his touch tender, soft and unsure as he holds her by it.

Her lips wrap around him once more, pushing him further into her mouth, taking him steadily and slowly at first. Michael's hips move barely, chasing the friction that he's getting on his cock when she bobs her head on him and hollows her cheeks.

He watches with parted lips and warm cheeks, moving her hair away so he can watch himself disappear into her mouth over and over. Her hand massages the rest of him, giving him two unique sensations in one, something that earns her a deep, throaty moan.

When her eyes open to look at him, he thinks his heart stops in his chest for a split second. He closes his eyes, not able to bear the way she looks with his cock in her mouth if she looks right at him, feeling that if he did any longer he wouldn't last.

The sounds he emits don't stop there as she increases her pace on him, pressing her tongue to the underside of him and taking him deeper into her throat, humming around him at the heady scent of his skin.

It's only when she takes him as far as he will go, working hard to control her gag reflex that he gives the first genuine buck of his hips, tightening in her hair and a far-too-loud moan. If anyone in the next room were quiet and paying attention, they'd likely know exactly what was going on.

“Fuck-”

It only serves to spur her on as she pulls back, moving in a more steady, quick rhythm, that she is sure Michael is loving judging by the rate of his moans and the way he chokes out his words.

His stomach clenches and unclenches, his high creeping up on him as her mouth tightens around his length.

“Shit - you need to - I'm gonna -” he chokes, weakly tugging her hair in an effort to pull her mouth off him before he cums.

If she didn't have his cock in her mouth she'd smile.

Her hand squeezes the base of him, and Michael throws his head back slightly, a long shuddered and choked moan reverberating through his chest. She swears she feels his thighs shake as she stills, warm ropes of his cum taste musky at the back of her throat.

His loud moan is followed quickly by more softer ones as her throat contracts to swallow as much as she can, briefly increasing the tension and friction around his sensitive length.

When she pulls off him with a pleased sigh, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Michael sits up slightly, having to gather his breath.

“Fucking hell…”

She takes it as a compliment and rises to her feet, her hands smoothing her skirt back down.

And she squeaks in delight as Michael quickly tucks himself away, barely doing up his jeans buttons before backing her up to the pool table again, kissing her fervently.

“What about you…do I…” he starts when he breaks away, panting softly. She smiles at the notion but shakes her head. This experience was for him alone.

“Not right now, don't feel inclined to,” she reassured, her hands on his chest, feeling the way his heart is beating rapidly beneath it.

“Right now?” he asks with a quiet, unsure tone, “does that mean…there's gonna be a next time?”

His tone is careful, and yet, she is able to detect something like desire there. An excitement for more, without seeming too eager so that he's not let down if she says no. Something that makes it clear he is 100% on board.

She bites back a grin.

“Quid Pro Quo, Michael.”

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thelolzblog · 1 year

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Putting the "Pen" in "Pencil"

I do not like to write with pencils. I will, when needed. I try to avoid it as much as possible, though. I’ve tried different “models” of mechanical pencils, including those that boasted pen-like casings that coworkers recommended. But none quite worked for me.

Until this week. Or weekend really. Let’s not get pedantic here.

I prefer pens, and a really good, smooth pen? *chef’s kiss* I have horrible handwriting, and I cramp up very easily (fingers, hands, wrist, you name it). But a really good pen can transcend its job as a writing instrument and become the tool that harmonizes your hand with the paper.

My primary pen of choice for over a decade has been the BiC Atlantis. Its price makes it more of an economy class model, but that’s okay because I need them in bulk so I can bring them to work, too. Additionally, my purse, bags, and desk drawers are where pens go to die — or at least hang out in limbo until they’re unearthed on the archaeological expeditions that are decluttering attempts.

Because of how much I prefer pens over pencils, I have always done crossword puzzles in pen. It’s not usually a problem, and I didn’t even think it was that big of deal until others pointed it out to me. I love crosswords. I love pens. It just made sense. (Semi-brag: friends have handed puzzles over to me they get stuck on so I can finish it.) I also have tons of crossword books, and they’re a great stress relief that also wakes your brain up — the good part, not the part that is going Chicken Little in the moment. Most are “easy” NY Times ones, and the one actual Sunday puzzle collection I bought was just too tricky for me to try and figure out. It now remains in my spare room just in case I need to rip it up for cat litter in an emergency.

A friend recently gave me a (very late) Christmas present: an NYT crossword book. Hooray! I kept it at work to do a couple clues between tasks to feed my ADHD and keep me going. However! These are medium-level puzzles. And they mean it! I realized after a few that doing them in pen was probably not the best thing anymore. It was time to admit my puzzle prowess was weakened. It was time to admit that I needed to get a good pencil. You always remember where you were when these kind of life turns happen, and I was at my desk wondering if my friend purposefully got me the harder book to mess with me.

But finding the right pencil for crosswords was…wait for it…the real puzzle to solve.

The search began, and unfortunately Google kept giving me results for pens that write like pencils, and not the other way around. (Okay, okay. We GET it. There are erasable pens. Papermate has been on top of that since I was in school. I’ve also used some that wrote well, but the erasing is really just applying heat through friction. Which means things disappear if your paper gets hot. ANYWAY.)

I just started searching on my next grocery order. BiC had some promising options — smooth and hard-to-break. The store ended up being out of one type, but they did have the .9 (thick) Velocity Max. I tried them, and they weren’t bad. The large eraser is convenient. It both comforts and mocks you: “We know you’re going to make huge mistakes, and we don’t want your arm to get tired trying to remove them. Here’s your big eraser, you big screw up!” They even come with extra lead and erasers. How thoughtful! The problem is the grip: the softer, gel-like part is too high. I did manage to slide it down lower. It looks odd, but it’s more comfortable. The bottom part is just too narrow and has nothing added to it for comfort. Not ideal, but doable. Even if one of the two colors they came in was orange, and we all know that orange is a color that tries too hard.

Luckily I tend to go into hyper obsessive research and testing mode. This usually just wastes my time away, but this time it came in handy! While looking online, I saw an item that I couldn’t help but add to my cart. A Wish List is no place for a pen like this. It was a 4-color BiC pen, with 3 ink colors and 1 option for pencil. It was a sleeker, multi-functional upgrade from those multi-colored pens I adored in childhood: it was the pen version of when the Power Rangers all put their vehicles together and made the big, large thing. Megazord. It was the Megazord. I couldn’t pull it out of my memory, but that’s to be expected from my pencil-for-crossword-needing old brain.

I am happy to report there was a fairy tale ending here. The good, non-messy kind that doesn’t leave a dead witch, giant, or talking wolf in its wake. (I can confirm no fantasy beings were harmed in the testing of these pens.) The grip on the 4-color pen is wide and feels great, much better than the Velocity model. The grip and lead make for a truly smooth writing experience, and I have tested it out on at least 10 crosswords at this point.

And what of the actual pen colors on it? This thing could’ve settled for just being a good pencil, but no. BiC said, “We don’t stop here. We keep going. We make this pen worth every penny.” Which was nice of them because it is not cheap, and it will run you between $5.50 to $7 — more than 1 dollar for each option. (They do throw in extra lead and erasers, just to note.) The width makes for a great writing experience for all colors. I actually used it at work yesterday to color code some notes, and it is definitely going to be in regular rotation for more than just the pencil part.

Very happy I purchased it, and I also bought some new highlighters. But that’s a review for another day.

#z writes things #this is literally a review on pens/pencils #but you asked for it #and by you #chicgeekgirl89 #sspaz1000

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greycappedjester · 3 years

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Since I log the fanfictions I read, I’m realizing that June 19th marks the first day I read one of your fics! I read All in the Cards and was blown away by the storyline. Then, I continued to read your HQ series, the other cards fics, and your Dr.STONE fic too. I want to read your DC fics as well. I don’t know much background on it though, so I’m working on it. I just wanted to say how much I appreciate your writing and how it has honestly made this past year a lot better. With all that being said though, what’s your favorite thing/theme to write in each of your individual series? Like world building, relationships, etc.? Also, what inspired you to write in the first place?

Ahhh, thank you so much! This is honestly such a sweet ask and I am so, so glad that I could make your year better.

For what's my favorite thing/theme to write in each series, that's a tough one as a lot of times in changes; but, after thinking about it, I think these are my favorite things overall for each....

(I also thought I'd do something fun and put what my favorite line to write was in the last few chapters for the ongoing works. I always wonder what lines are people's favorite so figured it would be fun to add mine)

Hq at Hogwarts: I really love writing Oikawa and Hinata's relationship. Which is kinda an odd thing to say since they purposefully only have a few conversations spread out through each story. But, they're my two favorite Hq characters to write hands down and so I absolutely love showing them as foils to each other in the series. That said, I also love writing them (and especially Oikawa and Suga) as foils/parallels to the Giant and Hisashi (Suga's grandfather). I love both foil relationships and writing parallels between generations--especially if the next generation is completely unaware/uninformed of the previous generation's mistakes

Favorite Recent Line to Write: Kenma met his eyes and his voice broke: “Why am I the only one you have to hide?”

*Note: Okay, technically not the most recent chapter but fun fact: I wrote the Kuroo/Kenma conversation waaaay in advance and used it a lot as a reference to where I wanted this relationship to be headed and I viewed this line as one of the biggest break points (along with "I am waiting" from the dance)

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Cards: This one is the most tricky for me to think of one since it changes a lot. I love doing the world building for this one (like the huge long time line I have for the history of the country). I love writing fantasy politics. As I consider a Hearts Civil War story more, I'm getting back into the groove of just really love writing Oikawa's complicated relationship with being King. And, of course, I love writing Tsuksihima and Hinata's relationship

Favorite Recent Line to Write: Oikawa swept across the office, never seeming to pause for even a second as he pointed a quill at Iwaizumi. “So, tell me, are invasions just like a semi-annual thing?”

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The Hq/Scooby-Doo AU (Investigations Inc.): the humor and banter

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Walking With My Eyes Open: I think this might be my favorite romance thing I've ever written. I really, really wanted to show a view of romance that emphasized the choice to be in love (and the work that goes into a functioning relationship). I especially wanted to do this with Hanahaki since this trope is so tied to the forfeit of choice on the patient's end and the inherent unfairness/weight on the person they're in love with. Couldn't imagine it with any other characters but Senkuu and Gen tbh.

Favorite Recent Line to Write: But, human shoulders weren’t meant to bear the expectations of divinity.

*Note: Lol, this scene got cut and reworded so many dang times in editing, the one thing that stayed consistently I feel like is me really wanting to keep this specific line

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After the Fall of Olympus: Three things and I find it really hard to pick which one is my favorite.

(1) I love that this story format lets me show the slow growth/aging of Dick as a character and (I hope) that each chapter shows how he's grown to the point that Dick at age 14 in Ch. 1 is noticeably younger in internal monologue than Dick in his 20s in the latest chapter.

(2) I love writing tricky political/social issues where all characters have their points and there truly is no write answer...with that, I love writing Dick and Jay Garrick's relationship.

(3) If I had to pick, I don't know if it's my favorite but I think it's the most important element of the story. I very much wanted to show a more realistic view of grief where it feels like the world ended; but, it's not actually an apocalypse. They recover. At the start of the story, it is without a doubt the lowest/most devastating point, but they rebuild. It's slow and there's set backs but they are rebuilding a world that isn't (and shouldn't be) the same but is there and is new and is important. I know a lot of stories that focus on grief view it as a tragedy and an end which it is in a huge way. There's the phrase "it gets better" but a lot of times I think it's viewed as "things will go back to what they used to be" which is understandably hard for people to believe because a lot of times, it fundamentally is impossible for what's lost to be regained. That doesn't mean it's the end of everything. I think sometimes we forget that the previous world (be it actual in this story or what feels like the entire world) may not exist anymore but something different can still be built. The new world and old should never be compared because they can't be. It won't be the same. But, it can be good and they can be happy.

Which is honestly the recovery of what Dick Grayson, to me, should represent rather than the constant grief/vengeance of Batman.

Favorite Recent Line to Write (technically the last line here, just doesn't make sense out of context)

“You need someone with you. I’m not just leaving you alone!” Selina shouts.

“No? Why not?” Dick spits back. “You’re so good at it !”

Selina flinches back and Dick is viciously, painfully glad.

“You don’t get to care just when it’s convenient, Selina,” he says and it hurts, a wound that’s never going to heal. “I needed someone eight years ago. I needed someone when Bruce died, when Batman was gone, and the city was falling apart, and you weren’t there. You didn’t call. You didn’t check on me. You didn’t even say bye. And that’s fine. I lived, I rebuilt it.”

He steps away. “But, you don’t get to come back now and pretend it never happened. I don’t have to let you just because it hurts either way.”

-------

Flash Facts of Bart Allen: Lol, what might be my least popular but in my opinion best written story. Favorite thing is Bart and Len's relationship hands down, followed by showing Bart's relationship with how he navigates the weight of the Flash legacy while feeling like he's fundamentally different than the Flashes that came before.

Partly since this is getting so long and partly because personal story, I'm putting why I started writing under the break.

I started writing for a lot of reasons.

My first fic--and the first book I ever finished--was the first Hq at Hogwarts story (Mirror of Erised). For background, I started the story when I was in my first year of getting my master's degree (which was surprisingly a lot less busy than my undergrad for a number of reasons but me getting sidetracked into that is a whole other ask about grad school).

My first reason I started writing was that I had more time. I'd had the idea for the story for years; but, I finally had enough details that I was like "okay, now, I gotta write it" so I did. I'll say exactly what the final straw was when I actually get the series finished since it's a major spoiler.

My second reason probably didn't consciously occur to me at the time but is what I consider the most important reason I write and continue to write. I fundamentally want to write stories that make people's days better. It doesn't have to be anything big; I just really wanted to write the kind of story that people could get lost in for a few hours when they're scrolling through AO3 and looking for a distraction. I wanted to write something with happy endings.

Here's the more personal part. I really don't mean this in a sad way so please don't take it as such. However, when I started writing and posting, my dad had just died completely unexpectedly a few months earlier and right before I had to move cross country for masters. It was definitely a hard time (though I had friends and a good support network, again please don't worry--it was years ago now). But, writing then definitely helped me be in a positive happy attitude while thinking of plots and friendships in my favorite anime that always puts be in a better mood.

My point here is that while that was never the reason that I wrote, it's something I reflect on a lot for why fanfic can be such a positive force. Someone can have either the worst day ever, a mildly inconvenient day, or a perfectly fine day and still want distraction. To have a community with both writers and readers interested in the things you're interested in. To have a site where fic can be easily shared and for free. There's something just wonderful about that.

So, most of all, why I write: I want to show people that care about each other. I want to make someone's day better and often that day is mine.

That's really all there is to it.

#atfo #hq at hogwarts #cards #wwmeo

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harrylee94 · 3 years

Text

The Tournament - Chapter 11

You can find this on AO3!

Summary: They’d talked about being a knight, what it took to be one, how there was a code of honour that one had to uphold. Then they’d eventually led the conversation to what Din knew it was heading towards anyway; the Krayt Dragon. They’d talked about how this ‘upstart’ was ruining their name, besmirching the honour of the post of knight, and that he should be questioned at the earliest convenience. He didn’t even have a squire!

Notes: Time for the semi-finals guys!

Chapter 10

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“I’ll never yield to you!” - Din

The third day of the Tournament had gone almost agonisingly slowly for Din after that first joust, his mind constantly going back to the way the Krayt Dragon had held himself after the last lance. He’d seen the way he’d held his hand up to his face, he knew that they’d been injured, and then the melee after had been predominantly movements that would cause the least amount of stress on his body. Was he okay? How was his eye? Had the bout been harder for him that he was showing, or was it more than that?

And if it was who he suspected, would they be able to get the help and rest that they needed?

These questions had plagued him all day and for half of the night, thinking of a smile and sympathetic brown eyes that had never failed to comfort him in the past and wondering what life would be like without them. He dared not think his name in some backwards hope that it would keep him alive, but he’d taken a peek into the stables as he’d made his return to the keep.

He hadn’t spotted the stable hand, and while it was possible that the man had been working in one of the stalls, Din knew he would have heard a whistled tune if he had. The man had a talent for finding the joy in most things, or making some if it wasn’t there.

But if he truly was the Krayt Dragon, and if he’d been severely injured, then would he be able to find it again?

And then, just before dinner was due to begin, he had been approached by several knights. Really it had been more like he’d been cornered, but they’d been too polite to make it obvious, and he had to be too diplomatic to leave.

They’d talked about being a knight, what it took to be one, how there was a code of honour that one had to uphold. Then they’d eventually led the conversation to what Din knew it was heading towards anyway; the Krayt Dragon. They’d talked about how this ‘upstart’ was ruining their name, besmirching the honour of the post of knight, and that he should be questioned at the earliest convenience. He didn’t even have a squire!

Din had then asked them where, exactly, in the knight’s code it said that a knight needed a squire, or what style of fighting they used, or where the honour they so casually waved around said they could look down upon someone for showing kindness to others. They all fell silent after that, and Din had found some satisfaction in that, though not much.

Chasing sleep that night had been like trying to catch a cat; difficult, and painful when caught. His dreams were filled with images of things he feared the most in this Tournament, and when he awoke he murmured thanks to the stars and his ancestors that no one had been injured beyond repair. He had witnessed a truly horrific accident on a jousting field once, and this Trial had brought the memory back to the surface again.

No one had made any note of his tired appearance in the morning, but then they were all too diplomatic to bring it up, so he knew he looked like shit.

Now he was at the jousting field again, watching Greef’s back as he introduced the day.

This was to be the last day of the Tournament. The semi-final rounds would be occurring before the midday meal, and then, one both victors of those bouts had rested and eaten, the final would begin. Greef was busy explaining that to the crowd, which seemed to be even bigger than it ever had been before, but Din kept looking over at where the Krayt Dragon was expected to arrive.

“Patience, my Prince,” Saruk soothed, but even their words could not calm his thoughts entirely. “He will be along soon enough.”

He hummed in agreement, though his eyes wandered once again to the opening. The waiting was always the worst part of anything, and today it seemed to be the worst it had ever been.

“And now, in a match to determine our first finalist,” Greef said, riling the crowd’s excitement. “Our first contestant is as wrapped in mystery as he was on the day he first appeared. He’s made it through three days, defeated all his opponents with barely a scratch, and shown us that he has a heart of gold. Vode, put your hands together for the one and only Krayt Dragon!”

Din held his breath, the noise of the crowd fading into the background as he watched and waited.

The familiar form of a man in mismatched armour rode at a steady pace onto the field, just as he always did -- though a small handful of children followed him up until the rack of lances, which he did not -- and made his circle of the list. He held himself tall with no sign of injury, and as he came to a stop in front of him, he gave Din a bow with his fist over his heart.

The Prince couldn’t help but sigh in relief at the sight, pleased he was unharmed -- or at least appeared to be -- and couldn’t help but look him over to reassure himself that this was true. Gone were all the signs of tiredness, the slump to his shoulders, the slight angling of his body to protect his left side, now he looked fresh and ready to do battle.

He spent so long looking at the Krayt Dragon that he’d completely missed the introduction of their opponent, but he knew by the colours (and from the previous day’s jousts) that it was Ser Cho’pa of a House in the far regions of Mandalore. He was one of the knights that had politely cornered him the night before, and he wasn’t exactly leaning in his favour.

It was hard to lean in anyone’s favour when he knew what smile lay behind the dragon painted on that helm. Hoped he knew, anyway.

Introduction complete, he rose to do his usual warning, looking at each of them in turn before sending them to their starting positions.

One of the children who had come onto the field with the Krayt Dragon handed him his lance, and Din couldn’t help but admire the way he handled them. Children were the future, and to see them being treated with such respect made his heart stutter.

Mandokarla.

The joust itself was almost painful to watch this time, every shattered lance making him wince at the memory of the day before, his heart stuck in his throat, but they came to the end of the joust with no serious injury. When the Krayt Dragon dismounted for the melee, there was no limp or sign of distress, only a cool readiness for the fight ahead, while Ser Cho’pa just stormed forwards with anger in every step.

The knight’s anger made him telegraph his moves, allowing the Krayt Dragon to counter them easily, and eventually he made an easily avoidable mistake, which was taken full advantage of. In one swift move the knight was down on his back. The Krayt Dragon circled him, kicking his sword away, and waited, but the knight refused to yield and rolled away, drawing a knife from somewhere on his person.

The entire crowd quietened in shock.

“I’ll never yield to you!” the knight snarled, and he charged.

“Stop!” Din shouted, on his feet before he could think, but the Krayt Dragon had already dropped his sword and was grappling with the knight, the two of them struggling until the mystery contender managed to hit the knife from Ser Cho’pa’s hand.

Guards had already headed onto the field at this point, and they tackled the knight to the ground.

“Get off me!” he yelled as they pulled him back to his feet, now held between them with a firm hold. “I said unhand me you buffoons! I’m in the middle of-!”

“Ser Cho’pa,” Din said, bringing silence to the field. “Did you listen to me before we began this Tournament?”

“I… Yes, my prince,” the knight said, confusion in his voice.

“Were you listening to me before your joust today?”

“Yes, my Prince.”

“Were you?” Din asked. “Because if you had been then you would be able to tell me which rule you broke.”

“I… My Prince, I-”

“‘Blunted swords only’.” He turned to Greef. “I did state that quite clearly, did I not?”

“You did indeed, my Prince,” the man replied dutifully, and Din nodded at him in thanks.

“So, Ser Cho’pa, if you had truly been listening, then you would not have drawn a knife.”

The knight was silent.

“Krayt Dragon,” he said, turning to the other silent figure on the field, “if you would show me the blade he attempted to use?”

With a quick bow, the man bent to retrieve the blade and quickly held it up to him, handle extended. Their fingers didn’t so much as touch, but Din had to gather himself quickly as he examined the knife.

“This is sharp,” he said, holding it up to the light before holding it out for Saruk to take.

“My Prince, I can explain-”

“Ser Cho’pa,” Din interrupted, glaring down at the knight, “you are hereby disqualified from this Tournament. Through your blatant disregard of the rules, you have forfeited this round. Remove yourself from the Tourney grounds immediately.”

For a few moments, nothing happened, but then the knight pulled his arms from the guards’ grasp and headed for his horse, mounting and riding out of the field without another word. Din gave Saruk a look over his shoulder and they gave him a slight nod, waving to the guards and making a series of hand signals to double the guard.

Din sighed and turned to smile down at the Krayt Dragon, who, he noticed, had stepped between where the knight had once been and himself. It was a sure sign that this man would make a brilliant Protector.

“Krayt Dragon,” he said, his voice softer now as he smiled, “you have proven your worth once again, and you will advance to the final round. This will be your final Trial. Be sure to rest and prepare; it will take place three hours after midday.

The Krayt Dragon bowed with his fist over his heart again.

Greef stepped forwards as he rose, and Din stepped away, allowing his mother’s friend to take control of the situation once more.

“The Krayt Dragon, your first Tournament finalist!” he cried, and the crowd went wild cheering for him.

The man himself retrieved his horse’s reins and led the creature from the field after loosening the saddle and reins, as he had done after every joust, and gave the crowd a small nod as he headed towards the children who were waiting for him. As he had the day before, the mystery contestant spoke to them about something and patted one of them on the head before heading off, leaving the kids to flit amongst themselves before being chased away by the carpenters who were providing the lances.

Din sat himself down again and rubbed at his temple. This Tournament was supposed to bring out the best in the participants, and in some cases it had, but it only seemed to be bringing out the worst in others. He had seen no less than five knights lose their composure, and more besides act in ways that were dishonourable. For all that they had tried to frame the Krayt Dragon as the dishonourable one, it was they who were creating the bad name for the knights of the kingdom.

He hoped they could hold on to whatever dignity they had left for a few hours more, because, by the end of the day, after discovering who the man behind the armour was, they would have to come to terms with the fact that they had lost it entirely.

——————————————————————

Mando'a Translations:

Vode -- brothers/sisters/siblings

Mandokarla -- ‘the right stuff’; this person personifies what it means to be a Mandalroian.

Chapter 12

#writing #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian #medieval au #din djarin #greef karga #cobb vanth #dincobb

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se7enforse7en · 3 years

Text

NBTM | One — Nothing Like This

☾ synopsis : Love and tragedy has always had a way of being connected, that connection usually held by the red string of fate. A red string that destined two soulmates to be bound for eternity. No matter the circumstances, fate would tie two individuals to meet, to not disrupt their long awaited destiny. In the world of more than five billion people, the red string had made it’s mark plenty of times, going back to perhaps the start of it. The folktale disappeared into obscurity & into believer’s hearts. In the lives of fourteen individuals in the 21st century, their lives seem to be an unfinished puzzle. Some strangers, some friends. Some blissful, others tragic. All unaware of the soon-to-be outcome years in the making. They’ll find it to be entrancingly painful. The red string of fate wasn’t just pretty.

☾ pairing : jinyoung x fem!oc

☾ genre : drama, romance, angst ??

☾ warnings : strong language, rambling from an ass author (I had to), kinda ooc jinyoung, very much angst ur honor, e2l

☾ parts : one / two / three / four / five

HWAN JIHYE HAS NEVER FULLY LOVED COFFEE. She’s always detested the bitterness that came with the caffeine overload. However, she did favor the caramel that awaited her at the bottom. They blended almost perfectly. Yes, almost, and in the case of today, it’s an even truer statement. The barista that had continued to stare at her barely put in any caramel, much to her distaste. She’s not sure if he was that distracted or found her tip not plentiful enough. She had given him a short glare in annoyance but took the drink gladly. She was agitated about her specific taste and felt like continuing her day, rather than demand another drink be made. She wasn’t that petty. At least not today.

And now, she’s hesitantly drinking a barely sweet coffee whilst considering her schedule for the day.

Jihye barely ever has an uneventful day. As a long standing painter of Hwan Studios, she’s their resident artist. Her schedule consists of tactful meetings and whatnot, her stern demeanor present in every single one of them. Her hands are her tools, not her face. She begins to recount it in her head, her hand reaching for her phone in her expensive purse. It’s black exterior is soft as it’s insides are of smooth velvet. She finds it within seconds. There’s already dozens of notifications blowing up her phone, most of them being from numerous emails and a semi regrettable group chat. She also disliked and liked it. She didn’t like the constant messaging and nagging of her phone but it’s nice to text everyone for most. They’re part of a previous project’s team. She had essentially saved their project, which earned them all a bit of credit. She put a message or two amongst the hellhole of a cluttered group chat.

She figured she’d entertain the idea of being in their chat, seeing as they all could use some improvement on their own. She is conveniently too busy for trivial things they converse about, anyways. The initial project was introduced to her by a certain auburn haired stunt man. While not not extraordinary in it’s fruit, it has it’s beneficial product elsewhere.

Clearing it away, she goes directly to her calendar, a cumulative meeting of everything she’ll ever do. She’s punctual in her timing. Her brain is refreshed, suddenly noting that CEO Min wanted her to attend some meeting with an entertainment company. She remembers how she previously brushed it off with indifference, having been warned that they were no good. ‘Don’t work with them’ this and ‘They’re amateurs’ that. Both being from the head of the company, no less. She sighs, leaving it to be nothing else than a confusing statement. She sips on the not-so-sweet liquid. She savors the tiny bits of caramel her mouth musters from the flimsy straw. .

Next, would be the aggravating dinner she’d have with a CEO she could only describe as ‘crusty’. A friend of the blasted CEO, he is. She despises the usual ones. Y’know, the disgusting creeps who just happen to be greedy sons of bitches. But that would be a lesson she could eloquently describe to the higher ups when they actually give a damn about decency. “Damned pig” she huffs under her breath.

As she walks, her eyes become stuck to the screen. Her focus is completely on the very necessary schedule. It’s what completes her day and dictates it, but also what limits it. As a result, she barely looks ahead of herself, only a glance or two deemed possible for her mud-like eyes. She pays no attention to the pavement in front of her.

Opposite to her, his actions aren’t so different. His well done hair and expertly stylized outfit express his cleanliness, his position, even. He holds his phone in one hand and a blazing coffee in the other. His eyes are enraptured with the online conversation his screen displays. The fervent caffeinated liquid distracts him from the fair weather outside. If it were any other day, perhaps he’d pay more attention to it, the temperature usually more balanced than usual.

And as chance would have it, they both screech in shock at a certain feeling of wetness. Jihye drops her phone at the contact of a coffee, a scalding one at that. She seethes at the heat. It seeps through her once pristine, white blouse. It’s intensity practically burns part of her chest and stomach. Her body recoils as a reaction.

He groans at the glacial feeling, his skin suddenly cold. He had worn a blazer for his meeting, a black one. He looks down to see the dripping of coffee, colder coffee, that is. He finds it gross. He doesn’t want to waste a fairly nice blazer. Not being wet in the middle of the sidewalk is great, too. He meets the glare of the woman who he hears screech, an angry looking one at that. He groans at the look of things.

They’re both aggravated. Jihye can see the annoyance on his face, just as she’s sure he can detect hers. She sighs as her mind is ready to curse out an idiot who almost burned her. It would be nice, considering her day was subpar already. Alas, her basic manners kick in, reminding her that she hadn’t been looking where she was going. She admits how ironic it is whilst it’s just as irritating. She squints at his expression. She knows she had a good amount of responsibility in the situation, but she figures he’d at least try to apologize as a courtesy. He doesn’t.

She curses under her breath. People quickly looked at the sight of the scene, realizing an accident occurred. She wonders if people recognize her or him, thinking he has some kind of air about him. She waves it off as she bends down to pick up her now shattered phone. Her ears grasp the sounds of clicking cameras. “Tch.” She deeply breathes in, ready to sacrifice a percentage of her personal pride for the sake of manners and what will soon be on the internet. Her eyes study his face for a second.

She notes how he has a, well, raging bitch face. Perhaps it’s an angry expression his face takes on in the face of agitation, but she wouldn’t know that. She thinks of how his face is rather unique, looking more like a computer generated thing than someone’s face. She’s not sure if she means it as a compliment or not. He’s dressed expensively, too. His body is adorned of mostly black, his grey t-shirt serving as a contrast. His hair is nothing too special, despite it looking nice. Besides his looks seeming familiar and admittedly, good-looking, she still frowns with her irritation intact.

“Sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going. My mistake” she forces it out. She knows how robotic it sounds. It’s natural for it to seem like she’s a child who thinks they’re in the right.

“Mhm, me too. I’d be careful next time.” He sounds just as robotic, perhaps even more so than her. He keeps his consistent glare on his face before attaching his gaze upon the space behind Jihye, his feet moving faster than his face. He’s already past her as the anger bubbles within her. She didn’t expect him to sound sincere, but something just hit the nerve. Perhaps it being her own medicine is enough to snap something in her. Perhaps she hates the guy who seemed familiar. With the thought fresh in her mind, she clears her throat and does as he did. She urges her legs to continue their road to Hwan Studios. Begrudgingly so.

Jihye’s sure she’s giving the press even more reason to call her a stone cold bitch. Nothing says negativity like everyone giving her an annoyed look and she’s positive it’s because of her unchaining expression. She can control what she looks like and yet, she’s not about to appease the image of what idols have to maintain.

She steps into the large building, employees all around the fancy desks and elevators. She feels their gaze on her, mostly upon her tainted clothing. She’s almost impressed they’re not all giving her fearful gazes as usual. Being the scary looking just above them was something she’s finally accustomed to. However, within a moment’s notice, they all give a worrying look towards her expression. She wonders if she looks like some demon. Perhaps.

One of the clerks, Minhyung, nods towards her. He’s nervous as per usual, but finds it pertinent to alarm her of an announcement. “U-Uh, CEO Min is having t-the meeting on floor five today, M-Ms. Hwan.” He nearly shakes saying it. The others look at him in amazement and even bewilderment. His glasses cover the fear in his eyes.

“Thank you.” She doesn’t bother looking at him, knowing how jittery the poor boy is. He’s younger than her, a fact she’s reminded of, daily. He lets out a sigh of relief, letting his head fall back to his moniter’s gaze. Jihye continues her journey to what is now floor five. She ventures into one of the many sleek elevators, pressing the now illuminated button. The metallic walls remind her of her somewhat disheveled appearance. A stained blouse and angry expression are the first to come to mind. Her expensive clothing is second. The black pants and midnight-like blazer make her think of a certain...loneliness. It seems to suck her up, like a black hole of sorts. Even her black hair looks cold, no color to invite personality. “Hm,” she hums. She knows how bitchy she looks in black. She smirks for a moment, before letting it fall. An indifferent face replaces it, just in time for the elevator doors to open.

She walks out as the glamorously stale walls surround her. She’s seen them a million times. They exude the same sensation her closet usually brings, but with even more professionalism. Her heeled boots clack against the marble floor. The white tiles mix with the black walls, reminding the young Korean just how lifeless the decorations feel. She grabs the clear handles to the board room. She can't see through the clear doors all too well, the sun peeking through the windows. She squints as a result.

“Jihye! Finally, we can begin this meeting.” CEO Min, an older and fairly petit woman, greets her. Her hands are clasped together. A forced and albeit sweetly sickening smile sits on her face as she motions her hand for Jihye to sit.

Her eyes instantly widen in unison with the supposed guest, a familiar and rage inducing face. She frowns even more, if that was possible. His face scrunches up in slight disgust. Her eyes dance between the CEO and the young man. She mentally scoffs, curious of why god suddenly decided to make her day the worst with a pinch of shit. She warily saunters toward the leather chair, directly across from him. She glares at him. As does he, with even more hints of vexation. They both look to the very woman who arranged such a meeting.

“Jihye, I’d like to introduce who we’ll be doing our collaboration with. This is Park Jinyoung—“

“JYP Entertainment.” The words slide off her tongue with venom. She remembers quite clearly now. The exact company she had been warned of and directed to stay away from, none other by the woman sitting a few feet away from her. “Yes, you eloquently warned me of them, Mrs. Min.”

“‘Warned is a bit exaggerated’. I simply informed you of them.” She sweetly smiles at him, not exactly convincing him. “And this is Hwan Jihye, my—a beloved artist at Hwan Studios. She’s one of our best and oldest.”

She slightly winces at the last part, thinking it not at all pertinent. “You know, it would have been very insightful if you informed me of who I’d be working with, ma’am. Why a sudden collaboration when you can’t even notify your senior artist?” The hate in her voice made the older woman sigh. It even extends to the man, Jinyoung.

“Why keep two perfectly capable artists in the dark, Mrs. Min? Afraid one can’t compensate?” His tone is just as cold.

She can tell it’s a slight jab at her own abilities, despite not knowing the other. She rolls her eyes before focusing her attention on the target. “Of course not,” she laughs, in an obvious corner. “We just found it to be more of a lax way of telling you two about it.” Jihye finds it to be bullshit.

“And just what kind of collaboration is this? I won’t waste my time on something so trivial.”

“For a music video, er, album.”

“A what now?” She stuck her neck out a bit, shock written over her face. She’s no musical artist, nor is she about to be one.

“You cannot be serious. We never even ask—“

“Yes, you didn’t, but your company did. We reached a mutual decision. It would be quite beneficial if we had Jihye create art for the music video and perhaps some performances.” She says it so casually, it makes the two wonder why they’re even there.

“No.” Her words make CEO Min sigh, causing Jinyoung to raise an eyebrow. Even when agreeing, he found the tone a bit offensive. “I work with who I want and when I want. You didn’t do your job of presenting a tolerable client and what’s more, you expect me to join a project I don’t know anything about? Shall I do your job for you?” She spits anger out from her words as she stands up, her veins filled with agitation. “Mr. Park, we will not be collaborating on your group’s next album or music video, whatever it may be.” She gives a glare back to the supposed CEO, turning on her heels to get back to the elevator. She doesn't look back at their apologetic actions nor does she listen to their yelps of ‘Wait!’.

As Jihye disappears from his sight, Jinyoung whispers a little, “Tch” before rising in his own seat. He picks up his stained blazer from the table and turns to face the older woman. “Next time, pick a patient artist, Mrs. Min. Wouldn’t want your reputation to sink like this meeting.” He leaves the room, a flabbergasted woman paying him just about all the mind. He quickly takes the next elevator, his fingers massaging his own temple.

He’s had enough of shitty events one after the other. He’s not sure if he’s thankful for Hwan Jihye’s refusal or offended she’s so unable to work with him. It’s both insulting and interesting, for sure. He’d even admit that she initially caught some of his eye at first. He couldn’t deny that she has beautiful features, her style somewhat similar to his. Although, the appeal rapidly disappeared as reality hit him like a truck. His displeasure was fair, at least in his eyes. Her cold demeanor did nothing to her looks except diminish their entreaty. The apology had no sincerity and yes, he’s aware that the he’s a pot calling the kettle black.

He hurries home, wanting to simply wind down with a book he still needs to finish. Exquisite literature with a cup of tea has always been his saving grace when needed. He readily places his blazer in the laundry, meaning to do it later. He sits upon his bed and places his already made tea on his nightstand. He looks for the book, having remembered the cover was a bright green. His eyes can’t find it. He grows confused but his eyes do land on an unfamiliar one in the meantime.

He finds it to be like a storybook. Long in height and extravagant in looks. It has a black cover, one resembling the night sky. Gold letters spell out a phrase he can vaguely recognize.

“Not By The Moon?”

hi, if you read or checked this out, tysm !! sorry for lowkey ooc jinyoung 🙇🏽‍♀️ I’d rlly appreciate it if you could reblog or like this post. I’d love to hear what ppl think so a comment is awesome too. This is also a work of fiction and for entertainment purposes.

#got7 #got7 au #park jinyoung #jinyoung au #park jinyoung au #got7 fanfiction #jinyoung

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portals-to-a-new-world · 4 years

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Shattered Glass

Who?: John Kennex x Reader

What?: YN and John fight, forcing both of them to realize some truths neither were willing to admit.

Word Count: 4724

Warnings: Angst, Intrusive Thoughts, Self-Image Struggles, Portrayals of Depression and Anxiety, Language, Smut, Unprotected Sex (wrap it before you tap it, y’all), Semi-Public Sex, Fluff

A/n: Hey y’all! This started out as a therapy fic for me after I’d had a bad day at work and just sort of snowballed lol. I’d just like to reiterate that this has portrayals of negative self image and anxiety/depression so please don’t put yourself at risk if that’s going to trigger you. I’d like to give yet another shoutout to the absolutely brilliant @bakerstreethound, without whom this story couldn’t have happened. She kept me sane during the beginning and has been the bestest friend and partner anyone could ask for. Ace, I really don’t know what I’d do without you 💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜 Finally, I’m not tagging in this one, simply because I’m currently trying to work out a way to organize my tags so that people only get tagged in what they want to be :). Keep an eye out for a post soon with further details, peaches. Oh just one more thing, I’ve been seeing a lot of blogs having their works reposted on other sites without permission, and I’d like to establish here that I do not give anyone permission to repost my works. I’m on AO3 under the same username, but any other sites are not me.

Rough days were standard in your line of work. You'd think that after 3 years in the industry, the last 5 months of which being spent with your current employer, would have you used to the stress. Then again, you weren't sure anyone could get used to the bitch of a co-worker who was causing 80% of your issues. You were higher up in the company than her, but because she'd been with them longer, she seemed to think she could order you around. Going to your bosses achieved nothing, as she was apparently "invaluable" to the company, and didn't bother listening to them anyway. It wasn't a big deal at first, just one of those "ignore them, and they'll go away" situations, but as time progressed it got increasingly worse. Today you were forced to endure her screaming insults and ranting at you about a mistake your partner had made. Your day only seemed to get worse from there, and by the time you got off, you were about ready to blow a fuse. 4 bouts of road rage and a spilled coffee later, and you finally walked through the door to your apartment, slamming it shut behind you. John's head poked around the corner from the kitchen, noodles hanging from his lips. "Jesus. Is the door still standing?" He asked once he'd swallowed. You just huffed in response. He raised an eyebrow as you walked past without giving your usual greeting in the form of a kiss. "Hello to you, too, then." He mumbled. You waved your hand sarcastically over your shoulder.

"Hey," You said. John's concern was written all over his face as he followed you into the living room. He spoke as you plopped onto the couch, placing your head in your hands.

"I'd ask if you're okay, but clearly you're not so-"

"Sorry, Detective, but you must be losing your touch because I'm fine." You said, looking up to offer a strained smile, which was met with a skeptical eyebrow raise.

"Uh-huh, and Richard's being promoted to captain. Don't bullshit me, (Y/N/N). What's wrong?" He placed a hand on your shoulder as he finished. You shrugged it off and stood to your feet, ignoring the incredulous look on his face at your actions.

"I said I'm fine, John. Just let it go." You turned to walk away, but his hand shot out to grab ahold of your wrist. You tried to tug it free, which only served to draw him to his feet. He pinned your arm against his chest, pulling you in close. "Let me go." You said as you continued to struggle against him. Any other time you'd've found being pinned against such a handsome bastard incredibly sexy, in fact, that's probably why he did it in the first place. The notion was like throwing a match onto gasoline, igniting the rage that had been simmering under the surface into a full-on blaze.

"What the hell's gotten into you??" He demanded.

"I told you to fucking let it go, Kennex. In fact, you might as well go ahead and leave altogether, cause I'm not in the mood to fuck you tonight." He dropped your wrist as if scalded and took two steps back to search your face in angry disbelief before replying.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" You threw your hands in the air in exasperation.

"Oh, come on! I'm not stupid, John. There was never going to be anything serious between us. You're not capable of trusting, let alone loving, anyone after Anna, and even if you were, you'd never choose me." He opened his mouth to reply, but you cut him off. "No, you wouldn't. Put me in a line up with every woman you've ever been attracted to, and the differences are fucking painfully obvious." You took a deep breath before continuing. "I was not, and never will be, anything more to you than convenient, no matter how much I love you. Okay? So, you don't have to pretend to fucking care anymore, John."

"How dare you! I can't believe I'm standing here listening to this bullshit; matter of fact," He paused and gestured as if an idea just occurred to him. "I'm not going to!" He stormed over to his coat and yanked it off the counter before throwing it on. He stopped momentarily to look back at you, mouth open to speak before sighing roughly in frustration. "Fuck this." Without another word, he was going out your door, slamming it so hard behind him that the pictures on the wall fell and crashed on the floor. In a single moment, everything in you shattered like glass. You collapsed in a heap as sobs began to rip through your chest. It's for the best. He would have left eventually, anyway. Why would he want to stay with a useless, disgusting, pathetic thing like you? God, you can't even handle the basic stress of everyday problems, while he's out there still doing his job after everything he's been through. I mean, how weak can you be?? No matter how hard you tried, you couldn't stop the thoughts from invading your mind. Each one cut deeper than the last until you were numb. Eventually you stood to your feet, drained and feeling hopeless. Your body moved on autopilot, carrying you through your nightly routine and into bed. You slept in fits and starts, nightmares plaguing nearly every second. When your body finally gave in to the utter exhaustion, a tiny part of you had hoped that you would wake up to find it'd all been a dream. Most of you didn't want to wake up at all, though.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Unfortunately, neither part of you got its wish. You did indeed wake up, and you woke up to an empty bed. Your heart broke as you realized just how badly you'd fucked up. You didn't have time to dwell on your failures, though, as your phone was ringing, and upon answering, you discovered you were over an hour late for work. You shot up out of bed and quickly threw some clothes on, rushing through your morning essentials. As you stepped out of your front door, you looked up and saw dark storm clouds rolling in. You flipped through the radio in your car and found out that the storms were supposed to last through the rest of the week. At least the weather matched how you felt inside. Unsurprisingly, your problematic co-worker was standing ready to lay into you the moment you stepped through the doors. It took every ounce of what little strength you had left not to break down right then and there. By some stroke of luck, she was called away by your bosses, and you quickly took off to your desk. Your day was almost typical, until around 2 pm, your phone buzzed with an incoming text. Your heart stopped as you looked at the name on the screen. John. Your hands were shaking as you unlocked the phone to read the message.

Come by my place when you get off. We need to have a serious talk.

All of your fears came crashing down on you at once, punching through your chest like a bullet. You stumbled your way into the bathroom and latched onto the sink edge to anchor yourself. So this really was it. He was breaking up with you. Your hand flew up to press against your chest as the ache there blossomed into raw agony. At least he had the decency to do it in person. He could have just ghosted you. You continued to rub your chest as you typed out a simple 'okay' in response. A quick glance at the time revealed that you still had three hours left in your shift. You took a few deep breaths and splashed some cool water on your face. The last thing you needed was for someone to ask "what's wrong" and you end up breaking down in front of God and everyone. After you managed to calm down enough to return to your desk, time seemed to slow down, until the remaining three hours felt like twelve. You'd also discovered that you'd left your rain jacket at John's the last time you'd spent the night. Still, most of your body was numb by then anyway, so it didn't really matter as you stepped out into what had to be a freezing downpour at the end of your shift. In all honesty you were grateful for the numbness. You almost certainly would have never been able to drive had it not been for the near void that threatened to consume you as you drove through the crowded city. When you pulled up into the driveway, some of the emptiness cleared away, leaving panic in your chest and your whole body shivering as you sprinted to the door. You hardly registered John opening the door and pulling you inside. Your focus was locked on to the way his face moved while he spoke, committed to memorizing every detail while you still had the chance. Your gaze had fallen to his perfectly plump lips when you realized he was saying your name.

"Y/n, can you hear me, sweetheart?" You shook your head to clear some of the fog from your mind. Might as well get it over with.

"Yeah-" You cleared your throat. "Yeah, I can hear you. When do you wanna come by and get your stuff? Or would you rather me just drop it off here for you?" Confusion flooded his features as you finished.

"What are you talking about? Why would I need my stuff back?" Damn, was he so done with you that he didn't even want his stuff back? You dropped your eyes, knowing that you wouldn't be able to hold his gaze without breaking down completely.

"You're breaking up with me, right?" You cursed silently as tears began to stream down your face. Gentle fingers pressed up beneath your chin to tilt your face back up.

"You haven't listened to a word I've said, have you?" You didn't respond, too caught up in the softness of his eyes, and he didn't bother waiting for one anyway. "I said I shouldn't have walked out on you last night. I had some excuse about being tired, but the truth is I was afraid because you were right. I didn't think I would ever be able to love anyone again after Anna." Your heart clenched and the tears began to fall even harder as breathing became difficult. Had you been watching his face, you would have seen the heartache ooze across his features as he watched you break down in front of him. As it were, your gaze had fallen back to the floor, and you jumped when his hand moved up to cradle your face softly. "I was so pissed at myself, and at you for being right, that it wasn't until this morning when I woke up without you in my arms, and it hurt that I realized just how wrong we both had been. You're wrong about me never choosing you. You're smart and kind, and so beautiful you take my breath away when you walk into a room." You hiccupped and fell apart as you processed what he was saying to you. He rushed to pull you into his arms as your knees threatened to give out, and just held you until you could breathe again. He pulled back far enough to look you in the eyes before he continued speaking. "And I was wrong. Because I do love you, and I'm sorry it took me so long to figure that out." You gasped deeply and threw your arms around his neck.

"I'm so sorry too. I never should have taken out my frustrations about work on you."

"It's alright. Do you wanna talk about it?" Part of you still felt stupid about the reason for your outburst, but you felt so safe in his embrace that you found yourself nodding in affirmation. He placed a kiss on the top of your head and let you go. The sudden lack of his warmth sent shivers up your spine.

"Jesus. Why's it so cold in here?" You asked, rubbing your arms. He reached out and took your hand with a grin.

"Part of your surprise." He said with a wink. "Come on. I'll show you." You followed him around the corner and into the main room. You came to a stop as your eyes fell on the mounds of blankets and pillows arranged on the floor. He turned to look back when you stopped, and he seemed disappointed when you just looked at him in confusion. "You mentioned a while back that you loved the sound of the rain on the roof here. I'd figured-" He cringed slightly as he stumbled over his words. "Well, I mean I'd hoped-" He began to rub the back of his neck nervously before he continued. "I'd hoped that we'd be able to work things out, so I went ahead and got everything set up. Since they're calling for the storms to last for so long and all." Deciding to put him out of his misery, you stepped forward and pulled him down into a kiss. All the tension left his body as your lips connected, and you couldn't help but grin as you broke apart.

"I promise to not tell Dorian that you're secretly a big ol teddy bear who remembers tiny details about his girlfriend." You joked. John rolled his eyes, but still had a small smile on his face as he pulled you back in for another kiss. Despite his closeness, another chill ran down your spine, reminding you of your original query. "Doesn't explain why it's so flippin cold in here, though." He looked at you and gestured as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"It's a pillow fort. And you've got the internal body temperature of a small space heater. I'd really prefer to not sweat my ass off." He said. You bit your lip to hide your grin as you nodded gravely before replying.

"That would be a tragedy." He also was fighting a smirk as he slightly tilted his head in agreement.

"Exactly. My ass is a national treasure," He said. You giggled and let your smile finally breakthrough as he gestured in a 'come hither' motion. You began to worry your bottom lip between your teeth as you stepped forward. He reached over and pulled the soaking wet towel from your shoulders, surprise in his eyes as if something had just occurred to him. You stepped forward in concern as his eyes seemed to zone out and darken.

"John? What's wrong?" He seemed to snap out of his trance, and he cleared his throat before gesturing to your body.

"Your shirt. It's soaked. You're gonna catch a cold." You followed his gaze to your chest to discover that his eyes had not darkened in anger or frustration, but in lust. He was right, your shirt was absolutely dripping wet. It was also white. Ah.

"Would you prefer me to take it off?" You joked. A smirk emerged on his lips, sending a shudder through you that had nothing to do with the cold. He nodded and closed the distance between you.

"Purely in the interest of your health, of course," He said lowly. You tilted your head in mock defeat and began undoing the buttons of your shirt slowly.

"Well, I'm sure you know best, Detective." You barely made it half-way down the line before his lips were crashing into yours and his hands taking over to speed through the remaining buttons. He paused before he could push the garment off of your shoulders.

"Is this- I mean I don't want to assume- Or make you think I'm only after-" You cut him off with another kiss and shrugged out of the sleeves. He still seemed hesitant, right up until you nipped at his bottom lip. He huffed out a breathless growl before returning the favor, his hands landing on your bare waist to pull you into him. He swiped his tongue across your lip in a silent request for entrance, which you happily granted. Your hands moved to grip at his shoulders while his own began an exploration of your body, sliding up your spine and across your stomach before dropping from your skin entirely. You whined at the loss of contact, but he quickly made up for it by reaching down and pulling his shirt over his head. He leaned back down and placed a soft kiss on your lips. "Just making things even," He murmured against you. His hands found your hips as he led you to the center of the room without breaking the kiss, but it was his turn to grunt in surprise when you gently pushed him down on the pillows. "What-" He stopped when your hands moved to play with the clasp of your bra.

"We're not even yet, Detective." You said coyly. You barely got the garment off before he was tugging you down on top of him and into another breathtaking kiss. A moan escaped your lips as he nibbled your ear, trailing kisses down your neck. You brought a finger up to his mouth, stopping his assault. "We're not done yet, detective." You were smirking and trailing your hands across every bit of his skin you could reach, but you were partly just trying to hide the way you were trembling at having him so close. Another part was just reassuring itself that he was really there, not believing that he was finally truly yours, that you had the broken-hearted detective beneath you. It all felt like a dream until he ground up against you and whispered in your ear.

"Please, (Y/n)," He didn't even finish his sentence before you were climbing off of him to quickly remove your pants and underwear. He followed your lead and, to your surprise, pulled you back down on top of him once he'd finished. You uttered a whimper as he brushed up against your soaked folds, but it turned into a full-fledged whine as he slowly guided you down onto his length. He cursed and his eyes fluttered closed once he was fully sheathed inside you. You both took a moment to breathe and adjust to the sensation, and he finally looked at you when his hands began to guide your hips. "I love you." You leaned down to claim his lips again, tears threatening to fall at the words you'd never thought you'd hear him say.

"I love you too." You said, pulling back to meet his gaze once again. Such a small declaration, yet it made every movement, every touch, feel different. It was slow and passionate, so contrary to the fast and rough pace that was the norm with John. You couldn't bring yourself to look away from his deep hazel eyes, full of love and adoration, as you moved in perfect sync together. He rose with every fall, hitting so deep inside you that you knew you'd be feeling him for weeks. Your hips began to stutter as the sensations threatened to overwhelm you, and without missing a beat John flipped the two of you. A yelp escaped your kiss swollen lips as his nimble fingers slipped between the two of you to rub deliciously at your clit, and you could feel yourself rapidly approaching your orgasm. "John- please- don't stop!" He seemed more than happy to oblige, maneuvering to thrust impossibly deeper as his lips found your ear once again.

"You gonna cum for me, beautiful? I-" Whatever sweet nothing he had planned to say was choked off into a moan as your orgasm hit you. Your walls clamping down around him dragging him over the edge with you as he worked you through until you were whining with oversensitivity. He finally slid out of you and quickly retrieved a towel to clean you up. When he'd finished, he laid back down beside you and wrapped an arm around you, resting your head on his chest. You hummed in contentment as he began to stroke your hair, nearly drifting off before an idea occurred to you.

"John?" You mumbled against his chest.

"Yeah?"

"Do you still have any of that hot chocolate mix I gave you?" A small laugh rumbled in his chest as he responded.

"Yeah. You want some?" You lifted your head up to smile sweetly and nod your head.

"Yes, please!" John shook his head with a smile and placed a quick kiss to your temple before extracting himself from your embrace. You booed when he slid his boxers back on, earning another grin, this time accompanied by a wink before he headed off into the kitchen. Amongst the quiet, you finally registered the sounds of the rain still hammering against the building, the constant drumming a soothing backdrop to the cozy situation you found yourself in. You stood and slid back into your panties before moving to stand in front of the window. You also grabbed one of the blankets to protect against the chill that pervaded the air around the glass. Looking out, you could barely make out the disturbances the rain made to the surface of the water through the darkness, and yet you still found yourself mesmerized by the beauty of the view. You were drawn out of your reverie when John's voice sounded out behind you. "So, tell me about work. Is that woman causing problems again? What's her name, Kar-" He said as he entered the room. When his voice cut off you looked over your shoulder to find him staring at you with wonder in his eyes. You quickly looked out the window to see what he was staring at but couldn't spot anything particularly special.

"What are you looking at?" You asked, turning back right as he walked over to you. He didn't respond; instead, his hands found their way inside your blanket to grab your hips and push you back against the window. Mild panic set in before he finally spoke up. "John?"

"You're so beautiful." He said, dropping his head to kiss along your neck. You huffed in disbelief and reached up to push against his shoulders.

"You're crazy," Your pressing did little to dissuade him from his task, and you couldn't help but smile as he continued to mutter praises into your skin. "John," You chuckled as he continued to nuzzle into your neck. "Stop it, you're fogging up the glass," Your protests were growing half-hearted though, as his hands began to wander, and his lips trailed softly over your skin.

"And?" He questioned, pulling you back enough that your blanket fell to the floor before moving back forward so you were pressed against the icy cold glass. You yelped at the shock the temperature difference gave your system, trying to shove him back and pull him closer for warmth at the same time, both to no avail.

"I was enjoying the view," You said, breathlessly in a last-ditch attempt to persuade him. He pulled back to look you in the eyes before he responded.

"I've got a much better one right in front of me." His lips found yours and you melted against him. The kiss bordered on desperate, almost as if he was afraid you'd disappear. His hands left a trail of goosebumps behind as the heat of his skin emphasized the chill in the air, sliding up your arms and down your back before moving to play with the skin just beneath your waistband. A whine left you as he dipped his fingers inside to tease at your lips, sliding around and deftly avoiding everywhere you wanted him. Just as you were about to pull back and tell him to stop teasing, he thrust two fingers deep inside you, drawing a surprised gasp from you. "So wet for me," He mumbled against your lips as he began to thrust his fingers inside you. Each pass brushed up against your g spot until you were practically seeing stars and begging him for more. Suddenly, his fingers were gone, and you opened your eyes to find him licking your juices off of them. You let out a desperate whine.

"John, please, please fuck me." You said, reaching out to palm him through his boxers. His hand grabbed your wrist before you could touch him, though, and he spun you around.

"As the lady wishes." He leaned in and said against your ear. He reached down and pulled himself free from his boxers. John didn't bother to remove your own underwear, instead just sliding them to the side before slowly working his length inside you. You groaned in relief as he began to thrust slowly, pulling out and pushing back in to make sure you were ready. His cock dragged perfectly against every sensitive spot you had, sending pleasure shooting through your body and making your toes curl. Seeming satisfied with your preparedness he began to pick up his pace, hitting deeper inside you with every push. You yelped as his fingers found your nipples, tweaking and pulling on the sensitive buds as you moaned out his name. A hand left your skin and reached up to swipe across the glass, revealing your reflection. "Look. Do you see how fucking gorgeous you are? So beautiful, and mine." He nipped at the skin beneath your ear as his hand moved down your front to rub harsh circles on your clit. You threw your head back against his shoulder, eyes falling shut at the added sensation, but a sharp bite made them shoot open again. "Eyes open, baby girl. I want you to watch as I make you fall apart around me." Your eyes found his in the reflection, and you moaned at the way his pupils were blown wide with lust.

"Please, John, I need more-" You gasped deeply as his thrusts began to pick up speed, knocking you up onto your toes and forcing you to throw your hands up against the glass for support. Your reflection revealed how utterly wrecked you were, and the sight sent you flying over the edge with a scream of John's name. He buried his face in your neck as he continued to thrust, chasing his own release and prolonging yours as you gasped and sputtered, unable to form words thanks to the electric waves of pleasure flowing through you. Just when you thought you couldn't handle anymore, John's thrusts faltered, and he came with a deep groan. He rested his forehead on your shoulder as he waited for his breathing to return to normal, mumbling 'I love you's and pressing kisses into your heated skin. Out of nowhere tears began to flow down your cheeks, a quiet sob escaping you. John immediately noticed, and carefully pulled out of you before turning you around to run his hands over you in concern.

"(Y/n), what's wrong? I didn't hurt you, did I? I'm so sorry, sweetheart-" The panic in his voice made the tears come harder, and you struggled to voice what was happening.

"No, you didn't hurt me-" You hiccupped. "I just- don't deserve you." Confusion crossed his face as he processed what you were telling him.

"What? You-" He seemed to come to a decision, and he went and grabbed his phone, quickly pulling up the dial pad. "Here. Call your work and tell them you're taking the rest of the week off. If they ask why then tell them police business."

"What? John, I can't just-"

"You've got tons of time off saved up, right?" He cut you off, still holding the phone out.

"Well yes, but-"

"Then, by law, they can't stop you from taking it." You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, trying to control your breathing and stop the tears.

"Why are you doing this?" You asked, finally looking up at him.

"Because I want to spend the next 5 days showing you just how amazing you are." He said, so confident, so resolute, that you found yourself reaching out to grab the phone.

#john kennex x reader #kennex x reader #Angst #Intrusive Thoughts #Self-Image Struggles #Portrayals of Depression and Anxiety #Language #Unprotected Sex #Semi-Public Sex #Fluff

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evien-stark · 4 years

Text

✧I Need You✧ Chapter 124

The next morning came too soon. You were sure both you and Tony had been tossing and turning endlessly. Thinking. Not getting much sleep. At some point it might just have been advantageous to stop pretending you were trying to get rest and get up. But the two of you stayed. Until about four in the morning, when your phone started buzzing on the nightstand. Always a good sign.

Reaching over without sitting up, fighting through your bleary-eyed haze after having a fresh twenty minutes of sleep, you practically slapped the phone down over half your face as you answered, “Yes- good morning- this is the CEO of Stark Industries.”

Tony’s voice was just as much a croak as he held up a finger, “One of the CEOs.”

“-one of the two CEOs. As you know, since you called my personal phone, office hours are-”

“We don’t have time for this.” President Matthew Ellis’ blessed voice cut through the rest of your fog. You didn’t remember there being a national emergency as your team argued the night before, so hopefully this wasn’t too serious. “I need you to take a meeting today. In my office.”

“I’m booked, sir. Can you find your way here?”

“No.” And then he just hung up.

Sure, he was the President of the United States. Sure, he had the authority to make some demands of his citizens- though, you’d _really _have to remind him that he worked for you. Not the other way around. It seemed like more often these days he was forgetting. But… you weren’t just a private citizen, were you. And the relationship you’d seeded with him… technically, these days, you did a fair amount of work on his behalf.

Today seemed like it would be no different. He didn’t sound harried or upset, so maybe that was a good thing. But less good was that he didn’t want to spill it all over the phone. That was the exact sort of thing that spelled trouble.

Tony put an arm over his head. “What’s good ol’ Matthew up to today?” Knowing, probably, that was one of the only people you’d address as sir.

You breathed out a long sigh. “I have no idea. He wants me to come in.”

“Alone?”

“Didn’t say.”

“Mandatory?”

“I mean. I don’t think he’ll send a tank to come bring me to the White House in handcuffs. But…” It was absolutely unlikely he’d make a scene like that. Too much negative press.

“So he’s counting on your good will.”

Your smile was aggravated. “Yeah. Seems that way.”

Shifting his arm up just a couple of inches and turning his head your way, the two of you shared a long, quiet look through the semi-darkness. Then finally, “Well at least it’s not re-election year. Can’t be anything too crazy.” You couldn’t exactly see it, but you sensed his small quirk of a grin. He then reached over, fingers touching along your forehead in a gentle brush. “You want me to come with you?”

It would be easy to say yes, of course I do. And maybe you should have. But… the timing of this was all a little convenient. And as Tony had put it so many times, how often had it been the case since all of this had started that things were just coincidences? “I’ll be alright.” Whatever this meeting was, it was just that. A meeting. You could handle that.

Leaning up on his other arm, his hand came down, palming your cheek, turning you closer as he moved in so he could press a kiss to your lips. “I know you will.” Murmured after he backed off. “That wasn’t what I asked.”

Closer now, and as your eyes had adjusted by this point, you saw him a little more clearly. Just there in the space above you. “Stay here. I’ll go to DC and come back and tell you all about whatever it is.” Finalizing the decision. What a day. Getting on a jet to go to DC, take a meeting with the President and probably several others over some secret thing that couldn’t be discussed over the phone, and then getting back on a jet and coming home-

“That makes your afternoon booked. And we have a lovely meeting ahead of us I’m sure for the morning…” Moving a little further atop you, sliding in on his forearms aside your head. “What’s your evening looking like?”

“I’d have to look at my planner. Probably a little more Stark Industries skewed…” Lifting your arms, you wrapped them lightly around his neck, tilting up as his nose brushed yours.

“Why not just Stark skewed?” Humming the suggestive thought just over your lips.

The noise that rolled out of you was somehow equal parts agreeable and disagreeable. But only jokingly so as you said, “Asking me to put the CEO before the company?”

“Both CEOs, actually.” Grinning then.

“You’re more like a figurehead at this point.” Teasing him, unable to help just a light touch of giggles as his forehead pressed down against yours.

“Yeah? And you let that happen. In fact- you practically demanded.”

Your fingers moved up, touching up through the back of his hair, holding him close. “I don’t want to rule your empire alone.”

“Our empire.” Correcting you with just the barest touch of another kiss.

One you smiled into. “Mnhmn… ours… right. That’s why everything says Stark, and not-”

“I’ve said a thousand times by now. I know how to fix that. If you’d just let me.” A soft spark of a glow lit up between you. Probably a little too telling. But it was somehow better than the morning sun. Tony’s beautiful smile painted in your light. “Oh- is that a yes? Are you suddenly feeling differently-?” Cut off, though the followed noise of question continued as you quieted him with a kiss.

You couldn’t help yourself. The thought of a future unfettered by all this other nonsense- just you and Tony. Together. Like it felt like you were meant to be. It lit a spark in your heart. Reserved, obviously, only for him. When you tilted back, “The sun will be up soon.” The day would start, and with it the endless parade of bullshit that bothered the both of your lives. “Can I request-”

“Hmn. Anything.” Getting a little lost as one kiss turned into another into another…

“I’d like to bookend my day with Stark, if you don’t mind.”

“Which one?” Mouth quirked in a grin against your lips. “The man or the empire-”

“Tony Stark. If you please…”

His right hand eased down your side, fingers firm as they found your thigh, hoisting your leg high up against his side. “Oh I please.”

“Yes you do.” Said in a warm hitch of a happy gasp and a touch of delighted mutual smiles as he hiked your hips up further in his careful hands.

--------

After making the most of your personal time with Tony and a long shower, time was approaching to get to this random meeting Maria had called. You wondered if she would have done so had you not had the one previous about all this Fisk business. It must have depended on the severity of what she was about to say. ...and you also wondered if this had to do with the hundred or so emails Damage Control had been sending your way almost every week now. Most of them had been about staff- maybe… one or two about updates.

But that’s why you’d shifted her over. Because you trusted her to handle things like that. You hoped that hadn’t been a mistake.

For everyone’s benefit, you went out to get bagels, coffee, doughnuts, and a fruit platter. Maybe not a fancy breakfast for this makeshift meeting, but it would do. When you brought it all back up to the conference room your team had shared the night prior with Happy’s help, you saw Maria had taken over completely. She had a few members of her staff moving about in the semi-large room, talking over one another, going over papers, helping her set up projectors- several of which were already displaying information.

Steve was the first one actually there, and he must have asked if he could be of some use because he seemed to be stuck in the back corner with a stack of papers in his arms. As you set your small breakfast gatherings on the table nearest him, you offered him a small smile. “Good morning.”

“Morning.” He seemed at the very least amicable. If not a little tense for the meeting ahead.

You suddenly felt that way, too. You had no idea it was this intense. “Did you ask somebody if you could help one too many times?”

“That obvious?”

“Old trick. Give someone something to hold and tell them to stand in a dubious direction. Keeps you busy. And out of the way.”

He at least found the humor to grin. “Seems like there’s still a lot of corporate culture I have to learn.”

The team eventually started trickling in, accepting your meager breakfast offerings, and chatting with one another. Although more than one pair of eyes looked to you for answers, you felt a little overwhelmed- and without information. Not really the best place to be. But, as Tony strolled in last one to the meeting, Maria sent the rest of her staff out just as Tony was scrutinizing a chart on the wall closest to you.

“Thanks everyone for coming.” She settled her hands together behind her. “Obviously I don’t have to tell you everything we talk about stays in this room.”

Bruce made a sweeping glance around all the screens in the room. “This all seems… serious.”

She gave a brisk nod. “We were trying to keep it under wraps. Take control without the need for… intervention.”

A storm started brewing and you tipped your head up to see Tony scrolling through one of the screens. That was bad. Maria started talking but he spoke over her, holding a hand out to faintly wave and point at the same time. “Someone’s gonna want to restrain the big guy.”

Bruce looked up. “Me?”

Half turning, Tony readjusted his point. “Other big guy.”

And when his gaze landed on Thor, he sat back with a confused look, hand to his chest. “What have I done?”

Maria cleared her throat. “Stark. That’s enough.” He held her gaze for a long time before turning and taking a seat next to you. She sighed. “Well, now that we’re ahead…” Feeling a mix of discomfort and ire. “After the public fall of SHIELD- and with Hydra escaping out of every hole they could, they made off with some assets before anyone could stop them.”

Oh no. Oh no.

A chokehold took over the room. But everyone remained silent. Hoping for the best. Knowing that wasn’t what was about to happen, though.

Maria started pacing very slowly, pulling stats and graphs and pictures into flow on the various screens. “Most of these we’ve started to recover. But there’s one they’ve been moving around. Covering their trail on while trying to conduct experiments.”

“Let’s just cut to the chase.” Tony stared up at her. “SHIELD lost the scepter.”

The scepter- Loki’s scepter. The one that had been used to brainwash people. The one that had been brandished in malice. The one partly responsible for the attack on New York- It felt like someone elbowed you in the chest.

In fact… that feeling was shared across the room. None more so than Thor, who slammed his hands on the table and stood. “This is unacceptable.”

A clamor of nervous voices all rose up but Maria toppled them all, “I agree.” Loud but not shouting. “We’ve been trying to recover it for a while-”

Steve scoffed. “How long is a while?”

Tony crossed his arms. “More than a year.”

Steve practically boggled. Disappointment and anger were not too far off. “And when were you planning on telling us?”

Natasha offered herself up, though she probably shouldn’t have. “Seems like we’re being told right now.”

A thought struck across the group. Nat and Clint had remained silent, and their gazes were indicative. But Steve was the one to make the claim. “You knew about this.”

Sensing that this meeting was due to fall apart into a shouting match you spoke up, “We can’t do this right now. We can’t start pointing fingers. Okay. Let’s just- let’s just summarize here. SHIELD failed. And is still failing.” Wow. Big surprise. You looked up Maria’s way. “You can’t secure the scepter. So you need us to go get it.” That’s really what this was about.

Her smile was bitter. “Damage Control is no SHIELD. And it’s certainly not the Avengers.”

Thor stood. “When we obtain the scepter- again- I will take it off this planet. Your people cannot be trusted with it.”

Clint made a very dark noise. “Right. Who was it again that brought it here in the first place?”

Bristling, Thor leveled a glare, “I will not have you speak ill of-”

Both you and Steve spoke over each other, “Guys, stop.” “Knock it off.”

And then after sharing a glance, he let you speak. “We can’t start fighting with each other.” Because this was heading somewhere much different than differing team opinions. “We found it once, we can do it again. Right?” Looking both Tony and Bruce’s way.

They shared an almost… peculiar glance, but then Tony folded his arms. “Sure. We can bust out the old tools. Get a scan going.”

Bruce gave a nod. “Shouldn’t really be that hard… unless Hydra started covering the output signals. Which… having all the data, I imagine they might have.” Sensing he was about to lead everyone right into another debate, he held a hand up. “But that’s not a problem. Like you said. We did it once already.”

A settled air of resolve and maybe a slice of your own relief touched over the group. This was going to be okay. You could get all this back. Your team could do all this. Maria should have just told you sooner. But… that wasn’t the SHIELD way, was it. “If that’s all, we can start going over your data-”

She cut the group down yet again. “It isn’t.” And when all eyes went up her way she sighed. “Hydra have also made off with a fair amount of Chitauri samples.”

Bruce’s brows raised. “Samples? Of what?”

Dread pooled in your stomach. Along with a heavy, and perhaps earned, amount of guilt. Tony took over. “Bodies. Weapons. Anything that dropped in New York they could get their hands on. And nobody said a thing. If you can even imagine that. Difficult, I know. Definitely no priors to go on.” Sarcasm heavy with disdain. He was as tired as the rest of you were of this garbage.

Recent? This was recently? Or was it… something somebody covered up underneath your watch? You supposed the information was here to look at. The data. Dates. Things that would make it clear- ...clear that no matter when it happened…

It was your fault.

“I take full responsibility for this.” Resigned to your position.

“You shouldn’t.” It was quite a shock that both Tony and Maria said this. And when Tony put a heated look her way she nodded and then lowered her head. “SHIELD took down a few of your Damage Control trucks between warehouses. It was the wrong move. And we’re paying for it now.”

Then, suddenly, all eyes were on you.

SHIELD had stolen from you what you’d tried to clean up. And because of them, Hydra now had alien weaponry. Alien bodies. Who knew how much. Who knew what they were using them for. Nothing good. That was for sure. It sounded like this had been going on for a while. And while SHIELD had still been up, they’d kept it quiet. And no doubt they’d destroyed the information before it could even come out.

It wasn’t as if Maria had tried to bully her way onto head of Damage Control. But she sure hadn’t had to think about it long when you’d offered it to her.

“Okay.” You took a deep breath. What more could you do? What would getting mad about this do? You’d just sternly told the team in-fighting wouldn’t help. Getting mad at Maria… it was worthless.

Steve put a hand down on the table. “This is not okay.”

Tony arched a brow. “We’re in total agreement, then. This is nowhere near okay.” He was waiting. Waiting on you to give him some word… permission to be angry on your behalf. Permission to do anything about this.

But you couldn’t keep feeding into it. “It’s not. But let’s make a promise right here. This will be the last of SHIELD’s mistakes that we pay for.” Then you shook your head. “Getting angry about this won’t solve anything. All we can do is clean it up. We’ll get back the scepter. We’ll recover the stolen Chitauri samples. And maybe if we’re lucky we’ll root out the last of Hydra while we’re at it.” You glanced around the room. At your team. “Are we in agreement?”

Fighting about this would not fix it. Fixing it would fix it. So you had to move forward. You had to hold everyone together.

When firm murmurs of agreement came in you stood. “Good. Maria, put together personal comprehensive reports. I want them in everyone’s hands by the end of the day.”

She held her arms together. “You seem like you’re leaving. We could go over all of it right now.”

“I have a meeting to get to.” Aside that… in order to keep to your word, you needed to get out of here. And cool down.

Steve cast a slightly disappointed but curious look up your way. “More important than this?” Probably assuming it was Stark Industries related. And therefore, clearly, not as important.

All eyes were on you as most of the team seemed to agree with Steve’s sense of responsibility. What on earth could you have going on that was more important than getting back the scepter and stolen Chitauri parts?

You simply smiled at them. “I have to go speak with the President.”

“Oh.”

#Tony Stark #Tony Stark x Reader #INY Chapter One Hundred Twenty Four

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luckyspike · 5 years

Text

more GO fanfic because i can’t decide which colors of yarn to use for my next project

Crowley made it a point to visit Adam semi-regularly, about monthly, after the Nah-pocalypse. He justified it to himself by telling himself it was because he was making sure the kid kept his Hellish instincts in check, but that wasn’t really it, not if he really was honest with himself*.

* Which he rarely was.

Deep down, it was mostly because he actually liked the kid. And, well, there was a part of him that felt bad for him. Crowley had sprung into existence right at the Beginning, with a vague idea of identity but no real idea of what the Heaven was going on. But he’d been given orders - they all had - and he followed them for the most part. Until, well, until he hadn’t. Because, he had reflected, he really didn’t know what was going on, what was at stake, until it became abundantly obvious that just because you don’t know what’s going on doesn’t mean you ad-lib your way through until things seem alright**.

He couldn’t imagine being dropped into that suddenly, at the age of 11, so young and new and without any real concrete identity. Poor Adam. The kid had learned his true nature, learned the whole truth about Heaven and Hell and the Universe, about destiny and the Ineffable Plan, all in the space of 1 afternoon, and then rebuked all of it. Cast it aside.

Crowley felt, deep down somewhere, maybe where his soul had been once, that that wasn’t really fair. And that maybe, with enough gentle guidance and someone with ... if not a better idea of what on Earth was going on then at least experience making it up as you go, that he could help Adam avoid some nastier mistakes.

So he kept up with the kid. Once every month, give or take. They met at Anathema’s cottage, because while Adam’s inherent spiritual Teflon was probably enough to keep people from asking questions about the tall man in the sunglasses who visited on occasion, the safe ruse of visiting Newton and Anathema was less fraught with potential disaster. Nobody every really noticed the classic Bentley that was always parked outside.

“How old are you?” Adam asked one time. It was around his birthday, and it was clearly on his mind. “Like, really?”

Crowley hedged. “Uh, well. It’s - well, it’s tricky.” He glanced to Anathema and then back to Adam. Shrugged. “Hard to measure the bit before time got invented.”

“Huh.” Adam considered that. “Like, a long time before?” He nodded when the demon spread his hands, the universal gesture of ‘I don’t know’. “So you’re like the oldest person I know.”

Anathema chimed in. “Unless Aziraphale is -”

“Oh, right, Aziraphale!” Adam put his head to the side while he thought, and then sipped his lemonade. “Who came first, you or him?”

“I honestly don’t know, Adam,” Crowley admitted, staring into his coffee with an expression of consternation. “It was all muddled up in the beginning. Without time everything sort of - there wasn’t a first or a last or, you know, any kind of like, ah, linear measurement of whatever.” He saw Adam’s expression of confusion, and then shrugged. “Listen, the Beginning was really weird, there was a lot going on and then there was a lot of other things going on which were fairly, ah, hectic.” He stopped short of the Fall. Adam hadn’t asked about the Fall, and frankly wanted very little information about Hell. Crowley was more than happy to oblige.

“So how long have you known Aziraphale then?”

“About 6000 years.”

Anathema sat down next to Adam, and slid a half sandwich over to the kid on a plate. “And you really actually met in the Garden of Eden?”

“Well, technically on the wall around it, yeah.”

“Cool.” They had talked about Eden before, fairly early on. Adam had, gradually, been working his way through history by means of the memories of AJ Crowley. Crowley had found through the process that he didn’t really mind, actually, and honestly there was something gratifying about being told by a pre-teen that you’re pretty cool.

“Do you remember the date?” Anathema asked, startling Crowley enough to make him look up from his coffee, now cold. She was sipping her own drink, watching the demon over the rim of the cup.

“I - yeah. It was the seventh day, so on the calendar now it would be October 28.”

“So,” she said innocently, “your anniversary is in October. The 28th.” She pulled out her phone and - Crowley could only assume - put the date on her calendar. “I’ll send a card.” She raised an eyebrow and Adam watched, smirking, around a mouthful of sandwich. It was a game the two of them played, and Crowley had long since stopped groaning when it started. “Any plans?”

“It’s not really our anniversary. We don’t ah - well, there’s not really an anniversary so to speak that we, er.”

“My parents go out for dinner on their anniversary, and then maybe the movies or a play. Last year they rented a hotel room in London and made a whole weekend of it,” Adam contributed, once he’d finished his bite of sandwich. “I stayed with Brian.”

“Right, well -”

“You should go to America!” Adam continued, while Anathema covered her mouth with her hand. “See like, Mount Rushmore or like the Grand Canyon or whatever. People do that on their anniversary.”

“Why would they look at giant carved presidents on an anniversary?” Crowley asked, momentarily distracted.

“Who knows.” Adam shrugged. “Oh, or what about like, China, with the Great Wall, or Australia and the Great Barrier Reef, or what about a safari in Africa?”

“Been there, can’t swim, was around when the animals were Created,” Crowley responded to each in turn.

Anathema opened her mouth to say something - likely ask a question, she was always looking for information on some lost civilization or another, it was an interest of hers - but Adam continued with his suggestions. “Niagra Falls then. Or Everest. Or Japan?”

“Yeah, all very nice, but like I said we don’t really do anniversaries -”

“But you remember the date,” Anathema cut in.

“Well I mean it was fairly significant for other reasons -”

Adam scoffed. “So was my parents anniversary. They got married on the same day as all kinds of weird stuff in America happened, but they still celebrate theirs.”

Crowley tried to think of a way to explain to a soon-to-be-thirteen-year-old that after 6000 years, a single date on a calendar wasn’t necessarily as important. After all, which dates would you mark? The meeting date, the day they agreed on the Arrangement, the day Crowley saved Aziraphale from the French Revolution, the day Crowley saved Aziraphale from Nazis, the day -

He stopped that train of thought so abruptly Anathema and Adam might have heard the brakes. There was a trend there, and Crowley wasn’t sure how he felt about it.

“We just never have,” he said lamely, at length. Adam shrugged, and finished his sandwich, and Crowley breathed a sigh of relief. He knew that shrug. That was the ‘fine, whatever’ shrug. The shrug that meant, thank Whoever, that Adam was bored with that line of questioning, and would shortly begin another which would be, Crowley reasoned, vastly preferable to this one.

“Something to bear in mind,” Anathema said, though, before Adam could muster up another question. “Might be sweet.”

“I’m a demon, I don’t do ‘sweet’,” Crowley pointed out.

Adam took a gulp of his drink, and asked, “So what was King Arthur like?” and Crowley jumped on it like a drowning man on a raft, rambling on about round tables and wizards and prats in armor looking for Black Knights in a stupid bog somewhere in the middle of bloody nowhere, all the while trying very hard to not think any more about October 28.

Which did come.

Eventually.

Time has a way of doing that. Crowley still wasn’t sure how he felt about the invention of it.

He showed up to the bookshop on the 28th, just prior to closing or, more accurately, exactly at closing, since customarily Aziraphale generally decided to close whenever Crowley showed up. He waited for the angel to shoo the last stragglers out of the shop, pull the shades, and lock the doors. He poured himself some wine while he waited, and considered the calendar on the wall by the desk***. He was midway through the first planned glass of wine that evening when Aziraphale finally joined him, flopping into a chair and grabbing the already-poured glass Crowley had set out for him.

“Got a letter from Miss Device, today,” Aziraphale said without preamble. Crowley’s blood ran cold^. He held up an envelope, and paused at Crowley’s expression. “Are you alright?” The demon managed a nod. “Oh, you looked - anyway. Just a note, you know how she writes. So nice of her to keep in touch.”

“Yeah, really nice.”

“Oh! And she enclosed these.” From the envelope, he produced two tickets - tickets, Crowley realized, distantly, while the high-pitched whine of panic rang in his ears. She’d sent a card, she said she would, and he’d done nothing, as usual, and - “She said she bought them for her and Newton to spend a night in London, but he’s having car trouble again. I suppose she thought we might get some use out of them.”

“Oh? Oh. That’s alright then.” Crowley took a draught of wine and sank lower onto the sofa, relief emanating from every atom of his being. “What for?”

“Royal Shakespeare Company - they’re doing ‘As You Like It.’” He smiled, and Crowley raised an eyebrow, the better to keep his own smile at bay. “You always said you liked the funny ones.” He took a sip of his wine. “You don’t have plans tonight, do you?”

“Who me? Nah, never.” Crowley paused, and swirled his wine in his glass. “Tell you what - what do you say about, oh, I dunno, having dinner first, maybe the Ritz? Make a night out of it.” There was a silence, which Crowley generally was not in favor of, but it was comfortable, and filled with the soft warmth of the bookshop’s ambient noise and the bustling street outside. Aziraphale smiled, and took a sip of wine. “Sounds delightful, Crowley. But a bit convenient. There wouldn’t be any reason for this spontaneous evening, would there?”

Crowley did not panic. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t even break a sweat, just took a sip himself and answered, “It wouldn’t be spontaneous by definition then, would it?”

“No, I suppose not,” Aziraphale said, although he was grinning like anything. “Well, it’s a nice night for a little spontaneity. I’ll finish by drink, and then get my coat. Shall we walk?”

“We’ve got time.”

Aziraphale smiled and this time around, Crowley didn’t fight the urge to smile back.

** Although they still had, after a fashion.

*** It was from 1994, not that anybody cared.

^ Colder, anyway.

#good omens #i wish i didn't enjoy fanfiction so much #ineffable husbands #ineffable best buddies forever more like it

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resiliessence · 5 years

Text

Circumstantial

Well, almost one year later and here I am

Yet again with a semi-broken heart

But this time, it was not as evident, as direct

And in all honesty, I shouldn’t even be this affected by it

I ask myself what did I do wrong? Where did I go wrong?

Me and you, we had such an amazing friendship

I never managed to be this close to a guy ever before

And we got along so well, just fine

But everything changed when I switched jobs

It seems as if our friendship was only circumstantial

So that goes without saying

That it was not real, it was shallow and superficial

I really thought I made the right choices this time

I really was proud of building up something so beautiful and raw with you

And I thought you were proud, too

At least that’s what you let show

We were still talking for a few weeks or months after I left

But then, out of the blue, you just changed

You became cold and dry and distant as fuck

And every time we saw each other, you avoided me

As if we never met, as if we never knew each other

As if we never meant anything for each other

And to think you hated when people that were close acted distant in public

You are such a hypocrite

I came to think it was because of her

But seeing now that you broke up with her (or she broke up with you)

And silly me tried to contact you again, and you completely ignored me

I can see it all crystal clear now, that it was always you

It has always been you, men

Making us women feel special but then throwing us away when you see fit

When we aren’t as interesting or convenient anymore

Crushing our feelings into a million pieces

I only ask myself why

But I always understood what they say

That a man is always gonna do what a man wants

And I was so stupid and naive to think you didn’t mean to distance yourself

I was always justifying your stupid mistakes and stupid actions

Always thinking you were having a bad time, that you needed space

Or maybe you didn’t want to talk about it

I was always there for you, and you were never there for me

You only pretended to be

Everything you did was always pretending

And I should have known

I should have seen this one coming

Should have listened to my girls tell me that you were no good

I mean, why else would we even be so close when you were already taken?

Did I really think I was that different, that special?

When the first guy showed interest, however flawed, however wrong

I thought maybe I deserved it

Even though I knew I deserved better, way better, much better

And I still do, I sill have faith that one day I will learn

I will not be so needy as to believe any guy that offers me half comfort is the one for me

Because that’s what he did, everything he offered was aways half

Half of everything I always deserved

He never gave me 100%, even as friends

But the blame is not on him, it’s on me for always allowing it

It’s on me for keeping it going, however wrong I knew it was

Do I regret anything? Everything

I regret because I know I also led him on, but only because he was pushy

Only because I was so damn needy

Only because he would always complain about her 24/7, nonstop

And only because he was showing me a gentleman version of himself that he wasn’t

And silly me to think that such a nice guy deserved better

No he doesn’t, because that’s exactly what he deserves

And now I see everything crystal clear as to why we didn’t happen

Because I do not deserve you, and I never will, thank God

We had a great friendship that I was planning on keeping

But we lost it

Actually no, because you cannot lose what you never had

Lesson? Learned!

10.14.19

#resilience #resiliessence #love #hate #friendship #regret #needy #half #semi #broken #heart #pretend #circumstantial

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sparklyicecube · 5 years

Text

He’d be proud

This is my secret santa present for @maidenofbagend for the Harry Potter Secret Santa! It’s a prongsfoot fanfic that I hope you will enjoy!

“Why must this happen to meeeeeeeeee.”

“Well well, I never thought I’d see you on the bed contemplating life, if I might guess, wondering why you like a certain deer?”

Sirius threw a pillow at the person.

“Shut up Remus. I don’t have a crush on any deer, and it’s a stag not a deer.”

Remus smirked while Sirius’s eyes widened in realisation of his mistake and buried his face in his pillow.

“Oh come on, what is it this time?” Prodded Remus.

“You know, James has done so much for me, taking me in on holidays, pranking with me, being so kind and helpful…” Sirius trailed off.

“I wouldn’t be so quick to give him those last two compliments if I were you.”

“I just,” Sirius sighed, “I want to get him something nice for christmas.”

Remus laughed, it wasn’t often that Sirius let down his cool, smug-like demeanor to show weakness like this, and the fact that this was for his best friend made it even better.

“If it’s just about that I’m sure you can find something great. Remember, it has to come from the heart.” Reminded Remus.

The door flew open as James dramatically walked in, Remus rolled his eyes and Sirius laughed.

“I’m so sorry my dear Sirius but I do quite need Remus for as long as this activity takes.” Declared James.

Remus and Sirius looked at each other, Remus shrugged and got up from where he was sitting on the bed to follow James.

Sirius kept up his cool smirk until the door closed then threw the blankets over himself in an attempt to figure out how to cool his face down.

James on the other hand was in a similar situation, except he now had a reluctant ear for him to talk to.

“Remus I called him ‘dear’!” Wailed James as soon as he stepped out of earshot. Remus wondered why his two best friends were like this. “Remus, I need to get him the best present ever! But I don’t think he even really wants anything!”

Remus sat in a comfy chair in the Gryffindor common with his book that he managed to grab, James spread out on a couch, it was practically midnight and they could talk well without any peepers, as far as they cared at least.

“Remuuuuuuus.” James whined, “What do I get him for christmas?”

Remus’s eye twitched but he didn’t snap.

“I don’t know, why don’t you wrap yourself up in a bow and give him that?” Hinted Remus.

“Best friend status doesn’t carry that far.” James complained. Remus sighed, these two were going to need a lot of pushing to get an inch past ‘best friend status’.

He went back to reading his book before another whine came from the couch.

“Remus, I know me and Sirius are close, and I know I’m irresistible, and you’re helping me but… I think he has a crush on you.”

Remus froze and put his book down, James didn’t know all the nights that Sirius spent ranting about James’s messy hair, dorky glasses, the infuriating dance between him and James that kept them always within arms length, never more never less. However, James had a point, for someone who never knew what was said, who just knew the hours and that Sirius was dying to talk to Remus for some reason, it was quite likely that it could be true. But not in this case.

“Look, I think we both know that’s not true, and even if it were, that wouldn’t stop you from getting him a magnificent christmas present or be stressed about it, so let’s work on one thing at a time okay? Come on, let’s go to bed.”

“You haven’t done your transfiguration homework?” Asked James as he caught sight of Peter’s frantic writing.

“What’s another word for ‘this shows’?” Asked a very stressed Peter.

“Try using ‘this highlights’.” Suggested Remus, taking a bite of the very delicious-looking sandwich.

The four were sitting at the dining table, eating their breakfast and doing their homework and…

“Hey Padfoot, no matter how much you stare at my muffin I’m not giving it to you.” Teased James.

Sirius snapped out of his trance-like state, from staring not at the muffin but at a certain someone Remus observed. He quickly bounced back.

“That muffin? I was just wondering how you never get sick of the same muffin everyday, really, you’re going to turn into a muffin one day!”

“Hah!” Exclaimed James. “You’re saying that but in reality you think my muffin is awesome!” The two burst into laughter.

James leaned over to peep at what Peter was writing.

“Um, I don’t think Minnie wants an essay on changing pizzas into muffins…” Commented James.

“I can’t stand it! I can’t write this! I need food!” He cried.

“I can’t wait until the holidays!” James said, ignoring Peter shovelling food into his mouth. “You guys could come over!” Realised James perking up.

“As much as I’d like to, my mom would freak if I don’t go home.” Answered Sirius with a slightly downed tone.

“Then… send me an owl when you convince her, we could meet up a week before school maybe?”

“Remember, she infiltrates all the owls.” Pointed out Sirius semi-dejectedly.

At that point the bell rang and sent the four scrambling for their books and equipment and imminent doom.

“Cleaning the trophy room is boring.” Declared James.

“Yes but we were 10 minutes late to class.” Pointed out Remus.

“Why did Professor have to split up me and Sirius?” Protested James as he attempted to wipe off the dust on a glass cabinet.

“She had a point, as long as you two were together there’d be no way the detention would be properly carried out.” Remus pointed out.

“Well in that case… Remus I still have no idea what to get him for christmas!!!” James complained, “And not much time to get it!”

“Why not a mirror, so you can feed his big ego?” Suggested Remus.

“A mirror is boring… “

“A phone?”

“What’s a phone…”

“It’s something muggles use to communicate with each other.”

“But that’s a muggle thing…” James’s eyes suddenly lit up, as if struck by a lightning bolt of inspiration. “You’re brilliant Remus! If I get him a mirror that we can use to communicate then there’s no way his mom can take it from him right? All I have to do is make it so that the mirror reflects what the other mirror should be reflecting! And audio of course… You’re a genius!”

“Well when am I not?”

Would a genius push their two best friends, who clearly want to get together, off a cliff? Yes, yes they would. Should he? Yes, yes he should. Can he? No, unfortunately there are not enough cliffs in Hogwarts that are convenient to push people off, and there aren’t any books in Azkaban. Would a genius push together, not just anyone, but Sirius Black and James Potter? The two biggest idiots and pranksters on the planet? No. Definitely not. But he shall do it anyway.

A slight trip and push landed Sirius a spot in James’s arms. It didn't end there though, nothing the marauders did ended at just that, no, James caught him like a fairy tale and spun him around. ‘Where did the rose in James’s mouth come from?’ Questioned Remus in his head. They threw their heads up in a flourish and ended on a showy pose. James looked down for a split second only the other marauders could see from their front row seats and proceeded to drop his best friend on the floor of the great hall, for now their fellow students can go back eating their dinner in peace.

James blinked in surprise then profusely apologised. Sirius made a big show of spinning his head around dizzily.

“Remus, I think I have a headache, take me to Madame Pomfrey.” Sirius then grabbed onto Remus’s hand and pulled him along out of the hall.

“What are you-”

“Remus I can't take it…” Sirius sighed. “Not that close, not that intimate just not that, you know?” Sirius looked at Remus for confirmation, a longing in his eyes.

“Then tell him already for goodness sake! It’s not my place to confess for you, you know?” Remus said.

“I would but…” Sirius looked away, “I don't think he'll say yes.”

“On what basis?” Remus asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Remus, it's so obvious, he likes you.” Sirius stated sorrowfully.

Remus thought back to the time where James basically begged him to help woo Sirius, the time that Remus had to listen to an hour of ranting about Sirius’s amazing comebacks and so on, these two were crazy similar yet surprisingly dense to no one but the other.

“Look Sirius, even if he does for some insane reason have a crush on me, I’d turn him down.” Remus deadpanned. Sirius stared at him.

“What?”

“Well yeah, I don't have any feelings for James and there is someone right beside me who’d be perfect for him.” Remus nudged him with his elbow playfully.

“Thanks.” The two started walking back to the great hall. “You know I’m thinking a scrapbook…”

As they ate dinner Remus thought of possible date ideas, library? They would never. Picnic? Not grand enough. Astronomy tower? Too cramped. Now Remus was starting to reconsider the idea of pushing the two off a cliff, maybe into the lake would be more feasible. Wait, this year they can finally go to Hogsmeade! And Remus knows for a fact that the two have the signatures ready so…

“So, The trip to Hogsmeade is coming up soon, where do you two want to go first?” Asked Remus.

“I don’t know, oh! They said that they have a joke shop! Let’s all go and get materials!” Exclaimed James.

“What about the Three Broomsticks? We can all go-” Started Sirius.

“Actually,” Remus cut in, swinging his arm onto Peter’s shoulder. “Me and Peter have plans for Hogsmeade.” Said Remus calmly.

“We do?” Asked Peter blankly.

“Remember? We have some christmas shopping to do, alone.” Emphasized Remus. James and Sirius shared a mildly suspicious look.

“Better get us amazing presents!” Teased Sirius.

James and Sirius walked into the Three Broomsticks in awe, Hogsmeade was truly magical, even to those who had grew up in it. They snagged a comfy little table, they saw some of their fellow students but when they looked like they might come over they seemed to change their minds. The two were good at keeping up appearances but on the inside both were freaking out, it was so obvious that this was meant to be a cute little date for the two but they had danced this ‘best friend’ dance for so long that it was hard to step out.

“So, how is life?” Asked Sirius in a joking way, putting his face to rest on top of his palm, propping himself up.

“Well,” Began James, mimicking Sirius’s pose. “How is the most handsome person in the world?” The pickup line had been set in place, ready for Sirius to ping-pong it back but…

“Amazing, thanks for asking.” Replied Sirius coolly, making a mental note to try and quell the butterflies in his stomach.

They both laughed for a bit before discussing about a bit of light quidditch then lapsing into awkward silence.

“So… Remus and Peter went christmas shopping huh?”

“Yeah… On that note, have you gotten my gift yet?”

James had a look of terror on his face before replying: “All done and wrapped in time for christmas.” He boasted gleefully. “What about you?”

“You really think you’d be done before me? I finished ages ago.” Sirius inwardly panicked, he had started the scrapbook but it was only half-done.

“That sure is convincing.” James pointed out before bursting into laughter with Sirius.

“Are you sure about this Remus?” Asked Peter. The two of them were under James’s very handy invisibility cloak, Remus was watching James and Sirius walk into the restaurant. Remus finally explained everything to Peter (who was legitimately

unaware of everything that was happening) and made sure their unofficial date was a success. He managed to hand all the other students notes saying to keep away from the two, and was monitoring them.

“Yes. Not really but if I don’t do this now I will have to live more of this nonsense before christmas official comes.”

“Is that their new strawberry cheesecake crumpet?!” Asked Peter, dashing out, pulling off their invisibility cloak off. It was quite dark so not many noticed it but Sirius saw him and immediately made a beeline for him, almost spilling with news. James also got up and started going towards him and Remus panicked.

Remus grabbed Sirius’s hand and with some quick maneuvering managed to get it in James’s, carrying with the momentum a twirl.

“Take Sirius, dance with him, kiss him and shut him up please.” Pleaded Remus.

James looked into Sirius’s grey eyes, Sirius into James’s hazel. The bulk of the restaurant was watching. The moment stretched out and instead of dropping Sirius like the incident before (he is never going to live that down) James pulled Sirius up to connect their lips.

The entire restaurant was clapping and hooting and many stood up to give a standing ovation. There were fireworks in the background and this was truly where the both of them belonged, in the middle of a crowd right next to each other.

James hefted Sirius to his feet and they both had huge arching smiles that haven’t been seen for forever. Remus joined them as they started towards the door.

“Did something happen?” Asked Peter, sprinting to catch up with them.

The Marauders laughed and headed back towards the big castle of Hogwarts.

“Come on.” Whined James. “Your parents won’t allow you to be away on christmas, neither will yours or yours or mine!” Gesturing to all the Marauders. “And I want to see your faces when you open my presents!”

“He holds a valid point.” Noted Sirius.

“Just Marauder presents though, I am opening all of my other presents on christmas day itself.” Finalised Remus.

The other three nodded with so much enthusiasm that Remus couldn’t help to laugh.

They started opening their presents, shouting with glee.

“A mirror?” Said Sirius quizzically, then immediately started posing in front of it.

“Nope! That’s what you think but actually, you see in this mirror what you are supposed to be seeing in the other.” Explained James with pride.

“We can see each other even when my mother doesn’t want me to!” Squealed Sirius, grabbing James and pulling him into a kiss, which, has been a regular occurrence ever since that date.

“Open mine now.” Said Sirius with excitement, passing the parcel over.

“Is this a… scrapbook?” Asked James.

“Yep! I added as many photos as I could, especially the embarrassing ones!” They spent all night looking through the book, even when the Head Prefect told them that some people needed to sleep. The four of them went home that year with the biggest smiles ever and constantly laughing, two of them with a newfound relationship and happiness.

“I remember that, you gave me and James ‘portable fans’.”

“Yep, a very good decision if you ask me.”

“What was it you said? Oh yes. ‘The next time either of you say ‘I’m so hot’ there is a fan right there.’ Very sassy.”

The two looked wistfully out of Sirius’s window.

“Do you think Harry is going to have a christmas as good as that?”

“Well if Molly gets ahold of him I guarantee you he will, and as long as you are around I’m sure he will also be happy, Sirius.” Sirius smiled sadly.

“I miss him.”

“There isn’t a soul who doesn’t.”

“Death Eaters?”

“They don’t have souls.” The two laughed slightly, not nearly as full or as carefree as they were when they were thirteen but when you are both scarred, scared and in the middle of a war, that is good enough.

“Well I’ve got to go, Nymphadora is expecting me soon.”

“Doesn’t she hate people calling her that?”

“Your point?”

“James would be proud.” Remus gave Sirius a tired smile.

Sirius sat in his room, it was decorated with red and gold, quidditch posters and so on, yes. James would be proud.

#mine #fanfiction #fanfic #harry potter #james potter #sirius black #remus lupin #peter petigrew #prongsfoot #slight angst #but mostly fluff #fluff

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vmheadquarters · 6 years

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Twelve years ago today, UPN (RIP!) premiered a cult-classic neo-noir about murder, class warfare, sexual assault, and forbidden love. It was quippy and campy and smart as hell—and it just happened to center on a pint-sized blonde who looked like a cheerleader but thought like Sherlock Holmes. The show was Veronica Mars, and even if the last decade has muddled its legacy with a much-hyped but ultimately disappointing fan-funded follow-up film and, of course, the extremely meh third season, the high school years remain an unparalleled success. Veronica Mars seasons one and two were better than anything that had come before, far surpassed its competition in quality, and set a high bar for future shows that has only barely been met by a few episodes of television here and there. So give my regards to Friday Night Lights (a family show, not a teen show) and Degrassi (please), but Veronica Mars is the best teen show of all time*.

1. Nuanced Class Conflict

Gossip Girl and The OC did it well, but Veronica Mars did it better. Even though Neptune, CA, is technically fictional, it's as real a place as has ever been portrayed on television. Its particular problems and reputation informed everything from law enforcement (the question of whether or not to incorporate the town into a city and make the sheriff's office into a police department) to the biker gangs riding through on their way up and down the PCH. The levels of privilege/lack thereof were so nuanced and specific. Other shows divide people into the Haves and the Have Nots; on Veronica Mars, everyone has something a little different. At the bottom of the socioeconomic ladder is Weevil, whose background is not only impoverished but criminal; the only community he can "afford" is a gang (though his crew isn't all bad—you'll find nary a broad stroke or generalization in the world of Veronica Mars). In the center of things are Veronica and Keith, who lived comfortably when Keith was sheriff, but have buckled their belts since he became a private eye. On the one hand, they own a small business! On the other, they live in a pretty crap apartment complex and have nowhere near enough saved to send Veronica to college. Then there's the nouveau-riche Echolls', who have all the glamorous trappings of wealth (cars, booze, mansion) and pretty much none of the cultural capital. At the top of the heap are the Kanes; while the Echolls' have enough money to "get away" with murder, the Kanes have enough money to get away with it, cover it up, frame someone else for it, and get the sheriff fired for looking into it. Money problems are basically the least-juicy of TV plots, but by using wealth disparity as a way to develop the characters, essentially building it into the DNA of the show, Veronica Mars created a TV universe just as interesting and complicated as that of Friday Night Lights or Parks and Recreation.

2. Lianne Mars

A girl with a missing mom is a fairy tale trope as old as time, rooted in a deification-of-the-female version of misogyny that I don't have time to get into right now. Suffice it to say, a dead or absentee mother is usually a sign of lazy writing. It's a way to reduce the character count and set a heroine adrift while, not coincidentally, making it so the (usually male) writer doesn't have to think of what a grown woman would think or talk or act like. At first, this is the fate of Veronica's mother, Lianne Mars. She was just conveniently...gone, another casualty of the fallout from the Lilly Kane murder investigation. Her absence lets Veronica be angsty and ill-supervised even as Keith Mars entered the canon of Bestest TV Dads of All Time (which he is! Love Keith forever and ever). But then she came back, with baggage, and the trope was, if not redeemed, at least put to good use. Lianne is an alcoholic who couldn't deal with the disappointing turns life took, and she finally cracked when her husband ran directly into conflict with her lost love Jake Kane, for whom she still pined. Even when she decides she wants to be a mom again, she can't quit being an alcoholic. And as heartbreaking as it is to watch Veronica play the parent, it's also a moment of growth. Veronica realizes—or rather, decides—that she isn't doomed to repeat her mother's mistakes. She is a stronger, better person than Lianne. A person big enough to love her flawed mother, even strong enough to forgive her. In the third episode, Veronica says, "The hero is the one that stays, and the villain is the one that splits." By the end of the series, Veronica has learned what true villainy looks like, and it ain't her mom. Showrunners, take note: This is how you do a realistic redemption story.

3. The Guest Stars and Bit Players

The casting department at Veronica Mars did flawless work. Obviously, the core cast is great, but the semi-regulars and guests are also amazing. There's an entire season devoted to Steve fucking Guttenberg. Lisa Rinna and Harry Hamlin play the negaverse versions of themselves. Ryan Hansen and Ken Marino do their Ryan Hansen/Ken Marino Shtick, and why shouldn't they? Max Greenfield (a.k.a. Schmidt on New Girl) and Tessa Thompson (from Dear White People and Creed) both had recurring roles long before they were famous, and even Tina Majorino (Mac) and Michael Muhney (Lamb), who didn't really "break out" in a major way after the show, are perfect in their roles. The second (SECOND) IMDb credit for one Jessica Chastain is an episode of Veronica Mars, and of course, Leighton Meester appears in two episodes. Yes, there are other teen shows that feature young actors who went on to bigger, better things, but I maintain that Veronica Mars is notable for encouraging real actors to do real work.

4. The Mysteries Were Smart AF

The show trusted its audience to keep up and pay attention. Maybe even a little too much. In the era before binge-watching and old episodes being able on demand, Veronica Mars suffered from the same issue that plagues the first few seasons of The X Files: Viewers who weren't "caught up" on the season-long mystery arc found it difficult to get into. VM had low ratings throughout its run, and when it used the shift from high school to college to introduce shorter, quicker mysteries, well, we all know how season three went. But looking back, it's clear that the show was ahead of its time, telling smart, twist-y weekly stories while teasing out a longer mystery that deeply impacted the main characters' lives. (Can't you just imagine how they'd advertise the show now? Moody teaser trailers with the tag line "Who Killed Lilly Kane?" and fansites and podcasts devoted to all the clues and hints and easter eggs from every episode?) There are other teen mystery/crime-fighter shows, sure, but they tend to put their characters in immediate peril, which makes the audience ask, "What's going to happen?" Instead, Veronica Mars is an intellectual exercise, evidence and theory based, and the question becomes, "What has already happened, and what does it mean?" That's the kind of meaty writing that inspires, if not legions of fans, a loyal audience to sing its praises. Veronica Mars was so smart it was niche. I'm not making a case for VM as overlooked prestige television, but then again I totally am. WHY didn't it win any Emmys?

5. They Didn't Explain Every Little Thing

See: above "trusting the audience smartness" factor. They didn't explain why sleeping with a "consenting" teenager is still wrong, or why Logan and Veronica went from adversaries to lovers in the space of like, a week, or why money equals power. They got that the audience got it. So, the exact opposite of a show like, say, Secret Life of the American Teenager. There were episodes that touched on privilege and entitlement and infidelity and the abuse of power by law enforcement, but it was subtle and real instead of, you know...Degrassi.

6. The Humor

It wasn't dark and humorous, it was darkly humorous and humorously dark. (Think combining the creepy weirdness of Twin Peaks with the banter of Moonlighting.) Logan's poignant answering machine messages, Veronica's epic takedowns, even Lamb got to be withering and snarky while he systematically fucked over the whole town.The humor kept us invested even when stories dipped into sentimental, Dawson's Creek-esque territory and deflected the romance-y moments that might have turned it into a mystery-style Felicity. Veronica's and Logan's jokes, in particular, also serve a psychological purpose: mask their pain at any cost. Unlike in Gilmore Girls, where every character speaks like a hyper-intelligent stand-up comic and not at all like a teenager or real human being, Veronica and the residents of Neptune make comments that feel true to their characters and relevant to their circumstances. If you watched any episode of Scream Queens and thought, "I guess they're trying to imitate...Scream? Heathers? Clueless? With the smart/bitchy blondes and the snappy comebacks and the eye rolls?" I understand. But actually, they were trying (and failing. Hard.) to do Veronica Mars. Smart sassy cute mean heart of gold flirty clever repartee? Yeah, that's Veronica Mars, and Ryan Murphy, bless his soul, is not Rob Thomas.

7. The Rape Plot(s)

From the very first episode when, in a flashback, golden-haired, white dress-clad Veronica walks, almost in a stupor (have you ever seen a more "perfect" victim?) into the sheriff's office to tell Lamb that she was raped—because she is a good girl and good girls go to the authorities—only to have him, basically, shrug it off, rape and sexual assault were core themes of the show, central to its purpose and story engine. Creator Rob Thomas initially envisioned the story as a YA novel with a male protagonist, and changing the lead's gender to female is arguably the best and most important decision he ever made. Veronica's sexuality is everything. How she flirts her way out of scrapes, plays innocent when it can help her, distrusts it when she's attracted to the "wrong" person, is allowed to enjoy it with Logan and, of course, how her virginity was taken from her one night she can't quite remember. The show takes Veronica's rape seriously as not just a plot point or easy motivation, but as a defining part of her character. She cleans obsessively and looks over her shoulder. She's sensitive to the potential aggressors—and victims—at her school. She knows that her rapist was someone she knew, and she has to live with that mystery every day. But it's complicated. That night she can't remember might have been semi-consensual, but then we learn, no it wasn't. Yes, there's a story about a false rape accusation (against Adam Scott!), but the truth only makes the situation murkier. And in an unfortunately rare move, Veronica Mars also depicts the aftermath of the sexual abuse of boys, including an exploration of how the stigma against male assault survivors re-traumatizes them. (The third season is, in my opinion, a missed opportunity to tackle the campus rape epidemic. By blaming the rapes on a psychological experiment gone awry, the show unfortunately ignores the fact that toxic masculinity isn't a role-playing aberration but a pervasive national issue. But its heart is in the right place, if not its logic.)

8. Veronica

Choker-wearing, dog-owning, private-detectiving blonde badass Veronica Mars. She's most often compared to Buffy, that other crime-fighting cutie with a ragtag army of friends and a ne'er do well love interest, and the comparison is apt. Both possess skills their peers do not and use those skills to solve problems both thrust upon them and sought. But the difference is that in the space that Buffy uses to explore the supernatural, Veronica Mars plays with loyalty and ethics. Is it wrong to snitch on your friends? Is a rumor evidence? Can you break the law to serve a higher good? These are issues Buffy doesn't wrestle with; it's pretty much a given that evil vampires are worth defeating (yes, there are definitely instances when Buffy is tested because she's fallen for a vamp or one of her friends is possessed or whatever, but that's not like, the thing of the show). And while so many other "outsider/observer/new kid" teen show protagonists (Ryan, Dan, Dawson, Lindsay Weir) long to get "in," Veronica's been there. She's been popular, and (a little) wealthy. She's not exploring a new world, she's re-learning her old one. In that she has more in common with Angela Chase, but way less whiny. You watch My So-Called Life and think, I'm totally Angela. You watch VMand think, I wish I were Veronica. When people talk about the strong but vulnerable but smart but flawed but cool but real but beautiful but relatable but empowered but conflicted but modern but iconic but a good role model but not unattainable with a job not defined by that job "interesting" female characters on television, a few names tend to come up again and again: Carrie, Murphy, Ally, Roseanne, Olivia, Dana. To that (very white!) pantheon I humbly submit: Veronica.

*....except for Freaks and Geeks.

#veronica mars

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jacereviews · 5 years

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Review: Young Justice (Season 1)

Cartoon

When I was a child, the in thing as far as superhero cartoons was Teen Titans. Years after its cancellation, the show Young Justice appeared to try to fill its shoes, however by the time it came out my interest in cartoons had waded. Alas on the dawn of the third season, a friend of mine suggested watching through it, and here we are. From 2010 to 2012, Young Justice season 1. Let’s Rock.

PLOT: We start off following the sidekicks Robin, Aqualad, Kid Flash, and Speedy, who are to be officially inducted into the Justice League. However, rather than full access they’re given second class status. To prove their worth they strike out on their own, and come to find a facility creating a Superman clone. After freeing the clone the Justice League decides to give them a bit of recognition, allowing them to form their own team. The show follows this team and their adventures, especially as they get tangled up with the conspiracy that created the Superman clone. After the two part first episode, most of the episodes follow a similar formula. Bad guy does thing, our main cast steps in and saves the day, and at the end we see a line of monitors talking about how their plan is still in motion. Over time the plot slowly advances and our lead cast grows their team. The problem I have with this is that it’s formulaic and can be very fatty. Episode 18 “Secrets” for example, is entirely pointless. It doesn’t connect to the plot or develop characters, and has one of the stupidest villains I’ve seen to boot. A lot of the show could’ve used more creativity or innovation, or just allowed plots to be more than one episode for more flesh. While it rarely had “bad” episodes, it didn’t have many great ones. Tried and true plots can do with some more spice. A lot of times due to the limited nature of the episodes things just get solved by convenience, this felt especially egregious. Speaking of, the season finale, while climactic, lacks much resolution. The series however was good with foreshadowing, a lot of small details early on that felt a bit weird were turned into full points later on, much to my surprise. There’s a good amounts of secrets and twists, but like the main villains of the show, they’re pretty crammed into the second half. As far as humor goes, the show’s decently funny. It has one of my favorite running gags in a cartoon.

5/10, while solid and effective, this series could definitely have used some creativity and ambition.

CHARACTERS: As with most cartoons, the burden of the series is put on characters rather than plot. In that regard it’s hit or miss. Most of the characters have some pretty solid bases but have some problems in execution. Robin is pretty solid the whole way through, the 13 year old Dick Grayson’s one of the more level headed team members, though can be immature and picked up some batmanisms. Aqualad was a personal favorite of mine. He became the team leader because of his calm consideration and responsible nature. He’s not perfect, but he had a warm charm to him. Kid Flash quickly became the comic relief, sometimes his incompetence got overbearing, and his love triangle antics could be grating but was rather likeable. Superboy was probably the character I had the most problems with, somehow edgier than Shadow the Hedgehog, there were too many “Superboy loses himself in a rage” moments. For as cool as he was I wish he would’ve grown out of those faster, his anger makes sense with his backstory but that didn’t make it enjoyable. Delayed entrances to the team include Miss Martian, who was supposed to be your airheaded pretty girl but green. While not particularly interesting until her backstory later down the line, she was generally pleasant. She did have a problem of being sexualized in uncomfortable ways on occasion, but I’m sure that’s a plus for some. Rounding out the team (as they appear in the opening) is Artemis. While charming in her relationships with others, the show spent a tad too much time obsessed with “her secret dark past” which led to the audience being unnecessarily suspicious of her come the introduction of the mole subplot. While generally most of the characters were likeable, how they were handled was imperfect. I specifically recall in episode 3 where Miss Martian came to a conclusion that the team and I’d assume a majority of the audience agreed with, and when proven to be untrue the whole team just turned and snapped at her in a very forced manner. It feels like the writing team doesn’t know how to handle romance and drama that well so a lot of these parts feel expedited and unnatural. Episode 11 for example. The first ten episodes hinted at some one-sided romantic feelings between two characters and the slight possibility that they might be returned, without much development between the two characters, they just start making out in episode 11 in a very forced and uncomfortable manner. While some of the couples do have good chemistry, it never gets to the openly romantic point in a natural manner. However these are simply a few pieces of the many forms of character interaction. In interactions other than team conflict and romance, the series does fine. As side characters go there is quite a few. I prior mentioned Speedy, who decides to do his own thing rather than join the team. As Red Arrow we occasionally get episodes that follow what he’s doing, however he suffers from similar problems as Superboy, coming off as too much of an asshole at times. Like Superboy he’s likeable, but sometimes he’s just obnoxiously angry for someone trying to be a hero of justice. The team is mentored by Red Tornado, who’s personality begins and ends with robot with a sense of justice. However, his simplicity makes him endearing in episodes with focus on him. The series gives a lot of focus to Captain Marvel, which I personally rather loved. His secret identity of Billy Batson allows him to have some interesting interactions with the team, and I found him to be a joy on screen. The only problem is he was stuck on what I refer to as “The Jobbing League.” Zatanna became a semi-prominent character towards the end and I found her to be a pleasant addition to the cast of personalities, but not overly remarkable. There’s a surprising amount of focus given to Doctor Fate, which I just found to be pretty cool. His appearances were usually kind of unexpected and always came with sick moments up until he too became part of the Jobbing League. As far as leaguers go, Batman was quite endearing with his role as a mentor. He spent the series trying to get Superman to bond with Superboy and it made him quite endearing. Otherwise the League had the Jobbing League problem. Many a time for the sake of stakes members of the League just got completely thrashed in a way that’d occasionally challenge suspension of disbelief. Other than that, the amount of leaguers on display was quite nice

6/10: There’s a lot to like here but there’s also a significant amount of problems.

VISUALS: When I first started episode 1, I knew I was in for a bad time when i could see an animation error in less than 30 seconds. This holds true for a good portion of the series, being filled with derpy faces, bad CG, and awkward walk cycles. While action scenes are well done, the animation can get lazy in any other type of scene. As for art, I’m not a fan of the style, it’s fine but feels a tad on the lifeless side. The insistence on CG models for a lot of things was quite obnoxious however. The characters all look distinct, but most of them don’t look interesting and I don’t think they’d fare well on the silhouette test. All in all not much to say in this regard.

5/10: While it’s passable on average, any high moment has to compete with the amount of mistakes made.

SOUND: When it comes to music, it’s very indistinct. While the music did it’s job fine it never rose above the call of duty or stood out in any memorable manner. The opening and credit songs are incredibly forgettable and indistinct. The voice acting on the other hand was done pretty well, aside from the Flash in the first two episodes I never found anyone’s voice to sound problematic. The lines were delivered with emotion and even shared voice actors were distinct in different roles. I wanna give a shout out to episode 3′s Mister Twister for sounding cool as heck. I kinda wish he showed up more just so I could listen to him again. Sound effects and diegetic noise were on point. All the gadgets and gizmos sounded right, with alien things sounding alien.

7/10: A job well done. The one notable goof was outdone by some small victories.

FINAL SCORE: 6/10

This series has a lot of problems, while not bad it’s by no means great. I imagine any fan of superhero cartoons will find it fine, it’s not going to bring anyone into the fold. I’m interested enough to continue with the series, but of all things on my plate right now this is the one I have the least love for. If the premise interests you it’s worth a shot, but it’s no must see.

#young justice #DC comics #Cartoons

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diveronarpg · 6 years

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Congratulations, RACH! You’ve been accepted for the role of DESDEMONA with an approved FC change to KELLY GALE. Admin Jen: Rach, your take on Delilah was one that had truly touched my heart and so, you have no idea how good it is to see that you’ve brought her back to us! I love the way you expressed what drew you to her, particularly this line: “she is a woman plagued by her very own veracity, she is a woman punished for her faith and her candor, her supposed virtues placing her in an all the more a precarious position.” simply because I feel that it summarizes the crux of Delilah’s character so beautifully. The interview was absolutely splendid; your portrayal drew me in and kept me gripped from the first line to the last and I felt as though Delilah’s heart was my own by the time I reached the end of it. Everything came together so perfectly and I can’t wait to see where you take her! Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

Out of Character

Alias | Rach

Age | 18

Preferred Pronouns | She/Her

Activity Level | 8; I’m typically online at least once a day and try to do replies on a pretty regular basis!

Timezone | EST

Current/Past RP Accounts | n/a

In Character

Character | Desdemona; Delilah Shefali Bello ; fc change: Kelly Gale (I was also thinking of aging her down to 26)

Delilah- “amorous, delight”

Shefali- “a flower, fragrant”

Bello- “beautiful”

What drew you to this character? | Gosh, where could I possibly begin when answering what drew me to Delilah? I think that when I try and find a character to connect to, I look for someone with potential and oh, what potential Delilah has. There is something dreadfully genuine about Delilah’s pain that I find to be compelling, predominantly because it’s derived from her innocence. There is a particular goodness to Delilah which draws me in; it’s her faith and conviction in her truth that I think sets her apart from many of Diverona’s other characters. Delilah has this heart that I’m utterly entranced by, largely because it’s both her greatest virtue and most damning fault. She’s a character who’s yet to learn how to guard this very heart and furthermore, a woman who’s desperately unsure of her own sense of self in world writhing with scarlet shame. For me, Delilah presents this fabulous dichotomy– she is a woman plagued by her very own veracity, she is a woman punished for her faith and her candor, her supposed virtues placing her in an all the more a precarious position. Delilah’s story is one ripe with agony and the most painful kind of tragedy there– the tragedy of loving too much, too hard, too fast.

The tragedy of choosing to love at all.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

One.

As of now, Delilah is in a rather vulnerable position and I think it would be very possible for someone to take advantage of her susceptible state. Could it be a Montague who sees the opportunities to woo over a Capulet with just a few words of seductive kindness? Or could a fellow Capulet, perhaps, take her under their wing, earning a personal loyalty, because if anything, Delilah has proven herself as loyal to a fault. In the wake of realizing that nearly all her “friends” would always be Odin’s friends first, she’s been rendered rather lonely and let it be know that desperation has never led to rational decision making. Essentially I’d love to explore what short-sighted decisions Delilah might make in desperation to prove herself and her loyalty.

Two.

One of the more fascinating aspects of Delilah’s character is that in many ways, the tragedy of her life isn’t of her own doing. Betrayal is a theme, I would love to explore with Delilah. How does she reconcile her personal values of truth and faith with her damned state among the Capulets? I feel as if Delilah is a character who in some ways, truly craves companionship and only recently has she come to find a semi-solace within herself, inner-acceptance remaining something that she must continually work at. I would love to explore Delilah’s evolution towards finding a self-assurance. How will she continue handle to shame and suffering she’s been subject to as a result of Odin’s claims? How is her current situation different that the shunning she faced from her family as a result of choosing to marry Odin altogether? I want to explore Delilah at her lowest low and state of mind she’s in as she struggles to reclaim her identity apart from Odin.

Three.

In one of Delilah’s connections, it’s alluded to the fact that she’s a writer. I would love to explore how she uses her power with pen to speak her very own truth. Passion and fervor are hallmarks of Delilah’s personality and though her fire has been doused by her current situation, I see her flames shining through her writings. Perhaps writing is her path to seeking redemption for the crimes she hasn’t committed? More importantly, I would love to explore what would happen if Delilah’s cries weren’t to fall on deaf ears. I would love to explore a possible connection in which someone genuinely believes Delilah, and through that, she finds a authentic friend and ally, one who’s relationship isn’t reliant on her connection with Odin. Delilah is, in many ways, incredibly disillusioned by love, faith, and trust (the things that she hold most dear) and I feel to find a shred of hope, would be not only a breath of fresh air, but interesting dynamic in Delilah’s story.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Yes! I think I would be fine with this! Delilah’s a character in such a fascinating position, thus if her death could further an overall plot, I’d be more than pleased to see how the story would naturally unfold. Not to mention, Desdemona’s canonical fate is well…less than alive, to say the least.

In Depth

In-Character Interview:

What is your favorite place in Verona? | “Believe it or not, it was once my home,” she sighs, the ghost of bitter laugh falling from her lips, “I didn’t come from much and frankly, when we first were married, I got lost wandering around the property countless times, but nonetheless, it was by far the most a beautiful place I had ever laid eyes on. It was beautiful not simply because of the sprawling views or gorgeous architecture, but beautiful because it’s was our’s. It was a place filled with joy and courage and love…” she muses fondly, a soft, nostalgic smile forming upon her features, “But I suppose I can no longer call that place my home, especially as I no longer reside there,” she realizes aloud, a delicate finger moving quickly to brush away the single teardrop that threatened to fall from her lower lash, “Ah, excuse me,” she apologizes, clearing her throat slightly, “But if I must choose now, I think I’ve grown an affinity for the bridge…” she decides, “I never gave the place much notice until more recently, but now there’s something terribly permanent about it. Permanence is rather rare these days, wouldn’t you say?”

What does your typical day look like? | “If I’m to speak in candid terms, I’m afraid my typical day isn’t particularly interesting,” she explains, “I wake up early,” (and alone, she thinks silently), “and I make myself a single cup of tea to take with me as I walk to work. My new place, while small and not especially remarkable, is actually rather conveniently located by the Cafe– the one near the river?” she elaborates, tilting her head in the direction of the aforementioned location, “They’ve practically ceased requesting my presence for missions altogether, thus I spend most of my hours simply working there– waiting tables, whipping up a couple cups of Verona’s most-famed espresso. It’s quiet work, but it’s stable and keeps me busy, so I truly cannot complain,” she says, “At the end of the day I’ll come home and write a few thoughts down, just as a way to unwind and clear my head and that’s essentially all there is to my life, these days.”

She refrains from revealing how empty her house feels or how when she’s recognized at work, certain customers will refuse to be served by her at all. She refrains from revealing how numerous nights she falls asleep with tear-stained papers in hands or how she spends countless hours pleading her innocence, only for it to fall to deaf ears. She refrains from revealing her pain, but it’s not to say it’s not there, because in truth, the pain is all she has left.

What has been your biggest mistake thus far? | Her biggest mistake? It was the sort of question which sunk it’s jaws into her skin and remained, only to reveal a ugly scar at its release. She’s made many mistakes over the year, so many that they’ve begun to blur together, and yet she was currently facing punishment for the one mistake she hadn’t made at all. When she looks back to the root of all that haunts her, she wonders if she had damned their marriage from the beginning when she ignored her mother’s final pleas to at the very least, wear a different dress. Her mother had worn red, her grandmother had worn red, they had all worn red, as tradition dictated, but Delilah had insisted on wearing the dress more in line with Odin’s traditions. It’s unlikely the interviewer before her knows anything about the Hindu culture she comes from or more specifically, their funeral colors, but nonetheless, she looks at them dead in the eye.

“My biggest mistake? I wore white on my wedding day.”

What has been the most difficult task asked of you? | “I think the most difficult task that’s been asked of me is the task that’s gone unsaid,” Delilah sighs, shoulders slumping ever so slightly, “I don’t know if it could be considered an explicit ‘task’ per say, especially as it’s only ever expressed through bitter stares and snide comments, but the lot of them have made it quite clear they’d very much like me to disappear, for the harlot to get get what’s coming for her, you know?” She hold no regards for the consequences of her honesty; she’ll continue to scream her truth even if it’s they are last words to fall from her lips. “And I suppose you could say I’ve completely failed at that task…” Though she speaks of failure, there’s a hint of pride in her voice, one reminiscent of the girl she was before her life had become laden with false scandal and she reminded that maybe, just maybe, she has more than just pain left.

What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues? | “The war? Oh, well that’s certainly a messy topic,” she chuckles heartily. She’s well aware the bloodshed is no laughing matter, however she’s grown to find humor in it’s misery, because at the very least, anguish loves good company. The Capulets were something she married into, never a loyalty she had chosen of her will and though she remains on their side for the time being, she wonders if she ever truly had a place among them. Save Lucrezia and possibly Orion, neither of whom she’d actually consider friends, they’ve all blatantly chosen Odin over her and since her separation she’s found it difficult to proudly fly Capulet colors, but what does she have to prove herself, if not her loyalty, so she remains. “But life’s messy, isn’t it? War– it’s something that’s within everyone, it’s within everything…the feud just happens to be the bloodiest example around these parts.”

Extras:

Mock Blog

#accepted: desdemona #accepted

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thornescratch · 6 years

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I want to watch old Washington Capitals games but I don't know which. If you have any favourite games from the past, would you mind recommending some? It could be your favourite because they won, or they were hilarious while loosing, or even because something memorable or amusing happened at the game. I am asking you because you obviously have a lot of passion for this team, and also because you might have fellow Caps fan followers who might be willing to offer recs too. Thank you in advance!

Oh! This is a super fun question, so thank you. Hmm. This is hard because I know I’m going to write a ton and then remember “I LEFT OUT SUCH AND SUCH GAME” as soon as I hit post. So, yeah, if anyone’s reading this and wants to chime in with their favorite Caps games, please feel free!

And I’m not sure how you’re going to watch these games– hell, I’m not sure all the ones I’d recommend are available, but, I’ll try to be cognizant of that. So. That said. I should probably take this moment to note that if you want to have an actual convenient DVD, Amazon sells one of the 10 Greatest Capitals Games. You used to be able to buy it in the team store, but I haven’t seen it there in a couple years, so.

That particular DVD is very much geared to the Ovechkin era, which I don’t really see as a bad thing, but I don’t know you. And if you’re looking for much more of a deep dive into past Caps history, the DVD does include some of the most exciting and seminal games, but it’s much more current in general. I do get the mindset of people who have been around for this entire franchise and scoff at only focusing at 2005 on. I do get it! But the thing is, when you try to watch old games, you run into the fact they’re one, hard to find, two, generally of terrible video quality.

…Also the reviewer on Amazon who bitches because they think it should include the 4 OT Easter Epic should be soundly donkeypunched. Look, buddy, we all signed up for a disproportionate amount of disappointment as Caps fans, but that doesn’t mean it needs to be memorialized on a DVD. With that said, here are the games I love to rewatch or remember or I just think they’re neat. I’ll start with the DVD games because that’s convenient, and then go on with some other ones I like

Here’s what the DVD includes. All of these are good games to watch.

4/16/1988 - Dale Hunter scores the series’ winner in overtime as the Caps beat the Philadelphia Flyers 5-4 to win Game 7 of the Patrick Division semi-final. This was the one they used in that “History will” series of NHL commercials because we have so few good playoff highlights.

4/17/1996 - In the Eastern Conference quarter-final against the Pittsburgh Penguins, the team rallies from a three-goal deficit to win 6-4.

6/4/1998 - Joe Juneau scores the overtime winner in Game 6 of the Eastern Conference finals, and the Caps go onto their first (and only) Stanley Cup appearance.

10/5/2005 - Ovechkin’s first NHL game. He scores two goals, hits a dude so hard the glass pane falls out, and Caps beat Columbus Blue Jackets 3-2.

11/23/2007 - First Bruce Boudreau coaching game, an overtime win against Philadelphia. Ah, Bruce.

1/31/2008 - Ovechkin’s (first) four goal game against the Habs, where he broke his nose (again) and won the game in OT.

4/5/2008 - Caps win 3-1 against the Florida Panthers to gain their first playoff appearance in five years, after having to win 11 of 12 down the stretch and pushing to the last day.

4/11/2008 - Ovechkin’s first NHL playoff game, with him leading the team to a come-from-behind win over Philadelphia.

4/28/2009 - Russian legend Sergei Fedorov, in his first and last season with the Caps, provides the game-winning goal in Game 7 against the New York Rangers, leading the Caps to win 2-1 in the Eastern Conference quarterfinals. God, that goal. (Also, don’t look now, but that was a Game 7 the Caps won.)

5/4/2009 - The Ovechkin-Crosby dueling hat tricks playoff game with the Caps winning 4-3. (This was also where Crosby complained about hats being thrown on the ice. Like, there are many other reasons he’s never going to be on my Christmas card list, but this was him at some of his whiniest and pettiest, and when I think of reasons why I don’t care for the dude, this one tends to flash across my mind. Because I am also petty. EXCELSIOR.)

OTHER PLAYOFF GAMES.

HEY YES I KNOW EVERYONE MAKES FUN OF US ABOUT THE PLAYOFFS WELL HERE ARE SOME PLAYOFFS GAMES YOU CAN WATCH AND ENJOY.

4/20/2011 - Game four of the series with the New York Rangers. Yeah, yeah, the Caps have had their share of OT pain with the Rangers. But this comes from one of the shorter playoff series the Caps enjoyed in the Ovechkin era, and hey look, it’s a double OT WIN, which came about after the Caps had fallen behind 3-0 in the game, and then forced OT and won it on what was described as a “freaky sort of development play”. Marian Gaborik, in an attempt to clear the puck, accidentally yanked it away from Lundqvist and passed it directly to Jason Chimera, who promptly put it back in the net, and then skated the length of the ice in basically two seconds while his teammates tried to catch him for hugs. (Game 5 of that series was also pretty good because it’s one of the few times where the Caps were closing out a series and never looked worried during it. Just a nice solid win.)

4/25/2012 - Game Seven of the series with the Boston Bruins. Yeah, yeah, the Caps and Game 7′s. HERE’S ONE THAT WE ACTUALLY WON. This series was so fucking close and insane and it was the NHL playoff debut of a young Braden Holtby who came storming up from the AHL after both Tomas Vokoun and Michal Neuvirth went down to freak injury and went on to become the Bruins’s worst nightmare. (If you love Braden Holtby, you should remember that ex-Cap then-Panther Marco Sturm falling on Michal Neuvirth is what propelled Holtby into the playoffs out of necessity, and therefore most Caps fans probably owe him a drink.) And of course, this was the game of Joel Ward’s OT winner, with a helping of Mike Knuble’s gigantic ass in Tim Thomas’s face, (and I’m frankly still amazed the Caps didn’t get boned with a GI call on it), and man do I love me some Joel Ward.

4/27/2015 - Game Seven of the series with the Islanders. ANOTHER GOOD OUTCOME GAME SEVEN. This game seven on the other hand wasn’t as close (though every Caps fan was puckered and freaking during it) and the Caps were dominating. Joel Ward scored first for the Caps, and they outshot New York and were handling the Isles with ease, only to have everyone almost lose their shit when Holtby made a mistake and let Nielson tie. However, just as the Bruins series was Holtby’s debut party, the Isles series was Evgeny Kuznetsov’s Big Show. He scored with just over seven minutes left in the game on Halak, the goalie who’d tortured the Caps in 2010, and it was another successful Game 7 and series win. Since we don’t have a ton of those, enjoy it.

4/18/2016 - Game Three of the series with the Flyers. This was the, uh, Bracelet Game. But it was also a game where the Caps scored five goddamn powerplay goals to win 6-1 and took a 3-0 series lead for the first time in– well, ever. (At least in the seven game series era.) This is why it narrowly beats out Game Two, which had the Steve Mason “OH NO” goal given up to Jason Chimera.

4/19/2017 - I feel like I should include a Leafs playoff series game here from 2017 for completeness sake. Uh. Hmm. Let’s go with Game Four, since it had Tom Wilson saving a goal, then going down ice to score a goal, and was high-scoring, super-close, and barely squeaked away from going to OT.

OTHER REGULAR SEASON GAMES

1/1/2011, 1/1/2015 - Both Winter Classics. CAPS ARE UNDEFEATED IN OUTDOOR GAMES. Plus, they both serve as a good excuse to rewatch the HBO 24/7 and Epix Road to the Winter Classic specials.

2/7/2010 - Snowvechkin. Ovi had a hat trick against the Pens, the Caps had to come from behind, there was bizarre reffing, and Caps won. This was all the more impressive because DC was essentially under two feet of snow at this point and for the intrepid souls who basically walked into the city on foot to see the game, they got a real gem.

2/6/2011 - The Caps shut out the Pens 3-0 on Superbowl Sunday, but more dramatically, shaved ape on skates and career injury-causing cockmonger Matt Cooke tried to go knee on knee with Alex Ovechkin in the process and Nicklas Backstrom did his best to punch everliving shit out of him for doing it. It’s great seeing Backstrom get in Cooke’s face and throw hands afterthe shot on Ovechkin. If “ice in his veins and murder in his eyes” Backstrom is that visibly emotional,then somebody done done somebody wrong.

3/7/2011 - Holtby comes on in relief of Neuvirth in a game against the Bolts, when Neuvirth takes a shot off the mask and gets a sliver of metal in his eye. He held the Caps in it, and went on to help get the shootout win, 2-1. This was the very beginning of his career, and he’d go on to start the post-season against the Bruins and really blossom.

1/24/2012: Matty Perreault tricks the Bruins. This was an interesting game because it was one of the games Ovechkin was suspended for, after the NHL decided to make an example out of him and suspend him for a hit on Michalek but still require him to go to the ASG. Ovechkin not eager to play the NHL game of cookie-cutter villain / showdog to trot out and make money (boy, if you ever want to get an earful of rant, start me off on that particular suspension because I will not shut up about it, ever) and withdrew from the ASG. With Ovechkin out for suspension and Nicklas Backstrom concussed by noted shitstain Rene Bourque, and Mike Green also injured, it wasn’t looking good– until diminutive hero Matty P stepped up (and later got a shaving cream pie, courtesy of his proud captain who essentially rushed out of the press box in his suit and down to the ice to do it) to win the damn game with his hatty.

Fun fact with this game: Perreault somehow managed to high-stick Chara in the face during this game.Ponder that one for a minute. One might wonder how Perreault could even high-stick someone who routinely gets calls from Logan Airport to please move his head sothe planes can take off, without sneaking a ladder onto the ice or something.

2/24/2012 - Caps beat Habs 4-1. There’s an Ovechkin pretty goal in this one, but this real thing I remember is that Mike Green was itching to get back at Rene Bourque for concussing Backstrom, and boy did he. Green was playing Bourque because of the puck coming his waynear the net, but as soon as he saw the puck was past and out of danger, heturned his full attention to absolutely nailing Bourque and shoving him face-first into the goal-side. It was awesome.“Oh, did I fling you into the goal post? My bad, man.”

3/29/2012 - Matt Hendricks wins the shootout for Washington 3-2 and completely turns Tim Thomas inside out. At that point, you expected players like PKane or Datsyuk or Oshie to make beautiful, awe-inspiring SO moves.Matt Hendricks? Well, that’s a secret Caps fans knew and reveled in, and then welaughed at the other teams when they went, “Matt Hendricks, seriously? That’swho you're—oh, fuck. Fuck! fuuuuuuck! Where the fuck did that come from?!”

4/16/2013 - Ovechkin nearly tears Jay McClement’s head off for boarding Backstrom. This was a Caps 5-1 win over Toronto, and you’ve probably seen the clip in question. It was encouraging to see how much the team rushed to start a line brawl for Nicky’s sake. Backstrom, it should be noted, stood right back up and threw himself after the guy throwing himself at Ovi, so it went both ways.

12/10/2013 - I could describe all of Ovi’s four goal games, but this one against the Bolts, a 6-5 shootout win, was super dramatic and his first since 2008, a five year span. I’m just going to quote the RMNB recap of it: First, Mike Green committed a penalty and the Lightningscored. Then, Mike Green committed a penalty and the Lightning scored. Then, ina Shyamalany plot twist, Mike Green was on-ice when the Lightning scored. Holtbywas like, “Sick of you, Mike,” and he peaced out; Grubauer in. AlexOvechkin put the team on the board with an instant-score following a faceoff.Okay, buckle up. Here we go.

Troy Brouwer proved unable, so Nick Backstrom finished off the powerplay for him. Then, Alex Ovechkin happened. After Richard Panik earned a 5-minute major for boarding Karl Alzner, the Russian machine made Tampa pay. Twice. First, he laid up a cross-ice pass from Marcus Johansson, then he took a one-timer from Green to tie the game. Hats rained down. Another three-goal second period for the Washington Capitals.

Ondrej Palat put the Bolts back up in the third, taking advantage of some observational Capitals defense, but the Caps weren’t done. With the Caps net empty, Alex Ovechkin struck again, scoring his 4th goal of the night. HIS FOURTH FOARTH GOAL OF THE NIGHT.

12/13/2014 - Backstrom’s natural hat trick against the Lightning. He’s just so silky smooth.

10/23/2015 - Evgeny Kuznetsov’s hat trick and five point night against the Edmonton Oilers.

11/16/2016 - Nicklas Backstrom has another 5 five point night as the Caps skull the Penguins 7-1. Fun fact: At that point in time, Backstrom had had five five-point games, one more than Ovechkin, equaling Crosby, and one less than Malkin. And… no All Star Game appearances or Selkes, because the NHL is stupid.

If you want to know his other five point games up until then, they were:

11/16/2016 against Pittsburgh Penguins – 2 goals, 3 assists12/10/2013 against Tampa Bay Lightning – 1 goal, 4 assists02/04/2010 against New York Rangers – 1 goal, 4 assists12/05/2009 against Philadelphia Flyers – 1 goal, 4 assists11/15/2008 against New Jersey Devils – 1 goal, 4 assists

1/7/2017 - Backstrom’s 500th assist, on a TJ Oshie goal. It’s harder to pick out favorite Backstrom games because his game is so quiet and focused on operating in the shadows. Usually he’s having some kind of tremendous game that people focus on the dudes scoring the goals off the magical moves he’s making.

1/22/2017 - Ovechkin’s 1000th point. 35 seconds in, against the Pens. FUN FACT I WAS THERE FOR THIS ONE. I have a good friend from out of town who is a Pens fan (I’m as shocked as you), and for the past couple years she’s come to town from across the country when the Caps play the Pens, and my record with her was ABYSMAL. Until this game, I had never seen the Caps win in person at Verizon while she was there, but then this one happened, and she very kindly didn’t shove me over the ledge of the nosebleeds to my death, as she would have probably been in full rights to do after all the hooting and capering I was doing.

LOSSES? UH….

I don’t have a lot of recs for Caps losses because, well, I’m not a masochist. But if you must, I would recommend two particular ones first because the fights were bonkers.

11/21/1998 - Caps vs. Bruins. These is notable because of the goalie fight. Most notably, the one that’s been called “The Dance” between Byron Dafoe and Olie Kolzig, since– well, you’ll know it when you see it. The backstory is, Dafoe and Kolzig were close friends– best men at each other’s weddings, even. And when the Bruins and Caps threw down in their line brawl, Dafoe grabbed Dale Hunter (Dale Hunter having been just momentarily pried out from the dogpile and had just been separated from Ken Belanger) and Kolzig came down the ice to get in on the action. However, Kolzig decided to fight Ken Belanger (since the refs had turned around to deal with Dale Hunter) which was… uh, probably not a good idea.

Dafoe and Hunter had simultaneous “Ho-shit, son,” realizations, immediately stopped fighting each other, and flung themselves at Kolzig and Belanger respectively. Dafoe grabbed Kolzig and basically waltzed him away from Belanger before he could get his head smashed in, and Hunter went back to fighting Belanger. Kolzig and Dafoe pulled each other’s jerseys off while Kolzig seemed torn between trying to yell at Dafoe for yanking him out of the fight and laughing at his friend. Everyone on the ice got tossed and the Caps lost 5-4 in OT.

1/12/2010 - Caps vs. Bolts. You actually don’t really have to watch this whole game, which was a 7-4 loss. You just need to watch Steve Downie and Alex Ovechkin drop the gloves and prepare to fight, only to have Matt Bradley come streaking in at the last second and literally steal the fight out of Ovechkin’s hands. Dan Steinberg did a great write-up of it for the Sportsbog. It’‘s kind of hilarious because, well, Ovi and Downie were both completely taken by surprise. If you catch any of the later analyst clips, you can see Bradley watching Ovi and Downie yell at each in the box, keeping an eye on the unfolding events like a hawk, screaming urgently at Eric Fehr to get the hell off the ice so he can get on without getting the instigator, and then just making a direct beeline for the fight so he can get in front of Ovi and punch Downie in the face.

12/16/2014 - The never ending fucking shoot out with the Panthers. Ugh. I refuse to even google this to find highlights. WE WENT THROUGH THE ENTIRE GODDAMN ROSTER. EVEN BROOKS FUCKING ORPIK SCORED. ON A TRIPLE DEKE. I still refuse to believe the entire thing wasn’t a fever dream from the mind of Roberto Luongo while passed out on the can. It did at least give us the notable mic’d up quote of “Coach Korn has a pitched tent in the stands right now,” though.

WAIT IT’S BAD LUCK TO END ON A LOSS, LET’S END WITH SOME MORE WINS.

1/08/2016 - This game had everything I say, in my best breathy Stefon voice. A quick two goal lead for the Caps. Giving up three goals to fall behind. Nicklas Backstrom slamming in a loose puck with less than ten seconds left to tie it. OT madness. Nate Schmidt and his skate helping Holtby save an almost slam dunk Ranger goal off the faceoff in OT. Ovechkin grabbing the saved puck and going end to end to score in OT. Ovechkin falling on his face. Happy, huggy chaos by the Caps on Madison Square Garden ice. Ovi one away from 500 goals…

1/10/2016 - Ovechkin’s 500th. This might be my favorite game (for now…), not because it was a blowout win, not because Ovechkin actually had two in this game, one of which involved dangling Erik Karlsson’s pants off, but watching the team come to celebrate with him, seeing how much they loved him and were overjoyed for him and had actually planned it out in advance without his knowledge… that’s just something special. It was just a really, really good moment that very little can spoil for me, no matter what.

#Anonymous #links #Washington Capitals #old Caps games #milestones

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impressivepress · 4 years

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Trotsky in January 1917: “Bronx Man Leads Russian Revolution”

2017 marks the centenary of the greatest event in world history: the Russian Revolution. The names Vladimir Lenin and Leon Trotsky will forever be connected to that momentous social, political, and economic upheaval, which forever changed the course of humanity.

Many people familiar with 20th Century history know that when the Russian working class overthrew the tsar in February 1917, Lenin was in exile in Switzerland, soon to return to Petrograd in the famous sealed train. But where was Trotsky before returning to the maelstrom?

On January 1, 1917, Trotsky wrote in his diary: “Two New Years of the war I have spent in France, the third is spent on the ocean. What has 1917 in store for us?” Trotsky, his wife Natalia Sedova, and their two children, Lev and Sergei were on the steamship Montserrat, bound for the United States from Spain, from whence they had been expelled from the European continent.

One hundred years ago today, on January 13, 1917, just weeks before the collapse of tsarism, the thirty-eight-year-old Trotsky arrived in New York City. For two-and-a-half months he lived and worked in the exuberant city before returning to revolutionary Russia. A professional revolutionary socialist and internationalist, he threw himself headlong into political activity from the moment he stepped ashore.

Trotsky was quite literally a man without a passport, hounded his entire adult life by the authorities, exiled, deported, and expelled from one country after another. He was twice exiled to Siberia for his revolutionary activities in Russia and escaped both times. From England to Austria and the Balkans, Switzerland, France, and Spain, Trotsky lived and breathed revolutionary Marxism wherever he went. He was a prodigious writer and editor of newspapers, articles, books, pamphlets, and gave countless speeches for socialist revolution and against capitalism, imperialism, and war in multiple languages.

Trotsky recalled his first impressions of the city in his 1930 autobiography, My Life: “Here I was in New York, city of prose and fantasy, of capitalist automatism, its streets a triumph of cubism, its moral philosophy that of the dollar. New York impressed me tremendously because, more than any other city in the world, it is the fullest expression of our modern age.”

The day after he arrived, he wrote, “I left a Europe wallowing in blood, but I left with a profound faith in a coming revolution. And it was with no democratic ‘illusions’ that I stepped on the soil of this old-enough New World.”

As Kenneth Ackerman explains in his highly detailed and extensively researched account, Trotsky In New York, 1917: Portrait of a Radical on the Eve of Revolution, Trotsky hit the ground running. Of Ukrainian-Jewish origin, he landed in the infamous warrens of the Lower East Side (LES) in Manhattan, home to tens of thousands of Eastern European immigrants.

Just a few weeks after Trotsky’s arrival, food riots broke in the LES. Hundreds of women protested against food prices, which had doubled or even tripled on the eve of WWI. Price-gouging merchants and those who did not respect a boycott organized by the socialist-led Mothers’ Anti-High Price League were verbally and physically assaulted, their merchandise doused with kerosene, and a spontaneous protest of hundreds of protesters invaded nearby City Hall. According to Eric Ferrara of the LES History Project: “The enraged women—many with infants in tow—began shouting in both English and Yiddish, ‘We want food for our children!’”

As Trotsky recalled in My Life: “After the Germans came out for unrestricted submarine warfare, mountains of military supplies blocked the railways and filled all the eastern stations and ports. Prices instantly soared, and I saw thousands of women – mothers, in the wealthiest city of the world – come out into the streets, upset the stalls, and break into shops. What will it be like in the rest of the world after the war? I asked myself.”

In short, the working class districts of 1917 New York City were a pressure cooker of class struggle and political intrigue. Socialists, anarchists, labor activists, and police spies swarmed the crowded streets, tenements, mutual aid societies, ethnic clubs, and cafes. With the US on the verge of entering World War I, anti-war sentiment was high—as were accusations of anti-patriotic or pro-German behavior. Even before his arrival, Trotsky was well-known among political exiles and immigrants from Russia and Eastern Europe as the leader of the St. Petersburg soviet during the 1905 Russian Revolution.

Trotsky’s first order of business was to meet up with Nikolai Bukharin, who he knew from his days in Vienna, and who insisted on an immediate visit to the New York Public Library. Desperately poor, Trotsky put his famous pen to use and began revolutionary work the very next day. He joined Bukharin and V. Volodarsky in editing the revolutionary paper Novy Mir, produced in the East Village at 77 St. Mark’s Place. Some sources claim that Trotsky lived for a time upon his arrival at Bukharin’s apartment across the street, at 80 St. Mark’s Place. During his short stay in the city, Trotsky also wrote articles for publication in the radical Yiddish paper Der Forverts, as well as for English-language The Call and the German-language Volkszeitung.

Natalia found an $18-a-month apartment through a friend of a friend at 1522 Vyse Avenue in the Bronx, near 172nd Street. In My Life, Trotsky writes that he lived on 164th Street in the Bronx—“if I am not mistaken." However, most historians agree that he lived on Vyse Avenue (although the actual building where he lived was torn down and replaced in 1931).

They furnished their tenement apartment on an installment plan, and as Trotsky recalls, it “was equipped with all sorts of conveniences that we Europeans were quite unused to: electric lights, gas cooking range, bath, telephone, automatic service elevator, and even a chute for the garbage. These things completely won the boys over to New York. For a time the telephone was their main interest; we had not had this mysterious instrument either in Vienna or Paris.”

Trotsky read insatiably in the New York Public Library’s Slavic collection as well as studying the economic history of the United States. Not knowing how long he would remain in this new land, he set about understanding it and was clearly happy to have the opportunity to study the future world superpower up close.

As he explained in My Life: “The figures showing the growth of American exports during the war astounded me; they were, in fact, a complete revelation. And it was those same figures that not only predetermined America’s intervention in the war, but the decisive part that the United States would play in the world after the war, as well. I wrote several articles about this at the time, and gave several lectures. Since that time the problem of ‘America versus Europe’ has been one of my chief interests. And even now [in 1930] I am studying the question with the utmost care, hoping to devote a separate book to it. If one is to understand the future destiny of humanity, this is the most important of all subjects.”

But he also paid keen attention to developments in Russia, and despite the depths of the defeat of the 1905 Revolution, maintained his revolutionary perspective. In the commemoration article “Lessons of a Great Year,” he wrote: “One thing is clear—if a revolution comes, it will not be a result of cooperation between capital and labor. The experiences of 1905 show that this is a miserable Utopia. To acquaint himself with those experiences, to study them is the duty of every thinking working-man who is anxious to avoid tragic mistakes. It is in this sense that we have said that revolutionary anniversaries are not only days for reminiscences, but also days for summing up revolutionary experiences.”

A renowned orator, he was much in demand as a public speaker, speaking in Russian and German in New York, Philadelphia, and other nearby cities. One surviving notice advertises him as the keynote speaker against the war at New York’s famous Cooper’s Union. He also lectured at The Russian Free University the on East Seventh Street.

As he acclimated to his new home, he met with other Russian revolutionary exiles such as Alexandra Kollontai as well as with the leaders of the Socialist Party of America. Not surprisingly, he was not impressed, to say the least, given their reformist outlook. As he relates in My Life “During those months America was busily getting ready for war. As ever, the greatest help came from the pacifists. Their vulgar speeches about the advantages of peace as opposed to war invariably ended in a promise to support war if it became ‘necessary.’ This was the spirit of the Bryan campaign. The socialists sang in tune with the pacifists. It is a well-known axiom that pacifists think of war as an enemy only in time of peace.

“... I once saw, through the window of my newspaper office, an old man with suppurating eyes and a straggling gray beard stop before a garbage-can and fish out a crust of bread. He tried the crust with his hands, then he touched the petrified thing with his teeth, and finally he struck it several times against the can. But the bread did not yield. Finally, he looked about him as if he were afraid or embarrassed, thrust his find under his faded coat, and shambled along down St. Mark’s Place. This little episode took place on March 2, 1917. But it did not in any way interfere with the plans of the ruling class. War was inevitable, and the pacifists had to support it.”

He continued his excoriation of these dilettantes: “Immigrants who had played some role in Europe in their youth, they very quickly lost the theoretical premise they had brought with them in the confusion of their struggle for success. In the United States there is a large class of successful and semi-successful doctors, lawyers, dentists, engineers, and the like who divide their precious hours of rest between concerts by European celebrities and the American Socialist party. Their attitude toward life is composed of shreds and fragments of the wisdom they absorbed in their student days.

“... My first contact with these men was enough to call forth their candid hatred of me. My feelings toward them, though probably less intense, were likewise not especially sympathetic. We belonged to different worlds. To me they seemed the rottenest part of that world with which I was and still am at war.”

He immediately took up the struggle against the smug reformists in the pages of Novy Mir: “The paper was the headquarters for internationalist revolutionary propaganda. In all of the national federations of the Socialist party, there were members who spoke Russian, and many of the Russian federation spoke English. In this way the ideas of the Novy Mir found their way out into the wider circles of American workers. The mandarins of official Socialism grew alarmed. Intrigues waxed hot against the European immigrant who, it was said, had set foot on American soil only the day before, did not understand the psychology of the American, and was trying to foist his fantastic methods on American workers. The struggle grew bitter.”

The one exception was Eugene V. Debs. Again from the chapter “New York” in My Life: “Old Eugene Debs stood out prominently among the older generation because of the quenchless inner flame of his socialist idealism. Although he was a romantic and a preacher, and not at all a politician or a leader, he was a sincere revolutionary; yet he succumbed to the influence of people who were in every respect his inferiors. Hillquit’s art lay in keeping Debs on his left flank while he maintained a business friendship with Gompers. Debs had a captivating personality. Whenever we met, he embraced and kissed me; the old man did not belong to the ‘drys.’ When the Babbitts proclaimed a blockade against me, Debs took no part in it; he simply drew aside, sorrowfully.”

Just a month after Trotsky's arrival, red flags were flying above the tsar’s palace in Petrograd. Trotsky paints the scene in his autobiography:

“After the mysterious silence of the cables for two or three days, came the first confused reports of the uprising in Petrograd. The cosmopolitan working-class in New York was all excited. Men hoped and were afraid to hope. The American press was in a state of utter bewilderment. Journalists, interviewers, reporters, came from all sides to the offices of the Novy Mir. For a time our paper was the center of interest of the New York press.

“Telephone calls from the Socialist newspaper offices and organizations never stopped.

“‘A cablegram has arrived saying that Petrograd has appointed a Guchkov-Miliukoff ministry. What does it mean?’

“‘That to-morrow there will be a ministry of Miliukoff and Kerensky.’

“‘Is that so? And what next?’

“‘Next? We shall be the next.’

“‘Oho!”

“This sort of thing was repeated dozens of times. Almost everyone I talked with took my words as a joke. At a special meeting of ‘worthy and most worthy’ Russian Social Democrats, I read a paper in which I argued that the proletariat party inevitably would assume power in the second stage of the Russian revolution. This produced about the same sort of impression as a stone thrown into a puddle alive with pompous and phlegmatic frogs. Dr. Ingermann did not hesitate to explain that I was ignorant of the four first rules of political arithmetic and that it was not worth while wasting five minutes to refute my nonsensical dreams.”

Trotsky obviously had the last laugh, as his perspectives were borne out in the weeks and months to come. The Russian working class of New York had a different outlook: “The working masses took the prospects of revolution quite differently. Meetings, extraordinary for their size and enthusiasm, were held all over New York. Everywhere, the news that the red flag was flying over the Winter Palace brought an excited cheer. Not only the Russian immigrants but their children, who knew hardly any Russian, came to these meetings to breathe in the reflected joy of the revolution.”

Trotsky immediately booked passage on the first ship available and prepared for his return to Russia. On the eve of their departure, his nine-year-old son Sergei, recovering from diphtheria, was allowed to go for a brief walk—and got lost while trying to ascertain whether there really was a "First Street." After many panicky hours, he was finally located at local police station. “When my wife arrived at the station an hour later with our older son, she was greeted gaily, like a long-awaited guest. Seryozha was playing checkers with the policemen, and his face was quite red. To hide his embarrassment over an excess of official attention, he was diligently chewing some black American cud with his new friends.”

This may well explain the enigmatic final sentence in Trotsky's 1934 work, If America Should Go Communist: “One final prophecy: in the 3rd year of the Soviet rule in America you will no longer chew gum!” Perhaps he associated this “American cud” with nearly missing his ship back to the revolution!

Despite the hiccup, on March 27, Trotsky, Natalia, and their boys boarded the Norwegian steamer, the SS Kristianiafjord, bound for Russia. After spending nearly a month as the guests of British imperialism at Amherst POW Internment Camp in Nova Scotia, Canada, Trotsky arrived in Petrograd on May 4. The rest, as they say, is history. Trotsky went on to again lead the Petrograd soviet, join the Bolshevik Party and become its key public leader, negotiate the treaty of Brest-Litovsk, create and lead the Red Army, and much, much more.

Trotsky’s time in New York was brief, but it clearly had profound impact on his understanding of the world and imperialism and the struggle for socialism. From a cryptic reference to the “Bronx witch” in his polemic against the petty-bourgeois opposition in the SWP, to his discussions on the perspectives for a labor party in the US, his experiences in the US better equipped him to analyze the complexities and contradictions of American problems. Trotsky was keen to return to the US and applied for a visa to receive medical treatment later in the 1930s. Needless to say, this hated enemy of imperialism was not allowed back in.

He ends his chapter on New York as follows: “It would be a gross exaggeration to say that I learned much about New York. I plunged into the affairs of American Socialism too quickly, and I was straightway up to my neck in work for it. The Russian revolution came so soon that I only managed to catch the general life-rhythm of the monster known as New York. I was leaving for Europe, with the feeling of a man who has had only a peep into the foundry in which the fate of man is to be forged. My only consolation was the thought that I might return. Even now I have not given up that hope.”

Trotsky may never have returned to the US, but his time in New York City did not pass unnoticed. As the Bronx Home News wrote later in 1917: “Bronx Man Leads Russian Revolution.”

A century has now passed since Trotsky first set foot in the city of John D. Rockefeller and Wall Street. Since then, the insoluble contradictions of capitalism have only intensified.

by John Peterson · 13 January 2017.

#leon trotsky #history article #russian revolution #bolshevik info

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