#got possessed by the color gods it’s another tuesday

[elizakai]

if it’s traditional why does it have color.

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i didn’t want to have to do this…

…lemme just

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[thran-duils]

Lost in Zero Gravity (P.4)

Title: Lost In Zero Gravity (Part Four) Summary:  Fem!Reader x Mob Boss!Tony Stark x Mob Boss!Steve Rogers.  Reader is a call girl who runs high end parties. She catches the attention of Tony Stark who invites her back to his room with his friend. She might have performed too well because she becomes their new favorite play toy and they don’t like to share. Words: 2,944 Warnings (for the fic in entirety): Smut, prostitution, infidelity, angst, domestic violence, stalking, possessive behavior Author’s Note: If you don’t like the tags on this fic, just a warning to stop reading because it’s taking the turn that was mentioned all up in the tags

Part Three || Part Five || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost

It had barely been a week and a half and Steve was already calling you. They’d sent you flowers twice and sent Tatiana a check to give to you. But apparently giving you the time you thought you needed was not on their docket.

You answered happily though, “Hey.”

“Hey, how are you feeling?”

“Far better than the last time you saw me. I can guarantee that. But I still don’t look my best.”

“That’s perfectly okay, Y/N. Understandable that you aren’t completely healed up yet,” Steve said. “But, we were hoping you would be up to a small trip.”

“O-oh,” you stammered. “I, uh, I mean should I? I don’t know if I should be getting rough.”

Steve laughed at that and assured you, “I can be gentle if that’s what you’re worried about. But, really. It’s actually important that you come with.”

You bit your bottom lip, contemplating. “I actually haven’t left the brothel since… you know.”

He hummed in acknowledgment. “Mhm, well, it’s secluded. It’s my beach house. Don’t gotta worry about anyone but us and some guards. And we can pick you up directly from your place.”

A beach house? God, that did sound nice. You cleared your throat, trying to joke, “Wives? I don’t need my nose broken again.”

“No. They are going on a small trip themselves separately. We are going on a crabbing trip as far as they know.”

“But what are you really doing then? And why is it important that I come?”

Teasingly, Steve told you, “It’s supposed to be a surprise.”

“Me and surprises really aren’t—”

“Come on, sweetheart,” Steve cut in. “You need to get out of that place. Get some fresh air. There’s a jet tub and a hot tub. You can stay in it as long as you want.” He added and you could hear the smirk in his tone, “As long as you let us get the look we want, that is. Stipulation.”

“Pervert,” you joked, smiling despite yourself.

“It’ll be worth it. Trust me.”

Sighing, you weighed your thoughts. “When?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” you asked surprised. It was Tuesday.

“Yeah, we are ready to go and I’m assuming you don’t have any plans?”

“No.”

“Perfect. We will swing by to pick you up at 4.”

“In the afternoon I hope.”

Steve chuckled, “Yes, the afternoon, dove. So, be ready. You know how punctual Tony is.”

“Don’t want to start the trip off on a bad foot,” you agreed.

“Exactly.”

You blurted, “Hey… can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

Carefully choosing your words, you asked, “Did you… were you able to find him?” Steve was silent on the other end of the line. You furrowed your brow and asked, “Steve? Are you still—"

“Yeah, I’m here. And yes,” Steve answered. “We sure did.”

“And…” you prodded, trailing off, your curiosity getting the better of you.

“We’ll come get you at 4pm tomorrow, dove. You should get your things packed,” he said, completely sidestepping your question. “I liked that blue one piece you bought when we were out that one time. The cut out one with great cleavage.”

“Okay, I’ll pack that one. How long are we staying?”

“A few days. Can’t wait to see you tomorrow. I gotta go though, dove.”

“Okay,” you repeated. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

When you hung up, you stared down at your phone. Why hadn’t he answered your question? You turned around after a few moments, placing your phone down on your bed. You got onto the floor and reached to grab your travel suitcase out from underneath the bed.

<><><>

Coming down the stairs after you dropped your bag off in the master bedroom and taking a very long bath in the jet tub, you slowed your steps. You were taking in the view, looking out the windows that stretched at least ten feet at the first landing on the stairs. The water was lapping at the rocks outside, the sun just starting to set. It was calming.

“How was it?” Steve asked, coming into view.

“Amazing,” you told him, smiling. “You didn’t come up for your view though. How can I keep up my side of the bargain if you don’t meet me halfway?”

Steve smirked, “Cheeky. Still.”

You noticed he was still dressed nicely and you asked, “Do you want me to go change?” You had thrown on the suit he asked you to bring and a coverup over it.

“Absolutely not. You look fine.” Steve held his hand out for you and you took it. He was quiet, looking at you.

You got uncomfortable and asked, “What’s up?”

Steve looked over your shoulder and you followed his gaze seeing Tony walk in from outside. The two of them seemed to communicate without speaking and you repeated,

“What’s up?”

Steve’s attention was back on you and he asked, “So, you remember how you asked about Jared?”

“Um. Yes?”

“If you had the opportunity, would you want to see him before he died?” Your mouth fell open slightly, unable to find your voice, completely caught off guard. Steve stepped closer, and said, “I know how it feels to see someone who wronged you know they’re about to die.”

“He’s still alive?” you blurted.

“He’s here.”

You stammered, “E-excuse me? Here?” Your heart was beginning to pound.

“Don’t worry, he can’t get out,” Tony said quickly, holding up his hand to you. He saw you were threatening to unravel and he came closer. He explained gently, “And even if he could, he’s pretty dehydrated and he’s definitely starving, so he’s not going to be moving too fast anyway. Plus, you’ve got us here now and we won’t let anything happen to you?”

“What…” you said, trying to grasp what was going on.

Steve explained, “Found him a few days ago and kept him alive after we gave him a good beating. Wanted to give you the opportunity to watch it happen if you wanted to. You don’t have to. Just wanted you to have that chance.”

You were suspended in shock. You thought you were coming here to relax, get fucked a couple of times. And then just head back home. It dawned on you that second that this was the surprise that Steve must have been alluding to on the phone when you agreed to come here. Not the surprise you were expecting; not even in the realm of possibility.

Did you want that? Did you want to see him die? You swallowed sharply, flooded with the memories of all the times he had beat you, cheated on you. You hated to admit some part of you would like to actually watch him suffer. You could never do it yourself, not on your own. And now you had this golden opportunity to have it happen in a way that he would know it was because of you that it was happening.

“Y/N?”

You were taking a long time to answer.

“I…” you started to say, looking in between them. You exhaled slowly and admitted, “Yeah. Yeah.”

“You’re sure?” Tony asked. You nodded and he nodded in return. “Good. I think you should. Give you some closure.”

That seemed a little sadistic but you let them led you towards the door. They walked you out onto the dock that was lit by small lamps. The sunset was beautiful on the water, the waves glowing with the colors. It was a stark contrast to what you were walking out here to do, such a dark deed. There were a few men standing at the end of the dock and you made to stay closer to Tony, keeping an eye on them as you approached.

When you came to a stop, your eyes circled around the group. You immediately got worried, thinking the worst.

Nervously, you asked, “Where is he?”

Tony pointed down at the dock and you furrowed your brow in confusion. “Guys gotta be freezing in this water.”

“O-oh.”

Tony walked over towards the side of the dock where you saw there was a ladder. He began climbing down it and Steve gave you a little nudge. You walked over to the edge hesitantly and looked over. There was another lower dock there, a speedboat next to it. That made sense, this dock was pretty high. They definitely were not going to kill you, you tried to reassure yourself.

You forced yourself to climb down after Tony, his hands coming up to steady you as you got within his reach. You settled down next to him as soon as you saw they were telling the truth.

Jared was tied up to one of the pillars holding up the dock, his body half submerged into the water. He looked absolutely awful, close to death. His face was swollen, bruised. They had not lied about the beating either.

He seemed to recognize you and his eyes narrowed. Something kicked up in him and he shouted against the gag, hate in his eyes. You could not tear your eyes away from him.

“I personally love the sight,” Tony said, standing close. He lit up his cigar and took a long drag, his eyes raking over Jared.

Steve had climbed down now and was standing close as well.

You were still in shock seeing Jared yell at you, struggle against the binding. Tony was right, the water must be freezing.

Something came over you.

“Fuck me,” you said, not taking your eyes off of him.

“Pardon?” Tony asked, choking on his smoke a bit.

“Fuck me,” you repeated. Tony was staring at you, his finger running across his lip. You shrugged and added, “I want another man fucking me where his stupid ass can see it. Right before he dies. I want that to be one of the last thing he remembers. He hated the thought of another man touching me.”

“Shit,” Steve breathed, laughing lightly.

Your adrenaline was rushing now. “That’s what I want. I don’t want to actually see him die. I don’t think I could handle that but… I want this.”

There were a few moments of silence and you finally tore your eyes away from Jared to look at the two of them standing behind you.

“I won’t say no to that,” Steve said finally, grinning devilishly. “I’ll do the honors.”

You stared into Jared’s eyes, knowing you would never have to look at him again after this. You would never have to worry about him ever again because of Steve and Tony.

<><><>

The lobster you were chewing was decadent, too good to exist. You were buzzed now, having to take a couple shots after Steve got done plowing you and then you walked away, without a care, knowing damn well that someone was going to be murdered behind you. The shots had hit quickly on your empty stomach and luckily dinner had been delivered shortly after you had taken the shots. The three of you were sitting at a table on their dock, the table lit by tall lamps.

“You said you were coming back from a job?” Steve asked, before taking a bite of his steak. You eyed him confused and he chewed, swallowing. “That night.”

Revisiting this again. You did not want to think about it anymore tonight but considering the favor they had done, you pushed your uncomfortableness aside and nodded. “Yeah. Some Wall Street guy. Definitely a frat boy who never had to work a real job in his life. He had every drug imaginable ready to just offer up. Obviously I did not partake.”

You picked up your champagne, taking a swig before taking another bite of your lobster.

“No more of that,” Tony said flatly.

Eyes narrowed, you asked, “Frat boys or Wall Street? Cause I really don’t always get to choose.” Another bite. It was so delicious. You had to ask what restaurant it was from.

“Nobody.”

You stopped chewing. Your eyes moved between the two of them, sitting there looking stoic. “What?”

They both exchanged a look and you felt your stomach starting to tighten. There was something wrong; something bad was about to happen.

Steve answered this time, “Nobody else. Nobody but us.”

You almost asked if they were joking but you remembered Tatiana’s words about owing them. And the looks on their faces told you they were in no way joking around. You placed your fork down, straightening up. They were watching you with an uneasy intensity, gauging your reaction.

Giving a light, nervous laugh, you told them, “Uh, I mean… I kind of have other regulars.”

“Why would you feel the need to continue with other regulars?”

“T-t-to keep my options open?”

“That’s… insulting,” Tony chuckled, his smile not reaching his eyes though, turning his head to stare off into the water.

You felt cold, a tightness in your stomach. Insulting him was the last thing you wanted to do.

“What is this? What are we talking about?”

Steve shrugged, “I’m not sure what’s not clear about this, Y/N. You will work for us and us only. You get an actual apartment. Move out of the brothel. So it’s not as suspicious that we are visiting you. Then we will be able to visit you whenever we want and we won’t have to worry about an incident like this happening again. Or worry about you leaving.”

You could not believe what you were hearing. They could not be serious about this. To just upend your life to just be at their beck and call. And to prevent you from leaving if you wanted to? This situation was spiraling way too quickly.

“I don’t want to live by myself,” you argued.

“It won’t be some run-down building, Y/N,” Tony sighed, annoyance lacing his tone as he looked back at you. “You’ll have a doorman. And security.”

“So, you want me to just… depend on the two of you for income and for my housing? Nothing else?” you asked them, flabbergasted.

“That’s what you’re worried about?”

“What rational person wouldn’t be worried about that? I haven’t had the greatest track record with partners as you have seen yourself.”

Steve cocked his head, his eyes narrowing. You closed your mouth, knowing immediately you had said something out of pocket. “I don’t like what you’re insinuating about me. About us. Have we not been good to you?”

“I-I.. that’s not what I meant—”

“You think I’m going to hit you?” Steve asked harshly.

“No—” you stammered, your heart pounding in your chest. He looked irritated all to hell.

Tony held up his hand and Steve closed his mouth, still glowering at you across the table. You averted your gaze to Tony as he spoke.

“You’ll be perfectly fine wherever we set you down.”

Your voice was small, “I can’t even choose?”

“I would like somewhere in our jurisdiction for one. And then the doorman stipulation.” He saw you had shook your head ever so slightly, a reaction more than anything. Tony leaned across the table, staring directly into your eyes. It took everything in you to not look away and to not show fear. You felt like you were probably failing miserably at that. “I don’t think you understand fully what’s going on here, sweetheart, and that concerns me. You won’t have to trick anymore. No more uncertainty of who is taking you home. No more late-night walks. A steady income, your own place. Protection too furthermore; you’ll have at least one guard at all times. Why would you not want that?”

Logically. You would want this. You should want this. You begged them to screw you over your abusive ex hours ago. Practically egged them on to commit murder with acting the way you had. Everything he was saying was positive. But it was ignoring the fact that it sounded like you were going to be owned, your movements dictated by the two of them.

You licked your lips and offered weakly, “It’s not smart of me.”

“Why?”

“My line of business isn’t exactly about exclusivity.”

“Well, I guess you’re leaving that line of business then,” Tony said coolly.

There was not a choice here. You were being told.

You needed to get away from the table, away from their heated stares. You were swimming in anxiety. Standing up from the table abruptly, the chair squeaking, you took off. You did not know where to, you had nowhere to go. You just knew you wanted – needed – to be by yourself, to gather your thoughts.

By the sound of the heavy footfalls following you down the boardwalk, it did not seem you were going to be granted that. You broke into a run, knowing it was futile. There was no way you could outrun a super soldier. Steve caught you without any trouble whatsoever and pushed you up against the wall of the beach house.

“I don’t want to!” you exclaimed.

“It’s either here, secluded, under guard or in your new apartment under guard.”

Tears watered up in your eyes and you choked out, “You can’t do this.”

“I can’t do this?” Steve said, a flash of cruelty in his eyes and an amused smirk on his lips. He leaned in closer and said more quietly, “Dove, we run this city and you are a part of this city. Our favorite part actually and we are securing our favorite part for ourselves.” He stepped closer, glaring down his nose at you. You felt smothered against the wall by his imposing presence. “And that’s whether our favorite part likes it or not. Because we already own it because she owes us.”

~~~

Forever tags: @coconutqueen21

Fic tags: @icant-hangout-imdrumming, @oceaniamaddness, @multifandom-superlover, @imsonick, @holl2712 

[1990jeevas]

Braid Me a Home

summary:

"Braid my fucking hair, Theseus. Braid it.”

It had sounded like a plea falling from Techno’s chapped lips, blood caked under his nails as he sat in front of Tommy on a tree stump, slowly itching at his wrists.

“Wilbur told me to stop you if you ever started doing that-”

“Wilbur isn’t fucking here. Just...braid, Toms. Braid.” 

or

A story about the Sleepy Bois being family, told through braids.

word count: 2.5k

warnings: child neglect, hurt/no comfort, canonical character death, implied/referenced mental health issues (like it’s obvious but there isn’t much detail to it), brief blood mentions (ik this fic sounds kinda angsty as hell but its not? imo its light angst)

a/n: first dream smp fic and im ALREADY projecting? christ. anyways. go easy on me pls this is far from my best work i just havent written a fic in like 5 months (more if you dont count the fucking chat fics) mm also i may have posted this like a week ago on ao3 just to test the waters and its already gotten way more comments and kudos than any fic of mine usually gets this early on so hopefully tumblr enjoys it too :]

—

When Wilbur Soot was born, he came out crying, as most babies do. Covered in vernix and blood, he weighed just barely above the seven-pound mark, gasping out sharp cries that only a parent could truly stand, or worse—love. Though he was the second baby born into the family that day, he was fussed over far more than he would ever be again.

Technoblade, on the other hand, had barely made a sound when he came out, a trail of blood smeared across his forehead, almost as if it was meant to be there. He made small noises that were more akin to confused mumbles, weakly grasping at his father’s hair when he was eventually passed on for the second child to be welcomed into the world.

Only when both boys were held in their father’s grasp did Wilbur quiet down, his soft head leaning into his father’s beard as he stared wide eyed at the boy across from him. Though they looked similar enough, Technoblade’s nose was squished further back into his face, appearing almost snout-like to Philza. Of course Wilbur noted this, wiggling until their father somehow managed to get them pressed right up against each other with minimal damage done. Though Techno never stopped squinting like an annoyed old man at Wilbur, he allowed the other to press a fist against his nose, his eyebrows unfurrowing just the slightest bit at the touch.

From that day on, Philza was the father of two twin boys—a loud boy who cried easily, but always calmed down for his older brother, and a rather monotone one, who’s face seemed to be permanently stuck in a scowl, unless said face was being smushed around by the younger. And things worked like that for a while. Not forever, but...a while.

—

Philza taught Wilbur to braid on a hot Monday afternoon.

It had been a rough day for the boy, though Phil hadn’t a clue why. Maybe he had just woken up on the wrong side of the bed? Or maybe he hadn’t slept enough between bedtime and the time Tommy had started crying again, the youngest boy’s crib being right beside his head and all. Though it might’ve seemed cruel from an outsider’s perspective, Wilbur had been the one to ask for it. Something about Tommy being his little brother and how he needed to teach the boy the ways of the world in the same way Techno had taught him—because apparently that was all Techno’s doing now, not Phil’s.

Regardless, Wilbur had been a bit too snippy for Phil’s liking that day, complaining about every little thing they did until finally, the day was over.

Well, as over as it could be with Techno leaving mid foam sword fight, an annoyed shout of ‘I quit!’ leaving his mouth before he snatched up Tommy’s carrier and brought him inside for god knows what reason.

It had only been around four P.M. by that time—too early for dinner, yet too late for Phil to really demand the boy stay outside and continue to entertain himself with a brother who was clearly not entertained himself.

Details aside, Phil isn’t really sure how they got to braiding. He just knows at some point they did and by the end of their outside time, just before the clock struck six, Wilbur had made two thick, messy braids in his hair. They stuck out awkwardly, looking all too similar to Pippi Longstocking’s iconic hairdo for his comfort, but he’d be damned if he took out the braids his son had so happily rushed inside to show his older brother before demanding to do his hair as well. After all, Wilbur didn’t have long enough hair for braids, but Technoblade sure as hell did. It was only at his shoulder blades back then, brunette curls wrapping around his narrow shoulders and thin arms like thick vines.

Wilbur had always enjoyed brushing it out with his fingers and putting cute, handmade clips or flowers in it at random, decorating the waves for his brother who was more than happy to let the boy do as he pleased. Though he would never admit it, Technoblade liked how it felt when Will played with his hair. He was always careful not to tug too hard, prioritizing the comfort of his other half more than the beauty of his work, as he so often referred to it.

So when Will had presented him with the mess that was his first two braids, he wasn’t hesitant at all to let the boy practice on him. Instead, he walked to the couch with a small smile, removing his glasses gently and getting comfortable before his brother plopped down into the space behind him. Long legs draped over long legs with no warning, thighs pressed together as if they were meant to be like that all along—and they might as well have been, for how often they did this.

Phil had watched them from the doorway in content silence, Tommy sitting behind him in a wooden high chair looking bored, but not making a fuss for once. And as he left that doorway to begin dinner, he listened to their muffled conversation and soft bursts of laughter with a small smile on his lips, for he knew things wouldn’t always be this way. They would have to grow up eventually, and when they did, things would change. Phil could only hope it was for the better.

—

When Tommy turns nine, Wilbur teaches him to braid under circumstances not too different from the ones he had learned under himself.

Well. Not too too different.

Philza and Technoblade had been...busy as of late. In the house for three days, out for a week, in for a week, out for three more, over and over and over again. Wilbur had become more like a father to Tommy in recent months than he should’ve been, his fourteenth birthday fast approaching as their father took Techno out for yet another job, one that Wilbur couldn’t come on because he was too fucking weak to do anything Techno could do, too fucking stupid to learn all the techniques Techno did, lacking all the strength and agility his older sibling possessed, like the useless prick he was-

Right. This is about Tommy.

When Tommy was nine, his hair rested gently against his collarbones in the exact same cut and color as their father wore. If Wilbur was a lesser man, he would’ve hated the kid for it, but it wasn’t his fault that he couldn’t see what a selfish git their father truly was yet. All he knew was that their dad was busy a lot and that, for some reason, Techno needed to go with him. Apparently, that was enough for him to keep holding onto the idea that one day, the man would stay longer and maybe, just maybe, show him some of the same care that his older brother did.

If Wilbur was a better man, he would tell Tommy the truth. He would tell him all about the way Philza had called him useless in a fight, forcing him to instead stay home and care for a child while still being one himself. He would mention how Philza had given him no instructions on how to care for a developing child, how he left out key details to parenting on his own as a goddamn thirteen-year-old, yet remembered to tell him things would be better this way because god forbid he does his fucking job as a father for anyone but Technoblade—

Who he missed. He missed Technoblade, his other half, so fucking bad it hurt sometimes—so bad it left him gasping for breath at two A.M., his head pounding in tandem with his uneven heartbeat, lungs burning as his snot and tears soaked into his brother’s cold, cold sheets. And it made him feel fucking pathetic because the truth of the matter was that...Techno had left him behind too. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to hate the older boy, no matter how hard he tried. Couldn’t hate Philza either, if he were to be honest with himself, but it was a lot easier to pretend he did when his father was the one putting them all in this position to begin with.

So, Tommy was nine when he learned how to braid.

Phil had promised him and Techno would be back Tuesday morning.

It was Wednesday afternoon.

Tommy didn’t fucking understand, and as frustrating as it was that the prick decided to take it out on Wilbur, he couldn’t blame him. Who else was he supposed to take this shit out on? Certainly not the man who had yet to return.

Wilbur had started the braid as a way to distract him. It was simple, really—tell him you know something he doesn’t and that he won’t get to know if he doesn’t sit the fuck down and listen.

When he had started tugging the boy’s hair back from his face, his immediate reaction was to jerk away, swatting at the hands that hovered over his shoulders. This only happened once or twice more before he let it happen naturally, his posture stiff as Wilbur ran his fingers through the boy’s hair with practiced ease.

Though it may not have seemed like it, Tommy was significantly more averse to touch than Techno had ever been. The only reason Techno even seemed averse to it was because of his hesitance to initiate, something he and Wilbur had discussed in depth. Rejection was one of the few fears Technoblade truly had and Wilbur held that fact close to his heart, ready to die with it if need be. Tommy, on the other hand? He was very particular about where and when and why someone was touching him, and it had taken Wilbur a long time to get used to that fact. But, he wasn’t about to make his little brother uncomfortable just so he could be happy and, eventually, he learned the ins and outs of how to touch TommyInnit without causing issue.

Pulling a few of the shorter strands towards the front of Tommy’s face loose, Will separated the blonde’s hair into three sections. They were rather small, what with how thin and short his hair was, it just barely being long enough to even have a proper braid in it, but Wilbur knew he could make it work.

“Now, Toms, you gotta listen to me here, because I can’t show you this bit, yeah? Phil and Tech aren’t here, and my hair is too short, so you’ll just have to feel it out for now, but...this is how you braid hair-” Wilbur had said in a soft voice, brushing the pad of his thumb over the boys neck slowly to ease the tension out of his shoulders. The effect was immediate, the boy slouching forward as if he had just noticed he was holding himself so sternly. Smiling softly, Wilbur instructed him on how to weave the strands together, answering questions and pulling lightly at Tommy’s hair so he could feel exactly where everything went. After he was done, Tommy had reached back to feel the bumps in his hair, all his earlier anger seemingly gone as he gave a small smile. And then he tried it himself.

Of course he got a bit of help at first, Wilbur’s larger hands guiding his own with gentle corrections, but after that Tommy worked on it alone, his older brother watching in silence from a patch of grass beside the porch step.

That night, Tommy and Wilbur slept in Techno’s bed, a soft, blue blanket wrapped tightly around them. And if another body woke them up at some point that night, shoving its way into the mess of limbs, their chest pressed right up against the youngest boy’s back, then that was only for them to know.

—

At eleven years old, Tommy takes a pair of scissors to his hair. With flushed cheeks and salty lips, his hands shaking and his eyes foggy, he cuts, cuts, cuts, until he can no longer braid his hair—until he can no longer look like fucking Phil.

Even though Wilbur had once said he hated Tommy’s long hair—hated how similar he and their dad looked—he felt like crying as he ran his fingers through the uneven strands. He didn’t tell his brother this though, instead grabbing his face and planting a wet kiss on his freckled forehead. In a fierce whisper, Wilbur had said, “I’m so fucking proud of you, Tommy. So fucking proud.”

Tommy never forgets the way he felt that day. He doesn’t forget Wilbur’s words either.

—

When Wilbur loses his last life, Technoblade tells Tommy to braid his hair.

It wasn’t a question either, but a demand forced out between gritted teeth, his face red, his nose stuffy and his lashes wet with unshed tears. Still, his words were clear as day.

“Braid my fucking hair, Theseus. Braid it.”

It had sounded like a plea falling from Techno’s chapped lips, blood caked under his nails as he sat in front of Tommy on a tree stump, slowly itching at his wrists.

“Wilbur told me to stop you if you ever started doing that-”

“Wilbur isn’t fucking here. Just...braid, Toms. Braid.”

Tommy sniffled, but did as he was told.

Maybe it was because he was too tired to argue with the only person he even had left. Maybe it was because he could tell Technoblade was mad at their father for the first time in his life, and he knew how bad his first time had felt. Or, maybe, it was just because he knew Techno fucking cared. Nobody else seemed to, but he knew Techno did and...that was enough for him.

As long as someone else cared—as long as it was fucking Technoblade—that was enough for him.

Just as Tommy had finished the braid, curling his finger around the light pink tail that tied the whole thing off, Techno yanked it forward. Before he could even register that the hair had left his hand, the older boy had taken an axe to the top of it, letting the rest of his hair fall around his face in uneven curls. Though it was a good ten minutes of work wasted, Tommy couldn’t say a damn thing as he watched Techno pocket the braid, muttering a thank you and heading in the direction of Wilbur’s unofficial grave.

In that moment, he felt relief for the first time in a long while.

—

Wilbur Soot was born covered in vernix and blood, weighing just barely above the seven-pound mark, and he came into the world much like he left it. Everyone had heard his cries—even if they weren’t there, even if they didn’t know him well—they had saw the way he spiraled, desperate and afraid and paranoid, searching for help, but never receiving enough.

And though he was the second child born, he left the world first, returning in a yellow sweater with a small braid tucked behind his ear. He didn’t really know why he had one, but he remembered braiding Techno’s hair and he remembered teaching Tommy how to do his own and he remembered, he remembered, he remembered the braids.

[civilorange]

story time.

On the 19th of April in the lord’s year 2005, my mother thought I had a horrible brain trauma.

It began as a normal enough day—I was your average uninterested high school student, I was going to only half my scheduled classes, and I had recently convinced my now wife—then good-student great-influence friend—to walk back into a class I had ditched to retrieve my jacket that I had forgotten therein.

(She still won’t let me live down how the teacher had cornered her, and read her the riot act so that she might in turn read it to me, but I digress.)

The school day was coming to a close and one of the upperclassmen—a girl-woman of an amazon named Christine—invited me to come to an impromptu party at our mutual friend Meredith’s house. I had nothing to do and no plans to do any work assigned to me, so I agreed and off we went.

I feel like it needs to be mentioned that Christine had a bright red Jeep Wrangler with a tongue decaled on the side and the spare tire covered in a wrap declaring it the “Kiss Mobile!”

We picked up the boy I dated for a lukewarm forty five second the year prior before he realized his mother liked me better—no, seriously, when he moved to another state she asked if my mother would allow her to have temporary guardianship so I could move with them, again, I digress—and off we went.

Neither me, or Greg—the boy—were of age to drink legally, but no one in the suburbs cares about that.

When we arrived there were already eight to ten cars parked on the lawn—this is an absolutely unremarkable Tuesday in spring, mind you.

We drink a little, we dance, and once there was enough liquor involved we decided the party could only get better if it became a toga party.

Now, most people might have methods to tie togas so they’d stay in place—but a handful of drunk suburban babies don’t have those skills.

So we stapled them to ourselves.

Opening a pretty hefty office stapler, we slapped the prongs against each other’s backs until the little metal teeth dug into our skin and kept the togas in place. We took Meredith’s beta fish from his lovely little bowl and put him into a pair of platform shoes that were meant to be filled with water for—I don’t know—effect, probably.

“Behold! I am Jesus Christ, walking upon water!”

Nevertheless someone showed up with two carvel cakes and more beer. We ate cake by the literal fistful and played a far too dangerous game of darts in her basement.

But everyone knows drunk people always want something—the more off the wall, the better.

We wanted Jello.

One of the four responsible people—sober and loving it—offered to drive us to the supermarket so that we might procure jello. We stumble into cars and after almost forty minutes we returned—packs, on packs, on packs of Jello mix in our possession.

We read the instructions, skip the steps we don’t like, and then we have Jello.

Well, we have colored and flavored water—apparently it takes hours to set.

We sip the very-hot flavored liquid and it fills none of our needs—our desires hardly quenched, we tried to improve on the situation we find ourselves. We start adding.

Sprinkles, tabasco sauce, pickles—anything and everything was on the table.

“Hey,” someone—I can neither confirm nor deny that it might’ve been me—says mid-way through consuming pickle filled lime Jello liquid (green on green, you know?). “What if we, I don’t know, snorted the mix?” 

We still had packs, on packs, on packs of Jello powder left—we had, truly, bought way too many boxes.

All the cowards—intelligent humans—plead out and it was left up to me and that statuesque girl-woman of an amazon, Christine. I picked raspberry because I surmised—in my underage drunken haze—that it would have the nicest “nose feel”. We aimed to make lovely lines of powder on the tables—not with credit cards because we were children, but high-school IDs—and rolled stiff one dollar bills.

To this day that raspberry Jello mix is the only thing—other than pool water—that has gone that far up my nose. It was fine enough of a powder that it was easy enough, prompting me to go three lines in.

With that being done, I was sufficiently out of bad ideas—or so I thought—and me and Greg—the boy—started to walk home. We both lived only about five minutes from Meredith’s house, so the slight drizzle didn’t seem that bad.

Oh, it got bad.

Deluges of rain started only a minute after we left and we were immediately soaked to the bone. Water logged in my JNCO oversized denims and well-chosen Coheed and Cambria hoodie, I realized I wasn’t out of bad ideas.

Me and Greg would switch pants.

Why? To this day I don’t know, but it seemed imperative at the time that we did.

Though he was—at least—five sizes larger, I steadfastly held them up with one fist while he wiggled into my oddly-small-yet-oversized denims. We laughed, we cried, and then when we hit the main road, we parted ways.

I entered my house carefully, stealthily, not wanting to wake my mother if she was asleep—she wasn’t. She was watching television, something stupid looking—and I was counting steps, and carefully rolling my tongue so that I might coherently express my need to go immediately to my room for no untoward reason.

Of course, that was aborted immediately as I watch plumbs of white smoke drift lazily across the screen—standing there, dripping on my mother’s carpet. I ask her what she’s watching, still not facing her.

“White smoke,” she replies, as I turn toward her. “It means they elected—Oh my God! What happened?! Did you fall off your bicycle?”

Now, you need to understand that when you have a traumatic brain injury one of the many signs you can look for is something called CSF—cerebrospinal fluid—also known as a “halo”. It is a clear oily looking liquid that can leak out of your nose or ears.

My mother works in the emergency room, she’s very keen on these things.

Apparently, raspberry Jello mix looks startlingly close to cerebrospinal fluid when it has started leaking out of your nose. And I can’t blame my mother for assuming head injury before snorting food powders, but I was just this side of drunk that I wasn’t putting any of that together.

“S’raspberry,” I slur while wiping it at my nose.

This, of course, doesn’t give her any reason to not assume I’m somehow concussed—the slurring and wobbling didn’t help either. She sat me down while I watched the smoke on the screen, and started doing field tests to see what was wrong. She eventually just realized I was a drunk idiot toddler with a penchant for bad ideas.

And that’s why I’ll never forget what day Pope Benedict XVI was elected.

[metalandmagi]

Summer 2019 Anime Worth Watching

Summer is here, and with it brings another new season of anime! In case you’re feeling lost and want to find some new shows to pass the time, here’s some of the anime I think are worth checking out...because some really good shows tend to fly under the radar. I think there’s some genuinely interesting stuff this season, so hopefully you’ll find something you like too. 

I also have a Winter list and a Spring list and a fall list now!

And here’s my master list for 2020

New Shows!

Given: A *cough* BL *cough* romance anime in which tsundere highschool guitarist Ritsuka Uenoyama is on the verge of losing his passion for music when he stumbles upon the sleepy-eyed Mafuyu Sato who constantly carries a guitar around that he doesn’t know how to play. Drama and musical shenanigans ensue. This was by far my most anticipated show of the season, because I happen to have read a few chapters of this manga and liked it a lot. The only reason I stopped was because I wanted to hear the music in this music oriented story...so naturally the anime makes me very happy. Not only is it sweet and cute with great animation, but it’s also hilarious. Sato is also basically a human incarnation of a lost puppy, and you just help but fall in love with him and the other characters! AND NOW WE HAVE TWO GAY MUSIC SHOWS THIS SEASON! 

Dr. STONE: An action adventure anime that takes place 3,700 years in the future after the world is struck with a mysterious phenomenon that turns the entire human race to stone. Our protagonists: the genius, scientific minded Senku Ishigami and the muscle-y comic relief Taiju Oki, must find a way to rebuild civilization and turn humanity back to normal using the POWER OF SCIENCE! It’s fun, good looking, and way more interesting than I thought it would be. I’m not very attached to the main characters yet, although it’s still early. I’m mainly sticking around for the plot, the comedy, and the answers to the crazy amount of questions I have after watching the first episode!

Fire Force: An action/drama where super powered fire fighters must protect Tokyo from people who are spontaneously combusting while our hero Shinra must find out who started the fire that killed his mother. More than anything, I’d say this show is definitely worth watching for the cinematography and action because almost every second has been high flying dynamic animation that really grips you. It reminds me a lot of Soul Eater, the story and characters have a lot of potential, and you know an anime will be good when the girls have muscles too!

If it’s for My Daughter, I’d Even Defeat a Demon Lord: Can you tell it’s based on a light novel? A slice of life set in a fantasy world where an adventurer named Dale stumbles upon an adorable lost little girl in the woods, who happens to be branded as a criminal. So of course Dale basically adopts her and tries to find out how she came to be with him. It’s basically fantasy School Babysitters without the tragic depth to it (but there’s room for potential). Yes, this is definitely the most wholesome show of the season, but it’s to be expected considering it’s basically Japan’s latest attempt to get people to have more babies. Personally, the most interesting aspect of this show is the fact that Dale and his “daughter” can’t speak the same language. Unfortunately, the light novel ends up pulling a Bunny Drop...so I sincerely hope the anime doesn’t try the creepy romance factor. So for now, if you feel like puking up some rainbows, give this one a try. 

To the Abandoned Sacred Beasts: An action drama where, during a civil war, one side used “forbidden technology” to enhance their soldiers and basically turn them into badass monsters. The only problem: the soldiers who were turned start to lose their humanity and end up killing humans for the fun of it. Now our protagonist must hunt down his fellow soldiers and kill them before it’s too late. Honestly, this show has some pacing issues and can be a bit stilted in terms of its character interactions, but what kept me watching was the last 5 minutes of the first episode. I was so not prepared for the roller coaster that was the first episode’s ending, and now I’m extremely intrigued. Besides it’s made by MAPPA so I would at least give it a couple episodes to see if it’s for you.   

Vinland Saga: The story of a young boy named Thorfinn’s journey to become a great warrior and while the adults deal with going to war. IT’S THE ONE WITH THE VIKINGS!!! It basically feels like a darker, grittier viking version of Moana. I’ve heard literally nothing but praise for this manga for so many years that my hopes skyrocketed as soon as I heard Wit was doing the adaption. And it has definitely lived up to the hype so far! It’s a great action historical drama to fill the void after Dororo. The only problem is no one will watch it because it’s on Amazon Prime.

Kochouki: Wakaki Nobunaga: A fun brightly colored historical anime about the famous warlord Nobunaga when he was a young teenager. I honestly don’t know what the tone of this anime is going to be from here on out, because it’s going to go from “fun thieving shenanigans with pretty boys” to leading people into battle, but it got me interested. I know putting Nobunaga in an anime isn’t exactly original, but this one seems like a fun ride...and it looks gay as fuck. 

And I have to shout out some that haven’t premiered yet...just in case...

Try Knights: This one doesn’t come out until the end of July, but you bet your ass I’m going to be watching it because it’s an original anime about PRETTY BOYS PLAYING RUGBY! And I have a feeling it’s going to be very... different from the other resident rugby anime All Out. 

Yokai Ningen BEM (Humanoid Monster BEM): Okay, this one’s not out yet either, but the trailer had a really cool vibe to it, so I’m including it anyway. It’s a remake of the 1968 anime in which a group of yokai who look like humans fight crime in the big city. If nothing else, the music is cool, and it’s made by Production I.G, so why not?

*UPDATE* The first episode finally dropped, and holy crap I’m so into this. It’s basically Durarara mixed with Psycho Pass mixed with Bungo Stray Dogs. The first episode has me completely hooked!

Next seasons and continuations!

As always there are some leftovers from the spring season that are continuing into the summer that I highly suggest!

Carole and Tuesday: The musical sci-fi anime directed by Shinichiro Watanabe wherein a rich runaway named Tuesday meets a streetwise girl named Carole, and the two decide to start a band together. Now Carole and Tuesday must rise to stardom in a world dominated by android created music. It was by far my favorite new show of the spring, and if you can find a way to watch it (because it’s still not available legally anywhere aside from Japanese Netflix apparently) I wholeheartedly recommend it. It’s got the best and most diverse music I’ve seen in an anime in a long time, an interesting setting (apparently it takes place in the Cowboy Bebop universe!?), and very well rounded fun characters. And I'm dying for a soundtrack release with all the songs!!!!

Fruits Basket 2019: Yes, the remake of the classic 2001 anime in which a girl moves in with a family who can turn into animals from the zodiac is getting a full run. And thank God because I just can’t say goodbye to it after only 12 episodes. It is so stunningly beautiful in both animation and story subjects that I don’t know what I would do without it. The characters feel so much more fleshed out, and I feel like I learn a lesson about life each week even though I already know most of what’s going to happen. If you never watched the original because thought you were too “cool” to watch a shoujo anime, give it a chance. Because if you think it’s just a generic love triangle romance show, you couldn’t be more wrong. The reboot is so good at portraying different kinds of love and how the presence of love and family can change lives AND IT’S JUST SO FREAKING GOOD! 

Demon Slayer Kimetsu no Yaiba: In case you missed Ufotable’s newest project, this is a shounen anime that follows a young boy named Tanjiro and his sister Nezuko who has been possessed by a demon and their journey to turn Nezuko back to normal while fighting demons along the way. I still feel like this is a pretty basic shounen anime story wise, but I really like the characters, especially the villains. It has some of the coolest fighting/power mechanics I’ve seen in awhile, and the animation is very cool and different!

Ace of Diamond act 2: Our favorite shounen baseball anime is continuing into the summer. And I have very mixed feelings about this season so far. We are getting some fun new characters and some great scenes with the team, but the games are very...choppy and rushed. Apparently this is how it goes down in the manga, and we’re in for some good Sawamura development...but it’s still touch and go for me personally.  

That’s it for now. Most of these are available on Crunchyroll, except Vinland Saga, Carole and Tuesday, and Kochouki: Wakaki Nobunaga. Since Try Knights and Yokai Ningen BEM aren’t out yet, I don’t know where they will be available legally. 

See you next season!

[de-profundis-ad-astra]

CHARACTER INTRO Charlotte Moore | Operative 390593 | Codename: Gatsby | Project Masterlist

Quick Facts:

Story | Legion Age | 26 Gender | Female Sexuality | Asexual Occupation | Named Agent of Legion - specializing in intelligence Face Claim | Samara Weaving Hogwarts House | Slytherin MBTI | ENTJ

Physical Description:

Although she only stands about 5′3″, Charlotte possesses an uncanny ability to look down her nose at everyone - especially those who stand taller than her. A talented gymnast as a child, it’s followed her through life and into her career. She’s small, lithe, but the muscle she packs underneath that smooth, pale skin is nothing to trifle with. When she knows she’s in control, she leans back on her hips and relaxes. When she’s commanding respect, or showing off, she stands at her full height, hands on her hips, chest out, head high like the lioness she is.

Strong as she is, it’s Charlotte’s doll face - the delicate features that sit right in the happy medium between soft and angular, the heart-shaped face, big green eyes, and full lips curled into that alluring smile - that got her into the intelligence sector of Legion. If she can’t get you to talk with her smile… well. She’s well versed in enough extraction practices that she’s practically turned it into an art form. But it’s the hair that draws her victims in, those thick curls the color of flame that might seem a little too easy for one to get their hands lost in. 

Although she’s got buckets of money at her disposal, Charlotte’s tastes remain comfortably within the high-end casual range. With her work, she never knows when she’ll need to break into a sprint or smash someone’s head into a table. So she blends in until she needs to stand out. And when she stands out, that’s when she looks most like her mother - all exquisite dresses and jewelry and makeup - and she despises it.

Personality

Charlotte is a fantastic actress, and ambitious as hell. She can fake anything for a front. When she sets her sights on something, nothing, and I mean nothing, will stop her from achieving her objective. It’s why she was able to beat the Trials in record time and earn a codename. When she knows she’s being watched, she never stops smiling, always smirking like she knows something no one around her does. Actually. She does that all the time.

Charlotte loves her job. It makes her feel powerful and in control - a welcome reprieve from her previous jobs, where she was anything but in control. But, when her mother company puts out a warrant for her death, she doesn’t hesitate to abandon everything and never look back. She doesn’t have much to look at, really. It’s easier to focus on what’s ahead.

When Charlotte throws herself into a road trip but has no choice to bring along an unwilling companion or risk her own safety, her patience is tried over and over. Mostly, she’s frustrated with her new teammates, and only keeps them around because with a conflict of this magnitude, they’re a necessity. She’s a far cry from a loner, but Charlotte does have a heavy preference for working alone. Others have only ever slowed her down. So when working as a team becomes an inevitability, she fights it, and fights it hard. How could anyone stand to be on a team? How could she trust anyone but herself to watch her back? Who could tolerate that level of vulnerability?

The funny thing about being vulnerable is that it’s so easy to pretend like you’re not. And then, when presented with that moment where she can’t hide it, Charlotte has to act. And she doesn’t do it for anyone else, no. She wants answers. And she will stop at nothing to get them, even if it means forsaking her humanity.

Charlotte Moore is her own god and martyr.

Blurb

Director Soren reached into a drawer, removed a slim file, and placed it on his desk with a certain amount of delicacy. Placing one hand flat over the cover, he slid it towards Charlotte. “The panel has decided to grant you one more chance to prove your worth as a Named Agent of Legion.”

Charlotte nodded with recognition. Over a week had passed since what they considered the unmitigated disaster that had been her last meeting with her disciplinary panel. To Charlotte, it had been just another Tuesday. What was meant to be a review of her most recent discipline case had devolved into what he could only describe was an amalgam of arguing and backtalk until Charlotte was ordered out of the building and given strict instructions to remain on call.

This was the first she’d heard from Soren since. Hence the excitement.

Charlotte tilted her head, her eyes locking on the folder like a piece of meat. Her fiery curls fell over one shoulder with the motion. “Can’t say I’m hard pressed to disagree with the decision. What’s the job?”

“Getting you this opportunity was a hard fought victory,” said Soren, deflecting. “I do not suggest you take it lightly.”

“Whatever gave you that impression?” asked Charlotte, her eyes rounding and mouth falling open partway. The portrait of innocence.

Her whole career, actually, might have lead one to believe this. But Charlotte never passed up an opportunity to gibe at her handler.

Director Soren easily saw through the ruse. “Anyone reviewing your service record wouldn’t need to make it far to know your history of insolence.”

Air hissed from Charlotte’s nose as she exhaled, the soft features of her face hardening into hard planes and angles. “Fine,” She huffed, her long, thick eyelashes fluttering to conceal the way she rolled her eyes before her focus narrowed back to the file. Without asking, she reached for it.

Soren yanked the folder back before she could touch it. She leaned back with a puff. “You swore an oath to support and defend this corporation. To bear allegiance to it and no others. Do you still swear it?”

Charlotte’s heart soared at those words, wings fluttering against her ribs. Excitement rose in her throat, and she tamed the face-splitting grin that threatened to break across her face to a mild conspirator’s smile. “I do.”

“You swore to serve as a living example of this corporation’s philosophies and beliefs and to uphold these values at all times. You took this obligation freely and of your own accord. Do you still swear it?”

Charlotte allowed some of her control to slip, and her resulting smile reminded Director Soren more of a predator baring its teeth than an expression of happiness. “I do.”

“Do you swear to give yourself wholly to this assignment and complete the request of its commissioner?”

“I do.”

“Thank you,” Director Soren withdrew his hand, and Charlotte greedily snatched the file off his desk. She flipped it open, immediately faced with the small headshot of a stern-looking blonde clipped to the inside of the cover.

Charlotte snorted, “Hell of a mugshot. What do we want from her.”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?” Charlotte repeated, incredulous. “Then why—”

It dawned on her, then, and she trailed off. Her handler’s expression gave her everything she needed.

“Oh, Cecil,” Charlotte breathed, placing a hand over her heart. “You shouldn’t have.”

Taglist

@firefeatherx @goldenhour-goldenboy @mandoplease @mylifeliterally @phoenixhalliwell @havenforafrazzledmind @living-reminder @beatriz-silva-00 @phoenixhalliwell @pascalz @worldominatorx @givemethatgold @agirllovespancakes @lilacyennefer @dignityneeded @veuliee @briskywalker @radiomacbeth

[freddiesaysalright]

Soft in Love Part 3

A Gwilym Lee x Student!Reader Fic

Summary: Y/N is an acting student in her last semester of college. When a professor unexpectedly can’t make it for the senior capstone class, a very famous (and handsome) substitute is called in. When they connect, they face a few challenges.

Word Count: 3k

Tag List: @psychosupernatural​ @someone-get-a-medic​, @bensrhapsody​, @deakyclicks​, @crazylittlethingcalledobsession​, @minigranger​, @crazyweirdocalledfriday​, @benders-diamond-earring​, @im-an-adult-ish​, @anincurablefangirl​, @kiainspace​, @lookuptotheskiesandsee​, @god-save-the-deaks​, @assembledherethevolunteers​ @misslolasworld​ If you’d like to be added, let me know!

A/N: So, some more pining and drama. Y’know, the usual.

Warning(s): Some guys being sketchy with women’s drinks.

Part 1  Part 2

Part 3 here we go!!!

Thankfully, the weekend passed without incident, though you found yourself thinking of Gwilym more often than you liked. Every time you read your library book, you thought of that moment among the shelves. Any time you ran lines, or sang from the show, you thought about the way he played the piano, and how you laughed together afterward. His smile, his eyes….

“Get a grip,” you scolded yourself.

And yet, you found yourself eager for the end of the weekend and anticipation for Tuesday morning.

You arrived early again, feeling oddly hopeful. Maybe you could rehearse “The Boy Next Door” again. You loved that song already, but singing it with Gwilym was something else. When you entered the auditorium, you were disappointed to find that instead of your handsome professor, Daniel, your ex, sat in your usual seat.

“Sup?” he said with a cocky nod. “Expecting someone else?”

“No,” you replied coolly, turning away to go and sit elsewhere.

You found another seat and pulled your book out, eyes going over the words, but not really absorbing it. You could feel Daniel gazing at you with such an infuriating smirk on his face. After about two minutes, you slammed your book shut and looked sharply at him.

“What?” you demanded.

“Nothing,” he replied with a shrug. “You look nice.”

“Shut up,” you returned. “Just tell me what you want and stop staring at me.”

“There’s a party Friday night,” he said. “At a friend of mine’s place. You should come. Bring Sloan too.”

“Why would I want to go to your dumb friend’s party?” you shot back. “If you need a date so bad, why don’t you just ask Allison?”

Allison was the name of the girl he had cheated on you with. Daniel frowned at the mention of her and it was your turn to smirk.

“What else are you going to do?” he challenged. “Sit at home at masturbate thinking about Gwilym?”

Your face heated up at the idea as well as the fury you now felt toward Daniel. 

“You’re an asshole,” you spat.

“Why, ‘cause I’m right?” he returned.

“No, because you’re clearly just butthurt that I don’t care about you anymore,” you said. “So you’re saying things just to try and make me feel like shit.”

It also struck a nerve. Not because he was right, but if even Daniel thought your behavior toward was exceptional in any way, then it was a problem. You were going to need to back off of him. Plus, you were beyond tired of hearing about it. One week of this man teaching classes, and rumors were already starting.

“Just come to the party,Y/N,” he sighed. “There’ll at least be free booze.”

You considered it. You really despised parties because of the crowds and the noise. But Sloan loved parties, and she might feel robbed if you didn’t at least tell her about it.

“I’ll see what Sloan wants to do,” you conceded.

He pumped his fist in the air. “Hell yeah!”

Your other classmates began trailing into the auditorium, followed shortly by Gwilym. You beamed at him as he passed you, which he returned. You remembered Daniel’s words and immediately adjusted your expression to something more neutral. Gwilym didn’t notice, since he began taking roll. Today was focused almost entirely on music, so you didn’t get to talk to Sloan about the party right away.

All through rehearsal, you avoided Gwilym like the plague. He approached you once with an expectant (and dashing) smile on his face, and you quickly ran off to grab some water. When he gave you direction on your song with Sloan, you nodded curtly and said nothing. You tried to always thank your directors for feedback, but you were so afraid of appearing too eager to please him now.

Edith on the other hand, had no such qualms. With you avoiding him, she moved to fill the space, brazenly flirting. She batted her eyes. She found any excuse to touch him. And once, while she was whispering something in his ear, she shot you a dirty look. You couldn’t be bothered about what she may have said. It was likely it wasn’t even about you, she just wanted to get in your head. Well, you weren’t going to let her. Besides, Gwilym was not yours to be jealous or possessive over.

When class drew to an end, Edith squeezed Gwilym’s bicep.

“Thanks for a great class today,” she said with a wide smile.

“I’m just doing my job,” he returned politely.

“Well, you’re very good at it,” she insisted.

You resisted a brutal urge to roll your eyes. You looked at Sloan to get the image of Edith’s desperate eyes out of your head.

“Hey, you wanna go to a party on Friday?” you asked.

She raised an eyebrow at you.

“Who are you and what have you done with the real Y/N?” she returned.

“Dan invited us,” you said. “He said his friend is having one. He mentioned bringing you specifically, so…”

“I’m always down for a party,” she said. “Are you actually going to come?”

You glanced back toward where Edith was now twirling her hair around her finger as she spoke to Gwilym. You couldn’t see his face, but you imagined he had his usual polite smile. An idea formed.

“Yeah, I’m gonna come,” you said.

“Alright then,” she agreed, a surprised smile claiming her lips. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“Me too!” you agreed.

You left class without saying anything to Gwilym or Edith, just giggling excitedly as you exited the auditorium.

Gwilym’s eyes were trained on your back until you disappeared and the door closed behind you. He’d caught a whiff of you scent as you rushed by with Sloan. He wondered what made you both so silly. He heard Edith talking, but didn’t register the words she was saying. His mind was completely distracted by your behavior towards him.

You were normally quite friendly, but today, you seemed off. When he saw you were behaving as usual with your friends, he got nervous. What had he done to offend you? He hadn’t even seen you since last week’s class, except for once on Friday afternoon when he passed you on the way to his car. Even then, he had just smiled and waved. What had changed between now and then?

“Gwilym?” Edith said, a little louder. 

He shook his head to clear it.

“Oh, sorry,” he said. “What is it?”

“I said, I was wondering if you’d like to get coffee sometime?” she replied.

He felt the color drain from his face.

“Oh…” he said. “Oh, I - well, I’m flattered, Edith, but the university has strict rules about professors fraternizing with students.”

“I mean, it’s not like I’m some eighteen year old,” she argued. “I’m a grown...experienced woman.”

He cleared his throat uncomfortably. 

“You’re putting me in a very awkward position,” he said.

“What position is that?” she asked, stepping closer.

“The position of rejecting you,” he replied as gently as he could.

“Because of the rule?”

“Even in spite of it.”

The air thickened. Her face fell as she looked at him and then down at the floor.

“Oh,” she said. “Oh, I see.”

“I’m sorry,” he told her. “I’m just not interested. You’re a lovely person, I’m sure, but -”

“Save it,” she said, holding up a hand to stop him. “I don’t need to hear a lame ass excuse.”

She snatched up her bag, turned on her heel, and swept out of the room. Gwilym took a deep breath as the door closed behind her, leaving him mercifully alone. Again, his thoughts went to you. He wondered what he might have said if it had been you standing there instead of Edith. Yet, from the way you were acting before, he assumed he would never have to answer that question.

On Thursday, class went similarly. Only, you noticed you weren’t the only one giving Gwilym a bit of a cold shoulder. Edith was making quite a show of ignoring him. When he was directing others, she would cross her arms over her chest and huff, turning her head sharply away from him. It all seemed to go unnoticed by Gwilym.

“What’s up with her?” you wondered.

“I heard she asked him out and he turned her down,” Andrew said.

Your heart gave a jolt of excitement.

“Really? Where’d you hear that?”

“Mary,” he said. “You know how they’re kind of friends. Apparently, he spouted some excuse about school rules before flat out telling her he wasn’t interested.”

“Damn, that’s cold,” Sloan chimed in.

“I didn’t know the school had rules about that,” you said.

“They’re super strict,” Andrew said. “I looked it up after I heard this story and it could result in the professor’s termination and the student’s expulsion.”

You blinked, surprised.

“That seems awfully drastic,” you said. Then you smiled. “Especially for something that’s evidently such a popular porn trope.”

Andrew rolled his eyes.

“That’s just it, though,” he said. “It’s a fantasy.”

“Relax, I’m only kidding,” you replied. “No, it’s probably for the best. I mean, the lines are blurred because of the power dynamics and all that. It’s not an ideal situation for anyone.”

Sloan said something else that you didn’t quite hear. The triumph you felt at Gwilym’s rejection of Edith had ebbed away entirely. Now, you only thought about that rule. You looked at Gwilym as he spoke to Mary and Leon, who played your mother and father in the show, and felt an ache in your heart.

The following day, you went to Sloan’s to get ready for the party together. Andrew wasn’t going, since he had work on the weekends. Sloan did your makeup for you and everything, and you had a feeling the time with her was going to be the most fun you had that night.

You took a Lyft to the party, after Daniel texted you the address. When you arrived, it was in full swing. Music made the walls seem to shake as bass thumped along with whatever song was playing. The low lighting made you squint as you headed for the kitchen, needing a drink. Alcohol was probably the only thing that would get you through the nonsense. But you had to do this.

Sloan chugged a beer and then scanned the crowd. You watched her, her eyes like a panther on the prowl. She spotted a man she deemed attractive, and she pounced. You admired Sloan’s boldness. If she wanted something, she went for it. And if she got rejected, it rolled right off her back. You sometimes envied her confidence.

You looked around at the sea of people and tried not to get overwhelmed. You were hoping to start up a flirtation with someone so that people could see you were just friendly and totally not into your hot professor. When no one really struck your fancy, you sighed and retreated to the corner.

That was where Daniel found you.

“Hey, Y/N!” he shouted over the music. “Glad you made it!”

“Me too!” you returned.

It was a lie, but you didn’t care about lying to him.

“Wanna dance?” he offered.

“Nope,” you answered.

“Come on, one song!”

“No thanks!”

“How about you join me outside?”

That sounded better. Getting out of the sweaty bodies everywhere and the pounding music would be a relief. So you nodded, following him out to the back porch. With the door shut, the sounds of the party were instantly dulled. To your irritation, you were out here alone.

Daniel pulled out a cigarette. He offered the pack out to you, but you shook your head. He shrugged, stuck the cigarette in his mouth, and lit it. He took a long drag and then blew the smoke away from you.

“I’ve been doing some thinking,” he said.

“Oh, how rare for you,” you returned.

“Come on,” he groaned. “I’m trying to tell you something.”

“I don’t really care to hear anything you have to say.”

“I’m really sorry about Allison, okay?” he went on. “I want to give us another chance.”

“Well, I don’t,” you said firmly. “If this was your reason for inviting me, I’ll just go home.”

“Don’t be like that,” he pleaded.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you snipped. “You’re acting like we were in love or something. We dated for four months, you cheated on me, I ended it. Don’t pretend I broke your heart.”

“What if you did?” he asked

“I know that I didn’t.”

He chuckled, smoke billowing out between his lips.

“You’re such a bitch,” he laughed.

You sneered at him. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

“Is this because you want to fuck Gwilym?”

“You know, as much as you talk about him, I’m beginning to think you want to fuck him,” you spat.

“I might, if he wanted me too,” he shrugged. “I’m nice.”

“Piss off.” 

You went swiftly back inside. Daniel just wanted a bed warmer tonight, you were sure. He didn’t want to get back together. But it upset you enough that you were going to find Sloan and tell her you were leaving. You stepped through the door and looked around. 

She wasn’t in the kitchen, so you assumed she was still dancing. Pushing through the crowd, you headed that way. When you got there, you carefully searched for her face. You didn’t see her anywhere. Worry started to grip you. Where was she?

You pulled your phone out of your pocket, only to discover it was dead. You cursed yourself for forgetting to charge it while you got ready. You now needed your friend to use her Lyft app as well. But still, you couldn’t find her. And you couldn’t text or call her.

“Sloan!” you called out, heart beginning to race.

You heard no response.

“Sloan!”

Again, nothing.

Full on panic set in, and you began aggressively pushing people out of your way to look around. Sloan was nowhere to be found. Taking a deep breath, you hurtled up the stairs and began checking the bedrooms, still calling out for her.

“Sloan!” you cried, bursting through the last door in the hall.

There she was. She was lying on a bed, unconscious. Her clothes were on, and there was no one else in the room. You flew to her side and started patting her cheeks to try and rouse her.

“Sloan, come on,” you urged. “Hey, Sloan, can you hear me?”

She groaned and rolled her head from the left to the right. But she was still not awake. The door opened again and your eyes snapped to the intruder.

“Hey!” he cried. “What are you doing in here?”

“What are you doing in here?” you demanded. “Why didn’t you tell someone she was passed out?”

“She’s fine,” he argued. “We were just about to have some fun.”

Your eyes went wide, horrified.

“She can’t have any fun, she’s barely conscious!” you spat.

You started to pull her off the bed, putting her arm around your shoulders. Her limp body was heavy, nearly making your knees buckle, but you weren’t going to leave her here with this dirtbag. Not if it was the last thing you did.

“Get out of my way,” you said firmly, hoping your voice did not betray your fear. The guy was pretty big - you assumed he was an athlete - and you weren’t sure you could overtake him if the situation called for it.

“You can join the fun too, y’know,” he said.

“I’d literally rather die,” you retorted. “Now get out of my way. Don’t make me call my boyfriend up here.”

He rolled his eyes and thankfully stepped aside. 

Getting down the hall was no problem, but the stairs proved to be difficult. You were out of breath by the time you were halfway down. You were also pretty disgusted that no one seemed to notice you struggling. And if they did, they weren’t offering any help.

“Y/N…” Sloan mumbled, before her head lolled against your shoulder again

Slowly, staggeringly, you made it to the front door. You grabbed your purses and slung them precariously across your body. By some miracle, you were able to open the door. The sound of pouring rain made your heart sink. Great.

Despite the downpour, you stepped onto the porch. Holding Sloan tight against you with one hand, you fished around in her purse with the other. You found her phone quickly. With a victorious swish, you pulled it out and tried to unlock it. To your dismay, hers was dead too.

“Fuck!” you cried, stamping your foot.

You turned around and looked inside, hoping to see Daniel. Maybe you could pop back inside and ask to use his phone. It would hurt your pride, but some things had to be sacrificed in this sort of scenario. You couldn’t see him. Frustrated, your mind raced for something to do, some way to get home without a phone or a car. Then, your body froze as you saw the guy from upstairs and two other guys just his size coming toward the door. They looked dangerous.

Terrified, you maneuvered out into the rain as fast as you could go. Hair and makeup be damned, those guys had something sinister in mind and you were not going to allow them to do it, even if you collapsed from exhaustion.

The water dripping over your face proved a bigger challenge than you anticipated. Your vision was completely blurred as the droplets clung to your brows and lashes. The darkness didn’t help. You shivered, despite the warm air. Your body was so weak just from getting her out of the house. How were you going to make it all the way back to her apartment? 

Suddenly, two lights were heading down the street. Headlights.

You glanced back and saw the three guys emerge from the house. Then, you took a chance and launched yourself out onto the road, waving your free hand wildly.

“STOP!” you shouted. “Stop! Please stop!”

The car screeched to a halt. The driver pulled around you slowly before stopping and rolling the window down, revealing himself. You sucked in a sharp breath.

“Y/N?”

“Gwilym?”

[persephonescat]

Birds and Other Supernatural Phenomenons

Warning for violence!

Ch. 1    Previous    Next    Masterpost    AO3

________________

Ch. 4: Bloody Noses and Broken Bones

She smelled blood. Why was she smelling blood? 

The ground seemed not to exist anymore. Was she falling? She could no longer control her body, nothing worked the way it should've. She wasn't sure what was wrong, maybe everything. 

Was the sky still there? Or did she just imagine it? The cold air stung her eyes and she saw nothing but unforgiving gray and sickening purple. Everything was too loud, even though there were no sounds, were there? There was something shiny, so, so shiny, somewhere in the back of her mind she was supposed to know it was the Sun, but she was looking at the ground, how could she see the Sun?

Oh, right, there was no ground. There was no sky either, she knew that because the birds started falling like cheap toys, she could hear their bones crack as they collided with something that should've been the concrete but of course it wasn't.

Her heart wasn't beating. She didn't know how she noticed but once it was there her thoughts started flashing crazy fast, she couldn't follow them, she tried to blink to clear her mind but her eyes weren't real. She knew her organs were just an illusion too but she tried to breathe nevertheless. Instantly, some kind of maniacal happiness drilled its way into her skull (it hurt). After all, there was no air to breathe in, right? Silly.

She realized time stopped working and she heard herself laugh regardless of not having a physical body. Something was melting. "Reality," she thought cheerfully, reaching for the dense liquid, its color not similar to anything she ever saw. It felt like silk and oil and cream, smelled of expensive cosmetics and herbs and death.

"Beautiful."

***

On a Tuesday afternoon, with the Sun shining and the birds chirping on the trees, a normal person would never have thought that the city was home to some of the most ruthless criminals on the planet.

For the untrained eye, Gotham looked just like any other concrete-jungle; a little sad, a little shady, a little bit mean sometimes, but otherwise safe. However, Marinette saw the wordless ways of communication between the residents, the way mothers glanced into every alley before turning around the corner, the teenagers walking in large groups to be safer.

If you were a young girl in Gotham and weren't either a complete idiot or in possession of the strength of a hundred Bruce Lees, you didn't go walking around alone. Not to the post office, not to school, not to get Nutella at two AM (no matter how sad that was).

These rules got stricter the deeper Marinette dived into the city. It was fascinating how in only so many minutes, the business and relative safety of the Wayne Tower disappeared as if it was never there to begin with. 

Crime Alley was the darkest, most dangerous part of Gotham, the cream of the cream, one could say, as long as the cream was brown like dry blood and rotten to its very core. It wasn't always like that, but time tends to bring the worst out of everything. 

Marinette was halfway to St. Anthony Street when she heard a weak voice.

"Okay, just... please, don't hurt us."

"I said give me your wallet!" said a slightly louder voice. 

Marinette leaned against the wall and glanced around the corner carefully. A man almost twice her size was standing with his back turned to her, holding a gun to another man's chest, who shielded a little boy with his body.

The smaller man put his wallet in the mugger's outstretched hand. The bastard put it in his back pocket then eyed the man's shaking posture, looking for something else to steal.

"Now, your watch." The little boy whimpered as his father reached to take his watch off. Marinette moved quickly and silently, the way an animal moves in the final moments before killing its prey. By the time someone could notice her, she was standing behind the mountain of a man, her hand already hitting the painful point on his nape, just under his skull. 

The mugger yelped and started falling forward but Marinette was already there, hitting the gun out of his hand before he could accidentally pull the trigger, yanking him back by his arm, away from the father and son. She rubbed the pressure point inside his bicep as she stepped in front of him, making sure his arm wasn't strong enough to grab her, then took a well-controlled breath and let it out while swinging her arm and hitting his nose from the bottom, knocking him out completely. She made sure not to let go of his arm until he was on the ground, she didn't want him to break his skull when he landed on the concrete.

Once they were all safe and sound (some less than others), she wiped her hands in her light blue jeans and looked at the shaken up family. The father was staring at her blankly but the boy looked genuinely scared. Of her. She took a step backward, thinking about apologies and explanations. 

Why did she do this? She could've had waited until the man let them go and confronted him farther away. She should've taken his gun sooner and hit his ribs instead of his nose. That would've been less frightening to see, right? God, she was an idiot. 

The father's grateful voice pulled her out of her thoughts.

"Thank-... thank you. You saved our lives." The little boy stepped out from behind his dad and nodded sheepishly.

Marinette took a shaky breath and realized the mugger's gun was still on the pavement. How could she forget that? She quickly picked it up, checked it with practiced movements (akumas weren't the only thing in Paris), and made sure the safety is on before giving it to the father.

"Do you know how to handle a gun?" she asked mostly for the sake of formality. She was pretty sure people in Gotham were prepared enough when it came to guns. She made sure to mask her accent, it wasn't that hard to find a french girl in this city, and she had to be careful.

"Yes, I do."

There was a small pause.

"Umm..." she shifted awkwardly, "could you not tell the police I was here?"

That wasn't enough. She knew it. She had to give him something that could justify lying to the cops.

"I'm here with my class, and I think I wasn't supposed to wander this far... I just don't want to get into bigger trouble, I'm sorry."

The man nodded, holding her gaze; a vow of silence holier than any oath made in curt. It came from gratitude and kindness.

She quickly said her goodbyes and took off just as the man dialed the police. She sure-as-hell didn't have enough time to visit the crime scene now.

***

When she got back to the meeting point, thirty minutes before the time they agreed on, she realized her mistake: she didn't have a pair. It was too late. She was forced to go sit with Mrs. Bustier and the stressed-out tour guide, then the teacher insisted that she sat next to her on the bus the way back to their hotel.

By the time she managed to get her off her back, it was already time for dinner and she was seriously considering to kill herself with a fork.

When she climbed up to the roof, Jeremy was already there.

"Hi. What's up? You look like shit," he greeted her.

"Thanks, it must be the jacket."

"You know what I mean."

"I mean, is it more like dog poop or goose poop? Because you see, I was going for the first one, but now I'm concerned-"

"Okay, I get it, I'm sorry!" he said, interrupting her before she could enjoy the situation any longer. She grinned at him in response.

"What's up with the Eskimo-gear?" he asked, gesturing at the red scarf and gloves she was wearing.

"Bold words coming from a guy in a ski mask."

"It's not a ski mask, okay?"

"Yes, it is."

"But it's cool."

"It's cheap."

"Ohh, shut up Miss Give-Me-All-The-Blankets-Or-I'm-Gonna-Freeze-Right-Here-And-It'll-Be-Your-Problem!"

"That was one time!

"We've only known each other for a day, one is plenty enough!"

She stuck out her tongue and sat down next to him.

"What's that?" she asked, noticing something in his hand.

"This? Well, yesterday we talked about child-psychology and stuff and there is this guy, Tamás Vekerdy, who is pretty good, so I thought I could show it to you."

"Okay, just let me get the blankets," she said, standing up.

"Bring extras this time!" he shouted after her.

"Bring your IQ this time!" she shouted back.

________________

Your comments keep me alive enough to write after getting home from ten hours of school, so they're highly appreciated!

Ch. 1    Previous     Next    Masterpost    AO3

Tag list: 

@northernbluetongue @vgirl-10123 @theatreandcomicfreak @interobanginyourmom @crazylittlemunchkin @zerotosiki @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @my-name-is-michell @shreky-boi

[candyshua]

Intertwined | Chapter Three - Bad Timing

Kim Mingyu was your best friend, your knight in shining armor, your crush, your everything. But sadly, you were not his.

After getting his girlfriend pregnant in his fourth year of college, the two of them moved away to America after graduation. And then, you were all alone.

Meet Yoon Jeonghan, your current best friend. An aspiring video game designer, he has been your rock for 5 years. He helped you through so much drama. You would be surprised to learn that he was madly in love with you. What happens when Mingyu comes back to Korea?

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Word Count: 2,733

Warnings: Foul Language, drunkenness, suggestive language.

Everything was falling into place, for once in your life. Work was fine, and your side-hobby of singing was also fine. Your view had gotten about 500 views within two weeks, and even some comments! People were complimenting you, and it felt good. You had decided to make a new video.

Something you hadn’t noticed, however, was that Mingyu had not passed your mind once these past two weeks. You had postponed your trip with Jeonghan, mainly because you got busy with work. You would go this weekend instead.

It was Tuesday, and you weren’t waiting for the week to end anymore. Albeit you were excited, you allowed yourself to relish in your newfound contentment. No, you weren’t happy, not quite yet, but you were getting there.

Things felt great. Clarity had returned to your life, and now everything wasn’t just one hazy mess. After work, you had decided to go to a local cafe in the heart of Seoul, since you were in desperate need for a coffee. You had a project you wanted to finish that night, so a coffee would really hit the spot.

After ordering and sitting down, you heard the bell attached to the door ring, signalling a new customer walking in. You wouldn’t have even looked up, things would’ve been completely and utterly fine, but you heard his voice.

Mingyu’s voice.

His voice was extremely distinguishable. You would recognize it anywhere.

So, you looked up. Low and behold, there stood the 6’2 giant that you were once in love with. He looked...great.

His hair was black, which you weren’t used to. He always had it dyed some cool color.

He wore a blue t-shirt, which showed off his toned arms. He looked much more muscular than the last time you saw him. He even had a bit of a stubble, which shocked you beyond belief.

Then, it hit you. It was like being slapped in the face by reality.

You were seeing Mingyu, your childhood best friend, your first love, again. For the first time in over five years.

The air from your lungs had dissipated. You couldn’t breathe, so you elicited a huge gasp, which caused him to look your way.

The moment you had locked eyes, you knew you were done for. All of those feelings that you had suppressed throughout the years of not seeing him came back in one huge tidal wave. The love, hatred, resentment, adoration, everything. The feelings consumed you, and you didn’t know if you’d ever be able to feel anything ever again.

Then, he smiled. It was a sad smile, but he still wore a grin. Okay, you would feel again.

He walked over to you, with apprehensive and wide eyes. “Y/N.” He had stated, his voice as soft and silky as honey, and you wanted to collapse into yourself.

You internally debated on what to say, whether it would be a simple greeting or an insult.

“Long time no see.” You whispered, feeling a lump in your throat starting to form, because oh my god, it was Mingyu.

He was here, right in front of you. In the flesh. You wanted to cry, no, scratch that, sob.

Mingyu sat down at the table, right across from you. After the two of you basked in an unsettling silence for a bit, you broke.

“What the fuck!” Was all you could murmur, bringing yourself to bury your face in your hands.

“I’m sorry.” Mingyu said, with nothing but sheer emotion protruding from his tone. What the hell were you supposed to say? It was fine? It wasn’t fucking fine!

“Just explain this to me.” You demanded, your tone thickening. Authority soon consumed you, as you fixed your posture and gave Mingyu a confused scowl.

Mingyu looked a little lost. He had expected you to cry and laugh, he had expected you to be in a glorious state. Instead, you looked really fucking pissed.

“I’m back, Y/N. Isn’t that enough?” Mingyu asked with a wince in his tone.

“Stop spewing bullshit and tell me why you’re back!” You shouted, calling attention from the workers and the two other customers that were there. You didn’t care though, you just wanted to know what the fuck was going on.

“Jieun and I divorced, okay? She decided to move back to Korea with Junghoon, and I came back because I didn’t want to be away from him.”

“Junghoon?” You mumbled.

“My son.”

Oh. Suddenly, pain poured into your heart. It was like an overflowing dam, and it turned into a waterfall. You were being attacked by grief and confusion, wanting nothing else but to wake up and redo this entire day.

If you were able to redo the entire day, you wouldn’t have come to this stupid cafe. It would’ve been fine.

“Were you even going to text me? Call me? Let me know that you were back?” You asked, feeling

your icy exterior crumble. The authority and power you had once possessed was crumbling before your very eyes.

“Of course! I still have your number.” Mingyu reassured, but you only felt the overwhelming forlorn feelings in your heart deepen.

“Then why didn’t you call me?” You mumbled, earning a lost puppy look from Mingyu. You got him there.

Mingyu had a very cut and dry reason, but he just couldn’t bring himself to tell you.

Not yet, at least.

“I just...couldn’t.” Mingyu murmured, and you scoffed while crossing your arms.

“I gotta go.” You bitterly spewed, huffing a breath of frustrated air. Mingyu debated letting you go. Yet, out of intuition, he grabbed your wrist and looked up at you with pleading eyes.

“Please.” He said. That was all he needed to say, with that one sad word he made you crumble.

“Let’s go to my place. I don’t want to cause an even bigger scene.”

-

You had expected the walk back to be awkward, but it wasn'’t. You grew up together, you knew one another. You would travel to Seoul, coming from Anyang-si almost every weekend together. You two had a few friends in the city as well, so it was an enjoyable time.

One night, he had refused to let you walk to your friend’s house by yourself. You didn’t want to be a burden, but you were a bit tipsy and it was late at night. You remember how your heart swelled when he just grabbed your hand and walked you to your friend’s house. You two were silent the entire time. The only thing that could be heard was the beat of your heart.

“Mingyu,” You began, while you two walked down the streets you grew up on, “how the hell did you get by in the States?”

“What?” Mingyu asked, dumbfounded, but a little bit offended.

“You sucked at English.” You deadpanned, and it resulted in a huge laugh from Mingyu’s end. You let yourself bask in the smooth sound of his laugh, since it was the first time in over five years that you have heard it. You couldn’t help but laugh a little too.

“I studied a lot when I was there. We were in New York, so there were some ESL classes for Koreans.” Mingyu explained. You looked up at him, your skin being illuminated by the city lights and moon.

Mingyu thought you had looked beautiful. He felt the familiar twinge in his heart settle back in, the twinge that signified that he could never have you.

-

You two had finally arrived at your apartment. You had made more small talk on the way, but now it was time for the truth to be unravelled.

You both sat down on your plain couch, but not before you got a beer for him and you. “So,” You began, fiddling with your fingers.

“I missed you so much.” Mingyu blurted, resulting in a dumbfounded look on your part. You had never expected him to tell you that, mainly because you felt unwanted. You were pushed aside, because Mingyu had somebody else.

But you, you had Mingyu.

“Gyu…” You croaked, feeling the pace of your heart quicken when he shifted slightly close to you. You felt 18 again. The familiar feeling of being so helplessly in love with somebody that would never love you back rose to the surface again. You had expected to hate it, but you didn’t. You were already very well acquainted with unrequited love, so it didn’t hurt as much anymore.

“Y/N,” Mingyu began, “remember when we went away? Right before I left?”

“Well, kind of. I was drunk most of the time.” You said, cowering in embarrassment.

“Exactly. So you don’t remember confessing to me, do you?”

What?

What did he just say? No, that couldn’t be. That couldn’t possibly fucking be. You would remember that, wouldn’t you? You would remember some a monumental and important moment from your youth!

Mingyu remembers the moment like it was yesterday. The two of you were outside, on the front porch of the beach house your parents owned. They had let you two go down to their beach house for a week over the summer, since they couldn’t afford to bring you anywhere else that summer. They were struggling financially.

Graduation was close. You would both be full functioning adults soon. No more staying at your parent’s house, you would be making lives for yourselves in the real world.

On your nth drink, you walked outside to the front yard, finding a hammock to settle in. Mingyu amusedly watched you fumble with the seemingly foreign device, and soon he heard a plop. You had fallen, and Mingyu was laughing uncontrollably at this point.

He jogged over to where you lied. You giggled drunkenly, basking in the smooth grass of the front yard. “Hey Gyu!” You greeted, smiling profusely.

“Hey, Y/N!” Mingyu mimicked. This was something Mingyu absolutely adored about you, your drunk side. You were absolutely adorable when drunk, and you were entertaining as well. You were just yon amplified when drunk.

Soon, the two of you were lying in the hammock, swinging softly. You lied your head on Mingyu’s chest, feeling your heartbeat pump at its maximum rate. It was an intimate and lovely moment, being able to be entangled with Mingyu like that. You even forgot that he had a girlfriend, and you pretended he was yours, even if it was just for a little bit.

“Mingyu…” You slurred, causing his eyebrows to raise in curiosity.

“Hmm?”

“I love you.” You lamented.

“I love you too, you big dummy.” Mingyu giggled.

“No, you even bigger dummy, I love you. I’m in love with you. Whenever I see you, I get happy. But then I’ll remember that I’m not yours, and you’re not mine, and then I get really fucking sad.”

“What?” Mingyu croaked. At this point, you were standing up, watching him lie down on the hammock. Despite being the one in the vulnerable state, you felt bigger. Stronger.

“And whenever you bring a new girlfriend around, it really fucking hurts! I know you’ll never love me like that, and I’ve known that ever since high school. Yes, high school, when I first fell in love with you. It’s been years, Gyu, fucking years. It’s like I’m being sucked into this huge black hole, and--”

You were interrupted with Mingyu’s lips crashing on yours. Had you expected it? No, of course not! But did you enjoy it? Hell yes!

You immediately reciprocated the kiss, even if you were in a drunken shocked state. You felt the electricity you always felt around Mingyu multiply by the millions, and the feeling of his hands on your body only excited you.

You were melting under his touch, you were nimble and controllable, but you liked it that way.

Mingyu soon pulled away, resulting in you frowning.

“I liked it.” Mingyu whispered.

“What?” You blurted.

“The fucking kiss, Y/N! I liked it. No, I fucking loved it! Shit! I have a girlfriend, Y/N. Why now?” Mingyu rambled, and you just confusedly stood there, feeling tears start to well in your eyes.

“You know what? You’re really drunk. Just go to bed, alright?” Mingyu said, and all you could do was nod in drowsiness. You stumbled all the way to your bedroom, and you didn’t know if you were more drunk on alcohol or if you were more drunk on Mingyu’s lips.

-

“You mean...I said that to you? All of that?” You murmured, completely and utterly dumbfounded. Not only that, you felt humiliated and extremely anxious.

And then it had sunk in. That night, Mingyu had kissed you. He kissed you.

“Jieun’s pregnancy was just really bad timing. If she had never of gotten pregnant, who the fuck knows what would’ve happened?”

“Yeah,” You began, “who knows?”

The silence between the two of you was thick and tense. You felt like vomiting after hearing Mingyu’s story.

“Did you, um...Did you love me back?” You whispered, biting your lip apprehensively.

“Yes, I did. I mean, do.” Mingyu answered, scratching the back of his neck.

You nodded, letting his words sink in. He was still in love with you.

“Why did you get divorced?” You asked. You knew the answer, you had just wanted to hear him say it.

“Because I was still in love with you.”

There we go. Bingo. Those words made you feel relieved and burdened at the same time. You were the reason that a marriage fell apart, and said couple did have a kid together…

But on the other hand, the man you were in love with for years had loved you back. Reality wasn’t always a slap in the face. Sometimes it was a firm pat on the back, congratulating you. This was your reality, and you didn’t exactly know how to deal with it.

You really wanted to kiss him. But something deep inside of you was stopping you.

And then soon, you thought of him. Of Jeonghan. Why would he stop you of all people? Wouldn’t he encourage this? He had set you up with people before, but for some reason, it felt different now.

And to think, if you hadn’t gone to that stupid fucking coffee shop today…

“I think you should go.” You suggested. Mingyu’s face fell immediately.

“W-why?” He questioned.

“Because I need time, Gyu. I need a lot of fucking time, because it has been five years, and you got divorced because of me, and you have a fucking son named Junghoon, and--need I say anymore? Because we both changed! And we can’t go back to the way things were, because we’re not young anymore, Gyu. We’re getting old, and we can’t live our lives based on one childhood fantasy!” You yelled. You had expected to leave Mingyu speechless, but unlike him, he retaliated.

“It wasn’t a fucking childhood fantasy, Y/N! It was us, it is us. We don’t have any time to waste, do we? So let’s just fucking do this!”

“Just go home, Gyu.”

He looked at you with angry eyes, but he would do anything to appease to you.

So, he was about to walk out the door, but then you let your impulses control you, like you’ve never done before. You always thought your way through things, never taking huge risks or living on the edge. But now? Fuck it, where the hell has thinking and living on the safe side of life gotten you?

You grabbed Mingyu’s wrist, turned him around, and fervorously pressed your lips against his. You pulled away after a minute of heated kissing, and both of you were blushing.

“Can you go home now?” You smiled weakly.

Mingyu nodded eagerly, and soon he was out of your apartment, and there you were, all by yourself. Now you only had your thoughts to listen to, not Mingyu’s silky smooth voice.

And then suddenly, you had wanted to call Jeonghan.

You then checked the time, and realized it was 1 AM. You and Jeonghan both had work the next day, so you decided not to bother him.

The excitement was over. Now you had to relish in the reality of what just happened. You loved Mingyu, sure.

But, for some reason, your head wasn’t so sure of it. Because you couldn’t help feeling guilty when you thought of Jeonghan.

You had a lot of shit to sort out.

[m-tsuri]

She

an original short story in honor of Pride Month

Summary: disaster bi forms crush on a girl after meeting once.  

Warnings: brief mention of negative thoughts regarding sexuality.

Anna tasted like cherry soda. At least, that’s what Lila liked to imagine Anna tasted like. The image of the soft, smooth curve of her lips wouldn’t leave Lila’s mind no matter how hard she tried to push it from her thoughts. And she tried a lot.

For years, Lila battled with thoughts she knew were wrong, desires she was told not to have. She thought of boys, often. The feeling of their backs under her hands, the callouses of their fingers as they ran up and down her thighs. But she couldn’t deny that she thought of girls in the same way too. Their collar bones, the gentle curve of their necks, their hips and thighs under her hands as she pulled them close to her. 

These contradictory thoughts tore her into two separate beings. One that was perfect for society’s standards, and one that was damned from the start. Lila hated herself for the latter being, disgusted by her perverted thoughts. A sinful girl en route to hell. 

She’d never spoken aloud the thoughts that coursed through her. Never written them down anywhere, for the fear that someone would find her deepest and most guarded secret. But that all changed when she met Anna. Devastating Anna. 

They’d met at a small boutique in the Downtown area. Anna had asked to see a shirt that was next to Lila. When Lila beheld Anna, all words evaded her and the most she could manage was a doe-eyed nod. Anna made small talk, asking if the shirt looked nice, if the color complimented her. Everything would like on her, Lila had thought. So would nothing. 

“I’ve seen you around school,” said Anna.

“You have?” Lila asked, stunned. She would have remembered seeing Anna. The girl had a face that one simply couldn’t forget. 

“I think we had English together in Freshman year. You sat near the front of the room, with a little group. I tend to stray to the back of the room.”

Lila was good with names and faces— they tended to go together. So it was a wonder that she had never met Anna before. It felt like a knife to the heart that Lila had neglected such a beautiful specimen.

They exchanged numbers before parting ways. 

That night Anna texted first. Lila didn’t have the guts to be the first one. She’d never felt this way about anyone. She couldn’t stop thinking about Anna. Where Lila had choked on her words when speaking directly to Anna, she made up for through text. It was much easier, more comfortable. The words came fluently from her fingertips. 

Being that it was Spring Break, Lila had a lot of time to fantasize about Anna. What they would do together if they hung out. How Anna’s hand would fit inside her own. Simply staring at Anna’s face. 

They’d met the first Saturday of Spring Break. It was now Tuesday night. And Anna texted Lila again. She wanted to hang out the next day. Lila felt her heart stop in her chest and drop out of her ass. A million thoughts ran through her mind at once, it felt like having over a dozen tabs open in an internet browser and all of them were buffering. Until the computer crashed. 

Lila hadn’t realized almost an hour had passed since Anna sent the message until her phone pinged. Anna again.

It’s okay if you don’t want to hang. I get it. 

Lila typed so fast her message was utterly incoherent. So she typed another, more coherent message. The vibe of their text conversations had been somewhat flirty, but maybe that was just Lila getting ahead of herself. It wasn’t a romantic date, but a date between friends. Right? 

I’ll text you tomorrow with the details. Goodnight.

The “goodnight” sent Lila’s heart soaring beyond the clouds at an incredible rate.

Sleep was an impossible thing that night. 

The following morning, Lila ate a quick breakfast. She found she didn’t have much of an appetite due to her growing nerves. She spent that day pacing her room and contemplating canceling at the last minute. But she didn’t want to hurt Anna, so she passed the time by doing menial tasks around the house. 

Anna did not text the details, but she would let Lila know when she was on her way. That only made Lila more anxious. She liked to know ahead of time where she’d be going.

When the text came that Anna was on her way, Lila scrambled to get ready. She settled on shorts and a loose maroon top, paired with sneakers (they were just about the only shoes she ever wore).

The wait for Anna to pull was pure agony. The suspense drove her up the wall and made her was to pull out her hair one stand at a time. Her heart beat a frantic tattoo in her chest, in her throat. 

The moment she got the text that Anna had arrived, Lila shot up from her spot on the couch and called out a quick goodbye to her family. As she bound down the walkway to Anna’s car, she tripped and barely caught herself before she hit the ground. 

When she got in the car, she noted the brilliant smile that adorned Anna’s face. She wore a white sundress, her curly hair loose about her shoulders. How Lila wanted nothing than to run her fingers through those curls. 

“I really hope you didn’t see that,” Lila said in regards to her tripping.

“I really hope you don’t mind that I laughed. I’m sorry, but it was something out of a cartoon.” Anna covered her mouth in an attempt to stifle her laugh. The sound that slipped from her was beautiful like a symphony meant only for one person. 

Anna put the car into drive and pulled onto the street.

“Should I bother asking where we’re headed?” Lila asked with a smile.

“Lookout Point. There’s supposed to be a meteor shower tonight, we’ll get a good view from up there.”

The was beginning to set, the sky washed in colors of blue to red. The clouds looked like cotton candy. Anna’s phone was connected to the AUX cord. 

The silence in the car was not uncomfortable, but Lila felt a need to fill it beyond the quiet music that played. 

“I can rap the whole of Car Radio,” Lila said out of nowhere.

“Oh?” Anna said, amused and intrigued. 

“Yup.”

“Then let’s see it,” Anna challenged. She unlocked her phone with one hand without taking her eyes off the road and passed it to Lila. Lila put on the song and rapped to it, never missing a beat. She felt herself begin to loosen up as the song progressed, to the point where she did awkward car dance moves.

Anna giggled at Lila’s poor dancing; Lila’s heart sped at being the cause of such a beautiful sound. 

“I’m impressed. What else can you do?”

So Lila showed her what other songs she knew by heart until they reached Lookout Point, then her nerves returned. 

Anna pulled a blanket from the back seat and laid it out on the ground. “I did bring snacks, too,” Anna said, “if you want any.”

Lila shook her head, taking in the sight of the city from the height of Lookout Point. She’d never actually been up there before, never had a reason to. Until now. Anna came to stand beside, closer than was necessary. Their shoulders brushed.

“It’s a lovely sight isn’t it?” Anna asked.

Not as lovely as you, Lila wanted to say. It sounded so cheesy in her head. She settled on saying, “It is.”

They walked to the blanket splayed on the ground. The sky was nearly completely dark, the sun almost gone over the horizon. As Lila sat, Anna excused herself, going to her car. She leaned into the driver's seat. Music blared from the car’s speakers. Hozier. Lila loved the artist and the music.

“Let’s dance,” Anna said, dragging Lila up to stand. “It’ll be a while before the shower starts.”

They danced to the music. Anna kicked off her shoes at some point. With her white sundress and under the light of the moon, she looked like a Celtic druidess performing a ritual to the gods. And Lila had never been possessed by such a strong desire to kiss someone as she had been in that moment. Anna was free as a bird, swaying to the music with her arms above her head. Lila had stopped dancing to watch her and found she couldn’t take her eyes off Anna. 

“It’s no fun if you aren’t dancing,” Anna called out as she noticed Lila no longer dancing. 

“I got tired,” Lila lied. Anna squinted her eyes at Lila and made her way over. She stopped in front of Lila and looked up at the sky. Lila’s gaze caught on the dip of Anna’s throat. Lila thought of what it would feel like to kiss her there, then on the place just below her jaw, where her pulse beat. 

“It’s starting,” Anna whispered, pulling Lila back to reality. She looked up and saw a handful of meteors falling across the sky. A chill crept down Lila’s back. Anna dragged her down to sit on the blanket. 

They sat a few feet apart. Lila stared up at the sky, watching the meteors as they fell through the sky. She wondered where they were headed, if they would land on another planet or crash into other space rocks. She was engrossed in her thoughts she didn’t realize Anna staring at her for a good deal of time. 

Lila became alarmed. She touched her face. “Do I have something on my face.” She frowned. “Wait. I didn’t eat anything.”

Anna laughed her lovely laugh. Lila thought she’d never tire of listening to that sound. Anna’s laugh was sudden and bright and contagious. The sound embedded itself in the space behind Lila’s heart safely tucked away.

“I want to kiss you, Lila,” Anna breathed. “Since I saw you trip on your way to my car, I’ve had to restrain myself. But I don’t think I can any longer. I really want to kiss.”

“So kiss me.”

And she did. Lila let Anna pull her close until their lips met in a gentle kiss. Anna tasted like cherry soda. Lila absolutely melted under Anna’s touch. Lila pulled Anna onto her lap, never breaking their sweet kiss. Above them, the meteors shot across the sky toward their undisclosed destination. 

Lila was no longer two separate beings warring against each other. She was one being, whole as whole can be. Anna was the bridge she needed to realize that. She was not a sinful girl en route to hell, damned from the start. The Greeks, the Romans, they didn’t have labels as people did now, they loved who they loved without restraint. It was accepted. Among them, she could kiss a girl and no one bat an eye. There were gods dedicated to this sort of thing. 

Love was not--should not be considered a sinful act. And she didn’t realize that until now, as she held Anna in her lap, their lips pressed together as they became one. The stars looked down on them with joy and appreciation. They were an audience to an extraordinary thing. Lila and Anna. Anna and Lila.

Lila was not disgusted by herself anymore, she was content. She wanted to hold this girl in her lap for the rest of time. She wanted to feel Anna’s heartbeat under her hand until her own ceased to beat. This girl, insignificant in the eyes of the world, made Lila fall to her knees with a single look. She would do anything to hear that laugh until she was a thousand winds. No one could stop her now.

In the circle Anna’s arms, Lila felt safe and whole. 

[yaachtynoboat711]

Fonder Ch. 3

A/N: Hopefully, this isn’t as angsty as the previous chapters have been. I have become a monster 😭😭😭. Anyways, I hope y’all enjoy. Enjoy the houseclaim link too.

Word Count: 1966

Warning(s): Angst, slow burn

Friday, September 12, 2014, Los Angeles, California, 9:35 a.m., Winston’s Apartment

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

“Fuck. Already?”, Winston muttered to himself as he slowly twisted his body to shut the alarm off. Nearly three months after his breakup with Yaa and he still wasn’t used to not being greeted with a funny text of some sorts from her. No funny voicemail or meme to start the day off with. Fuck, I miss her.

His phone buzzed; it was from Michelle, his new girlfriend of almost a month and a half. She was sweet and caring, but not Yaa by a long shot. They kinda just met—no bells and whistles. They met at a coffee shop when he was filming for Person of Interest. She was coming to town for a few weeks for an assignment. As a freelance journalist, she didn’t have a choice to pick or choose what assignment to take.

“Hey, you.”, Winston answered.

“How are you, honey?”, she replied.

“Just waking up. Have you boarded yet?”

“They’re about to close the door. Calling you to remind you that my flight gets here at 2:35 and—“

“—and you want me to pick you up? I was actually thinking about letting you hang out at the airport for a few while I got dinner ready.”, he suggested nonchalantly.

“What? Winston,no! Why would you do that? You don’t want me there or something?”, she squeaked.

“Geez, Michelle, r e l a x. I was kidding! Can’t take a joke?”, he answered defensively. Michelle definitely wasn’t Yaa. By now, Yaa would’ve cussed him completely out before adding, “That’s why I’ll get some old dick or my side nigga to come get me, since you playin’ so goddamn muhfuckin’ much.” Yup, Khalida was a Carolina reaper and Michelle was a bell.

“Ok. I’ll call you when I land. Talk you then!” The phone clicked.

“Damn,bye.”, he said as he locked his phone.

After he showered, he walked into kitchen to hear Power 106 playing “Tuesday”. His song at the moment. Bop and bop, he danced without a care in the world. He’d had a productive week after all: he’d just returned from New York for more work, met his audition quote for the month, and folded his clothes the moment they came out of the dryer. He was long overdue for a haircut, but hey, he wasn’t trying to impress anyone.

Since it was Friday, he had laxed schedule: gym, pick Michelle up, date at the house, take her to her hotel, and possibly watch some TV or Netflix.

But, since he had time before going to the gym, he was going out for a run.

4:27 p.m., Vons

Going to the gym before running bus errands was probably the dumbest decision he’d made in a minute. His thighs were still on fire and so were his arms. Dumbass. He sat in Vons’ parking lot for a breather and to Google what wine goes with lemon chicken piccata. Yaa had taught him the basics of wine pairing, but advanced pairings weren’t quite his forte. Sauvignon blanc. Bet.

Winston confidently walked into Vons ready to conquer the wine and spirits aisle. He got a little too overzealous; he went to the wrong aisle. When he finally made it to the right one, he just about had a heart attack. Is that—nah. She wouldn’t be out here. Lemme go over one more aisle and come through the other way to get a better look. He tussled with the idea that she would be in California, but then again, what other copper loc’d, Alabama crimson and houndstooth wearing, thick Black woman would be in Malibu? It is Khalida.

He conjured up the perfect plan: she was glued to her phone (when wasn’t she?), so he would intentionally bump into her cart so she could look up. Here goes nothing.

He got closer to the middle of the aisle, taking his box of cereal out of his hand basket. He bumped into her, causing his cereal to fall from his grip and her her phone.

“Goodness, I am so so sorry. I need to stop driving distrac—”, she finally looked up and her eyes immediately bugged out, dropping the box of cereal. “Winston?! Wh-wh...What are you do-doing out in Malibu?”, she tried searching for words. Winston chuckled deeply.

“It’s nice to see you, too, K.D.”, he said unenthusiastically. “The question is: what are you doing in California?”

The two hugged deeply. Three months apart and the spark was still there. They both took in each other’s scents and finally separated.

One thing he definitely noticed about her was that she was taking of her self. Fresh re-twist and color? Check. Skin cleared up? Most def. Been to the gym? Had she?! She was thicker, yet toned. Her ex-boyfriend had to be responsible. My God from Zion, she still looks like an image of beauty.

“Well, not even a week after we broke up, Kimya and I get a call saying we’d been invited to work out here in L.A. on this secret project. It’s due October 20th and we’re leaving November 1st. How’s LA been treating you?”

“I’ve been back in New York actually filming Person of Interest. I think I recalled you watching it at some point.” Why couldn’t I have just waited?!

“Word? I stopped watching after the first season if we’re keeping it a hunnit. How big of a role are we talking?”, she crossed her arms in anticipation of his answer.

He was ready to brag now. “I can’t say much, but it’s a pivotal role in the season’s progression. I’m playing someone totally opposite of myself.” He was feeling himself; he sported a full grin. “You look good. Working out?” Yes, God, she is. Blessed be.

She noticed him staring at her slightly toned but oh so edible thighs. Her calves were more defined. Thanks to dancing and working out with Matt, she was physically in the best shape of her life.

“I have, actually. Thanks for noticing.” She jokingly struck a pose. “ANYWAYS, I gotta go because I got oxtails braising on the stove and that’s the only thing that should be braising when I get back.” Oxtail?!?! Surely, that’s not just for her. Has to be Matt. Lucky bastard. She picked up the wine she came in for.

“That’s what I came for, too. I have a uh...date tonight and I just googled what to get in the parking lot.” They laughed.

Even though she laughed, he could sense her energy shift.

“A date?! Who’s the lucky winner?”, she asked.

“Her name is Michelle. She’s a freelance writer. You seeing anybody?” He asked with bated breath.

Khalida nodded and covered her mouth as she processed the new information. “A freelance writer? Nice.” Her energy reverted. “And to answer your question, nope. This project gotcha girl swamped. I don’t have time to entertain a relationship.”, she was partially lied. I'm surprised she didn’t pull anyone the week after our relationship. I’m amazed Matt hasn’t scooped her up.

Winston looked down at his watch. “Shit! I gotta go start dinner. Before I go, here’s my new number. It was nice seeing you.” He gave her his new number and they exchanged addresses before they hugged one last time and traveled their separate ways.

Deep down, he wanted to just scoop her up and drown her in kisses, but he still had to go home to Michelle.

“Hey, Wins.”, she called out, walking back towards the end of the aisle. He quickly snapped his head around.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t be a stranger.”

He lowered his head and laughed. “I won’t. I promise.”

8:36 p.m., Winston’s apartment

He replayed that in his head over and over again. Why did I just let her go like that? For some reason, he decided to play an Apple Music break-up playlist . Of all the songs that aided him with the agonizing break-up, only one spoke to him: She’s Out of My Life by Michael Jackson. Michael Jackson was Khalida’s all-time favorite artist (second was Beyoncé), so the pain stung a tad more. She kinda hated that song because she wanted to know, in her exact words,“who the fuck would hurt my good dawg Mike the way they did. Punk ass bitch. ” The thought of Khalida cursive a hypothetical person out 35 years after the fact always made him cackle. Even though the song came out in 1979, Michael was speaking to Winston’s exact to situation.

It’s out of my hands

It’s out of my hands

To think for [seven months] she was here

And I took her for granted, I was so cavalier

Now the way that it stands, she’s out of my hands.

So I learned that love's not possession

And I learned that love won’t wait

Now I’ve learned that love needs expression

But I learned too late

Winston stared off into the abyss, deep within his thoughts, and tears staining his face as the song looped for what seemed like an eternity. It was true: he sorta realized that he was being possessive about their love and that love wouldn’t wait. Damn Khalida for being right the whole time. Damn Carrie for throwing that stupid prophecy over their heads and ultimately being right. Damn Michael Jackson for making this song especially for him. But mostly, damn himself for allowing himself for pursuing a woman out of his league like Yaa. She was walking Black Girl Magic and he didn’t deserve to be in the same room as her, yet alone call himself her boyfriend.

He could hear his phone ringing in the other room. He let it ring and it rang once more before he got up to answer it.

He took the phone off the charger and saw 2 missed calls from his mom. Shit,shit shit. He tapped on the notification with the quickness; she quickly answered.

“Winston, my son, I called you twice. I began to worry.”, his mom opened.

“I know, I’m sorry,mum. I was in another room. Everything ok?”, he answered.

“I should be asking you the same question. I’ve been worried about you lately.” She could sense something was wrong with her youngest born. “I called because I’m worried about you.”

He sat up. “Wh-what? Why?”

“I sense an emptiness in your voice and in your spirit, Winston.”

“An emptiness?”

“Yes, my child, an emptiness. Like someone stripped away something precious.”

“I...I couldn’t honestly tell you. I may just be homesick and missing you.”

He wasn’t totally wrong, but neither was he telling the whole truth. While he was adjusting to the rapid LA pace and lifestyle as the “new normal”, part of that new normal was adjusting to his life without Khalida. It was rough, but he was managing.

“Well, just know that I’m praying for you. I don’t know what it is that void, but whatever it may be, don’t allow to rob you of the joy God has blessed you with, eh? It is my prayer that you find peace and comfort. I want you to have a full and complete life, ok? I love you.”, she said.

He flicked away the tear that fell. “I love you,too.”

Leave it to his mother to say what needed to be said without actually knowing what was actually going on. He sat at the edge of the bed, thinking about how much growth and maturity that needed to take place in his life. Khalida mentioned it before their break-up and she was right. Both of them needed to grow before they could be together again. The repairs on the plane were in its beginning stages.

Tag List, You’re Doing Amazing ,Sweetie.

@muse-of-mbaku @kumkaniudaku @eriknutinthispoosy @whoramilaje @mbakusthrone @mbakuwife @crushed-pink-petals @inlovewithmakeupcomicsanimelove @jackburtonsays @randomwordprompts @bartierbakarimobisson @wakandan-flowerz @blackpantherreblogs @babygirlofwakanda @eerythingisshaka @washyourlinens @turn-thy-paige @doublesidedscoobysnacks @wakandas-vibranium @theunsweetenedtruth @dramaqueenamby @destinio1 @sonofnjobu @teheeboo @chefjessypooh @sarahboseman @iamrheaspeaks @chaneajoyyy @fonville-designs @supersizemeplz @starryeyedsav @lovelynervouschaos @cay-cah @coonflix @katasstrophey @foxfables @mareethequeen @jozigrrl @great-neckpectations @jellybean531 @yofavcocoa @storibambino @maya-leche @blackgirloneshots @royallyprincesslilly @texasbama @abeautifulmindexposed

[nosecrinklewrites]

twitter fic #2

Hux was a planner. Ever since he had been gifted his very first planner, on the first day of high school, everything in his life had been planned down to the most minute detail. Everything was meticulously written down and planned in advance.

Including his sexual debut.

Losing one's virginity in high school? Too much of a cliché (also likely to be messy and unpleasant).

Losing one's virginity in college? Also a cliché, but much more tasteful.

Losing one's virgnity after college? No, that would ruin the sexual experimentation period he had planned. Hux simply needed to make his debut, so he could move on to the experimental phase. Then he would have it out of his system by the time he got his master's.

His plan was perfect. Now it was just a matter of finding the perfect candidate. It would have to be someone older. Someone experienced. His fellow freshmen were obviously out of the question. And it had to be a man.

Hux believed himself to be a gay man, but he kept an open mind. After all, that was what the experimental phase was for. But his first had to be a man.

So, Hux made a list in his planner. A detailed list with names and descriptions.

The list was revised over and over again, as the candidates' relationship status and/or sexual orientation took them off the list.

In the midst of revising, Hux encountered an unforeseen problem.

He had no idea what his type was.

Hux found a bench, on a busy part of campus and quietly considered the people walking by. What did he like? What physical traits spoke to him?

Hux made a new list

- They had to take care of their appearance.

- And dress well.

- Have nice hair.

- Tall?

It was a waste of a lovely afternoon and Hux wasn't any closer to a conclusion.

Hux continued his research in his dorm. He perused instagram and various websites, trying to get a feel for what kind of man made his heart race. Of course, it wasn't a necessity. The candidate didn't have to make him feel anything other than arousal.

But since Hux didn't date in high school (he was much too busy with his extracurriculars to even entertain the thought (and no one ever asked him)), he might as well figure it out. No time like the present.

While waiting for class to begin, Hux was rewriting his list af attractive traits (with colored pens). He had decided he had a fairly firm grasp on what type of man he was looking for now.

Until his professor made an announcement.

"Class! I would like to introduce a grad student of mine. Kylo, stand up, please? Kylo will be teaching this class next semester, so he will be here and observe how it's done, for the remainder of the semester."

Oh no.

It was The One.

An absolute mammoth of a man, dressed in jeans and a hoodie. He looked nothing like the men on Hux's list. He didn't possess any of the traits on the attractive traits list either.

But Hux knew.

He had to have him.

New plan. Hux needed a new plan. Seduction was out of the question. Seduction was for relationships. Also, Hux had no idea how to do that. He would just. Introduce himself. Proposition the man. Like an adult. Maybe explain why?

No. No, that was a bad idea. Explaining it would imply no one else was interested in Hux. (They weren't, but Kylo didn't need to know that.) He should revise his planner, set aside time to come up with a plan of attack.

Hux came to the painful realization that he should have paid more attention to his peers; engaged in social activities more often. If it had been one of his father's associates, Hux would have known exactly how to make his proposition. But Kylo was a peer.

Luckily for Hux, the answer to his metaphorical prayers came all on its own.

Right as Hux arrived for class, Kylo left a stack of flyers on their professor's desk. Curious, Hux skimmed the text. A free ("trans inclusive!") sex ed seminar, hosted by the art department.

"It's super chill."

Hux startled and turned, his wide eyes meeting Kylo's. "Pardon?"

"The seminar. We do it once a semester."

"We? You speak at this thing?"

"Yeah," Kylo smiled kindly.

"It's important. To me."

"I'll be there!" Hux's mouth said, without any input from his brain.

Kylo smiled and watched while Hux shoved the flyer into his bag, and stumbled his way up the stairs to his seat. He couldn't see Kylo from way up there, but it was better that way. For his grade's sake.

Hux was under the impression that he had been very thorough, while conducting his research in preperation for college. The sexual relations part.

Hux was wrong.

Terribly, terribly wrong.

Kylo was one of three speakers, at the seminar. Thank God, Kylo was gonna be the one to guide him through his first time. Hux would be in good hands.

Hands the size of shovels.

It was entirely possible Hux missed some vital points while distracted by said hands.

After a series of very comprehensive presentations, the attendees were encouraged to mingle and ask any questions that they did not feel comfortable asking infront of the whole room. Hux waited patiently for the crowd to thin out. Rejection was a very real possibility.

He felt overdressed, even though he'd swapped his usual button up with a nice polo shirt. Kylo was wearing a hoodie and jeans ensemble again, sporting a cluster of pins in various different rainbow configurations. Hux knew they represented LGBT identities, but he wasn't well versed in LGBT affairs.

Kylo took notice of Hux waiting around for him and waved him closer. "I don't think we were formally introduced. I'm Kylo Ren."

"Armitage Hux. Please, call me Hux."

Kylo smiled kindly as his hand engulfed Hux's.

Hux took a deep breath and ignored the way Kylo's warm hand against his skin, made his heart race. "I have some questions."

"That's what I'm here for," Kylo smiled. "Go ahead."

"Are you attracted to men?"

Kylo was visibly thrown by the question, crossing his arms across his chest. "Yes?"

"Are you in a relationship?"

Kylo frowned. "Those are not the kind of questions I was referring to. But no, I'm not."

Hux nodded.

This was it.

"I have not yet made my sexual debut. I would like to do so, and I have been looking for the right partner. I believe that you would be a good choice." He cleared his throat, "I would like for you to be the first person I have sex with."

Kylo gaped at him. "What the actual fuck, Hux."

"Did I not make myself clear?" Hux frowned.

Kylo grunted and put his hands on his hips. He looked away. Then back at Hux. Then away again.

"You–You've been here for two hours, listening to us, and this is what you decide to do?"

"Don't be ridiculous. I knew I was going to ask before I got here."

Kylo made a choking sound and took a few steps backwards. "Did you not hear any of the presentations?"

Hux couldn't figure out if he was being rejected or not. "Of course I did. You said everyone have sex differently. This is how I do it."

"You're not having sex! You don't know that yet!" Kylo said, on the edge of hysteria. "Are you– Are you okay? Did something happen? Do you need help?" Kylo asked, moving back into Hux's personal space. "I sure as hell need help," he added, under his breath. "I don't think I'm qualified for this."

Hux crossed his arms and huffed. "If you don't want to, you can just say no. There's no need to be rude."

Kylo took a deep breath and rubbed his hands down his face. "Ok, I need you to walk me through your thought process here."

Hux looked at him for a moment. Kylo was awfully pretty up close.

"Well. I haven't had sex before, and there's only so much you can learn through research alone, so I believe having an experienced partner is the way to go. You're older than I am and you're very attractive, so I'm assuming you have experience. And I'm attracted to you."

Kylo blinked. "I– I have no idea how to reply to that."

"Are you rejecting me?"

"I have no idea what I'm doing."

Hux couldn't help but pout a little. If Kylo wasn't experienced, maybe he should take another look at his list of candidates. "But you have had sex, yes?"

"Yeah, but," Kylo closed his eyes. "Why did I answer that. No, ok, listen. Sex is– it's organic, ok? You can't just plan it like that. You can't put it in a spreadsheet and go this is what I'm gonna do. You can't do that, Hux. Especially not when you have zero experience."

Hux felt a little self conscious and put his hands in his pockets, averting his eyes. "I didn't put it in a spreadsheet. And why can't I plan it? I plan everything else. I like planning!"

Kylo's demeanor shifted minutely. He looked around the room, before moving closer to Hux.  

"Listen, I– I'm not mad, ok? But I think you need to talk to someone about this, and I'm not sure I'm the right person for you to talk to."

Hux bit his lip. He didn't have anyone to talk to. He had a dormmate, but he'd rather die a virgin than talk to him about this.

"Why can't I talk to you?"

"If you have feelings for me, you might not be honest and just try to please me. It would be a waste of time."

Hux furrowed his brows. "I said I found you attractive, I didn't say I have feelings for you."

Kylo went bright red, all the way up to the tips of his ears. "O-oh."

One of the volunteers called out for Kylo. The last of the attendees were being shuffled out of the room, while the volunteers were cleaning up.

Kylo looked at Hux, at a loss for words.

Hux had truly lost control of the situation. The night had not gone to plan at all. He had to regain control. "Tuesday."

"What?"

"Tuesday. After class. Are you busy?"

Kylo shook his head. "I usually just go over the notes from class and nap."

"Let's meet after, then. You can explain to me why you think this is the wrong way for me to go about having sex - in depth - and I'll explain why you're wrong," he smiled.

"I'm not," Kylo replied, firmly.

"But you will meet with me?"

Kylo sighed. "Yes."

Tuesday, sitting in a secluded corner of the library, Hux was staring at Kylo. "I'm serious, Hux. Not everyone starts having sex in college."

Hux nodded. "Some do it in high school."

"And some do it after college, or they wait till they're married."

"Right. Religious people."

"And people who aren't ready. Some people don't have sex at all, and that's ok too."

Hux wrinkled his nose. "Why wouldn't you want to have sex?"

Kylo thumped his head against the wall behind him. "You were at the sex ed lecture for two hours, Hux."

Hux nodded again. "Yes, and I was listening, but that doesn't mean what you said made sense."

Kylo sighed deeply and ran his fingers through his hair (his luscious, bouncy, divine looking hair). "Alright. Tell me what you want your first time to be like."

"What do you mean?"

"What are you picturing when you think about it? Rose petals? Candles? Back of a car?"

Hux opened his mouth to reply, but.

He didn't have an answer.

He only ever pictured what came after.

Kylo looked at him softly. "Don't you want it to be nice?"

"I– I don't know."

Kylo scooted closer and put his hand on Hux's shoulder. "Your first time should be with someone you trust, someone who makes you feel safe. You're sharing your body with someone else. That's a big deal, even when you trust them. Have you done anything with anyone before?"

Hux looked at his hands. "I wasn't allowed to date, when I lived at home. Not that anyone asked me, but. No. I haven't done anything."

"Don't you wanna do that first, then? Have a first date, a first kiss?"

Hux felt his throat tighten up. He hastily turned his head, not wanting Kylo to see.

"There's no deadline on these things, Hux. Don't rush into it just because you think you should."

Hux swallowed thickly. He should've paid attention earlier – were they truly alone?

"What if," he had to clear his throat to get the words out. "What if no one wants me?" He glanced at Kylo.

Kylo didn't want him - why would anyone else? If he could get really good at sex, maybe someone would be willing to overlook how boring he was.

"Can I see the list?"

Hux rubbed his eyes. "What list?"

"What did you call it? The candidate list?"

"Oh."

Hux retrieved his planner from his satchel and handed it over. Kylo eyed him at the size of the planner, but didn't comment.

Hux found the tab that corresponded with the list and opened the planner to the correct page. The soft cover of the planner made it impossible for Kylo to hold it in his hands, so he balanced it on his thighs. Kylo read the list and made a soft sound. "So, why these people?"

"They're hot?"

Kylo looked unimpressed. Hux curled in on himself and muttered, "They look kind. And experienced. And confident."

Kylo hummed. "I'm not on here."

"I wasn't gonna ask everyone. I was gonna narrow it down until there was only one left. Then I saw you, and the list became redundant."

Kylo sighed softly. "I'm not sure I'm the right person for this, Hux."

Kylo may very well be right, but Hux didn't want him to be. "You haven't said no yet."

"I know."

Hux looked on in horror as Kylo turned to the next page in Hux's planner. Two of the pages were stuck together with a misplaced sticky tab, meaning Kylo skipped the page with the attractive traits list entirely, and ended up on the list of sex acts Hux had planned for his experimental phase.

Kylo audibly swallowed. The page was titled quite descriptively. There was no way to explain it away.

"I feel like I should point out I didn't tell you to turn the page. In my private planner."

Kylo closed the planner and laced his fingers on top of it. "I might be overstepping here, but I don't think you should do this. Any of it."

Hux didn't know how to respond. He looked at Kylo, brows furrowed.

"I think you're looking for something, but I don't think this is it."

Hux rose to his feet and took the planner from Kylo's lap. "You're wrong," he said, with finality. He jammed the planner into his bag and stormed out of the library.

Looking for something? What on Earth would he be looking for? He just wanted to have sex! Everyone else was having sex, but Kylo wasn't telling them to stop. And he still hadn't outright rejected Hux's proposition - what was Hux supposed to think! Honestly, Kylo was being very rude and if he hadn't been so good looking, Hux would've retracted his offer long ago.

Hux just wanted to touch someone and be touched in return! Was that really too much to ask for? He was constantly surrounded by people, strangers, who were having the time of their life! Laughing and talking and kissing and making plans – was it wrong to want that too?

Sure, his studies kept him busy, but he still had free time. Was it really so bad to want to spend that time with someone? It didn't even have to be se–

Oh no.

Hux spent the whole class on Tuesday, glaring daggers at the back of Kylo's head. The bastard was right. Hux had been stewing in his own misery for an entire week, being forced to realize how terribly lonely he truly was.

He needed an answer. A final answer, so he could move on.

Hux had been talking himself up for days, in preparation for the confrontation; but when it finally came down to it, he couldn't do it. Kylo looked just as uncertain as Hux felt.

Kylo was smiling softly, but he did not look happy. "Hux," he said, gently. "Hey."

Instead of demanding an answer, what came out of his mouth was, "Are you busy this weekend?"

Kylo shook his head. "No, why?"

"Would you like to go to the cinema with me?" At the look of surprise on Kylo's face, Hux hastily added, "There's a film I'd like to see, but, I don't want to go alone."

Kylo was fumbling with his belongings, trying to pack his bag without taking his eyes off of Hux for too long; as if he was a flight risk. "Wouldn't you rather go with someone you know?"

Just tell him, Hux thought.

"I don't know anyone else."

Surprisingly, Kylo freely offered his phone number. Hux didn't end up needing it, as Kylo showed up on time, exactly when and where they'd agreed. Hux braced himself for having his taste in films ridiculed as they paid for their tickets, but Kylo didn't as much as blink.

The fact that Kylo wasn't opposed to political thrillers, only made him more attractive in Hux's eyes. They hadn't discussed whether this little outing was, in fact, a date. In Hux's mind it was. A date wasn't inherently a romantic endeavour, or so Hux thought to himself.

The theatre wasn't very full. Hux and Kylo were rather secluded, in their corner of the room. They had laughed earlier, when they discovered they both preferred chocolates and sweets over popcorn. Kylo kept offering his bag of M&Ms during the course of the film. Hux didn't remember the last time he'd been to the cinema. Or anywhere for fun, really.

He kept glancing at Kylo. When the M&Ms where gone, Kylo put the empty packet in his pocket, and put his hands on his thighs. Hux couldn't take his eyes off of them. His fingers were long and pale in the light from the projector, bright against the black of his jeans.

Before he did it, Hux knew it was a silly thing to do. Especially considering everything they'd talked about. He gently put his own, smaller hand on top of Kylo's. Hux studiously kept his eyes on the screen, even though he could feel Kylo's eyes on his face.

He couldn't help but hold his breath until Kylo reacted. He was expecting Kylo to pull his hand away, or maybe get up and leave. But he didn't.

Kylo turned his palm and laced their fingers. His hand felt even bigger than when they'd shaken hands. Hux marveled at how much thicker Kylo's fingers felt, in between his own. He knew his hands were on the delicate side of the spectrum, but he almost felt dainty in comparison.

Once Hux was confident Kylo wasn't going to pull away, he gently tugged their joined hands into his own lap. Kylo looked alarmed for a moment, arm tensing, effectively halting the move.

Kylo looked sheepish when he realized Hux wasn't putting his hand on his dick. Hux just wanted to hold Kylo's hand in both of his own.

Kylo let his arm go slack and Hux made a soft pleased sound. Using two hands was much better. The film couldn't hold his attention anymore.

Hux played with Kylo's fingers while trying to figure out how to phrase his next proposal. Sex wasn't on the table – but maybe something else was? Hux looked at Kylo in the dark. His hair looked soft and bouncy. So did his lips. No, plump was a better word.

If Kylo wouldn't be his first sexual experience, maybe he'd be Hux's first something else. (Hux had already decided that they were on a date, which made Kylo his first date ever. But he wasn't gonna tell him that.)

Kylo licked his lips, practically making the decision for him.

"Kylo?"

"Mm?"

Hux leaned over the armrest and spoke quietly. "You can say no–"

"Not this again, Hux," he sighed and rubbed his eyes.

"No, no, I'm not asking for sex."

"Well, thank God."

"I want you to be my first kiss."

Kylo look a little stunned. "What?"

"Hear me out," Hux went on and gave his hand a little squeeze. "I just wanna know what it feels like. I'm not asking for anything else. If you don't want to see me ever again, after today, I respect that and I won't approach you again. But you have to answer. Yes or no?"

Kylo considered him for a drawn out moment. "Just a kiss?"

Hux nodded in affirmation.

"Just one?"

"I promise."

Kylo looked around them. The closest people were five rows away. He looked back at Hux and nodded once. "One kiss."

"One kiss," Hux repeated, heart racing.

His palms were getting sweaty. It was a relief when Kylo let go of his hand; right up until his cupped Hux's face. All the blood in his body rushed to his cheeks. There was no way Kylo couldn't feel the heat of the blood against his palms.

Hux wished his night vision was better. He couldn't make out the details of Kylo's face very well.

Kylo took his sweet time, just sitting there, holding Hux's face. It was unnerving, but Hux didn't dare move, let alone say anything. He was on the cusp of actually getting what he wanted, for once. If he ruined it, he would never be able to forgive himself.

Kylo sat up, leaning halfway out of his seat, in a move that couldn't be comfortable – but he was moving in. He tilted his head slightly, nose fitting perfectly beside Hux's, the tip of it pressing into his cheek. Their lips met and Hux forgot to breathe. Kylo's lips were soft and warm against his. He didn't notice his eyes closing.

Kylo let it last far longer than Hux thought he would.

The air rushed from his lungs when Kylo pulled back. Without thinking, Hux cupped the back of Kylo's head and pulled him into another kiss. Kylo laughed into the kiss, lips parted. Hux felt clumsy when he moved his lips, but it didn't deter him.

Kylo was smiling against his lips, trying to follow what Hux was doing. Hux was contemplating how to get his tongue in Kylo's mouth, when Kylo gently pushed him back with a hand on his chest. Hux blinked sluggishly, lips still pursed.

"I agreed to one," Kylo laughed.

Hux winced. "I know, I'm sorry."

Kylo leaned back in his seat, smiling. "Did you like it?"

Hux covered his mouth, looking anywhere but Kylo. "I did." He tried his best to suppress the giggles that were trying to force their way out.

Kylo pulled the hand away from his face and laced their fingers again, resting their hands on the armrest between them. His thumb moved across Hux's knuckles, back and forth. They tried to pick the movie back up, but they were too busy sneaking glances at each other.

When they left the theatre, it felt like ten years had come and gone. The night air felt crisp against Hux's heated skin. Kylo was still holding his hand, which he persisted doing while he walked Hux home, which he had insisted on doing, like a gentleman.

Standing on the steps outside his dorm, Hux asked, "Would you like to come up?"

"I don't put out on the first date," Kylo smirked.

Hux blushed – it was a date!

"Are you sure I can't convince you?" Hux joked, even if it fell a little flat.

"Positive."

Feeling oddly hopeful, Hux added, "So, how many dates do I need to take you on?"

Kylo barked out a laugh. "You're such a little shit," he grinned and advanced on Hux. He crowded Hux against the door and kissed him again.

Hux happily parted his lips, and made a soft sound of surprise, when Kylo nipped at his tongue. Again, it ended much too soon for Hux's liking, but he held his tongue.

Kylo walked backwards for a few paces, getting ready to leave. "You busy next weekend?"

Hux's heart soared.

Kylo did end up being responsible for Hux's sexual debut, but it didn't happen till a year later. Hux was absolutely terrible. Luckily, Kylo was very fond of his boyfriend and insisted practice makes perfect.

And it did.

Eventually.

~ FIN

[unordinary-analysis]

Tuesday is Seraphina

    Recently I was thinking about Tuesday, he’s been in a lot of episodes recently. First he beat up Zeke, then Juni. Now he’s just going through hallways knocking people out. For such a pivotal character in the comic, I haven’t really addressed Tuesday, or more importantly, his identity.

    Or is it really a ‘he’?

    People are always saying, “Tuesday is John,” or the, “Tuesday is Arlo,’ but I’m here to prove these theories wrong.

    I believe that Tuesday is Seraphina.

    You heard me. I think the violent, masked antagonist is none other than everyone’s favorite cool girl. Let me explain;

    In Episode 108, Tuesday is seen charging at and attacking Zeke, another student at Wellston. A student who in fact had tried to beat up Seraphina earlier. Now I don’t think that is a coincidence. Also, in episode 107, we see Zeke dropping the infamous ‘Tuesday’ bag into the trash and who is nearby? John. Seraphina’s best friend who she is never far away from. John, who’s probably in on it.

    In the fight (massacre) between Zeke and Tuesday, Zeke tries to punch Tuesday. Now Zeke’s ability is called “phase shift.” I’m gonna be honest, I have no clue what that means, but he’s a high enough level that his ability probably has enough power to easily punch someone. But Tuesday dodges it. The speed it must take to do that, it’s almost like Tuesday slowed down time...

    The second Tuesday beat-down, Juni was the victim. At the time, Seraphina had told John that she was going to class. I don’t know about you, but to me that sounds very out of character. When have we ever seen Sera actually go to class. The last time was when she was still the perfect child i think. That was like a year ago i think. So question is, is it more probable that Sera went to class or that she donned the mask to beat up Juni.

    Also think of Seraphina’s relationship with Juni. The green-headed girl had recently pushed Sera down a flight of stairs! If that’s not a motive, I don’t know what is. Also, when John notices Juni, he makes a note of it, his eyes narrow. It’s obvious that he informed Sera about the girl because right after, Juni got beat up! Same thing. It can’t be coincidence that both of the targets have hurt Seraphina in some way.

    Now; the recent chapters.

    You’ve probably thought that because Sera is kidnapped in the abandoned house, left alone and beat up, it disproves this theory. But in truth, those facts only encourage it.

    The low-tiers left Seraphina alone tied to a chair, restraints that would work against a cripple, but not a secret god-tier. Seraphina is obviously faking losing her ability after missing having the spotlight on her. She could easily break out of her binds

    Illena and friends also attacked Seraphina. She was left bloody and bruised, but think back to the latest chapter. When Tuesday shows up, they are visibly injured. Even Tanner remarks on that. Those wounds were the ones inflicted by Illena.

    Also, the mask. By now we know that John is an accomplice to Sera’s crimes, helping her when he can (poor cripple). Remember when John bought the mask at the mall? He gave that mask to Seraphina after he bought it.

Now common arguments for my theory seem to be; Seraphina doesn’t have the physique to be Tuesday and their powers are different!

    For the clothes/body thing; We all know that Seraphina has access to the boy’s uniform. She borrowed John’s. She puts in color contacts and takes off her extensions. As for body shape, who are we to classify one’s body as feminine or masculine. Laughing at her body is rude and inconsiderate, especially considering that she feels bad about her chest size. Wow guys, we really didn’t need to call attention to that.

    As for ability, I believe she does possess her time manipulation. Whenever Tuesday uses a new ability, it’s completely possible for Seraphina to do the same when she freezes time. Heals herself?  Freeze time and wait a looooooong time. Shoot lasers? Freeze time and go invent a laser gun and shoot it, then freeze time again and get rid of it. The explosions at the end of episode 125, i would assume it’s fairly easy to build a bomb, with a manual of course, and Sera’s got nothing but time.

    Seraphina fakes a new ability and pretends to be a cripple to throw everyone off her scent (also drama).

I’ve thought this through guys ;)

[idette-blog1]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐱𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐢𝐬𝐦 𝐨𝐟 𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐚 𝐕𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐮𝐞𝐯𝐚.

1953, May 9-19 Clarita Villanueva Attacked by Invisible Fangs From approximately May 9 to May 18, 1953, a young woman named Clarita Villanueva in Manila, Philippines, was apparently attacked and bitten by two strange beings that only she could see. All initial information on this bizarre event came from just two press releases that hit newspapers worldwide on May 19 and 20 of the same year. The story, as told in this initial release, runs thus:        The Mayor of Manila, Mr. Arsenio Lacson, had heard that an 18-year-old woman being held in the city's jail on vagrancy charges had claimed for the past nine days that she was being attacked by invisble creatures that would bite her. She described her invisble attackers as "a very big dark man with curly hair all over the body" and "a body with an angelic face and a big mustache." On Monday, May 18, the ninth day of Villanueva incarceration, Lacson called to have her brought to his office so he and the chief medical examiner, Mariano Lara, among other observers, could talk to her and see the wounds for themselves. Within 15 minutes of arriving, Villanueva started to scream she was being attacked again, while Mayor Lacson was sitting next to her... "she writhed and then laughed as if she had been tickled," and stated the 'things' were taking turns biting her. Clarita Villanueva being restrained during an attack [Larger version here]        Lacson was shocked to see what appeared to be human bite marks that he knew Villanueva had not made herself, one on her neck, and one on her index finger that appeared while Lacson was holding her hand; his palm was covering the digit when the wound appeared. Lacson later stated that Lara, who was not a superstitious man, was scared stiff by the events. A photo that was run in just a few papers reporting the event appears to have been taken by newsmen who were present for the examination... Clarita Villanueva is the person being restrained in the foreground by a police doctor and nurse; Mayor Lacson is the man with glasses on.         After the strange attacks appeared to have ceased, Villanueva was asked to try to draw what her attackers looked like but, according to Mayor Lacson, the pencil flew out of her hands so no image was ever drawn. Lacson was quoted as saying: "What it is is beyond me. This is something that goes way back to the dark, dim past." Lacson planned on asking the archbishop to perform an exorcism. Only one article I've encountered added that Lara commented "I always thought of this world as a visible thing but here is something unknown, a force unseen yet felt," implying Lara agreed with Lacson's assessment of the problem as supernatural. The same article claimed Lacson said Villanueva had been examined by specialists and pronounced mentally sound. The Next Examination        Only a few papers reported a further examination made of Clarita Villanueva on the day after her visit to Mayor Lacson's office. On Tuesday, May 19, Villanueva was in the center of a crowd "of about 100 medical specialists, nurses, and Pressmen," when she was described by Rodolfo Nazareno, one of the 'Pressmen' there for United Press, as tensing up, collapsing, and going into trances. Also present at this gathering were Dr. Zaguirre and Dr. Goduco, both from the National Center for Mental Health (established in 1928, and referred to variously as the "National Psychic Hospital" or "National Hospital for the Insane" by the newspapers). Clarita Villanueva [Larger version here]        During her trances, Zaguirre pricked Villanueva with pins; she gave no response. Villanueva told Dr. Goduco that she was being "punished by a very big dark, hairy handsome man who tells me to do things... I see him often - morning, noon, and night." Zaguirre observed a "bite-like" mark on the right side of the nape of Villanueva's neck. Goduco and Zaguirre concluded that instead of being bitten by invisible attackers, Villanueva was actually suffering from a nervous disorder known as a 'hysterical fugue' or 'hysteria psychoneurosis,' and that what was being mistaken for 'bite marks' on her skin were actually "only changes in skin coloring caused by the nervous fits." This mental state, they claimed, was brought on by Villanueva's deperate need to escape from the life she was trapped in. When Villanueva was given a pencil and paper on this occasion, she bit and chewed the paper, and tried to bite the pencil. One of the two doctors -- newspapers didn't specify which -- claimed he could cure Villanueva if given enough time. Mariano Lara, the chief medical examiner who was present on May 18 to witness the 'attacks' in Mayor Lacson's office was reported to disagree with the assessment of Drs. Goduco and Zaguirre, and was quoted as saying of the marks "I think they are the work of some unearthly being."        The idea that Villanueva was in a 'hysterical fugue' is an interesting one, the implication being that the marks on her body that were being interpreted as bite marks were in fact bruises and wounds imprinted into her skin by her own mind. While this sounds like it would be a good explanation for where the wounds were coming from without requiring an invisible attacker, there's only one major problem... the very belief that the human mind can cause wounds to manifest on the human body is still unproven, and still hotly debated. So the 'explanation' offered by the doctors from the National Hospital didn't actually explain anything; it just sounded good.        All of which sums up as much of the matter as was ever spread worldwide by newspapers. No followup ever appeared in the news services that first ran the story...  which is not the same as saying the story ended, mind you. In fact, this incident was expanded on more than once, which has led to much confusion since. Lester Sumrall to the Rescue! (as told by Lester Sumrall)        Early in 1954, a Protestant minister named Lester Sumrall released a small book (only 120 pages) entitled "The True Story of Clarita Villanueva" and, in a certain social circle, it sold very well.  It was reprinted many times, sometimes in a shorter form, and sometimes under variant names -- "Bitten by Devils: The True story of Clarita Villanueva," and sometimes just "Bitten by Devils." The book presents a thrilling tale of how Lester Sumrall called on God and Jesus to successfully exorcise demons attacking Villanueva, and its story became a keystone in his later ministry. Sumrall claimed to have been responsible for 150,000 people in the Philippines converting to Catholicism, specifically after being inspired by his ability to save Clarita Villanueva from demons.        The book starts with translations of articles from newspapers native to Manila, which apparently did not get international distribution... and it focuses mainly on the time frames from very early in Villanueva's incarceration, and just after the story went international. These articles supply surprising new details, such as Villanueva was under arrest not only as a vagrant, but as a prostitute. It's stated that most of the examination of Villanueva's fits by medical men and local priests happened in the range of May 12th to the 14th, not later in the Mayor's presense as the international accounts stated; Dr. Mariano Lara is said to be the person who pricked her arm with a pin to test her during a trance, and this happened on May 14th. We are also told that at these earlier examinations it was noted that the 'teeth marks' were "wet with saliva" when fresh. Villanueva is characterized as acting largely insane at times, not just in pain and desperate, but described as becoming violent and attacking statues of the holy family in the jail, then just as suddenly acting normal again.        From the 14th of May, the articles then jump to the 22nd, 28th, and 30th of May, well after the time that the international accounts covered. These later articles describe how a concerned Lester Sumrall visited the jail to try and exorcise the attackers from Villanueva, and how Villanueva was being fully possessed by these beings who would then talk and act through her -- in short, the articles tell how the invisible biting attackers suddenly started to act like a demonic possession, and then how Lester Sumrall, through the grace of God and his son Jesus, exorcised the demons and saved Clarita Villanueva.        The book then reprints notes said to be written by Dr. Mariano Lara at the time that Villanueva was in prison, which largely tell about the same story as above, but also endevor to show how he went from being skeptical of the supernatural to a believer.        From there, Sumrall's book is a blow-by-blow account from Sumrall himself about how he got involved, determined he was dealing with demons, and drove them out. He also tells how one skeptic who pronounced the attacks to be a hoax died mysteriously within a day of saying it and that another suffered horrible bite wounds when the devils were driven from Villanueva. Dr. Lara apparently only felt safe once Sumrall had brought the presence of God to the situation.  We are told that Sumrall was taken to Mayor Lacson's office after saving Villanueva, and that Dr. Lara there declared to Lacson that Sumrall had saved the day and that Lacson overflowed with gratitude.        The book ends with a list of seven important facts about demon possession, which drives home Sumrall's main premise that Villanueva was possessed by demons. An Odd Publication        It's hard now to determine just how much of Sumrall's book might be true -- assuming the cover photo actually shows him with Villanueva (which is an assumption at this point) -- but given that the book's contents are largely in conflict with the story that was published internationally and that they are highly self-centered on how wonderful Sumrall himself is, it's a very suspicious document.        Several glaring problems appear in this re-telling of Clarita Villanueva's story. First, Sumrall manages to tell the story of Villanueva's stay in jail and her subsequent exorcism with only minor mention of Mayor Lacson, who mostly only appears after the problems have been solved. In Sumrall's account, Dr. Mariano Lara is the key actor in the examinations of Villanueva instead, and one of the details of the story distributed worldwide that was most striking -- that of Lacson describing how a bite mark appeared on Villanueva's hand under his own palm as he held her hand -- is retold as happening to a lackey of Dr. Lara's while Lara is watching. It should be noted, of course, that Sumrall mentions the names of many of the town's officials as being involved in the incident, people who were not mentioned in the international version of the account; but it almost seems like Sumrall is just name dropping both to prove he knew who should be in charge, and to distract from the most obvious missing name: Arsenio Lacson.        Second, and a big problem to get past, is that I can't prove any of the news articles Sumrall extensively quotes in the start of the book actually exist. I have some feelers out to see if I can confirm or deny the existence of certain key articles that Sumrall's account relies on, but the simple truth is that anyone quoting these articles as evidence now only got them from Sumrall's book: I can find no one who has seen the original articles in their original newspapers, if they exist. This point may explain the third problem, which is the simple fact that Sumrall's account of Villanueva's story of her early imprisonment is radically different from the details of the internationally reported version of the account.        So overall Sumrall's version of the story appears to be a rewrite of a going newspaper account that had no public conclusion, with an eye to providing the conclusion and forwarding his ministry at the same time. Sumrall's account of the Villanueva case never replaced the version of the incident reported previously in international newspapers; but a few small details from Sumrall's account do appear to have become part of the growing public legend of the case. Stranger Still        Overall, public interest and memory of the Villanueva incident faded after 1953. The story did receive a half-page mention in a late 1954 issue of FATE Magazine, which mostly summed up the details of the original international news version of the tale, leaving out the actual date and the names of the participants, simply noting the attacks occurred in Manila and were reported by Reuters news service... and it's a bit interesting that FATE, a publication devoted to sensational stories of a strange and paranormal nature, didn't make more of the incident.         Frank Edwards, however, did make more of the incident with the publication of his 1959 book, Stranger Than Science. Edwards, a well-known radio personality in the United States who often told stories of strange and paranormal matters, had great luck with his published collections of stories from his radio programs. Stranger Than Science presented the Villanueva case under the title of "The Invisible Fangs." Due to the book's worldwide popularity and long time in print -- it had at least 17 editions, and I've even found a copy printed in Japanese in 1990 -- Edwards is now almost entirely responsible for most modern re-tellings of the Villanueva case... which is important, because Edwards version of the story has differences from both the original international news release and Sumrall's account of the incident, making up a thirdversion of the story.        As Edwards tells the tale, Clarita Villaneuva -- note the mis-spelled last name -- was arrested on the night of May 10, 1951 -- note the wrong year -- partially for vagrancy, but mostly because she was screaming and acting insane as a crowd of onlookers watched. Jailors, the Chief of Police, and Mayor Lacson all saw her being bitten, but the Chief Medical Examiner Mariana Lara  -- note the mis-spelled first name -- refused to believe it was anything other than Villanueva biting herself during epileptic fits... until the attack occurred in front of him. She was bitten on the back of her shoulders and neck, and the bites were "livid marks surrounded by what appeared to be saliva."        In Edwards' account, Villanueva described her attacker as a man with big, bulging eyes, black cape, and the ability to float in the air and pass through walls. After a harrowing night, Mayor Lacson and Dr. Lara were escorting Villanueva to the prison hospital in a car when she was attacked again; this time by two creatures, she shouted. She was bitten on both sides of her neck as the two men watched, and her hand was bitten even as Mayor Lacson was holding it. The attack lasted fifteen minutes... but it was the last time the attacks occurred, and Villanueva made her recovery at the hospital. Edwards ends by quoting both men. Mayor Lacson: "This is something that defies explanation." Dr. Lara: "I was just scared stiff!"        So Edwards' version of the story includes elements from both the original international news release and from Sumrall's account of the matter... but then adds new details and events while inexplicably getting Villanueva's and Lara's names and the year of the occurrence wrong. Most of the stories in Edwards' Stranger Than Science originally appeared as articles in FATE Magazine; Edwards' was both a frequent contributor and an ardent fan of the magazine. The Clarita Villanueva attacks, however, only got minimal coverage in FATE as far as I can tell. I have about 85% of the issues between 1953 and 1959, and only found the one mention of the incident in Manila that I noted above. So the main unanswered question is: did Edwards' get his version of the story from another source (which I haven't been able to track), or did he create it himself? Whatever the final answer, Edwards' version of the story has proven very influential on later repeaters of the tale. Attack of the Variations        After Frank Edwards' Stranger Than Science popularized the story of the Villanueva attacks, the tale began to pop up in many other books and magazines concerned with paranormal topics... and the tale got stranger and stranger. New authors started picking and choosing details from all three of the previous versions of the story to make their own mixes, often sculpted to best fit a theory that 'explained' the attacks. And these theories got weirder and weirder as well.        The strange man -- fewer and fewer authors remember that there were two attackers -- started to be equated not just with demons and vampires, but also with ghosts and poltergeists, as well as extraterrestrial and/or extradimensional aliens. Reasons for the attacks are rarely proposed. Instead, the overall tale has been sculpted into a sort of culturally acceptable idea of a perfect paranormal event: an innocent young victim, mystified authorities powerless to explain or help, and a skeptic who is forced to accept the reality of the paranormal situation.        Another new variation to the story likely started when internet researchers ran into poor computer scans of old newspaper pages, resulting in Clarita's name being reported as "Chinita Villanueva." This name change, coupled with the interchagibility of 1951 or 1953 as the year of occurrence and the ever-changing details of the legend itself, has led some researchers to conclude that the story of the Clarita Villanueva attacks must be an urban legend with no original basis in fact!        About the only thing that is now clear is that something did, in fact, happen to Clarita Villanueva during her prison stay in 1953. Unfortunately, all three of the earliest versions of Villanueva's story -- the international news release, Sumrall's exorcism, and Edwards' adventure -- likely fail to describe what the actual original events were. What is now needed to further clarify this incident are articles from Pilipino newspapers regarding the events in May 1953; original articles, not the supposed reprints found in Lester Sumrall's books. These articles likely hold the keys to this incident; they could confirm or deny any or all of the three known accounts of the attacks on Clarita Villanueva... and so, someday, I hope to find out.

[wavingwaves-blog1]

Diary of a Wimpy Chef

What Industry People Think About Other People: 

There’s this sense in the industry that industry people are inherently better than everyone else in the world. I mean we actually believe that everyone else in the world kinda sucks. Their careers are means for useless ends and their livelihoods are boring routines filled with adulting trivial dramas. Watching a parade of giddy holloweeners walk past as we are taking the trash out really solidifies this superstition that the rest of the world is garbage. The weaving walking, loud giggles, shouts about a forgotten phone at the last bar, it all disgusts us, and makes us feel even more separate from the rest of the world, which in turn just makes us hate it more. 

The End of the 8 hour workday: 

“We’ve been here for 8 hours and now we just have another 8 hours to go, like normal people would already be done. We are just getting started.” 

“I’ve been here since 7a.m.” says the pastry chef to everyone at 1am. 

“Why does he get here so early?” (says everyone else behind his back). 

“If you can’t get it done, you should probably get here earlier.” (Chef to a line cook)

“I don’t understand why you’re here early, you should be able to get everything done.” (Same chef to same line cook). 

“Was just about to send out a search party!” (Pastry chef to line cook who shows up 10 minutes before their shift starts instead of the expected 2 hours before).

Once you make it big- we hate you! 

In every single kitchen I’ve worked for, gossip and blame run rampant. But this is more true about the chefs who have somewhat “made it.” So after 10-15 years of working inescapably long hours and scrubbing floors on your hands and knees, once you “make it” aka travel for cooking competitions, gain several Michelin stars, start being able to go on vacation for the first time in your career, suddenly anyone and everyone who works for you hates you. They say your lazy and not really involved ( oh sorry but any past work just doesn’t count). Since the industry runs on such a one day at a time clock, work well done in the past means nothing, today is the only day that matters. The countless times I’ve heard every “great” chef be ridiculed and criticized for every human trait they possess truly showed the massive insecurity that is so apparent in the kitchen. 

What Cooks do on their days off:

“Slept”

“Slept a lot”

“Slept all day and then went to dinner at Cotogna”

“Lay in bed for most of the day, was going to go to Berkeley, but ended up just falling asleep again”

“Did laundry, cleaned my apartment a little, and then slept some more”

How to hold back tears: 

Focus on the corners of your mouth. This takes away pressure from your eyes, and gives you a serious not sad face. People won’t notice the few tears that escape down your cheeks.

Pretend its really steamy and you are reacting to the heat. 

Pretend you got something in your eye. This one attracts attention that might backfire. 

Drink water. You can kind of close your eyes while you do this so to trap in escaping tears. 

Walk home in the rain: this doesn’t help holding back the tears, but you can cry all you want and no one notices or cares. 

Typical Servers:

Type A: usually mildly aggressive and somewhat competent at their jobs. Likes to boss others around and declare emergencies in the smallest of situations. Becomes very very concerned when spots someone else doing something wrong. 

Mopey: usually wears an assortment of darker makeups, hair dyes, or colors. Melodramatic. Melancholic. Tends to only complain whenever you come and say hello or whats up. Moves a little too slowly for it to not be on purpose.  

Super Sweet: Hasn’t been tainted by the industry yet. Usually younger and just there to support a failing career in opera singing, photography, art or the like. Is very considerate of other peoples feelings. It an anomaly in the industry. Can’t believe how many hours people work. Great person to talk to if you’re having a terrible day. 

Wino: Super into wine. Any question about wine send them into a whirwind of explaining and trying to make points. They can’t wait to share their knowledge with anyone who will listen. Their instagram is closeups of different wine bottles. 

Reactions from non-industry people when they find out I’m industry: 

“Wait why do you get there at 10 if you don’t open till 5?”

“What takes so long?”

“Do you hate cooking at home?”

“OOh have you read Kitchen Confidential?”

“Oh my god that’s so cool.”  (end of conversation) 

“So is it just like chef’s table?”

How to Eat Delicacies 

Foie Gras

Any and all extra foie gras, like if there was a private dining group that didn’t finish a lobe. Stuff fistfuls of brioche smothered in as much foie as you can fit in your mouth in the five second window before guests come around the corner. 

Sea Urchin

Saturday night wasn’t too busy? Urchin won’t last until Tuesday. Lap up those tongues, washing down the night with the ocean. 

Trout Roe

Another post private dining event, eat it all by the spoonful crushing the delicate pebbles with force and determination. 

Cheese and Charcutterie 

Big parties never eat it all because there is too much talking to distract them.  Stack slices of prosciutto, lardo, duck ham, on top of Point Reyes Blue and Wagon Wheel from Cowgirl, don’t stop with one stack, continue until you’ve had least 10. 

Brioche and Butter

Common rich snack. Available every night. Make a sandwich with 4 slices of bread and 5 tablespoons of butter and call it a night. Whatever you do, don’t forget the crunchy salt. 

Extra Ice Cream Pastry Chef Deemed too Icy

Get a big spoon. Ice cream takes longer to eat than you would thing. You will get a brain freeze so its better to finish it all before you do so you’re at least enjoying it a little. 

[argorpg-blog]

CONGRATULATIONS and welcome to the crew of the Argo II, MIA! The Gods have spoken: welcome aboard OTHISI, known as ÉLIDA ROSALES (JINX), with a faceclaim of AMANDA ARCURI. Please take a look at our checklist, and send in your account in the next 24 hours.

ADMIN NOTES: Mia, we are absolutely in love with your app. In a group like this we run the risk of getting too sad or too dark, but Jinx is the bright spot of color we never knew we needed! She is so bright, so fun and vivid - you had us when you described her rainbow graffiti and colorful hair. Despite this, you managed to keep her vivid and playful without turning her into a cartoon character. She still has her own struggles, her own hardships as much as anyone else - it just comes off in a more delightful way. We can’t wait to see what kind of trouble she causes! 

NAME/ALIAS: Mia

AGE, TIMEZONE, PRONOUNS:  PST she/her/hers

ACTIVITY  & EXTRAS: I’m a college student so life can get pretty busy, but I just finished midterms so hopefully I’ll be relatively free. I should always be able to reply in twenty-four hours, with some exceptions when I’m especially busy.

IN CHARACTER

DESIRED SKELETON: Othisi

CHARACTER NAME:  Élida Rosales → Jinx!!!

AGE & GENDER:  Cis-Female and 20 (February 11 1998)

FACECLAIM: Amanda Arcuri

BIOGRAPHY:

(i)

Ever since Nadia left Argentina, she had been a wanderer. The door back to Argentina was locked and sealed, and so she in turn became like a seed in the wind, blowing and blowing, looking for a place to lay down roots with little success. For a few years Nadia dropped off the map, little to no paperwork noting where she was or what she did, before she surfaced again in New York City, working menial jobs for wages that nobody could expect to live off of. Her child often clung to her hip while she was working, taught to be quiet so not to disturb the other employees and the boss.

They lived in a low income housing complex filled with other Argentinian refugees and immigrants, all forming a tight knit community that would trade off watching the children whose parents were working. The neighbors ended up being the ones who taught Élida how to walk and talk, all while her mother worked and worked and worked. It was an extended family unrelated by blood that watched out for each other in what little ways they could. They also knew not to pry: they all had memories they rather leave in the past. Thus, Élida didn’t know who her father was. Nadia never offered the information and Élida never asked.

(ii)

Élida never thought it odd to have seven uncles, nine aunts, and a battalion of cousins, but no father; to her that was just the way the world worked. Her universe was the series of buildings that made up the complex, the bus to school and back, and the few stores her mother would bring her to when shopping. This was her kingdom, where she ruled as the empress of all. She quickly became the master of sneaking out, of ducking under windows, and of slipping through fences in her little complex. Sometimes a gaggle of other children would follow her, sometimes she was on her own. She’d come home cheeks sticky with ice cream that she begged the local shop for and her mother would just give her a knowing look before swiping a cloth off of the counter to clean Élida’s cheeks with.

It was a normal day like any other when Élida came home from a day’s wanderings to find two official looking adults glaring down at her. A voice from inside her just screamed run, and so she did. Small feet sprinted down staircases, past the doors of her extended family as they looked on with worry, and onto the small green space in the middle of the apartments. The adults were adults though, which gave them the unfair advantage of being bigger and faster than her. They snatched her up before she could even make it onto the street.

(iii)

In her first foster home, she was the only girl with three boys, all older and rougher than she was. They would steal what few possessions she’d been allowed to go and get before being moved, leaving her with nothing of her mother’s. The parents weren’t cruel, but they weren’t kind either. They seldom paid attention to the finger marks that would show up on her arms were the boys gripped her too tight or bruises perpetually covering her knees from when they tripped her. She adapted though, and got quicker, and sneakier. After an outburst one day, where she scratched one of her foster brothers until he bled, she was moved to her second home. They never recorded why she attacked her brother, just that she had, making her into a violent case.

(iv)

Her second home she refuses to think about.

(v)

She’s twelve the first time she runs away. The phrase running away didn’t feel quite right though. It felt more as if she was running towards something. The softening air of spring was quickly approaching as snow gave way into rain when she leaves. The pavement was slick with water washing into drains. Sometimes it flashed rainbow as oil slicked from the streets into the water, and despite her knowing it was pollution, she couldn’t help but be a little entranced by the sight of a liquid rainbow. Two weeks later the police arrested a mud-encrusted child for petty theft, placing her into her first group home.

(vi)

Quiet they tell her. Do your chores and don’t you dare complain. You’re lucky to be here. Élida wasn’t a child anymore and she didn’t listen to the whims of adults, so every demand was met with a greater act of defiance. They hung the threat of juvie over her head like an axe, ready to swing down at any point, but she was not cowed. The other kids would come and go, transferring in and out of the home, a multitude of new faces and names to memorize before they were snatched away and dragged to a different home, but she stayed. Her name became a curse spat at her for every act of joyful rebellion she committed. After they caught her spray painting rainbow dicks onto the neighbor’s garage door, she was sent to juvie.

(vii)

From her chain link cage she could only peer into the outside world and watch as odd creatures slinked around, beady eyes staring her down. Nobody else seemed to see them.

(viii)

She goes through three more houses before she finally runs away for good, vowing never to be caged again. It was a flash decision. One moment she was looking out the locked window, the next her mind is screaming at her to run, to leap, to fly after months (years) of being imprisoned. Thinking things through was never her strong point, so in seconds the window lock was popped and she was slipping off into the night. Intuition lead her through the crowded streets of New York City, up into an abandoned perch that she would soon call home. A penthouse, left in shambles, became the first safe place she had lived in since her mother died. It was here she was allowed to heal from years of being placed in uncaring home after apathetic house. With little thought to budgeting, she spent the last of the cash she stole from her foster parents on hair dye and nail polish. In a gas station bathroom she bends over the porcelain sink, the excess pink running out of her hair with the water. Her hands are stained the same color. It feels like victory but smells like chemicals. Élida Jinxcounts this as a win.

It’s over this period of her life that she had the time–and need–to hone her skills as a thief, and hone them she does. Her nails are always painted with stolen polish, mismatched earrings glimmer in the light as she cocks her head mischievously, a smile dancing on her ruby red lips. These were victimless crimes! Nobody was being hurt and the adrenaline rush she felt as her feet pounded the pavement, the sounds of distant yelling as the police tried to follow her winding path, was un-replicable. Eyes previously dimmed by sadness sparked again, and continued to brighten with every impulsive act. So what if she sees creatures that nobody else does? She outruns them too, laughing every step of the way.

She officially meets her father, not that she knew it at the time, on a Wednesday night. Her hand frantically shoves a necklace into her bra for safekeeping, while sirens echo in the distance. She doesn’t know this neighborhood, she doesn’t know where to turn next, and she loves it. The thrill of mystery and adventure whooshing through her ears, her now blue hair blowing around her, the sounds of hounding footsteps behind her. Which way to turn, right or left? Right? Or left? A moment of indecision as she approached the upcoming intersection could be the difference between freedom or juvie. Then in front of her is a man, his hand casually pointed left, a tilted grin that mirrors her own. Without a shadow of doubt Jinx knows she can trust him, so without hesitating she turns left onto freedom.

Vandalism becomes her main form of expression. Bright murals dotting the streets she frequents, all carry the same bright blue signature: get jinxed!!! She prides herself on being a one woman rise in crime, craving the high of success. Her penthouse was now decorated with all assortment of trinkets, gleaming bright colors when the light shined through the dusty windows. Everything was DIY, from plastic containers remade into ottomans to glass bottles turned into cups.

At night, under the smog filled sky, in her reclaimed penthouse she dreams of the same man from before telling her it’s time to go, to move on, his quirky smile familiar in some way.

The next night she spends trying to bandage her mangled leg, blood bright red staining her repurposed sheets. A yellow jagged tooth from an animal not of this world still embedded in her calf.

(ix)

The woman with the limp who sells her tacos every Tuesday stops Jinx on her way home, eyes a mixture of worry and strength. In a hushed tone she tells Jinx about her father.

(x)

Camp was supposed to be the home she never had, that’s what the satyr described it as, but instead she just feels empty. Another cage. Her cabin wasn’t even a real family, it was a mishmash of the unwanted and the children of Hermes. Jinx wasn’t unwanted, she wasn’t unloved, she was Jinx and that was damn well good enough. Her life of freedom had been replaced by rules. When to wake up, when to sleep, when to do this and that and who cares what? There were moments that things felt almost good. Like when she was out of the cabin, learning how to throw knives with frightening accuracy. Or when she was picking locks into restricted areas, leaving strings of honey and bombs of bees dangling in her wake. Then she went back to her cabin and was surrounded by a constant cycle of sadness, morose expression of new campers feeling betrayed by their godly parent coming and going with no end. This would never be home.

Jinx adapted–she always did–and made friends, upped her pranking game to new levels (the incident of 2016 would never be mentioned again if Chiron had his way (Jinx made sure he didn’t)), and she still got be free during the majority of the year. New York became her playing ground once again after summer ended, and police officers everywhere bemoaned September. Besides, it gave her a chance to get to know, however distantly, her father.

Her mother never dwelled on him, always looking forward, and so that’s what Jinx did too. She had assumed he died during the military coup, back in Argentina, but now that she knew differently, a longing for a relationship grew that she never knew existed. It wasn’t devotional like some people were with their parents, it was something closer than that. Jinx didn’t need to find the right words to describe it, she’d leave poetry to Apollo’s kiddos, she just knew that it felt right.

(xi)

Names and prophecies were being listed off, which was dull. Instead, she focused her attention on pickpocketing a son of Athena’s skinny jeans. Skinny jeans were a fashion trend that proved a difficult challenge to overcome, but not to fear, Jinx was up for the task. A few sets of nearby eyes swiveled towards her; the wallet was half-way out of his pocket. They weren’t looking at her quarry though, they were looking at her. Her name was called. Shamelessly pocketing the wallet she moved to the front with the others who were called. Nobody was more bewildered than her, but hey, adventure is adventure and hell yah she wants to go! Besides, everybody looked all tight and nervous which was so not good for their skin; wrinkles and shit would happen if you frowned too much. Honestly they need her, if only to save them from premature aging.

FATAL FLAW/DEFINING CHARACTERISTIC:

Impulse control is not what Jinx would call her strong point. She’s never been part of a team, favoring her independence and freedom over collective action. It’s made her whimsical in the sense that if she wants to do something, what’s stopping her? The repercussions fall on her, the outcome she decides through her actions. If she wants to go balls to the wall, there is nothing stopping her. It’s her risk to take. Suddenly though, it’s not just her risk. There are a group of people that rely on her to be steady and she doesn’t know how to be that. Nothing in her life has ever been steady. She doesn’t think, which has gotten her arrested more than once, and she doesn’t plan. It’s always been her downfall. It’s not a lack of cleverness but rather a lack of control. Most of her life has been either highly regulated or completely unregulated, so she doesn’t work in moderates. Jinx is going all in, reckless attack, or she’s not going at all.

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