#hopefully the fact that this is MONSTROUSLY LONG makes up for it

[moreespressoformydepresso]

Guess who continues to make themself cry with their own ideas? This gal :)

This idea has been in the drafts for a long time and because @crazycriter was interested I’ve finally decided to finish this behemoth of a post and the sequel in my drafts I’m debating on posting as well. I hope this lives up to your expectations in ways my big fic likely will not when I (hopefully) post it somewhere next week 💜

A few months ago I made a biiigggg AU post starring Lamina and Treech, and in most of them they’re siblings because family angst and all that. But them being in a romantic relationship opens up whole new doors!! So lets talk about one of my 25th Hunger Games AU’s, and I’ll expand on another one like I said I would in that past post. This will not be random AU blurbs like the past post, this will be a pretty detailed plot synopsis because I may write this if there’s enough interest. Only after I’ve both posted the big one-shot and finished The Losing Battle We Won’t Stop Fighting, because I try to limit myself to actively working on 3 WIP’s and I’ve got one lined up to fill one of those two spots already. With that out of the way, let’s go! :)

Basic concept:

So I had two main ideas for an alternate first quarter quell. The one that’s relevant for today’s barrage of my madness is the AU where the tributes are picked from the families of the victors, to show that even the strongest cannot protect their loved ones from the Capitol’s might (and monstrousness). Well, how about we change that from being unable to protect their loved ones, to being unable to protect their lovers. The only exception is if said lover is also a previous victor, because the 75th games was the first time they broke the promise that victors wouldn’t have to go into the arena again. To truly hammer in the message, the victors won’t be mentoring this year. Instead, the gamemakers are going back to the original system where the top performing academy students mentor the tributes in the hopes of winning a monetary prize. Previous victors are not allowed to even see their lovers, let alone talk to them. As for what kind of tributes will fight in the games this year… Pretty much all the victors stay far away from love the first few years after their victory, because the deep sea of trauma that comes with watching 23 kids die in the span of days and knowing that you’re only alive because of their horrific fates isn’t very conducive to building a healthy relationship. Therefore, the people now eligible to be picked as tributes are all pretty far into adulthood, the wives and husbands of the victors of the first few games, mostly.

The part where LumberKids/LumberLove/Lameech/Treemina becomes relevant:

District seven has only had one female victor so far, which is Lamina, and she and Treech were in a relationship before she was reaped. If there are any gay victors, they don’t have a boyfriend anyone knows of. Her talking about him in her interview and her mentor sending people to district seven to interview Treech during the games are a big part as to why she won, since it gained her a whole bunch of sponsors. They’re both well-known and beloved in the capitol, and the fact that the people love their love story so much is the only reason Lamina wasn’t forced into the more… unsavory side effects that come with being a victor (side eyes Finnick Odair I think it’s pretty clear age isn’t a dealbreaker for them). Because of this, Treech is the only possible male tribute for the Quarter Quell, and due to the before mentioned usual mental health break from dating he’s also the only minor who becomes a tribute. The person closest to him in age is over 25, and due to him being from the poorer area (headcanon) of one of the poorer districts (canon), he’s also the least well-fed. He doesn’t live with Lamina, and despite her offering he refuses most of the benefits her victory gave her because he’d rather give it to his family. All the other tributes are living with their partners, and thus healthier than Treech is. Their brains and bodies are fully developed and they’ve got a lot more life experience than he does, so all the odds are against him here.

The reaping is a sombre affair, because for a brief moment the district rejoiced at not having to send in their kids for once. It’s still horrible, but even the girlfriends/wives that are now gonna have to fight to the death are okay with it because at least they had a good run on earth and, for one year, their daughters are safe. But then they remember that there’s only one boy who qualifies for the reaping, and the mood sours instantly. All the other districts get to send in adults, but they’re still gonna lose a child. It’s not fair. There are still two bowls, and after the oldest woman (roughly in her forties) volunteers, the escort tries her damnest to be cheery as she swirls her hand in the bowl for the guys. It’s almost like she’s trying to prolong the inevitable, because there’s only one piece of paper lying innocently at the bottom and there’s only one person standing on the right side of the podium. It’s impossible for her to not feel any sympathy when the only sound filling the square is Lamina’s muffled sobs. After she finally reads out the name, Treech steps forward, far past the initial horror. Reality hasn’t quite crashed down on him yet, but the claws have been sunk into his soul for long enough that he’s dissociated.

He looks like he does during the reaping in the movie, but while the escort gives out her little speech tears do shimmer in his eyes. More due to Lamina’s obvious distress and his inability to console her than the fact that he’s probably going to die. He feels… numb, on that front. It doesn’t quite feel real. When the escort takes the hands of the tributes to raise them in the air, Treech stares blankly for a second before wiping the tears from his face and raising his chin high because he knows how the games work. Again, Lamina won partially due to the sponsors he helped her get. If there’s anything he learned from watching her games it’s that if you want to win, you have to be interesting. If you’re not, people will only bet on your odds of winning, and those are decidedly not in Treech’s favor. Especially since his age is going to be a stigma that’ll make people hesitant to bet on him. No matter how skilled he is, the simple fact that he’s so young will hang over his head. He’ll have to twist the odds he does have control over to balance it out. The one advantage he has is that he’s the only tribute that the capitol already knows and cares about, and they really like him. He’s a capitol favorite, despite seemingly having very low chances of surviving even the first day in the arena, let alone actually winning.

For the opening ceremony, the district 7 stylists lean into the nature aspect of their industry rather than their produce. The female tribute, who I’ll call Ascaia, wears a long dress made of colorful leaves and flowers. She gets a flower crown as well. Treech, on the other hand, has a less flashy outfit. Green pants and a green, sleeveless top that look like they’re made of leaves. His arms are covered with what looks like vines, and his outfit has subtle golden elements to give it a little pop. On his head is a golden laurel wreath, a symbol of triumph and victory. Two nature spirits, one bold and wild, the other calm and peaceful. They catch attention immediately, and after the ceremony they’re introduced to their mentors.

Treech’s mentor ends up being Pliny “Pup” Harrington, who somehow met and befriended Lamina during one of her visits to the capitol, though Treech had never met him before. Pup pulled some strings to switch assigned tributes with another mentor so he could give his friend’s boyfriend the best help he could possibly get. Not that the other student minded switching, given how disastrous everyone perceives Treech’s chances to be. Pup tries not to get too attached, but they end up becoming close friends by the time the week is up. Aside from Pup passing messages between the two lovebirds, they discuss strategy both in the game and out of it. Pup’s dad has clout because of his position in the navy, and Pup is fully using that to his advantage. People jump at the chance of getting in his good graces, so quite a few sponsors warm up to the idea of supporting him, although most are still on the fence. They may be swayed by the training scores, and that’s where it gets a little difficult. Treech has to decide how to approach these scores, and he has to decide carefully. On one hand, he can play fully into the “underdog destined to die soon” act that he cannot escape no matter what he does by getting a score around 2 to 4, but that risks putting off the sponsors who don’t want to invest in tributes that have no chance of making it. Or he could lean into getting sponsors by getting a high score and risk putting a massive target on his back, which is a horrible idea because his whole strategy is to play the long game. Stay hidden, away from fights, and sneak around. Prepare to use the deteriorated state of the last remaining tributes to his advantage at the end of the games. It’s a lot harder to stay out of danger when people are actively hunting you down. Especially because a lot of the other tributes could body Treech no problem when it comes to raw physical strength. So, he and Pup decide to go with the middle option and aim for a mid score. Not low enough to turn off sponsors but not high enough to really stand out. I’m not sure at what point training was implemented, but for the sake of the story I’m gonna say there was a massive technological development in the 15 years between the 10th and 25th hunger games so training is pretty much just like in the 74th and 75th games.

During training, Treech spends most of his time at the survival stations. He’s already good at climbing and fire-starting because he’s from district seven, but the rest is mostly new. Most tributes gravitate towards the weapons stations, but Treech ignores them in the interest of remaining as far under the radar as possible. The second and third day the weapons stations are empty enough for Treech to use them in short bursts, mostly the knives (at Pup’s suggestion, since they’re very common and versatile). He deliberately flubs the ax station, balancing it so that he’s good enough to be believable (since he is from the lumber district) but bad enough to not be considered a threat. The private session comes, and Treech needs to choose one skill to show the gamemakers. It’s a tough choice between the edibles, axes, and climbing, but since he doesn’t wanna risk straining his muscles too much he goes with edibles. They saw him climb plenty during the open training sessions, as it was his way of not losing his muscle strength without showing all his cards to the other tributes. It lands him a solid 6, showing sponsors he’s not hopeless without being outstanding enough that other tributes will pay more attention to him.

Lastly, it’s time for the interview. The only real advantage Treech has is that, again, the capitol already knows him. They loved Lamina, in part because they loved her relationship with him. He was central to her story and instrumental to her victory, and the Capitol adores him for it. And Treech milks it for all it’s worth. Most of his interview is spent talking about his life back in district seven after Lamina’s return, and his short stories about their hijinks with their friends leaves everyone aw’ing. He makes sure to also build up his own personality, sharing things about him that aren’t necessarily connected to Lamina so he comes off more genuine instead of making this sound like a shallow attempt at profiting from his girlfriend’s victory. So he’ll mention carving wooden figurines for her and shows everyone a small wooden box he made in the capitol as a gift to his stylist, to both reinforce his love for his girlfriend and showcase his individuality. It works, because Lamina won the 23d games (at 15. Treech is 16-17 during the 25th games) so he’s got a lot of room to work with. Their story happened recently enough that it’s still fresh in everyone’s mind, but long enough ago that it’s mostly smoldering coals for Treech to reignite without it feeling like a rehash of this sick reality show’s previous ‘plotlines’.

Treech manages to successfully recapture the hearts of the capitol citizens, and he becomes a favorite to win. Now he’s done all he can with his time in the capitol, and he’s a few hours away from going into the arena. Pup informs him that all the victors have to watch from back home, set on the stage so the entire district can see their reactions to their lovers fighting for their lives. In response, Treech carves Lamina one last figurine. A heart laid on a bed of dahlias and roses, symbolizing eternal love. From the top of one of the arches of the heart, a small bouquet of hyacints and poppies cascaded slightly over the edge. Hyacinths represent sorrow and regret, but also forgiveness, whereas poppies symbolize remembrance. The message was clear: “Our love is eternal. I’m sorry we didn’t have more time together, please forgive me for leaving you so soon. I love you.”

Just before Treech is taken to the arena, he gives the figurine to Pup and asks him to give it to his girlfriend for him. Pup agrees to give it to Lamina, but only if Treech promises he’ll do whatever it takes to be the one leaving that arena alive. Not just for Lamina, or for Treech’s family and friends back home, but for Pup as well. Treech promises to do what he can, and they both know he can’t do much more than that. They hug one last time, and then Treech is escorted to the arena.

Will he keep his promise? Will he live? Will he die in the first 30 seconds? Will he go insane? I know, but if you want me to write this as an actual story I’ll keep some details to myself :D

[devouring-hive]

In her Sisterly-worry, she fails to notice the subterfuge at hand, instead distracted by Flandre's "needs" and her desire to keep her comfortable, clean, and hopefully a wee bit happier somehow. The feeling of her mildly-bloated tum was... not-quite-comfortable as many made it out to be. Was it something you had to get "used" to? If that was the case, she had a few doubts and concerns about it, bit sick to her stomach already just trying to match Flandre's... curiously rapid pace.

But the fact they were holding hands like this was enough to improve her mood somewhat, and help her relax and forget about things for a moment.

"I'll help... D-Don't worry, I'll be careful. I am aware of your... sensitive body, my darling."

"Good." Is the only response that Remilia gets for a good long minute, as Flandre continues to ponderously gather up speed enough to take flight- However lazily so. She carries Remilia up with her, taking care not to bat her sister down with her monstrously-oversized wings...

Flandre's flight is clumsy, she's doubtlessly going to rely on Remilia to stabilize her. Even before she got fat, her wings were so twisted and ruined that they couldn't properly carry her, so it's really necessary. At least it gives Remilia time to catch up with Flan-... And makes the blonde's struggles seem more genuine. "Gonna... Ghhmph. Gonna be so uncomfortable... Urhhhgh..."

[sunbrights]

fic: somewhere surely lived (7/14)

fandom: danganronpa characters/pairings: fuyuhiko & peko as main POV characters + a "relationship of the day" character + some side characters. kuzupeko + 6 secondary ships. rating: e (not all chapters have smut, but a fair number of them do) summary: Hope's Peak is not just a dating program; it's a guarantee. With the right compatible partner, the benefits are endless: boosted life expectancy, improved self-esteem, increased productivity, new opportunities, better overall work and life satisfaction. For society's elite, Hope's Peak makes finding that partner straightforward, if not easy.

It provides an Ultimate Match-- provided the participants are willing to go through its paces.

(AU based on the Black Mirror episode, "Hang the DJ.")

read on AO3

He’s late. He knows that even before he gets dumped off at the central hub. His device had beeped at him in the middle of the afternoon and he ignored it, kept ignoring it, until a preset alarm kicked in half an hour before and wouldn’t shut off until he manually dismissed it.

He’s not going to stand someone up. He’s not that kind of guy. It’s just exhausting, the idea of it, having to go back to that same fucking booth and talk about the same fucking shit and go through the same fucking motions until it’s over. A day, a week, a month, a year— it ends the same, no matter what.

So, he’s late.

She’s already at the table waiting. She hasn’t ordered her food, or touched her wine glass. She’s sitting there at an empty table with her hands in her lap, and the twist of shame in his stomach speeds his feet up.

She looks up at him when he gets there, and it’s only then, that close and at that angle, that the recognition hits him. She has high cheekbones, pale hair, and bright, focused eyes. The dim lighting of the restaurant softens out the harshness of her face a little, or maybe that’s just because he knows better now.

The careful neutrality in her expression opens up into surprise.

“Oh,” she says. “Hello.”

“Hi.” He puts his hand on the back of the booth. “... I know you, don’t I?”

“Yes,” she answers. “We met at Ruruka and Sounosuke’s pairing day, a few months ago. You might not remember, but—”

“Oh, no,” he says, “I remember.” He slices the air with his index finger. Color rises in her cheeks. It brings out her eyes.

“I didn’t get your name, before,” she says. “I wanted to thank you. For…”

“Fuyuhiko,” he tells her. “And don’t mention it.”

She smiles, that little curve that’s almost not a smile. “Peko,” she answers.

His stomach is doing something stupid. He told himself he wouldn’t let himself get dragged down this early in the game.

She holds her hand out. “... Would you like to sit?”

Right. “Right.” He unbuttons the front of his jacket and slides into the booth. “Sorry. Made you wait this whole time and now I’m just standing around like an asshole.”

“It’s alright,” she says. She turns in her seat, opens up her purse, and then she has her device in her palm, held out over the table. She looks back at him expectantly.

Right.

He fishes in his jacket for his, and thumbs through the options: Main, Info, Expiration. It’s just a button. If they both tap their screens at the same time, the system will tell them how long they have.

He looks up at her. She must already be on the right screen, because she’s watching him, one finger poised over her device. She’s still smiling that little not-smile. He tries to put ‘thirty-six hours’ to her face, and his stomach sinks. He tries ‘eight months,’ and feels sick.

Technically, checking the date is a choice. The system doesn’t force it. It’s just that everyone does check. Why would you not want to know if you were about to waste your time?

Impulse grabs him. “What if we didn’t?” he asks.

She frowns. “Didn’t?”

“Didn’t check it. Didn’t know.”

She looks down at her screen. Her finger curls back around the edge of the device.

“Just— Listen, hear me out,” he says. “What’s the point of knowing, anyway? No matter how long it is, you still just end up waiting for it to be over. You’re setting yourself up, every single fucking time.”

“I suppose,” she says dubiously.

“How about this,” he says, “if either of us ever decides we do want to know, we look. No questions asked. But to start out…” He shakes his jacket back open, puts the device away, and shows her his empty hands. “You and me. That’s it.”

Something about that gets her attention. She looks up at him, contemplative.

“If you decide right now you want to know, we’ll look,” he tells her. “But… how about it?”

She sets the device aside on the table. “Yes,” she says, and her eyes are warm. “Alright.”

He finds himself smiling, too. “Great.”

*

The house has a full kitchen.

It’s a stupid thing to be relieved about, after he just got done trying to make an argument for not checking the expiration, but it at least means they made it past the thirty-six hour mark and the two week mark. He’s okay with that.

(She runs her hand over the wide granite island, and lingers there. Maybe she's relieved, too.)

“You can have the bed,” he calls back to her, when he goes for the extra blanket in the bedroom. It's in the same style, in the same place, like always. “I’ll sleep on the couch for now.”

She looks at him from across the kitchen. She says, “... Why?” like he’s just suggested the dumbest thing she's ever heard.

“Because,” he says. “I’m not gonna force you to share the bed with me on the first night.”

“You wouldn’t be,” she answers. “It’s fine. There’s no reason for you to be uncomfortable when there’s room enough for both of us.”

“It’s not about that!” His ears are hot. He glares at the wall. “It’s- It’s the principle of the thing.”

She stares at him. She steps around the counter, past him, up into the bedroom. He thinks maybe she’s decided to let it go, except then she tears the second, full blanket right off the mattress.

“Hey!” He twists in place, when she stalks past him again. “What the hell?”

The couch is sectional. She’s able to split it into two roughly-equal pieces; either one is technically long enough for him to sleep on without breaking his knees, but neither is even close to long enough for her, which is why it makes no fucking sense when she bundles herself down onto one.

“Are you serious right now?”

She stares back at him, resolute. She’s not the shrinking, unsure girl from the pairing day.

“You know what?” He flings his blanket on the opposite couch. “Fine. You’re on.”

1 DAY

When he wakes up, she’s still asleep. She barely fits on the couch, even with all the pillows thrown off, but she’s still perfectly peaceful. A loose lock of hair curls over her cheek, and flutters with each slow, even breath.

Meanwhile, his back hurts like hell. It’s somehow worse than the last time, like it got used to him sleeping in a real bed for eight months and is lashing out at him now for switching back to couches.

He keeps doing it. He’s not gonna be the one who cracks first.

3 WEEKS

They get invited to a pairing day.

He doesn’t want to go. It’s irrational and stupid, and he doesn’t care. He doesn’t want to go, and he’s fine with that— until he tells Peko he doesn’t want to go, and her expression briefly crumbles into something crestfallen.

“Of course,” she says, “I understand,” and just like that she’s bounced back up into neutrality, like the downswing never happened. It annoys him in a familiar, prickling way.

“Do you want to go?” he asks her. “I didn’t think you liked them, either.”

“They can be tiring,” she agrees. “Especially when they last the entire day. It’s alright. I understand.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” he says.

“I don’t want to go if it will make you uncomfortable.”

“Dammit, Peko, that’s not what I asked.”

For a second she looks so pained that he thinks he may have pushed too hard. She’s not Rantarou. Her walls aren’t the same.

“I... think they can be enjoyable,” she admits. “Under the right circumstances, and…” She looks down at her hands. “... with the right person.”

Shit.

She isn’t even wrong. The last pairing day hadn’t been all bad. The food had been good. For a few minutes, the company had been good.

“Alright,” he says. “Okay.”

“Please,” she says, “don’t feel like you need to—”

“But,” he says over her, “if it sucks, we’re leaving early. Deal?”

He sticks his hand out between them. She almost smiles, and clasps it back. “Yes.”

*

It’s not bad. The party itself is a classy affair. It’s held on the patio of some hollowed-out mansion down by the river, with colorful fairy lights strung up around the railings. They dress to match, both in black: him with a subtle gray pinstripe and her with sheer silk ruffles on her sleeves.

It starts in the early evening and goes on into the night. It’s warm, but not sticky; the river keeps tossing rolling breezes their way, enough to always keep things on the edge of comfortable. Summer stars spill out into the sky over the water. There’s drinks, food, music. It’s romantic. As far as fancy dates go, it’s solid.

The only problem is, he can’t seem to keep himself from spending the whole night neck-deep in his own ass.

She’s got more patience than he deserves. She puts up with him the whole time, all his comments and little scoffs and sour mood. She tries to bring him back up. She stays at his elbow, talks with him, keeps the two of them away from the cloying chatter of the main crowd.

She tries the whole night, and it falls apart anyway. Not because of her. Because of him: how he blows up over nothing, how he shouts loud enough for people to turn to look at them, and how he stalks off like a child, shoving his way through the crowd of guests.

She saw someone she recognized. She’d wanted to say hello. That’s it. That’s all.

He hops the railing of the patio to get closer to the riverbank. It’s the only part of the yard that’s mostly devoid of people, and it’s where all the fresh air is coming in. He needs the fucking air.

She finds him, even though she’d have every right to leave his sorry ass behind. She hops the railing, too, effortlessly, even in a little dress like that, and sits down on the bank. Not beside him, but close enough, a few feet away.

She doesn't say anything. She wraps her arms around her legs and watches the water.

The speakers dim. There’s a stretch of long minutes where there’s no music at all, just the gurgling of the river and a few buzzing crickets. There's no one else out here. Back at the house, someone has picked up a microphone, and the rest of the party has crowded together for the grand finale.

Peko is here, with him.

“I left early, the last time,” he says. He can’t look at her, but he sees her turn her head in his periphery. “Right after the ceremony, like you said. That’s why you couldn’t find me after.”

“I see,” she says, carefully. She’s confused. Who could fucking blame her?

“My last relationship got all fucked up at that pairing day,” he says. “I’m not- I’m not making an excuse. I’ve been an asshole tonight. I know that. I just— It’s not fair to you, when it’s my shit I’m all hung up on. So… I’m sorry.” He folds his arms over his knees. “That’s it.”

She’s quiet. She’s watching him. “It’s alright,” she decides, and that’s the only way he can think to describe it. A decision: hers, not his.

“Yeah?” he demands anyway, because apparently he can’t fucking stop even after he’s just gotten done apologizing. “How do you figure?”

“You need time,” she says. “The system doesn’t account for recovery. It can take a toll.” She stretches her legs out in the grass. “I understand.”

Whoever it is finishes giving their speech. The house erupts into cheers and applause.

“This could be over tomorrow,” he tells her.

“It could,” she agrees.

“And you’re okay with that? Letting me fuck around for however long trying to get my shit together, while you’re stuck wasting your time?”

“I don’t see it as a waste,” she answers, and it’s soft, but her eyes are steady.

There’s a commotion up on the patio. The crowd is starting to spill out toward the steps. “They’re leaving,” Peko says, rising to her feet. She dusts off the end of her skirt. “Would you like to see them off?”

“I don’t even know their fuckin’ names,” he says, “do you?”

“Chisa and Kyousuke,” she answers, without missing a beat. He looks up at her, and her smile is embarrassed. “... It’s written on most of the decorations.”

“I hate these fucking things.”

She holds her hand out to him. “If you prefer,” she says in that same careful, noncommittal way, “we could leave instead.”

He lets her pull him to his feet.

5 WEEKS

They keep sleeping on the separate couches. She rolls off of hers every morning like it’s nothing; she does a few stretches, laces up her shoes, and is on her way out the door, all before he’s even managed to get his spine in the right alignment.

“Fuck,” he groans into the pillow, “how do you do that?”

She twists her hair into a high ponytail at the top of her head. “There’s room in the bed, I believe,” she says, “if you’d be more comfortable there.”

He bows over the edge of the couch, and hangs his head down to stretch out the line of his vertebrae. “Fuck off,” he mutters into his knees.

She hovers. “I could show you a stretch,” she says. “It may help.”

He’s fine. He doesn’t need it.

But she offered, so he lets her.

*

They figure out how to get the system to let them order ingredients, instead of just more of the pre-made meals. He doesn’t think it’s possible, but she insists and keeps insisting until she manages to hit on the right voice command.

They go the full gambit: meat and fish and grains and vegetables. They fill up the kitchen. They order for weeks in advance, breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It’s reckless, potentially pointless, and for once, in the moment, he doesn’t even think about it.

She orders a parade of different cheeses for a casserole recipe she loves, which is how she finds out he’s lactose intolerant. He orders a bottle of a sweet, fruity Merlot, which is how he finds out that she doesn’t like sweetness much.

She does try it, though. She manages three or four sips before her mouth puckers and her nose scrunches, a pinch of delicate disgust. It’s an expression he hasn’t seen on her before. She wears the negative ones even less often than the positive ones.

“Alright, alright,” he says. “Message heard loud and clear. I’ll get something drier next time.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, but she’s smiling when she leans over to put her glass down next to his on the countertop. They’re standing close enough that her sleeve brushes his elbow. The wine has left a faint red stain on her bottom lip.

She’d taste like the sweet plum of the Merlot, if he kissed her.

She doesn’t like sweetness, she said, but he does. He could sweep the flavor out of her mouth for her. All it would take is for him to shift his weight forward, part his lips, catch her open mouth, and—

“What is it?” she asks.

He clears his throat. He steps back from the counter. “You got ideas for dinner?” he says. “I’m gonna warn you right now, I’m a shitty fucking cook.”

2 MONTHS

He doesn’t need any more time.

If he knew they had a day left, or a week left, he wouldn’t waste it. He’d kiss her right now, tumble her down into their unused bed, and use every goddamn second to make up the difference for the mess he’s made her sit through.

He doesn’t want to do that, though.

He wants to take her somewhere special. He wants to have the date that pairing day was supposed to be, the two of them together under a smattering of summer starlight, maybe some dancing, maybe to a waltz on the piano. He wants to be able to wake up a month from now with his arm around her waist and take a few extra minutes of their morning, just because.

He decides on, “Let’s go somewhere,” over breakfast, when she’s still damp and shiny from her shower, pale hair turned dark over her shoulders.

She smiles at him. It still makes his stomach do something twisting and stupid.

*

It’s not fancy. There’s no starlight or piano waltz. They hike one of the shallow paths through the woods to see where the first licks of autumn are starting to turn the leaves orange and yellow. They have lunch on a couple of stumps. He asks to hold her hand on the way back, and she says yes.

When they get home, they sit together on the couch (his couch, he thinks, and it rings in his head the same way his bed might), and he opens a bottle of Bordeaux that she likes much better.

It’s an accident when it happens, maybe. They're sitting close enough that their knees are touching, talking about what other commands for the device Hope's Peak might be keeping on the down-low. She turns away to set her glass down on the coffee table.

Maybe he doesn’t need to have his head at that angle when he says her name. Maybe she doesn’t need to dip her chin like that when she turns back to him. But he does, and she does, and they catch there in the middle. It’s a brush, that’s all it is, but neither of them do anything to turn it into less than that.

He reaches for her with both hands. He frames her face, thumbs behind her ears and fingers tangled in her hair. She inhales just a little, sharply, and when he tugs, she sinks forward. She kisses him like that: no accidents, no pretense.

There’s not enough room for both of them on the couch, not like this; they slip and fumble trying to find a configuration that’s comfortable, and keep bumping hands and elbows. It’s fine. He doesn’t care. He loses traction once when his knee slides on the slippery fabric of her dress, and the smile that breaks against his mouth is more than worth it.

He pulls back enough to look down into her face. Her mouth is red. Her eyes are dark. His hand hovers at the high edge of her dress, where the skirt has slid up to the top of her thigh.

“Do you…” His whole mouth feels dry. He wets his lips, and it barely helps. “Tell me to fuck off if you want, but I was thinking… maybe…”

Behind him, his device chimes. It’s so loud it makes him jump, and she exhales a breathy laugh when he has to make a grab for the armrest behind her.

“No consent preference registered,” it chirps. “Fuyuhiko, do you consent to oral sex as the giving partner?”

Beyond the edge of the couch, he can see that her device has lit up, too, on the end table. They’re always tracking them, he realizes. Reading their intentions— and sharing that data, when it’s relevant.

Peko’s realized it, too. She’s gone scarlet— not just pink, fully red, right up to her hairline. She turns her face down against his shoulder, and the only benefit of that is that she can’t see his face, either.

“Shit,” he says into her hair, and it’s as much laughter as it is disbelief. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“The system requires that all participants submit their consent prior any sexual activity,” his device explains.

“Fuck, alright, yes, okay? Yes.”

It chimes again. “Thank you, Fuyuhiko.”

“I’m sorry,” she says in a small voice. “I didn’t realize—”

“Yeah,” he says. “Next time we gotta remember to do that part first.” She still won’t raise her head. He turns his lips against her temple so that she can feel him smiling. “What I was gonna say, was, uh… Y’know.” He slides his hands up her thighs, beneath her skirt, and hooks his thumbs into the elastic band of her underwear. “That. Basically.”

Her head snaps up from his shoulder. Her eyes are wide.

“I mean,” he hedges, “if that’s okay with you. It really only asked me, I guess, so—”

“Yes,” she whispers. “I- I… yes.”

He sinks to his knees in front of the couch. She lets him skim his hand back under her skirt to help her slide her panties down and off; they’re plain, black cotton, simple and practical. From this angle, he can see how every heavy breath rolls from her belly through her chest and out her throat.

She’s flushed and beautiful.

Her device chimes. “No consent preference registered. Peko, do you consent to oral sex as the receiving partner?”

She draws both hands up the inside of her thighs, and lets the hem of her dress catch on her fingers. She murmurs, “Yes,” with her eyes on him, lidded and intense, and it makes him feel like his hair is standing on end.

“Thank you, Peko.”

He leans in.

The angle’s bad, at first. The couch cushions are soft and deep; that’s fine for when he’s trying to sleep, but not so much when she keeps sinking back too far for him to keep pressure where she needs it. Her hand flutters on his shoulder, clenching and releasing. He’s getting a crick in his neck.

“Hey,” he murmurs, and then, “Hey,” again, until her eyes flutter open. “Try- Try scooting up a little.” He spreads his palms wide on the outsides of her thighs. “Closer to the edge, so I can…”

She bites her lip. She’s flushed down to her chest. “But...”

“It’s okay,” he tells her. He scoops his arms around the small of her back in a clumsy hug, the most he can think to do. “I got you, alright? Last thing either of us want is for you to fall on your ass, I swear.”

She nods, unsteady. She lets him draw her down to the edge, and lets him lift her knees over his shoulders. It leaves her sprawled on the couch cushions, dress hiked up around her waist, with her hips pressed close and spread open.

He brushes his lips against her, not even a kiss, and she inhales, sharp and quick.

“Oh.” She pulls his collar hard against the back of his neck. “That’s… That’s better.”

He laughs against her, so that the sound vibrates on her skin, and her breath stumbles back out. “Yeah?”

Her hands scrabble for purchase against the back of his head. She’s trying not to press down, and doing a bad job of it. “Yes,” she whispers. “Go- Go, please.”

She’s dead fucking silent, the entire time. She lies there with her head tipped back against the cushions, her throat bobbing with every swallowed sound, and he thinks he’s fucking it up, at first. He starts to pull back, means to ask her what he’s doing wrong and what he could do better, when her fingers twist around his ears to keep him in place, hard enough to hurt.

He switches gears. He turns off the part of his brain that focuses on sound, and focuses instead on the things that make her knees tremble around his ears, or her nails rake back across his scalp. He figures out where her line is, learns to feel when she’s right up on that edge but not letting herself past it.

“Come on,” he growls against her. He sits up on his knees, and smooths his thumbs into the grooves of her hips. “I got you. Come on.”

She shudders. She spills over. She gasps, “Fuyuhiko,” at the ceiling, and it hits him like a stone, right in the gut.

He carries her through it. He tries to. Maybe the best he does for her is make sure she actually doesn’t fall on her ass. He has to come up for air as much as she does when it’s done, when she’s looking at him like that, lips parted and eyes dark, with the fingers of one hand curled around his ear.

“Fuck, I wanna kiss you,” he manages. “Can I kiss you?”

She surges forward, and grabs him by the face with both hands. She kisses him, full-on and messy, even though his mouth must still taste bitter and slick. She wraps her arms around him and drags on his shoulders until he gets the memo to come up off his knees.

He holds himself over her, both hands on the back of the couch. He has to brace one knee on the cushion between her legs to keep himself upright. “Shit,” he whispers against her mouth. “You’re incredible.”

Her lips move against his, too, only he can’t concentrate on what she’s saying because his blood is roaring in his ears and she just thumbed through the button on the front of his slacks. She fumbles with his belt, finds his zipper, and then she stops.

He’s dizzy. It’s a struggle to find her face, until he realizes it’s because she’s bent her head forward, against his chest.

“Wh-What?” he pants. “What’s wrong?”

She tilts her chin. He can see the flat edge of her smile. She’s trying not to laugh. “It wants to know… if…”

“Fuck,” he rasps. “Goddammit.” He rearranges his grip on the backrest, and clenches his eyes shut. “I consent, you stupid piece of shit.”

“Thank you, Fuyuhiko,” his device chirps behind him.

The momentum is broken. Her thumb at the top of his zipper feels more awkward now than promising. “Sorry,” he whispers, “I- I should’ve thought this out better. You don’t have to— I mean—”

She turns her face back up to him. Her fingers curl around his cheek. She presses gently, until he tilts his head in the direction she wants, and then her lips are on his again, softer this time, slower.

Her hands settle on his hips. Her thumbs hook in his waistband, tug until it slides down enough to give her room to work, and his breath catches in his throat.

“Peko,” he gasps against her mouth.

It doesn’t take much, even after all that. The warm curl of her fingers, the touch of her tongue to the roof of his mouth, a few quick twists of her wrist, and that’s it: he’s done. He tries to garble out a warning, but she just presses her free hand against the back of his head to hold him in place while it shudders through him.

They’re a wreck, the both of them, when it’s over: her with her hair a mess and her makeup smudged, hanging off the edge of the couch, and him half-draped on top of her, barely able to keep his balance.

He touches his forehead to hers. She traces the curve of his jaw with her thumb.

“Bed?” she asks.

He breathes in her smile. “Yeah,” he answers, “fuck this.”

*

It’s the best goddamn sleep he’s had in months.

When he wakes up, it’s abrupt, and dark, and cold. He doesn’t know much with his brain operating on empty like that, but he does know that his half of the bed is wider than it’s supposed to be. He reaches for her, paws out into the space, and finds the edge of the blanket again. He drags it back around his shoulders.

He just barely remembers to grumble, “Peko.”

“Go back to sleep,” she murmurs, and there, she’s there, close to his ear. He can’t keep his eyes open long enough to look at her.

“What the fuck,” he slurs into the pillow. “It’s nighttime.”

“It’s morning,” she corrects. “I shouldn’t miss my run.”

He swings his arm blindly sideways, and finds the curve of her shoulder. He grabs, and only gets her sleeve. “Don’t go.”

She presses a kiss to the side of his neck, just behind his ear. She’s smiling. “Go back to sleep.”

Somewhere along the line, he does.

10 WEEKS

“What do you think about tiny dogs?” he asks her. They’re on the couch together, sharing a blanket, his legs tented over her lap. “The yappy, strung-out looking ones?”

She traces the line of his shin with her thumb. She doesn’t want him to see it, but the corner of her mouth tugs sideways. “I think they’re nice,” she answers.

“Seriously?”

“Yes.”

“That’s fuckin’ crazy,” he tells her. “They’d bite your fingers off as much as look at you.”

She doesn’t rise to his bait, and she doesn’t take back her answer. It’s her turn. “Are there any sports you like?”

“Baseball,” he answers. “Played it for a while. I’m better at watching it, though.”

“I see.”

“Right, so, if you—”

She squeezes his knee. “I get to ask again.”

“What?” he laughs. “No, you don’t. How come?”

“You asked two.”

“Bullshit I did! ‘Seriously?’ doesn’t count.”

She holds her ground. She lifts her chin at him, and she’s not smiling, but her eyes get narrower underneath like she is.

“Alright,” he says. He leans forward, his elbow on the back of the couch beside her head, and lets his knees fall flat into her lap. “Fine. What’s your second one?”

Her hand finds the side of his face. The tips of her fingers trace the edge of his ear, and it tickles, but he’s determined not to show her any weakness. He sighs, a long, slow exhale, and touches the tip of his tongue to his lips.

Her eyeline drops down.

“Peko,” he says, and it rises back up, painfully slow. He’s won, and she knows it. “What’s your second one?”

(He’s an idiot. He’s underestimated her, like he does every time.)

She curves her thumbnail along his hairline, dips her chin, and asks him in a murmur, “What would you like to do next?”

He loses, right then and there. No chance. He accepts the defeat gracefully, and rolls her over so that she's the one in his lap.

3 MONTHS

He wakes up with his arm around her waist.

They take a few extra minutes in their morning, just because.

15 WEEKS

“You’re not paired with her,” Natsumi tells him. “You know that, right?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that just because you dumbasses didn’t check the expiration, it doesn’t mean you don’t still have one.”

“Obviously,” he says. “I know that. We both know that.”

She stares at him over the lid of her smoothie. It gurgles as loudly as she can make it.

“Really?” she asks. “Because it kinda seems like you don’t.”

4 MONTHS

He counts the days up. Four months, almost exactly. They’ve overshot it by a few, and it turns out he likes that less than if they’d been a few days shy.

He’s done the math. His average is two months. Hers is five. They’re sitting pretty at almost exactly the point their expiration date should be creeping up on them.

He doesn’t say anything to her. It’d defeat the purpose. Just because he let Natsumi get under his skin again doesn’t mean that he should be making Peko anxious about it, too. What they have is working. Letting the system shove its nose between them adds nothing and takes away everything.

Still.

It’s too late for the summer stars, but the autumn ones are just as good. He takes her out by the river, down to the spot where the sprawling, rickety house they used for the pairing day is sitting empty. She lets her arm unwind from his and steps close to the water, her chin tipped up to the sky. Moonlight and starlight spill over her, and gleam silver in her hair.

He taps his device. The hidden speakers in the trees fade in: a slow piano waltz.

She looks up at the sound, and then down to him. He holds his hand out. “Dance with me?”

Her lips turn up into her not-quite smile. Color rises in her cheeks, and brings out her eyes. She reaches her hand out, too, and her fingers curl into his.

They spin lazily together, there on the riverbank, in the grass and soft soil. It isn’t even a real waltz; it’s way too slow and uncoordinated for that. But his arm fits around her waist, and she’s looking back at him with her eyes soft and open in a way they hardly ever are, and the rest of it doesn’t matter. None of it. The steps, the device, the system, the goddamn fucking wall.

The song slows down. So do they, swaying steps devolving into swaying shoulders.

He imagines that tomorrow is their last day. He imagines that this’ll be the last time he sees her like this, touched by silver moonlight like that, looking back at him with her eyes like that. He imagines her at a pairing day with someone else, beautiful in a light spring gown, with her name on all of the decorations, and he kisses her.

When he pulls back, her eyes are shining. She presses her knuckles into the corners of them. “Wait, wait.” He wraps his hands around the back of her neck, tugs her down until her forehead is pressed against his. “You— Don’t cry. Why are you crying?”

She blinks the tears away. She shakes her head, just a little, just enough for him to feel it. “I love you, too,” she murmurs against his lips. “That’s all.”

22 WEEKS

He keeps counting. He can’t help himself. Once he knows the number, each morning is another increment. Each new total carves itself into the inside of his skull like tic marks on a prison wall.

*

“Is something wrong?” she asks.

They’re having breakfast, toast and coffee and sliced fruit. She has one hand on his knee below the table. They don’t have anything planned for the afternoon; she’d wanted a quiet day in, just the two of them, and so had he. He wants as many of those as he can get, from however many days there are left.

There are soft frown lines between her eyes, and he needs to be honest. It’s too late now not to be. “We've been together five months,” he tells her. “More than that. Hundred and fifty-seven days, tomorrow.”

She doesn't understand, at first. Her gaze goes soft, at first, like he’s told her good news, because it is. It should be. It’s something they should be proud of. A mark of what they’ve done, and what they could do.

It isn’t, though. Not where the system is concerned.

She sees it in his face, maybe, or maybe she just knows him well enough now that she understands the implication of his counting. She gets there. Her hand lifts off his knee.

“You want to check the expiration date,” she realizes.

His stomach twists. “No!” He leans forward, and his elbow jostles the edge of his plate. It sends cutlery to the table with a clatter. “No. Peko, no, that’s not it.”

She’s not listening. Her device is on the table, by her elbow, and it lights up under her touch. She swipes through the menus with quick, deliberate precision: Main, Info, Expiration.

“Peko—”

“We agreed,” she says. “As soon as one of us changes their mind, we look.”

He has this sudden, irrational panic that she’s going to look at it without him. He doesn’t even know if that’s possible, and he grabs her wrist anyway. “Stop it,” he says. “I didn’t change my mind, alright?”

“Will it make you feel better?” she asks him.

He hesitates.

“Then we should look,” she says, and holds her finger over the screen.

“You're not listening to me.”

“Please,” she says through grit teeth. Emotion still manages to tremble its way through. “Whatever time is left, I…” It trembles out into her fingers. She clutches the device to keep hold of it. “I don't want it to go to waste. So if doing this helps you, then…”

“This isn’t gonna fucking help!”

It’s louder than he means, sharper than he means. He seizes her hands with both of his, and shoves the face of the device down into the table. It makes a sound like splitting plastic, but he knows it won’t break.

“Maybe it would make me feel better,” he tells her, and forces his volume down. “Maybe. For a second. That’s not what this is about, okay?” He swallows. Breathes. “I don't want to know when it ends.” He can feel her trembling. He drags his thumb over the ridges of her knuckles. “I don't want it to end at all.”

Peko is looking down at their hands. She’s not crying. She’s wearing the same sort of carefully neutral look she had when he was late for dinner the very first night, lonely and quiet, slightly strained at the edges.

“The system makes mistakes,” he says, and now he's trembling, too. “99.8. That’s .2 percent of people who get fucked over. You wanna look at me and tell me this doesn’t feel like a mistake to you?”

She looks at him. She doesn’t say anything.

“Everything happens for a reason,” the device chirps, muffled between their fingers.

*

She kisses him every morning, before her run, while he’s still half-asleep. She brushes her lips wherever she can reach him, between the tangle of blankets: his cheek, his temple, his chin, his wrist.

He teaches himself to count those, instead.

6 MONTHS

He’s in the bedroom, fixing his tie in the mirror. She’s in the kitchen, packing their boxed lunch for later. It’s too cold for a picnic now, but the central hub has a cozy little lounge area with some fireplaces and worn-comfortable loveseats. They’re going to the aquarium first, then lunch, then a concert in the evening.

“Yo, Peko,” he calls over his shoulder.

“Yes?”

“When is this thing tonight again? I was thinking if we have some extra time, maybe—”

His device chimes on the vanity in front of him.

It's programmed with maybe four or five distinct sounds. They all get used for different things: notifications and alerts and acknowledgements. They overlap in a lot of places, by categories. There’s only one that’s unique. There’s only one he can recognize without trying to, or needing to, or wanting to.

He looks at it through the mirror, and the letters are backwards, but he knows. He knew before he looked.

END

He thinks: they didn’t even make it to thirty. She’s given him twenty-six sleepy, early-morning kisses since he started counting.

He barely even remembers the one from this morning. He tries. He grips the sharp edge of the vanity until his palms hurt, and tries to remember. She kissed him on the shoulder, he thinks, the outside curve of it. It’d been lazy, a brush. She’d been tired, too. She’d wanted to stay in bed with him, but she hadn’t.

He grabs the device. He turns on his heel, and stops in his tracks.

She’s already in the doorway. Her device hangs from her limp left hand, but it’s still lit up. He can still read the face of it.

END

“Peko—”

She talks over him. “I would like to say something.” Her voice is steel bent to its maximum; her face is a sheet of ice about to shatter.

“The relationship has ended,” their devices say in echoing unison. “Both participants must vacate their living quarters.”

“I want you to know that I have treasured every moment we spent together,” she says, rushed and clumsy. She struggles. It’s not like her at all. “And that I- I will always treasure them. It has been… unlike anything I’ve experienced in my life.”

“The relationship has ended. Both participants must vacate their living quarters.”

“I know that it’s selfish of me to ask. I know that this will pale in comparison to the connection you will have with the person you are matched with, when you meet them. But I… I hope, if you can, that you’ll remember this, too.” There are tears in her eyes, and she lets them spill over. “I hope that you’ll remember me, too.”

“No,” he rasps.

“Fuyuhiko—”

“How can you still not get it?” Emotion bubbles up his throat, and then his eyes are stinging, too. “How can you stand there and say that kind of shit to me? Like- Like I was going to forget anything. Like I ever could, like I’d ever want to?” He can’t stand it. She talks about herself like she’s a ghost, like she doesn’t matter, and she’s so goddamn frustrating. “I don’t want their fucking match, Peko!”

Her device lights up: a red, flashing ring around the face. He can see the reflection of it on her skin. He looks down, and his is blinking, too.

“Failure to vacate is considered a breach of system rules. Failure to comply with the system may result in banishment.”

He drops it. It hits the floor flat on its face and goes spinning into the wall. He crosses the space between them in two long steps, and reaches for her with both hands.

“I want you,” he tells her. “Only you.”

She sways into him. She lets out a breath, shaking and damp. Her free hand comes up to curl loosely around his wrist, and the other presses her device into her stomach, where the pretty lace of her blouse swallows up the warning light.

He sees it in her eyes. He swears he does. A spark, like possibility.

“Failure to vacate is considered a breach of system rules. Participants have three minutes to vacate, or security will be called.”

He watches her let it wink out.

She whispers, “Please.”

He lets go.

[taleasnewastime]

The Wedding

Summary: A wedding of close friends is always a nice occasion. But what if your ex is attending. And what if that ex also happens to be sat at the same table as you with a date. Hopefully the mysterious stranger sitting by you at dinner can help save the day.

Pairing: Jin x reader  

Genre: fluff; smut; angst

Word count: 11.2k

Authors Note: Happy (belated) Birthday Jin!! I hope he had a fabulous day, he deserves it. Here is a not so little story to celebrate. (Note to self, work on better titles for stories). I hope you all enjoy :)

It had been 4 months. 4 months since you and Harry finally decided you would end your 2-year relationship. Though that makes it sound like a mutual decision. What is it that celebrity’s call it when they’re getting a divorce? Irreconcilable differences. As if there is nothing wrong, just a change in feelings. A mutual decision where two people decide, hey this isn’t working shall we just call it quits?

But that’s not how it felt to you. Harry had told you he wanted to end the relationship and you had no other option but to go along with it. What could you really have done? Refuse? And what, Harry would have just been like sure and stayed with you? No. You left the relationship holding some of your pride (you hoped), agreeing that it was best the relationship ended, even if that wasn’t what you wanted.

In all honesty it may have broken your heart more to do that then to have begged him to stay.

4 months may seem like a long time to some people, but after 2 years together, 4 months felt like a mere second to you. If you think about it you can still picture his face when he sat you down and told you that he no longer loved you. You can still feel the pain of your heart shattering in that moment. You can still feel the tears that ran down your face like a stream. You can feel the nod of your head as you struggle to hear his words, just nodding in agreement to whatever he is saying. And you can still see his back as he walked out the door, leaving you behind.  

Friends had told you he was not worth it, that you should move on. And it’s not like you hadn’t tried, you’d gone on a few dates, but none of them lived up to him. Which you were the first to admit sounded stupid, what guy that chose to leave you like that deserves you to grieve that much over him? You told yourself that you were just waiting for the right person to come along, but they were yet to show up. And it made you wonder whether Harry was it, whether he was the one that got away, whether you should have fought harder for him to stay, whether he was as good as it was ever going to get.

The last time you had seen him was when he walked out on you, and as you walk into the church of your friend's wedding there should have been no surprise when you see Harry sitting on the groom's side of the church. They were mutual friends after all, you friends with the bride, him the groom. Though you expected him to be here, there is still a bit of shock that courses through you when you see his figure.  

Listening to your friend Eleanor talk as you enter the church, you look around in search of some empty seats when you see him. The black suit jacket fits a little loose on his frame, making it look like he picked it up last minute and got one that didn't quite fit right. But seeing his back causes flash backs of him walking out the door to run through your mind. Eleanors voice seems to fade into the background when you see him, only brought back to the present when she tugs lightly on your arm, directing you to a couple of empty seats.  

You attempt to push him from your mind, try to not glance over at him whenever you get the chance. From this angle you can only see his shoulder, and if the people in between you are aligned just right, you get a glance of his side profile. You can see that his hair is styled in the way that you always loved, his dark slightly curly hair flops down over his face covering his eyebrows a few strands poking into his eyes.  

Focusing on the wedding, watching your friend walk down the aisle, you manage to distract yourself enough to not think of him. Dressed in white, your friend looks beautiful and you have to hold back a few tears when they say their vowels. Standing to clap and cheer when the bride and groom kiss, you watch as they then walk back down the aisle hand in hand, beaming.  

Happiness is your overriding emotion, however you can’t help the pang of jealousy that swells within you, wishing that was you.  

Taking the glass of prosecco that is handed to you when you walk into the reception, you have to stop yourself from downing it all in one, instead taking one massive gulp. Eleanor and you had booked into a hotel close by, recommended by the bride and groom, so you had always planned to have a few drinks. The appearance of Harry only confirmed the fact that large quantities of alcohol were going to be consumed.  

“I heard that they have a tab behind the bar and when it’s gone it’s up to us to pay,” Eleanor says as she comes to stand beside you, both waiting behind a large group of people who are all trying to find their table for the dinner.  

“Are you trying to encourage me to get drunk?” You raise your eyebrows at her, taking another gulp of your drink.  

“Merely stating facts,” she replies. “What with the hotel, buying a new dress and having to get the happy couple a gift, I think we deserve a few free drinks.”

“You have a point,” you sigh, taking another gulp of your drink nearly finishing your glass as you shuffle ever closer to dining room door. “Why are weddings so expensive? I thought they were supposed to be pricey for bride and groom, not for their guests as well.”  

“All I can say is, the food better be good,” she says as you finally come to stand in front of the board detailing where everyone is to be sat. “Right, where are we?”  

Your eyes dart across the chart looking for your names.  

“I hope we haven’t been shoved near the loos,” you joke, eyes still searching.  

“Oh, come on, we’re better than that right?” Eleanor panics slightly at yours words.  

“I don’t know, you were just saying that you’re going to drink them clean of their alcohol,” you joke, laughing lightly when you look at the worry written on Eleanors face.  

“Oh shit,” she says, her face going from worry to shock, the colour almost draining from her face as she turns from the seating chart to you.  

You give a small humourless chuckle as you look at her, blood pumping so hard you can almost hear it in your ears.  

“Don’t tell me they’ve actually put us by the toilets,” you say.

“We’ve actually got pretty good seats,” she replies, though concern swims through her eyes. “Maybe we should get a top up before we sit down.”  

You cock your head to the side in question as you look at her. Turning to look over the chart, you are more desperate now to see your name. “Where are we?” You say at the same moment you read your name.  

Eleanor was right, you did have pretty good seats. A clear view of the head table where the bride and groom sat, prime seats for when the food would arrive, and easy access to get to the bar and eventually the dance floor. Yet all of this was monstrously over shadowed by the fact that opposite you sat the one person you were hoping to avoid, Harry.

“He’ll be so far away we won’t even notice he’s there,” Eleanor reasons as you continue to stare blankly at the name on the board.  

“I think I’d rather the toilet seats,” you say seriously, before you can catch yourself. “No, you know what? It’ll be fine. I had to see him at some point today, why not at dinner?” You rearrange your face, attempting to look like the whole situation wasn’t affecting you at all. “Another drink is a good idea though,” you say before gulping down the last few dregs in your glass.  

Eleanor follows suit, necking her own drink before dragging you over to the near empty bar, everyone else still on their first glass.  

“I mean why the hell would she sit you and your ex on the same table?” Eleanor turns to you after ordering two drinks, she almost seems angrier than you.  

“It hasn’t been that long, they probably couldn’t rearrange it all,” you tap your fingers on the bar, nerves building up within you at the thought of the meal ahead.  

“It’s been four months, that’s enough time to change some seats around,” Eleanor sighs as the bartender places two wines down.  

“Maybe not in wedding speak,” you don’t know why you are trying to defend the decision but you don’t want this evening to be ruined by your ex.  

“Anyway, it will be fine, I’ll be there and I’m sure everyone else at the table will be nice. We’ll still have a great time,” she hooks her arm with yours as she slowly makes her way into the dining room. Unsure why she is trying to convince you on the matter when you haven’t protested at all, you guess that’s just what good friends are for, knowing what to say even when you haven’t said anything.  

Letting her drag you to the seats your nerves build to a crescendo when you finally see the seats that are assigned to you. Flicking your eyes to the opposite side of the table to you see the distinctive curly hair, heart pounding in your chest as you remove your eyes from him, not wanting to be looking at him when you reach the table.  

“This is us,” Eleanor comes to a stop and places her bag on the ground before pulling the chair away from the table.  

Following suit, you keep your eyes down as you busy yourself with arranging your dress so it sits straight. The seat next to you is unoccupied, someone running late from the wedding you reason as your hand reaches for your glass to take another sip of your drink as you build up enough courage to look around the rest of your table. Eleanor is already talking to the cute guy sitting to her left, so you have nothing to distract you.  

Next to the empty seat sits a woman in her mid 30s her hair tied up in a neat bun. Next to her is a young child, no older than 10 who sits colouring in a predesigned image, concentration all over their face. Harry is next, and your heart involuntarily pangs in your chest when you look at him. You still don’t have a full front on view of him as he is turned talking to the person next to him, but you can now see the crisp white shirt he wears, that seems to fit better than the suit jacket, a slim blue tie around his neck. You can more clearly see his features now too, his round face, blue eyes seeming to contrast the rest of his dark features, his lips are a bright red and are pulled back showing off his straight white teeth as he laughs at something. You take all of this in in mere seconds, not wanting to linger on him in case he catches you.  

Moving around the table your heart plummets when you see who he is talking to, who is causing him to smile so brightly, who is causing the slight pink to creep up his neck. More beautiful than you could ever dream of being, the woman sits straight backed in an emerald strappy silk dress. Her features are delicate, yet you are sure that everyone would look at her if she were to enter a room. Her hair is dark and cascades down her back in perfectly formed curls.  

Your eyes skim the rest of the table, barely taking anyone else in as you turn to look at Eleanor who is already staring at you. Giving a tight closed lipped smile you don’t do a good job at trying to convince her you’re fine.  

Here you sit, single and dateless at a wedding, when your ex of four months sits at the same table, appearing to have completely forgotten you, bringing a date to a wedding he would surely know you would attend. As if reading your mind, Eleanors hand gently squeezes your leg under the table, almost transferring some of her strength to you.  

You would have hoped that Harry would have at least acknowledged your presence, would have at least said hi to you, or at worst given a gentle nod of recognition. But he instead seems to not even notice you are there.

Staring into your glass, you get lost in your own thoughts. Watching the liquid swirl around the edge of the glass to the rhythm of your hand movements. Beads of liquid roll down the edge of the glass when you let it rest.

“Got a lot of wine legs there, must be quality stuff.”

You jump at the sound of a male voice on your right, head whipping in the direction of the sound. Your eyes widen when you realise that the previously empty seat is now taken, and not just that but the man that occupies the seat is devastatingly handsome. He has pink plush lips that curve slightly at the edges to form a soft and welcoming smile, his cheeks seem to be squishable while also sculptured as if made from marble, he has dark brown hair that has been pushed away from his face exposing his forehead, and he has dark brown eyes that are welcoming. You watch as he takes off a dark jacket, using the opportunity to try and formulate a response to his opening statement. But as he drapes his jacket on the back of his chair you only ogle more. A black shirt adorns his chest, pulled not so tight that it looks small but so that you can see how muscular he is as well as showing off his broad shoulders.  

Your eyes dart back up to his when he turns back to look at you, not wanting him to know you had been checking him out.  

“I thought that was an old wife's tale,” you speak and then feel the need to clarify, as it seems an eternity since he last spoke. “The wine legs thing.”  

“Could be. My friend told me and 99% of his facts are incorrect,” he says, smile still on his face.  

“I also highly doubt Ben and Laura would have splashed the cash on anything expensive,” you refer to the bride and groom.  

“They do seem to have blown the budget on flowers,” he laughs, and you join in as you look around the room that has flowers covering most surfaces. Even the wooden beams on the ceiling had some sort of foliage hanging off it, making the place look beautiful. It must have cost a small fortune.  

“Don’t they know the way to a good wedding is through alcohol? They could have held this in a school hall and everyone would have been happy as long as there was free booze,” you say.  

“They obviously didn’t get the memo,” he replies and there's a moment pause before he says, “anyway, you must be Y/N.”  

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise at the fact he knows your name. Thoughts of whether you had met him before are cut off by him explaining.  

“The name cards,” his hand does a sweep of the table where names are placed to show where people sit.  

Heat rushes to your face as you realise. Trying to cover this up you glance down at the name card in front of him.

“Jin?” You look back up at him and see a wider smile on his face as he looks at you.  

“That’s me,” he beams and you can’t help but copy, his smile infectious. “So, are you here for the bride or groom?”  

“The bride,” you say. “We used to work together. What about you?”  

“Groom,” he nods. “He’s a friend from childhood. I actually don’t know many people here so I’m glad they’ve placed me next to someone fairly normal.”  

You shy at his words, turning to look at your glass, as your face continues to heat. “You might not be saying that by the time we get to dessert. You’ll be running to the dance floor just to get away from me,” you try and joke and are pleased when you hear an almost squeaky laugh leave his lips. Looking at him you can see it is genuine, his head leaning back slightly as his eyes close.  

“Honestly, maybe weird is better. Plus, I’ll be running to the dance floor anyway, I am a notoriously good dancer,” he says when he has calmed enough to talk.  

“Cha cha slide?” You ask.

He gives a small laugh mouth opening to reply but before any words leave his lips a hand is placed on your shoulder and you are gently moved backwards in your seat.  

“Finally decided to join the table,” Eleanor says as she leans over you so she can speak to Jin. You wonder whether they know each other and then remember that Eleanor is just that forward and friendly.

“I did hear rumours it was the best table in the place. But then I am sat here,” Jin gives a small shrug of his shoulders at the statement.

“I think that only applies to this half of the table,” Eleanor says loudly and you visibly cringe. “Anyway, me and Jordan were just placing bets on what food we’re going to be forced to eat,” she carries on, waving a hand towards the man sat beside her, presumably Jodan who gives a small wave.  

“Easy, isn’t it always a hog roast at these things,” you roll your eyes at her.  

“Wow, wow, wow,” Jin says dramatically. “Ben would never stoop that low. It will definitely be some sort of chicken.”  

“And just how well do you know Ben? Don’t tell me you’re cheating here and already know the answer,” Eleanor accuses, her finger coming up to point at him as if to better prove her point.

As they bicker and joke about what food is going to be served, you are suddenly aware of how this is the complete opposite to how you expected this meal to go. As soon as you had seen that Harry was sat on the same table as you, your blood had run cold and yet since Jin had arrived you weren’t even aware of his presence at the table. This thought is cut short when you take a glance at him and you can see he is scolding in your direction, the girl sitting by him seems to be unaware that his attention is no longer on her as she continues to talk at him.  

Heat rises to your face as you catch his eyes, if looks could kill you would surely be six foot under by now. Wishing you were strong enough to hold his gaze, you instead look down at your lap, fingers fiddle with the material of your dress.  

Mere minutes ago you had wanted him to acknowledge your existence, and now he was you couldn’t even hold his gaze. Though when you imaged him looking at you, it wasn’t with the hatred currently in his eyes. You wonder what right he had to look at you like that when he was the one that had completely ignored you when you arrived, and the one that had brought a date with him.

As you think this though you realise that maybe he thinks Jin is your date. Maybe the girl he is talking to isn’t his date and exactly what Jin is to you, just someone who happens to be sitting next to you at a wedding. Maybe you were the one being a hypocrite and you had judged him just as quickly as he was now judging you.

All thoughts are cut off when a plate is placed in front of you. Jumping slightly at its arrival.  

“Told you, roast chicken,” Jin says smugly looking down at the food.  

“I still think you cheated,” Eleanor replies.  

“Ask Ben if you have any doubts,” Jin points his fork at Eleanor while he chews on some broccoli.  

“No doubt you’ve sworn him into some sort of secrecy,” she scowls at him before taking a bite of her own food and turning to talk to Jordan.  

“I mean, I didn’t,” Jin mumbles with a pout and you give a small chuckle at how serious the discussion had become while you zoned out.

“Go on then, if you’re so good at all of this, what will their first dance be to?” You look at him with a smirk.  

“Ben does love the macarena,” Jin says and his face visibly lightens when he watches you laugh.  

“Now that would be some first dance,” you say through your laugh.  

“It would be the song I’d pick,” his voice is full of cheekiness.  

“I pity the girl,” you smile at him.

“Oh really,” his eyebrows raise almost in challenge. “I’ll have you know I’m quite the catch.”

“And yet I see no date,” you raise your eyebrows back at him.

“Everyone knows that weddings are the perfect place to meet people. It’s all the love, people can’t help but want to experience it themselves.”

“Desperation you mean,” you stab your fork into a potato. “Hoping to score a bridesmaid?”

“Not sure I would call it desperation,” his eyes are still on you as you continue to eat. “And none of the bridesmaids really caught my eye.”  

“Hum. Yellow was a bold choice for their dresses, even if it is pastel. I guess Laura didn’t want to risk being shown up,” you agree with him. “But, I bet when you speak to them their personalities will shine through,” your voice is thick with sarcasm and you watch as Jins face lights up at the joke.  

His mouth opens to reply but once again he is interrupted, this time by the groom standing up and someone tapping a spoon onto a glass. You swear you hear a small sigh leave Jins lips as the room falls silent for the speeches, but when you look at him a smile is still on his face as he looks towards his friend.  

The speeches threaten to make you spill some tears, especially when the bride's father starts to well up when giving his speech. By the time it’s all over you hardly get to speak to Jin as he is dragged into conversation with the woman on his right before the party portion of the evening starts.  

Everyone gathers around the dance floor when plates are finally cleared from the meal and as you had predicted Jin disappears between you leaving the table and going to the dance floor. You are unable to spot him as you look around the crowd and decide that he is probably doing as you predicted and seeking out a single bridesmaid. You concentrate on Laura and Ben dancing around the floor in each other's arms as they stare lovingly into each other eyes.

“Can I have this dance,” you hold out your hand and bow lowly to Eleanor as the DJ invites couples to join the bride and groom on the dance floor.  

Chuckling Eleanor places her hand in yours as you pull her onto the floor, putting your arms around her waist as hers fall around your neck like all the other couples. You and Eleanor had decided to be each other's dates to the wedding, both single. Though you are sure that Eleanor could easily have snapped up a date, you were grateful she offered that you go together.  

“Thanks for coming with me today,” you say as you sway around the dance floor.  

“Don’t be stupid, there’s no one I would have rather come with. Plus, if I had brought a date that cute guy I was sitting by wouldn’t have chatted me up,” she says, giving you a cheeky smirk.  

“Hey, you’re my date,” you mock offence. “Though if he asks nicely, maybe I’ll let him steal you for a dance or two.”

Eleanor’s face visibly lights up at your words though she quickly tries to hide it. “I’m sure that Jin will be asking to dance with you before long.”

“I’m not sure he was interested,” you scrunch up your face at her words.

“Well, you are obviously blind.”

“I think I saw him going off to chat up one of the bridesmaids,” you lie in the hopes it will be enough for her to drop the topic.  

“Oh really?” She would sound genuinely surprised, if not for the heavy sarcasm in her voice. “Because I think I see him stood watching you.”  

Your head almost snaps in the direction she is looking and sure enough Jin stands on the edge of the dance floor, fresh drink in hand as he watches you dance around the floor. Just as quickly as you look at him, you look away heat rising to your face.  

“He’s probably just thinking what a terrible dancer I am,” you half mumble.  

“Again, I’m not so sure,” cheekiness is now the overriding tone of Eleanors voice, which is mirrored by the big smile on her face. “If I’m not mistaken, I think he’s actually walking over to us now. Maybe he’s coming to tell you what a terrible dancer you are in person,” the sarcasm returns to her voice as you freeze in her arms.  

Your back had been swung in the direction of where Jin was stood so you cannot confirm what Eleanor is saying without obviously looking over your shoulder. But it doesn’t take long for her statement to be revealed as true as a tall figure comes to stand by your side.  

“Mind if I steal your partner?” The voice you recognised from earlier asks Eleanor and you watch as she nods, stepping away from you.  

Your eyes widen at her, silently pleading for her to stay, though you are unsure why.  

“But I want her back later,” she says as she walks off in search of another dance partner.  

Jin steps so he is now stood in front of you and you are surprised by how tall he is, his broad shoulders and frame only making him seem that much larger.  

“I hope you don’t mind,” he says as he looks down at you.

“Not at all,” you gulp down your nerves. “I was hoping to see these amazing dance moves anyway.”

Laughing he gently reaches out to place his hands on your waist, pulling you lightly so that you can more easily drape your arms around his neck.  

“I’d hate to disappoint,” he smirks down at you, and you have to look away from his gaze.  

A silence falls over the two of you as you gently sway to the music, Jin expertly guiding you around the room. You feel comfortable in his presence, but struggle to meet his eyes, instead choosing to look at his chest. This isn’t much better though as his black shirt has the top three buttons undone, causing a glimpse of his chest. You almost feel like a Victorian with how that small amount of skin gets you hot.  

“Black is a bold choice for a wedding,” you finally break the silence, looking up to see he is already looking down at you.  

“Do you not think it looks good?” He asks, though his face says he already knows your answer.  

“I guess it’s just a colour more aligned to a funeral,” you ignore his question.  

“Well, I am mourning the loss of one of my best friends. Now he’s married I will hardly see him anymore,” he says this with a wide smile on his face.

“Oh come on, you’re not one of those people, are you? You really believe married life is like a death sentence?”  

“I never said death sentence,” he is quick to correct you.  

“You said you were mourning the loss of your friend, that implies death,” you raise your eyebrows at him.  

“Alright, maybe that was a bit extreme,” he laughs. “I guess I’m not totally sold on the whole wedding thing. Like you said, why not just get loads of booze and throw it in a cheap hall somewhere. Do you really need all of this to tell everyone that you are madly in love?” He looks around the room to further his point. “I’d be happy just to go to the registry office and do it all in secret. Is that not more romantic?”

“Hiding your partner away from everyone? Romantic,” you tease. “But you’re not completely opposed to getting married?”  

“Hiding her away so that she can be all mine? I think romantic,” he shoots back. “But I guess I’d have to find the right person first,” his words come out deeper and smoother than previously, and again you have to break his eye contact.  

The song that was playing choices this moment to stop, the DJ mixing in a more up-tempo track. People all around you break from their swaying and start to dance with more enthusiasm, arms being thrown in the air. You remain in Jins arms, breaking a second before it comes awkward, you being the first to step away looking around the room as you do.  

“You should definitely get talking to those bridesmaids then. Maybe one of them is the one,” you try to make it sound sarcastic and like you don’t care, but it sounds anything but. “I’d hate to think I got in the way of anything,” you say, looking back at him to see a flicker of something cross his face. He opens his mouth to reply but for the third time that night you don’t let him get any words out. “I should probably go and find Eleanor anyway. I’d hate to think she’s all alone somewhere.”

Jin continues to stare at you, a now blank stare is on his face, making his emotions unreadable. He gives a small nod at your words.

“Thanks for the dance, it was nice,” you say lamely as you turn and walk away.  

Instead of hunting down Eleanor, like you had just said you were going to do, you head straight to the bar, happy when you find out drinks are still free. Standing, waiting for your drink, you think about the dance. Think about Jins hands on your waist, the feeling firm, yet safe. Think about the earthy and woody scent that was coming off of him. Think about seeing his face so close you could see all the muscles moving when his face contorted into a smile.  

A glass being placed down in front of you snaps you out of your thoughts, and you take a large gulp in the hopes that would also help to ease your mind. You are unsure why you had just bolted away from Jin as if it was a crime scene. He seemed like a nice guy, and to be honest at the moment a nice guy is exactly what you need. But the problem was that you were not what he needed. Currently still hung up on your ex, not in the best place mentally and just generally a mess, you didn’t want to lead him into anything just to leave him.  

And yet you can’t get him out of your head. You had only known him for the past few hours, only spoken to him for a portion of that time, but you feel yourself wanting to go back onto the dance floor and apologise, ask him to take you back in his arms and sway around the dance floor again. Maybe it was the fact that you hadn’t felt like this about anyone for ages that made you scared. Even when you were with Harry, towards the end, you didn’t feel this way about him. You had to admit that your relationship had started to lack the passion and desire it had at the start, but you had assumed that was normal after two years of being together. But that obviously wasn’t enough for Harry.  

You head is almost resting on your arms that lay on top of the bar when you hear a familiar voice. As if your thoughts had somehow summoned him.  

“Not with your date?” Harry’s words ring out and you tense at his words. Thoughts immediately flood your mind of how this is the opposite reaction you would have had a few months ago if you heard his voice.  

You turn slowly to look at Harry and see he looks somewhat more dishevelled than earlier. He has lost his tie and jacket, the top few buttons undone, and you note that while this was a turn on for Jin, you almost cringed at the look on Harry. His hair is also messier, a look that makes you think he has been running his hand through the curls all night, something you know he does when he’s stressed.  

“My date?” You question as you honestly have no idea who he is talking about. Annoyed at the fact that these are the first words he is speaking to you.

“The guy you were sat by at dinner?” He almost spits the words at you, and the action almost makes you smile. You’ve clearly gotten under his skin.  

“I could ask you the same thing,” you avoid answering his question, not wanting to give him any unnecessary details.  

“She’s gone to the toilet,” he waves a hand dismissively and your heart clenches at the confirmation he has brought a date with him.  

“Is it new?” You can’t help the curiosity, but curse at yourself for sounding like you care, which you do, but he doesn’t need to know that.

Harry is now the one that goes rigid at your words and gives a half mumble of “something like that,” that you catch. You turn and take another gulp of your drink, praying someone comes and saves you from this conversation.

“Listen,” Harry sighs, his body relaxing at the motion. “I didn’t come here to gloat or be mean or anything,” you have to bite the words could have fooled me back, instead remaining silent as you wait for him to continue. “I came here to say that I miss you.”

These are the last words that you expect to leave his lips. He was the one who had left you after all. He was the one that had said he had fallen out of love with you. He was the one that ended it and never called you again, left you with so many questions unanswered.

Instead of the effect that Harry must have hoped these words would cause, you feel almost sick when he says it. You feel like in the space of one wedding you have done a complete 180 in your feelings to the man currently stood in front of you.

But when you actually think about it, you had felt this way since he left you. If he had come to you before you still would have felt this hatred and sickness towards him. Because, honestly, you could never have gotten back with him after he had said that he had fallen out of love with you, however much you missed him. You would never been able to trust him again, always second guessing everything, always wondering when he was going to change his mind again and walk out the door.

The feelings you had felt towards him all this time, you now realised, was resentment. You resented that he was the one that left you and felt bitter at the fact that while you still loved him, he no longer loved you. And while you thought those feelings of love had stayed over the months, they had really morphed into something far uglier.  

It is only now as he stands so you can fully see him that you realise that you do not miss him, that you do not want him back and that you certainly do not love him. And it feels like a weight has been lifted off of your shoulders.  

“You don’t seem like you miss me,” Harry says into the silence, realising that you are not going to be the one to break it. There is a sort of arrogance in his voice, as if he knows, or thinks, that he still has you.

“You are here with a date,” you have to remind him.

“I know. But Y/N, don’t you want to talk? I wanted to say that I regret -”

“No,” you cut him off, not wanting to hear any of the bullshit that spills out of his mouth. “No. I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want to hear you’re excuses or explanations or whatever the hell you are going to say. You left me, Harry. You fell out of love with me. And we are no longer together because of that so you have to deal with the consequences,” you turn and pick up your glass before looking at him.

Before you can walk away, he does a small side step so that he is stood in front of you, blocking your exit.  

“No listen to me,” he almost pleads, and it almost sounds good to hear it.  

“You have a date,” you remind him once again.

“Who I don’t care about.”

“I’m sure she will be thrilled to hear that.”

“I don’t care,” he almost screams the words, his arms flinging in the air as if to further his frustration. “I don’t care, ok?” He repeats softer. “I just care about you.”

You stare at him, looking into his eyes you try to read what's happening behind them, wishing you could see what he was thinking. And as the silence continues, you can see the arrogance return, as if he thinks he has you again. You wonder how you had never seen it in his eyes before.  

“Well, I don’t care,” you say and you can see the shock that comes into his eyes. He definitely wasn’t expecting that.  

“Y/N, come on. I’m sorry ok,” his pleading returns, and this time you just feel pity for him.

“You broke up with me Harry,” you remind him. “And so, I no longer have to stand here and listen to what you have to say.” Glass in hand you give him a final look before walking past him.

Heading back into where everyone is dancing you feel a mixture of emotions. Giddy at the fact that you had managed to keep your cool and say everything you wanted to say to Harry to his face, you would never have thought you’d be able to do that. But the sickness remains, confusion as to why Harry would come and say those words to you. He surely didn’t actually want you back? A selfishness must have come out from him seeing you sat with Jin, who he had assumed was your date. Was he really so petty to feel some sort of ownership over you, when he was sat with an actual date the other side of the table.  

And now you felt pity towards her. Did she know what Harry was saying about her behind her back? You kind of hoped it was nothing serious, you didn’t want him to break anyone the way he had broken you.

When you reach the edge of where everyone is dancing you have a quick glance behind you, seeing Harry in the same spot you left him, his date now at his side. Shaking your head at the scene, you push it from your mind and turn back in search of someone much better. When you spot her, you make your way over to Eleanor.  

“Where have you been?” Eleanor almost shouts when she sees you. “Good dance with Jin?” She wiggles her eyebrows and you roll your eyes.  

“You will never guess what happened,” you begin before going onto to retell the story of bumping into Harry and all the things he said to you.

“Well shit. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to save you,” she gives your arm a reassuring squeeze.

“It’s alright. It was actually good in a way. I think I can finally see who he is now and how I am so much better without him. It was probably the best thing to happen tonight,” you say and Eleanors eyes widen at your statement.  

“God that’s really saying something since you danced with Jin,” she says and you laugh.  

“He’s probably long gone, scared away by me running away from him,” you sigh as you look around the room, unable to spot his figure anywhere. “Anyway, I just want to drink and dance and enjoy the night and then go and collapse in a bed that I have paid an extortionate amount for.”  

“Amen,” Eleanor says raising her glass for you to cheers.  

And that is exactly what you do. You drink, you dance and you enjoy the evening, with little thought of Harry. The man who instead plagues your thoughts is Jin. You find yourself looking for him as you dance, when you go to get another drink and when someone taps you on the shoulder you hope it’s him. But you never spot him, not even a peak of the top of his head or the back of his shoulder. Even as you wave off the happy couple as they leave for their honeymoon, Jin is nowhere in sight. So you assume that he has done as you suggested and gone and found himself someone better.

Eleanor leans her arm on your shoulder before resting her head on it, watching the disappearing car.  

“Shall we go to the hotel then?” Eleanor says.  

You lean down so that your head can rest on hers. “Yeah,” you reply.  

The uber drops you off at the hotel and as you walk into the main room you can see a few other wedding guests chatting in the hall. What with the proximity to the reception and the fact it was recommended by the bride and groom, you aren’t surprise that the place is probably fully booked with wedding guests.  

And the hotel was cute. It was a cosy, higgledy-piggledy, countryside hotel that looked like it had almost grown from the ground with all the ivy covering the outside walls. All of this added up to mean it was on the expensive side of hotels, however with the wedding being in the middle of nowhere you didn’t have much choice, and Eleanor somehow convinced you that it was worth the cost.  

Walking down the hall towards the stairs that would take you to your rooms, you give a small smile at some of the people you recognised from the wedding, but almost stop in your tracks when you see him. It had probably been hours since you last saw Jin and you had almost forgotten about him with all the stuff that had happened between you dancing with him and where you stood now. But as you see him sat at the bar that is off from the hall, you wonder how he could have left your mind at all. Sat alone, staring into a glass of what looked like whiskey, you wonder if this was what his first view of you looked like.  

Noticing where you were looking, if the fact that you had come to a complete stop hadn’t been clue enough, Eleanor smiles at you. “You should go speak to him.”  

You have to tear your eyes off him to be able to look at Eleanor and can see sincerity on her face.

“I’m a big girl, I’m sure I can find our room on my own,” she teases when she sees your doubt.  

“I should apologise for basically running away from him earlier,” you give out the excuse, though one is not needed.  

She gives a satisfied nod, those words being all she needed to slowly turn and start walking in the direction you were previously headed. “If you don’t come back to our room tonight, I won’t worry. See you at breakfast,” she says with a wave over her shoulder.  

Heat rises to your face and you turn to make sure no one heard, or more importantly that Jin didn’t hear. But he sits continuing to stare at his glass, too far away to hear the comment.  

Before you can overthink it, you start walking towards him. Heat remains in your face as you do. He doesn’t notice your approach so you can fully take him in. His long legs are crossed as he sits on the bar stool and yet they still manage to easily touch the floor. He sits slightly hunched in the chair and his shoulders sag with an unseen weight. His hair is slightly more ruffled than earlier, the previous style not holding as he has obviously been running his hand through it. You take a deep breath when you reach the stool next to where he sits, he is still unaware of your presence.  

“Do wine legs still apply when the liquid isn’t wine?” You reference his opening comment to you.  

His head shoots up, eyes instantly meeting yours and you can see the clear surprise at seeing you here.  

“I saw you sitting here, I hope you don’t mind me interrupting,” you say as a lame explanation.  

“I usually enjoy staring at my drinks alone without interruption. But I’ll make an exception for you,” he jokes before giving you a wide smile.  

“Ah, an honour,” you take the seat next to his and the barman comes over and takes your drinks order.  

A silence falls over you and Jin as you wait for your drink, Jin going back to staring into his cup. As you stare at him, possible questions to break the silence run through your head, all as meaningless and irrelevant as the next, none of them what you really want to ask him. So as a drink is placed down in front of you, and as you turn to look at it you build the courage to ask.  

“What you doing here all alone?” You hope your voice comes out as light and trivial as you mean it to, and out of the corner of your eye you see Jin has turned to look at you.  

“I thought I made that clear,” his voice is an attempt to tease, but you can hear the sadness in it, or was it annoyance? “I enjoy staring at drinks.”  

“Ah,” you raise your eyebrows as if in understanding. “The classic post-wedding-stare-at-an-alcoholic-drink-alone. I know it well.”

“Well, you did seemed to know the wedding-reception-stare-at-a-wine-glass-as-you-swirl-it earlier in the night,” he shoots back.  

“I guess we may have something in common there then,” you raise your glass lowly towards him, before taking a mouthful.  

“I’ll make you a deal,” he says, grabbing your full attention. “I’ll tell you why I was staring into my glass, all alone. If you tell me why you were doing the same earlier.”

Not what you had expected him to say. And you weigh it in your mind. Was it worth telling him the truth to find out why he was sat alone? After a moments thought you realise it was.  

“My ex was sitting on our table,” you can’t look him in the eye as you say it, not wanting to see whatever emotion comes onto his face.  

He hums lowly before saying, “tough at a wedding.”  

“Yeah, I mean it happened 4 months ago, but it was the first time I’ve seen him since he left,” you admit.  

Jin doesn’t respond verbally to that, instead a hand is placed on your shoulder. Looking up, you finally see the emotion on his face. Where you had expected to see sorry or pity was instead some form of sympathy. While most people looked at you as if you are broken, as if you need to be fixed, Jin was looking at you with understanding, and in your eyes there was a big difference. You hadn’t liked telling people that you and Harry had broken up and as much as it was to do with admitting that you were no longer together, it was also due to peoples reactions. But here Jin sat, hand on your shoulder, but not in a patronising way, in a way that said he was there.  

“Anyway, it was nothing in the end,” you almost visibly brush off the words and, in the process, Jin’s hand drops and you instantly miss the feeling. “I had a good night,” you give him a small smile.  

“Yeah, it was good. Although, they definitely needed to put more money behind the bar,” he chuckles.  

“More money on booze, less on flowers,” you reference his comment from earlier in the night and Jins smile widens. “Come on then. Don’t think you’re going to get away with it,” you say and when Jin doesn’t immediately answer you carry on. “Why are you sat here all alone?”  

“I guess I was just hoping to attract over some lovely lady,” he wiggles his eyebrows at you and you laugh, but you can hear the return of the earlier sadness.  

“Seriously? Come on, I spilled my secret.”  

“Secret? I wasn’t aware it was that deep?”  

“It’s not,” you say. “But maybe I wouldn’t have divulged the information if I knew you were going to back out. You were the one that made the offer after all.”

“Alright, fairs fair,” he waved his hand before taking a massive gulp of his drink, practically finishing it off. A massive sigh leaves his lips before he carried on. “I was thinking of you.”

You freeze from shock. Unable to look away from Jin as he doesn’t meet your eyes, you can see red creeping up his neck, his eyes close lightly and it looks like he holds his breath for a second.  

“What?” You croak out.  

He lifts his head so he is looking straight forward, before twisting so he can look at you. His features are soft as he takes in your shocked face, his eyes darting around your face almost trying to read your thoughts.  

“I was thinking of you,” he repeats, though this time you can see his face, the almost embarrassment in his eyes. “I don’t know, I guess I just had a nice time talking and dancing with you and then you ran away and I wasn’t really sure what I had done wrong. But I guess now I can see why.”  

“I had a nice time dancing too,” you say and are surprised when your voice doesn’t crack with the shock still in your body.  

“You did?” Jin says with some doubt in his voice.

“Sorry I ditched you. I guess it all got a bit much and rather than act like a normal grown adult I ran,” you say.  

“You don’t have to apologise,” he says.  

“But I do,” you say. “If you think I was running away because of you, then I need to apologise.”

Jin give a small nod of recognition, but his face looks like he still feels the need to deny your apology. He bites back his words by taking a drink.  

“You know, we’ve met before,” the second statement he has said in the space of ten minutes that has shocked you. “You probably don’t remember, you were pretty drunk,” he says when he sees your expression.

“I did wonder why I’d never met you before, if you are supposedly Bens good friend,” you admit.  

Jin gives a small chuckle. “Well, we have met. At Ben birthday last year. Though, I turned up a bit late and by the time I got there it seemed like you had already had a lot to drink.”

Heat floods your face at the memory. You had had a lot to drink that night, partly to drown your sorrows after a big row with Harry. You honestly had no memory of Jin that night, you had hardly any memory of that night.

“Not my finest hour,” you say. “I hope I didn’t embarrass myself.”  

“I wasn’t sure whether to be happy when I found out I was sat by you because you were the life of the party, or worried you might get as drunk as that night and throw up all over me,” he teases and you give his arm a light punch.

“That was a one off,” you whine.  

“You were fine,” he laughs, and his words reassure you.

You give a small nod as a silence comes over you. Both of your stare at your drinks, a tension rises in the air and before it gets unbearable you break it.  

“I want to say sorry,” Jins head snaps to you at the words.

“You already apologised,” he says.  

“But I want to say it again,” you give a small smile. “I did really enjoy dancing with you. I don’t want you to think that I didn’t enjoy your company tonight.”

“My moves must not have impressed you as much as I had hoped. You did kind of bolt out of there.”

You give a small sigh, embarrassed by the whole ordeal.

“And I meant it when I said that none of the bridesmaids caught my eye,” he carries on.  

“I guess I just didn’t want you to be trapped with me all night,” you say.

His face scrunches in confusion. “And what would have been so bad about that?”

“I’m a bit of a mess, if that wasn’t clear. I didn’t want to drag you into all of it.”

“You don’t look like a mess to me,” he says as his eyes scan your body, and you open your mouth to clarify. “You look and sound perfectly put together to me.”

“You’d be surprised,” you give a humourless chuckle, but for once Jin remains serious.  

“I’m a big boy, you know. I can make my own decisions.”

Your eyes search his, hoping to find some sort of answer in them. The tension remains in the air, but it has shifted now.  

“Want to ditch the drinks?” His voice comes out thick and husky, matching the atmosphere.  

All you have to do is nod before he is on his feet and taking you hand in his. You are half dragged to the hall where you left Eleanor and Jin stops suddenly when you enter. Spinning around he pushes you so your back is pressed against the wall behind you and then his lips are on you. It all happens so quickly that you are caught off guard. It takes a second for your mind to kick into action and your lips to start moving, but when they do it feels like nothing you have ever felt before and you never want the feeling to stop.  

His lips are as soft as you imaged. Their fullness only adding to the feeling, when you bite down lightly on them you realise how firm they are. A small groan leaves Jins lips and he presses his body ever closer to you. You roll your hips lightly against his and another groan leaves his lips, this time it seems more pained and he pulls away.  

Panting gently, you look at each other. His lips have gone slightly redder from your light bites and it makes you want to reattach your lips again, but as you push yourself up, he pulls away. Before your heart can sink, he says, “my room or yours?”

Your eyes widen at his forwardness, but almost automatically you hear yourself saying, “yours.”

And just like that he grabs your hand, pulling you up the stairs, through the twists and turns of the hallways. Before you find yourself outside a door. Reaching into his pocket he pulls out a key and expertly opens the door, if it had been you in this moment it may have taken a few more attempts as your hands shake in anticipation.  

His door opens and you hardly make it inside before your lips are attached again. Pushing the door shut behind him, Jins hands grasp for the zip of your dress, pulling it down so that your dress slips from your shoulders and is left in a puddle on the floor. Continuing your journey backwards in search of the bed, Jins hands now grasp for the clasp of your bra, managing to unclasp it as your legs hit the edge of the bed.  

Half lowered, half falling onto the bed, Jin stays standing between your legs, looking down at your near naked body. The scene is almost serene as you look up at him. Where there was a hungry and desire before, there is now calmness.

“You have far too many clothes on,” you break the silence.

Slowly Jins fingers work at the buttons of his shirt. Almost painstakingly undoing the buttons, working from the top down all you can do is lay watching. His eyes never break contact from yours, but as he undoes the final button and slips the material off his shoulders your eyes flicker to the bare skin.  

He doesn’t give you long to look before he is laying down on top of you. Lips touching every inch of skin they can get to as he makes his way up your body. Small noises of pleasure leave your lips as your body arches into his touch.  

“So beautiful,” he whispers into your neck.

Your hands go to his hair, pulling him slightly so that you can reattach your lips. Your hands then glid down his back, pushing his body closer so you can grind up into him. This time noises of pleasure escape his mouth.

When your hands finally meet his trousers, you pull away enough so you work at getting the item off. Jins lips never leave you as your frustration grows, first you can’t undo his belt, then his zipper gets stuck, but Jin seems oblivious simply working his way across your neck. You almost cheer when you manage to get his trousers off, and while Jin sits up so he get them fully off you ask, “condom?”  

He gives no verbal answer, instead he stands and makes his way to his bag. Turning around with a foil packet in hand. Using his teeth to tare it open, he pulls his boxers down and rolls the condom on. You groan at the sight and wiggle your pants off as he walks back towards you.

“So beautiful,” he repeats as he stands at the edge of the bed, looking down at you.

Lowering himself down, you feel like there’s a stiffness to the air, almost how it feels before lightning strikes. The anticipation builds up inside you as you feel Jin stoking himself in you folds.  

“Please,” you groan out when it all gets too much.  

You barely get the word out before he is pushing himself inside you. If the air felt like before a storm previously, now it feels like the storm is fully raging. Jin hardly gives you any time to adjust before he is rolling in and out of you. You barely know what you do with yourself, the pleasure overwhelming. Hands go from sheets, to his shoulders before finally resting on his back, pulling him as close to you as he can get. He pulls your legs so that they wrap around his middle, before his hands goes back to resting either side of your head.

His head goes to your neck, whispering unheard incantations there. His pace goes from soft and hard to fast and solid. Lifting his head, he looks into your eyes and you feel like you’ve never been so close to anyone before.

“Jesus Y/N,” he moans out.

Noises escape your mouth, but none of them class as words, hardly any sound human. Jins hand travels between your bodies and your pleasure is all consuming. Pushed over the edge, your head lulls back into the bed and you vision becomes blurry. Jin is quick to follow, rocking into you a few more times before he collapses onto you.  

Heavy breathing fills the room, and it takes a minute or two before Jin finally pulls out of you and rolls to your side. He doesn’t go far though, after disposing of the condom he pulls you into his side. He places a light kiss to the side of your head that rests on his chest.  

You can't help but run your fingers over his solid stomach as you lay there. Drawing random patterns on his smooth tan skin, you revel in how toned he is.

“Stay?” he asks.  

You snuggle closer into him as an answer.

His lips come to your temple. “I told you, weddings are the perfect place to pick people up,” his mumbles against your skin.  

Your hand smacks his chest lightly and he gives a fake groan of hurt.  

“Don’t make me regret staying,” you say, but make no attempt to move, if anything you move in closer.  

Wrapped up in the thick duvet you wake up slowly. Eyes thick with sleep, it feels like you’ve been in a deep sleep and something has slowly pulled you out of it. That something you realise is the man currently in the same room as you. Though he isn’t lay next to you, like he had been all night, instead you can his gentle footsteps around the room. As they approach your side of the bed and stop, you finally open your eyes and roll so that you can squint in his direction.

“Oh, hi,” his voice is soft and he is clearly surprised that you are awake. “Sorry if I woke you.”  

Your eyes have just about adjusted to the light of the room, so you are able to open them past a squint as you give him a warm smile. “You didn’t wake me,” even though he did, it was the kind of wake up you could get use to so you weren’t about to complain.  

“Well, I bought coffee,” he holds up the mug in his hand as evidence.  

A small hum of appreciation leaves your lips as you sit up, pulling the duvet with you. Your hands reach out to take the mug off Jin and as you take a sip the warmth fills your body. Jin walks back around the bed so that he can crawl back under the covers and you notice that he wears long plaid pyjamas. He looks warm and comfy and you kind of want to cuddle up to him and never leave.

“You went downstairs?” The questions seems obvious, but your brain works slower in the morning so you can’t think of anything more literate to say.  

“No, I actually went upstairs. Crazy that this place serves its coffee on the roof,” Jin teases.  

“You should alert health and safety,” you roll your eyes at him. “Do they serve breakfast up there too?”

“Ah, so that’s why you stayed,” you raise your eyebrows at him in question. “You’re just using me for collecting your coffee and breakfast,” he clarifies.  

“I didn’t request this,” you defend.

“Well in that case,” he reaches out to take the mug out of your hands but you pull it out of his reach.  

“But that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate it,” you give an exaggerated, over the top smile. “But some form of pastry would also not go unappreciated,” you continue to give your best pleading smile, eye lashes batting lightly.  

“Pastries do sound good,” Jin nods, though he makes no attempt to move from his position, which is now closer to you after he tried to grab your mug. “And what would I get if I go and get some?”  

“A pastry?” You mock.  

He hums as if seriously considering it. “I don’t think it’s worth it.”

“A kiss,” you say in a sickly-sweet voice. “On the cheek.”  

“A bit better,” he gives you a cheeky grin. “But I think I might still have to pass.”

“Why don’t you name it,” you give him the power. “I may not agree though,” you warn.

Jin places his hands on his chin, pretending to stroke a beard that isn’t there as he thinks. “How about a date?” It’s the first thing that he has said that morning with some seriousness.  

Eyes flicking between his you try and read what he is thinking before giving your answer. “OK,” you agree. “But they better be damn good pastries.”  

The wide smile returns to Jin faces, a few creases appearing around his eyes due to the wide beam. He leans closer into you so he can give you a small peck on the lips before he retreats. He doesn’t make it far though, simply sitting in an upright position, swivelling to place his mug on the bedside table you expect him to stand up but he simply turns back to face you, now with a plate in his hands. A plate full of pastries.  

You gawk at him. “You tricked me,” is all that comes out of your mouth.  

The triumphant smile stays on Jins lips as he picks up a pastry, then offers you the plate.  

“I didn’t. I had to come all the way over here,” he points to the spot he is sat, mere centimetres away from his early position, if that. “It was very tough. Especially this early. I definitely deserve a date after all that effort.”  

“I thought you were going to go downstairs,” you continue.  

“And I did. Just earlier,” he takes a bite and chews, but his eyes remain on you.

You follow suit, unable to form any words you shove a pastry in your mouth to avoid having to think of anything.

“Unhappy with the deal?” He asks.

You weren’t. You wanted to go on a date, but you were slightly unhappy, or maybe just shocked, at the way that he had coaxed you into it.  

“No,” you pout at him when you swallow your mouthful of food.  

He laughs at the expression on your face before pushing himself closer to you. Pastries abandoned somewhere on the bed, his arms come to wrap around you, face coming to yours.  

“I’ll take you somewhere really great, I promise,” he says, mouth mere millimetres from yours you can almost feel it move.  

“You better,” you say before closing the gap and placing your lips on his.  

[commandertheory]

War of the Spark Commander Set Review

The Commanders of War of the Spark

In white, there’s not too many ways to build around her. Once you exhaust the suite of self-bouncing creatures you commonly see in Karametra lists (e.g., Kor Skyfisher, Whitemane Lion), the next best cards to run are cheap utility creatures like Stoneforge, Weathered Wayfarer, etc.-- essentially goodstuff.

It’s notable that this card could be very good as part of the 99 in Karametra and Ephara lists. Also, it’s a double striker with a big butt for Doran lists.

I’m not a big fan of commanders that solely care about what your opponents are doing because they don’t give your own deck a lot of direction. If you’ve got a Lord Windgrace deck in your meta, then this might be useful in the 99 of hatebear decks that are good at finding their silver bullets.

The best piece of tech for Fblthp is Proteus Staff. If you run a creatureless Fblthp list, you get to stack your entire deck and then immediately draw two cards, which is great for assembling combos, such as Isochron Scepter + Dramatic Reversal. If you have mana rocks that produce three or more mana, Scepter + Reversal will give you infinite mana and then infinite activations of Proteus Staff so you can draw your deck and find a win condition.

Nexus of Fate is another solid combo piece to stack on top of your deck with Fblthp, as you can keep stacking it to the top with Proteus Staff and Fblthp, provided you have the 10 mana required to do so every turn.

I’m a little skeptical that this strategy is going to be significantly stronger than what was already possible in any Commander deck with access to Proteus Staff. Like, if you’re already in Blue, you’re not going to be starved for card draw, and you could be running a different commander that provides additional benefits (or additional colors) instead of an effect that your color identity could easily do anyway.

Seems like a very strong commander for extra turn effects. As long as you can keep Scroll Racking your Time Warps to the top of your library, you get infinite turns; even if you have to rely on one-shot effects like Brainstorm or whatever, you’ll still be taking a lot of extra turns, which will hopefully be enough for your 4-power evasive commander to eliminate some threats.

This deck naturally runs a ton of sac fodder; Bloodghast, Reassembling Skeleton, and Bloodsoaked Champion are all good here. You may also want to run some efficient token generation, as well. I also think it’s a good idea to run some of Black’s strong sac outlets like Attrition and Mind Slash so that you have the option to control your opponents with your sac fodder instead of just exchanging them for random cards via Bontu’s ETB. These sac outlets can also help you more easily reuse Bontu’s ETB trigger, especially if you sacrifice her in response to the trigger so you’ll immediately redraw her.

The most unique thing about this commander is the ability to sacrifice noncreature permanents. This opens up cards like Ugin’s Nexus and Spine of Ish Sah, which get you value when they die.

One interesting idea I’ve heard was to run Endless Whispers with her so that you get all your opponents’ creatures that die to her ETB trigger. Blink effects seem good here and I’d think about running stuff like Undying Evil, Kaya’s Ghostform, Abnormal Endurance, and Supernatural Stamina to both protect her from removal and reuse her trigger.

It may also be a good idea to run random sac fodder to ensure the ball gets rolling; it’d be a shame if the massacre never got started because the board was full of 2+ toughness creatures.

Sample Decklist

Similar to a regular Krenko, Mob Boss deck, but with power-pumping effects in place of the activated ability synergies and some of the token generation.

With Krenko, it was important to be able to get a ton of dudes onto the battlefield early to maximize his gobbo-doubling power. Krenko 2.0 doesn’t need random gobbo bodies unless they do something useful.

Sample Decklist

Neheb is kind of a sidegrade from his previous incarnation. The card filtering makes it so that you’re not quite as likely to run out of gas, but the fact that his mana generation is limited by the number of cards you discard to his trigger prevents some of the truly absurd plays that Neheb 2.0 was known for-- you’re not going to be hardcasting Eldrazi and Blighsteels nearly as often in this deck.

Extra combat step effects are very good here, as they can potentially net you mana and they give you another chance to rummage for good cards. I like that this deck can run situational cards like Ruination and Blood Moon because there’s no such thing as a dead draw in this list-- Neheb hungers for bad cards to discard.

Mass land destruction is great in this deck because, like the first Neheb, the Champion can provide the mana you need to cast your stuff.

The single best card in this deck is Aggravated Assault, which goes infinite with your commander, provided you have five or more cards in hand that you can discard-- just make sure you’ve got one of the original three legendary Eldrazi so you can shuffle your graveyard back in and prevent yourself from milling out.

I wish there were more good madness cards in Red, or in Commander in general. Neheb 3.0 is the perfect commander for madness since he provides both an outlet and mana to cast stuff, but the only madness cards worth running are like Fiery Temper and maaaaybe Avacyn’s Judgment.

Sample Decklist

This seems like an awesome reward for running fat donks like Blightsteel and Malignus.

Although he doesn’t play nicely with attack triggers, you’re on color for some sweet combat damage triggers like Balefire Dragon, Hellkite Tyrant, Dream Pillager, Rapacious One, Neheb 2.0, Steel Hellkite, and Mordant Dragon. Neheb, the Eternal, while not a combat damage trigger, also works pretty well with Ilharg.

Ilharg has some synergy with echo, since you’ll never have to pay the upkeep cost, so cards like Volcano Hellion and Crater Hellion are much better in this list than they normally are.

Having six toughness and an ability that lets you cheat mana costs means that Wildfire and Destructive Force are very good here, as is mass land destruction in general. Keldon Firebombers seems like a great way to repeatedly limit your opponents’ mana.

In addition to the usual suite of mana accelerants and haste granters, Generator Servant is quite good here, and I’d consider running Seething Song, as well.

Sample Decklist

The creatures that benefit most from Rhonas’s ETB trigger are win conditions in their own right; you don’t need to rely on your commander to make canned armies like Rampaging Baloths, Titania, and Avenger of Zendikar into threats.

Maybe this wants to be an infect deck, since doubling the power of cards like Phyrexian Juggernaut and Phyrexian Hydra makes them one-hit KOs.

Muscle Mutt is just a voltron deck, albeit one that uses an unusual subset of cards. I wouldn’t run most cards that solely put counters on Mowu, but I like cards that put counters on him while generating cards, like Ordeal of Nylea, Ancient Animus, or Implement of Ferocity. I also like some of the repeatable counter-generating effects; Retreat to Kazandu, Armory of Iroas, and Invigorating Boon (cards with cycling) seem good. There are also some lands that can get counters on your commander, such as Oran-Rief, the Vastwood; Forge of Heroes; and Opal Palace. Also, don’t forget your Hardened Scales!

There’s been a little bit of controversy about Yanggu and Mowu lately because Yanggu is able to bring Mowu with his when he planeswalks (which is supposed to be impossible, as Huatli’s tamales illustrate; normally, creatures are summoned to a plane). It would be weird if Yanggu could only do this with Mowu, but my headcanon is that Mowu is able to do it with anyone but has so far only attempted it with his dog (or that if he had previously done it, he forgot about it when he came down with amnesia).

I don’t think it’s worth running random wolves as sorcery-speed kill spells, but I might run wolves that get me value in addition to fighting (e.g., Rot Wolf, Skalla Wolf, Pack Guardian). Wolfir Silverheart is too monstrously large to leave out of this deck.

I’d also run repeatable wolf token generators like Sword of Body and Mind, Wolfcaller’s Howl, Master of the Wild Hunt, Kessig Cagebreakers, and Feed the Pack. You can also run some of the wolf token generators that create a bunch at once (such as Howl of the Night Pack, Predator’s Howl, and Wolfbriar Elemental) to build your own Ezuri’s Predation.

I gotta say that it’s very cute that they gave Voja a title so that he wouldn’t legend rule the tokens made by the old Tolsimir.

We all know that BG has a lot of good creatures that are worth recurring (putting your opponents under the Abyss with Fleshbag variants sounds like a barrel of laughs), but it also has a ton of good planeswalkers, especially when you don’t have to care too much about protecting them. Firing off a Sorin Markov or a Vraska 1.0, letting your opponents dogpile on it, and then getting it back again next turn seems like a great way to control the board and divert aggro away from your face.

I would try to fit in some ways to give your commander haste (Greaves, Hall of the Bandit Lord) and protect him (Yavimaya Hollow) since he’s the engine your deck revolves around.

This guy checks some boxes to make use of mana dorks that are too narrow for most decks: he costs four, he’s got 4+ power for Whisperer of the Wilds, and he’s an Elf for Priest of Titania.

This card does not appear to be designed with Commander in mind. Death triggers don’t work very well in this format, especially when you don’t have access to black and white reanimation engines. If you discount the proliferate (as you should), all that’s left is a pile of stats, which has never been particularly strong in Commander.

If this guy was just ETB double proliferate, he would have been waaay more interesting.

I’ve heard about lists that use clones to farm his death and ETB triggers, but I tried it and it was not… great… Proliferating before you add the new counters is pretty lame, and one-shot proliferation without cards attached to it is not worth a card slot, IMO.

The best Boros commander ever, and it’s not close. This deck draws tons of cards thanks to white and red’s many cheap cantrips, it can protect its commander pretty easily thanks to the million 1CMC instants that give things protection or indestructible, and it has some great combo pieces like Aurelia’s Fury and Blinding Beam to allow you to soft lock your opponents.

Plus, if you’d prefer to eschew the controlling playstyle for something more aggressive, you can run a bunch of Fists of the Anvil and Double Cleave variants to beat the hell out of your opponents.

Sample Decklist

This card just encourages you to run the most powerful multicolored cards, which tend to be hyper-efficient removal spells like Assassin’s Trophy and Anguished Unmaking. The only non-goodstuff cards in the list are a handful of blink spells so you can dodge removal and refill your hand. As far as win conditions go, turning Niv sideways seems to be the best one; Civic Saber, Conqueror’s Flail, and Duelist’s Heritage will cut your clock in half.

Sample Decklist

Card Ratings

In this set review, I’ll be using two five-point rating scales to evaluate the nonlegendary cards, one that measures how many decks a card is playable in (we’ll call that “spread”), and one that measures how powerful it is in those decks (”power”). Here’s a brief rundown of what each rank on the two scales means:

Spread

1: This card is effective in one or two decks, but no more (ex: The Gitrog Monster). 2: This card is effective in one deck archetype (ex: self-mill decks). 3: A lot of decks will be able to use this card effectively (ex: decks with graveyard interactions). 4: This card is effective in most decks in this color. 5: Every deck in this color is able to use this card effectively.

Power

1: This card is always going to be on the chopping block. 2: This card is unlikely to consistently perform well. 3: This card provides good utility but is not a powerhouse. 4: This card is good enough to push you ahead of your opponents. 5: This card has a huge impact on the game.

The Planeswalkers of War of the Spark

Spread: 1

Power: 2

I could imagine running this in Odric, Lunarch Marshal, since it’s a cheap way to give all your guys indestructible and lifelink or vigilance. Otherwise, it’s not worth your time.

Spread: 1

Power: 2

Might see a little play in Arcades as a way to produce a pair of beaters and draw a couple cards. It’s nice that you can curve Teyo into Arcades to frontload the mana cost but wait to produce your tokens and get your cards until after your commander comes down. The rate is not insane, though, and I could see this getting cut for a better stats-to-cost ratio in the future.

Spread: 1

Power: 4

This is solely for self-mill decks. It’s less vulnerable to removal than Laboratory Maniac but you can’t get it back with Dread Return or something similar if you mill yourself out. Either way, both Jace and Lab Man are worse than Nexus of Fate.

Spread: 1

Power: 4

I could see running this in a deck with a lot of wheel effects (Nekusar and The Locust God being the obvious ones) to act as a Leovold, making your opponents discard their hands and only drawing one card to replace it.

Spread: 3

Power: 3

Liliana is a bit expensive, but she might have potential in the few decks that can make use of more than one of her abilities. For example, sacrifice-oriented decks are interested in black token generation and getting value when your creatures die, so both her static effect and +1 will be useful there. Also, it’s worth noting that although planeswalkers are generally pretty fragile in Commander, Liliana makes a chump blocker and she’s going to have 7 loyalty when you pass the turn, which can be difficult for your opponents to beat though, especially if you’ve got Savra, Queen of the Golgari or Teysa, Orzhov Scion to control their boards.

Spread: 4

Power: 1

This card is really similar to Chandra, Pyromaster, and that card sees almost no play.

Spread: 1

Power: 2

For the purposes of the Ur-Dragon, it’s two dragons for the price of one and it can potentially deter attacks. I don’t think there’s anyone else that’s really interested in this, though.

Spread: 2

Power: 2

He’s a second copy of Rishkar for green +1/+1 counter decks.

Spread: 3

Power: 3

Omnath, Locus of Mana seems like a natural home for this card. It’s kind of cool that it’s effectively three mana since you can untap a Forest with the +1, but this card is still worse than Vernal Bloom in most ways. Vernal Bloom gets you to the game-winning threshold for mana a lot quicker; you don’t need more than 8 or 9 mana to win a game of Commander so what really matters is hitting that game-winning threshold as early as possible. Casting a turn four Bloom into a turn 5 Tooth and Nail is much stronger than casting a turn 5 Nissa into a turn 6 T&N, especially when you consider the fact that your Vernal Bloom can’t be attacked or Bolted in the intervening turn.

That being said, this is still a powerful card for monogreen ramp.

Spread: 3

Power: 2

I like the surprise factor of the -2; it’s cool that they’re finding ways to improve on abilities we’ve seen a thousand times already. Anyway, this card is not good. If you want two random cards out of your deck, you can get it at a better rate than this.

Spread: 2

Power: 2

Overall, this card feels very intro pack-y. The plus ability doesn’t affect the board, the -3 is a pretty bad rate, and the ultimate is not very impactful. This doesn’t seem like a great reason to buy a box (unless the price ends up being super high).

Spread: 4

Power: 2

Every element of this card can be done much better somewhere else in these colors. There is something to be said for the power of choices, but I really don’t think this card is good enough to see play.

Spread: 2

Power: 2

This card looks a lot like Ajani Goldmane, although it’s much better in superfriends decks than Goldmane ever was. It’s also worth noting that Ajani will probably draw less aggro than whatever busted planeswalker you’re bumping up, so he’s less fragile than he looks. However, I still think this effect is not worth a card. There are some solid repeatable proliferators in WAR, and I’d much rather use them than rely on a card type that can get attacked to death.

Spread: 3

Power: 1

I really like CMC-based reanimation and I’d really like to see it on a WB commander one day. Anyway, since you’re on color for both white and black reanimation you can do way better than this. If your deck is trying to recur a lot of weenies you can run Return to the Ranks or Dusk/Dawn, and if you want to get back one big thing, you can run Animate Dead or Reanimate or Necromancy or whatever.

Spread: 1

Power: 2

With a little tweaking, this could be an interesting commander, as it rewards you for playing with a subset of cards that normally doesn’t get played in Commander. In the main deck, however, this card seems pretty underwhelming. Even in lists that naturally have a ton of deathtouchers such as Hapatra, this is a pretty slow, small, and fragile anthem. If she had some way to gain loyalty, the -2 could help the card find its way into decks looking for sac fodder, but two tokens over two turns for four mana is not going to turn a lot of heads.

Spread: 1

Power: 3

There’s currently no UG commander that really rewards lots of large dudes, but I’m hopeful we might see something in the future (maybe a Simic or Temur Divine Visitation effect on a commander?).

Between Kiora, Temur Ascendancy, Garruk's Packleader, Kavu Lair, and Elemental Bond, we are getting very close to a critical mass of this type of card.

Spread: 1

Power: 4

Maybe if you’re running a deck with a ton of Twincast variants, this could serve as a potential win condition/storm enabler. For those of you who aren’t familiar with the combo, you cast a Fork variant copying any spell, then cast another Fork variant copying the original Fork variant. The second Fork resolves, putting a new copy of Fork #1 on the stack, which can then target the original Fork #1. Keep going through this loop and netting Ral triggers until your opponents are dead.

Spread: 2

Power: 3

Young Pyromancer sees play in 6400 decks on EDHREC, many of them in Izzet color identities. I think Saheeli slots into those same lists pretty easily, especially given the potential power offered by her -2 when copying mana rocks or utility creatures.

Spread: 2

Power: 3

What a brutal mana cost. I’d run this in superfriends since it’s almost a planeswalker clone and killing creatures/drawing cards is not terrible in that deck. I think that mana cost and the general meh-ness of PWs in Commander keep him out of most other decks.

Spread: 5

Power: 0 (no sideboards) / 4 (sideboards)

The playability of this guy hinges on whether your playgroup allows you to get cards from outside of the game. The Rules Committee’s stance is that sideboards are not officially supported and have to be house ruled into the format. If your playgroup follows that bit of dogma and Karn can only search your exile zone, then he’s not really worth playing; Null Rod only sees play in the most cutthroat cEDH lists, and while Karn only affects your opponents, I think that’s more than offset by the fact that he costs 4 and can get attacked to death.

Now, if your playgroup DOES let you have a sideboard or just dig through your binder or whatever, Mycosynth Lattice is one of the best things it can do, as it shuts off your opponents’ lands and all of their activated abilities in combination with Karn. Paradox Engine and Bolas’s Citadel are strong cards that don’t require much set up, but if you’re trying to combo off with those cards, you’d probably rather have them in your maindeck, rather than only accessible via a planeswalker. There are some neat artifact combos that you can search for both halves of if you can ensure that Karn lives long enough to activate twice: Basalt Monolith and Rings of Brighthearth gets you infinite mana (although again, these cards may be better in your maindeck), and if Painter’s Servant ever gets unbanned, you can use Karn to grab it and Grindstone to mill your opponents out one by one.

Spread: 3

Power: 3

Now, this guy is a Commander-playable planeswalker. I’d run this in any deck currently running Scour from Existence (barring Mizzix), which mostly means colorless, monoblack, and monored decks. The +1 is also solid, offering sacrifice fodder that is likely to be pretty useful in many of the monoblack decks that run it, and colorless cost reduction makes it even more powerful in the colorless decks that run it. I’m a big fan of this card, and I like that it disproportionately helps color identities that were on the weaker side.

It’s great that he’s rare, since I plan on picking up a bunch of these.

Maindeck Cards from War of the Spark

Spread: 3

Power: 3

At low numbers, the ratio of bodies to cost is not great. There are so many good white token generators that I doubt this makes the cut, even though the tokens are better than the ones produced by most of its competitors. Also, you should treat the “10 or more” text on this card like a planeswalker’s ultimate and ignore it.

Spread: 2

Power: 2

Seems very good in a Mikaeus, the Lunarch deck and in planeswalker decks that don’t invest heavily in mass removal. It stinks that White got the worst experience counter commanders and never got a poison commander because this card has so much potential, but the support isn’t there.

Spread: 2

Power: 2

This is a lot of mana for a narrow tutor. When you consider the fact that most Superfriends lists are already running Black and have access to cheap unconditional tutors, the Beacon becomes much less appealing.

Spread: 1

Power: 1

It does make a lot of Angels for your Lyra Dawnbringer deck. It’s not worth 8 mana, though.

Spread: 4

Power: 2

Hating on multicolor permanents is not that great. Although most commanders are multicolor, most main deck permanents are one or fewer colors. To put this card in perspective, Radiant Purge sees almost no play in Commander.

Spread: 3

Power: 2

I think Diving Reckoning is a fair point of comparison for this card. Divine Reckoning sees a fair amount of play; it’s in almost 6000 decks on EDHREC, most of them Voltron. While Single Combat has a few knobs that distinguish it from Reckoning, it’s probably a safe bet that it’ll see similar amounts of play in similar lists.

That being said, I’m not a huge fan of this card. It guarantees that the biggest threats survive and most of the time I’d rather take out the scariest things on my opponents’ side of the field than protect my own things.

Spread: 1

Power: 2

Varina is very interested in making multiple Zombie bodies for less than three mana. I’m gonna save a little space in a very long set review and suggest you apply the previous sentence and ratings to every Amass creature and most Amass spells that cost less than four mana. 

Spread: 3

Power: 2

I like this card a lot. I think it’s much stronger than Steady Progress, and about on the power level of Tezzeret’s Gambit, which sees play in 8500 decks on EDHREC.

Spread: 2

Power: 3

Kruphix is very interested in outlets for the absurd amounts of mana he produces, and unlike almost any other commander, he can realistically hit the “10 or more” mode.

Mizzix likes X spells that generate value, so she might also be in the market for this card.

Spread: 2

Power: 3

This card could see play in planeswalker decks as another Inexorable Tide. This could also potentially see play in Mizzix decks as an additional way to bump up your experience count or in Noyan Dar as a way to grow your manlands.

Spread: 2

Power: 2

The additional mana relative to Thrummingbird hurts, and this also misses on some of the bird tribal lists (Kangee) that were interested in that card. Still, I could imagine running this in Atraxa, Ezuri 2.0, and Vorel.

Spread: 1

Power: 3

It’s a cheap Sphinx for Unesh, and it can bounce another Sphinx to your hand so you can get another trigger.

Spread: 2

Power: 3

Unfortunate that it can only target your own creatures and planeswalkers, but it seems strong in superfriends decks and simic +1/+1 counter lists. It’s also quite good in Estrid, Teferi, Temporal Archmage, and Saheeli, the Gifted, since all of those commanders have mana-generating abilities that make the Double free or cheap to cast.

There are also a ton of commanders that this can break wide open. Double Reaper King, double Atraxa, double Zndrsplt… if you’re in Blue and you’re running Helm of the Host, this card seems like a big upgrade.

Spread: 3

Power: 5

This is the new Paradox Engine. If your deck has a lot of card selection and tutors then this ought to be able to win the game all by itself. Some of the better interactions:

Circu, Dimir Lobotomist: This guy was kind of a joke before Citadel got spoiled. His mill effect is really weak and he’s in the bottom half of all Dimir commanders when it comes to popularity. However, he works pretty well with the Citadel because he can mill off excess lands from the top of your library so that you’re less likely to fizzle when comboing off.

Sensei’s Divining Top: Turns the Citadel into a Yawgmoth’s Bargain (thanks to @snarwin for pointing this out).

Mana Severance: Gets rid of all the lands so you won’t fizzle.

Aetherflux Reservoir: Subsidizes the Citadel’s life payments and eventually serves as your win condition.

Spread: 3

Power: 4

It’s interesting that this and Bolas’s Citadel showed up in the same set, since they’re both six mana black rares that offer insane card advantage and mana savings at the cost of a ton of life.

Anyway, I’ve heard people talking about using this in Oloro and other decks that gain life very easily. It could also be good in decks with very low curves so that you’re getting more cards for the life you’re paying.

Interestingly, it deals damage to you rather than makes you lose life, which means that you can prevent the damage, give yourself protection, or give the spell lifelink in order to cheat the life cost.

Spread: 3

Power: 3

The ability to get back noncreature cards is pretty rare in black, and if your deck has a lot of redundancy built into it you can sometimes remove your opponents’ ability to screw you. Plus, there’s a lot to be said for making deals with the opponent in the weakest position to get back the cards that will knock someone else down a peg.

Spread: 2

Power: 2

It provides a steady stream of Skullclamp-compliant sac fodder for decks that need it, as well as a self-recurring threat for Varina Zombie tribal lists.

Spread: 4

Power: 3

This card seems like great value for mopping up small utility creatures. 4 mana to kill some combination of Oracle of Mul Daya, Fauna Shaman, Tymna, Edric, Mentor of the Meek, etc. seems pretty strong. I think the easiest point of comparison is probably Black Sun’s Zenith. Black Sun’s sees play in over 15,000 decks, and it’ll cost you the same amount of mana to kill the same creatures. This one is asymmetrical but won’t get the random collateral damage against your opponents’ other creatures. I think they’re about on the same power level, although it’s worth noting that you could conceivably hit the 12 mana in a monoblack deck with Coffers and a bunch of ways to find it.

Spread: 1

Power: 1

This guy requires you to jump through a ton of hoops. In order for him to do his thing, you have to have:

A way to give him haste and/or a way to protect him until your next turn.

A high density of instants and sorceries

Either an extremely low curve on those instants and sorceries or a way to buff the Arcanist’s power.

I can think of commanders that fulfill some of those requirements, but not all of them.

Spread: 2

Power: 3

X spells are great in Mizzix and she has a ton of great targets to choose from. Seems like an easy inclusion in that list. It could also be good in Zada as a way to re-use your token-generating spells and cantrips.

Neheb, the Eternal is one of the few commanders who can reliably get X to 10 or higher, since that deck is desperate for good mana sinks and it runs a fair number of strong instants and sorceries.

Spread: 2

Power: 3

This card is awesome. Great in Hapatra decks as a way to get a bunch of Hapatra triggers at once and accelerate the death of your opponents’ dudes. Also seems solid in Thelon of Havenwood for spreading spores, nabbing experience with Meren and Ezuri 2.0, pumping the team in Mazirek, and of course, building loyalty among your planeswalkers.

Spread: 4

Power: 4

I don’t think we needed more cards like this, but whatever. The rich get richer. Other cards in Green that accomplish the same thing:

Tooth and Nail

Green Sun’s Zenith

Survival of the Fittest

Finale of Devastation

Chord of Calling

Worldly Tutor

Natural Order

Fauna Shaman

Note that all of the above are Commander staples.

Spread: 1

Power: 2

Useful in Sasaya as a way to get more Forests in hand. Also a solid upgrade over Sylvan Scrying in a Nissa, Vastwood Seer deck.

Spread: 2

Power: 2

Unfortunately, none of the Green planeswalkers that you can run as your commander have insane ultimates, so I don’t think it’s worth running in those decks as a means to pop em off really quickly.

It is, however, a slightly more expensive Deepglow Skate for Atraxa, Ezuri 2.0, Vorel, Pir & Toothy, and all those other blue/green counter-based decks.

Spread: 4

Power: 2

Over 7500 decks on EDHREC run Naturalize, and this is strictly better, even if it’s not a huge upgrade.

Spread: 2

Power: 1

This card suffers from the Immortal Sun effect, where it does several things, but none of them particularly well. +2/+2 isn’t a huge boost for a one-shot effect, and the lack of trample is frustrating. Also, I don’t like that this card is really bad at punishing pillowfort, since their artifacts and enchantments are what’s preventing you from getting it.

If you’re in need of artifact destruction, you’re probably better off running a tutor to find your Bane of Progress. If you’re in need of an Overrun effect, you’re better off running a tutor to find your Craterhoof Behemoth. Might I suggest Finale of Devastation?

Spread: 1

Power: 2

I really don’t like the idea of pumping mana into this in the hopes of getting something relevant. However, I do like running it in decks that can manipulate their top card (Hua Tuo, Honored Physician comes to mind) and in decks that just like its type line and don’t actually care what it does (such as Reki, the History of Kamigawa, who only cares about running the cheapest legendary cards possible).

Spread: 4

Power: 3

I really like Negate and Countersquall, so I’m happy to run this effect as a 5th or 6th counterspell in all my decks with a blue/white color identity.

Spread: 3

Power: 3

I love asymmetrical board wipes. Note that it doesn’t target the creature it bounces so you can still cast it when you have no targets and it can’t be fizzled by removal. This seems like a pretty easy inclusion in most blue/white lists in the market for sweepers.

Spread: 1

Power: 2

This could be really sweet in any GR deck that runs a lot of mass land destruction-- maybe something like Grand Warlord Radha that isn’t totally reliant on its lands to cast its spells and can generate enough mana early in the game to bounce its lands and still cast a Thoughts of Ruin.

It also might be good in Borborygmos Enraged, as it’s a way to get lands back to your hand that is much less painful than Storm Cauldron.

Spread: 3

Power: 2

While the average CMC of Commander decks has crept down over the years, this is probably still very good. It kills all but 4 of the top 21 commanders of all time and while it’s pretty bad at taking care of mana accelerators and cheap draw engines, it’s great at killing the most terrifying threats in the format (such as Paradox Engine, Gods, Praetors, Titans, etc.). Don’t run it over Anguished Unmaking but consider it in a high-CMC metagame.

Spread: 3

Power: 3

I have not played a lot of Decimates, so I can’t fully judge how strong this card is. I thiiink it’s worse than Windgrace’s Judgment because of the rough mana cost, 6>5, sorcery speed.

Spread: 3

Power: 2

Eldritch Evolution sees a surprising amount of play (almost 9000 decks on EDHREC), but Neoform is worse in three ways, so it’s hard to be bullish about this card. I think I like it in Tishana, since she naturally wants a bunch of creatures on the field and morphs into Craterhoof, but I’m not sure there are many other commanders that would be stoked to run this. Maybe in Ezuri 2.0 as a way to trade mana dorks for Sage of Hours?

Spread: 4

Power: 3

This is the cheapest we’ve ever seen this effect and it can be really devastating to an opponent to have their commander permanently stolen. That being said, there are other cards with similar effects that cost only a little more, such as Legerdemain and Switcheroo, see hardly any play in Commander.

Spread: 1

Power: 2

Very unfortunate that the red mana in its cost disqualifies it from being used in the two decks that want it most: Doran and Arcades. There are a bunch of Kynaios and Tiro decks running Wave of Reckoning, so there’s potential for it to be run there (although it’s worth mentioning that Wave of Reckoning was included in their precon, so it may not actually be that great in the deck; maybe people were just too lazy to take it out).

Spread: 4

Power: 3

This seems very good in Lord Windgrace since that deck has a ton of mana to pump into it, a slow clock, and many ways to recur it.

Other slow control decks with lots of mana available will probably be happy to run this card, since it’s a difficult-to-answer counter that doesn’t require a deck slot.

Spread: 5

Power: 1

Even with the restriction to creatures, Winding Canyons is much better than this and doesn’t see a whole lot of play, so I’m skeptical that this will accomplish much. Losing a land is a huge downside.

Spread: 3

Power: 2

This is great! Coming into this set I was hoping to see a lot of proliferate attached to staple effects, and there’s nothing more universally useful than lands. It’ll be tricky to run this in Atraxa and five-color superfriends lists because of the heavy color requirements in those decks, but I’m sure planeswalker decks with fewer colors (the nicer Narset builds, for example) and infect aggro, +1/+1 counter decks, -1/-1 counter decks, and experience counter commanders are all going to find room to run this card. 

Wrapping Up

Were there any cards I missed? Do you disagree with any of my ratings? Let me know!

[gothsic]

☼ - and so... MARIE appears. - @citialiin​​, what will you choose?

perhaps some of you will be surprised to see her face, when she has not been given a chance to speak yet. but why should she, when the truth was that she was quite far away from the situation at hand? yes. she really did want to separate herself from him, but the more she tried, the more impossible it became. somehow, he found ways to sneak into her life - crawl into the spaces that were left behind, growing dusty from neglect.

allow ourselves an intermission from your regularly scheduled despair to get a look into the mind of one annette kaye, whose past as marie samson is one that you are all likely familiar with already. but the trouble is that annie was, quite unfortunately, never allowed to be given a chance away from the rather catastrophic existence that was jonathan vastielle. in a way, she was never going to escape the past - it was always there, ready and willing to catch up with her. and my, what fast feet it had! but perhaps the answer was not to run away, but to acknowledge that it happened, and simply move forward.

it was a shame then, that jonathan had approached her that fateful night - not the one you might all know, but one after a particular incident had happened. and yes, she had been watching from the sidelines; though she wanted nothing to do with him, there was something gratifying about watching him fall from grace. regardless, she maintained her distance; not answered a word he said, not bothered to acknowledge him wherever she might have seen him in the real world ( and yes, he had a troubling way of making his presence known ). but, in a disconcerting twist of events, he had made himself known to her with a crazed grab of her arm as she took the first step up her doorway and tried her best to evade him. she was not going to let him, no, not this time. he could sink back into the misery from whence he came! but, alas, those bloodshot eyes, that quivering lip, all of it begot the phrase he uttered next; shakily so:

“ help me, just... i can’t do this anymore! don’t let me fuck up again... please. “

how uncharacteristic of him. how out of character. that desperate plea, enough to rattle the mind of anyone who heard it, especially disturbed annie that night. was he out of his mind, approaching her there? so obvious? she could have easily called the cops on him, and yet he had still risked it. perhaps it was the alcohol on his breath ( he reeked that night, she recalled with a grimace and turn of her nose ) that gave away the extent of his recklessness. yes. that must have been it. something must have disturbed him enough to resort to this, the escape.

ziggy stardust. that was the key in this puzzle - and across from him she sat in the present. how did it come to be like this, in the middle of this fancy dining room with the candles set out in front of them and her face made-up, hair done, and little black dress that went to her ankles worn due to the restaurant’s dress code? the answer was both simple and complicated, and really did send her often self-conscious mind in a bit of a whirl.

that night, she had humored him, watched him break down in front of her. it truly was a pathetic sight, but also not quite unlike watching a puppy wander lost through the pouring rain, unable to find shelter. he truly did look as though he had no other recourse than to turn to her, the one whom he had treated as his personal therapist for so long. true, part of her fumed that she had even bothered to listen to his drunken ramblings of his monstrousness, his self-imposed isolation, and god knew what else. all she knew by the time he had wiped away at his tear-stained cheeks was the unusual amalgam of varying emotions filling her heart, making her chest hurt: anger, exhaustion, but above all else... sadness. sadness for him, really. he truly was a lost cause. it seemed as though that flamboyant musician really had gotten under his skin, just as she had. and yet... what had she said?

“ if you think you fucked up so badly, just go talk to him. “

however, she doubted that jonathan would even do such a thing in the first place. still, he had come to her, had he not? truthfully, the entire situation was so strange that she, too, found herself getting wrapped up in the entire farce that was being put on display before her very eyes. jonathan... liking someone enough and feeling desperately lonely enough to regret how terribly he treated them? surely, the sky was falling, she thought at the time. the devastation that was present in her eyes had made the situation all the more uncomfortable.

and perhaps that was why she tracked the musician down directly, making sure to grab his attention as best she could.

“ i don’t want an autograph. ...it’s about jonathan vastielle; the guy whose artwork you were supposed to use? just hear me out. “

what was she doing? did she not vow to leave jonathan behind in the quicksand in which he continued to sink? maybe so, and still, she was keeping true to that promise. who knew how many times jonathan was going to come to her home, keep pestering her, make it so that she would have to file a restraining order against him ( though that may not have stopped him in this state ). it was best, she had decided, to get things to a stable end - and perhaps she held some responsibility in the matter. after all, she was marie samson. he had involved her, and she had gotten entangled in his affairs all those years ago.

she really did pity him. that breakdown of his... was there a chance? truly a chance that he could improve? become something better than what he currently was? that sadness and hopelessness in his eyes were not the eyes of the monster who had toyed with her emotions and yet become so ravenous for her. no. it was something else. something... truer to the self that lay trapped behind the wall with its many bricks and foundations, not haphazardly maintained.

a little boy, crying for the chance he never had to truly be good.

“ um, look. “ she paused, brushing a strand of her away from her ear. “ i really did mean what i said earlier. i wanted to talk to you about this because, i think, anyway, that he’s... he’s a complicated case. i would know. i mean, i’ve said that already, but... “

nervously, her fingers toyed with the bridge of her glasses, adjusting them against her nose - pushing them up, though there was no need for adjustment. it was strange, surreal, actually, finally getting a chance to talk for the first time. really talk. sure, she had been honest with him before about the nature of jonathan’s disease ( not any specific, textbook disease, but his entire being ought to have been compared to a rotting corpse - the stench would fill up the lives of any who associated with him, but... ). and yet still, she was here, trying to convince him of something... well, maybe completely mad.

“ he hurt me. yeah. he did; i’ll never forgive him for that, and i’m sure all his past relationships, platonic and romantic won’t forgive him either, but... i don’t know. what he did that night was unlike anything he’d ever done before. it was just... “ a pause, as her gaze glossed over - becoming distant. she stared idly at the flame flickering from the candle, ziggy’s form becoming blurred against its warm light. “ i think he meant it. i don’t think he would’ve come to me so out of character if he didn’t, well... if he didn’t feel so hopeless. i’m just here as an emissary, or... i don’t fucking know, some missionary for the cause of repairing whatever your friendship was. he... i guess he misses you. it’s weird to you, maybe. to me too - he never really says he misses anyone. well... except for me, i guess. that’s why this is so weird. “

she let loose a soft sigh, and managed to glance at him again. he really was an unusual character - so made-up. why jonathan even liked the guy was beyond her ( well, she found him amusing and entertaining, even enjoyed - and owned - some of his music, but he definitely was not jonathan’s usual type ).

“ call this an olive branch. i’m not saying forgive him, but... i dunno. he’s trying. he’s... attempting. i guess that’s better than fucking feeling sorry for himself like he used to. i mean, he’s still there, whining about what a piece of shit he is and being complacent in that fact, but it could be much worse. trust me. it could. “

she scratched the back of the neck, allowing herself a moment to attune her senses the sounds of gentle, humming chatter from the los angeles elite and the equally muted classical piece being played live in the back of the room. clinking of forks, of spoons, of knives... nobody could know the stakes of the conversation at hand.

“ call me a bleeding heart. he’s a fucking mess, but he needs a translator to function, so... here i am. ask me whatever you want about him, and i’ll try to answer. lord knows he needs an actual friend - i mean, you seem willing to deal with him again. that’ll help his case. assuming you two get along again, hopefully that gets him the hell away from me too. “

“ ...so, basically what i’m saying is, if you choose to hear him out, assuming he does, then... just don’t tell him i’m around. i’d rather just fade into obscurity. this is probably the stupidest shit i could possibly do, but... i see the stupid repressed child in him wanting a release, i guess. it deserves to get some respite, even if he’s honestly satan incarnate to a degree. “

[oscar-isaacs-number-one-bitch]

“Bad Times at the El Royale” Movie Review

Bad Times at the El Royale is the sophomore effort from writer and director by Drew Goddard (The Cabin in the Woods) and stars Jeff Bridges, Cynthia Erivo, Dakota Johnson, Jon Hamm, Lewis Pullman, and Chris Hemsworth. In this film, a group of total strangers all stay at the same place: the El Royale hotel, which sits split in half by the state border between California and Nevada. As the film progresses, the characters get to know each other in ways that may seem unusual to others, but are truly only the tip of the iceberg. No one is who they say they are, including the hotel manager, Miles; perhaps even the hotel has secrets of its own. With the walls closing in and everyone getting increasingly antsy, can the guests solve this mystery before it’s too late?

This is the first Drew Goddard film I’ve seen; having not personally been privy to The Cabin in the Woods, I had absolutely no threshold or expectation for exactly the kind of film that I was in for in terms of style or script. I was curious as to how the plot would play out with the marketing and trailers having given basically nothing of it away, even accidentally. I’m very happy to say that not only did I thoroughly enjoy this movie, I enjoyed how much it enjoyed itself (to a point). Drew Goddard is an excellent screenwriter, and it is no small thing that he has an immensely talented ensemble cast to help the writing along to reach its full potential. The actual narrative plays itself out as a Hateful Eight-esque set-up a bit more in line with a “what if Clue, but the 70’s” aesthetic wherein the story opens with a mysterious dialogue-free sequence meant to shock and intrigue the audience, and then follows each character around on increasingly elaborate plot threads that one can discern weave together at various points if you’re paying enough attention and eventually piece together most of what’s going on just-too-late for the third act to really kick things into high gear.

This approach to storytelling, while having been done a few times before, is always pretty fun both as an actual exploration and exercise of mystery filmmaking and as a genuine throwback to the earlier days of films that let themselves take their time and allow the audience to relish in the fun of trying to figure it out themselves. And although the actual script (while clever) does get a bit too convoluted and show-offy for its own good on a cinematic level, it continues to work and impress enough on a theatrical level that I found myself struggling to care whether or not the film was as smart as it thinks it is because I was just having too much damn fun with it. That’s the strength of a great script, and one that I would absolutely lump in with the great “theatre films” currently under the umbrella of my cinematic vocabulary (i.e. The Hateful Eight, Thoroughbreds, etc.). It’s strange that thus far, Tarantino is the only director that I know of who continues to make that genre of film with this kind of scale, but this is a welcome surprise entry in a film category which hopefully only grows as the years go by (seriously we need more films that play out like plays with increasingly more elaborate and creative but noticeably exclusive cinematic tricks to help the story along – the genre really is full of untapped potential). The productions design is also gorgeous, with 70’s period detail just packed into every frame, of which there are many great ones (including a shot that follows Hamm down a long corridor that’s bound to be taught in film classes as a showcase for how to make your shot increasingly more interesting the longer it goes on).

The performances, of course, are all top-notch. Every member of the cast is pulling out all the stops they’ve got. Jeff Bridges has always been a reliable actor for playing a broken man who can barely remember how to talk to other people but seems warm enough, and you can tell Jon Hamm is just having all the fun in the world with the dialogue his character is given. Dakota Johnson is also really quite good here; it’s nice to be reminded that she’s a legitimate actress and not just one half of the two members of 50 Shades that have any discernable talent. In fact, the only real surprises among the cast’s swell of talent are Cynthia Erivo (here making her film debut after transitioning over from Broadway and television) and Lewis Pullman, who plays the hotel manager. Erivo is an excellent screen presence, continuing to surprise and delight with each new plot turn until one has no idea what she’ll end up doing next. Unfortunately it ends up being nothing quite as exciting as what most of the other characters are given to finish with, but that’s more the fault of an overloaded (but still clever) script than her as an actress. She holds her own well enough against titans like Jeff Bridges that one might think she’d been acting with legends like him for a while.

Pullman too has his own pretty great turn as the hotel manager. I can’t precisely remember what it is I’ve seen him in, but his acting ability has noticeably grown since then; what he’s asked to deliver in the way of lines is both hilarious and immensely disturbing, and Pullman rides that line with more natural balance than a tightrope walker in Cirque de Solei. I won’t say much about Chris Hemsworth’s character because I believe that knowing as little about him going in as possible increases the joy of watching him outperform everyone else like the second coming of Brando, but suffice it to say, he steals every scene he’s given right out from under them as if he’d just learned the secret to always winning Texas hold ‘em. It truly is an incredible thing to witness.

Where the films finds its flaws though, are in its monstrously clever script. Now, don’t get me wrong, I mean every word I’ve written on it thus far, but still it must be addressed that in order to have a clever script, it also needs to remain clear in transition from scene to scene, and occasionally Drew Goddard’s mystery boner tends to run away with itself and lose the audience in the process. It still remains fun, but that fun sometimes gives way to a bit of confusion as some decisions either in the editing room or in the script itself take the audience out of the current moment to show them the relevance of that moment to the broader story in terms of timeline or character motivation. It’s only in the third act when this stops happening, and upon reflection, it probably could have stood to happen a little earlier (though exactly where I do not know).

Following this train of thought, the second act itself is pretty long and while I certainly enjoyed watching the actors show off that they can act like nobody’s business, some of those scenes placed in the separate rooms could have stood to be a little bit shorter. I was never bored, per se, but I did start to feel those scenes being stretched out a bit too long. Perhaps this was done as a way to increase the character developments or tease further mystery, but to me, it just felt a little overdrawn. As well, there doesn’t seem to be any legitimate relevance to the idea of the hotel being literally split in half by the California/Nevada state line. There are some general rules that get addressed early on about gambling laws and monetary values, but other than that, the idea of the state line division doesn’t actually factor into the plot at all, and ultimately feels like it just Goddard trying to be clever with something he didn’t want to edit out but found no use for. In that vein, there are also one or two plot threads that never get explored or resolved that ultimately feel odd considering every other thread of their type that do get a fair amount of screen time devoted to them, but to say any more would spoil one of the larger surprises of the film, so I’ll just leave it at that.

Still, despite these noticeable (if ultimately irrelevant) flaws, Bad Times at the El Royale is a good time at the movies and gives us a welcome entry in a genre too-often passed up in both in terms of the sheer level of creativity required to play in its sandbox and the ingenuity it takes to explore that labyrinth of creation once brought to life. The performances are excellent and the characters are vibrant among gorgeous period design. It’s weirdly funny, greatly mysterious, bizarrely intriguing, and one of the better pure fun experiences in this cinematic calendar year; definitely recommended, even if only once or twice.

I’m giving “Bad Times at the El Royale” a 7.9/10

[gimmetheheadcanons]

Public/Relations 3/?

A/N: It’s long. It soooo drags. But at least it’s here. TW: Mention of death/suicide.

3. Three

They walked in silence. The young actress in front of him, huddled up in his arms as he directed her through an obstacle course made up of swaying guests. As they entered the final leg of the night, a desperate DJ stepped up his efforts, blasting music appealing to waning legs one last time.

After finally having delivered them both to the privacy of the concierge’s front desk (and with minimal interference from any loiters in the venue’s large lobby), Klaus impatiently ushered the valet to return to him his black Aston Martin Vanquish. Fast. There was the grave matter of a shaking woman in want of whisking away; and naturally, ever the leading man at a moment’s notice, Niklaus Mikaelson was dying to be of assistance.

It felt odd. That unearned intimacy between them.

Bonnie Bennett, so small and exposed; and Klaus, determined to keep peeling at the layers until she appeared without a thread of cover.

Yet the sudden way their sniping subsided made him wonder if maybe – perhaps – there could be a second chance at a more favourable first impression. 

Almost instantly embarrassed by the ridiculous notion of him being required to make any sort of adjustment or impression, Klaus cast the sappy thought aside.

This was Elijah’s doing.

Or any of the others.

Those damned detractors and the low regard with which they held him.

Klaus had always found spite to be an excellent motivator, except thanks to the champagne lending a hand in fuzzing up his thoughts, he couldn’t quite work out what on earth it was he was trying to prove on this exact night.  On any ordinary day, no matter how inebriated, he’d always have enough nous left to barricade against any dangerous ideas a weak heart may have. Meet the forces gathering at the base of skull, head on, and cut them down without mercy. Stop himself from doing silly trite things such as slipping away from his own celebration for the sake of impressing a girl.

A girl.  

Yet Klaus could do little to deny it; something had changed upon observing the overwhelming pain on Bonnie Bennett’s face. The quick, cruel death of that airy little laugh he quite liked. Those blazing eyes worryingly wet and weepy. That firestorm which had so quickly excited him, suddenly snuffed out. All put together, such a pathetic picture had the power to pull at his chest, instantly inspiring an untried impulse

He actually wanted to help this girl.

Get her far enough away from here so he could once again poke and prod until this frightful cocoon burst and the Bonnie Bennett emerged, hopefully ready to take a second stab at that magical, made for syndication, sitcom banter he unashamedly sought after.

Make their own laugh track to muffle the sobering realities of unscripted life.  

Klaus frowned a little as their carriage finally approach.

But then what? Where would they go? And more importantly, would she stay with him? Or without any polite notice, just up and go. Cut her losses, just as his dear brother had.

The clock ran out. The moment for deliberation gone as Klaus was confronted by the bane of his daily existence – flashes of white light in the distance brewing up a terrible storm of tabloid scandal.  

Of course the parasites would’ve congregated to catch a glimpse of his court. Klaus groaned inwardly, feeling disappointed twice over – once for momentarily forgetting this detail and then for remembering.

The paparazzi, or more accurately those unable to deceive their way to legitimate press status or forcibly gain access to his guest list, had set up their own party across the street. Careful to adhere to the minimum distance required to avoid any altercations and additional days in court (and Heaven knows how Klaus enjoyed those); three men and a woman took a flurry of hurried photos of their favourite meal ticket.

Klaus rolled his eyes, imagining the gleeful eyes cowardly hidden behind monstrously oversized contraptions, hideously glued to where a human face ought to have been. On his own, each snap of him was worth a decent sum but whenever a beautiful woman was involved the rate tripled.

He was certain the bidding for any pictures taken tonight would be especially high.

Klaus turned to his right. Bonnie, still in a state of quiet distress, thankfully hadn’t noticed the vampires. Best to keep it as such by disappearing quickly.

Unfortunate for them both however, was that this latest unfortunate development meant Klaus’s plans were in drastic need of amending. He couldn’t very well risk a high-speed pursuit with a valued asset of the Disney corporation in the passenger seat.

Oh won’t you think of the children Niklaus!

Klaus let escape a small but grim laugh at his favourite past-time, pulling out from the depth of his memory a rather unkind impression of stuffy, proper, pain in the arse Elijah.

But with none of the awkwardness of having to admit defeat to a flesh and bone version of his brother, Klaus was free to heed the words of caution offered by his figment.

“No bother.” He called out, finally having made up his mind to return inside and thus throwing back the keys to the man who’d just delivered them to him. Klaus casually waved his hand over the car, attempting to deflect any questions with a masterful performance of his usual indifference. “I have no need for this now. Take it back.”

“And once again, need I remind you – be gentle.”

He received a swift nod from a quaking man familiar with the implied consequences. To Klaus that terrified trembling was just a perk he got to enjoy after all the diligent work he put in to consistently educating his fellow man, wherever he went. He watched as the valet and car disappeared at once, then turned to deal with the wrath of a woman he knew to be unlearned and unafraid.

“Why?” Bonnie shouted angrily at the apparent act of betrayal. Klaus withdrew slightly so as to avoid any possibility of being struck in the face.  

Still composed but only barely – Bonnie spared him.    

Cautious not to indulge the oglers and sadly unsure how long Bonnie’s self-restrained would last, Klaus carefully positioned himself with his back to the cameras before answering in a low whisper.

“Why should we be the ones to abscond into the night like bandits? I swear to you love, nothing but merriment awaits – should you choose return with me.” Klaus said ensuring his voice was soft and sweet enough to assuage her fears, offering up the sincere and practical solution of support against Parker.

One word from her and the buffoon should find himself flung out on his arse, free to model on this very curb for the long-lensed vermin he so adored.  

“I won’t leave your side Bonnie.”

But Bonnie perceptive eyes signalled to him she saw through to his core. The man they all sensed him to be. She saw through this obvious glitch in his programming, all the way through to the selfish curiosity under the surface inspiring such chivalry.  

“No.”  She answered predictably, inviting a sad smile from him.

Yes, there was a story here, Klaus could admit that whilst focussing in on the beautifully pained face before him. A story he desperately hoped to know. Meanwhile, was it so hard to believe that his instinct to protect her ran just as deep as his desire to distract himself from the foul mood his bothersome brother had left him in?

“Then perhaps I can offer you an alternative solution. One more agreeable to you.”

And for the second time that night, Klaus Mikaelson took hold of Bonnie Bennett’s hand in a bid to lead her to a safer haven.

-----

When they finally arrived at their new much more discreet location, a private penthouse located within the same building, Klaus couldn’t help but show off a little. After all, leading a life of luxury meant he had the luxury to do so.

The noticeably awe-struck young woman in his company drank in the immaculate interior of the space. He followed the music of Bonnie’s heels connecting with the limestone tiles. As she took lead, soft yellow lights fixed high above were coming to life to greet her and celebrate her bravery. She didn’t have to travel too far from him to explore, her eyes doing most of the work, scanning the entire open space all the way to high glass walls revealing a fully furnished outdoor seating area and a sky pool in the distance.

“Make yourself at home.” Klaus called out, pointing towards the richly black Edelman leather sofas as he made a beeline to the built-in butler bar. He was about to pour two glasses of something comforting for them, when it dawned on him mixing drink and despair may appear slightly predacious to his watchful guest. Instead, Klaus returned to Bonnie’s side holding a less sinful (and therefore much less fun) bottle of mineral water which she politely accepted.

“Thanks.”

A genuine warm smile spread across his face at the tiny one he spotted her lips were failing to fight back.

“I usually keep this space for the after party. A handful of noteworthy individuals, for light debate followed by much needed debauchery. However…seeing how deeply loathed I am by everyone and their mum at this point in time– a fact my dear brother reminded me of a couple hours ago – I’d rather put it to better use tonight.”

Again, Bonnie thanked him, causing his chest to swell up like a balloon.

Klaus knew the automatic, monosyllabic, society taught reply shouldn’t have warranted such a reaction from him; yet there was a potent power in being able to receive Bonnie Bennet’s praise. Perhaps he could set himself a new challenge and keep a tally of exactly how much gratitude he could gross over the course of the night.

“To harbouring fugitives.” Klaus said raising his own bottle of water for a toast.  

Bonnie resisted to clink plastic, choosing instead to roll her eyes at the bon mot.

“I’m not a fugitive.”

Klaus shrugged his shoulders, the glint in his eyes still very much intent on teasing her at the cost of the night’s takings.  

He glugged down his drink partly in bid to appear unconcerned about the way she left him hanging and partly to try and rehydrate enough so he could have his wits about him before attempt to engage with Bonnie once more. She stood with her own bottle unopened, stealing subtle glances just as he was.

Once his thirst had been managed, Klaus lazily swiped at his wet mouth, his left hand unable to mop up each rebellious drop he let carelessly slid down his chin and onto the naked flesh peeking out from the top of his loosened-up shirt.

“Well…” He said sensing Bonnie’s discomfort at the intentional combination of silence, staring and so-close-together-standing.  

“Now that I have obliged you so, will you –  at the very least –  grace me with an explanation as to why we have been banished from my own party.”

Bonnie hesitated for a moment before turning her face away and answering in a low voice.

“I don’t need to see him.”

Klaus’s jaw tensed at the distance she insisted on putting between them. Screwing back on the lid, he disposed of his bottle by frustratingly flinging it onto a nearby armchair, where it landed with a soft thud.

“That much I gathered.”

She appeared unable to get comfortable with him, her body still on high alert as she slowly began pacing the room whilst aiming to maintain the guise of leisurely browsing the full stocked bookshelves.

It was frustrating. The hold that idiot Parker seemed to have over this woman. A woman, Klaus, in the short span of time they’d become acquainted, assumed was fearless.    

“Rest assured, there is no tail in need of shaking here.” Klaus promised again urging her to take a seat on any of the numerous chairs in the room.

Bonnie however denied him once more, continuing to evade him by staying constantly on the move.

A little heavier handed and a little more in character, Klaus proceeded to press harder.

“As an objective third party observer, I find the only thing pursuing you at this moment is your personal demons regarding Mr. Parker.”

She appeared to tense at his direct reference to her co-star, halting in a stride long enough for Klaus to close the gap between them. Good, he thought, pleased with the result of the harsher tactic he chose to employ. Perhaps now she would be more open to his assistance, whilst he was still gracious enough to be offering it.

“Demons,” Klaus continued in a slow purposeful drawl, inching nearer and nearer until able to see the specific shades of brown – from dark to light – of each individual hair strand on the back of Bonnie’s head. Klaus observed the beginnings of a couple of soft curls marching out of time, at odds with the rest of her perfectly placed and professionally straightened locks; and he wondered, how many more would join their marvellous little mutiny by morning.

With her back to her, Klaus had to guess what was going on inside Bonnie’s head. Instead his mind was preoccupied with the way her thin shoulders rose and fell as she breathed in and out more deeply. Charmed by the rhythm, Klaus’s own breath followed hers – his nose taking in the scent of sweet feminine fragrance on her skin. It was warm and comforting, like rich berries in a summer fruit crumble drowned in smooth vanilla custard. Meant for consumption during the blackest of winters, to heat the soul and stain the corners of your mouth a bloody red.

She turned to face him, without any warning and almost startled him.

Almost.

“These demons. I’d be glad to exorcise them for you if you could just make them more corporeal, love.”

The sequence continued on whilst she was facing him – that up then down, in then out – until Klaus interrupted it by gently resting his hands atop Bonnie’s shoulders, commanding them to steady.

She didn’t gasp for him.

His disappointed eyes watched her doubtful ones, unable to win them over; her silence just about to start reminding Klaus that his patience was a finite resource in need of constant replenishing.

“Details Bonnie.” He said, following up with a more insistent growl he knew he would come to regret. “I demand them.”

Klaus found his planned interrogation aborted quite suddenly. However, not by any hostility of Bonnie’s but by the gentle interruption of beeping coming from somewhere on her person. It was the sound of an incoming text message, she chose to immediately answer.

Phone in hand and pushing past him, her shoulders savagely cut across his chest like a rugby player’s.

After a silent second, Bonnie let out a furious scream.  

Shaking with rage, her livid eyes were glued to the screen.

Intrigued, Klaus approached her to peer over her shoulder pryingly. Unfortunately, he was unable to catch the communication in its entirety when Bonnie once again shrieked.

“Argh! Damn it Alaric! Thanks for the heads up asshole.” She cursed upon having fully read the script herself, angrily smashing down her water on the marble counter in front of her. Not having noticed him walk up behind her, Bonnie bumped flat into his chest as she turned around.

“How about a little personal space?” She said her tone acerbic as she lashed out at him for the sins of another.

Hardly offended Klaus obliged, cordially stepping out of the way but not before mockingly putting both hands up and throwing her a wink.

Bonnie ignored him, angrily pressing away at the keyboard on her phone screen.  

Alaric Saltzman, Klaus knew the man as well as he did every agent who tried their luck at claiming him as a prize. For a time, Klaus toyed with the idea of striking up an alliance with the man, before quickly recognising that Saltzman’s body of work, in all its underwhelming mediocrity wouldn’t have been well-suited to Klaus’s needs.

Not in the long run anyway.

Klaus wickedly grinned, thinking back to wholesome redheaded he freed from a potential life sentence as the second Mrs. Saltzman; realising that for a short while, there was a need the agent – or to put more accurately the agent’s fiancée – did satisfy.  

His indulgence and mischief however had cost him in a way. Word got round and no agent in this town since managed to last beyond a couple of weeks managing Klaus. Each finding him too – what was it that Josh said – “mega intense and scary like a medieval torture expert guy”.

It was a gratifying sacrifice, if undertaken solely to punish Saltzman for his insolence. For the crime of daring to believe he and Klaus could be equals, the actor extracted his revenge most viciously. Taking from the man the love of his life, compelling her to lose herself in a moment of weakness, debasing her and discarding her. Still, it took just that on time of mixing pleasure and business for Klaus to see how quickly most fled from him.

Afraid of joining the pile of bodies he left in his wake.

Young Joshua must’ve been a glutton for punishment when he signed on with Klaus. Since the Saltzman affair, the pitiful boy had the pleasure of pulling double duty on all of the actor’s booking needs. Naturally, he did this collaborating with the patient people at William Morris Endeavour.

Done sending her text, Klaus wondered if Bonnie’s displeasure meant she could someday be persuaded to leave that dullard agent of hers and join him at the rival agency. Except, he quickly realised, that would require her to start viewing him in a much different light.

She must’ve been distracted enough by the unpleasant news she received, it slipped her mind to hold him to account for his earlier pushy behaviour. This would’ve been an ideal time to cease testing the patience of his guest, yet wholly undeterred and his impulsive nature getting the best of him, Klaus continued.

“Still waiting love.”

“Look Klaus,” Bonnie said finally snapping at him; the woman before him, far away from the timid, torn up creature he needed to coax into that lift. “Thank you for the rescue but you can return to your party. Okay? I’ll be out when I’m ready.”

This Bonnie, the one prone to turn on her heel and storm away from him, required a far more delicate touch. “Perhaps I can make arrangements to have you returned to your place of residence?” Klaus offered in a plea to appear reasonable.

But Bonnie didn’t need a moment to muse over his suggestion. Shaking her head immediately but looking somewhat despondent about having to do so, she replied weakly.

“No. I can’t. Not after tonight.”

With another piece of the puzzle in his possession yet somehow saddened by what it held, Klaus wavered a little.  

“Then I have a suggestion you may find either entirely pleasing or wholly preposterous.”

“Stay here.”

It was out there now. That dangerously weak heart of his finally successful in its intended coup; and Klaus’s deepest desire for company – a secret no more.  

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Klaus replied fully committed to this idiocy now.  

Bonnie took another look at the grand apartment he’d just made available to her. “I guess this is okay.”

Catching herself venturing into a territory occupied by the far more ill-mannered, Bonnie tried again –  a little more enthusiastic this time. “Good even. I mean – it’s good. Thank you, Klaus.”

Another Bonnie Bennett thank you for Klaus’s book. The idle angel on his shoulder sure had an unusually amount to brag about tonight.

“Well, not so fast.” Klaus added, reminding Bonnie there were terms attached to his offer. “I cannot vouch for what kind of pay there is in television but there are a few items here that’ll fetch a pretty penny online. Morbidity of fame I suppose.”

Deciphering his meaning with narrowed eyes, Bonnie finally conceded.

“Fine stay if you must.”

“Just don’t bother me okay?”

Klaus clapped his hands together jubilantly. “Now we’re finally seeing eye to eye, I’d like to revisit my earlier queries.”

He walked over to the largest sofa and sat, his hand outstretched hovering over the space next him where he’d visualised she should be. “Come sit with me.”

Bonnie let out an ironic laugh at the proposal. “You gotta be kidding me!”

“You’re not gonna trick me into some ridiculous Dr. Phil situation Klaus.” She promised with a resolute look on her face.

Klaus lazily stretched his arms out above him and yawned, before satisfyingly settling his back against the soft cushions further. He then cast a relaxed smile in Bonnie’s direction, hoping to entice her to come do the same. Her day must’ve started as early as his, if not earlier.

“Come now, you’ve been standing in those heels for long enough love.”

“No way. No matter how comfortable the couch, I refuse to share it with you.” Bonnie repeated.

Frustrated, Klaus grabbed the soft white throw pillows, snatching them out from under him and busily began rearranging them. Without looking at her he muttered under his breath what he knew could only be received as a menacing attempt at intimidation.  

“I’ll be sure to send Kai Parker your most affectionate greetings when I go then.”

Once again, Klaus made sure to use his full name for effect.

Dissatisfied with the thought of missing her reaction, Klaus put away his angry pout and turned to face Bonnie, adding with a sneer. “I so did enjoy him in this summer’s must-see superhero flick. Really remarkable how far he’s come from his humble beginnings as a teenage witch.”

Bonnie did not blink. It looked as though she’d been inoculated to his mean mouth after the first incident. Klaus was about to try something different to get that reaction he craved when she cut him off.

“Why are you doing this?” She demanded, completely throwing him.  

“Why are you fucking with me?”

Not sure how to reply to such a straightforward question, Klaus hid behind a mocking gasp of shock and opted to childishly mutter about her use of foul language instead. Unfortunately, the aggravated actress firmly stayed on topic.

“All night in fact! Do you even see what you’re like?”

All of a sudden, Klaus had been stunned into silence by her more measured tone and the crashing waves of righteous rage radiating from her threatening to batter his unprotected body.

This was nothing like he’d ever dealt with before. Similar words from his siblings often fell short because of their own failings being so laughably apparent to him. No, blasted Jiminy Crickets would seldom manage to escape without being mercilessly crushed by his fist.  

Yet here was Bonnie and having a bloody good go!

And it was different, he noted. Her inquires into his very character held no pretence of a search for higher moral reasoning. She didn’t care to teach him anything or even win for that matter. She just plain and simple wanted to know.

Demanded to know.

Why was he, Klaus Mikaelson, fucking with her?  

It was a brilliantly phrased little question, simple in every way and yet something told Klaus he was in no way capable of delivering the complexity of its answer.

With no response coming her way any time soon, Bonnie groaned, wearily throwing her arms up in the air.

Her annoyance flared up once more when Klaus made the mistake of smiling. Her eyes flashed widely in disbelief at the action.

“Why are you grinning like a villain? Have you really nothing better to do?”

Ready to incur another deadly glare, Klaus was surprised to see her face soften.  

“Come on man, why all this,” She whined in response to this uncharacteristic quietness she had to endure from him. “I don’t even know you.”

The plainly said statement, a desperate final attempt at trying appeal to his better nature. There are protocols in civilised societies, she beseeched him The pools of hazel staring back at him called for the decency to mind one’s own bloody business.  

Except, that’s where Bonnie Bennett had gone wrong.

Klaus Mikaelson, more beast than man, was hardly civilised.

“Oh don’t be daft.” He laughed for a second time, crossing his arms under his head casually, further propping up the pillows. “Of course, you know me. Everyone does.”

“Great.” Bonnie said, her face clearly regretting her efforts to try and reach him. Klaus frowned a little at how easily she gave up. “So where’d your babysitter go? The big brother?”

Her casual mentioning of Elijah replicated the same discomfort Kai Parker’s did. Klaus shifted awkwardly in his seat and Bonnie noticed.

“Oh wow. You’re all of a sudden bored of twenty questions when it’s your turn?” Bonnie said with a sneer ugly on her pretty face.  

Determined not to lose to her, Klaus answered frankly. “He should be where he prefers to be. Back in his hotel room in a deep untroubled slumber. Miles away from here. From me.” He said bitterly.

His earnest confession as to the reason for his aloneness had an unexpected outcome.

A sudden crash and the empty space next to him became occupied.

Bonnie let out a tired sigh, appearing exhausted by everything leading up to the moment to collapsed down next to him. It was odd having her choose to not only sit, but then to do so closely.

As her thigh pressed against Klaus’s, he turned his head slightly to get a better look at the profile of her face. Her heavily lashed eyelids were shut as she inhaled deeply, sinking further into the comforting cool leather. Using just the tip of her toes, she flicked off her right shoe followed by the left. Her perfectly pedicured and painted toes then giving a little victory wiggle.

“It’s a nice couch.” She hummed, her still lids shut.

“It is.” Klaus chuckled.

“So jerk brother huh?” Bonnie asked, her eyes opening to look around the room as if she had misplaced something.

Up close, Klaus noticed slightly dry flakes of darkly stained skin peeling off insides of her lips, revealing a fleshy pink in contrast to the impeccable matte coat of chestnut brown from earlier this evening.

Without being asked, Klaus found himself on his feet and heading to the counter, returning with her discarded bottle in his hand. Again, she thanked him when he opened it for her and Klaus counted that as being five now in his favour.

“Jerk brother.” He concurred taking his seat once more.

“And what of your handler? Your agent, Saltzman was it?”

Bonnie’s mood soured at the mention of the man. “Urgh, just found out he ditched me to deliver his twins.”

Klaus was surprised at her answer.

Why the old bugger sure bounced back rather marvellously! So, it was two sets of tiny feet, and not his own cold ones that kept Alaric Saltzman away this evening. But why instead of being elated for her mentor, was Bonnie Bennett clearly furious? Surely there had to be some greater transgression than this? Or was she a far pettier person than Klaus had realised.

“What a monster.” He said mockingly.

Bonnie snorted. “Yeah well, he could’ve drop a warning he was going to be leaving me with one.”

“Poppycock! I’ve been a perfect gentleman.”

When Bonnie allowed herself to giggle at his exaggerated exasperation for even a second, Klaus noted how his ears, coming through the other side of a severe joyless drought, were beginning to grow fond of the sunny sound.

“Like hell you have.” She said slipping on a brief smile, comfortable enough to lazily slap the side of his thigh with the back of her hand without really looking at him. The impression left by her touch tingled for a moment thrilling him. Then the smile, just as easily slipped from her face leaving nothing but a pool of quiet bitterness in her eyes.

“I didn’t mean you.” Bonnie added in a low whisper, unblinking eyes gazing into the distance.

Klaus inhaled deeply, the solemn air between them thick and heavy.

Alaric Saltzman’s failings finally revealed.

A heads up.  

“Kai Parker.” He said without even the faintest hint of a sneer. She hadn’t anticipated on him being at the party. Alaric must’ve withheld that information from her.  

“Yep.”

Klaus shook his head sadly, trying on for size the part of a supportive friend. “He seems like such a prince too. Making the rounds at children’s wards in his silly tights and cape.”

“Well what do you want me to say? That Disney money got him playing you all 24/7 okay?” Bonnie retorted, straightening up.

Klaus knew he’d gone wrong, his attempts at sincerity rang false.

“Okay.” He said yielding to her and hoping she’d return to that almost tranquil state of earlier, teasing him with a touch or two.

But it wasn’t to be. As if only just slowly waking from a hazy dream and suddenly aware of her surroundings, Bonnie Bennett’s guard came up in full force.

“Are you friends with him?”

It was Klaus’s turn to jolt awake.

“Excuse me?”

“I said are you friends with him?” She demanded more sternly.

Klaus’s chuckles were dismissive. “Why? Did he pass along a lovely little handwritten note asking us to be mates love?”

Bonnie shot up.

On her feet and at a distance, she repeated herself.  

“I mean it Klaus. I need to know.”

“Are you friends?”

“No.” He said but by the time he answered they’d returned to their earlier roles. “Bloody hell. I said no didn’t!”  

To his horror, Bonnie would not abide.

In one swift motion, Klaus rose also. Back to facing off with Bonnie, but now with a much greater height advantage than the barefoot actress.

“We hardly travel similar circles. Just the overcrowded ones in need of a good cull if you ask me.”

Sensing she needed more than that Klaus decided to spell out for her exactly how he felt about the Kai Parkers of the world.

“I never thought of him as anything but a self-centred, man-child with mediocre flair for the arts yet an unmatched need for constant attention.”

He was met with raised eyebrows from the young woman.

“Don’t look at me like that!” He insisted growing increasingly irritated she would continue to question him. “I mean it love.  Believe me, we have nothing in common. He’s a hack. A Buzzfeed quiz favourite, constantly clamouring for followers across his social media like a harlot.”

Finally, Bonnie grinned a little. “Hashtag blessed.” She quipped in a voice much too heavy to be actually humorous.

Finally, Klaus watched as she settled back into her seat and convinced he did enough to ease her her doubts about him, followed.

“Well, I guess you know better than anyone not to believe what you read in the papers.” Bonnie observed, her head turning to face him. Her nose may as well have be touching his cheek but Klaus was too troubled by the mystery she still hid from him to take any joy in his triumph.  

“On the contrary love, when it comes to me, I must urge you – believe every word.” He said completely unironically.

“Even Carol Lockwood?”

“I – sorry – I didn’t meant to – ” Bonnie stammered her face utterly changed by the dark weight behind those words. Her mouth slammed shut; Klaus’s grim look, a judge’s gavel coming down on hard on such the feeble defence her lips were aspiring to form.  

“I don’t know why I said that.”

The choppy waves threatening to form above Klaus’s brows instantly settled, the flood of emotion never quite reaching the shores of his eyes. Gripped by the eerie stillness of a drowning victim, he sat unresponsive.  

There was hardly any point to it. The pens dripped in poison had done their job, effectively killing this conversation as it had the one with Elijah.

“The topic exhausts me.” A whisper of life left in him confessed.

Klaus shifted in his seat slightly ready to resist any and all of Bonnie’s resuscitation attempts. He expected a taste of his own medicine; bracing himself for a barrage of prying questions meant to unsettle.

Bonnie, far kinder and empathetic he thought the descendants of Adam could ever be, simply decided to nod.

“I understand.”

Understanding. His heart ached a little at the prospect of such a thing – he was the keeper of far less publicised ghost stories. Ones good souls would greatly struggle with.

“How could you possibly love.”

Gallons of redness spilling over the sides and onto the tiles, setting Klaus up to lose his footing and fall when he found her. A bathtub transformed into an overfilled wine glass. His mother, always such a careless drinker, had decidedly drained herself. The shirt he wore that day suddenly a bib, soaking up the mess she left for him as Klaus lost consciousness on the floor.

Last thought on his mind?

She finally did it.

Escaped them all to other side.  

[silkandconvalescencerpg]

I’m honestly a little in disbelief that this has finally made its way into the light, and I apologize for how long it took for me to simply put this together. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy this little look into ballast and may it spur on any of your own musings!

001. OUT OF CHARACTER,

NAME/ALIAS + AGE. ↳ I’m Dea, eighteen, and my three favorite films are The Mummy, Moulin Rouge!, and Dead Poets Society (with Brother Bear rounding out as my closely-lagging fourth). I like to think they adequately spell out my character, if anything, representing the very core of my soul. (Evie O’Connell was my first crush and forevermore the love of my life, if that makes my personality any clearer.)

TIMEZONE + ACTIVITY. ↳ PST, and as for my activity, I try to be online as often as I can, and that’ll be a lot easier now that we’ve transitioned into the summer season. However, I still have work and that’ll take up a decent portion of my time, though I try to be as transparent as I can in terms of letting you all know when I’ll be absent from the main and such, and will continue to be so when game-play begins. Hopefully I manage to achieve the right balance between the main and James’ account!

TRIGGERS + PRONOUNS. ↳ I go by she/her, but have no problem with being referred to as they/them. Regarding triggers, visuals of excessive gore are pretty much the worst of what I can take.

002. IN CHARACTER INFORMATION,

MUSE DESIRED. ↳ Ballast & James Sirius Potter.

            JAMES, a gentle curse, an exhale, soft and affectionate and incapable of being said without a smile tugging at the corners of one’s mouth. spit in vexation, cursed in crimson-tinged anger, sighed in misled adoration, hiccuped in between gut-wrenching laughs. your mother whispers it (worry creasing lines on her otherwise youthful face, fingers twitching, longing to reach out to stroke your head like you loved when you could still fit in her hands) when she thinks you can’t hear and yells it (anxiety toppling into frustration, showering you in the spitfire that scorches in the center of her belly, distinct to the windswept fire of ginny weasley) when she knows you can’t hear anything but. your father, eighteen years of experience hardly denting the habit, sounds out the syllables of your name with a reverence (half respect for the father he never knew and half tender disbelief for the son he still can’t believe he had a part in creating) and groans them with an age-old tiredness (his scar may not pain him any longer, but you sure do). the very utterance of your name is followed by an exuberant eye roll, high in fashion with both your sister and brother. james, james, james. does it belong to you?

            SIRIUS, a bullet of a name. there are more legends than facts surrounding your namesake, and god, when did they become yours to swallow? you may not carry his blood (pure, black, rotten to the core) but your pout is sculpted from the same lips as his; your hair is as monstrously notorious and decadent; that gruff bark of laughter rings oh-so alike, except he was the grim and you’re a puppy; a leather jacket, illusory with the phantom heat of his flesh, and you can’t quite decide if the weight is a comforting warmth or if it burns, heavy and scathing. i mean, really ⏤ is it still just as funny when your telltale “sirius is my middle name” line is matched with a wince?

            POTTER, both a tragedy and a blessing. out of your unlucky lot, perhaps this is the worst card. your blood is tinged with the greats, the giants of wizarding lore, potters, and weasleys, and evans’ (singularly gifted witch that she was), and just about everything fucking else in between, because sometimes practically the entirety of the wizarding world wants to snatch their own piece and more the pity, you let them. resentment curls in your belly, curdling and hot, warring with the warmth of your love, the kind that seeps tender heat into one’s aching muscles, like the gentle caress of curling inside a bath, of a candle’s gentle flare in the center of your darkened home, rain softly wailing outside. it makes you want to weep; it makes you want to cry and scream and claw yourself inside out; it makes your heart want to burst from love, from bone-chattering laughter, from adoration, from responsibilities to ghosts, from the weight of it all.

            (  B A L L A S T  ), the solid stone beneath, the foundation everyone can’t help but stand upon. (and that’s it, folks, lmao.)

FACE CLAIM. ↳ Xavier Serrano.

GENDER + ORIENTATIONS. ↳ Cis male, he/him, and bisexual biromantic.

DATE OF BIRTH + BLOOD STATUS + YEAR. ↳ Born OCTOBER 30TH, 2005, as a HALFBLOOD, and currently enrolled as a SEVENTH YEAR at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

            This birth date falls under the SCORPIO star sign, in addition to being the day before Halloween, also known as the death day of his grandparents. Irony is a sharp bite to the ass, and this one particularly stings. He’s on the very edge of spilling into the sorrowful night, one brimming with the ghosts of old, beasts of legends, terrors lurking in the encompassing shadows. What is better: to be on the precipice of disaster (everyone sharply aware of just how close he came to being a masochist’s wet dream: firstborn son of Harry Potter emerging into the world on the night of his parents’ anniversary of being murdered; oh, our hearts are positively aching in bittersweet agony) or to narrowly miss another chance to align himself with the ghost who will forever haunt him?

            The exact date was chosen carefully, for the image of James being born in the high tide of the ever-haunting month, on the edge of leave-strewn and rust-tinted November and swarmed in the absolute magic that encompasses October, is one that is so wholly him. One might imagine him in the sweetness of spring, chaste and rosy and so heartwarmingly raw. Or perhaps in the heat of summer, where he is gold, gold, gold, and so unnervingly bright, it blinds you with its scorching radiance. Even winter could be his home, with its stark bitterness and empty promises of warmth and protection in a candle-lit home, cold snow blanketing all life. Yet, the season where leaves dance in the swirling winds and ugly beasts emerge into the night with the beauty of the divine is the one that holds his heart in its grip; fall, fall, fall, and he does.

            Moreover, this analysis cemented his star sign completely ⏤⏤ attracts people by: depth and allure, emotional bonding, safeguarding and undying protection, intellect and mystique, loyalty and slowly revealed vulnerability, ability to inspire inner confidence &  loses people by: antagonism, control and possession, withdrawal and reactivity, emotional coldness and emotional paralysis, self-righteousness, disconnecting privacy, staunch defence of personal ideologies.

HOUSE + ANALYSIS. ↳ GRYFFINDOR, and it almost seems a disservice to the gods above, to the spite burning in his blood and scorching his mind, begging to be contrary just for the sake of a rebellion, a piece of him that deviates from the path he was destined to crawl. Why couldn’t he be different? Why did his heart burst with the same roaring pound of a lion’s and bleed with the same passion and obnoxious sense of self? Courage was a pillar he conquered within his first breath, and nerve was the fire to his blood’s gasoline, lighting up with a stunning vengeance. But, oh no, these are not the grounds upon which his sorting was based on ⏤ if anything, his undying belief in morality, of all stupid things, is what so clearly planted him within the lions den. Even more so, it’s the fact that he values morality above all else, not the details of his beliefs. That dogged perseverance has the capability of swallowing him whole.

FUNCTIONS. ↳ DUELING CLUB & THE BONES CLUB, both sought him out, and though resistance tasted sweet, a part of him was soft for it, the idea of being apart of something other than within the barracks of his family. There’s a feral part of him, hunger aching in his bones, and it’s sated, buzzed on a high, when he’s in the midst of dueling for the fucking hell of it (spells teasing, a flirtatious back and forth of fatal proportions, a dark curiosity licking its paws in the corner, waiting to pounce, and god, does it fill him) or scheming in the dark, four heads weaving together, morbid mischief and jest galore reigning in their souls. The day that a bewitched note appeared in every page of every book he touched, flirting with him to join a club of bones (stupid fucking name, was the first thing out of his mouth in that beginning meeting of his, some years ago now) and daring him to chase (something? anything? everything?) was the day that some fragile chip of him sealed its way back on.

003. WRITING + EXTRAS,

INTERNAL ⏤ CHARACTER ANALYSIS. ↳ Because I’m lacking in time (entirely my fault, yikes, I know), I’ve chosen to highlight three individual aspects (headcanons) of his character as a whole in an attempt to puzzle together a tangible picture of who he is, and through the evulsion of these facets, other details and factors of his persona will become present (or at least that’s what I’m angling for, fingers crossed). Essentially, these are the corners of his character that breathed something a little more divine than life into him, conjuring him in a different light and contorting that light into something blindingly magnificent. 

            RELIGION, something that struck me as i was writing some part of the application above is my constant use of the word god, spitting out in my writing with a vicious ease. this isn’t my own, natural, guttural utterance of the word, but rather the voice of james, spilling out like an unwelcome grease. it started out as a small rebellion, more to himself than anything else, for isn’t it always? ⏤ something to distract himself, purge himself, from the person he is. he’s not a complete idiot, you know; he knew of a god, several of them, upon which muggles called upon, prayed upon, ached upon. magic was his god; his father, his mother, his grandparents, all of his blood family and all their friends; the titans of the wizarding world boiled down to human form, glorified and shining beyond belief; they were gods, or at least, they were treated as such. merlin was the force above them all; and circe and nimue and the founders of hogwarts and everybody else deemed a little bit special. well, perhaps the muggles had something better, and so, he checked. a copy of the bible was snatched by his hands, and the pages were devoured. greek myths were no longer fantasies, but reality; after all, if magic could existed, why couldn’t they? he scoured for any and all gods, learning the way of the old world and diving into cultures and religions with a swimmer’s finesse. he stuck to the idea like an indulgent tar, clinging to the idea with no small desperation; perhaps if there was a god(s), as the muggles proclaimed and spat, then who he is was no mistake ⏤ he was meant to be the firstborn of harry potter, meant to carry the weight of ghosts on his back, meant to feel a crumpling in his bones, meant to burn with a love for his family and yet freeze over with most others. it was out of his hands, yes, finally, thank god. for nearly the first time in his fifteen years of life, he breathed with ease, unfiltered and soft and free. and then, short of a blissful month later, he fell. not unlike a fallen angel, nor unlike a star toppling from the sky, crashing and burnt and dust. there was no fate or destiny of god above, watching and waiting and pulling strings like a grand and demented puppeteer. now, he spits the words, sarcasm denting every syllable, even in earnest. 

            JEWELRY, ever since he can remember, he’s liked the glint of jewels. the way they encompass a color, almost swallowing you alongside with it. the intricacy is unfamiliar to his own fingers, and yet they still grasp to hold it. there’s no explanation or reason behind it all, transparent and easy to receive. a cut, blood red ruby adorns a gold chain on his chest, and a sister piece sits on his finger as a ring, both a gift from his mother. he loathe to take either off in any case, and often treasures them as closely as his wand. moreover, he’s not been known to reject a little smear of matching lipstick, though on occasion it’s been used as a paintbrush for some doodle on his cheeks rather than lined on his lips. he has no qualms with revealing that shard of himself, and the swarm of deep red on golden flesh is quite the sight to behold, anyway.

            GOTTA DO MORE, GOTTA BE MORE, not all characters have an original muse, but mine was definitely charlie dalton from dead poets society, as well as the more obvious character parallel of neil perry. james was written and created for this verse with neither in mind, and a great part of my entire outlook and analysis of him was already set in stone by the time i rewatched the film, but then, it just hit me. the specific mannerisms of charlie’s character are so apparent in james, from his facial expressions to the false bravado and desperation to seek something a little more in life and shatter himself in the process, and of course the advice that would strike james just as severely as it did charlie: “sucking the marrow out of life doesn’t mean chocking on the bone.” moreover, this entire scene perfectly encapsulates a part of james that simply cannot be said through words, which is why it works so well. the loyalty that charlie holds, gritty and strong and unparalleled, is one that lives on within james as well. and then there’s neil perry, who is the brightest light with a heart of gold, passion and soul simply dripping off him in excess, yet is shackled down by the weight of his parents, though not in the same way as james. a darkness feeds off of him, deep inside and caving him in, and that is so true to james’ character. there are plenty more parallels to go over, but those can be dissected at another time (an actual detail-by-detail parallel analysis has been in the works, i can say). 

(And because I haven’t said much else, I’ll just add in this snippet of his character that I wrote a little while ago in response to a question!) To me, James is a highly emotional character who nearly bursts from the zest that breathes within him, but can almost be accused of being a masochist because he so forcefully attempts to swallow that down and play the role of one unbothered by life in whole. He has a great respect and fierce loyalty toward his family, yet this is what so severely hurts him, for in the times that he can’t help but resent the expectations that so massively fall on him, it tears him up inside, which just creates and perpetrates a vicious cycle. The Burrow is one of his favorite places to be, for sure. He’s at a standstill in life where he has no idea what he’s bound to do once he leaves the life he’s known for seven years, desperate to both leave and stay. He isn’t committed to academics in any way (for now), but that doesn’t account for his caustic wit. He’s wonderfully complex and contradictory, but he’s also a massive sweetheart, and I can’t help but simply think of heat in relation to him. Like he’s just That Person that constantly has warm, almost hot, skin and you don’t know how in the dead of winter that’s possible. He’s definitely an anchor, and that’s where my decision of ballast originates from.

EXTERNAL ⏤ CONNECTIONS + POTENTIAL PLOTLINES. ↳ I’m going to wait on divulging on any specific skeleton character connections in mind for fear of inducing any bias, though here are some plotlines I’d like to uncover.

            Something that I’m very eager to explore is the contrast that James feels in relation to his family, and how that positively tears him up inside. It’s likened to a battle of the heart versus the mind: who he truly is and who he feels he can’t be, in fear of sacrificing his soul in the process. Essentially, I want to push him to the breaking point, shattering his senses into some mangled ball of shit that he must sort out. He’s in desperate need a breath of fresh air, and he’s been suffocating for years.  Moreover, he’s never really faced this mass of contradiction within him, always turning a blind eye and swallowing it down, scorching his throat in the process and nailing his heart right through the center. And when he must, all hell will break loose, and what can I look forward to, if not that?

            James is a golden light that may dim, but has never been blown out. Until now. I want to see him untethered and catastrophically scratched, the golden, youthful and scarlet blush of his flesh waned and stark against the image of who he is. What will cause this, lead to this, pioneer his destruction? Furthermore, he’s a seventh year as this school year starts, and that means his ass is out in less than a year, and he is absolutely unsure of what awaits him once he’s left these halls. I want to plant the seeds of possibility, and what may come of them. 

EXTRAS, EXTRAS. ↳ (Uh, I’m enlisting admin privilege?? Once game play begins, trust that there’s going to be loads of unnecessary edits flooding his account, but for right now, it’s a little bare.)

[storyknitter]

The Old Guard (3/7)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

The ‘message received’ notification pinged Theron’s implants as he was finishing up a meeting with one of his Zakuulan contacts. When he saw who the message was from, he fought to keep a smile off his face.

When you get back tomorrow, would you like to have dinner? I’ll be reviewing reports (ugh, forever) in my quarters.

-Sanna

Theron tamped down a swell of impatience as he dragged his focus back to the rest of his mission. It would be stupid -- not to mention dangerous -- to get sloppy simply because he wanted to see Sanna. As soon as he was able, he responded:

Wouldn't miss it. I should be back on time, so I’ll grab us something from the cantina on my way in. Then we can both deal with reports, but hopefully it won’t take forever.

T

Theron had been off-planet for almost three weeks at this point; he also knew that more likely than not, he was going to be heading out again shortly after his arrival. Sighing with disappointment, he tried to think positively -- until a few months ago, he hadn’t seen Vassanna in five long years and had believed her to be dead for two of them.

Knowing that Sanna was only a holo-call or text message away didn’t completely ease the sting of being away from her -- she still felt just as out of reach during those nights as she had been while in carbonite. Theron knew it wasn’t true, but damn, he wanted to see her for more than just a few days at a time. If this intel panned out, though, the two of them would be heading to Zakuul -- together. Yeah, it would be for Alliance business and yeah, it would be dangerous... but it would be just the two of us. I could deal with that.

Despite his frustration, Theron couldn’t keep a smirk off his face for most of the shuttle flight back to Odessen. All that he really wanted to do was spend time with her... and it appeared she felt the same.

By the time Theron arrived on Odessen, the dinner rush was already over; the only food he was able to acquire were cold sandwiches which, while still good, weren’t quite the same as steaming hot nerf burgers and fries. It didn’t help that practically every person he’d walked past needed “just a minute” of his time, for one reason or another. Food in hand -- finally -- he turned towards the elevator leading to the Commander’s quarters.

Theron sighed in relief as he cast a glance around the War Room and found it nearly empty. I swear, if one more person stops me, I’m gonna punch ‘em in the teeth--

“Theron! One moment, if you please,” called out a very amused-sounding blonde Sith, as she walked in from Aygo’s military wing. He paused, taking a deep breath and squaring his shoulders, and turned to meet his cohort.

“Lana. Good to see you.” His smile was more forced than he thought, judging from Lana’s raised eyebrow and the glimmer of mischief in her golden eyes. “Uh, hang on a sec, I have that intel we discussed...” Theron handed her one of the drink cups and began shifting around the rest of the food he was holding, attempting to dig out a data spike from one of his many jacket pockets.

“Excellent. What else did you find out about this Firebrand character? I’d love a summary of your trip, if you can spare the time.” Lana said, seemingly ignoring Theron’s clenched jaw. “We can discuss it over dinner, since you’ve so kindly brought me a sandwich. How did you know that I hadn’t eaten yet?” she asked, chuckling at his narrowed eyes. “Oh, just go have dinner with Vassanna already. She’s missed you, you know.” He fought down a broad grin as the blonde Sith handed him back the drink container.

“We can discuss business tomorrow morning, Theron. Shall I find you in the Commander’s quarters, as per usual? Perhaps 0930? I trust you won’t be as... distracted as you’ve been on prior occasions.” Theron shot Lana a look that would have melted durasteel as a flush of embarrassment crept up his neck. His relationship with Sanna -- whatever it was -- had to be one of the worst-kept secrets on base. And Lana had a front row seat.

“Yeah, that sounds great,” he said, voice strained. Lana gave him an innocent smile and bid him a pleasant evening, the emphasis she placed on her words causing the blush to inch up into his ears as he walked the last few meters to Sanna’s room.

Stacking the cups on top of one another and balancing the wrapped sandwiches in his arms to reach the keypad, Theron opened the door and walked in, a greeting dying on his lips. Sanna was fast asleep, balled up on the couch and lightly snoring, datapad on the floor. The corner of his mouth quirked up, realizing she was wrapped in his old red jacket, though it was far too large for her: her head was pillowed in the collar and shoulder, arms tucked to her chest, and green fingers peeked out of the sleeves, curled delicately around the edge of the cuffs.

The sound of the door latching into place behind him was enough to wake her from her nap. Vassanna’s eyes flew open with a sleepy gasp, before breaking into a sweet, contented smile when she saw Theron. She sat upright with a yawn, stretching and rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “Mmmm... hi,” she said in a quiet, drowsy voice.

“Hey. Nice jacket you’ve got there,” the spy said with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. He set their dinner on the table and took a seat next to her as she glanced down, blushing furiously and biting her lip when she realized what she was still wearing. “It suits you, Sanna.” He ran his thumb along her jaw and leaned in, her cheek still sleepy-warm under his lips, imprints from the jacket seams sharp on the side of her face.

She snorted, a wry expression on her features. “Please. While that’s sweet of you to say, the combination of green skin and red leatheris makes me look like a Life Day decoration.”

Theron chuckled and couldn’t contain a grin. “Well,” he drawled, “you look like a very pretty Life Day decoration.”

Sanna rolled her eyes with a smile as he tugged gently on the collar to pull her into another kiss. His hand slid to the nape of her neck as his other reached for her waist, slipping under the jacket and drawing her closer. With a contented sigh, she shifted and swung her leg over, straddling his lap. Lips still pressed to his, her hands found his face, one drifting back to tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck.

The flare of possessiveness that Theron felt went hand in hand with the smug satisfaction of seeing her wearing his clothing. It -- whatever this relationship was turning into -- felt more real for some reason. As though it were a display of her feelings, that she’d chosen him, nevermind the fact that he hadn’t really worn said clothing in ages. You’re really reading too much into this, Shan, he thought. It’s just a jacket. He gently broke the kiss and pulled back to look at her, smirking to cover his thoughts.

“Just out of curiosity -- is there any reason in particular you raided my closet instead of your own? I don't mind, but if you were cold, I know you've got a handful of sweaters that actually fit you and aren't monstrously huge,” he said, flicking back the edge of the collar. “And yanno, there are blankets.”

“First of all, you left it here,” she said defensively, brows furrowed, and gestured to her quarters. Glancing at him briefly, Sanna bit her lip before dropping her eyes and nervously scratching the back of her ear. When she finally spoke, it was quiet, faltering. “It... your old jacket I mean, it’s-- hmm. It’s comfortable? And it still smells like you. Just a little. Just enough.” She picked at the shoulder seam of his current jacket in an effort to avoid looking at him.

There was a pause that felt like an eternity before she spoke again, her voice low and timid. “And it makes it easier to fall asleep when you’re not here. I could just be making this up, I don’t know, but it feels like I--” The words tumbled out in a rush, the self-conscious blush creeping back to her cheeks as she spoke. “It feels like I dream less and sleep more.” Theron ran his thumb along her jaw again, eyes softening as he gazed at her.

“Well, if that’s the case, I did promise you that I’d keep things running smoothly. I’d say that requires a well-rested Commander, don’t you?” Vassanna peeked up at him, violet eyes meeting his below long dark lashes, and his heart stuttered as she gave him that warm smile of hers. “I’ll make you a deal, Sanna. You can keep the jacket, wear it whenever you want.”

“And what would you like in return?” A raised eyebrow accompanied her question.

You, he thought. Just you. “How about dinner?” Theron suggested.

A blindingly bright grin appeared on Sanna’s face before she kissed him soundly. “You drive a hard bargain, Theron Shan, but you’ve got yourself a deal.”

That evening on Odessen was the beginning of a small and lovely -- yet mostly unspoken -- ritual between the pair: anytime that one had to go on a mission without the other, or would be apart for more than a day or two, Theron would wear his old jacket around their quarters so she could wear it when she was on her own.

He pretended it was solely for Sanna's benefit, but inwardly knew the truth: he was being selfish. He rested easier and worried about her less, knowing that she had some small comfort when he wasn't there. Maybe Vitiate wouldn't torment her as badly while she slept. Maybe he still would, but hopefully, she'd feel better after waking up alone.

Theron had promised Sanna that he would take care of things, herself included, and he was going to do his damnedest to keep that promise.

[academla]

Overwhelmed.

Guys, it’s only day 2 of school and I’m already feeling overwhelmed. I took 5 classes last semester, but I don’t know if I can do it this semester. I have 26,475 words to read for my honors seminar due next Tuesday, I have lengthy and back-to-back assignments for my child psychology, assignments due pretty much every week for children’s lit, and the online homework for world civilizations is monstrously long. I’m feeling just totally overwhelmed right now, and when I went on the world civ Blackboard I was super confused about the schedule and structure and started freaking out a bit. I set up a meeting with the professor tomorrow, but it’s a lot of content whichever way you slice it. Not to mention the cost of the textbooks. I can get some stuff online, and some older editions, but it’s still going to be $50 that I do not have. I’m trying to do a study schedule, but there’s just so many deadlines and assignments I can’t cope at the moment.

I’m currently having trouble breathing/am on the verge of tears about all of this, but I’m going to take a deep breath and remind myself that I can do it, there’s time to drop a class if need be, and everything will work out. I think for me the realization that I likely won’t be able to maintain a 4.0 with this course load is a ding to my pride and something that’s difficult to come to terms with. Plus, I need to tutor and work to make money and I’m so totally overwhelmed by the fact that I don’t have enough money. It doesn’t help that I’m also on my period and super emotional, lol. 

I’m just going to finish my study schedule and then force myself to take a break. I need to do some self care. So I’ll do that, and then maybe start my readings. And breathe, because school doesn’t matter that much in the end. My mental health comes first. Anyway, wish me luck and send me money (jk, although thank you to the follower who recently donated some) and hopefully everything will work out.