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endeaavorr · 3 years

Text

[18.23]

the third vibrate from your phone successfully prodded your eyes to wake. your left arm numb from the way you accidentally slept on it hurriedly reaches out to put your phone on silent, not wanting to wake him up. ah yes, him. you look at the dimmed screen of your phone, 5.00 am 8th of August.

your heart warms at the sight. you lean back to the mattress facing up, trying to stretch your body properly before starting up the day. you turn your head to the left and see his sleeping figure. the slow rise of his chest, the slight part of his lips, and the nasty scar, as shoto calls it, settling happily across the side of his face.

you don’t usually get to see this side of him, either because he doesn’t come home that night from work, or you’re too tired to pay attention, or the two of you passed out right after doing it. so you hit the snooze button once more and studies his face, your right hand now softly leaning on his broad chest, neat fingers tracing the outlines of his never aging face.

but the morning haze soon is replaced by your default mode. pulling enji’s cover to his chin to keep him warm, you get up to start preparing breakfast, you wanted to make it extra special for today.

for the last month the two of you has been, how do you say it, distant. you were taking extra shifts at your agency to afford this watch you wanted to give him on his birthday. even so, since you can’t tell him why he’s starting to come home to a cold empty house, it’s been quiet and rather uncomfortably awkward. you kinda feel bad in a way, so you’re determined to make today work.

you were so drowned in your thoughts, you didn’t even realize enji already woke up and finished his morning run.

“good morning, papa.” you greet him with your usual kind eyes.

“morning,”

he’s fresh out of the shower, wearing a sleeveless shirt and a lounge short, a small towel sitting on his damp hair. he sits on the tatami while you plate breakfast for the two of you. the air is dry and suddenly even the tatami is not that comfortable.

breakfast was quiet, it has always been quiet. but not like this, it’s normally filled with you clinging to his arm and playfully sneak your head under his arms right above his folded feet, facing him with a half closed sleepy smile.

you steal glances at him but he’s always looking down. just when you have the courage to break the silence, he says i enjoyed the food, and puts his dish in the sink.

“i’m staying out tonight, don’t wait up for me.”

you were only able to muster a ‘good luck at work, papa!’ before he’s gone again.

it’s 5pm. you just got home from enji’s agency, dropping of a set of suit you picked up from the launderer. reservation is at 8pm, you have three hours to call him about it and get ready yourself.

“hello,”

“ah papa ! are you busy now ?”

“yeah, i thought i told you this morning.”

it’s a lie, you asked his assistant and his schedule is empty from 5pm above.

“well, not according to your assistant apparently.”

it’s silent.

“well, i just dropped off something for you at the receptionist ! make sure to wear them, dinner’s at ___ at 8pm under my name, i’ll see you there papa ! i love you!”

“wait—“

you leaned to the wall behind you and press your phone to your chest in a relieved sigh. really, you’ve been living together literally your whole life, how are you still nervous like a preteen talking to their first crush ?

you shake your head mentally and start to get ready. in the mean time.. enji is dumbfounded. he’s just confused and the receptionists are grinning knowingly, which makes him even more, confused. good thing his office has a shower and a spare room though.

it’s 7pm. you apply some final touches of light make up. the two light honks from outside signals that your driver is here, ready to take you. the restaurant is pretty close from enji’s office, but it takes a good 25 min walk from the todoroki residence and you don’t wanna ruin your hair.

you get up and look at yourself in the mirror, you’re wearing a black designer dress that exposes your shoulders with a small purse on the right of your hand. you’re ready to go.

8 pm.

“ah, endeavor-san, how can i help you tonight ?”

the hostess welcomes enji with a polite smile.

“i have a reservation under my daughter’s name, todoroki y/n.”

“right this way, sir.”

enji follows the hostess to a more secluded table from the others, he notices it’s way quieter than the main dining hall, the view next to both of the seats are the wide view of city lights. the waiter serving them tonight introduces himself and hands him the menu, while pouring water from a sealed glass bottle to enji’s glass. he looks through some pages but then decided to just wait for you to order.

you arrive no later than five minutes after he did, welcomed by the same hostess, and immediately taken to your table.

“you look good, papa.”

“you too,”

he takes his time to scan over you, your neatly styled hair, your set of greenish ocean eyes that matches his, the scar on your left cheek that you wear proudly, and lastly the way he realizes again just how breathtaking you are.

on the other side, you feel your heart flutter. he looks really good. the slightly opened white shirt, the perfectly tailored navy suit, emphasizing his strong arms that has saved way too many lives, too many times.

enji was too busy staring at you he didn’t even bother taking a look at his menu. and by the time the waiter was ready to take his order, he just went with the classic i’ll have one of what she’s having.

“how’s your day, papa?” you started the conversation.

“it’s normal, busy.”

you place your right hand on top of his, thumb gently rubbing comforting strokes on his palm.

“i missed you, you know.”

“well, you’re the one who’s been away so much.”

you’re honestly a bit startled at his bluntness, he usually won’t do things like this. you get a bit shy and shifts your gaze from his to where your palms are lightly entangled.

“i’m sorry papa, i can’t help it, i needed extra shifts.”

“for what ? is it about money ? you know you can always ask me, right ? i don’t mind providing for you for the rest of my life as long as i get to come home to you, and not just a cold dead hall.”

you’re out of words, his brows is contorted, and the glint in his eyes shows something you guessed to be dissapointment ? guilt ?

“i’m sorry,” you say again, hands shyly squeezing his and the other toying with the ends of your skirt. your heart still goes on a marathon when it comes to him.

the dinner was nice, it’s slow paced and calm, just like how he likes it. the little tense you two had is now slowly melting away. opting to take a walk home instead, you walk hand in hand under the generous light of the moon.

enji took off his suit halfway and put it around you, keeping his right hand in his pocket while his other is entangled with your much smaller one. his shirt has now one more button open, sleeves rolled neatly three times as they rest proper on half of his arm.

you can’t stop smiling, butterflies going crazy in your stomach like a lovesick fool, that you maybe are. you don’t know if it’s from the wine, but he’s way more talkative right now, you’re making jokes here and there, laughing to yourself while gripping his hand tighter and hugging his arms with your other hand. he’s laughing a little too, not that he doesn’t appreciate it, that’s just how he is.

you’re waiting to cross the road at the last junction before you reach your home, the road is clean empty but the light is still red. the both of you don’t mind, he takes this chance to pull you tighter against him and breathe the always comforting natural scent of your hair.

your solace is interrupted by the ding of the crossing light turning green, but enji doesn’t let go, so you start walking slowly like that, pressed against each other, steps getting tangled making it hard to walk. the things you do for love.

it’s 11 pm.

he goes in first while you lock the front door and make sure all the lamps in the yard are on. he sits down and starts to take off his shoe, you quickly slipped of your heels and crouched between his legs to do it for him instead. your short dress riding up, displaying your already exposed milky thighs in its glory.

you can tell where he’s looking and feel the twitch of your insides from the yearning you’ve been holding back. he reaches out his right hand to caress your cheek. you lean to his rough hands and give him a faint smile before you push your body towards his in attempt of pinning him down, disguised by an innocent hug. your head resting on his chest while he supports himself with one arm and holds you back with the other. he face touches the bare skin of your neck and finds comfort there. pressing kisses that quickly turned wet.

you lift up your head and pulled his supporting hand towards you, making sure he’s fully laid on the wooden floor, arms caging his head, hazy eyes looking down on his meaningful orbs. it’s not long before you crash your lips together in a desperate kiss, your spit drooling down his chin, his stubble grazing the smooth well cared surface of your face.

you sit down on his crotch and he abruptly breaks the kiss with a groan, but you’re quick to grab his face and pull him in an even more passionate open mouthed kiss, his hands find the swell of your ass and guide them so you’re now grinding on his growing bulge too.

the mutual need to breathe forces both of you to break the kiss. foreheads now touching together, heavy ragged breath mixing, the intimacy making you dizzy. but the high wears off sooner than you thought and you can’t help but hide your reddened face to his neck, not wanting him to see you blush, hands clutching him tight as he sits back up holding you properly.

“let’s go take a bath, i’m sweaty.”

you can only offer a weak nod, still too embarrassed of what you just did. he hoists you up to his shoulder and carries you to the bathroom.

it’s so warm. you’re sitting between his legs leaning to him, his strong arms on your stomach protectively, body radiating comforting warmth to yours, making the both of you completely relaxed.

you almost let yourself fall asleep if not that you remember about his gift. so you get up first, telling him to enjoy the bath a little longer and go sprint to your room.

you quickly dried your hair and put on a set of babydoll you’ve been keeping for this day. it’s a simple white see through babydoll with soft lace that hangs prettily on your supple thighs. you put on your sleep robe and go to his room with a deep green paperbag on your right hand.

it’s 11.30 pm.

the futon is laid and you’re sitting above it on your knees, your gift hidden behind your figure.

enji comes out of the bathroom already in his sleepwear, a black set of loose shirt and a matching pants. his hands are still busy trying to dry his own hair until he looks up at the sight of you and pauses.

you pat the spot next to you, signaling him to sit there. he walks up to you and sit crossed legged in front of you. he can see the rather big paperbag behind you but decided not to say anything.

“what is it ?”

you opened your mouth in attempt to answer him but was left with nothing, so you just shoved the paperbag and places it in on the little space between the two of you, encouraging him to open it. he’s still not getting it and looks at you with genuinely asking eyes, but you’re too stubborn to meet his eyes and just keep looking at the walls to your right, peach blush already forming again.

“it’s for you,” you brave yourself to look at him in the eyes and finally say it, “happy birthday, papa.”

enji felt like his brain short circuited. but you ushered him to open your gift before he could say anything. you watch as his big hands fully envelop the big green box inside, the one your clumsy hands almost dropped.

he opend the box and stares at it for a while. it’s a platinum rolex day-date 40 from it’s 2021 men collection.

“this is expensive,” was the first respond he let out.

“we-well, that’s why i’d been taking extra shifts,” you sheepishly rub the back of your head. enji’s strong gaze didn’t waver.

“you didn’t have to—“

“but i want to !” you cut him,

“it’s just—“

you grab the pillow behind you and hide your face in it, finding it hard to speak to him eye to eye like this. “i love you, and sometimes i can’t help my feelings, i just thought, this is what people do to their loved ones.. you know,” you explain in a voice growing smaller than before, almost completely muffled by the pillow.

he lets out a sigh before repacking his gift, putting it back inside the paperbag and placing it on his side. you’re getting nervous.. is he mad ? did he not like it ? were you pushing it ?

all your silent doubt dies down as he pulled you close to his chest.

“i love you too, thank you.”

his voice runs beautifully through your ear, the sensation going straight to your heart. you ease up and holds him back.

“um, papa,”

“hn”

“i still have another gift,”

he pulls back and looks at you with a raised brow. you better not have unnecessarily give up you rest just to buy him a ‘gift’, it translates. both your hands come out in front of you in a waving motion to dismiss his half true accusation, but you struggled so much trying to pull out the right words.. you just let out a bashful sigh and unties the knot in front of your outer, before letting the dense fabric hit the floor, revealing the pretty babydoll sitting pretty and proper accentuating your pretty pretty curves.

he stills.

“do-does it look weird..?”

he scans over you for a while but your embarrassment made you thought he was looking at you in a weird way.

your cheeks are heating up, eyes glued to your thighs before you hear a rustle and suddenly your back is against the futon with one arm pinned above your head by his weight, and your other one is in his, you look at you favorite set of eyes that matches yours and the blue sky, he presses your hand to the side of is face and land a deep kiss on the innerside of your wrist, leaning against it while staring back at you.

it was a good birthday.

happy birthday todoroki enji, 8.8.21

#papa!enji #endeavor #endeavor fluff #endeavor smut #endeavor angst #endeavor x reader #endeavor x reader fluff #endeavor x reader smutt #endeavor x reader angst #enji todoroki #enji todoroki fluff #enji todoroki smut #enji todoroki angst #enji todoroki x reader fluff #enji todoroki x reader angst #enji todoroki x reader smut #mha #bnha

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mercurysowntwenty-two · 4 years

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tell me more about lancer!! (I’ve heard of it but never played)

“It is 5016u, and the galaxy is home to trillions. At the core of humanity’s territory there is a golden age, but outside of this newly won utopia the revolutionary project continues... Your character in the world of Lancer is a mechanized cavalry pilot of particular note – a lancer. Whatever the mission, whatever the terrain, whatever the enemy, your character is the one who is called in to break the siege or hold the line. When the drop klaxons sound, it’s up to them to save the day. “ - Introduction, Lancer core rules (pp 10-11)

Lancer is a very good role-playing game about piloting giant robots and using them to make Utopia happen. I’m going to organize this into mechanical things that are Very Good about Lancer and lore things that are Very Good. Here are 12 things I like Very Much about Lancer.

MECHANICAL

1. COMPCON

2. In addition to a primary system of regular old weapons n attacks n hitpoints, there is an entire other system of technological attacks and “heat” hitpoints to represent hacking enemy robots to increasingly bizarre effect. Making regular physical attacks is tied to physical weapon “mounts” on your mech, and these mounts may be destroyed over the course of a fight, so the technology attack system gives players who might otherwise be neutralized something to do the whole time.

3. So much player choice: There are 29 mechs in the core rulebook, another 5 in the first rules supplement, another 3 freely available on the publisher itch.io, then various others in the nooks and crannies of the Lancer discord. Do not be daunted, however! i. In a source like COMPCON above, all the mechs are organized by manufacturer and role. Each in-universe manufacturer matches one of the 4 fundamental mech stats so if you know you’re aiming for a mech that especially interacts with a particular part of the mechanics you’ve already selected out 75% of the choices. a. The matches go like this: Harrison Armory matches to the “Engineering” stat and so their mechs deal with the Heat mechanics in interesting ways, HORUS matches to the “Systems” stat and so they specialize in hacking other mechs and other technological attacks, Interplanetary Shipping-Northstar matches to “Hull” and so builds tanks and tough guys, and Smith-Shimano matches to “Agility” and so builds the sexy ones the ones that have interesting ways of avoiding getting hit. b. Roles are relatively straightforward too! Striker mechs are the close-quarters fighters, artillery are... artillery- long range fighters, controllers do big Areas of Effect or impose conditions or alter character movement, defenders have big shields or are mobile bunkers or are just so darn big they protect those behind them, and support is... support- they share bonuses like repairs with their allies. ii. Take this all together and finding the mech that best suits you is actually real easy despite the long long lists. And if you ever get locked into a build you grow to dislike? At every level up, you can completely replace and overhaul the mech licenses (which represent your ability to use the relevant equipment and frame associated with a given robot) you have so you can try other robots.

4. The NPC system: There are 33 NPC statblocks, organized by the kind of role they have in a potential fight. In addition, there are 12 templates you could potentially apply to an NPC. Both statblocks and templates are defined by “systems”- just little traits and qualities and there are often many optional systems you can slap on for an extra level of customization. Therefore, you can tailor hundreds if not thousands of NPCs out of a seemingly-limited stock. i. The template system means any potential moveset or archetype can be made into a miniboss or boss ii. The template system means you can flavorfully telegraph how an encounter can go- telling the players they are fighting a group of pirates prepares them for coreworm rockets and grapple leashes (hallmarks of the pirate template) regardless of the actual statblock in use. iii. Each statblock is effectively 3 statblocks in one, set to different tiers to match and scale to the level of the players throughout the game (so oops I guess there are 99 NPCs by default) iv. Monstrosity- it’s for Kaiju! it’s also one of the most modular statblocks for all the little tweaks you need for Big Monster v. Squad- for footsoldiers!

5. There is no class system (mechanically speaking, in the lore Union is working on it). Character creation functions through selecting Skill Triggers for situations outside your mech and Talents for situations inside your mech, and mech licenses themselves. Even Backgrounds are mostly just lists of questions in order to prompt character introspection.

6. I put this last down here because it’s kind of at the intersection of the mechanics and the lore, but Lancer has some good random tables for generating things like planets, space stations, people on space stations, Pirate crews, and big Enterprise companies. It’s just good clean fun.

LORE

I also created this google doc for totally unrelated reasons

1. The naming convention of the rings of Union and the Blinkgates- Blinkgates are Lancer’s mechanism of faster-than-light travel. They are Big installations and passing through one can take you to any other instantly. They’re organized into “rings” of the stations that are physically closest to one another, emanating out from Earth. Each ring is named after a mountain range on Earth (now called Cradle because of course) and each gate is named after a peak in that range. This is a real small detail in the grand scheme of things but I adore it because this naming convention is a clear reflection of the priorities and values of the people who did the naming. Every gate by definition is situated in places that humans have already settled, but they’re not named according to local convention. Just so, every gate is situated somewhere in Cradle’s night sky, but they’re not named for things like constellations. Each blinkgate is named after a feature on Cradle because the blinkgates were named by the Second Committee of Union, who had a driving philosophy of Anthrochauvinism (a manifest destiny attitude towards humanity on the galactic stage, with a heavy bias towards humanity as it is on Cradle) and so of course blinkgates are named as a projection of life on Earth onto space without regard for the actual space they occupy.

2. On a related note, according to the starship-battle spinoff Battlegroup, Union names its largest starships- its battleships- after environmentalists. That just warmed my little Environmental Scientist heart, and also is a clear reflection of the Third Committee’s values and priorities (Union rose from the ashes of an environmental disaster on Earth, and the Union Navy under the Third Committee has a general mandate of acting protectively and defensively, so Union has effectively named one set of their people’s protectors after another set of protectors).

3. The fact that every faction is simultaneously in a state of escalating tension. "The Good War" is this inevitable conflict that everyone constantly expects, but it is constantly not here, which just increases the tension further. This makes for good adventure fodder. i. KTB and HA are about to have the Second Interest War in the Dawnline Shore, ii. Union and the Aun are about to have the Second Distal War in Boundary Garden, and SSC is gonna wade into it because geneticists gotta get their samples I guess, iii. IPS-N is about to fall apart from infighting, iv. In the Long Rim HORUS is closing in on Horizon, finding the Fourth Metavault is around the corner

4. Utopia is a verb. Corollary: Union are the enemy you want. Or: Life is good, but it can be better. All this to say, Union is presented as an unambiguous force for good, but the game and the creators make no bones about how Union can be made better (and thus directly put improving the world in the players’ court!).

5. Many Factions are defined by a fundamental expectation-subverting "What If?" i. Union- what if the big bad hegemony that rules over everything was (at least trying to be) the good guys? ii. The Aun- what if the mysterious and mystical theocracy explicitly and literally had the support of a god and thus could back up their claims of manifest destiny? iii. The Corpros- what if all of these awful organizations actually did materially improve people’s lives, instead of that just being a propaganda line they throw out to justify themselves?

6. NHPs- Explaining what’s up with NHPs in full would be a whole Thing, so for now I’ll just share my favorite thing about them: they’re like droids in Star Wars, except the creators actually acknowledge the immorality of the situation and thus generate and encourage discussion about it in the playerbase, rather than just let it be taken for granted (and thus directly put improving the world in the players’ court!).

#Lancer #Lancer rpg

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spoiler1001 · 3 years

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The Queen of Hearts pt 4

Alice couldn’t scream anymore. All she could let out was a pained hiss. Her hair was sticking to her back and face. Her yellow eyes faded away as her eyes rolled up, showing only the bloodshot whites. She looked over at the twins with the expression of helplessness, before her face went slack, the armor covering it.

Despite so much happening, this was only a matter of seconds before Alice was gone and an Angelo armor saw standing where she had been. Reality set in for the twins as they looked over their new opponent.

The armor was emphasizing the gender of the wearier, clinging to Alice’s proportions, while still offering protection. The armor was black as the nightmare that created it, the face, obscured, with only the lips were detailed. Instead of framing her face, the Armor had the horns wrap around the crown of the helmet. There was no cape, only blue wings, but instead of them being feathered, they were skeletal, showing the bones and muscles that would have held those up, if they were physical. The air froze around them.

Three red orbs- the eyes of Mundus- appeared in the sky. It looked over at the situation in humor and amusement. The Angelo paid the voyer no mind, her focus seeming to be tuned into the twins. Vergil had a pained look on his face for a moment before he replaced it with a neutral one. The armor’s texture was not dissimilar to the Nelo Angelo imprisonment that Vergil had suffered. Vergil remembered the pain that it used to bend the person inside of it. Nicoletta was far too correct when she had noted that the Angelos could only be created by an unwilling subject. Two knives formed from her hand, curled like cat’s claws, and even from where the twins were standing, they could see that it was twice as sharp. The Angelo armor lunged forward, slashing at where the twins were, but both could teleport away from the attack, but both felt the wind from the knives striking the air where they were.

The Angelo stumbled from the force of the blow, hissing, and growling. Both sons of Sparda skidded as they landed behind the armor. Finally, the Angelo looked up at the demon in the audience and hissed at it, her leg bending at an impossible angle. The leg popped back into place and kept her glare on the monster watching her suffering. Even Nightmare pulled back.

“Deal with them.” Mundus’ voice boomed. It was angry, forceful. The Angelo hesitated. For several moments, but still looked over at the twins. Bits of Nightmare flung from the knight, but it still stood tall.

Vergil clenched his jaw and pushed the blade of the Yamato an inch out of the sheath. Dante summoned the sword that shares his own name. Magic built up in the air causing sparks to fly around and flames burned themself out. The Angelo cocked her head to the side, causing the bones to snap and pop in a sickening way. It would have been worrying if she couldn’t heal.

Dante and Vergil knew that they could take the upper hand in the fight if they moved, but neither took a step forward. Let the Angelo come to them. And she did. The twin blades might as well have been snake fangs with how they were hooked. The twins danced around her just as quickly. The Angelo stopped for a moment and changed battle strategies. Going after both at the same time was not doing her any favors, so it was in her best interest to go after one of them. Dante was her twin of choice, lucky for him. She threw one of her blades at him. Dante saw it coming and flashed away. The Angelo tilted her head to the side. The knife bounced on a rock, launching to where Dante would reappear. He wasn’t prepared for the knife to dig into his shoulder. The surprise caused Dante to stumble foreward, opening himself to another attack.

Unfortunately for the Angelo and fortunately for Dante, the eldest of the two sons of Sparda stepped in, appearing behind her. The blade of the Yamato stuck out from the center of her chest.

“Fuck! You could have done that sooner.” Dante hissed and pulled out the bloody knife. “When the hell did she learn how to bounce knives.” He asked, mostly to himself, not expecting an answer. The Angelo coughed and grabbed at the sword, causing her hands to bleed.

Vergil ignored his brother and watched the Angelo carefully, digging the sword in deeper before pulling out halfway.

“‘I curse my stars in bitter grief and woe; that made my love so high and me so low.’” Vergil whispered into the ear of the Angelo, the poem working as a sort of spell. The skeletal wings fluttered and caused a wind to kick up dust. As it fluttered they pulled away to show the properly feathered and red wings that were a comfort in this. Dante flinched back as the wings moved around. The nightmare meted away, soaking back into the ground, exposing the forest that was in ruins Mundus was no longer visibly there but, they could still feel him watching. The Armor was dropping off of Alice in chunks The magic that had fueled it was gone. The helmet was almost completely off, showing Alice’s face. Her eyes had gone back to their default navy blue. Her skin was still ghastly gray, but black veins were still pushing against her skin. Alice looked up into Vergil’s eyes, a grateful smile gracing her face, despite the fact that she was still grasping the blade sticking out of her chest. Vergil pulled the blade out. The armor bubbled before running off like water. Alice wrapped her arms around herself collapsed to her knees.

“Fuck.” She whispered, black dripping from her mouth. She willed her wings to dissipate.

Vergil knelt beside her and slipped his coat off of him. Alice’s stance wavered as she collapsed in on herself.

Vergil caught her and wrapped her up in the coat. Alice let out a choked sob.

“What the hell?” Dante finally asked. He didn’t know if he was asking about what just happened or how it did. The question hung there for a moment.

“The armor consumes- digging into an unwilling soul. It disassembles someone while using the building blocks to become its own thing. Give her time to find herself again.” Vergil said through gritted teeth. Alice was looking at something distant, through reality itself.

Only a slight muscle twitch gave her away, summoning the wings out to push both of them away from her. Dante was ready to fight the living armor again, but Vergil only cared to pick himself up and gain his bearings.

#devil may cry #devil may cry fanfiction #dmc vergil #dmc alice #dmc dante

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softsweetsuffering · 3 years

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OC LIST (New)

Trey:

Has an ability to mimic or amplify abilities/powers of others, as well as telekinesis

Was previously part of a group of people who also had abilities, however after mistreatment and other issues within the group, he left.

He's got a good wealth behind him.

Extremely gentle

Handsome ;)

Loves photography

Has lavender hair

Respects all

'Secretly' Plays violin

Lowkey a sugardaddy

Hamrish Benat:

Has four eyes!

Pink and blonde hair

He loves parkour (as in climbing buildings and leaping around in gyms)

Has PTSD (There are two AUS of which I default as to how he obtained it)

Ready to deck a bitch

Trained nurse

Loves teddy bears and fuzzy pink socks.

Also goes by Hami/Hayden

Andy peters:

Strong, kind.

The quiet Big Type, doesn't always talk, but his heart is in good places.

Wishes he could do more

Buff + Tall

Wears a pair of dogtags.

Has red streaks in his hair for the fun of it

Is extremely brotherly to Adrian

is friends with Hami

Adrian Géarán:

Nervous Malnutritioned anxiety filled tired mess

Has emotionally linked fire abilities (does not like having them)

likes to make little robots!

Easily bullied

Missing an arm

Struggles with normal life

Blames himself for Andys death

Looks unintentionally vaguely like Fry from Futurama

Chris:

Leader of a summer camp for kiddos

Huge fan of the outdoors

Loves to garden

Red head with freckles

Healthy!

Good build, a little on the below-average male height

Likes to hike

Loves kids

Strong but pacifistic

Great smile

Surprisingly a little shy around other adults

Bisexual

Himbo energy

Douglas Connelly:

Just a regular chubby guy

His chub is only important because this man gives some of the best hugs, he's like a marshmallow

He is outwardly confident about his size, even if it sometimes worries him internally

He loves music, loves to groove in the kitchen while making snacks

Always open for roommates and new friends (one of his roommates is a hot bartender called Donovan)

A bit awkward but he tries his best.

Tucker:

Badass

Bunny hybrid (ears :3)

White hair

Likes to wear denim jackets

Fast runner

Has had experience working in the force

Izekiel Iris:

Bruised and abused in a facility

Was turned from human into A being of made of Paint (Useful? no. Fun? yes. Rainbow blood anyone?)

Loves painting

Wallflower

Easily anxious

Loves to draw on his own arms

Matthew Libelle:

Aka Matty Very delayed development wise as well as Autistic

Very much a texture lad, soft blankets are his thing.

Doesn't like loud sounds ( who does honestly).

Tries his hardest to function normally but it's hard.

Watermelon colours are his fav. Green hoodie is his fav.

Has watermelon pink hair.

Gale:

Eldritch bab

Was cursed by a group of guys who were messing with magics they didn't understand

Did in fact murder said group of guys and is traumatised by the idea he has become a monster

hears voices

Has Tendrils that have burst out of his back

Has the ability to move from this realm to the Eldritch planes and back. (is terrified of said planes)

Doesn't have a home

Black curly hair- frizzy- shimmers like Slick oil

Shy type kinda, tall Pale. cold.

Kinda wishes he could just go back to normal.

Would really like to eat some fresh warm bread.

Rowan maverick

Was abandoned as a teen

Also known as Rogue/Red.

Lost some of their tongues making them mute

Trained Assassin.

Previously part of a cult

Addict to painkillers (Caused by the mental issues from the cult and the loss of tongue.)

Bad with Physical affection

Could use a friend

Jace

Cop/Ex Cop.

Laid off after an incident

Has a pubby called Otis

Likes the occasional beer

Dad energy

Issac Merewen

Was previously a Teacher - grade 11/12s

Kidnapped and kept Drugged the hell up.

Was given the new name: Jess/Jack. AKA The Jester

Now has Amnesia problems .(Anomic aphasia)

Was stored Cramped in box.

Needs glasses. (Long sighted. Cant see Infront of him for shit without glasses. He specifically likes round ones :3)

Natrually Blonde

He was very inspired by the Chitty Chitty bang bang scene, “Doll on a music box”.

- He naturally has two different coloured eyes :D

-He likes podcast n occasionally audiobooks. Its good for learning/remembering words, and way easier than straining his eyes. Although it is upsetting occasionally when he can remember more of a book/podcast he’s into more than real words or real-life things.

Tyrone Li

Incubus.

Wise, Patient, caring.

Brown tattoos wind up his hips and torso, curling around his chest around his heart, and around his back, flaring at his neck.

Glasses.

Loves plants and flora

Sex lost meaning when he was younger. He wants true intimacy again but he wants to find the right person..

Glamors hide the following features:

Tail, brown that gradients into Green, Leaf like tip.

Horns, curled. (green tipped :0)

Glamors break usually after a certain period of time regardless of feeding, however, during bad situations/fight the body may unglamour to reserve the last of its energy.

Caspian:

Basically immortal but can die (Reincarnations)

Not a pacifist, but not instantly into violence

He was blessed by the Heart of the Ocean (Shes wonderful <3)

Can control water, can do minor healing with water

Can make water bubble/ boil when angry

Glowy veins when powers are active

He has had many many lives

Soft..caring..Doesnt remember alot of his past..

Doesn't know how many times hes died

Doesn't have alot of family or friends

Goes on many adventures

Elio Solren.

Nickname: Sunshine

Good lad.

Is a shapeshifter Dealt with being told he was happy and always upbeat. People leaving or ignoring him whenever he wasn't started building this sense of need to be happy all the time for others.

Lots of struggles with self image. Being perfect. Appeasing everyone. Poor self body love/self body image.

Is scared about The hate from humans about shifters. The jealousy and fear about them being able to hide behind other faces.

Smiles to hide the pain

Punk/hipster vibes

Intricate golden tattoos

Doesn't open up easily

Doesn't like to admit to being in pain

Kotori

AKA Corey

Owl lad!

Bright yellow piercing eyes. But is totally blind. (Face scars)

Loves music.

Plays the uke.. hums..sings sometimes.

Big wings- like barn owl.

Likes to perch in trees

Jeremey Caulfield

Winter baby

Was left bleeding in the snow at some point

Father Lovely old man (John)

Mother died (Ellie)

Birthday December 23h

Blue eyes

Black hair

Russel

Box boy

Glasses

Red hair

Real sweetheart

Really needs more dev ; ;

Jules

Loves tofu n chicken

Touchstarved

Stubborn af

Kicks ass!

Has Sass

Wears binders/sports bras for Lotsa running n such

Black hair big messy pigtails

Dark brown eyes.

Has a navy bear sleeps with it ‘doesn't care’ about it but does

Gymnast/kickboxing. Bandages around hands

Loved swinging bars since being a kiddo

Trampolines!!

Participates in Underground fight ring to make easy money

Sleeps on just a mattress

Has a laptop for study work but she's slowly giving up on bothering.

(She's not one originally but Werewolf Jules is one of my fav things)

Miles

Part mole, part orphan

Lives underground

Very light-sensitive

Is colourblind

Absolute nerd

loves tinkering with things

is scared of humans

very foggy memories of his parents.

Leilah/ Lei

Can make/control shadows.

Owns a Magic skull(Speaks to it)

Lives in the woods

Wears a skull to spook off people from her woods

Has Tattoos that are shadow/absorb shadows

Kinda bad at maintaining friendships

Emotionally Distant

Wears a cloak.

Bao Ketsuyki

Blood magic bab

Short

East Asian.

Pink/red medium length hair

Big pretty red flower scar from blood magic use on her shoulder/ back.

Little bit foolish, little bit reckless.

Has almost died a few times from her magic use.

Oran Audun

Pale

Punk

Irish

Plays Guitar

Writes in journal, occasionally song lyrics, occasionally little messy ink drawings.

Easy to aggravate (On edge) however is trying to learn how to meditate and be calmer

Covered head to toe in scars but still tries to find confidence in himself. He doesn't find it unattractive, but he feels like others have no need to witness his scars.

loves wearing leather/fabric wrist bracelets

Unwelcome hands have used his body as a research object

Very very against physical contact, needs to break into it.

Ray

Social worker works mainly with kids.

Has a Shy guy tattoo.

His family consists of a Good ma, younger sister, and super baby brother

Dad died but dad was good.

Dirty blonde hair, kinda messy

Short, 5’

Socks the pupper is his helpful lil buddy (hes so round and white and fluffy)

Super dad vibes.

Owen

a hockey player n gymnast.

His mother died when he was about 9.

has an older brother who is a bit of a big jock type

quite protective and caring of his two much younger siblings.

ended up in a nasty scuffle though at some point during his more competitive years in Hockey

This leads to following his passion for Gym

Pole vault, the rings, trampoline.

Still plays hockey among mates or strangers on the weekends in the cold months tho

Ends up taking a position as a gym teacher for kids after taking a childhood course since he was so good at it.

actually a really sweet guy

Soft but likes his sport and jokes.

He can hold his own somewhat more than he appears.

has blue tips/stripes in his blonde hair.

He often wears varsity jackets or baseball tees. As well as a couple other sport wear shirts. (A. Good few are from his bro ofc. Free merch)

He's short but he's got a fairly decent build on him.

He's got a surprisingly good tackle if you aren't careful. And a good grip strength.

Nohea

but everyone calls him Noah.

Works at a Boba tea cafe..

likes to surf.

has an Epic board.

Back and shoulders all littered with lines and tic tac toe-like scars.

he's the type to brush off any questions and change topic while smiling. But not super bubbly. Just. Go lucky.

has a few friends who like to hang out at the cafe

Was in a surfing accident that involved a lot of rocks.

Ila

4’8 Soft. Short.

Ready to protect.

Loves to bake!!!

Smells like a vanilla cupcake most of the time

Isn't afraid to fight although isn't trained

likes Yoga ( and yoga pants)

Needs glasses but doesn't wear them (tsk tsk, unless tryign to read recipes)

Dyes hair silver/white

Jake

Homeless

Snake hybrid can transform his lower half from human legs to tail

Also has fangs, and therefore venom

He's got a lot of sass

Can be a bit of an asshole but soft around the right people

Isn't used to kindness

doesn't cry easily

Steals food

Mac Hiato

Also known as Caf

5’6

Very Grumpy.

Very often has bags under his eyes.

Hoodie is life

Insomnia has serious trouble sleeping.

Has nightmares of strangulation

Occasionally sufferers sleep paralysis

Scared of dark- night lights

Owns a mouse called Bean

Does freelancing webdesgisn/coding as job.

Sits like a gay.

Lives on coffee

Minorly Lactose intolerant

Has One bad eye

Neema

Egyptian

Mechanic

Her dad's a mechanic and used to bring her to work all the time

dead mum: which affected her ability to emote.

Works part time at the garage

Dad likes to bring gifts on their small catch-ups that happen every once in a while.

Sheeee. Suffers a bit of resting bitch face.

she's kinda stunted emotionally because she was raised by her dad, who, isn't great with emotions himself being a man's man and all.

She's very much a tomboy gal. Doesn't exactly get dressed up. because she finds it tiresome and not "her".

Also if she did/does have friends the nickname Nemo 100% crops up because it's sadly alll too fitting but also kinda sweet.

She's actually really into cars and mechanics. Which is one of the few good reasons her dad and her are close.

She's hard to get to know, very quiet. And if you're someone who dominates the conversation she won't speak up much, but you'll be surprised to how much she's listened.

Just because she looks tired and done doesn't actually mean she feels that way.

Samson (Lemonade boi)

His name is Samson, but he prefers Sun/Sunny. (Other more affectionate nicknames include Lemondrop and Sunflower.)

He really likes going out to markets and stuff like that, little stalls or knick knack shops to find the odd kinda items.

He also really likes wandering big forests. (Hes got some o that fae energy) He collects various cool stones/rocks/plants from some of them. He also has some small vials from waterfalls and ponds he’s encountered)

He wants to practice magic to become a witch! He loves the candles and rocks and other cool things that come with the craft. (He inherited things from his father)

He really likes loose fitting shirts too, like flowy things, ones with sleeves that drape past your fingers, or has extra fabric on the bottom that dangle down past hips. (Sometimes they come from the ladies section just because they’re softer and have more variety. Others from op shops and other niche little stores.)

He bought a cologne from a witch that looks cursed but the only curse is that it makes the one who puts it on smell like citrus..so not much of curse. (The bottle looks fuckin neato tho)

He looves fizzy drinks. Doesn’t mind his alcohol either, however it takes a surprising amount to get him on his ass despite looking like a serious lightweight.

He’s pretty average in build, bit of muscle in his arms, some fat on his thighs. Slight pouch of a tum (cause no ones flat and thats unrealistic :<)

He’s about 5′4. So not tall, but not the shortest of the short.

He kinda likes to backpack about. Not staying in places long if they get boring. Which means he is kinda jack of all trades when it comes to work, offering to fix things for pay, lots of casual work doing various things.(One of his favorites was helping a little old lady run a paint shop.)

He occasionally snorts when he laughs and tries not to.

He has his ears pierced, and he has a little yellow gemed stud in his nose.

The ring around his neck he found in the middle of a patch of mushrooms.

He has a couple other tattoos. One of them is of bubbles up his wrist :3 He also has some stars on his ankle, and a sunflower on one of his fingers on his left hand.

He’s not super in to gardening but he does have his lemon tree. He also wants to grow some mandarins

His eyes look silver in a lot of lights, but occasionally there’s some strange hints of yellow, and other times blue.

He has freckles!!!! that look alot like bubbles ;)

He has a twin brother called Fraser.

Scrunches his nose

Hides his laughter behind his hand

#OC List #ocs #god this took forever #B's Ocs #my list #oc list new #fuck me ; ;#im not gonna tag all of them.. its not worth it..#thanks for the reminder anon

1 note · View note

sunritual · 3 years

Text

Let’s try this again

They should make a law where if the police don’t read you your Miranda rights you get out of jail free, like if you don’t get your receipt at fast food restaurants you get a mail free

The shaggy law - There should be a law that if you continuously and shamelessly deny doing something, no matter how indisputably obvious it is that you did it, you should get off free for pure savegery.

Confederates as “rebels for tradition” is laughable

Ram rainbow spiral horns profile.

People think grammar rules are etched into the universe — they’re not. When people say AAve is incorrect and ignorant, they say that their conception of how one should speak is inherently correct despite no evidence/truth. Grammar is agreed upon not mandated

Hippie sauce infusion pizza joint

Plain nude balconette with little purple and pink flowers at wiring

How could anyone predict anything happening but how could any be surpised either

Hierarchies - nahhhh

Humans aren’t inherently higher than any other creature or thing, but as humans i don’t think it’s wrong to prioritize other humans. There no better or worse but there is optimal for certain environments and lifestyles.

What differentiates a piece of art from a slightly different replica - when is it an entirely different piece altogether? Moving a figure slightly? Adding a splash of paint ? Changing a color to the point where no one could tell? Is the persons perception the deciding factor or what’s actually on the canvas. If abstract art is about the perception, and the waning behind it - does it change with these things?

An exhibit where people are invited to paint over and destroy or change the art

The differences between us and other. Are feeble - not illusory but

Periwinkle sky blue black and white each of a half circle . Faded out

Uni should be about exploring ideas — new and old famillar and foreign - honeing writing reading reasoning debating listening etc skills.

Umm, Karen were your parents married when you were born?

Ummmm no, umm i mean , uh ,yes —what??

Then why are you policing what other people do?

Dark blue light blue orange lemon circles layer on top of each other, several difffent sizes

Job apps tip!! For every job you apply to , Change your last name on your resume to the last name of the hiring manager and they will think you are related to them and hire you with nepotism. ( then, or coarse, legally when you get the job)

Unpopular opinion: i don’t really mind diarrhea

I for one think it’s incredibly brave of the brats girls to reclaim such a derogatory term

Starting every Describtion of every British show with “its kind of like skins but..”

Beanie baskin took that treat she snatched it - she ain’t even askin

The squad bod - a group of ghost friends share one body in which they have to live their lives -

My playlists are a matter of fact, not opinion. They reveal truths about the human experience

A cats gorilla imeritive of aesthetics.

I don’t chose them, they are not for joy but for truth. They are not intelligible but feel able

📝 narrative - longing

👼 chaotic

🌾 childlike wonder

Things that seem homo and phobic ATST

- Woodstock

- Brown eyed girl

Life has a funny way of sneaking up on ya when you think everything BG a gone wrong and everything bows up in your face

If women can’t do drag because they have an advantage then what is drag? Is it having good looking tits and a waist ? Looking like woman? or is it about having charisma uniqueness nerve and talent?

Examining Tik toks through different philosophical lenses

What makes it so they put parenthesis around lyrics in a song? What intonations and such make it parenthesis worthy

What’s an article of clothing from your childhood that you viscerally remember for seemingly no reason

I feel like the problem with the property brothers is they had too good of a childhood

Do you ever wonder if personality traits would be diffferntnin different cultures? Would a quiet person be even quieter if they were brought up in North Korea? Or the same amount of talkativity? Do we have the traits no matter what, or are we inclined to be more of one way than the others around us. Are personality traits created by comparison to those around?

Maybe the anxiety comes from knowing your not “supposed” to be as quiet as you are. You don’t really want to talk, that’s okay , but it’s expected that you do. So you are anxiety that your not living up

I find happiness every single day

This feeling has made me so appreciative of my mental state usually. How many people feel like this on the regular? How many people have this as their default? I am so lucky. My default is happy. I have my issues, but i need to appreciate the gift i was given. I was given elation. Childlike wonder. Curiosity. Adventurousness. Self completion and fullness. The rest will come.

If you see a celebrity you want to talk to in public but don’t want to bother them, make sure they don’t see that you saw them and start a fake conversation telling a friend that they should buy a product they are a sponsor for, and that they should use their coupon code. When they approach you to thank you for being such a loyal fan, obviously pretend to be shocked that they just so happened to be there

Christianity excuses selfish politics and beliefs

Things i never would’ve noticed if they weren’t pointed out to me:

-Left and right handed ness

Rating sports teams by uniform colors

Balloon animals but make it clothing!

Logics doesn’t care about your feelings, but it certainly cares about your biasees.

He who findeth keepith, whilst he who loosith weepith.

Religious thought often starts at the conclusion they want and attempts to make arguments justifying it.

Jewish debate starts with an agreement that we are going to follow the book, but argues about what the book truly says. Not good enough when you are still just following the book

Why did Jesus need to die for our sins

Dream - swimming in a lake and bump into something you think is a human tying to save to but is it! Oct 29 9:03

Candle company logo etc

I’m sorry for your loss

It’s not oka

If people can accept that stupid bad jokes can be

Is there a reason for each thing existing? Sufficient reason

Understanding if an area is a matter of perspective or fact? Is it Emperical ?

If you assume you have free will you limit your critical thinking ability and therefor stour actual free will - you need to navigate technology such as algorithms that show you why at you want to see or you completely loose free will - you cannot chose when you don’t even know a choice. there is Somthing controlling you

Revelation is within it doesn’t involve others - can happen in a moment

Revolution- requires work and years and years of convincing others m

What counts as a second chance? What counts as a first chance? What does giving someone the benefit of the doubt entail ? Letting them out of jail , or letting them have a 2nd term as president.

**Picture of coke or Pepsi book**

Trump supporters be like: THIS is the BALLOt sleepy crooked joe SEND to MY neighbor. So much FOR democracy

One flew over the coup coups nest

Ashge-nazi = Jewish trump supporter

The heathers of the USA are Cali, New York and Texas. Florida, too

Shape shifting would solve all of this. I could go to Washington DC, pretend to be trump, concede then leave. It would be hilarious, however if me and trump looked identical and had to so the most idiotic crazy shit to prove to America that we indeed are the true DJ.

Coup busting outfit - light cute short sleeve camo shirts , army green super utalitarian cargo pants , double sash belts in leather with grommets studs or spikes (to be decided by team (with democracy) or left up to the individual) leather (vegan available) lace up knee high boots (maybe with spikes if not too 2012) and the pies de resistance two army green denim shoulder high gloves that fold down as far as needed for the comfort of the fighter. Will be adorned with patches decided by the wearer. Edges will be frayed to honor to the coup busting aesthetic and spirit of the endeavor. We can decide on a signature lip color, but spf is required for all fighters. Of coarse we will have those football stripes below the eyes, don’t be stupid.

How far away can something be from a face and still have humans think it’s a face

Senator Portman - i hope you are well, and want to thank you for the hard work you have put in to this election. However, it has become abundantly clear that joe Biden and Kamala Harris have secured more than enough electoral and popular votes to warrant recognition as president and vice elect. Upon reading the transcripts of he hopeless court cases, there is absolutely no evidence of vote measurable fraud. is time you stand up for democracy and face reality by congratulating he pair on their success. Americans and scared and they need a powerful republican voice to demounce the unsubstantiated conspircy theories that attempt to thwart democracy in this beautiful county. Please do the right thing , and stand with sanity, freedom and democracy. History books and citizens will thank you. May god bless you, your staff and loved ones

Could mermaids exist through evolution in the future

Me learning about real us history - all the nations destroyed by the USA—- I’m the baaad Guy

The rest of the world - duh dodododosodo

Print that looks like a page of writing that has been sourced in water so it’s bleeding and darker in speckles

Zamps= examples

Clothes with green screen cut outs

Robots don’t need to be sentient to destroy us.

Navy mock neck long sleeves big orange and little white stripe on tube cage sides

A veritcal line stretch waistband

Cross cross and straps back

Square high neck

Scarlet polka dots around can light blue text and beach image as front

Blue stroke red inside square, blue triangle rainbow with eye and funky font

Y either know a particular topic or not , but it’s hard to pin down intelligence on one category

Cream background , ice cream pink script name kinda bev hills hotel script looking ish

Move your mouth in a differ way

Supersonic vibrating butt cleaner

Half magenta half red violet a blue teacup in the center with white floral frills thick serif font

Pink background am orange flower in a vase white present ribbon n red as a table

An app that familiarizes people with science - through experimental learning ― hands on experiences that make it seem less top down and authoritarian , and more like a set of steps that we take, things that anyone can do to get closer with nature and the world

A social media philosophy app - teaches what others said and gives people a chance to express their views , postulate, argue, etc gadfly? How would be avoid a shit show, how can we make social media more humanitarian. how can we care about people while also expressing deeply held ideas , how can we encourage users to examine their deeply held ideas without alienating them. How can we discourage hatred and abuse and groupthink with design? How do we slow people down and encourage them to recognize the human behind the screen. Street epistemology? Socratic dialogue?

Socrates - asking questions. Breaking it down to bits. Deeply understanding their argument. Asking about different possibilities and circumstances. Take vast assumptions and show scenarios that make go against them.

Build fact checking into apps

Narrative self vs experiential

Walks you through steps of the sciefitifc method and encourages you to explain how you feel each step actually helped you- then walks you through a scientist doing the same for their reasarch

Republicans only want to be free in the specific ways that benefit corporations

Are Christians more willing to support the death pen early because they already believe in the cruel and overstepping punishment of hell?

Where did the idea come from that you need to remain impartial when trying to persuade

The idea that there is someone in a similar but different dwelling, hearing similar but different sounds and feeling similar but different feelings is wild

We synthesize sets of traits, and particular actions in a super biased culturally constructed way

With the way we see things as humans- we categorize things into groups that aren’t really reaaal ― paratheletic groups

I just want the people and jobs that benefit society

Connection to nietzsches Dionysian art and eckheart tolle/Taoism

No matter your personality, there is probably a part of the world that you would fit in with naturally.

An ordinary girl is selected as one of the representatives of earth in the first meeting of various alien species after one advanced planet discovered and United 10. Confused as to why she was chosen, she goes on her journey meeting

Wha ba Bada da da da da dada he’s a wha ba ba dadada as a matter of fact it’s not my fault if you came up here thinking that you would win

Wanting to break boundaries and rules for the sake those who are hurt by the rules

You are imagining the best case scenario of the life you want to have and experience Ming the reality of the life you so have.

Yes her drips cosmetics line to students i. Class

Chez it people can goldfish people

Your personality flows where a system needs it to go to maintain balance

0 notes

citrineghost · 5 years

Text

A Letter to WordPress

Dear WordPress,

Tumblr has been around for a good while now and many of us have been here since the beginning (or close to it). It’s become something of a comfort and a home base for many. You can understand then why it’s so terrifying and tension-setting when a new owner comes around.

This website has been through a lot of changes, very few of them good in recent years. I want to open up a dialogue from the user base about our feelings and desires surrounding this site, because to so many of us, not only its design and function, but its success and future are a big deal.

Obviously not all of the things I list below will be universal opinions, but I’ll try to outline some of the things I’ve seen the majority of users want. I’ll also throw in some things that are more personal, because I can’t claim to know everything the rest of the users want, but I can tell you where I see obvious problems.

First and foremost, here’s an obvious one. You can’t really go anywhere on Tumblr without knowing: we want the bots and the nazis gone. We need some kind of captcha system for every time someone wants to include a hyperlink in a post or response. Until the staff count gets higher, I would honestly suggest closing down the report system for everything but bots, nazis, and death threats/suicide bait.

Make NSFW content welcome again. Outside of porn bots, the pervasiveness of NSFW content is slim to none. As long as minors and those with ‘NSFW’ blacklisted aren’t seeing the NSFW content, there’s nothing wrong with it being here. A large number of the people posting NSFW content on here are artists who use this content to make a living on commissions. The ban has done nothing but make valuable members of the Tumblr community leave and take their art elsewhere. The focus should be cracking down on anyone who isn’t properly tagging NSFW content with ‘NSFW’. If the focus is put on that, the problem with NSFW content will be null.

Please keep Tumblr unintegrated with other social media. Most users will agree, the anonymity is such a huge part of what draws us to Tumblr. Other people only know what we tell them and it’s very appealing for our real life accounts (e.g. Google, Facebook, etc.) to be completely separate. When users want to share links to other accounts, they can do so easily with links on their blogs.

Replace ads with either, better, more sensible ads or members content. A large part of the ads on Tumblr make absolutely zero sense just by looking at them. Not to mention, they’re all completely unfit for the user base. I’ve seen weight-loss ads (harmful to the many people on the site recovering from eating disorders) and ads for products most people wouldn’t need or want until their forties. Most of the user base is 13-35, if I had to guess. I can tell you right now, you would make more money and the user base would be much happier if ads were removed in favor of members content. Adding a paid membership that allows users to gain access to new features (rather than restricting what’s already here) would be a huge boost in morale and company income. Use that income to improve the site. Don’t get comfortable making more than the bare minimum in profit until the website is functioning reasonably well. Hint: it’s not right now.

Keep the base functions of Tumblr. Don’t try and get radical, hoping big changes will excite the community. They won’t. We’re creatures of habit and we just want memes, fandom, and relatable nonsense. Keep reblogging, replies, customizable blogs, tags, and likes functionally the same.

Be receptive to bug reports and post change logs so that the community knows that they’re being addressed and fixed.

These are the obvious pleas of the community. Please keep in mind that the heart of Tumblr is in its users and if you ostracize us, there will be nothing left. We love this website and we want to see it thrive as much as anyone. We just don’t want to sacrifice the spirit of the community in the process.

Read more under the cut if you want to see some more of my own personal suggestions. I’d love for other users to sound off in the replies with whether they agree with any of the pleas or suggestions and also give their own!

Okay, so, here are some personal opinions that are by no means the voice of the community. I think they’re pretty sensible, but what do I know?

Change back the color. I hate this saturated navy color and I’m pretty sure a lot of others do too. I’m part of the disabled community and I know and have seen people saying that these extremely contrasted colors that were added are making their Tumblr experience worse. It gives people headaches due to light sensitivity and, frankly, it’s ugly. If you’d like to cater to those who are visually impaired/colorblind, that’s fantastic! Do so with an account setting that turns on higher contrast mode or adds patterns to things to make them distinguishable.

Add an option to blog suggestions and posts that have shown up on your dash from followed tags that says “Stop Suggesting This.” I’ve been suggested a number of blogs that I’m not interested in following. I don’t want to block the user, but I do want some different suggestions and for those blogs to stop showing up in suggestions. I’m also tired of seeing the same post twenty times from a tag I follow. There is currently an option that says “This particular posts sucks.” While I think that was a great attempt at catering to the community, I don’t want to use it because my intuition says that there’s a negative connotation. Does me saying the post sucks make it show up less for other people? Does it lose popularity? I can’t tell. The only thing I know is that I don’t want to say that a good post sucks just to make it quit showing up on my dash.

Implement some of the features that XKit uses. I would bet at least a quarter, if not more, of Tumblr users use XKit to make using Tumblr less painful. That shouldn’t be the case. Tumblr should have these functionality options available in dashboard settings.

A very hot take here that many might disagree with: Make notes viewable more like mobile has them. As it is, it’s hard to tell which ones I’ve seen on desktop. It can be tricky on mobile too, honestly, but it’s easier than on desktop. I would also heavily suggest making the unseen notifications darker so that they stand out and making a button to indicate that you’ve seen them.

Keep the dash, messages, notes, and profile as separate processes similar to how mobile has it. The trek all the way down the damn dashboard is a long one. I want to be able to see notes and messages in full size without losing my dash progress. When I switch back I want to be right where I was. I understand if this one isn’t possible or practical. It was just something I like about mobile over desktop but I’m aware that they’re two different beasts with different capabilities.

As far as the aforementioned members features, I do have some ideas, but I can’t guarantee they’re the best the user base has to offer. I’m sure others could think of better. Anyway, some things I’ve thought of are groups/clubs, digital currency, and separate dashboards. So, as it stands, You can have multiple blogs on one account. People can follow them separately. That’s fantastic. What would also be nice though, is being allowed to make separate dashboards. This would probably take up another chunk of server space, so I understand if it isn’t feasible right now, but I would jot it down. The ability to separate shitposts, aesthetic imagery, fandom content, and NSFW would be amazing. If you follow a huge number of blogs, like me, you could even make a friends dash so that you don’t miss your friends’ posts. It would just be a matter of allowing people to add and name their new dashboards. Then, when they go to follow people, it prompts them to choose what dash their content goes to. You could even simplify it by making the follow button default to the main dash, but adding a little dropdown arrow beside it. You could then choose which dash to add them to from a list. Below are some bad paint-drawn concept drawings.

Anyway, I hope this has all been helpful in some way. I’m fairly certain that WordPress will never actually read this, but it was cathartic to write and I hope it will be cathartic for someone else to read.

Sincerely, birb-ghost

#wordpress #tumblr #news #update #updates #verizon #yahoo #design #web design #developers #development #concept #concept art #art #drawings #good omens #bug #bugs #ghostpost #letter #letters

422 notes · View notes

forunfeltimaginations · 4 years

Text

Let’s try this again

They should make a law where if the police don’t read you your Miranda rights you get out of jail free, like if you don’t get your receipt at fast food restaurants you get a mail free

Confederates as “rebels for tradition” is laughable

Ram rainbow spiral horns profile.

Hippie sauce infusion pizza joint

Plain nude balconette with little purple and pink flowers at wiring

How could anyone predict anything happening but how could any be surpised either

Hierarchies - nahhhh

An exhibit where people are invited to paint over and destroy or change the art

The differences between us and other. Are feeble - not illusory but

Periwinkle sky blue black and white each of a half circle . Faded out

Uni should be about exploring ideas — new and old famillar and foreign - honeing writing reading reasoning debating listening etc skills.

Umm, Karen were your parents married when you were born?

Ummmm no, umm i mean , uh ,yes —what??

Then why are you policing what other people do?

Dark blue light blue orange lemon circles layer on top of each other, several difffent sizes

Unpopular opinion: i don’t really mind diarrhea

I for one think it’s incredibly brave of the brats girls to reclaim such a derogatory term

Starting every Describtion of every British show with “its kind of like skins but..”

Beanie baskin took that treat she snatched it - she ain’t even askin

The squad bod - a group of ghost friends share one body in which they have to live their lives -

My playlists are a matter of fact, not opinion. They reveal truths about the human experience

A cats gorilla imeritive of aesthetics.

I don’t chose them, they are not for joy but for truth. They are not intelligible but feel able

📝 narrative - longing

👼 chaotic

🌾 childlike wonder

Things that seem homo and phobic ATST

- Woodstock

- Brown eyed girl

Life has a funny way of sneaking up on ya when you think everything BG a gone wrong and everything bows up in your face

If women can’t do drag because they have an advantage then what is drag? Is it having good looking tits and a waist ? Looking like woman? or is it about having charisma uniqueness nerve and talent?

Examining Tik toks through different philosophical lenses

What makes it so they put parenthesis around lyrics in a song? What intonations and such make it parenthesis worthy

What’s an article of clothing from your childhood that you viscerally remember for seemingly no reason

I feel like the problem with the property brothers is they had too good of a childhood

I find happiness every single day

Christianity excuses selfish politics and beliefs

Things i never would’ve noticed if they weren’t pointed out to me:

-Left and right handed ness

Rating sports teams by uniform colors

Balloon animals but make it clothing!

Logics doesn’t care about your feelings, but it certainly cares about your biasees.

He who findeth keepith, whilst he who loosith weepith.

Religious thought often starts at the conclusion they want and attempts to make arguments justifying it.

Jewish debate starts with an agreement that we are going to follow the book, but argues about what the book truly says. Not good enough when you are still just following the book

Why did Jesus need to die for our sins

Dream - swimming in a lake and bump into something you think is a human tying to save to but is it! Oct 29 9:03

Candle company logo etc

I’m sorry for your loss

It’s not oka

If people can accept that stupid bad jokes can be

Is there a reason for each thing existing? Sufficient reason

Understanding if an area is a matter of perspective or fact? Is it Emperical ?

Revelation is within it doesn’t involve others - can happen in a moment

Revolution- requires work and years and years of convincing others m

What counts as a second chance? What counts as a first chance? What does giving someone the benefit of the doubt entail ? Letting them out of jail , or letting them have a 2nd term as president.

**Picture of coke or Pepsi book**

Trump supporters be like: THIS is the BALLOt sleepy crooked joe SEND to MY neighbor. So much FOR democracy

One flew over the coup coups nest

Ashge-nazi = Jewish trump supporter

The heathers of the USA are Cali, New York and Texas. Florida, too

How far away can something be from a face and still have humans think it’s a face

Could mermaids exist through evolution in the future

Me learning about real us history - all the nations destroyed by the USA—- I’m the baaad Guy

The rest of the world - duh dodododosodo

Print that looks like a page of writing that has been sourced in water so it’s bleeding and darker in speckles

Zamps= examples

Clothes with green screen cut outs

Robots don’t need to be sentient to destroy us.

Navy mock neck long sleeves big orange and little white stripe on tube cage sides

A veritcal line stretch waistband

Cross cross and straps back

Square high neck

Scarlet polka dots around can light blue text and beach image as front

Blue stroke red inside square, blue triangle rainbow with eye and funky font

Y either know a particular topic or not , but it’s hard to pin down intelligence on one category

Cream background , ice cream pink script name kinda bev hills hotel script looking ish

Move your mouth in a differ way

Supersonic vibrating butt cleaner

Half magenta half red violet a blue teacup in the center with white floral frills thick serif font

Pink background am orange flower in a vase white present ribbon n red as a table

Narrative self vs experiential

2 notes · View notes

hailcyeon · 4 years

Text

hiraeth | 08

When your cousin the Crown Prince calls in on a decade-old debt, you have no choice but to answer. You’re rewarded for your troubles with your nightmares finding new life, danger around every corner, and a fiendishly irritating bodyguard. As each new discovery unearths more secrets, you learn the true costs of your homecoming.

⇾ Pairing: Lee Jaehwan x Reader ⇾ Genre: Sci-Fi, Royal AU, Bodyguard AU ⇾ Word Count: 4.5k ⇾ Warnings: Mild swearing, descriptions of anxiety

He bores into your eyes with his gaze, and you think Hakyeon has more of his father in him than you remember.

The next morning finds you in yet another unfamiliar apartment. Your legs are jelly descending the stairs, and the three-inch heels on your feet aren't helping. There's a railroad spike through your brain in the form of a migraine, all the while you fight the urge to rub your eyes so you don't ruin Sora's hard work. Hakyeon is already downstairs, dressed impeccably as ever in a navy suit. He adjusts his cuffs, looking up with a frown as he takes in your stiff expression.

"Are you feeling okay? I told you to eat breakfast."

The click of your heels on the tiled floor— somehow even shinier than the one in Hakyeon's other apartment — rings out loudly as you walk over. "Hakyeon, I will throw up on this very expensive dress if you make me eat."

He purses his lips and gives you a disapproving look. "Forgive me for thinking you need a little nutrition beyond caffeine and painkillers." He runs his gaze up and down your form, inspecting Sora's work as his eyes look for even a single thread out of place.

"The third-degree is a little creepy, Hakyeon," you say in response, irritated and tired. You were dragged to this decoy apartment at an ungodly time to meet Sora. Two hours of hair, makeup, and wardrobe later, you still don't feel ready to face the public, let alone the King. You rub your temple gently as if to massage out your headache. The coffee and aspirin you'd downed first thing in the morning have not only done little to help, but also seem to have turned your stomach to molten lava.

Hakyeon has the grace to look contrite as he brushes invisible dust off your shoulder. "I hope you don't expect to speak to my father that way." There are no wrinkles or excessive folds to be found, as your new clothes have been tailored just for you, but he straightens out the sleeves anyway. You take this with all the patience of a doll, resigning yourself to only internal screaming.

"She looks fine, I did a great job," Sora says as she hauls the last of the makeup cases down the stairs. “The King isn’t going to be fixated over her outfit anyway.” She'd instructed you to bring a few of the items you bought yesterday, and had arrived this morning with her own personal trove of beauty tools. Armored in a smart blazer and a dress cut just on the edgier side of conservative, your polished attire belies the true discomfort you feel.

"I intend to speak as little as possible, actually." You swallow down the burn in your esophagus and fiddle with your sleeves as Hakyeon steps back for one last look over, making you feel very self-conscious. “I’m not good at your type of political subterfuge, you know that.”

Hakyeon nods and checks his watch. "That's probably for the best. I’ve done what I can to take the situation out of his hands." You wonder what he means by that, but no explanation comes. “Still, you must be rock-solid in your defense. Why are you here, Princess of Asadal?” He bores into your eyes with his gaze, and you think Hakyeon has more of his father in him than you remember.

“To serve the King,” you answer mechanically. Your voice is less steel and more soft than you’d like, but you force your shoulders back and face your cousin, unwavering.

Hakyeon nods again, a quick decline of his chin, and turns to the door. “Then it’s time that we left.”

The elevator ride down is too quick for your liking, and before you know it you’re standing in front of a sleek, black limo adorned with the flag of Asadal. Jaehwan, your ever-present shadow, is leaning up against the idling car, hands in pockets and looking more formal than ever in his own dark suit. Sora turns around, carefully balancing the various makeup boxes she has, and takes your hand in hers. “I have to run to a photoshoot this afternoon, but I’ll be in touch. You’re gonna kill it, don’t worry,” she says with a last squeeze of your hand.

“I’d prefer to get this over with as little violence as possible actually.” Your retort is clipped with a stiff smile.

Sora leaves, and so does your general sense of bravado. If the events of the past few days have felt strange to you so far, this situation feels positively surreal as Jaehwan opens the door to the limousine for you and Hakyeon to slide in. You're sitting sandwiched between your cousin the prince and a man you hardly know, dressed to the nines in clothes so expensive they could pay a year's rent for your apartment back home.

“This is rather ostentatious,” you mutter quietly, moving your gaze around the luxurious interior.

Hakyeon shifts over to the opposite seats to give you some more room. “The aide insisted. Our entrance won’t be subtle, to say the least.”

This is not the most comforting thing to say, as your jaw clenches once more in anticipation. Jaehwan spares you a side glance, cool as the early morning air outside in his dark suit and upswept hair.

“All right, Princess?” Jaehwan’s tone is neutral, the ubiquitous smile playing in one corner of his mouth. It only serves to irritate you further. You compulsively smooth out your dress and aim for a measured response.

“I’m excellent.” The hem of your dress has ridden up to mid-thigh over your dark tights, and though the exquisite tailoring means there’s nary a stray thread, your fingers keep rubbing the stitching. “No sleep, murderous uncle, not a problem. I am a-ok.”

Not quite.

Hakyeon places a hand over your clenched fist. Whether it's meant to be soothing or a warning, you're not sure. Nevertheless, you force yourself to take a deep breath. Your nerves are already frayed, but you can't afford to fall apart just yet. Not yet.

The ride to the king’s tower is spent in terse silence. You have been to the Assembly House over which the new administrative building was built, but so much of the city is unfamiliar to you that it may as well be an unknown route. Hakyeon's apartment is located in what seems to be a luxury residential area of the Capital, you realize, as you pass high-rise after high-rise, gleaming in the morning sun. These neighborhoods are separated from the business and administrative sectors by the Yuseong River.

The trip over the bridge does your nerves no favors. The limousine is insulated to all outside noises, but the rush of the river below sounds through your memories regardless. The western banks of the river are dotted with construction projects, workers already scrambling around the sites. It’s clear to you that these new buildings are meant to serve your uncle’s pet councilmen and others on the higher rungs of society, given how far they are from the cheaper parts of the city. Unable to sleep in your anxiety, you had done a little research on the state of the city nowadays. Street names and neighborhood designations can only tell you so much, but a quick glance at the housing markets clearly delineates the various strata of society in the Capital.

More interesting is the King's official seat as it draws nearer. In the dark of night when you first saw it, the tower looked like a single dark obelisk thrust up into the sky. Upon closer look now you can see it is actually three different towers circling each other and connected at the base, forming an elongated trident. The Assembly House had never been your favorite piece of architecture, with its dusty corners and old-fashioned facade, but you quite miss it in the face of the tower’s imposing presence.

The streets leading up to the building are lined with trees and fountains and more people than you think should be the case for an otherwise innocuous weekday. The gentle trickle of people escalates and promptly explodes into a thronging mass spilling off the sidewalks as the limousine reaches a stone slab etched with a very generic-sounding “Administration Headquarters” in gold. Your eyes widen at the crowds held at bay by metal dividers to create a path for the car. Had the citizens decided to protest after all?

You purse your lips and swallow thickly at the sight of several news vans and a thicket of flashing cameras. The crowd, initially standing around idly, is spurred into action at the arrival of the limousine, pushing against the barriers and craning over others to catch a better look. You don’t know what to make of the clamor, and Hakyeon answers your unasked questions.

“The news of your return broke early this morning.” Hakyeon looks straight ahead, hands folded in his lap and voice betraying nothing. You know your cousin has many years of playing the imperious monarch on you, but in this moment you feel the gulf in experience particularly strongly.

“The paparazzi move quick,” you say tersely, trying to hide how much your breathing has quickened.

“The paparazzi had nothing to do with it,” interjects Jaehwan suddenly with a side glance toward Hakyeon.

You’re struck with a sudden sense of alarm as your eyes snap to your cousin’s. “Did you do something?”

“You were tailed yesterday.” Hakyeon’s face is stone, as impassive and unfeeling as yours is alarmed and shaken. “The King and his administration know of your presence, and it would only be a matter of time before the news spread. At least this way we can control the narrative.”

"Of course," you mutter. The anxiety is taking over your mind, so you default to anger. "Of course we were tailed."

“The King had a man following us around to every location we hit yesterday," Jaehwan adds unhelpfully. "He stopped sometime before we got back to the apartment, but it’s likely the King knows about that location anyway.”

“You were going to tell me this when, bodyguard?”

Jaehwan shrugs. “I’m telling you now.”

"This is nothing we hadn't already anticipated," Hakyeon hastily interjects before the two of you can start arguing.

In any case, you’re halted in your thoughts as the limousine passes through the official gates to the tower grounds, cutting off the bustling crowd from the kingdom’s highest administration. You catch a glimpse of a long set of marble steps before the view outside is swallowed by the walls of the tower. It’s hard to make out much beyond the dark tinted windows, so you settle for staring at the floor and counting your breaths. The ride continues steadily over the next few minutes, during which a stifling sort of silence has fallen over the three of you inside. The darkness of the tunnel you’ve entered is punctuated by the flash of guiding lights every few seconds, ramping up your already racing heartbeat.

“Don’t start hyperventilating now,” comes from your left in Jaehwan’s smooth tenor. You shoot him a glare, but the effect is rather diminished by the lack of light.

Hakyeon's voice is quiet and steady as he says, "We're in the VIP tunnel. Flattering as the name may be, we're really just going through high levels of security. There is no access to the King's office from the public entrance."

"What kind of security?" Somehow, focusing on the details helps you ground yourself to the moment.

You hear Hakyeon shift in his seat slightly. “The usual scans, identification, some biometrics. Only the security team knows the full details, but I’ve gone through the checks several times myself.”

You suck in a deep breath and force yourself to let it out slowly. The car continues on for a minute longer before coming slowly to a stop. The door to your right opens suddenly to a man bent over in a deep bow.

"Good morning, Your Highness. I trust your trip was comfortable?"

Hakyeon steps out smoothly, buttoning his suit jacket as he stands. “Thank you, Ryu. The car was most appreciated.”

The man then extends a gloved hand to help you out of the limousine. Jaehwan hops out the other side without a glance back, and you have no choice but to take the offered hand. Gingerly you step out onto the concrete floor, balanced by the aide’s arm. The light is dim in the underground VIP garage. You make out a fleet of dark limousines very similar to the one you just exited, all adorned with the navy and gold livery of Asadal, waiting in the surrounding spots. Large vents and cold fluorescent lights are built into the ceiling high above, providing a cavernous quality to the garage. Your feet are illuminated by lights built into the concrete platform spelling out “Council Chamber and Main Royal Entrance”, with a small bay of elevators laying just beyond.

“Welcome, Princess. It’s wonderful to have you back in the kingdom.” The aide’s ear-to-ear smile makes you think the sentiment is genuine, but you can only manage a small incline of your head in response. Hakyeon strides ahead to the central elevator, which opens at his approach without prompting. You follow along less confidently with the aide at your side, trailed by Jaehwan to your back.

The elevator is large enough that the three of you can stand without touching elbows, but you still feel suffocated by the gleaming metal walls and the presence of the government official. Bespectacled and clad in a dove gray suit, he’s hardly the most intimidating man, but you are ever wary of strangers. Hakyeon absentmindedly checks his watch again while the aide fills him in on the details of the meeting.

"The King is in with Magistrate Moon currently, but he's scheduled to be done by the time we clear processing. The princess's data shouldn't take long, but it's good to be thorough."

"What do you mean, my data?" you interject.

The aide starts as if he'd forgotten you could speak. "Oh, it's just simple protocol Your Highness—" He's cut off by a ding as the elevator opens to a brightly lit lobby.

Despite being such a high-profile area, the lobby itself is fairly sparse. Hakyeon shuffles you through past a set of cushy armchairs and a table, which honestly feel like a decoy more than anything, into a blank white hallway. At the end are several full-body scanners glowing a neon green. Hakyeon strides through them proudly without pause, and you have no choice but to follow. Despite having nothing on your person to cause suspicion, some irrational part of you blanches as you walk through the scanners. Thankfully, you walk out the other side with no incident.

You let out an unnecessarily-held breath and are immediately shuffled into a side room. There's not a lot to the space save for a few monitors and seemingly medical equipment. The sting of antiseptic tickles your nose and the extreme sterility in fluorescent lighting gives you an uneasy feeling. Confused, you look to Hakyeon for guidance, only to be met with the passively smiling face of Jaehwan. Hakyeon is instead just outside the door talking to a woman in a white lab coat. If he senses your eyes on him, he gives no indication. The woman, however, turns and flashes you a smile, striding into the room with clipboard in hand.

“Good morning, Your Highness,” she chirps with a quick bow in your general direction before shuffling off to some equipment on a far counter. You shift your feet nervously, glancing again at Hakyeon. He checks his watch again and joins you inside the room, leaving the aide outside.

“This won’t take very long at all, we have the entire process streamlined,” says the woman from the counter, pulling various equipment out of shelves and inspecting them. “My name is Dr. Yang, and I will be administering your locator chip today.”

“My locator chip?” The words come out shriller than you intend, and you see Hakyeon wince out of the corner of your eye.

"It's just for security purposes," he says quickly in a low voice. "It's necessary for being in the VIP parts of the building."

"It's very small," the doctor reassures. "You won't feel a thing!"

You swallow roughly and take a few steps back. "Hakyeon, could I speak to you for a moment?" You wait for him walk closer before mouthing, "What the fuck?"

He glances at Jaehwan, who has also joined your little enclave, and crosses his arms. "I know you don't like it, but there's no other way to speak with the King."

You snort. "I didn't want to meet with him in the first place if you remember."

Hakyeon purses his lips and exhales an impatient little sigh. "I know, and I know this whole thing is a mess. There are certain concessions that just have to be made. Security is tight around here; we all have a tracker to monitor our movement around the building." To make his point clearer, he extends his thumb. Jaehwan says nothing but absently scratches his left wrist.

"This is some insane surveillance state nonsense, Hakyeon," you hiss. You weren't expecting to just prance into the King's office, but the idea of having his influence literally implanted in you? Your skin is crawling without anything even having happened. It monitors your location at that? Not to mention what else could be in there that isn’t being disclosed to the public.

“Our last royal family died,” Jaehwan chimes in an almost singsong way. You meet his eyes with a glare that does nothing to budge the pleasant look on his face. “Counter measures had to be taken.”

Somehow Jaehwan’s stern look behind his sunny smile rattles you more than Hakyeon’s impatient pushing. You hold their gazes for a beat longer before looking down and swinging back around to the doctor. We’re not done talking about this, Hakyeon.

To her credit, Dr. Yang has maintained the utmost professionalism through your little meltdown. She stands next to a leather stool holding a tablet in one hand, patting the seat gently with the other. You stride over, head held high as you can, and sit down delicately. You can just touch the floor with your toes from this height, and you grip the edges of the seat with your hands, feeling as if on the precipice of something you can’t walk away from.

“There’s nothing to be nervous about,” starts Dr. Yang, handing you the tablet. “The chip is microscopic and is only inserted into the topmost layer of the epidermis, so you won’t even feel the insertion. The shallow location is so that the chip can be removed through your body’s natural shedding of its skin cells, meaning there’s no hassle to dig back in there when you’re done here.”

Pain is hardly the thing you’re worried about. You swipe down through the extensive legalese on the tablet, which seems to be a permission form of sorts. There is no option not to grant it. “What’s the purpose of this chip, just to monitor my location?” you ask while signing your name with the attached stylus.

The doctor nods. “It follows your presence through the building, and only within the building. There are additional forms to detail your identity and security clearance, but of course you don’t need any sort of verification on that front, Your Highness.” She ends her sentence with a tinkle of a laugh, and you fight the urge to roll your eyes.

You hand the tablet back, wishing you could examine the system yourself. Undoubtedly it’s a database keyed to the individual chips, but you wonder what tech they’re using to detect the trackers throughout the building. And how much interference they could handle before they fry. Dr. Yang returns, having deposited the tablet on the counter, with gloved hands and a metal pen.

“Now, as I said, the chip is inserted in the first layer of skin, for which we’ll need a particularly dense area so it stays put for the time being.” She tears open a packet of antiseptic and smiles. “If you’ll please extend your index finger?” You've got half a mind to offer her your middle finger instead, but you grit your teeth and uncurl your left index finger. A quick swipe of the alcohol-soaked wipe later, she presses the pen to your finger, cold and solid.

“Wait.” You take your finger back, clenching your hand into a fist. You look up, eyes darting to Hakyeon’s. Impassive as he is, you think you see some hint of guilt in his gaze, and dark circles under his own layers of concealer. Jaehwan, for his part, simply looks on boredly.

“Is something wrong?” Dr. Yang has taken a step back and is looking at you with concern.

You swallow, throat very dry all of a sudden, and shake your head. “No, it’s fine.” You extend your finger again, the nails of your other hand digging into your palm. “Go ahead.”

The doctor clicks her tongue and opens another packet of antiseptic. “You have no idea how many people come through here with a serious fear of needles,” she says, wiping down your finger again, even more gently than the last time. “All these big Councilmen, afraid of a little poke!” She chortles to herself and presses the pen down.

True to her words, you feel nothing.

You hop off the stool as soon as she pulls the pen away. The nausea from this morning has returned with a vengeance, which it tends to do when you indulge your anxiety rather than dissipating it. The doctor bows in goodbye and before you know it, you are ushered out the door by Hakyeon.

From there it’s a short walk to another bank of elevators. “That was very quick, wasn’t it?” starts the aide. “We’re a little ahead of schedule, so I thought perhaps we could show the Princess around the Council chambers and then—”

Hakyeon cuts him off abruptly. “Thank you Ryu, but that won’t be necessary. I think we can take it from here. Please send the alert upstairs to let them know we’re coming.”

The aide blinks. “The King is likely still in his meeting, Your Highness, if you’ll—”

Hakyeon halts his speech again with a swift raise of his hand. “I’m aware of the King’s schedule. Be on your way.”

The ease and confidence with which your cousin addresses the aide is weirdly comforting. Hakyeon is Crown Prince. Hakyeon can handle this. You are just playing a part, but Hakyeon, he's the real deal.

The aide makes a quick bow and disappears down a side hallway. Hakyeon wastes no time in calling down an elevator, and before long you’re ensconced in tense silence again. You feel eyes on you, but resolutely look forward. In the shiny metal of the elevator doors you see Hakyeon’s reflection turn to face you properly. “Doing ok?” You flick your gaze to him for but a second. Your jaw is starting to hurt from grinding your teeth so hard, and you keep compulsively rubbing your thumb against your other fingers. “I’m—” comes out in a rasp, your throat bone-dry. You swallow and try again. “I’m fine.” Hakyeon’s eyes don’t leave your face, and Jaehwan is now looking at you with an expression somewhere between curiosity and amusement. “I’m fine, it’s fine,” you reiterate, refusing to meet anyone’s gaze. “It just—” you start, then stop. It just terrifies me. It just makes me want to rip off my own skin. “It got too real,” you say quietly. Jaehwan chuckles, a soft gust of air through his nostrils and the crinkling curl of one corner of his mouth.

Your glare at his reflection is cut short when the doors suddenly open to blinding light. This lobby is much busier than the last, with people scurrying to and fro, disappearing off into more elevators and hallways. As Hakyeon leads you into the mess, you notice several people stop right in their tracks and make very low but very quick bows in your general direction. You get a cursory glance out the glass walls to where the rest of the city sprawls before Hakyeon stops before what seems to be the main elevator, all chrome and gold leaf. A press of his palm to a nearby touchpad opens the doors to reveal elegant carpeting and crystal-studded walls. You roll your eyes at the predictable opulence.

Following Hakyeon into the elevator, you turn around only to find that Jaehwan hasn’t joined as usual. You blink. “Where are you going?” “Shh, secret mission,” he says in a hiss. The last thing you see before the doors close is Jaehwan’s grin with a finger pressed to his lips.

What secret mission? You feel the tug of gravity as the elevator glides upward and furrow your brows. “You put Jaehwan on some other task?”

Hakyeon rolls his eyes. “He’s being dramatic. He’s just gone to talk to some old friends at my suggestion.”

You’re well aware of who Jaehwan’s old friends are. “The Swords are loyal only to the King,” you say, on edge again at the remembrance of Jaehwan’s involvement in the special forces.

Hakyeon ignores your statement in favor of some last-minute pep talk. “I know you must be feeling apprehensive, but I have full trust in your ability to sway my father. I’m positive you can assure him you’re not a threat, and it won’t be hard, since you’ve been away for so long. You’re hardly a scheming politician after all, and—”

“I get it, Hakyeon.” You cut off his rambling, nerves raw and screaming. “Play nice, or die.” The elevator opens again to two guards — Swords, speak of the devil — and an otherwise empty hallway. They bow as Hakyeon exits, the barest hint of a frown on his face. You follow, trying your best to match his confident strides. Think simpering sycophant thoughts. Should you pretend to be happy to see your uncle? Grateful to be back in your— no, his kingdom?

The hallway turns a corner and leads to the most nondescript wooden doors you’ve ever seen. The double doors are handleless and flanked by four-foot tall ceramic vases holding each a cascade of orchids. You can’t see any physical indication as to the importance of these doors, but your heart pounds harder with every step forward. As if sensing your hesitation, Hakyeon stops just short and turns to you.

“I’m not going to lie and say this will be easy,” he starts. His gaze is too difficult to hold, so you turn your eyes to a blank spot on the wall just behind his ear. “But this has to be done, for better or worse. Are you ready?”

No, you think to yourself. In what world could you ever be ready to face the instigator of all your nightmares?

“Yes,” you say.

Hakyeon gives you a quick, terse nod and raises his hand. He raps his knuckles against the wood of the door twice, the beats ringing out in the quiet hallway.

#vixx #vixx fanfic #vixx fanfiction #vixx au #ken #vixx ken #lee jaehwan #cha hakyeon #idol x reader #ken x reader #kpop fanfic #vixx n #f: hiraeth #dear god i'm so sorry for the wait #it's been like a year #as always thank you for reading #feedback is appreciated #i swear the next one will be sooner #kpopwritingnet

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residentanchor · 6 years

Text

Pretty by default

Done and done, here it is!

I realized this was mentioned as lamp first, but most of the stuff I saw was for analogical, so I stuck with that. Celery: Thanks to @sockpansy once again for submitting something to the “You’re famous?” au! :D I like this as analogical actually!!

Model Logan

Logan knew his name was known by many, being a famous model it was to be expected, but that didn't mean he would actively seek out attention.

Quite the opposite in fact.

Logan did enjoy his job, he did! But he was never…satisfied when he saw finished works of him. There was always something that never sat right with him, but he knew the pictures were fine, and they would be published after he gave the ‘okay.’

Then he met Virgil. Virgil who wore the same hoodie every day, that he hand made himself no less, and would randomly pull out snacks from the pockets. Virgil, who dyed his hair purple because his friend Patton wanted to dye his blue, but was nervous to go along with it by himself. Virgil, who probably lived on caffeine more than Logan.

Logan looked forward to seeing him so much.

They had met in an online debate website, which logan used when he was overworked and stressed and needed to calm down (spending hours looking for links to prove you are right is calming for him) and he came across someone he enjoyed debating with.

xXstormCL0UDXx was quickly his favorite person to engage in witty combat with. It took some convincing, but they agreed to meet up for coffee one day. Logan had been worried Virgil might recognize him. But when Virgil just laughed at his hat that said 'cognitive cap’ he knew there was no way. They ended up trading numbers and met up multiple times to just talk or do something in each others presence.

Then came the coffee incident.

Due to logan’s work schedule, and…whatever it is that Virgil does, they sometimes couldn't meet up, so they had a scheduled coffee trip weekly. It was always marked as 'important business’ on the schedule, so no one questioned it, and Logan always had 1-2 hours to have coffee and just sit with Virgil.

Logan had gotten a refill and was returning to his booth when he slipped on the newly mopped floor. His coffee landed on Virgil, who jumped up with cries of 'hot hot hot!’ And stripped his jacket off.

The coffee had managed to quickly get to his band t-shirt underneath, and Virgil held the hem away from his body to keep the hot liquid away.

Logan quickly stood and sat the mostly empty cup down.“Virgil, I sincerely apologize, I did not mean to do that.” Logan grabbed napkins from the table and dabbed at Virgil's shirt, getting what coffee he could off. Really, it had to be the day Virgil wore a gray band shirt instead of black. It was for sure going to stain. Logan pouted and looked at Virgil.

“Hey, specs, its fine, just some split coffee, no big deal.” He gave a reassuring smile and helped Logan attempt to dry his shirt.

Logan wasn't convinced. “Let me buy you a new shirt, just for today.”

Virgil's eyes widened. “What? Yeah no, that is not happening.”

Logan stood, back straight. “Your hoodie is soaked with coffee, and your shirt will be stained, no doubt, I am at fault for this, accident or not, and I wish to buy you something so you do not get cold, I will not debate this.”

Virgil knew Logan. Meaning he knew this was one of the few points he can’t argue.

“Fine, there is a Wal-Mart nearby, just a shirt ok?”

Logan broke into a smile and agreed, carrying Virgil's hoodie as he leads the way to Wal-Mart.

_____

Logan was most-likely 17 the last time he was in a Wal-Mart. His clothes all came from designer shops or sponsors, and his food he got from…better quality areas than Wal-Mart. Or he ordered it.

But here he was, in the men's section of Walmart clothing, with Virgil obviously wanting a sweater but thinking 15 dollars was too much. Virgil went to grab a random t-shirt for $5 when Logan stopped him.

“You want the sweater correct? I will get it for you.” Virgil looked at him. Then the sweater.

“Nah, 15 bucks is too much for split coffee.”

“Virgil, $15 is nothing, I'm getting you the sweater.” Logan crossed his arms as if that was the end of the conversation.

Virgil has different plans. “Dude, I'm not letting you waste that much on me.”

“It is only $15, I can afford that.”

“And your coffee cost what? $3.50? And I can use a laundromat for a few quarters, that does not equal a $15 sweater.”

“I am getting it for you anyways.” And as if to make a point, Logan picked a sweater off the rack.

Virgil grabbed another one and held it out to him. “You get me one, I get you one. We either match or no one gets a sweater.” Virgil looked like he just won a trophy.

Logan looked at the sweater in Virgil's hands, it was a simple black sweater with navy blue and purple strips. Logan took the sweater from Virgil and hung it back up. Virgil had a moment to look smug before Logan grabbed a different one.

“This is my size, should we go try them on?”

Needless to say, Virgil did not win that day.

Logan walked out of Wal-Mart in the sweater. It was slightly itchy around the collar, and was incredibly low quality, especially compared to what logan usually wore. He glanced over at Virgil, who was carrying his hoodie now but looked delighted in the matching sweater. Logan decided this was his favorite article of clothing he owned.

_____

They were matching. They should have expected it, but that didn't mean they were.

It had been a kid. Kids are always the ones to say what they see, so when a kid on the street pointed at Virgil and Logan, saying “Mommy mommy, look! They match like you and mama do! They must be married!” Logan nearly died on the spot.

Virgil let out a snort, hiding his face from Logan. “Kids, I swear, they jump to the weirdest conclusions.”

Virgil’s ears were turning red, Logan was sure they were. He knew they are matching, but Logan didn’t think about how couples outfits often matched.

“Would it be that bad?v logan’s hands covered his mouth quickly as Virgil's head shot to face him.

Oh, Virgil's ears were red for sure, as was his entire face.

"Would what be…bad? What are you…?” His question trailed off.

Logan moved his hands in order to talk, fighting off his blushing and failing.

“Well..perhaps not the…marriage in total but…matching is often times…its uh…linked to couples. I didn't think about that before until the kid mentioned it and..uh..yeah.” Logan was at a lost for words, something he would not admit happens around Virgil a lot.

Virgil on the other hand, had managed to scrabble enough letters together to ask, “is this your way of asking me out?”

Logan let out a shaky laugh, looking at the sweater-clad Virgil in front of him. “I..i would..supose so?”

Virgil only became a darker red as he broke into a smile. He took one of Logan’s hands, interlacing their fingers.

“Well… it’s about time.”

This was definitely Logan’s favorite sweater.

_____

Dating Virgil was just like being friends with Virgil, only with kisses and cuddles and 'dates’ instead of hangouts and 'i love you’ is said.

Logan loved it.

But there was an… issue. After a date to the planetarium, Virgil and Logan had been looking for a place to eat, not realizing how late it was. Virgil saw a McDonald’s ahead and suggested it.

Logan couldn't remember the last time he had fast food. Virgil looked like he won the lottery as he walked in.

“I'm going to get soooo many chicken nuggets.”

Logan gave him a nod, as he read the menu. He squinted his eyes as he read it, it was like looking at the same thing over and over again.

“Hey, nerd, what you want?” Virgil’s voice broke logan from his trance.

“Oh uh..." he glanced up quickly. ”…number 2…meal?“

Which was how Logan was now sitting with a cheeseburger and fries in front of him. Virgil was shoving chicken nuggets in his mouth as promised.

Logan looked at his burger and unwrapped it, hesitantly taking a bite.

You know that Squidward meme? The episode where he ate a Krabby Patty and suddenly couldn’t stop?

Logan was Squidward.

"This is the greasiest, most vile thing I have ever tasted.” Virgil looked up as Logan shoved another bite into his mouth. Swallowing his chicken nugget, he asked,

“Then why are you still eating it?”

Logan took another bite. “I can’t stop.”

Virgil laughed.

______

“Wait you're a what?!” Logan could feel the panic rising. He was trying to keep calm but this was very surprising.

Virgil looked at logan confused. “A photographer. Well, sometimes. It's not my main thing, but it does pay well. And I'm just taking a few wedding photos for a few hours.”

Logan tried to calm himself. Virgil couldn’t know he was a model…right?

“Do you..do shoots often? Or for like..company things?” Logan had never seen Virgil at one of his shoots, but if he happened to see Logan or take photos for his company he might know.

“Nah, not really. I normally take scenery shots, but I do get commissions for things like this. It pays well, and I normally get to leave with cake.”

Logan relaxed a bit. He probably didn’t know who he was.

“Ah well, perhaps I could see the shots when you are finished? I think id like to see your work.” He smiled.

Virgil shrugged. “I mean, it's not that impressive, normally I get hired by people on a budget 'cause I’m cheaper than a professional.”

“Nonsense, no matter how much you cost, I'm sure your works are amazing.”

Virgil smiled at Logan. “Well…if you want, you could come with me? You’d mostly just be watching but…it would be…” Virgil glanced away blushing. “..nice to have you there.”

Logan found himself agreeing.

Logan also found out, on the day of pictures, that Virgil will go to extreme lengths to get the perfect shot.

Virgil was up a tree at the moment, hold his camera at the couple. He frowned and gave a few instructions of how the couple should pose. Logan walked over and gently tapped the bride. “It would be much better if you moved your arm here.”

“Logan, what are you doing?” Logan looked up at the tree.

“Oh, my apologies, I only wished to help.” He nods to Virgil in the tree, who stared Dr the couple.

“Ya know..thats actually not bad…keep doing that Logan.”

Logan helped to pose the couple for the 2 hours Virgil took pictures. Virgil got into increasingly weird angles and dragged other people in to help with the shots.

Logan watched over Virgil's shoulders as he flipped through the photos. To say he was impressed was an understatement, some of these were even better than professionals he has worked with!

“Hey, why did you delete that one? It was good…” Logan frowned as Virgil looked back at him.

"The lighting was wrong, and the bride’s dress was folded at the bottom, I can do better.”

By the end, Virgil had narrowed down the pictures and spent a while helping the couple pick out the pictures they liked best. Virgil was paid ahead of time, but he was still given a tip from the couple in thanks.

Oh, and cake.

_____

Virgil had been wanting to take pictures of the scenery because, and quote 'i have some sudden motivation and I need future inspiration and who knows when I'll have it again’ so he was going on a walk.

Logan had joined him on it. Walks with Virgil were always peaceful.

Virgil was taking pictures of the landscape when he looked over at Logan, who was looking out at the park in thought. He wasn't really thinking, just letting his mind wander.

He turned his head as he heard the sound of a shutter closer than before.

Virgil popped his head out from behind his camera and grinned. “You're my subject now.”

Logan couldn't help the smile he gave at Virgil. “Alright.”

And he posed. He knew exactly what he was doing, and even in his bulky glasses, and thrift store clothes (thrift shopping with Virgil was the best, you can find so many weird things, and the 'fashion’ shows are hilarious) he took off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair.

Virgil was… Fucking stunned. Logan looked…he looked…fuck he looked hot. He quickly went to take his picture as Logan gave him different poses. Virgil made sure to take time to aim and focus and get good angles. At one point he noticed Logan didn't smile in the pictures. Virgil pouted and looked at him.

“Hey, Logan?”

Logan looked at him.“yes Virgil?”

Virgil decided to quote a text post he saw on Tumblr. “I love classical literature….an Edgar Allen hoe if you would.”

Logan stared at Virgil for a second, before he burst out laughing, going as far as to hold his sides.

“That was horrible,” Logan laughed as Virgil smiled and took pictures.

Virgil found different ways to make logan laugh, going as far as to point at a nearby bird and just say 'daddy’ before the bird flew at him angrily. Once Virgil was bird safe, Logan didn't stop laughing at that any time soon.

It got to the point that Virgil didn't have to make logan laugh. He was smiling in all the pictures, relaxing more. His poses weren't perfect but they managed to leave Virgil even more floored than before.

As they sat on a bench and looked at the photos together, Logan found that he enjoyed the pictures Virgil took of him the best.

_____

“Everyone take five!” Roman shouted. Logan slouched on the stool and sighed. This was the tenth break today, and he knew it was his fault.

Roman, the one in charge, walked over. “Logan, normally this goes by without a hitch, but today you're just…" he made a vague jester. "Not You. And it is interfering with the work…I gotta ask…whats wrong buddy?”

Roman and Logan had known each other since Logan started working as a model, they were actually rather good friends but held a professional relationship during work.

They totally got into a rap battle on a break though, so…

“I'm doing what I always do. I don't get what’s wrong.” Logan crossed his arms.

Roman put his hands on his hips. “It's like someone forgot to oil you, tin man! Everything seems…more robotic than usual…”

Logan suddenly had an understanding of what was wrong with his photos now. He had gotten used to posing for Virgil, relaxed and enjoying himself. He still knew how to pose for magazines, and whatever else they wanted his picture for, but he felt it was more a routine than fun.

He had been thinking about Virgil and trying to pose for the magazine, but those are two different things to him.

“I…think I realized the problem…”

Roman clapped.“great! Then let's fix it and get back to work.”

“It isn't that easy…” Logan let out a sigh. “My boyfriend..he is a photographer, its..different when he takes pictures of me…but he doesn't know I’m…well…me…” Logan gestured to himself as if making a point.

Roman looked offended.

“You got yourself a boyfriend and didn't tell me?” Of course, that is what Roman focuses on. Logan rolled his eyes.

“Yes, I do, now back to the problem at hand.”

“Solution, tell him who you are.”

“But I don't want him to know, that's the point!”

“And if he finds out on his own?”

Logan looked for an argument. Coming up with none. It was inevitable that Virgil will one day find out who Logan was. Logan wasn't too sure how Virgil would react if he found out on his own, telling him would be the best course of action.

Changing the subject, Logan asked, “so how would telling him to help me?”

Roman broke into a grin.“simple, I hire him to take your photo and if you are right, then you won't have a problem with the shoot.”

Which was how Logan found himself waiting for Virgil at the coffee shop. When Virgil sat down, he was wearing the sweater logan bought him. Logan nearly swooned on the spot.

Focus! Logan smiled at Virgil, tapping his coffee cup. “Virgil I..have a job offer for you.”

Virgil raised an eyebrow. “What kind of job? You've never offered me one before.”

Logan sipped his coffee, giving himself an excuse to gulp his nerves down.

“Well, it is…a photography job…would you be willing to take my photo for a magazine…professionally?”

The look on Virgil's face was proof enough that he didn't believe that, but planned to humor him.

Logan could work with humor.

“Yeah sure, pocket protector, when?”

Logan checked his phone. “We can leave now.”

Logan was a lot more relaxed, even if somehow Virgil still believed this was a joke or a prank. He goofed off behind the camera, made Logan laugh and smile, but Roman watched as the pictures were downloaded onto a computer as they were taken, and he was impressed.

The photos were finished and Virgil was told, to come in tomorrow for his paycheck. Logan led him out and Virgil stretched,

“If you wanted your picture taken, You can just ask you know.”

Logan couldn't help the smile he gave, “I know,”

Logan had been taking with roman when Virgil walked in, Patton following behind him.

Roman whistled. “Please tell me puffball there is single?”

Logan rolled his eyes and took the check from Roman, walking to Virgil. He held it out to him.

“Your payment.”

Virgil looked downright confused as he took the check and glanced at it. Then stared at it.

“Those zeros are on..the left side of the decimal point?”

“Yes, they are.”

“..and those zeros are also..on the right of the other number?”

“Correct again.”

“This is in dollars?”

Logan couldn't fight the smile, never could around Virgil.

“Yes, it is.”

“…holy shit, you really are a model…” Virgil looked at Logan.

Logan laughed. “It took a check for you to realize that?”

Virgil actually laughed back. “Oh, wow…everything makes sense now…hey, where did Patton go? He tagged along and now he’s gone…"Logan glanced around before looked at Virgil unamused,

"Your friend and my boss are making out in the corner.”

Virgil gave a nod of 'yeah, that's expected’ before holding hi the check grinning.

“So mister model….shall I treat thee to a meal at McDonald’s?”

Logan laughed and took his hand. Intertwining his fingers. He gave Virgil a quick kiss before nodding.

“You better.”

#youre famous au #model logan #photographer virgil #analogical #i love this dynamic #I might write more myself #submission

137 notes · View notes

brucenat · 5 years

Note

Prompt: This is kind of a continuation of the fic "Closed Doors", but one night when things get heated once again Natasha decides she's ready. Bruce being the gentleman that he is, still offers her an out, saying she doesn't have if she's not ready. But she is, and Bruce shows great care and a kind of gentleness that Natasha has never experienced before.

Hello, lovely!

I’m posting this fic in full both on AO3 and here, but not Fanfiction. I didn’t want to risk my account getting hit because of a guideline violation (and I know there have been some groups going around reporting people).

Before reading this piece, please note the trigger warning and the author’s note.

Trigger warning: sexual assault within the fic’s flashback. Please read on at your own discretion.

Note: Before diving into this piece, I wanted to assure that I crafted this narrative and its events with nothing but respect and understanding, and I apologize now if that doesn’t come across for anyone. Surviving sexual assault is tremendously difficult, and it is absolutely normal and okay to experience flashbacks and feel triggered. It’s okay to experience these things and not want to engage in sexual activity afterward. It’s okay to experience a flashback, take a moment, and continue at your own pace. How you cope is absolutely valid, please know that.

If you want resources for reporting sexual assault or you want to talk about anything (related to this or not), know that my inbox is always open and there are so many people out there ready to help you.

AO3

Arch (The Sequel to Closed Doors)

It’s utterly gentle how he has her pressed against the dresser. His kiss embraces her with more pressure than his hands cupping her face, more than his hips tilted into her. She’s enjoying their position, this foreplay of teasing nips, her tidal wave of touch over his bare torso, their tangled tongues. She melts into the wood, slouches into him when he dives down her neck and fastens onto the skin just above the collar of her shirt—technically his shirt. He might think himself clever—which he is—or sneaky—which he isn’t—when he moves his hands to the hem, inches the fabric up. The tongue now teasing her clavicle is almost enough to convince her, but acquiescing now would be a lot less fun.

She seizes his hands in hers and leans down to capture his mouth. His palms slide into her grip, their fingers interlace, and their lips meld in a slow dance. Fixed between him and the dresser, she remains, kisses lazy and long, her thighs where their joined hands rest. A grin tips onto her mouth when his thumb strokes the pillow of skin near her underwear.

It doesn’t make sense when the flashback hits her. She’s safe, she’s settled, yet it rams into her.

Too many tongues slither onto her skin. There’s her body and a horde of snakes clambering onto her, over her. They make her a burial ground, except she is still breathing. Her lungs are painfully functional and, without even blinking, she is back in the Red Room.

“Nat?”

His voice, along with the entirety of the present, stir in the back of her skull, all under gelatin with leeches suspended in it. Everything in front of her is a cursed crimson with a bleeding teenage corpse strewn across a mattress of nails. Fixating on the destruction itself is better than the images of the trauma inflicted against her, what she feels happening to her. The men allowed into the room, allowed access to her without her say, revoking possession of her own limbs—

“Natasha.”

Then she’s back. With questioning fingers brushed against her cheek, Bruce’s arms sturdy under her palms, she’s out of the red.

He folds a hand so his knuckles rest on her cheekbone. All of him is a support for her. She’s slumped further down the dresser, crouched halfway between standing and sitting on the floor. He’s right there with her.

“You’re here. Nat,” he murmurs, “I’m here.”

“I’m gonna…”

She doesn’t need to finish for him to know. “Yeah.”

He slides his arms back until both her palms cover his. He waits for her to latch on, then tugs both of them upright. There’s a threat of wobble in her legs, which she refuses. She will stay on her own feet. This is her body, and she will use it how she pleases. In this moment, that means walking to the bathroom and into the shower.

When Bruce pauses in the doorway as she enters, her stomach drops into fast nausea. Come with me. Her tongue won’t accept the words. Her throat is thick with suppression, gagged by the past. She reaches for Bruce and he’s at her side, in her grasp, in an instant. What’s supposed to happen next seems so obvious and, yet, she can’t find the will to do it.

The two of them linger on the tiles, joined palms like a liferaft, adrift toward an endless horizon. Who knows where she’ll sink if she lets go, if she’s left to tread in the dark depths of history too long.

It’s time likes this when Bruce steps in, does what she needs without hearing her verbalize it. There are other ways to speak.

For a few moments—less than fifty seconds—he relinquishes her touch, traverses over to the shower and turns it on. As the water warms, they wait. His shirt on her is a safety net; if she really wanted to—and she does—she’d shower with it on, and he’d have no qualms. She wouldn’t have gotten this far in life without pushing herself, though. She strips.

The shirt lifts and sinks to the floor in a parachute of navy blue fabric. Her underwear follows, and so does Bruce’s pants, his boxers. He looks to her for a signal, any direction. In response to the tiny nod she gives, he steps in, paving a path for her.

As soon as she enters, hot water hits her magma skin and, somewhere between, it becomes steam; it beckons the old infection out of her skin. The toxins seep out, the present replaces them. Bruce is right in front of her.

The phantoms of fingers stick to her skin like tiny spiders. She scrubs at her arms and stomach, swiping away rivulets of water and invasion. In here, in this square of a space dedicated to cleansing, she permits herself this outward rebellion against her memories.

“Nat. Nat.” Bruce murmurs. His touch whispers over her, brushes onto her jaw. She breathes, refocuses. Water, which rivals her burning skin in temperature, thickens the air with steam. Her pores sigh into the damp, her hair slicks into a wet sheet. Bruce cradles her face as the showerhead rains around them, splatters soft onto the glass barrier. He said her name and she holds it as an echo in her ears. He’s with her in one of the two spaces in the world where being viscerally herself is the default. He’s as there as she is.

She lifts her hands from herself to cover his, press them more firmly into her. Her head tilts forward, bowing ever so slightly into the space between them. It’s something she does out of instinct rather than thought or intention, but he nudges in the next second and strokes her crown with a kiss.

“You’re here. I’m right here with you.” He assures into her skull.

“I know,” she tells him.

“Whatever you need—whatever you want me to do—”

She lifts her mouth to meet his, not to quiet him but because this is what she wants: the person she loves, trusts, whose resonance matches hers, as close to her as possible. She wants his love beating right beside her heart. She wants him loud and utterly himself with her when she blocks out the rest of the world with her walls. He is the quintessence of what she wasn’t supposed to have.

She clutches him to her like he’s an oxygen mask, kisses him as though they’re raising a mountain together and not even the shower spray can get between them. He gives right back, melding into her mouth without overwhelming her whole body.

When they part to breathe something other than each other, he asks, “How are you feeling?”

They’re barely apart, so her noses brushes against him when she nods. “Better.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you want me to get the water?” He gestures behind her to the shower handle with a flick of his eyes.

She nods and he cuts the spray. Emerging from the shower is easy—it’s existing beyond the bathroom she’s not prepared for.

He gets a towel for her before himself. She constricts her chest with the cotton, eliminates the nooks and crannies where shadows of the past can haunt her. As she stands there suppressing, Bruce bends down and retrieves his shirt from the floor. It’s a tranquil offering he holds out to her, which she gladly accepts. The scent of their detergent gusts over her when she tugs it on, trades the towel for the swath of him. While she does that, he slides back into his boxers, maybe his pajama pants too.

“Do you want these?”

She turns to see her own underwear held up to her. A glimmer of a grin cracks through the cement that’s settled on her face. Each action slow and steady, she takes the arm extended to her, plucks the fabric from his grasp, tosses it aside, and pulls him to her. She directs his hand to her waist, where he can keep them steady as their mouths press together. They create a gentle ebb and flow, his hands mirroring where hers drift on him.

“I, um—” He pecks her lips before continuing. “I have an idea—if you’re feeling up for anything. It’s okay if you’re…”

“I’m here with you,” she assures. “I’m okay.”

“Okay. Uh,” a sidelong look reveals what he has in mind before he says, “Could you…sit on the counter?”

An eyebrow quirks, more play than critical, but she doesn’t question. A thin layer of condensation makes sliding on effortless. In the interim, Bruce scoots a towel over and positions himself on it, kneeling. It’s second nature, the way her legs part for him.

He deposits a kiss onto her knee, slides his hands over her calves. When he looks up at her, his full eyes and lingering creases of concern in his face are nothing except loving. “If something doesn’t feel right, or you get another flashback—”

“I’ll let you know.” She promises, passing her fingers through his short curls.

He nudges his nose where he’d kissed her, lets her maneuver however she wants in the meantime. Knowing this part well, she drapes one leg over his shoulder and leaves the other propped against the cabinets below. Her hands don’t wander far from his head, which migrates toward her crux, a butterfly trail of kisses and the stroking of his fingers.

The warmth of his breath breezes through her lower hairs, coasts over her folds. She settles into his touch and trusts him to make her melt.

With the leftover moisture from the shower, he could enter her with a two fingers and she’d have no issue. It wouldn’t be him, wouldn’t be his typical touch, if he jumped to that without her asking. He dips into the damp with his tongue, eases her into the thaw. Out of the shape of her, he finds art, tracing her in a slow, fluid motion. An arm curls around her thigh, lighting scrapes up the taut skin on her hip, then slides back down. When he widens her part, he applies a slight pressure, just enough to spark the right nerves and get her to sigh the ghost of a moan.

She arrives fully into the present on blissful tides, his mouth wading around her, replacing the shower’s wet with her own. When he attends to her clit, he starts with a tease of tongue before a full embrace. She could cry from the softness of it. Instead, she hooks onto his hair, encourages him on.

He shimmers and flicks her clit, obeys the hand telling him to give more, and adds a finger to the mix. A firm tip drags through her damp, leaving more in its wake. Worship replaces the feeling of cursed.

Her orgasm happens quietly, with a gradual increase in his tongue’s pace combined with the coaxing of her G-spot. Sighs elevate into gentle moans as her thighs quiver from this blissful undoing. This time, when she’s unmade, it’s entirely with her consent. Reconstruction happens in the aftermath, where she doesn’t desire his shirt on her, but Bruce himself.

Once he removes his finger, she tugs the sole piece of clothing off her body and drops it on his head. He startles, and his lips stumble across her folds. Without removing it, he rises, meets her with a grin as she takes the fabric off his skull and sets it on the counter. Before either can say anything, they’re kissing. The tang of her slides from his mouth to hers, mingles between them like sweet oxygen. For some span of precious time, they stand, bodies pressed close, and simply kiss.

Want of him lingers in her core like an itch not properly scratched. Loath as she is to pull away from his kiss, she does so to see what he’s willing to give. “Bruce—”

He responds with minor surprise, sans condescension or judgement. “More?” To her nod, he coasts his hands over her thighs, one on either side of him, and asks, “Do you want fingers or…”

“Fingers.” Though he doesn’t feel hard—and she absolutely won’t apologize for what she feels—the receding wake of her flashback compels her to add, “I don’t think I could—”

He crashes into her before she can venture down the spiral. His fervor has him tugging her closer to the counter’s edge, her legs clamping tighter, both of them caught mid-exhale. When air becomes necessity, they part and he tells her, “You don’t need to justify anything. Not to me.”

This time, it’s her who pulls him in. Their lips meet and melt, and she’s indomitable inside this haven and out. It’s her who takes his hand and directs it over her body, her muscle, her skin. What she wants is him and her, him knowing how to touch her, her loving with him here and now. He senses this and listens. His hand cups her crux, her fingers feathery on his wrist, and he swirls through her damp heat.

She migrates two fingers to her clit and, with just light pressure, her spine shudders and bows. Their heads knock together, her thighs tremble and he adjusts one of her legs in an effort to hook her more firmly to him. The same digit teases her entrance while, elsewhere, his hand wanders, cherishes. Subtle sparks under her skin follow his touch up her hips, her waist, her brief collection of scars, her ribcage. When he cups her breast, squeezes light, in just the right way, his finger plunges in and she’s ascending toward a euphoric peak.

He strokes into her, shows her how even the inside of her can be caressed. The circles she presses into herself start regular, have her humming from her throat to her core, but the pattern crumbles into erratic movements as he increases his pace. Keeping her legs up around him is both a challenge and the only option. She clings to his hair, goes to kiss him but he eludes her. He sucks on her neck’s pulse point, makes her veins feel like they’re a lava flow.

Just as her trembles turn to quakes, he retracts his one finger and quickly returns with two. She can’t help but emit an, “Oh—”

Then he’s at her ear, scraping with his teeth, and the only recourse in the world is to kiss him, the only sensation is a pleasure that overwhelms the senses, has her shaking. He thumps into her through it all.

When orgasm hits, it crashes into her. Her back arches as she moans into his open mouth. His palm on her breast gets caught between them, which he doesn’t seem to mind. Even if he did, there’s not much he can do as she comes, vibrating around him and his fingers within her.

Everything’s as she left it when she returns to her normal state, minus the trembling in her panted breaths. Other than that, Bruce is still between her legs, his mouth dropped to the junction between her neck and shoulder, and she’s sitting on the bathroom counter in the home they share. She’s safe.

She’s also a little tight in the legs—definitely not in other places—and her calves are starting to throb from something other than orgasm-induced pleasure. She kisses the top of his head, then stretches out. His hands lift from where they’ve settled on her thighs. They cup her face as their lips peck, then he reaches for the cotton bundle beside her.

The blue clump gets a smile out of her. “You got your shirt back.”

“Not for long.” He holds it between them without condition.

Before taking it—because his clothes are an offer she can’t refuse, and one he can’t revoke—she slides back onto the floor, onto her own feet. She tells him, “Thank you,” and hopes he recognizes how far that goes. To be sure, she kisses his cheek then, for herself, she pulls him in, wraps her arms around her partner in life and soul and simply exists in the squeeze he reciprocates.

After that, she takes the shirt.

#ask Avian #tw: ptsd #tw: abuse #brutasha #brucenat #brucenat fanfiction #brutasha fanfiction #bruce banner #natasha romanoff #natasha romanov #natasha pov #avengers fic #avengers fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #marvel #here be smut #avianink #as always i hope this is alright

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on-the-virge-of-crumbling · 6 years

Text

A Masquerade

Written for @sanderssidesspook ‘s Halloween (Spooky Month) prompt list. Immediately I wanted to write and project onto Virgil but I want to write all of these so that they fit the character that best fits the prompt and my interpretation. I also want to involve everyone, so with that, we start with Princey.

Summary: Halloween is quickly approaching and with it’s nearing start the festivities. Roman Prince is invited to a Masquerade by his cousin and he readily accepts. Roman is an extravagant and proud young man and he feels the need to go out and make something of himself, make himself known, and to go to a merry Halloween party at the beginning of October? Why, that seems like a marvelous chance even if it doesn't go exactly as planned.

Pairing(s)/Relationship(s): Possible Pre-LAMP, Pre-Prinxiety, Pre-Logicality / None

Warning(s): insecurities (,Unedited dumpster fire, a lot of filler, just all and all actual trash)

Word Count: 6,102 (Six-thousand one-hundred and two)

Prompt: Costume Party (Day 1)

Human AU

<<-------------------->>

A clearing in a dense forest, the tips of the trees painted with fading golden light as the sun set and the trunks illuminated by the flickering glow of fireflies and luminescent mushrooms as they simultaneously sprung to life. The foliage was viridian and lush, the wide clearing’s lime grass soft and short. Creatures shuffled out of the treeline, white doe and jackrabbits stumbling into sight with their large innocent eyes blown wide and curious. The sky was quickly darkening, the clouds like a watercolor of yellow and pink as the blue of the sky deepened and riddled itself with twinkling stars. A lake was situated at the center of the clearing, it’s pure waters rippling and the grass around its edges colored a pristine white. It twinkled with the stars, it’s gentle tides lapping at the white grass and dancing in its own pools. The creatures were as mesmerized as he, a jackrabbit hopping towards the lake’s enticing waters and encouraging his fellow wildlife to do the same. Soon enough the clearing was covered in small, white-furred fauna. A white doe trotted over to the lake and began to lap up the water with its navy blue tongue, the jackrabbits chasing each other playfully as the moon made itself known in the sky. Wolves came from the woods, they too white-furred, but they did not make a move to hurt all the easy prey prancing about, rather, they began to play amongst themselves; howling yipping and joyously jumping. The lake seemed to glow in the lunar light, the white grass swaying in an invisible breeze and reaching for the stars. He wished to reach those stars, too, to live amongst them and become his own brilliant constellation one would excitedly look for in the night sky. He could be admired, loved, and sought out.

The Moon’s rays made the lake sparkle, lake’s waters rippling and swirling gracefully as-

Roman’s eyes fluttered open, the last wisps of his dream dissipating in his mind as he took in his familiar ceiling. His white ceiling stood out in comparison to his royal red walls, his furniture all in white with golden accents just so it all looked put together and planned; not a thing out of place. On the wall, right above his cushion headboard, a big, brilliant golden crown was boldly painted. Roman took in a deep breath and held it, letting his eyes shut for but a moment as he listened to his phone blare on his nightstand. He had, evidently, forgotten to put it on silent earlier that night and now he was, probably, being woken up at an ungodly hour such as this. The sun had yet to rise so it must’ve still been late, his ruby curtains not at all glowing with the light of the sun as they did every morning.

The call had to have been important if it was coming in at... Roman opened his eyes and exhaled slowly as he turned to look at his basic, red digital clock situated on his pristine white nightstand. 3:41 a.m. Who in the world was calling him at 3:41 in the morning. He needed his beauty rest and this, this, was treason. With an exaggerated groan Roman rolled himself over and dramatically flung his arm out so he could grab his phone settled right in front of his clock. He dragged the phone off the table, his face buried in his pillow, and slid his thumb across the screen without even a glance before shoving the device to his ear. “This had better be important,” He grumbled sourly, voice low, muffled, and slightly gravelly from the few hours of sleep he’d managed to catch so far.

“Oh honey, come on, it’s early,” The familiar energy of his cousin’s voice filtered into the otherwise silent room, “Besides, this is something I think you’ll be interested in.” Roman rolled over once again, his gaze flicking over the tiny, memorized details of his pristine ceiling. Remy knew how to play him, keeping the information just out of reach and arousing intrigue. The sound of loud sipping blared from his phone, Roman instinctually flinching away from the obnoxious noise that just shattered his eardrum with a scowl.

“Remus,” Roman huffed, draping his arm over his eyes and resisting the urge to groan as loud as he could manage. The call of sleep was a tempting one but his attention had been snatched up by Remy and if he didn’t find out what in the world Remy was talking about he was certain it’d keep him up all night. The satisfaction that bloomed in his mind, however, when Remy groaned at the use of his full name was almost worth the exhaustion. “Get on with it, will you? I love you dearly but I would like to get back to sleep sometime this century.” Roman removed his arm from his face and tangled his hand in his hair. He wondered what the stars looked like right now. If they sparkled nearly as bright as the ones in his dream had. A glance out his window would prove nothing, light pollution draining the natural light from the sky, but he wished to see the galaxies. The large, romantic part of him imagined looking up at constellations and hoping his true love was out there somewhere looking at the same sky, admiring the same stars.

“Well, since you asked so nicely. I’m putting together a fantabulous party to kick off October. Of course, I’m inviting you, Ro,” Remy replied with another outrageously loud sip. Roman was well aware Remy was doing it on purpose but didn’t care to call out his cousin, he just wanted to get back to sleep.

“The offer is very much appreciated-”

“Girl, I’m not done, it’s a masquerade costume party and some of my friends from college will be coming. You and me are gonna go costume shopping tomorrow and it will be marvelous. No ‘nos’ or ‘buts’. I’ll pick you up tomorrow.” Remy insisted, sounding way too pleased with himself. “Now go to sleep you party-pooper.” The phone beeped before Roman could even get another word in, but that was the last thing on his mind. The idea of the party actually excited him, despite how negatively he’d acted over the phone. He was certain Remy was aware he’d want to attend as well. A costume masquerade, what a wondrous idea.

But what would he go as? Something fanciful and remarkable, certainly. His mind was still fogged with sleep and his eyelids were already drooping as he numbly placed his phone back on his side table. He fought for a moment to keep his eyes open, he needed to come up with an idea. Remy hadn’t told him when this party was but he said they were going costume shopping tomorrow meaning Roman had to have a plan if he was going to be as marvelous and extravagant as he wanted. Thinking of something in his current state, however, would prove disastrous so without further fight Roman fell right back to sleep.

<<-------------------->>

Roman woke to the default screeching blare of his alarm clock, his eyes sliding open as he pushed himself upright and blindly shut off his alarm with ease. The light was now seeping in through his window, patterned by the blinds, the curtains pulled back and the sun’s ray filtering through the red fabric. It was a serene sight, happy and calm; a perfect morning.

Roman flung off his blankets quickly, immediately missing the warmth his bed had to offer but knowing that if he stayed in bed he’d end up sleeping the day way. He shuffled across his room with a yawn, stretching his arms high above his head before running both hands through his hair and down his face in attempt to wake himself up. Waking up and getting started was always the hardest part of Roman’s day, the urge to just stay in bed and dream almost too strong for him. He knew that if he didn’t get up those dreams could never become a reality, though, and that was something that motivated him on a day to day basis. So, with purpose, Roman opened the door to his bedroom and strode out into the living room of his apartment. He walked across the room, ignoring his fanciful furniture and entered the attached kitchen. The pantry door was slightly askew and Roman sighed loudly, a soft smile playing at his lips as he gently tugged open the door. Inside, on the hardwood flooring, a slim white cat was flopped on the floor. Its head was stuffed into a cat treats bag and the sound of feline chewing could be heard, if not slightly muffled.

Roman kneeled and grabbed the cat around the middle, tugging it out of its breakfast of choice and chuckling lowly as the white-furred creature mewled pitifully at the loss of food. “I’ll never understand how you keep such a slim figure Snowball,” He insisted as he snatched up the bag of treats. He sealed the bag as he stood before reaching out and placing the bag on one of the higher shelves, “You spark a jealousy in me.” He joked.

Snowball stared at him and sat, her head tipping up and showing off her red collar complete with a tiny bell. Her big blue eyes blinked curiously as Roman grabbed a small box of coffee before stepping back and nudging her out of the pantry. He stepped to the side and put the box on the counter before reaching up to open one of his dark, oakwood cabinets. While distracted, Snowball hopped up onto the counter and began curiously sniffing at the box in attempt to figure out if its contents were worthy of her attention.

Roman got down his favorite mug, a red cup with a crown reminiscent of the one in his room with a curly handle he’d received as a gift the Christmas beforehand as a gift from Remy, and nudged Snowball away from the coffee before extracting a small container of coffee grounds from the box. Snowball sniffed at his hand as he flipped up the handle of his Keurig and popped the coffee into place. He shoved his mug under the spout and flicked the handle down before hitting the 10-ounce button and waiting. He leaned against the counter and reached up to scratch behind Snowball’s ears as the machine whirred to life and began to mix his preferred morning coherency in liquid form. Snowball purred gratefully, staring at him with half-lidded eyes. She appeared almost questioning and Roman often wondered how much Snowball could truly comprehend. Perhaps she always stole his pens because she was unhappy with her very uninspired name.

“You’ll be home alone for a while today my dear,” Roman said smoothly. It’d become habit for him to casually speak with his feline companion, telling her about his day or his plans like she was a human who would speak back. A few of his friends found it rather weird, his friends with pets, however, understood wholeheartedly. Snowball meowed when he attempted to pull his hand away, lifting a paw and pulling his hand back shamelessly. “Remy has decided to take me shopping for a costume and I have the most stunning idea.” He confessed.

The Keurig spewed coffee, startling Snowball and giving Roman the opportunity to pull his hand away before he continued on, “You see, I’ve been having extraordinary dreams revolving around this brilliant fantasy land.” Snowball no longer looked very interested now that Roman wasn’t petting her, her tail swaying in something akin to irritation as she seated herself on the dark marble countertop. Roman smiled at her as he gestured grandly to nothing as he spoke with more fervor, “You see, in each one, I am wearing this magnificent princely outfit with golden embellishments and a sash this most enchanting ruby shade, my katana sheathed at my side. I hope to bring it to life for this party, what do you think?” He asked despite knowing he’d receive no answer.

Snowball simply jumped off the counter as the Keurig sputtered, spraying out the last of Roman’s coffee before shutting down until it’s next use. Roman sighed contentedly to himself as he tugged his coffee off the Keurig plate, setting it on the counter as he retrieved his creamer from his spotless stainless steel fridge settled straight across from his pantry. He unscrewed the lid as he approached his coffee and proceeded to pour a borderline disgusting amount of the sweetened creamer into his drink. The liquid reached just below the lip of the cup when he stopped, putting the lid back on and putting the creamer away before he grabbed a spoon from beside the coffee maker and carefully mixed his drink. The coffee quickly became a very light cream color and he tapped the spoon on the rim and put it back in it’s designated spot. With his drink prepared and cooling he left the kitchen and headed back towards his room, the soft jingling of Snowball’s bell ringing behind him as his cat followed after him.

Roman walked through his door, left wide open, and watched over to his nightstand. He snatched up his phone and unplugged it with a practiced grace before he unlocked the device and opened his default messaging app (I.E Instagram). He tapped his most recent conversation and skillfully typed out a text.

7:45 a.m

PrinceRoman: When do u plan 2 pick me up?

Roman hit send and shoved his phone into the pocket on his red satin pajama pants, picking up Snowball and holding her to his chest before leaving the room and closing the door behind him. He walked back into the living room, placed Snowball on the couch, before moving to collect his coffee from the kitchen. His routine felt like it usually went along a lot smoother than it was now but he blamed it fully on the fact his rest had been so rudely interrupted during the night. Cup in hand he made his way into the living room before sitting on the dark suede couch next to Snowball and setting his mug on the gunmetal glass coffee table settled between him and his TV set up. He began to once again pet Snowball when his phone dinged. He dug the phone from his pocket and opened the message.

7:49 a.m

Up_All_Night: Be ready in an hour~!

Roman rolled his eyes but grinned fondly to himself as he sent back a quick heart before tossing his phone next to him and leaning back into the soft cushions. He sucked in a content breath and just let himself relax and pet his cat for a moment. He was living his dreams, singing in musicals and acting in plays. He’d even gotten a main role in a Broadway musical a few years back and it had been one of the best moments of his life. He was lucky, and content for the most part. Sometimes his mind got to him, pushing in on his like a trap telling him he wasn’t good enough and he was never going to make it. It wasn’t uncommon for him to give into those thoughts, fear and insecurity rolling in his stomach and telling him he had to prove himself. In the end he always came out on top, he knew he always would, but in those moments he feels defeated and broken. It amazes him sometimes he ever manages to get himself back up. It’s because of his supportive family and friends, the people who he doubts will even stay but always do more for him then he could ever expect them to. He just so amazed by all of it, it stumps him how he ever came to deserve anything like this.

Snowball pawed at his wrist, noticing he’d stopped in his soothing pats and demanding more attention. Roman roused from his thoughts and stood, leaving Snowball on the couch so he could go take a quick shower and get dressed. Remy would be on his way soon.

While walking back to his room to use the adjacent bathroom and get a change of clothes Roman couldn’t help but smile, a happiness unexplainable blooming in his chest.

<<-------------------->>

Roman bounced his leg where he sat beside Remy in his cousin’s car, excitement buzzing in his veins. He had a brilliant plan for his costume and he knew all the stores to find in order to get exactly what he needed. “When, exactly, does this party take place?” he asked, turning to look at his cousin as they slowed to a stop at a red light.

“A week from now,” Remy answered uncaringly, taking a loud sip from their drink as they stared down the light like winning a staring contest would make it turn green faster.

<<-------------------->>

A few bags already hung from Roman’s arms, a good few more hanging from Remy’s, when he saw something perfect. He needed it, it would complete everything. “Remy,” He squealed, grabbing his cousin by the forearm and dragging him across the mall’s courtyard so he could reach the small shop right next to a Hot Topic. “Need.”

“Roman, honey, sweetheart,” Remy sighed, grabbing his sunglasses and pulling them down the bridge of his nose so he could properly stare Roman down over the lenses. With a Starbucks cup in one hand and the other grasping the rims of his glasses, bags swinging from his elbows, Remy looked so stereotypical Roman almost laughed. “It’s a party. You’ll probably never wear the thing again.”

“I can afford it,” Roman shot back.

“So can I, but that’s not the point.” Remy snarked with a teasing roll of his eyes and twitch of his lips.

“Great, then we’ll split the bill for it,” Roman grabbed Remy by the arm again and pulled him into the store. Remy shrieked.

<<-------------------->>

“Is that all,” The clerk asked, raising a questioning eyebrow that Roman barely took note of as he fished a few large bills from his wallet.

“Oh yes, I have everything I need,” Roman assured, holding out the bills.

“That’ll be three-hundred fifteen dollars and twenty-five cents.” The clerk instinctively droned as they took Roman’s money. Remy snorted and took another loud sip, eyeing the clerk as they cringed.

<<-------------------->>

The next week passed in a blur, Roman was working extra hard in attempt to make his costume perfect, going as far to call in his friends Talyn and Joan so they could help him get everything perfect. They were happy to help, taking his bossy instructions with ease and even helping him to even out all of his ideas.

They worked ridiculously hard, Remy absentmindedly reminding Roman time and time again that it was just a costume party. It was a fruitless effort but it was cute that he tried.

<<-------------------->>

Roman stood proudly in his room, admiring his costume in his full body mirror situated next to his desk. He wore sleek, black dress shoes with fitting black dress pants. His torso was covered in a white tunic with four lines of gold holding it closed and tails cutting off just below his knees, his shoulders properly colored with matching golden embellishments. A few lines of gold circled the cuffs of his royal garment. A patch, handmade and a brilliant shade of crimson with more gold, sat on his shoulder; a castle and waves and everything ever so princely. At his side his katana was sheathed and across his chest was a matching crimson sash tying the outfit together. On his face was a fitted mask, sparkling ruby, like that of Dorothy’s shoes in the Wizard of Oz. Around the edges of the masks were wisps of handpainted gold, curling around the eyes gracefully and bringing out the flecks of colorful hazel in his chestnut eyes. Dots of the same shimmer rested along the edge of the mask’s top, like stars.

Roman smiled and looked himself in the eye, atop of his head sat a golden circlet decorated with subtly red gems. It wasn’t authentic by any means by a proper imitation. It was absent in his dreams, the circlet, but he felt like it completed the look he was striving to achieve. He was ready.

<<---------------------->>

“You look stunning girl,” Remy greeted animatedly, opening the door to let Roman in and admiring Roman’s royal costume. His eyes settled on the circlet and his smile seemed to widen. “Looks great.” Remy’s mask was simply pitch black, matte and solid. His costume was a ragged black and gray patched outfit, special effects bolts sticking from either side of his neck and thick staples across his forehead. Stitches could be seen peeking out from underneath his clothes, white contact in his eyes and standing out against the black of his mask.

“You look properly spooky Remy,” Roman complimented back, looking out across the crowd of people and admiring all the costumes. They ranged from store-bought to handmade; covering to revealing. They moved in time to loud music, dancing across the mansion-like household that belonged to Roman’s Aunt and Uncle. Remy nodded to him and disappeared into the crowd, talking loudly with the people who greeted him. Roman was very familiar with the house, and he was glad to know that his costume was clearly the most extravagant out of all of the others. He was bold and powerful, standing tall and looking at everything before him. Lights circled around every available surface, casting purple and orange light all across the home, the house lights themselves were dimmed and Roman was almost one hundred positive that festive snacks were piled high in the dining area hidden behind a wall off to his right. It was a well thought out display, like one from a film, like a spookier version of Another Cinderella Story’s grand masquerade party.

Roman smirked as he trotted down into the fray, hand casually resting on his sword’s hilt. The people weren’t rude, letting him pass with relative ease as he made his way to the kitchen area. He hadn’t eaten that day, spending the entire day fretting over last minute details. His choices were now coming to bite him as his stomach clenched, painfully demanding attention. He was happy to give in, walking with his head held high and a proud grin on his face. He felt remarkable, celestial, like the world could focus in on him at this moment and be proud. It was an amazing feeling and he relished in it, stepping into the kitchen and being met with exactly what he expected. A fogging bowl of what he assumed was alcohol-spiked punch sat on the kitchen island, a gratuitous amount of Halloween candy and snacks surrounding the smokey cauldron. Deciding alcohol wasn’t in his best interest Roman made for the fridge, opening the familiar storage unit and looking for the soda he knew Remy always kept on hand in case he decided to make a surprise visit.

“Hey,” Roman startled at the angry voice behind him, turning around to glance at the entryway. He quickly met eyes with the man who’d spoken, the guy leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. He was dressed in a black and purple patchwork hoodie that looked carefully crafted. His pants were black as were his shoes but Roman’s eyes were drawn briefly to the man’s plum-colored bangs hanging over his eyes. His eyes covered with a startling flamboyant mask. It was a deep sparkling violet decorated with silvery lightning bolts, the eyes lined with a shimmering black. “What the hell are you doing?” The guy snarled, pushing off the wall and shoving his hands deep into his pockets as he walked further into the kitchen.

Roman raised a questioning eyebrow, offended by the stranger’s rude behavior, “I could ask you the same thing, you know you’re supposed to show up to costume parties in costume, right?” He snarked back, turning back to the fridge and grabbing the soda he so craved. He opened the can with a satisfying pop and turned back to the stranger as his drink fizzed in his hand. “I’m unsure of what your problem is but I’d suggest taking it out on someone else J.D-lightful.”

The guy bristled, shoulders tensing and teeth grinding together. His eyes narrowed into a fierce glare and Roman was almost certain he would pounce when a familiar face bounced into the kitchen.

“Oh, hi Roman,” Patton greeted with a bright smile showing off fake fangs molded to his teeth. His mask was a dazzling baby blue outlined in gray, sparkling and glimmering and eye-catching. He wore a blue polo and his favorite gray cardigan was tied around his shoulders, jeans covered his legs and sneakers adorned his feet. The interesting part, however, was Patton’s messy hair and fluffy sideburns, a black nose painted on his own sniffer. Roman was surprised when Patton’s gaze flicked to the stranger, putting a name to the face. “Hiya Virgil.”

“You know him?” Roman and Virgil spoke in unison, turning to scowl at each other.

Patton nodded, “Come on kiddos, play nice.” He scolded playfully as he walked over, grabbing a handful of pretzels and munching on them as he put his other hand on Virgil’s shoulder. “Roman, this is Virgil. Virgil, this is Remy’s cousin Roman.” he introduced around a mouthful of salty snack. Virgil glared at him, looking him up and down skeptically before giving him a curt not and extending a hand.

Roman stared at it for a moment, unsure if he should trust this man, “It’s called a handshake Princey, you tend to participate when you meet new people.” Virgil teased, smirk pulling at his lips and oh no. Roman much preferred when Virgil smiled, his scowl was dark but even that soft teasing grin was enough to put a light in Virgil’s dark brown irises.

He took Virgil’s hand and shook it firmly, noting Virgil’s own firm grasp before their hands dropped simultaneously to their sides. They stared each other down for a moment, Virgil’s shorter stature and slumped posture forcing Roman to look down in order to meet the other man’s eyes. Patton, oblivious to the moment, loudly shoved more pretzels into his face.

“Patton, that is highly ineffective. You are getting the majority of your food on the floor.” Roman couldn’t help but roll his eyes, apparently, everyone he knew was interested in hiding out in the kitchen. And Virgil, of course. He was content to be with his closest friends though. And Virgil.

Patton whined, pouting at Logan and getting crumbs all over his polo and into his fake sideburns. “To be fur Logan, we all know I’m a messy eater.” Virgil snorted and rolled his eyes while Logan scowled and instinctively moved to adjusted his glasses, forgetting he’d put on contact in favor the party’s theme. Logan was wearing his usual attire, a dark black polo and a navy tie. His shirted tucked into tan pants and his feet covered with pristine dress shoes. His mask was a simple, sparkling navy lined with black in a similar style to Patton’s. Roman noted how they were all covered in different colored glitters.

“I believe you meant ‘to be fair’.” Logan corrected as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Did I?” Patton shot back, smile widening as Roman chuckled and Logan groaned. The night was beginning to look a lot more entertaining.

<<-------------------->>

They’d all taken a seat on the floor, sat in a poorly made circle with the bowl of pretzels settled in the center. Initially, Logan had protested, insisting that chairs would be much better but Patton had tugged him down and the logical man had made no move to get up and remove himself.

Now, they were all smiling over some dumb joke that Patton had told. Virgil’s shoulders silently shook and Logan had looked away in order to cover his amusement. Patton looked so proud that he’d made them all laugh, eyes shining behind his mask as he beamed at all of them. If Patton had a tail it’d be wagging a million miles a minute. Roman had noticed when Virgil had let out a surprised bark of laughter earlier that he was wearing small fangs, when he’d asked Virgil just shrugged and said he was a vampire. Logan was a “teacher.” Neither had really wanted to dress up.

“What’s a werewolf’s favorite day of the week?” Patton asked, leaning forward as if in anticipation of his own joke. He didn’t wait for anyone to attempt an answer before he bounced back and threw his arms up, “Moonday!” he exclaimed. Virgil snorted again and smiled at Patton almost shyly.

“Did you study before the party?” Virgil snarked. Patton bounced in place and shook his head, both of their fake fangs were showing. It was quite endearing, actually.

“I’m just that good kiddo,” Patton sang, giggling. If Roman didn’t know any better he’d say Patton was intoxicated but he knew Patton just got this way when excited sometimes.

Roman turned to Logan, sending the man a gentle smile that Logan returned without hesitance. The party was turning out to be a lot more fun than he had anticipated but that was likely due to the fact he was spending it with amazing people. He’d have to thank Remy. In fact, this would be one of his favorite moments of the year he was certain, simply sitting down and enjoying the company of people that have come to mean so much to him... and Virgil.

Roman slowly stood, gaining the others’ attention, he grinned at them and straightened his posture, “I’m off to the restroom. I’ll return shortly.” he assured. Logan gave him a nod, Virgil shrugging as Patton told him to be back soon. He left the kitchen and strode back into the mess of people in the house, the music hitting him full force. Everyone appeared to be having a great time, nothing broken and everything calm enough. Remy really did know how to put a party together, which made sense considering how many he goes to. Roman squeezed his way through the crowd, careful not to jab anyone with the end of his sheath as his maneuvered through the crowd. Luckily he knew where he was going.

The hall leading to the bathroom was thankfully empty with the exception of two girls settled against the wall nursing drinks, he passed them with a polite nod before knocking on the bathroom door. When no response came he assumed it safe and entered the, thankfully, vacant restroom. He relieved himself in peace, washing his hands and running his still wet digits through his hair to both tame and tussle the soft locks. He looked himself over in the mirror, adjusted his circlet and nodded to himself before leaving the cream-themed room.

“-showing off, how rude. I mean, who wears a crown to a costume party.” One of the girls was speaking as he exited the room and it was clear they were in the middle of a conversation about him. The other girl scoffed and rolled her eyes while agreeing wholeheartedly and sipping her drink.

Roman could feel nervous nausea twist in his stomach, his previously wondrous mood soured by the few words he heard spoken about him. He turned on his heels and retreated further into the house, taking familiar turns while his thoughts raced. Did everyone think that? That he was showing off and being over-the-top? That wasn’t his intention, he just wanted to put his all into what he did. Perhaps he should stop trying to make everything perfect. Perhaps Remy had been right, it truly was just a costume party.

He burst through one last pair of doors, sucking in a deep breath that filled his lungs with cold, night air. The backyard, epic in size, had a gigantic rectangular pool surrounded by clean, light gray concrete. It was all fenced in with a tall hedge covered in a multitude of flowers and the stairs leading from the house to the pool was lined with plants of all kinds. There were fairy lights suspended above the entire yard but they were off, the stars strikingly clear as Remy’s home was in the middle of nowhere and the outside lights were off as well.

Roman trotted down a few steps before dropping down onto the lip of one of the planting bases. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, tangling his hands into his hair and taking in deep, shaky breaths. He felt ridiculous, letting the opinions of others get to him so much. He was very proud of his costume, Joan and Talyn were as well, but the words of two girls had made him feel so unnecessarily guilty. The last thing he wanted to force people to feel worse about themselves because he went overboard.

He was always going overboard.

Roman sat back, letting his hands drop and hang between his knees as he just stared up at the stars. He felt his eyes fruitlessly burning and he was distinctly aware of how the chill of the cold autumn air bit at his skin. How had the night gone from so enjoyable, a fantasy come to life, to so wretched. He felt tainted and dirty; unworthy. Over something just so stupid.

“You know, I really like the stars.” Roman jolted at the sound of Virgil’s voice. He whipped around to see the man trudging down the stairs with his hands shoved deep into is unique hoodie’s pockets. Roman tracked Virgil with his eyes as the other approached, carefully lowering himself down next to Roman on the plant’s edge. “They’re so dark and beautiful, the night sky losing its significance without the stars and the stars losing themselves entirely without the darkness of the sky.” Roman watched Virgil carefully as his gaze flicked over the sky, the stars reflected in his irises as his mask sparkled in the moon’s silvery light.

“What are you doing Virgil?” Roman asked softly, drawing Virgil’s eyes to his. For a long moment Virgil just stared at him, it felt like Virgil could see everything. His face was calm and thoughtful and his eyes were borderline unfocused.

Virgil turned away again and it felt like Roman’s breath came back to him, the upward twitching of Virgil’s lips breaking the impossibly fragile atmosphere the moment seemed to have adapted all on its own. Virgil’s hair shifted, falling further into his eyes and glinting in the same silver light that caused his mask to shine.

“You are who you are Princey,” Virgil spoke suddenly, “Whatever makes you happy is what you deserve to do. People will always be against you so surround yourself with people who will do nothing but support you, even during your most ridiculous and insane phases. Those girls were just jealous because their basic Spirit Halloween costumes could never compete with your homemade brilliance.”

“How did you-”

“Just be yourself Roman,” Through the hours they’d been talking in the kitchen Virgil had yet to call him Roman. It was surprising and special despite the fact they’d just met that day. “The people who stand against you don’t know the kind of person you are or what you deal with on a day to day basis.” Roman’s chest ached thinking about how personal that had sounded. Virgil tilted his head up and looked at the stars again and this time Roman joined him. The stars were so bright, the moon’s light illuminating everything around them. Vaguely, Roman wondered if his true love was out there looking at these same stars. The way the pool rippled in the breeze reminded him of his dream at the beginning of the week, his outfit almost an exact replica of what he’d been wearing in his mind’s fantasy world. The stars were almost as bright, the moon almost as magical.

“There you guys are!” Patton’s happy voice echoed behind him moments before he and Virgil were tackled in Patton’s warm embrace, the heat of the man’s body chasing away the fall night’s chill. He laughed joyously when Patton yanked a disgruntled Logan into the cuddle pile, Virgil chuckling in his ear as they all ended up staring up at the stars. He truly, deeply needed to thank Remy for this; his dream paled in comparison to this perfect moment.

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lizzybeth1986 · 6 years

Text

Quick Thoughts on DD Book 1 Chapter 5

• Content Warning: There are references to slut shaming while speaking about opera singers, and I speak about executions in the Hamid scene (I've not added grisly details or anything, but to me what I have included does sound a little macabre). I don't know if those warrant a warning, but I'd like to err on the side of caution and ensure that anyone comfortable with that knows this before they make the decision to proceed.

• Okay on with the QT!

• Why hello there, fancy hot looking Ottoman prince dude.

• Looks like not one but both of my MCs will be living the thot life.

• Apologies for the huge delay guys. There was a LOT to unpack this chapter, and it took me a while to actually explore, confirm my research and get a clear idea overall of how I wanted to approach this one. I'm hoping once TRR ends I can get these babies out earlier.

• You know what I realised? The Lady Grandma LIKES a sassy bitch. There are several times this chapter she's actually been more approving of my headstrong Marianne than she has been of my more mild-mannered Florence. See all of this:

She's mostly approving of this, however, when Henrietta is the recipient of this behaviour, but there are also points where she appreciates the MC's candor (if she chooses to show it) such as if the MC refers to the art of the fan as "ridiculous". If there is one thing that consistently gets on Dominique's nerves, it is occasions where the MC might speak of herself and her former background negatively, mostly out of annoyance because it shows she hasn't comfortably settled into her role yet, and Dominique needs the MC to do so if Edgewater is to stay within in the family and bloodline.

• Also I love the subtle streak of independence we get to see in Annabelle. She is someone who is doing what is expected of her, someone who tries to make the best of her circumstances the only way she knows how, but she is also refreshingly open about how stressful it is for her to go down this path, even in her free scenes. She is also playful and mischievous and doesn't take herself too seriously, which makes a lot of her scenes a joy to do.

• I also really really liked the option where you tell her she's the one you want to marry, and her reaction is both a disbelief that such a dream could come true alongside a receptiveness to the idea. It's soft and sweet and beautiful.

• So we start out with a crash course on the nobility we'll meet in London (Alfred Halloway, whose daughter Felicity is debuting this season, and the Barrymore family, who are related to the Halloways by marriage). Only this time, Annabelle wants to be a snarky little boss and fill the MC in on all the juicy gossip that Lady Grandmother won't give her.

• Lady Grandmother: Alfred Holloway is the viscount of Lochdale. His daughter, Felicity, will be coming from her estate at Bellington Hall to make her debut this season.

Miss Parsons: Alfred Holloway is an arrogant prig who looks like an Easter ham studded with cloves.

(For the record, this is what a clove-studded Easter ham seems to look like:

Holy shit Annabelle you savage af)

Lady Grandmother: Miss Holloway's family is also tied by marriage to the Earl of Barrymore...

Miss Parsons: Oh, avoid the Earl of Barrymore. His bed has more traffic than Drury Lane!

Annabelle here must be referring to the crowd that tends to flock around the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, which was popular as a source of entertainment for its plays and had a seating capacity of 3000 people.

• The free scene with Annabelle is important because it eases us gently into the main themes of her scene later on. The women get to speak about the whole concept of a "marriage market", and straight off the bat Annabelle lets us know how uncomfortable she is with having to go through a wedding to another man.

• She also speaks about what else - besides the fact that Harry was her closest friend - about his death affected her. Having been promised to Harry, Annabelle didn't have to go through the rigamarole of finding a husband. She had learned to settle with the idea of being married to someone who she knew and liked at least, if not loved. It's sad to us modern readers now that Annabelle would have to settle for less than passion or love, but back then I don't think she could have imagined a better deal. And now...and now she will have to settle for even less than what she had with Harry. This was a pretty neat way of easing us into the larger conversation she has with us in her diamond scene.

• A few days pass, and Briar is now helping us get ready for the trip to London. You have the option of encouraging her romance with Mr Woods, which...cmon. They cute 😊

•

Ooh so our House Colours are navy blue and gold! (considering that the Earl's default outfit itself is navy blue, I should have figured that would be a house colour). It's nice but MY NECK WHERE IS MY NECK.

Did You Know: that up until the middle of the 19th century, men's and women's riding habits were largely made by men in a distinctively masculine style. This is what Candice Hern's article "Regency Habits, Overview" on her website Regency World, says:

"Though the style and cut of riding habits changed with time and fashion, they continued to be tailored in a masculine style throughout the 17th and 18th centuries and into the early 19th century. In La Belle Assemblée in 1815, we read that: “Habits have, ever since they were first brought into fashion, been considered as decidedly calculated to give even the most delicate female a masculine appearance, and the wits of our grandmothers’ days were unmercifully severe on the waistcoat, cravat, and man’s hat which were then the indispensible appendages to a habit.”"

•

YOU'RE NOT COMING WTF DAD NO.

• WHO KNOWS WHAT THEY'LL DO TO YOU WHILE I'M GONE.

• I'm having a sinking feeling about leaving my old dad around in this house while Henrietta is still there, Grandma had better be his bodyguard (or maybe not. Cordonians seem to have weird ideas of what constitutes a successful bodyguard *COUGHCOUGH Mara and Bastien COUGHCOUGH*).

• Like most of the fandom I have a feeling the Earl will die sooner than we think. @i-dream-so-i-write once mentioned that it could well be towards the end of the book, and I think that's a fitting dramatic turn this book would take into the next. I'm going to miss the hell outta this guy though 😟

• Henrietta sent Mr Marlcaster and Miss Sutton ahead of time so they can screw things up for us, so we will need to butter them up like no tomorrow when we reach there, apparently.

• Hello Luke! It's been exactly one chapter!

• Kinda like the bonding the MC and Luke have with regards to the horse. Their first real conversation began with Clover, so it is fitting that their bonding continues over her at least for their initial interactions.

• Aww man, Henrietta wants Clover the horse to be sold and they give you a diamond option to keep her, name her and get extra scenes with her. Florence calls her Moonstone, Marianne calls her Pepper. Moonstone suits Florence's particular sense of whimsy, and I figured Marianne would want something short and snappy and it helped that Luke gave the horse some salt before the diamond option came up 😂

It's a fairly nice scene I guess, but it drives me batty because this book is already taking astronomical sums of money early on in the book, and people are already beginning to get frustrated. Even TRR, which is a pretty expensive book, took more than half the book before they pushed forward the option to buy the Derby horse. It just is beginning to feel like too much too soon at this point.

• Of all the free scenes this chapter, my favourite has to be the exchange among the four in the picnic en route London.

I found this particularly interesting because all of these people, so far, have been outside the rigors of the Season in some way or other. Briar is the most outside of this system of doing things: she has grown up completely out of it and will probably always struggle to understand the way things work within the gentry. Luke has spent years in that environment (that of the gentry) so he knows some of it, but he still is and will always be an outsider. Annabelle has grown up in this environment and is perhaps the closest to it, but has never had to take active part due to her association with Harry and the Edgewater Estate. And the MC straddles both these worlds. She is an heiress, part of this high society, but she was born in and more familiar with Briar's worldview. And I love how this scene captures all this in just a few bits of dialogue.

• Also Luke's sensible response to Annabelle's question and Briar being a teasing little imp is super cute, I will fight anyone who disagrees with me on this 😂😂😂

• So many gems nestled in Annabelle's scene guys I can't even. There's so much going on in this one. So much.

•

The main thing this scene does is to - without a doubt - establish Annabelle as a closeted lesbian. She's still at the stage where she's aware and finds it odd that she doesn't hold any affection for any man, that the idea itself of marriage frustrates her, and her growing confusion that she's now feeling for a woman all that she "should" be feeling for a man. There are points where she almost welcomes it, like the scene I mentioned earlier, but she still is clearly struggling.

The MC has three ways of responding to this - one where she misses the point completely and says "you haven't found the right man yet" (Marianne, unfortunately), another where she states that she "understands" (which is left open - either it is a gesture of support from an ally, or it is from someone who understands her dilemma to...well...some extent. Florence is the second. She is bi, so her "I understand" was basically "I've fallen for some men sure but I also have a hard time figuring out what my sexuality is"). My favourite is the response where the MC speaks of facing a similar dilemma in her life and is an excellent choice if your MC is also a lesbian. I couldn't use this one for Florence or Marianne because it didn't ring true for either of them, but I did see the screenshots on tumblr and it's quite poignant.

Did You Know: Lesbian/sapphic relationships and sex were not as much seen as illegal as invisible...and this was an attitude that a later monarch, Queen Victoria, would uphold as well, refusing to sign a legislation to criminalize it by insisting that "women do not do such things". Obviously as we all know, she couldn't be any more wrong. Today we know of famous lesbian women of the Regency as Anne Lister, owner of Shibden Hall, and the Ladies of Llangollen - two women from Ireland named Eleanor Butler and Sarah Ponsonby, who had a romantic relationship for over 50 years. Gail Eastwood, in an article titled "Queer in the Regency: a Slice of Once-Hidden LGBT History" says:

Defying their families, the two established an estate in Wales, called Plas Newydd, rather than enter into marriages with men they did not love. Though they incurred significant debt in order to have a staff, they survived on the generosity of friends until a fascinated Queen Charlotte convinced King George III to grant them a pension.

Plas Newydd became something of a haven for writers during the Regency era, especially since the couple living there could afford to keep it.

Part of me wonders if elements of this story may be found in the Annabelle x MC route. Or like Anne Lister, who was well-endowed enough financially that she could refrain from marriage and have relationships with women. Maybe, or - given the limitations of having to chart out a storyline that will suit every LI - maybe not. Whatever it is, I'd be very interested in finding out how they'll handle the MC's romance with Annabelle.

• The second most interesting thing is Annabelle speaking about her poetry, and the restrictions her father has kept on her talent. She mentions him looking down on women's poetry as being "all bad rhymes and flowery sentiment", and that - in keeping with the times - he prefers Romantic Age poets such as Wordsworth, and that famous influence on Romanticism, Shakespeare. If we choose to ask her about showing us her poetry, she tells us her writing is "of a...delicate nature" (get it, girl! 😀) and if we choose to encourage her instead, the MC makes references to Mary Wollstonecraft, whose ideas of gender equality were considered radical for the times, and who is seen as one of the earliest feminist icons.

Did You Know: that in a time when female education was mainly geared to prepare women for their domestic roles, Mary Wollstonecraft advocated for women to receive an education that would help them survive beyond the home and the marriage market, stating that the one real barrier in the way of gender equality was the disparity in the education women received compared to men. She says, "this homage to women’s attractions has distorted their understanding to such an extent that almost all the civilized women of the present century are anxious only to inspire love, when they ought to have the nobler aim of getting respect for their abilities and virtues".

Her daughter, Mary Shelley, would write the famous novel Frankenstein in 1818, two years following the events of Desire and Decorum.

• Within this scene also lies a little tidbit that will hold some importance in Chapter 7: the MC tells Annabelle that her mother used to sing in the opera:

So this could be the root of some of the snarky remarks Henrietta makes about the MC's mother. She has close pretty darn close to calling her a "prostitute" on more than one occasion, and her comment after the MC sang along with Annabelle in chapter 3 about how it was "no wonder" that the MC could sing, given her mother's profession.

Did You Know: Opera singers had a very different reputation in the Regency era, not all of it very positive. Shana Galen, who is described as a Regency adventure author, speaks about how opera singers were viewed at the time: Of course, it was perfectly acceptable for a young lady to show her talents on the pianoforte or to sing in front of a small group of family and friends, but performing on the stage at Drury Lane or Covent Garden were frowned upon.

Female performers, especially, were shunned by society. One example of this sort of attitude was seen in the ridicule faced by a singer named Dorothea Jordan, who had an long-running affair with a Duke, bore him ten children, and who was the subject of a "satirical cartoon that showed her in her bedroom, gazing adoringly at a duchess’ coronet, which she hopes someday to wear by marrying her lover. A map on the wall purports to show the route from “Strolling Lane” (i.e. prostitution) through “Old Drury Common” all the way to “Derbyshire Peak.” A genealogical chart of the nobility lies on her dressing table, and her bed-hangings are crowned by a Phrygian cap, symbol of the French Revolution. The latter is intended to ridicule her pretensions to nobility; as a common woman, let alone an actress, she should know her place" ("Glimpse at Opera during Jane Austen's Lifetime" by Maggi Andersen, for the blog Historical Hearts).

• Luke's scene on the other hand is lighter in content but is important if you look at it from the viewpoint of establishing his role in the MC's life before they reach London. As a neutral friend, he is happy to serve her and considers her a vast improvement over Countess Henrietta. He tells her that she possesses what Henrietta lacks, understands something that Henrietta would never understand in several lifetimes: that looking down on people she believes as her 'inferiors' will leave her at a disadvantage eventually.

But if you hint at having feelings for Luke, the entire mood of the scene changes, and you see him feeling torn between his growing affections for her and his recognition that any relationship beyond the professional will end badly for them all.

• The thing with both Luke and Annabelle is that to not fall for them is to maintain the status quo. So even if there is an element of attraction, the MC not reciprocating does not tip the delicate balance that governs their lives at Edgewater over. But when she does...it gives rise both to moments of joy...and moments of fear.

• Ooh I love the animation for the train!!

I mean...just...look at this!

• The MC and Briar get to react in awe to their first sight of London before they get down from the carriage. We find out that we're pretty much stranded on the streets of London and no one has come to pick us up. Gee thanks, stepbro.

• Not gonna lie, but seeing Prince Hamid's shocked!face on his full-body shot made me giggle a little.

• He introduces himself as Imperial Prince Hamid, cousin to "his Imperial Majesty Mahmoud the Second, Caliph of Islam, Sultan of the Ottoman Empire, and Custodian of the Two Mosques (the last especially was used in royal titles for many Islamic rulers, and refers to the Al-Haram Mosque (al-Masjid al-Ḥarām) of Mecca, and the Prophet's Mosque (Al-Masjid An-Nabawī) of Medina).

• In a sense he kinda reminds me of Kamilah: he is a fictional character positioned as being related to an actual historical figure, so they will give us plenty of background about the countries they were from (Egypt and Turkey [Istanbul in this case], respectively) but keep the actual historical figure at a distance. Making the fictional character a cousin and a person of an important position in that court is a smart choice to make: they're important enough to represent the royals of the times but distanced enough that it doesn't seem unnatural if they aren't that close and ergo can't tell you personal details about said historical figure.

• Did You Know: Sultan Mahmud II (the cousin Hamid mentions) was seen as quite a progressive ruler of his times. 1829 onwards, he tried to bring many, many reforms into the Ottoman empire, including (according to the Encyclopedia Britannica article on him) "adopting the cabinet system of government, provided for a census and a land survey, and inaugurated a postal service (1834), introducing compulsory primary education, opening a medical school, and sending students to Europe. In addition, the sultan’s right to confiscate the property of deceased officials was abolished, and European dress was introduced". It looks like some elements of this way of thought could be reflected in Hamid, from his talk of diplomacy in his diamond scene.

• Hamid not only positions himself as a bit of an outsider to England but also as a man who travels: talk of travelling and seeing the world is his ice-breaker when they get into the carriage. This will allow him not only to help familiarize the MC with London, and his home Constantinople, but also give her (and us) a view of what the world looks like at this point. For instance, if the MC speaks of even London is unfamiliar territory to her, he mentions the Blue Mosque, the construction of which was completed exactly 200 years prior to the events of the story.

• The other very essential point of this scene is to provide a bit of a parallel to Luke, but also as a counterpoint. Luke is disadvantaged both by his class and his race - ergo he has a very layered perspective. Hamid has privileges, but he is also aware of and in some ways used to the reception he gets in England, and has figured out how he wants to respond. Both Luke and Hamid find their ways to cope with their situation, and the MC is allowed - according to the ethnicity chosen for her - to relate to both.

Florence, for instance, relates heavily to this as someone is visibly a foreigner even though England is the only home she has ever known. Marianne does not fully understand this, but she can tell him like any decent human being would that she thinks it's wrong of people to treat him that way.

• Just prior to this the two manage to see the Tower of London, notorious for the imprisonment and execution of many, many people including royals and nobles. There is a short but rather poignant conversation on the "many people tortured and murdered over who had the right to sit on the throne" (among the people executed, you will find names like Anne Boleyn, Thomas More, Lady Jane Grey, Guy Fawkes and Walter Raliegh).

• Did You Know: For a long long time in England, executions were seen as a bit of a spectator sport. The more unusual the criminal, the bigger the crowd. The Capital Punishment UK blog speaks of the kind of atmosphere usually present around the time:

In many counties, executions were held on market days to enable the largest number of people to see them and school parties would be made to attend as a moral lesson, something which is certainly recorded as happening at Lancaster Castle. Public houses and gin shops always did a very brisk trade on a hanging day.

However, attitudes towards executions experienced a shift around the late 18th-early 19th century, and by 1864 Parliament established a Royal Commission on Capital Punishment, with a declaration that executions would take place inside the prisons rather than in public.

I'm not sure if this was intentional, but possibly the MC's and Hamid's reactions to the tower may be reflective of their times.

• Interestingly, Annabelle is shown to look jealous if you've been romancing her, and giving you a sly grin if you're just friends. I quite liked that little touch. Luke meanwhile is a little less open about how he feels at this point: whether you're romancing him or not, he is described as "watching you carefully" during your exchange with Hamid.

• So Mr Marlcaster got the letter from the Duchess to send a groom for picking the MC, but didn't...as per his mother's demands, surely. But AT LEAST you should have been a little prepared to answer me in case I dropped by anyway, dude? Instead of just standing there and staring at me like a scandalized goldfish.

• Looks like Edmund is still going to try screwing things up for us, and we'll need to find a way to get him on our side. After all, we get relationship points with both him and Theresa Sutton, and Lady Grandmother did tell us we could find a way to get them to be with us rather than against us.

• I'm looking forward to Chapter 5...but it's Chapter 6 I REALLY want to see. We're going to learn a bit more about the MC's mother's background!

General Thoughts:

• OMG so much was there to unpack this chapter!! A lot of it to do with Annabelle and Hamid, and Luke has taken a bit of a backseat this chapter but I'm hoping that's a taster of what's to come in his case.

• Look I love this story but IT COSTS SO MUCH. WTF. Keeping Clover was a nice option but it really added nothing to this chapter and could have easily been shifted elsewhere. I want this book to do well. I'm happy with how they're writing it, the effort they're putting into their research and into their characters so far...and I would hate for it to not be appreciated because they made it so hard for people to get into the book by making it this expensive so early.

• Florence is going for Annabelle and Luke (leaning more towards Annabelle at this point), and Marianne for Hamid and Sinclaire (I'm not sure yet but Hamid is a very very strong contender!!). Who would have thought I'd have my first polyam MCs in a book on Regency Era England!! Who woulda thunk!

• Annabelle particularly intrigues me at this point. She is clearly established as both inside and outside of this system, and vocally critical of it at least to the MC. She writes about her desires against the chargin of her father, and states that she doesn't want to merely settle into a 'safe' relationship like her mother, not unless she can know and trust that person (which is mostly why she agreed to the match with Harry even if she didn't love him). She is confused, and open and honest about her confusion. I really think the foundation of this character is immensely strong, but they really need to keep working on her and not just drop their efforts on her halfway. And I've seen that happen enough times with female LIs to be afraid.

• At this point, we now have three male LIs (one Master of Horse who is African-American, one family-approved eligible bachelor and one prince of the Ottoman Empire) and one female love interest. Is there space for one more confirmed female LI? I sure hope so but at the same time I don't want keep my hopes up.

However...IF the plan is to keep just one female LI, then they'd better do a pretty darn phenomenal job of her. If you're not going to give wlw players other options it's only fair to make sure the only option is given really, really good writing - consistently. They're doing a good job so far...but there's a long long way to go before I can fully trust PB to do justice to her.

• That's it for now! On to Chapter 6!

• Tagged: @boneandfur @liamraines @thespiritpanda @alanakusumastan @ernestsinclairs @private-investigator-nazario @bcdollplace @thedepthsremember @mcbangle @queenodysseia @novaelaras

If you'd like to be tagged on these QTs, do let me know! 😀

#desire and decorum #long post #annabelle x mc #luke x mc #hamid x mc #annabelle parsons #luke harper #imperial prince hamid #dnd quick thoughts #quick thoughts

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sachigram · 6 years

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Hearts Like Ours Chapter 5

((click here to read on ao3!!))

Izaya is the kind of guy you go to for questions, even if you don't think he'd have the answers for them. It seems like Izaya knows everything, and it's always bugged Shizuo so fucking much, to have those russet eyes settled on him and instantly feel dissected. When he first met Izaya, that was part of the reason he didn't like him. Izaya seemed to know him already, and it left a bad taste in Shizuo's mouth.

Over the years, he learned little things about the flea, usually from other people, even if he was too blinded by rage at the mere mention of Izaya's name to actually soak any of it in. He decided he was vindicated in his immediate hatred of Izaya, because Izaya only ever caused chaos and destruction. Izaya loved to push people and to get them hurt. Shizuo hated everything about him.

When it all came to a head, and they had their final fight, Shizuo regretted everything.

He regretted letting Izaya push him so far, regretted falling victim to Izaya's plan, and most of all, he regretted ever thinking Izaya was the only one he could ever use all his strength on without fear.

Because he did use all his strength, and Izaya's bones snapped like twigs.

And now, fuck, now, he knows Izaya couldn't even walk afterwards, and he knows Izaya is terrified of him, even if the flea would never admit it.

Shizuo did that to his soulmate, even if he didn't know Izaya was his soulmate at the time.

He lived in fear for a long, long time that he'd scared his soulmate away at some point without meaning to, or that his soulmate was injured in the shrapnel of one of his brawls. Shizuo gets in fights all the time, and he's never careful when he snaps.

The only solace he had in learning his soulmate was Izaya was that at least Izaya had never been afraid of him. Izaya had seen him at his worst, and just kept right on coming back.

But now...

He doesn't go back to Izaya's place. He doesn't know what he expected to find there anyway, but in the end he proved to himself that he was too much of a disaster to even be near someone like Izaya, who loves disasters.

Shizuo goes about his daily routine, trying to ignore the fact he feels anything at all. It seems impossible. For years, his default has been to direct his anger at Izaya, and having any kind of outlet was helpful, even soothing. He never realized how obsessively he thought about Izaya until he was forced to acknowledge that maybe Izaya didn't deserve all the hatred Shizuo gave him over the years.

Being quiet isn't too unusual for Shizuo, so it takes a little while for anyone to say anything to him. Vorona thankfully doesn't pry, and her cool gaze seems to stop Tom from asking questions, even if it's obvious that Tom is dying to know details of Shizuo's personal life.

Celty is the first to bring it up.

Shizuo is walking home one chilly evening and finds her waiting outside his building. She jogs over to him.

“Hey, stranger! You haven't been answering your messages!” Her PDA reads. He scratches the back of his head.

“Been busy,” he says. She pauses before responding.

“Shinra mentioned you and Izaya might have killed each other. I got worried about you.”

“Nah, I haven't even seen the flea in a while. Got better things to do.” He forces himself not to ask about Izaya. He doesn't deserve to know how Izaya is. He shouldn't even care.

Celty, as always, sees through him.

“Izaya is acting weirder than usual too. He's usually so hard to deal with but he's been downright civil lately. He looks tired.”

“He stays in trouble. Who even knows what he's up to? You probably see him more than I do.” Shizuo taps a cigarette out of its pack and lights up, eager to use his hands and distract himself with anything he can. He sees Celty shake her helmet at him.

“Come with me.”

“Huh? Where?” Shizuo was going to go inside and do exactly what he's done every night for a week, which is lounge on the couch watching trash TV and eating frozen food still cold in the center because his microwave is shitty and he's impatient.

Celty doesn't respond to him, just turns on her heel and starts walking away, and Shizuo huffs before following her. She's his best friend, and if she wants him to go with her, he supposes his TV will still be there when he gets home.

He gets behind her on her Shooter, who whinnies at him softly before they take off at breakneck speed to hers and Shinra's place. The wind is extremely unforgiving at this pace, and even though Shizuo usually runs hot, he finds himself shivering a bit. He wonders what the rush is. Maybe Shinra got himself stabbed again. But if that happened, Celty probably wouldn't be so calm.

“Celty, c'mon, what's going on?” he asks as they go inside. He shakes off the cold and stalks behind her, frowning when she doesn't answer him again. He grumbles and follows, more curious than annoyed.

When they enter the apartment, Shizuo finds a crowd inside, but none of them look concerned or antsy at all. In fact, it looks like a friendly gathering.

“Yo,” Kadota says from the couch. His usual gang is around him, and Erika looks about ready to explode.

“Is this an intervention?” Shizuo asks.

“Ha! Yes, for you to repent from your wicked ways!” Shinra's voice says. Shizuo turns to see Shinra behind him, wearing an apron that makes him look ridiculous. Beside him is Izaya, who is holding a glass of red wine and looking tired, but otherwise fine.

“I got sake too, but I want us all to drink together,” Shinra says to Shizuo. “Izaya is jumping the gun.”

“If I'm to suffer through this, I'm drinking good wine,” Izaya says, sidestepping them and sitting at the table. He rests his chin on his hand and looks up at Shizuo almost playfully. “Well, there's a constant. Shizu-chan looks confused.”

“It's getting ridiculously cold outside. I thought we could get together, have dinner, and relax a bit! I've got to take advantage of the fact you two can finally be in a room together without damaging property,” Shinra says.

“Rest assuredly, Shizu-chan will damage something before he leaves,” Izaya says, and Shizuo glares at him. He pulls out a chair and sits across from Izaya, eyeing him in a silent challenge.

“Why is it so hot in here?” Togusa asks.

“Clearly from Shizu-chan's and Izaya's sexual chemistry!” Erika says excitedly. She points between the two of them. “This is a classic trope. Enemies to lovers. It could happen tonight! One glass of wine too many and the clothes will fly off!”

“Please stop talking,” Walker says. “I agree it's a great idea to spark romance, but I'd rather not think of the trope playing out if it involves those two.”

“Why are they here?” Shizuo asks. The headache he gets when Erika and Walker are around is already in full force.

“Come on, the more the merrier,” Kadota says, annoyingly agreeable as always.

Shinra and Celty disappear into the kitchen, where the sounds of Shinra talking and Celty's fist hitting his side are audible. Kadota's little gang talks among themselves in quiet chatter, and Shizuo feels out of place, but also like he can't leave because Izaya is here.

“It is hot,” Izaya says after a few quiet moments. “I don't like the cold much either, but this is downright sweltering.”

“Drinking probably doesn't help,” Shizuo says. “Neither does wearing that damn jacket.”

“It's called fashion, Shizu-chan. Not that I expect a man with one outfit to understand.” Underneath the usual black and tan jacket, Izaya is wearing a navy blue sweater, which also can't be helping the heat situation.

“You've only got one jacket,” Shizuo counters.

“Nope! I have many! This one is just my favorite.” Izaya takes a sip of wine and eyes Shizuo over the rim. “As for drinking, it's a form of letting go. Are you even capable of fun, Shizu-chan?”

“Are you capable of not being a pest?”

“Depends. Who am I pestering? If the answer is you, then no, I'm incapable. Bothering you is just so rewarding! You have this vein—“ Izaya grins widely and points at Shizuo's face. “It's there! You're so angry! I haven't even done anything!” Izaya laughs, and it sounds...loud. It sounds unreserved. Shizuo doesn't think he's seen Izaya so unguarded before, and he looks again at the glass of wine in Izaya's hand.

How many glasses has Izaya had?

“My hope is that one day,” Izaya continues, “I can push you far enough to make the vein explode. Maybe you'll have an aneurysm? What an experience that would be for you.”

“An experience,” Shizuo repeats.

Izaya shrugs. “It isn't as if you can be killed so easily. You'd fight off an aneurysm the same as you would anything else.”

“Did you get kidnapped too?” Shizuo asks, mostly to change the subject, but also out of curiosity. Izaya doesn't seem the “dinner party” type.

“In a sense,” Izaya says. He looks down into his wine glass. Shizuo used to think Izaya's eyes were red, further proving his theory that Izaya was a demon from the pits of Hell. Truthfully, they're more of a rust color, red in some lights, and brown in others. Next to the wine they look red, but Shizuo doesn't think they look bad.

Honestly, he can't remember the last time he thought Izaya looked bad.

“Shinra came to my apartment and...invited himself in. He does that, from time to time. I expected it, truthfully,” Izaya says.

“You did?”

“Well. You've been upset in your hovel. Of course your loyal troops armed themselves and brought me here to make you feel better about yourself. Or whatever it is you need.” Izaya's words aren't pleasant, but his tone is pretty neutral. His eyes are still playful.

“You've never made me feel better,” Shizuo huffs.

“Oh no?” Izaya asks. “And yet, you've sought out my company more often than not. Am I mistaken that you've been in a mood because you learned about my injuries from our fight?”

“How the hell could I not be upset about something like that?” Shizuo asks, gritting his teeth so hard his jaw hurts.

Izaya shrugs. “Because it doesn't matter. It happened. It's over.”

“It's not that simple!”

“We almost killed each other. You were fine knowing that, but not fine knowing I was in a wheelchair?”

“It's not—“ Shizuo growls and snatches Izaya's wine glass away. He downs the rest of the contents in one gulp.

It tastes like garbage.

“Hey,” Izaya says flatly.

“I'm not in a mood. There's just a lot on my mind.” Shizuo sets the glass down on the table.

“I think you should refill my glass,” Izaya says.

“What!”

“You drank all my wine! Go refill it!”

“Haven't you had enough?” Shizuo grumbles.

“I'll stop drinking it when I've had enough, you unrefined beast!”

“You want a refill?! Fine!” Shizuo gets up loudly from the table and stomps into the kitchen, finding the wine bottle and messily filling up the glass to the stupid rim.

“Is everything okay over there?” Shinra asks. He and Celty are looking at Shizuo.

“Yes,” Shizuo says. He goes back to Izaya and puts the glass down. It sloshes a little on the table.

“You aren't supposed to fill it to the top, Shizu-chan.”

“Drink up, you shitty flea, or I'll drown you in it,” Shizuo says warningly. Izaya snorts and takes a small sip.

“Do you want a glass? I suppose sharing fine wine with you might culture you a bit. Consider it my contribution to civilizing you,” Izaya says.

“It tastes like shit,” Shizuo says.

“Of course you'd think so. It's not milk, after all. I always pegged you as a liqueur type. Cordials and the like.”

“I don't drink,” Shizuo says. “It's stupid.”

“You're stupid,” Izaya says maturely.

“HAH?!”

“No breaking my table!” Shinra calls from the kitchen. The sound of Erika's frantic whispering to Walker is gaining volume, and Togusa looks like he'd rather be anywhere else.

Mainly for spite, Shizuo takes turns drinking after Izaya does, glaring Izaya down over the table. Izaya just looks indulgent, his grin reminding Shizuo of that cat from Alice in Wonderland.

It does get hotter the more he drinks, but honestly the heat must be on full blast, and the cooking from the kitchen isn't helping matters. Izaya shrugs off his jacket and rolls his sleeves up a little, but not enough to reveal the mark on his arm.

It feels like an out of body experience, sitting across from Izaya and drinking after him. Shizuo has spent a lot of time in Izaya's space lately, but this feels kind of...intimate? They're certainly not being civil with their words, but the apartment is still standing. It's already more progress than Shizuo ever thought possible. He wonders how much the wine has to do with that, or if like him, Izaya was feeling off because they hadn't seen each other in over a week.

Not like Izaya would ever divulge as much, though. It's just left up for speculation.

“You two look cozy,” Kadota says as he takes a seat next to Izaya.

“It's sweltering in here,” Izaya says.

“Feels fine to me,” Kadota answers. “You should slow down. Isn't that your third glass?”

“I'm drinking until you're all attractive,” Izaya says. Kadota laughs and shakes his head.

They all crowd around the small table as Shinra announces dinner is ready. Erika sits on Izaya's other side, closely, but Izaya doesn't even glance at her.

“Celty went all out this time!” Shinra says, clearly mooning. “She's really a great cook! This whole thing was her idea, you know, because she's so thoughtful.”

“It was your idea because you're a meddler. And a terrible liar,” Izaya says.

“What! What a horrible insinuation! I don't meddle,” Shinra huffs.

“Shizu-chan, does Shinra meddle?”

“I mean, yeah. Badly,” Shizuo says.

“I rest my case. Also, an important question, how does Celty cook without a head? Taste is usually a factor.” Izaya takes another sip of wine and then actually passes the glass to Shizuo, who feels a weird sense of accomplishment from the simple gesture.

Shinra only smiles pleasantly as he looks between Shizuo and Izaya, and he puts a hand on Celty's shoulder. Celty clenches her fist and shoves her PDA in Izaya's face, who reads it and winks at her.

“Don't be a brat,” Kadota says, shoving Izaya a little. Shizuo sets the wine glass down forcefully, getting Izaya's and...everyone's attention. Izaya grins at him and takes the glass back.

“Regardless of who does and doesn't meddle, we don't want anything to get cold!” Celty's shadows reach into the kitchen and sounds of cupboards being raided can be heard. When the shadows reenter the room, they're holding a stack of plates.

“How cool!” Erika squeals. “This is like the single best night of my life.”

“Because of shadow cooking?” Togusa asks, helping himself to the stew Celty and Shinra made.

“That and this! Look at them! Shizu-chan and Izaya in the same room! It's like a dinner date!” Erica doesn't bother serving herself, and Walker sighs quietly before doing it for her. Shizuo frowns before putting the glass back in front of Izaya.

“Yes, with six other people. Romance is in the air,” Izaya says, observing the bowl Shinra put in front of him. “Isn't this hotpot weather?”

“Yeah, but Celty found this recipe. We can do hotpot another time!” Shinra says. He points his spoon at Izaya almost threateningly. “Try it!”

“Maybe in a moment.” Izaya leans back, holding his wine and smiling at Shinra over the rim. “It's too hot to eat.”

“You know what else is hot?” Erika asks, and Shizuo steels himself to flip the table over if she says something else about him and Izaya. Fortunately, she goes off in a tangent about some manga she and Walker are reading, and an apparent sex scene with fantastic artwork, but a lacking plot. Togusa and Kadota seem very used to this, and don't even bother trying to shut them up.

Dinner is as routine as it can be considering the crowd. Erika and Walker monopolize all conversation, and Shinra interrupts sporadically with gushing nonsense about Celty. Shizuo shovels food in his mouth and pretends he's a normal, calm person that doesn't want to break something every time he hears the name “Kurosawa”, who is apparently the protagonist of a risque manga with a shitty storyline.

“My sisters read that one,” Izaya says, suddenly entering the nonsensical conversation. “I realize why now, those precocious brats. Then again, they have to learn about sex sometime, don't they? Parents rely on media more to raise their children than they rely on each other. And it isn't as though our parents are around much to put anything into context.” Izaya shrugs a bit, and only then does Shizuo notice it.

The mark. Izaya rolled his sleeves up to reveal the mark. No one says anything about it, but they've all noticed. Shizuo can't look anywhere else but directly at it.

“Oh, yeah. You raised them, didn't you?” Erika asks Izaya, clearly over the moon to be talking with him.

“We all raised each other,” Izaya says before standing from the table. “I was just the oldest.” He walks towards the kitchen.

“Eat something before you get more wine!” Shinra calls after him. Izaya waves him off. “He's drunk!” Shinra huffs when Izaya is out of eyesight. “Honestly, of all the nights.”

“How can you tell? He isn't slurring or stumbling at all!” Walker says. “I thought he just had a really high tolerance.”

“I've seen Izaya drunk before. Not since high school, but I recognize it. He just—he gets careless. He'll regret it tomorrow.”

Shizuo is staring after where Izaya disappeared to. He blinks when he feels a gentle nudge.

“Are you okay?” Celty's PDA reads. Shizuo nods shortly.

“I'm fine. Not even buzzed,” he says.

“Not what I meant!”

“I know what you meant,” Shizuo says as Izaya reenters the room. “I don't know the answer to that, though.”

“Hey,” Kadota says. Izaya tilts his head. “Eat.”

“Yes, yes. Dota-chin the mom friend,” Izaya lilts, taking a small bite of stew. “Not bad for a headless chef.”

“I told you! Celty is an excellent cook!” Shinra says happily.

At some point, Shinra must've gotten the sake, because Shizuo finds a hot cup in front of him, but he barely knows how it got there. His eyes are fixed on Izaya and his mark, and Izaya has clearly noticed by now, but has done nothing to hide it. If anything, he's rolled his baggy sweater sleeves up further.

“To new beginnings!” Shinra says in a toast, and they all raise their cups before swallowing. Shizuo enjoys the burn. He doesn't like drinking, but he thinks this is why people do, because of the warmth he feels, and the desire to keep this extremely strange night going.

“Alright,” Izaya says suddenly, standing and shrugging on his jacket. “I stayed. I'm going home now.” He wobbles just a little, and Shizuo wouldn't have noticed if he wasn't looking so closely.

“Izaya—“ Shinra starts, but Izaya is already going through the doorway. Shizuo looks down at the food Izaya didn't eat before he stands and goes after him, ignoring Erika's chatter behind him.

Izaya is as quick as ever, and it takes a few moments for Shizuo to catch up with him. He's already outside in the freezing night before he even sees the black and tan jacket. Shizuo has always been good at spotting Izaya in a crowd, and it's funny to him that even a glance of that damned jacket before would've sent him into a rage, but now he's trying to make sure Izaya makes it home.

“Izaya!” Shizuo calls, hurrying after him. Izaya tenses before turning around, his hands in his pockets.

“If you want to chase me, at least give me a longer head start,” Izaya says smoothly. “It's the least you could do. I'm very tipsy, you see.”

“Fuck that, you're drunk.”

Izaya snorts. “Drunk is a strong word.”

“Is it the right word?” Shizuo asks.

“It's a word. Its accuracy depends on the context, I'd say.” Izaya smirks up at him, and Shizuo grumbles before starting to walk ahead of him, purposely nudging Izaya's shoulder with his own.

“C'mon.”

“Are you walking me home? Goodness, Shizu-chan, you're insistent. Look, you're even walking briskly!”

Shizuo turns to scowl at him and finds Izaya hasn't moved from where he was.

“Want me to pick up a mailbox or something for old time's sake?” Shizuo asks. If anything, it'd improve his mood to destroy something.

“I'm not in the mood for nostalgia,” Izaya says, finally starting to walk forward. “Also, I think we've suffered each other enough for one evening, don't you?”

“You're so—ugh. What's the word?”

“Charming?” Izaya side-eyes him.

“Transparent. I think that one's good.”

“Transparent! How so?” Izaya inquires, his voice bright. He seems entertained.

“Cause you spent all night sitting quietly with your fuckin' wine and now you're drunk. I don't think I ever noticed how you kind of...talk at people, not to them. So when they talk to you, you don't know what to do. You just drank instead of being there.” Shizuo shrugs, finding these words to be true, even if he didn't plan to say them.

Izaya isn't eyeing him anymore. He's looking straight ahead, his jaw set.

“It's always so interesting, you pretending you know a thing about me,” Izaya says at last.

“I know enough.”

“You don't know a thing!”

Izaya has stopped again, glaring up at Shizuo as if he'd like nothing more than to deck Shizuo in the face.

“You never bothered to know! You and your stupid monster brain and your even dumber instincts!” Izaya stomps a little, and then he sways on his feet. People are staring at them, which...is nothing new.

“You're making a scene,” Shizuo says.

“You're making me make a scene!”

“Ugh, come on,” Shizuo growls, pushing Izaya a little. “Walk. Get home, sleep, and get sober.”

“I don't want to! I don't want to go anywhere with you.”

Shizuo never thought he'd see the day where Izaya was even more annoying than usual, but somehow a drunk flea is even harder to deal with than a sober one.

“Fine. Then I'm carrying you.”

“You will not!” Izaya all but screeches. He pulls out a knife and points it at Shizuo. “Don't you dare touch me!”

“I'm not going home until you go home,” Shizuo says. “So the sooner you get there, the sooner we can split up. Just let me carry you before you fall on your face.”

Izaya's eyes narrow, then soften, and then he just looks sad and too small. Shizuo feels his heart clench but can't explain why.

Izaya is even lighter than Shizuo imagined. It feels a little like Shizuo isn't carrying anything at all, and he keeps glancing back to make sure Izaya is actually there. Izaya is quiet, draped across Shizuo's back. He's so docile it's almost impossible to compare him to the crazed man with the knives Shizuo used to chase and repeatedly try to kill.

“Look,” Shizuo says after a while when the silence gets overwhelming. “I know I was—to blame too. Before. We both fucked up a lot, okay, but I don't hate you. You could've talked to me more instead of drinking so much tonight. I don't get everything you say, but—“

“It doesn't matter,” Izaya says. “Anything you ever say now doesn't matter, not that it ever did before anyway. Your feelings are compromised.”

“What the hell does that even mean?”

“You can convince yourself of anything now that you know about the mark.”

“Fuck. Is that what you're so hung up on? I mean, of course the mark changed things. But it doesn't, like, change my entire perspective of you. You're still a shitty asshole, but you're not the worst like I thought you were before.” Shizuo used to think of Izaya as a mastermind who pulled all the strings and caused every problem he ever had, even the irrational ones. He still thinks Izaya gets into shit and causes chaos for fun, and probably won't ever stop, but at the same time Izaya just seems so...lonely.

Does Izaya even know he's lonely?

“I'm going to be sick,” Izaya says, and Shizuo huffs.

“Don't be so dramatic, I'm not trying to be heartfelt here, I'm just—“

“No,” Izaya says, and he pushes himself off Shizuo's back and scrambles to a garbage bin where he vomits into it profusely. Shizuo grimaces and wonders what the hell to do in this situation.

“Flea?”

Izaya coughs a bit and rubs his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes are watering when he looks up at Shizuo again.

“I might have...overdone it.”

“Wow.”

“You're smiling. How awful. You're the worst, Shizu-chan. I wouldn't even wish this on you, and you're laughing at me.”

“C'mere. You're a goddamn mess.”

Izaya's place is warm inside. Shizuo carries him to his bed and deposits him on it, shaking his head as Izaya immediately burrows into the blankets and groans loudly. He says something, his voice muffled.

“Huh?” Shizuo asks.

“I said you didn't talk either. At dinner.”

“Oh, yeah. I don't always...fit in? What the hell was I gonna say to any of that conversation?”

Izaya snorts. “Anything. They all love you anyway.”

“Oh, please. They all know I could snap and break every bone in their bodies. How could anyone love someone like that?” Shizuo asks. It's a little endearing, Izaya glaring at him from under the blankets. Only his eyes are even visible.

“You make yourself alone. And they still go to you and you push them and push them but they stay. You have everything and you're too stupid to see it.” Izaya pulls the covers higher and Shizuo can only see his eyebrows. “Whatever. Die alone. What do I care? You're stupid anyway.”

“Jesus. How drunk are you?”

Izaya doesn't answer. Shizuo sighs and goes into the kitchen, getting Izaya a glass of water and carrying it to the bedroom. He sets the glass on the nightstand.

“I'm crashing here,” he says. Izaya waves him away and rolls over.

Izaya's couch is extremely comfortable and by far the best part of invading Izaya's space, second only to the TV. Shizuo turns it on and settles on a program before he feels his phone vibrating in his pocket.

Is Izaya okay?

It's from Celty.

As okay as he ever is. Shizuo replies.

They exchange a few messages about the dinner and how good the food was and other mundane things when Shizuo feels his eyelids start to get heavy. He wishes Celty a goodnight and lays down on the couch, settling in to sleep.

But then Izaya starts yelling.

Shizuo curses and rolls off the couch, hurrying to the bedroom, where Izaya is thrashing violently in the blankets, shouting between panicked breaths and sobs.

“Izaya! Fuck, wake up!”

“No, no, no, don't—!”

Shizuo barely dodges a balled up fist and he curses, flattening Izaya's wrists to the bed.

“Izaya! IZAYA!”

Izaya's eyes open widely, and he looks up at Shizuo as he pants for breath, his wrists jerking in Shizuo's grip as he tries undoubtedly to find a knife.

“Shizu-chan? Are you molesting me?!”

“You were having a fucking nightmare!”

“The nightmare was real because you're molesting me!”

Shizuo scowls and releases him, and he feels his anger melting away because Izaya is clearly shaking, and the dark circles under his eyes seem worse in the low light. How long has it been since Izaya has slept through the night?

“I thought maybe the wine would help,” Izaya says, flopping back down into the pillows. He groans. “Instead my head hurts and I'm awake anyway.”

“Wait until tomorrow. You're gonna be hungover as hell.”

“Probably. I suppose I deserve it.”

Shizuo wants to say Izaya has probably paid enough and doesn't deserve all of this, but he doesn't. Izaya wouldn't believe him anyway.

“Okay. Go to sleep. I'll be here making sure you're okay,” Shizuo says instead. Izaya snorts, and Shizuo has to admit he likes the sound of that stupid snort. It's something Izaya can't seem to hold in.

“You're going to fight my dreams? We've already established I'm dreaming about you killing me.”

“I can kick my own ass,” Shizuo says easily. Izaya laughs and the sound is bright in the dark room.

“You're going to stay here?” Izaya asks.

“Right here.”

“Okay,” Izaya says, and Shizuo nods, glad there's no room for argument.

“I'll just go get a chair.”

“Pull the couch in here. It isn't like you can't.”

“It's a sectional. It won't fit through your door!”

Izaya sighs and sits up, pulling his blanket and pillow off the bed.

“It is a sectional. Room for us both.”

They end up on Izaya's couch together, nowhere near touching, as Izaya is curled on the smaller end. Shizuo keeps the TV on, volume low.

“This show is so stupid,” Izaya says.

“Go the fuck to sleep before I knock you out,” Shizuo growls.

Izaya's breathing eventually evens out again, and Shizuo relaxes, falling asleep to the soft sounds.

They both sleep through the night.

#hearts like ours #drrr #shizaya #soulmate au #shizuo heiwajima #Izaya Orihara

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beowulfs-booty-call · 6 years

Text

Lore Dump!

(Block Long post so it doesn’t kill you! I’ll be adding more to this tomorrow when I’m not about to fall asleep LMAO) Background on the summons / characters so far:

Ifrit

Secret power bottom who comes off as a Dom top.

He’s the fire elemental and has been Demi’s “First” demon contract as well as... His source of income. While Demi seldom doesn’t speak about the prejudices of his job, Ifrit, head of the original Wrath district as the demon general later “moved” to Eros because he secretly enjoys the way Persephone built it up as an overall balanced District, as well as to fund the incubus who’s somehow managed to charm him as both a dancer and as a summoner.

His demon form is considered to be very similar to this unfinished concept art I once had where Demi was envisioned as a dancing summoner here:

He is extremely muscular and bulky simply because that’s his preferred form. He finds the human body too “weak” and wishes to be as large as he is because his true persona relishes in pride (This unfortunately leads him to be stubborn in some regards, especially when things don’t go his way, he doesn’t like to opt out.) He can be smaller if he so chooses, but as the former general of a District where war and anger are his tools, he much rather likes intimidating.

Ifrit’s main outfit is a dark navy pinstripe suit and a white undershirt. When summoned, however, his horns appear and the flames burn through all he wears save for what shreds remain / a skimpy thong he insists is meant for combat efficient. (Basically, we have his default favorite as a purple chain thong, a leopard print thong, and your all around barbarian esque fur underwear / rags)

Ifrit means well, though his money is essentially “dirty” money. He’s not above certain tactics being a god of war and essentially one of the few elementals to have fought with Persephone in ages past. As a “sugar daddy”, Ifrit tends to lord his money as though they aren’t much to worry on. For example: He is the funder of Demi’s wardrobe as both his summoner and his “protege” as he puts it, and his clothes are well kept and custom made. Despite this, and his supposed “greed”, Ifrit uses this as a coping mechanism for his time in the wars where capital were short and his followers starved. Now he spends his frivolous amounts of currency towards things he believes worth it. He’s most often then not an anonymous donor to starving artists and the needy because he can “see the fire in their eyes”, but you’ll never see him admit it. He quite enjoys the idea that he’s a snobbish jerk if it means he’s left to his own devices most of the time, unless it’s around Demi.

As an elemental, he knows some very close individuals such as “Ramuh” and of course, Hades, but there is still much he has not revealed, whether because of his hedonism clouding his judgement, or his wanting of keeping his protege in the dark is unclear.

He is currently in a long standing rivalry with pop sensation and body positivity icon: Venus, though in the public eye they are known to grin and bear it, out of the public scene, it is not uncommon to see the two butting heads over their differences and their own ideas of what’s best for the incubus. While he does relent on certain stances he has for Demi’s best (I.E, allowing him time to work due to being under Persephone’s rule and not his.), Ifrit is possessive and wants Venus out of his hair, believing her to be a bad influence on his summoner. On the other hand, Venus believes Ifrit’s and Persephone’s grip on Demi, who was once a fellow human, is outright tyrannical. This said, it’s not uncommon for Ifrit’s hard-headedness to lead him into saying something that will later bring him to Venus’ feet or fists. Even as a human, Venus has the uncanny ability to masquerade herself (very badly) as others to get close and absolutely beat Ifrit down such as “Afroooo-Dieeee-teeee, Ukrainian swimsuit cover girl, multi ranged diva, and DESTROYER of flames.” To others, though, he has a very adept insight towards their true motivations, and Demi’s is the real reason he has decided to take him in as a protege and summoner.

Ifrit, while the main cause of comedy, actually does care deeply for his summoner, as he sees in Demi the “ghost” of a man he knew long ago in his prime who also was his summoner. During the “Great War” that eventually created the Districts, this summoner died in battle destroying their contract and wishing Ifrit to find peace in life as they both could not in his. Ifrit, driven into rage by this, completely eradicated the enemy presence and encased himself in flames before being petrified by an unknown force and was later thrown into the Districts when the war was over. When he awakened, he was in a land of war, his beloved summoner no where to be found, and his heart empty save for one thing: Revenge and to fill that empty space in his coal-engraved heart.

Ifrit had many lovers back in his time, but even so, who they are is so far unknown, he claims to live in the present, though, and talks of love do not concern him anymore because of his past. He sees love as a fleeting thing, and something that has left him broken and hungry for the very thing his friend didn’t want: Pain.

Ramuh:

The thunder elemental and “newest” summon so far, a hulking glasses wearing man who’s known to be the sage of lightning and knowledge.

Once worshipped as a god, Ramuh has been in existence long before any of the other elementals (as he puts it) and can remember a distinct mortal existence before becoming “one” with his element.

This mortal life, was where Ramuh was once a man who lived and studied life as a philosopher, before carelessly tossing it all away when life began to lose its glory in his eyes.

In his words, the ancient war broke out and the mortal he once was, was in view of “The Great Ones” who proceeded to transform him into what he is now, from what was once a man who wished to understand life and its wonders, to a god who was now immortal to study all that he wished for.

His staff, Indrajit, was in his hands when he came to, and with it he can both bring down righteous thunder, as well as mend wounds of the body and the mind.

Ramuh has himself a fantastical library, filled with ancient writings, scrolls, and books of all natures that he himself has written and copied from ages past. Legend is foretold that he is the divine writer and for every person who has ever written a work, Ramuh has a copy in his library for the hungry to read.

It is also stated, to read from this library, one must offer up knowledge to Ramuh in the form of a skill or an item that they can give to his library, lest they too become a new experiment.

As an elemental, Ramuh is thoroughly convinced his existence overwrote his “previous” self, his personality being starkly different from his darker and cynical past self. He is far more cheerful and guiding, though when overcome with emotion, he is known to stew in his own juices and isolate himself to clear his head.

He is greatly fond of children and young adults (And extremely protective of them as well), claiming they have the most potential of all and is no stranger to blessing any of those who pray to him, whether out of fear or out of need. His favorite question to ask these young minds are their dreams, for it is the one aspect of knowledge he does not have filled yet, and as time goes by and so do creativity and imagination, it has quickly become a mark on his list.

His relationship to Demi is actually based upon my writing of what my interpretation of Ramuh was to Terra in Final Fantasy 6 (Before my hard drive failed and it erased it all). As a demon with roots of humanity still left within him, Demi finds himself frustrated at his existence at one point and flees into a storm and into the dark seas surrounding the Districts hoping to be carried away in the cover of night. Instead, he is called out to by a mysterious voice, and finds himself ashore to a distant, murky but somehow livelier island across the sea to Ramuh’s study. Ramuh, who felt his presence and empathized with him, welcomed him with open arms as both a fragile mind in need of stability, but also as a foundation of an existence that was never meant to be (He doesn't reveal he knows this to Demi yet.) Taking him in, Ramuh teaches Demi about magic, and how he can use it to the best of his potential under the alias of “Brahma” and a pen name of “Lugh” in his writings. (He reveals down the road that he takes many names, and that Ramuh is considered the name people have given him over the years and it’s become a bit of an attachment.) Later, when his training is complete, and Demi is ready to find his way home, Ramuh explains to Demi that his humanity is not a cause of weakness, nor should he be afraid of who he is, and rather, embrace it. He also is the one to explain what the “Rifts” are, curious portals that are a rip in the space time continuum that allows those who traverse it into other rips into space and potentially time. (This will also be expanded upon, with the inclusion of a Bara Healer I did...!)

As an elemental, Ramuh knows of Ifrit, and is playfully his rival in terms of how opposite the two are. Ramuh is a nurturer, Ifrit is the destroyer, Ramuh studies, while Ifrit takes things at first glance. He also has interacted with Persephone, on a professional level, but likes to believe that they are long over due for another cup of tea together.

Ramuh is very sweet and fatherly, and he spends his time cultivating cacti and small plants as well as having various pets and tamed beasts. Some, such as the Fantastical Demon Anaconda is famed for its dangerous name, but in reality the snake is quite friendly and does not wish to do harm. Ramuh claims this is out of spite for those who condemn his work as a researcher, but the truth is that he enjoys being the root of knowledge, he can bend these things to his will after all. Also under his fingertips is his talent for Bestiary keeping. Amongst them is some of the most feared monsters like The Art Block and The Fear of Failure.

Persephone:

Queen of Eros and transwoman, she is the proud wife of Hades (Resident jock goth who loves her very dearly) and runs Eros as best as she can and as humanly as possible.

She deeply loves her husband and dresses in the finest outfits she creates on her own, as well as being the most fashion forward of the District.

She was the one who turned Demi into an incubus as he stumbled into Eros, a lone human who was one the verge of turning into a will-o-wisp as most humans do. Bestowing upon him a sacred opal, her gemstones allowed those who wear them to show allegiance to her “Court” and become a powerful demon in their own right. Demi, a special case, retained his humanity and with no memories of his previous life, quickly take up his role as a dancer in Persephone’s nightclub,La Fleur de Grenade.

She is not a demon, and is implied to have once been a human, but now, she is queen of demons and those who accept her rule are considered her children; Having taken the role of District ruler from Hades, she wishes to model the District based on her desires of above ground society.

She wishes to bring the Underground above ground so the demons could live amongst humans as she does with Hades and so that she can finally feel the sun on her face like she did as a child.

Hades “kidnapped” her before she transitioned after she met him masquerading as a human above ground and became close to him. She doesn’t like to speak on it, but her family situation was not the most healthiest. However, Hades, who understood her, offered her his help and the two held their hands together as they took the fall to his home where she blossomed into who she is now. She does not regret it one bit, nor does she ever regret that Hades allowed her to become who she is today with his support, and with his help. Overtime she’s grown her own magic herself, but she keeps it bottled so as not to initiate war and instead works for peace in Eros, using her nightclub as one of the key ways to ease off the District’s lust effect on its inhabitants. (Stronger demons resist a District’s influence, most however not.)

Her tactics and work method comes off as back breaking and rather excessive, but this is due to her taking up Demi as her pseudo messenger and agent. Humans who have wandered into Eros (Because it is the most “human” of districts and because it’s far too easy to end up somewhere like a huge Traverse Town) need to be taken out of the District before they degenerate into Will-o-wisps and Demi has quickly surmounted himself as a human “rescuer”. But where these humans go after being dropped off to Persephone’s grip, is still yet unknown.

It’s later to be revealed that Persephone, in her wish to bring the Underground above, is essentially using “human” energy to cause the Underground to rise up. Demons and the gods only exist because they have believers to spread their influence like the “God” who threw them down there. So, the more who interact with Demi and Eros, the more belief is given and the closer it is to reality. She means well, and only seeks the best for the demons, but to bring the Underground above... would destroy those above her, and she doesn’t know that (Yet!)

Persephone’s appearance changes almost every time she gets a chance, her style and fashion is most like a drag queen, always revolving around a theme, but her favorite hair style is a sort of curly pixie cut.

#Long post #And what is a wulf to queue?#Lore #OC lore #Ifrit #Ramuh #Persephone #My ocs

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buzzdixonwriter · 6 years

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Vietnam: There & Then, Here & Now

I just finished watching Ken Burns’ Vietnam War documentary.

Quite an experience.

Vietnam was my generation’s war, the baby boomers’ war (i.e., those born between 1946 and 1964). I lived through the era of most of the events of the war, being old enough and cognizant enough to follow what was going on in the world around me.

From a historical POV, the Vietnam War documentary offers little new information, mostly puts everything we already knew in perspective and fairly linearly.

A few things did surprise me, such as the revelation that Nixon in order to keep the war from becoming even more unpopular, wouldn’t let draftees be sent to Vietnam unless they volunteered.

People were still being drafted (I was) but instead of being sent unwillingly to a combat zone, we were sent to foreign bases to replace enlistees who went to fight in our place.

I feel bad about that.

Nixon’s political logic was sound -- enlistees and draftees who volunteered couldn’t say they were going against their will and thus the potential for desertion and the general populace turning against the war were lessened -- but it doesn’t make it any easier to bear.

It’s one thing if everybody’s name is put in a hat and assignments are handed out at random.

It’s another if the names are put into two different hats (but then again, nobody’s name went into the Vietnam hat without their consent…).

Watching the series, it struck me that people analyzing the current American political scene are wrong when they liken it to the Civil War or the rise of Nazi Germany.

No, it isn’t.

It’s like the 1960s all over again.

Let’s back track a bit and start afresh.

From time immemorial, there has been conflict between those who think for whatever reason they should be on top and those whom they think should be under them.

The average human being just wants to be left alone to live their own life. We really don’t care what kind of socio-economic political culture we live under so long as it’s reasonably stable, consistent, and fair.

We have no problem with some people being very, very wealthy.

We just don’t want their wealth to come at the expense of everyone else.

By the 18thcentury, the first trade guilds were beginning to appear in Europe.

They were crushed by the aristocracy of their day, both the nobility / landed gentry and the financiers.

In the early 19thcentury the working class tried again with various trade unions. Again the aristocracy (more industrialists this time) crushed them.

The working class tried a third time in the late 19thcentury with socialism , again it was crushed.

Finally in the early part of the 20thcentury, communism came forth, and it was successful…at least for the better part of the century.

(Yes, I am grossly over simplifying a lot of history here, but I’m doing so to make this point: Every time labor got slapped down, it came back with something stronger until finally it won and -- in an effort to forestall communism -- the rest of then world more or less adopted some for of socialism.)

We ignored the plight of the Vietnamese prior to WWII because we (i.e., the Western democracies) only cared about the political and civil rights of white skinned people. We begged their help during WWII to fight the Japanese again, but afterwards we reneged on our deal with them because the French threatened to go communist if they lost their lucrative colony (spoiler: They eventually did lose their colony and, no, they didn’t go communist).

When the Vietnamese defeated the French, the United States viewed this as another domino falling in communism’s plan for worldwide dominance.

Since our internal domestic politics were consumed with a paranoia against communism -- because communism would keep us from going to church or owning guns and cars and houses or reading books, etc., etc., and of course, etc. — we could not let them succeed anywhere.

We fought communist forces to a bloody standstill in Korea.

We faced them down in tense situations in Europe and the Middle East.

And we were damned if we’d let them topple the first domino in South East Asia.

So, even though we knew we had no popular support among the South Vietnamese people, and even though we knew their leadership was too corrupt and inept to defeat the North Vietnamese, we backed them with money, materiel, and men in the form of “advisors”.

It didn’t work.

The situation rapidly turned into a huge hot steaming turd pile and nobody -- NOBODY!!! -- in either party could see a reason for being there except if we weren’t there, the other side would blame them for “losing” Vietnam.

The same way the GOP blamed the Democrats for “losing” China…when it was never theirs to begin with.

We refused to deal with communist governments because we’d be damned if we were going to deal with the likes of “them”…not when we could prop up a puppet of our own to run the show.

And we made this mistake again and again and again everywhere, refusing to cut deals or honor agreements because we weren’t going to bolster communism because we wanted to keep our God, our guns, and our gold.

Oh, yes, let’s talk about money.

When you analyze anti-communism, for all the high-falutin’ language about human dignity and freedom and whatnot, it really boils down to people being able to make money and not have to pay any of it to the government.

And if some people make more money, well, that just means they’re better people than those who make less.

Isn’t it?

So the U.S. fight against communism was to protect the rich, the corporations, the moneyed interests.

The Vietnamese were ancillary to this goal.

…if they were considered at all.

So we wound up digging ourselves deeper and deeper into a morass that we couldn’t win because our enemy, while quite easily defeated, simply couldn’t be beaten.

(The North Vietnamese were communists by default; there was no ideological purity to their struggle, at least not the beginning. They were nationalists first and foremost, and when the capitalist Western democracies ignored their desire for independence, they turned to the Russian communists. If Chicago baseball fans had offered them more support than the Bolsheviks, the North Vietnamese would have been Cubbies.)

This is all a long winded way of saying that even though every White House administration from Kennedy forward (and perhaps as early as Eisenhower and Truman) realized South Vietnam was a doomed proposition, they nonetheless kept funding the war because they feared they lose power if they didn’t.

Domestically, Americans were so terrified of communism and what they were told was its first cousin, socialism, that they would respond negatively to anyone accused of appeasing those God damned commie simp pinko bastards.

It was a recipe for disaster, as Ken Burns points out repeatedly.

But this post isn’t about the Vietnam era, it’s about what’s happening in the here and now, and to look at that we need to hit the major highlights of the Vietnam Was as perceived by the average American citizen (read average white Christian American citizen).

In the aftermath of Kennedy’s assassination -- and his killer being an on-again / off-again USMC deserter / defector to Russia who joined a bunch of iffy political movements when he returned to the U.S. sure didn’t help things -- Americans were shocked again when it was reported the North Vietnamese had attacked two U.S. destroyers.

To this day it’s still impossible to discern what really happened in the Gulf of Tonkin with any sense of accuracy.

Suffice it to say something happened and the North Vietnamese navy came out all the worse for it but nonetheless Johnson treated the incident as if the gawd damned commies were about to start invading New Orleans and the next thing we knew, the war had escalated from a few hundred American “advisors” to a couple of thousand active combatants.

This was in 1964.

The next big event to lodge itself into the American psyche was the Tet offensive of 1968.

The North Vietnamese and their Viet Cong allies (not one and the same!) launched a massive series of attacks across Vietnam in the hopes of spurring a popular uprising.

The tactical portion of the Tet offensive failed, but the strategic one worked perfectly (although it took seven years to see the payoff).

The reason the strategic part worked was that for the intervening 4 years between Tonkin and Tet, the U.S. had promised its citizens again and again and again that victory was just around the corner, we could see the light at the end of the tunnel, and we were winning by breaking the resolve of the enemy.

Well, Tet put the lie to that PDQ!

The most shocking thing about Tet was the photo and TV news footage of South Vietnam National Police Chief Nguyen Ngoc Loan blowing the brains out of Nguyen Van Lem, a member of a Viet Cong assassination team who had just killed some police officers and their families.

Look, let’s be honest, Van Lem richly deserved his fate under the rules of the Geneva Convention since he had killed innocent civilians while disguised as a civilian, and as such had lost all protections under international treaty.

But it’s pretty damn shocking to see him being executed again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again thanks to the miracle of television, and while most Americans still supported the war, God love ‘em still supported the troops, and agree Van Lem deserved death for his war crimes, it’s still a pretty damn shocking scene to see.

Most Americans supported the war.

But most Americans also wanted it over.

About a year later, Americans were shocked even more. Information on the infamous My Lai Massacre, which occurred in the aftermath of the Tet offensive in 1968, became public, including photos of women begging for their lives and the lives of their children, and the revelation that Americans had gang raped Vietnamese women and children before killing them.

Again, predictably, most Americans sided with the troops who committed these crimes, and continued to support the war, but despite that, one can’t shake the images of weeping women futilely trying to protect their children, or the piles of bodies just a few seconds later.

The anti-war movement, which had aligned itself with the civil rights movement and the nascent feminist movement (and, boy howdy!, is that a tale to tell but not in this post; stay focused) began opposing the war in more and more successful, and in larger and larger protests.

American presidents Johnson and (soon-to-be) Nixon did not want to lose any elections, and since the majority of Americans still supported the war -- whatever doubts they might possess about it -- they weren’t about to give any serious attention to the protestors demands.

(And, truth be told, there were a lot of show boaters among the anti-war protestors, bozos who just wanted to watch things burn.)

As protests mounted, Nixon (who became president by sabotaging Johnson’s attempt to negotiate a peace agreement in time for the 1968 election which, if bigoted George Wallace hadn’t acted as a spoiler, would have gone to Hubert Humphrey) fought back in an increasing number of ways, some quite petty, others quite deadly.

Among the deadliest was the Kent State protests in 1970 which resulted in the deaths of four college students, two of them innocent bystanders walking away from the direction of the protest on their way to class.

While shocking, again the majority of Americans defended the National Guard troops who slaughtered four students and wounded a dozen more, crippling one permanently.

But you can’t unsee an image, and though Americans hardened their hearts, they couldn’t forget the image of Mary Ann Vecchio over the body of Jeffrey Miller anymore than they could forget the image of Nguyen Ngoc Loan killing Nguyen Van Lem.

Like the Tet offensive, the battle may have been lost, but the war was being won.

More shocking turns awaited the average American. Vietnam Veterans Against The War was a surprisingly effective antiwar movement. They, along with the Winter Soldier congressional hearings in 1971, put the lie to the claim that it was only hippies and communist agitators who opposed the war.

Nixon and his vice president Spiro Agnew went on the offensive, denouncing anti-war protestors and appealing to the so-called “silent majority” of law abiding, church going, conservative, and -- dare we say it? -- white Americans who continued to support the war.

Nixon and Agnew (who had to resign due to scandals entirely unrelated to his role as Nixon’s vice president) stirred up class animosity in America, pitting working class Americans against the so-called “liberal elite” including college students and professors, preparing the soil for the coming campaign of ignorance that would devour the country in the post-Vietnam era.

But even though the average “silent majority” American continued to support the war, the vocal protestors were gaining ground, winning hearts and minds, and the images were searing themselves into the American psyche.

Also in 1971, the Pentagon Papers were released, documenting mistake after mistake after mistake the U.S. had mad, all the while acknowledging that was simple no way we could possibly win in Vietnam.

But still the fighting continued.

Nixon’s paranoia and pettiness proved his undoing,

As he and his underlings committed more and more brazen crimes to solidify their base, the Vietnam war continued unleashing horror after horror.

In June of 1972, 9 year old Phan Thi Kim Phuc was photographed running naked down a road, screaming in pain after 30% of her body had been burned by a South Vietnamese napalm strike.

Try as they like, the pro-war apologists (same rat bastards as today’s trolls) could not find a way of blaming her for her own misery.

By January, 1973 the U.S. started withdrawing in earnest and for America the war of over for all intents and purposes.

On March 8, 1973 the last official U.S. ground troops left Vietnam.

On August 8, 1974 Nixon resigned.

On August 15, 1974, the U.S. congress said “Hold! Enough!” and effectively cut off military support to South Vietnam.

On April 30, 1975, Saigon (now Ho Chi Minh City) fell, and the end that everybody knew would arrive sooner or later finally came.

All that…for nothing…

As noted above, the Vietnam war did not occur in a historical cultural vacuum, and there was not only the dread of an existentialist threat of a grossly misrepresented communist bogeyman to what the average white conservative Christian American held near and dear, but also the much more palatable fear of losing white supremacy to racial equality with…with…negroes (to use the term of the day), not to mention the first stirrings of the feminist movement, the first hint of a gay rights movement, and the hippies themselves, perceived as a great unwashed mob of dope swilling anarchists.

As the song goes, the dirty fucking hippies were right.

Ken Burns’ Vietnam War presents Vietnam to us in that context, a major component of a much broader picture, a picture that threatened the very soul of America.

Small wonder the reaction was the disco era and yuppies replacing hippies and cocaine going through the roof and Reagan replacing Carter as the latter tried to struggle with the economic bill come due after decades of reckless military spending.

Reagan, of course, devastated American in his own way, the opposite of the Tet offensive, in which he seemed to win easy victory after easy victory only now that he’s dead and gone we see those so called “victories” were actually a betrayal of everything America used to stand for.

America, at least in part, has always been a progressive nation.

The founding fathers may have been slave holders, but they left a mechanism in place that could deal with the issue of slavery.

The reactionaries came back against the founding fathers, even while claiming to honor their spirit, with Andrew Jackson, as vile a racist as one could hope to imagine, but they were countered by the abolitionists of the Civil War.

The same progressive spirit that made abolition possible also made labor unions possible, and pure food and drug laws, and trust busting under Theodore Roosevelt.

And when bad reactionary / financier / industrial policies brought the U.S. and the rest of the world to financial ruin, Franklin Delano Roosevelt fought to use progressive policies to save the country.

The reactionaries have been waging a war against America since the end of WWII.

They lost ground in the 1950s and 60s despite their successful promotion of anti-communism, but regained that ground in the 1980s to 2008.

There were a few brief respites with Clinton, as flawed a human being as one could imagine, and Obama, who became the target of the mindless white racism simmering beneath the surface of what passes for conservative thought in this country.

Now, as we near the end of their era ///and they know it///, the reactionaries and the 1% want to stack the deck as much as possible against the march of progress.

The march of humanity.

The march of the future.

We are not in a second Civil War or a second Nazi movement (though there are elements of same present).

We are in a second 1960s, only there aren’t the obvious clear crusades of Vietnam or civil rights to rally around.

We have just had our Gulf of Tonkin incident with the election of Trump.

We may have had our Tet offensive public execution photo with the appointment of Kavanaugh to the Supreme Court, a short term tactical victory that will spell doom for generations to come.

But I’m afraid we’re still quite a ways away from our My Lai, our Kent State, our Winter Soldier, our badly burned girl.

I want to tell you, as someone who lived through the 1960s, as someone who was drafted at the end of the Vietnam war, we will survive this.

And we, the decent people of the United States, the people who truly believe in liberty and justice for all, will prevail.

It won’t be pretty, and it won’t be easy, but we will win.

#Vietnam #communism #capitalism #Christianity #white supremacy #racism #history #GOP- Republicans #Trump #morals #ethics #politics

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