#i love the older kind of architecture of the schools in the area i grew up in

[heartmaxxing]

i just talked to my mother about libraries for 30 minutes straight

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Imagine:

Erik walks in on his homeboys sister stepping out of the shower and she is embarrassed/ has a huge crush on him.

Warnings: Smut. Flash back.

Micheal and Yara.

Two siblings from Oakland who decided to get an apartment near Telegraph Ave so that Yara could study at Berkeley. Yara is currently studying Art History there and she will be graduating in May at the age of 21. Micheal, her older brother, is into graphic design and web development so he works for a small company creating websites for Architectural businesses. He also does free lance work on the side to earn extra cash so he can afford living in their expensive apartment. Micheal and Yara’s parents are divorced. Their father lives in San Francisco city and their mother lives where Micheal and Yara are with her new husband in Alameda County. Yara used to live with her mother but she didn’t get along with her step father. Micheal brought up the idea of sharing an apartment to Yara since his on-again, off-again girlfriend, Evette decided that she didn’t want to move in with him. 

Currently, Micheal and Evette are arguing about Micheal's whereabouts last Friday evening. Yara was trying to take a nap in her room before her late shift at 9:00 PM as a bar tender. Tossing and turning in her bed covered in fluffy white sheets, Yara groaned loudly before throwing her sheets back, temples pounding with a tension headache that Yara tries to sooth by massaging them but it doesn’t work. Only in a Metallica T-shirt, Yara grabs a pair of Champions sweatpants from her dresser, sliding her feet in her canary yellow UGG slippers, and walking out of her bedroom. Yara’s eardrums damn near bust when she stepped into the hallway of the apartment. Rubbing the cold from her eyes, Yara walked out into the living room area coming face to face with the source of the commotion.

“STOP LYING!” Evette, Short, petite, reminded Yara of Keyshia Cole because of her bright red hair and nose piercing, tossed a decorative pillow at Micheal from across the room. Micheal caught it with his quick reflexes before placing it back on the couch. He didn’t appear bothered at all by Evette’s screaming and hollering.

“Evette, I ain’t got nothing to lie about. I told you, I was with my boy, Erik. He’s back in town for a little while before he goes back to the Military,” Micheal spoke with a flat tone, eyes bored.

“I don’t believe you. I think you were with some girl. I think you’re out here sticking your dick in some other bitch. When I find out, I’m beating both of yall ass, for real,” Evette threatens Micheal with one of her long acrylic hot pink nails almost jabbing him in the eye. 

“This ain’t the first time you accused me of cheating,” Micheal ran his hands down his face, “It’s really getting on my nerves, Evette. The constant trying to go through my phone, picking fights with me, the insecurities. What do I have to lie about? I could have dropped you years ago but no, I care about you too much to do that. Now, I’m just tired of you acting like a damn child.”

“Ahem,” Yara clears her throat.

Micheal and Evette turn towards her.

“Do y’all mind taking this shit somewhere else? I have to work tonight and I can’t sleep with all this yelling.”

“Hi to you too, Yara,” Evette spoke sarcastically.

“Bitch, don’t give me attitude. Do you pay the bills in here?” Yara has her fists balled up like she was ready to hit Evette. Evette simply laughs, staring at Yara like she’s a joke before turning her attention back to Micheal.

“My bad, little sis, Evette was just leaving-“

“WHAT?” Evette’s voice grew loud again.

“You heard me. Bounce. If you don’t trust me I can’t deal with you, Evette.”

Evette folds her arms across her perky chest, “Do you actually mean it this time around or will you be calling me tomorrow night asking to come over? you are famous for that shit, Mike.”

Micheal groans, “I don’t know right now. All I know is I need you to leave so I can clear my head, you know what I’m saying?”

“Okay, clear your head, GOTCHA,” Evette turns around, practically stomping to the door, “Lying ass piece of shit.”

“Don’t slam the door either!”Micheal yells.

BAM!

“Yeah,” Micheal closes his eyes to calm himself.

“You’re better than me. I feel like following her and kicking that bitch down the steps. You need to drop her, Mike. Do you even see what’s going on?”

“Nah, baby sis, tell me what’s up? What am I NOT seeing?”

Yara tilted her head at Micheal with sad eyes. Micheal shrugged his shoulders as if he didn’t understand what Yara was trying to tell him without using words.

“You can be so damn thick-headed sometimes,” Yara threw her hands up matter-of-factually, “Evette is cheating on you, Mike. She’s just trying to give you a reason to end things so she can continue fucking whoever she is fucking without you knowing.”

“Wait...what?” Micheal says with disbelief.

“You’re Girl? The love of your life? She’s fucking someone else, Mike.”

Micheal blinked at Yara with bewildered eyes.

“Listen, fool, while you’re sitting there stuck on stupid, Evette is driving to a dick appointment trying to think of a plan B to get rid of yo’ ass. Just end it with her. The shit is toxic. I don’t even want a nigga to step into my personal space after witnessing the shit you and Evette go through.”

“If Evette is cheating on me...” Micheal didn’t finish his sentence but Yara knew her brother would bring hell to earth if he caught Evette fucking another man. As much as they bickered and broke up, Evette was her brothers first real love. He wouldn’t admit it, but Micheal would be heart broken.

“Then I’m going to whip her ass,” Yara said in her brothers defense, “Nobody fucks with my bro like that.”

“I’ll let you beat her ass too.”

Yara kisses her brothers forehead, “I’m going to go back in bed, I am so exhausted with school- hold up, did you say that you were with Erik?”

“Yeah,” Micheal said whole scrolling through his phone, “He’s back for a little while.”

“I haven’t seen Erik in, like, three years?”

“Yeah, it’s been a long ass time. I thought he forgot about us,” Micheal laughs, “He’ll be here later if you want to catch him before you go to work.”

“Mama was asking about him a few days ago,” Yara says recalling the conversation they both had when she went to visit her. Micheal and Yara’s mother always pulled the photo albums out whenever they came to see her. The photo album she brought out when Yara came over was Micheal’s prom photos. Micheal and Erik went to prom together their senior year.

“Look at Erik! Wasn’t he so skinny?!” Yara’s mama says.

“Yeah, mama, he was swimming in his suit.”

Yara’s eyes twinkled when she stared at Erik’s photo. Her first ever crush. The guy she kissed on a whim when she was 18 and he was 24. Yara felt so embarrassed. Erik simply gave her a kind smile, hugging her tightly. She felt like a silly child. Erik was a grown man. Ever since then, Yara hadn’t seen Erik.

“You Aight?” Micheal looked over at Yara with a smirk.

“I’m fine.”

Yara couldn’t stop thinking about her brothers friend who used to spend the night when they were kids. His friend who wore only a pair of basketball shorts when he slept. His friend who used to stand in Yara’s doorway to her bedroom teasing her.

“You’re not lying to me, are you?”

“No, I’m not,” Yara looked off to the side.

“When you look away like that it’s a sign that you’re lying. You ain’t gotta tell me, it’s probably some nasty shit that I really don’t want to know anyway.”

“Shut up, Mike,” Yara rolls her eyes, turning away to walk back to her room with her middle finger raised behind her, directed towards her brother.

——————

A few hours later:

Erik Stevens stepped off of the elevator within Micheal and Yara’s apartment building on Telegraph Ave. kinky fro freshly shaped up and a new fit and shoes on his feet, Erik checked his text message from Micheal that informed him of what apartment it is.

“9C,” Erik places his phone back inside of his jacket pocket, eyes searching from left to right before spotting the crisp white door with a bronze letter C on it and a tiny peep hole. Erik knocks, the gold Piaget watch on his right wrist making a loud tapping sound against the surface of the door. In under two seconds, Micheal opens the door, a broad smile on his handsome chocolate face when he noticed who it was.

“What’s up, cuz?” Micheal gave Erik dabs, “I ain’t expect you to be over this early, bruh, you good?”

“I’m good, I just needed to get away from CeCe. You know she offered for me to stay at her new place instead of a hotel.”

“You know you have to tell me about all of that, right?” Micheal jokes, holding his door open further for Erik to enter. Erik steps inside, his eyes admiring the urban styled apartment. It was Boho vintage with different shades of browns, greens, and reds. The living room was decorated and furnished with cream colored walls, Urban photographs of Oakland, cactus plants, a standout leather sofa set in a dessert brown color accompanied with khaki colored patch work leather ottomans and an elegantly modern coffee table featuring a round metal tabletop in a brushed, antique brass finish. 60 inch flat screen TV, an acacia wood credenza that Erik was sure is filled with old 70s and 80s records.

“Shit, let me take my shoes off, I don’t want to mess up this nice carpet,” Erik kicks his shoes off near the front door.

“You can put them in that shoe rack right there if you want. Yara got that from the thrift store about a week ago.”

Erik looks up at Micheal with expectant eyes, “Little Yara? She lives with you? what happened with Evette?”

“Long story, bro, Yara and I decided to get a place together close to Berkeley and I work for that new company I was telling you about last weekend so we can commute easier. Plus, you know moms live near us too.”

“Yeah, yeah. So, what is little Yara studying at Berkeley?”

Micheal smiles like a proud older brother, “Art History. She wants to become a Curator.”

“I’ve always seen her working in a museum. She loves history so much,” Erik reminisced with a slight smirk, “Is she here?”

“Straight back there-Wait.”

Erik was ready to rush back to see her.

“Let me see if she’s decent. She gotta work in about a few hours.”

“No problem, bruh, I’ll chill out here.”

Erik watches Micheal walk to the back of the apartment where the rooms are. Taking a seat on the leather couch, Erik strokes his beard, thinking about Yara. He hadn’t seen her in three years. He wondered how different she looked. By different he meant mature and filled out like a women. Back when she was just 18 years of age, Yara was so petite and athletic since she played Lacrosse, braces on her teeth, and so sweet and innocent. From what Micheal told Erik last weekend when they went out to a Hookah bar for Boys night, Yara gained weight. Micheal joked about it, typical sibling teasing, but Erik wished he could have seen a picture. Now, his mind went back to when Yara kissed him the night of her graduation party before Erik left to start his JSOC training. He honestly didn’t know how to respond. Yara looked like her world came crashing down when he didn’t reciprocate the same feelings. She was much younger than him, Erik has her by six years. She was 18 and he was 24. Yeah, Yara was legal but it still felt weird. He always knew little Yara had a crush on him and he surely didn’t want Micheal to know about it.

“She’s still asleep,” Micheal walked back out with a generous bag filled with an eighth of top-shelf weed, “You want to smoke a blunt and tell me about this bitch named CeCe?”

———————

Yara. Don’t forget. The history project is due tomorrow night. Since you’re group lead, you have to submit it.

Yara rolls her eyes at the group chat she was in with her fellow History classmates. That assignment was the last thing on her damn mind. Yara closes her Mac, stretching her curvy body out like a cat before getting up from her comfy bed. Like a strong wind, the smell of kush hit her nose. Yara noticed that her bedroom door is cracked. Micheal must have come to check on her. Yara slips on a pair of Champion Reverse Weave drawstring shorts that were folded on the end of her bed in a pink color, bed hair and all, walking out of her room and towards the living room. When she entered the hallway, two male voices could be heard. It finally dawned on Yara who the other male present could be.

Erik.

Yara walks to the bathroom, deciding to wipe her face off and brush her teeth. She still needed to shower but that could wait until she ate something. Admiring her hair, Yara reaches up to pull her hair tie from her curly hair, fluffing it out and shaking her head so it wouldn’t look like she just rolled out of bed. Yara then brushes her teeth, using her water closer afterwards. Satisfied, Yara takes in a deep breath to try and calm the butterflies in her stomach before walking out of the bathroom and towards the living room area.

“So, you’re telling me that CeCe is trying to hook you up with someone? why are you there?”

“You know she likes playing match made in heaven. CeCe is cool, Mike, I know me and her used to fuck around before I left but it ain’t even like that now. Just a friend helping out a friend. No big thing.”

Micheal chuckles, “E, I know you, man. You had all that pussy around you to play with and you ain’t have a taste? Nigga-“

“Like I said, nah. I don’t want that anymore or her friend she’s trying to get me with. Her friend just wants to know how the dick CeCe used to get is really about. You can look at me like that all you want. Everything is temporary. I’m shopping for a house right now-“

“You can just sleep on our couch-“

“I’m too big for this fucking couch,” Erik laughs, “Once my house is built from the ground up, you’ll see that it was all worth it. And you know I can’t stay with our other friends they gon’ get me caught up and I don’t need to be in jail.”

Erik takes a puff of weed before handing it over to Mike.

Micheal accepts the weed, instantly smoking it before letting the smoke out from his nose, “You’re a changed man, E. Got a house in the works, left the hood to pursue your dreams of being this J.I Joe motherfucker,” Erik playfully jabs Micheal in his ribs, “Seeiously, man, I’m proud of you. Wait until Yara sees you, bruh.”

Erik licks his lips before raising a single brow, “What you mean by that?

“She ain’t gonna believe this the same Erik from three years ago. What you do? Get inside of the same machine as Captain America?”

“Funny, nigga.”

Yara didn’t reveal herself just yet. She just wanted to hear him talk. Erik’s voice definitely appeared deeper. Raspy, then husky, then deep and gruff. When he genuinely laughed it was still just as light as before. Yara peeked out into the living room. A tiny gasp escaped her mouth. Kinky fro, muscles, facial hair, and tiny scars on his arms is what she noticed first. Micheal was right, this was Erik 2.0. Then, whenever he talked; those lush lips moving, Yara saw gold canines in his mouth. He looked so rough and scruffy. The Military definitely made him harder.

“Yara, stop being nosy!” Micheal yells. Yara almost jumped where she stood. She was so in tune with her thoughts that she hadn’t realized how close she’d gotten into the living room.

“Shut up Mike!” Yara fired back. With nervous eyes, Yara looked over at Erik. He didn’t speak, all he did was look fixedly at her with his eyes wide open. It was as if time stood still and she was the only thing that mattered in that room. Even the weed in Erik’s hand could burn to ash.

“Hi, Erik,” Yara couldn’t stop herself from grinning when Erik smiled at her with his dimples.

“Little Yara, what’s going on girl!” Erik hands Micheal the blunt back before standing from the couch, walking over to Yara with his arms outstretched for her to give him a big hug. Yara walks up to Erik, giggling nervously before bringing her arms around his waist, squeezing him. Erik rocked Yara back and forth while his chin rested on top of her curly head. Erik then brings his lips down to kiss Yara’s forehead before pulling her away to get a good look at her.

Heart shaped face, dimple in her chin, glittering eyes fringed with long eyelashes that reminded him of maple syrup, silken skin like cinnamon, ebony ringlets that made her thick but arched brows pop, lips full and glossy with a prominent Cupid’s bow. Erik’s eyes burned with desire when he gazed at Yara’s voluptuous, curvy, ample, and generous body. She really filled out from the last time he saw her. Mike can joke all he wants but Yara looked...

Erik covered his eyes with his hands, a suppressed laugh escaping his mouth before he opened his arms wide for her to hug him again. Yara giggles, stepping back into his embrace again to accept his hug. He smelled like patchouli. Tall, brawny, chiseled, broad-shouldered, and hulking, Yara couldn’t get over how comfortable she felt within Erik’s embrace. The deep baritone of his voice made her shiver.

“Look at you girl, all grown up. Crazy how that happened in three years, right?”

“That’s what I’m saying,” Yara turned her face away timidly, “So, how is the Military treating you? I mean...” Yara looks Erik up and down with a shake of her head, “It seems like it’s treating you nice. Go hard or go home, right?

“Treating me like I’m a piece of shit but it’s worth it,” Erik laughs, “The Military transformed me.”

Yes it did

“You do look great, I almost didn’t recognize you sitting on that couch. The hair, the muscles, the scars...”

Yara looked at them, her hand extending out suddenly to touch a row of scars that looked freshly raised against his skin.

“Don’t.”

Yara jolted upright, her hand jerking away. His voice and the look he gave her had her shrank in front of him.

“Shit, my bad, girl. You don’t want to touch these. Bad memories. That’s all, little Yara, I’m sorry.”

“It’s...it’s okay,” Yara steps away, shifting from one foot to the other, “Good to see you though, Erik.”

“You too, girl,” Erik scratched his beard before reluctantly turning away from Yara to take his seat next to Micheal on the couch. Yara watched him walk away while tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. The way they greeted eachother felt so different. Erik wasn’t only physically changed, He’s mentally changed too.

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready for work?” Micheal stretched his slender tattoo covered arms above his head.

“Yeah, but I’m hungry so,” Yara rubbed her hands on her thighs to get rid of the sweat before walking away and into the kitchen. Yara finally exhaled when she entered the kitchen after holding her breath while walking past Erik. The kitchen was open and you could peek into the living room. Erik was sitting directly across from Micheal staring straight ahead at Yara while smoking his blunt. He tilted his head at her while half listening to Micheal talk about Evette. Yara turned her face away, grabbing a loaf of wheat bread from the counter to make herself a PB&J sandwich.

“Little sis, what you cooking up in there?”

“Nothing for you,” Yara spread strawberry jam on her bread, “Why don’t you order in?”

“I was thinking about it, E, I’ma make a liquor run real quick, you want anything?”

“I got some good stuff in the car I can grab, you aint gon’ drink it so don’t even ask.”

“Yeah, I like my own shit,” Micheal stood from the couch, walking towards the back of the apartment to his room. It was silent minus the low TV and Yara washing the butter knife she used to make her sandwich. Erik leaned back into the leather couch, crossing his arms over his solid chest. He watched Yara walk over to the trash can to toss a paper towel in the trash that she most likely used to clean up crumbs or spilled jam. Erik has a great view of Yara’s thick ass bending over, her drawstring shorts raising up her thighs and getting caught between her ass cheeks. Such a beautiful sight has Erik’s brows knitted as he gave her a once-over. At that particular moment, Yara looked back at him as if she could feel his eyes boring into her.

“Hi.” She spoke in a trembling tone.

“Hi, back,” Erik says suggestively.

“Did Mike leave yet?”

“Nah-“

“Aight, I’ll be back, y’all good? Need anything?” Micheal was back with a hoodie on, a dad cap, and a pair of vans on his feet.

“Can you stop by that corner market that sells those organic fruits? I want some mangos.” Yara yelled from the kitchen.

Micheal grabbed the door knob, pausing, “I’m making a liquor run too.”

“Oh! I want some Hypnotiq.”

“Cool, you, E?”

“We can order in when you get back, I’m good.”

“Bet, I’ll be back.”

Micheal exits.

“Mike still just as skinny as he was since the last time I saw him” Erik laughs.

“Yeah, he can eat but it goes nowhere. Me, I gained all the weight in the world.”

Erik gave Yara a dismissive wave of his hand, “Girl, you look good. Ain’t nothing wrong with the weight you put on.”

Yara giggles, popping a green grape in her mouth, “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Erik craned his neck to try and see her, “Why don’t you come in here and eat. Over there hiding and shit from a nigga.”

“Okay,” Yara got up from the dining room table, walking through the kitchen and entering the living room. She decided to sit her plump bottom on the floor while using one of the leather ottomans as a surface for her grapes and half eaten sandwich.

“So, how have you been?” Erik asked while rolling a new blunt.

“I’ve been doing just fine. Ready to graduate honestly.” Yara nervously rubbed her shoulder before gazing at Erik, “You?”

“Busy, busy, busy,” Erik’s onyx eyes landed on hers before looking back at his blunt, “Just traveling, training, that’s about it.”

“Oh,” Yara massaged the back of her neck, “Does those scars have anything to do with it?”

“Partly, yeah.”

“I see,” Yara admires them, “They look...they don’t look like typical scars.”

“That’s because they’re not.” Erik spoke in a flat tone.

“Let me just, stop asking,” Yara laughs awkwardly.

Erik chuckles, “It’s not a subject I rather talk about with you, Little Yara.”

“I understand. I won’t pry.”

“Cool,” Erik takes a hit of his blunt, cheeks blowing out as they filled with smoke, “Seeing anybody?”

“Nope. I haven’t for the past three months. Been trying to stay focused. Men are a distraction.”

“Y’all women are too,” Erik laughs, smoke escaping his nose.

Yara cocked her head, “So, my guess is you aren’t seeing anyone either.”

Erik licks his lips, “I don’t have time for that.”

“Does that include sex too?”

Erik clapped his hands together while chuckling, “Ahhhh, shit, Yara, did you just ask me about my sex life? Are you having sexxxxxxx?!

“I did. And I’m grown, ERIK, so yes, I’m having sex,” Yara gave a half shrug while rolling her eyes.

“21, right? I remember when I was 21. Legally can drink now and everything. Too bad you still can’t hang with us,” Erik chuckles.

Yara gave Erik the finger, “fuck you, don’t play with me like that.”

“I’m just saying, I remember you graduating high school the last time I saw you. Now you’re in your 20s, barely.”

Yara lowered her head, “Will you always remember me like that? Like DAMN, I did grow up, nigga.”

Erik noticed the attitude in her voice, “You’re mad at me?”

“Just annoyed,” Yara stood up, grabbing her food, “I’m gonna eat in my room so I can look over this project I have to submit tomorrow. I’ll see you later, Erik.”

Confused, Erik watched Yara practically storm away. He didn’t understand why his words offended her so much. It’s just what Erik is used to. He’s used to seeing Yara so young not a 21 year old adult. It was all still so new to him. Deciding not to chase after her, Erik gets up from the couch to retrieve his shoes so he could grab his drink from his car.

———————

Yara couldn’t even focus.

She was really bothered by Erik’s comments.

It was mainly because every time he cracked jokes she thought about her kissing him. He probably cracked jokes about that too. Clearly, Erik couldn’t look past the fact that Yara is Mike’s little sis. She really thought he was past that when he first laid eyes on her. She could tell what a look of lust was in a man’s eyes since Yara often receives that look. Erik’s eyes were gleaming with desire and attraction. He almost looked shocked that it was Yara. Then, the way he looked her up and down. His eyes damn near gaped when she noticed him staring while she was in the kitchen. Pupils flared and all. Now, it was as if he was trying to hide the attraction he has towards her after three years. Yara was disappointed honestly. She always thought the next time she ever saw Erik they would honestly re-do that kiss and possibly have sex. If Yara had the choice to go back and lose her virginity it would have been with Erik.

Glancing at her phone, Yara noticed it was around 7:45 PM. Luckily, the bar she worked at wasn’t too far from her. Yara didn’t drive so she usually walked or caught an Uber. Lifting from her soft and fluffy floor cushion, Yara grabs her white cotton towel and soap sponge to take a shower. Leaving her room, she could hear Erik watching a basketball game. Yara closes her bedroom door, walking across to the bathroom, closing the door behind her softly. She began to undress, stripping her clothes from her body into a wrinkled pile on the floor near the sink. Opening the medicine cabinet, Yara grabs her Dove sensitive skin body wash and exfoliating spin brush. She couldn’t stop herself from thinking about Erik being in the living room right now while she was naked in the bathroom. There was no way Yara could ignore the growing dampness between her legs. She hadn’t been wet to the thought of Erik in a very long time.

Luke warm water running, Yara pulled the tribal patterned shower curtain back, stepping inside carefully not to slip on the the shower mat, then closing the curtain behind her. Yara forgot to pin her hair up but she needed to wash her hair anyway so she allowed it to grow wet while she wet her body completely. Grabbing her exfoliating brush and the body wash, Yara applied the body wash to her curvy body, turning on her brush and in a circular motion, began to cleanse her skin from the neck down. She had a separate skin care routine and a spin brush for that as well. Yara lifts her leg on the side of the tub to wash behind her thighs, the warm water running down her ass and to her pussy. Yara felt extra tingly between her legs. She didn’t have time to rub off in the shower and she forgot her favorite vibrator in her bed room. Groaning, Yara tried to ignore it as best as she could while scrubbing the top of her feet.

————————

Erik sat cross-faded with his eyes sitting low. The basketball game was just background noise for him. Bored out of his mind, Erik really wanted to go and talk to Yara. He didn’t want to approach her on some awkward shit but at the same time he missed talking to her. Erik remembers how he used to talk and goof off with Yara from her doorway when they were younger. Micheal is very long-winded and sitting on the couch will eventually lead to Erik falling asleep. Erik leans forward on his elbow to peek down the hall where Yara’s bedroom is located. The hall was brightly lit from the light and he couldn’t tell which room was hers exactly. All the damn doors looked the same.

“Fuck it,” Erik places his phone on the coffee table, rising from the couch and making his way down the hall. Hands in his pockets, Erik approaches the first door. He knocks, no sound, twisting the knob and opening the door. It was Mikes room. Erik closes the door, walking further down the hall and approaching a door to his right. The light was on, he could tell from the glow beneath the door. Erik knocks, no sound. He grabs the brass knob, twisting it, then opening. Standing there, Erik’s chest rose and fell with rapid breaths. His mouth hung open and his eyes went round as if they were about to fall out of their sockets. He gawked at the sight of Yara before him. A sight he never imagined in a million years he would see up until now.

Yara was arched over the bathtub with her ass pointed straight out at Erik. Erik could smell cleaning products; Fabuloso from what it smelled like. The water in the tub was on full blast as Yara cleaned the porcelain. Her body was still wet and she had a T-shirt wrapped around her hair. Yara’s ass jiggled each time she scrubbed the tub out. She wasn’t aware of his presence. Erik was so stunned by her naked body and the fact that he walked in on her that he couldn’t even speak.

Too late.

Yara lifts her body up, turning to place the scrub brush on the floor near the tub, her eyes catching Erik standing within the entrance to the bathroom. Yara felt as if her heart was leaving her body. Shell-shocked almost. Now, her breasts were revealed to him. Large, big brown areolas and nipples soaking wet and dripping, curvy waistline glistening with water down to her waxed mound and thighs. Pretty toes painted white with a tattoo of a rose on her left foot. Yara looked appetizing. Yara bit her lip bashfully, eyes glossy as if she wanted to cry from embarrassment, her hands reaching out to the toilet to grab her folded towel. Yara presses her lips together to try and stop her lower lip from trembling and eyes her looked heavenward.

Yara spoke with a shaky voice, “I-Why didn’t you knock? Erik?”

Erik didn’t respond. His eyes were ablaze staring straight at her face. He felt turned on but at the same time he felt guilty. Luckily, Yara couldn’t see how fat and long his dick had gotten within his jeans. She couldn’t hear him, maybe he should have knocked harder. Yara’s hands were shaking and she couldn’t meet his eyes. She was overly embarrassed and not at all prepared. Yara crosses her thighs, pressing the towel further into her chest.

“...I knocked. I should have knocked again. Shit, Yara, I’m sorry-“

“Just-it’s cool,” Yara sized Erik up before rolling her eyes, “Can’t go back now, yeah?”

“I’m so fucking sorry, Yara,” Erik felt like shit, “I’m so so so sorry, Yara.”

“Erik, stop with the apologizing,” Yara drew in a long breath.

“I’m just gonna go,” Erik turns away, walking out of the bathroom. Yara stayed rooted to the spot, her hand pressing further into her chest to calm her rapid heart beat. As always whenever Yara felt embarrassed, she sighed before laughing quietly to herself. Pinching the bridge of her nose, Yara shook her head at what just happened. She was afraid to even look Erik in his eyes now. He saw her in full on nudity. Not in her panties and bra, not in a swimsuit, not wrapped with a fluffy towel, no, fully naked.

Twirling a strand of hair that fell from under the T-shirt, and chewing on her cuticles, Yara gathered herself before leaving the bathroom. She places the cleaning products back in its designated basket under the sink before grabbing her sponge. Yara walked out of the bathroom, entering the hallway and her eyes disobeying her as she nervously glanced into the living room. There seated on the couch with his eyes focused on her, was Erik. Like a magnet, Yara couldn’t pull her eyes away. It was as if he waited to see her leave.

Yara raised a hand in greeting.

He waved.

Yara hung her head, a small smile on her face.

Erik did the same thing before looking at her again.

“I hope this doesn’t make it weird between me and you,” Yara says.

“Never,” Erik spoke with his deep voice, “it could never be weird with you.”

Yara licks her lips, eyes set with long lashes blinking slowly at Erik.

“What are you thinking?” Erik asks while leaning forward on his elbows.

“I’m...I...just-forget it-“

“Nah, tell me.” Erik pushes his eyes searching.

“Mike will be back soon, I have to get dressed.”

“He ain’t back yet,” Erik tilts his head at her, “Don’t be so shy. It’s me, Erik.”

“But it’s what I’m thinking that I shouldn’t be,” Yara crosses her ankles in front of her while staring at her toes.

“Well, I wanna know.”

Yara fidgeted with her fingers before looking up at Erik through her lashes, “I was thinking that I’m glad you saw me like that. I’ve always wanted you to see me like that. Sorry I stormed away like I did earlier.”

Erik swallows spit, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Erik has to look away himself, scratching his nose. He wasn’t prepared for that response at all. Little Yara always wanted him to see her naked. He knew she had a school girl crush on him. No wonder why she didn’t rush to cover herself even though she still looked embarrassed.

“No worries, ma. Uh,” Erik scratches his dreads, “So...you’ve always wanted me to see you naked?”

Yara toyed with a lock of hair, “Yeah...” she spoke with her voice barely above a whisper.

“You shouldn’t talk like that, little Yara, you’ll get yourself in trouble.”

They way he said that sounded so dangerous like fucking with him was the last thing any women would want to do. But Erik didn’t understand, that was ALL Yara wanted to do. He was back, if she didn’t make a move now he would be gone again.

“It’s been a while since you’ve seen me, Erik, I dabbled in trouble,” Yara spoke with a honeyed tone.

“Maybe you should get in that bedroom before Mike gets here then,” Erik says with a sly smirk.

“Yeah, maybe,” Yara giggles before letting out a sigh,

“Bye, Erik.”

“Bye, Yara.”

She didn’t want to move. She really wanted Erik to get up and follow her into her bedroom.

“What you waiting on?” Erik says inclining his head towards the bedroom, “Get in there, little Yara.”

“Come with me?” Yara says before she could even stop herself.

Erik’s eyes dropped and his lips parted. Eyes fully closed now, he clenched his jaw to try and calm his dick. Too bad it was already growing stiff in his jeans. The way she told him to come with her. Such a tempting little thing. Nothing he expected Yara to ever say to him. She’s right, she definitely is a grown women now. Erik wondered what that body could really do.

“I’m-im Sorry,” Yara’s brows creased, eyes cast down at her hands, “I’m being a little too bold right now.”

Erik looked towards the door, then back at Yara. He took in the sight of her barely able to keep that towel around her body.

“You mean what you said? You’re not playing games?” Erik asks with a serious tone, “Cuz if I get up off this couch and come with you, you’re getting all of me, girl.”

“I know,” Yara bites her bottom lip, “I know what I want.”

The way her lips pouted and her eyes looked up at him all innocent caused Erik to stand up slowly from the couch. Erik drew his lower lip between his teeth hands in his jeans pockets before stepping forward. Yara’s lower lip trembled and her breath came out in short gasps. Standing directly next to her now, towering over her with his large intimidating frame, was Erik looking down at Yara with awe transforming his face. Not wanting to waste anymore time, Yara began to walk forward towards her bedroom. Yara twisted the handle, turning to face Erik before opening the door. Erik followed her into darkness, Yara turning to face him with timid eyes. Erik raised a single brow at her, silently asking her if she was sure about this. Yara swallows spit before nodding her head slowly. Erik licks his lips before closing that door behind him, the light that illuminated the hallway disappearing.

@tgigoldie @soufcakmistress @chefjessypooh @chaneajoyyy @pananegra @theblulife @becincere @blaqwidow91 @fish-outta-watah @eyeknowmywrites @crowngold @njadakillthiscookie @blktinkerbell @luvanxi @sheisexcellent1 @chocolatedippedinhoney @brandithecrystalgem @dababydababydababydababy @soulfulbeauty19 @btitannaaa @sunkissedebony97 @youngblackndgifted @harleycativy @rbhp @theesotericqueen @thee-germanpeach @thadelightfulone @palmstreesallday @skylahb @bakaris-shorty @nizzle-mo @truglori @queenflaws @ljstraightnochaser @theegoldenchild @scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @nickidub718 @vikkidc @thehomierobbstark @rent-emspoons @abluesforlyssa @abeautifulmindexposed @fd-writes @chasingsunlight @sickaddiktions @momobaby227 @informalmelancholy @soulshinechronicles @hearteyes-for-killmonger @goddessofthundathighs​ @soulfxll​ @whazzzupmyhitta​

[ninafms]

            *  𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐰  ,  𝐢'𝐦  𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲  𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠  around  to  posting  nina’s  introduction  ,  but  my  theme  made  me  upset  so  this  will  be  viewed  on  dashboard  only  for  now  !  my  name’s  𝐛𝐚𝐲  ,  i  prefer  either  she / her  or  they / them  pronouns  ,  and  i  reside  in  the  est  timezone  .  i’m  in  my  final  year  of  college  so  sometimes  i  won’t  be  around  all  day  ,  but  since  i  only  work  two  days  and  all  of  my  classes  are  online  ,  chances  are  i’m  around  !  i’m  starting  this  little  introduction  at  exactly  2:30am  ,  so  chances  are  this  will  be  posted  at  like  ...  4am  (  lol  )  ,  but  i’m  super  excited  to  write  her  out  as  this  will  be  my  first  group  in  about  a  month  or  so  !  i’m  comfortable  with  messaging  through  the  im’s  if  that’s  better  for  you  ,  but  we  could  also  plot  on  discord  if  you’d  like  !  also  ,  don’t  forget  to  stream  blackpink’s  new  single  ‘  ice  cream  ’  with  selena  gomez  !

💀  *  [  jennie  kim  +  cis  female  +  she / her  ]  ——  have  you  met  na-young  “nina”  min  ?  they  are  a  twenty - three  year  old  senior  currently  studying  business  economics  with  a  political  science  minor  .  they  live  on  farrow  house  ,  and  word  around  campus  is  that  this  gemini  is  spellbinding  +  perspicacious  ,  as  well  as  combative  +  malevolent  .  i  wonder  if  they’ll  make  it  out  alive  .  biting  the  corner  of  her  thumbnail  when  focusing  ,  never  being  ashamed  of  back - to - back  walks  of  shame  ,  the  infectious  sound  of  her  laughter  traveling  the  hall  .

NAME  :  na-young  ‘  nina  ’  min  .

NICKNAME(S)  :  nini  ,  neens  ,  and  nana  (  by  her  parents  )  .

AGE  +  DATE  OF  BIRTH  :  23  +  june  2nd  ,  1997  .

ZODIAC  :  gemini  sun  ,  taurus  moon  ,  gemini  ascendant  .

MYERS - BRIGGS  PERSONALITY  TYPE  :  istp  .

MORAL  ALIGNMENT  :  neutral  evil  .

ENNEAGRAM  TYPE  :  the  achiever  .

GENDER  +  PRONOUNS  :  cis  female  +  she  /  her  /  hers  .

PLACE  OF  BIRTH  :  gangnam  ,  seoul  ,  south  korea  .

PLACE  OF  RESIDENCE  :  ivory  falls  ,  maine  .

SEXUAL  ORIENTATION  :  bisexual  .

ROMANTIC  ORIENTATION  :  biromantic  .

OCCUPATION  :  senior  at  holloway  university  .

NATIONALITY  :  korean - american  .

ETHNICITY  :  korean  .

LANGUAGES  SPOKEN  :  english  ,  korean  ,  and  japanese  .

i  .  prosopography  .

nina’s  story  begins  during  the  chance  meeting  of  her  parents  ,  ara  kim  and  hyun-woo  min  ,  when  they  were  in  their  early  twenties  .  most  would  assume  that  they  weren’t  compatible  for  one  another  as  ara  was  the  spoiled  child  of  the  kim  family  ,  who  were  known  around  south  korea  for  owning  various  luxury  buildings  and  apartment  complexes  in  the  gangnam  area  .  hyun-woo  on  the  other  hand  was  your  regular  college  student  who  worked  a  job  he  hated  to  pay  his  tuition  ,  but  he  had  big  dreams  as  he  wanted  to  someday  own  his  own  architecture  firm  .  when  the  mindless  ara  wrecked  her  fancy  car  into  hyun-woo’s  beat  up  toyota  ,  it  was  love  at  first  sight  .

it  was  a  whirlwind  relationship  as  the  couple  was  engaged  within  six  months  of  their  meeting  ,  and  married  within  eight  .  with  their  access  to  unlimited  funds  ,  the  couple  had  a  lavish  wedding  ,  and  hyun-woo  no  longer  had  to  worry  about  his  tuition  payments  .  now  focused  on  his  degree  without  having  to  worry  about  money  ,  he  found  himself  on  the  development  team  at  his  new  family’s  company  shortly  thereafter  his  graduation  .

with  hyun-woo  having  his  dream  job  and  ara  having  her  dream  husband  ,  the  couple  was  thriving  .  they  lived  in  a  beautiful  apartment  that  overlooked  gangnam  ,  and  they  had  gone  on  vacation  to  bali  when  ara  revealed  that  she  was  pregnant  .  the  couple  was  overjoyed  to  be  welcoming  their  baby  into  the  world  ,  and  to  say  that  they  were  obsessed  with  her  from  the  moment  they  saw  her  in  the  first  ultrasound  and  she  was  the  size  of  a  lime  .  the  couple  welcomed  their  little  baby  nine  months  later  ,  and  they  loved  every  inch  of  her  the  moment  she  was  placed  on  ara’s  chest  .

growing  up  ,  nina  enjoyed  the  spoils  that  her  family  provided  for  her  .  she  went  on  amazing  trips  ,  wore  the  best  clothes  ,  and  even  got  pushed  around  in  a  six  hundred  dollar  stroller  .  despite  that  ,  though  ,  nina  was  a  very  precocious  child  ,  picking  up  on  her   developments  quickly  .  as  she  grew  older  ,  nina’s  parents  saw  that  their  daughter  was  interested  in  a  variety  of  things  ,  so  when  she  was  five  ,  she  began  taking  piano  lessons  ,  and  it  was  evident  that  she  had  a  natural  gift  .

as  the  years  passed  ,  nina  continuously  excelled  in  her  academics  and  the  extracurriculars  that  she  tried  out  for  .  as  she  attended  the  best  schools  in  seoul  ,  nina  was  the  one  who  answered  questions  first  ,  she  was  the  first  to  sign  up  ,  and  the  first  to  complete  tests  .  nina  was  the  one  who  constantly  won  awards  from  her  school  ,  and  she  was  definitely  the  one  who  never  allowed  for  someone  else  to  take  her  place  .  

it  was  something  of  a  shock  to  her  parents  that  she  wanted  to  attend  college  in  the  states  ,  but  her  parents  were  not  the  ones  to  tell  her  no  .  so  ,  nina  went  on  to  be  accepted  into  holloway  ,  and  she  majors  in  business  economics  with  a  political  science  minor  !  i’d  say  that  she’s  involved  in  a  lot  of  student  organizations  like  student  government  ,  and  she’s  a  member  of  the  tennis  team  !  as  nuts  as  it  sounds  ,  she’s  on  the  tennis  team  for  the  cute  outfits  ,  but  she  loves  the  sport  as  well  . 

ii  .  temperament  .

alexa  ,  play  ‘  i  don’t  care  ’  by  ariana  grande  !  she  doesn’t  care  about  what  other  people  have  to  say  or  how  people  feel  about  her  ,  especially  considering  how  shameless  she  can  be  in  most  of  her  actions  .  she’s  ridiculously  blunt  ,  but  really  hates  when  people  are  bitchy  for  no  reason  ?  i  don’t  know  ,  a  paradox  considering  that  she  can  be  bitchy  for  no  reason  too  FKNDSFUDS  .  responds  heavily  to  the  energy  that  she’s  given  .  fully  believes  that  the  sun  and  moon  determines  her  mood  for  the  day  .

sUpErIoRiTy CoMpLeX  ?  gOd  CoMpLeX  ?  sounds  about  right  .  she  doesn’t  outright  brag  about  herself  all  the  time  ,  but  she’s  definitely  the  type  to  bring  it  up  when  it  applies  to  the  conversation  .  nina  is  the  mean  friend  that  everyone  needs  ,  and  has  a  weird  dislike  for  people  who  are  too  nice  .  

nina  isn’t  a  stone  cold  bitch  ,  though  .  she  likes  having  fun  ,  she  likes  to  laugh  ,  and  she  especially  likes  to  spend  time  with  her  friends  .  she’s  capable  of  empathy  and  compassion  ,  yes  .  will  she  show  that  all  the  time  ?  of  course  not  !  considering  that  she’s  an  only  child  ,  nina  is  used  to  having  all  eyes  on  her  ,  so  she  has  no  shame  in  her  fame  when  she  comes  back  to  farrow  house  wearing  last  night’s  dress  and  carrying  her  heels  .

iii  .  headcanons  .

she  already  knows  that  graduate  school  is  in  her  future  ,  but  she  hasn’t  decided  on  where  she  wants  to  go  yet  .

nina  resides  in  farrow  house  ,  and  she’s  probably  the  worst  kind  of  roommate  there  is  considering  how  type  a  she  can  be  at  times  .  her  room  (  or  side  of  the  room  i’m  not  sure  of  the  setup  )  is  relatively  organized  at  all  times  .  she’s  a  lover  of  white  ,  but  white  with  color  ,  so  she  keeps  the  tones  light  with  soft  shades  of  pink  scattered  throughout  !  she  likes  a  gold  accent  ,  and  everything  has  its  own  place  .

doesn’t  like  to  leave  her  bedroom  without  making  her  bed  or  picking  things  up  .  at  night  she  may  just  slip  out  of  her  clothes  and  go  to  bed  ,  but  she’s  definitely  going  to  pick  it  up  that  next  morning  ,  even  her  walk  of  shame  clothes  KNJFDISF  .  

despite  her  behavior  at  times  ,  nina  is  someone  who  studies  hard  because  she  doesn’t  like  anything  less  than  an  A  .  although  i  will  say  that  she  obsesses  over  her  grades  ,  but  she  knows  that  if  she  slacks  then  she’ll  get  slacker  grades  .

this  is  pointless  KFNDJSF  but  i  draw  a  lot  of  her  style  inspo  from  itsyuyan  on  instagram  ,  but  she  also  loves  to  dress  in  a  quality  th*t  dress  when  she  had  the  chance  to  NFJDBSFDS  .  i  love  jennie’s  long  hair  ,  so  nina’s  own  is  canon  to  that  ,  and  she  definitely  had  the  iconic  e-girl  streaks  .  

iv  .  wanted  connections  .

i  would  love  to  have  literally  anything  that  ya’ll  throw  at  me  !  some  basics  that  i’d  like  to  write  out  are  best  friends  ,  academic  rivals  ,  friends  with  benefits  ,  confidant(s)  ,  frenemies  ,  good  /  bad  influence  ,  one  night  stand(s)  ,  flirtationship  ,  enemies  with  benefits  ,  and  a  current  or  ex  fling  !

i  love  a  good  women  loving  women  scenario  ,  so  i’d  like  to  have  an  ex  girlfriend  for  her  !  i  see  them  as  being  on  good  terms  and  they  simply  drifted  apart  ,  but  they’re  really  close  !  sometimes  they  can  get  a  little  touchy  feely  with  one  another  so  hello  👀  .

i  would  die  for  literally  any  form  of  angst  that  you  could  possibly  think  of  ? angsty  friends  ,  angsty  exes  ,  angsty  anything  .  i  love  to  put  myself  through  misery  so  honestly  …  bury  me  six  feet  under  and  i  will  literally  thank  you  .

all  aboard  the  heartbreak  train  ! this  ties  back  into  my  love  for  angst  ,  but  some  form  of  an  ex  or  maybe  even  someone  who  she  go  close  to  but  it  didn’t  really  work  out  ?  

maybe  even  a  will  they  won’t  they ? but  essentially  ,  clearly  these  two  have  feelings  but  for  some  reason  things  didn’t  work  out  for  them  and  now  they’re  probably  in  a  limbo  or  trying  to  determine  where  they’re  headed  but  they  absolutely  refuse  to  talk  about  it ! all  of  their  friends  notice  but  they  blow  them  off  and  ok  let  me  relax  and  actually  allow  us  to  plot  ,  but  just  some  potential  ideas  !

i  will  have  a  desired  relations  tag  that  i’ll  be  updating  as  frequently  as  i  can  ,  but  if  none  of  these  work  for  you  or  if  you  have  something  you  see  araminta  filling  ,  then  please  let  me  know  ! we  can  totally  brainstorm  or  if  you  want  ,  then  we  can  work  on  chemistry !

[carewyncromwell]

[After learning that Fred and George had spotted Jacob near Hogwarts, Carewyn did some digging. Eventually she heard from Filch that Jacob had been spotted in the library (after the caretaker lugged her into his office demanding that she confess to setting off a Dungbomb in the Gryffindor Common Room -- Carewyn acquiesced just to get him off the subject), and Carewyn followed up with Madame Pince.

Jacob had been looking for something in particular -- since he didn’t find it at the Hogwarts library, there was logically only one place he’d go. But when Carewyn made it to Flourish and Blotts, Madame Villanelle told her that she’d just missed him. Desperate not to let the trail go cold, Carewyn knew there was only one thing to do -- she had to make a quick sweep around both Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley...even if she didn’t have time to change clothes so she wouldn’t stand out.

And so, very, very warily, Carewyn walked through the arch leading to Knockturn Alley, her hand holding her wand inside of her pocket. In her powder blue Beauxbatons suit, she knew she stuck out like a sore thumb. Worse, people would be able to remember seeing her -- Carewyn -- having gone into Knockturn Alley. She didn’t like the thought of random bystanders knowing that she frequented such a place: at least when she changed her hair and make-up, most people wouldn’t know who she was right away, so there was a level of anonymity involved. Going into Knockturn Alley without a disguise made Carewyn feel exposed and oddly vulnerable.

As soon as she arrived, she stiffened at the sight of a familiar face peeking into the window of Borgin and Burkes.]

“Merula? What are you doing here?”

[Merula turned around. She looked a little startled to see Carewyn, but recovered quickly.]

Merula: “Shopping -- not that it’s any of your business.”

[She indicated the ornate opal necklace displayed in the window with her head.]

Merula: “See that? It’s supposedly claimed the lives of nineteen Muggle owners...reckon it’d be perfect for a certain ex-professor, don’t you think?”

[Carewyn frowned in unmasked disapproval.]

“Still plotting to kill Rakepick, I see.”

Why can’t you just look after yourself and stay out of the way?

[Merula scowled.]

Merula: “You’re awfully quick to judge, considering you’re slumming around down here too.”

[Her pink gaze then became a bit more curious.]

[Carewyn was reluctant to tell Merula anything, but she decided after a moment that lying wouldn’t help too much in this situation. After all, if Merula knew anything, then Carewyn wanted to know what she knew. So instead she kept her answer concise, so as to lie by omission.]

“...I heard from Madame Villanelle that Jacob was in Flourish and Blotts earlier. I thought there was a chance he could still be in the area. Have you see him?”

[All of a sudden there was a loud CRACK just behind the two girls. Both of them gave a start, whirling around -- Carewyn seized her wand, ready to whip it out of her pocket and attack --

But her hand stilled inside her pocket when she saw who had appeared.

Standing mere feet from them was a young man dressed in stylish scarlet dress robes with long, curly dark hair and distinctive almond-shaped blue eyes just like Carewyn’s.]

[Carewyn, however, completely ignored Merula.]

“Jacob!”

[She immediately barreled forward, grabbing onto both of her older brother’s arms.]

“There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you!”

[Jacob gave her a blazing white smile.]

Jacob: “Looking all over while dressed in sweet threads, I see -- where’d you get a Beauxbatons uniform, Pip?”

“A friend gave it to me. She goes to Beauxbatons.”

Jacob: “(interested) Really? I hope I can meet her at some point. Got a few questions I’d love to ask about her school’s architecture -- not to mention its alchemy curriculum. Oh, and I’ve heard very interesting things about its headmistress -- reckon an afternoon tea with her would be rather illuminating...”

[His eyes drifted away toward the sky as he spoke, as was often the case when he was thinking.

It was almost comforting to hear Jacob going off on one of his usual tangents. Being an ex-Ravenclaw, Jacob lived in his own little world and very frequently could get sidetracked with his never-ending amount of interests and lofty ambitions. Still, Carewyn knew that in this moment, it wouldn’t do for Jacob to lose his head like a flyaway balloon -- and so she tried to bring him back down to earth.]

“(reproachfully) Jacob, where have you been? I haven’t seen you since the Cursed Vault. You never sent any letters, or left any notes...Hell, even passed along any messages for me!”

I was worried sick about you. I thought that you could’ve gotten yourself killed, after I only just finished saving you --

[She didn’t dare verbalize this, though, especially in front of Merula.

Jacob’s smile faltered, and his face immediately looked much more ashamed. Despite the guilt in his face, his voice was very low and firm.]

Jacob: “...I know, Pip. I’m sorry I ran off, but I had to try to stop Rakepick from getting away.”

[Carewyn looked down, her eyes resting absently on one of the golden buttons of Jacob’s scarlet coat.]

Jacob: “(grimly) Carewyn...I know you want things to go back to normal...but they can’t. Not as long as R exists. (murmurs) I swear to you, I wouldn’t be doing this if it weren’t important.”

[Carewyn closed her eyes solemnly.

She’d already accepted that things couldn’t be the way they were. Jacob’s second disappearance had smacked her in the face with that. But she also was painfully aware of the company they were in (namely, Merula) and knew she couldn’t say anything about her intention to find the last Vault -- to help Mad-Eye Moody while he dealt with R -- so that Jacob could come home.]

“(very softly) ...I know.”

[When she opened her eyes and looked up, she could see Jacob’s eyes had softened visibly, almost nostalgically. It was looking at his eyes that made Carewyn all the more painfully aware of how hollowed-out they looked -- how deep and dark the bags around his eyes were. It made his face look so haunted, even as his mouth unfurled into its familiar cocky smile.]

Jacob: “Don’t worry, Pip...I’ll get it all sorted. I’m a big boy, I can take care of myself.”

[Carewyn wanted to say something snarky in return, like she would’ve in the past, but once again, she knew there was much more important things to say -- things she couldn’t say in front of Merula.]

“I know you can. Come on, let’s get out of here -- we have a lot to talk about -- ”

[Jacob’s face grew much more grim again.]

Jacob: “I’m sorry, but there’s no time for that. Right now, you and I need to duel.”

[Carewyn was taken aback.]

“What?”

[Merula’s face spread into a very wide, intrigued smirk as she crossed her arms.]

Merula: “Finally, this family reunion’s gotten interesting.”

[Carewyn wasn’t even in the mood to snap at Merula -- her focus was solely on Jacob, and her gaze was very critical.]

[Jacob had already turned his back on Carewyn and started taking his ten paces from her, so as to get in dueling position.]

Jacob: “There’s a dangerous person who’s set his eyes on you. Merula too, actually.”

[Now it was Merula’s turn to look startled.]

Merula: “Me?”

Jacob: “Afraid so.”

[He turned on his heel again, sliding his white Aspen wand out of his robes and holding it in front of him as he faced Carewyn.]

Jacob: “I won’t always be there to protect you, Pip, so I need to make sure you’ll be ready, if he ever tries to corner you.”

[Carewyn’s eyes narrowed. She did not take out her wand.]

“Who is this person? What does he want with Merula and me?”

[The memory of Mundungus Fletcher telling her about a wizard in white robes -- of Madame Villanelle recalling that Mahoutokoro students’ robes went white when they turned to the Dark Arts -- rippled over her mind.]

Jacob: “(firmly) There’s no time to explain. Right now I just need you to trust me...okay?”

Trust...you have no idea how impossible that is, do you? All because you...

[Shoving down the memory of her mother and herself huddled up on the floor together sobbing inconsolably from her mind, Carewyn very reluctantly took out her wand and got into her proper dueling stance.

Jacob’s face spread into another wide, cocky smile.]

Jacob: “(earnestly) That’s my Pip.”

[Jacob wasn’t standing in the kind of “proper” stance that she was -- he held his wand over his chest with amazing swagger and confidence.]

Jacob: “Give me all you’ve got, now. Forget you’re dueling me -- pretend you’re fighting Rakepick.”

[Merula leaned up against the window of Borgin and Burke’s, her arms still crossed over her chest.]

Merula: “You hear that, Cromwell? It’s kill or be killed.”

[Carewyn shot her a cool look.]

“I’m not interested in killing anyone, Merula.”

I don’t care how awful they are.

Jacob: “(seriously) She’s right, though. The people targeting you will kill you, if they get the chance. You can’t give them that chance -- so you have to do whatever you need to, to survive.”

[Merula smiled, looking rather vindicated.]

Merula: “Well! At least someone in your family has sense.”

[Carewyn tried to ignore her. Jacob’s face eased back into his usual, cocky smile.]

Jacob: “I’m not going to go easy on you, Pip -- so come at me! Kick my arse, got it?”

[Carewyn gave a short nod, trying not to look as hesitant as she felt.]

Jacob: “On the count of three, now. One...two...three!”

“Stupefy!”

Jacob: “Substituo!”

[All of a sudden, a lamp post that had been several yards away had been moved to directly in front of Jacob, and Carewyn’s spell bounced right off it.]

Jacob: “Locomotor Lamppost!”

[Within seconds, Jacob had chucked the lamppost right at his sister. It collided with her chest, knocking her off her feet and throwing her to the ground.]

“AUGH!”

[Jacob dashed to the right, his wand over his chest. His face was consumed with his usual cocky smile.]

Jacob: “Switching Spell combination! Neat, right? Engorgio! Duro!”

[The lamppost swelled up like some infected limb, morphing and contorting into some round, boulder-like mass of iron and glass.]

Jacob: “Collyrida!”

[The iron and glass boulder began rolling down the street, straight for Carewyn. Climbing back up onto her feet, she lashed her wand at the air.]

“Bombarda!”

[The boulder was blasted into a hundred pieces, throwing smoke and ash into the air. Carewyn plowed through the smoke, thinking to use it as a screen to get closer to Jacob.]

“Cantus!”

Jacob: “Accio Glass!”

[Jacob retrieved one of the larger fragments of glass and used it to bounce Carewyn’s spell right back at her, forcing her to summon a Shield to protect herself.]

“Protego!”

[Merula watched the two siblings go at it from the sidelines, her pink eyes very wide upon Jacob.]

Merula: “(stunned) Whoa.”

[Jacob was grinning from ear to ear at Carewyn.]

Jacob: “The Singing Jinx -- too perfect for you, Pip!”

[Carewyn, however, was way too focused on their duel now to talk.]

“Incarcerous!”

Jacob: “Cordavitta!”

[The black ropes that Carewyn threw out of her wand were transfigured into beautiful, flowing rainbow-colored ribbons that floated innocently to the ground.]

Jacob: “Use all your tools, Pip! Dueling spells are lovely and all, but everyone knows those! Vitta Vipera!”

[The rainbow ribbons abruptly twisted together and transformed into a single, massive cobra, which bared its fangs at Carewyn. Her heart racing with fear, Carewyn backed up, racking her brain -- ]

“V-Vipera Evanesca!”

[A blast of light hit the snake, making it dissolve away into a writhing line of gray smoke.]

Jacob: “(excitedly) Yes! Sicafumos!”

[The smoke that had once been snakes abruptly transformed into a hail of daggers hurtling through the air. Carewyn struggled to dodge them, but one sliced through her hair, just barely missing her ear.]

Jacob: “Good move, Pip! Don’t give up now, come on!”

[Carewyn dashed around Jacob, trying to stay out of his reach as she struggled to think up a strategy.

Jacob hadn’t used a single classic “Dueling Spell” since they’d started. Everything he’d used was something he must’ve learned in class or in a textbook -- most notably Transfiguration, which had always been Carewyn’s most difficult subject...]

Use all my tools, huh...?

[Carewyn knew she couldn’t compete with Jacob’s spell knowledge -- he easily knew more spells than she did. But maybe...

Remembering a trick she’d used in a duel with Bill, she aimed her wand at the ground at Jacob’s feet.]

“Bombarda!”

Jacob: “Crescomurus!”

[Jacob expanded the wall of a nearby building to create a shield to protect himself. However, since Carewyn had been aiming for his feet rather than properly at him, the ground broke apart, slamming Jacob off his feet and roughly in to the ground.]

Jacob: “Ugh!”

[Carewyn slashed her wand at the lengthened wall Jacob had created.]

“Reducto!”

[The wall blasted into pieces, leaving nothing but a smoky mist behind. She used the mist as cover to get closer -- Jacob, however, had already rolled onto his knees and raised his wand again.]

Jacob: “Sicofumos!”

[Once again, the smoky mist transfigured into daggers, but this time, Carewyn was ready.]

“Reparifarge!”

[In an instant, she’d undone Jacob’s Transfiguration, and the dozen knives faded away into dust again, grazing her skin and clothes with a light puff.

Carewyn noted a limp in Jacob’s step as he straightened up -- he’d landed on his ankle funny, when she’d thrown him to the ground -- ]

“Levicorpus!”

[Jacob was suddenly snatched up by his ankle and hoisted up into the air.]

Jacob: “Ack!”

“Immobulus!”

Jacob: “Carpe Retractum!”

[Jacob yanked a jagged fragment of brick out of the ground under his head, hoisting it up in front of him like a shield to block Carewyn’s spell.]

Jacob: “(fiercely) Yes, yes, YES! That’s it! Finite!”

[He fell back to the ground in a messy heap and stumbled back onto his feet.]

Jacob: “Avis!”

[A flock of angry-looking birds flew out of Jacob’s wand, straight at Carewyn.]

“Evanesco!”

[As quickly as her brother had conjured them, they’d disappeared.

Jacob suddenly looked overwhelmed by his excitement, his eyes brightening with positively boyish glee.]

Jacob: “You mastered Vanishing!”

[Carewyn knew why he was excited. Jacob had mentioned in one of his letters during his OWLs that Vanishing was one of the hardest branches of Transfiguration -- and sure enough, it was something she’d had to work very, very hard at to get right.

She couldn’t fight back a tiny, proud grin.]

“Got all O’s, just like you...”

[Jacob looked like he wanted to throw down his wand and hug her -- but Carewyn sure as Hell wasn’t going to let that momentary distraction pass her by.]

“Gliseo!”

[The ground under Jacob’s feet abruptly froze solid. With a yelp, Jacob slid right off his feet.]

“Depulso!”

Jacob: “Substituo!”

[In a second, Jacob had vanished, leaving a rubbish bin in his place. Carewyn looked around, trying to figure out where he’d Switched himself to -- ]

Jacob: “Fulgari!”

[Hearing Jacob’s voice behind her, Carewyn whirled around -- she quickly stowed her wand inside her jacket --

Just before Jacob’s glowing yellowish-white ropes could bind her, Carewyn had transformed into a robin. Taking flight, she soared over Jacob’s head.]

[Jacob gawked up at his little sister, his mouth open in shock, as Carewyn transformed back into a human in mid-air. As she quickly started to fall, she whipped out her wand again and pointed it at the ground.]

“Spongify!”

[She bounced back down to the ground as easily as if she’d landed on a trampoline. Still visibly stunned, Jacob began lashing out at Carewyn in turns, his mouth spreading into a positively manic grin.]

Jacob: “Venio Saggita! You’re an Animagus, Pip!?”

“Evanesco! Ugh...yes, I am!”

Jacob: “(positively bouncing) DUDE! Fulgari!”

[Carewyn evaded Jacob’s blast of light by ducking behind a wall. Jacob’s ankle was clearly still hurting him a bit -- he’d stayed rather stationary since she landed that hit on him -- 

She pointed her wand to her own chest.]

“Wingardium Leviosa!”

[As planned, when Jacob’s next spell collided with the wall, Carewyn had perfectly dodged it. Hovering over the spell, she aimed her wand down at her brother.]

“Stupefy!”

[Jacob looked up, startled.]

Jacob: “Stupefy!”

[The two Stunners collided in mid-air, canceling each other out in a small scarlet boom.]

Jacob: “(with a huge, cocky grin) Now, Pip, you’re supposed to look up to me, not the other way around! Conripio!”

[A rope burst out of his wand, winding around Carewyn’s leg. Jacob gave a yank and Carewyn yelped as she felt herself being pulled sharply back down to Earth.]

“Diffindo!”

[Just before she reached the ground, she successfully cut the rope Jacob had conjured. She landed roughly in a heap, but she forced down the aches in her shoulders and sides as she leapt back onto her feet.]

Jacob: “Ectomatic! Aqua Eructo!”

[Although she was able to block his first spell with a Scouring Charm, Carewyn wasn’t quite fast enough to avoid getting splashed with a gush of water from Jacob’s wand. Fortunately, as much as she didn’t like that her clothes and hair had gotten all wet, she was feeling much too competitive and focused to dwell on it.

Unfortunately Jacob used the water on her to get the upper-hand.]

Jacob: ���Glacius Duo!”

[Carewyn felt her wet clothes suddenly constricting and her body suddenly chilling -- she raised her wand, trying to counterattack --

But it was no use. Jacob had used the water on her to encase her limbs in a thick layer of ice, making her unable to move.

Jacob lowered his wand at last, walking slowly over to his sister’s side with a broad smile.]

Jacob: “Incendio.”

[He thawed Carewyn out with a controlled flame from his wand. Her shoulders numb and shuddering from the cold, Carewyn peeled her wet bangs out of her eyes and glared up at her brother.]

“Freezing me in ice? Seriously, Jacob?”

[Jacob chuckled awkwardly.]

Jacob: “My bad, Pip...reckon that doesn’t bring back good memories, does it?”

Merula: “(laughs) Well, now you know it feels, Cromwell!”

[Carewyn shot Merula a glare over her shoulder.]

Don’t make me wish I’d left you frozen in that ice.

[Grinning from ear to ear, Jacob pointed his wand down at his foot without even looking down at it.]

Jacob: “Episkey.”

[Once he’d fixed the minor damage to his ankle, he grabbed one of Carewyn’s shoulders, squeezing it tight.]

Jacob: “That was out of sight, Pip -- you were brilliant!”

[Carewyn couldn’t meet his eye.]

“(lowly) I lost.”

Jacob: “(laughing) Not for lack of trying! You really gave me a run for my money there.”

[Seeing how surly his sister still looked, he offered her a slightly more reassuring look.]

Jacob: “Oh, come on -- perk up. I don’t duel like most people do -- it’s only natural I had the advantage. And even with that, you still held your own! You were able to change up your style, to match mine. You even started predicting my moves before I made them -- and without using Legilimency!”

“What would’ve been the point? I knew you could block me.”

Jacob: “Yes, but most others couldn’t.”

[He brought his fist gently under Carewyn’s chin, encouraging her to look up at him.]

Jacob: “You’re a force to be reckoned with, Pip. I’m so proud of you.”

[Carewyn felt a proud, encouraged warmth spreading all over her. Even as she looked Jacob in the eye, though, she couldn’t make herself smile.]

“...Thanks.”

[With a smile, Jacob lowered his hand and turned on his heel.]

Jacob: “Take care now, you hear?”

[But Carewyn, having predicted he might try to walk off at that exact point, had already seized hold of the back of his sleeve.]

“Jacob, stop. We need to talk -- alone.”

[Jacob glanced over his shoulder, startled by Carewyn’s urgency.]

Jacob: “I don’t have time, Pip.”

“(sharply) Make time.”

[Still holding his sleeve, she yanked him aside, putting some distance between them and Merula. She then whirled on him, her face much more desperate and her voice much more hushed.]

“Jacob, don’t disappear again. Let me help you -- ”

Jacob: “(very firmly) No.”

“You can’t fight R alone!”

Jacob: “I already told you, this is my fight.”

“You just told me you thought I was good -- was that a lie?”

Jacob: “(startled) What? No!”

“Then why won’t you let me help you? I’ve always helped you before!”

Jacob: “(bursting out) That’s exactly why I can’t let you help!”

[Jacob’s voice was shaking with anger, but it was a kind of anger that Carewyn could tell was wrought more from frustration and anxiety than any sort of wrath toward her.]

Jacob: “You got dragged into this mess because of me -- it’s my fault, entirely my fault, that you’ve been put in this much danger! I refuse to let you get involved more than you already have! I refuse to let you get hurt!”

[Carewyn’s heart ached.

She understood that thought process. It was exactly how she felt about her friends...why she’d stopped telling them anything about the Vaults...but...

His expression very solemn, Jacob brought his hand down onto Carewyn’s on his sleeve and gently pried her off.]

Jacob: “I’ll explain everything when I can, Pip, I promise. I just don’t -- ”

“ -- have time.”

[Carewyn wished that her voice hadn’t dripped with so much ice.

Jacob seemed to recoil slightly, his hand absently clutching at the sleeve she’d just been holding. His blue eyes were full of shame -- mirroring the expression he’d had back in the Vault -- ]

Jacob: “(very softly) ...Please be safe.”

[And in an instant, he was gone.

Carewyn’s eyes bore into the place he’d been standing on but barely registered it. Her gaze was endless and unfocused.]

You don’t want me involved...but I’m already involved, Jacob! R has already targeted me! I’m involved, but I’m fighting with blinders on, all because you won’t let me help you!

[She felt like she wanted to cry, but she stubbornly refused to.]

It’s one thing, for me to not want my friends involved -- R only targeted them to threaten me. But R isn’t just targeting me to threaten you, Jacob -- they’re after both of us. And what if it’s too much for you to handle alone? What if you get in over your head again -- just like you always do -- !?

[Carewyn hadn’t even realized Merula had come up beside her until she spoke.]

“Shut it, Merula.”

[Hating how harsh her voice sounded, Carewyn struggled to regain control of her temper.]

Detach -- forget -- detach --

“...Jacob will be back once this is all over.”

[Merula raised her eyebrows, smiling slightly.]

Merula: “He’s surprisingly cool, for someone related to you.”

[Carewyn gave Merula a rather piercing look.]

“‘Surprisingly cool?’  You taunted me about him being dead, in the past. Rather frequently, in fact.“

[Merula flushed darkly and she looked away awkwardly.]

Merula: “Well, yeah, but -- well, I didn’t know him then, did I? And we have...similar priorities, that’s all. He’s not bad at Dueling, either...wish I could’ve had a crack at him...”

[Carewyn’s eyes narrowed very sharply. She thought she knew exactly why Merula was blushing, and she really didn’t like it.]

“(very dully) Sorry, Merula, but you’re not Jacob’s type.”

Jacob may be an idiot when it comes to people, but even he’s not that dumb.

[Merula flushed an even darker shade of red.]

Merula: “What?! Who ever said I -- ?! Ugh!”

[She crossed her arms irritably.]

Merula: “At least your brother understands that when you’re up against Rakepick, or the person that’s after us, nothing’s off the table.”

[Carewyn looked straight ahead and away from Merula as she started to walk off, her nose slightly up in the air.]

“My brother is also clever enough to figure out a way to stop someone without killing them.”

[Carewyn had fully expected the conversation to be over, but Merula actually followed her out of Knockturn Alley.]

Merula: “Honestly -- I’d say your social life’s going to be a lot more interesting than mine, soon enough.”

[Carewyn raised her eyebrows.]

“Oh?”

[Merula only smirked.]

Merula: “Haven’t heard about the new ‘star’ at Hogwarts yet, then? Heh...well, you will, soon enough. Better hope he doesn’t steal your spotlight, Cromwell.”

((OOC: Whew! That duel took forever to write! But yes, Jacob Cromwell is a dueling prodigy, so Carewyn had to lose this one. It’s his single greatest talent, largely because of his exceptional Transfiguration skills and his creativity. If Carewyn’s good at dueling because she can read her opponent and use common sense, then Jacob’s good at dueling because of the astounding amount of spells he’s mastered and how he applies them in unique ways. I do see Carewyn being one of the very few opponents that’s ever made Jacob sweat, even though he was trying to train her in his own weird way -- usually he takes down his opponents pretty quickly, taunting them the entire way. Arrogant little bugger.

Ah, Jacob Cromwell, I love you, my boy -- I just wish the game gave me the option to customize you so you don’t look like a shaved version of Ronald McDonald with black lipstick in your official screenshots... *snorts*

A lot of Jacob’s spells’ incantations were made up by me, often as a direct Latin translation for what they do. For example, “Venio Saggita,” means “air arrows,” which would be an incantation for a spell (originally cast non-verbally in canon) that conjures arrows out of thin air. A few others I found through HP Wiki and belonged to other HP properties like the PC games made back in the 90′s.))

[rcsefleur-blog]

hi all !! this is an introduction to my freshest muse and newest baby yeo eunchan otherwise and more commonly known as ‘chan’, he’s a sweetheart but of course because its me and i can’t resist giving my muses slight torture, he’s a tormented sweetheart. if you look at his pinterest here you’ll get an idea of his style better since that’s pretty essential to him as a muse in this case hshd. below the cut you can find out a bit more about him and if you hit the like, i’ll be sure to throw him at you for plots !! lets get into it: 

BACKSTORY: 

chan’s childhood wasn’t particularly dark or strained. he is by far the least tragic out of all my muses. but for me, that’s still pretty tragic by mosts standards. growing up he always had a very supportive father in regard to his homosexuality and androgynous qualities. he grew up in a happy home and despite not being rich he was very fortunate to have rich opportunities come his way. to be fair he’s pretty easily pleased but most of his experiences thus far have been plentiful

perhaps that is why his luck has to run out somewhere down the line, in the worst way it possibly could. his mother passed when he was young due to cancer. it was a grave and difficult time for his father as well as the rest of the family. his father crumbled eventually, in the hospital with health issues now that are so severe he’s due to pass any day and is basically in a vegetative state already. chan was left to raise his five year old sister nari and take on the responsibility. 

for this reason, he could be considered a struggling single father as he’s pushing his own dreams and goals aside to accomodate for nari and make sure she has the best upbringing which is comfortable for her, where she can see chan as a father figure as well as an older brother now, who can be relied upon and responsible. balancing the line and the roles between brother and father isn’t always easy though when the lines are constantly blurred. he has sacrificed most of himself and his youth to keep nari happy and healthy and mostly untouched by the death of their parents. 

this hasn’t been easy though, it’s left chan isolated and with no one to speak to but the five year old girl a lot of his feelings get locked in a box and left unexplored, he cannot have a moment of hesitation or weakness because then that will affect nari. his mourning process and grieving has been put on a backline, and he only really allows himself to break down in quiet moments without nari. such as when walking through the forest to be with nature, visiting their graves or on the edge of his bed having a good cry when nari is fast asleep due to the feeling of living in the empty space where his parents used to fill it all up. 

PERSONALITY: 

chan is a makeup artist, he does it professionally for models and artists all throughout the industry but he also does it for fun, becoming pretty popular as a person who gives tutorials on youtube and instagram as an ‘influencer’ but he really hates that label and prefers to simply think of himself as an artist. he also does the bit of fashion blogging and photography on the side. 

he considers himself an adventurer and for that reason he also travels a lot, usually while he is there he’ll study as he does photography for a course as well as a part time student and his main interest is in ancient architecture and art. most of the time he’ll roadtrip in his styled up vintage pick up but occasionally its flights to more beachy area’s, his two favorite places are greece and italy and he spends most of his time in those places if he can.

chan has a very vintage sense of style and he enjoys doing most things the traditional and old school way. although he does add a modern mindset to a lot of it. aesthetically style wise envision chan as fingers full of plenty of rings, ankle bracelets and arm cuffs with loose puffy sleeved shirts and ripped up mom jeans or high waisted ones. he cycles mostly everywhere on his vintage style bike. 

very much a gentle soul, little bit of a nerd and activist in the sense he wants to save the earth. he can be really intense about learning about nature and how to preserve it. he has always felt the most in touch with the natural world compared to the hum and chaos of the modern world and city life. he’s no saint of course and he’s still a sucker for coffee but other than that he likes to think he does his best. 

paints and draws very amazingly likewise, he prefers to draw flowers and people the most but he’ll work with whatever he’s got on hand. usually you can only catch him whipping out a sketchbook if he’s feeling stressed or overwhelmed as a form of escapism and quiet time. 

he is a little bit of a quixotic type so sue him, like one of the ‘have you ever fallen in love’ 'five times a day’ types but it’s not obsessive, it’s more of an admiration he considers all people beautiful and worthy of love in their own way and would state most of them are art to him. you could be the worst person and he’d be all ’ you dont have all the facts’ 'which are?’ 'i love them’.

although he doesn’t identify as genderfluid, he has a very genderfluid and androgynous sense of fashion and often wears clothing and makeup typically labelled as being more feminine. he likes a soft and classy look that usually consists of a good lip tint or ultra glossy lip and a natural but glittery smokey eye look. think kinda like the instagram influencer ivanbaaaaah for reference. 

MISC: 

growing up chan struggled with religion a lot, he and his family are very religious but his sexuality caused some issues. his father had always been supportive but his mother was a different story, unfortunately his memories with her aren’t the fondest. though he has a very dark history with religion, he loves to be in churches that are empty or abandoned for moments of reflection. often he wonders if he doesn’t even have god as the one consistent and reliable thing in his life, then what the hell does he have. he feels even now sometimes that he’s letting god and his mother down for the way he is but there is less shame now than what he suffered when younger. 

everything in his life basically revolves around nari, she goes most places with him and any task he’ll find a way to make fun for her, he doesn’t spoil her but he also doesn’t ever leave her to go without even if that is at his expense to do so. they love to bake together and he does that pretty often. 

has a part time job as a barista on night shifts and also in a patisserie. he works from home on his influencer content again to accommodate for nari and he also takes his course in photography and media online to best suit nari so he doesn’t have to leave her with a babysitter too often as he believes that’s no childhood and him just being lazy in his duty towards her as her parental figure at this pivotal time in her life. 

he’s putting off most of his dreams and aspirations right now for until nari is older, he could’ve been much more famous as an influencer but he chose not to be and put those opportunities to broaden his career on hold for a while because having a famous sibling in her life wasn’t the kind of overwhelming attention and pressure nari needed to be surrounded with right now. 

he honestly just wants to make sure nari grows up feeling safe, comfortable and happy as well as confident in herself and chan. she’s his primary responsibility and he considers himself her closest bet to a father now so he wants her to feel she has that bond with him as well as the bond of him being her brother. 

PLOT BUNNIES: 

a babysitter plot would be great, someone who he can rely on and uses often to leave nari with when he has no other choice and particularly on nights when he has to work. ideally it would be someone nari felt very close to and idolized so he knew they had an amazing relationship and she’d be happy and relaxed when he was gone. he’s very over protective of her so he’d also have to feel pretty close to the person. it could go any way really, it could be a pining thing, a best friend thing, whatever honestly. 

this boy definitely needs a confidant so throw that at me any day. 

friends who can help him reconnect with religion and spirituality in different ways so he knows there’s always a way for him to feel tied to god somehow and a god who loves him and best suits his needs somewhere even if it isn’t necessarily in the religion he grew up with. 

work buddies at the cafe he works in or patisserie would be amazing too. 

maybe a tutor/study buddy kinda person he met online through doing his course of media and photography to make sure he was making up for the classes he was missing out on by not being able to attend day lectures in college. 

just people with the similar hobby of photography would also be awesome or models even that he can do a couple of freelance jobs for on the side when they need him. 

muses for him to draw they’d be very special people indeed bc chan will rarely whip his sketchbook out in front of anyone let alone ask to draw them. 

more single parent muses would also be awesome eventually or older siblings who kind of take on that role half the time so have some idea of what its like who he could meet through taking nari to things like nursery, etc. 

neighbor bc who doesn’t love a good single dad and his neighbor plot  who’s all like woah that guy is super young and he has a kid but im also sure there’s no woman on the scene and wow they’re noisy and its kinda infuriating but its also cute as hell cause he’s a hella good dad and in the mornings i can hear them baking and doing food fights or playing together and i often see them messing about coming back from grocery shopping etc and actually its kinda touching?? 

gay pals cause we love gay pals as well as ur everyday pals we love a platonic bond between fellow gays. 

love interests of any kind rlly, pining situations, crushing, flings, ex’s ( they’d have had to have ended on good terms tho bc chan just can’t hate anyone ), first times e.g. sexually, boyfriend, kiss u get the idea 

[fuckyeahaldishodge]

Press: Aldis Hodge Is A Real-Life Superhero, So Give This Man What He Wants

After years of dramatic roles, the “What Men Want” star wants to make you laugh and fulfill his dreams of being a super-powered badass

    BET – Legend has it that Aldis Hodge worked cheap early in his career. Really cheap. Like, McDonald’s Happy Meal cheap. The pre-schooler was tagging along on a photo shoot for Ebony Magazine, where his older brother, Edwin, was working. The producers had a last-minute need for another cute kid and Aldis’ mother convinced him to take the gig in exchange for a coveted Batman toy. Thanks to mom’s quick thinking, Hollywood has been gifted one of its most intense and versatile acting talents.

Hodge has amassed a colorful acting resume that includes stints on shows like A.T.O.M.: Alpha Teens on Machines, Friday Night Lights, Supernatural and Leverage. But it was his moving portrayal of a restless slave named Noah on WGN’s Underground that made viewers sit up at attention and cheer with their fingers across social media. In the same year his appearance in Black Mirror as a somewhat single father named Jack living with his girlfriend’s voice literally in his head, allowed him to blend his piercing stares with subdued comedic timing. But now Hodge gets to go for the full belly laughs in the R-rated comedy What Men Want as the bartending, romantic, very single father named Will, who gets caught up in Taraji P. Henson’s mind-reading male-strom.

During a stop at BET, Hodge is adorned in gold, beads and denim fabrics that accent flawless skin that has benefited from the sun’s full attention. He walks with squared shoulders inherited from his retired Marine parents. His cape is invisible. If not for the disarming laughs cracking his intense looks, you might think he’s one cartoonish horn blare away from taking off through the ceiling to catch a meteor hurtling toward earth. Between bites of his lunch we talk about the comedy of sex, his fascination with controlling time, engineering the perfect date and being a champion for the people.

I didn’t cross reference it until just today. I just recently did an interview where I was like, “Dang, she was inside my head, too! What’s going on?” But it was pretty cool. The synergy was awesome. But with each role, I come at it with a clean slate and figure out where the tones are. I had been out of comedy for a long time, not my choice, but for the past five to seven years my career has been swinging up into the drama area. But most people don’t realize comedy is a big part of my life. I started stand-up when I was 11. When I was 13 I used to host a room at the L.A. Improv and I did that ‘til I was 17 or 18 years old. Then on Leverage we did five seasons of that. It was an action caper show but I still got to flex my comedic muscles. We killed that in 2012, so it’s been a minute. I was happy to reintroduce people to my idea of humor. Will is not inherently the braggadocios funny one. He’s not the big personality in the room. He’s reactionary. He’s gonna have a sense of realism, so his comedic timing is subtle. The tones and notes are a little more subdued, and that’s a different tone to play. But our director, Adam [Shankman], took so many different types of comedians with very different timing and put as all together and kept us on the same note. We were always on the same page. You had Josh Brenner, who most people know from Silicon Valley, Pete Davidson from SNL, Wendi McLendon-Covey from Bridesmaids, Tracy Morgan, obviously. Everybody has a different style that they’ve been hitting for a minute, and he just figured out how to weave together. And there are some people you’re not gonna expect to be funny but are hilarious, i.e. Erykah Badu. She’s hysterical. And then I’m there in the mix. As an actor, I’m always hungry for fresh challenges. I don’t like to feel like I’m sitting in a box, and when this opportunity came up, naturally I was nervous at whether or not I could still be funny, and I was hoping. But I just let Adam take care of me on that one.

Speaking of your comedic side, you pranked Taraji with honey buns on the set of Hidden Figures. Did anything else like that go down on set for What Men Want?

Nah. The prank for us was getting through the sex scenes. We wanted to get through those as fast as possible. It’s tough. It’s always a nervous environment when you’re doing scenes like that. But the biggest thing is, because it’s physical comedy, how do you do that without looking stupid? You want people to laugh with you and not at you. But thank God for Adam and Taraji. It’s easy to keep a straight face when you have nerves. We had fun with it. You let yourself fall into it. And Taraji’s a pro. If you see the movie, I took a couple of those hits for real. Some of them reactions are real!

Is it worse to know she knows your thoughts, or is ignorance bliss?

Better not to know, of course. I would not want to know who knows my thoughts. I wouldn’t want anyone to be in my head like that, but if you did know, imagine how anxious you’d be all day. You’d be like Brandon, Josh Brenner’s character, all day. Just rambling to keep people out of your head.

If you had to disguise your thoughts, what would you think about?

Man, most of my thoughts on a regular basis go to design. As soon as I step into a room I’m taking in the square footage, I’m measuring in distances, everything is art to me. Or I’m putting my engineering cap on to see how it’s built. So I don’t think anyone would want to be in my head, because it’s pretty boring. I’m a nerd, bruh.

Speaking of engineering, horology sounds like something men do after a breakup. How did you get into watch making?

I’ve been doing that since I was 19. I just love building things. I’ve always had a natural inclination to create and build, and it satisfies a necessary art. It got to a point in my career, I think I was 13 or 14, where I didn’t have enough life experience to add gravitas to some of these characters I’m trying to play. I started drafting blueprints for my dream house when I was 12. I always loved designing and building, because that’s where my imagination lives. Art is my language, and acting is just an emotional exposition of my art. So, it’s the same thing to me, just a different conduit. But the other side of me is like building, I love crafting things. Horology satisfies a lot of different things. I wanted to be an architect in school but that would mean I’d have to quit acting, and I’m not gonna do that. I’m gonna die in a director’s chair when I’m 110 years old. But what I found about the intricacy of horology and watch design is that it was architecture and painting and mechanical engineering. It satisfied so many points for me, and I could do it at my own pace.

You rarely hear of men discussing their dream house. What did yours look like?

I like space, I like nature. I like to bring the outside inside. There’s a couple of architects that I really love. I grew up on the work of John Lautner, Frank Lloyd Wright, Frank Gehry. But one of the firms I love now is Olson Kundig, particularly Thomas Kundig’s work. His houses are machines. He’ll cantilever a side or a roof and all you gotta do is crank it and you’re lifting the side of your house off. I can’t afford that in New York, but one of these days I’ll have to partner with him for a house.

Your son, Ben, in the film is adorable. What was it like working with him?

Auston Jon Moore. He’s a fun kid. I’m excited to see what happens with his career. He was five years old when we were doing it. Really spunky, good instincts. We had a good time. I was actor-parent-child wrangler. When we were shooting the rooftop scene, we had all this food out, and he kept eating the food. “We need continuity, baby. You gotta put the food back.” He’d say OK, and then we’d come back and he’d have a mouth full of chips. He was awesome.

He had one of my favorite scenes with the panties. Was your “don’t breathe” line ad-libbed?

Yes, that was ad-libbed. I was like, “The baby! What do you do?’ What would I say?” We had fun with that scene because Adam just let us be free and add as much color to the characters as possible. That was a fun day, trying to get him to put on the underwear. When he realized what it was he was like, “Hold up, fam.” So, I had to put the underwear on my head to show him it was cool.

You pulled a Mars Blackmon?

Yeah, yeah. I sacrificed [laughs].

There are two scenes in What Men Want that you’re not in, the card scene and the wedding. Which would you be in if you could?

I definitely would have loved to have worked with Erykah and have a little Taro reading. She was just pouring herself into that character. That’s her imagination splayed out on camera. But I would have loved to see Will have a session with Sistah.

What about the poker game with the athletes?

I think Will might be a card shark, but I don’t know if he got the chips to sit at that table. That was a very high-stakes game, and he’s too smart to bet his rent money. But if he had the chips, I think because of his bartending skills he could read people really well and take home a nice healthy pot.

You’ve been the subject of a lot of wish-casting, particularly to be Green Lantern. Have you ever thought of playing a superhero?

I’d love to be a superhero. I’ve been trying to be a superhero for 12 years. If that opportunity came that way, I’d eat it up immediately. I got into this business as a kid because I loved Batman. I was trying to get my Batman toys. I grew up on Marvel and DC.

Noah from Underground definitely was a superhero. How do you feel about that role years later and the impact he had?

I took it as a grand opportunity just because of the fact, when the initial idea of the show came to me, I was like, “If this is a series about enslavement, how does it work for five or six seasons? Do we want to see our people in persecution for that long? Where is the gratitude that comes out of this for the audience?” But when I read the pilot I was like, “Oh, it shows us in the situation, but not made of the situation.” It showed people in bondage, not slaves. It gave us dignity. It gave the people who went through that an actual identity. They didn’t bring slaves to America, they brought engineers and doctors, brilliant people. So, for me to be able to expose that they had hopes and dreams and still had the strength to find love in those times was immensely powerful, because we’d never see it in our history books. Our schools failed us in that. So the opportunity to add to the dignity of our people was a high honor. I look at all of those characters as superheroes. They actually added the show to curriculum in schools. This is the effect that you can have as an artist. That’s what I love.

With Valentine’s Day is coming up, how would you engineer the perfect date?

That’s tough, man, because you gotta work off the person. It depends on who she is and what she wants. Some ladies want dinner and flowers and some ladies just want to kick back and watch a movie. My ideal date would start with a little dinner, some champagne, maybe some chocolates. Then we’re gonna go to the movie theater, we’re gonna see What Men Want, I’m not even lying. Get her laughing, feeling good, then probably go dancing. Then if I really feel like I’m on my mack-ness, I’mma be like, “Hey, boo. Real quick though, I just wanted you to know that I got your mom a ticket to the movie, too. I wanna let her know it’s her Valentine’s Day, too.” And that’s my ideal date: Dinner, What Men Want and a little dancing.

What Men Want starring Taraji P. Henson and Aldis Hodge is in theaters now!

Press: Aldis Hodge Is A Real-Life Superhero, So Give This Man What He Wants was originally published on Aldis Hodge Online | Est 2010

[winryofresembool]

Matilda’s story

Summary: Emma Rockbell-Elric’s (aka Ed&Winry’s daughter) girlfriend Matilda writes about different periods of her life, from accepting her sexuality to meeting and getting together with Emma.

A/N: Don’t worry guys, Edwin is on its way too! But I thought it would be fun to introduce you guys to one of my OC ships, aka Emilda :’) I imagine Matilda is writing this story to people who are in a lot of self doubt (about their sexuality etc), to make them feel better about their situation. 

Words: 1950ish

Warnings: some adult themes mentioned, nothing explicit

...

Matilda’s POV:

This is going to be a very personal story, but maybe sharing it will help someone reading it.

When I was a kid, I always preferred stories that had cool girl protagonists instead of boys. Blegh. They were just annoying. My favorite bands were girl bands and my favorite movie stars were also women. It hadn’t even occurred to me that some girls could like /boy bands/. Well, I was a kid, so it didn’t matter what I liked and what not. Our tastes were still developing, after all.  

When I was 11, a girl friend of mine kissed me on the cheek, probably as a thank you for something I had done. I couldn’t forget about it for a week, and I didn’t understand why. Now I know better: the little Matilda had her first crush. But that wasn’t an option to the 11-year-old me. When I told my mum I thought a friend of mine looked cute, in an innocent way, she told me to be quiet and made me play with a neighbor’s son. I didn’t like that kid at all, by the way. He was constantly pulling my hair and claimed I looked like a “lesbeean” in my pink clothes. I had no idea what that word meant. That was the way I had been raised.

I grew older and the friends around me started getting boyfriends. My mum was constantly asking if I had one too. I felt there was something wrong with me because I didn’t want one! After she had asked me that same old question many times enough, I finally gave up and asked a male friend of mine if we could go on a date. He said yes, and all of a sudden I had my first boyfriend. He was actually fairly nice, and we did like the same kind of movies, so picking a date spot was pretty easy. But it didn’t take him long to say he knew I didn’t like him that way. He was right, though, and so I experienced my first “break up”. 

After a while, I started feeling the pressure of getting another boyfriend. The same thing happened as with the previous guy; we broke up due to the lack of chemistry.

Life went on, but the dating life started getting more challenging: I was already 18 and the people around me had a sex life. I had such a hard time imagining me doing it, and I even thought at one point I might have been an ace. Then I met a guy I genuinely liked and decided: “heck it. It’s not a big deal, so let’s just get it done.” And so we did. And it was absolutely awful. I blamed the fact that it was my first time, because of course I had heard that it’s supposed to hurt and all that stuff. But in reality, it was more than that. I felt extremely uncomfortable, awkward, vulnerable, even scared. I felt like I shouldn’t have been there, I just wanted to leave as soon as it started!

Well, it’s safe to say it didn’t happen with that guy again. He was surprisingly understanding when I tried to explain my feelings, though, and he too suggested I might be a-sexual. I just admitted: yeah, it’s possible. However, I had started doubting that because one time, when I went to get a casual cup of coffee with this same ex boyfriend of mine, I noticed that our heads were turning in the same direction when a good looking woman passed us. I had tried to deny it, but it was getting harder: I was attracted to women.

The time at the university was a new beginning to me. I met a lot of people. New, more open minded people. I finally learned to accept that women loving women really was a thing, and it opened a new world to me. I let myself have crushes, and sometimes when things got “wild”, I might even have kissed another woman. My mother’s conservative voice was nagging in my head regularly, but I learned to tune it down.

But there was one specific encounter that I will never forget. In my first architecture class I saw a pretty, blonde haired and blue eyed girl. She seemed shy at first, dressed in black, avoiding eye contact, trying to make her already small frame even smaller. But then the professor started asking questions and suddenly she woke up, a fire in her eyes when she started debating with the professor on some topic that was so advanced I didn’t even understand it. And I had always thought I knew plenty about architecture. The debate had to end at some point so the professor could go back to her regularly scheduled teaching, but the girl stayed in the classroom afterwards and continued the conversation. I was both impressed and intimidated by her.

It turned out, that was definitely not the last time I saw that girl. Not too long after, I was put into the same group with her when we were doing group assignments and – we got into a fight. As I had suspected from the moment I saw her, our ideas of architecture in general were so different that we had a very hard time finding a common ground. She thought alchemy could make everything 100% easier, I claimed it was hocus pocus. Our fight got so bad that at the end of one group session she told me she would talk to the professor the next day and ask to join another group.

She never got that far though; that same night my cat went missing and I was searching for him from the campus area for a long while. Finally, I found him in a tree, but he didn’t want to come down. I tried treats, I tried toys, but no luck. I was too afraid to climb after him because I was sure the branches would have broken under my weight. Suddenly, the blonde girl appeared and asked me what was wrong. I showed her the cat on the tree and without hesitation she started climbing like a ninja. At that point I was wondering if there was anything that girl couldn’t do. She caught my kitty and brought him down to me, acting like a whole different person compared to a couple of hours earlier. I asked why she was like that, and she simply said “what happens in the classroom, stays in the classroom”.

I decided to invite this weird girl for a cup of tea as a thank you for saving my cat and because I felt there was so much about her I didn’t know yet. She had made me so curious. We had a lot of fun talking about anything non school related, and she didn’t leave for several hours. I introduced her to my cats, and she showed pics of her dog. When she was finally leaving, she tugged my hair a bit, looked straight into my eyes, and said “you’re not so bad, after all, Kitty.” Someone else might have gotten offended, but I saw her expression, and knew it was her way of saying “we are friends now, like it or not.” Oh, and she didn’t change her group after all.

It would be nice to say my relationship issues were over once I started uni, but that’s not true. I wasn’t really seeing anyone for a long while, while my friendship with Emma deepened, starting some rumors among the people around me. Eventually, my mum heard I may be seeing a girl from the uni and she called me home for a talk. I took Emma with me, or rather, she insisted she come. With her support, I told her that yes, I may be into girls, but no, we are not dating. My mother wasn’t happy with that announcement, telling me I was not welcome back home unless I “changed my mind about women”. Emma dragged me into her car, but she herself went back to tell a couple of well-chosen words to my mother, and when she came back, she was having a devilish smile on her face. She claimed that habit was simply in her Elric blood, which I soon realized was true when she introduced me to her family. They were incredible people, so different from my family. Getting distance between me and my parents was not an easy decision, but it’s one I now understand was necessary for my happiness.

A couple of years later, another incident happened: I was on the swimming team and one day decided to train with Emma, who, while not as fast as I am, made up for it with her stamina. Unfortunately, some guys from the men’s team were at the hall at the same time with us, and one of them started hitting on me. I had a hard time getting rid of him because he kept insisting I should go out with him, even blocking my way at one point. It started getting quite scary, so Emma, bless her, came to my rescue. She wrapped her arm around my waist and planted a kiss on my cheek, claiming I was her girlfriend, and if the guys wanted to have something to do with me, she’d be ready to fight. I have no doubt she would. I have heard stories of her dad’s past…

Anyway, one of the assholes said he wanted more proof so Emma didn’t hesitate. She kissed me straight on the mouth and I kept seeing stars for a minute. Once the stars were gone, I noticed we were already in the shower room (apparently Emma had dragged me there) and she apologized for acting like that. I think my answer was just incoherent blabbering, because honestly, I was just wishing she would do it again. Because in that moment I knew I was in love with Emma Rockbell-Elric.

A few years went by and I was in a constant state of suffering because I could not tell her how I felt. I had seen Emma flirting with a lot of other people, both girls and boys, so I was positive the kiss had not meant anything, and I couldn’t risk our friendship. But eventually, we decided to go on a trip, just the two of us, and little did we know that trip would change everything. It all started innocently. We were supposed to just go down to the hotel bar for a couple of drinks and maybe dance a bit, but… something turned off in my brain. Before I knew it, we were kissing, and back in our room, and… it was the best evening of my life. But then… then she broke my heart.

Now, Emma, if you’re reading this, don’t worry. I know why you did what you did, and you’ve been forgiven a long time ago. Maybe I just added that here to remind people that relationships require work, because no one is perfect, but we did solve our issues, and everything’s better than fine now. We are now living together and having our own kids, aka our pets. Thanks to my girlfriend, I’ve learned to accept myself the way I am, and I have also found myself a new supportive family who really cares about me, and is there for me when I need it. So, my message to people in need of help is: it will get better. Just be who you are, because you’re amazing. That’s what Emma tells me.

Ps. to my dog loving alchemy freak girlfriend: I love you. 

[stcllac]

alright let’s go lads time to inform u on the bois

viviette delacour

yall know her

she’s a model who’s almost finished her senior year and she’s gonna continue modelling as a career for as long as she can

it doesn’t really matter either way cause her family is fucking Stacked

she’s also a superhero because 1) she wants to help people but also 2) it’s an escape from the pressures of always being in the spotlight. even though being a hero gives her a lot of attention, no one knows it’s her, so she can pretty much act how she wants

her hero-self is a bee theme and the public took to calling her queen bee so she just went along with it

she wears a ring that she uses to transform and she’s super stressed whenever she has to take it off for modelling but she makes sure it’s on her person if she can help it. the ring is magic obviously so if the argenti got their hands on that ?? uh yikes

vivi is super anal about keeping her secret identity an actual secret and isn’t about to go telling anyone, even her closest friends if she can help it unlike some people we know

she lives in the downtown area in a place called glaycier which one of her mothers is the mayor of. the place is very classic france in terms of architecture and just general vibe. it’s the place she usually keeps safe and doesn’t usually need to leave for other areas for whatever reason

with the impending war, of course, she’s been making an effort on the frontlines in all areas, but she sometimes isn’t available as her modelling work continues and she also needs to make sure her identity is still intact

she’s the type of hero that doesn’t get super angry easily, but when she’s angry at you, even if she’s in the middle of saving you, you’ll Know

possible connections & stuff

pls give me her fellow heroes they can know each other’s identity or not i don’t mind, i just need a squad for her to get exasperated at

colleagues !! modelling friends or even just people in entertainment she’d probs know of them at least

hestia seasonaire

yall know her too lbr

she’s a demon and a faery or was anyway which can be a Bad combination but she never used her powers for evil she inherited her mother’s niceness much to the dismay of daddy demon

she preferred not to spend time at home and would instead go out and pretend she was a normal human or something and get a taste of regular society and all that fun stuff. as much as she loved her powers she thought living on the surface would be waaaaaay better

very enthusiastic and preppy and loves gossip so she’s always just “tell me eVERYTHING” and genuinely likes to listen to people

was probably a cheerleader at demon high school

she’s super nice and everything thinks she’s incapable of harming anyone or anything but she would probs gladly roast her father alive

when the aliens first invaded, hestia and rosie went out to see if they could stop them since they’re powerful demons and all, but they were unprepared and so they’re pretty much dead now but still live on as ghosts

bold of the argenti to assume that’d stop hestia tho

she tries to help as much as she can from the afterlife, like seeing if missing people are dead or not and passing that information on

the gossiper inside is still alive and so she’s always finding out everything about everybody, like your grandma ?? yeah she’s telling her how you used to shove gummy bears up your nose while watching barney

possible connections & stuff

ghost friends !! people she spends time with in the afterlife

old demon buddies she knew from school or something if she can she’d probs come and visit !!

people she met when she was gallivanting around on the surface who didn’t know she was a demon faery princess and just thought she was a cool human girl but sURPRISE she died and now you’re just finding out who she really is

noire seasonaire

aND ANOTHER ONE U KNO

aforementioned daddy demon is her uncle

her own father has always vied for the title despite being the younger brother but noire isn’t interested in any of that stuff, she just wants to make potions and do magic and live her life

is very fascinated by the world on the surface but has never been allowed to leave home for very long at a time, and so she’s probably only met a few people once or twice

everyone sorta assumes she’s the “normal” seasonaire but surprise bitches she’s making love potions and practicing resurrection rituals in her basement

her mother ?? isn’t around anymore. she was used to conceive a child and once noire was born was just sorta tossed away

her entire room is like a giant library. need something obscure ?? noire probably has a book for that

when the argenti invaded she wanted to go help hestia and rosie but hestia was just “hONEY NO IT’S OK WE’VE GOT THIS” and now feels super bad like she could have done something if she was there even tho she would’ve just died too

and so she’s dedicated to resurrecting hestia and rosie. it’s mostly just bc she loves them and doesn’t want them dead, but also bc she feels responsible

she’s also put her foot down against her father and basically had a giant demon tantrum in order to be allowed on the surface to help the fight. she still mostly helps from home but a lot of people know about the tiny demon princess who’s ready to die for them

possible connections & stuff

demon buddies !! people she knew growing up basically

people on the surface that she’s starting to get to know by helping everyone, she’s a pretty friendly person sO

remy maxwell

oh look a new one

he’s just a normal uni student tbh, like he’s aware that a lot of the other cities have superheroes and magical creatures and just all-around crazy people, but he prefers his quiet life

or at least he dID, the argenti kinda changed that and now his life is a Mess and he wants it to end

the cul-de-sac he lives in has become a prime safe-area that doesn’t have any monsters for whatever reason so there’s all these people taking a break from fighting there and he’s just internally “gET OFFA MY LAWN”

he’s kinda uncooperative and just gives one-word answers to a lot of people unless he knows you, which he probably doesn’t because he has the social graces of a toenail

he’s a psychology major who minors in literature so his skillset isn’t all that useful in combat but he has a weapon from sb laboratories he can use and he likes to think he’s pretty skilled at it

he lives at home, but his parents aren’t around much bc they’re always travelling, like people ask where they’ve gone now and he’s just “yeah i think this is their...................fifth or sixth honeymoon idk”

he’s not even scared of the argenti he’s just annoyed by them like he sees a creature lurking on his roof and he gets the broom and is just “fUCK OFF”

he just wants to go the grocery store without infected trees trying to kill him man

possible connections & stuff

give him his neighbours !! i headcanon that he and the other kids on the street he lives on are kinda close and have always played together since they were young and they’re still always around each other even tho they’re older now

someone young in the fight who stops by the cul-de-sac regularly who remy’s sorta taken in as his fake younger sibling

fellow uni students !! even tho school is probably cancelled bc u know..............evil aliens he probs still sees them from time to time

ginerva starkweather

BDE -- big dumbass energy

she lives in the wilds in a magic-ish type forest that i haven’t named yet i’ll get back to you on that in a witchy cottage that’s sorta hidden but ?? it’s not exactly a secret it’s just how the location is

she’s a witch and has been for her entire life, but she’s also been kind of alone for her entire life ?? like she’s just always Known she’s had magical powers but she sorta had to train herself and raise herself she was raised by the woodland creatures

she’s a disney princess but a really fucking stupid one

her best friend is a fox called mitzy who has been her loyal companion since the two of them were wee babs

she thinks magic is the solution to most things and doesn’t really see the appeal of science and modern shit and all that fun stuff, like she doesn’t have a phone or a tv, has never been to the suburbs or the downtown area really, she just chills and often forgets more modern places exist

her magic is what pays the bills as she advertises herself as “your own personal witch!!” so people can hire her for her to use her magic however they want, though there are limitations

she heard about the argenti by encountering some monsters herself and, after that, by her clients telling her and asking if she can do anything, so now she’s dedicated herself to finding a way to blast those damn aliens away once and for all

the main problem is that she hasn’t even thought of teaming up with the scientists to discover a solution, thinking she has to do everything herself because she’s just ?? never had to depend on anyone else before so it’s not something she’s even thinking about

possible connections & stuff

clients !! people who ask things of her magic-wise and pay her to carry out what they want and all that fun stuff, she’s super nice and social if that’s relevant at all

someone pls tell her that she should go and join forces with the scientists and shit. and give her a phone

the woodland creatures who grew up with her or helped raise her !!

siwoo bae

AH WHAT A FINE DAY FOR SCIENCE

siwoo grew up in the suburbs with parents who had high expectations for their kids and siwoo was no exception, but that wasn’t a problem for him since he was a genius from the get-go really

he was initially very proud of himself and what he achieved, and for a while his parents were, too. but as he started growing older they assumed that his inventions and experiments would become bigger and greater and soon their expectations were far too high for such a young kid

it was then that he started to just ?? slip off the radar in a way ?? let his siblings take the lead while he kept everything to himself and he would avoid family dinners and just isolate himself in his room and the lab it had become

when he was in his early teens taking away his 39045830490th science fair prize, he was offered the chance to start up his own science lab/company. at first he thought it was too good to be true and that this person was fucking with him but nOPE it was true

and so he became the ceo of SB Labs downtown, and he moved out there without his parents knowing so he wouldn’t be disturbed by them bc he kNEW they’d want a cut of his profits and he’s just like “pls no”

the older he became the more he shut himself in his lab and now he rarely ever leaves, relaying messages via his androids (woo-bots) or video message, but even the latter is rare

he’s a very shy person and has little to no social skills tbh he’s hopeless

when the argenti invaded he was On That Shit, studying any samples he could get his hands on and making weapons that were as effective as possible against the monsters, but still only showing his face when absolutely necessary

most people are kinda Shook that this 22 year old dude is the ceo

possible connections & stuff

his siblings !! idk how many there are i didn’t think that far ahead but basically they’d have the pressure against them that he did and he isolated himself from Everyone which includes them probs rip

someone pls drag him outside for once in his life

just people he would interact with for the war he needs to be social

briar kang

yeah that’s not her real name

briar is the lead singer of a band called acantha, but when she was growing up her parents told her that she couldn’t pursue music and had to follow a career path that would “actually lead somewhere”

she didn’t give up though, and when she was sixteen she told her parents that she wasn’t intending to go to university, instead wanting to head to the downtown area to make it in the music industry

she was promptly disowned, so in retaliation she changed her name

she and her band members struggled for a little bit until they played at a battle of the bands and were scouted and the rest was history pretty much

their band is known for being “larger than life” the type of people who like to hype up a crowd and just live in the moment rather than thinking too much about the past or fretting about the future. obviously, they have to be business-savvy and professional, but they like to keep it real, which is why a lot of their fans appreciate them aside from their music

briar can be kinda petty. i can confirm that they held a concert in her hometown in the suburbs just to piss her parents off

she’s an artistic person and gets inspiration from just about everything, but she’s also kind of unwavering when it comes to her artistic vision. she’s willing to compromise with her bandmates but pretty much no one else. she doesn’t want to go against her ideal sound/vision/concept/whatever solely because it’ll “make them more popular” as she feels like she’d be lying that way

the argenti haven’t broken her spirit, and she’s taken to using her fame to tell her fans that they need to step up and fight

acantha totally holds charity concerts and stuff to help fund anti-argenti programs and stuff

possible connections & stuff

PWEATHE.................GIMME HER BANDMATES.......................PWE A TH E

any other people in the industry she knows, ‘cause she would

elythe varelle

we been knew

the princess of the faeries, one would expect elythe to be spoiled and set up for life, and in some ways, she was. she was given everything she wanted by the servants, but never her parents, who were “far too busy” to deal with her

in her family, the title of ‘heir to the throne’ is something that has to be earned and not something one is born into, something eli’s been told since the beginning

but alas no matter what she does she’s just not good enough and her parents still won’t look at her, plus the people believe that she’s just a brat due to the sneaky and snarky way she acts and they’re not totally wrong but i mEAN

she’s a very difficult person to get along with and so she prefers to keep the staff members who work with her the same as when she was young since they know her and how her mind works, plus they see the good in her

the epitome of “can you blame me, i never got no love”

now that the argenti have come, she’s decided to see their invasion as an opportunity rather than a threat, which would be fine if she was rEALLY helping humanity, but she’s probs choosing the wrong way of doing things

aka she wants to resurrect 2 of the argenti’s first victims -- hestia and ambrose seasonaire, to show off that she has the magical prowess to be the next fae queen

aka she’s a dumbass who doesn’t see the bigger picture

she also kinda doesn’t understand exactly how the world outside of the land of the fae works ?? like she’s got all the magical sections of the wilds down, but the rest ?? probs not

possible connections & stuff

other faeries !! people who work in the castle or anything else really

people she meets during her journey to resurrect the seasonaires yeet skeet

[mxladymorgan]

❤ Under the cut there’s a drop of headcanons for Morgan across different settings. Some I had already addressed - here’s an updated list where some have been scratched out as I developed her further and some ideas are written down, yet to be thought about. Consider this post a cheatsheet for myself - I will have to insert these in proper information pages - and for you too - you might want to use something as an excuse for interaction.

ONE PIECE VERSE // DEFAULT IF NO OTHER SETTING IS SPECIFIED

It is not surprising at all but Morgan loves flowers and gardens. Her favourite flower is the camellia & the Carnahan house features a luxuriant conservatory where Morgan likes to read and have tea, and where her monkey Calico and Blue Bill, Silver’s blue macaw, like to play.

The night sky always reminds Morgan of home because of the way the minerals imbedded in the rock crown around the town of Shipwreck resemble diamonds. This glistening happens under a full moon and it’s for this reason the night sky feature Morgan admires the most.

Marriage to Morgan means being entitled to the rule of Shipwreck too, even if partially, for power is not automatically transferred to the man. However, were she to meet a tragic fate and leave no heir(ess) at least of age, her husband would be the sole ruler of Shipwreck. This is something Morgan’s first boyfriend, Melville James, was well-aware of, so much to the point it was his main reason to woo her in the first place.

Were she given the chance, Morgan would not eat a devil fruit.

Morgan is used to receiving love letters for Valentine’s Day, mostly from noblemen in the hopes of catching her attention and Shipwreck children who are motivated to write to “milady Morgan”. These last ones she always answers with handwritten notes and chocolates.

Morgan detests bugs. She finds them gross and is scared of them, mostly because her boy friends growing up once had the habit of dropping bugs on her. She likes ladybugs, though, only she prefers to call them ladybirds.

Morgan absolutely dislikes being called “princess”.

Favourites and associations.

MODERN VERSE

In the default modern verse, the Carnahans are a wealthy family - I have yet to think of whether Morgan’s mother, Elizabeth, is alive in this verse (or her date of death) and develop their careers, assets and dynamics.

Morgan is either Spanish, born to a Spanish mother and a Scottish father. For this reason, Morgan’s full name is Morgan Elizabeth Carnahan de León as per Spanish naming conventions, de León being Elizabeth’s surname. 

As a little girl, Morgan went to an all-girls school (possibly Catholic, as a link with the Carnahan’s faith, but this point is up to be revised for what that would mean/how that would impact on Morgan).

She then took ballet lessons which she kept on having until hitting puberty. Naturally, she was a part of the “age’s” staples of Tchaikovsky, the highlight of this short-lived career being her participation in the Danse des petits cygnes. 

She grew fond of the role of Odette and would have loved to play her had she not interrupted ballet. Because of this love, the swan is Morgan’s favourite animal.

(In unpublished writings I considered Morgan to do cheerleading as a teen but I want to decide between this activity and general dancing in a studio.)

A fashionista and fond of social networking, Morgan keeps a blog and Youtube channel where she shares her “OOTD”, shopping hauls, makeup tests and so on. (Will deffo find her a name/branding!)

After graduating, Morgan pursues a career as a museum tour guide (formerly flight assistant as per older headcanons), eventually getting a job at the local natural history museum.

If you marry Morgan, you can expect a bit of housewife magic and, opposing the OP verse, a good cook. However, you can also expect being scolded in Spanish and be told to sleep on the sofa if you do a big oopsie. You might also feel emasculated if working on the house is not your thing, as Morgan enjoys gardening and a little DIY and has got the handyman’s number on speed dial. Expect to catch her multitasking in the kitchen while holding a phone call with a Spanish friend or relative and/or listening to pop music. Britney Spears is the idol from her teenage years. If her new dish is delicious and you find a conspicuous bag of dog chow in the kitchen in spite of you guys not owning a dog, don’t fret - she bought it to feed the strays and hedgehogs should your house be in a hedgehog crossing area.

COFFEE SHOP AU 

In this AU with a modern setting, the Carnahans are a middle-class family and Elizabeth is alive. For reasons of coherence, Elizabeth retains her original OP illness, here named lupus, of which the treatment takes a toll in the family’s finances, along with Morgan’s want to pursue a higher education and go to university.

The capuchin monkey replaces the swan as Morgan’s favourite animal in this AU and it’s this love for primates that dictates her wish to study primatology.

Morgan retains her love for fashion, though, naturally, not in the same moulds as her finances are different. The ensembles she blogs about are cheaper alternatives to looks from big fashion magazines and brands for everyone to copy, her makeup is drugstore bought and she loves thrifting. The one luxury item she owns is her signature red lipstick.

TITANIC VERSE

To be added.

ABOUT SHIPWRECK

Naturally, the island (and town!) owes its name to its origins - the first settlers having been shipwrecked on it. They started working in the town, making use of the resources available, as they saw the potential in the island’s geography acting like a natural fortress and eventually established sailing as a means to compensate the island’s flaws/lacking resources. The original shipwrecked galleon can still be visited and it has become a prominent landmark in Shipwreck. (In due time, a comprehensive history of the island/town will be written.)

Though hidden from unwanted eyes, Shipwreck is a relatively close neighbour to Baterilla, with which it makes commerce.

There is an old legend explaining why there are shiny minerals in the rocks encircling the town - presumably, there are the shards of a big diamond once offered from one deity to another. (This and other Shipwreckian folklore are yet to be developed.)

The Lord’s (or Lady’s) big duty is to make sure the townies abide by the law - the original codex written by the settlers of the island and which has been revised every time a change was needed, in order to accommodate the new realities and work for them. For this reason, Shipwreck counts on a jury, a body of enforcement that acts mostly on small bursts of violence or criminal activity, the Lord presiding over the court. Should the Lord/Lady be asked council directly by the townies over lesser things, it’s their duty to be of assistance. Each Lord/Lady enjoys the freedom to do as they see fit, provided they act in Shipwreck’s best interests - acting upon selfish intentions will sooner mean a destitution than tyranny. Lord Silver, being more of an active man, a seafarer, takes his crew on pirating ventures that generate revenue/bring treasure to Shipwreck, a part of which is invested in public works/put to public service. (The politics of Shipwreck will be developed in due time.)

Shipwreck architecture is mostly inspired by that of Spain. Here’s a visual reference.

LINKS TO RELATED POSTS

What flower are you?

Flaws.

What is your muse’s pokémon team? (Will use if a Pokémon verse is ever established.)

What is your muse’s personality type?

Writer aesthetics.

Elements statements.

Muse body language.

Your love type.

What kind of heart do you have?

Muse’s three archetypes.

Morgan’s most important possessions.

Morgan’s idols.

Morgan’s laughter 1, 2.

Morgan as a parent.

The story of Morgan’s crew’s demise as told in the first person.

[modern-and-married-jeffmads]

M&M JeffMads Chapter 1: Reuniting

Hey guys, this is my first time writing a real fan fiction, so my apologies in advance for any errors. I would love some feedback and I do plan on writing a chapter two, hopefully people like this enough to want a second part. Anyway, this is a part of the Hamitlon M&M AU, I have started.

Word Count: 2301 (I wrote all this in my journal first so bear with me)

Warnings: none, fluff maybe

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

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James Madison Jr., normally called “James” by his friends, “Mr. Madison” by his co-workers and associates, and “Jemmy” by Thomas Jefferson, was born on March 16. James lived a rather normal life with his mother and father in Virginia. Though he was born in Port Conway, Virginia, his family had moved to Monticello, Virginia around the age of three since the new home was close to a better hospital there.

Madison may have been calm, reasonable, and lived more so on the average side—had high honor roll throughout all of school, stayed mostly to himself, except for a small group of friends that he would have here and there, and went to college to become a lawyer like his father—but he was always sick. It was usually the case of the sniffles or a minor cold. Every once in a while, he may catch a fever or the flu or a stomach bug that causes him to wear a face mask every so often. When his mask was on, most people knew that James wouldn’t speak as much, so it was best to give him his space. It was also best to know to not mess with his suitcase or bookbag. He cared immensely about his work as he would like to have it done quickly, without error, before his shift ended. He did not like taking work home because he enjoyed getting comfortable in his own sanctuary. Comfortable meaning: wearing an overly large knitted sweater, a classic horror novel in hand, and some kind of chocolate based junk food to sooth his sweet tooth. James enjoyed this past time as a child, so messing with his literature and snacks during his much-needed break would not have been wise. James rarely got upset with anybody though. He was rather neutral towards most people except his small group of friends, like Aaron Burr. Both seemed neutral and intelligent to each other, so they may have a chat every once in a while.

Burr was the one who introduced Madison to some of his friends like Lafayette, a sweet, broken English, French man, with an interesting and bright sense of fashion. They got along well, though James would prefer to wear his simple suits, sweaters, and pastel colors. James also met Hercules, who weirdly looked a lot like him, but acted nothing like him. Hercules was loud, athletic, courageous, healthy. Even though they were opposites, they found a middle ground as they enjoyed the same literature preferences. James wasn’t completely found of Alexander though since their politic views clashed, but James respected his determination and passion he put into all his work. Everything sort of changed with his routine once he reunited with his old childhood friend, Thomas Jefferson.  

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  Thomas Jefferson, “Jefferson” to his colleagues, and “TJeffs” to his friends, which was a very large group. Thomas had always been a social butterfly amongst his brothers and sisters, even when they moved to Monticello, Virginia so their mother could work at a new hospital and their father could begin at a new architectural project. While Thomas may have been born on April 12, a month after James, he was older than James by a couple years. Thomas was honestly the opposite of James and most wouldn’t have thought that they would have gotten along, but that wasn’t completely the case.

Jefferson was a handsome, towering, muscular male with curls that could block out the sun. He was always popular in school and made the average B’s and occasional A’s, but his street smarts and charm were unbeatable. Thomas could strike up a grueling debate too since he did it with his teachers though, it wasn’t taken as kindly as it would be with some peers at the lunch table. Thomas wasn’t too pleased with taking orders from others, so he stayed in thirty-minute detentions arguing and wearing his flashy, magenta jacket at his school. His mother was more supportive during his college years when he wanted to major in psychology instead of architecture like his father. Thomas thought that since he could make most open to him within a few minutes, he felt as though he would be a wonderful therapist, which he was. He may have been professional in the workplace as one of the lead therapists, but that didn’t stop him from being adventurous after hours. His charm, southern drawl, and lavish fashion sense and lifestyle left him partying and hooking up with boys and girls from all walks of life.

They were normally one-night stands. Nothing too serious, but the idea of forming a solid relationship crossed his mind occasionally. Just as he wasn’t a stranger in a bedroom, he wasn’t a stranger with the law either, as he would occasionally get stopped for speeding or possibly parking in an illegal zone. Jefferson didn’t pay too much mind to the tiny tickets until he got a court order in the mail stating that he must come to discuss the large accumulation of fees and whether he should have his driver’s license revoked, which he did not want to happen. He decided, since his tone may not go well in court, to request an attorney to represent him. Little did he know that his court representative would be his old friend James Madison.

Thomas had met James one day while at the hospital his mother worked at. Mrs. Jefferson was treating Madison for an ear infection he had caught, and Jefferson sat in the room, watching all the medical magic take place. Mrs. Jefferson had to leave the room to speak to James’ parents, which gave Thomas the opportunity to strike up a conversation.

Little Thomas introduced himself to the sick little boy and began asking a boatload of questions, in which poor James could only answer a few at a time between sneezes and coughs. Thomas learned that James was two grades behind him, that he does talk much, is really good in school, and always had something sweet on him, which Thomas found a bit odd and unhealthy, but paid it no mind. James learned that Thomas wasn’t the brightest, but seemed to care and knows what he wants to do with his life. They also learn that they attend the same elementary school. That meant Thomas would try to find James in the library every day during lunch and would rant to him about his teachers. Thomas also tried giving him healthier foods and started calling him “Jemmy” because he felt “James” was a little boring. The name stuck with James, so he allowed it, but only allowed Thomas to call him that. Since they were in separate grades though, seeing each other became more of a challenge, especially when Thomas began high school before James. Once James started, he had become a shadow behind the large mass of students. James went on to college to pursue his degree and worked under his dad until he became co-owner. Jefferson had a bumpier start, with the partying life slowing him down, but he mellowed out just enough to graduate and find a counseling job.

Now in his late twenties, he was waiting in the lobby of a civil court building, flirting with some other vehicular violators. “Thomas Jefferson?”, a low voice with a sniffle behind it called out. Thomas had turned and saw a very short, red-faced man’s eyes slightly widen whereas Thomas’ grew extremely wide upon seeing him. “Jemmy?”, the tall southerner called, letting the name ring in James’ ears. “You’re my attorney? Man, Virginia is so small, and I see you still have the sniffles”, Jefferson exclaimed. Thomas began rambling, trying to catch up with his old lunch buddy. James had to cut the conversation short, as it was time to head into the courtroom to attempt at allowing Thomas to still drive.

Standing there in front of a stone-faced judge stood James Madison—a 5’4” man with medium sized lips, dark brown, almost black eyes, red cheeks and nose, short and tight curly black hair, in a full dark grey suit—whom spoke in a calm and simple, yet proper and persuasive tone, that made Thomas’ actions seem like minor accidents that he will pay for. Behind him, towering over him at 6’2” was a light brown man with large dark curls with brown hazel eyes as he wore a black long sleeve dress shirt with a matching magenta vest and slacks.

Thomas stood there in awe, watching the small man present a strong case for an old friend. James’ words flowed from his lips so easily like butter, even when a sniffle interrupted him, it didn’t ruin his train of thought. Thomas felt as though he could listen to James talk for hours, just like how James listened to him when they were younger. The judge had heard enough and was convinced that Thomas deserved to keep his license, but he will have to pay a hefty fine. Nodding quickly, Thomas complied as the next case was being called in and James led them back into the common area.

“James, you were amazing in there. For a man so soft-spoken, you sure know how to make a compelling case.”, Thomas said leaning against a nearby wall. “It is my job, Thomas”, the sick man said, ready to head back to his office without another word. Thomas stood up, the smirk on his face shifting into an awkward smile as a small blush grew. “Jem- James?”, Thomas called. “Yes?”, Madison said as he looked at the man before him. “Thank you”, Thomas said, “and maybe we could meet up later to catch up or something”. Thomas wrote down his cell phone number on a small piece of paper he had in his pocket and held it out. James accepted the gesture, “I’m sure we can do that.”, he said tucking the paper away. Thomas’ signature smirk quickly crawled back on his face as he collected himself. Thomas placed his hand on the short man’s shoulder, “Can’t wait to talk later”, he said as he rolled his thumb into James’ shoulder before letting go and walking out of the building. James rubbed his shoulder and let out a small breath before letting a small smile climb on his face as he sneezed from the cologne Thomas left on him. James walked back in his office as he collected his papers, placing them in his briefcase, along with his bookbag that contained his snacks and sweater he’d wear if the building was extremely cold, and left as his shift has just ended.

James had finally returned to his small apartment in quieter part of the city after a long car ride with the heater blasting and a random audiobook playing. Stepping into his home, he almost instantly relaxed his shoulders as he put the suitcase down in his office and placed his bookbag on the table in the kitchen for a restock in the morning. He slipped out of his suit and placed in a hamper near his closet as he then slid on an extra-large grey knitted sweater. The sweater wrapped comfortably around his neck, the sleeves fell past his arms, and the bottom of the sweater stopped a little bit past the middle of his thighs, which meant that he did not wear pants. After sliding on his house slippers, he went into the kitchen to prepare a quick dinner consisting of some fried fish and French fries that were drowning in tartar sauce. James was then sitting on the couch, with his meal on a small foldable table, and the radio playing, as he wasn’t a big fan of watching television. The only time his television came on was when a co-worker suggested a show that peaked his interest. If it did, that would mean that James will binge watch the entire series on the weekend with nothing but donuts and a couple chocolate mochas. After that, the tv would go back on a long hiatus.

Three-fourths of the way through his meal, James finally decided to pick up his phone and scroll through his contacts. There weren’t that many since he wasn’t that social, just some co-workers and his small group of friends. He sat there and thinking to himself on how his day went. How seeing Thomas again brought back old, fond childhood memories of how Thomas would interrupt his reading or try to feed him apples that weren’t covered in caramel or how Thomas invited him to one or two sleepovers. James always came over with a bunch of medication his mother packed and a thick wool blanket that he always slept with. The smile lightly faded though as he thought about how Thomas had left James for a larger, livelier crowd, leaving him to himself. James wasn’t mad at Thomas though because he knows Thomas was always the kind to want attention and admiration from everybody while James kept quiet in his large sweaters. James felt his face become warmer than normal, but not because he was coming down with illness. It was more of the idea of seeing Thomas again. Seeing how Thomas seemed excited to him again after so many years apart. How Thomas called him by the sole pet name anybody has ever given him upon first seeing him. The feeling of Thomas sensually caressing him and leaving his scent on him. These thoughts made James face bright red, but he kept his composure as he found the small piece of paper he took from Thomas. Thomas had written his number down with a little star next to it which made James chuckle. He took a long breath before typing the numbers in, labeling the contact “Tommy”, and sending a message saying, “Hi. It’s James...”

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I hope you all enjoyed this. See you next time.

[ellawritesficssometimes]

My Save Year (ch. 1)

Summary: Depressed and rejected by his family, Arthur longs for a new beginning during his first year of University. There he meets Alfred, an optimistic bright-eyed oaf with a sunny smile. An unlikely romance develops between them, one that was already doomed from the beginning. (USUK, multichapter)

Loneliness. Bitterness. Confusion. These were all emotions I've learned to ignore. I refused to validate them, for if I did, there would be no saving me from the hatred of others, there would be no grand escape to a better life. I wouldn't get the chance to make something out of myself.

I was done hating who I was as a person. I was done listening to people lie about how much they cared about me. I was done placing my trust in others.

Truth be, as soon as you become a problem, a burden, if you will, people lose interest in you. They leave you in light of their own selfish desires. Being "there" for someone is the grandest lie of all. You people all leave the moment any effort is required. You make promises you can't keep, all for the sake of looking like a good person when you're not.

It's an ugly reality, but I've learned to not to have expectations anymore. Expectations implied disappointment, and I couldn't be disappointed if I didn't have any hope in the first place.

Am I being depressing? Unequivocally. But am I wrong? Not in the slightest.

I gave this life many, many chances, and they've only proved me right by failing me in my time of need.

I grew up knowing I was gay from a very young age. When I came out at fourteen, I was told that I was going through a phase, that I was confused and didn't know what I wanted. I let these ignorant bastards tell me how I felt because I wanted to be accepted. I preferred living in the shadows, but the g-word may as well have been plastered to my forehead ever since.

Mum didn't like that I was gay, but she tried to accept me anyway; emphasis on tried. Dad, however, was the worst of them all. He refused to acknowledge me at home, and made my life a living hell. It was all smiles and perpetual faking until I was out of sight; only then came the profanity. Slurs were heard on a regular basis, and my brothers were no exception to that rule, all save for one.

Alistair, the eldest of my brothers, was the only one who had no problem with me being gay. As far as he was concerned, the only disappointment was him having to protect my innocence from any dodgy, potential suitors. Idiot. He was still 100% convinced that I was a bottom, erm, not that I had any experience in that area…

I wasn't the most pleasant person to be around, as you'll soon find. I pushed more people away than I could keep.

Regardless, this year was my get away. It was the year where I escaped from isolation, saved myself from my depression. I would learn to live again, going unhindered by my chronic fear of rejection. But, for that to happen, I needed to move on.

It was clear Mum and Dad wanted me gone, so I respected their wishes and left them for good.

I had worked hard in my last year of high school, earning myself a scholarship at a prestigious University. Hetalia University was part of an international chain of schools all over the globe, branching out across several continents and their respective countries.

The campus I was accepted into just so happened to be located right outside of Sussex, England. It was a specialized writing school, where some of the best-known authors had graduated from. I was determined to make a name for myself, despite all the difficult, back-breaking work these next four years would require from me.

Unfortunately, unlike my tuition, my living expenses weren't paid for. I had managed to find a job at the campus's library, so at least I had that. Any place where there was infrequent interaction with other people was my God save. It was easier to exist in a private silence than one where you were constantly being judged and ogled at as if you were a strange specimen. Better yet, a strange specimen that was the odd one out and couldn't stand on their own two feet, let alone think on their own terms.

I was glad to finally be free from the scrutiny of others. Going to this University was a fresh start, a chance to live under the radar without ever going detected by others.

I didn't come here to make friends. I wanted to improve as a writer, to rid myself of the stress I had internalized by writing about how I truly felt.

I didn't want to open myself up to another person. The less people knew about me, the better. I neither wanted to be liked nor disliked. I just wanted to exist, to breeze by, to be one of those faceless students whose name you couldn't remember. I couldn't be lonely if I didn't attach myself to others… if I didn't long for company – I thought I didn't need it.

But, as the Universe had a knack for making things go the opposite of how I wanted them to, my student life quickly became a whirlwind of unwanted – not to mention unexpected – emotions and attachments.

I never thought I would make a friend here. Two friends actually, if you count my pestiferous amphibian of a roommate.

What I didn't realize at the time was the thing I needed most was in fact a true companion. Writing was a distraction; it would never truly alleviate the weight of your depression, nor would it save you from the bottomless pit of your own thoughts and fears.

All it took was one smile, one bright, stupid, and sunny smile to change a bad day into a good one. That bloody yank came into my life out of nowhere, shining brighter than I could have ever imagined with his sappy optimism. He was my beacon of hope, my best friend, my every-

His friendship meant more than I would ever dare to admit.

I may not have realized this until later, but this year, this year was my save year.

I had been saved from myself by another kind, selfless soul.

It's just unfortunate I wasn't able to reciprocate the favor.

Not until it was too late.

…

Move in day on campus was a lot less hectic than I thought it would be. Then again, there were maybe 1500 students total at the University, as it was a private campus. Those students whom I did pass almost never seemed to be speaking the same language. Funny how even in my own country, I'm still the odd one out.

The campus was a mixture of old and new architectural designs, filled with the dreary, rich aura of history in spite of the paradoxical naïve and bright-minded moods of newcomers like myself.

The newer buildings were constructed around several thousand-year old Anglo-Saxon castles. Some of these older buildings would indeed be used for hosting classes, just as the library, round-tower church and dining hall at the center of the small University town were also vacated for academic and student use.

There was still a week before classes started, so most students were using their free time to lounge about on the lawns, enjoying the sun's rays if it was gracious enough to poke its head out of the clouds. Many of these foreigners would soon learn that rain was a most common occurrence in England. Although, I couldn't complain. Rainy weather tended to bring out the best muses in writers. No one knew why, it just did.

Despite the excitement in the air, a sagging feeling in my stomach made me feel uneasy. This campus was ripe with ghosts. I felt their despair and regrets as if they were my own.

Alistair must have noticed this too. The ability to see ghosts ran deep in the Kirkland family; almost every child had this affinity. "The air is really thick here, isna it?" he asked me, furrowing his thick red brows in unease.

I nodded my head. We had stopped in front of my dorm, which was one of the newer buildings on campus. It wasn't anything special, just an ugly rectangular brick building that reminded me of a factory had there not been several windows on its side.

"The campus is rumoured to be haunted," I answered him, feeling uneasy when Alistair's green eyes raked up and down my figure, concern evident on his face.

"You don't say?" Alistair murmured before awkwardly clearing his throat. I really wish he wouldn't tread so lightly with me. Yes, I was depressed, but that didn't mean I was fragile. I almost missed the times he used to tease and rough me up when we were younger. Almost.

"Well, that's it," Alistair concluded, setting my suitcase on the cobble-stone path beneath our feet. "Only ye would bring two suitcases to last ye a whole year. And one of them is full o' books. Yer sure are an oddball, Artie. Are ye sure ye don't need anything else?"

"No, no, I'll be quite all right. I'm not being odd, but practical. This is all I need," I muttered morosely, looking anywhere but at him. Alistair was much taller than me and had a habit of making me feel like a child. This moment couldn't have gotten anymore awkward.

It was unspoken, but Alistair and I both knew I didn't want to bring anything that reminded me of the home I had left behind.

"Would ye like me to help bring yer things?" Alistair spoke lightly, thankfully changing the subject.

I forced a smirk on my face, my chest heavy. "I know you call me scrawny, but really now Alistair, could you get any more patronizing? I'm sure I'll be able to carry two suitcases on my own," I huffed indignantly.

Alistair looked conflicted. For a moment, it seemed like he was going to hug me. In the end, he settled for ruffling my hair, much to my annoyance. "And here I thought I could sneak some extra teasing in with yer roommate. Oh well, I'll be visiting ye soon enough, and ye can count on me bringing photo albums from when ye were a wee little lad. Ye were so cute, I don't know what happened. It's like I'm looking at a grumpy old man instead of my 'adult' little brother."

"You think you're so hilarious," I scowled, ducking out of his grasp. "Do that and I'll set fire to everything you love. You have no right to act like my parent when you're still a child yourself. Must I remind you that I found you this morning dressed in nothing but a lampshade and a washcloth? It's a miracle you were sober enough to drive me here today."

Alistair laughed, his voice deep and gravelly as always. "Ye better not act so pissy with others like ye do with me. It's like ye want to be alone. And yer welcome, ye ungrateful willy. If I didna care about ye so much, I woulda gotten rid of ye too. But I just can't. There's something strangely endearing about ye. Maybe it's those thick eyebrows of yours."

"I would say thanks, but your cheap insults cancel out any gratitude I feel towards you." I raised a brow at Alistair in challenge. "Did it ever cross your thick skull that I prefer being alone?"

Alistair sighed, his shoulders deflating. This was a well-worn out argument of ours. "Artie, you gotta try, ye hear? I at least want ye to make one friend here. I'll be calling every now an' then to check up on ye, unlike some people," he stated bitterly. "I expect more of ye this time 'round. Enjoy yerself a little."

"Just because I'm not a social butterfly like you, doesn't mean I can't have an enjoyable University experience," I crossly retorted.

Alistair wasn't done speaking about our parents just yet.

"Whatever ye say," Alistair raised his hands in surrender. "I just want the best for ye. Mum and Dad may not look like it, but they still do care about ye. I've been tryin' to talk to them, but ye ken how narrow-minded they are. They'll come around, eventually. Yer their son for Christ sake. For now, just focus on yer studies. With yer work ethic, I know you'll do great, Artie. I'll be rootin' for ye, I hope you know tha'."

"Oh sod off, you old sap," I snapped, albeit not maliciously. I didn't know how to react to Alistair being so kind to me. It was a cheap defensive mechanism of mine to lash out with anger when confronted with something I wasn't familiar with.

"But," I faltered. "I do appreciate everything you've done for me. Thank you, Alistair, truly. It's nice to know that at least one person is here to support me."

"O' course," Alistair smiled, a genuine one that very rarely graced his face. He wasn't a very serious person to begin with. "Yer my little brother. You may be a grumpy bastard, but I still love ye. And, Artie?"

"Yes?"

"You ken my door is always open. I may be livin' inna different country now, but that doesna change anythin' between us. Once you're finished with yer year, yer more than welcome to come stay with me. It's not right for a lad yer age to be livin' on his own. If yer willing to drop that insufferable pride of yours, I'd be more than happy to help ye out."

I felt my face flush a little, unused to such kindness. Alistair would be moving away for work in Scotland, his birth place, in a couple of weeks. Before coming here, I had lived with him in his apartment, him almost being thirty years old and all. This was the one time where he was actually acting like the adult he was.

"I'd greatly appreciate that," I looked Alistair in the eye, blinking harshly. "Thank you."

"Anytime."

Alistair waved his hand at me dismissively, contradicting the lump he swallowed down in his throat. "Ah, enough o' this sentimental crap. I'm not sober enough to deal with this. Just have fun, be careful, eat properly, call me every week, and ye'll be fine. Oh, and get a haircut, ye stubborn mutt. I canna even see yer eyes."

I rolled said eyes. "Goodbye, Alistair. I'll skype with you every week, if you like. Although, no promises on the having fun clause or the hair cut. Thanks again, for everything…"

For being a true brother to me…

"Cheeky little bastard," Alistair mumbled to himself.

We said our goodbyes again, which was no less awkward than the first few times.

With that done and said, I turned my back on him, and walked into the dorm, realizing for the first time that I was on my own. It wasn't a good feeling nor was it bad. I didn't know what to expect. I wasn't Arthur Kirkland, I was a nobody who had to start from scratch.

It was invigorating, that's for sure.

I didn't have to worry about what others thought about me, especially if everything went according to plan. No one was to know anything about me. That way, I couldn't be judged.

I found my shared dorm room on the tenth floor, room 1066. It would be an understatement to say I was appalled by the strong waft of roses that entered my nostrils upon entering the room.

The dorm room was small, consisting of a cozy living room with one leather couch, a rather small tele on a rickety wooden nightstand, a rug that looked like it had seen better days, and a small kitchen not meant for much more than heating up leftovers or doing dishes. There was a dining hall for a reason, after all.

I've also been told I wasn't the greatest of cooks; I have yet to figure out why – scones were supposed to be a bit hard to chew, weren't they? It was good for the teeth, or was it bad? I had no bloody idea.

The bedrooms and the one bathroom were located in a skinny hallway to the left of the front entrance of the room. Thankfully, Francis – my roommate - and I had agreed beforehand that I would be getting the room with the largest window. The French international allegedly liked his beauty sleep.

We had only kept in contact through text over the summer, but even then, Francis was still grating on the nerves. From what I could tell, he was arrogant and full of himself.

I couldn't have been anymore right about him as I set my two suitcases down in the front room, spotting Francis lounging on the couch with a glass of wine in his hand, wearing nothing but a blue bath robe. There was soft music playing in the background – something French and definitely not English. The living room window was left open, allowing a breeze to sweep through the room, rustling the residence papers he had lying on the coffee table. Next to the papers, there was a half-full ash-tray, which would explain the lingering scent of smoke in the air – oh did I have something to say about that.

Francis looked exactly the same as he did in the picture the residence coordinator had sent me. Same wavy blond hair, azure eyes, and permanent, obnoxious smug lilt of a smirk. He was tall and thin, his arms draped over the couch as if he owned it and the entire place, like a pompous, domesticated cat who had selfishly claimed their owner's territory as their own.

I stifled my irritation and did my best to give a proper introduction, looking anywhere but Francis's hairy legs, chest, and slipper-covered feet. It was two in the bloody afternoon. Who the hell had the spare time to act so casual? Was I rooming with a Frenchman or a 40-year-old suburban stay-at-home mother? Who knows.

I cleared my throat, standing awkwardly in the front door. "Hello. I'm guessing you must be Francis Bonnefoy?" I asked, reaching into my pocket to pull out the photo I had of him.

Francis gasped, setting down his nearly empty wine glass. He stood up from the couch so abruptly that I almost got whiplash just by looking at him. Before I knew it, the Frenchman was standing before me, unfortunately a few inches taller than I was, pale eyebrows rising in contemplation.

"Oui, I am! Mon dieu!" he exclaimed, his voice fairly accented, but still understandable nonetheless. "Arthur, Arthur Kirkland, oui? Bonjour, bonjour~! And here I thought pictures didn't do a person justice. Tell me, how is it that you grow out your eyebrows that thick? Do you use a cream? Ointment? Coconut oil? You must tell me! I've been growing out my hair for a few months now, and I'm looking for any tips I can get!"

My first impression of Francis was that he was flamboyant, seeing as how he moved his hands a lot when he spoke. My second impression was that he was an annoying git who had no sense of personal space, whatsoever. Both impressions were woefully accurate.

I reluctantly shook hands with Francis, having to wrench away my hand from him after he held it for an uncomfortable amount of time. Bloody pervert. "Yes, well, I'm afraid I don't do anything to my eyebrows. They're naturally thick like this. Although, I'm not sure if you're insulting or complimenting me about them…"

"Oh, that's too bad," Francis simpered.

I wrinkled my nose; Francis was wearing a very strong perfume. It was already giving me a headache. It looked like I had a long, long year ahead of me. Remind me again why our personalities were deemed compatible by the residence coordinators?

"Haven't you heard of personal space?" I grumbled, backing away from the ogling Frenchman, whose face was way too close to mine. "Good God, would it kill you to tone it down on the perfume? I can practically taste it. And what kind of nutjob wears a bathrobe mid-afternoon?"

"What's that?" Francis asked, grinning from ear to ear. "If we are to live together, then we must get used to being in each other's faces, non? And excuse you, I'll have you know that my perfume attracts all ze ladies and men. As for my robe? Casse toi. Anyone who wears a sweater vest has no right to criticize my sense of fashion. I am merely being comfy. I've seen Mormons with a better sense of fashion than you."

I turned around, shutting the front door. I then grabbed my two suitcases, intending to go to my room and unpack, alone. "Right, well, as nice as it is to get to know you by insulting each other's tastes, I really ought to settle in. I need to acquaint myself with where all my classes are."

"Allow me!" Francis purred, grabbing a suitcase from me, despite my protests. "When we're done helping you settle in, I can give you a tour. I've already been here for a week. It was so lonely, mon cher. Hardly anyone came until two days ago. I thought I was going to die from the boredom."

"You talk too much," I sighed, wrenching my suitcase back from him. "And I don't need your help or your company."

"Is that really such a bad thing?" Francis pouted, motioning for me to hand him the suitcase again. The mongrel didn't know when to give up. "Stubbornness is not an attractive trait, you know," he lectured. "All people need the occasional company. It's simply not healthy to be by yourself for long periods of time. Voila! I'm doing you a favour by being your first friend here!"

"I said no!" I snapped. "I don't need your help. And you are most certainly not my friend."

"Not yet, I'm not~"

"Look," I inhaled sharply. "Let me get something straight. I am not here to make friends with anyone, let alone you. I don't play well with others, so it's best if we just stay out of each other's way. I'm sure you're a great person under all that flamboyance and effeminate charm of yours, but I'll repeat myself again, since you seem to be hard of hearing and English is likely not your first language: I am not here to get cozy. I am here for my education, and that's it."

Francis whistled, speechless for once.

Taking advantage of this, I pulled out a folded sheet of paper from my jeans with my free hand. "Here," I scowled, handing him the paper.

"This is a set of rules I've come up with. You're not to go in my room or touch my things. There will be agreed times on when and who gets to use the bathroom. I don't tolerate uncleanliness, so we will also have to come up with a chore schedule. There will be no more smoking in this room; I will report you to residence if you continue to do so, roommates or not, I owe you no loyalty or favors. Drink as much as you want, just don't expect me to bail you out if you do something stupid and get arrested. And absolutely no parties are to be thrown here; I'd rather not be kicked out this early in the year, or at all, in fact. I ask that you please respect my boundaries. Living together entails respect. Respect me, and I'll respect you. If you do all this, then I'm sure we will get along with each other just fine."

The residual smirk on Francis's face wavered. "Arthur, you are one strange man. But, I'm not unkind enough to not respect your wishes. I am a clean person myself, and I will smoke outside from now on, no probleme. I will also fill out these…uh…forms and come up with an appropriate schedule. It's a shame we can't become friends, though. I have a feeling it'll take a while for you to warm up to me, but there's nothing I can do about that, I suppose. I'll leave you to unpack then."

Francis patted my shoulder before turning and heading back into the living room.

I grit my teeth. "We're not becoming friends. I thought I already established that."

Francis looked up at me from the couch, evidently getting used to my anger. He seemed completely unfazed by it now. "We French have a way of getting what we want. Do not underestimate us. You're not misleading me, Mr. Kirkland, far from it. Behind every angry person, there is someone hurting inside. You care more than you let off. I've always liked myself a good mystery, it inspires my creativity as a writer. Somewhere deep inside that hedgehog exterior of yours, there is a nice person. I'll dedicate the rest of my year towards finding it if I have to."

I scoffed. "Wise words coming from a man in a bathrobe."

Bloody Frenchman and his big mouth. His croaking voice reminded me of a frog. Hmmm. Not bad. Not a bad insult at all…

"Non, it is coming from someone with experience."

I had no good retort to that. "Fine, think what you want. Just know you'll regret saying that. I always disappoint…"

Francis gave me a pitiful look.

I left him feeling disappointed with myself, go figure. If only he knew who I truly was as a person; he'd be asking for a new roommate in no time.

That, I was sure of.

…

After my snapping at him, I didn't hear from Francis again. I must have really perturbed him, seeing as how he had slipped the sheet with the bathroom and chore schedule under my bedroom door. Oh well, despite saying otherwise, it appeared that Francis had realized it was better to keep his distance from me. Kudos to him…

My dorm room was nothing special, harbouring a single twin bed, a meagre dresser, a window that overlooked a courtyard, and a foldable desk embedded in the wall. It was small, but cozy; I didn't have a need for that much of a space anyway. I felt in control in this room, nothing about it was overwhelming or all-encompassing.

BANG!

I was busy unpacking my clothes on my bed, when a large bang resonated across the building, sounding as if it were coming from the hallway outside.

"Francis?" I called out hesitantly. Blast. I didn't like the guy, but that didn't mean I hated him.

"Francis are you all right? What was that noise?"

I walked into the living room, finding that Francis wasn't there. He wasn't in his bedroom – the door was open – or the bathroom either – I didn't really want to look too extensively in there, for obvious reasons. He must have gone elsewhere.

BANG!

I jumped when another bang, this one much louder in volume, shook the walls.

Cussing under my breath, I left my dorm, standing in the hallway outside with my mouth held agape.

Two desperate, fearful voices down the hall bickered back and forth.

"Toni, I'm telling you! We need to get the fuck out of here! That's it, I'm calling room service."

"But, Gil! Getting assigned to a new room is going to cost us!" a second voice pouted with a whine. "Other than… 'this'…there's nothing wrong with the flat. They're not going to believe us that it's… it's…"

BANG!

"HAUNTED! Ay, Dios mio!"

I walked across the hallway, knocking on the front door of where the frantic voices were coming from. It had been left wide open, but I still considered myself to have manners.

I cleared my throat. "Gentlemen, what seems to be the problem?"

The two other boys in the room – my floormates – latched their fearful gazes on me. One was tanned, lanky, with messy brown hair and light green eyes. The other, was buff, extremely pale, and had the most peculiar red eyes I had ever seen. Both were dressed in beach wear, despite the University's campus being in the middle of nowhere. My guess was that they were taking part in Fresher's week.

BANG!

I looked to my right, spotting a wooden wardrobe at the edge of their small living room. The doors were clasped shut with a red bandanna, but by the way it was shaking, it looked like someone was trying to get out of it from the inside.

The pale one was the first to answer me. "We moved here last week, and every night, the wardrobe opens and shakes on its own. We've heard stories about the ghosts here, so we figured if we could stop the creaking, the spirit would eventually give up and move on. Now it just seems mad, so not awesome," he muttered, his voice thick with a German accent. "And just who are you exactly?"

"Arthur Kirkland, a pleasure," I lied, about the latter part, that is. I hated getting involved in other people's business, but I already knew what was going on here.

I stepped into the room, shaking hands with the pale one.

"Gilbert Beilschmidt," the pale one firmly clasped my hand. "And that guy over there is Antonio. Are you Fran's roommate? I think he mentioned something about having an English roommate."

Antonio was preoccupied with kissing the pendant of his cross necklace, murmuring prayers in what sounded to be Spanish.

"That I am," I admitted. "Unfortunately. And what is this nonsense about ghosts? They don't exist."

Gilbert scoffed in disbelief. "Are you not seeing that wardrobe move on its own right now?"

"I'm sure there's another explanation for that. A wild animal? Or perhaps the bolts are becoming loose and it's about to give way?" I proposed.

"Yo, what are you doing?!" Gilbert blurted, pale brows rising when I walked towards the wardrobe. "You're going to get yourself killed by that thing!"

Antonio shook his head back and forth, eyes wide like a small child. "Uh-oh, Franny isn't going to like us killing his roommate. I'll pray for you, amigo." And the Spaniard did just that, mentioning something about how my eyebrows were enough of a punishment to live with, unbeknownst to me.

"Quite the contrary," I smirked, untying the bandanna from the wardrobe. "I'll prove to you that nothing's in there. There's always a rational explanation for things like this."

I opened the wardrobe, glaring unamusedly into the empty space. "See? Nothing."

The bandanna dropped to the ground.

I stepped aside to let Gilbert and Antonio have a look inside. The shaking had stopped entirely.

"Vhat?" Gilbert spluttered in confusion.

"Yay! We're not going to die young now!" Antonio merrily exclaimed. "He must have scared it off!"

I ignored Antonio's latter comment.

"Best bet is to just get rid of the thing. I was right about the bolting, it looks like it'll cave any day now," I told them, dusting off my hands on my pants. "Well, now that that's out of the way, I best be off then. I still have much to unpack. See you around…" I hummed, waving over my shoulder.

Stunned, Gilbert and Antonio muttered their goodbyes.

"…Never," I mumbled to myself, walking back into the hallway outside.

I furrowed my brows angrily, knowing that a certain something was following me. I refused to turn around and face it until I was in my own flat, out of the eavesdropping range of other, potentially nosy floormates.

I closed the door after me. That didn't stop the something from floating right through it as if it were child's play. Quite literally, the ghost was a child.

I spun around, narrowing my eyes at the ghost I had found vacating Gilbert and Antonio's wardrobe. She looked to be about ten years old; scrawny, sharp-elbowed, missing several teeth, and had several scrapes up and down her arms. She had piercing green eyes, almost like mine oddly enough, blonde hair, which was tied in two high pigtails, and was dressed in a long-outdated green sundress. From the looks of it, she looked to be born in either the 1920s or 30s.

"You can see me," the girl accused, her voice shrill and angry. "How come you pretended that you couldn't?! Are you trying to make fun of me? Is that it?"

I sighed, walking over to sit on the couch. I had dealt with enough today, thank you very much. "No love," I murmured softly. "I can't let other people know because then they'd think I'm crazy. What's your name? Or, what do you prefer to go by?"

The girl floated to hover above the coffee table, crossly sticking up her chin at me. "You may call me Alice," she huffed.

"Well, Alice, you can call me Arthur. Pleased to meet you."

"I know that, you dummy! I heard you speaking to those other two twits."

"Come now," I tutted. "Is that the way your mother taught you how to address strangers?"

"N-no! Mummy always told me to be polite. B-But, I d-don't know where Mummy is anymore..." the ghost trailed off, a downcast expression on her face.

"I can help you find your Mummy, but have to promise to be completely honest with me."

The ghost looked up, eyes wide, revealing the vulnerability of a child who had been lost for who knows how many decades. "How do I know I can trust you?" she wavered, flicking in and out of sight.

"I've helped many spirits pass on to the other side. There's something keeping you here on Earth, Alice. Is there something bothering you? Something you never got to do when you were alive?"

"Well…there was one thing…"

"Take your time, love. I know this must be hard for you to recall."

There was something about children that made them invisible to my usual irritation. I had a lot of patience with them. I treated them in a manner in which I had never been treated as a child; I was kind and I listened to what they had to say. At the very least they deserved that.

My patience must have given Alice the confidence she needed to open up to me. She was finally breaking her silence, conversing with someone who could listen and respond to her unfortunate predicament.

"My friend Davie and I were having a picnic. Daddy used to be the Dean here. He didn't like Davie because he was an orphan. But I really liked Davie, so I always snuck food from the dining hall to take to him. We had to meet in secret because Daddy didn't approve of me meeting with him, unchaperoned.

"I never really cared for dresses. But Mummy did. She knew about my friendship with Davie, but she never told anyone. One day, we were having a picnic, and Davie wanted me to swim in the creek with him…he never told me he couldn't swim. The water was too deep for us, and I drowned trying to save him…"

Alice paused. I inhaled sharply, not daring to say a word.

"Mummy died because Daddy hit her too hard. He blamed her for my death. But, I never got to see Mummy when she died. She didn't become a ghost like me…and neither did little Davie. I'm the only one left of them. I'm sorry if I made you mad earlier. I just don't k-know what to do. Scaring people is the only thing that makes me feel…real."

"You don't have to justify yourself, Alice," I said warmly, my throat constricting. "I understand everything now."

The mother and Davie must have passed on, but Alice's spirit was still bound by past regrets.

"I guess I'm just angry about what happened to little Davie," Alice whispered. "He never got a proper funeral, whereas I did. It's not fair."

"Tell you what," I shuddered with a sigh. Dealing with ghosts never got any less emotional after the first few times. Alice's story was a grim reminder of how unfair and tragic life could be sometimes. "I'll throw a proper funeral for Davie for you. Was it James creek that you two…passed in? That's only a five-minute walk from here."

Alice's expression became hopeful again. "Yes. That's the place. Would you really do that for me?"

"Of course. If it gives you peace, I'd be more than happy to. You've been here for long enough, love. It's about time you reunited with your Mummy and Davie again. Wouldn't you like for that to happen?"

"Yes, but how do I do that?" Alice sniffled. "I've tried f-for so long…"

"You just have to trust me, Alice. If you can trust that I'll carry through with your wish to give Davie a proper funeral, then your spirit will be able to move on."

Alice's form began to fade, a good sign indeed. "Promise?"

I lifted a pinkie finger to the air, albeit the gesture only being symbolic. "Promise."

"Thank you, Arthur," Alice's eyes watered. "I'll never forget you. You were so kind to me. I don't know what I did to deserve such kindness. You're everything Mummy wanted me to be."

I chuckled. "I'm not all that I appear to be, but thank you for such a sweet sentiment. Now move along, dear. You can sense your soul being pulled elsewhere, can't you? Don't fight it. And don't worry, I'm sure your Mummy would be proud of you too. It takes someone with a big heart to wait this long for someone else. I admire that, truly."

"Goodbye, Arthur. Thank you again."

"Goodbye, Alice. God speed, and may your soul rest in peace."

I heard the faint murmur of final thank-you's before Alice disappeared for good.

I slumped down in my seat.

It was some time before I removed my hands from my face. Oh bloody, hell, I had been crying, hadn't I? How embarrassing.

Irritated, I grabbed a Kleenex from the coffee table and dabbed at my eyes and cheeks.

Francis leaned against the kitchen table, the creak of which caused me to look up. "Alas, you're not as bitter and mean as I had initially thought, mon petit hedgehog," he mused.

I furiously rubbed at my eyes. "Since when did you get here…wait? What the bollocks?! You can see ghosts too?!"

Francis sadly nodded his head. "Oui, it runs in my family. It must run in yours too, non? My family is very perceptive at picking up on les emotions aussi. Some of us are born matchmakers, like myself. We see the good in people, and match them to fill the void in our own lonely hearts. But, enough about that. Are you all right, Arthur? I only heard about half of that conversation, and that was more than enough to break my heart in two."

"Yes, yes, I'm fine," I snapped before lowering my voice. "Just. Fine."

"If you say so."

"Stop bloody patronizing me!"

"Fine, fine," Francis raised his hands in surrender.

"Don't get cheeky with me either," I growled to no one in particular, hardly audible.

"Call me crazy," Francis purred, walking to sit on the couch next to me. "as I am one to believe in fate, but we must have been brought together for a reason, non? I believe our similarities call for a truce."

I didn't like the suggestive look on Francis's face. Anything he did inevitably became sexual, the perv. "I know I said this already, but do you ever stop flapping your tongue, frog? There's nothing redemptive about you. Not even that 'glorious' hair of yours can salvage how obnoxious you are."

Francis laughed. "Ohonhonhon, that's a new insult I've never heard before. Arthur Kirkland, you are an absolute menace to be around."

I glared at him through eyes that were not puffy.

"A good menace," Francis corrected himself, not that it really helped with anything. I still couldn't stand him.

"Arthur?"

"Wot?" I growled, my gaze latched on the ground.

"Do you think we could start over? Perhaps become friends? I haven't even known you for that long, and yet, I've never seen someone look so troubled…so lonely. Don't get me wrong, I'm not pitying you. It's just…if you ever need someone to talk to or even just to keep you company, I can be there for you. We'll be spending most of our year together, after all."

"One, I'm not lonely or troubled, I'm just naturally bitter like this," I snorted. "But, if you're so intent on getting to know me, I'll say this. I like my privacy. I anger easily, and can be selfish at times. I've made a horrible first impression on you, and I have no idea why you're bothering speaking to me now. But, if you're willing to look past all that, then maybe we can become friends, maybe."

I don't know what I was thinking, saying all of this. Maybe I was still vulnerable emotionally. Or maybe it was because I had found someone similar to me, no matter how grating. Perhaps Alistair was right. One 'friend' couldn't hurt.

I held out my hand for Francis to shake, daring to look him in the eyes again. The genuine affection in them made me blush due to the unfamiliarity of receiving such generous treatment, especially because of how awfully I had spoken to him earlier.

"Arthur Kirkland."

"Francis Bonnefoy, pleased to make your acquaintance."

That cheeky little bugger.

…

I wasn't having your typical post-secondary Friday afternoon. Unlike most, I was spending it in the comforting silence of the school's grandiose library. It was held in an old castle, smelling of old books, wood and dust; a stale scent that inevitably made you think the place was old. It was five stories tall, harbouring enough books to satisfy hundreds of lifetimes of reading. There were several stainless glass windows, reflecting the light of the meek, cloudy weather outside. The building was dim, just like how I preferred it to be – sunlight wasn't exactly my thing.

Yes, yes, we've already agreed that I'm a miserable, depressing person. Ahem, moving on.

This was my sanctum, a safe place if you will. I could already see myself spending most of my time here, outside of my front desk/ clerk position. As of now, I was being trained for such a position by a polite, young lad from Canada.

What was his name again?

Oh yes, right, Matthew. Matthew. Matthew.

I couldn't forget that.

Matthew was showing me the different parts of the library, rolling around a cart full of books as he did so. Normally, I would protest to using technology in a place of standard print, as there was an iPad embedded in the cart, but with five floors of space to deal with, the gadget did come in handy for locating books and their respective sections. There was also the computer at the front desk, but I was willing to overlook that too. It was more out of necessity than excess to possess it.

Matthew spoke very softly, so I had to crane my neck just to hear him properly. "Not many people come here to borrow books, since most of our archives and subscriptions have already been made available online. I reckon the most work you'll be doing here is reorganizing the sections if the main librarian decides to become spontaneous," he chuckled softly.

"All the more easier of a job for us then," I smirked.

Matthew smiled softly at this, his strange violet eyes crinkling at the corners. He was a few inches taller than me in stature, lanky, and had pale, curly blond hair that fell to his shoulders. Despite wearing a bright red shirt, he seemed to blend in the shadows, nearly invisible to the naked eye. I blame his timid nature for not making him more noticeable.

"Say," I began, surprising myself by opting to start another conversation. Although, Matthew was a pleasant enough fellow to converse with. We were on our way back to the main floor, huddled in a rickety elevator that felt like it would collapse at any given moment.

"You look quite young to be a first year," I remarked. I was nineteen myself, having just finished my junior college studies a year later than planned. Let's just say there were a lot of family disruptions and personal problems that had caused such a setback.

"That's because I am," Matthew replied simply. "I just turned sixteen in July. I'm two years ahead in my studies. In Canada, we go up to grade twelve before being sent off to College or University. Maman, ah, ahem, my Mom and Grandma are alumina at this school. They didn't expect any less from me. I wanted to take a year off, but I'm a horrible pushover and try to please everyone. And, well, here I am now. I used to spend my summers working here anyway when we visited family, so it's not like I'm unfamiliar with the campus. Things could be worse," he shrugged, sighing.

"That's still not fair," I replied. Matthew was just a boy then. I felt a strange, paternal instinct kick around in the pit of my stomach just by looking at him. "You should have a say in how you go about your education. It's your life, Matthew. Are you not scared being the youngest one here, all on your own? I apologize if I'm being blunt, but I know how brutal people can be sometimes."

More like all the time.

"No worries," Matthew placed a hand on my shoulder. Damn him for being so tall. "I appreciate your concern, Arthur. But, I don't think I have to worry about any of that. I don't mind finishing my degree early, and it's not like I'm relevant enough for people to pick on. There's actually a rumour going around campus that there's a violet-eyed ghost haunting the library. Want to know who that ghost is? Yours truly," he mused, looking proud of himself as he pointed a backwards thumb at his chest.

We both chuckled a little at his expense.

The elevator dinged, and I helped Matthew roll the cart onto the main floor. "Although I haven't heard that specific rumour, I have heard that the library is the most haunted part of campus. Is that true?" I asked.

I already knew it was true, as I could feel the ghosts' presence, but I wanted to get more information on the subject.

I stopped the cart before the front desk, while Matthew skirted around to open the gate. After placing the cart in its respective place, Matthew leaned over the front counter, allowing his elbows to support most of his weight. He grimly nodded his head in response to my question.

"Unfortunately, that rumour is true," Matthew said sadly, eyes downcast. "Several students over the years have taken their lives by jumping off the roof," he paused to point up at the fifth and final floor of the library. "We don't have any accurate estimates, but some say it's close to between 15-30 students. And that's not even counting the first two centuries that this school was up and running."

My expression became grim as I continued to listen to him.

"The stress becomes too much for these people. The elite atmosphere here doesn't help either. So many people push themselves until they become mad and can't think properly anymore. They don't see any options of escape. No one wants to feel like they're a failure," Matthew said morosely, perking up slightly as he finished his tangent.

"Luckily, we haven't had any incidents like that for decades. It's a shame, because nothing is done until something horrible happens. At least now, we have programs to help with that. I know this is random and perhaps a bit invasive of me to suggest, but if you ever feel stressed and need to talk about it, there are plenty of resources available here to help with that."

Matthew handed me a red print card with a list of services scrawled on it. The first one that popped out to me was puppy stress therapy, how odd.

I accepted the card from Matthew, smiling faintly in gratitude as I slipped it into my wallet. "Thanks, lad. It sounds like you're speaking from experience?"

Matthew pursed his lips. "Yes, I volunteer in student services. Someone has to start the conversation. The curriculum expects so much of the students here. This issue is also something very important to my family. A distant relative of mine committed suicide, and my Grandma has been adamant on speaking about it ever since. There's just such a heavy stigma surrounding it."

"I'm so sorry," I stammered, realizing I had pried too deep. "I think it's wonderful that you're dedicating your free time to such a noble cause. You're a sweet kid, Matthew. If only everyone else was as selfless as you, the world would be a much better place."

"Thank you," Matthew said earnestly. "Well, I still have some new books to enter into stock. It was nice talking to you, Arthur. I highly recommend walking around and familiarizing yourself with the place again. It took me at least a month not to get lost every five minutes."

"Anytime. Yes, I already planned on doing that. If I don't come down in forty minutes, feel free to send up a search squad for me," I joked lightly, knowing it wouldn't alleviate the heavy mood that had fallen between us.

"Will do," Matthew laughed, winking at me from behind his spectacles. "See you around."

I said my goodbyes, realizing I had just made another friend. Alistair would probably be throwing a party right now if he found out. The people here were just so kind and understanding. It threw me off, but in a good way. Perhaps there was hope for me, after all.

(This school was turning me into a bloody sap, that's what. First the frog, and now Matthew? What's next, befriending a buffoon with a poor sense of grammar?...I'll shut up now.)

After familiarizing myself with the library's floor spaces, I then went back to the fourth floor, where the school's archives were kept. Up until about three decades ago, the campus used to host an orphanage as part of its charity work.

I was flipping through the pages of an old catalogue, finding Davie's name after some time searching. He didn't have a last name. A young boy with slicked back hair and sad eyes looked into the camera, his face dusty and smudged, still visible under the grey monochrome of colours. I only knew it was him because there was an additional photo of him and Alice having a picnic with an adult woman, presumably Alice's mother. At least in the second photo, Davie was smiling. He had died in 1927, at the unfortunate age of seven.

I looked over my shoulder, and once affirming that no one was there to see me do this, I carefully ripped out the latter photo and pocketed it. I would be needing it once I had found the time to give Davie his funeral.

"Easy does it, old chap," I whispered. "Alice never forgot about you."

I was about to head downstairs when for some inexplicable reason, I felt the urge to explore the fifth floor, where the roof was.

I soon found myself standing before the entrance of the roof, dumbly looking at the suicide posters that were plastered against the stone wall. Matthew really hadn't been kidding about the scope of these deaths. Ahem, not that he had any reason to kid about such a dark and unfortunate topic.

My feet moved of their own accord as I opened the steel door, revealing a see-through glass tunnel with various shrubbery growing on the sides. The roof top was grand in space, the air cloudy and misty from the previous rainfall.

I stepped out of the tunnel, breathing in the clean air.

Regardless, something didn't feel right.

I walked towards the edge of the roof, palming the rough stone with both hands and looking below at the students scuttling below, like ants with a sense of purpose. I became nauseous suddenly, feeling my eyes cloud over. The spirits and emotions lurking here were beginning to overwhelm me. The ground appeared closer than what it actually was.

An invisible force was pushing me.

Do it. Do it. Do it.

NO. DON'T DO IT!

I shook my head, closing my eyes. These weren't my thoughts. These were the thoughts of past doubts and regrets.

It took me a while before I finally gained control. The heavy atmosphere of the roof was suffocating, but it was manageable to deal with now that I knew what to expect. There weren't just 15-30 spirits here. There was plenty more, so much so that I was unable to count them all.

Even so, there was something fairly recent about this area that had the hair on the back of my neck standing up. If there was a spirit in need of passing on, then I was determined to find them, no matter how difficult it was to discern them from the rest of the memories residing here. It wasn't right to let them suffer in perpetual confusion; they belonged elsewhere.

I let go of the edge of the roof, turning around, only to jump back like a cat who had been spooked when I spotted a student sitting on one of the metal benches lying about.

"Jesus, Roosevelt Christ!" I swore, clutching at my chest. "Where in the bloody hell did you come from?!"

The other student on the roof appeared to be just as frightened as I was. He was in mid-bite of eating his PB & J sandwich, hunched over with his elbows resting on his thighs. A note pad with several pens on top was resting next to his lap.

For a brief moment, I thought the student was Matthew. An additional two seconds of looking at him, however, changed that opinion. He had wheat-blond hair that was slicked back, save for one stray cowlick sticking up from the rest of his head, blue eyes hidden by wired spectacles, and was much bigger and muscular in build than Matthew was, albeit being just as tall.

Most strange about him was the clothes he wore – an old brown leather bomber jacket, denim jeans that were folded at the bottom and black pointed loafers. He was a hipster if I ever saw one.

I stared at the boy on the bench, waiting for him to answer me. He didn't but rather just stared at me like a deer in the headlights, holding up his sandwich in disbelief and briefly looking over his shoulders to affirm that there was no one behind him.

"Hello?!" I snapped. "Usually people speak when they're spoken to."

The boy coughed out his sandwich, hacking for air as he placed it back into a food container. When he regained his breath, red-faced, he waved his hands back forth in exasperation. There were still several crumbs on his mouth. "Dude! I've been here the whole time! Holy crap, you really know how to scare a guy, don't ya? So not cool, yo!"

A brief moment of silence enveloped between us. The boy couldn't stop staring at me incredulously, testing me, analyzing me. Actually, now that I think of it, he was likely just ogling at my eyebrows, the little twat. Or should I say yank? He had a very strong American accent.

I rolled my eyes. "What in God's name are you doing up here alone?"

The boy crossed his arms, pouting childishly. "I could ask you the same question, dude," he said through puckered lips. "But, if you must know. I use this place for writing inspiration. Usually, no one comes up here, and I go uninterrupted, ahem."

The boy's expression became flat. I could take a hint, but his implied rudeness would have to take a rain check for now. There was still some things I wanted to know.

I furrowed my brows. Did the yank not see the suicide posters lying around? This was perhaps the worst, most depressing place to draw inspiration from. At least I didn't have to be concerned about him, regardless of how strange and poor his grammar was.

"I work at the library," I defended, taking a step closer to him.

The boy abruptly stood up from the bench, scrambling backwards and nearly tripping over his feet as he moronically waved his hands at me to stop. "Woah there, dude!" he shouted, causing my ears to ring from how loud his voice was.

"This is a no-people zone. I can't have you coming close and messing up my mojo, ya hear? Stay back! I'm not kidding! I need to be in the mood to write. I can't have you ruining it! Haven't you ever h-heard of personal space?!"

I held up my hands in surrender. "All right, all right, I won't come any closer, no matter how ridiculous the reason."

There were those pouted lips again. "Hey! You're being rude, dude."

"And another thing," I furrowed my brows in confusion. "What are you wearing?"

"Huh?" the boy spluttered bluntly, following my gaze to look down at his bomber jacket. "Oh this? This was my Pop's and, uh, my Gramps before that."

"Yes, but why are you wearing it?" I asked him patiently.

"Dude, I hardly know you. What's with all the questions? Are you sure you don't secretly work for the CIA? I'm innocent, I s-swear!"

"What? No, I'm just curious. It isn't every day I come across such an odd figure," I mused. It was unbelievable how easy it was to make this boy flustered. I'll admit, I was having some mild fun with this interrogation.

"I'm writing a story about WW2," the boy huffed. "I need to feel the part if I'm to write it. And you're the one to talk. I've seen bathroom rugs more attractive than that sweater vest of yours."

"Oi!" I snapped. "You don't see me making fun of your outfit."

"No, but you did give me a strange look."

"How could I not?! It's not everyday you find someone who takes their writing to this extreme. I'm intrigued, that's all."

"Well, Mr. Intrigued, the name's Alfred. Alfred Jones."

I was beginning to like this boy less and less by the minute.

"Arthur, Arthur Kirkland."

Alfred trudged back to the bench, opening his journal to a page with messily scrawled jot-notes on it. "Great! Now that we're introduced, I'll ask you kindly to stop speaking. I've got a lot of ideas running through my head, dude of Arthur, sir sass-a-lot. I can't let them slip away."

"Honestly, you are such a bizarre person. I don't under-"

"Shhh! Can't you see that a dude's trying to write?"

"Is dude the only word you know?" I spluttered.

"Just trying to keep up with the times, dude. Maybe you should try it," Alfred muttered, not even bothering to look up at me. "Now, scram. Or at least stop talking for like five minutes. No wonder America wanted its independence. You Brits never stop talking with your overcomplicated laws, and fancy 'posh' language."

Alfred said 'posh' in a horrible impression of a British accent. I was not amused.

"Fine," I growled. "I'll leave you be. I was beginning to lose a few brain cells anyway. It boggles my mind how you can call yourself a writer when you speak with such poor grammar. You're a living oxymoron."

Alfred must have been in his so-called mojo, because he didn't look up to usher his retort.

Instead, I busied myself with looking around the rooftop, trying to sense anything that seemed at odds. What a futile task that was. Everything was wrong with this place. There was so much going on that it was hard to pinpoint the one thing that was setting me off.

After looking at the asphalt below, unable to come up with a viable reason for the weird aura of this place, I turned on my heels and left the edge of the roof.

Alfred had his tongue poking out of his mouth as he scribbled away in his notebook. When he saw that I was leaving, he cocked up his head to look at me. "Hey, are you all right?" he asked, setting down his notebook on the bench. "You look like something's bothering you."

"I thought we weren't speaking," I responded dryly, snorting.

"Erm, I'm done writing, if it's any consolation," Alfred admitted, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. "Are you sad about something, Arthur? Worried? If so, I completely understand what you're feeling. I'm starting my first year too, just turned 18. Mom enrolled me a year early in school. Um, ah, sorry, hahaha, I have a bad habit of rambling when I'm nervous. I guess it's just nice to have someone to speak to, now that I think of it. I don't have no friends here."

"And you're assuming I don't either?" I asked him crossly.

"N-no!" Alfred blurted out, causing me to smirk. "It's just, everyone should have a friend. You look like you could use one. That grumpy expression on your face makes you look ten years older than you actually are. I almost mistook you for an accountant. You might want to fix that about yourself, it's real scary."

"Do I seriously look that lonely and miserable?"

Alfred's expression became sheepish again.

"Oh, bollocks," I sighed. "Besides, how can we become 'friends' if I can't even go near you?"

I don't know why, but I felt like I could trust Alfred. There was something that was just so…pure about him. I couldn't describe it. He just seemed relatable. This roof top was his safe space, and he was trusting me with it.

Alfred bowed his head. "Sorry, dude. I like my personal space. But that doesn't mean we can't chat. I'm always open to talk to people, that is when I'm not writing of course."

"Hmmph," I breathed. "Well then, Mr. Jones, let's chat. Why is it do you come up here to write?"

I sat on the bench across from him, respecting his wishes not to get too close. I crossed my legs and turned my torso to face him. He truly did have the most brilliant, cerulean blue eyes I had ever seen. They carried so much light and hope in them, despite how shy and flustered Alfred was acting. I could tell he was uncomfortable with speaking to strangers. Kudos to him for putting himself out there. If he hadn't initiated this second conversation, I would have likely retreated back into the library without another word.

"Um…" Alfred stalled, awkwardly swallowing. "It's nice and quiet up here. It helps me think clearer."

"Fair enough," I nodded my head. "I myself prefer a quiet place too. Although, my first choice most certainly wouldn't be a supposedly haunted library roof top. I'll repeat myself again, Alfred. You're a bizarre character. I don't think I've met anyone like you."

"D-dude," Alfred's face paled. "Don't speak about the spirits so loudly," he whispered, wide-eyed as he gestured around the roof. "They don't like it when you talk about them. It makes them angry. If you leave them be, they won't bother ya."

"You're not scared of ghosts, are you?" I mused.

"N-no!"

Translation: the yank was indeed scared of ghosts.

"Don't be silly, Alfred," I chuckled.

"I'm not! I'm being serious!" Alfred fumed, pouting those childish lips again, cheeks puffing out comically. "Why are you up here anyway?"

"Curiosity, I suppose," I answered him. "I wanted to test the rumours about these alleged spirits." I dropped my voice to a whisper, sarcastically making air-quotes with my fingers. "But thus far, all I've found is a yank with poor grammar, a half-eaten PB & J sandwich that has seen better years, and the stale smell of hamburgers. Seriously, why is that?"

Alfred avoided looking at me. Apparently, the lacquer of his shoes was more interesting. "Who knows," he grumbled, clearly guilty. "Hey, Arthur?"

"Yes?"

"You're a funny guy. I think I like you."

"That better not be a crack at my eyebrows," I warned.

"What? No! But oh man, how did I not notice those before?!"

Alfred smiled for the first time, revealing a straight row of perfect white teeth. His entire face changed. It suited him. It was hard not to smile when he looked this happy and sunny, reminding me of a large, clumsy puppy as he slapped a hand against his thigh.

If the joke hadn't been at my expense, I would have likely laughed too. His joy was nearly contagious. So much so, that I felt a weird lump at the back of my throat. Someone actually liked me. Me. Who would have thought?

"God, you're such a child," I scoffed, stubbornly refusing to laugh.

Alfred held up his hands in surrender. "Okay…ahahhaha. I'm done. Pft! I'm done. Really though, they're not that bad. Besides, you have pretty eyes to make up for them."

I felt my face heat. "Bloody bastard. Trying to compliment me as if it'll fix anything."

"No! I mean it, seriously!" Alfred protested. "You're a cool dude. It's funny talking to you, even if you did get in the way of my writing."

"Oh, let it go will you?"

"Why do you always have to be so grumpy?" Alfred whined. "Can't we get along with each other?"

"Easier said than done when you're constantly insulting me," I huffed, standing up from the bench.

"Hey! Where are you going?!"

"I told you I work at the library, didn't I? I'm still familiarizing myself with the place. Not everyone can lounge around all day, doing nothing."

"Writing ain't doing nothing."

"Whatever," I groaned. "I have to go now. It was er, nice 'chatting' with you." I would have held out my hands to shake with Alfred, but he didn't seem to be very keen on the idea. He was even weirder than I was.

"Perhaps, I'll see you in class?" I asked. "I'm a first year too."

"Nah, I'm in a special program with about five other students or so. You're not in it, are ya?"

"No." – I didn't even know the school had a specialized program, seeing as how few the students were in number. I'd have to look into it; the less people to deal with the better.

"In that case, perhaps I'll see you here again?" I raised a brow at Alfred in question. As usual, he was switching from looking me in the eye to not looking at me at all. He was fidgety and shy, but had a lot of energy to blow off. He was just full of contradictions – a complete and utter mess if you ask me.

"Dude, no! I already called dibs on this place! It's where I've been writing, for uh, the past week! You're not going to hog it, are ya?"

"No, but this does seem like a good place to have lunch," I lied, revelling in the disgruntled expression on Alfred's face.

I languidly waved at Alfred over my shoulder. "Bye now."

"Bye," Alfred grumbled through, yes, you guessed it, pouted lips.

Now, back to that previous lie of mine.

There was something wrong going on in this roof top. Whether it was a spirit in trouble, a haunting, or anything of the like, I was determined to find out what exactly was causing me to feel so eerie and dreadfully hopeless.

And no grammarless yank was about to stop me from doing that.

To be continued...

Word Count: 11, 407

19 Pages

[sfaioffical]

Younhee Paik (MFA, 1973) and Eric Carson (MFA, 2017)—whose practices draw parallels between natural and human systems—converse on SFAI, art, and the interconnectedness of it all.

Carson is the inaugural recipient for Paik’s annual scholarship exhibition at her Studio for Art and Music, inspired by her time at SFAI in the 1970s and her mentor, professor Bruce McGaw. Eric Carson: The New Cosmograph is on view June 12 through July 10, with an opening reception on June 10.

Younhee Paik (YP): So I graduated a long time ago, in 1973—maybe before you were born.

Eric Carson (EC): I was born in 1983. I love that. I will graduate this year, of course.

YP: I'm that much older and you are twice taller than me.

EC: (Laughs) How was SFAI when you were there?

YP: Wonderful. It was my place of inspiration. I really liked the freedom in the school. It was a long time ago, it was hippie time. I just spent all day there. I couldn't speak English, so all I can do is just paint.

I had a BFA from Korea, but I wanted to take a couple of undergraduate courses at SFAI before I applied to graduate school. Some of my teachers were Bruce McGaw, Arden Knight, and Julius Hatofsky—who later became my advisor in graduate school. He didn't speak much but whenever he make some comment, it was really important to me. He was my mentor for 40 years, along with Bruce [McGaw].

There is a long story before I got into graduate school—the first time I failed. I was so sad, and wanted to go back to home to Korea. I went to my teacher Julius [Hatofsky] to ask for a recommendation, and explained my situation: that I wanted to go to graduate school before I started a family. He listened to me and said, "I consider again." He went back to his friend Alvin Light—who was the dean at the time—at Harrison's Bar, where they were always drinking. When he came back, he said "Younhee, I think you are accepted."

I’d gotten into a MFA program finally, and was so excited. I had been asked to bring up several original works to the interview, and I drove up to San Francisco from San Luis Obispo with five medium-sized painting on top of my Volkswagen. We tied the paintings well on the way to the Art Institute, but not well afterwards; in the middle of the trip, the paintings flew off!

EC: No!

YP: Luckily it didn’t cause any car accidents, and soon after there were eight highway patrol blocking the Bayshore Freeway. So we dashed and collected all five paintings—I was able to save some of them. I still have one painting in Korea.

The second I started graduate school, SFAI was really an inspirational place. I felt like it was a big moment, whispering to me, "For the rest of your life, you cannot live without painting." Ever since then I really didn't think about anything else than painting. Even though I had a baby later on, every day I painted—I only slept five hours for 20 years. So that was the beginning of my San Francisco Art Institute influence. What about you?

EC: Well, I grew up in Washington State, and I got a bachelor's degree at Central Washington University, where I had a couple of really good teachers. I worked for about 10 years after school in an operations department at a museum. That really shaped my practice—I knew what I wanted to paint. It showed me the way that art has to interface with philanthropy and institutional structures to be exhibited. My practice became about making these really dense, symbolic drawings.

During this time, I met my partner, and we got married. She is a social worker—a real artist. I got into SFAI, and we moved to San Francisco two years ago.

What's been really great for me at SFAI is that it’s not limited—like you said. I came in painting and I have done everything since. I came specifically to study with Dewey Crumpler and Tim Berry, but along the way every faculty member has pushed me. I’ve really grown my practice away from pseudo-religious imagery and into visual structures that can include all kinds of things.

YP: Are you religious?

EC: I grew up really Catholic, and that was my spiritual language for a long time until I broke away from that. I bring that kind of critique and ritual into my work.

YP: My paintings have something religious about them too. I'm Christian, but I really believe all religions are all about truth. I think art, philosophy, science, and religion form a pyramid, all reaching towards truth.

EC: I agree. You can track the evolution of right wing Christianity from the Abrahamic tradition; Zen Buddhism all the way back to its Hindu origin; or postmodern discourse to Ancient Greece. They're all approaching this same point. Likewise, our current society’s late stage capitalism is another kind of growth that has to be considered in this larger picture of evolution. I think that’s what art can do.

I keep looking at the cathedral floor plans in your work, and see parallels with my own. I think that the imposition of those Romanesque floor plans onto another natural grid—the stars—also shows a truth.

YP: Yes, I try to combine the universe, Heaven and the Earth. That's why I put the architecture of Earth—the floor plan—with the stars: a bird's eye view.

YP: I'm glad the Art Institute faculty choose you so you can connect my painting.

EC: Me too. Our work fits together really well because you have these star patterns, topographies, and cathedral patterns.

Are you familiar with the idea of a fractal? It's a shape that contains and grows within itself, like a seashell. It's like a spiral, a fractal of quarter circles. That’s one of the patterns that I look at in my work, and tie conceptually to other ideas: like a star’s cycle of explosion and formation, or feudalism becoming capitalism.

YP: Your paintings contain more science, right?

EC: I would say so, but it's all a question of scale. We look at ourselves in church; we look at stars in the galaxy; we look at the galaxy as a super cluster—and it can go out from there.

Also, the way we both push painting with scale is interesting.

YP: Yes, I started pushing my paintings towards installation about 20 years ago, around the time my mother passed away. She was in the hospital for a year and a half, and could only look up at an empty ceiling. This inspired me to think about how else to hang my work, especially since my mother always encouraged me to pursue my work. I was thinking about her all the time, and started painting the sky for her, intended to hang on the ceiling. My first installation of this series was displayed in the TOTAL Museum in Korea (1999); I named it "Invitation for Rest," as I want her to rest well.

As I did more paintings, I thought I could put them on the floor and on the ceiling, so they can echo each other. I’ve done almost 70 pieces now.

EC: Right on.

YP: I paint on the floor with lots of water and pour paint, like dye, so it can smear and make interesting mistakes. While it’s spreading, I shake the canvas—a very spontaneous and unpredictable technique. I love the use of water—it’s always my inspiration.

EC: Well, there's a lot there. The process of gravity and dye making the imagery creates the same pattern as a star making a nebula in space, just at a different scale.

YC: Right.

EC: I started pushing the scale of my paintings here at SFAI. I was doing work primarily with acrylic and markers at first, and got inspired by the large-scale work of Paul Laffoley, which blurs the line between art and craft. That idea pushed me into making an architectural model: a three-dimensional way to read my paintings. From there I made a deck of playing cards, and then ventured to installation with a floor to ceiling piece in the Diego Rivera Gallery. It was an interactive blind spot test where people could come up to it and move these magnetic tiles, which were loaded with various imagery and logos from the internet, such as iconography from Instagram, the United States’ political parties, and a Navajo sand painting. When the nodes were moved, new connections were formed—both arbitrary and personal. To me it mimics how we look at the internet. Everyday I photographed how people interacted with the piece.

YP: So you let people play with it freely?

EC: Yes, but within a mandala structure—I see it as a similar way someone might navigate my paintings visually.

EC: So tell me why you were inspired to found this scholarship for current students like myself?

YP: I always thought I had so much luck in my life. My parents provided so much to me, my children grew up well, and I was able to paint every day. I feel like God gave me too much, so I like to give to other people too. My father always said that we should give back to society, so when I built this house I knew that this going to be a place for community. I had a thought as I was hanging my paintings in the space, that I could share the space with someone else’s work from the Art Institute. I founded this scholarship from this idea.

Additionally, I’ve been teaching art classes to 14 special needs children for the past three years. Before I started this program, I was volunteering Creative Growth and thought, "Why can't I use one of my rooms?" Sometimes I learn more than I give because their minds are so pure and very genuine.

EC: It's helpful for me to have the opportunity that you're providing because it's going to keep me in the area. It's always great to meet other artists who are practicing and made a career out of it. That's my aspiration as well, so the example is appreciated. I'll be able to carry momentum from the Graduate Exhibition and can just continue to build, like you said, from show to show to show.

YP: When I finished graduate school, I was working in the garage at that time but there was no place to show. So, you know what I did? I started approaching galleries.

EC: You just walked in cold?

YP: I just walked in and said, "Would you like to see my work?" Ever since then I had many shows. I’ve had more than 45 one person exhibitions, and museum shows in Korea, and in the United States at the Triton Museum and San Jose Museum show.

EC:  That's amazing, good for you.

YP: I had courage but I didn't have any idea what I was doing.

EC: Yeah, give me some advice.

YP: Be courageous. You just have to show everything. Don't worry what curators or gallerists say, or how they act. You might feel insulted, but next morning just erase it and you go back to painting.

EC: Right on.

Eric Carson: The New Cosmograph is on view June 12‑July 10 by appointment at Younhee Paik’s Studio for Art and Music—opening reception on June 10 from 6-10pm and a special musical performance on June 11 at 3pm. »

New work by Younhee Paik will open September 14 at Mills College—In-Between Places: Korean-American Artists in the Bay Area »

Image credits: 1) Photo by Marco David; 2) Eric Carson, Mandala #31, 2016; Gouache on paper, 24 x 18 inches; 3) Eric Carson, Banner of Heaven, 2016; Acrylic on canvas, 93 x 60 inches; 4-8) Photos by Marco David; 9) Eric Carson, Mandala #33 (blind spot test), 2017; 10) Eric Carson, Detail of Mandala #33 (blind spot test), 2017; 11) Photo by Marco David.

[espanakatie-blog]

21 marzo

I came back from my quick trip to Paris yesterday and I had a blast! 

On our way there, we met some super cool guys from the U.K. that worked in film in London. They made the decision to travel more than they work, so they were in Sevilla for a few days. We ate with them in the airport, where we exchanged information because one of them has a birthday in May around the time we end school. They invited us to London to celebrate his birthday and they’d show us around London as locals, making sure we knew their offer was genuine and not just a “hey well if you’re ever in London!” type of deal. If only I had the money *long sigh of sadness that clearly states that I love London and would love to see it with locals.* 

We had to part ways with our new friends, and we flew into Beauvais (one and a half hours outside of Paris... thanks Ryanair) so by the time we got into Paris it was about 6 PM, then a half hour commute to our hostel, and then when we settled in, it was about 7. We went to Musee de (du? I will never remember because Spanish so nicely only has de) Louvre and saw the Mona Lisa. I would love to spend a whole day there, looking at all the art. We really only got an hour there because even though they’re open until TEN they start closing exhibits at 9:30 which I understand but it was also frustrating. However, after 6 PM on Fridays it is free for people under 26, which is why went despite such little time.

When we got back to the hostel, I took time to research the history of the landmarks we planned to visit the next day so that I could be the tour guide for my roommates, giving them a history lesson throughout Paris.

The next day we started bright (more like grey/cloudy) and early at Arc de Triomphe. On the way there, we came across a cute bakery where I bought 10 french macarons. I decided to eat a macaron at everywhere we went to that day (see instagram post here) and accidentally matched the color of my macaron to the color of every monument we went. After the Arc de Triomphe, we walked to the Eiffel Tower. We got stopped by some women who asked if we spoke English, and I stupidly didn’t pretend to speak another language. Seriously, I need to learn how to say “I don’t speak English” in some obscure, uncommon language like Romanian or Serbian. Maybe Georgian. They were definitely scammers, asking us to donate for a fund for deaf children. We told them we didn’t have cash and she spit at us. They only were asking English speakers (so tourists) and the “money” other people on her donating list had “given” were all written in the same handwriting, with 20 euros donated. *Donald Trump saying “fake news” voice* FAKE CHARITY. Sad! And the night before, my roommates and I made room on the sidewalk so a man could pass us, but despite having more than enough room, he shook his bags at us to gesture that we needed to move more. I love Parisians :-). We also saw prostitutes! Full boobs and all out. It was like a Free the Nipple movement, but in the cold. Let me make it clear that while I had weird and rude experiences with Parisians, I love their city.

I am kind of irritated with people who have told me that Paris is dirty and gross, because it is a city. People who think this probably grew up in a suburb or rural area where they aren’t used to what happens when millions of people live in one place. I mean, I’m from Rio Rancho. Suburbia, I know. But I acknowledge that cities will have metro stations that smell a bit like pee. That there will be rude locals who don’t have time for tourists. It’s all a part of the experience. The metro is old, sure. But so is Paris! There aren’t a lot of elevators. The buildings are much older than elevators! Learn it. Accept it. Love the nice butt and legs all the stairs will give you. Get over it.

Anyway, we took the elevator to the top of the Eiffel Tower where I was severely lacking enough layers to face the wind. I am forever grateful one of my roommates let me borrow her blanket scarf in Paris this weekend because without it I would have been frozen. The view was great, although a little foggy. Someday when I’m rich I’ll eat a meal in the restaurants in the Eiffel Tower and I’ll enjoy a glass of champagne at the top.

After the Eiffel Tower, we walked to Jardin du (de? Seriously, what the heck even is French???) Luxembourg. My roommate and I split a Nutella crepe and I wish we had just eaten crepes everywhere. Cheap. Easy. Delicious. And French!

Lastly, we went to Notre Dame. If I accidentally type Norte Dame, forgive my Spanish. We didn’t get to go inside, but the architecture from just the outside was beautiful. I’m constantly blown away by the amount of effort that goes into the architecture of buildings in Europe, contrary to New Mexico where adobe (or adobe-look alikes) reign supreme. Adobe is cute and all, but are there statues carved into the walls? Are there paintings on canvases bigger than my room covering the walls? No. While adobe feels like home to me, I wish American buildings had the same spunk that European buildings do.

We got back to the hostel to rest up for a bit and then went to dinner with someone I’ve been calling my cousin for simplicity’s sake. She’s technically my mom’s step-cousin’s daughter. But cousin is much more simple. Her name is Clara, and she goes to school at the American University of Paris. My roommates and I ate dinner with her and then hung out at her apartment for a little bit before heading back to the hostel. We crashed out and HARD.

The next morning we had plans to take a river boat cruise down the Seine but we agreed that we were way to tired to even move. As much as I wish I could’ve fought through my exhaustion, I had done what most people do over the course of a few days in Paris in less than 24 hours. I feel like I had the right to be absolutely worn out.

On the bus ride back to the Beauvais airport, we met a family visiting their son (who is also studying in Sevilla!!! different school though) and they took a quick trip to Paris also. They were super fun and from North Carolina, so they loved that I’ve been there several times. The mom was so excited to talk about how it snowed in Charlotte but not Winston-Salem. Her daughter was 15 and wasn’t thrilled that she was required to write a journal for school about her time in Europe, so when I mentioned that I have journals that I love going back and reading about my student ambassador trips I could feel her mom’s thankfulness that I said the journal is worth writing. My 14 year old thoughts on my trip to the British Isles make me smile, my 15 year old drawings of my friends and I doing yoga on a ferry between Naples and Sicily make me reminisce fondly, and my 16 year old memories of somehow becoming the designated tampon teacher for girls who had never used one before Costa Rica but needed to before a rafting or surfing lesson CRACK ME UP. Back to the family, needless to say, that mom and I got along well.

This upcoming weekend I am going to Morocco and weather-permitting, I’M GOING TO RIDE A CAMEL ON THE BEACH! I am most excited for Morocco. For reasons I don’t remember, my favorite place when I was seven at Disney Epcot was Morocco, and I’ve wanted to go ever since. We will have a traditional Moroccan dinner Saturday night and my stomach cannot wait for all the couscous I am about to consume. Bless up.

[nfl2sevensummits]

Rony Seikaly: Former NBA Star Rony Seikaly talks about his time growing up in war torn Beirut and then finding his way to the states

159: Rony Seikaly: Former NBA Basketball Player for the Miami Heat, Golden State Warriors, Orlando Magic, and the New Jersey Nets talks about moving from Lebanon to Greece, and to the United States and from the NBA to real estate. 

  Rony Seikaly 

Rony Seikaly discusses his personal background and where he is from. “I was born in Lebanon and we left Lebanon at an early age when the civil war broke out. My family moved to Greece. That’s where I grew up. I was in Greece, and from Greece we came to the U.S. and I just stayed here and my family just went back to Lebanon.”

On this episode of Finding Your Summit Podcast, we talk with Rony Seikaly, Former NBA Basketball Player for the Miami Heat, Golden State Warriors, Orlando Magic, and the New Jersey Nets. Rony Seikaly conveys what the transition was like going from Beirut to Greece? “I actually told my daughter the other day, you know the panic and the hysteria that was going on last week with people aiming themselves and the looting, and people scared. They are not sure what is going on. That mass hysteria, closure of banks, and no government, and that is what you grew up in. That was your everyday kind of life.” 

  What You Will Learn:

How did Rony Seikaly develop into an athlete after growing up in a war-torn area? “As a young kid, like I’m talking 4,5,6,7,8, 9-years-old I was always an athletic kid. I always loved playing sports. I wanted to snow ski. I wanted to water ski. I wanted to play tennis. I always wanted to play sports. I always loved sports and in Lebanon, you don’t have facilities that you have here. So, we don’t have parks. We don’t have this, so everything has to happen on the street.” 

Rony explains his initial reluctance to playing basketball. “As I got a little bit older and went to an American high school in Athens, Greece, all my friends were telling me, you know, it’s a shame, the only sport that I wasn’t playing was basketball, because I didn’t want to just play basketball because I was tall. I didn’t want people to think, oh, he is a basketball player just because he is tall. I didn’t want to be that guy. I was already excelling in other sports like soccer and tennis and all the other sports. So, I didn’t really want to be that goofball, the tall guy on the team basically. 

What was training for basketball like and what was motivating him to keep going? “I felt like everyday that I would go out and train for basketball, I felt like I was getting better, like everyday. I never hit a plateau of, ok, I’ve gotten to the best possible place I can get. Like, everyday I would practice and I would get a little bit better, a little better, and that went on throughout my NBA career. I just kept learning, and learning, and learning, and learning. 

Was playing professional sports a dream for Rony as a little kid. “I would have never guessed how I ended up or how I got into the NBA. I think it was a series of luck and being at the right place at the right time with the right people. It just happened organically. I wasn’t looking for it. But that was my path.”

How big was basketball to him when he was growing up?  “In Greece, I had no idea what March Madness was. I had no idea what the NCAA was. I had no idea what the NBA was, because back then the only time you would get basketball on TV was it was the finals of the NBA, like the Lakers and the Celtics, where they showed  you two or three games and that was the quota of any game you got. There wasn’t a station showing college basketball, sports, or anything. So, I went to Syracuse oblivious to how big this whole thing was.”

  The Magic of Michael Jordan  

What was it like playing against Michael Jordan? “Michael Jordan had an aura. He was different. He was not just another great player. He had something different He had a little sparkle that was on the court. Somethings you just got caught watching him because you are mesmerized but what this guy can do, and this is in the era of the 90s, there was a rule, if you can keep teams under 90 points you are going to win the game. It was all about defense. There were no easy layups. They would take your head off, and he did what he did during the 90s when the defense was two-hand checking.”

  Real Estate and Developing 

During this episode of Finding Your Summit Podcast, Rony Seikaly also talks about always having an architectural and artistic mind for music and design, even selling his first home to Shaquille O’Neal. “This is something I always went to, even during my NBA career. I would have a subscription to all of these beautiful homes in the world and I would always take pictures of beautiful things I would see in homes that I would visit. When you are in the NBA, you get access to amazing homes.”  

  Links to Additional Resources:

Mark Pattison: markpattisonnfl.com

Emilia’s Everest - The Lhotse Challenge: https://www.markpattisonnfl.com/philanthropy/

Rony Seikaly social media: Twitter

Check out this episode!

[bannodhannoteja]

‘Dastak’ (Rajinder Singh Bedi, 1970) makes me think of my parents, as they must have been when they were newly married.

When ‘Dastak’ came out, my parents had been married for a decade, and I was 5 years old, but the world that ‘Dastak’ is set in and that my parents inhabited had not changed much in that time, the area around Bombay Central Station, the lanes and bylanes of Agripada and Byculla, the chawls and ‘manzils’ of the area, with small houses and large families. Hamid Manzil. Jasdanwala Building. Raja Building. Everready House.

When Dhanno was doing her architectural thesis on the Salvation Army in Byculla, I walked with her, round and round the streets of my childhood, trying hard to convey to her what it was like then, the mix of communities and classes, my conservative Bohra aunt who lived next door to Anglo-Indian dancers in Hindi films, our Gujarati neighbors whose son and I once had a head-bang and his nose bled because my head was hard as a coconut, my Maharashtrian classmate whose father and brothers worked in a factory and lived in a family of 11 in a small 100 square feet room, my pretty Jewish classmate whose house in a posh building I never saw, my Anglo-Indian best friend whose family owned a building and lived on the top floor with a terrace in noisy gaiety, my grandfather’s house, ‘the big house’, replete with elaborate meals and constant comings and goings.

To my parents, this collision of different worlds was not a threat. As it was not to me, because I spent my early childhood here. But Dhanno who came from the outside, who had never lived here, was often overwhelmed by the noise, the crowd, the overflowing filth. As for the couple in ‘Dastak’, who are outsiders to Bombay, the proximity of so many people, crowding into their lives and their private space feels like a threat.

When my parents married, they lived in the joint family for a couple of years. In the day, the women cooked huge amounts of food for the large family. At night, the older brother and his wife had a private room in the ‘big house’. The younger brothers and their wives rented rooms in the area where they could spend the night.

I try to imagine the beginnings of my mother’s marital life in these rented rooms, what they must have been like. Not different from the several homes and rooms I saw in my own early childhood. Not different from the room rented by the couple in ‘Dastak’. However, my mother conceived me only when they left the joint family and the crowded locality and spent a couple of years in Santacruz, in presumably more privacy and peace.

My mother was the only child of a rich father, had studied at a boarding school in Panchgani for 5 years. She had suddenly been pulled out of school when her father fell ill and wanted her to be married as soon as possible. My father had many sisters and brothers, most of them loud and quarrelsome, left to fend for themselves by their mother’s early death. My mother spent the first two years of her married life wanting to be divorced, wanting to be free. But she stayed on, because my father was kind and loving, and her father had already died by then.

Like the young couple in ‘Dastak’ my parents too escaped the weight of the hot and sultry air of an overcrowded home in the cold breezes and open spaces of Marine Drive and Chowpatty.

Unlike the reel couple though, thankfully, their evenings didn’t end with police or thugs, or falling into manholes.

The other escape was within the kitschy art deco theaters that abounded in the area, through the songs and dances of Hindi films, the glamorous heroines, strong heroes and the valleys of Kashmir.

As I grew up, I learned to escape my horde of cousins and aunts and uncles and grandparents, through books. A small corner within the crowd is all I needed to run off into glens and fields, islands and caves, secret cupboards and large summerhouses, castles and lighthouses. The cool stone corridors and freshly painted walls of my convent school, with its large courtyards and its old trees showering golden yellow ‘ducks’ for us to crunch on, must also have been a haven for all of us in the area. The distance between our tiny homes and the school was short, but the worlds were completely different.

Child as I was, I felt at the time, the striving of almost each soul around me, pushing their way out, pushing their way up, working, working, working, and never quite managing to break through that thin querulous line between respectable poverty and comfortable prosperity. The man in ‘Dastak’ too tries so hard, to retain his job, to get a loan, to avoid taking a bribe, to retain his honesty and dignity, to somehow make a better life for his family, to give his wife a better home, but the city never relents. Back in the village, his father-in-law too is defeated by his lack of money; his younger daughter with her natural desires cannot wait any more for her father to find her a groom. She runs away, and her older sister, trapped, trapped in the city, trapped like her pet bird, almost gives up on the notion of respectability.

Also, there were other repressions I was too young to understand at the time. There was Janaki, the girl who babysat for us occasionally, and whom I loved so much, her bare brown legs in cotton frocks flying down the backstairs, presumably to a meaner house than our own, Janaki had a reputation that I heard of, but could not dissect. There was my grandmother’s neighbor, Asma who came back from her job at the bank everyday and flung away her salwar, and stood by the window baring her pale white legs with coarse black hair on them, even though her mother screamed and her sisters taunted. Her sister Tara, finicky and fair, had left her husband, and now washed her hands again and again and again, through the day. What could I know of these longings that seeped through the crevices of the narrow walls, bookish child that I was?

There is a moment then, in the film, a brief moment where the woman removes her clothes and lies alone, naked in her small room, and in her dream, she runs and runs, across beaches, and bridges and fields. This longing to be only a girl, a woman, herself, not burdened by the lewd looks of her neighbors, or the suspicious ones of her husband, or by the heavy weight of respectability flings aside her ‘purdah’ only to be brought back to reality within a few moments by a rat.

It is this burden of respectability that is the real trap. The husband in his mean assumption that his wife is his property and even a breath of air will pollute her, is unable to empathize with her suffocation, only increasing it more, silencing her, forbidding her to sing, because he does not even want her voice to be heard by anyone else, because her singing voice will give proof to the rumours that she is a ‘singing-dancing woman’ like the tenant before her.

The man however gets to be loved by his Anglo-Indian colleague, and share a minor flirtation with her, and to be teased by his wife’s younger sister, without any breath of suspicion on him.

The film retains the claustrophobia of the environment, remaining largely indoors, within the room of the couple. The brief forays into the city and the village serve as fresh air. The husband’s office too becomes an additional pressure on the couple, in its ruthless expectation for him to fall in line, to give in to corruption.

Not much else is needed in ‘Dastak’ except this woman’s craving to be alone in her house, a lot is superfluous, the caricaturish ‘madam’, the loud clients, the husband even, and the end, the end where her sexuality becomes acceptable only because she is pregnant, she will now be a mother, and presumably, this saga of being lusted for will end. I personally find this end almost negating the woman’s longing for freedom; her becoming a mother makes her acceptable in her husband’s eyes again, pained as he is by her sexuality which eggs on invasion by unwanted eyes, which breaks through all the ‘purdah’ that he wishes to impose on her.

Dastak (1970) – or the knocks of life ‘Dastak’ (Rajinder Singh Bedi, 1970) makes me think of my parents, as they must have been when they were newly married.