#i worry that they have a richer inner life than i do

[tablevivant]

the pathos of mold colonies in bathrooms is so compelling. they are all so brave, even when they're scared.

[heliads]

'homesick, but not for home' - kaz brekker

Based on this request: "y/n finally gets to visit their home country after years away in ketterdam with the crows. a sweet little slice of life with kaz finally getting to be kaz rietveld"

masterlist

merry christmas everyone! my present to you is kaz

Receiving a summons from Kaz Brekker usually means one of two things:  either you are about to be murdered, or he is going to ask you to do something before he murders you. Usually, that task involves the distribution of funds from your ledgers to his. However, as one of the bare few who has the privilege of making it to his inner circle, you would wager that there’s a third possible outcome from hearing from him:  he still wants you to do something, but you’ll be killing someone else.

Nonetheless, judging by the expression of the courier who tells you that Kaz is expecting you in his office, even being spared an imminent death doesn’t mean that this meeting will go pleasantly. Dirtyhands has a reputation around here, one just as dark and choking as those black gloves he so loves to wear. No one here knows Kaz as anything more than a shadow of a man, a killer, a convict. To learn that he wishes to speak to you is akin to hearing that Death itself is knocking on your door.

You, however, just smile and turn your feet towards the stairs leading to Kaz’s office instead. The Slat, home of the Dregs, is a rickety ramshackle of a building. Kaz has been doing his part to fix it up as he can, but the floorboards are still masterfully creaky and the oil lamps flicker ominously from their resting places beside each looming door. The stairwell is worst of all, a towering, beckoning talon that delivers you to your fate at the very top. 

Sometimes, you swear Kaz put his office on the top floor just because it would give his victims more time to contemplate their quickly approaching demise when they had to climb all the way up. Other days, you just assume that he was sick of the noise and wanted to find a place where nobody would bother him unless absolutely necessary. Knowing Kaz, both rationales are probably sound.

You knock once on the door to his office and, upon hearing your name called to come in, twist the doorknob and let yourself inside. Gathered in a loose semicircle on the few available pieces of furniture as well as leaning against the wall are Inej, Jesper, Wylan, Matthias, and Nina. Kaz sits, as usual, ramrod straight in a chair behind his desk, and gestures for you to take the final open seat.

“Looks like everyone’s here,” you note. “Should I be worried about missing anything?”

“Not in the slightest,” Jesper chirps. “Only that Kaz has been saving that chair for you this whole time. He keeps glaring at us whenever we so much as look towards it.”

Jesper looks as if he’d like to gossip about this a little more, but Wylan digs a sharp elbow into his side, causing the other boy to complain heartily. 

You just grin, sliding into your seat. “Good. I deserve luxury. I was never made to sit on the ground.”

Kaz coughs pointedly to disguise what you’re sure is a smile. “Now that we’re all in attendance, we can get started. I’ve heard news of a prospective business deal happening off the coast of the Southern Colonies. Expensive materials are being exchanged. Jewelry, artwork, the like. It’s all being conducted by Kerch merchers, but they took everything offshore to avoid the chance of getting caught. If we swoop in the night before and take all their bargaining tools, we’ll be richer and they’ll have to cave to our demands.”

“Of course, our demands,” Nina says, nodding. “What are we demanding, again?”

Inej smiles. “For them to stop breathing down our backs, for one thing. Also, they keep trying to cut into business. They needed this deal for an alliance between some of the wealthier merchers, but if each party thinks the other stole their riches before the swap, they’ll be so busy with infighting that they won’t bother us for some time.”

Kaz inclines his head gravely. “Precisely.”

Inej taps her fingers silently against her leg. “My question is when we’re going to stage the attack. We can attempt to hijack the ships before they leave the harbor, but I have no doubt that they’ll be crawling with stadwatch.”

“That’s why we’ll be sailing along with them,” Kaz clarifies. “The heist won’t happen until we’re on the shores of the Southern Colonies. That way, they’ll have let down their guard.”

Immediately, everyone reacts. Leaving the Barrel is an invitation for everything to go wrong. If rival gangs like the Dime Lions or the Razorgulls find out that Kaz’s inner circle isn’t in town, they’ll hasten to loot the place or kill your foot soldiers before anyone gets back.

“We have to leave the country?” Inej asks doubtfully. “That’s a tremendous risk.”

Kaz’s expression doesn’t shift a second, but you can still sense him tensing somehow, all too aware of the extra burden on his staff to maintain decorum and avoid attracting threats from his many enemies. “Think of it as a vacation. You’ll be able to get out of the city and go somewhere nice. Maybe even get some seaside air.”

Jesper snorts. “Kaz, your idea of a vacation is locking the door of your office and not running your numbers for five minutes. I didn’t think seaside air existed in your vocabulary except as a potential source of weakness.”

Kaz frowns. “Of course seaside air exists in my vocabulary. How else would I know to say it?”

Jesper rolls his eyes and looks as if he’d like to counter that with an equally terrible argument, but you cut him off. “I’d like to go,” you say suddenly.

All eyes turn to you. “Why?” Wylan asks.

A faint smile plays upon your lips. It’s easier to look at the ground than face all of their inquisitive stares, so you do just that. “I’m from the Southern Colonies. Used to be, at least. I’d always planned on going back at some point, but never got the chance until now.”

Truth be told, you were assuming that you would never get that chance. Your parents moved your whole family down to Ketterdam when you were about ten years old, drawn by the call of a quick profit. They were able to eke out a few tentative years, but the city swallowed them like it does everyone else. It’s just you now, you and the Crows and the dream that at one point, you might be able to revisit the place you once called home.

Even connecting ‘home’ and the Southern Colonies in the same sentence seems like something out of a dream. You’ve lived in Kerch for so long now that you can hardly imagine being anywhere else. The Crows are your family, the Barrel your home. It’s a strange life, certainly, but it’s yours.

Kaz’s face closes down. “I’ll go with you. Inej, you and the rest will maintain the Crow Club and its affiliates until we return. I don’t want to risk all of us on one endeavor.”

Matthias arches a brow. “You are willing to brave the risk of splitting up, though?”

Kaz turns a bemused expression his way. “Are you worried about me, drüskelle? And here I thought we’d never see eye to eye.”

Matthias snorts. “Don’t go that far, demjin.”

“I won’t if you won’t,” Kaz muses. “The plan is set, then. We’ll have three weeks to plan, and then Y/N and I will set off.”

He allows the rest of the Crows to leave, but gestures for you to stay. You pull your chair closer to his desk, sensing that the discussion will shift into more details of the mission at hand.

Once the last of your friends have gone, Kaz turns his gaze to you. His eyes seem to stare straight through your skull, and you get the strange feeling that he could read every thought created inside your mind if he just bothered to listen a little closer. 

“You said you were born in the Southern Colonies. I need to be certain that there will be no distractions for a job like this. Can you swear to me that you’ll be focused?” He asks you.

“It won’t be an issue,” you assure him. “I’ll see the countryside and then move on. Honest.”

“Well, I should hope you won’t be completely honest,” Kaz murmurs, the corners of his lips pricking up into a slight shade of a smile. “We are still robbing people, of course.”

“Of course,” you laugh. His eyes jerk up when you do, his gaze hungry for the sight of it.

And– see, this is where you start to get into trouble. You are a criminal, a member of a gang. Every day is a fight. You know that survival is the thing that matters most in the Barrel, survival and how much money you can make off of delaying your last breath. You need to have single-minded focus totally centered around how you are going to make it through each day, but instead, your brain has started drifting to unreasonable topics like the precise shade of Kaz’s eyes or all the techniques he uses to hide his smiles.

It won’t serve you well, this feeling like a slow burn in your chest. Kaz would be the very first to tell you that weakness will only get you killed. People are a weakness. Is Kaz, though? Sometimes, in vague moments in between the times when reality comes firmly back to ground you, you can almost imagine that he might feel the same way. Would he really entertain this idea if he didn’t feel something for you? Would he leave the Barrel to go all the way to the Southern Colonies with you if he could easily send Jesper or someone else?

In the end, all you can ever do is push the thoughts from your mind. The scheming and planning period has got to be your least favorite part of a heist, but unfortunately, it’s also the segment that takes the longest. Every detail has to be perfect or all involved will be caught in the act.

Eventually, though, you find yourself shipping out on a fine sea morning, headed towards the country that hasn’t been yours since you were a child. You and Kaz are pretending to be business partners, which is true enough. His cabin is next to yours. You’re fairly sure he already knows the identity of every other traveler on the ship, just in case.

Standing on the deck and watching Ketterdam retreat into a nameless speck on the dark, vast ocean, you can’t help but wonder what the Southern Colonies will bring your way. Your heart is surprisingly light in your chest at the thought of it. You have dim recollections of the rolling hills and drifting tides, although even these memories have grown hazy with time. You can’t wait to see it again.

By contrast, Kaz, standing by your side, seems far less thrilled about the whole idea. His black gloves are clenched tightly around the railing, his grip hardening whenever the ship tilts too much. You glance around to make sure no other travelers are within earshot, then ask him with a questioning glance, “Why would you make this trip if you don’t like the ocean?”

Kaz shoots you a wary look. “I’m perfectly fine with it.”

You scoff. “Nonsense. You look as if you’d like nothing more than to drain the entire True Sea and simply walk to the Southern Colonies on foot. You could have sent Inej or Jesper in your place, you know. Why’d you want to go?”

“I have to make sure the job goes smoothly,” Kaz informs you. “Business is best handled by myself.”

You arch a brow. “Lovely. Good to know that you’ll never let something pesky like sea travel stand between you and your ambitions.”

Kaz snorts. “I should hope you’d already know that. And to answer your unspoken question, you’re here too because it’s foolish to take international jobs without someone at your back just in case of trouble. I trust you to not let homesickness for the Southern Colonies get in the way. I would advise you to stick to that.”

You smile. “Goodness, Kaz, you trust me? No wonder you didn’t want anyone else with us, if the rest knew you were shelling out compliments this easily they would have teased you for years.”

In the corners of your peripheral vision, you swear you can see a matching smile slide onto Kaz’s lips, but it’s gone the second you turn to look at him. “Precisely my thinking.”

The journey takes shorter than expected, or maybe that’s just your restless thinking. In no time at all, your ship is docking at a port of the Southern Colonies, and you’re turning in a slow circle on the coast, taking in every single sight you can.

“Careful,” Kaz tells you, “You don’t want to come across as too strong of a pigeon. We don’t want to attract any new friends who anticipate stealing something off of us.”

He’s smiling, though, and you swear there’s something a little lighter in his expression than you usually see. Maybe it really is the sea air getting to him, or maybe the fact that he’s out of Ketterdam’s grimy clutches lets Kaz relax even a fraction.

Regardless, you’re happy for it. “Ridiculous,” you say, laughing slightly. “Not all the world is like the Barrel, you know. We don’t do that sort of thing in the Southern Colonies.”

“We?” Kaz asks doubtfully. “Three steps you’ve taken off the ship and you’re already a proper citizen again, are you?”

You just grin. “What, are you jealous? Scared I’ll leave the Barrel?”

He doesn’t answer, but quickly changes the topic towards finding accommodations for the night and planning out an intelligence trip near the location where the jewels are being held. Even walking through the portside town and crossing the streets feels like magic, in a way. You lived not far from here, and everything from the curve of the avenues to the bright sun in the sky feels like coming home.

As it turns out, you and Kaz aren’t the only ones affected by the easy way of life in the Colonies. The two merchers you’ve been tracking are discussing business in broad daylight, obviously not anticipating anyone to have followed them. The job will be easy, and the few days you gave yourselves for extra planning are largely useless since no more details are relevant.

Instead, you take it upon yourself to explore the surrounding countryside. You tell Kaz that he doesn’t have to accompany you every time, of course, he can stay back in the portside town if he pleases, but he still goes with you. It’s funny, the more time you spend away from the city, the more you watch the burdens slowly lift from his shoulders, the light return to his eyes.

One time, while walking through a wooded path, Kaz tells you it’s because this reminds him of his home, as well. He grew up on a farm, once, under a different last name and in a different life. He’ll never have that time of his life back again, nor, you think privately, will you have yours, but it’s still lovely to wander around here and pretend that you could.

The job goes off without a hitch. Soon enough, you find yourselves sitting pleased with jewels and artwork hidden away in your luggage, all items recovered without their owners batting so much as an eye. You’ll leave early in the morning before they can notice you. You feel a pang in your heart at the thought of leaving already, but you hadn’t realized you weren’t the only one thinking about it until Kaz visits your room at the inn late that final night.

You had known it was him at your door from the moment you heard his crisp knock against the wooden paneling. No one else moves or lives like Kaz, with so much precision. When you let him in, though, he looks more wild than you’ve ever seen him. His hair, for once, has lost its impeccable style and gone wild and unkempt. His shirt is wrinkled and rolled up to the elbows. It would still be a good look on him were it not for the fact that you’ve never seen him so little put together in the entire time you’ve known him.

Kaz doesn’t say a word until he is certain that the door is shut and bolted behind him. Then, all of a sudden, the words burst out of his throat, so beseeching that you have to wonder how in Ghezen’s name he managed to keep them from you for so long. “Don’t stay here,” he says. “Come back with me.”

You frown. “Who said I was staying? We’ve both got tickets on the ship departing next morning, Kaz.”

He waves a hand frustratedly to signal his disbelief in this statement. “Tickets don’t mean a thing. I need you to say it.”

“I did,” you frown. “Where else would I go?”

“Here,” Kaz says heatedly. “I’ve seen the way you look at the buildings, this place. You want to say here. Don’t you do it, Y/N.”

You shake your head softly. “I love it here, yes, but it’s not my home anymore than Ravka across the sea. I’m going back to the Barrel, Kaz.”

“With me,” he says uncertainly.

“With you,” you confirm. “Goodness, Kaz, did you really think I would stay? How could I do such a thing?”

“It’s very easy for people to leave,” he tells you. There’s a heaviness in his eyes that reminds you of brothers that have been buried, of farms that have long been sold to undeserving families that were not his.

“Not me,” you whisper. “Not if it was you I was leaving.”

His eyes, which have been sweeping your figure this entire time, looking for some twitch of a finger or jump of a pulse to betray you for lying, leap up to yours again. “Okay,” he says at last. “Okay.”

He leans back slightly, wavering on his heels. “I– I’ll go back to my room, then.”

Kaz doesn’t look as if he much savors the idea, and you decide to spare him from his thoughts, just in case. “You can stay here, you know.”

A soft breath is released. “That would– I could do that.”

He does. And, as your candles burn closer to the quick, as the night settles over this city, you cannot help but be glad for the time when you’ll find yourself in a different one. It has been nice to be here, but you would like to go home. And, most importantly of all, you are glad that Kaz will be there with you.

grishaverse tags: @rogueanschel, @deadreaderssociety, @cameronsails, @mxltifxnd0m, @story-scribbler, @retvenkos, @mayfieldss, @eclliipsed, @gods-fools-heroes, @bl606dy, @auggie2000, @baju69, @crazyhearttragedy, @aoi-targaryen, @budugu

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[michirukaioureincarnate]

You know, with discussions of Neil Gaiman and all the disappoinment that's followed, especially of his admirers that are struggling with him not being the basic decent human being we expected and believed him to be, there's a lot of inner reflection that needs to be done to prevent more heart ache.

Not only that, but this is a wake up call to stop putting human beings on a pedestal. No one is above causing harm. Not you, not your mom, not anyone. Especially men. I don't know if this is just my way of thinking, but every single man is a potential s*x *ff*nd*r.

It's not a generaliziation, but an indisputable pattern after years of social, biological, political, and systemic conditioning. It's not a matter of if, but when, and sometimes the when never comes because the man luckily dies without tainting his slate. And if he does commit the crime, he's more likely to get away with it than his victim ever is of healing from it. The richer he is, the easier it is, but even men without power and resources get off with a slap on the wrist.

But that isn't really the point, and bear with me as I try to articulate myself through the nausea I'm feeling since stumbling upon the recent news. If you're hurt, disappointed, confused, and struggling with it because you have so much love for this man and his works: good.

You're not brushing it off. You're not acting like it's okay. If you're finding ways to justify your love for his art amidst the small voice of guilt in your chest, it's because you're a human being who, at your core, acknowledges that you don't agree with what he did. If there's an iota of fear that you may harbor the same negative qualities he does that compelled him to act so heinously, no you don't.

Before Gaiman was ousted as a predator, you knew him as a creative, a visionary, whatever positive perspective you had of him, and you wanted to admire that. Undeniably, Gaiman's a wonderful storyteller AND a s*x *ff*nd*r. The latter doesn't negate the former. But it's possible that it may have dictated some of his creative choices.

But how would you know which ones? You're not him, and you're someone who is self-aware and accountable enough to not do what he did when he hurt someone.

On that note: you are not him. You don't know him personally, neither does he know you personally. There's nothing to defend about him, because he's not yours to defend. His works aren't yours to defend.

That's his job.

Have some emotional boundaries and decenter yourselves from his life so that you're able to swallow the truth of the matter: that Gaiman's hurt real people who have to live with lifelong emotional and even physcial scars.

His actions have nothing to do with you as a fan or admirer, and the least you can do is withdraw your support until he, by some miracle, proves himself innocent and regains your trust.

YOU, as the consumer, are the prize here, not him. Have some standards for yourselves, my goodness. YOU, as a human being, are a completely separate entity from him and his actions. Gaiman would be nothing without those who actively decided on giving his works a shot.

And his ideas, whether you decide to continue consuming them or not, do not completely belong to him. Artists channel inspirations of life as they go through it, inspired by people they meet and events that happen to them, most of these things being external factors that are open to interpretation regardless of the artist's internal perspective that they present it with.

What you should worry about is if your money is going directly to him and his team, which may be used to suppress the victim's voices and provide him an unfair advantage in the matter. This is something that's still in your control more than anything else. Hell, pirate his stuff and consume it in secret if you really can't let go of it.

The conversations around "separating the art and artist" are important, and I personally don't believe in separating them at all, but a more immediate concern is to stop contributing to the artist through their art as soon as something concerning crops up. He's a business man, and you're his investors. Take your space. Breathe. Rationalize. And let his social stock value plummet, jfc, he'll still survive without your money and adoration. As long as you're not directly contributing to his ability to inflict more harm, allow yourself the space to grieve.

And, please, you're your own person. If anything, you're probably going to be the next writer, director, artist, etc who creates stuff that's on par with his or even better. Only difference will be that you won't be someone who actively hurts people.

[allwormdiet]

Shell 4.1

As much as I wish Taylor could ride this high forever, unfortunately looks like it's back to school

Taylor. Honey. Dearheart. You keep being really complimentary about your bullies' physical looks, and this does not in any way undermine the hurt they've done to you or your resentment thereof, but it does muddy the waters a little bit as to whether resentment is the only thing you're feeling

The back-and-forth actually feels so refreshing compared to every previous interaction with the bullies, like. My god. Did Taylor just have to rob a bank to get the confidence she needs to not worry about these fuckers? I never thought that John Dillinger therapy would take off but maybe there's a future in that

Better the devil in plain sight than the devil you can't see at all.

John Dillinger therapy! This is what I'm talking about! Let's go Taylor, show that inner strength! Shed the burden!

I mean hell, maybe, or maybe this is an upturn where she finally gets sure enough in herself to get these jerks off her back forever. We'll see how it plays out, right?

The idle speculation on Mr. Quinlan is a little wild but well in keeping with my own experiences. Sometimes teachers just passively generate rumors around them.

This one stupid bit about John Dillinger therapy keeps paying off, this is great, real joke investment opportunity

Honestly Taylor I think you can feel bad about it while also living with it, I'm not gonna pretend to be some expert on morality or philosophy or whatever but I feel like you're allowed a certain number of felonies after enough suffering in your life

Technically not a career boost for the Undersiders, at least not as far as public renown, but making your enemies look like clowns is just as good if not better. Like yeah, those tools on the other side are getting their pay docked because of that bigass hole in the roof of the bank, and you're way richer from the same event

Expanding our understanding of the city a bit more, and honestly this sounds dope as fuck. I'd love to visit every once in a while and just soak in the culture, although not if it meant living in Brockton Bay. That seems. Bad.

Ugh, these kids

Honestly I'm not quite this hardcore but damn if it isn't a mood. I've yet to see proof of Rachel being wrong

Yeah I know she had her dogs attack Taylor, Taylor's an aspiring snitch, it's okay to maul a snitch

I think I knew this part already but honestly I'm more excited to have Rachel lore than anything

I wonder how much leniency can be provided for crimes that happen in the immediate aftermath or because of a trigger event. Maybe not a ton, or maybe enough to get away with murder. I'd be curious to learn more about that, if it ever comes up.

And uhh, yeah, that'd fucking get you dead bodies alright. Wonder if that's why she's so hardcore about the training, making sure that never happens again. Entirely for the dogs' benefit, or only mostly and then there's some part of her that thrives with that kind of control?

Alec you cheeky little shit, you're endearing yourself to me

Honestly Taylor, just try and breathe easy for a little bit, I don't think you've been able to do that in over a year. Take your time, enjoy your walk on the wild side.

Maybe I'm biased but I love these two interacting on their own, so I'm fully in favor of this plan Lisa

Well I'm sure if Lisa ever killed anybody they deserved it, or if nothing else she arranged circumstances so that they ended up deserving it after some mild provocation

it's fiiiiiiiiine

Current Thoughts

This story has such good slice of life, I want more of it every time and every time I get cut off before I'm satisfied. Is that on purpose? If that's on purpose Wildbow might be a more sinister intelligence than I'd thought.

School segment was so blissfully short and Taylor managed to fight Emma to a standstill so this is a huge improvement over every other second she's spent at school

If Rachel ever kills anyone on purpose they deserved it, and if Rachel ever kills anyone on accident it's okay bc everyone makes mistakes

Honestly I'd be willing to accept any of these kids as having a good reason to render someone cadaverrific. Brian and Lisa have good heads on their shoulders and at this point I'm starting to suspect that the lazy gamer thing Alec has going on is like, at least partially a front for a deeper personality, and he's trying to be shallow on purpose, so idk what that means for him being a killer but I somehow doubt he's a fucking Hannibal Lecter type when we're not looking

...Actually come to think on it the only two members the Protectorate has info on is Grue and Bitch, right? Tattletale is an unknown and Regent has almost nothing about him. I'd suspect Grue to be the second killer but I'm not sure if that's a red herring.

Find out eventually, I guess.

...I might have another chapter in me before sacking out for the night. We'll see.

[celestemagnoliathewriter]

001 for Remadora 😃

oh ho ho get ready for an essay @in-love-with-remus-lupin!

001 | send me a ship and I will tell you:

when I started shipping it if I did: I don't know if there was ever a point that I didn't ship them. I always liked Remus and Tonks, but it was on a reread of the series as an adult that I latched onto them with such ferocity that it turned into an irresponsible amount of fanfic (I'm closing in on almost 2 million words on ao3, yikes). I liked them more than all other ships combined.

my thoughts: Thinking back to my pre-fanfic days (which was less than two years ago), Remadora was, to me, always a cute ship. I loved the idea of Remus Lupin, a certified sad man, finding love in the form of this bubbly, colorful witch. I loved the idea of Tonks, a badass Auror, getting a family of her own and an adorable little boy who was so like her. Post-fanfic days, there's so much more that I can say, simply out of having read different headcanons about them or seeing how Tonks and Remus were treated in the fandom. I was so shocked to see that Remus was shipped with Sirius at least 10x more frequently than with Tonks, and then the bashing of Tonks that resulted from the way she was written in canon (which admittedly wasn't great, so we Tonks stans have to do some lifting to give her what JKR didn't). Now obviously the book series is Harry Potter and the [insert magical atrocity here], not Remus and the [insert attempt to find love in all the wrong places here]. So from a standpoint of Harry, I know why Tonks was written the way she was, but from the perspective of for-the-love-of-all-that-is-holy JKR why did you do another terrible thing, Tonks had so much wasted potential. So post-fanfic days I see a much deeper, richer view of both of these characters, their ship, and how they relate to the world around them. It's only deepened my love for Remadora.

What makes me happy about them: Remus finally gets love, acceptance, and a family. Tonks gets an adorable little boy and a husband who finds the greatest happiness in his life from her and Teddy. Look at all that happy. LOOK AT IT.

What makes me sad about them: Canonically, their deaths. I will reverse it a thousand times in my fics, in a thousand different ways.

things done in fanfic that annoys me: Tonks bashing, to start. Any form of Tonks as an evil manipulator, as a stand-in for Sirius by morphing to look like him, as a pushy, pathetic loser who doesn't know how to accept a no, any degradation of her character from a misogynistic lens - all that annoys me. On Remus's end, him not caring about her, him not loving her, him using her as a stand-in for Sirius, him not really caring about his family, or his refusal of her interpreted as him not liking her. The simple matter is that Remus didn't want to date her because he loved her and wanted to give her a better life than he could give her. Tonks didn't care and wanted to give him the love she thought he deserved. Any ways in which they're written that they don't actually love each other is an immediate no from me.

things I look for in fanfic: Strong, badass Tonks. Yes, she's sad and upset during HBP, so give me more reasons than just Remus. Is it because Sirius died? Is it because she's stationed at Hogsmeade, which is glorified babysitting and not super action-y? Is it because the Death Eaters are out in the open and her parents (mother especially) are constantly worried for her? Give me a complex Tonks. For Remus, give me one who is capable of so much love and kindness, but is worried and dark too. The man was ready to kill Peter in front of Harry & co, with no impact on his conscience. Yes, Remus is a broken man, but he's got a dark side, so show it. For Remadora together, give me a good progression of their relationship. I don't really care how they start, whether friends to lovers or idiots to lovers, but I want to see the pining for each other, especially Remus's sad pathetic pining and inner conflict. Give me Tonks's bubbliness and happiness and Remus being attracted to her like a moth to flame, ready to die just to get close to her.

Who I’d be comfortable them ending up with, if not each other: They're my OTP, so they're always endgame for me. For Remus, I don't see any other romantic relationships. Maybe some trysts here and there, but I don't think he really fell in love with anyone until Tonks. For Tonks, I see some partners before Remus, but none that I see as endgame. For Tonks's patronus to change to Remus's, I think there had to be a big shift for her. I just can't see them not being together.

My happily ever after for them: They survive the Battle of Hogwarts and have a gaggle of little Lupins. In most stories I'll give them 2-4 kids. Remus goes back to teaching, Tonks goes back to being a badass Auror. It's not smooth sailing, of course. If you read my story, Cariad, you'll see how I break them apart to put them back together. They get a happily ever after but they really gotta earn it, lol.

who is the big spoon/little spoon: Tonks is the big spoon. Remus loves being the little spoon.

what is their favorite non-sexual activity: Hanging out as a family together. Remus getting to go anywhere with Tonks & Teddy (and other kids maybe) and just being a family. Remus adores them so so so so much. They're his everything, and Tonks loves seeing Remus so happy and fulfilled.

asks about ships and characters

[humanspiritbeingkd]

why healing feels scary:

the interval of not knowing who you are.

during our early-formative years, if our identity is formed in a chaotic, consistently tense, or abusive situation -- that is not the true you.  it is rather an identity made up of reactions, coping mechanisms and probably some damaging false beliefs.  when you start to heal, by either finding or creating the proper conditions of safety and curiosity, those defenses start to fall away.  they’re simply not needed as an inner-felt-sense of security builds in the actual tissues and cells and blood and bones of your body and nervous system. enter the shakey rawness of “who am i really?”  what do i do now that my body isn’t worried about survival or walking on eggshells?  you mean i don’t need these walls around my heart?  i don’t need to people-please or feel shame for simply existing?  i don’t have to emotionally caretake others to receive love? for real? [and it’s a process, right...an inching out into the new...a recoil...inching a bit further...maybe a smaller recoil...back out again, inner space strengthening...]

it doesn’t have to be scary, but often what’s familiar is soothing even if the familiar pattern or dynamic is painful.  kinda weird, right? like we gotta keep touching that hot stove until one day we can really see it clearly: this fucking hurts and i have the power to change. it doesn’t super feel like i have the power, but deep down somewhere i know i no longer need to touch that hot stove and i can figure it out, somehow, even if slowly.  i rather be wildly uncomfortable figuring it out than repeating *that.* so here we go, off healing into unknown territory...getting a little bit braver as we scooch our way forward, wondering if maybe uncertainty could be...really rich? like, richer than we’ve ever known?

during this interval, i suggest adopting the archetype of an explorer, researcher, discoverer, scientist, archaeologist, excavator, you name it!  start to experiment with anything that might light you up.

maybe you already have a few things that light you up but even still, perhaps they too were reactionary.  

for example:  when i was a little girl i longed to be a star just like lucille ball.  i can see now how that easily (likely) could have been a reaction to what i felt was an environment where i wasn’t able to safely express and have-heard all of my emotions...a longing to fully express myself, to be seen, accepted and loved for who i am.  it’s no secret that this is a motivation for a lot of performers (maybe even dear lucy herself).  as roxie hart puts it from the musical chicago:  “i’m a star and the audience loves me...and i love them...and they love me for loving them and i love them for loving me...and we love each other...and that’s cuz none of us got enough love in our childhoods...and that’s show-biz, kid”

  jumping ahead to my twenties when i started acting -- was this something i enjoyed doing? yes, yes, yes and no, depending on the role.  now, i am careful with my motivations.  will this role or gig be fun for me?  will it be fulfilling to play this character and explore their life story, their nuanced depth of emotion? will it expand my empathy or confidence in some way? or am i acting just to be seen?  admittedly there is undoubtedly some-”thing” in my core being that has a streak of lucille ball, a streak of performative outrageousness, maybe my leo rising...so who’s to say really? did the developmental wounding set me on my way into something i'd inevitably enjoy doing?

sometimes it works like that, especially with a lot of artists.  

but what i want to get at about art or any hobby that lights us up but that contains lingering trauma motivations: let it transform the past for you.  let it work for you, not rule you - because at some point in your healing journey, you might find a loss of fuel for that thing you enjoy so much...perhaps the need to prove yourself through this activity has faded...what then? it doesn’t necessarily mean the activity or medium is no good, but can it be a channel for the true-er you? maybe, maybe not.  maybe it is time for something entirely new.  

another example: my nature walks.  people speak of walking (especially) in nature as so relaxing and pleasurable.  for me these walks have been a necessity.  since a young age i have routinely needed to go outside and be alone, a lot of times bringing with me some heavy load to unwind that it can start to become a reflex for the mental and emotional body, “oh here we go outside again, going on a walk again, cue up some problems to work out.”  i’ve had to unlearn and retrain myself how to go on these walks and enjoy them for what they truly are: a pleasurable gift.

i am still learning.

i, too, am in this interval right now, excavating and discovering what kind of life i want to lead with a greater sense of harmony, of safety, and not safe as in tiny window-of-tolerance, pushing out the world to feel safe, but this wonderfully exciting, growing window-of-presence...an opening up more fully to myself and others kind of safe. a simultaneously silly, vulnerable and owning-my-power kind of harmony. and i feel raw as fuck. :) in the words of my bcst teacher Anna quoting the words of Leonard Cohen: “ring the bell that still can ring, forget your perfect offering, there is a crack, a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in.”

[stevenbasic]

“Knock-knock!” I heard at the door of my office, startling me. I was nearly - jesus - an hour into this video call with the Study Coordinator from Evolution, and had obviously lost track of time.  “Where’s my favorite patient?!?’ called the voice. It was Vida, my Nurse Practitioner, entering with a broad smile, a procedure tray and someone else and causing me to look up from my computer screen. “Time for your mediciiine…” In place of her usual white clinic jacket, she was wearing a tailored black jacket over a black, figure-hugging, dress, cut low.

Immediately I said my abrupt goodbyes to Gianna, over chat, and shut down the window right as she was, good lord, blowing me a kiss. At the same time I looked up and gave my wan smile of greeting to Vida and the generously curvy blond woman who’d entered with her…

“This is Morgan, if you two haven’t met yet,” Vida said, as she briskly approached my desk, high heels clacking. Trailing behind her a few steps was a woman in a white blouse and tan leggings - a big woman - broad of shoulder, wide of hip, huge of chest, standing taller than Vida by five or six inches...and myself even more, “She’s a Nurse Practitioner too, from Evolution until just yesterday, when she joined us.”

“It is very nice to meet you, Dr. J…” Morgan purred, in a voice deeper, richer than Vida’s. There was a queer smile on her face and a hint of a vaguely Eastern European accent in her words, one that she was obviously trying to hide. For now she was hanging back, taking her cues from Vida as the younger but more senior woman began to prepare her tray behind my desk to my left. “Nurse Vida is training me today how to take the care of you.”

“H-hi, uh, Morgan,” I replied, immediately sensing that that was not this woman’s given name, and remembering it was time again for my booster shot. The thought, for some reason, brought me a little thrill, remembering how it made me feel last week…but was it also responsible for the 8 pounds I’d lost since then? “But, um, what do you m-”

Interrupting my concerns, Vida chuckled. “Oh, don’t get worried, doc. I just figured that the more of us that know how to do this for you, the better,” she explained, opening the strange black box in which the vitamin B12/D/K booster vial was packaged. I noticed the familiar, strange blue tint of the liquid as Vida removed it along with the pre-packaged syringe. “And Morgan here has lots of experience.” At that, Vida nodded up at Morgan; the larger woman took that as a cue to move around the other side of my desk, to my right, and come to stand alongside me there. I was flanked.

“I-is that right, Morgan?” I asked, hearing the nerves starting to quiver in my voice. I hated needles, I hated them. But this single, combination shot was much better than three separate ones. “Wh-what did you do at Evolution?” I asked, not able to recall her resume as I looked up at her; she was gazing down at me, over the shelf of her formidable bosom. I was hoping that, if she had started seeing patients today, that she had been more buttoned up during the workday. The cleavage she was showing at this moment, over the neckline of her overmatched white blouse, was vast.

“At the Evolution Pharmaceuticals?” she replied, the accent in her voice unable to camouflage itself through the words, “There, I was with research team, taking care of study subjects. But before, I was in pediatrics ward, with preemies, the NICU.” She looked down on me with a crooked smile, and seemed to be resisting reaching out her hand to me. Instead, she ran her fingers through her shoulder-length blond hair. “I love holding little bodies.”

“Haha well, that’s exactly why we’re here, isn’t it, Dr. J?” Vida added, explaining to Morgan and pursing her full, plump, latin lips, “This young man has lost a few inches recently and we need to make sure he gets his vitamins.” With that, Vida beamed down at me and released  her thick mane of dark hair from the conservative bun she’d been wearing for the workday. A wave of the now-ubiquitous perfume in this place flowed over me, and I felt a stirring between my legs. I had been intermittently hard during my video call with Gianna - her tits were unbelievable - and I was afraid now that I might swell to some obvious, inappropriate monster of a boner with these women so close. “Lucky for him he has his girls to take care of him,” Vida concluded. The vial and syringe, for the moment, laid inert on the tray.

I tried to focus. ”I, heh heh, don’t know if I need someone to ‘take care of me’...” I spoke, trying to sound relaxed as Morgan’s left hand finally did come to rest on my right shoulder. I’d honestly just met this woman, but she was being very…familiar. Vida as well; she was generally a bit more aloof than she seemed today. It was like there was something weird in the air, something bringing them closer.

“That's silly,” Vida responded, “Even doctors need someone to look after them.” At that, she began to remove her black jacket, and laid it on my desk, as if preparing herself for her task. Underneath she wore a clingy black tube dress that hugged her hourglass figure and revealed her trim shoulders and the upper swells of her full chest; she watched as I struggled not to look at her body. “Who do you see for a PCP?”

“uh…” I began, trying to recall my last visit to a doctor’s office outside of this one, “…no one?”

“You mean…” Vida asked with exaggerated concern, as she herself put a hand on my other shoulder, leaning in to me and twirling a lock of thick, raven hair, “you don’t have a Primary??”

“N-no I, uh-“

”Well, that’s no good,” Vida concluded, standing straight and looking across me at her fellow nurse, “Don't you agree, Morgan?”

”Oh yes,” Morgan concurred, her dimpled smile betraying her amusement, stepping a touch closer, “You need the primary...care...provider.”

“That settles it,” Vida decided, removing her right hand from me to place both it and her left one on her broad hips, in determination, “I’m going to be your PCP from now on.” Her action had drawn my eyes to her remarkably tiny waist and shit this girl had some curves. “I’ll contact our insurance company, do all the paperwork. How does that sound?”

The big woman to my right was giggling, and her hand had begun to idly caress my shoulder.

“Uh, th-that’s fine…” I agreed.

“So,” Vida finally asked, with a wry smile, “does my patient have any questions before we get started?”

Ugh, right…the injection. “Well, um, honestly…” I began, knowing I should at least address the concerns I had over this combo B12/D/K formulation, “I’m not sure it’s working. I think I’ve lost weight since last week, and even maybe almost an inch…”

“That’s ridiculous. You must have measured wrong last time, used a bad scale,” Vida replied, trying to reassure me, “But…do you think you need to go out and get checked..?”

At that, Vida herself moved in closer, and I saw Morgan, to my right, turn her thick body more towards me. Both women looked down at me.

“Or do you want to let us take care of you..?” Vida finished. It felt like a challenge, and I sensed something, an inner struggle inside myself. The logical, intelligent practitioner who cared for his health wanted to answer one way, bring a halt to something that was dangerous, possibly ruining my life. But another part of me, the one that was feeling the cock growing once again down my right thigh in tribute to the ever-more enveloping warmth of these women, just wanted to say-

“n-no…I think I’m alright,” I answered, “let’s go ahead with the shot. I’ll be fine.”

If I had known then what I know now, that my mental capacity for rational thought in the face of arousal had been already crippled by foreign agents? If I had known that I was being purposefully enslaved, drowned more and more every day in the sea of pheromones and womanly curves in which I swam? WelI, I would have run screaming. Or, then again...would I?.

“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Vida assured me. Her voice had dropped low, almost hypnotic, “You don’t need to go out and see any other specialists. We’ve got everything you need right here…” She was beginning to prepare the injection, now, drawing the blue liquid from the vial up into the syringe.

“Yes, everything,” Morgan agreed, looming over me now so close to my right, her hips and belly blocking out the world behind her. Her scent was warm, earthy. Between it and Vida’s reassuring tone, I felt powerless to do anything but trust these women.

“But,” Vida began again, inspecting the now-filled glass syringe, “if you are still shrinking, lots of guys would be jealous. Don’t you think, Morgan? Here, take this-” She handed a band-aid across me to her fellow nurse.

wh-what?

“Oh, yes,” Morgan concurred, her voice husky, unwrapping the band-aid, preparing it, “very jealous.”

”What…what do you mean?” I asked, confused, looking from one woman to the next, up at them. Without even being told, I had begun rolling up my sleeve.

Vida chuckled. “Oh, you know, the whole ‘vulni-chic’ thing,” she answered, holding the prepared injection now in her right hand, “you’d get very popular if you lost another-“

“One meter?” Morgan said, giggling in her deeper, richer tone, “Two?”

“haha I’d disappear…” I joked, feeling a wave of warmth coming from Morgan’s body to my right, “just like, haha…”

“It’s not a joke, Dr. J,” Vida said, her voice plain, suddenly, clinical, “it’s a thing. Here, get ready-“

“Ouch!!!”

She’d jabbed me, in the left shoulder, with the shot.

Vida spoke as she pressed the plunger, pushing the blue liquid into my deltoid. “It’s not just a fad for women, guys these days are admitting it, too…” she said as she drew the needle out of my arm. Immediately I’d felt it entering my body, like a milky warmth. “Good boy,” she praised, “Band aid?”

“Thanks,” I replied without thinking, watching as Morgan leaned her big torso across me as I turned in my chair towards her, presenting my left shoulder. She was nearly smothering me with her big breasts as she applied the bandage, and I did everything I could not to goggle at the wobbling flesh of her full, tan cleavage. My roving eyes made me realize that this generously endowed woman was wearing a very thin bra, or possibly none at all. Somehow, though, she was still so firm, with a natural buoyancy that kept her tits high and proud on her chest. My gaze could not get enough. But then eyes fluttered as I was assaulted by both an overwhelming breath of her perfume and the first rush of pleasure from the shot. I began to lower my sleeve, rubbing my arm as I looked up at her, smiling down at me as she finally stood up and away.

“I mean it, with the shrinking,” Vida started again, watching me with an appraising eye as I recovered from my shot, buttoned my sleeve, “have you seen Melissa’s new Instagram post?”

With the butterflies? I didn’t want to admit anything.

“The guys that follow her, the simps,” she continued, “they talk about wanting to be like bugs, crawling into her breasts.” She was replacing the syringe, carefully putting it and the vial back into the box. “It’s all over the place, everywhere, though no ones really talking about it yet,” she said, as she closed the black container, “guys wanting to be smaller, weaker than us. Wanting to become inferior, more passive, more submissive.”

She looked down at me and smiled, watching as the effects of the injection began to take hold. Even more strongly than last time, I was being gripped by a pleasant wave of lethargy, relaxation.

“Guys want to be small, these days,” Vida said, “and we’d like it that way too, wouldn’t we, Morgan?””

To my right I heard Morgan purr, a little grunt. “Yes, Nurse Vida,” she said, her voice low and struggling with arousal, “we would like it very much.” I had the feeling she was holding back her true feelings, in restrained understatement.

Vida laughed, casually. “It’s weird, all these changes in gender dynamics,” she continued, brushing a lock of my hair behind my left ear, “the new thing is bigger women, smaller men. Here, look at Morgan, perfect example…”

I turned, looked up at the smiling behemoth of a woman.

“She’s probably bigger than you ever were,” Vida continued, “taller, heavier, thicker everywhere.”

“Yes,” Morgan agreed, seeming to rise up, grow bigger, heavier, right in front of my eyes, “I weigh much, much more than the you.”

“And, you have to admit…” Vida asked, watching me look up at the huge, busty blond woman, who was now absolutely dwarfing me in my seat and could probably lift me like a child, “that’s kinda sexy, right?”

“I, uh….” I began, not knowing what to say. My erection was getting painful, now, contorted as it was in my pants, trying to stretch down my right thigh.

Vida spoke again, now holding my head in place by my cheek and jaw, so all I saw was Morgan. “So, even if you are getting smaller...lots of us would like that.”

I sat there, in the building afterglow of my injection, and looked at this woman’s body. It was, in all ways, so much bigger than my own. Thicker thighs, wider hips. Her arms were stronger than mine, her shoulders broader. Standing aside her, I would look puny. Even Vida - though she stood roughly my height, maybe an inch or two more - her hourglass figure and womanly hips made her body just that much more than mine.

”Dr. J,” Vida said, pulling me from my reverie, but not releasing my face from her hand’s gentle embrace, “You look like you need to go lay down. We’d take you up to bed ourselves but we have an important girl meeting to get to, don’t we Morgan?”

“Yes,” Morgan replied, though never taking her eyes or dimpled smile from me, “Very important.” I watched as she looked down on me, regarded me, considered me. “But I promise. Next time you can go to the sleep in my lap,” she said, “I have a very nice lap.” With that, Morgan bent at the waist a bit, to gently slap her prodigious thighs. My eyes watched them jiggle, and then her hands come up to the collar of her blouse, hoisting her breasts. “Or, if not on lap, we find somewhere else…”

“Haha okay,” Vida laughed, finally releasing my head but smiling as I didn’t turn away from the cleavage into which I was now dumbly gazing, in my vitamin-fueled haze imagining myself sinking into it like a caterpillar, cocooned in womanly warmth. “I’ll get a couple of the MA’s to get you upstairs…”

=========================================

more Vida & Morgan imagery, more posts, more more more at my Patreon.

Thanks for reading, everyone.

[ligiawrites]

Character profile + Q&A: Mandra

As promised in the Anniversary, here's Mand's character profile! Besides all the info I had already planned to add, you'll find the answers to some of your questions too! ♥ It's a long, long post. :X

—— [ "Mand" || "Mandra" || "Mandreis" || "Your Highness" || "Grand General" ] ——

—— THE ANNIVERSARY MASTER POST || KO-FI || PLAY LTGBTK! || PROMPTS ——

Mandreis “The Ninth Devil” Jay Yvanson

OPALA || THEY/THEM || TWIN SWORDS: THE WISH-SEEKERS || PLANT: NIGHT-DAME (FLOWER) || A SONG: EN - VOLCANO SWING (AMANDA JENSSEN) / PAIN (BOY HARSHER) | LP - PRO MUNDO OUVIR (DUDA BEAT)

How people see them:

Inner Circle: Crass, fun, chaotic warrior who does as they please. Filled with life and courage, but still an infant when dealing with diplomacy. Worries honestly about the people.

Strangers: They’re a capable young noble who should be crowned in Mathias’s place. Responsible for Opala’s victory over Topazio. Thorny and unapproachable by anyone other than those they already like.

Self-image: Trust their guts and their instincts; nothing else matters. Will never be good enough for love. A bastard child taken away from their mother.

How they act in:

Shame: With anger.

Sadness: Hides in their cave, emotional or otherwise. Always pretends there’s nothing wrong.

Anger: Will push towards a swordfight. Believes in violence as a valid way to solve conflict and discover more about people, as long as those involved accept it. Would never use violence against anyone who decides to avoid it.

Happiness: To them, happiness is a fickle and delicate thing. When happy, their innermost sweetness and frailty surface.

An argument: With Anger.

A fight: Will often try to make it as long as possible. Fighting is fun and they love to read their opponent’s feelings as they fight.

In face of injustice: Always tries to step in and help. Mandra isn’t "afraid of getting their hands dirty by shoveling out the waste," according to Knight Esma.

Loves:

Melike. MC. The Queen. Their Arcane Guitar. Mathias. In this order. Also loves music and poetry, has an unhealthy obsession with magic, sword fights, and their biological mother. Loves the rain.

Hates:

The court, most people richer than a merchant, fine clothes, boots, and socks (although they love their women with long, delicate white stockings).

Love language: Gifts and Acts of service.

(short) Q&A ♥

I'm really glad you're enjoying the game! It's more complicated than that (although this is certainly part of the reason) and it's also more complicated than Mandra not feeling worthy of love... but the real reason is something that won't come to light for a while. :X

Ahh, I'm so glad you're enjoying it! I hope you'll like Melike too! ♥ It's possible, yes, and fully accepted and seen as normal by society as a whole, as it should be. :) Mand wouldn't do it. After years of experimenting with their gender expression, nowadays they feel comfortable!

Hahaha! The first answer *is* a spoiler, sorry! :X The answer for the second question is above this one. The answer for the third would be a kiss on the forehead, and Mand immediately escorting MC back to the Castle because they don't want to end up giving MC false hopes. ç.ç ♥

Thank you all so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this character profile. The next one, which I'll post directly on Ko-Fi, will be Mathias's! Sooo, if you have any questions for our boy that weren't answered on the anniversary, please send them to me! ;))) ♥♥♥

OH! I'm super excited to announce I'm planning to change my Ko-Fi a little. I want to have something more Patreon-like, and this kind of post, along with all the short stories, prompts, sketches, and more, will be part of the monthly rewards! :) If this is something you'd be interested in, you can follow my Ko-fi and support me there too! ♥♥♥

Much love,

Ligia

[ilmacore]

✨ Songs that remind me Mahabharata characters (Part 1)✨

Yudhirstira- Copacabana (IZAL)

This part of the song is something that He could say followed by his brothers... Just, his vibes I can explain why...

(translation just of the photo part):

First of all we will make it clear

The pages that matter

Those of open books of nearby lives walls that are forever silent

And to the rest of the world

I sincerely wish of successes in battle

Let's think slowly and love quickly

And let's walk with our heads held high

Bheem - are you ready? (Måneskin)

Simply, inner strength in every single word!

Duryodhan - (Villano Antillo:Brzp) music session 51

Bad bitch vibes... I'll translate this part!!!!! Just a bit of that energy 😌💅🏼

A-a-a vamp, I'm a bloodthirsty

Carmilla of Styria, I am immune to your prayers'

I am the main and you the secondary

I am the principal of this high school

I am the boss and you are the secretary

You are not at the level to be my adversary

Arjuna - La increíble historia del hombre que sabía volar pero no como (The incredible story of the man who knew how to fly but not how-IZAL)

Arjuna's weak moments and not weak ones

~Shine metal, all set, ready to take off They were days of worries And wasted hours fighting anxiety And sitting at the controls of my interstellar capsule Pure nerve, tachycardia and bad vibes The sweat fogs up my visor glass I thought I noticed some creaking Control tells me that I can be calm It is normal to hear so many noises say goodbye to mine The situation does not improve when I listen to my other half To my right Dimitri moving his mouth in his language I don't understand anything when he speaks We shot out, impending doom This ship, a flying undertaker is now my supposed sweet home And when I think all is lost I look through the hatch to infinity The universe speaking in my ear you enjoy the way ~

Karna-De Plata (Rosalía)

Sad song for my sad boy, short, like a last breath of life (I changed Spain for Anga)

When I

When I...

I die

I asked you for an order

What with your braids

What braids of your black hair

Tie my hands

Oh, if love

The one that I have for you

If it was silver

the want

The one that I have for you

If it was silver

Another richer, richer than me

Oh, in Anga there would still be

Nakula-SloMo (Chanel)

Here a video with the translation ;) (a big iconic,divine,yass king energy) also the videoclip is gold...

https://youtu.be/XJ0GNmxK3m4

Sahadev- Wallet (Anoushka Shankar)

Vibes of some anecdotes about someone or himself but, chilling 🥴🥴

RadheKrisnha song- Archie,marry me (alvvays)

Sad af no more objections... You know why...

Draupadi- Talking to the moon (Bruno Mars)

I like crying I know.

And... To be continued in the second part ;)))

Also, if someone want an entire translate of a song, just tell me, I'll do without doubt!

[charnamefic]

Kevin Can F*** Himself and The Sitcom

I am fascinated by this canon's universe, by the implications of living in a sitcom reality where there’s a non-sitcom reality when the sitcom isn’t running.

I’m taking as a given that Kevin Can F*ck Himself takes place in what truly is a sitcom-universe. I know some people consider the sitcom-style parts of the show to be Allison’s way of thinking about her life while she really lives in a more mundane universe, but frankly that’s not a theory that interests me. I have no beef with those who believe it, but I find Kevin Can F*ck Himself to be a much richer viewing experience personally if read as the off-screen adventures of an actual sitcom wife, and that’s the only reading I’m going to get invested in and theorize about.

At the beginning of the first episode I thought Allison was, on some level, aware that she was a TV character – I thought that her fantasies about living the 50's housewife advertising dream were the expression of a desire for a genre shift (that could never come) – but by the end of the episode I’d concluded that she doesn't know. I don’t think any of the characters know that they’re sitcom characters, and, as an extension of that, I don’t think any of them are aware that there are differences between the on-screen and off-screen existences they live. So what does it mean to be that one-dimensional, sitcom type of character and live under that universe’s rules for parts of your life, and transition into a rounded-out person with an active inner life at other times? What does it mean when you can’t comprehend that transition, and when the more rounded version of yourself has to tackle with who you are and what happens to you in that sitcom reality? What power of self do you have, both to be a person in your own right and to act as one free of the constraints of what the rules of a sitcom universe would demand?

What are the rules of the Kevin Can F*ck Himself universe as a sitcom?

Here's what we have to work with:

The universe is a status quo is god universe. Kevin and Allison can never move away, never not be Neil’s neighbours. We as viewers of Kevin Can F*ck Himself see what that means for the characters, how painful that stagnation is to Allison and the horrible things that have led to that consequence, but Kevin Can F*ck Himself takes place off-screen of the sitcom – on-screen, that’s just typical status-quo maintenance. Kevin and Allison can’t keep a pet, can’t add new characters to the cast or kick off old ones; at the end of the episode, nothing will have happened that will keep the sitcom from being something you can tune-in to irregularly without missing a plot-important episode.

The sitcom caters to the man-child id. Kevin can be rude and outright cruel to his wife, and he’ll never have to worry about her responding in equal kind. Kevin can accuse and humiliate and banish his best female friend, and she’ll come crawling back for re-entry into the gang, feeding him and making up for her failure to prioritize him. Kevin can fight with his best male friend, and the girls will sort it out without Kevin or Neil’s egos having to take a serious blow; it’s just a special episode where Kevin learns to express appreciation for his sidekick (at least until next episode). Kevin may be an everyman, but he will never be outshone.

The sitcom universe is simple and insular. “It seemed harmless.” It is harmless. All pain can be brushed off, all suffering passes quickly. Kevin can promise a bunch of people money he doesn’t have and trap them in his basement and not need to fear any lawsuits. Kevin can set his neighbour’s lawn on fire, and that’s fine, it really is. He can get a mailwoman deported, and once the episode’s over it’s no-one’s problem and it doesn’t indicate anything about what kind of person someone who would do that is or what values they hold. Kevin can get his wife fired, and she can’t nurse a grudge over that, can’t mention it again or have it shape their future interactions; it’s one and done. Dreams can be dashed, and by the next scene break it’s back to basics not simply because the status quo is god but because when your hopes die you get up and move on and keep acting like the paint-by-numbers character tropes you embody. The people are no more complicated than the actions. The caretaking wife can’t be truly hurt by the daily derogation she suffers from everyone who interacts with her. The next-door neighbour can’t have a fulfilling life outside of Kevin’s orbit, he can’t even complete fairly simple tasks without a leader to follow. Kevin’s dad can’t be anyone outside of being Kevin’s dad. The girl in the group cannot show an inner life or opinions or desires that conflict with her designated role. What you see is what you get, and there’s nothing you have to consider under the surface.

Kevin Can F*ck Himself has shown us that these rules only hold true on-screen in the sitcom; once the sitcom cameras aren’t on the characters anymore, the entire world shifts into something different. If we consider the on-sitcom-screen and off-sitcom-screen worlds to be like two intersecting realities, I think we have to assume that the sitcom reality is the dominant one. Events happen in the Kevin Can F*ck Himself reality that are necessarily related to the sitcom reality (Allison reacting to how she’s treated when off-screen; Allison and Patty discussing events that have happened on-screen while off-screen) whereas the events in the sitcom reality occur regardless of the Kevin Can F*ck Himself reality (Allison’s damaged clothes and injuries that occur off-screen aren’t noticeable on-screen; when Kevin confronts Allison and Patty, that confrontation makes sense in the sitcom universe even without the context given in the Kevin Can F*ck Himself reality). If the sitcom reality is the dominant reality, that necessitates that the Kevin Can F*ck Himself reality is still influenced by the rules of the sitcom reality even when the cameras are off – if the influence can only have significant consequences in one direction, then the universe that can’t significantly influence the other can’t have anything happen in it that would have to have a notable impact on the other.

To put this to a concrete example, the marriage Allison has on-screen can affect her contentment with her life off-screen and make her want to have an affair off-screen, but – given the premise expressed above – her off-screen affair can’t unduly affect her on-screen marriage. It can’t influence her think she might be able to find a safe way to get a divorce because that would affect the status quo of the sitcom. It can’t be reflected in her on-screen interactions with Kevin because that would complicate their marriage in a manner the sitcom universe can’t bear.  

I don’t think Allison’s affair with Sam can come out on-screen in the sitcom. The sitcom everyman’s wife cheating on him isn’t what the target demographic wants. The dream of the hot wife who’ll let you get away with anything, who puts out and cleans up and cooks and boosts and takes her lumps with a smile and stands by you no matter how many times things don’t go as desired – yes! The culturally ingrained fear that your woman is cuckolding you, that you’re inadequate instead of all that she wants and needs, that you’re a fool and didn’t actually land that dream catch – no, absolutely not! It breaks the rule of catering to the man-child id, it breaks the rules of simplicity, and it breaks the rule of status quo. I think Allison will face problems with the affair – we know she will in some way from the ep 6 preview – but I suspect the issues surrounding it will be more along the lines of getting to know Jenn and discovering that she’s actually awkward but sincere and the “who really gets the hot guy” competition is way less fun when you empathize with the opposition, or having to face that the reasons she and Sam didn’t end up together back when they were teens still apply and that doing this with him now won’t make her happy. Whatever happens, I don’t think Allison’s marriage will be affected in a way that will show up in the sitcom at all. So there’s a front on which Allison’s behaviour is safe – the affair can never come out in a way Kevin and the sitcom viewers will believe in it, so she will never have to face consequences along the lines of suffering a broken-marriage for which everyone considers her at fault because she committed adultery – and a way in which it’s not – Allison basically said that she knew it was a shitty thing to do but she had fun enabling Sam in cheating on his girlfriend back in high school because she didn’t know the other girl and didn’t really think about her, but now that the relationships those involved are in are even more serious and the other woman is an actual acquaintance there’s no way that this won’t at least lead to drama guaranteed to have a significant influence and consequences in her off-sitcom-screen life. My point with this is that (if my theory is correct) Kevin Can F*ck Himself will show consequences, but Kevin’s sitcom can’t, and that inherently affects the dangers Allison faces for her behaviour and what can come of it in both worlds.  

Leading off from that, we have the whole dealing drugs and assaulting a trucker thing. Necessarily, none of what we’re seeing in Kevin Can F*ck Himself about that can be reflected in the sitcom. We can have the dramatic irony of Kevin confronting Allison the night she started having an affair, we can watch Kevin confront her and Patty over the horrible acts they committed off-screen, but due to the nature of the universe, that cannot be anything but dramatic irony which sitcom viewers wouldn’t be able to pick up on. Simply put, Patty can’t be sent off to jail for dealing because she’s a regular. Allison will never be convicted for what they did to that trucker – even though you’d expect her to be in serious trouble given that surely there would have been security cameras all over any gas station – because that cannot flow back to the sitcom reality in any recognizable way.

Can the sitcom wife spend more than one episode under on-screen police scrutiny? There could probably be a plotline where she spends a night in jail, but according to sitcom logic that has to be sorted out before the episode is over. There has to be some sort of misunderstanding revealed, some piece of evidence come to light that exonerates her. She has to get back to her husband and the dirty laundry and the meals she needs to make. This is why I think it’s not possible that Allison and Patty mugging that guy for his oxy can come back to bite them in a way that would be reflected on-screen in the sitcom. The sitcom wife doesn’t beat people up for their drugs, not like that at least. The rules of a sitcom will not allow it.

The rules of a sitcom also don’t allow the star to die. I fully believe that Patty was right; if Allison had filled that burger with drugs, Kevin would have been back up and running by the next scene. So, given that truly bad things can’t happen to Kevin, and given that things can’t significantly change, what can Allison’s plans be building toward? Literally, is it possible for Kevin to end his life in jail for drug-related crimes? If the premise I’ve laid out above is correct, then no. Is it possible for Kevin to die in allegedly drug-related gang violence? No. It’s more likely that Marcus talks a big game, but is actually a small enough fish he could be taken out of the equation by Patty telling his aunt he was bothering her. I don’t think anything Allison and Patty can do in the Kevin Can F*ck Himself universe to get Kevin done for drug-related crimes can lead to anything more than a Very Special Episode about drugs on the sitcom.

So what does that mean for the show? I have no idea, and I’m really interested in finding out.

Can the rules of the universe be changed? Allison broke a glass on-screen, in a way which probably wouldn’t have been written into a sitcom, so maybe. But that didn’t really break any of the proposed rules of the universe, so maybe not.

And what happens if Allison succeeds? Characters in a sitcom have backstories, but can they have futures after the show is cancelled?

I’ve heard from a lot of people that they don’t enjoy the sitcom scenes, but (for the most part) I think those are depicted to establish and convey something important. I might be completely off-base with my analysis of how realities are portrayed in the show and what we can glean from that, but even without that I think we’ve been offered a compelling deconstruction of on-screen sitcom hijinks.  

Also, I just really love how they’ve worked within the boundaries of the intersection of sitcom and non-sitcom presentation. How can the “just getting by” family afford all the fun things that make the sitcom life aspirational without making the characters too well-off for the everyman to see himself and his own struggles in them? Simple – drain those off-screen savings. It’s perfect. It’s so beautifully indicative of Kevin Can F*ck Himself’s premise.

Any way you look at it and whatever theories you prefer, the world presented in Kevin Can F*ck Himself offers up a lot of interesting possibilities and I can’t wait to see them explored.

[gloryofluv]

Order Up! (Coffee Shop AU) Chapter 5

Well, I guess Alex is going through the motions. I am really starting to love how well-rounded this is getting. Flirty fics are fun, but they always need heart and perseverance!

Chapter

1 - 2- 3 - 4

Fuck. Why did she do that? Alex wanted to toss her phone but knew she couldn’t afford a new one yet. Memories. Social media keeps track even if you don’t. She was bundled on the ground of the bathroom she just cleaned and sobbed.

All she wanted to do was look at this real estate agent that Lucifer texted her. She glanced down at the picture of her and her mother while she was getting dressed for prom. Would she be upset that she was thinking of selling their home? Would she be proud? She felt so fucking alone.

There was a knock at the bathroom door, and she stuttered on a breath. Fucking get it together, girl. She wiped her face and nodded. “I’ll be out momentarily,” she said in a cheery tone.

Breathe. Stand up. Bitch, buck the fuck up, you’re at work. Alex listened to her inner dialog, turned on the water to the sink, cleaned her hands and face, and fixed her makeup. After she was satisfied, she picked up her tool tote and walked to the door with a plastered smile.

Solomon was on the other side of the door. “Hey, Alex,” he said with a curl to his lips.

“Hey, Sol, how are you doing?” she asked.

“Not horribly. I’m a bit stuck on this formula, but it’s bound to come to me,” he voiced while walking in step with her.

She rocked her head and shifted at the entrance to the counter. “Let me just go put this away and clock out. We can chat a minute after I’m off the clock.”

He rocked his head and leaned on the wall nearby. “Want to take a walk with me?”

She tilted her head and hummed. “Maybe.”

“Good, I’ll order, and we’ll head to the park.”

“Oh, good, we’re taking a walk to the park?”

Alex glanced over to see Satan wander over with his tea and pastry bag. “Oh, hey, Satan. I didn’t see you there.”

He tilted his head and gestured to his messenger bag. “I was grading pages.”

Solomon crossed his arms before touching his chin with his fingers. “You want to join us?”

Satan rocked his head. “A little fresh air would be great.”

“Okay, let me just go finish up,” Alex smiled and walked to the back of the shop. Well, it was quite the variation, but after how interesting her Sunday had been, it wouldn’t be a bad thing. She turned to the computer after putting the tote away and clocked out. Shaking out her body and taking off her apron and hat, she rolled her neck.

There was something to be said about the smears on her uniform. Alex stripped off her overshirt and straightened her purple tank top, and pulled out her ponytail. After checking her face in the mirror and reapplying a few touches on her eyeliner and lip gloss, she was ready.

Better. Alex smiled and collected her bag before marching to the front again. Solomon and Satan seemed to be in a discussion about the book in Satan’s hand. Their hand gestures only confirmed the estimation as Alex walked over to collect her drink.

“Hey, babes,” Jess hummed. “Do you think you could do me a favor and take my Friday shift, and I’ll take your Saturday one. It's closing, and I have a date.”

Alex rocked her head. “Yeah, I can. You never ask me to trade, so they must be pretty hot,” she teased.

Jess smirked and rocked her head. “Yeah, Mr. Macchiato, who comes in the evenings.”

“Nice, well, I hope you have tons of fun. Text Jordan and let him know, alright?”

Jess beamed and blew a kiss. “You’re a lifesaver for my social life, hun.”

Alex waved and met up with the two intellectuals holding their beverages. “I’m just saying that Dickens wasn’t as extraordinary as we make him out to be,” Solomon huffed.

“Oh, no, we’re on about Charles again?”

Satan laughed and shook his head as they walked out the door. “Just Solomon’s primary dagger.”

“Solomon, do you just enjoy debating?” Alex asked.

Solomon smiled and shifted his head from side to side. “Occasionally, but so does Satan, so we have a mutual understanding never to take it to blows.”

“I think the Brontë sisters are probably a staple for every woman,” Alex added to the conversation.

“And men,” Satan nodded.

“Very true, but we need to selectively decide what mannerisms are dated in order to value the interpretation,” Solomon voiced.

Alex smirked and raised her hand to her chest. “'Do you think I am an automaton? — a machine without feelings? And can bear to have my morsel of bread snatched from my lips and my drop of living water dashed from my cup? Do you think, because I am poor, obscure, plain, and little, I am soulless and heartless? You think wrong! — I have as much soul as you — and full as much heart!'” She paused after the quote and laughed. “Imagine declaring equality to a man who was higher in rank and stature than you in that time. The dated behavior is only setting.”

Satan let out a stream of hearty laughter. “Oh, Alex, I would have loved to have you in my class today. There was a sexist animal who was definitely in need of a strong female to set him straight.”

“My little Jane isn’t very plain,” Solomon chuckled and waved his hand.

“No, she isn’t,” Alex laughed before sipping her iced tea.

“I was referring to you,” Solomon hummed.

Alex smirked at him and shrugged. “I do pretty well, I suppose.”

Satan cleared his throat, drawing Alex’s attention to her left. “So, you realized that half your customers are my brothers.”

Alex rocked her head. “Yes, I was informed of that by Belphegor in a rather creative way.”

“I heard,” Satan laughed. “We all live together.”

“So I’ve heard,” she smiled.

“Interesting dynamic,” Solomon voiced. “All seven of them together.”

“They also throw some ridiculous parties,” Alex said and then waved her free hand in a circle. “From what I’ve heard.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I know you live across the street,” Satan snorted with a smug smile. “I’ve known longer than Lucifer.”

Alex gasped as they walked on the sideway in the park. “What?”

Satan chuckled and rocked his head. “Yes, I knew from Jordan. I was the one to buy his motorcycle.”

She shrieked and gasped. “Oh! That’s why I’ve seen it around the cafe.”

Satan wagged his eyebrows. “So yes, I’ve known for about four months. He pulled it out of your garage and brought it over. When I asked why he moved, he told me about your circumstance and why he was torn, but family comes first.”

“It does,” Alex smiled. “His mother was great to me when my parents died. She practically lived with me for the first six months. Then Jordan moved in, and he got me a job at the cafe. He’s always been like my big brother. So when his dad got injured at work and couldn’t work, I told him to move home to help.”

“How did you both meet?” Solomon questioned.

“Oh, that’s a funny story, actually. So, in middle school, he was a grade above me, and I was super shy. He saw me being harassed by some asshole. He stepped in and smoothed the situation. I was so shocked he was able to do so without violence. Jordan took me to the bathroom, cleaned me up, and told me that the only bitches in our life are the beautiful bitches we can be, so I needed to learn to walk like it. From then on, he just started pulling me into his antics,” she explained and laughed while shaking her head.

“You were shy?” Satan questioned.

Alex stopped drinking her tea and nodded. “I actually am in general. I took his advice to heart. I’m friendly and enjoy people, but I don’t have very many people I consider close with.”

“Is this why you aren’t dating anyone?” Solomon questioned.

Alex narrowed her eyes at him and smirked. “Yes.”

“Liar,” Solomon smiled.

“Wait, I really find this fascinating. You aren’t close to any family?” Satan asked.

Alex shrugged and hummed. “My aunts and uncles all live in different parts of the country. I was an only child, and now that my parents aren’t here, the only people I see are Jordan and his parents. Jordan’s sister left for a university across the country two years ago. I see them probably once a month.”

“You live alone? Like no one ever comes to knock on your door or calls your phone?” Satan questioned with a scowl.

“Well, I won’t be living there much longer,” Alex sighed. “I have to sell the place, so I’ll have to clear it out in the next couple of weeks. The financial officer, my parents, left in charge, said that the funds wouldn’t cover the expenses this next year, so it would be a good idea for me to sell.”

“Hm,” Solomon murmured. “I could help.”

“No,” Alex shook her head. “It’s time. I don’t need handouts, Sol. I appreciate it, but no.”

“Why do you feel like you have to do everything alone?” Satan asked as they rounded the outside of the park.

Alex breathed and shook her head. “It’s such a long story.”

“Your parents?” Solomon voiced.

This analysis was cathartic in a way, and Alex felt this heavyweight being pulled from her shoulders. “Well, yes and no. I was telling my mother before she passed that I was thinking of taking a year off to go with my boyfriend at the time to travel the world. She was so supportive, even though it would put my education in jeopardy. When they died, he bailed with some other girl, so I kind of just stopped relying on others.”

Satan tutted and exhaled. “To be an idiot teenager who couldn’t handle grief. I’m sorry you had to go through that, especially at such a young age.”

Alex smiled and shrugged as they made their way back to the cafe. “I’m pretty good. I have a degree. I’ll have a decent nest egg to pay for my schooling for an even better education and my best friend. I’m doing pretty well.”

“I have an intrigue before we conclude our adventure into your life,” Solomon hummed.

Alex tilted her head as she grinned at him. “What’s that?”

“You are strong without someone, but it makes it so much richer to share your heart with others,” Solomon declared.

“Says the man who has done his fair share of that,” Satan snorted.

Solomon rolled his eyes. “Satan, don’t cast stones in glass houses.”

“You have been married three times now,” Satan snorted.

News. Alex raised her eyebrows. “Three times? Aren’t you like barely forty?”

“I resent that,” Solomon scowled. “No, I am not. However, marriage and love are difficult measurements in a formula very few understand. I’m difficult.”

“I actually like that about you,” Alex laughed.

Satan scowled as they stopped at the sidewalk near the cafe. “You enjoy that he’s difficult, but you won’t text me?” he questioned with a sly smile.

She puffed and pulled his phone from his bag’s pocket. It was sticking out and available. Alex then went to his keypad, dialed her number, and pressed the call. Her phone soon rang, and she hung up.

“Now, you have my number. Stop trying to make me do all the work, you pushy professor,” she snorted and handed his phone back.

Satan was grinning as he pocketed his phone. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Solomon handed her his phone, and she groaned but did the same exact thing. “If you both call me all the time, I will block your number,” she teased.

“If you need any help with your house, please tell me,” Solomon nodded. “I am quite organized.”

“I will,” Alex smiled.

Solomon tossed his cup in the trash and smiled before walking to his car. Alex watched him wave and climb inside before driving off in the silver vehicle. Satan shifted and tilted his head when she turned back to him.

“Did you want to have dinner with me tonight? I’ll cook,” Satan offered.

“Just because we’re temporarily neighbors does not mean I’m a booty call, understood?” Alex questioned.

Satan snorted and straightened his shirt. “You’re far too interesting to blow on a booty call, Alex.”

“Just had to make it clear. I would take your offer for dinner, but I’m actually exhausted. Diavolo came in for a coffee tasting, and I hosted it. Since then, I’ve just been drained.”

Satan rocked his head. “Well, I’ll ask tomorrow then,” he smiled and shrugged. “You’ll eventually say yes,” he chuckled and walked over to the motorcycle.

Alex smiled and observed as he slid on his helmet, waved, and climbed on the bike. Bad boy, professor. Pretty sexy. That tickled her to no end. He pulled out with a roaring shift of gears and headed in the same direction she needed to go. Home. Even if it was just for now.

@rsmrymnt-tea @otome-scribbles

[moriarty-bibliotheca]

—✧ ❝𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬❞ ✉

— 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 ✉

𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏 𝒔𝒂𝒚𝒔: hello sorry for my english😌 Can you ask for the script of Reader x Albert James Moriarty?. The reader is friends with the Moriarty brothers and helps them change the world, and at one point feels stronger feelings for Albert. Which scares her because she's not a noble so she feels she shouldn't love a noble so she starts to distance herself from his lover and if she talks to him it's very brief. which Albert notices and tries to talk to her in private. can there be a happy ending. Sorry🙏

❝ 𝐚𝐥𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐭 𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲 ❞

— 𝗳𝗲𝗺𝗮𝗹𝗲! 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

— 𝗻𝗼 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀

— 𝗺𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗮𝗶𝗻 𝘀𝗽𝗼𝗶𝗹𝗲𝗿𝘀!

— 𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗺𝗺𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗹 𝗲𝗿𝗿𝗼𝗿𝘀 𝗮𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗱!

☎ 𝒃𝒊𝒃𝒍𝒊𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒚'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔: i love albert so much! 😭🥺 this is the first request i’ve received in this blog, thank you so much! hope you like it! don’t apologize, love. thank you so much! now go ahead and check out the story!  

Sounds of the pen scribbling on your journal was the only thing audible at this time of the day, you were isolating yourself in the room as it seems like your mind has been occupied with a number of thoughts lately. Thoughts that you wish you never had, if you could just have the power to make this disappear in a snap, you would immediately make it go away.

You continued writing down your inner thoughts into your journal, one that he bought for you. The older Moriarty had been nothing but nice to you, ever since the day you met him, never had he or his brothers once mistreated you because you were a commoner, someone lower in rank than he is, this caused you to have a stable friendship with the three of them.

Now, of course, you knew about their wish; their wish to change the world, this society. It was ridiculous that your status by birth dictates how you should live. If you are a noble, you get the greater things in life; you get treated with respect, have a better education, work in high-paying jobs and earn more money, and even live a very luxurious life. The rich gets richer and the poor gets poorer, doesn’t that sound terrible?

A knock came through the door, interrupting your train of thoughts and your writing, you looked towards the direction of the door and placed the pen back on its penholder. “Y/N,” the youngest Moriarty’s voice came through the wooden door, “it’s lunch.” It seems you had been so occupied with your writing and your thought process that you didn’t notice the time of the day, “I’ll be right there.” You looked at the mirror and fixed yourself, you let out a deep breath and left your room. Louis was still standing there as he gave you a smile and escorted you to the dining hall.

As you arrived, you sat on your designated seat, beside him. Out of all places that you could sit on, why did you decide to sit beside him? You’ve been distancing yourself from the older Moriarty lately, all those thoughts that kept you occupied were thoughts of him; his smile, his charms, the way he treats you, those are all the things you kept thinking of, and maybe even a few thoughts of you and him in a relationship.

How scandalous, it would be impossible for a lower class woman to be in a relationship with an upper class man, especially someone working in the military like Albert. “Y/N?” Your train of thought was interrupted once more when the second Moriarty called your name, you snapped out of your trance and looked at him, he seemed to be halfway done with his food along with his two brothers, “are you alright? You haven’t touched your food,” you hadn’t noticed that your food was already served for almost 15 minutes ago.

You gave William a smile and said that you were fine, you picked up your spoon and your smile immediately dropped, you used your spoon to grab a portion of (favorite food) and ate it, you continued eating until your plate was empty. Minutes later, everyone was finished with their meals and you were ready to leave.

“Stay, it has been a while since we all chatted together,” said the older Moriarty as he gently grabbed your wrist before you could walk away, your heart started beating fast; his smooth hands was holding your wrist, his gaze and attention were all on you, and that charming smile of his seems to be hypnotizing you even more.

How you wished you had the courage to stay and chat with your friends without looking like a tomato, but you were trying to fix this unrequited feelings of love and the only way you can think of is to be distant. “I wish I could,” you said as you looked away, “but I have things to do right now, sorry.” You pulled away from his touch and ran out of the dining room, you rushed your way to your chambers and immediately closed the door, you heaved out a sigh of relief before collapsing yourself on the floor.

After you left the dining hall, William looked at his older brother with worry. “Did something happen between you two?” asked the younger Moriarty, the older one shook his head as he grabbed his glass of wine, “not that I know of, she’s been ignoring me a lot lately.” The older Moriarty stared at the liquor as he swirled his wine glass, “I’ll speak to her later,” said Albert as he took a sip of his wine.

Hours later and it’s already half past 19:00 (7 PM), you left the room with the intention of grabbing a snack, it seems the residence was quiet today, maybe they went out without informing you. You walked your way to the kitchen and looked around and even checked in the ice box for any possible snacks that you could nibble on while staying in your room, you found your favorite pastries and grabbed a plate to place a few amount that will satisfy you.

“Ah, Y/N, perfect timing,” you froze from your spot and tried to hide the plate of pastries that you grabbed, for heaven’s sake, it looked like you were stealing. You turned around and to your surprise, it was the oldest Moriarty brother standing a few feet away from you with both of his hands behind him. “Albert,” you spoke as you tried to hide the plate, but that was useless for he already knew what you were doing minutes before he even spoke up, “is there something you need?”

“I need to talk to you,” said Albert as he walked towards you, you couldn’t walk any further without bumping your back onto the wall, so you stood still and waited for him to speak. “What is it?” you asked as you tried to maintain eye contact without turning as red as a tomato.

“I have just noticed that you were distancing yourself from me, did I do something to upset you?” You weren’t expecting him to ask you directly and notice you were ignoring him, but then again, this is a Moriarty brother we’re talking about. “You noticed?” you mumbled softly, but he heard it clearly and gave you a nod, you apologized and told him you weren’t feeling well for the past few weeks, you sputtered out an amount of excuses to cover up the fact that the sole reason you were ignoring him was because you fell in love with him.

While you were sputtering out excuses, Albert retracted his hand from behind and placed his index finger in front of your lips as a way of keeping your mouth shut, you immediately stopped talking as he handed you a (chosen flower). You were surprised as you looked at the flower and back to him, he gave you a smile and waited for you to accept the flower from him. “What’s this for?” you asked as you grabbed the flower from him, you tried to calm your quick heartbeat and placed a hand over your chest before looking back at him.

“What do you think?” said Albert, he wasn’t going to give the answer so easily, you looked back at the flower and noticed that there was a folded paper attached to the stem, you grabbed the small paper and unfolded it to see the message written inside.

“I love you,” was written neatly in a beautiful penmanship, your cheeks turned red and you felt like you were in a dream, you looked back at Albert and asked, “are you okay with me being a commoner?” He looked surprised when you asked him that question, he chuckled and shook his head as he grabbed your hand and kissed it while looking at you, “your status doesn’t matter to me, my dear.”

☎ 𝒃𝒊𝒃𝒍𝒊𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒚'𝒔 𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒆: well, here you go! this feels a little too short or rushed, i’m sorry about that! story requests are still closed, slots are full! thank youuuu so much! visit the bibliotheca again, darling! we’re always open for a good read! stay safe, love!

[passionate-reply]

This week on Great Albums, I finally explain the deal with that record you’ve seen in the background of these videos, with those dudes working in the office. These dudes used to be in the Human League! Oh, and they really hate fascism. Full transcript of the video after the break.

Welcome to Passionate Reply, and welcome to Great Albums! Today, I’ll be looking at the debut album of Heaven 17: 1981’s Penthouse & Pavement. While you may not be familiar with Heaven 17, chances are pretty good that if you know your Western pop, you’ve heard of the Human League! Before forming Heaven 17, Ian Craig Marsh and Martyn Ware were members of the Human League--and they were also the band’s creative core. But they had a very different artistic vision, and one that doesn’t exactly prefigure the success of hits like “Don’t You Want Me.”

Music: “Being Boiled”

Between its plodding electronics and inscrutable lyricism, “Being Boiled” is pretty far from a pop hit. When Marsh and Ware left the Human League, they were keen to continue pursuing this sort of underground, experimental, quasi-industrial direction. Initially, the two of them formed the British Electronic Foundation, or “B.E.F.” It was chiefly a production company that worked with other artists, though they also released some instrumental music under this name. With the recruitment of vocalist Glenn Gregory, who Marsh and Ware had initially intended to front the Human League in the first place, they were set to get right back into the groove of what they had been up to before.

Music: “Fascist Groove Thang”

“Fascist Groove Thang” is the opening track of Penthouse & Pavement, and was one of its chief singles. While it’s much less ambiguous than “Being Boiled,” and much easier to dance to, it’s still got a lot of that subversive, underground charm--enough to get banned by the BBC, anyway. I know they always say that history rhymes, but it’s one of those songs from this era that really feels like it belongs more in our time than the one it came from. I like to think that its unforgettable chorus sounds more like a chant you might hear at a protest march, as opposed to something that belongs in a proper song. “Fascist Groove Thang” is actually based on an instrumental track by BEF, which was simply called “Groove Thang” before being reworked into this political anthem. Both versions are indeed pretty groovy, thanks in large part to the bass guitar work of session musician John Wilson. Compared to their work with the Human League, Penthouse & Pavement has an overall richer sonic palate, with more of those traditional instruments, as well as backing vocals. You’ll hear a lot of those on the album’s title track:

Music: “Penthouse & Pavement”

Penthouse & Pavement’s title track is the longest track on the album, clocking in at over six minutes. Between that, the lush instrumentation, and the honour of being the title track, it certainly feels like an anti-capitalist epic, dramatizing and dignifying the inner thoughts of a common wage-slave. The first side of the album, dubbed the “Pavement Side,” is where you’ll find both of these tracks, and it seems to deal chiefly with working-class struggles, as well as having a bigger emphasis on that bass-heavy groove, musically. Naturally, then, the flip is the “Penthouse Side,” it’s more melodic, and it seems to focus more on the lives of the rich and famous...though it isn’t quite that straightforward.

Music: “We’re Going To Live For a Very Long Time”

“We’re Going To Live For a Very Long Time” is perhaps the clearest expression of the idea of the upper classes living in their own protected bubble, shielded from plebeian woes. There’s a religious dimension to it, in that the narrator manages to live without worries because of their assuredness that Heaven awaits them when they die...but, as the title reminds us, they’re also confident that Earth will be good to them, as well. In case you were worried this message might not be ironic, the song actually stops abruptly in the middle of its final refrain, providing a sudden end for that narrator--as well as closing out the entire LP with a bang, since this is the final track! The idea of the wealthy actively taunting those beneath them is also central to the most rhythmic track of the Penthouse Side, “The Height of the Fighting.”

Music: “The Height of the Fighting”

In “The Height of the Fighting,” that march-like chanting takes center stage again, but it feels very different here. Rather than embodying a sort of grassroots resistance to the consolidation of power, “The Height of the Fighting” seems to be the voice of authority and power coming downwards, fitting the theme of the Penthouse Side. The song’s assertions, like “if you can’t take it, fake it” and “they sent you to it, do it” could be interpreted as pithy, meaningless sayings--perhaps throwaway lyrics, taking up space on a single aimed squarely at the dance floor. However, if you know the context of the Penthouse Side, it’s hard not to see them as representations of the worthless advice the rich often give the poor. Get a job. Get a side hustle. Work harder. Eat out less. And so on. Much like the implicit messages about class in popular culture, “The Height of the Fighting” might seem disposable, but the thrust of what it’s saying is actually deeply warped. Another complex, and perhaps conflicted, track on the Penthouse Side is “Let’s All Make a Bomb”:

Music: “Let’s All Make a Bomb”

Songs against nuclear war were commonplace in Cold War-era music, but “Let’s All Make a Bomb” isn’t quite a typical example. At first, its slow pace and despondent melody make us think we’re getting the usual fare. But the return of that swelling, chant-like refrain style, as well as a closer inspection of the lyrics, reveal otherwise. As the title might imply, “Let’s All Make a Bomb” asks us what kind of character is actually crazy enough to *want* nuclear war, and the character Heaven 17 have chosen is a hedonistic libertine, who sees the end of the world as one big party. The atomic bomb is not a thing to be feared, but “a brand new toy, to idolize.” As dark as that is, the fact that it’s also part of the Penthouse Side, and ostensibly a representation of what those who hold influence and power believe, adds a whole new level of horror to it.

While I love album art, and my interest in it is the main reason I started collecting vintage vinyl, I think [the cover of Penthouse & Pavement just might be my favourite of all time. Penthouse & Pavement’s cover portrays the three members of Heaven 17 as though they were businessmen, co-opting motives like glass-paneled skyscrapers and the deal-making handshake straight from the 1980s corporate visual lexicon. They've even got cities they're allegedly based out of, one of which is their native Sheffield, England. If you look closely, there are a few hints that they’re actually a music band and not a firm, such as the reel-to-reel tape player in the upper right-hand corner, and the fact that in the lower left-hand corner, Martyn Ware is writing music in front of a keyboard. At the bottom, we also find the logo of B.E.F., which brings this grand “joke” full circle. As the “British Electronic Foundation,” they had also billed themselves as a faceless organisation, adopting a name that sounds more at home on a utility bill than an album cover. Here, the trio have done it again, in a bit of ruthless satire towards the rising “yuppie” culture of the 80s. Incidentally, the cover art is a traditional painting, credited to one Ray Smith. It wasn't unusual to commission paintings for album art at the time, but it does tickle me knowing a human being physically painted Heaven 17 as office workers. If the original ever came up for auction, I'd probably shell out for it. It would look great in my office!

Anyway, it’s also worth mentioning how the title “Penthouse & Pavement” adds to that corporate theme. The X-and-Y format recalls the names of many real-life firms and companies, such as Ernst & Young. A “penthouse” is an apartment located very high up in a tall, urban building. Such apartments are usually expensive, and are hence occupied by well-off tenants. “Pavement,” in this context, probably refers to what Americans call the “sidewalk,” the paved pathways where the less fortunate among us might walk past those penthouses, without ever getting too close. Each side functions as an ideal symbol of the kind of people it represents, and the physical gap between them is a visceral representation of economic inequality. The title is also quite pleasingly alliterative!

While Penthouse & Pavement maintains a certain underground integrity, which is consistent with Marsh and Ware’s track record as part of the Human League, it’s still much more of a pop record than anything they had done before. Heaven 17 never went quite as pop as the Human League did without them, and they certainly never saw the same level of mainstream success, but they did pursue an increasingly pop direction with their next several releases. Their 1983 followup, The Luxury Gap, delivers less of that hard-hitting critique of capital, but did produce some of their best-known singles, namely, “Temptation” and “Let Me Go.”

Music: “Let Me Go”

My favourite track on Penthouse & Pavement is “Geisha Boys & Temple Girls.” I like this track’s overall mysterious, otherworldly vibe--it’s not terribly easy to pin down what it’s really about, or what sort of mood it’s meant to convey. The intro to this song sounds more like Karlheinz Stockhausen than something you would hear in pop, and I love how strident and abrasive it is. Given its place as the opening track of the Penthouse Side, and its opening line, “look ahead, on the screen,” I’m tempted to interpret it as a representation of a fictional romance in television or film. It’s dramatic, unpredictable, exotic, and also completely fake and divorced from how people behave in the real world. The idea that entertainments and diversions are part of what shelters the rich from the consequences of their actions is another one of those things that makes this album continue to feel relevant. That’s all I have for today--thanks for listening!

Music: “Geisha Boys & Temple Girls”

[maxbegone]

I think now is ahout the perfect time to get a little sappy.

I could go on about the year, the intensity of it and how tough it’s truly been, but I’d rather talk about how grateful I am instead.

I am always and forever grateful for my beebees @kaleidoscopegirl and @paladinofsappho, both of whom I’ve gotten to know throughout the last four (wow) years. I know I’m stupidly, stupidly behind on CR Campaign 2, and I’m not sure I’ll ever get around to catching up, but you two know how much our friendship surrounded by that show with the nerdy ass voice actors means to me. There’s been a lot that’s gone on in these last few years for all three of us, but I think knowing we have a constant in our friendship is so important. There have been so many up-ups and down-downs. Thank you for being two of my greatest friends, I adore you both to the ends of the earth. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again - I am richer for having known you. Forever btlftb, I love you both ♥️

And of course, this guy - the man of many hats, voices, and haircuts.

My blog has transformed into something else this year. I’ve pivoted a bit from video games (still forever the loves of my life, don’t get me wrong), toward that little show about the town with the funny name.

I’m so beyond grateful for Schitt’s Creek. I fell for it hard and fast, and in doing so I’ve gotten to meet so many wonderful people in this community. First @roguebebe and @stuck-on-your-heart and @believeinthepoweroflove, shortly thereafter was @brighter-than-sunshine, @danieljradcliffe, @ratchet @petrodobreva, @high-seas-swan, @fishyspots, @rosebuddsmotel, @yourbuttervoicedbeau, @hullomoon @poppetmurrays and @kaytikazoo of course, as a way of reconnecting. And I know I’m missing people...

So many fics, so many tags, so many headcanons. I got back into writing this year; oneshots, drabbles, chaptered works which I never thought I’d be able to do. SC sparked my love of writing that has been smothered and dulled for so long. That show has taught me, once again, to reevaluate the way I write, the way I perceive characters, their relationships with one another, inner monologue and so on. I’m so grateful for that — I don’t care how cheesy that sounds. There’s so much love in that show and in this community.

Lastly, and this is for me: I’m proud of myself. I’m exhausted, I worked non-stop, went to school, wrote, worried, panicked, fell into a rut but I’ve made it to the end of the year. I’m back in therapy, and yes there is so much I have to work on (ie relaxing, saying no, putting myself first), but I’ve still accomplished things. After a year and a half of working I went back to school. Sure it was derailed in March, but I’ve completed two full years of college. I am so beyond proud of myself for doing that.

So yes while I still have my moments of feeling utterly stuck and like I will never get out of the place I’ve put myself in, I still harbor just enough optimism to push that negativity away. I think I’m partially unrecognizable from the person I was three years ago. That’s not a bad thing, that means I’ve grown.

I made a post at the end of 2019 saying “Hey, 2020, I’m going to kick your ass.” And you know what? Sure, I think the universe rolled a ten with disadvantage a few times this year (maybe I’m being generous, but we had some wins!) but we still made it through. 2020 may have kicked our asses but we got to the end, that just means we kicked its ass, too.

So, 2021. I don’t know what you’ll bring, but I’ll be working hard the whole way through.

Here’s to whatever this next year holds!

[fairymadnessyeah]

A Definitely Real Dad

Link to AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24016309

Summary: Gyro seeks advice from an expert when he is faced with his greatest foe yet: Parenting an adorable real boy.

Or Alternatively: Mad scientist feeling emotions for tiny adorable robot needs help from tired and expert parent that is also a sailor.

Notes: This needs to happen.

Also Ducktales Disney right now: "You get a child, you get a child, you get a child, EVERYBODY GETS A CHILD!!!!"

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Why do you think Doctor Gearloose invited us to his lab?" Huey asked his companions Louis, Dewey, Webby, Della and Donald as they rode the elevator to the underwater laboratory below McDuck Enterprises'.

The elevator dinged and open its doors, revealing Doctor Gearloose looking at a piece of paper while Manny, Lil Bulb and Fenton working on a turbine.

"Oh, the ducks are here!" Gyro exclaims, folding the paper he had on his hands and pocketing it in his pants. He gently leads the family to where his partners were working as he explains why he needed them here. "I need your assistance testing my new mega super plane turbine powered by gold!"

Almost all the ducks present gasp in amazement and run towards the invention. The only one that looks at it in suspicion is the mature Donald Duck. He eventually shrugs it off, his uncle's employee wouldn't purposely put his kids in danger. But then he feels a feathered hand on his shoulder and a dark aura behind him. He turned around slowly, the feathers at the back of his neck standing up.

Doctor Gyro Gearloose was looking down at him, his face neutral and the light shining against his glasses hid his eyes, making him look extremely intimidating. "You will come with me Mr Duck," The scientist tells him slowly and threateningly.

As the unluckiest duck on the world was being shoved to a side room by the mad scientist, his family, ignorant to what was happening to him, kept playing with the machine. Although it didn't take long for the kids and Della to lose interest. As the turbine got boring, they noticed that the duck sailor was missing. Fenton dismissed their worries though, telling them that Doctor Gearloose probably needed him for something and continued to show them his inventions.

"And these are my spy-bugs," Fenton presents, showing them a bunch of different flying insects robots. Pressing a code on a mini-computer, the firefly one activates, lifting into the air. "With these little guys, we would be able to have 24-hour surveillance. They all work in a hive-mind structure and are controlled by this remote device that can be connected with any sort of memory RAM. NOW CONTEMPLATE!" Fenton uses the remote device to move the firefly out of the room and then turn on the giant computer of the lab and it starts showing what the robot is recording.

"HOW COME YOU WON'T DO IT!?"  A shout echoes nearby the robot and Fenton, recognising Dr Gearloose voice, makes the machine follow the sound. They see an office where Gyro is holding Donald by his uniform and shaking him. The scientist then sighs and lets him go.  "Well, If you won't cooperate, then you leave me no choice!"  Gyro declares as he takes off his glasses dramatically and stands taller over the duck, looking ready to destroy him.

"PLEEEEEEESSSSSEEEEEEEE!"

The peppers let go of the breath they were holding. Gyro had not done anything to Donald, instead, he fell to his knees and begged the other bird as he held his glasses in his hands clasped like a prayer.

"Alright, I'll help you," Donald sighs, his voice resembling that of a normal being. Dewey said he sounded like an actor from one of those comic book movies that everybody got crazy for. "But I can't guarantee results," Gyro got up and, out of nowhere, got top-notch audio recording gear and sat on a stool with a note pad and a pen.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"First," Donald started. "You need to listen. Listen to what they say, how they say it and what they don't say. That is usually where the problems appear,"

"You also need to be trustworthy. You want them to come to you with their problems. But until that happens, you need to show them that you can and will help them solve their problem,"

"But if they don't tell me what's wrong how am I supposed to know that something is even wrong?" Gyro asks.

"That is the next tip, notice the little details. For example, whenever Huey drinks chocolate-milk with three spoons of cocoa powder instead of two, means that his junior woodchuck meeting didn't go so well; Whenever Dewey does a dance that consists of two spins, one flip and landing on bent knees and jazz hands means he is proud of something; or whenever Louis gets a wrinkle next to his right eye, means he is lying,"

"But the two most important things you need to remember and never forget is that you are a parent and that your life is not only yours anymore,"

"What do you mean?" Gyro asks again. "I am his parent, what else would I be?"

"It means that you aren't his friend, you aren't his buddy that will never get mad and will do anything for you. You are his parent and sometimes, you have to be the bad guy of the story," Donald tells him.

"And the life-thing?"

"It's his no. You eat what they want to eat, you eat what they want to eat, you watch what they want to watch. Your life revolves around them, they matter more than you or your feelings now,"

Gyro nods and it looks like he is about to say something but the screen turns black.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Hey," Dewey complains as the image disappears.

"I'm sorry little ducks, but that seemed like a private conversation and I refuse to eavesdrop on it anymore," Fenton tells them as the robotic-firefly returns and he leaves it with the rest. "Come, I have more inventions you can play with it," He gently guides them away from the monitor.

The ducks follow him with Lil Bulb behind them, except for one. The grown woman was starring at the screen. Every time she believed that she understood how the last years without her had been for her twin, she found out that there was something she had missed. And Donald's examples, about the tiniest details of the boys, she didn't know any of them, yet Donald seemed to know them by heart.

"Mom?" Dewey called as he turned back for her, after noticing she didn't follow them.

"Comin' honey" She snapped out of her inner monologue and followed her kids.

They spent a whole afternoon testing and helping Fenton, at some point, even Boyd joined them. The kids spent the evening together, playing, laughing and catching up. Boyd was now living full-time at the lab with Dr Gearloose, Manny and Lil Bulb.

The drakes had not taken the news very well, believing that once Boyd left, things would go back to the way things were before him. But the real boy made sure to pass his half of the inheritance to the two responsible adults, leaving Doofus without the power to be richer than his parents. They were all making plans for Boyd to come and sleepover at McDuck when the duck and the rooster that were missing came into the room. Dewey was the first one to ask for the cybernetic boy to come over.

"Well, I have no problem with it," Donald said in his normal voice.

"May I go, Dr Gearloose?" Boyd asks, looking up to the scientist.

"Maybe some other time, we still have to check if there is any residual damage from Beaks viruses on you," The chicken explains and pats the real boy on the head.

"Alright, thank you Dr Gearloose,"

Not long after the duck family is leaving, as well as Dr Fenton. Manny also retreated to his quarters soon enough. Gyro was working on Boyd wiring while the real boy was telling him about his day.

"And Mrs mom was very sad when I got to leave but she told me I can return any moment,"

"Would you like that?" Gyro asks remembering what Donald had told him.  ("Make him feel listened to. Do things he likes, and if they want to do anything without you, let him be. You are not the only person in his life.")

"Yes, that would be splendid! Once my programme is clear, could we visit?" Boyd asks.

"Of Course we can," Gyro tells him as he closes the lid on the robot's head. "But now it's time to recharge so that you have all your energy for tomorrow. You have that Woodchuck-thingy you like, right?"

"Yes, my Junior Woodchuck meeting, at 9:30 sharp, remember to bring Ice-pops wood sticks," He says as if reading a remainder on a calendar while the scientist and his creation when to Boyd's room.

The room used to be a storage closet for failed projects, but they put up a sliding door to give Boyd more privacy. The real boy had a closet, a small library with a study table, a laptop, some video-games and a bed. The bed was more like a nest, with a Japanese mattress and a lot of pillows and blankets piled up to make a circular form. Boyd would usually sleep in the middle with the blankets and pillows cocooning him in warmth. Next to his bed-nest, there is a tall bulbless lamp. Doctor Gyro used to have it in his room since it was Lil Bulb's resting place, but the little rascal moved it once Boyd's room started being furnished.

"Alright, I'll drive you tomorrow and we will pick up what you need on the way," Gyro tells him as he connects wires to his back panel to charge him. "If you need anything I will be on the room next door," The chicken said.  ("Always remind him that you are there for him. Kids tend to forget that,")

"Goodnight, Dr Gearloose!"

"Goodnight, Boyd!" He sees Lil Bulb climbing the lamp and posting himself on the top, before the light it emitted turned off before he leaves the room.

As soon as he is outside, the renewed scientist with a high intellect punched the air in excitement as the word "Success!" went off in his mind. When he turned to his side, heading towards his room, he saw Manny in front of his own door. The two scientists looked at each other for a while, no one moving, until the rooster fixes his clothes and his glasses.

"Not a tap from you, or your headless behind is fired," He tells the horse as he steps into his room.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Another date, another morning, another day where Doctor Gyro Gearloose wakes up to another mistake made by naive and foolish Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera that he had to deal with. This time in the form of a weird duck dressed in so much black, that the scientist is willing to bet its a hobo-emo that his stupid ex-intern picked up last night. The guy looks extremely beat up and not alone. There is also that stupid pilot that hangs around McDuck and a girl duckling.

Gyro sighs frustrated and rubs his temples. He did not have time for this. He had to take Boyd to his scouts meeting and even buy something on the way there.

"Explanation, Now," Gyro demand as he goes closer and checks on the individual better.

Launchpad, Fenton and the kid, who he learns her name is Gosalyn and the daughter of said hobo-emo, tell him that Gizmoduck and Darkwing Duck had a sort of agreement. They each take turns patrolling the city, both day and night, but last night, Darkwing came upon something too big for him and Gosalyn, who Gyro was starting to realize had more brain cells than the three adults combined, called Gizmoduck for back up. The two self-proclaimed superheroes ended the job, but the one not protected by a metallic super-suit, unsurprisingly, got the worst part of the stick and ended up in here to recover.

Just as they finished explaining their night full of shenanigans, Boyd came out into the main room of the lab, wearing his Junior Woodchuck uniform and a backpack.

"Oh, hi! I am B.O.Y.D! A definitely real boy!" The android says once he notices the other unknown ducks in the room.

"I want them out of my lab by the moment I'm back, Crackshell. Understood?" Gyro threatens the other scientist, that nods in response, and then turns to Boyd. "Come on Boyd, we don't want to be late to your meeting," The boy takes his hand and the two walk to the elevator.

"It was nice to meet you!" Boyd tells the others and waves as the elevator doors close.

The two birds head to the central park of Duckberg, stopping on a convenience store on their way. Using his moped is easier and faster than any car, not needing to wait for traffic. And even if Boyd can fly, he had already told him to only use his robotic enhancements when needed. Not to mention that it also helps with one of the tips he was given yesterday.  ("You have to prioritize him. Once everything is done with him, you can follow with your day,")

The reach the park fairly quickly, but when he gives Boyd the things they bought for this meeting, he notices that the backpack moves. It takes him a second to realize that Bulb never came out of the boy's room.

"Come on out Lil Bulb," He tells the backpack, and sure enough, said invention comes out of the little boy's knapsack.

"He wanted to accompany me to my Junior Woodchuck meeting," Boyd tells him. "Can he come?" ("You have to set rules, boundaries. There are things that they can't do or can't touch. And you have to tell him so, because even if it sounds obvious to you, it might not to them.")

"He can't Boyd, I need him at the lab," He explains to the real boy.

"Understood. Goodbye, Doctor Gearloose!"

"I'll see you at lunch," The scientist gets back on his moped and straps his helmet on. He notices that Lil Bulb is giving his back to him with his arm crossed, as if offended over what happened. "Oh please, don't be difficult you too,"

As he makes his way back to the underwater lab, he can't help the feeling that those three lunatic and that girl are gonna be there. Not surprisingly, when the elevator's doors ding open, the idiot, the stupid and the girl are marvelling at the facility and its contents as hobo-emo was slowly getting off the table he was laid in and stretching his column back into place.

"Gosalyn, don't touch that! You don't know what it does!" He reprimands the girl.

Gyro sighs defeated and pours himself a cup of coffee. As he sips his revival elixir, his mind wanders at the purple and black buffoon before him. The guy was in a dire need of an upgrade. He didn't scream battle-suit like Gizmo, but maybe a few gadgets and a more protective and lasting outfit would benefit him. If the guy was going to go around and try to be a nameless and unrecognised vigilante, the least he could do was have more than just a costume and a poor ensemble of sidekicks.

"Gosalyn, No, Get down from there!" Or maybe what he needed was something else.

Gyro looked at the girl duckling, who was balancing over an old cloning tube of his, and then back at the nightly superhero, who had red lines over his eyes, enormous black bags under his eyes, a stiff neck and almost ready to drop dead any second now. Analysing the facts he had, he made a decision.

"Gosalyn, Get down from there, We need to go! Now!" The dark avenger of the night kept scolding the younger duck, that still lead him nowhere.

"Here," Gyro, out of nowhere, presented a card to the shorter man. "A parenting expert, it seems like you need it,"

Drake looks between the card and the scary mad scientist twice before taking the card. Gyro left him alone once he took it to keep working on his inventions, leaving Drake to his own devices with the card.

Donald Duck xxx-xxxx-xxxx McDuck Manor's Pool

[muffindaddystyles]

(CLANDESTINE CHAPTER TWO)

ᗩᑭᑭOIᑎTᗰᗴᑎT, ᖇᗴᗪ ᐯᗴᒪᐯᗴT ᗩᑎᗪ ᗰᑌᖴᖴIᑎՏ

𝑯𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒚

Rhythmically mellifluous waves of notes echoes after bouncing back from anile theatre's walls, the trill getting softer the more I firmly place my chin over the tail piece.

Eye lids slip shutting at the flurries of heart chasing the last cadences, pinky shivering as the middle and ring finger pushes the string down while the bow touches through the strings simultaneously producing the last chords.

Feels like a voyage over a baby leaf that's leading me through a pallid wind.

My chest heaving vigorously and lifting my jaw from the violin my head snapped in the direction of loud claps flowing. After a hectic performance the seats went empty and instead of going backstage I tried to play a melody for myself.

I was so lost finding my way through strings that didn't even noticed when Azi came. He's the owner of this old hideously beautiful theatre, his love for arts has this place still running without compliance knowing else it would have left baren just like the other popular theatres they shut years ago.

"Well done Harry, people seemed to love your performance last night and today." A smile quenching from my inners causing the bottom lip to tuck in between my teeth.

A feeling like no other spiralling around my ribcages, this's all I ever wanted.

"They were properly soused into your magic and we know what that means, shit loads of money." I remained quite putting my violin and bow aside while he spoke with a tobacco cigar rolled in between his lips.

I never wanted to play for money but nor do I've problem if we're getting it because half of the people in theater needs it. They deserve it.

It's not their fault they've to die in return of loving the devotedness that's gifted naturally.

Their talent and adroitness is the only thing keeping them in this world even though they've to remain veiled from the ordinary people.

Azi drags the stash of money on the table in my direction causing me to shake my head in refusal, "you know that I don't need this money. Save it for the renovation of theatre before we all get buried deep under it." He laughs lungs rumbling from his old age.

For God's sake the ceilings are about to cripple and chandelier might bonk my head one day.

"Or' maybe double pay our ballerina she was prepossesing last night." The twitch of his wrinkles at the corners of eyes smoothed down sadly and he sighed loudly piercing a hole in my stomach.

Anticipation wrapped around my head shoving me into the sea of worry where I'm finding it difficult to process, "what happened-" my words choking in my windpipes when he cuts me off revealing the horror information.

"She was abducted last night, her body was found shot near the suburb of where she lives." Everything's feeling claustrophobic around me and I keep on gawking him in astonished dread.

She was one hell of the great dancers, the only ballerina of our theatre. She didn't not deserved this; fuck it nobody does. I refuse to believe.

Fuck this government. Fuck this stupid world.

Gripping my hair from roots I looked him straight in the eyes, "Tell me if her family needs any help." Then the realization dawned upon me like a heavy dust she never had a family. This theatre, her skills were her only family.

"Harry my boy listen I know you'll take it as a hard toll but believe me we can't do anything for what has happened, go home have a rest you've a performance in the coming month." I was taken aback when he hugged me assuring me like a father would do, not utterly sure how to respond to interactions like these I raised my hands several times only to let them fall back.

Memories of her on tips dancing beautifully on the stage displaying infront of me as I stored my violin into case putting it aside.

We weren't close. But the few times we had exchange of words in the middle of lunch breaks and her full concentration on my foolish jokes was worth than any friendships I ever had; which I unfortunately never had.

Without even noticing the whispers let out of my chest, "I'll miss ya." Never thought you could yearn to have a single glimpse of people last time even though they were barely in your life.

I didn't changed into comfortable clothes letting the flashy suit stick to my skin, so the weigh of it will keep on making me realize that the world has no place for us.

A sacrifice for living praise.

The alley outside's pitch dark with the sun roguishly trying to dawn from the horizon.

Azi Theatre's situated at the most lifeless spot in the city possible, you've to walk through several hidden allies to reach there.

While, walking past the streets and avoiding to ruin my trousers by splashing my boots into puddle my brain havoced with unnecessary thoughts.

Thousand of faces with erastz beauty passing in mili seconds on these vast fulgurant billboards their mocks appearing like arrows to my already wounded guts; though it's all in my head it's still crawling under my skin.

A peek of cognisance from the day she made me ate her red velvet muffins dizzied around in my mind painting sorrow over me.

Even though I protested with my nonsical excuses she won ending up handing me one of her perfectly shaped muffin on my palm with a huge grin.

Just like that alot of people's smiles in my life petered out in the lost pocket of my mind.

In the littlest remembrance of her I made route to the small bakery situated two blocks away from the building I live in. The city's sleeping the only thing's shop's boards blinking and hazy bakeries showing through the thick fog.

It's open twenty four hours seven. The sky tweeked with ribbons of brume and the digital clock showed 5:00 sharp in the early dawn the large glass windows fogy from weather. The counter lady's wrapped into a comfy blanket trying not to fall asleep.

The bell chimed startling the cute old lady when I stepped inside passing by the wooden counter, "uhh..hi sorry to disturb. I'll look in myself." She nodded slumping back into her seat soon about to knock off.

Strolling in between the squeezy aisles my eyes roamed over empty refrigerators ceasing to the one at the far corner.

There in the transparent domed box are four cherry-red muffins attracting every dull view of bakery towards themselves. They're perfectly shaped and snow-flaked into red coconut shudders but failed to water my mouth.

I've no appetite to eat them. Her's used to be baked into undescribeable funny shapes but atleast I had a company while chomping them in one bite.

A reel of same memory binging and before it could permanently imprint in my brain I cleared my throat raising my pointy finger as a habit, "I'll have these!"

We said in a unison. Hold on. We? Am I that exhausted that I've started to hallucinate.

My head snapshoting towards the person from whom the feminine voice billowed in the dense warm air.

Resplendent. Florid and kaleidoscopic were the first words that striked my confused mind when my vision raked from the faux suede ankle boots richer in pigment than the red velvet muffins resting inside the refrigerator; then straight towards to meet their eyes.

Her gaze projecting warmth in this wimtertide and out of curiosity I met her eyes to recognize their colour.

Golden syrup. They're like the glassed honey pool that has squeezed the bee in the syrup lake as if it's greed for honey became it's trap, hazel speckles caged inside the rim of irises flickering with her slightest of eye movement.

We both keeps on looking at eachother the morning peace surrounding us too unsure how to break the spell.

She's wearing a cerise peach long trench wool coat a sweet rose enamel pin attached to where her heart is. Her nose and ears pink from the cold outside, but her lips plump from under the translucent violaceous bubble gum coloured gloss.

Burnette tresses of hair loose till her covered shoulders, the peach tealed beanie intact on her head.

The women standing infront of me is in abstract contrast to the pastels of the bakery and the luster of gray buildings out of these bakery walls.

The pastelish hues still prominent in her and crimson peaked up my neck at the fact that she caught me intriguing her by my peer.

Boldly her eyes remained fixated at my suit that's very exotic for strolling into a bakery. She might think so I'm a bellend idiot.

The cashier lady came to us yawning placing her hands on her hips done with two strangers just looking at eachother but she doesn't know that both of them are inquisitive of what the other is wearing this early where anybody's barely awake.

"We've the only box, decide it quick kiddos that who'll get it." The lady yawned for fiftieth time taking the box of muffins out of refrigerator.

"I came here first and I was the first one to ask." I frowned for an obvious reason and the lady was about to give me the box when a honeyed voice again melted in my ears.

Now I really wanna hear her talk for a long time, "but I pointed at it first!" She whines softly jutting her lower lip.

"But vocalisation matters the most." I quipped arching my brow at her and she glared me but her beatific personality radiating naturally from her is breaking the bitter demeanour she's trying to pull towards me.

"Kay. We can leave it upto the rock, paper and siscorss." She smirks mishveously raising her brows several times in a challenge.

Her tongue poking out from her glossy lips with her one leg straight and other bended perpendicular she placed her on foot over another balancing with only one leg like a flamingo.

The cute small lady groaned, "are you really gonna do this?" Our eyes widening and chuckles spiraling when we once again we said 'yep.' In unison.

She was ready to launch her hand in a paper and mine was stone so I quickly interrupted looking down at her legs, "why are you standin' like a swan?" Her eyes slitting into a squint and lips shrinking into a pout.

Tilting her chin towards me and standing in the same position as before just the difference now's that her hands are on her hips to convey the offend.

She ruched her lower lip inside her mouth to stop from giving a smile, so she's a buoyant person...

"Because maybe I am?" And she doesn't have simple answers to straight questions. Our fists still raised into air and the cashier lady hissed this time ready to throw hands.

"You kids are worse than my grandchildren!" She gasped comically at the words of short lady.

"That's very mean of you..." I'm clearly surprised that she isn't one bit influenced by lady's sharpness instead she's further engaging in a conversation that will result in the loss of time for all of us. "...and your daughter wouldn't be very happy to know."

"Kay. Back to where we left." She quickly turned her head towards me her complete concentration struck over me making my stomach go fluttery and funny.

"Uhm..yes- rock, paper, siscorss!" I never thought I'd play a game with some stranger who's looking so cozy and comfy in the early dew, for some muffins in the middle of empty bakery when I scarcely interact with people.

"Yes! I won." I punched the air when my siscorss cut her paper and her jaw went slack for a moment.

What the fuck you're doing Styles!?

Out of shyness and awkwardness I abruptly combed back my curls rubbing my hand down the nape of my neck not meeting her eyes.

The lady handed me the box with a boring expression while Hers stayed ticked to it, "anyway I don't even like red-velvet muffins." Yeah. Grapes are sour when fox can't get it.

She was about to walk away near to step out of shop. I want to call her but don't know her name; so out of sheer rampage I blurted out the only word that the department of my brain could manage at the time.

"Swan!" She halted in her tracks torso turning and with her chin atop of her shoulder she looked back at me smiling coyly.

"Yes. Sparkly?" She's probably calling me that because of my glittery black suit and I'm sure my ribcages did something at the name. Getting made fun of doesn't sound very good; but it is at the time.

Today's an odd day.

"Um..we can share if you want to?" Her grin etching to the corner of her lips and she jumped excitedly clasping her hands together,"Really!?"

A timid smile crawling over my features watching her get delighted at the littlest of fact. "Yes. There are two pair of muffins we both can have one pair if you like to?" I told her and she bobs her head while going towards the cash counter, patting the counter with a huge grin indicating me to put the box down.

"Your total's $8.25." We both payed half of the total price and I shoved my hands into my trouser's pockets scrutinizing my surrounding while the annoyed cashier lady packed two muffins separately for one of us.

And she rummaged through her wallet which has alot of ebullient key-chains hanging from it, who's this girl?

Why I've never seen her here before? and I've never seen a person this cheerful in the crowd of prosaic people of city.

The lady handed us our respective delights with a roll of eyes and I was the first one to take mine and quickly sprinted out of there, because I didn't know what else to do.

A whiff of pungent vanilla, mulberry pomegranate sprouting with cocoa made it's way in my nostrils when I passed beside her. Her fragrance's divergent.

You know a scent that addictively clouds your senses but it's so rare you never get to smell it again; but if out of nowhere you get to it brings back nostalgia for no reason, she smelled like that.

When I glanced back the two women were still watching my weirdness in amusement through the glass windows of bakery.

It appeared like her rose enamel pin winked at me from far.

Mick was tangled up into cassette tapes when I stepped inside my flat, the tiny bugger he is jumped atop me straddling me to the floor.

"You're lookin' like a disco ball. No need to be so proud." Instead he gave a long slicky lick to my cheek woofing at me.

He's being too cheeky but it wouldn't last long when I'll take him for a checkup. He fucking envy his doc. I'm already sensing sympathy seeking whining from him, happens every year.

Shaking my head I grunted skiding from underneath him but he's fast and climbed up in my lap while I struggled to open the box.

The minute red hilly muffins were infront of me it reminded me of honey the ooze of golden, treacle eyes. Her eyes.

Shit. It's getting hard to get rid of her delicate image that's playing like an aesthetic reel in the back of my mind.

I was jerked into reality when Mick lurched greedily eating the delcious muffin from my hand in one bite, leaving his slickness at the tip of my fingers. Before he could attack my muffin too I quickly grabbed it.

"Mick you wouldn't believe what happened today!?" I spoke in an animated voice scratching his sweet spot under his ear my mouth full of red coconut and he looked up at me with his sick puppy eyes.

"We wouldn't have been able to eat these if I wouldn't have won from...." I stuttered pondering over the fact that the nameless peachy coat girl's too stubborn and wouldn't leave my fuzzy thoughts alone, "...from swan."

Mick just barked at me going to his sleeping pillow and I practically rubbed my eyes with the heels of my palms to bring myself to some consciousness from that bloody bakery fantasy.

_

When the proper morning hit I made myself breakfast and the longer I stared it the more it impeded my appetite.

With one hand offering Mick treats to deceive him into the idea that I'll take him to the park for a walk which instead will end up in a clinic's room and other hand diligent in searching word puzzles over the newspaper my jaw worked to chew the sandwich.

Throwing a sweater over my head and slipping into white washed jeans quickly I got ready to take Mick with me.

I had to scoop Mick up in my arms when he sprawled onto footpath of veterinary clinic the second he realized what was about to happen.

The kid leaning against the wall giggled loudly watching me practically drag my dog across the floor because he's too socially akward, fucking wow.

The waiting area's already full of pupils alongside their pets, someone stood up from the last bench and taking the advantage of opportunity I strided towards it sitting at it's edge.

Fifteen minutes passed since I've been caressing and comforting my scared bud, tucking his crown under my chin to make him at rest.

There's loud raucous noise when the elevator doors to the floor we're at opened wide gaining everyone's attention and when the person in tizzy strided inside the corridor I had to look at her twice.

What the fuck she's doing here? She never owned a pet and the one for whom she'll get this worried about.

Lyida's exactly same, her eyes bright as always and she has become more striking from when she was with me.

But she's not mine now, she never was.

She lurched over the receptionist with the box in her hand and distress of having to meet her eyes creeped inside me. The girl beside me threw daggers at me when I stood up hastily causing the whole bench to shake. I apologised for the disturbance.

My hands fumbled with the knob of nearest door right beside me and I had to shush Mick sternly when he kept on whining.

Heavy puff of breaths escaping my lungs when I stumbled inside some empty doctor's room shutting the door behind me, back meeting against the wooden plank of door, cold sweat breaking under the nape of my neck and I blinked several times taking in my surrounding.

I'm a weak son of a bitch.

It's fuckin' gruelling to be in her presence. It's hellish to meet her sympathetic gaze for me and I'm a bastard who's pathetic as hell.

I have to be away, I've to go right now. Trotting towards the large window panes I uncliped them stepping outside the shared balcony of room.

There's a drain pipe so I can climb it down to the ground and get the hell away from here.

Maybe, Mick was right it was a bad day and idea to come here.

Adjusting Mick inside my armpit I threw my one leg over the rail and then the second, my breath wavering as I gripped the rail tighter taking baby steps towards the plastic pipe.

The smack of air stinging my eyes while the cars are being parked infront of me at the parking lot.

A delucet voice clamoured from inside startling me to death and Mick barked lowly in reaction, "Whoops! Sorry to interrupt your suicidal mission." I turned my head steadily to see who's it even though I can comprehend the sherbet similarity.

Her voice has melted like a hot maroon stamp into my ears since the dawn hour and with the corner of my eyes I watched her leaning against the stretcher.

"But let me tell you Sparkly this height would cause you nothing but two broken ribs, one fractured thigh and you might loose your brain memory. No more than that." I gawked her appalled while she remained peacific arms folded infront of her chest, into different cardinal clothes now.

Again a replete splitness to what every other person's wearing outside.

Even though my intentions are nothing like that but saying this to someone who's about to take their life doesn't seem very pleasing.

I was about to speak something into my defence that she misinterpreted things but she cut me off popping her chewing gum and capturing the ropes of sticked bubble around her lips with her teeth.

Fuck.

.

A/n; Please lovies. Reblog it and gimme feedback alot of kisses!