#like! forget the notion that there's a rest of the book. try following the basic narrative syntax of these paragraphs.

[blindrapture]

[three paragraphs from Finnegans Wake, book 1, chapter 3. pages 61 - 64. the chapter as a whole is one of my favourite things, and I have no fucking clue how to talk about any of it. this sequence is a, uh, “narrative block” which I frequently return to.] [bold has been added to emphasize a pattern.]

Be these meer marchant taylor’s fablings of a race referend with oddman rex? Is now all seenheard then forgotten? Can it was, one is fain in this leaden age of letters now to wit, that so diversified outrages (they have still to come!) were planned and partly carried out against so staunch a covenanter if it be true than any of those recorded ever took place for many, we trow, beyessed to and denayed of, are given to us by some who use the truth but sparingly and we, on this side ought to sorrow for their pricking pens on that account. The seventh city, Urovivla, his citadear of refuge, whither (would we believe the laimen and their counts), beyond the outraved gales of Atreeatic, changing clues with a baggermalster, the hejirite had fled, silentioussuemeant under night’s altosonority, shipalone, a raven of the wave, (be mercy, Mara! A he whence Rahoulas!) from the ostmen’s dirtby on the old vic, to forget in expiating manslaughter and, reberthing in remarriment out of dead seekness to devine previdence, (if you are looking for the bilder deep your ear on the movietone!) to league his lot, palm and patte, with a papishee. For mine qvinne I thee giftake and bind my hosenband I thee halter. The wastobe land, a lottuse land, a luctuous land, Emeraldilluim, the peasant pastured, in which by the fourth commandment with promise his days apostolic were to be long by the abundant mercy of Him Which Thundereth From On High, murmured, would rise against him with all which in them were, franchisables and inhabitands, astea as agora, helotsphilots, do him hurt, poor jink, ghostly following bodily, as were he made a curse for them, the corruptible lay quick, all saints of incorruption-of-an holy nation, the common or ereingarden castaway, in red resurrection to condemn so they might convince him, first pharoah, Humpheres Cheops Exarchas, of their proper sins. Business bred to speak with a stiff upper lip to all men and most occasions the Man we wot of took little short of fighting chances but for all that he or his or his care were subjected to the horrors of the premier terror of Errorland. (perorhaps!)

We seem to us (the real Us!) to be reading our Amenti in the sixth sealed chapter of the going forth by black. It was after the show at Wednesbury that one tall man, humping a suspicious parcel, when returning late amid a dense particular on his home way from the second house of the Boore and Burgess Christy Menestrels by the old spot, Roy’s Corner, had a barkiss revolver placed to his faced with the words: you’re shot, major: by an unknowable assailant (masked) against whom he had been jealous over, Lotta Crabtree or Pomona Evlyn. More than that Whenn the Waylayer (not a Lucalizod diocesan or even of the Glendalough see, but hailing fro’ the prow of Little Britain), mentioning in a bytheway that he, the crawsopper, had, in edition to Reade’s cutless centiblade, a loaded Hobson’s which left only twin alternatives as, viceversa, either he would surely shoot her, the aunt, by pistol, (she could be okaysure of that!) or, failing of such, bash in Patch’s blank face beyond recognition, pointedly asked with gaeilish gall wodkar blizzard’s business Thornton had with that Kane’s fender only to be answered by the aggravated assaulted that that that was the snaps for him, Midweeks, to sultry well go and find out if he was showery well able. But how transparingly nontrue, gentlewriter! His feet one is not a tall man, not at all, man. No such parson. No such fender. No such lumber. No such race. Was it supposedly in connection with a girls, Myramy Huey or Colores Archer, under Flaggy Bridge (for ann there is but one liv and hir newbridge is her old) or to explode his twelvechamber and force a shrievalty entrance that the heavybuilt Abelbody in a butcherblue blouse from One Life One Suit (a men’s wear store), with a most decisive bottle of single in his possession, seized after dark by the town guard at Haveyoucaught-emerod’s temperance gateway was there in a gate’s way.

Fifthly, how parasoliloquisingly truetoned on his first time of hearing the wretch’s statement that, muttering Irish, he had had had o’gloriously a’lot too much hanguest or hoshoe fine to drink in the House of Blazes, the Parrot in Hell, the Orange Tree, the Glibt, the Sun, the Holy Lamb and, lapse not leashed, in Ramitdown’s ship hotel since the morning moment he could dixtinguish a white thread from a black till the engine of the laws declosed unto Murray and was only falling fillthefluthered up against the gatestone pier which, with the cow’s bonnet a’top o’it, he falsetook for a cattlepillar with purest peaceablest intentions. Yet how lamely hobbles the hoy of his then pseudojocax axplanation how, according to his own story, he vas a process server and was merely trying to open zozimus a bottlop stoub by mortially hammering his magnum bonum (the curter the club the sorer the savage) against the bludgey gate for the boots about the swan, Maurice Behan, who hastily into his shoes with nothing his hald barra tinnteack and came down with homp, shtemp and jumphet to the tiltyard from the wastes a’sleep in his obi ohny overclothes or choker, attracted by the norse of guns playing Delandy is cartager on the raglar rock to Dulyn, said war’ prised safe in bed as he dreamed that he’d wealthes in mormon halls when wokenp by a fourth loud snore out of his land of byelo while hickstrey’s maws was grazing in the moonlight by hearing hammering on the pandywhank scale emanating from the blind pig and anything like it (oonagh!oonagh!) in the whole history of the Mullingcan Inn he never. This battering babel allower the door and sideposts, he always said, was not in the very remotest like the belzey babble of a bottle of boose which would not rouse him out o’ slumber deep but reminded him loads more of the martiallawsey marses of foreign musikants’ instrumongs or the overthrewer to the third last days of Pompery, if anything. And that after this most nooningless knockturn the young reine came down desperate and the old liffopotamus started ploring all over the plains, as mud as she cud be, ruinating all the bouchers’ schurts and the backers’ wischandtugs so that be the chandeleure of the Rejaneyjailey they were all night wasching the walters of, the weltering walters off. Whyte.

[honkhonkrichard]

Theory: Stanley Uris was Murdered.

Tagging @vvanini I hope you can follow this okay it’s very word vomity lol

Okay So TW because this post will touch on Stan's death ad the methods behind it

I propose that Stan Uris was murdered. by IT. In his home on that fateful night. I think that Stan posed the biggest threat to IT and therefore IT felt the need to take him out before the battle even started.

Allow me to explain.

Okay, so, I need to lay out some basic "rules" or "facts" before I make my case. They are as follows.

- IT planted it's roots in Derry, and finds it difficult to leave, but still can at it’s own wil.  If you read the book (I honestly don't blame you if you haven't) You'd know that once the Losers kill IT for the final time, Derry (the Physical town) is obliterated. Buildings explode, sinkholes appear, things are flooded. The town is in ruins by the time that the Losers leave the sewers. The movies don't adapt this so If this is news to you thats fine. the bottom line is that destroying IT destroys Derry, like ripping a tree out of the ground with all it's roots. Because of this, we can make the claim that while it can Leave Derry (as it does every 27 years) it probably takes tremandous amount of power to do so, which is why IT only goes when the cycle is over. Why does this matter? Well, what if IT left Derry to get to Stan? The murders had stopped for about a week when they're all in the Jade of the Orient. Plenty of time for IT to cross from Maine to Georgia. Side Note: We KNOW IT leaevs Maine to elsewhere in the world because of King's extended universe all interconnecting. it's not far off at all to make the claim that IT is the same evil that haunts, say The Shining's Overlook Hotel, which is in Colarado.

- IT is omnipresent This is also a given, IT lives everywhere, and can fuck with time and space in godlike (or maybe eldritch like) ways. in IT: Chapter Two, when Mike claims "IT Doesn't know I know what I know" he's unfortunately wrong, because we know that IT can be in A) Multiple places at once, B) can manipulate anything on the drop of a hat (See: Stan being teleported away from everyone else in Chapter One, Everything about Neibolt, etc) and C) Knows everyone's deep fears. This is further proven by IT Saying things like "Beep Beep Richie" (although this is Horribly Horribly executed in the films, ugh.) and so on and so forth. On top of all of this, We can make the claim that IT can exist outside of Time as well, given that IT is immortal. SO, what's stopping IT from Knowing Mike was going to call them all back (Espically considering that IT TOLD Mike to do this?). Even if we keep IT's omnipresence to the location that IT inhabits (in this case Derry) IT would still have knowledge of where the losers are through Mike. And if you take the Lucky Seven/Chosen Seven route (oh my god I got theories on that too) you could argue IT knows where they are inherently due to their cosmic status.

- Stan is the "most Powerful" loser So, obviously all the Loser's are powerful, espically considering they're the ones who Defeat IT (Again going on to the Lucky/Chosen Seven theory). This next claim is going to be less focused on what the 2019/2017 Movies do because they are Bad Movies and that's a whole other rant. However, in the book, Stan is (to my knowledge feel free to correct me on any of this) the only loser to Actively ward off and 'defeat' IT on his own without running away. He uses his belief in this what is Real (birds) to ward off what is "not real" (IT). The other losers do manage to take down IT in their own Right, but Stan is ultimately the one to Really get IT. This is because Stan's character revolves around Belief and Willpower. These are, in some form or another, the ways to Defeat IT. the ritual of Chud is a battle of Wills. in the book, Bill takes IT down and Eddie does the final blow. In the Remake (ugh) the losers can defeat it Technically using the belief that IT isn't as powerful as it claims because IT's "just a clown" (Ihatethatfuckingendingsomuchugh). Stan being much more skeptical than the rest of the group in his ability to understand Reality vs IT's illusions is a powermove, and IT knows that ability doesn't go away as Stan grows up, but rather he gets more powerful. Stan is the Only loser out of the 6 who left that has any sort of knowledge about IT, where the other losers have nothing. Bev has nightmares, yes, but she still forgets them. We're told in his chapter (Chapter 3, Six Phone Calls (1985), Part One: Stanley Uris Takes a Bath) that he has some hazy knowledge of his place in the Lucky Seven, and even goes so far as to MENTION it sometimes, even if he doesn't quite remember or understand any of it, his knowledge of IT and Derry is worlds more prominent than that of the rest of the losers.

(page 52 of IT:  "Stanley, nothing's wrong with your life!"  "I don't mean from inside." he said. "From inside is fine. I'm talking about outside. Something that should be over and isn't. I wake up frmo these dreams and think, 'My whole pleasent life has been nothing but the eye of some storm I don't understand.' I'm afraid. But then it just... fades. The way dreams do." OR  page 45: He had been smiling a little. Now the smile faltered, and for a moment he seemed puzzled. His eyes had darkened, as if he looked inward, consulting some interior device which ticked and whirred correctly but which, ultimately he understood no more than the average man understands the workings of the watch on his wrist. "The turtle couldn't help us," he said suddenly. he said that quite clearly.)

So, Stan has some cosmic knowledge of IT and Maturin and his role in the battle against It. What does any of this have to do with his death? Well, let me point out some other things about Stan's death that always stuck out to me. - His death chapter is narrated by his wife, Patty, rather than himself. The other chapters - almost all the other chapters - are narrated by their respective Loser (the caviot for this is Ben, but Ben is also wasted out of his damn mind so its understandable.) - Stan's personality is few and far between in the book, but we know he has a weird little sense of humour and that he's incredibly logical. I think that this logical part of him would be able to understand that Suicide is Never Ever the answer, and that it would cause FAR more problems than it would solve. (the 2019 movie tries to reexplain his death and it's crap and i hate the letters i hate the letters so much im gonna explode) The other losers try to rationalize his death by saying "He would rather Die Clean than Live Dirty (Page 506, Chapter 10, The Reunion, part 3, 'Ben Hanscom Gets Skinny') but he had already BEEN Dirty when he defeated IT the first time, and I think he would've recognized that. - upon finding him, Patty (in her narration) notes that Stan's head is bent back over the edge of the bathtub, so from his sight she would have been upside down. If Stan DID kill himself, why would he be positioned like that? It's unnatural, like someone Posed him. - the cuts on his arms are two length wise cuts. I'm no expert but.. that's suspicious. That's weird. - IT is written in blood on the wall. Why? Why would Stan right THAT of all things? You know who DOES like to paint with blood? IT.

Alright, returning to my thesis statement, Stanley Uris was murdered. Do I think Stan genuinely was going to take a bath at 7pm (which we're told is weird for him)? Yes. I think that's absolutely a thing he could have done or planned to do. Do I think he slit his wrists and commited suicide so he wouldn't go back to Derry? No. Not even remotely.

Let me paint a New Picture.

It's May 28th, 2016, or 1985. Stanley Uris gets a call from Mike Hanlon. Stan is incredibly hesitant to go to, and says he needs time to think about it. Or tht he'll try. He can feel the starts of a Panic attack, and as he's remembering the circles of Hell he went through as a child, he tries to hold himself together. He doesn't want his darling wife to see his break, so he says "I think I'll take a bath" and nothing else before going upstairs. he hides in the bathroom. He closes and locks the door, because, well, he's panicking. Locking doors is one of The Small things he does. Is it usually the bathroom door? no, but still (OCD is a bitch, and even with medication, but this is a special case). He looks in the mirror and tries to breathe. This is fine. He can do this. They killed IT once before and they can do it again. He thinks about his younger self, the promises made, and how he could explain all of this Patty in time to catch a flight to Maine. It's terrifying, but if his friends are going to bite the dust, he wants to be there with them, wedding vows be Damned. Then he looks at his reflection again. A younger, rotted version of himself stares back at him. IT crawls through the mirror. Stan freaks out, obviously. This isn't real. This Can't be real. But IT utilizes this notion against him. It digs it's claws into his arms, and forces him to bleed out in the bathtub. IT then sets the scene nicely. Razorblades on the counter, a bloody signature on the wall, a horrible posture of Stan's neck. So on and So forth. and then IT returns to Derry. IT's a little weak, yeah, but Stan is dead. That's what matters. the Lucky Seven has now Officially broken, and the balance shifts in favour of the clown.

So that's the theory. feel free to correct me on anything or engage I have plenty of theories on this story and I like discussing this stuff :).

[liannyeong]

Crimson (Chapter 3)

Summary: Jaebeom tours Yujin around the mansion, and the start of the wedding preparations.

Word count: 2463

Pairing: Jaebeom X OC

Warning(s): None

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16

A/N: Phew! Managed to get this done in time! And it’s a longer chapter too :D Do support my works by buying me a coffee! Follow me on Twitter for updates ~ See you next week! ^^

Jaebeom takes Yujin to the garden first. Standing a few steps away from the garden arch, pink flowers decorating the iron base. The vibrant petals contrast against the surrounding plain green hedges. Jaebeom doesn't bring her into the garden though. Instead, he briefly explains that it's more of a maze instead of an actual garden.

"What's in the middle of the maze then?" Yujin asks, looking beyond the arch. Interestingly, the sun is bright overhead, but the garden pathway is rather dark, and there seems to be a kind of fog clouding it, giving a mysterious aura.

"Oh, nothing much. Just a water fountain, that's all," Jaebeom responds, bringing her attention to the mansion instead. Yujin slightly frowns. Why does the fae seem rather dismissive?

"The mansion has an east wing and a west wing," Jaebeom gestures to the rectangular blocks that emerge from the centre of the mansion. "And there are three floors. The first floor is a common area, where the kitchen and the dining hall are located in the west wing. The east wing is where the servants' quarters are located."

"The second floor is made up of sleeping quarters for the rest of the household. That one, however," Jaebeom points out at the balcony just above the front door to the mansion, "is the ballroom. The third floor is the library in its entirety."

Next, Jaebeom brings her back inside the mansion. They step into the kitchen first, where Chan -- the one who served them earlier -- is focused on cooking a dish. There are two other faes busily moving about in the kitchen. None of them seem to be affected by their presence. Yujin catches the greenish glint in their eyes.

"Does your household employ different elemental faes?" Yujin asks when they exit the kitchen.

"Elemental faes prefer to stick to their own kind. But here, it's different. We don't follow the general notion."

"What about Jinyoung? He's your brother but he's not a Fire fae."

Jaebeom smiles ruefully.  "That's because he's my half-brother."

Yujin expects him to go on, but he doesn't. He leaves the conversation as it is. The next room over is the dining hall, but having been there during breakfast, Jaebeom skips to the servants' quarters.

"This is where the servants stay. If you need anything, you can approach them. Preferably, you should approach me though," Jaebeom murmurs the last sentence to himself but the silence in the house makes it loud and clear to Yujin's ears.

They head up the stairs, to the second floor. Jaebeom shows Yujin the ballroom, pushing open the large wooden door. It's basically empty, the daylight streaming into the room through the glass doors, casting a glow onto the marble-tiled floor. Beyond the doors is the balcony that she saw from the garden arch.

"We shall hold our wedding here," Jaebeom suddenly says, a huge grin on his face. In an instant, Yujin feels her heart drop. The tour has made her temporarily forget the reason she was brought here.

"Well, let's continue on." The fae walks out of the room, Yujin trailing behind.

He goes past the stairs and to the start of the hallway of the west wing, pausing there. "At the very end is where my room is located," Jaebeom states. "If you ever need anything, you can find me there."

Then they go up to the third floor, where the library is. The stairs form a bridge-like structure that splits into two pathways. The library appears taller than the other two floors, thanks to the roof that is shaped like a dome. It is made of entirely glass, allowing for the steady stream of sunlight. With the vast space -- a result of the merging of the two wings into one -- Yujin guesses there could be thousands of books in total: there are aisles of books, and every wall is turned into a bookshelf too!

"All the books in the library are my personal collection," Jaebeom gestures at the aisles. “But you’re more than welcome to read them.”

Yujin stares at Jaebeom, mouth gaping at him. She has always wanted to read new books but never had the chance, considering the financial situation of her family. They only have enough to sustain their survival, rarely anything more to purchase new things. Only once did her father gift her a novel that she has read multiple times throughout the years.

"Thank you, I’d like that a lot," Yujin can’t help but return a smile, genuinely grateful and happy. This seems to please the fae, for he looks at her as if she’s never smiled before.

"Well, uh--" Jaebeom clears his throat, “Come this way.”

Moving past rows of bookshelves, right at the very end, there is an arched glass window, with cushioned seats lined on the windowsill. Looking out, Yujin gets a bird's eye view of the mansion grounds, including the garden maze. She spots a fountain in the center, true to what Jaebeom said.

“It's nice, isn't it?” Jaebeom comments.

Definitely, Yujin thinks to herself.

“Well, that’s all there is in this mansion,” Jaebeom concludes. "I hope you’re more comfortable and familiar here."

“Yes, thank you for showing me around."

“Anything for you,” Jaebeom replies, eyes rather fond. "Ah yes, you’ll be fitted for your dress today, in the late afternoon. Yeri will remind you again."

“I shall leave you to yourself then,” he says, bowing politely and making his way out.

Yujin redirects her attention to the view outside. How advantageous is this, she realizes. Having a view from this angle will allow her to monitor the movements around the mansion.

She might have just arrived here and so far, no one has tried to harm her. Still, she can't get complacent. She can't let her guard down. There's a lot of things she doesn't know, questions that remain unanswered. But it's better she doesn't delve too much into it, she muses. The fae are skilled in deluding people, she reminds herself. It's better that she focuses on finding a way out of this place. She shouldn’t stay here any longer than necessary.

---

Yujin is woken by a shake on her shoulder, her eyes still heavy. She peeks an eye, the sun already casting slanted shadows through the windows. Yeri is standing next to the bed, reminding her of the dress fitting. Yujin quickly freshens herself up before following the servant lady to a guest room situated in the west wing of the mansion.

“Why couldn’t we do the fitting in my own room?” Yujin wonders aloud.

“It’s Master Im’s orders, Lady Shin,” Yeri responds as calm and dignified as usual. Then, she comes a little closer, and whispers, “Master Im doesn’t want anyone near or in your room.” She lets out a small giggle.

Yujin frowns. In an instant, the fae immediately reverts back to her composed self, as if she's done something wrong. Her sudden shift in mood has Yujin letting out a small laugh. Yeri smiles at her sheepishly.

The guestroom is as large as her room in the east wing. Seeing no one else in the room, Yujin decides to take her place at the loveseat. She’s rather thankful to have borrowed a book from the library and brought it along. She was reading it to pass time, but accidentally fell asleep until Yeri came. Basking in the silence of the room, Yujin flips open the book and continues on the page she left off.

She didn’t keep track of the time. She was nose deep into the novel when the door swings open and a commotion follows. Looking up, Yujin sees a male fae entering the room in the longest strides she has ever seen. He stands in the middle of the room, leaning his weight onto one foot. His legs are long, Yujin notices, and his cheekbones are visible beneath his slightly tanned skin. The next thing Yujin notices is the fae’s blue-colored eyes -- a sign that he is a Water fae. Yujin slowly rises to her feet.

“You must be the Shin Yujin,” the fae says with a subtle accent, looking her up and down. Perhaps elemental faes have different cultures and slightly different languages, much like human races.

“I’m Bam, your couturier,” he introduces himself. Before Yujin can even respond, he waves his hand and a mannequin appears in front of him, at the empty space between the guest bed and the loveseat. Bam steps forward, moving his right arm in a fluid motion and a measuring tape slides smoothly down his arm and into his hand. If Yujin had blinked, she might not have even noticed it.

“Measure her, please,” the male instructs and it’s like the measuring tape comes to life. Similar to water, the tape flows from the fae’s hand and slithers its way towards Yujin. It coils around her ankle, then spreads to her hip before covering her entire body like a tight-fit suit. It measures the littlest of details, leaving no skin untouched. Once done, it flows back down to the floor, creeping up to the mannequin. The mannequin morphs to be an exact replica of Yujin’s body.

“Alright, let’s see,” Bam goes. He crosses his arms, fingers underneath his chin, brows furrowed in thought. He tilts his head to the side, humming to himself. Then in the next moment, he suggests, “Perhaps a basic dress?”

Bam snaps his fingers and what appears to be snowflakes starts falling above the mannequin, to reveal a long simple dress. It is plain white, no design apart from the lace on the cap sleeves. The material hugs at the waist and tapers to her thighs, accentuating the Yujin’s curves. The tail fans out at the bottom, forming a smooth circle on the floor.

“What do you think?” the fae asks, glancing at Yujin. She doesn’t even get a chance to form her opinion, let alone open her mouth as Bam waves his hand, shaking his head. “On second thought, never mind. Let’s try another… I think… You’ll go better with an off-shoulder dress.”

Another snap and the basic dress moulds itself into an off-shoulder dress. The sleeves are long and tight to skin. There’s a dip in the middle, towards the cleavage but it’s not too low that it is racy. Around the waist is a rose gold embroidery, and the skirt flows loosely, multiple layers of light chiffon.

“What do you think?” Bam asks again, looking rather proud at his design. This time, Yujin has the time to step forward and feel the material.

The dress is beautiful, Yujin must admit, though she wonders if it suits her.

Just then, Jaebeom barges in, door slamming against the wall, his expression sour. “Bam!” he bellows.

“Oh, hello, Jaebeom,” the Water fae greets. “I think I’m just about done here--”

“How dare you make my bride wait!” Jaebeom raises his voice at the other, jabbing a finger into his chest. “Is this how you treat your clientele? Showing up late?”

Bam cowers. Yujin feels the temperature plummet. Watching the scene warily, she notices the candles around the room dimmed low, almost extinguished.

“I chose you as our couturier and yet, you treat my bride like a fool?”

“I’m sorry, Jaebeom, I had other business to attend to--”

“Excuses!” the Fire fae roars.

“Jaebeom--” Yujin intervenes, though her voice is small. Her own heart pounds in her ears. She definitely doesn’t want to be at the receiving end of Jaebeom’s wrath, but she feels the urge to defend Bam. The Water fae has his head hung low, avoiding any form of eye contact with the other fae. Yujin doesn’t know where she got the courage to move forward, such that she touches Jaebeom’s elbow. “It’s fine. It wasn’t a long wait -- not with a book to keep me company.”

Jaebeom looks over his shoulder. His anger seems to dissipate almost instantly. Out of the corner of her eye, Yujin notices the fires are back to normal. “Are you sure? I can punish him, if you’d like.”

“That won’t be ideal, would it? We need his service for our wedding,” she placates the male.

Jaebeom exhales steadily. Then he turns back to Bam, who is still looking down at his feet. Jaebeom jabs his finger into his chest once more, and spits, “You should be thankful to the mercy of my bride. Else, you’d be dead by now.”

The Fire fae faces Yujin once more, gently tapping her shoulder, a smile on his lips. His hand slides down her arm to hold her hand up between them. “If there’s anything you are displeased with, don’t hesitate to call me.” He brings up the hand higher, pressing his lips to her knuckles. Gently letting her go, Jaebeom turns on his heels and leaves the room. Yujin can’t help but notice how Bam immediately relaxes.

“Thank you for saving my life,” the couturier expresses his gratitude with a slight bow, a relieved expression on his face.

Yujin offers a kind smile. “I don’t think I did anything but you’re welcome.”

“Such amazing ability, you have,” Bam says. “I can’t believe that it’s true.”

Yujin cocks her head to the side. “What is?”

“Well,” Bam starts rather hesitantly. “Jaebeom has always been a hot-headed person, much worse than what you saw earlier. But his temper has mostly died down ever since he moved to this mansion, you see. Occasionally, he does get angry when it comes to important matters. But the fact that he was furious at me for being late and that you calmed him real quick… You really have Jaebeom wrapped around your finger.”

Yujin got reminded of Jinyoung, who said the same words. She shrugs her shoulders. “Maybe he doesn’t like truancy.”

Bam shakes his head. “I’ve known him all my life. And I’ve never seen him like this.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “You must mean a lot to him, considering that he’s protective of you.”

Yujin doubts so. There must be another reason for Jaebeom to behave in such a manner. Even if he is protective of me, it's because he needs me for something. But I wonder what...

“Ah!” Bam’s face suddenly lights up. He whips around and snaps his fingers at the mannequin. The sleeves are gone, and thin straps are added instead. Then, just slightly above the chest, a gold jewelry wraps around the mannequin. Magic flows downward, constructing a long chiffon cape that drapes all the way down, almost touching the floor.

“How do you find this?” Bam presents it to Yujin, his blue eyes gleam with pride.

“It’s-- Majestic.” Yujin finds herself amazed by the elegance it holds.

Bam grins wide. “Perfect for the bride of the Im house.”

[smearsyd]

Day Again | Sehun | Part Two

Kim Haru knows loss. She knows what it means to miss someone, to find out what isolation looks like in the flesh. These things, she expects them and she patiently waits for the day she may wake up and greet them as griefs of the past.

What she does not expect, is the same grief reflected back in another’s face. She doesn’t expect to find solace through this person either, nor does she expect to cherish her days with him, rather than wait them away.

characters:

+ oh sehun (exo), you as kim haru (because names are important)

what to expect:

+ christmas + friends to lovers + fluff and romance

warnings:

+ mentions of death, grief + sensitive topics

length:

+ five parts + 30k plus total

read it here: (updating… stay tuned)

+ masterlist + part one + part two + part three 

author’s note:

+ this chapter was very sweet to write, i hope you enjoy ☀️

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Thanks for dinner last Sunday… I can’t remember if I said that when I was with you so I thought I would message 1:21 AM

Wow I just realized how late it is, I hope these don’t wake you! 1:22 AM

Give me a call when you feel like it… I am here if you need me 1:24 AM

Sleep well, Haru-ya 1:30 AM

I clung the phone to my chest, a yawn creeping through the small smile that had worked its way onto my lips. I had forgotten that I had saved his name as Sehunnie Oppa~ in my contacts with two hearts following, but it was a pleasant surprise to wake up to, nonetheless. It feels like just yesterday that I had been gifted this phone for my sixteenth birthday; Sehun’s number was the first one to go in— right after my brother, of course.

We used to stay up late messaging one another in a three-way group chat that consisted mostly of me sending outrageous photos of myself that I knew would only be used as collateral damage in the future. I sent them anyway, though, just so I could get equally outrageous photos of the boys back. Never once did they fail in making the next worse than the last, nor at making me laugh until I felt like my head would explode or I might pee myself.

The morning light was peeking in through the soft, white curtains and basking the room in its warm yellow tones. The window across my bed has always faced perfectly to the rising sun, not too bright to be a nuisance, but not too soft that I couldn’t enjoy it. I realized with a pang against my chest that this would most likely be the last time I am able to see it; the last time I can stare at these walls and the small nuances that have grown into the roots of this house.

My height inscribed on the closet door of the pantry, as if he had written it only days ago; the small dent in the living room wall from the one time a Wii Remote was chucked across the room; Haru and Oppa written in permanent marker in the bathroom (I had gotten in quite the trouble for that one); everything that made this house so familiar, so filled with memories, I would be leaving behind.

A big part of me was in-denial that I would allow myself to walk away from what this house offers me— all the memories that are not just mine to remember. The even bigger part of me, however, knows that it’s time to make new memories and I can’t do that if I am being suffocated by that in which lost its heartbeat long ago. I know Sehun was right too, Oppa would want me to be happy and he would want me to do what’s best for me, even if it is hard or uncomfortable in the beginning. In the reverse of feeling, he still gives me strength as if he has been here, guiding me along the whole way.

Sehun too, even if he doesn’t know it yet.

           A week? Is that how long it’s been since I last saw him? Even from the short time he was with me, the warming comfort of his arms seemed to have engrained themselves in my memory. That smile too, was it always so bright? I can’t remember anymore, but those feelings he leaves me with, they haven’t changed.

I miss him.

I clicked my phone on, the time stamp reading 8:49 AM— it’s almost nine. Is that too early to call? My finger hovered over his contact in anticipation and I felt as if I were suddenly blooming petals in a sea of butterflies.

What if he is sleeping still? And if I wake him?  

I shook the nervousness from my mind with a calming breath. He told me to call, so why wouldn’t I? I hit the green dial button and waited as the tone rang quietly in the background, placing the phone delicately to my ear. Two long, infinitely long rings passed and somewhere in the middle of them I had curled under the plush comforter, rising it to cover my mouth as if I was a child embarrassed about calling their cru—

“Hello?”

I snapped up, the comforter floating down around me as I quickly whispered back, “Did I wake you?”

Sehun’s breathing halted for only a moment, a light chuckle gracing my ears as it passed. I found that my shoulders relaxed from the soothing sound. “No good morning Oppa? Not even a simple hello?”

I grumbled on the outside, but a wave of heat attacked the rounds of my cheeks, nonetheless. I played it off the best I could.

“Pshhh, who says that anymore? Just answer the question.”

He seemed content with my answer, an audible snort being heard through the phone. “Haru-ya, sleep alludes me even now…” He hummed like a sigh that spoke of giving up— I understood the notion all too well.

I can almost picture the small smile that would be sitting on the bend of his lips, his hand curled around the edge of the phone. I wonder what he has been doing. “Did you get my texts? It’s been awhile since we messaged last.”

I hummed into the phone, fiddling with a loose string of my blanket that was somehow more interesting than it was a second ago. “I read them when I woke up… You know you don’t have to thank me for that kind of stuff.” Another moment of silence passed, but I could feel his steady presence as he listened, as if he knew I called for more than to say that.

“Sehunnie,” I murmured against a gulp of hesitance, “I signed the lease on the new house. I am moving out this weekend.”

It was with this that his breath hitched, stopping completely for a second, or maybe even two, before finally going back to normal. And when he spoke, his voice became somewhat gravely, like perhaps he had been sleeping and was just hiding it up to this point. The thought dipped me in a honey-like feeling of sweetness.

“And you’re alright?”

The question was simple, the answer though? I’m still trying to figure it out myself. “Maybe. I know that it will be hard to leave, but I feel ready, I think.” I settled on what felt safe, what I knew he could understand. “I just have to worry about packing all of this stuff up now. And in two days at that.” My voice filled with slight humor and a short chuckle fell from my lips, but when he didn’t laugh too, I knew he had seen through me.

“You’re packing by yourself?” He questioned, dropping the heavy questions I knew he itched to ask; I was grateful, for I didn’t know how much of that I could handle before deciding it wasn’t worth it. “That seems like a lot to take on with just you.”

“Girls can get things done too, you know.” I grumbled into the phone as a desperate distraction, my eyes burning from the softness of his voice and the pressure of trying to always hold everything in. “It won’t be too hard, just might take me a few more days that a manly tree hauling guy like you.”

Sehun snorted, again, and for a second, it sounded so relieved that whatever tension that had been slowly encroaching into us was banished just as easily as it was formed. “Yah, you know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Do I?” I teased, pretending not to let on— in which he let out a small groan that I could practically feel in my own chest. I had to hold in indulging giggle from spilling out through the phone. “Go on, repent your sins. Did getting a degree make you feel superior to women?”

Sehun’s groan was even louder this time. “Right, because getting a degree in basically trees makes me feel so confident.”

“Oh wow, so what you’re saying is that Environmental Science isn’t manly enough for you now?”

“Forget it, I’m hanging up.”

“Have a good day Oppa~” I teased, catching the tail end of playfully frustrated chuckles. Then the line went quiet and I was alone once more. The room, though, felt somehow lighter than it did before, as if the house had absorbed some of our laughter and distributed it throughout the space.

I fell back onto the bed and took in the curves of the ceiling, the peaceful silence of the empty rooms, and all of the memories that lived in it. Then I breathed it out.

It’s time.

…

“Finished!” I exclaimed in satisfaction, wrapping the box up tightly and moving it to the side. Five hours later and I have finished… just the kitchen? An exasperated groan escaped my mouth as I took in the whole house that was completely and utterly, untouched.

I slumped against the cooled material of the kitchen counter and rested my eyes shut. A part of me knew that I was only dragging my feet because the kitchen was the only space that wasn’t a danger. In here, it was filled with me. The pots and pans were ones I had bought. The pantry was food that suited my taste. The dishes were only ones I had eaten out of.

The rest of the house, though, was ridden with him— maybe even more so than me. His blanket lay untouched on the back of the couch as a lingering scent. His favorite book was resting, eyes closed, on the coffee table half unread where he had decided to start it once more. The walls formed a skin of pictures he had taken, and he had hung up.

He was everywhere I turned, buried in this house as a sunken display of time’s cruel expression. I was nothing more than encroaching in a mausoleum that was once breathing and ours, rather than mine or his. Uprooting myself, felt like uprooting him.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” I waited.

It was then that the doorbell rang.

I jumped what felt like three feet in the air out of pure surprise, a gush of goosebumps raising the delicate hairs on my arms and neck to a standstill.

“Okay,” I muttered. “I hear you.”

I took a calming breath and collected my shaking fingers as I made my way over to the front door, squeezing through a few boxes on the way. The curtains were cool against my touch, and as I pulled them back, four familiar faces greeted me as if time itself had restarted.

My head, or maybe that was my heart, felt as if it were spinning in excitement, my hands not fast enough to open the latches and throw the thin barrier open between us. And then the door was open, and I was jumping into the gentle embrace of the closest boy towards me.  

“Yixing!” A shocked exclamation spewed from my mouth as he caught me mid Surprise! Strong arms twirled me around like a cashed-in year old hug and something in me felt like I was ten again and being doted on by my brother’s older, handsome friends.

“Your reaction was priceless!” He chuckled with that endearing dimpled smile, setting me down and immediately coming to cup my face between his big palms. “Haru-ya, it’s been too long. When did you get so cute?”

A flurry of emotions ran through me and I felt tears threatening to spill over. “Every time you looked away,” I joked, my voice thick as a single tear fell down my face.

Yixing sent me a small, sympathetic smile, but before he could respond, a playful gasp was heard from behind him and he was suddenly pushed aside. Minseok’s widened, panicking eyes filled my vision as he wiped my tear away, pulling me into his chest with protective arms.

“Oppa,” the tears didn’t seem to stop, even when I willed them too. Minseok still smelled like brewed coffee beans and his usually wispy black hair was freshly cut.

“I missed you too, pumpkin.” He kept me close, his hands soothing against my back. “You can be mad at Oppa for not visiting, but you can’t cry. Your brother would kill us if he knew we made you cry.”

I pulled back, nodding slightly as he brushed my tears away. “I am mad at you,” I huffed like he was the best remedy for a poor sight, his sly lips curling on the ends as he took in my best attempt to be cute.

I shook my head and pushed him aside, feeling like my composure was somehow sliding back in place. That was until I took in the steady gaze of Kyungsoo. His head was turned slightly to the side and the most calming smile was titling his lips up on the corners. My eyes started to water again, and his already round ones became even more rounded.

“No,” he half-threatened. “I’ll walk away right now and not come back for another year if you start again.”

I straightened right away, saluting him as if he were my captain. He let out an endearing grunt before his guard fell away, taking a step forward to wrap me in a hug that was as equally as tight and protective as the two before him.

I eyed Sehun standing shortly behind us, his stormy eyes gazing at the four of us before landing quietly on me. I mouthed a messy thank you, a swell of appreciation filling my heart as he merely shrugged his shoulders before looking down at his feet.

“I can’t believe you are all here,” I gaped, gazing between the four boys, men really, who I had always looked up to. It’s been a year since I have seen all of their faces, and even then, it wasn’t a day that I wanted to remember clearly. The feelings, rather, was what stayed.

“Well,” Minseok quirked his eyebrow at Sehun, “someone practically begged us to come over. And how could I refuse a visit to see you?” A small smirk took over his face as we filed through the front door. I pretended to gag, turning my nose up at him. The boys broke out into a hearty laughter and before Minseok could defend himself, Yixing was smacking his back with a resonating pop.

“The best part is that we bought pizza and plenty of boxes!” Yixing gushed. “Oh, and beer too!”

Sehun lugged all of the food and drinks he bought onto the kitchen counter and the boys instantly dug in as if they were in their own home, which in a way, is true considering how much time they spent here with Sehun and Oppa growing up. A pang went through my heart as I watched them laughing casually and kidding around with one another like they always had.

A space was missing, an important puzzle piece to the picture of five that had been reduced down to a portrait of four, but they managed. Somehow, it seemed that they had all consumed a little of him inside of themselves.

I could see his look of quiet, but kidding, judgement for all of the stupid remarks they would make blooming into Kyungsoo’s eyes. His bright smile and goofy, overly loud laugh morphing into Yixing’s own. His snarky remarks and mischievous antics bubbling out of Minseok. And then in Sehun, it seemed that they had always been one in the same. But when Sehun looks at me, sometimes it feels like he was gifted all the love my brother had, to keep for himself in his heart. Together, I could feel him alive again, living alongside them and laughing like he had never left us.

At some point, Yixing had turned music on and the house filled with their singing and the upbeat pop that seemed to fit their personalities so well. Without a word to me, they started to put boxes together and pack up the things I was not strong enough to.

I watched his name get written on a few boxes by Kyungsoo, everyone stopping briefly to glance before Yixing made some silly joke and then the blanket was folded neatly in there, along with the book and his other items I had failed to put up. With every box they closed tightly shut and placed by the door, the house seemed to sigh in relief.

The air was clearer, and the music was brighter.

The day had somehow escaped us, and all the beer magically disappeared, but we worked hard enough to actually pack everything up into neat boxes in the living room. All except for one room.

Kyungsoo sighed. His face, like everyone else, was flowered red and puffy from the beer. We had been messing around for some time, dancing to the music and reheating cold pizza as if we had finished the job. I think we all knew what we were doing, but it seemed like Kyungsoo was the only one with enough courage to say it.

“We do have to go in there at some point.”

Yixing looked down at his feet, clearing his throat. Minseok too, who was casually hugging me from behind and getting dirty looks from Sehun, pulled me a little closer to him. I knew that it couldn’t be avoided; I didn’t want to avoid it. But there was something unspeakable, a wall of silence, per say, that stood like a translucent barrier of water around his door. That space, for so many reasons, was something I cut myself off to a long time ago to soften the blow of his absence. I could handle the nuances of the house, but his room, that was a different kind of weight that sunk into your skin and pulled the air from your lungs.

Sehun’s stormy gaze fell upon me with a shade of tender grey— his way of asking a question. I nodded silently and then he was opening the door and the barrier was washing away. All of us stood a little taller and the music disappeared from the background as we slowly made our way inside.

It was just as I remembered it, untouched and so, so filled with him. The bed wasn’t made, and the closet was open with a fresh pair of clothes sitting on the edge of his desk as if he was planning on changing into them the next morning.

I felt stuck in place, my body numb as I stared at the bed in trepidation. It was deadly silent then, and even when Yixing sniffed, reaching up to brush his face, I paid no attention. There seemed to be a valley between where I stood and the spot where he last rested, the space growing with every second we stood. My ears were ringing, and my chest was burning right down the center, and I no longer felt that I was breathing or that I even needed to.

Why?

Why did you have to go?

Where did you go?

Where things too hard?

The void I had been staring into became filled then and warm hands enveloped my frozen ones in their own. Sehun. Sehun radiated a yellow orange that penetrated the overbearing black, his bright dawn blotting out what had become blurry and guided me back into focus.

I peeled my eyes from the bed as if they had been stuck to a string of tacky glue, to finally land them on those brooding eyes of his. They drew me in and breathed me out.

“We can do this,” he whispered like a promise, his hand rubbing soothing circles on the back of my hand. “Remember, one day at a time, like you said.

“Just tell me what to do, and well do it together.”

I swallowed it all down and found myself at the top, nodding, nodding to all four of them which had been waiting for my approval. I stepped aside and watched as one by one they entered on their own and swallowed it down too.

Kyungsoo let out a long sigh that had everyone looking at him. He seemed to be doing that quite often today. I tilted my head in question.

“You know…” he started around a small, slowly building heart-shaped smile and nostalgic, wandering eyes. “He would think we are being so stupid right now.”

Yixing picked up Oppa’s guitar and brushed the thin layer of dust that had settled on its strings. “You’re right,” he added. “He would probably say something to the extent of you dumbasses are really going to hesitantly walk in here when every other time you would barge in and fuck everything up!?” He impersonated, his hands going around in circles just like he used to do.

His remark cut the tension in half and all of us let out small chuckles of our own. “You guys really did used to fuck everything up,” I remarked, leaning against the door frame with a shake to my head.

Minseok’s lips thinned as he tried to stop himself from laughing. “Remember when we broke his bed on accident?”

“First of all, there was no ‘we’ in that and secondly, on accident?” Kyungsoo asked in exasperation. “If I recall correctly, which I am positive I am, you were the one who said, ‘I wonder how mad he would get if we broke his bed,’ and then proceeded to catapult yourself onto his already creaky bed until it literally broke in the middle.”

“Look—” Minseok started with that don’t disrespect your Hyung voice, “you can’t talk to me like that.”

Kyungsoo snorted and somehow, we all ended up evolved in laughter. The amusement rang through us and coated the walls in orange and yellow. Maybe we were only laughing to fill the gaping hole, or maybe we truly were happy. Happy to be in here, happy to breath in here after so long.

The boys began packing up the individual things they wanted to hold on to. I let Yixing, who would always come over and make up random songs with Oppa, take his guitar and collection of vintage albums home.

I let Minseok, who Oppa always called to ask what book to read next, sift through his over spilling collection for the ones he always secretly wanted.

I let Kyungsoo, who never failed to buy Oppa a journal so he could figure out his crazy ass mind, take them all back home to read through, or simply have— even the ones that were mere doodles and torn up grocery lists.

I didn’t ask Sehun what he wanted, though. I knew that would be too hard of a question, for I knew he wanted everything, anything, to hold onto. Instead, I squeezed his hand and we entered the room together. We gravitated apart, but that was only natural.

For the next few hours, we cleared his room into five piles. What was left, I had to let go of.

At some point, Kyungsoo had changed into one of Oppa’s old t-shirts and Yixing had passed out on his bed, his mouth gaping open in a picturesque look. Everyone was yawning and on the brink of exhaustion, but we had gotten it done and that was a feat in of itself.

We helped move their boxes into Minseok’s car before Kyungsoo hauled a half asleep and definitely unhelping Yixing into the car, only waking slightly to promise that he would come over when I set my new house up.

“Thanks for everything, I suppose.”

I breathed out into the cool sky, smiling lightly at Minseok and Kyungsoo as they leaned against the car. “You have to visit me every once in a while, okay? No more of this prolonged exile.”

Soo nodded in agreement, pulling me in for a tight hug that was mixed in the comfort of his own presence, but also my brothers. I squeezed him tightly before muttering a lingering goodbye and watching him get in the car.

“Minseokie Oppa,” I whined, not wanting him to leave. He was the only person who could make me act so childish, but sometimes I was thankful for that and I think he was too.

“Aw pumpkin, I know.” He embraced me in his arms, patting my messy hair down. “Oppa loves you and if you ever need anything, you know I am only a phone call away. Although,” he quirked his eyes behind me as he pulled back to whisper in my ear, “I think you’re in good hands.”

He gave me a quick peck on the forehead before stepping into the car.

I somehow ended up leaning against Sehun’s chest as we waved goodbye to the trio, my frame fitting perfectly in his. It wasn’t until they were completely out of sight that we slowly made our way back inside.

We fell down onto the couch in a huff, looking around at the emptied, unrecognizable space before coming to rest our eyes upon one another. Our heads were barely apart and although I felt only moments from falling into what I hoped would be a pleasant dream, those stormy eyes almost willed me to stay just as we are, gazing, truly looking.  

“Thank you,” I murmured, coming a little closer to his warmth. “Thank you for everything.”

“You don’t have to thank me for these things,” he repeated my line from this morning, an upward bend gracing his lips. His hand came up and pushed a lock of hair from my cheek, twisting it lightly around his finger before tucking it away. “I’m here for you, just like I know you are for me. So, when you need help, or you just want someone to talk to, come to me.”

“Only if you come to me too.” I set my stare straight and he took a long breath through his nose, his eyes falling for a second before coming back to mine in a lingering gaze. He always seemed to convey so much in those eyes. He’s not so strong on the inside, I know that even if he wishes I didn’t, but when he looks at me with that light grey of vulnerability, I swear I melt out and into him.

His eyes speak, even when he won’t.

My body moved before I did, naturally pulling him into me as if we had always meant for things to be this way, for it to feel this way with one another. His head sunk into my shoulder and my arms went around his torso, binding us together like satin and silk. I imagine that he was tired of pretending to be okay when his heartbeat slowed to reach the pace of mine, as if conscious that we shared even the deepest of locked away secrets.

I shut my eyes and rested against him until nothing else existed. Not the house, or our friends, not even our bodies, maybe not even our minds. We simply existed, heartbeat and heartbeat.

That was enough.

It felt like a lifetime had passed when I was lifted lightly into his arms and carried away. He set me in the plush bed and brushed a delicate kiss against my forehead. Half asleep, I grabbed his slim fingers in mine.

“Stay.”

And then he was holding me once more, shaping me like molten shatters of the sky to fit into the dawn of his side.

“Always.”

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[shiverrinqs]

INTRODUCING:

THE HORCRUX

BASICS

Name : Aurora Lightwood

Age: 27

Height : 5′4

Species: Witch Sorceress 

Orientation : demiromantic,  demisexual

Frequents : Eternal Falls  

Occupation : Guardian

Residency: Elysium Circus

Fun Fact: Keeps several birds in her little room, Though she often will be seen with a black owl . It is said that it was a gift her parents gave her... it was white when she first got it. 

RELATIONSHIPS

Father: Eleazar Lightwood ( Deceased)

Mother: Micaela Lightwood (Deceased)

Siblings: Charmaine Lightwood (Deceased), Geneviève Lightwood (Deceased?), Lucinda Lightwood (Deceased), Iris Lightwood (Deceased), Fey Lightwood (Deceased?), Siobhán Lightwood (Deceased?), Thaïs Lightwood (Deceased)

Significant Other(s): none

Significant Relationships: Devika ( keeper)  Meadow ( her owl) 

tw: blood, death, hinting toward abuse , torture

BACKSTORY:

“To the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure. ”

She had never feared death, from the minute she was born. Death had seemed to be a constant companion for the daughters of the Lightwoods. Their parents were loving, at least to the outside world they were. The girls wanted for nothing, the best clothes , the best toys and books, a bed to lay their head. But it was when they were home, behind the locked doors of the Lightwood estate. The pristine  image faded, the masked they were forced to wear for the rest of the world removed. The truth and pain clear for all to see. But no one was there to see it, no one but the girls. That was all they had-- each other. But that wouldn’t last long. 

Charmaine was the eldest, At the age of five , Aurora could remember very little about her eldest sister. Except for the song that she would hum. Softly as she held the trembling little girl and her sister Thais in her arms. As the screams rang out in the night, echoing up to her room in the tower. Char was  there to wipe her tears: she was more like a mother than there actual mother. Looking out for all the girls as best as she could. Not that Aurora knew this. Far too young for them to work their method of madness out on her. She and Thais were spared night after night but not from the screams. It seemed the very house was calling out to them. The shrieks in the wood, the floorboards; but only during the evening hours; when the skies were pitched black. But during the day they were free of them. Aurora longed for mornings. In the morning everything felt better and for a few hours there was nothing but quiet. Charmaine was there to look after them all it felt safe. However, even that couldn’t last.  She can still remember when she died.  That was the day the singing stopped.  After Charmaine it was a steady progression, Lucinda was next then, Iris, some times it would be quick; one by one they would take a girl down to the basement. And come morning; when the screams were gone... so where they. Sometimes the deaths would stop, Their parents plotting and planning for what to do next. For when you seek the kind of power they were after. It came with a price. That was how magic worked. There had to be a balance of things, light or dark the rule was very much the same. Aurora and Thais they were still young. Easy for them to forget.  To push the screams and the images of their father’s and mother’s tears running down their face  as they looked at their blood soaked hands. In her young mind at the time, she thought they were crying for their children's lives. But really, they were mourning at yet another failed attempt at their grasp for more power. 

There are worse things than death, like the loss  of ones childhood . When you realize that the monster you feared are the people you know best. 

Aurora was ten years old when they started their work on her now. Waking her in the middle of the night. Carrying her down into the bowels of their home. ‘Be a good little girl for us will you’. Her mother’s words were sweet but Aurora felt only dread. She knew what came next even if she didn’t have any idea what they would do to her. She knew the screams would come... and they did.  Passing out because of the pain. Awaking the next day in her room. Body sore, she felt both drained and full. She didn’t question it though. Letting them use her body as a strange device. Putting more of their power and knowledge they accumulated into her. The more they filled her mind, the less she spoke. Till finally all she did was hum Char’s song and rock herself back and forth. Trying to quiet the noise. The volume so loud, But at least they let her and Thais out. Eight children down to two, Some people would have welcomed death, the process of  filling her with power that wasn’t her own. It was painful, left her feeling strong but physically her bodies weakened over the years. It was a lot for any child to take; at by the time  Thais turned sixteen her sister couldn’t take it anymore. They had left her home alone, her parents wanting to show Aurora off to their little cult. Followers who too wanted to imbue power into a living vessel so that they could always draw from them when need be. 

When they got home though, they found her body there in the middle of the foyer, neck broken. A note laying next to her with two words. ‘ I’m free’ .  With no more children left. Aurora’s parents doubled their efforts. They didn’t even bother with a funeral this time around. Finally something snapped within her. For years she had been docile and silent. Hoping that her parents would change but after losing sister after sister.  Enough was enough. They thought, because she wasn’t taught to use her magic that she couldn’t. But magic is ruled from emotions— powerful ones. That night they took her, it was different.  Knowing  that it would come down to her life  or theirs. Aurora made sure it was them, she had never felt anything like it . The power, the knowledge was one thing but the power? She had never tried tapping into it, never tried wielding it. And now, she didn’t know if she could ever stop.  Hate cause the skin to peel away from bone. Exposing sensitive, muscle and veins.  Anger, caused their skin to puckered and smoked, and the screams? Their screams encouraged her, now they knew how it would feel. How it felt to be abused and trapped. And as her eyes close she smiled  laughter echoing around her because now she was free too. 

A LITTLE DEEPER

- Aurora was found in the basement of the smoking ruin that was her family home by Devika an former friend of her mother.  A perfect circle surrounding her body while blacken wood and the burnt bodies of her parents smoked near by. She was untouched by the flames

-She finds herself far more comfortable with books then she does with people. 

- Because of being locked away for so long. Aurora isn’t great with social cues. She is far too honest, has no idea about the games that are being played by the creatures around her. So sarcasm... yeah she doesn’t understand that? 

-Her best friend has been her owl Meadow, she is very attached to the creature

- Devika has only just started to allow Aurora to interact with other creatures and practitioners. Because of the power that her parents put inside of her. It is highly unstable and the more times she loses control the more it takes a toll on the woman’s body

- There are a lot of things that she missed out on. Not that Aurora would know. Her mind works differently and until she can figure out a way to separate her magic from her parents magic her life is in constant danger.  - With the exception of Devika and maybe those able to get a feel of how unstable she is. No one knows what she suffered in that big house . All they know is that she is a little weird  and possibly  a ticking time bomb. 

CONNECTIONS

Mentor: (open )   Devika was a blessing but she’s really not equipped to help Aurora ( a fact Aurora has told the older sorceress a number of times.) So she needs someone that can help her navigate what is going on with her... before it’s to late

Everyone needs... friends: ( open ) The only friends Aurora had growing up was her sisters, she had a few before her parents decided to lock her away in the house. But she can hardly remember them. So much is going on in her head. Still, she wants them even if she seems too analytical at times. she does want someone to talk to. To care for, whatever that means.

Unlikely Friends: ( open )  Even if it wasn’t her choice, dark magic is a part of who she was made to be. maybe a light witch can see the genuineness that is in Aurora as well as the danger but despite that all, could they actually be friends?  Other supernatural creature friends : She knows they exist, she doesn’t know how to sense them tho. didn’t learn that when she was being tortured. Which means she has no preconceive notion about other creatures. They are different and interesting and new... she likes learning about new things and people.  Someone to use her: Maybe they heard the rumors of what went on in that house. Maybe they saw her outburst of magic one time or two. Either way this person knows or at least has an idea of what kind of power that Aurora has raging inside of her. And they want to use it to their own end. 

[grows-onyou]

Still Does

Glance around the room in your strange haze, like a David Lynch film but without the violence against women. Your entire face smells like an ornamental pear tree, the weight of a strikingly handsome man devoid of apparel is resting on your chest, and you can faintly hear the music of the party through the walls. The New Pornographers. Fitting. You like their music.

A knock at the bedroom door accompanied by mischievous giggles.

“Sorry, the bathroom’s occupied!” is the best acknowledgement I can think of.

Confused murmurers and the sound of footsteps receding. I guess they didn’t need to pee that badly.

Mike stirs with no small amount of embarrassment at this exchange causing him to burrow deeper into my chest. The heavy breaths pushing his chest into mine. His erection diminishing as the seconds pass into minutes but remaining noticeable against my own.

I finds myself hoping he’s not a one-and-done kind of guy because I wouldn’t mind doing that again. My brain’s long been aware of its oral fixations but it’s apparently also wildly bisexual. How long have I really known this? Are you OK with this, Gregg? Are you going to have an introspective little freak out?

No. I’m not. This is great.

The tips of my three fingers run along the ridge of his spine while the tips of two other fingers, on another hand, trace the faint trail of hair that runs from his navel down to his larger patch of fur while he continues to stir.

Yes, this is definitely great.  

Mike levels his soft eyes with mine. “That’s never happened to me before.”

“Yeah well I’ve never done that before.” I counter with a chuckle.

“You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.”

“Do I taste bad?”

How the hell should I know? Don’t say that, Gregg.

“You’re delicious.” as I continue to work the small of his back to pull him further onto me.  

“Can I kiss you like this?” a valid question I ask that I’ve been asked before.

An eager nod.

Gripping his chin with a hand pulling him into another long slow kiss. His own brief hesitation as he figured out why I asked but soon seemingly resolved within his own brain. His limbs slowly thawing as the kiss progresses. His hands begin to explore my arms and back on their own and his legs move along mine. The heavier weight of the hands and the strength of the grip becoming less alien but also seeming to increase with his confidence in himself and the situation.

A glance down to my boxers. The lingering vestige of a notion two dudes were just going to chat together at a party in a room. Mike’s fingers tracing the elastic band and coming to a rest at my own trail of hair. His own hesitation and nervousness in his trembling fingers. My own terror long gone and replaced with an openly feverish hunger for him and his desires.

Eye contact full of anticipation catches both of us in a stare. His fingers inching slowly into my boxers with a reluctance to go too far.

“What do you want?” I inquire? Gregg, again? Straight to 10? Calm down.

Fingers that travel an inch lower into my boxers for an apprehensive reply.

“You can take them off.”

A jolt that traveled from his spine to the tips of his fingers as a reply.

A pull into another kiss while I run my fingers through the hairs on his inner thigh. Another jolt. Running my fingers in circles along the insides of his thighs until his hand reaches far enough into my boxers to rest against my erection.

A pause and a gasp. Locked eye contact as I nod silently. My own shudder as he places me in his grip.

“I’ve never done this before.” He stammers.

“Same.” with a laugh.

His thumb is caressing the tip of my cock and the strength of it really is overwhelmingly pleasant. The way my body moves at his touch isn’t theatrical for his ego. The moves are for real.

Another nervous glance. “I don’t know if I’m ready for head but I want to see you naked.” In a quiet voice.

My fingers continue their tracing in a figure eight pattern now.

He moves down my body to match the elevation I first saw him and pulls the fabric down my legs.

His own pause and hesitation seeing me but he can take all of the time he needs.

He didn’t need that much time before he took me in his hand.

The grip felt incredible and his motions were deft and calm. I could feel in my back and shoulders what his grip was doing to my cock. The way his thumb played with the tip sent waves down my legs. If he was trying to make that soft eye contact with me I wasn’t seeing anything in that moment with my eyes shut tightly.

I open my eyes to see him making intensely direct eye contact with me. A delightful change. I run my hands through his hair as my body shakes with another grip he’s quickly learned I’m a fan of.

I wonder what his latency period is? Looking down I can see his erection is slightly recovered but not entirely. I wonder if he’d mind?

But I really can’t move in that delightful grip of his. I need a diversion.

“Hey! Look over there!” I shout and point.

Oldest dumbest trick in the book of old, dumb tricks. And it works!

His pleasurable grip slacks long enough for me to swing myself around to be facing his form once again gripping his hips and planting my lips deeply on his thighs. Gotcha, bud!

“You could have just asked.” In a soft panting gasp.

“That lacks the theatrical elements my strategy had!” while using my lips and tongue to replicate the figure eights my fingers had previously been making in his thighs.

The return of the panting moans. His grip just as firm but the motions less steady and apparently more distracted. I can feel his breath on my cock and goosebumps form down my arms.

I look down to see him breathing through eyes shut as his grip on me shifts. He wraps his free arm around one of my legs to pull himself closer to me like he might sink into the mattress and disappear if he let go.

I let my tongue begin to travel as I pull myself closer to him. The thigh gives way to one of the two testicles and his body jolts in that fork-in-a-socket style he makes when he enjoys a thing. I can’t tell which of the two my tongue is teasing as my own eyes have been shut since his grip found that focused tempo he’d had earlier. He doesn’t seem to be picky and I’m sure they both taste like hairy skin.

His breathing is heavier and the humid air feels only inches from my cock while his grip on my leg tightens. His erection is firmly resting against my neck and it’s just almost the size it was earlier. My tongue travels his length to find the tip of the foreskin open enough to probe through until I’m licking his cloaked cock. So much precum tang.

His grip slacks and he lets out a soft whimper as his mouth rests against the tip of my erection. His breathing directly onto it feels luxurious and I feel completely weightless at the sight of him on me.

His current length fits neatly inside my mouth and I leave it there for my tongue to continue toying. I can feel it growing larger and harder taking up previously unfilled spaces in my mouth and throat.

As much as I’m deeply enjoying this Mike is clearly enjoying to the point of distraction. I can feel his chest heaving against my abdomen and his lips pressed against my head with his shallow breaths full of pleasured hesitation.

Well I’m the cause of this so my choices are to back off and let him regroup or keep on going and keep on waiting.

I slide him out of my mouth long enough to ask how he’s doing.

“Distracted, but just give me a minute.”

Fascinating. His voice was steadier than I was expecting. Deeper.

I felt his firm grip on my thigh as he spoke give enough of a squeeze I felt light again. Nice. The grip on my cock again hunting the tempo it had a moment ago while firm kisses encircled the tip. I felt a pleasure deep inside as if the planet’s gravity eased me perceptibly away from the surface. Mike seems to really be coming to life.

With the focused pleasure of my free-air anomaly I took Mike back inside my mouth as his grip on my hips found its firm hold. This not only pushed me further into his kisses but sunk him deeper into my throat.

The gag returns, briefly but audibly.

His grips on my hip and cock tighten and his kisses on my tip involve his tongue which drive me into a flurry of shivers and moans all muffled by lack of free space in my mouth.

You have to breathe through the nose. Don’t forget to breathe. Rushed inhalation and exhalation as I remember to perform that basic necessity. Each nostril full of air rich with his scents.

His thrust deep into my throat again and I have to fight off a retch. That was intense. So was the next thrust and my next heavy gag. The sensation of Mike now sucking on the head of my cock is tempered by the realization that he’s also throat fucking me. Followed by another gag and the salty tang of precum.

Uh, fuck. Get your breathing under control. Relax your throat. Open your throat. Get your breathing under control. Do I push him away to slow him down?

You shift yourself just enough to give yourself an extra inch of leeway and focus on the muffled high-pitched moans coming from Mike’s occupied mouth and the shaking you can feel in his torso pressed against yours.

No. Let him have this pleasure. You want him to have this pleasure from your body. And that sunken hollow of pleasure you’re feeling in your own abdomen is from his grips you’ve never felt anything like in any known moments of intimacy.

You get your breathing under control and settle in on letting his tempo run down into your esophagus.

He’s got a good, steady tempo. His strides feel easy and natural against your tongue and lips and you think he’s probably be a really good fuck.

Another unexpected depth and another retch from you and his whimpered breathing takes on a familiar note and pitch. He hasn’t taken you any deeper than the head of your cock but it doesn’t feel any less majestic than it did before and you want him to have whatever pleasure is looming.

The coating slick of precum. His strength locking your hips in a grip you can’t and don’t want to escape from. The shallow breathing and the almost clucking cry escaping from his throat you can feel down your own length.

Ugh, be dignified about this.

The flood of semen is almost more than you can handle as his thrusting hasn’t stopped and you feel yourself squirming in his grip to give yourself every centimeter and angled degree you can manage to accommodate your whole physical body’s protesting gag that manages to bring tears creeping into the corners of your eyes.

You remember to keep breathing and you manage to keep him from completely spilling out of your mouth as his thrusts slow and your control of your own body returns to you. Not as much as the first time but certainly more than you’re accustomed to.

You remember how you swallowed him while keeping his cock in your throat earlier and recreate that feat while scraping your finger nails down his thighs and across his ass to resurrect the tremors released from deep within his body in protests to oversaturation of pleasure.

You feel him take you slightly deeper into his throat before he casts you out to pant desperately for breath. His grip slacks again and he pants unevenly into your thighs like a clipper floundering in a storm.

“I’m sorry, I’m not ready for any more. I’m too nervous. I wasn’t expecting this.” Mike’s steely gaze has been replaced with the soft eyes again.

Giving small kisses along his cock, thighs, his ribs, nipple, collar bone, his soft and apprehension soaked lips I draw myself back up to be face to face with him once more.

Running my erection along the remainder of his I take him into a deep kiss that lets us taste each other on each other’s mouths.

“I’ll do better next time.” Mike breathlessly pants.

“You did great. I can finish this round.” He did better than he knew. But I wasn’t going to give that away so easily. He had me thoroughly overdriven and ready to lose it with each little whimper he released.

Pulling him into a locked kiss I stroked myself along his length feeling the friction of our skin and hairs brushing past each other’s. Bringing his tongue deeper into my mouth I could taste his shudders as I circled his tip with mine in the passing strokes.

“Cum in my belly button? I want to feel like your little whore.” Mike whispered on my lips and tongue.

Mike was clearly switchy and I wasn’t sure which side of him I enjoyed more. I’ve never been particularly submissive but I clearly remember not long ago giving myself over to being his cum slut satisfying his desires. Was that for him or me?

I can figure that out later. I don’t have much longer before I completely fall to pieces.

Dragging my tip along his treasure trail leaving a thin wet trace in its wake his tongue entwined with mine in a shared moan and kiss I feel myself begin to let go. My back arches as I feel myself spill out onto his abdomen and pool at my tip.

Our eyes lock in heavy breathing. He begins to draw little patterns along his skin with the pool I’ve left across him. So adorable and very Bob Ross.

His eyes scream vulnerability but I’ve seen the hard gaze of lust and want and I’ve felt the grip he’s capable of when he chooses to take what he wants. I could fuck this guy for hours.

He’s settling his weight against me as his breathing slows to a healthier, regular rate.

Another series of knocks at the bedroom door accompanied by more idiotic mischievous giggles.

How long has it been now? What time is it?

“Ugh, still occupied!” I yell.

Mike buries his face deep into my neck. “You idiot.”

[i4z-0892-il]

Monster House 2

Summary: Posing as Newlyweds Sam and Y/n set out to investigate what’s killing the visitors of a secluded Inn, and attempt to keep their working relationship professional.

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Word count: 4000

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ Only, some smut mentioned, language

A/N:  This story is going to be Trope central so buckle in babes.

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Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4

Unpacking was quick, and quiet. Though with Sam silences weren’t particularly unsettling. There were hundreds of occasions where it was just the two of you left alone with a bottle of whiskey and a mountain of lore to sift through. You never felt like you had to make small talk to fill in the gaps, you never really felt like there were any gaps and when the chats did come up they flowed naturally and without expectation. Being with Sam was just comfortable, he was easy to exist beside. Which made him easy to fall for, easy to love.

Dean was always open about his designs toward you. More often than not you figured he was being facetious, but he hit on you frequently enough that it was obvious he’d go for it if only you’d ask.  Sam on the other hand was always respectful, even when he had full opportunity not to be. Last year he’d found a particularly exciting tidbit of information that apparently couldn’t wait to be shared. So he walked into your room without knocking, when you’d just stepped out of the shower- hair wrapped in a towel and nothing else. You screamed at him in surprise, hitting the floor behind the bed to hide your bare ass. It took only a split second to register and he turned away just as quickly, face red as a tomato as he covered his eyes, calling: “Sorry! I should have knocked! Sorry!” He left and never brought it up again. But for the rest of the day he couldn’t look you in the eye without red creeping into his cheeks, and you couldn’t help but grin a little. From then on out he made doubly sure that he knocked before entering whatever room you were lodged in. If he didn’t hear a response he’d just wait, patiently, and knock again.

Though you’d never barged in on him, you were guilty of sneaking peeks at him where you could. You liked watching him, he was strong, and tall, and elegant. It wasn’t as if watching him hang his giant shirts was anything particularly invigorating. Still you enjoyed the view. His shoulder to waist ratio alone was enough to drive you crazy. And you’d seen him without a shirt on, you knew what was hidden under layers of canvas, plaid and cotton. A golden expanse of taut rolling muscle, all firm and warm and inviting. You were practically dripping at the thought of running your fingers through the soft hair on his chest.

Sam turned his head in your direction and you snapped your eyes back to your bag as if it were the most interesting thing in the entire world. Oh shoes, fucking fascinating. Socks, amazing. Underwear, such nice material! You’d deny it if you were asked, but you packed your nicest panties. Not that you had much in the way of lingerie, but like everyone you had the ones you wore on your period, the ones you wore any random day, and then you had the nice ones. The ones you wore when you wanted to feel sexier, the ones you wore when you were trying to get lucky or show off a little.

He could have sworn he’d caught you looking at him, but brushed it off as wishful thinking. Taking your preoccupation as a moment for himself to gaze at you and appreciate the curve of your ass when you bent at the hips to carelessly shove your bag under the bed. Strong thighs and shapely legs, the kind he’d like more if they were draped over his shoulders.

Dropping into the bed with a sigh you rolled to your back allowing yourself to sink into the bed that was almost too soft, too fluffy, too comfortable. It was a complete change from the norm, where you weren’t sure if the sheets were actually washed, and the bed was so hard the floor was a more comfortable option. But you were not one to complain about the tiny offerings of luxury your life occasionally offered. Wiggling your hips you settled in with a pleasured groan and let your eyes fall shut, only for a moment, to appreciate the most comfortable bed you’d ever get the chance to sleep in.

Sam watched you enjoy yourself with a grin. When the soft moan escaped your throat he found himself trying not to think about the sounds you make as your fingers gripped the blankets or nails raked red welts down his back. Or your teeth sinking into a pillow to stifle the pornographic cries that would fall from your lips. The way your hips would move and roll in tandem with his until all you could do was hold on as he fucked you into that bed and fell apart beneath him. He would make you forget how to speak, the only thing you’d be able to scream would be his name and a flurry of barely intelligible curse words in desperation. “Sam..! Uuuhhn-fuck, Sam!”

“Sam!” You shouted as you smacked him in the arm jerking his attention back to Earth as he turned to look at you, upright on your knees still in the bed. Surprise and embarrassment written on his face, cheeks flushed pink. “Did you hear a word I said?”

“Hmm? What? Uh-yeah.. Of course.” He scoffed and stumbled through his words as he sank into the edge of the bed beside you, crumpling the large plaid shirt in his hands into a ball in his lap to hide his frustration. Cocking your brow in amused confusion at his uncharacteristic fluster you handed him a nicely laminated printed card.

“What were you thinking about?” You quizzed. There was no price too high that you would pay to sneak a peek into his head. It wasn’t terribly often that you’d catch Sam spacing out, he was always pointed and focused. Even if you couldn’t tell exactly what was rolling around in his mind you could guess, and 90% of the time it had something to do with whatever crisis was being dealt with at the time. On occasion though you’d see him like he just was, obviously off in la-la-land somewhere, and those were the times you wanted desperately to know what he was thinking.

“Nothing.” He defended a little too quickly as he snatched the card from your hand ready to change the subject to literally anything else. There was no force on this Earth that would get him to admit the perverse things he thought about you- let alone to your face. The idea of how your expression would change to uncomfortable disgust at the notion made him cringe. He was looking at the card but couldn’t tell you what a single word said. “What did you say?”

“I knew you weren’t paying attention!” You affirmed your accusation poking your index finger into his rib. Tapping the card in his hand you continued. “Firstly, I don’t know how to tell you this, because I don’t want to break your heart or anything but- no wi-fi. Secondly, look at this itinerary! You don’t actually expect me to do this tonight do you?”

No wi-fi would be a problem, that meant limited research. It was to be expected though, the place was set so remotely he didn’t think there would be much signal of any kind, so he didn’t show up naked entirely. He brought his Dad’s journal, and a few other books, and he’d had quite the collection scanned and loaded on his computer. Hopefully whatever it was they ran into would be somewhere in the materials he brought. If not, you’d be taking a trip to the city for internet access. Skimming over the card to follow what you meant he let out a snicker.

“This is what you’re worried about?” Sam asked flatly as he held the card up. You gave an exaggerated shrug, not sure what was so unclear about what you were saying. “A cooking class? Really Y/n?”

“What, Sam? I don’t cook! I can burn water.” You stated matter-of-factly. It wasn’t true necessarily, you’d never burnt water, but you’d also never successfully cooked anything in the way it was actually supposed to be cooked. It wasn’t like it was your fault! Everything you ate was microwavable. Besides the fact that you hadn’t grown up around a functioning kitchen. Frankly cooking was the least of your worries. You were basically a human garbage disposal anyway. As long as it was cooked all the way through, and at least mildly edible you were good. Carbs were carbs. Calories were calories. No one was expecting you to be a gourmet chef when you were regularly covered in monster viscera.

Sam gave a soft laugh shaking his head and turning to look at you as he nudged you with his shoulder giving you a sweet smile. Those dimples. God, you could have drowned in them.

“Y/n, I have the utmost faith in you. You can attend this stupid cooking class and you’ll kick it in the ass.”

“You’re sweet. But you’ve never tasted my cooking.”

“Hey, no matter how terrible it turns out, I promise I will lie and say it is delicious.” Sam reassured you with a grin. You smiled back in mock offense and shoved his shoulder as you plucked the card from his hands, and stood.

“Wow, Sam. Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Anytime.” He snarked watching you start to pace, your eyes glued to the text.

“I mean look at this crap- is this really what normal couples do for fun?” You paused dropping your hands to your sides. He only answered with a shrug, neither of you exactly had much to compare with. You turned your attention back to the card and continued. “Wine tasting.”

“What’s wrong with Wine tasting?”

“Who drinks wine? Rich people, Depressed Mom’s and Lonely Single Women- that’s who.”

“I like wine.” He defended. Your face twisted in skepticism.

“I have never seen you with a glass of wine before. Whiskey, Bourbon and Scotch- sure. But Wine? C’mon Sam.” You didn’t wait for him to answer as you continued to the next item.  “Dancing on Thursday. Do you dance, Sam? Because I don’t dance.”

“Now- that’s not entirely true.” He interjected with a suggestive grin. He’d seen you dance before, a few times. Usually after a few shots, and with some lucky local you’d pick up for the night. Sober you may not dance, but drunk you certainly knew how to move those hips. Heat crept into your cheeks and you moved on, not even wanting to dignify his comment with a response.

“Friday night Movie night. They have a movie night.”

“Hey, I’m not exactly excited either, but it can’t be all that bad.” Sam offered. Half trying to convince himself. From the flat side-eye he earned it was apparent there was no thrill to be had on your part.

“I mean you’d think there’d be stuff on here like hiking, or yoga, or a couples spa.” You huffed and dropped the card on the table beside the bed. “Can we just… go wander around and scope the place out instead?” You asked, you could think of a thousand things you’d rather be doing than attending some stupid cooking class. Just about anything sounded like a less painful option. You’d rather be bound and gagged by something trying to eat you than have to figure out what the fuck a Souffle is.

“I’m sure we’ll be back from checking out the property in plenty of time. If there’s anyone else staying here they’ll probably be there, it’ll be a good chance to talk to some of the others here. See if they’ve heard anything.” Sam reasoned, always logical, and usually right to your displeasure. With a groan you let your chin tilt back and your shoulders slump, a little light bulb going off in your head. Rolling your head up to a tilt you gave him a flirtatious smile. He opened his mouth to speak and you placed your index finger over his lips. They were soft, and warm, and you wondered if he tasted as sweet as his cotton-candy pink mouth looked.

The glimmer in your eyes shifted changing in an instant from your usual sweet and sour demeanor to looking at him through curling lashes sultry and tempting. You hand fell from his lips to curl a long chestnut brown strand of his hair around your finger.

“What if, instead, we skipped it.” Your tone painting a vivid picture. With your cocked brow and devious smile there was no mistaking what you were suggesting. “Said we just couldn’t make it down, because we were... Busy.”

You were supposed to be newlyweds after all, and what was more convincing of a happy, healthy, lovey-dovey relationship than blowing off some bullshit class because you were too busy fucking all night?

Sam swallowed the tension in his throat, if that were an actual option on the table there would have been no need to convince him. Nevertheless he was more than willing to go along with your game, if that’s where you were taking it, two could play. His large hands settled on your hips, warm and heavy, creating gooseflesh through the thin cotton layer of t-shirt. You wanted his hands on you forever. Wanted to burn his fingerprints into your skin like a tattoo. He pulled you in, between his thighs and close enough to feel the heat radiating off of him, his cologne filling your senses. The corner of his lips curling into a smile as he peered at you with those kaleidoscope eyes making you weak in the knees.

“You make a very compelling argument.” His voice smooth like scotch and just as intoxicating. Taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger made your heart skip a beat, or just dead stop. You couldn’t tell, your eyes falling to his lips, nervous anticipation shooting like an electric current through your veins. The slow drag of his thumb over your lower lip made heat pool low in your belly and your breath catch in your throat. He edged closer to you close enough to feel the heat of his breath caress your face. “But we’re still going.”

Then he smiled at you, a shit-eating grin and stood up to finish doing whatever the hell he was doing. His hands dropped away from you leaving you standing there breathless and trying to recollect your wits. Your eyes nearly rolled back into your head in frustration. Folding your arms over your chest you plopped on the bed with a pout, and crossed your legs tightly trying to ease the pressure that had built.

“That was a nice moment Sam. That was a nice moment, and you ruined it. I hope you’re proud of yourself.” You snarked, and by the grin still plastered on his face- he was.

Standing at the top of the long gravel drive you held a map open in front of you, Sam right behind you and able to see clear over your head without issue. Little red dots stippled the map and at the very center of them sat the Inn. Reaching a long arm around you he pointed at one of the markers.

“Alright, so that’s where the last vic was found.”

“Correction- that’s where parts of the last vic were found.” You interjected, his lips pressed into an unamused line as he looked around the property, extending an arm to the left of the driveway and into the thick of the woods.

“Right, parts. Whatever, that’s about a mile that way…”

“Every bit of remains they’ve found have been at least a mile from here. They’re not exactly grouped in one area either. Look at this, they’ve been found just about everywhere. This is a really wide net we’re trying to cast here Sam.” You expressed at the spattering of red dots all over the place. Some further out, some closer in, and everywhere.

“Right, so we go to the freshest spot and hope we get lucky.”

“Great plan and all, except the remains at that location were two months old when they were found. I sincerely doubt that whatever’s out there is going to be there still. Especially with Police in and out of there for the last couple weeks.” You said. Sam paused hazel eyes scanning the treeline as he absorbed the information you were giving him with a nod.

“Guess we’re just gonna have to pick a direction.”

“Okay.” You agreed, folding up the map and stuffing it into the pocket on the inside of your coat, cinching the button at your waist. “Which way you wanna gamble on?”

“Hold on- let me see that map again.” He asked, absentmindedly. You sucked your teeth digging back into your coat to retrieve it. “Isn’t there a lake around here?”

“Yeah, not just one though, there’s several in the surrounding three miles.” You answered unfolding the paper again, and handing it to him to study.

Looking down the winding gravel road and into the mist that seemed to breathe between a trees a chill slid up your spine. You always got antsy before hunts. Couldn’t help it. Didn’t matter what you faced or how many times, it always gave you the jitters. Even after all these years you still got scared. You would never admit it of course, and you’d mastered the poker face to keep it under wraps. But there was honestly no way for you to truly prepare yourself for whatever was out there, not when a single slip up could mean the end. Each new hunt, even with a foe you were familiar with was still jarring and nerve-wracking. It would always be until you either died or didn’t hunt anymore.

“Going for a hike?” The woman’s voice from behind you made you jump nearly out of your skin with a gasp. Hand on your chest you turned around wide eyed to see Esmeralda standing there with perfect black curls surrounding her perfectly cut face, cascading down her perfectly petite shoulders. She wasn’t asking you of course, her eyes fixed on Sam who folded up the map and tucked it in his back pocket as he turned his head to face her.

“Uh, yeah. Thinking about it.” He answered, she gave him a smile, a perfect smile, with straight white teeth and full pouty lips. She was so pretty you kind of hated her for it. Like, damn lady, we get it, you won the genetic jackpot, you don’t have to rub it in by existing and breathing air.

“Well there are a few trails if you follow the drive down to the main road. Though some of them can be a little hard to navigate if you don’t know where you’re going.”  Esmeralda explained. God, even her voice was perfect and sexy. You could have groaned, or rolled your eyes- you didn’t because you didn’t make a habit of being rude, not that it would have mattered anyway. She wasn’t paying attention to you in the slightest, you could have been a sentient tree and it wouldn’t have made a lick of difference. No, instead she was focused completely on Sam, placing a delicate little hand over his bicep as she pointed around the property. Because groping him was obviously necessary for giving directions. Her fingers were so long and elegant and slender you imagined they’d snap like toothpicks with the proper amount of pressure. “If you’re looking to sight-see, the paths to the North West behind the Inn take you further up the Mountain with plenty of breathtaking views.”

“Actually we’re thinking about checking out some of the lakes.” Sam replied. She smiled at him as if it was the most novel idea she’d ever heard while giving his arm as squeeze.

We get it! He’s jacked. Back off lady. You thought, gnawing on the inside of your lip, just waiting for the whole conversation to be over already. Would it be appropriate to bust up the party a little? You were, after all, supposed to be his wife for all she knew. But you didn’t want to come off as possessive, or jealous. Even though you were and it was absolutely killing you! You resolved to just crossing an arm over your chest and chewing on your thumbnail as if it were going to help you keep your composure in some way.

“To the West is Spider Lake, it’s further into the woods and up the mountain, Spider Creek feeds into it, it’s lovely up there. And to the South East about a mile and a half is Lake Kulla Kulla. It’s a wonderful spot for fishing I hear- if that’s something you enjoy..”

“Thanks, Esmeralda.” Sam replied.

“You’re most welcome Mr. Wesson. Do be careful not to stray too far from the paths, people get lost in these woods easily.” She cautioned. Her voice oozed over ‘Mr. Wesson’ as if she could have sex with the words. Her hand was still glued to his arm like a fucking magnet.“Oh and you will be back in time for tonight's activity won’t you? I’d hate for you to miss out on all of the fun.”

“Yeah, yeah, we plan on being there.” Sam assured with a smile as he stepped back detaching from her grasp and wrapped an arm around your shoulders. Your arms fell around his waist instantly as you leaned into him.

“We are just so excited.” You lied enthusiastically as you brought your right hand to his chest resting over his heart, making sure the little rock on your finger was near impossible to miss. Her icy green eyes cut to you with a look of pure distaste. You recoiled stunned and more than a little put off- if looks could kill. It was brief, nothing more than a flicker before she gave another radiant smile, but you caught it.

“Wonderful, we’ll see you when you return. Enjoy your hike.” Esmeralda said before heading back to the Inn. Sam turned his attention back to the map but you watched her sashay until she disappeared inside.

“The fuck was her problem?” You scoffed Sam turned his eyes to you curiously with a furrowed brow.

“What?”

“You didn’t see that?” You asked jutting your thumb behind you.

“See what?”

“You didn’t see the look she gave me?”

“No?”

“Well she looked at me like I spat on her, or pushed her Grandma down the stairs for funsies…” Or like she was pissed that the hulking Adonis in front of her was spoken for. Not that it seemed to matter to her much. Sam chuckled in response, studying your body language as you shifted your weight from one foot to the other, chewing on your fingernail in nervous frustration, eyes like daggers on the front door of the Inn. If he didn’t know any better he might have mistaken that look on your face for jealousy. But you were always a little on edge before a hunt- you’d never admit it, but he knew.

You were pretty good at covering, but he’d known you too long not to pick up on the buzzing nervous energy coming off of you in waves. It never ceased to amuse him though. You were fearless, if there was ever hesitation about going into a situation you wouldn’t wait for a game of rock-paper-scissors, you’d just go in. He figured you did it because you either liked embarrassing them a little that you’d go in before either of them, or out of the need to show yourself that you weren’t afraid. Either way your courage in the face of your own palpable anxiety was endearing, and something he admired about you.

“What do you think- start with Spider Lake?” He asked. You answered with an agreeable shrug.

“Monster’s gotta have a watering hole right?”

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[drawacharge]

so this started off as a drabble inspired by @hoppnhorn’s fic where hopper sees steve & billy fucking on camera lol read it here and turned into that + like a slight hopper introspective?? which i didn’t mean to do but whatever, enjoy anyway???

He’s late.

He’s late because he’s still technically on the clock and caught Tommy Hill speeding so he had to pull the kid over, give him the Required Lecture, and stick him with a ticket that his father would just pay off. Hopper would have loved to just over look it this time, but Hawkins is small as shit and the last thing he needs is the teenagers to stop fearing him. According to Joyce’s oldest son everyone thinks he’s made up of pure anger and spite.

Really, he’s just exhausted. 

And like. Maybe he enjoys terrorizing the teenagers of Hawkins just a little bit. But no one can prove it, so.

Anyway, it means he arrives at the cabin late, to a pouting little girl whose arms stay glued across her chest during the entire car ride to the Byers’. 

Thing is, Hopper’s trying, he really is. It’s just.

Being a cop-- much less the chief of police-- is kind of an unpredictable job, even in Hawkins, but Jane’s only twelve so she doesn’t get that. She just sees a guy who keeps breaking promises. A guy who kept her locked away in a remote cabin in a thick forest for an entire year, after she was kept captive her entire fucking life by some psycho scientist. 

But he’s trying.

He’s been looking at places to live that aren’t in the middle of fucking no where. He’s been going through the motions to sign her up for school. He’s been letting her see her friends more. He’s even been fucking reading Lord of the Rings to her at night, because her friends bought the series for her and her reading comprehension isn’t there yet. 

And it’s a boring fucking book, so.

Like, seriously. Ninety percent of it they’re just walking. 

He even does voices. 

Two weeks ago, she went to the mall for the very first time and he let her buy whatever she wanted. She chose a pink dress-- which like, fine, whatever-- but she also really wanted a leather jacket that was kind of too expensive but Hopper bought it for her anyway. He sacrificed a months’ worth of buying beer for it. Not that she knows that.

She also bought a stuffed teddy bear because she said it reminded her of him, which was... kind of cute. She named it Jim, too, which is less cute and more confusing, but whatever. 

A month before that was the start of summer and she went to the quarry for the first time. Jane doesn’t have the best history with deep water, so she spent the first hour clinging to either Hopper or Mike, making them promise to not let go. But, eventually, she explored on her own.

With floaties on her arms, of course.

So, yeah, he’s trying. But.

He still feels a little bit like a failure. He’s still too angry, too impatient. His voice still gets too loud even when he doesn’t mean for it to. 

Couple weeks ago, he confessed to Joyce over a midnight joint that he felt like he was becoming like his father. Joyce-- who vividly remembered Hopper’s father from when they were teenagers-- looked positively offended at the notion and went, “Don’t be ridiculous, Hop. You’re nothing like him.” Which, like, yeah.

He doesn’t hit the kid. He doesn’t tell her that she was worthless, or stupid. He’d rip out his own tongue or cut off his own hands before ever doing any of those things, but.

That doesn’t mean he’s a good dad. 

And, christ, that kid deserves a good fucking dad. A great one. A god damn superhero, even.

And that’s... not him. 

But he’s trying.

So, she doesn’t talk to him the whole way there, but, when she hops out of the car she still takes the time to hug his hip before grabbing her bag and running in. It’s stupid how much better that makes him feel.

By the time he follows in behind her, she’s in the living room talking excitedly to Mike about something or other. He’s looking at her with his stupid googoo eyes and Hopper-- not for the first time-- wants to kill the kid just a little bit, because his girl is too fucking young to have some twerp sniffing at her heels, but she likes him too apparently.

Besides, if Hopper learned anything from his teenage years it’s that the more parents don’t like a boy, the more the girl does.

( something he used to his advantage far too much back then )

Everyone’s there already, but not everyone’s staying. Henderson is talking too loud-- basically yelling-- in front of Steve Harrington, going, “C’mon, why do you wanna go to a party with him instead of hanging with us--” and the him in question here is Billy Hargrove, who is standing a little farther back from everyone else, closer to the door. Hopper can’t help but agree with Henderson’s sentiment, even if the thinks the kids are just headaches waiting to happen. But.

He doesn’t like Hargrove. The only adults who do, seem to be housewives, but Hopper’s reasoning is a little different from everyone else’s. 

See, Hargrove reminds Hopper too much of himself at his age. He seems angry all the time, rage bubbling underneath his skin like he’s always looking for an excuse to lash out. He walks through the town like it belongs to him, flirts with housewives even though he’s a fucking kid. Sometimes it’s like Hopper’s looking in a fucking mirror. Shit, even some of the rude shit he says reminds Hopper of the shit he’d say at his age. Closed minded kind of shit. 

You’d probably think all these similarities would make him more empathetic to the kid but, nah, not really. 

Maybe, if his kid didn’t like him. Maybe, if he wasn’t starting to hang around the group of people Hopper has almost died to protect twice now.

People Hopper would still die to protect in an instant. People he cared about. People he kind of considered family.

Right down to the rich kid who used to be a real fucking thorn in his side.

( still was, on occasion )

He’s been able to stand Harrington a lot more after he started dating Nancy Wheeler. She was a sweet kid and kept him out of trouble, influenced him to be good rather than the party boy he was before her. They weren’t together anymore, and while Hopper never gave enough of a shit to find out why, he was worried that’d mean Harrington would go back to his old ways. 

So far he hasn’t, not really, but he did start hanging around Hargrove sometime in the spring. 

Unlike everyone else, Hopper wasn’t too surprised when they started hanging out. It wasn’t unusual for two guys their age to get into it then end up becoming friends some time later. If Hopper hadn’t been friends with anyone he fought at their age he wouldn’t of had any friends. Boys will be boys. They’ll fight, they’ll draw blood, and after that they’ll get a fucking beer and forget about it. Shit, even grown men did that from time to time. 

But, Hargrove could easily be the catalyst that makes Harrington go back to his old ways. It hasn’t happened, but--

“What’s this about a party?” He sounds gruff, but when Harrington turns around he smiles at Hopper with the same kind of smile he’d give after getting pulled over for speeding, or for the staunch smell of weed coming from the open window of his BMW. “I hope there ain’t gonna’ be any underage drinking at this party--”

He knows there will be.

“Nope,” Harrington says, all innocent acting, Ray-Bans over his eyes even thought he’s inside and it’s fucking dark out. He was such a ridiculous kid. Hopper would have probably punched him too when he was seventeen.”Just soda and fruit punch, sir.”

“Don’t push it,” he mutters, but waves off the conversation, heading for the kitchen to say hi to Joyce real quick. 

On the way out he hears Hargrove hiss, “You wanna invite him to the fucking thing too?” and Harrington goes, “Relax, he doesn’t care.” Which like, Hopper does care, but he also knows teenagers will be teenagers and if he spent all his time shutting down parties he’d never fucking sleep, so. 

Joyce has her back to him, stirring something that smells real fucking good in a pot while her two boys help. The radio is playing softly and Jonathan’s singing to his mom as he pulls what looks like ( and smells like ) garlic bread out of the oven. Will is standing on a stool, getting plates, and Hopper walks over to help him when he starts to wobble.

The kid offers him one of his soft, grateful little smiles and Joyce goes, “Oh, Hop,” in greeting, “When’d you get here? I didn’t hear the door.”

“Just a few minutes ago.” He makes sure Will can handle the rest then looks over her shoulder to take a peek at what’s in the pot, “What cha’ makin’?” He reaches for some bread and she smacks his hand with a spoon.

“Chicken parm with spaghetti and garlic bread--” his stomach growls at the thought, and he’s not sure if she heard it or not but she goes, “You’re gonna’ stay and eat some with us, right?” so either she did or she just knows. 

He wants to. He really fucking wants to, but. 

“Can’t. Still on the clock technically.”

Jonathan and Will take the plates and what food is finished to the other room while Joyce frowns at him. “You work too much.” And he might, maybe. But so does she, which he says. She smiles real gentle at him in response. Joyce always looks so much younger when she smiles like that.

“Try and stop by after then?” She asks, tilting her head back to look at him better. They’re closer than Hopper realized. They always seem to be closer than he realizes. “I’ll save you a plate and we can talk while the kids are asleep.” 

Thing is, Hopper probably visits her at night far too much for it to be appropriate. If she was married and he did that, her husband would have every right to punch him, but. 

She’s not married, and neither is he, and.

And that sounds real good, so, “I’ll try and make it.”

Which makes her smile even more, and Hopper likes making her smile. She’s been sad for too long and too often over the last couple years, and if anyone in this town deserved to smile it was Joyce Byers. 

“Good. See that you do.” She pats his chest. “Now go do your job. I’ll be waiting.”

And that sounds real good, too. Joyce waiting up for him.

Like real good. 

So, he finds Jane and ruffles her hair in good-bye, glares at Wheeler a little, and heads out the door, noticing that the BMW is still in the driveway but Harrington, Hargrove, and Hargrove’s Camaro are long gone. 

He’s almost done with his patrols, heading down to Lover’s Lake to make sure no one’s trying to get pregnant out there. He’s dreaming of Joyce’s chicken parm ( and a little bit about Joyce, too ) when he sees the missing Camaro parked at the edge of the lake, lights off and silent, and audibly sighs. 

It’s not the first time he’s caught Hargrove and some girl out here, and he’s kind of getting tired of the kid blatantly ignoring his warnings, so he shuts off his cruiser, gets out, and walks real quiet like toward the car just so he can have surprise on his side and put the fear of god into Hargrove and whatever poor girl he’s charmed into his backseat. 

Okay, so, maybe he enjoys this part of his job. Terrorizing horny teenagers was kind of fun. He now understood why the cops before him did the same fucking thing. Nothing like wide eyes and shit shit shit as limbs flail and clothes fly around to give you a good chuckle.

He hears moans as he gets closer, nose wrinkling because, christ, they left the fucking window open. Do they want the whole fucking town to hear them bumping uglies, like-- 

He pulls out his flash light, leans down, and flicks it on, “Alright, you two--”

Well.

Shit.

There’s two forms, and the one on bottom is most definitely Hargrove, naked from the waist up, hair a mess and a very angry looking red mark on his throat, but the girl on top-- well, the girl on top isn’t even a girl.

It’s fucking Harrington. 

Hopper’s world goes a little sideways and he stands there looking a little stupid, both kids staring at him with wide, terrified eyes before Hargrove’s shoving Harrington off him unceremoniously, a look of pure panic on his face. Harrington hits the seat with a grunt-- far more naked than Hargrove was-- and scrambles for his pants thrown over the middle console behind him. Hargrove’s muttering something like fuck and shit and i’m so fucking dead while yanking his shirt over his head and Hopper--

Catches up around the time Steve turns to him, out of breath and looking almost as scared as Hargrove, but infinitely more desperate. “Hopper,” he breathes, trying to smile like he did back at the Byers. It falls a little flat this time. “Hi, uh--” he glances back at Billy who is now just staring forward at the head rest of the front seat. His back is rigid, and that look of fear is still on his face. “-- it’s not... what it looks like. I uh. We. I--”

Hopper’s caught him like this before, but with girls, and Harrington’s always been much more composed, sometimes even smug. Now he looks about ready to piss himself, voice almost trembling and christ. 

Hopper gets why.

Like, it’s Hawkins. And--

He hasn’t always been the most outwardly accepting guy, even as an adult. He’s said shit before that he probably shouldn’t, but. That’s changed. He’s gotten better, because he has Joyce, and Joyce has Will, and Will--

Well, he’s not sure what Will is, but he’s pretty sure he’s not normal-- er, straight. Whatever. He’s still learning. Point is.

It’s not his thing, and he might not ever, like, get it, but. 

He knows what pure fear looks like, and Hargrove looks like that but worse. He’s green like he might throw up, and Steve only looks a little bit better, but not by much, so.

“Jesus fucking christ,” he hears himself sigh, and Steve goes still, so he adds. “I can’t believe Hargrove left his fucking car out here empty and unlocked. It’s illegal--” 

See, he should probably talk about it. He should probably tell the boys that it’s okay, or it’s natural, or some other liberal shit that Joyce would probably say, but he can’t. Doesn’t want to even, because that sounds fucking awkward as shit, and he isn’t even ready to have the talk with his kid, much less two queer teenage boys--

So this is his best option.

And they both look confused, which is fair. “God only knows who could find it,” he continues. God only knows who could find you. “He better get back here and leave soon.” You better get out of here. “It’s dangerous.”

Then he steps back, flicks off his flashlight and adds, “I’m not gonna’ report this,” which sounds stupid to say out loud, but he wants the kids to know he’s not going to tell anyone. That even if he doesn’t understand, he still fucking knows anyone finding out could mean either of them getting fucking dragged down a country road by a truck, and even when Hopper was at his worst he didn’t think people like them deserved that shit, so.

He gets back in his truck, heads back down the road, parks behind some trees, and sits there until he sees Hargrove’s Camaro fly by. Until he knows they’re safe, and hopefully not planning on doing that ever again.

Then he heads back to the Byers’, smokes a joint on the porch with Joyce, and eats chicken parmesan and garlic bread until he can no longer recall what Steve Harrington looks like butt ass naked. 

[raymundsuacillo-blog]

TABOO: The Medieval Mind Within the Modern Filipino

In an era where humanity trails behind the coattails of technology, it is inevitable and evidently expected that people alongside their values progress in pace with the environmental shifts occurring around them. Not much can be said about the Philippines. We are in a nation with conservative presets backed with roaring liberal judgments. As much as history tried to weather the eastern storm with a more westernized narrative, it only gave birth to a nation and people whose sights are poised towards the future yet whose minds are grappled in the past.

Traditions, beliefs, and values are intertwined with history and the culture that serves as society’s foreground. But these historical and cultural facets should not overwhelm the business of politics and the social advancements we have made so far. It is wrong to disregard and sideline these factors in political movements. But to let our medieval values hold our social norms and politics by the neck is a sin in its own sense.

This is taboo. These are the conversations we tried strenuously to avoid and the discourse we vied to kick under the dinner table. In a conservative-esque nation like the Philippines, there are lines one must not come across and there are moral boundaries planted within every social framework. These restrictions have been in place for centuries and we haven’t grown since. We can never genuinely comprehend and understand these issues we deem taboo if we aren’t open to discussing it freely. Only if we learn to pin the obscure will we only find a clearer path to modernity?

Religion in the Philippines is no taboo. But its side effects have been evident long enough for it to mend the social fabric and tinker with our politics. Over 90% of Filipinos are Christian, 80% of which are Catholic. Banking on such foothold, the Church has held power in its pulpits and has even used its sweltering influence to dictate the change in society and in our government. The Church bore the power to take down a dictator. And it still has the power to do so. There is a reason why you can’t look down upon the altar.

But where does the Church fit in this medieval discourse? Frankly, it sits pompously at the center. Like tradition, the Church has embedded its values down to the very helm line of our society. Its propositions, morals, and policies are infused with our cultural norms and have even become our norms. It is through this fusion of Church and stately influence which has quarantined the Filipino mindset from tackling issues that the world has learned to take inconveniently. We have been living with one-sided truths. It is not in the Church’s doctrines neither is it in the Bible where we establish our policies. For the Church heeds its own narrative. And that narrative is not shared by everyone.

The Last Man Standing

What God has put together, let no man separate. This beating mantra has been the battle cry of people who stand at the frontlines against Divorce. We have been told tirelessly told to honor the sanctity of marriage in Filipino households. But when taps run dry, emotions run deep, and domestic violence remains a common Filipino feature, there is really nothing to honor here.

According to recent data by the Philippine Statistics Authority, over 30% of women experience spousal violence from their current partners. In a society where love and matrimony are held to such a high standard, we can never truly tell that love is a safe haven for all. This domestic abuse has led to physical, emotional, and mental bruises that no man can even dare to bear. Abused partners have merely one option to turn to, annulment. But the tedious and blaringly expensive process takes months even years to come into motion. It leaves the abused with no other choice but to exit the process and force themselves to stay with their violent partners or leave such abusive households and face retaliation from a hypocritical society where religious presets become a way of life and personal values become the morals of a 100 Million.

In the years 2017-2018, the Senate has made progress in legalizing divorce. This conversation sparked headlines internationally as the massively conservative state is finally taking steps in swallowing the divorce pill. This is considering that the Philippines is the lone sovereign state to still have divorce illegal after its anti-divorce partner Malta made the act legal in 2011. While commendations trickled down from the thrones of the Vatican, on a global and more realistic sense, we are left grappled in an idea the world has long kept in the past. The world cannot imagine a life where divorce is illegal. But as they say, there is always something unique and painstakingly exotic about the Philippines.

The Talk

In an age of advanced technology, social media has usurped the need for newspapers and tablets have seemingly overtaken the necessity for books. Social media has tightened the loose ends of communication and has engaged millions of people into easier and more convenient discussions and conversations through online platforms. It is easy to think that topics such as Sex Education are more openly brought into light with such technology. But how can the youth initiate such crucial forums on such if Sex Education remains a vague construct and talks about sex and health are literally still kept under the sheets?

According to the Commission on Population (Popcom), Filipino parents still refuse to discuss the barebones and complexities of sex to their children. Sex discussions and Sex Education go beyond the flirtations and the foreplay the general public tags them to be. SexEd opens about sexual health, sexuality, and the repercussions that early and premarital sex may have. Encapsulated within this is the necessary measures in preventing the rampant spread of Sexually Transmitted Diseases such as HIV and AIDS among others. While sex education is being dabbled upon by educational institutions, what echoes within the classroom aren’t generally comprehensive enough for the youth to grasp. These discussions must come from their parents in order to break the stigma around the topic.

It is through this stigma why troubled youth fear opening up about their sexual past. It is in this stigma why HIV/AIDS are set to peak at 15,000 cases in 2019 in a 140% jump because we try desperately to keep the conversations quiet. 500 Filipino teenagers become mothers each day. If Premarital sex, HIV/AIDS, and Teenage Pregnancy aren’t enough to spark discussions, then it is basically useless to even try to fix the problem.

In a country where the age of sexual consent is age 12, parents must exhibit the necessary precautions to keep their children from engaging in premarital and unsafe sex. Schools cannot stress this further for textbooks could only do so much. Despite the common notion, leaving our children ignorant about sex does not safeguard them from doing the act. The retaliation of youthful curiosity is lethal. It’s best we hand them the information rather than letting them seek the information themselves.

#Pride

The colors, festivities and the celebrations are blinding. But if you deep dive into the segregated sectors of society, there is nothing worthy of celebration for the LGBT+. Pride marches are symbols of unity, strength, and the progressive march society is willing to take for the LGBT Community. But that’s all there is. We see gay fashion icons trailing the asphalt in Instagram-worthy outfits together with LGBT couples that find their way at the pulpit of Twitter stardom. Pride marches have only become a mere symbol of the flamboyance of coming out and is somehow sidelining the fight for basic civil rights.

The Sexual Orientation and Gender Identity and Expression (SOGIE) Bill has breezed through the House of Representatives yet has been gripped with strict judgment and brash political backlash at the Senate. The overtly over-religious solons have lionized themselves as preachers to turn LGBT rights into an over-sensationalized lobby for Same-Sex Marriage. While it is respectable to heed religious belief into the Senate floor, it is despicable to use subjective religious doctrines as an excuse to deny people of their right to self-expression.  

While we tirelessly demand genuine separation of church and state, what the system dictates, the operator does not follow. Numerous religious groups staged a rally against the legalization of the SOGIE Bill for some stated that it would eventually lead to Same-Sex Marriage. It just goes to show how we only value the LGBT on-screen as best friends or comedic figures but not for the humans they are. We are only tolerant of their actions but never respectful of it.

There are currently no laws protecting LGBT from hate crimes or workplace discrimination. While the Philippines is open to homosexuality, its mindset remains clasped in the past. We will constantly deviate from this conversation long enough for the people to forget. Long enough for the Filipinos to forget once more.

This is a nation that has cultivated numerous ideologies and ideas yet has faltered in comprehending them all. There is no grey area. For as long as we keep these topics and issues in the shadows of the conversation, we can never truly taste the fruits of the progress we have long yearned for. Because these should be embedded into the foundations of our social structures and yet they aren’t. Progress isn’t really about technology. Or how many asphalts we’ve paved and concrete we’ve poured. Progress and change still rest on our moral presets. Our values dictate where we trace our future and where we build a better nation. Unless we are willing to open ourselves to new values then we shall remain in the crevices of our past, in the castles of our Medieval mind.

[zecuddlyblumedic]

Soup with soul

Blue-gray eyes scanned the table in front of him. A myriad of objects and things were strewn about its surface, all lined up, all set up nice and proper and in a perfect little line: sacks of flour, a sack of cane sugar, an array of measuring cups and teaspoons, a rolling pin, a bottle or two of pure extracts...

A gentle sigh escaped him as he donned his cooking apron.

Abelärd was a whimsical soul. A real romantic who loved this time of year. It was a time of festivities and gatherings, of people coming together under the unified banner of love and peace. Foolish notions perhaps. But he was happy being a foolish old man with foolish notions.

He loved the joyous change in the air. He loved the cozy corners of rooms where one could retreat to and read a book. He loved the gentle lilting sound of music coming from the radio. He loved the smell of baked goods-- of cookies and challah-- heavy in the air. The sharp, comforting earthy sting to the nostrils of freshly ground cinnamon. A warm mug of tea in his hands, radiating warmth up his numbed fingertips.

He cooked and baked for a variety of reasons. To feed his loved ones, to feed the base. To pass time, of course. To make sure people ate a good, healthy, hearty meal and acquired a much needed boost of vitamins during the cold season. But, mostly, it because he enjoyed it. It made him happy. Not as much as painting a portrait, or sketching one’s likeness in charcoal, but he liked doing it, almost as much. And he enjoyed cooking because he was good at it. He made some of the best, heartiest stews, soups and meals you could ever imagine. His twin brother, Aldous, was always the better one when it came to baking. Aldous was a virtuoso when it came to concocting confectionery wonders.

He cooked kosher foods and non-kosher (seeing as how most at the base did not follow kosher requirements). He cooked with dietary needs in mind (he was a doctor; he had medical files on everyone on his base, including allergies and things they had to stay away from). He made vegetarian dishes. He made dishes for those who loved meat. He made dishes for those who were lactose intolerant, or gluten sensitive. No matter what he made, everything had one common link: it was made with love.

Today he had emerged from his infirmary, leaving his half-finished paperwork behind. He needed a break from his job. What better way to take a break than bake a little goodness? Stir in a little happiness? Give something to someone, feed them, spread a few smiles around. Pass on the love and care that this world so desperately needed.

His cookbook was placed off to the side, numerous multi-colored tabs marking each type of dish, side dish and dessert. Today he settled on a good classic meal: a basic potato soup with homemade bread on the side. The soup would be nice and creamy, heavy enough to stick with someone most of the day. Kosher, but with enough taste to keep one coming back for more. And for dessert, he’d make an apple cake, a closely guarded recipe passed down from none other than his own mother.

His base would be eating good tonight.

He diligently cut the potatoes into cubed chunks, diced onions set aside in a bowl. Music drifted lazily through the air; the radio station was running a series of Christmas-based music all day. A bit too early for the Medic’s tastes, but he wasn’t about to complain. Complaining did nothing. Only made one’s blood pressure rise.

A warbling coo caused him to momentarily pause. As he was reaching for the salt, he glanced over at the sack of flour. Engel, his beloved mourning dove, had taken roost on a canister of pre-ground nuts. The tiny pigeon had fluffed up its feathers, making it look nice and plump. Contentedly it watched the Medic, its beady little eyes blinking, the smear of blue around its eyes looking like a swath of expertly applied mascara.

“Ah, look at you,” he murmured softly in his native language. “Coming to watch your papa make some food for the team?”

“Coo-wooough, ooh, ooh.”

“It’s funny,” he went on, his smile becoming increasingly nostalgic with each passing moment, “cooking makes me remember mother. She used to cook for us all the time. Sang while she stirred the soup. Hummed while she tenderized the meat. She was always having a song in her heart.”

The plump little mourning dove craned his head a bit, looking up at the human who not only was its owner and caretaker, but, in a strange way...

“And,” Abelärd continued, picking up the cutting board before taking it over to a pot, soup base set to a low boil, “she loved making soup.” He slid the cubes of potato in, watching them bob up and down from the heat of the cream. “She said it was her favorite thing to make. That she loved making soup with soul.”

“Coo-wooo...”

“Admittedly, I didn’t understand what she meant. Even after our father died, and she taught us how to cook on our own, for the family... I didn’t understand it.” Picking up the dish of cut onions, he added that. “It wasn’t until I was older did I understand.”

In a calm, gentle voice he told a story to the content little mourning dove, softly cooing in the warmth of the kitchen. He told the bird of a mother’s love. Giselle Johanna Haswell, that was her name. And she made sure no one went without a meal.

Meißen was a nice tightly-knit community when he was a kid. A merger of French influence and German heritage. The streets were calm enough, and there wasn’t much trouble to be had. The Haswells weren’t a rich family, nor were they a poor one. A meager middle-ground. They made do. They had a garden out back where most of their fresh vegetables came from. They pooled together what money they had for the week to get fresh meat at a deal. Whatever they didn’t use right away, they canned or cured for later. It was a nice little existence.

Still, there was sadness on the street they lived on. There were two families who were worse off than they. The epitome of poor at the time. The children of those two families ran around in patched up rags. Dirty faces and scraped knees. They often went without food. The parents worked long, hard hours. Shivering in the cold of a factory building, barely able to make ends meet, blistered feet and worn out shoes with holes.

Abelärd remembered when their father, Friedrich Walfried Haswell, died. He fell ill when they were six, and died shortly after their seventh birthday. For the months following the family mourned. So stricken with grief was Giselle that she didn’t leave her bed for what seemed to be weeks.

One day, on her many trips out to try to get a fresh of breath air in her constant state of mourning, Giselle came across the children of the two families. She saw them stealing from the local marketplace, stuffing fruit into their pockets. They managed the steal the fruit without being caught, and she quietly followed them to see what they’d do.

She witnessed the children pooling together their goods, making sure each kid had an equal amount to take home.

Her heart, as she had told her children, felt as if it were being torn into pieces, and she felt grief anew. Not for her husband, but for the children who, so hungry were they, were stealing food for each other, for their families.

“After that,” Abelärd recounted, stirring in the rest of the ingredients, “she made it her purpose to make the world a better place. She returned to cooking, and she found a renewed sense of passion in it.”

“Cooo...”

“She taught us how to cook, and we often made big batches of food. Meals that we three could not eat by ourselves. I often went over with my brother to deliver the rest of our food, giving our ‘leftovers’ to the two families in need.” His expression softened, becoming sympathetically somber. “And I will never forget,” he murmured softly, “the gratefulness in the way they smiled. The tears in their eyes. The way the children hopped around their parents, excited to get some soup.”

And then it struck him. Abelärd ceased his stirring, and he looked down at the soup he was making. He hadn’t used a small pot, or a medium one. He had used the largest one he found, making the biggest batch he could. Of course he made food for the base and his loved ones-- he always had. But he never realized why he did it, the natural desire to do so. The realization now dawned on him, like the cresting sunrise over snow capped mountains-- sparkling, crystalline, clear.

He was picking up where his mother left off. He was making soup with soul.

“...Cooo...”

“...yes, yes. Of course. I didn’t forget you!”

Turning his attention back to the plump little mourning dove, he moved away from the pot, letting it simmer for a bit. With a merry twinkle in his eye, he picked up a bit of freshly baked bread. He pinched a bit off of it, rewarding his little dove for being oh so patient during that story.

Watching the hungry little bird gobble it up, bobbing its head in delight, the man couldn’t help but chuckle in amusement.

“Such a patient little child. Did you enjoy the story?”

“Coo-woooh... ooo, oo, ooo...”

“Good.”

Wiping his scarred hands off on a dishtowel, he gave the bird a fond little pat before returning to the soup. He was going to make the best soup he could, and he was going to make sure everyone was going to leave that dining hall full and happy.

...Maybe he’d save some of it aside, in a bowl, and take it over to his brother later on. He was sure his brother would enjoy it. After all, with the family recipe, it was sure to be a trip down memory lane.

Abelärd knew how much Aldous still missed their mother.

[nanashi1869]

🌼Flowers for my wounds🌸

(@kondo-hijikata @liuet in case you feel like reading it? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ )

~Yes, woo what a surprise, a long rant about the Shinsengumi again, how original Nashi. ~

Why thank you, dear reader ;) In all seriousness though, all the previous rants I made were spoiler free and it made me ridiculously furious that I held back all the salt and awe I have in me just for the sake of not spoiling any potential newcomers. I’ve covered some of this in vague posts hundreds of times, but today I will break that habit, I will spoil this to hell and back and enjoy it just as much.  

You've been warned.

PS: I’m doing this entirely based on my memory and some snippets I’ve seen one time too many for my own good. Inaccuracies are bound to happen. 

As always, what better way to begin than with the infamous episode 33...

I'm kidding, today I'm starting by digging into the post office. As with the usual routine the theme to talk about with this wreck is - guilt. Guilt over losing money in a gamble like a complete fool, guilt over buying a book and being too big of a shit (with rather solid arguments) to admit it, guilt over making rules you can't break even though going through the consequences once was enough to make you regret it for the next few miserable years... (Yes I lied, inadvertently everything comes back to the foolish daffodils). But let's talk about our pure accountant who is one 'i' short of being nothing but cute. Let's talk about the edge they put us on a bit before the main event took place, when the (drama version) of the idiot trio tore that scroll. Never forget that could have been the reason for all our tears, yet in the end it still had to be some more complex scheme. An act with the convict being an innocent man and the true criminal roaming free, while Toshi had all the time in the world to steep in deep, raging self-denial over the legitimacy of his past actions and life choices, all the while ending up the scapegoat to whom all the anger can be directed towards. The subtlety with which we were deceived to think the "actual events" of episode 38 were to play out earlier is truly commendable. But with this drama nothing is ever easy. You get to know a new character, someone moves a chess piece and then instead of moving forward everything takes a step back and lets you seethe with nervousness because, without realizing, you've been tricked and have to wait for all the heartbreak a while longer. Takeda's resolve to keep to his decision, regardless of consequences, was in his eyes, completely justified. It did make sense to try and prevent Kano from buying the book for Ito in order to protect the group from his growing power, the action simply failed due to Toshi's own greed after it. Kawai innocently, perhaps naively, thought lending money more than once would not be punished in hopes his friends would be saved from harm. It is his kindnesses that is ultimately his doom and it is the unexpected, usually harmless twists in life that turn it into a spiral with no point of return. Takeda's following quest for redemption ends up being just as pointless as Kawai’s death - he is killed in an instant of hate directed at him, where the assailants are unaware of his reasoning for the justification of his friend's demise. The book too, loses value as Ito gets his own copy later on.

Most, if not all, tragedies in this drama happen because someone is trying to protect or shield - and idea, a person. Toshi's friends die because he must protect the order of the group for Kat-chan, Yamanami and Akesato have a rift in their final moments because they cannot be honest (likewise Souji and Hide), Kat-chan's relationship with Tsune suffers because he lies about Miyuki, Nagakura and the others write the petition to shield the group from Toshi and Kat-chan's (propensity) ego. The pattern is pretty clear.

I'm going to loop back to the script for just a second - watching this drama knowing what will happens adds a thrill, it makes you question when an event will take place even though you know the chronological sequence, because the “mini-arc” leading up to it has to be completed first and the tension must be just right. How long that is depends on the episode and event of course. But each arc is a stepping stone to a new point of no return.

I think, since I've mentioned him, I'll take a bit to talk about Ito as well. I love, love, love the confrontation Kondo and Ito have right before his death. It's absolutely stunning despite being simplistic in nature, because what Kondo states is in fact the very obvious truth and in no way some overly wise notion of the situation. However, it's that simplicity (to me) that adds to the charm of the scene. If you expected some courageous battle of wits, you might have been sourly disappointment, but otherwise - see the pattern? - what brings people to their knees is once again the basic things in life. Kondo’s sincerity, the fact that life is and always will be (mostly) separated into black and white for them. Farmers and samurai, poor and rich - they fit in a narrow grey zone, yet even there they are bullied, pushed away to leave. It's everything complex they're trying to achieve being haunted by little things. It's the desire and determination to be something big and more buried into the ground by the small things they were raised with, holding them back.

Ah, it’s about time this goo got to the good part.

No, it’s still not episode 33. Firstly because I’m sure everyone is tired of my whining about it and secondly because I like to leave best (in my opinion) for last.

This is for our Gargoyle and Tofu. Just imagine, for a second imagine that final hug again and bathe in it, then come back to me, okay? The wedding rings champagne caps and Toshi’s little grimace when he tries to convince himself ‘it’s not over yet’. (At this point I would just like to praise Mitani again for giving us closure with that hug, unlike some other shows I watch *side eyes knife pile*). I’m really glad the two of them got to hug it out before the whole deal blew up. Everytime a ‘Kat-channn’ or ‘Tossshii’ came around my heart melted a bit. THE DYNAMIC IS SO GOOD. (I get so, so jealous each time I see well written relationships between two guys. Doesn’t matter if it’s boyfriends/best friends/would-die-for-you combined or only one of these included. (*cough* NIF & Bleach for one *cough*) I don’t even know what to say! We all know Toshi would sacrifice the world for Kat-chan. We all know Kat-chan trusts him above all else. The guilt one feels and the content of the other having come so far together and being such a power combo…*noises*

I don’t even know how to put this.... (@kondo-hijikata help this is your expertise)

I’m going to move on to some more feathery stuff because I’m really at a loss about these two (analysing NIF’s LC/MCS has engraved so deep into me it’s ruined my perception for everyone else, I apologize).

Right, feathers…

I wrote about Serizawa and his issue of not being able to get over his “I’m a bad guy, therefore I must act like it” complex...somewhere before. I can’t find it, but I’m very sure that was once a thing. I know most people hate the man with a burning passion and part of me probably does too, yet the way he is presented also makes him fascinating, like he is very self-aware but cannot change anything about that (this is similar to Toshi’s “indifference” (we all know he actually cares) of his path to become the villain - he knows that what he is doing is morally wrong and has no intention of stopping). I feel like in the end both of them continued with “bad guy” roles simply because they were too far down that road to stop.

I would analyse Serizawa’s character more, but I honestly don’t remember much anymore. I did want to mention this though.  Toshi on the other hand…feels like someone who desperately wishes to rage quit everything, but keeps on going out of pure spite.

And since I’m speaking of our beloved vice-commander - one thing that opisses me off is that Kotetsu got mentioned, but the whole wow deal with Kanesada got dropped out, even in the movie. *cue bawling over that Katsugeki finale* I was hoping for that when Tetsu showed up dammit!

Am I tiring you yet? Come, sit down, have some tea Gen-san made because he is totally ok and alive an happy and you cannot convince me otherwise because the hugging thing did not happen. Period.

…

Lastly, because my mind is going blank this is quite long - the bane of my existence and the one thing (to me) more cursed than Ryoma himself. (I’m lying PMK upped this x100000 and I am not over that either. I’ll confess immediately I did not read the whole thing yet but this, this haunts me).

This stupid episode with it’s stupid ending and it’s stupid decisions. *insert me yelling about rice balls on the Mibugishiden review post* I mean what is it with this drama and ending brutally sad episodes with (unintentionally?) funny moments? *cue Toshi’s squeaky crying* I have covered my thoughts about Akesato here and here though and since that essentially recaps everything I want to say, I won’t repeat myself. (Thought you’d have to read through 5 more pages of me screaming? I did too before I forgot what I wanted to say.)

I might make a part 2 someday, if I think of more to say, but for now, I’m done, leaving you with this stressful mess. Feel free to add your own opinions, I’m really curious about what the rest of you think.

~Nashi out~

[darkdarkmydesire]

I really hope it wasn't (just an experiment)

Chapter 3:

Magnus woke to the scent of coffee and an empty bed, rolling over he came face to face with a cup of the offending beverage and doughnuts on his bed side table. Tucked underneath the cup was a note, which he snatched out scowling. Magnus didn't know why he felt such strong irritation. Had Alec left in the night? That by no means explained the lukewarm coffee, or fluffy doughnuts, because as far as he was concerned, sustenance didn't just keep it self warm. Deciding to pursue the actions of a mature individual, Magnus flung the paper with tremendous disdain, despite there being no one other than the furniture to witness the action and stalked toward his bathroom. Ignoring the paper and his surging irritation. Magnus's eyes clung to the clock as he passed, 6:18. Despite the seemingly nice gesture, Magnus couldn't help but feel like a hooker. Who woke up before six on a sunday anyway? Alec had disappeared and left a note, all that was missing was the cash on his dresser. Granted Magnus hadn't been looking forward to the awkward morning, but he would've thought Alec would have some tact. Huffing in indignation at his tumultuous thoughts, Magnus made his way to the bathroom with renewed purpose. He'd deal with this after a shower.

Fifteen minutes later Magnus sat on his bed with damp hair and the crumpled remains of his fury. He read over Alec's note for the second time, guilt pricking fine holes in his demeanor.

Sorry I had to leave. I swear this isn't the walk of shame. I have work at 6, so I went home to change. Plus, I got you donougts to make up for it. They're from Nightgale, if you dont like them anymore I'll be sure to pay you back for the bad taste ;)

After the thorough examination, Magnus set down the note, feeling slightly wrecked. He reached for a doughnut. It was his favourite, a glazed wholewheat doughnut. Heart fluttering Magnus bit into the delectable treat. The memory that accompanied only succeeded in tearing down the rest of Magnus. He remembered the first time Alec had took him to the cozy diner, they had been dating. Magnus had taken one bite of the doughnut and declared it his usual haunt, since then him and Alec frequented the place everyday after school. Nightingale was at least a 25 minute walk from his place and Magnus firmly closed the door to the sect of his mind that whispered tantalizing notions: He woke up before 5 for you He did it for you. Alec still cares, still remembers. Still knows you despite the years and silences and changes. Barricading such thoughts, Magnus finished the first doughnut, started the second and drank the coffee till the last drop, despite it going cold. All the while ignoring bubbles of joy in his heart.

-------------------------------+

It had been three days since Magnus and Alec had rendezvoused for the lack of a better word, however both went on with their lives tactically avoiding any mention of the night. There was not a wisp of ungainliness, nor any action to build up their friendship on it's dilapidated foundation. Though, regardless of recent events Alec couldn't help but feel a thrum of disappointment. Magnus, Raphael and Simon had gotten close with an exchange student called Ragnor Fell, especially Magnus. Alec tried to snuff out the envy as he saw them laughing in the corridors and conspiring in class. He had trouble shirking of the petulant chorus of: it should be me. Alec had his own acquaintances and friends. He also had no reservations of kindling their romance, but had thought Magnus would at least try to make up for three years of silence. Had thought that night would have meant more than just a release for Magnus. Had thought -

Swearing Alec yanked open his locker. He was acting imbecilic moron, standing here reminiscing of different outcomes and what if's. About how Magnus wouldn't give him the time of day. Disgusted at his own wallowing, Alec flung books into his bag with a vicious ferocity and a scowl to match.

"Someone's in a mood.", whistled Jace, leaning against the subsequent locker with a clanging thump.

" I'm fine.", Alec blew out, running a hand through his hair. He really was oozing an aura of pathetic, if Jace, who was as thick as his textbooks conjoined, could sense something amiss.

"I'm sure the abuse victim would disagree.", Jace snorted, arms crossed, a skeptical expression on his face.

Confused, Alec raised an eyebrow. He wasn't in the mood for Jace's unamusing jibes.

" The locker. Jjust because it has no nerves, doesn't make it acceptable to pummel the thing.", Jace mocked effectively cutting into Alec's irritation. The words echoed of a previous lecture Alec himself had given him. Breathing out a laugh, Alec felt the vice of strain loosen its grip.

"Jace, I caught you pulverising a postbox with a metal pole., just because you were aggravated. This situation is immensely different.", Alec reasoned closing his locker, although he used a noticeably lower amount of force.

"Right, whatever. Thank fuck you didn't see the five around the corner.", Jace muttered, uninterested in his own failings.

" What?", Alec asked, snapping his head towards Jace, " I swear to God, you better be joking.", he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. With Jace you never really could tell which hypothetical incident was a joke and which an anectode. All Alec knew was that each scenario was as outrageous as the next, if not more so.

"Of course I am.", Jace reassured, " Anyway, Izzy said to tell you, family dinner tonight. Don't forget.", he chirped. Jace never chirped, that was more of Simon's forte, so naturally Alec became suspicious. Adding more fuel to the fire, he couldn't help but think Jace's stride contained an additional vigor. Still unsure and somewhat defeated Alec made his way to AP calculus, perhaps he was overreacting, but in Jace's case even evacuation procedures would be basic protocol. Although, It was not as if he could do anything about the postboxes at this moment. He could offer to pay for them, however even Alec saw little merit in admitting vandalism to a government official's assistant. Hence, Alec simply went to class, turning his back on the memories that hung like ghastly cobwebs in the harsh lighting of the college corridor. Memories that would leave remnants of silk too fine, to perhaps ever remove.

-------------------------------+

Only after Alec had sat down did he take note of the minority of students in attendance. Besides a curly haired girl who's fashion sense could rival Isabel's, Alec happened to be the only other individual present. She seemed to radiate a cloud of hostility, yet Alec found her to be intriguing, if not pleasant. The girl had been been a sagacious partner, the few times Alec had been paired with her. An intelligent figure who could hold an interesting conversation. "Staring at Maia? I though you were past the finding an efficacious beard phase", came Magnus's teasing voice, drawing Maia's attention as well as Alec's. Despite his easy tone Alec felt a twinge of shame, as he recalled how adamant he had been in hiding their previous relationship.

Unable to decide if it was truly a jab, Alec played it safe and brushed off Magnus, addressing Maia in his stead, " Sorry long day. I was just thinking that regardless of your intelligence and pleasant fashion sense, my sister and you are two humans best not acquainted. ". This compliment was delivered in the form of an observation, as if he was merely cataloging the number of lexis in his assignment. The lopsided grin and unassuming tenor of his comment, earned a soft laugh from Maia. Alec could be quiet charming without the pomp and swagger of the usual stereotypes encompassing the male population.

"You know, if anyone other than you said that, gay, or not. I would have shown him just how extended my vocabulary can be, but seeing as its you. Thanks.", she responded, her brown eyes shining with amusement. It seems Alec's comment had indirectly insulted Maia, because he recognised that particular brand of humour from Isabel's own reactions to varying "helpful" comments Alec had bestowed upon her.;

" I dont know if I should be honoured, or offended. The boys in this school aren't exactly...", he waved his hand in an elaborate gesture, as he trailed off.

Scoffing, Magnus cut in, " First of all darling, I am deeply offended, as I seem to be grouped with the 'boys in this school' category. ", as he took out his notebook. " Secondly, this.", he encompassed, waving his hand in a fashion similar to Alec's, "Is not an adjective.", he deadpanned reminding Alec of another time he had used that tone. A time he did not want to remember in a classroom, in front of other anthropoids generally.

Clearing his throat and willing his cheeks to cool, Alec answered, " Yeah, I know.", his voice coming out scratchier than he intended.

Magnus seemed to have caught the link and looked over with a sly grin, "I - ", he began.

" Okay class, seeing as you're always complaining about how tedious solving exercises are, I devised an activity away from the conventional teaching style for math.", announced Mr. Beamer, successfully cutting of Magnus and looking all too pleased with himself.

Alec, once again, wasn't sure if he was disappointed.

"I would like you to work with your desk partners and create a 3 - d model representing the following topics: Limits and Continuity, Derivatives and Rates of Change, or Integrals and Area, depending on which I assign you. I expect this handed in four weeks from now, with an oral presentation. This will be done in lieu of home work, with the exception of the daily practice questions, of course.", explained the teacher.

" Of course.", mumbled Magnus in annoyance.

"What?", questioned Alec perplexed, under his breath. Eyes still on the board, as to erase any chances of a repeat of the last lesson.

Magnus faced the younger man trying to discern his tone, only to find genuine anticipation on his face. " Of course.", Magnus whispered again, however this time he was significantly amused.

"It'll be an invigorating challenge.", shrugged Alec, noticing a strange expression flit across Magnus's face, before he covered it up with a haughty look.

" Invigorating.", he scoffed, "Who says that?", his tenor seem almost... endearing? But before Alec could question it, Magnus faced forward, concentrating intensely on Mr. Beamer's words.

-------------------------------+

" So, after school, your place?", Magnus asked, as the students piled out. "Oh.", replied Alec surprised, " Um, it'll have to be after work, so 7:30?", he queried, expecting a refusal, as he packed away his supplies.

"Sure, I'll text you when I get there.", the older man answered, unfazed, " Number?". Taking in Alec's mildly shocked expression, he frowned. "What? You thought I was going to dump it on you?"

"Well no, I thought... because - you just, I mean. I assumed.", Alec struggled, unable to form a coherent sentence.

" Wow, Alec.", Magnus snapped, "Way to paint me the jerk.", swinging his bag over his shoulder violently.

" What do you expect me to think?", Alec asked vehemently, "You hook up with me, then dont even look my way twice.".

" Don't make this about that, Alec. Dont be so clingy.", Magnus spat.

Ignoring the way his heart clenched at those words, the younger man seethed, " I'm not making it about anything, Magnus. What is wrong with you? We were friends way before this bullshit. If anything, you're the one projecting.", gaining momentum, Alec plundered ahead.

"This isn't even about sex, its about how you seem to think 15 years of friendship isn't reason enough to even try to be civil. You dont want yo speak to me? Fine. But dont get offended, when I assume that's what you're going to keep doing.", Alec finished breathing heavily and pushed past Magnus. He had not felt fury like this in along time. So completely obliterating and wholly directed at one person, rage seemed to crackle from his very being, as Alec none to pointedly ignored the general school populous. Not looking back once, he stormed his way out of the building. Alec was sick of second guessing himself and around Magnus that's all he seemed to do.

-------------------------------+

After work, Alec had come home to boxes of takeaway and bickering. Currently, sitting here, even as Izzy smacked Jace once again and as Jace exaggerated in his reaction, once again, Alec felt calm. This is what family dinners are supposed to be like, spending time with the ones who understood you, even if they weren't blood related, like Jace.

" If you ask me", said Jace out if the blue, " You give that Magnus guy too much leniency. ", he observed, leaning against the front if the sofa, as he sat on the floor with Alec sitting crossed leg, opposite him. Izzy mirroring his posture had token over the couch, " He was just a kid when Alec got kicked out. There's no need to blame him for what Dad did. ", reasoned Isabel. " And for the love of God, speak after you finish. Nobody needs to see that.", she exclaimed, nose wrinkling in disgust.

"I'm not blaming him, even though he is a jerk. I'm Just saying Alec should be careful.", pointed out Jace, purposefully chewing as loud as he could, baiting Isabel. Alec wondered at his audaciousness, no man would cross Isabel, not with the constant threat of sterility hanging above his head.

" That's rich coming from you.", Alec muttered, he was getting imensely annoyed at being the subject of the conversation, as if he was not present. "Also, I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. The way you two are going, I'm surprised you don't suit me up in protective gear each time I step out.", Alec replied blandly.

"Exactly Jace and if they do find each other under the sheets, it'll be the matter of two consenting adults.", Isabel quipped, cackling at the glare Alec through in her direction.

" Isabel.", he warned.

"Oh no, Alexander Gideon Lightwood, dont try and deny it. Clary and I saw you dancing with him on Friday night,before you vanished.", taunted Jace from his spot on the floor, " Where, pray tell, did you go?".

"Home.", Alec deadpanned, " We took a cab together.". Beginning to collect the mess he carried on coolly, "Being over him, doesn't mean I'm blind Jace. He was a hot guy who asked me to dance and so I did."

Choosing to sideline Alec's condescending tone Jace rolled his eyes."Looky who grew up.", munched Jace around his food, causing Isabel to finally snap. It was an audible brittle crack.

"Jace, if you don't quit chewing like that. I will rip out your balls and stuff them down your throat.", she sniped sweetly, with all the venom of a mamba. The sugar coating on the words was overtly saturated, hence not the most enticing of delights. It was the tone Isabel reserved for those on death parole and Jace's reflecting expression conveyed as much, this was only to end in casualties and excessive bloodshed.

Stacking the boxes and blatantly ignoring the two, Alec addressed the only responsible one of the pair. " Izzy could you - ", he paused as the bell cut him off. Distractedly, he made his way to the door adjusting the various containers, so he wouldn't drop them. Arms full, but in no danger of dropping the cartons, he opened the door and came face to face with an uncertain looking Magnus. To say it shocked him was a highly exaggerated understatement.

" Um hey. I.. err. I came to apologize, for earlier that is ", admitted Magnus, his eyes seemed to search Alec's for any scraps on how to proceed.

" Oh.", Alec blinked dumbfounded, jarred into action by sound of Magnus's voice. Churlish as it may seem, Alec had not truly believed it to be Magnus, perhaps his obsessive thoughts had conjured up the illusion. "Okay, come inside.", he said gaining control, suddenly closed off.

The way Magnus had acted, had hurt. There was no way Alec would let him swindle his way through an apology. Needing a moment to collect himself, Alex left Magnus standing in the doorway, as he strode in. Throwing away the load in his arms acted as the perfect guise of being in control, he needed to be after his earlier outburst. No matter how deserved, Alec did not lose control like that. Although in conclusion of recent events, he had come to realise, nothing went the way it usually did when Magnus was involved. Try as he might Alec always gave into the urge of bickering back, flirting back. He wanted to push the thing that was Magnus and Alec, Alec and Magnus. He felt an inexplicable need to test the bond, tug at its tether.

" Sorry to cut this short, Izzy, Jace, but I need to get started on a project with Magnus.", Alec spoke nonchalantly, as if they hadn't been talking about him mere seconds ago. Alec didnt know exactly what he was doing, however he certainly appeared self assured, so it was not all in vain.

Jace opened his mouth, no doubt about to retort something witty and disastrous, but Alec's pointed look and Isabel's not so subtle jab had him keeping quiet.

"See you later, brother.", Isabel said, kissing Alec's cheek and ushering Jace out, paying no heed to his disgruntled protests. His best friend was admittedly not apt in making the best life choices. As the door clicked shut and a heavy silence threatened to smother Alec where he stood. Alec abandoned his vigil of the peeling wall paper in the right most corner of his living, turning to face the inevitable. Did he really think he could ignore Magnus after inviting him in? Common sense had indeed learned the procedure in case of an attack of Magnus's presence. Abandon all tasks and abort. Knowing he could delay no longer, Alec shifted, folding his arms in front of his chest, caging his emotions in, or Magnus's out. He wasn't sure of the difference anymore. Not knowing how to proceed, Alec simply waited, holding the gaze an abundantly tense Magnus.

" Look", he said, inhaling sharpy, as if their very friendship rested on his next words, which for all he knew it did, had it not been for Alec's incongruous need for all that was Magnus. "I was a shitcase, I shouldn't have called you clingy. You aren't. Even before that I shouldn't have ignored you.".

His words tumbled over one and another, a desperate apology, an intoxicating plea. Magnus breathed shakily, as Alec continued staring, face absent of any emotion. " After the club, I assumed things would be awkward. I was even prepared for it. But then it wasn't and I thought I was either extremely dense, or you we're ignoring that night.", Magnus continued, a bit hesitant at revealing his vulnerabilities, though he rapidly brushed away Alec's potential objections that crept in the furrow of his brow, the pursing of his lip, the tightening of his stance. "I know you weren't. I had just overthought the situation so much, it seemed like the logical outcome.".

" So there I was consumed by you, while you seemingly went on unaffected.", Magnus conceded, vulnerability creeping into his eyes.

This time Alec did interrupt, " I wasn't unaffected.", he said, frown deepening.

"Clearly", Magnus scoffed, recalling Alec's outburst earlier. Justified, but an outburst all the same.

" All I'm saying is, I'm not trying to make excuses. I didn't set out to hurt you.", he said , frustration present through the shaky hand he ran over his hair and down his face, as if he could wipe away the emotions he was feeling. He would do anything not to lose Alec, but as Magnus poured his heart out, Alec had stood there stoic. Giving no sign if he was succeeding in his efforts. Magnus was incredibly selfish, he had realised even after years of separation, he still wanted Alec as a friend. No matter how much, or how often he told himself that Alec was just another person he had come into contact with, ordinary, he could not believe that lie. There was nothing ordinary about Alexander Lightwood. Magnus's every sense was crowded with Alexander, from his hazel eyes, to raven black hair and pale throat. He had become an obsession, compulsion, Magnus's destuction.

"I know an apology isn't enough, but I'm sorry Alec.", he croaked, voice tainted with shame and a sliver of hope. Hope Alec could snuff with nothing more than a breath.

" Fine, I forgive you.", Alec relented.

"I'll make it up to you.", Magnus said softly, " I'll - . Wait, what?", he wheeled back back confused.

"You didn't think I was going to end our friendship based on one fight, did you?", smirked Alec. "Though you did deserve it.", he said honestly, dropping down on the sofa and flicking on the t.v. As much as Magnus's actions had severed Alec's heart, he knew that whatever pain they caused each other would be forgiven, if they could wield it to forge something stronger. However, never forgotten because an perpetual cycle of repetitive mistakes was not what Alec wanted, not what they both needed, but forgiven they could be.

It was Magnus's turn to stare nonplussed. If he hadn't been so relieved, he would have been furious. "I know.", he laughed quietly, after what seemed like an age, running his hands through his hair. " You are evil darling. My heart felt like it was going to give out, for all the hints you gave me.", he chuckled easing down next to Alec. Though the movement was tender and if you looked close enough, you could see past the veil of nonchalance. Underneath was a river of gratification and disbelief, running through Magnus minutely tense posture, as he inclined back. Through the tenuous upward curl of his lips. Through the flickers his amber orbs.

Clicking on a movie, Alec raised an eyebrow in question. "What about the project?", Magnus frowned, after all that was how this conflict came to be. Magnus was by no means the most dedicated individual, however he gave an adequate amount of significance to his educational pursuits.

Alec shrugged in response, " We have time.", he muttered, whilst burrowing deeper into the couch, causing an involuntary grin to sketch across Magnus's face. And, as the light flickered across Alec's features, illuminating his laughs and frowns, while he criticised the plot, Magnus blamed the speeding of his heart on the earlier fright. Convincing himself it had nothing to do with Alec's easy smiles and casual touches.

[shima-draws]

I'd love to hear you sing! And can we hear about the MBAV au? And you're right about Benny's hair, I've been sitting here for an hour attempting to do it and aaaaaaaaa

PPFPFT I’ve gotten a lot of positive response so I guess I. Will post that tomorrow hhGHH

Omg yeah seriously;; Benny’s hair is impossible I don’t know how it DEFIES LOGIC??

Anyway

NSKDBBJDDB SURE I would love to talk about it!!So uhh it’s called the Grim Reaper AU? It’s pretty obvious where this is going but allow me to further enlighten youBut yeah get ready for one helluva ride this is SUPER SUPER LONG I’M SORRY it’s like 3k words (the length of a good oneshot holy shit SHIMA WHY) but hey I have been developing this AU for three years now sOOkay here we goIt all starts out when Benny and Ethan are on their way to school and Benny notices they’re being followed by this strange girl dressed in black—but for some reason nobody else is able to see her except for Benny. After school he corners her alone and starts questioning her (he also kinda threatens her a little bit;; tells her to stay away from Ethan since he’s an overprotective cupcake). She reveals that she’s a Grim Reaper and her job is to, well. Bring lives to an end as they’re written down in her book. Basically everyone is fated to die at a certain time in their lives, and Grim Reapers are the ones to carry their souls over to the other side. And after a bit more goading she admits that yes, Ethan is fated to die in two days’ time and she’s been assigned to carry his soul over.Rest is under the cut to save yourselves from endless scrolling whoops

Anyway understandably Benny FLIPS OUT and starts begging her to maybe not kill his best friend? Please? But she says that it must absolutely be done, it’s fate that’s already been written and if she isn’t there when he dies to take care of him his soul might get snatched up by a demon or a witch instead (so yes, Grim Reapers are seen as GOOD in this AU). She apologizes and says that he just needs to come to terms with it (hint: he’s not going to do that ever no thanks). The next day Ethan definitely notices something’s off with Benny, but he can’t get him to spill about what’s going on. Ethan becomes super worried about him and goes to Sarah for advice, while Benny goes to confront the GR again. And he asks something extremely…risky.Benny offers to trade his life for Ethan’s, if it’s possible. The Grim Reaper is shocked and tells him the only way that would work was if Benny signed a contract to become a Grim Reaper himself, but that would mean cutting off all ties to the human world and his friends, and that his mortal body would die and it would basically mean he’s actually dead to everyone. Benny signs the contract and takes the deal, and bam. He becomes a Grim Reaper ;w; (Also one of his eyes turns red so that’s cool. Usually when one becomes a GR both eyes turn red but since Benny also has magic that part of him is shown in his green eyes)Meanwhile Ethan suddenly has a massive panic attack, almost like he can TELL that something’s very wrong with Benny (since they’re connected in that way :3c)  He runs home to find that Benny isn’t there, and that, well—Benny isn’t anywhere. Benny’s grandma is out of town at the mo, so he decides to search himself with the help of Rory and Sarah. They look all night and they’re about to call the police when Benny’s grandma shows up and tells them the news. Ethan passes out from shock, and the next day he wakes up and tries to deny the fact that his best friend is gone forever. Eventually the truth hits him hard and he shuts everybody out, even Sarah. He goes into a major depressive slump and doesn’t speak or even leave his room for days. It’s really bad;;Benny, on the other hand, is learning the basics of how to be a Grim Reaper, and is mortified to know that sometimes fate doesn’t take care of things the way it should and that for some of the deaths he has to take the person out himself (and he gets a wicked scythe he uses to end lives. Ooooh) He refuses at first, saying he doesn’t want to kill anybody, but that’s part of the job description and he signed a contract so he absolutely has to. Benny runs off from the mission, enraging Grim Reaper Girl, who sort of acts as his superior and tutor (I’m going to call her GRG for short). Benny decides he’s going to check on Ethan, which is a HUGE no no in the Grim Reaper world—any ties to old friends and family must be forgotten and it’s super forbidden to try and peer into your past life, all that jazz. Normally when one becomes a GR they forget about their past life but!! Our boy is special so he remembers everything. And yeah Benny doesn’t give a shit about getting in trouble and comes back to White Chapel to see his boyf and make sure he’s doing okay.Unfortunately Ethan is NOT doing okay, and after sneaking in through his window Benny starts rambling on worriedly, thinking that Ethan can’t see or hear him since GR’s are invisible to most people. Buuuut he kinda forgot that Ethan’s a seer so in most cases he can see things other people can’t, and Ethan FREAKS the fuck out when he sees Benny standing in his bedroom with this badass cloak and GR clothing. He immediately bursts into tears and like TACKLES Benny to the ground in a hug and doesn’t let him go for twenty minutes while Benny explains what’s been going on.They talk for a while and Ethan is so fucking relieved that Benny’s okay and he’s also really pissed that Benny didn’t warn him or try to figure out some other way to avoid the consequences but?? It’s too late now so. Ethan begs Benny to come back and visit sometimes even though it could get him into BIG TROUBLE and after a moment of hesitation Benny’s like “yeah okay” and then he spends the night and they cuddle in Ethan’s bed and Ethan has a nightmare and cries on Benny and it’s a sad but fluffy timeThe next day GRG comes to Ethan’s window and chews Benny out for both running out on the mission AND for visiting old friends when he knows he’s not supposed to. Benny, being the adorable muffin he is, is able to convince her to let him visit White Chapel every once in a while, or at least get more jobs near there so he can keep an eye on his squad. Ethan wakes up during their little spat and Benny tells him he has to leave. Of course Ethan protests and begs him to stay longer but he can’t because he has to work so!! Ethan tells him to come back soon and that he’ll be waiting and Benny makes him promise to go to school and try to act normal and ABOVE ALL smile when things get hard. Ethan gives him one last hug that becomes super intimate oops and now they’re sort of realizing that they might have a thing for each other??Ethan goes back to school to the amazement of his friends and apologizes for acting like such a dick to them. They can tell that he seems happier for some reason and they’re still bummed about Benny. Ethan wants to tell them that B’s fine but he doesn’t want to risk Benny getting in trouble so he decides to keep his GR status a secret (though he’s pretty sure Benny’s grandma knows, since she’s been acting normal, if a little bit saddened).Benny returns to work and completes his very first mission, having getting past his fears of “killing” others. And it’s amazing when he ends lives (I know that sounds awful bear with me) because he can see all of the memories the person has had—their most joyful and sad and everything else. Benny meets the soul and ushers them on to the afterlife, being able to do so easily after seeing their life story, and something that will happen every time somebody dies. He talks with GRG about a lot of things and they have a Moment™ as she shares her past and how she wishes she could remember who she was as a human. At this point she’s sort of become like a sisterly figure to Benny—she cherishes him and wants to protect him from the bad things but she also wants him to be careful and avoid getting caught sneaking off. So she’s like, unsure of what to do, torn between covering Benny’s tracks and her job as a GR overseer…Things continue on as normally as possible after this point? Ethan’s suddenly more popular at school now since his bff is “dead” and everyone feels bad for him. Benny is completing mission after mission and is hailed as a GR pro and sort of graduates from his underling status and starts going on REAL missions—these are more dangerous since they involve battles with other supernatural beings after the souls of humans, demons especially. He’s officially partnered with GRG and she covers him whenever he sneaks off to see Ethan.It isn’t often that Benny comes to visit but when he does Ethan becomes just a ball of sunshine. They go do things together which is sort of awkward since nobody else can see Benny so we see Ethan talking to himself at dinner or the movies or wherever lol. Both of them are like “Are these dates we’re going on? Like? I’m really enjoying this and you wow” and it’s VERY GAY. It hits Benny first that he’s in love with Ethan and after the realization he visits more and more, skipping out on important meetings and other vital GR stuff in his contract. Yikes! As this is going on Ethan is starting to realize that he may like Benny as more than a friend and that’s a problem since he’s also been hanging with Sarah more lately and he gets the notion that she might like him back so he is. Torn over who he wants to be with since they’re both dead (?) but he can be in an actual relationship with Sarah while with Benny it’s way more complicated but he’s sure he loves Benny more and always will ;w;Benny suddenly vanishes for a few weeks which leaves Ethan on edge and the others notice but he’s still a loyal boy so he refuses to indulge them about what’s going on, which frustrates Sarah and they kinda get into a fight about it. During this time, surprise!! A giant battle happens in the GR world between them and the demons, a fight over souls, and Benny is caught right in the midst of it. He’s torn over his love for Ethan and his duty to serve the GR’s and fight with them—he’s become pretty famous amongst the ranks since he still has his magic so he’s a lot stronger than the average GR and the higher ups are like “THIS BOY IS HELLA STRONG WE NEED HIM FOR ALL OUR BATTLES YA FEEL” Finally when the battle ends after days and days of hiding out and striking whenever possible, Benny flees to see Ethan once again. He’s totally exhausted and covered head to toe in demon blood and also a little out of it? So something weird happens with his magic to make him visible to other people aaaaand. He shows up at the high school looking for Ethan and everyone is like “What the FUCK is that Benny Weir I thought he was dead???” Ethan freaks out of course but that’s after he runs right into Benny’s arms and hugs the CRAP outta him. Rory, Sarah and Erica start screaming in confusion and they’re like “ETHAN what the hell is going on why is Benny here and dressed like that and is that blood? WTF” Ethan sort of spills to them what’s going on while Benny’s chilling out in his arms, too tired to speak, and the rest of the students watch on in shock like?? Yeah. And one of those people is Della and she’s crying because she never thought she’d miss Benny’s stupid flirting so much and she was sad to hear about what happened to him and she’s happy to see him but also really confused just like everyone else!! It’s a crazy timeEventually when it all calms down Benny knocks everyone out with a sleeping spell and they wake up thinking it’s a dream (except for Rory, Sarah and Erica of course, who he trusts to keep his secret). They all hang out for a little while and they’re like “It’s really good to see you Benny” (YES, EVEN ERICA). Then Ethan and Benny go back to Benny’s house so he can say hi to his grandma, who lectures him for like twenty minutes “I cannot believe you Benjamin Weir what on earth were you thinking? You couldn’t have waited for me to come back so we could figure out a better solution and blah blah blah blah” Benny starts crying because he didn’t realize how much he’d missed his grandma’s lectures. She sends them both up to bed. Benny strips out of his bloody clothes and takes a shower and then he and Ethan cuddle in his bed for a long while, not saying anything. Benny knows that this can’t continue on forever no matter how much he wants it to so he decides he’s going to confess to Ethan about how he feels before it’s too late to do so. Of course he has second thoughts like the most obvious, “What if he doesn’t like me back” and then getting deeper into things like “I don’t want to burden Ethan with the truth about how I feel about him he deserves somebody better, somebody that can actually be around to take care of him and provide and I can’t do that anymore” but Ethan starts asking him to say what’s been bothering him so Benny, fed up with everything, spills.“So um hey dude I think I might be in love with you?”And Ethan is ecstatic like “Hey I think I might be in love with you too” and then it’s happy happy time and they kiss and it’s very cute and gay againThe next morning Benny knows he has to go back to work but not before he kisses the living daylights out of Ethan and Benny ends up almost getting caught since he loses track of time and makes out with Ethan for like ten minutes OOPSEthan goes back to school to see that everyone is still confused about the “dream” they all collectively had about Benny Weir miraculously coming back from the dead. Sarah corners him and starts asking more questions and he accidentally lets slip that they may or may not be dating it’s complicated? Understandably she gets upset, more because she’s worried about them getting into trouble and less because she’s jealous (she just wants Ethan to be happy after all he’s been through and if that’s with Benny she’ll give him up she is a GOOD GIRL). She starts admonishing Ethan for his own good, telling him how dangerous it is and how it probably won’t work out and she just wants to let him know now before he gets his heart broken later. Ethan bitterly agrees but he’s not going to stop dating (?) Benny since he’s in love with him and she’s like “Whatever okay just be careful”Benny shows up to work and GRG is REALLY pissed. She tells him that she’s been covering for him for so long that others are starting to get suspicious and suggests that Benny stop seeing Ethan altogether, but Benny tells her he absolutely cannot do that. Then they get into a big fight and she yells at him a lot before she finally spills that the higher ups found out about his memories and plan to have them erased permanently—they just haven’t done anything up til now since they thought he was keeping to the contract and not visiting people from his past life. But lately they’ve been catching on to the fact that he has so they’re gonna wipe him clean and erase all of his ties so he can actually focus on his duty to them. Benny freaks out and starts crying because?? He doesn’t want to lose his memories of his friends and of Ethan that’s always been his worst fear. GRG becomes sympathetic and tells him he has twenty four hours to say goodbye before they cleanse him for good. Benny immediately goes to Ethan and tells him what happens, breaking down and sobbing about how he doesn’t want to forget and he doesn’t want Ethan to forget him after he’s gone. Ethan tells him of COURSE he’ll never forget Benny, he’s the person he loves most in the whole world! They cry together for a while before going out and having the BEST last day ever (like my Life Ticket AU OOPS) and Ethan says a sappy line like “You might forget this day but I’ll remember it forever” AWWWW EThat night Ethan sleeps over at Benny’s house and they talk about a lot of different things. Eventually tho they stop talking and start kissing and things get really;; heated wooEthan tells Benny he wants Benny to leave on him proof that he existed so yeaaah I’ll leave whatever they did up to your imagination wonk ;) This may or may not be an MM reference //shotThe next morning Benny has to leave and it’s a SUPER SAD moment and they’re both crying and Ethan kisses him goodbye and promises Benny he’ll always ALWAYS remember him for the rest of his life (or eternity if he somehow gets changed into some immortal being) and then Ethan. Smiles for him keeping the promise that they made and FUCK BENNY UP he is so fucking wrecked and distraught that he almost just collapses on the floor and refuses to leave but he is a strong boy so!! He takes off and after he’s gone Ethan breaks down and cries and calls Sarah over to comfort him and it’s so…heartbreaking ;m;Benny hands himself over to the higher ups and GRG sees how fucking DEPRESSED he is and how he looks like he’s lost all hope and she feels super bad but there isn’t anything she can do. And then they wipe his memories clean;; She immediately notices that Benny isn’t the same as he was before, without those memories of Ethan and the others to anchor him he’s not the same person.Ethan starts missing school again and he knows he promised Benny he’d try to stay happy but it’s really hard and he misses him so so so much and Sarah tries everything she can to cheer him up but? Yeah it’s just a difficult time for everybody; Ethan is in a slump, Sarah is out of her wits trying to make him feel better, Erica is avoiding everyone, and Rory has lost his normal cheer. And Benny doesn’t even remember them. RIP.Things in the GR world are progressively getting worse, the demon attacks come more frequently now and they’re having a hard time fighting them off. They’ve lost a lot of souls to the demons in the process, and the higher ups are trying to come up with a strategy to get rid of them for good. Unfortunately for them the demons are plotting big time and they’re ready to form a fucking army to take down the GR’s and claim all of the souls for themselves. Benny and GRG overhear them planning this and they freak out, and then the higher ups freak out and it’s a horrible time! But suddenly GRG is struck with a BRILLIANT idea that she knows the higher ups wouldn’t approve of so she does it in secret. Guess where she goes for help? White Chapel!Ethan is surprised to see GRG asking for help, and he’s like “Is this going to help Benny?” And she’s like yeah dude so Ethan says “I’m in” and gets Sarah, Rory and Erica to join the fight as well. They round up a couple of other vamps and supernatural beings and devise this huge strategy to defeat the demons with Ethan’s wicked smarts. AND THEN THE FINAL BATTLE BEGINS!!The higher ups are furious with GRG for bringing outsiders into their conflict but they change their minds as soon as they see Ethan’s plan working. As they’re battling Ethan bumps into Benny and almost cries when he realizes Benny doesn’t remember him (but he is like “You seem familiar, do I know you from somewhere?”) They team up and kill tons of demons together and Benny’s like wow me and this cute guy have awesome chemistry I wonder who he is?Then surprise surprise Ethan gets taken hostage by the main demon king and everyone is like “ETHAN NO” and right before he gets taken out Benny miraculously recovers his memories and takes the hit for Ethan, getting “killed” in the process (which is kinda impossible since he’s already dead but whatever). Totally distraught at seeing his boyfriend die AGAIN Ethan’s psychic powers amp up to the max and he fucking wrecks the demon by using mind games to corrode at its will and he wins the battle!! Woo hooThe higher ups, upon seeing their victory, decide to give Ethan and Benny one wish. Ethan obviously wishes for him to come back to life (once a GR dies their soul is sent to the afterlife, GRs sort of live in an in between world of life and death. Like, purgatory). And Benny? At first he considers using his wish to grant GRG her memories back but she says if he wastes his wish on her she’ll kill him again. Lol. So Benny wishes to be human again instead. To live, basically. The higher ups are like “Usually we wouldn’t allow that but uh yeah you saved our asses so sure” but then they’re like “but we will call on you whenever we need you and your friends for something important otherwise it’s a no go son” and Benny’s like “SURE now please revive me so I can make out with my boyfriend”And so, Benny is brought back to life and stripped of his GR powers (he still has his magic tho, no worries). He bids a tearful goodbye with GRG, who confesses her (VERY PLATONIC) love for him. She promises to visit when she can. Benny’s grandma casts a spell on the town so they think Benny had been in a coma for half a year instead of dead. Erica and Sarah start dating, Rory gets a cute girlfriend (possibly GRG?) and Ethan and Benny live HAPPILY EVER AFTER THE END //throws confettiWow sorry that was so fucking long but well I have been developing this AU for three years so it would make sense that I have the entire plot written out right? //waggles eyebrowsANYWAY I hope you enjoyed KUDOS for reading all the way through you’re AMAZING and god jesus ASK ME QUESTIONS about this AU it’s one of my all time faves and I’m so glad I finally got to share it after so loNG

[totallyrhettro]

The Lone Jedi, Chapter 20

Word Count: 2006 Rating: This chapter: PG. Overall story: explicit Warnings: None Summary: Jedi Knight Rhett McLaughlin managed to escape the purge of the Emperor to become one of the last of his celibate order. After years of a solitary life, he finds himself with a former slave for a friend. Despite his efforts to maintain anonymity and the jedi code, he starts to realize that doing either is easier said than done. Notes: Star Wars AU; Events take place between episodes III and IV

First Chapter

Previous Chapter

*See the end of each chapter for additional notes on star wars terms*

Rhett POV

If Rhett had left the ruins a minute later the imperial ships would have found him for sure but time, and the Force, were on his side. Staying low, keeping his energy signature as quiet as possible, he made his way to the far side of the planet just as the Empire’s scouts entered the atmosphere. He knew it would be some time before he could leave the planet, with that ominous vessel lording over Andasala. Still he was nothing if not patient; he could wait them out for days if necessary.

A large mountain range, even more massive than the one he had called home for the past five years, marked a perfect spot to hide. Deep caves and prevalent snowstorms would make this area difficult to search even if the Empire thought to look there. Rhett’s small shuttle just barely fit into one of the tunnel systems, but anything larger and his hiding spot would have been more obvious. Now all he had to do was wait.

He didn’t expect to have his seclusion to be interrupted so soon. As Kavra’s fighter came in for a landing, Rhett felt his heart soar at the sight, but it wasn’t the pilot or the chance to get off this planet safely that lifted his spirits.

“Rhett…” Link whispered, his voice barely carrying over the harsh winds. He struggled with unbuckling himself from his seat, but once Kavra helped him out, Link was up and out of the cockpit in a flash. He began to run, but quickly stopped himself, his face showing that he was trying to hold back his excitement, as well as his trepidation. Rhett had his own hesitations about their next few words. He waited until they were closer to speak so he could have more time to gather his thoughts.

“Link.” Somehow he managed to keep his tone clear, and the frog out of his throat. “You shouldn’t have come back.” In a split second he saw the look on Link and Kavra’s face. “It’s not safe,” he added.

“Is five years all it takes to forget what a great pilot I am?” Kavra boasted, taking point. “Besides, we’re not the one who ran back to Andasala after managing to get to safety.” His teasing smile faltered slightly as he got to the more important question. “I think it’s us that should be asking you- what were you thinking?”

“Well… I had to get my books, didn’t I?” Rhett lied, gesturing to the cave behind him. Kavra didn’t look ready to accept that explanation, but before he could ask more questions, Link butted in.

“Can we talk about this maybe after we get off this planet?” he hoped, shivering. Rhett latched on to the change of subject but shook his head at the notion.

“Unless you two took out the star destroyer before coming to get me, none of us are getting off this planet until they leave.” Gesturing back towards the cave entrance behind them, he motioned for them to follow. Link was all too happy to get out of the wind though Kavra was hesitant to leave his own vessel behind.

Inside the deep grotto they were safe from the harsh wind, but the chill of the winter was still biting. Link had never felt such cold; his own homeland only having two basic seasons: wet and dry. Living with Rhett he could see the snow-topped mountains from the academy, but seeing was very different than experiencing. The jedi had nothing but sympathy.

“I can keep my ship fairly warm without making too much of a signature on their sensors,” he explained, escorting the other two towards his shuttle. “We can wait in there until they give up.”

“Frankly I’m surprised they haven't already,” Kavra noted. “They've sent awfully big ships just to nab a group of rebels.”

‘Because they’re here for me,’ Rhett thought, knowing the truth. ‘The zygerrians told them there was a jedi to be found.’ Link asked the obvious question.

“What do we do if they don’t give up?”

“Well, I could always-” Rhett raised a hand to silence Kavra before he could finish that thought.

“No, that’s too dangerous.” Looking back and forth between his two friends, Link tried to figure out what they were talking about.

“What? What could you do?”

“You’re not doing it,” Rhett insisted.

“It would work,” Kavra asserted, his smile growing.

“No.”

“What?” Link repeated, louder this time. He expected Kavra to answer but Rhett spoke up before he could.

“He wants to lead them away.”

“Just give them a little run-around,” Kavra elaborated, running his fingers in circles for emphasis. “They’d never catch me and once their gone you two can take off.”

“You can’t outrun a star destroyer.”

“I’ve done it before.” Before Rhett could argue more, which he dearly wanted to, Kavra started walking back out of the cave towards his waiting craft. Rhett reached out and grabbed his arm.

“You’re not going.” Kavra raised an eyebrow, a sly look in his eye.

“You want to tell me the real reason you came back to Andasala?” Rhett hesitated. Kavra sent him a knowing smile. “You just sit tight, Stretch.” Stepping back out of the jedi’s grip, he sent a wave towards Link. “I’ll be back before you know it.” With that, he jogged outside. Link stared, slack jawed, as Kavra left their sight.

“You’re just going to let him go?”

“You were right.” A slight dodge of the question, as Rhett turned back to his ship.

“About what?”

“They’re not going to give up.” ‘Not for a long time, at least.’ Link shuddered, pulling up his collar against the cold as he looked back towards the cave entrance. After a moment he frowned.

“Why did you come back? To Andasala,” he clarified. For a moment Rhett was going to lie again, the instinct embedded in him after years of hiding his identity. Instead of outright answering he nodded towards his ship.

“Come on. Let’s get you inside before you freeze.” The sound of Kavra’s starfighter revving up echoed in outside. Link hesitated, but the feeling of ice forming on his fingertips was a great motivator. He followed Rhett inside.

The shuttle wasn’t very large; two chairs at the front for a pilot and co-pilot took the front third while the rest was mostly empty right now, save for the two bags set aside. Once Link was inside, Rhett opened the smaller bag and pulled out a woolen blanket to wrap around his friend. Glancing down, Link’s eyes shown with recognition.

“Hey,” he pointed. “What’s that?” Rhett’s lightsaber was set inside, as it usually was. Rhett bent down and picked up the object in question. He held it delicately in his hands, remembering the day he constructed it, the first day he used it. It seemed so long ago. “That’s the, uh… thing. The light sword thing. Right?”

“My lightsaber,” he answered, softly. “Every jedi has one.” He rolled it over on his palm, feeling it as if it was a relic of ages past. In a way, it was. Link was mesmerized by it.

“You really are a jedi,” he said, a hint of disappointment in his words.

“I was a member of the order all my life.”

“Was?” Sitting down on the floor, Rhett sighed. He set the lightsaber back into his bag before answering.

“I… Six years ago, if you would have asked me who I was, I would have been able to tell you without hesitation- Rhett McLaughlin, Jedi Knight. Now I…” He ran his fingers through his hair. “The galaxy is not what it used to be. So much has changed, it’s hard to know for certain where I fit in, what I’m supposed to do.” Link sat down beside him, pulling the rough blanket in tight.

“I used to know who I was,” he offered. “I was the Master’s favored dancer. That’s all I cared about, that’s all I wanted to be. Then, one day, it was just… over. I lost my home, by station. I lost myself.” He tilted his head, looking off at nothing as he recalled that day. “Then you saved me. You took me in and gave me a new life. You…” His head landed on Rhett’s shoulder, though he didn’t seem to notice. Rhett did. “You gave me a new person to be. A better person.”

“Who are you?” Rhett asked with a small chuckle. Link gave a small smile, not looking up.

“Your friend.” There was a small flutter in Rhett’s chest over just a little thing. He didn’t think, didn’t hesitate but laid his own head on top of Link’s. There were times he just knew he had never stood a chance.

“You are so much more, you know.”

“Maybe, but that’s all I care about being.” Link grabbed Rhett’s arm, snuggling in close. “No matter what happens, or who you used to be, I’ll always want to be that: your friend.”

“Just as long as I can be yours, too, Link.” Link gave a short hum of agreement. They were quiet for awhile, just enjoying the stillness. It seemed like a long time since they had just sat quietly, enjoying each other’s company. The floor was hard and cold, yet Rhett felt more comfortable here with Link curled up next to him than he had anywhere else in his life. Of all the stories he’d heard about people falling in love, or having relations with their partners, none of them really talked about moments like this. They didn’t tell about the quiet moments, the simple joy in just being next to one another. It was a feeling he was finding hard to understand, but deeply appreciating.

Rhett breathed in deep, taking in Link’s scent, another sensation he never thought he’d enjoy. It was almost soothing. He wouldn’t mind waking up to that smell every single day. Closing his eyes, he let the smell waft over him, the feeling of Link’s body so close to his own sink deep into his skin.

‘Listen to your heart.’ Rhett’s heart wanted nothing more than to be with Link, to hold him close and protect him every day of his life. The Force had brought them together, who was he to keep them apart? A nervousness surged through his body, an elation in knowing that right here was where he was meant to be, where the Force wanted him to be. Too long he had to hide away from the galaxy. No longer. There was more to be done, more people to help. Maybe that’s why the Force brought him to Link, to bring the lone jedi out of hiding and back into the fight.

Opening his eyes, Rhett smiled at Link, those blue eyes were closed but Rhett could tell he wasn’t asleep. His mouth was still closed. Still he looked quite peaceful, if still chilly. A slight turn of his head brought Rhett’s lips into Link’s hair, cool but soft. He wanted nothing more, in that moment, to lean down and meet Link’s mouth with his own. He was scared, but also excited. The taste of their last kiss still lingered, on his lips and in his heart.

“Do you think Kavra’s alright?” Link asked, suddenly. Rhett cleared his throat, bringing himself back to reality. He glanced over at the helm, and the communications station nearby.

“He’s a fine pilot. One of the best.” Looking back at his friend, he gave him his most confident smile. “If anyone can do it, he can. I’m sure he’ll be fine.” Link seemed to accept this statement, but the moment was gone. Still, Rhett was content to just sit here and wait for news. He was confident that Kavra would be fine, truly. In the meantime, he was happy to just hold Link, keep him safe and warm. Wherever they ended up in this galaxy, when this whole ordeal was over, he wanted them to end up there together.

Next Chapter

Additional Notes-

More Fics

[writersriot]

@neepcreature

So so sorry it took me forever to get back to your response to Part 16!! I also apologize for my long-ass response haha, hence why this is in a separate post. Because I am a rambler who talks to much concerning my special interests.

When Two-Bit and Marcia get married (in my mind haha), they would absolutely end the rivalry lol. I just love how they instantly bonded over their shared sense of humor, but then we never heard about them again. Like dude, what happened to my one het ship in this book haha.

The ages!! Oh god the ages lolol. See, the way these characters’ ages are written. . .just doesn’t make sense. I don’t know if this came from Hinton writing as a teenager and making certain assumptions about how people act at certain ages?? I know by the time kids are seniors in high school, around 17-18, they look at the freshmen, around 13-15, and think they’re babies haha. And sometimes the ones who are out of high school but still basically youths seems so much older and wiser (which, lol.)

Darry is 20, but god at 20 I knew nothing, and Darry is holding up his family by himself. Even Two-Bit is 18 going on 19 yet still in school, not even a senior yet. And he’s the oldest of the gang, which really makes me think Darry isn’t usually involved with the gang so much as maybe Soda is. I think Two-Bit even mentions that he’d beat down Pony if he weren’t Soda’s kid brother, so it makes me think this gang is mostly made of these boys who went to the same school for at least some time and who live in the same neighborhood. (So like Pony and Darry are included in the gang because they’re related to Soda I guess)

Because Soda is 16 going on 17, which I assume Steve is as well since they’re best friends. Who else is that age?? Johnny. With Dally only a year older. Like lol forever. Because really, is it Pony wanting to be part of the gang so much and to be taken seriously like you said? Like Pony kind of latches onto Johnny as a type of kindred-spirit as shy, quiet types that Pony makes assumptions about Johnny, seeing him as younger than he is and closer to Pony’s age? ‘Cause even though Johnny is Pony’s friend, I feel like Johnny sees Pony as a younger brother he would (and does) protect.

I also think maybe Pony fundamentally doesn’t understand the relationship Johnny has with the other members of the gang either because he doesn’t see it. I think his notion of this is amended a bit at the end of the book, when it’s too late unfortunately.

So is the infantilizing of Johnny really as bad as it seems in Pony’s perspective? Or is it just Pony’s interpretation of events? I mean, we know Johnny is small for his age, which can happen to kids raised in abusive situations, though of course it could be he’s a little of a late bloomer puberty-wise. And we know the gang wants to protect Johnny due to his abusive and neglectful home life. Pony says Johnny is the “pet” of the gang, which I don’t even know what to make of other than Pony making assumptions.

Here’s a kid very near the same age as most of the guys in the gang, yet due to his size and likely being in the same class as Pony, he maybe gets treated like another little brother. But he’s the little brother you don’t fuck with at all. And honestly, Pony calls Johnny the pet, but we really don’t see that kind of dramatic behavior from the rest of the gang. They’re protective of him, absolutely. But it’s honestly as if the only one who infantilizes Johnny is, in fact, Ponyboy himself? Like, I just don’t get those “he’s the pet” vibes from the rest of the gang so much as “Johnny’s already been through shit so don’t give him any more” vibes.

And this infantilizing of Johnny I think is what makes readers think he’s Pony’s age instead of the same age as most of the gang. And I think it’s why some people are against the Johnny/Dally ship as well? Like they see it as a dramatic age and power difference, when really, I think that’s only due to Pony’s narrative of everyone and not actually what the subtext implies. That’s my analysis of it.

Oh gosh, I followed Hinton on twitter just a little before her rude responses started up and garnered so much attention back in October last year. I thought, oh cool, another author to love -- oh shit nevermind. Like she would tweet some good stuff and then make me kind of despise her when answering questions about The Outsiders lol. So yes, I saw all of her. . .Hinton-ness. She honestly should have said, “That wasn’t my intention writing these characters, but it’s cool if readers see something else,” and left it at that. And maybe people should have stopped asking her if the characters were gay and just said, “I see them as gay no matter what lol bye” like haha that’s the only way I would ever do it because I don’t need an author’s permission to read their book a certain way.

But I stg Hinton needs to go back over what she wrote. Because what she thinks she wrote and what actually made it onto the page appear to be different. Like if she wanted to make Johnny really excited to talk to girls. . .I’m sorry, that just didn’t happen. And she kept saying “where’s the textual evidence?” and I’m like read your fucking book, lady! Or get a queer person to read it and explain it to you because you didn’t actually manage to make Johnny’s heterosexuality set in stone lol. I was twelve, attending Catholic school, and I was like damn that’s hella gay. Like I didn’t even really have a good concept of “gay” but I knew Johnny and Dally were pinging my gaydar haha. And I’m hella aroace and I could still see the subtext of it playing out through the book.

At her age, if Hinton really weren’t homophobic, she could probably look at what she wrote fifty years ago as a teenager and think, “huh maybe this is a little queerer than I thought I was writing back then. Welp.” Because by her own admission she says she didn’t know any queer people growing up, which lol I call BS she just didn’t know any OUT queer people. She’s one of those types of people that says, “Ask anyone if it was cute to be gay in the 60s” as if queer people didn’t exist back then with their own community.

It’s like she’s ignoring the counter-culture of hippies that came about in the 60s. And there was a queer movement from the 50s that resembled the picture of manliness, I forget what it’s called now, which is something Greasers apparently actuated by controlling their emotions and seeming utterly “cool” which honestly, is not the type of Greaser Hinton wrote about with their violent feelings haha. Plus there’s a whole punk and queer movement on the cusp of this, so Hinton can’t convince me everywhere in the 60s was homophobic. Maybe Tulsa, Oklahoma had it’s fair share of bigots but my god.

Queer people existed back then, and now we are all more widely accepted, so maybe instead of contributing to a stifling culture of authorial intent of heteronormativity, how about she reconsider what it could mean for her characters to be considered queer in this day and age as good role models and that sure, it’s okay to be queer. Granted, the two I believe are the most queer are the ones who end up dead so it maybe just adds to the “bury your gays” trope but who knows. In that case, Hinton might think for the 60s that would actually be accurate representation. (I’m sorry, maybe that was mean lol).

Anyway, clearly I’m a little bitter over how she handled the situation because I started writing this series after all.

Johnny absolutely has PTSD! I’m glad you brought that up because you’re right, I haven’t mentioned it in this series yet. But it’s very important to consider that Johnny comes from an abusive and neglectful home, and then he gets attacked by the Socs which is a hugely traumatic event. The kid is a mess, and I feel so badly for him because he’s just trying to survive. But absolutely it’s a concept that isn’t recognized in the book, and honestly I think it’s difficult for kids and even teens to recognize trauma and PTSD for what it is. I know I didn’t recognize being in an abusive situation until much later in life. And it seems like the type of household Johnny came from was common in the 60s because I hear stories from my mom and even my gramma that make me go “wtf that is abusive as shit.” So I definitely think Hinton herself didn’t realize she was writing a character with PTSD as we would analyze it now.

That’s why it is interesting that Cherry does recognize that Johnny has had some kind of trauma. I absolutely believe it’s leaking from Johnny’s pores most of the time, and sometimes stuff like that is more obvious to people who don’t see a person every day. And Pony definitely doesn’t have the vocabulary or knowledge of PTSD, so you’re right, that may very well be why Pony describes Johnny as shy. Because Pony also describes Johnny as looking like a kicked puppy most days, and I just ugh cry a little. It absolutely sounds like Two-Bit triggers a dissociative episode, but that Pony would only see it as Johnny being jumpy and scared. Like Pony would just have no concept of how traumatic the attack was for Johnny, even despite Pony having his own form of PTSD after the death of his parents, which we see a reoccurrence of after Johnny’s death. Just all around, I feel so much for these boys.

I could chalk this up to Hinton’s writing, but again she was a teenager herself, so I want to say that she just needed a narrative device of trauma without necessarily seeing what that means for the characters. Having the narrator say Johnny is shy when he really doesn’t exhibit that behavior just shows me that Hinton didn’t have a great grasp on what she was writing either. That’s why many readers have such a different reaction to the story because we recognize the trauma, the PTSD, the abuse, and yes, the queer subtext. But these are issues that I never heard discussed in any classes, it was always the Socs versus the Greasers and what “the same sunset” bullshit means and asking about the abuse without framing it as abuse. It’s like only a surface-level reading of these characters that I could never stand because I saw so much more to them. It’s a pity that Hinton can’t see beyond the surface of the story she wrote either.

So yeah, anyway. Long post is long, and I hope my rambling made some sort of sense?? Uh, I ALWAYS want discussions like this, even on previous posts or just on their own if you say, “hey I was thinking about this” like I will be right on your page!! Sorry for bombarding you with such a lengthy, nonsensical response, but thank you for having discussions with me, it makes my life meaningful and my special interest in The Outsiders feel like it hasn’t been wasted the last uh almost couple decades haha.

[ruptureline]

Between Levinas and Lacan: Self, Other, Ethics - Mari Ruti

Preface

vii

This book charts the ethical terrain between Levinasian phenomenology and Lacanian psychoanalysis.

If Levinas views the other as a site of unconditional ethical accountability, Lacan is interested in the subject’s capacity to dissociate itself from the (often coercive) desire of the other— whether the big Other of symbolic law or more particular others who, for the subject, embody this law.

[W]hile Levinas laments our failure to adequately meet the ethical demand arising from the other, Lacan laments the consequences of our failure to adequately escape the normative forms this demand frequently takes.

This explains why Lacan does not join Levinas in celebrating the inviolability of the other but instead seeks to rupture the unconscious fantasies that render us overly compliant with respect to the other’s desire; it explains why Lacanian ethics sometimes sounds like a mockery of everything that Levinas stands for.

viii

Undoubtedly, the Levinasian approach speaks more easily to our everyday notion of ethics in the sense that we are used to thinking that we should respect the other regardless of how confusing or repellent she may seem. This stance in fact —explicitly or implicitly— underpins many of the difference-based ethical paradigms of contemporary theory. And it has generated one of the most powerful ethical visions of the last decade: Judith Butler’s ethics of precarity as an ethics that posits shared human vulnerability—our primordial exposure to others—as an ontological foundation for global justice.

Žižek has theorized the so-called Lacanian “act” —a destructive or even suicidal act that allows the subject to sever its ties with the surrounding social fabric— as a countercultural intervention with potentially far-reaching ethical and political consequences. Badiou, in turn, has explained how the truth-event (a sudden revelation of a hitherto invisible truth) can compel the subject to revise its entire mode of being despite the potentially high social cost of doing so. In other words, if for Levinas and Butler, ethics is a matter of recognizing the primacy of the other, for Lacan, Žižek, and Badiou, it is a matter of a profound reconfiguration of subjectivity — of the kind of realignment of priorities that makes it impossible for the subject to stay on the path that it has, consciously or unconsciously, chosen for itself (and that others may expect it to follow).

However, this quest should not be confused with the attempt to revive the universalism of Western metaphysics, for if Levinas, Butler, Lacan, Žižek, and Badiou have one thing in common, it is their rejection of the sovereign Enlightenment subject, which means that the universalism they advocate cannot be based on principles such as rationality or autonomy but must, instead, seek alternative forms of legitimation. For Levinas and Butler, it is the subject’s relational ontology that offers such legitimation: insofar as the subject owes its very existence to the other, its responsibility to the other is non-negotiable and without exception. Žižek and Badiou, in turn, maintain that even though the act or the event always arises from a specific situation, and even though it annihilates the subject’s fantasies of rational self-mastery, the illumination it provides strikes the subject with the force of a universal truth (which is precisely why it cannot be ignored).

How do we meet the suffering of others without reducing them to objects of our pity? Does ethics arise from the vulnerable face of the other, as it does in Levinas?

X

Her ethics of precarity, I will illustrate, cannot work without a grounding in a generalizable ontology of human vulnerability, with the result that her efforts to downplay its universality ring false.

Simply put, I wish to ask why autonomy is such a red flag for Butler despite the fact that most of the world’s population is arguably not suffering from an excess of smug confidence. If, as Butler herself repeatedly reminds us, we are precarious and broken, why insist on breaking us more?

xi

At the same time, Levinas draws a clear distinction between ethics (where normative considerations have no place) and justice (which arbitrates between individuals on the basis of a priori norms of right and wrong), thereby suggesting that justice curtails our ethical accountability.

xii

Yet I also question Butler’s conviction that grief serves as a basis for ethical and political accountability, for it seems to me that grief could just as well have the opposite effect of paralyzing action. Even more insidiously, the emphasis on grief could make relatively privileged Western subjects feel like they are accomplishing something —working for social justice— when in fact nothing is changing in the world; the notion that there is something inherently “decent” about grief could make it too easy for Westerners to feel so good about their “virtuous” capacity to mourn the losses of the rest of the world that they (conveniently) cease to feel any urgency about doing anything else.

Essentially, Žižek and Badiou believe that when we choose to define the human being as a victim, we foreclose the possibility of the kinds of courageous acts (or events) that disturb the status quo of the hegemonic cultural order and that, potentially at least, allow new social configurations, including more just collective arrangements, to come into being.

Žižek and Badiou themselves advocate a more radical approach, arguing that it is only when the subject risks its ordinary way of being (including, perhaps, its grief) that it becomes a “real” subject— a subject with agency and thus the capacity for ethical and political action.

Chapter 3

The Lacanian rebuttal: Žižek, Badiou, and Revolutionary Politics

77

[Butler’s] last book, although it does not mention Badiou, is de facto a kind of anti-Badiou manifesto: hers is an ethics of finitude, of making a virtue out of our very weakness, in other words, of elevating into the highest ethical value the respect for our very inability to act with full responsibility.

At the same time, I have expressed my reservations about the masochistic, disempowering tendencies of both Levinasian and Butlerian ethics, and these reservations are what steer me to the more rebellious Marxist-Lacanian ethical paradigms of Žižek and Badiou.

79

What I mean by this will become clear as my discussion progresses, but let me say right away that this basic Lacanian stance manifests itself in the theories of Žižek and Badiou as the conviction that the point of ethics is not to fixate on our entrapment in hegemonic power but, rather, to make the impossible possible. In other words, if Butler tends to underscore the impossibility of breaking our psychic attachment to wounding forms of social power, Žižek and Badiou insist on our ability to do precisely this.

81

While there may be some truth to this claim, it also overstates the issue because, as I explained in Chapter 1, Levinas does not actually depict the face as a locus of straightforward identification. Rather, he describes it as “a being beyond all attributes” (EN 33), as what escapes the kinds of conceptual and perceptual categories that would allow us to reduce it to what is familiar to us. The face is a site of utter singularity, of utter self-sameness, which means that it by definition defeats our attempts to classify it. Consequently, far from facilitating immediate empathy, the face alerts us to the limits of empathetic affinity, which is exactly why it elicits unqualified responsibility — why, in Levinasian terms, we are supposed to protect the other regardless of how this other appears to us, regardless of whether or not we experience the other’s face as benevolent.

[L]ike Badiou, Žižek wishes to demonstrate that multiculturalism works only as long as the other is someone with whom we can identify (and let us not forget that Butler’s ethics of precarity calls for exactly this type of identificatory capacity); Žižek reminds us that multiculturalism makes sense as long as the other possesses qualities, ideals, or values we can relate to but that matters become complicated when the other no longer makes any sense to us, when the other is, say, a suicide bomber who does not hesitate to kill random civilians for the sake of his or her cause.

82

We have in fact had to confront the problematic Badiou highlights, namely that despite our rhetoric of respecting differences, it is difficult for us to respect those who refuse to respect differences.

Are there not situations where the Levinasian respect for the face is overrated and it would be better to heed Žižek’s call to smash the other’s face (N 142)?

This is why the Butlerian solution is to humanize those faces that have been deprived of their human resonance by both global and more local structures of power. Žižek’s strategy is the exact opposite in the sense that justice, in his opinion, calls for a radical dehumanization of the subject—a move away from the face.

83

In other words, justice begins when I recall the distant multitude that eludes my relational grasp.

Along related lines, Badiou asserts that it is not respect for differences but rather a kind of studied indifference to them that founds ethics.

What we have here is a clash between the Levinasians and the Lacanians, the defenders of the face and those who see the aesthetics of the face as a decoy that distracts us from impartial justice.

84

But what most interests me is that, despite their obvious disagreements, both sides of the clash, in this particular instance at least, seem to be on a quest for a universal foundation for ethics.[BÖ1]  After all, whether we are looking to make every face count equally, or to studiously ignore every face, we are striving for a general principle that levels distinctions between individuals; we are trying, in our divergent ways, to say that either everyone matters or no one does.

86

My main point is that the post-metaphysical critics I have chosen to analyze in detail are all, in one way or another, willingly or not, attracted to the idea that there might be a way to theorize a universalist ethics even in the absence of the sovereign humanist subject[BÖ2] . However, where they diverge is in how they conceptualize the relationship between the singular and the universal.

86

Žižek and Badiou, in contrast, see no contradiction between singularity and universality; as their statements about the “coldness” of justice (Žižek) and the “indifference” of ethics (Badiou) indicate, they believe that the universal can, potentially at least, accommodate a multitude of singularities.

Žižek and Badiou take it for granted that every singularity can claim an immediate membership in the universal.[BÖ3] 

87

In practice, this means that women have always had trouble transcending their coding as female first, human second; blacks have always had trouble transcending their coding as “colored” first, human second; gays have always had trouble transcending their coding as “deviants” first, human second; non-Westerners have always had trouble transcending their coding as “other” first, human second, and so on. This is the dynamic that Žižek and Badiou ignore in their wholesale rejection of all “identitarian,” group-based political movements, such as feminism, antiracism, queer solidarity, and anticolonial struggles.[BÖ4] 

The reason they want to go directly from the singular to the universal[BÖ5]  is that they see the identitarian focus on particular identity categories such as race, gender, sexuality, religion, and nationality as a “reactionary” political stance (PP 75 ) — one that at best traps individuals in narrow and self-serving preoccupations, and at worst leads to the extreme violence of nationalist uprisings, ethnic cleansings, and religious fundamentalisms. However, Žižek and Badiou do not adequately distinguish between different identitarian movements, so it becomes difficult to see the difference between the Civil Rights movement and National Socialism.[BÖ6] 

89

By this I do not mean to suggest that feminism is more important than class politics —not at all— for what most bothers me about the approach of Žižek and Badiou is precisely that they engage in such a counterproductive ranking of political causes. And, unfortunately, their efforts to elevate the class struggle over all other political struggles[BÖ7]  give the impression that what is, in the final analysis, at stake for them is an old-fashioned Marxism that seeks “universal” emancipation for white men while being entirely willing to leave everyone else behind.

Interestingly, this is exactly the complaint leveled against Žižek by Laclau, who notes the same problem I have just outlined, namely that the idea that the class struggle is somehow more intrinsically universal than other political struggles, such as multiculturalism, is based on a spurious ranking of political causes.

In Laclau’s opinion, not only is it possible to demonstrate the potentially universalist appeal of the causes that Žižek labels “identitarian,” or “particularist,” but it is also possible to show that the class struggle is no less identitarian than any other struggle, centered as it is on the worker’s self-understanding of himself as having a particular identity—an identity that can be undermined in various ways. The class struggle, on this view, arises when the worker feels that his identity is somehow threatened, for instance, when he fears that below a certain level of wages, he cannot live a decent life. As a result, Laclau declares that his “answer to Žižek’s dichotomy between class struggle and identity politics is that class struggle is just one species of identity politics, and one which is becoming less and less important in the world in which we live.”[BÖ8] 

95

Žižek’s dismissal of the ways in which the particularity of subject positions continues to matter cannot be divorced from his resistance to defining the human being as a victim — a resistance that he shares with Badiou. In other words, what creates a chasm between Butler in the Levinasian camp on the one hand and Žižek and Badiou in the Lacanian camp on the other is the latter’s rejection of the premise of constitutive precariousness, the very premise that is central to Butlerian ethics.

96

[T]hrough Badiou’s argument that to equate the human with the victim —to reduce the human being to the fragility of his constitution— is to deny the rights of the “immortal.”

Perhaps most important, the truth-event represents an ethical opportunity that allows the subject to pierce the canvas of the established order of things so as to identify what Badiou calls “the void” of the situation.

97

In unveiling the void of a given situation, the truth-event creates an ethical opening, an opportunity to see and do things differently.

In Lacanian terms, Nazism did not disturb “the fundamental fantasy” of a world without social antagonisms but merely avoided confrontation with such antagonisms by displacing them onto the figure of the Jew, which it, then, sought to destroy in order to eradicate the specter of collective rifts as such.

As Žižek specifies, the inauthentic event “legitimizes itself through reference to the point of substantial fullness of a given constellation (on the political terrain: Race, True Religion, Nation . . .): it aims precisely at obliterating the last traces of the ‘symptomal torsion’ which disturbs the balance of that constellation” (“CS” 125).

98

Badiou believes that when we categorize the human as a victim, we effectively shut down the possibility of authentic events: we make it impossible for new ways of interpreting things to enter the world. We, as it were, sacrifice the rights of the immortal for those of the mortal, denying that it is only as something “other than a victim,” something “other” than a mortal being, that man accedes to the status of ethical subjectivity. This is why Badiou concludes that defining man as a victim only ensures that he will “be held in contempt” (E 12). Badiou further asserts that the victim, in the Western imagination, tends to be associated with the disempowered postcolonial subject, so that behind the Levinasian outlook that underscores our responsibility for the (suffering) other hides “the good-Man, the white-Man” (E 13).

What is awkward about Badiou’s formulation is its implication that victimization is something that can be avoided or rejected at will. It may be that Badiou does not mean to vilify the victimized themselves but merely ethical models —such as that of Levinas— centered around the notion of victimization. But this distinction is not always easy to uphold, with the result that Badiou at times sounds as if he thought that some people “allow” themselves to be victimized, whereas others (those capable of truth-events, those we admire rather than hold in contempt) are heroic enough to resist it.

The problem is akin to the one I noted above with regard to Badiou and Žižek’s assumption that every singularity has equal access to the universal.