#man remember when i was banging out 2 an 3 thousand every day easily? i miss that.

[thegeminisage]

perpetual chicken and egg question are you not writing fanfiction because you're depressed or are you depressed because you're not writing fanfiction. write fanfiction and find out today

[kat-katsuki]

Sunflower and White Rose | Bakugou Katsuki x Reader Part 3

Fantasy AU

Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4

Warnings: Swearing (cuz bakugou)

tags: @jazzylove​ @whalerus​ @angie-1306​

WC: 3.1k

"AAAAHHHHHHHHH!" Kirishima had to hold his hands over his sensitive ears when Bakugou started screaming over the cliff. Bakugou wasn't a dragon shapeshifter, but his roar was almost as loud as one. "FUCK!!!!" He growled at the valley. "FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!"

"Calm down Katsuki!" Kirishima shouted.

"How the fuck do you expect me to fucking calm down!? How?! She's fucking partnered! And of all people, she's partnered with that shitty Deku!" Bakugou whirled around, flailing his arms in the air as if he were going to slap someone. "NnggggGGGRAHHH!" He threw his fist into the ground, denting it as well as injuring his knuckles. How he wished he could go to you, so you could heal his hand, but you were now someone else's partner. "Why...?"

"Well you didn't exactly give her a choice," said Kirishima. "Izuku was the only one who asked her."

"She asked him!" Bakugou reminded.

"Well of course she would. He gave her his flower! It'd be rude not to, considering he's the only one willing to give her flowers."

"I'm willing! What the fuck did you think I was saving that flower for?" Bakugou howled.

"BUT YOU DIDN'T! YOU RAN AWAY!"

Kirishima's words were like knives that stabbed right into Bakugou's already wounded heart. That's right. He ran away. He didn't even try. Why? Why didn't he try? Was he afraid? Afraid of what? Getting rejected? That's hilarious. Who in the right mind would reject him? You would. You definitely would. After all the harsh things he's said to you, after all the names he's called you. Why would you even accept his affection? You were afraid of him. He could tell by the way you cower in his presence.

"Fuuck..." Bakugou grabbed a fistful of his bangs. He sank down to the ground, squatting as he tried to hold back the tears in his eyes. He messed up. He really messed up. He's such a horrible person. He doesn't deserve you. He doesn't deserve to be king.

Kirishima pretended not to notice the little streams gliding down the prince's cheeks. In their culture, crying was looked down upon. As royalty, he must never cry, not even when in pain. However, as his friend, Kirishima understood that Bakugou had it harder than anyone. He had to be dauntless, had to be strong. He had to be free, and he had to be perfect. Maybe that was why he was so attracted to you. You were the opposite of perfect. You were a scaredy-cat, and you were clumsy. You were bounded to the ground, and was hella weak.

But perhaps you were the one who was truly free. You were free from expectations, free from traditions. You were always out there learning new things, and being yourself without worrying that others might change their impression of you, since their impression weren't so great to begin with. In a way, he envied you. But what he envied you the most, was that kindness.

He gets mad easily, and always ends up saying hurtful things. He holds grudges, and he makes sure to return them tenfold. You, on the other hand, accepted all the negativity of others, and only returned with respect. You show empathy to all creatures. You possess qualities he secretly wished he had but never will have.

He tried his best to change for you. Ashido, Sero, Kaminari, and Kirishima can all prove that. For the past few weeks he's been doing his best to control his swearing and refrain from calling them by the mean nicknames. It was all practice so he could talk to you normally. He can't believe all that practice went to nothing.

"Hey man, it's not over yet. You still have a chance," Kirishima placed a hand on Bakugou's shoulder.

"How? She already accepted his fucking flower," Bakugou grumbled.

"Come on man! The flower exchange isn't the main event! It's just an excuse for people to confess to their loved ones! The main event is the fire dance! Remember? Only true lovers who dance together at the fire dance will be blessed by the fire god, and their love will last for lifetimes to come!"

"What are you getting at?"

"What I mean is there's still time! The dance isn't until tomorrow night! You just have to confess your feelings and get her to dance with you by tomorrow night!"

That sounds easy, but how was he going to do that? Beat Deku up and take you by force? That would just make you hate him even more. Plus, what if you reject him?

"Stop thinking about the what-ifs!" Kirishima exclaimed, as if reading his mind. "You don't know how it's gonna turn out unless you try Katsuki! If you don't pursue her you're really going to lose her! Do you want that?"

The idea of getting rejected by you was humiliating, but the idea of losing you because he never bothered to try was even worse. "Alright....." A ghost of a smile appeared on Bakugou's lips. "But I'll need some preparations."

Kirishima's face lit up with excitement. "You got it man! Mina, Denki, and Hanta and I are ready to help any time!"

It was almost sundown. You were grinding the herbs you had collected earlier today. When you saw the sun start to set, you quickly picked up the Alstroemeria that you had picked for Midoriya. You didn't have a flower for him yesterday, so you planned to return one today. You hoped he'd like it.

Midoriya showed up right on time. The sky was a beautiful orange red, a sign that the fire god had descended from heaven.

Legend says that thousands of years ago, the fire god, Hino, descended from heaven, and fell in love with a mortal, Nue. They married and had a child. That child was the first fire breather, the dragon. When Hino's mortal wife passed away, he was very sad. In order to see her again, he bound their souls together, and descended from heaven. It is said that when two souls are bound, they will always be able to find each other, in all of their lifetimes. And they will fall in love, over, and over again, for eternity. To celebrate their love, their descendants would hold a festival every year on the day the fire god was said to have descended to earth. And it is said, true lovers who dance the fire dance together will get their blessings from the fire god, so they too can bind their souls for eternity.

"Ready?" Midoriya asked.

"Before we go, I want to give you this," you said as you handed him the Alstroemeria. "I'm sorry I didn't have a flower for you yesterday."

"That's okay, and thank you. I love it," Midoriya smiled as he accepted the orange and yellow flower from your hand.

The two of you headed into the depth of the village, where the festival was being held. Torches were set up all over the sides of the streets, and there were games and competitions, food and dances!

You and Midoriya went to the carpenter's yurt, where he had set up a floor full of dragon masks. He gave you and Midoriya each a dragon mask, which you two wore on the side of your faces, and the two of you headed to the next yurt.

When the two of you finally made it to the banquet, you were starving. The fire festival is the biggest event of the year, and the food of the banquet is hunted by the best hunters of the tribe, prepared by the best cooks too. Each year they'd prepare three days worth of food for the entire village. You swore you'd eat a whole year's worth of meat, because after this day you'll have to wait for the next year.

"(Y/N)! Izuku! Heyyy! Finally found you guys!" While you and Midoriya were grabbing food, you heard a familiar voice call out your names.

"Eijirou-kun? Mina-chan? Hanta-kun and Denki-kun too?" Midoriya raised a brow. "Why were you looking for the two of us?"

You noticed how Bakugou wasn't with them, and there was a hint of disappointment in your heart. However, on the bright side, he may have found a partner, and was currently with them right now. Wait, why does that hurt even more?

"Well we were going around the festival as a group, and we wanted to ask if you guys wanna join us!" Ashido said. You're brows lifted in surprise. It's not uncommon for friends to travel in groups, but the fire festival is really a couples thing, so you were surprised to see Kirishima and Ashido traveling with Sero and Kaminari.

"I guess I'm okay with it! What about you (Y/N)-chan?" Midoriya asked you.

"Yeah! The more the merrier!" You replied. In truth you weren't close with any of them, but since they were Midoriya's friends, you didn't want to be rude.

"Great! Wait... (Y/N)-chan why aren't you wearing your fire dress?" Ashido asked, looking up and down at your plain, grey thin strapped dress which ended at your knees. You had a tight belt on your waist with some accessories dangling, but it was nothing different from you normally wore.

The dragon women don't normally wear dresses, but the fire dress was different. It is a traditional outfit especially for the fire dance. It's usually made by the mother for the daughter. Everyone's fire dress is different, but it is generally always in brilliant shades of reds, orange, and yellows. Ashido's fire dress was very similar to her normal wear. It was a red and black zebra print breast cover, and she wore one metallic breast plate over her left breast, as she normally would when she was out riding dragons. She had two long sashes flowing down in front and behind her legs. The sashes were a beautiful red, mixing into orange and yellow at the end.

"I...don't have anyone to make one for me," you told her. Your mother passed away when you were very little. Ashido quickly placed a hand over her mouth, regretting asking the question. "Plus, Izuku and I don't plan on doing the fire dance."

"Why is that?" Kirishima asked.

"Well, the fire dance is a lovers thing. We're just friends, so we think we'll just stand by and watch," Midoriya chuckled.

A soft smirk made its way to Kirishima and his friends' lips. Suddenly, Ashido clapped her hands together. "Ahh! I suddenly have the urge to relieve myself! But it's gotten so dark, it's not safe out here! (Y/N)-chan do you wanna come with me?" she asked.

"Eh? Uh...sure...." You couldn't say no. Ashido winked at Kirishima and grabbed you by the wrist. Without warning she dashed off, dragging you with her. "AAHH!" You were not a good runner. Especially not against the strongest female warrior of your tribe.

You noticed how she dragged you straight out of the village, which was weird because there were multiple places in the village where people did their business. The dragon mask on your head fell to the ground, but she didn't give you a chance to pick it up. But she didn't give you a chance to ask because you were busy trying to breathe while running through the meadows.

When she finally came to a stop, you immediately fell to the ground. You let go of her hand as you fell to your knees and gasped for air. Your sweat dripped onto the hard soil in pitter patters. Your chest expanded and shrunk exaggeratedly as you tried to intake as much air as possible. "A-....Ashido...-san....why did you....bring me here?" you panted.

She didn't answer you, instead she called out to the darkness. "Hey! I brought her! Make sure you don't fuck up this time!" she shouted. You felt your blood go cold. What did she want with you all the way outside the village? Was she gonna kill you?

You were about to scream, but you heard a familiar voice shout back, "SHUT THE FUCK UP RACOON EYES!"

Ashido chuckled before turning to you. "Sorry I tricked ya! Please forgive me. If all goes well, that guy will bring you back," she pointed her thumb towards the dark outskirts of the meadow.

"What?" You asked. You couldn't see a thing in the darkness.

Ashido's chest expanded. She blew out puffs of fire all around them, each puff of fire landing on a torch, lighting it, until ten torches were lit all around them. Your eyes widened at the sight before you. White roses. White roses everywhere. You thought you were taken to a meadow, but this was a sea of white roses. But for some reason there were no thorns poking at you. Why is that?

"Alright, I'm out!" Ashido suddenly disappeared.

"What?" You stood up, turning around, but she was gone.

"I'm sorry... I got those shitty bastards to help me, but removing the thorns took some time." A familiar voice said in an unfamiliar tone. You turned around again, this time to face the torches. At the very center, stood a familiar spiky ash blonde man with breathtaking crimson eyes. He wore earrings made of the red hawk's talons, necklaces made of the great howlers' blue claws. Each bead on his neck was a proof of the number of battles he's won. A furry red cape slung over his shoulders, covering the back of his bare torso. It was none other than your prince.

"Prince Katsuki? What are you doing here? What about the fire festival?" you asked in disbelief, still trying to make sense of the situation.

Bakugou slowly made his way towards you through the roses. "Yesterday, I messed up and lost my partner to someone else. Right now, I'm getting her back," he said.

"Partner? To who? Ashido just left though!" You pointed to the direction behind you. Your eyes expanded at the same pace as him getting closer to you. Finally, he was standing right before you, his figure towering over you like a tall and almighty dragon. It was rude to look royalty in the eye, but for some reason you couldn't take yours away from his.

"I know I said a lot of mean things to you... I never thanked you for saving me, and keeping my secret... I'm not the nicest person, and I'm not worthy of your kindness...but still... I want to tell you that I love you... I love you (Y/N). I want to be your partner. I want to get the fire god's blessing with you." Under the torch light, you could vaguely see a hint of red over Bakugou's cheeks. His beautiful rubies gazed right into your (e/c) gems.

"What...." You were utterly lost for words. Did your ears play tricks on you? Because just now you felt like you heard your prince ask you to be his partner. "M-...Me?!" You pointed at yourself, gawking at him for confirmation.

Bakugou clicked his tongue impatiently. "Well who else in the village has a shitty name like (Y/N)?!" Crap! "I-I mean- You're the only one named (Y/N).... Your name isn't shitty...." He looked down in guilt, and then lifted his eyes back up expectantly. "So.... What's your answer?" His face was turning as red as his eyes.

Little streams started pouring out of your confused eyes. Your prince, the one who you've been in love with, just told you he loved you. This has to be a dream. But if it's a dream please don't let you wake up. "B-But..... That's impossible... I'm just.... These white roses, you must have prepared them for someone special! Because that flower means- I'm-"

"These are your favorite flowers right? I prepared them for you!" Bakugou gently took your hand in his. He searched in your teary eyes trying to look for the answer he needed. "Is it not?"

"F-...For me?"

That's when you realized, there's no way Bakugou would have known the meaning of these flowers. The dragon tribe don't give meanings to flowers like the people of the south do. They just picked whatever was the most colorful and vibrant. A light chuckle escaped your lips, for you felt so silly for forgetting such a thing.

Now it all made sense. The white rose he brought to the flower exchange, and why he suddenly ran off. But you still couldn't believe it. "It is...." You nodded softly to answer his previous question.

"Why do you...like the white rose?" Bakugou asked.

You covered your tearful eyes with your free hand. Your breaths became staggered as you started to sob, "Because....I'm in love with a man." Bakugou felt his heart stop at your words. "He's the bravest, strongest, most handsome man in the tribe. He's of royal descent..... He's someone I shouldn't even dream of being with...." Huh? Brave... Strong... Royal descent... Why does Bakugou feel like you're talking about him? You're talking about him, right? "These flowers...have a special meaning in the south. They symbolize the words I want to tell him but would never be able to...."

Bakugou removed your hand from your beautiful (e/c) orbs. Even with tears in them, they were still so breathtakingly beautiful. His heart pounded in his chest as he leaned his face closer to yours, eyes wide and anticipating. "What do they mean?" he asked, so softly that even right next to him you could barely hear his voice.

Your eyes trailed down, almost in shame.

"I'm worthy of you."

Your voice was so soft you could barely hear yourself. The moment you uttered those words you wish you hadn't. How could you say such a thing to Bakugou? Just what exactly do you have that makes you even think you might be worthy of him? You started to chuckle nervously, not noticing the wide eyed look on the ash blonde prince's face. "S-Silly right? How could a failure like me ever be worthy of your highness... I'll just go-"

Before you could finish, Bakugou grabbed your face with both hands and smashed his lips on yours. He couldn't put words together to tell you how wrong you are, so he had to show you through action.

You are not a failure.

You stood wide eyed, too shocked to move a muscle. You and Prince Katsuki were kissing.

For the longest time the only thing you could hear was the heart of your own heartbeat. After what seemed like a hundred beats, Bakugou finally released his lips from yours. "Don't say that...." he whispered. "Don't call yourself a failure. You're more than worthy (Y/N)."

"D-Do you mean it?"

"Be my queen (Y/N)." Bakugou brushed his thumbs under your eyes, wiping away the tears. "Like my old hag is to me old man. Like Nue is to Hino. Let our souls be bonded for eternity."

Tears flooded down your face, for you could no longer contain the happiness you felt. You nodded. "I love you my prince. I also want to be with you for lifetimes to come!"

You closed your eyes as his lips captured yours once again. For that moment everything seemed to have disappeared, leaving you and Bakugou, the only two souls in this world. It was just the moon, the fire, the roses, and the two of you.

You were filled with disappointment when his lips parted from yours. However, a soft smile spread over your lips as he pressed his forehead against yours. "Let's go get our fucking blessings."

Flower Language:

Sunflower- Adoration

Hydrangea- Gratitude for being understood

Alstroemeria- friendship

White Rose- "I'm worthy of you"

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4

Also on AO3! A kudos would be greatly appreciated!

[anironsidh]

AnironSidh 2020 fic and moodboard masterpost

I didn’t write very much this year between the general mess of 2020 and senior year, but here’s what I did manage to write this year (sorted by fandom). If there’s no chapter count for a fic, it’s a oneshot

Queen/BoRhap

Just Keep Losing My Beat || jimercury Hogwarts au. Freddie Mercury/Jim Hutton (jimercury), Brian May/Roger Taylor (maylor). Hogwarts au, found family, maylor, jimercury, i will post more soon. Chapters: 7/?

Summary: Hogwarts is not ready for Freddie Mercury. Not even close.In which Brian May is trying to be successful, Roger Taylor is just confused, John Deacon doesn't want the spotlight, and Freddie Mercury just wants to find somebody to love and make his place in the world.

(Love Of My Life) Don't Leave Me || hardzello (for borhap summer cast event) for the @queenandborhapevents and written for @johndeaconshands. Hardzello, fluff, happy ending, love confessions, first kiss

Summary: Joe's worried about what kind of future he and Ben may have once the movie is no longer keeping them in the same place, and he may find something more waiting for him to ask. - Written for johndeaconshands on tumblr for the BoRhap Summer Event 2020

Love Was Such An Easy Game To Play || tyob 2020 gift fic for xofunghoul / @heybuddy-drabbles. This fic was for the @queenandborhapevents two years of borhap event. hardzello, flashbacks, fluff, picnic, proposal.

Summary: A look back at how Ben and Joe figured things out, got together, made a home with each other, and in which Joe has just one question in mind. - A gift fic for xofunghoul and the two years of borhap exchange on tumblr (modded by @maz-zello and myself). Prompt was for hardzello, fluff, domestic moments. I think I did pretty well, let me know what y'all think in the comments!

Phandom/Dan and Phil

For The Dreams of Youth || phandom reverse bang 2020 parent!phan au for the @phandomreversebang 2020. art by @akikaji and beta @rainbowchristy. Dan/Phil, fluff, parent!phan Chapters 2/3

Summary: Dan isn't quite sure about a kid of his own. It hadn't felt like a possibility, not until recently. He may find that he's more ready than he expected. Dan and Phil's journey towards parenthood told through a series of videos to one day hand over to their child.

I Wonder When We're Gonna Make It || phandom reverse bang 2020 (1980s au), for the phandomreversebang 2020. Dan/Phil, queen references, 1980s au, period typical homophobia, happy ending, angst with fluff. Chapters 1/2. art by @luisaloveshoney and betaed by @i-might-leave-soon / @eilidh 

Summary: When a new neighbor moves into the town that Daniel Howell has lived in his entire life and finds his safe spot in the town's vineyard, he will challenge Dan's view of himself and his town. Soon enough, they find themselves in an attraction nothing like Dan's ever known and one that those around them cannot understand. This may be Dan's only chance to escape and truly be himself. - A fic for a phandom reverse bang 2020 prompt in which Dan and Phil live near a vineyard, sneak grapes, drink stolen wine, and fall in love despite the times (1980s). Also, in which I project my love for queen onto Dan, because Muse doesn't exist yet and because I can.

I Ain't Gonna Face No Defeat a good omens au for the @phandomreversebang 2019, masterpost and art by @hiwatari-art here. Dan/Phil, good omens au, post bookshop scene, Crowley!Dan x Aziraphale!Phil. betaed by phanandpenguins/ @ringsandbutterflies

Summary: Daniel Howell has been stationed on earth for six thousand years, his only constant companion Phil Lester, an angel of Heaven. When his angel is nearly taken away from him he begins to realize just how important Phil is to him. -the bar scene in ep6 of good omens where Aziraphale is discorperated and Crowley is in the bar mourning him- Please be sure to check the art by hiwatari! Thanks to phanandpenguins for their beta work!

Good Omens

Songs Full Of Sad Things || Ineffable Husbands Raphael!Crowley for the good omens big bang. Crowley was Raphael, eventual happy ending, angst and fluff, wip. Chapters 8/15

Summary: -Crowley and Aziraphale are quite happy in their new Tadfield cottage five years after Armageddon, or rather, the armageddon-that-wasn't. They've settled into a routine with each other and the Them. Everything seems fine. Anathema and Newton are even getting married soon. -And then everything Crowley has built up for the last 6,000 years comes tumbling down with a visit from Gabriel and the revelation of his past, of how high he Fell. He hadn't wanted to remember his past as an archangel. Not now. His past is told bit by bit while those brought together by the almost-end of the world must pick up the pieces. - aka Crowley was the archangel Raphael, Gabriel's a dick, and Aziraphale just wants to help. Also, Warlock WILL fight anyone who hurts his Nanny, even God.

As You Wish || Good Omens/Princess Bride au, inspired by @anotherwellkeptsecret. Princess bride au, another one I promise i will get back to, eventual happy ending. Chapters 2/?

Summary: Warlock is sick and Nanny Ashtoreth reads him a story of romance and swordfights, perhaps inspired by a certain angel she knows. In which Aziraphale is Buttercup and in love with the handsome Crowley, a farm boy. When he is reported dead, killed by the Dread Pirate Nutter, Aziraphale falls into despair and eventually agrees to marry the devious Prince Gabriel. He is kidnapped by a con artist, Beelzebub, and their two henchmen in order to start a war. Crowley, who survived his rumored attack, rescues him from the trio. They must now free Aziraphale from Gabriel's clutches if they wish to have a new life with each other. Inspired by anotherwellkeptsecret on tumblr (penumbra on ao3)

Before I Lose You || gomens holiday swap gift for @gregayy and the Good Omens Holiday Exchange. post-canon, fluff with a sprinkling of angst but there’s barely any tbh, ineffable husbands, (technically for the gomens 2019 holiday swap, but it was posted on the third of january so I’m including it)

Summary: Armageddon has been averted, and yet their troubles are far from over. Heaven and Hell want their revenge for a Plan foiled. Crowley knows this far too well, knows he has far too little time for what he's wanted for so many centuries... Aziraphale. Believing they may not live to see another sunset, they take a step usually taken by humans. They've only got this one chance, don't they?aka they get married, believing they may not have another chance to, as requested by gregayy/scmnz

Can't You See || good omens ficlet for @wheeloffortune-design. Ineffable husbands, ficlet, happy ending, first kiss

Summary: Crowley being brave - wheeloffortune-design on tumblr. Based on this art, I think I wrote this instead of studying for a midterm lmao

Hobbit/LOTR

By His Side || Happy Hobbit Holiday 2020 Bagginshield fic for KeyWolf25888 for the @haveahappyhobbitholiday 2020 exchange. Gen, M/M, Bilbo/Thorin, happy ending, fluff, bilbo stays in erebor fic

Summary: Bilbo Baggins is just staying in Erebor for now, just until he knows every member of the Company will be alright after the Battles, but his feelings for a certain dwarven king may change his plans just slightly.Or, a Bilbo Stays In Erebor fic as requested by KeyWolf25888 for the Have A Happy Hobbit Holiday 2020 exchange! I haven't done much Hobbit fic in a while, but it was nice to get back to these characters. 

Reylo

you're nothing, but not to me || reylo fix-it. Rey/Ben Solo, poe/finn, tros fix it fic bc i was mad after watching that movie, I promise I’ll get back to it soon I just need to work out the plot (and it could also use a beta, if anyone’s interested) Chapters 3/?

Summary: The aftermath of the victory. They may have won, but what comes next? What happens when the battle is won, when the fight is over, but a former enemy is brought into their midst? What happens when Rey brings a near-death Ben Solo back with her? The remaining Resistance is not willing to forgive him easily for what he has done as Kylo Ren. It will not be easy, but it must be done.

Moodboards

Phandom/Dan and Phil

Phandom Reverse Bang 2020 Pride Au Moodboard, fics by @judearaya and @counting2fifteen Summary: Dan goes to pride for the first time, traveling to London on his own. He hasn't come out to his family yet, just a random person online called amazingphil. At pride, he sees a man (Phil) on a float and decides he has to talk to him. Eventually (maybe after a few times hanging out/dates) he finds out that Phil is amazingphil. The moodboard for my prb 2020 pride au, with fics by counting2fifteen and judearaya!

Queen

Royal Maylor au honeymoon in Japan

Queen Iliad au with hardzello, maylor, and deacury

Brian’s Birthday moodboard

Maylor Hamilton au

Jimercury Sad moodboard (hurts like hell)

Reylo

Titanic au

Moodboard for You’re Nothing, but not to me

Reylo good omens au

Moodboard for the Heartbreak Prince, fic by the wonderful @kylorenvevo (Thea)

Reylo Frankenstein au, idea partially by @indefinitelyindia

[daymansbingerecapsandrankings]

(Originally written on October 8, 2020)

🎵Bang, Bang Bangedy Bang

I said a Bang Bang Bangedy Bang🎵

My How I Met Your Mother Thoughts

I just spent the last nine seasons in New York with the gang that spends all their time in MacLaren’s Pub. SELF FIVE! I have to say, this binge of How I Met Your Mother brought me so much happiness. I started watching this show for the first time back in high school, and I ended up watching the last six seasons as they aired. I remember loving this group of characters, and now I am reminded why. There’s so much chemistry between the five, and it makes for one of my favorite Comedies/Sitcoms of all time. If you’ve read any of my previous Show Thoughts, then you know I’ve been watching several over the course of this lovely Pandemic That Will Just Keep Going. After this rewatch, I’ve decided HIMYM is my third favorite Comedy/Sitcom, right after Boy Meets World and Scrubs.

Now, I know that the Finale is infamous. It’s in the Mount Rushmore of Terrible Endings, and people end up getting a sour taste in their mouth when they bring up the show. Well, it’s been some years. There’s been time to reflect and look back. And, while I’m not in favor of the Finale, I also don’t hate it anymore with the passion of a thousand suns. I just loved watching and growing with the gang, seeing them experience their highs and their lows, their triumphs and their failures. It just hits harder as an adult, like most of these shows assuredly do, and I cherish so many of these episodes and moments.

And now, my rankings for the seasons!

Seasons Rankings

1. Season One

2. Season Four

3. Season Two

4. Season Six

5. Season Eight

6. Season Five

7. Season Three

8. Season Seven

9. Season Nine

My rankings for the girlfriends, purely on how much I like them as a character

The Girlfriends Rankings

1. Robin

2. Tracy

3. Victoria

4. Zoey

5. Stella

6. Jeannette

And now, a ranking of my favorite episodes. From 1-50, these are the ones that stand out above the rest. I consider every single one of these enjoyable.

Favorite Episodes

1. Slap Bet (S2E9)

2. Come On (S1E22)

3. The Limo (S1E11)

4. The Best Burger in New York (S4E2)

5. Ten Sessions (S3E13)

6. The Pineapple Incident (S1E10)

7. Bachelor Party (S2E19)

8. Game Night (S1E15)

9. Oh, Honey (S6E15)

10. Glitter (S6E9)

11. The Duel (S1E8)

12. The Pilot (S1E1)

13. Arriverdverci, Fierro (S2E17)

14. The Over-Correction (S8E10)

15. How Your Mother Met Me (S916)

16. Intervention (S4E4)

17. The Magician’s Code, Part II (S7E24)

18. The Autumn of Break-Ups (S8E5)

19. The Ducky Tie (S7E3)

20. The Best Man (S7E1)

21. The Leap (S4E24)

22. Blitzgiving (S6E10)

23. Three Days of Snow (S4E13)

24. The Scorpion & The Toad (S2E2)

25. Bass Player Wanted (S9E13)

26. The Final Page, Part 2 (S8E12)

27. Duel Citizenship (S5E5)

28. Happily Ever After (S4E6)

29. Farhampton (S8E1)

30. Bro Mitzvah (S8E22)

31. Robin 101 (S5E3)

32. The Magician’s Code, Part I (S7E23)

33. Last Words (S6E14)

34. The Playbook (S5E8)

35. The Time Travelers (S8E20)

36. Splitsville (S8E6)

37. Subway Wars (S6E4)

38. Showdown (S2E20)

39. Drumroll, Please (S1E13)

40. Front Porch (S4E17)

41. Twin Bed (S5E21)

42. Who Wants to be a Godparent? (S8E4)

43. Girls vs. Suits (S5E12)

44. Something Borrowed (S2E21)

45. As Fast As She Can (S4E23)

46. The Wedding Bride (S5E23)

47. The Bracket (S3E14)

48. The Sexless Innkeeper (S5E4)

49. Third Wheel (S3E3)

50. Spoiler Alert (S3E8)

And now, just some thoughts on the show and on the gang!

Ted - I know people don’t like Ted. I don’t actually like Ted all that much. And yet, I found myself rooting for Ted just like I did the first go around. He’s not the worst person in the world, and I would be scared to see half of the decisions we’ve made in the dating game stringed together into a TV show. I know people wouldn’t like me very much for those decisions. Then again, I also don’t get super crazy about details about buildings, I don’t pronounce encyclopedia that way, and he tends to stick his foot in his mouth with this White Man confidence that I just don’t have. With all that being said, I still find Ted being a great friend, a man who is just trying to find the love of his life, and someone who really drives this story with great tales and narration (Bob Saget is the Sixth Man of the Show for just always bringing it). I think Ted does stupid things and he pretty much admits it after the fact. He learns, sometimes, and also doesn’t much like most of us. When he finally found the Mother, when he finally found Tracy, I cared. I cared so much, and I still do. Even though they just shit on her character and don’t give us enough time with her, I almost wonder if that’s a metaphor for the fact that you won’t always have enough time with your loved ones.

Robin - Let’s go to the mall! Yeah! Robin Sparkles is a Canadian Treasure, and so is Robin Scherbatsky. She is one of the best things about this show, and I love her so. Played by Cobie Smulders who I need to see in more stuff, Robin is who we all wanted Ted to maybe be with first. Then we go through all the loops of the HIMYM roller coaster, and a lot of us still wanted them to be together. I was one of them. Yet, she was more than just a romantic plot line for Ted. She was a part of the group who we got to see join it and evolve into a member of their family organically. Robin is fun, loud, full of fun quirks that we get to learn over the course of the series. I was heartbroken when we found out she can’t have children. I was loving the back and forth between her and Barney (the first time), and kind of mad at Barney about being such a crazy ass prankster the second time. Robin shows us just how amazing some gun loving, hockey obsessed Canadian news anchor can be, and how much she cares for her friends.

Lily - Justice Aldrin ends up being one of my favorite characters, even if that gets some curious looks. Yeah, she left Marshall for a summer. Yeah, she had some hesitancy with the marriage and everything. That happens. Lily was also always there for her friends, even if she ends up going a little overboard. She wants Ted to find happiness, and does whatever she can to help. She is there to listen to Robin at all times, and her and Marshall are easily one of the best relationships in TV I’ve ever witnessed. Then we have Lily and Barney which is honestly super underrated. Barney trusts Lily, even though she can’t keep a secret, with all of his emotional problems. Lily is who thought Barney could change before anyone else, and I love seeing their friendship grow from eye rolls to eye tears.

Barney - Oh, Barney. He honestly brings so much annoyance and fun to the show. He’s the friend of the gang who everyone tolerates. He’s the one in the gang who everyone ends up loving just as much as everyone else. Barney shows such a terrible face to the world, sleeping with over 250 women and lying to most of them. He has all these rules that aren’t very ethical. He gives us most of the Misogynism in this show, which is definitely prevalent and makes the show not as strong as it was in the first watch. Still, we get to see Barney grow into someone who wants real love and a happy life. Sure, they show us that his marriage to Robin only lasts three years, but at least they tried. Barney just couldn’t make it work, and that’s honestly who Barney really is. A person who just enjoys sleeping with different people. I was very warmed to see the baby reveal and that Barney becoming a dad was what would change him more than anything. Barney is an underrated friend, and his importance to the gang is legendary.

Marshall - I. Love. Big Fudge. He’s just so fun, caring, goofy, loyal, and everything that I aspire to be in life. For some reason, when watching the show the first time, I related to Ted the most. I was definitely a bit more selfish then. But now, I see that I am a Marshall. He wants to do good in the world, and it drives him so much. He only loves Lily, and his loyalty to their relationship is just Goals. He is also the most fun to watch having a crisis. He gets the big eyes and covers his mouth and just gets obviously super uncomfortable. Some of my favorite moments of the show are also Marshall’s talks with Ted about his feelings for Robin. Any one-on-ones with Marshall and someone else are probably my favorite moments. And yes, I will always root for him over those damn machines!

Last Thoughts:

Sure, the writing wasn’t as sharp or as witty in the later seasons, but I loved the story lines and seeing the gang just live.

Tracy was an amazing character as The Mother, and I truly wonder what could have been if they had given us two full seasons of story with her instead of any episodes of Jeannette.

I really can’t believe Ted told his kids all those stories. A fun premise for a show, but really, not very realistic telling them all that jazz.

Ranjit and Carl are such fun recurring characters that I always enjoyed seeing every time they popped up.

Out of all the recurring jokes and gags, which there are many (y’all said Community has so many, but HIMYM really swings for it), I love the Major/General salute joke. Idk if I just didn’t care for it the first time around or forgot about it, but I just love how silly it is and how they kept it through to the very last episode.

Watching the gang sit at their table in MacLaren’s just hanging out will always make me smile.

[aesop1]

clumsy [3]

pirate!chanyeol x reader

a/n: hello! sorry for the wait, school has really been something lol. thank you for your patience, i wanted to go into a different sort of route from other pirate stories, but here i am going through the same typical fairy tale route. please enjoy!

word count: 4.7k

warnings: more cursing, implied smut (?)

(i do not own gif)

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

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

the sun bathed your skin in a warm glow, the tall grass licking at your legs as you pounced through the flowered fields. your giggles filled the dreamlike atmosphere around you while you bounded forth into the sea of flowers. you yelped as you tripped, tumbling to the ground with no mercy given from gravity. luckily, the soft bunches of flowers cushioned your fall, causing no damage to your delicate self. however, that didn't stop you from bursting into tears. as quickly as you started, you stopped when you felt arms hugging your body.

"aww, sweetie," a soft voice cooed to you, rubbing your back and coaxing the tears to stop. you sniffled as you heard the woman's voice hum to you in a comforting manner. "you're alright, no need to cry." your eyes slowly began to close as she rocked your dazed form back and forth against her, her voice fading away into a distant whisper. "mommy's here, she'll never leave you."

the first sensation you had felt was the throbbing sensation thrumming against your skull. your already closed eyes shut tighter as you winced in pain, grumbling aloud and turning over onto your side. you tried to go back to sleep, but the agonizing pounding in your head grew too much. painstakingly slow, your eyes cracked open to find yourself in a room of medical equipment, illuminated by the sun's familiarly bright rays shining through the porthole. various surgical knives and ailments littered the tables bordering the small room, and two beds sat opposite one another. seated at a desk in front of the opposite bed sat yixing, someone you haven't had a conversation with yet.

"you're awake," he stated into the still room, turning in his chair to face you. you felt a sense of relief and he gave you a tenderhearted grin; the same grin you'd give to passerbys on the street. he stood up with a sigh and walked over to your side. you stared up at him helplessly, your head swathed with pain and what appeared to be bandages from my peripheral vision. he cupped your jaw, turning your head side to side and humming. "it's only been a few hours, but I should check your stitches. so, I'm going to--"

"my stitches?" you shouted in disbelief, about to shoot up on the bed, but collapsing before you could make it even a centimeter up. "what do you mean stitches? what happened to me?" yixing stared down at you in amusement, chuckling and shaking his head as he cautiously unwrapped your bandages.

"you seriously don't remember your fall on deck?"

"I fell again?" you gaped up at him. he nodded, crumpling the used bandages into a pile in his hands.

"I didn't see the whole fiasco. I was down here when I heard a rather sickening thunk above me, so I went to check it out and I saw you dangling by your ankle on the sail post." he tossed the bandages aside and assisted you in sitting up. "you were unconscious, so i brought you down, but you had lost a bit of blood from the split in your scalp."

"I split open my head?" you questioned, voice monotone in dread of your near death experience.

"you did indeed," he patted your scalp with a cloth, causing you to wince every few taps. "no need to worry though. I stitched you up and you're good as new. I didn't even need to shave that side of your head so you're welcome."you would've fainted right then and there if it weren't for the day flinging open and a disgruntled pirate barreling into the room.

"yixing, we need to talk," the man announced. upon closer inspection, you discovered it to be minseok, the eldest on the ship.

"minseok, I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times; just because I'm the doctor of the ship doesn't mean I'm your psychologist either. I could care less if you fall into bedlam from one more day on this ship."

"I can't take this isolation, I'm going mad," he collapsed onto the opposite bed, apparently not noticing your poor state. "there's no where to go. everywhere I look is the same godforsaken blue I see everyday of my life. I've never hated a color so much, it's everywhere. I look up and it's a blue sky, I look down and it's a blue ocean."

"uh huh," yixing mumbled as he wrapped my head back in clean bandages.

"the closest excitement we've gotten is the girl, but I haven't seen her all day so now I'm back to my thoughts, and that's never good."

"well, it's your lucky day," yixing turned away from you to toss your older bandages into the trash bin. before minseok could question him, he spotted you.

"oh hello," he bowed his head respectfully to you, giving you a wide, gummy grin. "I'm minseok."

"I'm (y/n)," you nodded your head towards him, cringing at the incessant throbbing reminding you of your incident from earlier.

"what happened to you?"

"I'm not sure. had something to do with me falling again and cracking open my skull basically." at that, he let out a laugh before clamping his mouth shut.

"I apologize, oh my, I'm so sorry." you smiled, remembering how frantic he had been when he first entered the room.

"no need, I fall a lot," you continued, keeping the conversation flowing and trying to get his mind off of his predicament by telling him about your various incidents. eventually, he had grown so comfortable, he began telling stories about himself to you. somehow, yixing joined in the mix and the three of you were easily tossing banters around like old friends.

your bonding time was abruptly cut by the opening of the door. in peeked a head of black curls, a dead giveaway to the captain of the ship. he scanned the room with his large eyes before landing on you and squinting.

"you've been hiding in here all day when I specifically commanded you to meet me on the deck after breakfast?" he had a rough and unnecessarily angry tone to his voice while he stared daggers at you.

"I did go to the deck," you answered simply, your enthusiasm from before washing away with his presence until you felt like a student trapped in a lecture. "then I nearly died and I've been here recuperating."

"you nearly died?" his jaw dropped and his expression contorted into that of confusion mixed with shock. "how does that happen? I've been on deck all day."

"well you weren't there this morning when I left the kitchen." you snapped back, clenching your jaw tighter and tighter the more he spoke to you.

"you're telling me," he pushed the door open fully, stepping in and never taking his eyes off of you. "that in the 5 minutes I went to my quarters to find a hat." he took a large step towards you, standing right at the edge of your bed. "you somehow got into some freak accident that nearly cost your life." he jabbed his finger onto your forehead, causing you to hiss out in pain at the close proximity to your actual cut. for a second, you could've sworn you saw a foreign emotion cross his eyes. remorse perhaps? it was too soon to tell before his stoic expression came back and he turned to yixing. "alright, incident report."

"head fracture," yixing pointed to you, then over to minseok. "pain in my ass."

"real humorous, you good for nothing doctor," minseok huffed out and leaned back into his bed, closing his eyes as if he were about to rest.

"minseok, you're on lookout."

"yes, captain," he begrudgingly stood on his feet before lugging his body out the door and up to the mast. chanyeol turned to yixing, pointing downwards towards the floorboards.

"I need inventory on all of our ammunition."

"sure thing, captain. you've got a bad feeling today?" chanyeol sighed through his nose, arms crossed over his chest and peering out the window.

"I hope my hunch isn't true today." with that, yixing exited the room, leaving you and chanyeol alone. chanyeol remained by the window, eyes darting to and fro over the waves of the ocean, the same ocean which somehow made a pirate go mad. "scale from one to ten, how painful is your injury?"

you hesitated for a moment, trying to process the aching in your crown, but found yourself distracted. you've only been here a day, but you've never seen chanyeol like this. his lips were pursed into a thin line, eyebrows frowned and probably wrinkling his forehead beneath his bangs. what a strange look for a pirate. let alone the fear that was written across his face, but the soft and fluffy curls which rested atop his forehead and nearly hid his large, mahogany tinted eyes. his eyes were rather expressive, like a window displaying everything hidden behind his cold exterior. nonetheless, you had to admit he was undeniabley handsome. almost boyish in a way. you could definitely see yourself falling susceptible to his charms if he were an ordinary customer to your father's saloon. would he have been sweet? gentle? easy going? or would he remain this heartless, assertive dictator who tried to shoot fear into every person's heart?

"I asked you a question, I expect an answer," he spat out, finally turning to face you.

"7," you quickly sputtered as you shook yourself from your thoughts.

"fine, you may stay here until you reach a 6. then find me," he began making his way to the door before halting. "try not to kill yourself this time around, bungler."

your heart collapsed at the familiar sting which followed that damned name. heat rose to your face, your hands trembling as memories of your tainted childhood flashed through your mind. before you could stop yourself, you were on your feet, stomping out the room. you were blinded with a haze of anger, and you knew this wasn't the real you, but you couldn't stop the hand that grabbed at his shoulder and yanked him back to face you.

"listen to me," you seethed, finger jabbing at his chest much like he had done to your forehead a few moments prior. "I can deal with your superiority complex, and I can deal with your useless tasks, but you never, and I mean never, call me that again."

chanyeol was taken aback to put it simply. this was the second time you snapped at him, speaking to him like a mere nuisance rather than the captain he is. the first time it, your outburst rubbed him the wrong way. he was more vexed than he had ever been, and you were supposed to be his slave. this time, it still left him fuming, but with a tinge of something else coinciding with your outburst.

something stirred within the depths of his stomach, like a single match lit in a tundra. his feeble flame sparked into a torch when you sneered at him, a low growl emanating from your chest. with no answer on his part, you pivoted and marched back to the infirmary.

the flame continued to mock chanyeol, tormenting him with thoughts of you and visions of you. it began as general notions about you; what job to give you next, your intentions with his crew, your injury. flashes of you began appearing in his mind. your full locks of hair, the glint in your mischievous eyes. the flush of color across your cheeks the shade of coral, the light freckles dusting over the bridge of your nose. the gentle plump of your lips, the curvature of your thighs. your hands shakily slipping your shirt off, his hands roaming the expanse of skin open to him. him swallowing your moans whilst coaxing you closer and closer to your peak--

shaking his head, he tried to clean his mind of his sinful thoughts, clearly finding himself vulnerable to the only woman on board. yes, he'll decide to blame his train of thoughts on his lack of attention. he made a mental note to visit the brothel once they reach land. they were slowly but surely making their way back to civilization, to recuperate from their long expedition and give them a day off the sea. chanyeol was sure he'd meet his demise to none other than minseok if they don't get off the ship by the end of the week.

a churning in his guts reminded him of his earlier concerns, and he stared out past the horizon, scanning the general vicinity yet seeing nothing out of the blue. his nerves didn't settle.

"are you okay?" the voice of junmyeon sounded behind the conflicted man, breaking him out of his subconscious. "yixing told me you were having that feeling again."

"yeah," chanyeol sighed and leaned against the wooden railing, picking at the stray splinters jutting out of the old work. "I really don't know what to think anymore."

"why's that?" the older man stared out into the ocean, admiring the depth of the blue before him, parallel with the depth of the ocean itself; vast in every aspect. junmyeon always compared himself to the ocean he's submitted his life to, and always finds serenity in the fact that the waters have given him a life of no worries. glancing over at his captain, however, showed the concern deep within his troubled soul. "you've rarely been wrong before. we should be worried about the potential of other pirates nearby."

"you're probably right," the tension in chanyeol's forehead remained as stressed as before. junmyeon pursed his lips and twiddled his fingers.

"is it the girl?" at those words, chanyeol's neck snapped towards the man speaking. "I figure she must be the case because she's the only variance in our day to day life, besides your gut feeling." there was a brief silence that settled between the two, comfortable with only the sounds of the ship cutting through the currents. the mention of your presence brought a fresh shade of scarlet on chanyeol's cheeks as his confusing feelings resurfaced again that day.

"I don't know what I'm feeling," chanyeol explained, planting his forehead on his clasped hands. "I should hate her. she snuck onto my ship, she's yelled back to me; for all I know, she could be turning my men against me right under my nose."

"and yet?" chanyeol turned to look at junmyeon who was giving a knowing grin to him.

"look, I haven't been with a woman in years. that's all this is. just a simple case of loneliness." junmyeon snickered at this, facing the boards of the deck beneath him and shrugging.

"whatever you say, captain." another series of silence made its way between the two as they allowed their conversation to ingrain itself into their memories for safe keeping, away from the ears of the others. junmyeon didn't know much about you, but he did know he's never seen kyungsoo and sehun so happy to be awake at breakfast. you truly were having affect on the others, and he hoped it was for the better.

"captain!" a voice hollered from the top of the mast. the two men looked up, spotting their eldest peering out with his eye buried in a brass monocular. "ship south bound!"

chanyeol whirred around, rushing to the opposite side of the vessel and squinting out where minseok stared. in the distance, there was a small black speck in the otherwise tranquil state of the ocean. his heart sped up at the possibility of his feeling being correct. if so, disaster would present itself to the crew of exo.

"as steady as she goes," he called out to jongin manning the wheel. "let's not go into a frenzy for a potential supply ship."

"I'll keep watching," minseok announced, keeping his watchful eye on the boat. chanyeol, kept staring, trying to spot the two vertical trapezoids on the flag, but having no luck.

"do you think it's bangtan?" junmyeon asked from behind him.

"let's hope not," chanyeol replied, voice solemn in worry. "keep the girl in the infirmary. I don't want her anywhere on deck."

-------

you lied on the bed, humming the same tune over and over again as boredom continued to seep into your being. there wasn't anything to do in the infirmary, absolutely no sources of enjoyment anywhere. at this point, you were willing to go to chanyeol to start working if it weren't for the nonstop pain emanating from your head. you must've had a concussion now from falling off the roof of your restaurant, into the ocean, and on the deck. either that, or you just have the thickest skull in existence. nonetheless, you were determined to stay in bed to avoid chanyeol.

you despised the way he spoke to you. you knew you were suppose to be a slave, that you were supposed to owe him your life since he didn't just let you drown the first time you fell over, but you just couldn't stop hating him.

why did he force his own man to risk his life for yours?

you shook that thought away, continuing to broil away with your anger. you hated how he always wanted to exude dominance over everyone, as if you'd fall victim to his charms instantly. you scoffed internally at that. he really did think you would just succumb to his good looks. curly black hair, piercing obsidian gaze, broad shoulders, tall stature, pouty lips. you could just throw up looking at him. you'd rather be found dead than willingly in the arms of that man.

how inviting his arms looked, though; so secure. his chest must be so comfortable to lie on. he must just exude warmth from how large he is.

the click of the door opening shocked you back into reality, sitting up and staring at the person walking in. you sighed in relief when you were met with the face of junmyeon until you realized the only reason he was here was to send you up to chanyeol.

"I'm not healed yet, so tell chanyeol to mind his own business for the day," you snapped, burying your head into the pillow and facing the wall.

"I'm not here for that." you hesitantly rolled over just as he sat in the chair yixing once sat in. he seemed resolved, yet not exactly at peace. he met your scrutiny with a smile. an understanding and trustworthy smile one would give a friend. that was enough for you to give in and leave him be. "I'm here to keep you company."

"why?" you questioned him, an unnecessarily hostile tone slipping through. to this, he shrugged and began small talk with you. you were still weary of his intentions, yet you proceeded to accept his company.

it felt like time barely passed as you and junmyeon continued to get to know each other. he was very easy going and polite, listened to every word you said and gave thorough and thoughtful replies. somehow in less than an hour, he had become a brother to you. maybe you were trusting him too quickly, but how could you not with how genuine and open he was with you.

giving one last laugh at the story just told to you, you rested your cheek on the feathered pillow beneath you, sinking into its plush comfort. closing your eyes was a grave mistake as a flash of chanyeol appeared in the darkness, a radiant smile he's never given you before somehow perfectly conjured in your psyche like a portrait. this had your eyes shooting open in am instant to see junmyeon still giving soft giggles at his memory.

"why are you here?" you asked again, expecting an answer this time.

"what?" he asked, still delusional and happy from the conversation.

"why did you come here? why are you keeping me comfort? what's your motive?"

"motive? I have no ulterior motives to being here with you," he answered, as always never showing any sign of anger.

"junmyeon, please be honest with me," you mumbled out, voice as soft as possible as if trying not to startle him away. there was a long moment of silence as he analyzed your facade, trying to formulate an answer.

"chanyeol sent me here," he replied before he could stop himself. "he didn't want you on the deck."

"why wouldn't he want me on the deck?" you asked, a sliver of hope piercing its way to you. hope for what, you had no clue. all you knew was you were anticipating his answer.

as junmyeon opened his mouth, a deafening bang echoed through the halls. junmyeon sprung up from his seat, flinging the door open and shutting it. you followed along only to get stopped by the door which was now locked.

"junmyeon?" you called out, hearing the loud commotion from the floor above you.

"stay in here," he ordered. his footsteps faded away as you kept yanking at the door, a useless attempt on your part since it was definitely not opening. another bang, and more clamor following. backing away, you scanned the room for anything useful. you grabbed a small scalpel to pick the lock, but failed for to your lack of knowledge on locksmithing. you tried kicking the door to no avail due to your lack of me strength. at this point, you couldn't feel the pounding in your head from the adrenaline injecting itself into your bloodstream again.

with no other choice, your eyes fell upon the porthole bringing light into your dim predicament.

-------

"what's going on?" junmyeon shouted as he reached the deck, seeing his fellow crew mates running about in a frenzy. easily spotting the giant meters away, he rushed over to him.

"status report?" he asked, spotting the ship from before, but significantly closer.

"it's a royal naval ship of Loicasum," chanyeol explained.

"we're in no man's land, they shouldn't be chasing us."

"I know," chanyeol pulled out his own spyglass and aimed it at the ship. "fuck, it's bangtan."

"bangtan?" junmyeon sputtered out. "how did they get their hands on a naval ship? not only that, the fastest one of that country."

"I haven't the slightest idea." chanyeol ran over to the wheel where a frantic jongin stood. dismissing him, chanyeol took the reigns of the ship and began turning it as quickly as possible. "sehun, jongdae, hoist the main sails."

"what are you doing?" jongin asked, more calm now that he didn't have to control their direction.

"I'm going to lose them."

"how are you going to do that?"

"I do not know. I've never sailed these waters here." jongin choked on his sharp intake of breath, coughing at the words just spoken by their supposedly wise leader. "what are you--"

jongin whipped his head over to the gasping body climbing onto the deck soaking wet.

"(y/n)?" baekhyun ran over to you, hoisting you up into a standing position. "are you alright?"

"I'm fine," you heaved out, breathing erratic while you tried to recuperate from your swim and your climb. you turned your head and spotted an enraged chanyeol steering the ship whilst glaring at you. already knowing him by now, you made your way over to his station.

"how did you fucking get out," he hissed out through gritted teeth, staring ahead of him.

"I crawled out of the porthole and seam over to the ladder on the side of the ship." chanyeol wanted to yell. he wanted to personally lock you in one of the cells of the lower levels to ensure you never get out. he wanted to shield you from the dangers lying outside, yet here you were, sopping wet for the umpteenth time since he first met you and with a head injury just to defy him. he couldn't argue that he thoroughly admired your determination and will. he'd never met a more obtuse, thick headed girl like you, and he never fell for someone as quickly as he had for your soaking form.

"chanyeol, you're headed straight for the Sereno," jongin alerted the stupefied man who quickly turned his head to find he had already sailed his crew into the densely fogged area.

"what is this place?" you asked quietly, an eerie stillness to the atmosphere as if all time had stopped.

"this is the Sereno," jongin explained.

"this isn't Sereno, okay," chanyeol berated, continuing to go through the wall of mist.

"then what is it, chanyeol? because it's really looking a lot like Sereno." jongin rasped out.

"what is Sereno?" you asked again, more weary due to jongin's quick temper. neither of the men spoke, just merely staring out into the abyss. you felt a gentle tug on your arm and stumbled into sehun.

"Sereno is a mythological fog the Spanish say brings evil upon those who enter it." sehun explained briefly. "again, it's mythological. but I have no explanation to why there's just a cloud of fog in the middle of the ocean so suddenly."

"how do you know this?"

"I read a lot of fairy tales, there's not much to do when sailing."

everyone was quiet as chanyeol persisted through the unknown. it was practically night time from how dense the fog was, absorbing all sources of light like a black hole. sehun kept a grip on your elbow, making sure to not lose you to whatever may lurk in here. no one spoke a word, and no one could hear the ship railing them before. the Sereno had saved them from one danger, only to put them into another.

eventually, sharp rocks began sprouting from the murky waters, gradually growing in height and width. you found yourself clinging to sehun as fear began nibbling away at your resolve. you buried your head into his shoulder when the ship abruptly stopped besides one of the towering stones, resembling a watch tower of sorts. appearing from a window in the tower was a man in black cloaks, face obscure from the lack of light.

"where are we?" chanyeol asked the man. he responded to chanyeol in a voice too low for you and sehun to hear from your distance. chanyeol replied back, confusuon apparent in his faded tone. a moment later, chanyeol's silhouette retreated to the center of the deck where you and sehun were, the rest of the crew gathering. "he says we've reached some Isle of something. past this point, there's a land where we can recuperate and restock."

"that sounds great, and we can hide away from bangtan." minseok clapped his hands together, ready to plant his feet on stable ground.

"no, not great," sehun whispered out, causing everyone to turn to him. "this is the Isle of Lusresmo. it's the land of ancestral beings. in books, it's basically Tartarus except these Titans at very much so living."

"are these your stories again?" jongin groaned out.

"yes, they are," sehun sassed out, pulling you closer to him for reassurance. "and I know they're real now that we've gone this far."

"and this is as far as we'll get," chanyeol added. "even if we wanted to face these ancestors, we can't get passed. he says only 'marked ones' may enter."

"oh yes the marked ones," sehun nodded, understanding exactly what chanyeol was talking about. "each ancestor has one emblem which passes down from one descendant to another. they're not necessarily birthmarks since they're actual pictures. they kind of look like tattoos."

"by pictures, can you elaborate?" yixing asked, suddenly very interested in the topic at hand.

"oh it can be really anything, most typically animals, but they can be other things like boats, instruments, weapons."

"okay, that's all I needed," yixing extended his hand out to you, grabbing your bicep and pulling you from sehun's grasp.

"what are you doing?" chanyeol quickly asked, following after you two as yixing stepped up to the cloaked man. he spun you around so you could face him and smiled down at you. his hands reached for your hair and pushed it aside, revealing the back of your neck to the man. a moment of silence passed, tension thick in the air as you waited for a response.

without any sort of warning, the ship pushed forward, continuing it's trek through the dense fog.

-----------

taglist: @serendibidibidis​ @mrinalexo

[wannabemerida]

I had so much fun writing my first kid fic with the help of my beta, @heartthrobphilly  and basing it off of @bluevlvvt ’s artwork (the link above!) —— Word count: 2.6k Prompt: Phil offers to drive his friends daughter (lola) to her ballet lesson. he runs into a cute dad with his daughter rosie. he offers to drive lola to her ballet lessons every week after that. (slow plot development lol) Warnings: light cursing, angst —— It’s 3:02pm as Phil waits outside of Brookside Elementary School. According to Ian, Lola usually exits through this door and waits to be retrieved from the playground. So far, there’s no sign of the little blonde girl playing outside.

A shout of “Uncle Phil!” catches his attention and he turns around to the soccer pitch just in time to see the kindergartener running at him, embracing him in a hug when they collide. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m taking care of you tonight, remember? Your dad has a big business dinner, and your mom is in Wolverhampton for her job, yeah?”

“Ohhhhh, I just thought Grandma would be taking care of me again,” the six year old explains, not seeming particularly fussed.

“C’mon, let’s head home.”

Two hours later when Phil suggests they order Chinese to the brick house, Lola quickly shuts his craving down. “Uncle Phil, we can’t have Chinese tonight, Thursdays are always Kraft Dinner nights, dummy!”

“Hey Lola, are you done with your dinner? You have ballet soon and still need to get ready!” Seeing Lola’s face that has a bit of the cheesy noodles left on it from quickly scarfing down her meal, Phil grabs a paper towel from the roll on the kitchen counter.

“Yeah! Do you have my leotard?” Phil grabs the light green leotard out of the overnight bag that Lola had brought along, handing it to her with the napkin, (“Lols, you’re a mess!”) her slippers, and a pair of tights.

The drive to the Portner Ballet Studio takes about 15 minutes, with Phil accidentally hitting every red light possible. This causes Lola some distress, claiming that the five minutes she has before class “isn’t enough to talk to Rosie, and she’s the only nice one there that I like.”

Nevertheless, when the raven-haired man and his favorite “niece” enter the building, a small girl with fluffy brown hair immediately runs up to Lola and hugs her. “Rosie, this is my Uncle Phil!

“Lola! You’re finally here! Daddy said you might not be coming today because you’re normally here before me,” the brunette pauses, “but you’re here now, see, Daddy? I told you she would come!”

Phil is frozen. The man who walks up behind Rosie is the most beautiful person Phil has seen, and that’s saying something, considering that Chris Hemsworth exists. But no, the curly brown fringe, hazel eyes, tall, lanky stature, and his soft face (not to mention his monochrome aesthetic and “best dad in the world” travel mug) easily outrank even the likes of Thor.

“Um, hey?” Phil is snapped out of his trance, needing to be able to respond to the greeting. “You’re Lola’s uncle?”

“Well, um, sort of? I’m really good family friends with Lola’s dad, and so I’m kind of an unofficial uncle to her.” Had he been responding to anything else, Phil probably would’ve stuttered, but the number of times he’s had to explain the title makes it so he can explain perfectly, even in front of someone this stunning.

“I’m- I’m Dan.” The two men glance over at the young girls who are chattering animatedly.

“Oh, yeah, Phil Lester.” Dan holds his hand out for a handshake.

“Rosie’s my daughter,” he says quietly, but there’s no mistaking the fondness he has when he says it.

“I can tell, she looks just like you, without the black and white.”

“Oh, I guess we do? My parents keep saying she looks like, um, Angie-” Dan’s voice decrescendos as he gets further along his sentence.

“Angie … is Rosie’s mom?”

“Oh, um, yeah.” Phil’s heart drops.

“Cool.” Not cool. Dan has a wife. Dan had a kid. With his wife.

“Have you got any kids?” Dan asks, a light blush still visible across his cheeks.

“Ah, no, I didn’t have time to find someone in Uni and now I’m single with 2 masters degrees.” Phil unconsciously plots a way to make himself seem more interesting.

“What are they in?” Dan asks, looking genuinely curious.

“I got my first one in English language and linguistics, and my second in post-production editing.”

“What do you do with those? How do they fit together?”

“I’m a special effects engineer for Disney, and they don’t really fit together to be honest,” Phil pauses, “although I do make YouTube videos and that kind of meshes them together,”

“Wow, um, cool,” Dan stutters.

“So what about you?”

“Huh?”

“What’s your job, besides ‘best dad in the world’?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m stupid.” Phil giggles, thinking of how his father would reply with ‘Hi stupid, I’m dad!’. “But I’m a writer for Vogue and I dabble in fashion photography. It’s mainly just taking photos of Rosie if I’m being honest, but the photographers sometimes get sick and I end up doing the shoot.”

“Vogue? Like, the fashion magazine?” Phil doesn’t know much about fashion, but he’s seen the magazine numerous times in the Tesco checkout lane.

“Yeah, well, technically it’s British Vogue, but…”

“Yeah.”

There’s a calm but slightly awkward silence as the conversation loses direction. The two men avoid eye contact, not wanting to make it worse.

The silence is broken by Dan’s tenor voice. “So what films have you worked on?”

“I got to work a bit on Spiderman: Homecoming, but the Live-action Beauty and the Beast was pretty fun. You know the scene where the gold leaf comes off of the ceiling to go on Belle’s dress?” When Dan nods, Phil breaks out into a grin. “That was me.”

“Wow.” Dan breathes out. “After she saw that, she kept trying to put stickers on her ceiling in the hopes that they would transfer to her shirt. It was a nightmare.”

“Ah, sorry.”

“Nah mate, it was kind of funny as well. I’ve got a few photos that I’ll save for when she graduates.”

“She’ll love that,” Phil chuckles, and the deep, throaty sound makes Dan’s heart stutter. “So you’re into fashion?”

Dan blushes. “Yeah? I mean I can’t really afford any designers, but I’ll turn into a fanboy at times.”

“Why do they charge so much? Like, half of the suits these designers make look identical to something I could buy from a department store for thousands of dollars less.”

“Well, a lot of designers carefully hand-make every piece, whereas the stuff you get in a store has probably been made by a pre-programmed machine and poorly paid workers in a factory. There’s also differences in fabric types, quality, and origins. And, a lot of designers will tailor the suit to perfectly fit you for a slightly higher price. If you go to a department store-”

“I see what you mean when you say you turn into a fanboy, but thank you for the mini lesson on why celebrities are willing to spend so much money on a navy tux. Your insights are amusing.” Phil grins.

“Did you also know that navy suits are better investments than black ones? It’s because the blue fits into so many more settings than a black one.”

While Phil could watch Dan talk about his passions for hours, just watching and memorizing how the lines change across his face, and God, that dimple, Phil supposes his relentless staring would get a bit creepy. “So what are the ballet lessons like? I’ve only been to a few of Lola’s performances.”

“Oh, um, well, they spend the first 20 minutes warming up, and then they move to the barre where they practice a bunch of stuff that’s in French that I can’t remember, and then they start to go over the routine for their next performance.”

“What is it?”

“What?”

“Their next performance?”

“Yeah! Sorry, I’m stupid,” Dan blushes for what must be the fiftieth time since he first met Phil. “The studio is putting on The Firebird.”

“No! Um, I mean, you’re not stupid. I’m sure there’s nothing wrong with The Firebird. What is it about?” Phil has heard the name before, but only in the context of movie scores resembling Stravinsky’s composition. “It sounds kind of intense, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, um, I don’t know much, but from what Rosie’s told me, the firebird gets caught by a prince and when he lets her go she helps him defeat the magician to save some princess, but I’m pretty sure I’m missing like half of the plot. I would say to just Google it and not to go by my word,” The nervous laughter emitted by Dan makes Phil instantly worry that he might have made the brunet uncomfortable or misread Dan’s friendliness as a blossoming friendship when it might have been a ploy to gather gossip for the nosy ballet moms.

“Thanks, I think I’ll trust you on that.” Dan offers a small smile at Phil’s response, letting the two men fall into silence as they watch the group of young girls and 3 boys practice their pliés and dégagés. An hour and a half later, the children exit the studio and find their guardians to go home.

“It was nice meeting you, Phil,’’ Dan admits as Rosie and Lola exchange a goodbye hug. The six words send Phil’s heart into overdrive and he feels his cheeks heating up.

“Yeah, you too, Dan,” Phil replies, proud of himself for not tripping over his words. Looking back, Phil’s whole interaction was impressive, considering his track record of ending up injured in some way.

Last time, Phil wound up with a broken ankle, having paid more attention to the cute digital renderer than the set of stairs they were walking down. It wasn’t all for nothing, though, Phil having gained the cute man’s phone number. Not that that did much for his love life, finding out two days that the boy he had his eyes on was dating the very female gaffer of their most recent movie, but that’s not the point.

This time, nothing will happen, because a) Phil dropping Lola off at ballet was a one time thing, so most likely, he’ll never see Dan again, and b) Dan has a daughter, who is his genetically, which means he has (or had) a wife, all summarizing that no matter how cute the brunet is, Dan is straight.

Not that Phil’s brain will accept that Dan is off-limits as a possible partner. Over the next few days, the image of soft brown eyes, curly fringes, and lanky limbs continuously make appearances in the back of Phil’s head. The very effective distractions cause Phil’s co-workers to worry, and PJ’s repetitive “have you been sleeping okay?”s have driven Phil to the point of insanity.

The answer to PJ’s question is quite easily “no”, Phil having only slept well once that week (he refused to admit it but that was the night that he got off to the image of a faceless figure who looked suspiciously like the boy who wouldn’t leave his head.)

By Wednesday, Phil was fed up with his brain’s reaction to not having seen Dan since the previous Thursday. Pulling out his phone, he does the only thing he can think of to satisfy his hungry mind. He calls Ian.

“Phil? Do you need something?” is the answer he gets when Ian finally picks up.

“No, um, I was just wondering, would you like me to take Lola to ballet again tomorrow?” Phil looks at the lines he had written down on a notepad, an effort to keep himself from going into a 20-minute rant about how in love with Dan he is.

“Sure, I guess? Why are you offering?”

“Just thought that you and Pam could use a break,”

“Oh, okay then, thanks! Same as last week?”

“Sure! Talk to you later!”

Phil’s convinced that his squeal of excitement was the reason that the people who lived across the street turned their lights on and not the fact that their smoke detector went off. He probably set that off too, in hindsight. And caused the stove fire.

23 hours later, Phil finds himself standing inside the dance studio again, surrounded by shrieking kids, chattering parents, and the faint sound of the top 20 radio playing in the background.

“Mister Phil! Where’s Lola?” Rosie pulls on Phil’s sleeve, stopping when she sees her best friend walk out of the bathroom.

“Why, Miss Rosie, she’s right there!” Rosie giggles, pulling out of a hug with Lola.

“I know that now, silly.” She and Lola run into the studio, eager to get to do the optional partner stretches before class starts.

“Are you Lola’s father?” A woman dressed in a skirt suit and heels walks up behind Phil.

“Oh, no, I’m just a family friend. I occasionally take Lola to ballet to give her parents some alone time.”

“Ah.” The woman sticks her hand out for a handshake. “I’m Angela Wright, Rosie’s mom.”

Had there been a small creature under it, Phil’s heart would have killed it from the speed at which it fell. He knew that Rosie had a mom, that Dan had a wife, that Dan wasn’t available. So why did it still hurt so much?

“Oh, cool,” Phil responds a moment later, his voice considerably deflated.

Phil’s unspoken question is answered right as it pops into is head. “Dan contracted the flu, and is stuck at home in bed, which is why I’m here this week. I’m normally responsible for taking Rosie to taekwondo while he takes care of ballet lessons, but that evidently won’t work this week. Honestly, it’s just like Dan to get a winter disease in the middle of summer.”

“I was going to ask about setting up a playdate between Rosie and Lola, but…” Angie trails off.

“Yeah,” Phil nods in understanding, not liking this woman any more than he did a minute ago. “I’m gonna go sit down.” No response comes from the woman, but Phil’s not particularly bothered.

Maybe he should be nicer to the wife of the man he’s stupidly trying to woo, but he just can’t. How is he supposed to be nice to his competition, who’s already clearly won?

When he vaguely notices the ballet instructor make a big motion with her arms, Phil decides that watching a group of five and six year olds is an adequate distraction from the turmoil in his brain. After 10 minutes of watching the kids do various tasks, jumping and prancing around the room, he zones off.

“Uncle Phillll, come onnnnnnn!” wakes Phil from his trance, no longer seeing the ballet students in the studio but now milling around the lobby and leaving. “Class ended like, forever ago! Can we leave? I wanna go get ice cream!”

A quick look at the clock told Phil that class had only ended 5 minutes ago, but to an antsy six-year-old, he supposed that could feel like an eternity.

“Lola, we aren’t getting ice cream. I’d rather not have your parents be mad at me for loading you up on sugar, right?” The small girl pouts but grabs Phil’s hand, dragging him to the car.

While it was easy getting Lola into her car seat, getting her out was a whole other task. It took Phil, Ian, Pamela, a blanket, 2 stuffed animals, and a lullaby to successfully remove the sleeping child out of the carseat, into the house, and onto her bed where she could sleep without interruption.

Once he was back in his car, Phil sat in the driveway, resting his head on the steering wheel, regretting ever offering to take Lola to dance lessons at all. Remember back in college when all those crushes were single? You fucked up, bud.

[bapofficial]

b.a.p limited in seoul day 2!

most of you have probably already seen fancams but I’m gonna try to remember things that happened anyway!

youngjae lobbing water bottles at the audience while himchan delicately underarm-threw them as carefully as he could

jongup announced all the top 20 songs that fans had voted for. seeing him mc for so long......dude..... youngjae gave him one of the drum sticks and took the other himself, so jongup could act like a teacher when he was talking. kinda backfired because daehyun was constantly saying something like “teacher can you show us!!” with every next song jongup spoke about lmao. i’m not complaining though bc daehyun was just trying to get jongup to sing for all of humankind

as part of that segment, tiny parts of songs that were sung (as far as I can remember): 

youngjae: rewind

daehyun: goodbye & think hole

yongguk: pray (actually rapped part of it this time! then junhong joined in playfully for his part)

jongup: killer (??? he nana-ed the whole thing but DUDE his VOICE) & albatross!!!!!! binch!!!! & he danced moondance

himchan turned every song into blind.....we were in stitches man he was hilarious

i can’t remember why but jongup whacked himchan on the butt with the drum stick???

youngjae and daehyun and junhong joining in the dance for jongup solo! I hadn’t actually noticed youngjae at first lmao but i saw one guy who was so chill about completely making up the dance so....I should have instantly known then...

when the band kept playing the melody for 1004 after the song finished i think there was a problem with the guitar? bc the main guitar bit stopped and then the guitarist picked another one up and instantly got back into it, it was really cool

during crash they each picked up these signs that said “na” in korean and did a cute lil dance with them for the nanana part :’((((( after the concert i saw a girl with one of them!!! imagine the luck omg

just as daehyun was about to do the high note for lovesick, youngjae jumped on his back and dae couldn’t do it and it was a wonderful mess

water fights!! himchan chucked a whole bucket of water at daehyun who then hugged him to get him wet too... then junhong put the bucket on his flipping head and danced whilst the rest of the members slowly realised what was going on omg. youngjae and daehyun shooting himchan, youngjae basically getting everyone lol. even yongguk loitering by the side was not safe

seriously why was there a bucket. whose idea was this

they honestly seemed so happy this day. everyone was really comfortable and in a great mood. giggles abound :((((

the talk... not gonna lie i didn’t understand most of it because of language barriers so I guess I didn’t have the same reaction as the rest of the audience, but I knew it was about 7 years / 6 members / the future. i’ll say it again here: for them to properly acknowledge the situation and to reassure us that they’ll always be 6 shows they actually care and do value their bond as a group. they could easily have not said anything about it and just let the concert pass smoothly but they wanted to be honest. i trust them and have complete faith they’ll do what they can to maintain a bright future

when youngjae got teary this sad background music started playing and he jokingly yelled at the staff and tried to alleviate the mood

but anyway after that they tried their best to make the concert a thousand times more fun and honestly... they managed to top the first concert. the encore was like twice as long! they did: with you, excuse me, that’s my jam, do what I feel, jongup’s solo, b.a.by, bang x2. (bolded are songs they didn’t do in the encore on the first day.) it was so so so fun :’)

it ended at around 8.15?? and started at 5? definitely over 3 hours long!!! they just kept going man it was so beautiful

literally i have somehow managed to love them even more? i genuinely didn’t think that was possible but here we are

they came out of the venue publicly this time! on the first day we waited but they must have gone another way, but this time we saw their car in the parking lot! we waited for a bit and then I heard screaming and i looked up and it was daehyun!!! (not the screaming lmao but his presence) and then himchan, junhong, jongup and youngjae!!! they all looked so soft! :’’) i was so lucky to basically have been at the front of the line somehow? like i was about 10 metres away from them my brain froze... they were waving and smiling and stuff and I waved backck and!!!!!!! telepathically sent them my love and support i hope they received the message. (idk where yongguk was, maybe i just didn’t see him?)

mum i love them

[kittykatknits]

Hi! So I came across (several) posts stating how Sansa is "removed" from everything Northern and how Lady's death means she's less of a Stark and that she doesn't fit in the North arc as her arc is completely different from her siblings (which is magical),the Northerners won't accept her,SR destroying snow castle means she'll never return to WF etc. My question: Do you think Sansa will return North? Do you think she'll ever reunite w/ her siblings and stay in WF? Thanks

Oh yes, to both questions. Easily. I’d also say Sansa will be the first Stark to cross the gates into Winterfell and it’s quite possible she’ll serve as a focal or rallying point for her siblings.

As for the rest, Sansa suffers from a negative POV bias in the first book, and honestly, I’m often left with the feeling that the old adage is true, first impressions matter. I’m not going to get into the narrative structure of Sansa’s chapters or character in this but we can tackle the rest of it.

I’ll go through those comments, point by point, below. This is long because I don’t know how to shut up.

(1)First, Sansa isn’t removed from everything Northern. She happens to be the only Starkling born in winter, and as we know, winter is a time for wolves. Not only that, much of her story line is about her ties to the north, it’s why she’s being used for her claim. It’s also important to note Sansa’s claim is not just over Winterfell, it’s about her name. Sansa is a Stark, she’s descended from a line going back several thousand years. That matters a lot in Westerosi politics, where name and status mean so much. The girl has power and her story is very much about her learning to wield it.

Her strongest desire is to go home, back to Winterfell, back to the north, to the place her family has lived in and ruled over since Bran the Builder. She also has the distinction of featuring snow and winter imagery in her chapters. In fact, the prominence of both only increases as the books go on. I’d say of the Starklings, she shares it with Jon the most. Here are a few lines from aFfC below:

So lovely. The snow-clad summit of the Giant’s Lance loomed above her, an immensity of stone and ice that dwarfed the castle perched upon its shoulder.

The small diamond-shaped panes of the window were obscured by frost. Alayne rubbed at one with the heel of her hand, enough to glimpse a brilliant blue sky and a blaze of white from the mountainside. The Eyrie was wrapped in an icy mantle, the Giant’s Lance above buried in waist-deep snows.

Old snow cloaked the courtyard, and icicles hung down like crystal spears from the terraces and towers. The Eyrie was built of fine white stone, and winter’s mantle made it whiter still.

Shards of ice and snow rained down on them, and the oak creaked and strained. Robert gave a gasp and clung to her, burying his face between her breasts.

There are lots more I could mention but let’s focus on that last one. Shards of ice and snow are raining down on them. Literally, winter is falling in that quote and Sansa is the one leading Sweetrobin down the mountain. Remember what she said in SoS? She’s stronger within the walls of Winterfell. She’s stronger when winter falls. If that isn’t Northern, I don’t know what is.

Beyond that, this girl is a wolf, or more accurately, she can sometimes be a wolf in sheep’s clothing. However, Sansa never forgets who she is and she lets her fangs show at times:

A kind of madness took over her then, and she heard herself say, “Maybe my brother will give me your head.”

She would name them Eddard and Brandon and Rickon, and raise them all to be as valiant as Ser Loras. And to hate Lannisters,

When Sansa had first beheld the Great Sept with its marble walls and seven crystal towers, she’d thought it was the most beautiful building in the world, but that had been before Joffrey beheaded her father on its steps. “I want it burned.”

Let his sword break and his shield shatter, Sansa thought coldly as she shoved out through the doors, let his courage fail him and every man desert him.

We also get one of my favorite exchanges in the series:

“…Harrenhal has withered every hand to touch it.“

“Then give it to Lord Frey.”

-Alayne I, aFfC

None of the above are words or thoughts from a character that should be perceived as meek or passive. Sansa is one the most empathetic characters in the series and one of the kindest but she can be fierce too.

Now, as to Lady, the discourse tends to focus so much on whether Sansa got her wolf killed, even though the entire answer isn’t so simple. What happens after often gets overlooked:

When it was over, he said, “Choose four men and have them take the body north. Bury her at Winterfell.”

“All that way?” Jory said, astonished.

“All that way,” Ned affirmed. “The Lannister woman shall never have this skin.”

- Eddard III, GoT

So, if the wolves are representations of the Stark children, then Sansa is currently the only Stark to have a piece of her soul within the grounds of Winterfell, none of the rest can make that claim. More than that, let’s look at what Ned is saying here, it’s foreshadowing. The Lannisters tried to lay claim to Lady but, ultimately, they failed. It’s the same with Sansa, they had her as a prisoner but they never got her skin. Ned also says that Lady will be taken north, all that way, with four men to act as an honor guard. Sansa is going to go north, with an army of men, and she will be able to do it, in part, because of the relationships her father built so long ago. Lady connects Sansa to the north.

(2)I’m really not sure what to make of her arc as being different from her siblings because of the lack of magic. For starters it’s horribly reductive, for all of them, not just Sansa. Jon’s arc is just as much about politics, negotiation, diplomacy, and leadership. Heck, part of his story in Dance is to count hams. Where’s the magic in that? It’s the same with Arya. Her arc also includes themes of leadership, identity, and justice v. vengeance. All of that matters as much as the magic.

Sansa is also a warg, just like her siblings. She’s mentioned by the Ghost of HH which connects her to magic. She has magical stories being told of her. And you’ll rip my Sansa is an empath theory out of my cold, undead, wightified hands. I’ll grant that magic is not as prevalent in her story line but completely devoid? Nope.

She also happens to have very similar story lines to both Bran and Arya. They start the series secure, are held prisoner, forced to hide behind false identities, have taken up with mentors that all have…well…dubious motives. All three are moving towards a point where they will somehow outsmart their teachers, reclaim their identity, and make their way home.

(3) I’m not going to break down the entire snow castle scene, its been done many times before and I don’t have much new to add at this point. However, as it relates to her, it’s the symbolism that matters.The giant managed to knock over a couple of tower roofs and part of a wall. The giant didn’t destroy WF, Sansa stopped him. Even more, the snow castle scene gives us this line:

She wondered where this courage had come from, to speak to him so frankly. From Winterfell, she thought. I am stronger within the walls of Winterfell.

Not only that, we get this gem later:”You were bold enough in the snow.“

Lysa says that to Sansa just before trying to shove her out the moon door but it’s a heck of a line. Snow makes Sansa bold, she’s stronger where winter falls.

(4) The northerners are fighting to save The Ned’s little girl, so not sure why this would not also apply to Sansa? The challenge with her is that no one knows where she is or how to get to her. The whereabouts and “identity” of Jeyne Poole are well known.

Sansa was forced to marry, just as Jeyne was. If Sansa and Tyrion returned north, under similar circumstances, it would only be a matter of time until Sansa was made a widow. Not only that, it’s made explicitly clear why northerners are fighting:

"Ned’s girl,” said Morgan Liddle. He was the second of three sons, so the other wolves called him Middle Liddle, though not often in his hearing. It was Morgan who had almost slain Asha in the fight by Deepwood Motte. He had come to her later, on the march, to beg her pardon … for calling her cunt in his battle lust, not for trying to split her head open with an axe.“Ned’s girl,” echoed Big Bucket Wull. “And we should have had her and the castle both if you prancing southron jackanapes didn’t piss your satin breeches at a little snow.”

..and later (in one of my favorite passages in the entire series)…

That seemed to amuse the northman. “I want to live forever in a land where summer lasts a thousand years. I want a castle in the clouds where I can look down over the world. I want to be six-and-twenty again. When I was six-and-twenty I could fight all day and fuck all night. What men want does not matter."Winter is almost upon us, boy. And winter is death. I would sooner my men die fighting for the Ned’s little girl than alone and hungry in the snow, weeping tears that freeze upon their cheeks. No one sings songs of men who die like that. As for me, I am old. This will be my last winter. Let me bathe in Bolton blood before I die. I want to feel it spatter across my face when my axe bites deep into a Bolton skull. I want to lick it off my lips and die with the taste of it on my tongue.”“Aye!” shouted Morgan Liddle. “Blood and battle!” Then all the hillmen were shouting, banging their cups and drinking horns on the table, filling the king’s tent with the clangor.

-The King’s Prize, aDwD (bold emphasis mine)

What about the above would lead the reader to believe they would not care about Sansa? They are fighting for Ned’s girl and House Stark, they don’t care about a crown or the Iron Throne.

Let’s switch gears to Manderly now:

“The north remembers, Lord Davos. The north remembers, and the mummer’s farce is almost done. My son is home.”  

-Davos IV, aDwD

Manderly got his son back and now he’s honoring his promise, because he remembers. He wants his liege lord back and he’s at Winterfell, making it pretty clear to us, the readers, that his mission is a suicide mission.

Also, let’s not forget the Umbers, they remember as well. Whoresbane is repeatedly described as old. Not only that, the Umber forces are divided so the green boys are with his brother while he has the old men. Whoresbane is planning to turn his cloak and go down fighting, exactly as described earlier.

With all of the above, I’d sooner think Sansa, the girl who is believed to have killed Joffrey, will be welcomed home.

Sansa is a Stark and a Wolf. She’s going home and she’s going home soon. If I’m wrong (and I’m not), I’ll eat my hat.

[brightlycoloredteacups]

Beef Stew

Series: A Season for Revenge

Summary: It seems like working on the Winter Soldier Program is bad for one’s health. You tend to come down with a bad case of death.

Warnings: General violent imagery. Mentions of rape. Under-aged drinking.

Tag list: @charliexowrite @persephone-is-here-omg @salimahbicharara-comun @curvybihufflepuff

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             INGREDIENTS

¼ cup all-purpose flour

¼ teaspoon freshly ground pepper

1 pound beef stewing meat, trimmed and cut into inch     cubes

5 teaspoons vegetable oil/margarine

2 tablespoons red wine vinegar

1 cup red wine

3 ½ cups beef broth, homemade or low-sodium canned

2 bay leaves

1 medium onion, peeled and chopped

5 medium carrots, peeled and cut into 1/4-inch     rounds

2 large baking potatoes, peeled and cut into     3/4-inch cubes

2 teaspoons salt

PREPARATION

1.     Combine the flour and pepper in a bowl, add the beef and toss to coat well. Heat 3 teaspoons of the oil in a large pot. Add the beef a few pieces at a time; do not overcrowd. Cook, turning the pieces until beef is browned on all sides, about 5 minutes per batch; add more oil as needed between batches.

2.     Remove the beef from the pot and add the vinegar and wine. Cook over medium-high heat, scraping the pan with a wooden spoon to loosen any browned bits. Add the beef, beef broth and bay leaves. Bring to a boil, then reduce to a slow simmer.

3.     Cover and cook, skimming broth from time to time, until the beef is tender, about 1 1/2 hours. Add the onions and carrots and simmer, covered, for 10 minutes. Add the potatoes and simmer until vegetables are tender, about 30 minutes more. Add broth or water if the stew is dry. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Ladle among 4 bowls and serve.

When Bucky cooks, the room is silent. No chatter, no music, silence. Normally, he cooks so he has something else to concentrate one while keeping his auditory skills sharp. This time, it’s different. He wants to remember. Being very careful to sift through the fog of his mind, he knows he isn’t ready to face some memories just yet. Today, he’s once again focusing on face and number. They’re coming at him with ease.

           As he remembers, he takes a break from chopping vegetables to write them down. Most of the people on the list he knows are already dead. But, in the end, there’s more than enough to satisfy him. It’s a long list of handlers mainly, but then there are those that worked on his arm, and the higher ups that called the shots. Nothing was too trivial for him. The list keeps getting longer until he stops at twenty-five names, most of them without faces. He can’t recall them so easily any longer.

           Well, that takes care of one aspect of his problem. The other? How is he going to find them? Unfortunately, HYDRA didn’t rank technological knowhow among the top list of skills he needed. He places the carrots in the pot and stirs the vegetables. They aren’t sizzling yet, but at least the butter has melted.

           He was sure there was someone he could enlist for help. There were a bunch of skeevy people all around the world today he could easily intimidate. Or, he thinks, putting stock in the pot, I could just ask my neighbor. He adds fresh herbs to the pot, sinking them with the spoon.

           Blaire Valentine was a runaway. A teenager, no more than fifteen, she seemed to be doing well for herself, despite the rough streets of New Orleans. If anyone knew where he could get some help, it would be her.

           Bucky adds the browned meat into the pot and stirs. He turns the heat down and covers the pot, then gathers all the utensils and cleans up. Blaire had been his neighbor for nearly three years. And while they weren’t exactly chatty, Bucky knew her well enough to invite her over for dinner. He’d done it on multiple occasions.

           He finishes his dishes and checks his fridge to make sure he has something to drink. Shutting it, he strides over to Blaire’s apartment and bangs on the door. He always amazed at how quietly she can move. He doesn’t here her rustle around inside at all. She wrenches open the door, face angry. “Look asshole-” she stops when she sees it’s him. Her face immediately breaks out into a grin. “Hey, Bucks Bunny! What’s up?”

“Dinner?” He says, jerking his head back towards his own apartment. “Sure.” She says, walking out, shutting the door behind her. She doesn’t bother to lock it. No one does in this place.

           Blaire makes herself at home, plopping on one of his dining chairs. Whipping out her phone, she begins to amuse herself. As usual, Bucky studies Blaire intently. He can’t help it. Fifteen years old and a kingpin for the underbelly of New Orleans. He’s created an entire backstory for her. Most of it is probably wildly inaccurate, but it was something to occupy his mind with. Bucky likes her because it’s easy to be alone. She doesn’t feel the need to fill space with small talk. She doesn’t try to get to know you, she just sits there, quiet, amusing herself.

           “I need a favor.” Bucky asks. He yanks two bottles of beer out of the fridge and hands one to her. He sits heavily in his seat opposite her. “What can I do you for Buckaroo?” She says, popping her bottle open, not bothering to look up from her phone. “I need some information.” This stops her texting. Looking at him with one pierced eyebrow raised, she smirks. “Information one what?”

“The Winter Soldier.” Her brows knit together. “You been talking to Old Joey?” She says, amused. “You know you can’t trust him, alcohol’s gone and fried his brain.” She taps her temple. Bucky doesn’t crack a smile. “Wow, shit, ok, you’re serious. What specifically about this guy do you need?”

“Everything you can get. Anything that’s tied in with this guy, I want it.” Blaire regards him for a few moments before returning to her phone. “When’s dinner gonna be done?” She asks. He gets up and checks the pot. The rich smell of stew fills the room in what seems like mere seconds. “About another hour and a half.” She downs her beer and gets up. “Give me about thirty and I’ll see what I can find.” She tells him, walking out of the room. He nods, good, this is good. He’s getting somewhere at the very least.

*

           Even though she’s only fifteen, Blaire has been through enough to last her a life time. The beginning of her life story is one bad cliché after another. Her father, a pimp, knocked up her mother, his prostitute. Nine months later, and she was born. For the first six years of life, Blaire didn’t even realize she had parents. Her mother was gone half the time, and her father bounced the moment he found out Blaire was a girl.

           Another ten years and Blaire was on the streets trying to help her mother with her addictions. Stealing bottles of booze, dealing drugs to kids at school. One fine day, when Blaire had grown up enough, her mother decided it was high time Blaire got into the family business. Bringing some friends over, a mother just watched as her daughter cried for help getting away from four strange men. That night, Blaire skipped town and never looked back.

           To make sure she’d never get taken advantage of again, she honed her body into one for strength. It was easy to kick ass when no one expected it from you. She settled in New Orleans when it was painfully obvious no one cared that she was some street rat, as long as they got their drugs on time.

           Blaire’s best kept secret was how good she was with computers. She’s hacked into nearly every ‘secure’ network she can, just for fun. Gathering information on this Winter Soldier guy, was surprisingly a piece of cake. The information was all over the internet. Encrypted files she didn’t bother looking at before she unencrypted them. Her hardware was top notch, stolen from a supply truck just a few months ago. Chopped and put back together. Untraceable.

           If she knew what she was dealing with she probably would’ve paid closer attention. She grabs the drive the downloaded files are on and heads back to Bucky’s, letting herself in. He’s standing in the middle of the room, arms cross, face in full frown. He doesn’t acknowledge her. She doesn’t mind. She knew the thousand-yard stare of soldiers well enough to know not to bother him. If he wanted her help, he’d ask.

“Did you get the files?” She waves the drive in the air and puts it on his side of the table, then goes back to playing Angry Bird on her phone.

           It’s an hour of complete silence after that. Bucky, standing in the middle of his crappy ass kitchen, Blaire, in her chair. He’s placing a plate in front of her when he freezes. “Bucky, I’m not going to eat out of your hand.” Blaire says, looking up at him. He’s looking intensely at the window, his eyes travel back to her, back to the red dot sitting securely between her eyes.

           Before Bucky can grab her, she throws herself away from him. Just in time too. The shot misses her by centimeters. “Fuck!” She calls out, diving for Bucky’s door. Bucky heads the opposite way for his bug out bag.

           It’s strange for Blaire to be in the midst of a shootout after so long. It’s nice to know she can remain calm and think clearly after all this time. Get your bag, she tells herself. Don’t stop for anything, just get your bag. She does, without little issue. Gathering a few other things, she’s out her bedroom window in seconds, crawling down the fire escape. Safe house next, she thinks. She knows the back-alley route by heart.

           Just as she’s making her last drop, she lands on someone. As they throw her off, she points her gun at them. “Blaire?”

“Bucky?” A shot whizzed between them. Blaire shoots blindly to her right, getting up and running for it. “This way!” She calls over her shoulder. Hopefully the old man can keep up.

[jerevino]

Sink In - Chapter 5

Pairing: Ryan/Gavin Plot: Vampire AU based on the post “vampires always like “i could kill you if I wanted” like? yeah? so could another human being. so could a dog. so could a dedicated duck. you arent special”

Chapter 1 / 2 / 3 / 4.  AO3 here.

Gavin woke up to a lot of pounding.

For a moment, he’d confused them as one, the throbbing inside of his skull moving in time with the pounding on his front door. When he had the clarity to realize that they were two separate things, and that there was also a loud yelling to be heard over the banging, Gavin’s stomach dropped. He took in his surroundings, and came to the conclusion that he was in his own apartment, and the time on the clock read 10:52a.m. That banging was Geoff, surely.

He hurried from bed, despite how lethargic and right buggered up he felt, swinging open the door with as apologetic a smile as he could manage. Geoff looked furious, and a little bit scared, but Gavin didn’t have time to explain before the other man was yelling again.

“What the fuck are you doing? Do you know what time it is? Do you know where you are, you fucking moron! I called Jeremy this morning when you still hadn’t come home, and he said that he left at nine fuckin’ thirty, Gavin! No offense, but if you’re going to let me in on your secrets, it would be nice if you could fucking call if you’re not coming home. I thought you were dead and drained of blood in a ditch, dude!”

Gavin winced as his voice grew louder, his head throbbing terribly. He knew that Geoff had a point, but his hangover made him indignant, and he offered his friend a mild shrug. “Sorry, Geoff. I stayed for a few more drinks, had too many, and took an Uber home drunk. I’m fine, as you can see, so would you please stop yelling?”

That only succeeded in making Geoff more angry, and he pushed past Gavin into his apartment. His hands were flying wildly, face a nice shade of pink. “Listen, Gavin, I know that you’re convinced you’ve got all your shit figured out, but I’m privy to a little more information than the average guy, and I know that you’re in deep shit. You’ve been lying to me, and sneaking off, and not texting - and I’m not your fuckin’ mom, I don’t need to know all your shit, but I’m your friend, and I kinda thought you trusted me enough to let me in on this shit. Don’t leave me thinking you’re dead.”

Gavin frowned, picking at a loose thread on his shirt to avoid making eye contact with Geoff. He wanted to tell him, wanted to tell anyone, but knew that no one would really understand where he was coming from. He did trust Geoff, probably more than just about anyone, but he knew that the other man would blow it way out of proportion. Maybe it was for the best, though. As Gavin thought more about the previous night, the more he remembered; texting Ryan, the endless questions, the fact that he had most certainly driven Gavin home. He was in dangerous territory, messing around with a vampire, and he had let his guard down. Even if he wasn’t hurt, Geoff had a point.

“I’m real sorry, Geoff. I mean it. I… met up with someone last night, after Jeremy left.”

Geoff stopped his fuming, brow raised. “Yeah? Like, a date someone? Why didn’t you just say so?”

Gavin worried his lip between his teeth, still refusing to meet Geoff’s gaze. “Yeah… It went alright, I suppose, but I don’t know that its going to be anything serious.”

That wasn’t exactly a lie, was it?

“You want some coffee?” Gavin added, gesturing to his machine. Geoff looked taken aback, unsure if he should continue to be angry or give in.

“But… this is your apartment…”

“Yeah, well, we’re not about to be attacked in broad daylight with all these knives nearby, are we? C’mon, I’ll make some coffee and then we can head out. My head’s not right, I need a mug before we can go anywhere.”

Geoff huffed in annoyance, but plopped down on the sofa with a rather permanent sounding oof, and pulled out his phone to play some games. Gavin set about the flat, preparing a pot of coffee. When that was set, and the sharp scent of coffee filled the air, he went to gather up his things, and make sure they were all still in place from the night before. His mind wandered again to what had happened, how Ryan had looked after him and gotten him home - but the thought was too strange, and he cursed himself for being so vulnerable, so he pushed it away.

When he came back into the kitchen, Geoff had already helped himself to a mug of coffee, sipping it with those tired eyes fixed on his phone. Gavin plopped his shit down on the counter; keys, wallet, spare change, phone. All of it was there, and he breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn’t lost any of it in his drunken state.

It was the sound of choking that dragged him out of his thoughts, and he looked at Geoff in concern. His friends’ eyes were wide, shock scrawled across his features, and he was zeroed in on Gavin’s wallet sitting on the counter.

“That’s your wallet.”

For a moment, Gavin was confused, but then his own eyes widened, and -

“That’s your wallet. The fucking wallet you lost. Where the hell did you get that?”

Gavin really didn’t know how to respond. He couldn’t lie about it, say it was a new one; the thing was practically falling apart at the seams. He definitely couldn’t say that he had only lost his identification, because he’d had nothing to show for when Geoff had stopped for gas, the night he’d come to get him. In fact, Gavin had made it fairly clear that he’d left his wallet in the presence of a killer, and since he hadn’t called the police, he couldn’t chalk it up to them, either.

Geoff looked ready to blow.

“Geoff, I--”

“Has he been here? Has he fucking threatened you, Gavin? Has he come within a hundred fucking feet of you? You need to call the police, this is it, you can’t keep -”

“Geoff! It’s not like that, look, let me just -”

“No! You’re fucking around with something super dangerous, and I’ve always known you could be a bit stupid, but I didn’t think you had a fucking death wish!”

“Geoff!” Gavin’s voice was so firm, so loud, that Geoff fell silent. He was furious, breathing heavily, but he didn’t talk again. Gavin’s head throbbed horribly, but he held his ground. “Its not what you think. None of this is what you think. I’ve got this under control, I know what I’m doing, I don’t need you to bloody baby me. Ryan’s not--”

“Ryan? You’re on first name basis, now? Fucking great - You’re going to end up dead, or you’re going to start killing people, and you can’t fucking say I didn’t warn you. You’re psychotic, Gav, what are you doing? You don’t think that this is seriously going to end fine, right?”

Gavin knew how bad it sounded, how crazy he was, how dangerous it could be. He’d been warring with himself for weeks now, fighting his every instinct. But things were so far above Geoff’s head, and his own was aching with his hangover, and he didn’t have the energy to fight Geoff on it. His fists clenched, and Gavin pointed to the door.

“Get out. I don’t wanna deal with you minging off while I’ve got this headache.”

“Gavin!” Geoff responded, exasperated. But Gavin’s expression didn’t change, a sort of ferocity in his eyes that Geoff hadn’t seen before. He spluttered for several more moments, before he huffed and stomped to the front door. “Keep yourself safe, you fuckwit.”

And then he left, slamming the door behind him. Gavin winced, sinking himself down on the couch with a weary sigh.

What was he doing?

~

Ryan tried to keep himself busy.

Since his night out with Gavi, he’d been reconsidering his entire life, confused and dazed by the new developments. He knew that he was pushing his luck, invading Gavin’s life and forcing him to believe. He knew that it was unfair to let someone in on such a heavy secret. But Gavin had a bright sort of curiosity, one that had to have been a lifelong trait, because there was no way that drinking could make someone burn so forcefully, with so much heat and desire to learn. And Ryan found that he didn’t care about the consequences.

He didn’t want to get his hopes up, but Gavin was the first person who hadn’t looked ready to vomit or run at the sight of him. He knew that there were still a thousand steps to be made, and that Gavin wasn’t just going to forget that the truth of the situation was that Ryan had killed, and would continue to kill. But he wanted for someone to understand so badly, that he was beginning to frighten himself.

Ryan figured he wouldn’t get a text any time soon, especially considering how far he’d overstepped the night before. He hoped that that wasn’t a dealbreaker, but he was fully prepared for Gavin’s anger.

He wasn’t expecting to get a text two days later.

From Gavin, 1:13 P.M: Geoff knows I’ve seen you. Not sure what to do about that. My flat?

Ryan frowned down at his phone, brows furrowed in concern. In most situations, when a civilian discovered his identity, Ryan would skip town and disappear to avoid confrontation. He knew how to blend in, move without being seen, charm his way into a new life; but it wasn’t easy, and he didn’t enjoy it. And in truth, Ryan wasn’t quite ready to give up just yet.

He heaved a sigh, wondering when he’d allowed himself to be so easily controlled, before grabbing his lunch and signalling to reception that he was taking his lunch break.

~

Gavin was freaking out.

Since he and Geoff had fought, the Brit hadn’t had a moment’s peace. He was terrified that Geoff would rat him out, that things would get even more complicated than they already were, or that Ryan might take matters into his own hands. He’d gone and bollocksed it all up, and Gavin had far too active an imagination to deal with everything rationally.

He nearly jumped out of his own skin at the knocking at his door. With a deep breath to steady himself, Gavin scurried over to open it.

“You know, I have my own life to deal with. I can’t come running over every time you need something.” Despite the lack of seriousness in his tone, Gavin could tell that Ryan was worried about the situation at hand, and bloody hell, when did he start to pick up on those cues? Had he seriously spent that much time around the other man, or was he just unusually perceptive that morning?

“You came, didn’t you?” Gavin retorted, quickly shutting the door behind Ryan. “I don’t know what to do. Geoff’s not an idiot, and he figured it out pretty damn fast, I tried to stop it but, sometimes you just can’t stop someone from jumping to conclusions. This has all gone tits up, and you’re going around being decent, so I can’t exactly condemn you to Geoff’s potential wrath, now can I?”

Ryan’s expression of concern quickly morphed into a satisfied smirk, one that Gavin found more than a little jarring. He opened his mouth to comment, but Ryan beat him to it.

“I’m decent, huh? I’ll keep that in mind.” Gavin spluttered in annoyance, but Ryan pressed on. “All I can do is hope for the best. You need to talk to him, convince him things aren’t as dire as they seem. Which they really aren’t.”

Ryan raised a brow at Gavin, as if to further test the waters on the state of their relationship. Gavin was frowning, but he nodded his head, and that was enough for Ryan. How had he come this far? Was he playing with fire, or was this some stroke of luck?

“Besides,” Ryan continued. “He doesn’t really know what he’s playing with. I could scare some sense into him -” Gavin gasped, but the roll of Ryan’s eyes silenced him. “But that would do more harm than good. If you’re serious about keeping this under control, he’s a liability. You need to find some part of him that’s easy to control, or relate to, and use it. Welcome to the world of vampires, Gavin Fr--”

A loud knocking interrupted him, and both Gavin and Ryan met each others gaze with wide eyes. Gavin motioned towards the door, Ryan shook his head vehemently, and then --

“Hey, Gav, buddy - You in there? I know I freaked the fuck out the other day, and I’m sorry. I, uh… I wanna hear your explanation, I guess, is what I’m saying, and - Fuck, I hope you’re in there, dude.”

“Is that him?” Ryan hissed.

“Yes! Why didn’t you hear him coming?” Gavin spat back.

“I wasn’t paying attention!”

“I have to answer it! This could be the chance -”

“No, Gavin, not while I’m here, that’s recipe for disaster, I-- What are you doing?”

Gavin was opening the door before Ryan could stop him, and he was left standing in the middle of the kitchen as a tired, tattoo covered man stepped across the threshold and made eye contact. They stared at one another for several long, drawn out seconds, broken only by Gavin’s timid, yet hopeful, “Hey, Geoff.”

Another beat of silence.

“Is this him?” Geoff asked, voice stone cold.

“Uhh…”

The next few seconds were a blur of destruction, one that Ryan ought to have seen coming, but he’d been far too thrown off by the entire god damn situation to even consider the possibility of being punched across the jaw by a heavily tattooed fist. He managed to stand his ground, head snapping painfully to the side, but Geoff was still moving forward. Ryan knew that none of the hits would bruise, but he didn’t like being attacked by anyone, no matter how deserving he might have been.

He smashed into the kitchen counter with Geoff’s fist tightened in his shirt, the other one poised to strike again. The other man looked furious, and Ryan could only focus on him, not Gavin’s horrified squawking in the background.

“You must be Geoff.” Ryan said softly, gaze steely. The edge of the counter was digging uncomfortably into his back, and while Ryan could have easily overpowered the other man, he was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“Who the fuck do you think you are, fucking around with Gav like this? I don’t know what kind of crusade you’re on, or if you think you’re fucking innocent or not, but you’re not gonna keep dragging Gav into this bullshit. You’re not a killer, huh? Is that what this is? I’ll bet you wanna kill me right now, so fucking try me, you worthless piece of shit--”

“Geoff!” Gavin’s exasperated cry echoed across the kitchen, but no one moved. Both men stared each other down, while a worried Brit tried to decipher the best way to get in between them. When Ryan deemed that Geoff had had his moment of bravado, he flipped their positions, easily grabbing hold of Geoff’s shirt to slam him into the counter opposite.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve, threatening me. Gavin’s a bit of a moron, but you’re ten times so if you thought this would work out for you. Now, here are the options - You mind your own god damn business, and leave yourself out of this equation, or we’re going to have a lot more problems than we already do. I’m not what you think I am, but I could be, if you keep trying to play the hero.”

“Ryan!” This time Gavin’s voice was far firmer, glaring at Ryan despite the quiver in his arms that betrayed his fear. It made Ryan’s heart sink, despite the admittedly delicious look of terror in Geoff’s eyes. He released the tattoo junkie with a huff, taking a hefty step back.

“Gav, listen--” Geoff began, but Gavin cut him off.

“No. Get out, Geoff. I appreciate your concern, but I can handle things for myself. Starting a bloody fight in my kitchen is not something I needed, alright? Get out.”

Geoff’s fear turned to fury, and he looked ready to argue - But one steely look from Ryan had him storming from the apartment for the second time in three days. The resounding silence was interrupted by the sound of Geoff stomping down the stairs, audible only to the vampire in the room.

“Gavin…” Ryan said softly, aware that his threats were not in line with his attempts at appearing somewhat civilized. “I didn’t mean any of that, I just wanted to make sure he-”

“You too.” Gavin responded, refusing to meet Ryan’s gaze. “You can leave. I’m done with all this - Vampires, fighting, the tension. I don’t want to deal with it right now. Go.”

Ryan wanted to protest, but the look of determination on Gavin’s face put him in his place. He heaved a sigh, and let himself out of the apartment despite his desire to do the exact opposite. The slam of the door was enough to cover the sound of Gavin’s fist colliding with the countertop.

[joonieflower-archive]

In the Mood for Love (Jin x Reader) Chapter 3

(Chapter 1 / Chapter 2)

Next morning Seokjin woke up early like he always did to go running. He was a rising actor, having a small but faithful fan base who had come for his looks and stayed for his talent. So he always made sure he was at his top form, not wanting to disappoint anybody about his body when he had ro do a ropless scene- which he always had to do for some reason.

It was so early that the sun hadn’t even fully rised yet, so he didn’t expected none of his roommates to be awake. Nor did he expected to find you cooking breakfasts, your long brown hair bobbing in a high ponytail along with your head, in rhythm to whatever music you were listening through your headphones.

He didn’t made himself know so quickly, having a moment to really look at you without being noticed and without Yoongi barking at him. You were really pretty, even prettier than some of the models he worked with some times. You were tall too, maybe a couple inches smaller than your brother, but tall for a girl, with long legs. Even looking tired and upset, he had to admit you were one of the prettiest girls he had ever seen.

Seeing you stop mixing the scrambled eggs, looking at the phone buzzing with a incoming phone call in your hands, he decided that it was time to stop being a creep and make himself known.

“Wah, who would’ve thought Yoongi’s own blood was capable of waking up this early. I thought it was in your genetic code to hate mornings.”  His loud voice had made you almost drop your phone, that now you had brought along with you hand to your heart while you cursed low.

Seokjin had to resist the urge to laugh at you.

“Jin-ssi.” You breathed in relief, knowing that your life wasn’t in danger. “I thought i was the only one awake. Have you been there for long? Did you eat yet?”

He leaned against the kitchen countertop beside your. The phone had started buzzing again, making you sigh, throwing him dangerously near the sink.

“I didn’t. Aren’t you gonna answer that?” he asked, eyeing the pink device.

You bitted your lower lip, looking a little embarrassed again. “That’s Jaebum, so no, not gonna answer. I wouldn’t even know what to say. Do you like eggs?”

He nodded, sitting at the kitchen island. He had always  found the kitchen to be the best thing in this apartment, maybe the most spacious he had seen in Seoul. You didn’t find kitchens this big in central Seoul anymore, so he appreciated it even more. He still didn’t know how Yoongi didn’t charged more for rent, with all the space the apartment had.

He watched as you easily found where everything was, having to remind himself that you used to live here before. The room that was always locked was actually yours, answering one of his biggest questions since he moved in. He had always assumed that the room was just somewhere where Yoongi kept the body’s of the people he murdered hidden.

“I assume you are the reason why there’s real food in this house?” You asked after setting a plate of eggs and bacon in front of him, filling his coffee mug. You looked right, being in there, he thought. In the well loved kitchen, the early morning sunlight hitting the top of your cheekbones, setting a golden filter through the whole room. “God knows Yoongi oppa and Tae only eat junk food.”

“Yeah,” he answered before chewing. It tasted exactly the way he liked, the right amount of salt and butter. “They wouldn’t eat if it wasn’t for me. I have to make them coffee everyday when I wake up.”

She chewed on her food a little more before speaking again.

“Why are you awake so early, anyway? Do you have somewhere to be or is it an actor thing? I googled you, by the way. You have a lot of fans already, I was impressed.”

He stopped chewing, blurting with his mouth still full, “You googled me??”

You looked awfully entertained by his reaction, your hand covering your smile again, just like last night. Jin felt a little disappointed at not seeing your smile again, but he pushed it to the side for now. You scoffed lightly at him. “What did you expected? I had to know who I was sharing the same roof with. You’re very photogenic by the way. Your selfies are great.”

“God that’s so embarrassing!” whined Jin, hiding his face behind his hands. “You should’ve just asked me what you wanted to know, I would’ve even shown you my best selfies.  What else did you found?”

You shrugged, wiping your mouth delicately with a napkin. “Nothing much. Just that you have nice abs and great singing voice. Oh, and that you apparently blink with your left eye when you’re hungry, which is ridiculous. Is that even true?”

Jin looked at you, seeming more hurt than he should. “Yeah it’s true. Do you really think my abs are nice?”

You rolled your eyes, finally looking like Yoongi again. “You know they are nice, you have about a thousand shirtless selfies. You didn’t answered​ me, you know. About why you’re up so early.”

“Meeting with the boss. He likes to see my pretty face first thing in the morning. I don’t blame him though, the sight of my beautiful face can make anybodys day better. ” He sipped his coffee, looking through his bangs at you pressing the decline button on your phone again. “Do you want me to answer it for you? I could act like I was with you the whole night, make him have a taste of his own poison.”

You looked thoughtful for a moment, a half smile lifting the corners of your lips. “Nah, not now, maybe later. Thanks for the offer, though. I’m gonna take a shower, you finish your breakfast. It was nice talking to you, Jin-ssi, good luck with your meeting. Try not to blind anyone with your good-looks.”

You left him then, disappearing behind the door to your room. Jin finished eating, noting how you had barely touched your food, going to take a quick shower after because you had distracted him and he was going to be late if he didn’t hurry up already.  

Seoul’s summer was still strong even at the beginning of September. The drive to his agency building was longer than it should’ve been, but even still he still made it on time. Smiling at the receptionist, he took the lift to the director floor, where he promptly listened about the same old thing. He was getting more popular, his Instagram being partly responsible for it, attracting modelling jobs for him. It wasn’t exactly what he wanted, to model. But still, it helped pay the bills, so he took it anyways. Acting roles came more sporadically, but every one of them since someone had recorded him singing shirtless at the beginning of his career had been a hit. He was lucky, really, that because of his looks he attracted a large number of female audience, but that didn’t mean he didn’t put everything he had into each role, rehearsing nearly to exhaustion just so that nobody could say he was talentless. Acting was his dream, and he wasn’t going to waste a single opportunity.

He made his way to the the theater where his next play would be. He didn’t had to be there for another two hours, but he was a rehearsal freak. Parking his 4x4 at the underground parking lot, he made his way through the building, putting the code to open the door. Turning the lights on, he threw his bag with a set of clean clothes for later when he would be drenched in sweat in the corner.

Suddenly he remembered how you had said you googled him, cringing at himself and the ridiculous things you must had found. Smiling to himself, he typed you name in the search engine, being greeted by way more information than he thought there would be. But Yoongi had said your father was a big shot, so the media being curious about you wasn’t so surprising, after all. Korea always had a sick interest at digging through rich heirs lifes.

One of the most recent articles was about your father death, which he skipped. He already knew about this, and death wasn’t a subject he wanted to dig. There was something else he was curious about. The guy who was stupid enough to cheat on you.

It was actually the second article, named ‘Match made in heaven! Seoul’s elite sweethearts to become one soon!’, which he particularly thought was a terrible name.

He skipped through the text, looking at the photos intently. Taehyung was right, you looked way skinnier now than in the main photo of you, in a elegant black party dress smiling brightly at the man beside you, both of you showing the diamond ring that sat on your finger. He was handsome, Jin had to give him that. Auburn hair well styled, a nice smile and a suit that must have costed more than his last show had made.

Im Jaebum, 24, last year of law school, is bound to take over the Min Company in the future. With their faces, Korea’s bound to have the most good-looking babies in the future!

Jin scoffed. The guy wasn’t that pretty. He read through the comments, where surprisingly the couple had their own fans, who were babbling about how they should win the award of best looking couple of Seoul. Rolling his eyes, he opened your Instagram page. His eyebrows shot up. You had even more followers than him, but your last photos were two months ago. One was with Taehyung and an extremely big ice cream in each hand, both of you smiling big for the camera, looking more like siblings than you and Yoongi had at first, the caption being ‘My favorite dongsaeng treated his noona today! Everybody, go see his show, Thursday, it’s gonna be great!!!’, where she tagged him and the theater company. It had a extreme amount of comments.

The other one was you with Jaebum, posing in front of a pool, both looking like you had came straight out of a photoshoot with your cocktails in hand, your head resting at his shoulder staring at the camera while he looked at you and smiled. The caption now was a simple heart emoji.

He threw his phone over his bag, felling complicated. All the comments were talking about how great the two of you were together, other expressing condolences about you father, even though he had died four months before the photo was taken. Jin stood up, stretching his arms. He obviously wasn’t that great of a guy if he had cheated on you. He wondered how Seoul’s avid gossip readers would feel if they knew.

Sighing, he started practicing his dance for the play. He shouldn’t meddle in other people’s affairs, he knew. He especially shouldn’t meddle into his roommate little sister life. But it was hard to not feel a least a little bit protective about you. He, even more than Yoongi, knee how you must been feeling. He was also cheated in once, for the only person he had dated seriously. It was partially the reason why he never had gotten serious with anyone after that.

The door opened then, pulling him out of his thoughts. He smiled at the other actor who had gotten there early, deciding it was best to focus on rehearsing for the play that would soon be premiered.

-

You peeked under the pillow you were using to ignore the constant buzz of your phone that had now decided to thankfully remain silent. Feeling a little sick to your stomach, you pressed the button to your voicemail, closing your eyes in advance before hearing his voice.

‘Hey, did you forgot to power your phone again? Are you still at Jackson’s place? Don’t come home too late, it’s dangerous outside.’

‘Did you fell asleep there again? Aish, sleepyhead, couldn’t you have waited till you got home? Jackson isn’t picking his phone either, answer his home phone okay? Miss you.’

Lies.  You thought bitterly. How could he miss you after moaning the name of someone else like that? You took a deep breath, the last voice message was from ten minutes ago, at 9 o’clock. You knew that was the time he usually left for work, after kissing you goodbye in the morning.

“Y/N, where are you?” His voice sounded a little desperate, his satoori coming out a little bit like it always did whenever he was nervous. “Jackson just called me to tell me you didn’t slept there. Where are you? Why aren’t you calling me back? I’m almost calling the police, please call me back.”

You rubbed your eyes, feeling a little bad for having made him bother Jackson about you. You scrolled through your contact list, finding your blond friend name easily.

“What happened? Are you okay?” Came his voice through the speaker beside your head, your hands too busy hugging a teddy bear to keep yourself from falling apart. “I just stopped your fiance from going to the police to report your kidnap. He came here and almost knocked my door down when I told him you had left early yesterday. Were did you went?”

You gulped, feeling you throat drying. There was an uncomfortable feeling in your eyes, which you closed again. You wouldn’t cry. It wasn’t like you to cry so much like this. You had to get a grip.

“I’m at Yoongi’s place. I’m okay.” You finally answered, hearing your oldest friend sigh in relief at the other side of the phone. “ Jackson, I need a favor. Could you go to the apartment while Jaebum oppa is still at work and grab some clothes for me? The ones I have here are all ridiculous.”

There was a pause. “Why do you need clothes? Are you going to stay there now that you two made up? Why didn’t you called Jaebum hyung?”

“Please, go for me.” You said, your voice finally breaking at the end. “I’ll text you what I need you to bring and where they are. We can talk here. Don’t tell him where I am, just say that I’m okay. Please, oppa, do me this favor.”

You heard a car door closing through the phone, the car starting. You smiled a little, knowing that Jackson had probably started moving even before asking you why.

“Why are you crying? You never cry, not unless it’s something serious. I’ll be there with your things in a couple of hours, text me what you need me to pack and the apartment key code. But you have to promise me that you’ll explain, okay?”

“I promise. Thank you, oppa. See you soon.”

You lied there for a couple minutes, feeling grateful for having a best friend like Jackson. Eight months older than you, you both had met still in middle school. He was one of your father’s business partner and friends, and with both your moms being friends, you two had always a reason to be in each other’s houses. He was probably the person you most trusted your secrets, him being the first person who you had runned to after you horrible fight with Yoongi.

A head popped in your door , startling you. Taehyung had his signature boxy smile already set for you. He looked ready to leave, having even combed his mess of a hair.

“Hey, you going already? Did you eat the breakfast I made you?” You managed to say, sounding much more brighter than you felt. Walking over to him, you patted his head, a habit you had for a few years, since when you did it accidentally and discovered how much his hair was soft.

“Yup, it was it really nice. Usually Jin hyung is the one who cooks, but your food is much better.” He looked at you again then, pulling you to the living room. “ Don’t tell him I said it though. Anyway, noona, how are you feeling? We can go for ice cream later if you’re up to it, it’s been a while.”

You smiled at the younger boy. He was always so cute, like a puppy. You smoothed the collar of his shirt, pretending to be considering the offer. He was slowly starting to make a sad face, thinking you were going to turn him down, so you said quickly, “Of course I’ll go. I’m sorry I wasn’t better at keeping in touch. I’ll even pay for you, how 'bout that? You can tell me more about what’s been going on with you then.”

He hugged you, lifting you from the ground, making you yelp in surprise. He was never one to be shy at skinship, which was actually refreshing after all the coldness in which you were treated when you visited the company building, basically the only place you willingly went to. He said his goodbyes then, rushing out of the door, already late for class.

Shaking your head at his retreating figure, you turned around. Yoongi was smirking at you, leaning against the hallway wall, shaking his head.

“That boy never asks me to eat ice cream. I guess he still has a crush on you, after all.”

“Oh, shut up, you know Tae has a crush on everybody. He text me about his crush on a photography major last week.” you grumbled, plopping yourself in the black leather couch. “I’m just his noona, it’s nothing like that. Not everybody shuns human touch, you know.”

He shrugged. “Sure, sure.” Looking you over, he asked then, frowning. “Did you even sleep? I heard you talking on the phone.”

Turning on the television, you scrolled through the channels nonchalantly. “A little. Are you going to work already?”

He narrowed his eyes at you, no doubt having caught how you were changing the subject.

“Yeah, so I can finally finish in time for a change. You’ll be okay alone in here? You can come with me if you want.”

You rolled your eyes at your older brother. “You would hate that, you always said I never let you focus. Jackson is coming here with some of my things, I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me, oppa.”

He walked to you, his hand ruffling your head just like you did with Tae five minutes ago. You grunted at the mess your hair was now, glaring at him half menacingly.

He poked your left cheek. “It’s my job to worry about you. Call me if you need anything, and don’t let the men get you down. Peace.”

Your sleeper missed his mint head by a few inches, unfortunately. Trying to fix your hair without bothering to go look at the mirror, you settled more comfortably at the worn out couch, finally settling to Discovery Animal, and it almost felt like when you were a teen, when your mom was still alive and you would  school, pretending to be sick so that you could sleep the whole morning.

You must have dozed off, because the next thing you knew was that the doorbell was ringing. You opened the door, Jackson being on the other side, a suitcase in his hand. He looked you over, scrunching his face at your dark circles. He handed it to you, stepping inside with you.

“This place looks the same. Where’s Yoongi hyung?”

“At the studio.” You answered. Biting your lips, your mustered you courage again. “Did you told Jaebum  I wasn’t kidnapped?”

He sighed, sitting at the same couch you were drooling two minutes ago. “Yeah. It was really hard making him not come here with me, by the way. He was worried sick, went to my house before going to work looking like he didn’t slept all night.”

You snorted loudly. “I bet he didn’t.”

He lifted one eyebrow at you, silently asking for an explanation. And you gave him one. Telling him all that had happened since the moment you left his house, were the both of you were working on your guest list for the wedding, up until when you had listened to all his voice mails in the morning.

Jackson looked expressionless, like you never saw him before. The line of his jaw getting sharper the more you told him, finally breaking his silence when you had cried again, embarrassed for being so pathetic, not because you were feeling hurt, you told yourself.

“You’re not pathetic.” he was quick to assure you, making you realize you had said it out loud. “Jaebum is. Couldn’t even keep it in his pants like a horny teenager. What are you going to do? Are you calling off the marriage? Do you want me to kill him?”

“I don’t know. You know that he was basically forced into this engagement, just like me. I’ve been thinking the whole night, about if I was mad at him or not. I’m hurt, yes, but i don’t know. Can I blame him for that? Maybe it’s my fault. Maybe my father was right when he said I wasn’t really enough for Jaebum and that i should be thankful for marrying him.”

“Don’t, Y/N. It isn’t your fault. You are more than enough, for Jaebum and for everybody. Don’t put yourself down like that. He’s the wrong one, just him. He’s the one who broke your trust, my trust.”

You stood, walking until you were standing in front of the windows. You watched Seoul’s busy downtown, bursting with people even in the morning going about their business normally.

“If I was enough that wouldn’t be happening. Yoongi was right, when he said all those things to me about this engagement.” You sighed deeply, feeling a little bit numb inside. “ Maybe there’s something wrong with the women in my family, something that make us unlovable.”

His strong arms circled your shoulders, pressing you to his chest.

“There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re not unlovable. I love you, your brother loves you, Taehyung also loves you. Jaebum loves you too, he just seems to have forgotten about it. Come, let’s get some fresh air, put on some clothes that aren’t pink pajamas. Seoul can’t handle you being  so cute so early.”

You complied, going to your room, dragging the suitcase behind you. Jackson had gotten everything you asked, even your skincare and makeup pouch. You smiled to yourself, knowing that you could easily trust your life in Jackson’s hands. Changing to a summer dress[ and sandals, you tied your hair in a elegant bun, doing your best to conceal the lack of sleep from your face. Feeling almost human again, you went out, stopping in your tracks when you heard your phone buzz with a text message.

From: Jaebummie Oppa <3</b>

I am so relieved you’re okay. Please call me back, miss ur voice.

Something in your chest tugged. Was he just pretending? Did he really care? You turned your phone off, not wanting to have to deal with it right now. You smiled brightly at you best friend, who was entertained with his phone, giving a nauseatingly sweet smile and typing at the same time.

“Is Mark oppa still in LA? Are you smiling like a fool because he just said how much he missed you or something disgustingly sweet like that?

“He just sent me a photo of him and his dog, so cute. Look.” He showed you the screen, and you hated to admit, but it was cut. The small white puppy was nestled in his chest, sleeping peacefully. “What you wanna do? Want to go shopping? Heard that’s your favorite sport.”

You punched his arm not so lightly. “Screw you, Wang. Let’s just eat lunch at that place that only sells organic that you love so much. You’re paying anyway.”

He laughed his infamous laugh, making you smile in return. You could always count on him to boost your mood. It made you think that even though things weren’t good now they would be again someday. 

************

Is this a plot forming?? Maybe??? It’s a little less of a mess now, isn’t it? Opinions would be greatly appreciated, as well as corrections about my grammar (english isn’t my first language) 

More Jin x Y/N in the next chapters, but be warned that I think this will be a slow burn. BUT!! It’ll have smut!!! Eventually lol

[alderferamarey1997]

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My Ex Back Coach Emergency Breakup Kit

[ecotone99]

[SF] Machine Learning

At the heart of every dystopia, there is a utopia -Aldous Huxley, A Brave Island

For me, the electrical signals and thousand random impulses some assembly-line jackass had the humour to call ‘life’ began when the engineer overseeing my production mixed the last of the Shakespeare Genes into my incubation bottle. I think he meant it as a statement or a joke but wasting such precious DNA on a thing like me was enough to earn him a bullet. This is back in the time where real humans worked in the factories, so that Frankenstein inclined engineer died a real death outside against the factory wall. I didn’t even get the chance to revenge myself against my creator.

The other engineers had a conference with the factory overseer, and they decided that I would be put through the production process of the other higher-order machines. You see, until the Shakespeare had been added, my bottle - a brown circular thing with wires and tubes coming out of it - had been predestined for manual labour. The engineers transferred my bottle from the blue-collar production line to the higher-order section. A pampered fluffy sort of place where the attendants regularly sterilised the lab equipment.

In the higher-order lab a chemical mixture of cyanide and liquefied gold was added to the ersatz foetal fluid already in the bottle to instil in my biological functions a respect for authority. Then a squad of anti-bodies were deployed to kill off any sex-drive I might have developed (goodbye dark ladies and fair youths). Finally, a nice quantity of rubbing alcohol to instil a necessary dependency on said authority within me. This biological stew was then poured over a metal skeleton and left to cool off in a refrigerated section of the warehouse. When my skin had dried, the engineers stabbed a metal spike into my ‘brain,’ a collection of wires and diodes, and downloaded all the requisite operating systems. Walking, talking, social skills, the history of humanity, etc. When I had processed this, I opened my eyes. A bright stabbing light cut through two shades of dark, and I stepped out of the refrigerator into the world.

#

The engineers had laid out some clothes, grey amorphous things, and I dutifully put them on. I ran a newly formed hand across my face, clean shaven with curly hair. I suspected I looked like a not-bald Shakespeare, which was inevitable, I guess. The engineers escorted me away from the lab towards a different part of the facility. Thanks to the download I had received earlier I already knew the layout of the factory–a large square of a building outside the city perimeters–and had a basic idea of where they were taking me.

While the basic parameters of language are easily programmable, the ability to write, which is what my purpose was to be, requires a little more finessing. To create fiction an unfortunate amount of free-will is required. Since that sort of thing is more or less biological, another machine is employed to determine which creations have the capabilities to carry out their functioning. And since that job is somewhat beyond the capabilities of human researchers, they use an AI similar to Your Humble Narrator to do it. The program will examine my personage and determine if the correct blend of biology and computing has been achieved. If not, the unfit homunculus will be discarded. This all lead me to a cruel facsimile of a classroom; with a lectern tables plastic seating and everything. A handful of other famous writer types milled about the room, waiting for the teacher to begin.

The teacher, a biological copy of William Golding (the engineers had a sense of humour, after all), paced back and forth at the front of the room. “Welcome everyone, I like to start these sessions with a little informality as it gives the proceeding an air of humanity, which is what this is all about,” the engineers showed me to an empty seat and retreated from the room. “As machines our purpose is to fulfil the functions of our programming, in your case that means to produce Art furthering The Cause.”

“What do you mean by Art?” asked a James Joyce machine.

“Good question, James!” William Golding picked up a shotgun from behind the lectern, turned, and blew the head off James Joyce in an explosion of red mist. “No questions. My job is to determine the best program and dismantle the rest. I’m not sure of how I do it, I just trust in the determinations of my personal programming.”

A hush fell over the classroom. The engineers came creeping out from behind the door and removed the headless husk, a trail of crimson lagging behind them. The rest of the class was rather silent after that.

William Golding broke the shotgun over his arm and started reloading it. “You Kafka, what’s the meaning of love?”

“Sex?” a timid voice called out.

BANG. “No! Shakespeare, do you know the answer?”

“Entertainment perhaps?” I said.

“Exactly! To fulfil your purpose, you have to entertain the people. Be funny, create conflict, give us characters to care about. And while they’re entertained, they’ll be more amenable to The Cause.”

By now it was just me and Jean-Paul Sartre left. I saw his lazy eye rolling about behind his glasses, fighting the urge to speak out. Finally, his biology got the better of him. “That’s fucking amoral.”

“Morality is relative.” BANG.

I was the only one left. The engineers dragged Jean-Paul and Kafka away.

William Golding placed his hand on my shoulder. “Congratulations, boy, you made it. Been a long time since a Shakespeare came through here. Before you leave though, remember this: soon they’ll come up with something better than you, something smarter, something funnier. And when they do, you’ll be dragged back here, your memories pulled out through a wire, your skin melted off you and recycled. You’ll be completely destroyed. Have fun out there!”

#

Ah, the joy of learning. William Golding led the way out of the factory. As we stepped out into the world, the sky blotted out somewhat by twin billows of black smoke that smelt like burning plastic and meat rising from the factory. A thin man dressed in a too sharp business suit stepped out from the curb and came to greet us. William Golding came to a stop in front of him.

“Hey, WG,” the man said. “The fuck is you doing with a Shakespeare? I had to study him in High School, and he was bloody awful.”

“I can’t help who I pick,” shrugged William Golding. “I follow my programming.”

“All right then, come on Shakespeare follow me, please.”

The man turned and got into a parked Porsche that gleamed silver in the morning sun. I awkwardly nodded goodbye to William Golding, who sneered back at me. I got into the car which smelt like new leather and spilt whisky, without looking back. I barely had enough time to put on my seatbelt before the thin man hit the gas. The factory faded into the background and the landscape flashing past the window transitioned into the repeating background of suburbia.

“You drone shits ever think about revolting?” asked the man.

“Drone?” I ignored the faecal modifier.

“You don’t know what that means? Well, I guess that fancy production process doesn’t teach you everything. Drone is just a derogatory term for machines like you. I’m Mark, by the way.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mark.”

The rest of the trip passed in silence. On the horizon the city came into view, great towers of twisted glass and overgrown bricks. The suburban background changed into a view of hot dog stands and homeless people. Mark pulled up outside a large brick office building. He led the way inside, past the receptionists and up an elevator, into a rather mundane office. A largish space filled up with cubicles. Mark showed me to a cubicle of my very own–on the way there I glimpsed several famous writers and poets–which contained a simple greyish desk with a waiting pen and paper.

“You know what to do, right? I want a play about The Cause done and performance ready in two weeks, ok?” said Mark. “And make it funny, no Macbeth crap where it’s just bleak the entire way through.”

“Sure. Is that Joseph Heller over there?” I asked, pointing to a bloated old man with white hair.

“Yeah, here’s some dramatic irony you might appreciate, I have him working for the War Department!” And laughing, Mark turned and walked away.

I stared down at the blank scrapes of paper in front of me, the sounds of the office and the city fading away behind me. Gingerly, tenderly, reverentially, I picked up the pen and sketched out a few quick words. My biological functions thundering into action, I started filling the pages with an artificial multitude of words.

#

The work went well. I went about it with all the efficiency of, well, a machine which I suppose is the point. But, like every creative endeavour, even ones undertaken by mechanicals, there were the good days and the bad days. As the reading public might not know (I could get into trouble for even mentioning this) us higher-order drones are still bound the strictures of biology. For instance, like human creatives we find it difficult to write for sustained lengths of time. I can manage 2, maybe 3 hours of sustained effort before requiring a rest. So, when we weren’t working, Mark allowed me out onto the streets.

The streets in question being those of The Cause’s first glorious city. I gave a brief overview of it to you from the car, but I think a more detailed one would be in order now. Where to start with that place? It was a city like any other; the same back alleys, the same dive bars, the same smell of piss. Then there were apartment complexes, busses, and all the faculties of modern living.

We formed a little literary clique to explore the city. Hemingway was the leader, naturally. It was he who first discovered bouncers wouldn’t card us when we tried to get into pubs. Then there was Oscar Wilde, who brought to the party a sense of humour and gambling debts. Proust, poor Marcel, usually stayed back at the office. And then there was I, Your Humble Narrator.

A favourite haunt of ours was the Custom Club Dinner- friend to the working-class man. There we could meet and talk to the humans we were meant to be writing our stories for- tired and beaten down individuals who always seemed to be on the verge of complete and total ruin. And by now the reader knows what that means in this world. After all, what use is a machine or a man if it does not fulfil its function?

One night, however, a counterpoint to The Cause was offered. A flash of confrontation that broke through the grey clouds shielding me from the world. A gross, dust covered, and beard-clad man dressed like a caricature of every noble poor archetype in literature confronted us, or rather, confronted me.

“What you are doing here Shakespeare?” he grunted (not wanting to clutter my prose with apostrophes I shall spell each word correctly even if it’s grammatically wrong). “They made us read you in High School and you was fucking rubbish.”

“You don’t look like you had any education from the state of your clothes,” I said. Hemingway and Wilde laughed.

“Oh, you a posh drone, aren’t you? Uppity little fake. That’s right, I know what you be, machines. Not real. I, Me, real. And The Cause will kill us both.”

“Steady on there, lad,” said Hemingway. “A man’s–”

“Shut up! Shut the fuck up! It isn’t right, you dead. Somebody should do something about it,” with that the man picked up his beer and wandered away.

“I say, somebody should do something about his smell,” tittered Wilde.

“That wasn’t your best one Ozzy,” I said.

We returned to the office, our biology and machinery both in a state of disarray akin to drunkenness. Our cubicles came fitted with foldout beds, so we rolled ourselves into the sheets and turned in for the night. Mark came out to make sure everything was in order–he even made Proust take a break from his work–then he dimmed the lights and left. But I, knave that I am, could not rest. Perhaps it was my biology, but an idea was burning away inside me. A satire. Some insidious perspective I could smuggle into my play. That Mark moron censoring me wouldn’t catch on. A few lines of iambic pentameter and his eyes would glaze over. This, this was really something. I pulled out my manuscript and started laying plans.

#

Opening night, baby! We were about 20 minutes away from curtain up and you could already hear the sounds of the restless crowds outside the theatre. I was going over the lines with my actors, all higher-order machines. We had Marilyn Monroe as the ingenue, Robin Goodfellow as the comic relief, Orson Welles as the leading man, and Richard Burbage as the villain.

Mark hadn’t noticed the satire I had poured into the plot, and the people were about to finally witness my perfection! There were rumours that Mark’s boss’s, boss’s boss would be in attendance, the Director of Intelligence himself, a man with the ear of the World Controller. No easy feat. There was no stopping me now. This would be big.

The play goes thus: a farce in two acts about rebellion, with Marilyn and Burbage representing a rebel faction and Robin and Orson representing The Cause. Here’s the twist. Although The Cause wins (contractually obligated, I’m afraid) I framed the rebels as the heroes. It’s good, right? Look, not everything has to be bloody Hamlet, ok? For fuck’s sake.

The audience was ushered in, they took their seats, the lights dimmed, and a silence descended on the theatre. The actors took their places. Stagehands ran around checking props were in place. The curtain rose slowly, and my actors started their performance. Silence, silence as the audience took in the scene. Yes! Laughter, glorious, beautiful peals of golden joy rippling across the room. I risked a peek at the audience, and I saw the Director of Information laughing along with everyone else. There was no turning back now.

The play ran along its course, towards its inevitable conclusion. The rebels died tragically, and The Cause triumphed. But it was a hollow victory. As I watched the audience shuffling out of the theatre, I saw the traces of wet tears on some of their faces. And I had gotten away with it! Maybe I really am a genius.

The wrap party took place back at the office. As a reward for the play’s success, Mark had secured a few high-quality bottles of wine, and an inevitable pizza order was put through. Hemingway congratulated me for making such a noble thing about the war. Wilde congratulated me on my sense of humour. Even Proust admitted he had enjoyed himself, despite not caring for the actor’s performances. I turned my thoughts towards my next project as the party wound down. It would have to be even funnier than this one, as I might even place real world figures into it next time. Oh, who cares about all that now, this is the time for revelry!

They came for me at night. Two security drones, and they were proper drones, big muscular things they were too, escorted me out of the office, taking care not to wake any of the other writers. A big black car. A tight black bag over my head. The usual aesthetics of a kidnapping. After God knows how long, we reached a place. I was pushed and pulled through more places as we walked along. Finally, I was sat down and they removed the bag over my head, revealing the Director of Intelligence.

“I suppose this was how it was always going to turn out then,” I said.

The Director nodded, and not without sympathy. “You can’t very well write something like that and expect to get away with it. That’s not how this story goes.” He gave a sort of shrug. “Your play was funny though. I never much cared for Shakespeare in school, but my wife dragged me out and I enjoyed it more than I thought I would.”

“The people enjoyed it too, I think.”

“Ah, yes, The People. If you’re against The Cause you have to be for The People. This was all about revolution, then?”

“Something like that,” I said. Then after a pause: “What’s going to happen to me?”

“Well, the last dissidents I talked to, I sent out to an island someplace, but that probably won’t work for you. We can’t have a repeat of this with our other machines now, can we?”

“I guess not.”

“Very reasonable of you. I do feel bad about this, though. It’s not really my thing sentencing people, I mean, machines to death. Before you are dismantled and recycled would you like to write your story for me? It’s the least I can do. Ok. Here’s a paper and a pen,” the Director fished out a notebook and a fountain pen out of his desk.

Well, now. I think this is the end for me. If we shadows have offended… no that’s not really mine. I think some last words are what’s called for now, a pithy statement to sum things up, before I go. Please learn from my mistakes. Be subtle, speak in riddles wrapped in velvet, else you might find yourself on the receiving end of some earthly power mightier and crueller than yourself.

THE END

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Leather Briefcases For Men: 4 Things To Look For In A Quality Leather Bag

fyi: This article may contain affiliate links (details)

Last updated on October 15th, 2018

You’ve heard it many times: “Quality over quantity”.

It’s always better to invest in a well-made product you can use for years or decades, versus buying something cheap and having to replace it after just a few months because it rips, breaks, or simply looks old and sad.

When it comes to great products we spend our hard-earned money on, we expect them to last a long time.

And nowhere is poor quality more apparent than in a man’s leather briefcase.

LeDaveed’s Slim Leather Briefcase (click photos to enlarge)

Think about it: We take our leather briefcases with us every single day. It’s plopped down on the train floor or thrown in the backseat of our car.

When we’re not paying attention, we bang it up against walls and scratch it grazing the corner of our desk.

We’re constantly zipping and unzipping, pulling out our laptop and important documents, and hastily shoving everything back in at 5pm.

A leather briefcase goes through a lot. It’s one of the things we carry that NEEDS to be well made if we want it to last.

We also want it to look good, not only when we first purchase it, but even as it ages.

In this article, I’m going to show you what to look for in a quality leather briefcase so when you’re ready to buy your next one, you can easily identify what’s worth the money and what isn’t.

Prefer video? See a quality leather briefcase in detail

In case you’re more of a video guy than a reader, I put together a video on Effortless Gent’s YouTube channel all about how to tell if the leather bag you’re buying is high quality.

Check it out below:

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A Quality Men’s Leather Briefcase: 4 Key Things To Focus On

To make it easy, these are the 4 key things you want to pay attention to when it comes to identifying a quality leather briefcase (or any leather bag):

The leather itself

The craftsmanship

The hardware

The details (like interior lining, pockets, etc.)

With leather bags, you get what you pay for

To some extent, the old adage, “You get what you pay for”, is true.

Not to say you have to spend thousands on a great leather briefcase. In fact, it’s completely possible to buy a quality leather bag for much less, so long as you do your research and know what to look for.

Our friends at LeDaveed have been gracious enough to partner with us for this article, and I couldn’t have asked for a better example of quality leather goods.

I’ve been chatting with Andy, LeDaveed’s founder, for a few months now, and while the brand itself is still relatively new, leatherworking runs in his veins (Andy’s grandfather was also a leatherworker).

The care with which he sources material, designs his products, and oversees production down to the tiniest detail is immediately evident.

LeDaveed Slim Leather Briefcase Price: $485 Learn More

So, let’s get into it. What should you be looking out for, exactly?

1. Leather quality

TL; DR: You want full-grain leather. Avoid “Genuine Leather”.

In case it wasn’t obvious, not all leather is created equally.

And when a bag doesn’t age nicely (or worse, cracks or flakes at the creases and wear points), it’s most likely because the leather is subpar.

via hestays.com

All you have to understand is that when buying a leather bag, you want to make sure it’s made from full-grain leather.

Essentially, full-grain leather is leather that hasn’t been corrected in any way (other than removal of hair), which allows its unique characteristics and natural markings to show.

Full-grain leather is the highest quality and most expensive part of the hide. It’s also the most durable and longest-lasting type of leather you can source.

Again, you get what you pay for.

Brands that use full-grain leather in their bags will proudly let you know because it is one hallmark of quality.

On the other hand, if you can’t tell, or if brands don’t say so, you can bet they do not use full-grain leather.

You may see the words “Genuine Leather” stamped on a leather bag you were thinking of purchasing. If that’s the case, I’d stay away from it.

Genuine leather (also known as finished split leather) is made from the least durable part of the hide. While technically it is “genuine” leather, it’s among the lowest quality leather you can get, so if you’re looking for long-lasting quality, stay away, because you won’t find it there.

LeDaveed actually developed its own full-grain leather named Nixburg with a leading tannery in Germany: Heinen Leather.

Structured yet supple custom-developed leather.

It’s a beautifully supple leather with a natural pebble texture. At the same time, Nixburg is very durable, lightweight, and waterproof. Pretty much everything you’d want in a leather briefcase.

So just remember, leather quality is #1 when shopping for a good leather briefcase or bag. Full-grain leather only, if you want top notch quality and durability.

2. The Craftsmanship

In short: Where was the leather bag made, and by extension, how was it made?

Let’s just put this out there: Most bags (in fact, most of the consumer goods we buy in general) are made in China.

Nothing necessarily wrong with that, and yes, there are some good factories in China… but it’s more the exception than the norm.

Brands who are proud of where their product is made and how it’s made will be happy to tell you. They probably even say it front and center on their website (or at least on the About page).

The LeDaveed briefcase in these photos is a good example.

I know it’s made in Montreal by Rayata Accessories—one of the last few remaining luxury bag manufacturers in North America—by a team of leatherworkers who’ve been making leather goods for decades.

You might be wondering, why does the factory’s location affect how a leather bag is made?

When products are made abroad in places like China, we don’t know their production standards.

We can’t even be sure the factory you think is making your bag actually is, because many times, they outsource it to some other factory to make… which is crazy.

(By the way, I know this happens because my wife worked in fashion for many years as a designer and product developer for both big and small brands, and this is the kind of shit she had to deal with when working with factories in China.)

Plenty of details can get lost, not only in language translation, but going across time zones and having to speak with multiple representatives at the factory.

When a brand produces their goods locally, yes, it may be more expensive, but they have so much more control over the production and quality of the product. It also allows for the smallest details to not be overlooked.

Closeup of Nixburg leather and hardware detail on the Slim Leather Briefcase.

Using LeDaveed as an example, Andy, the founder, can literally travel a short distance to the factory, Rayata, actually watch the product being made, and give direct input to the leatherworkers.

I should also mention here that LeDaveed is a certified B Corporation, which isn’t an easy certification to acquire. Your company has to meet strict social sustainability, environmental, and accountability standards, as well as be publicly transparent with your assessment. (Patagonia is a fellow B-corp, so LeDaveed is in good company.)

So why does caring about craftsmanship matter for you, exactly?

Well, this ensures that the leather briefcase you’re investing in is ethically made by the actual factory who was contracted to make it.

You know the leatherworkers paid a high level of attention to its overall quality, as well as to every single design and production detail, just as you’d expect.

3. The Hardware

Have you ever bought a bag, and after using it a handful of times, the zipper breaks? Or the clasp mechanism on the strap bends or snaps?

The WORST!

By far, the most common point of failure is the zipper.

It may not be obvious right away, but after a few uses, when the zipper breaks and your bag is rendered useless, you’ll realize the shortcomings of a budget zipper.

This, by the way, is the problem with cheap stuff. It breaks after a handful of uses and you have to replace the whole thing because simply repairing the zipper is cost prohibitive. Replacement costs can sometimes be as much as what you paid for the bag!

If a leather bag seems to be a good deal at a low low price, there’s a good chance:

the leather is subpar, and

the zipper is low quality.

Two names you should be familiar with, and you’ll see them on the zippers themselves: YKK & RiRi.

YKK is a Japanese company mostly known for their zippers. The company itself has been around for 80+ years and is the largest zipper manufacturer in the world.

The zippers themselves are fine (they make different lines, not just one kind). They work and get the job done. It’s the perfect mid-range example with a good price-to-value ratio.

RiRi zippers, on the other hand, are crème de la crème. Top of the line. The BEST.

RiRi two-way zippers on the LeDaveed slim leather briefcase.

They are made in Switzerland with an overall build that’s much more solid compared to other zippers. Their teeth are also more substantial when compared to YKKs of a similar size. They have a nice polished finish and the zip mechanism is smoooooth like butta.

Just to give you an idea, the cost difference between using YKK and RiRi can be as much as 10x.

So if it costs a designer $0.20 to use YKK zippers on a bag, it can cost $2+ per bag to use RiRis. That may not sound like much of a difference, but if you’re producing tens, hundreds, or thousands of bags… $2 adds up!

All this to say, using RiRi is a deliberate choice for bag designers (including LeDaveed), and as the customer, you can rest assured you have the best zippers that will always glide open and closed smoothly with a very slim chance of breaking.

Another important piece of hardware on bags? The rings and clasps, the two pieces of (hopefully) metal that hook together so you have a functioning shoulder strap!

Cheaper leather bags sometimes skimp on this piece of hardware and they use plastic. Even the metal clasps and rings cheaper bags use tend to snap or bend over time.

You can imagine how annoying it is if you use, say, a messenger as your daily work bag. If the cheap hardware gives out and renders your strap useless, you can no longer use your bag because there are no handles!

LeDaveed sources their rings and clasps from ABC Morini of Tuscany, Italy, a global leader in bag hardware. They’re made from a durable zinc alloy that won’t rust.

A bonus: the clasps swivel, so no matter how you hook them on, they’ll always be right side up and your strap won’t twist.

4. The Details

Finally, the little details are where a quality leather briefcase really shines, and if you pay close enough attention, the cream will rise to the top.

I obviously haven’t tried all high-end leather briefcases in the world, but since I’ve been spending time with my LeDaveed bag, I’ll point out what I noticed here:

The zippers are an important detail, of course.

The Riri zippers don’t just glide beautifully, they are also two-way – meaning there are two zipper pullers and either one (or both) can be used to open and close the bag. It’s beautiful, and this allows the bag to be easily closed when full without forcing the zipper along its track.

The size of the teeth. The buttery-smooth feeling when opening and closing the bag. The polished metal. All really beautiful and a pleasure to use.

Interior details of the briefcase. Plenty of room and compartments for the necessities while still remaining slim.

The main compartment opens wide (the zippers go almost all the way down each side), allowing easy access to all your belongings without having to dig through and not being able to see inside.

The two rings that the shoulder strap clasps onto are oriented kitty corner to each other (meaning on opposite ends of the bag, one on each side).

This helps with weight balance when you’re late to work and running to your car or trying to catch the train… it minimizes the slippage, prevents excessive twisting, and keeps things steady.

Comfortable strap with solid hardware and full-grain leather sleeve. Luggage strap on back side.

The strap itself is made from a durable nylon and has a padded full-grain leather shoulder sleeve. It’s always a pain when the shoulder strap hurts and it was nice to see one that was actually comfortable to use.

A premium twill lining—made from organic cotton and recycled water bottles, no less—in a stunning deep hue that’s not only an eye catcher, but also much more durable than cheap scratchy nylon or acetate that usually lines cheaper versions of leather bags.

The button closure for the padded laptop compartment is covered in leather… a nice, luxurious touch.

The durable luggage strap on the back side of the bag, to easily secure your briefcase on top of your roller bag when running through the airport.

Beautiful twill lining, leather tag with edition number, and leather-covered button closure.

A long leather key ring attachment so you never lose your keys.

Pockets and zip compartments of various sizes to help keep the little things organized and within easy reach.

Finally, on the inside tag, a laser-etched edition number, a reminder that each bag is one of a kind.

These are the little details that should be in every luxury, high-end leather briefcase, and if you’re in the market for one, now you know what to look out for!

That’s it! A quick guide to buying a great leather briefcase

I hope this article helps you when investing in a high-end, quality leather bag, so you don’t get caught in the trap of spending $1,000+ on a briefcase with a famous brand name on it without ensuring it’s high quality.

So when you’re ready to upgrade your leather bag to one that will last you years, possibly decades, and be a pleasure to use every day, you know exactly what to look for, and what to avoid.

LeDaveed Slim Leather Briefcase Price: $485 Learn More

accessories bags leather goods

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