#maybe its for the best just to learn how to deal with wigs

[raspberrylix]

if I had a nickel for each time I got so intensly interested in a sports shōnen character that all I could think about is cosplaying as them, I'd had two nickels

which isn't a lot, and that wouldn’t cover the cost of outfits and other stuff for said characters' cosplays

[sillysunshinesstuff]

The Absolute Fuckery that was 15x20

Ok there were a lot of reasons why the final was bad. Like so many fucking reasons. Even without the queerbaiting,this is some of the worst writing I’ve ever seen and here’s a few reasons why: 

Destiel

Yes. Big main reason here. They should not have included a confession and have one of the main plots of season 15 be Castiel’s and Dean’s relationship if they didn’t intend to follow through in any way. It shouldn’t have been introduced because the story became disjointed and thematically unsatisfying due to not being addressed in the final in any sort of way. Also, queerbaiting in 2020? Just to get your views up for the last few episodes because they knew Supernatural had become a shit show of bad ratings? Calculated and cruel toward the LGBTQIA+ community who has supported their careers for years. 

Saileen

The absolute least they could have done was see this plot point through but they did not. We do not know if Eileen lives and even if they release information that she did, it’s still bullshit because we don’t get to see any part of her story. She has been reduced to a two dimensional character with no agency or purpose. Another woman just meant to prop up the male lead. Bullshit. 

The Empty

What the fuck was the point of everything about this plot line if it would just be trashed half way through? Why did Cas make that deal with Ruby? Why did she beg to get out? Why did the Empty accuse Jack of making it loud? I really thought they were going somewhere with this one but they chickened out. There was so much potential for this; the angels and demons being awakened, balance being restored in heaven and hell, a big final show down between them and God. There were so many things just dropped when it came to this and that is why season 15 is absolutely frustrating because it feels like we just wasted our time with useless world building that didn’t amount to anything. 

Kevin

I truly did think they’d address this in some sort of way, but the last time we saw Kevin, he was cursed to wander the earth until he became insane because his soul couldn’t ascend to heaven. I was really excited about this because I thought it meant there was going to be some restructuring of the Supernatural universe. The plot would be how the universe Chuck created wasn’t perfect and it had flaws and it was up to Team Free Will to fix some of these gaping holes. They made a point of calling it unfair. It was a wrong that should have been righted in some sort of way in the final. 

Benny

This really isn’t just about Benny, it is about the concept of purgatory. A running theme in the show is that good people don’t deserve what happened to them. We see a lot of “good” monsters throughout the show. Characters who helped, sacrificed, and died for the brothers. At the end, they are sent to monster hell or purgatory. There was an episode this season where Sam and Dean killed a teenage boy who had been turned into a vampire. The teenage boy accepted his death because he knew it was for the best. He was afraid of hurting more people and he accepted that it was unfair. They made sure to emphasize how unjust the rules of this universe were and the emotional toll these universal rules took on the boys. Benny’s demise was spoken about briefly and we see Dean very hurt about his death. But the audience is left with the feeling that this is wrong. That the way the Supernatural universe is structured is wrong. Good people get turned into monsters, die, go to purgatory, and then die the ultimate death there. Is this what’s in store for all the “good monster” characters in the show? Garth? His family? They’re werewolves who fight their monster instincts, do they they still deserve purgatory? Did that teenage boy? A gaping hole that I thought the show was going to address in some way. Maybe offer redemption to those in purgatory or have Jack completely wipe away the concept of monsters in the universe. After all, it was just Chuck’s shitty writing, why couldn’t they wipe it clean and just leave people? “Cure” people of the monster and officially give the boys a way out of hunting? No monsters means no hunting. They’d be truly free. I thought this was direction they were going based off the certain episodes and characters discussed. But nope.

Jack

They reduced Jack’s character to plot food and that’s it. His ending was sloppy because it didn’t take into account any of the growth he’s had over the last three seasons. We predicted his ending from season 12 and that’s bad writing. Just. Awful writing. This character had dreams, motivations, relationships, but that all quite literally dissipated. He was used as a magic button that solved all their problems. 15x19 truly showed the lack of thought put into his character. He should not have been a main character if he didn’t have more influence on the plot than simply being a cop-out for having to write a well thought out solution. He was literally just there to snap his fingers and fix all their problems. 

Dean

Oh yeah, Dean’s ending was a big fuck you to any character growth this character has had over the last 15 seasons. There is a line in his final 15 minute goodbye monologue where he says they always knew it would end this way. Which, exactly. We always thought it would end this way because it’s so goddamn predictable. It’s shitty writing because it doesn’t try to subvert this. It quite literally says that any growth Dean has had meant nothing because it didn’t change his end. Dean Winchester was always meant to die a young, bloody death. Everything he’s done, everything he’s bled and sacrificed for meant nothing. His prediction came true. It makes the audience wonder why they stuck around for this long ass journey if they knew the ending all along. It isn’t about what this character deserves. We have always known that the hero deserves happiness, but the ending should say something about why the story matters. Why did we see Dean struggle all his life about accepting himself? Loving himself? Seeing himself as someone who deserves to live? It was yet another theme and plot point throughout season 15. It’s what Castiel proclaimed to him in his confession and it is what Dean finally acknowledged by telling Chuck that’s not who he was. Dean Winchester is not a cold blooded killer. Dean Winchester deserved to live. It was beautiful character growth. A wonderful end to him. But they said fuck that when his last words were that he always knew it would end this way. That he always knew he wasn’t meant to live a long life. The writers wanted tears and they got them. I was crying, not because it was a beautiful satisfying death or ending, but because they tore apart 15 years of development for my beloved character. Dean Winchester has shown consistently that he wanted more than hunting, he wanted more than the life he got stuck with. But they didn’t follow through. They just decided to make an emotional ending because that was the coolest broest bro masculine thing to do. 

Castiel

Literally everything. Literally fucking everything. Another character that was reduced to plot food. Castiel, the angel who rebelled against heaven and fell for the man he raised from perdition, was not deemed important enough to be in the final. This was the biggest fuck you of all. His story had become so complicated over the last few seasons and his purpose was kinda everywhere but they finally focused it when they had his happiness be Dean. When he said he found his faith when he found a family. When he became a father to someone who would one day save the universe. Castiel lived for the love he learned he was capable of. His ending just made no sense. I guess we’re supposed to assume Jack saved his from the empty but he wasn’t shown. He was not shown greeting Dean, the man he died for over and over again, his happiness. He was not shown being reunited with Jack, his faith. He was not shown enjoying the life he fell from grace for. He was a book with half its pages ripped out. Castiel didn’t get an ending. He got erased. 

Sam

That fucking wig. 

This is just some of my rambling thoughts I wanted to share will all of you. I have been a fan of this show for so many years. I invested so much time and love into something I’m going to look back on with bitter disappointment. Some of shittiest writing I have ever seen. Thanks for reading and add some more reasons. I know a missed a shit ton. 

[meat-pvppet]

Tell me about your OCs

HI OK SO due to no specification im just gonna info dump on a bunch of them that have been stewing around in my brain

ok so firstly ill talk about Dr. Malcom Ransom cuz hes one of the few characters i have for completely original stories that i actually still like

i dont like his current design tho so ill be redesigning him soon

here is he btw

anyway, dr malcom here is a high end robotics engineer who runs his own company RansomWare (very ironic) who also works with body modification and prosthetics

RansomWare is a really well known company and his robots are literally everywhere

kinda like elijah kamski from dbh

as you can probably tell by his current design with his arms and legs being prosthetics, he's been in some freak accidents

or maybe he just did that on purpose as hes always hated how soft and squishy the human body can be

and anyway with his current mostly robotic body its easier to do his work

on the darker side ig, hes completely aware of whatever his robots see and hear

he gets daily reports on all of it and scans through it all to make sure nothing is wrong with his bots conditions

on to fan ocs cuz those are plentiful and i like talking about them

for now im just gonna talk about Chasm and Captain Rivers who are from completely different fandoms

this is Chasm

specifically Chasm-56

hes an exo warlock from destiny 2

mans been through alot as hes one of the first exos made in Braytech since he used to be a scientist there that was researching on how to even go about making humans into exos

of course, he doesnt really remember that

or anything at all about his past honestly due to many many many deaths that lead to his memory deteriorating

he doesnt even remember if he was ever human since as his memory deteriorated, he started acting more robotic than human

fun fact: most of his deaths were from the crucible or from "accidents" within fireteam related missions

moving on from that we have Captain John Rivers, who is my latest character that i made out of my own mental illness

if my recent posts dont make it obvious, hes an oc for the 1988 rendition of treasure island

hes a naval captain stationed in bristol

he kinda works like a priveteer tbh as he usually patrols bristol and look for pirates on their way for treasure so his crew can "intercept" that

he also used to be a doctor and kinda works as his own ship doctor as well

most of his voyages usually end in gathering up medicinal herbs and learning something new about the medical field tbh

when it comes to his own health, hes rather conscious about others checking on him or trying to treat him

will usually just deal with whatevers going on with him in silence and treat himself

if hes able to of course

this is mostly cuz he cant be too sure about those around him as he has a bit of a target on his back so its best to take care of it himself instead of risking the possibility of someone making it worse

he also has this weird thing going on where he knows about

literally everything going down on his ship

fun fact: he doesnt wear a powdered wig

he just oils his hair and powders it to dye it white as a powdered wig would be rather bothersome for him to deal with

[kuekyuuq]

Gloria, Jet-lags and Imps [6x11]

Let’s jump right in:

Kinda love how Kara lamp-shaded addressed the fact she didn't tell the gang about her adventures in the PZ. She’s not wrong, tho.

...what do I want to say about Mxy using what's basically a well-known gay-anthem to tell his tale? I mean, it didn’t lead anywhere. The original song is about freeing oneself, liberation, stepping out of a (gone bad) relationship and moving on, stronger for it - empowerment. The only connection I could make, is that originally it was Nyxly’s aim to just do that (freeing herself and her kind from an oppressor), but in the way Mxy performed it, that part of the parallel was long over before he even reached the chorus. It’s also a popular Karaoke song, tho, so... he chose it because it’s catchy? I’ll try not to overthink it for now. At least, the Superfriend’s reactions were fun.

Nia exiting the elevator, "And what's this Old Stone?" I love it when ppl enter a room / situation and pick up on words that they couldn't have possibly heard. I think cinema sins ding such... Are we to assume, she dreamed Mxy's rendition of ‘I will survive’? Or is the elevator not sound-proof at all? (If it’s the latter, Nia later apparently telling Brainy “in private” between scenes / during the elevator ride about her Nyxly adventures, was a silly thing to do.)

So, "Jared" created the ring Old Stone to rule them all, it got shattered into the Paragons totems? Nyxly needs the totems and to get them she needs a crystal which also belonged to "Jared" - who happens to be Mxy's ancestor, which is why she needs Mxy / his blood, too.

I have one important and incredibly relevant question here, tho... 

With the introduced imps and their names... Why’s dude named Jared of all things?!

Really, did I mishear that? If so, I’ll leave it as is and never edit, bc that would be hilarious in its own right 😋

...

Not sure what to make about Supergirl paraphrasing a Dirty Dancing quote.  "Nobody puts Mxy into a power crystal on my watch."  ...is he Baby now? (Seriously, though: Which of the writers thought that was a fitting quote to use in that particular context?)

...now, is the exposition section of the episode over yet?

Sensitive Brainy sensed something was up with Nia. He can relate... Nia doubting Kara would understand, too, is ridiculous. But I get it... insecurities and all. But, I mean, just 5 minutes later Kara announces she wants to save Nyxly despite her wrongdoings. And yet Nia still remains convinced, Kara wouldn’t forgive her own personal mini-me... After having witnessed Kara forgiving Lena for a whole season of the writers being stupid messing up to the nth degree. But I digress, Lena’s Lena.

...how old is Nia meant to be again? Just asking out of completely unrelated curiosity.

F*ck. They really went with NewFoundland...

Imma assume it was an executive choice after realizing they couldn’t find enough actors and actresses with a convincing Irish accent... maybe. Again, no offense to Newfoundland! Just... we got the insinuations of Ireland, not Newfoundland... And truthfully, when I think of magic, Ireland is an easy association. Whereas I only due to this whole debacle learned Newfoundland has Irish ancestry. So, okay, the show forced me to learn something new... I give ‘em that.

An easy journey, she said.

Lena's been off-screen for two whole episodes, Kara announcing at the beginning of ‘Dreamweaver’ [6x09] Lena being “back east” (at least insinuating Lena’s left the west-coast already), which span over at least one full day (feat. a scene at night), and ‘I still rise’ [6x10] at least another a whole day (the whole Nia’s mom back for a day deal). And, now, after at least 48 hours she barely just arrived.

Lemme check how long a regular plane would need to fly from California to NFL......... ... .. .. So... approx. 10 hours with at least one layover. 

Yeah, using a private jet made it easier, but apparently also much, much slower...

Or, Lena randomly went some other places / did some sight-seeing in NFL before she decided to finally visit her mother’s hometown...  [Either that or the timelines don’t match up and Lena’s scenes are flashbacks of sorts.]

Optimistic and relaxed Lena is a sight to behold. I rewound 3 times, just to enjoy it for as long as possible. We all knew it was going to be short-lived... 

Let’s check off a few more items...

OMG, Kara hiding behind Alex at the mere sight of the PZ-projector broke my heart!  😢

"Elisabeth Walsh" is the new 'the one you shall not name'. ...poor Lena. 😭

Oh, so Mxy wants to be Patrick Swayze instead of Baby... gotcha.

...is this going anywhere?

KITTY!!! Okay, this must be the best opponent in the history of CWSG. 

Despite the horrible CGI, SG using her heat-vision to project a laser-beam to distract the cat had me in (happy-) tears! 🤣

Gotta love the civilians of National City quickly returning to business as usual once the giant cat is gone. Even the police officers looked rather chill...

Nyxly did look fabulous this episode ^^ 

Andrea being Lena's rock is both great and annoying. I can't fault Andrea. It's just, that we still have to see an on-screen interaction between Lena and Kara and that bugs the heck out of me. I can’t help it. I’m sorry, Andrea.

Nia: "...is my fault." Kara: "Nu, is MY fault!" J'onn: "Stop fighting, kids!" Space-dad has spoken.

Mxy used an LuthorCorp copy machine... and of cos it's faulty. It's not an L-Corp product.

Kara forgiving Nia came as a surprise to her... Oooookay. I mean, the show has been writing Kara a bit inconsistently the past two seasons... so, yeah, maybe being unsure which of her traits apply this week was not such a far stretch...

Maybe it's the hair, but I wished, Florence was played by Alex Kingston.

So, not-Alex-Kingston shows Lena herself with a funny wig and tells her how her mother was still watching her...

If it wasn't for Katie's acting skills (I love her.) I would have already hit my head against the wall repeatedly. Something about these scenes had me constantly cringe and I made it through 5.5 seasons of this show already... Can’t quite put my finger on it, but it was highly distracting from the story that explained Lena’s mom was special even to another witch, where there was domestic abuse, and an accidental murder. Y’know, important stuff, deep-cutting stuff! 

At least, poor widddle Lena got some closure there. Elisabeth was a good cookie. And filled with magic. And Lena’s gotta have that ‘spark’, too... 

....so... Lena’s gonna stay in NFL for how much longer, to train becoming a witch?  Please, just hand her a how-to manual and send her back home, to figure it out on her own, please... (Yes, that would be horrible decision-making, but I need her back with the team!)

On to the finish line: 

So... Mxy IS Nyxly's brother? Wait, that doesn’t sound right... then Nyxly would have the same blood... Did I miss something? Can someone explain, please? Or is he her ex, and that’s where his rendition of “I will survive” makes sense?

Hnn... I can't help, but think Kara's speech for Nyxly was 85% based on her experiences with Lena in s05.

Awww... he said "stronger together"... Mxy... I hope, you'll be okay!

Lena believes in magic now. And I absolutely love how Lena wants to science magic XD

...but apparently magic isn’t science that hasn’t been explained yet, but parallel... powers? concepts? ether strings?

Nyxly has a loyal henchman now. Which was a bit heavy-handed. Took way too much of screen-time, so it better leads to something interesting.

And Kara is on a warpath now. Wooooot! Girl’s got enough.

...what else? 

Did I miss a third Patrick Swayze hint / quote / mention?  I learned, these things come in threes... Y’know, basic writing rules... 

I guess, for once the episode title was meant to be taken literally, Mxy popping up between characters, to try and help. (I need in-show footage, of Mxy sneaking up on ppl, without his powers, on all fours / crouched, just to get the desired effect.) I mean, I’ve never really watched Malcom, but wasn’t he like what Mxy usually is? A bit of a trouble-maker, prankster, chaos-ensuing wherever he goes? ...well, in that case, the episode title didn’t hold up, as Mxy’s scenes were not fun or really goofy. Yes, there was some superficial humor, but just to serve Mxy dealing with not being able to use his powers, which in turn was only barely scratched at (although it turned out to be his final character development crisis, appreciating not having powers and - in turn - facing consequences for once). Again, a whole lot going on in the episode, so a lot of that may have ended up on the cutting-room floor.

...where’s Kelly? Secretly adopting a kid, maybe?

...Kara’s still a reporter, right? I mean, whenever it serves the immediate plot, yes? ...Not even a throw-away line, that she has to pop up at CatCo for appearances sake? Since Andrea is already upset with her AND looking into her friends’ identities? At least, Kara should take a peek to make sure Andrea hasn’t uncovered anything yet... No?

Well, that’s all I’ve got for now. Kue out.

[jamespotterthefirst]

October 31st (Ethan x f!MC)

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Lilac Allende) Word count: 2.3K Warning: Language Premise: Ethan Ramsey doesn’t do costumes... except maybe for her.

A/N: A pointless Halloween fic

A/N2: For Day 28 of @choicesoctoberchallenge2020​. The prompt is “Costume”.

1. Intern Year

Ethan resisted a groan as an atrocious, remixed version of The Monster Mash blared through the speakers, eliciting a cheer from the drunken crowd. Characteristically, he pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes shut as he wondered why he decided to venture out on the worst night of the year. Perhaps he needed a drink that badly after another full day of dealing with interns.  

“Time for a refill, Dr. Ramsey,” a voice said over the music.

Ethan hated the way his pulse quickened at the sound.

Doing his best to appear collected, he shot what he hoped was an impassive glance at the figure now standing beside him at the bar, the floral notes of her perfume already caressing his every sense. One single glance at her, however, was enough to shoot all efforts of appearing aloof straight to hell.

She leaned casually against the bar, clad in a sensuous, forest green number that molded to every curve of her body and ensnared every bit of his attention. Dark green leaves embellished every surface of the sinfully short dress, tapering off into delicate, curly vines along her exposed shoulders and arms. Her glossy, dark hair was hidden away beneath a cascade of long, auburn waves that made her eyes appear greener still.

“Wig,” she explained with a small laugh when Ethan continued to stare.

At last, he pried his eyes away, feeling his neck flare with heat. Unsure of what else to say, he feigned indifference as he asked, “And what are you supposed to be, Rookie?”

Aside from fucking irresistible, his idiotic, addled brain added on impulse.

He could see Lilac's jaw go slack in a way that was almost comical but somehow managed to be entirely too adorable.

“You're kidding, right? I'm Poison Ivy.”

Ethan had known that. He had been, after all, a comic-book obsessed teenager once. If someone had told him back then that he would one day witness the sexiest version of the character imaginable, his head would have caved in on itself. Adult Ethan, it seemed, was no better because his eyes fell on her once again, unable to resist her magnetic pull.

Lilac, however, was too busy looking at the dancefloor. She nodded toward her group of friends, dancing, laughing, and contributing to half of the noise in the bar.

“We were all supposed to be Batman villains but Bryce and Landry got lazy. They put on a Thing One and Thing Two shirt and called it a day.”

Ethan followed her gaze to where the young surgeon had peeled off the aforementioned shirt, relishing in the attention that decision was earning him from a gaggle of girls nearby. The other one Lilac had mentioned stood awkwardly off to the side, too pale and and gangly to ever be Lahela's counterpart.

“More like tweedle dee and tweedle dum,” he muttered.

Lilac met his eyes at once and to his delight, she laughed, the sound sending his stomach into a dive. It was already maddening enough that the sound was entirely too attractive, but Ethan felt a swelling sense of satisfaction at being the one to inspire it.

When she sobered up, her green eyes remained on his, humor melting into a pensive expression. She continued to watch him with the conviction of someone discovering a new secret. He would have given anything to know what she was thinking at that very moment.

“What about you?”

“Hmm?”

He had been distracted by her full lips and by how fitting the damn costume was. Much like every weak-willed man in his comic books, Ethan would have risked absolutely everything to kiss her.

“No costume?”

“God no,” he spat, inspiring another little laugh.

“Never say never,” she told him in a sing-song voice.

“I can confidently say never.”

______________

2. A year later.

They paused outside the door to Bryce's apartment, the muffled sound of music and laughter making its way to the hall. Ethan briefly wondered if his neighbors would complain enough to derail the whole affair. It would mean he could go back to the peace and quiet of his home.

As if reading his mind, Lilac turned to face him, a knowing smile pulling at her lips. God, he loved it when she looked at him that way.

“You're not getting out of this,” she reminded him, her fingers moving to play with the orange Ascot tie she had forced him to wear.

“We're well into November. There was no need to dress up.”

As usual, Lilac rolled her eyes lovingly.

“It's hardly dressing up when all we did was put you in a white sweater you already owned, babe,” she explained for the hundredth time. Ethan tried to scowl at the pet name, but he was beginning to enjoy it. Instead, he relaxed into her touch, trying his best not to follow the lazy path her fingers made on his chest. “You wouldn't even wear a wig, so it doesn't count. As for the party being this late, it was the only night we all had off. And we'll be damned before we let a whole year pass us by without dressing up.”

She finalized that sentence with a searing kiss to his neck. His hands banded around her waist reflexively, pulling her soft body flush against his. In their time together, he had avidly learned the many ways to drive her just as crazy.

“You and I can still dress up,” he murmured darkly against her ear.

Lilac shivered, to his immense delight.

“Are you suggesting role play, Dr. Ramsey,” she returned in a poor attempt to mock him.

The formal mode of address, uttered in a low, breathy voice against his ear, made his blood buzz for her. More maddening still was the short, purple dress she wore along with the auburn wig that made a reappearance after a year.

“Got a thing for redheads?” she asked, correctly guessing the contents of his thoughts yet again.

Ethan smiled crookedly down at her. “I got a thing for you.”

The words rang with sincerity and an overwhelming sense of relief at finally being able to say them out loud, without any fear of consequences.

Lilac, for her part, looked as though she wanted to shove him against the wall and kiss him fiercely, but the erupting cheers from inside the apartment interrupted their exchange from advancing further.

“Mystery Gang in the house!” Bryce, dressed as a pirate, hollered as soon as they walked through the door. Everyone else cheered and hooted, the sounds no doubt fueled by the contents of the many red solo cups around the room.

“You guys look adorable!” Sienna commended over the music, greeting each of them with a friendly hug. “Fred and Daphne makes so much sense for you two.”

“Because we solve mysteries for a living?” Ethan asked, voice deadpan.

“Nah, because those two were a thing long before any of the others found out,” Elijah said as he joined them.

Lilac laughed out loud, the sound teetering on the edges of relief. She had been nervous, just like Ethan had been, that her friends would be awkward around them now that they knew of their relationship.

By the way they easily joked with him and included him in conversation throughout the night, their concerns had been for nothing. They even helped Lilac pressure him into dancing a modern pop song he had heard many times on the radio. Not that he needed much convincing when he would gladly do anything just to see her radiant smile directed his way.

By midnight, the party had dwindled down to drinks and board games. There was a raucous consensus to play Clue, which caused Bryce to roll his eyes.

“Of course the diagnosticians want to play the nerdiest game.”

Ethan rolled up his sleeves in preparation, which earned him a coy and borderline lustful look from Lilac. “You're just bitter that we're playing something other than beer pong, scalpel jockey.”

Elijah let out a surprised yet impressed laugh, wasting no time to high five Ethan. Even Bryce couldn't help but grin.

“Trash talk all you want, old man. I'm more than just a pretty face.”

When it came to Clue, however, Bryce had no chance against Ethan, who analyzed every player with sharp precision and correctly guessed the murderer, the room, and the weapon. Several games later, Ethan easily proved victorious while Bryce only laughed graciously, raising his palms up in defeat.

When even the board games ebbed into quiet conversation at the end of the night, Lilac sat on his lap, circling her arms around his neck. They sat like that for minutes, enjoying the nuances of being that annoyingly cute couple at a party.

“Thank you for dressing up for me,” she said as she pressed a chaste kiss on his cheek.

Even that sent his heart into a tumultuous rhythm.

“Only for you,” he murmured. “And as a one time deal only.”

______________

3. Many years later.

Ethan plastered the fur-lined hat on his head, a perfect complement to the fur-lined everything else he was currently wearing. Luckily, fall time in Boston was cold enough that the ensemble would prove to be practical as they walked the streets. He stepped into the hallway, not bothering to check his reflection. There was no doubt he looked utterly ridiculous.

But he didn't care.

He would do anything for her and for the unbridled joy in the eyes he loved so much.

Lilac was already waiting when he entered the living room, her smile impossibly wide as she glanced him over. It was the exact reaction he expected and he couldn't help but grin too.

“Is this how it's supposed to look?”

“Yes!” she all but shrieked in delight. The magenta cape of her costume fluttered behind her as she rushed to him, her body crashing against him in an overjoyed hug. “I love you so much for doing this.”

The words still sent a thrill through Ethan, as strong as the first time he heard them. Heart thundering wildly at his chest, he leaned down to kiss her, just because he could.

When they pulled apart, she watched him through half-closed eyes, her teeth catching her lush bottom lip. All Ethan wanted to do was carry her to their bed and tear off the costumes they had spent so much time perfecting. Inwardly, he marveled at how everything had changed over the years, but there were some things that remained the same.

Instead, he captured one of her plaits between his fingers. “These people we're dressed up as,” he started, gently trailing the ridges of her braid. Lilac watched him, captivated by his every word. “Do they end up together?”

She allowed a laugh. “We've watched nothing but that movie for a week straight.”

Ethan shrugged, allowing a sheepish grin. “I tune it out thirty minutes in every time.”

More laughter and Ethan decided then that he could hear the sound forever and not get enough.

“Don't let Dolores hear you say that,” she warned with one final kiss. She moved to break apart from their embrace but he stopped her.

His wife looked at him expectantly and Ethan frowned, suddenly doubtful.

“Do you think she'll like it?”

Lilac's curious expression melted into a fond smile. “She's going to love it,” she assured him, leaning in to press a sweet kiss on the tip of his nose.

Not surprisingly, Lilac had been right because moments later, a delighted shriek of laughter announced the arrival of their toddler daughter. Her godmother trailed close behind, crouching over in an attempt to fix the blue tulle that trailed along the floor as the child ran towards her father. It was futile and Sienna sighed in defeat, shooting Lilac an amused look.

“It's pointless,” Sienna laughed. “There's no stopping little Lolly when she sees her father.”

Proving that point, his daughter flung herself into Ethan's arms and cried, “Dada!”

“Hello, princess,” Ethan laughed as she pressed her version of a kiss on his cheek.

“I'm Elsa,” Dolores corrected sagely.

“Yes, babe,” Lilac added with mock seriousness. “You are in the presence of Queen Elsa of Arendelle. Have some respect.”

“My apologies, Your Majesty,” Ethan said to his daughter with such formality that the child laughed. Sienna watched the exchange with a watery smile, failing to repress a squeal.

A loud roar coming from the threshold informed them that their son had joined them. Sienna laughed as Jonah ran around the room, the antlers of his costume bobbing wildly as he moved. At last, he stopped right before Lilac, who picked him up in her arms.

“I didn't know reindeers roared,” she laughed, swaying her son in her arms.

Jonah roared again to demonstrate that reindeers could indeed roar formidably, at least when impersonated by a five year old. “I'm a Halloween reindeer,” he explained. “He roars to be spooky, but just for today.”

The adults laughed. “You're a good big brother, Jonah,” Lilac informed him with a kiss, closely followed by a tickle.

“Lolly wanted to be Elsa so bad so I wanted to help,” their son said through a giggle, as though it was the most obvious explanation in the world.

It was for Ethan.

As Sienna ushered them together for a picture, Ethan looked at his family, everyone smiling radiantly and far more beautifully than the moon itself. Little Dolores clung to him, laughing and looking happier than he had ever seen her.

His wife caught his eye and shot him a knowing but proud smile. Ethan knew she was remembering the cynical, jaded version of himself who had confidently proclaimed he would never do this.

Ethan had never been happier to be proven wrong.

______________

A/N: I HC they name their daughter after Dolores and nickname her Lola/ Lolly

Once upon a time I used to write for another pairing who canonically dies on Halloween. You have no idea how happy I am to write for a pairing who’s alive and well lol.

Thank you so much for reading! I love these time hop fics so much. I wrote another one for Ethan x MC a long time ago that I will publish on my birthday in November :)

Finally, Chapter 10 of the Pictagram is coming soon. It might be two parts... Yikes. Thanks for waiting so patiently for it! Life has been crazy over here

_______________

tags: @openheart12​​​ , @takeharryandgo​​​ , @trappedinfanfiction​​​, @aestheticartsx​​​, @aworldoffandoms​​​, @paulfwesley​​​, @myusualnerdyself​​​,  @rookie-ramsey​​​, @ohchoices​​​, @colossalpainintheass​​​, @enmchoices​​​, @i-bloody-love-drake-walker​​​, @choicesfanaf​​​, @openheartthot​​​, @octobereighth​​​, @nazarihoe​​​, @utterlyinevitable​​​, @kites-in-our-skies​​​, @maurine07​​​, @schnitzelbutterfingers​​​, @doilooklikeiknow​​​, @snesdudes​​​, @kingliam2019​​​, @perriewinklenerdie​​​, @cinnamonspongecake​​​, @choicesstan1​​​, @queencarb​​​, @ethxnrxmsey​​​, @missmiimiie​​​, @jens-diamondchoices​​​, @adamsdumortain​​​, @apphia12​​​, @kalogh​​​, @lucy-268​​​, @binny1985​​​, @queenbirbs​​​, @honeyandsunfl0wers​​​, @newcolonies​​​, @lilyvalentine​​​, @rigatonireid​​​, @interobanginyourmom​​​, @parkerattano​​​, @custaroonie​​​​, @nikki-2406​​​​, @lilypills​​​​, @chasingrobbie​​​​, @nooruleman​​​​,  @lonely-mxxnlight​​​​, @ruinedbypixels​​​​, @shadynaturehilariouscookie​​​​, @tsrookie​​​​, @mvalentine​​​​, @professorkingslay​​​​, @drakewalkerfantasy​​​​, @casey-v​​​​, @helloblueeyedcat​​​​, @mysticaurathings​​​​, @blossomanarchy​​​​, @thegreentwin​​​​, @togetherwearerapture​​​​, @rookieoh​​​​, @ramseysno1rookie​​​​, @rookiemarsswiftie​​​​, @natashajaniphil​​​​, @mysticalgalaxysstuff​​​​, @hatescapsicum​​​​, @choices-lurker​​​​, @kiara-36​​​​, @junehiratas​​​​, @danijimenezv​​​​, @macy-ray85​​​​, @adrex04​​​​, @canigetanawwjunk​​​​, @sanchita012​​​​, @overwhelminglyaquarius​​​​ , @scorpiochick8​​​​, @skylarklyon​​​​, @starrystarrytrouble​​​​, @mercury84choices​​​​, @drariellevalentine​​​​, @ethanrcmsey​​​​, @lion-ess24, @aarisa-frost​​​​, @kaavyaethanramsey​​​​ , @udishaman​​​​, @a-crepusculo​​, @quacksonlover​​

[tabloidtoc]

National Enquirer, May 10

You can buy a brand new copy of this issue without the mailing label for your very own at my eBay store: https://www.ebay.com/str/bradentonbooks

Cover: Prince Charles orders Prince Harry to divorce Meghan Markle

Page 2: In a sniveling fit of pique, scorned Alex Rodriguez has trashed former fiancee Jennifer Lopez as a dud in the sack and A-Rod is moaning J. Lo drove him to chase excitement elsewhere because she couldn't keep up with his sex demands and Alex is defending his piggish behavior by saying Jennifer pushed him into it and their spark died long ago, and they were barely intimate for the best part of a year before calling it quits -- Jennifer would pack on the PDA for the cameras, but the moment they were in private she pushed Alex away and even made him sleep in a separate bedroom and he says it was like dating an ice queen and pities the next guy she ropes in -- Jennifer thought she and Alex had a pretty good connection during their happier times, even though she'd likely admit things really petered out toward the end when the lack of trust set in so it will sting her that he's trashing her skills in the bedroom

Page 4: Robert De Niro is getting pummeled by estranged wife Grace Hightower's free-spending ways and his bitter spouse is intent on taking the aging legend for every penny as their nasty divorce drags on -- Robert's lawyers argued in court that greedy Grace's extravagant lifestyle has forced him to take every job he can snag, causing the 77-year-old to toil 12-hour days, six days a week and what's more, Robert's Nobu restaurant business has hit hard times and his tax bills to Uncle Sam are piling up but he is reportedly worth a whopping $500 million, and Grace's lawyers have countered he's pleading poverty but regularly charters a helicopter to Sunday brunch, a charge denied by his lawyer and her attorneys also claimed Robert frequently flies to Florida on a private plane and spends millions and millions on himself -- meanwhile, Robert's relationship with 66-year-old Grace has taken such a nosedive, she's spending frivolously just to punish him and she's walked into a shop a spent $80,000 in 15 minutes and she will go on vacations to the Bahamas, stop at the duty-free store and pay four times the price of what things usually cost and she has more wigs than Imelda Marcos had shoes -- Robert met Grace in 1987 when she was working as a waitress in London, and they married a decade later but they split in 1999 then reconciled and renewed their vows in 2004 before finally calling it quits in 2018 -- De Niro has forked over as much as $375,000 a month to his spouse since their split and the financially squeezed star may resort to doing product endorsements just to pay the bills -- under the terms of the couple's prenuptial agreement, once Grace and Robert are finally divorced, she's allowed a $6 million home, $500,000 cash and $1 million in annual alimony, but her lawyers have argued she should be entitled to half his fortune

* Nearly two years after Hayden Panettiere accused ex-boyfriend Brian Hickerson of brutally attacking her, the bully was sentenced to serve time in Los Angeles after he pleaded no contest to two felony counts of injuring a spouse or girlfriend, and the remaining charges of battery, assault with a deadly weapon and dissuading a witness were dismissed and he was hit with 45 days behind bars and four years' probation but he'll get credit for 12 days served -- he's done his own damage and will pay a permanent price for it -- meanwhile, Hayden is now in a great place in her life

Page 5: Danny Masterson has dragged Leah Remini into his rape case, claiming her docuseries Scientology and Its Aftermath influenced his alleged victims to file police reports against him -- former Scientologist Leah offered the women inducements and benefits to report Masterson to cops, his lawyer Tom Mesereau told a L.A. criminal court -- Danny, a 45-year-old Scientologist and That '70s Show alum, has pleaded not guilty to charges he raped three women in separate incidents between 2001 and 2003 -- Mesereau also called an LAPD detective who worked a second job as security for Leah a double agent and questioned how a 2000 police report made by one alleged victim went missing, but Deputy District Attorney Reinhold Mueller dismissed Mesereau's double agent claims as hyperbole and said the defense got a copy of the missing report and Mesereau's request to push back Masterson's preliminary hearing, a Scientology delay tactic, was also rejected

Page 6: Kelly Osbourne's shocking relapse after nearly four years of sobriety occurred amid intense family drama for the former reality show clan -- Kelly's mom Sharon Osbourne's exit from The Talk amid racism claims by co-hosts and dad Ozzy Osbourne's struggles with crippling Parkinson's disease and excruciating nerve damage frazzled her and she confessed she relapsed and she's not proud of it, but she's back on track and she's truly learned that it is just one day at a time -- her parents' problems weighed heavily on 36-year-old Kelly, who first struggled with substance abuse in her teens, and there's no doubt her mother's scandalous exit from The Talk played a big role as Kelly was crushed over the beating Sharon took in the press and retired rocker Ozzy's relentless suffering also pains Kelly and throw in brother Jack Osbourne's progressive MS and she's dealing with a lot

Page 7: Distressed Dolly Parton is ready to stage an all-star country intervention for her party-hearty goddaughter Miley Cyrus after recent photos of the troubled wild child swilling booze triggered alarm bells for Miley's family members and inner circle, including Dolly who has acted as a mentor to Miley and Dolly has always fussed over Miley like a mother hen and she's worried Miley is going to throw away her career and her life -- 75-year-old Dolly is so concerned about 28-year-old Miley that she's talked about reaching out to other country icons to arrange a meeting with the former Disney child star and help her consider her options and Dolly wants to enlist women she knows Miley truly admires, like Reba McEntire and Loretta Lynn, and organize a sit-down and Dolly knows if Miley hears from legends who achieved so much in the music industry, she's likely to understand any mistakes she makes now can affect her life forever -- every time Dolly thinks Miley's got her demons beat, she hears of another slip-up, so she feels like it's time to take action and Miley's parents Billy Ray Cyrus and Tish Cyrus, who are good pals of Dolly, are thankful for Dolly's concern because Billy Ray and Tish have tried talking to Miley, but she tunes her parents out and they agree their daughter is more likely to respond to Dolly and her legendary friends

* Angelina Jolie blamed her ugly divorce with Brad Pitt for dashing her dreams to direct movies -- she and Brad split in 2016 and the two have been locked in a mudslinging legal slugfest ever since -- Angie says she love directing, but she had a change in her family situation that's not made it possible for her to direct for a few years and Angie, who last directed 2017's First They Killed My Father, said she needed to just do shorter jobs and be home more, so she kind of went back to doing a few acting jobs

Page 8: Shamed sleaze Matt Lauer has been snubbed by his old Hamptons crowd, and it's got the scandal-scarred scumbag down in the dumps and the super-rich who live and socialize in the fashionable high-society playground won't forget how Lauer was axed from his longtime Today gig over bombshell allegations of sexual misconduct and Matt's done everything he can to regain his place in the community, from hanging out in the village to splashing money around and tipping too well and he's convinced he can make a comeback, but snooty residents turn their noses up and it must be difficult for him because it's tough for anyone who wants to get in with this crowd but for Matt it's become almost impossible -- with scandal raging, Lauer's marriage to Annette Roque collapsed and they divorced in 2019 after a two-year separation and they share three children, daughter Romy, 17, and sons Jack, 19, and Thijs, 14, and Lauer has denied any wrongdoing and insisted his reputation was wrongly smeared in a media feeding frenzy intent on destroying him -- after his divorce, Matt hooked up with public relations guru Shamin Abas and the two have reportedly been pals for years and were first linked when Matt took her to his New Zealand home in December 2019 and Matt's friends are saying he's talking about a big Hamptons wedding when he and Shamin make things official, but it would be a failure if no one attends but Shamin has a lot of connections, so maybe that will help in time -- Matt's obviously an embarrassment in the area and he's not getting much joy at the swanky country clubs he likes to frequent either and it's clear to see that doors from many A-listers, like Martha Stewart, Gwyneth Paltrow and Scarlett Johansson, who have had ample time to put out the welcome mat and Matt won't be getting invites to their homes anytime soon

Page 9: Kourtney Kardashian is packing on the PDA with new boyfriend Travis Barker and insiders said her desperate bid to compete with her sisters has gone way over the top and ever since Kourtney and Travis first went public, the oldest Kardashian sibling has made it a point to post the couple's passionate romps in racy pics and videos on social media and people in her circle feel it's beneath her to advertise her personal moments like this and even her family thinks it's unflattering, but she's getting a kick out of showing off her wild side and Kourtney has been desperate to raise her profile to keep up with internet-savvy sisters Kim Kardashian and Khloe Kardashian, who promote themselves by posting incessantly and Kourtney was always more low-key, but now she thinks she needs to be outrageous to keep up but her friends and family say it's not who she is, and she should put a lid on the steam

Page 10: Hot Shots -- Alison Brie helped tend to newly planted trees in Malibu, Chris Rock tuned out the world with a set of headphones while walking in Miami, Dylan McDermott plays a bad guy on Law & Order: Organized Crime, Dancing with the Stars pro Sasha Farber buzzed around L.A. on an electric bike, Margot Robbie skating in Malibu

Page 11: Paula Abdul is filling in for Luke Bryan on American Idol, but she's gone crazy with fillers and Botox to the point where she can barely move her face -- 58-year-old Paula, one of the show's original three judges who left before the ninth season, jumped at the chance after Luke tested positive for COVID-19, but when she showed up for work, she was far from the familiar face everyone was expecting and she must have given her co-hosts quite a fright because her face is blown up like a balloon and her forehead has no lines and her eyes have no crinkling at the corners that you would normally expect on someone who's pushing 60 and people are saying she never did know when to quit and this time she's really gone overboard and it was a shame, since it's no secret she'd love to make a comeback on the show and she's still in fantastic shape, but it's kind of sad to see her fall victim to these Hollywood trends as she's a lovely lady and should leave well enough alone -- her heart-shaped face may predispose her to a slower aging process than longer facial shapes

* Jessica Simpson has plumped up her kisser, but one expert thinks her new inflated piehole would look better on a fish because she's gone overboard with filler in her lips and the end result is an unnatural and very unattractive look because the M-shape of the middle upper lip is distorted, creating a fishy appearance she surely wasn't going for

Page 12: Straight Shuter gossip column -- James Bond will be gunning for Top Gun: Maverick on movie screens in November, and Tom Cruise isn't happy -- moving the Top Gun sequel from July to November has left Tom shaken and stirred and no one is more competitive than Tom and going up against the new 007 film starring Daniel Craig has put the fear of God into him because Tom likes to win and coming in second is not an option so get ready for an all-out box office war between Tom and James Bond and this is going to get ugly

* Just out-of-the-closet Colton Underwood has been invited back to his old stomping grounds on The Bachelor but he won't be the new Gay Bachelor, but there's been talk about him returning to help contestants through the process -- he'll literally play the gay best friend who helps the straight contestants find love

* Bridgerton stud Rege-Jean Page won't be back for season 2, but crossing the show's powerful producer Shonda Rhimes was not smart because Shonda is not used to being told no, especially by an actor no one had heard of before she cast him -- Rege-Jean was naive about the business of Hollywood, but he's learning fast but saying no to Shonda is a move he's now thinking twice about

* Irina Shayk had her hands full during a photo shoot in NYC (picture)

Page 13: Racy reality series The Bachelorette has so disgusted some American viewers, they've flooded the Federal Communications Commission (FCC) with complaints and calls to yank the sexy show from TV -- according to documents, a season 16 dodgeball game that turned into a stripping competition among Clare Crawley's suitors in 2020 especially fueled viewers' rage, even though the aired footage was blacked out to protect the men's privates but the game was not over until one team was fully naked

* Matchmaker Olivia Newton-John is itching to play Cupid for longtime pal John Travolta as her Grease co-star approaches the one-year anniversary of the death of his beloved wife Kelly Preston and Oliva would like nothing more than to bring some joy and happiness back into John's life and she has lots of beautiful, fun-filled lady friends from the U.S. and Australia she could set John up with but he may not be ready for a new romance, and John himself has admitted mourning is individual and experiencing your own journey is what can lead to healing and John still hasn't gotten over Kelly's death yet and it feels like yesterday to him

Page 15: Tiger Woods' former mistress Jamie Jungers is dishing about her doomed 18-month affair with the then-married golf great and the fallout that triggered her harrowing spiral into drug addiction in a juicy new tell-all -- Jamie, 38, said she met the skirt-chasing links legend, now recovering from a shattered right leg after a February car crash, during her stint as a party host in Sin City and she claimed they kicked off a fling behind the back of his wife Elin Nordegren and Tiger would often fly his new squeeze to his L.A. home for their secret trysts and Jamie said she even once signed for a package at the newlyweds' pad that turned out to be wedding photos of Tiger and his bride, who divorced the sex addict in 2010 -- but it was not too hard for Jamie to convince herself the couple's marriage was on the skids because Elin spent so much time in her native Sweden and Jamie confessed she loved Tiger in a way but knew they'd never have a real relationship -- things came to a screeching halt when the tightwad millionaire refused to help her find new digs and Jamie kept her lips zipped about the hush-hush affair for three years, but she claimed her ensuing media appearances, in which she was dubbed Mistress No. 4, left her feeling humiliated, triggering a $500 a day pill habit that led to her getting hooked on heroin and meth and homeless Jamie endured failed stints in rehab, went through detox while behind bars and hit rock bottom before getting clean in 2018 and now sober, she said of her former flame she's not in love with him anymore

Page 16: Picky parents Alec Baldwin and Hilaria Baldwin have found one thing that's even tougher than raising six kids: finding the right nanny -- Alec and Hilaria have high expectations for prospective carers and exacting demands when it comes to their duties and Hilaria is so involved with the kids, so she's especially vigilant and has the final say when it comes to hiring and firing though Alec definitely has his checklist on what makes a good nanny and try as they might, they realize they can't do everything themselves and need help, lots of it, but it's been a logistical nightmare getting a team of nannies organized as Alec and Hilaria are tough on them and firm and long hours and multitasking are a must and of course they must be quick on their toes and know what to do with a cranky set of children without losing their cool and a good disposition, a clean and tidy appearance and the ability to step in last minute when needed are all prerequisites to be a Baldwin nanny -- Hilaria and Alec feel guilty about using more help than they initially thought they'd need and typically have at least two nannies on duty and they're doing their best to keep their home from becoming a nuthouse and stay sane and even when Hilaria and Alec are both home at the same time, they still need help changing diapers and doing endless loads of laundry, preparing meals and snacks and assisting homeschooling for the older ones and making sure they all get plenty of exercise and playtime -- it's been a challenge and they won't settle for anything but the most skilled nannies, and their friends can see the efforts are paying off

Page 17: Britney Spears has taken to social media to insist she's OK, but there are increasing concerns over the singer's state of mind -- Britney, 39, has shared bizarre Instagram posts showing her maniacally dancing and also bellyached that she's trying to learn how to use technology in this technology-driven generation, but to be totally honest she can't stand it -- the wacky videos followed the documentary Framing Britney Spears, which cast an unflattering spotlight on her troubled history amid her fight to have her conservator dad Jamie Spears removed from overseeing her personal and financial affairs and Britney, who has not had control over her own cash or major life decisions since her notorious 2008 breakdown, said the documentary's portrayal embarrassed her and brought her to tears and she cried for two weeks -- still, Britney reassured fans she's totally fine and she's extremely happy, she has a beautiful home, beautiful children, referring to her sons Sean, 15, and Jayden, 14, and although Britney, who's been coupled up with 27-year-old personal trainer Sam Asghari since 2016, insisted she's enjoying herself, she was caught on camera in Malibu appearing out of sorts and she looked a total mess and she looked like she hadn't brushed her hair in days and the truth is she's wracked with anxiety and she doesn't trust anyone in her orbit except her boyfriend

Page 18: American Life -- Like many dads, J.B. Handley couldn't understand his teenage son, but in this case, 18-year-old Jamison Handley is autistic and has not spoken a word since he was born -- using a breakthrough strategy called Spelling to Communicate (STC), J.B. discovered his son was hyper-intelligent and now Jamison is graduating from high school and will go to college to study neuroscience in 2022

Page 19: Newly single Kanye West is in the market for someone to cuddle with now that Kim Kardashian is out of the picture and the National Enquirer has decided to help him in his quest: Amanda Gorman, Bjork, Quay Dash, Marina Abramovic, Maria Cristerna

* While Kanye West is looking for a new lady to be his creative muse, his estranged wife Kim Kardashian sees the dating pool as the source of her next career move -- Kim has not been romantically linked to anyone since she filed for divorce in February and she's not dating anyone because, if she were, it would be a career move and Kim can't date quietly; she doesn't even understand what that would be like

Page 22: Katie Holmes and her boytoy beau Emilio Vitolo Jr. haven't been photographed together in more than a month, leaving people to wonder if the once snap-happy couple's romance is cooling off -- after being constantly caught on camera packing on the PDAs, the coosome twosome's vanishing act has sources suspecting work stress is taking a toll -- they're still together but things aren't anything like they were, and Katie seems pretty down and Emilio has been working long hours at his dad's restaurant, which was hit hard during the pandemic and that's meant less time for him and Katie to hang out and their romance may have gone from full boil to simmer

* Hollywood Hookups -- Danica Patrick and Carter Comstock dating, Zac Efron and Vanessa Valladares split, Madison LeCroy is dating a mystery man

Page 23: Lizzo stripped nude on social media for an unedited selfie to promote body positivity in all its glory and the 32-year-old defied the haters by bravely going makeup-free and wearing only her birthday suit -- she said she's letting it all hang out to encourage girls struggling with their self-image and self-confidence to embrace their natural beauty

* Bethenny Frankel plans to spend a whopping $10 million on her upcoming wedding -- she is set to wed Paul Bernon after she was spotted flashing a ginormous sparkler reportedly worth over $400,000 and movie producer Paul, 43, has given Bethenny, 50, carte blanche to spend whatever she wants so she's thinking 50,000 roses, champagne, gilt-edged glasses, a garden setting with fountains, dancers and a choir and Bethenny wants it to be perfect and she expects the best of everything

* Julianna Margulies has admitted things were hot on the set of ER, and it was because she and co-star George Clooney had a crush on each other and the chemistry on the beloved TV series between Julianna, now 54, and George, 60, was organic, she gushed in her upcoming memoir -- she also said when you create an environment that people feel safe in, then you do your best work and George taught her that and she felt so safe with him

Page 25: Troubled Tori Spelling is convinced having a sixth baby is the only way to bring her rocky 15-year marriage to Dean McDermott back from the brink -- Tori, 47, and Dean, 54, have been living separate lives for months and she has frequently been seen in public without her wedding ring and lately they've been more like brother and sister than husband and wife, but Tori is under the impression that another baby will give them a fresh start -- Dean has tried to repair their romance by taking on more dad duties and he even pushed for a recent family getaway to Palm Springs, where Tori socked her husband with the ultimatum to give her another baby or hit the highway and it's true they got along a lot happier when she was pregnant, but a lot of people think she's being delusional since they still have a lot of issues to work through and having another kid isn't going to be a magic fix and in fact, it may even add to their problems

Page 26: Cover Story -- Prince Harry's desperate bid to make peace with his estranged royal family exploded spectacularly when his father Prince Charles gave him an ultimatum to divorce Meghan Markle or you're out forever -- the secret showdown came after the funeral for his grandfather Prince Philip that forced family members to reunite for the first time following a year of bitterness and shocking allegations and any hope Harry had of mending fences and being welcomed back went out the window when he broke Queen Elizabeth's heart by snubbing her 95th birthday right after the funeral because he flew back to California the day before her birthday and it was the last straw for Charles, who was furious and he was stunned his son couldn't wait just 24 hours more to show respect for his grandmother and felt compelled to rush back to his pregnant wife Meghan and it would have meant so much for Her Majesty, who was still mourning her husband and needs all the comfort she can get but instead Harry headed back to his ritzy $14 mansion and Hollywood lifestyle, callously leaving his grieving grandmother on what should have been her big day -- the word is Meghan ordered him back as he'd been gone 10 days, their longest separation since they wed, and she didn't want his family playing mind tricks on him, trying to convince him he should return to the U.K. -- Charles confronted his younger son about snubbing Her Majesty during a phone call from his country getaway in Wales, where Charles was grieving his father Prince Philip and considering the future of the monarchy and Charles didn't mince words and he called Harry selfish and blamed Meghan for ripping the family apart and he bluntly admitted he and other royals, including the queen herself, were deeply disappointed and very angry by what the couple said in an explosive tell-all TV special and he couldn't believe Harry would agree to such a devastating interview without pressure from his publicity-obsessed wife or her advisors and Charles told Harry he was ashamed of him for turning his back on his family and breaking his grandmother's heart and Charles said he didn't believe Harry's marriage can survive long-term and suggested that Meghan was so ambitious, she'd dump Harry when something, or someone, better came along then he shockingly told his son he would only be welcomed back if he divorced that American actress and Charles insisted divorce was the only way to save the royal family and Harry himself -- Harry faced a great deal of frostiness from other members of the family after he arrived for Philip's funeral: Princess Anne, Prince Edward, his wife Sophie and other relatives didn't even look at Harry, they are so angry with him and Meghan, and Prince William and his wife Duchess Kate tried to put on a united front, speaking to Harry as they walked away from the service, but it was all for show as the queen had ordered a truce in the feud to avoid another public scandal, but family feelings are running very deep against Harry and Meghan for quitting royal duties and trashing the royals in their interview and the truth is if Harry doesn't divorce Meghan, this rift will never be mended

Page 36: Ellen DeGeneres confessed she'd swilled three cannabis-laced drinks and popped two snooze-inducing pills before driving wife Portia de Rossi to the hospital for an emergency appendectomy -- during an interview with Jimmy Kimmel, Ellen said she'd downed a commercial beverage containing the weed compounds THC and CBD and admitted she didn't feel anything and then she drank three, and she also took two melatonin sleep pills and she's lying in bed and realizes Portia is not in bed -- after finding Portia on all fours and in pain, Ellen claimed her adrenaline kicked in and she rushed Portia to the hospital

Page 38: Gwyneth Paltrow knows at least one person who is not a fan of her catalog of sex toys: her mom Blythe Danner -- while Gwynnie loves to bang the drum for frisky female fun by hawking vibrators, whips, handcuffs, genital-themed jewelry and even a candle called This Smells Like My Orgasm, her 78-year-old mother is always shocked by her raunchy online inventory and is very proper, but Gwyneth said even proper ladies have sexuality too -- although her mom is not lining up to purchase the BDSM starter kit or the $15,000 gold-plated dildo, Gwyneth remains committed to tackling taboos related to female pleasure, saying she thinks that our sexuality is such an important part of who we are and one of the things they really believe in at Goop is eliminating shame from these topics

* The Entourage crew might get back together, with Charlie Sheen joining the gang -- the creator of the bro show and 2015 spinoff movie said he may bring the boys back with his buddy Charlie in the reboot and Doug Elin says whether he would ever be in Entourage as Charlie Sheen or whether he would create a character for him, he would be all for it -- Charlie hasn't been seen on the big screen since a 2018 guest spot on Saturday Night Live

Page 42: Red Carpet -- Sofia Vergara

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Won’t You Stay (Part 11)

Summary: The reader has a very long day but knowing Jensen is there for her helps her through it...

Masterlist

Pairing: Jensen x Director!reader

Word Count: 5,000ish

Warnings: language, angst, implied past domestic abuse, implied body issues

A/N: Please enjoy!

_____

You hated to admit it but you felt better with a few more hours of sleep in you and Jensen drove the two of you into work, everything already going from the looks of it.

“Y/N,” said Mark as you walked onto the lot with Jensen. “Morning Jensen. Hey so we got your dad’s call. We pushed everything back an hour and cut the budget meeting. How’s your grandpa doing?”

“Uh, better,” you said, forcing a smile.

“Ethan said there was a family emergency and you were trying to come in. Family comes first kid, remember that,” said Mark. “We’ll work an hour late today. It’s not a big deal.”

“I will remember that,” you said, Jensen shrugging as he headed towards his trailer. “How are we doing on set up?”

“Almost done. Your dad said he should be here soon,” he said. “I did debrief this morning with the crew so we’re pretty close to being ready to film, maybe thirty minutes so the boys can do a quick wardrobe change and eat breakfast in the hair and make up chairs.”

“Sounds good. I’ll meet you on set in a few,” you said. You grabbed some coffee from craft services and a quick plate of eggs, finding yourself on the sound stage and fixing a few things before you were getting tapped on the shoulder.

“Playing hooky this morning?” teased your dad quietly. You shook your head. “Yeah, that’s what Jensen said. Here.”

He held out a small card to you and you shut your eyes.

“Dad-”

“Talk to someone about Logan. Jensen is concerned even if he doesn’t know what it’s about and I have a feeling you’ll give in to him one way or the other,” he said.

“I can’t go to your therapist,” you mumbled.

“It’s a whole practice. Dr. Miller has a son who is practicing now. Maybe you’d want to talk to him. Just go once. Maybe once is all you need. Trust me. It’s not as hard if you get some guidance,” he said.

“I’ll think about it,” you said. “I’m not promising to go.”

“It’s all I ask. Also, I may round up Logan with Jensen and we can beat the shit out of him together. I really like the new boyfriend by the way,” he said.

“Dad. I don’t need anyone to defend my honor. Also, grandpa’s alright, right?” you asked.

“Of course. I learned that one from him. Don’t tell grandma. Or mom,” he said. You smiled and nodded. “Alright boss. Put us to work.”

“Jensen, could you try that again with a little more…” you said a few hours later, resting your cheek in your palm. “What’s the word I’m looking for?”

“Menacing?” he asked.

“Yeah. Scare the shit out of Molly. You okay with trying that Bri?” you asked.

“Yeah, sure thing,” she said, giving a thumbs up. It was her first day on the set and you could tell she was nervous. More than nervous. You’d had to give her a pep talk to even get out in front of the camera.

“She’s a bit fresh,” mumbled AJ, your first AD. “We don’t even have anything usable.”

“Give her a chance,” you said.

“I could do a better job,” he mumbled. “And I haven’t acted since third grade. She only had the job because she was dating that Gil guy.”

“Dude. I get it,” you said. “Reset! Action!”

“Who are you?” growled Jensen, grabbing Bri by the arms and throwing her back against a wall. “Who!”

She stared at him a little too long and you sighed, Jensen cocking his head.

“Bri, your line,” he said. 

“Fucks sake,” you mumbled. “AJ I am this close to putting you in a wig.”

“Sorry,” said Bri as Jensen walked back to his mark.

“Reset! Action!” you shouted.

“Who are you?” said Jensen, doing the same movements and pushing Bri back. “Who?”

“Molly,” she said, as if she were introducing herself at a freaking pep rally. 

“Someone up there help us,” groaned AJ beside you.

“Stop,” you called, Jensen giving you a look when you wandered onto set. “Bri, not so excited and happy. Jensen is scaring the shit out of you. Act like the shit is being scared out of you.”

“Okay but when Gil was doing this, this scene wasn’t in there,” she said.

“The scene was always there,” you said, doing your best to keep a friendly face. “It doesn’t matter. Watch me. Jensen, I’ll do Molly’s lines, you just act.”

“Got it,” he said, Molly going off to the side.

“AJ, call it for me,” you said.

“Action!” he said.

“Who are you?” growled Jensen, moving you back against the wall. “Who?”

“Molly,” you grit out, nearly kneeing him before he acted like it hit its mark and he bent over. You went past him, pushing on his shoulder and stealing the gun tucked away in the back of his pants. He panted as he righted himself and you pointed the gun at him. “Your turn.”

“Brad.”

“Try again,” you said, cocking the gun. He was quiet and you narrowed your eyes, jumping when you felt a hand over your mouth and the other knock the gun away.

“Don’t let pretty girls get the better of you,” said your dad. You breathed hard under the hand, nearly breaking out of the hold before Jensen picked up the gun and you were pinned back.

“So, Molly,” said Jensen, pointing the gun at you. “Tell me how you knew James or I will pull the trigger. Now.”

Your dad moved his hand away and you stared at Jensen, taking a deep breath. 

“Talk,” said your dad.

“I don’t think-“ you said, Jensen grabbing your throat lightly but surely making his grip seem something fierce. You whimpered and he smiled.

“I think we said talk. Now.”

“Cut!” said AJ. Both their hands fell away and you glanced over to behind the cameras.

“Something like that Bri. Be afraid but sassy. You know, be...” you said, walking out and throwing up your hands. “Where the fuck did she go?”

“I’ll go find her,” said AJ.

“Well hurry. Not like she’s in every scene today,” you mumbled. You ran your hands over your face, Jensen coming over and rubbing your shoulders.

“You’re really good,” said Jensen. “You ever act?”

“Not since she did drama club in high school,” said your dad. “She was tree number three. I was so proud.”

“You’re an ass,” you said, giving him a smile. “And I can’t act. I know this story is all. Also where is my actor?”

“Hey so,” said AJ, walking back on set. “Bri kinda decided to quit since she can’t work with Gil anymore.”

“Fuck,” you groaned, throwing your head back. “So we need a new actress yesterday. Great.”

“Y/N,” said your dad. He waved you to follow him and he went back behind the monitors. “Run back that last take we did with Y/N standing in.”

“Why?” you asked. 

“Just watch,” he said. You sat back in your chair and pulled on your headphones, a few people crowding around to watch the replay.

“How many scenes is Molly in?” asked AJ.

“Twenty something. She’s only set to film the next three weeks. We could-“ said Mark.

“We definitely could,” said AJ. “Let’s call up to casting.”

“Whoa, last I checked, I’m in charge and can someone explain what is going on?” you asked.

“They want you to play Molly, sweetie,” said your dad. You went wide eyed and shook your head.

“I can’t act!” you said.

“You were damn good,” said AJ. “You and Jensen especially.”

“Everyone slow down,” you said. “I am not an actor. Call casting, now, and see about who didn’t make the cut the first time. In the meantime, everyone is going to calm down, we are going to go film a few montage shots of Lyle and Hale so we don’t lose the time and I need Mark to handle directing for a few hours. Everyone got that?”

“Alright. You’re the boss,” said AJ, he and Mark taking off.

“Y/N,” said your dad, catching your arm before you could leave. “You could do this. I’m serious.”

“Dad. How am I supposed to direct if I’m in it? I’ll find some girls, bring them in for test reads during lunch and one of them will be a fit. I guarantee it.”

“How’s Jensen’s chemistry read going?” you asked three hours later with a mouth full of a chicken salad wrap.

“Oh. Lovely,” said your dad. You glanced at a monitor, Jensen and the girl seeming to have a heated argument even if you couldn’t hear it. “Casting brought down his ex so this is going very maturely.”

“Jensen,” you said, speaking into a headset. “Please come over to the monitor tent.”

You groaned as you ripped the headset off. He must have sprinted with how quickly he turned up.

“I am not working with her,” said Jensen to the team reviewing the footage, an angry look on his face. “I’m not.”

“She’s available,” said AJ. “Right age. She’s a little stiff but we can work on that.”

“I’m not a good enough actor to pretend I can stand to be in the same room as her let alone play a love interest,” he said.

“Well you’re gonna have to suck it up. She’s the best fit we got right now,” said Mark. Jensen threw his head back and sighed.

“Give me and Jensen ten,” you said, grabbing his hand and leading him outside. “You really can’t work with your ex?”

“That’s the one that said the stuff on TV,” he said quietly.

“I get that you’re mad but something else happened there,” you said.

“It did,” he said. You stared at him and nodded.

“Okay then,” you said as you headed back to the tent.

“What’s that mean?” he asked.

“It means that my next few weeks around here are going to be even more of a nightmare,” you said with a smile. “I’ll do it but only because it’s you.”

“Y/N. You don’t have to-“

“I want to. This goes both ways, Ackles,” you said. “I got this.”

“Y/N,” growled your dad late that night. “Stop checking every take. These guys have been doing this for years. Delegate a little.”

“Someone’s cranky,” you shot back as you went back to your mark. “I’m supposed to direct.”

“Always has to be a little perfectionist,” he mumbled. You glared at him before you glanced over to Mark.

“Call it,” you said.

“Action!”

“I still don’t trust her,” said your dad, looking over to Jensen behind you.

“Hale-“ said Jensen before he was cut off.

“She lied about James already. Who knows what else she’s lying about. For all we know, she killed him.”

“I didn’t kill your kid, you idiot,” you said. Your dad leered down at you and you swallowed, stepping back into Jensen’s chest.

“Repeat that,” he said. You stared and he grabbed your jacket collar. “Fine. Let’s go.”

He yanked hard and you tripped, more than a little pissed with how he was dragging you away.

“Hale, stop. What are you gonna do to her? Do what you did with me?” asked Jensen. Your dad froze and you could feel how quiet the studio was, so still you could hear yourself panting. “I thought you weren’t doing that shit anymore.”

“Don’t go soft, kid. She’s just a girl.”

“I was just a boy,” said Jensen. “She had the chance to run and she didn’t. I think that’s telling us something but you’re too thick headed to see it.”

“I ain’t running a daycare,” he said, shoving you aside and getting in Jensen’s face. 

“Come on Molly,” said Jensen as he grabbed your hand. You started to let him lead you to the door when you froze. “Molly, come on. I’ll get you somewhere safe.”

“I don’t know anyone named James,” you said over your shoulder. “I just know there’s a guy after me.”

“James get killed cause of you?” asked your dad. You shook your head. “Talk.”

“I saw a murder,” you said. “I have been running ever since. It’s all I know.”

“Last thing I need is another stray,” said your dad, bumping into you hard as he left the room.

“Hale. Hale!” called Jensen.

“Stay away Lyle if you know what’s good for you.”

“Cut!” said Mark. “We get it?”

“I’m good,” you said. “Wrap it for the day.”

“You did a good job, kiddo,” said your dad as he came back on set.

“I’m gonna ruin it,” you said, running your hands over your face. “What am I doing?”

“Pretty damn well for your first day,” said your dad as he rubbed your shoulders. You dropped your hands and saw Jensen nod back at him. “I’ll leave you in good hands.”

“Night dad,” you said.

“Night, sweetie. Have Jensen drive you home,” he said. “If you don’t mind that is.”

“I was probably going to crash at her place anyways,” said Jensen. Your dad blinked and Jensen just stared at him. “You know, as a friend.”

“I don’t want to know,” he said as he shook his head. “Night, Y/N.”

“Goodnight,” you said, covering your face. “Is he gone?”

“Yeah,” chuckled Jensen. “He’s gone. Come on, let’s take you home. You had a long day.”

“I’m exhausted,” you said as you plopped down on your bed close to eleven, Jensen ditching a bag with some of his clothes by your closet door.

“You need to eat some dinner,” said Jensen. You could hear him out in your kitchen and you shut your eyes, Jensen suddenly there and pushing on your shoulder. “Girl, you need to go grocery shopping. You ain’t got nothing but spinach and some dressing in there.”

“New diet,” you yawned as you shut your eyes again.

“I’m ordering us chinese,” he said. “Then we’re having that little chat and adding why you don’t need to go on a diet to that list.”

“Can we do it tomorrow?” you groaned.

“Nope,” he said. He lay back on the bed and ordered some food, turning to you when he hung up. “So.”

“What’s wrong with eating healthy?” you asked.

“Nothing, honey,” he said softly. “But you don’t need a diet.”

“Maybe not but it’s my choice,” you said.

“We’ll table that conversation for the moment,” he said. “Let’s talk about the whole incident this morning.”

“What about it?” you mumbled. You rolled to your side, Jensen resting a hand on your waist and rolling you back towards him.

“Why are you so mean to yourself? You’re so kind to everyone but you,” he said. 

“I don’t know,” you said quietly.

“Yes you do,” he said. 

“Cause I don’t deserve to be nice,” you said. He stared at you and he squeezed his eyes shut.

“You are so, so wrong,” he said. “You gotta be good to you, Y/N. You gotta take care of yourself. If you don’t, how can you take care of everything else?”

“I’m not good enough though,” you said.

“Can you try something for me?” he asked.

“What?”

“What do you like about yourself?” he asked.

“I guess my eyes are alright,” you said. He placed a hand on your cheek and smiled.

“I like your eyes too,” he said. “Was that so hard?”

“A little,” you whispered. He smiled and kissed you gently, bumping his nose against yours.

“Then we gotta practice everyday,” he said. “Okay?”

“You’re a good guy,” you said.

“Not really. You’re just not supposed to be an asshole,” he said.

“Jens. I know the difference. You’re a good guy,” you said. He stared at you, playing with the end of your hair. “I know you want to know why I’m...or what happened with Logan.”

“I do. But it’s not as important as you knowing that you more than deserve to be kind to yourself,” he said. “The other stuff can come later.”

“Okay,” you said, shutting your eyes. “I’ll try for you.”

“Try for you too,” he said.

“Alright. For both of us,” you said. He kissed the tip of your nose and you burrowed in closer to him, Jensen laying an arm over your waist. 

“Try to eat enough and get enough sleep too, huh?” he said.

“Alright,” you mumbled. “Can I go to bed now?”

“You still need dinner, silly,” he said. You could feel the rumble of his chest as he laughed and you sighed. “Real soon though. You can sleep in until eight tomorrow.”

“I have to learn a stunt,” you said. “I think.”

“You have to learn to delegate to your crew, especially the next few weeks,” said Jensen. “We get up at eight, go in, you can tag up with your team, learn your stunt and we’ll be rolling by 11.”

“I’m too tired to argue so fine, you win,” you said.

“Music to my ears. You did a really good job today. You should consider acting more,” he said.

“I wrote the story. It’s the only reason I even remotely know what I’m doing,” you said.

“No, you got talent,” he said. “Write, direct and act? Triple threat.”

“Whatever you say, Ackles,” you hummed.

“Y/N.”

You forced your eyes open, Jensen smiling back at you.

“I’m serious. Take the compliment,” he said. 

“Compliment taken,” you said. He was quiet but gave you a kiss on your forehead that made you smile.

“I started reading your other book today during a break. You should think about publishing those other stories of yours,” he said.

“Why? They aren’t all that good,” you said.

“They are really good, honey. People would love to read your other work. Why’d you put the Lyle Sullivan story out on your blog at first?” he asked.

“I knew people liked the character,” you said. 

“Maybe people will like Forest and Andi too. You don’t know unless you try and we’re on that whole try kick so…” he said. You rolled your eyes but gave him a smile. 

“When I am done with the movie, I will take a look and maybe publish one of those other ones,” you said. “Any other demands?”

“I’ll take a hug now that you mention it,” he said. You chuckled and moved your arm around his back. “Ah. Thank you, honey.”

“Thank you, fanboy,” you said. You pecked a kiss on his cheek and he gave a soft smile, his fingers playing with a few pieces of your hair again. “You okay?”

“Earlier with Erica...you didn’t have to do that, go and take her place. I could have sucked it up,” he said.

“You would have been miserable. Perks of dating the boss,” you said, Jensen not cracking a smile. “I got the vibe it wasn’t a good breakup either. I think that her talking about your sex life was just the straw that broke the camel’s back.”

“It was. I don’t really want to talk about it. Not right now at least,” he said.

“You don’t ever have to. If it goes for me, it goes for you,” you said. His lip twitched up and he nodded. “So I’ve never done a stunt before. What’s it like?”

“It’s not hard. Everyone will make sure you’re safe and everyone involved in it is. Your dad and me have the big fight scenes to deal with so you won’t have to worry about choreography to learn,” he said. “I don’t know how your dad does it to be honest.”

“Does what?” you asked.

“He seems perfect. He’s good at his job, he prioritizes his family, he doesn’t screw up takes and also has advice for when I’m about to freak out over something,” he said.

“The world wants to adore him so that is what it sees. But you know it’s not all perfect. He has more pain inside him than I think even I know,” you said. You took a deep breath and Jensen gave you a quick smile.

“I’ll never tell anyone what you told me about his depression. I know how to keep a secret,” he said.

“I wouldn’t have told you if I didn’t trust you to know,” you said. “I know it’s weird but you’re my dad’s friend too.”

“He is kinda awesome,” said Jensen. You chuckled and he ran his thumb under your eye. “You know, you are too damn attractive for your own good.”

“I’m sleep deprived and had a near mental breakdown multiple times today,” you said.

“Like I said, hot damn woman,” he said, a little drawl in his words.

“Okay, cow poke,” you laughed. “What’s with the accent?”

“Accent? I’m from Texas,” he said. 

“Really?” you said as you sat up suddenly. “My dad’s from Waco. It’s where the rest of our family is.”

“Dallas,” he said with a big smile. “You ever live there?”

“Sometimes in the summer we would stay at my grandparents house. Now we have like a vacation house there for visiting. It’s really up and coming there now. You totally make more sense now if you’re from Texas. I’ve met a few southern gentlemen before,” you said.

“I think I went to Waco for a sleepaway camp once when I was a kid,” he said, his face turning pink. “I mean a baseball camp thing.”

“Why would I care if you went to a sleepaway camp?” you asked as you cocked your head. He sat up and stared at you, shrugging.

“Someone teased me about it once,” he said quietly as he shook his head. “It’s fine.”

“I used to go to a lot of camps,” you said. “My dad wanted me to grow up like we were some middle class suburban family. Not every kid has a freaking bodyguard with them though.”

“Brody, yeah, he seemed super cool,” said Jensen. “You grew up with him?”

“Yeah. Once my dad did Batman when I was about four, things kind of exploded. Some woman tried to kidnap me at the grocery store once. He flipped his shit and then I basically wasn’t allowed to go anywhere without him for a few years.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. I think the chick was super obsessed or something. He was so leery of women after that. I’m surprised he ever found my mom to be honest,” you said. 

“She doesn’t act right?” he said.

“No. She’s an elementary school teacher,” you said. “He met her when he was late picking me up from school once. She tore him out a new one,” you said. “He said at some point when she was telling him how irresponsible he was for leaving a ten year old waiting outside all by herself that he fell in love.”

“Sounds about right,” he said. “Was she your teacher?”

“No, it wasn’t that cliche. She was new that year. She was nice,” you said. “I mean, she really made him happy. Still does.”

“I can’t imagine growing up like that. My dad does mostly commercials or voice over work. Some years were better than others but he was never big or recognized really.”

“You’re about to be just like my dad, Jensen,” you said. “The movie is going to change your life. It’ll change your family’s life.”

“Good thing I already found my girl then, hm?” he teased. “I won’t have to worry about that part.”

“You may end up needing your own Brody,” you said.

“Alright. If it happens, it happens. No use in stressing over something I can’t control,” he said. “Hey, plus then I wouldn’t need to worry about you either.”

“You don’t have to worry about me, Jensen. I’m a big girl,” you said.

“Sorry, can’t help it. Sucks for you,” he chuckled. “Do me one small favor from now on.”

“Needy little thing tonight aren’t you,” you said as you smirked. “What is it?”

“When you’re working late and I’m not around, have security walk you to your car for me?” he asked. You nodded and he relaxed, shutting his eyes. His stomach growled and you giggled, putting a hand on it. He grabbed your wrist quickly and pushed your hand away before he got up from the bed fast.

“Sorry,” you mumbled.

“Just don’t…” he said before he rubbed the back of his neck. “I get insecure about myself too.”

“Sorry. You’re so fit and healthy though,” you said.

“Don’t say that,” he said. 

“Alright,” you said softly. He took a deep breath and he looked past you with a wince. “Food will be here soon.”

He nodded and bit his bottom lip. He almost left the room but instead walked back near the bed, glancing down at the floor.

“My old girlfriend...she kinda told me I needed to get shredded to get bigger roles and stuff. I tried, I did, but I could only get to a certain point and-”

“Jensen,” you said, standing on top of the bed and looking down at him. “You are attractive. I like what I see, I do. It’s not why I like you though.”

“I have a stomach,” he said.

“Most people do,” you said. “It’d probably suck if you didn’t. It’s kinda important after all.”

“Y/N, you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I do,” you said as you hopped off the bed. You rested a hand on his stomach again and smiled. “If we’re gonna have rules for me about being nicer to myself, you’re gonna have those same rules and that starts with you knowing that you are perfectly healthy. Got that? Even Lyle Sullivan doesn’t have six pack abs and he’s a dreamboat like you.”

He smirked and you knew he felt better, your intercom buzzer going off at the front of the apartment. 

“I’ll get it,” he said. You went with him out to the kitchen, Jensen slipping on his sneakers and going down to the lobby for a minute, returning with a massive bag. “I ordered you some leftovers for tomorrow too.”

“You are really nailing this boyfriend thing so far,” you said as you took a seat at the counter.

“Fake it til you make it,” he said, pulling out a container and setting it down.

Ten minutes later you were both stuffed from shoveling food in your bellies and Jensen was tucking the remainder of the food in your fridge.

“Hey, Jens,” you said as you slowly made your way back into the bedroom.

“Mhm,” he hummed, going over to his bag to pick out some clothes to change into.

“You can talk to me about stuff too,” you said. He smiled and gave a slight nod. “Get your butt in bed, Ackles. I want a cuddle after today.”

“I could do with one of those,” he yawned. You went to your closet and changed into a pair of shorts, staring at your shirts for a moment before you felt fabric hit your head. You shook it off and glanced down, a short sleeve men’s band shirt in your hand. Turning your head you saw Jensen smirk before he went out of view. You pulled his shirt on, stepping out to the bedroom. Jensen grabbed a blanket from the corner and had a pillow in his hand.

“What are you doing?” you asked.

“Bed?” he said, pointing out your bedroom door.

“Jensen. You’re not sleeping on my couch,” you said. “It’s not like we’ve never shared a bed before.”

“I don’t want to assume anything,” he said.

“Assume you can sleep in bed,” you said with a smile. You walked to your side and got under the covers, head hitting the pillow as Jensen got in the other side. You rolled closer and heard him laugh.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he whispered, giving you a chaste kiss. “Sleep good, honey.”

“Goodnight, Jensen,” you mumbled, out like a light before you could even feel him put his arm around you.

_____

A/N: Read Part 12 here!

[ladyofsnark]

In reality, Elizabeth had only known Bruce for a fraction of a fraction of their lives. Two years wasn’t anything at all, in reality. But in Gotham it was lifetimes. Months passed like little eons, depending on what sort of disaster was currently ongoing, and she liked to think that it had been enough in a lot of ways to know him more than most people ever would.

Which wasn’t to say that for everything she had learned or for all he had taught her, she had adopted his more unnatural-seeming quirks. He always heard her coming, rarely made a sound when entering or leaving rooms, could barely exist in a crowd or overwhelm every one with his presence just by making the choice to do it--things that maybe couldn’t be taught in just a year or two. Maybe those were really the things Ras Al Ghul had taught him--which had nothing to do with swords or the martial arts--in the frozen mountains where Bruce had given away so much of himself.

So she didn’t feel bad necessarily when she walked into her apartment and nothing seemed wrong. She took off her coat, hung it up, and then set her purse on the side table with her keys and headed into the living room, contemplating a hot bubble bath and dinner. The gala had been long and she just wanted to strip off her dress and makeup and be herself again.

There was nothing off. Nothing primal triggered in her; no ancient, animal instinct reared its head. There was no smell. No sound. Nothing.

“Hello, gorgeous.”

Elizabeth froze at the voice. The low, rasping husk was familiar, though only in the worst of ways. She turned, carefully, and saw him, leaning against the back of an armchair with the casual repose of an old friend.

Bruce was not a merciful teacher. When they sparred, he pulled his punches only so much as to avoid seriously injuring her, and when she was sloppy he took full advantage of it. He was always clear that he could give her the tools to defend herself, but her best option would be to never fight at all.

So, she wouldn’t. Fighting was for the Batman. She had other tools she’d honed for just as long.

“Hello,” she replied. “It’s… the Joker, right? That’s what the press has put out, but you can never really trust the papers.”

He smiled at her, though the combination of his ghastly face paint and his yellowed teeth, made it more like a snarl. “That’s right.”

Elizabeth felt his eyes, for the first time, following her as she changed directions and headed toward the sideboard and the mini bar. She tried to saunter, like she would at a cocktail party around the big wigs and lackwits who gossiped openly about their business deals and financials, like she was nothing but a pretty face and not another corporate shark ready to cut their throat. She wasn’t in a hurry. She wasn’t a panicked, cornered animal. For all the unknowns around this man, it seemed certain that that would just excite him. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting a guest,” she said. “Let me get you a drink. Wine?”

“Whatever you’re having,” he replied graciously as he pushed away from the chair.

Elizabeth grabbed a bottle of red from the shelf and two glasses. She hoped it all seemed natural; that she wasn’t giving away anything with her movements as she tried to focus on pouring the wine with one hand as she laid the other on the bartop, letting her fingers curl under the lip. 

The Joker didn’t make noise when he walked. It wasn’t something she would have naturally attributed to him or his strange, drunken swagger. So, it was startling when his lanky frame was suddenly pressed against her, and his mouth was beside her ear.

“Looking for something?”

A box dropped onto the bartop and it took a second for her brain--overheated with adrenaline and too many thoughts--to recognize it. It was the panic button. He’d ripped it out of its hiding place, wires and all, from underneath the bar where Bruce had installed it. Her fingertips had only just met the edge of the hole left behind in the wood.

Elizabeth lifted a hand and fingered the wires. She let out a soft “hmph” of amusement and then turned to face the Joker, her back pressing into the bar, and considered him. He was too close. She could see the flecks of color in his impossibly black eyes and the poorly-healed scars which split either side of his mouth. Without it all, the make-up and the dangerous, unpredictable mania that bubbled under the surface, he might have been handsome. In another life, less broken and cruel than this one, maybe.

“You know, the press says you’re crazy,” she said, carefully as she reached behind her for one of the glasses she had poured and offered it to him. “But genius and insanity have always been hard to parse.”

He tipped his head to the side, studying her.“Are you trying to flatter me?” he asked, taking the glass from her. His strange gentleness, from his movements to his tone of voice, was unnerving juxtaposed against what she knew of his usual demeanor. It was like waiting for a bomb to go off.

“Are you flattered?” Elizabeth took her own glass and sipped from it.

He seemed to consider this a moment and then his face split into a wide, feral grin and he let out a burst of hoarse, raucous laughter. He pushed away from the bar, spinning around wildly, to pace back across the apartment. “You,” he began. He turned around to point at her. “You! You’re fun.” He growled the word, low and menacing. “I can see it--I know why he likes you.”

Elizabeth sipped at her glass as she followed him. She didn’t want to, it just felt inevitable. He was a black hole. “He who?” she asked.

“Batman.” He used one arm to flail his coat out wide and then giggled, high like a child.

Elizabeth laughed despite herself. “What do I need him for? I apparently already have one clown in my life.”

He crowed at that. “No, no, no,” he chastised and he wagged a finger. “I know. I know better.” He tapped his temple with the side of his finger and then slid it down his face and across his neck. “I’ve watched.” He grinned. “Wherever the Batman shows up, his little girl Friday isn’t far behind.” He swaggered a few steps closer. “Or are you telling me that he just really likes blondes?”

She shrugged, not reacting as he slid a familiar hand through her curls and twirled them around his fingers. “Don’t all men?” she asked and she tipped her head slightly toward his hand to show compliance.

He chuckled throatily and slid his hand slowly from her hair to trace her neck. His thumb eventually came to rest over her pulsepoint and stroked the skin there. Licking his lips, he spoke, slowly: “Who. Is. The Batman?”

Elizabeth didn’t look away from him. It would just make whatever followed--and she had no way of predicting what would--worse. “I don’t know.”

Instead, and unexpectedly, he seemed delighted by her refusal to cooperate. Another laugh bubbled out of him, like even he was surprised. Then his hand grasped her neck, forcing her chin up, though she’d never looked away from him. He drew that much closer, so close their noses nearly touched, and his next words were breathed into her mouth. “I could break you.”

He said it kindly, like an endearment. Like he meant the effort as a compliment.

Elizabeth hadn’t been able to describe it to Bruce when they talked before about what drove them. It was something like rage. It was also ego and obstinacy and whatever the equal opposite was of the fear that made a deer freeze in headlights. 

“It’s just death,” she replied. And for all of her certainty of that, for as little fear as she felt looking into the mad black of this hollow man, she did think of Bruce. She had never gotten a chance to thank him. To tell him how much it all meant to her--how much he meant. “How’s the wine?”

Joker smiled, baring all of his teeth at once, and the pressure of his fingertips disappeared from her neck. “Sweet,” he said. He turned away from her then and in a dramatically casual movement, flung his wine glass, still half-full, across the room. It shattered against the opposing wall and threw its content everywhere. As he retreated to the door, he called back to her: “When you see the bat, give him my message, gorgeous.”

She turned her head, to indicate that she was listening, but no more. “What message?”

He didn’t answer her. Instead, he laughed, and then her apartment door shut and she was alone.

[comrade-shrimp]

do you have any tips for starter-cosplayers?

Ofc bb! This may be a lil long so strap in!

1. The first thing to do is remember you're a starter, you're a beginner, you're not a professional! It's okay if your cosplay isn't 1:1 accurate! Don't compare yourself to other cosplayers who have been doing this stuff for YEARS, because it's unfair to you! Just like any other form of art, you improve your skills and you'll soon learn how to style a wig or do your makeup or sew!

2. Speaking of other peoples cosplays, DO take notes from the cosplays you like! You ARE allowed to take inspiration and ideas from other cosplayers, ESPECIALLY if they do tutorials or drop the websites where they buy their stuff! You like how that cosplayer styled their wig? Well then style your wig like that! Its okay! You don't have do your own thing all the time (I've ripped ideas from so many cosplayers before skdjakd, I'm actually buying the exact same wig and horns for my schlatt cosplay that another cosplayer uses, because they actually dropped the list and websites and product names for us to use! It isnt cheating!)

3. It's totally okay if you don't make any of your stuff and buy everything instead, like, it isnt a big deal and it DOESNT make you any less of a cosplayer! I cannot make props to save my life, so most of my props are bought and I just repaint them, its 100% okay and don't stress yourself out over it, cosplay is about having fun and sometimes it's more fun to dress like the character than to actually make the props and clothes yourself

4. Similarly, thrift stores and those stores like goodwill are a GODSEND!! People actually will donate their old cosplays to goodwill so sometimes you can find stuff there that's actually FOR cosplay! Why spend 50$ on a shirt for a cosplay when you can find something similar at goodwill and just modify it it a bit. (Just be conscious while you're buying things from thrift shops and other cheap stores, a lot of people who are really tight on money depend on those types of stores to get the things they need, so dont go buying out the entire store ok?)

5. Something I wish someone had assured me when I began was it's okay if your cosplay isnt 100% accurate to canon. You're allowed to add things, remove things, etc. The most common cosplay I see where people go ham with their design is Junko from Dr, people literally add so many accessories to their cosplays of her I love it omg, they add kandi and crowns and makeup and just so many fun details her canon design doesnt have! If you think something would look cool with the cosplay, then do it!

6. If something is dangerous, for the love of god please dont do it for a cosplay. Do NOT dye your skin grey, do NOT put your contacts inside your eyelids for that cool color transition on tiktok, do NOT wear ballet shoes to walk around in, do NOT pose with REAL weapons, do NOT take photos in dangerous/inappropriate places (like those hetalia cosplayers who went to a holocaust death camp memorial in cosplay, or cosplayers who take photos on REAL graves) keep yourself safe and dont be disrespectful please omg

7. Do research when you're buying stuff!! Always check the reviews on products you're thinking of buying! Like for instance, if you're buying contacts for a cosplay, research what people have said about the company you're buying from, and if there are MULTIPLE accounts of peoples corneas being torn out of their eye while removing the contacts, maybe consider another company to buy from (cough cough), research is always good to not only get a good looking product, but also a SAFE product

8. Try to accept real criticism! Assuming people are being respectful and kind about something, you should listen to them and maybe try out their suggestions! Obviously you're not obligated to ACTUALLY take their advice and change things about your cosplay if you're happy with it, but sometimes it can be super helpful! (When I did homestuck cosplays people would actually give me advice at cons, and then theyd actually offer to do my makeup for FREE, I regret not getting their insta names because they were so sweet and literally taught me how to do gamzee makeup that looked cool and scary 😭 if I ever cosplay gamzee again I already know how to do his makeup and their advice really helped! Especially since i was still a baby cosplayer back then)

9. Have fun and always ask advice from senior cosplayers! Most cosplayers are willing to help you out! And will actually be flattered that someone likes their cosplay enough to wanna replicate parts of it! Try to always be nice and respectful towards other people and dont put yourself down if you messed something up! It's okay! Just have fun and remember we're only human!

If you want tips of something specific lemme know and I can try my best to help out! :)

[lo-55]

Shattered Chains of Fate Ch. 9

Crown of Thorns

Before they set off for Seireitei the next morning Ichigo hands a backpack to each of his friends.

‘Backpack’ isn’t the right word. It’s a sling bag that will strap across one shoulder each. Kukaku had been nice enough to provide him with them. They’ve got basic medicines, rations, a small flashlight and a bowie knife, a few other things that came in strangely useful in Ichigo’s experience. Like a roll of tinfoil, and a ball of rubber bands.

“Once we get into the seireitei, we’re gonna make a flashy entrance. People are going to see us and they’re going to report on what we look like. As soon as we land we need to find the laundry, or the barracks, and steal uniforms.”

He holds a hand up to keep Uryu from objecting.

“I know you hate it. Deal with it. Orihime and I will be the most distinct. Chad and Uryu can probably change clothes, maybe hair styles and be fine. She and I will have to change hair color.”

They won’t have time to dye their hair, and even if they did Ichigo knows they were both loath to do so. Orihime prided her hair for Sora, her brother. Ichigo was just plain stubborn.

“There’s wigs in both of our bags,” and in Ichigos, his Chaldeas combat uniform in all its white and black glory. It will cover the rather distinct mark on his chest. He turns to their guide.

“Yoruichi. There’s different squads, what do we need to know about them? Characteristics, duties, positions. Anything.”

The cat has been staring at him this entire time. Ichigo doesn’t quite know what to make of it. She shakes herself out of it.

“You’re right. Each squad has different duties and different specialities. There’s also rivalries between certain squads. Each squad has approximately 200 individuals.”

“That’s not good,” Ichigo grimaces. “200 is small enough to be able to recognize people by face if not name.”

“Yes, but the turnover rate for unseated officers is low enough I don’t think it will pose a problem,” Yoruichi continues. She gives them a run through of symbols and squads associated with them, before moving on, “the first division is made up of those who are able to take charge. They rank highest, besides seated officers. They will be the second worst to masquerade as. The absolute worst will be the second division, who work as covert operations. They handle wetwork.”

“Assassins,” Ichigo understands. “And spies?”

“Sometimes. That also falls to the Third division, which serves as a secondary source of information gathering and is in charge of media, communication, and, for lack of a better word, propaganda. Fourth division is medics and combat medics. The fifth has historically been an emergency response system, and are one of the most combat ready.”

Ichigo nods along. Orihime would be best suited to the forth then. Chad, perhaps the fifth?

“The sixth division runs internal affairs. Even if Rukia had not been their captain's sister, it would have been someone from the sixth sent to retrieve her. Seventh doesn’t have a particular speciality as far as I know, but they are typically sincere people. The eighths division is made up almost entirely of women, and they are the reservists and jacks of all trades. They work closely with the thirteenth. Rukia’s own division.”

“Are they mostly women as well?”

“No. They typically do the most work outside of the soul society, sending people to the living world and protecting people from hollows. Ninth division is also combat oriented. They are entrusted with the defense of the seireitei. They count the paperwork of all high ranking officers as well. The tenth is in charge of inter squad cooperation and joint task forces. The eleventh is full of heavy hitters and combat specialists. They are one of the largest divisions, and also the one with the highest mortality rate. Twelfth is research and development. We should avoid them as well.”

Ichigo taps his fingers along his leg. “Orihime should find something from the fourth. She’s the only one who can heal, and can probably pass her abilities off as a zanpakuto if needed. None of the rest of us could be in the eighth, and the thirteenth seems too close to each other to be fooled. I don’t know enough about science for the twelve.”

“I could probably pass, but I would rather not,” Uryu agrees.

“That’s fine. I think it’s best if I say I’m in the eleventh. I have the sword and the fighting ability too. Chad, I think you’d be best for ninth. And Uryu, sixth. We need to avoid one through three if we can.”

“Ichigo…”

Ichigo looks up at Chad. “Huh?”

“When did you start planning like this?”

Ichigo doesn’t know how to answer that. He learned on the battlefields of france. He learned in the streets of london. He learned on the decks of the Golden Hind, the plains of america, the mountains of the middle east and the deserts of egypt. They had been weaker, they had been lesser. They had heart and desperation, but they had to fight smarter not just harder. It was the only option. He had to learn or he had to die.

“Chaldea, I guess,” he finally says. “We need to be quick and careful. This is a rescue mission, not a war.”

Chad looks at him for a long moment. Finally, he nods.

“Okay.”

They break apart and come back together around the ball that Kukaku hands them. She looks at Ichigo intently.

“This energy needs to be balanced between all of you equally. Your power is insane. You’ll have to put barely any into it.”

“That’ll suck,” Ichigo says bluntly. “I’m not good at holding back.”

He runs his fingers through his hair. “No choice though. Let’s go.”

Before they can start, Ganju grabs his wrist. Ichigo keeps himself from elbowing him in the face.

“What?” Ichigo asks, turning to look at him.

“Why are you going through all of this for one shinigami? Why is she so special?” Ganju asks. For once he looks absolutely serious. Ichigo stands straighter and lifts his stubborn jaw.

“It’s because she saved my life. And my family’s lives. She gave her power to me, and because of that she’s going to die. I owe her,” he said again, “And I will repay that debt.”

Ganju searches his face for something. Whatever he finds must satisfy him. He lets go of Ichigo, but Ichigo grabs his arm before he can get far.

“Why are you coming along? It’s not like you have a stake in this. You’re not one of our friends. You’ve never even met any of us before this, and you clearly hate shinigami.”

Ganju looks ready to say something, but Kukaku shoves her way between them and cuts it off.

“Enough chit chat, let’s go already. You’re wasting daylight, idiot.”

Ichigo can’t argue with that. They circle the sphere and Ichigo lets only the barest of his reiryoku bleed into it.

He’s not oblivious. He knows the difference in his power and theirs is about where he and Mash had been when they’d first began. She was endowed with the power and skills of a great warrior of ages past and he was little more than an amateur mage who fought punks on the side.

Now he’s got his own power, his own sword, and he’s been trained by the best warriors to ever walk the earth. He’d learned at the knees of literal legends. He’d faced down gods and demons and he’d lead armies.

He had the power, he had the experience.

It’s time to go.

They climb into the canon, form the sphere, and the chant begins.

Kido isn’t so different from magic. The only difference is the type of energy that’s being used. Reiryoku and mana are the opposite of two coins, the body and the soul. The living and the dead.

Ichigo figures now he stands somewhere between the two. He doesn’t fully understand. He doesn’t need to.

All he needs to know is how to fight and win, for the sake of his friends.

*

Ichigo will admit, it’s somewhat terrifying how  big this goddamn continent is. They’ve been marching for what feels like forever. He knows that the northern army has been holding the celts back for at least a week. He doesn’t know how much longer they can last, and they themselves are still a good week from the white house.

The stress of the situation was still heavy on Ichigo’s shoulders, but Kyo was a good person to carry part of it. Mash is under just as much stress as he is, but she must be made of stronger stuff than he is.

She presses on with all the faith in the world that they will stand victorious when the dust settles.

Ichigo has less faith, and more bullheaded refusal to accept any other outcome.

Kyo, he can tell, doesn’t understand this.

They stand in a field of death. Celts lay at their feet, blood drips from Ichigo’s sword and stains his cheek. His orange hair is dyed red in places.

These are soldiers who were born only to fight. They were made to die at the behest of a wicked queen and an artificial king. They never knew childhood. They never knew joy or a future. They only knew the present, they only knew what they were made to do.

To fight. To kill. To die.

“This is wrong,” Ichigo says, his hands fisted at his side and his jaw set in stubborn anger. In one hand his sword weeps bloody tears into crushed flowers at his feet. A mansion sets in the background, once grand, and around them stretches the ruins of a garden. A headless cherub gushes brown water into a red basin.

Kyo reaches down and plucks the flower from its place on the ground.  Ichigo knows well he has the heart of a poet and the mind of a scholar.

“Orchids,” he says, showing Ichigo where the violet petals stretch through the violent stains.

“I doubt we can get perfume from them.” The stench of rot and death hasn’t set in just yet, but it will. Ichigo would rather not stick around.

“No, but they’re out of place here, don’t you think?” He must see the scowl on Ichigo’s face, for he goes on without prompting. “Orchids are a spring flower. One of the four gentlemen. They’re a rather old concept in art.”

“Old for you must mean ancient for us,” Ichigo tries to turn the subject, but Kyo merely shrugs.

“You humans live short, scared lives. And we, long and terrible ones. It’s the way things are…”

It’s there again. The look in Kyo’s eyes. The one he’d had when he was first telling Ichigo about Rukongai and seireitei, and the empty throne that sits atop the world. There’s a longing for change, Kyo is too stubborn and ambitious not to have it, but there’s something else holding him back.

Ichigo scowls and closes the distance between them in a single stride.

“You just sound defeatist. So it’s hard, so you’ll have to fight. So you just give up? Are you going to give in to the status quo when you return to Soul Society?” Ichigo demands. He grasps Kyo by the front of his shihakusho and drags him so close that their noses almost touch. Brown eyes meet brown, one set wide and the other narrowed. “Half the fight is always mental. If you talk like that, you’ll never win, and nothing will never change!”

Ichigo bites out his hardest truth. “A victor should talk about how the world should be. Not how the world is.”

Kyo opens and closes his mouth, gaping like a fish. Ichigo has never seen the man so wrong footed before. Even when Ichigo had shoved part of his soul into Kyo’s body, there hadn’t been time for him to be so stunned.

Now he gets to see those brown eyes shift. From shock to understanding to a near burning determination that his calm demeanor barely betray’s.

Ichigo is getting good at reading him.

He can see the blossoming dream inside his heart. Soon time will erase everything, but maybe, just maybe, some things will remain. Impressions, hopes. Dreams.

Kyo lifts the orchid up between them, purple and red in equal turns, and incinerates it with only a whispered spell.

* *

They’re forced to split apart upon entry.

It’s not ideal, nothing about the situation is. All the same, Ichigo deals with it.

He finds himself spat out into a street with no name and no distinction with Ganju, who lands in a pile of sand while Ichigo himself land catlike on his feet. Yoruichi still sits on his shoulder, steady and growing familiar. She isn’t Fou, but the presence is welcome all the same.

It takes all of ten minutes for someone to find them.

Typical.

Ichigo glances at Yoruichi on his shoulder. “Are you staying, or do you wanna step to the side?”

Yoruichi considers him with those wide golden eyes of hers. He always feels like she’s looking more than skin deep.

“I’ll be off to the side. Don’t get into too much trouble.”

“Give me some credit,” Ichigo rolls his eyes and bends down enough that Yoruichi can hop to the ground comfortably.

He tilts his head at Ganju. “Hey. I’ll take the stronger one. Do what you want with pretty boy.”

“Oh?” one of the opposing shinigami smiles and flutters his weird feather eyelashes at him. “You really think I’m pretty?”

It wasn’t meant to be a compliment. Ichigo grimaced at him. “You look like you spend twenty minutes in front of a mirror every morning. If you don’t exfoliate, I’m a hollow.”

“Well, Yumichika, looks like this guy has got you pegged!” the other one, a blond man who has his sword propped on a shoulder, grins at Ichigo. There’s red around the corners of his eyes. Make up? Tattoos?

“I’m not pegging anyone, thanks,” Ichigo says dryly.

The three dead people stare at him blankly.

“Huh?” pretty boy, Yumichika, asks.

Ichigo shook his head swiftly. “I’m not explaining that.” At least Yoruichi snorted at him.

“Well, doesn’t matter. All I need to know is that today…” the bald man started bouncing around on his toes with his sword out in front of him. Dancing? “I’m lucky! Lucky, it’s my lucky day!”

“Ichigo!” Ganju hisses, grabbing his shoulder. “I’m not fighting these guys, they’re way too strong! I’m gonna run.”

“What? No. If you run we might get split up! That’s a terrible plan, just hold him off until I finish my fight.”

“Hah?” Ganju scowls at him. “Since when are you the boss?!”

“Since I knocked your ass flat on the ground, that’s when!”

“I don’t care what you say,” Ganju scrambles out of the sand box he made. “I’m outta here!”

Ichigo watches him go sprinting before he looks to Yoruichi. “Oi. Keep an eye on him, would you?”

Yoruichi gives a long suffering sigh. “I suppose I must. He is Kukaku’s brother, after all.”

Without another word the cat trots off at Ganju’s heels, keeping pace easily.

Ichigo is left with the two locals.

“...Did that cat just… talk?” Yumichika points after the runaway, his perfectly trimmed brows furrowed.

“Ee-yup.”

“Yumichika,” the bald one nods to his companion, who grunts in response and takes off after Ganju. Ichigo has no choice but to let him go and trust Ganju to handle himself. He doesn’t know if he can take the both of these guys at once. They’re clearly close. He’s sure they’re a terribly effective tag team too, and he really doesn’t have time for this.

“Your friend. He could tell we’re stronger, and he ran. You would have been smart to do the same,” the bald man says, eying Ichigo speculatively.

Ichigo merely shrugs. It’s not in his nature to back down from a fight. It never has been, and now it is even less.

“I figure, if you are stronger you’ll catch up,” They aren’t, he can see clearly.  “I’ll have to fight you either way. Besides, if you’re not then I’ll just kick your ass now and move on.”

He shifts himself, draws his sword and bares his teeth.

The man laughs, sounding far too delighted. This is someone who revels in combat.

“That’s a pretty good reason,” he praises, drawing his sword from his scabbard. Ichigo blocks the blow that comes, and ducks the swipe of his sheath. Ichigo bounces back and comes against him again, a whirl of blade. He twists out of the way of another blow and smashes his elbow above the man's eye, splitting his brow. He barely moves back from the blade that slices through his own. Blood drips into his left eye, a mirror of the damage he’s inflicted. They separate.

It’s the bald man, his opponent, who brings them to a pause. The air isn’t as heavy as he would expect. This man may want him dead, but Ichigo can tell; he’s fighting for the fun of it.

(Ichigo loathes to admit it, but he is too. Rukia is going to die, Ganju is being chased by someone dangerous, and Ichigo is here having  fun )

(It makes him sick to realize that the life of one person weighs less heavily than all of human history.

Rukia is his friend, how can he think such a thing?)  

“That was good. You’ve got good reflexes. You’re stong. What’s your name?”

Ichigo doesn’t see a reason to pretend to be anyone he’s not.

“Ichigo,” he says easily. “And you are?”

“Ikkaku Madarame. Third seat of squad eleven. Ichigo huh? That’s a good name.”

“You think so?” Ichigo arches a brow, privately waiting for him to say something about strawberries.

“Yeah. They say guys with ‘ichi’ in their names are strong and forthright. So…”

He lifted his sword again, his scabbard in a reverse grip behind him and grins like mad. “What say we be friends, Ichi?”

Ichigo wishes Urahara were here, if only so he could crow an ‘i told you so’.

Ichigo levels his sword and can’t help the curve of his mouth. “Fine. But only if I win. If I lose. I figure I’ll be dead.”

“Deal!”

They come together again.

“You seem young,” says the chatterbox, Ikaku. “But you’ve adapted to my fighting style well.”

Well? What can he say, he’s met a lot of dual wielders. EMIYA, other EMIYA, Diarmuid saber, Diarmuid lancer, Scathach, Jack the Ripper, and more. He’s fought with them, trained under them. His hand still itches to hold a sword that isn’t there.

He settles it on his hilt instead.

“Who taught you to fight?” Ikaku asks. He wipes away the blood on his brow with an ointment. Ichigo makes mental note of it. For now he settles on keeping one eye closed, and waits for Ikaku to try to take advantage of his ‘weakness’.

“Who’s to say? I pick up what I can from everyone I know,” he says truthfully. “Are we gonna talk or fight?”

“Fight, obviously! Now,” he slams his sword and scabbard together. “Extend! Hozukimaru!”

Huh. A duel wielder and a lancer all in one. What an interesting person.

It doesn’t matter. Ichigo crosses the ground between them. He pours his power into his blade, until it shines pale white and blue. Ikkaku brings his halberd up to block, but Ichigo cuts through it like butter.

Zangetsu slices through Hozukimari like it’s not made of wood and steel and soul.

Zangetsu carves through Ikkaku’s chest and stomach. It’s not deep enough to kill, but the blood flows heavily. Ichigo finishes it with a hard elbow to his jaw, and Ikkaku falls to the ground.

Zangetsu returns to his resting place on Ichigo’s back and Ichigo gets to work. He has no intention of killing if he can help it. In this case, he can.

He uses part of Ikkaku’s own balm and his first aid kit, one of the things he’d packed in his bag, to seal the injuries. Ichigo hasn’t got time to wait around for Ikkaku to wake up, but this is a good chance for him to get information.

So he sits and changes his hair color, and watches the clouds roll by while Yoruichi plays cat and mouse with the pretty boy.

* * *

The whitehouse is a twisted vision.

Ichigo has seen pictures of his classmates on vacation in front of it, and pictures online or in books. He knows, at least vaguely, what it’s supposed to look like. It’s not supposed to be a twisted desecration of red thorns eating away at pale stone dragons.  

Ichigo eyes one of the macabre statues, wrapped in thick, strangling vines made of the same blood red bane that Gae Bolg is. So many thorns. Scathach had called them unbearable. Ichigo is caught somewhere between pity and anger at the berserker that’s caused so much pain and suffering. He was born for this, created from a wish and twisted by Medb’s black heart.

A pitiful creature to be sure. Ichigo knew Cu Chulainn well. He was a creature of duty and loyalty, of compassion and determination. Once he decided he wanted to protect someone that was the end of it. He would battle an entire army on his own, suffer uncountable pains, and still die with his pride intact. He had.

Ichigo doesn’t miss the way his own Caster eying the thorns, his red eyes dark. If Ichigo remembered right, he had died at the point of his own spear during Medb’s quest for vengeance against him.

Ichigo bumps his shoulder with him and gives him a questioning look.

“ ‘m fine,” he assured, touching Ichigo’s shoulder. “I sworn m’self to you, Master. Have faith in me.”

“Will my loyal dog not use my name?” Ichigo rolls his eyes. He still manages to get a cracked smile from the druid. Caster lifts his staff and settles his shoulders.

“After you.”

Ichigo leads the way inside.

It’s just them again. His core servants, and now Florence Nightingale. For a medic, she’s one of the scariest berserkers he’s ever seen. He’s not sure even heracles would win a fair fight with her when she’s determined to save someone.

Indeed, when they finally step into the interior, where Cu Alter and Medb are waiting for them, she wastes no time explaining that she’s going to cure them.

Although, Ichigo has never heard someone say that the best course of treatment would be  suicide .

He privately agreed with the king of savages. Nightingale is crazy.

That doesn’t mean she’s not wrong. Ichigo can see it plainly. Cu Alter, the king that Medb created, really has had his joy sealed away by his duty to destroy. There’s no pleasure in the fight for him, and for a warrior such as he it must be equal agony to the red thorns that pierce his hide.

Ichigo shift, Kyo at his side, while his band steps forwards in formation. Mash and Rama take the front, a strong defense and a strong offense that can switch easily to long range at a dimes turn. Cu Cullainn and Nightingale bring up the rear, supporting them with runes and healing spells, while Medusa stays staunchly at Ichigo’s side.

Her hair floats around her, a hissing halo that rattles with chains. Her scythe has manifested in her hands.

Ichigo lifts his right fist, the command spells burning in his skin. He only has two left, and three spells in his combat uniform. This will be their final fight. They have to win. They have to.

If they lose, they lose the world. Everyone’s suffering and sacrifice will be wasted. Yuzu and Karin, and even his dad will be lost forever. His mother will have never even been born.

“Go!” He shouts, his voice cracking through the air.

Rama aims at Medb while Mash tries to keep Cu Alter at bay. Ichigo’s Caster uses the distraction to start weaving runes into deadly traps, while Nightingale reverses the worse of the damage as she’s able.

It’s going well. They’re this close to overwhelming the duo when Medb does something that Ichigo will never be able to forgive.

She summons 28 demon god pillars to the northern army.

Cu Caster get’s in the final shot.

Gae Bolg still does not kill the wicked Queen of Connacht, but it’s master does deliver the last blow that sends her glittering into dust on the wind.

That one instant of victory, however, is all Alter needs.

Gae Bolg leaves his hands.

Ichigo knows the details of the Noble Phantasm. A spear that affects probably, and turns ‘trusting the spear’ into ‘piercing the heart’. Once it’s active, there is no dodging it. There is no blocking it with anything shy of a realty marble.

It does not pierce Rama again. Nor does is strike down Mash, or Nightingale, or Meduse, or even their own Cu Chulainn.

Ichigo chokes.

He doesn’t feel it, not really. But he sees it. He sees the red jutting out of his chest. The hole that has pierced through his heart. ]

He chokes. Blood drips from his lips, down onto the spear. Brambles crawl beneath his skin, spreading the hole until black gapes within the red. Blood pours down his chest, staining the white of his shirt.

Ichigo chokes. Black bleeds into his vision from all sides and his mouth tastes like blood and chalk and void dust.

White drips down his lips.

Darkness consumes him.

* * * *

“Alright,” Ichigo tugs his wig in place one more time, double checking that there’s no orange hair poking out to give him away. Ganju is next to him, tying the shihakusho in place with a grimace over his face.

“I hate this,” he grumbles. He secures his sword back in place. His armor is barely hidden under the sleeves of his new uniform.

“You didn’t have to come with us,” Ichigo pointed out.

Ganju scowled at him. “Yes I did.”

“Your sister didn’t tell you to-”

“It’s not about my sister!” Ganju snaps. Ichigo shuts his mouth at the look in his eyes. Burning with anger and grief.

“It’s about… my brother,” Ganju’s hands were shaking. “He was killed in cold blood by a shinigami. He was a genius, a lieutenant, and a good man. But he was betrayed and killed by his partner. I was young… So I don’t know everything. But I will never forget that shinigami’s cold eyes, when she dragged my dying brother back to our home. Or the way he  thanked her for it. I’ve never understood. But you.”

Ganju grabs him by the front of his shirt. “You’re different from other shinigami. So I followed you here, so I could understand. Why he loved the shinigami until he died. I want to see for myself what shinigami are like!”

Ichigo meets Ganju’s eyes squarely. “I’m not a real shinigami, so I can’t and won’t speak for them. I’ll let you see for yourself, Ganju. Just as long as you watch my back.”

Ganju gives him a short, single nod.

Yoruichi, who has spent the entire time standing in the corner while they ready themselves, flickers her tail and stands.

“We should get going. The longer this takes, the more danger we will be in. Everyone will be on high alert, and while this can help us blend in in the confusion, we still need to stay on our toes.”

Ichigo nods sharply.

They duck out of the barracks they’d stolen into and start down the pathway. Ikkaku had told him Rukia was in a white tower, and they could see it from here. The problem was that none of them knew the way to get to the white tower. They’re just wandering around blindly.

There’s nothing for it.

They walk on.

Ichigo looks around as they go. Some of the walls carry Lily of the Valley on them, stamped in careful black ink.

“Mary’s tears,” Ichigo muses, mostly to himself.

“Huh? No, they’re plants,” Ganju argues, looking at Ichigo like he’s just lost his mind.

Ichigo scowls at him. “I know that. They’re Lily of the Valley, but some people call them Mary’s Tears. There’s an old legend in the west in the living world that they grew from the tears Mary cried when her son was crucified.  They’re a sign that their messiah is coming back.”

“That’s very interesting,” comes a smooth (terribly, awfully,) familiar voice from behind them.

Ichigo feels his heart tighten. He turns.

Kyo stands behind them. Brown hair, brown eyes. He’s older now. His face is more angular, the last of his puppy fat has melted off his face, and he’s finally taller than Ichigo. His smile is polite and geniel. Ichigo is almost fooled. He can still see the sharp intellect behind them.

A white haori hangs off his shoulders. Kyo has been made a captain.

It’s all Ichigo can do not to reach for him and hiss out the truth.

But this isn’t the place. He cocks his head and frowns.

“I’m friends with Jeanne d’arc,” he says straight faced. Ganju at his side has gone tense and still. Ichigo elbows him. They’re more than a little suspicious out here like this. Two men and a cat.

Except, Yoruichi is now gone.

Two men and no cat.

“Is that so?” Kyo looks faintly amused, even as he assesses them sharply. It’s barely hidden in his deep eyes. Ichigo knows him well enough to see it, and to see something unexpected. A faint recognition. “It’s rare for someone in the eleventh division to be so knowledgeable.”

“How did you know…?” Ichigo is not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Kyo does not speak his name, he does not broach any subjects. It stings far worse than Ichigo had ever imagined. Hadn’t Nero felt something familiar about them too? But she hadn’t remembred them, and neither does Kyo.

“You were with third seat Madarame after he lost the fight with the Ryoka, weren’t you? The eleventh rarely tolerate people who aren’t in their own squad.” He had waited at Ikkaku’s side for field medics, with his own choppy work keeping the barely conscious man stable. It shouldn’t be a shock that someone saw them and spread the word. But how did Kyo recognize him from just that?

“Oh, right,” Ichigo says like that makes sense. In his mind he’s screaming.

  Kyo, kyo! Don’t you see me? Do you remember? We’re friends, we’re friends! We fought in america, we travelled the continent, look at me goddamn it. I know the name of your sword, I know where you were born. Kyo-  

“Excuse us,” Ganju grabs Ichigo by the back of the neck and forces him into a sharp bow. “We need to get going. Invasion and all that.”

“Yes, of course,” Kyo says smoothly. He gestures behind him. “I won’t keep you. We all must do our best to protect Seireitei.”

“Right…” Ichigo barely keeps his hands to himself.

He’d promised. He  promised .

His mouth opens to say something, to beg time between only them, to send Ganju away if he must. But down the street comes a pack of blood hungry shinigami, looking for a piece of the invaders, and Ichigo has no choice but to let Ganju drag him away by the collar of his shihakusho.

A woman with a badge on her arm appears at Kyo’s side as they’re being pulled away, her brown eyes wide and curious. Kyo draws her attention away and that’s the last Ichigo sees of him. It drives him insane.

* * * * *

He comes in the dark.

Silver hair and a white haori, he manages to go utterly unseen by all. It’s a skill even Sosuke Aizen has trouble mastering without the aid of his illusions. Gin’s footsteps are light, barely a whisper against the hardwood of the office building. Even the omniskido would be hard pressed to beat his skill with sneaking around.

It’s one of the things that Aizen prizes him for. The other being his unfailing loyalty and his willingness to do whatever he was told, with or without answered questions.

These things include going out to spy on the young would-be Ryoka. Everything is happening exactly as he’s expected. They’ve even brought the Shihoin heiress back to Soul Society with them. How useful.

“Well?” he asks, without further prompting. Most of his attention is still on one of the monitors in front of him that details the boy sitting outside the Shiba house. A camera fly can only get so close with Shihoin around, so he must settle for watching the human stare at stones in his hand like they’ve personally offended him.

The boy must be mad, to come with such a small group, but this is a while different type of crazy. Sosuke is fairly certain he’d seen the human-shinigami- possible -hollow speak to the rocks.

“He’s got good reflexes,” Gin says, peering over Sosuke’s shoulder. His presence is familiar and not unwelcome. Few get so close, even when Sosuke pretends to be gentle and kind. He keeps them all at arms length, the brown nosers and sycophants.

“I saw that much. You know that’s not what I’m asking.”

Gin smiles widely at him and lifts, from out of his pocket, the innocuous looking marble. It swirls with blacks and blue’s and glows faintly it’s own ethereal light. A faint red in the center bleeds purple into the blue. Incomplete as it is, it still reacts to interesting things and people.

Gin drops it in his hand. It’s warm to the touch, nearly burning. He’s never seen the red in the center flicker so bright before, like a tiny ball of fire in the very center. There’s something not quite right about this intruder. Ichigo Kurosaki. Sosuke has known him for many years, even if he’s never gotten close enough to see the boy in person. That would involve getting far to close to Urahara and Shihoin, and if he is honest even Sosuke is not foolish enough to go up against legendary assassins in their own home field.

“It tried to burn a hole in my pocket when I got within fifty feet,” Gin reports succinctly. “What does that mean?”

Sosuke has no idea what that means. But one of his rules of his own behavior is that he never admits to not knowing something. So rather than say as much to Gin, he offers him his own faint smile, the kind that puts other people at ease but sets his most faithful companion on edge.

“You’ll see soon enough,” he says instead. “Now. Are you ready to be the bad guy, Ichimaru?”

Gin’s smile, snakelike and cold, only grows. His eyes curve upwards.

“What other kinda guy would I be for you?”

* * * * * *

[ears-awake-eyes-opened]

Textures

(Hayffie and Everlark 💕. Effie’s first post-revolution visit to District 12. Haymitch and Effie have an agreement to keep their relationship secret, but Katniss and Peeta are observant. This fic began as a set up to a *little piece of a scene* I wanted to write. But I became intrigued by what I imagine of the inner world of each of the characters, and the story became dear to me. Then the I-love-writing-Effie-all-soft-and-gorgeous-and-amazing factor came into play, and the story grew long — 9 mini chapters. So if you make it all the way through this, then wow. Thanks for caring about the characters to go the distance with me, and let me know if you have a guess about the *little piece of a scene* that inspired the full story.)

“Let’s keep this casual,” had been one of their agreements. “This is nobody’s business but ours,” had been another.

In the middle of the revolution, nobody noticed *them* anyway. No one paid attention when they’d ducked out in the middle of Finnick and Annie’s wedding reception, or when they’d eaten meals in the dining hall with their legs touching beneath the table. During their final days in 13, nobody thought anything of Haymitch returning to his quarters long after curfew nor wondered where he’d been.

The sex had been a welcomed distraction. Covertness and privacy effected an intimacy between them which was unexpected and surprisingly not terrifying.

When the revolution ended, secrecy became more complicated.

“Can you feed the geese this weekend?” Haymitch asked Peeta at least once a month, twice if he wanted to push it, which he usually did.

“Sure. Where are you going?” The question was getting harder to answer.

“Buying liquor. That white shit gets dull when there are other drinks in other places and no borders keeping me from them.” That standard response, though not untrue, was becoming less believable as the months passed and more people, supplies, and goods made their way to 12.

Eventually Peeta stopped asking Haymitch where he was going, though occasionally the boy mentioned having seen bourbon or some other whiskey at the reconstructed Hob. Among Peeta’s many qualities were his helpfulness and his unassuming capacity to mind his own business, even while observant.

Katniss, on the other hand, was resuming her former tendency to express opinions about whatever she observed. Haymitch never asked HER to feed the geese when he took the train to the Capitol.

He was attempting to mend a wire fence on the day Katniss approached him with an announcement. “We’ve invited Effie to visit this weekend.”

Haymitch narrowly missed hitting his thumb with the hammer. He covered his affectedness with sarcasm. “Sweetheart, it’s not wise to sneak up on me when I’m holding a weapon.”

“I can see how lethal you are to that fence. I don’t think the odds are in its favor.” Trauma had left Katniss with dark humor always ready on her tongue. She and Haymitch were similar in this regard. Their banter was biting, but their hearts had grown in mutual understanding, shared survival, and compassion for one another.

A goose approached Katniss, looking for a handout. “I’ve got nothing for you.”

“This fence will keep the odds in YOUR favor, otherwise you might lose a finger to these gals. They don’t like it when the neighbors show up without snacks.”

“Maybe that’s because you ask *the neighbors* to feed them so often.”

“Peeta doesn’t seem to mind, especially in exchange for eggs for those cakes he bakes.”

Katniss couldn’t argue with that. “He’s making one Saturday. Would you like to join us for supper?”

“Your guest will be there...” He sought confirmation without asking the question. He tried to sound light, as if he was talking about the walls or their sofas, not the person he’d been having sex with for months.

“She’ll be there.”

Haymitch tried to keep a straight face. Failing at that he returned his attention to the fence. “I do enjoy a moist cake.”

“I figured.” Katniss smirked. “...And bring a bottle, not a flask. As much as I care about Effie, her company is easier to enjoy with my brain slightly altered.”

I enjoy her more when I’m sober, he didn’t say. There’s no way in hell he’d admit that. But what’s a dinner party without liquor? It’s basically just walls and sofas. “A bottle,” he agreed.

“A FULL bottle — of something good.”

“So demanding,” he chuckled. It was comforting to see Katniss wanting to engage with life beyond Peeta and the woods.

“It’s a fair trade,” she said, “For the pleasure of the company.”

Since clearly she suspected too much, Haymitch changed the subject, “If you want to gab all afternoon, then how about you help me fix this fence.”

“You and your ‘weapon’ are on your own with that. I’ll see you Saturday.” The goose waddled after her, “And no freeloaders, or I’ll turn you into in a soup.”

“I don’t taste very good.” Haymitch joked.

“Certain people might disagree with that.”

“No idea what you’re talking about.” He hollered after her. Damn, those kids were too sharp to keep secrets from anymore.

His thoughts turned to Effie, and he tried to focus on the fence enough to avoid murdering his thumb.

***

Effie was on edge about returning to 12. Her last trip there had been before the third Quarter Quell, well over a year ago — a lifetime. She’d thrown up on the train that Reaping Day, unable to keep down her rising terror and disgust. It took every ounce of false positivity she’d cultivated throughout her life to do her job that day and pull her victors names from those glass balls. Katniss and Peeta had offered her more than validation of her own existence. They’d shown her the raw beauty that could come from unscripted humanity. They’d lifted the corner of a veil she couldn’t pull back over her eyes, no matter how hard she tried. It was almost like marrying death.

She’d worn butterflies to that reaping. Monarchs. Such a regal name for a creature transformed from a grub in a prison of its own making. She remembered the fleeting moment of relief she felt in pulling Haymitch’s name — relief that the slip of paper didn’t say ‘Peeta.’

What about now? She wondered. How would she feel now to be the agent of fate and injustice who sentenced people’s loved ones to their deaths? There would be no glamor or honor in that. Looking back, there never had been. How would she feel now pulling Haymitch’s name? Acid bubbled up her throat, and she sipped it down with water. Terror and disgust lived within the memory, same as the feelings she’d vomited up the last time on her way to 12.

This thing with Haymitch wasn’t casual for her. She hadn’t meant to feel so much. She wouldn’t give a name to the feelings. That wasn’t part of the deal. This intensity hadn’t been one of their agreements. She was haunted by the memory of pulling his name and haunted by that fleeting moment of relief. In the haunting, her feelings for him kept growing. It was unveiled madness, and she walked the edge in high heeled shoes. She’d never known any other way to walk. She missed Katniss and Peeta fiercely, and they’d invited her to their home. So she’d face 12, without wearing a mask.

There would be no lavish makeup or wigs, no corset of armor, nothing resembling the veiled self who’d pulled names from the Reaping Ball. She wouldn’t face 12 that way. People’s memories deserved more from her than ostentatiousness. Nothing black of course; she wasn’t in mourning. She’d never really known the dead. Soft orange and green were the best choices, the children’s favorite colors. Most people couldn’t pull off a green and orange outfit without resembling an enormous tulip, but Effie wasn’t most people.

As she smoothed her dress, awareness dawned. She rubbed her fingertips together, feeling the fabric covering her hands. Soft cotton. Is that really what she wanted to touch today? The question came because the answer was ‘no.’ She wanted textures beyond herself, even things that may be uncomfortable to touch, like sorrow. She peeled off her gloves, folded them neatly, and slipped them into her bag. “So beautiful. For another day.”

***

Peeta had pushed Katniss a bit for Effie’s visit. His strongest memories of her were colorful and warm, in contrast with the memories of his mother. When Effie had hugged him goodbye last winter, she’d held on until he was ready to let go. Not many people in his life had ever offered him that opportunity to be the one to stop hugging first. That’s the truth he reminded Katniss about when she initially rejected the idea of inviting Effie for the weekend.

Katniss’ mother hadn’t had the capacity to give her those kinds of hugs in the years since her father’s death, but Prim had held on a thousand fold. The ache of her sister’s absence was sharp. She would prefer endless Tracker Jacker stings to the pain of grief. At least their venom would put her to sleep. Grief was a nightmare she still couldn’t sleep through or wake up from.

Peeta grieved his family too, and part of his grief was for the closeness he hadn’t experienced with them when they were alive. Katniss held him when she thought in those terms. She held him until he was ready to let go. It was a simple gift to offer a person.

Effie still had truths to learn beyond the Capitol propaganda which had shaped her, but long ago someone had taught her the value of holding on. The lesson came from either that person’s presence or their absence. Katniss didn’t know which it was or who had been the teacher. Effie hadn’t shared her personal stories. Katniss was curious about her and empathetic for Peeta, so she agreed it was time to invite Effie to visit.

“Let’s meet her at the station,” she suggested, “It’ll be better that way. Different. This isn’t the Victors’ Village anymore. It’s our home.”

Every visit Effie made previously to those houses had been under force. She was an agent of the Capitol then. She had to be there, and they had to invite her in. There was no choice or celebration, despite Effie’s excessive use of “wonderful” as an exclamation.

“She’ll like that. ...She cried for us before the Quarter Quell... Real or not real?”

“Real. She was proud. She wanted something better for us.”

Peeta reached for Katniss’ hand, threaded their fingers together, and held on. “Then let’s show her what we have.”

Peeta had lost memories, but he hadn’t lost his capacity to find words so perfect that even Caesar would be envious.

***

After the train arrived, Haymitch watched the kids’ doorstep through the window of the guest room upstairs. It was either that or from the yard. A few weeks had passed since he’d seen her, and he didn’t want to wait until supper. Katniss and Peeta had been the ones to invite Effie to 12, which is more than he had done. If he invited her, then that would be opening the can of worms they were trying to keep closed. Right? And if there was one thing Effie hated, it was worms crawling all over the place. Real or metaphorical. She preferred containment or at least control when something was uncontainable.

Watching from inside would delay dealing with the lid on the can. But if the kids already knew he spent those Saturdays with Effie, then what did it mattter? It was nobody’s business but his and hers, but if the kids already knew, then they just knew. And if so, he could go out in the yard and kiss her, then the geese could eat any spilled worms, and the jig would be up.

But even if the kids knew, then Effie didn’t know that they knew. And it would probably be better for her to hear it from them than from him because he had no interest in sitting through a dinner party with her pissed at him. Sex with her angry was great, but sitting on sofas in awkward conversation with her fuming at him for revealing their connection didn’t sound like a desirable evening.

So he watched through a rip in the sheet covering the window as the kids walked with her from the station. Effie’s arm was wrapped around Katniss, holding her loosely at the waist. Haymitch and Effie had talked before about burns and how the pain could linger a long time in new skin. Effie was gentle. He knew that better than anyone. Katniss held Effie’s waist too, so the kid must be feeling okay with the connection. Peeta and Effie chatted as he rolled her bag behind him. Haymitch might have thought to open the window to hear their conversation, but it was too late now. Besides, this was already more spying than he felt comfortable doing.

Mostly he just wanted to see her, and the bit of subterfuge was worth it. She was different. Her hair was soft, real, pulled back in some sort of twist. He’d never seen this dress before. The top was orange, but not bright like the fruit. It was like rainbow sherbet melted in a bowl: orange, pink, and white blended together. In the former days of the Capitol, melted ice cream would have gone to waste. But he would drink her up if he could. Her neck, her collarbones, her shoulders, everything her clothes didn’t touch. A dark green band circled her waist, and below it the fabric changed as it hugged from her hips to her knees. The green was covered in tiny flowers, mostly the color of the melted sherbet and also pink, gold, purple, and yellow-green scattered here and there. The flowers laid on top of the dress rather than being part of the fabric itself. He didn’t have the right words to describe it. Just gorgeous. She could have anyone. Anyone would have her if they could. And for at least the hundredth time he wondered what this goddess was doing with a drunk like him.

She turned her head toward his porch and smiled before stepping inside the kids’ house. Before joining them for supper, he needed a shower. A cold one would be best.

***

Effie shivered on the short walk from the station. She was dressed for late summer, but fall was already in the air in 12. The air was changed, permeated by fragrances of the adjacent forest instead of the coal mines. Not enough people had returned for that industry to resume. Reconstruction was slow, and the nation was relying on other sources for fuel. Effie breathed in deeply, surprised by the scents of life. Human bones, charred and weathered a year, had lost the smell of rotting flesh. They smelled like nothing, which was a relief and a strange sadness. She knew thousands of corpses were there, but she didn’t look. She knew her limits. Bearing witness to such death would have been too much.

She was grateful for the children’s hugs and for the warmth of their home. The place had looked cold when she’d seen it last, almost not lived in. But now it was alive, with scuffs on the furniture and food in the oven. Katniss brewed tea from mint leaves she gathered in the woods, and Peeta brought a plate of cookies to the coffee table. Effie’s stomach was not settled enough yet to eat, but she felt welcomed there. The three of them sat on the sofas for conversation.

Katniss curled up her knees, and Peeta leaned toward her with unconscious familiarity. This was their life now — her victors. Tears pooled in Effie’s eyes, and she let one spill over without wiping it away.

“Effie?” Peeta worried.

“I’m so relieved. So relieved to see you both looking well.”

Wellness is a relative concept. When she’d last seen them several months ago, Peeta had little between his skin and his bones. Most of Katniss’ skin was burned, and she’d grown thin from protracted stress. They were healing now as best as they could and filling out into their adult selves.

“We feed each other.” Katniss was straightforward. “That helps.”

Peeta brushed her palm with his fingertips. Satiation is a relative concept too. There were many hungers, unfolding with time.

“This peace helps,” he said, “It makes it easier to quiet the voices inside.”

Katniss curled her fingers around his. This was still their way — protecting each other. Back and forth, exchanging breath.

Effie finally wiped away the tear. Peace was something she felt far from in her inner life. “It’s quiet here, aside from the construction equipment down the road... and the geese next door.”

“The geese are decent neighbors.” Peeta had developed a fondness for them. “They only get riled up around feeding time.”

Katniss looked to her bow and quiver of arrows by the door. “If Haymitch had decided to raise chickens, I can assure you the roosters wouldn’t have lasted long.”

Effie snickered. “Haymitch probably would have had to buy back his dead roosters at the Hob.”

“Exactly.”

“His mother raised geese,” Effie added, “So the choice makes sense. There are different ways to find peace. He only talks about his family when he’s been drinking. It’s probably easier that way. They were close. 26 years is a long time, but some wounds are too deep for time to heal.”

Katniss and Peeta glanced at each other. Effie’s words were telling — full of intimacy and introspection.

“Oh, my darlings. I’m sorry. Here I am going on about grief when the two of you already understand better than I ever will.”

“There’s no need to apologize...” Peeta began.

“...Snow taught us all grief.” Katniss finished the thought.

Effie sighed. “I’m so proud of you both. I recognize I have no right to be, but still I am.”

“You’ve always been supportive of us. Anyone can see that. Without you and Haymitch securing sponsors, we wouldn’t have even survived the Games.”

“Dear boy, you are too kind.”

“He’s honest.” Katniss agreed simply.

The tea had cooled enough to drink, and Effie sipped hers, tasting a bit of their life here. The flavor was good.

***

Haymitch hadn’t asked when supper would be ready. That gave him the flexibility to show up whenever he wanted. He figured they’d spend at least an hour saying things he already knew about all of them. Waiting an hour should be good.

Unfortunately an hour gave him too much time to think about things he didn’t like to think about... What clothes to wear to look good, but not so good that it was obvious he’d thought about what clothes to wear to look good... Which liquor was tasty enough to share but not so tasty that he didn’t want to share it... What time the clock read.

He kicked himself for watching the clock, then he watched the clock again, then kicked himself again, and so on. All the while, he didn’t drink because he wanted to show up sober, and hold her waist sober, and kiss her sober when the kids were distracted. Then he wanted to drink with her and watch her cheeks turn pink and wait for her to touch him in some inconspicuous way that he would feel but nobody else would see.

It was a long hour.

***

“I invited Haymitch to supper,” Katniss said in response to the knock at the door.

“Wonderful!” Effie replied in a rehearsed way that masked however she actually felt about it.

As Peeta shifted to stand, she interrupted. “I’ll get it. I’ve been sitting all day.”

The kids watched her straighten her dress and tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear before opening the door.

Haymitch greeted her at the doorstep with a basket in one hand, a bottle of liquor in the other, and a smile big enough to show the gap between his teeth, which she was eager to caress with her tongue.

“It’s good to see you, sweetheart.” he leaned in, kissed the soft patch below her ear, and whispered, “You look incredible.”

She pressed her hand to the tender spot below his sternum. Her touch was reflexive. Their knowing each other’s bodies was difficult to conceal. “I’m glad to see you too.” She loved this particular shirt, grey and form-fitting. She wanted to touch more than his stomach, but she’d already lingered too long, so she pulled away reluctantly. “Come in! Come in before the flies do!”

Haymitch moved toward the sofa before the kids had a chance to get up. “Presents...” He handed Peeta the basket of eggs, and Katniss got the brandy. He lowered his voice, “A full bottle... as requested.”

“Thanks, Haymitch.” and “Perfect.”

“Katniss, I’ll put these away,” Peeta suggested, “And let’s get some glasses.”

Katniss was more interested in what was going on between Haymitch and Effie.

“Hey.” Peeta cocked his head in the direction of the kitchen.

She acquiesced. “Make yourselves comfortable. We’ll be back.”

The moment the kids left the room, Haymitch wrapped his arms around Effie’s waist and kissed her without hesitation or slowness. She responded in kind with her tongue sliding along his teeth, then tasting more deeply. Her hands played over his chest to the hollow between his collarbones where she stroked just once, gently, so gently.

“Jesus, Effie,” he murmured, “You feel...”

No word was enough, so he kissed from her neck along her jaw. Her skin was smooth with so little makeup. He drank her in like melted rainbow sherbet.

“Haymitch...” She was almost too breathless to protest. “We should stop. The children are just in the kitchen.”

“They said to make ourselves comfortable.” He pulled her hips close.

“‘Make yourselves comfortable’ does not translate to ‘Fuck in our living room.’” Her whisper flooded him with desire for exactly that.

“It does in my house.”

“Then how about if I slip over there later for that translation.” She kissed him once more then ran her thumb across his lips to wipe away remnants of her lipstick.

“I’d love to *translate* the fuck out of you, honey.” He adjusted the neckline of her dress which had slipped sideways and was showing a sliver of her bra. “No corset today.”

She shook her head ‘no.’

“Thank god.”

He pulled her to the sofa and sat beside her, close but not too close. “Respectable?”

“We’ll see.” Beneath the coffee table she rested the toe of her stiletto against his boot. They fit together in a way that she could feel so strongly but didn’t yet understand.

***

“Are they done making out in there, or should I drink this brandy in the kitchen?”

“Shhh.” Peeta listened. “Give them a few minutes. What if we hadn’t seen each other in three weeks? Imagine how we’d be feeling.”

“Point taken.” Katniss was still barely able to let Peeta out of her sight. His presence was one of the things keeping her sane. “But this is ridiculous. Why don’t we just tell them that we know?”

“Maybe they don’t want to know that we know. We should let them tell us when they’re ready.”

“Shhh,” she said this time. “I think I hear them talking about Effie’s work.”

“Then lets bring in the drinks.”

“Quickly before they change topics and have sex on our couch.”

“Katniss, they wouldn’t...”

She rolled her eyes.

“Okay. They would. Let’s go.”

***

“...And Paylor’s on board?”

“The president is supportive.” Effie affirmed, “She’ll bring the proposal before Congress when they’re in session.”

“On board with what?” Katniss asked as she opened the bottle of brandy, and Peeta set the glasses on the coffee table.

“If all goes as planned there will be sites in each district designated as national memorials and a memorial museum in the Capitol.”

“Congress isn’t even in session. How did you secure an advocate?” Haymitch asked.

“Several Senators and Representatives are interested. Cressida and Pollux contributed footage of destruction in the districts and filmed the proposal. Since she refused payment, I made a donation to the film she’s producing. The Trinkets don’t have deep pockets, but we have enough. And considering everything Cressida has done for us. For all of us...” Effie’s eyes held tears like old glass — solid fluidity.

“Would you like a drink, sweetheart?”

“I still have my tea.”

Haymitch poured brandy for Katniss and himself. “Peeta?”

“Not yet, thanks.”

Haymitch took a cookie from the plate, dunked it in the brandy, and ate it in two bites.

“And of course they wouldn’t give the proposal coming from me a skerrick of attention if it weren’t for you...” She looked at Katniss and Peeta. ...My victors, she didn’t say the words, but they spilled onto her cheeks.

Haymitch slid his hand between the sofa and her back, drawing circles at the base of her spine, offering her this small comfort and pleasure.

“This work will mean so much to the country, Effie.” Peeta assured her.

“It’s wonderful that you’re involved with this. I had no idea...” Katniss glared then at Haymitch, “You tell me nothing. Still!”

“I told you if you want to gab, then help me fix my fence.”

“That’s extortion.” She grinned.

Effie reached for Haymitch’s glass and took a sip. She did it absentmindedly, as if sharing a glass was a common occurrence.

The kids noticed.

The next time Haymitch picked up the glass, he turned it and drank from the spot where Effie’s lipstick had left a mark. It was an act of unmistakable intimacy, almost communion.

Katniss bit her tongue. Whatever was going on between those two was serious. It occurred to her that maybe they weren’t talking about it because maybe they didn’t know yet what it was.

Her own awareness of love wasn’t unfolding all at once. It was like a primrose opening to the sun, each petal, bit by bit. So why expect someone else’s awareness to be any way other than that?

The brandy was delicious. Katniss drank in contentment rather than to dull an annoyance. Right now, there was no annoyance. Her family was here. Even the ones who weren’t here she felt as more than persistent echoes. She felt them in the flowers appliquéd on Effie’s dress.

“Primroses.” Katniss realized. “Are you wearing them for us?”

“Yes, my dear.”

Haymitch’s hand stilled on Effie’s back. She was remarkable. He had no idea how they were going to keep this casual, when it was already so much more. He had no idea how they were going to keep this private when their feelings were so close to the surface and already running so deep.

[rileywrites]

If you’re still doing prompts, this is from your prompt list in the random section — nos. 4 or 14, or from the fluff section, no. 12, in yet another of my reluctantly shipped ships, the Book of Nile. *sigh* (I have fulfilled the requirement of the manifesto) 😆

I wanted to give you options just in case someone already asked for any one of these!

Or, if you want, you could go for my original prompt, which would be: Nile has now learned Italian, Ancient Greek, Modern Greek, perfected her Arabic, etc. When Booker returns to the fold, Nile asks him to teach her French, (which Andy, Joe, and Nicky always said would be his job when he came back) but he basically gives her the “Ask your mother” “Ask your father” treatment, passing the responsibility like a hot potato between the other members of the Guard. After some time has passed, Nile catches him quietly singing songs in his old dialect of French, and oddly, only when the two of them are alone in a room. Since his old dialect has basically died out, she can’t exactly google translate. But she begins to suspect something’s up when Quynh stops dead in her tracks after she walks in on Booker singing something while making breakfast, as Nile sits at the table, enjoying everything, which leads to Quynh disappearing, and quiet laughter coming from the bedrooms. After a confrontation, he admits he didn’t want to teach her French, at least not for a while, because he wanted to have the ability to tell her how he feels about her through singing ancient French love songs, without her knowing, promising himself he’d teach her his language, when or if the day ever came that he could tell her in words.

I’m so sorry it’s a bit long, but this just popped in my head, and I know you’ll do wonders with this, if you decide to do it. No hard feelings at all if you don’t!

Thank you so much, you’re an amazing writer, you capture the voices of the TOG characters so well — I always smile when I see your name pop up with a new BoN story on AO3!

Thank you for this wonderful prompt, darling! I have absolutely run with it. I will write the snippet prompts eventually, but this one grabbed me by the throat.

Read on Ao3 Here.

...

After fifteen years with the Guard, Nile has a pretty good handle on just about any language you could think of.

Nile can give a eulogy in Spanish, ask for directions in Pashto, negotiate a weapons deal in Russian, woo a honeypot target in Italian, con a businessman in Greek, and navigate trade in Arabic. She can read, write, and speak Ancient Greek (circa Nicky and Joe's era) and is passable in several dead languages from the Steppe and Southern Asia. She's decent at Mandarin, getting pretty fucking good at Vietnamese, and doing her damnedest to learn Hindi. (It's  a struggle.)

The one language she hasn't picked up yet is French.

It isn't for lack of trying. Her grasp at French is enough to not get her killed, but most of her practice has been with Quebecois or the dialects spoken in Morocco. Basically, if she spoke French in France, they would laugh at her, and her comprehension isn't great

"When Booker comes back, he'll teach you," Andy promises. "He has the most modern French between the five of us. It will do you better to learn from him."

"That doesn't do me any good in the interim," Nile points out.

"He'll be back any day now," Andy says. "Trust me, he'll crack soon."

...

Nile gets to their most recent safehouse late after a long night of schmoozing. She hates long cons, hates that some of humanity's evil can only be taken down with espionage and not brute force.

Her feet are killing her. These sky high boots make her ass look amazing, but her leg muscles regret every life choice she's ever made.

The TV is on, even though Joe and Nicky are supposed to be on recon. With Andy and Quyhn in Istanbul following a lead (to keep a grouchy Andy off of desk duty for a weekend), Nile's senses are on high alert.

She enters carefully, gun drawn.

"Don't shoot," Booker says, hands up. He smiles slightly. "I would have messaged, but I don't have your latest code."

"I still have the Nokia you gave me," Nile points out. "Andy could have told you that."

"Maybe I wanted to surprise you."

"You definitely have too much of a death wish for someone who can't die."

Booker doesn't have a comeback for that. Nile holsters her gun.

"Hug me, you sneaky bastard. It's been literal years."

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He crosses the room in two strides and steps into her waiting arms.

When they collide, it knocks the wind out of Nile's lungs. Breathing is irrelevant anyway, when she's in Booker's arms.

"I missed you, asshole," Nile says into his shoulder, probably getting makeup on his dumb denim shirt.

"I missed you too. I'm sorry that I did not visit sooner." Booker rubs one massive hand over her back. "Your feet probably hurt. I should let you get changed."

"One more minute."

Later, when Nile has had time to change into an oversized t-shirt and Nike shorts, her wig back on its mannequin head, Nile sits down with her feet in Booker's lap and grills him for information.

"I got sober about five years ago." Booker rubs her feet without hesitation, well-trained from centuries with Andy. "I haven't had a drop since."

Nile nudges his chest with the foot he isn't massaging.

"I'm proud of you. It can't have been easy."

"It wasn't." Booker bats her foot away. "It was worth it, though. You deserve a better teammate - you all do. Besides, I don't need to spend the rest of my immortality intoxicated. Six thousand years is a long time to be drunk."

"So what have you been doing since?"

"I spent a lot of time Journaling, processing my emotions. I worked in several literacy programs across the world, staying long enough to help but not too long." Booker shrugs. "Safer that way, I guess."

"Did you bring me pictures?"

"Of course. I have no clue how you keep finding film for Polaroid knockoffs though. It's twenty-thirty-five."

"I have my ways." Nile makes grabby hands in his direction. "Pictures. Please tell me there's pictures of you holding cute children you're teaching to read."

"Of course there is." Booker finds the envelope in his bag, careful not to dislodge her.

The tiny gesture is so fucking heartwarming it hurts.

"I have training in literacy coaching in English and French, so I've worked just about everywhere."

The photos are fucking adorable. Nile flips through them with glee, enjoying the tiny humans and huge Booker sharing textbooks and screens. One little girl in particular pops up in several.

"That's Adelaide," Booker says when Nile holds one up. "I stayed in Port Au Prince for almost a solid year, because I couldn't bear being another to abandon them. When she was adopted by a family in the church, I decided it was time for me to come home myself."

"That reminds me. You're back, which means I finally get to learn proper French."

Booker hesitates.

"Come on, Book, I know you have the qualifications." Nile retrieves her feet so she can kneel by his side on the couch. "You promised. Andy promised. No one else will teach me."

"Nicky hates French," Booker points out.

"I know, and everyone else is too stubborn. They all want you to teach me." Nile fidgets with his rolled-up sleeve. "I want you to teach me."

One good bat of her eyelashes later, and Booker finally agrees.

"Fine, fine, I will teach you French."

"Yes!"

"Eventually. For now, you need rest. Andy will insist on a stupidly early call tomorrow."

...

Six months later, and Booker hasn't said three words to Nile in French. He uses it on jobs, with Joe and Andy, when he talks to himself, but not with her.

They end up in Calais for three days, longer than expected, and Nile bugs him to go out with her.

"Come on, you can teach me in the field. I can practice." Nile pokes him in the arm. "You can laugh at my shitty attempts to use your language, and then you can correct me. Fun and educational!"

"I have too much to do, Nile. I have to make sure this program runs properly, or else we can't get on that plane." Booker waves her off. "Go read something. We have more books than sense here."

"That's not hard, when you're dumb." It's petty, infantile, but it gets Booker to smile and that's enough. "Fine. Don't think it's the end of this, though. You promised to teach me."

"I know, ma cherie, and I will. But for now, entertain yourself."

Nile grumbles. "I am forty-one years old. Don't act like I'm a child."

"I know you aren't a child. However, you are being a brat, so shoo."

"Asshole."

Nile pokes through the books in Booker's latest pile and fishes out something newer and trashy. Brainless. It'll do.

(And if she gets him to throw couch pillows at her by doing dramatic readings of the worst bits, all the better.)

...

Booker has been back in the fold for almost a year.

"Booker, you promised."

A year, and Nile is still just as shit with French - except for the curse words. She knows a whole stable of curse words now.

"Ask Andy."

Nile huffs. "I've been asking Andy for almost sixteen years, Booker. She says you'd be the best one to teach me."

"I don't know about that," Booker says, frowning.

"You're the French one."

"They've spoken French since it was invented."

Nile sighs. "Forget it. I'm going for a run."

She slides her ancient Nokia into her armband and pulls on her sneakers. A run will clear her head.

He doesn't say anything when she leaves. Nile tries not to take it personally.

They're in Istanbul, following up on the lead Andy and Quyhn have been chasing down. They're going to the Hippodrome in the morning, but for now, Nile has the evening to herself.

Why does this whole French thing piss her off so much?

(Nile isn't an idiot. She knows why.)

Maybe she'd be less irritated if he hadn't started singing recently.

It's nothing too obvious, just little snippets of old-sounding songs in a version of French that is either impossible for her to spell, too old for Google Translate, or both.

Nile turns a corner, mentally marking her distance as her feet hit the pavement.

Maybe she wouldn't care as much if Booker sang when the others were around, but he doesn't. It's just when it's the two of them.

Booker is asleep in the armchair by the time Nile gets back. She pokes and prods at him until he's awake enough to shuffle back to the bedroom.

"We've got a long day tomorrow." Nile shakes him gently. "Don't fall asleep in your boots."

"M'good," Booker says, then mumbles something incomprehensible in French.

"Goodnight, Booker."

"Bonne nuit, ma cherie," Booker says.

Nile can figure that much out.

...

The next morning, Nile wakes to singing and the smell of breakfast. She pulls on a hoodie and shuffles out of her room, scarf still on because fuck it.

"G'morning," she says, muffled by a yawn. "Coffee?"

Booker pours her a cup as she sits at the table. Before she's done with the coffee, an omelet appears before her.

"You are the fucking best." Nile digs in, content to enjoy the moment.

Good food, good company, and surprisingly good singing.

Nile is halfway through her omelet, Booker still be-bopping around the kitchen singing, when Quyhn and Andy get in from their morning run.

Both freeze in the doorway before Booker can notice, but Nile watches their minds race.

"Good morning," Nile says.

Quyhn whispers something in Andy's ear, and they walk quickly back to their bedroom.

Booker seems to realize they're there about the moment quiet giggling comes down the halls.

Nile didn't realize Andy could do anything other than chuckle gruffly these days.

Booker blushes bright red and his eyes go wide.

"Booker, your breakfast," Nile points out before it can burn.

"Fuck." Booker rescues his omelet. "I should go talk to them."

Nile stands, hemming him into the kitchen.

"Why are they giggling, Book?"

Booker refuses to make eye contact, but Nile doesn't back down.

She's been a mercenary for a decade and a half. She's faced down gangsters and serial killers and oligarchs. She can handle pinning Booker down with a glare.

"They, ah..." Booker rubs the back of his neck. "They speak French?"

"I know they speak French. Why were they giggling?"

Booker finally makes eye contact.

"They're love songs, Nile. I've been... I've been singing sappy shit from my youth, because I knew you wouldn't understand."

"That's why you wouldn't teach me."

It isn't a question, but Booker nods anyway.

"I was scared," he finally admits. "Scared for you to know."

Nile wants to say something meaningful. Wants to sweep him off his feet, wants to kiss him stupid, wants everything in the world.

Instead, she steps back.

"We have a job to do. Tonight, if you want to, if you're ready, I want you to translate your songs for me. Then we can talk, yeah?"

"I-" Booker nods. "Yeah. Yeah, that works for me."

She turns on her heel to go get ready for the day, leaving Booker in the kitchen staring after her, baffled.

...

Later, blood and mud spattered and healing from a sizeable fall from a horse, Nile limps into her bedroom. She manages to get most of her layers off and into a basket to see if they can be salvaged, but her ribs are still healing so bending too much is out of the question.

Getting her bra off is an Olympic event.

Booker doesn't knock until after she's showered.

"Come in."

"I brought you... well, the translations." Booker holds out a new-feeling leather journal. "I wrote down all the ones I could think of. You can read them, and I'll just-"

"Sit," Nile says before he can escape. "Please, stay."

Nile reads, connecting words to tunes he's been singing for weeks.

They're sappy, fond, romantic, saucy. Nile enjoys peeking up at Booker to see him blush almost as much as the love confession she's holding in her hands.

When she reaches the end of the lyrics, Nile crosses the tiny bedroom and looks Booker in the eyes.

"Booker?"

"Yes?"

"Are you ready to teach me French?"

Booker nods, blushing. "If you would like, ma cherie."

Nile finally kisses him. "I would like that very much."

[artificialqueens]

Lemon's Misadventures in Dating, Chapter 5 (Lemon x the world) - Mermelada

A/n: Hej hej hej! I’m very late in posting this to AQ after Ao3, so please forgive me! I hope you all like *~* filler chapters *~* because there’s a couple of them coming up! I’ve already written the next couple of chapters, but PLEEEAAASSSEE let me know if you have any requests or suggestions! Namely, should I attempt to write smut or not lol! Thank you again for all your lovely words about the fic, I love you all massively <3 <3

Having not slept in her own bed for the last two nights, Lemon decided to take a well-earned evening for herself, partly because she was running out of excuses for her parents as to why she’d been out so much lately, and partly to give the various bruises and bite-marks on her body time to heal. With Gus the dog snuggled into her side, she waited for The Sims to load on her laptop as Chromatica blared from her phone. She pressed on its screen to check the time, and saw she had received a new text message.

Dr Rita <3 [16:45] “I hope you survived your walk of shame, mon petit citron! Thank you again for a great night and day :-) x”

Rita was amazing. She was the epitome of a dark horse: she was so kind and patient with Lemon during her panic crisis, as she had so adorably put it, and made her feel all the safety and love she needed all morning. Yet not long afterwards, after some lazy chatter which had made Lemon inexplicably horny, she was once again fucking her to within an inch of her life. Speaking two languages was far from the only thing she could do with her mouth. They had even gone for lunch together after round 2 – and round 2.5 in the shower – before reluctantly parting as Rita prepared for her nightshift at the hospital. It was over lunch where they both agreed that pursuing anything serious wouldn’t be worth it, but they would definitely like to work on a friendship. Lemon had, however, still managed to charm her way into borrowing a hoodie from the older woman, both of them secretly pleased that it gave them a reason to hang out again. She quickly sent off a reply, thanking her once again for her help that morning and wishing her luck for the long night ahead in kidneyland with her love interest from the ward. 

Looking back to her laptop, the loading bar appeared to have frozen. Rolling her eyes, she held down the device’s power button to restart it. The snoring lump beside her clearly wasn’t going to entertain her as she waited, so she bit the bullet and opened up her new favourite app.

She grinned upon seeing that her most recent message was from Kyne.

[16:20] Remember I told you about my roommate who works in a porn studio lol? She came home just now with a box of those custard tarts you were telling me about, they are so good!!! 🤤 You really do have the best taste 😘

That’s a lot to unpack, she laughed to herself, she’s persistent, fair play to her! Plus it turns out she actually WAS listening! I just hope they were clean… I’ll reply later. Now what about Kiara, eh Gus-bus? She was nice, let’s see what she’s said! 

[09:12] How was the party? 🙂 I hope it was tudo bem!!

Lemon and Kiara had continued chatting yesterday until Lemon had to leave for her date, a ‘family party’ being the first reasonable sounding thing that came to mind when having to end their conversation. She hated lying, she really did, but how acceptable was it really to tell one Tinder-match that you were going on a date with another Tinder-match?

[17:03] It went well, merci! But I was too hungover to function all day lol 🤯

[17:03] How has your day been? 😊

Right, who’s next? Two new matches and a message from Boa! Let’s see what she has to say about me spamming her before she blocks me. Clicking on the girl’s message from last night, however, Lemon was pleasantly surprised that her texting blunder wasn’t the end of her chances.

[20:55] Lololololololololol no YOU’RE fun!!!!

[20:55] Clock the good grammar

[20:55] So what’s a girl like you doing on an app like this?

[20:56] 🍆🍆🍆

Now that was a question Lemon still occasionally asked herself, and she didn’t even know if she had an answer. So the best she could do was be honest.

[17:07] Well I’m recently single so I’m just seeing what happens, really, a few dates here and there to get me back on my feet again! To quote the great Kelly Rowland, I am down for whatever 😉

[17:07] How about you?

She had, once again, been well and truly sucked into the Tinder vortex. Closing her laptop and placing it on her bedside table, she nuzzled her face into Gus’s head, the dog making no effort at all to reciprocate the sudden attention. Squishing a kiss to his head, she turned back to the app, and her new matches: Scarlett and Ilona. They had both matched at around the same time, making their chat windows sit neatly at the bottom of Lemon’s screen. Sending them both standard “Hey gorge! What’s up? 😊” messages, she went back to swiping through profiles, although within less than a minute, a reply from Scarlett flashed at the top of her screen. 

[17:13] Hey gorge! I’m doing much better now that I’m speaking to you 😉

[17:14] What’s up with you?

A bit of enthusiasm goes a long way, she smiled, maybe Scarlett is the one? Or maybe she’s too into me and I should be worried? Surely not!

[17:15] I’m glad I can help! I’m pretty good thanks, having a lazy night in tonight! Are you doing anything fun?

Lemon debated giving the girl more details of her night in, but she was worried about what she might think… She’s covered in tattoos and eats fire, for god’s sake, there is no way she likes Lady Gaga or The Sims. She probably listens to death metal and drives a motorbike and has a pet snake, I could never compete! 

Fortunately, Scarlett was charming and very easy to talk to, and the two exchanged details - both mundane and exciting - through quickly typed messages. She learned that the other blonde was a lawyer, but had gone to circus school at weekends throughout university - which explained a lot - and was currently in an open relationship with her girlfriend. Lemon had never been ‘the other woman’ before, but as long as she wasn’t hurting anyone, surely it’s not that bad! Eventually, though, one message made Lemon’s anxiety start to creep in again.

[17:57] So I know this probably seems WAY too fast, so don’t worry if you don’t want to

Time seemed to stand still between this message and the next one. What does she want to do that’s fast? Sex? That’s not that big a deal, it must be more than that. Unless she’s into super kinky shit, which wouldn’t surprise me, does she want to piss on me? Does she want her girlfriend to piss on me? Does she want me to be her fake girlfriend at her sister’s wedding where we have to share a bed before eventually realising we loved each other all along? Finally, right on cue, the follow-up arrived.

[17:59] It’s my birthday on Saturday and I’m having a party at my house before heading out on the town, it’ll hopefully just be a few friends, and it would be cool if you could make it 🥳

[18:00] You can bring a friend if you want! But again no pressure!!

Wow, that wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought. She started blankly at her phone, letting her heart rate settle back down to its normal speed. A party, cool. I can do that!

[18:02] You had me worried for a second there! But that sounds fun, I’ll be there! 😀

Exiting the app, she hastily composed a message to Jan. Jan loved parties, she had such a natural charisma which she exuded effortlessly whenever she entered a room. She was able to chat to anyone about anything, and Lemon was always responsible for getting her out of tricky situations on nights out where her natural friendliness had been mistaken for something else. She would be the perfect person to deflect any potential awkwardness that may occur at a Tinder-date-she’d-never-met-before’s birthday party. As she awaited Jan’s reply (Please please please say yes, Jan, you’re my only hope!), she checked on the app again, swiping through countless samey-looking profiles. Until she reached one that she’d definitely seen before.

Priyanka, 29

Within 10 miles

I already swiped for this girl, look! There’s her in her lengha, there she’s at pride… Oh she has new pictures now, how weird! Priyanka did indeed have an additional two photos on her profile which Lemon hadn’t seen before: a professional-looking black and white image of her face and torso, showing her dark waves flowing down her shoulders, and her eyes directly piercing Lemon’s soul; and finally, a picture of the dark-skinned girl wearing a blonde wig, cowboy hat, and appearing to be screaming into a microphone… I do like a Hannah Montana fantasy, get it girl!

Just like before, Lemon swiped Priyanka’s profile to the right, but unlike last time, the notification she’d been hoping for appeared straight away.

Congratulations! You have matched with Priyanka!

Buoyed by the excitement of matching with somebody so quickly - and someone so gorgeous - Lemon jumped straight off the bed and started dancing, ‘Rain on Me’ blaring beside her for the third time that evening. Even Gus seemed to pick up on the change of energy, running up and down the bed, wagging his tail merrily. As the pair danced, the familiar ‘ding’ of a new notification sounded through the room. And again.

Briefly pausing to pick up her phone, she saw the two messages she had received. Firstly, from Kiara.

[18:12] Unnggghhh work today was the worst, but I found a really cute Portuguese café on my walk home! I have eaten so many natas lol. We could go sometime if you want to? 🙂

Before replying (yes, obviously… I didn’t download Duolingo yesterday for nothing!), she went to check on the second message, which was from her recent match, Ilona.

[18:12] See you on Saturday bitch! xox

Well that seems ominous.

[sexyshakespeare]

bkdk k-pop (BTS) AU: Chapter 1- Kacchan

Bakugou was stressed. Then again, he was always stressed. But today was an especially stressful day- he had an audition to go to. This company was great, but they only really hired the best dancers. The problem was.. he had heard that they were looking for singers too. Logically speaking, anyone who could do both would be the clear pick, but that wasn’t going to put him down. This is Bakugou Katsuki- he works ten times as hard as any dancer out there, and is at least twice as athletic. So what if he can’t sing for shit. SO WHAT- he can learn and replicate any choreography they throw at him, and he’s willing to bet his ass he can do it better than any candidate they have. 

Katsuki took a deep breath and walked into the studio. Man, if they could afford to have their auditions at this studio.. what kind of money were they talking exactly. He was greeted by a woman who led him to the auditions room. White walls, white floors, huge mirrored wall on one side- this was how it’s done- not some half-assed practice session on a basket ball court like he was used to. He put his bag down by the wall and watched the others who had come before him give their auditions. Being Katsuki, he tried to point out every mistake they made to himself, not just to gloat over it- but to make sure he doesn’t repeat it. He really was more stressed than usual today, it was a wonder he hadn’t snapped already. When it was finally his turn, he came out to the center of the room. His scarlet hued eyes focused on the three judging the audition. They must be big wigs- he had to impress them. Their choreographer was watching from the other side of the room. He had the floor to himself.

The blond took in a deep breath and waited for his music to come on. He had picked a loose polyester shirt to wear over sweats- his most comfortable dance-wear. When the song started up, he immediately went into action. He’d gone over his routine hundreds- no- thousands of times before this audition. And he was nailing every move- every breath he took was calculated, pre-planned. If this company was as good as everyone said they were, they’d recognize his talent and hard work- all the hours he put into this would not go unnoticed. But Katsuki didn’t settle for just that. Any seasoned performer would be able to put in this kind of effort. 

His real selling point was the aggression. Every move, no matter how many thousands of times he’d done it- he replicated it with as much force and passion he’d put into it when he first learned it. Katsuki felt like his muscles were on fire by the end of it, but that only fuelled him more. At the end of his song, he stood up from his crouch and looked at the judges for any good signs. They were busy talking amongst themselves, looking excited. The blond stood there, panting, wiping the sweat out of his eyes- refusing the bottle of water offered to him- he watched the three of them by their table impatiently. What the hell was taking so long. He knew he was better than the chumps that came before him- so they ought to have something to say about it. Fuck this. “So?? Can I expect to hear something??”, he couldn’t stop himself before he shot out the words. The entire room seemed to quieten down. He frowned a bit, trying to correct himself. “..can I have some feedback- please??” One of the three at the table piped up, “We’ll get back to you on that- we still have more auditions before we can decide-“ Of course. He felt stupid to have asked. Shit- his friends had warned him to be more respectful, smile some more or whatever. Katsuki huffed and walked to where his bag was and flopped down next to it. Wiping his face and neck with his towel and squeezing the Gatorade into his mouth, he lay there, panting and glaring at all the other candidates.

Who the fuck cares if I smile- it’s skill that counts. That’s when the next candidate walked in. He was apparently the last one they had, and he was late for auditions- dumbass- that was the first mistake he made today as far as Katsuki was concerned. He watched him carefully, the floppy green hair, freckles on his face.. the doe eyes he made at everybody as he stuttered apologies. Please- what could this guy do to change the verdict. “Hello I’m Izuku Midoriya- I’M SO VERY SORRY AGAIN FOR BEING SO LATE- IT WAS THE TRAFFIC.”, the young man bowed low. The company people were more than understanding. “Don’t worry about it Midoriya- go ahead and perform what you’ve prepared for us-“ Bakugou watched Izuku to see what he could do. But it seemed like he hadn’t heard them yet- the green haired candidate was deeply concentrating on something.. His low voice sounded all over the room, “-I did calculate the time it would take me to get here- IF I took a bus- and it was clearly not worth it considering the time and money spent to get here, couple that with not getting seats on the bus anyway-“ “Uh- Izuku it’s alright! You can go ne-“ “-but that’s exactly why I took a taxi! It was prepaid and everything- I checked the routes on maps to make sure we picked the one with the highest rate of traffic clearance- but even that didn’t seem to work cause the detours on road weren’t updated on the map yet- maybe they need a better system in place for things like this- because clearly-“ “IZUKU MIDORIYA?” “YES!??”, he suddenly looked up to see the man looking at him sternly. “You can perform for us now- you’re the last one and we’re waiting-“ Katsuki could barely hold in the giggles at this point. This guy- THIS was the guy he’d been worried about taking his spot. Not a chance- not happening. He watched the greenet take to the center of the room after putting his things down by the wall and handing his memory stick to the sound person. Then the music started up. He danced in time, his moves were sharp, and subtle. As the beat got faster, he kept time without losing his pace or any of his grace. In stark contrast to the blond that had gone before him- there seemed to be no aggression accompanying his energy. Well, for a first- he smiled. And his eyes seemed to find his target easily- he aimed to please- to impress. And that is exactly why he did. There seemed to be an almost palpable change in the atmosphere in the studio. Everyone had their attention fixed on Izuku Midoriya. Katsuki Bakugou did too. He watched him glide across the floor, dynamic and free in his movements. And as a dancer himself, he knew how many hours it took to make it look this effortless. But even after all this, Bakugou was relaxed. Even if he could dance this beautifully- if anything- maybe they’d be matched in skill. Maybe they’d give this Midoriya fellow a second glance before giving the spot to Katsuki. That was when the cunt started to sing. Izuku’s track changed to instrumental as he sang along with the background accompaniment- he hit his notes high as he danced his routine. His pitch didn’t falter once through all the movement. How the fuck- Then he finished on a low note, his voice rumbling deeper than should’ve been possible. So he had a wide range too. What couldn’t this man do? When he was done, he bowed low again and smiled sweetly at the panel. Bringing his hand up to his hair awkwardly he said, “I hope you liked it! It wasn’t the best I could do- and the song I picked wasn’t the most complicated to choreograph but-“ “It was perfect- we loved it! Don’t be so hard on yourself.”, the company man spoke. He was the real deal- one of the main producers. He looked like he meant business, and even he was smiling at Midoriya. Midoriya got the feedback- he got the smiles- he got the excited chattering amongst the panel. Bakugou was livid. He suddenly stood up from his spot, causing the others in the room to turn towards the sound. Gathering up his things, he stomped out of the room and into the hallway leading back out to the elevator. Fuck ‘em. Fuck Midoriya. Fuck that producer. He walked into the elevator, angry with himself. He was angry for a lot of reasons- for not being able to sing- that was the first. At best, he used to rap a little as a hobby when he was younger. Would that help?? They hadn’t mentioned rapping at the auditions. He stood in the back, absolutely seething. It’s not like he could go back and rap for them now- that would make him look like a clown.

As the doors of the elevator closed, he found himself immediately regretting his outburst. Holding his head in his hand, he tried to not scream. He couldn’t do this here- they might still call him after today- he still had a chance.

He looked up suddenly to see his messy mop of green hair pushing through the doors. His eyes looked large and apologetic. Pathetic. “Come to gloat?”, he shot at him gruffly. Midoriya seemed to be taken aback as he shuffled into the lift- bag in hand. “N-No?? G-gloat about what- exactly..”, his voice sounded, unsure. This was the guy who would get his job. Right in front of him. What the hell did he have that Katsuki didn’t?? He glared at him before looking up. The elevator was making its way down to the ground floor- where he’d be taking a bus back to his shitty rented apartment that he could barely afford- yes, a bus- because he couldn’t afford a damn taxi like this freckled prodigy. He hated his guts- pushing his way into the elevator like that to hang around the loser of the day. “You got the job- idiot- so act like it.” Bakugou preferred it that way. At least if he gloated, he’d be able to put it all behind him- chalk it up to be a bad week and start again. But instead, Izuku tilted his head at him like a confused puppy. “..Bakugou right? They mentioned something about your stunts- said they’d be contacting some of us for choreography next week- but uhh- they figured maybe you don’t want the job anymore cause you-“ The blond snapped his head towards him instantly. “WHAT? THEY SAID WHAT?-“ He was already pressing the buttons to go back up- he pressed the wrong floor a couple of times before getting the right one. His face was sweating again. “Hey! I was on my way down- you could’ve waited..”, the other man’s voice was soft and undemanding as he watched the blond look panicked. Katsuki suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder, just as the doors opened on the right floor. “Tell them the truth- they seem like nice people. They were really impressed by you” The blond turned to look at him, dumbfounded. He was only met with a smile, not anywhere close to malicious- just a genuine look of happiness on this stranger’s face at the prospect of his adversary getting the job in his place. Fuckin’ weirdo. Bakugou walked through the hallway and into the studio, embarrassed that all eyes were on him. Many of the dancers seemed to have left already- the others were packing up. A few were speaking to the producers and the choreographer and standing around having coffee. As the spiky haired blond approached the group, he bowed his head slightly in apology. The producer took his hand and shook it. “Did Midoriya catch up to you then? We were going to call you too of course- so I take it you will come to the choreography round next week?” “Yes- of course I will- thank you so much for the opportunity sir-“, the otherwise prideful young man was severely humbled by the offer. This could just be his big break- if he could keep his emotions in check before this was all over. He felt like this was his chance to explain himself before things got out of hand. “I- I have some anger management issues- which I’m working on of course- that’s not going to be something that’ll hinder our work flow- I’m very sorry about walking out like that-“ It had to be done. He had to make the best impression on them if was going to be considered at all. He couldn’t smile and make doe eyes like him, but at the very least, he could be sincere if he tried. The producer looked at him with kind eyes, but cancelled out the gesture in a rather assertive tone, “Bakugou- we expect great things from you- and we also expect that you’ll be professional about keeping your emotions appropriate to the work setting-“ He sighed before continuing to sip on his coffee. “We’re not exactly sure what kind of arrangement we have for you, but only time and working together will tell-“ Before he could contain himself, he was speaking, “So another round of testing? That’s when you’ll decide you want me in the company?” The choreographer was listening before, but now he grinned wide. “This fish is ready to jump ah- PD?” He laughed and slapped the man on his shoulder. PD looked at Katsuki again, and spoke in a measured tone. “You’re assuming you’ll get the spot and nobody else? Isn’t that a little too confident- even if you are talented, that isn’t something we like in this company-“ At that, the blond fixed his scarlet gaze on his, his eyes hard like steel.  “Sir- respectfully- I know I’ve worked hard enough to get in- I know I’ll work harder than anybody here to make you see that- I will show you why I deserve this job-“ He took a deep breath and bowed low. When he straightened up, he saw that PD was smiling- a small, knowing look on his face. “I look forward to that Katsuki-“ Bakugou breathed a sigh of relief before taking a cup of coffee himself. He needed his nerves to settle already. “But to be completely honest? Since you do seem to want that from me-“, the producer smiled some more before sprinkling some sweetener in his cup, “Midoriya seems to be showing us why he deserves this job- maybe you ought to ask him for tips-“ Katsuki breathed in sharply and directed his glare at the door, willing the green haired wonder to walk in.

But Midoriya was already in a bus on his way home- to his own shitty little apartment. He just had to get this job- even if he had to fight that pretty blond for it. Izuku sighed, his breath fogged up the window as he looked out into the streets passing by him. He chuckled to himself. This Bakugou person had tried hard to make an enemy out of him- but it didn’t work. Izuku knew a good man when he saw one. This one just seemed to want to push people away- even if he was harmless. Well- maybe he’d scratch a little.. like a cat. “Katsuki- Katsuki-chan – Katchan “, the greenet mumbled to himself as he settled his head down on his bunched-up scarf. A three-hour long bus ride called for a nap after all. Izuku smiled suddenly, a pinkness in his cheeks. “Kacchan..”

[keatondj]

My Personal Ranking of Lady Gaga’s Discography

The time has come. The day has arrived. I am so excited to finally do this list!

Lady Gaga is one of the most influential, innovative, and incomparable artists of this generation. I think her to be one of the greatest musical artists to ever live. Her impact on pop culture as a whole cannot be ignored, and her talents as a singer/songwriter is limitless.

I remember first seeing her perform on So You Think You Can Dance with that iconic bleach-blonde, sharp-edged wig and those LED glasses with text on them and being absolutely mesmerized. Ever since that performance, I had been a casual fan, but absolute admirer of her music. Around 2016-2017 is when I decided to listen to pop music more regularly, and the first artist I knew I had to add to my library was Gaga. It was then that I listened to all her albums and officially became a Little Monster.

Each one of her albums is so incredibly unique, yet so undeniably Gaga at the same time. With the recent release of her sixth studio album Chromatica, I can now finally give my ranking of her incredible discography. I will only be covering her solo studio albums, so A Star Is Born and Cheek to Cheek will not be included.

A new thing I want to add to each album review is add a superlative that the album possesses to showcase its respective strength in the discography as a whole.

Reminder: this is my opinion. Everyone has a different ear, and certain sounds and songs resonate with different people. I’m just sharing my personal thoughts and experiences with these albums.

6. Joanne (2016)

This feels like pure blasphemy to put this album as the lowest ranking on the list when it is objectively one of Gaga’s strongest and more mature albums. It showcases her versatility as a songwriter to the nth degree, and she is the most vocally ferocious on this album. 

It is incredibly top-heavy for my taste (the first seven songs are absolutely sublime to listen to). It’s unfortunate, but from “Sinner’s Prayer” to the end, the album becomes borderline unlistenable to me. Gaga’s vocal delivery on the last few songs seems over-dramatic and unauthentic, and also technically not up to par with what I know she can do.

I think the big concern about Joanne is the feigned nature that I think I’m listening to. Gaga has always been theatrical and performative with her music, but with Joanne, I don’t seem to buy it as well. It suits a more dance-pop and electronic feel that we know and love her for. Maybe that’s the gay sensibilities in me talking; that’s just how I feel. 

She was far more successful with the A Star Is Born soundtrack in terms of writing for this genre. I applaud Gaga for going out on a limb with this massive genre shift, and it worked well, for the most part.

Favorite Songs: “Diamond Heart” through “Million Reasons”

Superlatives: Most Stripped, Most Diverse

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

5. Artpop (2013)

I have very conflicted feelings about this album. At its best, it is exploratory, imaginative, and audacious. At its worst, it’s ostentatious, inaccessible, and clumsy.

It undoubtedly has some of Gaga’s sickest and coolest production to date; she really amped up the electronic feel for this album. She also experimented with several contemporary genres (hip hop, R&B, dubstep, trap, rock, etc.) quite skillfully on various tracks like “MANiCURE”, “Do What U Want”, and “Swine”. However, the production does go overboard sometimes, creating a heavy and clunky sound (”Swine” often becomes very harsh to listen to).

Lyrically, I find that it can be very distant, boastful, and vain. Certain songs like “Donatella” and “Fashion” are very specific to Gaga’s lifestyle and obvious love for high fashion, but it is not relatable to the common listener (or at least not me). The extravagant nature of the songs, and even the album as a whole, is hard to really dive into.

I still love this album a lot, but more like as a guilty pleasure. I see many people regard it to be her underrated masterpiece, and I understand where they are coming from, but find them to be misguided. It’s a strong piece of work, but Gaga just shot for the stars and went a little too far for her own good.

Favorite Songs: “Aura”, “Venus”, “G.U.Y.”, “Sexxx Dreams”, “ARTPOP”, “Applause”

Superlatives: Most Experimental, Most Bold

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

4. The Fame (2008) 

It truly pains me to put this album so low because it’s the record that introduced us to the brilliance of her work and it features some of my absolute favorite Gaga tracks on it (”Poker Face” still hits hard even today). I cannot let the nostalgic nature of the album cloud my judgment, though. This only goes to show how incredibly strong her discography is; we are really splitting hairs at this point.

What Gaga did for the music industry back in 2008 is insurmountable and outrageous. She brought back the four-to-the-floor sound to the radio in a campy and edgy way that we had never heard before. She will most likely be the biggest juggernaut of an artist I will ever see in my lifetime; she will define my era of music as a child. This is the era I mainly associate with the iconic nature of Lady Gaga. 

It’s comparatively tame to her other work since she was still testing the waters and figuring herself out as an artist. But by 2008′s standards, terms like “disco stick” and “bluffin with my muffin” were totally out-there and controversial. Songs like “Paparazzi”, “LoveGame” and “Poker Face” pushed the envelope and influenced many artists for years to come.

Besides the lead singles, many of the songs on the album are not too remarkable and probably the closest thing you can classify as “filler tracks”. They’re inconsequential, generic, and uneventful compared to the powerhouse singles. 

While these songs also deal with fame and the opulent lifestyle like the ones I mentioned for ARTPOP, they were written from the perspective of someone who was not yet famous. The whole idea of the album is playing with the universal dream and fantasy of what fame is like. In turn, that make the album so much more relatable, universal, and engaging.

This is one of the greatest debut albums ever produced, and it paved the way for Gaga’s career and artistry. I’m happy to say that it basically gets close to pop perfection from here on out.

Favorite Songs: “Just Dance”, “LoveGame”, “Poker Face”, “The Fame”, “Starstruck”

Superlatives: Most Revolutionary, Most Iconic

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

3. Chromatica (2020)

This is the first album of her work that I was eagerly waiting for as a proper Little Monster. I was absolutely ecstatic when the first information about the album was coming out, including the singles. It was the album that I had been waiting for for a long time... and it absolutely delivered. It was everything I needed it to be and more.

Vocally, it is Gaga’s most impressive work to date. Her voice has matured so beautifully over the past 12 years, and she has learned to use her upper register in the D5-F5 range more healthily, powerfully, and consistently than before. There were several moments throughout the album that I was gobsmacked at the force of her voice. 

I will admit it is the most “tame” of all her works in terms of the outlandish and campy nature with which we know her for (just ahead of The Fame). Instead, she writes with more sophistication, finesse, and honesty that has come with more experience. On first listen, it seems rudimentary, but as time goes on, the inner complexities of the album start to reveal themselves.

For being a straight-up dance album through and through, it is brutally honest and personal. There is real pain and heartache that is displayed through much of the album, and Gaga is using music as a means of catharsis to release the pain. It makes the album incredibly relatable and accessible, allowing the listeners to dance through the pain. Released in a time when the whole world was faced with such uncertainty and worry, this album is definitely a great outlet for those looking for comfort.

Being as huge of a fan of artists like Kylie Minogue, Robyn, and Carly Rae Jepsen as I am, this album truly delivers on the dance/dance-pop department. The production is impeccably done and spearheaded by Bloodpop (who I hope is Gaga’s main collaborator from now on). Even the Chromatica interludes are stunningly gorgeous and inform how the next act of the album will go. In my opinion, Act I of the album (Tracks 1-6) is absolute pop perfection; I wouldn’t change a single thing about any of those tracks.

The album may run a little short, and it’s tamer compared to her earlier works, but it is still brilliant nonetheless. With a collaboration with the reigning Princess of Pop, Ariana Grande, you know it has to be amazing. This will absolutely go down as one of the best dance albums ever written. This is Gaga’s return to form, and we have been so blessed.

(Ok, but Chromatica II into 911 is THE serve. She did THAT. Do you know what she did? THAT.)

Favorite Songs: “Chromatica I”, “Alice”, “Stupid Love”, “Rain On Me”, “Free Woman”, “Fun Tonight”, “911″, “1000 Doves”

Superlatives: Most Cohesive, Most Personal

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

2. The Fame Monster (2009)

I’m gonna be perfectly honest here: it took the longest time for this album to grow on me. Even longer than ARTPOP. But with time, I was finally able to see just how sleek, crisp, and perfect of an album this really is.

This was Gaga’s expansion to The Fame that she wrote based on her experiences with touring, fame, and the toll that can take on someone. It is a concept album with each song being based on a personal fear of Gaga’s that I am sure were all amplified with the high intensity of being a pop star. 

You can immediately tell the difference between this album and its predecessor. It’s darker, it’s sexier, and it’s candid. Where The Fame was written from a place of imagination and wonder, this was written from a place of truth and fear. The amount of growth that came from just a year on the road is staggering.

It is undeniably her most polished album in terms of production and composition. It took the ambition of sonic perfection that The Fame was going for, and amped it up even more. Each song has its own feel to it, but they all work together so well as an album.

There is one song that makes this album imperfect and keeps it from my number one spot, and the song will make tons of Little Monsters angry: “Speechless”. I just don’t like it, no matter how many times I’ve tried to get into it. It’s written in C major (my least favorite key), it’s overly sentimental and hokey, and it disrupts the flow of pop that keeps the album together. I know it’s an incredibly personal song for her, but it is just mediocre to me; I skip it everytime.

Other than that, I think the album is absolute perfection. “Bad Romance” is one of the most iconic and influential songs in her songbook and even the Great American Songbook, and the non-singles are just as powerful, if not better. This album is the standard to which Gaga is held, and any album in the future will struggle to hold its own against this amazing work. Except one. ;) 

Favorite Songs: “Bad Romance”, “Alejandro”, “Monster”, “Dance In The Dark”, “So Happy I Could Die”

Superlatives: Most Polished, Most Dark

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

1. Born This Way (2011)

Is there really any other option?

It’s the album that debuted at #1 on the Billboard charts. It’s the album with 5 of her most iconic and successful singles (the title song, “Judas”, “The Edge of Glory”, “You And I”, and “Marry The Night”). It’s the album that was unabashedly open about its advocacy, and gave voice to anyone who ever felt cheated by life or counted out. Of course it has to be in the number one spot.

This is Gaga at her freest, her most courageous, her most daring. She went all out in this record, and the results are absolutely remarkable. I am a massive fan of the 80′s in all aspects (especially the music), so the influence of 80′s rock and pop on the album satisfy my sensibilities swimmingly. The ingenuity and artistry which she demonstrates in the composition of this album is just mind-blowing.

“The Edge of Glory” is her best song. Hands down. No question. Bottom line, cut, and dry. The first time I heard it back in 2011 was so impactful to me. I learned just what an impressive singer Gaga is, and how powerful of a songwriter she is. It is one of the most euphoric, devil-may-care, and joyous songs ever written, and one of the most important songs in my life. The fact that it perfectly closes out the thrilling roller-coaster ride of Born This Way is the cherry on top.

It might be a little messier and imprecise than The Fame Monster, but it’s lows never get as low, and its highs are astronomically high. The arc that this album takes me through is astonishing. It is an album about celebrating life, loving others and yourself, and throwing caution to the wind. Who can’t relate to that and find comfort in it?

I could go on for ages about this album, but I’ll keep it simple. This is Gaga’s magnum opus, and one of the best pop records ever created. I am so unbelievably grateful for what it has done for my life, and it will forever be one of my favorite albums ever written. It taught me that I am unequivocally born this way, and that I should strive to be on the edge of glory.

Favorite Songs: The whole tracklist   ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Superlatives: Most Daring, Most Adventurous, Most Creative

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

I have been wanting to do this list for so long, and I am thrilled to finally get my thoughts out in a post. Lady Gaga is one of the best and most iconic musicals artists ever, and I am eagerly hopeful for the future of her music. I recently uploaded a reaction video of me listening to Chromatica for the first time if you’d like to watch. I am an absolute dork in it, and completely got my life on the first listen. I’ll include it as a separate post on my page as well. Enjoy!

https://youtu.be/zdEH2RRc3DE

[caps-lockdown]

32 Days Later

32 Days Later (One shot)

Enjoy this piece of October Fluff! It’s my first real attempt at writing from Steve’s perspective, so sorry if it isn’t amazing. I also wrote this at four am after being up since twelve p.m the prior day.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Rating: PG (All fluff!)

Words: 2,245

Summary: It took exactly 32 days for Steve Rogers to fall for you.

No beta, only own mistakes and the reader. Again this is Y/N format but it is also from Steve’s point of view. Well sort of anyway. I TRIED PEOPLE.

Also if you’d like to be tagged for future fics just send a quick message, ask or comment!

32 Days Later

You were trouble. That’s what Fury said.

October first came in a blink and Steve Rogers walked out of his room ready for his morning run to find you in your pair of skeleton pajamas. Your feet tapped barefoot against the hardwood floor of the kitchen as you sipped from a giant bat shaped mug. No doubt you had been waiting to pull it out, and by the smells of it you had just made a batch of Nutella hot chocolate. It was seven in the morning.

“No time to sleep when it’s October!” You had exclaimed gleefully, sitting on the couch in the joining room and proceeding to fold yourself into multiple layers of blankets. Steve rolled his eyes as the start of some horror movie began, shaking his head as he stepped outside. You’d only joined the team five months ago, per Fury’s orders and Tony’s headache. Sure, everyone fell in love with you within the first month. Well everyone except Steve of course. Keep your friends close and all that. He couldn’t peg you. Usually he was a good judge of character, but he was continually finding himself plagued by not being able to figure you out. He wasn’t an idiot though. He knew how great you were in the field. How you rivaled Nat’s marksmanship and Tony’s sarcasm. He knew that Bucky and Sam protected you like you were their adopted little sister. Hell he even knew Thor took to calling you “The small and mighty Y/N”. And just like now he knew you had been looking forward to this particular month, as you had mentioned it precisely eighty-six times during the course of this week.

He knew you were trouble. He just didn’t know what kind yet.

On October third you asked him what day it was.

“It’s October Third.” He replied back simply, your giggling fit ringing in his ears as everyone else joined in. He quickly learned that it was a movie reference, having being forced to watch said movie that same evening. He came to understand why you always shouted “She doesn’t even go here!” when you found something out of place, and why everyone (including Bucky to his shock) were wearing pink articles of clothing as the film played.

The wink you sent him from across the living room made his face heat up.

He distinctly recalls the night of October seventh when you nearly begged to get him to accompany you to a new horror movie playing at the theater downtown. “Tony and Pepper are going and I don’t want to be a third wheel!” You whined, “I need big strong arms to hug when I get scared!” You pleaded. “I’ll make you snickerdoodles for a week!”

He didn’t have the faintest idea what was happening amongst the bloodshed and screaming victims being mutilated, but he would never forget your floral scent of perfume taking over his senses. How your hands felt on his skin as you clung on for dear life to his arm and attempted to hide just a sliver of your face in his shoulder. The snickerdoodles were delivered outside his room for seven days straight after that, always wrapped and his name written in beautiful, careful script.

“Come on man, it’s just a pumpkin! It isn’t going to bite cha!”

Steve stared in discontent at the large orange gourd in front of him on October thirteenth. The team decided it would be in their best interest to carve faces and designs on them. Team Building. Tony called it.  Festive you called it. Disgusting chaos would have been his chosen words. The tarp covering the floor was no match for everyone’s hacking carnage, Sam’s complaint of splattered pumpkin guts on the wall in the kitchen causing everyone to roll their eyes. You said you’d get Parker to clean it up. Everyone laughed at your perfect humor. Again.

Steve was never much for gawking or ogling, but watching you put your “carving skills” (he had no idea those were actual skills) on your own vegetable, fruit, whatever you had called it, made him worry about ever making you angry. You were so calm while you worked, blades shaving off top layers and poking holes in artistic ways. Your fingers were lighter than air the entire time, yet he was growing more and more afraid for his personal safety. And his progressively growing attraction to you. It was only when you were nearly done painting yours in glow in the dark paint that he came to the realization that he hadn’t carved a single feature into his own. He worked haphazardly in a frenzy after that, almost losing a finger in his rush to complete it. Maybe you wouldn’t put together that he had spent his entire evening watching you. He had to hope right? The poor thing came out looking so uneven and lopsided he almost wanted to accidentally push it out of a nearby window to put it out of its misery.

“I think it looks wonderful Steve.” You cooed, his blood pressure rising as you went to place your masterpiece in between his and Sam’s puking pumpkin. Yours was an extremely well done adaptation of “Starry Night”, carved and painted with such precision Steve didn’t know if you were real for five whole seconds. Bucky said you put his art to shame. He had to agree, thrown off for just a millisecond when you brought him down into a strong and grateful hug.

“I know you didn’t want to be here. Thank you.” All he could do is make a small “Sure” as you parted ways, watching you and Nat link arms as you headed back into the Compound. He was too busy in his own thoughts when Sam gave him a long look. His mind was occupied with how your breath had felt against his neck when you hugged him, and the way you said his name.

You were definitely trouble.

October twenty fifth was the annual Stark Industries “Trunk or Treat”. It was a wonderful night filled with young children dressed as the Avengers and various other things, visiting trunks of employees and Stark himself to get their yearly candy. Thor and Bruce along with other security stood watch, while Nat and Clint passed out candy as Elsa and Kristoff from Frozen. Bucky and Sam were Ghostbusters, your head nearly exploding when the former and Steve both had said they’d never seen it. You had demanded Sam and Tony’s “Movie Buff” cards, mumbling something about “failing this city.” Whatever that meant.

And what was he doing this fair and crisp autumn night? He could ask himself the same thing, reaching to tug at the itchy orange ascot that clung to his neck tightly. The bell bottoms were a bit tight, the sweater vest threatening to pop at the seams at his wide shoulders. Your ex boyfriend had told you to keep it when he broke your heart right after you joined the team. It had been your dream to go as Daphne Blake and Fred Jones, certain you’d clean house at costume parties with your previous beau. That was until Fury got you the job and the jerk you had been dating for nearly three years told you he couldn’t deal with you making more than him and being stronger than him. Steve leapt, dived at the chance when you asked for his help, agreeing without knowing much about the Scooby Gang. You fixed that too, staying up til three in the morning with him the day of the event watching reruns of the famous cartoon. He pretty much had your laughter locked in his memory now, the way your hair moved when you threw your head back when Shaggy made another absurd food concoction. Your ex was a fool.  How lucky this guy had been to have you in the first place, only to mess it up royally later. It made his blood boil how much of your time he had wasted in the past. Steve would never treat you like he had, you deserved so much more than that. He admired you for your opinions and strength, how you could shut him up with cold hard facts when you got into heated debates. What a fool he was to lose you. You kept telling everyone you were better off, but he heard the crying on the other side of his room wall. Late at night. When you didn’t think anyone was awake to pity you.

So he helped you pass out candy from the back of your cousin’s panel van, the happy children scurrying off with their candy as he had to remind himself not to move to quickly lest his costume rip in a non-flattering way.

He asked you to Tony’s Halloween party that very night, saying he would get a bigger costume. You asked if it was a date to which he sheepishly confirmed. Your smile nothing short of blinding him, the kiss you placed on his cheek burning into his skin when you accepted. He was branded by you, instantly craving your attention and affection and conceding he would stop at nothing to earn it. He was a goner.

Halloween night came, you spending all day in a hurried disheveled mess as you baked countless treats for the party guests. Tony had insisted that the event could be completely catered but you were having none of it, busying yourself and not accepting any help. How you managed to pull it off in such a time crunch was beyond him, and he felt a certain sense of pride as you received dozens of compliments during the evening, your arm interlaced with his.

“I knew you could do it Doll, my ma would have killed for your recipes.”

“She brought you into this world Steve,” you beamed at him as you adjusted your own scratchy ascot, “She wouldn’t even have had to ask.”

The two of you won the contest, coming in second was Thor and Bruce’s in their absolutely wretched attempt at going as each other. He was addicted to your laughter about the whole ordeal though, Bruce’s wig specifically causing a riot throughout the night with everyone. Thor said he was flattered none the less. After the party he helped you back to your room, your inebriated nature meaning you needed assistance. You swore and stumbled out of your clothes on the way down the hall, the scene endearing to say the least. Steve could only shake his head, picking up your heels (torture devices you called them), purple thigh high stockings, red wig (and wig cap) as you went, tipsy and carefree.

“Does this mean we’re a couple now?” You asked, shoving your room door open with comical effort. “Cause we won the couple…couple contest. It’s only fair.”

“Sure sweetheart, I think I’d like that. But I would prefer to hear you say you’d like that when you’re sober, alright?”

“But I asked you already…” You looked so confused and he wanted nothing more than to kiss you senseless. Make you see how completely smitten he already was with you. But he just repeated himself and smiled.

You asked him to stay which he politely declined, only to be smacked in the face with a lime green ascot in response to his quest to remain respectful. All you had to do to win him over was give him a sad look, batting your eyes up at him and making all of his resolve cave. He stripped down to his white tank top and boxer briefs while you got comfortable under the sheets.

“You can sleep on top of the covers. Buck said you super soldiers run hot.”

He smiled while snuggling into you, hoping you wouldn’t pick up on his racing heartbeat when you shifted your weight, leaning your head back against his chest. “Why’s that Y/N? Afraid I won’t be able to keep my hands to myself?”

“No,” You mumbled, already half asleep when his arm came around you. “I’m one-hundred percent sure I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands to myself.” He stiffened slightly, hearing you chuckle cheekily before falling into an easy slumber. He’d get even in the morning he decided.

November first came in a blink, Steve stretching at the first sign of sunrise. The bed was empty. Your bed was empty. He could faintly hear noise coming from the kitchen, throwing on his pants from the night prior and shutting the door behind him. The dark and sinister decorations were gone, replaced with bright and incredibly gaudy holiday lights and décor. He didn’t know they had twelve nutcracker statues, each eerily looking a lot like their real life Avenger counterparts. He chuckled at the sight of you, braid a mess and green and red striped pajamas covering you. His heart caught in his throat when you turned from the counter to face him, your beauty always managing to make his heart stop momentarily. Your feet padded across the floor as you sipped from your obnoxiously large ceramic mug shaped like a reindeer.

Your kiss tasted of peppermint mocha, the world drowned out as he returned it tenfold, tugging you close and spilling a hint of coffee onto his tank top.

“We’re so a couple Rogers,” You grinned after breaking away slightly, “So buckle up.”

You were trouble. But he definitely didn’t mind.

The end.

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