#not this month i have to practice for perhaps one of the most important entry exams

[gofishygo]

bitches be kinning angel dust and nagatio and all these complex characters like bro IM LITERALLY HANGYODON !!!!

like look !! :

-chinese

-a literal fish

-like to make people laugh

-hero-ish complex, always wants to fix everything

-broke up w girlfriend

-likes shrimp chips and hotpot

-tragically cursed to always have loneliness as his anchor

[the-insomniac-emporium]

SWORDTEMBER '24, DAY 2: SAKURA

Oops it's late. But hey, introducing a format that most if not all of my written entries will use from here on out, as well as a new OC: Cynthia Delabaunte. Parts of her story will be told within the little writing snippets under the cut for these entries :3 Might also expand on her story separately, too, once I can type properly again. -----

Item ID: EO-2402 Item Name: Decorative Blade Category: B-2 Origin Point: Telloran, Katal Owner: Cynthia Delabaunte (C), Naomi Tellorvoso (O) Description: A sword of traditional make and design, in accordance with a specific sect of Earthen history (see files JN-001 through JN-387 for additional context). Likely made from steel. No testing has been done for confirmation. The closest accurate designation that can be given is a katana, but it must be noted that modern examples have strayed from traditional standards. Flowers from a cherry blossom tree (see file EO-2002) are engraved along one side of the blade, the wood of the handle is from the same species, and the cloth bindings appear to be dyed in order to match the color of the flower petals. In need of sharpening, but still dangerous in the right hands. Cataloger’s Notes: If this hadn’t been officially logged within the mailing system already, I wouldn’t bother recording it at all. At least this way there’s less of a chance Naomi will get in trouble (doubt the boss will care that she didn’t know she’s not allowed to send this kind of thing to my office). Hopefully I can get it moved to my apartment without too much fuss… if not, well, guess I’ll just have to find a way to re-categorize this, too.

----- From a technical perspective, a very legal and according to employee file kind of way, Cynthia Delabaunte is nothing more than a cataloger for the Federal Port Authority of the planet Katal. Just one of many working endlessly to inspect, categorize, and manage the influx of items confiscated by inspectors. In practice, she has to be many other things: A historian, a diplomat, an archivist, an antiquarian, and more.

Today, she is trying her hand at being an arborist. For the first time in her decade of experience, the FPA has confiscated an entire goddamn tree.

It waits, stationary, in the loading bay, towering over the rest of the packages. Mocking her, just barely in view from her office window. Slowly, slowly dying. All because someone in the capitol procrastinated on paperwork, It was supposed to be allowed to pass through without any issue, with approval months in advance, bypassing the strict laws regarding potentially invasive species.

By the looks of it, the cherry blossom tree stands little chance of outliving the tiresome games of bureaucracy. Assuming Cynthia doesn’t find a way to speed along the process, at least. She is trying, bless her heart, but one can only call in so many favors before an effort begins to feel futile. Evidently, she needs to change tactics. A loophole, maybe? If she can change the tree’s legal classification… make it count as less than it is (the same way she only counts as a cataloger), then perhaps she can force the FPA to release it.

The only question is where to start- but that gets answered for her soon enough, a message request popping up on her computer. From none other than the tree’s rightful owner, the head of one of Katal’s most important families, Naomi Tellorvoso. Despite having no shortage of experience dealing with important people, Cynthia still feels her heart race at the prospect of talking to the woman.

Thankfully, the message request is for text only. That, she feels, is far less intimidating. Especially once the texts start flying back and forth, Naomi’s frustrations unleashed in a flurry of accusations that came to a screeching, apologetic halt the very moment she realized Cynthia wasn’t responsible for the tree being impounded.Still, the would-be arborist proceeds with caution, refusing to make any direct promises this early into their conversation. Instead, she probes for any information that might be twisted to their benefit.

Naomi’s tone, even though text, softens as soon as she begins sharing the history of the tree. Apparently it is old, having outlived three generations of the Tellorvoso family, genetic modifications making it last far longer than natural members of the species. First planted by Naomi’s great great grandmother, within the garden of their home planet. For decades the tree was the centerpiece of their estate, a shining testament to their heritage (something few humans could trace in this age), with fallen flowers and branches used for traditional crafting.

When the great great grandmother passed, the terms of her will had her buried along the roots of the tree. So too were her children laid to rest in its shade. Now, with Naomi’s mother passing beyond the veil, the Tellorvoso family yearned to have the cherry blossoms bloom closer to home, to have its roots grow strong alongside the rest they have planted. Apparently there had been much praying and deliberating before they agreed to transport the tree from their old homeworld to Katal, wanting to be sure their forefathers would not be frothing with rage in the afterlife.

But all Cynthia needed to know was that someone had been buried beneath the tree. That alone was enough for her to start pulling strings, even as she listened to Naomi continue the tale of her family’s journey across the stars. If you asked either of them, they would not have been able to pinpoint the moment they had switched their conversation to a phone call instead of text. By the time they say their farewells, Cynthia has already managed to re-categorize the sakura tree as a container, the contents being human remains.

Grim? Perhaps, but the port authority is less strict about the movement of coffins than about the introduction of potentially invasive species into the ecosystem (even in highly isolated, controlled circumstances).

Within a week the tree is gone, sent out while Cynthia was at home, and she almost misses the vibrant pink taking up her office view. Almost. Another month passes before she hears anything more from the Tellorvoso family, coming in one day to find a large package resting atop her desk. Clearly marked for her, from Naomi, having already gone through the office’s mailing system. The attached card features a photo of the tree in its new resting place, now looking more lively than it had when it left the office.

But it’s the contents of the box that has Cynthia scrambling to message Naomi, trying to make sense of the absolutely beautiful sword (left unsharpened, yet no less intimidating) that absolutely should not have been sent to her work. Flower petals line the box, helping obscure the weapon, and as she cannot help but admire the craftsmanship while she waits for Naomi to pick up. Nestled among the packing are several bags of tea, as well as a few wrapped candies. Clearly the intent is rather friendly.

Maybe, ah, friendly, based on the way Naomi answers the phone, a little breathy and far less confident than the first time they spoke. She apologizes for breaking the rules, hastily, and rushes right into an offer to properly thank Cynthia for her efforts. Drinks, or dinner, or teaching her how to wield a sword. If that’s what she wants. And by the Ancients, it is what she wants.

[memorylang]

Settling Into Mongolia’s Modern Capital | #66 | November 2022

These events occurred when I’d been back in Mongolia for about a month. Some oddities of the culture shock had worn off by then, so I could get in more of a rhythm. After I got back from Kharhorin, plenty enough happened. This entry recounts the seedlings of adventures that would become new norms in my second year of Peace Corps service. 

Transition

The Sunday, November 13, 2O22, which kicked off my Week 5, was fairly mundane. I attended English and Chinese Mass at my local St. Thomas Aquinas parish, practiced more people's names, met some of the parishioners’ kids then returned to my apartment. It was a good morning. 

Then in my apartment, I spent the afternoon and evening writing. My main counterpart visited to drop off a considerable portion of the countryside meat, since our return to UB the night before. It was kind of wild to think that I had seen that animal walking just a couple days before. That Sunday, though, I had three articles I intended to finish. By 2 a.m., I had two pretty well drafted. The third was still some time coming. But finishing would have to wait. 

New Projects, Familiar Faces

Tuesday, November 15, 2O22, I co-facilitated my first community English speaking club since my time in Erdenet. It was with the Volunteer Center of Mongolia, alongside my fellow M3O, Eric. Earlier that day, the two of us had visited the UNFP at the United Nations building. Eric and I had the interesting task of visiting local nonprofits and NGOs in preparation to report back to the new M3I Peace Corps Mongolia Trainees.

On a special note, one of the attendees of that speaking club was one of my former English/Chinese students from the 2OI9 group of international relations sophomores I’d taught back at the National University of Mongolia, Erdenet School. She had since graduated this spring 2O22, after having moved to UB. Having her as a facilitator for our speaking group felt so touching. 

After Tuesday evening’s speaking club, I dropped by a small place on the west side of the square called the EscoBar. It’s where the public English “UB Quiz Night” was going down. Participants could pay a slight fee to join in for the chance to win the money if their table group won. (And if their team won second place, they were responsible for setting up the following week’s quiz.) Dropping by, I remembered how in Reno, Nevada, church friends from Newman would also participate in bar trivia outside town. On one such occasion I’d driven out to participate though I skipped the drinks.

The next afternoon, Wednesday, November 16, my main coworker and I taught our first seminar together! It was a citywide English methodology workshop hosted at a local secondary school, #48, near our office. I learned these monthly seminars would be a regular feature of my assignment to our city’s department of education. During the workshop, when I wasn’t presenting, I was noting unfamiliar Mongolian words and translating them with my dictionary. Some teachers got some cool photos and videos of me presenting! My first workshop was about how to reach Gen Z, which related to my Springtide Ambassador Program work. Apparently my being single was also an interesting tidbit to some in the room, too.

Volunteer Opportunities and Reunions

The next morning, Thursday, November 17, fellow M3O Eric and I embarked on a trip to Special Olympics Mongolia, the site of one of our M28 predecessors who’d stayed on back in 2OI9 to serve as a Peace Corps Volunteer Leader (PCVL). With the PCVLs having evacuated with the rest of us, their former sites were now potential NGOs with whom we could serve. Special Olympics specifically had a special partnership with the Peace Corps thanks to the Shrivers. 

Perhaps of the most special importance was an introduction to the American Corner. On Tuesday night, I’d also met at the Volunteer Center of Mongolia a volunteer who’d done projects in the city library, Duka. That afternoon I came by the uncannily familiar library. I would recognize this was one of many locations in UB I had visited only once yet significantly nonetheless. It was the site of the filmmakers’ December 2OI9 talk before my Christmas return to America that year. 

At the American Corner, the student volunteer Duka introduced me to their program coordinator, Ari. From there, I got an overview of the center’s programs and needs. In Peace Corps lingo, we call this the needs assessment. I decided to help on their children’s speaking club and writing workshops. A children’s speaking club was among my Erdenet projects before, and writing was my specialty. I also met fellow Americans, such as those who came to Mongolia on the current cohort of Fulbrighters. I heard of more, too! My network rapidly expanded. 

I at last got my schedule to work so that I could meet a dear ol’ friend. And my, what a meeting! We shared what felt for me like the finest meal I'd had since the time our Peace Corps Country Director had come to visit my sitemates and me just over three years before, Nov. 3, 2OI9, in Erdenet. Even the drinks were great! We reminisced about my days when I was first in Mongolia and he’d visited me at my old site. He shared more too about his professional background and work since the pandemic unfolded. We resolved to meet again so he could introduce me to program partners. It was a pleasant night. 

Projects Beginning

That Friday, November 18, 2O22, marked the one-month anniversary since my return to Mongolia. 

In fun resourcefulness news, I unlocked a door using scissors! It was during a visit to Beautiful Hearts, another previous Peace Corps Volunteer Leader (PCVL) site. I certainly appreciated this organization's service and hoped there was something Eric and I could do to carry on the Peace Corps partnership with them. At least a few of our M3I Trainees had social work backgrounds, too! Baigalmaa would be our main contact there. Another staff member there also mentioned I could get some tasty Chinese food from a restaurant near my office. 

That afternoon I returned to the American Corner to begin as a co-facilitator to its children’s speaking club. In typical Peace Corps Mongolia fashion, I wondered if they played a prank on me, for when I got there, no one was around. Then people arrived. It made for a good laugh in the group chat. 

I felt that the co-facilitator was a lovely presider. She gave me the grade school teacher vibe by how she smiled at the children and exuded what felt to me as though serene patience. I was quite literally passed the mic, so I took the floor. That was a fun moment. 

Afterward, we strolled amid the flurries back toward the square. She was studying at university to become an English teacher, so I felt glad that she was working on our program. Then I continued my new Mongolian language classes with the friend Adonis. Turns out his lessons were in the same building as the Special Olympics office. So many places related! 

Weekend All Across Town

Saturday, November 19 was Day 3 at the American Corner, then back to the cathedral. That morning a few of the M3I Trainees arrived with me to the public English speaking club. After it began transitioning to its Toastmasters time, that’s when I took off early to catch a bus east to Ofitser, where the cathedral was near. 

At the cathedral, we rehearsed with the music ministry and celebrated with children the vigil Mass ahead of the next day’s Christ the King Sunday. I then received a ride from the cathedral to the Shangri-La, where we had the theatre. Unfortunately, just in front of the Star Apartments area (very close to the Shangri-La), we had a somewhat scary moment when our car wound up scraped with another. So I and a friend got out of the car and walked the remainder to the theater. 

That night, a group of new Peace Corps Trainees and us saw the new “Black Panther.” I missed the introduction. But later reading, I discovered that it was as I expected: Chadwick Boseman’s real passing was referenced similarly by characters in the film as T’Challa’s passing. I found the film otherwise moody in the right ways. For it dealt with questions of colonialism while introducing a mutant of incredible power and decent charisma even if too headstrong. I also appreciated how they worked in the MIT character, for it reminded me of wandering the campus just a few months earlier, in September. I looked forward to seeing what Marvel Studios would do with her story. 

Sunday, November 2O, 2O22, I returned to the cathedral for Christ the King Sunday, the last day of the church year. After singing with the choir, I ventured to a far side of town to a large bookstore called Azkhur. I came for an Autism Association of Mongolia volunteer training alongside M3O Eric, our Beautiful Hearts contact Baigalmaa and our friend from the Volunteer Center of Mongolia, Tsevelmaa. I enjoyed how our networking was already benefitting other organizations. 

School Visits and New Encounters

Monday, I embarked on multiple school visits alongside my counterparts. We traveled to the 72nd, 50th and 5th Schools that day, primarily within the Chingeltei district. When introduced to English teachers, I did short needs assessments with their departments, sometimes even observed classes and gave teaching methodology advice to help address needs. Such school visits would become part of my main routines. 

The next morning was the Feast of St. Cecelia. That morning, M3O Eric and I stopped by the Red Cross to learn more about its volunteer activities. That evening, he and I returned to the Edu-Volunteers’ English speaking club. That night, I returned to the American Corner to meet the American facilitator Nick of its remaining writers’ workshop. He taught me about what’s worked in his workshop and needs still to meet. 

To wrap up Tuesday night, I headed with Nick to the 976 restaurant to experience another place where fellow international folks like to go, salsa night. It was a packed evening full of energetic folks hitting the floor every few minutes for salsa, bachata and kizomba. And after some time I eventually met the American for whom we were looking, Audrey. She was such a positive, peppy woman. It was nice to know another American associated with the Fulbright, too! 

The U.S. Ambassador to Mongolia

Wednesday morning was an exciting time, for the new U.S. Ambassador to Mongolia, Mr. Michael Klecheski’s successor, would meet us Peace Corps folks. I needed some more vaccinations first from Medical, then it was time for the meet-up. That morning we returned to the community center of Star Apartments, where we’d celebrated Hallowe’en. This time the center was more plainly adorned. There we met the Ambassador, Mr. Richard Buangan, such a warm fellow. 

Given that he was only the second ambassador I’d met, I naturally found myself comparing what I remembered of our 2OI9 ambassador and our current. Both were friendly and informed men. Though, I supposed I related better to Mr. Buangan’s interest in media and his Filipino descent, which reminded me of my tita. I hadn’t realized journalism in Mongolia had such challenges, yet that greatly interested me. It was wonderful to hear too he was so supportive of us Peace Corps folks. I wondered if someday I could become a U.S. ambassador. 

For lunch I dropped by the Chinese restaurant mentioned to us the Friday before at Beautiful Hearts. It was admittedly alright. I wasn’t sure how regularly I’d want to come but at least the prices were nice. After that I headed back to the department office to work through the afternoon. 

Chinggis Khaan’s Birthday Eve

That evening, Trainees and I assembled at a Starbucks-like Tom N Toms coffee shop in an office building downtown to co-plan our next big operation to occur on Chinggis Khaan’s Birthday, coinciding with Thanksgiving. We divvied up who would do what during our American cultural component of the presentation. I found it a bit ironic to get saddled with the Southwest despite feeling personally more like a Midwesterner. Nonetheless, the “Wild West” was a more iconic part of our nation and one that my Vegas experiences certainly enabled me to speak on. 

Thus, in that single week after my Language Proficiency Interview and ‘cultural practicum’ to Kharhorin, new projects had begun in earnest. Every new day sowed the seeds of a next one. 

You can read more from me here at memoryLang.Tumblr.com :)

[pazodetrasalba]

Back-Of-The-Envelope calculation

Dear Caroline:

With entries of yours to comment inexorably running out, I keep thinking about what else I could write you about. I've already mentioned book reviews - these will keep me going for some time, but not daily. Same for very occasional news pieces about you that might see the light of day from time to time. One thing that came to my mind today was one of those back-of-the-envelope calculations that are so dear to applied mathematicians, EAs and Rationalists and which I know you love (in my case, what attracts me to math is the complete opposite: no practical applications whatsoever, and a painfully rigorous and unquestionable lack of fuzziness and ambiguity).

As I usually fret about the value of writing this blog at all, let's put some bs, speculative numbers on that. The main purpose this blog is written for is the hope that whatever I say in it can be helpful, entertaining and empathetic at a time when I presume you would need and profit the most from it. For that to have any change of happening at all, you would first need to know of its existence. I'll start guessing that there's perhaps a 70% chance of that being the case - you have been terribly busy and under stress during the last few months, but I imagine you would still have had some time for yourself, some access to the Internet and some curiosity , even if unhealthy, in what people would be thinking and saying about you and in/near your defunct digital spaces.

The next step is, supposing you have discovered the actuality of these lines, to guess if a glimpse at them might have had the opposite of the intended effect. I can imagine how they might have been read in the worst possible way (the experience of your own blog's reflections is very illustrative here), as maybe obsessive, intrusive, impertinent or just not wanted. If you were a complete normie, I'd be inclined to put a high number on that, and I am probably biased by my perception of my own good intentions, but both these things lead me to cook a number at around 40% for the bad case, and a 60% for a positive interpretation.

The last step, assuming you've learned of the blog AND didn't find it off-putting, is how much would you have read of it and found it useful - that's the most important number of all. This is a really tough guess; I am sure you have plenty of friends and family who have been giving you the support you need, but putting myself in your shoes -which is always a dangerous gambit-, I think I would have appreciated something like this. If I give that a 50% chance, that means that an optimal outcome for the intentions of my writing should have roughly 0.7 times 0.6 times 0.5, leading to a roughly one in five chance of having attained my goals. That doesn't feel like much, but such is usually the case in life.

A follow-up would probably consist of checking if my efforts were worth the probability of success, with positive and negative utilons and EV counted in but here my creativity with numbers feels just too arbitrary and wishy-washy. I know the labor this has required of me - about an hour every day for the last year-, but I just can't put a significant figure on the goodness-for-you of my blog at the said 21% chance of success. Ultimately, I feel that making these calculations a priori wouldn't have moved me one way or another to write all of this, and that my empathy for you and desire to help would have simply overwhelmed any calculation I could have cooked up.

[canyouhearthevoices]

ATEEZ Theory TidBits Episode 13 - What did ‘THE WORLD EP 1: MOVEMENT’ contribute to the storyline?

Ateez’s 10th official release. This time they actually had a decent break between albums - an unusual 7 months. The album began their new era of THE WORLD, which had the same concept as their performance of ‘RHYTHM TA - The Awakening of Summer’ on KINGDOM - a dystopian futuristic world based on 1984, where the population are brainwashed into all being exactly the same and ATEEZ have to fight against this with the power... of music and dance. Okay, stereotypical, but it’s stereotypical for a reason.

In this post;

Materials in the album

Additions to the storyline

The album name

Track breakdown

Reactions from the fandom

Important motifs and storyline elements which were added

My perspective on the storytelling and quality (from a screenwriting kid)

Conclusions

The album was fascinating to me. Its place in the storyline is contested in my mind by angel-Yeosang and demon-Hongjoong, so I am a little confused at times. I of course love the gothic inspirations of 1984, but find that yet again, ATEEZ’s limitations in English names are on full display - A teenager Z made a very unappreciated comeback, and ‘Strictland’ is about as bad a name for this world as could possibly be created. Luckily, the music and dance are still slaying.

Full discussion below the line.

Materials

Just the most important stuff, because, as always, almost everything ATEEZ does contributes to the storyline in some way. 

Album - physical, with three versions including Diary ver.

MVs - Guerilla 

Dance practice/choreo videos, or other performances, for ‘Guerrilla,’ ‘Cyberpunk,’ ‘Sector 1,’ ‘The Ring,’ and ‘New World’ - bringing back ATEEZ having a choreo for almost every song on their album

The regular contents; teasers, reaction videos, vlives and so on.

Logbook roughly 80 onwards (ongoing). 

Additions to the storyline

MOVEMENT introduced a new era - and a new universe. This is interesting, because I would have assumed one of two things about universe in ATEEZ’s storyline - 1, that TREASURE, FEVER, and THE WORLD were all in different universes, or 2, that TREASURE was one universe and FEVER and THE WORLD were a different one. But Hongjoong’s segment on SHOWTERVIEW for this comeback suggests that FEVER and TREASURE were in the same universe, and that THE WORLD is in a different one, which just.... what the hell, Joong? Not only does this confuse everything I have already written about the storyline, but it also makes no sense with the evidence we have been given. I don’t understand how TREASURE and FEVER are supposed to exist in the same universe, unless ATEEZ want to establish that one universe can hold multiple timelines, and the whole theme of FEVER - the new world. How is it a ‘new world’ if it’s literally the same world...? But perhaps my upcoming dives into the diary entries and people’s thoughts on them will shed some light on this. Although I don’t have a lot of hope - it seems to me that ATINY have a habit of trying to make ATEEZ’s storyline a very strict timeline of very specific events, like a police report, rather than the semi-abstract non-linear narrative that it is. 

But we’ll see how that goes.

The album name + meaning 

It’s very interesting let me tell you that. THE WORLD makes me think of the ‘new world’ from  the FEVER albums. I would first assume that they have now reached this new world (thus why it becomes the world, but this doesn’t make sense, because the FEVER teasers includes phrases like ‘from the new world,’ which suggested that they had already reached it. Which in turn suggests that this is either another new world, or that this is perhaps the same world that is seen in a different light (a theory that my head has entertained quite a bit). The group finds out about the truth of their world and how bad it actually is - thus it goes from being the exciting adventure of the ‘new world’ to just ‘the world’ that is less idealistic and that they need to fix. Alternatively, it’s just a new world, and since the new world is the only one they have ever known at this point, it just is ‘the world’ to them. 

In contrast to THE WORLD, MOVEMENT is very easy to understand - not only are ATEEZ moving forward in both the storyline and the real world as artists and creatives, but they are also creating a literal movement in the storyline - freeing people from the brainwashing of the government and leading the cultural rebellion with their art and music. 

Track breakdown

Propaganda - I don’t really know what I can tell you about this one. It’s all in the name. It was literal propaganda and was using subliminal messages to worm its way into the mind of ATINYs and kpop fans everywhere.

Guerrilla - Literally ATEEZ describing how they’re going to use guerrilla warfare to fight the government. 

The Ring - ATEEZ literally got the ring of power from Lord of the Rings and are now using it for whatever purpose they see fit. The ring could well be a symbol representing the Cromer. Or maybe it is just a ring. Who knows.

New World - ATEEZ are building up the power to continue their movement - like a literal gathering storm. I like imagining them performing this while cosplaying Volibear from League of Legends. Or maybe you can imagine Volibear with Hongjoong’s face or something. Wow, something I never want to imagine again. 

Cyberpunk - I love it. It’s 10000% gothic 1984-style, with the lies that the government built up, the ideas of appearing and disappearing, poison and ice, and basically just the essence of a surveillance society.

Sector 1 - The second part of ‘Answer’ over two years later. Dang, that’s good preparation. ATEEZ are diving into the dark depths of this world they live in and finding the truth while discovering new emotions that they’ve never been able to feel because of the brainwashing of the government. Also, live vocals Jongho.

Reactions from the fandom

Well, as we would expect whenever Seonghwa exposes his shoulders, everyone liked it. I think most people were less impressed with the album and more impressed with how well it had been planned and how far in advance it had been teased. We had always known that ATEEZ teased things in advance, especially songs for their next album at the end of MVs, but we had never seen the song that had made up the mysterious music at the end of ‘Answer’ - until now. This two and a half year gap between songs really astounded a lot of people, including myself. But we always knew that ATEEZ had planned things in advance. There was even a one-year gap between the KINGDOM performance of RHYTHM TA that introduced the concept, and the actual album. 

But let’s put ATEEZ’s insanity aside, because we all know, and have known for years, that both ATEEZ and ATINY are insane. The album was very well received. Everyone liked the additions to the story and I think the general consensus was that this concept change was a good one. It didn’t hurt that they were on tour too - only hyped up more excitement for it. 

Important motifs and storyline elements which were added

The skin masks of European dudes ATEEZ use as disguises for some reason 

‘Strictland’ was introduced in the MVs and officially

Same with all of the motifs from RHYTHM TA - like the vault break concept, the brainwashing of the population, masks, and the like

ATEEZ’s rebellious phase

The Guardians made a return

My semi-professional perspective of the storytelling, production and production values, etc

Although it isn’t my favourite in concept or music (and those fake-leather plasticy clothes they put the boys in look so uncomfortable), I think ATEEZ made a really good choice with this album. And a lot of it comes down to how well they planned it. And this is in five main ways. 

They introduced the Guardians at the end of ‘Answer,’ which made us wonder about who they were and what they were doing. This is also when the intro music for ‘Sector 1′ was revealed, which also increased hype. 

RHYTHM TA was done in the relatively safe space of KINGDOM, which allowed ATEEZ to experiment with their concepts. This allowed them to introduce the concept for THE WORLD in a place that wasn’t so attached to album sales and reception, and thus created a ‘soft’ introduction to the concept for the fandom - by the time THE WORLD came around, we were already exposed and used to this concept, so it didn’t bother anyone even though it was quite a big change. 

‘Deja Vu’ used a sci-fi aesthetic and concept which didn’t fit the rest of FEVER era. Although it had relevance to the storyline of that era, it also eased ATINY and the general kpop community further into the new concept. 

Fever eXtended edition which reintroduced the Guardians and ATEEZ’s hideout.

‘Don’t Stop’ was the final nail in the coffin of the immortal vampire who will rise from the dead. It rehashed the heist concept from RHYTHM TA, and the long-term exposure over more than a year to all of these concepts made sure that when the final change came around, no one was really surprised. 

Interestingly, this album is the start of a new series, but doesn’t include an intro track - PROPAGANDA serves this purpose, but isn’t labelled as one, and thus, to me doesn’t really count. Now, this is when I get speculative.

We had TREASURE - and there was a mysterious ‘hala’ version of ATEEZ. And then we had FEVER, which I and many others thought must have been HALAteez, but there are indications (such as HALAteez appearing separately in the diary film and ‘Deja Vu,’ and in the Diary entries) that suggest that FEVERteez are separate from HALAteez. And, yes, in a few years I may look stupid for suggesting this, but I think it’s very possible that HALAteez are the ATEEZ in THE WORLD. I have a few reasons, and some are considerably better than others. Why don’t we start with the most stupid.

‘THE WORLDTEEZ’ doesn’t sound very good. But we don’t need to call then THE WORLDTEEZ, because we already know their name - it’s HALATEEZ. 

Similarly, why do we need an intro track to introduce us to this new group when we already know so much about them from KINGDOM, TREASURE and FEVER?

The actions of the Black Pirates described in the Diary entries, such as appearing and giving flyers against the government to civilians, are done in THE WORLD. 

The Guardians first appeared with HALAteez.

We already know that THE WORLD ATEEZ hide their identities often with masks and other things, which is a HALAteez motif. 

Speaking of, in RHYTHM TA, which is literally THE WORLD, Hongjoong was putting on his black pirate hat as he stole the Cromer at the end of the stage - he was literally transforming into a black pirate, but was still the same person. 

But either way, and as much as this is the direction I neither wanted or expected, I think this worked out well for them, and I tentatively (with no further information and material other than the album, will say that it was the logical next step in their storyline).

Quality of the album

Why do I keep including this segment? We all know that ATEEZ’s albums have great quality and production values, and make their often limited budget go far. And this one was no different. I would say that the performances and styling were hampered a bit (or in the case of the styling, a lot) by the world tour they were in the middle of, and it doesn’t take a degree in anything to know that ATEEZ are once again overworked. And as much as I wish that wasn’t the case, in the end, it is something they discuss with their company, and, either way, they are killing it. 

Conclusions

ATEEZ are reaching their Divergent era. And I don’t know how to feel about that. On the bright side, they’ve created a much more compelling story than Divergent, so I suppose we should be grateful for that. 

[tutoroot]

Is it Possible to Crack NEET?

The national eligibility cum entrance test is an important and vital assessment and acts as a pre-medical test, relevant all over India. It is conducted by the National Testing Agency, which is a transparent body governing the standard of the test. As a student, preparing for admissions into undergraduate medical courses in good medical institutions becomes a priority. It is essential to understand that quality preparation cannot take place in a fortnight. It takes time, patience, consistent commitment and a religious dedication!

Considering that the syllabus for NEET-UG is quite comprehensive, elaborate and vast, it could be intimidating and challenging. Which is why it is important to set goals in advance and to decide the plan of action in order to rank a high score, giving you entry into your desired medical college! The quality and amount of time given to preparation are the top 2 factors that can determine your results. 

Quality of Preparation

When I say “quality” preparation, I mean the materials used and the guidance/mentoring taken. While some students require strict training and a constant push, some work well on their own time. Hence, every student must know what works for them the best! This will help improve the quality of Online NEET Preparation and lead to better results!

·         Coaching- Around 60-70% of the student population take rigorous coaching for entrance exams like JEE/NEET from coaching institutes specifically established to train students for these kinds of exams.

·         Self-Study for NEET– This method is rather meticulous and time-consuming since you would have to do a lot more research. Finding the right material sources to study and attempting challenging practice questions is easier said than done

However, since the pandemic emerged, stepping out has become an action to be sceptical and vary. This, inevitably, has changed things around. Students perhaps would feel safer preparing from home and so would parents, knowing that their child is safe and at the same time is not being held back by external factors.

Every student has a different level of understanding, a different level of grasping things and a different method of learning. All these pointers determine how much time it would take to prepare! Normally an average student would take around 6-8 months. This would differ from student to student and the level of training.

In a situation like this, where commuting and travelling outside is not the safest option, taking online interactive classes for NEET is be a useful alternative! Where in, you have lesser worries and more learning! And more FUN learning! Studies suggest that interactive learning, discussion and conversational learning is the best and most effective method of teaching. It drives better results and leaves you with a motivated and determined student! Interactive live courses online are the new-in ever since online learning became a hit with Coursera. It is now easy to see why.

5 Tips to Crack NEET with self-study

·         One on one interactive sessions with highly experienced faculty – Boosts your attention span and allows you to retain information longer than usual.

·         Clear doubts then and there!  Watching a pre-recorded video limits your scope of learning. Virtual adaptive courseware enables you to improve your learning by being able to clear any ambiguity then and there, which if avoided can lead to poor results.

·         Detailed explanations of difficult topics and a full-fledged report of your strengths and weaknesses are exactly what you need in order to correct your mistakes and prepare accordingly.

·         Personalised learning techniques help benefit the students by giving every single student the unique and individual attention they require. This is what is different from learning in a classroom environment. 

·         Playback recordings of already taken classes can further help speed up the revision process- making the student feel fully prepared for the big day!

Tutoroot is one of the best ways to study when you are at your home and need expert guidance and one-on-one attention. It is more useful when you have less time to prepare and cannot afford to waste your time trying out ineffective strategies.

[starrysnowdrop]

Hello! I have a question. I'll be doing the FFXIV writing challenge this year and it'll be my first time doing it. I see you've done similar before, so do you have any tips? Any prep that I need to do? (I just wanna do something cause the anticipation is killing me)

Oh thank you so much @ladyofvoss for thinking to ask me this question!! I’m glad to be of help! Like seriously, I totally don’t mind, as my day job (before I got laid off anyway lol) was helping others with their writing, so don’t hesitate to ask me anything!

So, first thing first, as this is about FFXIVWrite, there are rules and info specifically about the challenge and how to submit your entries at the end of the challenge, which you can refer to this post HERE or you can also contact @sea-wolf-coast-to-coast if you have any further questions!

But my tips for any writing challenge is to first of all RELAX. If you are at all like me, I struggle with anxiety, and I tend to stress myself out over wanting to write and then beating myself up later for not following through. I’ve also gotten very upset when I get a prompt and I don’t have any inspiration to write anything for it. The most important thing to remember is that this is supposed to be fun and your writing is ultimately for yourself! So in case you are stressing about a particular prompt that doesn’t resonate with you, or you find yourself falling behind, etc. just take a step back and breathe. Just calm yourself, and perhaps skip that prompt you end up having trouble on. It’s no problem if you don’t fill out every single entry for the month.

Next is to have a dictionary handy! Don’t fall into the trap that my students have done before and think “I’m an adult now, and I shouldn’t have to use a dictionary to figure this word out.” WRONG!! I still use a dictionary almost every day when I’m writing, and even if I think I know what a word means, it’s always helpful to double check. I say this specifically for FFXIVWrite because some of the prompts in the past have been really obscure words and myself and some of my writer friends were not sure what some of the words meant. Having the dictionary handy is also helpful because a word might have more than one meaning, and perhaps a different approach to a specific prompt is just what you need to get inspiration for it.

Last but not least, is that writing takes lots of practice, and actually, this challenge is just that: practice for your writing in the FFXIV community! But if you truly want some more practice before FFXIVWrite starts, then I suggest finding prompt lists and trying to just write something short and sweet, write down whatever comes to mind. Perhaps even just a paragraph or two, find a prompt that sparks your interest and don’t think about it, just write down what pops into your head. Practice makes perfect after all!

That’s all I have at the moment. Once again, thank you so much for the ask sweetie!! I hope a helped you out even a little bit! 🥰💖

[michelle-is-writing]

Reunite, Luke Crain (1)

In this fic, Luke never befriended Joey.

Word count: 2.5k~

Part 1

Your life can flash by you in an instant. For me, when I think about my life, I see it all pass me as a theater release of a drama film. One moment, you're with the love of your life, enjoying a nice dinner with his family, and in the next, you're at your would-be sister-in-law's funeral with the love of your life sitting beside you, his body still recovering from years of drug abuse and the ring you once wore on your left ring finger long gone. Looking around the room, the dreary blank walls set with the dimming white lights match my life - those things used to be lit up and lively, and now, they're memories of what used to be good.

Life used to be great. I had Luke, his family, and a wedding ring on my finger. I could handle his nightmares and past memories of bad things that once went on in his life. What I couldn't handle was the heroin and the constant lies and betrayal that came with the drugs. It only took me a stolen tablet and used needles to kick Luke out of my life. It hurt me a lot to do that, but what hurt worse was seeing him after three years of nothing with him.

As soon as I stepped into the funeral home owned by Shirley, I caught Luke's eyes trained on my own. Whereas his were altered over the years by drugs and dangerous things alike, mine were affected by sadness and the cold I felt without him by my side. However, it was like nothing had changed between us, and the feelings we once held for each other not too long ago were still there. I don't know if it was because something as traumatic as Nell's death had just occurred and we both needed someone, or if maybe we were both still in love.

It was almost natural to sit beside each other, and for some reason, it was natural for me to still worry about him. "What are those bruises on your face from?" I asked, reaching up to gently touch them. "Did you get into a fight?"

Instead of simply brushing my hand away, Luke smiled softly and reached up to take my hand in his with the gentlest touch I had ever felt from him. "No, just some trouble from a few guys in an alleyway," he explained, his voice quiet as he watched me gaze at him with worried eyes. "But it's okay," He told me, his thumb running over the back of my hand. "I'm fine."

Steve had told me about Luke being in rehab and staying clean for a while. When he picked up Luke, he wasn't strung out either; in fact, he wasn't thinking or worried about drugs at all, it seemed. He was proud of that chip in his pocket, and even though it took him a few years, I was too.

Once the wake was over, Luke placed a kiss on my cheek before heading back with Steve to his hotel room while I stayed with Theo. It was like I was back to my old life five years ago when Luke and I would spend time with his family regularly, and everything was alright. Now I was spending time with his family without him or Nell, and yet, I was still accepted as a part of their family.

The day after the wake was the funeral, and like the day before, Luke was with me the entire time. Standing beside me in the blistering cold, his hand wrapped around mine and kept it warm while Nell's body was laid into the ground. Despite almost being a sister to Nell, I know it was still harder for Luke to see that sight than it was for me.

It was only when the funeral was over that mine and Luke's hands left each other's and we were headed back to the funeral home with everyone in their respected vehicles. In the midst of everyone talking around me, I began to think, and as endless thoughts ran through my mind, one thing stuck out. Although, it wasn't a thing; in fact, it was a question, and because of that question, I was plagued with a sickness in my stomach that wouldn't go away.

How do I still love Luke?

After everything he's put everyone through, I don't know how I could, but somehow, I can without any doubts about him loving me back. I've heard and seen the 'clean' act many times before, and yet, this one is seems to be the one that will actually work. Everything in me wants this to be the case, but there's a part of me that's afraid to stick around to see it. Why? Because I can't witness yet another time when Luke decides being a junkie is more important than everything else.

Arriving back at Shirley's funeral home, I let everyone exit the limousine before me, leaving me to be the last one out. As I'm stepping out of the long vehicle, I'm greeted by a hand reaching out to help me. Looking up at the owner of the hand, I see that it's only Luke, leaving me to give him a smile of thanks.

Walking toward the funeral home and out of the blistering cold, Luke speaks up. "When was the last time you spoke with Nell?" He asks, his warm hand still encased in mine as we walk up the steps to the house across from Shirley's main home.

"A few months ago, around the time she lost Arthur," I answer him as he opens the door for us. "I went over to her apartment to take her to lunch, but it was like I was talking to... not to be insensitive, but a ghost," I explain, watching Luke's face for any sign of hurt. Thankfully, his face remains the same, and the only thing that changes is us both sitting down beside each other in the entry hall. "She was... so emotionless and lifeless that it didn't feel like I was talking to Nell."

As if my words were slowly washing over him, Luke slowly nods before sitting back against the couch cushions. A few seconds of silence pass before either of us speak up with me being the one who says something. Although, it's something I've had resting on my chest for a while. "I can remember Nell's wedding, and how Shirley sent you away," I murmur, looking over at Luke as he continues staring back at me. It's something that's hurt me for a while, and I've been hoping for the opportunity to talk about this with him.

"I was such a dumbass," he points out, closing his eyes as he shakes his head. Seeing him do such a thing makes me want to lean in and hold him like I used when he was upset or stressed. I can't now, but I would be lying if I said I didn't miss that.

"I know," I say, opting to lean back against the couch like Luke. "Shirley and I got into an argument when she came back in," I confess, reaching a hand up to scratch at my neck as I swallow down the lump in my throat. Because of the argument, Shirley and I no longer have the friendship we once had. "I can't remember what I said, but she responded back that it was my fault you were the way you were because I wasn't doing enough to stop you," I add, watching Luke quickly look back at me with a mix of slight anger and hurt. I don't have to be a genius to know that Luke's upset over what Shirley said to me. "Don't be mad at Shirl, she was under a lot of pressure with the wedding-"

"She still should have never said that to you," Luke cuts me off, causing me to move forward and cover his hands with mine. "I did everything on my own accord, and no one could stop me. Not you, not Nell... no one," He admits, shaking his head out of shame once again. "I should have never put any of you through that - especially you. You were the last person I wanted to hurt."

His words cause the lump in my throat to return as well as tears in my eyes, but for once in a while, they're from happiness and not sadness. "You're better now," I remind him with a strained voice, rubbing my thumb against the back of his hand until he moves to take my hands in his rather than the reverse. "Please don't go back to what you were doing. Please, don't."

At my pleading, Luke moves forward to press his forehead to mine, something he hasn't done in such a long time. "I don't want to," He tells me, his nose almost touching mine as his green eyes stay locked on mine. "I really don't want to."

I know why he's saying he 'doesn't want to' rather than 'I won't.' He's said that before - every time he went into rehab, he said it. Perhaps he realizes that all the previous times held nothing but empty promises and he doesn't want to repeat that.

I do have to say that I'm thankful he avoided the topic of our previous engagement. Most of all, what I did with the ring. I still have it, of course, but I don't wear it. It's a hurtful reminder of what used to be my life, and I get enough of that pain just seeing it in my jewelry box everyday.

Luke and I continue sitting together on the couch for a while, just enjoying each other's company while everyone moves around us. It's only when Shirley asks me to help her with bringing out more snacks that Luke and I depart. Once I'm in the small kitchen with her, Shirley turns toward me and breaks the awkward silence surrounding us.

"Please don't tell me you're going to go to his hotel room later," She practically growls out, causing me to look at her confused. How could she assume something so bold?

"No, I'm not, Shirl," I tell her, watching her pointed glare soften with a small sigh. "I haven't even thought about doing something even remotely similar."

"I'm just making sure," She explains, holding her hands out in an 'okay' motion. "I don't want to see you hurt, or have something bad happen again," Shirley continues on, turning back to open the fridge and take out another tray of finger-foods. "I... don't want you to be let down again."

With her last words running through my head, I nod and bite my lip as I step forward to take the plate from her hands. "I know, Shirl," I assure her with another nod. "And, unfortunately, I completely understand."

With the second tray in her hands, Shirley closes the fridge and turns back around to walk into the main room with me behind her. Placing the plates on top of the empty ones, Shirley thanks me with a smile before walking off to do other things. Looking back over to the couch Luke and I were previously sitting at, I find it to be empty, and instead of seeing Luke in the spot I left him, I instead see him heading out with something in his hands. Is he...

Without being noticed, I head towards the exit in an almost sprint before slipping out and nearly jumping off the steps. Seeing the lights of Theo's Jeep flicker in the corner of my eyes, I know exactly what's going on.

"Luke!" I nearly shout, trying not to trip in my heels as the gravel moves under my feet. Immediately, Luke stops walking and turns toward me, his face cast almost in worry. "What are you doing, Luke?" I ask, feeling myself grow disappointed at the possibility of him trying to leave to break his sobriety.

"I have to do this," He says as I stop a few feet in front of him. Instantly, my disappointment grows into anger.

"Don't tell me you're going to get high," I practically seethe, taking a step forward toward him. However, to my surprise, Luke looks almost shocked by my words, and instead of getting into the Jeep, he stays standing in front of me.

"NO!" He exclaims, staring at me with furrowed brows. "That's the farthest thing from my mind now!" Luke further explains, a few seconds passing before he looks away and sighs. "It's that damn house... it did this..."

Despite his words being quiet, I still hear them and become confused. "What house, Luke?" I ask, just as realization sets in. "You mean Hill House?" I murmur, my anger dissipating within seconds. I know about Hill House and the horrors within it - hell, it's one of the reasons Luke is the way he is.

"It killed Nell," He sneers, shaking his head. "It killed my mom, and now it's killed my sister," Luke adds, taking a quick glance at the sky before looking back at me. "The house is evil, and I need to make sure it won't kill again."

Just by his words, I know what he plans on doing. "...I'm going with you," I declare, my mind not changing any time soon.

Eyes wide, Luke shakes his head at me. "No, no, (Y/n), you can't," He states, but I don't back away. Instead, I move to take his hands in mine as I say my next words.

"Yes, I am," I tell him, staring up at him with an moving gaze. "Luke, I haven't seen you for what feels like forever, you're finally off drugs, your sister died, and you're going through one of the most traumatic things in your life," I point out, my voice cracking toward the end as I stop myself from letting it all come out at once. "I... I still love you," I confess as a whisper, trying not to let all of the hurt show through. "I don't want to lose you permanently."

For a few seconds, Luke's eyes bounce everywhere as does his foot in a nervous manner. As if he had decided on something, Luke shakes his head before quickly leaning forward and pressing his lips to mine while taking my face in his hands. To feel myself kiss back without hesitance makes me want to pull away in fear of being hurt again, but I can't. Not when I've missed this the most.

Once Luke pulls away, his hands move to wrap around my waist and pull me close while his face stays mere inches away from mine. "I still love you too - I never stopped," Luke admits, "You're the only thing keeping me going, even if I can't have you like I used to," He adds, letting out a shaky sigh afterward. "Come on."

[mandoalorian]

Borrowed Time [Din Djarin x F!Reader]

ੈ♡˳‧₊*: • Chapter 3: The Escape ✩࿐ ˚.✧

Summary: You are the princess of Mandalore, held hostage on your own planet by Moff Gideon and his army of Imperial troopers. Left with no choice, you send out a distress signal; a plea for protection— and who comes? None other than Din Djarin, a foundling of The Death Watch. He, by creed, is your sworn enemy. And where you have asked for his protection, he has been told by his mentor that he must marry you and gain the ability to restore Mandalore to its former glory.

Word Count: 2600>

Warnings: female masturbation

Series Masterlist

Din Djarin was the first Mandalorian warrior to set foot on Mandalore wearing full armour in decades. It wasn't an act of bravery or rebellion, although it would have certainly been interpreted that way. Din didn't know any different. In fact, apart from the odd glare, he hadn't even assumed he'd caused any trouble upon his approach to the palace.

He was so, very wrong.

"Moff Gideon, sir— a Mandalorian was spotted walking through the princess' palace back on Mandalore. He was seen with a child. We are led to believe that his entry to the palace was not authorized by an Imperial, but by the princess herself." one trooper informed, standing as straight and still as could be. Moff Gideon blinked momentarily and turned to face the bay window of the Imperial light cruiser. He looked amongst the stars as he contemplated the trooper's revelation.

You'd granted palace entry to a Mandalalorian in secret? That was the first sign of trouble. You, despite the front you upheld, were no longer the Manda'lor, but a captive of the Empire. You knew fine well that all entry to Mandalore must be granted by Moff Gideon himself… and this was the first time he'd heard of this. Nevertheless, Gideon was not one to panic. He remained calm and collected, although his blood boiled at your audacity to go against his commands.

"A child, you say?" Moff Gideon hummed casually, adjusting his black leather glove. Of course there was a specific child on his mind, but Moff Gideon knew better than to let himself worry over that. If a Mandalorian warrior had returned to Mandalore, it could be the first sign of mutiny. The first sign of your wishes to regain power and solitude to Mandalore the Great. "Do we know anything about the Mandalorian?" Moff Gideon questioned, deciding that the Mandalorian was his main concern.

"He was dressed in full beskar armour. Helmet included. According to ISB records, the child is an Imperial bounty. It seems he has been in possession by the Mandalorian for quite some time." The trooper informed, his entire body stiff.

That was when Moff Gideon knew for sure— it was the child he'd sought after for the past six months. The child who possessed the bloodstream of a force-sensitive, a Jedi even.

And now it just so happened that the Child was on Mandalore, the planet Moff Gideon held power over. It was perfect. Everything was falling into place for the Imperial reign. If the Moff could just get his hands on the child…

"Prepare my ship," Moff Gideon instructed, raising a finger. "Set course to Mandalore."

—-—-—

There wasn't a single room in the palace that Din wasn't in awe of. Now that he and Grogu had found comfort in your quarters, he checked out onto the balcony trying to find a good view of the Razor Crest. Upon inspection, it seemed like Imperial troopers were checking out Din's ship, which could never be a good thing. He turned back to you and watched as you fiddled with Grogu's ears.

You were beautiful; with the softest and most delicate features he'd ever had the opportunity to look at. Your voice was as sweet as honey and your eyes sparkled like the brightest star in the whole galaxy. Din was trying to work out when exactly would be the best time for him to explain the little marriage situation the Armorer had proposed to him before he left. It was clear as day that you already didn't like his creed; which meant he couldn't exactly be honest with you about his intentions.

He couldn't say 'Oh, my cut of the deal is that I marry you. And once we are united, I help you regain power over Mandalore, but we do it my way. We do it the traditional way. The way of the Watch'. You'd simply never allow it. No… Din had to be more cunning. He had to form a plan.

He wasn't happy to lie to you. You seemed nice enough, and your heart was in the right place. Already Grogu had taken a liking to you which was certainly a rarity.

Din slowly searched around your bedroom. It was like a library, shelves upon shelves filled with romance novels. You were clearly a hopeless romantic, and perhaps that could serve in Din's favour. And you'd already formed an attachment with his son. That's when a cord struck Din.

He could always just… make you fall in love with him. Make you want to marry him.

Din Djarin never had the strongest moral compass. He did what he had to do to support his Creed and this was simply just one of those occasions. The Armorer had said so herself, the way of his creed was the right way. It was the only way he has ever known. His gaze flicked back over to you, and his heart melted. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad making you his wife after all.

There was a slight problem. Din had never had a long term romantic relationship in his life. He didn't know how to flirt and he was afraid over how long it might take him to successfully seduce you. He had to get in your good books someway or another.

After a prolonged silence, you were the first to speak.

"I think we're in trouble already," you swallowed, looking up at Din. "I never expected a Child of the Watch to come rescue me… but you showing up on Mandalore dressed like a Mandalorian was a bad idea." Din blinked momentarily, but didn't say a word. His silence only urged you to continue your explanation. "No Mandalorian has been brave enough to return to Mandalore wearing full beskar and a helmet. I predict the Imps have already sent word to the Moff."

"You're the Manda'lor though," Din pointed out. "Surely you have some say in the matter?"

You practically cringed. You weren't really the Manda'lor— but that wasn't important right now. Sure, you'd tell him eventually that Moff Gideon had overthrown your position of power. You'd tell him once you regained control of Mandalore. You took Din's hands and sighed. "Swear that I can put my faith in you to protect me."

"I swear," Din promised, running his thumb over your knuckles. You swore that your heart skipped a beat at the menial yet intimate touch. "So princess. What's the plan?"

"We have to leave the palace. Go into hiding. I have no doubt Moff Gideon and his men are already on their way to investigate."

"Wait—," Din paused, his suspicion already rising. "I know Mandalore is under Imperial rule but who is this Moff and why is he so important?"

You scrunched up your nose, not prepared to provide him with the truth. As it turned out, you and Din were both ready to lie to each other. You expected him to trust you, and he expected you to trust him, but neither of you realised that you both had questionable intentions.

"He governs the planet. He's kind of the boss man," you said quietly. That wasn't exactly false. You were just… sugar coating the truth. "Where do you hail from, Din?"

"Uh- complicated question… I uh…" Din pondered. He didn't even remember the name of the planet where he was born. He was taken away by the Watch when he was just a four year old orphan. He went through his training all around the galaxy, never staying still for one moment, until eventually his tribe went into hiding on Nevarro. He sighed. "Nevarro." Assuming that was the easy answer.

You'd never heard of such a place. "Do you have friends on Nevarro?"

He wasn't sure if friends was the right word. He knew people, sure. Many of the citizens over there were in debt to Din. "I guess."

"People who can help us? We could… form an alliance," you smiled as you gathered your information. "To rebel against the Empire."

"You're sounding more like a politician for the New Republic than a Mandalorian warrior." Din scoffed, and you supposed he had a point. You didn't want Mandalore to overrule the galaxy. You were fine with the New Republican reign. From your own awareness, General Leia Organa of the New Republic was actually the daughter of your mother's old friend— Senator Padmé Amidala. But what were the chances that some random child of the Watch had any connection to the New Republic? Still, there was no harm in asking.

"Do you know any New Republic fighters?" you pondered, holding Grogu tight into your chest. You were cradling him in your arms as he had fallen asleep during your conversation, his gentle snores filling your bedroom.

It just so happened that Din did know a New Republic fighter and she just so happened to reside on Nevarro. Carasynthia Dune of Alderaan. Din nodded his head in affirmation and your grin only grew wider. "This might actually work." you confessed with a shaky exhale.

"No offence princess, but the New Republic already has too much on their plate to help you regain control of Mandalore, they're already still fighting the remnants of the Empire." Din huffed.

Din had a point— but what he didn't know was that the great Manda'lor was an Imperial ISB officer. If you could just get to Leia Organa and explain your situation, as the daughter of an old family friend… maybe then you'd gain the support of the New Republic. You were a slave of the Empire but you were desperate to break free of their hold.

"Take me to your friend… the New Republic fighter." you told the Mandalorian, beaming so brightly that your eyes twinkled with delight. Din wasn't one to catch feelings, but he swore his heart stopped every time he caught a glimpse of your lips curling into a smile.

"Now?" Din asked, shuffling around awkwardly.

"Yes," you confirmed. "I'm afraid we're already running on borrowed time."

—-—-—

Din was a good pilot and he knew how to sneak around when necessary, which meant, yourself, the Mandalorian, and his son, were able to leave Mandalore in one piece without the authority noticing. Din promised you he'd make the jump to hyperspace as soon as it was safe to do so, your anxiety already bubbling away as you considered the probability of Moff Gideon and his troopers already raiding your palace in search of you. No doubt that the moment they realised you were missing, they'd send out a whole search party for you.

Your nerves weren't lost on Din. In fact, he made his bed — something he never did — and encouraged you to lay in it. "May as well get some rest princess, we'll be in the air for a while." he grumbled, trying to resist the thought of you sleeping in the same place he slept every night. He wasn't prepared to give up his bed for anyone but you were the princess of Mandalore and potentially his future wife. And he'd known you for the best part of an hour. He still hadn't entirely wrapped his head around it all.

You were uncertain at first, but you decided he had a point. His bed was so much smaller than the one back home. Everytime you moved the slightest, it croaked and screeched. You could feel every indent and wire underneath the thin excuse of a mattress and you couldn't help but wonder how he could possibly sleep at night. Unless he slept in his full Beskar… it must've been so uncomfortable for him.

Din nursed Grogu while you caught a couple hours of sleep, but he couldn't stop thinking about you. Not once did he expect to be returning back to Nevarro so fast, but he decided it would be a good thing. He could report back to the Armorer whilst you and Cara spoke.

He was tired too. This whole day so far had been exhausting, but rather than scooching next to you in his bed, he opted to get cozy in the cockpit. Throwing a blanket over himself and Grogu, Din managed to close his eyes.

As you had imagined, your sleep on the Razor Crest wasn't very satisfying and you woke up every few minutes. Staring up at the ceiling, you couldn't help but think about the Mandalorian. He was serving his duty to protect you, believing that you are the rightful ruler of Mandalore. And for the first time, you felt guilty for being so dishonest to him. He'd shown you nothing but care and compassion from the moment he met you, even going as far to comfort you on the grand staircase. He wasn't offended when you expressed your disdain towards his creed— at least, he didn't show it. Din Djarin seemed like a good, genuine person. And you deserve someone good and genuine… Cursing yourself, you snapped yourself out of those thoughts. There was no time to initiate relationships, and you could not let yourself fall into the trap of caring about him. That would only screw up your plan even more. You just had to focus on regaining control of Mandalore.

But he was a masked warrior who had the caring nature of a prince and the body of a God. He was a father. You knew there was so much more to him than what meets the eye and so… maybe it wouldn't be too bad to find out more about the mysterious Mandalorian, in some way or another. Yes, gaining power of Mandalore was your first priority but would it really be so bad to let yourself get close to Din in the process?

You'd been isolated your whole life and to say that you craved love and romance was an understatement. You looked into the hull of the ship where it was dark and quiet, and just about made out the sleeping silhouette of Din who was laying in his pilot chair. Just the gleam of his shiny beskar and his broad shoulders.

Kriff— he was hot.

And the sexual tension between you both was undeniable.

You bit your lower lip and let your hand wander down your tunic, your fingers nervously gracing the waistband of your underwear. Touching yourself in his bed would be so wrong… and yet you couldn't resist it. Your eyes felt heavy as you watched him, his chest rising up and down as he slept peacefully. Your finger dipped into your panties and you bit down onto the thin blanket in order to suppress a moan as you began to rub yourself to the thought of him.

He'd touched you plenty of times...his big, strong, gloved fingers grabbing you and holding you… it was so easy to get lost in the thoughts. Your eyes fluttered shut as you continued to play with yourself, secretly hoping that the Mandalorian would find you making a mess in his bed and punish you in some way or another.

You wondered if he'd be rough and heavy handed… or if he'd be sweet and compassionate. Either way, you were completely riled up and on the verge of hitting your climax when a loud flurry of beeping came from the cockpit. You gasped, your eyes snapping open and you shuffled to sit upright in the bed.

"Grogu," Din grumbled tiredly, and for the first time, you heard his voice raw and unmodulated. He'd taken off his helmet. "Go back to sleep. Told you not to press buttons when I'm not watching. You'll get us in trouble."

And your heart done a loop-de-loop.

You had just met the Mandalorian and already he had you wrapped around his finger.

Permanent taglist: @paintballkid711 @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic @nerdypinupcrystal @wonderfulfluffer @kiwi-the-first @pedroepascal @castiel-barnes @honeymandos @rocketqueen @ladycumberbatchofcamelot @dybalalover10 @girl-obsessed-with-things @elena-myth @moth-guillotine @pedro-pascal-love @hayley-the-comet @pinkninja190 @maxiarapamaya @autumnleaves1991-blog @artsymaddie @harrys-stan @kennedywxlsh @cripplingmoon @cheekygeek05 @mrschiltoncat @rye-flower @theamuz @persie33 @sleepylunarwolf @martellthemandalor

Borrowed Time taglist is tagged in comments

Let me know if you wish to be added to my permanent taglist or my Borrowed Time taglist.

[starshine583]

New Girl on the Block (4)

(Y’all ready to read the next update??? Enjoy part four of this fic and if you’re interested, feel free to check out the mini series connected to this called the Journal Entries. It’s just little journal snippets from the two dorks that I decided to write for fun :D)

Ch.1 / Ch.3 / Ch.5

Chapter 4: Get to Know You

Marinette slipped on her white, non-flour-covered leather jacket and pushed her pigtails back so they wouldn’t be tucked into her outfit. She then smoothed out her pink dress with a smile, admiring the black flowers that she’d stitched along the bottom. This dress had been one of her stress-relieving projects, but it turned out quite well, in her opinion.

Once Papa had finished teaching her friends how to fold the dough, he put their croissants into the fridge to chill them and instructed everyone to go upstairs and wash up. Marinette dutifully took them up to her room where her personal bathroom was and taught them how to use the shower, but when she tried to lead one of them to her parent’s bathroom as well, they insisted that she take a shower there herself. 

“What kind of gentlemen would we be if we forced the ladies to wait on us?” Claude had said light-heartedly, though she could tell he meant it. Allegra’s smirk as she walked in the bathroom to take a shower first was proof of that. 

The notion had warmed Marinette’s heart, coaxing a giggle from her each time she thought about it. It might be hard to see sometimes, but Claude, Allan, and Felix truly were a considerate and chivalrous group of boys. 

Now, She’s finished her shower in her parent’s bathroom and gone back up to her bedroom, where Allegra, Claude, and Allan had been patiently waiting. Allegra was nice and clean again, wearing the long, purple shirt and black leggings that Marinette had given her, and Claude appeared to have just exited the shower, his damp hair sticking to his face and dripping across his borrowed, black and blue “O.K” shirt. Allan was still covered in flour.

Allegra smiled at Marinette from her spot on the chaise as she re-braided her long, golden blonde hair. “Thanks for the extra clothes, Mari! These are amazing.”

“Yeah!” Claude agreed enthusiastically, holding out his with a grin. “This shirt is awesome!”

Marinette glanced down to hide her blush. “I-It’s the least I could do.”

“We still appreciate it.” Allan replied.

“Oh!” Marinette said, suddenly thinking about the fact that Allan was still covered in flour. “Allan, do you want to use Maman’s shower? You don’t have to stand around waiting for Felix.”

That who she assumed was occupying the shower, anyway. The water was still running, and everyone but Felix was present. 

Allan waved a hand. “Nah, it’s fine. I’ll be getting a shower soon if Felix would hurry up.”

Marinette chuckled at Allan’s obvious call to Felix, even more so when Felix shouted back from the bathroom, “You’re the one that let me go first!”

“I didn’t know you would take a day and a half!” 

“That’s still your fault then, isn’t it?” Felix shot back.

Allan scoffed and crossed his arms, causing Marinette to offer her parent’s shower again out of guilt. She had been the one to throw flour on him, after all.

“Are you sure you don’t want to-”

The bathroom door swung open, effectively cutting Marinette off, and Felix stepped out with one hand on his hip and the other hand on the towel that was draped across his head. He shot Allan a glare, practically growling the words, “There. I’m out. Are you happy?”

“Delighted.” Allan responded sarcastically.

Marinette might have been concerned about the growing conflict had she not been focused on Felix’s outfit. Or rather, how well it suited him. The black, three-quarter-sleeved shirt that she’d given him, along with the plaid green, button-up shirt she’d provided to go underneath, clung to his waist, revealing his surprisingly slender figure. The dark grey jeans he wore in place of his dress pants didn’t fit the outfit exactly, but they worked well enough, and Marinette eagerly started taking mental notes for future adjustments.

Allan grabbed his clothes and walked into the bathroom, while Felix glared daggers at him until the bathroom door closed. 

“Woah~” Allegra crowed, easily breaking the tension. “You should wear casual outfits more often, Felix. They really suit you.”

Claude smirked. “No kidding. I swear you’ve worn the same suit for the whole two years we’ve known.”

Felix turned his glare to Claude with a scoff. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve worn plenty of suits, each one made differently.”

Allegra snorted. “That wasn’t.. That was not the point, Felix.”

Felix narrowed his eyes, the barest hint of confusion finding its way to his features, and Marinette took that opportunity to speak up.

“How’s the outfit? Does it fit alright?” She asked. Hopefully she can find the original measurements for the outfit if it does fit fine, because Felix was most likely going to become a regular customer. Maybe he wouldn’t hire her for actual commissions, but she might end up making something for him on impulse. (as you do)

Felix caught her eye, his glare slowly fading as he registered her question.

“The fabric is extremely comfortable, and the clothes fit perfectly.” He said after a moment. “You said you made these?”

She nodded. “With my sewing machine. I was thinking of putting a green paw print on the shirt too, but I haven’t gotten around to it.”

Felix hummed, idly pulling his towel from on top of his head to around his shoulders. “I see. Thank you for lending them to me.”

Marinette blinked, suddenly finding herself captivated by the way his hair fell across his face. Still being damp, various strands stuck to his forehead and cheeks, and he reached up to brush them away. This brought her attention to his face, which, for some reason, she hadn’t quite noticed before. The defined jawline, the subtle-yet-there cheek bones, the pointed nose- all of his features were sharp. Even his eyes held a silver tint to them that reminded her of steel. 

These observations dragged her to one, rather important revelation: Felix Culpa was actually a fairly handsome person.

“Marinette?” Felix said, drawing her from her thoughts. “Are you alright?”

A rush of heat swarmed her cheeks, and Marinette straightened. “W-what? I mean yes! Yeah, I’m totally fine, I.. yes.”

“Hey, speaking of clothes!” Claude piped up, graciously saving Marinette from her own awkwardness. “How’s my prince costume going?”

Marinette twirled around in her rolling chair and grabbed for her sketching notebook. A distraction was definitely something she needed right now.

“I’ve got a few different ideas, but you need to come tell which one you like best.” She explained as she flipped open the notebook.

Claude hopped up from the stray chest he’d been sitting on and practically bounced over to her seat. She let him scan each page, smiling when he started humming “Ooh’s” and “Aah’s”.

“I can only pick one?! But they’re all so good!” Claude remarked, almost exasperated.

Marinette chuckled. “Well.. I guess I can make all of them for you, but you at least need to choose which one I start on.”

Claude gasped. “You mean you’re going to make all of these for me?”

“It’s going to take a month or so to get them all done.” She warned. “But-”

Claude scooped her into a bone-crushing hug, briefly reminding her of her father. “Thank you, Mari! Thank you, thank you, thank you! You’re the best!”

Marinette laughed and gave him a light pat on the arm. “You’re welcome.”

Her smile widened as Claude eagerly grabbed the notebook and ran back to his designated chest to look through the drawing again. It was nice to see someone who was also enthusiastic about fashion. She’d gotten tired of talking to people who simply didn’t understand the hype of creating unique styles of clothing. 

“You know he’s never going to leave you alone now, right?” Felix commented next to her.

Marinette offered him a glance as she said, “I think I can live with that.”

Felix shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

She smiled at that. Felix may be striking, but that didn’t have to change anything. Lots of people were striking. And lots of people remained friends despite that.

“Oh,” Felix muttered, seeming to remember something, “Where do you want me to put my clothes? They’re still in the bathroom because of Allan, but..”

“Uhm.. I think Maman said she was going to wash them.” Marinette answered. “She wanted to try to get them clean before supper for all of you.”

“Ah, supper.” Claude cut in, heaving a jokingly wistful sigh. “I can’t wait for that. If your mom’s croissants can taste that heavenly, then her full meals must be amazing.”

He sunk against the chest for emphasis, not realizing that there was a gap between the chest and the wall. The sudden weight threw the chest off balance, and it tipped forward, causing Claude to get jerked backwards. He flailed his arms briefly and yelped before crashing to the floor. The front of the chest hit the ground as well, and the impact popped it open, scattering various objects across the floor.

“Oh, Claude!”

“Are you okay?” 

The girls rushed to his side to help him up, but Felix shot him a flat look.

“First the kitchen and now her bedroom.” He said curtly. “Should we tear up the living room next? Or perhaps the dining room has more fragile items?”

Allegra rolled her eyes. “Felix, can you at least try to be sympathetic.”

“I am being sympathetic. Marinette doesn’t have the money to replace things at the drop of a hat like we do. It’s rude to behave so recklessly in her home.”

Marinette glanced up at Felix, not sure whether to find his words sweet or offensive. “Trust me, it’s fine. This chest is old anyway.”

Felix’s frown told her that he didn’t agree on the matter, but before he could argue further, the bathroom door swung open again.

“What happened?” Allan asked, his hair still dripping wet. “I heard the crash. Is anyone hurt?”

“Only my pride.” Claude groaned in response. He was sitting up now and rubbing his head as Allegra switched between scolding and coddling.

Allan sighed with relief. “Oh, good. You can’t hurt something that’s not there.”

“Hey!”

Marinette giggled at the comment. “Allan, how is your outfit? Do I need to make any adjustments?”

Allan glanced down at his clothes. She’d given him a maroon shirt with a blue heartbeat line in the center, a black and blue shirt to go underneath, and a pair of black jeans. He didn’t appear to be wearing the second shirt, though.

“Oh, they fit great.” He said, twisted his torso a bit to get a better feel for the new clothes. “I didn’t have time to put on the second shirt, though. I heard the crash and panicked.”

Marinette offered him a smile. “That’s fine. I can just put it back in the closet.”

Allan nodded and looked down at the mess. “So Claude spilled this chest?”

“Yeah, he was being an idiot.” Allegra remarked as she picked up one of the trinkets. “You know. Nothing new.”

“Wow. can you guys lay off for two seconds?” Claude huffed. He reached forward to pick up one of the objects as well, curiosity overtaking his annoyance. “What is all of this stuff, anyway?”

Marinette glanced at the miscellaneous objects to check- she had several trunks that acted as ‘junk drawers’ -and immediately cringed when she recognized a black hat with rainbow colors stitched along the bottom.

“Oh..” It was Adrien’s gift chest. She’d almost forgotten that she had it. “They’re, um.. They’re just crafts, really.”

“Just crafts?” Claude repeated, holding up a crocheted Ladybug doll. “These are awesome!”

Marinette watched them for a moment. “...do you want them?”

The group looked up in shock, and Marinette quickly added, “Y-You don’t have to take them! I’ve just.. Uh.. they’re like junk? I mean, not junk, but this is my junk chest.. Sort of. I’ve just been meaning to get rid of them. So if you want them, you can have them.” 

Allegra frowned. “Are you sure? It looks like you put a lot of effort into these.”

Marinette nodded. “Positive. Take whatever you want.”

Although hesitant at first, the group continued to look through the gifts, and little by little, they started to take some. A smile came to Marinette’s lips as she watched the pile of Adrien junk dwindle. She had spent a lot of time on making the presents, but there was no way she’d be giving them to Adrien now. So what was the point of keeping them in her room? To serve as a mocking reminder of how blind she had been while loving him? No thanks.

By the time they were done, the chest only had half the gifts it used to, and Marinette quickly decided that she would donate the leftovers once she got the chance. 

“Thanks for the stuff, Mari!” Claude said cheerfully, his hands full of various objects.

Allegra nodded, holding a few things herself. “Yeah, you really do spoil us.”

“Which is saying something, considering we’re rich.” Allan teased, pocketing the two items that he’d decided to snatch. 

Marinette chuckled. “You’re helping me more than I am you.”

She stood up and walked to the bathroom to grab the boys’ old clothes. “I’m gonna bring these down to Maman, but feel free to look around until I get back.”

The group voiced their agreements, and Marinette climbed down the trapdoor ladder with the pile of clothes in hand, feeling like another weight had been lifted off of her shoulders.

Getting rid of Adrien’s gifts was one more step towards happiness, and she couldn’t wait to keep walking.

~~~~~~

One can tell a lot about a person by their bedroom. How clean they were, whether they were sentimental, which things they found important- a bedroom could quite literally be considered a box in which someone stored their entire personality. That’s why Felix had been anticipating this part of the visit. Someone can be a master manipulator, but their room would always show their true selves. And it only took one look for Felix to know..

Marinette really loved the color pink.

Seriously, she had it everywhere. The walls, the furniture, the carpet- How was she not sick of the color by now? Felix was sick of it, and he’d only been there for about twenty minutes!

Pushing the pink thought aside, he continued poking around her room. Marinette had gone downstairs to pass his clothes off to her mother, so that gave him a bit of time to inspect the space unsupervised. Not that he was planning on doing anything scandalous. It merely gave him the opportunity of observing Marinette’s room on his own terms.

When she told him that her room was up in the attic, he’d been understandably shocked. The attic didn’t sound like a spacious place to sleep, let alone work on homework and other personal things. Seeing it now, though, Felix realized that that wasn’t the case. The attic was actually quite open. There was a desk, a closet, various chests, a bathroom, and she still had a good portion of the room empty. He wondered if that was thanks to the original size of the room or thanks to Marinette’s resourcefulness.

Her cleaning style wasn’t too bad, either. Don’t get him wrong, there were things scattered everywhere, but it was a specific type of scattered, like an organized chaos. He had a feeling that she knew where most of her necessities were. 

Felix moved to her desk, where most of the mess was focused. There were papers, sewing needles, scraps of fabric, and pencils spread across the surface. Her interest in fashion certainly shined through, as most of the papers were filled with various sketches and measurements. He found that admirable. When someone usually speaks of their ‘dream job’, they speak of it as a fantasy, one that they never intend to fully pursue, but Marinette was obviously reaching as high as she could to grasp her goal. She even had a mannequin in her room.

“Marinette’s room is so cool!” Claude exclaimed from the loft up top. “She even has a balcony!”

Felix glanced upwards, briefly setting the papers he’d been studying aside. There’s a balcony upstairs? He didn’t recall seeing a balcony on the way in.

“Claude, you have a balcony.” Allegra reminded him with an amused smile.

“Yeah, but mine only extends from the side of the building.” Claude defended. “This one’s on the roof!”

Ah, so that’s why Felix hadn’t seen it.

Allan frowned. “Really? Isn’t that a little dangerous?”

“It’s got a rail.” 

“Oh, okay. That’s fine then.”

Allegra chuckled as she brushed her hands against the hat on Marinette’s mannequin. “Marinette’s room is pretty neat, though.”

“I think it’s just Marinette who’s cool.” Allan remarked.

Allegra and Claude heartily agreed, and Felix nodded. “Cool” probably wouldn’t be the exact word that he’d use to describe her, but overall, it wasn’t far off.

“Can you believe we’ve only known her for a week?” Claude asked as he climbed down to their level. “It feels like we’ve known her forever already.”

“Yeah, but I think that’s just how she is.” Allegra smiled. “She draws you in and makes you feel like family.”

“Her parents are the same way.” Allan said. “You can really tell where she gets it from.”

“Where who gets what from?” 

Felix, along with the rest of the group, turned to the trapdoor, where Marinette was standing about halfway through. She didn’t have the clothes anymore, but she did have a tray of drinks.

“Oh, it’s nothing.” Allegra said dismissively. “What are those?”

Marinette set the tray on the ground long enough to climb through and close the trapdoor as she explained, “Maman and Papa thought you guys might be thirsty, so she sent me up with a bunch of different drinks to choose from.”

“Sweet!” Claude grinned, swiftly walking over in case she needed help. “Do you have Dr. Pepper?”

Marinette smiled and turned the tray to reveal a deep red can of soda. “Yep! I know it’s your favorite.”

“You truly are a blessing.” Claude replied, grabbing the soda off of the tray.

Marinette giggled and brought the tray forward for the rest of them to pick. Allegra chose a pepsi, while Allan snagged a coke, and Felix grabbed the slim cup of coffee that sat to the side.

He took a sip of it, enjoying the warmth of the bitter liquid. It didn’t escape his notice that Marinette had brought up all of their preferred drinks. She even got his coffee right (Black with three sugars). 

Despite how scatter-brained she could be, Marinette still paid attention to details, which was impressive. Felix didn’t know anyone else who could space out during an entire conversation, yet remember the exact type of drink everyone ordered during lunch.

“So what do you guys want to do now? We still have about half an hour before supper is finished.” Marinette asked, setting the tray aside. 

Allan shrugged. “What do you have?”

Marinette thought for a moment. “Well, we have board games, card games, Mecha Strike 3-”

“Mecha Strike 3?” Claude perked up. “Yes, please!”

Marinette laughed. “Is everyone else okay with that?”

“Sounds great.” Allan smiled.

Allegra shrugged. “I’m fine with it.” 

Felix, being satisfied with his inspection for now, sat down on the chaise. “I’ll watch.”

The rest of the group huddled around Marinette’s computer while she turned it on, and after a bit of debating, they decided on ‘winner faces next player’ and started with Allan and Claude. Felix watched the first two games, just long enough to see Marinette cream Allan, before reverting back to his studious ways. He scanned the bedroom again, hoping to catch something new, when his gaze landed on the trunk that Claude had tipped over earlier. With everyone bustling around it, Felix hadn’t gotten a chance to sift through it, but now that they were occupied with Marinette’s game..

Felix shifted in his seat and re-opened the chest. It was only half full, as opposed to its previously overflowing contents, but that didn’t bother him. There were still plenty of things inside, such as shirts, figurines, hats, and other things. He pulled out a jacket and turned it in his hands, admiring the handiwork. The hood, along with the cuffs of the sleeves and zipper were pitch black, but the rest of the jacket was a deep red, save for the black spots that littered it. “Miraculous” was written on the back in cursive as well. Was this supposed to be based off of the Parisian superhero Ladybug? Why would she want to get rid of this? At the very least, she could make a profit by selling it.

What did she use to make this? The material is so soft.. Felix thought as he unzipped the jacket. It was completely black on the inside, save for some tiny, golden lettering near the section wear the pocket would be.

“To: Adrien

From: Marinette”

Felix frowned. How strange. Why would Marinette be giving away things that she made specifically for someone else? He dug through the chest some more, this time looking for names, and what he found was shocking. 

Almost every gift had the name ‘Adrien’ on it somewhere, whether it be a card or stitching or marker. Some gifts didn’t have a name, but at that point, Felix felt it was safe to assume that everything in the chest was supposed to be for this ‘Adrien’ person. 

That begged the question, though: Who was Adrien? And why would she create so many gifts for him just to give them away?

A small card stitched on the ear of a stuffed cat gave him his answer.

“Dear Adrien, 

Happy 19th birthday! It’s officially been five years since we’ve known each other. Isn’t that crazy? Anyway, I just wanted to say happy birthday (even though I’ve already said it) and that I’m really happy we got to meet. Enjoy the cat!

With all my love, Marinette”

Felix glanced up at Marinette, who was blissfully ignorant of his findings as she defeated Claude for the second time at Mecha Strike 3. Did she intend to use all of these as birthday presents? How many gifts were in there? Did she expect this person to have the same interests twenty years from now? He couldn’t decide if this level of planning was due to over-thinking or just plain obsession. Maybe both.

“Hey, Felix!” 

Felix flinched at the sudden call of his name, weirdly feeling as if he’d been caught in the act of some crime. He looked up to see Claude waving a controller at him.

“Are you sure you don’t want to play?” The brunette asked.

“Talk to me when you have chess.” Felix replied shortly, going back to the chest. He had hoped that seeing Marinette’s room would provide more answers to her life, but it only issued more questions. Did she have this amount of gifts for all of her friends or was Adrien special? If he was special, what way would it be? Was he possibly an ex-lover? She dated him for a while, and they had a recent falling out, which was why she was getting rid of the gifts. That would make sense.

“He just wants to talk.”

Her words from last week resurfaced in his mind. The person who chased her that day was the only one she reacted bitterly towards. Was Adrien trying to get back together with her? 

Was he the reason she left her old school in the first place?

My, my Dupain-Cheng. Felix thought. Aren’t you just full of secrets?

Tag List:  @artbyknigit @athena452 @nickristus-dreamer @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen @arsaem @abrx2002 @neakco @pawsitivelymiraculous @too0bsessedformyowngood @nathleigh @lusicing @officiallydarkgeek @all-mights-asscheeks @tbehartoo @woe-is-me0 @raeuberprinzessin @lazuli-11 @miss-chaos27 @trippingovermyfeet @sadpotatoondrugs @ladybug-182 @jaggedheart11 @marinahrasauce

[ailuro-mania]

Always

Hey! I wrote another thing. This is a lot shorter than intended. I'm very bad at focusing on writing. But I really liked this whole idea, and my girlfriend really did too. So I had to write it, naturally. Can also read here  --- It was a bad day. Or at least, under Inuyasha’s opinion it was. Kagome was leaving the village with Sango together, alone, with next to know protection aside from their sass. Never mind Sango being a badass demon slayer, or Kagome’s ability to purify evil within seconds, she was leaving him behind. Him and Moroha. Their daughter who was barely pushing 6 months.  

“You can’t leave,” he simply stated, eyeing his wife though his face did not turn to meet hers.  

“I most certainly can,” the miko commented right back. She was folding some clothes she’d recently unclipped from their drying line directly into a wicker basket they acquired last season. Kagome actually seemed to enjoy doing such mundane tasks Inuyasha couldn’t even fathom about.  

He scoffed, tucking his arms into each sleeve. A sneer settled across his lips when he finally turned to look at her with all the confidence in the world. Oh, this will win the argument. “And what about Moroha?” he didn’t even bother trying to hide the smirk.  

Kagome tiled her head, a strand of her tresses swishing into her face, “What about Moroha? You’ll be watching her.”  

Inuyasha’s eyes widened, “Wh- what? Me? Watching Moroha?”

“Yes, you.” Kagome leaned down to heave the basket up onto her hip before a blur of red approached her side and took the basket into his own clawed hands. She faltered a solid second, a smile playing at her lips though she hid it within seconds, not daring to give him the satisfaction during a debate. “You’ll be fine. And aside from that, you haven’t so much as spent an hour alone with our daughter.”  

Inuyasha’s upper lip twitched a tad, “How am I supposed to spend an hour alone with her when you’re dying to hold her at every moment? Besides, can’t Kaede watch her and I go with you? You haven’t left once since Moroha was born. And I’m not... I don’t like the idea of you leaving. Not yet.”  

The miko smiled, tucking the hair that played in the wind behind her ears. Her Inuyasha, only in these moments is she blessed with such honesty. It was delectable.  

“It’s only the next village over. I should be back before the sun even sets,�� she felt his tension even before the words filtered out. “I will be back before the sun sets.”  

Inuyasha pressed his lips together and set the basket down at the front entry of their hut, an ear turned to listen inside, the other focused on her. Their little one was fast asleep. Moroha always seemed to sleep an hour into sunrise, and the young parents were not ones to change that. She was up all night, Kagome and Inuyasha finding their alone time well within the meek hours of the morning. They loved every moment with their girl, but it was so much easier to just be alone at times.  

“You’ll be fine. Sango will be with me for extra protection though she honestly isn’t even terribly needed,” She gingerly reached up to cup his cheek within the palm of her hand.  

Inuyasha subconsciously leaned into her touch, golden eyes gazing directly into chocolate brown. His hair engulfed her wrist in a bracelet of silver whilst the breeze continued to dance through every strand. “I still don’t like it.”  

“I know,” she leaned up on her toes to press her lips against his in a passionate pursuit only to be moments away to hear their daughter, on cue, wailing.  

Though the interruption, the miko couldn’t help but smile. She leaned that smile into a quick peck on her husband's lips before turning on her heel and headed straight into their hut.  

“Well, hello little one,” she chirped, heading directly toward the bundle of attention seeking that was their daughter. She scooped Moroha up into her arms in one swift movement. The little girl let out a loud squeal of delight as she always did seeing her mother. Little hands turned into fists as the young one reached out toward Kagome’s cheeks. Kagome complied by putting her face directly into the path of her daughters, letting her pat her down.  

Inuyasha all but watched, his heart full of emotion for the most important people in his life. He watched as his wife smoothed out their daughter's bed head and smothered their happy girl in kisses, he watched as she wiped the bit of drool at the corner of Moroha’s lips. He wished he could watch every moment of this, possibly even freeze it. As selfish as it sounded, he didn’t want things to change. And he most certainly did not want his wife leaving the area where he couldn’t watch her, not with their pup this young.  

He made a grunting noise, catching both his girl's attention. Moroha offered an extremely gummy grin toward her father and reached her arms out in his direction next. It was his turn to get mauled by the beast. Kagome sauntered over, arms stretched out, Moroha at hand. He made a face at the miko as he gently took her into his arms next.  

Kagome stood up on her tippy toes once again to kiss their daughter's cheek and playfully ruffle Inuyasha’s hair, much to his distaste. The next move she made was toward her bow and arrows she’d been practicing with fairly frequently since the birth of Moroha.  

“What if she gets hungry?” He continued, holding their pup against his right side. The little one had taken to playing with his hair, strands of the silver already covered in drool. “She needs you if she gets hungry.”  

A soft laugh escaped through Kagome’s lips as she shook her head, “No, she’s already started to wean. We’re balancing, and today can be a day in which she stays off me. As much as I adore her, she can be... well...” the miko just shook her head, sparing her husband that bit of information he’d probably never shake. “You can take her down to Miroku’s for lunch.”  

He raised a brow, “Breakfast?”

“Already mashed some solid foods this morning. You watched me do it,” Kagome slung the bow around her shoulder, her quiver stead strong on the other side.  

“Kagome, really. I don’t know about this. I really don’t thin-”  

“You don’t know about what, Inuyasha? Watching our child?” Her hands were at her hips. Fuck. He’d treaded into a battlefield.  

“No! I- well-”  

“I carried her for nine solid months,” she took two steps forward, Inuyasha taking one back. “In my own body. I carried her daily afterward and have been with her for another 6 months after. Inuyasha, I just ask of you, just this once, ple-”

“Alright, woman!” His brows pulled together, straightening back up. “I’ll watch her today. I’ll watch her any day so long as you promise to keep safe, to come back.”  

Yet another smile grew across such soft pink lips. “Always.”

A familiar voice carried over to their hut. Sango, calling for Kagome. Inuyasha glanced toward the door. The moment Kagome started forward he’d gently caught her wrist with one hand, pulling her back into his available arm, Moroha still balanced in the other content with his hair. He placed a lasting kiss against Kagome’s lips, a small noise of relish slipping from her. They lasted for another few seconds before both their mutual friend knocked at the side of their door, eyebrows quirked.  

“You sure you want to go still?” Sango asked, a teasing smile displayed.  

Kagome rolled her eyes, “I’m coming.” She turned to kiss her daughter once more, squeezing Inuyasha’s hand. “Always,” she repeated one last time, a bit of emphasis laced through the word.  

He pursed his lip once her back was turned. “You watch out for her, Sango.”  

It was Sango’s turn to roll her eyes, “We’re mothers, Inuyasha. If anything, we’re the most threatening things on this side of the region.”  

He’d watch as they walked away, ignoring every instinct telling him to follow after. Sango was right. Their group protected one another. They’d kill for each other, or each other's family. Kagome was in good hands and he knew it well, he knew she could easily take care of herself. Though he faintly missed his clutzy crush, she’d turn into a graceful, powerful miko, and a mother. A mother of his child, something he’d never even dreamed of becoming a possibility in his cruel reality.  

And just as he begun to feel himself sink into such deep emotions; his daughter immediately pulled him out with a fit of wailing. “Fuck.”  

-------

The silver haired half-demon found himself at the monk's house fairly quickly. Moroha gave him an impossible try for food the moment Kagome’s scent was out of reach for both of them. She was entirely different without her mother as he begun to realize. She pushed every attempt of food away and kicked. His patience was thin to begin with, but with his daughter it stretched further than the horizon. He needed to be able to do this. So, he found himself here, surrounded by 3 human children and an extremely enthusiastic and well-sought monk.  

“So,” Miroku smirked, “came to me for child advice after all?”  

Inuyasha scoffed and gave him one of his famous glares, “I think your children could give better advice than you could. Sango does most of the childcare and we both know it.”  

“Touche.” Miroku and him both sat at a table within their larger hut. After Kagome’s disappearance, Sango and Miroku’s life went on. Not that Inuyasha could be upset about such a thing. He was happy to see them happy, to see their wishes coming true. Though he’d sulk, he still enjoyed watching as Miroku changed from less of a lecher to more of a father. He still had his moments though; moments Sango still seeks revenge on.  

Their hut was larger, but only because they planned such a large family that they may have overcompensated. But who knew, they still had many years to go, perhaps more were well within the near future.  

The children ran about the front of the hut, weaving between the door and front yard. A gate was spread across the face of their house which gated the young ones in. The twins were pushing four, Hisui almost two. Hisui was placed at the feet of the monk playing with some sort of rattle that rung in the half-demons' ears. Moroha was pressed well against his chest, leaking from her nose from an earlier sob.  

As soon as he’d walked up the twins were at his feet, clinging on for dear life as their favourite uncle carried them with ease. Miroku didn’t even so much as bother to tell them to stop, he knew Inuyasha secretly loved his daughter's trust. Moroha went from crying to fascination so fast it nearly gave Inuyasha whip-lash. Kin’u and Gyokuto both bouncing about, their heads hardly tall enough to reach up to his knee.   “Ooo, Moroha!” Kin’u called out. She’d made a silly attempt at pressing each palm of her hand against either side of her face directing the expression toward Moroha. The little girl within Inuyasha’s arms letting out a laugh that rung through his ears, but mostly shook his heart.   “Can we play with her, pleeeease?” Gyokuto begged, dragging the word out until her little lungs were airless.   Inuyasha pressed his lips together in silent contemplation. Had Kagome let them play with their girl? Surely, she had... Moroha seemed thrilled about it.   “Alright. But only inside the hut, where I can see.”   Both the twins hooted, reaching up for his treasured daughter. The half-demon complied, prying his daughter far too easily from his chest to the twin's enthusiastic arms. The little snake, of course she’d abandoned him for two loudmouth girls.   He watched silently as they each took a hand of his daughters and teetered Moroha up on her feet, walking her over toward their play corner surrounded by childrens toys.   Miroku let out a whistle, Inuyasha’s head jerking toward it, “What?” “Kagome’s never let them play with her,” he said, smug. “She hardly lets Moroha out of her arms when you’re all here.” Inuyasha’s eyes widened slightly.   “What? You hadn’t noticed?” The purple in his eye glinted. Surprisingly, Inuyasha never wanted to punch anyone more than his best friend. Even Naraku was less-punchable. He snorted and put his nose up in the air, “Of course I noticed.” Emphasis on ‘noticed’. “I can just watch out for them better with my keen senses. Besides, Kagome left me in charge. We’re doing things differently.”   “Uhhuh...” Miroku nodded, eyebrows raised. “Well, in that case. What are we having for lunch O Great Leader?” He’d made it a dramatic to put his hands out in front of himself, arms pushed in Inuyasha’s direction for exaggeration.   “You’re the one who's supposed to be in charge of that, lecher.”   “Harsh,” Miroku pulled his hands back in to cover his heart, “I was. Up until recent development. I’d love to see you take charge during the high sun over four children and your favourite friend.” The smirk planted on the monk's lips worsened the half-demons want, no, need to punch him. “Also, your kid is shoving a toy up her nose.” He nodded his head toward the three children in the corner while snagging his son off the ground.   Inuyasha immediately stood up and walked over to the three girls, the twins trying to pry Moroha’s hands away from her nose. The youngest girls grip being far too strong for two humans, even if she’d only developed half of her father's half-blood. “Moroha!”  

------

A few hours later Inuyasha found himself alone with his daughter in the confines of their hut. Moroha had been set down at the top of the hut’s layout, far from the ledge in which he’d tried to baby proof since her crawling development that started only within a few months of her birth. The girl felt as though she was aging rapidly, something that worried the parents but neither seemed to want to address. She looked her age, but the mentality and ability were maturing at an alarming rate. There was much to learn about this girl they’d created together.   He’d gotten up to start building a fire. Though fall had just started to show itself, he knew his wife got chilled almost any night of any season. It was inevitable, her cold feet would constantly press against his warm calves during the darkest hours in search of warmth. He complained, but secretly it was his on his list of Top Things Kagome Did. Right next to plucking his ears before leaving for her daily duties.   Nightfall was still an hour or so away. Inuyasha’s patience warring thinner. No sign of his wife’s scent had entered the permitter, and he’d sniffed the air several times. Much like what his daughter had started to do right that second. He begun to sniff just as fast, finding nothing but the scent of left-over stew balanced above the firepit.   He cocked a brow and walked toward his kid, “Hungry?”   The little one stopped sniffing the air momentarily, big brown eyes rimmed with stunning lashes turned and focused on him. Something akin to a growl rumbled at the base of her throat and up.   Inuyasha blinked a few times, taken back. “Did you... Did you just growl at me?”   Moroha repeated her adorable threat, taking a small bundled up fist move toward her father. Inuyasha sat on his arse a few feet away, still stunned by his daughter's animalistic nature. Sure, sniffing the air was one thing, but to growl?   Moroha was fast, trudging directly for Inuyasha’s lap. Once she reached him she put both hands on the foot that prodded out from under him. Inuyasha leaned forward so his face was directly in front of hers, letting out a growl far more ferocious than his daughter's cute attempt.   To his surprise, she giggled! She let out a loud, stomach deep laugh that made Inuyasha’s lips tug upward in the most genuine smile. The laugh stopped abruptly and she growled again. Inuyasha growling right back. And the laugh returning even louder.   But then she started to push herself up using his foot. His daughter stood up in front of him at a mere 6 months old, her chin held high and her tiny clawed hands caught in his not so tiny clawed hands.   “Hey, kid. Don’t you be doing that. Not yet. Your mother will kill me if you walk when she's not around.” He plucked the girl up from off her feet, folding his legs in front of himself so his knees touched in the air and placed Moroha in his lap, her back and head rested well against his thighs. She smiled all the while, bright brown eyes staring up at her hero.   “You think this is a joke? She really will kill me. You have no idea how scary she is. But you will, eventually. You have my blood, you’re gon’ be a lotta work.”   Moroha’s tiny fist wrapped around her father’s fingers, staring up at him in awe as he spoke.   “You’re gonna learn a lot of things. And I’m sorry for most of them. You’re gonna learn how this world... is harsh. How you and I are different from the rest, and even your mother. How our group is needed, yet so judged outside of this village. You’re gonna learn how to use these claws,” He’d lifted one index finger up, studying his daughters' hand, “how they can really hurt someone if you’re not careful. But I know you will be. I know you’re gonna be a damn good girl. You may have obtained some of my traits, but your mother's blood runs within those veins of yours too. And she's the best human to walk this dammed earth.”   He watched as his daughter's eyes fluttered shut. She was tired, probably exhausted from the twins earlier. He leaned forward to kiss his daughter's forehead, ears turned forward to listen intently to the small but even breathing.   Inuyasha waited a few minutes more before deciding she was out enough to move. He gently lifted her within his arms and walked her over toward her dedicated matt that had a few inches more around the surrounding area to keep her from rolling out. Though with this new standing thing she’d shown off, they may have to come up with a new plan.   After settling her into bed, he’d turned his head toward the doormat. The sun was just nearing itself from hiding away and his wife was just now approaching. Soft thuds planting into the ground that normal human ears would not pick up. He’d wait by the threshold but refused to meet her out there no matter the excitement. He was still petty, of course.   Kagome came trudging in, bow and quiver held over one shoulder, her sandals in the other. She’d ran barefoot. “I’m ba-” Inuyasha’s hand went right over her mouth before she could finish her shout, pointing toward their sleeping daughter. Kagome smiled sheepishly, prying his hand away, “I’m back,” she whispered.   Inuyasha rolled his eyes, “I see that, idiot.”   Kagome pretended to be hurt, smacking his shoulder with no real threat held in the hit. He smirked and leaned forward, taking her into an awaited kiss. Kagome smiled into it, dropping both her items to the ground so she could wrap her arms around his neck, her entire being pressed and hanging off of him. Inuyasha’s arms instinctively wrapped around his miko’s waist to hold her nearby. She pulled away with the same smile, “miss me?”   Inuyasha’s eyebrows knitted, “Not at all.”   The miko’s eyes narrowed, still extremely close to his face. “Oh yeah?” her arms went from draped around his shoulders, down toward the base of his shoulders.   He couldn’t help but let out a quiet snicker, “Yeah.”   “Hm...” His wife made a soft noise at the back of her throat, one corner of her lip tugged up. She pulled her arms in all the way and begun to try and escape his grasp, to which he responded by lifting her up entirely, Kagome letting out a hardly suppressed yet joyous laugh, “Inuyasha!”   He smirked again, still holding her well up in the air, “What are you gonna do about it, woman?”   Kagome continued to laugh as she hardly put in any effort to move, “Put me down, I’m gonna pee,” she laughed out.   Inuyasha scoffed and set her down, “Ew.”   Kagome rolled her eyes and leaned up again to peck him on the lips, “Hey. You wanted to marry this ‘ew’.”   Inuyasha shrugged, “It has its perks.” A soft coo came from behind him, “I knew it was too good to be true. She’d never sleep through your arrival.”   “Unlike you, some people like me,” Kagome smiled playfully and shouldered past him toward their fully awake daughter. “Hello, my girl!” The miko bent down to scoop her up and pull her into her chest. And Inuyasha watched yet another moment he wished he could freeze. This was it. This was his always. He’d protect them at any cost. His girls.  

[woodsteingirl]

A case in suburbia, domestic dynamics, and a forever home. What could go wrong?

the moment i’ve been waiting for! chapter one is up now! read here or under the cut.

Cas and Dean were searching for a forever house. They had been pretty much since Cas got back from the empty. They were ready to distance themselves from hunting. Dean had always wanted a sort of suburban, white picket fence life, even if he didn’t admit it to anyone. And since he already admitted how he truly felt to Cas, why not throw his need for a domestic lifestyle into the mix. Cas was all for it. Ever since Jack had given up most of his powers to Amara, thus causing her to take his place as God and him almost human, Cas had been hoping for a place to raise him like a normal child. The bunker was great for hunting and a place for Cas, Dean, and Sam, but not so much for raising a 5-year-old kid.

House hunting had been a burden to bear, but they were making out alright. Up till this, they’d looked at about 3 other houses. They were all a no for different reasons. The first one Cas decided was in a school district that wouldn’t be good for Jack, the second didn’t have a big enough garage or backyard, and the third didn’t have enough bedrooms for all of their family to stay. With the whole credit card scam they’d been running for as long as they remember, budget wasn’t really a problem, but they didn’t want something extravagant.

There it was, 538 Chapel Street in Pine River Crossings. It wasn’t too far out of Lawrence, only a few hours' drive, and all the houses looked nice. Very cookie cutter, but that was sort of the appeal. They couldn’t guarantee that they would fit in with the traditional, upper middle-class people, but what the hell, if they could kill god they could take suburbia.

A few days passed, and they were set up to look at the home. They drove the hour and a half to the next medium-sized town with the belief in their minds that this was the one. It had all they needed, a two-car garage, a respectable school district, and two guest bedrooms. They were so caught up in this concept they made the mistake of not checking the news for the nearby areas. Once they arrived, a realtor who showed them around the dwelling greeted them. It was all they could ask for and more practically too good to be true, especially for people like them. The actual presentation of the house went over without too many problems. The person exhibiting the residence commented on how it had been on display for almost a month now, which was the first red flag. A house as nice as this, in a densely populated area, would usually not be on the market for that long in weeks unless there was some hidden con.

They signed on it not a day after seeing the house in person. It was all set up and they could officially start moving stuff in the next week. They officially shared the good news with everyone the day after they signed. Sam was beyond happy for them. Not only would he finally have a space to himself, he was proud of his brother for living the life he’d always wanted. Jack was thrilled that he would get to go to actual school and have friends that were his age and not cosmic entities. In the meantime, Cas did more research into the neighborhood. There was their hidden con. The newspaper Cas had pulled up on his phone said, “Local Couple Murdered in Own Home.”

“Dean, look at this.”

Okay, that was a setback. A murderer on the loose in the neighborhood they were moving into was not exactly what he had planned, but he had delt with worse. “Alright, that could be a problem.”

“I think it’s a little bigger than a problem,” Cas retorted.

“Is it our type of thing or just something local law enforcement could deal with?”

Cas read on in the article, “the couple was stabbed, there was no sign of forced entry, neighbors reported nothing amiss besides lights flickering before the murder. The weapon, as well as the perpetrator, was never found. No official suspects have been labeled, everyone has seemed to have an alibi.”

“It definitely sounds like our thing. Lights flickering, no breaking and entering, and all.”

They decided they could pose as residents, as it seemed perfectly normal for the newcomers to be concerned about the literal murderer on the loose. Since Cas was newly human, and Jack was, well, 5, Dean thought they might need outside help. Being out of practice to spend more time with your husband and child really had its fallbacks. Sam was off the table as backup. He was out of town and Dean didn't want to interrupt his first weekend without him in god knows how long. Plus, they needed someone who wouldn't draw too much attention to their family dynamic.

“Hey, Cas, what do you think about calling in Claire to help us with this one? You think she’d do it?”

“Calling her in for help is a good idea, whether or not shed actually do it is another question.”

“I’ll call and ask, and if she wants to help, and if not then I can think of something else.”

He kept his promise and called Claire not an hour later. He decided it might be best not to tell her it was undercover work, or that it was taking place in a white picket fence neighborhood, as that might turn her off from it almost immediately.

“Hey Claire, its been too long since we’ve talked,” he started.

“Hi Dean. what do you want, there’s no way you’re just calling to catch up if you’re starting with ‘its been too long.’”

“You got me there. I was just wondering if you wanted to come with me and Cas on a hunt. Its not too far from the bunker and we’d have you back home in a week.”

“Sure, that works. When do we start?” She hadnt seen Dean and Cas since they rescued Cas. That was over a month ago, she’d been meaning to visit, but she’d been so busy with hunting, and getting to know Kaia again now that she was finally back. This seemed like a perfect opportunity to reconnect and not miss out on anything too big back at home.

“If you could come down here by Wednesday, that’d be great.”

“Sounds good. I’ll see you then.” She was tempted to sign off with an ‘I love you’ but she was never a lovey-dovey person in that way.

On tuesday she promised Jody she’d be extra careful and would be back in under a week. Kaia told her to make sure to call every day and update her on what was happening. Claire agreed, promising to keep in touch. She spent the rest of the day driving down to Kansas.

Back on Dean and Cas’s end, they were trying to get the house set up for 4 people when they had no furniture prior to this. Cas had always loved furniture shopping even before he had a use for it. When he worked at the Gas-and-Sip, he would browse the home improvement magazines in his spare time. Dean was pretty much the opposite. He had never had reason to care for it, so he didn't. Maybe his hatred for Swedish furniture was rooted in his deep-seated commitment issues. It didn't matter much why he hated it, he just left most of the choices up to Cas. there was then the issue of appliances and such you couldn't find in a furniture store. That was left up to him. Cas sent him out to Walmart to get things for the kitchen. That was something he could do. He picked out a mixer, some silverware, and a pioneer woman kitchenware set. It came with pots and pans, mixing bowls, and a few normal sized plates. That was enough for him to consider it an absolute steal. He brought his finds home to the bunker, setting them on the table designated for things that were to go in the new house. Jack was sitting on Cas’s lap, pointing at things on the computer.

“What’re you guys finding?” Dean asked, hovering behind Cas’s shoulder.

“Djungelskog!” Jack exclaimed, showing Dean a photo of a large stuffed brown bear.

“I thought you were looking for furniture?” Dean directed the question more at Cas, but he was still looking at Jack.

“We are. Jack just got us a bit sidetracked. We found the majority of what we need. Among other things not of as grave importance.”

Dean looked over the shopping cart and then gave the go ahead. Not before adding the stuffed bear to the cart, though.

The next day Claire arrived. Everyone was thrilled to see her. Jack ran up and threw himself around one of her legs and Cas gave her an awkward dad side hug. Dean wondered when he would tell her what the hunt would actually consist of, but he didn't want to interrupt the moment.

A few hours later, Dean fixed everyone a real dinner and had them sit down at the kitchen table. The realization dawned on him that this was going to be his last sit down meal officially living in the bunker. Everyone sort of just sat in silence for a beat. Perhaps reflecting on their own lasts of officially living there. “Claire, I sorta forgot to add this when I called you, but the case is a lot of undercover work. Also its in a suburban area.”

“And why didn't you tell me this sooner?”

“Well to speak freely, I wanted you on this case and I was worried it would make you not want to come.”

“It almost does, but i'm already here now, and i wouldn't want to waste a days driving on something i'm not actually going to do.” She guessed this would probably take longer than a week. “And i'm guessing this isn't just something you decided to do out of the goodness of your hearts?”

“We bought a house in the area, and we just wanted to make sure it was safe,” Cas explained.

“Hang on, you bought a house for real and you didnt even think to tell me? You didn't think that that was valuable information?”

“It didn't come up in our phone call,” Dean said.

“And? That’s no excuse to leave your daughter out of major life events!” The ‘daughter’ part just sort of came out without her noticing, but seconds after she said it she regretted it. God, how embarrassing.

“You’re right. We should’ve told you sooner. It was kind of a recent decision, though, so you haven’t been out of the loop for too long,” Cas said.

The next day was moving day. Dean loaded the appliances into the back of Claire’s car, since the back of the Impala was already full. Claire took her own car, while Dean, Cas, and Jack rode in Baby. Their real furniture was being delivered as they spoke. Cas offered to ride with Claire, but she assured him she’d be fine by herself. The drive wasn’t even that long, especially compared to the distance she drove yesterday.

Dean was silently nervous. He wouldn’t admit it out loud but it was written all over his face. His first real stable house, with the man he loved, and his two kids, he could only hope that he didn’t mess it up. Cas put a hand on his shoulder showing he saw how Dean was feeling.

They turned onto Chapel Street and pulled up into the driveway of the house. It somehow looked bigger and more daunting than it had during the walkthrough. Claire arrived almost ten minutes later. Everyone just sort of paused in front of the house for a minute, reveling in the stability most of them had never had.

[scope-dogg]

So I always see gifs about Getter Robo here and there and have only heard positive things ( I also dig the fat rounded mech designs!), but never anything in detail unfortunately. Seems like one of those properties where everyone who likes it is very invested though! As a mech enthusiast, could you explain what about the series you find appealing and what a recommended watch order (if there's any need for one) watch location might be? I understand some series of that age just aren't available legally in the West anymore, which is a big bummer

Honestly for a series as long and storied as Getter it can be hard to pin down the underpinning appeal to one single thing, but I'd say the closest you'd get to capturing the fundamental appeal to most people it'd be that it's perhaps that it's practically the archetype for a super robot series with a harder edge than most. It stood out on that basis even when the mecha genre was still in its relative infancy and it's managed to keep that distinction to this very day. It's a franchise that's never shied away from violence - from the genesis of the genre until today, the archetypical mecha pilot has been a spunky and/or sensitive teen, while your average Getter pilot, while still fundamentally heroic, is a borderline psychotic hard bastard, the kind of person that would probably be in jail in real life. Even when they're up against some really nightmarish shit they always seem to revel in the battle and resolve to win through sheer determination. You've probably seen Gurren Lagann, in which case that description might sound somewhat familiar. That's not a coincidence, Getter Robo is one of TTGL's biggest influences and even though the two series differ in many other ways, it occupied a somewhat similar space in the collective consciousness to the one that TTGL now occupies in the minds of most (and still does to a degree, it's one of the genre's most important founding works and as such has remained relevant for basically its whole lifespan.)

Later entries see the series get a lot more existential, and start dealing with the concepts of the future of human evolution and the fear of an unknown and possibly terrifying future that sees mankind blunder into the clutches of forces beyond its control and understanding. While the series initial core appeal of seeing hard men use their robot to battle hellish enemies remains, that cosmic horror aspect was really important to the franchise's maturing identity and is likewise a huge part of what makes it remain so appealing to so many - it's pretty much at the core of all the franchise's best installments.

As for where to begin, it's complicated and at the same time, not. As for anime, it can be tough to pick one. There's the Toei original series and its sequel Getter Robo G, though these, in addition to being old and dated, are arguably a softened-down version of the story meant for kids' TV that, while popular in their own right back in the day, don't really capture what most people now find appealing about the franchise. You're probably better off overall looking at one of the OVAs instead. In release order, those are Getter Robo Armageddon, Shin Getter Robo vs Neo Getter Robo, and New Getter Robo. All three of these are basically various attempts to blend together various chapters on the manga, along with aspects from other works done by the original author Ken Ishikawa. The thing is though, Armageddon and Shin vs Neo both assume at least some level of familiarity with the existing characters and lore, even if each one is in its own continuity. New Getter Robo is kind of like a reboot and as such is more self-contained, but at the same time is probably the one that veers off from the established tone and lore the most wildly.

In my opinion, the best thing to do is go to the source, and read Ken Ishikawa's manga from the beginning. The Getter Robo saga consists of five different chapters, those being, in release order, the original, Getter Robo G, Getter Robo Go, Shin Getter Robo and Getter Robo Arc. While the original and G are definitely old they've been touched up for rerelease and are still very readable and easy to get through while having a ton of old-school charm to them. However, once you hit Go, that's where the party truly begins. Its the quality of work that started there that really built the series up from a relatively simple good-guys vs bad-guys story into what it is today. If disciples of Getter seem very invested in the franchise, it's most likely because of ideas that first get explored here. Go's followed up by Shin Getter Robo, which is a prequel to the events of Go that explains some important things but also sets up stuff that's important for the final chapter, Getter Robo Arc. Sadly, Ken Ishikawa died before the manga could be completed, leaving the story without an ending - until now. An anime adaptation of Arc has been airing for the last few months. The final episode, presumably featuring the final true ending to the Getter Robo saga, airs this upcoming Sunday.

[kumeko]

Title: Garreg Mach Yearbook Chronicles

A/N: For the @garregmachzine I got to write four different snippets. It was a fun challenge trying to cram everything into a drabble.

Featuring: Leonie's troubles with Seteth and Flayn, Hilda charming Ferdinand to escape battle, Annette dealing with a club composed of Linhardt and Marianne, and Claude dodging Hubert's censor.

…

…

…

…

Fishing Tournament

Sitting on the banks of the pond, Leonie watched as her bobber dipped in and out of the water, floating idly along an invisible current. With any luck, she’d catch a fish soon. A big one, hopefully. Usually by now she’d have caught at least one or two, but then usually she was also alone while she fished. Leonie cast an eye around her, biting her cheek at the sight of her fellow classmates. Despite how early in the morning it was, it felt like half the monastery was sitting along the pond, trying their best to catch a fish.

Then again, it wasn’t everyday that Seteth held a fishing contest. After all that’d happened in the past few months, she couldn’t deny that they needed a break like this and it seemed that everyone else agreed. Byleth sat at the docks, quietly fishing. Next to her, Sylvain lost his balance and flailed as he struggled to keep out of the water. In the distance, she spotted Caspar and Raphael comparing their catches.

“I see you are also entering the fishing contest,” a slightly musical voice asked from behind her. Startled from her thoughts, Leonie looked up in time to catch Flayn as she sat down next to her. Like, right next to her. Smiling softly, Flayn clasped her hands together as she stared at Leonie’s rod. “Did you catch anything?”

“N-not yet.” Leonie shook her head, feeling a little awkward at the proximity. Maybe if she shifted the other way—

“That is a pity.” Seteth slowly sat down on her other side, a fishing rod in hand. He cast his line, his eyes on her the entire time. “It will not be much of a contest if there are no entries.”

Leonie resisted the urge to get up and run. What was it with these siblings, pinning her in like this? She felt sandwiched, with no way to escape. “I’m sure someone will manage to catch a good fish or two. Give me an hour, and I’m sure I can wrangle up a few myself.”

“Oh, that’s great.” Flayn clapped her hands. “However, that leaves a different problem. We’ll have all these fishes, and no one to cook them.”

Leonie swallowed. This was starting to sound familiar. “There are plenty of cooks—”

“Leonie has excellent skills,” Seteth suggested, as though he’d just thought of it. “Maybe she could?”

“Really?” Flayn lit up, before flashing her an innocent smile. “Leonie, would you mind?”

She should have just listened to her instincts and run.

-x-

Crest Studies

When Annette joined the academy, she had never seen herself leading a club, or leading anything for that matter. Sure, she would join one or two, but leadership was for the elites, for Dimitri’s and Sylvain’s of the world. Well, maybe not Sylvain exactly, but there were plenty other nobles who could fit the bill. Ferdinand. Lorenz. Hubert.

Yet it was her, not them, standing in front of the Blue Lions classroom, looking at her Crest Studies clubmates. To be perfectly honest, when the other options were the lazy Lindhardt and the shy Marianne, if Annette didn’t take the lead, nothing would get done. Even now, Lindhardt was dozing on his desk while Marianne fidgeted nervously.

Annette bit her cheek. She should have joined the gardening club. Clearing her throat, she announced, “For today’s activity, we’re going to the market.”

“W-what?” Marianne’s eyes grew wide. Sometimes, it looked like she didn’t know why she was in the club. “The market?”

“Why?” Lazily, Lindhardt lifted his head and gave her a baleful glare. “That’s a waste of effort.”

From the teacher’s desk, Professor Hanneman gave her thumbs up. At least someone liked her proposition. Annette quickly refuted, “It’s not.”

“We study crests,” Lindhardt replied languidly. “It’s a waste.”

Something about him always riled her up. She could feel her hackles rising. Stalking toward him, she rested her hands on her hip and bit out. “It’s not. We need to know what people think of crests.”

“Annette’s right.” Hanneman nodded sagely, intervening before an argument started. “It’s important to consider different perspectives when studying a topic.”

“But talking to people…” Marianne gnawed on her lip. “I’m not sure—”

“It’ll be fine.” Annette clasped Marianne’s hands, squeezing them tight. “Besides, we’re going to interview later, so this is good practice.”

Hesitantly, Marianne nodded. “I-I suppose that’s true.”

“Can’t we just interview now and get it over with?” Linhardt interjected, yawning.

Annette pulled Marianne up to her feet. “We’re going to the market,” she stated firmly, refusing to broker any more arguments. “If you want to decide what we’re doing, then you be the club president.”

It was an ultimatum he’d never take, and they both knew it. With a sigh, he got up. “Fine, I suppose there’s some merit to it.”

“Good.” Annette grinned as she gently tugged Marianne toward the door. Finally, she could tell Mercedes that they’d done something other than sit in a classroom. Finally, just like all the other clubs, she was going to go out with her clubmates and do something fun.

Perhaps there was some merit to being club president, after all.

-x-

Battle of the Eagle and Lion

I’d say it is an honour to write about the Battle of the Eagle and the Lion, but that was before so many of my drafts got mysteriously burned or destroyed because if I happen to make any unflattering comments about Edelgard, I have to start over. Though I would argue they aren’t disparaging, but who am I to argue with her guard dog, Hubert?

So what can I say about the Battle? Well, I guess the obvious—all three of our houses showed what they did best: Edelgard with her strategies, Dimitri with his training, and me with my ‘schemes’. I call them strategies, others call them traps, to-may-to, to-mah-to. Honestly, I didn’t do anything sinister this time around. If a lot of students just happened to get a case of mild food poisoning, well, things happen. Raphael got it too and you don’t hear me complaining about sabotage.

Let’s see, something flattering—ah, I know! It’s actually quite impressive how much Edelgard was able to move despite her illness. Honestly, if someone had poisoned, they’d better know to up the dosage next time. Despite her thinning ranks, she managed to set up her classmates quite skillfully, and Hubert somehow managed to do a lot of damage despite looking like he needed to find the closest toilet.

Of course, Dimitri powered his way through the food poisoning. I think he’s got the strength of a dozen soldiers, or boars as Felix likes to put it. Felix also managed to move, but I think that was purely out of spite. It’s amazing what a motivation spite is. Then again, I think Hubert would know all about that, wouldn’t he?

My house, of course, were the cleverest of the bunch, carefully goading out our enemies and defeating them one by one. Despite losing our strongest member, we rallied around each other and fought back. It was a close fight by all reckoning. And honestly if Edelgard lost (notice I said if, Hubert!), it wouldn’t be all that shameful, considering the handicaps she had.

Now, you might be wondering who actually won? Why it’s (scorched words) of course! Was there ever any doubt?

-x-

Mission Battles

Out of all the school activities she was forced to do, Hilda disliked the missions and mock battles the most. With the others, she could get away with appealing her classmates into helping her, whether it was Marianne in the library or Raphael with the stables or some other poor, hapless soul who crossed her path. As long as it was done, no one was the wiser.

On the battlefield, she wasn’t quite as lucky. No one could protect her the entire time and her charms were entirely wasted on the enemy. It wasn’t like they’d stop fighting her just because she asked.

Or maybe, if she—no, no, it was best to banish that thought. Hilda gripped her axe as she studied the battlefield before her. Just ahead of her was a bandit and unfortunately, there was no ally in sight to protect her. She was going to have to cut this one down herself. “I don’t suppose you’d back down?”

The bandit roared in response, charging at her.

“Step back!” Ferdinand quickly dashed ahead of her, his sword gleaming in the sunlight as he slashed down on her foe. With two quick strikes, the bandit was down and her rescuer looked at her triumphantly over his shoulder. “You okay?”

“Yes! Thanks so much!” Hilda clasped one of his hands and gave him a soft smile. She stood corrected—she could absolutely charm her way through a battle, as long as it was one of those rare cross-house battles.

“No problem.” Ferdinand smiled brightly, before looking over his shoulder at Edelgard. “As you can see, I have struck down another enemy. That brings my count to higher than yours, does it not?”

“We’re in the middle of battle, Ferdinand,” Edelgard warned, axe clenched tightly in her hands. “We’re not competing.”

“Considering how one-sided it is, I could hardly call it a competition.” Ferdinand sniped, trying to pick a fight as usual.

Judging by Edelgard’s weary expression, his taunts still didn’t work. Determining that Hilda was safe enough, Ferdinand once more returned to Edelgard’s side, no doubt challenging her once again. It was impressive how he didn’t give up. A little sad, but impressive.

If he wasn’t going to give up, neither would she. There was bound to be another sucke—noble man willing to lay his life for a damsel in dress. Catching sight of a flash of red, Hilda smiled. “Oh, Sylvain!” she called out, batting her eyes.

Perhaps she could charm her way out of fighting too.

[bee-kathony]

I’ll Be Seeing You | Phillip & Eloise 1950′s AU

Phillip Crane places an advertisement in the newspaper seeking a tutor for his young children. He did not expect the beautiful Eloise Bridgerton to respond, nor did he expect to fall madly in love with her.

Ch. 1 “A Letter” 

Cambridge, England | 1952

It was another dreary day.

The pitter patter of raindrops on the window pane was giving Phillip a headache. At least, that’s what he tried to tell himself. Truthfully, it was the pitter patter of small children’s feet running up and down the hall just outside of his office.

Phillip Crane was a terrible father.

He knew it, and so did his children, Oliver and Amanda. They were twins, aged nine, and lived to make sure Phillip’s heart rate was never at a normal speed. Of course, he couldn’t have been blessed with perfect children that behaved themselves, and sat quietly doing their schoolwork. No child was perfect — no adult was perfect for that matter. But, his children… they wreaked havoc on 113 Grantchester Meadows.

Marina Crane, Phillip’s wife had passed away several years ago when the children were young. Ever since then, it had just been the three of them. He hadn’t been very present in their lives, as he was a Professor of Botany at Cambridge University. Most of his time was spent in his offices at the school or in his greenhouse in the back garden.

His marriage to Marina had not been a happy one. Although, it had started out blissfully happy. Phillip had just graduated from university, and Marina was head over heels in love with him. He hated to admit it to himself, especially now, but Phillip had not been in love with Marina — not in the way it mattered.

Marrying her was the right thing to do, and he was looking forward to becoming a father. Of course, they were both young, but they were in it together. Phillip could only blame himself for not using protection that one night nearly ten years ago. He had been seeing Marina for three months before they first slept together.

Phillip thought he might be a better father, if he himself had had a better example. Growing up, Phillip’s father had been anything but present. And when he was around, his father beat him with his belt, yelling at him to be a better lad like his brother. So Phillip blamed his father for the way he was. Uncaring and selfish.

He wanted to be better for Oliver and Amanda, but he simply didn’t know how.

In the years following Marina’s death, Phillip had spent many restless nights blaming himself. She had been so unhappy after the children were born. Marina became quiet and withdrawn, helping with the children only when Phillip begged her to. When he thought of the three years following the twins birth, he should’ve known that something was wrong.

But it was also in those first several years that Phillip became a teaching assistant at the university. His days and nights were given to his career, and he just wanted to provide for his young family.

Phillip should’ve seen the small bottle in their bathroom and questioned it. He should’ve seen that Marina was growing more and more unhappy as the days passed. He should’ve been there when she took too many pills. And he should’ve been there for his children when they cried out for him in the night, screaming for their mother.

Shaking his head, Phillip sighed and leaned back in his chair. He would never be able to erase the guilt he felt about Marina’s death. Nor would he be the father his children needed him to be.

Which is why he tried to hire the best nannies for them, but his children terrorized each and every poor young woman. Whether it was frogs in their beds, or salt in their tea, each nanny practically ran screaming from the house.

No one wanted to take care of his children, he knew this. But what they did need was someone to help them with their studies. Being a professor, Phillip knew that he should be the one to sit beside them as they did maths, history and science, but he barely had the time.

Phillip opened the bottom drawer of his desk, pulling out a clean sheet of paper with his letterhead. What his children needed right now was a tutor.

Tutor needed for two children, aged nine. £1 a week. Contact Phillip Crane, 113 Grantchester Meadows, Cambridge CB3 9JN UK

It was a simple and straightforward advertisement, and Phillip prayed that it worked. He needed someone desperately to come and help his children. More than anything, he needed someone to help him.

He folded the letter and sealed it into an envelope, addressing it to the local paper enclosed with the funds to get it into print in the next edition.

Phillip rose from his chair, and ventured out into the hall. With the letter in hand, he intended to walk down the street to the post box, but his children had other plans.

*squish*

“What in God’s name?” Phillip looked down at his left shoe that had just stepped in something unidentifiable. Two small giggles could be heard from down the hall. “I guess nobody wants dessert tonight.”

“Wait!” Amanda shouted, and came running out of the hall toilet.

Oliver begrudgingly followed behind his sister, arms crossed over his small chest.

“I would ask what this is,” Phillip shook his foot, grimacing. “But I’m afraid I don’t want to know.”

“No, you don’t, father,” Amanda tried to cover up her laugh to no avail.

“If you want dessert tonight, then you both will clean this up by the time I return from the post box,” Phillip tried to be stern, but he just didn’t have the heart.

A better father would not bribe his children to clean with dessert, but it was the best he could do. Nothing else seemed to work with the twins other than incentives with sweets.

Phillip hopped his way down to the toilet and cleaned off his shoe, trying not to look too hard at what he had just stepped in. Thankfully, nothing had happened to his letter, and he left the house to post it.

When he returned minutes later, the mess was cleaned, and the twins were nowhere to be seen. Apparently, they really wanted dessert tonight.

Phillip couldn’t blame them for acting out. They barely had any guidance from an authority figure, and for the most part were allowed to run amuck. He had unknowingly created his own chaos.

Dinner would not be ready for another several hours, so Phillip elected to spend that time in his greenhouse. His own slice of heaven on earth. Well, his true slice of heaven belonged to his family’s country home several hours outside of London, but his backyard was a close second.

His one true passion was botany, and all things green. Currently, he was attempting to fatten up a strain of peas. Phillip skimmed the contents of his last journal entry before checking on the latest pods.

Not much change since the last entry, but he noted the height and circumference anyways.

Peace filled Phillip as he piddled around in his greenhouse, and as the plants embraced him, he was able to push away that voice of guilt and forget. In his greenhouse, he was not a widow, or a father. He was just a man. A man who was trying his best.

++++++

Two weeks later, Phillip arrived home to find his post sitting on the front table. Three times a week, a housekeeper came to clean and collect any mail. As he made his way to his office, Phillip grabbed the letters addressed to him. Bills, more bills and then a letter from an E. Bridgerton. Perhaps this was in answer to his newspaper advertisement. It had been a couple weeks, and Phillip had nearly forgotten about it.

Laying his leather briefcase on top of his desk, Phillip opened the envelope and pulled it out, skimming its contents.

I write to express interest in tutoring your children, aged nine. I have experience with young children, as I am the fifth child in a large family of eight. My education is mostly self taught, but I have recently begun attending university. I am available to begin work immediately.

E. Bridgerton

Phillip thought it odd that the writer did not sign their first name, instead opting for only an initial, but brushed it off. The writer came from a large family and had experience with young children. Surely this would be the most important part. He knew that anyone with a basic education could teach them, but it was how they could handle his children that mattered.

Pulling out another clean sheet of paper, Phillip wrote his response.

I would be glad to offer you the position of tutor for my children. They are difficult spirited, and eager to learn. Please come to the address enclosed next Monday at 9am.

Finally, he could breath a sigh of relief. His children would have a tutor, and Phillip could rest easy knowing that they would be shaped and molded while he molded the minds of university students.

++++++

As Monday arrived, Phillip watched the clock all morning. He was anxious to meet the man that would be the twins tutors. If he had just started university, then he would be young, most likely.

“What is the man’s name?” Oliver asked over breakfast.

“I don’t know,” Phillip shrugged. “He only signed the letter with his first initial.”

“That’s odd,” Amanda remarked, slurping her milk.

“Very,” Phillip agreed.

Just as Phillip took a large bite of his toast, a knock came from the front door.

“He’s here!” The twins shouted and jumped up from the table, running ahead of Phillip.

“Please don’t run,” Phillip tried to grab them, but they were too quick. He wondered how long the tutor would last. He gave him until the next day before he gave up, telling Phillip to send the twins off to boarding school.

“Can I open the door, father?” Amanda asked and he nodded.

Phillip was expecting a young man, perhaps he had even expected a man near his own age. What he saw in front of him now was most certainly not a young man, but a woman. A very beautiful woman with wavy brown hair and captivating eyes.

“Hello,” she smiled warmly. The woman offered her hand to Amanda who shook it excitedly.

“Can I help you, miss?” Phillip asked, looking behind her to see if the tutor was arriving.

“You are Phillip Crane?” The woman asked, holding a letter in her hand and a satchel in the other.

“Yes,” Phillip nodded, brows scrunched together.

“Well then,” the woman smiled again, nearly knocking him off his feet. “I am your new tutor. Well, not your tutor,” she laughed, a sound that filled him with warmth right to his toes. “Your children’s tutor.”

Phillip didn’t know what to say. The last thing he had been expecting was for a woman to be his children’s tutor. Not that women weren’t qualified… but he had just assumed the author of the letter was a man.

The woman bent down on her knees before his children, taking their small hands. Phillip wanted to weep at the gesture.

“You must be Amanda, and Oliver,” she smiled, squeezing their hands.

His children looked over their shoulders at him, waiting for him to speak.

Blinking, Phillip cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Miss Bridgerton. I assumed that you were a man. But you’re a woman.”

“Yes,” Miss Bridgerton rose, offering her hand to him next. “Thank you for noticing. I’m Eloise Bridgerton.”

Phillip slid his hand into hers, nearly biting his tongue as a wave of electricity shocked his palm at her touch. Eloise. Eloise Bridgerton. Miss Eloise Bridgerton. This beautiful and lively woman had come to teach his children. Phillip didn’t know it yet, but Eloise Bridgerton would be doing much more than tutoring his twins. She would be the balm to his broken and fragile heart.

“Shall I come inside?” She dropped her hand from his, picking up her satchel.

“Of course,” Phillip flexed his hand beside his thigh. “Please, do come in. I’ll show you to the children’s nursery.”

Amanda and Oliver ran up the stairs, leading the way and Phillip escorted Eloise to the nursery where the children did their studies.

“This will do nicely,” Eloise grinned. “I assume that you would like me to begin this morning?”

Phillip nodded, captivated by the vibrant energy she radiated. He tried not to compare Eloise to Marina, but it had been so long since he had seen such life in a woman. Such joy and a thrill for living.

“I am running late for my class,” Phillip glanced at his watch. “If you need to reach me, I have left my office number on the table by the front door. I’m sorry we did not get a chance to properly introduce ourselves.”

“That’s alright,” Eloise smiled and pulled out a stack of papers from her satchel. “I expect we will get to know one another in the coming days.”

“Certainly,” Phillip nodded and then looked at his children, worry crossing his face. “Please do not burn the house down for Miss Bridgerton. Wait until I come back.”

The twins laughed, and Phillip sent up a prayer hoping that the house would still be in one shape when he returned.

As Phillip drove to the university, all his thoughts focused on Eloise. He wondered if she had only signed her first initial in the letter because she thought he would not hire a woman. Hoping he would not have allowed gender to come between his decision, Phillip thought he would have still hired her had he known. After all, it was her experience with young children that impressed him the most.

During his class on the anatomy of an orchid, Phillip’s thoughts continually drifted towards Eloise. Her bright smile has he answer the door. The glasses perched on her nose. The fitted sweater that hugged her curves. It had been a very long time since Phillip had felt any sort of emotion towards the opposite sex.

It was the more intimate thoughts of Eloise that Phillip was thinking about when he arrived home later that afternoon. For the first time in a long while, he was happy to be home, a smile crossing his face.

“Hello?” He called out, dropping his keys in a small dish near the door.

A loud thud could be heard from upstairs and he climbed the steps three at a time.

“Oh for Christ’s sake!” Eloise shouted, standing outside of the children’s nursery.

Phillip had expected the house to be in shambles, but he had never expected the sight before him. Eloise Bridgerton covered in flour — what he hoped was only flour.

“Miss Bridgerton,” Phillip gasped, walking towards her. “I am so sorry. You must please excuse my children’s awful behavior.”

He knew she wouldn’t last. His children were a menace to society. How could anyone, especially the bright Eloise Bridgerton put up with them?

Instead of stomping down the stairs and out the door in a rage, Eloise began to laugh.

“Are you alright?” Phillip reached out to her, his hand brushing against her flour covered arm.

Eloise only laughed more, and then the nursery door opened slightly. Two small heads poked out, looking entirely mischievous.

“It wasn’t our idea, father,” Oliver crossed his heart.

“I don’t believe that for a second,” Phillip ran his hand over his face. “You’ll apologize to Miss Bridgerton this instant!”

“No, no,” Eloise stopped laughing, her hand reaching out to clutch his arm. “They are telling the truth! It was my idea.”

“It was your idea to cover yourself in a bucket of flour?” He asked, confused.

“Well,” Amanda snickered. “It was our idea to cover her in flour, but then Miss Eloise suggested that we set the trap for you.”

“For me?” Phillip cocked a brow at Eloise, who’s cheeks blushed.

“Just a spot of fun,” Eloise chuckled, then had the decency to look embarrassed.

Phillip truly didn’t know what to say. Disciplining his own children was one thing for their mischief, but he couldn’t very well punish Eloise. If he wasn’t so shocked, he might have just laughed.

“Children,” Phillip said. “Please clean up this mess. I need to have a word with Miss Eloise.”

Surprisingly, the children bent down to scoop up the flour into the bucket that had been perched on top of the nursery door. They probably didn’t want to miss out on what Phillip was going to say to Eloise.

He pulled her aside, his hand on the small of her back.

“I must apologize for my children,” Phillip smiled briefly. “I would say they know better, but it’s just their nature to cause chaos.”

“As it is mine,” Eloise smiled, wiping the flour from her eyes. “I assure you, it was all my idea. But as I was setting the bucket on top of the door, I sneezed and it came tumbling down.”

Phillip looked at her curiously.

“I thank you for hiring me,” Eloise took a deep breath. “I’m sorry for the mess I caused, and I do not expect you to give me a reference since I have worked not even a day!”

“A reference?” He asked. “Do you think I’m firing you, Eloise?”

“Well, yes,” she shrugged. “I’m covered in flour, and I plotted with your mischievous children.”

“Did they do any learning today?”

Eloise nodded. “We covered geography and maths today.”

“Then you have done what I hired you to do,” Phillip smiled. Without thinking, his hand reached out to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing across her bottom lip, caked white.

“You will allow me stay then?”

“I would be a fool to let someone like you go,” Phillip smirked. “I know my children are difficult to handle. If they let you in on one of their pranks then that means they like you.”

“Very well,” Eloise smiled widely. “I will return at the same time tomorrow!”

She turned then, a cloud of flour following her. Phillip saw her to the door, and once she was gone, he let his head fall on the solid wood. What had he just gotten himself into?

[aelaer]

First: welcome home & I hope you get the sleep you need to get back into your routines! Second: it's Feb. 2, a significant day to our beloved Stephen Strange. I know you're exhausted right now, and the timing is poor--but perhaps when you're up to, you could write a little one-shot about his feelings all these years later (is it 2022 or 2023?) on the anniversary of the accident that changed his life forever. Can't think of anyone better suited to write it! xx

This was sent a year ago but last month I planned to have it out for Feb 2nd, hah.

For canon, he comes back in 2023 in what I think was likely after Feb 2nd, so realistically he can address the anniversary again in 2024. It'd feel like only 3 years for him while, in actuality, it'd been 8. But when it comes to his experienced time versus actual passing time, Stephen's pretty messed up without the Decimation already (I'm not sure how I feel about the name of the "Blip" yet.)

The prompter also requested first person after I asked for more details, and I haven't ever written Stephen in first person so I thought I'd give it a go. I know first person isn't everyone's cup of tea, but if you're willing to give it a shot, call me very obliged.

Warning for canon compliance :P

——————

Staring Back In Time Rating: G (well, other than language)

An entry from the memoirs of Doctor Stephen Strange, Earth's Sorcerer Supreme, during his time as the Master of the New York Sanctum, several months after the Battle of Earth against Thanos:

February 2, 2024

Calendars don't mean as much as they used to. Once upon a time my life was ruled by the calendar. Consultation here, surgery there, society dinner over the weekend. Dates were important and generally set without change once marked down.

It doesn't work that way as a sorcerer. I keep a schedule, of course, one that marks down classes with apprentices and adepts and meetings with other Masters, never mind all the business outside of Kamar-Taj. But I learned early on that these set times shifted occasionally to accommodate the emergencies that the order often had to quash down, and it became obvious that as a Master, my schedule was more of a hopeful guideline than anything set in stone. Flexibility was a necessity.

Ever since my return to the living, keeping anything resembling a set schedule has been more of a laughable dream. Earth being the center of two universe-changing, Infinity Stone-powered events in a matter of hours did serious damage to the fabric woven about reality across the planet, and the Masters of the Mystic Arts are going to be dealing with the multidimensional repercussions for years to come. Nothing is predictable in my day-to-day anymore.

My relationship with time was fucked the moment I confronted Dormammu, so I can't say it's a large surprise that calendars have become mostly irrelevant.

If someone had told me that I, Doctor Stephen Strange, a man of order and precision, would learn to live with such unpredictability, I would have laughed in their face. But I'm not the man I once was (and thank God for that; that man was a dick). However, it's also because of this change that I didn't realize the day until it was nearly done.

I was reviewing my schedule for tomorrow, which I had set up on Google Calendar (Google had, naturally, survived the Decimation just fine, but like most other non-vital services, had many of their upcoming products delayed for years. But their email and calendar services continue to work great). Tomorrow's a Saturday, which means nothing in my world. My work continues on. The threats on our reality care little for weekends or holidays.

Still, it was only during this review, shortly before I planned to retire for the night, that I realized that today is February 2nd.

I won't ever forget the day, of course. It was both three years ago and eight years ago—or perhaps many lifetimes ago would be a more accurate description, though I lost track of time in both of my major journeys with the Time Stone. One day I'll write about them. Not now, but one day. Both memories are still too fresh.

The memory of the day of the accident, though? It feels both like yesterday and centuries ago. Some parts of the day are engraved in my memory like a film. I remember the last surgery down to the individual conversations. Christine's "thank you". Nick's watch. The cling of the bullet as I dropped it onto the tray.

I can remember my last conversation with Billy, too, in the car. Every damned word. But the drive itself is fuzzy, even in my head with my memory. I remember it began to rain during the drive, not beforehand, and I know the road was narrow and two-laned. I know I avoided a direct route to avoid traffic, driving first into Jersey before heading north and crossing the river again. But the rest is forgotten to time, or perhaps to trauma.

I was told that Billy was the first to call 9-1-1 as he heard the tearing of metal and shattering of glass before the connection was lost. The driver I hit—I learned much later that she escaped with only minor injuries—called a couple minutes later. But it was out in the mountains, dark, and raining. It took them hours to find me and extract me from the car.

Funny. Never thought I'd ever write about one of the worst days of my life like this. But I was told early on that personal journals were encouraged for all who stay in Kamar-Taj. Something about its therapeutic benefits was mentioned at some point. I only picked up the practice once I learned that each gifted journal was inaccessible to others until the time of their death, and after I mastered the art of enchanting a pen to write the words I spoke. Unfortunately this journal appeared to others after the Decimation, but Wong has reassured me that no one read it and it has since disappeared again from public view. 

Still, the point is that, one day, someone just might read this—account of a man who was part of an effort to save the universe. And it is difficult for a reader to judge my actions if they don't know how I was the one who ruined my life. My driving was reckless and stupid. I was running a little late, but it wouldn't have mattered in the long run had I been fifteen, twenty minutes, thirty minutes late. Not really.

Then again, I suppose it would have. I certainly wouldn't be here right now.

One could say that the accident and everything that has followed is some sort of penance for my hubris as a surgeon. I enjoy my newer abilities—quite a bit—but the responsibility that has come with them has not come without its own hardships and sacrifices. Perhaps the worst of the sacrifices were the ones I was unable to prevent others from performing, all for the sake of the universe.

Those sacrifices were made willingly, but I cannot help but feel responsible for them, regardless. 

During my first winter again returned to the living, when the days grew colder and my hands ached in the bad weather, and the only thoughts to accompany the pain were bitter, another thought was born. I was tempted, for the first time in a long time, to give it all up, restore my fine motor skills with channeled magic, and go back to the world I once knew, for a life much, much easier than this one is now. Even with all the troubles that had cropped up as people tried to reorganize a world that doubled in size overnight, it was miles away from the difficulties we were facing in Kamar-Taj.

Their sacrifices—the fates I pushed so many people towards—quelled the idea quickly. It did little to ease the physical pain or sting of guilt, but it lifted the temptation. And ever since that day, I have considered the situation and I don't think I will ever be tempted by the idea of giving up my duties for an easier, pain-free life again.

And I suppose that counts for something.

——————

(Hey look, my interest in geography's leaked again.)

I've always wondered where Stephen actually crashed mostly because New York City is *flat* and those mountains were *very much not flat*. I figured out the bridge that he crossed to get out of the city (there are like, 21 bridges that lead out of Manhattan) was the George Washington Bridge, and it leads to New Jersey—but that's not necessarily useful because it can quickly turn back into New York state if you turn north. We also know he crashed down into a body of water, which *might* be the Hudson, but also might not, but that the body of water is to his left, which narrows it down a bit. But again, not much. And the site of his crash is so dark in the videos and screenshots that I can barely tell what's on it. It looks like a bridge and some industrial building, so the Hudson's a good guess, but otherwise? Well, basically I turned on the topography part of Google maps and started searching.

The 202 on the east side of the river just north of Peekskill (again in New York) matches the movie road's windiness, height, and closeness to the river, and even has a bridge that could be just to the north of the crash site. Unfortunately the railing's off and there's no industrial building thingy by the bridge. It also makes the route out of the city via George Washington Bridge make no sense. Like the Stark Industries area in LA in the films, it's probably a completely fictional landscape.

But as I wasn't able to find a better locale that was still close enough to NYC to direct an emergency helicopter to, my headcanon for this scene is that he left via George Washington bridge to avoid some major traffic or something, crossed the river via the 287 a bit further up north to get back to the east side of the river, then went up the 9 to the 202. Unless someone who lives in the area can find the actual road he was driving (if it's real), this is what I'm gonna go with. (And if someone DOES please let me knowwwww). Funny enough, I don't see him getting led to *his* hospital totally unrealistic, because he'd need a very talented orthopedic surgeon with a specialty in hands to come in, and generally speaking a patient can be helicoptered to another hospital where such a surgeon is available. If Stephen is working at the Metro-General, it's likely they can afford a large cast of talented surgeons. So I don't think Nick was necessarily the lead surgeon in his case, just one of many necessary surgeons.