#so it’ll probably be several YEARS before we see two women dance together on the show again

[basedkikuenjoyer]

You're a young Eiichiro Oda in 1982, let's assume like many readers of Weekly Shonen Jump you've been enjoying this silly little romcom about a boy being pursued by the perfect woman...as long as he gets over one minor hangup. You open up the chapter, it seems like a fun one. Just like our first it's setup around the idea a new boy is coming to live with the Oozora family and its four lovely daughters. This is the last panel you'd see. That's it, Hibari doesn't make her way back into serialization. Maybe if you were in the know you could piece together the manga has had some weird gaps. Kinda like Hunter X Hunter today. Guess Eiiguchi had health issues. We'd later hear he just couldn't keep up with the schedule of weekly releases anymore. He'll go on to have a nice, stable, but quiet career as an illustrator for businesses.

So, what exactly is tough guy Gekijiro up here shouting about? That’s a pretty iconic ethos for a guy that shows up and ends a popular series. To be fair, Stop!! Hibari-kun did love a fair amount of meta humor up to and including several bizarre interludes of author Eiiguchi taking over for a few pages. Often some little joke about being a pervert and his editors having to keep him in line. So from that vantage point it wasn’t hard to see where this joke came from. Hibari was one of the magazine’s then-twin pillars of popularity off the back of...fashionable young women and Hibari being trans making for this excellent setup to slip in a lot of humor that would be iffy to censors yet relatable to young women.

Subtle stuff you don’t always see today even. Casual jokes about periods, accurate sisternal cattiness. Perfect recipe for a crossover hit. Cute girls for that bit of eye candy, they’re real enough girls can enjoy too. Romcom fun with a little dash of action through MC Kosaku joining the boxing club. Starting to sound a lot like Ranma 1/2? Yeah, I’m pretty sure given the timing of her start on Urusei Yatsura these two were cribbing notes off each other back-and-forth. Rumiko Takahashi never really kept things as grounded as Hibari-kun though, which was probably it’s undoing.

See...I also wanted to take this little detour because of something from the start. Hibari beyond being a likely influence on a series like One Piece that so elegantly recaptures its recipe for crossover success had an interesting story on it’s own. The official line is that Hishashi Eiguchi turned in the final chapter and hid out in hotels from his editors. Leaving a short version and an abrupt end because he just couldn’t keep up with the stress. Problem is...it took until 27 years later, 2009, but we finally got a proper omnibus collection. 

That’s the real last scene. I know that “Shonen is dead” line is that kind of meta joke because it turns out we did have the full chapter. He makes that pretty clear. Here’s our real abrupt finale. What!? Oh, so this new arrival wasn’t just some random dude. He’s a trans boy who’s a perfect mirror of Hibari? Total macho dork and peep that line up top. Not only do we get the explicit “man at heart” cliche (Hibari dances around the equivalent but never goes so blatant) but he’s taking hormones? Uhhh...even more modern stuff focused on being a positive take on these themes like Wandering Son at most sorta gloss over the particulars of medically transitioning. Worth noting a strange little legal quirk, because of a dodgy interpretation of WW2 peace agreements Japan was one of the few countries to have an out-and-out ban on the procedure until I believe 1993. 

Doesn’t mean people didn’t do it, and this is a series about a Yakuza family. Characters casually talk about shooting up meth or underage drinking. Knowing all this though...anyone else getting the impression this may have been a little more of a veteran mangaka making a stand? A magazine pulling the plug to be more kid-friendly? The story had been trending away from being a silly romcom a while before. This shift in the plot is huge, but it’ll be forever resigned to “what could have been?”

That’s the main reason I got really excited seeing a Hibari in One Piece who has the right look. I’ve wondered about this for a while. We only have what Eiguchi is willing to say in public interviews, it just isn’t the norm in the industry to air dirty laundry but he has progressively opened up about the series over time. It’s tripped me up since even before Wano really, timing and popularity and shared elements make this feel like such an influence. Now we’re seeing things that poke at those lines more. I’d love to see Eiichiro Oda pull in Hisashi Eiguchi for one of these interviews he’s been doing.

[xstardusts]

~

[bitter-sweet-farmgirl]

Athtur I’zig

Part 4 of ‘A Deep Misunderstanding’.  Who know how many more parts are going to follow…  Link to Series Masterlist.

Thorin falls for a Dwarrowdame raised by Elves, and tries to make know his feelings, but accidentally offends her, which leads to another and another misunderstanding between the two.

Based off of @immawriteyouthings​ ‘Falling Stars’

Note:  If you wish to be tagged for certain stories, just let me know and I can add you to a tag list!

MASTERLIST

OC(s) Used: Estel (Lorelei mentioned)

Word Count:  2,142

Warning(s):  None

Translation(s): Athtur I’zig:  Star Gazing

Lulkhs:  Idiots

Zatagbiri ibriz khama asti:  He would melt the sun in his forge for you

~~~~

Several weeks down the road, I finally felt as though I was making some progress.  Thorin had slowly but steadily begun to teach me more words and phrases in Khuzdul and I finally felt as though I could hold a basic conversation in that language.

But it was strange.  Ever since I had talked with Fili and Kili, they seemed intent on making me see Thorin in a different light as well as discovering why I didn't know Khuzdul.  They dropped hints about Thorin to see my reactions--the most memorable being Kili's attempt at romanticizing Thorin's figure.

"But how could you think he wants harm to befall you?"  Kili asked in a whisper as he sat beside me in front of the crackling fire.  "I mean, I would have thought you'd have fallen for him.  Most women gaze forlornly after him whenever we're in a tavern somewhere or out in public."

I saw no need to inform Kili that I had indeed fallen for Thorin, but was trying to push aside those feelings.  "I'm not 'most women' Kili.  I prefer a different sort."  I lied, and Kili grinned at me, scooting closer.

"Oh yeah?  What is your type then?  Obviously not burly Dwarrows with bulging muscles, dark beards and steel blue eyes who like brooding and talk in deep voices."  He said, mimicking Thorin's voice and Fili gave his brother an odd look as he walked by.

I laughed, shaking my head at Kili's description of Thorin.  This just egged Kili on till Thorin walked by, and Kili abruptly stopped, unwilling to invoke the wrath of his uncle.  Once Thorin had passed by, Kili resumed his questions.

"So, what is your type?  Am I attractive to you?"  He asked teasingly, and I shrugged my shoulders, unwilling to verbally answer the question.  "What about Fili?  Do you like him?"

I wrinkled my nose, making Kili laugh.  "I don't like either of you in that way, Kili..."  I said, and Kili grinned at me.

"Good, because I'm a taken Dwarrow."  He said, getting a faraway look in his eyes.  I raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, you are?"  I asked, and Kili nodded, a soft smile replacing his cheeky grin.

"Aye.  I've got a lass waiting back in the Blue Mountains for me to return and bring her to Erebor once we reclaim it."  He said in a quiet voice, and I nodded.

"Is she pretty?"  I questioned, and Kili chuckled, ducking his head as pink began to tinge his stubbled cheeks.

"Oh Mahal, yes.  She's a goddess.  Long brown hair that is as soft as a rabbit pelt and gorgeous green eyes that shine like emeralds."  He said reverently, "Mahal knows how I ever got her to marry me in the first place..."

"Wait, so you're married?"  I said in disbelief, and Kili nodded slowly, the mischievous look reentering his brown eyes.  

"That I am.  We had one glorious year together before I left with the Company...  I miss her more every day."  He said softly, his smile turning morose.

"I'm sure she misses you too."  I murmured, resting a hand on Kili's shoulder.  "It's hard to be away from the ones you love."

After that long and interesting conversation where I had learned more about Kili than I knew about Thorin, I had time to ponder my own relationship with the latter.  Weirdly enough, my interactions with Thorin had become less strained the more time we spent together as he taught me Khuzdul.  It almost gave me hope that one day I would find my feelings reciprocated in him.  Almost.

There were still many times when Thorin was gruff and cold towards me, and although I was able to hide it, I still felt hurt that he didn't like me.

"Miss Estel, if you would remove your head from the clouds, we could continue learning."  Thorin's annoyed voice broke me from my thoughts, and I quickly glanced over at where he leaned against a tree, illuminated by the fire's dancing flames as he cleaned his dagger.

"Sorry, I just got caught up in my thoughts; remembering."  I said quietly, and Thorin nodded tersely.

"So I noticed.  But back to the subject at hand.  Do you remember the colours I was teaching you this morning?"  He asked, and I nodded.

"Yes.  Ziriz, narag, and khagal.  Gold, black and blue."  I said, and Thorin nodded approvingly.

"Galikh.  That means good."  He said, and I thought I saw the barest hint of a smile for a moment.  But then it was gone, as though it had never existed.

Which, knowing Thorin, was probably true.

"Master Thorin, Kili and Fili said something earlier today that has been puzzling me.  I was wondering if you could tell me what it meant."  I began hesitantly, and Thorin raised an eyebrow, glancing up from the knife he had been cleaning.

"Fili and Kili said this, you say?"  He asked, and I nodded.

"Yeah.  I think it was meant in jest, but I cannot be sure."  

"What was it?"  Thorin asked, and I struggled to recall the unfamiliar words Fili and Kili had murmured to me, gesturing towards Thorin as he led us.

"It was something like 'zatagbiri ibriz khama asti'."  I said, sounding out the words slowly.  Thorin's sapphire blue eyes widened, and his grip on the dagger tightened.  

"Did you understand any of it?"  He asked, gaze becoming murderous.  I took a step away as he began to walk towards me, shaking my head.

"Not really, I recognized 'he' and 'forge' and 'you, but that was it."  I said rapidly, but Thorin just shook his head.

"I have no idea what I'm going to do with those two lulkhs..."  He groaned, stroking his chin with a hand.

I was about to ask what the phrase meant when Gloin approached Thorin.  "Thorin, it's your turn on the night watch.  Dwalin's next."  He said, and Thorin nodded to him.

"Alright."

Gloin headed away from us, leaving Thorin and I alone once more.  I turned to look at him only to find his eyes already resting on me.

"Would you mind if I joined you on the watch?"  I asked softly, "you could teach me more."  

Thorin shrugged, his gaze still dark.  "I do not mind.  Just keep in mind that we will be moving on early tomorrow morning."  He said, and the hidden meaning behind his words made me bite my lip.

Of course he had to try and find a flaw somewhere.  If I stayed up late with him, there was no excuse for me being tired tomorrow.

Tossing my hair back, I gave him a look.  "I will be fine."  I said firmly and began to walk out into the forest to scout the perimeter of our camp a bit.

"Miss Estel, you stay here; closer to camp."  Thorin suddenly said, striding after me.  Ignoring his obvious attempt to 'protect' me--the helpless woman--I continued walking onwards.  "Miss Estel!"  Thorin growled, and I sensed his temper rising at my silence.

But then I walked out into a clearing bathed in moonlight and stopped dead.  Tilting my head upwards, I let out a soft gasp as I saw thousands of stars twinkling brightly in the sky.  

"It's so beautiful..."  I whispered, a smile spreading across my face at the wondrous sight.  It had been far too long since I had last taken the time to look up at the stars; something I used to do regularly back in Lothlorien.

"Miss Estel," Thorin's voice came from behind me, and I turned to look at him, smiling brightly.  

"Isn't it beautiful?"  I asked softly, and Thorin's brow furrowed even as I watched his sapphire eyes soften.

"What?"  He asked in a low voice, and I gestured up at the sky.

"The stars.  Aren't they beautiful?"  I asked again, and Thorin turned his gaze skyward for a moment before looking back at me, a strange expression on his face.

"I suppose so...  But we better get back to the camp.  We're supposed to be on watch."  He said, motioning for me to follow him.  But I shook my head.

"It'll be okay for a couple minutes.  I haven't had the chance to properly star-gaze since I joined this Company," I said.  "Have you ever star-gazed?"

Thorin shook his head, and I let out a gasp of surprise.  "How is that even possible?!  Come here!"  I hurried over to him and grabbed his hand in mine, dragging him into the clearing.  Surprisingly, he didn't resist, and I shot a glance back at him to find him staring at me with wide blue eyes, the faintest dusting of pink tinging his cheeks.  How strange.

Really, surprise wasn't that good of a look on him.  I preferred that strong, brooding exterior; if only he would smile more.  I had seen him smile at Fili and Kili as well as Dwalin, and it only made me fall for him more.  His blue eyes would shine as his broad frame shook with laughter; making my heart skip a beat.

Sitting down, I tugged on his hand to get him to join me, which he reluctantly proceeded to do.  "This is a bad idea.  We could be ambushed and--"

"Shh... Lie back and be quiet.  Just forget about all that for a minute."  I said, lying back and staring up at the sky.  "Just look up at the stars."

Thorin let out a sigh as he reclined beside me, our shoulders barely touching.  It was like my dreams had come to life.  

We sat in silence for a long while, just looking up at the sky and taking in all of its beauty.  Then I caught sight of a shooting star.  

"Thorin, look!  A shooting star!  Make a wish!"  I murmured excitedly, closing my eyes as I made mine; wishing that I could see my Naneth again someday.  She was in my thoughts more often the Thorin it seemed at times.  I missed her more than life itself.

Opening my eyes, I turned my head to look at Thorin.  Hearing the grass rustle as I did so, he turned to look at me.  "What did you wish for?"  He asked curiously, and I laughed.  

"I can't tell you...  Then the wish won't come true!"  I laughed, and Thorin nodded slowly, turning his gaze back up at the stars.

"I see then."  He rumbled, and we both became quiet again.

At least, until my curiosity rose within me.  "Thorin?"  I asked quietly, "what's the word for 'star'?"

Thorin was quiet for a moment, "Thatr."  He answered, and I mouthed it once before trying to pronounce it.

"Tha-tur?"  I tried, glancing over at the Dwarrow beside me as he nodded an affirmation.  

"Yes, that's right."

I smiled to myself, watching as another shooting star passed across the night sky.  Another wish; another moment.

"What is your story?  The wizard has never mentioned where he met you, and it puzzles me why a Dwarrowdame such as yourself does not know the language of the Dwarves."  Thorin suddenly spoke, and I took in a deep breath.

I had hoped these questions would never be asked of me.

"As I said before, Master Thorin, it is personal."  I said quietly, trying to shut down this conversation before it could start.

But Thorin refused to let it go.  "Are you an orphan?  Is that why you never learned Khuzdul?"  He asked, sitting up and looking down at me.

I sat up also, looking over at him with a guarded expression.  "That is my own business, Master Thorin.  Now if you'll excuse me, I believe it is time for the next watch to relieve us."  I murmured, rising to my feet and heading towards the camp.

"As the leader of this Company, I believe I have a right to know your backstory.  For all I know you are intent on stealing the gold within Erebor's halls for yourself."  Thorin's deep voice stopped me in my tracks, and I turned slowly to look at him.

Did he really want to tread down this path?  Questioning my integrity and loyalty?  

"Gandalf wouldn't have allowed me to come along if he didn't believe I was trustworthy."  I said coolly, staring at Thorin as I silently dared him to question me more.  If he wanted the truth, he would get it.

But he remained silent, and I turned away from him to continue towards the warmth of the fire, apprehension building in the pit of my stomach.  I knew that someday my past would come to light; it was inevitable, but I feared the day it did.

Eru only knew what Thorin would do to me once he knew of my Elvish upbringing.

[seanfalco]

Catch me in the Club | Klaus Hargreeves x Reader

Fandom: The Umbrella Academy Pairing: Klaus Hargreeves x Reader (same as from Playing with Fire) Word Count: 1844 Warnings: Swearing, Suggestive dialogue

a/n: So this is completely self-indulgent and honestly ridiculous, but ever since seeing the new season 2 promotional posters and learning more about the plot, plus reading this post about Klaus running a strip joint in the comics (which who knows if it’ll even be part of the show or not), I couldn’t get this scene out of my head.  Basically just an excuse to write my Reader and Klaus being 60s’ fashion icons and the shameless flirts that they are.  Also titles are harddd.  Don’t laugh at me lol.

—

Pride might not be the first emotion one would connect with the idea of a strip club, but damn if you weren’t proud of what you’d built — you and Klaus, together.

Finding yourselves stranded in the middle of Dallas in the year 1960 after jumping back in time, you’d come out on the other side very much alone, only Klaus’s hand still clasped in yours; the rest of the Hargreeves nowhere to be found.  Thinking them dead, the two of you eventually settled down, making a new life for yourselves, deciding if you were stuck there then you might as well at least make the best of it.

As you emerged from the back dressing room to walk the main floor, you bobbed your head to the music blaring over the speakers, singing snatches of the lyrics under your breath as your gaze swept the room -- at least you’d been stranded in an era with good music, you thought.  

In the hazy light several topless dancers gyrated and twirled effortlessly around their poles as patrons watched hungrily from the bar, some nursing beers while others stared transfixed, completely forgetting the drinks growing warm in front of them.  You had to admit, there was a certain elegance to the way they moved, and you often found yourself staring, probably more often than you would admit; picking up certain moves to make use of in the bedroom later -- Klaus never complaining.

Speaking of which, you spotted Klaus behind the large circular bar filling the center of the room and you ambled toward him, catching his eye before leaning flirtatiously over the smooth shiny surface.

“Hey you,” you greeted, grinning up at him as he met you with a roguish grin of his own.

You had to admit that the 60s’ surprisingly suited him.  He’d let his hair grow long; his silky brunette curls artfully framing his thin face as they cascaded down, brushing his shoulders.  You probably spent about half your time running your fingers through it, relishing just how soft it was and the appreciative sighs it coaxed from Klaus’s lips as he practically melted under your touch.  

The long teal and cream coloured Nehru jacket he wore today was one of your favourites; his fashion sense just as eclectic and eye catching in the past as it was in the future and the pair of you had swiftly become connoisseurs of a strange mix of hippy and mod fashion which on anyone else would probably just look like a hot mess, but for some reason it worked for you.

The one thing you couldn’t stand was staring you right in the face at the moment and you tugged on it with a frown as you batted your lashes at your boyfriend.  For some ungodly reason you still couldn’t fathom why Klaus had decided to trade in his dashing goatee for the long scraggly abomination that currently decorated his chin and though you tolerated it as best you could, you never missed an opportunity to remind him of your displeasure toward it.

“Hey you, yourself,” Klaus replied with a chuckle, leaning in closer, gazing at you dreamily.

“How goes the front of house?” You asked, slipping up to sit on the bar next to him, planting your hands behind you and leaning back to gaze around the room.

“Oh, the usual,” he mused, “just a lot of horny guys watching some half naked women dance for them.”  You snorted in response, glancing over at him.  “Everything alright backstage?” 

“Just a little drama, nothing I couldn’t take care of,” you answered and Klaus nodded.

“The same old drama?” he asked. 

“The same,” you said, rolling your eyes.  Two of the women were notorious for not getting along, and while you attempted to keep them apart as often as possible they were both drama queens and liked to start shit over the pettiest things.

“Soooo,” Klaus prompted, his hand slipping toward your bare leg; crossed over your knee, your foot bouncing idly.  “Are we still on for dinner later tonight?”  

When his finger traced along the length of your thigh from the hem of your miniskirt down to your knee you glanced down, your lips twitching.

“Of course,” you replied, pointedly taking his hand from your leg with a teasing smirk and turning it to trace the ‘hello’ tattooed on his palm with your finger.  “Is there anything in particular you’re craving for dessert?” 

You could practically feel the shiver as it ran through Klaus and your smirk widened.  

“I think you know exactly what I’m craving,” he purred in your ear, returning the favour as a thrill ran through you as well, warmth and want filling you.  

Unfortunately there were still several hours left til your little date, and you were now feeling incredibly impatient.

Opening your mouth to make a suggestive retort the sound of raised voices caught your attention and your eyes quickly sought out the source of the disturbance, cutting you off.  Across the bar a rather rowdy patron had stood, grabbing one of the strippers and yanking her toward him, attempting to cop a feel.  Without missing a beat you jumped down from the bar, your face a thunderhead as you stalked across the room.

“Hey!” you snapped, stepping between the man and the dancer, murder in your eyes.  “There is a strict no touching policy in place here.  So get your hands off.”

The man swayed, obviously drunk, his eyes sliding from the woman behind you to you, his gaze lazily traveling downward before finally coming back to your face before he released his grasp on the performer.

”Touch any of my employees again and you’ll regret it,” you growled, your voice lowering dangerously as you met his gaze.  As you confronted him the woman quickly slipped away, hurrying to the back room to compose herself.

“Oh, and what are you gunna do about it, missy?  Throw me out?  I’ll just come back tomorrow,” the smug bastard slurred, laughing raucously, glancing over at his buddies.  Crossing his arms over his chest he turned back around, leering at you.

Having caught up to you, Klaus appeared, sweeping in to stand at your shoulder, silently offering you backup in case you needed it.

“No,” you replied, no trace of amusement in your voice as you glared the man down, “first I’ll break your hand, then I’ll throw you out myself.”

“Oooh, real scary!” he laughed, glancing over his shoulder for support from his friends.  “I’d like to see you try, girly.”

His laughter cut off with a yelp as you snatched his wrist, twisting til you felt resistance, the man’s surprise turning to a panicked whine and his eyes locked on Klaus at your shoulder.

“Hey man, w-what the fuck?  C-control your woman, why don’tcha!” he cried, trying to pull away from your grasp, but you only wrenched harder.

Klaus looked from the man to you, a small smile playing at his lips and he shrugged lightly.  “That’s not really how it works around here,” he explained, the look in his emerald eyes decidedly proud.  “She’s the boss and what she says goes, so unless you uh, want the use of your hand, which ooh that looks painful,” he exclaimed, his brows drawing down in faux concern as he covered his mouth sarcastically with his hand, “then I suggest you do as the fraulein says.”

The man gaped at Klaus, his mouth moving soundlessly, eyes darting back and forth between the two of you.

Lifting your eyebrows impatiently you gave his wrist one more yank before he was cracking.  “Alright, alright!” he cried, his voice climbing in pitch, “I’ll go!”

“See that you do, and if you try to come back, you’ll find we won’t be as welcoming.”  With a tight smile you released him and he instantly stumbled back, pulling his arm tight against his chest, cradling it as he backed away.  

“You and your girlfriend are fucking crazy, man!” he exclaimed before stumbling for the door, bumping blindly into several other patrons on his way and weaving through the two bouncers who were now looking your way.  Turning your fiery gaze on the man’s group of friends they quickly turned back to the bar, their shoulders hunched as if to say they wanted none of their fellow’s problems.

Clapping your hands as if satisfied you turned to Klaus, finding an awe filled grin on his face.  

“I love it when you threaten people, [Y/N], it’s so hot,” he murmured, reaching for your arm and pulling you close.

“Oh?  You like that, huh?” you asked wryly, cocking an eyebrow up at him.  “Too bad we’re on the clock right now.”

Klaus shrugged.  “Y’know, I really don’t care,” he mused, leaning in for a kiss, hooking his finger under your chin to tilt your face up.

When you pulled back you frowned slightly.  “Klaus, you know I love you, but… when the fuck are you gunna lose that God awful thing?” you huffed, tugging once more on his long beard.

“Aw, but you love me more than you hate my beard,” he pointed out, his lips twisting cheekily.  “I’d say that's a real testament to our relationship, you know?”

“Mhmm, and one of these mornings you’re gunna wake up to the damned thing cut off,” you replied, turning to walk back to the office.

“H-hey!  Hey hey hey,” Klaus exclaimed hastily, hurrying to catch up to you, your airy fringed kimono billowing out behind you in your haste before he caught your wrist, yanking you around and back toward him, catching you in his arms to hold you in place.

“I promise I’ll trim my beard once we get home tonight, okay?” Klaus relented sincerely.  “Will that make you happy, [Y/N]?” he asked, staring down at you with those damn effective puppy dog eyes of his.

“Have I told you yet today how much I love you?” you asked, a smile cracking through.

“Hmmm, I do seem to recall, vaguely, you saying something to that effect this morning, while we were in bed,” he mused, “but I’d love to hear it again, if you please,” he said hopefully.

Resting your arms around his shoulders you grinned up at him, your foul mood instantly evaporating and you were past caring who saw -- it wasn’t as if your employees and regulars weren’t used to this sort of thing by now anyways.

“Klaus, I love you, you wonderful, wonderful man.  Now, we really need to get back to work.”

The silly grin that lit up his face at your words was more than worth it and he laid a quick peck to your lips before pulling away reluctantly.

“Yes, [Y/N], I am your willing slaveee!” he called, bowing to you with a flourish.  “Until later,” he drawled, waggling his eyebrows at you suggestively before he swanned off, and you shook your head fondly as you watched him, biting your lip to keep from grinning too much before you too turned to get back to work as well.

[xcamay]

Recruiting Chloe.

Hey there! I can’t believe it’s been years since I last published a fanfic on tumblr. And it’s been months since I last finished one... woo! It kind of feels great and rewarding though hehe. However, this is my first time writing a Choices fanfic, so I do hope it’ll be okay... Here goes nothing! Book: Queen B Pairings: Chloe x Veronica, and a little bit of Zoey x MC (Kate). Yes, I know many people don’t ship Chloe and Veronica, because “Veronica deserves better” and “Chloe’s an airhead and a meanie”, but I’m holding onto the fact that there’s more to Chloe than what we know... Warning: not entirely canon-compliant (seeing as I haven’t played since chapter 6 aired... I apologize if it sounds inaccurate sometimes). Also! This takes place after Veronica joined MC’s posse. And let’s forget about the Bacon-alia, okay? AO3 link ________________________________________________________________ “8:12 AM,” Kate slides her phone in her pocket and yawns, stretching her arms above her head, “Congratulations Zo, you got me out of bed early on a Wednesday. You know, the day we don’t have class in the morning.”

“Oh come on, I already apologized. But I really was craving some croissants this morning and I wanted you to try them,” Zoey smiles as she bites into her pastry, humming.

The two young women continue to stroll down the street at a relaxed pace, eating their respective croissant, joking around and sharing knowing smiles and glances. They stop next to a trash can, throwing the small bags while Zoey finishes her croissant, pinky finger raised.

“So? Verdict?” she offers Kate a wide smile, an eyebrow arched.

“Okay, you were right – they’re worth the awful alarm clock. Maybe we should get some more often. It’d be like our moment,” Kate grins as she steps closer, making Zoey grin back.

“Don’t we have enough moments already? You know, as roommates.”

“Is it really enough?”

“Do you think it is?”

“Do you?”

“Oh my god, Kate. Shut up and kiss me.”

“Your wish is my command, milady.”

They both smile before their lips tenderly meet for a few delightful seconds.

“Hey Zo,” Kate murmurs against her lips, “Let’s go back to our room.”

Zoey pecks her best friend’s lips one last time and nods, smiling. As they resume their walk, Kate slips her hand into Zoey’s.

“Wait a minute,” the new girl suddenly speaks, stopping in her tracks and squinting, “Is that Chloe over there?”

“Where?”

“There. Inside the coffee shop.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah,” Zoey blinks, “Wow. She… she looks so sad.”

“I wonder what happened… Oh well. She probably had another fight with Satan.”

“Not really, no.”

Kate jumps the moment she hears a new, additional voice next to her, “Holy shit! Veronica! Where did you come from?”

The famous beauty influencer rolls her eyes, her lips slightly tugging upward, “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

However, her light smile vanishes as she looks at her blonde-haired friend inside the coffee shop. She seems to be tormented, her brows furrowed and her gaze fixed on the table.

“This is supposed to be our moment,” Veronica sighs, an unexpected veil of sadness crossing her eyes.

Kate and Zoey glance at each other.

“What do you mean, your moment?”

“Chloe and I come here every week, on Wednesday mornings precisely because we don’t have class before 10. It’s just the two of us, for breakfast. No Poppy, no The T, no homework, no livestream… except if it gets interesting, of course,” Veronica smiles a little, but it promptly fades away, “There’s nothing else, no one else. Just Chloe and me. It’s our moment,” she pauses a second, then winces, “Or well… I guess it used to be our moment. We’re… not really talking to each other anymore, so well.”

Kate taps her chin several times, “I think it can still be your moment. Nothing’s here to stop you. Except if you don’t want it, of course.”

“No way. I still want it to be our moment.”

“I feel like there’s more to the story than what you’re telling us,” Zoey hums, barely trying to hide her curiosity, “Veronica, do you… uh…”

The two roommates share a glance, hesitating. Should they really ask something as private as that? As they ponder the answer to that question, Veronica beats them to it.

“Do I have romantic feelings for Chloe?”

They nod, and the ombré-haired girl sharply breathes in.

“I do.”

“Then go! Go get your girl!” Kate exclaims, almost bouncing on her feet like a child who was promised an ice cream.

Veronica raises her eyebrows, “You just want me to recruit her for you.”

“Of course not,” the new girl answers, at the same time as Zoey bluntly says, “Yes.”

“Zoey!”

The latter’s eyes widen and she immediately corrects herself, “No, of course not!”

The influencer rolls her eyes, prompting Kate to look sheepish as she scratches the inside of her elbow.

“One of you is at least being honest.”

“Alright… yes. And why not, anyway? With what we now know and with you helping us, I think it’s better if we get Chloe on our side. And I think she will be more willing to listen to you than us. It’s better if you recruit her yourself. But! We kind of want you two to be reunited too, you know?”

“Let’s kill two birds with one stone,” Zoey adds, serious, “Recruit her. But, most importantly, get your girlfriend back. Shoo, go.” ________________________________________________________________ As soon as she steps into the coffee shop, Veronica makes a beeline for the booth she usually occupies with Chloe on every Wednesday morning. However, she feels her heart break at the sight: Chloe is sitting there, alone, staring into space. It seems like she has barely sipped her hibiscus tea – two or three swallows at the most.

“Hey there.”

The unexpected voice startles Chloe, whose eyes widen when she realizes who is standing right next to her. Her heart rate instantly skyrockets.

“V-Veronica! You… Wh-what are you-”

“Is this seat taken?”

“N-no. But… I-I’m sorry but I have somewhere to be,” Chloe says as she abruptly stands, bumping into the table and almost knocking her white mug over.

“No you don’t,” Veronica hastily says, stopping the girl in her tracks. She lightly bites her lip, before adding in a whisper, “Chlo, please… Stay with me?”

“I-” Chloe gulps, eyes darting everywhere.

She looks conflicted, distressed – so much that it hurts Veronica inside – but eventually sits down again, fiddling with her fingers. She looks at everything, everyone but the beauty influencer sitting across from her.

“So,” Veronica clears her throat, trying to get Chloe’s attention, “We need to talk.”

“V, not now…”

“Then when? You’ve been avoiding me ever since you made up with Poppy. We haven’t even been able to spend some quality time together. We don’t laze around on the couch anymore, we also stopped doing our makeup together. You… you’re not coming to my room anymore. Look, we haven’t even had our Wednesday breakfast in weeks now.”

“You don’t understand!” Chloe seems alarmed for a second, but then she lowers her gaze, her light blue eyes reflecting a sorrow she is desperately trying to hide, “I… I-I can’t be seen talking to you…”

“Chlo, look at me.”

But Chloe weakly shakes her head, nibbling her lips, while Veronica resists the urge to grab her hand.

“Chloe.”

…

“Chloe St. James.”

This time, the girl looks up, albeit hesitantly.

“She won’t do anything to you. I promise.”

“She can-”

“Believe me, she better not.”

At this, a light (but pleased) smile graces Chloe’s features, which makes Veronica grin back. The moment only lasts a few seconds though, Chloe’s smile disappearing as she drinks a mouthful of her red-colored tea. The influencer clears her throat and places her hands on the table.

She wants to hold Chloe’s so bad.

“Chlo-”

“Sorry you had to wait,” a voice suddenly interrupts her – it’s the waiter who always serves them. They offer Veronica a welcoming smile, “The usual?”

“Uh, no, thank you,” then she hastily adds, an idea crossing her mind, “Just your best lava cake, please.”

At this, Chloe blinks, but keeps her mouth closed.

“Right away!”

And they leave. Veronica’s eyes land once again on her dearest friend, warmth, affection and worry dancing in them.

“I knew something was up. The moment you left me on read and started avoiding me, I knew something happened,” she sighs, “And surprise, surprise. Poppy’s the one behind all that, right?”

Chloe doesn’t answer – but her silence is enough.

“Chlo, she- she doesn’t have to control your life like that. You should be the one making decisions for yourself. You do whatever you want to do with whoever you want to.”

“I-”

“So what if you want to befriend Kate and Zoey? Or what if you want to spend time with me, the ‘traitorous cow’? She has no right to dictate your life.”

Chloe bites her lower lip, “V-”

“Chlo, you’re… you’re your own person. You’re not Poppy’s little lapdog-”

“I’m her second-in-command!”

“No, you’re- ah. Thank you.”

Veronica lets the waiter put the plate and the spoon on the table, before they leave. However, she doesn’t touch it, yet, capturing her friend’s attention once again.

“Chloe, no, you’re not her second-in-command. You’re the main pawn in her game, that’s all,” the blonde-haired girl lowers her gaze, pain twisting her features, and Veronica reaches for her – to no avail as Chloe’s hand immediately moves back, “Chlo…” she softly says, “You… do realize that, right? You know that ranking first is more important to Poppy than… you?”

“But she’s…” Chloe grabs her mug, seeking some support. Her knuckles quickly turn white before her shoulders sag, heavy, “She’s my best friend…”

“No, she’s not. Okay, she’s the first person who reached out to you here, I’ll give you that. But a best friend? Seriously? A girl who’s too blinded by her crown and who even goes as far as plotting revenge on you just because you ranked first for, what, a few hours? Do you really call that friendship? Is she really your best friend?”

Chloe bites her lips while sliding a shaky hand in her hair, the other still gripping tightly the mug’s handle.

“Chlo… You’re… you’re so much more than what she reduces you to.”

The blonde gulps with difficulty. She looks torn between so many things – what Poppy, her best friend, expects of her, their seemingly one-way deep friendship, her own needs and desires, the pressure which comes with her reputation at Belvoire, the dear friend she fell in love with…

“You deserve so much more.”

Veronica tentatively brushes Chloe’s fingertips with hers, her warm brown eyes never leaving her face, gauging her reaction. A tremor runs through Chloe, forcing her hand to let go of the mug and move back.

“Chlo…”

The beauty influencer can hear her heart suffocate, ready to crack. She is about to retract her own hand when she feels the tiniest, most hesitant caress on her fingers. Chloe looks at everything but Veronica, a light frown appearing on her face while her lips quiver, indicators of her internal, bone-crushing conflict.

“I-” Chloe starts, her voice clogged with guilt and sadness.

She draws in a deep, shaky breath and, finally, looks up when Veronica’s fingers interlace with hers. Her vision blurs as she holds back her tears.

“I miss you. I miss you so much.”

Veronica’s heart skips a beat, and she breathes back, “I miss you too.”

The grip around their intertwined fingers tightens, as if they are scared of letting the other go and losing her for good this time. Chloe’s first tears start rolling down her cheeks the moment their eyes meet, which prompts Veronica to immediately stand and sit on the booth seat next to her. She wraps an arm around her shoulders while the blonde-haired girl covers her face with her hands, sobbing quietly.

“Hey, hey,” Veronica whispers as she closes her eyes and presses her forehead against Chloe’s temple, heart painfully squeezing, “I’m so sorry I made you cry, Chlo… But you have to face the truth. It’s- it’s better if you do.”

“But it hurts…”

“I know… I know. The truth always hurts.”

Chloe shakily sniffs while slowly unveiling her face, trying to wipe all her tears away. She ends up smearing mascara under her eyes and removing her concealer. She looks so tired. Drained. Veronica’s brown eyes soften as she reaches for her purse and quickly pulls out a cotton pad and a vial filled with transparent liquid.

“My hero,” Chloe gives a weak smile, her light blue eyes still shining with tears, “I’m such a mess.”

“No,” Veronica gently dabs the damp pad under Chloe’s eyes, “You’re perfect.”

“V…”

Chloe’s body start shaking again from the tears she is desperately trying to hold back. No one has ever said things like that to her, not even Poppy, her supposed best friend. She could have, so many times – when they were getting dressed for a party together, for example.

You look nice in that dress.

This skirt’s color looks good on you.

Just… a compliment. Some recognition. A little something which would have made her feel like she was somewhat important, like she was worth it. But no. No one has ever said something nice to her. No one… except Veronica. But with Veronica… it only happened when they were in bed together.

You’re beautiful Chlo, she said the first time she undressed Chloe, making her blush.

You were awesome, she murmured once in the shower, pulling Chloe up and kissing her like she was the only one for her.

Chlo, you’re gorgeous, she groaned the day Chloe straddled her, their breathless moans mingling together in a sweet, loving melody.

You know what? I feel so lucky right now, she smiled when Chloe took her time removing her dress, slowly revealing her new red lacy lingerie.

I want you. And only you, she breathed in the crook of Chloe’s neck the day they had their most agonizing fight, kissing every inch of her jaw, throat and collarbone.

I love you, she cried out once, delirious, intoxicated by the friction, the caresses, the kisses they shared during their most passionate night. Chloe’s heart had never beaten as fast as it did that night.

Of course, all these times mean a lot to Chloe. She fell in love with her friend, after all. But right now, at the coffee shop, it means the world to her.

Veronica gently cups her face and brushes her thumbs on her skin, wiping away some tears. A tingling sensation dances in the influencer’s wrists the moment Chloe curls her fingers around them. Their eyes meet for a second and, when the blonde offers a weak smile, Veronica leans in, tenderly capturing Chloe’s lips. Something bursts in their chests, akin to fireworks, while their mouths slide together perfectly, in harmony. Once, twice. Chloe brings their bodies closer, arms wrapped around her lover’s neck, and the latter smiles, her hands landing on Chloe’s hips, right where they belong. Their lips meet again for the third time, impatient.

When they break the kiss, they press their foreheads together, the tip of their noses brushing.

“Babe, I promise it’ll be okay…” Veronica whispers as she strokes Chloe’s soft blonde locks, looping one behind her ear.

A soft, muffled laugh escapes Chloe’s lips as more tears roll down her cheeks, “You know, I really like it when you call me babe.”

Veronica chuckles and kisses Chloe one more time.

… Okay, three more times.

“Feeling better?”

“A little,” the blonde sniffs, hastily wiping some tears away, “I’m still scared though. What am I supposed to tell Poppy?”

“Nothing. Just… forget about her. We’ll deal with her later,” Veronica pecks the tip of her secret lover’s nose, “Just know that you’re not alone anymore, okay? We’re in this together,” and another peck – on the lips this time, “Babe.”

Chloe’s cute little laugh warms Veronica’s heart. She doesn’t look as downcast as earlier; she even looks relieved, like a huge weight has been taken off her mind, and her smile is more sincere, more instinctive. She looks more like herself – like the girl Veronica fell in love with.

“Now, I believe there’s a lava cake waiting for us before class starts. What do you say?”

Chloe snuggles against Veronica, burying her face in the crook of her neck, “Sounds perfect.” ________________________________________________________________ Meanwhile, outside the coffee shop, two girls give each other a high five, squealing in delight. ________________________________________________________________ Aaaaah I’m super nervous. :’3 But well, I do hope you guys liked that fic!

Thanks for reading and please, take care of yourself and your loved ones! See you. ♥

[ktheist]

one without the other

assassin!jungkook x assassin!reader. 2.8k words. angst.

note: take note of the past and present intervals! this is a stand alone of my assassin drabbles which you can find on my masterlist! :)

x

It’s not the end until it’s the end.

This dark, somber room is the stage and you and Jungkook are the ones that will star in the grand finale. Oh, and Jimin too.

“Talk.” With that, the aforementioned man drives his knuckles into your - now ex - boyfriend’s face.

The glare Jungkook sends screams murder, ironically, as he spits out a mix of blood and saliva. The deep pink contrasts harshly with his porcelain skin and it’ll turn blue, and then green and then yellow as the past bruises he came to you with.

Boxing. Hiking. Basketball.

It’s always a new, creative excuse every time you inquire about the fresh bruise when the last one barely healed. You half-bought into his unbelievably active lifestyle being the cause of them because otherwise, how else could he acquire that sculpture of a body. Besides, of course, the training he had to go through to be for the job.

It’s isn’t until a year into your relationship did you find out what said job entitles. Sneaking into an important man’s house, slitting his throat in the dead of the night to have his family find his lifeless body the next day and flying back from China to South Korea in time for your dinner date was just a weekly thing for him. As was for you.

But you hadn’t played the field for quite sometime, not after you found out that you were doing the government’s dirty work instead of working for them. And the scope of your profession includes eliminating threats from other organizations of your own spectrum which is to say, one of their agents, Jeon Jungkook.

Before Jimin manages to throw yet another swing, you gently rest a hand on his shoulder, your grip steady. You don’t miss the look Jungkook throws at where your hand is before his eyes land on you and his eyes soften by a tenfold. It’s the same look he gives you when he told you that he hoped he’d be your last forever after.

Once your colleague lets you take the stage, you place the chair you’d dragged from the table across the room right in front of him, ignoring the way he looks like a hurt puppy when you wince from the pain in your leg from the wound he hired sniper to shoot.

“You give us what we need and I promise, I’ll make sure you walk. You walk out of here, out of the murdering-people-for-money business with a bag full of cash, identification... for you to start a new life.”

Jungkook smiles almost helplessly as he shakes his head, “A life without you in it? I’d rather die.”

“The organization you’re working for is gathering their best assassins to assassinate you - their own, right now and-”

The knock on from the two-way mirror is short but enough. A heavy cloud settles around the room as the seconds pass before you attempt to stand up and only manage to with Jimin’s arm around your shoulder which you push away as soon as you’re able to walk on your own accord to the door where Namjoon waits, probably in those ugly shades that he likes to think makes him more of a ‘bodyguard’.

Sure as day, the shades are on and to complement it, he’s donned a full suit, black and white and all.

“You’re walking on thin ice back there.” His voice is cool as steel but there’s no mistaken the familial warmth it holds, “don’t make promises you-”

“Do you wanna take down Xion or not?” you brush past him to the crutch leaned in the corner where you’d left it before you went into the room Jungkook is detained in, “shut up and leave this to me.”

A sigh echoes from behind you where the older male is pinching the spot between his eyes and just in that moment, another thud reverberates from the speaker, followed by a groan.

“Take a break, Jimin.” That’s the last thing you hear Namjoon say before you let the door shut behind you.

x

You were no stranger to this scene.

You’d pushed one too many pair of hands and bodied that tried to feel you up and grind on your ass. Thank god the buzz is getting to you, otherwise these faces would have been a little bit more clearer and the night would have turned a little less enjoyable.

The girls were lost in the sea of people but then again, you never really made any plans to go back together - if at least one of them hadn’t ditched you for a mildly good looking guy and presently making out in the uber already.

Time seemed to stop when you downed another shot of vodka. It was always a risk to abandon all your senses but after today, you’d say to hell with risks. You’d spend two years on high profile missions, thinking you were doing the right thing; killing the right people.

Until Namjoon called you into the office and broke down everything you stood for because your performance had been over-the-top, never a disappointment and that he trusted you to lead with him.

An agency of killers that the government built to ‘eliminate threats’.

What they meant was people - men and women with family - who were potential threats to the nation.

“Filthy politics,” you scoffed, barely able to keep your train of thoughts intact.

“Sorry?” Someone on your left inquired.

He had nice hair and was tall. His other features? You couldn’t really care less as you climbed onto his lap and started kissing him. He was good with his hands when he sunk his fingers into your hair and later, you’d learned that he was good with plenty other things as well.

x

Xion has retaliated.

You see it coming but you didn’t consider the system being down for .5 hours into the equation. HQ is on standby, 5 men are stationed by the main doors and a pair on every level by the staircase since the elevator is stuck, the cams displaying a white smiling mask with hollowed eyes.

“Don’t they ever get bored? I mean, they’re not really anonymous, we know who they are and stuff.” Taehyung’s fingers dance across the keyboards (yes, he has three) while he scans the screens displaying different encrypted codes on each one.

“Just get the ID scanners working again.” With an ‘please, you’re talking to thee Kim Taehyung’, you shut the door behind you.

Nodding to several of your people that you pass in the hallway, you didn’t realize you’re holding your breath until you reach the door at the end where Jungkook was supposed to be guarded by Jimin and Taemin who, at the present, are lying smack dab in the middle of the room.  The zip cuffs no doubt from Jungkook’s restraints lies lonely a few feet away along with an upside down chair with one of its legs bent. Whoever at the receiving end the unnatural crookedness, you know it’s going to leave an ugly bruise for at least two weeks.

Unlocking the safety pin, you thought to yourself, the skin where the bruise paints it purple is never going to regain its natural skin tone.

Bang.

Bang.

x

There was a soft sound of a some stand up comedy show which was impossible because you didn’t have a TV. That was, if the smell of pancakes and coffee didn’t give away a too-obvious hint of an intruder - a very handsome one, at that - watching some videos on his phone.

“Hey,” you came up to the counter, taking a drink out of the mug next to the plate of pancakes only to scrunch your face up a second later, “is this sugar?”

He rolls his eyes, “nah, can’t you feel it’s as dark as your soul?”

Placing the mug back where it belong and blatantly ignoring the attractive half-naked stranger, you poured yourself a cup of coffee and spit it back out before dumping the rest into the sink. Who puts fucking sugar into the whooping coffee making instead of pouring unsweetened coffee and then adding sugar?

He looked at you almost abashed - almost - but before he managed to say words of apology, you raised a pointed finger at him, mouth opening and closing before your hand balled up in surrender.

“Nope, don’t even.”

Silence befell you for one peaceful minute as the popping sound of a beer bottle echo throughout the kitchen before he chirped up again.

“I’m assuming you’re the type of person who likes butter over her pancake?”

It was decided right then and then, though you did not harbor so much wrath towards a single dish of breakfast, that -

“I hate pancakes.”

x

“They think we killed what’s-his-face and what’s-his-face-two” A figure steps out of the shadow and you can’t help but find humor in his choice of outfit.

“Come on. Black cap, black jacket - black everything, you couldn’t have chosen a more obvious ‘I’m-an-assassin-fear-me’ get up?”

The smirk on his lips indicates that he shares your amusement but the hand on your hip means more than that. Almost as though he needs confirmation that you’re here, manifested and laughing the way you would whenever he showed up to your movie nights in, as you said, black cap, black jacket - black everything.

“Damn, I missed you.” He’s always been freer, a little bit more expressive than what you’re used to and you don’t think you ever will get used to it.

He leas into your touch when you attempt to trace the cut on his temple, one of the many injuries inflicted by Jimin’s beating. His body is buried six feed under. The hospital the HQ owned called them up and showed his lifeless figure to his mother, father and sister for identification. He was robbed and shot, they said. That’s why they couldn’t contact them sooner, they said.

“I need you to do something for me,” you murmur, lips curling softly when he responds a second too fast.

“Anything.”

“Aren’t you even going to ask what it is?”

He shrugs, the kind of shrug where he doesn’t care. Not because he could care less but because he trusts you with his life - as if you didn’t stun him into oblivion and let your colleague beat him up right in front of your eyes without flinching or so you tried.

“Live,” you resist the urge to wipe away the tear that hits his cheek as soon as you said the word, “for me. You have to live for the both of us.”

“No,” he tries to pull away because maybe, somehow, if he wills it enough, the image of you will fade into the abyss and he’ll wake up from this bad dream.

“Jungkook-”

It happens too soon, a sea of figures in black from head to toe swarms the otherwise empty street, unforgiving hands prying you away from him as unfamiliar faces, possibly his own colleagues holds him back from taking a step towards you.

You’re forced on your knees but not a single tear blurs your eyes, unlike the ones gushing down Jungkook’s face. Face flushed red, mouth opened as he screams your name.

“Shut him up.”

The men on Jungkook’s side parts to form a path before a man in his 40′s, Kim Seokjin, the founder of the assassination organization, enters your line of view. Crisp white suit - why does it always have to be suits? Polished ivory shoes, you would have thought he’s a man sent by god if not for the spine chilling calmness in his eyes. The kind of eyes you see staring back at you every morning in the hotel room after completing your mission.

Strangely enough, Jungkook’s were overflowing with warmth and livelihood even until the very last moment where he’s holding his breath, cheek red from the punches ordered by the man who demanded to make him shut up.

He takes a glance at you and nod to someone behind you. Doesn’t take much to know who it is when he comments on how it’s a pity to kill you instead of ‘that yapping disappointment’.

“Yes, well, she’s had her disappointing moments as well.” Namjoon is already glaring down at you when you crane your neck to look at him, long gone is the man you call brother, the man who you once had dinner with his wife and children last Thanksgiving.

Seokjin makes grunts, half-disagreeing as he gestures to you, “catching the enemy-boyfriend to get rid of any suspicions and then framing us for the hack, if only your tech boy was a minute late in getting the cams working.”

Namjoon clears his throat as the sound of a safety pin being unlocked hits the still air, “who’s going to do it?”

x

“It’s Jungkook, by the way,” his breath fanned your neck and his hands halted in its sweet sweet motions.

“Wha...” His name barely registered as you glanced over him, eyes half-opened, cheeks flushed and lips sore from the way he devoured you after breakfast - or as he would like to call it; desserts.

“I’d like to do this again,” he run his finger around your entrance as you whimpered, words of plea hanging on the edge of your lips but what came out was not exactly what he’d expected.

“Fuck you, Jungkook.”

He laughed when he slid his digits inside you and drew out a moan from those treacherous lips. You knew the things he could do - the recollection of last night still burning at the back of your mind - but to have experienced it sober was a whole new series of sensations.

“As you wish, baby.” He moved his fingers again, languid but precise, fast but steady and brought you to a different sort of high that you never knew you could reach - not even by yourself.

You were delirious and fucked out when you snuggled into him as he pulled the cover over your bodies.

“What about you?” You’d let all your inhibitions go when you’d asked that question but you would be lying if you said you weren’t grateful - devoted even, to giving him the same kind of pleasure he’d given you.

He wrapped his fingers around your wrist - the same fingers that are moist from your release - before you managed to go lower, “I’m saving it for next time, so I can have a reason to see you again.”

This time, it was your turn to roll your eyes but pulled your hand back to your chest anyway and rested your face in the nape of his neck.

“Your loss then,” you said but never mentioned any objections for the notion of a second encounter.

x

It’s funny how the world works, one man suggesting heads-or-tail and the other instantly agreeing to put the fate of your death on some bet. If it’s head, Namjoon is going to pull the trigger.

You thought you would spend your forever with him with your dirty work having kept a secret until you hit your quota of missions and they finally let you retire. Death has always been an equation in your calculation in any case forever didn’t work out but you thought it would come through a phone call and a faux doctor telling your boyfriend you probably crashed or drowned at sea when you were on a cruise on girl’s night.

You just never in a million chances, thought the call came in the form of Kim Taehyung standing right by Namjoon a day after the hacking. He’d taken less than 24 hours to decide whether to tell your boss about what he’d seen through the cams a second after he got them up and running and true to his workline, he did so with the knowledge that you never had any secret bank accounts that he could use to blackmail you cash in to him.

Jungkook’s eyes are shaking but his hands gives out the years of training of stillness and precision any assassin is required to have. One of his own presses a gun to his temple, the ultimatum quite clear even without having Seokjin explaining why, even though he Jungkook didn’t ‘necessarily need to die’, he could if he pissed him off one last time.

“Remember when I said I hate sweetened coffee?” You force a smirk at all those times when you pretended to loath drinking the coffees he claimed to make ‘out of love’ while you hide your smile behind the mug.

“Yeah.” The dimples dig into his cheeks as he tries to mimic your own smile, puffy, bloodshot eyes and mused hair, his cap must have gotten lost somewhere in the wrestle.

“I started to like it after I met you.”

Just as you thought there’s no more tears to cry, it cascades down pink cheeks, pinker lips bitten down, you hope it doesn’t break the skin.

It’s plain and simple, the words you said and the things you’ve done though you’ve never been all that transparent but Jungkook’s always had his ways of reading you like his favorite book he’d kept on your nightstand back at your apartment.

I love you, are the words you tried to convey and I can’t live without you more is the reason you’d put forth the suggestion of Namjoon contacting Jungkook’s organization about tonight’s meeting to end the feud with you as the sacrifice - the scapegoat.

And Jungkook knows it too.

He knows the moment you both found out about your jobs, there’s no way out of this unless one of you dies.

Bang.

[britesparc]

Weekend Top Ten #464

Top Ten Feelgood Moments in Movies

Serendipity’s a funny thing, isn’t it? I’ve been planning to make this week about feelgood films since, oooh, late November maybe. I mean, we’ve had enough misery since 2016 to last us an entire Middle-Earth Extended Edition boxset. We need our Pelennor Fields moments wherever we can get them, and Joe Biden being sworn in as President is a good a moment as any right now. So anyway, that was the plan, and then along comes good old Empire magazine with a month dedicated to top cinema moments. They’re not all feelgood, to be fair – there’s the chestburster scene from Alien for a kick-off – but it’s one of those instances of curious synchronicity. What I’m saying is, I didn’t rip them off, okay? This was percolating since the Tangerine Nightmare lost Georgia.

Anyway: feelgood.

This was surprisingly hard, because the moments that I cherish aren’t always feelgood. Even in Lord of the Rings, even in the Pelennor Fields, the whole Ride of the Rohirrim stuff is laced with tragedy. The best bits of those films – “Fly, you fools!”, “For Frodo,” “I can’t carry it but I can carry you,” “Go away and don’t come back” – they’re all melancholy, aren’t they? It’s a saga about people being heroic under duress, and in those cases quite often people don’t make it back all in one piece. Think about Pixar, what are the great moments? “Thanks for the adventure, “So long partner,” “Take her to the moon for me” – they’re all about loss. Or rather, new joy from loss, hope from despair, that kind of thing. They’re terrific, they always make me cry, but they’re not exactly feelgood if you know what I mean.

So here we are. Moments of utter joy, that’s what I’m after. Heart soaring, tears pouring, euphoric moments of extreme happiness. I’ve tried for the most part to avoid joyous moments of excess: there’s one explosion and one bit where a dude gets stabbed in the face, but for the most part I’ve eschewed “feelgood violence” for want of a better word. These are scenes that are supposed to make you smile.

And y’know what? We could all do with smiling more in this day and age.

Good luck, Joe and Kamala. Do a good job. Take us to the moon.

(P.S. spoiler alert for, well, pretty much every film in the list)

“Happy birthday, Aunt Lucy.” (Paddington 2, 2017): after ninety minutes of watching Paddington bring out the best in everybody just by existing, we all feel he deserves a happy ending. And everyone pulls together and gets it for him. Everyone he’s helped, everyone whose life he touched, they’re all there, leading Paddington – and us – to the door. As an adult, you know what’s coming; kids are less sure. But it’s a joyous moment of nothing but true happiness. Two CGI characters hug with such sincerity you can feel the warmth from the screen, and then comes those last words – quiet, whispered, almost thrown away. It’s perfect.

“When you realise you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.” (When Harry Met Sally, 1989): romcom endings are very hard. You’ve navigated a couple’s relationship, generally speaking you’ve split them up in act three, and now they need to get back together in a big, extravagant way, that undoes the plot machinations that separated them. No one does it as well as Harry here, delivering a soliloquy on what it means to be in love, loving a person’s quirks and foibles and how they occupy your mind, ending with that superb line. Sally says it best: when he says stuff like that, he makes it impossible for us to hate him.

“On your left.” (Avengers: Endgame, 2019): Captain America stands alone, battered and beaten, his unbreakable shield broken. The vast armies of Thanos stand before him. He faces certain death, and the probable destruction of everything. He grits his teeth, tightens his shield straps, and then… Sam Wilson’s voice, delivering a line from several films ago, a moment of levity and shared continuity. His friends arrive, slowly at first; Black Panther, the Guardians, Spider-Man. Legions from across the cosmos. “Is that everyone?” asks Doctor Strange. “You wanted more?!” replies Wong. And then giant Ant-Man bursts through a building, with Hulk and co. An army of good from across the galaxy to face the forces of evil. Cap calls forth Mjolnir (and that moment was so nearly my choice), and then… “Avengers… assemble.”

“That’ll do, pig.” (Babe, 1995): Babe is one of those films that’s mostly joy: feelgood throughout, really, despite moments of drama or sadness. But after some nail-biting scenes as Farmer Hoggett and his piggy bud do their sheepdog act, we have a moment of angsty silence before the crowd goes ballistic, cheers everywhere, women crying, top marks. And then very softly, oh-so-tenderly, Hoggett’s great catchphrase. It’ll do. It’ll always do.

“Indiana… let it go.” (Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, 1989): a film built on witty repartee and full-throated spectacle, Crusade lingers in the memory due to the subtle character work between father and son. They mend their fractured relationship over the course of the movie, but it’s really symbolised when Henry saves “Junior” at the expense of rescuing the Grail, calling Indiana by his chosen name for the first time in the film. It’s a great character beat, and is followed shortly afterwards by the protagonists literally riding off into the sunset.

“I am no man!” (The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King, 2003): as I alluded to above, the Rings trilogy is full of incredible moments of awe, pathos, tragic heroism, and bittersweet joy. But arguably the biggest cheer is reserved for when Eowyn of Rohan dispatches the Witch-King of Angmar courtesy of a Shakespearean loophole in his whole “no man can kill me!” schtick. Coming between the awe-inspiring Ride of the Rohirrim and the death of Theoden, it’s a terrific punch of joy and satisfaction.

“E.T. phone HOOOOOME!” (E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial, 1982): E.T. is another of those films full of joy, but it’s also tinged with sadness. Melancholia bleeds into the film like sunlight through Elliot’s blinds. E.T. himself spends half the film getting sicker and sicker, until he appears to die, all pale and cold-looking. But then! The flower comes back to life! His heart glows bright red, visible through his weird hyperbaric chamber/coffin thing! Elliot flings back the lid, and E.T. barks his catchphrase euphorically. God, it’s great.

“Andy Dufresne, who crawled through a river of shit and came out clean on the other side.” (The Shawshank Redemption, 1994): it’s a bit of a grim watch, Shawshank; this isn’t a Paddington-style joy-fest. Andy is wrongfully impression and then spends twenty years being brow-beaten and abused before making his escape. But what an escape; not just the audacity of it – not just the fact he gets out at all – but how he ingeniously tunnels his way out over the decades, steals the warden’s ill-gotten money, exposes the scandal at the prison, and – as Red says – crawls through a sewer. It’s a beautifully put-together scene, everyone getting their just desserts and deserved rewards, and is capped off shortly after when Red himself is released and gets to retire alongside his friend.

“You’re all clear, kid, now let’s blow this thing and go home!” (Star Wars, 1977): I almost had the mothership explosion from Independence Day on this list, because I remember how much that impacted me as a teenager; seeing the baddie aliens get theirs was just great. But really it’s a replication of this, the grandaddy of all “beating the bad guys” big bangs. Luke, whiney teenager from nowhere, ends up flying an X-Wing against the evil oppressive Empire’s mighty Death Star. When all hope seems lost, Han Solo returns, proving his heroism, knocking Darth Vader for six and leaving our hero free and clear to use the Force, Luke. Cue phenomenal fireball. Joy!

“I’m singin’ in the rain…” (Singin’ in the Rain, 1952): musicals are joyous, aren’t they? A proper old-fashioned feelgood sing-song can be transcendent. “Singin’ in the Rain” – as in, the song/dance number – is about a bloke so bloody happy that he doesn’t care if he gets wet. It’s a euphoric statement of intent, a declaration of both love and supreme serenity in and of itself. And as a piece of cinema, it’s all that and more; an escalating dance routine, as the music soars and the camera lifts up, and we take in the splendour of this one bloke kicking in puddles. It’s daft, it’s funny, and it’s just, well, feelgood.

[jemelle]

these are ties that bind (1/8)

you can also find this story on ao3!

fandom: criminal minds

rating: g

(chapter) word count: 1,976

summary: emily and hotch must pretend to be in a long-term relationship in order to foster carrie. shenanigans and serious conversations alike ensue.

masterlist

one.

Emily Prentiss stood in front of the hotel door, hand raised, wondering if she was making the biggest mistake of her life. All her self-preservation instincts, built up from a lifetime of looking over her shoulder, told her it would be better for all parties if she just walked away. But a small voice in the back of her head disagreed. There is someone who needs you, it said. Someone who you are not too late to save. That voice had gotten her into this situation, and it was determined to see it through.

She knocked once, the sound echoing in the otherwise silent hallway. When Hotch opened the door, he looked as if he rather expected to see someone else. It was late, but Reid and Morgan were still off flirting with women at a club somewhere. Or, probably more likely, Morgan was flirting while Reid sat alone at the bar. Emily found she could never begrudge either of them the comfort of a post-case routine, no matter how strange.

Hotch was wearing his pajamas, which consisted of plain grey sweatpants and a well-worn GW Law shirt. His outfit had the unsettling effect of reminding Emily that she and him were, in fact, almost the same age. He often seemed much more world-weary than his thirty-some years suggested, although she supposed it was her who had actually seen more of the world. He was holding a book in one hand and seemed poised to lecture Reid for forgetting his keycard again. Upon seeing Emily, the expression on his face slid from irritation into confusion.

“Prentiss?” he asked. The “what do you want?” went unsaid.

“Sir, if you don’t mind, I’d like to talk to you about something.” Hotch opened the door wider and motioned her inside. He sat down on one of the beds while Emily leaned uncomfortably on the desk and surveyed the room. What she assumed was Hotch’s side of the room was nothing short of meticulous, although Spencer, to his credit, had managed to keep his chaos contained to a two by four area at the foot of his bed.

Acutely aware of the importance of her next few sentences, she began. “Carrie Ortiz, the girl from the case, has an aunt and uncle in Phoenix, but they’re not able to care for her. She doesn’t have anyone else and especially after seeing what the foster system can do to kids, I don’t know if…” No, this wasn’t the way to do it. She was dancing around her point and both she and Hotch knew it. Time to regroup. 

“Carrie came to me and asked if I would be willing to take her in for the time being.” Emily’s knee-jerk reaction had been no, but remembering what JJ told her earlier had given her pause. She had never been one of those children who dream of becoming a parent, not until it was no longer a dream. In the ensuing fallout, she became even more convinced that parenting was not for her. But Carrie wasn’t a helpless child. She was a young woman who had experienced a traumatic event and was voluntarily asking Emily to become her guardian. And so Emily found herself unable to say no.

“What did you tell her?”

“I told her that I would have to think about it but that I didn’t have the power to make that decision myself.” It was the truth. Emily knew that Hotch didn’t tolerate lying, especially not to victims. To give false hope to someone whose family had just been ripped away would be unspeakably cruel.

“Prentiss, with all due respect, I’m not sure why we’re having this conversation. I know you don’t need to be reminded of the dangers of our job, but I firmly believe that you will make the right decision.” Truthfully, it had taken Emily several hours to fully process Carrie’s request and several more before she could think rationally enough to decide. But she had made up her mind. If only that made it a reality.

Emily took a deep breath. For all the courage it had taken to get this far, the hardest part had yet to come. “I talked to Carrie’s social worker and she said that in the absence of family, they usually try to place in-area, but that given Carrie’s explicit request, she might be able to make an exception. However…” She trailed off. Maybe this was a mistake. It wasn’t too late to back out.

“However?” Hotch prompted. His tone was steady, and Emily forced herself to make eye contact. His face had smoothed itself into a neutral expression, which Emily took as a positive sign as she gathered her resolve.

“They don’t place children with single parents. No exceptions.” And definitely not gay couples, she mentally amended.

“I see,” he said. His face wrinkled in a way that told Emily he hadn’t quite figured out where she was going. “That’s a pity. Although, that still doesn’t solve the mystery of why you’re in my hotel room. I may be your boss, but even I don’t have sway over the foster care system of Denver.”

“Well… I sort of told Carrie’s caseworker that I would have to consult my husband.” She had run out of the room immediately after, wondering what on earth had just possessed her. She was a lesbian, for God's sake! There was no husband in her future. What scared her even more was realizing that she didn’t regret it. She wanted this for Carrie (and for herself, if she was being honest) and she was willing to do whatever it took, even if it meant hatching a hare-brained scheme like the one she currently found herself ensnared in.

Hotch raised his eyebrows at her. She suspected the pieces were starting to come together for him. “And you’re here to ask me to marry you?” 

He was chuckling now, almost in disbelief. Although she half-expected to become defensive, Emily instead found herself wanting to crack a grin at the pure absurdity of the situation.

“Well, given my lack of a personal life, it was one of our coworkers or a random man on the street.” The last time she had been on a date was months ago. Liv had been nice, but Emily could tell she wanted more than a casual relationship. So that particular alley was a bust, notwithstanding the fact that her gender preference would disqualify any actual partner.

“Why me?” Hotch asked, bringing her out of her thoughts. His tone turned serious again. “I don’t exactly have the best track record with parenthood.” 

His gaze was fixed at a blank spot on the wall above her head, and Emily imagined he was mentally scrolling through his worst hits as a constantly-working husband and father.

“Hotch, you’re the only man on this team with any parenting expertise.” Upon giving the decision some thought, Emily had realized that not only was Hotch the best choice, he was the only choice. She voiced her thought process to reassure him. “Morgan is the perpetual bachelor, Reid would eat cereal for every meal if we let him, and Rossi is old enough to be my father.”

“While I’m certainly flattered to have been picked by process of elimination, that doesn’t make this a good idea.” He was right. In fact, it was a bad idea for more reasons than Emily could count, chiefly that she and Hotch had only recently reached any sort of lasting truce; any person who wasn’t convinced of the validity of their relationship could turn them in and ruin the whole scheme.

“Sir, I recognize the ridiculousness of the situation, and if you say no I will never mention this conversation again, but I really believe that we have the chance to make someone’s life better. Our job is about always making wrong things right, giving people peace, but never more than that. Never making a good thing on its own.” Hotch looked as surprised as Emily felt at her impassioned speech. At some point, she had begun gesticulating, movements becoming more frantic as the volume of her voice rose. 

“We’ve seen how the foster system changes kids,” she continued, suddenly feeling bold. “I don’t need Reid to quote statistics to know it’s usually not for the better. Carrie has so much potential and I don’t want to think her hopes were dashed because of a choice I made.” I see myself in her, Emily didn’t say. Young and hopeful and ready to take on the world.

They sat in silence as Hotch mulled her words over. Emily felt confident that no matter his decision, she had given it her all. It felt unnerving to have to place a decision this important in the hands of a man she had betrayed, but Emily knew he would put aside any feelings, positive or negative, that he might have for her. It was one of the things she admired most about Hotch; if he respected you, he valued your contributions, whether you were certified genius Spencer Reid or a local law enforcement officer assisting the team. With that conviction in mind, Emily did her best to steel herself for his decision as Hotch began to speak. 

“Let’s pretend I said yes. What are we going to tell the team, not to mention Jack and my… Haley?” Emily pretended to ignore the way he choked on Haley’s name. It was the least she owed him. Still, she felt hope bubbling in her chest at the realization that he was actually considering it.

“I think we should tell the team as little as possible. I don’t doubt that they’ll figure out something is different, but we both know Reid and Garcia can’t lie to save their lives. It’ll be better to keep them in the dark for as long as possible.” Hotch nodded and Emily felt some of the tension leave her body. “As for Jack and Haley, you know them best, so I’ll defer to you.”

“We’ll have to convince them we’re really in a relationship,” he responded without pause. “Haley and I currently have equal custody, and I won’t do anything to jeopardize that.”

“Deal.” She briefly fought the ridiculous urge to offer him a handshake. “Although I am warning you that I’m not sure how long this arrangement will have to last.”

“Well, as you pointed out, I’m not exactly a youthful bachelor.” True to his words, Emily’s brain faltered when asked to conjure up an image of Hotch as a twenty-something playboy. He was, she thought, possibly the most monogamous man she had ever met. If he was as serious in his acquiescence to her plan as he was in every other endeavor, they would be an excellent team.

“You’re really sure?” She had hoped for this, of course, but now it hardly seemed real. 

Hotch’s voice was warm. “Emily, speaking as a parent, every child deserves someone who is as passionate about them as you clearly are about Carrie. If I have the chance to make someone's life better and it doesn’t harm me or my family or the team in any way, then I don’t see how I could say no.”

“Thank you, sir. You don’t know how much this means to me.” Emily rarely cried, preferring to keep her rare bouts of melancholia and euphoria within the confines of her apartment, but she could feel herself tearing up, though she tried her best to conceal it. “We should be able to sign the necessary paperwork in the morning.”

“Of course,” he said. Emily stood and turned to leave the room, pausing in the door frame as she heard his voice again, colored by the return of his smile. “And Prentiss, if we’re going to pull this off, you probably shouldn’t call me sir.

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, LIA! You’ve been accepted for the role of MACBETH with an approved FC change to Dev Patel. Admin Rosey: Ladies and gentlemen, we are incredibly excited to announce that we have our Macbeth! Mikael Falco is a difficult character to capture simply because writing him is like a balancing act - you have to understand his own wants and the wants of those he loves and find balance between the two. Lia, you managed to capture him and his voice perfectly making him wholly unique and stand out in an unapologetic way. We are over the moon to have out Macbeth and even more excited to see what ruin he'll bring to the dash! Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Liar

Age | 21

Preferred Pronouns | She/Her

Activity Level | I pop in every few days for replies, and I’ll definitely be even more active once school ends in a few weeks.

Timezone | EST

How did you find the rp?  | The RP tag many, many eons ago.

Current/Past RP Accounts | *points at Ro*

IN CHARACTER

Character | Macbeth— AKA the wonderfully indecisive and useless Mikael Falco. I would also like to request an FC change to Dev Patel. Dev is 29, so I was hoping to age him down to 31 or 32? That would also make me much more comfortable with the age gap between him and Lucrezia!

What drew you to this character? | Honestly, after I read Macbeth in my Shakespeare class, I began looking at Mikael in a different light. I think there are many people in Verona with  one track minds and desires, but none as plagued by their owns demons and indecision in the way that Mikael is. He was told exactly who he was supposed to be. His parents outlined all the steps, set him up with all the tools and knowledge necessary to secure notoriety for the Falco name. This man yeeted his own parents out of Verona. Like who does that? I think I’ve fallen in love with the potential Mikael sees in himself, but his own inability to make anything of it, and I am v excited to see how he can potentially wreak havoc (or not) when he finally does something (or doesn’t, but if he does it’ll probably be stupid lbr). Being a dark, immoral asshole means nothing when you don’t have the intelligence, aptitude, nor motivation to act on it tbh. He’s not the obvious pick for someone in pursuit of throne— but I believe his inability to quiet the lust within him will potentially get him damn near close (or damn near dead).

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

I DARE DO ALL THAT MAY BECOME A MAN; WHO DARES DO MORE IS NONE— Mikael definitely isn’t the most moral of characters. His parents instilled one goal within him. They never said he had to do it in the most right or moral way. I am interested in exploring his own loyalty to the mob, or the lackthereof. I see him taking the most convienent possible route in order to obtain the one thing he acquires most, and that is the crown. Whether that be through the Capulets or through the Montagues.

IT WILL HAVE BLOOD THEY SAY. BLOOD WILL HAVE BLOOD—The ambuigity in his connection with Matthias is something I adore. It never concretely states whether or not Mikael actually killed his father, but considering all the people he’s killed, whether it be for the Falcos, the Capulets, Lucrezia, or himself— Mikael has accumulated a plethora of bodies in his wake, and quite a few ghosts to follow. A HUGE charactaristic that defines Macbeth, and Mikael too is his own paranoia. He’s always convinced someone is out to get him, and that his own actions (mostly lackthereof), will come back to haunt him. This plot isn’t super concrete right now, but I want Mikael to something (or many) deliciously stupid. Maybe it’ll work out, maybe it probably won’t. These are mostly traits I hope to explore through further characterization and plot development.

SHALL HE DWINDLE, PEAK, AND PINE— There aren’t many people nor things Mikael fears (maybe Lucrezia and his own mind), but Theodora definitely creeps him the fuck out. He won’t make it easier for them, he wants to be chased, pursued even, before he ever considers giving in. What happens when they offer him an escape? Through the experimentation of his own body and mind? What happens when they offer him a potential way to quiet his demons? Mikael has never been one to indulge in drugs, Lucrezia has always been intoxicating enough (an equal parts a headache), and I’m interested in how they might end affecting him— for better or for worse. Will it make him more active? Will it make him even more inactive then before? It would take time because Mikael is stubborn as fuck, but these are all things I hope to discover ;-)

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Pls. Don’t let Lucrezia do it though :|

IN DEPTH

In-Character Para Sample:

1. Mikael born to a family that coveted immortality, to the point where they’d procure it by any means, and for any imminent amount. They would appraise their SOULS, and solicit them to the highest bidders. It would be the Capulets that accepted their terms, and from that moment on, their names would forever be intertwined with the Capulet reign. A symbiotic liaison was formed, one that depended on a child, a son, in particular, to propel forward. But hadn’t they saw how precarious of a position they’d left him in? How difficult it was to make a proper namesake for himself, one severed from the Capulet name, when the only prosperity he’d known was flung to him in scraps from their bloodied, opened palms? They’d grown far too content with being the Capulet’s lapdogs, and they’d managed to commit the greatest sin that any mortal man could carry out against him. Doubt. As they boarded their flight back to India, after a very convincing conversation with Cosimo Capulet expressing his concern for their dwindling minds, his parents were then reduced to the nameless commoners that they’d once been all those years ago. They should’ve known better, but they hadn’t known better— and that’s when Mikael understood that he was not the GOD he believed himself to be and that a total recreation of  himself was vital. He would no longer be the child of two people utterly content with being subjected to the will of another. Those were not the kind of people that were IMMORTALIZED by scripture long after they were gone. He would become the man unwilling to settle for anything other than absolute IDOLIZATION, no matter who would have to be eradicated from his path in order to do so. He were a man willing to forsake even his own parents; how could anyone believe he would not obtain what he wanted at any cost?

2. He would know of LUST before he knew of love (though can he say he truly has loved? When the only love he’d had known has been distorted and corrupt to its very essence?) That terrible, that wild desire— it was instilled in him from his earliest moments of comprehension. This insatiable want; this unquenchable need for something more. It would lord over him in his youth, towering over him like an ominous cloud, but it wasn’t until adulthood that Mikael would dally with it, exploring its various nuances and potentiality. It wouldn’t be until his parents denied him of what he believed to be rightfully his that he first succumbed to it. The second time would be when he saw her. She’d been a dancing flurry of reds, vivacious energy ricocheting off of her and into the minds of her spectators— men and women of all ages. But there had been a crucial disparity between Mikael and the rest of the onlookers, as he would coo to her months later. They were wholly content with being graced by Lucrezia’s presence. A glimpse of her was all they thought they deserved. He’d been greedy, not wanting to settle for a meager glimpse. Mikae had never been one to stop at what he simply deserved. That same lust that had driven him to exile his own blood was the same lust that electrified him in his pursuits of Lucrezia. He’d been a man of scarce variety in his own thoughts, and a man of even scarcer actions. And truthfully? Mikael had known he wasn’t good enough. Not at that moment when he’d first saw her. But his desire fueled his insignificant life with purpose, and despite his own habit of capitulating to inaction, he were determined more than anything to become good enough. No one could deny Mikael of that— of his unquenchable resolve. Lucrezia could ask him of anything, to stare down the GODS themselves, and he would’ve done so. At that moment, he had been nothing and she had been everything. They would BECOME something together. She would breathe life to the Falco name. He’d signed away his soul and commenced with his dance with the devil. Lucrezia wanted a chase— she wanted him to leap through rings of hellfire for her favor, and he’d indulged her with little resistance. He had not expected the softness her love would instill within him, and how wholly determined he would be to keep her happy. She would become the spark that would ignite his flame; she breathed life into the Falco name as he’d expected, but she’d breathed life into him too. He’d been completely enchanted, blind to the power he’d gradually begun to sign over to her. His soul had gone first, followed by his cognizance, a suspension of disbelief replacing the parts of his mind that were meant to be logical. Mikael would come to know that flame Lucrezia wielded, that flame that once frequently warmed him— and that it was just as capable of SCORCHING him all the same. She’d seized all his shortcomings, and how plentiful they had been, and stored them in her ARSENAL of weapons to be wielded against him. And wield them she did. Each TAUNT bounded him tighter and tighter to her. He was incapable of overlooking his own inferiority in her presence. That inferiority that he’d promised himself to overcome, was now being used to keep him constrained, confining him to his own mediocrity. Maybe this is what he deserved for existing as a being ruled by only lust. Mikael told himself that a lesser man would have befallen the same fate, but how could he truly have known, when that lesser man himself met him every day in the mirror?

Extras: my love and adoration b/c I took too damn long on that para sample sokefgoegek Btw, all my bold text disappeared. :( I redid it twice. And it’s gone, yet again

[planetsam]

Malex with Michae seeing Alex in his dress uniform

Follow up is here. 

“Damn Alex, looking good,” Liz says, “I take back my earlier complaint of you being late.”

“Don’t start,” Alex says.

Michael tells himself he’s got this. He’s single which is good. Isobel has dressed him which is better. And Max is out of his pod which is the best part of it. Oh and then Kyle’s getting some award at some banquet Isobel has managed to score them tickets to. But so is Alex because Alex and Kyle are a team now. And joined at the hip. But not anywhere else, or so Liz has not inconspicuously told him on several occasions. So the stars are aligned. The cards are in his favor and he has got this. He turns around with his best devil may care grin.

He does not got this.

Not by any stretch of the imagination.

Alex has been wearing clothes that make him look like a hotter version of the seventeen year old goth who made a plastic visor look like a fashion statement. He’s got more money and more resources now. Michael has pretended not to notice because he’s been in a relationship. But now he’s not and instead of letting himself think that Alex looks good in his expensive emo get ups, he’s now subjected to the sight of Alex Manes in his dress blues. He’s seen him in his military uniform before, in several varieties of it actually. He doesn’t look comfortable in any of them. So, naturally, he picks the dress blues to look comfortable in.

Men are not supposed to wear a tuxedo that well.

Alex is not supposed to wear a tuxedo that well.

God he looks like prom but about a billion times better. The blue is darker, the fabric is better and, fuck him, Alex fills it out really, really well. Even the slim cane he’s using isn’t enough to dampen it. Actually, it’s the opposite. He looks like he walked off the set of some old time movie, where the women wore the kind of gowns that Isobel is wearing and the men made Michael realize he was attracted to both sexes. Michael never quite worked up the nerve to ask if Alex has the hole from his septum piercing. Now it’s all he can think about. Alex catches him staring and gives him an odd look before coming over.

“What’s with the cane?” He blurts out.

“New prosthetic chaffed,” he says, “it’ll heal soon.”

Well Michael can take that as a comforting thought in the afterlife since seeing Alex with a cane and his dress blues is going to kill him.

“Shit,” he says, “you got a new one?”

Alex nods.

“I keep running through them,” he says.

“I hope you don’t mean that literally,” Michael replies.

Michael decides it’s the grin that’s going to kill him. Not the cane or the suit or the wondering if Alex can still fit a ring through his nose. He aches. In a very familiar way when it comes to Alex, if he thinks about it. Which is something he really didn’t want to go back to. They’ve both taken so many baby steps forward. He doesn’t want to be there pining like he used to. Maybe he can just get really stupid drunk now that Max is back to take up the mantle of Alien Messiah and Worlds Best Brother. Fuck knows Michael’s shit at the first part and yeah, he can hold his own at the second. But Max back is nice. Alex bumps his shoulder with his own.

“You glad to have him back?” He asks.

“Yeah,” Michael says. His first instinct is, again, to deny but Alex looks at him with that steady smile and he kind of fails at that instinct, “yeah I am. He’s probably got two more weeks before I want to put him back in the pod myself,” he says.

Alex laughs.

Fuck him so hard, Michael thinks. He can’t stand there looking this good and laugh at Michael’s dark sense of humor. That’s not fair. He promised Isobel he was going to behave. He wants to show Max he’s changed. And he wants Alex to stop standing there looking so good in his uniform and laughing at his jokes in that horribly honest way of his.

“You know I could take a look if you wanted,” he says, “at your prosthetics.”

“I know,” Alex says, “it just—“

“I know they’re delicate and shit,” Michael continues, “I’d be careful.”

“I know,” Alex says, his eyebrows drawing together, “I know you would. I just didn’t want to waste your time while they’re still trying to figure it out.”

Michael frowns.

“That’s not a waste of time,” he says.

Alex looks at him silently. He doesn’t know how they’ve fallen back into this mind reading bullshit when they’re both so bad at it and so bad at lying. But Alex nods after a moment.

“I’ll let you take a look,” he says.

Michael nods.

“In the meantime,” he says, “the cane’s hot.”

Alex scoffs but there’s an affection to it that hasn’t been there in a while. At least, not where Michael can see. When Alex turns away he can see the faint red staining his ears and tries not to feel too cocky about the fact that he can still make him blush. He can’t let that go to his head after all.

Champagne goes to his head though.

And the problem is that Alex keeps coming by him. Looking so good in a way that’s both his past, his present and probably his future. It’s messing with his head. Plus shit never changes in Roswell so the more champagne he drinks the easier it is to pretend they are back at prom and any second Valenti will say something stupid and a fistfight will break out and he will not have to watch the two of them standing side by side. The most aggravating thing about the universe is how it deems it appropriate to teach Michael a lesson by putting him in the position he didn’t want to be in. But let it never be said that Michael Guerin is one to wallow. To wait? Sure. But there’s a difference and he is distinctly on the wallow side.

“How bad’s the chafing?” He asks Alex abruptly, when they wind up alone again on the balcony.

“It’s manageable,” he says, “as long as I keep the pressure off it,” his eyes narrow fractionally, “why?”

Michael holds out his hand.

“Dance with me.”

Alex glances around before he cautiously puts his cane to the side and puts his hand on Michael’s shoulder. Michael puts his arm around his waist, helping take some of the weight. For a moment Alex is tense. More tense than he usually is when things like this are done.

“I got you,” Michael assures him and son of a bitch, Alex relaxes cautiously, “see? Not so bad.”

“We’ve never done this,” Alex points out.

“We were waiting until we looked this good,” Michael says. Alex chuckles and shakes his head, “you know I’m right.”

“I know you have a lot of cheesy pick up lines,” Alex says, “next you’re going to say this is like prom.”

“You do look like prom,” Michael tells him, “except for the ring. Do you still have the hole?”

“I—“ Alex presses his lips together and goes for his ‘Michael Guerin’s shooting his mouth off’ eyeball, “you can’t tell me I look like prom and ask about my holes,” he scolds.

“I think I just did,” Michael replies.

Alex shakes his head and looks down but Michael is the one who Isobel practiced dancing on her entire early childhood because Max was in her head and knew the danger. Also he had cooties. Michael doesn’t step on people’s feet when he dances with them. Or people’s foot, in this case. When Alex looks back up at him there’s a hesitance in his eyes that makes Michael want to break their hold and not push this past where it can be.

“Is it weird? Seeing me in this?” He asks, his eyes scanning his face. Michael does him the courtesy of thinking about his own feelings.

“It makes me think of prom,” he says, “makes me think of how I wanted to dance with you and couldn’t.”

Alex looks at him, genuinely surprised at the statement. Their getting to know each other has been strictly within the confines of who they are. Not who they were. But the world doesn’t end when Michael says prom. When he brings up that time in their lives when one act of kindness changed everything.

“We’re dancing now,” Alex says.

“Yeah,” Michael replies, something expanding in his chest, “we are.”

Michael stays as people start to leave. Isobel is not the worst roommate he could ask for, even if she does have no concept of what’s his room and what’s her OCD playground. Alex has a car taking him back to his cabin because as the award dinner recipient, he’s fancy now. Michael notices him leaning a bit more on the cane as he walks him out but when Alex turns to him, there’s nothing but satisfaction on his face.

“Can you take a look at this?” He asks, “tomorrow?”

“Sure,” Michael says, “afternoon okay?”

“It’s great,” Alex says and stops only for a moment before continuing, “join me for dinner afterwards?”

Michael thinks he might have just died. Not by the cane or the laugh or the blue fabric that stretches across Alex’s shoulders. Nope. Alex has asked him out properly with witnesses around and that is what is going to kill him. He’s nodding before he can get the words out and Alex gives him a smile that’s definitely not helping him stay alive until tomorrow.

“Goodnight,” he says and slides into the car smoother than he has any fucking right to, “oh, and Michael?” Michael fights the urge to bite his lip, “the answer to your earlier question is yes.”

Michael’s forgotten his earlier question until Alex rubs his thumb under his nose.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck.

He’s going to wear the nose ring tomorrow.

Well now Michael has to stay alive until then, just to see that.

[jacquiesims]

Viper Canyon - Prologue

“...not knowing about the future, losing the security that living in a real town with stores and railroads and family all around offers…it makes me sick to my stomach, as ashamed as I am to admit it.”

October, 1851

Elijah McClain warmed his hands at the dying fire in the encampment of the wagon train. After the day’s travel, they were no farther than twenty miles from their destination. The desert nights were proving to be bitter cold – just as he remembered them. 

The prairie was far behind their wagon train but the sounds in the desert valley were reassuringly similar. The howl of a coyote, the whistling of the wind, and the crunch of the earth under their feet beneath the clear sky had proved to be a beautiful soundtrack to their journey. 

His ears perked involuntarily at the sound of footsteps approaching through the dry grass.

It was Winifred – Winnie, as her family affectionately called her – awake so late. Her fingertips brushed the brown grass as she approached.

“Hello, Elijah.” 

She circled close to the fire, rubbing her hands together in the heat of the dying embers. Her cheeks were pink from the cold. 

He acknowledged her with a grunt. He’d always been a man of few words, especially around women. 

“I expected the desert to be frightfully hot, but I guess I’ve been proven wrong tonight. I came out to warm myself by the fire. I can scarcely feel my hands.” 

“You and your sister got enough blankets?”

Winnie looked at him over the fire. “Yes. Although Bea does enjoy hoarding them from me.”

Somehow, hearing that Beatrice hogged the blankets didn’t surprise him. She had proved to be the most difficult part of the journey thus far – Elijah had privately harbored wishes to leave her behind at every encampment they’d come across in their five months on the open trail. 

“Isn’t it strange that tomorrow we’ll finally be through with it? We’ll be in Viper Canyon at last. It feels as though we’ve been on the trail forever. Though I’m sure we wouldn’t have made it through as soundly without you as our guide, Elijah.” She looked up from the fire, giving him an appreciative smile. 

He cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck humbly. 

“Well, now, it wasn’t all thanks to me. You knew your fair share about the trail – plants and illnesses, and the like. You got a good head for that kind of stuff.”

  Winnie’s cheeks were pink. She could hardly tell if it was from the heat of the fire or Elijah’s compliment. She’d scarcely heard him speak ten words on their entire trip – it made her wonder what had brought on his sudden talkativeness, not that she minded in the least.

“Say, shouldn’t you be asleep by now? We’ve got a long day ahead of us tomorrow.” 

Winnie sighed as her eyes drifted off toward the dark horizon. “I’m too nervous to sleep.” 

“Nervous?” Elijah cocked an eyebrow. 

“I know it doesn’t make sense, but…my family is taking such a blind leap of faith. I can’t help but be filled with doubts. What if it doesn’t work out for us in Viper Canyon? Papa’s already sold the house and all of our things. We’ve got nothing to go back to in Virginia.” 

Elijah blinked silently. He didn’t know Winnie was harboring such doubts, and he wouldn’t have ever guessed she’d divulge them to himself – after all, he wasn’t with their party as a friend or family member. He’d been hired to take them across the country and nothing more. But he supposed it wouldn’t do any harm for him to listen to a young girl’s woes on the last night of their expedition. 

He at least had to be thankful she hadn’t caused any problems the way the other wagon party members had. Beatrice and her constant complaining, the Langford boy and his field guide books, always thinking he knew better than Elijah…no, Winnie had set quite an example for the rest of the group, always ready to roll up her sleeves and put in the work when it was required of her.

“You must think me foolish,” she quickly said, noticing Elijah’s taciturn expression. “It isn’t my place to worry about such things. After all, I’ve always been the optimistic one. But not knowing about the future, losing the security that living in a real town with stores and railroads and family all around offers…it makes me sick to my stomach, as ashamed as I am to admit it.” 

Elijah thought for a moment. “I don’t think that’s foolish at all.”

“Thank you, Elijah. Hearing that coming from you makes me feel a little better.”

  They sat in silence for a while, staring into the dancing flames of the campfire before Winnie failed to hide a yawn behind her hand. 

“You should get to sleep. I’ll stay up a little while longer and watch over the camp.”

“I could help, you know. It’s like you said – I’ve got a head for this sort of thing.” Before he could answer, Winnie laughed. “I’m only joking. I’ll go straight to bed. Try not to stay up too late. We need you bright eyed and well rested for tomorrow.”

She walked away toward the tent next to her parents’. 

“Winnie.”

The girl turned over her shoulder expectantly. Only her profile was visible beneath the brim of her poke bonnet. 

Elijah suddenly forgot what he was going to say. “…Never mind. Good night.” 

She flashed him another warm smile. “Good night to you, too, Elijah.”

Neither noticed the youngest Hawkins daughter emerge from her tent, hair mussed from sleep, until she began spitting poison in their direction.

“Could you two keep quiet? Unlike some people, I’m trying to get a good night’s rest before we arrive tomorrow! I can’t get a wink of sleep with you two prattling on like you were!” 

“Come now, Bea,” Winnie coaxed jokingly. “I’m off to bed. But I can hardly understand why you blame me for not getting enough sleep when your snoring is loud enough to wake the entire camp.” 

“Oh, you!” 

Beatrice readied herself to lay into her older sister when there was rustling from the next tent over. Both girls quickly went quiet. It was one thing to bicker between each other, but if that bickering went as far as to wake up Papa…both girls quickly scurried into their tent with not so much as a whisper more.

Now that he was alone, Elijah sank into the cool earth by the fire, watching the last of the flames disappear into the night air.  

Before he could stop himself, he was chuckling at the trivial argument between Winnie and Beatrice. It had been a long time since he laughed. The feeling was foreign in his chest. 

He began to think about what Winnie had confessed to him. She was so worried about her family’s new life in Viper Canyon. He, too, remembered when he made the long journey from his home in the east to stake his claim on land in the southwest. Although he had come alone, he had the same gnawing worries…if things hadn’t worked out for him in Viper Canyon, he would’ve had to return home to New SimCity with his head down and his tail tucked between his legs in shame. 

Things had changed in the several odd years since Elijah had ventured west. Some for the better, others not. 

He’d seen families across the trail as a guide that were ten times as prepared as the Hawkins, yet had fallen on their faces and were left penniless in a foreign place. All the newspapers back east sent mixed signals. Yes, you could make a fortune on gold or rich farmland, but at what cost? Savages were plentiful on the trail, disease ran as rampant as the buffalo on the prairie, and Watcher forbid a train was caught in the mountains too late in the year. A badly timed snowstorm could guarantee an entire party’s death from frostbite or starvation. 

But thinking so darkly would do nothing for the Hawkins family now, Elijah reasoned. They’d made it in all in one piece to Viper Canyon and he would be paid handsomely by Emmett when the family arrived at their new homestead tomorrow. 

There was one last long day ahead of them. Elijah put out the fire and watched the stars in the desert sky before retiring to his tent alone. 

To Be Continued

Viper Canyon Index | Next Chapter

(Well? What did you think? Let me know! The chapters will be longer from here on, this prologue was a bit of a ‘trial’ for me. Thanks for reading!

P.S. I’ll try and update this every Friday if I can but it’ll probably end up being more like every other Friday. I’m open to suggestions, too, if you have anything you’re hoping to see! No guarantees though :) See you next chapter!)

[kristallioness]

2016 | 2017 | 2018

*quietly sneaks back in*... Happy New THIS Year, my dear followers! In Estonia, we have this saying that if you wish someone a 'happy new year' after Three Kings' Day (the 6th of January), you gotta have a bottle of alcohol with you and give them a drink. *lol*

Anyways, I would like to apologize for the sudden disappearance that happened prior to Christmas. I was just busy travelling back home for the holidays, unpacking and putting away my stuff, watching some great, traditional movies or shows on TV, and most importantly, working on those 2 latest masterpieces that I posted (which barely got 30 notes each.. *sigh*).

But as you can (and probably will) see, the year of the yellow earth pig (i.e. my dad's year) was a rollercoaster of emotions and accomplishments, or lacking thereof.

My creative side seems to have suffered the most due to lack of leisure time. I only managed to finish 3 full digital drawings and left behind several sketches or unfinished WIPs (2 of which are revealed here under the months of June and November for the first time, I intend to finish the Korrasami one btw). At least I got to start 2020 with a completed drawing on the very 1st day, ha-ha! Perhaps that's a good omen for this year?

If so, then I hope I'll find the time to finish the rest of the 2019 Inktober prompts, since I only did 4/31 this past October (even though I'd thought of ideas for all of them). I brought all the necessary drawing utensils and sheets of paper with me, so whenever I'm in the mood, I'll try to sketch another one.

*calculates for the nth time*.. I wrote 18,110 words worth of fanfiction, plus 820 words for the UYLD prompts (making the total 18,930). Technically, you can count another 8k+ in there, since it comes from that unfinished story (of Aang taking care of a flu-ridden Katara, as illustrated by the September sketch), which I haven't finished within the last 4 months or so. Plus, I barely wrote 1/5 of the amount compared to 2018.. *hides in shame*

Then again, I was an excellent pupil for picking up an actual book and reading through 150+ pages (which means I have ~300 pages to go). I'm talking about the new Kyoshi novel that came out. As I once said, I haven't voluntarily read a book in years make that 2 years ago (most of the reading I've done in my life is either Tom & Jerry comics, now the Avatar comic trilogies and art books as well as fanfiction online, or compulsory reading during school). But this novel is freaking fantastic superb!

Not only that, I bought all the new comic trilogies and managed to read them through. Damn, did they give me feels.. especially "Ruins of the Empire" (ngl I squeed so hard when I saw the Korrasami farewell kiss on the 1st page of the 2nd part). I can't wait to read the 3rd part this year!

However, I failed to rewatch Avatar last year, and I haven't seen Korra since.. 2016, I believe? Wow, that's 4 whole years.. But I intend to fix that mistake starting from 2020. Hopefully I'm in the mood to start my rewatch this weekend tonight. *fingers crossed*

But as I said, I had much less time to focus on my hobbies since 2019 was the year for finally moving on with my life (sort of, I'm still working on it). I still remember how down I'd been feeling for a while and how valid those emotions really were. The first quarter of the year (+ like a month or two) was a continuous descent into desperation and feelings of utter failure, which already started around the 2nd half of 2018 and only continued to deepen around that time.

Everything began to change when I was first chosen to be part of a 2-month summer internship in an IT company, and I had to start building a new nest in a new location in Tallinn this May. And now, I feel like I've hit the jackpot by getting a permanent job in another IT company this October.

I got the opportunity to work in two different fields, in two different teams within a year. I met some awesome colleagues (a lot of whom are foreigners) and got the chance to really put my English skills to the test.

Thanks to the new job, I also had to go to a free health check, which went really-really well. Despite my nervousness in the beginning, I feel much more relaxed about my physical (and mental) health, cause the results showed that everything's okay (something I'd been worried about since March 2017).

Speaking of health or staying healthy, there were a few sports events that I went to, too. Our team held the first winter team event (it was the first one for me, at least) by going to do archery in a range on the outskirts of the capital.

I watched the football match between 2 teams of our local league at my hometown together with my dad on his birthday. Our home team won the match and came in 4th place overall in the league this year, which is their best result so far (I'm really proud!). And merely days before I started work, I visited the Tallinn International Horse Show for the first time (also with my dad). I last got to watch horses jump over fences or dance to their musical programs ~ 10 years ago, and I loved it!

Event-wise 2019 was pretty full of them. As has become tradition, I went to the Defence Forces parade on our 101st Independence Day (which seemed rather bleak compared to the centennial, even more so since we didn't have ANY snow at the time).

What will hopefully become new traditions, I visited the television tower on the Restoration of Independence Day (where Uku Suviste gave a free concert in the evening), and went to the Veteran's Rock concert (to honour our war veterans) on our Freedom Square on the 23rd of April (since I'm residing in the capital now, I should be able to go again this year).

To continue with the centennial celebrations (yes, some things are STILL turning 100), I saw and explored inside the armoured train no. 7 called "Wabadus" ("Freedom") in the Baltic Station. This armoured train was one of the keys that led our country to victory during the War of Independence from 1918-1920.

There was an even bigger (150th) anniversary to celebrate in the beginning of July, when I attended our Song and Dance Festival. This was a really important, if not the biggest event of the year. I intend to make a longer post about my experience, cause it's something that you foreigners need to see for yourself. I can't simply describe or put it into words, I have to show you some videos and photos.

But while we're on the topic of concerts, I should mention that I went to 2 more at the beginning of June - Bon Jovi and Sting - as well as 2 that were part of Christmas tours in December - Elina Nechayeva and Rolf Roosalu.

Besides that, I went to 6 different festivals, half of which I'd been to several times before, such as the Türi Flower Fair, Jäneda Farm Days (where I went on my first helicopter ride for my 25th birthday present) and the Christmas market in the Old Town of Tallinn.

The other half is comprised of festivals that I'd been considering going to for a while, or which took place for the first time. The latter applies to the Black Food Festival, whereas the "Valgus Kõnnib" ("Wandering Lights") and the duck rally, both of which took place in Kadriorg, fall under the first category.

The duck rally is a charity event held in the beginning of June. Regular people can buy at least one (or several) rubber bath duckies for different prices, which will then be dumped into a tiny stream that'll carry them towards the finish line. This event has grown more popular each year, and the money the Estonian Association of Parents of Children with Cancer (sorry, long name in English!) collects is donated to the Cancer Treatment Fund.

*wipes forehead*.. Phew! I'm surprised, that's a whole lotta positivity for 2019. I think there's one more important, but seriously negative topic I haven't covered yet, but I feel should be mentioned and explained.

When it comes to politics, 2019 was a complete disaster for us. EKRE (Eesti Konservatiivne Rahvaerakond in Estonian, or Estonia's Conservative People's Party in English) i.e. our populist/nazi/pro-Trump party is in the government as of April 2019, thanks to 100,000+ idiots (out of our population of 1.3 million) who voted for them and gave them 19/101 seats in the Parliament.

No, I am NOT going to apologize for calling them a nazi party, because their main leaders have repeatedly supported ideology that's common to nazis (they use aggressive rhetoric, blame the media for making them look bad, downgrade women, minorities, are racist, anti-semitic etc...). And I will not apologize in front of the people who voted for them, because "thanks" to this, EKRE has dragged our country's reputation straight through a mud puddle (not to mention the scandals that have accompanied 5 of their ministers, 3 of who have THANKFULLY stepped down from their positions) and.. *swears like the British*.. it's BLOODY EMBARRASSING.

I am done being nice, I have at least some kind of prejudice about anyone who supports them or their ideals. And I will certainly not let Estonia end up like America. So that is why I participated in two protest events against EKRE and our current government (because the 2 other parties, who were willing to form the coalition with them, are spineless jellyfish that simply seek to hold onto their current positions of power). I'm willing to take bets as to when our government falls (the sooner the better).

*shakes off the frustration*.. Brrr! So besides that, I guess the only downside to 2019 was my spare time falling back in the list of priorities (which shows in the empty square of July).

2020 is gonna be the year of the white metal rat. I can only hope (and take action so) that it'll be just as eventful, and much more creative than 2019. Thank you all for following me (or lurking anonymously) for so long, especially to the bloggers who've offered me support through better or worse! *raises a glass* Here's to 2020!.. *sip*

[weepretzels]

why aren’t we careful readers? why aren’t we careful writers?

everyone has opinions about stories, everyone is clamoring about what a story should or should not contain, and I see quite often a confusion between what is produced singularly and what is produced for the thrill of the average reader; in their assessments other readers are looking for keywords to check off on their rubrics, their pre-assembled requirements which, like a glass box, expect every story that meets the definition of “good” to fit perfectly inside; people are looking for “tension,” people are looking for conflict and resolution, people are looking for action, for excitement, people are looking for something that makes sense to them, something tied up neatly, something explicitly resolved. I’m seeing a decrease in the number of readers who are willing to engage with what’s on the page more than they are willing to interact with who they are as a reader; is workshop pedagogy to blame for this “story by committee” attitude of the contemporary reader, who demands a story be what they want it to be, and if it fails to, deem this some failure; why can’t we look at what is on the page, why can’t we take it for what it is, why do stories need to hit these keywords like tension or resolution, and what’s more, why isn’t anybody able to slow down, why can’t anyone stay with a slow story, a story that builds through dialogue or exposition, a story that meanders, a story that pulls strings together lithely to come to an emotionally smart ending? a lot of these stories I’m reading are far from perfect, but I’m disturbed by other readers being unable to grasp things that aren’t explicitly enumerated on the page, I’m disturbed by this desire for a story to be loud, I’m disturbed by these other readers’ lack of criticism of characters, especially women, that fall into well-worn roles, into women that are pitted against each other for their beauty or their “lack” of it, I’m disturbed by the number of pieces coming in written by men about some ethnic woman who induces a sexual and spiritual awakening in the male narrator and I’m disturbed that these narrators think this is love, I’m disturbed that other people working in the publishing industry aren’t able to read all these different kinds of stories equally, that there’s an explicit bias in all their decisions, that they’ll pass along a story up the chain because it ticks all the genre convention’s boxes, I’m disturbed that they send stories up the chain that completely strip women characters bare of any personality or characterization other than their relationships to men. I’m disturbed that everyone has opinions about what a story should be but so few have the patience to actually read what is on the page in front of them, especially, and really only, when that story is quiet, when that story is operating on nuance, when that story is about women and their emotional connections, when that story makes you patient. like Willa Cather said, we have to first distinguish between what’s produced for the masses and what is produced as art. the masses want change, they want to be shocked and they always want something new. i think literature as art is all of these things, but in a timeless way, in a purposefully crafted way, in a patient way. and i think literature as art shows up on the page. everyone who thinks Hemingway’s philosophy of the iceberg in fiction is the way to go has probably only ever read hills like white elephants. they’ve never read big two-hearted river. this man waxes on. people think they get to have an idea for a story, write that idea down on the paper, and then submit it to a literary magazine and it’s going to get published. where’s the part where you waxed on? where’s the part where you crafted this story with your own two hands? where’s the part where you made this something? i always write in my comments for stories that aren’t cutting it, “the writing isn’t doing that much work.” what i mean is that the writer had the idea but didn’t put it on the page. we sometimes have to be explicit, we sometimes can’t rely on implying everything, we can’t sprinkle clues through the pages like breadcrumbs and expect the readers to do all the work. why write the story if you’re not even going to say what it is you have to say? why dance around the themes and the impact? PUT IT ON THE PAGE. and make it interesting, give it texture, give it energy. do everything on purpose. and EDIT. go back and read it and if it’s not doing anything, take it out. if it’s not doing enough, write more. don’t rely on a surprise ending; a thoughtful and perceptive reader has seen it coming. and just because you’ve written it doesn’t mean it’s ready to be published. there are some things you have to finish a draft of and then put it in the bottom drawer for a while, to draw back out again when they’re ready. you know how your first love is something you want to keep more than you can express but you don’t have the skills yet to keep it? you don’t have the relationship experience or the maturity to make it last? i think as writers we have to let ourselves mature enough to be ready for certain stories. you need to write. get it on the paper. but have enough discernment to know when something is bigger than you, to know when something is more powerful than you can handle right now. and then go back to it later. we can blame my mars in taurus for this, maybe, or my cancer sun, but you have to be patient. if you’ve finished a piece, you’ve edited it and worked on it, share it with someone you trust, and then wait a couple weeks before you decide what to do with it. and you have to keep reading. as someone working in the publishing industry i can’t tell you how many submissions i read where i can spot the TV tropes from the first paragraph. the media you consume will inevitably show up on the page. if you want to write literary fiction, you can’t spend all your time watching TV. read a goddamn book. read the book that your writing professor wrote. read first novels and most recent novels. read short stories, contemporary ones and not that raymond carver shit. read what is new and contemporary. and journal. write your own life and your own lived experience. don’t try to copy what someone else has already done. i can tell you the industry is looking for the fresh, fresh takes on old stories and characters is fine, but something i’ve completely never seen before, that is more stunning, that is a piece i’m going to pass on right away and even email the editors about. you have a story in you that nobody else can write. why would you write an imitation when you can write something new? it might not be in the form you always thought of yourself writing in. i thought i’d publish short fiction for the longest time, and i’m just now figuring out that auto-fiction works a lot better for me. go to therapy. i mean it. learn about yourself, put time towards yourself, find out what drives you and what matters to you. your writing will only gain from any effort you put into your own self-care. be patient and know that when you start a story, you’re going into it for the long haul. you’re going into it for the first  draft, that pulse of adrenaline and pride as you hold the first printed copy hot off your home printer in your hands, you’re going into it for the several revisions after that ,you’re going into it for the inevitable overhaul at some point down the line, and you’re going into it for the waiting, for the time it’ll spend in the bottom drawer as you mature and become ready for it. you’re going into it for that moment, months or years from now, when you’re holding the latest copy in your hands, hot off your home printer, and you just know that it’s ready, and complete, and even perhaps the very thing you were born to write. what makes you a great writer is what makes you you. if you can learn to accept this, then i believe you’ll become a better reader, too. what if we looked at every story that came across our workshop table with the same respect we paid every idea we took the time to write down ourselves? we’d have a lot fewer rubrics, a lot more patience, a lot more curiosity, a lot more willingness to set aside our own desires and expectations for others’ work, a less entitled eye, a kinder and gentler perspective, and perhaps a return to the essentials: good writing takes numberless forms and tells numberless stories. if we had the patience and discipline, we might even be good enough readers to recognize whatever kernels of skill and goodness are in the manuscripts we come across and to build up from those, whatever they might be. if we were patient and disciplined enough, we’d stop producing imitations, we’d stop writing “stock” or cliche or stereotype. we’d get out of this mindset of “everything has to be what i want it to be” and “what can i learn from the best possible version of this story?” being a discerning and patient reader will also teach us when to abandon certain ideas and when to go for others. i see so many stories that lack focus and in the end, end up saying nothing at all, or end up saying something that other authors have said many times before. read outside of your comfort zone, push yourself to be patient, dedicated, and open. and slow down and actually read the manuscript in front of you. sit on your hands if you’re tempted to go after it in red pen—markups are a second-read privilege. SLOW DOWN AND READ THE STORY. SLOW DOWN AND WRITE THE STORY, PUT THE STORY ON THE PAGE, DON’T TAKE SHORTCUTS, DO THE HARD WORK, FOLLOW THROUGH. 

[hazelnmae]

Lies Travel Faster: Chapter Four

Summary: Sophia Murphy’s life seems to be on the upswing when she takes a job with Birmingham’s notorious Shelby Company Ltd. But when she falls for her boss, CEO and ruthless gangster, Tommy Shelby, she finds herself wrapped up in a tangled web of danger and deceit. After all, lies travel faster than the truth.

Tags: Tommy Shelby x Original Female Character; Tommy/Assistant Trope (it’s a hill I’ll die on)

Warnings: angst; smut (in future chapters); violence; language; rape/non-con; death

CHAPTER 4 (read Chapter 3 or start at the beginning with Chapter 1)

“Well, I’m horribly under-dressed,” Sophie whispered as she sat down across from Ada in the tearoom. Her new friend just smiled in return–she wouldn’t dare criticize Sophie’s dress. Besides, she looked perfectly put together, even if a little casual for afternoon tea.

The table between them was adorned with lace cloth, fine china, and real silver tableware. It was the finest setting Sophie had ever seen and she was fully enamored by it; that is, until she spotted the food. Small cakes, dainty sandwiches, scones, and biscuits piled high on a silver tiered stand. It all made her mouth water. 

The tea, on the other hand, just made her nervous.

In all these years in England, Sophie never acquired a taste for tea. The fact that she was now expected to partake in it with propriety during public ritual put her a bit on edge, as she didn’t want to offend anyone–least of all Ada. In fact, Sophie desperately wanted to impress her.

“I’m glad you could meet me here. I’ve been dying to get together since Polly told me all about you,” Ada said, looking Sophie up and down with a faint smile.

She hadn’t spent much time with Polly, but Sophie could only imagine what she may have said about her. Polly had spent a lot of time in the office lately, and while the two women had shared a few stories, they mainly bonded over snarky jokes and a mutual teasing of Tommy.

“Oh no, what did she say?” Sophie asked through a smile.

Ada dispelled her fears. “Just that you’re smart and kind, and not afraid to put my brother in his place.”

Ada’s smile was so genuine, it caught Sophie a bit off guard. She hadn’t seen such a freely happy smile on anyone, let alone a Shelby, since the morning she’d accepted the job. They had all been so consumed by the threat hanging over them, it’s almost like they’d forgotten how to smile–Sophie included.

“She said you chided Tommy for feeling sorry for himself. I can’t tell you how much he needs that,” Ada added, pouring tea from the ornate teapot that’d been placed between them on the table.

Ada passed the teapot over to Sophie. “Well, to be fair he did ask me to always be honest; so as far as I see it, it’s his own fault,” she laughed and caused the tea to slosh out of her small cup, leaving tiny droplets to stain the tablecloth.

“Our Tommy does have a tendency for self-loathing. He occasionally requires a bit of work, you know, to snap him back to reality–something that hasn’t come quite as regularly in the last year or so.” She added, “You know, he’s lucky to have you, I think.”

Sophie smiled at Ada’s use of ‘our Tommy.’ She knew Tommy had family, of course. She’d met most of them at least once and heard him speak of Charlie on several occasions. He’d even mentioned Grace. But, the idea of Tommy being considered so warmly seemed strange to her. He wasn’t cruel–she knew what that looked like, and it wasn’t Tommy–but she’d only known a hardened side of the man and couldn’t imagine him being particularly soft or loving. Even with his family.

“Polly also said you remind her of our mother,” Ada added, looking over her cup.

Sophie nearly choked on the sip she’d just taken. “Oh yeah, how so?”

“Well, I was so young when she passed that I don’t really remember her. I suppose that’s why I wanted so badly to spend some time with you.” Ada paused, thinking about her limited memories of her mother. “I’m not sure what Polly meant,” she added, forcing a smile.

“Well that’s alright. I’m not sure I want to know,” Sophie laughed, relaxing a bit.

They sat quietly for a few moments, each woman deep in thought.

Ada considered her new friend and how well she fit the Shelby clan–how grateful she was that Sophie was there in the office each day, keeping watch over Tommy.

Sophie thought about the tea, and how she wished it were coffee instead.

“What was your mother like?” Ada finally asked, resuming conversation.

“Well, she never wanted to be a mother. I only ever remember her being sad.” She studied a scone but decided she better wait for Ada’s cue to eat. “I think she was resentful that she didn’t get to live the life she wanted,” Sophie said sadly.

“And what life was that?” Ada asked.

“I actually have no idea–only that it wasn’t the one she had. She married my father out of necessity. Out of convenience. She agreed to have one child, but ended up with twins.”

“You’re a twin?” Ada asked, finally taking a sandwich off the platter.

“Mmm. Yes.” Sophie responded, “Henry, my brother, died in the war.”

Ada studied her face as Sophie finally picked up the scone she’d been eyeing. She was close with her own siblings but couldn’t imagine the bond between twins. Even considering how close they were, each Shelby child was also fiercely independent. They supported one another, but they had all become their own people. They’d all experienced the phases of life separate from one another. Had all grown into their own in interesting ways, influenced by one another, but not sharing in the experience in the way she imagined Henry and Sophie had.

“You know, the Gypsies believe twins are empathic–that they can feel one another’s pain.” Ada said, “My aunt would probably say you have special abilities.”

Sophie chuckled. “My father believed that too,” she said. “He wasn’t a cruel man, but he wasn’t kind either. I think it would have been worse for me if he hadn’t been constantly worried Henry would feel it. I suppose I should be grateful for that at least.”

Again, the two women settled into a comfortable silence as they sipped their tea and picked at the spread. They eventually spoke a bit more about the Shelby family, Sophie’s life in America, and the war. Before they’d known it, they’d sat so long talking that the tea had gone cold and most the other patrons had emptied out of the large, ornate room.

“I remember feeling so lucky they all came back,” Ada said of her brothers. She reached her hand across the small table to hold Sophie’s. “I’m so sorry you lost your brother.”

Sophie nodded and gave her a smile.

“Come to The Garrison tonight. The whole family will be there.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose,” Sophie responded.

“You’re not imposing if I invite you, Sophie. Besides, you need a family and we have a big one.”

Sophie smiled.

“You hate it don’t you?” Ada asked, nodding toward Sophie’s mostly full cup of cold tea, long ago neglected.

“I’m afraid I never found a taste for it,” Sophie said.

“Add a little of this. It’ll help,” Ada said as she reached across the table, the smile on her face growing wider, and handed Sophie a flask of whiskey. __________________

Tommy checked his pocket watch for the third time in five minutes. He seemed perpetually disappointed that time didn’t move any faster than it did. His family seemed happy enough, out enjoying their old haunts, but every public space would only cause Tommy anxiety until this business with Changretta was over.

And then Sophie arrived.

She spotted him across the pub, finishing a drink at the bar. Feeling confident for the first time in weeks, she took the opportunity to surprise him. She approached from behind, poked a couple of fingers in his back, and whispered in the most convincing Italian accent she could muster, “Maybe I should take you out right here, Shelby.”

Tommy, being Tommy, reacted immediately by reaching behind his back to grab her wrist and spin her around. He pressed her against the bar, one hand on her neck, the other anchoring his weight against her and propped on the edge of the bar.  

“Jesus, Tommy, lighten up,” she said through a smirk. She turned her head to face Harry behind the bar and ordered two whiskeys.

Tommy didn’t move until the drinks arrived, placing both hands on the bar on either side of her and hanging his head slightly. When it arrived, Tommy raised his glass swiftly and swallowed the whole drink at once. He slammed the empty glass back on the bar and finally leaned against it beside her, reaching into his pocket for a cigarette.

Sophie sipped her drink as she watched him roll the cigarette between his lips back and forth, lighting it only after he was satisfied with the way it fit. She stared at those lips, full and pink but hardened and determined.

“I’m sorry I startled you,” she said, unable to pull her stare from his mouth.

Tommy just replied in a grunt as he sparked his cigarette, eyebrow raised.

They stood this way, shoulders touching, both leaning with backs against the bar, as the silence comfortably fell between them.

Tommy was the first to break it as he cleared his throat and said, “You look nice tonight.”

It was completely out of character for her to worry so much about her appearance–something almost unfair for a woman so naturally beautiful–but nonetheless, she had taken the time to attend to every last detail, including a bright red lip and two coats of mascara.

Her cheeks flushed and she smiled, grateful for the compliment.

“Have you danced yet?” he asked.

Sophie looked down at her drink, “No, but I would if you asked me.”

“Dance with me,” he said as he held out one hand and extinguished his cigarette in the crystal ashtray on the bar.

“That’s not asking,” she replied, taking the last sip of her drink and setting the empty glass on the bar. “But –” She nodded and took his hand anyway. They walked out onto the floor. Just as he moved to place his arm around her back, the music slowed.

“Oh, the music’s gone soft,” she said, turning to face the band.

“I prefer it this way,” Tommy replied, pulling her in closer.

And then, Tommy smiled. It wasn’t his typical smirk, but a full smile–a rarity, Sophie observed. A smile he reserved for only a few people, and even then, only a few situations. Sophie felt the blush bloom wider across her face, the heat rising in her cheeks. If Tommy saw it, he chose to ignore it.

They danced quietly for one full song, but as the second started up, so did the conversation.

“My family seems quite taken with you,” Tommy said.

“They’re lovely,” Sophie replied, glancing at the Shelby clan gathered around the table in the corner of the room. “Tommy, I’m not sure how I could ever thank you. These last few weeks,” she stammered, looking up to make eye contact with him.

“They were nothing,” he answered.

“That’s not true. It’s been–”

“Easy–” he cut her off. “–it’s been easy. Making you happy”

She wasn’t sure what to say in return, so she held her tongue and tried to keep her heart from racing. Just then, as if right on cue, the music picked up tempo again and Arthur tapped his brother on the shoulder, “Mind if I cut in, Tommy?”

“By all means,” Tommy answered, placing Sophie’s hand in his brother’s.

He took one last glance at her, eyes piercing through her as they so often did, unnerving her, then he headed back to his perch at the bar.

Arthur spun Sophie around before she could utter a single word and she found herself happily moving about the room, thoughts reeling in time with the music.

___________________

Arthur danced her around the pub until she grew dizzy. The alcohol, the heat in the Garrison, and the spinning all went straight to her head. When the song ended, they returned to Polly and Linda who sat around the table in the corner. Sophie begged Linda to have her baby soon, claiming she couldn’t stand any more dances with her husband. Linda just laughed in response, joking that Sophie wasn’t off the hook that easy–she’d be sure Sophie continued to dance with him even after the baby came, then asked Arthur to take her home.

The group watched them make their way toward the door.

Looking at Polly, Sophie asked, “Do you think we’ll ever find a love like that?”

“I’m sure of it,” Polly responded, adding, “We’re the two best catches in Birmingham after all”

As she returned to the table with a fresh drink, Ada butted into the conversation, “And what am I, chopped liver?”

“You’re the catch of London, dear” Polly replied through her sly smile.

“And good thing,” Sophie said, “I don’t think I could handle the competition if you lived in Birmingham all the time.”

Ada stifled a laugh, nearly spewing her drink across the table. “You don’t have to worry about me,” She scoffed, “it’s my brother who’s in love with you”

And with that, Sophie’s heart fell to her stomach. “What?”

“We’ve all noticed the way he looks at you” Ada added, slightly slurring her words now. She must be drunk, Sophie thought.

“Tommy and I are friends,” She retorted, sharply.

“Tommy Shelby has never been friends with a woman,” Ada teased.

Sweat broke out on her hands and chest as Sophie’s heart rate climbed. Tommy couldn’t be in love with her, could he? Certainly they got along, maybe even shared a bond, but she’d just assumed it was friendship.

Then again, she’d never been in love. She couldn’t fathom what it looked and felt like. She cared for Tommy, and he seemed to care for her, but nothing had gone any farther than two friends telling stories and sharing pieces of their lives.

They’d only known one another less than two months.

But why had she blushed while they danced earlier? What had he said that had made her feel embarrassed? Was that embarrassment? Was it something else?

Polly could sense the apprehension on her face. “You alright, love?” she asked.

“I, um–” Sophie stammered, “I think I just need some air.”

With that, she stood from her chair and hurried out the back of the pub and into the alley, ignoring Tommy’s eyes following her the whole way.

___________________

The night air was so crisp it almost knocked her back as she flung open the backdoor of the pub. She faltered a bit, having to catch her balance on a stack of crates just outside the door. But as it swung closed and drowned out the noise from the patrons inside, she finally felt a bit of relief and could consider Ada’s theory more carefully.

She’d spent the last few years lonely–not for romance, necessarily, but for any kind of connection with another person. Henry was the only real family she’d ever had. The only love she’d ever shared was with her brother, and their bond was broken when he died. She’d buried herself in the work until the end of the war, not caring whether she survived or not, knowing she had nothing to which to return. When she did make it, in the end, she’d found herself so horribly alone. She’d barely made it by, seeking something she wasn’t sure she’d ever find, until she met John that night in the very pub she was now running from.

What she did know was this: Tommy had helped fill the void in her heart, but she couldn’t fill the void in his. She could never replace Grace–even if he was in love with her, it’d never be what he’d had before. And she could never be a wife. A mother. She just knew she didn’t have it in her.

She fumbled in her handbag for her cigarette case when the man’s voice pulled her back to the present “Hey Miss. Miss, I need help.” He groaned, stumbling toward her.

Sophie turned to face the stranger, trying to quickly assess what may be wrong with him, when someone grabbed her from behind. The man she was facing quickly ran toward her, but picked up her legs instead of helping. It had been a ruse.

The man holding her legs felt her garter holster and removed the gun, throwing it to the ground as they carried her down the alley. Sophie riled and kicked as best she could. She tried to scream, but the man behind her had his hand over her mouth.

Before she could truly assess what was happening, she’d been violently flung into the backseat of a car which took off down the street connecting the alley. Struggling to find anything to stabilize herself, Sophie finally grabbed hold of the seat itself and was able to pull herself up into a seated position. She finally took in her surroundings and that’s when she realized who was seated next to her.

Luca Changretta.

“Bella,” he said, stroking her cheek and readjusting the toothpick in his mouth, “Let’s go for a drive. Shall we?”

___________________________________

Chapter 5

It’s about to get real real!

Feedback always appreciated–more than you can know!

Let me know if you want to be tagged on the next installment. This one’s for you: @shikin83

[celestial-vapidity]

Gayonetta: Some Thoughts on My Favorite Video Game

So here’s the tea; Bayonetta is my favorite video game, as of the time I’m typing out this whatever-this-is. I just wanted to put some thoughts down. The teaser trailer has dropped for the third game, but we’ve received no other news yet. 

My first experience with Bayonetta was when I got the first two games for the Wii-U in...I think 2015? Maybe 2016. It was a gift, I know that. But I can’t remember if it was for my birthday or Christmas, let alone the year. But I know it was while I was being homeschooled, so I have a rough idea. I played for about an hour, got stuck on a puzzle, and didn’t touch it again until I turned 18 and decided to start over from the beginning on a whim. And, goddamn, did it make an impression. I couldn’t put it down. Before, when I got home from school, I would have a snack, let the dog out, and take a nap until my mom got home from work. But after picking up Bayonetta, I would go home and play the game all afternoon and evening, only stopping to eat dinner, shower, and other necessary tasks. 

I absolutely loved the game, and everything about it. It kicked my ass hard during my first playthrough though. I lost track of how many times I died. However, I never wanted to stop playing. Most, if not all, the deaths were my own fault. And I was having too much fun to stop in any case.

The story of the amnesiac witch resonated with me for one reason or another. The entire story did, if I’m being honest. Bayonetta was a character I loved. Honestly, I love almost every character in the first game. Bayonetta was stylish, strong, attractive, strategic, clever, and funny. She was guarded, but kind beneath it. She had a lot of baggage, and had difficulty dealing with it. 

I can’t get enough of her relationship with Jeanne. I don’t care what hets have to say. It’s canon if you ask me. The creators posted art of it, and BayoJeanne was included on a poll of the most popular canon pairings from that company. Also, it’s heavily implied in the games themselves. It’s canon that they live together. In one of the documents you can find in the second game, Luka compares Bayo’s quest to save Jeanne to lovers in mythology going on quests to save each other. Let’s not forget the climax of the first game either. That’s gay. No denying it. And, Bayonetta literally goes to hell to rescue Jeanne. Not to mention her reaction when she saves jeanne. She breaks down, thinking she failed, but when Jeanne wakes up, the first thing she says is ‘What, do you need a wake-up kiss?’. They’re lovers, you absolute fools. Here’s the tea sis. She and Jeanne live together. There’s that fan art in the Eyes of Bayonetta where Bayo’s pulling the blankets off of Jeanne to wake her up, and Jeanne is naked. The fact that both Bayo and Jeanne absolutely break down and start crying when they think the other has died. Also, the demon that sends Jeanne to hell? It was Gomorrah. Anyone familiar with Biblical lore will know that Sodom and Gomorrah was the capital of Queer. The ending of the first game is the gayest shit I’ve ever seen. “We’re both one of a kind.” That hits me in the heart. That is the thing that a queer kid (who doesn’t yet know they’re queer) hears and feels a connection to, and doesn’t know why. They know they’re different but they can’t put a finger on it. Also “Now those are the eyes I’ve been wanting to see.” That is incredible. Oh, and “I’m ok!” then “Just stay close to me!” 

Jeanne is a non-binary lesbian, Bayo is bisexual. That’s it, chief.

Anyway, back to me resonating with the story. I mega-resonate with the gay shit, don’t get me wrong. But that’s not all that hits me. Bayo’s guarded personality. Her constant flirting and joking. She acts like she doesn’t give a shit about anything, and she probably doesn’t about most things. But she does have soft spots. Particularly her loved ones, and children. Also. Her relationships with those around her, specifically her parents and the Umbra witches as a whole (excluding Jeanne). She has a shitty relationship with her father, Balder, in the first game. In the second game, when it’s revealed that Balder’s asshole actions were the result of possession, there is a real emotional conflict for her there. She cries. The only other times she has cried on screen (as an adult) were when her mother died, and when she thought Jeanne was dead. That says some shit. 

Nevermind what Jeanne must be going through from this revelation.

For a more in-depth analysis of the queer themes in Bayonetta, I recommend reading Reading Bayonetta as a Queer Disabled Woman; a meta. by Aurora_Lua (https://archiveofourown.org/works/21080381)

Oh, side note, I also love the implication that Umbra witches are a society of queer women who mostly pair with their own. And that Lumen sages are a society of queer men who mostly pair with their own.

Bayonetta is as close to perfect as I’ve ever seen in a video game. The story, the characters, the aesthetics, the visuals, the music, the gameplay, the bosses, the levels, everything. It’s all slappin. Bayonetta 2 is a good game too, don’t get me wrong. But, in my opinion, it's not as good as Bayonetta 1. 

Here are the things it does better. The character designs. I like the designs for Bayonetta, Jeanne, and Luka better in Bayonetta 2. I just find them more fitting and also much more aesthetically pleasing. Maybe it’s just me, but Bayonetta’s beehive gave me second-hand embarrassment sometimes. I liked that we got to see more of Balder and Rosa. 

Ok now onto something very iconic. The music. There are several tracks, both vocal and instrumental, that I enjoyed and still remember from the first game. The music in Gates of Hell, the Angel Attack version of Mysterious Destiny, the music that plays during the final fight against Jeanne, the track for the fight with Balder, Mysterious Destiny, Let’s Dance Boys, and of course, Fly Me to the Moon. The only tracks I can remember off the top of my head from the second game are Tomorrow’s Mine and Moon River. They’re both great songs, but still. 

Bayonetta (both the games and the character herself) remains a modern queer icon. And I eagerly await the third game, which will surely be just as (if not more) queer as its predecessors. Oh and it’ll probably be a kickass game too.

[warriorofdragons]

A Lover’s Mark

Warnings: Language

This was a request from a friend.

This is a limón. ;)

“Oh he’s getting so big!” you say as Maretha hands you her almost one year old son and you prop him up against your hip.

“Hi,” you coo and he responds with a few happy noises and a smile.

Maretha smiles, “I know, he grows so fast. He will start slowing down a little bit, but these first few years he’s going to sprout up.”

“How fast do elves grow up?” you ask.

“Well, when he gets to be about five is where he’ll start to slow down and right before he’s a teenager and during is where he’ll take the longest time to grow,” Maretha explains.

“Oh wow. I guess you’ll be dealing with his teen years for a while then,” you say.

“Yes, we will,” Maretha’s husband says with a nod, “God, I remember what I was like as a teenager,” he says with a shake of his head.

“I think you turned out alright,” Maretha says smiling and placing her hand on her husband’s chest.

Her much taller and darker complexioned husband smiles and leans down and kisses her.

You smile and bounce the little elf baby on your hip and he squeals in delight.

Kandomere comes up to you finally, “I’m sorry it took forever to find a drink that was non-alcoholic,” he says holding a glass up.

When he sees his nephew he tries to lean forwards to take him from you and the baby starts to cry and recoil from him. You and Maretha both aw and you hand her back her son as she attempts to soothe him.

Kandomere’s shoulders slump, “I just don’t understand why he doesn’t like me.”

Maretha swats her hand out at Kandomere, “Nonsense! He likes you!...I think he’s just scared of you sometimes…”

Kandomere looks a little forlornly at his baby nephew who’s starting to calm down now that he’s in his mother’s arms.

You wrap an arm around his waist and give him a sympathetic look and he hands you a glass of strawberry lemonade.

“I just don’t see how my own-“ Kandomere stops and looks to you and your eyes widen as you lower your glass to stare at him, “My own nephew could ever be afraid of me?”

Your boyfriend’s arm wraps around you and you quietly sip your drink.

Maretha’s eyes move between the two of you, “To be fair I think it’s just because you smell like…well...”

“What? What do I smell like?” he asks.

“Crime scenes,” she says quietly, “The scent of blood and death probably just upsets him.”

You finish draining your glass, “You do sometimes smell like that.”

Kandomere looks to you and his face falls some more and you rub your hand across his back. You glance around and spot the pavilion where they’re keeping the wedding cake.

“They’ve still got some cake left want me to grab you another slice?” you ask.

Kandomere lifts his head and glances behind him, “Yes, please.”

“Belgian Chocolate?” you ask.

He smiles, “You know me so well,” he says and he presses a kiss to your cheek.

Maretha shakes her head, “I swear you two and sweets.”

You step away from your boyfriend to go find some cake to cheer him up.

                                                                      *******

Kandomere watches her go, her soft pink dress hugging her just right.

He turns back around to find Maretha glaring at him.

“What?” he asks.

“You know what,” she says.

“She’s my girlfriend am I not allowed to stare?” he questions.

His sister rolls her eyes, “That’s not what I’m talking about at all, I thought you were to supposed to be an investigator? How can you be so clueless?” she demands.

He’s still confused.

“I know you heard part of our conversation walking over here. Have you not talked to her about having kids?” she asks.

Kandomere opens his mouth slightly, “Well, it hasn’t exactly come up.”

“Hasn’t come up? She has asked me so many questions about my pregnancy and about my son, she clearly wants her own. AND she clearly wants YOURS,” she says gesturing to him.

“Well I-“ he begins and turns to stare across the grass at her as she smiles wide while she’s in conversation with one of the older human women at the reception.

There’s an ache in his heart as he remembers the first and only pregnancy scare they had earlier on in their relationship.

He turns back to his sister who has her eyebrows raised at him, “Are you going to have children or not?”

“I would wish to marry her first! You know how people in this city are, if the baby came first they would assume I only married her for that, and not because I love her,” he says.

Maretha shifts her baby on her hip and outstretches a hand to him and he takes it, “Mi Hermano, you need to talk to her about it. That first conversation is going to be hard, but from then on it’ll get easier and I know you’ll both be so happy when you DO finally have your own little ones.”

Kandomere nods, “You’re right. I just have to find the right moment.”

“Mamá already gave her one of her recipes so clearly she thinks it’s going to last,” Maretha says letting go of his hand.

“She told you about that?” Kandomere questions.

Maretha nods, “And you know how Mamá is about her recipes.”

His brother-in-law stops playing with his son and glances up, “Hey heads up,” he warns and pats Kandomere on the shoulder.

Kandomere turns to see his girlfriend trying to make her way back to him but there are a couple of human men blocking her path. His brows furrow and he starts to get angry as he notices how uncomfortable she looks.

But his blood really starts to boil when he realizes that they’re trying to flirt with her. He starts to stalk his way towards her with the intent on protecting her and that’s when he spies a younger, elven man than him scent her from across the grass and move towards her…

                                                                      *******

The two men in front of you are trying to flirt with and you couldn’t give less of a shit.  Your hands are full with two plates of cake or you’d shove them aside.

“Alright that’s great, but move out of my way,” you growl.

There’s a hand at your back and look up in relief that quickly turns to disgust as you recoil from the strange elf, when you realize he’s not your boyfriend Kandomere.

“You heard her, now leave,” the elf says.

“How about you join them?” you ask.

“If I leave then how am I to protect you?” he asks.

“I don’t need protecting,” you state frowning at him.

“But are you not a damsel in distress?” he asks.

You shake your head at him, “I’m just gonna go take this cake to my Boyfriend.”

“Oh? Where is he? I don’t see him,” he says as he holds a hand over his eyes and pretends to look around.

“Right here,” Kandomere growls.

He turns to look behind him and jumps when he sees him, despite the fact that Kandomere is several inches shorter than him. The human men also find the piercing gaze of your boyfriend to be intimidating and you can’t help but smile at him.

“That’s him. Can you see him now?” you demand.

The elf tries to size up your boyfriend and Kandomere doesn’t back down, but before a fight can break out you close the distance to your boyfriend and kiss his cheek.

“My Love,” you whisper, “Let’s go,” and then you bite his ear and Kandomere has to stifle a groan with considerable effort.

But the other elf is disgusted by your action and backs off.

Kandomere follows you with his hand firmly at your back, swiftly towards his family and he does glance back over his shoulder a couple of times.

When you reach his family again you hand him his cake and he takes it and stares off at the men now dispersing.

“It’s fine, just calm down,” you whisper.

He doesn’t really calm down he just starts eating his cake quietly with a scowl on his face and you try not to laugh as he angrily eats the cake.

Kandomere remains in a relatively grumpy mood for the rest of the reception, but you manage to get him to dance with you for a while.

And you even catch the bouquet, much to your surprise.

When you finally get home Kandomere sulks off to your bedroom and you follow him.

“Kandomere? Kandomere!” you call after him.

You watch him pace back and forth in front of your bed.

“Kandomere, talk to me, what’s wrong?” you ask.

He stops and looks at you and his face softens, “Have I not paid enough attention to you lately?”

“What?” you ask confused.

“I feel like I haven’t and I’m sorry,” Kandomere says.

“Kandomere, you’ve just been busy. We’ve both been busy,” you say.

He glances to the side and there’s a crease between his brows.

“What’s going on? You’ve been acting weird ever since those guys were bothering me earlier,” you say.

He frowns, “Should I not be upset that my girlfriend was being pestered by strange men?”

You knit your brows together and study him for a moment.

This isn’t the first time he’s defended you against guys who refuse to take the hint and he’s usually not perturbed for this long. He did seem particularly upset by the other elf trying to square off against…

You gasp, “You’re jealous of that elf guy that hit on me!”

His eyes widen, “I AM NOT!”

“YOU ARE!” you counter.

He lets out an exasperated sigh, “Why would I be jealous of him? Because he’s younger than me?”

“I didn’t say anything about him being younger,” you state.

He blinks and you know you’ve caught him.

“Yes, well…maybe I am jealous,” Kandomere admits.

You shake your head gently, “I don’t see why,” you say softly.

Kandomere leans back a bit and shifts on his feet.

“I love you, Kandomere,” you say, “And no one could ever take your place in my heart, you know that right?”

He blinks rapidly and steps towards you and cupping your face in his hands, “I love you too and I’m….not used to someone loving me back in the way that you do. Perhaps I’m…just afraid that I might lose you. That someone younger might serve you better than I.”

You snort, “I don’t want someone younger and I definitely don’t want anyone else to begin with. I want you.”

You also want to have his children, but you refrain from saying that.

The truth is Kandomere is the only elf you could ever see yourself with and now you know he’s the only man for you.

You would gladly spend the rest of your life with him and raise a family.

A hand moves to your chin and pulls you towards him and you kiss him.

When your lips part he stares into your eyes lovingly the hand still on your cheek lightly stroking your skin.

“It…has been a few days since we’ve been intimate, yes?” he asks.

“Yes, like I said we’ve both been busy,” you say.

His gaze shifts to the bed beside you both.

You stare at the bed and then stare up at your elf.

“We’re not busy right now,” he says.

“Do you want to be?” you ask.

He smiles, “I do.”

“Pick me up?” you ask.

He reaches down and easily hoists you up and you wrap your legs around him and kiss him. He walks to his side of the bed and sets you down on the mattress and then quickly throws off his jacket and vest. You reach for his tie and pull it loose and then pull him in for another kiss with the tie. You continue to kiss him as you undo his dress shirt buttons and his hand reaches behind you and starts to unzip your dress slowly.

You slip off your shoes and kick them away.

Your hands move to his face next and you hear him undo his belt.

Kandomere’s mouth parts from yours to move to your neck and you bury your fingers in his hair. He bites your neck gingerly and then pulls back and kneels down. His hands trail up and down your legs appreciating what skin he can feel through the cut out patterns of your tights, and then his lips trail over you.

“Don’t,” you warn.

His lips curl up in a smile and his eyes shift up to you.

You don’t want him to bite and tear through another pair of your tights.

The elf obeys and instead he massages up your legs, kneading you slowly.

You tilt your head back and close your eyes.

He reaches your thighs and spends some extra time massaging you there.

“Lie down,” he whispers.

You open your eyes to stare at him and smile as you lay back on the mattress. His hands slide under your dress and you feel his fingers slip under the band for your tights and your underwear and he slowly pulls them off you as you assist him by lifting your hips up.

Once your bare skin is exposed to him you feel his lips trail across you, pressing gentle kisses as he goes. He gets to your thigh and bites and sucks on your skin, and you let out a few small gasps. And then he moves under your dress.

You let out a breathy moan as his tongue slides across your folds and up to your clit and then he proceeds to suck. He’s precise in his movements knowing exactly how to tease you. His tongue moves back down towards your entrance and then pushes into you. He gently maneuvers around inside you for a moment and then withdraws.

He appears out from under your dress and stares at you.

“Why’d you stop?” you whine.

“Darling, I think I know why you’re so irresistible right now,” he says.

You shake your head in confusion.

He smiles, “You’re ovulating. Which means you’re fertile…and ripe,” he rasps the last part.

“Are you saying I’m not usually irresistible?” you demand.

“Not at all, Hermosa, I’m saying I need a condom if I’m going to fuck you,” Kandomere says and reaches into one of the nightstand drawers.

Him being pleased that you’re fertile really starts to arouse you more. You almost wish he’d fuck you without the condom, but now’s maybe not the best time.

You still need to have an actual conversation with him about babies.

He pulls out a condom and sets it on top of the nightstand and closes the drawer and stands up. He removes his shoes and socks and then his pants and underwear. You sit up for him and he pulls your dress over your head and then leans down and kisses you, while undoing your bra. He then places his hand on the back of your head and lowers you onto the mattress. He kisses your chest tenderly and you bury your fingers in his hair.

His hand moves to stroke your clit in a very teasing manner.

His mouth sucks on your breast and then he bites as he rubs you faster. His hand kneads at your other breast and you press your legs to his side. He’s merciless in his touches and your legs start to shake as you moan repeatedly, and then he stops…

“NO!” you whine, “KANDOMERE! I WANT TO CUM!”

“I’ll make you cum not to worry,” he promises.

He picks up your legs and swings them around to face the foot of the bed. He allows you a moment to get comfortable as you scooch back to rest your head on the pillow. Then he dons the condom and climbs on to the bed and positions himself above you and places a sweet kiss to your lips. You wrap your arms around him and spread your legs and he nestles himself comfortably between them. He slowly sinks himself into you and starts off slow, pressing another kiss to your lips.

Your hands move across him and massage what you can reach, adoring every inch of him.

He then moves to your neck kissing you softly.

You lick up his ear and he shudders and lets out a small moan.

You kiss and lick his ear and he moves a little more steadily into you.

You feel him do a few swirling motions with his dick and you pause from your task to let him hear you as you gasp and whine in his ear. He bites down really hard and you cry out and he follows it up with a hard thrust.

You moan softly.

“Did you like that?” he rasps.

“Yes…” you respond.

You feel him smile against your neck and he really picks up the pace, and now you’re really whining and moaning. He lets go of your neck and stares at you as your facial expressions change with each thrust. You dig your nails into his back and drag your hands down him and he groans and throws his head back. He grips your hips and you rock back and forth as he fucks you relentlessly. His face is getting flushed and he leans back down over you and buries his face against your neck.

“Cum, so I can cum,” you plead.

He kisses your neck and you feel your legs start to shake again.

You whine loudly and dig your nails into his back again as you feel your body spasm and the elf clamps down on your neck and groans against your skin as he too finishes. It’s a long drawn out orgasm for the both of you and it takes a while for him to let go and when he does you feel a stinging pain in your neck. You both breathe heavily and your eyes are closed as you try to regain your senses.

“Oh God, I taste blood,” Kandomere says and then gasps, “Mi Amor, I’m sorry, I bit you too hard.”

Your eyes snap open and you stare up at him, his mouth is open, but you don’t see any blood. You reach your hand up to touch your neck and pull it back and stare at the tiniest drops of blood that could have come out of your neck.

You sigh, “Kandomere, it’s fine.”

“Are you sure?” he asks uncertain.

“Yes, it just stings a little. I probably only need a bandaid,” you say.

No sooner than the words leave your mouth he gently pulls out of you and climbs off the bed. You watch as he disappears into the bathroom and shake your head and lie back down, enjoying the euphoria washing over you.

He returns and crawls onto the bed beside you and leans over you and takes a cotton ball, that you can smell is soaked in antiseptic, and cleans the bite. And then he puts one of those colorful bandaids that you insist on buying on to your neck.

You smile when you see it’s covered in little gryphons.

“How’s that?” he asks tentatively.

“It’s perfect, thank you, Nurse Kandomere,” you say.

He rolls his eyes, “Can I not be concerned over you for one minute?”

“It’s fine you didn’t hurt me it’s just a love bite,” you assure him.

“A love bite that drew blood,” he reminds you.

You reach up and cup his face, “Think of it this way no one’s going to think for a second I’m not yours when they see this.”

He smiles a little bit, “I only mark what is mine.”

“As do I,” you say, “Now kiss me.”

He leans down and his soft lips meet yours.