#the blueprint for my taste in romance

[novaneondream]

This is Us 🌸

[r0ttenhearts]

Like A Dog II

“oh, you’re here.” you say flatly as you peer up at the grey-haired scholar, his hand leaving the edge of the door as he stood there with a stumped look on his face.

“(y/n)? you came back? i-”

“i’m not here for you, i’m just here for the rest of my stuff. kaveh said he packed it up for me.” you responded curtly as the mentioned blonde man exited his room.

“(y/n)! just in time. sorry i couldn’t beat him to the door.”

kaveh holds a taped up, brown box in his hands as he passes alhaitham, following you out the door as he takes it to your new home.

alhaitham watches you two leave his home, the smiles and laughs you once held for him were now directed towards kaveh. the way your mouth would crinkle up in a smile made his fist clench. kaveh’s close distance to you didn’t make things any better for alhaitham either.

shortly after alhaitham’s outburst you had gone to kaveh, asking him to help you find a new place as you could no longer stomach being under the same roof as alhaitham. kaveh happily obliged and helped you secure housing close to the akademia, your days were now filled with hangouts when the both of you were free from your studies, or in kaveh’s case, his blueprints.

as much as alhaitham pretended to ignore it, he hated seeing all of your belongings slowly disappear from your once shared home. the smell of your sweetly brewed coffee, your cat mugs you had gotten to represent the three of you, your romance novels that occasionally were laid on the coffee table were now gone. just an empty room and plain mugs resided in your places now, the coffee tasting bitter in the mornings as kaveh nor alhaitham could replicate it.

seeing kaveh stay all buddy buddy with you bothered him. an aching tightening in his chest as he saw you seek out his roommate rather than him. it’s not like you’d spend nights in kaveh’s sheets like you once did with alhaitham, but he figured it was just the same if you were.

after hours of kaveh not returning home, alhaitham’s phone pinged with a message.

tighnari: hey kaveh is here with (y/n) at puspa

tighnari: he’s very drunk. do you mind getting him?

alhaitham groaned as he read the message, putting his headphones on his ears as he made his way to the cafe. his eyes widened once he saw you were also drunk, babysitting a rather large glass of a clear liquid as tighnari patted your shoulder while kaveh was slurring next to you.

“why is he here?”

even in your drunken state, you were still angry with him. you wobbled as you stood up from your chair, pointing a finger at his chest as your face scrunched up. “you have no right to be here alhaitham. you don’t get to have fun with us anymore.”

alhaitham’s eyes slightly softened as he tried to put your shaking arm down, but you snatched it back in retaliation, almost as if he had burned you.

“don’t you touch me! you have no right to barge in here and take kaveh from me! he’s been here for me, let me keep his company.” you slurred as you stumbled, holding onto the top of your chair for stability.

alhaitham looked to cyno and tighnari who shrugged their shoulders, unaware of the dilemma that had occurred between the both of you. kaveh’s red face turned to alhaitham as he waved his hand.

“don’t need you ‘haitham doin’ jus’ fine without you.”

alhaitham grumbled as he took kaveh up by his shoulder, letting him lean against him as you looked to alhaitham with glossy eyes.

“please don’t take him from me.” you whispered, almost as if you were talking about something else, not of alhaitham taking your drinking buddy home.

“sorry (y/n.) make sure she gets home safely you two.”

alhaitham nods to the other two at your table as alhaitham takes kaveh’s drunken self home.

“you really hurt her you know.”

alhaitham stops in the doorway, kaveh’s alcohol ridden breath passing by his ear.

“she really loved you, and you tossed her out like nothin.’ you don’t know how many nights i had to comfort her, cryin’ n’ snotting on herself over you.”

“i know kaveh. i know i hurt her. but nothing i do will mend what’s happened. i miss her around here just as much as you do.”

alhaitham admitted as he closed the door, letting kaveh flop onto the couch as he splayed out.

“i loved— love, her. i hadn’t realized it at the time.”

he sighs, sitting on the couch next to kaveh’s drunken, laid out self. this admission of his guilt seemed to set in as the two men rested on that couch. the realization that you’d never forgive him, never wake up next to him, or smile to him again. it hurt. your absence hurt the scholar more than he wanted to admit.

alhaitham takes out his phone, tapping your contact as he pressed his phone to his ear. it goes to voicemail, of course. but that didn’t stop him.

“hey (y/n).. i understand this might be a bad time but i cannot hold these words in any longer. i feel terribly guilty for what i said to you, though i know i cannot fix things between us, i want you to know that i didn’t mean a sentence i said that night. not a word of it.

i actually— these past few weeks i’ve come to this.. realization. you likely don’t want to hear it from me but..

I love you. I’ve loved you since we were kids.

I don’t deserve your kindness or your love again but these feelings will eat me from the inside out if i don’t tell you. I love you (y/n) and i’m so fucking sorry for what i’ve done to us.

I miss you. I miss us. I miss the smell of your hair tickling my nose when i held you in my bed, your warmth when you’d lean against me while we read.

I miss all of you.

I’m sorry for spouting this to you when you’re intoxicated, but i’m afraid if I don’t say it now I never will.

I don’t expect your forgiveness. I just want you to know. I’m sorry (y/n). I only wish for your happiness now.”

alhaitham sighed, tapping the red hang up button as he tossed his phone onto the coffee table. kaveh’s drunken snores next to him as he sat there in the dark. he stood up from the couch, going to the kitchen and picking out a strong vodka as he sat back down next to kaveh, uncapping the bitter liquid as he gulped it down. the alcohol numbed his senses, but even in his now drunken state he could hear your voice.

“i don’t forgive you, alhaitham.”

[imaginingmarvelandeverything]

Late Night Take Out

Pairing: Jason Todd (version unspecified) x F!Reader

Prompts: 7. “You’re welcome to stay, if you want?” and 39. “I can’t sleep without you here.”

Warnings: mentions of violence

Word count: 1023

A/N:  This one is very dialogue heavy and has been written and edited while I have been drinking, so sorry for any mistakes! This can be considered a follow on to this and this. Hope you like it!

(This is now a series and the series masterlist can be found here!)

Main masterlist

Follower celebration masterlist

Ko-Fi

Y/N glanced towards the window as Jason climbed in from the fire escape. She turned back to her computers to pull the blueprint she needed up and listened to him clanging around as he stripped off the suit. She reached up and turned her headset back on when she had what she needed.

“Nightwing, you need to take a left, carry on down the corridor, a right and then it’s two doors down on your left.”

“Got it. We still on for brunch tomorrow?”

“Are you going to be awake for brunch tomorrow?” She asked, smiling when Jason snorted.

Dick made an offended noise. “I will be there.”

“See you at eleven then. You need anything else tonight?”

“No, I’m good. See you tomorrow.”

She switched off the comms and pulled her headset off before twisting her chair around to face Jason. “Please tell me you brought food?”

He held up a bag full of take-out containers. “Of course.”

“I think you might be the best roommate I’ve ever had.” She said, following him into the kitchen.

“Aren’t I the only roommate you’ve ever had?” He raised his eyebrows as she pulled crockery and cutlery out for the pair of them.

“I lived with Dick for three weeks that time his apartment got water damaged and he refused to ask Bruce for money to fix it.” She sat down on the sofa and grabbed a container, taking a portion of the food inside before passing it to Jason. “He left mess everywhere, could barely wash dishes and covered my couch in crumbs.”

“I’m a definite improvement then.” He laughed, piling his plate high with food. “Have you told him where you are?”

She shook her head. “He knows I’m safe. I didn’t think you’d want me to tell him exactly where I was.”

His lips parted as he stared at her. “I-uh-yeah, thank you.”

“I’ve started looking for possible apartments, I was hoping you’d help me vet them?” She said hopefully.

“You’re welcome to stay here, if you want? As long as you’d like.” He rubbed at the scar on his neck, something she knew by now showed he was nervous.

“Jay, I don’t want to impose. This is your space.” She said softly.

“I like having the company.” He said, so quiet she nearly missed it. “After- after everything that happened, the others are trying, but unless it’s about patrol, they don’t really make an effort.”

She felt her heart breaking. Sure, Jason had made many mistakes in the few years since he came back from the dead, but he had made, or tried to make amends with everyone since. The fact that she was sitting on his sofa, eating take out and watching shitty movies with him was evidence enough of that, especially given their first interaction. So she admitted: “I like hanging out with you.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Even after everything?”

“Yeah, I know the real you now. The one who watches some of the worst movies imaginable and spends all his free time buried in romance novels.” She smiled.

“Do not dis my books.” He warned, his ears turning pink as he averted his gaze from hers.

“I’m not, your taste in books is the one of the best I’ve ever seen. Your taste in most movies, however, is questionable.” She ducked the cushion that was thrown at her head with a laugh.

“Shut up and eat your food.” He said, but amusement was written all over his face.

They ate in silence, only occasionally throwing a comment about something stupid the main character did in the movie. When they were finished eating, they haphazardly piled their plates and the containers on the coffee table and curled up on opposite ends of the sofa.

Y/N stifled a yawn in the back of her hand for the fourth time as Jason shot her a glance. “I know you often stay up for Dick, but you don’t have to stay up until I get back you know. I can get you take out earlier.”

“I-I-” She cut herself off and took a sharp breath, trying to get her brain to play ball.

“What?” He pushed.

“I can’t sleep without you here.” She admitted, watching as he blinked several times in confusion. “In the apartment I mean. I tried those first few days and I kept dreaming that I was back there.”

He stared at her, like he wasn’t quite sure what to say. “If you- if you want to sleep in my bed when I’m not here, I don’t mind. It might help, being behind another door. I know it helps when it gets bad for me. Sometimes I even make a bed in the bottom of the closest, just to feel safer.”

“Really?” She turned to face him fully on the sofa.

He leaned his head on the back of the sofa before turning to look at her. “Yeah, but I wouldn’t recommend it. I got locked in there once by the faulty latch, blew the handle off with my .9mm, so there’s now a hole in the door.”

She couldn’t help but laugh as he smiled. “Ironically, I can imagine you doing that.”

“You can take the bed tonight if you want? I’ve got some research I need to do before I turn in and you look exhausted. Not to mention you have to be up to meet Dickhead tomorrow.” He made a face.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, go for it.” He smiled.

“Thank you. Jay, I mean it. For everything.” She said sincerely as she stood from the sofa.

“Sweetheart, I already told you, you don’t need to thank me for anything.” He ran a hand through his messy curls.

“Still.” She said, grabbing her pajamas. “Goodnight.”

“Sweet dreams.” He shot her a smile as she walked down the corridor to the bathroom, and then to his bedroom.

Part 4

Taglist: @scarrasco1325 @fives-coffee-cup​

[retrograderesemblance]

“top 5” 80s shows, top 5 characters and why

tops 5 things! // @timeguardians

80s shows

1. The A-Team (1983-1987) This is the only show on this list that I've finished. It's horribly cheesy when it wants to be, and when you get a bad episode, it's a legitimately bad episode... but I'm weirdly fond of this series. The way the writers sort of drip-feed (?) you overarching storylines and character backgrounds is done in such a strange way that I'm not sure that original viewers would've gotten the same viewing experience as modern viewers who are able to binge the show. The Vietnam War veterans angle isn't something that starts to take proper shape until s2, but from s2 onwards, the episodes that allude to the characters' war experiences are done in good taste and I think make the characters feel more complex. Granted, there's no real payoff for these references, but there's also a sort of silent understanding among the main characters. They all worked together during the war, and they all understand that they don't need to talk about what happened. I think there is an argument to be made to the fact that even tho the characters left the war behind, the war is something that will continue to follow them for the rest of their lives.

2. Remington Steele (1982-1987) I haven't watched past s1 mostly bc I'm not ready for the show to abandon Murphy and Bernice and double-down on the Laura/Steele romance. I really like this show tho. Decent set up, decent episode plots, a good balance of humor and seriousness. For as much crap as I put Laura through on my blog, I seriously do really like her. She was apparently the first female private eye on television too ?? and this show became the blueprint for what would become Moonlighting. So that's cool!

3. Magnum P.I. (1980-1988) This show is at it's best with the Vietnam War-based episode plots. Apparently this was the first tv series to show Vietnam War veterans as protagonists in media; everything before this showed veterans as some trauma-possessed mass killers ?? which feels very '70s, honestly... While you sometimes have to power through half a season of cheesy monster-of-the-week-esque eps, it's worth it for the more serious performances. Tom Selleck was literally the perfect casting choice for Magnum.

4. Booker (1989-1990) Even tho I didn't finish s1, I liked this more than 21 Jump Street. While I like the og series, the concept becomes very wash and repeat after about 20 eps in when you consider the implications of how many high schools exist in the same city. The acting in Booker is a lot better, and it's an interesting setup for a private eye plot.

5. MacGyver (1985-1992) This is not my favorite 80s series by a longshot, but I watched the first 4 seasons and the tv movies, so I feel like I need to mention it. The pilot is the best episode, as weird as that sounds. MacGyver is known for things like being able to escape a locked room with a stick of gum and a lighter... but weirdly he only does that in the pilot ???? The series overall is... not good? *snorts* The plots are half-baked at best, the supporting cast makes you groan when they make appearances, and for some reason every single woman that MacGyver is friends with or in a relationship with, dies in some horribly tragic accident. While I would recommend this, dO NOT watch it expecting some cinematic masterpiece.

characters

1. James Bond (from the book series, not the movies, tho Timothy Dalton is closest to book!Bond) Oh my beloved James Bond, always on the verge of turning in his resignation letter akjdnakjbfajbf. I've only read about half the books so far, but I've jumped all over in the timeline and Bond is honestly a very jaded character. He's the epitome of a workaholic, but at the same time he knows he's not happy. Every time he tries to make some sort of change in his life to seek happiness, all his plans blow up in his face and he's often left lonelier than he was before. It's very interesting to follow a character who sort of just lives in the present, bc he fully expects not to live past the age of 40.

2. Sonny Corleone from The Godfather Love me a slightly unhinged male character who supports women's rights. There's a whole thesis I could write about how Sonny and Michael are essentially foils in the plot. Their father assumes that Michael is the more "Americanized" of his children and they butt heads over that, which is so hysterical bc Michael ends up proving that he was the most traditional of them all; Sonny was the one who was the most "Americanized" despite being g.roomed to take over the business from his father. Hate what the sequel films did to his character and background, but alas, book!Sonny will always be my favorite.

3. Janis Ian from Mean Girls I like Janis for the simple reason that's she's petty. She sees through a lot of the bullshit, but she's also self-aware enough to know that she's not above bullshit of her own.

4. Fanny Price from Mansfield Park I like how she made up her mind and stuck to her decisions and didn't let herself be bullied into changing her mind.

5. Ed Chigliak from Northern Exposure I think his character is really well done, showing sort of a modern Alaskan indigenous experience through the eyes of a character who's half-Tlingit, half-White. He's a nice person and enjoys his hobbies and wants to tell stories. He's not bitter like other characters on this list; he's just happy to be here.

[albertfinch]

REPLACING THE GRASSHOPPER MENTALITY

"It shall be, in regard to their inheritance, that I am thieir inheritance.  You shall give them no possession in Israel, for I am their possession." - Ezekiel 44:28

The Lord wants to fill us with a holy desperation and a holy violence to lay hold of Him.  It's a hunger that will drive us into holy romance with the Lord -- to enthrone Him in every area of our lives -- it's a fresh hunger to come into such ONENESS  with Jesus that we die to ourselves and come into holy INTIMACY with Him.

"Do not labor for the food which perishes, but for the food which endures to everlasting life, which the Son of Man will give you, because God the Father has set His seal on Him." - John 6:27

God is desperately hungry for us to possess the promised land and lay hold of our CALLING in Christ.  We are to live in the very Glory of God.  However, we must daily overcome the spirit of the world and press behind the veil that is already torn that we might eat of the Bread of Heaven and look upon the blueprints of heaven.

"For the bread of God is He who comes down from heaven and gives life to the world....I am the bread of life.  he who comes to Me shall never hunger and he who believes in Me shall never thirst." -  John 6:33,35

THE BODY OF CHRIST IS LIVING IN PSALM 23 AND PSALM 24

Psalm 23 is all about the Priestly anointing/lifestyle and Psalm 24 is all about the Kingly anointing and taking the land by letting the King of Glory come in.

The priest must find the underground flow of God's presence and power even in the midst of the dessert. -- die to self and learn to feast at God's table in the presence of their enemies. 

God is looking for those who have learned to feed upon Him even in the wilderness and have now become a drink for others to drink from.  In Psalm 23 even in the valley of the shadow of death we are feasting at God's table and we are in the place where oil is being continuously poured out upon our heads.

As we enter into Psalm 24 -- it's time to lift up our heads to the Lord and let the King of Glory come in and wage war through us.

WARRIOR MINDSET REPLACING THE GRASSHOPPER MENTALITY

"The people who know their God shall be strong, and carry out great exploits." - Daniel 11:32b

Many feel that their life is a waste and doesn't count for anything.  Hope deferred has made their hearts sick. They have no sense of DESTINY. 

But those who have been looking upon Him and feeding upon Him ask, seek, and knock until they understand and carry-out  God's PURPOSE for their lives and become radiant and the shame of their lives is washed away because they are tasting that the Lord is good.  They are shedding that grasshopper mentality and God is pouring the oil of an overcomer over their lives as they bear fruit that remains for God’s Kingdom.

PRAYER

Lord, I ask you now to pour out the Spirit of the Overcomer.  Let there be a supernatural release of the shout of war upon Your people.  I lift up my head to You and ask that the King of Glory would come in and breakthrough so that I can breakout.  Lord, stir me out of the wilderness and grip me with a holy violence and jealousy to lay hold of my Christ identity and CALLING in Christ.  May I be strong and advance your Kingdom in the earth for your faithfulness and glory. - Amen

ALBERT FINCH MINISTRY

[flowersdaggersviolasandblood]

Assassin with a Heart of Gold

Name: Admaer Daeneiros (He/Him)

Race: High Elf

Class: Rogue (Assassin)

Background: Criminal

WARNING, SPOILERS AHEAD

So after that that encounter with the True Soul and his companions, Admaer and the gang continue their trek to the Githyanki Creche. Now, this will mean that they have to pass by the Blighted Village, so a brief few stops were made. Firstly, they encountered that Owlbear that killed the previous True Soul. Such a creature would be worth a fortune (and XP) and they were able to snatch a Owlbear egg.

look at how scared Shadowheart is :(

While we're speaking of the Owlbear cave and Shadowheart, it is here that Admaer learns that Shadowheart is a Cleric to Shar, Goddess of Darkness & Loss.

Regardless, Admaer tells her that he doesn't give a shit about her religious standing (he has worked with people with worse standards and ideologies) and that the parasite is more important than what he thinks of her religion. Which seems to put Shadowheart at ease. She also explains a bit about the wound that she has.

So far, Admaer feels a bit more comfortable traveling with Shadowheart now that she's opened up to him about a few things. However, he did learn that she likes night orchids and can't swim, something he kinda attempts to poke fun at her about (though he struck a nerve with her). She still hasn't came up about the artifact, which is now Admaer's secret goal to discover what that's all about.

Around this area is where you can recruit a dog named Scratch. However, because Admaer most likely had previous experiences where dogs were used to hunt him down or harm him, Admaer isn't a huge dog fan, so I didn't recruit Scratch to my camp (I got like 5 other characters who might be willing tho).

Also, the owlbear can now fly up to your position on high in the full game, something I didn't think was possible in EA (Early Access). It quite literally took me by surprise lmao!

Before we went into the village, I decided to swap out Lae'zel for Wyll, mainly because I'm most likely going to interact with Karlach before going forward with the Creche. Let's see if I'm as big of a dick with this character :D.

Also two, we reunited with this mf!

This is the point where Admaer learns further about Halsin's desire to go to the old temple of Selune and the Night Song. Admaer takes the contract from Aradin's hands, more or less wanting to see if he can find whatever treasure could be hidden there.

Unlike Torment, who is now just going through a whole rampage within the Blighted Village, Admaer is more concerned in getting past them without much hassle. Of course, while we were there, I decided to do a few side quests.

Once of them involved going into the cellar of a village apothecary who wasn't exactly as they seemed as they performed criminal acts against their patients in what seems like a desperate attempt to discover the secrets to the eerie book of necromancy. This is where Admaer picked up a Quasit familiar, Shovel (renamed to Fork) who is now tied to Admaer. Lets see how long this little guy will last.

The book could not be opened without a amethyst opal that fits within the skin covered mouth. This required going into the village blacksmith's workshop where we got a taste of the first level of the Underdark. While there, we fought Phase Spiders, Ettercaps, and a big mama Phase Spider. Finally, we were able to get the item required to open the book, and Admaer decided to give it to Astarion. He made enough bad life choices and he's not magically inclined anyways, so why not let Astarion fuck himself up?

While still at the Blighted Village, we did discover blueprints to create a unique weapon, but it requires Sussur Bark to complete it. Unfortunately, Admaer failed the Nature check to know that it can be found in the Underdark, but we'll get there when we get there.

As I stated before when I first mentioned Astarion, this character is most definitely a Astarion romance run. The second I got his bite scene, I knew exactly what I was doing. Unfortunately, I couldn't probe his mind because I used it up with the dying True Soul (in my personal opinion, that's why Admaer allowed Astarion to bite him to begin with), but, regardless, I let him have a nibble. Of course, this is where Astarion explains his whole deal with Cazador. I won't go into detail about it here again because I already explained it with Torment.

Essentially, Cazador turned Astarion into a vampire and made his life a living hell. Admaer began to sympathize with Astarion since they both share similar stories of slavery and pain. So this gave Admaer someone to confide in, and now he's dotting on Astarion, fighting to keep Astarions' freedom.

And it seems they'll be able to get it on tonight because Admaer offered that Astarion can bit him again...So ;)

[humbletumblecrudi]

Hello friend, it’s Pluto. Could you possibly do Ignihyde shenanigans like working on tech or staying up late to play video games with my character Katsu and our favorite gamer Idia?

Pluto, my mutual! I have your boy and Ignihyde pre-established shenanigans ready! It's a bit more grounded, as I'm not too trope-heavy most of the time (and Ignihyde is so science heavy)... Well, I have a budding romance/friendship going on! ⊂((・▽・))⊃ If this isn't good enough, you can send another one!

Relationships: Idia × Katsu (OC) (pre-relationship), featuring platonic Ortho

Requestor: @plutos-hell

I͛d͛i͛a͛⦚ S͛h͛r͛o͛u͛d͛⦚ a͛n͛d͛⦚ K͛a͛t͛s͛u͛,͛⦚ f͛e͛a͛t͛u͛r͛i͛n͛g͛⦚ O͛r͛t͛h͛o͛⦚

ゝ Katsu seems like a lovely young man for Idia and Ortho to talk and gain headway with! Mostly Ortho has taken note Katsu is one of the few they weren't officially introduced to, and Ortho does not want to blame his brother for that, so he'll just say it was bad luck…

ゝ (But if you know the Shroud Brother's Ceremonial Robes Vignettes, you might know why Ortho tries not to blame his brother… even though Idia blames himself.)

ゝ Idia does not do well around the type of people who radiate "sunshine", so to say. He's made it quite clear to Ortho about his harsh judgement for the likes of Cater or Kalim, and genuinely avoids that type of person…

ゝ And also: Ignihyde at Night Raven College isn't really home to the set of characteristics that breed people like Katsu naturally, so it surprised Idia anyone who's worth their salt in mechanical skills are… well, open! He's used to closed doors and floor tiles so cold and bare the janitorial bots only run every two days! 

ゝ But Ortho saw opportunity at it's finest! Running his calculations and how your interests paired with Idia's prerogative field in this nature… he only saw pluses across his board! Sure, Idia could have a meltdown and flee, or Katsu could get offended and storm off… but the chances were low, as Ortho would be playing middle ground.

ゝ And Ortho loves to see numbers being proven correct just as much as Idia does (even though the older Shroud had thought negatively of this idea to start). The initial encounter had been rocky at best: Idia messing with wires to a medicinal inclined machine in an abandoned workshop the Ignihyde dorm only allows for biomedical study, and Katsu came down from the ceiling to see what the clicking and beeping was.

ゝ Of course, like any mechanic and operator; Katsu was defensive of his machines status and conditions. And like a prodigies son and naturally defensive person; Idia held his ground and questioned this and that…

ゝ Ortho sees this as great progressーafter Katsu came down and showed Idia the blueprints and why his outputs were congested the way they were, success! Idia had been transfixed and asking questions on the biomedical mechanics plans.

ゝ From here, it can only go up if Ortho can successfully get Idia to have fun outside of his room more often… and help from Katsu and a mechanical chef for higher grade food helps.

ゝ … And a conveniently broken vending machine on Idia's side of the building helps…

ゝ Nonetheless, Idia is happy to finally have a… acquaintance, that shares his interests in some way or another! He much prefers to start out just working on things together, and he has a bit of hyperfixation on anything medical Katsu has to show him. Please, recommend him equipment for Ortho's medical or exam form! He would like your input…

ゝ Don't push final designs, he's a bit fickle with designs sometimes and art for it come out of nowhere sometimes… (Lies)

ゝ If Katsu walks in his room for something (let's say Idia needs to show him software that's not complete and weirdly personal; it won't leave his room), one way to bond is praising his taste or at least recognizing a figure or poster! Idia would die and then come back from shock! A… bubbly geek that likes super-hard-level nerd stuff?!

ゝ [Insert Smash Brothers Deletion Meme here]

ゝ But Idia would be far too scared, and far too weary of a knowledgeable outsider so close to Ortho's hardware, to allow Katsu in for personal game-time unless Ortho was awake and online! Moral support, please! He's shaking in his slippers…

ゝ But he doesn't hate it (even though the FPS you were playing had Idia raging from a guy with hair over his eyes having beaten him)... he actually enjoys the hits and jabs as the tips of his hair turn orange from frustration. It was nice to be next to his sparring partner in a game they both were neutral at (he doesn't play this FPS, too many glitches near spawn)! 

[zibah-ho]

17, 26, 28, 44 (dick)

thank you anon

What's your favorite canon ship?

Clois simply bc they are the only canon ship I think I do enjoy in comics. Not to be one of them but I know more than the writers, their canon ships are not for me I think. Aside from clois. (Linda Wally when I finally read flashfam they’re also 👀) They’re the blueprint. T4T bi4bi workplace romance balance each other out working towards a common goal with a combined skill set them before lois knows them after it’s all so !!!!!!!!

If you got sucked into a comic, which one would you pick?

walking into ga 2001 adoption papers ready let’s do this dad

What got you into comics?

We can all blame batphobique and thequiver for that

Wait no I forgot I did actually read comics before I just had shitty taste so uh. A long time ago baby zibah was watching spider man and this dude rocked up for a special appearance he was so brave and self sacrificing that already anti marriage zibah was willing to break their principles for this combination of lines (captain America) I wanted to marry this guy he was it for me at age 6-8 I was a big cap fan for years and when catfa came out I picked a few cap things up but didn’t really get into comics until I came across Jason via Bucky the whole no one stays dead thing

very embarrassing indeed but we’re here now

What's a song that makes you think about [dick]?

X

[onthisavenue]

i’ve tried to pare down,

to live mildly,

to quiet my hands,

to settle for sort-of-free.

by riding passenger, squinting

through red-coated mountains,

diving in lakes, eyes closed and shivering,

with fingertips grasping for the bottom,

hoping to finally sift through

a how-to for stillness,

the blueprint for calm i pressured myself to be

thought I could settle by

scouring pages of myth and fiction.

meet a goddess or foe,

praying to find words of wisdom.

but, after burning through pages

with eyes hanging for rest,

headlights peered through my blinds

drawing my hands to caress the pang in my chest.

and even now, as i write,

i press my lips to each other

and feel the tiniest of flaws protrude.

i bite the skin, feel a wet warmth spread,

use my tongue

to place pressure on a new iron tasting wound.

i realize now, being still

has never brought peace or tame,

but a remembrance i branded as violence

and would swear i’d romanced away.

i catch the movement of clouds, their

housing of thunder and striking in greys.

i nod at the lizards tilting their heads

eyeing shadows of threat,

swallowing meals before scurrying away.

i hear the wind shrieking with grief,

rummaging through branches, buildings

hives and leaves.

i feel the steadiness ive crushed and swallowed,

chewing and vibrating in my knees.

i remember now

as a passenger surrounded by red

i also howled, barked,

weeping laughter and echoing pleas.

i recall taking a glimpse while diving,

to collect the rocks and taste the chatter

of the snails, sea glass, minnows and algae.

i know little now

but to move

through the earth and my own poetry.

so let the soil and roots talk to themselves

instead of answering to me,

i will rest my questions

beneath the planet’s under belly,

to spin and break and bite my way free.

[roseprincessarts]

Poetry Within (9x7 fanfic)

Story: Poetry Within

Universe: Shane Acker's 9

Relationship: 9x7

Genre: fluff and romance

(WARNING!!!: CONTAINS FLUFF AND ROMANTIC MOMENTS!!!)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sky was completely gray, expecting some rainy weather. Droplets began pouring down in the Emptiness. 9 stood against the damp wood with his arms crossed in the darkness, watching the rain and thunder starting to boom loudly, and he was 20 feet from home. The stitchpunk sighed as he continued watching the rain drops pounding the ground.

"Staring at the weather, huh?" A female voice questioned the young man.

9 turned his head behind him. It was 7, who putted on a smile, both a smirk and a sweet smile combining together.

"Is that what you do every single morning you wake up?" She asked her lover.

9 formed a smile on his face.

"Of course it is." He said softly "I've always wanted a calm and peaceful morning like this, even the sound of the calming rain."

7 giggled, walking towards the young man, placing a hand on his shoulder, giving him a warm, sweet smile. 9 gave his mate a smile back.

"I'm sure you do." 7 said.

9 chuckled at her words, still smiling. "Whatcha up to?" He asked.

7 sighs calmly and replied "Nothing much… the twins are reading, 6 was drawing, 5 is working on the blueprint with 2 on an experiment, 1 is still sleeping, ShadowSilver is singing somewhere and 8 is… I-I don’t know…”

9 chuckles, smiling. 7 smiled back, sighing calmly. 9 sighs tiredly and relaxed on the wood. 7 looked at him curiously as she drew close to him, wrapping her arms around him and placed a hand on his chest. 7 gazed up at her mate, still puzzled at his expression.

“You okay, my love?” she questioned him.

9 looked down at her, sighing all weary. “Nothin’, just bored.”

“Well,” 7 began softly “what do you want to do?”

"I don't know." 9 said cluelessly "I should write something. I'll be back."

"Oh, uhh… okay." 7 said as the male stitchpunk left, leaving the female ragdoll to stare at the raindrops. 7 sighed, thinking of 9, possibly worrying over him, but she shouldn't be. All she can do is just let him do what he needs to do, and she won't stress over everything (well… almost).

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

12 hours later…

In their bedroom, 9 was sitting at his desk, having been writing his poems the whole entire day and working until the night. He had over hundreds pages of his poetries he had written inside the drawers, and on his desk, a bit messy. 9 thought about putting them all in one book sooner or later. William Shakespeare is his inspiration, and his favorite poet and playwright. 9 had read his books, play scripts, and many poems he had written in the 16th and 17th century. 9 was introduced to the works of William Shakespeare by the twins as they researched one of the books about the Renaissance poet, and ShadowSilver has a really good taste in Shakespeare's writing and plays. 9 had been pushing himself to become a poet to write the meanings of life. He even has the paintings of Shakespeare on the walls.

9 dipped the tip of the feather (his writing tool) and finished writing his poem.

This is what he had written:

"When there is the sound of raindrops, that is the tears of many angels…

When there is the light of the sun, that is the blessing of an angel that will bless any individual for their development of any…

When there is many stars in the night sky, there will be a place for a better tomorrow…"

9 letted out a sigh. As he got up, he heard a familiar voice.

"Heyo."

The young stitchpunk jumped a small bit and turned to who he heard. It was 7, again. 9 sighed of relief, thought it was someone else.

"Oh! 7!" He said "I thought you're someone else.”

7 laughed at his words and replied "No, it isn't, silly. Who else would it be?"

“You scared the hell out of me, woman!” 9 said, chuckling.

7 giggles with a smug smile on her face “Sorry about that.”

9 smiled back, and grabbed his page, looking as embarrassed as he is for being startled in front of the love of his life. 7 looked at 9’s desk, seeing all his pages of his poems lying around everywhere, not noticing the others were in the drawers.

“9,” she began saying, smirking at her lover “dude, you seriously need to clean this desk. There are pages of your written poems everywhere like if a bad storm happened and it caused a major disaster.”

9’s eyes widen at 7’s words, then chuckled embarrassingly, blushing.

“Heh heh, yeah…” the young stitchpunk said “I thought about putting them all in one book for everyone to read. Even ShadowSilver would since she likes reading.”

7 still smirked, and chuckled.

“At least I still have the pages inside the drawer.” 9 added.

7 sighed and said “Mhm.. and you probably won’t fit in one book since you had like, over hundreds of pages.”

9 chuckled. “Then I will create two books, then!” He declared.

7 chuckled, and looked at all of William Shakespeare artworks on the walls that 9 had kept. "Hmm. Kept all the artworks of this man?" She asked.

"Yep!" 9 said "I got inspired by all William Shakespeare's poetry writing, his books and plays. He is an inspiration."

7 chuckled, and added "Sure he is."

"The twins introduced me to him in one of the books." The young male stitchpunk said.

"Ahh…" 7 said, nodding "makes sense."

The male stitchpunk smiled, and the warrior grabbed his page from his hands and read what 9 had written, and seemed impressed in a loving way.

"You write so beautifully, 9." 7 said "ShadowSilver would be impressed, too."

9 chuckled at her words. "Yeah, she will. Maybe she can read it to 5 or her father."

7 giggled at his words. "I bet she would." She said.

9 smiled, walking around 7 and holding her hand, twirling her around.

“Oh! 9?” the female questioned him “What are you-?”

"What thou think I amst doing?" 9 said in a Shakespearean language, wrapping his one arm around 7 while having his other arm around her back and holding her hand "Hmm? Maybe thou can dance with me till the moon lits."

"Are you speaking Shakespearean?" 7 asked as 9 twirled her around as they danced lightly.

"Uhh… yeah?" 9 replied "Because why not? I thought a good Shakespearean language could fit our evening dance just fine."

7 looked nervously, looking at the ground, then to 9, smiling. "Okay. If you say so.”

9 chuckled as the couple danced “I thought thou would like it.”

7 chuckled as they danced. That was until they heard a door knock.

“Hey. Anybody in there?’ A voice said.

9 and 7 looked over at the door, and they withdrew from each other.

“Oh!” 9 said “I wonder who it was?”

The male stitchpunk went to the door and answered. It was ShadowSilver, his sister-in-law.

“Oh!” 9 said with a smile “Hey, Shads! What’s up, girl?”

“I was just wondering what are you doing.” the pink haired girl said “You have been writing poetries all day?”

“Yep!” 9 replied “Wanna see them? I have, like, hundreds of pages of my poems I will put into some books soon, and I’ll let you read them as soon as I’m done.”

“Of course!” ShadowSilver said “Let me see what you have written.”

9 laughed as the princess entered the bedroom to read all her brother-in-law’s poems, feeling inspired and loving his poems (not even minding the mess as long as she doesn’t lose them).

“Told you you have to clean the mess.” 7 said with a smirk.

9 turned to his lover and said “As she doesn’t lose them, it’ll be fine if I put them in the books.”

“Those are beautiful, 9.” ShadowSilver said, and the lovers turned to her “You’re an amazing poet…”

9 blushed, chuckling. ShadowSilver then looked at all of the William Shakespeare artworks, seemed impressed and felt inspired.

“Wow,” the girl said “this man writes beautiful poets and books.”

“Yep!” 9 said “I’ve been reading his books ever since the twins showed him to me.”

ShadowSilver giggled, and said before leaving “Welp, I’m going to bed. You two love birds have a good night.”

9 and 7 chuckled as ShadowSilver left the room. 7 drew closer to her lover, hugging him and they both drew closer. The lovers looked into their eyes and then shared a romantic kiss, their hearts soared warmly. After a long kiss, 9 and 7 drew closer into a hug, thinking about the night they had spent.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

1 hour later…

The couple were in their bed, laying awake. 7’s head and hand were placed on 9’s chest, could hear nothing but his breathing and his heartbeat. The male stitchpunk had his hand on his mate’s head.

7 sighed and asked “9? Do you think ShadowSilver will be impressed with the book you’ll put your poems into?”

9 sighed with a smile “She will. She read all my poems, and they will all be in my books. She will be reading them.”

The young man gave a soft sigh. 7 sighs as well, smiling. 9’s heartbeat and his breathing had lulled her to sleep. 9 looked down at the sleeping woman, smiling as he watched her sleep. He laid his head on 7’s, falling asleep.

“My beautiful 7…” 9 whispered as he drifted off.

7 gave a sigh, smiling in her sleep as she heard him. The lovers then drifted into sleep for the night.

The end

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Took me a bit to write ^^; I ran out of ideas for more stuff in the ending and had a neck ache already.

So here is my first 9x7 fanfic as there is more I like to participate for more 9x7 fanfics <3

I like to have this posted till August, but then I'm like "Ehh, you know what? I will have this done and displayed now. ^^" I will be having another fanfic during the Halloween season in October, so I will get more prepared if I want to write a longer one, maybe I can write something that will fit the Halloween themed (not much or doesn't do with Halloween, idk XD) fanfic :3 Maybe old fashioned themed fits to the Halloween theme? I know it's months till Halloween, but I'm probably gonna be more prepared to write a fanfic that fits to the horror genre for Halloween :)

I have seen Celestial-Rainstorm 's fanart on DeviantArt of 9 as a poet and other fanarts with 9 as a poet, so I felt inspired to write this since it made me feel 9 would be the best poet, and I am also inspired by William Shakespeare x3

What y'all think of this fanfic? I managed to write something more in this, but I'm like, I'll just leave it there like this ^^; I hope you liked and enjoyed it, probably because of how short this is, not as short, but feels like it to me lol

Stitchpunks 7-9, mentioned stitchpunks and 9 ©Shane Acker, Tim Burton, Timur Bekmambetov and Focus Features

ShadowSilver and story ©SuperShadowSilver

No copyright infringement is intended

[jscysbl]

Four Seasons

It felt like summer when I first met him: a season where his silhouette had not yet embellished the cracked sidewalk outside my bedroom window. His smile was the sun, whose rays shined only brighter with a laugh; an anthem of joy that circled back to me in the night when sleep was too lazy to cradle me. As we swapped words like trading cards, I felt constant tugging on the corners of my mouth. I was happy. The butterflies I had once thought extinct returned in abundance, eager to bask in the afternoon daylight. Their wings, ever more prominent in the sweltering heat, fluttered against the bones of my rib cage almost without care for secrecy. The branches in my lungs grew foliage scattered with a rainbow of flowers, and I had to remind myself to breathe.

Before I could realize it, autumn had cast its spell a second time. The first remains impossible for me to forget.

There are off days where such ancient history reads more like a stranger's fairy tale than a personal account of teenage romance, but sometimes all you have to do is blow the dust off this old relic of a memory. The only true love I have ever come to know was irresponsibly reckless and broken in too many places. I didn't know that then. What poured out of our hearts was indeed bold, real, and magical, but also deathly impetuous. Once upon a time, it was I, the self-proclaimed inventor of apathy, who was bound to a string of months and days that grew more pointless as it did lengthy. I patiently counted each one with wistful fingertips, as if doing so would make the bruises from the pounding silence fade away. Preposterous. I was a fool then, even more of one than now, but in the end I finally waved goodbye—I had to—before I could be tied to another hello.

I was wrong to think the coronary damage would never heal. Oh, so very wrong. My shoes eventually found home again under a pile of rusty leaves and silver spiderwebs, in a pair of familiar footsteps on the warmer side of the spectrum of fascination. Here we go again. With the return of the fall equinox, the world of dullness transformed into that only of radiance. Budding florae blossomed into spirals of blushing corolla to contest the strongest trees of oak. Vibrant hues bled in an unapologetic harmony, staining all of my white lies and blueprints. I would have never predicted that a few honest evening conversations could serve as my navigation back to no man's land.

The boy I came to know most certainly had flaws, but perhaps that only fueled the fire. I liked him when he seemed perfect; I fell for him when he seemed human. For every lump of coal, there was a diamond; for every blemish, there was a sparkle. I wondered how many I would have to unearth to call this mine. I kept digging, as long as he let me. How do you truly feel about that? What really happened? Are you feeling alright? One day (I truly cannot pinpoint exactly when), I finally hit something—it may have been a toxin, a delusion, a nerve, or a burst of inspiration. Whatever the case, the butterflies were unsatisfied with flying and thus took the form of rocket ships with dreams to explore where no other had before. Like rising sea levels, my feelings burst through the floodgates without warning, and splashed every corner with ink and folly until.... a page long letter finally emerged in the palm of his hand.

And it was terrifying.

Winter rushed in soon after that, and the oddest part was how the icy winds that once blew me away could then not do as much as send even one chill down my spine. His snowflake speech melted on the heat of my tongue and I tasted nothing. A stutter hadn't cut my speech short since a time long forgotten. My hands were still, and my heartbeat was steady. The natural alternation of my inhales and exhales remembered what it means to be subconscious. Everything had simmered back down to normalcy, as if ordinary was all my body had ever known. It was as if the switch had been flipped, except... despite my promise to change things eventually, I hadn't turned it off yet. He beat me to it.

Either I have mastered the frowned-upon art of scapegoating, or the landscape I once adored simply didn't look beautiful in my eyes anymore. It grew... cold outside. The colors disappeared. Everything was so plain. Gone are the visual harmonies, yet I can't say, "all of a sudden," because the possibility remains that the big picture was never picture-perfect in the first place. Perhaps I was blinded by the novelty; overwhelmed by the introduction to a level of brilliance I had never seen anybody else match or even come close to. It was also pretty silly of me to keep my fingers crossed, hoping he looked at my reflection with the same fascination I'd gaze at his with. I thought trust was a balance beam and that our mutual give and take kept us equalized, but it turns out I was never thought to be anything more than convenience. That said, the fault lines are ours. Not more his than mine, nor vice versa. I can call him frosty as many times as I want, but anyone would be so when placed atop a pedestal in a snowstorm for such a long time.

Once the final season paid its expected visit, I was forever grateful. My feelings were messy (if we were to put it lightly) and honestly, a spring cleaning session is long overdue. Given the recent influx of self-contained hurricanes, I'm all for new beginnings. The weather forecast has been pretty darn moody lately.

[dashflashy-arts]

Those days I have been thinking, do you think that Sheldon Lee from MLaaTR is misogynistic, sexist or chauvinistic? No hate towards him, he is one of my favorite characters but I was just wondering if he is.

hoooo boy...

I ended up ranting so uh. I'm putting them under the cut. Keep in mind that it isn't targetted on you! I appreciate that you recognize his flaws and all, I just become rly expressive at these things ; w ;

Honestly? I think he's neither of those. Instead, he's just a teenager with a big fat crush and has the tendency to deal with it in a very stalker-ish, unhealthy, and problematic way.

It's understandable to mistake him as misogynistic, sexist, or chauvinistic when looking into some of his actions because those were really extreme and all kinds of wrong. (example: stealing Jenny's blueprints to find out how to "get to her heart") BUT if you actually paid attention to his character and behavior in the show, you'd notice that he's not misogynistic, nor is he sexist or chauvinistic. He didn't steal those prints because he thinks Jenny is inferior to him. Neither did he do it to "put her in her place". He just wanted to figure out how "get to her heart" (<- his exact words)

Because that's the thing: He's in love with Jenny just the way she is.

He puts her on a pedestal and knows just how great she is. He's just hoping really desperately that she'd feel the same, to the point he did those problematic things I wish the writers should've not written in.

With that being said, is he a creep? yes. Is he a stalker? yeah. Is he a misogynist? no. Is he a sexist or a chauvinist? if he was, he would've been an asshole and demanding to girls now, wouldn't he? But NAH!! Sheldon didn't show any distaste or hatred towards girls or women. We literally see a GIRL amongst the bullies tormenting him in his first appearance.

As I quote from his words upon reacting to Jenny: "you're like captain crush, but only better"

this isn't a "oh you're a girl, a perfect wife for me" it is "you're awesome like captain crush. But you're also a girl! that's so cool it's making me have feelings for you"

He's a nerd that can recognize a girl's worth

"Oh yeah? if he does, then what's with that episode of paying one of the bully girls to date him to make Jenny jealous?"

Like what you said: he paid her to do his crappy bidding. There was something in it for her. Had she said no, I'm pretty sure he'd leave her alone and find some other girl who's willing. Please remember that this entire thing is an act done out of desperation (which had always been his motive to do his problematic actions to win Jenny). Had Sheldon been a misogynist/sexist/chauvinist, he would have done this in the earlier episodes AND had asserted what he wanted to do with the girl (whether she wanted to or not). He also wouldn't have done this to get Jenny's attention if this were the case.

"How about that time he fantasized about Q.T.2- "

Jenny had a nightmare of the same thing where she's an exhausted housewife too. That's not exclusively a Sheldon thing. And come on: Let's be real.

There are so many "A young couple in love turned into an unwanted marriage where the girl becomes the begrudging pregnant housewife while the guy becomes the neglectful wife-hating husband that does nothing but read the newspaper" jokes done in the 2000's, MLAATR isn't excluded to this. I don't know why the MLAATR crew keeps putting them in the show. Maybe it's to be satire, or it's to mock the false perception of romance, or perhaps because they think it's funny (it rly isn't ://). It doesn't change the fact it's a joke made in bad taste.

There's a lot more he's done or had experienced which are dumb or unpleasant, but I won't get into them. Because I don't think Sheldon's behavior and character in the show is the main factor in mistaking his personality.

if anything, I think the real reason as to why it's easy to mistake him as misogynistic/sexist/chauvinistic is because of how the majority of the community and (ESPECIALLY) the show treats him. Never mind that he made Jenny uncomfortable by stalking her. Nevermind that he did really cruddy things that could be reported to the authorities, he's our lovable nerd 🥰

It's an issue I think is still present with fictional characters today (take note: Marinette Dupain-Cheng). Wherein a very dangerous trait is often ignored because of the dorky charisma the character has. It's funny in shows or fiction, but it's not pleasant in real life. Would you want to be stalked by a "lovable" teenager who has a tendency to take your things for their own benefit? don't think so..

I can somewhat forgive the show though. Because even if they treat Sheldon this way, at least it also punishes him harshly for his awful actions. Regardless if Sheldon DID realize his mistake, apologize for it or not.

While it's important to take note of a character's awful behavior or portrayal of their behavior, I think it's also important to realize just what the character in their entirety. Yeah, Sheldon did those bad things, but that's not the only thing he did. There are moments when he truly felt guilty in his bad decisions and admitted to it, and there are even moments when he didn't react like a creep to Jenny. A notable episode of this is the fashion episode, wherein the whole time he had been what I think is what he truly is: a sweet, dorky nerd with a big fat crush.

....Ok so um... what to take out of this?

I'll repeat this: Sheldon's neither a misogynist, sexist, or chauvinistic

He's in love but got some unhealthy tendencies when dealing with it, most likely because he's socially inept or because he never got attention before and is afraid of losing it.

He doesn't immediately recognize his actions are unacceptable until it gets too far.

He's not a truly bad character though. He's proven in other episodes that he genuinely likes Jenny and has the potential to grow out of his creepiness

People are allowed to hate on a character, but they need to recognize when a character is really a misogynist/sexist/chauvinist or just a teenager that makes really, really, really s/tty decisions (because the writer/s makes them do it)

I rest my case

[phantomato]

I take issue with the concept of “out of character” (OOC).

It comes up frequently in meta spaces, in discussing tropes or ship dynamics or reviewing fics, and every time I see it, I want to scream a little bit. Mind, that’s a me problem, not a fandom problem. But this is my space, and I am screaming.

See, the issue I have is that OOC is nearly always used synonymously with disliking a fic/ship/etc. “Character A was OOC in that fic” means “I didn’t like that fic.” “Ship A/B is OOC” means “I don’t like ship A/B.” And disliking a thing is fine—my tumblr is a testament to the idea that I dislike many things—but what gets me is that by reframing a personal dislike as an objective truth, one can more easily condemn the fans who like the things that are ‘OOC’. There’s a veneer of respectability to it, even.

My tastes are better than your tastes because my ship is in-character (IC). My set of traits for A are IC. My favorite fic is IC.

It’s the same argument used to condemn alternate universes or original characters or readerfic—“Well, I read fanfic to see more of the canon characters and canon world, so why would I touch that stuff?” Except now the argument can encompass characters who exist in the canon, too, because someone writing A or A/B or whatever not to your tastes is interpreting canon incorrectly. Character A would never.

My problem with this is that interpretations of canon are inherently subjective. What I see as the core set of character traits for A aren’t likely the same as what you see, nor the same as what the hundreds, thousands, millions of other consumers of the canon see. There will be more and less common interpretations, fandom will coalesce around a few different definitions of a given character, but everyone has some line from the canon, some scene they can cite that gives them the impression that character A has a given trait. If we’re all basing our understanding of these characters in our subjective read of canon, how can anything actually be OOC?

I’ve got this theory that the label OOC gets used primarily for two reasons: bad writing and a mismatch of expectations.

Lots of fanfic is written poorly. That’s something to be celebrated, others have written about this topic, I won’t rehash it here except to reiterate its truth. And a hallmark of poorly-written fanfic, aside from the spelling and grammar errors and the like, is when a fic fails to live up to its ambitions. You’ve seen it before: an epic adventure plot that resolves too quickly and easily, a romance that drags for 50k words longer than it needs, the fic that balloons to hundreds of thousands of words without a clear plan, etc. Plenty of authors start with the core ideas that would make a successful story (A/B, enemies-to-lovers, forced proximity with a slow-burn romance), and then blow it because their pacing or dialogue or plot or whatever just isn’t good. It’s a bummer.

It’s also not OOC, in my mind.

I can see the blueprints underneath the story that align with canon characterizations. Often, it’s a matter of looking at the summary or tags or first chapter, where it’s clear that A and B both fit some widely-accepted standard for their characters. Things go off the rails from there because the fic doesn’t show us the emotional growth, or it wallows too long in their inner lives, or or or. But a poorly-written fic is no more proof of OOCness than stick-figure fan-art is proof that the artist drew the wrong body type for a character.

So, onto the next: expectations.

I mentioned earlier that fandoms tend to coalesce around a few different interpretations of a character. Protagonist A is written a certain way in het fics, a slightly different way in slash fics, and maybe there are some subtypes out there for when A is paired with someone on the same side versus someone on the opposite side of the main conflict, or when A is the older versus the younger character in the relationship. In gen land, A’s traits might center more around their trauma in gritty-realistic fics and more around their badass heroism in power-wank fics. And the more popular the character, the more likely there are to be a lot of subtypes with their own particular fanbases.

It’s usually also the case that fans of A are not fans of every single version of A. Maybe a fan is happy with all of the slash characterizations but not the gen or het, maybe someone is primarily here for the power-wank and will read any type of ship as long as it does the power-wank tropes, maybe someone really identifies with part of A’s backstory and that must show up in a fic for them to enjoy it. And what I see is that, when fans peer out across their boundary/preference walls and are confronted with other styles of writing the same character, they react negatively. OOC is one of the major categories of this negative reaction.

Which all makes sense in the way that their A, with a given subset of A’s canon traits and particular emphasis on a subset of A’s canon scenes, probably wouldn’t be a good fit for ship A/B or whatever it is that throws the reader off. But those A/B shippers aren’t writing that version of A—comb through discords or tumblr posts or Twitter threads about A/B and you’ll find plenty of citations of canon text or canon ideas that are used to justify why A/B is a fantastic ship, why it’s the best match for these characters and why it’s such a perfect distillation of who they are. The disconnect isn’t that A/B is OOC for A, it’s that people who read A in a different way expect that all stories featuring A must be written in the way they most like, the way that they personally interpreted the original canon. And that’s just not true!

Our subjective interpretations influence what we enjoy, what we’re primed to even consider possible. And, hey, proof of that is that plenty of the poorly-written fic I discussed above is perfectly popular with readers and interpreted as IC because the readers, like the author, understand the intent and can follow along from the same starting point, even if the journey is a bit rocky. Are there probable edge-cases where OOC truly is the most accurate label for a given fic? Sure. Are they nearly as common as a fic being poorly-written or the reader and author having mismatched expectations? I don’t think so.

So I’ve excised OOC (and IC) from my fandom vocabulary. I would rather say what I mean: I don’t like reading a given character that way. It results in far less needless debate over the ground truth of canon, and far more interaction with people who connect with the same things I do.

[albertfinch]

REPLACING THE GRASSHOPPER MENTALITY

"It shall be, in regard to their inheritance, that I am thieir inheritance.  You shall give them no possession in Israel, for I am their possession." - Ezekiel 44:28

The Lord wants to fill us with a holy desperation and a holy violence to lay hold of Him.  It's a hunger that will drive us into holy romance with the Lord -- to enthrone Him in every area of our lives -- it's a fresh hunger to come into such ONENESS  with Jesus that we die to ourselves and come into holy INTIMACY with Him.

"Do not labor for the food which perishes, but for the food which endures to everlasting life, which the Son of Man will give you, because God the Father has set His seal on Him." - John 6:27

God is desperately hungry for us to possess the promised land and lay hold of our CALLING in Christ.  We are to live in the very Glory of God.  However, we must daily overcome the spirit of the world and press behind the veil that is already torn that we might eat of the Bread of Heaven and look upon the blueprints of heaven.

"For the bread of God is He who comes down from heaven and gives life to the world....I am the bread of life.  he who comes to Me shall never hunger and he who believes in Me shall never thirst." -  John 6:33,35

THE BODY OF CHRIST IS LIVING IN PSALM 23 AND PSALM 24

Psalm 23 is all about the Priestly anointing/lifestyle and Psalm 24 is all about the Kingly anointing and taking the land by letting the King of Glory come in.

The priest must find the underground flow of God's presence and power even in the midst of the desert. -- die to self and learn to feast at God's table in the presence of their enemies. 

God is looking for those who have learned to feed upon Him even in the wilderness and have now become a drink for others to drink from.  In Psalm 23 even in the valley of the shadow of death we are feasting at God's table and we are in the place where oil is being continuously poured out upon our heads.

As we enter into Psalm 24 -- it's time to lift up our heads to the Lord and let the King of Glory come in and wage war through us.

WARRIOR MINDSET REPLACING THE GRASSHOPPER MENTALITY

"The people who know their God shall be strong, and carry out great exploits." - Daniel 11:32b

Many feel that their life is a waste and doesn't count for anything.  Hope deferred has made their hearts sick. They have no sense of DESTINY. 

But those who have been looking upon Him and feeding upon Him ask, seek, and knock until they understand and carry-out  God's PURPOSE for their lives and become radiant and the shame of their lives is washed away because they are tasting that the Lord is good.  They are shedding that grasshopper mentality and God is pouring the oil of an overcomer over their lives as they bear fruit that remains for God’s Kingdom.

PRAYER

Lord, I ask you now to pour out the Spirit of the Overcomer.  Let there be a supernatural release of the shout of war upon Your people.  I lift up my head to You and ask that the King of Glory would come in and breakthrough so that I can breakout.  Lord, stir me out of the wilderness and grip me with a holy violence and jealousy to lay hold of my Christ identity and CALLING in Christ.  May I be strong and bear fruit that remains, moving r your advancing Kingdom forward in the earth for your faithfulness and glory. - Amen

ALBERT FINCH MINISTRY

[milkbaer]

Eye of the storm

Nikolai Lantsov x Tidemaker!Reader

summary: »In the eye of the storm it’s always the calmest« — love hurts, even more when you met your lover again and things have changed. Especially when faced in battle love only remains a bittersweet memory. wordcount: 2.2k warnings: betrayal, angsty, hurt, „villainous“ reader a/n: played an online escape game yesterday and got inspired by it plot ... or its ending, both could be improved tbh. Bon appetite, i hope you all enjoy it. And thanks again to @sumsebien for helping me edit and finding a name :) ✨

Ravkan words

Milaya — Sweet Girl

Moya lapushka — my darling

His breath tickled your skin until he pressed his lips to your shoulder, you could still feel it, him. Even filled with exhaustion Nikolai couldn’t stop cherishing, loving you. Yourself always felt a bit disgusting, skin sticky and shining, tasting like salt. But he never cared how much you sweat or its reasons, sparing or bed, he simply couldn’t stop caressing your skin with his lips. Suddenly they were pressed flat again your shoulder blade, body laying against yours. You could feel his laugh vibrating through his body before it escaped his lips, light-hearted and true.

„What? Why are you laughing?“ You asked him groggily. But all he did was shaking his blonde messy locks, you never could resist playing with his hair, chuckling. Nikolai only admired you with a cheeky smile, hazel eyes twinkling. Never did he tell you what he found so funny, always keeping it to himself. „Nothing.“

„I am only admiring beauty itself,“ he said.

„How so? I see no mirror.“ Nikolai grinned at your words, pressing his lips to your shoulder blade in a gently but loving kiss.

. . .

„You don’t need to do this Y/N!“ Nikolai yelled, waves splashing around him, hitting the sides of his ship, mirroring his emotions. The sea was enraged, maybe more so than him. Maybe it was your doing, anger and betrayal boiling inside of you by the sight of your former lover pointing his revolver at you, his other hand resting on the holster.

His words were unheard by you, not drowned by the sea but you simply chose to ignore them. „I should’ve known that it was you behind Sturmhond. — That name is ridiculous,“ you spat, arms stretched and hands ready.

„Oh, Y/N there’s no need to hurt my feelings even more,“ he said. If you’d not threaten him with your powers, if there wasn’t the danger of battle, Nikolai would put his hand to his heart and pretend, very theatrically, to be hurt deeply. „My heart‘s already shattered.“

. . .

Head laying on his chest, feeling the beating of his heart underneath you. The steady rhythm calmed you but him telling you the story of a pirate with childish excitement in his voice did more. Looking up, lifting your head from his chest, loving the smile and excitement in his face, you said, „he sounds great, the pirate.“

Since sleep refused coming over you, even though your day had been busy, Nikolai gladly offered to tell his love a story. Not an old tale his nurse used to tell him as a young, tiny princeling. But one of a mighty, and very charming, pirate who loved to trick the rich of Kerch, Fjerda and Ravka alike.

„Privateer,“ Nikolai corrected you. „Not pirate.“

At that you rolled your eyes at him. For you there was no difference, just synonyms for the same occupation. „There’s clearly a difference.“

„Which is, pirates are very sexy and privateers not so much?“ You asked, earning a gasp from him.

„Are you telling me that you’re having a secret liaison with a ruthless, attractive pirate?“

Giggling you shook your head. „A friend lend me a romance novel with a very handsome and charming pirate.“ Nikolai looked at you with judgmental eyes, facetious telling you that he couldn’t believe you read such kinky literature. “Don’t look at me like that,” you said. “I know you read The Princess and The Barbarian. Don’t deny it, I saw a copy of it on your nightstand.”

He chuckled at that, thinking that he should’ve hid the novel in the drawer. Only few people, one could count them on one hand, knew of his love for these novels. Nikolai couldn’t explain it either but after dealing with politics, war and blueprints, these books were a nice alternative. “They’re not lewd, it’s fantastical romantic literature and very entertaining, you should try it too.”

“Hmm, maybe after you finish telling me your privateer story.”

He needn’t have been told twice. Smoothly, he continued the story where you had interrupted him, as if nothing had happened. By the smile on his face you, no, everybody even the king, could tell that Nikolai enjoyed this story. There was nothing but pure joy on his face, childlike enthusiasm. When he ended his magnificent tale, you smiled. “I think I like him, your privateer.”

“Oh, I bet you would. You know, he’s just like me, very charming and incredibly handsome.”

Playfully you scoffed, patting his chest lightly. “Don’t flatter yourself, honey.”

. . .

But it was all but a sweet, painful memory. Remembering his story, you should’ve known that he was behind Sturmhond and nobody else. Back then he had practically told you everything about the privateer, the tale and Sturmhond were almost identical. When he told you the story to make you fall asleep had he already made his plans to abandon Ravka, to leave his love behind all for a teal frock and the sea?

“You don’t understand, bastard prince,” you sneered, knowing very well that it hurt him when the one he loved referred to him as mongrel. It was easy for him to shake it off if his enemies called him like that, fuelling the rumours of Nikolai not being a Lantsov at all. But when someone familiar, someone you trusted and loved called you that, it stung. “You would never understand. I do this for Ravka, for the Grisha! No one should ever live in fear because they are gifted!”

“Y/N you’re right, no one should live in fear!” Nikolai gripped his revolver, secured in its holster, tighter when the ship wavered dangerously by your power. Not only did the true sea portray his emotions very well, they also captured yours perfectly, getting influenced by your anger. “But you’re not doing it for Ravka. This will not bring peace, not for the Grisha and not for Ravka! The only winner is the Darkling and he doesn’t care for you or our country!”

You scoffed, believing none of the lies your former love told you. “Do you? Do you care for this country?”

He wanted to say yes. Of course he cared for Ravka, its people and for you. But you left him gaping like a fish, stifling his words before he could even utter them. “No, you don’t. You left Ravka to do what? Play pirate? We’re at war and all you do is sail the sea to annoy rich men. Do you call that caring? Did you ever care about–“

“Milaya.” Sweet girl, you hadn’t heard that word in ages, not from him. Nikolai put his hands up, showing you slowly how he put his revolve back into its holster. He stood there barehanded in front of you with both hurt and anger portrayed on his face.

It was ridiculous, but that one word, one of his stupid words he used to call you, had thrown you off completely. After all that time, weeks and months of not hearing anything of him, thinking he had forgotten you, leaving you behind as if you meant nothing, he dared to use this stupid word?

Your fingers twitched; a wave of newfound pain raged through you. Without much ado, you let the sea crash against the ship’s side making Nikolai tumble in surprise and fall to his knee.

“You’ve no right to call me that!”

. . .

The warmth of the sun grazed you skin while the wind tickled it with moving grass. You shielded your eyes from the sun, tilting your head to look at the blonde prince on your right, who enjoyed the kisses from the blazing star. He looked absolutely beautiful, perfect and calm, truly like the heroes from fairy tales. It sounded cheesy, especially when you thought about that Nikolai would say the exact same about you, but you could watch him for hours. “I’ve read your book, it is really good.”

With a grin he looked at you with one eye. “Have I promised too much? I told you it’s fantastical romance literature.”

You giggled. “It is way better than I thought, really entertaining.”

“I can’t believe you hadn’t read it before,” he said, propping himself up with one arm and grinning cheekily at you. “But now that you know it, we can certainly reenact some scenes.” It was highly possible and believable that Nikolai would try out some of its scenes. He even would let you be the barbarian. Laughing and snorting you hit his chest, and he couldn’t help but to laugh along with you.

More time passed with you laughing and just laying beside each other, enjoying each other’s company. But when the clouds began to wind up, (big and fluffy but clouds nonetheless) their shadows on your face, you began to wonder. He was a prince and you Grisha. As beautiful as it was, this wasn’t meant to last.

“Sobachka,” you mumbled.

“Da, moya lapushka?”

“Will you miss me?” You asked, starring into the sky and watching the clouds slowly moving by. Nikolai didn’t know what has suddenly come over you, you didn’t know either which wave had hit you, but you didn’t dare look at him.

“Depends on where you are going,” he said nonchalant. “You’re the thief of my heart. I miss you the second you’re not by my side.”

Your heart felt heavy in your chest, imagining a life without him or seeing him in the arms of another made you want to cry. But your future was laid out like this. Nikolai was a prince, and you were a soldier of the second army, a tidemaker not a princess or diplomat’s daughter. You could serve Ravka only in one way. “I know tidemakers aren’t as useful on the field as heartrenders, inferni or squallers. And there’s a higher chance for you to die by assassination or as a solider…”

Nikolai looked at you, he knew where this was going, he knew what you were saying, and he didn’t like it. Even as the second heir to the Ravkan throne he sadly knew that he wasn’t holding the strings for his future love life. But he hated to think about it. Hated to think about you and him not being together, about you dying. Already he feared that enough.

“I know we don’t have a future together, but–” you began to sob. “I miss you. I will miss you from my grave if I have to.”

“Milaya,” Nikolai whispered, gently wiping your tears away. “Lapushka.” He took your hand in his, gently kissing it, letting his lips travel from one knuckle to another. “I miss you. I always do and I certainly don’t intend to leave you. So don’t rack your pretty head about it.”

. . .

Quickly Nikolai extended a hand but not to stop you, it was meant for his crew. It was crazy, he must have lost his mind but for now, he did not want anyone to interfere. Not even the twins were set into action, even though their power could end this tragedy in a second.

Nikolai tried to regain his balance on the madly swaying ship, knowing it was all your doing. When he finally could stand on both of his legs again, he slowly moved forward, step by step. Only for you to have him fall down again with another strong wave. He shouldn’t have but he felt proud of you, admiring your power and the way you could held yourself steady on your feet. “Y/N, love, I never intended–“

“Don’t call me that!” You shrieked, sending him back to the floor when he tried to get up again.

“I never intended to leave you.” Nikolai knew he couldn’t say that he hadn’t left you. Well, he hadn’t abandoned you. Not on purpose. When he got send to Ketterdam he swore to do the things lovers do, to send letters. First, he wrote you almost daily, mostly raving about how huge the university and interesting the city was, but also how boring classes were. Even when he got no letter in return, he kept writing, telling you monthly about his adventures on the sea only to forget it. Life as a privateer had been busy.

“Saints, stop telling lies!” You raised your arms, hands ready for the final blow. Your heart ached, still longing for the boy kneeling before you. But he had dumped you, left you in the palace, on the battlefield to play privateer. The Darkling had been right, he felt nothing for you. How would he ever understand what it felt like to be Grisha?

Finally, the tears you had been holding back for so long began to pour, streaming down your cheeks in sorrow and rage. “Don’t paint me as the villain! Everything I do, I do it for Ravka.”

“You never were the villain, love.“ His words got devoured by the sea. Blinded by your rage and pain, you let two big waves ravage over the ship’s deck, right where Nikolai stood. You couldn’t see much, your eyes grew heavy, tired, until they fell shut. The storm inside your heart was calming down, arms feeling weighty as tons. With a scowl you noticed too late that this must be the work of a heartrender, calming your heart until you fell asleep, like a raged child. The world grew dark around you, sedative and warm, letting you slip into dreamland and not even make you question why you were still alive.

[hysteriium]

𝑺𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑩𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑺𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑩𝒍𝒖𝒆;

(𝐆𝐢𝐟 𝐢𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞)

(𝐀/𝐧 ): This is the first I’ve posted in ages!!! I can’t recall how long it’s been, life has truly been hectic but I’m getting back on the saddle!!! We’re starting with my boi! I hope you enjoy it as much as I had fun writing this! I’ve been experimenting with the way he talks so it’s not as overt as I’ve previously written! I feel like the intonations may break the flow a bit so I’ve tried to make it more cohesive! Lmk what you guys think! Also shout out to my amazing partner @lilliryth​ they’re the light of my life and helped me edit this!! They’re such an amazing person and I would not be where I am today without them. 

( 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ): Wedding. That is all. It’s not what you think. 

( 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ): DK! Joker x Reader. 

( 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ): 7,600+ k words!

( 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ): Angst (very little), swearing, violence. 

The first time you’d asked, he simply stared in disbelief. 

“Come again?” The bright red hues of confusion painted his husky voice. 

The question had been wreaking havoc in your thoughts for the past month, unsure of how to slip out from ambiguity onto the sureness of the tongue. Such a bold yet silly little request was sure to be large and repugnant to the man hovering above you. While the darkness of his eyes was accentuated by his stygian greasepaint, hints of cocoa peeked through, prompting shy flutters of anxiety in your abdomen.  

You can do this.

Your tongue slid across the arid cracks of your lips, wetting them. You cleared your throat, “I need a date to a wed–” 

That was all you could get out before he blinked a few times and strode off.

The second time, albeit similar in difficulty, thankfully didn’t result in him running. 

You tiptoed into his makeshift office with an air of mischief, his room sombre except for the lamp that spotlighted his desk. Hunched over blueprints which you suspected were his next big scheme, his eyes never drifted from the intricacies on the paper. 

“Boo!” You shouted, catching his hips with an unbreakable hold when you closed the distance. While his body tensed, he couldn’t control the breath of amusement that left his nose.

“I can see you really tried there.” 

You knew he followed your stare when his long fingers worked to roll the sheet. They were fast – so fast the pinched ends stuck out in layered rings that almost resembled winding mountainous trails. He couldn’t have curious eyes ogling his extra top secret will-have-to-kill-you-if-you-found-out criminal plans, now could he? 

“What?” you started, while your hands fell and your footsteps whispered away from him. You felt the creases of your mouth wobble, ready to smile at any moment, and so you bit the inside of your tongue. “Don’t you trust me?” 

“No,” he smirked, petting your head. 

Curse his height. 

“Now, uh, what is it, doll?” 

You let your smile leap free, “I need to ask a super dooper big fav–”

“I’m not going.” 

“But whyyyyyy? My parents are harassing me! They think their daughter’s going to grow old and grey and be alone forever.”

“Gee, I can’t imagine why.” 

You shot him a look, one that only fuelled his amusement.

“J, I can’t just not show up.” 

You watched his figure rise slightly as he drew and released a breath. 

“I don’t like wed–” his tongue stuck out like he’d tasted something bad before he cleared his throat “–dings, they’re full of false hope, drunks and...” he shuddered, “romance. You see, they’ll end up killing each other in a few years. I can picture it now: dearly beloved wife kills cheating husband. Oh how could this have ever happened?” 

He scoffed.

“You’re so dramatic. I promise it would only be for a few hours.”

“And pumpkin, how exactly are you gonna sneak me into a… place like that when I look like this,” he said, hands motioning to his face – mostly his scars. 

It broke your heart. You could've sworn you heard it splinter, the downturn of your brows impossible to hold back. If only words were enough to convey complex feelings, to convey the pile of bricks nestled in your chest, to convey the desperate crave to comfort and rebut, the need to protect – even from himself. You had yet to find a way, and so you were stuck behind the thick lock and chain of language with no key in sight; restricted and bound to tools you never thought were enough, but could only hope were enough.   

“Hey,” you whispered, reaching up to cup his face. In his eyes you saw the emotions flicker, almost as tangible as they were transparent – anger, fear, shock. Stood still and stiff, you nodded softly, giving him a smile of equal warmth. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”  

He squinted before hesitantly giving in, shifting so his cheek rested against your palm. He had to lower himself a little more to do so. 

“There’s absolutely nothing wrong with how you look. They’re beautiful, and I’ll keep saying so until there’s no breath left in my lungs.”

You held him ever so gently while he flitted his eyes shut. Your heart galloped then, its swell too big for your body and for a moment, brief as the breeze, the chaos he prided himself in was absent; for a moment there was peace.

“If you weren’t The Joker, I’d say go as is. Though, I have a plan!” 

“Oh, do you now?” He said, shaking his head and returning to work. It was clear he was rapidly reaching his patience threshold.

Damn it.

“They have food!” You trailed off unsurely, as if it was a question – pinning your last hope on appealing to his raccoon inclinations.

It didn’t work.

The third, well… 

You had just about given up and accepted the fact that it wasn’t his scene, that him meeting your parents would never be an option – a reality you had started to think of as a good thing the more you thought about it. 

And so, the third day had been your acceptance. Self-care. Instead of chasing after an ideal, your hands were clutching a book, almost too hard, as the part you had been anticipating since very early had reached its finale. With your legs curled underneath you and practically asleep, your eyes flicked furiously from word to word– 

That is until a looming figure shadowed the page completely, concealing all light from the lamp next to you. 

Annoyance creased your features as you looked up at the clownish culprit. Your eyes met and a staring contest ensued, the intensity of his eyes beckoning a response until he, uncharacteristically, broke first. 

“Will this make you, uh, happy?” 

All traces of irritation were washed away by bewilderment, “sorry?” 

“My being with you.” 

“You mean to the wedding?” You asked, wide-eyed. If you hadn’t been as shocked as you were, you would have snorted at his continuous inability to say the word ‘wedding’. 

He shifted on his feet, eyes darting away for a second before he licked his lips. “Yeah.” 

“Is this a joke?”

“I’m not that cruel.”

You paused to hum obnoxiously, your finger tapping your chin to challenge the notion.

“Never mind,” he waved his hand in the air and was about to walk off before you grabbed his hand and sprung off your seat. You felt him try to wiggle out of your grasp with a grunt, but it was too late. “Thank you!” You shouted. 

You missed the way his surprise melted into a genuine curl of his lips, twitching; the muscles unused. Instead, you were too busy stuffed in his vest, with your arms swathed around him. You both stayed there for a while basking in the warmth of each other, as his hands, which you guessed were hanging awkwardly in the air and unsure of what to do, encircled your waist.

Third time’s the charm. 

Shaking fingers twirled sapphire silk, gliding over your cinched waist before finally moving up to the delicate exposed flesh of your neck. You glanced over the spaghetti straps that curved comfortably over your shoulder, and the simple silver circle necklace that laid between them, its chilled presence clashing with the heat of your skin.  

Knock knock knock!

“Just a minute!” You said, jumping at the sudden rude intrusion. 

“Not even funeral parlors take this long,” you heard J say from the other side, the distinctive departure of footsteps following promptly. They seemed faster than usual.

You puffed air at his complaint after calming your racing heart. Then you scrambled to finish up the final touches of makeup, at last winding the nude colored ribbons of your heels around your calves. Your head felt light, and your shoes only worsened the sudden gelatinous state your legs took on. Never before had you dressed up in such a way, not for years and much less in front of someone you dearly cherished. The line between fashionable and laughable was blurred and never truly had been exercised. Waving away the fuel your anxious thoughts provided, you decided to try and move. Your heels wobbled trying to avoid the flowing material pooled by your ankles, and you’d just managed to slip one foot out through the thigh-high slit. No matter how much you sighed, the pressure remained, weighing like an anvil. And so, with nothing much to lose, you made your way to the door; the dampness of your fingers leaving its foggy signature upon the knob.

This was it.

You breathed in one last time before opening the door.

“Okay, I’m re–” 

You exhaled sharply, feeling the earlier intake of air leave you – taking with it the remaining wind in your lungs. You couldn’t control the twinkle of your eyes, nor the flip of your stomach as you gazed upon him.

His form was angled against the wall and his arms were crossed – that was, until he dragged his eyes over to you. His limbs then dropped to their sides and he quickly, almost stumbling over his shoes, righted his position. The bob of his Adam's apple was clear while both of you stood meters from each other with widened eyes. You knew he had the ability to pull off a suit, but the royal blue he donned was stunning. The stark colour complemented his blond locks, while his foulard tie with its blends of pinks, purples, and its navy base matched his socks. 

It seemed you were both in the same boat, consumed by swells of giddiness and the need to fidget. The fingers that were dressed in dark brown leather gloves drummed against his thigh, while one of his cedar suede shoes tapped furiously against the floor.

“What.” He finally stated, rather than questioning. 

You dropped the necklace your fingers had started circling. 

“Nothing! You just look… really nice,” you uttered earnestly, unable to contain the sweet smile that broke through awe. 

“Yeah, yeah. Uh… you too,” he said, the last part coming out less steady. 

He avoided eye contact when you trotted over to him, fiddling with his cufflinks, though his tending to them immediately vanished when you began to accentuate the swish of your hips. 

All fidgeting stopped.

You were sure he was expecting something else, rather than the delicate cupping of his cheek once you reached him, soft lips meeting with roughened skin as you kissed his scars. You took your time with each one, whispering affection, before claiming his mouth. He growled against you, and you could feel him tighten his hold. 

The tip of his tongue traced the stain of lipstick, a wordless demand for entry which left you weak. Almost parting your lips to allow the gentle slide of his tongue, he suddenly reared back with a smirk. 

“Peach,” he cooed. 

You were going to have to reapply later. 

With a small smile you extended your arm to the couch, and knowing time was beginning to pass, he complied. As he advanced, you peeked at the orange lining in his blazer. The hue was similar to his purple coat, though slightly lighter. You smiled to yourself, the small detail so characteristically him. 

“Alright. Let’s get this over with,” he sighed, bracing himself. 

Already a step ahead, you had brought out the makeup needed just prior to getting dressed. Sitting on one of the nearby surfaces, you picked up a small translucent bag with little red hearts on it – a fact he’d snickered to himself at when he first saw it – and walked over to him. 

“As you wish, grumpy,” you simpered, “now hold still!” 

True to his new title, you heard him mutter something unintelligible under his breath. The tap-tap-tap of his foot against the floor was most of the noise for a good while, and although distracting, the fidgeting of his hands was less noisy. You knew more than anyone he needed to squirm around, some movement at the very least, and so you endured. You deduced that he’d not been this close to someone in so very long, let alone allow them to do his makeup. That task, intimate and personal within itself, was not something others could be trusted with. 

“Time to hide these little guys,” you murmured, focused as the beauty blender sat between your fingers and dabbed on concealer. “Not that they need hiding. I’ll miss them.”

“Really?” He chimed in, eyes shut while you did your work. 

“Yeah, they’re a part of you and I’d never want you to hide or be ashamed of who you are.” 

“Hmm,” he trailed off. 

Occasionally his mouth quirked, his tongue darting out to lick his scars; an involuntary movement. You were patient, and even if he wasn’t overt about his guilt of messing up your progress, you reassured him lightly with a kiss on the head, sometimes playing with the dirty blond waves that lacked any sign of green. 

The day before he’d washed out the colour in preparation for the big day, groaning until he caught sight of himself in the mirror; contemplative. Ethereal and almost delicate he seemed. How precious it was to witness such cracks in the fortress, where the basking rays of sun illuminated what once was – and still is, only shrouded by shrubbery and thorns, so overgrown and disordered that they had forgotten to take care of even themselves. Forgotten how.  

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he groaned as you finished blending the concealer on both cheeks. Grabbing the foundation you had colour matched, you dabbed a bit on your hand before applying that too.

“Honestly, me neither,” you replied, feeling no need to sugarcoat the shock from your tone. You knew he appreciated the truth. “But I’m glad you are! You’re doing so well!” 

He squirmed a little at the compliment but settled seconds later. Soon after finishing the blending, you reared back and observed your labour. Although it wasn’t perfect, and if you looked hard enough you could still see the intricate crevices in his skin, it passed. 

“All done!” 

As soon as you spoke, J pushed off his palms. He was halfway off the chair when you stopped him.

“Wait! I have to walk you through something.” 

At this, his eyebrows quirked up. You knew you had his attention. 

“Conditions!” You announced.

“Ah. Now there are conditions.” 

“Yes! I don’t want you to throw a tantrum and blow up the whole reception.” 

“My my, aren’t you a little fire stopper.” 

“Promise me.”

He flicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. With one hand on his chest and the other raised just next to his head, he bowed a little. “I swear.”

You wrinkled your nose, “I swear there will be no funny business, and I’ll be on my best behaviour – oh and no crossing your toes either!”

“You know me so well,” he sighed, admitting defeat, “Fine. I swear there’ll be no funny business and I’ll be on…” he cleared his throat and brought a closed fist to his mouth, “my best behaviour.” Then he shone his impishly wide grin, one that only intensified the pit of doubt in your stomach. 

It would have to do, though.  

“Okay,” you whispered. 

He stood up now, towering over you. 

“Okay,” he mimicked, dropping his hands at the base of your hips. 

The last few days had been full of surprises, his agreement to attend trumping all. However, his overt display of affection was a close second. Never before had he been so forthcoming and so comfortable with physical contact. 

As his hands laid there, unmoving and making their home in your curves, you inched closer to him; a specific craving only his warmth could ease. Though, those very same hands around you tightened when you tried to step forward, holding you in place. Curiously, you looked up at him, brows furrowed. 

“What are you–” 

It seemed he couldn’t help himself. The evil laughter he’d been trying to restrain bubbled from his throat and bounced off the walls. The eagerness to ask what he was doing quickly died – hard – when you could no longer feel the ground beneath your feet. It instead morphed into protests and occasional bouts of laughter as your arms dangled along his back, your pelvis against his shoulder. One gloved hand rested crudely just below the curve of your ass, occasionally squeezing your upper thigh and holding you in place, while his other arm hung unobstructed. 

“We–” he clicked his tongue, “–wouldn’t want to be late now, would we?” He finished, purring. 

The location was a couple hours outside of Gotham on the coastline in an area you’d practically never heard of. If it wasn’t for J’s gift for navigation, and his frustration when you kept leading him down wrong turns, you would have been hours late instead of just missing the ceremony. The last straw had been assuring him the early exit was your turn off despite his gut instinct, despite the countless times he asked ‘are you sure?’ and despite his sneaking glances – something he stopped doing when he almost crashed into the car next to you, too focused on craning his neck. All of this combined had resulted in the brutal demise of your map reading days. 

Stopping where he could after taking the wrong exit he held out a gloved hand, a wordless demand for the navigator. Before long, you were back on the freeway, thankfully heading the right way. The directory rested in his lap as he balanced the seemingly breezy tasks of reading and driving. 

Clearly safety was his middle name.

Once the two of you arrived at the venue, the first thing you both noticed was the heat. Warm and uncomfortable, the seabreeze made this bearable. The next notable feature was the rambunctious clamour of the crowd; music, laughter and shouting. 

After worming your way out of the van, comically wedged between two much smaller cars, you headed towards the reception, stopping short from the asphalt-sand border. J stared at it as if it had foiled his genius villainous plots, as if it was the cause of all his misfortunes, as if it was responsible for the brutal murder of his first pet. Then, he made a face – a mixture between a scowl and disgust. 

He sniffed, “it smells like...” he paused to grimace, “high society.” 

The ghastly look was then directed ahead to each moving – breathing – organism he could see. There was no doubt in your mind the crowd had already made it on his hit list.

“For once I miss the stink of Gotham.” 

“Well at least it’s at the beach!” You exclaimed, not recalling the last time you’d been. Trying to think that far back made your brain hurt, the tingle of overworked cogs and Brain Fog a lethal combination that coerced your forfeit in seconds. At the very least you were happy to be making new memories, hopefully some you’d be able to remember in the future; memories you prayed were not, later too, guarded by the merciless Brain Fog and his ravenous desire to generate headaches.  

“I hate the beach,” J delivered flatly, hatred distilled rolling off his person in waves.  

“Oh, you hate everything!” You pouted, brushing off his pessimism. 

“It’s hard not to.” 

“Well…” You stopped to think, wracking your brain to prove him wrong, “what about me?”

That had to get him. 

“You especially,” he grinned, eyes twinkling with a mischief that spoke nothing other than ‘you walked right into that one, sweetheart.’ 

You were unable to help the sigh that sailed past your hued lips, “well, come on sunshine. You can’t stare daggers at them all day.”

“I can try,” he spat sourly. 

You rolled your eyes and dragged him along but immediately dropped the act when you quickly realised it hauled unwanted eyes, like metal to magnets. Yet, J followed even though you were certain he saw the cursed asphalt-sand barrier as the very gates of hell themselves. In fact, he seemed a little bit too eager to start his anathematised exploration of the 9 circles as when you looked back, expecting to see his long limbs hanging in defeated protest, you were met with, well, nothing.

One moment he was there, the next he was gone seemingly stalking off into the unknown, hiding among the sea of people. It wasn’t like he was easy to lose either, his height and his aura of absolute discomfort is what set him apart from the rest. He protruded like a broken bone – so why couldn’t you find him?

“Damn it, J!” You harshly whispered to yourself, unknowingly stamping your foot until the insidious specks of sand tumbled their way into your shoe, under your feet and between your toes. Easily conquering your layer of protection, their coarse presence made you want to grind your teeth. 

Maybe this was a mistake.

Before you could go off and search for the lost irritating puppy, you heard shouts. At first they seemed like ordinary yells, distinctive deviations from the crowd which happened to catch your attention at the right moment. Though, the more time passed and you wandered around like a newborn giraffe looking for its mother, you realised this was not the case. Most telling was the way those vague cries morphed into the familiar syllables of your name. And then finally in view, the supposed sweet comfort of childhood embodied neared; their worn features staring into your own, different from all those years ago. 

You fought the urge to run. 

“Hey honey!” Your dad beamed.

Two pairs of smothering arms made their way toward you, enveloping. With your fingers clutching separate materials, each as scratchy and glacial as each other, your head started to spin and you felt yourself holding your breath. 

“Hey mum, hey dad, it’s nice to see you two again,” you said, feeling the slow ache from clenching your jaw starting to set in. You quickly swapped this expression for a small smile when they released you.

“How’ve you been?” Your dad inquired, the shimmer in his eyes a sight you couldn’t help but double take at. You noticed there was no glass in his hand. 

“Don’t bombard her dear,” your mum rolled her eyes, “where’s this date you were telling me about?” 

She lingered on the word with an emotion you couldn’t quite discern while her adjudicating eyes swept over your outfit. Her eyebrows then lifted, scrunching her nose with it. “Not bad.”

Her scanning forced you to shrink into yourself, the automatic motion of your palms relentless in their pursuit of wrinkles, a fact you did not pick up on until your mother cleared her throat at your unprompted staring contest.  

“My question dear, it’s rude to ignore your mother,” her thin brows creased and the folds just above them rested along her forehead in a similar fashion.  

You scrambled for an acceptable answer, the question just as ambiguous to yourself.

“He’s… um… getting us drinks! I was actually just about to go check up on–” 

“Well if a man can’t even fetch you a drink he’s hardly useful,” she scoffed, turning to her husband to whisper, “can’t imagine what this prince charming looks like.” 

Anger, lava-like and boiling, rose up in your throat. The pressure seemed unbearable as you tried to keep your mouth closed – tried not to defend the one you loved with your entire being. How dare she judge someone she had yet to even meet? She had yet to see the beauty that radiated in and out. 

It had only been minutes and you’d already been zapped of your energy for the day.

“I think I should go check on him now.” “Yes, of course. Come back to me when you have something to show,” your mother smiled. You watched her lips stretch, her wine lipstick as pigmented as the red coating your vision. 

Her hand clutched the necklace around her chest. Her fingers traced the glistening diamond which hung overtly, screaming it’s pricelessness to all passersby as she went to go have another sip of her champagne. At the corner of your eye you noticed movement, a pair of worn hands clutching suit pants. Hard. You turned automatically and when you met his eyes your dad shot you a strained smile. It almost looked like an apology. 

Your stomach turned. 

You tried your best to conceal the stomping as you promptly departed, promising yourself to at least wait until you were out of their view and blending in with the crowd. Once you merged with the patches, you quickly discovered that navigating your way out of it was going to be just as hard as trying to find J. Left and right amalgamated, looking the same no matter how many times you tried to compare differences and so did everyone’s outfits. You could have sworn you’d seen the same red dress three times, though you also could have sworn you went all different directions to the last; the truth was you were no more knowing than a sailor stranded at sea lacking a compass, the same indistinguishable shapelessness stretching out for miles and miles with no end in sight.  

Then, a miracle – a clearing of people which shrieked hope and a long portable table with flowing white lace harbouring all kinds of food. Amongst the good news, a blotch of royal blue caught your eye and a flash of blond. Focusing your view on the table and its few inhabitants, one of which was the blue wearing stranger, you quickly realised your missing date was fixed and firm in place at the snack area. No sooner than this revelation processed you dashed over, the anger returning once the relief had run its fleeting course. As you stormed your way over to him he failed to look up, too preoccupied with the food he was collecting. Lacking in subtlety, you grabbed his arm. 

“Jesus there you are! I’ve been looking all over for you!”

J, who had been waiting to stuff his face with what you identified as another cupcake, mouth ringed with strawberry frosting, crumbs and sprinkles, dropped it in surprise and turned to you with widened eyes. They shrunk as soon as they showed an inkling of surprise and instead shifted to speckled guilt. 

“Cupcake,” he managed to mumble with a full mouth.

Your fiery frustration was immediately put out by how cute he was, and you felt a surge of guilt yourself. It wasn’t fair to be taking out your personal frustrations on him. 

After closing your eyes and taking a breath, you reset. 

“They think I’m lying about you.”

He swallowed.

“You wanna leave? I, uh, know I want to,” he said much louder than the whisper you wish he’d used.

Such a comment warranted an elbow jab into his waist as you smiled ear to ear and sickly sweet at the passing guest who had clearly heard J. The middle aged woman with short brunette hair, white pom-pom earrings and beady eyes shot you two a blazing look before rutting her nose into the air. The reek of pretension wafted off her. Now you could see what J was saying earlier. 

Pee-yew. 

Everyone here sucked. 

“I’m gonna kill her later,” he murmured, squinting after her. 

“J, you promised to be good!”

Even if she was a grandiloquent old bitch who deserved it.

His ominous response was to pour himself some punch, the clown-in-disguise bringing the plastic up to his lips. As the cup masked most of his face, the only thing visible was his deadly gaze which bounced from congregation to congregation.

“How much longer.” Again, it wasn’t phrased as a question, more a statement. 

“The bride and groom haven’t even danced yet.” 

He scrunched his nose, though dropped the subject. At least verbally.

“You’re so crabby. You do know that you’re drawing even more attention to yourself this way?” 

“Hmmph.”

It was silent for a few minutes before, without warning, he grabbed your hand. The hesitant and jagged strokes of his thumb followed and even though they belonged to a novice, the delicacy was still there.

The message was clear: 

I’m new to this. 

Your lips upturned, the gentle quirk hidden by transient hair flowing along the salty breeze. His touch was warm and paradoxically amiable; his presence a shelter cutting the chilly current that had picked up around noon. Stained lips, of which you had forgotten about until the sticky residue imprinted boldly on his glove, aimed to ease his buzzing mind. Expecting a grumble for the lipstick mark, what you got in return was the soft gaze of dark brown eyes – a sign of taming raging waters. He didn’t seem to mind, in fact the window into his soul for once could be identified as just that – a window; crystal, without the dirtied stains of camouflage and trepidation. 

Something had changed. 

Before you could get another word in, it was announced the bride and groom were going to have their first dance. The crowd gathered around the newly wedded couple as the music suddenly switched. The speakers were loud as they played a waltz, the couple’s limbs intertwined and swaying to its dramatic pace. They twirled and swayed with the grace of swans tiptoeing and beguiling the creeping ocean on the golden sands. Even though you knew virtually nothing about them, and were convinced that in fact this whole invite was your mother’s scheme to pry, the sight was a beautiful one to behold. The epitome of love – reciprocal trust and utter surrender; it had you wondering where you’d gone wrong previously, and if such a thing was as formulaic as it seemed to be, or if they were freefalling into the abyss as much as everyone else was; blindfolded, but nonetheless with each other. Welded in each other’s hearts.

How long had you projected your yearning at the couple and vicariously lived through their magical moment? You couldn’t say, though it was only the sudden grip on your shoulder that had managed to break your fixed admiration. It was firm, but nowhere near the realm of rough, and it even contained a fraction of gentleness, an action that wordlessly said ‘are you okay?’

At the sudden presence, you looked over your shoulder to find J, his guarded eyes holding a knowledge which only deepened the crawling feeling of embarrassment. Blood rushed to your cheeks. As you rounded your gaze back to the couple, you quickly saw the crowd was beginning to join them, all dancing at their own pace as the music continued its intimate lull. J’s hand slid down your arm while you watched and returned to hold your hand. Content and about to lean into him, your sudden love struck daze pounced away when he started to walk, dragging you along with him. 

“Hey– what are you doing?”

No response. 

“Let me go!” You said, your tone coming out a lot angrier than you’d expected. You guessed this alerted him because even though you were mere meters away from the rest of the crowd he stopped to explain. 

“I saw the way you were looking at them. You know, cupcake, you’re not hard to read,” he drawled.

You pursed your lips, looking away for a moment. 

“So what? What are you doing?” 

“What does it – ah – look like?” 

He’d seemingly taken your lack of response as a positive and continued forward. He grinned once he had you in position and placed his palm on the small of your back, his thumb rubbing gentle circles. He then maneuvered his other hand to grab yours and stretched it forward. From his first few steps you knew immediately it was the Viennese Waltz. The fast tempoed dance was one you weren't all too familiar with, but you’d learned its slower English counterpart.

“I didn’t know you could dance,” you gasped, trying your best to conceal your astonishment. You didn’t want to seem rude, though he just didn’t seem like the person interested in such a thing. Nor have the time. You were certainly finding yourself more curious about the origin of such a talent, and all the other potential abilities that were sneakily tucked away. 

“Well aren’t I just full of surprises.”

He dipped you slightly in time with the halt of the orchestra. He held you there for a moment before the tune resumed its boisterous charm, climbing steadily to its crescendo. 

“Here’s to another,” he said, his smile widening. If you didn’t know him so well you would have believed the expression to be completely innocent and honeyed. Standing there intertwined with his limbs you knew that devilish gleam was anything but. 

And, seconds later, this suspicion proved right. 

Suddenly he lifted you, twirling you around in such a way that made you feel like you were the bride. You’d only seen such a thing in Disney movies and cheesy rom coms – to be cherished, to be loved and cared for in such a delicate way was a fantasy; a taste of nostalgia and a serenade to the hopeless romantic within.

“J, put me down! Put me down!” You felt yourself swallow when his hands tightly gripped your hips. For a moment the irritation you’d experienced all day from a full face of makeup and wandering had all been worth it. 

His laughs slipped out, too; a direct contrast from his often irked facade, a musically heart-warming phenomenon which no instrument could emulate. The whole time you kept your eyes on each other and never once did they deter, focused on drinking in the beauty of each other. The cheers from the crowd you’d gathered fell upon both your deaf ears, transfixed by each other’s magic in your own closed off bubbles. 

As you continued to dance, the act itself felt like flying. The crowd separated when you neared – that is, until everything stopped. Sharp and prompt. 

Neither of you had much regard for the abrupt bump when it happened, there were people everywhere and mistakes occurred. It was no big deal. At least that’s what you told yourself until such a collision was followed by a violent shriek and a splash. 

Loud gasps replaced the background noise of applause.  

In a few frightening seconds your brain made the connection – linking who you’d just seen in the same area minutes before, inches from the ocean. 

“Oops,” you squeaked, too scared to turn around. However, despite your better judgement you did just that. 

The groom stood in shock, evidently unable to come to terms with the sight he was seeing. One moment his new wife was safe within his arms, dancing as if it was only two of them in the universe, the next she was below him, swimming with seaweed. Then, his form began to tremble, a telltale sign that what was to come was nowhere near the realms of good. 

He turned around with searing red eyes, a wrinkled nose and bared teeth. The eyes of the bull met the petrified, and his stubby, squared and well-manicured finger pointed directly at you. 

“You fucking bitch!” He roared.

You jumped, feeling yourself cling to J. His arm wrapped around you reassuringly and although you trusted him with your life, being confronted by a raging groom was still nonetheless intimidating. The groom who apparently cared more about telling you off than helping his wife, who was still floundering in the crashing waves, began his march over to you. 

“Do you know who I am?” He continued, and you wondered if he was still aware there was a crowd around. J almost instantly stood in front of you and had to hunch further to scowl at your aggressor.

“What was that?” J grabbed the man in front of him and slipped the blade hidden in his sleeve between the groom’s lips, angling it against the crease of his mouth. 

“Hmm? Why not try your luck, princess. Say it again.” 

The groom froze, the flicker of fear evident even on your end, though he kept up his brutish facade. 

“You’re both going to be 6 feet under when my dad’s through with you.” 

“Aww… run along to daddy so he can fix all your problems,” you could hear the pout in your boyfriend’s voice, comfortable and in your eyes even elated, to spit out the toxins he’d been gathering from just being here all day.

“So you do know who I am–” “The second most spoiled kid of Gotham’s underbelly.” 

“And yet, you’re still holding the knife.” 

“Of course the first would be your brother though, hmm?” J continued, completely ignoring the man's statement.

The groom gritted his teeth. 

“I bet it stings to not be the favourite. To not even have him here on your big day.”

“I’m going to fucking kill you,” The groom spat, bullseyeing J’s shoe. You saw red pooling at the corner of the man’s mouth, the mere act of expectorating on your boyfriend’s shoe more urgent than self-preservation. 

Yeesh. 

“Now that’s not very hygienic,” J growled, wrinkling his nose. His grip on the knife tightened and in one quick motion, the groom was screaming. 

While you couldn’t see the infliction from where you were positioned, the blood dripping onto the sand was clear as crystal. The screams of those around you were piercing, their horror and disgust forcing you to cling tighter to your boyfriend.

“J, please! That’s enough, it’s okay!” You pulled on his blazer. Feeling the hundreds of widened eyes staring holes into your being was no longer a concern. What mattered most was him. Getting out of here. 

With a quick glance to his right, J met you, then looked back at the groom. 

He smacked his lips. 

“Seems you are lucky,” he purred, the shimmer in his eye reflecting nothing of the warmth he concealed so carefully – nothing of the warmth of when your eyes met. Instead, it was serrated and reflected jeopardy. He possessed the force of a hurricane. A gravity; the way in which he commanded the direction of things and uprooted the fortitude of the righteous, the sure, a mothernatured finesse. 

He looked back at you again before shifting his hold on the man, fisting his wrinkled and bloodied shirt, then barked, “why don’t you go join your blushing bride?” 

With the element of surprise, J raised his knee and shot it between the man’s legs, the man falling down almost as fast as the foreign presence made an impact. You could have sworn someone at the corner of your eye jolted, most likely fearing the worst while others let out shrieks. Fear of the unknown, the seduction of one’s imagination and its ability to fill in blanks was the most manipulatable aspect of consciousness. Rather than bleeding out and rocking lifeless against the cradling waves like so many had thought, the groom sat there, soaking in the shame of defeat and crimson. He hollered while his new wife crawled to his side. 

“Tell your precious father I said ‘hi.’”

All eyes now turned to you both as you speedily departed, J dragging you along once more. The colony of sand in your shoe that had begun its formation hours ago was well in its breeding season now, the leathery insole most likely buried along with the newly wed’s marriage. Before you fully exited the cooperative crowd, forever to forget the merging faces of horror, two familiar ones caught your eye. 

Hah!

“Some date, huh?” You smiled, staring at your mother straight on. The way her face twisted up in a myriad of emotions – surprise, disgust, embarrassment – was something you’d never forget. You were sure you destroyed her little snobbish social circle by the mere association. Pride swelled in your chest, a childish victory that didn’t seem so childish when you later reflected on your relationship with her. 

When the two of you escaped back to the van successfully, there was a moment of contemplation. 

“I – heh – think that went well!” J laughed to himself, rounding his body to face you, “you think your parents like me?” 

“I think I should be asking the same to myself,” you said.  

“Cheer up buttercup, at least your parents know you’re not dying alone anymore.”

“To be honest, after that shitshow they’d probably prefer it,” a sigh left your lips and you began to bite them, unconscious of the small action until the taste of metal blew up your taste buds.

“Eh. Who needs parents, anyway?” 

You began to fiddle with your hands, suddenly finding them incredibly interesting. From the lack of interruptions you concluded he knew you were miles away, trapped in the wilderness of your own thoughts.  

“So I’m guessing you only came because you found out whose wedding it was.”

It took a lot to break the silence, and the air suddenly shifted to a heaviness. You weren’t sure you were the only one tensing. 

J clicked his tongue but didn’t answer. 

“It’s okay… I think I’ve had my fill of weddings for a while, anyway. And parents. And honestly, maybe people,” you answered for him, despite the swirl of hurt brewing in your gut. 

He breathed out his amusement. The lack of transience had you swallowing, frantic to keep the growing weight on your chest from expanding – from consuming your entire being with emptiness. You didn’t know how long you had until the stampede made its mark, the thunderous thuds of terror already echoing in the distance. 

Those were only thoughts you could entertain alone, sunken in the decaying paradise of your bed. 

Silence prevailed again.

Dazed and lost of direction, you remained fixated on the lines of your palms. 

“The husband had a temper. You know, I thought they were so lovely at first.”

“That’s what they want you to believe. Their little golden castles sparkle in the sun and it’s only until the rain pours that you can see them for what they really are. Wet cardboard. Looks can be deceiving.” 

“They certainly can be,” you looked up at him, smiling softly. 

Even with the friction, you slowly reached up to cup his face. This time on his end, there was no fear or hesitation. Instead, just an unspoken mutual trust between two wandering souls. You looked down at his lips while your thumbs stroked the hidden lines of his scars. The gentle caresses wore down the makeup until finally they were visible again. 

The marks of a survivor – beautiful and bold.

“Wait,” he said, the word simple and yet so labyrinthine. He reared back and looked at his hands while your own moved to rest on your knees. Curled into fists, his slowly unclamped like a blooming flower. What they revealed had your heart thumping, dancing its rhythm in your throat. You felt your eyes widen and the sadness immediately leave you, as if all its colour had been drained from you. You felt like a 1930’s cartoon, so shaken to the core that all you could see was greyscale. 

“It wasn’t the only reason,” he whispered, the commanding presence absent.  

He cleared his throat and finally looked up at you, “in fact, these were my only reason.” 

“You son of a bitch,” you bit your tongue in awe at the binding pieces of metal in his hands. They twinkled in the holiday rays, beckoning, unuttering whispers of fabrication. Was the weight of those dual bands as heavy as his heart? As heavy as the solemn expression as he processed your jabbing words?

“I-I know it’s not much but–” he stuttered, and was promptly interjected. 

“Oh! No, no, no! I didn’t mean–” 

You both smiled. Yours wide and brazen, his small and seraphic. 

“My J. Always starting fights, always getting what he wants,” you took the ring from his finger and darted to your left hand, slipping it on its rightful throne, “how can I resist?”  

You kissed him mellowed and full of saccharine and he sighed, his reciprocation just as tender despite the usual dash of coarseness. 

“Mine,” he murmured, resting his forehead against yours. He fluttered his eyes shut and his breathing began to steady. 

“Mine,” you whispered. 

In all that was and all that ever could be, never would you have believed such a moment possible. Magical and idiosyncratic, you wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. Nothing big and extravagant in front of many eyes. Just the two of you, inside what you now considered the best moment of your life. What many described as a lock and chain, a prison for the rest of one’s life, you would describe as the only thing you had ever wanted. As much as before, everything felt complete. 

Supernal.

You don’t know how long you stayed like that, breathing in unison, basking in each other. All you knew was that it was all too soon when you hit the road again, starting the long journey back to Gotham. After a lot of the same scenery – trees, cars, rocks, more cars and occasional bodies of water – your eyes had become leaden. Resting became impossible to oppose and before long your eyes gave into its stinging demand. 

Somewhere within the haze of half-consciousness, a mysterious material was draped over you. It was silken on the inside, your arms softly grazing it occasionally, and linen on the outside, your chin brushing over it when passing uneven roads. Subtle ripples of cologne drifted from the fabric as you finally fell prey to sleep’s siren song. 

“Sleep well, sweetpea,” lulled a sweet voice.