#trying to switch it up and not just say '.... effervescent'' to everything like this

[icewindandboringhorror]

Bad quality images, but in this park I've just come across some of the roundest pigeons I've ever seen.. they look like they've both swallowed baseballs or something.... impeccable

[novembertwentynine]

Soda pop, my efferevescent energy

I have 5 names. My middle name, Shasta, has been, quite literally, a source of my identity, personality, and insecurity for my entire life. It is the name the people closest to me use, from my family and closest friends.

However, as will be further discussed below, in college, I started avoiding introducing myself with my middle name Shasta and began going by my first name. This allowed me to save time, for both others and myself. Namely (no pun intended) myself. I have never felt that my first name fit me or my personality, but because of it, I have been allowed to code switch and control how people react. It saved myself from embarrassment.

Because of my middle name, teachers, new friends, strangers, and others alike have paused to make sure they heard it wrong. When I introduce myself, most people fall into two categories. Category 1: the best people and the type of people anyone should have around are those that say, "Shasta? That's beautiful," and comment on how it is unique.

Category 2: "Like the soda?" We can divide this into subsection a) and b). In a), "oh, that's interesting," and don't say anything further. In b) people -- often men, even those who try to flirt with me -- will often quite literally chortle at me. "Haha, like the cheap soda!" (Like that's going to get a girl to take a drink with you.)

Speaking of drink....

Yes, like the soda.

I have always accepted my name, because my parents have instilled in me a sense of pride in my name. My parents think it is a unique and beautiful name, and have always told me so--and for parents to instill pride in you at a young age is a rare thing. Expected, but stlil rare, and affects you for the rest of your life.

Even so, it has been a source of my insecurity for the people in Category B.

My husband, however, grew up with me, and I remember it being the most comforting, reassuring feeling when he called me the first time nine (9!!!) years after our high school graduation. It felt safe and accepted. He never once has made fun of me in school and to this day has always commented on how my name has flowed.

I now go by both my first and middle name. Both have been an avenue that I can use to control a conversation and perceptions in both professional and work settings. It also depends on my mood. in my experience, most people do remember the name Shasta. I barely remember my first name. But it allows me to avoid the embarrassment and having to answer, "yes, like the soda"

I know I could choose not to respond, but more often than not, people have been rude and insulting.

Then I ran across the word "effervescent" on Tumblr's homepage description and it makes sense. Lively, bubbly, enthusiastic. Again, bubbly. Everything just makes sense. I am bubbly, like the soda.

Cheers!

[blouisparadise]

Here are some amazing bottom Louis fics that were posted or completed during the month of July. We really hope you enjoy this list. Happy reading!

1) Jealousy, Jealousy | Not Rated | 1163 words 

Harry gets jealous when James Corden hold his Louis in his lap and pets him on the Late Late Show. He shows Louis who he belongs to and takes care of him.

2) The X-Factor Judge | Explicit | 1635 words 

Harry watches the X-Factor and gets jealous about Brendan jumping on Louis. When Louis gets home Harry reminds him whom he belongs to. 

3) Didn’t Know You Had It In You | Explicit | 1807 words 

Harry sleeptalks and reveals his kinks which Louis is more than happy to try out.

4) Mine | Explicit | 1979 words 

"So you been single for a while now?" Louis gulped as the vibrator slowed down sending a thankful look to Harry before glancing back at the interview who was looking at him with great interest,

"Uhhh yeah," he replied keeping his answer short and brief. He straightened his back shuffling slightly on his chair as the vibrator shifted inside of him hitting his prostate causing him to let out a small gasp as grimaced at the interviewer who just grinned back. She must be an excellent actress or just stupidly oblivious.

5) In The Moment | Explicit | 2611 words 

Note: This is part 2 of this series.

Where it's their first time and Harry is being all fluffy and encouraging Louis to say his name and other dirty stuff?

6) Salvation Under My Breath | Not Rated | 2858 words 

Louis is pregnant...

...and Horny

7) The Sight of You Brings Forth a Peace In Me | Mature | 3254 words

Louis loses inspiration and goes on a nature walk to find some. The inspiration takes shape in the form of Harry. 

8) Put Your Sweet Lips On My Lips | Explicit | 3435 words 

Note: Part one of this fic is #23 on this list. 

Adjusting to one another’s life came as naturally as the sun rising in the morning and brightening the sky, chasing away the darkness that had dared to lurk in its absence. They did not side step each other, did not second guess their instincts once they were finally together. It was the crash of roaring waves - reckless in their paths - but upon meeting had unified into calm waters in the vast sea.

Living with Harry was like a breath of fresh air. In all his years, Louis had never felt alive. He supposed there was some credit to be given to how devoted Harry was to him. The man would rather step in a raging fire than let him suffer even a trace amount of agony.

9) Fuck U (Even) Betta | Explicit | 3568 words 

Note: This is the sequel to this fic.

Harry had sensed Louis was getting antsy all day, prodding and poking at Harry’s psyche like a game of mental whack-a-mole, trying to find that one thing that would flip the switch and push Harry over the edge. Even after all these years Louis still thinks he can get a rise, that he can in any way control the scenario. He couldn’t be more wrong.

10) We Act Like Nothing Is Wrong To Avoid What’s In Front of Us | Mature | 4179 words 

Louis sends nudes meant for Harry to the wrong person on accident. Harry finds out. Rough sex ensues.

11) Love's First Bite | Explicit | 6135 words 

Note: The pairing in this fic is Louis/Zayn.

For Zayn, love was never a part of life’s equation, not when you’re considered a lowly vampire while working in the Vampire’s royalty club, Love’s First Bite. He’s bitter and resentful and sees no point in looking into his past or future. But when Zayn saves a human named Louis, it all changes. He finds something special in him and, more importantly, someone worth giving up everything he holds dear.

12) Your Blueberry Eyes | Mature | 6154 words 

Louis tattoos and Harry falls for blues.

13) Blow Me Away | Explicit | 6471 words 

Louis likes giving blow jobs.

He doesn't exactly get off on it – he's been with people who properly loved it, and he's not quite that into it – but he doesn't mind the feel or the taste and he really, really likes watching his partner lose it, so getting down on his knees regularly is a no brainer.

Which is why it's a bit frustrating that every time he does, Liam hauls him back up again.

14) Thank You For This Prom Night | Not Rated | 6554 words 

Note: This is part 3 of this series.

It's Prom Night. Stuff happens.

15) Can We Make It Anymore Obvious? | Explicit | 6628 words 

Five times the boys accidentally walked in on Harry & Louis plus one time they did it on purpose.

16) It's The Way You Love (I Gotta Give It Back To You) | Explicit | 8153 words 

Stretching, Louis finally pulled the duvet aside and let his feet fall onto the plush rug at his feet. Louis lived for soft, comfortable, plush things. From the fairy lights and fake plants to his plush robe and thick socks, everything in Louis’ little one bedroom apartment was carefully catered to his whimsical and soft aesthetic.

17) My Eyes Want You More Than A Melody | Explicit | 8315 words 

Harry’s brain is short-circuiting at an absolutely awful time, the more expressive side of him is falling to pieces for some reason. The only responses he can give are venerated vibrations and nods, the feeling of Louis’ sweaty skin sliping him further into nothingness. Lightly dewy thighs, so muscular and plush— his lips feel just the same, so dangerously soft, a devious intention lying behind it all. “You’d do anything for me,” Louis mumbles, teeth tugging on Harry’s bottom lip, eyes dragging from his sinfully pink mouth when he lets it go to his hooded green eyes. “Isn't that right, daddy?” Harry whimpers— something that’s so foreign to him— but nods, trailing his hands up his shaved thighs, fingertips passing the hem of the dress.

18) Running Is Different Than Going | Explicit | 9018 words 

Note: The pairing is Louis/OMC.

On the run, the last thing Michael expects from a stranger is help. Louis offers him everything he needs so he can keep running, but makes it harder than ever to continue doing so.

19) Quarantine, Baby! | Teen & Up | 9615 words 

Note: There is no smut, but it contains mpreg Louis, so we’ve included it in this monthly roundup. 

When Harry and Louis get a little too bored in quarantine, they turn to each other for some x-rated entertainment. Then, what starts as a COVID-scare, turns out to be something completely different.

20) Effervescent Horizons | Not Rated | 10676 words 

Note: This is part 6 of this series. There is also no smut, but it contains mentions of bottom Louis, so we’ve included it in this monthly roundup. 

They go to college together!

21) Moments | Explicit | 10726 words 

Looking back, Louis should’ve known that the universe likes to fuck with idiots like him who think they’ve got it all sorted.

Looking back, he should’ve known that the minute he relaxed and let his guard down, when he thought things were going smoothly, that’s when it would hit him.

Looking back, he should’ve known to be on the lookout for a curveball.

He just hadn’t accounted for that curveball to have long legs, green eyes, and dimples; a curveball named Harry Styles.

22) The Blood Is Rare (And Sweet As Cherry Wine) | Explicit | 14270 words 

Note: The sequel to this fic is #8 on this list. 

"Officer, I see you're giving away my secrets already," Harry said as he entered the room.

"It's hardly a secret," Louis accepted the delicate glass, cutting a glance at the man when the underlying scent hit him, "A little early to indulge in such things, isn't it?"

"You've had a long morning, I'm sure. Merely looking after your health, Officer," Harry smiled.

"You don't need to concern yourself with that."

"Someone has to."

23) Violent Delights | Not Rated | 76174 words 

Prince Harry is arranged to mate Princess Charlotte, but first he must spend a month completing courting traditions which ends in a mating ceremony. When he arrives to the Tomlinson castle, he finds the forbidden North wing holds that which the family has worked hard to keep secret. Mainly: the sickly sweet Prince Louis, who’s rare gender has forced his family to keep him locked away for his own protection.

24) Truth Behind Golden Eyes | Explicit | 228727 words 

Louis is a royal servant born with magic in a kingdom where his sole existence is outlawed with a war he has no idea he has a part in upon him. Harry is the prince on whom the burden of mending a broken kingdom falls upon and he might be willing to risk it all for a simple servant if only he admitted it to himself.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

You can find other monthly roundup fic rec lists here.

[musicallisto]

♕ — 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐞 𝐬𝐨 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝; (anya x f!reader)

summary: “Well! What you need right now is a little bit of spirit-lifting. And I know exactly the medicine.”

prompt: “How long as it been since you’ve slept?” song: dodie - Would You Be So Kind | 𝄞

author notes: my entry for @locke-writes ’ 1.5k writing challenge, and also my first time writing for anastasia! I hope you all enjoy this <3 (i don’t know how to say this but anya is dani and reader is jamie from thobm i don’t know why it makes sense but it does). I wrote this in second person at first then changed my mind and switched everything to third, then changed my mind again so if you see inconsistencies in the pronouns, that’s why (lol i’m a mess)

word count: 1.6k features: a bit of sad Anya, but mostly fluff; singing and music. this is really not my best writing but i’m rusty and overworked so please don’t insult me

𝐎𝐇, 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐎𝐎𝐑 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃.

“Who is your great-grandmother?”

“Queen Victoria...”

“Who is your great-great-grandmother?”

“Erm — Princess Victoria of Saxe-Coldburg-Saalfeld!”

Through the beaten mahogany doors, Anya’s attempts at ladyship have been reaching your ears all day. Enthusiastic in the beginning, they have grown progressively more frustrated as the night has swollen, and your friends’ demands with it. There’s little in courtly life, you imagine, that Anya hasn’t tried her hand at yet.

Oh, the poor child indeed.

“Your best friend is...”

“My little brother Alexei —”

“Wrong! Your best friend —”

“I know who my best friend is!”

The outrage in Anya’s voice is almost as palpable as the bitter cold in your room, adjacent to their rehearsals; you can’t help looking up from your book at the closed door, as if it could tell you how to avoid the collision threatening your group. You grit your teeth, both in empathy and apprehension.

“What a temper!”

“I don’t like being contradicted!”

“That makes two of us!”

“Continuing on —” Vlad tentatively interjects, but Anya and Dmitry’s exasperation, even muffled, is clear in their voices. A second more and one of them will snap; although you’re uncertain which of the two short fuses will go off first.

“I’ve had it!”

Ah, so Anya it is.

“I hate you both! I’m sorry that we ever met — I’m hungry, I’m frightened, and I’m only human, don’t forget! I don’t remember anything — get out and let me be!”

“Anya, darling...”

But Vlad’s soft tone, ever the cunning mediator, is not enough this time to alleviate the young woman’s turmoil; and before he’s finished his sentence, raging steps echo in the vast hall, and a door slams — your door, at the step of which Anya stares you down, blinks in confusion, frowns, then lets out a harrowing sound.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N, I didn’t know you were here —”

“It’s alright. You can stay here as long as you want.”

Anya lets out a long exhale, heavy as a storm cloud, and slumps down on the foot of your bed with a resounding thud. Her shoulders crumple over themselves like bruised wings, and silence falls on the vast house.

But you can’t keep your attention on your book for very long — not only because the living story before you, defeated and worn, is much more vibrant and bewitching; also due to the racing of your heart whenever Anya stands near you. From the moment you’ve laid eyes on her, and even through the dust and gloom of your night, she’s kept that same regal beauty to her — something neither tatters nor amnesia can erase. It’s not in a long-lost parentage, you think, but all in the way her soul rustles with excitement at anything new and beautiful... rare are the souls, in Saint Petersburg, that gray skies and red stars have not yet tattered.

“They’re making you go through everything, aren’t they?”

“Heavens, yes! It’s too much, and I just want to go home!”

You set your book aside, directing your full attention to Anya.

“How long has it been since you’ve slept?”

“Maybe before the horseriding lessons — I can’t even remember!”

“Horseriding? Was that before the mazurka?”

“Yes, and before ten in the morning! Do you know the order of arrival for each guest at an Imperial ball? First, the Great Princes who come through the entrance in the Saltykov lane, then the bearers of the Court Ranks...”

“Anya, I don’t think that’s neces —”

“And married women must wear diadems! Is that not idiotic? What if I’m unmarried but don’t want to wear flowers in my hair?”

“I think you have way more important problems than your Imperial headpiece, like breathing.”

As if on cue, she takes a sudden gulp of air, and her reddened face, constricted by irritation, somewhat relaxes; maybe from the oxygen, maybe from the slight, amused smile that has crept onto your lips.

“Why haven’t they trained you to be Anastasia?” she resumes, her mouth now curled in a pout.

“Have you seen me?” you chuckle, all holed clothes and creviced skin, but your eyes loving. “I couldn’t even pass for Anastasia’s dog keeper.” (She can’t tell you yet, but she thinks you would make a wonderful princess, gracious and intelligent; but she blushes at the direction her thoughts are taking.)

“Dmitry could be the dog.”

“What a lovely sight.”

You settle into a comfortable silence, cross-legged together on either end of the bed, as the biting wind howls and claws at the window outside; but neither of you feels the cold. December is long forgotten, glowing dim as an ember, as long as you keep your gaze on Anya’s appeased face, the blush on her cheeks, and the romantic delicacy of her features.

“Do you believe you might be the Grand Duchess?”

Your question is but a whisper, and you fear she might not have heard you, even more so since she doesn’t turn her head to face you; but rather her gaze clouds, immobile in the flickering white light. A mist of melancholy traverses her face. A second later, it is gone, save for the last specks of snow in her eyes that never seem to melt.

“I don’t know. I don’t know anything,” she responds truly, her words equally as quiet as yours.

“Well, for starters,” you pick up, a little louder this time, “if Anastasia had the temper people say she had... you’ve got that covered.”

She chuckles, like the tinkling of snowflakes twirling in the wind.

“She does sound like she was a lot of trouble, doesn’t she?”

“I think she sounds pretty charming.”

But before you can let the silence stretch for too long, and worry to crease Anya’s porcelain skin again, you enthusiastically slap your thighs and jump from the bed.

“Well! What you need right now is a little bit of spirit-lifting. And I know exactly the medicine.”

After rummaging through the mountain of clutter piled in the corners of your room — what in the world are Vlad’s sketchbooks doing here anyw-- Christ, so that’s where that book was all this time! — you brandish in triumph a triangular-shaped instrument, the one you carved yourself in leftover logs, on a particularly freezing night, the one the three of you painted with care until the crack of dawn to keep you warm and joyful.

“Oh, play me something, please!” Anya’s childlike passion engulfs your heart as you clumsily test out the chords. The balalaika is worn and sanded off at the sides, and severely out of tune, but your hands find their familiar places without hesitation, and the sound of the instrument is clear enough for the both of you on an exhausting and windy night.

You pick up speed, falling into a melody you once knew; what fragments you can’t remember, you improvise, and try your best not to grimace; but Anya’s leaning over, eyes and smile wide as though she wants to drown in your music, and all of a sudden your chest has started to sing on its own.

“Would you be so kind as to fall in love with me? You see, I’m trying; I know you know that I like you, but that’s not enough, so if you will please fall in love, it’s only fair...”

Your eyes leave the strings as your voice rediscovers the words, your fingers the notes; Anya, in front of you, nods her head to the rhythm she savors for the first time, her foot keeping time unconsciously. If she ever had a childhood, this is surely what it was made of: soft, loving voices, gleaming eyes, a ray of light on her face, and the irrepressible urge to laugh.

"There’s gotta be some butterflies somewhere, wanna share? ‘Cause I like you, but that’s not enough, so if you will please fall in love with me...”

You’re grinning wide too, now, but unaware of it; all you see is Anya and her joyful brilliance, and you could swear that despite all the weariness in her body and the bruises on her soles, she’s ready to jump around in utter liberation. If only the music descended by itself from above your heads, you think, and you could drop the balalaika to dance with her — a dance she might enjoy, this time, a dance she doesn’t know the steps to!

Soon enough, you start giggling, without really knowing why; maybe from the silly wiggling of the shoulders Anya does, or maybe from the overflowing of light and sun in your chest; and it’s a pain to let out the last words between your uncontrollable laughter, even more after Anya starts laughing too.

“Oh, I like you, but that’s not enough... so if you will please fall in love with me...”

And so, after your grand finale — holding the last note a little too long and a little too high, and stroking the strings a little too fast like a Russian bolero —, the song comes to an end, the notes hanging in the air like your suspended laughter and hitched breaths... and your sparkling eyes lost in the sea of each other dare to hope, for the first time, that something might happen...

... but it doesn’t.

“Thank you for cheering me up,” she pulls back with a sincere smile, and you can’t fight the cruel disappointment seeping in your chest. Of course — you’re still in Saint Petersburg, where dreams have died long ago, and she has a fate much larger than yours. Still, you return the kind smile. She deserves as much; she deserves everything.

“No, thank you. For letting yourself be cheered up.”

The wind is still howling outside the window, but it carries, like an effervescence, the distant music of a balalaika, and you remain hopeful, your hand resting next to Anya’s.

If she would be so kind...

tagging; @softeninglooks @fives-cup-of-coffee (all my writing) ; @bravelittlesunflower @lxncelot @amortensie (musicals)

[lixiefe]

Can’t Touch - k.sm

Chapter Fourteen: Enough

Words: 2k

Disclaimer: ocd people (or anyone with something in general) actually make more out of a situation than normal people would and react strongly. For example: if they hurt someone unintentionally or intentionally, no matter how trivial that is, it will eat them up. And they’d stress over it for the longest time. 

Warning: angst (?)

~.~

You didn’t know what the reason was behind your husband’s uncanny behavior. Everything seemed fine since the start. Your greetings were filled with sweet talks and fluttering eyes, yet, your husband seemed to have a total switch in the span of six hours. You were drowning in apprehension, in a constant worry. Did I do something wrong? Did he not want to see me?

Your lift ride to his house was nothing but sheer silence. Silence that stretched too long until the both of you were eating on the table. Even the food seemed to depict Seungmin’s rather angry demeanor and unbearable silence. Even though he was the demure type, this was pretty unnatural.

“Did I uh..” you began courageously, fiddling with your fork. You looked towards your moody husband, who hadn’t paid you any heed as he continued to focus on his unfinished platter. “Do something wrong?”

Your husband paused, gently keeping the fork down. You saw him lift up his head with an apologetic look. He stayed quiet for a few moments, staring into your doubtful eyes. “I’m sorry I made you feel that way,” Seungmin replied, placidly. Your eyes widened at his sudden apology and you rapidly shook you head.

“No, no. That’s not what I meant,” you reasoned. Seungmin looked at you in confusion, hands returning back to his fork as he looked down. You didn’t know why he avoided your gaze but you paid it no mind.

But in reality, Seungmin felt so stupid. The latching feeling in his chest was persistent and he knew it was irrational. Yet he couldn’t seem to avoid it, he couldn’t help but feel envious of his long-time friend. And he felt like you weren’t happy with him. You deserved so much better, and he was not your worldly prince charming. Surely, you weren’t in to be jumbled into an arranged relation, much less fall in love with your husband.

“Then what did you mean?”

You were startled at his rather harsh tone. He had always spoken to you with such tenderness, that it unexpectedly hurt you when he transited a punitive intonation. You ignored the little ache you felt in your heart as you tried formulating an answer.

“I mean, umm, you’ve been a bit different. Since, uh, we came back.” That came out as more of a question than a statement. You knew you seemed dubious of yourself. However, you were highly disappointed when your husband swiftly ignored your words. He continued to eat his supper as if he had heard nothing at all.

Undoubtedly, it hurt you. Much more than you anticipated.

You quietly resumed eating with the aching feeling in your chest. Unknowingly, your lips turned down and eyes fell back. You didn’t like the feeling at all, but you had no intention of asking your husband anything further. You felt like it would only sadden you.

You’d left your husband to wash the dishes, with guilt, forcing yourself to believe that he preferred it. However, you stood there in the living room, motionless and deep into thoughts. You didn’t know what, or who, you were waiting for. But you had no control as your feet remained glued to the tiled floor, heart wavering in anticipation of what you did not know.

Your ears perked up as soon as you heard the faint footsteps of your husband; and you looked up, only to see the said man staring at you with hard eyes. You felt intimidated under his gaze, suddenly coming to the realization that you stood here for nothing. You shuffled your feet, trying to find the route to your room which had left your mind long ago.

“You must not be happy with something like this.” Your husband uttered. You paused in your actions, a frown covering your face as you looked up at him. He looked like a guilty prisoner, face struck with remorse of something you didn’t know. A million questions flooded your brain and you desperately tried to look for a reason, anything, for his sudden assumption.

“What?” you whispered, but that remained unnoticed, yet again.

“I mean, it’s arranged. I understand.” He said, sullen yet his tone was coarse. Your mouth hung open. You couldn’t recall any moment that’d have given him the impression that you’re unhappy- because this is arranged. If anything, you talked with him like a lovesick teenager. Was he that dense, that oblivious, of your growing feeling?

“Just to remind you, I’m no one for you. You’re free to your wishes,” he hesitated, licking his lips in the meantime. “You have freedom for anything. Have a love-life, roam around. If you’d think I cared, I don’t.”

A lie. A whole painful lie.            

His statement was not vague, yet so indicative of things that not once crossed your mind. And you repeatedly thought to yourself, what initiated this? You wondered what he took for your wishes, or the anything you wanted to do. Your love-life? Sure, you didn’t tell him that none of your firsts were fulfilled, you were intact to the point that it was embarrassing. But why would he think that you’d want to have extra-marital relationship with someone, that too, giving you full freedom for that. Did he think you’d cheat? That you’d get so fed up with your needs that you’d seek others?

He said he didn’t care.

You had your dignity, self-pride and principals. You didn’t have many boyfriends, or fictional lover-boys when you wanted but you weren’t one to cheat when you were married.  His every word seemed like a knife to your conscience, a dagger to your heart. All you wanted to do was point your finger to chest and tell him he was so so wrong, and that he was a jerk for not acknowledging your feelings. But you didn’t. You only looked at him in disbelief drawn all over your face.

He said he didn’t care, why should you?

“Neither of us wanted this. You were forced into this anyways--”

“Enough, Kim Seungmin.” You said, stern. You didn’t realize that your voice was quavering, you didn’t realize that you were shaking. Your hands formed a tight fist and you felt your energy leaving you all at once. You were wordless, mind blank with only his daring words circulating around.

With the limited energy you had, you ran away. You couldn’t hear any more, you were petrified. Your hands shook as you slammed the door with a loud after-noise, hands tightly wrapped around the knob as you shut your eyes. You took heavy breaths to calm your raging heart that screamed at you to throw a fit on your husband. You were fuming, yet your heart ached with an unknown pain.

And a lone tear left your eyes.

Back in the silence of the living quarters, Seungmin stood with remorse engulfing his heart. His let out a small shriek of frustration, fisting his hair in his hands. The only thing in his mind was you, and the possibilities that you’d gotten enraged, that you’d went farther away. He didn’t know what irked him to say stuff he did not mean. It wasn’t him. It wasn’t his conscious mind that spoke, it was his envy; his insecurities.

They say nothing is more dangerous than sincere ignorance and conscientious stupidity. And that’s exactly what he was doing. He was weak, who couldn’t fight against both his irrational emotions and neurotic fears.

And he knew, he fucked up.

---

He didn’t know if it was your innocent smile that stretched farther to your eyes. Or your crinkling crescent eyes, that sparkled in the fluorescent yet illuminating moonlight – and constantly changed colors, wondrously. Or your effervescent charms that lured him into a bottomless pit. Or if it was your every little thing, that sought to be the cynosure in his naked eye.

He didn’t know exactly what entranced him but he was so infinitely intoxicated, with you. Wordlessly, he was captivated into an inebriate daze, which tempted his very mind with your luscious lips and his dire desire to engulf them in his mundane ones- and pull you into a passionate kiss. One that illuminated all his senses, with the underlying love and infatuation he harbored.

Yet, that wasn’t enough. It was never enough, because, he never knew if his reveries were realistic. There was no predetermined presentiment that could ensure that- his fantasies were however, not impractical. That his unsaid desires were not quixotic.

And he was proved wrong.

Because you were his salvation and he could do anything, and everything, for you. That included conquering his terminal fears. And if it was for you, clouds and skies, he was more than ready.

And again, he found himself creepily staring at your beauty in the middle of the night, with his unheard apologies. He was too much of a coward, to be talking to you in your sound sleep. Even though his apologies, his guilt and self-loathe remained unheard by you, he wished you’d listen to his sincere heart; wished you’d look past his mistakes, inside himself. But that was so selfish of him.

He sat there, admiring your unconscious state. You still had a small crinkle in the middle of your forehead. Seungmin thought to himself; was it because of him? Was it because of the hurt he caused you? Of course it was, you were upset and it was even visible to blind eye.

The overpowering urge to kiss you seemed to grow ten-folds, expanding by mere seconds. Seungmin’s eyes cast down, a struggling frown covering his face. He contemplated with himself whether he should just try; try to touch you, try to calm this stubborn desire. But that was hard.

If he decided on his heart, he could find himself trying to scruff traces of you, when all he wanted was to engulf himself in your scent. It was a confrontation between his heart and his mind. And he didn’t know which to follow. Because both came with an advantage and a fatality.

Choose your heart.  

Yet, just moments ago he was willing to do anything for you. So why not? Why not test out just how ‘ready’ he was?

And with that thought in his mind, for the first time, he was voluntarily leaning in towards you. He didn’t care about that damn disorder anymore. He didn’t care what side-effects it brought. And he didn’t care about the boundaries it set for him. Right now, all he wanted was you.

You who stole his heart.

He pressed his lips against your forehead, closing his eyes in relish. One of his hands held your cheek, touch feathery. He stilled there for a few moments. It was a kiss of longing; the longing that will only build up more. He didn’t know when again he could gain courage to kiss you like this. And now that he’d tasted the pleasure of such a measly act of affection, he wanted more.

He pulled away after giving a chaste kiss on your forehead, releasing with a smooching sound. He kept his hands on your cheek, face still close as a satisfied smile crept up his lips. His eyes grazed over your face again, as if memorizing every details he could see; drinking in the sight of your effortless beauty in the glowing moonlight.

He leaned away as his hands slid away from your face, already reminiscing the velvety texture of your skin. He heaved a contented breathe, one of his hands lifting up to touch his own lips. The ones that came in contact with you. And he smile broadened.

He wanted to go back to admiring you, ravished by his own feelings. But it was his time to return to the parameters of his room. Except this time, he would close his eyes with a smile on his face, and sleep with the satisfaction of his achievement. Heart thumping and cheeks warming up with a buoyant tingle spreading across his chest.

“I’m sorry, my love.”

And it was in that night that he realized, he was so irrevocably in love with you. And it was more pleasant than anything he’s ever felt.

a/n: alright so i became poetic writing this. :’) the unveil tracks are killing me. 

[letterboxd]

Grand Gestures.

Casually breaking new ground for the rom-com genre, writer-director Natalie Krinsky tells Dominic Corry about creating her quietly revolutionary new film The Broken Hearts Gallery—while leading man Dacre Montgomery reveals his Letterboxd habits.

“Good, bad, ugly. The whole lot. I love reading the bad reviews. I’m all about it.” —Dacre Montgomery

An antidote to 2020 malaise if ever there was one, the upbeat, emotionally frank and unapologetically sentimental new big-screen romantic comedy The Broken Hearts Gallery is here to lift your spirits and mend your broken heart.

Blockers and Bad Education star Geraldine Viswanathan leads the film as Lucy, a New York art gallery assistant prone to hoarding physical memorabilia from past relationships. After being dumped and fired in quick succession, Lucy meet-cutes Nick (Stranger Things break-out Dacre Montgomery), an aspiring hotelier with a large empty space on his hands, in which Lucy decides to stage the titular pop-up exhibition, filled with objects representing lost loves.

Proving there are still plenty of new places to go in the well-worn rom-com genre, Krinsky’s film is generating passionate responses on Letterboxd, where fans are celebrating its contemporary sensibility. “Refreshingly modern,” writes Anne. “Diversity is easily achieved and there’s really no heteronormativity. People are just people, love is just love, and that’s what wins me over.”

“Definitely a very 2020 film,” writes Jovi. “It couldn’t have been written in the same way even ten years ago. It captures being in your twenties in the modern day perfectly.” “Bloody loved the female empowerment and the unconventional narrative and characters,” enthuses Meg.

Geraldine Viswanathan and Dacre Montgomery in ‘The Broken Hearts Gallery’.

Reading through the reviews, the most common reaction is praise for how unapologetically inclusive the film is, in a way that feels appallingly novel for a mainstream film. As Krinsky explains it, “I wanted to make a film that was reflective of the world that I see around me and the world that these characters would inhabit if they lived amongst us mortals.” Or, as Montgomery casually states, “I think it’s where we’re at in 2020 with casting and stuff.” The ease with which the film does this indicts most of modern cinema for its lack of representation.

Krinsky’s inclusive casting and characterization decisions stretch across the entire cast, encompassing that essential feature of modern rom-coms: the quirky ‘best friend’. As well as lending authenticity and personality to the leading characters’ lives, the bestie is often where the ‘com’ in rom-com comes in. The Broken Hearts Gallery has an abundance of quirksters, from Lucy’s roommates (who include Hamilton’s Phillipa Soo as saucy, serial heartbreaker Nadine) to Nick’s straight-talking BFF Marcos (a very funny Arturo Castro).

But the chemistry between the central couple is everything in romantic comedies, and The Broken Hearts Gallery benefits greatly from its fresh-faced, emerging-star leads, both of whom are Australian. “We had a rapport with each other much faster maybe than usual,” Montgomery says of his and Viswanathan’s shared background. “I haven't worked with an Australian actor or actress overseas so that was really nice. She’s a wildly talented, comedic actress. It was my first foray into this sort of genre. I was sort of shit-scared and she’s really held my hand through it.”

Geraldine Viswanathan and director Natalie Krinsky.

Krinksy, likewise, was blown away by Viswanathan’s talents, having seen her work in Blockers and Hala. “She does this great physical comedy in Blockers, and then in Hala, she plays this really vulnerable, dramatic teenage role. I was so taken by her ability to pull both of those completely different parts off. I just immediately had this feeling, which I hadn’t ever had before, of: ‘this is Lucy’. She’s got this comedic timing that is very much like Lucille Ball, it’s got this effervescence to it. She’s able to do so much without saying a word. And then she opens her mouth and it’s a gift.”

It’s no small thing for Viswanathan to have been cast as Lucy. Many an actor’s career has been made by a leading role in a romantic comedy, and—current industry upheaval notwithstanding—Viswanathan looks set to break out even further with her performance here. Montgomery’s and Krinsky’s enthusiasm for her work echoes a central theme in The Broken Hearts Gallery: when Montgomery first met with writer-director Krinsky about the film, she told him the story was somewhat inspired by the idea of seeing men support women in their careers, as Nick does with Lucy. “That was a big thing for me,” he explains, “because I have a lot of really strong women in my life that have supported me—my partner, my mum, my grandmother, so on and so forth.”

Those who know Montgomery from Stranger Things will be interested to learn why he pivoted to romantic comedy. He tells us he was looking for something diametrically opposed to his break-out performance in that show. “As a viewer, I love comedy. As an actor, can’t think of anything scarier. I function in this realm of ‘plan, prepare, do everything the way I know’. The great thing about this was it was ever-evolving. It really did force me to come out of my comfort zone.” (Montgomery will pivot again for his next role, which he says is “kind of a dream role. I can’t speak about it now… Again, it’s 180 degrees in the other direction, so it is a wild ride.”)

Krinsky is also switching things up, career-wise. The Broken Hearts Gallery is her first feature film, after cutting her teeth in television writers’ rooms (Gossip Girl, Grey’s Anatomy, 90210). She credits that environment for training her to fix storytelling problems on the fly. A story a decade in the making, Broken Hearts came from her own romantic aspirations and fears. “I had had many conversations like [the one Lucy has early in the film with Max (Utkarsh Ambudkar), where he dumps her after telling her she’s ‘a blast’]. So that certainly came from my life. I’d been fired from my job. I was moving apartments and I was going through the detritus of these past relationships and kind of trying to figure out what I was going to keep and what I was going to hold on to. You kind of pepper in those things [that are] reflective of relationships in your twenties.”

‘The Broken Hearts Gallery’ director Natalie Krinsky.

Going into the film, Krinsky was very conscious of trying to set it apart from rom-coms that have come before. “Making a good romantic comedy is actually quite difficult because it’s so well-trodden, and because there are beats that we want. We want to cheer for two people falling in love. Because of that, my philosophy going into this was very much centered around Lucy. We’ve seen a lot of romantic comedies in the past where we see a woman trying to fit herself into a mold in order to be with someone and ultimately realizing, ‘Oh, that mold isn’t who I am’. Lucy is a character who certainly has her foibles and has her anxieties and has her eccentricities, but she consistently asks the world to love her because she is weird, not despite the fact that she is weird. That messaging was really important to me.”

In another case of the film gently nudging the rom-com genre forward, it acknowledges how ridiculous grand romantic gestures can be, but still manages to include a few. Krinsky believes there is room for grand gestures in real life. “I certainly hope so. I would like a grand gesture every once in a while—wouldn’t we all? We deserve it. I’m a little bit hopelessly romantic in that way. And I will say I like the surprise. To be able to just, show up home and say, ‘I was walking around today and I saw this cactus. And I thought of you. And here it is.’ Maybe that’s not so grand, but it’s the gesture at least.”

We note that another unique aspect of The Broken Hearts Gallery is the feeling that it doesn’t seem like it’s going to live or die on whether or not the two main characters end up together. “I think they both needed to confront a little bit of who they were,” Krinksy agrees. “Which I always think is the truth about really falling in love, is that in order to have a good relationship, you need to have a good one with yourself first.”

Clearly a huge fan of the genre, we ask Krinsky to recommend her favorites from the canon. “I love some of our recent classics. When Harry Met Sally is a perfect romantic comedy. Bridget Jones’s Diary is a perfect romantic comedy. I love Clueless—even though it’s more com than rom. And then I really love some of the older ones. Broadcast News is one of my all time favorites. Going back even further two of my go-tos that hold up today are His Girl Friday and It Happened One Night. Those two, especially if you’re talking about the ‘strong female lead’, they held them in spades and that fast quippy dialogue I just really live for.”

Montgomery, meanwhile, turns out to be somewhat of a cinephile, something he cultivated as a teenager in the Australian suburbs. “I worked at McDonald’s and I spent all my money on going to [electronics and DVD store] JB Hi-Fi. That’s my childhood in a nutshell. Growing up, I was either at the cinema or in my room and spending all my money on DVDs. All my friends worked at video stores. That was kind of my jam.”

And then—mic drop—Montgomery casually shares the news that he has a secret Letterboxd account. Yes, dear reader, it appears that Dacre is a full-on ’boxd-head. “Oh yeah. I mean, that’s why I was so happy that this [interview] was coordinated. Other than obviously having a chance to talk to you just in general to chat about the platform, it’s a combination of a couple of things that I’m going to put quickly in a couple of words: obviously you can create watchlists on Disney+, Netflix and so on. But then you’ve got so many bloody platforms, all of your lists are in different spaces and all of your movies are spread out on different platforms.

“For me, the biggest role for [Letterboxd] is I can formulate everything in one place, on one platform and look at it. It’s just got so … much … stuff. If I’m up for a horror movie, but I want it set in the snow, I can log on there and it’s, like, The Thing, Hold The Dark. All these great movies. Which I love. And I can read reviews of them before or after.”

Montgomery’s partner is also on Letterboxd, as is his childhood best friend. “Every time we leave the cinema, he gets on Letterboxd and writes a review—his honest, immediate reaction to what he’s just seen. It’s the first thing he does. It’s a great outlet for him. He’s had filmmakers reach out to him, which is another lovely thing. I think a lot of the arts and creative community is actually active on that platform. My buddy just spent the $20 for the year thing and now he can see what his top actors are that he watches, what’s his most-watched decade. I love that sort of stuff. I’m such a cinephile, to be able to collate everything into one sort of succinct thing—that’s my dream.”

Naturally, we ask Montgomery to represent his home country and name-check some Aussie films and filmmakers. “Obviously I’m still quite young, but a lot of cinema like Felony, The Rover, Animal Kingdom, that whole sort of genre, like all the David Michôd films. That sort of realm, I loved growing up. Baz Luhrmann’s films, obviously. Don McAlpine, Australian cinematographer. Bruce Beresford. There’s such an amazing pedigree of actors as well, most recently, obviously the Edgertons [Joel and Nash], Ben Mendelsohn, Heath, obviously, and Naomi Watts and Nicole Kidman.”

Curious to learn more about why a bona-fide star would lurk on Letterboxd where his own performances are ranked, rated and reviewed, we ask Montgomery: what does he get out of it? “I don't have this in-built bias or expectation, even though you’d think I would to kind of go, ‘Why didn’t they like that?’ I love reading the bad reviews. I’m all about it. I’m just interested to see what they engaged with. I think that’s the great thing about Letterboxd as opposed to any other platform is that I can just kind of log in under my alias and read everyone’s uninhibited dialogue that’s come out just after they’ve seen the film. And I love that. Good, bad, ugly. The whole lot. I think it’s the coolest thing ever.”

So then, the final, obvious question: has he been reading the Broken Hearts reviews? “I love to look up the Broken Hearts Gallery page. I think people are just enjoying this level of escapism. If they had the ability to go to a drive-in or to the cinema, wherever they are, people are just kind of going ‘it was so nice to get out of my house and out of my head’. It’s what any cinema tries to do, that level of escapism. I think it couldn’t have come at a better time. Once it’s done its cinematic release, it’ll be on streamers and then people can have that level of escapism who weren’t able to go to the cinema, so that’s really nice.”

Prepare yourself for The Broken Hearts Gallery by checking out this extremely thorough Letterboxd list of romantic comedies, expand your romantic comedy horizons with this list of South Korean rom-coms, and get a feel for where Letterboxd members are at, rom-com-wise, with this romantic comedy showdown.

‘The Broken Hearts Gallery’ is in theaters where possible. Dacre Montgomery’s first book of poetry will be released in October. Comments have been edited for clarity and length.

[dearlazerbunny]

Lie to Me (Ch. 26 of 27)

Pairings: Loki x Reader

Genre/Ratings: M eventually (aiming for a slow burn here); warnings for kidnapping and subsequent anxiety/PTSD (will be marked before every chapter)

Words: 5100

Summary: If you had to guess what the captured, traitor, trickster god Loki Laufeyson wanted or needed at this moment, a babysitter would be far, far down on the list. (Set after the events of Avengers 1.)

SHOUTOUT TO @molmcb and @jessiejunebug, honorary deities of Asgard

Requested Tags: @deraniel, @iamverity,  @yasnooshka24, @wegingerangelica, @themusingsofmany , @dark-night-sky-99, @tarynkauai, @stuffandstuff-stuff, @angelicshinigami, @my-current-fandom-is, @geekysimmerthings,           @lokis-butter-knife, @help-i-need-a-social-life, @vodka-and-some-sass, @pandacookieowo

WARNINGS: here is the aforepromised and questionably okay smut? If you want to skip it, read to the asterisks, then scroll to the next set of asterisks and pick up from there.

In an instant, you have a gun aimed at the shadowy figure standing in your living room. “I suggest you back away very, very slowly.”

“Please do not shoot me again. It was not pleasant the first time.”

“Jesus- Loki?”

“I told you, he isn’t real.”

“And I told you you wouldn’t even know if he was,” you automatically reply, fumbling in the dark for the lamp switch. But really, you don’t even need to turn on the lights to know that it’s him. His voice will be engraved into you until the day you die.

He looks the same, surprisingly. Maybe a little more exhausted; a little more worn down. He’s in regular clothes, jeans and a tshirt, but the tshirt is in his characteristic green, which makes you smile. And then you stop smiling, because “…are you really here?”

“No dreams this time, Witling.”

Something breaks in you hearing your nickname sound so real for the first time in a year. In an instant, you’ve got your arms wrapped around his neck in a hug you expect to end very quickly and very awkwardly- but you can’t help yourself. To your surprise, strong arms cradle you and hold you just as tightly as you’re holding him. You take a chance and let your head tuck into the crook of his neck, and even though you’ve never been this close to him you’d swear on your life you’ve smelled this mix of spices and clean snow before. You can’t even begin to comprehend the feelings pounding through your chest, so you don’t- you just hold him, and let yourself be held, and Loki swears there isn’t a God but the simple fact that he’s hugging you right now makes you beg to differ.

“Um-” you pull away, and so does he, but not entirely. Your forehead is pressed against his shoulder while you try and catch your breath, and neither of you have let your arms move from each other’s waists. “Sorry.”

He nudges your chin up so that you’re looking him in the eyes. Beautiful, mesmerizing green eyes that are dancing like they have a life of their own. “Do not be.”

To keep yourself from throwing yourself at him again, you carefully extricate yourself from the… whatever this was… but you let your hand linger, so he knows you don’t really want to pull away at all. “It’s, um. It’s been a while.”

He breaths out a laugh. “So it has. Too long.”

“Does the Trickster have feelings after all? Is he really capable of missing the constant thorn in his side?” An extremely dramatic eye roll complements your teasing like nothing else.

Gently, he tugs you hand into his own, inspecting it like he might glean the secrets of the universe from its scars. Crescent moons dot your palms from your nails digging into the skin during various nightmares, and you have to bite back an apology. “I’m okay. I promise.”

He smiles ruefully. “God of Lies, love. You looked about as well in your dreams.”

“That really was you?”

He nods. “I am still not sure how,” he admits, “And I am not sure it made things easier to handle.”

You cringe a little at the thought of him seeing you like that, desperate and pathetic, but he soothes you by twining your fingers. “It is alright, darling. You did the best you could.”

“How are you here? What did Odin say? I thought-”

“I was banished,” he says simply. “Exiled. Per the Allfather’s decree I am never to return to Asgard or travel the Bifrost again.” He hesitates, like he doesn’t want to end his sentence there. Unspoken words hang between you.

“Is… is that all?” You venture, trying to coax the rest of the story out of him.

“Love?” You look at him. “Do not ask,” he says firmly. “Not… not right now.”

“But you will tell me someday.” He concedes to this with a nod

“So your mother- will you be able to see her? Or… Thor?”

His eyes flash, and you know you’ve touched a soft spot. “Not technically, no. But… we have our ways.” A few crackles of green energy lazily circle his fingers before winking out.

“You’ve got your magic back.”

“Indeed.”

“Lord help us.”

He snorts. “You have nothing to fear from me, Witling.”

“I’m well aware, but… SHIELD? The Avengers?”

“Have already been dealt with,” he says dismissively. “Apparently they have acquired some new magic users in my absence. In exchange for not being tossed to rot in a cell for millennia, I have agreed to train them.”

“That’s awful generous of you.”

He raises an eyebrow. “It was that or imprisonment.”

“As if they could really expect to hold you twice.”

“So much faith, darling.”

“More like cautious admiration.” You very much enjoy the way he lights up when he processes your words. “How long have you been on Earth then?”

“A few days.” A touch of your happiness melts. He’s been so close and you had no idea… “I very much wanted to see you, Witling. Make no mistake. But I-” he pauses, as if sorting his thoughts. “I had to make sure it would be a welcomed visit.”

“Are you crazy?” Now you do shove him away, if only to look at him better. “In what world would I not want to see you, Loki? The whole year-” you stop yourself before you say something stupid. He doesn’t need to know the small black hole that had opened within your chest in his absence. “Well. That was stupid of you.”

A smirk darts across his lips. “I appreciate the sentiment.”

“So what happens now? Are you- do you have a place to stay?”

“Somewhat. Stark is not exactly eager to house me in that monstrosity of a tower, but SHIELD has barracks…” you can hear what he’s not saying. Those barracks probably aren’t any better or any different than the cell they shoved him in for the better part of a year.

You look around your tiny apartment. Well, more like a room- the only part of it walled off is the bathroom, and technically the living room is also the bedroom. But- “I mean, I doubt it compares to Asgard. But you’re welcome here. As long as you need.”

“A dangerous thing to say.”

You scoff . “I’m not afraid of you, Trickster. And I know you’re not going to hurt me.”

He gives you a small smile. “You mistake me. If you let me stay, I may never want to leave.”

Your cheeks tinge a bit red at that. “Who says I would want you to?” You counter.

His laugh is the happiest you’ve ever heard, and could probably rival all the splendor of the entirety of the nine realms combined. “I did miss you, love,” he says, and the pure fondness in his voice- for you, that happiness in his voice is for you- makes you completely unafraid to reach up and place a hand on his chest and brush your lips against his.

Time seems to slow. Everything goes soft, and a little out of focus, and you try to ignore your heart, which suddenly seems intent on beating straight through your rib cage. Loki blinks at you, his lips still parted from your soft kiss, and despite everything a giggle burbles out of you. “The God of Silver Tongues, speechless. I must be in a very lot of trouble.”

“You have absolutely no idea,” he whispers in your ear, and a shiver barely has time to crawl its way down your spine before he takes your face in his hands and kisses you back.

He is gentle, and gives you time to pull away if you choose. You laugh a little at that, because you’ve waited a whole goddamn year for this stupid silver-tongue menace to waltz back into your life and you sure as hell aren’t going to let him get away again. So you do pull back, just a little, and whisper back, “You don’t need to be careful, love.”

His eyes flash, and a vague thought of oh, shit flits through your mind before the both of you connect as one, propriety and nerves be damned, two year’s worth of jesting and lingering glances and whispered promises in the dead of night begging to be let out. You think you do them justice, if you do say so yourself.

Somehow he tastes exactly like magic- effervescent, all consuming, and incredibly, indescribably intoxicating. His are lips made for enchantment, made for divination, for speaking stars into the sky- and he is kissing you as though you stand far higher than those enchantments and divinations and impossible things ever could. He kisses you like this is what he is made for, and all he’s ever wanted to do.

Your lips are nothing special. You can speak a few languages and tell a few jokes. You smile sometimes. They’re a little chapped. But now, you let them tell stories that would rival the epics of any ancient civilization. You let them say everything you never have, everything you never thought you’d get a chance to say. You hands snake around his neck and twist themselves into his hair, as though you’re afraid he’ll pull away just as quickly as he came.

Loki deepens your kiss, teasing you with things that are to come, but the unexpected weight makes you stumble a bit, and you have to bite back a curse. “Goddamn ankle,” you mutter, righting yourself against his body. “Sorry. It never really healed quite right…” He looks at you in surprise, green eyes still hazy with kisses. “It’s fine, I promise. Just annoying.”

“It most certainly is not fine.” In one swift move, he picks you up and then deposit you gently on your bed, where you blink at him. Loki kneels by your feet and inspects them, honing in on the ankle that’s a little more misshapen than the other. Slender fingers brush over it and glow a faint green, reducing the ache you’ve come to accept as permanent to nothing more than background noise.

You prop yourself up on your elbows to carefully flex your foot. The bones still grind against each other like they shouldn’t, but the pain is gone. “Wow. Thank you.”

He shakes his head. “It is not permanent. My skills do not extend to mending.” When he stands, he almost towers over you, and you sit up on the edge of the mattress so you don’t feel quite so small beneath him.

“You’re ridiculous. You literally saved my life, I can deal with a little pain.” Loki looks at you with soft eyes, making a bolt of warmth shoot through you. Then, very carefully, as though he’s been practicing the expression in a mirror, he wrinkles his nose in an approximation of your own quirk. Your habit on his face makes you grin like nothing else ever has, and in an instant you’re reaching for him- but your hands pause at the hem of his shirt. This is- he’s- he’s so close, and you’ve never touched him with purpose before, not like this. And you want to- god, you want to run your hands over his body and feel every single inch of him under your palms, map every twist and turn with your fingertips- but hesitation is turning your arms to stone. He’s a god. He’s a thousand years old; he’s had immortal beings in his bed alongside him. You had a couple trysts in college, sure, but a goddess you are not. There’s no possible way you could live up to any sort of expectations-

“You can touch, darling.” His voice is easy, gentle, chipping away at your sudden paralyzation. “If you want.”

“I-” I want to. I’ve wanted to for so long, but if I mess this up I don’t know-

“Stop this.” One of Loki’s fingers reaches out and taps you lightly on the forehead, and the wrinkles that have appeared there. “Whatever derision is running through that mind of yours, I can promise you it is completely unfounded.” He smooths a thumb over your temple fondly. “I am not the only one who dismisses my worth.”

Hs words give you the courage to let your hands rest lightly on his shirt’s hem, latching on to the soft fabric. His eyes are on you, refracting light into shades of green you’ve never seen before. Slowly, you let your fingertips slide underneath, just barely grazing against his torso. His skin is soft, and cool to the touch. You don’t have to wander far before you meet your first imperfection- a ridged scar that streaks over the soft parts of his hipbone. You pause, unsure if it’s forbidden territory, but Loki only smiles apologetically. “I am afraid I do not come without… defects.”

You know he isn’t just speaking of his scars. “Can I see?”

He seems to internally debate for a moment, but eventually sits down next to you, deftly tugging off his tee by the neck and revealing himself as one might rip off a bandage all in one go. As you take in his taught stomach, the muscles just peeking out from under his skin, and the old wounds crisscrossing every which way, he only looks at the fabric now puddled in his hands and not you. The sting of old rejections is fighting hard against the trust you’ve grown little by little, inch by inch.

You desperately want him to know you won’t abandon him. Not now. Not ever.

“Where did this come from?” You lightly trace the deep-set flaw that curves along his hip, not wanting to scare him away.

“Mmm, I believe that one was Sif.” There’s a faraway look on his face, one that you’ve come to recognize as his mind wandering to stories that played out long ago in a land far away. “She nearly eviscerated me after a lark of mine went particularly poorly.”

A smile touches your lips. Hell hath no fury. “And this one?” A swooping white arc decorates his left shoulder blade, cutting so low it crosses paths with his spine. It’s lighter than the rest- you can barely feel it- and if you closed your eyes you might not believe it was there at all.

“Training. Thor took a swing at me when my back was turned. We were young, and he cried when I bled.”

Standing out amongst the healed wounds are ones still purple at the edges, not yet faded into the poems of his skin. They are harsher, sharper- deliberately cut, and maliciously given. Just below his shoulder are thin parallel rings decorating his upper arm, too neatly aligned to be anything but intentional. When you explore these, he stiffens underneath your touch. You don’t have to ask where they came from.

Gently, you lean in to press a kiss to the mending scars, hoping to ease at least a little of the pain they’re causing their bearer. “None of us are flawless, Loki,” you murmur, resting your chin lightly on his shoulder. “They’re a part of you, and you’re beautiful, so they’re beautiful too. Wearing your story on your skin only means you’re strong enough to have lived to tell the tale.”

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

This time, you aren’t surprised when his lips find yours, because you’ve already met him halfway. It’s smoother, but no less insistent, and now you’re less afraid to take exactly what you want. You hands once again find their way into his hair, running your fingers through it from the roots just to mess up those infuriatingly perfect tresses. His own hands are winding their way into the hair at the nape of your neck, creating a heady sort of pressure. He pulls your bottom lip into his mouth, lightly running his tongue over it before biting ever so gently giving it a bite. Heat flares through you, and without thinking you tug hard at his scalp, wanting more.

Loki growls at your grip, a low rumble that echoes all the way through your chest. When you nip back, using your teeth to drag and release his lips from yours, the quiet noise of want that escapes him is enough to ratchet the heat you’re feeling up to ninety.

Your fear melts away with every brush of the hand, every small sigh, every moment where you have to pull away just to catch your breath and try to slow your racing heart. It’s a push and pull, give and take, learning each other in this new space where you can touch and taste and feel and revel in all of the above without worry. Because really, you know each other in every way but this- how hard can it be to translate?

He pulls you onto his lap, strong arms flexing at your waist as he settles you onto his thighs, and you hum appreciatively as you press your body to his, enjoying his bare skin underneath your hands. When he tugs at your shirt- and unspoken request- you don’t hesitate before pulling it off over your head. Loki, for his part, looks absolutely starstruck at the picture of you in his lap in your bra and jeans. You giggle, taking your time fiddling with the clasps behind your back, loving the wonder on his face as he takes you in. Just as your bra unclips, he hesitantly reaches up and undos a few pins from your bun, letting your hair tumble down onto your now bare chest.

“Beautiful,” he whispers, mapping out your own scars just as you did his own. Every touch and trace sends goosebumps down your spine, and you have half a mind to take his hands into your own and force them to stop being so careful.

“I won’t break,” you mumble, arching your back a little when he palms a particularly sensitive spot on your side.

“No, but you are something to be worshipped, and deserve to be admired as such.”

You huff out a laugh and press a not-quite-bruising kiss to his mouth. “Goddamn silver tongue.”

“Good for more than just pretty words, I can assure you.”

He twists and lowers you onto your back, nestling you amongst the blankets. Loki very much notices when the sudden chill makes your nipples perk and your stomach tighten. Making sure you’re comfortable, he lays himself next to you on one elbow so that you can still take in the curve of your hips and the rise an fall of your chest. “Are you alright? I do not mean to overstep my bounds-”

“No, nope, absolutely not. You do not get to kiss me like that and then back out on me.”

He grins a little wolfishly. “I am not reconsidering, love, believe me.” He smooths a hand over your lower belly, making you shiver. “I want nothing more. Only making sure my lady is willing.”

“More than.”

He hums, obviously pleased at the ache in your voice. “And have you ever…?”

You wrinkle your nose. “A few times, in college. But nothing… nothing that meant anything, I guess.”

“I see.” He leans down to kiss you softly, then wanders from your lips to your jawbone, then letting his words drip down into the hollow of your neck. Your head arcs to the side, giving him more room to play. “I suppose I shall have a lot to make up for, then.” His tongue darts out and flicks your earlobe, and when he pulls it in between his teeth and drags, all coherent though leaves your brain.

You tug on the loop of his pants, inviting him to lean on top of you. Your stomachs press together, the heat of your skin tempered by the coolness of his own, and the combination is heavenly. He’s hard; you can feel him through the fabric of his jeans, and that pressure against your thigh and hips makes you want to roll up into him. He continues his ministrations, kissing and nipping all the way down your neck and grazing his teeth over your collarbone. Completely lost, your eyes slip closed, and you don’t even notice his hand on your breast until he rolls your nipple between his fingertips.

You gasp, sharp pinpricks heightening every sensation. His mouth joins his fingers; his tongue alternating between teasing you gently and tracing rough patterns onto your skin. Everything in you is wound tight, hyper focused on every place he’s touching and your own labored breathing.

“I can’t- I need- christ, Loki, just-”

“What do you need, love? Tell me, and it shall be yours.”

“Touch me,” you get out. “Please.”

“May I?” His fingers drag underneath your waistband, and at your nod he quickly rids you of your jeans, letting every inch of you be revealed. You’re laid bare before him, and for a fleeting second you have a thought to be embarrassed before it’s banished by curious hands wandering lower to exactly where you want them.

He pulls you close, cradling you against him, supporting you as he begins to slip through your folds, sliding easily around your clit. You’re already so wet you’re aching, and his finger pushes into you so nicely it’s almost sinful.

“Oh, god-” It’s been years since anyone has touched you like this, but even back then it was never this sensational.

“You’re so beautiful, my dear,” he murmurs, his words making his actions even sweeter. “You have no idea how long I’ve dreamed of this. To be close to you, to feel you under my hands.” His ring finger joins his middle, stretching you wider. “I want to give you everything you’ve ever wanted.’

‘You,” you breathe, tying to keep ahold of yourself. “That’s all I want.”

“Then you shall have me; tonight, and every night after. I am yours, as you are mine.”

You’re already working on the button of his pants. After a hasty suck of his fingers to clean them off, he helps you remove them, tossing them somewhere on the floor. His briefs are the next to go, giving you a spectacular view of his cock and exactly how much he wants you. It’s a dangerously heady feeling, knowing that you do this to him.

Experimentally, you grind your hips into his, and you’re rewarded with an absolutely delicious whine from the man on top of you, and Loki buries wet kisses into the crook of your neck, completely taken with the feeling of you beneath him. “This is what you do to me,” he says against your skin, and you turn to kiss the top of his head while letting your fingers trail down his back.

The constant friction is driving you mad. “God, I can’t-”

Loki lets himself linger above you, a small smirk on his lips. “Wrong deity, darling.”

You rise up to meet him for a kiss, not caring if your teeth clash against his. “Loki,” you say, intent on letting him feel his name as it falls from your mouth. “Loki fucking Laufeyson, would you just get on with it already.”

At that, he lines himself up with your center and rocks into you.

You tense. It’s good, it’s so good, but it also hurts- it’s been a while, and he’s stretching you so wide you have to grip at his shoulders for some kind of purchase.

He can see the hesitation on your face. “Darling? Am I hurting you?”

“No, no, just- slowly. Please.”

He drops a kiss to your lips. “Anything, my love.”

Carefully, he works himself inside you, letting you adjust little by little to the pressure. Eventually, as your grip on his shoulders lessens and the pain gives way to more and more pleasure, he begins to move, his hips setting an even pace that match the lazy kisses he’s placing anywhere he can reach. Your nails make an appearance, digging themselves into his side in effort to steady yourself. You’re sure you must be hurting him, but when your hand slips and rakes across his back, he snaps his hips so hard you gasp at the sudden fullness.

Loki’s attention never wavers from your eyes, your face- constantly watching, both for the pleasure of seeing you undone and to make sure he never pushes you too far. He said you deserve to be worshipped, and the way he’s treating you- so in tune with exactly what you need, cataloguing all the spots that make your breath hitch and your hips roll, never letting you go too long without a kiss- makes you feel more loved, more known, than you ever have in your life.

Ever so slightly, he begins to speed up, thrusting with more force, and moves one hand down to your clit to send additional warmth pooling to your core. You’re moaning now, filthy noises escaping your mouth, unable to do more than hold on and remind yourself to keep breathing as the heat spirals up and up and up-

“Loki- Loki I can’t-”

“It’s alright, love. I’ve got you.” You whine, an unspoken command to keep going- you’re so close- “You can let go.”

His name echoes in the small room as you crack apart, clenching around him until he’s all you can feel- his hands, his mouth, his hips, all of him inside you. Your own undoing seems to tip him over the edge, and nothing has ever made you feel so wanted as seeing every single one of Loki’s walls crumble as he loses himself inside you; crying your name in a language you don’t know as you find your pleasure in one another.

You bury your head in his neck, biting his shoulder with a groan as the two of you ride through the aftershocks. Loki’s fingerprints are branded onto your hip, and you’ve left marks on his neck and shoulder. You kiss each and every one. Sweet nothings of encouragement are whispered into your ear as the high recedes, leaving you with stuttering breath and shaky limbs. You can feel your face is flushed, and your hair is a mess behind you, and who knows how you look at this angle, but Loki’s small praises stay constant nonetheless.

A piece of hair is pushed from your forehead, and you open your eyes to see Loki gazing at you with nothing but love. “There, darling. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

“I know,” you whisper. Because Loki means home- he became that a long time ago- and seeing his eyes shine so honestly tells you he’s finally found his as well.

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

In the end, you’re in your bed, legs tangled together, both you you trying to catch your breath. He hugs you to him protectively, possessively, with an arm wrapped around your back and anchoring you to his side. Your arm in turn is wrapped around his middle, feeling the rise and fall of his chest and the stuttering of his heart and taking vague pleasure in the fact that you’re the one who did that to him. You breathe, and you feel absolutely full somewhere in your chest, and the heat of your body plus the chill of his somehow melds together into perfect harmony.

“What are you writing?” You mumble against his neck, where your head has been tucked for however long you’ve been laying there. His elegant fingers have been tracing patterns onto your shoulder, soothing you into a hazy sort of comfortable.

“How did you know it was writing?”

“I may occasionally study ancient languages, strange as that may sound to you.” You’re rewarded with a laugh you can feel all the way down to the tips of your toes.

“This,” he says, marking a symbol carefully onto your skin, “is for protection.” His fingers glow faintly green in the dimness of the room. As one line fades away, another appears. “This means loved, roughly translated. And this,” he writes carefully, every touch deliberate, “is my sigil.” The last one almost stings a little as it works its way into your skin.

You shift a little, ignoring his little noise of protest, so you can look at him. “Did you just magick me, Trickster?”

“I would not, without your consent. Though a protection rune might make me feel better,” he admits softly, obviously not over the incident. Neither are you. But now you have him here, really here, to help you through the nightmares. “And I believe my name would look excellent on your skin,” he whispers to you, making you giggle to hide the hot streak of want that runs through you.

“Possessive much?”

“Mm. Forgive me; I do like seeing myself written on beautiful things.”

You scoff and roll your eyes. “You’re a god, Loki. You’ve seen things I can’t even imagine. And I know you’ve had plenty of other people,” you point out. “I highly doubt I measure up to any of them.”

“I will not lie.” You raise an eyebrow at him that seems to suggest that’s wise. “I have had others. Some after feasts and too much wine, some because they surprised me enough to attract my attention. Others simply because I was bored.” You try not to get too jealous, imagining others’ hands where yours just were. Loki seems to know what you’re thinking, and pacifies you with a kiss placed amongst your mussed hair. “But they were just people. They wanted me because of lust, or for power, or for the things I could give them. I would wager the nine realms that not a single one of them would have sat and read to me while I was hurting, or dared to challenge me when my temper got the best of me, or talked with me on opposite sides of a cell for months because they were genuinely interested in me. Not the prince. Not the god of mischief, not my silver tongue, or my magic. But me.”

“It sounds very lonely.”

“It was, but I did not realize it until a thousand years later.” There’s a sad resignation in his voice, and you tighten your arm around him. “You are something of a trickster yourself, my lady.” You look at him, confused, and then he graces you with the most beautiful smile you’ve ever seen, bar none. “I do not think I fell for you, darling. I think you tripped me.”

“You and your silver tongue,” you grumble, but you have a hard time kissing him on account of the own smile on your lips.

“I was afraid you might have become immune to it; I am pleased to see that is not the case.”

“I don’t think I ever could.”

“I do not ever intend for you to.”

You say nothing more, and neither does he, just continues his etchings of affection onto your shoulder as your eyes flutter closed, safe in the little world you’ve created for just the two of you. It’s almost like you can feel your soul and his intertwining, weaving together, a mortal and a god choosing each other over the universe itself. When he begins humming the faint strains of an Asgardian melody, ancient and warm, peace descends, a glow you’ve never known but can’t wait to claim as yours for as long as you possibly can have it.

A/N: I AM SO NERVOUS ABOUT THIS CHAPTER GOING UP BUT HERE IT IS ITS DONE ITS UP

Only the epilogue left now :”)

[luisgijo]

50 questions you’ve never been asked

Thanks for tagging me, @marauders-groupie ​ !! 😁

What is the color of your hairbrush? I dont have one?? My comb is like a ligth brown turtle pattern tho

Name a food you never eat? Rabbit, my mom has a traumatising story from when she was little lol besides that not much I live to eat

Are you typically too warm or too cold? I’d say too cold? I’m defs a warm weather kinda person, despite my body temperature also being akin to an oven

What were you doing 45 minutes ago? Watching youtube videos!

What is your favorite candy bar? Bar I’d have to say Twix but a special shoutout to maltesers lol

Have you ever been to a professional sports event? Yeah some football games when I was younger

What is the last thing you said out loud? "Yeah some football games when I was younger” I’m sorry I like to read what I’m typing when I’m posting something!!

What is your favorite ice cream? L e m o n for sure I know I’m basic but you can’t go wrong! Close 2nd being wildberries lol

What was the last thing you had to drink? Coffee but I’m gonna drink a glass of water right now cause this question reminded me to

Do you like your wallet? Yeah it’s cool and like leather-y black a classic

What was the last thing you ate? Breakfast cookies? lol I don’t know how else to describe them

Did you buy any new clothes last weekend? I did not I am very bad at online shopping

The last sporting event you watched? Probably a random Liverpool game or from my fave team in Portugal

What is your favorite flavor of popcorn? I only know sweet and salty so we going with salty

Who is the last person you sent a text message to? I’m gonna count WhatsApp and say my fam’s group chat or my flatmate if only one person

Ever go camping? No! I think it’d be fun but only if you’re doing something else like going to a music festival or working somewhere, I don’t think I’d ever go camping for camping’s sake lol

Do you take vitamins? Not really but I should lol. Sometimes I will take some vitamin C effervescent tabs but just because I like the taste

Do you go to church every Sunday? No, I’m spiritual but not religious. Also, churches in Portugal have scary lifelike statues lol

Do you have a tan? Not rn? Catch me in the summer tho ;)

Do you prefer Chinese food or pizza? f u c k this is hard but Chinese all the way, like I love pizza BUT I’d live off Chinese food

Do you drink your soda with a straw? Nowadays I try to avoid it or if I’m at home I’ll use my bamboo straws

What color socks do you usually wear? Mainly dark colors, the only exceptions are my one pair of white socks and my two pairs of bright red socks

Do you ever drive above the speed limit? No license lmao

What terrifies you? The Inevitability of Death.

Look to your left, what do you see? My TV and the bowl where I had cereal for breakfast (should really take it to the kitchen now)

What chore do you hate? Doing the dishes, I’m just so bad at it and would just rather do any other chore lol

What do you think of when you hear an Australian accent? S l a p s

What’s your favorite soda? We gotta go Sprite

Do you go in a fast food place or just hit the drive-thrus? Depends? Like again I don’t have a license but I usually have MacDonalds with bro in car, everything else is usually in food courts

Who’s the last person you talked to? My mom rn, just checking up on each other on daily phone call :D

Favorite cut of beef? No preference lol just give me meat

Last song you listened to? I had the spotify radio for ‘Grilled Cheese’ by Peach Face on!! just found it but omg I love her

Last book you read? Till the end? assigned 12th grade readings lol. I’m reading Sweetbitter by Stephanie Danler now so hopefully I’ll finish this one!

Favorite day of the week? Is gotta be a Saturday

Can you say the alphabet backwards? Not really lol

How do you like your coffee? I usually have a single espresso, no sugar, but if I have time for a good breakfast I might turn it into a latte! Also a gingerbread latte when I’m feeling boujee during Christmas 

Favorite pair of shoes? Uuh I’m very much a one pair of shoes kinda dude so my current ones lol they’re like dark brown and worn

The time you normally go to sleep? Usually between 11pm and 1am

The time you normally get up? During the weekdays I have an alarm for 8am to keep some structure, but on weekends 10am

What do you prefer, sunrise or sunsets? Sunsets 4ever

How many blankets on your bed? I go comforter and a blanket for this half of the year, and will switch to a single bedsheet in summer months lol

Describe your kitchen plates: White until I’ve used all of those then I switch to my yellow rimmed lemon ones lol

Do you have a favorite alcoholic beverage? Oof this a tough one I have to say Sangria potentially? My Sangria tho not that storebought one lol I am also a huge slut for a good absinthe on a night out ;)

Do you play cards? Sometimes with the fam lol

What color is your car? No license, no car #oof

Can you change a tire? Yes I’ve had to help my brother do it too many times not to know it by now lol

Your favorite province? omg this is a tough one too! Idk omg this is hard hahaha I might go with the south of Thailand? or the Pearl River Delta in the South of China? or Alentejo in Portugal?  or [insert obnoxious well-travelled ass comment here]

Favorite job you’ve ever had? Helping with museum exhibitions, both writing content and assisting with the curating!

How did you get your biggest scar? I don’t really have that many scars? The biggest one I have is a tie between this one I got feeding elephants in Thailand (omg I hate myself) and this other one my cat gave me one night when she was being needy lol

What did you do today that made someone else happy? idk? maybe when I replied to a friends insta story or talking to my flatmate and arranging her return to the house!

I am so bad at tagging I am genuinely sorry lol so if you haven’t been tagged tell them I sent you!

[stcrmys]

god !! i hate that i had to rush this but i promise i am so beyond excited to write with all of you ! stormy , thanks kylie jenner for the name idea hehe , is a brand new muse and i am so excited to explore her and see where she goes !! i love plotting, like i find it so fun and am a hoe for angst and drama and friendships ! god if i dont get a cute bff plot you will see me pouting until the end of my days !! asdfg . basically though my point was if you want to plot please just like this ?? message me ? i have to switch to mobile but ill still be here !! also i still have to figure out my tags and finish my plot so i repeat do not desktop my good sis’s blog . anyway please let me shut up !! 

*  lawless  paparazzi  flashed  photos  of  a  2019  ,  zenvo st1  pulling  into  the  sparkling  gates  of  quincy  park  ,  indicating  that  stormy  of  the  prosperous  villeneuve  lineage  has  returned  home  .  college  ended  for  the female  in  2018 ,  but  they’re  already  flourishing  in  their  field  , proclaiming  that  their  bachelor's  degree  in  music  production   is  being  put  to  prolific  use  .  the  general  public  may  be  unworldly  enough  to  believe  that  her accomplishments  were  earned  honestly  ,  but  the  people  of  new  york  city  are  painstakingly  aware  that  it's  impossible  to  snag  a  top  paying  position  as  a  music artist  right  out  of  university  .  the  family’s  been  tormented  with  a  well  -  known  rumor  that  they buy out every record company to eliminate their competition and when that goes south they have a tendency of releasing career damaging scandals to the public to ruin the company’s reputation and their talents career’s  for  years  ,  so  it  was  news  to  no  one  when  the  villeneuve’s made  local  headlines  claiming  the  only  reason  their  obstreperous  progeny’s  career  is  what  it  is  is  because  her father paid spotify, billboard, and apple million of dollars to make sure that her first album went number one and stayed number one .  tempest has  done  a  splendid  job  of  keeping  the  bloodline’s  furtive  truths  confidential  ,  but  their  reputation  of  being  effervescent  &  gaining  a  postgrad  inheritance  of  724.8m  hasn’t  been  enough  to  cease  the  counter  blast  from  new  york’s  angry  civilians  .  if  they’re  not  heedful  ,  not  even  quincy  park’s  sturdy  golden  gates  will  be  capable  of  keeping  out  the  city’s  vengeance  .  (  madison beer  ,  twenty one ,  the skookum  /   )

  ‧  *   i.   ╱   stats    .

name : stormy avania genevieve villeneuve

nickname(s) : storm , storm - storm, little villeneuve, honeybee. 

age : twenty one .

birthday : november sixteenth .

zodiac : scorpio .

gender ╱ pronouns : cisfemale , she and her.

sexual orientation : heterosexual 

romantic orientation : heteroromantic 

languages : english, french, italian.

occupation : music artist 

 voiceclaim : madison beer.

 ‧  *   i.   ╱   summary    .

hazel  hues  dipped  in  virescent ,  locks  of  chocolate  that  sits  on  honeyed  skin  .  the  tempest . boisterous .  captivating .  a  goddess  true  to  the  name  that  carved  itself  into  her  flesh ,  stormy .  her  arrival  itself  being  chaotic  winds  and  whispers  of  a  mistress  who  had  set  themselves  out  to  tear  apart  a  home .   a  concept  twisted  and  concealed  by  the  hands  of  the  villeneuve’s . sob  stories  and  apologizes  along  with  the  preaching  of  “ i’m becoming a better man everyday, “ clinging  to  the  ears  of  the  media  , and soon  the  world . expected . andres   villeneuve  could  do  not  wrong . a  powerful  man  within  the  world  of  music . respected  and  adored . someone  whom  inherited  the   ability  to  make  the  world  drop  to  their  knees  and  worship  mediocre  musicians .  why  would  they  stone  him  for  one  single  mistake  ?  or  at  least  , why  would  they  stone  him  for  one  single  mistake  for  the  rest  of  his  life .  they  forgive  him  in  the  name  of  everyone . and  soon ,  the  villeneuve  became  a  family  of  seven .  

she  was  privileged  . her  tiny  feet  walked  on  thousand  dollar  carpets  ,  the  fabric  that  clung  to  her  body  should  have  been  carved  from  the  hands  of  an  angel  at  what  they  were  cost . private  school .  tutors  .  cheerleading  and  then  volleyball  and  then  soccer  and  then  back  to  cheerleading  . the piano  .  the  saxophone  .  the  drums  .  the guitar  .  her  childhood  consisted  of  experiencing  everything  there  was  to  experience .  sports .  music .  art .  learning  at   two  languages  by  the  time  she  reached  ten .  she  was  raised  to  be  intelligent  . athletic .  talented .  she  had  to  be  talented .  within  the  arts ,  if  she  was  not  picking  up  an instrument  or  holding  a  note  her  dad  grew  bored  and  annoyed .  something  that  the  small  brunette  learned  quick . and  so  like  most  children ,  she  impressed . she  really impressed .  she  was  polite  and  respectful  .  well  mannered . the  strictness  of  her  father  and  step  mother  weighing  on  her  shoulders  .   they  wanted  perfection  . 

being  with  her  father  and  his  wife  and  kids  was  almost  as  if  she  stepped  into  a  dream . flashing  lights ,  luxuriousness . and  while  her  mom  had  a  status  of  her  own , her  dad  was  shaped  and  formed  different  .  the  fame . the  respect .  it  was  everything  to  him . bouncing  back  and  forth , stormy  felt  like  two  different  people . with  her  father  ,  she  was  all  work  no  play . and  her  mother ?  she  was  play  and  whatever  she  wanted  to  do .  her  mom  taught  her  the  importance  in  life  was  not  the  cars  and  the  houses  and  the  clothes  ( “although they are nice.. reallly fucking nice )  but  the  character  behind  the  objects .  and  she  refused  to  let  the  vibrant  child  of  hers  be  locked  into  a  box  of  running  to  fame  like  it  was  the  only  thing  that  would  make  her  life  and  her  impact  important . her  mother ?  she  was  all laughs  and  giggles . jokes  and  shopping  days  . sky diving  in  greece  and  pretend  music  videos  in   italy . the  one  that  mostly  shaped  stormy  into  who  she  is  now . 

for  the  last  twenty  one  years  is  one  person  that  reflects  a  childhood  split  into  two  .  the  ambitious  sometimes  selfish  sometimes  ruthless “ ill  pretend  im  stone  cold  if  that  what  it   takes “ and  the  vibrant  boisterous  life  of  the  party   and  the  light  of  your  life  .  the  twenty  one  year  old  girl  who  has  heard  be  yourself  and  be  better  from  two  different  voices  and  is  still  trying  to  decide  who  she  even  is  underneath  the   all  the  expectations . 

‧  *   ii.   ╱   personality    .

she  is  an  animated  laugh  escaping  parted  lips  ,  affectionate  hands  reaching  out  to  pull  you into  her  embrace  .  she’s  the  sound  of  her  own  heart  beating    in  her  ears  as  her  foot  is  on  the  gas  or  her  hues  pear  out  at  the  sky  of  blue  she’s  about  to  jump  in .  she  is  tired  eyes  in  result  of  not  sleeping  and  instead  writing  song  after  song .  she  is  one  am  studio  sessions  and  three  am  shots .  she  is  the  small  girl  who  pears  up  at  her  daddy  and  just  wants  to  feel  like  she  is   more  then  just  another  way  to  benefit  him  . she  is  the  desire  to  be  wanted  .  to  be  loved . she’s  spontaneous  trips  to  tropical  islands  and  dramatic  scenes  .   she  is  harmless  teasing  and  a  goofy  smile . day  dreaming  about  falling  in  love .  she’s  the  whisper  in  your  ear  that  she  loves  you  but  the  coldness  in  your  bed  as  you  reach  out  and  realize  that  she’s  no  longer  there . she’s  not  thinking  about  consequences .  the  honeyed  dipped  voice  that  tells  you  to  do  it . she’s  gentle  kisses  against  your  skin .  she’s  feeling  everything  all  the  time  and  feeling  it  deeply . she’s  the  girl  you  just  cannot  take  your  eyes  off  of .  she  talks  to  you  and  suddenly  you  feel  as  though  the  world  revolves  around  you . she’s  scattered  thoughts  and  rosy  lips  that  never  stop  moving . a  broken  heart  that  never  knows  if  it  wants  to  grow  cold  or  have  someone  come  and  fix  it  . 

‧  *   iii.   ╱   headcanons ??   .

asdj she’s a mess? basically that’s all i got for her.

she’s the second youngest out of five. 

is an artist under her dad’s label, and while she loves making music she does not love him having a say in her creative process.

she’s such a light !! 

affectionate, playful, ambitious, careless, boisterous, hard to control, talkative, an adrenaline junkie! jealous and petty, vehement. 

is such a different person around her dad? basically blocks him from seeing her true personality.

truth is she still fears his rejection. 

she has a journal that she carries everywhere. 

craves feeling important to people? if she doesnt feel like her bond with you is meaningful she gets all weird and annoying!

is hot and cold in romantic relations.

but so god damn affectionate! with everyone! let her hold your hand or lay her head against your shoulder or run her fingers up and down your arm !!!

is the ultimate adventure buddy .

needs excitement twenty four seven sorry. 

will give you a nickname, she doesnt care if your name is cat. its not just c ! asdfg.

i have so much more but ill add later, im kind of rushing asdfg !! 

‧  *   iii.   ╱   connections    .

best friend, platonic soulmate, ex best friends, group of friends preferably all girls, family friends, childhood friends, other clients who are signed to her father, first love, ex lovers, toxic relationship, toxic friendship, on and off relationship, confidants, partner in crime, the mom friend who always moms her, rivals, friends who drifted apart, friends with benefits, ex friends with benefits, one sided friendship, one sided relationship, unlikely friends, cousins, hardly related cousins, love hate relationship, forbidden romance or friendship??? 

[tferins-blog]

woah sorry i’m late fam, it’s not my fault tho, i walked here. anyway ! i’m m and i’m straight up dying out here in the cst. i think my brain broke when i applied bc not only did i expose this bish to the nth degree by putting her middle name in the app ( how extra ) but ..... i def didn’t hit send when i first thought i sent it. i’m a disaster. anywayx2 i’ll put a little bit about little miss sunshine under the cut and all you gotta do is smash that little heart button and i’ll come to you for all of the plots

 DANIELLE CAMPBELL. — OH, HAVE YOU MET ERIN TAYLOR O’SHEA? SHE IS A TWENTY-TWO YEAR OLD CISFEMALE THAT IS FEELING DUBIOUS ABOUT THE PLANET’S IMMINENT DOOM. A BARTENDER, THIS AQUARIUS IS KNOWN AROUND TOWN AS THE ICARIAN, BECAUSE SHE IS COMPELLING & EFFERVESCENT, AS WELL AS SARDONIC & AUDACIOUS. HOPEFULLY, ERIN WILL SURVIVE. 

so this little spitfire is erin. your mildly unfriendly neighborhood bar wench.

she’s kind of a mess but not like….a hot mess. more like when your mom walks in your room and there’s like a sweatshirt on the ground and your sock drawer is open and shes like omg your room looks like it got hit by a tornado.

very headstrong. does not like rules.

she’s adopted bc her mom is dead and her dad is basically incarcerated sort of. it’s not something she like……advertises so i’m not going to go into deets here unless we determine it’s something your character would know about. ( sue me, i’m lazy )

all i’m gonna say is she went into therapy at a young age and as far as she’s concerned she doesn’t have any residual effects from it.

her dad’s best friend and his wife adopted her at seven and as far as everyone in the world is concerned they’re her parents.

she absolutely loves them ( me ? writing a muse who has a happy family ? the apocalypse must really be happening )

dad is former military. runs his own security company now and is lk scary af. def made sure erin knows how to handle herself. she might be like two feet tall but probably knows 12 ways to kill you with a spoon okay. and her mom is a high school guidance counselor.

spent her primitive years moving around a lot because of her dad’s job.

ended up in hawley about 5 years ago when she got into the university of scranton ( pre-med major. what a nerd. ) 

told herself she was not going to be that cliche girl who goes to school and falls in love and ruins her life but HAH, life is a real bitch like that. it was not the best relationship tbh, pretty dang toxic and her parents were not fans of him. (( oh hey look a connection. peep this for inspo if you wanna fill it ) actually that’s.... a bit extra ..... but it still makes me cry tears of blood every time i read it )

as most young love sob stories go, she ended up pregnant but ( probably ) never told him. took a random gap year in the middle of her college education to take off with her best friend. mostly bc she didn’t want her parents to know about the baby but also partly because she was just having one of those fuck it moments.

gave the baby up for adoption, obviously. you will not catch her doting around a toddler at the bar.

an odd combination of wine mom and vodka aunt.

she’s very tell it like it is, in your face. if you’re telling her your sob story over your seventh whiskey and coke she’s probably going to tell you to switch to well drinks before you go fucking broke.

wasn’t ever perfect but she used to be a pretty good kid. just kind of hit college and got a bit more free spirited and after the bad luck pregnancy she was like lol, ima do what i want. yolo.

part time pot baker. ( harry vc: i used to be a baker ) but seriously try the cupcakes.

if her parents wouldn’t have a stroke and die her life goal would literally be to own a food truck where everything has pot in it.

the paula deen of pot.

full time karaoke junkie.

likes the sad eyes, bad guys, mouth full of white lies.

has a little hedgehog named harvey. ( needs a roommate tho. )

as far as the apocalypse she’s kinda doubtful of it. like she’s heard the world was ending about a million times at this point and she’s pretty much walking around like jesus take the wheel.

relatively nice, just if you’re being a fucking idiot she’s going to tell you you’re being a fucking idiot.

comparatively she’s a lot like max from 2 broke girls, an odd combo of all the girls from friends, and robyn from himym. all my favs mixed into one little hurricane tbh.

i’ll stop rambling now but if you wanna plot just hmu or like this and i’ll come to you. :)

[viollettes]

“Carnations” (Part 1)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (College AU)

Summary: A carnation fundraiser, an iota of possibility, and a longtime secret crush on your hot best friend - what could go wrong?

many thanks to the effervescent @buckyywiththegoodhair for beta-reading! i love you, you colorful tropical fish with scales made of diamonds! x

“Carnations” (Masterlist)

“(Y/N), if you really don’t want to help, you can leave. It’s okay.”

You snap out of your involuntary trance, meeting the peeved eyes of the tall figure in front of you. Your eyelids rapidly close and open before you blankly mutter, “Huh?”

“Since we started setting up, you’ve sighed thirteen times, loudly scuffed your shoe against the floor seven times, and spaced out four times. It doesn’t take a genius to see that you don’t want to do this.”

It takes a lot to annoy actual angel Steve Rogers, but somehow you’ve accomplished just that in only five minutes. Sheepish guilt washes over you, and you quickly insist, “I’m so sorry. But I swear I want to help!”

“Are you sure? You look a little preoccupied, and I can also do this myself if something’s –“

“No, no, I want to help. I promise,” you firmly repeat. You furiously tape the banner to the table’s edges as if to show how determined you are to help. “I didn’t mean to be a drama queen and space out.” 

Steve tiredly rubs his palm against his face. “Is everything okay?” he asks. The concern in his voice makes the guilt expand in your lungs, compelling you to cast your eyes downwards.

When faced with a small deficit in the Student Government budget, Steve came up with the carnation sale. Students could order flowers –red for love, pink for friendship, and white for secret admiration– and cabinet members would deliver them to the recipients’ respective dorms.

When Steve ran this idea by you, you played your usual role of pessimist by pointing out no one would cough up money to send a carnation without the pressure that comes from holidays or significant others running high on anticipation. You weren’t surprised to hear that unlike you, the Student Government loved Steve’s idea and approved it right away.

Who could say no to Steve Rogers? There was a reason why the boy won the Student Government President seat by a landslide; he practically reeked of optimism and capability. Hell, Steve could suggest that the college should switch their mascot to a piece of rotten kale, and everyone would love the idea.

You regret agreeing to help him set up. Everything about the carnation sale takes you back to the similar flower fundraisers your high school did. Your breath still gets shallow when you recall being the only person in fourth period that didn’t get a flower delivered to them. The sympathetic or amused looks shot your way only heightened the embarrassment and desire to shrivel up into a particle of nothing. It annoys you that it still affects you in college, but what can you do? The heart holds grudges out of fear and trepidation.

So in a way, Steve is responsible for your slight anxiety. Thanks a lot, Steve.

“(Y/N)?”

This is the fifth time you’ve spaced out. Good going, (Y/N). “Sorry, I got distracted by the thought of lunch,” you fib.

“East Dining Hall has shawarma and baos today. Interesting combo, but I’ll eat just about any – Hey! Bucky! Over here!”

Your heart starts to channel its inner Usain Bolt at the sound of the approaching footfalls. The thumping of rushing blood amplifies in your ears, and your brain ricochets around for an exit strategy. Without thinking, you quickly duck under the folding table.

“’Sup, punk? Ah... (Y/N)? Doll? What are you doing underneath the table?”

And that’s when you realize there isn’t a tablecloth to shield you from your crush, who also happens to be your best friend.

Bucky lowers himself onto a knee, ducking his head underneath the table to meet your eyes. The brilliance of his blue eyes is enough to make you want to fan the heat quelling up your face. You offer him a weak smile. “Oh, uh, I thought I saw a quarter on the floor. Gotta save up that money to pay off my loans, ya know?”

Smooth. So smooth.

If the brunette senses your desire to smack your head against the ground, he doesn’t show any sign of it. Instead, Bucky chuckles and outstretches his hand. “Come on, doll,” he lightly encourages.

You take his hand and push yourself off the ground. He slings an arm around your shoulder, the contact enough to get your heart racing again. You wonder if he knows how much of an effect he has on you.

Completely oblivious to your inner emotional turmoil, Bucky asks, “What’s going on? Looks like you’re setting up for something.”

“If you paid attention to what I told you last week, you’d know that Student Gov is holding a carnation sale,” Steve says. He jokingly sends a threatening look at the brunette. “You’re going to contribute by buying one, right?”

Bucky shrugs, the movement jostling you closer to his side. Your face flushes as it grazes his winged lateral muscles – my God, your best friend is fit. It’s physically impossible to combust into flames, but you sidestep out of Bucky’s hold just in case the laws of physics and biology decide to go rogue. An odd look resting on his face, Bucky’s about to say something to you, but Steve’s waiting gaze deters him. “Um, I don’t know? I guess?”

“What do you mean ‘I guess?’ Remember when you said you’d support all of my actions as President? It’s time to walk the talk, jerk. ”

Bucky holds up his hands in mock-surrender. He glances at you for backup, but you’ve busied yourself by arranging the sample carnations while trying to push down your secret feelings for your best friend. Pretending everything was platonic and peachy makes your stomach twist, but you prefer that stress over risking the friendship and losing Bucky in the process.

Yes, you’re a chicken and will probably take this secret to the grave, but it doesn’t stop you from secretly wishing that one day Bucky will realize you two are meant to be.

Hey, a girl can dream.

“I don’t care if you send it to a buddy as a joke. Just support the cause, man. Hell, I might send a few flowers as a prank.” Much to your amusement, Steve starts to ramble about the pranks Bucky could pull on his roommate Sam through the flower sale.

“You know what…” Bucky’s warm brown gaze falls onto you. His full lips curve into a smile, catalyzing a mild flutter in your chest. Without breaking eye contact with you, he continues, “I think I’ll buy a carnation or two.”

Holy crap, what if Bucky sends you a carnation?

The thought crosses your mind so suddenly that you nearly knock over a cardboard box. The carnation sale brings up a lot of ugly memories, but at the same time, all you want is for Bucky to return your feelings.

Fear of rejection is powerful enough to keep your secret feelings airtight. But what if this is one of those rom-com situations where magical things result from a random action? What if a carnation is the stimulus that catalyzes a romantic relationship? What if -

“(Y/N)?”

Ah shit, you spaced out again. “Yeah, Steve? Do you need something?”

“I was wondering if you could go to the Student Gov office and bring our cash box, but I can –”

Oh no, you need to get out of here before you do something stupid. “No! I’ll go! Do you need anything else from the office?”

“No, we just need a cash box.”

“Got it. I’ll be back!” You dash off, wishing it were possible to outrun your thoughts. Though you know it most likely won’t happen, the slightest inkling of Bucky buying you a carnation drives you insane.

“(Y/N)! Wait up!”

Fuck. Why did he have to follow?

You slow your sprint into a walk, your heart racing again when Bucky casually flops an arm around your shoulder. You hate how uncomfortable you feel around him. Bucky isn’t just a stupid crush – he’s the person you trust your life with. This is the guy who witnessed all of your victories and growing pains, and vice versa. You know practically every detail of his life and all of his quirks that normally would be a turn-off to girls.

God damn it, you have a crush on the guy who went through a phase of only using “Shrek” quotes to communicate with people.

“Alright doll, talk to me.” Bucky pauses until you turn your head onto his direction. “What’s really on your mind?” You let out a strangled murmur, prompting him to gently knock his shoulder into yours. “(Y/N), I’ve known you for my entire life. I know something’s up just by the look on your face. Let me do my best friend duties by listening and help you in any way possible.”

“Nothing’s bothering – Okay, fine,” you begrudgingly admit, his knowing look wearing you down. “Remember what happened at my high school every Valentine’s Day? The flower sale?”

Understanding flashes onto the brunette’s face. The arm around your shoulder grows protectively tighter and his look of concern grows dark. Although he went to a different high school, Bucky knows how much of a hit your self-esteem took after every Valentine’s Day. Hell, how could he not when he was the one who always found you at the park in muffled tears?

“I know it’s probably going to be different,” you continue. “This is college, and Steve added a flower option for friendship, which my high school didn’t do. But…” You angrily fist the hem of your shirt into a ball. “I hate that I’m still affected by something so dumb.”

“It’s not dumb. The people at your high school were shitheads. How they didn’t understand how amazing and brilliant you are is beyond me,” Bucky ferociously counters. “Any decent person would have sent a shitload of flowers your way. I know I would have!”

The fluttering butterflies are momentarily replaced with a wave of warm appreciation for your best friend. You know he’s saying this to make you feel better, but it still succeeds in making you feel better. “Thanks, Bucky,” you noncommittally shrug.

Bucky abruptly halts in his tracks and grabs the sides of your arms, whirling you around so you face him directly. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

“What?”

“(Y/N), you...” A sigh escapes his lips in a defeated manner. “If only you could see what I see.”

Words like this ignite the candle of hope in your heart that you have burning for Bucky. Maybe you’ve watched too many rom-com movies, but words like this have a heavier purpose than simply lifting one’s mood.

“Thanks, Buck. That really means a lot to me.”

“Hey,” he grins. “I’ve always got your back. You’re my best friend,” he emphasizes.

And like that, a cold gust blows out the candle of hope, and your shoulders fall with a slump. Of course, he only sees you as a friend. You’re just idiotic enough to jump on a morsel of hope and create an entire fantasy from it.

It bothers you how hurt you feel by this revelation, so you do what you do best – suppress all of the feelings bubbling up your body. You vow to stop being a lovesick puppy and move on from your feelings for Bucky. If it wasn’t going to happen, why bother waste time and dwell?

So imagine your unfiltered surprise when in a week or so, you receive a delivery of a dozen white carnations with a letter “B” signed on the card.

Part 2

@buckyywiththegoodhair @bovaria @abovethesmokestacks @sebbytrash @brighterlights @beccaanne814-blog @jurassicbarnes @avengerofyourheart @cleanslates @corruptedlungsandblackwings @fandomlifeuniverse @themcuhasruinedme @hellomissmabel @pleasecallmecaptain @captainpunk @sebstanwassup @latenightbooknerd @debzybrazy @cami23593 @mynamespaigex @redgillan @alivingfanlady @queen--valeskaxx @softcorehippos @feelmyroarrrr @elyza-jeanette @addictionmarvel @piratecaptain-ducky @taylorjacksonandtheolympians @netflixa @latenitetacos @ideallywinter

[yoongisbbydoll]

100 Reasons Why, 08

pairing ─  bts, reader

currently: jung hoseok, min yoongi, kim taehyung

genre ─  soulmates, slice of life

length ─  2,000 words

warnings ─  bigamy, polygamy, smut

synopsis ─  Love is a powerful thing. Let it settle under your skin and in your bones. Let it live, let it breathe. Do not beat it down and know that your love does not reach one person, but everyone around you. 

chapter index ; here.

Silence

“Take a deep breath.” The doctor instructs, his cold stethoscope digging into your ribcage. You breathe in, glancing between three nervous faces. You let it out, smiling weakly. No one says anything.

The doctor clears his throat. “You said she couldn’t breathe?” He stares Taehyung down critically. He doesn’t seem to believe anything your partners have said so far, taking everything with a grain of salt. He doesn’t believe that all three of them “belong” to you (as he put it).

“We were just at the library and suddenly I heard someone screaming. When I tried to calm her down, she screamed even louder and then stopped breathing completely.” Taehyung recalls shakily, brows furrowed in deep thought.

“And here we are.” The doctor turns to you. He still thinks all of you are lying, evident in his analytical way of looking over you and the cryptic way he words his sentences. “There’s no problem as far as I can see, most likely just a minor panic attack. Any previous ones?” You shake your head. “Anything that might have set something off?” You shake your head once more. He looks even more skeptical, clapping his hands together in an almost sarcastic manner. “Well, to stay on the safe side, I’m going to prescribe a low dosage of antidepressants and Benzodiazepines. I’m also going to give you the number to the therapist at this hospital who you can talk to bout your problems.”

The doctor seems very old, a hobbling little man with wire glasses about two inches thick sitting atop his crooked nose, voice raspy—like he’s constantly out of breath—his  conservative views shadowing over everything he does. Yoongi rolls his eyes are the doctor, mumbling about how he is probably one of those who believe that once you find your one soulmate, you must have children then die happily.

Hoseok raises an awkward hand. “We’d like to talk to you about her eyesight, sir.”

“What about it?” The doctor snaps, scribbling away on a pad of paper and angrily tapping his veiny fingers into the computer’s keyboard.

“Is there anything we can do to fix it?” Yoongi pipes in, looking slightly more than hopeful.

The man sighs, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “There is something. We don’t offer it here, but there is a something called Color Reassignment Surgery. She won’t be able to see a full color spectrum, but instead of just black and white, she’d be able to make out deep yellows, reds, and blues—primary colors. There’re some cases where the patient gains a full spectrum, but it’s not likely—less than a 1% chance actually.”  

“How much is it?” You find yourself asking. It’s not likely that you can afford it but maybe someday.

He sighs again, as if this whole ordeal is just so hard for him. He spins in his chair, facing the four of you. “Starting price of these things is around half a million—and that’s if you go to someone cheap.”

There’s a moment before he breaks the news where everyone is hopeful. Taehyung biting the inside of his cheek, Hoseok closing his eyes like he’s praying, Yoongi staring up at the ceiling. Then, he opens his mouth and ruins it all. Everyone sits in silence for a moment before Hoseok, ever the lifesaver, stands and claps his hands, “Well, thank you for your time, we’ll be sure to grab the prescription on our way home and call up that therapist.”

The car ride home is silent, no one wanting to address what just happened. Hoseok drives in the front with Yoongi, exchanging looks every now and then, letting his hand sit comfortably on the writer’s leg. In the back, Taehyung lets you lay down with your head in his lap though it’s not particularly safe. He runs his hand through your hair softly, massaging your scalp, with each movement you can feel the stress fading away—like a soft breeze drifting by on a warm, sunny day.  

Both Yoongi and Hoseok had left work for this and you worry over Yoongi’s meeting, he had probably just gotten there when Taehyung called him from the hospital. Now, the dark realization that maybe you’ll never be able to see hangs in the air, a gloomy rain cloud hovering above the car and following your way home. You feel like your quiet, perfect life is swirling down the drain, drip, drip, dripping away.

The night is quiet, dinner am awkward jumble of bits and pieces of conversation, everyone’s thoughts drifting elsewhere. Hoseok’s head is filled with numbers, trying to figure out where he could ever get the money for the operation and how long it would take. Yoongi stares at the wall as if it had done him wrong in a past life, emotions flaring at the thought of not being able to give you something you deserve more than anything. Taehyung is trying not to think, letting whatever comes to his mind spill from his lips.

Everyone moves to the couch like a heard of zombies, lifeless, minds blank.  

“Maybe we should get a dog,” Taehyung interrupts the movie no one is watching.

“We have two cats.” Yoongi shifts, pulling you farther into his lap. His hands linger under your shirt, pressed into the soft skin of your stomach nonchalantly. You wonder why his touch no longer feels intimate, like his hands are just there because that’s where they naturally fall. He feels cold and distant. It’s like you’re crowded onto a couch with complete strangers.

Hoseok nods his head though no one sees it.

The movie ends as soon as it had started. Everyone slowly makes their way to bed. Taehyung mumbles about taking a shower and escapes into the bathroom. He locks the door.

He showers quickly, crawling into bed with damp skin, pressing himself against you. You lean into the scent of his shampoo, a soft coconut smell surrounding the bed. Cigarette smoke and cool night air drift through the open window no one bothers to close. With Taehyung and Yoongi pressed against your sides, their hands against your bare skin no longer raise goosebumps under your skin. Instead, it’s as if they’re not there at all.

No one sleeps. No one breathes. No one speaks a word. The air is stiflingly hot despite the winter chill creeping through the walls, thick and pure rage in a cloud of smoke suffocates you under the sheets. You can feel the furrow in Taehyung’s brow as he tosses and turns in his sleep, his movements waking you every so often. Yoongi, though his breathing is even and stable, is nibbling on his bottom lip, scrunching his face like there’s something bitter on his tongue. You can’t see or feel Hoseok, but it’s as if your thoughts are joined as one, his mind running a mile a minute as he ponders over today’s events.

It’s as if someone has come along and burst your perfect little bubble where you could be guileless and pretend that you were all just going to live happily ever after. Thanks.

Around 3, you push yourself up and totter to the bathroom, flicking on the light only to grimace at yourself in the mirror. Yoongi’s wrinkled shirt falls almost to your knees, the sleeves passing your fingertips, hair sticking up here and there, eyes sunken, beady. The thick fabric of the shirt sticks to your skin. You shake your head, wet your face and turn out the light.

Hoseok is sitting up in bed, waiting for you with a decrepit look on his face. You ask him what’s wrong. When he looks up at you, it takes a moment to process that he’s crying. Hoseok’s warm hand reaches out for yours, a newfound wave of heat running through your shivering body as he pulls you into his lap, chest to chest, arms wrapping around you protectively. He dips his head into the curve of your neck. Hot tears dampen your skin as he lets out a muffled sniffle.

This is only the third time you’ve seen Hoseok cry, his emotions usually on the brighter side for your sake, never failing to keep up a perfect façade. But whenever his infectious, effervescent personality is torn down to reveal the depression and anxiety he carries every day, the whole world seems to crack apart, revealing its ugly, malicious face with a Fuck you too sneer.

The last time Hoseok had cried in front of you was just after the time you moved in together almost three years ago. He cried because he had come home to an empty apartment, you being at night classes, and felt so alone. He had formed the idea that you suddenly decided to leave him. The thought of you running away from him had torn him apart because it made him realize that he didn’t completely belong to you. He wondered if had you finally met someone who made you see and decided Hoseok wasn’t good enough. And when you came home, he was sitting on the floor, surrounded by all your boxes of clothes, watching the TV silently, letting tears run down his blotchy face.

It had taken him two months to get used to you coming home late, often calling you to check up on you. The next semester, you switched to day classes so that you could be at home for him. It was easier as both of you could wake up together, eat breakfast and walk to the train station with hands clasped together. It was a lighter, airier time, when cherry blossoms lined the pavement, people walking carelessly over the soft petals. Hoseok would always pick them up, tucking them behind your ears and commenting about how the pink complimented your skin.

You run your hands in soft circles over Hoseok’s back, mumbling about old memories. You whisper in his ear, reminding him about the tacky dress you wore to prom that apparently matched his red tie and the strapless number your sported the next year while he wore an all-white tuxedo; of the time you both finished an entire box of popsicles in a single hour during a horrendous heat wave; of the first time you helped him dye his hair and it came out a horrid color of green but he still looked beautiful to you because you couldn’t tell.

Hoseok slowly pushes you back, staring up at you with glistening eyes, reflecting soft moonlight and adoration. “I want you to experience the world in the way we do. I can’t even imagine what everything looks like in black and white anymore.” He blubbers, bottom lip quivering.

Shaking your head, you run your fingers through Hoseok’s hair, pushing it back off his forehead the way you like it, he smiles though his eyes are tired. Taehyung shifts in bed, letting out a soft groan as he kicks Yoongi in the shin. Your writer yelps, quickly lashing out to tickle at Taehyung’s side. When he’s decided that Taehyung has had enough, Yoongi turn on his back, opening one eye to stare at the two of you on the side of the bed. “Nice to know we were included in this obviously insignificant conversation.”

“Agreed. We should all be discussing this, not just the O-Gs.” Taehyung grumbles, twisting under the sheets.

You let out a soft giggle, crawling over between them with a grin. “Did you really just say O-G?”

“Maybe.”

Hoseok takes the spall space between Taehyung and the edge of the bed, sighing contently. “If there’s an issue, we should be comfortable addressing it aloud.” Yoongi voices, pulling you into his chest. Taehyung turns to face you, arm draping over your waist as well as Yoongi’s, humming in agreement. Hoseok pulls Taehyung’s back to his chest, smiling contently as you grab his hand and long your fingers together.

The air is cool, stinging your face in a way that makes you smile.

back. next.

note: i am not an expert on mental illnesses so please tell me if something in this is incorrect and i will gladly fix it

Thank you for reading! Find more from me, July, here.

[thatkatiecooney]

How to Keep Your Readers EMOTIONALLY Involved

Why is it that sometimes a book or movie can make you THIS emotionally invested  . . . 

And sometimes it's more like this? 

My stories used to inspire a reaction similar to Hermione’s in my readers. And in me.  At some points I'd be reading my work, and a little honest voice buried somewhere in my head would say "I wouldn't care if this character was hit by a bus right now." Then I'd heap some denial atop the voice, silence her unwanted mutterings, and go back to trying to enjoy my story. Problem was, my readers appeared to have this little honest voice as well. And if she told them "Cartoon bus. Hitting this character. Wouldn't that be funny?" they had a tendency to listen to her.

What was the problem? My scenes didn't connect to my reader's emotions. They didn't change those emotions throughout the scene. They started out sad and they ended just as sad or even more so. And what came after that? Well, another scene that began with the main character feeling horrible, which ended with him just as downtrodden as before. Or worse: The scene began positive and just got better. The next one would start out absolutely giddy and ended effervescent. And this kept going until the characters were almost singing with joy. (Okay, maybe I'm being slightly snarky about my past self.) But after that, I'd follow it up with a long sequence of sadsadsad scenes. 

So what happened? My readers had only two emotions while enduring this: frustration and impatience. 

The scenes weren't keeping my readers emotionally engaged. The scenes weren't changing emotionally. And that is what needs to happen: The emotional charge of the scene has to change. Switch between negative and positive. The flow of the reader's emotions has to be taken into account, and consciously adjusted. It's that simple. 

How can this be accomplished? 

1) Determine what's at stake in the scene. To the characters, something important is being threatened, something emotional or primal. Love? Safety? Friendship? Justice? Make sure the scene means something for the characters. (If it's not emotionally significant to them, connected to the A Story, B Story, or Character Arc, it's not a scene and the reader won't care.) And since the readers are emotionally connected to the characters, the readers care about what's at stake, and are conscious of what it means. 

2) Beats. The exchanges of action and reaction between characters and forces of opposition in pursuit of the goal . . . these carry that emotion, these are how emotions shift within the scene, gradually taking it from one to another. 

3) Emotional Charge. If the scene starts with what's at stake in positive way, then it'll switch to negative by the end. If if starts negative, the scene will change to positive. 

Anyway! How does this work?  

To illustrate it, because I'm having a lot of fun reading the screenplay, here are five scenes from Zootopia. 

Let's start with the scene right after this happens: Manchas has gone savage, and Judy and Nick are running for it.

Scene 1 

What's at stake? Life

Opening Charge: Negative (They're being chased by a jaguar who is about ten times bigger than either of them, and who seems quite keen to tear them apart. To the characters, this scene opens with a 95% likelihood of imminent brutal death. To the audience, this scene opens with two characters we've come to care about in this dangerous situation.)

Closing Charge: Positive (They manage to call backup. Judy manages to handcuff Manchas. Nick stays to help Judy, rather than hop on the gondola to safety. They fall but manage to survive. They fall again, but are caught by a vine just before impact. Bogo and the rest arrive, and Judy is full of confidence about her discovery in the Otterton case, and eager to show them. Everything in this scene ended in Judy and Nick's favor.)

How has what's at stake changed? They lived.

Scene 2

What's at stake? Judy's lifelong dream, the goal she's worked towards since she was a child. 

Opening Charge: Negative (Judy tells Bogo that this is way bigger than a missing mammal case -- Otterton and Manchas went savage. He scoffs at her. In response, Judy confidently sweeps back the leaves to reveal the wild jaguar . . . and he's gone. With her proof nowhere in sight, what she's told Bogo sounds insane and ridiculous. Which provokes him into demanding her badge.) 

Closing Charge: Positive (Nick stops Bogo from taking Judy's badge. Nick also bluntly tells him that he's been an unfair little jerk to Judy, they have time to solve the case, and they have much more important things to be doing than standing around dealing with these idiots. He even calls her "Officer Hopps" instead of Carrots. They're back on the case.) 

How has what's at stake changed? She still has a chance to achieve that lifelong goal. And Nick was the one to buy her more time. 

Scene 3 What's at stake? Truth

Opening Charge: Positive (Judy, and the audience, are feeling thankful and closer to Nick.)

Closing Charge: Negative (But even though we are in a good place, Nick looks far away . . . he starts thinking back . . . and we can sense that this memory lane doesn't end anywhere pleasant.)

How has what's at stake changed? He's about to share something significant.

Scene 4 What's at stake? Innocence

Opening Charge: Positive (We see little Nick! Looking happy and excited. All he wanted to do was join the Junior Ranger Scouts, and his mother scraped together money to buy him a uniform. She's even adjusting his tie for him, lovingly.)

Closing Charge: Negative (Nick, who had been so happy at the beginning of this scene, is now hiding from the evil kids,  struggling to pull the muzzle off, panicked, crying like his heart's broken.) 

How has what's at stake changed? Traumatized

Scene 5 What's at stake? Closeness

Opening Charge: Negative (Well that was a horrifying story. And now Nick is avoiding eye contact, while revealing the takeaways he got from that childhood episode, which have shaped his decisions from then on. Suddenly Judy, and the audience, understand Nick a lot more. We empathize and sympathize with him.)

Closing Charge: Positive (The traffic cameras would have caught whatever happened to Manchas! And Judy has a friend that can help them access those cameras. They're back on the case.) 

How has what's at stake changed? Nick dodges out of further vulnerability BUT they're back on the case -- this time, together. 

So!

As you can see, the emotional charges of these scenes fluctuate smoothly, from a scene's opening to its closing, from one scene to the next. In every moment, in every beat, we're feeling something. And when the scene turns, we (and the characters) are feeling the opposite of what we were at the beginning of the scene. Our curiosity and minds are linked to the story by the question "What's going to happen next?"; our emotions are connected to the story by the conduits Judy and Nick, these two characters we care about, as every emotional change pushes us closer towards the answer to the question "What's going to happen to these two? Is everything going to end up alright for them?" 

Now, let's see what happens when you stop paying attention to the emotional changes of your scenes. 

Scene 1: Manchas is gone. Bogo is berating Judy. Nick stands there and watches. Judy ends up handing over her badge. The real cops leave, and Judy stays behind, figuring she might as well try and complete the case anyway. All Nick wants is that carrot pen, so he tags along.

Scene 2: Judy has nothing to feel thankful about, and certainly doesn't feel closer to Nick. He's thinking back on his childhood, but doesn't share anything with Judy. . . 

Scene 3: Instead of the flashback opening on a happy Nick, it opens on him getting beaten up by the evil children, and ends on him weeping with the muzzle strapped to his face. 

Scene 4: We snap back to the present. Judy staring, beyond tears at this point. Nick looking traumatized and bitter. He remembers he needs the pen. He thinks about the reward money if they had found all those missing mammals. He has the traffic camera revelation! He drags a dejected Judy into his scheme, which she doesn’t care about, but why the heck not? 

In this horrible alternate universe version of Zootopia, this sequence of scenes is negative from beginning to end. And what would have happened to the audience if the scenes had played out in this depressing way? 

They would have emotionally checked out.

The connection between emotions and story would have snapped.

We would have forced our emotions to abandon the story, and watched the rest of the movie feeling betrayed and cheated. 

Because in the end, all we care about are these characters. All we care about is story, and character is story. It's no coincidence that removing the emotional changes of the scenes equated to removing Judy and Nick's relationship in the scenes; that relationship, that B Story, or Love Story, function (oddly enough) as the heart of the movie: it keeps the story alive, it keeps us connected and invested in the narrative, it keeps the scenes emotionally turning. Before Nick showed up, and we had two characters to care about, what kept us emotionally involved in the story was our relationship with Judy, this plucky bunny that we really wanted to see succeed. Establishing that connection is a subject for another post, but in regards to scenes, this manipulation of the audience's emotions is how you keep that connection going strong.

I just said to manipulate someone's emotions. How villainous.

[pokemaniacal]

Pokémon Moon, Episode 13: In Which I Assist A Known Criminal In Raiding A Reputable Organisation of Conservationists

Where were we? 

Oh yes. I had just returned to Aether House in what I thought was triumph, only to find Gladion there, screaming at everyone in the vicinity.

Something tells me this is not going to be the low point of my day.

After a rage-fuelled battle in which my Raichu and Toucannon narrowly manage to overcome Gladion’s powerful Golbat, Sneasel, and whatever the hell “Type: Null” is, Gladion calms down enough for me to figure out what the hell is going on. In perhaps the single cleverest feint ever executed by a Pokémon villain in the history of time, it turns out that Plumeria’s abduction of Yungoos was a ruse, intended mostly to draw me and Acerola away to Po Town.  In our absence, Lillie and her adorable little cosmic nuke were left with no one to protect them but Hau.  Now, Hau is admittedly not without his strengths.  Indeed, if anyone ever finds a way to convert optimism and doughnuts into a sort of tactical high explosive, Hau will overnight become the foremost military power in the known universe.  However, given the way reality has currently chosen to manifest itself, he couldn’t win a battle against the Rotomdex, much less Plumeria, and she was able to double back as soon as no one was watching and kidnap Lillie and Nebby.  Gladion is decidedly unimpressed, both at the fact that Cosmog was with Lillie all along (he apparently knows her), and at Hau’s failure to protect both of them.  If nothing else, his desire to keep Nebby out of the hands of his own employers seems to have been sincere.  Luckily, he not only seems to know where they’ve gone, but actually has a way to get there: he has a boat waiting in Malie City, and orders me and Hau to meet him there posthaste.  I momentarily consider the possibility that this is all some kind of complex bluff on his part – perhaps Gladion has been working with Lillie all along and is now luring me into a trap?  By this point I’m about 90% sure they’re brother and sister, so he could well be involved in her treacherous plot to rule Alola… but I also don’t really have a better plan than “spring the trap and use Hau as a human shield,” so I agree to go along.

When I arrive at the Malie docks, Gladion is there already, waiting for Hau.  Our previous meetings have actually given him a sort of grudging respect for Hau and his determination to forge his own path independently of Kahuna Hala – enough so that Gladion is prepared to count him as an ally in our upcoming raid.  I’m about to ask for more details when we’re interrupted by none other than Nanu, the grouchy old guy from Po Town, who has… come to see us off, I guess? Nanu announces, with zero fanfare and even less enthusiasm, that he is Ula’ula Island’s Kahuna, and offers me an impromptu Grand Trial.  You know, just while we’re standing around waiting at the docks.  Whatever happened to the solemnity and sanctity of- oh, screw it; we all know I don’t care.  Unfortunately for my Decidueye, who happens to be at the front of my team, Nanu trains Dark-types, but Decidueye is at least strong enough to bring down his first Pokémon, Sableye, with a couple of Spirit Shackles.  When Nanu switches to Krokorok, I send out my Toucannon, who is immediately hit by Krokorok’s Swagger and subsequently reduces it to a smoking crater with Beak Blast.  Nanu’s final Pokémon, an Alolan Persian, is strong enough to survive even the boosted Beak Blast and wreck Toucannon with Power Gem, but its poor physical defences and weakness to Bug moves make it easy prey for Golisopod.  Nanu smiles for the first time since I’ve met him, and presents me with his crystal, the Darkium-Z. “There. Congratulations or whatever,” he says, returning to his customary mirthless, dead-eyed stare, and goes to leave as unceremoniously as he arrived – but decides, seemingly on impulse, to give a few parting words to Gladion.  “Tell me… If you’re really trying to get stronger as you say, then what’re you depending on Team Skull for?”  He leaves without waiting for an answer.  I shoot a glance at Gladion, who just snorts and turns to look out at the sea. 

A few minutes later, Hau arrives, and Gladion reveals where we’re going: Aether Paradise.  He ignores our demands for an explanation, even as we get on his boat and set a course for the Paradise, unwilling to provide any more information than a characteristically terse “I just know.”  On the way, I quietly take Hau aside and reassure him that we can always stab Gladion in the back if this turns out to be a mission to sabotage the Aether Foundation.  He gives a nervous gulp, but agrees to watch for my signal.  Interestingly, when we reach the Paradise itself, Gladion’s boat – black, with Team Skull livery – doesn’t seem to raise any eyebrows, and we make it to the docking bay without incident.  That’s… strange, do they regularly get Team Skull vessels through here?  I decide to go along with Gladion’s plan for now, so the three of us take out the Aether Foundation guards on the docking level (surprisingly powerful trainers, many of them with Dragon-type Pokémon) and make for the elevator. Gladion quickly finds that elevator access to the research level, where he believes Lillie and Nebby will be, has been locked down, and instead takes us up to the administration level to find someone we can trick, bribe or coerce into giving us access.  Just such a person is conveniently waiting for us: Mr. Bean.

“I, Faba, am the Aether Branch Chief,” he introduces himself smugly.  “The only one in the world, I’m irreplaceable.” “Yeah, that’s not what ‘Branch Chief’ means,” I comment.  “By definition there should be one of you for each branch.” “Ah, but you see, there only is one branch of the Aether Foundation at present – here in Alola – and even when our organisation expands, I shall remain the most senior of the-” “What do you even need a Branch Chief for, then?” I ask, genuinely confused.  “What exactly is your job, anyway?”  I hear a strange nasal sound to my left that might be Gladion stifling a laugh.  Mr. Bean splutters indignantly. “Wh- what do you mean by questioning me like this?  By coming back here uninvited?” “Like you don’t know why,” Gladion says, glaring at him.  “You of all people should know everything that happens in the Aether Foundation.” “Living out in the world hasn’t been kind, has it?” Mr. Bean responds acidly.  “But I’m still not telling you anything!  And you of all people should understand why…” Gladion shrugs theatrically and turns to me. “Hey, Chris.  You know why being a trainer is so great?  Because when you’re battling, it doesn’t matter if you’re a kid or an adult. Everyone’s equal in Pokémon battle!” I snort, and pull my Decidueye’s Pokéball from my belt. “Equal? We’ll just see about that.”  Mr. Bean chuckles. “Is that what you think?  You wish to battle me?  The man who is called Aether Paradise’s last line of defence is to battle a mere child!?”  His incredulous laughter subsides into a steely resolve.  “As you will!”  Mr. Bean’s only Pokémon, unfortunately for him, is a Hypno.  One-on-one, Decidueye nails its soul to the wall in ten seconds flat. As Mr. Bean stutters in disbelief, Gladion delivers one of his signature death glares. “So… as I said, Faba,” he says menacingly, “you of all people know what I’m here for.” “Indeed… If you’re looking for Cosmog, I suppose it might be downstairs…” Mr. Bean replies with exaggerated casualness.  “I’ve heard experiments are held down there… experiments aiming to tear the very boundaries of the world apart.” “So nothing too fancy then?” I quip.  Mr. Bean just gives a resigned sigh and unlocks the elevator controls for us, leaving us free to descend. 

Aether Paradise’s underwater research level is a much darker, more sinister place than the rest of the facility, with more grey than white, and eerie fluorescent blue lighting.  Hau, for his part, is his usual effervescent self.  Gladion is a little annoyed by this, but seems to be gradually coming to respect Hau’s unique brand of courage.  The three of us quickly dispatch the paltry Aether Foundation scientists guarding the place and begin to look for Lillie and Nebby.  Gladion makes it clear that we are in a hurry, knowing that Mr. Bean is probably mobilising the Foundation against us while we search, and discourages us from looking into any of the Foundation’s research – better just to get on with finding Lillie.  He makes it doubly clear that Hau and I are not to enter the first of the two labs, where his own Pokémon, Type: Null, was created.  Naturally, I ignore his instructions completely and do as much snooping as I possibly can – I’m starting to like Gladion, but we are a long way from anything I would describe as “trust.”  Although Cosmog itself is nowhere to be found, the second lab contains extensive notes on the Aether Foundation’s experiments with it.  The Foundation believes Cosmog to be a species of Ultra Beast, and has discovered that when placed in great peril it has the power to open Ultra Wormholes, consistently with Gladion’s cryptic warning at our previous meeting.  Clearly he knew all of this because of his apparent past association with the Aether Foundation – and the same must be true of his probably-sister, Lillie.  Her plan to summon Lunala and conquer the Alola region in an age of infinite night must have arisen from the Foundation’s research on Cosmog.

As for Null… once Gladion returns to the elevator, I have a few moments to slip into the other lab and swipe as much data as possible.  The results are… enlightening.  Null is an artificial Pokémon, engineered by the Aether Foundation with the explicit purpose of fighting and killing Ultra Beasts, based on research materials gathered in Sinnoh, at the Canalave Library.  That’s… strange.  The Canalave Library is world-renowned for its history and mythology collections, but in the biological sciences it’s average at best… The files go on to explain that Null, which was originally designated Type: Full, was supposed to have the capability to change its element at will by focusing on eighteen special “memories” that the Foundation gave it, using a technology they called the RKS system.

…wait.

RKS, Ar-Kay-Ess.  Sinnoh, Canalave.  At-will type change. 

Oh my god. No, literally, oh my god.  Surely they wouldn’t-?  The Aether Foundation was trying to engineer an artificial Pokémon that drew power from the distilled essence of Arceus, the Original One, the Pokémon said to have created the universe!  And they almost did it, the mad bastards!  I don’t know how, but they successfully built their Type: Full Pokémon, three of them in fact.  The RKS system was a failure though; the Pokémon couldn’t control their power and went berserk, necessitating the creation of control masks – like the bronze helmet that Gladion’s Pokémon wears.  Unfortunately, the masks also inhibited the functioning of the RKS system, leading to the Pokémon’s re-designation as Type: Null and their relegation to permanent cryogenic stasis.  Until, apparently, Gladion decided to steal one… I wonder, as I catch up to him and Hau at the elevator, whether he has any idea what his partner is.  Null is, in a very real and very troubling sense, divine… ideal for fighting demons from the Endless Void, I’ll give it that, but the thing about gods is, they can be terribly fickle, even towards their favourites… 

Back on the administration level, we find Lusamine’s aide, Wicke, who greets Gladion as “young master.”  She tells us that Lillie is probably with Lusamine in her private quarters, but Mr. Bean has sealed the doors leading to that part of the complex, and mustered as many employees as he can to stop us.  He greets us with a confident chuckle as we approach, and crows that he only let us into the labs to buy himself time to gather more of his staff. “So, uh, Mr. Faba, do you have the key to the president’s rooms?” Hau asks him. “Indeed!” he replies triumphantly.  “I have it right here!” “So… if you’d just stayed hidden, we would’ve been stuck here anyway, right?” Hau bursts into laughter.  Mr. Bean stares at him, dumbstruck. “Dude, you just got outsmarted by Hau,” I observe.  Gladion’s face tenses up as he struggles not to laugh.  “This is just not your day, is it, Mr. Bean?” “STOP CALLING ME THAT!” he screeches. “ALL OF YOU, GET THEM!  GET THEM NOW!”  His minions fall quickly enough, but Mr. Bean himself has decided to bring his A-game this time, using three Pokémon of his own and enlisting another Aether Foundation worker to run support with a Ledian.  My Slowbro and Hau’s Raichu focus-fire the Ledian to keep it from providing him with too many protections, then turn to Mr. Bean’s own Slowbro – between its own Amnesia and the Ledian’s Light Screen, it takes a while to wear down, but two-on-one it’s not too bad.  His next Pokémon, a Bruxish, quickly finishes off Hau’s Raichu as I switch in my Golisopod, but then folds to a single strike from First Impression.  Finally, against Mr. Bean’s Hypno, Hau sends in his partner Pokémon – now in its final form, a slender, long-haired sea-lion Pokémon called Primarina.  Its Hydro Vortex and my Golisopod’s Leech Life finish the battle almost before Hypno can act.  Mr. Bean fumes for a minute when beaten, but faced with Gladion’s barely-contained rage, Hau’s wide-eyed grin, and my stare of utter disdain, he relents and hands over his key, muttering “this is why I can’t bring myself to like children,” as we pass him by. 

The rear section of Aether Paradise’s administration level is taken up almost entirely by President Lusamine’s opulent mansion and its gardens – which are swarming with Team Skull grunts.  Huh.  I guess Gladion was telling the truth; they are working with the Aether Foundation. But… why?  No time to figure that out; Gladion is already dashing past the grunts to confront Guzma.  Hau engages the ones closest to us, leaving me to fight my way forward.  Two grunts in my path give me little trouble.  The third… is B.  We stare at each other in silence for a moment. “So…” he begins. “…yeah…” I continue. “…this is mad awkward, yo.” “…yup.” We pause, hands inching toward our Pokéballs.  “You could have told me the whole thing with the Yungoos was a distraction.” “I didn’t know!  I didn’t even know we was workin’ with these wack Aether Foundation guys til today!” “Well, maybe now would be the moment to switch sides then, if you’re going to do it,” I suggest, with a jerk of my head towards Guzma and Gladion, in the midst of a battle that Guzma seems to be winning.  B hangs his head. “I ain’t gonna fight a battle I can’t win; takin’ on Guzma, the odds are way too slim.” “Fine. Get out of my way, then,” I reply sharply.  He hesitates. “What, you’re afraid of Guzma but you think you can beat me?  If you’re not going to help, then step aside.”  After another moment’s hesitation, he does.  “That’s what I thought.”  I kinda feel bad for him, but Gladion’s already beaten – I need to fight Guzma myself.  Guzma laughs as I approach. “You little misfits keep getting up in my grill, like a cloud of smoke that I can’t brush away.  It’s time I put out your fire at the source!”  I frown. “You’re a Bug trainer; don’t you think a fire metaphor is a bit of an inauspicious choice?”  Guzma roars and sends out his Golisopod.  “…fire it is,” I agree, opening the battle with my Toucannon’s Beak Blast.  While not strong enough to outright defeat his Golisopod, that does trigger its Emergency Exit to bounce in Guzma’s next Pokémon: a Masquerain, who quickly falls to another Beak Blast.  When Golisopod comes back in, Toucannon is too weak now to keep fighting, so I use my own Golisopod’s First Impression to finish it off. The Pinsir that comes in next is able to bounce my Golisopod with X-Scissor, but that just leaves an opening for my Salazzle to power up with Nasty Plot and then roast both Pinsir and Guzma’s Ariados.  Defeated, Guzma grudgingly steps aside and lets me into Lusamine’s mansion.  I glance at Gladion, who is still treating his Pokémon’s wounds and waves for me to keep going.  Well, here goes nothing.

Most of the mansion, decorated all in Aether Foundation white, gold and black, is sealed off; the only open path leads to Lusamine’s private quarters, where she and Lillie are engrossed in an argument.  As I burst into the room, Lusamine looks up at me, surprised. “Oh! Chris… it’s been a while since we last saw you,” she says, quickly regaining her composure.  Lillie spins around. “Wha-!? Y-you came!?  You actually came to help me?” “Help you!?” I ask incredulously.  “I’m here to stop you!”  I look over her shoulder at Lusamine.  “Ma’am, I have reason to believe that Lillie is plotting to destroy the Alola region by using the abilities of the Pokémon she stole from you to take command of a mythical Ultra Beast known as Lunala!  We have to work together to keep that power out of her hands!”  Lillie and Lusamine both stare at me for at least ten seconds without saying a word.  Lillie opens and closes her mouth uselessly like a fish.  Lusamine’s face appears to invent an all-new emotional state that somehow hybridises intense amusement with chronic constipation. “Oh, my… If this is what you were pinning your hopes on, my dear,” she says to Lillie, “well… what can I say?  How disappointing.”  Lillie, panicking now, looks back and forth between me and Lusamine. “I-I-I don’t need your help!” she declares to me.  “Or your approval, Mother!” she continues, turning back to Lusamine.  “I will save Cosmog!” “Don’t listen to her!” I warn Lusamine.  “Cosmog is an Ultra Beast; it’s dangerous, and so is she!”  Lusamine smiles at me warmly. “Your concern is touching, but I can handle myself.  I know how to deal with those dear, sweet, darling beasts.”  She turns to Lillie, and all her warmth evaporates. “I could have sworn you just called me ‘Mother.’  You must be forgetting that I don’t have any children!  Certainly not any wretched children who would run off and reject my love!”  Lillie flinches, and Lusamine laughs.  “What can you do, Lillie?  The only thing that you’ve ever done on your own is steal someone else’s research!”  She turns her back to us.  “You’re not beautiful enough for my world…” “…okay, that’s a bit harsh,” I suggest.  “I mean, she is literally your daughter, right?  Errare est humanum and all that?” Lusamine ignores me, and gives a shrug and a sigh. “Well, since you’re here anyway, you can watch me summon my sweet beast.  And then… you can leave.”  She walks over to a wall mirror at the back of the room, and touches it gently.  The mirror vanishes, revealing an alcove containing a teleport pad.  “Maybe if you really had been a daughter to me, I would have listened to you,” Lusamine says as she steps onto the pad, then gives Lillie a final sneer and vanishes. “Wait – summon?”  I gasp. Lillie must have tricked her mother somehow – Lusamine wants to protect the Ultra Beasts; she doesn’t realise how dangerous they are.  She’s going to do her daughter’s bidding and summon Lunala herself!  I run for the teleport pad.  “Ma’am! Lusamine!  You’re making a mistake!  Whatever she’s told you, you have to stop!”  Just behind me, I hear Lillie give an exasperated scream as she follows me through the teleport. 

The team:

Tane the Decidueye Male, Timid nature, Overgrow ability Level 40 Steel Wing, Razor Leaf, Synthesis, Spirit Shackle 

Rhea the Toucannon Female, Lax nature, Keen Eye ability Level 39 Screech, Roost, Beak Blast, Brick Break 

Ashley the Psychu Female, Timid nature, Surge Surfer ability Level 39 Discharge, Hidden Power (Ice), Nasty Plot, Psychic 

Hypatia the Slowbro Female, Hardy nature, Own Tempo ability Level 39 Psychic, Yawn, Slack Off, Scald 

Joanna the Salazzle Female, Timid nature, Corrosion ability Level 39 Flame Burst, Nasty Plot, Sludge Bomb, Toxic 

Sigourney the Golisopod Female, Careful nature, Emergency Exit ability Level 40 Brick Break, Payback, First Impression, Leech Life