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papers4me · 3 years

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Fruits Basket, Se03, ep10 (part 1)

“ What to do? & how to do it? the answer & the method are so simple, so simple but difficult as hell. it was hard for me to get them, & that’s exactly why I treasure them/ makes them valuable”. kyo~ This is my favorite quote in all anime.

How many times a domestic abuse victim was told just leave this abusive partner? report them? easy. just make a call. Report your abusive parents? tell someone. easy. Just speak up. It is true. It is easy but difficult as hell. To believe it is your right to fight. No, to believe you deserve to fight. to Live. This abuse is not a punishment you must endure. Hope is not dead. How simple yet so difficult to do that. ugh! my heart!

- Seeing Death vs Facing Death: ( The abuser who was stopped):

Abuse is a form of slow death. An actual intentional murder of an innocent soul. Abusers suck the life out of their victims & kyo’s biological dad is the poster monster for that. His appearance:

thin deathly demeanor, lack of nourishment, excessive drinking, lack of desire get out of the abyss, wide eyes, tiny pupils, manic laughter. shaky body movement. pathetic outlook at things.

heavy breathing, lack of logic & distorted facts, blurry speech, bizarre mentality, toxic behavior, tendency to hurt, injure, both physically & verbally.

inability to grasp reality, desire for inflecting pain on others, finding joy in that as it justifies his entire toxic mentality.

Fear of being hurt like he hurt others & being paranoid since he KNOWS he should receive punishment.

Kyo stood watching this man spit, rage, shake, scream. The man from his past, the authoritative figure in his early tender years, the person who must always be right: a parent. Facing his dad, Kyo’s entire gradual change was fantastic:

Kyo went from feeling utter fear from this man, hatred towards him, grief at the loss of a father & a mother, to force himself to stand his ground & not leave” easy but difficult as hell“ , to talk ” easy but difficult as hell“ , to announce that isnt gonna die ” easy but difficult as hell“ to say I’m loved & I want to to be with someone ” easy but difficult as hell”

to then realize the source of his mom’s misery isnt him after all, but this jerk! & not crumble at this realization ” easy but difficult as hell“ to grief over his mom’s tragic life & still announce again that he’s anit throwing his life away ” easy but difficult as hell“ to still look at his dad with pity rather than immense hate & anger ” easy but difficult as hell“ to remove his hand & leave him behind in the past while he moves forward ” easy but difficult as hell“ to say “ i’ll come visit again, cuz I anit afraid of you anymore, I’m not running, but I’ll try to extend a hand if you wanna do the same one day. It is your choice to be the abuser who must be stopped or the one who is atoned! you can choose, dad! We heard his choice as kyo was leaving, didn’t we? locking himself in an eternal cage that he made for himself. After all, he is the monster in his own story by his own choice.

-Seeing death (1): Kyo watching his mom’s suicide is a traumatic experience especially considering she chose such a graphic way to exist this world. Kyo once said to tohru “ mom went flying”, he now said“ mom threw her life away” very graphic ways to explain her death both literally & figuratively. This alone coupled with his father accusing him, resulted in a 4 year old screaming” I’mma yuki & kill myself, this would make you happy, dad”. This explains kyo’s 2 meetings with yuki as kids“ I hate you” at the sohma estate, the 2nd meeting “ I hate you” at the street. Mimicking the toxic behavior of the dad. Why didn’t kyo mimic kazuma? cuz trauma doesn't work like that. Kids can live safely for time then one traumatic experience shatter their self-worth into an endless cycle of self-hurt, low self worth & anger issues or withdrawal. The writing that set kyo/yuki against each other is perfect.

-Seeing death (2): Kyo watching kyoko’s death hammers all the insecurities of child kyo deep down into teenage kyo. Kyoko too, went flying, blood everywhere. too much pain happening again, crashing hope & killing his fighting spirit over & over. Be with tohru? why? to kill her, too?

-Seeing death (3): Kyo watching tohru’s injured body. Yup. You caused this. not by pushing her or failing to catch her. No. but by hurting her with harsh words. by forcing her away from you.

-Facing death (1): Kyo facing his dad, the symbol of deadly-abuse. To stand & announce to live is huge. -Facing death (2): refuse death: being caged till death, -Facing death (3): To say, I wanna be loved & love someone, life is not just being outside, heck! kyo was outside for 17 years! life is abt being with those who give it meaning! -Facing death (4): To not demand others to die as a punishment. Walking away from his dad without igniting the cycle of revenge & hate. ahhhhhhhhhh~~~ Chef’s kiss!

-Seeing eye to eye: ( I don’t need to be you, but I appreciate you):

Kyo & yuki toxic relationship has been ongoing since their birth. The moment kyo’s dad was dismayed that he got the cat of all zodiac & the moment yuki’s mom was delighted she got the rat of all zodiacs. From that moment it became: look how lucky the rat parents? You shamed me? Look how pitiful that cat? eww! stay away from his filth. The explosive nature of kyo’s tragic fate tainted him with the blood of his mom & the daggers of his father’s hateful words, while the nature of yuki’s sheltered & locked fate tainted him with fear & isolation. They meet & both carry out the feelings of rejection & hate all while envying the other. The toxic nature of their relationship consist of fights & condensing words. Tohru connected both. Through her, they became civil. Even talking abt perverted shigure. Now that she is hurt, they are lost without her. Their lives are empty.

Yuki’s “ kyo has his own pain & reasons” (to not see tohru) is my fave line! even better than all the epic lines after they confess their feelings. cuz this like happened before they connect. it shows that, I see his pain, I get he has his reasons. But whatever issues he have shouldn’t hurt tohru. this is when yuki interferes in kyo’s choices. For tohru. This is also when kyo really allows him to. For tohru. Had tohru nor be part of the fight, kyo wouldn’t even engage in it & yuki wouldn’t initiate it.

-“I wanted to be you!” : Kyo said it first. I loved this so much! Cuz kyo said I hate you first! it is so fulfilling that the truth is now out. From kyo first. Cuz really... that hate was all toxic inheritance from a toxic father & a toxic system.

- “Why do you have to say it firs!” Yuki was mad, cuz he was struggling with it for the longest time. to be kyo. He even mused on how kyo interacted with ppl in school, got himself his own mini kyo. lol. studied how kyo filled tohru’s world just by existing. yuki can't do that for tohru. he looked for someone whom he could do that for! yuki/machi scene at her house paralleled kyo/tohru scene at her room when she was sick (se01, e023) & when they eating the somen together (se02, e02), yuki/machi chalk scene paralleled kyo/tohru scene at the beach where he coaxed tohru to tell her mom’s story (se02, e07). Yuki really was having a hard time finding his true self & accepting it without needing to learn from kyo. It is hard to say “ i admired you” after being rejected by you! so kyo saying it first helped yuki say his after. Also, both boys were hella shocked they admire each other. Like both were deeply shocked! stupid boys! XD

Side Notes:

Kyo’s confrontation with his dad is furuba’s most powerful scene & most well-written one! From the fear of facing him, to talking to him with low voice, to physically stopping him, to the exposed last piece of locked memory abt the mother, to the freedom gained by walking forward! Heck, even how it was weaved psychologically to perfectly mimic children’s self-defense mechanisms & children copying their parents theme. The realistic depiction of abusers both in their most powerfully menacing moment & in their weakest cowardly moment. Top-tier writing! Hands down my fave furuba scene! Can’t ask for better! Can’t even imagine better! genius- writing Takaya-san!

The boys had a necessary fight & confrontation & the yuki’s entire speech was valid & perfect speech. However, as usual, I’m not a fan of how violence is depicted in furuba. I was actually “warned/ ordered” by an anon to not “ sh*t” on the boys fight scene. I don’t know why someone who’d read my reviews would think i’d have anything but love for both boys. I criticize the writing not the characters. Also, furuba fans have always been good to me, I state my opinion frankly & they talk to me! “ talk!”. You don’t have to throw virtual fists over different perspectives on fiction. Talking kindly does magic, also having different opinions is natural & normal for humans.

I love yuki so much, he’s one of my top faves in furuba & I get why the boys would quarrel & throw fists. I get the history between them, the current state of mind, their emotions & mentality & I get it’s fiction & drama that needs its “ OMG” moment. However, I cringe when I see violence used as a bonding moment in fiction in general. That’s just me. I wish the fight was done in a more artistic style without showing that scene where yuki corned kyo & punched him in full view of the screen. (again not hating on yuki nor the fact that they needed to fight). I’m jus saying I didn't need to see a one-sided beat up from a character I love to another one I love. That’s just me again~ feel free to enjoy this moment to its fullest. It’s fiction & I’m not judging anyone at all, nor hating anyone from real life or fiction <3<3<3.

Yuki’s last piece of character development is in my part 2 review! Along with machi. Also, yuki’s Japanese VA was awesome!!

Also, let yuki have deep various facial expressions!!!! ugh! In the fight scene they did yuki so dirty with his hair covering his eyes all the time! then followed by low quality shots of him breathing! Why?! The voice acting sold the entire excellent emotional rage more than the animation! Yuki can look pretty even when mad, heck! screw looking pretty! just give him deep facial expressions to mach his feelings! boy was hella mad like he never was his entire life! always forced to wear a mask or be diplomatic! now he’s screaming his lungs out, you hide his face??? really?? Sigh~ the anime always do this wit yuki, replace facial expressions with hair on eyes or having his eyes without light. I wanna see them expressive eyebrows so bad!!!

Another powerful VA performance was both kyo’s dad VAs! both the Japanese (with his excessive breathing) & the English VA (with his range). They sold the mad abusive character! they gave me chills!

Also, I sound like a broken record, but kyo’s both VAs did phenomenon in the dad’s scene & tohru’s scene. Honestly, I only watch the dub to hear Jerry! I learned his name & would watch the dub for him!

Akito, Arisa, Kureno in part 2 of my review as well.

Shigure/yuki returning home scene is call back to ep1. Ok, everybody loves a call back scene & the full circle thingy. but C’mon! you dont have to copy everything! the walk, the scenery, its purpose, dialogue & all! The anime really took advantage of kyo being missing. XD

Tohru’s dress/top color matches the color of kyo’s old hat (The hat). symbolic of him finding her? As if he did find her when they were children? cool. I love this detail. But i do NOT love this color on tohru at all !! lol. it is so dull on her. The dress style/ design mimics her same dress in se01, ep26 as she was talking to kazuma & kyo fought him. Their first intimate moment after nearly loosing the other. Heck! tohru was even hurt on her hand as well. but the color was a nice pastel yellow. It suited tohru. The hat’s bluish-greenish color matches tohru’s own pajama at home!!!! & kureno’s hospital pajama! T_T... why couldn't the hat be red!!!! a color that both represent kyo & yuki! both were compared to red before~ oh well~~ minor issue~

#Fruits Basket #Anime Only #happy paper #final season #part 1

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insfiringyou · 3 years

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BTS - Going Solo (Part One) - Jimin x Ara

Contains: Angst. *Potential trigger warning for descriptions of panic attacks*

Set a few months following their scene in ‘Private Moments’, Ara is faced with a decision which will change the course of her future.

(Part Two will be uploaded soon, after a few fics focusing on some of the other members.)

You can find out more about our headcanon universe and ongoing storyline here and more about our headcanon girlfriends here.

To read each member & their girlfriend’s headcanon universe fics in order, follow the links here: RM / Jin / Suga / J-Hope / Jimin / V / Jungkook & our full masterlist of fanart and fanfictions can be found here

If you wish to follow all member’s storylines in chronological order from the beginning, you can find them listed here.

Content below the cut

‘Jimin,

We just spoke, and you asked if I was happy. I think I am. At least most days.’

Ara typed slowly. Her nails had just been manicured and were longer than she was used to. The sound of acrylics against the keyboard rang through the small hotel room.

‘When I’m with you I can feel really happy. You can be so sweet and loving and I appreciate you always check up on me - to make sure I’m okay. Touring is hard. You know it better than anybody else, and you tried to prepare me for it.’

She gave a soft sigh, knowing no one else would hear. The words were spilling out of her fingers before her brain had time to catch up, though she knew based on experience she would eventually work out what she was trying to say. The room was dark and the white glow from the word document was starting to make her eyes water. The contact lenses had been in all day and were getting on her nerves. Still, she persevered. She could remove them once she had finished.

‘I’ve been asked to renew my contract.’

She stopped typing, heart thudding, and realised she felt scared. Her hand moved automatically to her stomach and she exhaled slowly before taking a deep, drawn out breath. She had been practicing and it had gotten easier. At first she would panic, and find her chest rising and falling like crazy, on the verge of hyperventilation, but soon she learned the trick; it was her stomach which was supposed to be moving, not her chest. Her cheeks were a little warm and she knew it was shame she was feeling, not embarrassment. She hadn’t told him yet, despite having known for over a week. Tentatively, she continued, fingers picking up speed as she became used to the sensation of the new nails.

‘You remember me telling you the first was on a trial basis, based on sales. Well - whatever target they set for us, we must have hit it. Even you have noticed the increase in publicity lately...the T.V appearances. They’ve asked me to film a reality show. I don’t know what they’re expecting.’

Her brow furrowed, wondering...

‘I guess they might have asked you too?’

The laptop stayed silent for a long time and she rested her hands against the small, cheap desk as she gazed at the screen. Her mind suddenly seemed blank and she felt stupid. She would never send the document to Jimin, just as she hadn’t sent the ones she had written before; three month’s worth of unopened, worthless ramblings saved in some obscure folder on her desktop, trapped in the harddrive somewhere between her acoustic recordings and photographs of hairstyles she had saved from Pinterest. She often wondered why she even bothered to save them. Her counsellor had told her, time and time again, that keeping a diary would be helpful. She could record her mood swings and track her periods, along with keeping count of what she ate; wholegrains made her bloated, red food colourings brought out a rash. She sometimes worried she might be lactose intolerant, though could handle it in coffee. That type of thing. She kept it up at first; bashfully bringing the sparkly diary into the small office she visited once a month and reciting what she had written to the man opposite. He would nod sympathetically as she spoke, making a comment from time to time; asking how she felt about what she had put. But the company was paying him to do this; all the girls went, and she sometimes wondered if it was the food diary he was really interested in. If her manager was keeping track, making sure she and the other members were not overdoing it on the full-fat salad dressing and milky lattes.

The diary entries began to dwindle and, not long after her last week-long visit back to Seoul, the meaningless letters on her laptop started. They were usually addressed to Jimin, though she had written several to her father and one to her brother. She wasn’t good with words; she had been told that often enough at school when she would have to read out loud from the book of the week in Literature, or come up with an argument in Business Studies. Her mouth would stumble and she’d turn red, both ashamed and humiliated, until the teacher inevitably took pity on her and told her to sit back down. Writing in private was much easier, especially when she knew no one but her would see.

‘I don’t know how to feel.’

The cursor hovered, blinking at the end of the last line. There was a heavy knock at the door and Ara jumped, hands automatically reaching for the laptop lid, before a familiar female voice called out.

“Ara? Are you coming?”

She quickly gathered herself, clicking the save icon at the top of the screen. The company had arranged a group meal in the restaurant downstairs, though she had forgotten, her mind distracted by more pressing thoughts.

“In a minute…I just need to change my lenses.” She called back, moving her finger against the touchpad as a pop-up appeared. She selected the save button once more, mouth twisting as she read the title in the little window: ‘Untitled #12.’ She wondered if she would ever get around to renaming them properly.

***

“Your hair has so much texture. I wish mine were thicker.”

Ara murmured in reply before catching the young stylist’s reflection in the mirror and realising how rude she must have sounded. Da-eun had come to the company some months before and was undeniably sweet. Too sweet, Ara sometimes thought, for the business she was in. The other makeup artists and hairdressers loved to keep one ear to the wall, in case there was a chance of promotion or, she rather cynically suspected, a way to increase their pay by selling gossip, but Da-eun didn’t seem like that. At least not yet.

After a moment’s hesitation, Ara smiled into the glass at the figure behind her. “I’m glad I have you to do it for me. The roots are a nightmare!”

Da-eun returned the smile and seemed to relax, but a curious expression still played on her features as she ran the straightener gently across the dyed tips of hair. “Are you tired?”

“I didn’t get much sleep.” Ara confirmed, briefly closing her eyes. Da-eun knew not to press her, but she couldn’t help but worry the younger woman might know more than she was letting on. They had shared hotel rooms in the past and, perhaps it was the stylist's instinct, used to paying close attention to detail, but she always seemed to tell when something was amiss. It was frustrating sometimes.

“I looked at the schedule. You’re not going on set until last so you’ll have time to rest before you go out.” Da-eun murmured helpfully. Ara nodded, relieved. It occurred to her, not for the first time, that Da-eun should quit while she could; while she was still young and hopeful and kind.

“I just don’t have the energy right now…” Ara sighed as she felt her hair being released. The younger woman finished working the ends and unplugged the device from the dressing room table.

“Did you sign the contract yet?”

Her voice was inquisitive and a little optimistic. Ara had never asked, but there was always the chance that Da-eun’s contract was somehow tied to her own; that if the group were to disband, she might lose her job. Ara shook her head lightly.

“No.”

Da-eun raised an eyebrow. “Are you having second thoughts?”

“I just haven’t had time to read it properly.” She said, truthfully. “It’s come around sooner than I thought…”

The stylist moved forward, reaching for the set of hairbrushes on the counter, before selecting the biggest. She teased through the ends of hair with her short fingers before brushing lightly along the bleached roots, smoothing the locks.

“There’s been rumours.” The younger woman said, voice suddenly low as though she were worried about being overheard. A thick curtain set apart the dressing room from the photography studio, but it was always possible someone was listening.

Ara blinked, tensing a little. “What?”

Da-eun smiled gently. “That you’re making a solo album.”

“Oh…” The older woman wasn’t sure what she had expected, but this news took her by surprise. “I wasn’t planning on it.” She shrugged.

“That’s a relief.” Da-eun beamed with a small laugh. “I’m looking forward to going home soon. Aren’t you?”

Ara opened her mouth to speak, not sure what she was going to say, but the curtain beside them drew apart suddenly; startling them both.

“Oh! Costume change…” Da-eun exclaimed, setting down the brush and turning to accommodate the older woman who had just entered. Mimi was a year older than Ara and usually less prone to accidents, but the leather strap on her camisole suggested a wardrobe malfunction which needed attending to at once.

“Sorry to interrupt…” The other woman murmured apologetically, gesturing to Da-eun. “Could you fix this for me?”

“Sure.” She nodded, stepping away.

Ara’s phone had vibrated against her thigh twenty minutes before but she hadn’t wanted to risk opening the text, especially with someone standing over her shoulder. As Da-eun seated Mimi in the rotating chair on the opposite side of the room to take a look at her costume, Ara took the moment to slip the device from her pocket and flick through the recent notifications. Unsurprisingly, it had been Jimin who had texted and she read the sentence a couple of times before returning it to her pocket.

‘Two more weeks. I’m looking forward to seeing you. It’s been too long.’

***

Ara sipped from the glass, the cool water clearing her throat and offering a much needed refreshment from the events of the day. Her voice had become raspy from singing, but luckily she didn’t need it to type.

‘Jimin,

I was cleaning my closet before we went on tour and found the dress I was wearing on the night we met.’

She found herself smiling, a little longingly, at the memory, a strange anecdote coming to mind.

‘It still has a Daiquiri stain on the hem and it’s too big for me now. I don’t know why I’m saving it.’

The thought made her sad, somehow.

‘I wonder if you remember that night as clearly as I do. I didn’t want to leave. I knew you were with someone else, but I didn’t care.’

A deep frown played on her otherwise gentle features.

‘Does that make me a bad person?’

It wasn’t until she read the line back, she realised the thought had never occurred to her before. Not once in five years. She wondered why it suddenly seemed to matter. With a sigh, she continued, committing her trail of thoughts to the page.

‘You told me it was over the next time we met, and I believed you, but part of me wondered if you’d go back to her, once you knew how inexperienced I was. I guess I know how you feel sometimes. The whole thing has taken me by surprise as well. I never felt like anyone would want me.’

Her chest ached as she typed the final sentence; overwhelmed by emotion. It was true that the compliments and flirty glances she often received were met with an automatic but fleeting sense of glee. It felt novel, after so long of feeling like she didn’t deserve it. It sometimes still felt that way; back in the hotel room, after the cheers of the crowd had faded. She had brought the subject up with her company counsellor who had laughed it off, explaining that everyone suffered with imposter syndrome from time to time; she wasn’t the first and wouldn’t be the last. On the matter of flirting, she had kept that one to herself. It felt too personal and she was sure it would come across as vain. Occasionally it was unwarranted; the older mens’ eyes moving down her legs when she took to the stage in a short skirt back in Seoul, or the way she jumped in alarm when someone once slipped their hand down the back of her jeans while she stood tightly packed in an elevator in Osaka. But other times she found her heart racing and stomach churning; not thinking of Jimin until she tucked herself in bed at night. A pretty, tall waitress brushing her hand as she handed over the bill in a Thai restaurant, or the hotel doorman who had helped her move her luggage earlier in the week and smiled kindly at her in the lobby. She knew Jimin, of all people, would understand. She had seen the way he played the audience, like he had a secret to share with them all. Early in their relationship it had made her crazy; the way he seemed to flirt with anyone he came into contact with, often without even realising. But now the tables had turned. He would understand; but she wasn’t sure he would accept it.

She glanced a warily at the shadowy corner of the room where an oversized bouquet of red roses sat on the dresser. They had arrived earlier to the hotel room, along with a postcard sized letter from her manager. He had been unable to make the trip to Taiwan but was waiting for her in Tokyo; the contract was ready, whenever she was ready to sign. The flowers seemed like a bribe; the gesture leaving a sour taste in her mouth. She wondered if the other two girls had received any, or if the privilege was all hers.

The sound of her ringtone, a chirpy, summer tune, alerted her to the fact that an hour had already passed and it was getting late. She quickly swiped the screen and raised it to her ear, not wanting to wake up the neighbours.

“Hello?”

There was a pause before Jimin spoke. “How are you?”

“Good.” She squinted at her watch with a frown. “What time is it there?”

“2am.”

“Shouldn’t you be in bed?” She asked, a little baffled. He hadn’t called her this late in a while.

“I only just got in. There was a company dinner.” He explained. “What are you up to?”

She hesitated. “Just thinking.”

He laughed, softly mocking her. “Just thinking?”

She shook her head, dismissing it. “Oh, it’s nothing…I was drying my hair.” She lied, fingering the ends of the bone-dry locks in an automatic response. “Da-eun dyed the tips purple for the photoshoot.”

“I liked the pink.” He groaned, a little sulkily.

“They thought purple would fit better with the concept photos.” She mumbled deflatedly. “It’s not really my choice.”

“You could change it when you come home.” He said hopefully. She heard the flirtatious grin in his voice and could picture his smile on the other end. “They can’t do anything about it once your contract has ended.”

“Maybe.”

She sounded distant and he noticed the change at once.

“Are you okay?”

She closed her eyes tightly, temporarily blocking out the glare from the laptop screen. “I’m fine. It’s just been a long day.”

“Did you take a look at the brochures I emailed you?”

“I haven’t had time. I’m sure whatever you pick will be fine.” She knew she sounded a little irritated but was unable to mask it. The weight of the day suddenly seemed to dawn on her and she wanted nothing more than to go to bed. The last thing she wanted to talk about was moving house.

“I’d really like you to help.” He argued lightly. “There’s a three bedroom going for sale on the Han River. Yoongi says it’s a good deal.”

Ara sighed. “I’m sure he’s right.”

A pause.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I wish you’d stop asking.” She pleaded, feeling on the verge of tears. Jimin seemed to hear the tremor in her voice and thought for a long moment before he spoke, tentatively.

“Maybe you should ask the doctor to change your medication again.”

Ara clutched the phone tightly. “It’s fine.” She tried to smile, hoping it would show in her voice. “I’m feeling much better, just tired.”

“Is that a side effect?”

He sounded concerned and she nodded to herself, though she knew full well she hadn’t taken the time to read the little leaflet properly. “Probably. Maybe I just need some sleep.”

“Okay.” He agreed, though she sensed his trepidation. “I’d better go then.”

He sounded disappointed and Ara felt guilty once more. “I’m sorry Jimin.” She apologised softly. “It really was nice that you called. It’s just these time zones…”

“I understand.”

She wondered if he did. Her eyes felt damp beneath her heavy, false eyelashes, making them itch. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

***

She had forgotten her contact lenses and had to rummage through her Birkin to retrieve her reading glasses. They felt strange on her nose and she wondered how she had ever made it through high school wearing them. At least she had been given a moment’s peace to read through the contract. The office overlooked Ueno Station and the rush of traffic below would be too distracting had someone also been watching her.

‘As a permanent member of the label you should not bring the company into disrepute…’

She read carefully, though the paperwork seemed much larger than the last one she had signed. Some of the phrases looked familiar, such as the declaration of her dedication to being a ‘brand ambassador’, but others were definitely new. Her gaze hovered over one line:

‘...should not jeopardize future success…not limited to personal relationships, controversial thought or opinion including strong ties to political associations, ideologies or groups.’

She expected no less, particularly after Mimi was caught on camera reading a Betty Friedan book. The first part was more complicated and she wondered if Jimin’s management had asked something similar of him.

With a sigh, she continued down the page, skimming the text now but picking up on key words which seemed important, ‘Maintain a visible and transparent social media presence….Agree to the screening and management of said accounts with the view of protecting our artists and their wellbeing.’

By the time she reached the end, it did not seem to matter and there was a strange comfort in realising this. The past three years had been carefully planned, organised, operated; her future written for her from the moment she stepped foot on stage for the first time. The moments of quiet between shows, or during her increasingly short stays back in Seoul, only seemed to complicate things further. Her thoughts were a mess whenever she stopped to breathe for a moment, and maybe it was easier to shut them off altogether; to give over all control and decision-making to someone else than to try and deal with them all herself.

The fountain pen was heavier than she expected as she picked it off the table. It had the company brand embossed on the side in gold-leaf which seemed to reflect the fading light outside as the sun set below the concrete structure of the art museum to the West. Slowly, she signed her name on the final page; the ink blotting a little as she moved aside the bound file and repeated the motion on the second copy. The second attempt was neater as she grew used to the feel of the pen in her hand. There was a knack to it; just like many of the things she had grown to learn in her adult life; underwear should be washed on the delicate cycle, t-shirts should be turned inside out before they are ironed, glasses should not be left in the sink too long, should they smash. She had an assistant to do those things now, and her clothes were mostly dry cleaned these days.

She neatened the piles of paper and put the lid back on the pen, so the ink wouldn’t dry. The first contract had been signed in black Biro, which hadn’t come with such demands. Reaching down, she picked up her black handbag and carefully folded her personal copy, slipping it between her lipstick and glasses case before adding the pen. She had probably paid for it anyway; in her own way. The green light on her phone was blinking and she slid it from the pouch in the lining. The text had arrived while she was in the meeting, which is why she hadn’t heard her phone go off. Her thumb paused over the messenger button for a moment, before she tapped the screen lightly; Jimin’s name and picture coming into view in the little window above the text.

‘One more week! :)’

***

Thank you for reading. To read each member & their girlfriend’s headcanon universe fics in order, follow the links here: RM / Jin / Suga / J-Hope / Jimin / V / Jungkook

& Our full masterlist of fics and original art can be found here

& Our masterlist of preferences/most likely to/quizzes and fun stuff is here

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for-ests · 4 years

Note

In the mood for Tom x reader! Let’s say it’s date night, reader’s pick, and reader decides to watch Misery. Now Tom already isn’t a fan of horror movies but the plot of Misery really freaks him out especially since reader was a fan before they started dating and begins to have nightmares about reader based off the movie. Hopefully you’ve heard of this movie or at least glance over what it’s about, I think it’s awesome!

—❣—

What a unique request, so thank you anon! I highlighted the quote I used from the movie, but besides that everything else is original. I hope you like it!! Xx

Warnings: mild horror and violence (nightmare), mostly fluff

Word count: 2,420

—❣—

It had been weeks since you and Tom had been able to plan for a relaxing movie night. Though you were not a famous celebrity like him, you had your own tight schedule to work around.

After begging him over text, facetime, and in person multiple times, you had finally convinced your boyfriend to let you pick a horror movie to watch. Known to few people, Tom hated horror movies with a passion, but caved at the sight of your pouty lip and pleading eyes. You were an avid horror film viewer, so him taking one for your excitement meant a lot to you.

“Yes!” You cheered, pointing the remote towards the television in victory, immediately bringing up amazon prime to rent the first movie on your list: Misery. In your opinion, it was fairly mild on the gore and jump-scares, so your mentally wimpy boyfriend could possibly like it.

“Please go easy on me.” He sighed, sitting down next to you with a freshly popped bag of popcorn.

You instinctively snuggled up beside him. “I got just the movie, it's more creepy than scary.”

“How so?”

Chuckling, you bit your lip in a purposefully sinister manner. “Because to you, it’s relatable.”

Not that it was a secret, but before you and Tom had met and began officially dating, you had been a longtime fan of him and marvel in general. You were a well known commentator, youtuber, and artist in the marvel and comic community. A lot of your drawings included spider-man inspirations, and a couple years back when Tom was originally cast as Peter Parker, they began to include him. Somehow, the two of you had met at a party and hit it off immediately, with both of you already knowing of the other person.

Though you were an internet personality yourself, some people found it weird that you had created artwork of Tom before you had dated him. Tom had told you, and the media, multiple times that he thought it was sweet and admirable. It wasn’t just him that you had publicly promoted, and it wasn’t like you were obsessed with him. Sometimes the media ran on a single criticism and blew it far out of proportion. Now that you had been going strong for years, the thought of people becoming jealous that Tom was technically dating one of his ‘fans’ became a joke between the two of you, and your fanbases.

Well, it was also relatable to you. But something like the plot of this movie was far more likely to happen to him.

“I bet you have nightmares about encounters like this.”

He furrowed his eyebrows in a playful manner. “At least give me a brief summary.”

“Famous guy.” You whispered, leaning in closer. “Savior, who happens to be his biggest fan.” You darted your eyes to the front door in mock anticipation. “Kidnapping ensues.”

“Wow.” He shook his head, trying to hide the smile that was threatening to cross his face. “What great summarization skills you have.”

“Piss off!” You chuckled, giving him a weak shove until his laughter died down. You purchased the movie on amazon and turned it on immediately.

Though you wanted to see Tom afraid over something trivial like a horror movie filled with idiotic jump-scares, you knew this movie would have a deeper, lasting affect on him. Hopefully he would be scared enough to hold onto you for the entire night.

The beginning credits sounded through your TV's speakers and you snuggled deeper into the couch. “Lay your head down.” You smiled, taking a throw pillow and laying it across your thighs, Patting the fabric, you nudged Tom over.

Brown eyes twinkling, the nerves that Tom had felt passed as he laid his head in your lap.

The young man internally shuttered. He was a pretty reserved guy, who kept his private life… private. The thought that someone he had never met before knowing every single detail about his life unsettled him.

He watched the film with his utmost intention, because it was intriguing. The suspense began to take its toll though, as any movie based off a Stephen King novel would. Normally, he would tend to stay away from movies like that, His stomach couldn’t take it.

Especially this movie, one that made him think about situations that he would rather not imagine.

But as he glanced up at your face, your eyes wide and peaked with interest, he was happy you had convinced him. Any time he could, Tom wanted to please you- even with the little things.

Knowing it was growing late into the night, it was getting harder and harder for Tom to keep his attention focused. It was pretty much game over for him as you started to draw circles along the side of his arm, that began to reach up his neck and into his hair.

“This is a good part.” You whispered, alluding to a scene in the movie, where the captive, an author, finally realizes the ill intentions of his caretaker, his number one fan.

Your soothing movements began to pick up pace from your own anxious viewing habits. This caused Tom to shut his eyes for a moment and relish in the feeling. And before he knew it, he started to drift away as he focused on the peaceful strokes of your fingers through his hair.

You smirked deviously.

The unfamiliar glint in your eyes caused Tom’s stomach to drop. The second you were able to pin him down against the bed was the moment he seemed to lose all control. His arms felt incredibly heavy, and he couldn’t seem to move his legs.

“You look so sexy like this.” Your voice rang out all around his head, yet your lips did not move.

Your smaller, far more delicate frame, seemed to weigh a staggering amount, a number that caused his lungs to struggle for air. Your legs curled tighter around his torso, and you leaned forward to whisper in his ear.

“I finally have you right where I want you.”

This wasn’t you. This wasn’t the girl he had grown to love and cherish. You were unrecognizable. Had he really been so blind?

A manic chuckle vibrated through your body as you pulled out a pair of handcuffs out of thin air. With ease, you raised Tom’s hands above his head and shackled him to the headboard.

Had he been drugged?

“W-what are you doing?” He managed to choke out, yet it seemed that your touch could silence his frantic questioning. You ran your hands back down his arms and onto his chest. The sensations stimulating him to no end--even if there were alarm bells ringing in his ears--and he fell weak under your embrace. A sensual, loving embrace, that somehow felt foreign and unwanted.

Leaning down, you tilted your head and pressed your lips behind Tom’s ear, etching a moan from deep within his throat. The kiss started out gentle, but within a second, turned into a rough hickey, your tongue running along his jawline.

“I know where your favorite spots are.” Your voice echoed in a diabolical manner.

It was true, the deep breath you had drawn out of him proved it. Feeling your lips against his neck felt so right, yet every time he gazed into your eyes, the innocence and adornment they once held was replaced with something dark and unrecognizable.

You knew right where to kiss him, as if you had done it hundreds of times before. But Tom’s scrambled mind screamed that you had never kissed him there before, and that he had never admitted to enjoy foreplay like this.

Why couldn’t he move?

“Wait,” Tom’s eyes opened and he gazed at you with caution. “How did you know that?”

The same wicked smile you brandished the moment he had lost control appeared back on your face. Whatever was happening, you were enjoying it far too much. “I know everything about you.”

“No you don’t.” He whispered. “Why would you say-”

Your unfamiliar laugh interrupted his moment of realization. “I knew everything about you before you had even met me. How did you think I was able to make you fall in love with me? Because I knew how to make you.”

Suddenly, Tom was able to move his arms and legs again. He struggled against the shackles, but he couldn’t break free. The grip you had on his arms restricted, tightening further every time he tried to move.

“What the hell, Y/N? Let me go!”

“No, I can’t do that.” Your grip loosened, but that was only so you could move down and bound his legs before he could make sense of your true intentions. You looked like a stranger to Tom now. Again, he was too shocked to move, too shocked that he had let his guard down and let someone like you into his life. “I can’t let you go, cause you’re going to leave me for someone better. Someone prettier, someone more famous.”

“Who said I was going to do that?” Tom tried to reason, feeling fear creep into his mind for the first time. Now he knew you weren’t kidding.

“Really, it doesn’t matter.” You mused, pulling the restraints tighter against his skin that was already starting to grow irritated. “I am your number one fan. There is nothing to worry about. You are going to be just fine. I am your number one fan.”

You crawled off of him, smoothing out the floral dress that you had put on for the evening. One that you had never worn before. One that he couldn’t recognize. Just like the color of your eyes that had seemed to be replaced with the deepest, most pure shade of black.

“Now that I have you, I can’t let you escape.”

Smiling as if Tom had confessed his undying love, you revealed a butcher knife that was intended to disable him.

“You’re mine,Tom. And nobody else's.”

As you studied the knife in the palm of your hand, the sharp edges glinted under the dim lighting. Smirking, you gripped the handle.

“You don’t have to do that!” Tom’s eyes widened as your true intentions were revealed. “Please, please Y/N you don’t need to do this.”

“But I do.” Your eyes studied his ankles, and where the easiest part to amputate his feet would be. “I’m your number one fan.”

You weren’t making sense, your voice void of all previous emotion.

“No, I’m not going to leave you anyways!” He tried to plead one last time, though he could tell that you had already made up your mind. To his dismay, tears started to stream down his cheeks. He was frightened, he didn’t want to lose his feet, he didn’t want to lose his life. For what purpose? So you could have him all to yourself? “Please!” Tom cried. “I already love you, so there’s no need for this!”

Your head shot up at his words. And before he could process the expression that flickered across your face, you raised the knife above your head, right in the path of his ankle.

“Liar.”

You knew Tom had fallen asleep. But he looked so peaceful and content for the remaining second half of the movie, that you didn’t want to wake him.

Switching you attention back to the screen, for the remaining hour you had let him sleep through it.

You were entirely engrossed with the movie, as you usually were, but as you heard Tom’s breath sharply intake as if he was afraid, you finally glanced his way to study his face.

His eyes were closed, on the verge of squeezing in pain. The expression he wore displayed discomfort as he muttered your name.

Was he having a nightmare?

It was time to wake him up anyways. You needed to stretch your legs, and the movie had just ended.

“Tom?” You nudged him softly, his eyebrows crinkling with worry. “Tom!” You repeated more forcefully.

Suddenly, he jumped up from your lap, almost falling off the couch. He gasped, turning to you with wide eyes.

“Calm down!” You giggled, raising your hand to cover your smile, a habit you couldn’t seem to fall out of. “It’s just me.”

Instead of making him afraid, the gesture calmed him. He wasn’t dreaming anymore. He was back with your normal, loving self. You gave him a look of confusion. You had never witnessed a nightmare from him before. Because of how panicked he looked for that brief moment, you suddenly felt guilty. Perhaps this was the reason he didn’t want to watch a horror movie in the first place.

“Thank God.” He muttered, raising his own hands to his face so he could tiredly rub at his eyes.

“Are you okay?”

“What?” He sighed. “Yeah, I just had a really weird dream.”

“About…?” You pried.

“You.” He laughed, meeting your eyes and shaking his head with embarrassment. “It was stupid.”

“Looked like you were having a nightmare.” You pointed out.

Knowing he was going to have to tell you no matter what, Tom decided to be straight up and admit what he had dreamed about. “You were my crazy fan.” He said, realizing how idiotic he was acting to be afraid of something that would never happen. But the dream had felt so real. For a moment, his brain decided to make him picture what it would be like if you were a completely different person.

As he explained his dream, he studied your face. You watched him intently, and when he finished, your adorable smiled came right back. “I didn’t know I could be scary.” You chuckled, standing up from the couch to grab your glass of water.

“Well, let’s get to bed shall we?” You held your hand out. “You seem pretty tired anyways.”

“Yeah.” Tom agreed. “I can’t wait to hold your psycho ass all night.”

“Oh?” You teased. “Watch your back mate, or your dream might just come true.”

You tried to mimic an evil, devilish laugh that so many villains in superhero films did, but all that came out was something that caused Tom to fall even more in love with you.

“Hehehehe…” You grinned, waiting for his reaction, a sheepish blush dusting your cheeks when the silence stretched on for a moment too long.

He finally smiled. “You’re a loser.” Tom whispered in your ear, before he pressed a kiss on your cheek. “Let's get to bed, darling.”

#tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #tom holland one shot #tom holland #tom holland fluff

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thethoughtsfromthreeam · 4 years

Text

Sunshine

Pairing: Maxwell Lord x OC (Evelyn “Evie” Blaker)

Warnings: None

A/N: I have to admit I’m really struggling with this story. I don’t know if my brain is finally coming to the end of this writing jag its been on for the last month and a half, but I’m determined to see it through and get it posted. So we’ll see what the next couple of weeks bring.

Reminder: I ain’t ever seen Pedro Pascal in FUCK ALL, I’m just coming up with this as I go along, using imdb.com, wiki, and 84,000 tabs I got open to plan out this shit. I also write soft versions of his characters so if you’re craving asshole vibes, I ain’t got any but my own to offer.

Tags: @zeldasayer , @romanticgumchewer, @beskars , @coolmaybelateruniverse , @the-feckless-wonder, @lavenderl3mons , @pascalisthepunkest , @mandoandyodito , @randomness501 , @fioccodineveautunnale

[PART 1]

Part 2

Then Move on to Dinner

As Evie disembarked from the train, she felt as if she had been taken through a ringer and thought that she probably looked it. Such an auspicious start to her date with Maxwell Lord of all people. But she was here and as she stepped further into Grand Central Station, she looked around for Maxwell’s driver. When she spotted the man holding a sign with her name on it, she smiled while adjusting her small bag on her shoulder, walking over to meet him. Her look of apology was all over her face and he could clearly see it.

“Are you Bennett?”

“I am, you must be Miss Evie. Mr. Lord said you’d be easy to spot in the crowd.” She laughed and he smiled at her. They shook hands and he began to guide her out of the station, dodging the mass of people exiting the city for home after a long workday.

“I am so sorry, Bennett, there was a delay coming out of Poughkeepsie. I know you had to have been waiting a while.”

“Naw, it’s all good. But the traffic is a little heavy today, so let’s get going. I know Mr. Lord is already at the restaurant.” Evie had the rare knack for making friends with everyone she met, and Bennett was no exception. As they walked to the car, they chatted like old friends. They stepped out into the warm evening and Bennett pointed to the car.

As she climbed in, she continued to ask questions about the man’s family, how long he had been working for Maxwell, and when Bennett admitted he was an artist, she began to prod him about that, too. All the while, she was in the back transforming herself from seemingly mild-manner accountant to date worthy.

She didn’t have an opportunity to get ready on the train coming into the city as she had hoped, so Evie took a chance to update her make-up for the evening and twisted her hair into a sleek up-do. When she needed to change clothes, she asked Bennett if he could just briefly turn the mirror. He smiled and told her that there was a partition. He raised it and she slipped out of her sweater and slacks and into a deep gold cocktail dress. The crepe satin had metallic thread woven through it and it sparkled in the light. When she knocked on the partition, Bennett whistled when he saw her emerge as it lowered.

“Miss Evie, I’m pretty sure Mr. Lord will have a hard time keeping his eyes off you.”

“Yeah, well, I suppose that’s the goal of any date night, right?” She grunted as she moved to put on a pair of nude flats. As she put on her jewelry, Bennett kept talking.

“For sure, my Bette, that first night we met, I knew I was going to marry her. I couldn’t keep my eyes off her. She wore this pink dress that just. . . . Well, let’s just say it was a good night!”

They both laughed and soon Bennett was pulling up to the restaurant. She cleaned up her mess and stowed her bag under the seat before getting out, wrapping her green silk shawl around her shoulders. The sudden sounds of the city caused her to pause a moment before she rushed up the stairs and into the restaurant. She smiled at the hostess, who immediately took her to a private room upon hearing her name.

As she stepped into the room, Maxwell looked up, relief washing over him at the sight of her. He had been worried that she wasn’t going to come given how late she was. A small part of him wondered if Saturday night’s little adventure and promise wasn’t something his muddled brain hadn’t just made up. Seeing her in person again washed away all those uncharacteristic doubts that had been swirling around for the last hour.

“Maxwell, I am so, so, so sorry I am late. I’ve kept you waiting and I’m sure you’re hungry. I should have called you, but I didn’t realize how bad the delay was and then the traffic was bad. . .” She rambled on in her apology as he stood up to greet her, not even noticing the feral look in his eye. He took her hand and when he spoke her name, she looked up.

“Evie.” His tone was even but carried authority and it was often one his own staff heard from him. It easily broke through her worrying thoughts, bringing her back to him. “It’s fine. Things happen. What matters is that you’re here. Give yourself a second to breathe. We have all night.”

She heaved a sigh of relief and for the first time since she walked into the room, she smiled at him. He smiled back and dropped his hand to her lower back to guide her to their table. He signaled the young man waiting at the door and he left to get their waiter. He pulled out her chair and as she sat down, he caught a whiff of her shampoo – just as soft and warm as he remembered, and he felt his cock stir a little.

If Maxwell Lord weren’t already captivated by Evie Blaker, then tonight he would have been. When she walked in, wearing that golden dress, he felt as if the room brightened considerably and it was all he could do to talk to her. He was mesmerized by her everyday beauty, but she was a radiant sun goddess now. He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her until she was panting for him, until she begged him to fuck her on the table, dinner be damned. Instead, he willed himself to calm down and for his erection to stop growing.

“Just a ginger ale and water please, Alonzo. And I’m sorry, wait. Maxwell, did you want another drink?” He straightened up at the sound of his name from her voice and simply nodded. The waiter bowed his head to fill their drink orders and the two fell into silence as they looked at the menu. He already knew what he wanted but waited patiently for her to decide.

“How did you know his name was Alonzo?” He asked.

“I asked him?” If she weren’t so kind, he would have guessed her questioning look was akin to something like, are you stupid? He never blushed, but he could feel heat rising in his neck in embarrassment. He cleared his throat to rid himself of this foreign sensation.

“You asked him.”

“Yes, and the young man over there is Zachary. And the hostess is named Melanie.” She smiled at the boy and he shyly smiled back before looking away. She looked back at Maxwell, whose mouth was slightly hanging open. He looked down at the menu before looking up. He saw her eyes sparkle with amusement. She had the courtesy not to giggle out loud at least.

“Oh.”

“You don’t really talk with the people around you, do you?” He thought about it and really, unless he had something to say to them, no he didn’t. And when he did, he was prone to speaking at them rather than with them. Before he could say anything, Alonzo returned with their drinks and to take their order, before whisking away the menus and signaling Zachary to follow him. The two were left alone.

---***---

His dinner with Evie was one of the most enjoyable nights Maxwell had had in some time. He found himself more open than he usually is on a date and he was certain her natural friendliness was the reason. Something about her made him answer her questions truthfully and to share even when not prompted. Their conversation was non-stop, even after the food came, and they seemed pressed to learn as much about each other as possible – as if both were worried this was a dream that would disappear.

While most people knew that Maxwell’s father committed suicide, he revealed how his mother died a much slower death. He talked about how that shaped him and his real feelings about Chimtech. He felt pride in the company’s success under his leadership, but knowing it was also the ultimate cause of his parent’s deaths made him feel a little resentful towards it.

They laughed together over his antics in college or at least the ones he was willing to share. And he shared tales of travel and the time he got lost in Prague that led him to the most beautiful church he had ever seen. As he shared, he became more and more relaxed. And Maxwell relaxed was a sight to behold for Evie – she was certain she was witnessing something special.

On her part, Evie loved to tell stories and she reached out to Maxwell when he talked about his father’s death because she too had lost a parent. She talked about how her mother’s sudden death in an accident caused by a drunk drive lead her to never want to drink. But she was close her to pharmacist father, who loved and was devoted his only child. And how he was supportive when she took a risk and went all the way to Notre Dame for college.

She also regaled him with stories from her childhood antics with her cousin and best friend, Maribel. He never laughed as hard as when Evie described how the two of them destroyed a pier and Maribel’s brother’s boat trying to recreate the Lancelot and Elaine scene from Anne of Green Gables. They thought they could do it better and she admitted they clearly didn’t.

“Well, to your credit, you did recreate the scene from the book pretty faithfully.” Maxwell laughed. She laughed too.

“That is true, although I don’t think Brad has forgiven us over the loss of his boat.” They sat back in their chairs, with little chuckles permeating the small room. She sighed as she took a sip of her drink and Maxwell watched her, a small smile on his face. He was more content and relaxed than he had been in a long time. Her sitting across from him felt so natural and a small part of him thought that he could get used to this.

“Would you like dessert?” He asked and she nodded. She wasn’t about to pass up the chance for dessert in a four-star restaurant in New York. After perusing the menu, Maxwell decided on a berry tart and she went for a caramel cake. They continued their conversation through dessert and as it wound down, Maxwell texted Bennett to bring the car around.

“I’m sorry, Maxwell, can I order a dessert to go?” She looked at him shyly, not wanting to seem greedy. He smiled with a hint of confusion but nodded as he finished his wine. After she placed the order, she excused herself to go to the restroom. He sat back and realized they had been sitting for hours but it seemed so much shorter than that. The warmth that haunted his dreams had enveloped him all evening and he was hesitant to let her go just yet.

When she returned, she noticed the box on the table and smiled. Maxwell smiled back and stood up to meet her. She picked up her things as he held out his hand and she slipped hers into his grasp. He lightly squeezed as they left the restaurant. Evie thought that holding his hand seemed to be the most natural thing in the world, as if his hand were made to hold hers perfectly.

Evie bid good-bye to Zachary, Alonzo, and then Melanie as they exited the building before giving Bennett a large smile when they stepped outside. He returned it and the couple slid into the car, with the door closing behind them. When he got back in the car, Evie stopped him.

“Here Bennett - this is for you and Bette.” She handed him the box and he looked stunned.

“For us?”

“Yes, it’s a caramel cake, you said that it was yours and Bette’s favorite dessert, right?”

“Yeah! You remembered?!”

“Of course! I had this for dessert, and you will both love it. It’s divine!” She patted his hand and he looked so happy that she not only remembered but cared enough to bring him something. She sat back, putting on her seatbelt. He set the cake down carefully so he could take it home before turning to Maxwell and asking where their next stop was.

“Give me a minute, Bennett.” The driver nodded and waited.

“Stay with me tonight.” His low voice didn’t demand, but it was firm, and he was glad it hid the desperation he was feeling. He wanted her to come home with him. But she no more wanted the evening to end than he did, and Evie simply nodded, and a smile bloomed on his lips. Finally, the sensations that haunted his sleep wouldn’t leave him at dawn’s first light.

“Home, Bennett.” The driver nodded and he pulled away from the curb to begin the trek across the city. As they sat there, Evie reached over to grab Maxwell’s hand and lace her fingers through his. He tightened his hand, as if to keep her from floating away from him.

“How did you know about cake?” He asked suddenly, but quietly and she turned to look at him with a confused look on her face.

“Because we talked earlier on the way in?” It was a question-comment.

“You talked about cake?”

“Among other things.” She looked at him closer. “You didn’t know Bennett was married, did you?”

He slightly shook his head no and she nodded in response. Bennett had been his driver for six years and until tonight, Maxwell didn’t know anything about the man. Evie squeezed his hand and looked out to the window to enjoy New York City in the evening. The two lapsed into their own silences for the remainder of the trip.

---***---

She expected Bennett to pull up to a large apartment building, thinking Maxwell lived in a penthouse. Instead, he pulled down a tree-lined street with large houses on either side. Bennett stopped in front of a three-story brownstone that exuded charm and warmth. She could see in the flower beds daisies, asters, and lilies interspersed with small ornamental trees. She was almost shocked at how homey and welcoming the property looked.

The car stopped and Evie withdrew her hand to grab her bag from under the seat. Bennett opened the door and Evie stepped out while Maxwell opened his own door and stretched his long legs as he walked around the back of the car. Evie was already into another conversation with his driver as he came up to them.

“You say hello to Bette for me and you’ll let me know what she thinks of the cake, won’t you?”

“Absolutely Miss Evie! You have a good evening with Mr. Lord.”

“Good-bye Bennett!” She gave him a small wave as Maxwell guided her up the steps. As they entered the house, again Evie found herself surrounded by a cozy and charming space. She stopped and looked around her, noting textures like dark wood and soft fabrics. It was clearly the home of a man and yet it felt homey and well lived in.

Instead of modern art, she noted classical style paintings and landscape photography hanging on the walls. She sucked in a breath at the beautiful stain glass that hung in the windows and she thought that the place was probably heavenly when the sun shone through them in the late afternoons.

“Not what you expected, I bet?” Maxwell watched her as she took in his home. His tone was playful, and she laughed.

“No. I expected a penthouse with a harsh modern look that was more like a magazine set than a real home. This is beautiful, Maxwell.”

“I detest modern furniture. It’s lifeless and cold. Give me a leather couch any day.” She supposed it made sense, he was a fashionable man, but he also came from money. He probably grew up in a similar house, where the traditional trappings of wealth surrounded him. She decided it suited him much more than anything she had imagined.

Evie didn’t move from her spot in the foyer, not sure what would happen if she stepped further into his home. For the first time since all this began, she felt apprehensive. Meeting in an office or restaurant is one thing, that could be considered more neutral meeting grounds. But here? She was on his turf and was keenly aware he had an advantage.

It seemed as if Maxwell could sense her hesitation and he stepped up behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders. He could feel tension there and he wanted to wipe it away, so he bent his head down and kiss her underneath her ear. She inhaled sharply at the sensation and her fingers gripped the handles of her bag. When he kissed the spot again, her eyes fluttered shut. They both knew what was going to happen next and they both wanted it. Saturday may have been the appetizer, but tonight was the dessert.

#maxwell lord #maxwell lord x oc #maxwell lord x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #ww1984 #Wonder Woman 1984 #fanfic

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jackdawyt · 5 years

Link

Following Jason Schreier's continued BioWare story, we have direct insight from many BioWare employees regarding the initial Dragon Age 4 BioWare were going to create code named 'Joplin' and envisioned by Mike Laidlaw, against the now in production Dragon Age project that has been code named 'Morrison'.

Last time we talked about both projects - Joplin and Morrison, equally named after their respected music artists who died at the age of 27, but were both known for revolutionizing their respected industry.

This latest report examines everything that Joplin was going to be regarding the future of the next Dragon Age title.

Let's now delve into the potential game that Dragon Age 4 initially was going to be, before it was rebooted for Anthem and Andromeda's developments.

As I quote:

The plan for Joplin was exciting, say people who worked on it. First and foremost, they already had many tools and production pipelines in place after Inquisition, ones that they hoped to improve and continue using for this new project.

They committed to prototyping ideas early and often, testing as quickly as possible rather than waiting until everything was on fire, as they had done the last time thanks to the glut of people and Frostbite’s difficulties.

“Everyone in project leadership agreed that we couldn’t do that again, and worked to avoid the kind of things that had led to problems,” said one person who worked on the project, explaining that some of the big changes included:

1) Laying down a clear vision as early as possible.

2) Maintaining regular on-boarding documents and procedures so new team members could get up to speed fast; and

3) A decision-making mentality where “we acknowledged that making the second-best choice was far, far better than not deciding and letting ambiguity stick around while people waited for a decision.”

(That person, like all of the sources for this story, spoke under condition of anonymity because they were not authorized to talk about their experiences.)

Prepare the tears for this next quote guys....

Another former BioWare developer who worked on Joplin called it “some of the best work experiences” they’d ever had. “We were working towards something very cool, a hugely reactive game, smaller in scope than Dragon Age: Inquisition but much larger in player choice, followers, reactivity, and depth,” they said. “I’m sad that game will never get made.”

You’d play as a group of spies in Tevinter Imperium, a wizard-ruled country on the north end of Dragon Age’s main continent, Thedas. The goal was to focus as much as possible on choice and consequence, with smaller areas and fewer fetch quests than Dragon Age: Inquisition.

(In other words, they wanted Joplin to be the opposite of the Hinterlands.) There was an emphasis on “repeat play,” one developer said, noting that they wanted to make areas that changed over time and missions that branched in interesting ways based on your decisions, to the point where you could even get “non-standard game overs” if you followed certain paths.

A large chunk of Joplin would center on heists. The developers talked about building systemic narrative mechanics, allowing the player to perform actions like persuading or extorting guards without the writers having to hand-craft every scene.

It was all very ambitious and very early, and would have no doubt changed drastically once Joplin entered production, but members of the team say they were thrilled about the possibilities.

The first big hiccup came in late 2016, when BioWare put Joplin on hold and moved the entire team onto the troubled Mass Effect: Andromeda, which needed as many hands as possible during its final months of development.

The Joplin team expanded with people who were rolling off Andromeda and kept working, prototyping, and designing the game. After spending months of their lives helping finish a Mass Effect that didn’t excite a ton of people, it was nice to return to Dragon Age.

One thing that wasn’t discussed much on Joplin was multiplayer, according to a few people who worked on the project, which is perhaps why the project couldn’t last.

By the latter half of 2017, Anthem was in real trouble, and there was concern that it might never be finished unless the studio did something drastic.

In October of 2017, not long after veteran Mass Effect director Casey Hudson returned to the studio to take over as general manager, EA and BioWare took that drastic action, canceling Joplin and moving the bulk of its staff, including executive producer Mark Darrah, onto Anthem.

A tiny team stuck around to work on a brand new Dragon Age 4, code-named Morrison, that would be built on Anthem’s tools and code base. It’s the game being made now. Unlike Joplin, this new version of the fourth Dragon Age is planned with a live service component, built for long-term gameplay and revenue.

One promise from management, according to a developer, was that in EA’s balance sheet, they’d be starting from scratch and not burdened with the two years of money that Joplin had already spent. Question was, how many of those ideas and prototypes would they use?

It’s not clear how much of Joplin’s vision will shape Morrison (at least some of it will, says one person on the game), but shortly after the reboot, creative director Mike Laidlaw left, as did some other veteran Dragon Agestaff.

Matt Goldman, art director on Dragon Age: Inquisition and then Joplin, took over as creative director for Morrison, while Darrah remained executive producer on both that project and Anthem.

In early 2018, when I first reported that BioWare had rebooted the next Dragon Age and that its replacement would be a live service game, studio GM Casey Hudson responded on Twitter.

“Reading lots of feedback regarding Dragon Age, and I think you’ll be relieved to see what the team is working on. Story & character focused. Too early to talk details, but when we talk about ‘live’ it just means designing a game for continued storytelling after the main story.”

The game is still very early in development and could evolve based on the negative reception to Anthem. Rumor among BioWare circles for the past year has been that Morrison is “Anthem with dragons”—a snarky label conveyed to me by several people—but a couple of current BioWare employees have waved me off that description.

“The idea was that Anthem would be the online game and that Dragon Age and Mass Effect, while they may experiment with online portions, that’s not what defines them as franchises,” said one. “I don’t think you’ll see us completely change those franchises.”

When asked, a few BioWare developers agreed that it’d be technically possible for a game built on Anthem’s codebase to also have an offline branch, but it’s not yet clear whether Morrison will take that approach. If it does turn out to be an online game, which seems likely, it would be shocking if you couldn’t play the bulk of it by yourself.

(Diablo III, for example, is online-only on PC yet can be played entirely solo.)

One person close to the game told me this week that Morrison’s critical path, or main story, would be designed for single-player and that goal of the multiplayer elements would be to keep people engaged so that they would actually stick with post-launch content.

Single-player downloadable content like Dragon Age: Inquisition’s Trespasser, while often excellent, typically sells only a fraction of the main game, according to developers from BioWare and elsewhere across the industry.

Yet this wouldn’t be a “live service” game if it was a repeat of Dragon Age: Inquisition, which compartmentalized its single- and multiplayer modes.

Fans in the past have grown outraged at the idea of BioWare putting a lot of emphasis on multiplayer gaming, but there are ways in which a service-heavy Dragon Age 4 could be ambitious and impressive.

For example, some ideas I’ve heard floated for Morrison’s multiplayer include companions that can be controlled by multiple players via drop-in/drop-out co-op, similar to old-school BioWare RPGs like Baldur’s Gate, and quests that could change based not just on one player’s decisions, but on the choices of players across the globe.

Maybe in two or three years, Morrison will look completely different. It’s not like Dragon Age hasn’t changed drastically in the past. In the office, BioWare developers often refer to Mark Darrah’s Dragon Age team as a pirate ship, one that will eventually wind up at its destination, but not before meandering from port to port, drinking as much rum as possible along the way.

His is a team that, in the past, has iterated and changed direction constantly—something that they hoped to cut down for Joplin, but has always been part of their DNA (and, it should be noted, heavy iteration is common in all game development).

One BioWare employee summed it up well as we talked about the future of BioWare’s fantasy franchise. “Keep in mind,” they said, “Dragon Age games shift more than other games.

”Said another current BioWare employee about Morrison: “They have a lot of unanswered questions. Plus I know it’s going to change like five times in the next two years.”

There are other questions remaining, too: With BioWare’s Austin office gradually taking over Anthem going forward, when will the bulk of employees at the company’s Edmonton HQ move to the Morrison team?

Will Morrison be able to avoid following the lead of Dragon Age: Inquisition, which took on too many people too early and wound up suffering as a result?

And, most important, will BioWare work to prevent the burnout that has led to dozens of developers leaving over the past two years, with so many citing stress, depression, and anxiety?

End of article, so my thoughts on this, of course, I have my worries especially regarding the multiplayer part, it was to my knowledge that there is a separate Dragon Age team working on the multiplayer component completely estranged from the core team.

I hope that this is still the case, however, it's EA that're the ones who plaque BioWare to incorporate multiplayer and live-service.

Honestly the biggest concern here is how much of Joplin's original vision and resources are going to be put into Morrison's production, because the description of Joplin is everything I've wanted in a Dragon Age game following from Inquisition.

To hear that this initial game has been canned is heart-wrenching, any signs of Joplin's ashes in Morrison is all I can hope for.

Hope is all we really have right now regarding the future of Dragon Age, and don't forget Mass Effect, which is also going to affected by this too.

Of course, I have my worries. But I am hopeful for what the Dragon Age team can do, and I feel to fear when we still haven't seen the game yet is a little blind-sighted. Who knows when we will see or hear anything, I imagine we may see something on EA Play's live-streams next June, just before E3, but honestly, I'm not sure!

The next Dragon Age project is expected to release within 2-3 years from now, all we can hope for next is a reveal of some-sorts, like a title or development update.

It would be incredible if BioWare could come out and share some insight on what the heck is going on with the next Dragon Age, like a development diary which they did with Mass Effect: Andromeda.

To get a glimpse of this next game and the vision for it is what we in the BioWare fandom all need right now. To know what is going on with the next Dragon Age and how true it will stick to Joplin's original vision.

But until we do hear something, like always, you're already in the right place...

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sodomyordeath · 4 years

Text

Queen of Drags

Finally the post many of you asked for since the show went into heavy promotion.

This is going to be long. To keep this from being too boring I decided to publish it in form of an ongoing conversation between myself and the one and only Chiara.

Me: So let’s start with the cast and the jury.

Chi: On the jury side we have Conchita Wurst.

Me: Guess we have to disclaimer this?

Chi: She’s our friend, She knows and loves Drag and is a talented and amazing performer. So disclaimer done.

Me: Next we have Bill Kaulitz.

Chi: Wasn’t he in some kinda child band?

Me: Yep Tokio Hotel, they are still around. he was also a judge on an music casting show back in the early 2010s.

Chi: Garbage music[1]?

Me: “Deutschland sucht den Superstar”. So nothing you or I would call music.

Chi: Right. Garbage music.

Me: And we have guest judges.

Chi: One per show right?

Me: Yea even in the final episode. They use a point system. Each of the for judges awards points. The highest number per episode is the number of contestants left.

Chi: The lowest is one or 0?

Me: Normal people start with one.

Chi: So decimal system than?

Me: Smartass.

Chi: I am smart and I have an amazing ass.

Me: No arguing with that.

Chi: So who are the guest judges?

Me: In order of appearance: Olivia Jones, Amanda Lepore, Leona Lewis, Pabllo Vittar, La Toya Jacksona and for the final Laganja Estranja

Chi: So 4 judges that know there shit and 2 professional singers. That’s a lot better than a typical Drag Race season.

Me: Yes and they actually do matter due to the point system they used.

Chi: So what do you expect from our 3 permanent judges?

Me: Obviously the best insights will come from Conchita and some of the guests. Bill will focus on overall performance aspects, stage placement, lip-sync etc. and Heidi... well looks and she brings the “girl at the drag bar” perspective.

Chi: Well we cheated here didn’t we?

Me: Yes because that was how it played out and Conchita felt like kind of the head judge the entire season but what we expected because of the pre show PR was Heidi dominating the show and giving us her model casting show 2.0.

Chi: Did Pro 7 fuck it up with the trailer where they framed Heidi as the head judge?

Me: Well at this point in time I don’t think they tried to provoke the backlash they got. They just tried to frame the show in a way so there usual audience sees someone they are familiar with.

Chi: So you don’t think the baited the queer community and press into a push back just to get the buzz going?

Me: You mean a PR campaign that would exploit a marginalized community to sell a commodity? That would by cynical!

Chi: ...

Me: Moving on. Let’s talk about the artists.

Chi: I honestly didn’t know much about any of ‘em.

Me: Not even your “home girl”?

Chi: Do I have to remind you that I’m from Zurich and Hayden Kryze is from Bern? Plus I wasn’t in Switzerland for an awful lot of time in the last 2 years.

Me: Right and she's rather young isn’t she?

Chi: 20

Chi: Speaking of age Catherrine Leclery is the oldest cast member with 48 and seems to be the one who’s in the business the longest, Hayden is the youngest.

Me: Hmm, what I noticed is that anyone but Catherrine is under 35.

Chi: I feel old now.

Me: I knew about the 3 Berlin girls but never worked with any of ‘em.

Chi: That’s Bambi Mercury a bearded queen not related to our friend Bambie the high priestess of gore. Candy Crash a funny bitch who paints her face on youtube and the “infamous” Katy Bähm.

Me: You know Candy had me when she renamed Katy into “Käthe Baum”

Chi: *lough crying* me to bitch!

Me: But really Candy is a miracle she managed to age 5 years since she was in a documentary in 2018

Chi: *sings* Forever Young, I want to be... forever..

Me: Still I like her and people I know, who worked with her, like her.

Chi: Too bad she doesn’t make wigs...

Me: *spills drink* *side eyes Chiara*

Me: Looks like we both are not turning into Käthe Baum fans any time soon.

Chi: I learned a saying from the southern United States “Bless her heart”

Me: Moving on. Janisha Jones.

Chi: We didn’t know her before the show

Me: But our good friend Ephe Drine knows her and as a Munich queen with spanish roots (like Ephe) she’s somewhat of my “home girl”.

Chi: We did run into her however and she’s a lovely person,an true artist by heart and a way better drag performer than it came across on the show.

Me: She sadly was the first one that went home but if you get a chance to see her. Do it. She doesn’t disappoint.

Chi: Next up is Samantha Gold.

Me: Oh yea our full figured Bar Queen from Hamburg with Austrian roots.

Chi: Old school drag. She was the second one out.

Me: She did sing live on episode one and her performance was...

Chi: ...not as strong as we would have expected from someone who does that for a living.

Me: Moving on.

Chi: Now my “home girl” Hayden Kryze.

Me: She’s young.

Chi: She sure has talent but it felt...

Me: Aimless and her performances where sloppy

Chi: Unpolished. She sure can move and the whole “I can be a manly man but also a hot drag queen” segment was...

Me: She’s young

Chi: Speaking of young Aria Addams.

Me: Not related to my drag daughter Wendy Addams

Chi: That we know of. I mean age wise she could be hers.

Me: And they sure have the same fire and undeniable talent.

Chi: She was the big one for me. She grew episode to episode was never afraid to try something new and wasn’t annoying. I’d love to work with her at some point.

Me: Speaking of people one wants to work with, Vava Vide.

Chi: I had no idea that there even was a drag scene in Stuttgart.

Me: There were 3 standouts in the cast when it comes to drag as visual performative art form, Vava Vide, Bambi Mercury and, to a lesser degree, Aria Addams.

Chi: I do agree but I would also include Janisha. Alas her time on the show was too short for her to really show it.

Me: We are missing one.

Chi: You clearly had a nap under the shade tree my love. You forgot Yoncé Banks, the first Queen of Drags.

Me: Oh you are right but I really forgot about her because, and that’s just me, her kind of pretty girl drag packaged with rather limited dance performances and the most questionable tuck since Jade Sotomayor on Drag Race season one is very very boring to me.

Chi: You never tuck.

Me: I don't do pretty girl drag so I don't have to.

Chi: ...

Me: Come on it’s not only the tuck it’s the fact that her tucker underwear was clearly visible ever single episode. Make sure that your stage outfits do fit kids.

Chi: So you don't agree with her winning?

Me: Well, and that once again is just me, she’s a one trick pony that never stepped out of her comfort zone in any meaningful way and she should have gone home for her Horror/Halloween performance.

Chi: You sound like Michelle Visage.

Me: Oh my dark lord you are right.

Chi: lol

Me: Anyway I would have loved to see Aria Addams win because from the top 3 she has the most potential and showed the most growth.

Chi: I have to admit for all the lip service production was paying to Drag as an art form during the season and even when the sent the other “pretty girl” Katy Bähm home over Bambi Mercury I had hope. Handing the win to the rather conventional Yoncé Banks felt like a let down.

Me: That’s what I’m saying. It felt like “We want a mainstream compatible winner for our sponsors.” and the medical problems Aria had sure helped create the perfect pretext to do just that.

Chi: My background is in marketing and the cynical voice in my head does agree with you but do we really want to know?

Me: Does it actually matter in the end? I think not. This show sure had it shortcomings but it managed to do 2 things. First it felt a lot more relaxed and “real” than Drag Race ever did. I loved it when they all went out partying. Second to give the German public an idea of how wide contemporary drag as an art form is.

Chi: On the competition side I liked the point system they used. I loved Conchita who was an amazing head judge and all the guests did really really well. Amanda Lepore is in deed one of the sweetest humans alive and Laganja Estranja is a grown up now.

Me: And she single-handedly gave a masterclass in how a dance focused Drag performance looks in 2019.

Me: There was a little too much crying for me and we never got into any depth about the problems we as a queer people face. Only this snippets with the “same old same, old” mainstream media always pulls when they talk about us.

Chi: That’s a narrative problem in wider media and the editing sure felt exploitative in some parts. Especially you as a long time activist pick up on such things almost intuitively.

Me: Yes it felt a little odd that Katy’s sob story had more screen time than real activists like Vava got and I absolutely loved it that Bambi refused to part take in the trauma navel gazing.

Chi: Oh yes Bambi had a couple of power moves in this season and I love the fact that she had the trans flag on stage with her in her opening performance.

Chi: Any last words?

Me: Aria Addams should have won the title. Candy Crush should have stayed longer and the top 3 should have been Aria Addams, Vava Vide & Bambi Mercury because I greatly enjoyed what they brought to the table.

Chi: I’m not mad that Yoncé Banks won but I’m underwhelmed by it. I want to put the focus a little on Catherrine Leclery[2]. She was never afraid to try something new and turning her Fairytale performance into a political statement about the rights of Indigenous people to a fucking Disney musical song was very very smart.

Me: Over all where do we stand?

Chi: Better than expected. The artistry was there the talent was there the presentation was fine for the most part. Going clubbing and having that spa night made this show more real and honest than all seasons of Drag Race combined.

Me: They did have a budget for the show and they used it well. For the future I hope they can get rid of some of this tired reality TV tropes like this fake and over exaggerated conflicts and keeping around contestants because they are a source of drama. I want to see the performances in full not this snippets that look like they’ve been edited by an hyperactive 10 year old who got his hands on 6 cans of red bull. Season 2 will show if it will evolve or turn into the usual shit show that passes as tv entertainment these days.

Chi: I fully agree.

Me: Congratulations to Yoncé Banks for being the first “Queen of Drags”

Chi: Congrats!

Picture: Martin Ehleben / ProSieben

Instructions: To get our voices right read her lines with a Swiss accent and mine with a Bavarian one.

Note: The content of the post is edited together from conversations Chiara and I had over the last couple of weeks since the Show started airing. I translated and rephrased when needed so she ends up sounding a bit like me at some points. I’m sorry about that.

[1] For those of you reading this and are not in the know we both are multi instrumentalists and vocalists with a spectrum from delta blues & early jazz all the way to technical death metal and post industrial

[2] She hails from Brazil with black and Indigenous roots

#queen of drags #reality tv #competition #casting show #germany #drag #pro 7 #2010s #2019 #conchita wurst #bill kaulitz #heidi klum

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journeysintowebcomics · 5 years

Text

Worm Liveblog #107

UPDATE 107: The Classic Question

Last time there was an interlude. Defiant and Dragon continued their hunt for the Slaughterhouse Nine, finding they had caused carnage in a hospital. So now it’s back to Brockton Bay with the Undersiders. Will they have some peace? Let’s find out.

Looks like Taylor is still hanging out in her territory, watching things happening and the construction progress. I suppose she’s without her costume, so it should be easy for her to go around without being noticed. The construction is progressing nicely, and it doesn’t seem like there are any problems going on. This makes her think about the current situation, she’d have liked to go demand Coil for him to let Dinah go, since they fulfilled his demand of keeping their grip on the city. Even though Coil had promised to let go of Dinah, I really don’t think he’ll fulfill it. Call me a skeptical, I just don’t think he’ll let go of someone who’s been such an advantage for him.

It wasn’t like she could have gone to make her own demands; Trickster had already gone to have a talk.

Trickster’s focus was on Noelle, though, and nothing I’d seen indicated that Coil had made any advances on that front. All I knew, really, was what Tattletale had told me and the little things that had come up in our brief discussion with the Travelers about our strategy. She’d been a girl, maybe not in the best of health.

It was possible Trickster had been trying to save Noelle in the same way I was trying to save Dinah. The circumstances were different, obviously: Coil was the best answer the Travelers had to Noelle’s situation, but he was the cause of Dinah’s.

You know, if Skitter takes Coil out of the way, I wonder how she’ll handle Noelle’s situation. She can’t just walk away and pretend nothing is happening, she’ll have to at least give a temporary solution. The problem is that neither she nor anyone reading this story at this point knows what exactly is going on. There’s enough evidence it’s something very nasty and needs a lot of precautions, but without any information she can’t even do anything. If only she had an idea of what was happening...I’m not saying she’d be able to come up with a solution Noelle and the Travelers need, but clearly the Noelle Situation is going to be something to consider and deal with.

Oh, looks like I misinterpreted the stuff so far. Taylor is not going around in her territory; she’s examining everything with her bugs. It’s the next day, but she’s currently in the hideout, lying on her bed with her eyes half-open.

Somehow Brian managed to sleep somewhat. It’s not a good night of sleep, but it must have been better than any of the last few nights, no? It’ll do him good, physically he’s in perfect shape, but mentally he’s...well, he’s still traumatized, so sleeping may do him some good. I just hope he’s not having bad dreams. He doesn’t want to see a therapist yet.

Now that I think about it, what are the Undersiders’ options for mental health? Can they go see a therapist? Can they ask Coil for help about this? I’m not sure they can have access to psychologists or therapists due to their status as villains, and they can’t talk to a civilian therapist given their issues stem from supervillainy. All in all, they seem to be kind of screwed.

As if to show how not okay Brian is, he says how he has to force himself to lower his guard while he’s here spending time with Skitter, not because he doesn’t trust her or anything, but because he’s perpetually on alert.

“That’s not what I mean. I mean, you know. I… I can’t relax. Can’t stay still, can’t stop watching over my shoulder or make my brain stop replaying scenes in my head. Except I can, if I’m active, if I’m doing something like we were against those Dragon suits, or if I’m with you, and I’m lying here in your bed, trying not to wake you up. Then I know I can’t get worked up, it gives me these boundaries I can force myself to work inside.”

There’s this saying that says the devil loves idle hands, but I guess when you’re as traumatized as Brian is, the devil also messes with the heads. Damn, I hope he’ll be okay...

Ah, Taylor has plans with Dad Hebert! It has been so long since she spent time with him, so I’m glad to see this. I hope this family time will go without any trouble! A nice day, without having to worry much about the villainy and everything it brings along, would do her some good.

Breakfast time, where they try to avoid talking about anything related to work. The most they did was comment about how Skitter hasn’t progressed in mastering the listen through the bugs part, and at this point I don’t think she’ll be capable of doing such a thing without a second trigger...and I really, really don’t want her to have a second trigger. It just is something nobody should go through – heck, the first trigger is something nobody should go through.

Brian talks about his past, and other than his martial artist proficiency there’s not much detail even though Brian talked about some heavy stuff. I imagine it was nothing that wasn’t known before, then. After their conversation, they took a walk around the territory, seeing how the civilians help the construction crews. This makes her wonder how it’s possible she has civilians on her side after everything that was happened.

I felt like I should be losing people each time I got pulled into a fight against a major threat. I had, when Mannequin and Burnscar had attacked, but I’d walked away from the first Mannequin fight with something of a following, and I’d expected to see my people leaving in droves after Dragon made her move. Except it wasn’t happening, and I wasn’t entirely sure why.

I’m not certain either, I have to admit, but if I had to guess, maybe Skitter’s sincere efforts to help and work for the territory’s wellbeing has been noticed and are now being rewarded. I admit I’m not entirely certain that’s the reason, though. In my opinion, everyone’s opinion of Skitter will be revealed further once the territory is fixed and in decent condition. Only then everyone will show what they truly think. I’m positive Skitter will continue working for everyone’s wellbeing, but will people still accept her after things are okay?

Still, fighting Dragon’s drones was quite a risk and not the action of someone who doesn’t support her, so I’m sure Skitter has fans anyway.

Family time! Taylor walks to her home, seeing a lot of cars in front of the house, cars she doesn’t recognize. For a moment she fears Coil is backstabbing her and putting Dad Hebert in danger, and she mentions in the narration how he has a knife and pretty much a nest of wasps and spiders in her pants – oh god, the mere thought of that is incredibly unnerving – so she takes the plunge and goes to the front door.

Dad Hebert has guests! Family friends and work pals, judging by the person who opened the door. I’m glad despite everything things are well enough for socialization. Taylor is greeted, she doesn’t seem...very enthused about seeing people here, I guess because she expected to be alone with Dad Hebert.

This wasn’t Dad Hebert’s idea; it was an impromptu social visit. Personally I think it’s good, some levity is good in their lives, what with the current situation in the city and all.

Nobody that could be a threat, none of Coil’s people. I let myself relax. What had I been thinking? That he’d strongarm my dad?

In Skitter’s defense, it’s not really impossible. Coil is capable of doing anything if it helps his goals, and Skitter is a liability with her pesky moral opinions. I wouldn’t be surprised if he attacks Dad Hebert at some point to try to dissuade her.

There’ll be a mayoral debate later, and it sounds like afterwards there’ll be votes to define who the mayor will be. I remember Coil had said he had a couple puppets in that race, so in 24 hours he both got the heroes out of his hair and most likely will win the mayoral race. It’s like in this day everything he had worked for is solidifying.

They want Dad Hebert to come by and ask questions about the ferry they all work at, so they all have one thing more to be dissatisfied about with the current mayor – the guy who, may I remind everyone, was intimidated in his own home like three days ago. That incident must have been kept under wraps, judging by how everyone has a very negative opinion of the mayor arguing in Washington Brockton Bay shouldn’t be quarantined and evacuated.

That surprised me. “You’re not happy the city was saved from being condemned? Did you want to be kicked out of the city? To leave your home?”

“It’d suck, but the way they were talking about it in the paper, there’s a big fund that’s set aside for covering the damages those Endbringer motherfuckers cause. Idea was that they’d dip into those funds, give everyone that they ousted a bit to cover the cost of their homes.”

Given the amount of people I don’t think it’d have been much money given to everyone. While I’m sure it’d be a decent amount, I’m not sure it would be enough for the cost of relocating and having to acquire a new place to live in, as well as furniture and everything a home must have. Besides, I’m sure wherever they all go, there’ll be villains too, so...to me as a reader it’s a bit hard to know what’d be the best situation for someone.

They’d give what the houses are worth right now. How much would that be...a couple hundred thousand dollars, perhaps, per home owner? Golly, the government would have needed a huge fund.

Since everyone seemed to have given up on Brockton Bay despite the construction work, Taylor may have felt like her efforts were getting disrespected, because she brings up a “hypothetical” question: would it be better to live in a city where the villains rule but things are actually okay, or where the villains have no control but things are awful?

Turning to me, he said, “I suppose you’re asking the classic question, Taylor. Would you rather be a slave in heaven or a free man in hell?”

Call me selfish, but I sure would rather live in a place where things are okay, even if...there’s this cloud of terror over everything. Not having immediate safety is terrifying, let me tell you. When you have immediate safety, you can plan for a future where you can get out from under that cloud of terror.

This meeting is a reminder that there will always be people who don’t like the idea of being under villains’ benevolent reign, and it’s a completely valid position. Honestly I can’t say there are many positions that aren’t acceptable here, as long as said positions don’t involve hurting your fellow citizens.

“I’d rather not be a slave or in hell,” my dad responded. “But sometimes I worry I’m both. Maybe we don’t get the choice?”

Honestly, in the city’s current situation? Yeah, that sounds about right. It’ll be a while before things get better.

They ask Taylor why she’s bringing such a thing up, and Taylor takes the chance to point out the villains are the ones making noticeable steps to make things better. I don’t doubt the heroes have done their part as well, frankly, but given how what they have done hasn’t been mentioned yet, maybe their work is behind the scenes, instead of immediate relief.

“The problem with that,” my dad said, “Is that we’d be setting humanity back by about three thousand years if we let that happen. It’d be falling back into an iron age mindset and leadership. The people with the numbers and the weaponry lay claim to an area through sheer military strength. They stay in charge as long as they can through family lines, merging families with whoever else has the military strength. That lasts until the family in power peters out or someone smarter, stronger or better armed comes in to seize control. Might not sound so bad, until you figure that sooner or later, the person who gets control is going to be someone like Kaiser.”

Hate to admit it, but he’s right. There’s no guarantee the Undersiders will always have control, or even that their reign will be good for the civilians forever. It’s possible in the future someone will try to take them off their thrones. I just hope when such a thing happens a hero’s the one to do it instead of a villain. But hey, silver lining! The world is going to end in less than two years, so it’s not like there will be time for any villain to defeat the Undersiders and take over Brockton Bay! Haha! Ha! Ha...oh man, that’s grim.

Either way, as I see it, the best course of action would be to play along in the hopefully peaceful Brockton Bay the villains will have – apparently – and try to get money and everything in order to get the heck out of the city, go somewhere else where things aren’t like this. That’s going to take a long while to do, though, so...yeah.

Sounds like in this debate there may be talk about the villains and the superheroes! Great! Time to find out about the public opinion.

“I’d offer you a drink,” Kurt said, chuckling, “But that’d be against the law. How old are you, anyways?”

“Fifteen,” I said.

“Sixteen.”

I turned to look at my dad.

“It’s the nineteenth,” he said. “Your birthday was a week ago.”

“Oh.” I’d been a little distracted at the time. A week ago, that would have been around the time we were wrapping up our confrontation with the Slaughterhouse Nine. Lovely.

You know, with everything that happens, sometimes I forget Taylor isn’t even an adult yet. Many of the things she and her friends do and think make me forget they’re teenagers. A bunch of teenagers control half of the city. Oh god, if I didn’t know like half of those teenagers are trustworthy enough I’d be kind of scared.

Time to go! While they get into a car, Dad Hebert comments Taylor has changed, that not long ago she’d have stayed silent while everyone talked and she wouldn’t have offered her opinion. He’s right about that, yup. If there’s one thing her villainy has done is make her more assertive. Good for her!

Taylor warning Dad Hebert led to everyone else’s safety. I’m glad! I’m also glad Dad Hebert has friends he can be with. He deserves much better than what his life during Worm has been, seriously. I just hope he doesn’t die anytime soon, or at all.

There are just like five hundred people in the town hall, not a lot when it’s a city. Taylor can see the candidates, three in total. Doesn’t that mean Coil pretty much bought the rest of the competition? Any result that isn’t the current mayor keeping his job will be favorable to him. I really thought there would be more candidates, although I never doubted Coil would get his puppet in the seat of power.

While they wait for everything to start, Taylor makes her usual examination of the surroundings, finding a lot of vans with soldiers – soldiers that aren’t with the PRT. Is it a military presence, perhaps sent by the government? For security reasons?

The armored limousine pulled into the middle of the street, just outside the front doors. By the time Coil climbed out of the vehicle, his soldiers were either just past the doors on either side of the building or standing at the ready to accompany him by the front.

Oh. He’s here, at the town hall. Things are going to happen and they won’t be good at all. Will he claim credit for everything that’s happening in the city, both good and bad? I don’t think he’ll try to make himself the mayor right then and there, because then what would be the point of having two candidate puppets? He’s planning something, that’s for sure, but I’m not sure what it’ll be. I almost never can figure out what it’ll be before it happens, hah.

Either way, this should be a good place to stop. There’ll be some stuff happening next time! What I wonder, though, is if it will be in a new arc or in this one. I can’t wait to find out what’ll happen!

Next time: in two updates

#worm #worm liveblog #webserial #liveblog #webserial liveblog

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madcapmoon · 5 years

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Highway to Hell: My Life on the Road with the Dead Kennedys

by Amy Linden

In 1981 I moved back to New York City after spending four years in San Francisco. I was 22, and a childhood friend and I shared a two bedroom apartment—rent $300 and change—on East 4th Street, just off Avenue A, kitty-corner to the building where Madonna lived back before she actually was Madonna.

One day, I got a phone call from my friend Klaus Fluoride, the bass player for the seminal punk group the Dead Kennedys. During my last 18 months in SF, Klaus, his girlfriend, three other roommates, my boyfriend/we-got married-for-his-green-card husband, and I shared a huge flat in the Mission District. I wasn’t as close to the other members as I was to Klaus; I had spent a decent amount of time with Darren, (a.k.a. DH Peligro), East Bay Ray, and the inimitable Jello Biafra. It was great to hear from Klaus, especially since he had good news—the Dead Kennedys were embarking on their first East Coast tour.

“We’re coming to New York!” Klaus exclaimed. “You should come out on the road with us!” And why not? I could drink all the band’s beer! I could go backstage. And most of all, I could meet cute punk rock boys! Luckily, I didn’t have to worry about giving my boss notice because I barely had a job.

After arriving in NYC, the band took the Amtrak down to Washington, D.C., where the mini-tour was going to kick off. On the ride down, Klaus raised the possibility of my helping out in some way. Maybe I could write up setlists, maybe arrange the guest list, maybe help move equipment, or maybe I could get up on stage and do “security,” which consisted of grabbing the mic back whenever singer Jello Biafra propelled himself into the audience, keeping the flow of stage divers moving at a brisk pace, and tossing—or more specifically shoving—anyone who climbed up on stage and showed little inclination to move.

That I was totally ill-suited to do security for anyone at anytime, least of all for a high-energy aggressive band with high-energy aggressive fans, should have been obvious. Clearly, none of this mattered. Just like that, I was on stage at the legendary 9:30 Club, wearing a short kilt, beat up cowboy boots, and bandanas wrapped around my wrists, looking out at a packed house of pumped up fans, and trying my best to look butch. Pushing sweat-soaked twenty-year-olds off the stage was not my idea of meeting cute punk rock guys.

Arguably, punk rock’s birthplace was New York. However in 1981, D.C. was the epicenter of the East Coast hardcore scene, with much of the momentum coming from a tight knit, committed crew—many just out of their teens or still living at home—who adhered to a DIY philosophy/lifestyle known as “straight edge.” Being down with straight edge meant just saying “no” to liquor, cigarettes and drugs, which at the time were three of my four basic food groups.

The leading lights of the straight edge crew were Ian MacKaye and Henry Garfield. Ian’s resume included Teen Idles, Minor Threat, and later Fugazi, in addition to founding the influential indie label Dischord Records. Garfield, who worked at a Häagen-Dazs in Georgetown, was the front man for S.O.A. In time, he would change his surname to Rollins, join Black Flag, and become a heavily tattooed, singer/spoken word artist and actor. Henry and Ian looked a bit scary, but like most of the D.C. crew, were as sweet and courteous as their music was aggressive. When they weren’t following me around like I was Bo Peep and they were lost skinhead sheep, Henry and Ian took it upon themselves to protect me from whatever it was they thought I needed to be protected from.

By the time the Dead Kennedys finished up the first of two D.C. shows, I was a cross between big sister and mascot, the affection strictly platonic. There may have been lots of unity, but not many of the D.C. kids were coupled up. All of the passion was directed at the “cause.” It was as though sex, like drugs and alcohol, indicated a lack of discipline.

I remember an odd but telling conversation with Henry. He had invited his friends, the DKs, and me to his small apartment in Alexandria, Virginia. He asked me to come to the kitchen. With utmost sincerity Henry, who was at most two years my junior, said that he really didn’t like girls, but he liked me because to him I wasn’t really a girl. If memory serves, it was then that he opened the freezer and showed me a dead rat. Touched as I was by Henry’s attempt to let me into his world, I let him know that I was enough of a girl to find a rat-cicle kind of gross. Bless his heart, but this whole meeting cute punk boys was clearly not in the cards.

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Ian on stage 3:28

Ian, Henry, and my new skinhead besties travelled to the Baltimore show where they stood in front of the stage, their arms reaching up towards me and sang, “Amy, dance with us!” I might not have been the best security detail but I sure was the most popular. Such displays of affection only served to make my already rocky relationship with Biafra even worse. It was bad enough that Klaus had brought me along, but to Biafra my being serenaded undermined his punk cred, not to mention that he had no interest in sharing the spotlight, especially with some girl in a miniskirt and cowboy boots.

Oddly enough, Biafra’s ire grew even more pronounced when I developed a nasty cough and took to swilling cheap, high-octane cough syrup. Convinced that I would get him sick and that my fits of coughing somehow made the band look lame, Biafra turned mean. He decided that part of my job description involved looking after the equipment, and therefore I had to sleep in the van parked on the streets of the nation’s then-murder capital. This edict was quickly and angrily squashed by Darren, Klaus and guitarist East Bay Ray, who generally paid me no mind, instead concentrating on picking up women. For the remainder of the tour, Klaus and Darren chipped in for a hotel room and kept Biafra off my case. He was a charismatic front man, but Biafra’s actions further convinced me that he was a dick.

Before heading down to Charm City, we drove out to a farm in Virginia to meet the Bad Brain’s explosive lead singer H.R. The Bad Brains were and remain a sheer force of nature, but H.R. could be, shall we say, strange. His home was a punk rock crash pad/Rasta commune filled with kids, women, the other three-quarters of the Bad Brains and the ever-present smell of weed. The Kennedys were there to finalize plans for the punk pioneers to open up at the first of two upcoming NYC dates. Unbeknownst to us, H.R. was in the midst of a verbal fast, something that he did to cleanse himself of negative energy. Instead of talking, he gestured wildly and occasionally scribbled down notes. The next time we saw H.R. and the Bad Brains, they came “this close” to blowing the Dead Kennedys off stage. In fact, they just might have done so.

We encountered a bit of drama in Boston. The concert tickets and local advertising said “DKs” rather than the “Dead Kennedys.” Was it censorship? Maybe. It wasn’t uncommon to shorten the group’s name, yet it wasn’t lost on anyone that the name change had happened in the home of the actual Kennedys. Looking back, I think that Ray, Klaus, and Darren knew that taking umbrage over the promoter’s decision was not worth the energy. But with his customary lack of concern for anything but his own agenda, Biafra became furious.

Adding insult to perceived injury, Biafra began the set ranting and making snarky comments about imprisoned IRA martyr Bobby Sands, who had either just died or was dying as a result of a prolonged hunger strike. It was not one of Biafra’s most sensitive moments. It was also in Boston that the band picked up Microwave, a good natured, muscley young fan who approached them after the show. Microwave was a far better fit for tossing skinheads and guarding amps than a sleep-deprived and tubercular girl. Much to Biafra’s delight, Microwave took over most of the heavy lifting. Literally.

After six cities in two weeks, the traveling circus ended at NYC’s Irving Plaza. An old Ukrainian theater, Irving Plaza was largest venue, and that night it was packed with hundreds of bodies, including the D.C. Straight Edge Boy’s Choir/Amy Appreciation Society. Even though Microwave was now head punk-in-charge, I was in my customary spot off to the right of the bass amp, poised to help out if needed. The energy level was off the charts and the crowd roared, sang along and danced as the Kennedys tore through songs like “California Über Alles,” “Kill the Poor,” and “Holiday in Cambodia.”

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Ian and Henry Rollins dancing onstage during Too Drunk To Fuck

By now I was so in sync with the band’s rhythm that I could almost predict when Biafra would dive into the crowd. And when he did, I ran to the front of the stage to reel him in. Suddenly an over-eager fan grabbed the mic and refused to loosen up his grip. Biafra was floating on top of a sea of bodies, and I had lost control of the mic. A tug of war ensued, and the next thing I knew, the fan got a hold of the mic stand and clonked me. Unfortunately, I was a little drunk; having hit the end of the already-frayed rope, I lost it and tried to kick the fan in the head. Before I could make shoe-to-forehead contact, my opponent put his hands around my left foot and twisted it.

Microwave sprung into action, secured the stand, got the mic and brought Biafra back to the stage as Klaus pushed me behind an amp. The skirmish took less than a minute. As soon as the show ended and the band headed to the dressing room, I became acutely aware of a nagging, swelling sensation radiating from the side of my foot. The pain was intense, so I kept drinking in the hopes that beer would make it all better. I didn’t want to look like a baby or miss the fun—Saturday Night Live’s John Belushi and Mr. Bill were there!

When I was unable to move my toes, it was clear that something really bad had happened. I needed to get it checked out immediately. Ever the gentlemen, Henry and Ian carried me ten blocks down 14th Street to St. Vincent’s Hospital and stayed in the waiting room while I was examined. By now, my foot was completely swollen, and the only way to take x-rays was to cut the boot off, which I begged the doctor not to do. Turned out that I had a severely broken left toe. I was given something a bit stronger than cough syrup, a pair of crutches, and just like that my road trip was over. The Dead Kennedys went back home. I’d had fun. I was littered with bruises but I’d had fun. I never did meet any cute punk rock boys...

*Both videos seem to be from the same 1981 Irving Plaza show but they are dated wrong*

#dead kennedys #ian mackaye #henry rollins

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x--daughters-of-darkness--x · 5 years

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Profile: Multitalented Gothic Metaller Lindsay Schoolcraft

Lindsay Schoolcraft is a name that any Cradle of Filth fan will instantly recognize due to her intense vocal and multi-instrumental contributions or maybe from the classical/black metal ensemble Antiqva or possibly from the Belzebubs comic and subsequent album. Wherever the name rings a bell from, there’s no doubt she’s been extremely busy. Add to all that, her solo full length debut, Marytr, just dropped earlier this week and based on the dark and brooding gothic undertones coupled with those soaring vocals (no surprise there), life is about to get even busier. We recently shared our Profile questions with Schoolcraft to get some background info so head below to see how it went down and be sure to grab a copy from the links contained within.

How did you first get into playing music, and have you achieved the level of success that you hoped for?

It started at a young age with Disney Music and singing in the school choir. It later evolved to alternative rock in high school. I feel really happy and confident with where I am now in my career. I’m also really grateful for it.

What’s the most you have ever debased yourself to get your band onto a show, into a magazine or otherwise promoted, covered, and praised? (If you don’t have a story, please tell us any funny/embarrassing story.)

We’ve played a lot of shows for free back in the day to make up for totally messing up and slander a local promoter online due to an old manager being a complete moron. It’s a long messy story, but now that promoter is my manager. Funny how things work out.

What do you see as some of the great things happening in metal and what are some of the worst things happening inside the scene right now?

I love that metal can be anything and all sub genres are welcome. One of the worst things is unfortunately some of the lack of maturity some artists have from my experience. Instead of trying to talk about things and work them out there are grudges held and it breeds so much negativity that is entirely unnecessary. It would be so much better if certain people would just let go of their egos and we could all try to care for one another and get along.

It seems that now everyone has a passion for some cause and that those people are very open about displaying their passions. This is probably a very, very good (and progressive) thing socially. What are some of the most important issues (social/political/humorous/etc.) for you and how do you insert those issues into your music?

Veganism has always been something close to my heart and I even wrote the song “See The Light” featuring Xenoyr of Ne Obliviscaris about this topic. Something that I also hold dear to my heart is fighting for women’s equality since I sometimes get held on the receiving end of that. It’s not fair that my gender defines my value and being perceived as “less than” is so degrading and unfair. I always try to do my best to support and care for the women around me.

What, or who, got you into metal and how old were you? How did your family take the news?

Metal was in my life since I was a teen. My parents probably did think it was a phase. I listened to Kittie, Korn, and Chevelle in high school. I wasn’t introduced to European metal like Kamelot and Nightwish until I was into my classical studies. It was a rather magical discovering back then in 2009.

What advice do you have for aspiring music critics and outlets out there? How can we all better serve the genre in the eyes of a hard-working musician?

If we stopped valuing our personal opinions which can come off as bullying and started giving more positive criticism so everyone can grow and become better at their craft.

What’s your goal? You guys thinking world domination? Maybe saving a continent? Maybe invading one? Do you guys have day jobs or hobbies you want to share? Whatever it is, please let us know.

I’m honestly so happy and grateful for where I am right now. If this was “just it” and nothing more grew after this I wouldn’t even be upset. I definitely want to do more to evolve and perform on the electric harp. I also plan to have more of an electronic undertone on my next solo release. All fun and exciting projects. I hope the fans really enjoy it when the time comes!

When you’re not obsessing over your own material, what are some of your favorite albums to listen to currently? (Feel free to include non-metal)

Ohhh that’s a loaded question so I’m just gonna name artists! Right now I’m loving LEAH’s entire catalogue. But the newest from Sidewalks and Skeletons is always on heavy rotation. I listen to a lot of Witch House playlists on Spotify. And the last few days it’s been nothing but Trip-Hop, acts like Elsiane, Woodkid, and Portishead, because my dear friend Gaia Garuda is staying over and tracking vocals for her first solo release at Monolithic Studios here in Oshawa.

What is the 12-month outlook for you or your band? Any specific events on the horizon that the masses should be aware of?

We have a few shows this winter. And I’ll be working on a special studio project from December to February. I’ll be posting all updates on my social media!

Summarize your band in exactly one word. (Disclosure: If you include additional words, we will select our favorite)

Dramatic.

#lindsay schoolcraft #2019 interviews

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richrubies · 6 years

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The Worst (Simon D x Reader)

You knew that technically you and Kiseok weren’t a couple. You were one another’s non-secretive secrets; or in simpler terms, everyone in AOMG knew you were sleeping together, but weren’t actually together. And for a while, it worked for you – you had a busy career that made it hard to give your partner the time and attention they deserved. But there had come a moment where you had started to catch yourself looking at Kiseok in a different light…a loving one.

But it wasn’t reciprocated – or more so, Kiseok just didn’t bother to really acknowledge what was obvious to him. He was rather good at burying his head in the sand at moments like this. Just thinking about what label you would put on yours and Kiseok’s relationship, gave you a headache.

You’d met Kiseok through Ju-kyung. You were into underground rapping and by chance had met Duck years ago at one of the scenes and had been good friends ever since. He was the one who had encouraged you to get your degree in music, specializing in composing.

You’d moved up in the world since then and had seen some of your best work become real songs sung to sold-out stadiums through a variety of artists. Kiseok wasn’t one of those artists.

He was always determined to write his own lyrics and musical sheets which was something you had admired – loved, even. Hell, there were a lot of things you loved about Kiseok.

The way he said your name in his deep tone, accompanied by his Busan accent; the way he was surprisingly soft when it came to his parents; his determination and talent. Yes. There were a lot of things to love about Kiseok.

But as you watched from the V.I.P section of the club as Kiseok made out with another girl – a junior of yours, no less – you really couldn’t find anything admirable about Jung Kiseok in that moment.

But what could you do?

You weren’t a couple.

You were just friends with benefits – despite the fact that you wanted more; despite the fact that Kiseok knew you wanted more .

‘Aish,’ you scowl before tossing back another shot whilst Ju-kyung threw his arm over your shoulder and pulled you back into the moment having also witnessed the scene.

‘You good?’

You gave him a small smile and nodded, pushing away the hurt, ‘I’m good.’

Sunghwa took the empty space beside you, sandwiching you between the two men and blocking your view, ‘Yah, yah, yah. Let’s just drink huh?’

You laughed slightly, embarrassed at their efforts, ‘You guys don’t have to go this far…I’m fine…really.’

The two did their best to keep you entertained, both of the men with their arms around you as if holding you together while you did your best to engage with the remainder of the group; still, you couldn’t help but send a text to Kiseok, forcing yourself to hold back and delete your original message before you caused a scene in the club.

Fueled by anger at his response, your shots became double as you drank into the night with the encouragement of Sunghwa and Ju-kyung.

It was almost four in the morning by time you had gotten back to your apartment – you stumbled into the house only to be followed by Kiseok who had drunken just as much as you had. Despite the alcohol, you still hadn’t forgotten his actions and the fact that he’d gone off with another girl, and because of the liquid courage, you had the guts to actually confront him on it as you took off your shoes, ‘Don’t you have somewhere better to be?’

Kiseok was in the middle of removing his boots as you said it, groaning as he sat back, ‘Yah, drop it already!’

‘—I don’t want too,’ you mumble as you move toward the kitchen and pour yourself a glass of water.

You couldn’t let it drop – not the fact that he had ignored your feelings for him, nor the fact that he was willing to throw it back in your face by kissing one of the junior composers who’d just joined your team. You were tired of it all.

‘Why’d you even follow me home Kiseok?’ you ask him tiredly, ‘What are we even doing?’

‘Are you seriously starting this up again?’ he asks with a huff as he grabbed his own glass and turned on the tap while you watched him with crossed arms.

‘Again?’ you say incredulous, ‘Yah, since when have we ever had this conversation huh? You always run away when it gets too serious!’

Kiseok rolled his eyes as he left the kitchen and walked through the apartment, unbuttoning his shirt as he went – he had become so accustomed to your place that he knew it almost better than yourself. You followed him as he removed the shirt and laid it out nicely on the chair in your room, ‘What are you doing Kiseok, I’m talking to you,’ you say with annoyance.

‘Look, Y/N. I told you before we started this – I’m not ready for a relationship, and that still stands to this day. And newsflash, Y/N, our relationship isn’t exactly about talking, now is it?’

You knew he was saying it because he had drunken enough to do so, but even so, it still hurt. As tears welled in your eyes, you tell him shakily, ‘Just get out Kiseok. Even if you don’t see me as more than what we are now, the least you could do is respect me.’

Your words must have sobered Kiseok up as you threw him his shirt, ‘Y/N…’

‘Just go Kiseok…I’m tired of this. I don’t want this anymore.’

His eyes flashed with an emotion you couldn’t quite decipher as he asked half angrily and half surprised, ‘Are you saying you don’t want to do this,’ he waved his hand between the two of you and your neatly made bed, ‘anymore, or argue right now?’

‘Both,’ you tell him honestly, your shoulders sagging as you sat on the edge of your bed now with the realization that loving him as you were, just wasn’t going to work anymore.

Kiseok swore under his breath, a hand running through his hair with agitation. Huffing with annoyance, he paced for a moment or two before asking you once more, ‘Are you being serious right now?’

You’d had a fight similar to this last month, but you’d given in to him and done the same thing you’d always done – but this time was different, and Kiseok didn’t know how to handle it other than to scoff and mutter, ‘Whatever. You’ll cave eventually, Y/N, you always do,’

As the front door closed shut, you murmured to the empty apartment, ‘I hope not…’

Ju-kyung sat leisurely on the couch of Kiseok’s studio while scrolling through his Instagram, waiting for him to wrap up so that they could follow their scouting schedule. The men of the label had been taking turns in watching over him for the last few weeks out of worry for him – he could deny it all he wanted, but the moment Kiseok was blocked from all your social media pages and he realized you were really done with him, he’d become increasingly agitated and angry.

Even with Dark Room having been released for two weeks, the strange break-up of something that wasn’t originally together, had Kiseok writing non-stop, practically preparing himself for another album release.

‘I don’t get it 형,’ Duck draws, ‘I thought you liked Y/N.’

‘I do like her.’

‘So why won’t you date her?’ Duck further questions, looking up from his phone to Kiseok who was hunched over his desk, his hand going crazy as he scribbled out lyrics. From what Ju-kyung had seen earlier, it mentioned all sorts of metaphors that described you.

A sun so bright, can’t love a void like me,

But the truth came out through naked curiosity.

‘I…’ Kiseok began.

Why didn’t he date you? Why was he so afraid? Had his previous girlfriends fucked him up that much that he was scared to go through it again? Was he scared that having something so good would come unraveling as soon as he got too greedy?

He couldn’t answer; instead he shrugged his shoulders with a heavy sigh while Ju-kyung rolled his own eyes and went back to scrolling through Instagram. It was there that he saw your latest story post on your private page – the video caused him to gasp out loud.

You were dressed completely opposite to your normal get-up; your face was fully done, your hair was put up in a do that made you look…Ju-kyung hated to say it, but you looked sexy. Even the low-cut jumpsuit you wore had Ju-kyung curse out loud as you mouthed the lyrics to the song playing in the background of whatever club you were in. Even more reason for him to curse was the man who was dancing behind you, his chin on your shoulder, staring directly at the camera as you both grinned, ‘Oh shit!’

The last time Ju-kyung had seen you dressed like that, you were at your cousin’s wedding and trying to upstage her out of pettiness. He couldn’t help but play the video over and over, each time letting out a curse.

‘Yah, Ju-kyung, you’re being too loud, turn it down,’ Kiseok scolded, ‘I’m nearly done, so just make sure you know the rappers Jay wants us to find are still performing at Club 88 tonight.’

Fumbling to turn down the sound, Ju-kyung nodded with wide eyes, looking between his phone screen and Kiseok, and then back down to the video where the clear sign from behind you in the club read ‘88’.

Well. This ought to be good.

Taking a break from the dancing, you sat at the table talking happily over the music – your childhood friend, Sun-kyu sat across from you with his permanent smile etched on his face.

‘I’m so sad that you’re leaving so soon!’ you tell him with a pout. He’d been crashing with you for the last two days and was due to fly down to Jeju tomorrow to visit his parents for their anniversary. You’d been grateful for his company – if it wasn’t for him staying at your place, you probably would have caved and called Kiseok by now.

Your mind had given you every reason not to call, but your heart…well…You couldn’t help but be attracted to the guy despite him being a bit of an ass sometimes.

Okay. Maybe a giant ass.

‘You’ll just have to visit me in the States,’ Kyu tells you with a grin, before looking around the club, ‘Didn’t you say that some U.G. rappers were going to be playing here?’

You nodded – after the breakup you’d thrown yourself into doing more work to keep your mind occupied, only slowing down when you’d heard that new artists were going to be performing. None of the names were familiar to you, but you wanted to check it out anyway. You never knew what talent you’d run into; you informed Kyu by shouting over the music, ‘Club 88 is one of the few places that lets U.G. artists play without restriction. That’s why you never know what you’re going to get here. Bar fights, horny crowds, it’s always a surprise and it’s rarely the same.’

As soon as you heard one of your favourite tracks come on, you threw back your drink and took Kyu’s hand, leading him to the corner of the dance floor not too far from your table, ‘Yah! Dance with me!’

He obliged, though you should have known that being a pro dancer meant he would go way harder than you could ever have hoped to keep up with. Forced together due to the crowd, you danced in sync to the dance-hall playing throughout the club with Kyu’s hands on your hips for balance.

You were enjoying the moment when you suddenly felt Kyu being shoved away, nearly taking you with him if it weren’t for the arm that was wrapped around your waist.

You looked at Kyu in surprise as he picked himself up off the floor, still surprised at someone pushing at him. After doing a quick check that he was okay, you began to struggle against the hold the person had on you. Instinctively, your fists clenched as you turned, and your arms swung in the direction of whoever had a hold of you, ‘What the fuc—Kiseok?!’

‘What the fuck are you doing here, Y/N?’ Kiseok growls, ignoring Kyu who Ju-kyung had appeared out of nowhere to help.

‘What are you doing?’ you yell at him, attempting to pull away, only for him to hold you tighter, ‘Yah! Let me go!’

Kiseok refused, glaring down at you with cold eyes, his mouth turned into a frown. He was so handsome, but that didn’t matter right now. Right now, all you wanted to do was hit him.

‘Let me go!’

‘형,’ Ju-kyung says as he grabs at Kiseok’s arm gently, urging him to take it somewhere private, ‘형, come on, people are watching.’

Without a second’s notice, Kiseok turned and pulled you back up to the VIP section, bypassing your table all together as he dragged you through the crowds.

‘Kiseok!’

‘Yah!’

‘Jung Kiseok!’

He ignored you completely as you yelled his name until you finally snapped, ‘Yah, Simon! What do you think you’re doing?’

Pushing you into the private room that over-looked the dance floor through tinted glass, Kiseok said nothing as you stumbled in.

Before you could even speak, Kiseok had pushed you against the wall, his mouth instantly seeking yours as he kissed you with every ounce of anger and love he had in him.

You were out with another man? While he sat in a studio writing fucking love songs about missing you?

For a moment, you let him kiss you; you enjoyed the way his hands cupped your cheeks and the soft and familiar feeling of him took over. But it quickly shattered as you realized what was going on.

Pushing at his chest, you managed to shove him away now that he had his guard down, ‘What the hell is going on Kiseok!’

His chest heaving, he glared at you and asked with that thick accent you loved so much, ‘I could ask you the same thing, who the fuck is that guy?’

‘He’s a friend!’ you throw at him, ‘and it doesn’t matter who he is, why would you shove him like that?’

‘A friend?’ Kiseok scoffs, ‘Friends don’t grind on each other, Y/N!’

‘Well we were friends and we did much more than grind,’ you bite back at him spitefully.

Kiseok turned away from you and let out a laugh. Not the happy kind – the kind you do when you hear something you can’t quite believe. You let out a squeak as his hand swiped at the glass tumblers sitting on the table near the booth, smashing them against the wall and floor.

‘So, what?’ he asks quietly after a moment, still facing away from you as he lifted his hands to run them through his hair, ‘Are you sleeping with him? Did all your ‘emotions’ for me suddenly just drop once you found another guy?’

‘Are you seriously asking me that Kiseok?’ you ask angrily, ‘I’m not like you. I don’t divert any emotion I have for someone, onto the next best thing!’

‘Then why the hell did you let him touch you like that?’ Kiseok seethes, turning to look at you, this time with tears in his eyes. You faltered in surprise, but before you could say anything, Kiseok continued, ‘Why haven’t you called me? Why am I the only one who’s locked up in a room filled with regrets?’

Kiseok sat on the edge of the couch, his elbows on his thighs as he rubbed at his face and the tears that threatened to fall, ‘Why do I feel like you’ve already left me before I had even let you in?’

You remained where you stood no matter how much you wanted to hold and comfort him. Your chest was filled with a range of emotions, and you knew that if you didn’t get it out of the way now, you’d regret it forever. So, you did the next best thing .

You let it out.

‘Yah, 개새끼, are you seriously going to sit there and feel sorry for yourself? I told you three weeks ago that I had feelings for you and you rejected me! Now you suddenly want to act like this?’

Your reaction surprised Kiseok as he looked up to see you glaring at him, ‘You just assaulted my friend, who by the way, is just a friend, and dragged me through a club in front of a lot of people, to act like this?’

‘I…’

‘You what?’ you ask, ‘You thought that I wanted to be rag-dolled?’

‘No, I just got angr—,’

‘Why do you get to be angry, Kiseok? I’m the one who should be angry! We were sleeping together for ten months! I’ve seen you make out with numerous girls! But the second I dance with someone, you appear out of nowhere and hit him? You act like a juvenile? You’re thirty-four years old! Grow up!’

Kiseok blinked as you schooled him – the way you counted off the terrible things that he’d done that had hurt you, the way you jabbed your finger at him from across the room and the way you stood your ground, not daring to back down. Of all the times he’d seen you, both naked, clothed and doing something you were passionate about, he’d never seen you look as good as you did now.

You turned your back to Kiseok and looked down at the crowds who were now cheering for a rapper that had come on to the stage. You could see everything from up there, including Kyu who was sitting in the both with Ju-kyung, smiling once more. Bless him.

With your throat sore from the yelling, you said quietly, ‘This isn’t fair, Kiseok.’

‘I’m sorry…’

‘You can’t just swoop in and act like a boyfriend after all that’s happened. It’s not fair to me,’ you continued to look out the window as you mutter, ‘You’re not ready for a relationship and I don’t want to wait anymore…So please just leave me alone if you’re not serious about us. I don’t want to be given false hope. Just tell me straight whether you want this or not…’

You hadn’t heard him move from the couch, but as soon as his arms wrapped around your torso and his chin rested on your shoulder, he muttered tiredly, now able to answer the question Ju-kyung had asked earlier, ‘I’m not ready for a relationship because I’m the worst boyfriend you could have, Y/N. I forget dates, anniversaries and birthdays. I sometimes work more than I should. I disappear in to my studio for days on-end. I don’t make a lot of money, and I travel all the time. I can’t be a good man to you, Y/N.’

Leaning into his embrace, you refused to let your tears fall as you stared out over the crowd, asking him the ultimate question – the make or break of this relationship for real this time, ‘So what will you do?’

‘I’ll be the worst man you’ve ever known and stick to you like glue,’ he replies quietly, a hint of nervousness in his tone, ‘I’ll be the worst, most loving boyfriend you’ve ever had, because I really don’t think I can let you leave my side again, Y/N.’

Unwillingly, you let the tears slide down your cheeks as you nodded in acceptance, your hand slowly moving to cover his entwined ones resting on your stomach. Letting out the breath you’d been holding, you tell him with a sniff, ‘I’m okay with that…’

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angrykittykrys · 5 years

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Hey guys... I finally finished(??) my intro scene for my NaNo circus fic. If you are interested, I’ll post it under the read more.

So, this was the so called “magic” circus his uncle had been raving about the last time he had come to visit? From the outside, it didn’t look much different from the one he had known all his life. There were the same red and white striped tents, the same scents of caramel apples and other circus food. If he listened closely, he could even hear the same kinds of excited conversations from the patrons scattered all around him as they waited impatiently for the ticket gate to open for the evening.

“Did you see the show last night?” “The twins were incredibly, weren’t they?” “The fireball act was my favorite!” “I liked the fire dancing myself…”

Devon wondered what was so special about this particular show. His own circus had featured fire eaters and fire dancers, it wasn’t such an unusual act after all. Most circuses had similar acts, it was why he was here in the first place. It would be easy to move from one to another, after all. Even if this particular circus made a name for itself by calling its tricks “magic”, it was doubtful it would be that different from what he had grown up in. He just hoped they were in need of some new talent.

When the crowd began to cheer, he assumed the ticket gate must have opened for the night and he shimmied his way into line so that he would have enough time to reach the big top before the main show of the evening began. Usually it didn’t matter, and patrons would trickle in for the first half an hour while the clowns or jugglers did their thing. But today he didn’t want to miss a moment. If he was going to audition for this show, he wanted to see every single act. A circus was the sum of its parts, even the smallest parts were vitally important.

As he moved forward, coming up to the ticket master, he began to dig in his bag for the money he knew he had stashed away the night he left. He was still searching for a coin when the ticket master spoke up. “Your change, young man.”

Devon furrowed his brow. What change? He hadn’t even found his… wait. His fingers touched a coin then and he pulled it out to hand it over. To his surprise, there was exactly the right amount of change back already being offered to him. How was that possible before he even found money to hand over. Suspicious, he handed over his coin and took the change, stashing it back in his bag for safe keeping.

How had they done that? He wondered what kind of trick had been used as he wandered off between the myriad of tents surrounding him. After a few moments he brushed it off as a guess. Most people probably handed over silver coins, didn’t they? It wasn’t an unusual sum, so it was probably the assumed payment. Even if they only got it right half the time, it would seem like magic and would set the stage for what people assumed they would see once they arrived on the grounds. It was clever, but not magic. Just another circus trick designed to misdirect and inspire wonder.

As he walked toward the big top, he glanced briefly at the tents and sideshow offerings. There was the expected fortune teller stall, various games and food sellers, and the area where you could greet the animals that the circus kept for their acts. He did a double take when he saw a young girl pet a pure white horse sporting a horn, but he shook his head and told himself that it was impossible. Not only because unicorns had died out when his grandmother was a girl, but because circuses used these sorts of tricks all the time. No matter how real they made it look, he was certain it was just a horse with a horn stuck on somehow to make it look like a unicorn. It did add to the atmosphere though, just like that ticket gate trick.

Shaking his head again he moved along with a good portion of the crowd to the big top.

Because he was early, he managed to get a seat in the front row where he was close enough to watch all the acts with the discerning eye of someone who has done the tricks before. If the show featured a good team of acrobats, he might genuinely consider auditioning. He desperately wanted to work in a team rather than continuing on his own. Not only was it lonely, it was downright alienating. Working with a partner, doing stunts with others who shared his training and experience… that was his dream. It was why he had left his father’s circus in the first place.

Within half an hour the show began. The stars of the evening arrived in the ring in a small parade, led by a lovely pale blonde couple who looked like they might have been twins. Maybe these were the pair that he had overheard talk of at the gate? There was also a water tank larger than any he had ever seen… and on wheels! He couldn’t help but wonder how heavy that must have been and how did it possibly roll along in the procession on its own rather than be pulled by horses or elephants? And then, it was hard to pose many questions at all. It was hard to think of anything when every sight before his eyes was impossible and for lack of a better word… magical.

The theme of the night was water, and that inspired every act, every outfit, every moment of the performance. Blues and greens were everywhere, along with ribbons tied in the female performers' hair that mimicked flowing rivers. It created a watercolor scene, dreamy and ethereal. So much more lovely than anything his own show had ever managed to produce.

Up in the air, hanging from the ceiling, one of the pale blondes, the male, had ascended reality on aerial silks. He moved gracefully as he danced with aerial silks that appeared to be two flowing rivers snaking around his ankles and waist. When he pulled himself up the top, it was clear how much strength it required to do so, but it was almost as though he had been swimming rather than climbing. The sinuous way he spun himself around the silken rivers to bind them around his waist and then spin like a cyclone down to the floor was absolutely mesmerizing. The entire audience held its breath as they watched him, unable to look away.

And that was only the beginning! The night grew more unexplainable, more magical, more spellbound as the acts continued. A young man had sat in the center of the ring and as thunder pealed through the audience, a rainstorm began to beat down on him and only him. One look to the top of the tent and you could see storm clouds gathering and lightning rumbling bright and electric. When it seemed that the storm calling was wonderous enough, he began shooting out his hands to catch lightning bolts that shot from the ceiling. Screams echoed throughout the tent for a moment, but when it all was revealed to be under control, thunderous applause echoed the thunder of the storm.

To cap off the night, the most unexplainable, magical act was saved for the finale. The other half of the pale blonde pair, the slender young girl stepped forward and created a giant globe of water from the tank that had been sitting to the side of the ring for the entire show. She crafted it carefully, stealing every drop of water from the tank before lifting the globe off the ground and levitating it in the air. When she had it stabilized in the air, a group of acrobats ran out into the ring and one by one jumped into the globe, spinning and tossing each other through the water as if it were nothing but air. They didn’t appear to even need to breathe.

This circus was wholly unlike anything Devon had ever seen... and he had been raised in the circus.

After he left the show in the big top, he stepped back around the small sideshow tents that had been set up in the empty plot of land his mind spinning with everything he had seen. It was still early enough in the evening that people milled about, whispering about the show and various attractions in the tents, but he had no intention of looking into any of them. What he wanted was to find the ringmaster and see if there was any possible way to audition for her circus. While he couldn’t perform any spectacular feats of magic like the ones he had just seen, he had been raised on a tightrope and trapeze. His skills were second to none where aerial artists were concerned. The last ringmaster he had worked for had seen to that.

Knowing from experience that the circus was like a family and the ringmaster tended to stay on the outskirts to keep watch, Devon searched for a tent or wagon near the edge of the show grounds. He had just spotted a large wagon that looked like it might be what he was looking for when he glimpsed a glimmering light coming from one of the nearby tents. It caught his attention in a way none of the others had done. Not that there was anything special about it from the outside. No. It just looked like the rest at first glance. But there was that small glimmer that brought him toward it, almost as if the light were a beacon guiding him on.

Cautiously he stepped up to the open tent flap and peeked inside. It didn’t take more than a moment to realize what the light had been. The tent seemed to be home to a small house of mirrors, and it was reflecting the lamplight in a hundred different directions. If he had been curious before, it was nothing to what he felt when he saw the things reflected in the mirrors. Patrons of the circus were shown in a myriad of ways: short, thin, tall, as wavy as a noodle or strangely enough, giving you hats when you were wearing none? It entertained him and drew him in as he wondered what he would look like reflected in the mirrors.

Eagerly he stepped inside, grinning to himself as he walked up to the first mirror. His smile died away almost instantly. There was nothing different about him in this mirror, nor in the one next to it. He glanced at a mirror across the way and saw that a small girl had red hair in her mirror image while her normal self had hair as dark as his own. He moved to stand behind her, wondering if perhaps the ones at the front of the tent were angled incorrectly or had had the spells wear off of them… but no. As he stood looking into the mirror, his hair remained a sooty black instead of the bright ginger he thought it should have shown.

He moved to another mirror and still nothing. A frown creased his features, scrunching up his nose as he walked through a room of very ordinary mirrors. Where was the mystery, the fun? Why did the other patrons have so many different experiences but he only saw his own reflection the way it always had been?

By the time he exited the tent, he felt a bit cheated. Why hadn’t any of the mirrors shown what they were supposed to show? Was he somehow defective? Had he broken the magic somehow? But no… that didn’t make sense. Hadn’t it worked for the girl while he had been looking in it as well? Then what? There didn’t seem to be an explanation for the strange phenomenon he was facing. It was enough to stop him at the exit of the tent, wondering if he should walk back through and see if it worked this time.

“Young man, please wait a moment!”

Devon’s attention was caught by a small, portly looking fellow who was stepping out of what appeared to be the back of the tent he had just come from. There was an eager look in his eyes as he reached out to keep Devon from leaving.

A prickly, nervous sort of feeling washed over him as the man rushed to his side. Had he in fact broken something? If the circus was indeed run by magic as it claimed (and after seeing the show he had no reason to doubt it), had something gone wrong in the tent of mirrors to make one of the magicians come after him?

“I didn’t mean to break your spells!” The words blurted out of him before he could call them back. He didn’t have any money (did magicians need money to fix broken spells?) or knowledge of how to fix what had gone wrong. Though, as often happened when he grew nervous or afraid, his skin grew warm and he felt a painful tingling in his fingers. His father had always told him it was in his head, an excuse to get out of punishment. Not that it ever had.

“No, you didn’t break anything, lad. The mirror spells worked just the way they were always intended to,” the man ran his hands down his suspenders and chuckled.

“But, I didn’t see anything. The other patrons changed with each mirror, but I stayed the same. Is there something wrong with me?” It was a worry that had always flitted about the back of his mind, as he was sure it did to many others. Didn’t everyone worry at some point in their lives that they weren’t normal for whatever reason?

Another chuckle from the small man. “Come with me. I’ll let Emelda explain it all to you. She likes doing all the recruiting herself.”

“Recruiting? You mean, to be a part of your circus here?”

Devon was completely flabbergasted. It had been his hope from the moment the first act had begun in the big top and he had realized how truly different this circus was from any he had seen before. Now he was being told that they wanted to recruit him when they hadn’t even seen his act? It seemed too good to be true. As though he were in a dream just waiting for his father to shake him awake and force him back to a grueling schedule.

“I can’t speak for Emelda, but I’m proud of my house of mirrors. It’s never failed once in gettin’ us exactly who we need for our show. I’ve charmed it up real nice.”

“What… what exactly does your house of mirror do?” Devon couldn’t help but be curious, even if the man didn’t seem inclined to give any answers before passing him off to this ‘Emelda’ person. Surely just one answer couldn’t hurt.

The man turned and winked at him, but gave no answers. He seemed to have a routine that he wasn’t planning to break for anyone. Even for a curious acrobat.

Before long they arrived at the wagon that he had earlier decided was the most likely to house the ringmaster, and the old man gave a light knock on the wooden frame. “Emelda, I found you a good one in the house of mirrors tonight.”

Without hesitation the heavy canvas was immediately pushed aside and the mop of dark curly hair of the ringmaster poked out. Up close she was older than Devon had thought, but no less enthusiastic looking. There was a spark in her that clearly said she loved what she was doing and wanted to share it with the world.

“Walt, are you sure? It’s been awhile since we had a promising candidate.” Dark eyes searched his features, though what she was looking for Devon wasn’t sure.

“Yup! He didn’t light up a single mirror. Shut all my charms down good and proper. He even shut down one while still lettin’ a little girl see herself with pretty red hair. It was impressive if I do say so myself.” The old man, Walt, beamed at Devon and gave him a nudge in the back with his shoulder. “If you can convince him to stay, he could probably put on a real nice show.”

He had no idea what the two were talking about, but clearly they saw something great in him. Perhaps the mirrors let them see talent? If that was the case, it would go a long way toward helping him get the job here he wanted so badly. Maybe if he told them about his experiences, it would sweeten the pot.

“I’m a trained acrobat,” he said eagerly, probably too eager, but he couldn’t help himself. This was where he wanted to perform for the rest of his career. “I’ve been walking the high wire all my life, and I have experience with trapeze and adagio as well. If you’ll let me show you what I can do, I promise that you won’t be disappointed.”

Emelda’s eyes suddenly shot straight to his, her eyebrows raising and her lips parting slightly in surprise. “You’re an acrobat as well?”

“As well?” He squinted, as though by doing so he would finally see the missing piece to the puzzling night he was having.

“You have latent magical ability,” Emelda said with a delicate shrug, as though that should have been obvious. “It’s why none of the magic mirrors worked for you. A person who can use magic tends to shield themselves from spells of other magic users. It’s an instinctive thing. We can teach you how to turn that off, along with how to channel and use your abilities. Are you interested?”

He took a step back, needing to distance himself for a moment so he could process what had just been said. He had magical ability? Was that really possible? If so, wouldn’t he know? Wouldn’t it have shown itself in him before this?

Nerves had his fingers tingling again, and he opened and closed them without thinking much about it. But Emelda saw what he was doing and she let out a laugh that was just as rich and full as her waves of curls. She leaned forward over the edge of her wagon, a wide grin showing off her pearly white teeth. “Your magic is influenced by your emotions. You’ve always had a buzzing in your hands when you aren’t calm, right?”

He nodded, unable to think of anything else to say. There was a feeling of relief though. Relief that he hadn’t been making it up, that it wasn’t in his head, that someone else understood. It was like he had finally found the ground again after years of floating away.

“Emelda’s the best teacher there is, lad,” Walt said, nudging him again. “If you want to learn what you’re capable of, there’s no better place to study.”

“Okay… yeah. I’ll do it!” He didn’t even need to think the decision through before he agreed. Finally finding people who understood him was more important than anything. It was life changing.

“Walt, find him a place to bunk for the night. I’ll introduce him to Aurora tomorrow,” Emelda said softly, that spark back in her eyes as she looked him over. “I think he’s just what she’s been needing.”

#July Camp Nano 2019 #Circus story #Devon #3 hours and 4 rewrites #it's a good thing I'm going by hours and not words this time #I'd never get anything accomplished

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goodnightkisseu · 5 years

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Park Jihoon - Giftwrap

Genre: Fluff

Note: It’s time for another post from me for the 12 days of Christmas with Wanna One collab! I’m doing this series with Chelle over at @prettywordsyouleft and with Kim at @nothingwithoutwannaone! I hope that you all have been enjoying the wonderful pieces that Chelle and Kim have written over these last couple of days!

Today is my last piece for the series, and it’s for Jihoon! I hope that you guys enjoy this one! It was a lot of fun to write :3 Please look forward to the remaining posts by Chelle and Kim! I know they’re going to be wonderful~ And as always, please feel free to let me know what you think ^^

Enjoy~

- goodnightkisseu’s admin / ashley <3

Christmas was a time for togetherness. It was a time to spend with family and loved ones, to meet up with those that you hadn’t seen throughout the entire year and catch up. It was a time of travel, whether it be home or to a vacation spot somewhere much warmer. For different people, Christmas meant different things. For you, This Christmas was about being stuck in the city in the middle of a huge snowstorm with no way out. You had plans to fly out and see family a couple of days ago, but when this huge storm hit it completely grounded you and some others as well. Still, there was some silver lining to being stuck in the city for the holidays. At least you would get to spend it with Jihoon.

Much like you, Jihoon was also snowed in for the holiday season. The two of you had originally settled on doing a little post-holiday couple’s outing when you got back from your respective trips. Yet, with this heavy storm that had blown in, you both found yourselves unable to get to your destinations. So instead of spending your holidays alone, especially during a time of year that was about being together, you moved your post-Christmas couple’s outing to now. You were currently at Jihoon’s place with a small bag that you had packed just lounging around in his apartment while he went to work. The office where you worked as a secretary had completely closed down due to the unpredictable weather, but Jihoon’s was still going, and he found himself working overtime now that people couldn’t come in.

You weren’t just lounging around his apartment on your own of course. You had the company of his dog, Max, who had grown quite fond of you over the last year. You knew that you weren’t his favorite person, that title either belonged to Jihoon or his friend, Woojin, you weren’t sure. However, Max still enjoyed spending time with you, mostly because you gave him the most amazing belly rubs and would also slip him some extra kibble from time to time. The easiest way to a dog’s heart, honestly.

Though you had to admit that you would often find yourself bored throughout the day, not having Jihoon here today was proving to be a blessing. It gave you time to put up some of the Christmas decorations in the way that you wanted, particularly the three cute stockings that you had bought to put on the mantle. Jihoon thought they were silly, but seeing as he wasn’t home, there was no one to stop you. Honestly, it didn’t look that bad, to begin with, so you couldn’t understand why he had complained about it so much.

Having him out of the house was also useful because there was one thing you had forgotten to do before you ended up camping out at Jihoon’s place for the week. You had forgotten to wrap his present, and you felt like now was a good a time as any to do so. After all, today was his last day of work and after this, he would be home until Christmas. You would have little free time to yourself and there was no way you could quietly wrap it while he was sleeping, and so, you took your alone time to your advantage and started to wrap the gift in its shiny new home.

This was your second Christmas together. Your first one had been as friends that met through Woojin. You had a hard time shopping for Jihoon then too, as he was the type of person that would buy the things that he wanted if he really wanted them. This year as a couple, even though you felt like you knew him better, shopping for him was still hard. There were certain things that you knew that Jihoon needed, but they didn’t necessarily make great Christmas gifts. After all, ‘honey I got you a frying pan’ wasn’t exactly the most romantic thing. Practical, sure, but romantic? Far from it.

You did eventually find the perfect gift in a pretty roundabout way. When you had first started dating, Jihoon, when telling you about his hobbies, had talked about one of his all-time favorite games. He told you that it was the reason he wanted to become a programmer in the first place, and why he was working so hard now, trying to find the career that fit him. That conversation had always been in the back of your mind, but you never truly knew what to do with that information… until about a month ago. You had reconnected with one of your old high school friends who had told of this artist that made wonderful decals for game consoles. They were custom, beautiful, a bit pricey, and also took time to put onto the console.

So, you lied to Jihoon, in the name of a good Christmas present and asked to borrow his console to play a game that you had been anticipating. It was there for about three weeks while you worked with the artist on the design before you sent it off for the finished decal to be applied, and it was only a couple days ago that you got it back. Granted, this of course coincided with a couple of days in which you had started your stay with Jihoon, so it was a bit hard to get the console from your place, bring it back here, and hide it. You managed it all, somehow and now all you had to do was wrap it up. An easy afternoon task, right?

Wrong.

See, at home, in your quiet and quaint little apartment, this would have been an hour, maybe two-hour task if you were feeling fancy. But here, at Jihoon’s it took almost four hours and counting. And why? The answer was simple. Max. Jihoon’s dog was incredibly curious, so when you laid down the shiny blue wrapping paper, his little puppy was already sniffing it, trying to figure out what it was. He got himself onto the paper a couple of times which only led you to shoo him away or to manually move him off of the beautiful wrapping paper on your own. You had contemplated locking yourself in the bedroom at one point, just to get those quality hours to finish wrapping up his gift. However, every time you left the room, Max would start to whine, wondering why you wouldn’t play with him. So in the end, you couldn’t do that, but now you were struggling with the small pup, trying to get things done while simultaneously taking care of him.

“Max, no stop,” you said in an exasperated tone as he managed to push his paw through some of the wrapping paper that had unraveled itself. You were glad that he hadn’t eaten the paper just yet, and in hoped to prevent it, you got up and grabbed his leash, putting it on him and slipping it around one of the chairs. It was just far enough that he couldn’t get into the paper and other wrapping supplies that could have been dangerous for him. Yet it was also close enough that you could reach over and give him pets, just so that he knew that you hadn’t forgotten him for something so shiny and exclusive.

You were just getting the hang of your new arrangement when the sudden sound of the door snapped you out of your trance. Jihoon was home already? But he was supposed to be at work for another two hours! Why was he back so early?

At the moment you couldn’t help but look around in utter panic. There was no way that you could have cleaned all of this up, hid it in a safe place, without him noticing that something was out of place. He was going to find out no matter what you did and you weren’t too sure of the best cause of action. As your brain tried to run through every single, your body just kind of froze. And just like that, before you came to any type of plan, the familiar footsteps of your boyfriend grew closer, and you had nowhere to go…

“Jagi, can you believe that I got home early today? There were so few of us in today that we couldn’t even really work. Like all of the people that we could have possibly had questions for were either unavailable or already gone on their vacations. Pretty wild, huh?” he asked as he rounded the corner to the living room. Yet when his eyes fell upon the scene before him, he really wasn’t too sure what he was seeing. He saw Max first, the small dog with his leash handle under one of the dining room table chair legs. Jihoon didn’t question that. Overall it was pretty typical for the two of you to do that because you would want Max to have enough room to play, but not let him loose so that he could run around and destroy everything.

His eye next fell upon all of the new Christmas decorations that hadn’t been there before he left for work. There were a couple of things that had been added to the tree, though Jihoon wouldn’t have been able to point out what they were even if he wanted to. He noticed the stockings that he had vetoed set up on the mantle all ready for Santa to come and drop off some things. And finally, his eyes landed on you and the small mess that you had gotten yourself into. In front of you was wrapping paper that you were trying to get around a rather large looking present. Momentarily, he was curious about what that could have been, though, instead of asking, he just kept it to himself.

“Did I walk into something I wasn’t supposed to?”

At Jihoon’s words, you seemed to find your movement again. It felt too late to really deny what you were doing. After all, it was pretty clear as day. So instead of going through the trouble of lying to Jihoon, you decided to be truthful about it. “Technically, yeah, but it’s okay,” you said with a defeated sigh, your boyfriend finding his way over to your side. He seated himself next to you as Max happily ran to him, leading Jihoon to pull the dog onto his lap.

He didn’t say anything, in true Jihoon fashion so you continued. “Your present finally arrived so I was trying to wrap it up before you got home… but you arrived early,” you said with a small pout. You looked over at him, hand reaching out to scratch Max behind the ear and all Jihoon did was chuckle.

“Why didn’t you just go and wrap up the present in the bedroom? Looks like Max gave you a bit of trouble,” he replied, eyes seeing small little holes in the wrapping paper here and there, which he concluded was the work of his little puppy.

“I thought about it, but whenever I disappeared, he got really anxious, and I didn’t want to leave him alone…” you admitted.

You were too cute for your own good. Jihoon might not have been there, but he could already see the torn look on your face when Max started whining and you were considering just staying out in the living room. Why was everyone in his life so cute? He really was blessed.

“Well then, why don’t you continue up and I’ll take care of Max. I’m curious about what you got me, but I think I can wait a few more days,” he said with a chuckle.

But at that moment, you didn’t really feel the need to finish the gift wrapping. Jihoon had already seen the large box, and if anything, you wanted him to see what was inside instead of wondering for the next few days. Opening the present early was okay, right? “No, it’s okay. I want you to open it now. We can do Christmas presents early, right? I mean, it’s not wrapped, but… the idea is still there.”

“Jagi, we don’t have to. Just wrap it up and we can wait a few more days.”

You shook your head in response. “Naw, I want you to open it,” you said with a smile, reaching over for Max so that Jihoon could pull the large box towards him.

He slowly opened the box up, pulling out all of the wrapping paper before he saw what was inside. It was a console that he already owned, yet, that was when he realized the design on it. That familiar character. Those familiar emblems. This wasn’t a console that they had made. Jihoon had been keeping an eye on all of the limiteds and this was not one of them. “How…” he said slowly, his brain still trying to process it all.

A small smile crossed your lips. “I know how much you love this game, so I got a custom decal made for you. Part of the reason why I had to borrow your console. I mean, I was really playing that game, but also, I needed to send it off to get this attached,” you said with a giggle. “Do you like it?” you asked sheepishly. At the moment it had seemed like a great gift, but now that it was in front of him, you couldn’t tell.

Jihoon was in awe of it, at how nice and professional it looked. And in particular, his heart swelled up at your gesture. He knew that he talked about this particular game a bit much, that it could have gotten annoying, and yet, you listened to him each time. You got him a thoughtful gift and he was beyond grateful. “I love it,” he told you, gently leaning over and giving you a kiss on the cheek. “It’s the best, thanks, jagi!”

Your smile grew at how well-received it was. You were glad that he was happy with it, and that was all you could really ask for. “So, do I get my present now too?” you inquired jokingly, but all Jihoon did was shake his head.

“Naw, you have to wait until Christmas,” he replied cheekily, making your eyes widened. His look changed in that instance to a cheeky one and you couldn’t help but make a face at him.

“Ya, Park Jihoon,” you started, but before you could finish, he was on his feet and running out of the room, you quickly behind him, trying to chase down your boyfriend for your present. You knew he had it hidden somewhere.

It wasn’t always great when plans were ruined, trips were canceled, but getting to spend the holidays together also wasn’t so bad…

#wanna one #park jihoon #wanna one imagines #wanna one scenarios #kpop scenarios #park jihoon scenarios #park jihoon imagines

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ketzwrites · 5 years

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REWATCH 101: “THE MORTAL CUP”

Written by Ed Decter | Directed by McG

Here are my thoughts on the very first episode of Shadowhunters. I think I might keep this format for the following episodes.

Also, this rewatch will be random and sporadic. So, there’s that. Enjoy!

GENERAL NOTES

Jace bumps into Clary – not very professional, Jace: you’re invisible, not intangible. More importantly, though, Clary has the sight!

Clary introduces herself to examiners who are almost as unwelcome to her as the audience is. We learn about her drawing skills and that she sees weird symbols and demons around. Again, Clary has the sight!

Oh, yeah. Dot runs an antique shop. Also, hello there, Mortal Cup.

Are Clary and Maureen friends? Or is Maureen friends with Simon, who is friends with Clary? I need to know to evaluate how gratuitous this exposition conversation about Clary’s family history is.

Clary unintentionally draws an angelic rune. Because Clary has the sight! I cannot stress this enough.

Too bad Jace didn’t notice the angelic rune on the van. That could’ve been interesting. But, guys, Jace says it! Clary has the sight!!

Jace has a rather intimate approach to interrogating a Shax Demon. Weird take, but okay, Ed Decter. I guess Alec is… jealous? Mildly bored? Uncomfortable? I’m uncomfortable.

Why does Izzy refer to Alec as “my” brother and not “our” brother, I’ll never know. She refers to Jace as her “brother in every way” in the next episode, so there’s that.

Great scene where Izzy is forcing Alec’s suspicion to be based on jealousy while Alec corrects her and says it’s caution. We know he won the argument because he got the last word.

First “all the legends are true”!! Immediately followed by “we’re shadowhunters”, which is not a legend, but okay.

we learn she’s been out for two days when Simon calls. This is important because it will be the longest episode timeline wise in this entire show.

Oh, this is the first time I notice the shadow passing behind Simon at 34:46. Cool.

Clary has been drawing runes without knowing about them because, you got it, Clary has the sight!

Is this “choose your path” scene with Jace and Simon pulling Clary to literal opposite directions a lot on the nose? Yes. Do I like it? Kind of. Also, here is the theme of the episode, kids. Clary’s two conflicting halves pulling her apart. She has to choose one or she’ll break.

THE GOOD

That whole teaser is great. A nice and functional introduction to the shadowhunters, the existence of demons, and to the fact that Clary is different than your regular mundane girl. Zero exposition is done by dialogue. Effective and compelling.

Clary and Simon's friendship is the sweetest.

Luke’s terse response about Jocelyn creates some believability later on when he tells the Circle members he doesn’t care about the Frays. Same thing with Luke’s running out of patience with Jocelyn’s lies to Clary.

The dynamic between Clary and Dot is endearing. I’m buying their affection to one another and Dot being worried about what is waiting for Clary now that Jocelyn finally decided to stop gaslighting her own daughter.

“Mom, we’ve had the Talk. I’m good.” Even in the pilot, Clary is shown to be in charge of her own sexuality. Well done, show.

Good for Magnus for pointing out that erasing Clary’s memories won’t protect her. Also, good for the character of Magnus for going along with it anyway. Let’s hope this exchange between Magnus and Jocelyn gets referenced later on.

The entire re-introduction dynamic between Alec and Izzy, Izzy and Jace, Alec and Jace is absolute gold. It humanizes these three suspicious-looking superpowered people we saw in the teaser. Too bad we don’t get a little reaction from Jace to Alec’s snarky “platinum”. But we do get amazing characterization through their dialogue: Alec doesn’t care for mundanes and is the cynical one, Izzy has something to do with science and is the fun one, Jace doesn’t care about the rules and is the soldier-minded one.

Clary checking out Simon when he’s shirtless is there for a reason and I’ll never stop pointing it out.

Clary is a feminist icon and so she tries to help the “girl’ about to be attacked by the crazy dude with the glowing sword. After that, we get a great fight sequence where we infer that the Lightwoods are expert fighters, Alec and Jace act like Parabatai, Izzy kicks ass, and Clary yells and freaks out like the untrained eighteen-year-old she is.

Valentine mercilessly killing that mouthy Circle Member for insulting Jocelyn both works to establish how dangerous Valentine is and to show that his experiments are crazy.

THE BAD

Clary’ unawareness about Simon’s crush on her would be less annoying if she didn’t use such a flirty tone when praising his intelligence. Same thing with “That’s how I know it’s cool” and “You do not tattoo my neck. That creepy.” Whoever told Kat McNamara to use this pretentious sexy tone of voice was wrong. Clary sounds much better when she’s being sassy instead of flirty.

Honestly, “demonic murders” isn’t subtle at all. But aren’t the demons draining mundane blood artistically inclined? Who’d thought they would leave their dead mundane victims looking like a perfume ad?

No, Maureen. A single mother raising her only daughter by herself isn’t suspicious. It’s 2016, get on with the- Oh, wait. Jocelyn just took out a seraph blade and activated it for no reason at all besides being an act break. This level of needless drama requires a sensible third party. I take it back.

So, why exactly can’t Simon hear Jace? People will hear Clary’s phone ringing in a couple of episodes, so why is Jace’s voice inaudible now?

There is no in-context reason for the Circle Members not to mention Jocelyn’s marriage to Valentine as they try to recruit her back. Other than keeping that information hidden from the viewers, that is. But I guess it’s convenient that they don’t mention that in this private conversation.

Why would Valentine’s base be in Chernobyl? I get that they force warlocks to work for them. But still, why? Because it’s evil?

THE INTERESTING

The focus on the missing biscotti is a little heavy-handed, but it consists mostly in a visual-only plot point, so that’s good.

It’s curious that Jocelyn introduces the Shadow World to Clary using a stele. That will eventually be Clary’s greatest weapon as a shadowhunter. She even uses it to stab a demon, her greatest move as a shadowhunter.

Simon singing “Forever Young” will always be a good foreshadowing. Also, this is the start of the show’s good use of Alberto’s musical talents.

The Circle Members recognize Jocelyn in Clary. Too bad they didn’t have Kat McNamara playing young-Jocelyn in the flashbacks. Give her some bangs and maybe a different tone of red. Kat can do a very good badass and it would highlight the differences between Clary and her mother at her age.

Clary spills out her MO in the first episode. “I’m not interested in being a part of your supernatural fight club. I just want to find my mom. The rest of it – whatever it is – all that I care about is finding my mother.” The warnings were all there and we missed it.

#ketz rewatches shadowhunters #sh 101 #sh meta

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hookedonapirate · 6 years

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To Play the Game (and win your heart)

Summary: Some people would call it a job, but to Emma and her sister, Milah, it’s a game of the heart. Play by the rules and you’ll never get hurt.

Whatever you call swindling wealthy men out of their money, this con-artist duo has it down to a tee. Milah sets up an available, rich man and gets him to marry her. Emma seduces and lures the husband into having an affair so he’ll get caught in the act. He then loses his money in the ensuing divorce.

The sisters wear a coat of armor around their hearts to keep them intact, but when they set their sights on their next mark, professional golfer Killian “Hook” Jones, Emma never imagined how hard the game could be and how easily her heart could be stolen—especially when she switches roles with Milah and becomes the one exchanging vows with the gorgeous multi-millionaire. Heartbreakers AU.

Artwork by: @distant-rose

Rating: Mature for connivery, vixen behavior and sexual themes.

Content Warnings: This story deals with conning and manipulation and also mentions/includes children with various disabilities, and also .

Author’s Notes: I was so nervous last week when I posted the first chapter, but you have all blown me away with your lovely words and excitement. Thank you everyone for the feedback!

Thank you @captainswanbigbang and all of the moderators for organizing the event and for all of your help throughout the process.

A huge shout out goes to @ilovemesomekillianjones for all of her help with this fic. She really kicked some butt while beta reading, and if not for her, this story would not be what it is.

Thank you @distant-rose for stepping in as my artist. She is so talented and I can’t wait for everyone to see all of the art she has planned for this fic. She even made me a playlist for this story including Emma’s and Milah’s theme song, Homewrecker by Marina and the Diamonds, and some other great tracks that fit well with the theme of the fic.

Thank you @onceuponaprincessworld for all of her feedback and for her constant support and for letting me bounce ideas off of her during the process. Thank you @teamhook for her help and ideas with scenes I was struggling with.

There are 12 chapters, and I will be posting every Tuesday, so let me know if you would like to be tagged.

Catch up: Ch 1

Also available on: AO3 FFnet

Chapter 2: Finding the Perfect Opponent

~Rule #2: Don’t play against a flawless opponent. Size them up and know just who you're dealing with. Make sure he's ready to handle anything, make sure he's worthy, but if he’s too perfect, too handsome, too young or too smart, then chances are you will lose. If you can't choose the sucker, then you will end up being the sucker. ~

The following day, Emma and Milah take full advantage of their time here, and have breakfast delivered to them via room service, which they enjoy on the balcony under the sun. Afterwards, they change into their bikinis, grabbing their beach necessities and head for the sandy beach, finding a suitable spot to perch.

Once they’re anchored in their lounge chairs and slathered in suntan lotion, Emma begins scouring the beach for single, male patrons. However, the building they are staying in mostly hosts attractive, young couples, with the exception of the occasional businessmen buried in the electronic devices on their laps.

“Why don't we just wait to do our research before we start picking out potential candidates?” Milah suggests, putting away the bottle of lotion and laying back into a comfortable position. “I’ve been divorced for approximately seventy-two hours and I’d like to relax for a minute before we start scouting out our next target.”

Emma sighs, unwilling to give it a rest. They both had acquired plenty of that the day before, spending time at the spa and getting a good night's sleep. She had slipped into her silk pajamas and her warm, comfortable bed last night, looking forward to their next con. She blames Milah, though. She's the one who'd talked her into this years ago. To top it off, they had Mal and Lily as role models. Emma actually regrets the day she signed up for this. It’s quite like heroin; once they began conning and became good at it, they found it difficult to quit.

Emma lifts her sunglasses to gaze across the ocean. The sun is bright and beaming down as a gentle breeze blows through her hair, the sound of the waves gently slapping at the shore and the scent of the ocean permeating her senses.

Seeing the various boats gliding through the water, Emma's eyes settle upon one in particular—a rather large yacht. Grabbing the binoculars from her bag, she looks through them, seeing a man walking out on the deck. Emma draws in a sharp gasp of air, taking in the fantastic view before her.

Jesus. This guy is gorgeous.

Unruly black hair blowing in the wind, bright blue eyes, and dark scruff on his chin and cheeks. He’s shirtless, only wearing a pair of trunks that hang low at his hips, and Emma takes full advantage of the view, slowly spanning his form through the binoculars.

She's guessing he's in his late twenties or early thirties. His body is tanned and sculpted like some sort of Greek God, his chest is sprinkled with soft-looking hair that she itches to run her fingers through and there’s a happy trail that leads her eyes over his toned stomach and abs.

“Milah, you have to check this guy out. He has a yacht; he's gotta be loaded. Plus he's hot, so there's that,” Emma adds with a sly smirk. A heavy sigh is heard as Milah sits up, her eyes following Emma's as she reaches out a hand.

“Let me see those.”

Emma transfers her sister the binoculars and Milah raises them to her eyes, peering through them. Emma swears she can hear her sister gasp, “Holy shit.”

“So you agree, he's our next mark?” Emma smiles wickedly, imagining how much fun it would be to play with her potential toy—how fun it would be to make him throw his sacred marital vows out the window to have his way with her. Even if the vows wouldn't actually be sacred, considering the bride would be using a fake name and wouldn't actually be in love with him.

Milah lowers the binoculars, returning them to Emma before laying back down in her lounge chair. “Absolutely not.”

Emma's face falls flat, a mixture of disappointment and bewilderment flaring in her eyes. “And why not?”

“For one, we don't even know how much he's worth. That boat may not even be his. We haven't even looked at our other options yet. And lastly, he's way too young and handsome,” she says flatly.

“And why not someone young and handsome this time?”

“Because, Em, handsome is dangerous,” Milah points out, her words just as poised as her sunbathed figure, “you know that.”

Emma lifts the binoculars again, gazing at the beautiful man on the yacht. He’s staring out into the vast ocean with an abandoned look in his eyes. It must be lonely for one single man to be on such a large boat by himself, she thinks to herself. Unless he’s hoarding a bunch of women underneath the deck, or a wife.

Desperately hoping he’s not already married, she tears her view away from him to span the entirety of the yacht. She grows more curious, seeing the elaborate lettering that spells out, Jolly Roger, and wonders why he’d chosen that name; maybe the man is a huge fan of pirates?

Emma lowers her binoculars, tucking them inside her bag before finally laying back in her chair. Arms resting at her sides, she shifts into a comfortable position and closes her eyes, making a mental note to remember the name of the boat for when they gather intel on their potential marks.

$*$*$

“Alright, so this guy, Dr. Victor Whale specializes in family medicine.” Milah turns her MacBook around, showing Emma the photo on the screen as they sit at a booth in Camelot, a bar not far from their apartment. “He has a net worth of five million. He's never been married. No children. And he’s forty years old and not bad to look at. You said you wanted someone younger and cute, so this guy’s perfect.”

Emma shrugs, her chin resting in the palm of her hand as she stirs her almost-empty chocolate martini. The doctor is a little cute, she will admit, but also kind of creepy looking. Besides, she can't stop thinking about the guy with the yacht, which he named the Jolly Roger, she remembers, mentally patting herself on the back for the small success.

“Okay, what's wrong, sis?” Milah inquires, her words laced with worry as she pushes the laptop aside.

“Nothing,” Emma sighs wearily. “Did you find anything about the pirate?”

A puzzled expression crosses Milah’s face. “The what?”

“The handsome guy with the boat,” Emma clarifies. It’s been a few days since they saw him at the beach, but the man isn't easily forgettable.

Milah shakes her head and raises the glass to her lips. “I already told you, he’s too dangerous,” she replies before taking a small sip of her strawberry daiquiri.

“Why?” Emma whines, not understanding what Milah’s problem is with him.

“Because, handsome leads to feelings, feelings lead to love and love leads to getting knocked up and ditched in a Walmart parking lot. Haven't you learned anything from Mal?”

“I'm pretty sure you got the part about getting knocked up and abandoned at Walmart from a movie, not from one of Aunt Mal’s fucked up stories… surprisingly enough,” Emma teases, rolling her eyes. “How can you be so sure one of us will develop feelings for him? The guy could be a complete ass for all we know. Most attractive men are. In my opinion, the cockier the better.”

“Emma, I'm sorry, but you're not the one who has to marry him, I am. Therefore, I have the final say. And I’m telling you it's too risky,” Milah states firmly before returning her attention to the computer and pulling it in front of her.

Emma huffs in frustration and stands up, hastily grabbing her empty glass. “I need another drink.” Spinning around, she marches up to the bar counter, setting her glass on the surface. “I'll take another chocolate martini.”

“Coming right up,” the bartender assures with a wink.

Emma sighs, leaning her elbows on the countertop and resting her face in her hands.

In all honesty, she’s not sure she can do this anymore. Maybe it’s because she knows Milah’s going to get her way, and she knows their next mark is going to be some old, wrinkly guy who can barely walk. The only thing Emma really reaps from conning wealthy men with her relentless partner in crime is a cut of the divorce money; there is an empty pit in her stomach that tells her it’s not enough… and not just the monetary value.

This trip is supposed to be fun, full of possibilities and an endless amount of relaxation, beaches and sun. In reality, three months of watching Milah date a rich guy and waiting for her to get married before Emma has to swoop in and seduce a guy she isn't even remotely interested in is not fun.

Sometimes she has to take things further than a kiss, depending on the situation and timing. If Milah’s on her way home, or wherever the affair is staged, Emma tries to stall as long as possible, but sometimes the men grow impatient, and she doesn't want to ruin the whole thing by kissing too long when the guy clearly wants more.

Waiting for the drink to be made, Emma lifts her eyes to the television hanging behind the bar, and sees the ESPN channel showing the PGA golf tournament which is now taking place in Ponte Vedra Beach, Florida. Emma actually enjoys playing golf. Milah’s ex-husband had a son who Emma had been obligated to entertain since she’d worked for Gold, so they’d spent most of their time together playing golf. Emma hadn't cared much for the guy, but when her life revolves around waiting for her sister to tie the knot, Emma gets very bored and has to occupy her time somehow.

Emma's eyes are fixated on the screen, seeing it's the second round of the Players Championship. She doesn't really ever watch the game on television, but it’s better than going back to the table and arguing with her sister about who their next mark will be. And she knows the basic concepts of golf—the person with the lowest score wins, a par is the average number of strokes at a particular hole, a birdie is one stroke under par and a bogey is one stroke over par—so she can follow along and understand what the commentators are speaking about.

As the sports reporter spouts off the highlights of the impressive round from one of the star players, a clip appears on the screen of the golfer with a perfect swing, obliterating the ball off the tee.

Emma gapes at the television, completely perplexed as she realizes who it is. When she’d seen him on the yacht, she had never pictured him stepping out of a sports magazine, more like a supermodel's wet dream. Emma has to blink a couple of times to make sure it's actually him. But, oh yes, it definitely is.

He’s fully clothed this time, wearing a red polo shirt, black slacks and a baseball cap on his head showing Adidas sponsors him, but Emma would recognize the man anywhere. The name Killian “Hook” Jones flashes at the bottom of the screen as the camera cuts to a blonde journalist with a microphone and the man himself, her Australian intonation carrying through the dull chatter of the bar.

“The last few weeks have been incredible for you, on and off the golf course. How are you able to keep your mind clear and play the way you've played the last two days?”

When Hook answers, his cheeks tinged with pink as he scratches behind his ear, Emma almost melts at the sound of the British brogue he speaks with.

“Well mostly I've been focused on the game, even when I'm not playing, but this week I've spent some time with the children, so that really helped a lot, and also being out on the ocean gets me away from the green. It helps me relax and separate myself from everything else that's going on.”

Disappointment pulls at her gut when she hears him talking about his children, but perhaps they can still make it work. Gold’s son was thirty years old and he’d been none the wiser. Emma just prays he's not already married; he hadn't mentioned a wife or girlfriend, so perhaps he shares custody of the kids. She listens keenly, hoping to pick up on any more clues, meanwhile getting lost in his eyes and every answer he comes back with, when the bartender’s words pull her attention from the television.

“Chocolate martini for the beautiful lady. Topped with whipped cream and cinnamon, just the way you like.”

“Do you know who that is?” she asks, ignoring the drink he’s passing to her.

“Hook? Of course, doesn't everybody?”

The scowl she flashes him indicates she does not.

“He's only the best player on the PGA tour. They call him Hook because he has a flawless left hook shot that's won him many championships,” the bartender boasts proudly.

“Left hook?”

“Yeah, he’s a lefty, so when he hits the ball, it curves from left to right, but it's intentional, and he does it perfectly. For most players, it's the result of a mishit,” the bartender explains, his eyes flickering with curiosity. “You play at all?”

“Not much anymore. I've just seen him around,” she replies casually. “Does he live here in Palm Beach permanently or just visiting for the tour?”

“He’s one of the locals. I'm surprised you've never heard of him. They say he's the British version of Tiger Woods—you know, minus the philandering and trouble with the law.”

“Really?” She has to steady herself to keep her fingers from shaking as she tucks a few strands of hair behind her ear. Her mouth opens to ask another question, her tone as breezy as she can manage. “So, he's like a celebrity?”

“Oh, absolutely. Everyone loves him. He even started a foundation for disabled children.”

Emma arches a brow; to say she's surprised would be an understatement. She wonders if maybe the children Hook had referred to were the disabled children. “So, is that what he meant when he spoke of spending time with the children?”

The bartender nods. “Sure is. He doesn’t have any of his own. It’s hard to have children when you’re on tour all the time, never settling down. It’s a shame, really. The guy could easily have any woman he wants and yet he's never been married.”

Emma sighs in relief, but at the same time her heart is clenching in her chest. On one hand, her interest is highly piqued, even more so now that she knows he’s not married and doesn’t have children, and she wants to strangle her sister until she agrees to marry Hook, but on the other hand, she feels a twinge of guilt for wanting to take money from a man who helps disabled children. “So, he’s never been married?” she asks, unable to believe a woman has never wanted to tie the knot with a man like him.

“Never. He's dated a few women here and there, but they turned out to be gold diggers, only after his money.”

“So, he’s really worth that much?” she inquires, attempting to seem as nonchalant as possible.

The bartender snickers in amusement. “You really aren’t from around here, are you?”

Emma shakes her head as she takes out her purse. “No, I just drove in last week.”

“Well, Hook’s only worth seven hundred million dollars,” he replies, his words thick with sarcasm as he wipes down the bar.

Emma’s eyes almost pop out of her head, her mouth turning dry as it hangs open. “Seven hundred million?”

“Like I said, the man’s really good at what he does. Plus he inherited a large amount of money from a dead rich uncle.”

Her mind is exploding with all the possibilities; she doesn't even know what she would do with that kind of money. Somehow pulling herself together, she retrieves some cash from her purse, attempting to pay for the drink, but the bartender puts out his hand to stop her.

“No need. The drink’s on the house.” He winks at her again, a flirty smirk curving his lips as he throws the rag over his shoulder and presses the palm of his hands into the edge of the counter, speaking in a husky tone. “I get out in about an hour if you want to talk some more about golf.”

Leaning over the counter to grab her drink, she forces out a giggle and graces the bartender with a smile, but inwardly, she’s cringing at his proposal. The guy is cute, with bleach blonde hair and tanned skin like a surfer, but not her type. He looks like he’s barely twenty. No, he is more like a boy, and she is only into men. Men like Hook, to be more specific; someone who has strong arms and facial hair, and someone who is actually skilled with his hands for more useful or pleasurable things.

Her eyes are locked with his as she takes the martini glass, dips her finger in the whipped cream and scoops some on her fingertip.

His mouth is hanging open as he stands there watching, practically drooling over the counter as she slides her finger between her lips to suck off the white, creamy sweetness in a slow, seductive manner.

Catching the guy intensely eyeing her lips as her tongue sweeps off the cream, she leans closer to whisper in his ear, her tone and demeanor dark and alluring, “In your dreams.”

She pulls away, flashing him one last grin before turning around and heading back to her seat across the table from her sister. Slipping into the booth, she sets her drink down, excitement dancing in her eyes as the brunette’s face is still buried in her laptop.

“Milah, did you hear that?”

“You mean that guy shamelessly hitting on you?” Milah asks spitefully as she rolls her eyes, which are still locked on the screen. “I already knew guys swooned over you; no need to rub it in.”

“What are you talking about? Guys swoon over you all the time,” Emma reminds her. “I bet if you went over there right now, the bartender would buy you a drink, too.”

“I'm supposed to be the commitment type, remember? Not letting guys drool all over me for sport.”

Offended, Emma glares at her, but Milah never looks up from the computer. “Anyways… what I meant was, did you hear the part about Captain Hook being worth seven hundred million?”

Milah’s eyes are blown wide as she finally averts her attention from her MacBook. “Are you kidding me?” She slides the computer over to her sister. “Show me.”

Emma complies and starts typing his name in the Google search bar, immediately pulling up his bio on Wikipedia. She turns the computer around to show the brunette. “See? He's a professional golfer who inherited a bunch of money from a deceased uncle. You can't tell me you're not interested.”

“Killian Jones, born on January 26th 1988, better known as Hook, is a British professional golfer who plays most of his golf on the PGA Tour, while keeping his membership on the European Tour. He is the current World Number One in the Official World Golf Ranking, having reached that position with his win at the 2017 Genesis Open in February 2017. As of March 19th, 2018, he has been the number one ranked golfer for sixty consecutive weeks, which is the sixth longest streak in PGA Tour history.”

Milah reads about his progression and some of his accomplishments before moving on to his personal life. “Hook was born in Brighton, England and moved to London when he was three. He and his brothers, Liam and Dylan, were raised by a great uncle who owned the Royal Wimbledon Golf Club. Hook started playing golf at the age of five.” She continues on to read about his childhood, how his mother died giving birth to the youngest, who was born with Autism, how Hook’s father abandoned his sons in the middle of the night and that the eldest brother died while serving in the Royal Navy.

Emma’s heart is torn apart from hearing about all of the loved ones he’s lost.

“Hook inherited his uncle's entire estate and used a good chunk of it to start a charity for disabled children. He is also a golf coach and holds sessions, giving them the opportunity to learn and play golf... that's so sweet,” the brunette comments, her eyes melting a little at that.

“Yes, but he probably does all that for publicity,” Emma reasons. The guy just seems too good to be true. “For all we know, he’s a self-centered asshole?”

“Maybe, but we can't be certain of that. Some celebrities are actually genuinely kind.”

“Either way, we’re talking about seven hundred million,” Emma reminds her, keeping them both focused on the goal. She’s not about to let his tragic backstory or the possibility that he might actually be a decent guy get in their way, no matter how much it pains her.

“No wife to speak of and no family to get suspicious of our motives,” Milah notes, studying the page a bit longer before lifting her eyes again, her face surprisingly full of doubt. “I don't know, Em. A guy that loaded will see us coming from miles away. He probably has ironclad prenups.”

“He's never married before, but I've heard that a lot of celebrities have an infidelity clause in their prenups nowadays to keep their spouses faithful. If there is an extramarital affair, the spouse who's been cheated on would receive a financial reward from the other spouse. And even if you ask for a quarter of his worth, and we pull this off successfully, it could be our last con. We can move to Hawaii like we always talk about.”

“That would be amazing, Em, but won't the infidelity clause give him a really good incentive not to cheat?”

Emma frowns. “Are you doubting my abilities, Mi? Because it really sounds like you are,” she says, offended by the implications. When it comes to getting the opposite sex to do whatever she wants them to do, she never fails. And she isn't about to start now.

“No, I'm just saying we’re going to have to bring our A game for this to work. It's not going to be easy. We've never played a guy this wealthy and attractive before,” Milah points out, pursing her lips in contemplation.

Emma eyes her suspiciously.

“What?”

“This isn't about us not being able to pull this off without Hook suspecting anything, is it? We both know we can do this. We’ve done this many times.”

Milah shakes her head. “I'm not doubting our abilities, Em, but—”

“But… you're worried you're going to fall for the guy aren’t you? You're worried that you're not going to be able to go through with it?”

Milah's eyes widen, obviously offended by the accusations. “Of course not.”

“You said it yourself, handsome leads to feelings, and what if this guy really isn't an ass? I mean he's a well-liked celebrity,” Emma points out. “You've gone soft. That's why you were so upset after you divorced Gold. You developed feelings for him.”

“That's nonsense! I do not have feelings for him!” Milah counters adamantly. “I told you, it was just exhausting.”

Emma sighs. She knows Milah is lying, but maybe it’s best not to argue with her. “Fine, you're right. It must be exhausting going through the motions—going on dates and being proposed to, having a nice wedding, breaking the guy's heart and taking his money,” she mutters sarcastically as Milah looks away, trying to avoid her gaze, “so, let me take this.”

The brunette’s eyes snap to Emma’s, widening in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Emma smiles eagerly and leans her elbows on the table, crossing her arms and closing the distance between them to keep out prying ears. “I mean, let me be the primary. I'll marry Hook, and you can get him to have an affair.”

Milah scoffs, amusement besetting her features. “You seriously want to be the primary?”

“Why not? That way you can take a break for a while. Think about it—the man's a professional golfer and you hate the sport. As his girlfriend and potential wife, you'd have to support him and go to the tournaments with him and listen while he talks about his games. I can do that with no problem. But I know you would be miserable. Wouldn't you rather be free to do what you want—go shopping and live the single life for a while? Maybe even start drawing again?” Emma adds, watching and scrutinizing her sister's reaction.

Milah’s facial expression transforms, revealing her lack of opposition at the possibility. “That does sound appealing.” She chews on her bottom lip, mulling over the idea. “I don't know, Em. It takes a lot of practice and discipline to get a guy to commit to marriage in three months without falling for him.”

Emma scowls, not believing what she’s hearing. “Again you're doubting me? I can totally handle this guy. I'll have him eating out of the palm of my hand in no time, believe me.”

“Of course! I'm not doubting your skills. I'm just looking out for you, that's all. I want you to be sure about this.”

“I am sure about this,” Emma states tenaciously.

There’s still a bit of skepticism in Milah's eyes. “Are you absolutely certain you're up for this? Because it’s not going to be easy, and once he sees you for the first time, there's no switching back.”

Emma's lips slowly expand into a devilish smirk and she speaks in a tone that reeks of devilry. “Are you kidding? You know I love a challenge.” She takes a sip of her drink, licking the chocolate liquor from her lips as she contemplates the idea of gaining even a quarter of Hook's wealth in the divorce. Plus, she’s not opposed to admitting she’s looking forward to bringing a man like Hook to his knees. It’ll be a nice change of pace compared to her usual role and the typical wealthy men they go after.

Milah sighs in defeat. “Fine, you asked for it. He's all yours, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Emma’s grin widens as she pulls the MacBook towards her, studying his photo. “Okay Hook, it looks like you're going to be my first husband. Hope you're ready for me.”

Milah finally smirks along with her, realizing her new task. “He’s about to have his world flipped. Trust me… he’s not ready for that.”

Emma lifts her martini glass, getting excited about pursuing her first target as primary. “Here's to our next and final mark.”

Milah nods her head and raises the strawberry daiquiri she’s barely touched, clinking the two glasses together. “Hook, line and sink him, sis.”

Emma smirks deviously, but on the inside her heart tightens just a little at the thought of crushing his heart. “Gladly,” she assures, bringing the glass to her lips and sealing the promise with a drink.

@mayquita @freakassbuthunter @libbcoxnet-blog @goldengirlschildhood @courtorderedcake @florenzu @marcella2727 @veryverynotgood @i-would-cross-realms-4-her @hooklineandswan @wonderfullycarriedaway @0swald-c0bblep0t @cs-forlife @andiirivera @snotelek @capswantrue @nikkiemms @capswantrue @swansong12 @lg-campbell @lassluna @followbatb @harshini01 @betchesgetshitdone @coliferoncer @ultraluckycatnd @resident-of-storybrooke @kinkyhiddlesgirl @teamhook

#cs ff #cs ff au #captain swan #csbb #to play the game (and win your heart)#my fic

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fluidityandgiggles · 6 years

Text

Sleep Is For The Weak - Chapter 2

Previous Chapters: Prologue, Chapter 1

Notes (I guess): I am equally in love and in deep hate with some (a lot) of what’s going on in here, and I am terribly, terribly sorry. And also there are some characters I wanted to explore a bit further than what had been in this part, but... I’m working on it. Give it a bit and I’ll get there. Again, credit to @broadwaytheanimatedseries for screaming at me to write this, and to @whatwashernameagain for Keep Him Safe, and also a tiny tiny lil bit to @anony-phangirl and @asleepybisexual for their general support and for being such great sports about me annoying them with my ideas... (oops).

(I’m trying to find a way to write my notes, so bear with me until I find a way to… it might take a hot minute.)

(KHS) Tag List (sort of): @em-be-lievable, @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2, @adoratato, @supremestoverlord, @royallyanxious, @madly-handsome, @hanramz-the-fander, @the-incedible-sulk, @poisonedapples, @virge-of-a-breakdown, @winglessnymph, @princeanxious, @smokeyrutilequartz, @im-bad-at-life (if any of you could tag the rest, please do! I’m improving my memory from day to day, but… yeah…)

Tag list: @bunny222, @ab-artist, @secretlyanxiouspersona

Trigger warning: period appropriate transphobia (the early 00s were not exactly trans-friendly). This chapter in particular includes some very heavy misgendering and deadnaming (if you get what I’m saying). Please be careful.

—————

Science of Living Systems 20 actually wasn't as bad as Remy thought it would be. It was rather cool, actually.

Well, at least he hoped it was.

The head of the department was… an interesting individual. Remy met with him during the application process. The man insisted on calling him "Miss Harris" and speaking to and about him in girl pronouns, and Remy understood why.

For some reason, though, Remy expected all the professors to be like that. And not such was the case.

"Rebecca Harris, I want to see you later in my office."

Doctor Gilliam was in his late thirties, called everyone by their first and last names, thought that being single was hilarious, made really bad puns in his lectures (though Remy heard, not as much outside of them), and tried his best to be "hip with the kids". It was worrying, to say the least. And… yeah, Remy was slightly terrified.

"I'm kind of worried, kid," Gilliam said the moment Remy walked in. "You don't look too-"

"Excuse me, Doctor, but I don't know what this is about."

"Have you heard about shadows and personae, Rebecca Harris?" Remy shook his head, terrified to say a word. "Well, it's quite an interesting concept. According to Carl Jung, you'll learn about him later, the persona is the mask you wear in the world. It's what you want others to see. The shadow is your innermost self, the parts of your identity that you wish to hide from others."

"Okay, and?"

"I think your persona might be cracking."

What… was going on?

"I'm not making sense, am I? I'm sorry. There's a lot that goes into that theory and I shouldn't confuse you this much, at least not until we get to it."

Yeah… it was weird.

"So, my point is… you can talk to me if anything is making you uncomfortable, okay?"

"Okay… I guess."

"Well, that is all," Doctor Gilliam said, fixing his glasses.

That… was weird. But okay. If that's how he wants to do things. Remy wasn't going to complain.

He was definitely better than the head of department.

—

There was a knock at the door.

Abby, their RA, was over earlier. Apparently Katherine had a bit of a scene right after class. So naturally, Remy assumed it would be Abby. No one else could be knowing on their door at ten thirty pm-

"We don't have your bunny this time. You can go."

Oh.

"Oh, no, I just…" Remy could hear that… kid? Whatever his name was, from the door. "I just need… I need someone to help me with something. And…"

"Oh. Remy can help."

"No I can't," Remy replied. "I need sleep and so do you!"

"It won't take long, I promise!"

"...fine." Remy got off the couch - the nice, comfy couch, where there was a blanket and his sols20 book - to the door. Where that kid (Emile? Emile) was looking at him with those big blue eyes and…

Yeah, Remy regretted unbinding. (Well, no. He did not. But also kind of did.)

"Hey… Rebecca, right—"

"His name is Remy."

Emile seemed shocked for a moment. Oh shit. "Oh, I'm so sorry! I didn't know. I just… I see you in most of my classes, so… never mind. So… how are you with baking?"

—

"So my sister Julie is LaVeyan—"

"Aren't we supposed to be baking cookies, babe?"

"Yeah, but… the stuff's all in the cabinets and I'm looking!"

Emile was a disaster child, Remy decided after only five minutes alone together. He brought a violin and his bunny to the kitchen in the pursuit of baking cookies - like, what even? - and he just seemed so… energetic? Happy? Whatever the word was. A couple minutes ago he was talking about the cookies, sure, but then he switched it to the importance of guided imagery, and then why Li Shang from Mulan is bisexual, and now… what was he even talking about?

"So my sister is a LaVeyan Satanist," Emile repeated himself, almost climbing on the counter to reach a cabinet. "It's kinda funny, actually. My dad's side of the family are all Catholic, and— can you put the sugar on the countertop, please? Thank you!"

"Sweetie, for the eleventh time this past ten minutes, I understand nothing you're saying."

"Am I speaking another language or something? Because if so I'm sorry!"

"No, it's just…" How does he not hurt his feelings? "It's just… you talk fast and about a lot of subjects at the same time."

"Oh. Okay. Sorry."

Maybe he thought Remy couldn't hear, but there was definitely a "this is just one of the things that are wrong about me" thrown in the air.

Emile didn't speak to him for the rest of the process. Maybe once or twice he pointed out a step or an ingredient, but overall he did not speak. At all. And then the cookies were in the oven…

And then he pulled out his violin.

"Is this really necessary?"

"I'm not talking to you."

"Emile, is it because of something I said?" Emile, still pouting (as he had been for a good hour and some now), nodded. "Well, I'm sorry. Please don't silent treatment me."

"I talk too fast and too much."

"Not what I said. I just said I can't follow you. I didn't say it's your fault. Please don't—"

Emile pretty much just ignored Remy (uhh, rude!) and positioned his violin, and started to play something… quite angrily.

After a minute and a half Remy recognized it as Once Upon a Dream from Sleeping Beauty.

After another three minutes, he dared open his mouth again. "I'm sorry I said that. I didn't mean to. Do you accept my apology?"

"...fine."

It was not fine. Absolutely not.

"Thanks for the help with the cookies," he said as they separated at the top of the stairs, all one-hundred-and-ninety cookies (Emile insisted on quadrupling the recipe) safely packed in plastic boxes and hidden away. "I… I'm gonna go now."

"Emile, please." He turned around, still looking quite pissed. (It was probably the hour, Remy tried telling himself. It's already past one am. This is not good.) "Are you mad that I said I'm confused?"

"To be honest with you, yes! Yes, I'm mad. I know it wasn't your intention but I heard you say shut the fuck up when you said that. And it hurt. Very badly."

...oh.

"I'm going to forgive you, but it's going to take me a bit, so please don't be mad at me, okay?" Emile honestly looked close to tears. "Good night, Remy. I'll see you in living systems tomorrow."

And then he went to his suite, violin and bunny with him.

Remy just got himself into a huge mess.

—

It was a beautiful afternoon in Boston when Remy found himself at the rather posh Italian place his mom wanted to meet at.

Before their divorce in late 1999, just after Remy turned fifteen, his father started contacting a charity organization dedicated to help transgender youth. He educated himself. Tried to educate his wife as well. But… apparently it was the last straw for Linda. The very night he tried to even just explain that it's not her fault, that it's how he was born, she packed up her things and left.

The divorce papers came in less than two months later. The divorce was finalized in November 1999. Remy did not see her since.

(Yeah… that was a lie. He actually hasn't seen her since Christmas 2001. But that was still a very long time. Almost a year is a long time.)

"Well, at least the weather's nice." And there she was with her new boy toy. Glamorous as ever, with her stupidly huge sunglasses and her bright red (disgustingly fake, makes India's hair seem real) curly bob, looking exactly the same as she did that day Remy came out to her.

A few hours later, though. When she thought he was asleep and left the house to go to some party.

"Well, at least you're still not very nice, Linda," he said with a smirk as he sat down next to her boy toy (he actually looks kinda nice, for a forty-something year old). "But much unlike the weather, I don't think this is a thing that can change so easily."

"Where are your manners, Rebecca?"

"The same place those diamond earrings you forgot when you left us are. At home with Dad, probably watching South Park."

"Well, at least we left the girls at home." Linda took off her sunglasses and replaced them with a normal, frameless pair of glasses. "I don't believe you met Stephen before, Rebecca."

"I don't believe I've met a Rebecca before, Linda."

"Are you ready to order?"

It took about two minutes for all the orders to place (of course Stephen had to order something overly fancy, because why the fuck not) before she started yapping again.

"Rebecca, I didn't ask to see you for you to be so rude to me."

"I didn't ask to see you, period."

"What would you like to be called, then?" Stephen asked. Well…

"Remy. My name is Remy."

"Your name is—"

"My name is not Rebecca! I haven't gone by that name since I was fourteen. Dad never called me that since the day I asked him to call me Remy. You're the only one who ever insisted, how do you think it made me feel?"

"How do you think it made me feel, Rebecca?" Remy hoped no one was looking. "My own daughter. I jeopardized my own high school graduation to have you because your father was dumb enough to forget the condoms. I gave up life-long dreams just to raise you, because that retard of a father you have couldn't. Is this how you repay me?"

There was a very awkward silence, that was broken by an unfamiliar voice - deep, with a southern drawl - and a confused "Rebecca?"

India. Without her makeup, her hair pulled back.

Looking almost perfectly manly.

"Excuse me?" Linda straightened her glasses, glaring at India. Oh, how Remy did not want this to happen… "And you are?"

"Ian McGinty, ma'am. I'm her boyfriend."

Oh.

"Your father didn't tell me you have a boyfriend," Linda spoke slowly.

"Because he doesn't know everything. And my name is still Remy."

"Ethan and I are gonna go now," India said, her voice still lower, still more southern than normal. "Text me when you're done, we'll go get ice cream?"

"...sure."

And then she leaned down and said, in the voice Remy grew to know and absolutely adore, "we're going to talk about this. Don't worry, I got your back."

And then she was gone.

"So a boyfriend, huh?"

"...so how many men have you fucked before meeting Stephen, Linda?"

—

"I'm so sorry about your mom, baby."

India's brother, Ethan, looked nothing like her. Well, he looked like a more manly, less boyish version of ‘manly' India, but also nothing alike. He also didn't talk much. So that was fun.

India took them to get ice cream indeed. (And much like her music taste, her favorite ice cream flavors - burnt caramel and earl grey - were rather… interesting. But she did swear that Toscanini's was probably the best ice cream in Cambridge, and who was Remy to argue with her?)

"It's alright. She's always been like this."

"Doesn't make it alright." Ethan grunted in agreement. "Take it from me, Remy. It's never alright."

"Does he have an Esther?"

India's eyes rolled so far back. "Do you think that every trans person have to have an Esther, Ethan? Do you truly think it's how we realize our identity?"

"It's how you did yours."

"I knew I'm a girl since the moment I understood who I am. Any related accidents after that are purely incidental."

"India, I think I fucked up." She looked up at him from her half-melted ice cream cup. "I told you about Emile, right?"

"You're still stuck on that?" Remy nodded. "Look… that kid told you he forgives you. You saw him in class since then, he didn't say anything to you… you're doing fine, sweetie."

"Is that his real boyfriend?"

"Ethan, shut the fuck up or I'll call mom. Remy…" India turned to play with his hair.

Yeah, it was very calming.

"He sounds like a very sweet kid. Trust me, there's no way you fucked anything up. You'll be okay. You'll get to hang out with him again, and it will be okay. Now eat your ice cream, you have the best ice cream, and then we're going back to your dorm and we're going to watch Priscilla. Or Hedwig. Whatever suits your fancy, okay?"

"...okay."

"Now, let's talk more about your mom and why it isn't okay that she treats you like that."

And for a bit, everything just seemed alright. Well, almost.

#kylo cant write #sanders sides #remy/sleep #emile picani #keep him safe #sleep is for the weak #the remy centric prequel #tw: period appropriate transphobia #tw: panic attack

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