#cool girl is also a slug woman in her own ways but shes always confident about it at least

[ladykissingfish]

A Date with an Angel // Part Four // Zetsu and Kisame

Zetsu

“Oh — God —“, Konan gasps, panting and holding her sides. She had thought she was in better shape than this, but ... “Do you want to stop and rest for a bit?” Konan nods, feeling mildly embarrassed as she sits gingerly on a log. When Konan had been a young girl, going for walks through the woods had been one of her favorite activities. Quiet, fresh air, surrounded by birds and butterflies and flowers ... so when Zetsu asked her if she wanted to go on a “relaxing hike”, she’d agreed right away. But apparently she and Zetsu differed greatly on their ideas of what “relaxing” meant, because this was intense. The park Zetsu took her to had a variety of winding trails, and the one they were traveling up now was probably the steepest of them all, going up many deep hills and crevices. Konan was glad she’d brought more than one bottle of water in her small backpack; here she was opening her third one. “How are you not even winded?”, she asked him, as she slugged down the icy coolness. Zetsu merely smiles and takes a drink of his own water. “I do this all the time. For the stuff Nagato has us all doing, there’s really no better way to stay in shape.” Konan has to agree with that, but even without the walking, Zetsu is probably the healthiest person in the house ... and also, possibly, the strangest. He came and went at all hours of the day and night, and the others referred to him as “the spy”. He always had intel on people that Nagato was interested in, and he was a master problem solver, often resolving issues before they even had a chance to become one. He seemed to be the closest to Obito, and the two would spend hours playing chess against each other. Konan rests on her log and stares out at the scenery below, when Zetsu’s voice comes to her from the stillness: “He was a good man.” “Who?” “Yahiko.” Konan turns her head towards him, surprised. “Did you know him??” Zetsu nods. “Yeah. Met him a few times back when Nagato was putting this group together. Nagato — he was always trying to convince your boyfriend to join up. But Yahiko, you know all this just wasn’t his thing. Very peaceful guy. Talked about you so damn much I felt Iike I already knew you on the day I met you.” Konan smiled at that, then stood up. “You know he loved this too. Going for long hikes, I mean. Always tried to get me to go with. Wonder if he’d be proud of me right now — or pissed.” Zetsu laughs at that and puts his hand on Konan’s shoulder, saying, reassuringly, “Proud. Always proud.” The two continue their hike (Konan finds it a bit easier now that she’s rested and more hydrated) and they come across a small pond surrounded by flowers. “Oh!” Konan exclaims, and quickly draws her sketch book out of her pack. “I have to draw those flowers!” Zetsu looked at her, surprised. “I thought you only did Origami? I didn’t know you could draw, too.” “It’s both, kind of. I sketch out flowers that I like so I can try to fold them at home later.” When she’s done, the sun has gotten a bit lower in the sky than either had anticipated, so that hurry back to the entrance of the trails. They get there just as the sun sinks beneath the horizon, and Zetsu, taking hold of Konan’s arm, tells her to look up. She does and gasps; out in the open, and completely free from the lights of the city, the sky is flooded with what seems like millions of gold-silver sparkles. “I never knew there were so many,” Konan says in an awed voice, her eyes eating up her face. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so beautiful in my entire life.” Zetsu just smiles, and takes the opportunity to gently kiss her forehead as he tells her, “The sky is pretty ... but you put it to shame, Konan.” They make light conversation on the car ride home, but Konan’s sleepiness from so much physical exertion catches up to her, and she’s knocked out before they pull in the driveway. Zetsu lifts her out and carries her into the house and to her room, where he gently lays her on top of her covers, before turning off her light and closing the door.

Kisame

“You don’t have to do this.” “I know that; but I don’t mind.” “You don’t think it’s embarrassing?” Kisame shook his head. “How is spending time in the water with a beautiful woman in anyway embarrassing?” Konan sighed and focused on kicking again. It was the next day, and early that morning Kisame had knocked on her door, asking her to accompany him to “his favorite place in the world.” It shouldn’t have been surprising where they ended up; Kisame was one of the most outgoing, talkative members of the house, and one of the first things he and Konan had a conversation about were the many shiny trophies that lined his room shelves. “Swim Team,” he’d said, proudly, when she asked. I joined freshman year in high school, and was captain by junior year. We went to all the tournaments; came in first 4 times in two years.” Today was rather lovely; after watching the stars with Zetsu the night before, seeing the sun come up over the waters at the beach with Kisame was very poetic. Kisame was prepared; he’d brought them towels, sunscreen, magazines, and abundant supply of drinks and snacks. While it was early, it was too chilly to even think about going in the water, but the day very quickly warmed up to the point where Kisame was stripping off his shirt and diving into the water. Konan was genuinely surprised that a man as big as Kisame, as solid and muscular, could be so smooth and graceful in the water. “You don’t want to join me?”, he’d asked, after coming up for the umpteenth time. “The water isn’t really that cold. It’s quite refreshing.” But Konan shook her head and explained, sheepishly, that she’d never learned how to swim. Kisame’s immediate response had been “Let me teach you,” and, although Konan had her misgivings, she allowed Kisame to take her hand and guide her into the water. They started off with very basic exercises, such as Kisame holding her up while she kicked and paddled, and then he explained about balance and breathing and body weight, and “If you feel yourself going under, don’t panic. Work to pull yourself back up. Fight. And you don’t have to worry, because I’ll be right here to help you.” Eventually Konan feels confident enough to swim out a ways from Kisame, and although her head is briefly pulled under the waves she takes his advice, stays calm, and fights her way out from under. Kisame pats her shoulder when she gets back to him, congratulating her. “See? Easy as pie, right?” “It’s easy when you have a great teacher.” The two take a break from the water to eat and bask in the sun. “This must be what heaven feels like,” Konan comments, turning towards where Kisame is laying on his towel beside her. Can I ask you something?” “Yeah?” “You’re so ... big, you know? I would have thought a big guy like you would be a football player, or hockey, or something like that. Why swimming?” “I guess ... because my dad was a swimmer, too,” he answers, sitting up. “It was something, maybe the ONLY something, we bonded over, right? If you think I have a lot of trophies you should see his; he’s got a whole wall of awards from junior high, high school, and college.” Konan nods, going quiet for a bit before saying, “I don’t remember my dad that well. He died when I was four. Mom ... I guess that’s why I like origami such much, because she was a sketch artist. Her specialty was flowers. My drawings are okay but folding is better. Makes sense. Is that how you feel about swimming? It just makes sense to you?” He nods, and the two spend the next half hour in a companionable quiet. Before they leave for the day, they have a lot more fun. They join on opposing sides of a children’s volleyball game, then the kids join Konan in burying Kisame up to his neck in sand. They swim a bit more, Kisame helps Konan collect seashells — before long they’re both tired, and head back home. When they get to the front door, Konan hugs Kisame (and Kisame has to bend quite a ways for her to reach him, and kisses his cheek. “I had a great day with you, Kisame.” He blushes, then asks timidly, if she’s not VERY tired, if she wants to watch a

movie with him in the living room. She agrees, and Kisame makes them popcorn and pops in The Waterboy, which he claims is his favorite movie “of all time, ever.” Halfway through the flick Itachi emerges from his room and joins them, and the three have a pleasant evening with each other.

#the akatsuki #a date with an angel #first date #konan akatsuki #konan #zetsu #kisame hoshigaki #kisakona #zetkona

[peachlolitasevillacourtstuff]

Stratos and Oona (story part 1)

I thank our friend Niko for helping me with this story.*It all starts in the current round house, President Sheros as he was always in his office, reading some news. among them stories about his brother's war veterans, that brought him a nostalgia and sadness to remember him* Sir.c: stratos old something wrong? *he said entering his office * * Obviously Tray was spying on them from his slug-cams * Stratos: oh old man, I'm reading some stories of the pac veterans, it brings me a lot of nostalgia to hear it Sir.c: I really remember that fatal squad I had, and many were injured and look, I still have scars from that * he said showing his scar on the shoulder of his arm * Betrayus: Uff, what a weak idiot..... Buttler: -_- Stratos: hehehe, that explains more your clumsiness, you even had an injury to your leg remember * he said a little teasing * Betrayus: *Disgusted face* Sir.c: yes yes, make fun, but at least you have worse scars .. * I affirm * Betrayus: *Bored* And I thought I heard "serious conversations". * after that at night when everyone had to sleep, stratos had already come out of bathing and dressing in his pajamas, at the time he was going to lie down on his bed * * The guards roamed for the Round-House, preventing intruders from entering * * after a few short hours, stratos was already sound asleep, however he felt a sensation in his left shoulder something familiar, as if it came from the past * "Dad!" Stratos: w.. what!? Cedrick: I can't sleep, can I sleep with you? Stratos: uh yeah right, lie on my side, why can't you sleep? Betrayus: Uff, he surely had some stupid bad dreams. cedrick: I don't know, I'm just not sleepy, * said snuggling up on top of his dad * Stratos: * that reminded him a lot of his little brother, and at the same time that love of war * Cedrick: * Hugs his daddy tightly * Stratos: Haha, there is drick, hugging me reminds me a lot of your uncle * whisper * *the next day* Pac: good morning Mr. President, everything okay around here? Stratos: yes, yesterday I was reading stories about veterans of the pac war. Cedrick: * Playing around with Spirale * Spiral: Be careful, Cedric! The monster is coming to devour you! * Growls and chases him * Cedrick: Oh no! * Chuckles and runs though the corridors * Pac: wow the boy created very fast. 😅 Stratos: thats right Stratos: now Pac: oh ok, a question, Mr. President, as was the mother of Cedrick * I asked him directly * Stratos: Uh!? 😨 Stratos: mmmhh.. I don't like to talk about Oona .. Pac: what its Oona? Stratos: my ex..lover Pac: because ex-lover doesn't mean ex-wife, was something wrong with her? Stratos: She died in an attack and it pains me to remember it. Cyli and pac: 😓😨 Cyli: oh Sir.c: sure you don't want to talk about it now? Stratos: I do not see it necessary, also there is a part of that story that is not appropriate for the 4, only you and me, Sir.c Cily:We are grow enough. Stratos: well you know how babies are made right? Cyli: yes... Yes, more or less Pac: Surely! Stratos: good come the 2 in private, Spiral, take care of my son while I go to talk to the boys. Spiral: ok.. Spirale: No, problem! *Goes to him* *inside the round house * Stratos: your name is Oona, my ex lover.. Pac: So, Mr. pres? Cily: uh.. were you in love once? Stratos: yea...* he said scratching his head a little * Pac: Well, it’s normal. but what happened? Stratos: It all started when I was still a soldier who was fighting against my own brother, Sir.c had been lethally read in a platoon, luckily I helped him take him to the infirmary, where they took care of him I saw him as he suffered, and he got some scars for it. Stratos: You're better * said a young stratos in his war uniform * Sir.c: yea.. *he said a little dizzy. Doctor: Excuse me, I need to take care of your friend. He has some internal bleeding. Pac: Woah..... Fortunately he survived. Sir.c: barely even in my nightmares I still feel that horrible pain in me, but still counting stratos. Cily: Aw. then? Stratos: ok.. After having been treated and stopping the euphoria, I started to get more injured, some of them were already dead, however I stumbled upon one of so many nurses. ???: oh, so, so sorry.. Stratos: don't apologize it was an accident! ???: You must be one of the soldiers against Commander Betrayus, I am Oona, I am not from Pacopolis by the way. Stratos: Yes, I am.....I’m Stratos Spheros. You? Oona: Oona, Oona winefrida Stratos: wow, a pretty name Pac: Oh, so she was? Stratos: of course I was a nurse in the war, I wasn't clearly around here. Cily: She must have been a caring woman to be a nurse. Sir.c: Jejejeje.. especially how good it must have been .. in the food supposedly, not that badly thought! Pac: *Chuckles Cedrick: She was good doing what? *Innocent face* Stratos: Wooah! Cedrick!? 😲what are you doing here, you should be with spiral Spiral: Sorry! He had run away! Cedrick: What were you talking about, dad? Stratos: you know adult stuff ..😅 Cedrick: What kind of adult stuff? I want to know too! :D Stratos: just go on playing with Spiral, but don't get dirty *he says taking him out of the room* Cedrick: okay * he said a little annoyed * Pac: *Chuckles* Curious the boy. Pac: get on with the story sir president Stratos: ok.. As the days progressed, and continue to have plans for the next ambush, and do my best without Sir.c I could not stop thinking about her, her skin was white, her pink eyes, her brown hair, and her beautiful smile distracted me from work. Spheria: stratos, thats good? Cily: That’s love True love, strong enough to make you forget the rest ~ * Chuckles * Stratos: maybe they'll keep interrupting me!? Pac: Oh sorry, Mr. Pres, continue. Stratos: well spheria got a little upset about my attitude exactly Spheria: Why? You look much more distracted than usual. Are you worried about something? Stratos: oh sorry sergeant * he said laughing * just kept thinking of someone specifically Spheria: *Nudges him* Oh really? Who is the lucky girl~? Or lucky boy. No prejudice. Stratos: literally Sir.c! remember that he is still injured Spheria: oh yea.. * said a little sad * Stratos: *Sigh* I hope he will recover soon. Spheria: I even more .. it hurts that that platoon was very sudden take a slight break, the war is making you very anxious Stratos: Thanks sergeant. * in the infirmary * Stratos: hello Oona: hello stratos what are you doing here, are you coming to visit Sir.c? Stratos: I don't really miss your beautiful voice Stratos: Are you busy? Oona: if very busy, there are many sick and wounded, I think it is not time for you to be here with me. Stratos: if you want, we'll see you tonight, if you can finish your shift? Oona: I will try, but take the opportunity to greet your friend, he is on stretcher 16 on the right Stratos: Ok... See ya tonight, ok? * Stratos went to the stretcher of his good friend Sir.c, he was resting from his injuries, he could barely move without importing the pain * Stratos: go Sir.c, you already feel better Sir.c: I still hurt about the emorrajia * he said in a weak tone * Spheria: *Comes too* Hey C., how are you? Sir.c: the scar from the operation still hurts, that platoon was crazy. Spheria: well at least you didn't break all your bones. Stratos: Speaking of which, you think that even an intern you can give us plans Spheria: Yes. I'm confident about it. *later at night* Oona: Hi Stratos, did you want to see me? Stratos: Oona skies are you done? Oona: yeah jeje Stratos: come with me I want to show you something * he says taking her hand and I take her to a place with a beautiful pond * Stratos: Beautifull, isn’t it? Oona: I don't know why, but it reminds me of a story they told me as a child Stratos: really coincidence hehe Oona: I lived in pac-europe, in fact I am a descendant of the ancient pac-celts. Stratos: Woah, cool. And what this story tells? Oona: seeing this lake reminds me of a story I have known since I was little, my name refers to that. Stratos: well tell me Oona: Once upon a time in a very large lake, where fairies lived among the largest trees, they always met during the day, so that the birds did not eat them, every night on a full moon they went out to celebrate their queen, they danced like the swans in that same lake, each one shone like the rainbow, at the same time the smallest and largest animal approached to hear their songs. Stratos: incredible story, hopefully when the war ends you can go home. Stratos: You miss it, right? Oona: I do miss my old home a lot, but the evil betrayus commander made my chance of returning home useless. Stratos: stupid lil brother *annoyed whisper* Oona: what?! Stratos: nothing! 😅 Stratos: Maybe it was the wind!😅 Oona: Listen clearly, you said stupid little brother !? Stratos: N-No no! You surely heard wrong! Oona: don't lie stratos tell me !? Stratos:...*Sigh*..Oona, Betrayus is my little brother. Oona: WHAT! That psychopath is your brother !? * said shocked * Stratos: Calm down, we are at war, and there is no other way I can stop him, I don't know why he does this! I just know ... I don't know why. 😧 Stratos: I’m really sorry that I didn’t tell you before. Oona: it doesn't matter now, alone, I think maybe I am lacking attention and love, that's all Stratos: you are the first person to tell me that! I know I did something wrong in the past! And I can't correct it anymore, and now he's killing everyone for pleasure ..😢 Stratos: Thanks for understanding me .... * Hugs her * Pac, cyli and Sir.c: AAAAAAWWW... 😢😢😢 Pac: *Sniff* This is so touching! Stratos: I admit to being a bad big brother, but she comforted me that night Sir.c: and you threw it away !? Stratos: NOOOW IDIOT!😠😖 *Pac and Cily holds the snickers* Sir.c: come on spheros we all want to hear that part !? Stratos: This is not the time! 😠 Well continuing with the story, she was very good to me, since then we began to see each other more often, even she knew about medicine and many things about nursing. Sir.c: hey stratos, who is your girlfriend? Stratos: what!? We are not only friends but she is very good at everything, apart from that she was one of the nurses who helped you heal. Spheria: So you two are a thing? Stratos: well maybe yes, but still nothing. Spheria: Well, I see in you that Cupid is very close 😅 Sir.C.: *Nudges her, snickering* Yeah, I think she’s right! Stratos: guys are making me uncomfortable! 😓 Oona: hi stratos, who are you, your war companions?😉 Spheria: yes 🙄 Sir.C.: Stratos, why don't you introduce us to your "friend"? Stratos: Oona introduces you to Sir.c and Sergeant spheria Spheria: I'm glad I am the sergeant Sir.C.: Heh, me too. spheria: hey are you coming with us my sister sunny made a delicious apple pie Oona: of course i'm delighted Sir, C.: Perfect! Let’s go! Stratos: *He already know they will embarrassing him* * they went to the pac shelter where her sister was sunny, a yellow sphere of glasses and at the same time her baby named pac, they looked very adorable, since their baby was looking forward to the apple pie * Spheria: Hi sis, I brought some guests. Sunny: oh great the cake will be ready in a minute Stratos: Hey Sunny. *Pats the little one* And hi little Pac. baby pac: baba..babu! GRRRRR! * Begins to growl at Oona because she thinks she's betrayus * Oona: uh, ok the little one Stratos: Heh, I think he confuses you with someone else.....😅 Sunny: well it must have been for you, since the commander is a white sphere, pac thought that you must be the Oona: 😓😖 Stratos: yes what a coincidence of destiny Oona: its cutie your baby <3♡ Sunny: aaaww, thank you Baby pac: 😐😡 Zac: Heh, yeah, thank you. Stratos: Zac, you’re back. Zac: oh who is your girlfriend, and why does she look like your brother Stratos: not my girlfriend 😡 Zac: 😅😂 sorry Sir.C.: Yes, she is. Stratos: Noow! 😤😡 Oona: Jajajaja! XD Spheria: *Chuckles* I was forgetting how fun is teasing Stratos. Stratos: shut up 😣😖 Oona: and tell me you are the last of your kind? Sunny and zac: yeah 😧 Sir.C.: Unfortunately, we don’t know why, the others like them had began to disappear. Oona: once I had a yellow neighbor, he was very old, but he died of age * he said very sadly * Stratos: however it must have been one of those few yellows * he said clapping his hands * Zac: Well, at least we are here. And especially the little one is safe. *Pats Little Pac* Oona: aaaw is so cute Baby pac: grrrr 😡 Cyli: Did you really have to growl at the white spheres!? Pac:🤷‍♂️ PAC: Yeah, it’s pretty weird, Mr. Pres. Sir.C.: But also funny. *Snickers* Stratos: I think Oona was very rude. but that was already in the past, and now you are more tolerable especially with my son, Do you remember that time when you met him and thought that my brother revived PAC: Oh. Hehe, yeah...Poor kiddo, I scared him... Stratos: maybe ... but let's continue we keep talking often, even though we started distancing ourselves during the following missions, but still we met again. Oona: are you going to fight again Stratos: yea 😓😧 Oona: please, don't get hurt, especially don't let death take you.😟😢 Stratos: Don’t worry! I’m strong! UwU Oona: please be very brave, and heard rumors that this squad will be brutal! 😯 Stratos: I neglected and survived this before, just like Sir.c... that phrase was my big mistake Pac: Uh? Why? Stratos: That platoon, as the rumors said, would be so brutal that very few were likely to come out alive. and look at this please * he says showing a scar on his knee from a grenade attack * Pac and cyli: 😨😲 Continue...

I thank our friend Niko for helping me with this story.

#pmatga #pacman and the ghostly adventures #pac man and the ghostly adventures #Spheros #president spheros #fanfic

[gotatext]

 hello, its nora (she/her, gmt) n this is the ethereal but spoiled alma olive putnam (she goes by all 3 names cos she’s pretentious as fuck). raised in a farmhouse in vermont, big horse girl energy. very hungry for everything life has to offer. wakes up and smells the success in her blood. luvs the smell of libraries and listening to french music from a tinny record player in knee socks. here is pinterest. bio is below the cut, like this post to be bombarded with plotting messages but i might forget tho so pls message me x

application template.

『ELLE FANNING ❙ CIS-FEMALE』 ⟿ looks like ALMA OLIVE PUTNAM is here for HER JUNIOR year as a CLASSICS student. SHE is 21 years old & known to be RESILIENT, MAGNETIC, CALLOUS & PROUD. They’re living in PERKINS, so if you’re there, watch out for them. ⬳ NORA. 24. GMT. SHE/HER.

aesthetics.

a red beret nestled on top of bright platimum locks, neck scarves tied around your throat the way they do it in french new wave films, running barefoot through the woods in feckless hedonism, china dolls with porcelain faces lined against the walls of your room, the mona lisa smile, knee-socks tugged over the hockey grazes on your knees, a forged botticelli drying on your easel, ophelia floating in the middle of a lake. 

proceed w caution, tw for death, drugs, alcohol, violence

the short form.

— studying classics cos she thinks it makes her sound smart, but actually hates fuckin latin and just loves learning about feckless hedonism and the festivals of bacchus and writing about how all women in myth are literally forgotten. was expelled from princeton in her first year so her parents basically paid her way into radcliffe but she made an impression.... like... super fast and in her sophomore year she was upgraded to perkins accomodation n a paid scholarship bcos i think the governors kind of expect to see her in the supreme court one day or.

—  born in vermont in a big old farmhouse. her great-great-grandfather moved to america as an immigrant and worked on a plantation, made his way up cos he could speak a lot of languages and therefore win more people over. for the last two generations, putnam men have owned the farm and do little of the dirty work. big in the meat industry.

— both her parents had large personalities, so alma’s never really been shy around adults, even as a kid she’d speak to them in a forthright, confident manner, and because she was always surrounded by adults, she’s always seemed a bit wise beyond her years.

— very much a consolidation of every character in the secret history. has a morbid longing for the picturesque at all costs. obsessed with w.h. auden and the beat poets. — ”aestheticism is the only thing worth pursuing and even that is pointless” — is majoring in classical civilisation. can read ancient greek and latin. also speaks french.

— studies hard and plays hard. she gets top marks but it’s because academia is literally her life, she loves the smell of libraries, the ancient smoke of learning, of feeling like old wine in a new bottle reincarnated from the bones of some old, dead witchy woman who invented a cure for cowpox or somethin.

— isn’t a foward-planner, however. alma prefers to leave her options open, play the field, live in a spontaneous manner so her study style is mostly cramming a few days before a test, or staying up all night writing an essay on a massive adrenaline boost powered by red bull or probably adderall, scribbling (or typing) furiously into the night.

— pretentious motherfucker. loves poetry, especially the romantics, loves morbid ones too, edgar allen poe, sylvia plath, allen ginsberg, she just loves them all. can’t get enough. her favourite films are like…. wanky artfilm independent european cinema. especially french new wave. “what do you think of goddard’s work??” while snorting a line off someone’s sink at 5am on a school night, but you can bet she’ll make it to that 9am class. — very intelligent and beautiful and knows both of those facts. plays devil’s advocate. humanitarian, vegan. — judgemental but takes great care not to appear so. petty and vindictive

— obsessively devours mystery and thriller novels. she herself is a gillian flynn book waiting to happen. — tries to be an enigma. wants to be mysterious and unreadable because that’s what books have taught her makes women desirable and interesting and cool. very amy dunne in the way she expertly reinvents herself to suit her audience, when she wants to impress

— act like the flower but be the serpent under it. is a user. manipulative. leads people on. will throw another student under the bus to demonstrate her own intelligence and integrity — heavily involved in the theatre society. loves attention. — has an addictive personality. seems unable to do anything in a small dose, she has to let it utterly consume her. with sports, she’s fiercely competitive, runs track, played lacrosse at school, now is a cheerleader probably. with alcohol, it’s never a shot, it’s a whole bottle – wine or whiskey – she’ll be table dancing before the night’s up and making out with someone she’ll regret in the morning.

— her clothing style is like…. vintage thrift store but make it preppy. berets and cute hats, neck scarves, large fluffy cardigans or like those leathery jackets with big suede fringes on them, mini skirts (very 70s), and knee-high socks or boots. quite often she’ll be in sports kit, maybe a cute tennis skirt, n when she’s feeling casual she’ll wear like, a talking heads tshirt with a pair of mom jeans and converse, but otherwise, the library is her catwalk. — relates to ophelia from hamlet and sibyl vane in dorian gray. weirdly obsessed with women who commit suicide. loves jackson pollock paintings and abstract art. – likes old things. old books, old music, old houses, it reminds her of happier times like when she wasn’t alive. buys all her music on vinyl and has a gramophone because “the sound quality is better” kfdsjj.

plots.

here are some generic wanted plots but by all means message me so we can flesh them out more if any strike ur interest:

study buddies !! someone who is equally unprepared and so spends all night in the library with alma before a big deadline, maybe they even met in the library

if they’re from new england or vermont, then cousins . second cousins / extended family / family friends –  probably spat volavons on your character once as children, omg childhood friends !

people who live in perkins n feel like they r constantly competing with one another to keep their place as one of the #elite only know each other from brief interactions in the lift or the canteen

honestly someone who is fully in love with her or crushing on her that she can just break would be sweet :/ or on the other hand someone she unexpectedly gets feelings for and actually wants to guage her own  eyeballs out bc of it

frinds !! unlikely friends !! toxic friends !! former best friends separated by sporting or academic rivalries !

hockey / cheer friends who are on other teams but who she absolutely loves playin against!!!

fellow academics who like meeting up to discuss latin and greek ! gimme a secret society bonding by their love of ancient learning

i reckon she’s in a lot of societies, definitely the film club, maybe works as a projectionist at the uni cinema if they have one so give me ppl affiliated with that, give me fellow wanky pretentious art-lovers and poets and historians who will go to museums and galleries with her and listen to the velvet underground on vinyl

people she gets mortally fucked off her tits with at parties

people who think she is throwing her academic potential away by caving to hedonistic impulse

A SECRET SOCIETY !!! honestly i would die for a slug club esque thing in which the children of notable families are invited to dinners OR alma’s also an art forger, so maybe like a club of students set up to basically forge paintings and documents from the university special collections

people she has drunkenly made out with, hooked up with, or regularly sleeps with casually, maybe even a friend w benefits she is repressing feelings for, i love angst,

people she used to date or unrequitedly likes, but to them it’s just a physical thing, give me all the thirsty angst plots, and maybe some softness too, i need some religion in this girls life, she is a roman catholic after all

full biography.

alma olive putnam.

intro.

         the girl is a knife. razor-sharp, double-edged, the bright shine of a two-faced, lovely thing. silver like the secrets you magpie thief from other heads. you’re a scavenger of knowledge, of tidbits, of gossip to lock away for later use and late-night re-inspection. a mind is like a clock if you get to learn the pieces. bit by bit, you dismantle the inner workings of the brains that tick around you – how easy it is to change it’s path, how words and their meanings can make a person laugh or cry in an instant. to have the power to control that is to be a god. it’s the power trip you crave wielding pom-poms in your hands; a possessive need for control that a younger you, small and weak, never had as a child. small lips, smaller smile, a doll clutched in your too-hungry fingers, hard enough to shatter the bones of a real infant. you cut your hair with your mother’s kitchen scissors before the autumn falls, rendering you out of season, unfit for the cold weather that beats against the nape of your neck, where a stick-and-poke marks the star you were born under ; the bull. “mama, when will i be a queen?” as soon as they find a crown small enough not to slip from your head.

biography.

         if you get hungry enough, they say, you start eating your own heart. hands red, stained by pomegranate seeds, the empty pulp of its shell splattered on your thighs you find yourself wondering – what would it be like to want? in the beginning, you never knew hunger. twins, born under the same star, you first, him second – a nuclear family. never a sister to compete with, you were always the cherry pie of your parents’ hearts. white-haired, blue-eyed, beautiful baby of mine. the townhouse in vermont and the summer house in lyon, you wanted for nought, showered with attention, saddled with gifts - hardly a wonder you came to rely on such affection as a confirmation of your own worth.

         at eight years old you first met death, blood on a gingham-print dress, a smear of it over your cheekbone and the pulp of a mangled animal at your feet murdered by the hands of a stable boy. “alma, my precious baby, you get away from that filth,” your mama would cry from the upstairs balcony – cigar in one hand and a bloody mary in the other – though whether the filth she referred to was the dead pig or the boy with a kernel of corn in his mouth, you never did find out.

         your family earned their keeps in farming, great-grandfather wolfgang hildegarde a german immigrant, great-grandmother maura lisbon a prairie girl. they fell hopelessly in love between troughs and pig-shit, working for three dollars a day at a farm their descendants would later own, trade deals with the indians, vacations to calcutta, your father todd putnam in the kind of sheepskin coat his father’s father could only dream of owning. he worked hard so that you’d never have to. your mama once asked – you heard it through the window, rounding cartwheels across the picket-fenced lawn – could he not find a respectable career rather than selling shrink-wrapped pork for a dime a dozen? that blood money had no business raising a child. you look far back enough, edie, your father had said in his low, strong voice that could bring a civil war to silence, and i think you’ll find that all money is blood money.

         language was never fickle on your tongue, french dinner time talk by the time you were out of your hush puppy shoes, your mama fixing the au pair a smile as she fixed herself another martini. you learned the clarinet at four and how to dance with the grace of a swansong at six, ethereal under a spotlight, an audience captive in the palm of your hand. by eight you knew that you’d always been destined to be loved. loved so hard they would want to taste you, bite into the soft plump of your cheek and eat you alive. that was how magnetic you wanted to feel. but mother hamsters eat their own young when penned in together too long, and soon you became too wild, too restless, another package on your father’s delivery invoice, box-shipped out to english boarding school.

         fitting in had never been something you had to concern yourself with. you were always the shiny new toy the other girls wanted to play with, bright like a dropped coin from a magpie’s beak. wherever you went, you seemed to leave a trail of awe, pig-tailed harriet’s adoring you, imitating you, teachers forgiving your class-time chatter for the sake of your wild heart and the restless spirit you possessed. tell us what it’s like in the states, alma. they’d coo, enamoured by your hollywood drawl. does your father own a gun? you hardly knew. barely even knew the colour of his hair, for the scarce amount of times he’d stoop to kiss your cheek, though you’d tell silver-tongued tales if it’d guaranteed you an audience. when you learned how to smile at the right times, and that flattery would get you everywhere, it soon became apparent that charm would pave the yellow brick road to success even when your lack of drive couldn’t.

         the road you followed – gum-snapping, roller-blading, friendship bands all up your arm – eventually led you to radcliffe. bright-eyed and gingham skirted, you’d always known you were more. there was a hunger in you to be something extraordinary, a want so adamant to be imagined and desired that it was almost savage. in leather-bound volumes and a circle of stones, you were helen of troy, the girl for whom they’d launch a thousand ships. but there’s so much rage within you, collecting like sawdust in cavernous parts. hockey helped. there was something grounding about the feeling of a stick clasped in your hands. sweat. stiff knuckles. feet pounding the earth. the smash of wood against flesh in the scram of a game, passed off as mere enthusiasm. “slipped, sorry.” hockey is the one thing you had that was yours alone – a feral instinct that motivates you to play; something primitive within you that sparks an energy like no other. on the pitch, you feel alive. you feel like a god.

#screeches from the rooftops like a banshee #radintro

[maggotmouth]

         hello, its nora again ( she/her, gmt ) n this is the ethereal but spoiled alma olive putnam (she goes by all 3 names cos she’s pretentious as fuck).  ive never used anya taylor joy as her fc before but anya has a smile that looks like she knows something u dont and thats completely alma’s vibe so we’re gonna try it out. she was raised in a farmhouse in vermont, big horse girl energy. very hungry for everything life has to offer. wakes up and smells the success in her blood. luvs the smell of libraries and listening to french music from a tinny record player in knee socks. here is pinterest. bio is below the cut, like this post to be bombarded with plotting messages but i might forget or get shy tho so pls message me x

application template.

ANYA TAYLOR - JOY   ,   CIS-FEMALE   ,   SHE/HER         →         according   to   the   school   records   ,   ALMA OLIVE PUTNAM   has   been   attending   sacred   heart   for   the   past   three   years   .   i   last   saw   them   hanging   around  the  sacred   heart   cathedral   ;   i   think   they   were   studying   the   stations   of   the   cross   with   a   smile   like   a   well - kept   secret.   at   twenty   -   one   years   old   ,   alma   has   been   studying   classics   and   get   this   ,   i   heard   that   she   has   made   a   fortune   on   the   black   market   by   forging   renaissance   art   to   sell   to   collectors   —   figure   it’s   true   ?   everyone   around   here   always   associates   them   with    neck   scarves   tied   around   your   throat   the   way   they   do   in   french   new   wave   films , running   barefoot   through   the   woods   drunk   on  red  wine   and  untapped   power , a  smile  like  a   locked   door   that   speaks   only  in   riddles  .   in   the   time   since   these   strange   happenings   ,   they   have   have   encountered   any   unexplained   occurrences   .         (   written   by   nora   ,   24   ,   she/her   ,   gmt   )

aesthetics.

a red beret nestled on top of bright platimum locks, neck scarves tied around your throat the way they do it in french new wave films, running barefoot through the woods in feckless hedonism, china dolls with porcelain faces lined against the walls of your room, the mona lisa smile, knee-socks tugged over the hockey grazes on your knees, a forged botticelli drying on your easel, ophelia floating in the middle of a lake.

proceed w caution, tw for death, drugs, alcohol, violence

the short form. (still long af tbh)

— studying classics cos she thinks it makes her sound smart, but actually hates fuckin latin and just loves learning about feckless hedonism and the festivals of bacchus and writing about how all women in myth are literally forgotten. was expelled from princeton in her first year so her parents basically paid her way into sacred heart and the board really liked her in her interview. i think the governors kind of expect to see her in the supreme court one day or st

—  born in vermont in a big old farmhouse. her great-great-grandfather moved to america as an immigrant and worked on a plantation, made his way up cos he could speak a lot of languages and therefore win more people over. for the last two generations, putnam men have owned the farm and do little of the dirty work. big in the meat industry.

— both her parents had large personalities, so alma’s never really been shy around adults, even as a kid she’d speak to them in a forthright, confident manner, and because she was always surrounded by adults, she’s always seemed a bit wise beyond her years.

— very much a consolidation of every character in the secret history. has a morbid longing for the picturesque at all costs. obsessed with w.h. auden and the beat poets. — ”aestheticism is the only thing worth pursuing and even that is pointless” — is majoring in classical civilisation. can read ancient greek and latin. also speaks french.

— studies hard and plays hard. she gets top marks but it’s because academia is literally her life, she loves the smell of libraries, the ancient smoke of learning, of feeling like old wine in a new bottle reincarnated from the bones of some old, dead witchy woman who invented a cure for cowpox or somethin.

— isn’t a foward-planner, however. alma prefers to leave her options open, play the field, live in a spontaneous manner so her study style is mostly cramming a few days before a test, or staying up all night writing an essay on a massive adrenaline boost powered by red bull or probably adderall, scribbling (or typing) furiously into the night.

— pretentious motherfucker. loves poetry, especially the romantics, loves morbid ones too, edgar allen poe, sylvia plath, allen ginsberg, she just loves them all. can’t get enough. her favourite films are like…. wanky artfilm independent european cinema. especially french new wave. “what do you think of goddard’s work??” while snorting a line off someone’s sink at 5am on a school night, but you can bet she’ll make it to that 9am class. — very intelligent and beautiful and knows both of those facts. plays devil’s advocate. humanitarian, vegan. — judgemental but takes great care not to appear so. petty and vindictive

— obsessively devours mystery and thriller novels. she herself is a gillian flynn book waiting to happen. — tries to be an enigma. wants to be mysterious and unreadable because that’s what books have taught her makes women desirable and interesting and cool. very amy dunne in the way she expertly reinvents herself to suit her audience, when she wants to impress

—  an incredibly talented dancer. she was accepted to juliard to study ballet, but after an injury to her foot she had to refuse her place, something that she’s incredibly bitter about. she went to princeton instead to study classics for a semester, before being expelled. 

— alma comes from a family of high-end art dealers. while her parents paid her way into the school, that was mostly due to previous expulsions, not low intelligence. she’s incredibly intelligent but will only put in effort when she deems the cause worthy. she’s frustrating to teach, because she requires evidence, truth, in order to accept something as worthwhile. she plays devil’s advocate, but academically she’s brilliant. 

—  she can recognise any renaissance artist just by their brush strokes. her aunt and uncle deal antiques and art, and from an internship with them after her expulsion from princeton, she learned how to market and sell art, how to recognise originals in contrast to fakes. from this, alma began to produce counterfeit art and sell it off as the original work to the contacts she had made in her internship. it’s disloyal, but it’s powerful.

— act like the flower but be the serpent under it. is a user. manipulative. leads people on. will throw another student under the bus to demonstrate her own intelligence and integrity — heavily involved in the theatre society. loves attention. — has an addictive personality. seems unable to do anything in a small dose, she has to let it utterly consume her. with sports, she’s fiercely competitive, runs track, played lacrosse at school, now is a cheerleader probably. with alcohol, it’s never a shot, it’s a whole bottle – wine or whiskey – she’ll be table dancing before the night’s up and making out with someone she’ll regret in the morning.

— her clothing style is like…. vintage thrift store but make it preppy. berets and cute hats, neck scarves, large fluffy cardigans or like those leathery jackets with big suede fringes on them, mini skirts (very 70s), and knee-high socks or boots. quite often she’ll be in sports kit, maybe a cute tennis skirt, n when she’s feeling casual she’ll wear like, a talking heads tshirt with a pair of mom jeans and converse, but otherwise, the library is her catwalk. — relates to ophelia from hamlet and sibyl vane in dorian gray. weirdly obsessed with women who commit suicide. loves jackson pollock paintings and abstract art. – likes old things. old books, old music, old houses, it reminds her of happier times like when she wasn’t alive. buys all her music on vinyl and has a gramophone because “the sound quality is better” kfdsjj.

plots.

here are some generic wanted plots but by all means message me so we can flesh them out more if any strike ur interest:

study buddies !! someone who is equally unprepared and so spends all night in the library with alma before a big deadline, maybe they even met in the library

if they’re from new england or vermont, then cousins . second cousins / extended family / family friends –  probably spat volavons on your character once as children, omg childhood friends !

honestly someone who is fully in love with her or crushing on her that she can just break would be sweet :/ or on the other hand someone she unexpectedly gets feelings for and actually wants to guage her own  eyeballs out bc of it

frinds !! unlikely friends !! toxic friends !! former best friends separated by sporting or academic rivalries !

hockey / cheer friends who are on other teams but who she absolutely loves playin against!!!

fellow academics who like meeting up to discuss latin and greek ! gimme a secret society bonding by their love of ancient learning

i reckon she’s in a lot of societies, definitely the film club, maybe works as a projectionist at the uni cinema if they have one so give me ppl affiliated with that, give me fellow wanky pretentious art-lovers and poets and historians who will go to museums and galleries with her and listen to the velvet underground on vinyl

people she gets mortally fucked off her tits with at parties

people who think she is throwing her academic potential away by caving to hedonistic impulse

a secret society !!! honestly i would die for a slug club esque thing in which the children of notable families are invited to dinners or alma’s also an art forger, so maybe like a club of students set up to basically forge paintings and documents from the university special collections

people she has drunkenly made out with, hooked up with, or regularly sleeps with casually, maybe even a friend w benefits she is repressing feelings for, i love angst,

people she used to date or unrequitedly likes, but to them it’s just a physical thing, give me all the thirsty angst plots, and maybe some softness too, i need some religion in this girls life, she is a roman catholic after all

full biography.

alma olive putnam.

intro.

        the girl is a knife. razor-sharp, double-edged, the bright shine of a two-faced, lovely thing. silver like the secrets you magpie thief from other heads. you’re a scavenger of knowledge, of tidbits, of gossip to lock away for later use and late-night re-inspection. a mind is like a clock if you get to learn the pieces. bit by bit, you dismantle the inner workings of the brains that tick around you – how easy it is to change it’s path, how words and their meanings can make a person laugh or cry in an instant. to have the power to control that is to be a god. it’s the power trip you crave wielding pom-poms in your hands; a possessive need for control that a younger you, small and weak, never had as a child. small lips, smaller smile, a doll clutched in your too-hungry fingers, hard enough to shatter the bones of a real infant. you cut your hair with your mother’s kitchen scissors before the autumn falls, rendering you out of season, unfit for the cold weather that beats against the nape of your neck, where a stick-and-poke marks the star you were born under ; the bull. “mama, when will i be a queen?” as soon as they find a crown small enough not to slip from your head.

biography.

        if you get hungry enough, they say, you start eating your own heart. hands red, stained by pomegranate seeds, the empty pulp of its shell splattered on your thighs you find yourself wondering – what would it be like to want? in the beginning, you never knew hunger. twins, born under the same star, you first, him second – a nuclear family. never a sister to compete with, you were always the cherry pie of your parents’ hearts. white-haired, blue-eyed, beautiful baby of mine. the townhouse in vermont and the summer house in lyon, you wanted for nought, showered with attention, saddled with gifts - hardly a wonder you came to rely on such affection as a confirmation of your own worth.

        at eight years old you first met death, blood on a gingham-print dress, a smear of it over your cheekbone and the pulp of a mangled animal at your feet murdered by the hands of a stable boy. “alma, my precious baby, you get away from that filth,” your mama would cry from the upstairs balcony – cigar in one hand and a bloody mary in the other – though whether the filth she referred to was the dead pig or the boy with a kernel of corn in his mouth, you never did find out.

        your family earned their keeps in farming, great-grandfather wolfgang hildegarde a german immigrant, great-grandmother maura lisbon a prairie girl. they fell hopelessly in love between troughs and pig-shit, working for three dollars a day at a farm their descendants would later own, trade deals with the indians, vacations to calcutta, your father todd putnam in the kind of sheepskin coat his father’s father could only dream of owning. he worked hard so that you’d never have to. your mama once asked – you heard it through the window, rounding cartwheels across the picket-fenced lawn – could he not find a respectable career rather than selling shrink-wrapped pork for a dime a dozen? that blood money had no business raising a child. you look far back enough, edie, your father had said in his low, strong voice that could bring a civil war to silence, and i think you’ll find that all money is blood money.

        language was never fickle on your tongue, french dinner time talk by the time you were out of your hush puppy shoes, your mama fixing the au pair a smile as she fixed herself another martini. you learned the clarinet at four and how to dance with the grace of a swansong at six, ethereal under a spotlight, an audience captive in the palm of your hand. by eight you knew that you’d always been destined to be loved. loved so hard they would want to taste you, bite into the soft plump of your cheek and eat you alive. that was how magnetic you wanted to feel. but mother hamsters eat their own young when penned in together too long, and soon you became too wild, too restless, another package on your father’s delivery invoice, box-shipped out to english boarding school.

        fitting in had never been something you had to concern yourself with. you were always the shiny new toy the other girls wanted to play with, bright like a dropped coin from a magpie’s beak. wherever you went, you seemed to leave a trail of awe, pig-tailed harriet’s adoring you, imitating you, teachers forgiving your class-time chatter for the sake of your wild heart and the restless spirit you possessed. tell us what it’s like in the states, alma. they’d coo, enamoured by your hollywood drawl. does your father own a gun? you hardly knew. barely even knew the colour of his hair, for the scarce amount of times he’d stoop to kiss your cheek, though you’d tell silver-tongued tales if it’d guaranteed you an audience. when you learned how to smile at the right times, and that flattery would get you everywhere, it soon became apparent that charm would pave the yellow brick road to success even when your lack of drive couldn’t.

        the road you followed – gum-snapping, roller-blading, friendship bands all up your arm – eventually led you to sacred heart. bright-eyed and gingham skirted, you’d always known you were more. there was a hunger in you to be something extraordinary, a want so adamant to be imagined and desired that it was almost savage. in leather-bound volumes and a circle of stones, you were helen of troy, the girl for whom they’d launch a thousand ships. but there’s so much rage within you, collecting like sawdust in cavernous parts. hockey helped. there was something grounding about the feeling of a stick clasped in your hands. sweat. stiff knuckles. feet pounding the earth. the smash of wood against flesh in the scram of a game, passed off as mere enthusiasm. “slipped, sorry.” hockey is the one thing you had that was yours alone – a feral instinct that motivates you to play; something primitive within you that sparks an energy like no other. on the pitch, you feel alive. you feel like a god.

#heretics:intro #heretics:ooc #my two most pretentious characters ive ever written n i bring em both here . we love to see it.

[bobbyseyesmile]

till we meet again

It was a while ago I’ve seen him last…

Silently I sat in the cab and starred at the message my best friend had send me hours ago, thumbs hovering over the letters on the display but I couldn’t form a proper sentence.

“Y/N, he will be discharged today! We arrange a surprise party for him!”

I knew exactly who “he” was, and even if it wasn’t a question Jiyong had asked I could still feel the big ass question mark on my shoulders. Do I wanted to see him? Do I wanted to see the others? Was it a good idea to move?

Questions over questions and I couldn’t even answer one for myself. I typed a fast “OK” and a thumbs-up Emoji before I pressed the Send button. It wasn’t much, in fact it was insultingly sparse but I didn’t know what else to write.

Even though I needed the whole day for my short message I got the response within a few seconds.

“What should I tell him?”

Oh, nice. Freshly baked reproaches right out of the oven… Of course, Jiyong didn’t mean it like that, but still, I could read the obvious undertone in his message.

“I don’t know. Actually, I don’t care, it wasn’t my decision-“ I pressed the Delete button and started again “On my way. But I’ll only stay 10 minutes.”

Now I got a smiley and thumbs-up from him. The exact opposite from how I felt right now…

The cab stopped a few minutes later and I had to take a deep breath before I was brave enough to leave the warmth and safety of the car. The villa seemed to taunt me by towering into the sky while I felt like an ant. A baby ant. Hundreds of times I was here. I knew the house from the bottom to the roof like it was my own. Countless times I shared kisses and sweet nothings with my former lover. But now it was gone.

My fingertip hovered over the bell and for a short moment I thought about leaving. I mean, nobody knew I was already here, right? But before I could finish the thought in my head, the door snapped open and I starred in two brown eyes.

“Y/N! What are you doing here?” Youngbae’s voice sounded surprised but pleased at the same time.

“Hi.” I smiled slightly and ran my fingers through my hair. “Jiyong messaged me.”

“I see. Well, it’s nice to see and have you here! The others will be glad too, to finally meet you again- I just forgot something in my car, be right back.” And with that he was gone and I stood alone in the entrance hall.

Loud music and laughter approached me when I reached the living room and passed through it, but I couldn’t find my best friend just hundreds of strangers who enjoyed expensive wine and cigars.

I sighed and wished to be in my small apartment, snuggled into a thick blanket on my sofa, eating ice cream and watching some K-Drama till I was a crying mess again. Instead I stood there in Louboutin’s and tight pants in a house what barely belonged to my safe places anymore. What was I doing here?

Meanwhile annoyed I grabbed my phone and texted Jiyong that I was here but I couldn’t find him.

“Roof terrace” was all I got back two minutes later and so I decided to take the lift considering my choice of shoes.   On the top floor I was greeted by less few people, probably because it was Jiyong’s private VIP section for other celebrities or just woman he wanted to nail.

“Jiyong?”  I called his name and a few girls in too small bikinis turned their heads in my direction and then started to whisper when I passed them. I ignored them, already knowing what they were saying.

“Is that her?” another, not so discreet, voice asked and I turned around, suddenly full of confidence.

“She is. And she wants to know where Jiyong is.”

“I’m here ma petite.”

I smiled because of the nick name and turned around to face Jiyong who looked like always: A big ass smile on his lips trying to hide the tires and exhausted expression on his beautiful face. I bet he hadn’t slept in days again…

“Hey” I said and responded his bear hug while his face was buried in my neck and hair- as always.

“I’m so glad that you came, you know, when you didn’t read my text for hours I was sure you wouldn’t respond to it and just ignore me.”

“Well, that was the plan at first” I admitted and coughed slightly while he bursted out laughing “But then I thought that it would be a bit rude and now I’m here. But not for long.”

He snorted and nodded towards the bar “Do you want to see him?”

My brain immediately screamed NO WAY! but my heart started to ache in a painfully delicious way.

“Sure” I answered, “That’s why I’m here.”

Seunghyun looked like always- and that was what caught me off guards. In my day dreams he was fat and full of pimples, which was completely excessive, he came from his military service, but it made things easier for me if I imagined him this way.

But now that I saw him for the first time in 18 months, it felt like a huge slap in the face. He was big and even more muscular now, although he slimmed down a bit, but not much. His pitch-black hair was perfectly styled and the dark suit fitted him like it was made to be on his body. I starred at the Rolex on his wrist which I gave him many moons ago and my heart began to throb- he still had it?

He was a gentleman with his whole being. He was Choi Seunghyun.

However, I felt like I never lost those 20 pounds and that my stylish long bob haircut was replaced by my old and boring hairdo. I could even feel the braces on my teeth again although I didn’t have them since high school. Dammit. I quickly turned around and nearly ran towards the lift to bolt off really fast. It was a mistake to come here…

“Y/N.”

I closed my eyes and muttered a quiet “Fuck” before I turned around to face my biggest weakness. It was only one word he spoke, but the deep voice cut deep inside me and I started to tremble.

“Seunghyun.” I spoke and wished I had the same dominance in my voice like he did. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case, so I just put a hand on my hip and hoped to compensate my nervousness with this small gesture.

His look wandered from my shoes over my body and to my eyes where he finally stopped and gave me a smirk.

“You look ravishing.”

I gulped. Only Choi Seunghyun could break your heart in one minute and in the other one he would give you an honest compliment.

“Thank you.” I said and followed his look, but kept the compliments for myself. He noticed it because his smile widened, a small nod and a delightful slug of his wine. Everything he did looked so easy and smooth.

I grabbed a glass for myself when a waiter repassed us and for the first time in eternity I received an astonished look from the handsome man in front of me.

“You don’t drink.” A statement, not a question and it annoyed me to the guts. Instead of an answer I just gulped it down at once and gave it back to the startled waiter from who I grabbed another glass.

“Wrong, Seunghyun. The old me didn’t drink, the new me doesn’t care what you think.”

Ouch. I regretted the words the moment they left my mouth. He smiled ruefully.

“I want to apologize.” He whispered, “I sure didn’t want to offend you in any way.”

“No… only merely breaking my heart and then leaving for your national duty.”

I just noticed the silence and the looks when it was already too late. I really said it. Everyone starred at us, I could even see Jiyong’s expression although he was on the other side of the terrace.

“Y/N, I-“ Seunghyun started but I cut him off and pushed my wine glass in his hand.

“Forget it. It was a mistake to show up.”

I made my way through the overcrowded house and ran outside to finally breathe again. The air was cool and oddly comfortable, so I decided to walk to the next bus stop, only then I would call a cab. After a few minutes I already felt better and even the watering of my eyes stopped. Stupid, stupid me… I scolded myself. Why did you drink? You have a low tolerance for alcohol, why would you even drink it in one go then?

“Can I give you a ride home?”

I flinched at the sudden voice and the car next to me. I completely forgot that Seunghyun drove a silent electro car.

“No, thanks.”

“You know, if necessary I escort you like this, me driving next to you till you’re home.”

“Dammit Seunghyun!” I suddenly yelled, “Why does it always have to be your way? I’m an adult and I can handle myself!”

My arms gestured wildly while the car slowly rolled by my side.

“I can make my own decision, thank you very much. Also, I know exactly what’s good for me and surprise, surpsise, it’s not you!”

“You will ruin your Louboutin’s.”

I sighed, took my shoes off and continued walking. I could hear him quietly laughing before he stopped the car and suddenly stood in front of me.

“Y/N, to be very honest I would really like to order you to get in the car right now, but you’re not the only one who changed in the last months… So, I ask you to get in so I can bring you home safely.”

We remained silent for a few moments before I gave him a small nod. Fine. It was just a 20 minute drive anyway. We didn’t talk the whole ride, there was only some quiet classic music coming from the radio. Probably Beethoven.

“Thank you.” I said when he stopped in front of my old building. To be honest, I moved out of it weeks after he went to the military, but in fact, I didn’t tell him. I don’t know why but I just didn’t want him to know where I lived now- it was my safe place. I would just call a cab from here.

“It was really nice seeing you again.” He muttered and his cologne hit my nose. I didn’t dare to look but I bet he came closer, probably to open the door for me. I nearly jumped out of it- suddenly it got too small in there.

I watched him drive away and waited a few minutes before I dialed the number for the taxi company. He’s gone, Y/N. Finally.

It felt good to came home- even the buzzing from the elevator in my apartment building felt familiar and trusting. This was my home, my comfort zone where I felt safe. I opened the door and undressed myself, letting the clothes hit the ground. When I turned to the bathroom something felt different… but I couldn’t figure out what it was. Did I lock the door?

A soft purr jogged my memory: Snowball didn’t welcome me home at the door. This was odd, he always did it. But now I could hear him purr and it came from the living room. Did a cat purr when it was all by himself?

Before I rethought it, I grabbed the nearest vase and tiptoed along the corridor. There’s someone in my apartment, I thought when I figured a dark silhouette sitting on the sofa. I shivered when I reached for the light switch, not even realizing that I was almost naked and trying to fight a possible intruder. Maybe he would blush to death.

The light blinded me for only one second before I screamed and the vase crashed on the floor beneath me. Seunghyun on the other hand just sat there while he calmly caressed the belly of my cat. Traitor.

“WHAT THE-“ I screamed, “SEUNGHYUN?!”

“Y/N, calm down, it’s just me.” He reassured me, but oh boy, it didn’t help at all. “You could have told me your new address.”

“You…you…” I started but my mind couldn’t come up with a good insult “You didn’t ask.”

“I wanted to know if you would tell me by yourself.”

“How do you even know this address and how the fuck did you get in here?!”

“Well… to answer your first question, you posted a pic on your Instagram showing your new view, so I figured you moved. Nice neighborhood by the way, very clean and quiet.” He nodded like he would talk to himself “A friend of mine lived in this area a while back, so I know it well. And also, it wasn’t that hard to ask for your name at the front desk.”

His words left me completely bewildered, unable to say something in return.

“And to the second question, you still hide your keys under the artificial plants at your door.”

#Seunghyun #choi seunghyun #t.o.p #t.o.p big bang #big bang #jiyong #kwon jiyong #gd #g dragon #taeyang #youngbae #big bang smut #big banf fic #big bang scenarios #big bang reactions #daesung #big bang fanfiction #t.o.p smut #t.o.p reactions #t.o.p scenarios #seunghyun smut #big bang seunghyun #Big Bang meme #Big bang VIP #YG Entertainment #g-dragon

[m0shete1]

When was rock bottom?

I cannot pinpoint the exact date of my rock bottom moment, but it’s time to make moves to stop the spiral so here I go. 

Background: In September of 2017, I dropped my whole Westchester Life and moved to NYC to start a new job. The decision was made EXTREMELY quickly, I left my job and apartment and found a new one of each in the span of 3 days. I left my amazing therapist, my amazing health insurance that paid for my amazing therapist, and embarked on a life that I thought would make me happy simply by not being the miserable one I had at my old job. I figured a change of scenery would be enough. 

For a while, it seemed like it was. The influx of new experiences that awaited me in NYC kept me busy for a few months. Adjusting to that #teacherlife was difficult, but JET life taught me that being a first year teacher is always kind of difficult. I didn’t allow myself to spend too much time thinking about the worries, since I figured after a short adjustment period, they would go away. 

And yet, months went by and I still felt like I was adjusting. That made sense though. Without my amazing therapist and amazing insurance in my life, I’d gone off my antidepressants. It didn’t seem like a big deal, after all, life was in the process of working itself out. The job was slowly getting easier and I was enjoying my NYC social life.

But I was also living with a crazy bitch of a roommate (That’s what you get for moving in to the first apartment you find, right?). She was crazy- a clean freak like no one I’d ever met before. She would scream at me for every stray crumb on the counter and made it difficult for me to want to leave my bedroom, difficult for me to muster the energy to greet her in the kitchen. I stopped cooking so I didn’t have to be around her, instead living off of Chinese Takeout and Chef Boyardee. But, I wasn’t too worried! I had plans to move in with a friend in June, and then all my problems would be solved. Don’t worry too much about your jeans not fitting, everything will naturally work out soon! 

I moved in with my friend in June and the adjustment was rough. At this point, I had some awareness that I wasn’t in my “best state of mind,” but hadn’t yet connected that “something’s not quite right” feeling to the “Oh hi, it’s me, Depression!” feeling that prompted me to seek out therapy in the first place. We hadn’t worked out how to communicate our difficulties, and he is self admittedly bad at confrontation.

When school started up again, we discovered that our old boss had left and was replaced by a giant tree of a man, eager to prove himself to the department. In our first meeting, he held up one of my lesson plans and told me that it wasn’t good, and stressed that he’d be doing some restructuring as he can’t figure out why so many people were deemed effective educators the year before. Suddenly, the confidence I felt entering my second year of teaching disappeared.

The last few months of 2018 really cemented themselves in the Hall of Fame of Shit. I don’t know how to write about mental health without sounding whiny and dramatic. I gained weight. I would start hysterically crying randomly at work and at home and couldn’t stop. I ordered takeout often. I started drinking more. I smoked. I developed what I knew was a temporary crush on one of my friends and would, despite my knowledge that it was a phase, manically obsess over it in a way that stopped being fun. I rewatched three seasons of the Jersey Shore from the couch-- I didn’t sleep in my bed anymore. There’s more. 

One day, as I was literally screaming my frustrations about the crush-man in an empty classroom at work, my friend said to me, “Do you think this anger is... chemical?” I turned to her and allowed the wave of comprehension to wash away the heat of my rage. “Yes, it most likely is.”

I spent the next few weeks trying to find a new therapist. With each effort, I dissolved into hopeless tears. NYC was too hard. I couldn’t do it. I could feel myself getting worse. One weekend, I went out with my friends. I drunkenly learned crush man knew the whole time. My drunk friend gently consoled me saying, “He doesn’t like girls like us.” I looked down at my stomach and knew what she meant. That night, the crying made my body feel heavy. One night, I couldn’t get up. It felt like someone was sitting on me and I couldn’t move from bed-- I suppose this was rock bottom. Rock bottom lasted through the weekend. I ended up calling out of work on Monday, still unable to curb my tears, and made an appointment with a new PCP, the only doctor available on short notice. I cried on my way there and blamed it on the cold wind that blew in my face. I felt tired as I sat in the waiting room and I felt gray as the nurse took my measurements. I held my breath as I stepped on the old school scale, hoping the extra air would allow me to cheat the system and hover above the sensor. The doctor arrived and asked what medication I took. I told her I used to take antidepressants.  I wish I had filmed the desperation with which I’d replied “YES” when asked if I’d like to go back on them. Suddenly, I had found a door.  

I am not writing this under the assumption that medication has in any way cured me. I never really know if they’re working. I just have slowly come to the realization that after months of struggle, I have to actually DO something if I want things to be different. And that’s terrifying and difficult and unpleasant. This is not an uplifting “I have my shit together now” post, this is a “I am trying very hard to address my feelings and praise my own small victories” post. 

So. Feelings: I am not happy. I feel like a gross slug a lot of the time. I do not like to see myself in mirrors, especially from the side. I do not like my boss. I spend too much money on small insignificant things and then get mad when they don’t make me feel better. I have to move in June or find someone to sign on to my lease, and the prospect of doing either is making me feel all sorts of unmotivated unpleasantness. I feel like I’m annoying my friends. 

Small Victories: I made Okonomiyaki today, it was delicious. I graded all of my 11th graders Argumentative Essays and most of them have improved. I know I’ve gotten better at my job, even if my boss doesn’t recognize it. I joined a gym today. I am reading a book for fun and I enjoy it. I wore a dress to work last week and it looked nice. I took out the trash. I drank water and walked 20 blocks south in the sun and took a picture of some ice that looked cool. I talked to a woman at a coffee shop in the East Village about being a teacher. I didn’t go into the Elf Store. I took my medication. I put my dishes in the sink before showering. 

I have a plan, too. And that feels nice. 

#healthpigreturns #personal #textpost #text post #blog #healthpig

[mveloc]

To Create

Author’s Note: I originally posted this three years ago on AO3, but seeing as how we got a tiny glimpse of Cophine and a baby, I figured I’d repost it here for those interested ;)

“So... boy or girl?”

From the second they’d walked in the door, Alison had been all over them, taking their bags and coats and hanging them in the closet. She damn near dragged the dreadlocked woman over to the couch in the living room as the blonde followed closely behind, trying her hardest to contain her laughter. Her smirk was met by a death glare from behind cat-eyed frames.

“We’re not really sure,” Cosima replies, trying to hide her discomfort as Alison buzzes around her, fluffing pillows and pulling the footrest closer so that short legs can reach it.

“We decided that we want to wait,” Delphine chimes in, taking a seat next to Cosima on the couch.

“Oh, that’s so exciting! I don’t know if I’d have the restraint. I’d want to know right away, so I could start decorating the nursery,” Alison replies. “How about you? Have you started buying things for the baby?”

“Well, Delphine makes me take these fuc--” she pauses, staring over at Oscar, Gemma and Kira playing in the other room and catching herself. “Friggin vitamins. And she made me swear off In-N-Out, which I’m pretty sure is, like, a human rights violation or something.”

Alison laughs.

“No, no. I meant, like, for the nursery. Do you have a crib? A stroller? A diaper bag? A carseat? Unisex clothing?” she pries.

Cosima opens her mouth to reply, but she quickly realizes that she has no response, so she closes it again. She flashes Delphine a panicked look and the French woman smiles at her sympathetically.

“What? We need all that stuff now?” she whispers. “The thing isn’t even coming for, like, another three months. We’ve got time, right?”

“Yes, but these things creep up on you!” Alison interjects, slipping herself between the couple. “It might seem like a lot of time now, but a lot can happen in three months, Cosima. You of all people should know that. Before you know it, you’ll be in the delivery room freaking out because you don’t even have a place for the baby to sleep!”

“Oi! Stop scaring her, will you?”

Sarah finally emerges from the kitchen, a glass of wine in hand and Felix in tow.

“I’m just making sure she understands the reality of having a child,” Alison bites back. “I want her to be prepared. Motherhood isn’t easy.”

“Well, if my sister can do it, I’m pretty sure those two’ll be fine,” Felix says offhandedly. “They’ve got PhDs, Sarah’s got a criminal record. They’re already off to a better start.”

Sarah slugs him in the arm, causing the slender young man to recoil and his wine to rush out overtop the rim of the glass, a few droplets threatening to spill onto the floor. The housewife’s eyes immediately widen at the act.

“Ah, ah, ah!” Alison scolds. “No wine on the carpet! I just had it cleaned! Into the kitchen, both of you!”

As she chases the destructive duo out of the room, Cosima lets out a muted sigh of relief and Delphine’s hand finds her own, grasping it gently. She brushes her fingers overtop her knuckles, stroking softly.

“Don’t worry, mon amour,” she says, reassuring her lover. “We’ll be fine. The baby will be fine. Everything will be fine.”

“Yeah,” Cosima smiles, nodding in response. “It will, won’t it?”

Delphine leans in, pressing her lips to Cosima’s and bringing her hand to the shorter girl’s face, cupping it. The kiss is chaste in nature and the brunette is tempted to taint it with tongue, only she remembers their present company and when they break apart, she becomes painfully aware of a set of eyes on them.

“H-Hey, Kira,” Cosima says, leaning back on the couch.

Kira flashes her a toothy grin, then launches herself forward and wraps her arms around the clone’s neck, nearly knocking the wind out of her. The sudden movement surprises Delphine, but after she watches the young girl settle in Cosima’s arms, her demeanor shifts until she’s starry-eyed and smiling; the first time she ever saw Cosima with Kira, enthusiastically reading the astute child a worn down copy of “Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?” she knew that one day, Cosima would be carrying her child. Sure enough, that day had come.

Kira reaches forward, pressing the palm of her hand to Cosima’s swollen stomach, tilting her head in fascination like a dog hearing a sound for the very first time.

“Cool, huh?” Cosima asks. “Pretty soon, you’re gonna have a new cousin.”

“What are you going to name her?”

Her question catches both women off guard. They exchange skeptical glances, then stare back down to the child in Cosima’s arms.

“We don’t know if it’s a girl yet, kiddo,” Cosima tries to explain.

“It’s a girl,” Kira replies, matter-of-factly.

The spectacled clone has never once told Sarah that her daughter often freaked her out. Kira is adorable, but her acute awareness for the world around her is far beyond the level of any typical child-- of any typical adult, really. It is as unnerving as it is fascinating.

“Let’s go see what your mom is up to,” Cosima suggests, looking over to Delphine.

The French woman nods. Kira smiles and jumps off her aunt, rushing into the kitchen. Delphine extends a hand to Cosima and helps her to her feet. They make their way into the kitchen to find Sarah and Felix leaning against the counter, bickering with one another, casually sipping on their wine. Alison is tending to the stove, where Helena is also hovering, dipping her fingers into pots and picking at food whenever she has a chance.

“Would you stop that?” Alison asks, swatting at Helena’s hand. “You’re not gonna have any room for dinner!”

“Don’t think you gotta worry about that ever happening, yeah?” Sarah utters with a smirk.

The frazzled blonde responds with a sly grin, her tongue quickly darting in and out in a reptilian-like manner, mocking the soccer mom. Alison rolls her eyes, eventually giving up with the Ukrainian altogether, allowing her to steal tiny tastes. Kira runs to her aunt and Helena lifts her off the ground, holding her over the stove, allowing her niece to assist her with the preliminary taste test.

The sound of the front door slamming shut catches the attention of everyone in the room. Alison calls for her husband, but Cosima, Sarah and Felix all smirk when they hear the sound of heavy boots clunking on tile, knowing it can only mean one person.

“Oh. Hello, Tony,” Alison says with a tight-lipped smile, her eyes focusing on her male counterpart’s dirty boots on her pristine floor.

“Heyo,” he replies with his characteristic, cocky grin. “Where’s the grub? I’m starving over here.”

“Did you bring more wine?” Alison asks, staring at the brown LCBO bag.

“Wine? Why the hell would I bring wine?”

He reaches into the paper bag, tossing a bottle of whiskey in Felix’s direction and a beer at Sarah. They both managed to catch the gifts without dropping them and the siblings immediately light up.

“I’ve got beer and whiskey. Let’s get this party started.”

“Ah. You’re just my type of man, Tony,” Sarah replies with a grin, popping open the tab on the tall can and bringing it to her lips.

“I’m everyone’s type of man,” he says with a wink. “Don’t you forget it.”

Tony places the bag on the countertop and then finally turns to take notice of Cosima and Delphine, combing his eyes over Cosima’s figure before smiling widely.

“Shit. Baby mamma’s a good look for you, Cos.”

Cosima chuckles, opening her arms to invite Tony into a hug. He isn’t around as much as the rest of the members of Clone Club, but every now and then, he makes a point to drop in and say hello, just to see how everyone’s doing and to let them know he’s still alive. When she’d first met Tony, they’d immediately hit it off, bonding over beer and a bong. Of her extended clone family, Tony was probably the one she had the most in common with and so it was easy for the two of them to be. The only real point of contention between the two was Tony’s constant flirting with her girlfriend. Even now, as he embraced Cosima tightly, his eyes were raking over Delphine’s body with a wicked glint.

“Delphine. Looking breathtaking, as always.”

“Dude. You haven’t even stopped hugging me yet and you’re already flirting with my girlfriend,” Cosima mutters into his shoulder.

Delphine simply laughs, a light blush beginning to rise in her cheeks as she chews on her lower lip. Tony carries himself with all the same swagger and confidence as Cosima and despite a raggedy mess of hair and beard, he even shares her face.

“It’s very good to see you again, Tony,” she replies.

Tony finally pulls away from Cosima and steps closer towards the blonde as the dreadlocked clone watches with arms crossed over her chest. He finds Delphine’s hand, bringing the back of it to his lips.

“Oh, no. You’re the sight for sore eyes in this room, that’s for damn sure.”

Felix and Sarah start laughing hysterically while Cosima shakes her head in amazement. She knows she should feel jealous and maybe even agitated with her counterpart, but she can’t help but be blown away by his forwardness, especially with her standing not two feet away from him. She finds it almost admirable.

“You know, I’m standing right here.”

“Yeah, you’re kinda hard to miss these days,” he retorts, offering her a wink and another cocky smile.

It isn’t long before Donnie arrives, returning from the bakery with desert on his wife’s order. It’s been a couple of years since the initial shock of his wife’s true nature, but he’s still very much getting used to the idea of clones. It was somehow easier when it was only Alison and Sarah, but then it became Alison and Sarah and Cosima, and now there are five identical faces sitting at his dining room table and every now and then he has to remind himself to breathe, that he isn’t living in some sort of conspiracy film. Luckily enough, Oscar and Gemma have adjusted well to the news of new aunts and uncles; they light up whenever they see Aunt Sarah teasing Alison and giggle whenever Aunt Helena makes one of her many contorted faces at them; they coo when Uncle Tony lets them touch his beard or when Aunt Cosima brings a new book of experiments to try. There is a strange sense of normalcy amongst all of the bizarreness.

They all settle into dinner with relative ease, swapping stories as readily as food across the table. Tony details what he’s been up to for the four months since he last visited, mostly stirring up trouble across the east coast. Alison gushes about the renovations to the house while Donnie smiles and nods along. Helena is quiet, her eyes shifting from speaker to speaker, observing carefully as she shovels food into her mouth. Everyone asks Cosima about the baby and each time she manages to divert the conversation to the research her and Delphine are doing at DYAD, much to the dismay of the table. Since Delphine has taken over directorship of the DYAD, they’ve been able to steer their research in an entirely new direction. It’s the reason why, despite all of the crimes DYAD has perpetrated upon her and her sisters, Cosima has decided to stay on board.

“Enough science talk, you freak,” Sarah snaps.

“Yeah. I’m not drunk enough for that crap yet,” Tony mutters.

“You seriously don’t have any names picked out for the baby yet?” Alison presses.

“We haven’t decided on anything yet,” Cosima finally relents.

“I always liked Lionel for a boy,” Alison suggests.

“And I always liked the prospect of my child being able to make it past the third grade without being beaten to death.”

The entire table begins to snicker aside from the soccer mom, who glares at the dreadlocked clone.

“Auntie Cosima’s having a girl,” Kira pipes up, tugging on Sarah’s sleeve.

“You think so, monkey?” Sarah asks, resting a hand atop her daughters head and stroking tenderly.

The child nods enthusiastically and Cosima smiles. She glances to her side to find the blonde smiling back at her.

“You will be a good mother.”

Everyone diverts their attention to the Ukrainian who has set down her fork long enough to speak. Her eyes are wide and swimming, flickering in their unpredictability, but there’s an underlying kindness and innocence.

“You are very smart. And very kind. Your baby is lucky.”

Cosima flashes her best megawatt smile.

“Thank you, Helena.”

“One day, I will also have babies.”

She’d come very close before, but she’d forfeited her embryos to save the dreadlocked scientist, an act the mother-to-be will never forget. Her own pregnancy had ended in heartbreak when she lost her child early on while in the military’s hands.

“I know,” Cosima replies. “And when you do, your babies will have lots of cousins to play with.”

The blonde’s grin is small, hardly noticeable, yet the entire room takes note.

+ + + + + + + + + +

The house is alive and vibrant, the sound of laughter and conversation echoing off the walls, tickling her eardrums. She closes her eyes for a second and tries to take it all in, all the sounds of life happening around her, inside of her. At times it seems too much, like when Alison is pestering her about names and nurseries, like when her body is betraying her, but other times -- times like this very moment, with Tony and Felix and their boisterous laughter, with Sarah and Helena making faces at each other through mouthfuls of pie, with the squealing delight of a bottled tornado called forth by a golden goddess, solely for the amusement of her cherub-like audience -- it seems like enough to keep going; like the flower petals and honey bees, like the stars in the galaxy and every molecule of her shared DNA, it all falls into place and carries on.

She slips downstairs into the basement, to the very place where she met Sarah for the first time, where Clone Club truly began. She smiles, reminiscing. Sure, the circumstances behind that meeting were far from perfect, but she thinks back on that night with such fondness now.

If feels like a lifetime ago.

Perhaps it was.

She was a different person then, back before she knew Sarah, before she knew Delphine, before she’d gotten sick.

She slides open the back door and steps out onto the lawn. It’s uncharacteristically warm for this time of year, the cool autumn weather a welcome relief against her skin, raising tiny pimples of flesh. She takes a seat on a patio chair and tilts her head towards the sky, trying her best to make out the faint sparkle of stars through the thick smog of pollution. She sits like that, in silent reverence, for several minutes before she hears the door slide once again and feels the presence of another person. Tilting her head, she spies Sarah maneuvering her way through the door, closing it quietly behind her.

“Hey,” she says cheerily, greeting her sister with a smile.

Sarah returns her smile with an identical one, then takes a seat in the chair next to Cosima.

“How’re you feeling?” the punk asks.

“I’m fine. Just came out here for a little air,” Cosima shrugs.

“I hear you. Donnie and Alison are bickering, Felix and Tony are right smashed, Helena’s laid claim to the bloody desert table and your girlfriend is giving the kids an impromptu science lesson. Getting a little cramped in there, yeah?” she laughs.

“About to get a whole lot more cramped, too,” the scientist mumbles.

She says it more for her own ears, but her British counterpart is able to pick it up. She grows more serious, her eyes dragging over the tattooed clone, finally settling on her stomach with a sense of awe.

“Shit. It’s hard to believe you’re having a baby, Cos.”

Cosima smiles.

“I know. Just a couple of years ago, my uterus was trying to kill me. Now there’s a human baking in there. Who would’ve thought?”

They both chuckle, Sarah reaching over to find her sister’s hand. Identical fingers dance with one another, testing and exploring, and several minutes of easy, unadulterated silence pass between them before she finally speaks again.

“You know, I didn’t even know you wanted kids.”

Cosima laughs again.

“I didn’t. Not really,” she replies. “I mean, I like kids and everything, but I never thought they were for me.”

“Why’d you change your mind?” Sarah pries.

“I guess after everything that’s happened, I kinda reevaluated certain aspects of my life,” she tries to explain. “But Delphine always wanted kids. She said she wanted to wait until she was settled in her career before it happened, though. We figured now was as good a time as any.”

Sarah nods.

“I get all that, but... but why you, I mean?” Sarah clarifies. “Couldn’t Delphine... or... you know... adoption and stuff?”

She pauses for a moment to consider Sarah’s question. It’s one Delphine asked her, as well, those many months ago. It’s one she asked herself before she worked up the resolve to follow through. When she had tried to explain it to her lover, Delphine had nodded and accepted her answer, although she doubts the blonde actually understands her reasoning. Sarah, on the other hand, possess an innate clarity that only she and a handful of others do.

“Why you?”

Why, when every molecule of their DNA is entangled with mishap and failure and heartbreak and disaster? Why, with all of the risks involved? Even with Duncan’s gene therapy rendering her fertile, there is an abundance of them. Why subject herself to it all?

“I wanted it to be me.”

She grips Sarah’s hand a little tighter, her demeanor losing its usual lightness, her smile giving way to seriousness. Her eyes narrow as she stares off straight ahead into nothing, reading the air, and Sarah takes note, watching her dreadlocked sister with a head cocked in intrigue.

“Maybe it’s selfish, but for the very first time, I finally had a say in all of this,” she says, gesturing to her body. “It’s my family. Something I chose. No... something I made. No one can take that away.”

No one can slap a patent on that.

“You know, that’s the first thing you’ve ever said that makes perfect sense to me.”

“I know,” Cosima replies with a gentle squeeze of her hand.

Even in their outdoor sanctuary, they can still hear the commotion stirring inside and no one seems to take note of their absence, or if they do, no one bothers to come looking for them. Music starts to play and while neither of them can distinguish the song, the sound of Felix and Tony’s voices are all too distinct.

“Looks like we’re missing quite the party in there, yeah?” Sarah jests.

“I’m sure they can do without their geek monkey and their fearless leader for a little while.”

A reserved smile spreads across Sarah’s face.

“Fearless leader, eh?”

“Well, ringleader’s more accurate. I was trying to make you sound noble. Chalk it up to the hormones or whatever,” Cosima retorts.

“Bitch.”

They laugh in unison, Sarah leaning over to rest her head on Cosima’s shoulder. While Sarah has maintained her wild spirit, she’s settled down considerably since she first became a member of Clone Club. The dreadlocked clone suspects that her relationship with Cal as well as her custody of Kira has something to do with it. Her sister has grown in so many ways, but then they all have. As she continues to contemplate their development over the last few years, both women perk up when they hear the sound of a car pull up outside. Not expecting visitors, Cosima gives Sarah a confused look but the punk seems far less bemused.

“That’s probably for me,” she says.

She’s back on her feet, heading over toward the gate. When it swings open and Cal appears, Cosima smiles and watches as he bends down to greet Sarah with a gentle peck. The two exchange a few words the pregnant clone is unable to decipher and Cal finally peers over in her direction.

“Hey, Cosima,” he says with a crooked grin, throwing a half-wave her way

“Hiya, Cal,” she replies, returning his wave with one of her own.

The two of them walk back over to where Cosima is sitting, stopping a few feet in front of her. He gives her a once-over, his eyes wide with surprise. He chuckles to himself as he takes in her new state.

“Wow. You’re looking... very, uh, pregnant.”

“Meh. What can you do?” she shrugs.

“Do you mind if I steal her away for a little bit?” he asks, motioning towards Sarah.

“Not at all. She’s pretty dull company as it is,” she answers, waving her hand dismissively.

“Oi. Watch it, lesbi-friends, or I’ll beat that baby right out of you,” Sarah says with a smirk, a bite with no venom.

“I’m not sure how I would feel about that.”

The heavily accented voice intervenes and they all turn their heads to acknowledge the blonde who’s stealthily slipping out the door into the yard. Cosima meets Delphine’s grin with one of her own while Cal and Sarah nod in her direction. As the taller woman slips into the chair previously occupied by Sarah, the punk and her lumberjack quietly make their exit, disappearing beyond the gate and giving the two women their privacy.

“What are you doing out here without your jacket?” Delphine inquires.

“It’s not that cold.”

“Even so.”

She hands the scarlet coat to Cosima who drapes it over her shoulders. She isn’t cold, but she doesn’t want to argue with the persistently protective blonde. Delphine studies her lover’s face intently as Cosima continues to stare off towards the sky without saying a single word.

“Is everything okay, mon amour?” she pries.

Cosima nods.

“Yeah. I’ve just been thinking a lot lately.”

“About what?”

“Oh. Just like... life, death. You know.”

“How very specific of you,” Delphine teases with a laugh.

“Sorry. It’s kinda hard to explain, but it makes sense in my head.”

Delphine simply nods and accepts the brunette’s answer. They’ve been together long enough for her to understand how her lover’s mind works; she accepts the fact the Cosima’s brain functions on a level that she, nor anyone else, will ever be truly privy to. It’s completely natural to ponder the whys and hows of the universe, but for Cosima, every single breath she takes comes with a new perspective, new and unfounded possibilities.

“It’s getting late,” Delphine whispers. “Perhaps we should head out soon.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”

+ + + + + + + + + + +

She’s all too eager to remove her shoes the second she steps in the door, releasing a long sigh of relief as soon as her feet are free from their confines. She tosses her coat over the back of the couch, ignoring her lover’s quiet sigh of irritation at the act; being pregnant means her messiness goes (for the most part) unchallenged. Delphine quickly scoops it up, hanging it in its rightful place on the coat rack as Cosima disappears into the bedroom, shedding articles of clothing on her way. Despite being only six months along, she feels like she’s been carrying the baby for years, growing a little more uncomfortable every day; her feet are constantly swollen, her back and knees are constantly aching, and her clothes never seem to fit quite right anymore.

“Perhaps if you wore more... appropriate clothes, you wouldn’t feel so uncomfortable all the time, ma cherie,” Delphine says, leaning against the doorframe and watching as the brunette digs through her drawer for a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt.

“What? Like maternity wear?” she asks, turning to arch a brow in the blonde’s direction.

Delphine shrugs.

“Yeah. No way am I rocking mom duds. You can just put me out to pasture if you ever catch me in a moo moo,” Cosima replies with a suppressed laugh, finally finding what she’s looking for. “Just because I have my own gravitational pull now doesn’t mean I can’t still look good.”

She pulls the sweatpants up her legs, then tugs the oversized Berkley t-shirt down over her head, reveling in the smallest semblance of comfort that she’s been able to find. She was always on the small side, never having to worry about her weight. Even now, swollen with a child, she’s still probably smaller than most pregnant women but it’s an added weight that she simply isn’t able to get used to. Instead of going out and buying more “appropriate clothing,” as Delphine suggested, she took to wearing skirts and looser fitting tops and sweaters, of which she had plenty in her wardrobe, determined to cling to her style.

She feels a pair of arms wrap around her waist and she smiles as the European pulls her back into her chest.

“You always look good, ma cherie,” Delphine says, planting a gentle kiss to the side of the clone’s head.

“You’re just saying that because you have to,” she retorts.

“I say it because it’s true. You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

Maybe it’s the excess of hormones, but she feels herself beginning to melt. She turns into Delphine, attempting to wrap her arms around her neck, although it’s a little harder than usual with her swollen stomach between them. Delphine chuckles lightly at the awkward attempt, her hands gently cupping the bulge, stroking and caressing. She slowly drops to her knees, pressing the side of her face to Cosima’s stomach.

“Bonsoir, mon petite chou,” she coos. “J'ai hâte de te rencontre.”

Cosima beams, resting her hand atop the French woman’s head, threading her fingers through golden locks while lightly scratching at her scalp. They’re both doctors and yet, something about the miracle of life seems to have thrown them both through a loop.

“Just so you know, you’re totally having the next one.”

Delphine’s smile widens. She rises to her feet once again, cupping the brunette’s face in her hands. She softly presses her lips to Cosima’s in a whisper of affection, stroking her cheekbones with the pads of her thumbs.

“Is that so?” she challenges.

“Mmhm,” Cosima replies, pressing her forehead to the blonde’s. “Given that we don’t kill this one, of course.”

“Cosima!”

Her scolding is met by a light swat to the arm and she giggles as Delphine tries her best to muster a glare, only it comes out far less threatening than the European intends.

“I’m just saying! Have you ever actually seen me with a baby?”

“I’ve seen enough,” Delphine mutters, sauntering away.

She mirrors Cosima’s previous actions, peeling her clothing away while the brunette admires the newly revealed expanse of skin. She digs through the drawer until she finds her own sleep clothes and slips them on.

“Besides. I’ve had enough of doctors tampering with my reproductive organs,” Cosima adds, walking over towards the bed and pulling the covers down so that the two are free to slip inside. “Once this kid comes out, the only one coming near my lady bits again is you.”

“So eloquent.”

“Don’t you know it. Turn of phrase-- yet another genetic gift I have to offer our child.”

Delphine tries her best to stifle her laughter at the American’s wit, but Cosima can see the corners of her mouth upturned in a smile and a grin of her own forms. She leans back against the headboard as she watches Delphine pick up the clothes she had discarded earlier and throw them in the laundry basket, trying her best to maintain some semblance of cleanliness. Once the blonde is satisfied with the state of their bedroom, she follows suit and joins Cosima under the covers.

“I wanna see you get big and fat and pregnant. Then we can see if it’s so funny when you’re the one waddling around like a constipated penguin,” she muses, tucking her head beneath Delphine’s chin and burying her face in her neck.

She inhales deeply, the European’s familiar scent easing away all the tension in her body and the uncertainty surrounding her own mothering capabilities. She knows that as long as they’re together like this, they’ll somehow manage to figure it out. Even if they both prove to be completely inept parents, even if their daughter is as clever and mischievous as the brunette, there’s no doubt in her mind that their child will be loved.

She thinks this is enough.

“You will have to bring me Eskimo Pies every night,” Delphine retorts, wrapping an arm around her lover and pulling her even tighter against her body.

“I can totally do that,” Cosima mumbles against her skin. “Although I can’t promise any of them will actually make it as far as your mouth.”

They both giggle, Delphine’s fingers dancing along the brunette’s back, tracing soothing patterns. A few moments of silence pass, their breathing syncs up as their bodies melt into each other; their typical bedtime ritual. As sleep tugs at her brain, the sound of Delphine’s gentle whisper pulls her back.

“Okay.”

“Hm?” she mumbles.

“I’ll do it.”

As soon as the words leave her mouth, another massive smile finds its place amongst her face. She presses a kiss against the French woman’s jugular, garnering an airy sigh.

“Delphine Cormier, are you saying you want to have my baby?” she teases.

“Well, you’re carrying mine, mon amour. I suppose it’s only fair,” the doctor concedes.

Cosima releases a long yawn before nuzzling her face in Delphine’s neck once again.

“True. Very true.”

Delphine shifts, turning the two onto their sides so she is spooning the brunette. Her hands reach around to Cosima’s roundness and settle there, as they’ve done nearly every night for the last six months. She’s grown used to falling asleep with gentle kicks against the palm of her hand.

“We’ve got time. We’ll talk about this later,” she whispers into Cosima’s ear.

Cosima nods and settles into the warmth engulfing her.

“Yeah. I’ll ask you again in three months, when there’s a screaming bundle of joy tearing out of my vagina. Then we’ll see how committed you really are.”

“Must you?” the blonde expels.

Cosima’s lips rise

“You know me. Just trying to keep it real.”

And she does know.

Laying there with Cosima, alive and healthy and vibrant, all smiles and jokes and overwhelming presence, she is reminded of how real this is. Laying there with their child softly rapping, she realizes that despite life nearly fading away not so long ago, here it is again, only this time on the other end of the spectrum; here is life, falling into their hands and not slipping through their fingers.

It’s both human and divine.

#orphan black #cophine #cophine fanfic #fanfiction

[samanthasroberts]

A Definitive Ranking of the Best Hair in the Star Wars Universe

With each new Star Wars movie, fans wait to see how their favorite characters, new and old, will be styled. And, with some of the most iconic and influential hairstyles in pop-culture history, the franchise has a high bar to clear when it comes to its characters tresses. Because as Yoda says, “Hairdo. Or do not hairdo. There is no try.”

But how do the buns, braids, blowouts, helmet hair, and headdresses in a galaxy far, far away rank when pitted against each other? We have your definitive, character-by-character guide to the best and worst looks from Naboo to Starkiller Base. Coif it up!

Note: We concerned ourselves with hair, and hair only. That means no heads that are shaped like hair (looking at you, Bib Fortuna).

Best Hair

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1. Leia Leia is a basic choice to top our list, but no hair in the history of film is as iconic as the stylethat spawned millions of parodies, Halloween costumes, ill-advised earmufffs, and people who think its hilarious to hold up cinnamon buns next to their faces. George Lucas has said that the revolutionaries of Pancho Villa were the inspiration for the buns, but others have pointed out that the look more closely resembles the Fallera hairdo from Spain or the Hopi “squash blossom” buns.

Regardless,Leia doesn’tget nearly enough credit for her other styles: Her Hoth crown braid, Bespin look with the braided loops, and her coiled twisted braid situation from the final scene of the original trilogy (dubbed “the hot plate special” by the crew). Props for being the only woman in history to make hair jewelry look cool when hanging out with a giant slug gangster and kudos to her chic, but no-fuss updo in The Force Awakens. Because when youre busy running the rebel uprising and chasing after your good-for-nothing, rogue-ass son, theres no damn time to mess with your hair. We salute you and your fabulous tresses, General Organa.

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2. Padme Yasss, Queen of Naboo! One of the only good things about the prequels is Padmes sense of fashion, ranging from her iconic wedding dress to her ombre, goddess-style flowing gown. But the real showstopper is her hairfrom gravity-defying updos and bejeweled headbands straight out of a Coachella fever-dream to headdresses that would even put Sarah Jessica Parker at the Met to shame.

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3. Kylo Ren Ah, the mane that inspired a whirlwind of tweets and such think pieces as Why Is Kylo Rens Hair So Shiny and Voluminous? An Investigation. With hisfollicularlyblessed lineage, it only makes sense that he never suffers from helmet hair, even after a long day of stomping around with stormtroopers, attacking villages, and interrogating rebels. The hair game is strong with this family.

His hair is, of course, a throwback to the longer hairdo sported by his role model and grandfather, Anakin, while Anakin was being lured to the Dark Side (well get to that soon). Like Samson, do the men in their family derive dark energy from their locks? And, if thats the case, why is Anakin-as-Vader bald? Maybe thats the real answer to why Ren’s hair is so big: Its full of secrets. Hair secrets.

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4. Rey Nicknamed “Three Knobs” on set, this updo looks cute from the front with early-aughts-inspired sidepieces and wispies. From the side or back, though, things get questionable. Why three buns? Whats so wrong with one? Rey doesn’t seem super concerned with fashion, so were left to believe that its a utility thing. Still, we’re game for this look because, well, they’rein space. Things are allowed to get a little weird.

Also, a million points for her goddamn eyebrows. Dont tell us that she hasnt gotten her hands on some wax while scavenging on Jakku because we will call you a liar.

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5. Dorme Only in Star Wars could a style this outrageous look fit into the background. Padme’s handmaiden rocks a kawaii-as-hell hair bow that puts even Girls’ Shoshanna to shame. “Hair bows” (as in bows styled with actual human hair, not cute cloth bows with a clip) are a very real, and wonderfully strange, thing. But we’re pretty sure its impossible to make one IRL with this much volume using only natural hair. Please, though, someone make a tutorial to prove us wrong.

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6. Poe Dameron Poe has some luscious, swept back locks that pair well with his clean-shaven face. Like Kylo Ren, he somehow manages to avoid helmet head. This is very excellent hair. It’s amazing he doesn’t have a line of people from across the galaxy lined up to run their fingers through it.

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7. Lando Calrissian Lando might bethe first majorblack character in the Star Wars universe, but we have to assess some minor demerits forrockinga perm. But well cut him some slack because if “hair” includes facial hair, he takes the cake with his groovy-ass ’70s mustache. This look transcended Billy Dee Williams role in Star Wars. Not only was it an essential component of his signature confidence and swagger, but we maintain that it’s the reason that Williams became the spokesperson for Colt 45 beer. Were you hiring him or the ‘stache, Colt? Be honest.

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8. Jyn Erso We call this look The Bridesmaid. Its nothing as revolutionary as Jyn herself in Rogue One, but its certainly very pretty and easy for fans to replicate with side bangs, face-framing pieces, and a little bun at the nape of her neck.

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9. Mon Mothma Caroline Blakiston once said she opted to use her own mid-length red pixie cut for her role as Mon Mothma, and were glad she did. This look, while later co-opted by Justin Bieber, became an essential ’80s style.

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10. Bodhi Rook This undercut/ponytail combination is very Burning Man. Its a little dirty, but also kind of sexy in a yoga-teacher way. Conclusion: He can rook our bodhis anytime.

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11. Finn Finn’s fashion is best defined by the on-trend Resistance fighter jacket gifted to him by Poe. His hair, thougha classic cut we call the Your Always Grumpy Unclehas never been on trend. Never ever. But Boyega fans can take heart: His hair as seen in the Pacific Rim 2 set photos is extra :fire emoji:.

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12. Han Solo Though Han is a total babe, his hair is a little fluffy and we cant stand a middle part. What else do you expect from a stuck up, half-witted, scruffy-looking Nerfherder? Still, he’s got a good head of hair and we can’t knock those retro sideburns. We also like his conservative, tapered cut in Force Awakensa solid look for an older Han.

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13. Luke Skywalker Baby Skywalker starts out with a retro ’70s feathered mop. A little dated now, but very “of his time.” When we meet back up with him in Force Awakens, he has transitioned to a scruffy hair/beard combo. Very old-school Jedi. Though, dear hipsters, the next time you think that this is a cute look, think of the fact that the make-up and hair folks working on the film thought this would be the best way to show that someone was literally cloistered away on a fucking island for decades.

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14. Sabe Her style makes for a crazy-couture, runway-ready look. Its not easy imitating the queen, especially when that means you have to wear giant hair croissants on the side of your head. (What is up with these people and hair that resembles pastries?) Kudos to her for rocking it.

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15. Chewbacca One of the few characters who is literally covered in hair from head to toe, his routine includes a complex combination of hair oil, holding spray, careful shampooing, a special hairbrush to comb out the snarls on his butt, and wand-created curls. Seriously.

Chewie is at his best when his locks are wind-swept and looks significantly creepy when his hair is brushed smooth. Whats with the volume? Is his forehead just super long or is he wearing a Bump It? We advocate for him getting a Border Terrier-style trim. Google it and you will agree.

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16. Anakin Skywalker This one is tricky. Anakin has, at points, both very good hair AND the definitive worst hair in the galaxy. Lets start with 20-something Anakin’s wind-blown surfer hair, a look thats later copped by his psycho grandson, Kylo Ren. Carefree! Classic! Two thumbs up! On the other hand, young Anakin has a freakin’ rat-tail. You say Padawan braid, we say rat-tail, and it doesnt matter because, when it comes down to it, we can all agree that its gross. We cant decide if he looks like he just walked out of a Hot Topic with bad rubber bracelets and a t-shirt from a band hes never actually heard or if hes a recent escapee from a hippie commune. Just: nope, nope, nope.

The “Really? You Could Do Better” List

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Obi-Wan Kenobi Specifically, young Kenobi played by Ewan McGregor. Rock me, Sexy Jesus?

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Qui-Gon Jinn The half-up, half-down look needs to crawl back to the ’90s and die there. In recent years, some millennial celebrities (ahem, Ariana Grande) have tried to make this a thing again. We maintain that encouraging anyone to wear this look is straight-up irresponsible.

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Ewoks They need a trip to the groomer. Maybe a nice puppy cut blowout like a Shih Tzu? We say yes.

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Yoda Real talk: Yoda needs to own his hair loss and go bald. If you want to feel truly creeped out, look up Yaddle, another member of Yodas species, and imagine how your favorite pint-sized, green Jedi might have looked in his younger days.

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Queen Jamillia Girl, you look like a sunflower.

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Salacious Crumb Zero points to theweird dude who you might recognize from hanging out withJabba the Hutt. He could use a shoulder waxing and some kind of hat to cover those little tufts on his head.

The Wild Card

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Captain Phasma We have no idea what she looks like under the helmet. Will actress Gwendoline Christie keep her carefree, battle-ready, Brienne-of-Tarth messy chop? Or will she revert back to the real-life long blonde locks that she sported pre-Game of Thrones? Or maybe shes got something wacky going on under there that we havent even thought up yet. The options are literally endless.

Source: http://allofbeer.com/2017/05/27/a-definitive-ranking-of-the-best-hair-in-the-star-wars-universe/

from All of Beer https://allofbeer.wordpress.com/2017/05/27/a-definitive-ranking-of-the-best-hair-in-the-star-wars-universe/